The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey (21 page)

“But not for long, eh?”

“Long enough,” she replied coyly, “to know she and I are perfectly matched sexually. We still are.”

Embarrassed by her confession, he glanced around at the people so closely packed near them. None of them were paying any attention,
but were absorbed either in the passing scenery of rugged beauty or in their own conversations. He returned his focus to Disa,
and his bird hopped up a full notch, straining at the front of his jeans. He leaned down to her ear. “I bet you and I would
be perfectly matched too.”

“Like sister, like brother?” she teased. “Doubtful, Dirk. Honey is the most erotic creature I’ve ever encountered. I can climax
just by watching her beautiful face.”

“Me too,” he admitted quietly.

“Is it true you and she have never done the fabulous act?”

“Did she tell you that?”

“Many times,” Disa purred. “I never really believed her, though. After all, I know from experience how sexual she is. And
you, with all your beautiful models you photograph and have affairs with—Honey’s told me all about them. So I just can’t understand
why you two
have never made love, when it’s so obvious that you love each other so very, very much.”

“Believe me, it’s not by
my
choice.”

Disa raised her head in apparent astonishment. “You mean Honey draws that line?”

He nodded. “Silly, isn’t it? After all, what’s a little incest when you’re in love?”

She laughed again and as if by accident, one of her hands dropped between them, grazing the front of his jeans, bumping the
head of his straining cock. “My, my, my… if you were my brother, I’d have tested your prowess long, long ago…” Her exploring
hand returned to his fly. “You seem to be so hot all the time.”

“Runs in the family.” For an agonizing moment he humped into her hand, then whispered heatedly, “Take it out. Set it free.”

Apprehensively she glanced around at the crowd, half protesting, “My fiancé is right over there.”

“Which one?”

“The balding one with the sunglasses.”

Dirk located her new boyfriend and was pleased to note that in addition to his thinning hairline, the guy was short and much
older than she. “Does he make you happy?”

“Sometimes,” she murmured, and deftly unzipped his jeans. In a flash, Dirk’s freed bird was in the palm of her hand. “Hmmmmm,
Dirk, you feel so good. So strong. So virile.”

Wordlessly he pressed closer in breathless excitement. The proximity of so many unaware people only increased his fervor.
He pumped surreptitiously, wanting more. “Stay with me tonight,” he urged in a harsh whisper.

“Damn, I can’t,” she sighed, and stroked the length of his hard dick, her long fingernails raking it agonizingly.

“Why not?”

“We leave for Tokyo tonight.”

“Ditch the guy,” he panted into her light golden hair.

She laughed throatily. “But in the morning you’ll leave to find Honey, and I’ll be all alone again.”

“Come with me. Surely you, of all people, would know where Bouscaral might be.”

“I remember once, our last year in school, Honey disappeared for over a month,” she recalled sadly as she continued to stroke
him. “Everyone was worried to death for her. Then she just popped up again. She’d been living with a gondolier in Venice the
whole time.”

Almost angrily he pushed his hand down into the tight space between them and grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly over his
raging dick. “Dammit, Disa,” he muttered, “Bouscaral’s already holding one girl against her will. That I know for a fact.
And when Honey went to help her, she too disappeared. Doesn’t that indicate something to you?”

She shrugged her full breasts into his chest. “Don’t squirt on me,” she whispered. “Such a sticky mess to clean up.”

In reply he let go of her hand and fumbled for the zipper of her slacks. She shook her head madly at him, but he persisted
until he had successfullly opened her slacks. Grinning at her alarm, he jammed a greedy hand between her legs and felt the
damp hairs and the already parted lips. “Dirk,” she warned him with gritted teeth, and tried to wiggle free.

But they were jammed too tightly amidst the other passengers. She was trapped, and knew it. “Damn you, Dirk,” she hissed.
“Someone will see.”

“So what?” He poked a finger far inside her, and wiggled it back and forth.

“You are impossible,” she said quietly, not letting go of his rigid dick.

“No, I’m easy,” he joked, relishing her confusion and the lust he was raising in her liquid eyes. They were darting around,
looking over the heads peering out the windows, but he could tell that she was as turned on as he was. His finger searched
for and found her firm clit. Working it furiously, he bent his knees, leaning back into the person directly behind him. With
his free hand he jerked his prick out of her hand and positioned its bludgeoning head at the very entrance to her pussy. Her
eyes grew large at his daring, and she shook her head again fiercely. Ignoring her warnings, he bent his knees further, grateful
that she was long-legged and tall. It made the task that much easier.

Slowly he eased his dipstick into her, loving her tightness and the wet, clamping warmth. Like a knife blade returning to
its sheath, his stiff dick slid into her and he threw his arms around her shoulders, pulling her upper body into his. Her
eyes rolled back into her head, briefly, then returned to lock with his. She moaned as Dirk gently rocked her back and forth.

He slipped his hands behind her back and down inside the waistband of her slacks, grabbing two handfuls of her soft ass. The
rocking and swaying of the railroad car as it lumbered up the steep slope made it possible for him to just stand, knees slightly
bent, and still maintain the secret fucking. With the steadiness of the train’s chugging engine, he climbed his own peak of
pleasure. Adroitly he plunged a finger up her asshole. Her eyes closed in obvious abandonment, her tanned cheeks turning apple
red. Her luscious mouth parted, her pink tongue licking her lips.

Just as the train reached the very top of White Pass and poised to rush down the other side, Dirk froze on the edge of his
own precipice, his prick twitching deep within her steamy tunnel. With a gasp loud enough to cause
more than one head to turn and stare questioningly at the clutching couple, he shot his load deep into her. Again and again
he detonated, each fusillade seeming larger in quantity and longer in duration than the preceding one. His knees buckled under
the barrage, and if it hadn’t been for the people pressed so compactly around him, he would have slipped entirely to the floor
of the car, unable to support even his own weight. At the same time, Disa came too, squeezing his bird in the wild contractions
of her creaming cunt.

With a screech of metal on metal and hissing air brakes, the train lurched to an unexpected stop, throwing forward all of
the passengers, like a collapsing house of cards. “All out, all out,” the conductor shouted. “We have a small fire in the
engine room.”

Instantly people were pushing and shoving to be out of the car, and Dirk, still inside Disa, found himself being pressed toward
the front of the car. Hurriedly he extracted his drained bird and struggled to button up his fly in the jumble of exiting
people. Disa, shaking and flushed, fumbled with her slacks, casting a guilty eye toward her timber baron. Dirk just managed
to make himself presentable as he was ejected through the open door and out onto the gravel roadbed.

Disa tumbled after him and they stared at the black smoke pouring from the old-fashioned steam locomotive. They looked at
each other and broke into gales of laughter. Her balding lumber magnate approached with curiosity, and still laughing, she
introduced him to Dirk. The two men shook hands with wary respect, and as the trio chatted casually beside the stalled train,
the sweep of mountains surrounding them with a naturally beautiful backdrop, Dirk noted that the timberman kept looking across
at the front of his jeans. Not wanting to give anything away by checking his fly, Dirk waited until the all-clear
signal had been given and people started clambering back into the cars before he glanced down at his jeans. To his embarrassment,
he noticed that the tail of his shirt was sticking out of his fly like a limp dick, caught in the buttons of his jeans.

The rest of the journey to Whitehorse and back was uneventful. Dirk enjoyed the talkative company of Disa’s new boyfriend,
and basked in the bewitching presence of Disa. The rugged scenery was breathtaking, the steak dinner they shared back in Skagway
that evening was delicious, the many drinks consumed providing an easy high. Throughout, he kept questioning her on her knowledge
of Bouscaral and persisted in his request that she join him to search for Honey. She laughed him off, repeating her assertion
that Honey was a big girl and could take care of herself. When it came time to retire for the evening, Dirk pulled her into
his arms and kissed her tenderly. Flustered, she returned it briefly before rejoining her beau, linking an arm through his
and waving a sad adieu.

Feeling all the more lonely and frustrated, Dirk returned to his hotel room and tried to fall asleep. But it was impossible.
His doubts concerning Honey’s and Kolina’s safety nagged at his mind. Close to three in the morning, the phone rang. It was
a long-distance collect call from the desk clerk at the Shangri-La Hotel. A cablegram had been received for him. Eagerly he
listened to its cryptic, unsigned message, thanked the clerk for tracking him down, and hung up, lost in confusion, trying
to decipher the cable. It had read simply, “Where Mom met Dad.”

He knew for certain it was from Honey, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember where the hell their parents had met.
Tossing, turning, he stewed for hours, cursing himself for being so forgetful, and Honey for picking the
one area in which his memory was weakest. Finally, before dawn, he checked out of the hotel and went to catch a connecting
flight for San Francisco. The only place he knew he could get the necessary information was at the family home in Hillsborough.
He was positive that he remembered seeing an old scrapbook of his parent’s early days together. The clue to Honey’s whereabouts
had to be buried within its pages. It just had to be. It was his only hope.

On Menorca, one of the Balearic Islands in the Mediterranean, off the coast of Spain, she sat tensely under a large blue and
white striped beach umbrella on the edge of the secluded cove, counting the minutes until Kolina’s return from the village
of Ciudadela. Every moment the beautiful girl was out of her sight, Honey was worried about Kolina’s safety and could not
relax. She had seen Bouscaral’s mercurial changes of mood; sometimes they bordered on madness, even violence. He had the girl
guarded at every moment with a growing possessiveness and jealousy that sent chills up Honey’s spine. Other than the twice-daily
French lessons, Kolina was constantly under Henri’s thumb, and Honey was convinced that the longer the girl was held captive,
the more her life was in danger.

But Honey had yet to come up with a certain escape plan. Every scheme she thought up she eventually rejected
as being too risky. The single most significant factor working against her was Bouscaral himself. He never informed her of
their destinations until they had already landed in his private jet; he never let on how long they were to stay in one spot,
which periods varied widely, from overnight up to a week; he never let anyone not in his employ anywhere near his entourage;
he whisked them in and out of countries, usually in the dead of night, without any of them having to go through customs or
come face to face with any authorities or police. His seemingly unlimited bank account blanketed them all with a protective
layer of isolation. The latest locale was a huge, Spanish-designed villa in which he had ensconced them all.

Only once had she been able to attempt to notify the outside world, and that had been by means of a hastily written message,
accompanied by a hundred-dollar bill, that she had left in a ladies’ room in the airport in Curaçao, asking the finder to
send a cable to Dirk in care of the hotel in Honk Kong. But she had no idea whether the message had even been found, let alone
sent. And that uncertainty only heightened her sense of desperation. For the life of her, she could not think of a way to
get Kolina and herself out of their traveling prison.

“Claudine!” called the girl’s voice from the other end of the beach.

With immense relief, Honey spotted the hauntingly beautiful girl running barefoot through the sand toward her. She was dressed
in a gauzy, almost see-through dress of pure white; her windswept, light golden hair was the color of the sand, and the blue-green
sea beyond her silhouetted her striking figure with a shimmering backdrop. Honey stood, adjusting her beach robe, which protected
her fair skin from the hot sun.

“Claudine,” the girl said breathlessly, and glanced over her shoulder at the fast-approaching guard. “I saw your
brother! In town. But the guards did too, and they recognized him! I’m frightened for him, Claudine.”

Honey was thrown into confusion—he
had
received her cable! Hope and fear mounted together. “Dirk? Here? Did he see you?”

“Yes, yes. And he tried to speak, but the guards shoved him away. The head one is going to tell Henri, I just know,” Kolina
cried. “Oh, Claudine, I’m scared for him. He looked so angry. I’m afraid he’ll do something silly and get in trouble.”

“Yes, most likely,” Honey said, her mind racing. “But you must not let on. Now collect yourself at once. Here comes Tweedledum.”

On cue, the younger of the tough-looking guards approached, eyeing them suspiciously. “Inside,” he ordered Kolina curtly.
“Now!”

The girl ducked her light blonde head and, with a sidelong glance of concern at Honey, slipped away toward the stucco villa
partially hidden in the lush foliage. Honey, pretending anger, stared after Kolina and turned to the guard, muttering, “That
child will never learn. She wants to go swimming instead of having her lesson this afternoon. I must protest to Monsieur Bouscaral.”
Gathering the long skirts of her beach robe, she too marched toward the villa.