She had memories of Maui

The 💯 STORY CHALLENGE in which bra size is no barrier to falling flat on your face.

Young unsmiling woman’s face partially hidden by her hands, the background is totally obscured.
Image by Mauro Lima from Unsplash

She remembered the warmth of the sunshine in Maui. Her parents took her there as a child. Then Dad died, and trips to Hawaii ceased. Before long, Mum began drinking and ended up throwing herself off the Bay Bridge when cash was non-existent and university fees loomed. After the funeral was over and the apartment cleared, finding money to pay for the San Francisco to Los Angeles trip formed the next problem, but a friend from school who was also going to UCLA had a car her father bought her. So a free lift was okay. Thereafter, everything was due to be covered by a private student loan provider she had applied to online. But on arrival in LA, the company manager insisted on interviewing her. The lender sought a means of repayment if she dropped out of her studies. When she provided none, he withdrew the offer of finance. Instead, he introduced her to an associate, the owner of a local strip club who craved fresh talent, new flesh. She was embarrassed. She imagined her small breasts had excluded her from this kind of job. But, after shedding her clothes in his office, her would-be boss offered sufficient dollars to render college life almost affordable. Anyway, this wasn’t a choice. There was no return ticket to the Bay Area.

She became accustomed to having no evenings free and during the odd lunchtime, when she had no lectures, her diminutive boobs excited the half-drunk audience of middle-aged males looking for cheap thrills. Sometimes they also hankered after more expensive diversions in special rooms with hostesses who hung around feeding them booze. A regular lady attendant approached her. “In my booth, there’s a man with a crush on you. Come with me and I’ll share the $200 he’s offered.” An extra hundred formed a big deal, so without knowing what to expect, she let her coworker guide her into the private space. Once inside, the woman whispered, “Suck hard and quick. Swallow in one gulp. Then you’ll finish sooner, and the horrible taste won’t linger.”

It was too late to refuse; the guy was ready for her, and she knelt in front of him with her ‘friend’ holding the back of her neck while kissing the guy’s cheek so they could watch her performance. Soon she heard, “Hooray and congratulations. You graduated with top honours.”

When she emerged from the ordeal with a $100 clutched in her hand, she saw her boss watching. She expected he’d be angry that she’d taken a side payment, but then the hostess had met the booth rental already. Therefore, he smiled and spoke in a pleasant tone. “You’ve done well this year, but now the summer vacation is here. So would you fancy accompanying a bunch of my girls to Maui with all expenses paid? Although the venues and the routines are similar, you’ll receive twice the wages.”

“How alike are they?”

“After their stage acts, dancers provide punters with hostess services. It’s good money.”

In fact, he only met the travel costs. Once landed, the entourage of sex workers who he shipped out, including her, had to pay for their own shared rooms. During summer, the cost of living in Hawaii exhausted the doubling of her stripper’s income and après dance bonuses. Especially so as everyone talked her into daily shots in the arm to make life bearable while waiting for the ‘free’ return journey. But it was okay, as other earnings were available beyond dancing on a stage while throwing off her regalia and then pandering to wild fetishes. There was a nearby film set where the performers had already thrown their clothes off or kept them on for nano seconds. That offered enough extra revenue to justify the degradations she suffered. When being filmed, the size of her boobs became irrelevant as cameras dwelled on parts of her body being penetrated. Erect male members visited all those orifices. Sometimes insertions were simultaneous. Following one shoot, the cameraman said, “You look gorgeous in this photograph. Do you want a copy?”

“No thanks, I’d prefer to forget about those guys in the background.”

“If I crop it and put just your face in a pretty frame, would you let me fuck you?”

“Why not? Everyone else has. But I require some stuff as well.”

She returned from Maui short of cash and smiles. At least her boss promised a penthouse she could borrow to tide her over until she sorted her college lodgings and resumed her career as an artiste. Instead of rent, he required her to entertain occasional callers, but he assured her of generous payments for her services and a supply of dope.

The apartment was a pair of dark rooms on the third floor of a five-story block. The windows faced nearby similar buildings. Despite that, the premises were clean. To her relief, a note spoke of a syringe and a couple of shots that, following two satisfied visitors, someone would replace. The memo instructed her that by eight o’clock she should be ready for a one-hour session, and she’d find a decent garment in the wardrobe to render her attractive to her clientele. The clock showed ten past seven. After shooting a high to boost her morale, she dumped her bag and escaped from her sticky travel clothes to shower before investigating what the mystery person arranged for her to wear. It was beyond okay. A sheer silk housecoat which stuck to her still damp body in a pleasing manner. Then, as the doorbell rang, a mirror reminded her of those small breasts. So she rubbed her nipples to make them appear visible through the flimsy material and, on opening the door, she was ready to satisfy anyone to earn money and further fixes. She didn’t expect a gorgeous guy, nor for him to say, “Wow, they told me you were a looker, but I expected something less.”

“I could repeat that las bit about you, mister. You’re cute enough to fuck for pure pleasure.”

On seeing this man, she remembered having failed to treat herself to an orgasm recently. Now she’d identified someone with whom to correct that situation. Thirsty for added physical highs, she prevented him from leaving after his allotted time, and the following morning, he provided yet another climax. So she wondered whether, hah, she should pay him. This was heaven on earth. But then he needed to leave. He looked at the framed photo on the bedside table. “That picture of you is delightful. A real likeness of your beauty.”

“Thanks. It’s a reminder of my recent visit to Maui.”

“Pleasant trip?”

“Although the sun shone, I don’t propose an early return. It cost too much and I’m not talking about money. Anyway, I plan to start over.”

He didn’t appear to be convinced. “Hey, here’s another fifty. While I paid your keeper already, that’s for being extra sweet.”

The doorbell rang. There was no rubbing of her nipples. Despite having taken two shots, she wasn’t buzzing, and she couldn’t give a damn if her chest was flat. The special silk garment found no voluptuous curves to cling to. A chill winter wind dashed in through the open door. Sunken eyes behind the forced smile didn’t convince her visitor he was welcome, but she needed him to say everything was okay. When she screwed up on the feedback, getting fresh supplies involved street work. The earlier spring in her step was absent as they entered the bedroom, and she was relieved when he pushed her onto the bed with no attempt at foreplay. Without undressing, he exposed himself enough to use her like he used his hand when masturbating. After he ejaculated, his heavy frame collapsed on her. She could feel his and her juices combine and ooze out, and she cursed the prospect of stains on her lovely housecoat. She prayed it would clean up. Future clients might reject her if she lost that covering for her bony body. As he pulled himself off her, he sat on the bedside and asked,

“Who’s the doll in the photo?”

“That’s me.”

“Was it taken a while ago?”

“Last summer in Hawaii.”

“You ought to go back there. Seems it did you good.”

Inspired by Zane Dickens 💯 Story Challenge, even if it is a lot of words.



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