I Always Knew She Was Broken
Chapter 9: Becoming Lancelot

Copyright© 2009 by Maxicue

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 9: Becoming Lancelot - Childhood friends and first loves reunite after twenty years. Though as different as day and night, they realize true love defines them. Bess, a highly successful escort drags Joe, a nebbish lawyer, into a world of intrigue. Joe wouldn't have it any other way.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   mt/ft   mt/Fa   Mult   Consensual   Romantic   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Cuckold   Group Sex   First   Oral Sex   Anal Sex  

As usual Bess understood the hazards better than I. Our first session with the rape victims after Bess accepted the King's proposal had his most trusted driver shuffling us from the rape counseling center (which he provided virtually all private funds after his daughter's rape and the place was renamed in his honor) to my apartment where the driver parked his limo in the underground garage and remained with us through the legal discussions and dinner. Devi attempted flirting with him to lure him from Bess and I, but the guy was a eunuch. Not really, but if anyone could lure him it would have been me although I'm sure I'd never be pretty enough. Built like an ancient warrior able to carry hundreds of pounds of armor without much effort and sit high on his horse and hold a spear like it was made of thin plastic, the 6 feet tall man liked his boyfriend effete and effeminate and a flame and pretty as a model of the female gender. Despite such queen like features, the lover had two essential differences from a female: no pronounced breasts (even the kind the driver had built of highly developed pecs: he preferred a flat, undeveloped chest) and a spear of flesh dangling and hardening for his pleasure where a vagina would be.

This continued up to and after the wedding. Our weekly trysts gone, my longing for Bess strengthened. We managed one more night together before the wedding and a few quickies after, but the danger pressed down on us and the risks increased.

She worked in a nearby office in charge of spending the King's company's philanthropic funds. We crossed paths there, had frequent lunches with the King and spent time in the presence of two secretaries, Devi and my middle aged dowager and exceptional one--hired by the King and most likely untrustworthy as far as any indiscretions--discussing legal issues regarding the status of possible beneficiaries.

During one of our private legal discussions, my hang dog expression flashing pain, anger and guilt must have been telling. I wondered why I didn't see Bess suffer more and that thought not only made me worry I had lost her but made me feel guilty about wishing her pain. "I hate it too, darling," whispered Bess perfectly understanding my emotional state. "I'm just a better actor. Be careful." Her words actually worked. We exchanged smiles and nods.

Once Bess accepted his proposal, the King put an army of wedding planners and their contracted associates to work to create an event in two weeks. The spectacle of the summer--vows exchanged in front of a throng of guests including the King's ex-wife and her thirty year old husband, his two sons not much younger than their step father, hundreds of relatives, staff, business equals, various political, social and artistic celebrities, and a smattering of Bess's guests including escorts, agency owners aka pimps and madams, various underworld craftsmen, a couple of well used PIs and Devi, Benjamin, Melissa and me--occurred at the awe inspiring and historic Trinity Church on Wall Street with the perfect hour chosen to have the sun color the interior through stained glass.

Bess of course looked fabulous in a white gown made for her by a top fashion designer--the endless train held by two of the King's granddaughters in flouncy pink little dresses--their little blonde heads crowned with lilies of the field. Both Bess and the King looked regal. Bess even wore a tiara. Though the King stood sans crown, an elegant high hat he held in hand inside and wore resplendently outside looked kingly. His perfect black tuxedo and white blouse, cummerbund, bow tie and the white rose attached to his lapel performed their stately duty.

Extending the exchange of vows to make it worthy of the spectacle, both the King and Bess recited poetic sentiments of eternal love--the King's crafted by an old poet friend from his days at Harvard. Bess spoke the memorized words of my son Benjamin who had written a love poem to Melissa. He sent a draft to Devi who thrillingly recited them to me in our marital bed and gave it to Bess. The simplicity and avoidance of ripe sentimentality along with its surprising and even amusing rhymes in the classic sonnet structure impressed us all. Unaware of my son's talent made me feel even more inadequate as a father.


Greeting my son as he emerged from the gate at JFK, though pleased to see me, I realized my hug delayed his hugging Bess and especially Devi and he made quick work of it. Bess he hugged longer and Devi's hug lasted long enough for whispers to be exchanged. I couldn't help noticing the ridge at his crotch revealing excitement.

While waiting for his luggage, Devi let me know what my son whispered. "Melissa gave him permission to fuck me," she said. "But she expects him to bring new things to their love making." I went beat red and headed to the toilet to avoid Benjamin catching my embarrassment and figuring out its cause.

Bess's gay driver stowed Benjamin's luggage. The ride home impressed Benjamin. I had the driver close the privacy screen and still didn't feel completely safe from his hearing.

"Darling," said Bess to Benjamin (and thankfully not to me), "we loved your love poem."

"But ... Devi," stuttered Benjamin, "I sent it for you to read, not..."

"Oh Ben," said Devi, jostling me over to sit beside Bess while she sat next to my son. She kissed him. "Relax honey--your father knows everything."

"He..." began Benjamin, only to be interrupted by another sizzling kiss from the soft and tender lips of my wife. Attempting to ignore my son and Devi kissing and touching, I grabbed a blanket and covered everyone's laps. Then I kissed Bess and slid my hand between her thighs. Her hands undid my trousers and extracted my penis. We kept talking to hide our goings on.

"Like I said, Benjamin," said Bess. "We love your poem. I want to use it at my wedding."

"Really," chirped Benjamin, excited in so many ways.

"Honestly," said Bess.

"When did you start writing poetry?" I asked.

"Since..." Devi's head disappeared under the blanket, lifting it up and down. "Oh god." I put my finger to my lips and pointed forward. He nodded. "Since I was 12. You know I play piano." I nodded and realized when he'd been with me how good he'd gotten, and he played jazz. "Well, I started writing songs. I never ... Oh fuck ... I was shy about them."

"Even with me?" I asked while my fingers plunged in and out of Bess and her hand tugged at my cock.

"Especially with you," he said and arched up and exploded into Devi's mouth. She moaned, her fingers strumming her clit and soon made a quiet squeak of orgasm.

"How come?" I asked. When he replied I kissed Bess passionately, then removed her hand. I wanted to make love to her more than anything I ever wanted, but proximity to my son and the spying driver made it impossible. However I kept shoving my fingers inside her. The only intimacy available, I took what I got.

"You know a lot about jazz and music. I thought I'd get at the best some condescending pat on my back." Benjamin paused when Devi sat up and shared Benjamin's cum with him in a long kiss. I kissed Bess again and rested my hand on her breast, massaging a nipple. "I couldn't stand that," he said after the kiss. "But Melissa ... I trust her. She told me she loved the songs and my poems and I believe her. Best of all, she sings. Her voice is ... kind of slight, but cute and she hits all the notes. I can't sing if my life depended on it, another reason not to show you my work."

 
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