tagNonConsent/ReluctanceBean Counter Ch. 03

Bean Counter Ch. 03


Susan's wild antics left me pleasantly drained the next day, which was fine. I didn't mind at all. Indeed, after she left I got a few things done while I listened in on Radio Mary. I had been getting wildly fucked when they woke up, of course, and so missed the morning show, but listening to them interact the rest of the morning was enlightening.

Mr. Tim Sensitive Artist Dude was a brooding asshole. And while he apparently had some talent for art – he worked in acrylics – he had zero business sense, it became obvious. Mary had tried to gently intercede, offering to help him sell some of his work, but Tim took offense to it and they ended up fighting. Tim shouted a few times, then grabbed his coat and left in a huff, slamming the door behind him. For fifteen minutes or so there was silence, punctuated only by Mary crying softly, and I watched her get dressed in their bedroom and pick up the phone. I was startled when my phone rang, and barely had the presence of mind to turn off the volume to the computer before I answered.

"Hey, Bill. I was wondering if I could knock out another one today," she said, trying to act casually.

"Gee, hon, I'd like that," I said. "But I'm headed out to run some errands. Could I meet you somewhere?" I asked, nonchalantly.

"Um . . . sure, I guess. Um. How about . . . the Colony Park mall?" That was a different mall than the one her bookstore was in. "I need to start looking for maternity clothes," she explained. Her admission felt like a kick in the balls.

"Yeah . . . I can meet you there in front of the Stork's Nest," I agreed through clenched teeth. Colony Park was not a cheap mall, strictly high-end stuff. I wondered if she was going out of habit. I knew for a fact her current situation would make buying anything there nearly impossible.

"Where can we go?" she asked, nervously.

"Oh, the car in the parking lot will do," I said.

"Bill! It's daylight!" she protested.

"Well, then we'll go to the parking deck at the hotel across the street," I offered. "Place is deserted on the weekends."

She paused while she thought about it, then sighed. "OK. In an hour."

"It's a date," I said, and watched her cringe on the screen.

An hour gave me time to prepare my next little fuck-you, a digital camera I could conceal in my car. I had gotten it on eBay – gotta love eBay – and it seemed pretty simple. Slap in some batteries and a 1 gig SD card, and I had over an hour of footage I could take. Concealing it was a little difficult, but not impossible. I was done with twenty minutes to spare. I made sure to dress nicely, do my best to look hot, in a clean-cut-accountant sort of way.

She was waiting outside of the shop, looking a little shell-shocked.

"I never knew maternity clothes were so expensive!" she declared, wide-eyed, after a casual greeting.

"They are here," I agreed. "Perhaps this place is a bit up-scale for your budget."

Instead of glaring at me, she just nodded. "You ready?" she asked.

I glanced at my watch, purposefully trying to humiliate her. "Yeah, I think so. Let's go." Ordinarily we'd hold hands as we walked through a mall, but that was before I found out she was a filthy cheating whore. I think she missed the intimacy.

By the time we were in the third level of the parking deck I was rock hard. I pulled into a far corner, cut the engine, and slid my seat back.

"Aren't you even going to talk to me?" she asked, accusingly.

"What? What happened to 'no chit-chat'?" I asked.

"Bill, we shared six years together," she replied. "We can't just ignore all of that."

"Hey, I'm just sticking to the rules, OK?" I responded, a little indignantly. "You want me to tell you about my day, well, I sobbed myself to sleep last night considering what a worthless soul I have to be to be so poorly served by a woman who pledged her--"

"All right, all right, I get it," she said, crossly. "I just thought we could be civil about this."

"I'm trying to be, Mary, but Jesus! I'm kinda going through a rough time right now, you know? Please excuse me if I'm not feeling . . . chatty." I unzipped my fly without another word.

She stared down at it in disgust. "If that's all you have on your mind . . ."

"At the moment, it's by far the most pleasant thought I have," I agreed, levelly. She gave me an icy stare, glanced around to make sure we weren't being watched, and then leaned over to take my dick in her warm mouth.

"AHHHhhhhhh," I sighed. So did she, which made for an intriguing sensation on my testicles, but hers was a sigh of frustration. She was back to her slow, swishing tongue movements and a languorous, methodical up-and-down bob.

I settled back and reveled in the attention. I do so dearly love to get head. Mary wasn't very enthusiastic, but considering she was sucking the cock that had been deep in her sister's juicy pussy for most of the night, I didn't need her enthusiasm to add to the experience. For that very same reason, it took a bit of effort for her to get me past the 'damn-this-feels-good' stage and towards the slow climb to orgasm.

She took a break after about ten minutes of knob-gobbling, and wiped her lips while she stroked me with her other hand. The increase in friction was stimulating.

"Oh, mama!" I said in lustful ecstasy. She grimaced and just looked at me, realizing that I might be closer than she thought. I felt her hand get more serious about the stroking.

"You are really getting turned on by this, aren't you?" she accused a moment later.

"Fuck, yes!" I moaned. "Are you kidding?"

"Pig," she muttered, and knelt back to her work. I grinned, glad I had the camera going. "Hey! Watch the teeth!" I added.

"Thorry," she mumbled around my cock. Soon she was back to her relentless rhythm, and I was once again on my way up that golden staircase towards nirvana.

She stopped twice more, complaining that the blood was rushing to her head, and each time I calmed down a little, forcing her to recoup her position with more aggressive work. Not that I was complaining. But it took her a total of forty five minutes to finally coax a warm sticky blast of cum into her mouth. She waited until she was sure she got the last drop from my too-sensitive cockhead before she sat up and wiped her lips.

"That was fucking great," I said, contentedly. "You're really a great cocksucker, you know, Mare?"

"Don't be crude!" she said, glaring at me. "It's not like I enjoy it."

I shrugged. "Too bad you don't. Want to schedule the next one?"

She considered. "Tim is going out to a gallery opening at the Chelsea tonight. I can probably skip it – it's for his friend Spider, and I don't like him. I could come by about eight, maybe even knock another two off if you're interested." She was back to "businesslike" again – not that I minded. It made this all the sweeter – treating my soon-to-be-ex wife like a whore was fun. I thought about it.

"I don't know – three times in one day . . . that might be asking a lot from my tired old dick," I teased. "Remember, it only counts if I cum."

"I know, I know," she said, a trace of bitterness in her voice. "At least give me a chance, then."

"Hey, knock yourself out," I agreed. "Eight o'clock, then. My place?"

"The house, you mean?"

"That's where I live."

She sighed. "Fine. I'll see you then."

I drove her back to the Gremlin in silence, then did a little shopping. I found several very interesting items and bought them – then ran home to see if the Mary Show was on.

It was, already in progress. As I sat down and unzipped my coat, I turned on the speakers.

"—you sneaking out to suck off some guy!" Tim was exploding.

"He's not some guy," Mary replied, a trace of desperation in her voice. "He's my husband!"

"Oh, I know he is," he said, snidely. "Boy, do I know. He's also the guy who's going to sue the ass off of me."

"Exactly," she said, icily. "Which is why I'm doing this, if you recall!"

"You enjoyed it, didn't you?" he asked – his voice lowered. "You did, didn't you!"

"No! Of course not!" she said, pleadingly. "It's you I love, not him!"

"I didn't say love," he hissed. "I think you get off on this."

"Bullshit!" she said, stomping into her bedroom and throwing her coat onto a chair already piled high with clothes. He followed closely behind her.

"I bet you did," he said, his voice a growl. "Let's check, shall we?" Before she could protest he thrust his hand into her jeans and roughly plunged his fingers into her pussy. I watched as her face sprouted a look of humiliation at the violation.

"Yeah, soaking like a faucet," he accused. She looked down, humiliated. I raised my eyebrows in surprise – that was interesting.

"Well, I did have a cock in my mouth," she defended. "I . . . there's a natural reaction to being that intimate."

"Oh, I'm sure you were leaving snail trails all over – where did you do it?" he asked, interrupting himself.

"In his car," she admitted, sulkily. "In a parking deck. He had to run errands . . ."

"And so you blew him in the front seat like a common whore," Tim said, unbuttoning his pants. "And creamed your panties along the way."

"It wasn't like that!" she protested. Actually, it really was. "What are you doing?"

"Taking advantage of all that foreplay," he said. "If your pussy's already wet, might as well use it."

"Tim, hey, I'm really not in the mood," she said, holding up her hands. He ignored her, and unsnapped her pants and tore them down to her knees. "Hey, this isn't what—"

"Your pussy is wet," he repeated, menace in his voice. "Not a reason in the world why I shouldn't use it." He pushed her back so she was sitting on the bed. He took out his diminutive prick and waved it in her face. "How about a little suction before the friction?" he asked. She balked, and stared him in the eyes, but in the end she leaned forward and took him reluctantly in her mouth. After a few minutes of unenthusiastic head, he pushed her back, flipped her over, and entered her roughly from behind.

From the angle they were in I could see the whole thing: the look of utter humiliation on her face as she let herself be raped by her boyfriend, the expression of despair, the tears – and the oh-so-delicious regret. I was aroused again despite myself.

And then a curious thing happened. She came. Hard.

I hadn't expected that – but the rough treatment at Tim's hands apparently set something off in Mary, and despite her humiliation – or perhaps because of it – she had a powerful orgasm as Tim emptied his balls inside my wife's pussy. He didn't notice, being too involved in his own bestial thoughts, but I could see it clear as day. You don't live with a woman for six years and mistake something like that.

They didn't speak as they cleaned up. I terminated the connection and began the editing process.




The doorbell rang right at eight o'clock, and I answered. Mary came in, and I detected the faint scent of French fries clinging to her old coat. I apologized as I wiped my mouth – take-out Peking Duck from our favorite Chinese restaurant. I could see her mouth start to water the instant she smelled it.

"Glass of wine?" I asked, politely.

"The doctor said I can have up to one a day," she agreed, nodding enthusiastically.

"Good, good," I said, pouring a glass of exquisite Bordeaux into the crystal we got for our wedding and handing it to her. I noted how rough her hands looked and realized that it had been weeks since she had gotten a manicure. Oh, how she must be suffering.

"Mind if I relax for a minute?" she asked, settling down on the couch. She sank back into the overstuffed cushions with a look of near bliss on her face. "That Gremlin's seat is murder on my back."

"I want to apologize for my outburst earlier today," I said, conciliatorily. "I suppose you're right – no reason we can't be . . . civil about this."

"I appreciate that," she said, taking a seat on the couch. "How's the addition coming along?"

"Slowly," I said, shaking my head. "As soon as it gets cold, the workmen slow it down."

"How's work?"

"Pretty good. Looking at a promotion, I think, if I can land one more big client. I've got my eyes set on a few. You?"

"Same old pre-holiday crap. Marge is going to shit when I tell her I can't lift anything over twenty pounds in a few weeks."

"Find anything at the maternity store?"

"Bunches," she agreed. "But not very much I can afford. I did get a bigger bra. My boobs are starting to swell."

"I noticed," I said, nodding towards them. She made a face, and then a flash of genuinely conflict appeared on her face.

"That's some good wine," she said approving, setting it down on the coffee table and removing her coat – thrusting her breasts at me in the process. Was it deliberate? Not that I minded. They had, indeed, grown some.

"Let me pee, first," I said, getting up. She nodded, and started arranging pillows in front of my recliner.

I went to the bathroom, peed, and cued up the cameras from my office next to it.. I had three of them at various angles. I was happy with the result, and even caught Mary re-arranging her camel toe before she finished settling.

I came out again and got out of my pants in a fairly perfunctory manner. I gingerly stepped over her and settled back down with my wine and the remote. I cued the stereo and a mix CD I had made came on. Just some gentle jazz, innocuous background music, really. For now.

"Are you ready?" she asked, her expression serious. While I was gone she had pulled up her hair in a long ponytail. I loved it when she did that. I nodded with a small smile, and wiggled my butt just a little closer to her face.

She sighed and grasped my cock at the base, beginning a slow, gentle stroking. After a moment of contemplation she leaned forward and I felt about a third of my cock slide between her lips. I let out my usual contented sigh.

She glanced up – unusual, since this began. She only held it for a moment, but I took her meaning: I might be forced to do this, but I'm going to do a hell of a job if I have to.

Works for me. Her long, slow, thoughtful blowjobs were among my favorites, and considering the unusual abuse my dick had taken in the last week, it was just as well. I sank back and sipped my wine and watched her pretty head and neck move in deliberate circles. I luxuriated at the slow, sinuous way her tongue played across my glans. And all the while her left hand stroked a methodical beat at the base.

The music changed to something a little more peppy, and she increased her strokes accordingly. She was getting into it, too.

I watched her work, glad I was getting it on tape. If the others had been contractual obligations, it was clear that, for whatever reason, she was putting more effort into this one. Perhaps she missed me, I don't know.

She paused and looked up at me, and in a sensual voice asked, "Are we having fun yet?"

I nodded. She returned to business. The music changed again, something from around the time we met. Nothing particularly meaningful – that was ahead. But something that would draw her mind back to hearing it for the first time.

When next the music changed, it was something more meaningful – a song that had been among the background music from our first week-end date, up in the mountains with another couple. The next one was from the weekend at the beach with her folks the first time – a rite of passage for all her serious boyfriends. I changed up with the next one, but kept it in that era.

"Good music," she commented on her next break. I nodded and gasped as her hand kept me interested while she rested her lips.

The next song was unmistakable – it had played the night I asked her to marry me in an Italian restaurant. The one after that had been on the band's playlist at our wedding. I threw in another neutral tune, and then hit her with Our Song. I didn't say a word. Either did she – but I could see the tears as her face moved in a blur to urge my stick seed out of the chamber. She had thrown away a lot of good times, I was telling her through the music. Just before I climaxed a bluesy number I had picked at random popped up.

"UGH!" I grunted with effort, letting her take me as deep as she could while I fountained. Blinding orgasm sheered into me, and turned me inside out. My wife could suck a damn dick.

By the time she pulled her lips away the blues number had ended, and I was spared her using the music as an excuse to pick a fight.

"Was that acceptable?" she asked, slyly.

"Yes," I said. "One more down."

"I'm hoping for two," she reminded me.

"If the flesh is willing," I said, gesturing to my penis. "Give me a little while, and I'll see. More wine?"

She eyed her glass critically, then held it out. "Half, please," she said, reluctantly. I nodded and got up, accidentally slapping my softened cock against her face along the way. She giggled the way she does when she's had too much wine.

I filled up both of our glasses and speared the last piece of duck on my way out. I had considered leaving it for her, but I wasn't feeling that generous, I decided. I returned to my seat, handed her the glass, and smacked her in the face again as I sat.

She giggled hysterically, then. "You ready yet?" she asked, smiling – and my heart nearly melted.

"Almost," I conceded. "But remember, it might not happen."

"I know," she said. "But I have to try."

"Yeah," I agreed. "I hope this hasn't been totally . . . a repugnant experience for you."

"No, not totally," she admitted. "I mean, it's not like I haven't done it before."

"Good," I said. "I'm not trying to . . ." I trailed off.

"Oh, I still think you're childish and despicable for forcing me to do this," she said, earnestly. "I thought you could be more adult about it, but . . . I suppose it beats a really messy divorce."

"Yeah," I said, gloomily. "Um, why don't you start? I know Tim will be waiting up for you."

It was early yet. She caught my brush-off the way I had intended it, and then sighed again. Without further ceremony, she swallowed my soft penis whole, and molested it with her tongue until it stood at attention. I knew she was trying to make this one pro forma – I also guessed her panties were soaked. She was squirming a lot.

I let her go at it for almost an hour, and she pulled out several new tricks to make up for the fatigue. But eventually she couldn't feel her lips anymore, and my cock was so over-stimulated an orgasm was an increasingly remote possibility. I finally pulled her face away and let her catch her breath. "Not gonna happen?" she asked, wheezing with effort.

"Nope," I agreed. "Mr. Happy has left the building. Still, good try," I admitted. Even though I hadn't cum, the tape would be righteous.

"All right, I guess it doesn't count, then," she said, depressed.

"Sorry. I guess I'm getting old," I said, pulling on my pants. I helped her up, and she drained her glass on her way to the kitchen.

I stopped as she was putting her coat back on, and went over to my new purchase. It was a clear glass piggybank abour the size of a coconut. The pig had a leering expression on his face and a cork in his snout. I popped out the cork and tossed in a dry red kidney bean. There were already some in there. Four of them, actually.

"What's that?" she asked, curiously.

"My blowjob bank," I explained. "It's how I keep track of how many times you've given me head since our agreement."

"You're an accountant," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure you can keep track of the number. You shouldn't need to count . . . beans," she said, the importance and irony of her statement occurring to her.

"Well, it's what I do best," I said, snidely. She gave a grunt of frustration, shaking her head. Then she straightened out and got into her usual 'I want something' attitude.

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