The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey (16 page)

Tucking her hair up under the old hat, she dashed into the corridor and straight into the white-robed arms of an even bigger
nun. Built like a biker, this one held her so tightly that Honey feared her belly padding would break open. She struggled
briefly before realizing the futility of the effort and went limp in the heavily muscled arms. Unceremoniously she was half
dragged, half carried to a small cell lit dimly by a glowing lantern.

Inside the dank smelling room, Honey was confronted by the stately nun who had earlier welcomed the marauders outside the
gates. She now stood behind a small table, her matronly face set sternly. She held out her hands and demanded something in
her native tongue. Honey, feigning innocence, shrugged questioningly. Again the mother superior spat out words in several
languages, until Honey recognized the French word. She knew then what was being demanded—they wanted to see how many rosary
beads she had collected since she’d entered the gates. Stalling for time, Honey pretended to search the pockets of her baggy
clothes. There was no escape. Her only way out of the tiny cell-like room was blocked by the massive nun behind her. Impatiently
the head nun snapped her fingers, demanding again to see the beads. Honey, with a sheepish grin through the fake facial hair,
turned her pockets inside out, demonstrating that they were empty.

A string of oaths broke from the astonished mother superior, and she railed openly, then beckoned the bigger nun forward and
spat out an order. At once the bigger nun, who had a face like a slab of roast beef, began pulling the white habit over her
massive shoulders and tossing it on the table, standing nude, like an enormous avalanche of white flesh. Her breasts were
so huge and heavy they hung far down on her obscenely swollen stomach. If Honey hadn’t thought it highly unlikely, she would
have sworn this fat nun was nine months pregnant. The obese
nun, whose pussy fur couldn’t even be detected in the heavy, waxy rolls of fat that hung from her waist like sacks of laundry,
promptly lay down on the table and opened her stumplike legs. The mother superior pointed at Honey, then at the gaping nude
thighs. Her meaning was more than clear—the head nun wanted this “man” to perform his sworn-in-blood task. Honey shook her
head defiantly, and from the table the big nun reared up partway, as if ready to strike out with a clenched fist.

Honey stood her ground and kept shaking her head. She pointed instead to the mother superior and pumped her hips, indicating
that she wanted to fuck her instead. A look of astonishment came over the older woman’s face, followed by one of resigned
acceptance. She hurled an order at the nun on the table, who heaved herself off, grabbed her white habit, and slunk out of
the room as if she had just been sent to the showers. Honey swept an arm up in the air several times, gesturing to the older
nun to take off her robes.

A gleam of unholy lust burst alive in the matronly nun’s eyes, and she tore off her white habit, exposing a reed-thin, but
surprisingly well-preserved body. Her small breasts lay like pancakes on her prominent ribcage. Almost coyly she lay down
on the wooden table and parted her slender thighs. Honey glimpsed a wiry pad of hair and formed a quick plan. Stepping boldly
forward, she began unzipping her baggy plaid pants, as if ready to draw out her cock, then leaned down and blew out the lantern’s
flame. The cell was plunged into total darkness, and Honey whipped out her trusty dildo, which she had wisely thought to bring
along. Moistening it with her mouth, she put it in her fly and stepped up to the open thighs. With her fingers she searched
the area before her, found the tight trench, and pushed her bogus cock into the crevice.

The mother superior of the Convent of the Sisters of the Moon was none the wiser. Though the dildo was larger than most of
the infidels who had forced their way with her in debauchings of bygone decades, the ersatz appendage now shoving into her
was as real as her memory of the authentic article. Grimly she gripped the table and passively allowed herself to be raped
by the strange, bearded man who had never taken off his clothes. However, the more his stiff, big, and slightly cold cock
plunged into her, the more she could not deny her internal reactions. In a very short time she was reeling with earthly sensations.
Wildly she began cursing aloud the infidel’s talented tool, in hope that she would be spared the humiliation of such forbidden
pleasures. But alas, her curses unconsciously slipped into praises, and she lost her ability to understand what was happening
to her. The flames licked at her very heart and she felt transported upward on hot wisps of smoke, higher and higher, until
the very face of Ormazd, lord of light and goodness, materialized before her internal eye, surrounded by an intense white
light. Weeping, the nun reached up her arms to embrace her lord and instantly exploded into a conflagration of brilliant heat.
She screamed with joyous release and became one with him.

Honey, amazed at the wild transformation of the stately nun, bent down, kissing her parched lips, and pulled out the ancient
ivory instrument of pleasure. In the darkness, the nun clung to her shoulders, weeping with hysterical sobs of pure joy. Gently,
Honey pushed away and pocketed the dildo, zipping up her pants, thinking only to locate Bouscaral before he exited the convent.
As she turned to leave, the still-panting nun grabbed her hand and gratefully poured into it all of her rosary beads.

Honey pocketed them and hurriedly left the dark cell, returning at once to the dormitory. The virgin nun was
not there, nor was Bouscaral. Nor could she find him anywhere in the now-subdued convent. The sun had risen, and in the courtyard
men staggered about in exhaustion. Small groups of elderly men were collapsed like broken wine bags around the perimeter.
Hastily, Honey completed her search and ruefully concluded that the Prince of Kink had once again disappeared. Heavy with
disappointment and fatigue, Honey presented at the front gates the more than twenty rosary beads received from the mother
superior, and was ushered outside as though she were the all-time champion. Feeling that she had failed in her quest, Honey
began making her way down the steep, rocky trail.

The famous Longhua Pagoda, one of China’s great architectural treasures, dating back to the Sung Dynasty, looked to Dirk like
a giant “French tickler” condom, all pointy edges and ruffled ridges. Surrounded by blooming peach trees, the tall, ancient
pagoda rose above the busy streets of Shanghai and made a pretty picture in his viewfinder. Idly he snapped a shot, not all
that interested. He had been in China’s largest city for three days and had yet to discover a single clue that might lead
him to the world renowned Mee-Lan triplets.

Ever since his arrival he had been making discreet inquiries, knowing full well that he was putting himself in danger of being
kicked out of the country. The communist regime more than frowned on tourists seeking prostitutes, opium, and gambling, all
of which had been plentiful in the old days, but were now strictly outlawed. Still, Dirk was undeterred.

Each morning he had checked the registers of the tourist hotels to see if Henri Bouscaral had registered. Visas were tightly
controlled, and Dirk knew it would be extremely difficult for Bouscaral to check in under a false name. Each day Dirk had
wandered the jammed streets full of thousands of bicyclists, and had toured the city’s sights, hoping against hope that he
would stumble across someone who knew of the acrobatic threesome. Each night he had been forced to retire to his room alone
as the city seemed to close up entirely, offering no stimulation to one such as he, who was used to an active nightlife. By
this third day he was bored out of his mind, and his bird of paradise was raging from disuse. Dirk could not remember going
three days in his entire adult life without getting laid. All he could think about was the mysteriously beautiful Kolina and
her ravishing sister, Barbro, and beat his meat mercilessly.

Then, quite unexpectedly, on the evening of his third day, an elderly, neatly dressed Oriental approached him just as he was
about to retire to his hotel after another futile day of searching. “Excuse me, sir,” the Chinese said politely in perfect
English, “but I think I may help you.”

“How?” Dirk asked suspiciously, aware that the city was ripe with agents of the government.

“If you would be so kind, follow me.”

“Where to?”

“To that which you seek.” The elderly man turned and moved off down the sidewalk, which was clustered with curbside barbers
and cobblers just closing up their stands.

Eagerly, Dirk fell in behind him, checking carefully to see if they were being followed. There was such a crush of people,
scurrying to their homes on foot or by bicycle, that it was impossible to ascertain whether anyone was paying more than usual
attention to the tall, lean American. In his short stay, Dirk had become quite accustomed
to being the object of an almost childlike curiosity. Grinning, friendly faces had often clustered around him on his daily
tours of the city, and he had grown quite fond of their openly expressed good humor. Now, however, he wished he were smaller
and less conspicuous, for he had an undeniable feeling he was onto something important. Slouching as much as his six-foot-two
frame would allow, Dirk hurried after the elderly man.

He was led far from the hotel, down to the Bund, the waterfront, which, by the time they reached it, was almost devoid of
people. Giant freighters and boats of all sizes and descriptions filled the famous harbor, and strident whistles announced
departing craft. In the gathering dusk, lights were twinkling on, ringing the waterfront like sparkling jewels. And still
the old Chinese man scurried on, with Dirk on his trail. Deeper into the warehouse district they moved, and Dirk began to
feel a growing sense of unease. Doubt flooded him. Was he actually being led to his goal, or to some sinister trap? Several
times he tried hailing the little man, calling to him to slow down. But the gentleman, dressed in a muted gray Mao suit, did
not even turn around. He ducked around the corner of a large wooden structure and disappeared.

Dirk approached the corner and stopped, staring down a pitch-black alleyway, the hairs on the back of his neck rising with
suspicion. The little Oriental was nowhere to be seen. Dirk hesitated, debating with himself. Should he or shouldn’t he? Though
he knew modern-day China was relatively free from crime and violence, his caution was getting the best of him. He was about
to turn away when the cultured voice of the little man called out from the darkness, “This way, please. Do not worry. All
is well.”

Dirk squared his shoulders and walked slowly into the alleyway. He had progressed only a few steps when he heard someone moving
beside him. He whirled just as a
karate chop crashed into the back of his neck, sending him sprawling to the pavement and into oblivion.

Slowly, tediously he climbed the steep ladder back to consciousness. A single lightbulb glared over his head, and he found
himself lying on a metal floor. He eased his head into a roll to look around, and was pleased to note that he was experiencing
no pain other than a slight stiffness in his neck. His eyes darted around the metal walls, which were held together with large
rivets, like boilerplate. The bare room was small and looked like a cabin on a freighter of some sort. He experienced a flash
of fear—was he being Shanghaied, as in olden days? Was he being held prisoner? He pushed unsteadily to his feet and swayed
dizzily for a moment before his head cleared. Urgently he checked his pockets; his wallet and passport were missing. That
sent him into a tailspin of remorse. Why hadn’t he listened to his inner voice of caution? He tried the handle on the single
door. He was locked in. He began pounding on the iron door, shouting, “Open up, dammit!”

He ceased his racket to listen, pressing his ear against the cold metal. Not a sound. No engines throbbing, no sense of motion
anywhere. Frantically he looked around for something to attack the door’s large hinges, but there was nothing in the room
except himself. He flashed on Honey’s beautiful face admonishing him for taking such an unnecessary risk. And he longed for
just one more opportunity to hold her in his arms. Cursing his own foolishness, he slumped against the door in remorse.

A sound broke into his self-castigation. Someone was opening the door! He stepped back with a clenched fist raised, prepared
to attack. The door swung inward on its rusty hinges, squeaking loudly. Dirk steeled himself. To his astonishment, a tiny,
grandmotherly woman poked
her gray head around the door with a friendly smile. “You okay?” she asked politely.

He nodded and was about to bombard her with questions when she motioned to him to follow. She withdrew, and he could hear
her cotton shoes swishing down the outside corridor. He stuck his head out, checking both ways before stepping over the raised
rim of the doorjamb and hurrying after her. The woman was gowned in a richly embroidered robe of bright scarlet silk, and
in her tightly bound gray hair a black lacquered comb formed a small crown on the back of her head. They were, indeed, on
a ship of some sort, but there were no indications in the small compartments he passed that it had been used recently. Not
a personal item could be seen anywhere. It looked like a ghost ship.

On and on he was led, through the bowels of what was apparently a large ship, until she stopped outside another closed door.
She bowed to him formally and opened the metal door. This one did not squeak. A soft glow of light spilled out and he looked
in. The walls were covered in rich tapestries that looked hundreds of years old, and on the floor lay an exquisite rug of
blue and gold. On a small ebony table before a couch of yellow satin pillows lay his wallet and passport. He scooped them
up and checked his money supply. Not a single bill was missing. Perplexed, he turned toward the hatchway. The little grandmother
had vanished.