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He smirked.
Krista sat and looked at Kendall as if she were a deer caught in headlights. Kendall smiled, reaching for her hand. “Baby, I know you’re good pussy,” he stated warmly. “But let me hear you say it.” He leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. A little dirty talk was what Kendall needed. He’d love to hear Krista talk shit in the bedroom, just once—damn. Was that too much to wish for? “Tell me how good it is.”
He grinned.
Krista scoffed. “I’m not saying that shit out here.”
“Don’t be shy, my darlings,” Nairobia said, as if sensing Krista’s resistance. “You are your pussies, my loves. Love it. Embrace it. Allow your husbands to know how you celebrate in that knowing.” Nairobia glanced over at Krista. Mmph. Resistance was key to disaster.
She walked over to Krista and then squatted, her legs spread, her heavenly scent wafting up around the three of them. Fresh floral pussy.
Enticing. Intoxicating.
Kendall tried not to inhale too deeply.
“Are you not good pussy, mijn liefde (my love)?” she asked Krista.
Krista gave her an incredulous look that bordered on indignation for trying to embarrass her. “No—I mean, yes. I mean, of course I am.”
Nairobia gazed into Krista’s eyes. She saw it—her sexual limitations.
So, so pitiful.
“Then look into your husband’s eyes, mijn lieveling, and tell him—u bent goed kut.”
Neither Krista nor Kendall knew what she’d said in her native tongue, but Krista felt her face flush. And Kendall’s dick stirred in his swim trunks.
“Say it,” Nairobia urged. “You are good pussy.”
Krista looked at Kendall and reluctantly said it. “I am good pussy.” There, satisfied?
It was a mediocre attempt that made Nairobia want to extend her arm back and slap Krista’s pitiful-ass face.
Nairobia sighed inwardly. “My darling, you can’t expect your husband to believe you are good pussy—if you do not believe it.” She stood, leaving her scent swirling up around the two of them.
“If you are not good pussy, my darlings, then you are not good loving,” Nairobia stated in a matter-of-fact tone, “and if you are not good loving, then you can never be unforgettable fucking.”
“I know that’s right,” Brenda said, snapping her fingers.
The wind blew the slits of Nairobia’s dress up again, this time higher than before, causing Roselle’s gaze to latch on to a glimpse of her sunbaked cunt.
Unfazed, Nairobia smiled.
“Good pussy, ladies, is more than a state of mind. It’s a state of being. Good pussy, my loves, speaks to the dick . . .”
Isaiah pressed the palm of his hand in his lap to tamp down the swelling in his trunks. He wanted to ask her what it was saying—the pussy, but Roselle had beaten him to it.
“Tell us what it’s saying,” he said over a laugh. But what he really wanted to know was what hers would say to the dick.
Nairobia’s eyes bore into him, heating over his skin in a way the sun overhead had not.
“Lean into your wife’s kut,” she said seductively. “And ask it. The next time you find yourself deep inside it, listen to what it is saying to you.”
Roselle grinned. “Got you.”
“Now, my darling men,” Nairobia said. “Your turn . . .”
Sin leaned into Dr. Dangerfield and then whispered, “My dick wants you.”
