Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Normally, if I give my husband a good, mind-bending blowjob before telling him difficult news, it eases things and I’m likely to get my way – you know, a spoon full of sugar and all that. However, I didn’t get a chance this time. Here I was lying, rather lusciously I might add, in a king size bed, Egyptian cotton sheets carefully framing my tight Bruce Lee fit body, as inviting as any £6000 an hour courtesan could. But instead of coming into the bedroom of our London townhouse, eyes popping from hunger (we had just been apart for three straight months while I was finishing rabbinical school in America) and mouth-watering (fresh pretzels, his favorite food, steaming on the nightstand next to the bed), he entered in with eyes red from anger and a mouth twisted in disappointment. He dropped the half-completed application for a doctorate program at my feet so hard, I thought they’d sheared off my toes. “I’ll be at my club,” he declared before storming out. Once downstairs, he slammed the door to the street so hard, I could feel it in my heart.Shit. I had taken the paperwork out just to retrieve the email address of the admissions office. I had a few questions and I reckoned that once answered could help soften the blow. I must have forgotten to put the application packet back in my messenger bag where I had kept it hidden since returning to the UK after my ordination in June. He knew that I wanted to write, not tend to some congregation. But I hadn’t told him that one of my professors had recommended me to a great program that could increase my publishing possibilities three-fold. Angus was rich, very rich and had said he’d “publish whatever you write and buy every single copy” if doing so would make me happy. He didn’t understand that sales weren’t’ what I was looking for – my husband is an astute politician (a member of the House of Lords, after all), a shrewd venture capitalist (did I tell you he was rich and an Earl?), and a brilliant friend and lover (I’d accept nothing less) but he barely graduated from Eton and dropped out of his legacy admission of Oxford. On top of that, religion bored him (last year he fell asleep during Christmas services at our Cardiff estate’s local parish – his aunt Nora was furious when he started snoring!). So, although he was “supportive” of my studies and aspirations, he didn’t get it and had other dreams for our future. He wanted children, three to be precise.The closer I got to ordination, the more he’d bring it up – during every FaceTime chat, during the weekend visits (he’d fly our private jet, the William Mason, to Philadelphia whenever he could – I did tell you we were rich, didn’t I?), and through video postcards of him playing with my younger sister’s kids. At one point, he even sent me applications for overseas adoption programs and surrogacy organizations. Don’t get me wrong, I love kids. Nothing warmed my heart Avrupa yakası escort more than hearing my four-year-old niece yelling “Uncle De De” when I came home to Morganwg, the estate in Cardiff, or hearing my baby nephew giggle when I picked him up. And I know how important it was now that Angus was this shy of thrity-five to have an heir, someone to pass on everything he and his ancestors had sustained while other British aristocrats and European royals had frittered away and diminished ancestry into useless titles. I wanted that too, it’s just, well, I’m four years his junior and still hungry for a bit of fame in my own right.I decided to cover my disappointed penis with a pair of gray sweat pants and white tee shirt. Then I headed downstairs for a cupper – nothing may be solved by a cup of tea but things never got worse when one was in your hand. When I reached the kitchen, there was my friend and fellow spy colleague, Whitfield sitting at the inlet and my sister Ciara spoon feeding her baby. “The kettle is still warm.” I looked at her as if to ask How did you know? but all she did was roll her eyes. “You two spend more time fussing with one another then days on days making up than any couple I know. Nothing has changed since you first got together, dear brother, only what you need to apologize for.”“How do you know it’s my fault this time?”Now it was Whitfield’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’ll go see how the construction is going – make sure Mishiko hasn’t killed the workers.” He and his wife were supervising the building of an annex to the townhouse we called Churton Place. They, along with my sister and her husband (who used to be a lover of mine – long story but I’m over it) were part of our crew that handled spy campaigns for MI-6’s “Department of Alien Affairs”. We were more in the line of debunkers than Torchwood or Mulder and Skully. Our home space was getting rather tight so we acquired the adjacent buildings to make room for all of us and children, particularly since Ciara was pregnant again and Jenn, the adopted child of Mishiko and Whitfield was entering adolescence. Although we lived more like working class folk from off of Eastenders or Coronation Street – a mismatched family stuck under one roof – usually I loved it – except those times when everyone knew my business before I did. Did I tell you we also have a talking dog and cat?Baby Eliezer was giving my sister a tough time, and upon seeing me he stretched out his tiny arms for me to pick him up. Ciara nodded and, while I lifted him with nuzzles and kisses, she fixed me a cup of my favorite Glengettie. “Did he seem really mad?” I asked after settling the giddy child on my lap.“Yes,” she said plainly. “I mean really Desmond! How could you?”Ciara only called me by my given name when she was upset with me, otherwise it was my nickname, Deetz. Ataköy escort bayan “Did he say anything to you?”“Right. ‘Hey there sister-in-law, do you know why my husband is postponing parenthood in favor of some doctoral program?’ Not likely!”“How do you know what it was about?”My dog, Velvel, sauntered up to me, brushing against my leg – his indication that he wanted to go out for a walk. “I’m sorry Master but even I know why he is mad.”Ames, my sister’s cat, lazily rose from a spot atop of a decorative shelf to turn over but not before adding, “Really, who knew psychic yelling could be so loud!” The cat laid back down, her back to us.“In my opinion, Master,” continued Velvel, “if you want to resume intimate relations with the ‘Good One’…”“Oi! Now I have to take sex advice from my dog!” I exclaimed. “Anyway, is Brandie around? She shouldn’t be subjected to this language.”My sister shrugged, leaned forward to take the food caked bib from Eliezer. “Tom took her to the park. And anyway, we’ve convinced her that all that noise from your rooms are her uncles playing grown-up tickle.” She put the bib on the kitchen island and poured herself a cup of tea then sat back down.“If I may continue Master?” asked Velvel.“I’ve never been able to stop you before.”The dog ignored my comment. “If you want to return to happy sexual relations with the ‘Good One’, I would suggest a note, a sad face, and a dog in the rain.”“What?” I replied.Velvel always referred to Angus as “the Good One”. I never questioned it, but wondered if it was a slight dig. “Leave it to me, Master. I will retrieve him for you,” he said proudly wagging his tail. “Write an ‘I’m sorry note’, like you humans are oft to do and I will bring it to him. He’ll come back with me for certain.”Ciara shrugged again. “Better than most of your apologies, I’d say,” she said taking the baby from me. “But, if you win him over, keep it somewhat quiet, would you? I’m going to be putting Eliezer down for his nap in a few hours.”I stuck my tongue out at her and the baby giggled. She left the room and I grabbed piece of paper and pen from the counter. Terribly strange, sad day when your dog, cat, sister and your cock are all in agreement. Once I finished, I folded it up and slipped it into a small, hidden compartment in Velvel’s collar. The chocolate lab wagged his tail as if he was about to go on an important mission for British ground troops on D-Day. “Don’t be too eager. This may not work. How are you going to get him out of his club anyway?” I opened the door to the street and he trotted off proudly on his romantic rescue mission, not answering my question.“Damn shame, human,” said the ivory colored fur ball curled on the shelf.One day, when my sister’s not looking, I’m going to kill that snarky cat.**************************************I finished my cup of tea, had another Escort Şirinevler one, then went back to the bedroom. It was an early Sunday afternoon and the light patter of the rain against the window and a faint smell of Angus lingering from the night before was making me put more than a little hope into the idea that Velvel’s plan would be successful. Usually,when he got mad at me and went to the club, it would take him a day or two to return home and even then, he’d sleep on the pullout couch in the sitting room downstairs for a night or two before he’d talk to me, let alone touch me. It wasn’t that he was petty but my Angus was a sensitive sort and his heart was easily bruised – as a rule, he didn’t forgive readily. So, the idea that Velvel could get him to come home tonight was asking for a miracle. And if he did come back, what would I say other than what I wrote in my note, “I’m sorry. Please give me a chance to explain.”? Could I really put off my dreams, my life? Yet, he’d taken a chance on me, in more ways than one – marrying a man when he had never had any queer compulsions in the past, putting up with my moodiness, going along with a cross ocean, commuter relationship after being married only a year. Was I being fair to ask him to hold off, change his plans yet again?I tried to divert the angst by reading Rabbi Johnathan Sacks’ latest book on religious extremism – hardly a beacon of gay support but a modern-day sage of Jewish studies and an excellent writer. I was used to straddling multiple worlds. And as I fell asleep in the large leather chair next to the bed, I wondered how I would get my usual “win-win” out of this situation. I began dreaming almost immediately.An hour later, “Right,” Angus said, “I see that you really don’t need me.”His voice startled me awake. He stood there, along with Velvel, dripping rain water all over the wood floor and part of the area rug. I never knew a dog could grin. “I was asleep,” I replied while trying to inconspicuously remove my hand from around my swollen dick and pull up my sweats. “A man can dream, can’t he?”“Ah, sarcastic as usual,” Angus groaned unpleasantly. “I’ll just get a pillow.” He leaned over me to get one off the bed but Velvel’s bark and low growl stopped him. “Master is stupid and sometimes selfish, as you knew when you married him. Let’s not drag this out and make the whole house miserable. It is a pleasant, rainy day to love each other. Get to it.” Velvel stuck his snout in the air and trotted out the room with the command of a determined schoolmaster. If he had hands, he would have closed the door.We were at that awkward moment where it isn’t clear who should speak first and of course, hating the silence, I spoke up with my foot still in my mouth. “I gotta work on that dog’s manners.”“He’s doing better than you. At least he didn’t lie to me.”“I’m sorry, really I am. I was going to tell you! I was just waiting until the right moment.”“And that was going to be when? When is it a good time to tell your husband, ‘Oh, honey, I’m going away AGAIN!’! And according to those papers, you’re already accepted into the program!”“Yes, well,” I stammered, “I am uncertain that particular program is what I want.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32