"How was your flight?" I read on my phone with like one open eye. It was a great "break the ice" topic, but this was my husband, not some stranger; despite the more recent vibe we had going on back at home leading up to Ken's and my own island vacation. Hubby was distancing himself like never before, but to be fair two weeks straight with Ken was a "never before" kind of thing too. I'm actually half-worried that I'll overdose on Ken myself...
The text actually came in silent, but when it did it also illuminated my phone's screen, and it's this that's apparently woke me from my light sleep reflexively in the dark room. It's early for me, but I must remember the time zone shift as well though. Ken is still peacefully sleeping right next to me, (something else to get used to to be sure) but I also have both the time and privacy to remotely interact with my generous husband, the one who selflessly provided all this for us. It's the very least I can do, but one must also be careful as inflection is sometimes difficult to both project and receive in a text format; even for two people who know each other like we do.
"First class is the only way to go, so thank you for that too" I tell him by text after getting out of bed stealthily. "Does hubby come to the conclusion that I'm speaking of Ken's 'first class' performance, rather than our actual plane tickets though?" I ask myself.
"We met a young couple who sat right next to us on the plane by the way, oddly enough they live in Bradbury," I added. It was the truth, but more importantly it linked my first text to the actual plane ride, and not the proverbial "Ken-ride" a few hours later; which truthfully had been straight-up earth-shatteringly "first-class" too.
"Bradbury is posh" hubby reminds me, but posh is also a word that I don't ever recall hearing him use before, so I wonder what he's reading, as in where did that specific word come from. He's spot-on with the posh thing though, but more importantly he's obviously also thinking plane here, and not specifically Ken's impressive lovemaking skills. Bradbury is where the wealthy live, horse farms, servants, and large gated estates, but the young couple did have first class tickets too. They didn't dress, nor come off like they had that kind of money though, at least to me; "but is this my own working-class prejudice coming through?" I wondered.
"Did you wear any of what I packed for you yet?" I asked. It's too much talking about me for my tastes, I know hubby puts me first and all that, but I want to visit with him like this too, see this from his proverbial eyes; make sure he's still good here. My perception is that hubby is the proverbial weak-link in this crazy three-way adventure of ours, as in if this thing goes south, hubby will be the most likely cause. It's a logical premise; Ken and I are having fun and doing things that are familiar, (with the long history we have with each other) where hubby most certainly isn't. In addition to all that, Ken had just F-ed all the bitchiness right out of me the night before, and my empathy was therefore a bit more womanly and normal.
I don't like how I get sometimes, that aspect of my own emotional stability is a bit vibrant for me these days. Sated is "very relaxed and sated," and needy is "I need you so badly that I can't imagine not having you right now!"
Hubby tells me he's wearing the yoga pants, matching pink bralette and panties, and the hot-pink Victoria Secrets hoodie, as it's slightly chilly this morning. He tells me he's standing by the ridge right now to get the best signal, that he watched the sun rise dressed as described with a hot coffee in his hand. He further tells me that while it's extraordinarily peaceful where he is, it's also a bit surreal for him too.
I tell him it is for me too, but I bite my proverbial tongue on actually asking his if he's still alright with all this; as in all practicality if he wasn't there were few good options for correcting such. It's the hazard of being remotely marooned I suppose; so it's a mental isolation for him as much as it's a physical one.
"Tell me something I don't know?" hubby asks. It's like a secret intimate thing between us, (this particular phrase) ever since he first shared me with Ken that very first time while camping, it's like "tell me something without any judgements on my end." So most certainly not a confession, it's just a super-honest way of having me share what I've been up to; mostly with Ken over our long history, but there have been a few others as well. So the proverbial "get out of jail free card" I suppose; but then again we do have an established hall-pass arrangement between us too though.
I'll come right out and tell him sometimes, but my preference is actually to tell him a bit more indirectly, sometimes just with a special look, leaving the door open for more details if he feels the need. To give too many details without him asking, for me, comes very closet to gloating, or rubbing his nose in it; neither productive, nor in my best interest either. If hubby were arrogant, or cocky, he might need such a dose of humility, although he's anything but that, most especially these days with his dysfunction.
I've said it before, "plausible-deniability;" he needs to be able to legitimately pretend that he doesn't know what's going on; or as I'd soon learn, that's the way it used to work with us...
So for us, "no-secrets," it's the only way this thing could ever work, but hubby's desire to know something he doesn't, something additional, tells me he's hungry for a bit more from me now, also telling me he's comfortable with what he already knows, or thinks he knows. Or I suppose it could be straight-up boredom, wanting to live vicariously through my own sexual exploits, bearing in mind his isolation from every other human that we know. I reminded him before we left not to text anybody else unless it's an emergency, for the obvious reasons of promoting this little "swapped-husband" charade that we have going on. But back to Ken, he's my paramour and we're on vacation together, it's really no stretch of the imagination to realize that we've already done-it; hell, hubby pushed us to do-it together even before we left...
"You first 😊" I text, wishing to playfully remind him that while he's still loved, he's also at the bottom of the proverbial "food-chain" here, at least while playing our game. "When this particular game ends has been left a bit vague though" I tell myself. He loves the domination aspect of this though, it trips his trigger to selflessly serve others, to be directed and commanded. Some people live to bend and break the rules, but others are comforted to know the rules are there, like guide rails on a slippery mountain road. A great many years earlier I came to a conclusion on this very subject, I could either embrace his selfless desire to serve me, or try to "correct" it; I obviously choosing the former.
"I had a wet dream last night! I creamed my brand new panties while dreaming about you and Ken throwing my keys into the surf."
...It took a few seconds for me to process all that, realize which keys he was referring to; I actually reread it several times before I responded. I'm fully awake now, this was profound to say the least. It's sufficient to say that I didn't even think an orgasm was technically possible for a guy while in a chastity device, and most certainly not for one with hubby's specific dysfunctional condition!
"So he actually popped himself off? In a 'Holly Crap!' kind of kinky dream too, one that remarkably had Ken and I not only conspiring to take his masculinity from him, but locking it away, permanently, even if we changed our own minds at some later date" I tell myself. To the best of my knowledge he hasn't had a real orgasm in months, maybe even a full year at this point, so much pent-up 'OLD' spunk, all drained at once; and I wasn't even there myself to make it happen, see the messy results. But in a way I guess both Ken and I were; vicariously at least in his dream.
"How do you feel?" I ask. Not about being marooned, nor about Ken stealing me away from him for a romantic vacation, but how did it feel to actually orgasm once again... dare I presume almost like a normally functioning man might.
"In a word, drained, so thank you both" he tells me. He's not only thanking me though, by implication he's telling me to thank Ken for him as well, share his, (dare I say) humiliation; implying there will be both knowledge and an additional debt associated with this "gift" of a dream-induced orgasm! Tell me how twisted up this actually is, up is down, and left is right, it's just so flippin surreal; so now maybe I'm on the same proverbial "surreal" page with him. Three very different people, (different needs at this stage of our lives to be sure) but all three sexually satisfied... so in a way hubby also got "something" wonderful for his selfless gift vacation.
"That's fricken hot, and you're welcome..." I typed out. I obviously had a whole bunch of thoughts associated with this most recent revelation, but to share them with hubby at this particular time would be counterproductive.
"My turn," I then add. "Ken used his belt and tied me to our big bed last night; I haven't been tied in years, haven't cum like that in years either. He even had to gag me with my ripped-off panties, so I didn't wake the other guests yowling like a banshee," I embellished. Ken obviously knew he was pushing those "abduction fantasy scenario" buttons with me, and he also knew us well enough to know that hubby wasn't the only one that responded to a certain level of domination.
"Ken is the perfect man to do this, for both of us really, he's literally one in a million" I remind myself.
"That's hot as hell!" hubby tells me, pretty much like no "normal" husband ever would under the circumstances. He knows that he's been underserving me in matters of the flesh though, and he sincerely wants me to be happy. To be fair here, I'm not exactly "feelin-it" sexually for him either these days, so it's not all him.
