Corruption of a Geek Goddess Pt. 04

"Weeeellll... Dylan kinda asked me to keep it on all the time..." She flashed me one of those lethal grins and used her finger to slowly trace a line from my chin down to my groin. "And you know how much I like being a good girl for my Daddy..."

Ooph. Instant hard-on. "Oh fuck, Chelz. Yeah, I get it. But you know you don't have to actually do it when he's not around."

"I know that, silly! But I like wearing it for him. And I love the look on your face every time I catch you staring at it — yes, that one! Right there!" She laughed (not in a mean way), knowing she had me pegged. "I mean, isn't it a little bit kinky? Just being reminded that your girlfriend is following another man's instructions? Being reminded that she even has a man... Mmmm, a real man..."

And then we wound up in bed two minutes later, where the teasing and dirty talk continued. And that's the other thing that makes me a tiny bit anxious (afterwards, that is, not during; in the moment it's mostly just hot as fuck). The kinky shit Chelsea says when we're playing this fucked up little game? It keeps on getting harsher and more cutting, just a little bit at a time, like she's slowly zeroing in on the part of me that gets off on humiliation.

Or maybe her words aren't any harsher, except that in my head it sounds like they are? Probably that's it, I'm not sure. But when the woman you're about to marry is waltzing out the door with your blessing seemingly every other day to meet up with a dominant young stud, hearing her later tease you about how his big cock might "steal me away from you" and how "you know you can't stop it so it's good you're not trying"... it just hits differently.

Also, the fact that she sees Dylan so often turns what should be the wholesome thrill of imagining my fiancée getting knocked up by someone else into an actual, real-world concern. When our pants are on she says it's all talk and that obviously she'd never risk something happening for real, but if she's seeing him all the time it's hard not to worry that we're playing with fire here — there's just no break in their trysts long enough to steer clear of her fertile times, right? I guess she asks him to pull out or resorts to a condom or something if it's risky, but when you're caught up in the middle of an intense sex session things can suddenly get out of hand, no matter how pure your intentions. (Believe me, I know what I'm talking about.)

The other night we were in bed, getting frisky. I was into it, even more so than usual, and was about slip into her without a condom. Maybe I was subconsciously desperate to add my seed to the lingering strands of Dylan's that must swim in her womb constantly these days — oh, fuck: that's really true, isn't it? — or maybe I just lost my head for a second. I don't know. Either way, Chelsea stopped me.

"Whoa, hold on! Slow down, babe. Aren't we forgetting something? Oh man, roll over. I think I'd better be on top tonight..."

I got ahold of myself and did like she asked. Chelsea, clearly having a lot of fun with it, made a show of grabbing a condom and producing it with a flourish. ("Ta-da!" she actually said.) She slowly rolled it down my twitching shaft, taking far more time than she needed, but she put that time to good use.

"Now, honey... I know it might be difficult, having to wear one of these every time... and knowing I want your friend inside me raw, and deep... but it's just so, so important that we stick to the rules. You see, sweetie... I am being careful, I promise... but just in case, if something does happen... and we have a teensy accident... I simply can't risk having any of your little swimmers in me."

Then she slid her warm pussy down my latex-covered dick, and I groaned in rapturous agony. God, she plays me like a fiddle. Where does she come up with this shit? Obviously I enjoyed that, and it's not like she's never said anything remotely similar before. But, again, later on it just hits differently when it seems like there's a reason for actual concern.

Oh, right, one other thing: Dylan's coming to the wedding as a guest, even though a few weeks ago we'd both dismissed the notion for sounding so unbelievably awkward. ("Mom, Dad: I'd like you to meet Dylan, our new, um... friend." Doesn't that sound like a great time?)

Chelsea suggested it, just yesterday. I agreed. So now I'm looking forward to that.

***

"So, Mark," you're probably thinking, "it sounds like you're about ready to pack it in with all this cuckold malarkey."

To which I'd say: Huh? Of course not! Whatever gave you that idea?

"You fool! This is no time for jokes! Don't you see what's happening??"

Alright, already. Settle down, Chicken Little.

First, the wedding invite. Sure, in theory it could be awkward, but in practice it'll probably be a non-issue: he's just one more friend in the crowd. And he is actually our friend — kind of our closest friend at the moment. (And why would we even introduce him to our parents in the first place? That's just silly.)

Chelsea thought his being there would provide a sense of closure, of finality, like a bookend on an important chapter in our lives, or a changing of the guard. She also said that Dylan had admitted to her he really did want to go: that he was really happy for us, and that he'd like "see us off" as we set out on our own, so to speak. That kinda made sense to me.

And while we talked, this image flashed in front of me that's been bouncing around in my head ever since: the reception is winding down, I'm making the rounds, saying my goodnights, and I get to Dylan standing off by himself. I reach out my hand and we shake; we look at each other and smile, but we don't say anything: there's no need. Thanking each other with our eyes for an incredible experience, and sharing a treasured secret. Two men, now once again peers, acknowledging a mutual respect. I'm not saying it'll happen exactly like that, but it's a nice thought.

As for all that other stuff I was talking about, reasons for feeling anxious: sure, they're real. It's worth thinking about, and when I do, sometimes I get a little nervous. But, that's what this kink IS, right? The whole point is to feel that fear, that insecurity. To take that inadequacy, shame, and jealousy, all the things perpetually banging around in my subconscious anyway... and turn those bad feelings into good ones, into raging orgasms with your loving partner. Lemons into boner-ade. The point, in other words, is that if I'm getting off on the feeling of giving up safety & control, then sometimes things have to actually feel out of control. So I'm willing — nay, eager — for us to enjoy this while we can, because the fun does stop after the wedding.

And exactly what, other than the obvious, are we enjoying? Well for starters, Chelsea's in a great mood all the time, and it's a treat to watch her delight in this strange & wonderful journey. I can tell she's grateful, too: when she's not hitting me with that teasing/denial/psychological torture that gets us both going, she's so warm and loving, more so than usual even. And there's a constant thrum of erotic energy coursing through the two of us since this started, buried a millimeter beneath the surface; sometimes we'll wordlessly make eye contact and a second later giddy smiles are breaking across our faces, each of us knowing just what the other is thinking about.

Our sex life is great. Chelsea hasn't lost interest in me, if you were worried about that. Sure, the days when she has a date with Dylan are more frequent, but those days are usually the hottest — she'll order me get her warmed up while she says some absolutely filthy shit about how much she's looking forward to it and what they're gonna do and why I could never do that for her; I'll get texts or videos while she's out that drive me insane in the best/worst ways; and then she gets home and we have our own brand of fun. Yeah, every once in a while she doesn't make it home at night, but that's its own kind of sublime torture.

Also, surprisingly, our time spent playing with Dylan has been good for business. Sure, between the wedding planning, Chelsea's time at his place, and our time spent in bed reliving it, our content creation has slowed down — fewer videos, fewer streaming sessions. But on the other hand, Chelsea's new on-screen outfits (as well as, I think, the new aura of intangible sexiness radiating off her) seem to have captured the "horny young men" audience in a way our older content hadn't.

And we got a sizable boost when Chelsea guest starred in one of Dylan's videos. Shit, that's a story in itself. She didn't tell me it was happening; she just came home one afternoon (after one of her rare overnight stays at his place) with a saucy "I've-got-a-secret" grin, and when I asked her about it she'd only say that she had a surprise for me, and I'd have to wait to find out what it was. The next day I was sitting at my computer when Dylan's new video popped up on my feed... and there was my fiancée's smiling face on the thumbnail. Gulp.

I watched it alone. Chelsea was just in the next room, but I didn't call her in before opening it. In a sense, it was a tamer version something I'd already seen twice: Dylan walked his audience through some workout plans for non-experts, using Chelsea as a kind of visual aid. Maybe it was the kind of thing that people outside our sick little triad wouldn't think anything of?

But to me, of course, it felt like being in free-fall. At times I almost had trouble hearing their dialogue over the pounding in my chest. Objectively it wasn't so bad (for real, you're imagining something way worse than what it was), but of course there was no way to quiet that voice in the back of my head screaming: People will see! They'll know! On those rare occasions Dylan reached out his hand to make contact with Chelsea's body, he'd always steal a glance at the camera, and no matter how convincing his poker face, or hers, it seemed like something intended for my benefit.

Plus, their banter during the video was free & easy. Jokey, familiar, natural. They had an engaging on-screen presence. I suppose that's just another way of saying they have "chemistry," and that's fine; I already knew they got along well. It's just that to everyone else watching, I'm sure the friendly, relaxed vibe felt inviting — but for this one special member of the audience, it was like being a voyeur again, but only one of many. Like intruding on a private moment, or being the butt of the joke.

Just at the end of the video, as Dylan stood next to my girlfriend on screen and enthusiastically urged his viewers to check out our channel, I felt Chelsea's arms wrap themselves around my shoulders.

"Jee-sus!" I yelped. "You startled me." Hypnotized as I was by that video, she probably could've snuck up on me with a bulldozer.

"Oh no! So sorry, babe." She giggled into my ear. "But, what did you think of your surprise?"

"It was... surprising. A little scary. I think you know why."

"Moi? I have no idea what you mean." she said with feigned innocence. "It's just a little cross-promotion for our channel."

"Ha, oh yeah. Of course, Chelz — silly me." I was doing my best to play it cool, and probably failing. Once again, she'd found a new way to drive me crazy and keep our games from feeling routine. "So, um... this was your idea?"

"Nope! His, actually. But I only agreed on the condition I could approve the final edit. Good thing, too: you should see some of the stuff in Dylan's first cut. We had to do a bunch of reshoots. He's not shy like we are..."

"Shit, Chelz, that's—" My train of thought was cut off by Chelsea's hand gliding down my chest and landing at my groin, where she proceeded to lightly squeeze and rub; finding a solid lump, she hummed in joy.

"Mmmm, that's nice. So, babe: what was it about that boring exercise video you found 'scary'? Was it my outfit? Or how fit — how manly — Dylan looked standing beside me?" There was nothing to do except go with it; I closed my eyes and shook my head. "No? Then, was it seeing him pose me however he wanted? Using your girl like a prop? Seeing me follow his instructions like I fucking worked for him?" I groaned. Maybe in the real world this was not what anyone would take away from the video. But in my head, just at that instant, she might as well have been wearing a dog collar for him.

"Mmph! No... a little, not really..."

"Ohhh, ok. It really doesn't scare you to see us together anymore? Then, could it be... oh dear. Honey, did it scare to think of other people seeing us together??"

"Oh, fuck..." I squirmed in my seat with Chelsea still holding me from behind, still fondling me.

"Mmm-hmm: bullseye! I'm sorry, baby — how thoughtless of me! All those people, hundreds of thousands in fact... most of them will just like looking at Dylan's hot friend. But some of them, the people who already know us... the ones who watch all our videos, join us for streaming, post to our subreddit, talk about what an adorable couple we are... they're just gonna wonder: Where the hell is Mark? What a fucking simp..."

Exhilaration. Torture. Ecstasy. Also pure horror, like a slasher movie taking place in my mind — an unstoppable monster chasing down pieces of my soul and carving them up one by one. Chelsea's hand on the outside of my crotch had gone from idle fondling to forceful, rapid grinding, and I was so fucked-in-the-head after her little speech that I was about to blow a load in my pants. The little bit of pride still sucking air inside me objected to that idea.

"Ah! Jesus, I'm — waitwaitwait, gonna cum, shit..." At that, right on the brink of inevitably, Chelsea ripped her hand away.

"Don't you fucking dare!" she spat.

For a split second the frightened/horny part of me that was getting pummeled thought she was denying me permission to cum at all. But, no: instead, as quick as she could, Chelsea spun my swivel chair around to face her, fell to her knees, yanked my pants down just enough to get my dick free, and then inhaled it. I felt the slick heat of her mouth engulfing my hard shaft, felt the vigorous suction she applied, saw the zeal and the hunger on her face, and moments later was groaning & straining as I erupted onto her tongue; she siphoned each individual spurt right down her throat.

As soon as I was drained she popped up and kissed me hard with just the faintest hint of my cum still in her mouth; that seemed like a silly thing to worry about.

"Jesus, Chelz," I said after catching my breath. "That was wild. And so were you, damn."

"Yeah, ha. I just liked seeing you so flustered, so worked up — it lit a fuse. And I talked myself into the fantasy a little, I guess."

"Yeah," I told her, "the fantasy was hot. And I know you didn't really mean all that stuff you said. But, you know... the video actually is online for people to see." I looked back at the screen and refreshed the page: 2,404 views already.

"I know, babe. And we'll take it down if you want. But first, watch it again for me. See if it still seems all that naughty now that you're not surprised, and your brain isn't swimming in backed-up spooge."

Thanks for that image, dear. But I watched it again, and I could see her point: all the things that were fraught with meaning for me (and her, and Dylan) would probably mean nothing to anyone else. The two of them played it straight — they were friendly but not flirty, and he barely touched her. Okay. But Chelsea still saw how the mere idea of the two of them on display like that would set my horny brain on fire. Does she know me, or what?

The video stayed up. Sometimes I'd get worried and check the comments under the video, but my fears weren't realized. I mean, there were plenty of guys there who left "wowza" type comments saying that this Chelsea girl was hot, and also a few women who gushed about how "lucky" she was to hang out with Dylan like that — all those comments would ping the antenna in my pants, I admit. But no one seemed to get the impression that Chelsea & Dylan were anything more than vlogger-buddies who were helping out each other's channels. Phew.

Plus, like I said, we saw a meaningful bump in subscribers after her guest appearance. Every little bit helps.

***

Ahem. Got a little sidetracked there. The point was that, even though sometimes I feel a bit anxious or even ambivalent, I'm still not done with this adventure. It's the most tantalizing, arousing feeling I've ever had, and that's hard to give up. I'm sure Chelsea feels the same way: she's happy, bordering on giddy. We still have great sexy fun at home. And having a clock on our adventures makes the whole thing feel safe. Or, as safe as it can.

So I'm not trying to end it just yet. But Chelsea, as much she's enjoying all this, still made a point of checking with me last night. We were in bed. She'd gotten back from her date with Dylan about an hour before, then brought me to a ferocious orgasm with one of those teasing, taunting, emotionally vicious handjobs. She seemed quiet afterwards, and I was just about to switch off the light and get some sleep when she stopped me.

"Hey, babe?" she said. "I think, um... ok. I've been meaning to ask you something. So, we agreed to keep playing with Dylan until the wedding. And I guess we never said it out loud, but you do know you can call a timeout if you want, right? Like, you could tell me you wanted to end it early, and I wouldn't be mad."

"Oh. Well, yeah, of course. That was kinda my assumption all along. But, no, I'm good. I haven't been tempted to smash the Abort button or anything."

"Okay. It's not too much for you? You're sure?"

"Totally, I can handle it. Unless... wait, are YOU ok to keep going? I mean, are you asking me this because you wanted to stop?"

"No, no, no — nope, nothing like that. We're good. It's just lately I've been... I don't know. I realized I should check in with you, that's all." She furrowed her brow and gave me this soft, wistful smile I didn't recognize. Then she snuggled in close, held me tight with her head resting on my shoulder, and let out a long sigh. "Oh, Mark, baby... I don't deserve you. I really don't."

"No, you goof: it's the other way around. I love you, Chelz."

She sniffled, seemed to get a little emotional. "I love you too, babe — truly, truly. Don't ever forget that, ok?"

It's the most improbable miracle of my whole life, but I think she does in fact love me. And how could I ever forget something like that?

Chelsea

For anyone out there who's thinking of trying out some kind of swinger/cuckolding/poly-type of experiment, here are some words of wisdom from Chelsea: every once in a while, not too often, you might get these fleeting, microscopic, insignificant little flashes of profound guilt & shame. I'm pretty sure that's normal. Right? I mean, how could you not? This is varsity-level kink here! With big emotions at play and no experience to fall back on, sometimes you won't be so sure of your footing. You'll worry, briefly, that you've made a horrible mistake somewhere.

And then maybe you'll ask your boyfriend if he wants to hit the brakes, and for about five seconds you're not even sure what answer you're hoping for. I think it's inevitable.

Small things first — I probably shouldn't have guest-starred in Dylan's YouTube video. We had a blast filming it (loads of naughty stuff on the cutting room floor, oh my) and Mark got off on it in a really intense way. But, in hindsight, maybe I should've used a little more foresight. Dylan suggested the video while I was in, shall we say, a highly-suggestible state. I said yes pretty quick.