Roland DeForrest: The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey

“I can’t thank you enough,” she whispered into his ear. “If it hadn’t been for you, I would never have met Honey. Or be free of that horrid man.”

“My pleasure,” he murmured heatedly, and pushed more of his hot member into her. His long-held desire to do exactly what he was now doing overpowered him with its strength. He let his legs drift to the sandy bottom, and standing, trembling, holding her tightly, he sank his shaft deep into her watery vagina. She was as tight as he had imagined, and obviously savored the sensation, for she began bouncing up and down, moaning sweet endearments into his neck.

The surrounding warm water was like an extension of her womb, and he felt as though he had crawled completely inside her. With her magically beautiful face pressed close to his, her surprisingly large breasts floating between them, brushing and pushing into his chest with their own rhythm, he relished the total sensuality of the moment. He fought to prolong it as long as possible, but his buried bird had a mind of its own. Rapidly it approached its moment of truth, and he bit into the soft flesh of her neck in exquisite agony. “Kolina, Kolina,” he groaned, and pumped faster and faster, rising toward the ultimate goal with incredible speed.

He came with such force that it blew him off his feet, and they fell into the waves, going completely under as he detonated into her wet warmth. Sputtering, gasping for air, they surfaced, still locked together, and he felt her contractions pushing her own climax. Eyes wide with bliss, she flung her arms over her blonde head and floated on her back, still joined to him, her love channel filling now with her own fluids, her breasts rising from the water like emerging islands.

Realizing at last that they were not alone, Dirk glanced sheepishly over at the other pair to see if they had noticed the nocturnal activity in the moonlit water. He need not have worried. Honey was so wrapped up in the warm caresses of Barbro that she was enveloped in her own pleasures, completely unaware of everything except the tasty dish in her arms. The sea around them was frothy with their rapid underwater movements. Soon he could hear the unmistakable grunts and groans of a mutual climax and he felt at peace, knowing that his sister was getting hers too.

The deliciously weary foursome eventually drifted out of the water, across the sand, and up onto the wide veranda to dry themselves and sip more champagne. The night was still, except for the lapping waves that had brought so much enjoyment to all of them. Seeing the three women sprawled so gracefully nude on the wicker fan chairs, Dirk grabbed his camera and began snapping pictures of their wonderfully vibrant bodies. Each one personified perfection in her own way: Honey with her alabaster skin, amazingly full breasts, and a pussy devoid of hair; Barbro with her tightly packed dancer’s form, her wide hips, and enticing, firm thighs; and Kolina with her angelic face and voluptuous woman’s body. Individually each would have been a masterpiece; together they were a surfeit of splendors, and it took considerable concentration on his part to keep his mind on the lens settings for the extremely low available light. He completed a roll of film and urged them softly into the house, where he would have more light. Without a murmur of protest they followed his lead into his bedroom and draped themselves fetchingly on his waterbed.

Coiled together like three muses, the two genuine blondes and the bogus brunette were a single meshing of languid, relaxed bodies. He slipped a new roll of film into his Nikon F3 and began to snap some extremely hot shots as the fair trio entertained their exclusive photographer, their exaggerated poses and emphasized eroticism growing increasingly more realistic.

Suddenly a harsh voice broke into their sanctuary. “ Bon soir .”

The ladies screamed as one, and Dirk whirled in astonishment just as Henri Bouscaral marched into the room. “What the fuck?” Dirk growled, and flung himself up off the waterbed. He could hear footsteps approaching from the living room, and fully expected to see Bouscaral’s two henchmen appear in the doorway.

Instead, a vision of silver-headed loveliness materialized-a mature, exquisitely dressed, and bejeweled woman with a regal, aristocratic bearing. She smiled graciously at the confused tangle of nude flesh on the bed. “Good evening, all. Please forgive our unannounced intrusion upon your festivities. I came as soon as I could.”

“Madame Bouscaral!” Honey breathed in astonishment, and sat bolt upright, making no attempt to cover her nakedness.

“Berengere-Marie!” squealed Kolina and darted up, dashing across the room to throw her arms around the older woman.

In amazement, Dirk stared at the lovely duo, who were embracing like long-lost mother and daughter. Each was so spectacularly beautiful, he had forgotten totally about his own nudity. Suddenly he remembered and grabbed a towel from the floor, wrapping it around his middle. “Would someone introduce us properly?” he asked no one in particular, unable to take his eyes off the older woman.

Honey bubbled with laughter. “Marquise Berengere-Marie Bouscaral, may I present my brother, Dirk Wildon. Dirk, this is the mother of Yves and Henri.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. Hello there,” he managed to murmur, and cast a glance at the Frenchman. Henri stood frozen like a statue off to one side, his face an obvious mask of embarrassment and chagrin as he eyed Kolina. Dirk noted that the young woman was deliberately ignoring the man. But it was the older woman who attracted Dirk’s eye, and at once he felt a surge of lustful desire rush through him.

The Marquise was smiling tantalizingly at him. “ Enchanté , Dirk. And Honey, it is such a pleasure to see you again. Even under these rather awkward circumstances.” She turned to Barbro. “You must be Kolina’s sister. She’s told me so much about you, I feel we’ve already met.”

As Barbro effusively greeted the mature beauty, Honey gathered three sarongs from the closet and tossed one to each of the sisters, pulling on the third herself. With a sad sense of loss, Dirk watched their ripe bodies disappear beneath the brightly patterned material. Even Henri seemed disappointed to be deprived of the sight of the beautiful figures. He slumped against the wall and stared at the floor.

His mother turned to him with a small frown. “Henri,” she began with a trace of vexation, “it is time to follow through on your promise.”

“Mama,” he mumbled without looking at her, “must I?”

“But of course,” she insisted. “Now stand straight like a man and speak up.”

With the aggrieved sigh of a put-upon child, Henri pulled himself upright and sheepishly addressed Kolina. “Forgive me, Kolina. I am truly sorry for what I put you through. I got carried away with my love for you.” Unable to hold her disapproving gaze, he quickly glanced to Honey. “And you too, Mademoiselle. I regret everything.”

“And me?” Dirk asked sharply, remembering the whizzing bullet in Menorca. “Am I included in this?”

“ Oui, Monsieur ,” the Frenchman said contritely. “Please forgive my actions, and those of my overly zealous men. Believe me, I meant only to frighten you away.”

“Well, you nearly damned well got me-”

“Dirk,” Honey interrupted. “Henri has expressed his regret and I, for one, believe him and accept his apology. I am certain we owe the Marquise a huge debt of gratitude for bringing about his abrupt change of heart.”

The Marquise beamed broadly, her strikingly handsome face a beacon of internal light. She reached out and placed a graceful hand on Dirk’s arm.

His skin prickled at her soft touch, and all resistance melted away as she spoke intimately. “And you, Dirk? Do you forgive my son? I promise I will do anything I can to make up for his ill-mannered behavior.”