The Pleasure ZoneBy: Cairo
What’s good, my freaky peeps? The Pleasure Zone isn’t simply about a sex club. It’s about exploring and discovering your own pleasure zones. It’s about an unyielding determination to be as sexually fulfilled as humanly possible without regret, without shame, without making excuses. It’s about unleashing your own hidden desires. It’s about sexual freedom.
Special shout-out to Jeffrey Roshell: Congrats on the release of ya first joint, ThornHill High School. I haven’t read it, but wanted to wish much success to you, playboy!
Mad luv to my cyber-boo, Markisha Harris; my cyber-wifey, Dierdre “Miz Wigglez” Mitchell; and my cyber-side-piece, Zanetta Davis!
Sara Camilli: I am forever indebted to you for all that you do.
To Zane, Charmaine, Yona and the rest of the Strebor/Simon & Schuster team: Danke, Gracias, Grazie, Merci, E dupe…Bedankt… there are not enough languages in the world to thank you for supporting, encouraging, and believing in me.
And, as always, to the naysayers: Fourteen books and still climbing. Lick balls, muhfuckas!
Drenched in exotic beauty, Nairobia Jansen was all of those things, then some. She was Kama Sutra. A dangerous combination of…seduction and sin.
She was good pussy.
She was sweet surrender.
And the gray-eyed, half-Dutch, half-Nigerian beauty knew it. After all, she was every man’s wet dream. And over the years she’d become the forbidden fantasy of her share of women as well. No. She wasn’t a lesbian. But she didn’t consider herself heterosexual, either. In fact, she hated labeling her sexuality. She found it constricting, and goddamn boring. She refused to live her life confined to someone else’s definition of who she should or shouldn’t be. She fucked whom she wanted, when she wanted, however she wanted, with abandon.
But it was no secret she loved the taste of pussy. Hell, most of the world had probably seen her with her face pressed between the thighs of a slew of women during her porn-star days. She was Pleasure back then. It was unbelievable how that time in her life felt like a lifetime ago. Still her reputation followed her. She was a legend in the porn industry. And she was certain many men had jacked off watching her get fucked from the back, her ass bouncing up and down on a long dick making it disappear, while she tongue-fucked another woman. Pussy was heavenly. She loved licking into its wet folds, sucking on its plump golden lips. She loved the way its scent stained her tongue. Loved the heat of another woman’s cunt melding into her own, grinding clit-to-clit, creaming out an orgasm.
However, make no mistake. She loved the wet, juicy, slosh-slosh sound her pussy made every time it was being deep-stroked by a long, hard, throbbing cock more. So—hell no, she could never be a lesbian. She loved dick too much.
Nairobia drew in a deep breath, and resisted the urge to wince at not having had some good pussy since the death of her…well, the only woman who she’d once ever considered sucking and fucking exclusively. Marika. The thought of her being gone was still too much to give thought to. And tonight wasn’t the time for gloom.
No. It was a celebration. The grand opening of her latest adventure, a club—nestled inside what used to be a lesbian club—in the midtown section of New York. Its sole purpose was to cater to the carnal desires of wealthy men and women who stepped foot through its doors. She’d bought the space a little over a year ago as an investment to add to her already impressive portfolio. And now her dream of opening the doors to one of the world’s most erotic sex clubs would become a reality.
Nairobia stared at the wall of water cascading behind the sleek, curved bar before her eyes locked on the bartender. She was scandalously dressed, as always, in a form-fitting, sheer linen gown, a front and back slit crawling up to the crack of her luscious bare ass, and golden sweet pussy.
A Chopard diamond necklace, with over a 140-carats of teardrop-shaped diamonds, cascaded around her neck and dripped down into her cleavage. Her shoulder-length hair was pulled up in what she liked to call a naughty girl chignon. Her hair pulled back, twisted into a loose bun, then loose strands of hair pulled out, framing her face for that freshly “just-fucked” look.