Being Remade (Part 6 of Series)
Copyright© 2026 by BethanyBelow
Chapter 1: Rituals
True Story Sex Story: Chapter 1: Rituals - The 6th 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 6th story takes place about 6 weeks after I first cheated in what was the "happy time". I was already seeing the control and training taking place and in this story I tried to stand up for myself. 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 Romantic Heterosexual True Story Cheating MaleDom Humiliation Rough Anal Sex Exhibitionism First Masturbation Oral Sex Squirting Voyeurism Doctor/Nurse Public Sex
I woke up Monday morning thinking about pasta and a dinner roll I had thrown at her like a coward’s opening argument.
Amber’s voice from Sunday was still sitting on the edge of the mattress, patient and unpretty.
“You hung up on him while another man was inside you ... You have an addiction ... This ends one of three ways...” I told her I didn’t know where I went from here, and she called that the most truthful thing I had said all day. She had also told me not to waste it.
I had not promised her I would remember, but I remembered anyway. The paint on the ceiling over my own bed was a different off-white than Mike’s. That should have helped. It did not. Guilt arrived before my phone’s morning wake-up alarm sounded, thick and specific, the kind that names people. Mike making dinner. Mike asking if I was all right after I invented a chip in a plate and a cut that never existed. Mike pulling me in and kissing me in celebration at a bar with my mouth still tasting like his oldest friend’s cock and throat still swallowing the remains of his semen. Lily arranging facts. Sophie narrating the world at a volume that suggested the world had asked her to but was partially deaf.
I reached for the phone the way a person reaches for a bruise, to confirm it still hurts.
Two texts. Mike first on the lock screen, because the universe has a sense of timing and no sense of mercy. I opened Tyler’s.
Tyler: Good morning, my beautiful angel.
Reading the words warmed my chest and brought a smile to my face. Then I thought of the picture that had become my morning ritual and was now starting to feel more and more like a hand at the back of my neck as I remembered his words, “Every morning I want you to look at the picture of you on your knees in the shower with your mouth full of me. I want that to be the first thing you see every day when you wake up and the last thing you see every night before you close your eyes. I want you to go to sleep knowing who you belong to and wake up remembering it. You look so beautiful like that, and I love that you are mine.”
I opened the photo.
There I was, kneeling in the shower, looking up at Tyler’s face, staring into his eyes with my mouth open, his cum collected on my tongue for him to inspect before he had let me swallow. I said thank you afterward for reasons I still couldn’t defend in daylight. My stomach turned. My thighs pressed together. I hated both reactions equally, which was becoming my most reliable personality trait.
I could twist it around to make it sound almost romantic if I let it. First thing. Last thing. A ritual instead of a leash. It also sounded like a man planting a flag in the two quietest minutes of my day and calling the flag a gift—possession dressed up as devotion. I knew the difference. I also knew I was staring at the picture longer than the difference required.
I typed with the phone held over my face like a confession booth that charged extra for sarcasm.
Beth: Good morning. You do realize most people start Monday with coffee and the news, not a portrait of their own poor decisions.
Tyler: Most people are not you. Look at it again. Then put the plug in. Wear it all day. I want you walking through that hospital knowing I am with you even when I am not in the room.
Beth: All day. Through a twelve-hour shift. In scrubs. Sitting in chairs that were not designed for jewelry.
Tyler: Yes.
Beth: You have an optimistic relationship with my job description.
Tyler: I have an honest relationship with what you like. Put it in. Send me proof before you leave. You are going to feel me every time you sit down, and every time you do, I want you to remember Saturday night and how good you took me.
Saturday night. Mike twenty feet away, sinking balls. Me in another bathroom, bent over another sink, hearing the word mine against my ear as you left. I did not need the reminder because my body had kept the receipt.
I hesitated long enough to feel like a person who still had standards, and then I got out of bed, because standards and I were in a long-distance relationship and the plug was in the box on my dresser.
I washed it and used more lube than dignity required. The stretch still made my mouth open. I breathed through the first hard inch until the burn settled into a thick, occupying presence. When the jeweled base was seated, I stood there in my bathroom. I took a personal inventory of how I felt at that moment: sexual, desired, a little filthy, in the specific way of wearing something pretty in a place no one at work was supposed to know about. Naughty, which is a word I used to apply to extra dessert and not to walking into an emergency department with a decorated steel plug in my ass. The fullness made me stand differently. My pulse had opinions. I felt claimed, and the claimed feeling made me wet before I had even put on underwear, which was rude of it.
I took the picture from behind, panties hooked under the curve of my ass, the blue stone winking under the bathroom light, and I sent it. Then, because I am consistent, I sent a second one of my face. I looked flushed and guilty and like a woman who had already lost an argument with herself.
Tyler: Good girl. Keep it in. You look so sexy I am having trouble thinking about anything else. Go be brilliant and save lives. Think of me when you sit down.
Beth: I will think of you when I sit down because a big metal pole in my ass won’t let me forget.
Tyler: Call it whatever you want as long as you leave it where I put it.
I put on scrubs, and as soon as I took a step, I knew the panties sat wrong. Every step from the bedroom to the kitchen made the plug shift, a small, indecent reminder that I had agreed to be decorated before breakfast.
Amber was already at the table with coffee and the expression she reserved for mornings and interventions. She watched me walk in. She watched me sit down as I lowered myself softly onto the chair.
“What happened,” she asked, “between when we went to bed last night and whatever that walk is supposed to be?”
I reached for a mug with great concentration. “I must have slept wrong.”
“You are walking like you’re trying to smuggle a grapefruit in a place grapefruits do not go, and you sat down like the chair personally insulted you. Try again.”
I blushed so hard I felt it in my throat. “You are very invested in my gait for some reason this morning.”
“I am invested in you. Spill it.”
I stared at the coffee. The coffee did not volunteer to be my lawyer. “I am wearing the plug,” I said. “He asked me this morning to wear it all day.”
Amber laughed once, not unkind, and set the spoon down with ceremonial care.
“Since when did your lifelong, laminated, framed-on-the-wall exit-only policy become more of a suggestion?”
“It is not a suggestion. It is a ... temporary amendment. With jewelry. I can take it out whenever I want.”
“Can you.”
“Yes.”
“And are you going to?”
I opened my mouth. I closed it. I drank coffee like it might rewrite the last ten seconds.
“He likes it,” I said, which was true and also the worst available defense. “It makes me feel ... I do not know, wanted, desired, sexy. It is not like he is standing here making me put it in. I am a grown woman with lube and poor impulse control.”
Amber looked at me over the rim of her mug. “You just explained a thing he told you to do as if you invented it, and then you explained your own consent like a press release. That is nothing, Beth.”
“It is a plug, Amber. It is not the Constitution.”
“You used to treat that part of your body like a no-loading zone. Now you are opening it up to foot traffic. I am allowed to notice the zoning change.”
I wanted to tell her it was just sex. Just a toy. Just a Monday. The sentence would not sit still long enough to be honest. The plug sat in me while I buttered toast, a private pressure that made every ordinary motion feel like a secret I was keeping from the kitchen.
“I know how it looks,” I said. “I also know how it feels, and the two things are not currently on speaking terms.”
She sighed, the sound of a best friend who had decided not to start a war before 7 a.m. “Eat something. You get pale when you skip, and I am not doing that particular sequel today. Then go to work. And if he texts you something that makes your face do the thing, I want you to remember we cleaned this apartment yesterday for a reason.”
“The reason was crumbs.”
“The reason was you.”
I ate. I did not purge the thought of how the plug made me feel, though a small, old reflex in the back of my head still wanted to get rid of anything that sat too heavy. I swallowed the toast instead. I kissed her temple on the way out because she would let me, and because I needed one clean point of contact before I walked into a hospital wearing someone else’s idea of jewelry.
The drive was a negotiation with every speed bump. Sitting in the car made the plug press deeper. Walking across the parking garage made it rock. By the time I badge-swiped in, I was already wet enough to be annoyed. I told myself I was a professional. The professional had a stone in her ass and a photograph of her own mouth waiting at the top of a message thread. The professional clocked in anyway.
Mike’s text was still sitting there unopened like a good man I had put second on purpose.
Mike: Good morning, babe. Hope you slept. Girls are excited to see you tonight. I am making tacos. I love you.
I answered him in the locker room with my face arranged for a different audience.
Beth: Slept okay. Tacos are a brave choice, and I support your courage. Tell them I am coming. Love you too.
The words were true. They also felt like I was signing someone else’s chart.
I was three patients in when Tyler wrote again.
Tyler: I keep thinking about the bar. You bent over that sink. How tight you were. How you swallowed me after like a perfect little slut and then walked back out to him with my taste still in your mouth. Sit in your chair. Rock on the plug. Think about my cock in you. Then tell me how it feels.
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