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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 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 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 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 sarıyer escort 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 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 şarkışla escort 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 suspect 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. şarköy escort “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
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?”
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