Chapter 3: Trials and Titillations

Truth be told, unless everyone involved with the case--from judge to jury--had been paid off, I didn't stand a chance. Marielle looked beautiful and innocent. At 18 she would seem to be a prize mate except her brain never grew properly right from birth. She was retarded. Sympathy could never have been swayed from her. The fact that it went to court came from Bess. She made sure the victim never got pushed to retract which had been the effort of the rapist's indecently rich father. Testimony from servants, police and forensics kept the case difficult to disprove, but Marielle glancing nervously at Bess throughout her testimony--despite jurors probably expecting sobs and pauses to sustain the brave telling and getting instead a monotone--although at the end, once let out of the box, she dashed to Bess, held her desperately and exploded in tears--gave the jurors all they needed to give the fucker ten years prison time.

We waited a year before I took the legal advisor position--not wanting a direct tie to my failure with the rape case associated with my new employer--though the fact of his conceiving the victim never came out. Problem was it could have. Having not been given the partnership because of my failure and being given lesser clients to defend which I did the best I could until my divorce rocked my ability to put myself whole heartedly into defending, quitting the company seemed inevitable. The year delay also allowed me to familiarize myself with contract law and other aspects of law the King required which I studied before but never experienced directly. I actually began working for the King clandestinely to familiarize myself with his needs and to demonstrate my capabilities within a month after the trial.

Bess avoided me during the trial--though her presence couldn't be ignored. The only time we spoke after she stopped by my office she whispered in my ear early during the trial, "I know you want me, but stop staring." I became the high school kid again--ostracized by my best friend.

Attacking Marielle on the stand--although her pathetic childishness necessitated gentleness I had to try and put doubts about her innocence and lack of sexual interest towards my client in the jurors' minds--constituted the worst moment of my life. I had to be cruel or ineffectiveness would become obvious, and yet I had to do it carefully because a stupid lawyer or one meaning to lose the case would bludgeon the victim. I am good at trial--never better that day--but for the first and only time I needed a full glass of burgundy before my cross-examination to soften my nerves. Gould praised me, but the critique I wanted happened two weeks after the trial.

"You were brilliant, Joe," said Bess on the phone. I'd been wondering if I'd see her again.

"What you said before--were you trying to rattle me or did you tell me the truth?" My words came out slow and careful. Phones have ears.

"I couldn't lie to you Joe. Have I ever?" I thought about it. She never had. She played with me--put me on edge many times--but never really lied. We pretended of course--constructed our little world--but knew we played imaginative games.

"It's the same, isn't it? Twenty years pass, and you still play with my heart."

"I told you I'm no good. Do you want to meet?"

I chuckled. Talking to her felt like fucking--at least the motion: in and out. "Of course."

"Come to my apartment for lunch. Any appointments after lunch?"

"Nothing I can't postpone. I need to be here by three."

"Good. I have a surprise."

"Of course," I said. She gave me the address. Posh. Park Avenue. Midtown. Bess was a well kept woman.

A liveried doorman met me at the door. "Joe Solomon?" he inquired.

"How did you know?" I asked. He showed me my photo--a candid shot walking outside my office building. I shook my head. "Yes," I said.

He gave me a key. "Return it to me when you leave," he said. I wanted to ask what she did for him, but then again I didn't want to ask. I nodded.

Entering through a short entranceway, a large room opened before me furnished tastefully for intimate conversation--a sofa, loveseat and chair towards the back with a low table between--a mahogany card table with four matching chairs--a small bar in the left corner with three high stools--a metal swinging door with a portal like window to the right leading to the kitchen--four doors leading to other rooms. I felt like the lady and the tiger--any door could hide a surprise. Then I heard the moans. I strolled the edges of the living room to discover the right door.

It was barely ajar. I pushed. My cock went hard.

At the center of the plush white king sized bed Bess and my wife performed sixty-nine. Removing her mouth from Lisa and shoving in fingers, Bess mouthed for me to get naked. Once my pants and underwear released my cock, it bounced out fully formed. Bess winked and worked on Lisa to bring her to orgasm. Lisa loves cunnilingus and often passes out when it's done properly.

Bess signaled for me to join them. "Hurry," she stage whispered. Straddling her head, I felt her guide my cock to my wife's throbbing cunt. I pushed deep.

Startled, my wife looked back. I slammed continuously. "What the ... Oh fuck!" screamed Lisa, my strokes and Bess's sucking of Lisa's teat and strumming her clit brought a second, unexpected, overpowering orgasm. I kept at it, and Lisa began to build to a third. When it arrived, I joined her.

A minute of recovery lying across Bess's amazing body, Lisa finally finished her earlier question. "What the fuck are you doing here?" she grumbled quietly and crawled from under me and off the bed.

"Later, Lisa. Go get the strap on and grab the tube of KY beside it," ordered Bess.

"But..."

"Do it! I'm horny!"

Dutifully, Lisa entered a large closet. "I never..." I whispered.

"I know," whispered Bess back. "Her boyfriend treats her worse. She loves being submissive."