Two months apart and Marty woke the next morning all alone in his bed in the basement. He and Mary had laid in bed together, but as she drifted off she reminded him she wanted him to sleep in his bed. He grudgingly did, missing the feel of her buttocks against his caged manhood.
He liked spooning her, but also being spooned by her. There was something he found really sensual about having her pubic mound against his bottom and her breasts pressing against his back.
It was humiliating to be married only a few years and being kicked out of the master bedroom. It also stung to imagine Father spooning with her. The bitterness and wounds he felt in one part of his brain were not the same in other parts. It excited him sexually to be sleeping in separate beds and to picture Father and Mary sleeping after an energetic long bout of lovemaking.
He looked at the clock and realized he had slept a long time. He got out of bed and after finishing his morning routine, headed upstairs. On the main level, there was no sign of Mary. He walked upstairs to her bedroom. They had a large house. Four bedrooms and three bathrooms on the second floor.
He wondered why Mary hadn't exiled him to one of those rooms, but to the one furthest from her. Maybe she really did want him to be invisible when she was with Father. He walked into her bedroom. The bed was unmade, towels on the bathroom floor, clothes on the floor, but no sign of his wife.
He gathered up the towels, clothes, and stripped the sheets off of the bed. He noticed the mattress cover was wet and removed it. The sex the day before had been spectacular. He wondered if she would want his face between her legs that day or if she needed a break.
He started the laundry, walked into the garage and noticed her car was gone. He went and picked up the newspaper. It was a big paper making him realize it was Sunday. He had gotten his days mixed up. He was sure she had gone to Mass, but church had ended hours ago.
He made himself a pot of coffee and made a list of things he needed to do. He had explored his new bedroom earlier. It was actually a nice room, as big as the master bedroom with its own bathroom and a large walk in closet. He found his clothes in one of the drawers. He had emptied his suitcase before going to sleep.
He wondered where she got the furniture because there had been none when he left. It was not an impulsive decision she had made, but one thought out in great detail. He felt a lump in his throat form as this revelation hit him. He wondered how long she had been wanting to do this, but hadn't. He wondered if their extended separation prompted her to act upon her desires.
What was funny is during their separation he had often fantasized about her taking a lover in his absence, the two of them making love in the master bedroom, the imaginary man sleeping where Marty normally did, but he had purposely kept those thoughts out of his letters.
He didn't want her to think that being cuckolded was all he thought about and that he still had what he called normal thoughts. He wondered if reading those letters confused, even scared her. From the work she had put in he concluded they had not. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined being kicked out of the master bedroom, much less his first day home.
He was starting to see her fantasy was different than his. If he wanted it to progress he would have to accept his cuckolding on her terms.
He looked around the kitchen for a note, but found none. He wondered if she had forgotten to leave him one or if it had been an intentional slight, to remind him he needed to roll with the punches, that he was not first and foremost in her thoughts.
That realization stung a bit, but its effect on him was to drive him deeper into submission, fueling his need to please her more.
He skipped eating and with cleaning supplies in hand began to thoroughly clean the house for his mistress. He thought she would walk through the door any moment as she had been gone for hours.
It was early evening when she returned.
He felt a little lost without her there to provide him instruction. He didn't know if he should cook them dinner or fix himself a meal. He had decided to wait. In a marriage of equals he would have expressed anger about her not telling him her plans, but theirs was not a marriage based on mutual respect.
When she came into the house her first words were not to greet him or explain where she had been, but, "Did you not hear the garage door open?"
He answered, "I heard it."
She coldly said, "Next time you hear it I expect you to come outside and greet me."
She looked at the kitchen and asked, "Where's dinner?"
He apologized for not having started it, "You didn't leave a note. I didn't know if you wanted me to make dinner or if you had plans."
He wanted to point out all the effort he had put into tidying up the house, but wisely decided not to.
She told him she was hungry and thirsty and her feet were sore and she needed a bath.
He asked her what she wanted to eat. She told him, "Use your imagination. You know what I like."
He offered to rub her feet. She said they could wait until after she had eaten.
Forty five minutes later they finished the meal he quickly prepared.
"You need to work on anticipating my needs. I don't mind telling you to do things, but I much prefer it when you take the initiative and think about what I would want."
He said he would work on it. He offered to make her a hot tea. She nodded she would. As he set the pot to boil she commented, "See, that wasn't so hard was it. You know I like a hot tea after my evening meal, especially on a day like today. Cold, windy, and wet."
While the water was heating up, he walked over to the table, dropped to his knees and began to unlace her shoes. He removed each one and then her socks. Just as he was about to start kneading them, she reminded him about the water.
He got up, made her tea, brought her the mug, and got back on his knees. He worked on her feet, his body underneath the kitchen table. He didn't speak while he massaged them. Towards the end of the massage she moved her feet away from his hands and placed it on the polycarbonate cage covering his penis.
"Just checking to see if it was on."
She moved it around using her toes searching for his testicles. She applied pressure to them, not enough to hurt, but firm enough to be uncomfortable.
"That's enough attention for my feet. Now go run my bath. When it's ready, come back and get me."
Fifteen minutes later he had the tub filled with hot water. He did as requested.
"Thank you."
She took one last drink, stood up, and headed to her bedroom.
She didn't ask him to accompany her. He cleaned up the kitchen while she bathed.
She returned a half hour later, with her bathrobe on, a towel wrapped around her head.
