tagNonConsent/ReluctanceBeware: The Taxman Cometh, Again

Beware: The Taxman Cometh, Again

byJRob©

(Many of you have written about my earlier story about the problems of Mr. and Mrs. Benedict, the upscale young couple whose payment problems with the Internal Revenue Service motivated them to be extra nice to the reviewing IRS agent. On day one they were forced to perform various sexual escapades to evade a trip to the penitentiary. Now it is on to round two, lowering their tax liability...or so they hope.)

* * * * *

Neither my pretty wife Tiffany nor I spoke on the drive home from our first humiliating meeting with the IRS agents. The drive, which normally took 25 minutes, took nearly an hour as my mind wandered back to the happenings at the Federal Building. I missed several turns, drove like a Florida senior on Sunday, yet throughout the trip not a word was uttered.

Whenever I looked at my wonderful wife Tiffany, all I could see was her blankly staring out the window.

My mind was totally jumbled. Here we were, two people in a predicament with no easy way out. Our huge tax burden loomed over our heads like a guillotine. I thought of our actions in the IRS building, and how we spent the better part of two hours prostituting ourselves to stay out of prison.

It has been said the end justifies the means, but I'm not sure that sucking our way to freedom was the way we should have gone. On one hand we had brought it on ourselves, having cheated the government out of more than a half million dollars in taxes by cooking our tax return books. We, or should I say I, should have gone straight from the get go, but I felt pressured into crossing the line because I didn't want to give up all those material things which my beautiful wife Tiffany and I had bought when we were riding high on the money train.

While all good things invariably come to and end, those niceties which money can buy are hard to give up. Now, even though the tax official, Mr. Johnson, took us off the prison hook, we still owed the government more than we could possibly pay. And given our actions of this afternoon, it appeared that we'd be working out debt off for a long time to come.

We finally entered out five bedroom colonial. We lived in an upscale neighborhood not far from the dotcom where I worked. Keeping up with the Benedicts had been the favorite game in the neighborhood.

"How could you do this to me," spat Tiffany. "Today you made me a whore, a good for nothing, piece of shit whore."

The words cut sharply. I had, of course, by messing with the books, but her spending habits also played a part in this nasty business. Now we were paying the piper.

"Now hold on just a second! Who was the one who maxed out our credit cards buying things for this house? Who had to have a Lexus instead of a Honda?" I snapped. "What about the Longaberger baskets in every room? The marble tiles you just had to have? Twice-a-week massages? You spend more money than a Rockefeller."

I won't bore you with all the details, but suffice it to say we both said a lot of things we shouldn't have. Bottom line: I fixed the returns, and she had spent too much. We were both to blame for our financial mistakes.

We stared each other down for a while, alternating sulking with despair.

"Honey, we are in a fix, and today we did what we had to do. That prick Johnson would have sent us up the river fast...if we hadn't decided..." I couldn't continue that train of thought. "He has all the cards. You heard him; we were going to jail. You would have been the pride and joy of every lesbian at Eastern State while I would have been some big guy's bitch. Given the choice, I would much rather be at home, with you, than a boy toy of some monster murderer who wants a taste of white meat."

Tiffany dried her eyes and shook her head. "I know, I know, it's just that what we did today was horrible," she said, tears welling up once again as she thought of the unpleasant sex she had endured. "It was humiliating. Johnson is a major league asshole, but he knew what he was doing. He knew what buttons to push. The things he made us do whores wouldn't stand for. And it's only the beginning. Did you see the look in his eyes? He was enjoying each and every minute of our discomfort, our pain."

I nodded. Yes, Johnson did appear to enjoy himself. I don't know which he liked more: Tiffany giving him a blow job right in front of me, or me sucking his dreadful cock right in front of my loving wife. I guess it didn't matter, we were just pieces of human meat to him. Utensils for his sexual urges.

We spent the better part of the next three hours downing two bottles of wine and scheming on how to get out of our predicament. We thought of going to his superiors and turning him in, but what would that get us? Yes, he'd probably be fired, along with his horny hooligan friends, and wouldn't that be sweet. But we'd still be up for a prison stretch for cheating the government. More than a half million bucks we didn't have. We might win that battle, but not the war.

Besides, he had all the cards; the bogus tax returns, our admission of guilt, and he had the Polaroids of us willfully performing all kinds of sex acts. With our luck, he'd use the photos to prove we were trying to blackmail them.

We crawled off to bed at 2 a.m. and snuggled. As we held each other close we murmured "I Love You" before finally falling asleep from exhaustion.

What seemed like minutes later the phone rang.

It was that prick, Johnson. And it was only 8 a.m.

"Well good morning," he sang, "You two lovebirds sleeping late? I guess so, and such a wonderful house to be sleeping in! It sure would be a shame to have to give up that wonderful house to the government, now, wouldn't it?" Johnson's tone changed from blowing sunshine to total scorn. "Just keep that in mind when you start cooking up some lame brain scheme to try and weasel out of your little problem."

The line was quiet, as I couldn't talk. It was as if he knew we were hoping to find out a way to evade returning to Mr. Johnson's little office of ill repute.

"I know you guys had a rough time here, but it would be a lot rougher up at the federal penitentiary, and don't you forget it," said the nasty tax officer. "You kids play your cards right and you will keep your house and reputation in the community. Pull something stupid and you will be doing hard time in prison. All your neighbors will know you as the people who swindled the United States Government. The Poloroids will be posted on a website dedicated to you. I will mail copies to your family and friends. Won't they be shocked to find out about your bisexual interests and swinger lifestyle? Is that what you want?"

And here I thought matters couldn't get any worse.

"No sir, we don't," I quietly replied. "We agreed to your offer and we will fulfill out responsibilities to you. But we are not whores, we are not scum."

Mr. Johnson's voice rose. "You are whatever I want you to be, dammit. Haven't you figured that out yet? You WILL be what I WANT you to be. WHERE I want you to be. WHEN I want it. The sooner you understand that, the better. I have had enough of being patient, you get no more slack. Remember, I AM IN CHARGE."

He had the hammer and all the nails. Our best plan would be to do what he wanted and then move on. We couldn't possibly be the only ones he had over a barrel. We had to take him at his word that when we had worked off our debt we would be free to go. Getting out of his clutches was a dream but there still could be a happy ending.

"Mr. Johnson, I'm sorry. Of course you are right." Words were hard to come by, but they had to be said to let him know we would keep our end of the deal. "Sir, we appreciate the opportunity you are giving us to work our way out of this problem without having the law involved."

"Now that's more like it, I knew you two would be reasonable. You won't regret the decision," he said, and abruptly hung up.

I crawled back into bed as Tiffany guessed it had been Johnson on the line. "He wanted to make sure we were going to keep our end of the bargain. I assured him we would."

Tiffany sighed, and turned away from me, crying once again. I rubbed her back, slowly working the tension out, before reaching around to caress her breast. "Not now," she said, but I continued to stroke her while rubbing what had grown into a hard cock against her ass.

"Honey, I love you, and you feel so sexy. Nothing you did yesterday or will do with those animals in the future will stop the way I feel about you," I said. "I know deep inside you know that. I really love you."

She turned and gave me a long, passionate, wet kiss, grasping my cock with one of her hands as her lips locked against mine. "Really, Rob, do you love me? Really? After all I did with those pigs?"

"Honey, of course I do, and I have done some bad things, not the least of which was my idea to play with the tax returns," I lamented. "If I had it over to do again I'd just sell everything and start all over again."

Our kissing continued for a while before I began massaging her back. Then stroking her body all over. After a bit of hand play I casually pulled her panties down her legs and began caressing her mound. She moaned when I fingered the outside of her cunt lips, then slowly dipped two fingers inside her wet pussy. She began to rock in tandem with my hand, and by the time I bent over her waist and began licking her sex he was mouthing inaudible sounds of love.

"Oh, yes! Yesss! Yeesssss!" she cried, moving my head to her burning love nest. "Yes...yes...yes!"

Tiffany began to shake while banging her pussy against my mouth. I was fucking her with my tongue while she was taking everything I had to give her. Suddenly she shook and then began an explosive cum.

I took my head away from her pussy and looked up at her. She smiled at me and mouthed the three magic words I needed to hear: "I love you," she softly said. "I do love you, Rob. You make me feel so good, and make me forget that bastard Johnson."

She slid onto her back, a contented look on her face, and slowly opened her legs to me. She looked beautiful laying there, a smile upon her lips. "Do me, honey, do me."

It only took a minute for me to slide on a rubber, get on top, and slowly slip inside her soaking wet pussy. My arms extended, in push-up fashion, while my lower half began to piston my cock into her wetness. I looked into her eyes, which were staring intently at me, and told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and that we'd get out of our predicament.

"I know," she said. "Now fuck me hard."

I did, rutting into her like there was no tomorrow. I pounded her pussy, feeling her body pound back against me. With all the sexual excitement that had overcome my body and mind over the last 24 hours, cumming wasn't a problem. "Oh, God, I'm Cumming!" I cried, finishing inside her then passionately kissing her as she caressed my head.

It wasn't our longest, lengthy or most erotic lovemaking session, but it was just what we needed to remind ourselves of our love. At least that's what I thought.

"Honey, I'm so very sorry about what has happened, I didn't ever think it would come to this," I lamented.

"Oh, Rob, I know you didn't, but didn't you think we'd be caught up with? I feel like such a whore. I mean, I blew some obnoxious asshole then sucked a pussy like a seasoned lesbian. That's obscene, it's foul. And you did it to us. I know you thought it was the right thing, but it was stupid."

I knew she was right, and sat back, quietly attempting to think of a way out of our predicament. There was none. We were finished.

Tiffany looked me in the eyes then said: "Well, you are wrong if you think I'm going to be that bastard's fuck toy, I'm not going back there. There has to be a way out. I'm not going back to see Johnson again, and I'm not going to jail."

"Suit yourself, but it's not like you can leave the country. This guy is serious, and unless you plan on disappearing into thin air you will be tracked down and we really will have the book thrown at us," I sternly said.

Tiffany pouted off to sleep, as did I.

We spent the next several days ignoring each other, barely speaking. And with each day of silence we found ourselves a day closer to our next meeting with the Tax Man. Tiffany awoke early that morning. She stared at me as I shaved, then quietly said she would be going with me. "There is no other way out," she admitted.

As we drove to our meeting, Tiffany emphatically stated she would not screw anyone, no matter what. "I will suck their foul dicks, but no sex. No way."

Once inside the Federal Building she pulled me aside and repeated that nobody would be fucking her. I wasn't too sure of that, because Mr. Johnson was not one to be denied, but I didn't dispute her comments.

Again we sat in the lounge, awaiting our fate. When Mr. Johnson greeted us, he did so with a large smile. "Why, so good to see you two," he said with a jovial tone. "Come back to my office."

After we entered the office and he closed the door, a different Mr. Johnson appeared. "So what's this I hear about you wanting to disappear? I wouldn't try it. The IRS has ways of tracking down malcontents."

Looking at my wife, he continued. "Well, Mrs. Benedict. Cat got your tongue? What's this I hear?"

"I don't know what you are talking about, Mr. Johnson," she replied. "I know our deal, I agreed to your terms."

"Uh huh. Well, let's get to it then. Did you bring a check for the money you owe Uncle Sam?" he asked "No? Huumm? Well, is there any reason I shouldn't have foreclosure procedures start on your house? Maybe we could repossess your cars. We can auction them off to pay some of your debt."

I quizzically looked at the Tax Man. "Look, we told you last time we were willing to go to whatever means to take care of this situation. Please don't make it any more humiliating than it already is."

"Really? Mr. and Mrs. Benedict, I know you hate me, but I really am in your corner here. Remember that I could have turned you over to the Feds. We said we had an agreement. So, I guess the question is whether you are going to honor that agreement or pay off your delinquency?"

Tiffany looked him straight in the eyes. "You know we can't pay it off, but we aren't whores. We'll do what we have to do, but that's it."

Mr. Johnson looked at my wife, then at me. He sort of smiled, nodded his head, and then stood up. "Whatever, doesn't matter to me at all. Just remember the trouble you're in. It only takes one word from me and you two will be in jailhouse stripes, complete with numbers on your back and fun-loving cellmates. You need to understand, I am your best friend."

Mr. Johnson paused, probably more for effect than reason, then sternly looked at my young wide.

"Tiffany, come over here. Now!"

My strawberry blonde wife hesitantly rose and started over toward the taxman.

He gave orders in quick succession. "Bend over the desk. Lift your skirt. Pull down your panties...and make it snappy." He looked at me, and ordered: "Mr. Benedict, take this ruler and teach your insolent wife a little bit of a lesson about respect."

I stopped in my tracks, afraid to move. Tiffany slithered over to the cold desk, reached up under her skirt, and slid her skimpy black panties down her legs before kicking them off. She looked disgustedly at Mr. Johnson, then at me, before hiking her skirt up around her waist and bending over the desk. Mr. Johnson sat in a chair next to the desk. After my wife's bare ass was bent over the desk, he held his ruler out for me to take.

The wooden ruler slid into my hand, and I merely nodded at the obnoxious man. I raised it, then brought it smartly down on Tiffany's sweet soft ass, bringing forth both a welt on both ass cheeks and stout "ouch" from her lips.

"Twenty swats sounds about right. That was one," he snapped.

I ignored his comment, and smacked her ass with the ruler as she cried out in pain. After 10 whacks he rose and took the ruler from my hand, choosing to give 10 much harder smacks in quick succession. Tiffany's cries were loud, and I wondered why nobody came to our rescue.

"This used to be an interrogation room. Isn't soundproofing wonderful?" Mr. Johnson asked. "You were pretty easy on her. I'm going to give her 10 more swats, just because I can."

"Noo, please stop," pleaded my wife, whose ass was bright beet red. "Stop."

Mr. Johnson ignored her, slamming the ruler on her ass 10 more times. Then, unzipping his pants, he pulled out his hard cock and pulled Tiffany by the hair around toward him. It didn't take long for her to realize what he wanted, and she quickly opened her mouth to suck the dirty dick of the man who was taking control of us.

"Ohh, Tiffany, you have suck a sweet mouth, you suck like a pro," said the Tax Man, pulling her head onto his rock hard cock, pulling it back, then slamming it back down the shaft. He was using her mouth as a fuck toy, and I looked on hoping he didn't hurt her.

Tiffany bobbed her head up and down his cock, spit cascading down her cheeks, sucking it with abandon until startled off of it by a knock on the door. "Sit down an make yourself presentable," said Mr. Johnson, tucking his tool back into his pants.

My wife smoothed down her skirt and then sat at the table across from Mr. Johnson. I sat beside her as the door opened. Neither of us noticed her panties on the floor by the side of the desk.

A tall, lanky black man entered. He appeared to be in his 40s, graying around the edges. "Oh, Mr. Johnson, I didn't realize that you had clients in here."

"Uh, yes, Mr. Smith, this is Mr. and Mrs. Benedict, and they are attempting to negotiate a settlement of their 2000 taxes," said Mr. Johnson. "They are in a little trouble."

It was clearly a charade. I knew it. Tiffany knew it. Mr. Johnson and Mr. Smith, if those were their real names, knew it to. But we didn't have a leg to stand on, and merely nodded to the men when necessary.

Mr. Smith asked Mr. Johnson if we needed a secretary to record some of our comments.

"Why that would be excellent," said Mr. Johnson. "Is Mrs. Gordon available?"

The newcomer stepped to the telephone, smirking when he saw the panties on the floor, and called a number. Soon after there was another knock on the door, and a primly dressed elder woman entered.

"Good morning," she said, rising hopes in my mind that this woman would actually be someone that could calm the situation and get Tiffany and I off the hook. We were obviously apologetic, we didn't mean to evade taxes, we want to pay our debt. We just don't want to do it in jail.

"Mrs. Gordon, the Benedicts here have a little problem with their taxes, to the tune of owing the government more than a half million dollars. We have talked about their options, we have decided we do not need to involve the federal prosecutors. Now are just talking about their payment schedule. They have been very agreeable to nearly all we have asked, and are very repentant," explained Mr. Johnson.

"That's excellent," she said, "because there is nothing I hate more is tax evaders...I assume they brought a check for what they owe?"

"Not exactly, Mrs. Gordon, they are quite short, even if they liquidate all of their holdings," said Mr. Johnson. "But over the long term they have good jobs and should be able to pay back the debt. Only..."

"Only what?"

"Well, I think Tiffany here is a little rebellious, and sometimes needs a little reminder of what kind of trouble she is in. We have had to remind her of the situation a couple times," said Mr. Johnson, gracefully tapping his wooden ruler against his hand. "That is unacceptable. That's why just before you came in I was reminding her of her situation."

"Well, don't stop on my account," said Mrs. Gordon. "I think I know just what she needs, and someone has to give it to her."

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