The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey

by Roland Deforrest

  Timing the swing of her tantalizing hips to the rising rhythm of the music, Barbro plucked the pink hibiscus from her hair and incorporated it in her magnetically riveting dance. With one hand she held it in the deep valley between her large breasts, where it bloomed like a third nipple. Slipping to the deck of the veranda, she knelt, leaning back, shimmeying her hips until her blonde head touched the floor. Her transparent sarong barely covered her taut thighs and emphasized the bushy mound between her legs. Her stomach fluttered, rising and falling like a storm-tossed sea, adding to the erotic allure of her talented offering.

  Dirk held the tall, ice-filled glass in his lap, cooling down his persistent boner, which it seemed he had possessed ever since arriving back in his favorite retreat with this sensuous, giving woman. He wore only ragged cut off jeans—his usual beach attire—and his lean frame was burned rosy pink from the golden afternoon spent snorkeling and lying in the hot sun. His whole body tingled with heat, and the cool drink in his lap did little to dissuade his insistent bird.

  Her undulating belly, as she rose again in a glissando, beckoned to him provocatively. She tugged open the knot of her patterned sarong and, with her back to him, took the ends of the sheer scarf and opened her arms wide, the colorful material creating a swath of dancing butterflies across her broad tempting ass. She swung to face him, her trunk swaying like the tall palms encircling the beach house, her breasts like large pale coconuts. She thrust her pelvis at him as the pounding beat drove her to a more frantic pace. Her bare pussy flashed like rose petals fringed by soft blonde grass, a tropical garden of earthly delights ready to be deflowered.

  He was so concentrating on her performing pussy that he was startled to glance up and note the tears filling her eyes, seeping from under her long lashes. Her fluid steps faltered and her dance ground to a halt. With barely controlled emotion she stood panting before him, her full, ripe breasts pumping like bellows. Imploringly she searched his eyes, then spun, dropping her veil completely as she ran inside the open French doors.

  He rose to follow, spilling his drink, not caring, only wanting to comfort and hold her. He found her in his bedroom, her voluptuous nude body flung face down across the king-sized waterbed, weeping profusely into her arms. He stretched out beside her, turning her over, into him, taking her exquisite face in his hands, kissing her tenderly, murmuring, “Please don’t cry. It’ll all work out. You’ll see…”

  “We don’t even know for certain they’re alive,” she wailed.

  “No, we don’t,” he replied gravely. “All we can do is hang on and pray.”

  “Dammit,” she cried, “I’ve been doing just that for weeks and weeks.” She clung to him like a life raft in the open sea. “I’m sorry,” she groaned, trying to stifle her sobs. “It just gets worse, doesn’t it? The time gets heavier. The tension becomes unbearable. I can’t even find joy in my dancing anymore, always remembering why we’re here. And that we can’t do anything to help them.”

  He kissed her pert nose, which, above all of her astounding physical attributes, reminded him of her young sister’s. Her soft, pliant breasts mashed into his bare chest and he fought the desire that rose like an express elevator inside his chest. She wrapped her long arms around him, her breath quickening, and returned his kisses with increasing passion. His bird of paradise poked insistently into her creamy belly, struggling to be free of the confining cutoffs. Deftly her hands slid down his front and she unbuttoned his shorts. At once his stiff bird fluttered out and into her warm palm. Almost absently she began pumping on it, and his fingers sought out the moist folds of her pussy. Probing deeply, he brought a gasp from her and she opened her thighs wider, granting him freer access to her buried treasures.

  He was just about to ease into her when a female voice called out from the living room, “Hello, hello, anyone home?”

  “Honey!” he croaked in surprise and bounded from the waterbed, leaving Barbro riding the resulting waves by herself. He trotted into the large green and white main room full of white wicker furniture, and pulled up in joyous disbelief.

  Coming to him with open arms, his sister, dressed in baggy white sailors fatigues, glanced at his free-flying bird and stopped short, a smile tweaking her mouth. “My, my, my,” she teased. “Caught you in the act, eh?”

  Behind her, Kolina, also attired in the strange naval attire, whirled to look out the open front doors, a becoming blush coloring her magical face. Embarrassed, he stuffed his fast-dwindling pecker back into his cutoff’s and rushed to embrace Honey, sweeping her into his arms. “How’d you get away? What happened? Was there any trouble?” he asked in quick succession, his heart overflowing with love and relief.

  “Kolina!” squealed Barbro behind him, as she dashed into the room, tugging on his short bathrobe. “My darling sister, you’re free!” The two sisters ran into each other’s arms, shouts of joy and tears of unmitigated happiness flowing freely.

  The unexpected reunion of the two sets of siblings was a confusing jumble of hurried explanations and expressions of love and devotion. Even Dirk found himself teary-eyed, overwhelmed to be in the warm circle of his dear sister’s love once more. Gradually the incredible story of their escape from Galapagos and their subsequent rescue by the Ecuadorian fishermen surfaced to the point of comprehension. Honey and Kolina had been picked up off the fishing boat by an obliging U.S. Navy supply ship—hence their sailors’ garb—and brought to within helicopter distance of Kauai. They had landed on the beach only moments before, and now danced excitedly around the living room, congratulating themselves on their luck and thankfully praising the powers that be for their miraculous escape. Again and again he kissed his sister, not wanting to let her out of his arms.

  When the three women finally retired to the bathroom to shower and change into more appropriate attire, Dirk broke out a special bottle of chilled Lafitte Rothschild champagne, vintage 1928, that he had been saving for just this occasion. Four glasses were poured and ready as the trio of lovelies returned, dressed in brightly flowered, flowing Hawaiian gowns. Ceremoniously he handed them each a full tulip glass and raised his in a toast. “To happy reunions and happy endings,” he intoned solemnly, and sipped, his eyes wandering from happy face to happy face. He felt blessed to be surrounded by such unbelievably beautiful ladies; each was as lovely as the next, and each glowed with a special energy befitting the moment. But the magical Kolina was the one who caught and held his eye. Almost shyly he studied her exquisite beauty, mesmerized all the more by her intoxicating loveliness.

  The bottle of champagne was finished quickly and he popped the cork on another. The high-spirited chatterings and exclamations continued, joined by the Rolling Stones blaring out of the top-of-the-line stereo system. Still more vintage champagne was consumed, along with some sensational home-grown Hawaiian grass, which flourished in a bushy plot beside the secluded, slate-roofed house, and line after line of Dirk’s top-grade coke.

  By the time the sun sank behind the palms, the quartet were as high as kites on a windy March day and they had joined forces to prepare a giant feast of celebration. The freezer was raided for pheasant and squab, the vegetable garden provided greens and yams, the fruit trees were stripped of bananas and mangoes, nectarines and papayas. As Dirk concocted a huge fruit salad, Honey baked the birds and vegetables in the microwave oven, and the two sisters created a fresh strawberry pie topped with mounds of whipped cream.

  The candlelit feast turned out to be as delectable as the company, and they stuffed themselves, laughing, chattering, singing, and drinking more bottles of Rothschild’s champagne. Dirk brought out one of his cameras and began recording the joyous event for posterity. The women’s flushed, relaxed, and breathtakingly lovely faces were a photographer’s fantasy come true, not to mention their alluring bodies, so modestly draped in Honey’s colorful gowns. He longed for them to disrobe so he could really get down to his true forte of nude shots, but he did not press it, knowing that all good things work out according to their
own timing. Besides, he was getting off on the trio’s interreactions, the sisterly way in which all three related to each other, full of love and respect and good-natured kidding, as though they had grown up together. Barbro could not stop touching her younger sister as she hung on her every word and often burst into tears of unadulterated joy.

  As night deepened, stars forming a bright canopy overhead, they trailed outside in the balmy air full of sweet tropical fragrances of gardenia and jasmine. The gentle waves on the beach at their doorstep whispered good tidings and Honey was the first to doff her gown, running like a flash of pale moonlight into the water, laughingly calling the others to join her. Dirk watched in stupefied delight as the Swedish sisters eagerly stripped off their long dresses and, giggling, bounced to the waves, their high, proud breasts jiggling like Jell-O. He did not need a second invitation and immediately dropped his shorts, blissfully unaware that his bird of paradise had taken wing and was jutting out from his groin. Only when he dove into the warm water did he notice the drag of his hard rudder. Groaning at the unexpected tug, he flopped over on his back.

  Laughing hysterically at the sight of his stiff periscope, the ladies splashed and frolicked in the waves, their luscious bodies glistening and sparkling in the dim light reflected from the beach house. He floated near Kolina, and playfully she made a grab for his partially submerged bird. Her fingertips just grazed it before she shrieked with uncontrollable laughter and swam away. He dove under the surface and came up, latching on to her smooth legs, wrestling her to him.

  The touch of her fair skin on his sent him into a state of righteous enjoyment. Willingly she allowed him to explore her body beneath the water. His hands were all over her, not able to get enough as she was constantly wiggling free. He clamped his arms around her waist and dragged her close, digging his stiff peter into her thigh. She chortled and wrapped her legs around his hips, her mouth seeking his. For a delicious long moment they kissed, her tongue raking the inside of his mouth. He grabbed two handfuls of her ass and ground his hips against hers. The head of his panting bird poked like a homing pigeon into her open nest, and she writhed on his lap.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” she whispered into his ear. “If it hadn’t been for you, I would never have met Honey. Or be free of that horrid man.”

  “My pleasure,” he murmured heatedly, and pushed more of his hot member into her. His long-held desire to do exactly what he was now doing overpowered him with its strength. He let his legs drift to the sandy bottom, and standing, trembling, holding her tightly, he sank his shaft deep into her watery vagina. She was as tight as he had imagined, and obviously savored the sensation, for she began bouncing up and down, moaning sweet endearments into his neck.

  The surrounding warm water was like an extension of her womb, and he felt as though he had crawled completely inside her. With her magically beautiful face pressed close to his, her surprisingly large breasts floating between them, brushing and pushing into his chest with their own rhythm, he relished the total sensuality of the moment. He fought to prolong it as long as possible, but his buried bird had a mind of its own. Rapidly it approached its moment of truth, and he bit into the soft flesh of her neck in exquisite agony. “Kolina, Kolina,” he groaned, and pumped faster and faster, rising toward the ultimate goal with incredible speed.

  He came with such force that it blew him off his feet, and they fell into the waves, going completely under as he detonated into her wet warmth. Sputtering, gasping for air, they surfaced, still locked together, and he felt her contractions pushing her own climax. Eyes wide with bliss, she flung her arms over her blonde head and floated on her back, still joined to him, her love channel filling now with her own fluids, her breasts rising from the water like emerging islands.

  Realizing at last that they were not alone, Dirk glanced sheepishly over at the other pair to see if they had noticed the nocturnal activity in the moonlit water. He need not have worried. Honey was so wrapped up in the warm caresses of Barbro that she was enveloped in her own pleasures, completely unaware of everything except the tasty dish in her arms. The sea around them was frothy with their rapid underwater movements. Soon he could hear the unmistakable grunts and groans of a mutual climax and he felt at peace, knowing that his sister was getting hers too.

  The deliciously weary foursome eventually drifted out of the water, across the sand, and up onto the wide veranda to dry themselves and sip more champagne. The night was still, except for the lapping waves that had brought so much enjoyment to all of them. Seeing the three women sprawled so gracefully nude on the wicker fan chairs, Dirk grabbed his camera and began snapping pictures of their wonderfully vibrant bodies. Each one personified perfection in her own way: Honey with her alabaster skin, amazingly full breasts, and a pussy devoid of hair; Barbro with her tightly packed dancer’s form, her wide hips, and enticing, firm thighs; and Kolina with her angelic face and voluptuous woman’s body. Individually each would have been a masterpiece; together they were a surfeit of splendors, and it took considerable concentration on his part to keep his mind on the lens settings for the extremely low available light. He completed a roll of film and urged them softly into the house, where he would have more light. Without a murmur of protest they followed his lead into his bedroom and draped themselves fetchingly on his waterbed.

  Coiled together like three muses, the two genuine blondes and the bogus brunette were a single meshing of languid, relaxed bodies. He slipped a new roll of film into his Nikon F3 and began to snap some extremely hot shots as the fair trio entertained their exclusive photographer, their exaggerated poses and emphasized eroticism growing increasingly more realistic.

  Suddenly a harsh voice broke into their sanctuary. “Bon soir.”

  The ladies screamed as one, and Dirk whirled in astonishment just as Henri Bouscaral marched into the room. “What the fuck?” Dirk growled, and flung himself up off the waterbed. He could hear footsteps approaching from the living room, and fully expected to see Bouscaral’s two henchmen appear in the doorway.

  Instead, a vision of silver-headed loveliness materialized—a mature, exquisitely dressed, and bejeweled woman with a regal, aristocratic bearing. She smiled graciously at the confused tangle of nude flesh on the bed. “Good evening, all. Please forgive our unannounced intrusion upon your festivities. I came as soon as I could.”

  “Madame Bouscaral!” Honey breathed in astonishment, and sat bolt upright, making no attempt to cover her nakedness.

  “Berengere-Marie!” squealed Kolina and darted up, dashing across the room to throw her arms around the older woman.

  In amazement, Dirk stared at the lovely duo, who were embracing like long-lost mother and daughter. Each was so spectacularly beautiful, he had forgotten totally about his own nudity. Suddenly he remembered and grabbed a towel from the floor, wrapping it around his middle. “Would someone introduce us properly?” he asked no one in particular, unable to take his eyes off the older woman.

  Honey bubbled with laughter. “Marquise Berengere-Marie Bouscaral, may I present my brother, Dirk Wildon. Dirk, this is the mother of Yves and Henri.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned. Hello there,” he managed to murmur, and cast a glance at the Frenchman. Henri stood frozen like a statue off to one side, his face an obvious mask of embarrassment and chagrin as he eyed Kolina. Dirk noted that the young woman was deliberately ignoring the man. But it was the older woman who attracted Dirk’s eye, and at once he felt a surge of lustful desire rush through him.

  The Marquise was smiling tantalizingly at him. “Enchanté, Dirk. And Honey, it is such a pleasure to see you again. Even under these rather awkward circumstances.” She turned to Barbro. “You must be Kolina’s sister. She’s told me so much about you, I feel we’ve already met.”

  As Barbro effusively greeted the mature beauty, Honey gathered three sarongs from the closet and tossed one to each of the sisters, pulling on the third herself. With a sad sense of loss, Dirk watched their ripe bodies disappear b
eneath the brightly patterned material. Even Henri seemed disappointed to be deprived of the sight of the beautiful figures. He slumped against the wall and stared at the floor.

  His mother turned to him with a small frown. “Henri,” she began with a trace of vexation, “it is time to follow through on your promise.”

  “Mama,” he mumbled without looking at her, “must I?”

  “But of course,” she insisted. “Now stand straight like a man and speak up.”

  With the aggrieved sigh of a put-upon child, Henri pulled himself upright and sheepishly addressed Kolina. “Forgive me, Kolina. I am truly sorry for what I put you through. I got carried away with my love for you.” Unable to hold her disapproving gaze, he quickly glanced to Honey. “And you too, Mademoiselle. I regret everything.”

  “And me?” Dirk asked sharply, remembering the whizzing bullet in Menorca. “Am I included in this?”

  “Oui, Monsieur,” the Frenchman said contritely. “Please forgive my actions, and those of my overly zealous men. Believe me, I meant only to frighten you away.”

  “Well, you nearly damned well got me—”

  “Dirk,” Honey interrupted. “Henri has expressed his regret and I, for one, believe him and accept his apology. I am certain we owe the Marquise a huge debt of gratitude for bringing about his abrupt change of heart.”

  The Marquise beamed broadly, her strikingly handsome face a beacon of internal light. She reached out and placed a graceful hand on Dirk’s arm.

  His skin prickled at her soft touch, and all resistance melted away as she spoke intimately. “And you, Dirk? Do you forgive my son? I promise I will do anything I can to make up for his ill-mannered behavior.”

  He felt lost in her mesmerizing gray eyes. He fumbled for words, feeling the unmistakable reawakening in his groin. “Yes, of course, I forgive him—providing he does not revert to his former behavior.”