Chapter 8: Aloha, Cherry
The plane had touched down an hour ago, and Cherry Valentine had already kicked off her sandals the second her bare feet hit the terminal carpet. Now, standing at the edge of Waikiki Beach with the sun baking her shoulders, she felt the last two weeks of city grime dissolve under the Hawaiian heat. Her tiny white bikini, little more than two triangles of fabric held together by strings, clung to her hourglass curves as she wiggled her toes in the golden sand.
She had a recorder in one hand, a beach bag slung over her shoulder, and a story to chase. A surf-tourism piece for a travel magazine. But the ocean shimmered like liquid turquoise and the sand sparkled like powdered gold, and the only thing Cherry really wanted was to feel the sun on her skin and maybe find some company.
The beach was alive with motion. Tourists splashed in the shallows, children built sandcastles, and further out, silhouettes rose and fell on the waves. But her attention snagged on a cluster of figures near a rack of surfboards about fifty yards down the shore. A group of men, bronzed and shirtless, their boards leaning against the sand like monoliths.
Cherry smiled to herself. This assignment was already looking up.
She strolled toward them, her hips swaying with each step. The bag with her recorder swung against her thigh, but she barely noticed. Her eyes were fixed on the men, cataloging them with the same practiced ease she'd used on executives, athletes, rock stars, frat boys, mechanics, and porn actors. Her superpower, as she liked to call it. A gift for turning any random group of men into a very private party.
The nearest one was tall and lean, with sun-bleached hair and a grin that split his tan face when he spotted her. He nudged the guy next to him, a hulking islander with tribal tattoos wrapping his biceps. Within seconds, all heads swiveled in her direction.
"Aloha," the tall one called, his voice carrying over the crash of waves. "You lost, or you looking for a lesson?"
Cherry stopped at the edge of their informal circle. Up close, she counted them. A dozen men, give or take. Surf instructors and lifeguards, by the look of the red and yellow rescue cans stacked beside one of the boards. They ranged from lean and ropy to thick and muscular, every shade of tan and brown the Pacific could produce. All of them staring at her with open, hungry interest.
Not that she minded. Being the center of attention was her favorite place to be.
She reached into her bag, pulled out the recorder, and let it dangle from her fingers. "I'm a journalist. Here to do a piece on the surf-tourism boom."
"Is that right?" The tall one sauntered closer, and she caught his scent, salt and sunscreen and something muskier underneath. "I'm Koa. This is my crew." He gestured loosely at the others. "You want an interview, you came to the right spot."
Cherry looked at the surfboard leaning against the sand beside him, the fiberglass gleaming under the afternoon sun. She looked back at Koa, at his sun-bleached hair and his lazy smile. Then she looked at the other men, all of them still watching, still waiting.
"I want more than an interview," she said, and she let her voice drop into something lower, silkier. "I need someone to teach me the ropes. Show me the basics, you know?"
Koa's grin widened. "We can do that."
Cherry tossed her recorder into the beach bag and let it thud against the canvas. Then she reached up, unhooked the string behind her neck, and let her top fall away. Her breasts spilled into the open air, heavy and full, already beading with sweat from the tropical heat. She shimmied out of the bottoms, stepping free of them completely, and stood naked on the Hawaiian sand as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
The surfers stared. A couple of them let out low whistles. Koa just laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through her chest.
"You're not from around here, are you?" he asked.
"Does it matter?"
He shook his head slowly, his eyes traveling down her body and back up again. "Not even a little."
The one with the tribal tattoos stepped forward, and she got a better look at him. His chest was a broad canvas of ink, dark patterns that curved over his pectorals and disappeared beneath his boardshorts. He was easily the biggest of the group, with hands the size of dinner plates.
"I'm Nalu," he said. His voice was deep, almost a growl. "You want me to show you how we do things on this beach?"
Cherry licked her lips. "I was hoping someone would."
Nalu guided her to the nearest surfboard, laid flat on the sand with the fin facing upward. He positioned her over it, bending her at the waist until her palms pressed against the warm fiberglass. His hand came down on her ass, hard enough to make her gasp, and she arched her back automatically, offering herself up like an offering to the sea.
"Spread those legs," Nalu ordered.
She obeyed. His fingers found her pussy from behind, sliding through her wetness with practiced ease. He let out a grunt of approval.
"Damn, you're already soaked."
"I've been looking forward to this all day," she admitted.
"Good. Because we got a lot of ground to cover."
He withdrew his fingers and she heard the rustle of his boardshorts hitting the sand. Then his hands gripped her hips, and she felt the thick head of his cock nudging at her entrance. He was huge, stretching her as he pushed inside, and Cherry let out a shuddering moan that was swallowed by the rhythm of the waves.
Behind her, she heard the other men moving, stripping out of their boardshorts and positioning themselves. Koa stepped in front of her, his own cock already hard and leaking pre-cum. He tangled his fingers in her strawberry-blonde hair and guided her mouth onto him.
"You like that?" Koa asked, his voice thick with desire.
Cherry couldn't answer with her mouth full, so she just moaned her approval around his shaft. Behind her, Nalu had settled into a punishing rhythm, slamming into her pussy with each thrust. Every time he drove forward, her mouth slid deeper onto Koa's cock, and she had to relax her throat to take him.
"Fuck," Koa breathed. "She knows what she's doing."
More hands found her body. Somewhere to her right, another man pressed his cock against her lips, and she sucked him in alongside Koa, taking both of them into her mouth. The taste of salt and skin filled her senses, and she lost herself in the sensations.
Nalu's grip on her hips tightened. "I'm gonna cum," he grunted. "Where do you want it?"
"Inside," Cherry gasped around Koa's shaft. "Please, fill me up."
Nalu slammed into her one last time, his body stiffening as he came. She felt his cock pulsing inside her, flooding her pussy with his hot seed, and she moaned at the feeling of being so thoroughly filled. Her knees went weak, but the men held her up, passing her between them like she was the best wave of the day.
"Mine next," said a voice she hadn't heard yet. A thick Hawaiian man with a shaved head stepped forward, his cock already hard and glistening. He nudged her down onto the sand, on her back, and spread her legs wide.
The heat of the sun beat down on her bare skin. The sand was warm beneath her, a soft cradle for her body. He positioned himself between her thighs and drove into her without preamble, still slick with Nalu's cum. She cried out as he bottomed out inside her, her back arching off the sand.
"Too much?" he asked, a hint of teasing in his voice.
"Not enough," Cherry gasped. "Give me more."
More men crowded around her. One knelt beside her head and fed his cock into her mouth. Another straddled her chest, rubbing his shaft between her tits before pressing the head to her lips. She was surrounded, engulfed, every hole filled and every inch of skin covered by a dozen pairs of hungry hands.
The shaved-headed man fucked her in long, deep strokes, his hips slapping against hers with a wet rhythm. She felt every inch of him, every vein and ridge of his cock as it pistoned in and out of her. She was lost in sensation, a blur of heat and pressure and the intoxicating scent of sex and sea spray.
"Your turn," the man grunted, pulling out of her just as his balls tightened. He stroked himself twice before painting her stomach with ropes of cum, the white strands splashing across her sweat-slicked skin.
Before she could catch her breath, more hands were on her, rolling her over and lifting her to her knees. A new cock pressed against her ass, and she moaned as it breached her, stretching her tender hole.
"Fuck, yes," she gasped, pushing back against him. "Do it, fill my ass."
"You read my mind," the man behind her chuckled, and he began to move, his thick cock sliding deep into her rear. She felt every inch of him as he tunneled into her, the sensation so different from the raw, hungry pleasure of her pussy. He gripped her hips and pounded into her, and she braced herself against the sand, her face only inches from another surfboard's waxed surface.
"Look at this little tourist," Koa said from somewhere above her, stroking himself as he watched. "Came here for a story and ended up getting fucked by the whole crew."
"It's better than any story," Cherry panted. "Fuck, that feels so good."
She was losing count of the men. They blurred together, a rotating cast of hands and mouths and cocks. Each one filled her in some new way, used her with the same hungry intensity. She lost track of how many times she came, her orgasms rolling through her in endless waves.
And then she felt herself being lifted again. A pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist, and she found herself face-to-face with Nalu, his dark eyes burning into hers. He lowered her onto his cock, and she gasped as he filled her completely.
"Ride me," he said.
Cherry wrapped her arms around his neck and began to bounce, her breasts pressing against his tattooed chest. The rest of the crew circled them, stroking themselves as they watched the show. Some of them came on her back, their cum slicking her skin. Others waited their turn.
"Look at the beach," Nalu murmured in her ear. "Everyone's watching."
Cherry glanced over his shoulder. A small crowd had gathered at a polite distance, tourists with cameras and beachgoers frozen in place. She should have felt embarrassed. Instead, she just smiled and rode Nalu harder.
"Let them watch," she gasped. "Let them see what a real story looks like."
Nalu let out a rough laugh and slammed her up and down on his cock. Cherry's head fell back, and she let herself be taken, wholly surrendered to the gritty rhythm of the shore.
It went on for what felt like hours. By the time the crew finally slowed, Cherry was covered in cum from head to toe, her skin slick and glistening in the late afternoon sun. Her muscles ached in unfamiliar places, and she was fairly sure she'd swallowed at least four different loads. But she was grinning like a fool.
Sprawled across a wide surfboard, she watched as the men dressed with casual efficiency. Koa sauntered over to her, buckling his shorts with a lazy grin.
"So," he said. "Was that enough of a lesson for your story?"
Cherry pushed herself up on her elbows. Her throat was raw, her pussy was sore, and she'd never felt more alive in her life. "Actually," she said, reaching for her beach bag, "I should probably get my recorder."
Her fingers found the small device, and she clicked it on, holding it up to Koa's face as if nothing had happened at all. The birth of the sea breeze carried a salty, warm scent laced with the lingering musk of sex, a peculiar perfume she was starting to associate with a good interview.
"So," she said, her voice a little hoarse but already back to her professional reporter persona, "tell me about the surf-tourism boom here in Waikiki."