The good news here is that Mistress is now back on our bed. Wednesday evening was our big reunion.
When I arrived home from work I wasted little time closing the door, and putting some "passion masking" music on the radio in our room to spare our daughter in the bedroom next door the sound of her desperate father enjoying his opportunity for some "real" sex after several days of the bogus kind.
Of course, Mistress has had plenty of her slave's workmanlike sexual attention these last few weeks. But she's been missing the tongue, cock and exertions of her more alpha lover Jay because of the vagabond daughter camping out here since early August. While they were able to act like casual friends at lunch last week in front of her, it might be hard to explain an hour squirreled away in our bedroom. Plus I am not confident that Jay could "run silent, run deep" in a way that could mask their carnal fun from curious ears in the house.
We thought last evening would be her / their big opportunity. I arranged to take our nest crasher out to the Pussycats' final "exhibition" (aka practice for guys who won't be on the roster by Sunday) game, so Mistress could have an un-quiet evening at home in our marital bed with Jay.
But all my devious planning was for naught.
"His babysitter fell through, Slave", reported a crestfallen Mistress when I got home yesterday afternoon.
Bummer. So much for my devious planning. And now I was stuck going to a game where the primary objective seemed to be to use players you never heard of who's mission was to generate some video tape that might catch the eye of some desperate coach in the Canadian football league.
When we got home after 3 quarters of fruitless on-field mediocrity from C-list players that had generated a 3-3 tie, Mistress was tucked away in bed. For all I know, the orgasms I had delivered in our Thursday morning wake-up sex were the only ones she enjoyed all day long.
Poor Mistress! I'll try to make amends this weekend. I may have to volunteer to be Jay's babysitter.