A World Turned Rightside Up - FTDS

"What now?" she asked, nervously, in between bites of waffle.

"You've unfucked him. It's a great start. Now we work on forgiveness." I nodded toward the wall of reconciliation. The 99 unfucking condoms proclaimed her success in phase 2. The eleven 'forgiveness' condoms were a start toward phase 3. Phase 1, in case you never figured it out, was getting them out of that damned bed, and into the basement, under my control.

See, guys like me, we don't go off half-cocked. We make plans. Green Beret plans. Bean Counter plans. Genius plans. Don't be jealous.

"What can I do to earn my forgiveness?" she asked. "Please tell me. I'll do anything. Whatever it takes."

"I'm a bean counter, baby. Ten years we've been married. Ten years I've allowed you to dictate our lives. In all that time, you never let me make love to you without a condom. You never took me in your mouth. You deprived me access to your incredible ass. Do you think that's fair to me? You didn't make him use a condom. You sucked him, happily enough, even swallowed his cum. Was that any way to treat the man you claim you love?"

She shook her head. "I didn't want to do it with him. He made me. The dick made me do it. I swear, darling husband. I never wanted to. Once he forced me to, of course I knew I would do it for you. I'll do anything for you. You only have to ask. No, I take that back. You don't even have to ask. Do what you want, and I'll never say no. Never again."

"I've counted. I've got the spreadsheets of every time we had sex. All the times you denied me. Both times I asked you to suck me, to no avail. All eight times I pleaded with you to allow me to make love without a condom, only to be laughed at. The time I suggested we might possibly have anal sex, when you cut me off for four months. I've done the math, my dear. You know it's correct. Thirty seven weeks I was given no sex at all! Thirty seven!"

She was crying. "I'm sorry. I was a horrible wife. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Never again will I deny you your marital rights. Let me prove my love to you!"

"Thirty seven weeks. You owe me those thirty seven. Ten years without blowjobs or anal sex. I understand that might not be something I should have expected every week. Perhaps not even every month. But 10 years of denial!" I was getting worked up, and used my extensive self-control training, counting backwards from 10. That's the secret, you know. Not counting from 1 to 10, but doing it backwards. In Hindi as my yogi taught me. "You owe me, wife. I believe I deserved a blowjob on my birthday, on our anniversary, and at Christmas. I think a Valentine's day anal treat would be reasonable. That's 30 blow jobs, and 10 ass-fuckings, on top of the thirty-seven times you denied me sex."

"Whatever you want. I'll be happy to give it to you. All the blowjobs you could ever hope for. You can have my ass whenever the urge comes upon you. My pussy is your personal playground, use it at any time, anywhere."

I nodded toward the wall. "Eight condoms, toward the thirty-seven times you made me do without. When we've eliminated that debt, we can start on the blowjobs. After the BJs are caught up, we'll knock off the rump-riding. Does that seem fair to you?"

"More than fair. Will I be forgiven then?"

"Perhaps. The books will be much closer to being in balance. I still have to consider your harsh words towards me, when I caught you in our bed. You know I haven't been able to sleep there. I use the guest bed. The master is still exactly as you left it. Also, there is the matter of poisoning me for the last year, even if it was possibly unintentional."

She understood, and we started balancing the books once more. She was still interested in eating well, so I got my daily blowjobs, and used her fantastic ass everyday. With my new found strength, increased sex drive, and incredible stamina, we were having sex at least 3 times a day, sometimes four! Every morning before breakfast, I'd receive my daily fellatio, and each evening would begin with a visit to the brown-eyed valley. After that, whatever she could wring out of me would earn another condom on the wall of reconciliation. It was only four weeks later, that the last of the thirty-seven 'denial' condoms was tacked to the wall.

Lynn was surprised when I used her pussy the next day, without a condom for the first time in our marriage. "Never again will I use a condom with you," I told her. I continued counting one of her blowjobs as her dinner voucher, and any additional ones were finished on her pretty face. I'd capture the moment with a picture, and post it to our wall. She still liked dessert, so her ass got no rest. It took another 26 days to achieve the blowjob balance.

"We're on the home stretch," I told her, as I pinned the last picture to the wall. "It's time for another change."

"Whatever you desire. I love you, and all I want is to make you happy."

"You need to clean up the mess you made of our bedroom, before I can consider allowing you access to the rest of the house," I explained. "I want the bed removed and put in the garage. The sheets will be burned. You will re-carpet the bedroom, and repaint it. When that is complete, we can start the anal balancing."

I supervised her activities each evening. When she wasn't working on the bedroom, I practiced my Eagle Scout knot-tying, and kept her bound, naked in the guest bedroom. I still used whichever holes I felt the urge for a few times each day, although she wasn't getting credit for any of them. She was fed well, and I even allowed her the use of the bathroom, including her first bath in four months. By the end of the week, I had a new bedroom, had hauled the old bed off to the dump, and was becoming pretty good at tying her up.

Seven days later, her anal debit was off the books.

I untied her, bathed her, and gave her clothing for the first time since she'd screwed up. "The books are balanced. It is time for us to start anew." She was beautiful. It was painful to escort her to the front door. I made her get on her knees and give me a blowjob. Damn, she was getting good at those. I finished on her pretty face, and kicked her out.

She begged me to reconsider, but there was no way I was staying married to the slut. I'm pretty sure I mentioned that at the end of the first chapter.

~ * ~ * ~

I was not surprised when the police showed up at my door. An army of them, with warrants in hand, and weapons drawn. No surprise at all for a genius Green Beret, bean counter. She should have known that.

I was handcuffed, interrogated (by amateurs, I might add. I would have done a better job), and the house was searched. For three days. The backyard was dug up, shed disassembled, and the basement went over with a fine toothed comb. They left the house a shambles.

Of course they found nothing.

Genius, remember? Of course I'd moved the body, while I kept her locked up in the basement. It's in the landfill, good luck with that. While she was remaking the bedroom, I was doing the same in the basement. Not a shred of evidence remained when I was finished. I even moved things around so it didn't match her description. The iron contraption was gone, the floor and walls painted, and the wall of evidence, boxed up and hidden away where nobody would ever find it. I considered destroying it, but there were too many great memories attached.

One of the men whose lives I'd saved in my Green Beret days, was living in Fiji, and had kept up a stream of emails pretending to be my wife, keeping the wolves at bay, and proving she was far away, while I was 'supposed' to be torturing her.

Us bean counters are almost as close knit a group as my military buddies. I had a vast array of alibis covering nearly the entire time that my crazy ex-wife was supposed to be chained up in my basement. That's right, ex-wife. I had the legal documents to prove it, with her signature on the divorce papers, including the envelope postmarked Fiji. Hell, I'd had months to practice her signature, and with my amazing skills, even she couldn't tell the difference.

I believe at the end, when the psychiatrists got done with her, even she believed she'd gone crazy. The fact that she was in the loony bin while I submitted my paperwork to the police for compensation for damages to my property, helped my case of a misinformed warrant, and I was paid $12,000 in damages. I didn't bother replacing the shed.

Her younger sister, Jean, was so distraught over her evil older sibling's treatment of me, she moved in, and helped me repair the place. She had no problem with performing the sex acts that Lynn denied me all those years. And guess what? It turns out that I'm not the infertile one. It also turns out that all that experience I gained tying knots has come in very useful. Young Jean may only be 18, but she's a kinky little slut. Fortunately for her, she's only a slut for me. I like it that way.

Lynn got released last week. They only kept her for about 8 months before she was cured. She's extremely remorseful, apologizing profusely for her 'episode'. She understands now that her bull Derrick was only a fantasy, and that something occurred in Fiji for her to enter her fugue state.

She's a little upset that her baby sister has replaced her. Jean and Lynn are negotiating for a way to allow the ex back into my bed. She has nowhere to stay, even her parents are afraid of her mental condition. Jean is a sexy, wild thing, but even she's having difficulty keeping up with my new sexual appetite. I imagine five or six times a day might be difficult, for anyone. I understand she could use some help taking care of me. My record is nine, shared between her and her twin Joan. Joan was a willing playmate for a while, but she's determined to finish her degree. We've agreed to keep an opening for her. So now Jean thinks Lynn could take her identical twin's place for the next few years. I'm considering it. As a temporary solution, of course. Lynn does give great head. She could teach her sister a thing or two. And in a few months Jean won't be in any shape for the sexual marathons I've grown accustomed to.

That's my story. I have to go now. I'm auditioning Lynn in a few minutes, and want to snap off a quick one in her baby sister's back door before getting down to business.

There's a moral here. Don't mess with genius Green Beret bean counter sex-machine Eagle Scout wordsmiths with friends. Lynn and her interracial bull found that out the hard way. And if the Houston PD reads this, remember, it's only fiction. Besides, I have an alibi.

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