Roland DeForrest: The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey

“Whatever you like, I’m game for.”

“How ’bout a little Jean-Pierre Rampal?”

“What’s he play?”

“The flute.”

Toni giggled, her breasts bouncing provocatively. Hurriedly he racked up the new reel and switched it on. Soaring, lyrical sounds filled the large, nearly empty studio-loft. “Want any more weed?” he asked. “Snow?”

“Maybe later. That whiff is strong, huh?” She stretched her arms over her head, pushing her treasures up at him. “I can’t believe my very first photo session is with someone as well known as you,” she said coyly. “Ever since I saw that last layout in Esquire , I’ve always had a fantasy of posing for you.”

“See? Fantasies do come true.”

“Well… sometimes,” she laughed.

“Mind removing your panties?”

She hesitated, sudden doubt flooding her young face. Point of no return , he said to himself, and smiled encouragingly. Discreetly he turned his back and switched off the overhead spots, giving her time to adjust by herself. Only that morning he had discovered her, standing at a Park Avenue bus stop. With only one look, he had known she possessed that one quality for which he was constantly searching-pure feminine magic. It was an indefinable quality, something he had often tried to put into words but always had difficulty explaining. And yet he instantly recognized it whenever he saw it-a mystical allure, timeless, placeless, it went beyond mere physical beauty and transcended the normal definitions of feminine pulchritude. He prided himself on his ability to discover it, and credited his considerable success to his trained eyes. This beautiful young lady had never modeled before, yet when he had approached her, introducing himself by his card, explaining his desire for a session with her, she readily agreed. All this time he had thought it was his ineffable charm. Now he realized she’d known all along who he was.

He turned back to her and his bird suddenly took wing, fluttering valiantly to be free. Toni lay stretched out on her back, her breasts flattening into soft mounds, her long legs parted slightly, her black bush glistening like a satin pillow; one hand lay on a thigh, the fingers curved toward the unseen opening between her legs. “Perfection,” he said softly, and began snapping her pose from several angles, moving quickly from side to side, eventually standing near her head to shoot down the length of her womanly, arousing body.

As he snapped away, her hands moved to her breasts and she touched her dark nipples with intimate assurance, soon standing them to attention like dusky olives. His imprisoned bird jumped fully to life. “Open your legs wider,” he suggested, his voice hoarse with urgency.

Slowly she parted her thighs, and he quelled the desire to rush to her feet for a more satisfying view of what he had been longing to see. Instead he finished the roll with varying angles from her upper torso, framing several of the shots of her enticing bush between the hills of her large, puddinglike breasts. Changing to his fully loaded Nikon F3, he pushed down his straining bird and gulped the rest of his wine. He poured another glass and stole a glance at her.

Eyes closed, she had been busy on her own; one finger was tentatively exploring the furled opening to her vagina. Silently he moved to her feet and watched intently her digital dexterity. Delicately she was parting the umber-colored lips, revealing a slash of bright pink. He knelt and aimed his camera, quickly capturing several succulent shots too graphic for the kind of photos he allowed to be reproduced or published, but perfect for his own private collection. The more she probed, the more insistent his cock became, demanding the same personal attention she was giving her own genitals. Not wanting to alarm her, he refrained from whipping it out-but he continued to squeeze it inside his jeans while shooting shot after shot of the ever-widening tunnel in the black-covered valley. Soon he was flat on his stomach, aiming directly into the mouth-watering aperture, grinding his hardness onto the white paper. She had buried her middle finger deep inside to the second knuckle, and now withdrew it, bringing it to her mouth to suck the clinging moisture.

Accidentally he touched her foot and her eyes snapped open, searching for him with an unmistakable, unfocused gaze. It was lust if he ever had seen it. He grinned sheepishly and she opened her legs even wider. “What other equipment have you got?” she asked.

“Lots of mechanical gadgets,” he answered, scooting to his knees. “But my best piece is all natural.”

“Is it healthy?”

“ And good for you,” he said, and placed his Nikon carefully to one side off the white paper.

She rubbed both palms over her thighs, bringing them down on either side of her black-fringed love trench. “Well, for heaven’s sake, bring it out. I’m all for anything natural.”

Pleased as punch, he unzipped his tight jeans and, with difficulty, extracted his full-grown bird. She raised herself up on her elbows to study it with a distinct smile of approval. “Well, bring it up here so I can test it,” she murmured.

Quickly he moved to straddle her trunk. His bird trembling, he waited expectantly for her next move. She took it in both hands; her touch was cool and assured on his heated, hard cock, which twitched as if straining to fly away. With maddening slowness she raised her mouth and repeatedly kissed its swollen head. Watching the exquisite, magical mouth mother his member, he struggled for control, wanting desperately to ram it deep into her throat.

Her luscious lips enveloped the knobby end, and he felt her tongue washing the underside, creating a dangerous tingling in his balls. She sucked it in, taking nearly all of it into the moist warmth of her willing mouth, then pulling it out again. “Not fair. I’m nude and you’re not,” she pouted. “You promised you’d do everything to make me feel at ease.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled and rose to his feet, shucking his jeans. After stepping out of them, he ripped off his socks and yanked off his Lacoste polo shirt. Nude, excited, he stood over her, his bird flying out from his groin at a hard angle. Her fingers had returned to her love canal, and he suddenly wanted to join them. Reversing his position, he placed his knees on either side of her neck and lowered his head to greet her pussy. Snaking his tongue out, he split her open like a ripe peach. She gasped, and he felt her mouth again clamp down on his prick, as if she were chewing beef ribs..

She tasted to him like Brazil nuts and smelled faintly of musk. The rippled edges of her twat led him directly to the hard island of her clit. Jamming it against his upper teeth, he flicked at it with his tongue, sending her hips into a squirm of delight. As she sucked on him, he teased and tormented her hard love button, pressing his nose deeper and deeper between the undulating walls of her juicy canal. Lost in the heady delight, he could have eaten her for hours.

Toni, however, was panting into his cockflesh, “I want it in me, I want it inside.”

Ever desirous to please, he jackknifed and aimed his bird for her love nest. Easing into her was like slipping into a tight, warm glove. For a moment he did not move, loving the sensation of being wetly enveloped, feeling the internal contractions milking at him. Lowering his weight fully onto her, he kissed her lovely face, closing her-eyes with his slippery tongue. Gradually he began to move his smothered bird, stroking slowly, drawing it nearly all the way out before plunging it deep again. Over and over he did this, raising ecstatic groans from her.

Raking his back with her fingernails, she clung to him, bucking her hips harder and harder, slamming their pelvises together, urging him on faster and faster. He picked up speed, his knees rubbing raw on the hard floor, his deep moans of pleasure mingling with hers adding a cacophony of vocal accompaniment to the Rampal tape bursting out of the Infinity Reference Standards speakers that had set him back twenty grand apiece.