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rcel arrived at Nairobia’s building in record time, his dick throbbing the whole drive over. A doorman and security guard, along with surveillance cameras, manned the luxury high-rise 24/7. The minute he stepped through the sliding glass doors, the freckle-faced doorman recognized him and let him in. He smiled at Marcel, his glimmering white teeth sparkling under the bright halogen lights of the lobby.
“Ms. Jansen is expecting you,” the doorman said, accompanying him to the elevator. Marcel wondered how he knew whom he was there to see since he’d never visited her there. He first thought it was that the doorman had assumed he was there for Nairobia because she was the only woman of color in the building. But he quickly learned she had texted the doorman a photo of him. In case he turned out to be a psycho. Marcel shook his head, smiling.
He couldn’t wait to get upstairs. Nairobia’s voice had been unimaginably sexy on the phone, stoking the fires in his loins higher. Until it was an inferno, boiling in his balls. He’d respect her boundaries and not force his dick on her, in her. But by the time he finished fucking her with his tongue and fingers, she’d wish he had stretched her around his wide, long dick.
He planned to have her body begging for him. And he’d gladly reward her with every inch of his cock. Punishing and pleasuring her for making him beg for her, for making him crave her.
Ever since his wife’s murder, he’d been extremely cautious about fucking random women. So no. Stray pussy was out. Random pieces of ass were troublesome. Period. The last random fuck had proven fatal. And had cost him his wife’s life.
And dating had been a challenge since he’d always find himself comparing them to his wife, dissecting them, pulling them apart, then trying to put them back together again in her likeness. It’d made him crazy. It was too much for him, and for them because he wasn’t able to give them what they wanted. Him.
Truth be told, Marcel wasn’t sure he was even ready for anything serious with anyone. His balls were full, but his heart was empty. He simply needed a sexual outlet, a fuck hole to lose himself in—and not through some random hookup site, or at some nightclub. He’d even given up jet-setting across the globe to the swanky, invite-only sex parties he and Marika attended religiously over the years. Going would’ve only reminded him of what he now no longer had. His wife.
When Marika were alive, he’d always seduced her in a way that made it easy for her to toss caution to the wind and freely give herself to him. No matter where they were. He’d known how to keep her aroused, on fire, burning. Just for him.
And she’d done the same.
Giving him unrelenting pleasure.
During their sixteen-year marriage, he’d belonged to Marika. Only her. She’d been everything he’d ever needed. They’d been equally yoked in mind, body and soul. She’d welcomed his sexual yearnings. And he’d openly embraced hers. His wants and desires had been hers as well; each always focused on the other’s desires. Together they’d had some of the most explosive sexual encounters during their marriage.
Sometimes, when he inhaled deeply, Marcel could still smell her sweet musky scent; it clung thickly in the air around him, intoxicating him, driving him crazy. He’d loved the smell of her wet pussy. And he missed it immensely with each passing day.
He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.
Now…here he was.
Needing Nairobia.
Wanting Nairobia.
Yearning for release. In her mouth, her pussy, her ass. He wanted all three holes, but was willing to accept whichever hole she was willing to give him. Tonight, her warm, wet mouth would be his receptacle. His cum dump.
If she were willing.
Otherwise, he was fine with the scent of her on his lips, stained on his tongue. He would feast on her, releasing blissful moans from her, wringing out one orgasm after another until she came in his mouth, until she melted all over his tongue, until he was full from her juices.
Holding the door open for him, the doorman used his key card to swipe for access to the penthouse. “Go right up, Sir,” he said, slicing into Marcel’s lustful memory.
Marcel glanced at the man’s plated nametag. “Thanks, Stewart.”
“Hope you enjoy your visit,” he said.
“That’s the plan,” Marcel shot back, then smiled.
The doorman grinned slyly as if he knew something Marcel didn’t just as the elevators doors closed. Marcel’s dick throbbed harder. His balls ached so bad for release he could nut in his drawers right on the spot.
Nairobia stood naked in a pair of six-inch Louis Vuitton heels in the middle of her elaborate foyer when the elevator door finally slid open. She couldn’t wait to feel Marcel’s strong hands cupping her ass, kneading over her sensitive flesh. Parting, spreading; his tongue licking the opening of her pussy and nudging inward pulling out to lick over her clit.
She decided she wouldn’t be a selfish lover…not tonight. Her intention had been to simply lower her kut down over his face and feed him her sweet, juicy sex. But as she waited for his arrival, her desire to taste him—again—intensified. So she now intended to suck his cock into her mouth. Thick veins roped around a big thick dick, she planned on licking up and down the length of him with her tongue, bathing him with her spit and drool and heat.
Marcel watched her smile with feline cunning, before her voice floated over toward him in a husky whisper as she said, “What took you so long, my darling, MarSell? Mijn natte kut heeft gewacht voor u…”
Yes. Her wet pussy had been waiting for him, for his tongue, for his fingers…for a blissful release. Marcel looked her over from head to toe as he stalked toward her, loosening his tie, unbuttoning his custom-tailored shirt. He knew very little Dutch, but he smelled her arousal, saw the flames of desire swooping up around her, and knew her pussy needed some tender loving just as much as his hard cock did. Seeing her completely naked, ready and waiting to be served up like a delightful feast was what he craved. She was every horny man’s wet dream.
Her nipples were erect, plump like two juicy, seedless grapes. And Marcel couldn’t wait to taste them, to lick them, to pop them into his wet mouth.
