The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey dah-1

by Roland Deforrest

  Though neither one of the twin dicks was large by itself, her pussy was stretched to its limits by the two together. Through half-lidded eyes, she could see that Kolina had ceased her caterwauling and had risen up on one elbow, her cries forgotten as she watched Honey’s amazing performance. Bouscaral’s mouth hung open in amazement. The old man wheezed and whimpered happily while Honey rode up and down on the matched pair in wild abandon.

  Beneath her, the old man reached up his bony fingers and pinched her dusky-rose nipples. His toothless, withered face leered up at her like that of a deliriously happy child as she impaled herself repeatedly on his unusual organs.

  Honey felt her own climax approaching, and at the last moment she raised herself off the double helping of meat and turned herself sideways to reach behind and beneath her. Grabbing one stiff pecker, she rammed it up her anus, while, with the other hand, she jammed the other one into her dripping honeypot. The double entry did the deed. Moaning and quivering, she rode the two-headed oddity to an extremely satisfactory climax, while the old geezer, giggling inanely, let loose with his own double-barreled blast.

  Weakly, Honey rolled off the old man and collapsed on the rug, her whole luscious frame shaking with sensual vibrations. She cast a glance at Bouscaral, who gaped as if seeing her with new eyes. Kolina, however, pouted, obviously disapproving of the entire episode, and bounced off the bed, grabbing her nightgown and fleeing from the stateroom. Honey wanted to run after her, but Henri appeared to have other plans. For the first time since she had been in his employ, he revealed his drawn sword to her. Long and sleek, it rose from between his legs like a lethal weapon.

  Honey rose to her feet and, stepping over the recumbent form of the elderly native, swept up her robe. Pulling it on, she smiled sweetly. “Merci, Monsieur Bouscaral,” she murmured. “Forgive me for intruding upon your playtime.” She started for the door, the very epitome of decorum.

  “Wait,” Henri barked, and kicked a lazy foot out at the old man. The ancient debauchee scrambled up and, grinning thankfully at Honey, hobbled out the door, clucking happily in his native tongue. Bouscaral waited until the door was closed before patting the bed beside him. “Come here, Mademoiselle Fortel,” he said quietly.

  She hesitated. There was something out of the ordinary in his manner. The sharp planes of his decadently handsome face were filmed with a light layer of sweat, and the way he smoothed the edges of his trim black mustache gave her pause. His streamlined organ had not drooped a centimeter, and pointed at her like a knife.

  Pretending embarrassment, she cinched the robe’s sash tighter. “Monsieur Bouscaral,” she began formally, “I think it is not wise for us to… to become involved on a personal level while I am working for you. It has been my experience that-”

  “Fuck your experience,” he said. “You have deceived me.”

  Genuine alarm flooded her system, and a warning bell of caution sounded in her ears. “Deceived?” she repeated innocently. “I do not know what you mean, Monsieur Bouscaral.”

  He smiled wickedly. “All this time you have worked for me, I had no idea you were so sexual. Why have you hidden it for so long?”

  She bowed her head, blushing effectively. “I did not want you to find me a poor influence on Kolina.”

  “Au contraire,” he replied, one of his jet-black eyebrows arching upward. “She likes you so much, she might have loosened up a bit by seeing your example.”

  “She is very young, Monsieur.”

  “Nonsense. She’s a nymphet. Been screwing since she was twelve.” He paused, looking down at his hard root. “Did she tell you how she threw herself on me when we first met? She begged me to screw her. And after I did, she pleaded with me to take her away from her school. Did she tell you that?”

  “A schoolgirl crush, perhaps? Very understandable. You are so generous and handsome. A fantasy come true for any girl.”

  He eyed her appreciatively. “You have good taste.”

  “Alas,” she sighed, “what has it gotten me? Very, very little.”

  “What do you want that you do not have?”

  She managed a small smile, wistful, longing. “So very much.”

  “Perhaps I could help. If you are nice to me.” The implications of his statement hung heavy in the air.

  She held his gaze. “As long as you have the girl, you do not need me,” she said.

  “A man can have an appetite for many dishes.”

  “True, I suppose. But I would not feel right with the girl around.”

  “You want me to get rid of Kolina, is that it?”

  “I do not want you to do anything you do not want.”

  Bouscaral scowled, and his slim, sleek cock began to twitch like a divining rod. Honey decided not to press her luck too far. With a slight tilt of her head, she offered demurely, “Now if you will excuse me, I will retire to my cabin for the night.”

  “Dammit,” he grumbled, grabbing his hard organ in both hands as if strangling a poisonous snake. “I want to fuck you. Now!”

  Raising her head stiffly, she replied, “I am flattered, to be sure. But I will not play second fiddle to the girl. Bonne nuit.” She turned and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

  Going to Kolina’s cabin, she tapped lightly on the door. “It’s Claudine,” she said softly.

  “Go away,” came the girl’s sullen reply.

  “Please, I need to talk with you. It’s important.”

  It took a while, but finally the lovely blonde girl threw open the door. She was nude and pale, and she immediately returned to her bed and crawled under the covers. Honey closed the door and crossed to sit on the edge of the bed. “Please, Kolina,” she began, “why are you angry at me?” A small smile touched at the corners of her lips. “Were you jealous?”

  “Don’t be absurd!”

  “Then why were you carrying on like that in there?”

  Kolina’s lower lip began to tremble. “The old man frightened me.”

  Honey reached out with a gentle hand and brushed back a lock of the girl’s white-blonde hair. “Poor baby…”

  “Henri used to be so much fun,” Kolina muttered, then broke down completely, weeping into the covers. “I used to love him so desperately.”

  Honey pulled her into her arms, patting her back, kissing her tear-streaked face.

  Sobbing, Kolina clutched her French teacher, crying, “Oh, Claudine, I love you so. Promise me you’ll not leave me.”

  “I promise I will not leave you,” Honey reassured her. “Not until we are out of Henri’s sphere of influence and you are happily on your own again.”

  That only made the girl weep harder, gushing great quantities of tears on Honey’s shoulder. “Oh, we’ll never be free. Never!” she cried.

  Honey took the girl’s shoulders firmly and pushed her away to arm’s length. “I will not let you even talk like that, understand? We will escape, be assured of that. You must trust me. You do, don’t you?”

  “Yes, yes,” the girl whimpered.

  “I swear this all will be over soon.”

  Tenderly she kissed the girl’s sweet lips, sealing her vow, and prepared to stand. But Kolina, clinging to her desperately, would not let her rise. “Don’t go, Claudine. Please. Stay the night. Please?”

  The invitation was so tempting, Honey felt her resolve wavering. The girl’s bare breasts poked fetchingly above the covers, round as two peas in a pod. Honey bent forward and kissed each one directly on the tip of its tempting pink nipple. “I cannot tonight,” she breathed into them.

  “But why?”

  “Because tonight I must persuade Henri to set you free.”

  “But how?”

  Honey managed to stand, smiling oddly. “That, my darling, is my secret. Now you sleep, my pet.” She kissed her again on the lips. “Sweet dreams.” Before the dear girl could protest any further, Honey slipped out of the cabin.

  The tropical rainstorm had ceased as abruptly as it had begun. Once again the
night skies were clear and the moon shone brigthly, casting a pale glow on the dense vegetation lining the banks, and on the slowly moving surface of the broad river. The engines of the huge yacht were silent, and yet the luxurious craft moved steadily, drifting in the center of the Amazon, following its natural flow toward the Atlantic, over a thousand miles away. From the jungle, exotic cries of parrots and other strange birds called into the darkness, adding a lonesome eeriness to the unfolding scene.

  On the upper deck, Honey marshalled her strength for the task ahead of her. Squaring her shoulders, she moved from the rail toward Bouscaral’s cabin.

  He answered her knock wearing a robe of antique maroon velvet, and stared coldly down his sharp nose. “What do you want?”

  “You,” she said simply.

  “You are too late,” he said, and started to close the door.

  She caught it with a hand and pushed past it into the spacious cabin. “I think not,” she replied coyly, and started undoing the belt of her robe. Slowly she parted her robe, revealing her awesome breasts. “I apologize sincerely for my previous behavior. May not a woman change her mind?” Like a goddess unveiling, she dropped the robe to the carpet and stood mutely. He drank in her statuesque figure like a man long denied. Not taking his eyes from her magnificent breasts, he closed the door and moved to her. Abruptly he grabbed her in his arms and crushed his mouth to hers, his hard prong underneath the velvet colliding with her belly like a soft fist.

  She did not struggle or protest, but merely allowed him to continue his kiss without offering any encouragement or exchange of feelings. Her passivity increased his fervor. “You beautiful cunt,” he gasped into her neck. “Suck me.”

  Silently she slipped to her knees and opened his velvet robe. His erect member bounced out at her face, its hard sleekness a direct extension of his cold, brittle personality. Taking it in both hands, she caressed its length, as if admiring its beauty. It twitched expectantly in her hands and a drop of seminal fluid oozed from the slit in the blood-red cap. With the tip of her tongue she licked the drop away, tasting its sticky saltiness, then teased the small opening.

  He tore the velvet dressing robe from his thin frame, tossing it in a corner. Twining his fingers in her thick hair, he jerked her head forward over the end of his prick, ramming it deep down her throat. Fighting the gagging reflex, she relaxed those muscles, allowing his full length to enter fully. She coated his slender prick with a thick covering of saliva, running her tongue again and again along the hard bulges. With increasing urgency he pumped into her mouth, jamming it in and out, his loosely sacked balls bouncing into her chin. She folded her tongue around his prick, creating a warm, slippery nest. The more she sucked, the hotter she became, and her fingers sought her own nest.

  He whipped his cock out of her mouth and rasped, “On your hands and knees.”

  Obediently she fell onto her hands and he walked behind her, pulled her full hips towards him, and sank his dagger to the limit in her wet pussy. He fell onto her back, and clutching her around the waist with both arms, he began to plunge in and out with alarming speed. Trying to keep upright under his weight, she braced herself on her arms and wiggled her butt into his lap, adding a new twist to his frenetic screwing. It did not take long for her to understand Kolina’s fascination with him. Bouscaral was a champion.

  His hands clutched at her heavy, swinging breasts and his deeply buried prick battered into the walls of her canal, adding immeasurably to her pleasure. Reluctantly she had to hand it to the Prince of Kink-he surely knew how to fuck.

  Abruptly his cock vanished from its burial place; he had pulled out and now was ordering her to lie on her side. She did as requested and he lay down facing her, taking her top leg below the knee and flinging it high up in the air, holding it there, forcing her ever wider. Immediately he plunged into her love channel again, and set about his hurried but skillful plundering. With growing heat, she began to meet his every move, her dislike of the man fast disappearing under his expert ministrations.

  Bouscaral took her in a variety of positions. To each she responded with the same enthusiasm, her own sexual gymnastics increasing his ardor. Like a man possessed, he attempted to top her, to get the best of her. But she refused to give in. An inhuman growling rose from her lips, her breathing became labored, and still she demanded more.

  When at last his energy began to flag and his movements slowed, she prodded him on, raking his back with her long nails. Wrapping her long legs around his trim waist, she bucked, twisted, and kicked, screams of unfulfilled lust raging from her lips.

  On into the night they fucked and fought, each refusing to come before the other. Finally, with a concerted effort, Honey threw him over on his back and sat on his exhausted pecker. Placing her hands flat on his hairless chest, she arched her back and cried, “Fuck me, you fool. Fuck me!”

  Inspired by her pleas, he threw himself into one last round of energetic pumping and promptly, with a cry of anguish, he came furiously, far up inside her. A grin of victory flashed across her aroused face, and she lowered her heavy breasts to his heaving chest, climaxing with a great shout of triumph.

  After a moment she climbed off him and he rose and staggered to the bar in his room. “I’ve never had a woman outlast me,” he grumbled as he poured himself a snifter of Courvoisier. Swirling the amber contents, he sank into an easy chair and proceeded to toss the brandy down in one gulp.

  “But did I not please you?” she persisted pleasantly.

  “What is pleasure?” he asked boyishly. “One person’s pleasure is another person’s pain.”

  “Not necessarily,” she purred and slipped out of bed, padding to his chair. Kneeling before him, she looked up at him in total humility, her deep blue eyes filled with worshipful longing. “You are the very best I’ve ever had. I would do anything-anything-to be allowed to be only your property for as long as you desire me.”

  He contemplated her with a brightening expression, his black eyes sparkling with aroused interest. “You would do as I say?”

  “Willingly,” she said softly and took one of his hands, kissing the palm. “On one condition. You get rid of that little girl forever.”

  He shrugged helplessly. “I’m hooked on her. If I don’t get my daily fix of her, I’m certain I will go mad. The more she rejects me, the more I want her. It used to be the other way around, you know.”

  “If you keep her, you can’t have me.”

  He stared down, his face tense. “You force me to choose between you?”

  “I’m not forcing you to do anything,” Honey said. “But I know one thing for certain. If she stays, I go. I will not compete with her for your attention.”

  His shoulders rose and fell as he sighed, “I will hate to lose your fine talent, but I have no recourse. Kolina is the very core of my life.

  “Your services are no longer required,” he said, almost apologetically. “Things were better before you showed up. I will see that you are dropped off at our next destination. Now, please, leave me alone.”

  She hesitated, wanting to plead, to change his mind. But it was as though she had already left and he was alone. Feeling she had failed in her mission, she moved heavily from his cabin and into the bright moonlight.

  17

  HONEY

  Bouscaral’s Learjet landed in the dead of night on an airstrip deep in the Pacific, but Honey was not told where. Emerging from the rear passenger compartment, she blinked at the mist-shrouded, desolate airport, and with a rapidly sinking heart she recognized where Bouscaral was going to dump her-on the isolated archipelago of the Galapagos Islands, straddling the Equator, six hundred miles off Ecuador.

  Before she could even protest to Bouscaral, who refused to come near her, the guards whisked her into a jeep, and a convoy of several vehicles roared across tiny Baltra Island to the westernmost shore. There she was hustled into the second of three native boats Bouscaral had rented. Once used for fishing, the boats were now available for the mo
re lucrative transportation of tourists to any one of the nineteen islands and forty-two islets. As the large craft putted away from the rocky, barren coast, she caught a glimpse of Kolina in the first boat up ahead and felt a sharp pang of remorse. Ever since her wild sexual encounter with the Prince of Kink, he had kept Honey far away from the sweetly beautiful girl, not even allowing a single French lesson.

  As the sun crept higher into the sky, Honey stood in the bow of the boat, the wind whipping her hair, the fine spray of salt water misting her face. She scanned the slate-gray ocean dotted with absurdly tiny and rocky volcanic islands, trying to discern why Bouscaral had come to this impossible remote section of the world. What thrill could be found within these primitive piles of rock? Surely he must have chosen the locale not for any available sexual kicks, but only because he wanted to dump her quietly, raising no suspicions or inquiries by authorities.

  She was all too aware how easily he would be able to achieve this goal. Any of the miniscule outer islands were totally unpopulated, reachable only by hired fishing boat. Bouscaral’s accompanying entourage was so large, including four women, who would notice one missing on the return voyage? Money closes many eyes, as she knew all too well.

  By the time the three fishing boats anchored in a small inlet of one of the smaller islets, the sun was high overhead, blasting down waves of intense heat. A crew had arrived earlier to set up a large tent compound on the only flat space on the entire rough-hewn rocks. Upon landing, she joined the scramble for the protection of large awnings to escape the searing heat of the sun. She chose the one under which Kolina had scurried, but she was forcibly removed. One guard firmly latched on to each of her arms, marching her to a small tent up against the cliffs, the farthest away from the master’s tent. She was shoved inside the sweltering interior and Tweedledee sat not far away under an outcropping of rock, keeping the front of her tent in constant view.