MadameFrankie

by Stanley Bennett Clay

  Urged on by the moderator, former Michigan Governor Jennifer Granholm, the audience applauded and cheered enthusiastically at the end of the discussion. Frankie mingled graciously with the crowd and signed autographs before being rescued by Jazz and whisked off to the idling SUV.

  Their fifteen-minute ride to the hotel was a heated one, but subtle. They were both aware of the driver’s rearview mirror surveillance and didn’t want to risk any scandal. But Frankie could barely help herself. She stared out the window while she massaged Jazz’s thick package swelling inside his pants. She closed her eyes and fluttered her eyebrows as Jazz squeezed her probing hand with his chunky thighs and throbbing jackhammer. It took everything in her power to keep from slipping her other hand under her blouse. Her nipples were begging to be touched and caressed.

  By the time they reached the hotel, Jazz’s hard-on was raging. When they got out of the vehicle, he had to un-tuck his shirt and hide his bulge with his shirttail.

  When they got inside her hotel suite, Jazz pressed her up against the door they had just shut behind them. He stared into her eyes and then surveyed her smiling face.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered in awe.

  “And so are you,” she whispered back.

  Gently he kissed her on the lips, so gently that she thought it was a warm summer mist. She nearly fainted with the dizzying sensation.

  But he caught her in her swooning free fall. He held her, then embraced her, all the while kissing her eyelids as they fluttered.

  He ran his fingers softly through her hair. His musky aroma enraptured her, lovingly pressed against the door.

  He slow-grinded her teasingly, shamelessly, until she could resist no more. She grabbed at his dick with both hands. The move caused him to groan in that deep, sexy baritone of his. He kissed her on the mouth again, then parted her lips and jammed his tongue hungrily down her throat. She sucked on his tongue as if it were his dick, which throbbed anxiously inside his pants, begging for its freedom. And so she obliged.

  Even as their kisses became wild and juicy acts of insoluble lust, her hands grew just as anxious as her lips. Frantically, nervously, she unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, which dropped to the floor. She then blindly peeled his boxer briefs away from the thick and brazen one-eyed boner, warm and veiny to her touch, pulsing restlessly in her palm. She opened her eyes and looked down at the beautiful monster, fat in her grasp.

  She gasped at the sight of it, bigger than even she had imagined. A pearl drop of pre-cum glistened at the slit of its perfectly formed mushroom head, which protruded from the mark of its circumcision.

  She caressed it and squeezed it, then slowly slid her cylinder grasp up and down its massive shaft.

  She needed to pray. She needed to worship. So she dropped down to her knees and jammed his cock deep down her starving throat. She sucked it with the glee and the fury of the gods of good cock sucking. She lollipopped his fat balls with the tongue of a nymph Catholic schoolgirl, then she went lower and under and tongue-slathered the slight and silky hairs of a Creole around his squeaky clean asshole with dreamsicle delight.

  She was a bad girl in a goodie-goodie candy store and she loved every minute of the marvelous menace she heaped upon her brick house man-toy.

  He sighed and laughed and grunted and moaned. He reminded her of what she loved most about thick, pungent black dick—the jaw-breaking girth, the smoky-gold shaft crowned with an oak-colored head, rustic walnut-like balls that slapped under her chin.

  Her mouth then rediscovered his dick. And he face-fucked her good with it and then better.

  She gurgled with greedy delight and cry-fussed like a baby when he eased himself out of her wanton and whimpering mouth.

  Spoiled brat that she was, she grabbed hold of his divining rod and pulled him to the bedroom. His pants still around his ankles, he did quick, tiny geisha steps behind her. She threw him on the bed where he bounced with the art of an athlete’s grace. She then tore off his pants, ripped off her blouse and snatched off her skirt, revealing her panty-free beauty.

  He beheld with amazement her brazen display. His rock-hard dick flinched and twitched, saluting her Venus de Milo shapeliness.

  He pulled her down to the bed, laid her on her back, then straddled her. On his knees, he scooted up to her beautiful face.

  He then slid his hard rod down her neck and across her throat, circling it, marking it with the lather of his manhood.

  Then he went lower and sandwiched his dick between her stiff-nippled breasts. He lingered there for a while and slowly slid his boy back and forth between the softness and the warmth and the immeasurable pleasure of her firm and beautiful sumptuousness.

  And now he sighed. He was a one-pup litter with the tits all to himself. With diligent desire, she squeezed her breasts around his thick, young, spry joystick. She caressed it and massaged it with joy and jubilation. She kneaded it and needed it more.

  And so did he. The pleasure was wildly infinite. He wanted to give as good as he was getting. So while she massaged and soothed his stiff manhood in the soft warmth of her breasts, he slipped one hand underneath her and brought her up to him.

  He kissed her desperately. He probed her mouth like a gluttonous child, lost in a sweet shop of carnal delights.

  Then he reached back down with the other hand and found the soft hairs that crowned the opening of that moist treasure between her legs. He brushed his trembling hand atop the soft and silky hairs of her pussy. She arched her body upward at the sweet sensation of his hovering touch.

  His tongue dug deeper into the moist warmth of her mouth. His fingers dug deep and hit her spot. She gagged, not knowing if his tongue down her throat or his fingers in her pussy were the champion de jour.

  “God-fucking-damn!” she screamed, gasping for air.

  Frantically, she grabbed hold of his dick. She squeezed it and twisted it, while his two-finger twitter inside her drove her mad with passion and satisfaction. It took her to a level of pleasure that called for an oxygen mask. But she didn’t care that she couldn’t breathe. Her breath had been gloriously taken away.

  But he wasn’t done with the sweet, loving torture he lavished on her with relish.

  “You like, mon cher?” he whispered huskily.

  “I love,” she whispered back, barely audible, too weakened by lust and unbearable joy.

  He eased himself down her beautiful body, making idolatrous stops all along the way. Breast, stomach, navel, vagina, legs, feet and toes. He sampled them all with a tongue expertly trained. And she meowed and purred and hissed and hummed as he hit each spot and marked them as his.

  He turned her over ever so gently and propped her up on her knees. The sight of her ass and her sweet smiling pussy weakened him with a new found desire.

  “Beautiful, baby…” was all he could say. His humility was drenched with awe and admiration. “So, so, beautiful…”

  He filled both hands with her plump and glistening ass cheeks. Then he hungrily licked the slit of her pouting mound, spread it into a grin with his fingers and fluttered it.

  Then his impetuous tongue lathered every square inch of her doggy-style beauty. She shuddered as he licked and explored spot after spot. New kinds of tingles shot through her body. Her pussy puckered and unpuckered, snapped with unabashed gratitude as she rode on his tongue.

  As he continued to feast on her glory, his hands cupped her breasts. He squeezed them and played with them. He toyed furiously with her nipples, pulling her up by them to his chest.

  The wetness between her legs oozed as she arched up and backed herself into his bulging chest, preparing her well for the new thrill to come.

  Quickly, he rummaged through his pants, which lay crumpled on the bed next to him. He found the condom, tore it open and rolled it down his throbbing meat.

  His anxious arms found their way around her waist. When he entered her from behind, easing into her womanly parlor, slowly slipping and sliding agai
nst her sweet sugar walls, she thought she would die from the joy of it all. She collapsed on the bed, facedown, ass up, pussy filled and rhythmically fucked with his deliciousness.

  The feeling of all those inches set off every alarm in her hole. The deep-dicking sent her into spasms that caused her to booty-dance on it, writhe on it as it stirred her into a state of unearthly delirium.

  “That’s right, baby,” she moaned nastily, her face twisting and turning in the pillow beneath her. “Give it to me like you know how. Yeah, that’s it. Yeah, you know what my pussy wants. You know how to make it smile. Oh yeah. Oh yeah.”

  He pumped her hard and steady.

  “Harder!” she barked, flinching with pleasure each time his jab hit her spot. “Harder! Yes! Harder!”

  Tears streamed down her face as she lifted herself up on her hands and thrust into his pounding, taking his furious dick pit bull style.

  “Ufh! Ufh!” she barked, matching his new furious rhythm. The smack of dick riding doggy-style pussy had the bed creaking and pleading. But the sex-crazed lovers were giving up slack to no one and nothing. Only the insane pleasure they were giving each other ruled the moment and their passion.

  He rammed her and she rammed him right back until both of them were screaming and cursing and praising and coming.

  And then it happened for both of them at the exact same time. The double explosion had them crazed with conniptions.

  “I love you, Frankie!” he screamed over and over as he strained and shot his full load in her quivering hole. And she huffed and puffed and yelled out as he filled her and thrilled her into blathering whimpers that caused her to collapse on the bed, his dick still deep inside her, where she shivered in a pool of her sweat and her unearthly pleasure.

  He collapsed on top of her. The warmth and the sweat of his beautiful body blanketed her. Then she froze as he left the bed. He returned before she could find the energy to move, gloriously unsheathed once more and lay on her. She reached back and grabbed hold of his rock-solid ass.

  He kissed her on the neck and then on the cheek. She angled her head to face him. Their eyes met. They smiled in the lull of their beautiful lovemaking. He kissed her oh so gently on the mouth. She tightened her grip on his beautiful ass. She guided it into a slow grinding. She could feel his dick growing again. She could feel the tingle in her breast, the heaving joy and good low down groove.

  Before they knew it, they were at it again.

  * * * * *

  Later that evening, they dined by candlelight in the hotel’s five-star restaurant. They had after-dinner drinks in the nearly deserted but dreamily romantic rooftop lounge. Through the glass-domed ceiling, a full moon smiled down on them. Jazz, at the baby grand piano, gently serenaded Frankie with one beautiful Stevie Wonder ballad after another.

  His beautiful singing, his beautiful musicianship and the beautiful, fabulous and furious way he made love to her earlier, made her realize something that was all too real. She was more than in like with young Mr. Jazz Mornay. She was in love…even if cautiously so.

  Chapter Three

  And so here it was. Four months later. And what a great four months it had been, for the both of them.

  But it certainly didn’t come without challenges and sacrifices and unfulfilled longings. Jazz, having taken time off from his graduate work at Tulane, was deep in the throes of the Obama campaign, crisscrossing the country with, before and behind his candidate. Frankie was knee-deep in the Hollywood shuffle, stuck in that Halle Berry syndrome without being Halle Berry. Yes, she was a gorgeous black actress hot off a hit TV series. But she was in that tinsel town holding tank—too young-looking to play the mothers of budding young matinee idols exploding from the ranks of rap and hip-hop. And too old to play their love interests.

  Money wasn’t an issue. She needed to work, to practice her trade as an artist. She thought about trying her hand on Broadway, but knew how fierce those stage divas on the East Coast could be. Besides, she was a warm weather child, a soulful valley girl, a sun-worshipping angel of the tropics. Los Angeles was her home. The Dominican Republic was her playground. She loved them both.

  Still, Jazz and she found ways to make the best of their sporadic and long-distance relationship. They stole away every chance they could to be with each other. A weekend rendezvous in Hollywood when the president was in town fundraising, a red-eye booty call in the boonies of a swing state—Frankie and Jazz were not to be stopped from expressing their love in the flesh.

  And that’s why Frankie was particularly happy about this night. President Obama was going to spend an entire week in southern California. Fundraisers were going to be held at the Brentwood Home of Steven Spielberg, the Beverly Hills mansion of David Geffen and Barbra Streisand’s Malibu compound. Jazz was part of the advance team, headquartered at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, less than six miles from Frankie’s Miracle Mile condo.

  “I can’t wait to see you, sexy lady,” he flirted slow and low into his phone when his plane landed at LAX that afternoon.

  “I can’t wait either,” she swooned on the other end. “What time should I pick you up at your hotel?”

  “No, baby. It’s gonna be a madhouse around there. I’ll get a rental and come to you, around seven.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m as sure as my love for you.”

  “Oh Jazz…” she swooned again.

  “Since you know the city better than I do, think of a nice restaurant we can go to.”

  “How about Frankie’s Bed, Bath and Beyond?” she cooed wickedly.

  “I was hoping you’d say that. When I’m not doin’ for the president, I wanna spend all my time doin’ for you. I wanna eat whatever you serve tonight. I wanna drink whatever you pour tonight. I wanna give you whatever you want tonight. And then I wanna give it to you again, baby. I wanna give it to you every night I’m with you.”

  “Dayum, Jazz, you’re making me hot.”

  “Good. We’re gonna sizzle together tonight, okay?”

  “Okay, baby.”

  “See you at seven.”

  “See you.”

  “Oh and make sure you save tomorrow night. I have a special surprise for you, okay?”

  “I love surprises.”

  “And I love you, Frankie.”

  “I love you too.”

  Frankie had to resist the temptation. After hanging up from Jazz she touched her hardened nipples, but knew she had too much to do to prepare for their evening rendezvous to take her satisfaction any further. But oh, how she needed to calm the quivering tingle that danced between her legs. Just thinking about her fine and fabulous boy toy made her want to come.

  But she held herself back in spite of the shortness of breath just the thought of him conjured. There was shopping to do. Yes, Frankie was a grand and glorious doll, but she knew how to take care of her man in the kitchen as well as the bedroom.

  She hopped into her Mercedes and let the top down. It was a beautiful southern California day. The sun shone down on her and the gentle Santa Ana breeze played in her hair as she glided down Olympic Boulevard to Gelson’s in Beverly Hills.

  Armand, the butcher in the supermarket’s gourmet meat section, grinned broadly as he eyed her. She knew she was one of his favorite customers so she approached with her signature lilt and sassy smile. She was pretty sure he had a crush on her so she tried to make the old man’s day.

  “Francesca!” He beamed with a look that said he wished he were twenty years younger. “How’s my favorite superstar?”

  “You are so sweet, Armand. I’m fine. How are you?”

  “Better now that I see you.”

  She faked a blush as the butcher stole a glance at her ample breasts and deep cut cleavage.

  “Listen, Armand. How’s the lamb today?”

  “The finest in the city, young lady.”

  “Good, good.”

  “What are you preparing?”

  “I think I want to do rack of lamb. You know, the wh
ole lime jelly, potato-onion gratin, asparagus with béarnaise sauce, virgin olive oil finger saucers for crusted hot bread dipping sort of thing.”

  “Sounds like a candlelight dinner for two tonight.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “With the young man working for the president?”

  “Yes indeed.”

  “He’s very fortunate.”

  “Yes he is. Not everyone gets a chance to work with the President of the United States.”

  “No, Francesca. Not everyone gets a chance to dine with you.”

  This time, the blush wasn’t fake. She was genuinely touched by the butcher’s sweet words.

  She finished her food shopping and headed to the Gourmet Chalet on the corner of Fairfax and Sunset Boulevard. She always favored the wine choices they featured and the young, hot, international eye-candy service personnel always available. Yes, she was a woman in love. But she was a woman. There was nothing wrong with a little window-shopping.

  “Madame Frankie!” Sámi, the gorgeous dark brown Moroccan assistant manager exclaimed with a sparkling white smile as she made a red carpet entrance.

  “Hello, Sámi,” she returned the greeting, allowing the handsome wannabe Lothario to take her hand and kiss it.

  “You look absolutely ravishing.”

  “Thank you. So do you.”

  “And what is your delight today?”

  “I’m looking for a wine for dinner tonight. I’m serving rack of lamb.”

  “Ahhh, rack of lamb!” he mused with expressive hands. “I believe I have exactly what you are looking for. Come.”

  After one sip, Frankie took Sámi up on his recommendation, a Rosenblum Monte Russo Zin 2004 Reserve.

  She was back home by four. By five, the table was set; bone china, sterling silverware, white candles in matching sterling holders. By six, the salad was chilling in the fridge, the food was ready for cooking, the oven was heating and wine had been uncorked for breathing.