by Cairo
Marcel felt himself growing hard.
Goddamn.
He wanted her to feel his cock pulsating inside her as it shot his nut, filling her, coating her walls with his semen as her pussy convulsed around his girth. Marika was gone, but he still wanted a family. Something they’d hoped for in the very near future, something that sadly didn’t come to be. All future plans shot down, literally and figuratively.
His chest burned from the memory. He closed his lids for a brief moment, willing his emotions from taking over. This wasn’t the time. His focus needed to be on the beautiful woman soaking in his tub.
Nothing else.
Taking a deep breath, he opened his chocolate brown eyes. His mouth curved slightly, his eyes warming with a look of satisfaction and approval. Seeing Nairobia in his tub with her eyes closed, looking peaceful, was a beautiful sight. He stepped inside the bathroom. Even though he knew how skittish she was about relationships, he wanted her. He wanted to possess her in mind, body, and soul. And he wouldn’t rest until he had all of her. He was a patient man. He’d take it slow. After all, he hadn’t gotten this far in life not being enduring.
But God, he wanted to fill her to the rim with everything he had. Not with just his throbbing cock—his hands, his mouth, his lips, his fingers, his love.
All of him. Every part of him. Filled deep inside her.
Floetry’s “Getting Late” oozed out of the speakers as Marcel eased forward, bare-chested with his hard dick trapped beneath boxers and lounge pants. He wouldn’t get naked for fear of not being able to keep his promise. He was a man of his word, but tonight, if he stripped out of his clothes, he’d take her.
No questions asked. He’d take her for himself, greedily and hungrily.
“Here you go, beautiful,” he said, his voice full of fiery heat as he neared the tub.
Nairobia opened her eyes, and looked up at him. She saw the flute in his hand. Saw the fire in his eyes. Her mouth went eerily dry, but her pussy suddenly felt wetter. She sat up and took the flute from him. “Thanks, my love.”
She took a sip, then set it up on the ledge of the tub. She looked at him. “Are you not drinking?”
He grinned crookedly. “Nah, baby. Not tonight.” He thought it best that he didn’t. He didn’t want anything altering his judgment, or his resolve to not fuck. “Tonight, it’s all about you. Are you ready for your bath?”
Nairobia smiled at him. She hadn’t been asked that—“are you ready for your bath?”—since she was a young child. She leaned her head back against the pillow, and closed her eyes. And waited. There was her answer.
Smiling, Marcel rolled his pant legs up as high as they would go, then sat on the edge of the tub. He grabbed a loofah sponge and started with her legs, gently lifting one at a time. Then with infinite care he washed her feet, licking the soles of each foot, before sucking her toes into his mouth. He’d wanted to indulge his foot fetish with her for weeks now. Nairobia had pretty feet and toes. Suckable. Lickable. And he’d wanted them in his mouth.
She squirmed.
The sensation tickled, and aroused her all in one, sending quivers of pleasure dancing through her body. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had her toes inside a man’s wet, warm mouth. And Marcel was doing such a magnificent job. He made love to each one, his hot tongue wetly lapping over every part of her foot, before licking over her ankles. His hands slid up her calves, along her thighs, then brushed lightly over her sex.
Nairobia let out a soft moan.
“You like that, baby?”
Her only response was another moan as his hands glided up the sides of her body. Nairobia felt herself melting under Marcel’s searing touch. Her eyes fluttered open and she found his gaze, hot. Their eyes stayed locked as his hands dropped down, delving into the water, gliding up along the sides of her body, then back down, grabbing her hips. He slid his hands over her breasts, his fingertips grazing over her tightened tips. They burned. They ached. He teased her there, caressing and stroking, his fingers magically dancing over every nerve ending.
She visibly swallowed, her breath hitching.
Then his thumbs flicked over her nipples, causing a stream of heat to ripple through her. She felt her body craving him, deep inside her. She wanted to scream out to him, “Fuck me now! Take my pussy and have your way with it!” But she dared not. She bit into her bottom lip instead, arching her body.
His hands sensually slid up and down each arm, then moved to her hands, massaging each finger, stroking between the base of her fingers and knuckles. Nairobia let out a sigh of unrelenting pleasure. She opened her eyes and watched as Marcel interlocked their fingers and used his thumbs to massage her palms up to the base of her fingers in slow circles.
He saw the flicker in her eyes—desire and heat and feral want—and smiled.
“You want me inside you, don’t you? Vous voulez me donner cette chatte douce, no?” You want to give me that sweet pussy.
Nairobia panted. She couldn’t stand it any longer—this, this, sweet torture. “Yesss,” she murmured. “Neem me, mijn liefde. Neuk me.” Take me, my love. Fuck me.
Satisfaction flowed through Marcel. He loved the way her body was responding to his touch. By the time he finished with her, she’d be sated, her body floating and still rippling from the aftereffects of her climax long after he was done with her.
He reached for a spray nozzle and wet her hair, then sensually massaged her scalp.
Drake’s “A Night Off” swept around the bathroom licking at Nairobia’s eardrums, causing her to slowly roll her hips. She moaned, her body seeking relief.
Every erotic touch pushed her closer to the edge. He still hadn’t touched her there—over her sex, and her cunt was clenching wildly.
“Let it go,” Marcel rasped. “Donne-moi. Donnez dedans, bébé.” Give it to me. Give into it, baby. “Stop fighting me, it. Surrender to it, bébé…”
By the time Jamie Foxx’s “Freakin’ Me” started playing, Nairobia felt Marcel everywhere. His hands melting into her flesh as he caressed her skin, her body. She hadn’t expected this. Her ability to think—long gone, she burned with desire. Felt her insides aching with a need so intense that her whole body shook.
Her body arched, and she cried out.
He’d given her an orgasm.
TWENTY-SEVEN
The air was electric. “Maybe” by Alina Baraz & Galimatias seeped through the speakers as bodies erotically bumped and grinded. Libidos were in overdrive. And Nairobia was in her glory as she sauntered around the third floor of her club in her signature attire—something slinky, something see-through, something that gave her easy access to her pussy and her plump nipples. As she walked through the club, women admired her. Men lustfully eyed her as they fucked their lovers. Nairobia found herself slowing her pace and sensually winding her hips taking in all the erotic sights.
To the left of her, a beefy Italian was down on his knees, his face pressed in between the ass cheeks of the wife of a NBA basketball player. He stroked his thick, yummy-looking sausage while he licked in between her slick folds.
Nairobia’s eyes stayed fixed on the width of his dick as it slid in and out of his fist. It was the thickest piece of meat she’d seen on a white man in a long time. And she enjoyed watching every moment of him pleasuring himself while his tongue—relentless against his lover’s cunt—licked his way to her core. The heat and seductiveness of his tongue strokes made his sex mate quake for more. And watching it unfold before her eyes made her mouth water for a taste of his tongue, his cock. Made her want to reach between her own thighs and pinch her clitoris.
The cocoa-brown basketball wife was bent over the back of one of the many plush leather sofas, her pussy stuffed with tongue, her mouth full with hard, black dick. Nairobia’s mouth watered as she watched spit splash out of Mrs. Basketball Wife’s mouth as she was being face-fucked. Her hunky lover’s dark-chocolate dick sliced into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat. She gulped and gagged and
groaned, her neck rapidly gliding back and forth. Her mouth moving with a ravening hunger.
Ooh, scandalous.
Get your swirl on, my love.
Nairobia grinned.
The rumors had been true all along.
Maya Ellerson loved waving her freak flag.
Mr. Italian Sausage removed his hand from his dick and placed both of his hands on the Basketball wife’s ass, pulling her open, his tongue skimming over her enflamed pussy. She bucked, moaning in ecstasy.
“Yes, my slutty, little darling,” Nairobia whispered as she passed by, “let them bring you to sweet orgasm, then fuck you to no end.”
She looked over to the right of her and licked her lips at the sight of a busty redhead—blindfolded and gagged, on her knees, her shiny pink cunt being savagely fucked to shreds by a thick-dicked, tatted Mandingo with braids. He wrapped a hand in her hair and snatched her head back, slamming in and out of her, her groans of pleasure muffled by the gag in her drooling mouth. He slapped her ass until it stung and bruised, leaving his hand print in her reddened flesh.
“Fucking, white cunt bitch!” he spewed, rapidly thrusting in and out of her, stretching her tight slit beyond her imagination. Her lover promised to beat her pussy down to the seams, to fuck her until she passed out. “You like big, black dick, huh, cheating-ass whore?! You like your pussy-ass husband watching you get your guts fucked in with all this black dick?”
Tears sprang from her eyes as she nodded her head, and grunted. Her bleary-eyed gaze stayed locked on her dark-haired banker husband of fifteen years, watching her, lovingly, as he stroked his long, thin cock. He wasn’t particularly handsome, but there was something rough and wild about his look that made him primitive. His brown eyes widened in delight as his wife’s tatted lover pulled out of her, his cock wet from her sticky orgasm and his.
Mr. Banker was on the verge of begging the tatted sex beast to feed him his wife’s juices from his veined shaft. He wasn’t a cocksucker—per se, but he’d do anything to see the look of pleasure in his wife’s loving eyes, even if it meant being choked by a big, black dick; his nose savagely pressed deeply into the jungle bush of hair that sprouted out from her lover’s groin. As long as it pleased his wife, he was delighted.
It turned him on. Seeing his wife completely satisfied.
He groaned his approval when his wife’s next lover, a light-skinned Hispanic with lots of cock and foreskin, stepped behind her and pulled open her cheeks. Her asshole puckering in anticipation as he slowly penetrated her vagina, then grabbed her ass in the palms of his hands, rotating it while he thrust his dick deeper inside her warm pussy.
Her Latino lover tossed his head back, grabbed both her shoulders, then rapidly pounded her body, pulverizing her swelling cunt.
Nairobia swallowed back a mouthful of moistened lust as she watched the redheaded vixen take on one lover after another, each man emptying his loins in her, coating her walls with his creamy load. Nairobia grew wetter, her lips swelling between her thighs. She wanted to spread her legs, to open herself to the beautiful men and women around her.
Her pussy ached.
She bit her lip.
“Panther” by Made In Heights oozed from the speakers as the redhead’s husband groaned long and low. “Uhn! Uhhhhhn!” His cock became surprisingly longer, and almost reminded Nairobia of a long twig. She grimaced, almost feeling bad for him and his skinny pecker. She couldn’t fathom ever having a broomstick poking in and out of her kut, no matter how much wealth and power were attached to its owner.
Nairobia skimmed her eyes over Mr. Banker’s lean, perfectly tanned body before looking back over at his wife, who was in the throes of heated euphoria. Her pleading eyes begged for more. She whimpered and groaned over the leather ball trapped in her mouth, flicking her long hair from side to side. Her whole body thrashed anew every time another hunk pulled out of her body, then another one slammed himself inside her, filling her with the length and width of his cock, fucking into her soul.
There were eight more muscle-bodied men still standing in line, stroking their cocks and waiting their turn for a piece of her tight, white pussy.
“Oh, God, yes!” her husband cried out over Marsha Ambrosius’ “69.” “Fuck my wife, you big-dicked bull! Fuck her! Oh, God, yes! Fuck her! Fuck her! Fuck her! Aaah, yessss! Fuuuuuuck!”
Nairobia’s insides quivered. She couldn’t deny the prickles of heat building between her thighs, or the way her now erect nipples brushed teasingly against the flimsy material of her halter. There were so many married couples who had cuckold fantasies; men who desired seeing—or were forced to watch—their wives being stuffed with the dick of another, more well-endowed man; men who couldn’t satisfy their women sexually, so their wives sexual pleasures from another man vicariously became theirs.
Cuckolds were usually submissive men, who either suffered from premature ejaculation or had painfully small cocks, and enjoyed being sexually humiliated.
Oh, how sinfully delicious it was for a woman to deny her husband her pussy, his only access being to clean up the ejaculate of the lover(s) she’d chosen to fuck in front of him.
Such was the case for Mr. Twiggy Dick who grunted and groaned and exploded his thick load in less than twenty hand strokes the minute his wife hobbled over to him on shaky legs, and lowered her swollen cunt over his face, her slit oozing load after load of creamy milk.
Nairobia watched, a mixture of disgust and fascination pooling in her eyes, as he extended his tongue and took his wife’s offering, licking and gobbling her cunt into his wet, greedy mouth.
Watching the vile, yet erotic vision, made Nairobia’s clit throb. She lived for these salacious moments, reveling in the forbidden thrills of others. She cupped her mound as Twiggy Dick slipped a finger in his wife’s ass while drinking in her pussy as if it were a vanilla shake. Nairobia’s gaze took in the erotic sight and a rush of liquid warmth flooded her loins as she massaged and kneaded, running her fingers in little circles over her clit. She caressed the slick and swollen folds of her pussy, before slipping a finger inside. Her overheated lips sucked in her finger. She worked her finger in and out of her slick opening, teasing it, toying with the beginning of an orgasm of her own. She used her thumb to flick over her clit.
Nairobia bit back a moan as an exquisite rush of heat roiled over her flesh. She looked across the other side of the room as The Weeknd’s version of “Drunk In Love” played. She felt her hips slowly rolling. She needed, wanted more. She thrust two fingers deep inside her, but it still wasn’t enough. She wedged a third finger in, pumping hard and fast. She felt sets of smoldering eyes on her and her husky groans turned sharp with desire.
She felt the need to be slutty, to get filthy with it.
She swore she’d never fuck any of the club’s patrons. And she wouldn’t. But who said she couldn’t give them a sultry show?
She could make them all come without touch, without words. Her curves alone made men drool, her lush ass beckoned them to kiss it, taste it, fuck it.
She pulled her fingers from her slit and sucked them into her mouth, then untied her dress. The slinky garment fluttered to the floor as the deejay segued into The Weeknd’s “Enemy.”
Feeling the slow burn building up inside her, she backed herself up against a wall. Widened her stance. Raised her hands up over her head. Then slowly twirled her hips, and slid down the wall. She worked her way back up, sliding her tongue over her lips. Her body was bathed in candlelight as she swayed back and forth in a slow seductive dance.
The former Playboy model and porn star was in her glory as she thrust her hips and tantalized the onslaught of male admirers, making them groan. She made her body talk to them, every fluid movement of her hips, every roll of her belly, promising them a night of unadulterated bliss—even if it was an illusionary offering.
She spread open her thighs, slid her hands over her shimmering body, then down between her smooth thighs. She pulled open her glistening folds, giving them a
glimpse of her beautiful pink cunt.
She knew all they really wanted was a wet pussy and a good fuck. The sight of her pretty pussy made their dicks harden. She slid a lusty glance over at a tall, muscular and very handsome hunk of white chocolate who stood naked, his thick, seven-inch erection in his hand, stroking himself as he watched her. Nairobia could tell by the look in his blazing blue eyes that he hungered for her.
Look my hung darling, but do not touch…
Her seductive moves were making the men standing around her hornier and hornier by the second. And she found herself becoming equally aroused and caught up in the moment.
She closed her eyes getting lost in the music, then slowly opened them. Her long-lashed eyes fluttered as her bodyguard came into view. He was oh so thuggish. Rugged. Tatted. She bet he liked it hard, rough and to be in total control, fucking down and dirty, balls deep. And Nairobia longed to get a sampling of his hood dick.
He wore a black short-sleeved tee that clung to his defined chest, a pair of black baggy jeans that hung just so—hiding what she still believed to be a big cock.
Nairobia felt herself grow hotter as he eyed her from behind his dark shades. He was making his rounds through the club when he came up to the third floor and stumbled on her. He knew he should have kept walking, but curiosity and his own secret desires that he wasn’t prepared to deal with kept him there.
Goddammit. This was just what he didn’t need. To see his client naked and seducing a bunch of horny motherfuckers—including himself. Fuck. She had them all entranced by her seductive wiles. It was bad enough he’d been working for her close to two weeks now and struggled to keep her out of his own head. She was mesmerizing. But she was fucking forbidden fruit.
And he knew it.
Nairobia licked her lips. And he swore she was licking them at him. And damn if he didn’t find himself, in that moment, wishing like hell that same tongue was licking around the head of his dick, tonguing the moistened slit in the middle until he shot his load down in her throat, and all over her face. He wasn’t a porn star, but—if he weren’t on her payroll and opportunity had presented itself (another time, another place), he’d fuck the living shit out of her dick-teasing ass as if he were one.