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.