Roland DeForrest - The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey

She laughed at his surprise. “Female beauty is Dirk’s passion. And his forte.”

“You in here?”

“Not on your life.”

“You should be.”

She smiled. “ Muchas gracias . Now please let me finish.” Finding where she had left off in her notes, she began typing with renewed vigor. All the energetic screwing and swimming had left her feeling refreshed; her skin tingled with energy, and as she typed, the words seemed to leap onto the pages as if by their own accord. This interview with Ricardo, like all of her exclusive interviews, would run under her own byline, “Honey Wildon Presents,” in over ninety newspapers and magazines around the world.

A prolonged sigh from Ricardo broke her concentration, and she glanced up. He had settled onto the love seat, his eyes glued to the open pages of one of Dirk’s exquisite photographs, his dick rigid once more. She could not believe her eyes-he was obsessed. He caught her watching him and leaped to his feet, rushing to her. “Let’s fuck,” he broached in a coarse whisper.

“You’re going to wear that poor thing out,” she said with a shake of her drying locks, and returned to her typing. “Another half hour, then watch out. I’ll screw that thing limp if it kills me. And what a lovely way to die.”

Wordlessly he sank to the floor, out of sight on the other side of the large Louis XIV desk. Suddenly she gasped with pleasure. Underneath the desk, he had hiked up her gown and buried his head between her legs. She clamped her thighs tightly around his ears, hoping to cut off his darting explorations. With a concerted effort she attempted to concentrate on the interview. His tongue lapped wickedly at her pussy, instantly inflaming it with an intense heat. The faster he tongued, the faster she typed. Soon her. fingers were flying, and she rushed to finish before all thoughts ceased and pure sensation took over.

She was fighting a losing battle when a discreet knock came at the hall door. She was so startled, she rasped, “Come in,” before she realized she had done so. The door opened and Caroline, her adorable downstairs maid-a fetching lass in a short black uniform-entered, carrying a yellow envelope on a silver tray. “Excuse me for interrupting, Miss Wildon,” Caroline said, glancing at Ricardo’s discarded swimsuit on the rug, “but this just arrived.”

Too heated to speak, Honey held out a trembling hand, grateful that the desk covered Ricardo’s lingual liberties. Shyly, Caroline approached and stood by the side of the desk, raising her knowledgeable eyes from Honey’s bountiful breasts. “Are you feeling well, Miss Wildon? You look terribly flushed.”

“I’m feeling sensational,” Honey managed to get out, and tore open the envelope. It was a telegram, and she extracted it with no small degree of apprehension. Before she could read it, a small groan of desire escaped her lips.

“Bad news?” Caroline asked with obvious concern.

Flustered by her own excitement, Honey glanced at the telegram’s message. It was one word. The word was SNATCH. “I pray not,” she murmured, and looked up at the lovely girl through glazed eyes. “That will be all for now, Caroline.”

“Very well, ma’am,” the girl said softly and, with a lingering glance, withdrew and closed the door behind her.

Clutching the disturbing telegram, Honey sank lower in her chair, pushing her flaming cunt deeper onto the eager face of the busy Ricardo. He had locked onto her love button with such urgency that she felt ready to dissolve in a conflagration of lust. “Oh, Ricky,” she gasped, and promptly flooded his face with joy juice. Paroxysms of pleasure wracked her torso and, eyes closed, she collapsed back into the chair, drained and released once more.

Recovering swiftly, she scooted upright. “Come out, come out, Ricardo. I have to leave at once.” That stopped him and, grateful for the cessation of cunning cunnilingus, she quickly composed in her mind the closing paragraph and typed it out, crossing her legs tightly to prevent any further interference.

He rose from the other side of the desk, grinning from ear to ear, his mouth still wet with her ambrosia. He smacked his lips appreciatively. “What you say?”

She ripped the last page out of her typewriter and switched the machine off. She had finished! And it was damn good, she was positive. “I must leave immediately.”

His grin faded rapidly. “Why?”

“My brother needs me,” she said.

Frowning with disappointment, he swore at length in Spanish. She rose, kissing him on the lips, tasting her own erotic residue. “I’ll drive you to the airport. If we have time, we can do it in the back seat in the parking lot. But, Ricardo, please hurry…”

From his work bench he grabbed the Hasselblad and snapped in the 50 millimeter, 1.7 lens. Checking the film’s ASA rating, he whirled to the nearly nude model lying on the expanse of white paper. The thick paper dropped in one continuous sheet from the giant roll on the ceiling rod two stories above, forming both the backdrop and the floor covering for his setup. With as much professional distance as he could muster, he eyed her through the new lens, feeling a decidedly nonprofessional stirring in his tight Calvin Klein jeans.

She was a sensational find, possessing an exquisite body and a magical, alluring face. Even as she stared back blankly into the camera, she projected a smoldering sensuality, an earthiness that reeked of carnality. Her incredible eyes hinted at untold secrets and a wildly lascivious nature. Black as coal, they dared him to make a move toward her. The invitation was so open, so boldly expressed, that Dirk was having a difficult time keeping his mind on the intricacies of his chosen profession.

He lowered the camera, vaguely aware that the Chuck Mangione tape on his reel-to-reel Tandberg deck was nearing the end. “Toni, let’s try a few with the blouse unbuttoned totally.”

She smiled seductively and sat up to do as requested. Wearing only white, French-cut bikini panties and a gauzy, see-through blouse of a soft tangerine color, Toni opened the last button, her gaze not wavering from his. Her rounded breasts leapt fully into view, their dark aureoles like another pair of tantalizing eyes egging him own. “How do you want me?” she asked, her voice as sultry as her obvious charms.

He swallowed, wtih difficulty. “Lean back on your hands, knees up. That’s it… now shift your shoulders… more toward me. Yeah…” He studied her through the lens. With her breasts pointing high, she looked as if she were offering them to the gods. And what an offering they were-full, round, perfectly proportioned, they reminded him of his sister’s-except that Honey’s were almost pure white, and Toni’s were the color of almonds.

Wanting more highlights on their soft fullness, he adjusted the “barn door” on one of the Fresnels behind him and, satisfied with the results, shot several more exposures. “Okay, slip off the blouse,” he said. Pretending nonchalance, he refilled her Baccarat goblet from the rare bottle of 1953 Schloss Eltz Trockenbeerenauslese. Shoeless, he squatted on the white paper to hand over the goblet. She took it with a grateful smile, looking up at him through her long black eyelashes. The come-hither glance piqued further the interest of his bird of paradise. For a long moment he could only stare back in anticipation, his mind racing ahead to explore the mysteries awaiting him. “How are you feeling?” he asked quietly.

“Much more relaxed than I thought I’d be,” she replied. “You make me feel quite comfortable, really.”

“Good. I told you it wouldn’t be difficult.” He tore his eyes from her dark-centered breasts and stood, making certain she caught a glimpse of the rising bulge in his jeans. Innocently he busied himself by changing the completed audio tape. The large Palladian windows behind him offered a stunning, panoramic view of the night-lit towers of the World Trade Center. “Any requests?”