Page 92 of Passion Island

Instinctively—with the exception of Isaiah, Roselle eased up alongside Brenda and grabbed her hand, while Kendall reached out and took Krista’s hand. Both men, clearly marking their territory as they walked up the red-carpeted steps leading up into the club.

Krista smiled, as her hand got lost in Kendall’s as he led her up the stairs. She didn’t need to gaze at another man, when she had all the man she needed right here beside her.

LaQuandra didn’t seem to notice that the other husbands had taken their wives’ hands. She seemed more focused on the two gladiator-built men standing guard at the entrance of the club.

On either side of the two hunks appeared two equally stunning women, wearing exquisite diamond necklaces and bedazzled pasties and matching G-strings. And they wore elaborate ostrich-feathered headdresses atop their heads.

As the couples ascended the stairs, LaQuandra felt her knees buckle as she took a long look at the massive bulges tucked behind each doorman’s loincloth. She cursed under her breath—at Isaiah, at them, at herself. She blamed Isaiah for the state of her aching loins. She blamed the two manly delights in her view for doing nothing to alleviate the agony that suffused her entire cunt. And she blamed herself for being in this predicament in the first damn place.

Upon entrance through the double doors, the couples were greeted with the sounds of erotic music. Each woman was handed a colorful mask encrusted with Swarovski crystals (the real jeweled masks were for card-carrying members), while the three men were handed simple black Zorro-style masks.

“Indulge your desires,” a bejeweled masked woman said, her curvy body wrapped in a nude-like bodysuit covered in sparkling Austrian crystals. Her lips were shellacked to perfection in tangerine. “A night of decadence awaits you.”

Thirty-Four

Byzantine Time Machine’s “Adventure in Istanbul” greeted the couples as they stepped inside the extravagant club. Hips seductively swung. Breast swayed. Pelvises thrust. Bellies rolled. Arms rhythmically moved up over dancers’ heads.

“What in the . . .?”

Raw lust.

Hot sensuality.

Animalistic heat.

The club dripped of sex.

Candle tray dancers, wearing beaded veils, seductively danced as they carried burning wax candles on fourteen-inch, flat round trays on top of their heads, their flames dancing above their heads.

Huge go-go cages sat atop massive speakers, displaying the most succulent pieces of pelvis thrusting eye-candy—women in mesh mini-dresses. Their muscled counterparts were either wearing leather G-strings or leather briefs with a zipper over thick bulges, the ridges in their abdomens tightening as their bodies sensually moved.

Flames shot up from the floor.

Beautiful bodies moved slow and nasty.

Four women—with round, plump ass cheeks were bent at the waist, their hands wrapped all the way around their ankles, their faces looking down onto the crowd—were up on a glass ledge that was eye-level for onlookers, making their asses bounce in sync to the music.

Krista’s mouth dropped open.

Nude sculptures of men and women in various sexual positions were strategically placed around the club. In the center of the dance floor was a larger-than-life penis adorned with two humongous balls carved out of the world’s finest dark chocolate, spilling rivulets of mouthwatering white chocolate lava from its dickhead.

Naked women covered in chocolate stood in its enormous basin of melted white chocolate, their hands sensually gliding up and down their bodies.

LaQuandra nearly licked her lips at the sight. All she saw was dick, balls, and hot creamy cum, even if it were only an illusion. She found herself fantasizing, imagining herself licking over those huge balls, their chocolate melting all over her tongue.

She swallowed.

Nairobia had once seen the same chocolate sculpture at a nightclub in Vegas and had thought it sexy. She wanted one for her own club.

“Girrrrl, this is. Evvvvvverything,” LaQuandra said to Brenda.

“Honey, yes. It. Is,” Brenda agreed, her knees dipped a bit. And then her shoulders slowly moved up and down.

Red lights splashed over the crowd, while body-painted women hung upside down in the air from invisible wires seductively winding their hips as if they were literally having sex on the ceiling.

“Yasssss,” Brenda said, snapping her fingers. “They are giving me my whole life up in here. C’mon, baby.” She grabbed Roselle’s arm, dragging him onto the dance floor, where she shimmied and gyrated her own pelvis. A hairsbreadth away from him, she moved in closer and then bumped and grinded into Roselle’s pelvis until his dick grew hard. Then she slowly turned and pressed her ass into him.

“That’s right, baby,” he murmured in her ear over the music. “Give me that shit.”

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