Roland DeForrest - The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey

Honey stood her ground and kept shaking her head. She pointed instead to the mother superior and pumped her hips, indicating that she wanted to fuck her instead. A look of astonishment came over the older woman’s face, followed by one of resigned acceptance. She hurled an order at the nun on the table, who heaved herself off, grabbed her white habit, and slunk out of the room as if she had just been sent to the showers. Honey swept an arm up in the air several times, gesturing to the older nun to take off her robes.

A gleam of unholy lust burst alive in the matronly nun’s eyes, and she tore off her white habit, exposing a reed-thin, but surprisingly well-preserved body. Her small breasts lay like pancakes on her prominent ribcage. Almost coyly she lay down on the wooden table and parted her slender thighs. Honey glimpsed a wiry pad of hair and formed a quick plan. Stepping boldly forward, she began unzipping her baggy plaid pants, as if ready to draw out her cock, then leaned down and blew out the lantern’s flame. The cell was plunged into total darkness, and Honey whipped out her trusty dildo, which she had wisely thought to bring along. Moistening it with her mouth, she put it in her fly and stepped up to the open thighs. With her fingers she searched the area before her, found the tight trench, and pushed her bogus cock into the crevice.

The mother superior of the Convent of the Sisters of the Moon was none the wiser. Though the dildo was larger than most of the infidels who had forced their way with her in debauchings of bygone decades, the ersatz appendage now shoving into her was as real as her memory of the authentic article. Grimly she gripped the table and passively allowed herself to be raped by the strange, bearded man who had never taken off his clothes. However, the more his stiff, big, and slightly cold cock plunged into her, the more she could not deny her internal reactions. In a very short time she was reeling with earthly sensations. Wildly she began cursing aloud the infidel’s talented tool, in hope that she would be spared the humiliation of such forbidden pleasures. But alas, her curses unconsciously slipped into praises, and she lost her ability to understand what was happening to her. The flames licked at her very heart and she felt transported upward on hot wisps of smoke, higher and higher, until the very face of Ormazd, lord of light and goodness, materialized before her internal eye, surrounded by an intense white light. Weeping, the nun reached up her arms to embrace her lord and instantly exploded into a conflagration of brilliant heat. She screamed with joyous release and became one with him.

Honey, amazed at the wild transformation of the stately nun, bent down, kissing her parched lips, and pulled out the ancient ivory instrument of pleasure. In the darkness, the nun clung to her shoulders, weeping with hysterical sobs of pure joy. Gently, Honey pushed away and pocketed the dildo, zipping up her pants, thinking only to locate Bouscaral before he exited the convent. As she turned to leave, the still-panting nun grabbed her hand and gratefully poured into it all of her rosary beads.

Honey pocketed them and hurriedly left the dark cell, returning at once to the dormitory. The virgin nun was not there, nor was Bouscaral. Nor could she find him anywhere in the now-subdued convent. The sun had risen, and in the courtyard men staggered about in exhaustion. Small groups of elderly men were collapsed like broken wine bags around the perimeter. Hastily, Honey completed her search and ruefully concluded that the Prince of Kink had once again disappeared. Heavy with disappointment and fatigue, Honey presented at the front gates the more than twenty rosary beads received from the mother superior, and was ushered outside as though she were the all-time champion. Feeling that she had failed in her quest, Honey began making her way down the steep, rocky trail.

The famous Longhua Pagoda, one of China’s great architectural treasures, dating back to the Sung Dynasty, looked to Dirk like a giant “French tickler” condom, all pointy edges and ruffled ridges. Surrounded by blooming peach trees, the tall, ancient pagoda rose above the busy streets of Shanghai and made a pretty picture in his viewfinder. Idly he snapped a shot, not all that interested. He had been in China’s largest city for three days and had yet to discover a single clue that might lead him to the world renowned Mee-Lan triplets.

Ever since his arrival he had been making discreet inquiries, knowing full well that he was putting himself in danger of being kicked out of the country. The communist regime more than frowned on tourists seeking prostitutes, opium, and gambling, all of which had been plentiful in the old days, but were now strictly outlawed. Still, Dirk was undeterred.

Each morning he had checked the registers of the tourist hotels to see if Henri Bouscaral had registered. Visas were tightly controlled, and Dirk knew it would be extremely difficult for Bouscaral to check in under a false name. Each day Dirk had wandered the jammed streets full of thousands of bicyclists, and had toured the city’s sights, hoping against hope that he would stumble across someone who knew of the acrobatic threesome. Each night he had been forced to retire to his room alone as the city seemed to close up entirely, offering no stimulation to one such as he, who was used to an active nightlife. By this third day he was bored out of his mind, and his bird of paradise was raging from disuse. Dirk could not remember going three days in his entire adult life without getting laid. All he could think about was the mysteriously beautiful Kolina and her ravishing sister, Barbro, and beat his meat mercilessly.

Then, quite unexpectedly, on the evening of his third day, an elderly, neatly dressed Oriental approached him just as he was about to retire to his hotel after another futile day of searching. “Excuse me, sir,” the Chinese said politely in perfect English, “but I think I may help you.”

“How?” Dirk asked suspiciously, aware that the city was ripe with agents of the government.

“If you would be so kind, follow me.”

“Where to?”

“To that which you seek.” The elderly man turned and moved off down the sidewalk, which was clustered with curbside barbers and cobblers just closing up their stands.

Eagerly, Dirk fell in behind him, checking carefully to see if they were being followed. There was such a crush of people, scurrying to their homes on foot or by bicycle, that it was impossible to ascertain whether anyone was paying more than usual attention to the tall, lean American. In his short stay, Dirk had become quite accustomed to being the object of an almost childlike curiosity. Grinning, friendly faces had often clustered around him on his daily tours of the city, and he had grown quite fond of their openly expressed good humor. Now, however, he wished he were smaller and less conspicuous, for he had an undeniable feeling he was onto something important. Slouching as much as his six-foot-two frame would allow, Dirk hurried after the elderly man.

He was led far from the hotel, down to the Bund, the waterfront, which, by the time they reached it, was almost devoid of people. Giant freighters and boats of all sizes and descriptions filled the famous harbor, and strident whistles announced departing craft. In the gathering dusk, lights were twinkling on, ringing the waterfront like sparkling jewels. And still the old Chinese man scurried on, with Dirk on his trail. Deeper into the warehouse district they moved, and Dirk began to feel a growing sense of unease. Doubt flooded him. Was he actually being led to his goal, or to some sinister trap? Several times he tried hailing the little man, calling to him to slow down. But the gentleman, dressed in a muted gray Mao suit, did not even turn around. He ducked around the corner of a large wooden structure and disappeared.