The Pleasure Zone

by Cairo

  Dear Reader:

  Cairo has created another erotic page-turner and it’s all about pleasing. Nairobia Jansen is the ultimate pleasure goddess. The former porn star is now a sleek entrepreneur who reigns over The Pleasure Zone, an upscale, private club that is truly for the uninhibited. Everything goes in this adults-only paradise geared to the freaky and rich who seek no-holds-barred satisfaction.

  Nairobia, a vixen born of a Dutch mother and Nigerian father, is a seductress like no other as she’s viewed as irresistible by all those she encounters. She maintains an icy persona with her show-stopping looks and takes pride on not being vulnerable or serious about relationships while ensuring she’s forever sexually gratified. She’s vowed to never let another man capture her heart and end up falling into their love trap. No, she’s all about full control of her life.

  Nairobia was first introduced in Between the Sheets along with the powerful married couple, music mogul Marcel and publishing exec Marika, whose story is also featured in The Pleasure Zone. Check out an excerpt in the back of this title.

  As always, thanks for supporting myself and the Strebor Books family. We strive to bring you the most cutting-edge, out-of-the-box material on the market. You can find me on Facebook @AuthorZane or you can email me at zane@eroticanoir.com.

  Blessings,

  Publisher

  Strebor Books

  www.simonandschuster.com

  Thank you for downloading this Strebor Books eBook.

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  THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO

  All the Facebook beauties ’n’ cuties and cool-ass bruhs

  who make this journey mad fun.

  Thank you for being open-minded enough,

  bold enough, and adventurous enough

  to share my love of hotness in the sheets with you.

  Keep wavin’ ya freak flags!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  What’s good, my freaky peeps? The Pleasure Zone isn’t simply about a sex club. It’s about exploring and discovering your own pleasure zones. It’s about an unyielding determination to be as sexually fulfilled as humanly possible without regret, without shame, without making excuses. It’s about unleashing your own hidden desires. It’s about sexual freedom.

  Special shout-out to Jeffrey Roshell: Congrats on the release of ya first joint, ThornHill High School. I haven’t read it, but wanted to wish much success to you, playboy!

  Mad luv to my cyber-boo, Markisha Harris; my cyber-wifey, Dierdre “Miz Wigglez” Mitchell; and my cyber-side-piece, Zanetta Davis!

  Sara Camilli: I am forever indebted to you for all that you do.

  To Zane, Charmaine, Yona and the rest of the Strebor/Simon & Schuster team: Danke, Gracias, Grazie, Merci, E dupe…Bedankt… there are not enough languages in the world to thank you for supporting, encouraging, and believing in me.

  And, as always, to the naysayers: Fourteen books and still climbing. Lick balls, muhfuckas!

  One luv—

  Cairo

  ONE

  Desirous.

  Hedonistic.

  Orgasmic.

  Drenched in exotic beauty, Nairobia Jansen was all of those things, then some. She was Kama Sutra. A dangerous combination of…seduction and sin.

  She was good pussy.

  Good fucking.

  She was sweet surrender.

  And the gray-eyed, half-Dutch, half-Nigerian beauty knew it. After all, she was every man’s wet dream. And over the years she’d become the forbidden fantasy of her share of women as well. No. She wasn’t a lesbian. But she didn’t consider herself heterosexual, either. In fact, she hated labeling her sexuality. She found it constricting, and goddamn boring. She refused to live her life confined to someone else’s definition of who she should or shouldn’t be. She fucked whom she wanted, when she wanted, however she wanted, with abandon.

  But it was no secret she loved the taste of pussy. Hell, most of the world had probably seen her with her face pressed between the thighs of a slew of women during her porn-star days. She was Pleasure back then. It was unbelievable how that time in her life felt like a lifetime ago. Still her reputation followed her. She was a legend in the porn industry. And she was certain many men had jacked off watching her get fucked from the back, her ass bouncing up and down on a long dick making it disappear, while she tongue-fucked another woman. Pussy was heavenly. She loved licking into its wet folds, sucking on its plump golden lips. She loved the way its scent stained her tongue. Loved the heat of another woman’s cunt melding into her own, grinding clit-to-clit, creaming out an orgasm.

  However, make no mistake. She loved the wet, juicy, slosh-slosh sound her pussy made every time it was being deep-stroked by a long, hard, throbbing cock more. So—hell no, she could never be a lesbian. She loved dick too much.

  Nairobia drew in a deep breath, and resisted the urge to wince at not having had some good pussy since the death of her…well, the only woman who she’d once ever considered sucking and fucking exclusively. Marika. The thought of her being gone was still too much to give thought to. And tonight wasn’t the time for gloom.

  No. It was a celebration. The grand opening of her latest adventure, a club—nestled inside what used to be a lesbian club—in the midtown section of New York. Its sole purpose was to cater to the carnal desires of wealthy men and women who stepped foot through its doors. She’d bought the space a little over a year ago as an investment to add to her already impressive portfolio. And now her dream of opening the doors to one of the world’s most erotic sex clubs would become a reality.

  Tonight.

  Nairobia stared at the wall of water cascading behind the sleek, curved bar before her eyes locked on the bartender. She was scandalously dressed, as always, in a form-fitting, sheer linen gown, a front and back slit crawling up to the crack of her luscious bare ass, and golden sweet pussy.

  A Chopard diamond necklace, with over a 140-carats of teardrop-shaped diamonds, cascaded around her neck and dripped down into her cleavage. Her shoulder-length hair was pulled up in what she liked to call a naughty girl chignon. Her hair pulled back, twisted into a loose bun, then loose strands of hair pulled out, framing her face for that freshly “just-fucked” look.

  The messier the better, that’s how she liked it. Like sex, she liked it wild.

  “What’s your poison, Mademoiselle?” the bartender asked over the music. Silk’s “More” melted out through the world-class sound system.

  She glanced around the club.

  Chic.

  Sophisticated.

  Heated marbled floors.

  Swathes of billowy ivory silk covered the walls on the first floor.

  Candles of enormous sizes flickered about the expansive space.

  Gas-lit torches lined the walls.

  Draped candlelit booths.

  Oversized white leather sofas and armless chairs.

  Massive floral arrangements perfumed the air.

  She looked up at the vaulted ceiling, then fluttered her gaze back to the milk chocolate Adonis in front of her, his eyes dancing over her body. Every muscle in his sleek torso bunched, and her pussy clenched.

  Goapele purred out of the speakers about being ready to play. And Nairobia was more than ready. She stayed ready. Always wet, always ready. She thrust her pelvis to its beat, then reached over the bar, positioned in the center of the floor, and pulled him into her by his spiked collar. She kissed him on the mouth. Sunk her teeth into his plump bottom lip. Then nipped at the small diamond hooped ea
rring in his left ear. There was a panther’s head tattooed on the back of his neck. And her mouth watered to bite it. She resisted the urge.

  For now…

  Save for his collar, the six-foot-four bartender’s sculpted body was naked, dusted in gold as was every other wait staff, server, and bartender. He grinned as Nairobia leaned further over the bar and her hungry gaze slid down his body and fastened on the meaty dick hanging between his muscular thighs.

  Mmm.

  Josiah.

  Josiah.

  Josiah.

  He was drool inducing as was everyone else who would work the club, including the deejays and the bouncers. It was a mandatory requirement—to be beautiful, to be sexy, to be…fuckable, whether you were dressed or undressed. And, oh how he was so, so very fuckable.

  Nairobia knew she would feed the staff her pussy and she’d feast on their hard dicks, and weeping cunts. But rule number one: she would not, ever, indulge the patrons’ libidos. No, no, no. Sexing the clientele would make for bad business. And fucking over good coin was not how she’d managed to brand her name, and her delectable talents. No matter how many thousands of dollars would pour into her club tonight—or on any other night, no matter how many loins would ache for her loving touch, she wouldn’t cross the axiomatic line. Not with the patrons.

  She fixed her gaze on the sight before her. The swells of Josiah’s biceps made her clit tingle, but fucking him right this very moment was the farthest thing from her mind. She wanted his long tongue on her clit, in her pussy.

  She whispered in his ear, “My poison tonight is, een natte tong op mijn kut.” A wet tongue on my pussy.

  He smiled, then replied huskily, “Your every wish is my command, Mademoiselle.” His bulging chest muscles and abs rippled. Even the sight of his thick forearms, lined with wide veins, made her pussy churn in delight. She imagined him using her naked body as his human bench-press, lifting her up over his head the way one would a set of one hundred-pound barbells.

  Nairobia inhaled deeply and held it. She rubbed a smooth hand over his rock-hard pectorals, right before pushing out a warm gush of cinnamon-scented breath, slipping her tongue into his ear and telling him how her pussy whispered from beneath her gown, how it longed for his long, thick tongue. “Mijn poes verlangt naar uw tong.”

  He understood nothing she said, which made it that more alluring. He will submit to me, she told herself. As they all will, offering me his tongue…and his big, thick cock, if I so desire it.

  Josiah disappeared from sight as a rich, sexy ballad filled the air. Nairobia blinked. Then a sly grin eased over her lips as she prowled around the bar. There he was. Lying on the tiled floor behind the bar on his back, his hands behind his head, his dick lying languidly across his rippled belly. He waited for her as the DJ played a song that opened up with the sound of a rainstorm and a female moaning.

  “What is this he is playing?” she asked once she made her way around the other side of the bar. “Feelin’ This,” he told her. By a group called Profile, spelled with a Y instead of an I. Profyle. That it was played in some movie. “Motives,” he added. She didn’t know the movie, but she liked the seductiveness of the song.

  Mmm.

  She purred low in the back of her throat, hiking her gown up over her curvaceous hips. “Yes. Feel this wet kut. Taste it.” She squatted low. Straddled his face. Lowered her quivering pussy onto his waiting tongue. Then slowly rocked her hips. She murmured in her native tongue, “Maken graag miijn kut. Voeden mijn poesje je tong. Ja, my darling, jaaaaa.” Then she repeated herself in English. “Yes, my darling, yessss. Make love to my cunt. Feed my pussy your tongue.”

  He groaned into her trembling slit.

  A spasm wracked her entire body. Nibbling, licking, sucking on her clit, his teeth lightly grazed it before capturing it between his lips.

  She moaned.

  His fingers spread open her wet lips and he greedily tongued her, suckled her, flickering over her clit, feasting on her wet pussy. “Mmm, ja, ja, ja…” She spasmed around his tongue and fingers, her nectar coating his tongue. “Yes, yes, yes. Mijn natte kut likken…” She demanded he lick her wet pussy.

  And he did.

  He licked. Licked. Licked. Licked.

  “Fuck,” he muttered against her lust-flared labia. He sucked on her lips. Wickedly kissed her kut. Breathed it in. Tongued her clit. Her hips rocked in sensuous rhythm. His stiff tongue speared her pussy. And she moaned as he made a growling sound that echoed along her silken walls. “Aaaargh, aaaah, aaaah…”

  She glanced over her shoulder. He was fisting his thick cock. Her mouth watered, her pussy got wetter. She smothered him in her wetness as he fucked her with his tongue.

  “Oh, yesss, oooh…mmm…so wet…uw tong…mmm…zo fijn…” Your tongue…mmm…so good…

  She threw her head back, eyes rolling in the back of her head. Peaking toward orgasm, she swallowed, her breath hitching a bit. Nairobia bucked against Josiah’s face, her clitoris swollen and achy, her cunt roiling in pleasure. Seconds later, liquid heat squirted out of her. With low moans, he drank her juices, swallowing, swallowing.

  She grinded into his mouth, riding another wave, wrenching out one last orgasm, before lifting her hips and pulling his wagging tongue from the wet space between her thighs.

  She stood.

  Satiated.

  For the moment…

  She always needed more.

  Always wanted more.

  Always.

  Josiah shot to his feet, and Nairobia reached for his collar and pulled him into her. She licked his lips. Then kissed him, tasting her on him, his tongue, his mouth drenched in her juices.

  She broke the kiss and stepped back from him.

  “Have I pleased you, Mademoiselle?”

  “Oh, yes, my love, yes. Your mouth and tongue are heavenly.” She reached for his plump dick. Grabbed it in her hand. “I will have you in my chambers. And fuck you into my cunt, my darling. Soon.” She stroked him. He dipped at the knees. Allowed his hips to roll, his dick thickening, lengthening, in her grasp.

  The bulbous head of his dick swelled. Sticky nectar streamed from out of its slit. His mouthwatering cock stretched to enormous proportion, causing her firm grip to stretch, to loosen. She grabbed him with both hands. He became fevered with lust as she stroked him. Brought him to the edge. Taunted him. Slowly fucked his cock into her two-handed fist, her wrists twisting in delight as she stroked him to nirvana.

  His muscles tightened.

  Brows drawn tight, he groaned in anticipation, in…heated need.

  She could have easily dropped to her knees before him. Devoured him. Drained him. Bathed him with her tongue. Sucked his scrumptious cock into her mouth, the length of him sucked down into her throat, the head blocking her airway. But she wouldn’t dare.

  Not tonight.

  She could feel the swelling of his nut right below the crown. And she imagined him saying—if he spoke Dutch, “Zuigen mijn dick teef.” Suck my dick, bitch. She moaned at the thought. “Mm. Ik wil voelen van deze grote lul in mijn kont.”

  He groaned. “Aaah, yes. Whatever the fuck it is you said, yes, yes, yes. Aaah…aaarrgh…” She translated for him. Told him she wanted to feel it in her ass. He grunted his approval, leaking onto her hand. Furiously thrusting his hips, he wanted relief. Craved it.

  His balls tightened.

  She lazily glided her moist tongue over her lips.

  Oh how she could milk him to release with her hungry, wet mouth. Or bend over the bar and offer him the inside of her pulsing pussy.

  But she wouldn’t.

  The Weeknd sang about a girl being worth it when she finally let go of Josiah’s throbbing cock and he took it into his own eager hand, fist pumping away.

  She smiled watching him watching her with hazy eyes. She told him to come for her, to get lost in the pleasure. After all, this is what her club was all about. Pleasure. Sweet release. A split-second later, he was growling, throwing his head back,
roaring over the music, bellowing.

  And then…

  Heat jetted out from his cock, his milky seeds spilling out onto the bar’s floor. She stalked over to him. Lifted his hand to her mouth, and licked his thick fingers clean, sucking them into her mouth—one by one, before easing up on her tiptoes and kissing him ever so lightly on the lips. Then offering him her tongue. He sucked it into his mouth, and their tongues danced in the remnants of his juices and hers.

  “Allow your balls to fill, my love,” she said, finally pulling away from him. “And prepare for opening.” And then she was gone, stepping into the glass elevator, ascending to the second floor. The doors slid open, and she stepped off. She looked down over the elaborate gold railing, taking in the spectacular view. The club was certainly a breathtaking sight to behold.

  Red-bottom-heeled models—a dozen or so, beautiful women she’d hand-selected from around the world to work in her establishment—wore pasties shimmering in Swarovski crystals and matching thongs and elaborate, bejeweled masks. Their male counterparts, sun-kissed, chisel-chested male models, were donned in loincloths and wore silk domino masks. Chords of muscle in their powerful thighs, big dicks and big, heavy balls were prerequisites.

  Oh how she loved big dick. Its taste, its feel, stretching her mouth, stretching her walls, stretching her ass; the delicious burn, causing her to cream and mewl in deliciousness.

  Mmm.

  Nairobia squeezed her inner walls as she swept a gaze around the mostly empty club, then up at the three large, white Persian-carpeted cages suspended in air by thick ropes of metal chain. In a matter of moments, each cage would lower and two female models would step in one; two males and one woman would endeavor into another; and, in the final cage, two women and one male would venture inside. Then the cages would rise midway. And the caged lovers would hover in the air fucking and sucking, feasting on their anonymous lover’s eager sexes.

  Huge statues, along with life-size erotic paintings of men and women in coitus, depicting threesomes and cunnilingus, and a variation of other lusty positions were situated throughout the club under the glow of sultry lighting.