Corruption of a Geek Goddess Pt. 5 (Patreon)

Author’s Note: This chapter got so long I had to split it in half.  But, good news: the other half is already finished, so Part 6 will be submitted to Literotica in just a week or two.

Huge shout-out up front to Nora, who was an even bigger source of ideas & inspiration than usual this time around — in fact the main idea for this installment was her pitch, and she actually wrote a first draft for part of it that I then built the whole scene around.  Already a muse, here Nora threatens to be promoted to co-author.  This series owes her a debt.  As do I.

Anyway: Mark & Chelsea are still enjoying their cuckold adventure with their friend Dylan, which they’ve agreed will end after their wedding, now one month away.  Chelsea has not been 100% forthcoming with Mark about every little worrying detail.  She just got home from last night’s date with Dylan, where he got her to promise to cut her fiancé off from her pussy until after the wedding … and also filled her up with cum at a distressingly fertile time in her cycle.  Oops.

All characters and events are fictional.  Enjoy!

_______________*_______________

Chelsea

You know that feeling when you’ve just barely woken up and the very first thing you hear, before your eyes are even open, is the sound of a household filled with life?  People talking, laughing, making breakfast: the sound that taunts you with the knowledge that you’ve overslept like a bum while everyone else is already seizing the day?  And you realize you’re still in bed not just because you’re a lazy goldbricker, but also because everyone else took pity on you and let you sleep in?  And so you cringe and shut your eyes tighter because you know you’ll have to make a walk of shame out of your own bedroom?  O-ho!  Look who decided to join us, they’ll joke.  Ha-ha.

Anyway, that’s how I started my morning the day after Dylan’s soul-shattering fuck that left me vowing to cut Mark off from my pussy until the wedding, a full four weeks away.  It turns out that being fucked unconscious & bred like an animal really takes it out of you!  Yikes.  Well, we’ll think about that later.

For now, my baby sister Talia had arrived for her visit, and my fiancé was gamely playing the good host all on his own.  Okay, Chelsea: up and at ‘em.  I crawled out of bed in my oversized t-shirt and stumbled down the hall to find Mark & Talia lounging around the kitchen table with half-eaten pancakes in front of them, laughing like old friends.  Mark had already shaved & showered, while my sister looked effortlessly beautiful — she always does.

Talia caught sight of me first: “Well now: look who decided to join us!”  (Called it.)  I smiled sheepishly and threw my arms out to my sides.

“Baby Sis!” I called out.  She stood up with a glowing smile and skipped over to me for a big bear hug.

“Chezzie!  I’ve missed you so damn much…”

I leaned into the hug and hummed in genuine pleasure — dear god, did it ever feel good to see her again after 6 months apart!  Even with my bed-headed walk of shame and all the complicated thoughts about last night still swirling in my head, this was such a great way to start my morning.  I released her from the hug, but only reluctantly.

“Holy crap, I am so glad you’re here, Tee!  Let me go get cleaned up and I’ll be right back.  Save me a stack of pancakes.”

I walked back down the hallway to the bathroom, got naked, and turned on the shower to let it heat up.  I stole a glance at the mirror while waiting — it was weirdly reassuring.  See, Chelsea?  You’re still you.  Loving girlfriend, devoted sister … all that good stuff.  Relax.

After a quick shower I threw on a new halter top & jean shorts (and my Peach bracelet, and my choker) then went back out for breakfast with my beloved little sister.  And though we hadn’t seen each other in half a year, we picked up right where we left off like no time had passed at all.

“Damn, Sis,” she said as I sat down, “look at you.  I thought you might be, like, run down.  Like, anxious about the wedding, dealing with all the arrangements.  But you’re practically glowing, I can just see it.  You’re actually still excited!  I guess you must really love this mope, huh?”

“Hmm.  You know what?  I think you’re right.”  Yeah, she really is … for more reasons than she’ll ever know.  “And anyway, my darling hubby-to-be takes good care of me; he’s been a champ with the wedding planning, and he’s so supportive I could just die.  He’s made this such an awesome time for me, you have no idea.”  Mark & I shared a sly smile at that, and Talia pretended to scrutinize his face.

“Alright, alright … I guess I approve.  You can stick around, mister.”  She gave Mark a playful punch on the arm.  “By the way, I LOVE the new threads — Mark’s getting one hot little number.  Oh! And look at that darling little choker on your neck.  You know what they say about that, don’t you?”

“No, what?”

“That it’s like a black belt for sucking dick.”  Mark damn near choked on his coffee when she said that; it was adorable.  “Ha!  Look how red he’s getting!  How about it, lover-boy, would you say she’s earned her black belt?”

“Oh my god!  You bitch.  Babe, do NOT answer that question...”  Talia & I dissolved into laughter with Mark chuckling along nervously — we have fun.  Once that was finished I was eager to get the attention off myself, so I asked after her own love life: “And how are things with your guy?  Bryan?  Byron?  How’s he doing?”

“Oh.  That.  Yeah, he’s ok I guess.  But Bryan and I kinda broke up.”  She’d moved up to San Francisco for her six-month internship, and two months in she’d started dating this 30-something manager at the company.

“Aw, shit.  I’m sorry, Tee.  What happened?”

“Nothing happened.  The internship was over and I was leaving town, that’s all.  He said he’d quit and follow me down here, but I told him, like, ‘No, that’s sweet of you, but you’d better not.’  You know how that goes.”

Oh yeah.  Sure thing, Talia.  I know how it goes.

Alright, so.  Here’s the thing about my sister: we’ve heard this song before … many, many times.  Everyone falls in love with her — guy-friends, boyfriends, casual hookups.  Even a couple queer girls who started praying to the Lavender Gods that maybe Talia wasn’t 100% straight.  She’ll go on three dates with a guy and suddenly he’s looking for a starter home and trying to guess her ring size.  (I’m exaggerating, but only a little.)  And these are quality dudes I’m talking about!  Ugh.  It’s disgustingly easy for her.  It’s like she’s been dating on Cheat Mode since she was 14.

And the thing of it is … I totally get it.  She’s goddamned stunning: tall & leggy & tight & curvy, with big eyes and cheekbones and pouty lips and a natural glow coming off her impossibly flawless skin.  But, hell, forget all that — there’s tons of pretty girls out there.  Talia is vivacious.  Witty, magnetic, outgoing.  The life of the party.  She’s also super-smart, but more importantly she’s got her shit together.  She’s sane, well-adjusted.  And how does that even happen?  I mean, she’s been the go-to jerk-off fantasy for every guy around her since middle school, like she grew up in a male-gaze shooting gallery.  She’s supposed to have a few emotional bullet-holes in her — narcissism, borderline personality, an eating disorder, something.  But, no.  My sister won every damn lottery there is.

But do I feel bitter about any of that?  No!  No no no no no no!

Well, yes.

Look, I’m kidding.  Tee and I have always been close, even as kids.  She’s like my favorite person, and from the time we were teenagers we’ve been best friends: I truly adore her.  But, well … you try having a kid sister who’s a slightly better version of you, in every way.  We look and act so much alike, except she’s a little taller, and bustier, and prettier; good eyesight (no glasses), more popular, better grades, promising career, etc. etc. etc.  Our whole family loves me and is proud of me, and that’s wonderful … but they are in awe of Talia.  So there’s a nagging jealousy in the back of my mind, like we have a secret rivalry going where my sister is just beating the pants off me without even realizing it.  And whenever I’m with her, there’s this tiny gremlin in my ear telling me to impress her, to mind what I say, to be deferential.  I can handle it, and I know it’s not her fault.  But it still sucks.

Now, why am I spilling my guts out like this?  Because sitting at the breakfast table with my sister that day, for the first time in forever, that fucking gremlin was gone!  I didn’t feel like I had to measure up, and I didn’t feel like I was “less than.”  If anything it was the opposite: I was getting better sex from a hotter guy than she could even imagine.  Has she ever gotten fucked so good it broke her brain?  Unlikely.  Would she be brave enough to throw herself into hyper-kinky Dom/sub games with another guy on the eve of her wedding?  Not a chance.

I had a sexy secret in my in my back pocket, and it gave me so much confidence, so much pride.  I felt totally free … I felt like a whole new person.  And what was it that gave me this confidence?  Ironically, it was my total sexual surrender: freedom, out of submission.  It’s powerful stuff.

***

Talia spent the whole day with us.  Of course we didn’t talk about our kinky cuckold games, but we talked about everything else, and it was wonderful.  She leaves for grad school in New York in five months, and I don’t even want to think about how much I’ll miss her.

It was only after she left in the early evening that I remembered there was something I was supposed to do today.  What was it, again?  It sure seemed important at the time … Oh!  That’s right: you asked Dylan to blow an irresponsible load directly into the heart of your fucking womb last night even though you knew it was a risky time.  Oops!  Oh well, too late to run to the pharmacy now.  We’ll do it tomorrow.

But the next day Mark and I were streaming and working on a new video, and I guess it slipped my mind.  The day after that I had a date with Dylan and I was preoccupied; I just didn’t get around to it.  The day after that I finally had to admit to myself that some sick part of me hated the idea of a taking Plan B after Dylan gifted me the seed I’d begged for — and how fucked up is that? — so I spent the whole day stewing over that and procrastinating.

Finally, the next day, I forced myself to go to Rite Aid.  I grabbed a morning-after pill … but I’d let it go so long I knew I’d better have a pregnancy test lying around, so I bought one of those too.   Ugh!  I’d waited five whole days: it’s way too late, right?  Has to be.  I hid the pregnancy test away, stowed the pill for future use, and resigned myself to just rolling the dice.  Waiting & seeing.

I knew this was ugly.  Bad Chelsea!  Very bad!  But it’s surreal how unconcerned I was by the whole affair.  I just went about my day, and thought about anything except what might be happening in my body at that very instant.

Mark

I was at a bar one night while Chelsea was off with Dylan, waiting for a friend of mine to show up for a rare guy’s night out, when an unwelcome surprise came up from behind and tapped me on the shoulder.

“Mark?  Mark!  Oh my god, it’s so cool running into you here!”

“He-eyyyy, it’s you … wow.  Um, yeah.  What’s up, Nora?”

Ever since we began playing our little game with Dylan, I’ve avoided our next door neighbors like the plague.  Harry & Nora are great, and we’re buddies, but I can’t bear to talk to them now.  Way back on that first night when it all started — in Dylan’s hotel room after the convention, with Chelsea on the phone with me, letting me believe it was just roleplay — Nora was right there: she was in the room next door to Dylan’s, getting nailed by one of his friends, cheating on her husband and listening as Chelsea did the same.  But whereas Chelsea immediately told me what happened, Nora’s been hiding the whole thing from her husband.

So I don’t want to talk to Harry and feel complicit in the deception.  And Nora’s well aware that my dick gets hard at the thought of my fiancée fucking another man ... which, no matter how at peace I am with it, is severely embarrassing.  So I keep my distance from her too.  But apparently she doesn’t feel awkward about this like I do, because she seemed really happy to see me.

We chatted about nothing for a minute.  While we did, I scanned the rest of the bar and didn’t see her husband.  Was she here with someone else?  Is one of these guys the mysterious Cody?  I decided I didn’t want to know, and said nothing.  Nora carried the conversation — she’d clearly had a few drinks already, which might be why she brought up the thing.

“Oh man, Mark, you missed a great time the other night at the club.”

“The club?”

“Yeah, the club.  On Friday?  When the four of us went dancing.”  I still had no idea what she was talking about.

“Wait, the four of who?”

“You know: Chelsea & Dylan.  Me & my date.”  Even while drunk, she could tell by my face that this was news to me; her eyes bugged out of her head.  “Shit!  Oh no.  Did I just … I mean, she told me you know all about her and, um … you do know Dylan, right?”

You know your girlfriend is getting her snatch blown out on the regular when you’re not around, right?  Yep, this was exactly as mortifying as I expected.

“Yeah.  I know about Dylan.  It’s fine.  She just hadn’t mentioned that you guys went dancing.”

“Okay.  Phew!  Anyway, we had a blast.  I never would’ve pegged Chelsea as the type, but she really lets herself go on the dance floor, holy smokes.  And she looked amazing by the way, so sexy.  Every guy there was checking her out.  I bet you would’ve had a great time, Mark...”

“Sure, sure.  But I’m not much of a dancer, so it’s fine.”

“Ha!  That’s not what I meant and you know it — I still can’t believe how kinky you are!  You do NOT seem like the type.”  I forced a smile, nodded, and looked at my half-empty beer.  “Come on, it’s fine, don’t be embarrassed.  I don’t get it at all, but I think it’s cool.  You should have fun with this while you can, really throw yourself into it.  Embrace it, Mark!”

Ugh.  ‘Don’t be embarrassed,’ she said.  Yeah, right.  No hope of that.  And I’m sure she thought she was being nice, but this all felt condescending as hell.  So, I couldn’t help myself: she wants to talk about our fucked up sex lives?  Alright then, Nora.  Fine.  Let’s do that.

“Anyway.  How’ve you been?  Hey, how’s Harry?  I don’t see him anywhere; is he stuck at home watching your son?  Poor guy…”

Ouch.  That did it: not just a hit, but a critical hit.  Nora’s face fell and I knew right away she was a deeply conflicted adulteress, carrying some real guilt.  She put up a brave front for me, confirmed her husband was at home, and politely excused herself, but I’d clearly wounded her.  And for no good reason.  It was petty, and I felt bad almost immediately.  (Note to self: try to remember to apologize later.)

When my friend arrived a minute later, I told him I wanted to go to a different bar.  I put Nora out of my mind and we had a fun night, but I was preoccupied thinking about Chelsea.  Thinking about some of the things I hadn’t let myself think about until now.

I came home a little before midnight to an empty house; my girlfriend wasn’t yet back from her date.  Normally that wouldn’t bother me (if anything it heightened the erotic tension), but now all I could focus on was that word — “date.”  When we started the deal was: just sex.  No romance, no acting like a girlfriend, no real dates.  And now they’re going out dancing?  And god knows what else.  She’s never said and I’ve never asked, even as their time together on any given tryst has grown.  I turned it over in my head, trying to think of how to broach the subject when she returned, but I passed out before that could happen.

I woke up around an hour later, disoriented, with Chelsea’s mouth on my dick.

“Hey there, sleepyhead … you couldn’t wait up for me?”  She gave me a playfully pouty expression, then went back to licking & slurping.

I could tell she’d been drinking tonight, probably out on a date.  While she alternated sucking and stroking she gave all sorts of filthy details about the three times Dylan had fucked her, about how many times he’d gotten her off, about how much hot cum was still up inside her.  She teased me, making sure to remind me how good a lover he was, how much better.  On her neck, I spotted a fresh love bite.  It was all too much, and before I could even think about grabbing a condom and crawling on top of her, I was firing off into her hungry mouth.  We passed out right after, snuggled up together.

When I woke up the next morning I felt better, less angsty.  Chelsea was still passed out, and I used the time to think about what I actually wanted to say.

Chelsea

It was early afternoon the day after another A+ date with Dylan.  I’d gotten up late, and now Mark & I were sitting on the couch together, idly gaming.  That’s when he started a conversation that we should’ve had ages ago.

“So, there’s something I wanted to ask you about yesterday,” he said, still half-focused on the game.  “You went over to Dylan’s early and got back late, so you were with him for like nine hours, right?”

“Shit, I’m sorry, honey.  Was that too long?”

“No no no, it’s fine, I’m ok with that.  I just wanted to ask what you guys got up to.”

“Hmm, I do believe I already told you all about it.  Ohhh … does my kinky boyfriend want to hear more details about his girlfriend being a naughty slut?”

“No — well, maybe.  But it’s not that.  I mean, you told me about the three times you had sex, but I wanted to know what else you did.  Like, you didn’t just lay in bed for nine hours, right?”

“Oh.”  Crap.  Am I the kind of girl who will duck an awkward truth or three for the sake of domestic harmony?  Ok, yes.  Guilty.  But was I going to lie to his face when he outright asks a question?  Hell no, not if I can help it.  Besides, like I said: we really ought to have talked about this before now.  “Well, we fooled around a couple times, had a snack.  Then we went out to this bar by Dylan and met up with a friend of his.  Stayed for a few hours, then we went back his place until I was sober enough to drive home.”

“Uh-huh.  And, Friday night?   When you slept over?”

“Friday?  Um … ok, right.  We went out to a bar that night, too.  Or a club, I guess you might call it.  We, you know … we went dancing.”

“Okay.  And was that the first time?”

“… not exactly.”

“Do you see what I’m getting at, Chelz?”

I sighed, paused the game, and finally turned to look at him.  “Yeah, I think so.  You’re talking about how this isn’t exactly what we discussed when we started.  How it’s not just sex.”

“Bingo.”

I studied his face for a moment before saying anything.  He didn’t look mad.  I mean, Mark never looks mad, but he didn’t even seem annoyed, so that was good.  But my heart started thumping anyway, because this could be tricky.  I wanted to reassure him that he’s my #1 priority.  Because, of course he is!  And I felt such love for him then, such worry that I’d hurt him … but I also felt a tingly dread in my gut that let me know I really, really wanted to reassure him without having to stop yet.  Without even having to slow down, if possible.

Barf.  That tingly dread is the soul-sucking worst, by the way.  I hate that I feel it, and I hate that I immediately started figuring out how to do its bidding.  But, god damn it, I was promised a few more weeks of this, and I fucking want them!  (I’m trying to be more honest with myself lately — how am I doing?)

“Crap.  I’m sorry, babe.  I know we should’ve talked about this at some point.   But I think I figured, like, you know Dylan, you know he’s outgoing, and if we’re spending a whole day together you know at some point we’re bound to leave the house to do something.  And you never asked, so … I guess I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.  I told myself you had to know we were having fun outside the bedroom sometimes.  Is that crazy?”

“No, I get that.  On some level maybe I did know it was nuts to imagine you’d spend 10 straight hours naked & inside or whatever.  But, I wish you hadn’t chosen to always leave that stuff out when you’d tell me about your night, you know?”

“Gee whiz, honey, when you put it like that it doesn’t sound so good, haha...”  A lame attempt at irony, trying to deflect; Mark humored me with a smile but waited for me to say more.  “Ooph, sorry.  I don’t know what to tell you, babe.  Of course you’re right.  It just happened so gradually.  Like, at first there wasn’t anything worth talking about, but then when there was I was used to us not talking about it at all, and I didn’t want to rock the boat.”

“Okay,” he said, “I can understand that.”

“Did I fuck up really bad?  I did, didn’t I?  Shit.  You might be about to marry a moron…”

“Relax, Chelz.  I’m not as upset as you think I am.  I’ve been going over it in my head, and I wasn’t being very realistic thinking you two would never go out and do ‘date’ things.  It’s my fault, too.”

How could I not love this guy?  I fucked up and got caught in a lie of omission, and he was showing me more compassion than I maybe deserved.  Or, not “maybe.”  Definitely.  Because I saw an opening and immediately went for a horny Get Out of Jail Free card.

“Hmmm … hey, Mark?  Baby?  Is there any chance a small part of you is happy about this news?”  My hand found its way to the crotch of his pants and I flashed him a naughty smile.  “Maybe there’s a part of you that likes thinking about Dylan gallivanting around town, for all to see, with your not-so-faithful woman on his arm…”

“Fuck, Chelz, you know there is, but … stop.  We’re not done talking.”  He pulled my hand off his crotch and I was honestly taken aback.  Wow, that’s a first.  “Please, just tell me straight up: should we be concerned at all?  Are you catching feelings?  You’re not, like … falling in love a little, right?”

“Babe! Oh, GOD no! Of course not.”  You’re not, Chelsea!  You’re not, you’re not, you’re not.  You have a silly schoolgirl crush, and that’s all!  “I don’t even think of him that way.  He’s a fun dude and an awesome fuck, nothing more.”

“Alright.  I just had to ask.  I trust you.”  We sat through an awkward silence.

“So … what now?” I asked.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about that, too.  You’re probably gonna see him again on Friday, right?  Do you two have anything planned?”

“Kinda, yeah.  I think he wants to go dancing again.  Is that ok?”

“Maybe.  What I was thinking was: I should come with you.”

“Oh!  Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” he said.  “I’d feel better if I was a part of it, whatever ‘it’ is.  And someone told me I should embrace this crazy adventure while I still can.”

“Wow. Ok, that would be amazing.  But, babe … are you sure?  It’s kinda one of my ‘Dylan Days,’ and I just know he’s gonna want to make sure it’s OUR date — me & him, not me & you — and he MIGHT not be so nice about it when we’re … I mean, I can try to stop him, but I bet maybe he’ll want to, you know … tease you.  Just a little.  Or maybe a lot.  Throw it in your face.  In public.  Are you sure you’re up for that?”

Mark closed his eyes, smiled, and shrugged.  “Only one way to find out.  Like I said: I’m gonna embrace it.  You don’t mind, do you?”

“Ha!  Please.  Going dancing with my boyfriend AND my Daddy?  I’m the luckiest girl in the world…”

And that, dear reader, is how I ended up here: done up to the nines, at a club two towns over, and on an actual honest-to-god date with Dylan while my adoring fiancé tags along as a third wheel.  It’s so sick.  It’s so mean.  (I so fucking love it.)

Mark

Date night.  Going to da’ club, rolling in with my shorty looking all fine.  Just another Friday night for this player.

Yeah, I do not usually hit the clubs.

I felt good after my talk with Chelsea.  In the end I wasn’t that upset about her breaking one of our “rules” — it was a dumb rule.  Of course they’re going to go out and do things together in the real world, and anyway Chelsea was right: it is a fucking turn on, the idea of her being another man’s date.  Maybe if we were doing this indefinitely I would worry, but we’ll be done in just a few weeks, so what’s the harm?  The only part I didn’t like was her hiding something from me, and now we were past that.  As long as their dates don’t happen in places where people we know are likely to see them together, what is there really to get mad about?

On Friday before the date, Chelsea seemed excited and nervous at the same time.  She was on her phone all day, texting away, in a good mood.  When I finally asked who she was talking to, she just looked at me with a coy smile and flashed her eyebrows suggestively, then typed out another message.  A minute later a text from Dylan came in on our group chat:

“can’t wait for tonight, guys.  hey mark, u looking forward to it?”

“Yep.”  I think I actually was.

“sweet.  you’re gonna love the dress I picked out for chelsea, I know you haven’t seen it yet.”

“Can’t wait :-)”

“and you’re ready for tonight, right mark?  chelsea thinks u are.  ready to be a good boyfriend and help her have a great time on her date?”

“Haha, yeah.”

“no, seriously: need to hear you say it or else you can’t come.  you’ll be a good boy, right?”

God.  While this exchange is happening Chelsea is right next to me on the couch, reading along. Her skin is flushed and she’s biting her lip, breathing heavy.  Watching her watch me get bossed around by her young lover, seeing how her body responds to it, my mouth goes dry and my dick starts to swell in my pants — this is so fucked up.  I catch her eye and she gives me a nervous smile, then nods.  She’s letting me know the answer I’m supposed to give.

“Yes.  I’ll be good, Dylan.”

“outstanding!  and if you forget your role, I’m sure chelsea will remind you.  isn’t that right, peach?”

Chelsea texted back without even looking at me first: “Yes, Daddy.”

Yikes.  A little bit of that anxiety returned and I wondered whether I’d be able to go through with this after all — remind me again why I thought this was a good idea, exactly?  Chelsea looked at me and put her phone down.  She could read my face. 

“Relax, babe,” she said.  “Don’t forget it’s just an act, a little game where we pretend I’m only Dylan’s date.  And you wanted to come, remember?”

“I know I did.  It’s just my nerves, doing our little game in public; suddenly I’m not so sure.  I’ll get past it.  But, wait.  For real: do you want me to come?”

“Of course I do!  Don’t be ridiculous, it’s gonna be great.  And besides, Dylan wants you there, too … and we have to listen to the boss.”  As a pained chuckle escaped my lips, Chelsea stretched out her long legs until her foot was resting on my crotch, and then began gently grinding her toes against the hard lump within.  “Gosh, honey, it sure feels like you want to play our game tonight…”

“Oh fuck,” I muttered.  “You might be right…”

“Mmmm … oh babe, I love how hard you’re getting for tonight.  Maybe we’d better take care of this now … because something tells me you’re not the one who’s getting lucky at the end.”

She crawled over to me, planted a chaste kiss on my cheek, then knelt on the floor between my legs.  She stared right into my eyes as she slooowly undid my pants and pulled out my dick; once she had it in her hand she looked down and smiled to herself.  She kissed the underside of my cockhead then began an agonizingly slow up & down with her hand.

“There we go,” she cooed.  “Tell me you want to be there tonight.  Tell me you want see what it’s like when I go out as Dylan’s date.  That you want to watch as I dance with him, grind on him, make out with him.  In front of everybody.  When I laugh at his jokes, hold on to him all night … when I introduce him as my boyfriend…”

“Oh fuck, Chelz…”

“Tell me, Mark: promise you’ll actually be there tonight.  I really want you to come.”

“Yes, I promise … ahhh … of course I want to be there…”

“Thank you, baby!”  She rewarded me with a long, wet lick up the entire length of my shaft.  “It makes me so happy to hear that.  And Dylan will be happy, too.  In fact … do you want to know a secret?  He told me to make sure you don’t back out.  He said that was my job today…”

“Jesus…”

“But that’s not so bad, right, sweetie?  Don’t you actually kinda like it?  It’s ok if do, you know … it’s ok to like it when Dylan takes charge of me.  Takes charge of us.  I like it, too.”  She’d barely increased the pace of her handjob, but I was leaking precum and about to explode anyway, erotically hypnotized.  Chelsea felt me twitch in her hand, heard me groan in twisted pleasure.  “There you go, babe!  You can let go … you just sit back and let Dylan make the decisions … he knows what’s best for us…”

“Ahh, FUCK!”

Seeing I was on the verge of climax, Chelsea dove down and inhaled my dick, going from a slow & tender handjob to a ferocious blowjob, and sucking as if her life depended on it.  In only 10 seconds my hips were straining up off the couch and my dick was jumping against the roof of her mouth, blowing a big load right down her throat.  She swallowed it hungrily, smiling around my cock and humming to herself in delight.  Finally, and only after I was completely spent, she let my dick slip out of her mouth and looked up at me with obvious pride.

“Feel better, now?” she asked.

“Uh-huh,” I told her truthfully.  “Much.”

I was more than ready for our date.

***

Shortly after that we started getting ready.  I primped & preened and threw together the nearest thing to a stylish club-going outfit I owned, and even if I do say so myself: I didn’t look half bad.  Maybe I should dress up more often.  At any rate I knew Chelsea would like the way I looked, and since I’d be right next to another guy all night (another suitor, another lover) it was important not to disappoint.  As I sat in the kitchen waiting for Chelsea to come out and unveil her undoubtedly sexy outfit, I daydreamed about what a nice pair we’d make strolling onto the dance floor.

Then Chelsea walked out and I was reminded once again how far out of my league my fiancée really is.  She had on a body-hugging, one-shoulder Little Black Dress that came halfway up her thighs, with a huge diagonal slit running across the front that served as an almost pornographic “boob window.”  Jesus H. Christ, she was a fucking sex bomb.  Her black heels and black lace choker complemented the dress — everything fit together perfectly, except for one jarring detail: the neon plastic Princess Peach bracelet she always, always wears for Dylan.  (I couldn’t help but notice that this would have been a perfect opportunity to wear the pricey gold & diamond bracelet I’d bought for her birthday, but it stayed in her drawer.  I didn’t say anything.)

Dylan was 10 minutes away; he would meet us here and then we’d drive out to the club together.  As we waited and made small talk, I kept reminding myself that whatever happened, whatever Dylan or Chelsea said, it was just an act, a performance.  We’re really just hanging out, that’s all.  But while we hang out we’re gonna do a bit of roleplay.  Dressing up and playing make-believe for a little sexy fun.  Relax.

Then we heard Dylan’s car outside and Chelsea’s whole face lit up.  She looked at me for just a moment, then turned to stare at the front door; I kept my eyes on Chelsea until I heard that door open — he didn’t even knock, just let himself in and walked straight toward us.

“Peach!” he said.

“Daddy!” she replied.

She stood up, turned her head to me and winked, then skipped over to meet Dylan halfway, where they embraced for passionate kiss that lasted somewhere between 5 seconds and 5 minutes — my brain fried a circuit right then, I can’t be any more specific than that.  At some point they let each other go and Dylan turned to me.

“Mark!  Buddy!  Lookin’ good.”

“Thanks, you too.”  And he was.  Tall, fit, and handsome, he looked impressive as hell in his night-life getup.  Then add a sexed-up Chelsea on his arm, and I can only imagine he felt like a king.

“Alright,” he said.  “Ready to go?  We’ll take your car.”

Remember, I told myself, it’s just a game.

***

We pulled up to the club 25 minutes later.  I guess I should’ve seen it coming, but I have to admit I was a little surprised by their commitment to the bit.  Chelsea was right: this isn’t just a date, it’s their date.  It's so officially their date that Dylan, the cheeky bastard, insisted on giving me gas money to drive them — completely removing any way of looking at it like we're all just hanging out.

This is what was on my mind as we made our way to the entrance, with me hurrying behind them, trying to match Dylan’s longer more athletic strides (that Chelsea seems fully accustomed to).

I caught up to them right inside the door and knew right away that this is not our scene. At least, it never has been before, but Chelsea didn’t seem rattled at all — no, she's grinning from ear to ear taking in the sounds and sights as she glances at the scores of people crowding the dimly lit room.  I immediately noticed several guys checking her out, giving her a blatant up & down, before looking to Dylan and giving him a head nod of respect; a couple of the guys have dates of their own who look mildly put out.

After a minute Dylan took Chelsea by the hand and led her away through the crowd, neither of them sparing a glance back to watch me fight my way through the sea of bodies, trying to keep up.  As I finally made it almost to the other side of the dance floor, the crowd parted and I saw Dylan slip a bouncer a folded up bill and escort Chelsea into an empty booth; his hands were roaming all over her hips, all over her ass.  When I got over to them the bouncer stopped me.  I pointed over to their table and he looked at them for approval — Dylan pretended to think about it for a second, drawing out the moment, before giving him a nod.

As I finally slid into the far side of the booth, he had his arm around Chelsea pulling her in tight while he leaned over and spoke right into her ear; whatever he was saying, it had her giggling like a drunken schoolgirl.  I think it would have driven me crazy if she was glancing in my direction while she tittered, but the fact that she didn’t even seem to notice my presence was its own kind torture.  Anyway, it took a minute, but Dylan eventually turned his attention to me.

“So,” he shouted over the bass-heavy music, “what do you think?”

“I think it’s loud,” I shouted back.  “What now?”

“Dancing, of course!  We’ll be back soon.  You keep the booth warm, and order us a bottle of something.  But don’t drink too much!  You’re still our ride.”  He guided Chelsea out of the booth and onto the floor; as she got up she playfully smiled & waved at me.

Our waitress came over right after they left and I ordered a bottle of Grey Goose, knowing there’d be an obscene markup — the very least I could do was run up Dylan’s tab for him — then I sat back and tried to enjoy myself.  I took a couple shots when the vodka arrived, and watched as my fiancée danced with another man and drew lusty stares from every other guy around her.   Dylan was a good dancer.  No real surprise there, but Chelsea was better (and dirtier) than I’d ever seen her before.  It made me wonder just how much practice she’d had these past couple months.

In any case, I couldn’t deny that it was powerfully arousing.  Yeah, it also hurt a little, but we already knew that a part of me likes that kind of hurt.  Also Chelsea was clearly ecstatic, and I care about that very much.  So I accepted it for what it was.

After I watched them dance for a few songs they made their way back over for some drinks and a breather; Chelsea had a thin sheen of sweat that made her look even more achingly sexual.  She seemed almost eager to get back out there, but Dylan seemed perfectly content to enjoy his seat and his vodka and his girl; his arms were stretched out across the backrest and he gave the impression of being lord of the club.  Lord of this booth, certainly.

I figured I should probably do something besides sit on my butt all night.  Since Dylan seemed to be happy where he was, I finally worked up the nerve to ask for what I wanted.  It’s funny, but just then I thought it was a mere formality:

"Hey, Dylan.  Do you mind if I have a quick dance with Chelsea?"

Dylan leaned over, giving me a perfectly friendly smile, close enough so he didn't have to shout.

"Sorry buddy, I don’t know.  This is my date and I’m not into sharing my girls like that."  He threw his head back and laughed like he’d just told a hilarious joke. 

I didn’t know what to say.  Perhaps foolishly, I wasn’t expecting to be denied permission to dance with my own fiancée — I guess maybe I thought that just having to get Dylan’s approval was enough of a power play.  But no, the hierarchy was more rigid than that, and it through me for a loop.  All I could do in the moment was mumble something about going to the bathroom.  In a bit of a daze, I got up to work my way through the crowd again.

Dylan

Holy shit.  I can’t believe he asked ME if he could dance with his own fiancée.  The guy was losing it.  Honestly I would’ve let him if he pushed even a little bit.  I was mostly just fucking around, having fun with the whole thing.  I mean, when I’d heard Mark was insisting on going out with us tonight, I thought maybe the jig was up and he would be taking more control as we got close to the wedding — he could still push me aside and stop Chelsea from seeing me again if he really tried.  Probably.  But instead, when I told him no he just turned around and left so quickly, and so … defeated.  A part of me almost felt bad for the dude.

Mostly though, it looked like Mark had handed me a great opportunity and I was eager to take advantage.  I wanted to make sure Chelsea saw me bossing him around even outside the bedroom, pushing Mark’s buttons, and pushing his limits.  Get it into her head that that’s the natural order, and that Mark accepts it and even gets off on it.  I had to snap him out of his Eeyore routine, but the more she sees of that stuff, the more she’ll start to see this as something besides a silly game we’re about to put away.  (Because, shit, the longer this goes on the realer it all seems to me.)

So I was proudly watching Mark’s retreat when Chelsea brought me back to reality.

“That was so mean!" I heard her shout over her drink.  Ha, no kidding, Princess.  But there was no real conviction in her voice.

"Oh hell, Peach, I was gonna let him!  Besides, he likes it when we’re mean to him, remember? I bet he was glad to hear ‘No,’ and that’s why he gave up so easily."  I put my arm around her side; she immediately scooted over right next to me and rested her hand on my thigh. I saw a naughty smile creeping onto her lips as she played with the idea of having permission to torment her boyfriend.

An evil idea hit me and I decided to keep the momentum going:  "Besides, Princess, I’m pretty sure he’s … ah, I don’t know, I wasn’t gonna say anything…”

“Stop, tell me!”

"Oh, ok.  Have you noticed all the attention you're getting?"

"Who, me?" she said, pretending to be naïve.  “Ma-aaaybe.  What’s your point?”

"Baby, every guy here has had their eyes all over you from the second we walked in, and that's what has Mark all worked up!  Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.  In fact I think he went to the bathroom for a little, you know … relief."  Her eyes shot open.

"Oh my god, stop!  No he didn't!" she said as she playfully punched me on the arm.  I don’t think she really believed me, but as long as she couldn’t rule it out I was happy.

"Alright, doubt me if you must.  But you know he’s loving this … and do you know what he’d really love?"

"What’s that, Daddy?"  Her face said she was ready to be my co-conspirator.  I leaned down and spoke softly right into her ear.

“Let’s show him how sexy my date really is.  Go grab the first hot guy you see and make his night on the dance floor.  Don’t even hold back.  The naughtier you are, the happier Mark will be.”  She bit her lip and furrowed her brow in the cutest way.  Grinding on a total stranger right after Mark was rejected — she really wasn’t so sure about this one.  So I gave her one more little push: “And it would make ME very happy, Princess.”

I finished with a commanding tone, letting her know I meant business. It took a second, but once that landed she smiled, leaned in, and gave me a soft kiss on the lips.

“Whatever you say, Daddy.”

Mark

I used my time in the bathroom to collect my wits.  I reminded myself that this was why we were here.  I could sit back and enjoy the erotic denial of being on their date, with all that it entails.  Or I could insist on having that one dance, taking a more active role like I’d planned — playing the part of the kinky cuck boyfriend, but not a TOTAL cuck.  Maybe that would be best?  I figured I’d play it by ear when I got back out there.

I returned to the booth to find Dylan by himself.

“Hey,” I said.  “Where’s our girl?”

“She wanted to dance,” he said with the grin and nodded to the floor.  I looked out and saw her immediately — it was hard to miss.

Chelsea was on the dance floor alright, close enough to give us a great show as she gyrated even more suggestively than she had with Dylan.  Her partner: a tall young black man; lean, muscled, handsome.

Wow.  Ok, she was dancing with a black guy.  That didn’t faze me, not as such.  But as if to emphasize how far away from our usual scene we were, how far from our normal everyday world, the guy looked decidedly … “street.”  I don’t know how to describe it.  Sure, there were his clothes, his tattoos, the gold chain around his neck, etc.  But it was more just his bearing, his general vibe.  He looked rough, like he might be kinda sketchy.  And he also seemed confident, totally self-assured.  As in, yeah, of course the sexiest white girl in the place is all over me, rubbing her ass against my crotch.

Jesus Christ.  I sat down next to Dylan with a thud.

“Dude,” I said to him, “what’s that about?”

“Relax, just watch.  You like watching, and that’s ok.”

With little choice in the matter, I watched.  I saw Chelsea grinding hard against him in time with the music.  I saw the guy respond by matching her movements, thrusting his hips up against her rear.  I saw the guy’s hands holding onto her sides, then moving back to take a firm hold of her flawless ass — the one that used to be mine alone.  Chelsea just smiled and got more into it.  I saw those hands slide up her body until they were over her bouncing breasts, grabbing them; Chelsea pursed her lips and sucked in a breath, looking in our direction for just a second before throwing her head back until it rested on his shoulder.  I saw him take his right hand and bring it back down the front of her dress and land it against her crotch; her eyes shot open and she shook her head a little as she said something … but she looked more than a little tempted.  The guy took his hand away, but two minutes later it was back, cupping and rubbing the top of her mound; this time Chelsea closed her eyes and let it happen.

I was mesmerized, horrified.  And there’s no point in pretending I wasn’t also hard as a rock.  But while all this was going on, Dylan was trying to talk to me.

“Mark.  Hey, Mark.”  I glanced in his direction.  “Actually, I told her to go dance because I wanted to have little chat, just us.”

“Yeah?”

“You gotta remember to CHILL OUT.  Don’t forget, we’re just having some fun!  It’s not real.  And I think you should play along more, show her you’re having a good time.  When you tense up it makes her feel like she failed.  And she tries so hard to make it hot for you, you don’t even know.”  I was listening as best I could, but my attention kept getting drawn to the scene on the dance floor; Dylan could tell.  “Ok, yeah.  I mean, look at that.  Do you know why she’s out there, grinding on that guy?”

“Because … no, why?”

“For you, dummy!  She’s showing off for YOU.  She was so excited about how hot it would make you to watch that, you should’ve seen it.  So give her a thumbs-up or something the next time she looks over, will ya?”

“Ok,” I nodded absently.  “Yeah.”

“Anyway, that’s all I wanted to tell you.  You need to let her know how much it turns you on when she lets herself go.  You need to tell her how much you like it when she’s bad.  Give her the encouragement she wants.  Trust me on this.”

I thought about it for a second, as hard as my addled brain would allow.  He made a certain kind of sense, and it was nice to be reassured that this was all still, fundamentally, a fantasy.  In any event, we were here now; I’d think about it more later.

“Maybe you’re right,” I told him.  “I’ll try to take it easy.  Thanks, Dylan.”  He slapped me on the back just as Chelsea turned her head our way; as suggested, I smiled and gave her a thumbs up.  She smiled back and went on dancing, a little freer than before.

“Come on,” Dylan said.  “Let’s go have some fun.”

“Doing what?”

“Dancing, of course!”

He led us over to a pair of girls who’d been looking our (his) way.  Within thirty seconds Dylan made short work of the introductions and had the four of us heading onto the floor.  The girls were young & cute, and also friendly — I’m really not much of a dancer, but my partner was a good sport and guided us into a respectable groove.  And between the alcohol and my total “fuck it” attitude at this point, I was actually managing to cut loose and have a good time of it.

Around the end of the first song my eyes found Chelsea: she was still with her partner, still getting felt up in increasingly brazen ways.  He was speaking into her ear now; she was flushed, breathing hard, listening intently.  I turned back to my dance partner before I got totally lost in that scene.

At the end of the second song, Chelsea appeared and got our attention.  That is to say, she gave me a quick squeeze on my shoulder as she passed by on her way to Dylan, then leaned in and said something to him I couldn’t make out.

Chelsea

Oh.  My.  God.  What the raunchy fuck was that?

So Dylan says he wants me to go and dance with the first hot guy I see, and to make it dirty … you know, for Mark.  Yes, Daddy.  I head off onto the floor and scan for likely targets.  I look left, look right, and just as I’m turning my head back around this one guy locks eyes with me — he’s big, black, tough-looking; very much not my usual type.  In fact, a sheltered little white girl like yours truly might even say he looked intimidating.  (Not me, of course.  I would never.  I mean some other sheltered little white girl.)  But he was hot, no denying it, and I had specific instructions.  He gave me this little head tilt telling me to come over, and a second later I was walking right up to him.  A second after that, my body was pressed up against his.

I think he said his name was Jamez (like “juh-mays”), but names didn’t matter.  It was just a raw, visceral experience.  Almost right away his hands were all over me.  Like, ALL over me.  At first I was bravely doing it for Mark & Dylan, but that rationale went bye-bye in a flash: I fucking liked it.  I was already drunk and horny, and he was just so assertive, triggering every subby little molecule of sex in my body.  I glanced back at our booth and saw Mark staring slack-jawed in erotic wonder, while Dylan talked to him and watched me out of the corner of his eye.  Then Jamez’s hand moved over the bare skin exposed by the slit in my front of my dress, and now his big strong hand was the only thing I was aware of.

Eventually we were grinding on each other with his lips right next to my ear, and he started talking to me.  It was, ahem, indecent.  And I can’t even bear to repeat what he said — for a girl like me to write down the specific language he used, it just feels … ick.  Very wrong. 

I’d hate to transcribe it but, somehow, I kinda loved hearing it.  He told me about how sexy my ass was.  About how much I clearly needed a good fuck tonight.  About how he could tell I was the kind of white girl who went for black guys.  (‘Actually, I’ve never…’)  About how in that case I should go back to his place and he would open my eyes.  About how, in fact, didn’t I want to just get out of here now?  (I managed to tell him that my boyfriend was right over there.)  About how he doesn’t play those games because he’s a real brother (except he didn’t use the word “brother,” if you know what I mean).  He took a selfie of us dancing and offered to send it to my phone — all he needed was my number.

With my brain on horny autopilot, not thinking, I rattled off the digits.  I don’t know if he caught it all, because right at that moment something distracted me: I happened to turn my head to the left, and there only a few feet away was Mark, shaking it with some pretty young club slut.  That’s odd, Mark doesn’t usually like dancing.  And there was Dylan, with his body pressed up against Young Club Slut #2.  Boiling, jealous rage.

I’m not saying that makes any sense, but it’s how I felt.  If I’d been a little less bothered maybe I would’ve just walked over and grabbed Dylan, but my jealousy had a harder edge than that: I wanted to show him.  I wanted him to feel what I felt.  I wanted HIM to come get ME.

So I turned around and launched myself into Jamez, pushing my tits into his chest, massaging them against his hard body with every beat. I landed my hand on the bulge in his pants, and squeezed.  My legs were straddling one of his and I bent down, grinding against him with my crotch, basically humping his thigh.  Still seething with irrational bile, I threw my arm around him and pulled so that I was nuzzling him — I knew he could hear my light moans and heavy breathing right next to his ear.  I tilted my head and my lips smeared across his neck; his skin was hot, and sweaty, and the manly odor invading my senses kicked my arousal into overdrive.  Jamez reciprocated and his own lips found the crook of my neck, and stayed there … kissing, licking, nibbling … starting a trail up, to my jaw, my cheek … finally his lips found mine, and when I didn’t pull back he pushed forward, swallowing me up and slipping his tongue into my mouth until we were making out and dry-humping in front of everyone, in front of my fiancé, in front of my lover.  I moaned my approval into his mouth but turned my eyes sideways to find Dylan: he was still dancing with that skank.

Either he hadn’t seen what I was doing, or he had seen and let it continue.  Neither was acceptable.  My frustration finally outweighed my spite and I pulled away from Jamez, thanked him for the dance and left him standing there without even waiting for a reply.  I went right up to the foursome next to me, interrupting their dance, and told Dylan in no uncertain terms: “Daddy, we have to leave NOW.  I need you…”  He made his apologies to the girls, casually handed an impressive wad of bills to our waitress like it was nothing, and dragged me out the front door with Mark trailing behind.

When we got back to the car Mark hopped in the driver’s seat, while Dylan pulled me into the back with him.  He pointed straight ahead and told Mark: “Home, James.”  Mark nodded, and off we went.

I sat there next to my lover as my boyfriend chauffeured us home.  I was so turned on it was literally uncomfortable — my eyes were shut in concentration while my thighs squirmed and clenched, instinctively trying to provide some stimulation to my dripping sex.  Now that we were in an enclosed space I could smell my own arousal, and I knew the two men in the car could sense it as well.  When Dylan’s hand landed on my bare thigh I moaned aloud; my eyes popped open and the first thing I saw was Mark’s reflection in the rear view mirror, staring back at me.  Before I could think about that or check in with my boyfriend, Dylan pulled me in tight.  A minute later we were locked in a heated, sticky make-out session, our hands going everywhere.  It felt so good to be touched again, and in the back of my mind I knew Mark was watching it unfold; that felt good, too.

Dylan yanked my wet panties down my legs, brought them to his nose, and grinned.  Then he threw them at the front of the car, right past Mark’s head and onto the dashboard — I’m fucking amazed they didn’t stick to the windshield with a splat.

“Hey Mark,” Dylan said, “hang on to those for me, will you?  We won’t be needing them anymore…”  The car swerved a tiny bit as Mark jerked on the steering wheel, but then we went on with our drive.

By the time we were halfway home I found myself lying down in the back seat with Dylan on top of me, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand while his other one was between my legs, methodically working inside of me and circling my clit; the radio was off and we could all hear just how wet I’d become.  And every little moan, every whimper, every time I giggled at some filthy remark from Dylan: Mark heard all of that, too.  At some point Dylan & I began a whispered conversation.

“So, did we have fun tonight, Peach?”

“Mm-Hmm.  Yes, Daddy…”

“You’re fucking drenched … you really liked it, didn’t you?  Acting like a slut for me, getting felt up by a total stranger in front of everyone, in front of Mark … being passed around … being my naughty little Princess…”

“Ohh fuck … it made me so hot, Daddy.  I’ve never … oh god…”  In front of Mark.  Even in the middle of my erotic meltdown, the image of my boyfriend’s shocked face back at the club flashed into my mind.  “But, what about … was Mark really ok with it?  I couldn’t tell…”

“Why don’t you ask him?”  I whimpered.

“Ohhh … hey, babe?  Earlier, when I was … I mean … are you ok, honey?”

“Yes, Chelz, I’m fine.”

“But I mean, before, when I was … with that guy, dancing, did y-you … oh, g-god…”  Between my sudden shame and the busy fingers inside of me, my courage failed.  Dylan bailed me out.

“Mark,” he said, “she’s a little worried that you were upset earlier.  Why don’t you tell her how it felt when you saw her being so bad with that guy, out in the open.  Let her know.”

Mark was silent for a few seconds and I got nervous, but finally: “I loved it.  You made it so hot for me I couldn’t even handle it … My god, you were so sexy tonight, so amazing, thank you … I love you, Chelz.”

Phew.  Hearing that, I smiled — I felt relief, of course, but also gratitude: Dylan was right.  As always.  I looked up into his eyes above me and we held each other’s stare as I replied to Mark: “I love you too, babe…”  Dylan smiled sweetly, stroked my cheek with his thumb, then came down for a soft, romantic kiss.  You were talking to Mark, you were talking to Mark, you were talking to Mark…

The kiss finally broke and Dylan called out to Mark, still holding my stare.

“Hey, buddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Drive faster, we really need to get our girl home quick.”

Mark

I can’t believe I got us home without causing a wreck.  I made that drive in an angsty erotic dream state, obsessed with what was going on behind me, looking forward to (and dreading) what might happen once we arrived.

I pulled up to the house and turned off the engine, then sat there for a moment not knowing what to do — behind me they were still going at it, doing something.  I couldn’t make myself look.  There was a bit of muffled conversation from the back seat and I heard Chelsea giggle and playfully scold Dylan, ‘Stop!’  Finally she spoke up:

“Babe?  Don’t you think you should invite our guest in for a nightcap?”  She was still giggling, still moaning.

“Oh.  Yes.  Of course.  Dylan, would you like come in?”

“Good idea, Mark!  Let’s do that.”

By the time I willed myself out of the car the two of them were ahead of me on their way to our door, but they were moving slowly.  Chelsea was all over her date: holding him close, running her hands over his body, rubbing the side of her face against him like a cat marking its territory, pulling him in for a kiss, then another one, gazing up at him with a look of undisguised lust & adulation.

I’ve seen Chelsea horny, but I’d never before seen her so desperate.  Needy.  She looked like a woman who thought she might die if she wasn’t mounted & fucked in the next 10 minutes.

I followed slowly behind.  They reached the locked front door and crashed into it, then began hungrily making out with each other right there, showing zero interest in getting inside; instead of moving to open the door, Chelsea lifted one leg off the ground and hooked it around Dylan’s waste, her body using every means available to hold him closer, tighter.  Jesus.  Whatever else this was it was hot as hellfire and I stood rooted to the spot for almost a minute, dazed and aroused, watching my fiancée engage in a wanton pre-mating ritual outside my own home.  In the open air.   Within full view of the neighbors.  Jesus.  I got a sick thrill out of that knowledge (what the fuck is wrong with me?), but my shame eventually outweighed the submissive erection in my pants — I’d have to help get them indoors.

“Watch out, guys,” I said as I nudged them to the side to get to the lock; as soon as the door swung open they tumbled inside without a glance my way.  I followed close behind as Chelsea guided Dylan further into the house, kissing him and tugging on him at the same time.  They made it to the living room and stopped.  Chelsea, god bless her, finally looked my way; she grabbed a fistful of my shirt, then started all three of us moving again, on the way to the bedroom.  To our bedroom.

I didn’t want that — it just felt wrong, Dylan taking her in the bed we share — and somehow I had wherewithal to say so.

“Wait, hold on.”  Both of them looked at me; I looked at Chelsea.  “Can we … not in there, ok?  I’d rather we … just, not in there.”  She seemed puzzled for a second, then smiled and nodded, and looked to Dylan.

“Is that ok?” she asked him.  Of course she did.

“Sure, Princess.”  He looked amused.  “I get that.  He doesn’t have to give me your bed … but he can’t have the bed and you.  Mark sleeps in his big, special bed all alone tonight, and you wake up next to me.  That’s the deal.  Sound good?”  Chelsea turned to gauge my reaction.

“Honey,” she said, “is that ok?”

“Yeah, I guess, but what do—”

“No, Peach,” Dylan cut in.  “Don’t ask him: tell him.  That’s how he wants it anyway — it’s how you show your little cuck you really understand him.  So you can tell him, or I will … but it’s up to us.”

Oh, fuck.  When did Dylan get so good at this?  Chelsea’s knees buckled in a flush of sudden arousal at exactly the same time mine did.  In the morning things might look different, but at a moment like this, that really did sound like what I wanted.  So I just stood there and waited for Chelsea to tell me how it was going to be.  She stared slack-jawed up at Dylan, then slowly nodded her head to show she understood; she leaned forward, resting her head against his chest, and smiled in my direction.

“Mark, sweetie.  Dylan’s going to fuck me here in the living room.  Or in the kitchen, or his car, or any place he wants.  But not in our bed: that spot’s just for you.  That’s where you get to listen, and touch yourself.  Do you understand?”  I managed to nod.  “And if you’re very, very good, maybe you can watch for a little while?  Daddy, is that alright?”

“Oh, Peach, you’re too nice.  But ok, for a little while.  Mark, have a seat.”  I started towards the recliner, but Dylan stopped me.  “No no, you’ll have a much better view from right there — just sit on the floor.”  I heard Chelsea let out an ‘ohhh’ and I followed Dylan’s finger; she kept her eyes on me as moved to my spot on wobbly legs.

Just as I went down on the floor Chelsea did as well, dropping to her knees in front of her commanding lover.  She was so desperate to have him, in an almost frenzied state.  Her hands flew to his belt buckle, flinging it open then getting his pants down; when he cock sprang into view I heard a sigh of relief, like a pain had been taken away.  She took a moment to get his pants all the way off, then looked up at him.

“May I kiss it, Daddy?”  Dylan just nodded.  “Mmm, thank you, Daddy!”  I watched from behind as this gorgeous woman in the sexy dress and expensive heels knelt on the floor and serviced the cocky young athlete in front of her, saw her head as it bobbed, her hair swaying to & fro as wet smacking noises filled the room while Dylan looked calm, confident, in command.  He put his large hand on the back of her head and started guiding her rhythm.  It was horrifying, erotic, and pornographic all at once.

Dylan took a few steps backwards and sat himself on our couch, clutching a fistful of Chelsea’s hair to hold her in place, shuffling forward on her knees while keeping his cock in her mouth the whole way.  Once he was seated she went back to bobbing up & down without missing a beat, now teasing his balls with her right hand while her left held onto his thigh; I caught the light glinting off her engagement ring and groaned aloud in twisted arousal.  When he heard that, Dylan looked up at me while my fiancée slobbered all over his shaft.

“Relax, buddy — you’ll get to have sex again soon enough.”  What the hell did that mean?  “But for now your girl’s just having too much fun being bad.  Isn’t that right, Peach?”

“MmmHmm,” she groaned without stopping.

“So, so bad.  But it’s ok, I’m keeping her safe.  Hey, Peach, tell me something: that guy you were dancing with, he was all over you, and you seemed to be loving it.  What would’ve happened with him if we weren’t there tonight?”  She stopped cold for a second, just crouched over with her mouth full, then slowly let him go.

“I don’t know, maybe nothing…”

“Aw, she’s shy, doesn’t want to say.  That’s very cute, Princess, but be honest now.  Mark likes it when you’re bad, remember?  The booze, the music’s pumping, this cute guy is grinding on you, touching your body.  You came over to me with those wild ‘fuck me’ eyes, said you needed it.  So, if I’m not there, what happens?  What would you do?”

“I … he asked if I wanted to leave with him.  But I knew you were there … and Mark … if it was just me, oh-h god … I wanted to go with him.  I wanted him to … oh fuck … Daddy, I need you right now!”

Chelsea stood up and right away shimmied out of her slutty little dress.  There was no bra and her panties were already in my pocket, so I saw her standing there naked in front of Dylan wearing just her choker, her pink bracelet, and the high heels; her flawless ass was pointed my way as she drew heavy breaths and watched Dylan for a sign.  He pulled his shirt off then gave her a ‘come here’ gesture with his finger.  She climbed aboard, straddling him with her long legs on either side and pressing her tits into his chest, holding his face in her hands as she kissed him, and grinding her pussy on top of his angry erection.  She’d said she needed it, but she didn’t have to.  It was obvious.  Her whole body was oozing sex.

They started talking to each other, quietly, saying things I mostly couldn’t hear.  I just caught little snippets from Chelsea, a word here and there: “… please … I need it … yes … for you, Daddy … so much … please, anything…”

She reached down to grab Dylan’s cock the base and hold it straight up, then lifted herself into position directly above it; just as she was about to sink down onto his shaft he stopped her, held her up.  He said something to her and she groaned, seemed to think about it for a few seconds.  Finally, still facing him, she spoke to me for the first time in a while.

“Hey, sweetie?  Dylan and I need a little privacy now, so it’s time for you to go to bed.”  I didn’t say anything at first, didn’t move, so Chelsea turned her head around to look at me.  “Babe, please.  Don’t make me … just, please.  It’s time.  I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, but for now we … for now, I’m telling you to go.  You know you’ll like just hearing us.  And if you’re … if you’re a good little cuck for me, if you don’t make a fuss, you can even leave the door open.”

What could I do?  I knew what she wanted — even if it was Dylan who told her to order me out, she wanted to make it happen, wanted to hurry up and get fucked.  And the sick thing is, I wanted it too.  I wanted her to get the fucking she deserved, wanted to listen, wanted to be forced to listen.  Wanted her to boss me around, just a little while longer.  So yeah: what could I do?  I stood up and started towards our bedroom.

“Of course, Chelsea — whatever you say.  Have fun.”

“Oh, I will … I will.  You too, babe.  Just … don’t come peeking, ok?  This is my private time with Daddy.  I’ll see you in the morning.  I love you.”

She watched me go.  Once I turned the corner and was out of sight, it wasn’t two steps before I heard it: “OOOooohh, finally … yes, thank you Daddy.”  I knew he was inside her once again.

Chelsea

Mark turned the corner and I was finally allowed to get some relief; my god, did I ever need it.  I mean, I NEEDED it, I was desperate.  Later on I’d remember to think about Mark’s night (being the chauffer on his girlfriend’s date, watching her dance and get groped in public, being told to sit on the floor, going to bed alone), but right then my body was calling all the shots, and it just needed Dylan to take care of it.  Anything I had to do or say to make that happen, that’s what it was gonna be.

So I bottom out on Dylan’s lap and purr & moan in utter bliss, there in my slutty high heels on our living room couch, and I immediately want to start posting up and down on him.  But he takes a firm hold of my thighs and holds me in place.  I whimpered, tried in vain to wriggle free, and begged him with my eyes.

“Tell me one thing first,” he said softly.  “And be honest, I’ll know if you’re lying: are you still faithful to me, Princess?”

“Faithful?”  His right hand slid up to my stomach and stayed there, palm out, almost possessively.

“Right … here.  Is this still mine?  Have you kept Mark out?”

“Oh yes,” I whimpered.  “Yes, Daddy, it’s still yours.  I haven’t let him inside me, I wouldn’t … I won’t.”

“Until?”

“Until the wedding … until you say.  Now please…”  I my hips squirmed in his hold, and my pussy clenched his hard shaft inside me.  “Please, I need you…”

“Okay.”  Dylan smiled, let go of my thigh, and smacked the side of my ass.  “Ride, baby girl.”

I rode.

I went slowly at first, trying to make it last.  Trying to seem less needy than I actually was, like a sexy refined lover instead of a desperate bitch in heat.  But it was futile.  I just couldn’t stop myself from going a little faster, a little harder, bouncing and grinding more desperately all the time, until after just a couple minutes I was slamming down onto his powerful thighs, hearing the loud slap of flesh-on-flesh that rang throughout the whole house.

I knew Mark would hear the sounds of our bodies colliding in raw carnal abandon; with the way I was feeling, that simply couldn’t be helped.  But some part of me was still conflicted about having him as an audience, about how he might feel, because I was less verbal than usual, and my moans were more muffled.  It must have been obvious what was going on, and Dylan wasn’t having it.

“Louder, Peach!  He can’t hear you.”  Dylan slapped my ass again, and I groaned in reply.  “Don’t hold back.  Let him know you’re ok, let him know you feel good.  You don’t want him to worry about you, do you?  And it’s what he wants anyway.”

“Yes, okay…”

“How does it feel, Princess?”

“… g-good.”

Smack! “Louder!”

“Good!  It feels so fucking good!”

“Better than him?”

“Yes!  So much better!”

“So whose cock would you rather have in you?”

“Yours, Daddy!  Always yours!”

“So who’s your man, Princess?”

“You are!  You’re my man now!  You feel so … much … AH!  CUMMING!”

My whole body shook & seized up on top of my perfect mate, falling apart in a cascade of squeaks and moans that let anyone within earshot know there was a woman here being properly seen to by a real man.  Dylan let me come down slowly until I was hugging him, just slowly grinding on his dick and whimpering in his ear, actually on the verge of tears.  Fuck, I needed that.

“Yes…” I mewled, “you’re my man, you … oh god … I’m yours now … I’m fucking yours…”

“There you go, Princess, there you go — all better now.”  I moaned in approval.  “I’m gonna cum soon.  Do you need to climb off?”  That was considerate … even though I’m pretty sure he knew what my answer would be in the end.  As usual when I’m with Dylan, my kitty was calling the shots.  And she was thirsty.

“Oh god Daddy, no,” I cooed, far too softly for Mark to hear.  “I want it inside me, and besides — oh, fuck — I kinda forgot to take a pill last week, so now … Mmmm, fuck … it might be too late … o-oh my god…”  The reality of what I’d done, what I’d failed to do, finally began to hit me a little bit, and a flood of fresh arousal (laced with pure terror) coursed through me; my hips sped up again all on their own.  “Are you mad at me?”

In response, Dylan grabbed the back of my head and pulled me in for a powerful kiss — the kind of kiss that let me know I was his, and that everything would be alright, in one way or another.  When it was over he took hold of my hips and began thrusting up into me, slowly at first, then quickly building up into an explosive, purposeful rhythm.  He was bouncing me on his cock, grunting, breathing hard, getting ready to breed me yet again.  Getting ready to complete me.  I welcomed it.  No, more than that: I craved it.

But before I could get it, Dylan wanted me on my back.  He wrapped his arms around my back and pressed me into his chest until we were one, then effortlessly flipped us around so I was lying down with him on top of me.  God, every time he tosses me around like that I swear my pussy drools in awe.  Dylan owns your body, Chelsea.  It’s his.  And he’ll take the rest.  Let him, let him, let him…

He thrust into me from above now, making an even bigger racket for Mark to diddle himself to in the other room.  Dylan’s hands had a firm grip on the backs of my thighs, pushing them apart, forcing them back towards my chest so my hips tilted upwards and made a perfect, receptive target of my womb.  Oh my god, it’s not a game for him: he actually wants to fucking impregnate you, plant his bastard in your belly.  Then you’ll never be rid of him, he’ll fuck you whenever he wants for the rest of your life.  Good.

My high heels shook & swayed in the air directly above my head with the force of each blow sending a tremor up my long legs.  I watched my feet dancing lewdly at first; it was hypnotic.  Then I turned to look at Dylan and my soul escaped from my body — he was staring intently into my eyes with this expression on his face of a man hard at work crafting something, transforming it … making me into something new, something he owned.  A perfect mate, a perfect vessel.  He was giving me so, so much.  And I felt such gratitude.  Such … love.

“Thank you, Daddy … t-thank you … for … ohh…”

“Fuck!” he groaned.  “I’m about to cum.  Where do you want it?”

“I-inside…”

“Where??”

“INSIDE!  CUM INSIDE ME, DADDY!  ALWAYS CUM INSIDE ME-EEE!!”

With a deep, booming growl his whole body tensed up and his hands on my thighs pressed me down into the couch, holding me in place while he deposited his seed.  I could feel his cock swell within me, could almost feel the first volley of potent cum shooting up through his shaft to be delivered straight into my fucking womb … and my brain exploded in joy.  Maybe I was unlikely to get pregnant tonight — either because it was the wrong time of the month, or because he’d already gotten the job done — but even so I knew I was being mentally bred.  He was planting a seed in my mind, at the very least.  That idea alone triggered a sudden shivering orgasm.  My hips strained to press up against his crotch as my pussy spasmed around him, trying its best to draw his essence deeper into me.

We stayed like that for a while: Dylan’s cock plugging up my hole and keeping his thick cum from escaping; holding his face in my hands and silently, adoringly staring up at him, punctuating the moment with soft, lingering kisses here and there.  Finally I had to get out from under him and clean myself off with a towel, before returning to the couch to clean my man — for him, I just used my tongue.

We cuddled on the couch and drifted off.  It was cramped & hot & sticky, but I was riotously content.  I woke up in the middle of the night to Dylan’s hands caressing me all over.  We made love again, spooning, but this time we stayed as silent as possible so as not to wake up Mark.  This time, it was just for us.

I came to the next morning early, around 8:00 AM, naked and swaddled in Dylan’s arms.  That’s always a wonderful way to start the day, and as I lay there I was happy.  But then I looked around and remembered where I was, and thought about everything I’d done the night before, and got hit with a small dose of reality.  I felt a little, you know … dirty.  In more ways than one.  When I extricated myself from Dylan’s sleepy grasp, he woke up.

“Mmmm … good morning, Princess.”  He seemed perfectly at home on our couch, almost inhumanly comfortable with everything.

“Morning, Daddy.  You should get dressed, have some coffee.  I’m just gonna hop in the shower real quick.”

“Oh, sure.  Sounds like a plan.”  He stood up, gave me a quick kiss hello, then took my hand and pulled me towards the bathroom.

“Dylan, stop!”  That’s not at all what I’d meant, and I definitely did NOT want Mark to wake up to find us in there together.  But it didn’t matter: my objections were mixed with gleeful giggles and my feet seemed to move on their own, all too happy to follow his lead yet again.

Mark

The morning after was a lot less awkward than I might’ve expected.  I woke up just after 9:00 AM, still sleepy after the late night and some angsty tossing & turning in bed.  Chelsea and Dylan had gotten up a little earlier and there was a pot of coffee on.  They were in a good mood, very friendly.  And also very normal — it seemed we were done with our kinky roleplay for now.  We chatted about work, new movies, upcoming plans.  Chelsea’s bachelorette party is around the corner and she was looking forward to it.  That sort of thing.

Dylan took off after breakfast.  Chelsea walked him to the door where they embraced, shared a soft, intimate kiss that seemed to go on forever, and exchanged a few quiet words I couldn’t hear.  For one last naughty thrill, Chelsea looked back with a smile and reminded me to thank Dylan for such a fun night out; I tried to play it off with a laugh … but I did as she suggested.  Then our friend finally left.

And just like that, she was mine again.  She came back and collapsed into me on the couch, snuggling and being very affectionate.  There was a little whiplash after the performative cruelty of last night, but that’s the game we’re playing.  And anyway I’m pretty used to it by now.

“But seriously,” she said, “thank YOU for a great night out.  Don’t think I don’t know you’re the real hero, making it possible.  Did you have fun?  How was it for you?  For real, I mean.  Was it ok?”

“Yeah, I had fun,” I told her.  And that was the truth, mostly.  “It was a little … tricky, emotionally.  Parts of it were hard.  But I knew that going in, and it was a major turn-on.  It’s fucked up, but usually the harder it is the hotter it is.”

“Good!  And you just let me know if it gets too much.”

After that we had a lovely morning at home, laying around and doing some light gaming.  Just a classic ‘Mark & Chelsea’ day, the kind that made me want to marry her in the first place.  It was wonderful, but there was this one little hitch in the back of my mind, a nagging sense that I’d forgotten something.  Probably it’s nothing, I thought — just some psychic debris left over from having my ego erotically shattered for kicks the night before.

By the early afternoon we were tired (neither of us had gotten enough rest) and wound up in bed for a nap.  As we waited for sleep we were lying in each other’s arms, touching and stroking here & there.  One of us mentioned something about last night, which got us talking about other parts of the date, which in turn led to some of the kinky teasing we’ve gotten too good at, and suddenly we were at it again.  I wound up with my head between her legs while she walked me through the night from her perspective — the things she liked, the things she loved, the things she loved so much it scared her.  It was for her benefit as much as mine, because I could tell she was talking herself off, reliving the night.

She came on my tongue, hard, then almost immediately had me on my back her mouth on my dick and more poisoned barbs in my ear.  She talked about the ideas that she knew the fucked-up part of my brain liked way too much — about how she could tell the guy she danced with at the club had a nicer cock than I do … about how I made a better helper than a lover … about how, next time, I’d be the one on the couch and Dylan would claim my bed the same way he’d claimed my girl.  So very mean, but also so goddamned hot.  For a second I thought about throwing her down on the mattress and fucking her silly, but just then she went into overdrive on my dick and had me totally helpless; I came in her mouth while she hummed in delight.  As we both drifted off right afterwards, I was almost totally content: that nagging doubt was still there, pecking at me.  What the hell was I forgetting?

When I woke up next to my fiancée two hours later, I immediately realized what it was.

***

I waited until after dinner to say anything — in case this talk went poorly, there was no point in spoiling our whole day.  I was lying on the couch with Chelsea sitting cross-legged on the floor right next to me, game controller in hand as I ran my fingers through her hair, giving her a scalp massage.

“God you’re sexy,” I told her; even in a t-shirt and sweatpants, it was true.  “Can’t wait to get you back into bed.”

“Oh, is that a fact?  Does my pervy boyfriend want me to say more awful, awful things while I take care of him?”  She glanced back at me and giggled.

“No-ooo … well, kinda.  But what I really want tonight is just to have sex — so boring, I know, but it’s actually been a while.”

 “Hmmm…”  She said nothing for a long moment and kept her eyes glued to the screen; her game character fell off a ledge and died, a totally unforced error.  At last, after a heavy pause: “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.  I was thinking, like … what if we waited?”

Well, shit.  That’s what I was afraid of.  But I wanted to see what she’d say so I pretended to be clueless.

“Oh really?  What do you mean?”

“I mean, I think it would be cool to wait for the wedding night?”  She finally paused the game and turned to face me.  “It’ll make it feel more special, and give us something to really look forward to.  And I kinda think it would be … hot.”  She flashed a naughty smile and started tracing her finger down my chest.  “Because, you know, like I told you … it’s not yours.  So you don’t get it at all any more, not until we’re done.  Until he’s done, babe.  With your girl.  And you’ll love it so much when I tease you about that for the next few weeks, but then on the big day it’s like, Boom!  We come back together and close the door on this whole thing with authority, just you & me.  You and me … and no condom for once, because then it’ll really be yours again.

“Now then,” she finished, at the same time her finger finally landed on my crotch.  “Wouldn’t that be a wedding night to remember?  And doesn’t it sound like we could have so much fun until then?”

I’ll say this for her: she made a good case.

“Hmmm.  Yeah, Chelz, I hear what you’re saying.  And maybe we could do that.  But first, I need you to answer one question for me.”

“Shoot.”

“Whose idea was this?”

“Oh.”  She grimaced a little and sucked in some air through her teeth.  “Well, um…”

“I knew it!  He said something last night — I don’t even think you heard it you were so distracted.  But he seemed to know we hadn’t done it in a while, when it hadn’t even occurred to me that that was a thing.”

“Shit.  Ok, you’re right.  This was stupid.  I should’ve said something and I know it.  It’s just that I couldn’t bear to lie to you about it and act like it was all my idea.  And I was scared that it might, you know … I thought it might freak you out knowing it came from Dylan.”

“Well, you’re right: it does freak me out a little bit.  How did that even happen?”

“How?”  Chelsea said nothing at first and looked away like she was collecting her thoughts.  Or reliving the moment.  “Alright.  He got me really horny is how.  I mean super turned-on, and he said he wanted to be the only one who gets to have sex with me until the wedding.  And the idea was kinda hot, kinda naughty, kinda fun, but I was worried about you so I told him no — I really did, babe, I swear.  But he kept me there on his bed, getting me hotter and wetter, touching me and making me feel so, so good … and he just wouldn’t let me cum.  I begged and I begged, he turned me into such a desperate slut that night, but he wouldn’t give it to me.  He just kept touching and kept asking until I was out of my mind and broken and I needed him to make me cum … I mean, I needed it like I need air to breath … and I … I said yes.  He made me promise.  Babe, it was like he hijacked my brain.  I swear, it was … it was the hottest fucking thing ever.  I wish you could’ve seen how he used your girl, how he took control of her…”

“Jesus Christ, Chelz…”  I might have a serious case of horny-brain psychosis, because her story and the look on her face as she relived it really got to me, and it took an effort to remember that I was supposed to be mad at her.  “Yes, ok, I get why it’s hot.  I do.  But I don’t like him trying to take control of our relationship, you & me, outside of—“

Chelsea interjected, cutting me off in mid-sentence.

“Yes!  It is hot, right??”  She popped up off the floor and climbed on top of me, straddling my lap as I lay on the couch; her eyes were wide, and boring right into mine.  “Like, I know it’s scary.  It’s scary for me too!  But isn’t that the point?  Isn’t that what makes this so cool?  Losing control?  Didn’t we already talk about this when we were all at Dylan’s, and you agreed I’d tell him he owned my pussy?  That it was just … god … yours to borrow, if he lets you?”

Her skin was flushed and she was rubbing against my crotch in tiny, barely perceptible circles — that wasn’t even voluntary, her hips just took on a life of their own.

I could tell Chelsea was entering what I call her “Manic Pixie Nerd Girl” state.  I’ve seen this before, usually when she’s highly-caffeinated and gushing over her new favorite video game or anime: she’ll have this short burst of energy where she suddenly gets VERY excited, intense, and hyper-focused on the thing she’s talking about, like if geeks had a ‘Super Saiyan’ form.  It’s always adorable; I love it.  But now the thing she was geeking out over was a kinky, sadistic sex game.  God damn.  I knew I’d have a hard time getting a word in.

“And we’ll make it so fun for you, babe,” she said.  “So hot.  Haven’t we had a blast lately even though my pussy is off-limits to you?  You didn’t even notice, that’s how great it’s been, and now that you do know it’s gonna be amazing, you’ll see — I’m so glad you found out, I’m totally looking forward to teasing you, denying you.  And you know you want it too: that’s what makes this so cool!  It’s still about you!  You & me.”

“Chelsea, I get that.  But I’m saying if Dylan can make—”

“I know, honey, I know.  And if it wasn’t almost over, like if we still had six months to go, I’d be right there with you, duh.  But we’re so close to the end, babe!  Just a few more weeks.  I really think we should do this while we still can.  Don’t forget it’s all just an act, ok?  Dylan knows that, I swear, and anyway I’d never let him do anything that would hurt you for real.  We can go no-sex the rest of the way and I promise, you won’t even miss it.

“Maybe we—“

“Oh!  But I’ll tell you what: if it helps, I’ll even ask Dylan for a hall pass!  A one-time exception where he lets me have sex with someone else — I can get him to agree, I just know it.  It’ll be extra hot for us, won’t it?  Knowing you’re only getting to fuck your own girlfriend because her lover decided to allow it, just this once.  Because he’s the one who gives permission.  Because it’s his property now.  Because you gave it away.  Fuck!  Isn’t that still hot?  You can say no, it’s ok, but I wanna do it.  And I bet you do too.  Please??”

Chelsea was so amped up she might as well have been vibrating, on top of which she’d worked herself into a sexual lather right on top of my dick, grinding her hips into me with her hands resting on my chest — like this she was almost supernaturally persuasive, and fiendishly seductive.  I wasn’t going to be able to throw her off of me and have an argument.  No chance; I’m only human.  But before she melted me into a puddle of goo, I summoned all my willpower to raise one crucial issue.

“Chelsea, listen.  I can handle that, but Dylan’s game isn’t the part that really bugs me.  What worries me is … look, I feel like I’ve been very, very supportive during this whole thing.  Not judgmental or angry, even when maybe there was been good reason.  Would you agree?”

“Oh god yes!  Honey, you’ve been awesome.”

“Ok, so then: why didn’t you just tell me about this so we could talk about it?  Or, why never mention that you two were going out drinking or dancing or whatever?  When I have to figure this stuff out on my own … that’s the one thing that actually scares me.  It’s the thing that makes me worry I might be an idiot for enjoying this.  Is it because … I mean, does Dylan say not to tell me everything?”

“No!  No, he never has.”  She finally calmed down some; her power levels dipped, her face turned serious, and she actually stopped to think for a second before continuing.  “You’re right, Mark.  I’ve been bad.  I worried that knowing that stuff would make you sad, would ruin it for you.  But, also … I got scared.  Scared that you might want to end it early.  Shit.  You can say ‘stop’ and we’ll stop, but, full disclosure: I don’t want you to say it.  I don’t want to end it early.  I want to keep going until the wedding like we planned.  I’m sorry, honey, but that’s the real reason I hid those things: I’m just loving this adventure so much, more than I expected, and I want us to ride it out all the way.  And I know I’m going a little crazy.  I know that, darling … but it’ll be ok as long as we go crazy together.  Will you do this with me?  I’m asking.  Please.”

“Shit, Chelz…”

I didn’t know what else to say.  I could feel her love for me, and she looked so earnest, so unguarded — I knew she was trying to communicate a deeper truth.  But that truth seemed to be that she liked all this TOO much, but wanted to keep going anyway.  Before I could process that, Chelsea fell forward, lying on top of me with her head in the crook of my neck and her whole upper body rubbing up & down against mine.

“I’ve been bad, Mark,” she cooed.  “I’ve been so bad, I’m sorry.  But I can be good for you now … let’s keep going and I’ll show you.”  Planting kisses on my neck, my ear, my cheek; running her hand through my hair, grabbing it, pulling it; flexing her hips to tease the hard lump in my shorts.  “Or, baby … should I be BAD for you instead?  Oh, no: would you like that even better?  Living with a girl who’s out of her fucking mind, who can’t help herself anymore, who leaves you all alone wondering where she is because she just needs to get FUCKED by a real man and everything else comes second … you come second … or you don’t cum at all…”

“Ahhh Jesus, Chelsea!”

By now I was thrusting my pelvis up against her, dry humping, not in control of my body.  Chelsea slid down the couch to kneel between my legs and pull down my shorts.  My dick bobbed in front of her face — it was rigid, twitching and smeared with precum, telling her without words that part of me liked everything she was saying.  Without hesitation she swooped down and inhaled it, bobbing her head up & down and sucking hard; her eyes were glued to my own the entire time and it felt like she was staring into my soul.

It was over fast, 20 or 30 seconds; that’s how close I already was.  She kept on bobbing & sucking at the same ferocious pace as I spurted onto her tongue, but I could see her lips curl into a smile around my cock when I did.  She swallowed it all and used her hand to milk the last drops into her mouth.

When it was over I was spent, physically and emotionally.  She crawled back up the couch and lay on my chest with my arm around her — silent, but looking at my face expectantly.  I knew what she was waiting for.

“No more secrets?” I asked.

“No more secrets.”

“And we stop after the wedding?”

“Of course.”

“Okay.”  I smiled, nodded.  “I think we should keep going.  I love you, Chelsea.”

“I love you more.”  She snuggled up and hugged me tight, and we drifted off to sleep right there on the couch.

_______________*_______________

Thanks for reading! If you liked the story, if you have any thoughts, please let me know by voting or commenting. I take feedback on my stories seriously, and I try to respond to questions & ideas in the comments. You can find more contact info on my profile.

The next chapter is already finished!  It should be up within two weeks of this one, but if you want to read it right away you can find it on my brand-spanking-new Patreon (see Bio).  Part 6 gets a little, you know … dark.  Lots of danger, and some actual wickedness — “corruption,” in other words.  It’s also almost-but-not-quite one giant sex scene.  So, I think folks will enjoy it.

Questions for discussion: How do we feel about Chelsea’s manic monologue at the end?  Is it a bit of emotional manipulation to keep Mark on board, or is she finally starting to be honest with him?  (And, did it work as a scene?)  Is Chelsea actually pregnant?  Which would be hotter: she’s already pregnant and walks down the aisle carrying another man’s baby, or she’s NOT pregnant and (possibly) gets knocked up on her wedding day?