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The Pleasure Zone






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.

Good fucking.

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.

The messier the better, that’s how she liked it. Like sex, she liked it wild.

“What’s your poison, Mademoiselle?” the bartender asked over the music. Silk’s “More” melted out through the world-class sound system.

She glanced around the club.



Heated marbled floors.

Swathes of billowy ivory silk covered the walls on the first floor.

Candles of enormous sizes flickered about the expansive space.

Gas-lit torches lined the walls.

Draped candlelit booths.

Oversized white leather sofas and armless chairs.

Massive floral arrangements perfumed the air.

She looked up at the vaulted ceiling, then fluttered her gaze back to the milk chocolate Adonis in front of her, his eyes dancing over her body. Every muscle in his sleek torso bunched, and her pussy clenched.

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 earring 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.





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 v