Corruption of a Geek Goddess Pt. 04

"What's the magic word, Princess?"

She looked up at him earnestly, then stole a glance at the camera lens and allowed a sly smile to form. "Please. Please Daddy, may I suck it?"

"Good girl. Start with my balls."

Joy washed over Chelsea's face. She dove in, working her tongue and her lips over Dylan's sack with her eyes closed, intermittently humming in contentment. It would be perfectly clear in the video that she had once again transformed from Mark's adorable girlfriend into Dylan's perfect little slut... and it would be clear just how happy that made her.

"That's good, Peach, that's real good. He likes seeing you like this, likes seeing you happy, so keep doing what you're doing... ok, if you're ready you can suck on it a little now..."

Chelsea slid her tongue up the underside of Dylan's shaft in one long, slow lick. When she reached the top her eyes flitted open and she looked right into the camera; a wicked smile formed on her lips as she paused, gave her boyfriend a saucy wink, then swallowed the cockhead in front of her and began to worship.

"Ahhh... look at that, Mark. You see how eager she is? How comfortable? Yeah, she's finally in her element. Right where she belongs. Ain't that right, Princess?"

"Mmm-hmm" — automatically, her head bobbing up & down with her mouth still full.

"She's come so far. And there's still time... so much more time." Four weeks until the wedding, buddy. And you're oh-so smart — what do you think happens then? "Yeah, you're gonna have something special on your hands by the time I'm done with your girl. My wedding gift to you, you'll see... you can thank me later."

Chelsea happily continued her work on the hard pillar before her, tickled by the ominous undertones of Dylan's taunts if she noticed them at all. She always got like this in Dylan's bed; it became so easy to slip into a version of herself with a whole new set of priorities, and so hard to care about what the "real" Chelsea wanted.

Dylan was well aware of all this. He knew she was malleable. He knew that when she was excited enough, Chelsea would agree to almost anything. Darkly jealous thoughts still lingered in his mind as he resolved to put her to the test.

"What do you want, Princess?" Chelsea stopped what she was doing and looked up.

"I want you to fuck me, Daddy."

"I don't know. What will you give me if I do?"

"Oh, god." The fire inside of her was burning even hotter than usual, stoked by the endless delay at home, by her own whore-ish outfit, by Dylan's feigned reluctance — and also by the simple biological demands of a woman in heat. "Anything, anything..."

"Really? We'll see. The first thing you're gonna do is make me cum in that pretty mouth of yours."

A flicker of anguish shot through her and Chelsea winced, pleading in vain with her eyes. She was impatient, dying to be fucked, to be seen to. And under the surface, beneath the level of conscious thought, her body was also crying out for Dylan's seed to go where it where it was really needed. But she rallied quickly; she was a good girl, and there was only one answer: "Yes, Daddy."

It didn't take long, only a couple minutes — she was desperate to move things along, and he was happy to bust a quick nut down her throat to ensure he'd have the stamina for what came next. He kept the camera rolling, letting it capture the frenzied moves of a love-struck zealot. Dylan let her know when it was time.

"Mmm, fuck! You're so good at that... here it comes, baby..." He groaned and fired volleys of hot seed that splashed onto her tongue before being hungrily slurped down; absently, Chelsea squeezed and massaged his balls, feeling as they heaved in her hand. She moaned in satisfaction while, below, a new rush of wetness flooded her neglected hole.

Chelsea released the hard shaft from her mouth and looked up at her man with pride. One last bead of cum escaped from his tip; Dylan reached down to collect it with his finger, then smeared it across her lips like it was lip balm.

"Now you be sure and give your boyfriend a great big kiss when you get home, alright?"

"Of course, Daddy." She glowed at the camera. Finally, Dylan was ready to get down to business.

"Ok, Mark," he said, "this has been great, but your girlfriend and I have some work to do before she leaves, and you don't get to see it. Say goodbye to him, Princess."

"Bye, honey. See you soon..."

Dylan stopped recording and sent the video on its way. "Take that thing off and get on the bed."

With palpable relief Chelsea did as instructed, shimmying out of the flimsy stocking to lie back on the mattress. Dylan stood up. He slowly walked around the edge, inspecting his prize. When he got to the foot of the bed he climbed on, approaching Chelsea from beneath, and gently pushed her legs apart; she audibly whimpered, at long last so close to what she'd been craving — he almost chuckled as he extended a hand and began to rub the outside of her sopping muff.

"Wow, someone's excited..."

"I really, really am. It's all I could think about, all day."

"What is?"

"You. This. I've just — Mmmm..." She hummed as Dylan's fingers found her opening, insistently pumping in & out at a gradual pace while his thumb worked her stiff little clit, putting her squarely on a ramp to the orgasm she'd been focused on for hours. All attempts at language were interrupted, eyes shut, chest heaving, letting the sensations wash over as blessed relief came nearer, then nearer still. Her hips pumped and her gasps became moans became wails, which approached a beautiful crescendo, so close, within reach, until at last she—

Nothing. Her partner had withdrawn his skilled fingers, seconds from the brink. "No, god, don't tease me..."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Were you close?" Chelsea just fixed him a silent, pleading stare. "So my Princess wants to have herself a nice little cum, is that it?" She nodded. "Well I think you're gonna have to do something for me then."

"W-what?"

Instead of answering, Dylan turned his attention back to her warm liquid core, this time with his mouth. He stared up from between her legs while his tongue made slow, gentle love to her sex, very much in the way she liked but too slow, too soft, to get her there quickly. Again the dance played out, Chelsea's voice betraying her increasing desperation, while her quim practically vibrated in anticipation. And again, just when the pleasure was within her grasp, it was snatched away — Dylan lifted his head and looked at her with a knowing, mischievous smile.

"Ahh!" she cried out in frustration. Unbidden, her hand flew down to her clit to get herself over the edge; she was still so close. Dylan responded by snatching her wrist and forcefully pinning it to the mattress.

"No," he simply said, then brought his mouth down to her mound, just above the clit, and kissed it. He slowly ascended her body, kissing as he went until he got to her breasts, where he commenced licking, sucking, and nibbling, keeping the young woman excitement at a fever pitch but without the promise of release. His cock hovered inches away from her pussy; he could actually feel the heat radiating off of it as her hips pumped up & down, searching in vain for contact, for penetration, for salvation from this exquisite torment.

Dylan went up further to rub his upper body against hers, kiss her neck, and whisper into her ear. "You want me to let you cum?"

"Yes..." she whined.

"What I do get in exchange?"

"Anything, please..."

"Hmm." He rose up into a kneeling position and cupped her mound, gently rubbing his whole hand against her slippery wetness. He looked her square in the eyes, though she could barely hold his gaze. "So... this is mine?"

"Wha—yes, come on, please, that's enough..."

"I mean, you told me it was mine. Is it or isn't it?" Still kneading, keeping her on the edge.

"Yes! Yes, it's yours, now please fuck me, Daddy... fuck me and make me cum."

"Whatever you say."

Dylan hoisted himself into position and nestled his cockhead in the warm embrace of Chelsea's entrance, teasing her. Automatically, Chelsea's hands flew down to take hold of his hips, trying to make sure he didn't get away.

"So. Here's what I want — it's a small thing, when you think about it. This is mine, and because I'm such a nice guy I've been willing to share with your roommate up till now. But I'm tired of doing that."

"Oh, god, Dylan..."

"You've got four weeks to go until the wedding. For those four weeks, I'm the only one allowed in my pussy." His thumb teased her clit, while his cock applied the faintest, most tantalizing pressure at her hole. "You can touch him with your hands, or your mouth. If you want to, if he's being good. And if not, he can just tug on his little dick while he thinks about what he gave away."

"Ohhh fuck, Dylan, I don't — please, it'll scare him, in a bad way. Can't we just keep going like we have been?"

"Hmm."

Without another word Dylan advanced his hips and plunged into her — she was beyond drenched and he slid in to the base in one single thrust to the sound of Chelsea's relieved sigh. Holding her legs up in the air, he leaned back and began to fuck her, hard, just like she'd wanted. She looked up at him with boundless gratitude and embraced the high, letting her voice go as the wave she rode neared the shore, closer, closer. After barely more than a minute she was there once again, about to explode.

And once again it was snatched away at the last instant. Her lover had stopped cold, just long enough for her to retreat from the brink, before beginning the most torturously slow rhythm; Dylan gazed down at her from above with a knowing smirk.

She could already see it: this was not a fight she was likely to win. There would be no bluffing, no sneaking by with a disguised orgasm. Chelsea had given up too many of her body's secrets in the past two months. And Dylan, normally an indifferent student, had studied her diligently. In fact, he was an expert — she'd become an instrument that he could wield as he desired, manipulate to serve his purpose.

A small bit of logic bubbled up from the last working bits of her mind: Ugh! Chelsea, just tell him what he wants to hear! It's all a game, right? It's roleplay. He'll never know what you and Mark do when you're alone. But a deeper, more honest part of her knew the truth: once made, this was a promise she'd feel obligated to keep.

All that was left to her was begging. She pouted and lovingly ran her hands up Dylan's muscled flanks. "Please, Daddy? Please. I've been a good girl for you, haven't I?"

Dylan sighed, then resumed pumping in & out of her... but just a bit too slowly, just a bit too softly to get over the hump. And still he kept Chelsea's hand away from her clit; instead, he would periodically strum it himself, keeping her as close to the precise edge as possible. Despair began to well up within her.

"Chelsea," he said. "Hey, Princess. Tell me about the best sex you've ever had with Mark."

"Wha... I, no, don't make me—"

"Tell me or I'll stop altogether."

So she told him, as best she could, about the time a couple years back when they'd just returned home from a week of staying with her parents; they were both pent-up and horny and happy and in love, and she spent two hours in bed with a very generous & very creative Mark, and afterwards they'd lain in bed staring into each other's souls and basking in a golden afterglow that stretched throughout a long, glorious sunset and beyond, bonding them and bringing their love to new heights. As she talked she could almost, almost relive the moment.

Dylan let her finish before responding. "That's really sweet. But tell me... was it as good as what I give you?"

"It's different, I... I mean, you can't—" Dylan snapped his hips into her with a few hard thrusts to get her attention.

"Aah!"

"Was it as good?"

"... no, not like this."

"Then you really should take my deal, right? Come on, Peach. You know you want to. You know you're going to. Don't you want to cum? Aren't you a good girl? Or... should I have you tell me more love stories that I can put into perspective for you?"

Chelsea groaned. Her conscience rebelled, tried telling her she could just get up and leave, call his bluff, set some real boundaries.

But she knew she wouldn't. Couldn't. Because, in the end, she liked this. Deep down, at those inner-most primal places where she feared to look, she yearned to give in — yearned for Dylan, specifically, to conquer her. He was too perfect, too powerful, too potent. Out of loyalty to Mark and to her former self she might make a show of resistance, or at least reluctance, but months of submission to this sinful pleasure had broken her down and her heart was no longer in the fight. Mark was her partner, but Dylan was her master — and it still warmed her soul to accept that.

Finally, Chelsea mewled, nodded, and with a gentle misting in her eyes whispered: "okay."

Dylan stilled his body. "Okay? Good. Only me, not him. Right? Say it."

"Only you, not... not him. It's yours."

"Good girl." He peered down at her with real affection and stroked his thumb softly down her cheek. "Now: tell me again what you want."

"Please. Please, Daddy. Take me, own me, fucking break me! Leave nothing behind for him to... to... oh GOD just do it!"

Dylan said nothing, merely flashed his conqueror's smile and girded himself to complete his annexation of the warm-hearted goddess beneath him. He'd have only a couple more hours with her tonight, and his job in that time was to make sure that the woman Mark got back was not the same one he'd so carelessly sent his way. The volatile alchemy of their meeting had wrought a change in Dylan, almost as much as in Chelsea — when it came to her, the affable charmer of before was being replaced by something darker, greedier, more pitiless. Chelsea was his prize, and he resented the notion that someone else might challenge his claim on her. He would take as much of her as he damn well pleased, and Mark could have the scraps.

Dylan bore down to finish her off. No more teasing — she really was a good girl, giving him everything he asked for, and now she deserved her reward. The obscene mechanics of their mating gradually filled the room with louder, harder, more rapid sounds of flesh colliding with flesh, joined with Chelsea's frantic, disjointed wails as she emptied her brain of everything except the demands of unadulterated bliss, and the knowledge that she'd given herself up to a worthy mate.

"AH! Oh god YES... please, yes, y-yes —don't stop, please don't stop, please... don't... s-s-st-AAHHH..."

"Are you glad you gave me this pussy now?!"

"Yes... you earned it, Daddy, you... d-deserve it... don't stop..."

"Whose cock are you gonna let inside you?!"

"Yours! Only yours..."

"Do you even WANT his sad little pickle anymore??"

"Fuck! Daddy... don't... I want... he's m-my..." Chelsea's voice quavered and broke at this test of her love. She was fighting against a further betrayal of her fiancé, fighting to remember that she DID still want Mark, even if she wanted someone else more.

But even as her lips hesitated, she was shaking her head from side to side, her body weighing in with its own answer. Chelsea's mind wanted one thing, but for now her body had already chosen a new master — and her body was nothing if not loyal. She embraced the awful truth.

"... oh... god... NO! Only yours, Daddy, I only want yours..." The admission released a cascade of erotic energy in Chelsea. Giving herself to this man — to the right man — was like shooting pure uncut bliss into her veins, and a monstrous climax now barreled toward her at warp speed. It was unstoppable, and yet she still knew, instinctively, that she needed to ask permission before it arrived. "Oh fuck, Daddy... I can cum n-now? Let me cum, Daddy... say... y-yes..."

"Yes, Peach: NOW you can cum."

Finally, at long last, she erupted — and her new man fucked her through the most savage orgasm of her life. She threw her head back and shrieked incoherently as every muscle in her body contracted. Her legs seized up, shaking violently against Dylan's sides. Her toes curled, her fingers tore holes in the bed sheets, and her grateful pussy doused his manhood in its juices with such force that they escaped to coat his balls in the proof of her devotion.

Yet all of that was nothing compared to what happened within. It had been building all day, all night, this need of hers. Now the megatons of tension & lust she'd stored up detonated like a bomb inside her mind and broke her psyche into pieces — pieces which could be put back together to form a new shape, a new Chelsea.

A solitary tear trickled down her right cheek, and she passed out — Chelsea had been pounded right out of this world.

She came to 15 seconds later and looked up to see Dylan's triumphal smile; he was still buried deep within her, but for now he was unmoving. She tried to collect her breath, and her wits.

"What — what happened?"

"I fucked you out, Princess. Didn't know that could happen, did you?"

"Oh... holy shit..."

"You ready for more?"

Chelsea managed a smile; it was a silly question. "Daddy, that doesn't matter. You fucking own me now, remember? Take what you want... teach my soar little kitty why it's yours."

That was the right answer. Dylan felt an overwhelming urge to answer the challenge, to break this pussy in two and fuck the truth of his ownership into her very soul.

With a surge of adrenaline he pulled out, took her by the shoulders, then flung her sideways onto her stomach like a ragdoll. He threw her with so much force that he overshot the mark: Chelsea's upper body slid off the mattress so that her hands hit the floor, her whole torso hanging off the edge and slanted downwards. She tried to recover, to pull herself back up onto the bed, but Dylan was on her too fast. He grabbed her hips, holding her in place like that, and slammed back into his devoted fuckpet.

"Wait! I'm gonna—AAH-OHH! GOD!" Chelsea shrieked in momentary panic. Bent over, unsteady, dangling off the bed with her face swaying to & fro mere inches off the ground, it felt like she was falling. She wasn't. But with zero leverage and Dylan on top of her, pinning her hips in place while her legs flopped around above her, it also felt like she was completely helpless. She was. She'd told him to take what he wanted, and now he would.

He thrashed into Chelsea from above, basically pile-driving her. Not stopping, not waiting for anything, and now driving hard towards his own peak. His base animal instincts reveled in the scene: the defenseless woman beneath him, so willingly taken, yelping and moaning to confirm her submission; the scent of her feminine arousal, of a woman in heat, filling the whole room and invading his sinuses, activating the most primitive parts of his biological programming; the hot welcoming ripple of Chelsea's vaginal walls sucking him in, daring him to go further.

A tingle started in Dylan's balls and spread slowly through the rest of him; it was coming. Dimly he recalled what she'd asked of him before their clothes had come off, so long ago now, meekly suggesting it was a risky time for her. He knew he could ignore that now, finish deep inside her without warning, and she would accept it gladly. But that was too easy. He would play fair, and make her his willing accomplice even in this.

"Argh! I'm about to fucking cum!"

"Yes! Cum for me!"

"You still want me to pull out?"

"Ohhhh-g-godddd..." Chelsea tried to remember why that had seemed so important to her; she couldn't. "I don't care, I don't care... cum wherever you want..." He deserved that much.