Roland DeForrest - The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey

Still standing by the door, she gathered the skirt of her light green caftan and vigorously pulled it over her head, flinging it aside. Her full figure rose like a classical statue from the plush pile rug. Her alabaster skin glowed like polished ivory, her rounded, full breasts heaving, the bright red triangle between her softly rounded thighs beckoning like a warming bonfire. His eyes bulged at her breathtaking beauty, and his prick grew even harder. “Come here,” he croaked.

“Show me again,” she breathed. “That trick from last night.”

Needing no further encouragement to show off his prowess, he fell forward onto his hands, and pressed straight up into a rigid handstand. He walked toward her on his hands, his lean, brown shaft bouncing out behind him like a stiff rooster tail. Straight to her feet he moved and, opening wide his legs, placed one on either side of her, his feet flat against the closed door, well above her shoulders.

With enormous pleasure she looked down at him from that odd angle. She reached between his legs and leaned over his ass, grabbing his stiffness, pulling it toward her mouth as she bent her knees, lowering her fiery bush to his awaiting, upturned head. As his tongue sliced into the already wet lips of her delta of love, she sucked in the plum-sized head of his engorged dick, tracing its hard under-ridges expertly with her exploring tongue. His own tongue was stiff and jabbed at her clit, raising the temperature of her internal furnace. From her mouth, greedy slurping sounds mingled with moans of pleasure. Her knees and his arms buckled at the same time, and both of them collapsed onto the rug.

Rolling her over on her back, he fell between her upraised knees and, with the dexterity of a natural athlete, plunged his pulsing peter deep into her vessel of warmth. With a deep sigh of contentment, she locked her long legs around his trim waist and pressed his firm chest into her soft mounds. “Ahhhh, excelentísimo Ricardo Prado,” she groaned. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…”

Ever since she’d first fallen into bed with him in her Mexico City hotel room, she had been amazed at his endurance and stamina. He was a marvelous fuck-not just slow, easy proddings, either, but increasingly energetic, even zestful lunges deep into her most innermost core, raising her to unbelievable heights of ecstasy. He could go at it for hours, and she could testify under oath that only the night before he had kept up his ramming for over two and a half hours straight before her climaxes had ceased and her sore pussy had begun to dry up. And still he had been ready, even eager for more.

Now, once again, he attacked her with youthful exuberance. She could feel his balls bouncing against her perineum, and their lusty rhythm skyrocketed her own. Pools of their perspiration formed on her, adding a slippery external lubricant. The internal walls of her love box were awash in their own drippings, and his driving cock felt like a hot poker, satisfying and exhilarating. Quickly she began to peak, an exquisite anguish rising within her to almost unbearable heights. Like a sudden clap of thunder she came, drenching the heat of his red-hot poker in a shower of viscous fluids. A muted scream of release broke from her.

Still pile-driving his hips, Ricardo raised his head from the hollow of her neck and grinned, panting, “Score one for you, sí ?”

“ Sí sí ,” she groaned.

“I play hard when I’m behind,” he growled and, lowering his head, raced to catch up by shifting his hips into even higher gear. He was slamming so hard into her that all she could do was hang on to his taut frame and ride out the match. Reeling in delicious aftershocks, she did not have long to wait. With a satisfied burst of air through his nostrils, he climaxed, shooting a hot goal deep into the wet net of her vanquished cage.

They clung to each other, there on the rug, gasping and wheezing. Much to her astonishment, just as ther breathing had begun to normalize, she could feel his cock, still buried to the hilt within her, thickening and growing hard again. Slowly his hips began to move. “Ricky, enough for now,” she admonished playfully, and, with a shove, managed to push him off her. Scooting out from under him, she rolled to one hip and weakly scrambled away on her knees.

He followed, also crawling. Like a dog in heat, he sniffed at her, nudging with his nose the loose lips of her inflamed pussy, which hung down like soft moss beneath her pear-shaped ass. Reaching her desk, she pulled herself upright, and for a moment she thought she would keel over from the rush of blood from her head. Dizzily she batted away his face from her rear end and swayed to the French doors, throwing them open.

The Bay Area sunshine bathed her with a soft golden glow, caressing her fair skin with new warmth. The Olympic-sized swimming pool, only steps away, glistened like a bright blue mirage. She glanced back at him. He had sunk back on his haunches, his black eyes locked on her intently, expectantly, his hard member poking up out of his lap like a flagless pole. “You are too much,” she sighed in appreciation, and with a flirtatious smile she dashed outside, down the brick stairs of the terrace. On the edge of the tile coping of the pool, she paused briefly, threw her arms over her head, her full breasts pointing skyward, then dove cleanly, gracefully, expertly-a flash of pale white against the sparkling blue-before disappearing into the refreshingly cool water.

Swimming underwater, she tried to reach the far end before her lungs exploded. Triumphantly she touched the tile and, sputtering for breath, broke through the water’s surface, shaking her red hair. Sleeking it back from her eyes, she turned to locate Ricardo. At the far end of the pool, the three-story brick mansion rose majestically, dwarfing him in the doorway to her study. With a little-boy pout, he stood forlornly, observing her, his brown peter jutting out in front as if straining to reach her. She smiled encouragingly and waved, calling out, “Come on in. It’s divine.” He shook his head glumly.

Laughing gaily, she climbed out of the pool, grabbed a large, yellow terry towel from one of the chaise longues and, patting her face dry, moved to him, noting that his cock was drooping as much as his face. “Why didn’t you join me?” she asked.

“The servants…” he offered lamely.

“Oh, pooh,” she said, and rubbed the soft towel over her bounteous curves. “Even my parents swam nude. Can’t you swim?”

“Where are they?” he asked evasively. “Your mother and father.”

Suddenly pensive, she answered, “They died in a plane wreck in Alaska. When I was twelve.” She toweled her thick hair vigorously and brushed past him, reentering her study, aware that she had a pressing deadline to make. From the Persian rug near the hall door she grabbed up her filmy caftan and began pulling it over her head. When she emerged, she saw Ricardo studying the silver-framed photos on the wall opposite her desk. She glided to him, pointing to the largest photograph, which showed a handsome, laughing couple. “That’s Mom and Dad at the opening of one of Dad’s copper mills in Montana.”

“Who is this?” he asked in a jealous tone, waving at another photo, this one of an attractive young man, as lean and lanky as a young Jimmy Stewart.

“My younger brother, Dirk,” she replied. “He’s a very famous photographer. You’d love his work. Here…” She pulled an oversized, expensively bound book from the nearby shelves. “This is his latest collection.” She handed him the coffee-table-sized book, hoping it would keep him occupied for a spell, and returned to her desk chair, sinking into it with gritty determination.

“Naked women!” he exclaimed, thumbing through the studio portraits.