Read Slippery When Wet: A Novel (Zane Presents) Online
Authors: Cairo
Slippery When Wet: A Novel (Zane Presents) (32 page)
The CockTail Lounge is where discreet, horny women teetering on whoredom and tossing their inhibitions to the wind, releasing their inner freaks, like myself, can fulfill their carnal desires by selecting the stud of their choice off of ornate purple and red menus, along with any combination of drinks of their liking. There’s a picture beside each studs’ name, along with their stats: age, height, weight, nationality, and turn-ons. Delicious
boi
treats such as: Cocoa Bombshell, The Smack Down, Caribbean Breeze, Chocolate Pleasure, Cream de Cocoa, Dred Delight, The Red Dragon, Chocolate Thunder, The Incredible Hunk, King Kong, Stud Daddy, Whip Appeal, G-Spot, The Pussy Pleaser, and a list of others are all available for one’s decadent pleasures.
Tonight, I am feeling slutty and bold, sipping on my second Pussy Pleaser—a mixture of Absolut vodka, blue Curacao, and grenadine with splashes of pineapple and cranberry juices.
I slowly slide the tip of my tongue over my glossed lips. I twist in my seat, discreetly grinding my pussy into the center of the leather stool as one stud after another swaggers out and into the middle of the room, flexing and profiling. Then saunter off. I have my sights on the Pussy Pleaser.
In her photo, she’s the color of licorice. Dark. And, hopefully, just as sweet. Her stats state she’s five-eleven, 157 pounds, brown eyes. Dreads. Her turn-ons: tight wet pussy. And squirters.
“Glad to see you came back, ma,” a husky voice says in my ear; soft lips gently brush against my lobe, startling me. “You look good enough to eat.”
My pulse quickens.
My whole body shudders, heated realization dances up and down the center of my spine, finding its way along the inner part of my smooth thighs, twirling along the seam of my pussy. There is no name, just the silken voice and the delicious memory.
I swivel slightly on the stool, bringing into view the one who changed my whole life three weeks ago. Tonight she’s wearing a white T-shirt, baggy faded jeans and crisp white Nikes. She has a black Brooklyn Nets fitted pulled down over her dark brown eyes. Her bone-straight hair is pulled tightly into a ponytail.
Her heated gaze slides over my body like melted butter. My eyes lower to the bulge in her jeans. Instantly, her thick dick jutting out from its harness flashes through my mind, replaying the way she slowly fucked me in long even strokes, plunging deep on the in-stroke, then slowly pulling out until the head of her dick kissed the mouth of my pussy before plunging back in, hitting the bottom of my Honeywell.
The way she fucked me was…sweet torture.
She’s handsomely beautiful—if that makes sense. Hell, nothing makes sense to me anymore.
A month ago I would still be home somewhere fighting my truth, hiding behind pretense, still surreptitiously masturbating to mental snapshots of naked women—the swell of their breasts, the dark, succulent ridges of their nipples, the smooth curve of their hips, the scented heat of their pussies and asses—stained into my memory as I finger-fucked one orgasm after the other out of myself.
But now secret fantasies have become a reality. The Stud Palace—in all of its opulence and decadent pleasures—is addictive.
From the moment I stepped through these doors—three weeks ago—I was hooked. Its debauchery has rented space in my head ever since. It has kept me craving more of its delicious, dirty deeds.
And I am here, again. Hungry for another round of seductive pleasure, craving the soft touch of a masculine woman, yearning to taste her steamed juices as they seep out of her womanhood and coat the base of her harness.
I press my thighs together, squeezing back want and desire. “Isn’t this a nice surprise,” I say, eyeing her over the rim of my glass. God, I’d love to feel her lips on my body again; the wet, warmth of her mouth capturing my cunt and clit. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were stalking me.” Amusement laces my tone as I arch my brows.
“Hey. I could ask you the same thing.”
“I’m too classy to stalk,” I say, teasingly. “But
you,
on the other hand…”
She chuckles. “Nah, never that, baby. But I’d like to stalk that sweet, tight pussy, again.”
She licks her plump, pillow-soft pussy eating lips. I watch as she pulls out a piece of cinnamon gum and folds it into her lush mouth. A tinge of jealousy creeps up in me, wishing it were my chocolate nipples being rolled into her mouth instead of chewing gum.
I swallow.
I feel my smooth cunt starting to slicken as I imagine her long tongue flicking up and down on my clit as she pushes three slender fingers knuckles deep into my swelling river of juices.
“Let’s go to one of the booths,” she offers, her voice throaty and filled with lust. Salacious intent dances in her eyes, her attention completely focused on me.
I give her a coquettish grin. “Why on earth would I want to do that? A lady neverwalks off with strange women.”
“Then don’t be a lady. Be a tramp.”
Cairo
is the author of
Big Booty, Man Swappers, Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang, Deep Throat Diva, Daddy Long Stroke, The Man Handler
; and
The Kat Trap
. His travels to Egypt inspired his pen name.
A
LSO BY
C
AIRO
Big Booty
Man Swappers
Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang
Deep Throat Diva
Daddy Long Stroke
The Man Handler
The Kat Trap
Strebor Books
P.O. Box 6505
Largo, MD 20792
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2013 by Cairo
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address Strebor Books, P.O. Box 6505, Largo, MD 20792.
ISBN 978-1-59309-435-5
ISBN 978-1-4516-7843-7 (e-book)
LCCN 2013933641
First Strebor Books trade paperback edition November 2013
Cover design:
www.mariondesigns.com
Cover photograph: © Keith Saunders/Marion Designs
Interior photograph: © Dan Bannister/ShutterstockImages
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