The IG Influencer Gets Me to Dominate Her in Bed [MF] Part 4

Disclaimer: Everyone in this story is above 18. Reposted because I carelessly forgot to include the ‘Part 4’ in the title earlier. Apologies!

​

How did I find myself here? Nursing a cold bottle in my hand, my grip growing tighter around the neck until I must be choking it. There’s a Meek Mill song mumbling and thumping in the background, the lights dark, the dance floor packed. Bea’s in front of me, but he’s behind her, the distance between them closing by the second. Tilting the bottle, I take another sip even though there’s still beer in my mouth, because my mind is frazzled, and my body doesn’t know what else to do. But it does nothing to quell the brewing anger rising within me.

*Don’t do it. Just leave. You can leave.*

His hands are around her waist now, and hers wrapped around his neck. It doesn’t last.But not because I did anything, no – because now Bea’s, and around, and he’s facing her back, his hand snaking up her thigh, the hem of her tennis skirt being hoisted bit by bit.

*You can still leave.*

Bea’s back curves, and her hips nudge her ass out every so slightly. His eyes widen, his right hand rises past her waist, tracing its curve until his fingers linger over the skin by her breast. Finally, I slam the bottle down on my table, the froth rising past the neck and rushing out of the tip, spilling all over the table as I step onto the dance floor.

I’ve jumped ahead in the story, so let me backpedal to where I left off last. In the days that followed our last-minute rendezvous, Bea initiated proceedings to permanently detach herself from Patrick. “I’m breaking up with him,” Bea rattled out without so much as a prompt. Perhaps it should’ve unnerved me, how easily she decided that enough was enough. There wasn’t a dramatic will she-won’t she subplot either, oh no. Days later, Bea’s voice leapt from the other end of the phone. “I’ve done it”.

It felt like everything around us was a blur as time progressed, like everything that happened took place in some warped montage plucked from a movie; we were obliviously trotting along at 100 miles an hour. We didn’t have a label. We never talked about what we were.

*You only met her a week ago.*

But my attention was on Bea, it had been from the very start, and it was every day she and I were together. I noticed how she was moving with such ease, like the air around her was lighter, like a tonne of weight had been thrust off her shoulders.

Through a smile, I had to admit something to myself – I *lied*. Throughout the first week of meeting, the attention was hogged by the thrill and shame of our trysts, the arousing newness of whatever this was, the pain that Bea had endured, seemingly overcome. Truth be told, when I told Bea I liked her for who she was, I lied. I lied because I didn’t know who she was, not truly. Not yet. I’d seen several versions of this sex goddess – there was shy Bea, who seemed sexually hesitant until [I got her cum after sitting on my face](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/11or9cn/an_impromptu_date_with_an_influencer_ends_in_a/). There was frank Bea, who grabbed me by the collar and [told me she thought of me while fucking her boyfriend](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/11uqqng/the_social_media_influencer_convinces_me_to_help/). And then, there was fuckyou Bea, who put her boyfriend on speakerphone [while I fingered her and pressed a vibrator into her clit](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/121ntdq/making_the_influencer_cum_while_shes_on_the_phone/).

After four weeks passed, I realised that there was another version of Bea I had yet to meet – influencer Bea. I’d not seen the extent of what such a lifestyle would entail, not really. Patrick has kept this Bea caged, and thrown away the key. Now that she no longer had such restrictions, it was like the itch she could finally reach to scratch, an itch she hadn’t been able to get to for 3 years.

I’d gotten used to Bea taking pictures and stories of everything she deemed significant, like a mildly interesting candle placed in a wax-spattered bottle sitting between us over dinner. I’d also become acquainted with the ritual of taking a reel of photos in varying angles and degrees before a night out.“You know, if this whole brooding restauranter-bartender thing doesn’t work out, you should really give photography a go,” Bea teased. “Guys usually suck at taking photos, but you”, she enthused, “you’re going to make some girl very, very happy”.

“Ah, well, it’s easy when you’re the focus of the photo”. I don’t deal well with compliments, not without alcohol. My immediate response is to give one back.

Finally, I’d now submitted to waiting for at least two minutes upon the arrival of any food ordered, for obvious reasons. Sure, it was tedious, but seeing Bea’s face shimmer as she took a few photos – it was a small price to pay. *Wasn’t it?*

Okay, I lied again. Dealing with the daily rituals of an influencer was beginning to take its toll on me. Starving and already running late, the door’s already open when Bea goes, “Hey Tyler, can you take a few photos of me?”.

I inhale sharply, pick the phone from Bea grinning and off goes the shutter. Bea’s already changing her pose when my hand is moving to pass the phone back to her.

“Just one more,” she said for the tenth time, now her hips tilting to the opposite side.

*Oh.*

“Okay, this is the last one”.

*My.*

“Wait, the lighting here is great. One more!” she sauntered to the right. Off went the shutter.

*God*.

“Last one, please!”.

“Fuck this,” I mutter, but only in my head. Maybe my poker face is improving.

“Sorry Tyler”, she kisses me, and I can see how soft her eyes are, her lips telling me how grateful she was, and like magic, my pent-up frustration fizzled away in a fucking instant. It wasn’t easy, no. But Bea was making it worth it.

I was just getting accustomed to influencer Bea, when she stormed in one warm evening, jumping and kicking her feet about. “Tyler, we’re going on an influencer retreat!” she announced in her best game show host impression, practically levitating.

“Oh” I rubbed the back of my head and after two or three seconds went, “That’s great Bea!” reaching out to embrace her. But she took a step back, and then another.

“You’re not excited, are you, Tyler?” she asks the question, but immediately continues. “They don’t normally allow a plus one on influencer retreats, you know? I had to pull strings and practically beg Samantha to say yes”. Samantha is her agent/manager, and she got in touch with her right after she ended things with Patrick.

“I’m sorry, Bea”, I take her hands in mine. “I’m not purposely trying to be an asshole.”

“Oh, so you’re just accidentally being one?” her raised eyebrow practically snarled at me.

“I’m still getting used to all of this. Don’t blame me if I’m not instantly ecstatic. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to go. I’m sorry if I made you feel shitty.”

Finally, Bea’s eyes raise to meet mine, having glared at the floor all this time. “I know you’re trying. Sorry I snapped”.

I won’t bore you with the details, but merely a few days after filling out visa applications (apparently Samantha knew a guy who knew a guy who could speed up the approval), and a small fortune later (I had to pay for all my expenses myself, including the business class plane ticket), we were on a twenty-plus hour flight to Bali.

The very first thing that struck me upon arrival was the humidity, the air here heavy and damp round the clock. We were bathed in sweat the moment we stepped out of the conditioned confines of the airport.

While I had been expecting this the entire trip over, as did Bea – we were both donning tanks – the bevvy of other influencers hadn’t. Cue a raft of complaints that somehow made the impossibly dense air even heavier, wearier. One of them had slipped on an oversized black straw hat before crying out, “I’m sweating,” to no one in particular. Samantha instantly unfurled her magazine and began fanning away at her.

“That’s Nicole Sharpe. Two million followers,” Bea whispered into my ear as Nicole strutted ahead of us like the entire world was her catwalk.

“Fan faster, please,” Nicole commanded, sweeping her hair to the side, as though saying please somehow made it okay. Leggy. Blonde. Large tits. A skimpy plunging top and a bitchy attitude. She has all the essential ingredients needed to become an influencer.

After checking in and dumping my bag in the corner of our sprawling room, my hands found their way past Bea’s hips as she changed. “So why don’t we break in the new bed?” I suggest, softly kissing her neck.

Bea’s hand stretched out, but only to nudge me away. “Sorry, I’ve got to get changed. The shoot’s at four.” She shimmies away, sucks in her non-existent tummy, then checks herself in the mirror. “Well, what do you think?” Bea asks, like she really truly didn’t believe how fucking incredible she looked in the halter-neck snake print swimsuit she had on.

“Gorgeous,” I kissed her neck from behind.

“Oh my God! You’re already hard,” she squeals, noticing my bulge in the mirror.

“All your fault, Bea”.

What sounded like the beginning of a quick tête-à-tête was quickly quashed, when Bea pulled on a pair of jeans and was already at the door when she asked me to hurry, before turning around and apologising. She was excited.

I’d always assumed influencer retreats were just an excuse for them to travel to an exotic location, get plastered, have copious amounts of sex, and get a few good photos out of it, all on someone else’s dime. If this Balinese retreat was anything to go by, I was dead wrong. There was a rigid schedule to follow, the majority of which were photoshoots at different locations. Timing was essential, as the lighting would make or break these photos.

​

One particular location was incredible – a white sandy beach led to a dangerously steep cliff that magically resembled a carnivorous dinosaur from certain angles. The turquoise waters that lay below that dizzying drop stretched as far as the eye could see.

The entire day was filled with back-to-back-to-back photoshoots, until finally the sun set, and the influencers were permitted ‘free time’ and retreated to their rooms. I assumed Bea would be exhausted, but the moment we were alone, her fingers raced up my chest.

“Tyler, I want you to dominate,” Bea hissed. Her hand gripped my arm tightly, and it’s as if I could suddenly viscerally feel her energy and desire shoot through my veins.

“Th–That can be arranged,” my voice sounds wobblier than intended. “We need a word. We – “.

“Green. Yellow. Red,” Bea rolled out the three simple words as if they were memorised. “Now, fuck me”. Bea’s hands run all around me, and our lips crash against each other.

“So I’ll just say colour, and you’ll — ?”.

“Tyler”, Bea pleads. “Stop talking and spank me”.

I take Bea in my arms and throw her onto the bed, her whole body bouncing and the mattress making a stiff noise. “That’s more like it”, she says.

I spun her around, and then just stared at her bum. Those bum cheeks, so plump, so round, so …“Tyler!” Bea impatiently screams.

*Whack*

My hands slap her ass, but I know it’s weak.

*Whap*

Another slap, harder this time.

“Tyler, for fuck’s sake. Harder!”.

*Whap*

Bea turns around and just glares at me. “Tyler, okay,” she was choosing her words carefully. “Have you not dominated a girl before? Because it’s OK. I didn’t even ask —”.

“I have! I just, because of what you told me before — with Patrick and the first time we slept together”.

Her eyebrows furrow and she considers all my words. “So you think what? I’m not ready?”.

“That’s not what I said. But I just can’t be too aggressive because – “.

“Because *you* don’t think I’m ready. That’s what you’re implying”, Bea’s pulling her underwear back on.I open my mouth, but nothing comes out, Bea’s voice filling the room to the brim.

“You think you know what’s best for me. What I want. What I need. Well, you might not hurt me, but you know what, Tyler,” Bea spits out. “You’re —- you’re just as bad as Patrick. You both fucking think you know what’s best for me. Well, here’s a thought”, Bea angrily pokes a finger into my chest. “Maybe I know what’s best for me. How about that, huh? Maybe Bea knows what’s best for Bea better than you do”. The muscles all over her jaw are tensed, her teeth gritted and her eyes wide.

“Bea, come on. I didn —,” I stopped because Bea slid earphones in and turned to lie on her side, facing the wall. She doesn’t speak for the rest of the night, nor the next morning when she gets dressed and heads downstairs for breakfast. I assumed she headed off directly for her next shoot, and the next time I see her, it’s almost dark out.

“Coming for dinner?” she breaks the silence.

*Finally*

“Bea, I’m sorry, okay. You were hurt. I thought you were recovering. It’s not easy, you must understand”.

“That’s a shit apology”, she instantly dismisses. “Anyway, we’re all headed out to the beach bar after dinner, so come if you want”. She strutted away after pulling on a sheer white shirt and a matching tennis skirt over the pink two-piece bikini she had on.

I follow Bea out and there’s a convoy of cars adorned in green branding that take us to dinner. It’s a popular spot, that’s clear from the line snaking along the road and stretching for a fair bit. But all Samantha has to do is wave, and we’re instantly let in.

“Sorry, but it’s the final dinner, and we’ve got assigned seats. Samantha wants the last few stories to exude proper *zen*,” Bea moves her fingers in air quotes at the word zen. Her words are cold, and I’m led to believe that Bea could have probably wrangled her way to sit next to me if she wanted to.

The moment she takes her seat, I see why. Next to Bea is a man who looks like he was genetically engineered in a laboratory. His features are sharp, and Chef Duffy could probably use his jaw to slice meat back at the restaurant. Blinding white teeth are encased by full lips. It’s weird for a man to describe another man’s lips – I know. But even my eyes lingered on them for a little too long. My mind postulated that if I ran this man’s face through a golden ratio mask, it would come out unchanged. “Jensen Ackles,” I whispered under my breath when I finally realised who he reminded me of.

Throughout dinner, Bea lightly flirted with the man who I later learned had a name that couldn’t be real. “Alexander Saint-Tropez”, Samantha had called out, “Paging Alexander Saint-Tropez” when the photographer wanted him to turn away from Bea for a picture. I couldn’t fucking wait for the bill — which was served in a fucking book for added pizzaz, I assumed.

“Are you okay?” Bea asked as we trudged out to the bar a few hundred yards away, her voice flat.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Dinner was good,” I say without hesitating.

“That’s Alexander, by the way”, she pointed ahead of her at Mr. Saint-Tropez, who had his arm draped around Nicole.

“Yeah, I heard. Listen, Bea, I’m sorry”.

“Tyler, it’s fine”, Bea’s voice sounded still, like she meant it. Or, she didn’t want to talk about it. I couldn’t tell exactly.

At the bar, we get a massive table by the pool and glasses of alcohol begin to be gulped down faster than they can arrive.

Bea’s seated next to me, but her hands are to herself. Testing the waters, I place my arm around the small of her back, but Bea’s wriggles it off.

“Bea, what’s wrong?”.

Bea brings her mouth to my ear. “I want to be dominated, Tyler”. And then, she lifts herself off the chair, and scrambles to the dance floor along with all the other influencers. While I follow behind her, I grab a small table right by the dip where the dance floor begins when I see Bea cosy up with Alexander. Her words are ringing in my ear, boiling my blood.

*Dominate me*

Is she doing this on purpose? Initially, I can’t be certain, but Bea’s eyes betray her, and they run back and forth between Alex, and then myself. She *is* doing this on purpose.

How did I find myself here? Nursing a cold bottle in my hand, my grip getting tighter around the neck until I must be choking it. There’s a Meek Mill mumbling in the background, the lights dark, the dance floor packed. Bea’s in front of me, but he’s behind her, the distance between them closing by the second. Tilting the bottle, I take another sip because I have to do something. But it does nothing to quell the brewing anger rising within me.

*Don’t do it. Just leave. You can leave.*

His hands are around her waist now, and hers wrapped around his neck. It doesn’t last.But not because I did anything, no – because now Bea’s, and around, and he’s facing her back, his hand snaking up her thigh, the hem of her tennis skirt being hoisted bit by bit.

*You can still leave.*

Bea’s back curves, and her hips nudge her ass out every so slightly. His eyes widen. His right hand rises past her waist, tracing the curve of her waist until it lingers over the skin by her breast. Finally, I slam the bottle down on my table, the froth rising past the neck and rushing out of the tip, spilling all over the table as I step onto the dance floor.

There’s no rehearsal in my head this time. Instead, the words flow like the water from a broken pipe. “Gotta cut in, Alex”, I say and pull Bea towards me. Her arms instantly wrap around my neck. “It’s Alexander,” I hear faintly from behind her.

My hands grab her hips and Bea now turns around, her back pressing into my chest, her hips grinding into my cock, stirring it from its slumber.

“I’m going to take you back to your room and fuck you and make you cum all over my cock”, i whisper-shout by hear ear.

It’s partly because of the music, and it’s partly because I want Alexander to hear me. Judging by his narrowing gaze on me, I deemed that a success.

“Let’s go then”, Bea purrs, and we walk hand-in-hand and get a green-looking Uber back home. Thankfully, the trip only took us four minutes. The moment the door closed behind us, I pin Bea against it, pinning her hands above her.

“What was that?” I snarl at her.

“I’m sorry, Tyler. I didn’t mean to flirt with him”.

“Feel how hard you make me”, I release one of her hands, and Bea obediently runs her palms over my cock.

“Tyler, please fuck me. I need — oooooh”, Bea squeals when I turn her around, pressing her chest now into the door.

“I’m gonna stretch you out and make you moan,” I growl with my lips by her ear.

“Tyler, I’ve been naughty. I need to be spanked,” Bea teased, her voice strained.

My lips drag down Bea’s spine, her back curving for me, trailing kisses and nibbles, until my lips reach the waistband of her tennis skirt. My fingers instinctively trace the waistband to its sides, then I yank them down. She’s not wearing any underwear. Her naked thighs are trembling as I drag my fingers back up on them.

My nails run down the skin of her ass cheeks, feeling them tingle with anticipation. “God, I love how tight your ass is”, I say, grabbing a fistful of her delicious derrière. “It’s so plump”.

*Smack*

My palm screams across her right ass cheek making, and then —

*Whap Whap*

“Oh fuck”, Bea yelps as they sting her ass cheeks again, and again. The muscles in Bea’s ass cheeks tighten, but I can feel the rest of her give in to me, her body sagging forward and wanting more.

*Whap Whap Whap*

“Just like that Tyler. Again. Again!” Bea pleads as my palms imprint themselves onto Bea’s reddening ass cheeks, harder, quicker, each slap thudding and sending ripples across her bum.

I glide my fingers through her hair until I reach the roots, and then grab a fistful, lightly jerking her head back. Her back curves and forms an erotic arch for me. “That feels good, doesn’t it?” I whisper, my breath hot behind her earlobe. “Do you feel how hard you make me, Bea?” I grind my crotch into her ass.

Bea simply nods. “This is all because of you, you and,” I slap her ass once more, “This tight ass of yours”. My teeth graze the skin of her neck, and I nibble on the supple hollow above her collarbone.“Tyler, I have a shoot tomorrow. I can’t have marks on —

“Colour?” I cut her off, and then nuzzled her neck again.

Moans rise from Bea’s lips. “Green. Fuck it, I’ll use make-up. Tyler, I need your cock in me. I want you to stretch me out,” Bea pants.

I leave a trail of marks down her neck. Suddenly, I release my grip on her hair and press her into the door, my hands sliding under the hem of her sheer shirt, then her bikini and finally roaming over her breasts.

“Mhmmm”, Bea cooed when my fingers danced around her areolas and I began to squeeze her nipples between my fingers.

I pick Bea off the door and pull her to me, our lips crashing into each other again. It only lasts seconds, but my kiss is deep, full, draining. Like I’m breathless, and the only air I need is within her. I’m directing her closer and closer until she’s at the foot of our bed. With both my arms, I yank her shirt apart, the fabric ripping and buttons bouncing off the floor. I push her back, and she falls with a mighty spring onto the mattress.

“Oh, is that a sign of things to come?” she propped on her elbows and edged back.

“Turn over”, my voice commanded.

“I want you to make me scream, Tyler”, Bea’s voice dripped with hunger, while she buried her face into the bed, her ass slowly curving for me.

I pull my pants and boxer briefs off, my cock spring loose. Bea peeks back once, and bites her lower lip eyeing my hardness. While she unties her bikini top and tosses it to the side, I roll on a condom.

There’s a rare moment of silence suddenly, when I admire Bea and the glorious position she was in, my fingers soaking in every fucking curve on this woman’s impeccable body.

“Are you staring at my asshole?” Bea suddenly asks me, her face turned slightly, so the bed does not muffle her voice. “Because if you are, stop! It’s not pretty”.

My thumb kisses the skin around her ass. “Colour?” I ask.

“Tyler, mhmmmm”, Bea exhales loudly, composing herself before speaking again. “Yellow. Red if you go any further. I haven’t …. “.

“Say no more,” I read her mind. “But your asshole is impeccable”.

“Have I told you, you sure have a way with words, Tyler,” Bea chuckles.

My palm raises and slaps against her ass sharply, her bum cheeks turning a bright red once more.”You were being such a good girl up to that point”.

“Please, I need more of you, Tyler”.

She’s running her fingers over one of my forearms that’s next to her face. “Your hands”, she’s tracing the veins running down towards my wrist. “They’re so vascular, it always turns me on”.

Ordinarily, my banter is respectable, but Bea’s words catch me by surprise, my mind locked into the role of Dom that my mouth doesn’t know what to say, so when it opens what comes out is, “It’s genetic. You’ll have to thank my dad for that”.

There’s a brief pause. “Do you always talk about your dad when you’re fucking, Tyler?” Bea bursts out laughing with a loud snort to boot. She covers her mouth when she does.

My cheeks burn, and when Bea looks back at me, I give her a wry smile. It’s right then when she asks, “Are you trying to get me to call you daddy, Tyler?”.

There’s another pause now. Far longer, and my eyes widen with horror. “Bea, if you call me daddy, I’m going to slap you with my dick”.

Another snort. “Maybe that’s what I want, Tyler”. Bea wriggles her ass back into me, her voice soft, slipping back into her role. “The dick part,” she clarifies. “I’m not calling you daddy”.

“Thank God. Hush now,” I press my groin back into her ass, the curve of my cock perfectly aligning with her pussy, sliding over it and pushing her folds apart. Suddenly, I got an idea.

“You’ve been talking too much. And now, if you make any more noise, I’ll stop”.

“What?! You can’t be serious, Ty—-“.

I take a step back, my dick picking up a sliver of her cum as it eases away. “That’s a good girl”, I say, kissing her back suddenly. The small pause heightened her arousal, and her back jerks up when my lips grazes it.

Bea presses her ass into my face when I bury it into her pussy, my nose deeply inhaling her sweet and salty nectar. “You smell divine,” I told her, then dug two fingers into her and brought them to my mouth. “You taste divine, too” I groaned.

“Now, do you want my dick in you?” I ask coyly.

“Mhmmm”, Bea desperately says, her ass pushing back, trying in vain to get my cock closer.

“Say it Bea”.

“I want your dick in me, Tyler. Please, please fuck me. Fuck me!” Bea cries. “

Finally, I pushed into her and we both let out a primal groan, unfiltered and raw. “Fuck Tyler, that feels spectacular”.

I start pushing more and more of my cock into her, picking up speed quickly until I’m hammering into her pussy, my balls slapping into her clit. With one free hand, I reach out for Bea’s palm and pull it towards her pussy.

“Touch yourself”, I instructed her.

“Mnngg”, she responded, but her hands told me she listened, moving and then circling her clit vigorously.

“Fuck Tyler, again”, Bea yelped when I slapped her ass, now a brooding crimson. My hand once more snaked through her hair, and then I grabbed a small fistful once I reached her roots and pulled.

I could feel Bea’s pussy tighten around my cock, her grip on it getting more and more strangled. Every single thrust became more constricting, like my cock was diving into a tunnel of pleasure that was getting tighter and tighter.

“You feel so fucking good, Tyler”. Her ass rippled again, and Bea’s moans were now constant, pleading with deities and cursing with pleasure. “Tyler, I’m gonna cum”.

“I didn’t say you could cum.” I suddenly said, without changing my pace. Bea’s hand continued to rub herself, and her voice almost shattered.

“Tyler, I don’t know how long I can hold on –

“I didn’t say you could cum,” my voice rose in volume now, my head dipped and growled into her ear.“Mhmmm”, Bea cried. Her face pulled away, and her face is buried into the sheets, her hand reaching back for something. Seeing her paw at my leg, I interlace my fingers with hers, but my pace doesn’t dwindle.

The sound of our skin slapping into each other, Bea’s muffled, shaky moans, were music to my ears. I feel Bea’s pussy constrict my dick, like it’s about to pop. I feel it pulsing all around me, throbbing as I pound into it over and over.

“Tyler!” Bea screams, actually screams. “Please, Tyler, I need to cum. I fucking need to cum!”.

I smile one last time. “Cum for my Bea. Cum on my cock”, I finally permitted.

Bea let out a wail, unrestrained and guttural, the bottled passion and pleasure leaping out of her mouth that lay agape, drool pooling by her cheek. I don’t stop, and keep pushing into her, and I feel Bea’s ass push back, like she’s matching my rhythm. And then suddenly, it’s like I’m somehow pushing deeper into her clit, and Bea’s is somehow going again. But it doesn’t last – and Bea climaxes one final time – this one filling the room with less noise, Bea’s body instead convulsing, her back arching far too much and pushing my cock like she wanted me to bury it into her for good.

My cock is squeezed and strangled, and I can feel it being glazed with her cum as it’s being milked over and over, sending me closer and closer until I’m teetering on the brink. I feel my cock twitching, pulsing, throbbing – like it was waiting for Bea to finish.

“Bea, I’m gonna cum”.

“Cum on me,” Bea says breathlessly, my cock still buried deep within her. I pull out of her, my cock a throbbing shade of red, angry and harder than I’ve ever seen, ever felt.

“Give me your cum, Tyler. Cum all over me, please!”, Bea pleads. I see a glimpse of her eyes, wet and hungry, and that finally does it.

“Of fuck Bea, I’m cumming”, I roar, ripping the condom off and feeling myself empty, my load spilling out and all over her back, small pools of my thick cum gathering between her shoulder blades, flowing down the valley between them and then pooling just above where her ass starts.

“You okay?” I kiss the back of her neck.

Bea doesn’t say anything, and merely nods.

“Bea, are —”, I say, turning her over, finding her blue eyes dripping wet.

“No — no, Tyler!” she immediately grabs my hands. “These are — they’re happy tears”, she says straight away, before my mind can run off in another direction. I kiss the small area of her forehead. Then, her left cheek, and her right. I pull her into me, and she wipes her tears on my chest.

“Why are you crying, Bea?” I ask like an idiot.

“Because Tyler — I trusted you enough to do this, after I thought I couldn’t have sex like this any more. And — and it was the best sex of my life”.

“Best sex of your life so far”, I immediately correct her.

“Idiot!” she rolls her eyes playfully and slaps my chest. But there’s that smile of hers, the ear to ear grin. “Oh fuck,” she suddenly realises what we’ve done to the bedsheets. “Is cum easy to get out?” she asks, feeling the moist sticky patches all over the silk bed sheets.

I take her hand and guide her to the bathroom. We have a slow, warm shower together, Bea rocking in my arms with soothing wisps of steam rising and flowing all around us. The soap wipes all our fluids off each other, and when we step out of the bathroom, Bea shrieks. “Tyler! How did you get this together?”.

There’s a small spread of fruits, water bottles, and snacks lying all around the bed – which was fitted with new sheets now. “Room service,” I told her. Of course, I had removed the sheets myself, dumping the sticky silk into the basket as I prepared the shower for Bea.

She eats, drinks and I pepper her with different kinds of kisses, short playful pecks until she’s curled up and buried into my chest. She stares at me one last time, her blue eyes now slightly droopy, like she wants to say something but finally just misses me on the cheek and drifts off, nuzzling her head into me.

A sudden jolt of vibrations suddenly startles me from my sleep. Picking up my phone, I wince at the screen. “Chris, it’s fucking three A.M.” I whisper to my restaurant manager. “Was someone murdered last night?”.

There’s a long pause, which makes me wonder if someone *was* actually murdered in my restaurant. But no, it was far worse. “Erm, we’ve been review-bombed”, he finally gulped. “There’s twenty, maybe thirty one-star reviews, all panning the place. And – and Tyler”, Chris stammered, “the number of reviews keeps increasing every fucking hour”.

“Okay, just close up. We’ll handle this in the morning,” I tell him, my mind yet to fully boot up. “Night Chris”.

“Night Tyler,” his voice is clipped before ending the call.

I Google my restaurant, and sure enough, it’s flooded with 1-star reviews, all posted within an hour or two of each other. The glowing 4.8 average we had plummeted to a paltry 3.5, and it was bound to drop even further.

“What the fuck?” I whisper-curse scrolling past all the complaints contained within the dozens of new reviews.

​

^(Poor Service. Bland food. Abysmal cocktails. Unacceptable. Worst dining experience.)

​

And then, I spot it. The first review that started the avalanche, written by one Patrick M. *Her* Patrick, it had to be.

*Fuck.*

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/128nsb9/the_ig_influencer_gets_me_to_dominate_her_in_bed