Chapter One
Brianna Morgan Long called herself many names in the course of any given day, but in her head she called herself Bree. She spoke to herself at times, the way most of us do. A typical conversation might go something like this.
"Jesus Bree, are you really going to let him go down on you?"
"As if I wouldn't! Hahahahaha!"
"Well, why wouldn't I? It feels awesome. I don't give a shit if he doesn't deserve it, I wanna cum."
"He has great shoulders from down there. But I can see his bald spot."
"Is it wrong I think it's' cute?"
"You are a pervert. You like these older guys."
"They fuck better, duh!"
"I hope this one does, anyway. I was getting so horny out on the beach."
"Shut up, his tongue feels fucking awesome!"
The current paramour lapping her slit was named George, he looked to be in his late forties. Not bad shape, all things considered, but he was handsome. A sort of George Clooney thing.
"Wait. That's why I called him George. His name is French, isn't it?"
"I wasn't listening."
Then Bree began to moan as George worked over her clit with his tongue and she writhed in pure delight.
These two had met less than thirty minutes ago. Bree had been doing yoga on the beach in front of George's hotel. After a period of stretching and bending in many provocative positions Bree had sat beside George on the beach and said hi.
George had immediately begun to flirt with her as hard as humanly possible. He fired as many shots as he could in the hopes that something would land. Bree had stopped him simply because she didn't want to hear the timbre of desperation in his voice anymore.
George was now fucking her with his fingers and she began to buck her hips, humping his clever fingers. Bree began to massage her breasts with both hands, panting as her body grew flushed with desire.
"You weren't kidding I was horny. I'm totally going to cum. Fuck this guy is great."
George lifted his free hand, the one not pressing hard on her g-spot and took over massaging one of her breasts. Alternating between grinding his tongue hard on her button and doing something she couldn't see that was making it burn with a biting sweet pleasure, George had Bree on the verge of climax. The thing he was doing with his mouth made her stop breathing after a few seconds each time it happened.
Lifting up on her hands she peered down between her wide flung thighs and tried to see what he was doing. But he saw her movement, and she felt and saw him smile into her folds, and do the Thing harder. Bree tensed up as her clit flared with the most glorious feeling she had ever experienced.
Thrown to her back, her climax exploded the instant her mind was distracted trying to discover what the Thing was. Focusing on her clit intensely she tried to dissect the mechanics of what his mouth was doing, and she forgot about pleasure.
Paradoxically her pleasure fought harder for her attention. Her orgasm grew more powerful. As her mind fragmented into two parts, she lost any resistance to George's tongue and the miraculous thing he was doing. The part behind her eyes that tried to form thought failed, while her clitoris suddenly became a sentient being that beamed pure euphoria back up her spine.
Gasping and panting Bree squirmed in delight until suddenly George stopped licking her and removed his hands from groping her breasts and plunging into her depths.
Opening her eyes reluctantly, Bree huffed as she tried to regain her composure. She looked at George who was trying to stand up, but couldn't keep his balance.
"Whaaazz happennnn..." George slurred. He staggered like a man powerfully inebriated, but he had only had two beers. Bree curled up on the couch and avoided his flailing hands. George looked very concerned, but also uncomprehending. Struggling for a few minutes George slumped, asleep on the floor, or at least he was so incapacitated he wasn't opening his eyes. He moaned and sniveled every so often.
Naked, Bree stopped surfing Facebook, stood and put her phone back down on the sofa. She began to look through all the drawers in the hotel room and to open ever pocket on every piece of Georges clothing. When Bree found his wallet she discovered his name was actually Norm Chenier, hence the French thought.
In the end she had found a thousand dollars, and had taken half of every dollar she found, rounding up when the bills didn't work. Hopefully Norm wouldn't even notice he's lost five hundred bucks. Bree's sincere desire was that all Norm remembered flirting with a gorgeous blond teen, with a perky as fuck body.
The memory would be that- miracle of miracles this utterly adorable, little cutie pie had agreed to come to his room, that they had had some drinks and kissed. After he had fondled her a bit he had passed out and was happy to find money in his wallet and everywhere he had stashed it. Phwef, nothing bad happened.
That was her fantasy, the loop she played in her head as she began her Grifts.
Dressing in her tiny, faded pink bikini she made sure to arrange the small bottoms so that the front was loose and baggy, the back slipping up into her crack, exposing one cheek. She tied the teeny triangles of the top in such a way that the front sagged and her pale pink nipples peeped out when she shrugged her shoulders forward.
She slipped on her flip-flops, tied her long, blond hair up in a top-knot, put her headphones on and plugged them into her phone, pressing play on her "vocal chill" trance playlist. Grabbing her yoga mat in its sling bag, she glanced at herself in the mirror as she walked out the door.
Bree was twenty seven, but at five foot one and ninety five pounds she looked like a teenager. As a great cosmic joke she looked Innocent and Pure. The arrangement of her features, particularly when she adopted the role of a childish young woman, appeared to be the face of an unsoiled, unjaded young woman with no fear of the wide world.
This was rather funny considering all the shitty things that had happened to Bree to bring this point. Here to the point where she robbed tourists for a few hundred dollars at a time and often had sex with them for no other reason that it made her feel good.
It felt good to feel pleasure at all; it was noticeably absent most of the time.
Not that she didn't live in paradise.
"God I love these islands."
Bree sang to herself as she walked out of George's hotel right out onto the beach of Wailea, Maui. Bree's family had moved here in the early nineties when she had been five. By the time she had driven her father off, after her mom died, she had been fourteen.
If it hadn't been for the amazing climate here, and the abundance of tourists, Bree would very likely have died or had to become a hidden prostitute. The flesh trade in Hawaii was hard to see, and so much seedier than in other places, or so it seemed to Bree from outside all of it.
It had been a very hard journey to avoid prostitution until she had discovered her most tried and true Grift.
Yoga Girl was so simple it worked every time. Even now, after George, she was going to do it again, probably two more times today. Simply walking down the beach to the next hotel along the water front, Bree looked for a spot where a significant group of men sat watching the women on the beach.
It was easy to find a spot in the middle of the area the men surrounded because few women were brave enough or unobservant enough not to notice the wolves drooling over the smorgasbord of exposed females.
Feigning obliviousness, Bree unrolled her mat on a strip of lawn that separated the sand from the hotel lobby. Enjoying the EDM music, she kicked off her flip-flops and removed her sunglasses. Facing the mat toward the sun, high in the afternoon sky, she was essentially parallel to the hotel, giving the widest possible audience the best view of her body.
That was why she chose this time of day for her Grift, the light made her look excellent. The Sun's angle was perfect to showcase her body to her audience, and marks were dopey in the afternoon heat.
Starting with a Sun Salutation, Bree began to honestly do yoga. She had been practicing since she'd seen in on the beach years ago. The first form of this Grift was to let people give her free lessons. Now, over a decade later, she was very, very practiced.
Bree was built like a pixie; tiny breasted, small-waisted and fine boned. This added to the youthful look. After her sun salutation, Bree began to flow through a series of moves that displayed her body to most provocative effect.
Every pose she could think of that thrust her pert breasts up and out, she did. Bree's nipples often got caught, the hard points of them trapped on the outside of her bikini. When this happened Bree pretended not to notice and would stretch for as long as she could justify with either nipple exposed.
Each pose that made her part her legs and expose her poorly concealed crotch she did as well. Bree self-consciously left a small tuft of trimmed hair above her pussy. The sides and lips she waxed regularly. When she did as she was now; lunging forward on one leg, pressing her hips far forward to stretch her hip flexor, her poorly fitted swimsuit would pull down and expose the top of the hair.
Bree felt this was far more inciting to her marks, a little, tiny bit of hair showing, than being obviously bald. Her thinking was that if she had some hair men would feel more confident that she was of legal age. She might scare off a mark if he thought she were too young.
Also the golden glint of her almost white pubes made her happy. Bree- "As if it isn't obvious." -was an exhibitionist.
Sweating heavily now in the mid-afternoon heat, Bree did some much deeper, more serious stretches, taking advantage of how limber she was becoming. At one point, with her own face near her crotch as she curled over, she noticed the large wet spot on her bikini bottoms.
"You little slut."
She said to herself. "
You've gone and told everyone you like this."
"Well, fuck 'em. I am horny. And if they aren't- then they aren't breathing."
"It's because of that orgasm. What was he doing to my clit?"
"I wish I knew!"
