The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey dah-1

by Roland Deforrest

“By stripping at once.”

  Honey, eager to prove her worth, pulled her Pucci dress over her head and stepped out of her heels, displaying her perfectly formed breasts with a bold grin. “What next?”

  As if surprised at the suddenness with which her request had been met, Madame Nadezlida Filaretovna stared at the flawless body before her. Her eyes widened with wonderment in the mask holes, and a stubby pink tongue ran over her thick lips. Slowly, deliberately, she made a complete tour around Honey and returned to face her with a pleased grin. “What a pretty package you are, my sweet. A welcome addition to any house. Follow me.”

  Knees quaking with anticipation, Honey managed to move after the heavy body crammed into the tight corset. Nadez touched a concealed release in the gold-flocked wall, and a hidden panel slide back noiselessly, revealing a narrow passage. The big woman squeezed into the opening, and Honey followed. At once the panel closed behind them. A flight of stairs led downward, and the farther they descended, the warmer it became. On a lower level, the madame stopped, turned to her captive audience, and pulled a small half-mask over Honey’s face. “This is your first test. Remember, I will be watching your every move.”

  Honey smiled gamely. “I’m looking forward to proving my worthiness.”

  Nadez pushed a spot on the wall and another panel opened. Honey stepped through the doorway and found herself in a steamy communal shower. People were soaping and lathering each other’s bodies, the men’s pricks as hard as the white bars of soap, which were in plentiful supply. Almost immediately, Honey was surrounded by slippery, rubbing bodies. She was sandwiched between two men-one tall, with a rigid cock the size of a good-sized cucumber, the other short but possessing an even larger tool, fat and brown like a potato. The men soaped her ripe body with loving care, not missing a centimeter of her fair skin as they slid their hard members up and down her limbs. Loving the tactile sensation, Honey returned their amorous attentions and, grabbing their cocks, jerked them to an easy climax.

  She eased away from them and, pushing through the wet tangle of human flesh, exited the shower at the far end, to find herself in a warm room whose walls and floor were covered entirely in soft gray carpet. Thick white towels were folded neatly on a bench next to a standing young man whose towel was draped over his stiff pole as if it were hanging from a special wall rack. Playfully she grabbed the towel from his pleasing prick and began drying herself. The masked young man slipped behind her and gently bent her forward over the bench. She gasped with pleasure as she felt his hot, hard meat slip with ease into her still-wet channel. Simultaneously toweling her luxurious locks dry, she pushed back onto his driving dick and felt herself rocketing upward into the fleecy clouds of lustful enjoyment. She placed her hands on the bench and, her breasts swinging beneath her, rode his pounding peter for all she was worth. Soon he creamed into her with such a load that she felt her ditch overflowing. He pulled out and patted her ass with a friendly “Thank you.” She swung upright, still unsatisfied, and wiped the damp towel between her legs.

  The other door leading from the gray-carpeted room brought her into a dimly lit corridor of many doors, each containing a small sign labeling the room behind it, as well as a small window through which one could view a portion of the goings-on. Brimming with curiosity and unfulfilled desires, she made her way down the hall, glancing both at the signs and through the small windows.

  Shaking her head in wonderment, but not as yet inclined to partake of anything she had observed, Honey reached a carpeted staircase and climbed it. At its top she found a large room filled with medieval torture devices. Flickering torches cast a gloomy light over the damp brick walls, revealing a number of naked, heated bodies in various stages of orgasmic delight. One fat man who looked like a judge was laughing loudly while being birched repeatedly by a tiny woman who swung the thin stick with enthusiasm. Another man was being fist-fucked by an aggressive young woman, and still another man had his cock wrapped in leather thongs tied to a revolving wheel, which was pulling him off. The ecstatic grin on his face assured Honey that he too was enjoying the hell out of his “torture.” One woman was hanging from the ceiling by her heels in leather stirrups, and she was blowing a man lying beneath her on a large block of ice. A guy with overdeveloped muscles, like a Greek statue come to life, was beckoning to Honey, his small hard cock bobbing at her.

  Entranced by his welcoming smile as well as his body, she sashayed over to him and he pointed to an oddly designed leather sling chair hanging from the ceiling on slender silver chains. Definitely curious, and remembering that she was being tested by Nadez, Honey clambered into the contraption, which had a hole in it for her ass and vagina to hang down. The cool leather sling was more comfortable than it looked, and she was just adjusting her position when it rose in the air, lifting her upright, her sexual organs swaying in the breeze. Below her on a small table, the body-builder lay on his back, holding his dinky dork upright. Slowly she was lowered over him until she felt his tiny tool enter her wide-open pussy.

  Gradually the sling chair began to swing in a slow circle, revolving her around on the muscleman’s meat. The sensation was so unique, to be floating in the air while being serviced, that she began to feel her labia moistening with joy juice. The guy’s dick may have been small, but it was positioned perfectly; each revolution of her cunt brought his cock in contact with her clitoris, raising the temperature of her pussy to unbelievable heights. Hanging on to the chains holding her sling chair, she swung around and around, feeling dizzy not only from the constant circular motion, but also from the lusts raging in her furnace. Abandoning herself to the absolute bliss of the moment, she threw back her head and hung on, her eyes closing with rapture.

  The intensely pleasurable agony kept building within her, and she longed to be free to jump up and down on his deliciously delicate dork. But she was a captured prize and could only hang on for the duration of the funhouse ride. Each maddening slow revolution inched her closer to climax, and the exquisite sensation soared her higher and higher. Just when she thought she would go insane from the intensity of the experience, she suddenly reached her longed-for goal. Shrieking her relief and delight, she began to come, whirling round and around, flooding the budlike head of the small prick embedded in her.

  She was not released from the confining leather sling until after the muscleman had also climaxed with a healthy spurt. Shaking dizzily, she climbed out of the sporting chair and kissed the man gratefully. She staggered out of the room and walked directly into a large, darkened orgy room carpeted with writhing bodies.

  Drained but still game, Honey piled onto the amorphous mass of flesh and soon felt greedy, wet mouths on every part of her body, as well as exploring fingers and toes. Hard pricks pushed into her soft skin everywhere, and she found new energy coursing through her aroused system. Latching on to the first available pussy, she began eagerly to suck at the tender lips. In no time her liquids were flowing again, and she longed for one of the hardened cocks to be inside her. Almost at once her wish was granted twofold. One shoved into her pulsating pussy, another inched into her anus. A different mouth was chewing on each of her breasts, and her own mouth was eating the tasty cunt hovering over her face. Honey’s sensual circuits were soon overloaded. She felt as if she were one large orifice, filled to overflowing with an immensely enjoyable ardor.

  She had no idea how long she had been indulging her desires, but when she finally managed to extricate herself and stumble out of the room, she caught a glimpse of the rising sun through a leaded-glass window. Sweet exhaustion blanketed her as she showered in still another area. Emerging from the drying area, she was pleased to see a smiling Nadezlida Filaretovna standing like the Rock of Gibraltar before her.

  “My apologies, Miss Wildon, for not trusting you,” the madame said jovially. “You are a true connoisseur of kink. Come with me, please.”

  Bolstered by the praise, Honey followed her down the stairs into a private dressing room, where her own clothes were nea
tly hung. As Honey pulled on her dress, Nadez lit a cigar and puffed thoughtfully. “You ask after Henri Bouscaral,” she began in her thick Russian accent. “What is it you wish to know?”

  “Merely where I might find him,” Honey said breathlessly. “I only want to help the girl, not bring any harm to him.”

  Nadez nodded silently and blew a ring of smoke in her direction. “I have no idea where the Prince of Kink is. But perhaps I can tell you where you might eventually find him. There are two things I know he has on his schedule of worldwide pursuits, two areas he has often mentioned that he would like to experience.”

  “Any clue would be a help, Nadez.”

  “The first is a trio of Chinese acrobats in Shanghai, a set of triplets widely known for their sexual athletics. I only know them by name-the Mee-Lan triplets.”

  Honey quickly made a mental note and stepped into her heels. “And the second possibility?”

  “Henri often said he wanted to partake of this year’s debauching of the Sisters of the Moon,” the madame replied. “A strange order of nuns whose convent is in the mountains outside of Sofia, Bulgaria.”

  “When does this debauching take place?”

  “Every ten years, on the first full moon of May.”

  “Why, that’s in less than a week,” Honey exclaimed, and spontaneously kissed a plump cheek of the Queen of Kink. “Thank you, Nadez. I thoroughly enjoyed my evening at your establishment.”

  The mountain of womanhood laughed heartily. “That was most obvious. I never saw a newcomer get into the swing of things with so much enthusiasm. Please, come again. You are welcome anytime, my beauty.”

  10

  HONEY

  Nervously she patted her cheeks, making certain the false beard and mustache were firmly in place. Hiking up the belly pad that helped transform her decidedly feminine body into a closer facsimile of a man’s, Honey joined the line of men on the rocky path. The chartered bus from Sofia had just dropped them off at the end of the state road. Now the rest of the journey was to be on foot. As the winding path was steep and treacherous, Honey was glad she’d been able to locate a pair of sturdy walking shoes in her size.

  The boisterous pilgrims soon quieted down as the trek up the heavily wooded mountainside became more arduous. Soon they were strung out single file, with Honey laboring near the tail end, just in front of the more elderly men. She was dressed in baggy old clothes she’d purchased that very morning in Bulgaria’s capitol city of Sofia: a large checked sports coat worn over a garishly patterned Hawaiian shirt and plaid wool pants. On her head she wore a floppy slouch hat, her hair tied up with a scarf under the short-cut, scraggly brown wig. Spirit gum held the itchy full beard and mustache in place. Thus far her odd disguise had drawn little attention, and she’d been readily accepted by the stalwart group of men as merely another sexually curious male.

  Much to her disappointment, she had yet to see Henri Bouscaral among the long line of men. She had studied Dirk’s Portuguese photos carefully, in hopes that she would be able to spot Henri on this strenuous journey to the Convent of the Sisters of the Moon. But there were so many busloads of men trailing up the path to the remote location that she had yet to see anyone bearing even a remote resemblance to the world collector of sexual oddities. Undaunted, however, she forged up the path, intrigued by what lay ahead and determined to find the man who most likely had Kolina under lock and key.

  Before leaving Paris for this hasty journey, Honey had quickly researched the convent, of which she’d never heard until Nadez’s brief mention. Not even Disa, with all her knowledge and experience in worldwide sexual matters, had been aware that such a place existed. Founded in the seventh century, the Convent of the Sisters of the Moon was the last enclave of fervent believers in its particular sect. Even ten years since 1584, the sisters honored the memory of their own who had been repeatedly gang-raped by marauding Turkish soldiers. On every tenth anniversary of the event, the gates of the isolated convent were thrown open for one twelve-hour period, and any man who so desired could enter to have his way with the nuns. As the unpublicized event was held only once every decade, and as the convent was located high up in the remote mountains near the Valley of Roses, and as Bulgaria, which obviously did not promote or condone such atavistic customs, was locked deep behind the Iron Curtain, few had ever heard of the strange custom. But enough had, Honey now assessed, for the long line of men who had come from all over the world stretched far out of sight before her.

  The sun was setting behind the mountain range by the time Honey wearily reached the imposing stone walls of the ancient convent. Perched on the edge of a craggy cliff, they rose above her like a medieval fortress. At the base before the closed wooden gates, the men sank to the hard earth to muster their strength for the more athletic activities ahead. The itching of her false beard was driving her to distraction, and her leg muscles ached from the long climb, but she forced herself to move slowly down the line of expectantly waiting men. Walking as masculinely as possible in front of them, she kept her hands folded across the large padded belly, hoping that her breasts could not be detected in all the loose clothing. Carefully she searched for a single familiar face.

  The men were of all ages and all nationalities; some were well dressed, others poorly, some had brought hampers of food and wine, others stared longingly as if they hadn’t eaten in weeks. But in all of them she discerned one similar trait: a certain randiness that brightened their eyes, making them all look like schoolboys playing hooky in hopes of a little nooky. And still she did not spy Henri Bouscaral.

  As more men were straggling up the path, she turned her attention to them and sat with her back to a large rock, grateful for the respite from the rigorous trek. Again she wondered at the wisdom of Dirk’s going to China in search of the infamous Mee-Lan triplets while she came to this desolate but picturesque part of the world. But time was of the essence, and if they were to help Kolina, one of them had to make the trip to this convent so far off the beaten track. The luck of the draw had made it Honey, and now she debated how to enter into the fast-approaching rape of the Sisters of the Moon. If the Prince of Kink was in the vicinity, she would find him, regardless of what might lie behind towering walls. Over the rim of a distant mountain the full moon began to ascend in the ever-darkening sky, like a mammoth, glowing breast poking out over a blanket.

  A mournful bell began to toll the hour-six o’clock. The men began scrambling to their feet, pushing and shoving to be the first at the gates. Before the last stroke of the bell had faded into the surrounding, tree-shrouded hills, a small door in the tall wooden gates opened and out stepped a stately, maternal-looking woman robed all in white, her head covered by a strangely shaped hood. She raised her hands for silence and waited almost sternly until the men stopped their multilingual jabberings. Only then did she proceed to read in Bulgarian, her voice loud and firm, from a yellowed parchment scroll.

  A distinguished-looking gentleman near Honey whispered in English to no one in particular, “What’s she saying?”

  Another man, whom Honey could not see, responded, “She’s blessed us, and is now reading the rules for the evening.”

  “Rules?” another man grumbled under his breath. “No one told me of rules. I thought everything inside was fair game.”

  Still a third man, old but lively, piped up in broken English, as if he were an old hand at the coming attractions, “You sign your name in your own blood and must agree to fuck at least ten of the nuns in the twelve hours before sunup. Before you can leave, they count your beads.”

  “What beads?” the man nearest Honey growled.

  “One rape, one bead. The raped nun gives you a rosary bead,” the old know-it-all said proudly. “You must have ten beads to get out. Otherwise they lock the gates on you. A decade ago, I lost a friend in there for months and months. When they let him go, his cock had been split open.”

  At once Honey felt trapped. Her hasty research had turned up nothing about being fo
rced to rape the nuns, let alone ten of them. If it had not been for the press of men around her, she would have turned to leave right then. But as it was, before she could squeeze away, the gates were flung open and with a raucous, lusty roar, the stampede was on. Honey was swept forward in the rush to get inside.

  Once beyond the gates, the line re-formed as men laboriously signed the agreement, puncturing a thumb with a sharp quill and using their own blood as ink for their signatures. Honey was about to seize the opportunity to slip away when she thought she spotted Henri Bouscaral just leaving the signing booths and running into the inner courtyard, from where already she could hear the enraged and terrified screams of the attacked nuns. Not wanting to lose him, she stood her ground, moving up to the wooden table that held the bloody list of names. When it came her turn, she pricked her thumb without so much as a wince and signed Dirk’s name with a bold flourish.

  Like the other men before her, as soon as she’d signed the document, she bolted toward the arched doorway leading to the inner reaches. Once there, Honey pulled up in astonishment. The rough stone pavement was littered with nude women who looked even more naked because of their totally shaved heads. They were being attacked, raped, and skewered with surprising authenticity and fervor. She noticed that the Sisters of the Moon were primarily young peasant women, their bodies on the heavy side, with ponderously full breasts and meaty thighs. Though this once-a-decade event had been booked for centuries, the young nuns were kicking and clawing, screaming and shrieking like stuck pigs-as if the very Turkish soldiers of yore had returned to defile their sacred order.

  Honey felt extremely uncomfortable, standing there watching. But then she noted something that abruptly changed her attitude. One of the hefty young nuns who, only moments before, had been one of the loudest and toughest resisters, upon the completion of the sexual attack suddenly became as docile and as affectionate as a lamb. She was kissing and stroking her attacker with obvious gratitude, her face radiant with a beatific glow. Almost reluctantly the sweaty, besmirched nun handed over a single bead from the small leather pouch tied around her neck, and waved a sad farewell. At once she was leapt upon by another randy attacker, his hard cock flailing at her like an angry eel. The young nun began to scream shrilly, putting forth a valiant effort to hold him at bay.