The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey

by Roland Deforrest

  “Cool it, will you? And stop jostling me, I can’t focus.” She slowly adjusted the lenses, bringing into sharp detail the breathtaking face of Kolina. Dirk’s imagination had not played tricks on him; this was the girl from his photos and one of the loveliest, most enchanting presences Honey had ever laid eyes on. Kolina possessed an irresistibly beautiful face, huge innocent blue eyes, a complexion of pure peaches and cream, a graceful jawline, and a pert, saucy nose. Her hair was the color of white beach sand, and what little of her figure Honey could see was surprisingly voluptuous for a girl barely sixteen. “No wonder you’re ga-ga over her,” Honey murmured, still observing Kolina under the magnifying lenses. “She is spectacular.”

  “I told you, I told you, didn’t I? She is pure magic,” Dirk rambled on, beside himself with exhilaration. “I can’t believe our luck, Honey. Of all the places in all the world…”

  She said as she lowered the glasses, “Now the question is, what the hell do we do about it? We can’t just barge down there and kidnap her.”

  “Why not? That’s what that damned Bouscaral did.”

  “We don’t know that for sure,” Honey said with sisterly caution. “He’s an extremely powerful and wealthy man. We don’t want to take any chances.”

  “Well, think of something!”

  “I’m trying to,” she replied, and marched back to their table to down the rest of her drink. The sight of the two bodyguards on either side of the blonde had given Honey pause; no telling if they were armed. They certainly looked like the kind who would be—all gristle and sweat. Probably loyal to boot, and dumb as hell. Swiftly she examined the options as Dirk remained at the railing, his eyes glued on his beloved Kolina. Even his posture indicated the extent of his ardor; he was bending over the railing like a wet noodle. Honey promptly formulated an idea and returned by his side. “Here’s what we’ll do…”

  Moments later, the brother-sister team put into action her daring plan. With Dirk watching from a distance, Honey sidled into the empty box next to Kolina and her guards. She sat next to the iron-pipe railing separating the two boxes and made certain the two thugs caught not only her eyes, but an eyeful of her figure. She was wearing a fetching afternoon dress by Halston, a simple clinging sheath of emerald jersey, cut low in front, exposing a healthy swell of snowy bosom. Her deep red hair was swept up under a wide-brimmed straw hat, and square-lensed dark glasses covered half her face. After tossing them a disarming smile, she pretended to be absorbed in her racing form, and then looked over to the guard sitting just on the other side of the metal railing. “Excuse me,” she purred in halting French, “but I need some help. Would you be so kind?”

  He indicated that he would be more than happy to oblige, and she leaned across the railing into him, pointing to the confusing statistics in her racing form. Heads bent together as much as her wide-brimmed hat would allow, they computed the chances for her chosen horse to place in the next race. The other guard, on the far side of a bored-looking Kolina, was watching them with obvious jealousy. Honey flashed him a come-hither smile, and he bounced abruptly over to them, kneeling down between them to offer his expert advice. Honey plied her considerable charms on them, brushing a full breast into one, touching the other’s knee with an intimate but innocent gesture. She kept bending forward over her racing form, her breasts spilling out of her tight dress like fresh cream. The two thugs, whose accents told her they were from Marseilles, were so taken by her that she moved into the next phase of her plan.

  Urging them to come with her to place the bet on their mutually chosen horse, Honey managed to get them out of their box. Unfortunately they brought Kolina with them. As Honey walked in front of them, she spotted Dirk, his face hidden in a newspaper. A few steps farther on she glanced casually over her shoulder and spotted him following several paces behind. Upstairs, just before the lines winding out from the betting windows, she approached the first-aid room. With a sudden swoop she latched on to the nearest guard and, giggling suggestively, dragged him into the room. Fortunately it was empty. The startled man put up little resistance, and even less as she pressed him against the wall, rubbing her heavy breasts into him and reaching for his basket of goodies. Before he could blink, she had his dick out in her hands and had sunk to her knees, placing it in her mouth like a babe at its mother’s tit.

  She was just working his member up into a healthy-sized hard-on when the second guard stuck a sour face into the room to see what the hell was going on. He was so surprised to see her sucking away that he stepped into the room to castigate the first guard. Not missing a stroke with her mouth, she reached for the newcomer’s hand and pulled him toward her. In one deft movement she unzipped him and pulled his cock out also. As the two men stared down in pleased astonishment, she began alternating her attention, first sucking on one, then on the other. Back and forth she went, her mouth like a metronome, her hands caressing and tugging and stroking. Their, cocks, like their bodies, were a perfect matched set—thick and stubby. Their short, powerful legs were splayed wide, and their barrel chests were heaving under their tight suitcoats. Each had a sweaty hand jammed down inside her dress, cupping one of her breasts, tweaking and pinching her distended nipples.

  With a burst of air through his squashed nose, the first guard came in her mouth. Immediately, as he pushed his thick dick back into his pants to zip up, she inhaled the second cock, washing it with the semen of the first. This guard, however, was more dedicated to his chosen profession. At once he growled at the first to go check the girl. Honey, realizing that Dirk must have had enough time by then to speak to Kolina alone, did not bother to finish off the second guard. Pretending a coughing fit, she gagged on his cock and, gasping for air, stood, wiping her mouth apologetically. He frowned in disappointment and made a grab for her pussy. She let him have a quick feel before pushing him away. He muttered in French that she was a damned whore and she laughed gaily, hurrying out of the room, losing herself quickly in the milling mob lined up to place bets.

  As planned, she met Dirk in the private lounge reserved for members. “What’d you do in the first-aid room?” he demanded as she reached his table.

  She winked. “That’s irrelevant. Did you get to Kolina?”

  Glumly he nodded and took a healthy swallow of his Scotch and water. “Just as I expected. She is being held against her will. She recognized me at once and ran right to me, begging for help.”

  “Why didn’t you whisk her off right then? I sure as hell gave you enough time.”

  “I was going to, but Bouscaral showed up,” he growled, and downed his drink.

  “Henri’s here? Where?”

  “How the hell should I know? He just appeared and grabbed hold of her and hustled her away. Goddamn, Honey, we were so close to getting her. And now she’s lost again. Maybe this time forever.”

  She patted his shoulder, speaking softly. “Nothing’s forever, Dirk. We’ll find her. And this time we’ll get her away for good.” She pulled him to his feet. “Come on, let’s go thank our host, the Major General, and get back to the hotel. If Bouscaral’s in Hong Kong, he can’t go far, can he?”

  * * *

  They returned to the Shangri-La Hotel in Honey’s rented Bentley limousine, and as Dirk hurried into the phone booth to begin checking with the other five-star hotels, she went to the front desk. “Do you have Henri Bouscaral registered?”

  The polite young man checked his registry. “Yes we do, miss. Are you here for an interview with him?”

  “Well, yes I am,” she said quickly. “Tell me, what is he looking for?”

  “A governess for his niece, I believe. But he’s requested that only French-speaking women apply.”

  “Tres bien. Would you make an appointment for me? My name is Claudine Fortel.”

  Honey did not tell Dirk of the propitious new opportunity until they were upstairs in the double suite of adjoining rooms she had booked earlier for them. As she hurriedly undressed in her bedroom, she shouted through the open doo
r, explaining her new plan, concluding with, “So I’ve got till six tonight to become Claudine.”

  Dirk rushed to the open doorway, obviously upset. “I’m not going to let you do this, Honey. It’s too dangerous. You have no idea what this jerk is like.”

  Dressed only in her French-cut panties, she pawed through her closet of traveling clothes. “I should wear something sedate, shouldn’t I? Don’t want him to think I’m too worldly.”

  “Dammit, Honey,” he railed. “You’re not going through with this.”

  “Don’t be such a pussy,” she teased, and yanked out a black crepe dress with a matching box jacket. “This should do. I doubt he’ll recognize it as an original Yves St. Laurent.”

  He ran to her, jerking her around by the arm to face him. “What about the guards? They’ll recognize you in a flash.”

  She smiled sweetly. “I plan to dye my hair. What do you think of a seal brown? Or should it be stark black?”

  “Bouscaral is a goddamned pervert,” he shouted. “A kidnapper and a raper of innocent girls. Who knows what else? He’s the Prince of Kink, remember?”

  “I’m perfectly aware of all that,” she said softly. “You’re a sweet thing to worry about me. But don’t, okay? I know what I’m doing. Just think of Kolina. If I can land this job, I’ll be perfectly situated to help her escape.” One arm covering her full white breasts, she kissed him on the lips and brushed back a lock of stubborn hair from his forehead. “It’s too good an opportunity to pass up. It’s our lucky day, Dirk. I won back on lucky number seven the three grand you blew in Shanghai, and you found Kolina again. And now this lucky chance. We’re on a roll, baby, we’re on a roll. Let’s go for it.”

  13.

  HONEY

  Two hours later, Honey had completed the major portion of her physical transformation into Claudine Fortel. In the luxuriously large bathroom of her hotel suite, she had dyed her dark red hair a deep seal brown and, after it had dried, pulled it back tightly off her exquisite face, sweeping its healthy thickness into a flattering French roll, leaving wisply tendrils around her face to soften the severity. As her brows and lashes were naturally a deep auburn, she left them that way and had applied a minimal amount of makeup, a mere hint of cheek blush and a pale lipgloss.

  Standing before the full-length mirrors, still clad only in her pink bikini underwear, she narrowed her eyes and surveyed the results with growing satisfaction. “Goodbye, Honey,” she murmured to her image. “Hello, Claudine.” She was about to dress when she thought of one additional matter—something that would give her away to the more intimate viewer. Slipping off her panties, she scissored away her fiery red bush and then, lathering her entire mons veneris, carefully shaved it as clean as a baby’s. Satisfied that there was little else that hinted at her former self—except her voluptuous figure—she struggled into a brassiere two sizes too small, pushing and mashing her full breasts into the uncomfortable confines.

  A short time later she emerged fully dressed and fully transformed, a pair of hastily purchased black-rimmed glasses adding the final schoolmarmish touch. Smoothing the trim skirt of the sedate black crepe dress, she walked primly into Dirk’s adjoining suite and waited silently for him to turn away from the window. She cleared her throat to attract his attention and he swung to her, his eyes growing wide with disbelief. “My God…” he sputtered.

  “No… mon Dieu,” she replied with a half smile. Gracefully she pirouetted for him and with amusement watched the color return to his amazed face.

  “I… I can’t believe it,” he muttered finally, shaking his head.

  “Tres, tres bien,” she replied, even her voice taking on another quality, more reserved, less confident. “If it meets your approval, I’ll be off. Claudine/Fortel has a most important interview in less than ten minutes.”

  “What if he checks your passport?” he demanded suddenly.

  “I’m leaving all my ID here. A terrible misfortune, losing it all, is it not? I just can’t imagine what happened to it—one minute it was in my purse, the next it had disappeared. Thieves, perhaps?” Honey smiled knowingly and started for the door.

  “Wait,” Dirk said urgently, and moved to her. “I still don’t like the smell of all this. You are putting yourself needlessly into danger.”

  She paused, one hand on the hall doorknob. “Dirk, relax. It’s all part of the game, no? I didn’t graduate summa cum laude from Wellesley for nothing. Smarts I have. Now if our luck holds, we’ll have Kolina away from him before dawn.” She stood on her tiptoes and bussed him lightly on the lips. “I love you.”

  “Damn, I wish I could go with you,” he said sourly.

  She laughed. “You he’d recognize for sure. Now stop stewing. I’ll be fine. I’ll be back as soon as I know anything.” She blew him a kiss, opened the door, and stepped out.

  In the elevator on her way to the top floor of the grand old hotel, Honey herself had a brief moment of concern, but then brushed it aside; there would be no way for Bouscaral to know that the false-bearded face he had glimpsed in the Convent of the Sisters of the Moon was indeed the same as Claudine Fortel.

  Her knock on the penthouse door was answered by one of the bodyguards she’d serviced in the Jockey Club’s first-aid room. Introducing herself with the bogus name, she surveyed his face, trying to determine whether he suspected anything. Other than an approving leer as he gave her the once-over, there was nothing to indicate that he was onto her disguise. He ushered her into the sitting room of the huge suite and told her to wait, before disappearing through an inner door. Moments later he reappeared and told her Monsieur Bouscaral would see her now.

  Sedately she walked into the master bedroom and stopped. Henri Bouscaral turned to face her. Tall, thin, elegantly dressed in a black velvet suit, he was disgustingly handsome in an almost sinister way—neatly trimmed black mustache, carefully coiffed but thinning hair, steely black eyes that studied her in a coldly detached manner. No smile of welcome, no greeting to set her at ease, just a frozen mask of decadence. At once he began questioning her in French: Where was she from? Did she have any immediate family? Where was she educated? Had she ever taught before? What was she doing in Hong Kong? Was she free to travel?

  To all these questions and more, Honey replied in fluent, flawless French, supplying answers that were close enough to the truth, yet artfully concealed her background. She said she was the only child born to now-deceased French parents in the United States, reared and schooled in Switzerland, that she had taught for several years at a private girls’ school in Canada and that she had come to the Orient to broaden her horizons. Bouscaral observed her carefully through half-lidded eyes, offering no encouragement, nothing but a coldness that bordered on the sinister. She inquired about the salary, the duties she would be expected to perform, and who her pupil would be.

  To this he replied, “The daughter of my brother who died last year in Africa.”

  “How unfortunate,” she said in French, with a sad bow of her head. “Will you be staying in Hong Kong for a while?”

  “No,” he said abruptly and picked up the phone receiver. In rapid English he asked the front desk to have his bill drawn up, and then hung up, returning his steely gaze to her. “The position is yours.”

  “Merci,” she said, and silently congratulated herself on a successful subterfuge. “When do I begin?”

  “Immediately. We leave at once.”

  “Leave?” she asked in surprise. “For where?”

  “That is none of your business.”

  She hesitated, stalling for time. “I must return to my room for my things.”

  “That will not be necessary,” he replied sharply. “I will furnish all you need.”

  “But that is impossible,” she protested. “I have many—”

  “If you desire this position,” he interrupted sharply, “you must do everything I say, without comment. Is that understood? I will not tolerate disobedience.”

  “But my personal belongings�
��”

  “I will have them sent to our next destination.” Abruptly he turned and threw open the door, calling to one of his men for the bags to be carried down.

  Within all too short a time, Honey found herself being hustled out of the hotel by a rear entrance and into one of the several chauffeured Rolls limousines parked with motors idling. With a guard on either side of her, she was able to catch only a glimpse of Kolina slipping into the front limo along with Bouscaral. With one last, regretful look back at the Shangri-La Hotel, Honey was whisked away. Their departure had been so swift, she had not had a moment alone to notify Dirk of the sudden turn of events. A clammy uncertainty gripped her.

  At the Hong Kong International Airport, she was placed aboard Bouscaral’s private Learjet in a rear compartment with the guards, isolated completely from Kolina, up front with the decidedly decadent Frenchman. The jet took off with a powerful whine of its twin engines, and soon the city’s lights had faded far behind them.

  The flight was long, with several fuel stops along the way. Throughout, Honey sat between the two guards, who dozed on and off and, when they were awake, rarely spoke to her or acknowledged her presence. Occasionally she would drift off to sleep, only to wake with a pounding heart. Once one of the guards tried to fondle her and she had to put him in his place by threatening to report him to his employer. That threat seemed to work, for the other guard roundly berated him for taking liberties. Thus a silent, tense truce was formed, and she refused to speak with either of them after that.

  Then, just as dawn was spreading its glorious colors in the east, the Learjet landed on a green island of moderate size. There she was placed in still another limousine with the two guards. Their limo followed Bouscaral’s through the quaint town, and at once she recognized the place as Papeete, Tahiti.