Love, Lies and Punishment (Part 7 of Series)
Copyright© 2026 by BethanyBelow
Chapter 9: The Mirror
True Story Sex Story: Chapter 9: The Mirror - The 7th story in my Infidelity series about how I cheated on my BF, got involved 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 7th story takes place about 7 weeks after I first cheated. 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 Reluctant Romantic Heterosexual True Story Cheating BDSM DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Rough Spanking Anal Sex Cream Pie Enema Exhibitionism Massage Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Squirting Water Sports Public Sex
Tyler had texted while I was on the phone with Mike.
Tyler: Hope you got some rest and you are feeling better. Are you coming over to talk this afternoon? I should be home by 2:15.
The thrill was immediate and embarrassing. I was a woman who had just told her boyfriend she loved him and then smiled at the idea of spending the afternoon with another man. Amber had not given me permission. I knew that. What she had given me was a truce, a warning, and the instruction to think past the next time I walked into his house. In my head, I had already edited that into something softer. She was not going to work to end it. She was not going to stand in the kitchen every morning and tell me to use my brain instead of my twat. That wasn’t approval, but it felt close enough that I could get dressed.
I went to the bathroom and shut the door like the conversation I was about to have required privacy.
The mirror was honest in the way bathroom mirrors are, which is to say unkind and well lit. My hair was still a mess from my shower; I had dried it but not done anything further, and my eyes were still a little swollen from the hangover. I combed out my hair and put on a little makeup. Enough to look like I had tried and not enough to look like I was going there to make a point. Certainly not enough to set off Amber’s alarm bells if she was lying in wait to catch me if I tried to sneak out.
I turned sideways and checked the damage from last night and this morning. My ass looked almost normal, still tender if I pressed, but definitely not the disaster I had expected to be walking around with.
“You can clock out,” I told it. “You had a week.”
Clock out, the mirror said back to me. That’s cute. You ordered a thinner toy and a kit before you went back to sleep this morning. That is not clocking out. That is restocking.
“I am not talking to you about my Amazon cart.”
You are talking to a mirror in a thong you have not put on yet. The cart is the least of it.
I held the small thong up. It was already a bad idea.
“This goes underneath a talking outfit; it’s not like he will ever see it,” I said.
“No, it is not,” the mirror said. “This is part of a bending-over outfit. You know the difference. You own bikini briefs and jeans. You own the big gray sweater that makes you look like what a person would normally be wearing at this time of year.”
“I am going over there to talk because I just want to get his side of the Amber conversation and apologize for last night. I am going to keep my clothes on and use adult words in adult sentences. I can do adult sentences. I did one this morning. It only took a hangover and a roommate who knows what to say to me.”
“You packed the apology into an overnight bag last week and left it there. You will do it again. The thong is the tell.”
“The thong is laundry.”
“The thong is a thesis.”
I put it on anyway. I didn’t have a bra because it wouldn’t work with the blouse, I told myself. The skirt was short enough that sitting would be a negotiation. I watched myself become the woman who had decided, and the voice did not let me have the decision for free.
“You want his side,” I said. “That part is true. Amber had an hour and a half. You got a forehead kiss and a door click. You are allowed to want the other half of a conversation that was about you.”
“You want his mouth,” the mirror said. “Do not dress it up. You smiled at your phone like he had offered you a trip to Hawaii.”
“I also want to apologize.”
“Say it, then. Go ahead and practice now. I am standing right here. I have nowhere else to be.”
I looked at her. She looked like me and stared right back from inside the glass.
“After all,” I said, “all he did was drive across town at midnight, pick your drunk ass up, save you from Doctor Steve, refuse to take the thing you were throwing at him, including an anal virginity you offered like a door prize, sleep on a couch so you would not choke on your own filth during the night, and then sit through a ninety-minute interrogation from your roommate. The least you can do is say sorry without climbing on top of him.”
The mirror did not laugh. I did. It was not a kind laugh.
“So he is a saint now,” she said.
“Either he is the most disciplined man on the planet,” I said, “or he is actually the gentleman when it counts. Those are the options. I have checked. There is no third door where he is a cartoon villain and also the man who keeps saving me from my own bad decisions.”
“There is a third door. He can be both. You have been living in that door for weeks. You furnished it. You sent pictures from work.”
“Do not bring work into this. I am on a sick day. Work is off.”
“You took the pictures in a staff bathroom. Work was never off. Try again.”
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