The Pleasure Zone

by Cairo

  Oh, yes. They were good, more than good. The only thing Nairobia wanted to see bouncing at the moment was her ass up and down on his strikingly handsome face.

  She needed to see him. Wanted to look him in the eyes. Wanted to look into the windows of his soul. His hand gripped her wrist when she boldly tried to remove his shades.

  Nairobia’s mouth watered. She leaned in and placed her lips flush against his ear. She whispered, “The question, my love, is: are you good? Is your cock hard for me?”

  He fought to not breathe her in. “Nah, my shit ain’t hard,” he lied, hoping she wouldn’t be brazen enough to reach between his legs to feel the truth, that his dick was harder than steel. “And, yeah, I’m good. I’m always good…anything else?”

  Mmm. A moan caught in her throat. The innuendo wrapped around her like a silk blanket. She licked her lips. Instantly, his breath coming fast, he felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

  Nairobia flicked at his ear with her tongue, then whispered, “Als ik heb mijn weg, mijn liefde, zal ik nemen u naar mijn bed en smelten mijn kut…all over you. Now. There’s nothing else, my darling. For now.”

  His dick jumped.

  She kissed him lightly on the cheek, then eased back in her seat as the limousine rounded the corner onto Figueroa Street, one block from their destination.

  Adjusting his shades, he eyed her out of his peripheral vision, his nostrils flaring, as she stared out the window, pretending she had not just been up in his face taunting him with her beauty, with her femininity, her sensuality. He had no fucking clue what she’d just whispered into his ear, but the shit had heat shooting through his balls and blood rushing to his dick. He cursed under his breath. He hoped like hell that by the time they climbed out of the limo, his throbbing erection would be hard to see.

  His dick pulsed. Again.

  He clenched his fists, and groaned inwardly.

  Fat, fucking chance!

  Nairobia’s lips curled into a smile as she stared out into the night. Yes. If indeed she had her way, she’d have him in her bed, melting her cunt all over him.

  And if not…

  She had a chest full of sex toys, and a wicked imagination.

  FIFTEEN

  “Yo, what’s good, Los Annnnngeles!” Carlos screamed out into the crowd an hour-and-a-half into his set, shirt unbuttoned and pulled open. An array of multicolored panties scattered at his feet. “Y’all having a good time tonight?”

  “Yes!” the crowd shouted.

  The twenty-thousand-seat Staples Center was filled to capacity, and the R&B crooner had the crowd melting in their seats, ready to get home and tear it up in the sheets after he and his sexy label mate, Laila Reynolds, had just delivered a seductive, heart-stopping, loin-tingling duet together from off his latest album, P.O.P., which stood for Pussy over Pennies. The sexual energy in the air was so thick you could slice it with a knife. There were lots of hard, horny dick and horny, wet pussies in the building tonight down to fuck, and Carlos knew—without a doubt—somebody was getting pregnant tonight.

  He was a mixture of Prince, Maxwell, and Eric Benet all rolled into one sensually, seductive man.

  “Cool, cool. Ladies, y’all ready for me to slow it down and get real nasty with it?” He held up his microphone to the crowd.

  “Yes!” they screamed.

  “Y’all ready to get wet tonight?”

  More screams. “Yesssssss!”

  More panties soared in the air and fluttered to the stage.

  “I stay wet!” someone from the audience screamed.

  “Yeah, baby,” Carlos moaned. “I like it wet.”

  “We love you, Carrrrrlos!” a few groupies in seats a few rows back of Nairobia yelled out. They were clearly inebriated. And, more than likely, had won their tickets and backstage passes to the show from the many contests the radio station 93.3 had had leading up to tonight’s event.

  Carlos flashed a smile. “Awww, damn. I love you, too, baby. Now who’s ready for me to…” The sultry intro, with the naughty beat, to his smash single, “Lick Her Slow”—from his first album, Dirty lil Secrets—started playing. Carlos licked his lips. “Yeah, I know y’all know what that is.” He pulled out a big, juicy peach and bit into it. Juices splashed out and dripped down his chin. He licked around his lips, then stuck his tongue out and slowly licked around the peach, before taking another bite.

  The crowd went wild.

  Bulbs flashed from everywhere.

  He slowly chewed, savoring the fruit’s juices, then said, “How many of you beauties out there are real juicy?”

  Hands flew up in the air. Scantily clad women shot up from their seats, professing to be the juiciest of them all. Lies! Nairobia chuckled to herself. Most of them were delusional. She looked over to the right of her and spotted the female rapper Lil’ Kim—three seats down from her, waving her hand in the air, too.

  Nairobia frowned. Maybe once upon a time, but now…

  Nairobia rolled her eyes, shifting her gaze back to the stage. Carlos bent over and picked up a pair of purple panties off the stage floor to wipe the sweat from his chest. The panties were huge. But he wasn’t the one to put any of his fans on blast, so he took it in stride. He waved them in the air and the crowd laughed. Then he looked inside for any stains. Certain they were clean, he wiped the sweat from his face with them, then tucked them in his back pocket. “Yo, big girls can get the tongue too,” he teased. Then sang, “Close ya eyes, baaaby…let me in between ya thighs…hot tongue…licking all over you…”

  He held the mic out to the crowd as they sang out the rest of the chorus, “Tasting all over you…loving all over you…licking it nice ‘n’ slow…”

  Carlos brought the microphone back up to his lips and sang out, “Let me bury my head between ya legs…and get lost in paradise…licking you up ‘n’ down…”

  He stared out into the crowd as if he were looking for someone in particular, still singing, flicking his tongue in and out every so often; driving his female fans wild.

  More panties flew in the air. He caught a pink thong mid-air, sniffing it, before sliding the flimsy undergarment over his head. As much as he adored his female fans, some were nasty as fuck, half-washing their asses, or smelling like fish juice. And a few in the past had been nasty enough to toss a pair of filthy, shit-stained drawers up on the stage at him.

  Carlos sang a few more lines of his song, then hopped off the stage and that only sent his lusty-eyed fans screaming louder. Women jumped up and down, covering their mouths, and stomping their feet as he walked through the crowd, touching hands, and kissing females on the cheek, before making his way over to the object of his desire.

  Nairobia.

  Carlos’ hungry gaze skimmed down her body as he made his way over to her, singing as if he were singing his song to her, about her, his tongue licking all over her cunt and clit, loving all over it.

  She instantly became the envy of every woman there as he took her hand and guided it over his hard cock. Just the sight of her had him aching for her.

  “Tongue all up in it…lapping all over it…nibbling all over it…flicking all over it… Givin’ your body it…let me lick it nice ‘n’ slow… Kissing all over it…loving all over it…makin’ ya body beg for it…”

  His tongue flicked. The women in the crowd watched in wide-eyed lust as he made his long tongue curl, then roll, seductively sliding it in and out of his mouth.

  Paparazzi were everywhere. A gaggle of cameras flashing, catching every suggestive move the R&B sensation made.

  He took Nairobia by the hand and sang the lyrics to the sensual number as he pulled her up from her seat. Nairobia stood, balancing on five-inch gladiator sandals, giving those in back of her a heavenly view of everything she was made of. The men whistled and clapped as Carlos walked backward, slowly pulling her along with him.

  Nairobia swayed to the beat, her hips rolling every so often.

  He licked his lips. “Close ya eyes, baby,” he crooned. �
�Me on my stomach…You on ya back…legs spread wide…you maneuver ya hips…to greet my lips…”

  Screams from adoring fans ricocheted around the arena. “Yass! Yassss!”

  Lamar gritted his teeth and stayed glued in his seat, trying to keep his gaze off her ass while staying on full alert to what was happening around him.

  Carlos helped her up on stage, then said… “What y’all think, fellas? Is she bangin’ or what…?” He slowly spun Nairobia around, causing the place to erupt with whistles and barking noises.

  “Let’s give ’em a show, baby,” Carlos whispered in her ear, pulling her body into his. He slowly swirled his hips, while singing, “This tongue’s making you wet…making ya body weak…” Carlos’ female fans kept screaming out his name as he ground his pelvis into Nairobia’s ass causing her to match his rhythm with a slow, seductive wind of her own hips.

  He shocked her—and the crowd—when he slowly moved in front of her, while his background singers sang the chorus, and brought himself down on one knee, then pressed his face into the center of her crotch, his hands cupping her ass. If it were up to him, he’d fuck her right there, right then, in front of his adoring fans.

  Nairobia, never one to be outdone, slowly eased her gown up over her hips for his (and the crowd’s) full enjoyment, showing off her long, sexy legs. She stood wide-legged as Carlos sang a few bars of his song, then nastily licked the satiny part between her thighs. Nairobia gyrated her hips. Pumped her pelvis. Then slowly turned until she had her big juicy ass in his gorgeous face. This only made the crowd wilder, especially when Carlos took a suggestive bite out of her left ass cheek, before standing up and continuing the rest of his song. “Got me loving ya body…licking ya body…against the rhythm of desire…that swells…and rises…and erupts, dripping ‘n’ trickling down my chin…”

  “Give it up, L.A., for the one of the world’s sexiest women alive…the beautiful Nairobia Jansen!”

  The crowd clapped. Then the whole building shook with wild abandon as Carlos pulled Nairobia into his arms and covered her mouth with his, pushing his tongue past her parting lips.

  Cameras flashed. Phones flew up in the air, capturing the moment on video. The paparazzi ate it all up. The sexual display between the two was truly fodder for the tabloids.

  Porn-star and R&B pretty boy turning the crowd out.

  SIXTEEN

  Instagram:

  Ohmigod! Loved the concert last night. But I’m so jelly right now!

  Yo who else peeped my future BM lettin’ Carlos grind up on her fatty? Yeah, I’m hatin’ muhfuckas! Pleasure is my wifey!

  Hahahaha! I woulda bust on that, fam!

  She a whore! But I’d smash that!

  She sexy AF! My dik still hard AF!

  Yo word to the mutha! Pleasure can get it all night!

  Facebook wall:

  Ohmigod!! Seeing Pleasure up on the stage w/Carlos’ sexy-azz at the concert last night gave me my whole life back! That bish my idol!

  I’m not a lesbian. But she can get it.

  Yasss, bish! Yass! Lawdgawd! Pleasure u did me right sugah-boo! U stole the show n tore yo’ stank drawz at the concert, gawtdammit! Witcho ole slutty-azz! U made my cootie-coo real soggy! Had to get me some dingaling!

  Twitter:

  @CarlostheCrooner I love u baaabeee! Itz ya number 1 boo!

  @CarlostheCrooner Y u all hugged up with that bish@PleasureZone? She cute tho!

  Follow me@CarlostheCrooner! Please! U 2@PleasureZone!

  @PleasureZone I can be a freak 2 baby! #PornStarsCanGgetIt2!

  Follow me baby @PleasureZone

  @PleasureZone Saw u @ concert! Damn u fiyah! My girl mad I wanna fuk u!

  @PleasureZone next time u @#NappyNoMoreII Ya ole stuck up azz better speak! Don’t do me! @PleasureZone follow me sugahboo!

  @PleasureZone cum get this nut baby!

  @PleasureZone u stolllll the show! Follow me@PleasureZone! Pretty please!

  Lamar shut his iPad. “You an’ Pretty Boy are all over social media,” he stated, as he strapped himself into the plush leather seat across from her. Nairobia had no interest in flying back to New York on a commercial flight. She’d already tortured herself by flying the friendly skies’ public transportation, as she called it, coming to L.A. Something she’d only done to test Lamar’s skills—well, one of them. And he’d passed with flying colors.

  Now she could luxuriate on her early morning flight back to the Big Apple in the comfort of her private jet. She’d summoned her pilot last night to have him fueled up and ready. She glanced up from the magazine she’d been reading, which had a series of ten pictures covering two pages of her and Carlos. Speculation was written across the pages, that somehow the two were lovers, that they were having a torrid love affair. She’d been half-reading the story with the headline: HOW MANY KISSES DOES IT TAKE TO GET TO NEXT BASE?

  Nairobia shut the magazine and stared at Lamar thoughtfully, before shrugging dismissively at his comment. Although she had Twitter and Instagram accounts, and a Facebook Fan page—which were all managed by one of her production assistants at Sweet Pleasures, she couldn’t be so bothered with social media.

  She found it too messy, and too trashy.

  “Am I not always, my love?” She tilted her head. “Talked about?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” he said curtly.

  “Then it’s not newsworthy to know that I am, no?”

  Lamar frowned. What the fuck crawled up in her ass? Last night she’d been all up his face, taunting him with her sweet, juicy ass and those big, fluffy breasts of hers; now she was coming at him sideways. Moody-ass broads. He sighed inwardly, shaking his head. He wasn’t about to let her give him a headache. Not at six in the fucking morning. Shit. He was tired as fuck. He didn’t get much sleep.

  After the concert, he’d been dragged to some big-shot after-party out in Malibu. And, yeah, he was supposed to be her date—as she referred to him—but the shit felt more like work trying to keep horny-ass “muhfuckas”—as Lamar called them, from swarming her. The whole night was one big headache. They hadn’t gotten back to her spot until well after two in the morning. Then, by the time he’d gotten in bed, he’d tossed and turned unable to get to sleep. The pressure building in his dick had become too much to ignore. He had to literally take another shower—a very cold one at that. And, still, that’d done nothing for the heat that he had boiling through his body, or the steely erection that ached painfully for release. He needed some pussy. He needed to fuck.

  Yet, the only thing he had at that moment to ease the pressure was his hand, a hand that hadn’t been used to jack off his dick in years. Masturbation wasn’t Lamar’s thing. Fucking and getting head was.

  Glancing at Nairobia sideways, behind mirrored shades, Lamar wondered what it must be like to be her. It had to be lonely. Spending her whole life fucking a bunch of random men. It had to do something to her self-esteem. He didn’t know. He wasn’t a shrink. Maybe it didn’t affect her at all. Hell, he didn’t care. But, after everything he’d experienced in the short time having her as a client, he surmised he didn’t need a college degree to know Nairobia was nothing more than an attention whore who loved to be seen.

  He needed a blunt. Bad! He cursed under his breath for stopping one of his favorite “chill-out” pasttimes. Taking a deep breath to relax himself, he surveyed the jet’s main cabin. There were ten oversized seats, along with a plush leather sofa, a fifty-five-inch flat-screen, a stocked media console, and an extended dining table. In back of the jet were two suites, each with its own bathroom.

  Lamar glanced back at the sofa and wondered how many times she’d been fucked on it, over it. Wondered how many times her pussy had soaked into the leather cushions. He wondered how many babies she’d swallowed right there on that sofa. And then his mind swirled to the left as the nose of the plane rose, wondering what it’d be like fucking her on her own plane.

  Groaning inwardly, he scolded himself. “Muhfucka, what the fuck is wrong wit�
�� you? Pull ya’self together.” He eyed Nairobia as the jet roared down the runway, the outside world zooming by.

  Keenly aware that he was watching her—the same way she’d known, felt, his eyes were on her all last night, burning over her—Nairobia looked over at Lamar.

  “Why do you hide, my love?”

  He frowned. “Hide? What do you mean?”

  “Your eyes. You hide them from others. Why?”

  “That’s not what I’m doing. I wear them because it allows me to watch others without them knowing I’m watching them.”

  Nairobia smiled. “Well, my darling. When your eyes are on me, I’d rather see you looking at me.”

  He gave her a head nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  She opened her magazine, and flipped through the pages one last time, before glancing out the window with a smirk on her fine-ass face—as if she knew he’d been thinking lusty shit about her, as if she knew he was sitting on the other side of her with a hard-ass dick.

  SEVENTEEN

  “I see you were at the concert in L.A. last night,” Marcel said low and husky into the phone. He glanced at the photo plastered on the front page of the entertainment section of her up on the stage with Carlos, with her head tossed back as if she were in pure ecstasy; her ass all up on his boy’s cock, and his arm wrapped around her, pulling her in close as he sang.

  Nairobia smiled. “Yes, my darling. And it was quite delicious.”

  Marcel raised a brow, then eyed the photo again, before glancing at the next caption. It read: R&B CROONER TAKES PORN-STAR BEAUTY. Beneath it was a candid shot of him with his tongue shoved down her throat. Marcel slung the paper. He knew he had no right to feel slighted. After all, Nairobia was a grown-ass woman free to do whatever she pleased with her body. Still, that knowing did nothing for his deflating ego, or his raging libido. “What was delicious, the show?”

  No. His cock. “Ja,” is all she said.

  He hesitated, then hedged. “You fuck him?”

  Nairobia blinked. None of his fucking business; thank you very much. What or whom she did with her kut was no one’s concern except her own. She answered to no one. She belonged to no one. She wasn’t sure why the question unnerved her because she’d had them both between her sheets—at the same time. But it did. And she felt herself becoming annoyed that he dared ask her that.