Brotherly Love Ch. 01 of 03

- present day -[date=2006]

It was early morning dark when I was awaken by the pressure from my bladder. Still confused by the mucked up dream I'd been having and tangled in the topsheet and blanket I struggled my way off the bed and scuffed my feet into a pair of slippers. I could hear my wife Megan grumbling incoherently from the other side of the bed. Then she scrunched herself down under the blanket and tried to go back to sleep.

I shuffled to the loo with minimal dripping. Having been well trained, I sat on the toilet. After my halfway hardon relaxed enough, it was a relief to let the piss flow. A wipe and flush, then I looked out the lav door to see the digital clock on my bureau. 5:38 AM, hmmm? A quick wash of my flagging woody, followed by a swish of mouthwash. I knew Meg would appreciate my attention to details. Tossing my pj bottom at the hamper and return to bed.

Climbing back under the covers, I snuggled up to my wife, being careful "with all due deliberation" to poke at her bum with my semi-erection. She grumbled some more and with squinting eyes, muttered something unfriendly about my parentage. Now, I love morning sex, Meg could take it or leave it. If she finally succumbs to my blatant desire then generally it'll turn out to be a good day for the both of us.

She growled "Robert! Be good, dammit!"

I whispered as I nuzzled her neck "Good? I'll be great!" Running a hand over her flank and under her nightshirt.

"Oh Lord! Hardly." Her hand grabs mine and pulls it off her breast, not letting go, she pulls me in closer.

Gently kissing her ear and cheek, I smirked "Very hardly, very Lordly, Madeira my dear."

However, if she refuses to let my old boy slip it to her old girl, there are two paths this could take. A quick blow-job if I'm lucky, but I'll owe her. If not so lucky, just a cursory handjob. Cause she's probably starting her period, always quite uncomfortable for her.

On the dreaded second path, her fanny is painfully swollen in full blown, early menopausal rage and she'll boot me off the bed. Literally! That leaves her weepy all day. I wish her frigging doctors would make up their damn minds about how to treat her. Hell, it makes me want to weep!

Well, so far so good, she's letting me press up against her and even wiggling back a little, if still grumbling.

Oops. Suddenly shoving my arm aside, she slides away from me and off the bed, racing around towards the loo while clutching the front of her nightshirt to her quim. Must have also received an urgent message from her own bladder!

I hear a flush and then water running in the sink, then suddenly a naked Meg came out carrying her damp shirt. She tosses it towards the clothes hamper. With a seductive swivel of her hips that sends her big tit's swinging as she approaches our spousal lovenest. She stops and looks down at me and ponders.

You know that bit women like to do, with the hair falling over their eyes. One arm across her belly to prop up the elbow of the arm of the hand of the finger that is tapping at her dimpled cheeks. Impishly, she winks at me and grins.

Sure as fuck, she knows damn well what seeing her luscious breasts and fur-edged quim does to me. She quietly muses as her eyes rolled-up to ponder the mysteries of our bedroom ceiling.

"Ten to six. Hmmm, I wonder? What to do, what to do? What could I do before I have to raise the children? Perhaps iron my blouse or defrost the freezer? Maybe clean out the kitchen cupboards and lay in new shelf paper?"

Wantonly smirking down at me, pretending she is seeking my opinion. I suddenly reared up from my pillow. Grabbing her nearest arm, I roughly pulled her onto the bed across me. Where she was face too face with my swelling cock. So too speak.

Breathing on it she cooed "Good! Morning! Great Britain!"

Impishly she glances at my surly face through the mess of her dark blonde bangs and quips "Is there any particular reason you wanted me to see this?"

"Jeez, Meg. Have a heart, gimme a blow!"

She smirks "Huh? This doesn't look like a cardiovascular muscle to me."

I had to chuckle, then my skin twitched with excitement as she pursed her lips and blew warm air on the crown. Changing tack, I gently encourage her further up so we can kiss, swapping minty spit before she pulls back.

Back down hovering over my crotch. She took a long, lingering swipe of her hot, wet tongue all along my 19 centimeters, exclaiming "Yum! A piping hot banger for breakfast."

As her lips slipped over my crown and she slopped back and forth for the first half of my length with her mouth, I pulled her legs around and over, straddling my face. Speaking of yummy, there is her lightly furred fanny just starting to pink open and glistening.

With my arms around her hips pulling her arse down over my face. I began to paint her nether lips with my eager tongue, my nose poking at her pucker. Then I stab my tongue into her virginia for that creamy goodness she produces. Lord! I love Megan's sweet-salty-tart flavor and I can never get enough of her earthy, musky, feminine perfume.

A few minutes of sixte-neuf and I was getting close to blowing. My tongue could feel her vaginal contractions. I started suckling at her plumping clitoris, which has her squealing and wiggling. After that first little orgasm, she concentrates back on her sword-swallowing duties and has two-thirds of me engulfed when my muscles started twitching.

Without warning, she pulls her mouth off of my spitting banger with a wet pop! and her hot-buttered muffin off my face, to swivel her body around over me in a quick, graceful pivot. I 'oof!' with her pushing the air out of my lungs as her hands are braced on my chest.

Rudely, she plunges her cunny onto my cock, without a bye-your-leave! Good thing I had grabbed myself and was holding it up for her. Then Cowgirl Meg, the Wild West buckaroo, begins to ride me. (Does Cornwall count?) Leaning over, she kisses me passionately, our tongues stabbing at one another. As her hot, creaming vagina squeezes around and up and down my hydraulic penis. God it feels good! Scrunching up her face, she makes those funny noises as she cums again.

Bull rider? Though these days, steer rider would be more accurate.

She sat up for me to go deeper and for rubbing her hot-pink clit against the pubic hairs at the base of my cock. I started biting and suckling at the large darkly swollen nips of her 34D's waving in my face. Clutching strongly at her bumcheeks as my hips added to the piston action we have going.

Again the pressure rebuilt as we steadily, determinedly, pumped our way from pleasure to ecstasy. My first shot set off her clutching spasms. Each pulse renewing our mutual orgasms as we groaned our happiness into each other's face.

Man! Our loving had always been plenty good enough with the bonus of producing four children. Then last year Megan got into a yoga & pilates class with special instruction in Kegel exercises. Her vagina is now gold medal strong. I'd swear that she could pickup a bowling pin with it!

I thought it was hilarious when Megan joked about 'kegel' as the German name for 9-pin bowling! You can imagine the jocular imagery that resulted.....

For the next few minutes, our sweating bodies laid intertwined. Every slight movement, rubbing skin to skin, triggered small spasms of delicious aftershocks. Only interrupting our slobbering kisses with whispered endearments of mutual love and adoration.

Finally, after a finely final kiss, Meg lifted her head and upper body to reach for a handful of tissues from the box of kleenex on her nightstand. Swinging her legs off the bed, she used the wadding to plug her sopping cunny as she waddled to the loo to clean up. I laid there dozing in smug satisfaction at a good job, well done, old man!

Listening to the shower, my mind started to wander about. Thinking of what I needed to accomplish at my new office this morning to be able to leave work before noon to catch the train back.

Returning to our bedroom, lusty, luscious Megan slips on a pair of knickers and matching bra and then a set of sweats. Enjoying my viewpoint, I continued to lay there, wallowing in that after-great-sex glow. She came around to stand by my side of the bed, while sipping at a bottle of water.

Knowing all too well her wicked sense of humor, I cricked an eye out towards 'Miss Chevious' and gave her one of my patented 'don't you dare muck around with me!' frowns that I had developed to handle the children. Though it seems to be losing it efficacy as they get older.

As Meg carelessly swung the opened bottle over my naked hairy chest and slowly, deliberately, began to tilt it, I suddenly remembered. Damn it! That glare never did work on her. Smartly, I rolled the other direction away from her and off the bed and went in to take my shower and shave.

While the children are noisily chattering and teasing one another at the breakfast table that morning.

Megan and Robert Robertson, heads together in the kitchen. They quietly agree that she would pick him up from the noon train to make their appointment with Dr. Khurahasan that afternoon. To have him explain the confusing test results returned from the medical laboratory.

They did not notice the speculative look in the oldest girl's eyes as she subtly observed the earnest faces of her parents sotto voce conversation.

First Meg drops Rob off at the Old Oak Tree train station. He boards the suburban local that has a stop near the still expanding headquarters campus for Tetracomm and his new office.

Then Megan delivers the children, Brian{8} first to the Lawford Academy. Then Joanne{14} and Melody{12} to the Gyn-Nasium and finally, Kerry {5} to the Town daycare-kindergarten.

Afterwards while in Town. Megan went to the Hallmark store for overlooked party items and favors for Melody's twelfth birthday celebration this coming weekend. Then Saundra's Bakery to place an order for the fancy decorated cake the girl wanted. The grocery and the butcher's and then home to put it all away. Do a little housecleaning.

After getting the laundry going, she sets out what will be needed for afternoon tea when the children come home from school. Joanne will be responsible for making the sandwiches for the other children. For tonight's supper, Megan sets the auto-timer on the rice cooker for pilaf and layers the chicken pieces and veggies into the crock pot, set on slow cook.

Fortunately none of the kids has an after school event or sports scheduled this afternoon. That'll give Megan and Robert time after meeting the Doctor, to talk privately. Meg was thinking they could stop at the Foxhound for a drink, it won't be crowded at that time of day and it'd be just a couple of blocks to pickup Kerry. A few blocks from there to the two older girl's school, the Gyn-Nasium and then on the way home swing past the Lawford Academy for Byron.

Megan took a half-hour to skim through her emails. Nothing too important, Callie letting her know the proofs had been returned from the printers and she had approved them. She is still waiting on the corrections to the auto-rally posters from the colourists.

There's a request for Megan Robertson to either enter a piece of her artwork in a charity show or if she would have the time to be one of the judges. She'll consider it, but nothing definite until she has checked against everybody's schedules. Life seems to revolve around the damn calendar, these days!

Aboard the train, Rob swung from the ceiling handles, pressed in by the crowd. He reflected that the bump in salary with his new position, would finally enable them to buy a second car. Without cutting into their savings investments or the funds they regularly set aside for college for the four children. And Tetracomm will provide a car allowance with a special security city-center access transponder and parking priority license. Plus subsidized insurance coverage that will bring the prorated costs of running a second car down to only twice as much as a train pass.

If we're real careful and no emergency pops up, {knock on vinyl!} maybe in early summer we could all do a real holiday away. The kids are still young enough to enjoy Euro Disney. And for the most part, except for Kerry, mature enough to take care of themselves. This would make a great memory for the entire family together.

Later in the summer in June and August, all the four or five dozen, Robertson clan children from all over the British Isles will be sent to GoldLeaf Manor. The forested estate of Robert's great-uncle Sir George. To run wild, enjoying weeks of farm/ponies/camping/boating summer-idyllic fun, as the Robertson's offspring have done since 1885.

Meg to her enjoyment and peace of mind has attended several of these with the children. With supervision by the estate agents and the older children, this year even five year old Kerry could attend without her mother for a couple of weeks.

This June, Rob intends to abscond his wife and drag her along with him for a series of conferences and seminars and business dinners and fetes across Europe with plenty of time for public sightseeing and private lovemaking. Much of it paid for by Tetracomm or comped by the companies hosting the events.

As he was shouldering his way off the train at the Campus Station, Rob pulled out his PDA and left a message to himself and for his new EA, Mrs. Hanley.

"Ask Meg if she has talked to Deborah and Penelope. Would they be free join us for EuroDisney or at least if Eliza would want to go with us? Also, if Eliza intends to attend GoldLeaf again? We need to contact all the grand-parents, if any of them are free for the EuroDisney trip. Then see if any of the adults would like to meet somewhere in June on the Continent for an adult's-only fortnight? Mrs. Hanley, check my Blackberry for all the family addresses, then please mail everyone a copy of my planned travel itinerary for the summer."

The expanded headquarters campus was just a ten minute stroll from the train station. Robert nodded at the those in the crowd from the train, who he vaguely recognized. When a young woman, snaked her way through the throng to Rob's side and cheerily wished him a good morning.

Politely, he good-morninged her back with a sense of mild curiosity. She was a brunette, with a modestly zaftig figure in a below-the-knee dress, white with large navy polka dots and a large navy vinyl belt. Sensible low-heeled shoes.

"You are Mr. Robertson, I recognized you from the picture Mrs. Hanley showed us."

"My assistant, showed you my picture?"

She blushed "My apologies Mr. Robertson. I am Betty Zemplen, I will be interning under Mrs. Hanley for the next few weeks. Part-time for my Uni business courses. She thought it would be helpful that the people reporting to you could recognize the gov'nor on sight."

As we ran our badges at the security desk to the administrative wing, I took a moment to reflect. Thoughtlessly, I failed to notice the young lady's nervous body language.

I couldn't say it out loud of course but I was thinking, that showing my picture around to the people who will be working under me, seems a sensible idea. I have only met Mrs. Hanley twice, her file shows an excellent history of good judgement and initiative.

Oh dear, the girl is starting to panic, thinking my silence implies anger at the presumption.

"Please Miss, uhmm, Zemplen. I was just thinking this would save time with unnecessarily repetitious introductions."

She looked relieved and grateful that I wasn't going to go off on her.

We reached the near-end of the Administrative Hall. I was happy to have my office so convenient to the Network Monitor Hub. I expect to be spending most of my time in the Hub rather then sitting on that ridiculous luxury leather throne they gave me. At least I had been able to talk my boss into hauling away that monstrosity of a desk and the sofa that was here originally. Replacing those with two large tables and a dozen chairs.

Sorry if the interior designer's get into a snit with my crass preference for functional over their artistic vision. We will be using this room mainly for group conferences, briefings and training sessions when we need to be away from the blinking distractions of the Hub.

Yes, yes, I understand that senior executive management types need those luxury status symbols to impress clients, regulators and rivals. But that is Not My Function. My job is to keep this mish-mash of incompatible technologies running 24/7,

So all you network abusers can phone for a pizza delivery while downloading porn while simultaneously tweeting about seeing someone you thought might be famous crossing the street today. Every frigging moment of every frigging day, without fail! Or you'll bitch and moan and howl like a pack of hounds in heat!

Mrs. Hanley stood up from her desk next to my office door and said good morning to myself and then with a slight hesitation, the girl following behind me.

Mrs. Doloris Nduan Hanley, 46 years old. Parents emigrated from Kenya. Father English, Mother of the Gikuyu nation. She is married to Alfred Hanley(RAF Major, EW Specialist). They have two children, a son at Sandhurst and a daughter in Pre-Med at Uni. Mrs. Hanley has been employed for twenty years, starting with Regional Telephone, which became Tetracomm. She has worked her way up from clerical to secretarial to executive assistant.

She is fluent in English and Swahili, including technical terminology. On the side she does some translation work in her mother's native Kikuyu language. Plus she has some basic understanding of Kamba, Dholuo and Arabic.

She also edits translations of Tetracomm technical journals and consumer information pamphlets into Swahili and other East African languages she is familiar with. With her long term experience at Tetracomm and it's predecessor, I consider myself damn lucky to have the woman working for me as my Executive Assistant. Makes me sad knowing that sooner or later, some senior twit is going to realize her value and stick her in some bloody damn useless slot upstairs just to make some Equal Opportunity quota.

After Robertson enters his office and is checking his IOnet-mail, Mrs. Hanley looks speculatively at Betty. Who flushes as she realized the unspoken question.

"Mam, that photo you showed us yesterday. I thought I remembered that name so last night I asked my Mum. She knows the Robertson's, my sister goes to the same middle school as their daughters. Mother and Mrs. Robertson are serving on the same PTU committee this year. Mum's house is in Brumley Gardens where I entrained, Mr. Robertson entrains at the Old Oak Tree station. After disembarking, while we were walking here to the Campus, I introduced myself to him. I hope I wasn't violating protocol."

Mrs. Hanley thought a moment, then shook her head "From the people I have talked to, who have worked with him, Mr. Robertson is very casual and friendly."

She laughed and said "His last secretary, Miss Smythe-Jones. A 'veddy' proper snob, accused him of practically being an Australian! The impression I have to date is that he is laser focused on two things, his job and his family. I suspect, what is important to him will be whatever it takes to accomplish his work, so that he can go home to be with his wife and children."

The older woman had a kindly look on her face as she reassured the girl "Until you have the experience to sort it out, to learn how the people you will meet here will react to familiarities. I suggest prudence, common sense and polite courtesies."

Meekly, Betty replied "Yes, Mam. I'll try to be more circumspect."

"Now go plug in the tea service and put out a case of bottled water for this morning's meeting. I have to chase down what ever happened to the biscuits and buns that were suppose to have been delivered."