The Island Locals

It was the upcoming summer vacation season for several countries in the northern hemisphere. The boats were beginning to pour into the jetty one by one, shuttle after shuttle of a dozen or so passengers each to every island that contained a resort for the guests to stay. The locals had long prepared for this moment, and every one of the mostly male population that lived there or on other islands gleefully welcomed the hordes of white tourists who had come to grace their shores with their smiles, bodies and money. The moment a boat enters dock, the welcome crew of a few able bodied men begin giving the customary greetings, flower wreathes and handling luggage while ushering the summer clad blob towards reception. The standard drill made sure the guests get their money's worth. Getting them settled in, offering complementary drinks, keeping the waiting lines minimal or non existent was what the resorts did best. Everything was like clockwork amidst the happy smiles and helpful protocol.

However, this was not the time to simply let the opportunity run its coarse. It was, after all, hunting season. Each man working on staff began to pick from the fresh batch of hot white women mingling in the crowds. By now, the guests would have inhaled the sweet smelling incense they had set up under the jetty, now under the influence of the rare **** they had cooked up for this exact occasion. None would find anything amiss or suspicious, not while they are on a semi-permanent high. Each man boldly got to work on the pick of the night. Those who were coveted were shared. The white men would be left waiting while their spouses and girlfriends were mysteriously snatched away for just under an hour, never suspecting their women's wet and willing holes were being filled up with local cock.