Bean Counter Ch. 04
Keywords: Ch., 04, Bean, Counter,
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"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.
"What?"
"This envelope. From . . . some student loan people."
"Oh. I got a lot of grants to go to Art school," he explained.
Pause.
"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.
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Keywords: Ch., 04, Bean, Counter,