She waved him on. Then watched as he slid behind the wheel, started his engine, then shut the door. She walked off toward her building.
He rolled his window down. “Damn, baby. So when I’ma see you again?”
She glanced over her shoulder, and thought to say, “When you learn to pleasure a woman.” Instead, she settled on what he’d told her, “I’ll find you.”
The translation simple:
Don’t call me. I’ll call you.
THIRTY-SIX
Fierce and on fire, Nairobia stepped out of the elevator donned in a red corset and lace thong wearing a pair of six-inch pumps, holding a bullwhip in her right hand. She wasn’t sure what she planned on doing with the lash, but she knew she’d find a reason to make good use of it sometime before the night ended.
She sauntered through The Pleasure Zone’s first four levels, before making her way down and around the circular stairs. She looked up at the three cages hanging from the ceiling, and swallowed in the delicious sight of two women sixty-nining in the middle cage. The top one was a beautifully tanned blonde and the bottom one had rich ebony skin and a long tongue. The blonde’s ass was pulled open wide while her ebony lover slid her tongue in and out of her pink pussy, sweeping and seeking out her orgasm.
It was a splendid sight.
The cages on either side of the two orally obsessed women were lowered, the gates opened. Two naked, busty brunettes stepped inside the cage on the left with a six-foot-two, blond-haired Channing Tatum lookalike. Both women immediately dropped down to their knees and began laving his meaty cock and sucking his balls. Hands on hips, he threw his head back, his eyelids sweeping closed from the pleasure.
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.