Fran Gerard and the Singer

Fran Gerard and the Singer

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Fran Gerard was from Staten Island, New York but became a California girl and she was Playboy magazine's Playmate of the Month, March 1967. Buxom, beautiful, vivacious, she proved that men DO make passes at girls who wear glasses and she was luscious enough to give eyesight to the blind.


Fran Gerard was from Staten Island, New York but became a California girl and she was Playboy magazine's Playmate of the Month, March 1967. Buxom, beautiful, vivacious, she proved that men DO make passes at girls who wear glasses and she was luscious enough to give eyesight to the blind.

Chapter1 (v.1) - Fran Gerard

Author Chapter Note

Fran Gerard was from Staten Island, New York but became a California girl and she was Playboy magazine's Playmate of the Month, March 1967. Buxom, beautiful, vivacious, she proved that men DO make passes at girls who wear glasses and she was luscious enough to give eyesight to the blind.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: May 28, 2013

Reads: 1859

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: May 28, 2013



Like so many innocent girls before her Fran Gerard was shocked and excited to be selected a Playmate. Like others before her, after the initial elation she suddenly realized that she would be naked, not only in the pages of the magazine where thousands of anonymous eyes would ogle her, but also in the Hollywood photography studio where dozens of men and women would watch her take her clothes off. Like so many playmates before her the buxom beauty gulped and felt a cloud of trepidation grip her as the day of the shoot came upon her.

Of course, as many the lovely playmates coming before her did, Fran found stripping her clothes off to be the easy part. She felt a certain pride when she unclipped her bra and her rich bounty of creamy flesh tumbled into view. She couldn’t help smiling at the awed silence as all the men contemplated the phenomenal feast of soft flesh she was offering the camera; she smiled as they resisted the urge to applaud while they lost control of their Adam’s apples, gulping in amazement at the spectacle of the young girl’s curvaceous body. Yes, from that moment the crew was putty in her hands. 

The hard part of the shoot, what nobody warned her about, was the bustle of activity under hot lights, the attention to make-up and hair, the insistence that she hold impossible poses while the photographer studied her through his lens.

The process required her to pose in a variety of outfits and setting; each day bring longer and longer hours of fittings and make-up and coiffing. She would lie under the hot lights as the photographer moved around her; the lens seemed to stretch out to caress her creamy skin. She would have felt sexy except every few minutes the make-up girl would jump up to dab the sweat off the playmate’s brow. Each night the Hefner would study the pictures, looking for the right outfit and setting for the centerfold shot. Finally he made his selection and Fran faced the hardest day yet.

For shooting a Playboy centerfold a special 8x10 camera is used, the kind with the plates of film that slid in the back of the large heavy black box. The lens looks like a small cannon as the photographer disappears under a black cloth to arrange the shot. For its centerfold the magazine demands the finest grain and detail so the brightest and hottest lights are used and the lovely girl is expected to stay perfectly still for the long exposure required.

For Fran’s centerfold shoot things were not going so well. The outfit was fine; she wore a pink baby doll; completely see-through, the gossamer weave floated over her creamy skin with the glow of romantic sex and floated over her lush skin like a soft mist adding delicate highlights to her sensational curves. Her breasts, a full thirty-nine inch bust, stood out proud and magnificent as they thrust against the soft cloth. 

Fran’s had one shapely leg raised and the angle of the camera revealed bold rise of her bountiful breasts; her round juicy ass was on display too with the hem of the lingerie just barely covering the flowing curve of her bottom and her thighs. One delicate hand fluttered softly on her hip. The composition of the shot was flawless, from the bodacious thrust of her breasts to the dainty pink ribbons in her hair matching the misty pink of the baby doll.

She was a dream-- a promise of endless carnal delight, beautiful and sensual in every way. The centerfold would be perfect—except for the angry pout on her face.

The shoot was not going well  because the playmate and the photographer were locked in a bitter argument. He insisted, explaining that the publisher demanded, that she wear her thick black schoolmarmish glasses. Fran hated her glasses but she would nearly blind without them. She couldn’t understand why Playboy shot her wearing them in so many of the pictures for her spread and she was determined that the centerfold would be different.

She stood under the hot lights holding the pose while the photographer tried to coax a smile but all Fran could feel was the weight of the frames on her face as they slipped down her sweaty nose. 

The entire crew for the shoot looked miserable, even with the lusciously almost nude Fran trying to pose sexily for them; a cloud of disaster hung over the room but like many dark clouds it was chased away by a thunder clap: somewhere at the far end of the room a door slammed and everyone looked up to see the surprise visitor. Fran held her defiant pout but glanced over at the excited noise of the crew the visitor strutted in like royalty. The delicious girl’s spine stiffened with pride when she heard the man’s appreciative gasp as he took in the sight of her voluptuous body but she still refused to smile. She couldn’t see him through the bright flood lights of course but she could sense him approaching. Suddenly he stepped in front of the camera and the hot glare of the lights revealed her favorite singer, Frank Sinatra, standing in front of her. Her smile, both enchanted and enchanting, rivaled the brilliance of the flood lights. The camera snapped and the photographer staggered back exhausted but relieved that he got the shot he wanted.

Fran continued to smile invitingly as the singer moved towards her, his blue eyes gleaming with delight. He circled around her, appraising her loveliness and grinning appreciatively. 

“Aren’t you something?” he said and the playmate shuddered with pleasure.

He stood in front of her, shaking his head in disbelief at the pageant of creamy flesh in her rising breasts. Fran struggled to hold her pose under his gaze. “Umm, ummm, ummm.” He smacked his lips in approval.

The singer stepped behind her and the pretty playmate shuddered again as he ran his hand along her spine; the thin fabric was as warm and moist as her skin. She squirmed slightly as he stepped closer and pressed himself into her plump ass; she giggled as he ran one hand under her thigh, caressing the smooth skin, and he wrapped another around her waist to pull her into him. Now in complete shock, submitting herself like a bird to a cobra she leaned back and twisted her face around and allowed him to kiss her. 

His tongue assaulted her mouth as his fingers assaulted her breasts, squeezing them under the light pink fabric, disappearing into the deep cream of her flesh. Her bodacious body writhed against him for awhile; her resistance spinning and twisting away on his tongue. When he finally released her the girl was fully aroused and ready to submit to anything he wanted to do to her.  Her cheeks glowed bright and her breasted floated up, lifted by hard firm eager nipples.

“My, my,” the singer gloated as he released her body, “They told me you were something special and they were right.” Fran beamed up at him, her thick eye lashes fluttering. “I came over to invite you to a recording session. The magazine boys thought you’d like that.” She nodded eagerly as if he had just asked her to suck on his cock. 

The singer looked back at the photographer. “She’ll be ready in a couple of hours?”

“Sooner than that, Frank.”

He stepped away, saluting the girl jauntily as a crowd of make-up artists and wardrobe girls surrounded her to fix up her frazzled outfit and hair. Fran watched him leave but the radiance of her smile never diminished. The session went on and each shot was perfect but of course the one they used was that first one; nothing could match the enticing look of that girl at that moment.

A few hours later a large stretch limo was parked in the lot outside Hollywood’s fabled United Western Recorders Studio A. The singer had spent the day inside trying to record a new song with a new sound for him.  Up to now he had held on to the jazz and big band sound that had served him for twenty years; he was a master.  But music had changed and he’d been convinced to try a new R&B arrangement. He was not happy. His visit to Fran had been a distraction, a chance to cool off and let the band work without him for awhile.

When he came back he tried the vocals a few times and still was not happy. After an hour of this a messenger came in and told him that Fran was in the limo outside. He stepped away from his music stand with a grin. “Guys, you do what you want; I’m going to get laid.”

His grin widened when he opened the limo door and saw Fran sitting there her, her shapely legs curled under her on the seat; she looked like a rich and creamy dessert, her eyes sparkling sprinkles of lust. Somebody had tossed a fur blanket over the leather seat and she reclined against it like she was floating on a cloud.  She wore a simple white blouse and a short tight black skirt. The skirt hiked up high on her hips and the soft white cotton could barely contain her swelling breasts.

He tugged off his silk suit jacket and carefully stowed his elegant fedora as he climbed into the vehicle.

“Hi,” Fran breathed sexily.

“Hi, right back at you,” he said happily. Fran’s body slid down along the back of the seat and he stretched along side of the eager girl; already his nibble fingers began to work on the buttons of her blouse. “Let’s get you nice and comfortable, alright sweetheart?”

“Ok.” Fran’s voice was meek and tentative. Her chocolate brown eyes widened as she watched her cleavage appear under his busy hands. The soft fabric rustled in warning as he tugged the blouse open. “Um, aren’t we going into your studio so you can…” His tongue filled her mouth as his hands struggled to embrace the bounty of her now naked breasts; his thumbs worked against her nipples sending electric thrills up and down her spine. 

They continued to kiss with their tongues darting back and forth, dancing over each other as he worked her blouse completely off. Fran’s hands, as if possessed by demons, pulled open his tie and opened his shirt.  She groaned as her nipples stabbed into his bare chest.

He kissed her eyes, her neck; his voracious mouth sucked in her nipples, suckling her body as if to devour her.  A teeming treasure of velvety flesh poured into his mouth. Fran felt nerves tingle in dark moist secret spots inside her. She stiffened for a moment when he tugged on the zipper on the side of her skirt, letting out a timid panicky yelp, but when she started moving again, nothing could stop her; she kissed him deeply as she helped him pull the skirt off her legs. Giggling shyly her body pulsed with anxious expectation. Her thighs pressed together for another short burst of resistance when his thumbs hooked into the elastic of her panties but her own hands betrayed her by pulling the panties down past her knees themselves. “Oh, Mister Sinatra,” she purred as the satin of her panties caressed her thighs.

Her now nude body generated a heat impossible to resist; her nostrils flared with passion and her eyes flashed with daring. At the same time she was innocent and fresh, her skin smooth and moist, her pose at once both provocative and demure.

“Just lay back, sweetheart, we’re just getting started.” With a commanding firmness he pushed her down onto the fur and caressed her entire body; his fingers kissing her nude skin as she groaned and sighed. She trembled like a fawn. “Shhhh, you’re safe with me baby; I’m going to take good care of you.”

He squeezed her breasts together and she giggled but she panicked too when his hands caressed her waist and hips and belly, finally resting over the curls of her bush. Her hands wanted to stop him but instead she lifted her arms over her head, offering her body to his desires. “Kiss me,” she whispered helplessly.

“You got it sweetheart.”

They kissed; his mouth pressed over hers and her tongue glistened through his lips and pirouetted over his teeth. The tip of her tongue, warm and sweet, bright as a cherry teased in and out of his mouth.

A short burst of pain escaped her lips when his fingers pressed into the sweet lips of her honey pot. “Shhh, easy girl; just lay back, good girl.” She murmured softly through his smooth words, slowly surrendering to him. Her tight little slit squeezed tight around him and he smiled with surprise. Her sex tightened around his finger. Cherry sweet.  She blushed cherrybright and he devoured her with his grin. He twisted the single finger tenderly but firmly, exploring the sweet depths of her innocence and watching the flood of emotions on her face and the swell of excitement in her breasts. “Good girl,” he soothed as she writhed and moaned over his hand; her eyes brightened with shock and awe. Her soft thighs opened and closed rhythmically over his hand. “You like this sweetheart?”

Barely able to breathe she nodded her head rapidly. “I have to tell you something,” she panted hazily, “It's really really important.” She was floating into ecstasy.

“You tell me... you tell me...” he growled, hypnotized by her moaning desire. Fran started to mouth words, but she passed into a girlish swoon.

“You like this inside you? You want my cock inside you?”

Struggling to hold back anguished tears, she smiled a wickedly seductive smile. Her wide eyes glistened with hope and dread. His finger twirled again, and she thrashed in astonishment, earthquakes demolishing her spine; then he eased up, giving her a chance to recover from that first wave of bliss.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” He rocked his hips. “You know what I want now.”

Still trembling, her eyes darted down to the bulge throbbing under his slacks. She nodded and breathed out softly, “Ok.” Her delicate fingers quivered as they stretched out to his belt buckle.

Together, as if in a ceremony, they worked together to undo his belt and open his pants. Fran’s hands fluttered over his cock, unable to touch the throbbing beast.  Everything happened in slow motion, belying the conflagration of yearning exploding in her body.  She moved with the alertness of a prisoner going to the gallows or a queen to her coronation.  He nudged her thighs apart and knelt between her legs. She whimpered softly her arms behind her head, her breasts jutting up at him; her thick bush glistened with delicate dew drops in contrast to the bright flaming red tip of his huge cock. The shaft pressed against those fragile lips and she sobbed briefly. The devil inside her yearned for the pounding of his shaft to penetrate deep inside her; the yearning throbs of her heart longed to surrender to the devil. “Gee, Mister Sinatra, this is so big!” 

“Shhh, you’re a good girl,” he soothed and his voice enraptured her like one of his love songs. She spread her legs a bit more and he shifted his hips with grace of a dancer, pushing forward so his cock began to part the fragile gates of her sex.

Oh, she felt so good, her velvet sheath squeezing around him. He sank in slowly, luxuriating in her tightness and heat. He touched her soft fresh blossom and paused. The interior of the limo was silent except for her shallow panicky breathing. She was stiff and trembling, impaled on his shaft and unable to escape. Her teary eyes glanced down at the cock and then up to his face. “It’s OK, this is good…I want you to.” Her meek voice throbbed with earnest desire.

With the precision of a surgeon he cut into her. The delicate girl let out a tiny yelp as a red ball of pain exploded in her skull but as quickly as it appeared it faded into a white cloud of bliss; her dream melted into his body.

“Good girl,” he crooned into her whimpers as he sank in deeper. Already her plump legs were wrapping around him, already her hips were gyrating to draw his cock over each secret of her sex. “Good girl, so good; you’re being so good.” He pressed on, possessing her entirely. She smiled up at him through her tears as he squeezed himself over her, jamming her plush breasts against his chest as he finally filled her with the entire length and girth of that hungry monster.

“OK, babe,” he whispered, “Here we go. You feel good, babe?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was a tiny helpless squeal.

“I’m gonna give you a nice little shot now, you want that, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.” The syllable was one desperate burst of air from deep inside her.

He tightened his grip on her body and his cock seemed to grow even bigger and harder. Without warning the tip exploded, releasing a fire in her darkest, wettest, most secret places. Fran laughed uncontrollably as his seed filled her with bliss. He pulled back and plunged in again. She howled and laughed and sobbed as he pumped into her a few more times then let loose another hot volley. 

“You know what, doll—I want to watch you dance while I do you.” Without warning he rolled over and pulled her over him.  Fran found herself straddled over his cock and her own weight plunged the shaft deeper into her body. Before she could react, his thumb found her clit and he worked her quickly and masterfully; the buxom playmate was immediately frantic with ecstasy as her body bounced up and down on his cock, her breasts dancing wildly, her tiny fists beating the roof of the limo.

She came in a super nova but he allowed her no relief. He shot into her and found a new way to excite her clit as he began to pump into her again. Over and over she came but still he fucked her, in and out of her delicious body.

The legend over the years is that Jimmy knew exactly what he was doing when he opened the door of the limo. The singer snarled, “What the fuck!” as he glared at his producer. Fran, riding on a cloud of ecstasy was oblivious. 

“I’m sorry, man,” Jimmy said averting his eyes from the sight of the playmate being fucked, “But the band is going to be in overtime soon. Listen, you’re spending your own money now.”

“Damn,” the singer muttered. He pushed Fran off of his cock and pulled on his clothes. “Get dressed, doll,” he growled.

A few minutes later the now famous riff of the Hammond organ driven by a hard bass and drums filled the studio.  The singer leaned into the microphone following the music but he looked down at his feet and smiled at the eager girl kneeling in front of him and sucking on his cock.  He grabbed the mike stand and scowled with his voice, capturing perfectly the soulful gloating of the song: 

“That's life, that's what all the people say.
You're riding high in April,
Shot down in May
But I know I'm gonna change that tune,
When I'm back on top, back on top in June.” The music lifted Fran and inspired her to suck and pull without any inhibitions at all; her tongue and lips danced to the rich pulse of the song.

Then came the chorus and he gripped her head, his hips thrusting into her face with each driving pulse of the beat. 

“I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king
I've been up and down and over and out, and I know one thing
Each time I find myself flat on my face
I pick myself up and get back in the race”

Fran swayed to the pulsating music, feeling the bass throbbing in her belly and his cock throbbing in her mouth. She smiled with her eyes as she swallowed him happily.

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