The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey (13 page)

“Peruvian flake,” Yves said, and precisely snorted the remaining two lines. He packed away the case and slid it back under
the mattress, sinking to sit on the edge. “You are a very attractive man. Very American.”

“Ahh… thanks, I guess…”

“What brings a Yank to this part of the world?” Yves asked in a friendly manner.

Dirk stared at the man, trying to determine how to proceed. Yves was masculine, warm, and seemingly quite at ease with his
homosexuality. Dirk, on the other hand, was just as assured of and comfortable with his own heterosexuality. The problem he
was confronting was
simple—he wanted something different than Yves did, and therefore he concluded he’d have to be direct. “I came here to find
you.”

Yves looked surprised. “Why?”

“I want information about Kolina Svensen’s disappearance.”

Yves blanched and sat straight up. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Come off it, Yves. I’m not out to hurt you. I just want to find the girl.”

“How do you know who I am?” Yves asked, suddenly on guard.

“That’s not important,” Dirk said. “What’s important is that Kolina is returned safely. That’s all I want.”

Yves looked away. “I cannot help you.”

“I think you can. You know something about Kolina that will help locate her. Surely you don’t wish her any harm.”

Yves shook his head sadly. “Of course not.”

“Then help me… help her,” Dirk urged.

Yves snorted bitterly. “Ironic, no? I bring you in here to get something, and it turns out you want something more urgent.”

Dirk moved toward the door, telling Yves, “I’ll meet you in the cafe across the street. And don’t try to run away. I’m a very
determined man.”

Dirk retrieved his clothes from the locker, pulled them on, and sped out of the bathhouse. Relieved to be outside in the fading
sunlight, breathing the fresh mountain air of the tiny village, he crossed the dusty street and plopped down in a chair in
the nearly empty outdoor cafe. Eyeing the only door to the bathhouse, he ordered a cold bottle of local beer and gulped it
down. He was on his second when he spotted her: a black-eyed, black-haired, buxom young lady of no more than twenty-one, sitting
by herself
in the deepening shadows of the awning-covered patio. She had the face of a Goya painting, bewitching in its sultry magnificence,
enticing in its sensual magic. And she was eyeing him covertly over a glass of what looked like sangria.

A fire of unquenchable proportions burst to life in his groin. He smiled his most engaging, nonthreatening invitation. Much
to his delight, she returned it in kind before glancing coyly away. He was about to move to her table when Yves, once again
debonairly dressed, strolled out of the bathhouse and started directly across the street toward him. Cursing the rotten timing,
Dirk shrugged apologetically to the mystically beautiful presence in the far corner, and turned wtih a wry expression to greet
the gay Frenchman.

Bouscaral sank into the opposite chair with an air of resigned amusement. “No hard feelings?”

Dirk shrugged, muttering, “Not yet.” In spite of the circumstances of their meeting, he could find nothing to dislike about
the man. If Honey had drummed one thing into his head over the years, it was that an individual had the right to freedom of
choice. Therefore he couldn’t fault the man merely for his predilections. He glanced at the large-breasted lady in the corner
and reluctantly returned his focus to his tablemate. “Okay, Yves, tell me what you know.”

Bouscaral took out of his blazer a slim gold cigarette case, and fished out a cigarette. With some irritation, Dirk watched
him light it with a matching gold lighter, inhale deeply, and exhale, blowing the smoke to one side. Yves smiled. “I’m afraid
you’ve overreacting to this girl’s disappearance.”

“Meaning?” Dirk asked testily.

“Easy, my friend.” Yves puffed for a moment, then began in a confident manner, “Kolina is in no danger.
On the contrary, she is having the time of her life. I know for a fact that she’s run away with a man she adores. It is merely
an affair of the heart. Passion, that’s all. Surely you can understand passion.”

Dirk thought for a moment, then took a wild stab in the dark. “This guy wouldn’t be the one you met with up in the hills early
today?”

Yves’s casual facade crumbled like a dry sand castle, his ruddy complexion going pale. “Absolutely not,” he rasped, and pushed
himself out of his chair. “
Au revoir
,” he said as he strode briskly away.

Dirk cried after him, “Dammit, you’re a big fuckin’ help.”

The Frenchman paused long enough to shrug and smile. “So were you, Yank. So were you.”

In less than an hour, Dirk was back in his cluttered and garishly tiled hotel suite at the Bussaco Palace, reporting to Honey
by phone. From the bed, he said into the receiver, “The problem is, the bastard won’t say who Kolina is with.”

“Sounds like another coverup, doesn’t it?” Honey commented, the excitement of the chase evident in her tone. “Very suspicious,
Yves flying off for a sudden rendezvous just after I ask him about Kolina. My hunch is, this stranger he met in the hills
is somehow connected. How soon can you get me copies of the photos you took? Dirk? You there?”

On the bed, on top of the buxom, black-eyed beauty from the village cafe, Dirk pumped away, his head buried in the pillow
next to the receiver, above her soft shoulder. “Yeah. I’m here,” he croaked, enjoying the sensation of talking to his beautiful
sister while fucking a gorgeous college student from Madrid. “What’d you say, sis?”

“Am I keeping you from something?” Honey asked, laughingly.

“No,” he replied and adjusted his knees, pushing apart the young woman’s firm thighs, opening her pussy lips even wider. “I’m
doing just super, Honey.”

“I asked how soon I can get those photos?”

“They’re on the way,” he grunted. “When’s Disa arriving?”

She laughed. “Flying in from Munich on Wednesday.”

“Ah, the fabulous Disa,” he mused aloud, and visualized the beautiful blonde with whom he’d never managed to score. “Give
her my best.”

“I’ll do more than that. I’ll give her
mine
. Say, I’m sorry I failed to mention that Yves goes for men. Must have slipped my mind.”

“Yeah, sure,” he growled and banged his way deep into the wet warmth of the young woman’s hot oven. “Well, like you always
say—to each his own.” The receiver fell away unnoticed and he lost himself in the pure exhilaration of coming. By the time
he recovered enough to remember the phone, Honey had disconnected.

The moment Honey showed her the copy of Dirk’s Portuguese photo, darling Disa Dichter exclaimed, “Why, that’s Yves’s older
brother, Henri Bouscaral! But of course I know him,” Disa continued in her spirited manner, tossing her blonde mane like a
proud lioness. “He is the black sheep of the whole Bouscaral family. Honey, he’s
very
decadent. Very heavy into kink. It is his
idée fixe
, his obsession.”

“What kind of kink?” Honey asked, her interest in the man more than piqued.

“Absolutely
everything
,” Disa winked.

Honey smiled. “Well, then surely you, Disa, of all people, would know where to begin looking for him.”

Disa considered the question only briefly before bursting into a smile reeking of illicitness. “But of course. Nadez will
know!”

“Nadez? Who’s that?”

Disa frowned with mock alarm and locked arms with Honey, drawing her into an intimate embrace. “Sweet Honey, you have been
out of the social scene far too long. Nadez is renowned in my circles. Absolutely
everyone
who’s in the know calls her the Queen of Kink.”

Honey trilled a laugh of delight and kissed the wickedly beautiful face before her. “What are we waiting for? Let’s visit
this kinky queen
tout de suite
! Where does she hold court?”

The afternoon of that very same day brought Honey and her cherished former school chum to the lovely harbor city of St. Peter
Port, Guernsey, on one of the tiny Channel Islands a dozen miles off the French coast. Overlooking the blue sea, quaint cottage-styled
houses rose, tier upon tier, up the steep hillside ringing one of the most beautiful natural harbors in all Europe. Enchanted
by the view, Honey read in her guidebook: “Though more French in history than English, the island natives pledge their allegiance
to England as a result of the conquering invasion of the United Kingdom by William, Duke of Normandy, in 1066.” From their
luxury hotel suite she surveyed the harbor filled with fishing boats and dozens of pleasure yachts, thinking that the locale
was so innocent-appearing that it would be the last place in the world she would look for the Queen of Kink.

True to form, however, Disa had her finger on the pulse of all that was decadent and risqué in the world. Relishing her assigned
task as go-between, she curled like a jungle cat on the large bed and dialed the unlisted number for Nadez’s infamous establishment.
As Disa gave the secret password over the phone, Honey stood by the windows, admiring once again the lithe but full-breasted
body of her longtime lover. Disa was a delicious vision of tawny skin, lean limbs, and masses of champagne-blonde hair piled
with fetching disarray on top of her head. The beloved
only child of a German multimillionaire industrialist, Disa had always spent enormous sums of money frivolously and indulged
her every whim. And Honey adored her, loving her vivacious, carefree spirit and her tender devotion.

Disa hung up the receiver, glowing with success. “We have an appointment at eight sharp tonight,” she cooed, and kicked off
her high heels. “Now come here, you beautiful vixen. We have a great deal of catching up to do.”

Honey fell into her arms with growing urgency. They wrestled and rolled on the big bed like two schoolgirls, giggling, kissing,
and tearing off each other’s clothes. Soon they were naked, passionately embracing, their aroused nipples brushing together.
As they reexplored the familiar but still stimulating territories, their lovely bodies were perfectly matched. Both were long-limbed,
with large full breasts; their mounds of Venus, between curvaceous thighs, were well defined. Only the colors of their hair
and skin were strikingly dissimilar; Honey’s deep red tresses contrasted vividly with Disa’s light blonde masses, and Honey’s
satiny skin was the color of fresh milk, while Disa, who frequented the world’s most exclusive nude beaches, was tanned all
over a light golden brown. Their muffs also were quite different; Honey’s was a vivid, bright red, as full and luxurious as
a fox pelt, while Disa’s was scantier and a soft, golden yellow.

Honey now dipped her face into the luscious lower lips of her playmate and licked the ambrosia that had already formed. Disa
tasted as sweet as an aperitif. She wrapped her strong legs around Honey’s neck, urging her with writhing hips to deeper explorations.
Honey obliged, parting the happy valley with her teasing tongue and locking on the hard nubbin of lust she knew so well. Like
a volcanic rock in a sea of rolling liquid, Disa’s distended
clitoris responded at once to Honey’s lingual liberties. “Oh, my darling,” Disa squealed, and pumped her pussy against Honey’s
mouth. “Why has it been so long?”

Honey raised her head, licking her lips. “Because, dear one, you are rarely in one spot long enough for me to track you down.”

“And you,” Disa sputtered as she pulled Honey up to her soft breasts, “
you
insisted on being a roaming journalist instead of enjoying the fruits of your poor father’s labors. With his estate, you
could live like a princess for the rest of your days.”

Honey bubbled with laughter and pushed Disa’s head down to her own love delta, which was rapidly filling with volatile fuels.
“Eat me, you wicked, lazy bitch.”

“My pleasure,” Disa replied, and dove into her partner’s pussy with a vengeance, her eager tongue darting into the moist darkness
like an anteater searching for delicacies. On and on she snacked until Honey’s love channel was so filled with raging lust
that Disa’s tongue was swimming.

Wallowing in the netherlands of sexual ecstasy, Honey yanked Disa’s hips around so she could give as well as receive pleasure.
Mouths pressed to each other’s pussies, the two rapidly rode to their mutually satisfying climaxes, in a series of gut-wrenching
explosions that left them gasping in delight.

Shortly before eight, refreshed from their late-afternoon tryst and a subsequent nap, Honey and Disa rode by cab to an isolated
mansion on a windswept bluff not far from Victor Hugo’s former abode. From the outside, Honey could detect nothing out of
the ordinary. The large Tudor-style house looked discreetly normal, elegantly refined. A single Rolls Royce Silver Cloud was
parked in the maple-lined drive that swept up before the imposing,
ironbound front door. Disa knocked with a special code, and shortly a small window flew open and a pair of beady eyes surveyed
them. Disa smiled bewitchingly and spoke the passwords: “
Aux grands maux les grands remédes
.”

Instantly the wide, heavy door opened inward and they stepped into the flagstone-paved entry. The door was closed behind them
by a thin man dressed in formal butler’s attire. Silently he led them down a nearby hallway into an antique-furnished reception
room. Flocked gold wallpaper and crystal chandeliers aglow with lighted candles added a festive atmosphere to the room. The
hall door shut behind them and they were alone. From somewhere deep in the house, a Chopin piano etude filtered to them. With
keen anticipation they stared at one another and waited.

“Welcome, my beauties,” a deep female voice greeted them with a thick Russian accent. In surprise, Honey whirled around just
in time to see a secret panel closing in the wall behind the unexpected arrivee. The woman was huge, well over six feet tall
and weighing at least two hundred and fifty pounds. In spite of her large proportions, she possessed an hourglass shape emphasized
by a tight black Merry Widow corset. Her mammoth breasts overflowed the tight covering, and on her hefty thighs, black garters
held up black net stockings. Her lower legs were encased in knee-high, laced-up black leather boots with stiletto heels. In
one hand she carried a short riding crop and in the other a goblet of an odd-colored liquid. It was impossible for Honey to
discern what the gargantuan woman’s face looked like, for it was covered from brow to just below the nose with a full black
leather mask. At once Honey was intrigued, and she felt a delicious tingle rising between her legs.