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The sun was high and hot in the sky and Inga happily wriggled her toes in the sand. Her friends were out there broiling in the heat, walking up and down the beach looking for guys, but Inga sat in the shade of her umbrella and let the boys come to her. At least a dozen had paused to check her out as they walked past, their attention arrested by her blonde hair and fair skin and her tremendous double-Ds, which swelled against the thin fabric of her swimsuit and revealed a vertingous stripe of cleavage. A deeply tanned teenage boy even showed half a boner through his trunks as he watched her lean forward for the suntan oil. Poor baby, Inga thought to herself, and wondered if maybe he'd like to smooth the oil on her skin. No, he was too young, too excited. He'd lose his load in his pants if she so much as spoke to him.

Oh, she was feeling very full of herself today, wasn't she! She and four of her friends had come to the shore for a long girls-only weekend, five hungry femmes-fatale on the prowl. They'd stopped at a drug store before leaving and giggled as they bought a variety of condoms and lubes and oils, confident that by the time the weekend was over they find use for them.

And Inga was hungry, hungry for a man, a man she could play with and tease and torture until he begged for it. Men kept looking at her, and she looked back, and it was always the men who looked away first. They sensed that they were the prey, and none approached her. When the time came, she'd make the first move. And second, and the third, until the ...

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