Bean Counter Ch. 04byCreamer©
"You're chipper again," my secretary Donna said disapprovingly. "Did someone have fun over the weekend?"
"Plenty," I said. "You want details?"
"I'd rather have a root canal," she assured me. "Just glad to see you smile again. Is . . . Mary coming by today?"
I feigned surprise. "Why, as luck would have it, she is!"
"When should I take my lunch?" she asked, rolling her eyes.
"Would noon be too late? I'll buy."
"Can I make it an hour and a half?"
"Sure, I'm feeling generous," I said. "To women who haven't stabbed me in the back. Them other bitches can just drop to their knees," I added evilly.
"And they say chivalry is dead," she said, shaking her head and wandering off.
I did whistle a lot that morning, and when one o' clock rolled around, I was more than ready for Mary's visit. She was ten minutes late, blaming her crappy automobile for the delay, and in a hurry. I nodded sympathetically and unzipped my fly. She didn't even take off her coat.
"You want to stand today?"
"No," I said. "This will be fine." My dick strained towards her lips, so sensitive from recent use that I winced when her cold hand wrapped around it. She didn't slow down, though, and gave me a fast power-suck. She wasn't into it in the slightest, but again, I didn't mind. As long as her mouth was sucking, she could be thinking about her grocery list, for all I cared.
If she could actually afford groceries, that is . . .
"Grab my head," she said around a mouthful of cock. "I don't have a lot of time. Fuck my face, I won't mind. Just not so deep," she cautioned.
Well, if the lady says it's OK . . . I grabbed the back of her head and pushed it into the rhythm I was happy with. Totally ignoring her feelings on the matter, I simply used her mouth as a masturbation aid, controlling the tempo like I would have my own hand. Oh, she kept her tongue busy and her teeth out of the way, but I treated the lips who said 'I do' at our wedding as a simple hole for my gratification. She started to moan in protest, but I persisted until I exploded in her mouth.
She sputtered and choked, losing a little of my load in the process. "Dammit, that one counts!" she insisted as she wiped away my sperm from her lips.
"But of course," I said. "You did admirably."
"Great. Another one in the can. Same time tomorrow?"
"No, I have meetings with clients all day. Big day. How about Wednesday?"
"I work Wednesday night," she said, shaking her head. "And I have a prenatal visit during the day." Another long wait at the Health Department. My heart bleeds.
"I'm sure we can work something out," I said, sympathetically. "I'll give you a call."
She frowned briefly. "All right. Um, call me at work, then."
I killed. At my meetings, I mean.
I don't know if it was because I was just that good, or I was using my anger from the separation as fuel, or if it was all the sex I was having – and the kind of sex – had sharpened my skills by increasing my testosterone levels. All I know is that one minute, Larry Holmes, Company Gasbag, was doing his level best to kill the deal, and the next I was on my feet, talking quickly and smoothly and generally charming my way into the deal.
I was on fire. They hit me with five questions, three of which I was prepared for, and two which I had answers to by the end of the day. They were an aggressive tech firm with lots of overseas contracts, and I pulled out the names of big firms in each of the countries where I had established contacts who would listen to us. Told a joke, paid them a few compliments, closed, thank you, thank you very much! They left very impressed, giving us the contract. And it was a very big contract. Millions.
I wanted to celebrate, but I postponed it until the ink was dry. Anything can kill a deal at the last minute, after all. The world is full of Larry Holmes's.
I contented myself with a drink with their really cute young in-house accountant in an upscale bar. We flirted outrageously, and I walked away from the meeting about eight o'clock with a pleasant glow and an erection like steel. Somehow, I found myself driving to the bookstore.
It was almost closing time, and the mall was fairly deserted. Mary's shop was one of those trendy specialty shops that emphasize coffee table books and best selling thrillers thick enough to stop a bullet.
Mary was startled to see me, and so was the scrawny, bespectacled new girl. I had met her once or twice, a student, and she hadn't impressed me much. But when I walked up to her and asked her if she minded covering the register while I went to talk to my wife in the back, she swallowed hard and nodded.
"What the hell do you want?" Mary hissed as we went into the back. "I'm working!"
"I was in the neighborhood," I said. "Thought I'd drop by. Just a husband seeing his wife. Perfectly normal. Even quaint, in some circles."
"You . . . you want me to blow you?" she asked, her eyes growing wide. "Here?"
I shrugged. "It's an opportunity," I offered. "You can get one done and not have to worry about getting home late."
"Bill! I'm at work! That could get me fired!"
"Who would know? That little twig out front can't leave the register to come back here. As far as she's concerned, we're having a domestic discussion. She won't intrude. Look, I was trying to help you out, but if you're dead set against it I'll go get a soft pretzel and go home," I offered.
"Well . . . you are here," she admitted. "And it would be nice to get to bed on time. Um . . . can you cum quickly?"
I unzipped my fly. "That all depends on you," I said in a low voice.
She rolled her eyes. "Let me lock the door," she said with a deep sigh.
I put down a couple of broken-down boxes to act as a cushion for her knees – because I'm chivalrous like that – and then helped her kneel. With self-conscious glances to make certain we were alone, she began the blowjob with a hint of ceremony. "I haven't done this since before we were married," she commented, seconds before taking my cock in her mouth. "Sucked you off in public."
I didn't reply. Erection is the sincerest form of flattery.
Her approach this time had a little more excitement to it – the prospect of getting caught, the forbidden nature of sex at work – I could just guess she was making a mess in her panties. I recalled other times in our relationship where we had indulged in places that could have lead to discovery, and realized that she had always had a bit of a naughty streak in that regard. As it was, she was performing beautifully. Her head pistoned to and fro in my lap, as she was favoring fast, long, deep strokes with a bit of a hand-twist around the base – jerking me off into her mouth, essentially. Her eyes were closed while she did it, and I decided to take pity on her and not purposefully try to delay the orgasm.
I thought about that tasty piece of ass I had met today, shortish blonde hair, a little thick in places, but with a perfect apple-shaped ass. I imagined her there, for a while, sucking as expertly as Mary did. And then Mary started stroking my scrotum, and I lost it, sending a silver stream of semen into her throat. Elapsed time: 8.5 minutes.
"How was that?" she said, and immediately belched. She made a face. "God, that was nasty!" she laughed.
"Had steak for lunch, sorry," I said. "That was great. Fucking righteous."
"Well, get the hell out and toss another bean in your piggy," she said, getting up from her knees. "I've got work to do." It was odd – she didn't sound pissed.
"Not a problem. Give me a call," I added. I walked out on shaky knees but with the proud dignity you feel when you just got a blowjob someplace you shouldn't have.
I went home and watched TV for a while, until I thought Mary would finally be home. Then I tuned in Radio Mary, sat back with a drink and a bowl of peanuts, and watched the soap opera unfold.
"You're home early," Tim commented, an edge in his voice. "I thought you'd go see Dollar Bill tonight."
"I did," she admitted. "Twice, actually. I did him in his office before work, and then he stopped by at closing time and squeezed one off in the back room. You would have been proud of me – I power-sucked him so that he shot off in less than five minutes." That lying bitch!
"Lightweight," sneered Tim. "Wanna show me what you did?"
"Um, let me pee and we can discuss it," she said. Five minutes later, she was back, but I didn't hear her doing anything. The TV was on in the background, and they muttered general domestic housekeeping stuff for a while. For anyone else it would be boring. Me, I was riveted.
"Did you get the mail today?" I heard her ask.
"On the counter," he grunted. There was a long pause.
"Shit! Tim, I thought you were going to pay the gas bill!"
"I am," he added, annoyed.
"Well, now it's up to $221," she said accusingly. "And if it gets cut off, we'll have to pay another $75 deposit."
"I said I'll handle it! I get paid on Friday."
"The final due date is tomorrow," she said, doubtfully.
"Relax," he said dismissively. "Those guys are never on time. I'll be able to pay by Friday."
"I hope so," she said. "It's getting awfully cold out."
"Will you just relax?"
"All right," she said. I could hear the sulk in her voice.
"Hey, what's this?" she asked suddenly.
"This envelope. From . . . some student loan people."
"Oh. I got a lot of grants to go to Art school," he explained.
"Tim, this says you owe something like nine thousand dollars!"
"Don't pay any attention to it," he said, growing more annoyed. "They don't expect you to pay it back right away."
"Tim, you've defaulted. Three years ago. They're going to garnish your wages." I knew from the PI's report that Tim worked at an auto glass place, making about $21k a year. He couldn't be bringing home that much.
"That's just a threat."
"No, they start this week. Over a hundred bucks."
"You worry too much," he said derisively.
No, Tim, you dumb motherfucker, you don't worry enough, I thought to myself with a grin. That they were having money problems was not news. That they were on the brink of destitution, now that was intriguing. Mary had always been financially responsible and it seemed as if her artistic humpy wasn't plagued by such bourgeois sensibilities. I was about to mentally file this away and sign off when I caught his voice again.
"Hey, babe? Can I get a BJ tonight?" he asked, as if he was asking her to pass the salt. Pause. Oh, this would be good.
"A hummer? You know, where you suck my—"
"Yes, I'm familiar with the concept, believe it or not," she said, dryly. "My mouth hurts. Some other time." She was being polite, but I knew what that tone meant: No Fucking Way.
"But bay-bee!" he whined. "You do it—"
"You just shut the hell up about that!" she snarled back, a surprising display of vitriol from her. "You know why I have to do that: to protect you and our child."
"Yeah, I know, so what's one more—"
"I'm going to bed," she said, crossly, and stomped off. A moment later she came into view of the hidden web-cam, and I got treated to the sight of her undressing and putting on that frumpy nightgown again. A moment later the light was off.
The next few days were busy, and I was only able to give Mary a shot at my cock twice, another lunch hour blowjob and another bookstore storeroom suck. I think she appreciated the break – she finally blew Tim the third night. Not that it took that long.
I was starting to worry that I was obsessing about spying on them – I was supposed to try to move on. Whether it was wounded pride or pure vindictiveness, I couldn't let go.
And after thinking about it a long time, I was OK with that. My whole life was on the line, here. Everything I did, all I had become, had been because of Mary. So my extreme actions, while perhaps not completely healthy from an objective standpoint, I looked upon as vital therapy – as well as a clandestine attempt to gather intelligence. And I felt like it was paying off. Their relationship was hitting some rocky patches, and I was doing my best to encourage them.
That Friday I got a big, fat, juicy opportunity, and I made the most of it. Tim had predictably failed to make the gas payment, and they awoke to a bitterly cold farmhouse that morning. Despite the Southern clime, it got pretty cold in the autumn. Cold enough so I could see their breath on the low-resolution webcam. As they had a gas hot-water heater, too, they couldn't shower without risking hyperthermia. Mary was panicked. Tim, for whom this was obviously not an uncommon occurrence, suggested they sleep in, snuggle, and have sex. Mr. Sensitive.
Mary was not amused. She freaked out on him, got dressed, and stormed off. She had set up a long afternoon with me that day, to make up for the busy week, and I feigned surprise when she showed up at my office an hour early.
"This is . . . unusual," I commented after she shut the door behind her.
"I figured the more time we had, the better chance I could pull a double header," she quipped. I laughed.
"That's good. I've cleared my schedule for the afternoon. You ready to go?" She hadn't mentioned Tim or the gas at all. We got in my car and pulled away, and she started to panic when I took a turn that led away from, not towards, my house.
"Bill! I can't do this all afternoon in your car!" she complained. "I'm pregnant! I'll get cramps!"
"Cool your jets," I soothed. "I'm not a cruel man," I lied. "I figured a change in venue might be in order."
"Where?" she asked, suspicious.
"You'll see," I said, smugly.
The Regency is one of the nicest hotels in town, an elegant holdover from a classier age that had been recently renovated. My office was actually using it for our Christmas party this year. I had rented a small suite overlooking the lake.
"You don't mind, do you?" I asked casually.
"What? Are you kidding?" she asked excitedly. "This is wonderful!"
"Country living not everything you thought it would be?" I asked.
"It's . . . fine, I really enjoy the quiet," she lied. "I've always been a nature nut."
"I know," I agreed. Her idea of 'nature' was gardening in the back yard. She had never been camping in her life, to my knowledge.
"But this will be a nice change," she added quietly.
I checked us in as Mr. & Mrs. that morning when I brought by some supplies. I led her upstairs. While she was impressed by the statuesque elegance of the grand old place, she also felt ridiculously underdressed in jeans and a sweatshirt and tennis shoes. I didn't mind. A little humility was good for the cheating bitch.
She spent several minutes exploring the place, checking out the fine amenities – including the whirlpool garden tub, which she looked upon longingly. She started to sprawl on the bed – incredibly comfortable, of course – when I stopped her and nodded to the executive chair in front of the television. "Over there," I advised her. "Make yourself comfortable. Champagne?"
"Why are you doing this?" she asked, suspiciously. "Is this your way of trying to . . . buy me back?"
I fixed her with a steely stare. "This is my way of getting my cock sucked off in comfort and style," I said evenly. "I just made a major deal, and I wanted to celebrate. I don't really want you back." That wasn't strictly true, of course – I just wanted my OLD wife back, not this new personality with a bastard in her uterus.
"OK," she said, visibly taken aback by my intensity. I saw her shoulders sag, and I knew that she had just started to realize that I might not want her back for real. The realization seemed to stagger her a bit. "Yes, I'd like a glass of champagne, please."
I poured two crystal flutes of really good champagne and handed her one. I then took off my pants, stripped out of the rest of my clothes, and sat down on the fine Corinthian leather of the chair – the Regency is like that. She pulled two of the pillows down to sit on, and scooted up until she was nose-to-glans with Mr. Happy, who was already coming to life in anticipation.
"Is it a little hot in here?" she asked, as she grasped my cock at the base and started stroking.
"I'm assuming that wasn't for effect. Yes, I turned the heat up. I'm buck naked," I explained. "I'd hate to be distracted by a chill."
"I'm not complaining," she said. After waking up in an icebox, I'm sure it felt like Nirvana. She leaned forward and took charge, my cockhead sliding deliciously across her tongue. I moaned.
She was into this one, a long, slow, languorous demonstration of fellatio. If she had been in love with me, I would have said she made love to it, but I knew better. Mary was starting to enjoy the experience a little. As she had explained to Tim, when she had a cock in her mouth, there was a certain natural excitement that got her aroused. I wanted to play on that.
When I had dropped by the goody basket in the morning, one of the things I had done was to empty two whole bottles of androstenone, a pheromone, into the room. One I had spread around, in the vents, in the carpet, in the beds . . . the other I had liberally painted over the chair, and dumped the remainder in the spot in front of the television where we now sat.
I had done some research on the product – there was really no scientific evidence for its efficacy, of course, but it was worth a shot. I knew that it was thought to influence the vomeronasal organ in the upper nose. I also knew that a woman's sense of smell is greatly amplified during pregnancy. I was hoping the two factors would add to my cause – which was getting Mary as horny as hell . . . in my presence.
She sucked beautifully, lovingly, using lots of tongue and really making a visual display of it. It was fellatio as performance art. She paused a few times to drink cold champagne, which she then used to swish around my cock, letting the sting of the alcohol, the chill of the wine, and the bubble treat the boy to a sensational time. Very nice. Highly recommended.
About fifteen minutes into the blowjob I casually grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. "You don't mind if I watch a little porn, do you?" I asked.
She looked up, my cockhead in her mouth, and shrugged. "As long as I don't have to see it," she said. She hated porn. She knew I kept it, and she hadn't ever objected to it, but every time I had tried to introduce it into our relationship, she balked. I hit play, and while her flowing brunette hair bobbed in my lap and my cock got expertly sucked, the huge plasma TV screen behind her displayed . . . our wedding video.
Not just the wedding, but our honeymoon in Mexico. I watched the happy couple while she sucked my dick and thought about better times. It wasn't that I got turned on by it – well, maybe a little, as weddings are somehow inherently sexual, and her sister looked REAL good in that slinky green dress – but because I wanted her to see it "accidentally" at some point and feel like shit.
I actually closed my eyes while she worked, and let her pump my Johnson until I spewed in her mouth. She swallowed every sticky drop. I turned off the TV and sat back in the chair, enjoying the post-orgasmic endorphin rush.
" 'Another satisfied customer!'" I quipped, quoting a stupid TV commercial for a local used car lot.
She grinned, at first, and then caught the implication of whoredom. She didn't rise to the bait. "I think I'm getting good at this," she admitted.
"You were always good at it," I said, fondly. Then I stiffened slightly. "I'm sure Tim thinks so."
"I'd rather not discuss my relationship, thank you," she said, coolly. I shrugged and got up to get more champagne. If she only knew.
"How did his opening go?" I asked, innocently.
She sighed. "Not as well as we would have liked. I'm not sure the Art World is ready for his vision." What a tactful way to say that he sucked.