The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey

by Roland Deforrest

  Dirk squared his shoulders and walked slowly into the alleyway. He had progressed only a few steps when he heard someone moving beside him. He whirled just as a karate chop crashed into the back of his neck, sending him sprawling to the pavement and into oblivion.

  Slowly, tediously he climbed the steep ladder back to consciousness. A single lightbulb glared over his head, and he found himself lying on a metal floor. He eased his head into a roll to look around, and was pleased to note that he was experiencing no pain other than a slight stiffness in his neck. His eyes darted around the metal walls, which were held together with large rivets, like boilerplate. The bare room was small and looked like a cabin on a freighter of some sort. He experienced a flash of fear—was he being Shanghaied, as in olden days? Was he being held prisoner? He pushed unsteadily to his feet and swayed dizzily for a moment before his head cleared. Urgently he checked his pockets; his wallet and passport were missing. That sent him into a tailspin of remorse. Why hadn’t he listened to his inner voice of caution? He tried the handle on the single door. He was locked in. He began pounding on the iron door, shouting, “Open up, dammit!”

  He ceased his racket to listen, pressing his ear against the cold metal. Not a sound. No engines throbbing, no sense of motion anywhere. Frantically he looked around for something to attack the door’s large hinges, but there was nothing in the room except himself. He flashed on Honey’s beautiful face admonishing him for taking such an unnecessary risk. And he longed for just one more opportunity to hold her in his arms. Cursing his own foolishness, he slumped against the door in remorse.

  A sound broke into his self-castigation. Someone was opening the door! He stepped back with a clenched fist raised, prepared to attack. The door swung inward on its rusty hinges, squeaking loudly. Dirk steeled himself. To his astonishment, a tiny, grandmotherly woman poked her gray head around the door with a friendly smile. “You okay?” she asked politely.

  He nodded and was about to bombard her with questions when she motioned to him to follow. She withdrew, and he could hear her cotton shoes swishing down the outside corridor. He stuck his head out, checking both ways before stepping over the raised rim of the doorjamb and hurrying after her. The woman was gowned in a richly embroidered robe of bright scarlet silk, and in her tightly bound gray hair a black lacquered comb formed a small crown on the back of her head. They were, indeed, on a ship of some sort, but there were no indications in the small compartments he passed that it had been used recently. Not a personal item could be seen anywhere. It looked like a ghost ship.

  On and on he was led, through the bowels of what was apparently a large ship, until she stopped outside another closed door. She bowed to him formally and opened the metal door. This one did not squeak. A soft glow of light spilled out and he looked in. The walls were covered in rich tapestries that looked hundreds of years old, and on the floor lay an exquisite rug of blue and gold. On a small ebony table before a couch of yellow satin pillows lay his wallet and passport. He scooped them up and checked his money supply. Not a single bill was missing. Perplexed, he turned toward the hatchway. The little grandmother had vanished.

  “Hello?” he called out. “Anyone here?” Silence greeted him. In the corner of the room, below a hanging paper lantern, he noticed another table. On it was a slender-stemmed pipe and a small box of wooden matches. He sniffed the bowl of the long pipe and grinned in recognition. Opium. The real stuff. Not one to let such an opportunity slip by, he struck a match and lit the black, sticky residue, inhaling deeply on the pipe. The heady effects of the powerful drug were instantaneous. He settled his long frame on the yellow satin couch and puffed away, realizing he was taking further risks, but too curious to stop.

  Time slipped steadily away and he was so stoned that he had little desire to move; his limbs seemed extraordinarily heavy, and visions of Oriental concubines began invading his awareness. Lovely, black-eyed, raven-haired beauties in traditional robes appeared as if from nowhere and pulled him to his feet. Gently they eased him out of his clothes and, naked, he towered above them, grinning down on their perfect beauty, trying to determine whether they were real or only figments of his overstimulated imagination. A soft robe of blue silk was placed around his shoulders and he was tugged forward, one girl on each hand, another behind him, pushing steadily. They moved him directly to one of the large, gold-threaded tapestries, and as if by magic, it parted, revealing a large, opulent room.

  The sweet smell of burning incense invaded his nostrils as he was maneuvered into the luxuriously furnished room. Priceless Oriental antiques were everywhere; it was a room truly fit for an emperor. At the far end he was lowered with delicate precision to a raised platform covered with silk pillows, and one of the lovelies stuck an orange segment into his mouth. Its sweetness was astounding. Another was bathing his feet in warm water, massaging them with a musk-scented oil. Still another was arranging pillows behind his head, propping him up to a partial sitting position. Grinning like a fool, he watched through lowered lids the dreamlike proceedings, trying to figure out whether he was blissfully stoned or in the midst of a fantasy come true.

  Lute music began playing from somewhere nearby, and as if on cue, the three black-eyed beauties ceased their ministrations and gathered before him in a row, bowing subserviently, each a mirror image of the one next to her. In time to the delicate music, one by one they parted the sashes of their richly hued robes and dropped them to the carpet. He stared in wondrous delight at their perfectly formed bodies. Their breasts were small and set high, and the coal-black triangles between their trim thighs sparkled with a healthy sheen in the faint light. They turned away from him, displaying their straight, strong backs and the sweet curve of their asses, like rounded scoops of almond-flavored ice cream. Dirk’s bird began to sit up and take notice.

  The lute was joined by several other Chinese instruments he could not name, and the music picked up tempo. The trio of beauties joined hands in a circle on the vibrantly colored carpet and, with a tantalizing smile in his direction, quickly formed a living, inverted pyramid. One girl stood holding on her slightly bent thighs one foot of each of the other two standing girls. The two on the sides arched way back, each held only by one hand of the girl underneath. Their black-haired pussies protruded like chocolate-covered cherries. The two on top leapt lightly to the carpet and at once fell forward onto their hands, kicking their feet up and rising into a handstand on either side of the girl in the middle, who once again held them balanced—this time by one of their legs. Dirk applauded madly.

  Still more athletic formations were exhibited, each more difficult than the one preceding. The trio were remarkably elastic, able to bend and contort their slender, lovely bodies into the most unbelievable shapes and positions. Regardless of the permutation of bodies being displayed, there was an underlying sensuality in all their movements, as if the exhibition were for one purpose only: to arouse the viewer to a state of erotic tension. His bird was standing rigid underneath the blue silk of his robe and straining to be released, to fly into at least one of the black bird nests before him.

  Teasingly the trio flipped over into a row of backbends, their plump, ripe cunts aimed directly at him, their trim thighs wide open, the luscious lips of their pussies like a matched set of halved walnuts. The girl in the middle remained in that position as her two sisters moved to either end of her. One placed her mouth over the exposed pussy, the other placed her crotch over the upturned mouth of the backbending one. Soon they were in the sweetest daisy chain, linked together in a circle with their mouths on one another’s pussies. Dirk could not stand the tension any longer. He opened his robe and took his bird in hand, stroking it up and down as he stared into the tangle of sweet meat.

  When the talented trio came up for air and saw him pounding vigorously on his rigid prick, they frowned at him as if he had broken a house rule. They crawled up on the silk pillows beside him, tugging off his blue robe. They laid him out flat and took his hands away from his swoll
en dick. One girl’s hand grasped his fluttering bird near the base, and directly on top of that hand another girl clutched it, then the third on top of that one. Rhythmically they began to stroke up and down, their lovely faces serious as they concentrated on matching movements. He reached out a hand and fingered the loose lips of one, finding her tight and moist. Encouraged by her docile reaction, he reached for a second helping and found this one the exact duplicate of the other. As the triplets pumped on his peter, he fingered two of their cunts. The third looked at him sorrowfully and he snapped his tongue at her, indicating that he wanted to lick her silly. Obligingly she scooted around and hunkered down over his face. His tongue darted into her, parting her outer lips and getting down to business. She tasted like ripe melons.

  Fingering, tonguing, his cock twitching in their hands, Dirk felt a growing urgency to satisfy more basic needs. But the trio knew what they were doing; theirs was an ancient, honored art and they were a marvelous, well-oiled machine designed expressly for the purpose of pleasing a male. Just when he felt on the verge of showering them with semen, they would change positions or tactics or rhythms, easing him down on the other side of ecstasy and gently but steadily raising him back up again. One would suck on his dick, another on his toes, another on his fingers. Then they would change; rolling him over, one would tongue his asshole while another would wash his balls in her mouth, and the third would take both his thumbs and jam them into her open portal of pleasure.

  And his bird kept growing larger and larger, turning beet red, its engorged head a deep purple, pulsating with every pounding beat of his overstimulated heart. He felt that he was being tortured, tormented, that the lovelies were deliberately trying to drive him mad. Even when one slid her juicy cunt over his dick and began athletically to bounce up and down on it, like a pogo stick, he could not help thinking that this too shall pass… and it did, for when his balls began to contract, signaling an approaching climax, the girl would slip off and shove his screaming peter into a cool liquid, sending him plummeting away from coming. On and on they worked on him, until he had no thoughts, no feelings except in the hot head of his perplexed and pleading bird. It was as though the trio had turned him into one giant throbbing cock, and he began to moan with the agony of it all.

  Regardless of how much he ate at their jelly rolls, or how deeply he fingered their moist channels, the triplets gave no outward sign of arousal. Steadily they went about their business, impervious to their own pleasures. He began to writhe on the silk pillows, pleading for release, his senses satiated, his bird becoming numb from the workout. At last one of them let him enter her pussy again and he banged into her, bouncing her up into the air, their pelvises crashing together. Nearer and nearer he approached the elusive goal, and he feared he would be teased away from it once more.

  Closer and closer he felt the tidal wave building, and he lapped frantically at the dripping lips perched over his face, his middle fingers dived deep into the last girl’s pudendum. The tension-filled ecstasy was overwhelming, mounting steadily until he felt he could not take any more. Higher and higher his lust climbed, and then peaked, balanced precariously on the very edge of the precipice. Instinctively the trio of beauties stopped all their movements and he hung suspended on the unbearable brink. All at once, he blew up in an enormous explosion of semen. Over and over, he sailed snowballs of gism everywhere and still he kept coming, bucketsful it felt like, and he was drenched from head to toe with the most satisfying climax of his life. It was so complete, so all-consuming, he immediately blacked out and sank into the silky skin surrounding him, drained to the last drop.

  When he came to, he was back in bed in his own hotel room. Confused by the sudden transition, he tried to ease his head off the pillow, but did not have the strength. His entire body felt used and abused. He raised the covers to look down at his poor tortured bird. It lay coiled on his thigh like a sleeping snake, but it was the strangest color it had ever been—an almost green tinge at its head, while the rest was a sickly, pale purple. Exhausted, he rolled his head into the pillow, smelling the delicious aroma of the triplets nearby. On the pillow next to him lay three slightly bruised gardenias and a bill printed neatly in English.

  It read simply, For services rendered by the Mee-Lan Triplets—three thousand dollars.

  And that sum was exactly what was missing from his wallet.

  12.

  HONEY

  “I didn’t have a chance to show them Kolina’s picture,” Dirk reported with a rueful smile.

  “What?” Honey exclaimed. “You went all the way to Shanghai, spent three grand for a tryst with the triplets, and failed even to get around to your purpose in being there?”

  His lightly freckled face flushed and he ducked his sandy blonde head, looking like a guilty little boy. Purposefully she looked away from him and down over the crowd encircling the paddock. She and Dirk were sitting in the bright afternoon sunshine on the outside terrace of the members-only lounge of the exclusive Royal Hong Kong Jockey Club. She had arrived in the city the morning before, but Dirk just had returned from his fruitless sojourn in Shanghai. She swept a stern gaze back to him. “You dummy, I thought finding Kolina was paramount to you.”

  “It is,” he replied defensively. “I told you I was half drugged on that opium, and never even had the opportunity to question them.” He fiddled nervously with the binoculars hanging around his neck by a leather strap.

  “Well, if that doesn’t beat all,” she muttered, and took a sip of her cool gin and tonic. Below, the packed grandstand roared en masse at the start of the fifth race. She watched a bay thoroughbred charge into a comfortable lead. “My lucky number seven is ahead,” she noted aloud, with little enthusiasm.

  He glanced down at the track, following the race’s progress around the large oval, and mumbled, “I can’t get used to them running clockwise.”

  “And I can’t get used to your attitude,” she sighed. “There I was, in the mountains of Bulgaria, busting my ass to help you while you’re off dorking around with some dippy triplets.”

  “They were sensational,” he said emphatically. “Well worth the price and the trip. They would’ve blown even your mind, they were so talented. How was I to know I wouldn’t get to speak to them?”

  The cheering crowd below broke into sustained applause. Number seven had won. It didn’t seem to matter to Honey as she said, “Dirk, you’re not going to like what I’m about to say, but say it I must. I think we’ve reached a dead end and should call it off.”

  “Not on your life, sis,” he burst out. “You can quit if you want, but not me. I’m going to find her if she’s thirty-five by the time I do.”

  “But we don’t even know for certain that she’s being held against her will. Yves Bouscaral thinks she’s highly promiscuous and given to mad crushes. Granted, he could be saying that to protect his older brother. But if she is by chance with Henri, it may be through her own choice, because she’s enamored of him—an older man and all that.”

  “You haven’t seen her in the flesh,” he said. “Well, I did, and she was frightened and seeking help. I didn’t imagine that. That was real.”

  Honey reflected for a moment, realizing she was treading on very thin ice; when Dirk got worked up about something, hell or high water wouldn’t persuade him otherwise. She reached across and gently took his hand. “Dirk, you are a dear and generous man to take up her cause. Even as a kid, you were always for the underdog. But face it, we’re licked. Where could we possibly look next? Henri Bouscaral has unlimited funds and could be anywhere in the world.”

  “We have unlimited funds, thanks to Wildon Enterprises,” he replied forcefully. “And by God, I’ll spend every last cent of my share to find her.”

  “I have no doubt you will,” she said, and fished her winning ticket stub out of her purse. “Be a pet and go cash these in. We may need the bread by the time we’ve located her.”

  An infectious smile broke out on Dirk’s boyish face. Impulsiv
ely he leapt up and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “Thanks, Honey. You’re the very best.”

  “Well, at some things, yes…” She laughed with him and watched him lope away toward the betting windows. At that moment her love for him swept over her with such force that she felt tears welling.

  No one in the world meant more to her than her baby brother. She had seen him through many a crisis, and vice versa, but nothing had seemed so important to him as this latest obsession. Even his physical appearance had changed drastically; he was gaunt and paler, a tense nervousness had invaded his gray-blue eyes, and he seemed to have lost his sense of humor, becoming short-tempered and testy. Those changes underscored how seriously he was taking this mission. It pained her to see him in such a state, and she vowed to herself right then that regardless of how futile his quest seemed, she would help him to the bitter end. After all, he was her only family, and one thing she had learned over the years: blood was thicker than any other bond. At least to the surviving Wildon clan.

  She dabbed at her eyes with a Flemish lace handkerchief that had belonged to her mother, and was returning her attention to the racing form when suddenly Dirk reappeared, running toward her with an alarmingly white face. “She’s here!” he croaked breathlessly, and tugged on her arm. “She’s here, Honey! In one of the boxes. Down there. Come look!”

  “Kolina?”

  “Yes, for God’s sake, who else? I walked right by her and almost didn’t see her. Can you believe our luck? It’s holding true, huh? Come on, take a look before she disappears again!”

  Honey popped to her feet, hurrying with him to the terrace railing. “Is Bouscaral with her?”

  “I didn’t see him, but the same two thugs are. The ones from Central Park,” he said in a rush, and pointed. “Down there, third box from the center aisle. See? That incredible blonde. That’s her. That’s Kolina Svensen or I’m a complete jackass. Here, take a good look at her through the glasses.” He whipped the binoculars from around his neck and thrust them into her hands. “What should we do? We can’t let her get away again.”