Castaway Wife, Part 2

[photo: VictoriaAndrea]

His wife was gone for a month-and-a-half, competing on a reality tv show with a bunch of young, attractive men. Will she be the same when she returns?

If you haven't read part 1, go back and check it out before reading this one.

2. Getting Ready

Five and a half-months before that live show, and only three days before Chelsea was to get on a plane, heading for the Caribbean, Chelsea stood before the mirror in a bikini and frowned at herself.

“I can’t… wear this,” she said.

“You can,” Andy encouraged. “You look great.”

She did. The pale pink halter bikini wasn’t all that risqué, as bikinis go, but on her tall body with her generous curves, she could have fit right at home on the cover of Sports Illustrated. 

“It’ll fall off when I’m doing a challenge,” she said.

“I don’t think it will.” Andy moved up behind her, admiring her reflection. It was a sturdy bikini—no loopy bows that could snag on things, no part of it was banded in flimsy string. The bottoms fully covered her heart-shaped ass, and the top held her full tits in place.

But it was a bikini that Chelsea would wear on national television. It was a lot of skin to expose. If things were reversed, Andy didn’t think he’d be able to wear something so revealing. Then again, he didn’t have a va-va-voom body like Chelsea, who’d been working out hard over these last few months, tightening and toning and training to be on Castaway.

“You look great,” he whispered behind her. He touched her skin at her hip, warm and silky smooth, tracing it up and around her body. She’d always been healthy, but now she had tone—flat stomach, shapely back and arms, muscular, shapely thighs.

Chelsea looked better than great, and it was giving Andy a hardon. He pressed it against her from behind. She stopped her scrutiny of herself and found his eyes in the mirror. It was still difficult getting used to seeing her without the glasses that he’d always known her with. She’d gotten LASIK for the show, too, joking that she’d be kicked out of the librarian society for it.

“I’m going to miss you,” she said. “I don’t know that I can do any of this.”

“You can.” Andy squeezed her from behind. “You’re going to go out there and win us a million dollars.”

Castaway followed the familiar formula for reality shows that came out of the early 2000s. A group of strangers were put on an island together with very few provisions. They competed for tools and food and the right to remain on the island. Every few days, they had to “cast” one member “away,” with a secret, group vote. There was a lot of maneuvering, alliance forming, and backstabbing. Made for great TV. 

Chelsea introduced it to Andy when they were first dating, and she vowed to be on it one day. He still couldn’t believe that his sweet, quiet wife would want to be on such a cutthroat game. She never sought out exposure or attention, but there was something about this particular game that drew her. He loved that about her.

She turned in his arms. Despite being 5’ 9”, she had to look up at Andy to meet his eyes. He was still convinced that his height was one of the only reasons she settled for him. For she most certainly settled. He was definitely hitting above his league.

She had large, expressive, dark eyes that the American audiences were going to love, with a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and skin that already glowed with a golden tan. She’d been conditioning that, too, not wanting to burn while on the island.

“You’ve been training for this moment.” He brushed a thumb along her cheek. “You’ll never forgive yourself if you back out now.”

She nodded. He was right, and she knew it. She’d have all the regrets if she didn’t go, even if she was the first to be voted off.

“But what I can give you is something to look forward to, once you’re back home.” He leaned in and kissed her softly. He reached behind her, filling his hands with her butt—a butt she always complained was too big despite all of Andy’s reassurances. “You’re so sexy, Chels.”

He kissed her again, pushing his tongue past her lips. She relaxed into the embrace, her hands moving into his hair as she pressed her body against his. They turned, moving towards the bed as he reached behind her neck and unfastened her bikini top.

They rolled onto the sheets, Chelsea’s dark hair spilling over the pillows. Andy climbed over her, planting a knee between her thighs as they kissed again. He could feel the heat and the need build in her. He wanted her to remember this moment, and how good he could make her feel.

“Mmm, yes,” she sighed as he moved his attention to her tits. She had juicy, coral nipples that swelled up when she was excited. They were swollen now, puckered into thick eraser tips that Andy swirled with his tongue, just the way she liked it.

But as much as he loved her breasts, he was on a mission to truly blow her mind. He sank down between her legs, kissing along her stomach. He could feel her abs flexing beneath his lips, the buzzing energy of anticipation. Her breath caught as he grasped the sides of her bikini bottoms and tugged.

To prepare for spending up to a month on an island without any provisions or niceties, Chelsea had her teeth whitened and her hair laser-removed nearly everywhere but on her head. For Andy, that preparation alone made the whole experience worth it.

“Your skin is so soft,” Andy said as he traced his hand up the outside of her thigh. While he reveled at the skin beneath his fingers, his eyes were locked on her sex, now completely bare. He was still surprised that she’d opted to remove all of it, but Chelsea didn’t do things halfway.

He could smell her excitement, see it moisten her mound. He dove in, unable to resist her any longer, his tongue flicking along her exposed clit.

“Ngh!” she cried, stiffening as his mouth touched down. “Yes!”

They’d been all over one another in the lead up to the show. It was like rediscovering his wife all over again, which he could still remember so vividly. She’d been nerdy when they’d met in college, hiding her body in baggy clothing and her beauty behind her thick, shaggy hair. He thought she was pretty, but attainable. It was only after they hooked up that he realized how out of his league she was.

Chelsea still saw herself as that nerdy girl from college. The national audience wouldn’t, and Andy knew it. He knew that on the other side of the show, a new world would open to his wife. She’d no longer see herself as the mousy academic. With her hourglass figure and covergirl face, coupled with her approachable personality, she’d be a sex symbol.

Andy lapped at pussy, working her clit until his tongue ached. She always loved it when he ate her, and Andy wanted her to remember this orgasm when she was alone and missing home…

Or when she was hanging out on a remote beach with other, equally attractive participants in nothing but her underwear. National audiences wouldn’t be the only ones to notice what she always tried to downplay.

“Oh, Andy!” she gasped. 

He worked her faster, pressing two fingers into her smooth sex. Would someone else discover the lack of a bush? Lonely and horny, would Chelsea cuddle up beside another man for warmth at night, only for it to lead to more?

The questions were like a whip cracking behind him. He ate her to a loud orgasm as he fought back his own premature one. The insecurities were back. They’d been with him since that first hookup. They were there when he’d watched her walk down the aisle in a white dress that didn’t even attempt to hide her beauty. They’d been there every day of their marriage. When would she find someone else? When would she realize that she could have anyone?

“Andy! Andy, too—ahh! Too much!” She was pushing him away, her body going too sensitive, ravaged by her loud orgasm. Andy hadn’t heard it, so focused on what was to come.

“Sorry, sorry,” he gasped, pulling his head out from between her thighs. He couldn’t resist one last lap across her mound, though, just to feel all that silky skin where she’d always kept a trimmed bush. That part of her was now gone forever.

He climbed up over her, his kisses drawing shudders on her sensitive skin. Once again, he feasted on her nipples, kneading her soft, natural breasts, pressing them together. 

Chelsea tugged at his shirt, wanting to feel his skin on hers. She pulled him in for a kiss on the mouth as they kicked off his pants and freed his cock. Silently, she guided him to her pussy, gliding the tip along all that soft skin before taking it inside of her.

Chelsea and Andy made love. It was comfortable and familiar, like snuggling into a warm bed, or sipping creamy coffee in the morning. They knew what each liked, teasing out the pleasure in the gentle rise and fall of their hips.

But for Andy, there was an edge that night, a desperate need to prove himself to her. This was what she had to come home to. He was her comfort. He was her constant. No matter what happened. No matter how much the show would change her.

Andy started on top, but ended on the bottom, with Chelsea rising over him, riding his cock, her voluptuous body bouncing and flushed. He loved this view more than anything else. The first time he ever saw it—her head tipped back, mouth slightly agape, a strand of damp hair caught on the edge of her lips—he knew just how lucky he was. He needed to hold onto her as long as he could.

Ten years on, she was only more spectacular. She was more womanly in some places, more toned and tight in others. She was so familiar, and yet as he saw her through the Castaway lens—the way audiences would see her, the way the other male contestants would see her—he finally couldn’t hold back. It was with that forbidden thought that he finally came.

***

“You can win this,” Andy said. They were standing on the front porch, waiting for the studio car to come and pick her up.

“I don’t know.” Back then, she was still filled with self-doubt. She hadn’t emerged from the show with her confidence honed like hardened steel. “I’ll try.”

Andy knew that she would. She’d been training for this for months, and dreaming about it for so much longer. But there was one last piece of advice that he wanted to grant her, and he’d been rehearsing it for the last week. Rubbing his palms on his pants, he took a deep breath and launched into it. “Chels, listen. Don’t talk about me on the show. Don’t mention that you’re married or seeing anyone.”

Chelsea looked confused. She squirted up at him and said, “What?” like a jab.

“You’ve got everything it takes to win,” he rambled. All the practice, all the time standing before a mirror, and this was still so hard to get out. “You’re smart, strategic, and athletic. You can read people. You’re gorgeous—”

She interrupted him. “Looking good isn’t a requirement to win,” she said, listing off in quick succession five past winners who weren’t the prettiest or best looking.

“That’s true, but listen,” he said, persistent. “They’re going to underestimate you, and… and guys will want to work with you.” What he didn’t tell her back then was that he wanted guys to work with her, too.

“You don’t need to worry about me—”

“I’m not worried,” he said, prepared for this retort, too. “It’s just a month and change. You’ll be back, and I don’t want you to take anything off the table. If you need to pull a Felicity, go for it.” Felicity, season 12’s winner who used her beauty to get guys to do her bidding.

“I don’t need to play that game to win,” she said stubbornly.

“I know. You’ll play your game, and it’ll be amazing. You’ll inspire a new generation of contestants.”

Chelsea laughed at that.

Andy pressed on. He could be stubborn, too. “I’m just saying… don’t take anything off the table, okay? I’ll be here when you’re back, no matter what. When you’re out there, play to win. I… I want you to think of yourself as single, okay?”

She didn’t say no, and when he slipped her rings free, she didn’t stop him, either. Chelsea didn’t judge him. She didn’t get angry. She’d just nodded, gave him one last kiss, and said, “I love you, Andy. I love you so much.”

The network car pulled up. “I love you, too. Now go out there and live your dream.”

She hugged him hard, one last time, turned, and slipped into the car. Holding her rings, he felt so alone and like such an idiot. Why was he playing with fire like this? He couldn’t live without her. He squeezed them, feeling the diamond setting dig into his palm. 

***

Chelsea was gone for just over six weeks. It was the longest that they’d been apart since they’d started dating ten years ago. Only absences were when one of them was traveling—for work or with friends—and for one of those trips to last longer than a week was unusual.

Those 46 days of separation were agonizing for Andy. At first, he treated it like she was just attending a conference. They were young, still in their mid-thirties, and had no kids and no pets. There was no one to come home to, so Andy just extended his work hours a little longer. He’d joined the gym with Chelsea as part of her training, and worked in visits with more frequency.

Otherwise, he picked something up on the way home and ate it in front of the TV, binging on Netflix and Amazon shows that he knew Chelsea had no interest in watching.

The routine worked for about a week. He remembered waking up one Saturday morning in an empty bed with an open and unplanned weekend before him. His social life was Chelsea. He didn’t have any other close friends. He didn’t have many activities outside of doing things with her, and now he had almost seven long weeks to fill without her. 

The Castaways weren’t allowed to communicate with the outside world other than during emergencies. Even if they were eliminated on the first day, they weren’t allowed to come home because it would spoil the show. 

The group was sequestered at a resort named Rescue for about a week where they underwent tests and training, met the Castaway film and production crew, and got acclimated to the Caribbean.

After that, they were brought by boat to the island, where the show was filmed for the next month. Everyone who was voted off went back to the resort, where they were again sequestered until all shooting was done and there were just three finalists. Votes were cast, but the winner was kept a secret until the live show, filmed months later. Finally, the Castaways were allowed to go home.

It was probably all a crazy whirlwind for Chelsea. For Andy, time crawled. He didn’t experience any of the excitement of exotic locales and intense gamesmanship. He was alone, trying to pretend that everything was normal when nothing was.

So rather than pretend, he embraced the absence and dove deep in the world of Castaway. That early in filming and production, there was no web content for season 25. There weren’t any contestant bios or clips. There wasn’t even a teaser. So he watched older seasons, revisiting some of his favorite moments. Funny how much perceptions changed. As he watched the drama unfold and put his wife in all of those situations, it didn’t feel like popcorn entertainment anymore.

Andy watched more than a few on-screen relationships blossom. Famously, in season 3, the winner and the runner-up ended up getting married. Other times, the attraction was a ruse, and the contestants talked about it in their private confessionals.

“I mean, James is cute and all,” said Felicity from season 12, “but this is a game. If he thinks I’m here for love, then…” Her grin was evil. “...he’ll never see me coming.”

At night, with the older episodes running through his head as he tossed and turned, he thought about Chelsea in those situations. He replayed their last moments together before the network car picked her up to take her to the airport.

Think of yourself as single.

Don’t take anything off the table.

Pull a Felicity.

Every night, before falling asleep, he’d stare at her rings, which he kept in a dish beside the bed, just to remind himself that she would be home. 

46 days. Just over six weeks. Andy could do it. He had the day of her return marked on the calendar: Saturday, March 2. He crossed out each day with a big, black Sharpie, and each day it got easier. He’d be fine. She’d be fine. Six weeks became five, which became four. The days moved more quickly. He stopped staring at those rings and worrying.

He’d keep his promise to her. He’d be there for her, no matter what.

3. Chelsea’s Return

It was raining the day that Chelsea came home. Andy had been pacing the front hall of their modest home, unable to sit still, like he’d consumed a pot of coffee on a near empty stomach—which he’d also done.

He tried to focus on the rain outside, on what he’d say to her once he saw her again. He felt like he was meeting her for the first time, like this was a blind date. Like he had something to prove all over again.

When he heard the car door shut outside, his nerves spiked. A wave of heat and vertigo rushed up through him as he went to the door. Just over six weeks. 46 days. It had somehow felt like an eternity and the blink of an eye all at once.

Andy flung open the door to the rain, just in time to see her step out of the network car. A man was holding an umbrella for her like she was a movie star. In Andy’s eyes, for one moment, she might as well have been.

Chelsea wore a belted raincoat that came to mid-thigh that he didn’t recognize, and her gray, wool Allbirds that he did. Her caramel-brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but he could see the golden highlights she had from all her time in the sun. 

It was her face that he couldn’t get past, though. She’d lost weight in the last month, sharpening her cheekbones and chin. Coupled with the rich tan she wore, he barely recognized her, and he felt shy when he met her eyes.

A second man trailed the one with the umbrella, carrying her bags to the front door.

“Where would you like them, miss?” he asked. Chelsea didn’t seem to hear him. She was just as dumb-struck as Andy, staring at him, the air between them charged.

“Andy,” she mouthed, although no sound came out.

The porter cleared his throat. Andy stepped aside, gesturing vaguely to the left. “Right there is fine.”

“Thanks,” Chelsea said. Her voice sounded huskier, like a cold was coming on.

The man left her bags where Andy had instructed, nodded at the two of them, and left, pulling the door shut.

“You… have a good flight?” Andy asked.

Chelsea was having none of that. She stepped up to him, cupped his head in her hands, and pulled him in for a searing kiss. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and desire grow even hotter. With that kiss, the plug was pulled and all the pent up desires and emotions came rushing in.

They made out on their way to the bedroom, something that they’d literally never done. Like a movie, they left a trail of clothing up the stairs—Chelsea’s new raincoat and old shoes, Andy’s hoodie, his socks, his jeans left limp on the top step.

Beneath the coat, Chelsea wore an oversized sweatshirt that reminded him of her younger years, and skintight leggings that were nothing like those years. 

When Chelsea pulled his shirt off and her eyes roamed his bare chest, he felt self-conscious. She’d spent the last month with young, fit men who walked around shirtless most of the time. How could he hold up next to all that brawn?

She traced his pecs with her fingers before looking up at him. “You look good, Andy. Have you been working out?” 

“One of the few things I filled my time with.”

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip and nodded in approval. “Definitely keep it up. I love it.”

When she pulled her sweatshirt off, she didn’t have any such bashfulness or insecurity. Beneath, she wore a familiar green bra that lifted her tits into a nice valley of tanned cleavage. She’d definitely lost weight while on the island. He could see her ribs now, and she was more lean muscle than soft curves. This felt surreal, like some kind of dream, and at any moment he’d wake up and he’d be alone again.

But like his whole life with Chelsea, he’d savor every moment until that waking. They came back together, kissing hard, hands refamiliarizing each other. She wasn’t wearing anything beneath her leggings, he realized as he cupped her ass, and he confirmed it a moment later when she was on the bed and he started to pull them off.

She had tan lines now, pale triangles over her breasts and down around her waist. He’d forgotten about the laser hair removal, and gasped at the sight of her smooth mound.

She stopped him before he dove down between her thighs, though. “No,” she said, her hand on his chin. “I don’t need that right now. I need to get fucked.”

It wasn’t a thing that Chelsea usually said—not unless she was really horny. Judging from her hard nipples, her ragged breathing, her slippery pussy, she was really horny. Andy obliged, even harder now, even more turned on. Climbing up her body, he felt her fingers curl around his dick and guide him to her sex.

“Uhnn!” she cried out, pulling him down to her, his body against hers. She dug her nails into his back as he sank his dick in. It was exquisite. After a month and a half of nothing but his hand, feeling her warm snatch nearly set him off. 

Chelsea got there first. “Yes, this!” she cried. “Give it to me, Andy. Fuck me. FUCK ME!”

She lifted her knees to either side of him, spreading her legs open as Andy rammed his dick deep. Despite all the trips to the gym, his buttocks ached and his abs screamed as he fucked her.

“Andy… oh, Andy! Oh! Oh!”

Chelsea mauled his back, raking her nails along his shoulder blades. They’d never had sex like this. She’d never needed it so hard, even in their newlywed days. Now—

“Are you close, baby? I need your come. Give me your come!”

“Chels… oh…” He wanted to cling to the moment, to the reunion, to the confidence in knowing that right now, he was all that she wanted. But nothing lasts forever, and he couldn’t hold out. “Uhhh!”

He was there with her, going dizzy as he drove into her one final time, sinking to the hilt. After weeks without sex, this orgasm came on like a tsunami, relentlessly battering him with waves of ecstasy.

Chelsea wasn’t done. She needed more, and before Andy was fully recovered, she was pushing him onto his back and diving down between his legs. Her mouth on his wilting cock tore a groan from him.

“That’s… ha…” It was too much, but who was he to turn down a spontaneous blowjob?

Chelsea remained focused on getting him hard again, pumping him with her hand and mouth at once. Despite that, she could only get him up about halfway. 

That was until he thought about her time on the island. He thought about the older seasons that he’d watched, about the flirtations caught on film, the alliances between men and women that were only sort of platonic. It sometimes got cold at night on the island. Did Chelsea snuggle up to some other guy when it did? Just for warmth at first, maybe, but later, for more?

And just like that, he was hard again, filling Chelsea’s mouth until she was satisfied. She crawled up beside him, kissing him as she jerked his dick, but didn’t straddle him as usual. “Round two?” she asked, positioning herself on her hands and knees.

Doggystyle? It wasn’t a position they did much but for no real reason other than that it was out of their routine. It got Andy wondering why she was breaking their routine.

“Round two, yes,” he said, moving into place behind her. “And round three and four if we can get there. We’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

Chelsea’s giggle turned into a gasp as he fed his dick back into her from behind. He was harder than ever, fueled by the troubling thought that maybe he wasn’t the first guy to fuck her like this since she’d left.

“Yes, Andy! You feel so… hard!”

He ran his eyes over her undulating body. Despite four weeks of being malnourished, she still had her curves—the way her heart-shaped ass narrowed at her waist before flaring back with her ribs and now sinewy shoulders. He ran his hand up her spine, tracing the channel from tailbone to shoulder blades. She groaned, wiggling her hips and pushing back into him.

The angle felt so good, different than normal. From behind, he could fuck her deeper, reach places he normally couldn’t. She felt tighter this way, too, her pussy squeezing his cock at the base, squeezing as he withdrew, trying to forbid him from leaving her. 

He’d already come once. It gave him the ability to fuck longer, although his muscles screamed. This was harder than any time on the elliptical or the stationary bike. But he wasn’t going to relent. Not with Chelsea moaning like a fucking pornstar.

“Fuck me! Fuck me, Andy! Yes!”

It was so hot. So ripe. He held her hips and fucked her as she got wetter and wetter, the sounds of sex sloshing through a bedroom that had long been quiet—even before she went away.

Before he came again, he swore that Chelsea had orgasmed at least twice. He felt great. He felt like a sex god in a way that he never had before. And why not? This woman was a goddess—and he got her all to himself.

That was right, right?

In the doubt, he popped, emptying what remained into her juicy sex. She groaned, too, throaty and raw. They collapsed into a spoon, his dick still buried in her as they both fought to catch their breath.

“Wow,” Andy said. Her hair smelled clean.  After spending so much time on the beach without amenities, being clean must have been a novel thing for her. Or maybe not. Maybe she’d been the first to get eliminated. Maybe she’d spent the last six weeks in a resort, joined every few days by a new—and inevitably attractive—contestant who’d just been cast off.

With that running through his head, he asked, “So are we millionaires now?”

Chelsea laughed. She shifted, and his dick finally slipped free. They found themselves on their backs, fingers touching, staring at the ceiling, just like old times. “First of all, no one knows the winner. We don’t find out until the live show, which is three months away. And secondly, I couldn’t tell you even if I was one of the finalists. I’m not supposed to tell you anything.”

Andy turned onto his side, propping his head on his arm. Chelsea seemed to purposely not look at him. He wondered about how much she’d tell him about the experience. “Not even a hint?”

“Nope,” she said, shaking her head. “Only thing I’m allowed to say is that I did participate on the show.”

“You were gone long enough, I sure hope you did!” He kissed her. “So nothing else?’

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. “You’ll have to watch, like the rest of the world.”

“That’s no fun.”

She turned to face me, propping her head up on her elbow. It felt like a sleepover. “Well, if the editors are any good, it should be a lot of fun. It was a good group we had out there.” He heard the wistfulness in her voice, like the way some people got talking about college. When she saw him watching her, the wistfulness was gone. In the background, they could hear the rain on their roof. “You know what’s amazing?”

“Hmm?”

“Being able to lie here with it raining and not have to worry about our makeshift shelter leaking.” She flopped onto her back, stretching her arms above her head. “I could do this all day long.”

Andy ran his hand up the side of her body, cupping her breast. “Sounds fun. Want to try?”

Chelsea laughed. She spotted her rings on the bedside table, scooped them up, and slipped them back onto her fingers. They fit perfectly. Splaying her hand above her, she said, “It’s so good to be home. I missed you so much, Andy.”

“Welcome home, Chels.” He kissed her, but they were back to the familiar, married kiss. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

***

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