Falling Head First (Part 4 of Series)
Copyright© 2026 by BethanyBelow
Chapter 3: Taken
True Story Sex Story: Chapter 3: Taken - A continuation of my retelling of my 6 month affair where I cheated on my boyfriend.
Caution: This True Story Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Coercion Consensual Reluctant Heterosexual True Story Cheating MaleDom Humiliation Rough Spanking White Male White Female Analingus Cream Pie Food Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Squirting
I slept until almost 11 am. Amber was already gone when I finally got up, and I spent the rest of the day in a whirlwind of self-made activity and chores designed to keep me occupied. I showered, did laundry, paid bills, sent texts to friends I had not spoken to in months to “catch up,” and spent over an hour and a half on the phone with my mother, listening to her complain about my unmarried state and wanting to know when her grandchildren would start arriving.
I did everything possible to keep myself busy, but it did not stop my mind from wandering. In between folding my freshly washed bed linens, I thought of “him” and the expression that had been on his face when I had said, “Fuck your whore. Fuck me like the slut I am. I’m yours ... take me, fuck me, own me...” and I shivered. I had never acted like that, or spoken to a man in that way, or used words like that during sex. Nothing even came close. How this man was able to open up a side of me that I had not known even existed until a few weeks ago both perplexed me and turned me on in equal measure. When I was with him, I seemed to lose control. My inhibitions and insecurities were just pushed aside, not because he made me feel safe, comfortable, and secure enough to lower the defenses I had spent years building around myself, but because to him, they were irrelevant. He did not waste time trying to understand me; he just took me and made me feel like the most desired woman on the planet with his words and the luckiest woman on the planet with his big cock.
I ended up abandoning the laundry unfinished on the living room floor and spent the next thirty minutes writhing in my bed pretending the dildo I was slamming into myself was him until I came hard enough that my repeated chant of “I’m yours” was drowned out by the pleasure radiating through my body.
Later that day, when I was putting away the groceries for the week, I thought back to the previous night and the sex in the kitchen. I marveled at how things had just been knocked to the floor unnoticed or uncared for and how he had stood up, holding me by my ass and fucking me against the wall until I screamed his name for the universe to hear.
Twenty minutes later, I was again screaming his name in my bedroom as I again came on my dildo with my wand pressed hard against my clit, sending dueling waves of sensation coursing through me.
Mike called me around 5 pm. He had just dropped the kids off at his ex’s and asked if I wanted to go to dinner on Sunday, and that he was really feeling like good Italian food, and wondered if we should go to the city to one of our favorite restaurants. I instantly agreed, and we spent the next twenty minutes creating the plans to spend all day Sunday together. I was floating on cloud nine; this was exactly what we needed, what I needed to get Tyler out of my head. A fun day-date for us to reconnect and spend time together.
After I got off the phone, feeling excited and renewed thinking about the next day, I noticed I had received a couple of texts from Tyler during the call.
Tyler: I just wanted to let you know that you have occupied my mind from the moment you left my house until now. Every fucking second of the day has been spent thinking of you and when I will get to see you again.
The next text came just a few minutes later.
Tyler: I have masturbated three times today thinking of you. It’s a terrible substitute for the real thing, but I cannot control myself when you are involved. You are just so God dam sexy!
Tyler: I miss your smile, your touch, your smell. I have been breathing in your scent from the torn panties you left behind because I am starving for you. I need you!
Tyler: Come to me.
I sat on a chair, crossing and uncrossing my legs and considering the itch which had been growing between my thighs all day. It was the same itch that my self-love sessions earlier that day had been unable to truly scratch, and after reading Tyler’s texts, it was now a burning desire that had me feeling just as starved, and he had mentioned it, but I knew I needed to step back and create some space.
I tried four or five different replies, variations of, “I can’t stop thinking of you either but...” or “I want you so bad as well but...” and I deleted them all because they sounded too corny and I could not come up with the right way of telling him that it was just far too soon to for us to see each other again. I rationalized that I needed time alone to think, just like we had discussed and planned before I had left his house. I needed to absorb Amber’s thoughts and to evaluate what Tyler and I both had done, said, and promised to each other less than a day ago. Did he really mean the things he had said? Even more importantly, did I really mean the things I had said? Things were moving fast, far too fast, and I felt I was out of control in a speeding car without any brakes. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to collect myself. When I opened my eyes, I exhaled. I knew what I was going to say. I sent him a short text with three letters:
Beth: OMW.
I don’t remember the drive there, or getting out of the car, or walking up to his house. What I do remember is stepping onto his porch and my hand reaching out but never coming into contact with the doorbell.
The door opened while my hand was still reaching out for the bell. My feet were planted on his porch, and I was dressed like I was heading to the market for an emergency ice cream run instead of whatever this was. I was dressed in fleece pajama pants with little cat faces, an old T-shirt I had cut the bottom half off, and a pair of teal Crocs completed my ensemble like a big middle finger to the fashion gods. My hair was still a mess from my earlier shower. No makeup. I had left the house as soon as I had hit send on the text. I just grabbed my purse and walked out the door without any consideration for my looks or anything else. Why should I? I would not be wearing anything soon enough.
My only concession to being a “responsible adult” was a quick text to Mike, lying again and blaming a migraine and saying that I was going to bed early, followed by a text I dreaded to send to Amber, letting her know I might not be back that evening, with a devil emoji. She would understand. She would cover for me if needed. She would also tear into me the first chance she got me alone.
Tyler stepped through the doorway and onto the porch as if he had been standing behind the wood waiting for the sound of my car. For half a second, we only stared at each other. I looked frumpy and the exact opposite of sexy. He stood there in lounging pants and a soft button-up. Neither of us had prepared. Neither of us cared.
Our bodies collided on the porch. It was not a hello. It was the night before, dragged out into vanishing daylight and given no shame about what the neighbors might see. His mouth found mine like he had been starving for a month. My hands went into his hair, under his shirt, over the hard line of his back. His hands went everywhere at once, my waist, my ass, the mess that was my hair, the bare skin at the small of my back where the T-shirt had ridden up. We moved against each other in that frantic, graceless way people do when the absence has been too short to justify and too long to bear. Lovers who have no right to miss each other that much, missing each other anyway.
His shirt came off first. I heard a button tick against the porch. He dragged my T-shirt up, and I lifted my arms for him like the street did not exist. Cool air hit my stomach. His mouth left mine only long enough to look at what he was doing, and then the look landed: the porch, the open door, my bra in the afternoon.
“Inside,” he muttered, already turning me.
I did not help, nor did I hinder. I had barely heard him, and the meaning of his words was almost lost to me. I was too far gone in his mouth to do anything but let him steer. He pushed me through the doorway and down the hall, kicking the door shut behind us without looking back. We ran into the wall; our mouths and hands were a constant whirl of motion. My purse fell from my fingers; both his shoes and my Crocs were abandoned somewhere near the entry to the living room. The cat pants were peeled down my legs while we were still moving, ten feet further on, my panties now decorated a framed picture of what I assumed was part of Tyler’s family. By the time my knees found the edge of his bed, we were both naked, with our clothes scattered from the front porch to the bedroom doorway.
I stood there in front of the mattress, panting and trying to catch my breath like I had run across town to his house.
“Is this what you’ve been thinking about?” I asked, rubbing my hands down my body, trying for a sexual joke because the alternative was admitting to myself I had actually driven across town to a booty call in cat pajamas. I wrapped my hands around his cock. It was hard and hot against my palm. “Or have you just been thinking with this?”
His laugh came out rough.
“You little tease.” He stepped into my fist. “Do you know what happens to teases?”
I gave him the most innocent face I owned, which was a stretch with his cock in my hand and no clothes on.
“I’m not a tease. You’re just a horny old man taking advantage of a girl who was in nothing but Crocs and pajamas.”
“I’ll take advantage of you,” he said, and the smile did not make it a joke.
He pushed me back onto the bed hard enough that the air left my lungs. My legs tried to close on instinct, and he opened them anyway, hands on my inner thighs, spreading me until I was fully on display under the bedroom light. The sound I made was not protest. It was the sound of being arranged.
Then his mouth was on me.
There was no sensual preamble. No polite exploration of my body before heading down. He simply forced my legs apart and ate me like a ravenous animal.
His tongue was flat, then pointed, then sucking at my clit while I twisted and tried to close my legs even though that was the last thing I really wanted to do. I moaned into the ceiling. I grabbed at the sheets, at his hair, at nothing. He worked two fingers into my pussy without taking his mouth off me, and the stretch made my hips lift off the bed as a loud gasp escaped my throat.
“Tyler...”
He lifted his head only long enough for me to see his face shining with me.
“You taste heavenly.” His voice was just as hungry as his mouth. “I could spend the rest of my life right here.”
Then he dove back down into me.
If yesterday’s sex had been a battle, a war to see who would come out on top, to see if the part of me who had walked into that party three weeks ago could still survive, then the sex today was purely for the victor, and he intended to use his spoils as he saw fit.
The orgasm started assembling itself in that familiar, helpless climb. I was vocal in a way I would have been embarrassed by if I could have spared the thought, sighs turning into broken little sounds, whimpers and moans of his name followed by my pleading with him, “please,” not as loud as the wet noise of his fingers. He felt me tightening and pulled the fingers out of me.
The next pressure was not where I expected.
The pad of one finger pushed at my ass.
“No,” I moaned, and my hips betrayed the word, a small helpless gyration that seated the tip of him inside me anyway. The burn was immediate and shallow. “Tyler, please, you shouldn’t. I don’t do that. Exit only, remember?”
My hands did not move to stop him. They stayed in the sheets.
He lifted his head again, mouth wet, eyes on mine.
“Yes, you do. My tongue was there the first night. This isn’t really any different. Relax. You’ll enjoy it.”
He went back to my clit and worked the finger deeper.
I moaned through the contradiction of it, the sweet, pulling suck on the nerve that made me want to scream, and the slow invasion that made me want to say the word again and mean it this time. I did not pull away. I clenched around the finger instead, which only increased the pain.
He withdrew, spat on his fingers, and added a second.
The cry that left me was loud. A bright, stretching burn that made my hands fist the bedding hard enough to hurt.
“Please, Tyler ... it hurts.”
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