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Author’s Note: Mark I admit I was a little anxious about the whole “Dylan owns my pussy now” thing, but so far nothing seems different. It felt real in the moment — Chelsea made it feel real, because she’s incredible — but clearly it was just a game. Or maybe “game” is the wrong word: it was a symbolic gesture, designed to tweak the fucked-up parts of my psyche (and hers, and Dylan’s). But it’s been a few weeks now and nothing has actually changed following our night at Dylan’s.
Well, ok, strictly speaking a couple small things have changed. For one, instead of meeting up with Dylan every 5 or 6 days, lately it’s been more like every 3 or 4. But that’s actually fine! Even when she’s not literally here with me, it still feels like a thing we’re doing it together. I get a sexual charge from her absence, just knowing what’s going on. I’m thinking about her, and I know she’s thinking about me. I usually get updates that is not what she was wearing the last time I saw her. I’ve known her for six years and every part of this look was new to me.
And she looked hot. I mean, she always does, but now it was an “in your face” kind of sexy instead of her usual “girl next door” sexy. Honestly, aside from her glasses she could’ve been one of those Instagram models whose whole job is just to look fuckable on camera. What in seven hells was going on?
“Wow!” I finally managed to say. “Damn, Chelz. Where is my girlfriend and what have you done with her?”
“You like?” She preened he was pointing the camera at the mirror with one hand and fingering my girlfriend with the other. The real-life Chelsea dropped to her knees in front of me, pulled my pants down, and started playing with my dick — stroking, kissing, sucking a little, but bayburt escort taking it slow to make it last.
The on-screen Chelsea trembled, threw her head back on Dylan’s shoulder, and clenched her eyes shut in a look of euphoric agony as she tried to orgasm without making any noise. Jesus, it was hot. The video was only three minutes, but that was enough: when I watched Chelsea shudder a drama geek at heart, she loves to perform — but she is shy about her wardrobe. She never wanted to be one of those “sexy gamer girl” streamers, and she hates when creepy internet guys say weird shit to her (hence all the hoodies). But now there was a chat room full of (mostly) men audibly panting over her looks, and she was enjoying showing off. She didn’t say it out loud, or even really acknowledge those comments at all, but I could just tell.
I don’t really know what’s up with this. We’ve had a few streaming sessions since then and she’s still dressing up — not quite as showy as that first day, but clearly making a special effort to look pretty on camera. When I asked her about it she didn’t seem to know either; she says she just feels like looking more “girly” right now. She couldn’t put it into words. Or maybe (I thought) she liked the exhibitionist thrill of getting fingered in a changing room even more than she let on, and it left a mark. But then why wouldn’t she just say that?
Okay, whatever. It actually is fine. I’m sort of confused, but I don’t mind if she wants to show off a little more — she really does look fantastic. And she’s happy. And this thing with Dylan just keeps getting hotter he’s like my biggest fan. He makes me feel sexy. And then we went out to the mall bartın escort that day and I was having the best time, and he paid for my little makeover and some new clothes, and then he said he expected to see me flaunting it on camera, and I was all giggles and “yes, Daddy.” It just felt like he deserved it.
And I like it! I didn’t think I would, but I do. This thing with Dylan, it’s like… it’s not just that he makes me feel sexy. It’s that he makes me feel sexual, like a fully sexual being. All the time. I’m a flesh now I want the men around me to feel an urge to fuck the shit out of me, pin me to the floor and make me theirs. I’ll read those comments about my appearance in the chat box on our streams (or Reddit, or twitter, or YouTube) and for the first time in my life they don’t make me feel self-conscious. Instead they make me think: Dylan will be proud, and Mark will be jealous. Then that happy slut inside of me smiles and I feel a warm, tingly pride in my gut.
Okay — Mark. I didn’t tell him about why I’m dressing hotter on camera. It’s for his sake, obviously. I know he finds this thing with Dylan brain-meltingly hot, but I also know he’s anxious about it and (on some level) still thinks it’s kinda shameful. The idea that our sex games are bleeding into our real lives (to say nothing of the thought that other people might see some of that game) could drive him insane in a bad way and ruin the whole thing for him. So, I’m not going to say anything yet. After the wedding, when we’re done with all this mishegoss and life is back to normal, I’ll tell him all about it… and at that point he’ll probably love it.
The second thing I wanted to mention (and this is ığdır escort sort of related to the first): the whole “Dylan owns my pussy” business. It’s just pretend. It’s a little piece of dirty talk. It popped up in some of those cuckold stories I read, and I knew Mark it turns out weddings are expensive, holy crap. And speaking of the wedding, Mark’s the one who handles money stuff for us and who’s just more organized in general, so a lot of the wedding planning falls to him. I mean, yes, we’re planning the wedding as a team. Of course we are. But for some of that stuff he’s the only one who actually needs to be there, and being the saint he is Mark always offers to handle that stuff alone and save me the hassle. So sometimes (sometimes!) I skip the boring, time-consuming scut-work. And when I have a big block of time all to myself like that, my thumbs always seem to find their way to my phone and I watch myself texting Dylan. “Heyyy”
Maybe that sounds bad. Maybe you’re wondering if I feel guilty running off to get fucked while my devoted fiancé spends all day getting bids from eight different tablecloth rental companies (true story). And the answer is: yeah, of course I feel guilty…
For a minute, anyway. The guilt is there, gnawing away at me and competing with all those warm we spent all afternoon there with the rides & games & junk food — god, that was the most fun day I’ve had in forever. (I mean, of course it was. What have I been telling you this whole time? Dylan’s a blast to be around.) And even aside from having fun I felt, I guess, proud to be on his arm. The place was packed with couples, from dorky teenagers to middle-aged married folks, but I just knew in my gut that I had the best guy and everyone could see it. Like, SO many women were stealing jealous glances at us, and every time it gave me a happy glow inside. Ha! Sucks for you, he’s mine! My god, I wanted the whole world to see us that day… even though I had to ask Dylan not to post anything about it to social media because Mark would know I was with him and might get the wrong idea.