by Cairo
This was her first time at The Pleasure Zone. But she already wanted more. She wanted access to more floors. She wanted to indulge more of her desires. Everything about what she’d seen so far made her body throb and her pussy moist.
She was a freak.
She craved hot-nasty fucking.
Lord, God, help her!
If her fiancé ever found out what she was up to behind his back, he’d leave her for sure. She was greedy. She wasn’t about to leave him. She loved him too much to let him go. Loved the sex. Mmm. The sex. Oh how magnificent he was in bed, big long West Indian cock and all. But sometimes she needed more. Not emotionally. Sexually.
He was much younger than her, but he was good to her in and out of the sheets. He was adventurous and freaky—to a degree. Hell, he’d fucked her and her two sisters several times before things had changed, before her two sisters became all motherly and matrimonial on her.
And before her fiancé had caught feelings for her, and wanted her for himself.
Before life changed between her and sisters, they’d been sleeping with the same men since their freshman year in college. For years, their rules had been simple: the men they sexed had to be single, willing to fuck all three of them either together or separately, preferably together since that’s what turned them on; he had to be over the age of twenty-one; he needed to be able to orgasm more than one round; and, be open and honest about his sexual desires. Something Pain found most men unable to do.
The three freaky sisters had once shared a special sisterly bond like no others could. But Pain…well, she was a different kind of freak. She waved her freak flag a whole lot higher than her fiancé or her now two married sisters.
And she wasn’t ready to let go of it.
Pain coiled her whip, and stepped back. She put her right foot before her left and then released the whip with a quick snap. Oh how she loved the sound of it cracking. The Cum Master had told her how whips were good for pain, and good for bondage. She felt her sex swelling with lust at the thought of having this six-foot-something’s body wrapped in rope, his skin beautifully welted.
Tove Lo’s “Moments” played and Pain drew her arm back and lashed her whip, then swung it over her head, before snapping it to the floor again.
Eyeing the man of her momentary desires, she hooked her leg around a shiny steel pole and twirled herself around it, her hair flying out behind her. When she finally stopped swirling, she held onto the pole with one hand and leaned forward, and her ample cleavage spilled out over the top of her corset, displaying the tops of her luscious breasts.
Oblivious to everyone else in the room, Hazel Eyes licked his lips. And she returned the sensual gesture in kind. Leaning her back against the pole, she dropped her whip as the instrumental to Kendrick Lamar’s “Swimming Pools (Drank)” started playing and gyrated her hips to the beat, slowly sliding down the pole, opening and closing her legs, flashing her audience—particularly him, giving him peeks of her waxed cunt. She slid her thong over to one side and bared her clit, then ran a finger over her slit. She swirled her finger over it and stroked herself, closing her eyes and biting into her bottom lip, losing herself in the sensation.
She stuck a finger inside her slick cunt, then seductively stuck her wet finger inside her warm, lush mouth and sucked. Blood rushed to the cocks of every red-blooded man watching, imagining her mouth around them, her slick tongue licking over their balls.
She slowly slid her back up the pole, then spun around it. Gripping it with both hands, she adulated against it. Pressed the seam of her sex into it, holding her head back and sliding up and down, stimulating her clit, teasing her slit.
The men around the stage panted, but she stared and moved her body as if she were dancing for only him. Hazel Eyes. The man who had her pussy on fire with just his fiery gaze on her.
She slid the palm of her hand down over her flattened abdomen and slowly lowered it down over her thong, then between her legs. She threw her head back and half closed her eyes, her sultry mouth partly open as her hands roamed all over her body. She slowly turned and bent at the waist, giving all who watched a full-view of her gorgeous ass. She slapped it. Then shook it.
More men found their way up to the stage watching in lust-eyed amazement, their attention fixed on nothing else but her bare flesh, the visual breathtaking.
She stared over her shoulder—her hips rolling, her ass shaking, her wet arousal glistening the back of her cunt—with a fuck-me look that had mouths drooling, tongues wagging. She grabbed the pole again and swung her body around it, before hanging upside down from her knees. Hazel Eyes’ groin tightened at the lovely sight.
She wasn’t a stripper, by any means. But she and her sisters had once taken pole-dancing lessons and she’d made it her business to master the art.
By the time the instrumental version of The Game’s “Holy Water” started playing, Pain was floating on euphoria. She felt so free as she slinked her way up the pole, then leaned back and swung herself upside down, flashing onlookers a naughty smile.
She flipped upward, then slinked her away down and around the pole. Dropping down, she pumped her pelvis. Tempting him. Tempting them. Teasing him. Teasing them.
Skillfully, she eased herself to the stage’s floor, sprawling her body. She slowly parted her legs, bent her knees, and arched her back. Up. Down. Up. Down.
Then like a panther, she gracefully crawled her way over toward Hazel Eyes. Her soft fingertips brushed over his cheek, causing him to draw his tongue over his upper lip.
“You like what you see?” she said, her voice low and raspy. He wouldn’t have heard her over the pulsing music had she not had her lips flush to his ear.
He grinned.
“Yeah, baby. I love it.”
“You wanna lick my cunt again?”
He groaned, his dick throbbing, and eased his long tongue out of his mouth, flicking it. “Yeah, baby. Let me taste that sweet chocolate pussy.”
“Can I tongue your ass?”
“Aah, shit yeah, baby.”
“Can I punish you?”
He let out a low growl. “Hell yeah, baby. Punish me. Make me your bitch tonight.”
He was so damn sexy. And those eyes mesmerized her. She wanted to beat and fuck him. Her blood boiled. She loved a masculine man comfortable in his masculinity, in his sexuality, willing to submit.
Hazel Eyes gnawed on his tongue as Pain slid up on her knees, then lifted her body. She shook her hips, sauntering back to the middle of the stage, bending over and retrieving her whip from the stage floor.
She faced the crowd, then crooked a finger at Hazel Eyes, motioning him to come onto the stage. He drew a deep, shuddering breath into his muscled chest, then hopped up on the stage. Pain eyed him. He was fit. Toned. Tall. Bowlegged. Bare-chested. And the bulge in his boxers…oh my!
Her mouth watered as he prowled toward her.
She loved bowlegged men. Loved fat, mouthwatering cock.
Before Hazel Eyes could get any closer, she flung the whip at him. It wrapped around his wrist. Unflinching, he smiled. Yes, he was what she needed tonight.
A man willing to submit, to be on display… Mmm. Exhibitionism was so sexy. She tugged on the whip and pulled it, pulling him closer. His breath quickened as she asked for his other wrist.
She had to be careful not to break any of the club’s rules for second-floor sex play, or run the risk of being escorted out and having her membership cancelled. Still, she took his other wrist and wrapped the leather whip around his hands. She wouldn’t lash him. But she’d coil him. That wouldn’t be so bad. Right?
Pain instructed him to hold his hands up over his head as she secured him to the pole, before expertly tethering his legs. She ran her hand over his cock, and he moaned as she squeezed and leaned into him. “What’s your name, sexy?”
A muscle tightened in his lower stomach. His dick throbbed painfully hard. Blood pooled and pumped into his shaft. “Zion,” he pushed out, breathlessly.
Hazel Eyes hissed as she stroked his cock with a gloved hand. She licked her lips, then took her other hand and massaged him with both her hands. “I want you deep in my cunt,” she said, wrapping the strap around his balls and the base of his cock. “Would you like that?”
He moaned out his answer as she grabbed his erection by the base and slid her gloved hands up and down his shaft.
She brought her soft lips to his neck and bit the skin over his jugular. The bite turned into a sensual lick, then a kiss, then another bite. Pre-cum slid out from the tip of his dick and dripped onto her hand. Pain lifted her hand to her mouth and licked over her glove. Hazel Eyes groaned.
“Mmm,” she purred. “You taste like sweet arousal.” She stroked him again, roughly, purposefully, milking out another string of glaze. “Taste,” she urged as she lifted her hand to his mouth. He licked. Moaned. Then licked over her glove again.
Pain grabbed his balls. Stroked him again until pre-cum streaked her glove. She let go of his turgid flesh, then playfully slapped his face, before sliding in front of him, and rolling her hips until she was positioned directly in front of his perfectly straight cock, pointing rigid like an arrow at its target. She bent over, pulled her thong to the side, then eased back and fucked herself on his dick, raw and filthy, looking out into the crowd.
In back of the dim-lit room stood the shadow of a tall, dark, muscled figure—watching, a mixture of surprise and amusement glinting his dark eyes. Thick arms crossed over a wide chest, his biceps bulging under a body-hugging, black T-shirt, he blinked. Then narrowed his eyes.
Hol’ up. Wait. Is that? He shook the absurd thought from his head. Nah, that can’t be…
Knowing he had to be mistaken, he stepped further inside.
Pain grabbed her ankles and moaned as Hazel Eyes thrust his hips, ramming his dick inside her, sliding in and out of her wetness. Feeling heat sweep over her body, Pain cried out and looked up into the burning eyes of a familiar face from across the room.
THIRTEEN
“Damn, baby, you’re still sexy as ever.”
Nairobia blinked. Heat instantly washed over her body at the sound of the man invading the space behind her; his panty-dropping voice licked at her libido. She turned to face him. And eight-and-three-quarter inches of thick, mocha-colored cock was what instantly flashed through her mind the minute she looked up into the green, sparkling eyes of one of the sexiest men alive.
He gave her a lopsided grin, taking her all in, starting at her feet and working his way slowly upward. He didn’t have his coal-black, wavy hair pulled back in his signature ponytail. Instead it hung past his shoulders in never-ending waves.
“Carlos, my darling,” Nairobia cooed, her gaze sizzling over his.
She hadn’t seen him since the Annual Music Awards in Monte Carlo, Monaco over a year ago. And he was as gorgeous now as he’d been then. He looked scrumptious in his fitted, short-sleeved white V-neck tee and a pair of torn, white jeans poured on over his muscled ass. The scent of his expensive cologne, mixing with all the testosterone that seeped from his deliciously buffed skin instantly aroused her.
She hadn’t had him between her thighs in close to two years. But she remembered the sweet taste of his lips and the way his greedy cock splashed in and out of her juicy cunt. Good dick was hard to forget.
But it wasn’t always attached to a good man. Not that Carlos wasn’t a good one; he just wasn’t one Nairobia would ever have longer than a night—or two—in her bed or between her thighs. The green-eyed pretty boy, in all of his fineness, was a notorious womanizer. And the whole world knew he—one of the world’s most eligible bachelors—was a manwhore. Nairobia didn’t judge, however. And she didn’t care.
After all, everyone had a past, and their own story to tell. And she definitely had more than her share of sex tales to share. Still, Carlos had been linked to some of the most beautiful women around the globe. From supermodels to Hollywood starlets and songstresses, the R&B crooner and model was known for his prowess in the sheets, and for breaking hearts. The tabloids had him labeled as an international playboy. And they loved seeing him through their cameras’ lenses. He was just so damn sexy to photograph, even in the most scandalously compromising positions. Like the time he’d had a wardrobe malfunction and the drawstring of his linen pants came loose, and so did all of Nature’s glory. Dick and balls for all to see, dangling on display.
Yes, yes, yes. Nairobia could attest to his delicious dick strokes and toe-curling tongue licks. And truth to be told, he was almost as good as his fraternity brother and best friend, Marcel. Almost.
She allowed herself a moment to indulge the memory. She’d invited him to her villa in Milan during the 2014 Fashion Week. No questions were asked. The intent was clear. The two of them fucked each other breathlessly, like two sex-starved teenagers, until sunrise. And then came an early morning romp of pussy eating, his tongue laving her lust-filled clit, her cum-soaked cunt, and all over her succulently wet lips, followed by an exquisite ass fucking. “Me in mijn kont neuken,” she’d told him. Yes, she wanted it in her ass. And he’d given it to her. He’d fucked her hard because she’d wanted it, demanded it, every controlled thrust bursting with heat and power.
“Neuk me!” she’d urged over and over. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…!”
And he’d done just that, releasing his warm, milky load into his condom, still stroking slowly into the heat of her willing, wanting ass until her muscles relentlessly squeezed his dick, and he plopped out.
That night he’d obliged her libido, owned her body, with a hard, thick dick, emptying his cum-filled sac until there was nothing left of him to give. She had been fully satiated when she slid out of her sheets, her anus still humming from the deep fucking, and walked him to the door.
He had wanted her number. But she’d kissed him on the lips instead, then shut the door in his face; a grin painted on her swollen lips from the kissing and heavy dick sucking she’d done.
She smiled.
A mix of Native-American, Italian, and African, Nairobia knew if she dared to let the three-time Grammy-award-winning heartthrob soak the inside of her eggs the way he had his condom, they’d make some beautifully exotic-looking babies together.
She felt a pool of heat building in her stomach, then washing over her uterus.
“Damn, it’s so good to see you, baby,” Carlos said. And just as he stepped in to wrap Nairobia in his arms, her bodyguard appeared from out of nowhere and slid one long, thick arm between them, pushing him back.
“Nah, fall back, playboy,” the bodyguard growled.
Lamar was new to Nairobia’s security detail, and had come highly recommended by Pasha. The day after Nairobia had spoken to her, Lamar had come in for an interview, dressed in black, and looking every bit of intimidating, menacing, and, oh so, deliciously intoxicating.
This was his first day on the job. And so far Nairobia was highly impressed. Sure she could have flown in the confined comforts of her luxurious private jet, but she needed to see how this chocolate Mandingo handled the controlled chaos that oftentimes swirled up around her, like this very moment.
Men ogled her. Women eyed her slyly. Cell phones snapped pictures to capture the moment, while heads turned to take in the back of her luscious ass as she sauntered through the airport wearing—over a black Brazilian thong with two-strand diamond chains which wrapped around her hips—a very short, black crochet net dress with a halter silhouette and cutout sides. The hundred thousand-dollar dress, as with the majority of her couture, left many mouths agape…and drooling.
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Sure there were some women who sneered and rolled their eyes at her as she passed by. A few even held on to their men, or narrowed their eyes at him as Nairobia moseyed by. But to hell with them! She had no interest in their men.
She almost laughed.
Insecure, that’s what they were. They were a bunch of narrow-minded bitches, who more than likely needed a good fuck to loosen them up.
“Can we help you?” her bodyguard said, his steely gaze fixed on Carlos.
“Nah, playboy,” Carlos said sarcastically, sizing him up. “It’s all love over here, Hercules. Nairobia’s my peoples.” Carlos kept his glare locked on the six-foot-four, dread-wearing bodyguard. Carlos was a pretty boy, but he was far from soft when it came to knuckling up.
“Now, now, my love,” Nairobia cooed, touching the beefy hunk’s muscled arm. “Play nice. Carlos is a dear acquaintance of mine.”
Lamar grunted, then sized Carlos up. “Oh, aiight.” He stepped back, but stayed near and kept his eyes locked on Carlos behind a pair of three-hundred-dollar sunglasses.
Nairobia’s bodyguard was rugged and thuggish, cocky and slightly arrogant, yet when he’d interviewed for the job, he knew how to articulate himself in a professional manner. She liked that about him. She found his swagger enticing. And, aside from the fact that he had a broad nose, smooth, dark-chocolate skin, and thick lips, she imagined he also had a thick, long, strong tongue and a big juicy cock to match the set of thick long fingers on his hands.
She reminded herself to send her stylist, Pasha, a bottle of champagne and a basket of sex toys from her latest collection, thanking her for the referral. Or maybe she’d take a moment to stop by her salon and drop off the basket of treats in person.
Oh, yes. Her newest edition of eye candy would do just fine.
Carlos smirked at Mr. Dreamy Dark Chocolate, then opened his arms and Nairobia stepped into his embrace. At five-ten, she was naturally tall. But, standing here in a pair of six-inch Jimmy Choos, she stood eye-level, matching the crooner’s six-five frame. She pressed herself into him, pressing her pelvis into his groin. She wanted him to feel the welcoming heat of her cunt. Wanted him to know his hard cock held a special place between her thighs.