Corruption of a Geek Goddess Pt. 04

Author's Note: Mark & Chelsea are using the three months before their wedding to play out a cuckold fantasy with their dominant young friend Dylan. In the last chapter they got off to good start for a couple weeks, then Mark finally went with Chelsea to Dylan's place to watch them fuck in person for the first time. Dylan dommed the hell out of them, prompting Chelsea to tell Dylan (with Mark's assent) that he "owns" her pussy... whatever that means. This chapter takes us up to four week before the wedding.

All characters and events are fictional.

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Mark

Good god. If I'd been wondering where my limits were, that night at Dylan's place showed me.

Don't get me wrong, it was unbelievably hot. The most scaldingly erotic night of my life. It was such a primal mindfuck just seeing them together from five feet away that I still can't even think about it without getting hard. And Chelsea was incredible — it was like the past few months had just been practice, a way to learn the exact placement of all my buttons so that when the big day finally came she could mash them all at the same time and fry my circuits once and for all.

But it was also so intense I couldn't stand it. After that first big fuck (and Dylan's brainstorm to have me wear condoms even to touch myself, and eating her out afterwards with him just down the hall), I had to retreat to the living room and listen to the debauchery from a distance. When Dylan finally emerged I feigned sleep because my brain was still too scrambled for human interaction. He went back in to continue defiling my girlfriend, and before long I fell asleep for real. Oops.

So it was a difficult night in some ways, but afterwards I still felt good. I mean, it's complicated, but this is all still going according to plan, isn't it? Chelsea still loves me, treats me well. In fact, if anything, she's been even more horny & lovey-dovey than usual. We're still having sex; I admit I was a little anxious about the whole "Dylan owns my pussy now" thing, but so far nothing seems different. It felt real in the moment — Chelsea made it feel real, because she's incredible — but clearly it was just a game. Or maybe "game" is the wrong word: it was a symbolic gesture, designed to tweak the fucked-up parts of my psyche (and hers, and Dylan's). But it's been a few weeks now and nothing has actually changed following our night at Dylan's.

Well, ok, strictly speaking a couple small things have changed. For one, instead of meeting up with Dylan every 5 or 6 days, lately it's been more like every 3 or 4. But that's actually fine! Even when she's not literally here with me, it still feels like a thing we're doing it together. I get a sexual charge from her absence, just knowing what's going on. I'm thinking about her, and I know she's thinking about me. I usually get updates & pics & videos while she's out. And when she returns we have our own kind of fun with it. Plus she's just in a great mood all the time, which is sweet.

But, it is a little tricky with work. Between her dates with Dylan (and all the time she spends in bed with me, reliving those dates), Chelsea hasn't been gaming with me as much, and that slows down our content creation. I mean, our channel is about the both of us gaming, but I'm not an idiot, so I know that she's the main attraction: her personality, her humor, her showmanship... and of course her beauty.

During a streaming session recently, a fan asked an awkward question in the chat:

"hey where's chelsea at? like half the time lately it's just mark playing. It's like she thinks she's too good for us or something lol"

I just pretended I didn't see the message.

***

About a week ago we actually broke one of our rules. I was going to be chained to my computer all night for a marathon editing session on our latest video. (We'd fallen behind on posting new content, had to get that done). At the same time Chelsea was heading over to Dylan's pretty late that night... and, you know, they take a while. Since she'd be getting back at like 2:00 AM and I wouldn't even be able to hang out with her, we decided she should just crash at his place for once. I think she's the one who brought it up first, but we both agreed it made sense in this case. Seriously, it was no big deal. She stayed with Dylan overnight and, look: the world didn't end.

But when she got back the next day, late in the afternoon, I did a double take: Chelsea looked very different from the woman who'd left here the night before. Her normally straight brown hair had been styled to be wavier, with more volume, and with sandy blonde highlights. She had on a black lace choker, the kind of thing a teenage goth girl might wear. And her top was a tight, stylish sleeveless tee that showed off a little bit of cleavage and stopped short of her belly button; that is not what she was wearing the last time I saw her. I've known her for six years and every part of this look was new to me.

And she looked hot. I mean, she always does, but now it was an "in your face" kind of sexy instead of her usual "girl next door" sexy. Honestly, aside from her glasses she could've been one of those Instagram models whose whole job is just to look fuckable on camera. What in seven hells was going on?

"Wow!" I finally managed to say. "Damn, Chelz. Where is my girlfriend and what have you done with her?"

"You like?" She preened & posed, feeling playful.

"Oh, I like. You look amazing. I'm just surprised is all, I had no idea you were gonna... I mean, where's the shirt you had on last night?"

"We-eell... I guess you could say it's in Dylan's trash can, with a giant rip down the middle."

"It's in the... oh, fuck. You mean he tore it off you?"

"Yes, sweetie: he ripped it to shreds then picked me up and carried me to his bedroom. He's really strong, you know."

"Holy shit..."

"Aww, heheheh... does my sweet, gentle boyfriend like knowing that I got fucking manhandled like that?"

"Well, he sure doesn't hate it..."

"I bet. Anyway, we had a little 'good morning' fuck when we got up, then I put on one of Dylan's t-shirts and he drove us to the mall so he could replace the top he destroyed. He's such a gentleman, right?"

"Clearly. And the hair?"

"Well, we were already at the mall so we just kinda took our time, made a day of it. I tried on different tops... or, I guess I should say Dylan watched me try them on. We might have gotten a little distracted in the changing room..."

"Oh my god. You guys actually fucked in a changing room?"

"No, don't be silly! He just fingered me a little. Which, by the way: wow. I never would've guessed, but it was such a turn-on! Just being a slut for him in public... we almost got caught."

"Holy shit, Chelz..." She was driving me crazy with this and she wasn't even really trying.

"Mmm, haha... you should see the look on your face. Anyway we got the top. Oh! And then we saw this thing," she said, pointing to her neck. "Dylan likes it I guess, he said he wanted me to wear a choker from now on, so we got that too... and then we passed by the hairdresser and he kinda dragged me in. He had a couple... suggestions."

"Wait, you're saying you let him pick out your hairstyle?"

"Of course!" She came up and started running her hands over me, nuzzling my neck, and spoke into my ear. "I mean... he owns it, remember? He can do whatever the fuck he wants..."

Blastoff. I had to have her right that second. I took her by the hand and marched us to the bedroom, Chelsea giggling along the way. But when I tried to take off her new top, she grabbed my wrist.

"Babe, wait! We can't have sex right now."

"What?"

"We're starting a stream at 5:00, remember? I don't want to mess up my hair. Tonight before bed, if you want."

"Oh my god! You're killing me here, I'm not gonna make it..."

"It's ok! I got something for you. Here, watch this."

What she had for me was a new video on her phone: it was Chelsea, standing up in the changing room, with Dylan holding her from behind; he was pointing the camera at the mirror with one hand and fingering my girlfriend with the other. The real-life Chelsea dropped to her knees in front of me, pulled my pants down, and started playing with my dick — stroking, kissing, sucking a little, but taking it slow to make it last.

The on-screen Chelsea trembled, threw her head back on Dylan's shoulder, and clenched her eyes shut in a look of euphoric agony as she tried to orgasm without making any noise. Jesus, it was hot. The video was only three minutes, but that was enough: when I watched Chelsea shudder & climax on her lover's fingers, I groaned and came in her mouth. She swallowed it down, humming in delight. Wow. We cleaned up and got ready for our streaming session.

It felt so different from a normal session. Instead of her regular streaming attire (uber-casual gamer-girl: hoodies or baggy t-shirts), Chelsea wore the unusually sexy & revealing outfit she had on. Plus she had the new hairstyle, and the choker. She even swapped out her glasses for contacts to complete the look. And it's a great look! But it just didn't feel like "her," and I got a little self-conscious knowing that she was showing off for all these strangers, the people who follow our posts and our lives in some weird kind of parasocial relationship — our fans, in other words.

And not surprisingly, the internet strangers wouldn't let me forget about it. Now, our fans tend to be really chill & nice, and no one was creepy about. (Well, almost no one.) But they all noticed the way she looked, and apparently they all had to say something about my glamified fiancée.

"whoa, christmas came early this year! look at chelsea..."

"chelsea, the new hairdo is AMAZING"

"they must have a big date tonight or something"

And the craziest thing was this: Chelsea liked the attention. She's not a shy person — quite the opposite, in fact; a drama geek at heart, she loves to perform — but she is shy about her wardrobe. She never wanted to be one of those "sexy gamer girl" streamers, and she hates when creepy internet guys say weird shit to her (hence all the hoodies). But now there was a chat room full of (mostly) men audibly panting over her looks, and she was enjoying showing off. She didn't say it out loud, or even really acknowledge those comments at all, but I could just tell.

I don't really know what's up with this. We've had a few streaming sessions since then and she's still dressing up — not quite as showy as that first day, but clearly making a special effort to look pretty on camera. When I asked her about it she didn't seem to know either; she says she just feels like looking more "girly" right now. She couldn't put it into words. Or maybe (I thought) she liked the exhibitionist thrill of getting fingered in a changing room even more than she let on, and it left a mark. But then why wouldn't she just say that?

Okay, whatever. It actually is fine. I'm sort of confused, but I don't mind if she wants to show off a little more — she really does look fantastic. And she's happy. And this thing with Dylan just keeps getting hotter & hotter, and we have a great time with it in bed.

When I stop and think, it's so obvious that I'm overthinking things and worrying too much. I do that.

Chelsea

Alright. I'm just gonna get a couple things out of the way up front, and you can think what you want.

First off: Yes, I'm dressing sexier on camera because that's what Dylan has asked me to do. (Or, "told" — whatever.) And, no, I didn't say anything to Mark about that. As for why I agreed... I don't know. I wanted to. Dylan's been ribbing me about that for ages, and he's so appreciative about my looks and my body; he's like my biggest fan. He makes me feel sexy. And then we went out to the mall that day and I was having the best time, and he paid for my little makeover and some new clothes, and then he said he expected to see me flaunting it on camera, and I was all giggles and "yes, Daddy." It just felt like he deserved it.

And I like it! I didn't think I would, but I do. This thing with Dylan, it's like... it's not just that he makes me feel sexy. It's that he makes me feel sexual, like a fully sexual being. All the time. I'm a flesh & blood woman who's always loved sex, but it's never been this important to me. Now, after being pursued by someone like Dylan and knowing what that feels like, I don't just want guys to think I'm cute, or adorable, or pretty; now I want the men around me to feel an urge to fuck the shit out of me, pin me to the floor and make me theirs. I'll read those comments about my appearance in the chat box on our streams (or Reddit, or twitter, or YouTube) and for the first time in my life they don't make me feel self-conscious. Instead they make me think: Dylan will be proud, and Mark will be jealous. Then that happy slut inside of me smiles and I feel a warm, tingly pride in my gut.

Okay — Mark. I didn't tell him about why I'm dressing hotter on camera. It's for his sake, obviously. I know he finds this thing with Dylan brain-meltingly hot, but I also know he's anxious about it and (on some level) still thinks it's kinda shameful. The idea that our sex games are bleeding into our real lives (to say nothing of the thought that other people might see some of that game) could drive him insane in a bad way and ruin the whole thing for him. So, I'm not going to say anything yet. After the wedding, when we're done with all this mishegoss and life is back to normal, I'll tell him all about it... and at that point he'll probably love it.

The second thing I wanted to mention (and this is sort of related to the first): the whole "Dylan owns my pussy" business. It's just pretend. It's a little piece of dirty talk. It popped up in some of those cuckold stories I read, and I knew Mark & Dylan well enough to predict that it would be a big hit with both of them, for different reasons. And wasn't I right?

The only kinda-sorta problem: Dylan likes it even more than I expected... and I'm not totally sure he gets the whole "just pretend" part of it. He's been bossier and more demanding since I transferred the deed. He asks me to do things. (Like, say, fool around in public, or dress sluttier on camera.) And he talks about someday forbidding me to fuck Mark in a way that makes me think that if he did, he'd expect me to actually obey. And when talks this way or gives those orders, I kiiinda... like it. That is, it "kinda" makes me cum like a goddamn freight train and want to give him whatever he asks for. I should really talk with him about this, set some boundaries.

Or, you know, maybe not? This isn't forever. I only need to hold out until the wedding.

***

I've been seeing more of Dylan lately. The time in between visits seems to keep shrinking — every five or so days... then every four... then like three... then sometimes (sometimes!) every other day. You know how it goes. Or maybe you don't, whatever.

But Mark's busier than usual these days. He's doing a lot of work for our channel, trying to get revenue up any way he can; it turns out weddings are expensive, holy crap. And speaking of the wedding, Mark's the one who handles money stuff for us and who's just more organized in general, so a lot of the wedding planning falls to him. I mean, yes, we're planning the wedding as a team. Of course we are. But for some of that stuff he's the only one who actually needs to be there, and being the saint he is Mark always offers to handle that stuff alone and save me the hassle. So sometimes (sometimes!) I skip the boring, time-consuming scut-work. And when I have a big block of time all to myself like that, my thumbs always seem to find their way to my phone and I watch myself texting Dylan. "Heyyy"

Maybe that sounds bad. Maybe you're wondering if I feel guilty running off to get fucked while my devoted fiancé spends all day getting bids from eight different tablecloth rental companies (true story). And the answer is: yeah, of course I feel guilty...

For a minute, anyway. The guilt is there, gnawing away at me and competing with all those warm & fuzzy wet-panties feelings. But there's never quite enough of it to keep my clothes on, and the closer I get to seeing Dylan the more it fades. Like, I know I'm gonna be in a room with him in 30 minutes, then 20, then 10, and more & more that's all I want to think about until I'm actually standing in front of him, at which point my brain is all: Yes, Daddy. On my knees, Daddy.

And I don't hide anything. Mark knows when I'm heading out for a hookup. He still gets pics and videos and a complete report (and maybe a cream-filled surprise). He's still having the time of his life, erotically. So, chill out. We're fine. Mark's fine.

And I know Mark feels better since I demonstrated some tangible self-control. Like I promised, I've been keeping careful track of my cycle, and the last time I hit peak-fertility I did manage to stay away from Dylan's bed for five whole days. Ok, technically it was "four and some," but still — it took serious willpower! For one thing I was horny as a motherfucker (ovulation time just does that to me, always has).

And for another, Dylan was blowing up my phone with dick pics and dirty talk, trying to get me to come over. I had to explain why it was a bad time for a date, and he... did not seem to care all that much. Still wanted me to come see him. I finally broke down and said I can come over if we use a condom, but he said no way. He said he'd never wear a condom with me, that it was a matter of principle — that he'd pull out if I told him to, but that if I came over I'd end up begging for his cum like always. And that condoms were only for "the other guy."

Such an asshole... and I swear to god, I almost caved. But instead I stayed home, had Mark get me off over and over again, and counted the minutes until the chart said my odds were good. Good enough. But Mark knew what was going on, and I could tell he was reassured by the fact that I was staying safe.

Safe-ish.

***

However, if I'm being perfectly honest with myself, Mark might feel a bit less reassured if he saw more of what I'm doing with Dylan. Because my hookups with him haven't just gotten more frequent, they're also taking up more time, individually. And some of that time... look, it's just not realistic that we're gonna stay in bed and fuck for 6 hours straight, right? So, some of our hookups are starting to resemble actual dates.

We'll always spend some quality time in the sack (and, girl, when I say quality I do mean quality), but we'll also go out and do stuff. We might fuck first then go to a proper restaurant for dinner before I head back. We've caught a movie or two. And a couple times our dates have run so long that I wound up staying the night. Seriously, not too often. I really do try to avoid it, but even Mark had to admit it's just not realistic that I'm NEVER going to wind up in Dylan's bed at the end of the day. He seems fine with it.

This one time there was a carnival in town, a little pop-up amusement park; we spent all afternoon there with the rides & games & junk food — god, that was the most fun day I've had in forever. (I mean, of course it was. What have I been telling you this whole time? Dylan's a blast to be around.) And even aside from having fun I felt, I guess, proud to be on his arm. The place was packed with couples, from dorky teenagers to middle-aged married folks, but I just knew in my gut that I had the best guy and everyone could see it. Like, SO many women were stealing jealous glances at us, and every time it gave me a happy glow inside. Ha! Sucks for you, he's mine! My god, I wanted the whole world to see us that day... even though I had to ask Dylan not to post anything about it to social media because Mark would know I was with him and might get the wrong idea.