Losing Myself (Part 5 of Series)
Copyright© 2026 by BethanyBelow
Chapter 15: Sunday Advice
True Story Sex Story: Chapter 15: Sunday Advice - The 5th in my Infidelity series about how I cheated on my BF, got involved with with the guy I cheated with for 6.5 months and what started as a mistake, became an affair and then slowly turned into my loss of self and degradation. This 5th story takes place about a month after I first cheated in what was the "happy time" but I was already seeing the control and training taking place. Be sure to read the previous stories for this to make sense.
Caution: This True Story Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Coercion Consensual Reluctant Heterosexual True Story Cheating MaleDom Humiliation Rough Spanking Analingus Cream Pie Exhibitionism Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Spitting Squirting Water Sports Public Sex
Sunday started with coffee, a sink full of evidence, and Amber blocking the hallway like a very small prison guard.
“We are cleaning this apartment today,” she said. “All of it. Together. You are not allowed to hide in your room or hide in your feelings. Feelings get folded with the towels today.”
“That sounds like a hostage situation.”
“Correct. Take a sponge.”
We started in the kitchen because the kitchen had been living in sin. I washed. She dried. Plates from a week of DoorDash, late breakfasts, and the particular chaos of two women who had been pretending chores would do themselves if ignored with enough commitment. The water was too hot. I kept my hands in it anyway.
Amber did not ease in.
“So,” she said, stacking a mug with unnecessary violence. “You spent last night in a bar full of Mike’s friends and came home looking like you had seen a ghost or perhaps made out with one. Talk.”
“I had a headache.”
“You have a lying problem. Different diagnosis.” She pointed a fork at me. “Start with the part you do not want to say.”
I focused on scrubbing a pan that was already clean, so I did not have to look her in the eyes. “Not much to tell. Mike was playing pool, Tyler told me to meet him in the bathroom, and I went.”
Amber’s hands stopped drying a plate with the towel.
“You had sex in the bar bathroom?” she asked, very carefully, “while Mike was twenty feet away sinking balls?”
“That is the unflattering summary, but yes,” and then I gave her the full details.
She stared at me long enough that soap bubbles began to die of embarrassment between us. Then she laughed once, and there was no humor in it.
“Are you trying to blow up your life on purpose? Is that the plan? Because if it is, congratulations, you are gifted. You swallowed him and then let Mike put his tongue in your mouth. I need you to hear that sentence in the room with the dish soap.”
“I hear it. I heard it all night. I heard it in the car. I heard it while he asked if I was okay, and I said headache like a coward with a script.”
“Good. Keep hearing it.” She took the clean pan from me before I could pretend to wash it again. “Even if you were wrong about Tyler for three years. Even if he is actually a good guy who was misunderstood, or he had a personality transplant, or he found Jesus and a decent therapist and a brand-new set of morals in a dumpster behind a tech campus. It does not matter. What you are doing is still wrong. It hurts Mike, though he doesn’t know it yet. It is also hurting you. You look like someone has sanded the edges off you and called it romance.”
“That is very poetic for a woman holding my salad spinner.”
“I can multitask.”
I threw a dinner roll at her.
It was from the counter, slightly stale, and it hit her shoulder with no dignity. She caught it on the rebound, bit it, and chewed like a verdict.
“Assault with a baked good,” she said. “Noted. Still true.”
“I hate that it is true.”
“I know. That is why I said it.”
We moved the conversation to the laundry basket down the hall. Washer first. I stuffed in sheets. She sorted colors with the grim focus of a woman who had decided my morals were a mixed load. The machine started its low rumble, and we stayed in the tiny laundry room because she was not letting me escape to fold feelings in private.
“You hung up on him while another man was inside you,” Amber said. “You borrowed Mike’s clothes for Tyler. You made a deal that includes a weekly sex coupon. You took pictures and videos of yourself at work like your job is an OF content studio. And now you are doing bathrooms at bars. At some point this stops being a slip and becomes a lifestyle.”
“Please do not call it a lifestyle. Lifestyles have branding. I have shame and a weekly sex coupon punch card.”
“You have an addiction.” She said it without cruelty, which made it worse. “You are chasing the next fix. The texts. The pictures. The permission to come. The risk. That is not love doing parkour. That is a habit wearing a handsome face.”