Corruption of a Gee Goddess

Authors Note

: This was originally intended to be the second half of Part 5 (before it got too long), and as a result this chapter is dominated by one long sex scene. It gets a little heavy and might even represent a slight tone shift -- but in my opinion this is some of my hottest work to date, just as a pure sex story. I hope you all agree. The plan is still to finish the series in Part 7, but we'll see.

Anyway, to recap: it's now a few weeks until Mark & Chelsea's wedding and they're continuing their cuckold adventure with Dylan. Mark just found out that Chelsea had agreed to cut him off from her pussy until the wedding, and had hidden that fact from him, but Chelsea was able to convince him to play along...

_______________*_______________

Dylan

So Chelsea came over to my place a couple nights after our big club date with Mark, and I could tell she was a little preoccupied. Nothing crazy, and it would be easy for most folks to miss. But I know my girl really well by now, and she for sure had something she was scared to talk about.

"Is something wrong?" I asked her.

"No, no. All good." Not very convincing, but that's ok: she'll get to it when she gets to it. Or she won't, and that's fine too. Her call. I got on with our evening.

A half hour later I walked her to my bed and guided her down. We were rolling around on the mattress, making out and groping and slowly getting each other naked. When my shorts came off her eyes got wide the way they do and she slid down to suck on my cock without being told. The look of bliss on her face and the sigh of relief from inside her when I hit her tongue said to me that this girl was hooked. She fucking knows it, too. She was still telling herself that we'd stop in a few weeks, but when the time comes ... nah.

"Hot damn, Princess," I said as she worked on me, "you look like you missed me."

"I did, Daddy ... I really did..."

"You just saw me two nights ago."

"I know. Doesn't matter, I always miss you. Always. Middle of the day, I'll see my bracelet and think of you and feel my kitty heat up, and I'll want to be here. It's not fair."

"Getting wet for me even when I'm not around."

Mmm-Hmm,

she nodded. "Even when you're with him?"

Mmm-Hmm.

"Is your pussy wet for me right now?"

"

Your

pussy, Daddy. And yes."

"Show me."

She laid back with her head at the foot of the bed and slid her panties off, then spread her legs without a hint of shame — she was glistening as she ran her fingers along her slippery folds, getting herself ready for me. When I got up between her legs and replaced her fingers with my own, the heat coming off her was outrageous. Her hips were moving in little circles, her eyes were closed, and she was smiling because she knew she was about to get what she came here for. Before I'd give it to her, though, I had to ask her the question.

"So, Peach, tell me again: are you still faithful to me?" She tensed up a tiny bit.

"Yes, Daddy..."

"And does Mark know he's not allowed inside you anymore? He agrees?"

"Yes. But, um..."

"But what?"

"I just told him yesterday. He was a little ... he's fine. But I told him I'd ask you for a one-time exception. A hall pass, where you'd let me have sex with someone else. You know, to make him feel better. I think we should, just this once. So ... is that ok?"

You know what? It actually was ok. The important thing is that she asked, that she knew it was my decision — not hers, and certainly not his. Besides, keeping Mark from freaking out was still important, so I'd give them get what they wanted. But that didn't mean I had to make it easy for her. Chelsea would have to earn her hall pass, to buy it with something precious.

And the crazy thing is, that's how she actually wants it. Whether she knows it or not, the more I resist the more Chelsea will like me & respect me, and the harder she'll get off. I'm the guy in charge of her, and that idea always makes her pussy drool. And I'm the one who cares about her enough not to give it away for free.

"I don't know," I told her, "that's asking a lot. But I want to help you guys out. What'll you give me in exchange for the pass?"

"I don't, um ... what do you want?"

"Hmmm..." I pretended to think about it, but that was bullshit. I knew exactly what I wanted from her. "Okay, here's what you're gonna give me: I want to take a trip, just you & me. Say, the weekend before the wedding."

"Ohhh..."

"Oh stop," I said. "Don't act like you don't love the idea. We'll get out of town for a few days, so you don't have to worry about rushing home to him. We can just relax and really enjoy ourselves for once, then I send you back home the happiest and most well-fucked bride in history. And also, you'll be busy the last few days before the wedding — family coming over, planning, rehearsals. We might not be able to see each other then. So let's go out with a bang, get it out of our systems. I want to make it special for you, Chelsea. Because I care about you, and I care about ... I care about us."

There was a bit of acting there — I tried to put some real emotion and sincerity into my voice at the end — but I was surprised at how little effort it took. Damn, this girl has really gotten under my skin. And I could look at Chelsea and see that I'd gotten under hers. She locked eyes with me for a few seconds, then slowly began nodding her head up & down as a sweet smile spread across her face.

"Me too," she finally said. "I'll talk to Mark."

"Good girl."

A minute later I was inside of her for a slow & tender coupling that went on forever (her legs wrapped around my waste, her nails digging into my back, her soft whimpers in my ear), and her boyfriend got to see none of it. He wouldn't hear from her until a half hour after we finished, when she sent him a video of her mouth making love to my cock, along with a note letting him know she'd be spending the night.

That was awesome, but our romantic getaway was the thing I really wanted. I've been thinking about it for a while. She really might be too busy to see me after that, and then she'll have the wedding and all the emotions that'll stir up about Mark, and the official end of our time together, and then the honeymoon where it's just the two of them. It could be weeks where we're apart and she falls out of the habit, and before that happens I need to get her to a place where she wants us to keep going, and she knows it. Where she spends her honeymoon texting with me on the side. Where she goes to work on Mark to keep us together. And I think if I have her all to myself for a few days straight, I can lock that down.

Chelsea

I arrived at my bachelorette party feeling pretty darn good about myself. I'd had that big conversation with Mark and confirmed he was on board to go the distance despite his (totally valid) concerns. I'd explained to him in my own special way that, right at this moment, I am not (ahem) a 100% sane & sober captain of the Good Ship Chelsea. That, rather, I am blasting across the alkali flats in a jet-powered, monkey-navigated hot rod made of pure sexual insanity, and I'd like him to be my co-pilot, but would he

please

not hit the brakes just yet?

I think he understood. I hope he understood. Anyway, he said we can keep going, so that was good.

What else? I'm not keeping secrets from him anymore. Ok, ok: I'm not keeping

as many

secrets, but we'll get there. I got that hall pass from Dylan (Yay!), and all it cost me was agreeing to a weekend getaway that I'm already looking forward to. I told Mark about the trip and he was cool with it; the hall pass didn't come up, so I'm gonna pick the right moment and surprise him with it. And while I still didn't know whether I'd allowed myself to get knocked up like an irresponsible slut, I'd gotten REALLY good at pushing that thought into a deep, dark corner of my psyche where I don't have to look at it.

No reason to worry until your period is late! Nothing to see here. Move along, move along...

Anyway, the party. I was looking forward to it, but not for the usual reasons. Traditionally, a bachelorette party is an exercise in calculated debauchery, one last hurrah where you can cut loose and act wild before the soul-deadening boredom of married life. I mean, that's idiotic, but it is how we're taught to think about it.

But does

Chelsea

need an excuse to go wild? No, ma'am! On any given weekday Chelsea is a walking orgy — the truth is I've been living my bachelorette party for months now. In fact, I expected my party to be a rare vacation from decadence, a day for me to hang out with my socially acceptable friends, and have fun that doesn't end in kinky illicit sex with my extramarital lover. Compared to that, whatever happened at my party would be downright wholesome.

Mark did the usual fiancé thing, telling me with a wink to have fun-but-not-too-much-fun, and that he trusted me and didn't have to know every naughty detail. But a couple times during the week he did get serious for a moment and remind me not to have any of our

special kind

of too-much-fun, since I'd be hanging out with people from our real lives, and they don't need to find out just how deviant we really are. Fair enough, Mark — good note.

Dylan, of course, was telling me just the opposite. He said that I should seize the day and party like it's the end of the world. That he liked it when Bad Chelsea came out to play, and that the only person who liked it more was me. Awful, awful advice. But when he'd say that stuff, I don't know ... he had a way of making it sound appealing.

***

My kid sister Talia is the Maid of Honor, of course, so planning the bachelorette party fell to her. As always, she did an A+ job. For starters she wrangled a good guest list: some old friends I've had forever; a couple of my online streaming buddies who happen to live nearby; the fun cousins we like, but

not

the weird cousin who only ever talks about geocaching and anarcho-capitalism. And Nora got herself invited ... which is cool, I like Nora, but it also made me just the teensiest bit nervous about my two worlds colliding. Whatever, it's fine. We set off before noon for a day-long romp.

First up was the beach. We tanned and gossiped beside an open cooler, then Talia surprised us with a surfing lesson. The instructor she hired was definitely cute & fit (which I'm sure was the whole point). In fact, he sort of looked like a slightly shorter and less-buff version of Dylan, and that's not half bad. I would've been quietly swooning when he put his hands on me in the water, if not for the fact that I'd been mainlining the genuine article for months. But Talia really seemed to enjoy his attentions — I got a kick out of watching them splash and frolic and laugh for 15 minutes, flirting outrageously.

After that we stopped by a petting zoo, because my sister knows me too well. (Oh my god, you guys: baby cows. My new mission in life is to adopt a baby cow.) Then it was on to the spa to rinse off the dust & salt water and get massages. (Oh, look: it's another cute guy with his hands on me. Not bad, sis.)

The last stop of the evening was a karaoke bar, where we had a private room and all the appletinis a girl could hope for. Getting boozy, watching my friends act silly, and returning to my roots as a drama geek

par excellence.

(I tore it up as Tzeitel in our high school's production of "Fiddler on the Roof," you don't even know.) All in all it was a fantastic time — Talia gifted me exactly the evening I was hoping for. And she was looking out for me, too: in spite of giving me just the hint of a naughty thrill with the surf instructor guy and the masseur, she knew enough to help me color inside the lines, checking in with me to make sure I didn't get too wasted, and nothing too wild happened.

But if my sister was the angel on my shoulder, my neighbor was definitely the devil on the other one. A few times during the day she'd make approving little remarks about my kinky extra-curricular activities, winking asides that (hopefully) went over everyone else's head. She tried to pull a few guys into our private karaoke room for me to flirt with. And in the latter part of the evening, when I was starting to run out of vim & vigor, she sidled up and offered to solve that problem for me.

"Hey," she said, "getting tired?"

"Nah, I'm good. It's just been a long day is all."

"I can fix that! Here, I brought some stuff for you."

"Stuff? Haha, what are you ... oh." She checked to see if anyone was watching and then produced a little baggie filled with white powder to show me. How thoughtful.

I don't mind telling you I was a little tempted. I'm still not into that scene (I only ever do coke when I'm with Dylan's friends and feeling especially naughty), but I'd been cavorting around town for 12 hours by this point and was running out of steam, and I did still want the fun to keep going. I bit my lip and looked around, saw Talia and thought of the wholesome good time she'd painstakingly arranged for me, and I remembered Mark's admonition against completely losing my mind and letting Evil Chelsea come out to play in front of friends & family. It was a near thing, but I managed to shake my head.

"Ohhh ... thanks, but I'd better not. Sorry."

"That's ok, honey! You just let me know when you change your mind..."

***

A couple hours later the party finally broke up — folks were yawning, falling asleep on the couch, and saying their farewells one by one. A little before 2:00 AM we called it a night. I gave Talia a big hug and a bigger thank-you, and everyone gathered up their things to go. Since Nora was my next-door neighbor, she was in charge of getting me home safe; she ordered an Uber for us to share.

She was chatty-bordering-on-manic during the ride home, like our day-long adventure hadn't affected her in the least. I had a sneaking suspicion she'd snuck off to sample the "stuff" she brought for me, but that's fine. Who am I to judge? Anyway, after the day I'd had it wasn't too hard to match her energy — I was happy & tipsy, floating on air, and we spent the 20-minute ride giggling like schoolgirls. At one point Nora pulled out a vape pen, took a puff right there in the back of the car, and offered it to me. Oh, alright: I've never been any kind of pothead, but compared to cocaine this was definitely more my speed. I shrugged, took a healthy toke (or two), and giggled some more.

When we got out I went to hug Nora goodnight, but she started guiding me to her door instead.

"Uh-uh," she said, "you're coming in for a nightcap."

"Seriously? It's really late."

"No way, just come over for a quick one and unwind a little before heading home. You only get one bachelorette party, right?"

"Yeah, but I don't want to wake everyone up."

"Nah, Harry took the kid to visit his aunt for a few days, I've got the house to myself. Good thing, too; that man's been getting on my last nerve lately. Come on, keep me company."

After a little more back & forth (with Nora pulling me towards her door the whole time), I agreed to come over. I was still feeling all happy and tingly after a whole day of revelry and didn't mind a little more socializing. Plus I was downright buzzed, and fatigued, and in no shape to make real decisions — I guess you could say I was highly suggestible, happy just to turn my brain off and default to "ok." So that's what I did.

Ever since then, I've been going over in my head whether I should've been more suspicious. Like, on some level did I know she was up to something, but I just decided to look the other way? Did my subconscious understand I was staring at two possible endings to my night? And did I choose the one that led

away

from my fiancé's bed and

towards

whatever debauchery lay behind Door #2 ... because that's what I really, truly wanted?

Hrrm. Maybe, I can't be sure. But I don't think so. I think I just didn't understand how different my sweet, innocent neighbor had become in such a short time. I think — and I really, really hope — that I was taken by surprise.

***

We stumbled through Nora's front door for our little two-woman after-party in a good mood, like teenagers about to raid the liquor cabinet while Mom & Dad are away. She fixed a pair of large screwdrivers, then we plopped down on her living room couch and commenced to joke and gossip for five or ten minutes. She complained some more about her husband in a way that was biting and frankly hilarious, even if it did seem to have a hard edge to it. And my inhibitions were pretty much out the window by this point, so as long as she was grousing about her marriage I was gonna ask the awkward question.

"So-ooo ... then I assume you're still seeing Cody?"

"You could say that."

"And how's that going?" My timing was

impeccable,

because just at that moment we heard a thump from down the hall — Nora smirked like the cat who ate the canary.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" she said.

Footsteps approached and I turned to face them. A second later, sure enough, there was Cody in the flesh. He had on gym shorts and a tank top, looking very much at home. It was pretty clear he'd just rolled out of bed — Nora's bed — after a nap.

"Hey there, you're back! How was it, Chelsea?"

I responded cleverly: "Uh..."

Nora bailed me out: "Oh, it was awesome! I missed you, though..."

"Nice. I'mma go freshen up real quick, be right back." He made a 'finger-guns' gesture at Nora and then lumbered off to the bathroom. Suddenly disoriented, I turned to face her with what I assume was a pretty stupid expression on my face.

"Oh, shit, he's staying here? I should ... I'll get out of your way." I made a move to stand up; Nora stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

"Don't be ridiculous! I'll have plenty of alone time with Cody. Just hang out with us for a while. Drink your drink."

Yes: alcohol. That felt like a good idea, because now I was nervous. I mean, did she know about the time Cody had groped me and propositioned me? Yes, no? Which answer was I even hoping for? Did

Dylan

know about that? Probably not, right? Shit. But, okay, be cool: we're just hanging out. I downed a third of my vodka drink, told myself everything was fine, and tried to make conversation.

"So ... a little staycation with your lover? Is that nice?"

"Oh, yeah. Cody totally bailed me out. I told him I wasn't making the trip with Harry and I'd have a few days to myself, and he just showed up at my door an hour later with a duffel bag. It was sweet." Sure, Nora. 'Sweet.' That's what it was.

Cody returned a minute later and took the empty seat on the couch to my right, leaving me in the middle. We chatted about bullshit for a while like everything was normal, but the whole time I was intensely aware of their warmth right next to me; of Cody's eyes roaming my body, sizing me up; of Nora's eyes watching him watch me. As I tried to take part in the innocuous conversation, it felt like they were inching towards me all the time, closing in ... even though they weren't actually moving. In fact, there was this strange new sensation washing over me, something inscrutable yet profound, starting at the edges of my consciousness and creeping towards the center. Something I'd never really felt before and couldn't identify. I tried to put my finger on it, to understand what I was feeling and put a name to it. I lost track of the conversation while I struggled to solve my puzzle through a haze of chemicals & hormones.

When I finally figured it out, my jaw quietly dropped: I felt like prey.

We were just three friends on couch, having a drink and talking about movies or whatever, but my lizard brain could read the situation and was sounding an alarm. And the scary thing is that I still felt paralyzed, like a literal deer in the headlights. Like a field mouse who freezes when it hears an owl screech (and then gets fucking eaten).