Bean Counter Ch. 13
Keywords: Ch., 13, Bean, Counter,
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My God, that was a good week.
Calling in to "work at home" was easy enough Sunday night – I didn't have much in the way of appointments, the hiring had mostly been completed, and I had Donna reschedule the appointments I did have. In a fit of seasonal cheer I had her take the rest of the week off too. I'm just kind-hearted that way, I guess.
I did spare a few moments to watch the Sunday Night Fights, direct from Tim and Mary's House of Crap. I even made popcorn.
I wanted to witness what happened when Mary told him what she had agreed to, and I wasn't disappointed. They were eating dinner when I listened in. The fireworks started when she casually mentioned that she would be spending the week with me.
"You did fucking WHAT?" he shrieked. "What about me?"
"I did it for you, silly," Mary said, nervous enough to try that "sweet wife" tone on a guy who wasn't used to it. Every time she used it on me, it set off alarm bells, but Tim didn't have the benefit of my experience. When your wife uses that tone of voice, she's blatantly manipulating you, and a wise man learns to heed it early in his marriage. Somehow I didn't feel sorry for him. "I wanted to get as many BJs out of the way as possible before the holiday. Bill was able to take some time off, and it worked out. I mostly work nights this week, anyway, due to the volume, so I won't even see you during the day."
"That's an awful lot of time to be spending over there," he said suspiciously.
"Don't be silly," she said dismissively. "It's just business. You know that. In a few weeks, if I can work this out, I'll be done. Then I can devote all my time to you."
Tim sounded dubious about that prospect, but grudgingly agreed that it would be nice for her time to be over. The idea must have had an effect, though, because after dinner he dragged her into the bedroom, stuck his cock in her mouth for a few minutes, then bent her over, stripped off her jeans, and sodomized her. From their angle in the monitor I could see her face. She wasn't hurting – his cock wasn't that big – but she had a bored, patient expression on her face. The kind you see on aunts and uncles at a nephew's school play. He came without difficulty, in under ten minutes, and flopped over asleep while Mary cleaned up. I recorded the whole thing, as brief as it was, and sent it off.
The next day Mary came in bright and early, about nine, and brought donuts and coffee – another marital ritual we once enjoyed. I didn't let my misplaced nostalgia show, however, I simply thanked her and grabbed my cup. I also watched in astonishment as she wolfed down four donuts in rapid succession.
"Looks like Krispy Kreme's stock is about to go up," I noted, eyebrow raised.
"It's the hormones," she insisted, picking up number four. "I'm starving, all the time. Unless I want to throw up." She stuffed the donut in her mouth and looked at me. "So what's on the agenda?"
I considered. "How about another donut?" That got her eyebrows raised.
I pulled down my pajama pants and boxers and gave the boy a few strokes. Then I put my cock through a donut hole.
OK, it was silly, I admit, but it seemed the right thing to do at the time. It certainly amused Mary, who wasted no time getting on her knees in the kitchen and making a meal of it. She chewed away at the outside edges of the donut, first, while giving me intense suction around the head and plenty of sugar-seeking tongue-work. Her hands were busy with my balls, too, and before I was quite ready she jacked me to orgasm, my cum spilling over her fingers and down the shaft to cling to the remains of the donut. God, why didn't I have a camera in the kitchen?
"It doesn't count if you don't swallow," I warned.
"I know," she breathed – and nibbled the cum-soaked donut from my softening cock. When she was done she licked the combination of sugar glaze and sperm from her lips with a satisfied smile. She looked like a lion after its fifth consecutive gazelle. And it wasn't even nine thirty yet.
You can see why I married her in the first place.
"You make more coffee," I said as the strength started to come back to my knees. "I'm going to grab a shower. Your outfit is in the guest room. Put it on and join me in the den. Bring me a cup of coffee, too." I didn't even bother saying 'please'. Hell, I was paying for it, wasn't I? OK, not really, but still . . .
Twenty minutes and a Viagra later I was back down stairs, buck naked and starting to get hard again. Mary was there too – in costume.
OK, I know it's a cliché, but this was my fantasy here, and if I wanted to be cliché, oh well. I had found a sexy French maid's costume, complete with apron and cute little cap, and when I came into my den Mary was delicately dusting the bookshelves, her ass sticking out invitingly. I came up behind her and we played a little "bad maid" until I made her get on her knees again. She was really into it until I got out the camera.
"Uh . . . what is that?" she asked, dubiously.
"A camera. I want to capture this precious moment."
"I didn't—"
"Deny me nothing," I repeated, a hard edge to my voice. "I'm paying you, remember?"
She looked at me and back at the camera while she stroked my cock absently with her hand. Finally she sighed and got back to work, but not nearly as enthusiastically as before. She even visibly winced when the camera beeped.
I let her take me to the edge of orgasm before I pulled free of her lips and stood her up. She looked confused, until I dug my hand into her lacy panties and found her cunt soaking them. She let out a long, low groan as my finger contacted her stiff clitoris.
"OhmyGod," she gasped. "OhmyGod that feels good! Uh, Bill, that's, uh, you're getting me, uh, Bill I'm goingto—"
She nearly collapsed when I abruptly took my hand out of her panties. She looked up dully, a wisp of hair falling out from under her cap and over one eye. I grabbed her shoulder purposefully and pushed her onto the couch on her knees.
"You're going to fuck me?" she asked with a confusing mixture of trepidation and anticipation.
"Accent, please," I directed.
It took her a moment. "Is monsieur going to, 'ow you say, fuck mois?" she said, sounding more like a cartoon character than a Parisian. I took a moment to set the digital camera up on the arm of the sofa to record us.
"Damn straight," I breathed, pulling her panties down to her thighs and positioning my cock at her furry entrance. Without hesitation I pushed in. Even though she was soaking wet, the head of my cock got caught on her pubes and pulled her hair, making her squeak. I didn't mind. I kept going. This wasn't about her.
I made it last, too. Thanks to my earlier ejaculation I was able to pound her pussy deeply for almost an hour. I grabbed hold of her tiny black skirt, reveled in the feel of her stocking-clad thighs against mine, and fucked her long and hard and steadily. She came her brains out, remembering to slip into her false accent between climaxes.
By the time I was ready to drop my load she was exhausted. I came deep in her pussy and then made her spread her legs so I could film my sperm dripping out of her onto the couch. Sure, it stained the couch. I didn't mind. She, on the other hand, was mortified. It's not like I have a burning creampie fetish or anything, but I enjoyed humiliating her like that. To make things even worse for her, I asked her embarrassing questions about her sex life and kept at it until she answered.
We took a short break after that and drank some coffee. She was about ready to go home, figuring that I was done for the day, but I had other plans. After coffee I had to make some business calls, so I made her come to my office, kneel between my naked thighs, and slowly suck on me while I made used the phone.
If you haven't tried it, it's a lovely way to work. Very productive. I highly recommend it.
The first call she was pretty enthusiastic about the chore. After the third call it was as if she was resigned to doing it, and I felt her start to lose focus – I couldn't have that.
So I called her mom.
"Hi, Marge, this is Bill," I said as I stared down at my wife. She had a horrified look on her face. "I just wanted to touch base – I've been pretty busy since Thanksgiving, I'm afraid . . ."
I ignored Mary, except to push her head back to work. I even pushed her to take more of me into her throat, and it was clear that was under protest. Mary's mom started talking about how awful Thanksgiving was, wondering what I was doing with Christmas, gossiped about her neighbors and friends, and generally chatted like a good mother-in-law should – all the time I had my stiff cock buried in Mary's mouth.
For my part, I talked about how lonely I had been, how I was managing to struggle through by burying myself in work, and all sorts of self-pitying things that a soon-to-be-divorced son-in-law would say. I asked to speak to her father, too, but Mary lucked out: he was at a VFW committee meeting. So I told her mom how much I loved her and hung up. Mary looked up at me, accusingly, her lips still wrapped around my pecker as I nodded for her to continue. She broke free of my grip for a moment and gave me a serious, annoyed stare.
"That was just cruel," she stated.
"I don't recall asking you," I shot back.
"That was my Mom," she pointed out. "What you did was disrespectful."
"Sorry, I've been a little out of it since my marriage broke up," I replied, my eyes narrow. "I believe you have a job to do?" Mary gave me a Look and went back to work.
I let her pleasure me for a while – I wasn't in a hurry. I made one more call, to Donna, and left a voicemail that alluded to the fact that my ex was sucking me off even as I spoke – that earned me another Look. The next time the two met would likely be a little uncomfortable.
Finally, I sat back in the chair and motioned her to stand. She got up and looked at me curiously.
"Go ahead, get on," I encouraged her.
"What?" she asked, mystified. Then she realized what I was asking, and looked at me with a subdued look of horror.
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Keywords: Ch., 13, Bean, Counter,