by Cairo
A bare-chested man wearing a pair of black leather chaps, his dick and ass out on display, stepped into the cage on the right, followed by two androgynous females with smooth skin and high cheekbones—their breasts swollen, their nipples tightened peaks, their glowing purple cocks jutting out from leather harnesses.
Nairobia’s cunt clenched.
She eyed the two cock-wielding vixens, the promise of dirty, raw fucking flickering in their eyes as they followed their male lover inside the cage, eyeing his muscled ass.
Switchblade Symphony’s “Clown” played as the gates slid shut, then each cage slowly ascended, hovering midway in the air.
Nairobia pumped her pelvis to the beat, threw her whip up and swung it in the air, then…whoosh…brought it down, its lashes striking across the floor.
A wave of applause swept around her as everyone in view of her presence clapped in excitement at the exquisite sight that stood before him or her. Nairobia smiled. Cracked her whip again. Then continued her descent down the stairs.
Candles flickering, moans and gasps floating through the air, The Mission’s “Slave to Lust” poured softly from the lower speakers as Nairobia winded down into the Love Tomb. Firelight flickered over the rounded walls as she eased her way down one of the passageways, heels clicking toward a cluster of chambers.
Out of the corner of her eye, Nairobia saw a light-skinned woman on her knees, sucking the cock of a hooded man, standing in front of her. Though the man’s face was obscured behind the leather, his eyes looked like liquid amber through the slits of his hood as he ravished her mouth with his cock, fucking into her throat, hard and fast.
Across from them, there was a couple stretched out on a bench in the throes of something hot and sweaty. Nairobia stopped and marveled at the two horny lovers. Bald, excessively tanned and slightly wrinkled, he had to be in his late fifties, but his erection protruded out like that of a man half his age. His balls were small, but his cock was long and thick. His much younger companion, an Italian brunette, moved down his body, removed his cock ring and slipped a condom over his throbbing erection. She crawled back up over him, then positioned herself over his cock. She tilted her hips forward and took him all the way in. With each thrust of her hips, she took him in deep. Deeper. Her hair swayed about her bouncing breasts as she ground her body down on him, scraping her clit against the base of his cock.
Nairobia stood transfixed watching his young lover lift her hips and allow him to thrust upward into her wetness, closing his arms around her waist, his hips beating up against her bouncing ass. He had rhythm. He had thrusts. He had power. Nairobia watched as his cock pummeled and hammered inside her, disappearing and reemerging wetter with each thrust.
By the time Switchblade Symphony’s “Chain” started playing, Nairobia’s hand flitted to her thong and found it soaked. She licked her lips. It’d been years since she’d fucked an older white man, the last time being in her movie, Daddy Cock, where she’d fucked a roomful of old, married businessmen in suits.
She was nineteen.
Petting her wet panties, Nairobia gave the lovers one last glance, then reined in her growing desire to join them. Ordo Rosarius Equilibrio sang about tying a lover to a chair, kissing her neck and pulling her hair as Nairobia passed the pool with its shimmering blue water. An array of colorful, sordid sex played out in and around the pool.
Yes, my darling, Nairobia mused, licking her lips as she swayed her hips toward the passageways. Show me the secrets of the tortured garden.
The Love Tomb was more than a playground for kink. It was where pain and pleasure swirled into one. Each chamber held a St. Andrews Cross, a rack, bondage cuffs, an X-bar, several spreader bars, and more painfully delicious assortments of kink equipment. Vanilla play was not ever allowed down in the Love Tomb.
A guttural moan from one of the chambers drew Nairobia’s attention, and she moved toward the direction of the deafening sound. Inside there was a beautiful woman the color of maple syrup wearing nothing but a black thong and knee-high leather boots. In one hand she held a flogger. In the other, a leather paddle.
A mocha-colored Latina was hoisted up in a sex sling, legs spread, knees bent. Her husband was bent over and tied down to a spanking bench. His skin was sweating, his face etched in burning pleasure.
Swoosh!
Maple Syrup delivered a stinging kiss to the sexy Latina’s cunt causing her to scream out, her head snapping back. Nairobia found herself staring delightfully at the sight of her juices pooling out of her slit.
Nairobia licked her lips, imagining herself licking into the Latina’s sweet, tangy cunt sauce to soothe her, to bathe her searing labia with wet laps of her tongue.
Swoosh!
More screaming. More arching. The Latina was awash in pain, bathing in pain, scorching in pain, breathing in pain. Swoosh! Maple Syrup’s flogger went down across her sex again, and her hips thrust up to greet the flames. An exquisite burn that singed followed the sting into her swollen sex. Passion boiled up into the pit of her pussy, then burst out the tip of her clit.
Her slit flared open and juices spurted out.
Her husband groaned as he lifted his head and fought against the restraints, and the pain.
Whap!
He yelped.
Maple Syrup swung the paddle across his ass, its heat dancing over his reddened flesh. His cock pulsed, pre-cum leaking from its slit. Nairobia licked her lips at the exquisite welts spreading over his skin. Fluid dripped from the tip of his dick. And Nairobia longed to slink into the chamber and lick the wet streaks of pre-cum on the leather bench.
Mr. Paddle Prints growled, and raised his ass higher, pleading for more. Maple Syrup gave it to him harder, faster.
Whap!
Whap!
Pop!
He gritted his teeth—his ass a bright, blistery red, tears springing from his eyes. The ache in his cock amplified the throbbing across his ass. Maple Syrup whacked him again. Spittle flew out of his mouth as he begged for more.
Whap!
Whap!
Nairobia’s cunt clenched with each strike of the paddle as it struck across his ass like lightning. And then Maple Syrup was back in front of his wife, her flogger up over her head, bringing it down over and around.
Swoosh!
The Latina cried out as the lashes bit into her clit, the suede ribbons slapping into her sex as “Glory To Thee, My Beloved Masturbator” played over her moans.
Maple Syrup pushed the Latina’s thighs wide and opened her up with her fingers. She leaned in and licked the nectar that flowed out from her slit while her husband looked on in sweet agony. She lapped at her, sucked in her sensitive nub until she panted.
Her husband groaned, lifting himself, pumping his hips in the air until his cock thudded upward. He pressed his hips against the bench and ground his horny cock into the leather until he orgasmed.
Maple Syrup abandoned the Latina’s pussy long enough to deliver three more rapid strikes across her husband’s ass. The man cried out, his hips pumping a mile a minute. “Aaaaah, aaaaah…uhhhh…! I’m coming!”
More semen spurted out of his cock, and Nairobia’s mouth instantly watered. The sight of his gushing milk made her think back to a movie’d she starred in back in her earlier porn-star days, Cum Gushers. She’d been encircled by ten men—five white, three black, and two Latino—who jerked their cocks until they were hosing her down in thick streams of their warm, sticky cock cream in her face, over her breasts, in her mouth.
Groans reaching an ear-splitting crescendo snatched Nairobia from her reverie, and forced her to look over toward another chamber. Drawn to the cacophony of sound, she sauntered over and peered inside.
There on an unforgiving wood floor, a strawberry blonde knelt between the legs of a deliciously dark-tanned Italian, his muscled back and ass covered in raised welts on his otherwise spotless flesh. He’d been flogged with a knotted leather flog that left his back a crisscrossed mess of welts.
His body strained against her hand as she burrowed her fingers deeper, deeper, wriggling them inside him, spreading him wide.
Nairobia’s mouth fell open as the woman fucked her long, slender fingers into his ass; her deep strokes were neither too slow, nor two fast. Just right. And deep. Oh so deep. Nairobia waited with bated breath, wondering if she’d curl her hand into his ass and fist him.
He closed his eyes and let her have complete control of every part of him. He was the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. He was a powerful man—a man in control of every aspect of his life personally and professionally. But tonight, he relinquished his control. Allowed his lover to inflict the sweetest torture upon him. He wanted to submit, but never had the opportunity to do so in his daily life. Until tonight.
“The Pleasure of Sin” by Athamay whirred out from the speakers. Nairobia clutched the whip in her hand and gasped as she watched the woman push her fingers into the welts on the man’s legs while fucking him in his ass. He groaned, his thick, meaty cock stretching forward, bobbing up and down. His face was flush with desire and desperation as her fingers thrust inside of him.
His strawberry-blonde lover poked and probed and slammed in and out of his long-limbed body with her fingers, wrenching out loud grunts of discomfort that eventually roared into gasps of pleasure as she stroked over his prostate.
More pre-cum. More groans. His lover opened him up wide, and pressure built up inside his stomach and hips. “God, yes,” he growled, close to orgasm. His lover had coupled pain with pleasure and he’d become unable to distinguish between the two, knowing only that he yearned for them both. He loved them both.
Finally, on the brink of delirium, the married CEO and father of three begged his lover for release. His balls ached. His cock burned from the strain of fighting back his climax. His breath hitched. He closed his eyes and bit down on his lip.
Nairobia wasn’t a fan of fucking her fingers or tongue into a man’s ass. But being the sexual being she was, she understood the overpowering sensations brought on by prostate stimulation and anal play.
Still…she’d rather not. But this wasn’t about her.
It was about—
Mr. CEO cried out again, his eyes snapping open pleadingly.
He couldn’t hold out any longer. His lover’s sweet torture was killing him. He needed release. And he needed it now. He begged her for it.
Finally his lover gave him permission. And the instant she twisted her wrists inside of him and used her free hand to dig her fingers into his raw back, his body shivered and shuddered. But it still wasn’t enough, so she reached for his balls and squeezed and twisted, the pain
His hips bucked. Oh fuck yeah…he was coming. And coming. And coming.
A smile curved Nairobia’s lips. Now he can go home and fuck his cock into his wife slow and sweetly. Completely overtaken, sated, satisfied. He’d come for a night of pain and pleasure, both all in one act.
And he’d found it.
At The Pleasure Zone.
THIRTY-SEVEN
“Yo, word is bond, son,” Lamar said into the mouthpiece of his headset. “That pussy good as hell, yo.” He was on his cell talking to his right-hand man and business partner, Mel.
They were both loyal to Pasha. And, though neither of them had ever spoken on it—they knew without it needing to be said that they’d both experienced Pasha’s deep throat specials. The difference now was, Mel was still getting blessed with her skills on the low. Not as often as he’d like, but enough to keep him wanting to hang around.
Lamar had been on the phone the last thirty minutes filling him in on what had gone down with him and Nairobia in her office over two weeks ago.
And…sadly, three nights ago he’d fallen victim to the pussy—again.
But he’d conveniently left out the part about how she’d had him crying out like a little bitch—a first for him—when she’d licked down the trail of hair that led down from his navel to his dick.
He’d hissed out a heated breath.
Then closed his eyes as Nairobia inched her warm tongue back up his body, reaching his brown-pebbled nipples. “Oh, shit,” he’d pushed out as she closed her mouth around his nipple and sucked as she lightly pinched the other, causing him to cry out.
That shit had never happened to him. She’d caused a burning, boiling need to roil over his body, as she tasted him with her tongue, slowly exploring the brown ridges of each nipple, and making his toes curl.
And when she’d wetly licked her way down his chest, then swirled around his navel, a fire built in his body. His abs tightened as she dipped her wet, hot tongue inside. She’d made his body shake. And when she’d palmed his cock, he made a growling sound. Nairobia’s sensual flicks of her tongue had awakened erogenous zones he hadn’t known existed.
“Ahh, yeah…I don’t know what the fuck you doin’ to me…”
Her lashes swept upward and she’d looked at him, full of heat and desire, setting every nerve ending ablaze. By the time Nairobia’s tongue made its way down to his dick and flicked over the bead of pre-cum that seeped out—swiping her tongue along the tip, tasting his arousal, before sucking him into her mouth—a guttural sound had roared out from the back of his throat and he’d begun rocking his hips in a sensual rhythm, his body arching up to the maddening pleasure.
She’d teased him with her mouth and tongue, her hot breath cascading over his twitching cock, then abruptly stopped.
“Ahh!” he’d yelled, rolling his hips. “Damn, yo. Why you fuckin’ wit’ me? C’mon, suck on this dick…”
“No, no, my love. You want my wet mouth feasting you? You want my tongue loving you? Then tongue my insides. And taste my cunt.”
She’d caught him off guard with that request, no demand.
She hadn’t been kneeling in front of him as he’d had liked to see her, but having her between his legs while he lay on his back with one leg draped over the back of her sofa was sexy enough.
And as bad as he wanted to bust in her pretty-ass mouth, he wasn’t about to reciprocate and put in any tongue work, especially knowing how she loved to fuck. But he’d be remiss if he hadn’t acknowledged the fact that Nairobia had a beautiful-looking pussy. And he had wondered if it tasted as good as it looked. He knew what it felt like raw—he was still tripping off that. That was some real live reckless shit on his part. But damn if he hadn’t loved the way his dick was wrapped in nothing but wet, silky heat. Still, his freak flag wasn’t waving high enough for him to want to indulge in licking her out.
So he hadn’t.
As a result, Nairobia had left him with his dick aching for her mouth. Yet, that hadn’t stopped the sensations from shivering their way through his body. In fact, that only had made him want her more.
He’d known he should have stopped it. But how, when he’d wanted it, her, so goddamn badly? He hadn’t gone over to her penthouse for pussy. She’d summoned him. Said she needed to go over some security issues with him that couldn’t wait until the following day, or be discussed over the telephone.
But when the elevator doors opened to her apartment and he’d stepped into her foyer, there she stood. Naked. That teasing allure of hers called out to him, taunting him. What the fuck was he supposed to do after seeing all that body? Bad enough he’d wanted another round with her in order to redeem himself.
And there she was offering pussy up on a platter to him. So he did what any man with a dick would do: he threw his arm around her and lifted her against him. Saying nothing, Nairobia had wrapped her legs around him and kissed him as if she wanted to taste ever bit of him, savoring and memorizing every part of his mouth.
No, he didn’t kiss. But he’d kissed her again. Had his tongue swirling around hers, probing inside a mouth that had probably sucked a nation of dicks and licked more cunts than a country of hungry, sex-starved men.
Mel laughed. “Muhfucka, what happened to not fuckin’ the clients, huh?”
Lamar groaned. “Yo, man, fuck that. I tried, bruh. But
she kept throwin’ that shit at me.” He leaned against the door of the black S-600 with the tinted windows, and kept his eye trained on the Valentino entrance. Her fifth boutique and counting, Nairobia had been inside the expensive Fifth Avenue boutique for close to an hour in search of the perfect dress for a Hedonism party she’d been invited to host in Jamaica tomorrow night. She hadn’t wanted Lamar to come inside, and he was fine with staying outside, waiting.
“Yo, you got issues, fam,” Mel said, still laughing at his boy whom he’d known since elementary school. Truth was, they were more like brothers than anything else. They’d been through thick and thin together. Knuckling up together, hustling together, and fucking broads together.
Lamar grunted. “Nah. What I got is a hard, horny dick, muhfucka. My shit stays on rock.” He shook his head. “Yo, I’m tellin’ you, fam. This club shit is killin’ me, yo. The shit that goes down up in that muhfucka is…” He paused, then swallowed. “Man, listen. It goes down up in there.”
“Well, damn. You sound miserable,” Mel teased. “Let me put you outta ya misery. Let’s swap. You come out here ‘n’ let me handle the club shit.”
“Hell, nah, fam. I’m good right where I’m at.” Lamar scowled when a bike messenger sped by almost running into the side of a cab. Dumb muhfucka.
“Yeah, aiight. That’s what I thought. But, word is bond, yo. Nairobia bad as hell, so I already know you beatin’ that thing up. On some real shit, I’d probably be tryna knock it down, too. No doubt.”
Lamar cringed, looking back over toward the entrance of the high-end store. “Yeah, you already know, playa.” Yeah, he’d fucked Nairobia good, at least that he wanted to believe. Yeah, she’d moaned. And her pussy—goddamn, that pussy—had flooded with warmth. She hadn’t faked that. Nah. Not possible. Yeah hell, he’d bust that shit down. But he still hadn’t been able to beat that shit down the way he’d been known to do with his shorties from around the way. This had been the third time he’d come fast, and hard. The shit wasn’t cool. And it was fucking with his ego. But he damn sure wasn’t about to tell his boy how the pussy was fucking up his whole stroke game. The shit was crippling.