The King and his Courtesan

[©2010 BY CLINTON09; ALL CHARACTERS OVER THE AGE OF 18; NO EVENTS DESCRIBED ARE TRUE]

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The life of an orphan is seldom easy. As for me, with no one paying for college, I had to make do with jobs in the dreaded "general employment" section...you know, last in, first out, for recessions, etc. As a result, I had a series of temporary jobs. The virtue, if there was any, was that I was out in the sun, working hard, building a pretty darn good physique.

I had one saving grace: it turns out that I was a darn good poker player. I saved up all of my meager earnings, parleyed that pile into a bigger pile and found myself in the select circle of players. I didn't like the televised poker games, as I felt uneasy about having all those cameras around. So I mostly stuck to the private rooms or public tables.

There are all sorts of poker games, but to me, it's five card stud as the man's game. My favorite type is "roll your own", where the player and not the dealer determines what shows. I was involved in a huge game, $50,000 riding on my hand: two measly pair, treys over deuces. But I followed an old element of generalship; the shock attack. Lee used it at Chancellorsville; facing defeat in detail, he had Stonewall Jackson attack, shattering the otherwise brilliant Joe Hooker, ending his command of the Union Army of the Potomac. In the same way, I would save 30% of my money and bet when all seemed lost. I know what you're saying, someone would keep you honest. Would YOU keep me honest, risking $15,000? Yes, I didn't think so.

Into this environment came the "king and his courtesan." Some grey haired guy who looked like a washed up actor or something--he supposedly was on a winning streak that has spanned casinos from Connecticut to Mississippi, Texas and on out to Vegas. What was HIS secret, I wondered.

Well the first secret was not so secret; note it was "the king and his courtesan". The player, looking like a badly aging 65 going on 80 had his wife with him; she was 45 going on 30 from her looks. Doris Day flip blonde do, big blue eyes, perfect little nose, Hollywood smile, big billowy ruby lips, and a great bod, with an hourglass figure, big tits, great legs.

Now the secret: to distract players (as with chess, any distraction is huge), the "courtesan" might wear a low cut blouse, short skirt, or both if you were lucky. Just by crossing those famous legs and dangling her Italian pumps she would drive a leg man to distraction (like me.) Now remember, we're talking $15,000 up to $50,000 at risk. You can afford a lot of outfits with that. What was brilliant was her "act". She normally chewed gum and acted like a bird brain, the usual Vegas girl act. But, at the same time, she was focused in on the main player, with laser precision. Remember when I mentioned that I was a leg man; well, if she saw that for real, the next game, she'd have a shorter skirt on, stockings(if you appeared to like them) or not, fancy shoes or not. Legend has it that one player was into women's feet; she had a test for that, the old shoe dangle, then drop. Sure enough, he moved a little as the pump hit the carpet, so, people tell me, she sat the rest of the game barefoot. It totally screwed up the main player, who stared at her beautiful feet and didn't have his "game face on"; easy meat for the king...

They say to be forewarned is to be forearmed. Since I knew their little tricks, I thought that I could manipulate them in a game. I also knew some things about them that they didn't know. I will tell you that later. Anyway, we had a game going and, as usual, that hot bodied "courtesan" is flashing more signs than Tony LaRussa during a world series game. Scratching her tits (oops, was that a pouting nipple I saw flashed?), folding those damn shapely legs, dangling a shoe, damn. I knew what to expect and STILL was getting a bit lumpy down below. Shit, what was the ante?

Gotta get my head back in the game. Fortunately for me, her "thing" was working against them on this hand; I had a full house, aces over fives, and they thought I was just keeping them honest because I kept staring at her. Cool. I was down to my last dollar; thank God it was the last bet. All in. $80,000 in the pot, give or take a few cents. Full house is a winner; takes it all. Come to poppa!

The game broke; it was after all 2am and even though the hotel has no clocks on the wall or windows, people are human and get tired. I made some mental notes, though. The king was old and moved with difficulty. His "courtesan" was fucking hot, a real MILF, but what was key was she was not following him. He sort of grunted to her that he was going to the room while she dismissively said she'd look for some shops open in the hotel's basement first.

I grabbed a free drink in the hotel's huge lobby/atrium, waiting. Sure enough, the old man took the glass elevator up to his room while that wiggling piece of ass took the escalator down to the mall. 45 minutes later she came back. My cue. I headed to the elevator but put it on hold. 90 seconds later she got in. Life is a matter of choices; some of them are gambles. I knew that from the sport I was in. Grabbing my private parts (metaphorically), I took a desperate chance. I grabbed the "courtesan", gambling that she needed "some" and wasn't getting a thing from that old fossil. I kissed her square on the lips. Her arms resisted for a good 15 seconds, then she melted. God almighty, what a risk, but bingo!

As that soccer dude said: goal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Without further ado, I didn't ask her room but hit 9 for my floor. Wordlessly I guided her to 934, used the electronic key and we were there. I kissed that mature piece of ass again, just inside the door, but with full honors this time(tongue,etc.) That dress seemingly painted on her came off, the thin material making it weigh at least 6 ounces. Click clock, those sexy high heels, click click, that big cupped bra, slither, wiggle, those bikini undies. This was great, but she had her eyes closed, enjoying the 'assault', leaving me completely clothed.

Oh well, this is Vegas. You have to pay homage to the city. I picked up that babe, and as we kissed, I carried that nude piece of ass to the bay window. It was wide open of course(this IS Vegas), the city lights and stars(all three of them visible) out there. Holding that mature wench and temptress, I realized my dress/undress situation, as my cock was protesting, wanting to come out and play. I carried this nude goddess to the round bed (Vegas, remember), putting her down gently, whereupon I stripped leisurely, taking close to 45 seconds. I was on her in seconds, my manual labor body still heavily muscled and tanned from the hard work between poker tournaments. To my continuing amazement, she welcomed me, getting flat on her back, drawing her knees up, and holding her hands with a diamond, a wonderful welcoming diamond shape over the blessed entrance.

I climbed to the spot, rose up to flex my summer work muscles (thinking that broken down "king" hadn't had a good physique in a few dozen years). Sure enough, she shifted, her hands bringing me down to her, her right hand magically guiding my now full ten inch cock to the place of wonder. Up and down, side to side, my distended glans was rubbing her labia raw, with her hand controlling it. Marvelous. I was in her skilled hands, letting her control the action. The only way to be certain the things that needed to be done were done. Now, she put it into the entrance, her other hand prodding my rock hard behind to come forward. Well, I didn't need to see a bulletin on CNN to get the picture; like a runaway subway train, I came crashing in, pow.

I gambled again on rough, and she moaned. I said I was sorry; she still was wordless but reassured me by smoothing my hair. She also grabbed a handful of hair and gave it a terrific yank. I remember a ritual some women do, before they risk sleeping with a guy. If that was the case, the next thing would be to test my...yup, there she goes. Her hands went to my arms, squeezing and stroking, assaying my biceps size and strength. Like I said, some women had this innate ritual, before breeding to see if a male was worthy; did he have real, strongly rooted hair? Was he basically strong and healthy? I wondered if this was a breeding session, then I kicked myself...I knew a secret that no one else in the hotel but the King knew about the courtesan. And it was...

Our hot action resumed as I started "drilling for oil", started the old in/out in/out as the Brits might say. Our lips would meet and the kissing was nuclear hot. Her tits were fantastic; playmate quality boobs, her nipples popped, erect like thumbs waiting for a hungry baby.

Well, looking around the suite, there were no hungry babies(my mistake), so I had to fill-in for them and grabbed a firm nipple. This made the "courtesan" rise up from the bed, moaning, bringing her hands to stop me. It was apparently too intense. Good! I kept on one nipple and keyholed the other (massaging around it but not touching it); as usual her hands stopped the keyholing, forcing my hands onto the nipples themselves. I just lightly nipped the 1st nipple and moved to number two. Her breath came in short spasms, then she tensed and quietly screamed, her first orgasm since...who knows. Her surprisingly strong hands grabbed me off her chest, bringing me to her mouth, where she kissed me with such force I thought my front teeth were goners. Breaking the kiss, I fell back two feet; she was staring at me with admiration, love, her eyes absolutely awash in tears. I kissed her again. Then, I shocked her as much as anyone has ever been shocked: "I love you........mom!"

Her arms pushed me off her; she sat bolt upright. She said, "what?" I said, "Ms. Courtesan, I read that article in the Ladies Weekly Journal. It mentioned you, the strange hold the king has over you(we'll have to talk about that!), your operations having your fallopian tubes tied, how you wanted a big family but for that operation, your having giv1en up your only child some 20 years ago."

She said, "so? The whole nation saw that?" I retorted, "sure, the whole nation saw it, but you gave up the baby in a tiny New England town. What, you think they had 100's of orphans a year there? No, I was the only male put up for adoption. It had to be me. So, you had to be my mom. I couldn't believe the article talked about your birth control operation in such detail. You said you wished it hadn't happened, you pined for a family even at this late date. But, the operation, and the king being so, umm, mature, you were stuck. You are my mom aren't you?"

She looked out the window, closed her eyes, and nodded. I kissed her lips tenderly saying, "I love you, mom; we are so blessed to be able to find each other again. I have something to tell you, but you must tell me about this strange hold the king has over you." She said no! I said fine, let's go to sleep then. I didn't lay a further hand on her, even though she looked with moist eyes, wanting more. Mother and son or not, it still was years since she 'had any' and I was a tanned muscle-bound "hunk", part-time poker playing notwithstanding. But my only trump card was silence, so I said, "good night".

Well, it worked. At 6 am, I felt a nudge, then another. Groggy, I sat up and said, "what now?" Mom said, "you win; here it is...everything"

"The king is not your biological father; he was adamant against children and families and I had had you artificially made at a clinic. He accepted the pregnancy (well, I didn't tell him for months), but had me put you up for adoption at the age of one.

That was the saddest day of my life. One last lingering kiss on the forehead was my last contact with you. (I kissed her on the forehead, whispering that I loved her; she coughed and paused for a minute; as she stroked my hair, I laid my head on her chest as she kept on) The king did many nasty things, mostly to cheat on tournaments, not only having me study the players for their distracting but also for their habits.

In a way, your MOM was the great player, not him. When he turned to me at key moments, we had the most subtle of signals as to whether to match the pot, drop out, or raise. Meanwhile, year after year, he was cheating on his taxes. Worse, we were married, and he never included me.

Years later, he told me about that when I threatened to leave him. He said Al Capone was put away for lying about ONE year, so what would they do to me for 14 years?! He laughed." I interrupted, "mom, let me hold you now." She came into my arms, warm, smelling of Chanel number 5, the most meaningful person I could hold at this moment. I kissed her on that forehead again, laughed, and said, "mom, I'm no expert, but I know the IRS has safety nets for innocent spouses like you; if your husband screwed you on taxes, your liability is probably minimal; they can prosecute him and you might even get a reward. But jail? No fucking way."

She pushed me away, looking stunned; she then used all of her might to grab me by the ears and kiss me again; again with my teeth. Ouch.

We broke the kiss. I told her, "when I read that article last year, and it mentioned your operation in detail, I got curious and researched a little bit. The results were crystal clear: few fallopian tube procedures are reversed, but that is because the recipients don't want to. Fact is, that operation is reversible with a good micro-surgeon and some luck. So, there's no reason..."

That was the last word, left hanging. My mom zoomed off the bed, putting on her clothes in a flurry of zippers and clicks, she was out of my room in what seemed seconds. What did I say? Her fury had to be about "the king" and his treachery, not me...it had to be. The only thing that I realized then is that I had this gorgeous woman under my thumb and my desire to talk undid it. Real noble? Sure, but smart? I thought, the hell with it, and dressed for the hotel breakfast buffet.

To my surprise, the "king and courtesan" did not return to our floating game. I got bored with the action and left, up $20,500. I lost $500 at blackjack (I'm almost a pro, but am still mesmerized by the fact you should win ½ the blackjack games, but you don't), then used "the system" to win $5,000 at roulette. The system? I will tell you, but don't try it then call me: bet 5; if you win on say black, you won 5. Leave. If you lose, bet but bet more. As you increasingly bet more, you cover your accrued losses and end up winning. The theory is that you can't lose 5 times in a row; mathematically, it shouldn't happen. But it can happen, so the "system" isn't perfect. I warned you.

I returned to my home in Phoenix where I do outside labor (now mostly undocumented immigrant labor contracting) during the building months, which are the cooler months from fall thru early spring. At other times, you could literally fry eggs on the tiled roofs of our lovely town. Phoenix is a remarkable town...I can stand on the storm drain (usually bone dry) and, in one direction, see a verdant, vibrant modern city. Then, in the same spot, I can turn 180 degrees, and see absolutely nothing...nothing but desert and a few cacti. It is almost spooky.

It had been ten months since I had had the Vegas tournament. I had not heard from my mom or even that "king" fellow. I wondered if mom knew where I lived; I sighed in relief remembering that I had secreted my business card into her expensive Italian high heels. Hopefully she saw it at some point--but so far nothing.

It was a typical Saturday. I debated whether to hit the local cantina for a few Tecate's and a stray senorita or two, but thought better and decided to cop out. The Cardinals were on a special Saturday night/Monday Night football broadcast (who came up with that?) and they needed me to root them on.

At about half time, 9:30pm, I heard a knock knock at the door. I got there and who was it but "the courtesan", my beloved own mother. Piled up around her were four hefty looking bags. An airport limo was at the end of the street, having deposited her here. We hugged warmly. I dragged her to my couch and planted her firmly so I and I alone would carry those bags. Jeez, they weighed a ton. Once they were all in, I rushed back to mom to catch up on news.

Mom said, "I know you were wondering why I never called. I did find your card. Nothing on this earth was kept more securely than that 3 by 5 linen card, believe me. Meanwhile, as you might have guessed, I stormed back to my room, awakened that disgusting bloated bully, "the king", told him what I thought of him. I dragged him downstairs for a proper Vegas divorce. Thinking ahead, I carefully marked 'restore to maiden name' on the form. So now I go by my maiden name. Anyway, I threatened him with exposure to the Vegas gambling gods unless he gave me a liberal settlement; well, of his $600,000 estate, he gave me $400,000. I moved into a professional long-term apartment place for security purposes (against the king) and made two major decisions.

The first one was to look into fixing my tax problems. I called the IRS and the woman there was incredibly re-assuring. By the end of the day, their assister had me fill out 16 years of returns. They were so relieved to have a non-filer report and honestly want to square things that they were delighted to settle at $50,000.

The second decision was to see an ob gyn. Sure enough, with no promises whatever, they would "go in" and see what was doable "down there". With a local only, they wheeled me in, the surgeon with this weird head equipment. I just sat back and heard the snipping, clicking, dabbing, a few laughs, a congratulations to the doctor and me from the OR nurses, and that was it. They said I would be all good in four months...that is, restored to 'full womanhood'. I was overwhelmed, and it was all your doing, just like the taxes."

She kissed me on the forehead; I looked at her, that beautiful, meaningful face, all those years apart. She was tearful, as always. I kissed her with all my heart, all my love. This was an act of the purest platonic love, yet to my surprise, my cock was also joining in, straining to the bursting point, at least nine inches of bent steel, waiting to have ITS celebration and homecoming also.

I asked, "I am of course delighted and thrilled you came to see me. God, how I pined for you these past few months, how I fell in love with you, somehow, in Vegas, and just wanted to be with you, to be a PART of you. But, why did you bring all of your things?"

She said, "well, he's still out roaming freely, he's scary. And I thought there was nowhere on this planet where I'd be more welcome than here (we kissed; I took her hand; we kissed again). You saved me from a virtual prison. I can't thank you enough, can't love you enough."

I said, "So your operation was done, you are 'up and running' again. That's great. Given the clock, I imagine that you are going to find that certain someone and settle down with him. God, I wish you all the luck and love. I am jealous of him already. You can tell me if you already found that certain someone, but tomorrow. My full sized couch has a double bed all made up and ready. You can use it tonight and for as long as you need it. Love you, mom."(I kissed her hard on the lips; we hugged fiercely and kissed again)

I dragged my tired (I had worked a half day in construction, so give me a break) hard muscled body up the stairs to my loft bedroom. Showering and then hitting the bed, I prayed that my mom would quickly find her 'Mr. Right' and quickly have that family she dreamed of before her clock ran out. I am not a religious person, per se, but it was a fervent prayer. I fell fast asleep.

I had the wildest dream; I was dreaming that I was back in Vegas. The "courtesan", my hot mother, was on top of me, my horny cock safely ensconced in her tight, NOW fertile pussy. She was going up and down on me and the feeling was divine, like a warm bath with waves of warmth then coolness. Her amazing-for-her-age tight pussy was holding my proud ten inch flag pole at full mast, giving it a thorough wringing. My orange sized testes, my balls, were swelling to their full size, a fistful of love, a tribute to my beautiful, loving, warm, long-lost mom. The sperm that I had saved up for the months since I was re-united with her in Vegas, a veritable ocean now that it had been months, was now poised to be transferred, a simple transaction really. My testes would bestow unto my ten inch cock a delivery of what, a pint? A quart perhaps, of my baby-making sperm, destination: womb. My door knob sized cock head would be aimed towards the uterus, its delivery instructions clear: unload millions upon millions of healthy vibrant hard swimming sperm to a now healthy and vibrant fertile womb. Cover the cervix, uterus, the whole womb with the gift of life. Deliver every last sperm, with care and love, and then stay for awhile. Bask in the love that the recipient feels.