Roland DeForrest - The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey

Teasingly the trio flipped over into a row of backbends, their plump, ripe cunts aimed directly at him, their trim thighs wide open, the luscious lips of their pussies like a matched set of halved walnuts. The girl in the middle remained in that position as her two sisters moved to either end of her. One placed her mouth over the exposed pussy, the other placed her crotch over the upturned mouth of the backbending one. Soon they were in the sweetest daisy chain, linked together in a circle with their mouths on one another’s pussies. Dirk could not stand the tension any longer. He opened his robe and took his bird in hand, stroking it up and down as he stared into the tangle of sweet meat.

When the talented trio came up for air and saw him pounding vigorously on his rigid prick, they frowned at him as if he had broken a house rule. They crawled up on the silk pillows beside him, tugging off his blue robe. They laid him out flat and took his hands away from his swollen dick. One girl’s hand grasped his fluttering bird near the base, and directly on top of that hand another girl clutched it, then the third on top of that one. Rhythmically they began to stroke up and down, their lovely faces serious as they concentrated on matching movements. He reached out a hand and fingered the loose lips of one, finding her tight and moist. Encouraged by her docile reaction, he reached for a second helping and found this one the exact duplicate of the other. As the triplets pumped on his peter, he fingered two of their cunts. The third looked at him sorrowfully and he snapped his tongue at her, indicating that he wanted to lick her silly. Obligingly she scooted around and hunkered down over his face. His tongue darted into her, parting her outer lips and getting down to business. She tasted like ripe melons.

Fingering, tonguing, his cock twitching in their hands, Dirk felt a growing urgency to satisfy more basic needs. But the trio knew what they were doing; theirs was an ancient, honored art and they were a marvelous, well-oiled machine designed expressly for the purpose of pleasing a male. Just when he felt on the verge of showering them with semen, they would change positions or tactics or rhythms, easing him down on the other side of ecstasy and gently but steadily raising him back up again. One would suck on his dick, another on his toes, another on his fingers. Then they would change; rolling him over, one would tongue his asshole while another would wash his balls in her mouth, and the third would take both his thumbs and jam them into her open portal of pleasure.

And his bird kept growing larger and larger, turning beet red, its engorged head a deep purple, pulsating with every pounding beat of his overstimulated heart. He felt that he was being tortured, tormented, that the lovelies were deliberately trying to drive him mad. Even when one slid her juicy cunt over his dick and began athletically to bounce up and down on it, like a pogo stick, he could not help thinking that this too shall pass… and it did, for when his balls began to contract, signaling an approaching climax, the girl would slip off and shove his screaming peter into a cool liquid, sending him plummeting away from coming. On and on they worked on him, until he had no thoughts, no feelings except in the hot head of his perplexed and pleading bird. It was as though the trio had turned him into one giant throbbing cock, and he began to moan with the agony of it all.

Regardless of how much he ate at their jelly rolls, or how deeply he fingered their moist channels, the triplets gave no outward sign of arousal. Steadily they went about their business, impervious to their own pleasures. He began to writhe on the silk pillows, pleading for release, his senses satiated, his bird becoming numb from the workout. At last one of them let him enter her pussy again and he banged into her, bouncing her up into the air, their pelvises crashing together. Nearer and nearer he approached the elusive goal, and he feared he would be teased away from it once more.

Closer and closer he felt the tidal wave building, and he lapped frantically at the dripping lips perched over his face, his middle fingers dived deep into the last girl’s pudendum. The tension-filled ecstasy was overwhelming, mounting steadily until he felt he could not take any more. Higher and higher his lust climbed, and then peaked, balanced precariously on the very edge of the precipice. Instinctively the trio of beauties stopped all their movements and he hung suspended on the unbearable brink. All at once, he blew up in an enormous explosion of semen. Over and over, he sailed snowballs of gism everywhere and still he kept coming, bucketsful it felt like, and he was drenched from head to toe with the most satisfying climax of his life. It was so complete, so all-consuming, he immediately blacked out and sank into the silky skin surrounding him, drained to the last drop.

When he came to, he was back in bed in his own hotel room. Confused by the sudden transition, he tried to ease his head off the pillow, but did not have the strength. His entire body felt used and abused. He raised the covers to look down at his poor tortured bird. It lay coiled on his thigh like a sleeping snake, but it was the strangest color it had ever been-an almost green tinge at its head, while the rest was a sickly, pale purple. Exhausted, he rolled his head into the pillow, smelling the delicious aroma of the triplets nearby. On the pillow next to him lay three slightly bruised gardenias and a bill printed neatly in English.

It read simply, For services rendered by the Mee-Lan Triplets-three thousand dollars .

And that sum was exactly what was missing from his wallet.

“I didn’t have a chance to show them Kolina’s picture,” Dirk reported with a rueful smile.

“What?” Honey exclaimed. “You went all the way to Shanghai, spent three grand for a tryst with the triplets, and failed even to get around to your purpose in being there?”

His lightly freckled face flushed and he ducked his sandy blonde head, looking like a guilty little boy. Purposefully she looked away from him and down over the crowd encircling the paddock. She and Dirk were sitting in the bright afternoon sunshine on the outside terrace of the members-only lounge of the exclusive Royal Hong Kong Jockey Club. She had arrived in the city the morning before, but Dirk just had returned from his fruitless sojourn in Shanghai. She swept a stern gaze back to him. “You dummy, I thought finding Kolina was paramount to you.”

“It is,” he replied defensively. “I told you I was half drugged on that opium, and never even had the opportunity to question them.” He fiddled nervously with the binoculars hanging around his neck by a leather strap.

“Well, if that doesn’t beat all,” she muttered, and took a sip of her cool gin and tonic. Below, the packed grandstand roared en masse at the start of the fifth race. She watched a bay thoroughbred charge into a comfortable lead. “My lucky number seven is ahead,” she noted aloud, with little enthusiasm.

He glanced down at the track, following the race’s progress around the large oval, and mumbled, “I can’t get used to them running clockwise.”

“And I can’t get used to your attitude,” she sighed. “There I was, in the mountains of Bulgaria, busting my ass to help you while you’re off dorking around with some dippy triplets.”

“They were sensational,” he said emphatically. “Well worth the price and the trip. They would’ve blown even your mind, they were so talented. How was I to know I wouldn’t get to speak to them?”

The cheering crowd below broke into sustained applause. Number seven had won. It didn’t seem to matter to Honey as she said, “Dirk, you’re not going to like what I’m about to say, but say it I must. I think we’ve reached a dead end and should call it off.”