Roland DeForrest - The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey

The resulting party on the poopdeck was a lustful scene of rousing good times. Spread-eagled flat on top of the largest of the three, she took his long staff straight up the butt while, on top of her, kneeling between both pairs of legs, the second pumped ecstatically into the most beautiful hairless pussy he had ever even dreamed existed. The third knelt beside his lucky buddies, up close to her head, and with very little neck strain, she was able to suck on his mast. It did not take the randy sailors long to fire their weapons, and even less time to grow stiff again.

With the wheel lashed so the boat made a large, lazy circle, Kolina and her first mate were soon added to the quivering quartet outside. New combinations and contortions were tried, with satisfying results. The action was fast and furious, athletic and adventuresome. As the sailors came again and again in every possible orifice of the obliging young sea nymphs, their periods of recovery grew longer. During these rest periods they contented themselves to sprawl on the deck, fondling their never-empty weapons, watching the two ladies go down on each other, Honey on top, her head jerking up and down as if bobbing for apples. The two luscious female bodies meshed perfectly, their lustrous skin catching the lantern light, creating an arousing collage of arms and thighs, breasts and hips, asses and wide-open quiffs.

When Honey came up for air, she was pleased to see that the young crew was so ready to go again that they were doing each other unabashedly. The homoerotic activity of their slim brown bodies reminded her of paintings an ancient Greek vases. They were having such a good time that she hated to interrupt, but she was so tired that all she wanted to do was come once more and fall asleep for days. Her good-natured pleas quickly brought two stalwart, ready-to-perform crewmen to her side, the other two leaping upon Kolina.

With one in her pussy and one in her ass, her own finger urging her lust trigger to hurry up and fire, Honey threw every last ounce of energy into her swansong. Her gyrations and enthusiasm were so heated that the sailors were, in short order, exploding their submerged torpedoes deep into her nethermost regions. The warm bath set off her own buttons and, with a deep cry of complete satisfaction, she eased into a tidal wave that hurled her along its seemingly never-ending crest. Miles and miles she rode, balanced on the very lip of curling white water, squealing with joyous release. She did not remember ever coming down, for she drifted into a deep, contented sleep before reaching the end of the longest climax of her life.

At Lanai, the Wildon winter home on Kauai’s lush northeast coastline, he sat in a large wicker peacock chair on the cool veranda, sipping a piña colada, watching with intense interest Barbro’s erotic harem dance. Framed by a backdrop of shimmering golden sands, sparkling blue-green ocean, and vivid tropical flowers, she swayed and rolled her hips in time to taped Middle Eastern music-violins, drums, ouds, bouzoukis wailing spiritedly into the late afternoon. Wearing only a filmy sarong draped low over her wide hips, her large breasts swinging free with the sensual beat, Barbro spun gracefully, arms raised over her head, her hands speaking their own language with a tinkling of small finger cymbals. Behind one ear, in her light blonde hair, she had tucked a large pink hibiscus that matched the delicate hue of her nipples’ aureoles.

The music slowed, and her artistic dance evolved into an expressive collection of hip undulations. Barefoot, she sidled closer to him, her eyes locked on his in total communication between performer and audience. Her creamy stomach rolled and dipped, expanded and rippled, her arms liquidly shaping the fragrant air. Dirk felt like a pasha dallying away an otherwise tediously frustrating afternoon with his favorite concubine.

On a whim he had stopped off in Cartagena, Colombia on his return flight from Spain and picked up this delectable creature, wanting her to come with him to Hawaii to await Honey’s promised arrival with Kolina. Barbro, more than eager to accompany him, had promptly quit her job to be free to join in the maddening vigil on the spectacular shoreline of the Garden Island. Though the scenery could not have been more inviting or the company more appealing and satisfying, the days seemed endless and Dirk struggled with mounting frustration and increasing anxiety. He felt impotent, helpless, useless in whatever plan Honey had up her sleeve.

The attempt on his life in Menorca was proof positive that he and his sister were playing with fire, dealing with a desperate and driven Bouscaral, who would stop at nothing to keep what he felt was rightfully his. More than anything, Dirk wished he had never involved his sister in his quest to free the girl with the magical face. It was not knowing what was happening to Honey and Kolina, not even knowing where they were that caused him greatest fear and concern. If it had not been for the quieting, steadying influence of Barbro-a magical presence in her own right-he was positive he would have gone berserk hanging around, waiting on razor blades for Honey to show up or send word.

Timing the swing of her tantalizing hips to the rising rhythm of the music, Barbro plucked the pink hibiscus from her hair and incorporated it in her magnetically riveting dance. With one hand she held it in the deep valley between her large breasts, where it bloomed like a third nipple. Slipping to the deck of the veranda, she knelt, leaning back, shimmeying her hips until her blonde head touched the floor. Her transparent sarong barely covered her taut thighs and emphasized the bushy mound between her legs. Her stomach fluttered, rising and falling like a storm-tossed sea, adding to the erotic allure of her talented offering.

Dirk held the tall, ice-filled glass in his lap, cooling down his persistent boner, which it seemed he had possessed ever since arriving back in his favorite retreat with this sensuous, giving woman. He wore only ragged cut off jeans-his usual beach attire-and his lean frame was burned rosy pink from the golden afternoon spent snorkeling and lying in the hot sun. His whole body tingled with heat, and the cool drink in his lap did little to dissuade his insistent bird.

Her undulating belly, as she rose again in a glissando, beckoned to him provocatively. She tugged open the knot of her patterned sarong and, with her back to him, took the ends of the sheer scarf and opened her arms wide, the colorful material creating a swath of dancing butterflies across her broad tempting ass. She swung to face him, her trunk swaying like the tall palms encircling the beach house, her breasts like large pale coconuts. She thrust her pelvis at him as the pounding beat drove her to a more frantic pace. Her bare pussy flashed like rose petals fringed by soft blonde grass, a tropical garden of earthly delights ready to be deflowered.

He was so concentrating on her performing pussy that he was startled to glance up and note the tears filling her eyes, seeping from under her long lashes. Her fluid steps faltered and her dance ground to a halt. With barely controlled emotion she stood panting before him, her full, ripe breasts pumping like bellows. Imploringly she searched his eyes, then spun, dropping her veil completely as she ran inside the open French doors.

He rose to follow, spilling his drink, not caring, only wanting to comfort and hold her. He found her in his bedroom, her voluptuous nude body flung face down across the king-sized waterbed, weeping profusely into her arms. He stretched out beside her, turning her over, into him, taking her exquisite face in his hands, kissing her tenderly, murmuring, “Please don’t cry. It’ll all work out. You’ll see…”