Two Weeks of Hell (Part 2 of Series)
Copyright© 2026 by BethanyBelow
Chapter 9: A New Beginning
True Story Sex Story: Chapter 9: A New Beginning - 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
I slipped out of Tyler’s house just after 12:30am, closing the door as quietly behind me. The night air was cool against my overheated skin. I walked to my car on unsteady legs, a hitch in my step from how sore I was already and knowing I would have a hard time walking tomorrow. I unlocked my car, and slid into the driver’s seat. For a long moment I simply sat there with the door closed and the engine still off, trying to collect myself. Then I tilted the rearview mirror down and looked at my face.
I did not recognize the woman staring back at me in the mirror.
When I had looked at myself and my body the day after the party, it was to inspect “the damage”, the marks, the bruises, the bites. This time it was different, there was no physical injury or large blemish displayed in the car mirror, instead I was greeted by the visage of an unrecognizable woman.
My hair was a complete disaster ... tangled, knotted, flattened in places, sticking up in others, still carrying the unmistakable evidence of hands that had gripped and guided it for a long time. Mascara had run and then dried in uneven black streaks down both cheeks and under my eyes. My eyes themselves were bloodshot and glassy, the lids puffy. My lips were red and swollen, deeper in color than usual, the edges raw and chapped. There were faint reddish marks along my jaw and the side of my neck and patches of one or both of our dried fluids were crusted and flaking on my face and in my hair. I looked wrecked. Ruined. Destroyed in a way I had never seen on my own face before. A brief, white-hot pulse stirred low in my crotch as the reason for that destruction flickered through my mind ... everything that had happened inside the house, the intensity, the way I had been used and had come apart for it ... but I shoved the specifics away before they could fully form. I only let the feeling register, sharp and shameful, before it faded back into the general ache that lived everywhere in my body.
I glanced at the dashboard clock. 12:37 a.m. Panic spiked. I had never texted Amber to let her know I was all right. Mike would be expecting some kind of contact once I was on my way home. I fumbled my phone out of my purse and turned it on. The screen lit up with a cascade of notifications ... more than a dozen new texts. A few from friends about nothing important. A couple of spam messages, one from an Amazon recruiter claiming they had an amazing new job for someone with my skill set. Three from Amber. Two from Mike.
I opened Mike’s first and typed quickly, thumbs clumsy.
“Sorry babe, left my phone in the car by accident. I’m fine, had a good night. Heading home now. I’ll text you as soon as I get there.”
I added a heart and a kiss emoji and hit send. The second the message left, a heavy wave of guilt and shame washed through me so strongly I had to close my eyes. I was lying to him. Again. Casually, easily, the way I had been lying for almost two weeks. There was no version of tonight I could ever tell him. Not the kitchen, not the bed, not the final, complicated way I had left. The knowledge sat like a stone in my chest.
Amber’s messages I left unanswered. I did not want to wake her. I did not want her waiting up, turning on lights, seeing me walk through the door looking like this. I had no idea how I would explain the state of my face or the way I moved.
I looked in the mirror one more time and considered trying to clean myself up. I had makeup wipes and a small pouch of products in my purse. I even reached for them. Then I stopped. There was no amount of wiping or fresh foundation that would fix what I was looking at. The damage was too thorough. A fresh coat of paint would only make the wreckage underneath more obvious. I let the purse fall closed again.
I put the car in reverse, backed out of the driveway, and started the twenty-minute drive home.
For the first few minutes the residual high still carried me. I felt almost giddy, floating, body still humming with the memory of being wanted so completely, taken so thoroughly, told I was beautiful and perfect and the best even while I was being used. A strange, buoyant happiness sat right under my ribs. I had never felt so desired in my life. The feeling was intoxicating.
It did not last.
As the dark streets slid past, the happiness began to curdle. The final part of the night ... the way he had redirected me, the things he had asked for, the way I had obeyed even when part of me recoiled ... rose up and sat sour in my stomach. I kept replaying the moment I had wanted one thing and he had told me to do another, and how I had chosen to follow him instead of myself. The degradation of it, the loss of control, the fact that I had come hard while it happened, all of it twisted together until the earlier giddiness felt naïve. I was still wet in places, still sore in others, still carrying the physical proof of everything we had done, and yet the emotional aftermath was already turning complicated and heavy.
I wondered, with a growing sense of dread, where any of this left me. I knew in my heart I was not finished with Tyler. The thought should have terrified me more than it did. After today I was no longer sure I would ever be able to get him fully out of my head. The way he looked at me, the way he spoke to me, the way my body answered him even when my mind was conflicted ... it had taken root somewhere deep. Mike’s face flickered through my thoughts and the guilt sharpened, but it no longer sat alone. Something else had moved in beside it.