Page 47 of The Pleasure Zone

“Fuck your pussy on my cock, baby,” he murmured. “Aaah, yeah…”

He pulled out again, slowly retreating, her pussy quivering around him. He slid back in. Then out. Leaving her with nothing but the head of his cock inside her. Fucking her with the tip, he bit down on his bottom lip, enjoying the slick, tingly sensations.

She came and he felt her muscles sucking in his head, fluttering and shuddering all around him. He let out a moan, pushing back in, deeper. And she gasped.

Ten inches in…

Pain. Burn. Sting. Unrelenting pleasure.

She was everything Marcel needed.

He waited for her slit to close around him. Covered her mouth with his. Slipped his tongue in. Then pushed his dick back in. Nairobia’s mouth opened in a soundless scream, her breath escaping from her lungs.

She’d said the night before she wouldn’t give him her pussy, but this morning a switch in her body flipped. And he could have it. All of it. Every inch of her cunt he could fuck inside out.

Now.

Sweet pressure. Unrelenting fire. Dark arousal.

He was everything Nairobia wanted.

Everything her body yearned for.

Eleven inches in…

Her breaths rushed from her nostrils, and she felt herself gasping, gulping in mouthfuls of heated air. Marcel scorched her senses as he grabbed her tenderly around the hips and thrust forward, going in deeper. “Yeah, baby…open that sweet pussy up to me…”

Twisting his fingers through her hair, Marcel tugged, then bent to spread kisses along the side of her neck. With slow, sensual licks, he lapped his way toward her ear, nibbling, kissing, and licking. Then his mouth found hers again, making her body shiver as he licked her lips and enticed her to part them. His tongue swept into her mouth and her body opened up to all of him.

Thirteen inches in…

She was full. Stretched. Sizzling.

Her toes curled. Fire wrapped around the inside of her pussy.

Marcel took his time. Rocked his hips into her body. “Yeah, that’s right, baby. I’m all in. Yeah, I feel you…aaah, yeah…wet pussy…aaaah, shiiiit…got that pussy all on this dick…give me that nut, baby… Je voudrais sentir cette noix sucrée fonder partout dans cette grosse bite, bèbè…” (Let me feel that sweet nut melt all over this big dick, baby).

Arms locked around his neck, her long legs wrapped around Marcel’s lower back, and she welcomed him into her erupting flames, taking his slow, sweet, torturous thrust with abandon, her head and eyes rolling. Stretching around him, she clawed her nails down his back and came over and over and over, her orgasms shattering around him, soaking him. Torching him.

Her whole body shook.

Then he cried out. Her name. Nairobia. It was a sweet melody, a cry of triumph and release escaping his lips as he continued his slow thrusts into her body. He stayed inside her heat, inside her clutching wetness until he came again…

Flooding his condom.

TWENTY-ONE

“Naaaaairobia, daaaaahling,” Zeus, the office manager for the trendy salon, Nappy No More II, cooed the minute she stepped through the sliding glass doors into the reception area of one of L.A.’s hottest hair salons on the West Coast.

He stood up and greeted Nairobia with two cheeky air kisses. Nairobia smiled at the high-heeled gender-bender as he took her in. He smiled at her. The diamonds around her neck and wrists instantly came alive under the recessed lighting. “You look scandalously fabulous as ever.”

Nairobia tossed her hair. “Thank you, my love,” she said, her oversized Birkin bag hanging in the crook of her arm. Zeus took in the crocodile leather and the diamond-studded clasp—ten-carat diamonds set on a bed of white gold, and drooled. As far as he was concerned—next to diamonds, a hard dick, and a popping lip gloss, a gorgeous handbag was a diva’s best friend. And he longed more than anything to have the coveted Hermès bag in his possession.

Even though Pasha paid him a handsome salary as her office manager, it was nothing compared to the price tag of that handbag. He’d have to su

ck about thirteen hundred dicks at a rate of one hundred dollars a nut in order to afford the six-figure purchase, he mused before gazing back into Nairobia’s sparkling eyes. He lived for her. She was an icon. A legend. And he’d watched every last one of her movies in hopes to one day become half the seductress she was. He secretly aspired to become a porn star himself and had already made several of his own home videos, which he’d posted up regularly on Snapchat, and several sex sites. But he was nowhere near Nairobia’s caliber. And he suspected he and his homemade sex videos never would be.

Still…

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