Frances & Drago

Frances And Drago: The Color Of Love Is Black

The Meeting

He was black; possessed a commanding look like a handsomer young Sidney Poitier; intelligent. He was also the vice president of the corporation. He exuded a magnetic figure in the confine of the room where now he stood totally at ease among his colleagues...and Frances. His powerful ebony body towered over the other men present and his gentle smile charmed the women...and Frances.

She could feel Drago's eyes on her as she walked. She could feel the blood rushing to her face. The minute Drago entered the room, Frances seemed to feel his energy. The room seemed to vibrate as he walked over and leaned down hesitantly to plant a welcome kiss on her cheek. Drago was so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his huge body and smell the scent of his ebony skin. He smelled clean and very healthy with no cosmetic scent to hide the odor of human black skin. Frances looked up at him, expecting to see gentleness, surprised instead, to see desire too. Neither one of them was comfortable with that, yet it seemed too stilted to shake hands. He sort of grabbed her hand as he kissed her. They both laughed and pulled away a little too quickly.

"I'm Drago and you're Frances. Right?"

"Yes."

The conversation and the laughter rose and ebbed in the rhytmic characteristic of cocktail parties everywhere. Frances was conscious of Drago, conscious of being watched. Frances laughed, she smiled, she spoke only a little, never quite closing her mouth entirely. She was being admired and desired by Drago, and she abandoned herself to the sensation. The slow sweet music blared through the loudspeaker. Frances was startled when a hand took her wine glass away.

“I've waited a long time for this. Would you like to dance?"

It was Drago. She followed Drago' lead. He was an accomplished, well-taught dancer. He was attracted to her, and unlike the men Frances had known who made a point of hiding their feelings, he made no attempt to conceal them. Frances, too, was attracted to him, but she was disturbed by the feeling, distrusting its immediacy. Nevertheless, his unconcealed admiration made her very pleasantly aware of herself and the moment. She enjoyed the feeling of her clothing against her body, the scent of her own perfume, Poison, with the increase in the warmth of her body at the emotions she felt, suddenly more noticeable. They danced in silence, Drago at ease with his feelings, Frances uncomfortable with hers, yet unwilling to relinquish them.

The party finished early. Drago escorted her to her room. They said goodnight awkwardly. They were both conscious of a holding back, of a growing tension and uncertainty between them that were far more electric, far more compelling than a giving in to the enormous sexual excitement both felt.

Alone in his room, he undressed and, naked stood in front of his bed. Drago wished she was with him, but he had been afraid to ask too soon. He almost forgot that she was a married woman. He was afraid to be rejected. He did not want her to think he was lonely. Instinctively, his hand wrapped around his fully erect cock and started to rubbed it violently as he kept saying Frances' name. "Frances!" he shouted as great gobs of cum kept spurting almost endlessly out of his ebony cock. He felt limp because he never did come like this before. Until Frances.

In her room, Frances' mind was on Drago. He intrigued her. She found Drago' obvious attraction to her. She was immediately drawn to him when they met. There was something challenging. She had thought she would never arouse a man, and a black man at that, like Drago; a man like that would never be interested in someone like her, a married woman. And, for sex alone? Surely, there were a lot of attractive women. Yet, he obviously was in some way. Maybe he was just playing up to her because of the business plan, but she did not think so.

For the rest of the days, Drago became their personal escort which was most unusual. He seldom did it and only when their visitor were special. But Frances was special to him.

Frances found herself waking up daily in her room to the sight of red roses from Drago. There were those casual touches, the constant attention, the small gifts. All from Drago.

Friday:

They took her boss Albert to the airport, leaving Frances with a week more to spend in Ottawa.

"I guess you will now have a personalized tourist guide."

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

"Will you have dinner with me? "Anywhere you like." Drago asked knowing she had the power to hurt him by refusing. It was risky, dangerous, thrilling. He waited for her answer.

"Anywhere?" Frances asked.

"Yes. Whatever your pleasure."

"Yes."

The Friday Evening:

"I'm absolutely in awe of you."

"Drago, I can't..."

"I'll be insulted, Frances. For friendship sake."

"It's beautiful," Frances said. Drago stood up and went behind her.

"May I?" as he fastened them around her neck. The emerald necklace was the first gift Jacques had ever chosen for her, and she interpreted them as a sign that she was special to him. Still standing behind Frances and his hands holding her neck, he whispered:

“I’ll be more than happy if you will wear it always. . . . like a wedding ring.”

“I promise I’ll wear it always,” Frances said jokingly.

“Really. I really mean it.” Frances was suddenly quiet. Frances sipped her wine. She could smell his smell again, even thought they were not that close. It was not bad. Frances did not even know what he smelled like. They made small talk. He told her all about the good old days. She was thinking how handsome Drago was when he looked up over his glass and caught her eye. There was a twinkle in his eye when he looked at her, but when they caught each other's glance they both became serious.

"Frances."

"Yes? What is it Drago?"

"I have something to tell you...something you should know." Drago looked directly at Frances' eyes. Frances suddenly became conscious of his gaze.

"About the business?" Frances asked timidly.

"No." Frances became silent for a while.

"What is it then, Drago?"

"Frances... you should know that...I love you." Drago got hold of Frances' hand and held it tenderly. Frances was stunned, not knowing what to do, just feeling the soft touch of Drago.

"Ever since I met you, I've never been the same...in my heart, mind and body.

"Drago..."

"No, Frances let me express what I feel. You don't have to do anything. You don't have to say what you feel...nor am I asking you to have an affair with me, much as I would like that to happen. I want you to know...to remember always that there is another man who loves you very much." Drago held her hand tightly as he continued to talk, "I just keep on feeling this love for you. You know men will always be taken in by your feminity, what appears to be your pliable nature, your soft seductiveness. But you are never totally able to surrender. It's like the fog. No man can ever conquer the fog. You will always elude him. That must be party because you want it that way. You feel more secure when you are never totally possessed." And with that, Drago released her hand.

Frances looked at him. Neither one of them smiled. Drago had a questioning look in his eyes. Frances could not look at him this time. For some reason, she wanted to cry. They kept looking at each other. She was unable to break the gaze. Instead, she heaved a large sigh, then whispered:

"Drago, it's getting late. I have to go." They were outside the door to her room.

"Drago, thank you for the wonderful dinner." As she turned towards the door, Drago held her elbow and: "Frances." And as Frances turned to him, Drago embraced her and kissed her gently. Frances was unable to resist. She stood stiffly in his arms uncertain what to do. She was shocked by his touch, shocked by the intimacy of his body so close to hers. Her initial impression was of warmth enfolding her. She was aware of the texture of his clothing, of his scent. His hands were strong, yet gentle. Drago took his mouth just far enough away from Frances' lips to be able to speak. "May I come in?" he asked, indicating the door. Then reason reasserted itself.

"No. And please release me," she said suddenly and without thinking. Frances pulled away from his embrace and went into her room, shutting the door behind her, leaving him hurt and confused. Frances did not understand why, but she burst into tears. Finally, when they had died, she wondered why she had said no when she meant yes.

Within the privacy of her own room, she covered her breast and her pussy with her hands. His kiss, his touch has stirred her almost unbearably. If reason did not prevail, she doubted that she could have controlled herself while they were in the elevator and the corridor. She was married, yet she found herself craving for another man, a black man. Blanked fires of desire had burst into bright flame within her, yet the realization that her passion was overcoming her reason frightened her.

"Oh God, don't make me sin," she whispered. Wearily, she undressed herself and went to bed. The room was warm from the heater. Throwing back the blankets, she covered her naked body with the sheet and stared upward.

"Drago," she whispered through lips that barely moved. How she longed for his ebony body, thinking how his ebony cock would look like; how it would feel thrusting in and out of her and nestling deep down inside her. In the grip of a powerful fantasy, she pressed her hands to her breasts. Swollen and aching, they begged for relief that she could not give them. Only a lover's lips could do that. She would not want him to be gentle either, she acknowledged. Her body hungered for savagery that would drive away the longing and allow her to revel in her womanhood.

Moaning Drago's name softly, she squeezed her breast as her other hand traced the warm V at the top of her thighs. “Dear God? Do I have to sin to cool this desperate fire in me?” she thought.

A dream woke her. This time it was only three in the morning. It had scared her. In her dream, she and Drago were lying in bed with a glass dome watching the fireworks. They were naked and Frances could feel his hard ebony body pressed up closely against hers with his cock so deep inside her as they watched the sparkles and flames and plumes shoot through the air. Her limbs felt hot; her body was trembling. He reached over and lightly brushed her abdomen, up upon her breasts. The desire was overwhelming. Drago leaned over to kiss her, his lips forcing her mouth open, his tongue finding its way between her teeth. "I can't," she said. "Please, no, stop. I can't do this to my husband. I can't do it to him." When she woke up she was trembling. And she found her hand between her legs, still sticky. Frances moved her hand up and down, caressing herself until she found herself breathing faster. Her body trembled, calling Drago's name softly, and she quickly drew her hand away and closed her legs, satisfied. Immediately she drifted off into a deep sleep.

Saturday Morning

There was a silence between them. To fill it, Drago ordered coffee for them both. Then: "I'm sorry about last night."

Frances blushed. "I hope you'll forgive me... It's just that I can't help how I feel for you. Anyway, I'm glad we're - I'm glad to see you again Frances. I was afraid you might not want to see me any more."

"Why?" Her eyes widened, but they knew what he meant.

"I though you were angry with me...with what I said."

"No. It's just that I am a married woman. Maybe...if we met long before," Frances said as she shook her head slowly. Drago realized at once Frances' feelings for him. "Then...you feel something for me too?" Frances was silent for a while.

"I'm afraid of you."

"Why?" Very gently. Gentleness, in a man who could have, truly, whatever he wanted, was a gift beyond price.

"Not you, really," she corrected herself. "I'm afraid of the way I will feel about you. I'm afraid I'll lose control of myself."

"I won't let you be afraid," Drago said, and she knew he had the power to stay her fear. That power was what she feared. It was also what she wanted.

"Frances, you will be staying for quite some time here, but if there's any way I can be of help, here's my number."

"Thank you, Drago."

"Maybe you'd like to go out to dinner, at the opera, or anything that pleases you..." "You're wondering if I'm angry you with you as not to go out with you. Quite the contrary," Frances replied with a teasing look in her eyes and in her smile.

"That makes me feel very good. Let's make a date right now!" Drago said with a wave of relief.

"I'm in favor. Got any suggestions?" Frances asked while laughing.

"You name it, we'll do it."

"How would you like to take me in the country when you're free for a few hours?"

"How about tomorrow?"

And tomorrow it is. Drago picked her up at her hotel. And as he drove, they talked.

"Oh, Drago, it's such fun being with someone unstuffy."

"Isn't your husband unstuffy?"

"Only about half the time."

"We're going to be friends Drago," Frances said after talking about various things.

"We're already friends. We always will be."

Veering off into quieter country road, Drago dropped one hand to the hands folded on her lap and felt her fingers close around it tenderly, aware and warm and confident. It was the sign of declaration, the gift of knowing what he now knew, and telling him so. Frances smiled, her face calm and composed again. Suddenly, the lake came into view. He stopped the car by the road and they walked in silence, drinking the beauty of the scene like wine.

They set off through the pine woods toward the lake. It was silent under the trees. They followed the winding, narrow path until they came to the water's edge. Drago turned to Frances. As naturally as instinct, Drago took her in his arms and kissed her, feeling her body yield to him and her shoulders tremble a little under his big hands. Then just as suddenly, they drew apart and, with unspoken assent, resumed their walk along the lake's edge. Neither of them spoke. There seemed no need to discuss it. For Drago knew now, and he knew Frances knew also with a wisdom surer than his own, that the moment was inevitable; in that instant they had surrendered simultaneously to the living beauty around them and become part of it. Would it go on from there, beyond this woodland beauty, beyond the response to overwhelming nature? Would it become Frances and Drago without the need for spell, enchantment, drug? Had her kiss committed her? It was the unanswered question, even as now, like sister and brother, they held hands with a single impulse and moved along the path together.

"I love you Frances! And I want. . ."

"Drago, please don't. You're doing it again." In the long silence, her words seemed to echo in the frozen air. Drago stopped again, still holding her hand, and they stood face to face.

"Do you want me, Frances? Do you want me to be your lover? Do you want me to make love to you? Do you want me to be so deep inside you. . .to cum into you, Frances?"

"Drago. . .Yes, I think I do. . .I think I will. . ..but not yet. I would have to love you, Drago. I've never love anyone but my husband and. . .I just can't. . .become a new woman overnight. But, maybe I can learn. Maybe you can help me learn, teach me. . ..I don't think it would have been possible if I. . .if we haven't met. But now. . . ." Frances said in a low and troubled voice while their eyes held. She looked tremulously up at him and he put his arms around her close; so close Drago knew Frances could feel his erection throbbing against her body.

"Drago, I need a little time, please," she whispered, and they walked on together.

For the most part, her warmly sensual nature lay submerged within her, but sometimes during those few remaining Canadian nights, she touched her body with dry, hot palms and often thought of Drago. Drago! She looked around her at the dim hotel room praying Drago was with her. Rising unsteadily, Frances stretched in an effort to ease her muscles. Her breasts lifted, making her conscious that the slight coarseness of her nightgown aroused her tender nipples. With a shiver, she plucked at the nightgown. Then drawing in her breath, she clasped her breasts in both her hands squeezing in an effort to ease the torment of unsated desire.

Drago! She ached for him. Painfully conscious of her body's throbbing, she stood alone in the room while her blood heated and her mind conjured up pictures of his hard-muscled ebony body, his gentle hands, especially his long, immense, hard cock so close to her body. She felt torn apart by the tidal storm of sexual desire that thundered through her veins. Dear Lord! How she wanted him. . .in her mouth. . .deep inside her pussy. . .in any part of her body! Her very soul craved his touch. Frances moaned softly at the image of Drago's mouth working its magic on her nipples and her navel, and the strength and power of his massive ebony cock so deep inside her pussy. “Dear God! Drago!” she moaned and began to tremble as she felt her inside thighs become wet. Angrily, she tore her hands away from her aching breasts and covered her face. My husband! Please God, let him fill my mind.

* * *

So it began - days before she finally left for San Diego when he gave every spare hour to being with Frances. He lavished attention on her for the remaining days of her stay. Always there was the daily phone call to Frances, calling her constantly when he was not with her, anxious about her comfort, solicitous about her preferences. Whenever she went somewhere without him, he insisted she call him to let him know she had arrived safely; he telephoned her first thing when she woke and last thing before he fell asleep. Frances told him that not even her husband kept as faithfully in touch as he did.

And meanwhile, Drago was giving Frances a life in Canada she had ever known with her husband. They went to restaurants, attended the winter season of opera and concerts, drove to the country on fine days, and always with the feeling between them that it might be the last time, and this very special relationship would end. He made her feel loved, and as Drago wished for so long, Frances finally fell in love with him.

For it was special - not since the day at the lake had he touched her but for the friendly kiss-on-cheeek of greeeting or parting. And Drago saw in Frances' eyes the gratefulness that was gradually turning from affection to need, closer and closer to the verge of sexual surrender. They talked freely of everything but the act itself, and guardedly of her husband.

The Last Night

Frances found herself spending more time in the bathroom since Drago dropped her off at the lobby three hours ago. It was her last night and she was having a dinner with Drago at the classiest dining place. In the bath tub, Frances soaped, washed her body slowly and languidly. Afterwards, she slowly rubbed lotion all over body, taking a little time longer when she came to her neck, breasts, and most of all her buttocks and pussy. Naked, in front of the mirror, she dab an extra amount of Poison, most of all on her neck, breasts and pussy. Still naked, she first put on the sapphire necklace Drago gave her...then her make-up...next her stockings...her black bra and lastly, a black lace thong she had forgotten the time she last worn it. She was still in front of the mirror, ready, when the doorbell ring. With a final look at herself in the mirror, Frances knew she was ready. But, not quite. With finality, she took off her wedding band and left on the sidetable.

Drago had noticed a difference in Frances as soon as he saw her. What the difference eluded him, tantalized him. She seemed for the first time, since they met, vulnerable, touchable. Until he noticed the sapphire necklace clinging around Frances' neck and the wedding band was missing from her finger. As soon as he realized what the difference in her was, he put it from his conscious mind. With finality, he now knew that the moment was now. But the desire was something else. It was something he could no more control than he could control for his heart to beat. The realization, the sight and smell of her, immediately gave him an uncontrollable enormous erection.