tagNonConsent/ReluctanceBean Counter Ch. 07

Bean Counter Ch. 07


I'll be honest: my sleep was troubled after witnessing Tim's anal rape of my ex on hidden video. Oh, I was furious at Mary – my ire in regards to her betrayal had not abated one bit. But the next morning I woke up and felt a particular sadness about her situation, coupled with a burning rage at Tim that knew no bounds. How could I rectify that in myself? It was pretty simple, actually: while Mary insisted she didn't love ME any longer, my love for HER had not dissipated. That might seem strange, considering how I was coercing daily cocksuckings out of her, but that was a long way away from smacking her around and raping her unprepared ass. Especially when she had done what she had because of him.

The more I thought about it, over coffee, the more resolute I became. Tim, that sensitive artist sonofabitch, would have to pay, and pay dearly. It occurred to me that perhaps he would lighten the fuck up if I capitulated, let Mary out of her contract (which, of course, wasn't legally binding) and granted her a divorce so she could get on with her life. But Tim had changed the equation last night. No real man ever hits a woman, especially a pregnant woman. Especially not MY woman. And on paper and in my heart, she was still my woman. I didn't fool myself into thinking that he would somehow reform, that the love of a good woman would help him mend his ways – I knew better than that. He would keep hitting her, I knew, and perhaps do worse. If our current relationship was responsible for that, I might be able to ease things if I gave in and went to Vegas and signed the damn papers.

But the longer I considered it, the clearer it became that if I granted Mary the divorce she would marry Tim and then be stuck with a lifetime of such abuse. And while I was profoundly hurt that she no longer loved me, I still loved her enough to not want her to be that miserable. She didn't deserve that. Abject poverty, social ostracization, estranged family, the shame of adultery, bearing a bastard, sexual humiliation, that was one thing – but physical abuse? I couldn't let that happen. And as long as she was still legally my wife – as long as she still adhered to our contract – I might be able to affect that relationship.

As fucked up as it sounds, my vengeful blowjobs were for Mary's own good, and in her interest.

My thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door and a surprise – Mary.

I could have crumbled, right then and there, if she had burst into tears and begged me to take her back. But she didn't. She was wearing a somewhat formal white dress that I didn't recognize under her coat. It didn't quite fit her, but it was pretty and she was nicely made up – perhaps too much makeup, but any bruise Tim may have left wasn't apparent. She cleared her throat a little and asked to come in.

"I would have called," she said, softly, "but I didn't want to wake you. I'm on my way to Mass, and I thought I'd stop by and see if you wanted a blowjob this morning." I, of course, couldn't reveal that I knew anything that had taken place last night at the farm house. I had to act like I was still merely the vindictive bean counter.

"Sure, that sounds great," I agreed, enthusiastically. "Nice dress, by the way. Good, demure church dress."

"Thanks," she said, looking at it. I got it at a thrift store, but it's actually very pretty. And . . . I'll grow into it," she said, a note of disappointment in her voice. She had always been very proud of her figure, and she knew what could happen to it during pregnancy. "So, do you want to?" she asked, cutting her eyes to me. She was casual about it, but I could hear the barest hint of desperation in her voice. I knew why, too – and it still didn't stop my dick from getting as stiff as a life sentence. So I'm a pig. Sue me.

"Yeah," I said, clearing my throat. "That would be . . . great." I gave a long look to her dress. "You sure it won't cause you spiritual problems to go to church with sperm on your tongue?"

She shrugged. "As long as you're my husband, it might be in poor taste but it isn't a sin. I've got far bigger problems, according to the Church."

"Let's go, then," I said, hoarsely, as she took off her coat. I tugged down my sweatpants and let Mr. Happy pop out into the cool morning air. She glanced at him, raised her eyebrows, and then looked at me.

"That didn't take long," she said with a smirk.

My turn to shrug. "It's Sunday morning. Prime erection time. And you, in that dress, on your way to church, well . . . it's inspired me. Especially after last night."

"Good to know," she said, dropping to her knees in front of me. She slurped him half-way into her mouth in one soft, slow movement.

I wasn't lying – I was inspired. Lazy Sunday mornings (when she didn't go to church) were always a prime time to tear off a piece during our marriage. When Mary did decide to go to church, however, she wouldn't even think about it until much later in the day. So not only was the blowjob a return to a normal routine, in a way, but also a violation of a marital taboo. To see Mary on her knees sucking my dick in a church dress, with church hair and church make-up, well, it was mighty inspirational.

So was the way she was sucking me. If I had to interpret her thoughts based on her tongueplay around my glans, here was a repentant wife trying to redeem herself. She focused her efforts on the head, moving briskly around, using lots of tongue and lots of suction while she steadied herself with one hand on my thigh and used the other to slowly, methodically, milk my balls.

I enjoyed the hell out of it. She was gorgeous, there on her knees in the kitchen, ankles crossed behind her as her head bobbed on my knob. She kept her eyes closed, almost as if she was praying, and every now and then a little moan would escape from her throat. She kept her mouth moving with determined purpose, and the goal of making me spill my seed on her tongue seemed to be firmly in mind as she sucked. I started thrusting my hips a little more, forcing the head back a little further than she was prepared for, but she took it like a trooper, and then surprised the hell out of me by trying to bottom out a moment later. She got a surprising amount of dick back there – she had never been enthusiastic about deep throating, but apparently her practice of late had given her incentive. She still couldn't take the whole thing, by about an inch and a half, but the attempt was valiant. I responded in the sincerest way that I could: I blasted my load in her sweet sucking mouth, and then watched lustfully while she drank it down.

"AHHHhhhhh!" I moaned, gratefully. "That was fantastic."

"Wanna try again after church?" she asked, wiping her lips as she got off of her knees.

"Um . . . sure, I don't have any plans," I admitted. "Another bean in the bottle wouldn't be amiss."

"My thought exact—" She interrupted herself with a loud belch. "Excuse me!" she said, blushing and rolling her eyes. "Great, I'm going to church like a cum-belching gutterslut."

"Well, it's not a sin to blow your husband," I reminded her.

"No, but it is in generally poor taste to belch sperm in the sanctuary. Unless you're an altar boy," she quipped.

"Point taken."

"See you about . . . noon?"

"I'll be here with a stiff dick and no conscience whatsoever," I said, happily.

When she was gone, I returned to my musings about her, Tim, and my need for revenge. I went back and replayed the anal rape on the computer again, just to keep the flames of rage stoked. No, Tim, you were not going to pollute Mary's life. If you had been a decent guy, I might have even left you alone. But not now. No, now you were going to feel the kind of gut-twisting wrath that only demons and IRS agents can dispense.


For no particular reason I called Susan. I guess I was just feeling lonely. While she was just as much of a Catholic girl as Mary, she was not particularly devout, and I wasn't surprised that she wasn't in Church.

"What's up, sexy?" she asked sleepily on the phone.

"Just thought I'd give my favorite sister-in-law a call. You been busy?"

"Oh, yeah. End of term papers. Exams coming. Students are all aflutter. GOD I can't wait for Christmas Break!"

"Don't you have Thanksgiving off?" I reminded her. "That's next week."

"Yes," she groaned. "Won't that be a show? Mary called me yesterday to warn me. She wants to bring Tim to dinner at the folks, introduce them to their new son-in-law. Maybe get them used to the idea, bury the hatchet, yadda yadda yadda."

"Oh," I said, dully. "How did that go over?"

"Predictably. Dad refused, Mom burst into tears, and then they finally relented for the sake of their unborn grandchild. They aren't happy about it, but . . ."

"Heh. I can't wait until he meets your dad. If he's half as charming to Tim as he was to me when we met . . ." Ray, their father, was in the Marines for twenty years, the last ten of them as a recruiter. While he hadn't exactly raked me over the coals that first meeting, he made it clear that anyone who hadn't been a Marine was barely human and only extraordinary examples of such inferior stock would be worthy of dating, much less marrying, his daughters. Ray was a no-nonsense sort of guy. Once you got to know him – and vice versa – he was all right. But that first impression nearly had me out the door before the after-dinner coffee.

"Oh, he's ready to kill the guy," Susan confided. "Every time he even hears about him, he gets red in the face. And that vein in his head does that thing."

"I bet," I said, smiling at the thought. "Wish I could be there to see it."

"Well," she said, slowly, "Um . . . would you like to be?"

"What?" I asked, confused.

"Well, when Mary convinced Mom to let Tim come, Mom made a big fuss about me bringing a date. You know how she is. It would get her off my back if I was bringing a date – I won't tell her whom, of course – and that way you could come see the fireworks, too. Once you're there, they can't really object. Plus, it will piss off Mary so royally that the entire idea has my nipples hard in gleeful anticipation."

"I'd hate to cause problems with your family over the holidays," I said, cautiously.

"YOU won't be the problem. You'll be there as MY date. Tim will be the problem. Oh, Mary will freak the fuck out, but the folks would love to see you. They feel so ashamed of her right now, and so in your corner that your presence might be soothing for them. Besides, you'd get to meet Tim, then, too. Um . . . no violence, though, OK? That would be a bummer."

I laughed. "I'll leave that to Ray," I said. "I just want to watch. I have to admit, your proposal has merit."

"It will be delicious!" she insisted. "What time is Sissy coming by to drain your nuts?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Believe it or not, she stopped in and serviced me before Mass this morning—"

"She DIDN'T!" Susan squealed, scandalized.

"She most certainly did, all done up for church and everything. And she's planning on stopping back by on her way home and doing it again," I added. "She's in a hurry to fulfill her obligation."

"GOD I wish I could see that!" she said, breathlessly. She paused. "Any way you could arrange it?"


"I mean, maybe if I hid in the closet or something," she said. "You know, just to see her humiliation. Please? Please?" she begged. "You can . . . have a wild card," she offered.

"Wild card?"

"You get to do anything you want with my body as long as we don't end up in the hospital."

"Well, ordinarily I wouldn't encourage such depravity," I started saying, rubbing my chin and thinking, "especially on the Sabbath. But I might just be able to arrange that. And it might be handy, afterwards, if I had a pretty pussy to lick. As fond as I am of fellatio, I still like to suck and screw as well. And a wild card . . . anything goes?"

"As long as I can get to class by 7:40 Monday morning, anything you want!" she said, excitedly. "I'd be glad to help you out in your hour of need . . . it would be my filial duty as a sister-in-law. I'm getting damp just contemplating the idea."

"That would be deliciously wicked, now wouldn't it? Okay, if you can get here in an hour or so, and park in Mrs. Howard's driveway around the block – she's in Miami right now – then come in the back door. The closet is too risky, though. Luckily, I think I can set up a discreet camera," I offered. "You can watch from the upstairs guest room. Will that work?"

"Oh, you betcha!" she said, happily. "Did you know that bitch had the nerve to call me a slut for sucking off boys my freshman year? She even told the priest about it in HER confession, listing it as an 'impure thought'. This will be payback for the hypocritical bitch."

"Whatever makes you happy, dear. See you soon."

I started whistling as I went off and made preparations. It is always nice to have family around the holidays.


About forty-five minutes later, a red-cheeked Sarah showed up at the back door with a big goofy grin on her face. I let her in, hugged her – she gave me a hot sucking French kiss with lots of demanding tongue, which startled me – got her a cup of coffee and showed her the camera in the living room. I had placed it high on a bookshelf, and focused it on one particular spot. I didn't mention the other two – they would all record together, so I could get different angles. I made a few adjustments while she marveled at my skill. Or pretended to. Then I took her up to my study, where I had set up the feed.

"Wow," she said, dazed, as she watched the couch do not much of anything. "This is amazing! She won't see the camera?"

"Nope," I assured her. "Nor do I think she'll see you. She had better not," I amended, "or this is going to be a very short blowjob."

"Can't have that," she agreed. "I'll behave, I promise!"

"Good. Or there might be a spanking in it for you!"

"It's your wild card," she said, shrugging. "You can do whatever you want."

"Oh, I so married the wrong sister!"

"Told you!"

We shot the proverbial shit until I heard the Gremlin sputter up the driveway. Then I locked her into the study and went downstairs and let Mary in.

She had been crying, I could tell from the streaks in her makeup. She had half-heartedly tried to repair them, but I could still tell. I had the sense not to comment about it, though.

"Good service?" I asked, casually.

"No, not really," she said, hoarsely. "The priest passed me over for Mass."

"What? I didn't think they could do that!"

"Oh, sure they can. I was refused Mass. I was so fucking embarrassed! Then the Church ladies all got to me immediately afterwards, asking about . . . you, and two of them called me an adulterous whore. Or words to that effect. The moment we divorce," she added in a small voice, "I'll be excommunicated."

I shrugged. It didn't matter much to me – I wasn't religious. But to her, I knew it was devastating. Oh, yes, Thanksgiving would be fun this year.

"Sorry about that," I said, not sounding sorry. "You ready?"

She made a face. "God, Bill, you can be such an insensitive clod sometimes! I just gave you a perfect opportunity to demonstrate some goddamn compassion, and you blew it!"

"Well, Mary," I said, walking into the living room, "if the subject of your problem wasn't the fact that you cheated on me, are divorcing me, and got yourself pregnant by another man, well, perhaps I'd be more sympathetic. As it is, well, I'm sorry they made you feel bad. Just not, you know, a lot."

"Fine," she said, exasperated. "You know, this is the sort of thing that—"

"Let's just knock this out, shall we?" I interrupted. "I'm sure Tim will give you all the sympathy you need." At the mention of her lover's name she shut up.

"Fine," she whispered. "Where do you want me?"

I sat on the couch and completely removed my pants, letting my cock flop out. She knelt again in front of me and slurped my hardening dick between her lips without preamble. I groaned with just the hint of exaggeration – she made a disapproving noise but didn't stop her sucking.

If she had been a repentant wife this morning, this afternoon she was being a less-than-eager woman who wanted to get the job done. She wasn't happy about it, I know, and her performance was a bit perfunctory. That wasn't actually a problem, though, as my cock was so desensitized from all the attention lately that it took some genuine effort to keep me in the game.

I had to admit, the reluctant nature of the whole scene – plus the exhibitionistic thrill I got knowing Susan was upstairs watching – made it exciting. I watched the back of Mary's head as she plunged her lips forcefully up and down my shaft, flicking her tongue around without much enthusiasm. Her hand jacked the base of my cock rapidly and efficiently. But twenty glorious minutes crawled by, and I hadn't cum yet.

"What's the problem?" she demanded quietly when she took a break, working the head with her nimble fingers.

"Oh, no problem," I said. "But I'm not eighteen anymore. Mind if I help steer?"

"Whatever," she said, dismissively, and went back to her rapid suction. That was all the permission I needed.

I entwined my fingers in her hair and took control of the timing. I went into a much slower rhythm, and pushed my cock further into the back of her throat than she was taking on her own. She moaned a protest, but considering I didn't push past her comfortability point I took it as pro forma. Instead, I held onto her hair and leaned forward a tad to work the angle a bit better. And I was relentless.

For ten minutes I fucked her mouth while I watched her body shake and shiver under me. She wasn't in control, and that bugged her. Oh, I let her breath, even gave her a moment to take a breath and rest, but then I put my cock back in her mouth and fucked her lips with abandon. And the truth was, I got off on her struggle. There is something magical about fucking a reluctant woman's face, something humiliating and invigorating. All good things must come to an end, though, and so without warning I erupted my spurts into her mouth, causing a fair amount of gagging and choking.

"You asshole!" she shrieked when she recovered her breath.

"Hey, you said I could drive!" I protested. "You could breathe. I heard you!"

"That's not the point! God, I feel like you just raped my mouth!" She leaned back on her thighs and rubbed her lips, wiping the last few traces of my sperm away.

"I guess I did get a bit carried away," I said in an apologetic tone. "But I figured you were in a hurry to get home to your sensitive boyfriend."

"Whatever," she said, staring daggers at me. She started to get up when something caught her eye. "What's . . .?"

She fished around under the couch and pulled out a pair of bright pink silk panties. She stared at them accusingly.

"These," she pronounced, "are NOT mine."

"Yes," I said, smoothly. "I'm well aware of that." Of course they had to be Susan's – she must have slipped them off and hidden them where she knew Mary would find them. Tricky little minx! I had to admit, the effect was priceless.

"Then whose are they?" she demanded. She held them close to her face and gave a single sniff. "Whatever whore they belonged to smells like she's in heat."

"That's really none of your concern," I said, airily. "You gave up the right to ask questions like that when you dumped me."

"You've had sluts over here!" she accused, getting to her feet. "Probably real whores, too! You've gotten head from me constantly, and you still need to fuck a whore?"

"I'll have you know that I only fuck ladies," I replied. "Present company excepted. Look, the 'holier-than-thou' thing loses its impact when you're carrying another man's kid in your uterus. I told you I was dating," I said, dismissively.

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