by Cairo
Nairobia matched his moan, already close to another orgasm. She’d already come multiple times and now she had him on the edge of exploding as well.
Josiah drew his hips back, then slowly rolled them forward, swirling his cock, drilling it in to her wetness, until his cock reached the bottom of her well. He repeated. Once, twice, three times…
Teasing Nairobia.
Taunting her with his cock.
“Yessss! Fuck meeeee, my love…” Her heart beating in her ears, Nairobia wasn’t sure if she cried out in Dutch or English when she spoke. She couldn’t even hear her own voice. All she heard was the slap of Josiah’s sweat-slick body smacking into hers. All she felt was Josiah as he pummeled deep inside her. His cock. His balls.
“Yes, yes, yes…give it to me good, my love. Yesssss…” Her cunt grabbed at his cock uncontrollably, her walls caressing his shaft as he slid in and out of her.
He gnashed his teeth, hovering at the edge of release. “Aaaah, fuck…you keep grabbing my dick like that…uhh…and I’ma come all in you.”
“Come, my love. Fill me with your seeds.”
Josiah groaned low in his throat. He was painfully close, too close. But he wasn’t ready. Not yet. So he slowed his pace. Rolled his hips, circling, teasing, pulling out barely to the head of his dick, then pumping his pelvis in one stroke back in, deep.
Nairobia was on the verge of another climax.
She was—
Josiah curled his fingers around her right breast and suckled the tip, causing her to arch up from the mattress. He knew how to make her pussy quiver, and he loved the way she loved on his dick. The way she swallowed him whole. The way her silken walls gripped him. He loved the way her body went flush. The way her nipples grew dark and tight when excited.
Their age difference didn’t matter. He was fucking turned on by her. But his feelings for Nairobia went beyond lust, beyond infatuation. Her pussy had a switch to his dick that only she controlled. And it drove him crazy with want. Made him hard and wild.
Made him hungry.
Made him want to be helplessly reckless.
He thrust hard and then slowed, sliding almost out of her body again, watching the mouth of her cunt suckle the head of his dick.
“Give me all of your cock, my love. Oh. Mm.”
Nairobia clawed his back, and he moaned again. She bit his neck, and he groaned. His muscles bulged as he crashed his mouth over her lips and began kissing her, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth as he stroked inside her body.
The sheets rustled beneath them. Nairobia’s breasts bobbed between them as he pounded into her body. Finally, after several moments of heated kissing, Josiah’s lips were on her neck, nipping at her flesh. Then his head ducked and he licked at her nipple, before sucking it back into his mouth again, lightly tugging with his teeth. He kept sucking at her breast, his mouth moving from one breast to the other, giving them both equal pleasure as his shaft caressed the slick walls of her pussy.
Nairobia cupped the back of Josiah’s head. “Zuigen…uh…mmm… moeilijker…” Suck. Harder.
Josiah sucked harder. Then licked. Then nipped at her nipple. Nairobia bucked upward, her cunt grabbing his cock. Yeah, she liked that. Her nipples bit. He bit into her other nipple, and she moaned as his teeth sank into the puckered crest. Wet fire swept through her veins.
She slid her hands up to Josiah’s chest, searching for his nipples. When she’d found them, she rolled them between her fingers until they pebbled, then pinched.
Josiah growled, his body slamming in to hers.
And then he came, hard, causing everything around him to blur.
Nairobia wasn’t his. But she was his for the night. All his. And he wanted to savor every wet stroke of her for as long as he could. She’d given him her body, and limitless access to her hot, wet, sweet clutch.
Josiah didn’t pull out. He remained buried inside her, slowing moving his hips, enjoying the warmth of her. He knew there were plenty of men who’d kill to be inside her right now. She’d partied all night. And, yet, had returned to her suite…to him.
That had to mean something. Right?
Her cunt clutched his cock, causing his orgasm to rip through his body, flooding his chest with warmth.
That was all the answer he needed.
ELEVEN
Back in New York, Nairobia found herself up to her sultry eyeballs in membership applications and invoices. Since opening night, over a month ago, the club’s membership had already increased by another two hundred new members. And on her desk there were still another…three hundred and seventy-two applicants from across the world—including that of a Middle Eastern prince—vying for membership in The Pleasure Zone.
Nairobia had known from the beginning that there was a market for a club such as hers. Oh, sure there were other sex clubs in the New York area, but none compared to hers. Besides the club’s “Anything Goes Behind These Doors” policy, Nairobia catered specifically to the rich and freaky. No others.
Was it discriminatory? Perhaps. But she didn’t give a damn. Have good coin and you could have whatever your freaky heart desired. You could experience sweet bliss and the underworld of taboo sex all under one tantalizing roof, until daybreak.
Nairobia glanced at the time, and smiled. It was almost time for the doors of her club to open. She was pleased of her club’s overnight success. But, she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that it was overwhelming. Running a club of this magnitude was nothing like hosting her private sex parties around the world.
It required dedication and real commitment, and hard work. A little more than she’d bargained for. Sadly, Nairobia was beginning to think she wouldn’t be able to keep up with managing the day-to-day demands. The Pleasure Zone was not to become her life, only a part of it. The last thing she wanted was to be living and breathing to keep a club open. No, no. Her club would be a success. But she would not marry herself to it for that to happen. If she wanted a husband, she’d have one. No, no. She wanted excitement. She wanted pleasure. And she enjoyed seeing men and women receiving it here.
Still, she couldn’t help feeling a bit overwhelmed.
The club’s doors were already opened three nights a week—Friday, Saturday and Sunday, 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. That meant three sumptuous nights of decadence. Nairobia saw no need to extend sin beyond that. But the club’s members thought otherwise. Requests for another night were coming in heavily. Now Nairobia was at her desk, contemplating adding another night, which meant being chained to her club more than what she’d hoped for. She had books to write. Parties to host. And two other businesses to run.
She was the face and body of pleasure. She was a gypsy soul. Born for living. And fucking. Not toiling over paperwork. Yet, here she sat.
Nairobia took another deep breath. Ik zal niet versloeg. No, she would not be defeated. At some point, she knew she’d need someone to manage her club’s responsibilities. Someone almost as freaky as her, someone she could trust. Someone educated, and business savvy.
But who?
Nairobia wasn’t the most trusting. And she definitely wasn’t about to let anyone come up in here and tear her good name down, or ruin her club’s success. No, no. She knew all too well about silent haters. The ones who wished you well to your face, but then slithered behind your back to try to do you in.
She would have none of that around her.
No negativity.
No hating.
No jealousy.
No one trying to sabotage her.
So she’d have to ride it out until she was able to come up with a better solution.
Her cell rang, pulling her from her thoughts. She glanced at the screen, before answering. “Pasha, my darling,” she purred. “You’ve received my text, no?” She’d sent her a text late last night indicating she was in need of a few good men to protect and serve her.
Pasha was her hairstylist back in California, whom she had fallen in love with the moment she’d stepped foot i
nto her posh Beverly Hills salon over a year ago. Since then, Nairobia allowed no one else to lay fingers through her hair, except for Pasha.
“Yes. I got your text. And I think I have someone for you.”
“And how well do you know him, my darling?”
“We’re close,” Pasha said in an almost cryptic tone. She paused, then added, “I trust him with my life.”
Nairobia pursed her lips. “Hm. Old lover, no?”
Surprised, Pasha blinked on the other end of the line. “Very close friends. He stood by me during one of the most difficult times of my life. He’s trustworthy.”
Nairobia had sent her a text early this morning wanting leads on hiring a security firm that could handle her security needs, particularly having a bodyguard. She already had security for the club. But she didn’t feel they were adequate enough.
After what’d happened back in Vegas, Nairobia felt it best if she had protection of her own. Sure she’d spent time down at the range and packed a little heat in her purse from time to time. But, now being here in the States, she felt she needed more.
“I like the men around me sexy, my darling. Security or not, I need to be surrounded by mouthwatering men. He is, no?”
Pasha smiled. “Yes. Very.”
“He has all his teeth, no?”
Her stylist laughed. “Yes. All thirty-two.”
“Is he uptight?”
“No, not at all. He’s very laid-back. And very open-minded.”
“Hmm. So far I like. Is he cross-eyed?”
“Nairobia! Ohmygod! You’re hysterical. No, of course not. He doesn’t have a lazy or wandering eye. He’s a very normal-looking guy, and extremely sexy, I might add. I think you’ll be quite pleased.”
Nairobia purred. “If he’s all you say, my love. Then I already am. Where is he?”
“He’s here in L.A. He actually has several clients out here that his firm provides security services to. In fact, I believe you’ve met his partner, Mel. He was here the last time you came to the salon.”
Mel was from New Jersey as well, but had moved out to the West Coast around the same time Pasha’s salon Nappy No More II opened. She’d had her choice of either him or Lamar continuing to work with her, but Pasha had chosen Mel instead, and he’d been more than willing to hold it down for her.
Nairobia thought for a moment. Then realization came in full, vibrant color. She remembered. Oh how she remembered him. The six-foot-seven mountain of muscle with the thick neck, bulging biceps, and golden-brown skin was not someone easily to be forgotten. Nairobia had found the two-hundred-and-seventy-five-pound giant gorgeous to look at. He bore a striking resemblance to her dear friend The Rock—with his deliciously fine self.
“It’s my understanding he’ll be catching the red-eye tonight back to the East Coast,” Pasha said, pulling Nairobia back to the conversation. “I’ll give him your number and have him call you so the two of you can work out all the specifics.”
Nairobia clapped. “Perfect, my darling. I’m looking for someone who can start as soon as possible.”
“Then he’ll be your guy. Hopefully, it’ll all work out.”
Nairobia smiled. “Hopefully, it shall.”
The two women spoke a moment longer, then the call ended.
A sense of relief flowed over Nairobia. She hoped this referral was a good fit for her, and her club. The last thing she needed, or wanted, was someone squeamish or prudish working for her. She’d have to fire them on the spot.
Taking a deep breath, Nairobia glanced at the neatly stacked pile of files on her desk, and decided she would only do what she could until she found herself someone to manage it all for her.
For now, she had a club to run. She had fantasies to fulfill, and orgasms to unleash.
TWELVE
Domineering and commanding, a whip snapped as O.C.A.D’s “Muse” pounded through the hidden speakers. The floor alit with burning candles, the stage flashed with red lights and sweet pussy and ass.
Sexy. Alluring. Five feet, eight inches of coca-brown flesh stood in the center of the stage in a black leather corset, black thong, black leather opera gloves, and six-inch, thigh-high black leather Louboutin boots. Her short sassy cut was hidden beneath a long black wig with blunt-cut bangs.
The sexy Scorpion pumped her pelvis, then swirled her hips in a hypnotic circle, her skin shimmering under the glow of the lights. Hands up over her head, she rolled her hips like that of an erotic dancer, and then sensually strutted the stage while her whip cracked against its floor, licking the wood. She stood at the edge of the stage and looked out into the crowd as if she were looking for someone in particular. Someone worthy. Someone utterly debauched and hungered for the whip.
She looked down.
And there he was right in front of her, gazing up at her. Bare-chested. In nothing more than black boxer briefs and Timberland boots. He was a hazel-eyed man with sideburns that curved along his jawline and a crooked smile, leaning over on the stage and staring directly in her eyes as she slowly moved her hips, the leather of her whip snapping mere centimeters from his handsomely rugged face.
Her cunt clenched when he didn’t flinch. He emitted a slight gasp, then licked his full lips. A sign that he was clearly turned on. Hungry for the crack of the bullwhip against his caramel skin, starved for release. Her mouth watered to give him what he desired. Unfortunately, she needed access to the Love Tombs. It was the only place where bondage and lashings were allowed.
And she needed entry.
But, tonight, she would push the envelope to the edge. She’d be creative.
Her tongue traced over her cherry-red-painted lips, relieved this fine-looking hunk of rugged, hard-bodied flesh wasn’t someone she knew. That had been one of her greatest concerns when she’d initially interviewed for membership at the club. Being recognized.
The owner had assured her that everyone who entered The Pleasure Zone had something to lose, and so, so, much more to gain. No one wanted their sexual proclivities on display for the outside world. So discretion was more than an expectation. It was a requirement. One heavily enforced.
Well, with the hefty yearly membership fees charged up front, it just ought to be.
She cracked her whip again.
Nine Inch Nails’ “Closer” played as she dropped down and spread her thighs, her crotch inches away from Hazel Eyes. Reaching in, she grabbed him by the back of the neck and ground her pussy in his face, her sweet musky sex, scenting his mouth and lips.
The horny men in the room went wild, barking and whistling. Envy flashed in eyes that ached for her, silently brooding that she’d chosen him out of the others. Without hesitation, Hazel Eyes licked over the leather of her crotch.
The men in the room groaned low, and squirmed in their seats, painfully aroused and watching. Hazel Eyes groaned over her pussy as he bit at the leather, stimulating her clit. Oh, he wanted to play? Well so did she. She reached for his sweet, brown man nipple and pinched it, before leaning back and pressing her heel into his chest.
She felt her orgasm twirling around the pit of her pussy when he slowly lifted her foot and kissed the sole of her boot. Her mouth parted on a silent moan of pleasure. Yes, yes, oh yes…she would fuck him tonight. Or maybe not.
Rising up, she lifted herself from the floor, her hands swept up her undulating hips she worked her way backward. Then twirled her body, her pussy pulsing, and her whip cracking wildly as she shook her hips across the stage, bending over and clapping her ass. She reached for a candle, then slowly turned—a sly, seductive grin spreading over her beautifully glossed lips—as she blew the candle out, gyrating her way back to Hazel Eyes.
His breath hitched in anticipation as if he knew before she did it. Splashed the hot wax up his chest, splashing up his neck and over his left nipple. His dick grew excruciatingly hard. She splashed more wax, and a growl so deep, so primal, ripped out from his chest over the music.
She was Pain.
Not her real name. But
the one she used whenever she wanted to indulge her dark side. And tonight she was feeling dark and sultry. She loved walking over on the wild side. Loved latex and leather. Loved whips and chains. Loved creating scenarios and role-playing. She loved unleashing her freaky side.
And she loved freaky men.
Masculine. Muscular. Willing. Obedient. Submissive.
Men.
With a masochistic side.
For years, she hadn’t ever considered herself a real Sadomasochist or a Dominatrix. It had been all play, until two years. After training vigorously under a lesbian Dominatrix who went by the name of Cum Master. She’d taught her the art of the whip. Taught her about the types of whips, and their use. Taught her how to inflict the right amount of pain to bring on excruciating pleasure. Thanks to the Cum Master, she’d learned the art of sadism.
“Men try to be something they can never be…”
Her whip cracked again. She bounced to the beat, and hummed the lyrics in her head. She loved turning the tables on men. They needed to feel what it was like to be objectified. Defiled. Needed to know how to submit to a woman. It wet her pussy. She loved administering pain and pleasure. Loved the sound of a whip cracking. Loved the sound of a paddle smacking across the muscled-ass of a man, then lovingly licking over the stings, before biting into each ass cheek.
She loved ass-play, licking and fingering and fucking a man’s tight ass.
Oh how she loved it. She was team-ass licking. Team-ass fucking. Team freak-nasty. Things she could never be, or do, at home. Filthy things her lover would never go for, let alone understand.
So for the last two years, she’d been creeping on her fiancé with men who craved kink. Her latest kinky sidepiece was a married man whom she’d met on an online sex site. He’d been looking for ass-play and prostate stimulation—something his prudish wife abhorred. Pain had responded to his ad with hopes of licking his ass and stimulating his P-spot. And the rest was history. They crept when he wanted his ass slid into with her fingers and tongue, whenever their schedules allowed for it.
