A Borrowed Wife, The Covid Camper Ch. 04

... So in reality I did actually look back, but covertly out of the corner of my eye, through the tinted truck's door-window, via the large towing mirror. I kept my face passively emotionless, even though hubby couldn't possibly see me, channeling my "inner-bitch" one could easily say. My naked and chastity caged husband was just standing there next to the camper like a bump on a log, the same camper that he ironically enough had purchased if needed for isolation. It was almost as if he couldn't believe it himself; standing there passive inert, simply shocked to inaction while watching Ken and I drive away.

First we drove through the open gates, and then beyond towards the dirt road, once of course they were closed and locked behind us. Ken and I then drove off together with hubby's image getting ever smaller and less significant in the mirror's reflection, "reflective" of his diminished relevance in my near-term future. In other less kind terms, hubby was effectively stored away until needed once again, kind of like a vacuum cleaner stuffed into a hall closet with the other things you don't either need, or want to look at.

In a way, hubby's shrinking reflection was actually a bit poetic, the sun was rising on this new day for Ken and I, and hubby was "back there" somewhere; but to dwell on that little scene too much might derail everything we were working towards.

He had freely chosen this specific eventuality though, asked by implication for even rougher treatment from both of us, more than once, but still my conscience nagged at me. "It's the price for having a flippin soul" I told myself consolingly, although somebody standing on the proverbial outside and looking in might dispute my actually having one. I'd just temporarily chosen one man over another, (a skilled and fully functional lover over my impotent soulmate) but it was so much more than just that. Ken truly needs this, and in a way maybe hubby does too...

True story; Ken and I have actually dumped him off before, so we could be alone and undisturbed, one time in particular overnight on a lake's tiny island, and this little gut-wrenching episode and his "there she goes" longing look reminds me of that; because then as well Ken and I got together for some very adult private fun once he was safely marooned. He knew what was happening then too, hell he played along so Ken and I could reacclimate after a bit of friction between us. Hubby and I were just teens back then, and if you think we're kinky now, you should have seen us back before we were married; like "lets try everything under the sun, before we grow up and become boring!"

I also couldn't help but to notice Ken's gruff, "get your ass out of my truck" routine a few minutes prior, as a teary emotional goodbye would have put the wrong proverbial downward spin on the whole trip. Both Ken and hubby know me, and therefore they know that once I start going down the proverbial "rabbit-hole" of dark emotions there is no pulling me back for a bit. I'm a genuinely happy woman though, so unlike many of my friends I truly don't like to be miserable. Both guys know all this about me, so once again I realized that we all had our parts to play here; each dependent on the other to make this crazy thing actually work and still somehow be fun.

Ken is also a great guy with a very big heart, and had I not met my husband first, who knows who I would have ended marrying. But I did meet my husband first, and I had made my choice a great many years ago and not looked back... not really. In all honesty, if I had married Ken in my early twenties instead, I likely just would have been the first ex Mrs. Ken Smith, as Ken was a bit of a "work in progress" back then. Hubby was loving, tolerant, generous, and truthfully mailable where I was concerned, something I saw the value in back then as I knew we could grow old together; where Ken was the young man that couldn't maintain a relationship with the many ladies in and out of his life. He was good at getting them, just not all that good at keeping them. At this more adult time in our lives though, for me, this is like Ken 3.0, the new and improved version, or so I wish to firmly establish on this little illicit vacation of ours...

Before we even get to the airport I realize hubby will almost certainly be unpacked and potentially wearing some of what I gave him, (if anything at all) so feminized by his own hand with just a tiny nudge of encouragement from me, and of course Ken as well. "I wonder what he's thinking about, or if he's just sitting there in denial while following our progress via location services on his phone?" I wonder.

Anyway, it's the same old nonsense getting on a plane these days, even with a passport, but once actually seated on the plane and waiting to roll (reflecting on our hectic morning) I lean over and give Ken a big kiss.

"What's that for?" he asks with a smile, clearly happy with my loving kiss, no matter the reason.

"For being strong when I needed you to be" I tell him. It's honest feedback, and also honestly quite different than I've grown accustomed to these last few years. It's always nice to steer the proverbial ship, but also nice to let someone else do so, especially if you trust that person has your best interests at heart.

There's a young couple sitting next to us, and the wife/girlfriend looks over and says something like "that's sweet, you two seem so connected" or some such thing. The implication is "at your age" but she didn't actually say that part out loud. We thank her and strike up a conversation with her and her husband, they live near enough to where I live, and they're even going to the same resort, but this shouldn't be a complete surprise as the plane travels from one place to another once a week for this exact purpose, and neither airport was very large.

"Have we been married long?" the new husband asks, clearly looking for some tips from Ken on long marriages, the irony obvious, at least to me.

"We've been together since we were teens" Ken confirms cryptically, which technically was true I suppose. We exchange some further pleasantries, but nothing earth shattering, other than we learn the two are named Henry and Cathy, and we casually suggest that we might see each other down on the island. To me it's the vacation-equivalent of "let's do lunch sometime..."

"... Needs a better name than 'Buttercup' by the way" I tell my lover softly out of the blue, once Cathy and Henry exhausted the more mundane conversation topics. It's obvious that I've been replaying our odd morning in my mind, mulling over the heady mix of emotions, lust and guilt in a literal tug-o-war with each other, for me at least; but Ken knows me well enough to just go with it.

"Have I just confirmed what I had secretly packed for hubby to wear?" I wondered a bit too late. For that matter, "what would two people like Henry and Cathy think of all this?" I wondered playfully. Ken is very quick-witted, he doesn't miss too much, which of course makes his wife-problems seem the outlier, as in the thing that doesn't match everything else. I know him well though, he gets sick of the "girl-games" that we ladies like to sometimes play, although I myself don't really do unnecessary drama if I can avoid it. Even as a teen it just wasn't my thing, which probably explains why I had more guy friends than girlfriends back in the day. These days, to me, proper household management is the absence of drama; although this newest "Ken-thing" we have going on obviously challenges this.

"What was his 'maid's' name back when you guy were playing?" Ken asks just as softly. It's a logical question now that he had to be let into that aspect of our relationship, but I tell him honestly that we didn't get that far. This, and the monotony of above the clouds air travel causes he and I to brainstorm several feminine names for hubby as we flew towards our destination, no doubt with our newest "plane-friends" (who were just as bored) wondering what the hell we're talking about. It would have been rude and off-putting to keep whispering to each other, but our incrementally louder friendly banter was almost daring our two new friends to join in.

"How about Alice?" Ken asks with a smile just a bit louder, clearly enjoying the playful distraction of this newest game of ours. He's dominating hubby here too, even in his absence, choosing one's name is very authoritative, dare I even say parental. To also be fair though, I had brought the subject up, because it was a loose end that nagged at me. I liked things put in their proper places, both physically, and metaphysically.

"Too 'Brady Bunch' for me" I reply.

"Paula?"

"Sounds like a feminized version of Paul to me, and I work with a Paul" I conclude, but I say such a bit too loud; loud enough to get Cathy's attention too now as her eyes turn towards my own. My voice does that sometimes, when I wish to be quiet it drifts up naturally, as my tension rises, but such is likely the result of confidently speaking my mind at home where I'm the proverbial queen, in addition to wanting to be heard over the whine of the engines at cruising altitude.

Then Ken acts like a complete devil, noticing Cathy following our interactions on this name-thing as well. I see Ken's smile, his "I'm being mischievous" grin that tells me he's up to something naughty. I know him so well, it's like I can see the individual cogs and gears turning inside his skull. It's truthfully his playful smile; in all reality Ken doesn't have an evil bone in his body.

... So something I've learned about myself; "bad-boy" naughtiness excites something within me, makes me feel young and mischievous myself, it's like my fountain of youth. Ken has a bit of that going on for me once again, (it's growing by the day) now of course that he's a bit distanced from his last ex-wife. It's nothing evil mind you, as I don't do evil, but this just makes Ken a perfect custom fit for what I happen to need in my own life at the moment. It's like he was specifically made just for me, but in a way he was, starting way back when we were teens, just like hubby was a custom fit as well, although now for a slightly less entertaining "need." Hubby both was and is comfortable, where Ken in comparison is playfully dangerous; the wild variable reworked back into my otherwise orderly and settled life...

"We're trying to come up with a name for a new pet that we're going home to," Ken explains deadpan while turning towards Cathy, all while somehow not busting out in laughter. He just plays this so straight, but I have to look away to conceal my own shocked expression and giggle; Ken's acting abilities and "on the fly" improvisations truly astonishing. He comes up with this little fictitious-pet side-story (with an obvious hidden element of truth to it too) in like a second; so tired as he is his wit is still sharp.

"So a female name... for a female pet?" Cathy asks with an absurd amount of doe-like innocence, which Ken confirms for her deadpan. She has no idea how enabling she's being with Ken, nor for that matter the devil she's sitting next to, how naughty his mind can be when mischievously motivated. Cathy is that "girl next door" kind of pretty, who also happens to be about half our age and sitting next to her new husband, but still somebody should warn this girl that there are bad men in the world; which of course in the real world my Ken isn't. She simply can't know that though, not at this point...

"Do you have a picture of your new pet?" Cathy asks reasonably, she goes on to tell Ken that she's really good at picking out names, but that it also helps to see the pet first. Henry jumps into the conversation too, confirming that Cathy is in fact very good at choosing pet-names. These two are either quite gullible, or somehow just as good at playing it straight as Ken is.

"No we don't" I answer for Ken, before this gets any more out of hand and Ken maybe shows his video from the rest stop. That would of course be quite enlightening for the pair, as would their reactions for myself.

"... Does she look like a 'Rose' to either of you guys?" Cathy asks after a few seconds of contemplation; she's seen my reaction though, so she maybe knows that she's missing something profound here now, that this name-thing hits a nerve with me at least. Ken confirms for both of us that "she" in fact does, and with little other socially acceptable choice I agree with him; hubby's new feminine name chosen by a stranger on a plane sitting next to us. It's truthfully absurd, but there's an underlying frivolous and inconsequential tone to the whole affair; we're naming a new pet, a new female pet, "big fricken deal." The deeper implication here is that hubby's female persona isn't all that important either, so why should his new female name be.

... Choosing a feminine name for my temporarily feminized husband was actually a big step though, further emasculating him and removing him from the "who gets to sleep in my bed" competition. I obviously see Ken's personal motivations in this, and perhaps even my own selfish ones, but what of hubby's?

Logically we wouldn't have the opportunity to even use this new name with him until we returned, so this would imply a continuation of this extended chastity game of ours, post-vacation. I'm the one that brought up the new name thing too though, so this is actually on me. That being said, Ken is obviously upping his own jerk game once again, perpetuating his claim on my married self post-vacation; with Cathy's oblivious help. It's something I've asked for, but the feeling in the air between us is a bit different this time; we're not teens any longer, and my feelings for Ken are reflecting this.

"Ken somehow knows what's in that bag I packed for hubby" I tell myself, there is no other logical explanation. "Did he snoop, or did hubby show him in the camper, or did hubby share such with him verbally even earlier?" I further wonder. Two of the three possibilities suggest that hubby wanted Ken to actually have this new potential lever to move him where he wills, (as did his gifted chastity keys) so further submission, even if hubby somehow changes his mind at some point. It's both trusting, and very, very submissive; really one hell of a gift to give to anybody interested in one's wife.

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We didn't see our new plane friends once we landed and separately cleared customs, but we eventually would. Both "our" room and the resort itself were stunning, hubby didn't skimp on any of it, Ken and I then hitting the beach after getting something to eat, the "meal" on the plane really more of a light snack. So several short hours after dumping my husband off I'm wearing a white one piece suit in a tropical paradise, and Ken his ginormously large boxer-style swim trunks, but neither one of us are twenty-five any longer like our new plane-friends.

Speaking of which, there's some highly attractive people of both genders on this beach with us, but I'm with Ken and my focus is more on him. Ken however isn't really looking at those other ladies either though, as he no doubt would be under most other circumstances. Guys look though, especially here in this anonymous "meat-market," hell even with his dysfunction hubby would be looking himself, if of course he were here. But, in his case it would almost certainly be like the dog that chases the car; as in "what were your intentions if you actually caught the proverbial car?"

So Ken and I swim a bit in the warm surf, and he tugs at my suit top when nobody is around us, freeing my large boobs before I can stop him. There are nude beaches down here on this island, but this isn't one of them, although with my back to the beach the chance of anybody actually seeing what Ken was doing to me was slight. So he's nursing on my boobs, rubbing aggressively on me a bit lower, and all I can think about (as I rub his head encouragingly) is how wonderful it is to have a man that wants on me like this. I'm just not thinking actual penetrative sex in this saltwater ocean will be all that good for me though, but other than that I'd be trying to find some discreet way to mount up on him right here, my passion was that intense. My boobs just love rough manhandling too though, and Ken knows this, hell he's know it since we were teens.

So I reluctantly tell Ken no in a tone that actually means "no," even though there is a very big part of me that wants to say yes, and we conclude our limited naughtiness with a shared and deep "boob-kiss" that has me tasting a bit of myself on Ken's lips.

So later that afternoon we're back in our room, and it's a nice room too; as I've said, hubby didn't skimp at all. Seeing both the room, and the resort, and even the first class plane tickets a bit earlier gives me just a tiny bit of guilt at leaving hubby not only behind, but actually marooned. We're living this carefree life of vacation-luxury on hubby's proverbial dime, and he's living like a fricken castaway on Ken's remote plot of land; the one hardly the equivalent of the other.

At the same time I'm truly grateful for Ken's physical presence in my life once again, and with hubby beyond the reach of my immediate gratitude, (not to mention incapable of fully experiencing it in the flesh anyway) I also realize that Ken obviously isn't. So an offer escapes my lips, one both Ken and I will surely enjoy. I'm looking briefly at hubby's very special gifted key on the nightstand, knowing what he's selfishly offered here himself. I remember having to empty my pocketbook for the TSA screeners several hours earlier, specifically the change and little key in the bottom of it, all to get it to clear the metal detector.

"Did that TSA man actually know what that unique little key opened?" I wondered at the time. "Did he care? Did he therefore realize that this man in my company with a different last name and address wasn't my husband?" I further wondered... "Did he realize that other man of mine, my actual husband, was presently wearing what that special key opened?"

"So stud-muffin, I have an proposition that I know you'll like; for the next two weeks... or so, how about I can't say no to anything you can dream up? How would you like that?" I ask in my most sultry tone. I'm freshly showered and wearing an old sleepshirt and a pair of panties, so mundane bedclothes at best that I might otherwise wear for my husband back home. But to let Ken know how "anything" my offered anything could potentially be (in pure mixed-message fashion bearing in mind what I'm wearing) I snatch his belt from his earlier-worn blue jeans, and I wrap it around my neck in slipknot fashion, handing him the proverbial leash end.

This is not only offered full-submission, (something I just don't do for hubby any longer) but the implied offer of "forced" oral, which is something Ken well knows I don't care for personally. Full disclosure here, Ken and I had a serious run of bondage-experimentation for a while there back as teens, but back then, for me, it was a release from the responsibility of being a good and faithful girlfriend to my future husband; so a fair bit of dominant psychology going on back then between us. Ken was sooo into it too, not just the fun struggling parts as he took his earned liberties, but creative things too, like a standing spreadeagle that rocked my world, and a four corner bed-tie. I loved to struggle, and he really loved having a girl that was into such extreme sexual experimentation too.

Ken tugs my offered leash a bit, and I catch myself clasping my hands behind my back in submission, almost as if they were cuffed once again and I was at his mercy. Then my mind go completely off the rails, and I imagine a bit more of an improvised restraint, in the form of his hotel bathrobe sash tied around my wrists, and maybe my own, tied up nearer to my elbows, sucking them in tight and pinning me helplessly.

I'd then be doing pretty much whatever he wished, whether I was a willing participant or not at that point; with whomever he wished as well. Ken doesn't like to share though, that was firmly established between us many years ago; ironic really, because Ken only has me now because hubby does share.

Then to get further into the proverbial weeds I imagine our new young plane-friends knocking on the door to our room for some innocent reason, all while I was bound and helpless like that, maybe even kneeling in the center of the room like an obedient pet when Ken opened the door for them. I further daydream Ken handing the wide-eyed innocent-looking Cathy my improvised leash and telling the couple to have some fun, that he'd be back in a few hours to collect what's left of me...

Not that such would ever happen, but fantasies are like that sometimes, you mentally explore things that are intriguing, but at the same time forbidden. In such a scenario would innocent Cathy come to the natural conclusion that Ken's earlier-needed pet name was actually for me; would she playfully call me 'Rose' while tugging me around by my leash, smack my ass with the tail-end of it if I misbehaved, strip me nude and walk me that way to their own room instead?

Would handsome young Henry like something like me to play with himself, maybe something not quite so innocent and potentially fragile like his own wife appears, or dare I say respected? Or, would the couple gang-up and 'tag-team' me instead, the pair binding me to their bed, and sweet Cathy riding my face like a demon while her husband took his liberties a bit more traditionally, perhaps even while the couple were making out atop me? I don't really like girl-on-girl, but in such a scenario what choice would I have?

It's just such a hot little fantasy scene for me, but bound and gifted to another really trips my trigger too, although it has little chance of actually happening in the real world. Our life is presently complicated enough already with the three of us trying to work the specific details of this new relationship out, but this crazy fantasy is still working for me just below the proverbial surface, as I'm seriously getting myself a squishy and needy mess.

"So anything I can dream up?" Ken clarifies, pulling me ever so slightly in by my leash with his right hand, all as he touches the cleft of my butt with a single finger of the left. I let hubby do that once, well truthfully more than once, but I just didn't like it, and Ken has had that exactly zero times himself from me. Hubby in his day was too big for that to actually feel good, and Ken both was, and is, just a tiny bit larger than that. Nothing like the proverbial "show-pony," but deliciously comfortable and "filling" a bit more traditionally, once a woman is properly acclimated; or in my particular case, reacclimated.

So, Ken knows I don't like to suck, that generally speaking I'm not all that "oral," for lack of a better word, and he's not making me either, but he also knows the magnitude of this gift I'm also offering here. If hubby is offering up both his wife's, and his own body for Ken's ongoing pleasure, my offer needs to be at least the equal to that. Not my ass either, as Ken would likely injure me if he tried, but there are several other things that we had done together back in the day that were quite fun, and thankfully both Ken and I are on the same page here.

"Sure you don't want a safe word of your own?" Ken asks. I shake my head no in response, I simply trust Ken with my life, I pretty much always have; but this of course reminds me that hubby does have a safe-word, one he's apparently chosen not to use. Trust like this is formed and fortified over time though, so Ken has earned this, really with both of us, although this has me speaking for my husband just a bit. I know that man too though, and one simply doesn't offer somebody this kind of control over their life without that trust.

Ken scans the room quickly with his eyes, and I once again see the proverbial cogs and gears turning in his mind. I'm under his playful control, in my mind it's just a continuation of my kinky daydream fantasy, the one involving our new plane-friends. Ken's belt-leash comes off my neck and I raise my arms cooperatively as he strips me of my sleepshirt, being stripped by this man obviously pushing buttons for me too.

With my arms still together Ken lowers them in front of me, crosses them wrist over wrist, and he wraps them in his belt, all as I passively cooperate, buckling it tight in a rather effective improvised-bondage. We share a look that requires no words, but silently I'm telling him, "thank you, this is wonderful, just what I need."

He effortlessly picks me up, (I'm passively along for the short ride) his right arm under my back, and his left under my knees, placing me with my head towards one of the large posts on the foot-side of the big bed. The post is tall, like tall enough that the this bed could almost have a canopy, but it's a massive and stoutly constructed piece of furniture, so almost like a King's king-sized bed.

"Arms out" Ken commands, and I obey, but I can also see where this is going, and to say that I'm "on-board" would be an understatement. I bend my elbows slightly to make his apparent kinky goal easier, (so full cooperation here) and he "threads" the massive post between both elbows, lowering me to the mattress on my back, the post almost touching the top of my head. I am 1-800- helpless and boiling hot here, wearing just a pair of squishy panties and at this man's bound mercy.

... So back in the day I'd sometimes wear a very well-worn pair of panties for Ken, not because they looked good, or even sexy on me, but because they were old, threadbare, and disposable; and Ken just loved to get all aggressive and animal-like with me and rip such things off of me, before taking me like a flippin barbarian. He simply never had a girlfriend that indulged him like that, but for me it pushed several "against my will" buttons for me; and who doesn't like to do things for a lover that they like? Trust me, you get what you give, and what I got while playing all rough-like with Ken was pretty hot and awesome. Maybe not good husband material back then, but a playmate like no other; in small doses only.

"They're old" I tell Ken by way of encouragement, and he gives me a look as if to say "I really missed this!" There's a big damp spot right on the front of them, but I'm way too horned up to be feeling any shame here. So, Ken gives me a certain mischievous look while reaching into the front of my panties, (the back of his hand on my mound) and he pulls up and away from me, (so as not to bury my panties deeply into someplace they don't belong) lifting my ass from the bed. My panties failed at the stitch a moment later, the garment ripping from my body noisily, accompanied by a very self-satisfied look on my lover's face.

He's not done though, his well-known naughty expression tells me such. I'm "arms pinned over my head" helplessly sawing my naked legs back and forth reflexively, telling any man with a functioning brain that I'm a very needy woman. Ken knows this though, he's intentionally dragging this domination-scene out, playing me, making me virtually beg for both what he has, and I surely need. It's cruel on the very surface, but working me up towards a rather delicious goal too though.

... Yes, there are obvious hubby-parallels here, but I'll realize that a bit later...

Ken wads up my panties and makes a big smiley show of inhaling the aroused womanly scent imprinted within, and then he ever so slowly reaches towards my own face. I just hate the taste of pussy, my own, or even another's, but I also trust Ken with my life, and I did offer...

When he gets close to my face I really smell myself on my destroyed panties, but I still, reluctantly, open wide to accommodate Ken's intrusion, he pushing them in deep with a single digit, our eyes locking. He's dominantly taken control of me, taken my ability to verbally object too, (at least symbolically) and I am just so turned on by all this that it's insane! This body of mine is his now, he owns me, he can literally do anything he might like, even if it's something I might not like... it's such a huge gift to give anybody.

I expect Ken's going to kick off his very large swim trunks and rut into me like an animal, it's not a bad concept really, and I am needy. But he's just full of surprises, and he instead lifts me by my ass and my legs fall onto his muscular shoulders naturally, and he dives into my womanhood like a starving man. He takes me right to the very edge several times in a row, but stops just short each time, leaving my clenching and twitching thighs in a near-epileptic state.

I whine a gagged "PLEASE!" begging for some sexual mercy, but Ken is quite literally screwing with me, demonstrating both his skill, and knowledge of my familiar body. I need this orgasm like I need oxygen, I can't imagine living another five seconds without it.

I expect that he's now going to eat me to orgasm, eventually, and that's not a bad plan either, but nobody's asking me, I'm just along for the ride. I just can't get into a rhythm here, I literally don't know what he's doing next, so the antitheses of having all my little proverbial ducks in a row; in other words all decisions are Ken's here, my literal sexual sanity in his literal hands.

He looks up from his proverbial happy meal and gives me that devilish smile of his, and then kisses my mound, gives it a peck as if saying goodbye, and I try to thrust at him to compel him to finish the damn job! He's out of his swim trunks in a flash, and with my ass back on the bed he's sliding "little Ken" up and down my juicy womanhood, teasing me still again. I try to thrust down onto him, wrap him up with my legs like a wrestler might to suck him in, but even he gets tired of taunting me and he buries himself within in a single thrust.

My back bends like a banana and I squeal as the first of several orgasms overtakes me; I hate to say a ten best ever or anything like that, but the anticipation Ken build up within me was extraordinary. He gives me several more very nice ones, all as I ham-up my bound thrashing-about for him, but in the end we didn't orgasm simultaneously or anything like that; but still it was a very good night...

Unbound and with a dozen very sincerely grateful thank yous from me we snuggle up and try to get some sleep, but my mind is drawn to what I just had, and what hubby no longer apparently can, the injustice of it gnaws at me...