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Dr. Dangerfield glanced at the time. She needed a drink. “Well, ladies. Time’s up. Miss Simms, thanks for your time.”
Forty-Two
The fresh scent of wet pussy perfumed the air, as Nairobia and Dr. Dangerfield lay curled beneath rumpled sheets watching the footage of Krista sitting in The Garden by the lagoon reading her Bible.
“Just look at her,” Dr. Dangerfield said over a sigh.
Nairobia rolled her eyes as she cupped Dr. Dangerfield’s breast, and then teasingly circled her nipple with her finger. Watching Krista was making her cunt go dry.
“What a dry little muffin,” Nairobia drawled out. “Is there hope for her?”
Dr. Dangerfield let out a soft moan. Like Nairobia, she believed her sexuality, like many of her clients’, wasn’t neatly wrapped in a box. It was layered. Fluid. She didn’t believe sexual expression was fixed or static. No. Sexuality was a matter of uncovering, discovering, one’s own desires.
Nairobia pinched her nipple.
“Uh . . . mmm,” Dr. Dangerfield moaned out. “There is . . . uhh . . .” She moaned again when Nairobia
’s hand slinked its way down over the curve of her hip, slowly finding its way between her legs. “No hope today. But maybe . . . tomorrow.”
“Shameful,” Nairobia said, her hand sliding over the front of Dr. Dangerfield’s cunt. Her legs parted and Nairobia’s fingertips pressed over her clit.
Dr. Dangerfield heard the desperate sound of her own whimper as Nairobia teased her there. And then she sucked in a gasp when Nairobia slid a finger inside her.
“Oh, yes,” she said, her voice raw. She sucked in a gasp as her body clenched tightly around Nairobia’s finger.
They’d spent the better part of the morning in Dr. Dangerfield’s private suite, behind the sliding wall, watching the surveillance footage of the couples, particularly Krista, from over the last two weeks.
Borrrrring.
Dr. Dangerfield switched to another monitor and Nairobia licked over her lips at the sight of Kendall’s impressive cock. Dr. Dangerfield zoomed in on it.
“He makes my pussy wet,” she muttered as Nairobia continued dipping her fingers in and out of her body.
“No, my darling, your cunt is wet for more good cock, for more good fucking.” Nairobia momentarily pulled her fingers from Dr. Dangerfield’s swollen sex and then she reached over and pressed a button on the bottom of a remote.
The wall slowly slid open, and . . .
He was there, in the opened space—six-foot-four of chiseled, milk chocolate goodness, one of Nairobia’s many boy-toys.
Josiah.
He worked at Nairobia’s adult club in New York, The Pleasure Zone, having moved up the ranks from bartender to her dutiful assistant. And he’d come to the island at her request—to assist her in any-and-every way imaginable. Nairobia’s wishes were always his command. He loved her pussy. Loved the way it spoke to him; the way it wetly sucked and slurped his dick. He loved Nairobia, loved pleasing her. He didn’t consider himself her sex slave. But his dick, his body, was hers to do with whatever she desired. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her. And he’d share everything he was with whomever she wanted him to.
Dr. Dangerfield admired and appreciated his undying loyalty to her.
Nairobia’s hypnotic effect on men never ceased to amaze her.
Josiah licked his lips.
And Dr. Dangerfield took mental snapshots of the ropes of muscle in his long legs, before latching her eyes onto his glorious, reddish-brown dick. Every muscle in his sleek torso bunched as his gaze flicked over their naked bodies. No longer interested in the likes of Krista, Dr. Dangerfield reached over for the remote and paused the footage. And then her gaze slid back down Josiah’s body, her mouth watering at the sight of the thick, meaty dick that hung between his thighs, her pussy suddenly pulsing at the earlier memory of him deep inside her, stroking her still-slick walls.
Mmm, yes . . .
Dr. Dangerfield swallowed her drool. Then purred low in the back of her throat, widening her legs, her hips now thrusting upward as Nairobia’s fingers spread open her wet folds, then wickedly slid in and out of her. Pleasure seeped into her blood, traveling through her body. And then Nairobia kissed her, her warm, sensual mouth working exquisitely over hers, coaxing her tongue to dance around hers.
Dr. Dangerfield groaned into the kiss, as Nairobia’s lips moved sweetly over hers, stealing her breath. She couldn’t breathe because Nairobia didn’t let her. So she arched into the slick heat Nairobia’s diving fingers were causing inside of her. And when she scissored her fingers, stretching open her sweet, pink center, Dr. Dangerfield cried out.
“Ja, Ja, my darling. Squeeze my fingers with your wet kut. Flood them with your nectar.”
