The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey (19 page)

“Damn, I wish I could go with you,” he said sourly.

She laughed. “You he’d recognize for sure. Now stop stewing. I’ll be fine. I’ll be back as soon as I know anything.” She blew
him a kiss, opened the door, and stepped out.

In the elevator on her way to the top floor of the grand old hotel, Honey herself had a brief moment of concern, but then
brushed it aside; there would be no way for Bouscaral to know that the false-bearded face he had glimpsed in the Convent of
the Sisters of the Moon was indeed the same as Claudine Fortel.

Her knock on the penthouse door was answered by one of the bodyguards she’d serviced in the Jockey Club’s first-aid room.
Introducing herself with the bogus name, she surveyed his face, trying to determine whether he suspected anything. Other than
an approving leer as he gave her the once-over, there was nothing to indicate that he was onto her disguise. He ushered her
into the sitting room of the huge suite and told her to wait, before disappearing through an inner door. Moments later he
reappeared and told her Monsieur Bouscaral would see her now.

Sedately she walked into the master bedroom and stopped. Henri Bouscaral turned to face her. Tall, thin, elegantly dressed
in a black velvet suit, he was disgustingly handsome in an almost sinister way—neatly trimmed black mustache, carefully coiffed
but thinning hair, steely black eyes that studied her in a coldly detached manner. No smile of welcome, no greeting to set
her at ease, just a frozen mask of decadence. At once he began questioning
her in French: Where was she from? Did she have any immediate family? Where was she educated? Had she ever taught before?
What was she doing in Hong Kong? Was she free to travel?

To all these questions and more, Honey replied in fluent, flawless French, supplying answers that were close enough to the
truth, yet artfully concealed her background. She said she was the only child born to now-deceased French parents in the United
States, reared and schooled in Switzerland, that she had taught for several years at a private girls’ school in Canada and
that she had come to the Orient to broaden her horizons. Bouscaral observed her carefully through half-lidded eyes, offering
no encouragement, nothing but a coldness that bordered on the sinister. She inquired about the salary, the duties she would
be expected to perform, and who her pupil would be.

To this he replied, “The daughter of my brother who died last year in Africa.”

“How unfortunate,” she said in French, with a sad bow of her head. “Will you be staying in Hong Kong for a while?”

“No,” he said abruptly and picked up the phone receiver. In rapid English he asked the front desk to have his bill drawn up,
and then hung up, returning his steely gaze to her. “The position is yours.”

“
Merci
,” she said, and silently congratulated herself on a successful subterfuge. “When do I begin?”

“Immediately. We leave at once.”

“Leave?” she asked in surprise. “For where?”

“That is none of your business.”

She hesitated, stalling for time. “I must return to my room for my things.”

“That will not be necessary,” he replied sharply. “I will furnish all you need.”

“But that is impossible,” she protested. “I have many—”

“
If
you desire this position,” he interrupted sharply, “you must do everything I say, without comment. Is that understood? I
will not tolerate disobedience.”

“But my personal belongings…”

“I will have them sent to our next destination.” Abruptly he turned and threw open the door, calling to one of his men for
the bags to be carried down.

Within all too short a time, Honey found herself being hustled out of the hotel by a rear entrance and into one of the several
chauffeured Rolls limousines parked with motors idling. With a guard on either side of her, she was able to catch only a glimpse
of Kolina slipping into the front limo along with Bouscaral. With one last, regretful look back at the Shangri-La Hotel, Honey
was whisked away. Their departure had been so swift, she had not had a moment alone to notify Dirk of the sudden turn of events.
A clammy uncertainty gripped her.

At the Hong Kong International Airport, she was placed aboard Bouscaral’s private Learjet in a rear compartment with the guards,
isolated completely from Kolina, up front with the decidedly decadent Frenchman. The jet took off with a powerful whine of
its twin engines, and soon the city’s lights had faded far behind them.

The flight was long, with several fuel stops along the way. Throughout, Honey sat between the two guards, who dozed on and
off and, when they were awake, rarely spoke to her or acknowledged her presence. Occasionally she would drift off to sleep,
only to wake with a pounding heart. Once one of the guards tried to fondle her and she had to put him in his place by threatening
to report him to his employer. That threat seemed to work, for the other guard roundly berated him for taking liberties.
Thus a silent, tense truce was formed, and she refused to speak with either of them after that.

Then, just as dawn was spreading its glorious colors in the east, the Learjet landed on a green island of moderate size. There
she was placed in still another limousine with the two guards. Their limo followed Bouscaral’s through the quaint town, and
at once she recognized the place as Papeete, Tahiti.

Far beyond the outskirts of town, the limousines pulled off the main road and into a walled compound set on an isolated peninsula.
A series of pink stucco bungalows ringed by towering, swaying palms bordered a broad expanse of golden sand. She was shown
to her quarters—a separate building that lay some distance from the main house. Exhausted by the tense flight she was told
by the guard who accompanied her that she would have until four that afternoon by herself. Grateful for the solitude, she
collapsed on the bed and promptly fell asleep.

She was awakened by a soft tapping on her door. A native servant greeted her with several flat boxes and brought them in before
withdrawing silently. The boxes contained several changes of clothing, demure in style, somber in color. After bathing, Honey
tried on one of the dresses, a simple suit of dark gray, and found that it fit almost perfectly, if a little tight through
the bustline. Reluctantly she once again forced her breasts into the small bra, dressed, and left her bungalow shortly before
four. The tropical beauty of the locale and the beach’s balmy breezes did little to assuage her nervousness as she walked
to the main house.

Her knock was answered by Henri Bouscaral, wearing loose white beach clothes, who icily led her to a small, book-lined study,
the windows of which overlooked a portion of the stunning beach. He sat behind a large
desk and began speaking in officious, pompous tones: “There are several rules you must agree to obey before I will let you
start teaching my niece. One, you must never, ever ask her a personal question. Two, you must force her to work hard. Kolina
is a very lazy girl and needs strict discipline. Three, if her French has not improved measurably within the week, you will
be dismissed. Do I have your agreement on these?”

“Do I have any choice?”

“Do not be impertinent,” he barked.

She reached deep for a subservient smile. “I do not mean to be. This is all so new. Forgive me. Of course I agree to any rule
you stipulate. You are the boss, no?”

“That is correct.” He stood and called out loudly, “Kolina, come in here at once.”

Shortly an inner door opened and the girl stepped into the room, a defiant pout on her enchanting face. Almost arrogantly,
she eyed Honey as he introduced them. Honey smiled warmly and greeted her with, “
Enchanté
.” The girl mumbled the same and, as if bored already, stared out the window to the sparkling blue waves.

“
Ma cher
,” he said quietly to her, “you must be respectful of your new teacher and try very hard to be a good girl.”

Kolina replied angrily, “But why must I study French? I can understand every stupid thing you say.”

“Silence,” he ordered, and stared her down with his cold eyes. “Do not forget your breeding, or your punishment if you fail
to live up to my expectations.”

“How could I forget?” she wailed. “You won’t let me.
Ever
.”

He smiled apologetically at Honey. “See? She is a very spirited, high-strung girl. You will have your hands full.” With that,
Bouscaral called in one of the guards and
strode out of the room. The younger of the guards, a pasty-faced bulldog of a man, stood against the open door with his arms
folded across his barrel chest.

Honey smiled again at Kolina. “We will be good friends very soon, I just know.”

“How do you know?” the girl shot back. “You won’t last a week. Henri will send you away like all the others.”

“There have been others before me?”

“No personal questions,” the guard growled.

“Pardon,” Honey mumbled, and returned her attention to the lovely young blonde. The girl was obviously under great stress;
dark circles underlined her large blue eyes like dirty thumbprints on the fair skin, and she had a nervous habit of running
a hand through her hair, sweeping it back from her brow continually. Honey sat on the edge of the desk. “How many years of
French have you had?”

“Six,” Kolina snorted. “I know more than enough, but Henri wants me to be busy all the time with meaningless tasks.”

“You speak it very well,” Honey praised. “Your accent is lovely.”

“
Merci
,” the girl replied with some surprise, and began studying her new teacher with a different attitude. “May I call you Claudine?”

“But of course, Kolina. Let us begin with some simple conjugations…”

With a bored, put-upon sigh, the girl began her first lesson.

In the isolated but beautiful location, the following days blended together into a dreary sameness for Honey. Twice a day
she met with Kolina under the ever-watchful eye of one of the guards, or sometimes that of Henri himself. For those two-hour
sessions, Honey drilled and tested the
girl, working her hard but with gentle persistence. Honey discovered that Kolina was an extremely bright and capable young
woman, with an inquisitive mind. It took several sessions before Kolina began to trust that Honey was not merely an extension
of the authoritarian Henri. Gradually the girl’s sullen wariness began slipping away, to be replaced by an openly expressed
fondness and dependency. Honey, however, maintained a professional though warm distance, not wanting to raise Henri’s suspicions
that she was usurping his domain. She knew she was being watched carefully at all times, and made no attempts at getting the
girl off alone.

Nights were the longest for Honey, who would retire to her bungalow alone. She worried about Dirk and feared he would be crazed
with anxiety from not hearing anything. There was no telephone at the compound, and the only times she was allowed to go into
the town of Papeete for toiletries or a bit of shopping, she was always accompanied by one of the guards, so her chances of
slipping away to send a cable or mail a letter were nonexistent. She thought of many alternate ways of notifying her brother,
but discarded each as too risky. Her meals were taken either alone or with the rest of the traveling entourage of servants.
She kept to herself, speaking to no one unless she was first spoken to.

Then, on the afternoon of the fifth day, she found a logical way to get Kolina alone. The compound had several modern facilities,
including a sauna. Honey had been allowed to use it by herself once in a while, but it wasn’t until she saw Henri driving
off with one of the guards that she knew her chance had finally arrived. She waited until she and Kolina were a half hour
into their session before suggesting that they take a sauna together and continue the lesson there. At once Kolina agreed
to the idea, and as they approached the sauna room, she
saucily told the guard to get lost. He pointed out that he was not to leave them alone, and Kolina became quite angry with
him. “Am I to tell Henri you insisted on seeing the two of us naked?”

The guard grew flustered, not knowing how to respond. Honey took the opportunity to push Kolina into the small dressing room
off the sauna, where she firmly closed the door in the startled guard’s face. Kolina immediately shed her clothes as if they
were contaminated, and stood in all her nude glory for Honey’s approval. Long-legged, high-hipped, the girl possessed large,
beautifully formed breasts. Delicately tipped with small pink nipples, they looked oddly out of place on the girl’s otherwise
lissome body. The soft patch of blonde hair between her legs was like a small pillow of color on her pale, fair skin.

Honey tore away her gaze, not wanting to embarrass the girl. “You are truly lovely, Kolina,” she murmured in French, and began
unhooking her own brassiere. Her large breasts tumbled free, and she noted the girl’s eyes growing wide with astonishment
and envy.

“Why do you wear such a small bra?” Kolina asked ingenuously. “If I had big breasts like yours, I wouldn’t wear a bra at all.”

“I usually don’t,” Honey admitted, and stepped out of her skirt.

“So why do you now?” the girl persisted.

“Because I don’t like the way the guards look at me.”

“Those pigs,” Kolina muttered with an angry glance at the closed door to the hall. “Honestly, they give me the creeps sometimes.”

Honey nodded. “Me too.” She tugged down her panties and again noted that Kolina was staring, this time open-mouthed.

“Why do you shave your thing?” the girl asked boldly.

Honey laughed, running a hand over the hairless mound between her alabaster thighs. “I like the sensation.”

“What’s it feel like?”

“Smooth. Try it. It’s all right. I don’t mind.”

Hesitantly the girl reached out a hand and stroked the area, sending a shiver of delight up Honey’s spine. Kolina locked eyes
with her and whispered, “Would you shave mine for me?”

“If you want, but are you sure your uncle would approve?”