Losing Myself (Part 5 of Series)
Copyright© 2026 by BethanyBelow
Chapter 7: Apology
True Story Sex Story: Chapter 7: Apology - 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
An hour later I was on the living room floor folding the sheets that had finally come out of the dryer, the ones from Friday’s dessert crime scene. I was still upset. Not exploding. Just sitting in it, folding cotton into neat rectangles like order could be imposed on a weekend by hospital corners.
Tyler came over and held out a piece of paper.
A code.
I looked at him. “What is this? My final exam? Because I am not in the mood to be graded.”
“It’s an apology.”
“That is not how apologies work. Apologies are words. Sometimes flowers. Occasionally not pissing on a person.”
“Check your phone.”
I did, suspicious. A Ticketmaster text. I tapped it and a page opened where I could enter the code.
Wednesday, January 14, 2026. Los Angeles. Two VIP tickets. Row AA. Seats 12 and 13.
I scrolled down and then saw the name.
Lady Gaga.
My heart dropped so hard I was sure it actually made a sound.
It had been a dream for years. The kind you joke about so it hurts less. I had missed the July shows because the decent seats cost more than my dignity and my rent combined. I stared at the screen as if it might change into a scam.
“Is this a joke?”
“No. They’re for you. And whoever you want to take. Amber, me, if you want me there. I won’t be offended if you don’t. I would never be caught dead at a Lady Gaga concert except if I was going with you.”
“Tyler. I can’t accept this. This is too much money.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry I couldn’t get you the very front row. You’re basically row two, though, and right up against the walkway when she comes out toward the crowd, so you will be within arm’s length of her. Flights, transfers, and a hotel room are included.”
I laughed once, stunned and shaky. “This had to cost thousands of dollars. I cannot possibly—”
“Too late. Already purchased.”
“How much did this cost? I really don’t think I can accept this.”
“Well, you don’t have a choice. The cost is not important; however, if you decide that inviting me to go with you will make it easier for you to accept, then I agree.”
I looked at him, searching for the trick. I knew how much similar tickets had gone for when she was in the Bay Area in July, and the idea that this man had likely just thrown down five figures on concert tickets as an “apology” for getting “a little rough” with a blowjob was something I was having a hard time wrapping my mind around. Was this an apology or a purchase?
“How did you even know?”
“Your Spotify playlist was not subtle.” A small smile. “But I also remembered Mike tried to get you tickets in July. Bad seats, too much money. He talked about it. I knew how much you loved her.”
Mike. Of course it had come through Mike. Even the good thing had his fingerprints on it, which should have ruined it, but instead made my chest hurt in two directions at once.
I jumped up and hugged him hard enough to knock the air out of him. I kissed him. I thanked him. The bathroom receded like a bad dream someone had paid to rewrite. I still knew it had happened. I just couldn’t hold it in the same hand as row AA and a hotel and the fact that he had listened and fulfilled a dream I’d had for years.
“You’re insane,” I said into his mouth.
“You like Gaga. I like you. The math is not that hard.”
“That is the most romantic sentence ever built on a ticket code. I expect you to get it as a tattoo.”
Saturday afternoon, I was in the kitchen washing the late accumulation of dishes, breakfast containers, coffee mugs, the evidence that we had been living like raccoons with a credit card when Mike called.
I almost let it go to voicemail.
I answered. I put it on speaker because my hands were wet and because I am, apparently, an idiot.
“Hey, babe.”
“Hey.” His voice was warm and tired in the way it got on work trips. “How’s your weekend?”
“Quiet,” I said, which was the first lie. I kept the water running. “Haven’t done much. Mostly resting. How are the meetings?”
He started telling me about a long one that morning and how the client would not stop talking in circles. I made all the right noises and asked the right question. I was doing fine.
Then Tyler came up behind me.
He pushed his body tight to mine and kissed my neck. His hands slid under my shirt and found my breasts, thumbs brushing my nipples until they tightened against his palms. My mouth opened on a soundless rush of pleasure. I locked my jaw and stared at a plate as if it could save me.
Mike kept talking.
I got enough control to turn only my head. I gave Tyler the most serious, upset face I owned and mouthed stop. I put one wet hand over the hand on my breast and tried to move it.
He leaned to my ear.
“Mine.”
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