by Cairo
She breathed him in.
She had to capture the moment, feel him one last time.
Her hand curled around the print of his never-ending dick, arousal slowly creaming her slit. She wondered if he could smell her in the air around them.
“Marcel,” she said, the words coming out in little more than a breath. In Danish, she muttered, “Yes, it has.” She squeezed him one last time. Stroked him. Then stepped back from him, gathering her clutch, and leaving behind his throbbing cock and a burning trail of desire.
FIVE
ENTER IF YOU DARE…LEAVE BEHIND YOUR APPREHENSIONS AND SURRENDER TO YOUR DESIRES…
Nairobia’s lips curled into a devilish grin as The Pleasure Zone’s slogan played in her head over and over and over. It rotated heavily in her mind like that of one of her favorite songs in her expansive music collection.
Enter if you dare…
It made her pussy wet and tingly.
She licked her lips.
Caressed her slit. Toyed with her clit.
The Pleasure Zone was more than sordid sex. It was a journey into the unknown. It was exploration. It was a voyage to toe-curling pleasure. It was uncovering passion. It was being tested beyond one’s own limits. Completely surrendering.
As far as Nairobia was concerned, entrance into her private club was a privilege, not one’s right. Holding partners accountable in bed was a right, as was being sexually fulfilled. But the doors to The Pleasure Zone were for the elite, for the uninhibited, for the freaky.
Shame and guilt had no place there. It wasn’t welcomed. They were simply useless emotions. And Nairobia had no tolerance for either. She believed in the motto: live and let live. But she’d be goddamned if she’d ever allow her establishment to be infiltrated by a bunch of pillow princesses, frigid bitches, or prudes who lived their lives sexually repressed because they feared giving into their deepest desires, which is why every member was rigorously screened—once, twice, three times—before offered their exclusive membership.
No, no, fear kept you trapped and stuck in mediocre sex, in unhappy marriages, and screwed-up relationships. It kept you enslaved to misery. And Nairobia knew plenty of men and women who were stuck in sexless situations, or in relationships where the sex lacked sparks, where their libidos remained neglected. She knew men and women who were too afraid to expect that their needs be met in the sheets by their partners. Too afraid to open their mouths and let their mates know what they yearned for.
Mmph.
Sinful.
Her cunt ached and wept for them. Bless their little clogged, horny souls, she thought as she slid a hand between her legs, then smacked her pussy, hard. She smacked it again, harder.
“Slecht kitty,” she pushed out in a whisper. Bad kitty.
She lovingly scolded it for giving a damn. Their neglected loins weren’t her crosses to bear. If they wanted to be sexually frustrated, then let them. She’d been demanding good fucking since her days in the porn industry.
Staged scripts or not, she refused to feign orgasms when she was nowhere near the edge. She refused to pretend the dick was good when it was trash. She despised trashy dicks. Despised lazy-dicked men. And she hated rabbit-fucking even more. And lots of her porn-star counterparts—with the exception of Lexington Steele who knew how to fuck, and made her cunt cream every time he’d fucked her in the ass with his eleven-incher—were only good for that. Rapid pounding. Oh no, no, no. No man was going to pull her hair and pound her pussy or slap her ass and bang it out its frame unless she demanded it, unless she begged for it.
Paid profession or not, she never gave a damn about porn protocol. She’d always been vocal about her needs, her wants, during her whole career as Pleasure. And she’d been known to walk off sets right in the middle of a scene if she wasn’t being sexed right.
Just like all women wanted to believe they had good pussy, men wanted to believe even more that they had good dick. Their egos depended on it. But Nairobia refused to stroke either their fragile egos or their good-for-nothing dicks. White, black, Latino, Asian—and she’d let her share of them fuck her too (only in the ass though)—it didn’t matter. Trash dick was trash dick no matter whom it was attached to.
Why call herself Pleasure if she wasn’t being pleasured, if she wasn’t able to be a pleasure to others, because the dick was attached to a worthless fuck?
She was porn-star royalty. Period. Goddamn you. Thank you very much. And she’d demand nothing less than premium dick and top-of-the-line fucking.
However, in the beginning of her fifteen-year career, she’d been labeled difficult. Called a bitch. Told she was hard to work with. Had been threatened with being blackballed from the industry. But in the end, her relentlessness and amazing bedroom skills won out. Her pussy was her prized possession. And many craved it. Her name rang bells in the industry. And she eventually became one of the most sought out porn-stars in the adult entertainment industry, nationally and internationally. And she had the numerous XBIZ, XRCO and AVN award trophies in the best actress and best body categories, as well as the many Porn Star of the Year and Twistys Treats of the Year awards, to prove it. And being inducted into the AVN hall of fame in 2013 had really been one of her greatest moments in her career.
Not to mention the fact that she’d won the AVN Female Performer of the Year Award three years in a row. And had snagged the TLARAW Best Sex Toy Award for her two most popular, best- selling sex toys: the Pleasure Deep Penetration Vibrating Pussy and Ass doll, and the Pleasure Cream Pie Pussy. Men paid a pretty penny to fuck her molded genitalia, while fantasizing about having the real thing.
Oh how the imagination could be so beautiful with the aid of good lube and a delectable sex toy.
Nairobia looked up at her eleven-foot ceiling and smiled. She’d been officially out of the industry for the last three years, however, her reputation still followed her. She’d made her mark and had retired from the industry still beautiful, still healthy and—thank God, still sane—and with tons of contacts.
She had a lot to be proud of.
Never one to let good talent go to waste, she took her skills and her most lethal assets and founded her own production company, Sweet Pleasures. In the beginning, she’d performed exclusively for her own company for a few years before bringing on other aspiring and well-seasoned porn-stars into the company’s fold. Now her company—based in California—had annual revenue of twenty million dollars, with a staff of ten.
Nairobia was thirty-six, wealthy, and so very thankful she hadn’t succumbed to AIDS or some other filthy STD or a drug addiction like so many others she’d known during her career.
She shuddered at the thought.
Bottom line, after years of award-winning performances and limitless fucking, Nairobia knew a thing or two—or three—about mind-blowing orgasms. And pleasuring.
She swallowed back the recollections of her days as Pleasure just as erotic heat roiled its way to the pit of her pussy. The memory of Lexington Steele was the sizzling source of her budding need for release.
Zoete hemelen (sweet heavens)! She couldn’t help herself. Lexington Steele had been her first encounter, and had ripped her ripened cherry to shreds. He’d fucked her senseless. Fucked her inside out and upside down. Then fucked her all over again. And thinking back to the first time he’d plowed his big, juicy black cock in her asshole, making her cream heavy out her cunt, out her ass, all over his dick—had her dizzy with lust. She remembered vividly how she’d gotten her first taste of her ass slathered on his cock, before he’d yanked it from her mouth and shot thick ribbons of his gooey spunk in her mouth, her face, and all in her luscious mane.
Nairobia was eighteen.
My how time flew. Eighteen years later, and she was a well-seasoned, well-fucked, multi-orgasmic, dick-riding goddess. Her tongue slid over her lips. Then curled into a sly grin. She made a mental note to give Lexington a call. Just to say hallo, of course.
Thoughts of him made her horny. She spread her
smooth thighs, wide. Slid a hand over her hungry sex. Toyed with her clit. Teased it ever so lightly until her nipples peaked and goose bumps lined her skin, and her body began to shudder.
Mmm.
Her free hand glided over her taut belly. Then up over her left breast. She pulled at her nipple. Lightly pinched it. Then let go.
A delicious orgasm needed to simmer, slowly. And she decided to wring hers out slowly. It would be sweet torture, but well worth the wait.
She reached for her crystal flute, taking a slow, deliberate sip of her Moët & Chandon. She swirled the bubbly around in her mouth, allowing it to settle on her tongue, savoring the elixir, before she swallowed.
Whap!
Shuddering at the thought of not being completely fulfilled sexually, she brought her hand down on her sex again. Her clit throbbed from the biting sensation. She couldn’t figure out for the life of her why she was feeling bad for the sexually neglected when it was by their own doing. It was a choice. Settling, that was. And that’s what they had chosen to do. Settle.
Ze neuken.
That’s right. Fuck them. She smoothed her hand over the sting, caressing her pretty pussy—the cunt that had launched a thousand or more hard dicks into her pleasure zone, and wrenched out an infinite amount of orgasms from each of them; the cunt that had brought her share of men to their knees, crippling them of their free will.
Oh yes. Like in her book, Good Pussy, she was good pussy. And she knew it. And good pussy, like that of a good tongue—or good dick—should never go to waste.
Ever.
Nairobia pressed a button on what appeared to be a remote control. Moments later, Josiah appeared walking into the room in his naked glory, his dick swinging with purpose. He was exquisite. Heat bubbled in her veins just looking at him.
So young.
So virile.
So hard.
So willing.
So, so full of thick, tasty cum.
She licked her lips. And he grinned sexily at her, his gaze honed in on her rich with promise. And understanding. She felt the ache inside her sizzle and spread. The sight of him, the thought of his mouth and tongue on her pussy, obsessed her to no end.
“Come, my darling,” she cooed, spreading her legs wider. “Lick me to orgasm.”
“Your pleasure is my pleasure,” he rasped, moving quickly toward her.
Nairobia smiled.
She’d trained him well. Taught him how to pleasure her with abandon. He’d been just an inexperienced boy trying to be a man when she’d met him—twenty, to be exact. But he’d been eager to have her, when he’d approached her with his boyish charm, good looks, and pussy-melting body.
Damn him for being so relentless. He’d pursued her during her entire stay on the beautiful island of St. Lucia. Though he was Dominican and Haitian, his family owned a home in Castries—the island’s capital, where he’d been staying for the summer while working at Jade Mountain, an exclusive resort, where she’d been vacationing—alone.
A week into her stay, she’d given into his advances, a mixture of curiosity and wanton need making the decision to fuck him that more easy. Seeing him naked had been like staring into a kaleidoscope bursting with vibrant colors. He was breathtaking. And his thick-veined cock was mouthwatering. But he’d come disappointingly fast and hard the first few times she’d mounted him and rode him down into the resort’s plush mattress. So what if he’d been able to become erect again quickly? Quickies were not wanted, desired, or celebrated in Nairobia’s world.
It made her pussy angry.
Her cunt needed long, deep stroke sessions. It needed staying power. It had a mind of its own, and it became enraged when it wasn’t fucked with the utmost care. It was insatiable. And not many could rise to the occasion of keeping it—or her—satisfied. So she’d tossed him out of her suite numerous times in the wee hours of the night. And, yet, he’d return the following evening, scratching at her door like some sex-starved puppy, eager to learn, eager to please, willing to be fired from his job. And she’d sneak him in and let him try all over again.
It had been his limitless enthusiasm that had won Nairobia over. Now, look at him. Four years later, he’d matured, evolved, into a sexual beast, her very own human sex toy.
He lowered himself to his knees. Breathed her cunt in. Licked his lips. Then leaned into her glorious slit and tasted it. She moaned low in the back of her throat as he lapped at it with his tongue. Then he swept his tongue into her cunt. And the low sound he made with his greedy wet licks gave Nairobia the most delicious sensations. Slick sounds mingled with her breaths while he rubbed circles over her greedy clitoris with the pad of his thumb. Nairobia’s hips slowly rocked up to his touch, to his mouth. He ran the tip of his tongue over her clit, then dipped it inside, before sliding it over her throbbing pussy lips.
She gasped in pleasure. It was always about pleasure, always about multiple orgasms. And Josiah had her teetering at the edge, had her clinging on to the toe-curling sensations. “Yes, yes, yes, my love,” she cooed. “mijn kut likken…” (lick my cunt) “…het plagen…” (tease it) “….maken het graag…” (make love to it).
He had no fucking clue what she was saying, but he loved hearing her speak in her native tongue. It sounded hot. And it made him hotter. Made him harder. He held in a curse. Goddamn, shit, fuck.
“Mmm, baby…you taste so good,” he murmured, his voice vibrating over her labia. He licked her slowly, savoring every part of her sex; her exotic scent rising, her slick juices pouring out over his tongue and fingers.
Oh God…his tongue. His lips. His mouth. The way he caressed her pussy with loving care made her want to talk dirty to him. She felt the pleasure escalating. She looked down at him between her legs and licked her glossed lips. He looked so delectable kneeling before her, praising her, worshiping her.
It was a glorious sight to behold, him pulling her lips apart, capturing her clit with his mouth, his eyes closing as he reached between his own thighs and began to stroke himself with one hand, bringing himself to the edge, while his other hand, fingers pushing inside her, stroked her to sweet bliss.
Josiah loved her pussy. And he loved pleasing it. Eating it. Fucking it. If he could crawl in and spend the rest of his life in it, he would. That’s what he’d told her once. And those words stuck with her. She wasn’t in love with him. She lusted him. Deeply cared for him. But love? No, no, no. She loved his tongue. Loved his touch. Loved his cock.
Nairobia’s scent was stronger, sharper with arousal. A blast of heat shot over the crown of his cock as he stroked himself. He groaned, desperate to hear her beg him to fuck her. More blood rushed through his shaft. His dick was thick and hard and aching, impatient. Nairobia inflamed him. She unraveled him. He wanted to rise up and push himself inside her, wanted to fuck himself into her sweet channel, become engulfed in her wet flames.
But only if she demanded it, only if she—
She moaned. Spread her thighs wider, offering more of herself to him. He slid his hands beneath her, cupping her ass, then brought her cunt up to his mouth like a bowl filled with liquid cherries. She gasped in expectation, in burning want. Then he stuck his tongue in her ass and licked her on the verge of an orgasm, before running it up the slit of her pussy to her clit.
Two fingers entered her as he licked over her clit.
“Yes, my darling, yes…mmm…aaaah…oooh, ja, ja, ja…!”
She closed her eyes, inhaling her sweet scent as Josiah pulled her open and stroked his fingers back inside her wetness, then slow pulling out and smearing his fingers up and down and over her clit, before sucking it into his mouth.
Nairobia gasped. An orgasm sizzled hot in her belly. This beautiful specimen before her, between her legs, tongue wedged between her sweet, puffy lips, was about to bring her to ecstasy. She was right there, hanging on the cusp of a delicious orgasm when her cell rang. She cursed it a thousand times over.
But instead of allowing it to roll over to voicemail, she answered
it, breathlessly, without looking at the number. “Ja?” she rasped, a mixture of annoyance and delight coloring her tone.
“Hey, beautiful,” the voice on the other end crooned.
Nairobia moaned in the back of her throat and melted into her boy-toy’s hungry mouth. The sound of her caller’s voice used to always made her weak with want. “Ooh, ja, ja. Mmm…” Josiah licked her pussy with deep, long strokes. “Hallo, my darling, MarSell…”
He laughed. “Damn, baby. Sounds like I caught you at a bad time. What are you doing?”
Nairobia moaned again. “Met mijn kut gegeten.”
Marcel didn’t know much Dutch. But he knew enough to know it had something to do with her pussy. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He missed the feel of being inside her. His dick stirred in his Armani slacks. It had been over a year since he’d had Nairobia’s pussy stretched over and around his dick. Her pussy was like heated velvet. Silky, wet walls that lovingly gripped and pulled and milked a hard dick, his dick, to orgasm.
Seeing her in his studio over a week ago, after so many months, had him wanting her, had him needing her. Since his wife’s murder, he hadn’t needed or wanted release with anyone as bad as he wanted, needed, it from Nairobia. He wanted to get lost in the heat of her insides again. Bad. He’d fuck her raw. Nut in her sweet, tight cunt, then lick her clean.
If only for a night.
She moaned again. “Damn, baby. What, you getting fucked?” he asked, feeling his dick stretch and come alive.
She panted. “Yes, my love…with…oooh…mmm…a long…ja, ja…thick…mmm…tongue…uhhhh…oooh, ja, ja…lick my kut…” She grabbed the back of Josiah’s head, pushing his face, his mouth, his tongue deeper into her wet, hungry sex. She wanted him smothered in her juices. “Tongue my pussy, my darling.”
Marcel groaned on the other end of the phone. “Damn, baby…is he eating that pussy right?”
“Yes, my darling, yes…he’s a good pussy eater…mmm…”