“Bubula, you should put on some pajamas. Your shmekel is going to catch a cold!”
Hastily, I dashed to the sofa and grabbed the needlepoint pillow that Jen had bought me in Scotland and held it against my groin. I looked down at the words stitched into the canvas: It ain’t easy being king. The words rang true.
“So vhere’s Jennifer?” asked Grandma with a dramatic shrug, lifting her palms up.
On cue, Jennifer appeared, her eyes wide with shock until her face relaxed with a smile of relief. My Swiss Army knife in her hand, she was wearing a pair of my polka dot boxer shorts and a tight little T-shirt that I bought her in Scotland with the words: It’s Scot to be good. Her perfectly pert petite tits grazed the thin cotton fabric. She looked adorable! And so fuckable! I was amazed by how fast I’d gone from murderous thoughts to lustful ones. My sexy wife could do that to me.
“Grandma! What are you doing here?” Sauntering toward us, she dropped her would-be assault weapon on our home bar.
I explained that Grandma had come over to deliver a Shabbat meal, not knowing we’d gotten home earlier than expected. Her eyes flitted to the dining table and her face brightened even more.
“Oh, Grandma, that’s so thoughtful of you! Blake and I thought you were a burglar!”
“Burglar, shmurglar!” With a roll of her eyes, she dismissively flicked a hand. “Eat, bubulas, before everything gets cold!”
Just as we were about to sit down, a loud knock sounded at the door. Rap, rap, rap, rap.
“Police! Open up!”
Crap! I’d totally forgotten that I’d asked my tiger to call 911. In my naked state, I stood frozen as a statue, my feet super-glued to the floor.
“I’ll get it,” chirped Jen, already darting to the door. My eyes stayed on her as she swung it open. Three stern, armed cops, two men and a woman, stood at the threshold. A shiver ran down my spine at the sight of their weapons. And then my toes curled as their gaze raked over my naked body. I pressed the pillow tighter against Mr. Burns, as I affectionately called my cock, instinctively protecting him. A heart palpitating mix of fear and embarrassment swept over me.
“Is everything okay here?” asked the staunch female cop, her dark eagle eyes scanning the apartment before returning to me in my naked state. I felt myself flushing, heat crawling to my cheeks. Sheepishly, I wiggled the fingers of my free hand and waved hi.
“Yes, officer,” chimed in Jen. “We thought we had an intruder, but it was just my husband’s grandmother. We’re so sorry for the inconvenience.”
The three cops looked at each other, not letting their guard down.
“Bubulas, vould you like some brisket?” interjected Grandma, totally nonplussed. “There’s more than enough for everyvon!”
The older male cop studied her. “You look familiar.” Then, he rubbed his dimpled chin with a thumb. “Hey, aren’t you on TV?”
Grandma explained she hosted The Sexy Shmexy Book Club. The ever-popular talk show Jen had developed.
The cop’s face lit up. “Holy baloney! My wife loves that show!”
“Mine, too!” beamed the other male cop.
“Me too!” blurted the lady cop, adding that she’d read every single one of the books they’d discussed.
Five minutes later everything was back to normal. Grandma promised the three police officers signed books and invited them—and a guest—to one of her show tapings. And then, they all left, leaving Jen and me alone.
I let out a deep breath, tossing the pillow back on the couch. “Phew! I’m glad that’s over! If you think about it, that was pretty funny.”
Jen did not return my smile. “If you really think about it, it wasn’t that funny! What if it had been a real burglar? And even worse, what if you hadn’t been here?”
The thought of any harm coming to my tiger rattled me. She had a point. I traveled a lot for business, leaving her alone in the apartment. Often when I was away, her best friend Libby stayed over, but even though Libby was as tough as nails, she wouldn’t stand a chance against a built-like-a-brick-house intruder—armed with a weapon no less. She was as vulnerable as my beloved tiger. Maybe I needed to hire a bodyguard to protect my wife when I went out of town. I made a mental note to have my secretary Mrs. Cho look into one before I was distracted by the scrumptious smell of Grandma’s brisket. My stomach rumbled as my eyes panned to the set table.
“Hey, baby, we’re up and I’m hungry. We might as well eat.”
Jen agreed, and I was thankful she dropped the subject of a home invasion. While she went to fetch a bottle of red wine from our collection, I sat down at the table. Holding a bottle of Rutherford Cabernet and two wineglasses, she joined me and poured us each a glass.
After toasting each other, I turned the subject to our favorite sexy times in Scotland as we devoured the delicious brisket meal. The naughtiest had been an impromptu fuck on the canopied bed of Mary, Queen of Scots, when the castle guards weren’t looking. Eating my tiger’s pussy under her kilt at a local tavern came in a close, hot second. The conversation only made me hungrier. Hungry for my tiger. Gantin for her as the Scots would say. I was still naked as a jaybird and beneath the table, my cock stirred.
We left not a morsel on our plates, wiping them clean with chunks of the challah Grandma had also brought. My eyes stayed fixed on Jen as she stood up with her plate and utensils in hand. “Blake, hand me yours. I’ll put everything in the dishwasher.”
God, my high-powered wife was cute when she was in domestic mode. But she was even cuter when she was on the floor under me.
“Put everything down. It can wait. And besides, I’m still ravenous.”
She set her plate back down on the table. “Do you want more? Should I heat up the soup?”
I silently chortled. Yeah, I wanted more, but not another slab of brisket. Or some fluffy dough balls. When it came to my wife, I had my own set of balls and a very hearty appetite. My cock twitched and a new little plan of attack formulated in my head.
“On second thought, baby, let’s put things away and call it a night.”
“Sure. That works for me. I’m beat!”
With a hidden smile, I placed my fork and knife on my plate, but as I was about to give them to her, the utensils “accidentally” fell onto the floor. I bent over to reach for them and then groaned, making a pained face.
“Aagh! My back! I think I pulled a muscle!”
Alarm filled my tiger’s glittering emerald eyes as I silently snickered. I was such a good actor. Seriously, I deserved an award.
“Oh my God, Blake! Don’t move! I’ll pick them up.” She leaped up from her seat and rounded the table to retrieve the utensils, squatting down just as I anticipated. Perfection! I sprung up from my chair, Mr. Burns springing up with me, and joined my wife on the floor, kneeling behind her.
“Blake! What are you doing?”
“Get down on your hands and knees,” I ordered.
Obediently, without a word, she did as she was told, her gorgeous heart-shaped ass high in the air. Not wasting a second, I yanked down her boxer shorts and managed to slide them past her ankles. Then, I curled a finger under her, caressing her tender swells until they were all slick and wet.
“Oh God, Blake,” she moaned as I moved my finger to her clit, rubbing it vigorously. She moaned again, arching her back like a stretching cat. She was ready. I was ready . . . to pummel my pussy from behind. Doggy style!