Roland DeForrest - The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey

“I’m not forcing you to do anything,” Honey said. “But I know one thing for certain. If she stays, I go. I will not compete with her for your attention.”

His shoulders rose and fell as he sighed, “I will hate to lose your fine talent, but I have no recourse. Kolina is the very core of my life.

“Your services are no longer required,” he said, almost apologetically. “Things were better before you showed up. I will see that you are dropped off at our next destination. Now, please, leave me alone.”

She hesitated, wanting to plead, to change his mind. But it was as though she had already left and he was alone. Feeling she had failed in her mission, she moved heavily from his cabin and into the bright moonlight.

Bouscaral’s Learjet landed in the dead of night on an airstrip deep in the Pacific, but Honey was not told where. Emerging from the rear passenger compartment, she blinked at the mist-shrouded, desolate airport, and with a rapidly sinking heart she recognized where Bouscaral was going to dump her-on the isolated archipelago of the Galapagos Islands, straddling the Equator, six hundred miles off Ecuador.

Before she could even protest to Bouscaral, who refused to come near her, the guards whisked her into a jeep, and a convoy of several vehicles roared across tiny Baltra Island to the westernmost shore. There she was hustled into the second of three native boats Bouscaral had rented. Once used for fishing, the boats were now available for the more lucrative transportation of tourists to any one of the nineteen islands and forty-two islets. As the large craft putted away from the rocky, barren coast, she caught a glimpse of Kolina in the first boat up ahead and felt a sharp pang of remorse. Ever since her wild sexual encounter with the Prince of Kink, he had kept Honey far away from the sweetly beautiful girl, not even allowing a single French lesson.

As the sun crept higher into the sky, Honey stood in the bow of the boat, the wind whipping her hair, the fine spray of salt water misting her face. She scanned the slate-gray ocean dotted with absurdly tiny and rocky volcanic islands, trying to discern why Bouscaral had come to this impossible remote section of the world. What thrill could be found within these primitive piles of rock? Surely he must have chosen the locale not for any available sexual kicks, but only because he wanted to dump her quietly, raising no suspicions or inquiries by authorities.

She was all too aware how easily he would be able to achieve this goal. Any of the miniscule outer islands were totally unpopulated, reachable only by hired fishing boat. Bouscaral’s accompanying entourage was so large, including four women, who would notice one missing on the return voyage? Money closes many eyes, as she knew all too well.

By the time the three fishing boats anchored in a small inlet of one of the smaller islets, the sun was high overhead, blasting down waves of intense heat. A crew had arrived earlier to set up a large tent compound on the only flat space on the entire rough-hewn rocks. Upon landing, she joined the scramble for the protection of large awnings to escape the searing heat of the sun. She chose the one under which Kolina had scurried, but she was forcibly removed. One guard firmly latched on to each of her arms, marching her to a small tent up against the cliffs, the farthest away from the master’s tent. She was shoved inside the sweltering interior and Tweedledee sat not far away under an outcropping of rock, keeping the front of her tent in constant view.

The blazing sun had diminished in intensity when Honey later emerged from her tent. Clad in a coral string bikini which barely covered her mons veneris and her protruding nipples, she pranced down to the water’s edge.

To the young guard watching her through sleepy, bored eyes, she was a bolt of exotic lightning. She was a vision of white marble skin and sensuous curves, her legs as long as a thoroughbred’s, her rounded hips provocatively alluring, her flat stomach emphasizing the sudden, awesome sweep of her proud breasts. He got a hard-on just watching her ripe, pear-shaped ass sway into the water as she waded out. She surface-dove, submerging completely and refusing to break for air until she had swum her usual one hundred strokes. When she finally surfaced, she slicked back her hair and surveyed the beach encampment from a distance halfway to the first anchored fishing boat.

Tweedledee stood at the water’s edge, a look of relief on his face-as if he had been concerned by the length of time she had been out of sight underwater. She waved to indicate that she was fine and swam the length of the cove and back again. All the while she was taking mental pictures of the topography, hoping the information would come in handy later. Until Bouscaral made his move, she could only wait.

Both guards watched her exit from the water, as did every other male in the camp. She searched for Kolina but did not see her among the gaping faces. Inside her tent she changed into a filmy beach gown and sat in the shade of the tent awning, watching the many prehistoric-looking iguanas resting in the crevices of the island’s volcanic rock.

When she was called for dinner, the sun had dipped far behind the cove’s cliffs. The temperature had dropped considerably and there was a bonfire, around which were clustered the serving and maintenance staff. As she sat on a camp stool off to one side, eating the spicy, native stew of fish and octopus, drinking a dry sauterne, she eyed Kolina with Bouscaral at a table for two some distance away.

Dinner was not even concluded before the elegantly attired Bouscaral went into his tent, to come out a short time later dressed in a tropical bush jacket, fatigue pants, pith helmet, and high leather hiking boots. Then the crew began rounding up an odd assortment of gear-large nets, torches, and rifles. Some sort of night hunting party was being formed, but Honey could not imagine what their quarry might be.

It was not until a bowl of fruit was brought around by the elderly cook that Honey learned the real purpose of Bouscaral’s visit. “The female iguanas,” the old woman whispered. “That’s why the master came here.”

“The iguanas?” Honey echoed, mystified.

“The female ones,” the elderly Frenchwoman explained, as if to a child. “The natives swear eating them increases one’s potency.”

In disbelief, Honey stared at the old woman. “You mean they kill these harmless creatures just for that?” ‘

“ Oui , absurd, no?” cackled the old servant. Still chuckling to herself and shaking her head, she hobbled away, leaving Honey sitting in amazement.

Killing iguanas to test an old wives’ tale! How absurd could Bouscaral get? But at least his planned festivities did not include Kolina; the girl was still dressed as if for dinner at Maxim’s. That eased Honey’s concerns and she returned to her own tent in a state of hope, in spite of the native guard outside.

Through the mosquito netting she observed the final departure of the hunt contingent. Almost all the men had joined, leaving only two for guards-one for her, one for Kolina. The women servants had withdrawn to their tent and Honey could hear them drinking, playing cards, and laughing. She waited until the sky grew dark.

Wearing boots, jeans, and a T-shirt, she took a sharp knife she’d stolen from the cook’s utensils, slit the rear wall of her tent, and eased out. Hidden in the shadows of the cliff, she made her way to the section she’d observed earlier. Carefully she began her ascent, inching up the rock facing. Upon reaching the top, she slid behind a rock and stood to scan the horizon. Then she walked gingerly along the edge of the cliff above the camp spread out below, until she had circled around to Kolina’s side. Finding the point she had planned to use, she began descending the steep incline.