Two Weeks of Hell (Part 2 of Series)
Copyright© 2026 by BethanyBelow
Chapter 3: The Selfish Path
True Story Sex Story: Chapter 3: The Selfish Path - The fallout and emotional turmoil of the two weeks after I cheated on my boyfriend for the first time and my continued descent.
Caution: This True Story Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Coercion Consensual Reluctant Heterosexual True Story Cheating MaleDom Humiliation Rough Analingus Cream Pie Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Spitting Squirting
He picked me up at nine. I had chosen a soft sweater that covered my arms and a pair of dark jeans. No makeup beyond what was needed to hide the lingering shadows under my eyes. He looked tired but smiled when he saw me, the same open, relieved smile that used to make something warm unfurl in my chest. Now it only twisted the knife.
He took me to my favorite Italian place, the one with the low lights and we sat at a table in the quiet back corner. He treated me like something precious the entire evening ... holding my chair, ordering the wine I liked, asking the right questions about work that I answered with careful, empty phrases. Every gentle gesture made the guilt spike higher. I should have been the one on my knees begging for forgiveness. Instead I sat across from him while he tried to make everything right for a crime he did not even know I had committed.
We talked about nothing that mattered. Work. The weather. A new show neither of us had watched. The heavy thing between us sat untouched. Neither of us mentioned the party. Neither of us mentioned the fight that had started it all.
Finally I forced the words out.
“Let’s just move on from the other night. Let’s not talk about it anymore. Ever. Pretend it never happened.”
Mike watched me for a long moment. His eyes were steady, searching. He nodded slowly, tentatively.
Then he said, “Tyler called me.”
Panic shot through me so sharp and cold I felt light-headed. What had Tyler said? How much had he told him? Did Mike already know?
“And?” I managed, the single word barely audible.
Mike looked down at the tablecloth, ashamed. “He told me how I had passed out. How you almost ended up in trouble with some guys in the kitchen but he got there in time and took care of you before anything could happen.
Tyler! That fucking asshole painting himself as some type of hero saving his friends girl ... the rage that started to flare inside me was immediately doused by Mike’s next words.
God, Beth, I am so sorry. I love you so much and I feel like I completely failed you.”
His voice cracked on the last word. Tears started in his eyes ... real ones. I had only seen him cry, really cry once before, over a year ago, when he finally broke down and talked about this time Iraq. Now he was crying in a public restaurant because he believed he had failed in this charge to protect me, when the exact opposite was true. I had failed him in every possible way.
My heart sank. Fuck. I was not prepared. I could not handle this. The tears came before I could stop them.
“Mike ... please,” I croaked. My voice was shaking so hard the words barely formed. “Mike, let’s not talk about it. It’s okay. We can move on. Please.”
He did not stop. He kept talking, kept apologizing, kept taking every ounce of blame onto himself. Each apology was another knife sliding between my ribs. I could not breathe. I could not sit there one second longer. I stood up too fast, almost tripped on the leg of the chair, and fled.
I made it half a block before he caught me. He had thrown money on the table for a meal that never arrived and ran after me. His arms closed around me hard. I broke against his chest, sobbing, telling him over and over that I was the one who had failed, that I was the one to blame. The confession sat right there on my tongue ... ready, desperate, willing to end the agony if he would only let me speak it.
He would not let me.
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