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Beware: The Taxman Cometh

By: JRob



Dedicated to Julie, a master of words.

There aren't many things more terrorizing than a tax audit by the IRS. Yet my prim and proper wife Tiffany and I recently found ourselves in that intimidating situation. 

We were, indeed, terrorized. 

From the moment we arrived at the cold, old stone Federal building we had a feeling of doom. We patiently sat in the waiting room, across from each other, barely talking, with our hands folded and heads staring at the drab carpeting. 

Things did not get better when we finally were ushered into the small drab office that was piled high with papers. The frowning IRS representative, Mr. Johnson, did little to help our disposition, either, merely grunting a hello as we sat on hard metal chairs. The fifty something man with the graying hair and paunch around the waist settled into his seat on the other side of the desk, glanced over our tax returns, shook his head, and looked me straight in the eye.

"We've gone over your tax returns for last year, both by computer and by hand, and to be frank with you it isn't pretty," he said with a gruff voice. "What were you thinking?"

I knew immediately that my little plan to shift one column of numbers to another was found. But what could I do? I was desperate. There was no way I could come up with the money we owed because of my stupidity.

I worked for a highflying dotcom company, at least it was high flying when I exercised some incentive stock options and decided to hold the stock. I was greedy, I thought it would appreciate more and more and make us zillionaires. When the rug was pulled out of the stock market, Tiffany and I found our plan to "retire-at-35" was unraveled. We owed Uncle Sam more in taxes than my stock was worth. 

To top it off, even if we liquidated everything we had, the house, the cars, you name it, we would still several hundred thousand dollars short. Dollars we didn't have, couldn't get, nor were able to wipe out by bankruptcy. Our goose was cooked, and that led me to get creative on my tax accounting.

I had discussed the problem with Tiffany, not letting her know the full scope of our problem, but told her we would make our way through it...somehow. 

"You owe the United States Government, by our calculations, $687,700 in back taxes and penalties," he sternly said, eying our tax return. 

"Oh my god," said 26-year-old Tiffany, tears starting to flow from her pretty blue eyes. "I knew it was a lot, but not that much. We'll lose our house, everything. It isn't fair."

"Fair doesn't matter, ma'am, you earned the money, you bought things with it, you did all these nice things and then you didn't pay taxes. It's people like you," he said, pointing at each of us, "who make me sick."

The room quieted, it was an eerie kind of quiet as I stared at Tiffany, she tearily at the floor, and the taxman at us.

After a while I attempted to reason with Mr. Johnson. "Look, we are short of cash right now, but if there is a payment plan of some type we will do our best to make good on this," I innocently said. "My company stock is bound to rebound, and we'll be able to work it out over time. We've learned our lesson."

"That's all well and good, but since this is a willful violation I believe the federal attorney will be involved," lamented Mr. Johnson. "We audit people like you all the time, and your behavior has serious consequences. 

"Federal attorney? But why?" I asked in amazement. 

"He's the person will decide on prosecution," replied the IRS man, matter-of-factly. "You are looking at a minimum of a year, maybe as much as two, in federal prison for this little bit of tax evasion. I hope it was worth it."

Tiffany started bawling her eyes out, and I felt a bit of a tear coming on myself. We were doomed, set to lose everything we had and had worked so hard for, and then spend time apart in prison as well.

Mr. Johnson stood, shook his head, and left the office as we squirmed and cried and hugged each other. We attempted to talk, but words couldn't be found. When he returned, he said the prosecutor was still uptown and wouldn't return for about two hours. The room was silent as he glared at the two of us.

A few minutes passed before he said: "Well, I guess we could negotiate this little problem. Maybe reduce the debt to society with a little give and take."

The way he suggestively said those words didn't at once ring a bell, but when I looked at him staring at Tiffany I quickly got the idea of what he wanted given and what he wanted to take. I grimaced as he never moved his eyes away from Tiffany's young body. 

I have to tell you that Tiffany has never been with another man besides me. Oh, she was a handjob terror in high school, so she tells it, but she never had any other kind of sex with anyone in her 29 years. She was a virgin on our wedding night, and while not a pin-up beauty she was very attractive. Her pouting lips seemed to draw men's attention, and her cute little ass constantly drew stares. 

But this was serious business, and our negotiating posture was clearly bad.

Tiffany looked at me with quizzical eyes. "Honey, what's he saying? What can we do, pay in installments?"

Mr. Johnson laughed at her gullible remark, shaking his head once more. 

I couldn't get the words out of my mouth to explain what he meant, though.

Mr. Johnson could. "We all have needs, young lady, and from the looks of it you two don't have much to negotiate with. I think if I were to receive, say, a little more understanding of how remorseful you felt about the matter, I might take things up with my superiors. We could see what we can do about at least getting the willful part of this problem taken care of, which would of course eliminate the need for the prosecutor."

Her quizzical look turned into shock as a light went off in her brain. "You mean, I would have to ...."

Mr. Johnson tugged at his pants, looking down at the beginning of a bulge. "Well..."

I looked at her and said she didn't have to do anything she didn't want to do. She sat, her pleated dark skirt riding up her legs, crying, thinking, and a jumble of emotions. 

Mr. IRS again stood and walked to the door. "Why don't you two talk it over while I get something to drink. I will be right back. Oh, and it won't be long before the prosecutor will be on his way here."

Tiffany looked daggers at me. "You can't possibly think I would put out for him, can you?"

"Of course not, Tiff, but we are in a whale of trouble. They have us over the barrel. Heck, we might lose everything and rot our asses off in jail too. Honey, treat him right and we can get out of here with something. I know it is a lot to ask, but it wouldn't be like cheating, cause I will be here. And I love you. Now and after. Just think about it."

I have to admit I never thought she'd go along, but the thought of losing our house, our savings, our car, and spending time in jail did not agree with her. When Mr. Johnson returned and asked, "Well..?" 

Tiffany slowly made her reply.

She turned, gazing at me, disgust in her eyes, then turned back to look at Mr. Johnson. She quietly said she was willing to negotiate. There was a quiet hush in the office as she stood and walked over the desk. She looked once again at me, told me to lock the door, and then dropped to her knees.

Slowly, she lowered Mr. Johnson's zipper, reached through the opening of his boxers, pulling out a semi-hard cock.

I looked on, spellbound, as she looked at his expanding dick. Tiffany hardly ever blew me, heck our sex was usually on Saturday and maybe once on a weeknight, and normally involved me getting on top of her in the missionary position. Now she looked like a porno star as she started licking his hardening cock from top to bottom.

She sucked the tip, slipped her tongue down near his balls, then moved her mouth up and took his dick in her wet, hot mouth. After holding it inside for several seconds, she began to suck him like a professional hooker.

"Oh yes," he sighed, his cock hardening right before my eyes, making Tiffany's cheek bulge out. "Yes, suck it you whore!"

After a bit of sucking he pulled out his dick and began rubbing it back and forth on her face, looking at me all the while, as a smile grew on his face. "She's a natural cocksucker, man."

Tiffany sucked his cock for what seemed like hours, but lasted only 15 minutes. He delighted at her lack of comfort, he deliberately thrust deep to nearly gag her. It wasn't a pretty sight, but luckily it did come to an end. He grabbed the back of her head, gave a final push, and spurted his creamy cumsauce hard into her mouth. He kept his dick securely in her mouth, and I saw the throat muscles swallowing it down her throat. Along the way he kept fucking her face while his dick softened, and all I could do was hate him more and more. 

"Hey slut, not a bad job," he spat at my wife, who quickly slapped his face. 

"Well, well, well, a frisky one," he laughed, holding Tiffany's shoulders as she tried to get up off her knees. "Whoa, wait a minute, honey. Just calm down a bit. You still have some work to do?

She gave him an incredulous look. "What do you mean? You said that if I blew you you'd help us." 

"That's not exactly correct, my dear," said Mr. Johnson. "I said we could negotiate. Now that was a good faith effort, but we are talking a major problem here. And that little performance was just the beginning of our negotiation. Now, clean my cock off, make it squeaky clean."

Tiffany resigned herself to a long afternoon. She stared at me, then told me she hated me, and began to say something else when there was a knock at the door. Mr. Johnson zipped up, then unlocked the door, letting in a younger man. "Hi Johnny," the newcomer said. "I see from the looks of things the Benedict's have decided to negotiate."

"That they have, Billy, that they have," said Mr. Johnson with a smile.

The man called Billy smiled back, and said he was in a hurry and wanted to get started. Tiffany turned a little on her knees toward him, but he held up his hands. "Whoa, Miss, what are you doing?"

"Just what I did to Mr. Johnson," she replied, licking a bit of leftover sperm from her lips.

"And what was that?" said Billy.

"I gave him a blow job," she said. 

"And a good one at that," added Johnson.

"Well, a blow job sounds really great right now, it really does. I love hot lips around my cock," said the blond-haired man named Billy. "And that's just what I think I need right now."

With that he turned toward me, unzipped his pants and began reaching into his underwear. "Down on your knees, buddy," he said to me.

The gasp that came out of my throat had to have been heard several floors below. My head snapped back as my eyes bugged out, yet words couldn't escape my lips. Women give blowjobs, not men, and surely not me.

Tiffany broke the tension when she suddenly smiled and said to me, "We are in a whale of trouble. We might lose everything. Treat him right and we can get out of here with something. I know it is a lot to ask, but it wouldn't be like cheating, cause I will be here." The words spat out of her mouth at me, the same basic words I had said to her less than a half-hour before.

I knelt in front of Billy, his cock already hard, and asked what to do.

"Suck my dick, bitch," he said, waving his meaty wand at my shocked face. "Get going already, I don't have all day. I have work to do."

I know I turned beet red, I know there was a smirk on Tiffany's face, and I knew I had no choice in the matter. I knelt, looked up at Billy, and then down at his dick. It appeared huge pulsating in front of my eyes. I reached out to grasp his dick but he pulled back.

"No hands," he simply said. 

I groaned at first, but pushed forward on my knees and opened my mouth, extended my tongue, and began licking the monster dick in front of me. It was a big one, it had to be at least nine inches, and he took pleasure at smacking it against my face. Humiliated, I still attempted to lick it as best as I could, and ultimately ovaled my lips around it. 

I began sucking cock, deliberately at first, getting into the slow rhythm. Somehow it seemed like the monster kept growing, and while it might have been just my imagination, it did fill my mouth. I gasp for air until I found that my nose was the best place to oxygen while my mouth was full of cockmeat. It was not a loving effort on my part, and clearly not on his as he made no effort to make my first cocksucking experience at least bearable. It was as though he was trying to hurt me, but I took whatever he gave, thinking that a blow job, as distasteful as it was, couldn't anywhere near as bad being behind bars.

It was humiliating, degrading and downright nasty sucking his cock, so when he pulled the dick out of my mouth and told me to lick the tip again I did just what I was told without any hesitation. I greedily slurped up all the pre-cum that was gradually sliding out of the cockhole in an effort to speed up his impending climax. 

Eventually I reached around and grabbed his ass with both hands, hoping to control his nasty thrusts, but he countered by holding my head against his expanding dick. All of a sudden he groaned and his cock nearly broke my jaw as it exploded into my wet but unwilling willing mouth. I nearly choked as his slimy, sticky sauce as he continued to thrust his cock into my reddened mouth of a cockpit.

His movements slowed as he continued to rock into my mouth, spewing forth more disgusting cum which made its way slowly down my throat. When no more was to be had, he pulled his dick out of my mouth.

"Not bad," he said, zipping up and leaving the room, as Tiffany attentively watched his departure, relieved she did not have to perform. 

Mr. Johnson quickly grabbed our attention when he said how pleased he was that we were being cooperative. "This really helps your predicament," he commented. We nodded our heads in unison, wondering if our ordeal was over. 

There was quiet in the room as we all digested the situation, but the still was broken when a newcomer entered. She was a big woman, as in heavy. Nearly disgusting actually, with huge hanging breasts and a wide ass to boot. "Hello, Greta," Mr. Johnson said, quickly introducing the woman as a clerk with a need. 

My initial thought was to stay on my knees and perform some mouth magic on her, and that thought quickly became reality as she hunkered down on the edge of the desk in front of me, lifted her skirt, and told me to take down her massive panties and pantyhose. Before me was a pussy that hadn't been bathed in a week, or so it seemed. The hairiest pussy I had ever seen, yet like a lemming I tilted my head forward and began licking.

I licked her pussy, and when she lifted up a bit and told me to lick lower, I licked all the way down to her stinky fat ass.

I have done nasty things in life, but this was the nastiest...even more displeasing than the blowjob I had just performed. Her heavy thighs tightened like vice grips around my head, and I did my best to quickly have her cum.

Needless to say I was shocked when she said, "This just isn't doing it, Johnson, he's not any good a it."

Now, I'm not bragging, but I never had any complaints in the sucking pussy department. But this amazon was complaining. Then I was shocked even more my her next demand. "Get down here, lady, and help this poor boy out."

I looked at my wife, and she was mortified at the thought of going down on another woman. She started backing off until Mr. Johnson emphatically told her that it wouldn't be a good idea. Seconds later a terrified Tiffany was kneeling right next to me. I watched as she slowly, almost as if thinking it would bite, extended her tongue out and carefully began to cautiously lick a pussy for the first time in her life. 

Thinking back, I believe that put us both over the edge. At this point, we had degraded ourselves into the lowest of low, and we would do anything to get out of our taxing predicament. Luckily, the moans we heard from above came quickly as the woman grasp both of our heads in her hands. First she would pull Tiffany against her pussy, then me. We both took turns licking the wet hole as she got closer and closer to orgasm. That moment came, and she came all over Tiffany's virgin like mouth.

"Yes, yes, yes, suck it," she groaned. "Yeeessss." The woman's eyes were under her eyelids as she rocked against my wife's chaste mouth. It wasn't long before she shook and came on my wife's face.

The deed was done. Tiffany and I hugged, holding on for dear life and wondered again if our ordeal was over. The woman left the room, calling us "assholes", and we remained on the floor like animals.

After regaining our composure, we looked up. There was Mr. Johnson with a huge smile upon his face. In front of him were several Polaroid shots of Tiffany and I in various stages of debauchery. 

"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Benedict, I believe you drive a hard bargain! I think you can kiss that indictment away," he said with a smile, picking up the telephone. 

We both let out a sigh of relief. 

"Do me a favor," Mr. Johnson said. "Before I call the prosecutor to tell him it was a false alarm, I'd like a little memento for myself. Tiffany, come here and suck my dick, and Rob, take a picture of her with my dick in her mouth."

There was no resistance left. Tiffany dropped to her knees and munched on his semi-erect cock. "Smile for the camera, Tiffany," said the bastard taxman. 

I took several photos, no questions asked. Then he patted her on the head and told her to get up.

"That's enough for now, Tiffany, my dear. Uh, Rob, it's your turn. Tiffany, take the camera and get a couple shots of your husband showing off his new skill."

I needed no further prodding as I knelt before the older man and began sucking cock.

It wasn't easy to get him to cum for the second time that day. Heck, it was downright torture, but I did it. This time there wasn't much sauce, but I did what I had to do, swallowing all he had to give.

"I think you two made the right decision," said Mr. Johnson, zipping up his pants. "It's been a great negotiation, I think you two have earned some goodwill. I guess you can go now."

We smoothed down, buttoned up, and generally got out clothes presentable. Once done, we got up to leave.

"Oh, one thing," he said, as we prepared to open the door. "I will expect you back here in two weeks with a plan on how to pay off the $600 grand you owe Uncle Sam."

"But you said..." cried Tiffany.

"Madam, I said we could negotiate, and we negotiated away the jail time. I will see you in two weeks when you can tell me how you are going to pay off the money you owe," growled Mr. Johnson without an iota of regard for our feelings. "Now get out of here, and remember, I have these photos, so don't get any ideas about blabbing anything to anyone. Do you hear me?"

Reality is a bitch. We respectfully nodded our heads in unison, two used and abused souls without much self-respect nor dignity. Beaten, so to speak, and humiliated to no end. 

On the way home we saw a prostitute showing her wares on a street corner. We wondered out loud how much sex services were going for these days. Even if it were a princely sum, our knees would be wearing a hole into the carpet to pay off this whopper of a tax bill to Uncle Sam.

Some have said the government constantly tries to screw the taxpayers. Tiffany and I know first hand that the government can do it in more ways than one. 

To Be Continued...

Beware: The Taxman Cometh, Again



 (Many of you have written about my earlier story about the problems of Mr. and Mrs. Benedict, the upscale young couple whose payment problems with the Internal Revenue Service motivated them to be extra nice to the reviewing IRS agent. On day one they were forced to perform various sexual escapades to evade a trip to the penitentiary. Now it is on to round two, lowering their tax liability...or so they hope.)

* * * * *

Neither my pretty wife Tiffany nor I spoke on the drive home from our first humiliating meeting with the IRS agents. The drive, which normally took 25 minutes, took nearly an hour as my mind wandered back to the happenings at the Federal Building. I missed several turns, drove like a Florida senior on Sunday, yet throughout the trip not a word was uttered. 

Whenever I looked at my wonderful wife Tiffany, all I could see was her blankly staring out the window.

My mind was totally jumbled. Here we were, two people in a predicament with no easy way out. Our huge tax burden loomed over our heads like a guillotine. I thought of our actions in the IRS building, and how we spent the better part of two hours prostituting ourselves to stay out of prison.

It has been said the end justifies the means, but I'm not sure that sucking our way to freedom was the way we should have gone. On one hand we had brought it on ourselves, having cheated the government out of more than a half million dollars in taxes by cooking our tax return books. We, or should I say I, should have gone straight from the get go, but I felt pressured into crossing the line because I didn't want to give up all those material things which my beautiful wife Tiffany and I had bought when we were riding high on the money train.

While all good things invariably come to and end, those niceties which money can buy are hard to give up. Now, even though the tax official, Mr. Johnson, took us off the prison hook, we still owed the government more than we could possibly pay. And given our actions of this afternoon, it appeared that we'd be working out debt off for a long time to come.

We finally entered out five bedroom colonial. We lived in an upscale neighborhood not far from the dotcom where I worked. Keeping up with the Benedicts had been the favorite game in the neighborhood. 

"How could you do this to me," spat Tiffany. "Today you made me a whore, a good for nothing, piece of shit whore."

The words cut sharply. I had, of course, by messing with the books, but her spending habits also played a part in this nasty business. Now we were paying the piper.

"Now hold on just a second! Who was the one who maxed out our credit cards buying things for this house? Who had to have a Lexus instead of a Honda?" I snapped. "What about the Longaberger baskets in every room? The marble tiles you just had to have? Twice-a-week massages? You spend more money than a Rockefeller."

I won't bore you with all the details, but suffice it to say we both said a lot of things we shouldn't have. Bottom line: I fixed the returns, and she had spent too much. We were both to blame for our financial mistakes.

We stared each other down for a while, alternating sulking with despair. 

"Honey, we are in a fix, and today we did what we had to do. That prick Johnson would have sent us up the river fast...if we hadn't decided..." I couldn't continue that train of thought. "He has all the cards. You heard him; we were going to jail. You would have been the pride and joy of every lesbian at Eastern State while I would have been some big guy's bitch. Given the choice, I would much rather be at home, with you, than a boy toy of some monster murderer who wants a taste of white meat."

Tiffany dried her eyes and shook her head. "I know, I know, it's just that what we did today was horrible," she said, tears welling up once again as she thought of the unpleasant sex she had endured. "It was humiliating. Johnson is a major league asshole, but he knew what he was doing. He knew what buttons to push. The things he made us do whores wouldn't stand for. And it's only the beginning. Did you see the look in his eyes? He was enjoying each and every minute of our discomfort, our pain."

I nodded. Yes, Johnson did appear to enjoy himself. I don't know which he liked more: Tiffany giving him a blow job right in front of me, or me sucking his dreadful cock right in front of my loving wife. I guess it didn't matter, we were just pieces of human meat to him. Utensils for his sexual urges.

We spent the better part of the next three hours downing two bottles of wine and scheming on how to get out of our predicament. We thought of going to his superiors and turning him in, but what would that get us? Yes, he'd probably be fired, along with his horny hooligan friends, and wouldn't that be sweet. But we'd still be up for a prison stretch for cheating the government. More than a half million bucks we didn't have. We might win that battle, but not the war. 

Besides, he had all the cards; the bogus tax returns, our admission of guilt, and he had the Polaroids of us willfully performing all kinds of sex acts. With our luck, he'd use the photos to prove we were trying to blackmail them.

We crawled off to bed at 2 a.m. and snuggled. As we held each other close we murmured "I Love You" before finally falling asleep from exhaustion.

What seemed like minutes later the phone rang. 

It was that prick, Johnson. And it was only 8 a.m.

"Well good morning," he sang, "You two lovebirds sleeping late? I guess so, and such a wonderful house to be sleeping in! It sure would be a shame to have to give up that wonderful house to the government, now, wouldn't it?" Johnson's tone changed from blowing sunshine to total scorn. "Just keep that in mind when you start cooking up some lame brain scheme to try and weasel out of your little problem."

The line was quiet, as I couldn't talk. It was as if he knew we were hoping to find out a way to evade returning to Mr. Johnson's little office of ill repute.

"I know you guys had a rough time here, but it would be a lot rougher up at the federal penitentiary, and don't you forget it," said the nasty tax officer. "You kids play your cards right and you will keep your house and reputation in the community. Pull something stupid and you will be doing hard time in prison. All your neighbors will know you as the people who swindled the United States Government. The Poloroids will be posted on a website dedicated to you. I will mail copies to your family and friends. Won't they be shocked to find out about your bisexual interests and swinger lifestyle? Is that what you want?"

And here I thought matters couldn't get any worse.

"No sir, we don't," I quietly replied. "We agreed to your offer and we will fulfill out responsibilities to you. But we are not whores, we are not scum."

Mr. Johnson's voice rose. "You are whatever I want you to be, dammit. Haven't you figured that out yet? You WILL be what I WANT you to be. WHERE I want you to be. WHEN I want it. The sooner you understand that, the better. I have had enough of being patient, you get no more slack. Remember, I AM IN CHARGE."

He had the hammer and all the nails. Our best plan would be to do what he wanted and then move on. We couldn't possibly be the only ones he had over a barrel. We had to take him at his word that when we had worked off our debt we would be free to go. Getting out of his clutches was a dream but there still could be a happy ending.

"Mr. Johnson, I'm sorry. Of course you are right." Words were hard to come by, but they had to be said to let him know we would keep our end of the deal. "Sir, we appreciate the opportunity you are giving us to work our way out of this problem without having the law involved."

"Now that's more like it, I knew you two would be reasonable. You won't regret the decision," he said, and abruptly hung up. 

I crawled back into bed as Tiffany guessed it had been Johnson on the line. "He wanted to make sure we were going to keep our end of the bargain. I assured him we would."

Tiffany sighed, and turned away from me, crying once again. I rubbed her back, slowly working the tension out, before reaching around to caress her breast. "Not now," she said, but I continued to stroke her while rubbing what had grown into a hard cock against her ass.

"Honey, I love you, and you feel so sexy. Nothing you did yesterday or will do with those animals in the future will stop the way I feel about you," I said. "I know deep inside you know that. I really love you."

She turned and gave me a long, passionate, wet kiss, grasping my cock with one of her hands as her lips locked against mine. "Really, Rob, do you love me? Really? After all I did with those pigs?"

"Honey, of course I do, and I have done some bad things, not the least of which was my idea to play with the tax returns," I lamented. "If I had it over to do again I'd just sell everything and start all over again."

Our kissing continued for a while before I began massaging her back. Then stroking her body all over. After a bit of hand play I casually pulled her panties down her legs and began caressing her mound. She moaned when I fingered the outside of her cunt lips, then slowly dipped two fingers inside her wet pussy. She began to rock in tandem with my hand, and by the time I bent over her waist and began licking her sex he was mouthing inaudible sounds of love.

"Oh, yes! Yesss! Yeesssss!" she cried, moving my head to her burning love nest. "Yes...yes...yes!"

Tiffany began to shake while banging her pussy against my mouth. I was fucking her with my tongue while she was taking everything I had to give her. Suddenly she shook and then began an explosive cum.

I took my head away from her pussy and looked up at her. She smiled at me and mouthed the three magic words I needed to hear: "I love you," she softly said. "I do love you, Rob. You make me feel so good, and make me forget that bastard Johnson."

She slid onto her back, a contented look on her face, and slowly opened her legs to me. She looked beautiful laying there, a smile upon her lips. "Do me, honey, do me."

It only took a minute for me to slide on a rubber, get on top, and slowly slip inside her soaking wet pussy. My arms extended, in push-up fashion, while my lower half began to piston my cock into her wetness. I looked into her eyes, which were staring intently at me, and told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and that we'd get out of our predicament.

"I know," she said. "Now fuck me hard."

I did, rutting into her like there was no tomorrow. I pounded her pussy, feeling her body pound back against me. With all the sexual excitement that had overcome my body and mind over the last 24 hours, cumming wasn't a problem. "Oh, God, I'm Cumming!" I cried, finishing inside her then passionately kissing her as she caressed my head.

It wasn't our longest, lengthy or most erotic lovemaking session, but it was just what we needed to remind ourselves of our love. At least that's what I thought.

"Honey, I'm so very sorry about what has happened, I didn't ever think it would come to this," I lamented.

"Oh, Rob, I know you didn't, but didn't you think we'd be caught up with? I feel like such a whore. I mean, I blew some obnoxious asshole then sucked a pussy like a seasoned lesbian. That's obscene, it's foul. And you did it to us. I know you thought it was the right thing, but it was stupid."

I knew she was right, and sat back, quietly attempting to think of a way out of our predicament. There was none. We were finished. 

Tiffany looked me in the eyes then said: "Well, you are wrong if you think I'm going to be that bastard's fuck toy, I'm not going back there. There has to be a way out. I'm not going back to see Johnson again, and I'm not going to jail."

"Suit yourself, but it's not like you can leave the country. This guy is serious, and unless you plan on disappearing into thin air you will be tracked down and we really will have the book thrown at us," I sternly said.

Tiffany pouted off to sleep, as did I. 

We spent the next several days ignoring each other, barely speaking. And with each day of silence we found ourselves a day closer to our next meeting with the Tax Man. Tiffany awoke early that morning. She stared at me as I shaved, then quietly said she would be going with me. "There is no other way out," she admitted. 

As we drove to our meeting, Tiffany emphatically stated she would not screw anyone, no matter what. "I will suck their foul dicks, but no sex. No way."

Once inside the Federal Building she pulled me aside and repeated that nobody would be fucking her. I wasn't too sure of that, because Mr. Johnson was not one to be denied, but I didn't dispute her comments. 

Again we sat in the lounge, awaiting our fate. When Mr. Johnson greeted us, he did so with a large smile. "Why, so good to see you two," he said with a jovial tone. "Come back to my office."

After we entered the office and he closed the door, a different Mr. Johnson appeared. "So what's this I hear about you wanting to disappear? I wouldn't try it. The IRS has ways of tracking down malcontents."

Looking at my wife, he continued. "Well, Mrs. Benedict. Cat got your tongue? What's this I hear?"

"I don't know what you are talking about, Mr. Johnson," she replied. "I know our deal, I agreed to your terms."

"Uh huh. Well, let's get to it then. Did you bring a check for the money you owe Uncle Sam?" he asked "No? Huumm? Well, is there any reason I shouldn't have foreclosure procedures start on your house? Maybe we could repossess your cars. We can auction them off to pay some of your debt."

I quizzically looked at the Tax Man. "Look, we told you last time we were willing to go to whatever means to take care of this situation. Please don't make it any more humiliating than it already is."

"Really? Mr. and Mrs. Benedict, I know you hate me, but I really am in your corner here. Remember that I could have turned you over to the Feds. We said we had an agreement. So, I guess the question is whether you are going to honor that agreement or pay off your delinquency?"

Tiffany looked him straight in the eyes. "You know we can't pay it off, but we aren't whores. We'll do what we have to do, but that's it."

Mr. Johnson looked at my wife, then at me. He sort of smiled, nodded his head, and then stood up. "Whatever, doesn't matter to me at all. Just remember the trouble you're in. It only takes one word from me and you two will be in jailhouse stripes, complete with numbers on your back and fun-loving cellmates. You need to understand, I am your best friend."

Mr. Johnson paused, probably more for effect than reason, then sternly looked at my young wide.

"Tiffany, come over here. Now!"

My strawberry blonde wife hesitantly rose and started over toward the taxman.

He gave orders in quick succession. "Bend over the desk. Lift your skirt. Pull down your panties...and make it snappy." He looked at me, and ordered: "Mr. Benedict, take this ruler and teach your insolent wife a little bit of a lesson about respect."

I stopped in my tracks, afraid to move. Tiffany slithered over to the cold desk, reached up under her skirt, and slid her skimpy black panties down her legs before kicking them off. She looked disgustedly at Mr. Johnson, then at me, before hiking her skirt up around her waist and bending over the desk. Mr. Johnson sat in a chair next to the desk. After my wife's bare ass was bent over the desk, he held his ruler out for me to take. 

The wooden ruler slid into my hand, and I merely nodded at the obnoxious man. I raised it, then brought it smartly down on Tiffany's sweet soft ass, bringing forth both a welt on both ass cheeks and stout "ouch" from her lips.

"Twenty swats sounds about right. That was one," he snapped. 

I ignored his comment, and smacked her ass with the ruler as she cried out in pain. After 10 whacks he rose and took the ruler from my hand, choosing to give 10 much harder smacks in quick succession. Tiffany's cries were loud, and I wondered why nobody came to our rescue.

"This used to be an interrogation room. Isn't soundproofing wonderful?" Mr. Johnson asked. "You were pretty easy on her. I'm going to give her 10 more swats, just because I can."

"Noo, please stop," pleaded my wife, whose ass was bright beet red. "Stop."

Mr. Johnson ignored her, slamming the ruler on her ass 10 more times. Then, unzipping his pants, he pulled out his hard cock and pulled Tiffany by the hair around toward him. It didn't take long for her to realize what he wanted, and she quickly opened her mouth to suck the dirty dick of the man who was taking control of us.

"Ohh, Tiffany, you have suck a sweet mouth, you suck like a pro," said the Tax Man, pulling her head onto his rock hard cock, pulling it back, then slamming it back down the shaft. He was using her mouth as a fuck toy, and I looked on hoping he didn't hurt her. 

Tiffany bobbed her head up and down his cock, spit cascading down her cheeks, sucking it with abandon until startled off of it by a knock on the door. "Sit down an make yourself presentable," said Mr. Johnson, tucking his tool back into his pants. 

My wife smoothed down her skirt and then sat at the table across from Mr. Johnson. I sat beside her as the door opened. Neither of us noticed her panties on the floor by the side of the desk.

A tall, lanky black man entered. He appeared to be in his 40s, graying around the edges. "Oh, Mr. Johnson, I didn't realize that you had clients in here." 

"Uh, yes, Mr. Smith, this is Mr. and Mrs. Benedict, and they are attempting to negotiate a settlement of their 2000 taxes," said Mr. Johnson. "They are in a little trouble."

It was clearly a charade. I knew it. Tiffany knew it. Mr. Johnson and Mr. Smith, if those were their real names, knew it to. But we didn't have a leg to stand on, and merely nodded to the men when necessary.

Mr. Smith asked Mr. Johnson if we needed a secretary to record some of our comments.

"Why that would be excellent," said Mr. Johnson. "Is Mrs. Gordon available?"

The newcomer stepped to the telephone, smirking when he saw the panties on the floor, and called a number. Soon after there was another knock on the door, and a primly dressed elder woman entered.

"Good morning," she said, rising hopes in my mind that this woman would actually be someone that could calm the situation and get Tiffany and I off the hook. We were obviously apologetic, we didn't mean to evade taxes, we want to pay our debt. We just don't want to do it in jail.

"Mrs. Gordon, the Benedicts here have a little problem with their taxes, to the tune of owing the government more than a half million dollars. We have talked about their options, we have decided we do not need to involve the federal prosecutors. Now are just talking about their payment schedule. They have been very agreeable to nearly all we have asked, and are very repentant," explained Mr. Johnson. 

"That's excellent," she said, "because there is nothing I hate more is tax evaders...I assume they brought a check for what they owe?"

"Not exactly, Mrs. Gordon, they are quite short, even if they liquidate all of their holdings," said Mr. Johnson. "But over the long term they have good jobs and should be able to pay back the debt. Only..."

"Only what?"

"Well, I think Tiffany here is a little rebellious, and sometimes needs a little reminder of what kind of trouble she is in. We have had to remind her of the situation a couple times," said Mr. Johnson, gracefully tapping his wooden ruler against his hand. "That is unacceptable. That's why just before you came in I was reminding her of her situation."

"Well, don't stop on my account," said Mrs. Gordon. "I think I know just what she needs, and someone has to give it to her."




Beware: The Taxman Cometh, Again



Mr. Johnson handed over the ruler, smiled, and said, "You do the honors, Mrs. Gordon."

She looked at Tiffany, pointed at the ground, and told Tiffany to get on her hands and knees. My wife started crying, but did as she was told. She knelt as Mrs. Gordon lifted the skirt of my wife, baring her red ass to all in the room. "My, my, my, she has been corrected a bit, but I think those were just love taps."

As Mr. Johnson moved into position in front of my wife, unzipping and slipping out his hardening cock, Mrs. Gordon slapped my wife's ass with the ruler.

"OUCH" yelped Tiffany before the cock filling her mouth subdued her cries. 

Tiffany didn't suck his dick; she merely opened her mouth and closed her lips around Mr. Johnson's cock. He was using her as a receptacle for his manhood while the older women were beating Tiffany's ass. 

It was not a pretty nor erotic sight for my eyes, Tears began to slip down my cheeks as I watched my wonderful wife being spanked and forced to suck first one, then two, cocks. Mr. Smith had moved into position next to my wife's face. The procedure was simple. Tiffany would suck one cock, then the other, with a hard blow to her ass by Mrs. Gordon whenever a cock wasn't inside her wet mouth. After a bit Tiffany got the idea of things, and blew each cock longer to keep the ruler off her ass. 

At one point she kept the massive black cock in her mouth while grasping the second and slipping it inside her mouth as well in a double sucking. That kept the ruler away for a while, but when both cocks popped out of her mouth Mrs. Gordon tore into Tiffany's ass with seven consecutive hard spanks. Sans cock, Tiffany screamed out in pain. 

Ignoring the cries for help, Mr. Smith said to Mr. Johnson words which sparked Tiffany's head off his dick. "White women are suck good cock suckers, aren't they!"

I think that somehow she hadn't given the black dick much thought, but when the man made a point of emphasizing it she was taken aback. But not for long, as he inserted his 10-inch dick deeply in between her wet lips. He fucked her mouth for a while, then let Mr. Johnson do the same. 

The foursome of activity continued for several minutes until both men neared their climaxes. I snapped out of my trance when Mrs. Gordon spat my name. "Mr. Benedict, you are needed. Get on your knees."

The lemming in me allowed me to rise from my chair and kneel at the feet of the two men. I opened my mouth, and a cock was quickly inserted. I didn't know which man it was, but I did immediately feel the cock grow and then being to spurt a copious amount of slimy sperm into my waiting mouth. I sucked the cock, drawing more and more cum from it, swallowing as much as I could while more coated by face. The second cock merely erupted on my face, as the man jerked off on me. 

"You're digusting," said Mrs. Gordon to me. "You are scum. You suck cocks and allow your wife to be abused, you are a poor excuse for a man."

Mrs. Gordon smacked me on the face.

I knelt on the floor, totally humiliated. Tiffany by my side, rubbing her beet red ass. I started to wipe the cascading cum from my face but was ordered by Mrs. Gordon to leave it there. "It will help your complexion," she joked at my expense. "Us girls have to keep our looks up."

Girls my ass. I was an all-American male. One who now knows more about cocksucking than ever before, but still a male. I looked at her with disdain as I put my arm around my wife in a feeble attempt at a hug. Tiffany sobbed as she mumbled under her breath. 

"What's wrong, Tiffany, are you upset nobody has fucked you yet?" said Mr. Johnson. "You deserve a good humping after all the sucking you have been doing. I bet your pretty pussy is soaking wet right now. Why don't you lay down over there and let me screw that hot snatch?"

"Noooo," she cried. "No way, I am not fucking you or anyone else. That wasn't part of the deal."

Mr. Johnson didn't miss a beat. "Well, then, I guess your husband won't be getting laid, either. Darn, he looks so horny, too."

Tiffany and I looked at each other, surprised that Mr. Johnson wanted us to put on a little sex show for him. Tiffany quickly got the idea, and said she'd love to fuck me.

"I wouldn't want to put you out, Tiffany, you're too late. Your precious tight pussy is safe for now. I'm sure we can find a willing woman to take care of your husband's dick...Mrs. Gordon, would you like to help Mr. Benedict get his rocks off?"

The old woman smiled. "Of course I would. Come on, Rob deary, I feel sorry for you having to put up with that poor excuse for a girl. Give it to me."

With that Mrs. Gordon bent over the desk my wife had spent much of her time over. The woman lifted her pleated skirt, putting her fatty ass on display. It wasn't the most beautiful ass I had ever feasted my eyes on, but it was exciting to have the woman be so brazen as to simply walk over to the desk and show me all she had. Her ass sort of wiggled a willing invitation to me, and I felt my dick hardening as I stared at her bright white ass and puckered brown asshole. Then I was snapped out of my trance when she surprised me with her words. "Fuck me up the ass, and make it snappy." 

I couldn't believe the words. I had never done anyone up the chocolate speedway, much less my wife Tiffany. Now the IRS lady was asking me, no, ordering me, to do it to her.

Despite the situation, my dick jumped to rock hard attention in seconds. I lubed it up with some KY jelly from a tube handed me from Mr. Johnson, and then started fingering the small opening with my greased finger. After a bit I realized she was fingering her pussy while I fingered her ass, our fingers separated only by a skin membrane. After a bit of foreplay, she turned, pulled her skirt higher up her back, coyly smiled at me, then emphatically demanding I do her up the ass. I sort of fumbled my way around her backside, missing the mark a couple times before she reached around and rubbed my cock against her tight puckered opening.

She pushed back against me, and after a short pause grunted and pushed harder, her anus stretching before taking my dick into her ass with a groan. "Ooh, easy boy," she cried out. All of a sudden I glanced at Tiffany, who was staring daggers at me. As I fucked the woman in the ass I moaned to my wife that I had to do it. I don't think she bought my reluctance, because I was all over the woman, starting slowly and then pounding into her tight ass. That pounding brought a grimace and moan from her lips, but soon we started rocking together.

My wife has a tight pussy, and I remember the women I slept with, and even deflowered, but nothing was as tight as Mrs. Gordon's hairy asshole. Making it more pleasurable was her rutting back against me, as if she enjoyed backdoor humping better than anything else did in the world.

As I fucked her I reached around and felt her sagging tits, massaging more than caressing them. Her head was on a book on the desk, and I felt her middle rise as she moved one of her hands under us. I realized she was fingering her pussy while I pounded into her shit chute. Her ass muscles squeezed my cock and gave me feelings I had never felt before. 

"Ohh, fuck me up the ass, you bastard, fuck me up my stinking ass," said Mrs. Gordon. "Pound into me, let me feel your balls bounce against my pussy."

She asked, I pounded, savoring the sweet sensations of taking her as hard as I wanted into her tight hole. I wanted to punish her and every other IRS agent for their treatment of Tiffany of me, but I think the rutting was anything but punishment given Mrs. Gordon's moans and groans. 

Even Mr. Johnson, who had remained quiet throughout most of the scene, could only shake his head as he watched us screw. "Tiffany, I think your husband is enjoying this!"

Tiffany merely looked disgustedly at me called me a bastard.

Mr. Smith sauntered over toward my wife and told her to get back down onto her knees. "Watching your husband do Mrs. Gordon has got me hot, Mrs. Benedict. I would suggest you suck my dick."

I glanced at Tiffany and saw her recoil before closing her eyes and sliding down onto her knees. Her willpower gone, she opened her mouth and began licking the agent's hardening black monster cock. She reached up to grasp the dick, jerking it in and out of her mouth while sucking the tip. I could tell by the look in her eyes that the blowjob was a chore, something she had no real desire to do, but the resignation of our predicament forced her to proceed. 

She bobbed her head onto the pulsating dark dick while I pounded the tight ass of Mrs. Gordon. The older woman soon tensed up and went limp, quietly cumming. That sparked me to begin firing gobs of thick slimy cumsauce deep inside her, rutting harder and harder and releasing every dollop of sperm into her willing bowels.

I have to admit it was an excellent feeling, shooting off my seed in her ass. It was made especially good since she had obviously enjoyed herself. My mind quickly stopped wondering when I heard Mr. Smith tell my wife to open wide. I turned and looked as he pulled his cock out of my wife's mouth and began jerking his big black dick off right at her face. Within seconds his cock erupted onto my wife, hitting her eyes, nose and mouth. It was surrealistic, sexual sight.

Mr. Johnson broke the silence. "Well, well, Tiffany, it appears you have gotten a faceful of facial cream...it should do wonders for you complexion like it did for your husband. But I see a problem here. You husband's dick is dirty. Be a good wife and clean it off.

Tiffany reached for a Kleenex on the desk, but Mr. Johnson had other ideas. "Clean it with your mouth," he demanded. "Suck his shitty dick, and make it pronto."

Her eyes looked first at me, then my darkened cock. "Absolutely not," Tiffany yelled. "No fucking way I am sucking that."

"You don't have a choice, Tiffany, so get to it."

"Nnnnoooooo!" she said, attempting to rise to her feet and flee the room. Mr. Smith was in front of the door, and there would be no exiting before the IRS agents were through with us. Like a caged animal looking for a breach in security, she quickly glanced from side to side. There was no escape.

Mr. Smith pulled Tiffany over his knees. Mr. Johnson cracked his ruler first against his hand, then swatted Tiffany's still red ass. Tiffany quickly opened her mouth as if in a trance, then let out a scream. To stop the process I stepped up to her and wormed my stinky dick into her mouth. Beaten, Tiffany sucked my semi-hard and shit-stained cock. Tears streamed down her face as she gagged on the dick, not from size but the kind of disgust that comes with drinking cod liver oil. To fully humiliate her Mr. Johnson smacked her bare ass a few more times while she sucked the dirty dick, not stopping until my cock was clean of the dirty residue of shit and KY jelly.

"Well, Mr. Smith, it appears Tiffany her is having shit for lunch, which goes right along with her shit for brains," laughed Mr. Johnson. 

Upon completion, Tiffany slipped down to the floor, rolled into a ball, and sobbed. Mr. Johnson made me kiss my wife, and I tasted the disgusting and still smelly residue of Mrs. Gordon's ass. I attempted to console my wife, but she quickly pushed me away. "You are a bastard, and I never want to see you again."

Later that day, after Mr. Johnson reminded us of our predicament and set up our next appointment, we left the room and the office building after making ourselves presentable. Several people watched us walk away from the office, and I could swear each and every one knew the foul things we had done. We entered the parking lot, got quietly into our car, and then rode home in silence. We slept in separate bedrooms, and when I awoke she was gone.

Over the next several days I called her parents, friends and other family members, but Tiffany was not to be found. I told that to Mr. Johnson at the end of the week when he called to set up our next appointment and he sternly reminded me about the deal.


"You better find her so that the two of you can continue paying off your interest, or bring with you a check for the taxes owed when you get here next week," he demanded. "It would be a shame if she doesn't appear soon."

The next several days saw me liquidating as much of our assets as I could, but could only find a mere fraction of what we owed. On Wednesday, when I arrived at Mr. Johnson's office he was on the telephone. He pressed the speaker button. "You want to talk to her?" 

"Rob, you are a bastard. You will never find me. So go screw yourself," Tiffany cried before slamming down the phone. 

Mr. Johnson asked if I had the money. I gave him the check for what I had. He laughed. "No money, no Tiffany, no deal."

With that he buzzed someone outside, and soon the Federal Prosecutor was in the room reading me my rights. I didn't have much to say, especially since I had the right to remain silent. I couldn't make bail, and six months later earned a three-year vacation in the Federal Pen. There I met some interesting roommates, but that's a story for another day.

With my guilty plea Tiffany was let off the hook, her attorneys arguing successfully that I was the real culprit and she only signed what I told her to sign. She sold what was left. She paid off more of the tax bill, and moved in with her parents.

Ironically, I heard that Tiffany had replaced Mrs. Gordon when the woman retired a year later.