Frankie luxuriated in a warm scented bubble bath. Thoughts of Jazz soothed her even more. The anticipation of their night together made her giddy, as she toyed with her nipples, wet and shiny on her sparkling brown breast, buoyed and plump on the soft white bubbles.
And then the phone next to her tub rang. With an ease as mellow as a weed joint high, she answered it.
“Hello?”
“Hola, mi hermoso. It has been long time. You miss my pinga?”
Chapter Four
She sat straight up in the tub. The familiar voice was music to her ears and a distraction from her fantasies.
“Edgar?”
“Si, mi amor. How have you been?”
“I’m doing fine,” she answered, suddenly imagining his big, fat Dominican cock rocking her dizzy.
“Why you no come see me?”
“I’ve been so busy, Edgar.”
“I think you forget your poor Dominican lover.”
“How could I ever forget you?”
“Then you come soon, yes?”
“We’ll see. I still have so much to do here. You know my show is over. And now I have to book another one. Gotta be available to audition.”
“You are star, mi amor. You will be back on TV soon.”
“From your mouth to God’s ear.”
“¿Qué?”
“We’ll see.”
“I miss you, Francesca. My pinga miss you.”
“I miss your pinga, baby. Trust me I do.”
“Ahhh, then you will come soon?”
“Let me check my schedule.”
“Okay. I wait to hear. I wait to make love to you again.”
“I can hardly wait, Edgar. We’ll talk soon, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Goodbye, my gorgeous man.”
“Goodbye, mi amor.”
She clicked off her phone and sank deep into the bubbly tub. Her mind was all over the place. She had been so wildly consumed by Jazz that thoughts of Edgar had been set to the side. But hearing his voice again, remembering how good sex with her Latin lover was, ignited new desires.
“Chill, Miss Thing,” she reprimanded herself as she climbed out the tub and dried off. “Jazz ain’t no slouch in that area either.”
As she crossed naked out the bathroom through her condo to the kitchen where she placed the rack of lamb inside the heated oven, she thought about her heated oven. Why should she deny herself anything? Why not have options? Why not have them both? Why just a bird in the hand when two in her bush could be twice as sweet?
Frankie purred at the thought.
Back in her bedroom, she applied moisturizer to her tight, lean body. She then dabbed hints of perfume in strategic places—behind her earlobes, on her neck, along her inner thigh. Next came the tight linen skirt and see-through blouse she’d laid out on her bed. No bra and no panties. Jazz liked easy access.
She stepped into her white Ferragamo Runa Bow pumps, then stood erect before her full-length mirror where she gave herself a final once-over. Frankie smiled confidently at the beautiful diva standing before her.
Right on cue, the doorbell rang. She was ready. She sailed through her condo and opened the front door to the vision she had already envisioned. Jazz was one sexy man in his tight t-shirt, neatly fitted Dockers and those lovely feet of his naked in a pair of loafers. He was sexy and adorable. Seeing him in the flesh and the thought of what was coming her way tonight gave her a slight case of the willies.
“Hey gorgeous,” he said in his signature baritone, smiling that million-dollar smile. “For you,” he continued, as he presented her with the bouquet of twelve long-stemmed red roses he had hidden behind his back.
“Ohhhh, baby,” she whispered wide-eyed. “They are sooo beautiful.”
“Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady.”
“Come here,” she said, reaching out to him with her free hand.
He moved in close to her and took her in his arms. The scent of his musk cologne was intoxicating. He kissed her right there in the doorway, filling her mouth with his warm and probing tongue.
He slow danced her inside and kicked the door shut behind them.
“Damn,” he whispered in between kisses, “you taste…sooo…damn…good…”
“You too,” she said, taking a breath, then leading him by the hand to the kitchen. She found a vase on the upper shelf of her glassware cabinet, filled it with water and placed the flowers in it.
“Mmmm, something smells good,” Jazz said, easing up in back of her, putting his arms around her. “Lamb?”
“That’s right, baby.”
“Love me some lamb like I love me some Frankie.”
Frankie turned around in his arms and kissed him again. “Hope you’re hungry,” she then said.
“I’m hungry for everything,” he said, slipping his hand underneath her tight skirt, brushing his fingers gently under the slit of her bushy mound.
She shivered at the touch.
“Don’t get me started,” she said breathlessly.
“Oh I’m gonna get you started all right,” he said, easing two fingers between the lips of her vagina, gently massaging her clit.
She was weak-kneed with desire, but found the strength to resist—barely.
“Come on, baby. Let’s have some wine,” she whispered, easing his hand from under her skirt. “Go on in the living room and put on some music. I’ll pour some wine.”
“All right,” he pouted. “But don’t keep me waiting too long.”
He gave her another gentle kiss on the lips, then strutted out of the kitchen toward the living room. She watched him walk away with delightful regret. His tight ass and thick thigh muscles flexed with every step he took. His broad shoulders and toned biceps strained the short sleeve black shirt that barely covered his golden torso.
Frankie eventually shook herself out of her hypnotic state and poured two glasses of wine. She then checked the lamb roasting in the oven and gave it a thorough basting.
The sound of gentle Brazilian music—vintage Astrud Giberto—poured in from the living room. Frankie smiled at the soothing sound and Jazz’s sweet romantic choice.
With wineglasses in hand, she entered the living room and watched her handsome hunk with quiet appreciation. He was dreamily closed-eyed and dancing a sensual bossa nova with an imaginary partner. She set the glasses down on the settee next to the sofa and filled the void within his arms. His eyes eased open with the feel of his ladylove. Smiles decorated both their faces as they moved within each other’s arms with copasetic rhythm. It was going to be one of those beautifully romantic nights for them.
In short time, the candles were lit on the dining room table. They sat across from each other in the Rembrandt glow. They feasted on the meal beautifully laid out before them. They drank the wine with lips in need of kissing. They dined on the view of each other, drank with long and longing glances from the fountain of mutual desire.
The music in the background was the music of love. Words needed not to be spoken. Their eyes said it all.
They didn’t rush their meal, but they were anxious to partake of the carnal dessert awaiting them in the bedroom.
And so as the music continued to serenade from the distant living room, they lay across the bed and kissed each other like newlyweds.
Frankie kicked off her pumps. Jazz rose above her and pulled his tight black t-shirt over his head. His sculpted chest bulged with the liberating movement. He tossed the shirt to the floor and stared down at Frankie, beautifully laid out beneath him. The sight of her angel’s face, her silky hair, her luscious lips awe-struck him. Her breasts, veiled beneath her sheer blouse like twin Salomes, enticed him with their mystic beauty. Everything about her rendered him idolatrous.
Delicately he kissed her. Delicately he unbuttoned her blouse. Delicately he gave oral obeisance to both her twins. And she responded to the feeding with a goddess’s gleeful magnanimity. He relished in the smothering as she squeezed her breast aro
und his face, even as he reached up and joined the squeezing.
And then he was kissing her on the lips again, unable to get enough of his tongue inside her mouth. He was unable to kiss her lovely eyes enough, unable to inhale and toss and kiss her lovely hair enough. He was unquenchable with the taste and feel and scent of her. She was all that he wanted, yet still not enough.
He held her and kissed her. He stroked her and licked her, then eased himself out of the pants she had unbuckled, but not without removing the roll of condoms from his pocket and tossing them on the nightstand. He’d already anticipated a long night of fabulous lovemaking. And so did she as she peeled down his boxers and grabbed hold of his thick member. The warm penis throbbing in her hand caused her heart to race.
He kissed that throbbing place beneath her left breast and then kissed that breast, then sucked it with an infant’s rush.
His fingers found the moistness underneath her skirt, between her legs, inside her slit. The probing made her tense with ecstasy.
Frankie squeezed the dick inside her palm insatiably. She couldn’t take it anymore. The pleasure was too much to bear. The reward was too great to wait for.
She pushed aside his probing hand and grabbed the condoms off the nightstand. She tore off one packet, tossed the roll aside and tore the packet open. She slid the extra-large condom down his fat boner with the comfortable snug of Cinderella’s slipper, then scooted down on the hostage dick, burying it inside her with a crying sigh. Tears of joy rolled down her face as she rode him with the rhythm of a belly dancer gone ballistic. She hoisted her skirt up around her waist and took him deep. She squatted down on him, sucked him up and squeezed his roll inside her.
But he wouldn’t be contained. He pumped her like a madman. He pumped her with a fury. He danced that dick inside her like a savage sexy beast gone wild. And he made her holler for the steady, merciless joy of his fierce and furious lovemaking.
“Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh!” She huffed and puffed as the juicy fucking sent tingling bolts of intolerable bliss throughout her ravished body.
“Is it good to ya, baby?” He begged the questions in synch with every delicious thrust. “Is it good to ya? Is it good to ya?”
“”Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” she shrieked with the pleasure of his syncopated pounding.
She grunted to the tune of his ferocious stirring. She beat the bed with her fist. She slung hair and tears, gritted teeth and bounced breasts like water balloons.
“Yes! Yes! Yes! Fuck me, baby! Fuck me!”
“Oh I’m fuckin’ you, my darlin’. And it feels sooo good. Does it feel good to you? Huh? Does it feel good to you?”
“It feels better than good, Mister Mister,” she wailed, suddenly grabbing his thrusting ass and slamming him even more impossibly deeper into her. “Oh yeah, that’s it! Yeah, that’s it; yeah, that’s it.”
“Is that it, my queen? Is your slave boy hittin’ yo’ throne?”
“Oh yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” she shrieked, clawing and slapping his rambunctious ass.
“That’s right, baby, mark this dick,” he whispered desperately in her ear without missing a stroke. The smacking and popping of good dick in good pussy and the conjured up juices had him speaking in tongues. “Piss me dick that be yours, mon cheri. Mark it so nobody else claims it.”
And she huffed and she puffed as he pumped with new fervor.
“I love you so much, Frankie,” he cried desperately, straining with the pain of the pleasure.
“I love you too, my darling,” she managed to whine through the thrilling.
“Oh yeah! Oh yeah!” he roared. His bursting inside her was a brush fire. His hot man milk flooded through her like lava, igniting her, setting her aflame and causing her to explode.
“Yes! Yes!” she screamed in the middle of her explosion, bucking with the sensation of a three-alarm climax. “Yes! Yes! Edgar. YES!!”
Chapter Five
The next morning Frankie woke well rested and well laid. A deep yawn, followed by a wide grin of satisfaction decorated her face. She had fallen asleep the previous night in Jazz’s arms, slept like a baby and dreamed like a princess in a fairy tale.
The sun was bright outside her window. The sound of the shower running was music to her ears.
She checked the time on her phone on the table next to her bed. It was half past eight. She knew Jazz had to be back at his hotel by 9:30 for a meeting with the president’s advance team.
Oh how she wanted to spend the day, all day, with Jazz. But she knew he had serious business to take care of, no matter how much serious business in her boudoir she desired from her young hottie.
She heard the shower water stop. Maybe she could get a little quickie in before he had to go, at least give him some head.
She slipped her naked body from underneath the bed covers and slowly floated toward the bathroom door and opened it. The reflection of him drying his beautiful body swelled her nipples.
“Hi,” she muttered sexily, slowly closing the door behind her.
“Hey,” he said, looking up in the mirror, talking to her reflection, drying his dick and balls.
She eased up behind him, hugged him from behind and then turned him around toward her.
“I thought I’d give you a little somethin’ somethin’ before you leave,” she teased, going to her knees.
“Come on, Frankie,” he said, pulling her up. “I gotta get outta here, get back to the hotel, change clothes, you know…”
He tossed the towel in the open hamper and walked out.
Frankie was a bit stunned, but understood. Or did she? She finally pulled herself together and followed him into the bedroom where he had already slipped on his underwear and was zipping up his trousers. Seeing him half-dressed made her suddenly feel conspicuous in her nakedness.
“I just wanted to lay a little spit polish on that knob of yours,” she joked calmly, slipping on a robe. “But if you gotta go, you gotta go, even though it’s always nicer to come.”
“So…who’s Edgar?” he asked as his head emerged from the black t-shirt he slipped on. He was looking at her straight in the eye.
“Huh?” She almost choked.
“Edgar. Who’s Edgar?”
“What do you mean, baby?”
“You called me Edgar last night when we were making love.”
“Noooo,” she sing-songed.
“Yeeeees,” he mimicked her.
“Did I?”
“Yeah. During your climax, you called me Edgar.”
This was not the conversation Frankie had planned on starting the day with. She planned on starting the day like the hot sexdown of the night before.
But this interrogation was more than a bit disconcerting. She couldn’t deny the accusation, of course. She had never mentioned Edgar to Jazz before. The Freudian slip had surely occurred. There was no other way Jazz would’ve been able to make the call.
“Listen, baby, Edgar is an old flame from way back when,” she white-lied. “A guy I used to see whenever I went down to the Dominican Republic. No big thing.”
“Obviously a big enough thing to make you call out his name while I’m fucking you,” he said, jamming his feet into his loafers.
“Come on, Jazz. Obviously you’re not the first man I’ve been with and I’m not the first woman you’ve been with.”
“But you’re the only one I’m with now.”
“And you’re the only one I’m with…for now.”
“What do you mean ‘for now’?”
“I’m not seeing anyone else, Jazz.”
“Are you planning to?”
“No!”
“So when was the last time you were with Edgar?” he asked, not really wanting to know the answer.
“Who knows?” she breezed. “Months before I met you, doll.”
“Don’t call me doll. I’m not a plaything.”
“I know that, baby,” she said to her boy toy.
“So you go down to the Dominican Republic a lot
.”
“Yes. I mean no! Look it’s a very beautiful country. I stay at this lovely little hotel down there in the Colonial Zone. Casa de Mita.”
“Casa de Mita.”
“Yes,” she said, realizing she may have been giving out too much information. “Look, a lot of Americans, men and women, go down there for a lot of reasons.”
“Like what?”
“Lots of reasons. They have some of the most beautiful beaches in the world, the people are very friendly, and…”
“And what?”
“And quite frankly the no-strings-attached sex is off the hook.”
“Really.”
“Yeah, with these guys called bugarrones.”
“Bugarrones?”
“Sex workers.”
“Male prostitutes.”
“It’s perfectly legal down there.”
“I see.”
“This is 2012, Jazz, not 1912. Aren’t you a little young for that kind of judgment?”
“No judgment. I’m just calling it what it is.”
“Well that’s what Edgar is. A bugarrone. Casa de Mita is where he works.
“Casa de Mita.”
“But everybody calls it House of John. It’s kind of like one of the places a lot of black Americans hang out in. It’s where I hang out when I go down there. I mean, Essence did a big story on it last year.”
“So this Casa de Mita, this House of John place is like a bordello.”
“No, Jazz, House of John is not like a bordello,” she said, staring him straight in the eye. “It is a bordello.”
“I see.”
“And Edgar just happens to be one of several bugarrones working there. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“So he must be one helluva bugarrone to have you calling out his name while I’m the one fucking you.”
“Jazz. Baby. I haven’t been down there since I met you. But I lived a lot of life before I met you. And I had a lot of fun living it.”
“I love you, Frankie,” boy toy said softly, a hint of hurt in his voice.
“I love you too, Jazz.” And she truly meant it, in her Frankie sort of way.
“I was hoping that…”
But he couldn’t go on. All he could do was stare in her eyes, lips quivering.
MadameFrankie Page 3
