Roland DeForrest - The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey

On the bed, on top of the buxom, black-eyed beauty from the village cafe, Dirk pumped away, his head buried in the pillow next to the receiver, above her soft shoulder. “Yeah. I’m here,” he croaked, enjoying the sensation of talking to his beautiful sister while fucking a gorgeous college student from Madrid. “What’d you say, sis?”

“Am I keeping you from something?” Honey asked, laughingly.

“No,” he replied and adjusted his knees, pushing apart the young woman’s firm thighs, opening her pussy lips even wider. “I’m doing just super, Honey.”

“I asked how soon I can get those photos?”

“They’re on the way,” he grunted. “When’s Disa arriving?”

She laughed. “Flying in from Munich on Wednesday.”

“Ah, the fabulous Disa,” he mused aloud, and visualized the beautiful blonde with whom he’d never managed to score. “Give her my best.”

“I’ll do more than that. I’ll give her mine . Say, I’m sorry I failed to mention that Yves goes for men. Must have slipped my mind.”

“Yeah, sure,” he growled and banged his way deep into the wet warmth of the young woman’s hot oven. “Well, like you always say-to each his own.” The receiver fell away unnoticed and he lost himself in the pure exhilaration of coming. By the time he recovered enough to remember the phone, Honey had disconnected.

The moment Honey showed her the copy of Dirk’s Portuguese photo, darling Disa Dichter exclaimed, “Why, that’s Yves’s older brother, Henri Bouscaral! But of course I know him,” Disa continued in her spirited manner, tossing her blonde mane like a proud lioness. “He is the black sheep of the whole Bouscaral family. Honey, he’s very decadent. Very heavy into kink. It is his idée fixe , his obsession.”

“What kind of kink?” Honey asked, her interest in the man more than piqued.

“Absolutely everything ,” Disa winked.

Honey smiled. “Well, then surely you, Disa, of all people, would know where to begin looking for him.”

Disa considered the question only briefly before bursting into a smile reeking of illicitness. “But of course. Nadez will know!”

“Nadez? Who’s that?”

Disa frowned with mock alarm and locked arms with Honey, drawing her into an intimate embrace. “Sweet Honey, you have been out of the social scene far too long. Nadez is renowned in my circles. Absolutely everyone who’s in the know calls her the Queen of Kink.”

Honey trilled a laugh of delight and kissed the wickedly beautiful face before her. “What are we waiting for? Let’s visit this kinky queen tout de suite ! Where does she hold court?”

The afternoon of that very same day brought Honey and her cherished former school chum to the lovely harbor city of St. Peter Port, Guernsey, on one of the tiny Channel Islands a dozen miles off the French coast. Overlooking the blue sea, quaint cottage-styled houses rose, tier upon tier, up the steep hillside ringing one of the most beautiful natural harbors in all Europe. Enchanted by the view, Honey read in her guidebook: “Though more French in history than English, the island natives pledge their allegiance to England as a result of the conquering invasion of the United Kingdom by William, Duke of Normandy, in 1066.” From their luxury hotel suite she surveyed the harbor filled with fishing boats and dozens of pleasure yachts, thinking that the locale was so innocent-appearing that it would be the last place in the world she would look for the Queen of Kink.

True to form, however, Disa had her finger on the pulse of all that was decadent and risqué in the world. Relishing her assigned task as go-between, she curled like a jungle cat on the large bed and dialed the unlisted number for Nadez’s infamous establishment. As Disa gave the secret password over the phone, Honey stood by the windows, admiring once again the lithe but full-breasted body of her longtime lover. Disa was a delicious vision of tawny skin, lean limbs, and masses of champagne-blonde hair piled with fetching disarray on top of her head. The beloved only child of a German multimillionaire industrialist, Disa had always spent enormous sums of money frivolously and indulged her every whim. And Honey adored her, loving her vivacious, carefree spirit and her tender devotion.

Disa hung up the receiver, glowing with success. “We have an appointment at eight sharp tonight,” she cooed, and kicked off her high heels. “Now come here, you beautiful vixen. We have a great deal of catching up to do.”

Honey fell into her arms with growing urgency. They wrestled and rolled on the big bed like two schoolgirls, giggling, kissing, and tearing off each other’s clothes. Soon they were naked, passionately embracing, their aroused nipples brushing together. As they reexplored the familiar but still stimulating territories, their lovely bodies were perfectly matched. Both were long-limbed, with large full breasts; their mounds of Venus, between curvaceous thighs, were well defined. Only the colors of their hair and skin were strikingly dissimilar; Honey’s deep red tresses contrasted vividly with Disa’s light blonde masses, and Honey’s satiny skin was the color of fresh milk, while Disa, who frequented the world’s most exclusive nude beaches, was tanned all over a light golden brown. Their muffs also were quite different; Honey’s was a vivid, bright red, as full and luxurious as a fox pelt, while Disa’s was scantier and a soft, golden yellow.

Honey now dipped her face into the luscious lower lips of her playmate and licked the ambrosia that had already formed. Disa tasted as sweet as an aperitif. She wrapped her strong legs around Honey’s neck, urging her with writhing hips to deeper explorations. Honey obliged, parting the happy valley with her teasing tongue and locking on the hard nubbin of lust she knew so well. Like a volcanic rock in a sea of rolling liquid, Disa’s distended clitoris responded at once to Honey’s lingual liberties. “Oh, my darling,” Disa squealed, and pumped her pussy against Honey’s mouth. “Why has it been so long?”

Honey raised her head, licking her lips. “Because, dear one, you are rarely in one spot long enough for me to track you down.”

“And you,” Disa sputtered as she pulled Honey up to her soft breasts, “ you insisted on being a roaming journalist instead of enjoying the fruits of your poor father’s labors. With his estate, you could live like a princess for the rest of your days.”

Honey bubbled with laughter and pushed Disa’s head down to her own love delta, which was rapidly filling with volatile fuels. “Eat me, you wicked, lazy bitch.”

“My pleasure,” Disa replied, and dove into her partner’s pussy with a vengeance, her eager tongue darting into the moist darkness like an anteater searching for delicacies. On and on she snacked until Honey’s love channel was so filled with raging lust that Disa’s tongue was swimming.

Wallowing in the netherlands of sexual ecstasy, Honey yanked Disa’s hips around so she could give as well as receive pleasure. Mouths pressed to each other’s pussies, the two rapidly rode to their mutually satisfying climaxes, in a series of gut-wrenching explosions that left them gasping in delight.

Shortly before eight, refreshed from their late-afternoon tryst and a subsequent nap, Honey and Disa rode by cab to an isolated mansion on a windswept bluff not far from Victor Hugo’s former abode. From the outside, Honey could detect nothing out of the ordinary. The large Tudor-style house looked discreetly normal, elegantly refined. A single Rolls Royce Silver Cloud was parked in the maple-lined drive that swept up before the imposing, ironbound front door. Disa knocked with a special code, and shortly a small window flew open and a pair of beady eyes surveyed them. Disa smiled bewitchingly and spoke the passwords: “ Aux grands maux les grands remédes .”