tagNonConsent/ReluctanceBean Counter Ch. 09

Bean Counter Ch. 09


We went back to Susan's place after dinner to survey the carnage – and review the video of Mary's command performance. Susan was enthusiastic to witness her sister's humiliation and obvious reluctance, especially with her High School cheerleader picture in the background. Susan had been a nerdy bookworm in school, and there was plenty of clique-conscious revenge in her heart along with the usual sibling rivalry.

"She does suck a good dick," she admitted after the brief movie was done. "She's gotten much better since High School."

"How do you know?" I asked, instantly intrigued. I had been under the impression that Mary was a relative novice at fellatio when we met.

"I was a nosy little sister, remember? I snuck down and watched her and her dates for years. Since I was home, the parents never thought she'd try anything while they were gone, but that never stopped her. She'd send me to my room and then suck off her dates on the couch."

"Goodness!" I said, mildly. I hadn't known.

"Oh, yeah, she was a real blowjob princess, back then. Especially for jocks. She even kept a diary. She did five of the football team, three of the basketball team, and four wrestlers, among others. The wrestlers she did all in one night," she confessed, enthusiastically. "All-state finals. Which they lost. But she was quite the slut, for a virgin."

"I had no idea!"

"When you're a 'good Catholic girl' and you want some hope of a social life, you've got to do something to market yourself. She wasn't popular because of her charming personality," she shrugged.

"And how about you, Miss Bookworm? When did you suck your first dick?"

"Junior year, the Quiz Bowl state finals. I thought that maybe Sissy was on to something, so I blew two of the guys on my team to keep them calm before the competition. I wasn't very good, but they were geeks; they didn't complain. And we kicked some geeky ass!"

"Wow. Care to show me?" I asked, smiling deviously.

"I thought you'd never ask!" she said hungrily, smiling and reaching for my zipper.

Head from Susan was different from head from Mary, although in pure technique they had some startling similarities. Mary was more subtle and deliberate, while Susan was all about the enthusiasm. Both were a joy, and the difference was exciting. I sat back on the couch and let her perform, her lovely cashmere-covered tits rubbing over my thighs and her long brown hair tickling my balls.

"I still can't believe I'm sucking off my brother-in-law again," she said when she backed off to catch her breath.

"I still can't believe that I'm about to fuck my sister-in-law in the ass!" I replied, eagerly. She paused and looked up at me.

"You want . . . to fuck my butt?" she asked, levelly.

"If it's on the table. I do have a wild card," I reminded her. "You've never done it before?"

"No, no, I've had anal before. Good Catholic girl, remember? Before I figured out hanging on to my virginity for dear life was stupid, I let my boyfriends stick it up my butt if they got tired of blowjobs. It didn't do much for me, sexually, but it was great birth control, it made them happy, and there was something very intellectually dirty about it. Yeah, it's been a while – you can pump my ass silly, if you want to," she agreed.

"Fan-fucking-tastic!" I said, gleefully. I hadn't had anal sex since before I met Mary, and that had been a fleeting and not very memorable encounter.

"See, now you've got me all excited again," she complained, and leaned forward to swallow my cock. Awww. Poor Susan.

We did it right there on the couch, with her bent over doggie style presenting her tiny pink rosebud to me. I slicked up with some lube she had in her purse (I didn't ask) and lined up properly before I started easing the head into her crack.

"Whoa, big fella!" she cried after the head popped past her sphincter. "Give me . . . just a moment . . . to get used to that thing," she asked, breathlessly. I nodded and let her ass get acclimatized to my girth. Hell, I'm not that thick, but I could appreciate her hesitation. "OK," she said, finally. "Damn! That hurts!"

"I can stop if you want," I suggested.

"Oh, hell no! I can take it. Just . . . use a little more lube, and go sloooowwww!"

Which is what I did. Inch by inch I slid inside her ass, a tight, hot, and intensely sexy sensation. She moaned a bit, groaned a bit, and yelped every now and then, her hand working furiously at her clit, but I got in to the balls.

"OHMYGOD! It feels like there's a telephone pole up my ass!" she groaned.

"Just reaching out and touching someone," I said, lustfully, as I bottomed out.

"I think I remember why I gave this up!" she said, breathlessly. "God dammit, that hurts! God, how do those choir boys stand it? DAMN!"

"I can stop . . ." I offered again.

"CHRIST, no!" she moaned. "I'm just starting to get into it! Go ahead and fuck my ass. And enjoy it! 'Cause I don't think we'll be doing this again anytime soon!"

It took another thirty minutes for me to splash her bowels with my seed, and I'm glad to report that she did, eventually, get into it – a lot more than I had anticipated. She had two extremely powerful orgasms before I was done, and a sheen of sweat on her brow was proof that the experience had been intense for her as well. She cleaned up and rejoined me on the couch, spent and weak, but euphoric.

"I have got to do that more," she said with a satisfied sigh. "I don't know if it's because I got older, I was so turned on, or what, but that was incredible! Oh, it hurt like hell, but it was SO worth it!"

"Glad I could help. So does that constitute a wild card?"

"Mostly," she admitted. "I'd say that after today, you get about another half of one. Keep wining me and dining me, and you'll get plenty more!"

"How about this?" I asked, pulling out a check I had written.

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

"My Christmas present to my favorite sister-in-law," I answered. She took it and opened it and her eyes grew as big as saucers.

"OHMYGOD! Bill, you can't DO this!" she insisted. "You have to take it back!"

"Nope," I said, shaking my head. "I got a sneak-peak at my bonus this year, and I can afford it. You saw what it was for?"

She glanced at the check again. In the MEMO space I had written LASIK SURGERY.

"You . . . you . . ." she said, speechless.

"You have to take it," I insisted. "I know you've been saving . . . and this is enough to get you the best in town, not the cheap one. You have pretty eyes," I remarked. "They deserve only the finest."

She just stared at me, open mouthed. "My sister is a fucking IDIOT!" she finally declared.

And who was I to argue?


I didn't hear from Mary the next day, which wasn't surprising. No doubt she was still ticked off about Thanksgiving. I had taken home some extra work to deal with over the long holiday weekend, so Friday after Thanksgiving had me tied to my computer – two of them, actually, as my laptop was needed to securely lug around all the new client files. So as I typed and planned on the laptop, I had my desktop tuned to Maryvision – without the Mary.

Like every other retail drone in the universe she was scheduled to work early on Black Friday, and she left before the Dickless Wonder was even awake. By the time I logged on to my spy cams around 11, he had just started to get up. And he didn't wake up pretty.

I admit, I only had half an eye on him, and considered turning him off altogether so that I could concentrate. But I left it up out of boredom, and I'm glad I did. He got up, drank coffee, watched the news, and then made a few cell phone calls I couldn't quite hear enough of. About 12:30 there was a knock at the door, which intrigued me. Tim and Mary rarely, if ever, had had company in the entire time I had been spying on them.

I was nearly shocked out of my chair to hear Anna walk in uninvited when he opened the door.

"—she lived here," Anna was saying. "And I couldn't believe it – my best friend, living in this DUMP!"

"Hey, this is my home," Tim protested lamely. "And she's not even here. She works on Fridays. Went in early this morning."

"If you think I'm going down to that nasty, germ-infested mall—"

"Lady, I don't care where you go," Tim said, tiredly. "I just got up, and Mary won't be home for hours, yet."

"I could wait," she said, diffidently. I could imagine her expression of disdain. Anna was always a snob, even before she married well. "So you're him . . . the man who stole her away from Bill."

"Yeah, and a fat lotta good it's done me," he grumbled.

"Buyer's remorse?" she asked, haughtily.

"In a sense. Look, I know you an' her go way back, but she isn't the prize I thought she was. She seemed so . . . pretty and sexy when I met her in the bookstore. I just figured I'd get a piece, move on. Then she started getting clingy, and next thing you know, there's the little blue line on the pregnancy test . . . and now that fucker Bill is holding us hostage."

He went on to describe in unflattering terms my threat to sue him. He didn't mention the blowjob contract. I was gratified to hear Anna give a wicked little giggle.

"I never thought he had it in him," she confessed. "That's rich!"

"Yeah, well, we were the ones that were supposed to be rich," he complained. "But he froze her out. Totally. I even had to ask her dad to borrow money yesterday. That was tough."

"And how did he take that?"

"I'd rather not go into it. Hey, where have you been hiding, anyway? Mary never said you were so hot."

"She probably wouldn't," Anna said, clearly flattered by the little weasel. "She's been jealous of my looks since High School. And now she's going to get all fat and mommy-ish. Besides, I've been out of the country for a while. Otherwise, you would have seen me much sooner. Honestly, Tim, I'm sure all of this 'starving artist' thing is terribly romantic, but I have to say, I'm not impressed. Bill was not what I'd call a winner, either, but you . . . well, you have 'blue collar' written all over you."

"Yeah, well, I do work for a living," Tim said, clearly put off. "That's one of the things Mary was attracted to me about. She said that Bill never did anything romantic, or even busted his ass much around the house. We don't have a lot of money right now, but I'm not an idiot. I've got some irons in the fire."

Bullshit. I knew better.

"Well," Anna said, continuing, "I think it's a shame she has to rely on you and your income to survive. And in this . . . tentament. She's really accustomed to better."

"Lady, you want her, you can have her!" he burst out. "After getting fucking abused by her whole goddamn family yesterday, I'm about done!"

"I thought you loved her?" Anna said after a pause.

"Shit. She loves ME, I'm sure. I was pretty tight with her, girlfriend-wise, but then she got knocked up. She's been a heinous bitch ever since. Won't let me drink, party, anything. Spends all my goddamn money on baby shit. Can't get fucking Dollar Bill off her mind – did you know she's still fucking him? For money?"

"Oh . . . my," Anna said, catching her breath.

"Yeah, that's right, your BFF has become a whore to her husband. I mean, what kind of slut does that?"

"The kind that leaves a palace to live in a hut with a retard," Anna said, viciously.

"You'd better watch yourself," Tim growled. It sounded too whiney to be a very impressive threat.

"Oh, please, Anna said with complete disdain. "Touch me and I'll have your ass beaten and thrown in jail. You are a fucking retard, but don't take it personally. Most men are. Even my husband. Especially my husband, who is in the Caribbean fishing right now because he thinks blue marlin are more exciting than me."

"A man of poor taste," Tim said.

"But someone had to come home and prepare for the Holiday season – that's what I get for marrying a Jew, I guess. He won't be home until the day before Christmas Eve. He just doesn't take Christmas seriously. But he doesn't live in filth, either, like . . . some retards I know. So. You don't really love Mary, but you're in a relationship with her now." It was a statement, not a question.

"So, about this divorce – did she file?"

"Well . . . kinda . . ." Tim said, unsure of himself. "There have been some issues. Bill won't sign the papers unless . . . well, there are some marital issues he wants to sort out first. And he says that he'll sue me for 'alienation' or something. But Mary wants to get married before the baby comes, so they – hell, I dunno. You'll have to ask them about it. I just work here."

"You poor, mistreated baby," Anna said, unsympathetically. "Perhaps you should have thought about that before you rubbed another man's rhubarb. What's she getting in the divorce?"

"Nothin'. Bill said he'd . . . again, you should probably talk to them."

"So is Mary on drugs? I mean, she left her house – have you seen her house? – to live in squalor. Is it crack? Heroin? Crystal meth?"

"God, I wish!" Tim said, desperately. "She won't even let me smoke in the house any more. Not even cigarettes. And it's my damn house!" he said, defiantly.

"Well, that's what marriage is all about, didn't you know?"

"I've managed to escape it, up to now."

"Well, honey, it works like this: you had a happy, carefree existence going around and banging other men's wives and living like a pig. Now you fucked up and have a child and a soon-to-be wife. Which means that not only can't you bang other men's wives anymore, you will be waiting on her hand and foot for the remainder of the pregnancy. And after that? Well, don't count on even banging your own wife for a good long time. I have it on highest authority that your expectation of sex with her post partum is about as great as having your work shown in a major exhibition."

"Hey!" Tim protested, annoyed. "I've been in shows—"

"Yes, I saw the pieces on the porch when I came in. Very creative – for a ten-year-old. As a buyer of art, and a former Art History major, let me assure you that the lick of talent you once may have had is not nearly enough to let you support yourself. You lack imagination, technique, style, and about a hundred other things you'd need. And living in a rural . . . shed . . . well, you might think it's quaint, but it's just sad. Oh, you'll sell a few paintings, no doubt – there are idiots everywhere, after all – but support yourself? And a wife and child? Forget about it."

"You know lady? You're giving me a headache."

"Deal with it. I'm Mary's best friend – or at least I am until I can try to talk some fucking sense into her head. I'm not going anywhere. This might all seem very quaint and romantic to her, but she's ruining her life with you. And to think she gave up Bill – he was always a hottie, underneath all of that . . . paperwork. She's a fool. I'd jump on him the first minute her back is turned"

Would she? I filed that information for later.

"I thought you were married?"

"Not that it's any of your business, I'm not that married. Paul and I have a discrete arrangement."

"So . . . you wanna see why Mary left Bill?" Tim asked, slyly, trying to recover the upper hand in the conversation.

"Well . . . whip it out."


"Your dick, your cock, putz, willy, schlong, wang, John Thomas, your peter. Show me."

"You wanna see my cock?" he asked, machismo simply trickling out of his voice. "Yeah, you rich bitches are all the same. All about the cock, isn't it?" I might have heard a zipper.

"Ha ha," Anna laughed wryly. "Oh, my. She's on drugs. Definitely must be on drugs. That's the only explanation."

"Hey!" Tim shouted, offended.

"That's the sorriest excuse for a penis I've seen in . . . well, since before college. It's not a cock. It's not even a dick. It's a 'penis'. Like it's a sample of the real thing. Perhaps I'm just used to the Giant Economy Size those beefy Jamaican boys have. But that thing is just pathetic."

"Get the hell out of my house!" Tim said angrily. "Out! OUCH!" For a moment I thought she had hit him – I so hoped that she had. Anna is a royal bitch, and slapping around a social inferior was well within her operating parameters. But what I heard next was even better.

"It's hard to imagine that such a little thing like that could get caught in a zipper," Anna said, voice dripping with vitriol. "Looks like it hurts like hell, too, poor li'l thing. Tell Mary I stopped by. I'll let myself out."

It took me a good twenty minutes to stop laughing.

* **

Later I tuned into my spy-cam, though, and witnessed Mary coming home from work about three o'clock (she had worked the Black Friday madness at the bookstore) complaining of aching feet and sore back. She had had a brutal day, of course – retail on the Friday after Thanksgiving is about the third level of Hell. With her pregnancy starting to – no pun – weigh on her more, she was exhausted. She tried very hard to convince Dickless that she needed a backrub and foot rub – something any good husband or boyfriend would do for a woman he loved. Especially if she has consented to bear your child.

Tim, however, saw it as a bargaining chip, and insisted on a blowjob before he would give her the gentle touches she craved. I listened to them argue for a while, until Mary finally relented – I was noticing a passivity to her that I never suspected. She glumly followed him into their bedroom where she sat on the bed, still in her coat, and waited.

Tim didn't waste any time dropping his pants, taking his raging shaft of man-meat (okay, that might be overstating it) and sticking it into her mouth. She let him do all the work, merely providing her lips, tongue, and mouth for his enjoyment. And enjoy it he did, eventually grabbing her hair and pushing his cock vigorously between her lips and fucking her face. In s predictably short amount of time he gave a long, low groan and filled her mouth with his cum. It still infuriated me to watch him with my wife, like that, but I had learned not to let it destroy me.

Instead I watched intently as he collapsed beside her on the bed, a satisfied look on his face. She had to prompt him three times to keep his part of the bargain, which he did only half-heartedly. She took off her coat and shirt and unhooked her bra. He started rubbing her back roughly, clearly trying to get it over with –essentially the same attitude she had held about sucking his dick. They talked, after a fashion. He asked a couple of things about work, and asked when she was going to call me ("Tomorrow," she said, wanting at least one day off without my dick in her mouth. I could respect that.). He made a snide comment about doing a double and working off her debt, which irritated her. He didn't mention Anna coming by, which I thought was telling.

Then at one point he did the Unthinkable:

"Baby," he said in his whiney tone, "I think you're starting to get fat." And then he played with the gentle roll of flesh that was protruding from the top of her jeans. I just watched in stupefied horror as he did the one thing that no sane man EVER lets himself do. What a fucking idiot. One thing that marriage had taught me: you NEVER call attention to your woman's weight. Not if you expected any consideration. It was a freshman mistake, and one that would cost him. Mary became furious and started a fight, and after enjoying the lovebirds' squabble for a while, I decided something.

I was starting to get annoyed with Tim. It was time I did something about him.

I concocted an elaborate plan, which kept me from driving over there and simply beating him to death on behalf of the rest of humanity. It was a good, devious, intricate plan, too. I spent at least an hour and a half finding the website I wanted, another hour arranging things. It would take a few days for everything to come through, but I was reasonably confident that things would play out the way I wanted. And I was terribly pleased with the result.

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