The Pleasure Zone Read online

  Nairobia moaned as he laid his still-hard dick over her slit and slid back and forth over it, before sliding its head over her sex and slathering his warm, milky seed into her flesh.

  “Lick me,” she hissed, her hips slowly undulating.

  Tongue out, Josiah leaned in, and buried his face between her thighs, licking her clean.

  She melted all over again.

  FOUR

  “Yo, what’s good, my beauties, cuties, hookers, hoes, pimps, and playboys…this is ya boy, MarSell, coming at you live with another steamy segment of ‘Creepin’ ‘n’ Freakin’ After Dark.’ All of my peeps who get down with me know how I like to serve it up: Hot, raw ‘n’ ohhhh so nasty. And tonight will be no exception as I introduce to you one of the world’s sexiest women alive. So drop them drawz, sit back…relax…light a candle…pour yourself a glass of your favorite wine and let me mentally lick you into climax…”

  Nairobia shamelessly eyed the radio host, licking her lips, as he adjusted his headphones. Dark-chocolate skin melted over ropes of thick muscle. Long-lashed eyelids wrapped around smoldering dark-chocolate eyes. Full, luscious lips made for pussy sucking. Long, thick, manicured fingers. Everything about this man was…deliciously big. From his feet to his hands and scrumptious dick, he was six feet eight inches of heavenly perfection.

  Marcel Kennedy.

  Her pussy moistened at one of many sweet memories. His dick wrapped around her plump, juicy lips. Her tongue swirling over and around its thick, plum-shaped head, licking up and down the thick-veined shaft. His fingers lovingly stretching her cunt, stroking her insides until she felt her asshole clenching and her uterus starting to shake.

  She could still hear his deep voice, coaxing her, urging her, to suck him into her wet, velvety mouth. One inch…two inches, four inches…then six. She cupped his heavy cum-filled balls—she felt them swelling with want and need in her hand. Her mouth glided back up to the head of his dick, suckling the head, nursing it in the way a hungry newborn would its mother’s nipple, before gliding her mouth back down over his thick, pulsing shaft, sucking in eight inches of dick…nine inches…eleven inches…

  She moaned inwardly.

  Two fingers became three fingers, getting lost in her wetness, the slickness of her pussy, making it easy for a fourth finger to ease its way in. And then there was another set of hands, soft and gentle, pulling open her ass. She felt the heat of their touch on her skin, the heat of breath caressing her asshole, then the tip of a wet, heated tongue sweeping over its opening, teasing her, taunting her.

  She gasped in ecstasy, sucking in the remaining two inches of dick as his sexy wife tongue-fucked her asshole.

  Marika.

  God rest her beautiful soul.

  Marika and Marcel had been the perfect couple. Open and loving. Bold and daring, both with voracious sex drives that allowed the other to openly indulge in surreptitious sexual encounters while the other either watched or, more often than not, participated in. Oh how they were the epitome of uninhibited lovers. Behind closed doors and between the sheets, Marcel and Marika were everything Nairobia could have ever hoped for. They were as close to sexual perfection as it could ever get.

  Almost.

  Nairobia sighed inwardly. She still couldn’t believe it was a year since her unfortunate death, no…murder.

  How tragic.

  Killed by some crazed bitch. A one-night stand turned obsession that cost them everything. Marika lost her life. And Marcel lost his soul mate, his lover, his whole world crumbling down around him by the pull of a trigger.

  Nairobia had attended the closed-casket funeral. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of celebrities, professional athletes, and mourners flocked to pay their respects. Her heart broke into a thousand pieces seeing Marcel so broken, so lost. Beset with grief. And regret. And guilt.

  He was inconsolable for months after Marika’s death. He’d cut himself off from the world. Cocooned from the prying eyes of the press and media. Practically vanishing.

  And here he was now, one year later…looking more desirable than ever.

  So, so…fuckable.

  “…She’s an author, model, and one of the most desired women around the globe…”

  Nairobia blinked, catching Marcel’s burning gaze on her flushed face.

  “…That’s right, my freaky peeps…tonight’s guest is a woman who has graced the covers of both Playboy and Penthouse; is the CEO of her own production company, Sweet Pleasures; and, has built a multimillion-dollar empire with her exclusive adult toy line, Nasty. Just how we like it…”

  I am good pussy.

  I am good loving.

  I am unforgettable fucking.

  Nairobia smiled, slowly crossing one sultry leg over another, then clasping her hands in her lap.

  “Without further ado, Tri-State, I introduce to you Nairobia Jansen…” There was the sound of applause coming from in back of her. There were several dozen guests in the studio who’d been invited to tonight’s live show. They would all be given a basket of sex toys and edibles from her latest collection, along with an autographed copy of her book, Good Pussy.

  Nairobia adjusted her headphones. “Ooh, thank you, my darling,” she said seductively, while trying to temper her Dutch accent without completely disposing of it. She reached over and touched Marcel’s hand. “It’s so good to see you, my love. Thanks for having me on the show.”

  “Nah, baby, thank you. It’s damn good seeing you, too. And, yo, trust. I see you, baby.” His gaze slowly roamed over her. “Yo, my peeps…I wish you could see what I’m seeing right now…” There was howling and whistling in back of them from the studio’s male guests, and even some of the females. “This beauty is mad sexy, yo. Spellbinding. She smells good. Looks good. She’s damn intoxicating, my peeps. I can see why so many muhfuckas have been turned out. You got mofos drooling all over the place.”

  Nairobia glanced over her shoulder and smiled.

  Always known for flaunting her most famous assets—her voluptuous breasts, curvaceous hips, and beautiful round ass—in scandalous wears, tonight was no exception.

  She was scantily sheathed in a diamond net mini-dress with a neckline that plunged below her navel and a slit that crawled up to her bare pussy with an open back to match, leaving nothing—and I do mean, nothing, to the imagination. She stood. Placed a hand on her hip, and slowly turned, giving everyone in the room an up close and personal view of her body. She had an ass like two basketballs, and men loved seeing it bounce. She was tempted to bend over, grab her ankles and make it shake in Marcel’s handsome face. But that would be tasteless. She was a lady, after all. Classy.

  “Damn, baby,” Marcel said low and husky wiping fingers over his brow. “It’s getting hot in here. Yo, Tri-State, this beauty has ya boy sweating like crazy.”

  She smiled, taking her seat. “I take that to mean you like, no?”

  “Do I like?” He licked his lips. She was sure it was subconsciously done as his lusty gaze scanned her body again. She had that effect on many. “Yo, let’s just say you’re starting to awaken the beast.”

  Her cunt clenched. “Mmm,” she purred, reaching over and running a manicured finger along the inside of his thigh. “And does this beast bite?” she teased.

  Marcel let out a low groan. “Nah, nah, baby. As long as you’re petting it and keeping it wet, it’s good.” She gave him a knowing glance. And good it was. Her finger traced the length of his ever-growing cock. Then, before she wrapped her hand around the stretched fabric of his pants and groped it, she snatched her hand away—acutely aware of the audience in back of them, even though she loved being watched.

  She feigned disappointment. “Too bad, my darling. Ik hou van zijn gebeten.” I love being bitten.

  She watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. “Damn, baby, there you go talking that sexy shit.” His crooked grin, followed by dimples, and a glint of mischief dancing in the pools of his eyes, had her slowly melting.


  Damn him.

  “Arrêtez d’essayer de me tourner.”

  He told her in his smooth, honey-rich voice to stop trying to turn him on. Lucky for her—and to her world travels, she understood French. She smiled. “I’d never do anything you wouldn’t want done,” she confessed, flirting with the fantasy of a good fucking.

  “Aiight, aiight. I heard that,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t tempt me. Word up, yo. But before I get sidetracked wit’ tryna chain you to this desk ‘n’ having my way with you, let’s jump right into tonight’s interview.”

  She nodded and smiled. “Yes, let’s.”

  “Aiight. You’ve modeled. You’ve done porn. You’ve graced the covers of magazines. You’ve written two best sellers. You’ve created your own sex toy line…” Nairobia nodded as he listed her accomplishments. “And now you’ve opened your very own club in Manhattan. Tell us about it.”

  “Yes, my darling. I am a woman of many talents…” She shifted in her seat. Uncrossed her legs, spreading them open, teasingly, then closing them, crossing her legs at the ankles, revealing her thigh, and the whole side of her soft, bouncy ass.

  Marcel struggled to keep focused. Struggled to keep from fucking her right here, right now. Nairobia saw the hunger in his eyes and wondered how long it’d been since he’d plunged his colossal dick into some pussy. Good pussy.

  Before Marika’s death, she would have spread open her thighs and welcomed him inside her wet, silky walls, while her mouth made love to his wife’s clit, her tongue sinking into her cum-sodden cunt.

  But, now…?

  So much had changed.

  She’d changed.

  He’d changed.

  Those clandestine encounters between the three of them were now bittersweet memories to be tucked away, and savored.

  Marika was gone. Dead.

  Still…

  She fought from rocking her hips in abandon as the memory of him sucking her engorged nipples, one at a time, between his lips, into the waiting heat of his mouth; his wet tongue lashing, his teeth grazing each—

  Marcel cleared his throat, pulling her from her lustful reverie.

  She shifted in her seat. Crossed her right leg over her left.

  Their gazes met and, in that moment, she imagined him standing. Then unzipping his pants to drag the heavy length of his cock out, it straining toward her own waiting, hungry mouth. She could almost taste the sweetness of his semen on her tongue.

  Almost.

  A moan caught in the back of her throat as she swallowed down the thought of him flooding her mouth with nut. Her leg bounced over her knee in a failed attempt at cutting off the budding ache between her thighs.

  Marcel parted his lips to speak. But she didn’t, she wouldn’t, allow it. “The Pleasure Zone, my darling, is a club like no other,” she said, her tone coated with the slightest hint of her Danish and African ancestry—her mother was Dutch, her father Nigerian. “It’s an ultra-chic, upscale, private, For Adults Only club, where hedonistic desires unfold under one lavish roof.”

  Marcel groaned. “Damn. Sounds like it’s gonna be hot ‘n’ poppin’. But, yo, let’s pause for a moment. Let’s rap a lil’ about your joint, Good Pus—bleep—sy, real quick. Why’d you write a joint like that? And what makes pus—bleep—sy good pus—bleep—sy?”

  Nairobia licked her lips. “Well, my darling. Good pus—bleep—sy is what every woman likes to believe she has. But, unfortunately, it’s more than a state of mind. It’s a state of being. Good pus—bleep—sy is a mixture of things. It’s the sound, the taste, the feel all wrapped around the ability and the want to indulge in its partner’s inner-most desires. It’s wet, juicy, tight…built for every stroke, every inch, giving you limitless access. Good pus—bleep—sy pulls you in; it’s not just milking the dic—bleep, it’s gripping and sucking out a man’s soul, it’s emptying out his balls. It’s snatching his breath.

  “Good pus—bleep—sy makes a man clutch the sheets and cry out and brings him to his knees. It makes an already unstable man lose what’s left of his mind, having him busting out windows and stalking you. Good pus—bleep—sy, my darling, speaks to the dic—bleep…”

  “Goddaaaaayum, baby.” He licked his lips. “Yo, you hear that, Tri-State? She said good snatch speaks to the dingaling. Damn. Tell us what it’s saying, baby, when we’re balls deep in that ish?”

  Nairobia slowly opened her legs. Gave Marcel a sneak peek of her smooth, honey-coated cunt. “It’s saying…beat me. Fuc—bleep me. Dic—bleep me down. Make me cum…”

  She closed her thighs.

  Marcel stared at her. She knew what the fuck she was doing to him. And it had his balls bubbling, his dick rock-hard. “Damn,” he breathed out, then quickly told his listening audience that they were going into a commercial break. He eased back from his microphone as Miguel crooned “Pussy Is Mine” over the air. The producer Nina walked over to them smiling. “Girl, you’re about to cause a riot up in here. The testosterone level in the back is through the roof. It’s crazy right now. I’m loving it.”

  Nairobia smiled. “I aim to please, my love.”

  Nia blushed. But she couldn’t help herself from sliding her gaze over the slopes of Nairobia’s breasts, her protruding nipples, before catching Nairobia’s eyes staring up at her. Nia’s face flushed shamefully. Nairobia smirked, standing up to give her—and the burning gazes in back of her—another full view of all of her lusciousness. She reached for Nia’s delicate hands and placed them up to her firm, upright breasts.

  They were real. Beautiful. And always ready to be fondled.

  The audience went wild watching the station’s producer sensually cup Nairobia’s breasts. The act surprised Nia and made her instantly moist. She’d never felt another woman’s breasts before, though she’d had her share of bi-curious fantasies.

  Nairobia leaned in to Nia’s ear and whispered, “My hot, silky cunt feels even better.” She winked at the shocked producer, then let her hands go. Another time, another place, she might have been compelled to offer Nia a taste of her nectar. Or maybe, snatch her by her hair and snap her neck back, shoving her hand in between her thighs, then stroking her trembling sex until it clutched and dripped.

  Marcel’s wife had once told Nairobia she was the kind of woman who’d capture her heart, if she were to ever fall in love with a woman. Why she thought of that at this very moment, she didn’t know. But what she did know—without a doubt, was, she could turn this little young perky tart inside out. One night in the sheets with her, she’d ruin the poor soul so damn good she’d be up late at night prowling the streets for pussy.

  Nairobia almost laughed at the visual. Nia nervously muttered something inaudible before scrambling off. Marcel smiled at Nairobia, his gaze studying her as if he knew her wicked thoughts. He pressed his legs shut. Opened them. Then shut them again.

  His dick was beyond hard. It was harder than granite and steel combined.

  Without him saying it, without her looking down at it, she knew it was.

  Marcel’s dick was always hard.

  He loved fucking.

  Almost as much as she did.

  It took Nia several moments to catch her breath and pull herself together before she finally signaling that they were back on live in five…four…three…two …one…

  “Aiight, aiight…what it do, my freaky peeps. If you’re just tuning in to the Tri-State area’s hottest radio station, 93.3 The Heat, you don’t know what you’ve been missing. Tonight we have the sexy Nairobia Jansen with us. And we were briefly discussing her book, Good Pus—bleep—sy. Go out ‘n’ cop ya copy, ASAP.

  “Now, switching gears for a sec. Let’s go back ‘n’ talk a lil’ more about this new club of yours. What exactly is The Pleasure Zone, love?” Marcel inquired. “A gentleman’s club? And how can we get put on? I know the listeners wanna know how they can wave their freak flags up in that piece. Isn’t that right, Tri-State?”

  “Well, my loves,” she said into her micr
ophone. “It’s where every illicit fantasy you can ever imagine is indulged, and one’s wildest dreams become their realities. It’s an adventure where anything—and I do mean anything—goes.” Her gray eyes locked on Marcel’s heated gaze. “Entry, however,” she continued a beat later, “is tighter than a virgin in a chastity belt.” She let out a soft chuckle. “You must be on either the guest list, or own a membership.”

  “Oh, word. And how much is a membership?” She told him five grand for a silver membership, ten grand for gold, and twenty thousand for platinum. He whistled. “Daaaaaaayum. That’s some expensive shit.”

  “There is no price tag for the ultimate pleasure, my darling. However, the experience alone will be worth every cent.”

  “Damn. I’m looking forward to coming through.”

  “I look forward to having you,” she said, innuendo hovering over them. “And I promise you. Everyone who steps across its threshold will experience a night of decadence. One they’ll never forget.”

  “Aiight. You heard it here, my freaky peeps. The Pleasure Zone is the spot to be. So get ya paper up. And let the freak games begin. Nairobia, mad love, baby. And much success to you.”

  That was her cue. Her time on the air was over. “Thank you, my love,” she said as Liv Warfield’s “Soul Lifted” started to float through the airwaves. She removed her headset, standing.

  Marcel rose from his seat, then quickly pulled her into his arms, heat covering his body. He stole a kiss, a light brushing of his lips against hers. But he wanted more. He wanted his dick in her, bad.

  “Thanks for coming through, baby,” he rasped. “It was good seeing you.” His voice rolled over her, making her entire body tingle in a way that caught her off guard, but she didn’t deny herself the pleasure. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. Then said, “You make me wanna throw you down ‘n’ fuck the everlasting shit out of you. All I want is to be inside you. It’s been too long, baby.” Nairobia imagined him naked, dick swinging, balls hanging, as his hand slipped down to the small of her back.