The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey (3 page)

As he snapped away, her hands moved to her breasts and she touched her dark nipples with intimate assurance, soon standing
them to attention like dusky olives. His imprisoned bird jumped fully to life. “Open your legs wider,” he suggested, his voice
hoarse with urgency.

Slowly she parted her thighs, and he quelled the desire to rush to her feet for a more satisfying view of what he had been
longing to see. Instead he finished the roll with varying angles from her upper torso, framing several of the shots of her
enticing bush between the hills of her large, puddinglike breasts. Changing to his fully loaded Nikon F3, he pushed down his
straining bird and gulped the rest of his wine. He poured another glass and stole a glance at her.

Eyes closed, she had been busy on her own; one finger was tentatively exploring the furled opening to her vagina. Silently
he moved to her feet and watched intently her digital dexterity. Delicately she was parting the umber-colored lips, revealing
a slash of bright pink. He knelt and aimed his camera, quickly capturing several succulent shots too graphic for the kind
of photos he allowed to be reproduced or published, but perfect for his own private collection. The more she probed, the more
insistent his cock became, demanding the same personal attention she was giving her own genitals. Not wanting to alarm her,
he refrained from whipping it out—but he continued to squeeze it inside his jeans while shooting shot after shot of the ever-widening
tunnel in the black-covered valley. Soon he was flat on his stomach, aiming directly into the mouth-watering aperture, grinding
his hardness onto the white paper. She had buried her middle finger deep inside to the second knuckle, and now withdrew it,
bringing it to her mouth to suck the clinging moisture.

Accidentally he touched her foot and her eyes snapped open, searching for him with an unmistakable, unfocused gaze. It was
lust if he ever had seen it. He grinned sheepishly and she opened her legs even wider. “What other equipment have you got?”
she asked.

“Lots of mechanical gadgets,” he answered, scooting to his knees. “But my best piece is
all
natural.”

“Is it healthy?”

“
And
good for you,” he said, and placed his Nikon carefully to one side off the white paper.

She rubbed both palms over her thighs, bringing them down on either side of her black-fringed love trench. “Well, for heaven’s
sake, bring it out. I’m all for anything natural.”

Pleased as punch, he unzipped his tight jeans and, with difficulty, extracted his full-grown bird. She raised herself
up on her elbows to study it with a distinct smile of approval. “Well, bring it up here so I can test it,” she murmured.

Quickly he moved to straddle her trunk. His bird trembling, he waited expectantly for her next move. She took it in both hands;
her touch was cool and assured on his heated, hard cock, which twitched as if straining to fly away. With maddening slowness
she raised her mouth and repeatedly kissed its swollen head. Watching the exquisite, magical mouth mother his member, he struggled
for control, wanting desperately to ram it deep into her throat.

Her luscious lips enveloped the knobby end, and he felt her tongue washing the underside, creating a dangerous tingling in
his balls. She sucked it in, taking nearly all of it into the moist warmth of her willing mouth, then pulling it out again.
“Not fair. I’m nude and you’re not,” she pouted. “You promised you’d do
everything
to make me feel at ease.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled and rose to his feet, shucking his jeans. After stepping out of them, he ripped off his socks and yanked
off his Lacoste polo shirt. Nude, excited, he stood over her, his bird flying out from his groin at a hard angle. Her fingers
had returned to her love canal, and he suddenly wanted to join them. Reversing his position, he placed his knees on either
side of her neck and lowered his head to greet her pussy. Snaking his tongue out, he split her open like a ripe peach. She
gasped, and he felt her mouth again clamp down on his prick, as if she were chewing beef ribs..

She tasted to him like Brazil nuts and smelled faintly of musk. The rippled edges of her twat led him directly to the hard
island of her clit. Jamming it against his upper teeth, he flicked at it with his tongue, sending her hips into
a squirm of delight. As she sucked on him, he teased and tormented her hard love button, pressing his nose deeper and deeper
between the undulating walls of her juicy canal. Lost in the heady delight, he could have eaten her for hours.

Toni, however, was panting into his cockflesh, “I want it in me, I want it inside.”

Ever desirous to please, he jackknifed and aimed his bird for her love nest. Easing into her was like slipping into a tight,
warm glove. For a moment he did not move, loving the sensation of being wetly enveloped, feeling the internal contractions
milking at him. Lowering his weight fully onto her, he kissed her lovely face, closing her-eyes with his slippery tongue.
Gradually he began to move his smothered bird, stroking slowly, drawing it nearly all the way out before plunging it deep
again. Over and over he did this, raising ecstatic groans from her.

Raking his back with her fingernails, she clung to him, bucking her hips harder and harder, slamming their pelvises together,
urging him on faster and faster. He picked up speed, his knees rubbing raw on the hard floor, his deep moans of pleasure mingling
with hers adding a cacophony of vocal accompaniment to the Rampal tape bursting out of the Infinity Reference Standards speakers
that had set him back twenty grand apiece.

The tingling in his balls hurled him quickly to the brink. He eased off the pace, wanting first to bring her ultimate satisfaction.
He quickly realized he need not have been concerned, for she was screaming with release and he could feel great gushes of
her liquids drowning his happy bird. Again he picked up speed, hurrying to his own destination, pleased with himself for achieving
his two primary goals: first, to capture her magical essence on film, and second, to fuck the hell out of her.

He was just ready to explode with a magnificent orgasm when an all-too-familiar voice, disturbingly near, cried out, “Dirk,
you bastard!”

He flung his head up toward the harsh-toned voice and caught sight of the flushed face of his beautiful sister bending over
them. In delighted shock, his bird detonated inside Toni and he hollered in delicious agony, “Aghhh, Honey…” As he squirted
his last feeble drops into Toni, he watched his sister spin on her heel and stride toward the living area. Her anger was as
apparent as her gleaming, deep red hair.

It took several excruciating moments for him to extricate himself from Toni’s embarrassed embrace, explaining rapidly as he
did that the unexpected intruder was merely his older sister. It was evident that Toni did not believe him. With cold, mechanical
movements she gathered her far-flung clothes and marched into the bathroom. Relieved to hear the shower running, he hastily
pulled on his Cardin robe of dark blue cashmere and padded toward the gorgeous figure sitting at the far end of the deep-cushioned,
suede pillow-couch. In the otherwise dim area, a halo of light from the recessed fixtures overhead encircled her with brightness.

Honey did not look up as he approached, but continued inhaling on the slim, hand-rolled joint. He could smell the sweet, thick
aroma of sinsemilla.

“Thanks for coming so quickly,” he said awkwardly, not knowing where to begin.

She snorted as if amused, and swung her gaze to him. “I could say the same to you, brother. Some emergency. I bust my buns
to get here as fast as I can—fearing the worst, expecting to be met by tragedy and gloom. And what do I find? The pink ass
of my horny little brother, frantically waving hello at me. I don’t know whether to be relieved or enraged.”

“It is an emergency, I swear,” he said, and sank down beside her. “I wouldn’t have wired you if it wasn’t serious, you know
that.”

She exhaled a tired lungful of smoke, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized his face. “Well, it certainly can’t be too catastrophic
if you still have the inclination to get your rocks off.”

He hung his head, guilty as charged. “I was trying to keep my mind off it. It’s the best way I know how…”

A bubble of laughter welled out of her, husky and warm, yet with a biting edge. “Dirky, why the hell the secret code? ‘Snatch’?
That’s only for life-or-death emergencies, you know that.”

“It
is
life or death—at least I think it is. She begged me, pleaded, more with her eyes than her voice. She didn’t have time to
say anything but, ‘Help me, please… help me.’”

“The beauty in your bathroom?”

“No. The girl in the park.”

She passed him the joint. “You’re talking to a reporter, not a psychic. Take a good hit and start at the beginning… as slowly
as possible.”

He sucked in the sweet smoke, held it, and began speaking through clenched teeth as deliberately as he could. “Last Sunday
I was in Central Park with my Nikon and the 850 telephoto lens. And this incredibly sweet-faced, super-sensational blonde—no
more than sixteen, seventeen—captured and held my eye. She was everything I’m always looking for.”

Honey nodded wryly. “I should have known it was a beautiful lady. So what happened?

He exhaled in a rush, feeling a sudden lightheadedness. “I didn’t even get to talk to her. Just as she got out the words ‘help
me,’ two thugs who looked like leftovers from a Sicilian gang war grabbed me, started roughing me up.
Tried to take away my camera. I fought like hell. Managed to get away, camera intact. Come here… I’ll show you.”

He led Honey past the large white walls, adorned with huge blowups of some of his favorite models, and toward the fully equipped
darkroom at the very rear of the former warehouse space that occupied an entire floor of the building. Inside the cluttered,
narrow room he located the eight-by-ten blowups he had made of the blonde, and handed them over ceremoniously. Honey studied
them, nodding slowly. “Yes, I see… enchanting. Charming. Very.”

“I’ve
never
seen such a face,” he said with conviction as he stared at the Botticelli-like angel.

“So what happened then?”

“I ran off, hid, and followed them. The two thugs clamped onto her and walked her really fast into the Pierre Hotel. But when
I asked the desk clerk about her, he got very nervous, uptight. Told me there was no one of that description registered and
ordered me to leave at once, before he called the security guard.”

Even in the dimness, he could see the spark of interest light up her eyes. “And?” she asked.

“That’s it. Except that I watched the hotel day and night, practically—until this morning. But I never saw her again.”

“That’s it? A beautiful blonde in the park says ‘help me,’ and you yank me all the way from California?”

“I can’t get her out of my mind, Honey. She’s in deep trouble. I just know it.”

“Why?” she asked coolly. “The lady of the bath’s a gem too, from all I could see. What’s another pretty face to you?”

He struggled to find words for his feelings. “That one in the park was everything. I feel obsessed with finding
her. Her life’s in danger and I’m the only one who knows. That’s exactly how I feel. That girl is depending on me, I could
see it in her eyes. She is counting on me to help her. I can’t ignore that, I just can’t.” From the antique brass clothes
tree he grabbed some clothes and began tugging them on. He didn’t know where he was going, he only knew the magical girl was
out there someplace and it was up to him to find her.

“Dirk?”

Honey came to him, a vision of creamy skin, full curves, and burnished hair, a wistful smile gracing her lips. She stopped
before him, locking eyes with his and putting her arms around his neck, pulling him close. She held him tightly and his heart
raced. His chest burned from the imprint of her breasts. “Of course I’ll help you,” she murmured. “Just hold me for a moment…
give your only family a little warm welcome, okay? Then we’ll find your mysterious blonde of the park… I promise.”

Within the hour, Honey had checked into the Presidential Suite of the Hotel Pierre. As she tipped the bellman extravagantly
for bringing up her bags, she showed him one of Dirk’s photos of the lovely young blonde and received a vague, noncommittal
reply that he thought he recognized her, but he couldn’t be sure. Unconvinced that he was telling the truth, she thanked him,
turning on her considerable charms. “By the way, who’s the manager here?”

“Evan Bell,” the young man replied, easing toward the door. “But he’s not on duty until morning. Our assistant manager, Merit
Harper, will be happy to be of service until then.”

After thanking him, Honey waited until he had departed before calling the front desk and asking that the assistant manager
be sent up in exactly a half hour. Hurriedly she unpacked and changed into an apricot-toned peignoir,
discreet but enticing in its simple elegance. Brushing the full waves of her hair, she realized that she and Dirk had damned
little to go on; if she couldn’t get a lead here at the Pierre, she had no idea how she would be able to continue. As much
as she wanted to help her dear brother, she would be at a dead end. And that disturbed her greatly. She could not recall ever
seeing Dirk so completely obsessed by anything or anyone in his life. His passionate, desperate desire to help the mysterious
blonde had touched something deep inside Honey, and she felt compelled to offer assistance in any way she could. But she had
to have something to go on, and at the moment she only had the photo of the girl. Not much, she assessed ruefully. Not much
at all.

The assistant manager turned out to be a distinguished-looking gentleman in his early sixties, with graying hair, an eager-to-please
smile, and an overly polite manner. “Miss Wildon,” Merit Harper greeted her effusively as she ushered him into the sitting
room of the suite, “it’s an honor to have you as a guest. I am a great fan of your articles.”