tagNonConsent/ReluctanceBean Counter Ch. 10

Bean Counter Ch. 10


The weekend after Thanksgiving was busy, and I didn't even hear from Mary until Sunday. I spent my time trying to stave off my bitterness with a hearty dose of Yuletide cheer, as I hauled out the Christmas decorations and bought a magnificent tree and otherwise decked the halls. It did cheer me up a bit, but it also made me maudlin. Christmas was always a special time for me and Mary -- I had proposed at Christmas, and we had married just after the New Year. But I've always loved the trappings and customs of the season.

When Mary did finally call, Sunday morning, she sounded a little depressed and non-committal, resigned to the situation but still unhappy about it. We set a time for her to come over, about noon, and with a private grin I asked her to bring an emerald-colored negligee that I'd bought for her a few years ago. She only wore it when I asked, as she said it was too tight across the boobs and made her ass look big. It looked fine to me.

When she did arrive, she hurried to the bathroom to pee and change -- pregnancy had already started to work on her bladder, she said -- and a few moments later she popped out, her face made up and her lingerie on. I was waiting in the living room, in front of the plasma screen, naked and lightly stroking myself.

"I'm ready," she said, almost shyly.

"I'm not," I replied. "Let's see you a little."


"I want to see you. Come out here and show yourself off to me. Dance a little, maybe, but definitely bend over, spin, you know, seduce me."

She sighed, but nodded. She stood in front of me and started doing yoga positions to warm up, which made her tits positively threaten to burst out of her lacy green cups and put her shapely ass into the air. I had chosen a full panty with this outfit, I recalled approvingly, because her womanly ass encased in emerald satin made it look like a big sexy Christmas ornament. She carried on for a good five minute while I stroked myself to hardness. When I nodded that I was satisfied, she crawled over and took position between my thighs.

"I hope you don't mind me not kneeling," she said, as she absently stroked my cock. "Friday was brutal on my legs and knees."

"Not a problem," I said. "You just get comfy."

"Thanks," she said gratefully. "You know, that was a very naughty thing you made me do at my parent's house."

"Yeah," I admitted. "It was."

"I was mad about it, at first," she continued. "But then it kind of, y'know, turned me on."

"Good to know. But it wasn't about you."

"I know," Mary admitted, blushing a little. "But I thought you'd like to know. I'll shut up now and suck your cock."

"If you don't mind," I said. And she did. She varied her technique this time by starting out with butterfly licks all over the shaft and the head, taking the titillation well past the point of mere teasing and into the realm of excruciating anticipation. Then she went to work on my balls, giving my scrotum light kisses, swirling tongue, and light little bites that made the already-sensitive region sizzle.

"You're killing me here," I gasped, when I could take it no more.

"Sorry," she said with a girlish grin. "Got a little carried away." She slipped the first third of my cock into her mouth and started a slow and intense suction, while bobbing slowly from glans to mid-shaft.

If I had to characterize that blowjob, I'd say it was confused. In fact, I would say it was a performance given by a woman who was warring with herself. There were times that I could swear she was sucking me as fast and as hard as she could to get the event over with, and there were other times when I was sure she was sucking with the wifely devotion I had craved during our marriage. That's a pretty subtle distinction, I know, but I knew her. She was conflicted. I think I knew why.

Regrets. She had seen the Christmas tree when she came in, and tilted her head a little in remembrance of Christmas Past. The house looked great, I was treating her far more kindly than her boyfriend, and despite my insistence of her performance at her parent's house, I had been very cordial -- compared to Tim. So it wasn't too difficult to imagine that she was feeling some regrets. What she had given up, I assumed, and, perhaps, whom she had given up. That did my ego plenty good -- and enflamed my arousal something fierce.

I reached out and started guiding her head, taking her long dark curls in my hands and with gentle force directed her to adopt the pace I wanted. She responded at once, submissively slurping on my dick as I rode that elevator towards orgasm. I started pumping her mouth intensely, whispering filthy encouragement as her lips tightened and slackened on my shaft and her tongue sought to lick up every drop of preseminal fluid my dick was leaking freely. At last, with a ferocious moan, I came in her mouth -- not in the back of her throat, where I desired to, but just inside her lips, so she would have to taste my seed thoroughly before she swallowed.

"Uuuggh," I grunted, falling back and discarding her head. She looked at me, eyes a little wide, and then wiped her lips. She fell back on the carpet to catch her breath and stretch out on the floor.

"That," she commented a moment later, "was a big load."

"I haven't cum since Thursday night," I said, blissed-out.

"When I sucked you off?"

I eyed her carefully. "No. Afterwards."

"Jerkin' the gerkin'? Aren't you ever satisfied?" she complained mockingly.

"Nope. And Nope."

She stared back at me, and her face started to fall. Then she caught herself and sighed. "I'm going to go pee, again," she said.

"No, you're going to sneak off to the bathroom and masturbate," I countered.

"You wish! What makes you think that?" she asked. I could tell by her guilty look I had been right.

"Oh, the three-inch wet-spot in your panties," I observed casually. "Shows up pretty well in the green like that." That scored a hit. She blushed deeply.

"I -- pregnant women sometimes get—I just -- it's just a natural—"

"Spare me," I said, dismissively. "Don't bother denying it. You know, that always bothered me, in our marriage. You never took responsibility for your own sexuality. If you wanted sex you would hint around, and hint around, and wait for me to act, and then suddenly it was like you were doing me a favor, for my benefit. You get horny. I know it. No big secret. You should at least own up to it."

"That's not true!" she said, standing up. "I initiated sex plenty!"

"I keep score, remember? In the last two years you've initiated sex four times. You were drunk three of them. When you want to get laid, you won't admit it. It bugs me. Bugged me," I amended.

"Well -- so what? I DO get horny, sometimes," she said defensively. "I just don't think I have to act like a slut when I do."

"Bullshit. You don't mind acting like a slut -- as long as someone else can take the blame for 'making' you do it. It's no big deal, really, just a bit of psycho-sexual observation." "And you're the expert on that, right?" she asked, crossly.

"Let's just say I'm doing graduate-level work. Your panties are soaked. From sucking my dick. You want to screw, but you can't because you're not supposed to, in your twisted little world. So you're going to go jill off in the john, instead of admitting your urges and sating them here . . . in front of me. Am I wrong?"

"Yes! No! Look, yes, sucking cock makes me a little aroused. My hormones are going through the roof right now, and a stretch of bumpy road in the Gremlin is enough to make me horny, when I'm not so nauseated that I can't even think about it. So don't think there's anything special about your cock, okay?"

"I'm sure you're getting plenty of big thick meat in your pussy every day, with a passionate and artistic delivery," I snapped back. "I'm just saying: you don't need to sneak off to the can. I've seen you do it. Do it out here. Take responsibility for your own sexuality, for once."

"Fine!" she spat, tugging her panties down. "You want to see me play with myself?"

"See? You're doing it again," I chided. "It's not about me. I'm just pointing it out. And yes, I'd like to see you play with yourself, but that's beside the point."

"Fine!" she repeated as she sprawled on the floor. "I'm horny, I'm soaked, and I want to cum. And no, I don't want your dick inside me!"

"Then use your fingers," I encouraged. My cock started to inflate again. She was sexy when she was furious. "Rub that little clit clean off."

"I will," she snarled, her right hand plunging between her thighs. "You want me to take . . . responsibility . . . for my own sex? I am. I'm thinking about another man, and playing with my clit, and you can't have any of this . . . pussy!" she said. Her nipples were about to puncture her cups, she was so turned on.

"Rub it!" I encouraged. "Polish that pearl. Get it all nice and sticky!"

"Shut up!" she said, her frustration and her arousal colliding. She was still blushing embarrassedly, but she was also raising her hips up to meet her own hand. I shut up and just watched. I'd only witnessed her playing with her pussy a half-dozen times -- she always insisted masturbation was a "private" thing -- but I'd enjoyed it every time. All of them together, however, wouldn't top this. She writhed and started to moan, and her left hand split its time between caressing her own breasts and plunging into her soaked pussy to tease her G-spot.

I waited until she was almost there, and then I stood, strode over, pulled her up to her knees, and pushed my hard dick into her mouth while her hand still flew furiously between her thighs.

"Shame to waste all these good hormones," I commented as I invaded her mouth. She hadn't been expecting it, and she was initially reluctant, but once she tasted my pre-cum she was sucking like a starving calf.

"If sucking cock makes you horny," I whispered as she moaned around my dick, "You must be on fire. You've sucked my dick more in the last three weeks than the last two years. All that cock -- two cocks, even, and you're still horny. You don't want to act like a slut? C'mon -- you want cock. You want to cum. You want to get fucked in that hot little twat of yours, and you want to suck. Admit it -- or don't. Either way, it's your pussy on fire. And its my dick sliding in your mouth." I shut up again as she neared her climax, and at the moment she did I grabbed the back of her head and started face-fucking her hard. I could literally feel my balls slapping her chin as she struggled for air and moaned in orgasm. As she came down a bit, I picked up the pace, holding her head firmly, and I was gratified to see she wasn't slowing down her own hand one bit. By the time I spilt my seed into her greedy mouth a while later, she continued punishing her clit to two more hard orgasms.

We both collapsed after that, and after catching her breath she slunk silently to the bathroom while I donned a robe. By the time I had made a pot of coffee she was back out in her street clothes, and wouldn't meet my eye.

"Now wasn't that better?" I asked.

"I -- you made me -- It's not --"

"You're welcome," I said, firmly. "I like feeling you cum when I'm in your mouth. We'll be doing more of that, I think," I decided aloud. "And next time don't restrain yourself. Hell, I won't tell anyone," I promised. Of course, I would jerk off to the tapes.

"I've got a lot of work tomorrow," she said, blushing furiously. "I get the easy morning shifts for the rest of the week, but I had to work a full day on Monday to get it. I probably won't . . ."

"Just give me a call when you're ready," I said, businesslike. "See? All this hard work is paying off." I dropped two more beans into the piggy, where they landed with a merry clink.

"I'll give you a call," she said, humiliated. "And," she admitted, hesitantly, "that was pretty hot."

"Thanks. You too. Now split, I'm having company later," I said, casually dismissing her.

"Who?" she asked, her ears pricking up.

"Just an old friend," I said, which only made her more curious. "Stopping by. The holidays, and all."

"Right," she said dejectedly when it became clear I wasn't going to be persuaded to part with the identity of my caller. Mary left without another word.

She was jealous, and that was gratifying.

I almost felt a twinge of remorse when she left, as I sat down and logged into the "amateur home video" site I had registered with -- through a dummy IP address, of course -- under the nick "Artstud", and uploaded my latest offering of Mary and Tim's coupling. Heck, they were paying about $400 for a ten-minute, lackluster grainy image of Tim gleefully sodomizing his patient and unhappy pregnant girlfriend. That was the fourth sale since Thanksgiving, and earned my dummy email address a personal note of thanks from the webmaster. All the money went into a PayPal account tagged to the email, of course. All part of the devious plan. While Mary and Tim struggled with bills, every time they fucked on camera for me, they were making money.

The vids of Mary sucking my dick were personal, of course. I had a reputation to uphold, after all.

All part of my evil plan . . .


She knocked on the door at 7:30 that night. She hadn't called first, but that was just Anna's style. Always the princess, exempt from the rules that governed common folk.

"So what's this I hear about you and Mare splitting up?" she asked, without preamble. She took her coat off and handed it to me. "I go away for one little month, and when I get back, everything is fucked up! It's bad enough she didn't keep me in the loop -- what are girlfriends supposed to be for?" she demanded. "But to make such a major step without consultation . . . what's gotten into her?"

"Hi, Anna," I said mildly. "How was vacation?" She suddenly realized that I was there.

"Hi, Bill," she said, with a wry laugh. "I guess that was a little headstrong, wasn't it?"

"Li'l bit," I agreed. "But that's just our Anna. Coffee?"

"At this time of day? Please. Scotch, ice. I'll meet you on the couch."

"As you wish," I bowed, mockingly. I don't think she understood my sarcasm. I poured two glasses and joined her in the living room, where she had turned off the lights and let the room be illuminated solely by the tree.

"Pretty," she commented, nodding towards the tree. "Didn't think you'd do it, without Mary to push you."

"She likes the churchy side of Christmas. I prefer the holly, pine and mistletoe. I guess I'm a pagan at heart."

"If you were, you'd be sacrificing that fucking artist's heart to the nearest convenient idol," she swore.

"Oh, have you two met?"

"I went by today, to see Mare. The little prick tried to come on to me."

"Does Mary know?"

"I haven't seen the stupid little cunt yet," she swore, taking a large drink of Scotch. "GOD! What was she thinking? She'll be ostracized by civilized people, now."

"She's under the impression she's being romantic."

"Honey, poverty and pregnancy are NOT romantic," she affirmed. "And losing the social position you spent your whole life building -- no less than stupid." She looked around appraisingly. "Honestly, I expected this place to look like a dump. When my brother-in-law got his divorce, he descended into filth for almost a year."

"I'm kind of anal like that," I admitted. "Life goes on. Oh, I'm utterly emotionally devastated, of course, but . . ."

"You poor baby," she said, soothingly. "It must be awful!"

"The lonlieness is the worst part," I said, letting just a trace of emotion through my façade. No need to come off as pathetic. "Waking up in the morning, all alone. Fixing breakfast for one. No one to meet me when I get home . . ."

"So," Anna said, swinging her cashmere-clad breasts around to face me. "Why haven't you killed the sonuvabitch?"

"Anna, you know I'm not violent. We'll handle this the civilized way. With lawyers and detectives. Violence is such a transitory pleasure."

"So have the harpies started circling yet?" she asked, one eyebrow cocked.

"What do you mean?"

"You're quite the catch, Bill," she acknowledged, those fine tits of hers captivating my attention. "Once word gets out, you'll be covered in hungry, horny women looking to be your second wife."

"I'm not sure I'm ready for that," I said, hesitantly. "I'm a little burned on marriage right now. And women."

"Oh, don't you DARE turn gay on me!" she insisted, eyes flashing prettily in the Christmas lights.

"Oh, no," I defended. "I couldn't be gay -- I'd hate to share my wardrobe. I still like pussy fine. Love it. Just don't really see much of it in my future," I finished, with just the right note of heart-wrenching despair.

"You can get all the pussy you want, Bill!" Anna said, fervently. "I'm serious -- you'll have them sniffing around, throwing it in your face before you know it!"

"You're just saying that because you have to. I'm damaged goods."

"Bullshit," she replied forcefully, and in a way that convinced me that this wasn't the first Scotch she'd had tonight. "Hell, you could have mine, if you wanted."

Instant boner.

Anna isn't my ideal woman -- far from it. She's tall, dark, and has a brusque manner that grates on my nerves after about two hours. But she (or, more accurately, her rich husband) spent thousands of dollars to cultivate her beauty with spas and cosmetics and personal trainers -- she was a gorgeous woman. And another man's wife. To say I wasn't instantly tempted would be a lie.

"Uh, Anna?" I asked, quietly. "Wouldn't that be . . . adultery?"

"Y'think?" she asked, sarcastically. "I'm not religious. My husband and I fuck around -- discreetly -- all the time. He doesn't admit to boning half of his staff, I don't admit to my little 'solo vacations'. Don't get me wrong -- I love him to death. But he's very busy, and to be honest he pisses me off too much if I'm the only one he's banging. We have a system. It might not be completely kosher, but it works for us." She sounded a little guilty about it, but I could tell she was telling the truth. "Besides, he's hung like a circus pony -- what they say about Jewish guys? So true."

"Well, I'm a little shy about adultery right now . . ."

"Then consider it a simple favor from a friend. I like you Bill, truly I do. And I think Mare is batshit nuts for pulling this shit. And I've wanted to fuck you silly since Mary introduced us. I almost snuck in and tried to blow you before your wedding, did you know that? But I'm outrageously horny, terribly sympathetic, and my husband isn't within a thousand miles right now. Unless you're sheltering some sick idea about marital fidelity after she left you . . ."

"You want to fuck me?" I asked, bluntly, directly.

"Yessss," she hissed, sexily. Those boobs seemed to flex their muscles.

"I'm a little out of practice," I lied. "And I might get . . . weepy."

"You just lay back and let Mama Anna take care of everything," she said in a sultry voice, pushing me back on the couch. Before I knew it, my fly was undone, my cock was growing, and her cool dry hand was stroking it gently while her breath teased my groin. "I'm impressed. Not like a lusty Jamaican lad, but I can't believe Mary left this for . . . starvation. Poor thing, hasn't had anyone to look after him . . ." She engulfed the head and took several minutes to get acquainted. I don't know if it was the booze, the newness of my cock, or the final fulfillment of a long-held fantasy, but Anna attacked my boner like a starving dog. I reveled in the sensation of a brand new -- and very experienced -- mouth on my dick, and I petted her hair and moaned quietly as she fellated me.

She took me to the edge and brought me back, and then stood up. "I'm getting a little warm," she explained, pulling off her cashmere sweater. Her boobs sprang out like hungry cats, and she slipped off her bra with a simple twist and shrug. "Like them?"

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