Being Remade (Part 6 of Series)
Copyright© 2026 by BethanyBelow
Chapter 3: Displays of Ownership
True Story Sex Story: Chapter 3: Displays of Ownership - 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
Amber was waiting in the living room with her arms folded and an expression that said something had happened while I was gone.
“There is something on the kitchen table,” she said. “It was outside the door when I got home, and I am going to assume it did not walk here by itself, but I am not playing guessing games with floral arrangements after nine.”
I walked into the kitchen.
A dozen long-stemmed red roses stood in a large glass vase. Next to them was a small gift bag with a box wrapped in silver paper and a card.
I felt the smile happen before I could stop it—the big one. The one Amber had named across a wineglass weeks ago and told me was a tell. I knew she was watching. I tried to ignore her and opened the card.
Beth — I cannot stop thinking about you. I have been useless at my desk all day. I cannot stand not seeing you. Come to my house after work tomorrow. Wear whatever you want, or wear nothing; I don’t care. I just need you in my house. I need you by my side. I want you to stay the night, stay the morning, stay all week, and as you said on Friday, let the outside world send a postcard.
A second piece of paper was tucked under a simple bow on the box.
For as long as you are willing to put up with me, and for as long as we keep doing whatever it is that we are doing, I want you to wear this and not take it off.
If Mike notices the charm, tell him it is a cross. It can be a cross. It is also my initial. I like that both things can be true. I like that you will know which one it is.
I opened the box.
A delicate silver ankle bracelet. Fine chain. One small charm hanging off it, a lowercase t, simple enough to lie about and specific enough not to.
The rush of feeling was almost embarrassing in its size; I felt desired, chosen, important.
I looked at the bracelet and knew I would feel marked in a way that could hide under a pant leg and still sit against my skin like a sentence. I was horrified at how happy it made me. I was also, God help me, so happy I felt a little drunk standing in my own kitchen as my resolve for a confrontation drained away.
I had decided, an hour ago, to tell him the training had to stop.
He had sent roses, a chain, and a night I could disappear into.
Both facts occupied the same body.
I turned around.
Amber stood in the doorway, her eyebrows already doing the job her mouth was about to do.
“Well,” she said. “Spill it. What did he send you?”
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