Page 37 of The Pleasure Zone
Ohmigod!! Seeing Pleasure up on the stage w/Carlosâ sexy-azz at the concert last night gave me my whole life back! That bish my idol!
Iâm not a lesbian. But she can get it.
Yasss, bish! Yass! Lawdgawd! Pleasure u did me right sugah-boo! U stole the show n tore yoâ stank drawz at the concert, gawtdammit! Witcho ole slutty-azz! U made my cootie-coo real soggy! Had to get me some dingaling!
Twitter:
@CarlostheCrooner I love u baaabeee! Itz ya number 1 boo!
@CarlostheCrooner Y u all hugged up with that [email protected]? She cute tho!
Follow [email protected]! Please! U [email protected]!
@PleasureZone I can be a freak 2 baby! #PornStarsCanGgetIt2!
Follow me baby @PleasureZone
@PleasureZone Saw u @ concert! Damn u fiyah! My girl mad I wanna fuk u!
@PleasureZone next time u @#NappyNoMoreII Ya ole stuck up azz better speak! Donât do me! @PleasureZone follow me sugahboo!
@PleasureZone cum get this nut baby!
@PleasureZone u stolllll the show! Follow [email protected]! Pretty please!
Lamar shut his iPad. âYou anâ Pretty Boy are all over social media,â he stated, as he strapped himself into the plush leather seat across from her. Nairobia had no interest in flying back to New York on a commercial flight. Sheâd already tortured herself by flying the friendly skiesâ public transportation, as she called it, coming to L.A. Something sheâd only done to test Lamarâs skillsâwell, one of them. And heâd passed with flying colors.
Now she could luxuriate on her early morning flight back to the Big Apple in the comfort of her private jet. Sheâd summoned her pilot last night to have him fueled up and ready. She glanced up from the magazine sheâd been reading, which had a series of ten pictures covering two pages of her and Carlos. Speculation was written across the pages, that somehow the two were lovers, that they were having a torrid love affair. Sheâd been half-reading the story with the headline: HOW MANY KISSES DOES IT TAKE TO GET TO NEXT BASE?
Nairobia shut the magazine and stared at Lamar thoughtfully, before shrugging dismissively at his comment. Although she had Twitter and Instagram accounts, and a Facebook Fan pageâwhich were all managed by one of her production assistants at Sweet Pleasures, she couldnât be so bothered with social media.
She found it too messy, and too trashy.
âAm I not always, my love?â She tilted her head. âTalked about?â
âYeah, I guess,â he said curtly.
âThen itâs not newsworthy to know that I am, no?â
Lamar frowned. What the fuck crawled up in her ass? Last night sheâd been all up his face, taunting him with her sweet, juicy ass and those big, fluffy breasts of hers; now she was coming at him sideways. Moody-ass broads. He sighed inwardly, shaking his head. He wasnât about to let her give him a headache. Not at six in the fucking morning. Shit. He was tired as fuck. He didnât get much sleep.
After the concert, heâd been dragged to some big-shot after-party out in Malibu. And, yeah, he was supposed to be her dateâas she referred to himâbut the shit felt more like work trying to keep horny-ass âmuhfuckasââas Lamar called them, from swarming her. The whole night was one big headache. They hadnât gotten back to her spot until well after two in the morning. Then, by the time heâd gotten in bed, heâd tossed and turned unable to get to sleep. The pressure building in his dick had become too much to ignore. He had to literally take another showerâa very cold one at that. And, still, thatâd done nothing for the heat that he had boiling through his body, or the steely erection that ached painfully for release. He needed some pussy. He needed to fuck.
Yet, the only thing he had at that moment to ease the pressure was his hand, a hand that hadnât been used to jack off his dick in years. Masturbation wasnât Lamarâs thing. Fucking and getting head was.
Glancing at Nairobia sideways, behind mirrored shades, Lamar wondered what it must be like to be her. It had to be lonely. Spending her whole life fucking a bunch of random men. It had to do something to her self-esteem. He didnât know. He wasnât a shrink. Maybe it didnât affect her at all. Hell, he didnât care. But, after everything heâd experienced in the short time having her as a client, he surmised he didnât need a college degree to know Nairobia was nothing more than an attention whore who loved to be seen.
He needed a blunt. Bad! He cursed under his breath for stopping one of his favorite âchill-outâ pasttimes. Taking a deep breath to relax himself, he surveyed the jetâs main cabin. There were ten oversized seats, along with a plush leather sofa, a fifty-five-inch flat-screen, a stocked media console, and an extended dining table. In back of the jet were two suites, each with its own bathroom.
Lamar glanced back at the sofa and wondered how many times sheâd been fucked on it, over it. Wondered how many times her pussy had soaked into the leather cushions. He wondered how many babies sheâd swallowed right there on that sofa. And then his mind swirled to the left as the nose of the plane rose, wondering what itâd be like fucking her on her own plane.
Groaning inwardly, he scolded himself. âMuhfucka, what the fuck is wrong wit?
?? you? Pull yaâself together.â He eyed Nairobia as the jet roared down the runway, the outside world zooming by.
Keenly aware that he was watching herâthe same way sheâd known, felt, his eyes were on her all last night, burning over herâNairobia looked over at Lamar.
âWhy do you hide, my love?â