MadameFrankie (3 page)

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 whole 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.

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
?”

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 around 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!!”