Corruption of a Geek Goddess Pt. 03

Author's Note: When last we met, adorable internet-celebrity Chelsea had just spent all night fucking Dylan, following months of fantasy and cuckold roleplay with her fiancé Mark. Unwilling to hide what she'd done, she sent him the videos she & Dylan had shot and told him they'd talk about it when she got home. This chapter is about the first stage Mark & Chelsea's experiment with a cuckold relationship during the run-up to their wedding. There's at least one more chapter coming.

All characters and events are fictional.

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If she was being completely honest with herself, Chelsea didn't leave Dylan's hotel room that morning out of loyalty to Mark. Nor was it because she missed him, nor that she felt obligated to offer her reassurance at what was a ... delicate moment in their relationship.

No, the reason she left her new lover's side was simply that Dylan, at long last after 12 hours of lust, was thoroughly fucked out. She'd tried to initiate yet another round of lovemaking, so Dylan had had to be the one to tell her it was time to go back home to her fiancé.

All night she'd been acting on the pure animal instinct of a woman in heat. It wasn't until the drive back that her higher functions came back online — but even then she wasn't the same. Yes, she felt guilt, and anxiety, and she started thinking about the future; of course she did. But her night with Dylan had left her changed. Aside from the semen that was still leaking into her soiled underwear, Dylan had left something in her: the resolve to keep going. She'd spent months wallowing in shame and telling herself never again; now that part of her was gone. It was replaced with the certainty that she did want this, and that if she only helped Mark to see it the right way ... she could have it.

So she wanted Mark, and her upcoming marriage, but also Dylan and the mind-expanding sex she had with him. If she had to choose she would choose Mark — of course she would, right? — but at least for now she wanted both, and she would try to make that happen. Step one: make a pit stop at the pharmacy. Dylan had just dropped load after load after load in her without so much as a thought to protection, and now that her prefrontal cortex had been taken off Mute it occurred to her that it was, one might say, not a great time in her cycle. If Plan A was avoiding adultery and insemination, Plan B was, well, Plan B. She sent Mark a text letting him know she headed home, by way of Duane Reade.

As she pulled into the drug store parking lot her phone pinged with a text from Dylan.

"just left a huge tip for housekeeping before checking out. I do NOT envy the poor maid who has to clean this bed ;-)"

"Oh my god!" she replied, with a blushing smiley.

"that was like the greatest night of my life, you're so fucking sexy. and we're gonna do it again. it'll be even better, I promise. sunday, right?"

"Yes, Sunday. I mean I have to talk with Mark, but yes. Can't wait..."

Mark

When Chelsea got home we had a brief but surprisingly heartfelt reunion in the living room. After just a minute or two she declared she had to get into bed, started off in that direction, then looked back and asked if I was coming. I didn't know what the future held for us, or how the conversation we'd soon have would go, or even whether we were about to have sex. I just knew I had to be near her, so I followed her in.

As she stripped down to her underwear I watched her face; she looked anxious, and maybe a little embarrassed, but not ashamed. Was I hoping to see a little shame in her face? Maybe, I don't know. But she was acting like nothing was wrong, and that's the kind of thing that fucks with your head. Subconsciously, I think I was learning to see this all as not a huge problem — as something other than a shocking betrayal. She's so good at reading people & situations, and it's like ... I don't know, I'm just accustomed to trusting her. If she thought it was ok, maybe it was ok.

Also, I was colossally horny. I'd been watching and thinking about those damn videos for a couple hours by this point and, whatever else they were, they were also mind-erasingly erotic. I followed her lead and stripped down to my boxers, then climbed onto the bed beside her; we lay on our sides facing each other, and Chelsea gave me her warmest smile. I think was she genuinely happy to see me.

"Oh my darling," she said, without a hint of irony.

"Hey, Chelz." I forced myself to return her smile. "So..."

"So ... ha. Tell me: when you watched the videos, did it turn you on?"

"Yeah. Yes. I guess there's no point in trying to deny it."

"And when you watched them, did you ... take care of yourself?"

"No. It just felt too weird. It felt like ... fuck. I don't know. It felt like admitting defeat."

"Oh! Mark..." On hearing that, Chelsea's face transformed into this intense look of heartbreaking sympathy, like she might almost cry; she reached out her hand to stroke my cheek. "Listen to me: there is no competition here. Not between us, and certainly not between you & Dylan. He's a sex toy, baby. A fun little sex toy for the both of us to enjoy. We can throw him away at any time.

"And so I'm sorry you didn't use our new toy! I get why you didn't, and that's totally my fault. Totally. But even though I screwed it up, I so, so wanted you to enjoy it like I did. You know that, right?"

"Yes, Chelz, I know that."

"So, may-beee...." she said as her hand snaked down to my crotch, "we can play with our toy now. Heheh, I think I have one more in me..."

She rubbed my rapidly-hardening dick and kissed me on the lips with such joy I almost melted. My head was so jumbled it hurt, but it just felt too good to forget about that for the first time in hours and give in to what the rest of me wanted: her. There was so much confused arousal coursing through my veins from before, and her mood was so inviting & pleasant ... and she seemed so ludicrously sexy right then — a being of pure erotic energy, touching me all over. Even the shower she must have had before leaving couldn't erase the "freshly-fucked" aura that was radiating off her ... the deeply content vibe, the love bites, and the particular scent of her ... or of her & him together ... of what she'd just shared with Dylan, just given to him ... Jesus. I was never going to say No to her in that moment.

She peeled off my underwear and seemed almost relieved to look down and see how hard I was. A minute later the rest of her own clothes were tossed onto the floor and I took in the sight of her. My love, my betrothed, my best friend ... and also the sexiest being I could imagine, lying right there beside me ... with more love bites than I'd realized at first. Somehow that didn't make her any less sexy. I saw that vision and admitted to myself that I would sacrifice a great, great deal to keep her. If I had to.

But that was for later. For now she laid back and spread her long, perfect legs as she looked meaningfully into my eyes.

"Do you wanna ... kiss it?"

I hesitated, and my mouth hung open for a moment. Um ... did I want to kiss it? I normally loved doing that for her, and I was proud of how much she loved it ... but that special part of her was as "freshly-fucked" as the rest of her. She and Dylan had gone at it god knows how many times — at least four (four!) — and there wasn't a condom in sight on those videos. I watched him cum inside her at least once, and probably he'd never want to pull out of her. (Who would?) I guess she'd had a shower, but ... oh fuck. I'm sure there was still some ... I mean, inside of her, inside of my fiancée's perfect, delicious pussy, slowly leaking out, there would still be ... fuck. And did I want to lick & slurp & suck Dylan's ... Oh my god. What would that say about me?

Anyway, that's what was going through my mind as I stared at Chelsea like a mentally-challenged goldfish for god knows how long. But as usual she could tell what I was going through, and she bailed me out.

"Forget it, maybe next time. Just come and fuck me, babe. I need you."

I didn't need to be told twice. With her legs still spread wide I scrambled to get between them, really fucking eager to fuck my not-so-faithful girlfriend. I got into position, lined up my cock, looked Chelsea in the eye, and got ready to—

"Wait! Babe. Aren't you forgetting something...?" She reached over to the bedside table and pulled out a condom.

What the fuck?

She'd just gone behind my back and fucked Dylan raw some depressing number of times, and pregnancy wasn't an issue since she'd obviously just picked up some Plan B from the pharmacy ... and here she was asking her actual, real-life fiancé to put on a rubber before he was allowed to have sex with his wife-to-be? I say again: what the fuck?

Chelsea saw the look on my face, and her voice took on that playful-sexy-mocking tone I've come to know so well these past few months.

"Bay-beee, come on ... you remember what we talked about, don't you? The condoms ... they're only for you. They're not for ... oh, my poor baby ... they're not for real men, like Dylan ... heheh, don't you like that idea? Isn't that the way you want it? You can be honest..."

My hard-on jumped at that fucked up suggestion as blood rushed up to one head and down to the other. God damn it. Some part of me was still offended by the idea, but after all our games she knows me too fucking well, knows exactly what's going to push my buttons. Of course she was right: I did like that idea, even though I also hated it.

"Hmm? Yes or no?" The look on her face was mischievous as she waved the unopened condom back & forth, but I could tell she really was asking: I could toss it away and have sex with her bare if I wanted, skip this little part of her kinky game and add my cum to Dylan's. If I wanted.

As tends to happen at these times, my perversions won out. After a few seconds of slack-jawed staring, I snatched the condom from her hand and frantically put it on — Chelsea giggled happily. If nothing else, I bet she took this as a sign that she wasn't in too much trouble.

I slipped into her pussy — oh god ... her wet, sloppy, tenderized, cum-filled pussy — and started thrusting at a moderate pace. Chelsea clearly enjoyed it, but it was like the satisfaction of slipping into a warm bath, not the mind-scrambling sexual pleasure I'd seen in those clips.

Then she started in with the cutting, belittling dirty talk we'd indulged in so carelessly, and that I'd loved so much. I'm sure it's because she wanted me to feel good and to get something out of last night, but at this point it seemed like we'd fallen so far down the rabbit hole that she got as big a charge out of it as I did.

"Oooh, Mark, honey — it's finally happened: you gave me away. You knew he wanted to take me, but you pushed and you pushed and now I'm his girl..."

"Oh, fuck. Chelsea, I..."

"Shhh, it's ok, baby! It's ok — you two can share me, I'm still yours, too. Well, most of me is..." I saw what was coming and groaned as my hips sped up on their own. "You know Dylan owned your girl's pussy last night, don't you? He took it for real ... ohhh, fuck ... it's for him, he owns it ... that's Dylan's pussy you're fucking right now..."

"Oh, FUCK!" Her words were having the exact effect she intended and my pace suddenly became frantic, startling her.

"AHH! Heheh, yes baby, do it, try to fuck me like he can ... ohhhh, but baby ... I can still barely feel you after last night. But it's ok, you like knowing that, don't you?"

I did, god help me, and for a second I was slamming into her even harder. But then something in me snapped back and I forced myself to stop. I guess my ego wasn't in good enough shape for our sick little game just now — as much her words turned me on and made the back of my brain tingle, I just couldn't take it. So I slowed down, then stopped and looked at Chelsea.

"Chelz ... not today, alright? I don't want to play like that today. Let's just ... I just need some kindness right now, ok?"

A look of remorse bordering on horror hit Chelsea's face, and it actually warmed my heart. I guess she did care after all.

"Oh, no! Babe! I'm sorry! I just wanted ... come here, come here." She held open her arms inviting me to an embrace, and I drifted down into them as she hugged me tight against her body. "You know I didn't mean it, right? I didn't mean any of it. I just wanted to make you feel good. Make love to me. Make love to me and let me know whose girl really I am..."

So I did. We went on at a slow pace — me, on top of her, thrusting between her legs in a mostly gentle way; her, letting go little moans & sighs as she caressed my face or my arms, staring into my eyes or craning her neck to give me a kiss that let said she loved me and wanted me. And she meant it. I don't know every little thing that was going through her head, but it wasn't an act.

"Ohhh yes, Mark ... you're my man, forever ... you're the one I need..." The whole time she sent me those little love notes, affirmations that whatever games we'd play (or whatever games we would play), that's all they were. Her leg wrapped around mine and stroked up & down the back of my thigh while she hummed in contentment.

Even as I reveled in the love & affection she was beaming up into me, I was intensely aware of wet noises coming from her from down below, and the knowledge of why she was soaked (or what she was soaked with) kept my raw arousal at a high level.

"Mmmm, yes baby ... do it, take me back ... I love you, and I will always come home to you ... and you can always take me back..."

It was too much — the implication that I HAD to take her back because, at least for a while there, she'd belonged to someone else ... and the suggestion that there was more to come, that she thought I would need to reclaim her, because it would happen again, because she wanted it to happen again ... even in this most loving moment of deep spiritual connection between us, those little hints of our kinky games were there, letting me know that nothing would ever be quite the same again. The part of me that loved all that shit overwhelmed the parts of me that didn't, and with a groan I tipped over into orgasm while Chelsea urged me on.

"Mmmmm! Good, good ... cum for me, baby..."

I knew she hadn't climaxed — probably hadn't gotten close — but there were good reasons for that, and anyway I didn't want to think about it. I fired off a huge load, and the knowledge that it was filling up a condom instead my fiancée gave that sick part of me one last, potent thrill.

God. I'm so fucked up.

We didn't get out of bed afterwards. I rolled off her and held her close, and by some silent mutual agreement we just fell asleep there, together.

***

I woke up four hours later. Chelsea was still dead to the world, so I let her catch up on all the sleep she'd missed while I got cleaned up and tried to distract myself with chores. It didn't work, and instead I just thought about what had already happened, what I wanted to happen, and what I could live with. Two hours later I heard her start up the shower.

When she got out I was in the kitchen, making dinner. She walked up beside me and kissed me on the shoulder.

"Still love me?"

"Always."

We cooked and ate together, then puttered around and wasted some time. We played around with the game for our next video for a couple hours — really we should've been streaming the session for our fans, since we'd fallen behind on work lately, but I don't think either of us were in the mood to put on show just then. All the while we avoided the supermassive black hole that was warping our whole relationship with its gravitational pull.

After midnight we finally got around to talking about it. We were on the couch together, trying & failing to pay attention to the TV. Chelsea's phone buzzed and she glanced at the screen before putting it back down.

"Who was that?" I asked; she was clearly a little embarrassed by the answer.

"Um, you know..." she said as she broke eye contact. Yeah, I guess I did know. I just nodded, but Chelsea was the one who was willing to address the issue at last. "So..."

"Ha, yeah ... so." I had no idea how to start this conversation.

"Have you thought about, like, how we should ... have you thought about what you want to do?"

"I have. But, you first. What do you want to do? No point in being shy, by the way. Not anymore. Might as well just tell the truth, honey."

"Honestly, babe: I want what you want. I want to give it to you, whatever it is. So you should tell me."

"Alright, I know that. And thank you. But you have a preference, right? What are you hoping I want? I'm sorry, but I need you to tell me." She paused and took in a deep breath.

"Ok. I mean, I guess I can't lie and say I only did it with Dylan for your sake. Like, I think it might be fun if we ... you know. Kept playing. If you wanted."

"Then we can keep playing."

She tried not to look too excited, but I could see her face light up. Probably she was glad that she wasn't in too much trouble and we weren't actually breaking up, but I'm pretty sure she was also looking forward to another hookup with Dylan. And I was fine with that. Clearly I got something out of it, and our lovemaking session earlier had reminded me that, one way or another, this little adventure wasn't quite done with me. Plus, I don't know — I just liked seeing her happy, and I knew that would do the trick.

"But," I continued, "we have to set some ground rules or else I'll just go completely insane."

"Yes! Of course. What did you have in mind?"

"So. The first thing is, we can't do it forever. This is, like, a sexy vacation from sanity. It's hot, but it's scary as hell and my stomach is in knots. I'd feel a whole lot better if I knew there was an ironclad, written-in-stone end date coming. Does that make sense?"

"Oh." She seemed a little surprised. "Yeah. I guess I never really thought about long-term stuff? I get it, totally makes sense. And you're right! We shouldn't do this forever. But, how long were you thinking? I mean ... when do we stop?"

"Well, the wedding is in 10 weeks, right? Let's call that the end. We'll sow our wild oats or whatever, get it out of our system, then go into the marriage just you & me."

"Oh, duh! Yes, that's perfect. After the wedding, no more. For sure." I liked what I saw in her face then: she seemed to mean it, and she didn't look disappointed or anything. "What else?"

"Ok. The other big thing is: it's just sex. I can handle you having a fuck-buddy ... I think. But I can't handle you having, like, a second boyfriend. I can't share your heart, Chelsea. I couldn't bear it."

"Awww, babe..." She looked touched, like she was close to crying, and she reached out to take my hand. "Of course. You'll never have to worry about that. Like I said, Dylan's just a sex toy. Something we can use to feel good. I'm not even into in him like that, seriously. He's just hot is all."

"Good," I said. "But that means not acting like a girlfriend: no dates, no romantic stuff. No seeing each other every day — just like once in a while. And no sleeping over. Ha, you know: just 'hit it & quit it.' I need you to actually come home to me at the end of the night." She thought about this one for a moment before responding.

"Hmm. Ok, yes, I understand. I mean, sometimes it's so much easier to stay in bed after and just ... but no, you're absolutely right. About all of that."

"Great, thank you. The rest of these should be obvious I think."