MadameFrankie Read online

  He then bit her on the neck, making her wince. The sensation sent a strange sting down her spine. It hurt and made her nipples hard.

  Her hardened nipples didn’t go unnoticed by Danté. As if irritated by her breasts’ childish beg for attention, he tore open her blouse and ripped off her bra. His face showed his appreciation of the black nipples rudely protruding from her luscious breasts. He sucked on them wrathfully, licked them with a darting vengeance, all the while squeezing and massaging every inch of her massive tits, her soft belly rolls and love handles.

  Trudy was dazed and confused in some netherworld of pleasure. It felt too good to be good.

  Out of nowhere, she tore off his shirt and shoved him toward the bed. He grabbed her hands, breaking his fall and stumbled backward until he fell ass-first on the bed.

  She hovered over him like an Amazonian dominatrix. Her breasts stared down at him.

  “Mis lindas bebes,” he purred, looking up at them and her with amazement showing on his face.

  She unzipped her skirt and wrestled it down and tossed it off, never taking her eyes off him. He unbuckled and unzipped his pants and kicked them off, never taking his eyes off her.

  He tore off her panties and fingered her wildly. Her whimpering proved his fingers knew their way around a pussy. She caught sight of herself in the mirror on the wall and didn’t recognize herself, which was quite all right.

  Then suddenly, he was eating her pussy, slobbering as if famished. She was squealing, quivering, jumping up and down on his rambunctious tongue.

  And then he was kissing her again on the mouth. And as he pulled her down on him, he fidgeted blindly with his underwear.

  Suddenly she felt it. Huge, hot, thick and hard. His dick slip-sliding along the crack of her ass gave her a new high. She reached back and caressed what felt like a monster cock, fondled it and teased it like a good cowgirl. Her big behind danced against that dick with an intensity that had Danté grunting and oozing with pre-cum.

  She was ready. He was ready. They both knew it. She reached over past Danté, her breasts dangling in his face, him taking a mouthful, and grabbed the packet off the nightstand. She hadn’t used condoms since she and Michael were hot and horny high school seniors.

  She tore it open with her teeth, squeezed the condom out, reached back and slipped it on Danté’s hot, rock-hard throbber. Some things are like riding a bike.

  He then flipped her over onto the bed, on her back. He took the pillows and stuffed them underneath her. Her asshole and pussy were smiling up at him. He was smiling back.

  He spread-eagled her fat legs and slid inside her. She moaned. He moaned. And he slow-danced inside her with deep circular in-and-out motions, hitting every part of her sugar walls.

  “Yes! Yes! Fuck this whore! Fuck this bitch! Fuck this pussy!” Who was this screaming? the out-of-body part of Trudy wondered.

  And he did. He fucked her good, hard, steady and long.

  And without losing his stride, he picked up all two hundred and twenty pounds of her, his dick still busy inside her, her legs now wrapped around his waist and carried her across the room. He fucked her hard and deep with every step. He continued to fuck her as he sat her on the low chest of drawers against the wall.

  He spread her legs even wider and fucked her even deeper. She grunted gleefully with the fabulous battery. His dick was in and out of her, thrilling her to the point of screaming. Her toes twisted and she flung hair from side to side as his steady ramming banged her head against the wall. And she wailed gleefully with every slamming, taking real live dick for the first time in nearly two years.

  Frankie and Edgar, making love in the room next door, were initially thrown off their rhythm by the bombastic pounding against the wall, but not for long. The heat next door made them even hotter. Soon both rooms were filled with the thrill of mad and wonderful sex. And both couples came at the same time.

  Frankie and Edgar giggled in each other’s arms.

  “When you tell me your friend is a big girl,” Edgar whispered in Frankie’s ear, “I knew Danté would be good for her.”

  “And them fucking next door wasn’t bad for us either.”

  “True,” Edgar purred, kissing Frankie’s lips as he spoke. “But we need nothing but ourselves to make glorious love.”

  * * * * *

  And so glorious love filled the lives of all three ladies on vacation in paradise.

  The pain of life was not forgotten during those few vacation days, but they were able to put a bit of the pain on hold.

  The loss of Michael would forever be a part of Trudy’s existence. But her deep friendship with her best girlfriends and the human touch of a man again eased much.

  Yvette’s acting career was as unremarkable as her romantic life. There were moments when she felt a tinge of jealousy toward Trudy and Frankie. Although they weren’t stars, they were recognizable faces with respectable résumés and a modicum of celebrity. They may have only been B-listers, but Yvette was well aware that she, at best, was on the D-list.

  She was also on the D-list romantically. Frankie and Trudy knew true love, real love, marriages and relationships. They knew what it was like to have loving soul mates. Yvette’s life was dotted with the occasional one-night stand, a booty-call here and there and during her younger days, a ride on the casting couch in return for career promises that never panned out.

  She had made herself believe her romantic life was just as she wanted it, well, except for the broken casting couch promises. She made herself believe she enjoyed being free of romantic entanglements, free from emotional commitments, free from the aches and pains of the lovelorn. But deep down inside she believed that maybe, she was too free.

  House of John was her saving grace. Here, handsome men did more than have sex with her. They made love to her. They made her feel like a star. They made her feel she was as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside. And that feeling was worth whatever she paid them.

  Frankie was truly happy she was able to introduce her best friends to an escape into romance, fantasy and just a sexy good time. She was happy for all the people who patronized House of John. And she was happy for the handsome young men who provided much needed comfort to them. Love is a wonderful and precious thing. So why not pay and get paid for it?

  That week at House of John gave Frankie pause. Yes, she spent most nights with Edgar. But some nights she indulged the talents of other handsome young hunks. Thanks to the variety of Latin lovers, the comfort of Edgar, the fantasies about the president and the memories of Jazz, Frankie’s imagination and satisfaction were filled.

  Some nights, either before or after her sexual tryst, she’d lounge in the lobby. While sipping on a Cuba Libre and soaking in Fidel’s beautiful singing and piano playing, she’d gaze at all the happy faces. The sight of the joy they were about to give or receive, gave her joy.

  How long had she been coming down to House of John? She’d lost track of time. She did remember when she first started, it was primarily a gay establishment. Local men, in spite of their sexual nature, pleasured tourist men for a price. Gay for pay it was called. It was a win-win situation for all involved. Visitors received beautiful sex from handsome pre-screened, handpicked men in a romantic setting and a safe environment. And the sex workers—the bugarrones—were provided a nice wage in exchange for sharing their natural gifts.

  Frankie was one of the first women to enjoy the treasures of House of John. But it wasn’t long before other women came to know the pleasures too. After all, Frankie, being of generous heart, had shared the secret of House of John with many of her Hollywood girlfriends.

  A small feature story in Essence magazine about the erotic phenomenon of House of John gave the establishment even greater awareness. And year after year, more and more women ventured down to get their groove on.

  Frankie thought about it all. She thought about how wonderful it had been. The thought of all of it ending made her just a little sad.

&nbs
p; * * * * *

  Two days before it was time to return to the States, Frankie, Yvette and Trudy packed a picnic, hired a car and drove forty minutes east to Juan Dolio Beach. They were three happy and sexually fulfilled ladies. The picturesque drive was filled with their scintillating tales from the nights before. That afternoon trip to the beautiful white sands and turquoise waters of one of the DR’s most beautiful beaches was as heavenly as their nights of romance.

  They found a secluded spot and set up camp near the gently swooshing water. The bright tropical sun was perfect, as all three vowed not to return to the States without being at least two shades darker.

  They drank chilled white wine, ate arepa with chicken and avocado, three-bean salad and cornmeal cake. They played in the warm and gentle Caribbean like schoolgirls on spring break. When they exhausted themselves, they lathered each other up with sunscreen, put on their sunglasses and lay half-naked under the smiling sun.

  “This is the life,” Yvette sighed, staring up at the sky that was as blue as the sea.

  “Yes it is,” Frankie agreed.

  “Thank you guys for this,” Trudy said softly.

  “I think Michael would be very happy for you, Trudy.”

  “You know something, Frankie? I think you’re right.”

  “Well I know your pussy’s happy,” Yvette snickered.

  “Girl,” Trudy snickered back. The hot ravishing she got from Danté and a few other choice visitors to her room gave her a mental wet dream.

  “God, I can’t believe we’ll be leaving in two days.”

  “Where did the time go?” Trudy fussed.

  “Who knows?”

  “I’m sure the hell gonna miss this,” Trudy continued. “But I’m not going to miss it for long. We gotta do this again, ladies. And we gotta do it soon.”

  “Definitely.”

  “We’re gonna have to make it more sooner than later,” Frankie said somberly.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “There may not be a House of John in the future.”

  “What?”

  “Cedric’s retiring.”

  “What?”

  “No!”

  That night, Frankie thought long and hard about what she needed to do. Edgar was coming over later and she wanted to make her decision before he arrived. She didn’t want any conflicting thoughts to get in the way of the beautiful lovemaking she and Edgar always shared.

  She saw Marcos in the lobby and asked about Cedric’s whereabouts. Cedric was out on the patio enjoying the warm night air, the music pouring out from the parlor and a chilled Cuba Libre.

  Frankie stepped out onto the patio. Upon seeing her, Cedric smiled, stood and kissed her on the cheek.

  “My dear Frankie,” he said, pulling out the chair for her. “How lovely you look tonight.”

  “Thank you,” she said, sitting. “Cedric?”

  “Yes, my cheri?”

  “I’d like to talk to you about something.”

  “What, my dear?”

  “I want to buy House of John.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Barack Obama won his second presidential bid. It was one of the few things that gave Jazz true joy and happiness. He was proud of the ten months he’d spent in the service of a man he so believed in.

  But he was also glad to be back home in the Big Easy, back in school and back at the piano at Chez Lucienne.

  The news of his return had spread throughout New Orleans. The room stayed packed and the tip jar overflowed whenever he played.

  Everybody was so proud of their hometown boy and his effort on the part of the president. His homecoming was an event and he was treated like a conquering hero.

  But he was missing something.

  He knew exactly what he missed, who he missed. Although he knew giving her space and time was good for the both of them, he missed Frankie terribly.

  At every turn there were reminders of her. Catching reruns of The New Adventures of The Flying Nun. The sight of the president reminding him of Frankie’s bawdy little crush. Ella Caldwell declaring at the post-election staff party she was heading down to the Dominican Republic for a month of chill.

  The Dominican Republic. One of Frankie’s getaways. Casa de Mita.

  Edgar.

  Jazz remembered it all. He wondered if she was there now? Was Edgar making love to her down there? The thought bothered him.

  But he had to be fair-minded, if not totally open-minded. After all, he hadn’t been celibate during their separation. When he returned home, he ran into his ex. The sex was wonderful and reminded him of that other part of him.

  Still, as good as it was, their hookup was more for old time’s sake than re-kindling the fire they once had. They both understood that. And after a week of familiar sex, they parted ways as friends.

  That deep love that nearly shattered Jazz when he and his ex broke up was no longer there. There was only one person Jazz deeply loved now. And it was time for him to do something about it.

  * * * * *

  The Christmas season was always a popular time for many Americans to escape to the sunny tropical Dominican Republic. This would be Frankie’s first Christmas as the new owner of Casa de Mita and she was very excited.

  Although she traveled often between her condo in LA and her Dominican hotel, she hadn’t been back in the States in two months. And then, she was only back for Trudy’s wedding.

  Not only was she proud and honored to share maid of honor duties with Yvette, she was happy Trudy had found true love again.

  And what a wonderful new husband Trudy had. Fidel, Casa de Mita’s former piano player, was a sweet and sensitive man who had fallen in love with Trudy the first time he saw her in the parlor. Although Fidel silently ached each time he saw her take a man up to her room, he overcame his shyness. On the night before she was about to return to the States, he approached her.

  He was so sincere in his outpouring of affection that Trudy was completely swept off her feet. She delayed her trip back to the States and spent an additional week, not at Casa de Mita, but at Fidel’s apartment in the downtown area of Santo Domingo. It only took that week for the two of them to fall completely in love.

  Now that they were married, Frankie was truly happy for them and totally understood why they wouldn’t be able to make it down for Christmas. Fidel had just started a new job playing and singing at a restaurant in Century City. He was also still adjusting to his new life in America and enjoying quality time in his new marriage.

  And besides, House of John was not the most ideal vacation spot for a newlywed couple.

  For Frankie, there was so much to be done in anticipation of the huge winter crowd expected. The last two weeks of December through New Year’s was booked solid.

  Edgar had been so helpful, business-wise and emotionally. Not only did he remain a good and steady no-strings-attached romantic partner, he proved to be an adept supervisor of staff. He also had a keen eye for screening and inviting new bugarrones, or what Frankie had come to call “gentlemen callers” into the family.

  Yvette, eager to, in her words, “test ride the new models” had already booked her room and bought her plane ticket. A ten-day shoot as Blair Underwood’s administrative assistant in a new HBO movie more than paid for the trip with plenty to spare. Frankie was so happy Yvette would be coming down.

  But nothing could have pleased and shocked Frankie more than the phone call she received a week before Christmas.

  “Hello stranger,” he said in his unforgettable baritone.

  “Jazz?” Frankie whispered with awe and remembrance.

  “How are you?”

  “Fine. How about yourself?”

  “I’m hanging in there. It’s been a long time.”

  “Yes it has.”

  “Too long.”

  “Yes…it has.”

  “So how are you?”

  “Doing well.”

  “You’re still as beautiful as ever. Love the new pix on Facebook.
”

  “Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself. Love your new profile picture with you and the president.”

  “Thanks… I’d love to see you, Frankie.”

  “I’d love to see you too.”

  “How about tonight?”

  “Tonight? Jazz, I’m in Santo Domingo.”

  “So am I.”

  “You are?”

  “I’m on Christmas break from school, so I decided to come down and see you.”

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “Facebook.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “And congratulations, Madame Hotelier.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I tried to book your place for my stay, but you’re completely booked up.”

  “’Tis the season.”

  “But I’d love to see it.”

  “I’d love to show it to you,” Frankie said. “I’d love to tell you all about it and all about me.”

  “All right,” Jazz said, sensing intrigue. “So, you gave up on your acting?”

  “No, not really. I just put it on the back burner for now.”

  “Sort of like what you did to me.”

  “You’re the one who sent the ‘Dear John’ voicemail.”

  “I just wanted to give you some space, Frankie. That’s all.”

  “I understand.”

  “So may I see you tonight?”

  “I’d like that,” Frankie said. “Why don’t you drop by around eight, let me give you the grand tour and we’ll go from there.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Casa de Mita.”

  “I know.”

  “In the Colonial Zone.”

  “I’ll find it.”

  They both hung up their phones with equal anticipation, longing and trepidation. Did the specialness of what they had still exist? They both believed it did, but weren’t completely sure. So much had changed in both their lives.

  “A friend from the States is coming to visit me tonight,” Frankie told Edgar when he and Marcos returned from the airport with a van full of guests.

  “Bueno, mi amor,” he said, pecking her on the cheek.