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Goapele purred out of the speakers about being ready to play. And Nairobia was more than ready. She stayed ready. Always wet, always ready. She thrust her pelvis to its beat, then reached over the bar, positioned in the center of the floor, and pulled him into her by his spiked collar. She kissed him on the mouth. Sunk her teeth into his plump bottom lip. Then nipped at the small diamond hooped ea
rring in his left ear. There was a panther’s head tattooed on the back of his neck. And her mouth watered to bite it. She resisted the urge.
For now…
Save for his collar, the six-foot-four bartender’s sculpted body was naked, dusted in gold as was every other wait staff, server, and bartender. He grinned as Nairobia leaned further over the bar and her hungry gaze slid down his body and fastened on the meaty dick hanging between his muscular thighs.
Mmm.
Josiah.
Josiah.
Josiah.
He was drool inducing as was everyone else who would work the club, including the deejays and the bouncers. It was a mandatory requirement—to be beautiful, to be sexy, to be…fuckable, whether you were dressed or undressed. And, oh how he was so, so very fuckable.
Nairobia knew she would feed the staff her pussy and she’d feast on their hard dicks, and weeping cunts. But rule number one: she would not, ever, indulge the patrons’ libidos. No, no, no. Sexing the clientele would make for bad business. And fucking over good coin was not how she’d managed to brand her name, and her delectable talents. No matter how many thousands of dollars would pour into her club tonight—or on any other night, no matter how many loins would ache for her loving touch, she wouldn’t cross the axiomatic line. Not with the patrons.
She fixed her gaze on the sight before her. The swells of Josiah’s biceps made her clit tingle, but fucking him right this very moment was the farthest thing from her mind. She wanted his long tongue on her clit, in her pussy.
She whispered in his ear, “My poison tonight is, een natte tong op mijn kut.” A wet tongue on my pussy.
He smiled, then replied huskily, “Your every wish is my command, Mademoiselle.” His bulging chest muscles and abs rippled. Even the sight of his thick forearms, lined with wide veins, made her pussy churn in delight. She imagined him using her naked body as his human bench-press, lifting her up over his head the way one would a set of one hundred-pound barbells.
Nairobia inhaled deeply and held it. She rubbed a smooth hand over his rock-hard pectorals, right before pushing out a warm gush of cinnamon-scented breath, slipping her tongue into his ear and telling him how her pussy whispered from beneath her gown, how it longed for his long, thick tongue. “Mijn poes verlangt naar uw tong.”
He understood nothing she said, which made it that more alluring. He will submit to me, she told herself. As they all will, offering me his tongue…and his big, thick cock, if I so desire it.
Josiah disappeared from sight as a rich, sexy ballad filled the air. Nairobia blinked. Then a sly grin eased over her lips as she prowled around the bar. There he was. Lying on the tiled floor behind the bar on his back, his hands behind his head, his dick lying languidly across his rippled belly. He waited for her as the DJ played a song that opened up with the sound of a rainstorm and a female moaning.
“What is this he is playing?” she asked once she made her way around the other side of the bar. “Feelin’ This,” he told her. By a group called Profile, spelled with a Y instead of an I. Profyle. That it was played in some movie. “Motives,” he added. She didn’t know the movie, but she liked the seductiveness of the song.
Mmm.
She purred low in the back of her throat, hiking her gown up over her curvaceous hips. “Yes. Feel this wet kut. Taste it.” She squatted low. Straddled his face. Lowered her quivering pussy onto his waiting tongue. Then slowly rocked her hips. She murmured in her native tongue, “Maken graag miijn kut. Voeden mijn poesje je tong. Ja, my darling, jaaaaa.” Then she repeated herself in English. “Yes, my darling, yessss. Make love to my cunt. Feed my pussy your tongue.”
He groaned into her trembling slit.
A spasm wracked her entire body. Nibbling, licking, sucking on her clit, his teeth lightly grazed it before capturing it between his lips.
She moaned.
His fingers spread open her wet lips and he greedily tongued her, suckled her, flickering over her clit, feasting on her wet pussy. “Mmm, ja, ja, ja…” She spasmed around his tongue and fingers, her nectar coating his tongue. “Yes, yes, yes. Mijn natte kut likken…” She demanded he lick her wet pussy.
And he did.
He licked. Licked. Licked. Licked.
“Fuck,” he muttered against her lust-flared labia. He sucked on her lips. Wickedly kissed her kut. Breathed it in. Tongued her clit. Her hips rocked in sensuous rhythm. His stiff tongue speared her pussy. And she moaned as he made a growling sound that echoed along her silken walls. “Aaaargh, aaaah, aaaah…”
She glanced over her shoulder. He was fisting his thick cock. Her mouth watered, her pussy got wetter. She smothered him in her wetness as he fucked her with his tongue.
“Oh, yesss, oooh…mmm…so wet…uw tong…mmm…zo fijn…” Your tongue…mmm…so good…
She threw her head back, eyes rolling in the back of her head. Peaking toward orgasm, she swallowed, her breath hitching a bit. Nairobia bucked against Josiah’s face, her clitoris swollen and achy, her cunt roiling in pleasure. Seconds later, liquid heat squirted out of her. With low moans, he drank her juices, swallowing, swallowing.
She grinded into his mouth, riding another wave, wrenching out one last orgasm, before lifting her hips and pulling his wagging tongue from the wet space between her thighs.
