Corruption of a Geek Goddess

Chelsea's next climax came on in a rush and she announced it to the world.

"Fuck! Dylan, I'm gonna, oh shit you're gonna make me-oooOOOHHH shit! I love it, I love it so much ... don't stop, don't fucking stop, just fuck me, do it, do it ... I'm ... Gonna! ... Fucking! ... CuummmahhhhAAIIIYYYYEE—"

It washed over her and Chelsea stood no chance of restraining her voice — Dylan dove down and smothered her wails with a kiss as he fucked her through a brain-melting orgasm. He slowed and gradually brought himself to a stop as she came down, and they transitioned seamlessly into a comfortable, bonding make-out session.

"You ok?" Dylan finally asked. Chelsea merely nodded, a punch-drunk smile on her lips. "Good. You're so sexy, baby ... turn over for me, alright?" He would have to wrap this up soon — and, clearly, he would need her to muffle her squeals & moans with a pillow.

Moving gingerly, Chelsea found herself on all fours with her ass raised high in the air, looking back over her shoulder in quiet awe at the man who seemed to be rewiring her brain.

Dylan was fast in position and inside her once more. A loud, involuntary "Mmmmm!" came from deep within her and filled the room, soon replaced with the soft *plap* *plap* of a man's hips striking her rear.

He increased the speed and power of his thrusts as much as he dared. Though the bed frame creaked, Mark's foam mattress absorbed the blows silently. Dylan plowed into her still harder, his hands locked rigidly around her hips — from time to time, he risked a smack across her full, rippling ass.

Dylan was almost ready to finish, but he would squeeze one more orgasm out of her if at all possible; he knew tomorrow would be easier for Chelsea if he helped her conscious mind catch up to what her body already knew.

"Ohhhh Jesussss, Dylan..." Chelsea loved being taken forcefully from behind, but felt embarrassed asking Mark to do it as hard or as often as she wanted. Yet with Dylan, that was no issue: it seemed only natural to bend over and invite him to take her like an animal. While Chelsea was focused on her impending orgasm, Dylan was busily fucking her into a new way of thinking — and he would have her admit it.

"Fuck yes, you love this don't you?" he asked, slowing his pace slightly.

"Oh god, I do, I love it..."

"Is it better than him?"

"Nooo, Dylan ... don't—"

*SMACK!*

"Is it better?"

"Yes!"

"Bigger?"

"Yes!"

"You ever have it this good before?"

"Never! Oh, Fuck! Fuck me! Never like this, it's so good..."

"Oh yeah? *smack* You like acting like a slut for me?"

"Yes! I'm a slut, I'm your slut, just don't fucking stop!"

Chelsea was delirious, beyond caring about anything — anything — except the awful, sinister pleasure radiating from her cunt and the one man who could give it to her.

Dylan wasn't sadistic, but a fiendish part of him almost wished for Mark to walk in right at that moment — because, what would he see? He'd see Chelsea out of her mind with an ecstasy he was impotent to provide. He'd see the love of his life notice his presence ... and simply not give a shit. And he'd get to see his future wife as she answered one last, fateful question:

"And is this the last time I'm gonna fuck my slut?"

"No! You can fuck her any time! She's yours, she's all yours..."

Good enough, thought Dylan. Chelsea's upper body collapsed onto the bed — she landed face-down on the pillow as her hand shot down to tease her own clit. Muffled whines & whimpers filled the air.

Dylan bore down to finish the job. He was a blacksmith, hammering into the woman below him to mold her into the desired shape and remove unwanted impurities. Her love for Mark was stubborn; it would remain. But her prior esteem for him as a lover, her guilt, her belief in monogamy: these were being pounded out of her one stroke at a time. It was a gradual process, and much could still go wrong, but it was begun tonight.

Chelsea's eyes rolled into the back of her skull and she came once again — she shrieked into her pillow as her legs gave out and she lay fully prone on her stomach. Dylan followed her down as he rutted into her, the feel of her pussy convulsing around his manhood bringing him to the edge of his own climax. He grunted into Chelsea's ear.

"AAh! I'm gonna cum ... tell me you want to be filled up, Chelsea ... beg for my cum and I'll fucking give it to you!"

It was stupid and reckless, a pointless betrayal of everything she held dear when the night began. She could simply beg to swallow his load instead and then she'd have that small solace in the morning. But Chelsea was ensorcelled. It wasn't because Dylan wanted it, nor even because she was too out of her mind with lust to resist — rather, at Dylan's suggestion, being filled-to-bursting with his potent, corrupting seed had become her fondest and most sincere desire.

Wicked, loathsome, impossible images danced in front of her eyes — Mark, sleeping on her cum-stained sheets ... Chelsea, growing a secret bastard in her belly ... Dylan, slipping off her engagement ring to pawn — and for one fleeting moment Chelsea embraced them all. The words came spilling out of her.

"DO IT! Cum in me, Dylan! Please! I want it ... I want it..." The pillow kept her words from reverberating throughout the house, but Dylan heard her loud & clear. The suddenly frenzied thrusting of his hips and a loud groan in her ear signaled his arrival. He slammed down into her one final time and held himself as deep he could, straining against Chelsea's upturned ass while his body strove to claim hers in the most primal way. A geyser of milky white semen erupted inside the adorable internet celebrity and splashed against the ring of her cervix.

Chelsea felt it distinctly: a tickling sensation married to a delicious pressure in her deepest parts, and a soft *click* in her head that signaled all was right with the world. It had been so long since she'd felt her womb being flooded by a man that she'd forgotten how much she loved it. Her knees bent and brought her heels to Dylan's rear, spurring him on; her hand flew back to Dylan's hip to pull him closer; and her ass lifted to invite him further in. "UNNHHh-aaahhhh," she moaned in total satisfaction.

The pair finally stilled to catch their breath. Dylan's spent, sated body relaxed and settled upon Chelsea's petite frame. Though she was pinned, helpless and immobilized, the mere weight of him on her back spread a narcotic serenity throughout her whole being that matched, in its own way, the intensity of the heavy fucking she'd just received.

She reached behind her to hold her new man at the back of the neck and tried to hang on to the moment. When Dylan at last tried to disengage, she stopped him. No part of Chelsea was ready to let him go — her unconscious urges begged her to hold him in place, to plug up the dam a while longer; her rational mind, barely revived, was terrified of the life-altering disaster she might face when her bedroom door opened. Not yet, not yet...

So they lay there, putting off the inevitable. Dylan softly kissed her neck, muttering soothing noises into her ear: "You're so sexy, so perfect ... you deserve the best ... you made me feel so good, I loved it ... I can't wait to see you again ... I think you felt good, too..."

For her part Chelsea just shut her eyes and savored the post-coital euphoria: inhale, exhale — every breath strengthening inside of her the association between this comfortable bliss and Dylan's presence, his scent.

Finally, it was time. "Okay," Chelsea said and patted Dylan's arm; he rolled off her and they lay on their backs, side by side, watching the ceiling. Chelsea sighed and rested the back of her hand on her forehead; reality could not be put off any longer, nor could her self-recriminations.

What the fuck did you just do? Oh my god, what the fuck did you just say? So this is what it feels like to be a monster. You bitch, how could you do this?! How are you ever going to ... No. Stop it. Jesus Christ, Chelsea. Get your shit together. You can go cry in the shower later. Deal with this first.

"We shouldn't have done this," she said. Dylan rolled over on his side to face her.

"It was a long time coming," he told her. "Even if it didn't happen tonight, I think we were—"

"I know. But we shouldn't have done this." Chelsea cast a forlorn eye at the door. "Shit."

"He's probably still asleep."

"Maybe."

"If he's not..." Dylan said, and trailed off.

"Yes?"

"If he's not ... what do we do?"

Chelsea gave a mirthless chuckle. "Ha, what, you've never done this before?"

"Uh, no, nothing quite like this. Sorry."

"Well, if Mark's awake..." Chelsea stopped and thought for a long 10 seconds. At last she said, matter-of-factly: "It's ok."

"It is?"

"No. It's completely fucked, but I'll figure something out." Finally she turned to face Dylan directly. "We should get some clothes on."

They dressed in silence, stealing glances at each other, and the door, and the wreckage of their wardrobes strewn all over the bedroom; it took both of them to find where her glasses had ended up. As they finished, Chelsea spied the window across from her. An image flashed in her head of a naked Dylan clutching his balled-up clothes, climbing outside, and scampering across the front lawn — it made her laugh. Grow up, Chelsea.

"What's so funny?" Dylan asked.

"I'll tell you later." Ready or not, they were done. They'd put their clothes back on, combed their hair, rolled up the yoga mat, and straightened the sheets so the bed looked like less of a crime scene. Chelsea and Dylan stood and regarded each other from a few feet away. Chelsea spoke first.

"Nervous?" she asked.

"No, I'm fine. It's all good."

"Liar." They almost managed to laugh. "You should probably hang back a second, let me go out first," she said.

"I don't know, if he woke up ... I mean, it could get ugly. You might want some backup."

"I'll be fine," she assured him. Mark wasn't the type to fly into a rage — and if it did go that way, she was completely screwed regardless.

"Alright, it's time," she said. Chelsea turned towards the door and then stopped; she walked back to Dylan. "Listen, in case I don't get a chance later: this was a horrible mistake and we must be horrible people, but, whatever else happens, tonight was ... fun." She kissed him on the cheek and pulled back, her hand resting on his chest.

"Yes. Yes, it was," Dylan replied. They looked at each other, wistful smiles on their lips, but only for a moment. Chelsea turned once again to face the door.

"Alright ... fuck." She gathered herself, drew in a deep breath, then let it out. "Okay. Here I go."

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How did people like the shifting perspective? What happens next? A sequel can't be ruled in or out. Obviously, with the way this ended, the story could go in any number of different directions from this point forward, some happier than others.