The Social Media Influencer Convinces Me to Help Her Cheat & Fuck Her [MF] Part 2

My eyes barely shut for the rest of the night. Even when they did close, I was wide awake, or at least my mind was. Bea went back to sleep after I told her I had picked up her phone by mistake, tucking her phone under her pillow before she dozed off.

While she had her back to me, my eyes stayed glued to the ceiling, unable to shut. My mind raced, and my mouth now tasted dry and bitter. I just lay there with my fingers interlaced, restlessly trying to make sense out of what happened.

*Did Bea just cheat? Was I the other guy?*

Any normal person, any sane person would’ve confronted Bea right then and there, but conflict was my kryptonite. My mouth simply couldn’t mutter the necessary words, oh no. Instead, my mind would take time to let the worry marinate, to the stress soak, to let the nerves jangle. I’d have to rehearse the words that would be used, over and over in my head.

The first streaks of sunlight that peeked through the curtains were the excuse I needed to finally get up, not that I got any sleep. Slowly pushing off the bed, so the mattress wouldn’t dip too much, I got a pot of coffee going.

“So you’re a morning person too, huh?” Bea chirruped suddenly, interrupting my final rehearsal. “No milk or sugar for me please”, she continued walking into the hall, rubbing her eyes.

*Exactly the way I took it.*

Audibly gulping, I feel my Adam’s bob up and down. The words are on my lips, but I can’t say them. I’ve always had this issue. I shouldn’t need to rehearse the words, they’re only four of them. Their weight though, it’s too heavy. Instead, my eyes help me procrastinate, as they run up and down Bea. She’s taken off her makeup from last night and is wearing that sleepy morning look that some women just look incredibly sexy in. It’s this look – the one the morning after, that little window when she’s got no make-up on, her hair isn’t yet done and slightly tangled, her mascara off – her eyes looking wider, bigger, her voice with that slight hoarseness – the entire thing turns me on.

“Hope you don’t mind,” her fingers pulled against the collar of my favourite white shirt, which she had on. It’s the only thing she’s wearing, with only two or three of the middle buttons done. I couldn’t really tell you how many exactly, my gaze falling on her boobs, which were barely contained, her nipples pressing against the light fabric.

*Snap out of it, Tyler* my mind admirably snaps back.

“What do you want to have for breakfast?” Bea’s hands wrap around my neck, giving me a clear view down ~~her~~ my shirt.

You – I think to myself. Instead, I somehow sputter back, “Do you have a boyfriend?”.

“You *did* check my pho — “.

“I thought it was mine”, I interrupt her, pulling out my own phone. “They look identical. Now, answer the question.”

Bea’s eyes study my phone, and they instantly tell me she knows I’m not lying. Her smile slowly snaps off, her lips now a thin line. “Yes I do.”

I simply glare at Bea. Her words were too short for me to react, the delivery far too effortless, like she did not care.

“It’s complicated, okay?” Bea turns to face away. “He’s an asshole”.

“Does he hit you?”. I bridge the gap between us, my hand touching her arm.

“No, he has never hit me, never harmed me”.

Then the message comes back to me. His message. On her phone.

“Then how is he an asshole?”. I turn Bea around to face me. “I’m listening, Bea. Talk to me”.

“He’s just controlling, okay,” she says, her lips lightly quivering. “He has to control everything I do. He doesn’t care about me, about how I feel. He makes me feel unwanted, he makes me feel pathetic.”

“He didn’t sound like this in the message he sent you”.

Bea suddenly awakens. She shrugs my hand off, her whole body animated. “This is what he does!” her eyes flare. “He seems sooo fucking nice in front of everyone. Then, when the doors are shut, he pretends like I don’t exist, like I don’t deserve him, like I’m …. I’m …. beneath him”, her neck muscles straining, her teeth baring. She’s not upset, she’s angry.

“Listen, Bea”, I carefully choose my words, my voice clipped. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this”.

“Do what?”.

“*This*,” I point to me, then to her. “I can’t be the other guy.”

“Tyler,” Bea exaggerates my name, dragging the *er*, as if she’s giving herself time to find the right words now. “I told you last night, I don’t need a knight to save me”. She rests her palms on my chest. “I’m just saying this can continue, Patrick doesn’t matter”.

There, she said it. His name. Like it wasn’t real, not until she actually uttered the words out loud.

“If he’s so bad, why not just break up with him?” I ask the most obvious question, like an idiot.

“I —- I can’t okay?”.

“I don’t cheat. I don’t cheat on, and I don’t cheat with”. I point to the door. “Please leave”.

“Really?” Bea’s hands retreat from my pecs to her hips.

“I’ll book you an Uber, but you have to go”.

“I can book my own fucking Uber”, she scowls at me, storming back to my room.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee immediately fills my nose. The smell’s been there for a while, in the background, its heavy notes indicating as much. I nurse my mug and give Bea space. She’s out the door after another ten minutes, without so much as a word.

The following days pass without much deviation – my schedule assures me of that. You see, I’m a creature of habit. Up by 6.00am every day, quickly followed by a workout, and then I’m off to the restaurant for the many things that need to be ticked off the list. Yes, I have a list. Most creatures of habit do. Those who don’t aren’t creatures of habit, or they’re lying. I have no such qualms about my schedule. I take pride in the fact I have everything planned out.

But something threw me off my balance this week. I overslept for the first time in months on one day. The next, I forgot to place an order for a few crates of wine. Thankfully, I only overslept by thirty mins, and my manager Alex has a contact on speed dial to get wine within the hour.

Perhaps I know what it is – it’s the guilt I feel from being the other man. Could Patrick really be that bad? Was Bea lying the whole time? I need to know more about Patrick – and so I force myself to do something I never thought I would.

I pulled up my phone and searched the app store, groaning when I tapped on download next to the purple-orange-pink tile in the app store. To my surprise, my account is still there. I never deleted my account, just the app itself. There were a handful of photos, my last one posted more than four years ago – my arms were smaller, my shoulders more narrow.

I type **itsbeababe** into the search bar, and sure enough, Bea’s profile is the first to pop up. The initial pages of her profile seem familiar, but I keep scrolling, looking for any sign of Patrick. The few pictures in which he’s in are mainly in a group setting. Pictures of the two of them are even fewer, but I do find two or three.

The captions aren’t like any of her other posts, they’re short, very short. One is just an emoji of a red heart. The other is just a date. She does look happy in the photos, though, and so does he. He’s got matching blue eyes, while his blonde hair is long, slicked back and touching the nape of his neck. He screams money in every photo – the suit, the shoes, the watch.

*Shit*

I scream internally. Jealousy is not an emotion I’m familiar with. I don’t think that highly of myself. Instead, it’s because I’m just confident in what I am, who I am. The foreign feeling makes me queasy, a weird heavy feeling settling in my chest.

A picture of Bea seizes my attention. She’s wearing a white crop top, sans a bra. The white material stopped just by her bra line – her toned midriff exposed. The white material was mildly transparent, the delicious browns of her nipples making a shocking, if subtle appearance. I hadn’t seen this before, deep within her profile. The caption read, #freethenipple.

Something about her white top shot my mind back a few days, to Bea standing in front of me, in nothing but my shirt. When she came towards me, I looked down and drank in her whole body being exposed. The memory sends pulses down my body, right down to my cock. I feel it slowly engorge. My eyes glue shut and I take myself back to that day, I can picture Bea there.

I drop my phone onto the bed, my other hand pulling my pants down and letting my strangled erection free. Just before I can place my palm over my cock, my phone vibrates. Momentarily I pause, but I can deal with whoever that is after — then it vibrates again.

“Who the fuck is it,” I actually curse out loud. The moment I get one glance at the screen, I want to fling my phone out the window. “Fuckkk!” I scream. Right there, below the picture of Bea in a white crop top, is a heart. Except while it was vacant just prior, it was now filled with red.

My fingers press into the creases on my nose because that’s not the only thing on screen. There’s a big 4 on the top right of the app, and when I click on it, I find the four new messages are from Bea.

​

^(Hey)

^(I thought you were ‘Mr. Social Media Sucks’)

^(Of all the photos, you chose to like, huh? There’s an emoji of shifty eyes next to this message)

^(Hold on, one second)

Suddenly, a barrage of images pop up in the chatbox. They’re Bea, wearing my white shirt. My eyes dart to my dirty clothes’ basket.

*She took it with her.*

​

^(Took these earlier today.)

​

None of the photos were truly explicit, but Bea didn’t seem to have anything else on – just like the other day. My shirt was long enough to run to her thighs, but the same number of buttons were undone – tantalisingly revealing those curves that formed the upper contours of her breasts. The sun in the photo was bright, so bright that it cast a filter of sorts, revealing what lay beneath my shirt.

​

More dots appeared.

​

^(Are you hard?)

I was. My cock was now almost fully erect, but I couldn’t let Bea know.

^(No. Please stop messaging me – I can’t do this.)

^(Why did you like my photo then? That photo?)

I didn’t have an answer. Half the blood running through me was pooling below my waist, leaving my mind coming up with nothing but blanks.

^(Fine. Forget it. I’m coming over. Will give you back your shirt, so please let me in.)

Even without a voice to her words, without tone, I could tell it was a statement, not a question. There have been many confusing moments in my life, where multiple emotions washed over me all at once. Shamefully, I must admit, that right then and there – with me sitting, pants around my ankles, cock basically fully erect, anger coursing through me, confusion snapping at me, – was up there with some of the worst.

Putting on a clean black tee, I stare myself down in the mirror, my brown eyes staring back. Every part of me was the opposite of Patrick. His eyes were green, mine a dark chestnut. He wore suits, while black tees were more up my alley. I always looked younger than my actual age, the slight fade I had was probably the reason. Patrick looked seasoned, like he’d been around.

It wasn’t long before there was a buzz at the door, making me wonder just how far away Bea stayed. Somehow, I expected her to be using my shirt. It fit, didn’t it? The picture she was trying to paint. Alas, she did have my shirt, it was just neatly folded and peeping out of the large tote resting in the crook of her arm.

“Come in”, I hesitantly say.

I have to pry my eyes away as Bea walks past in a white tank top and black denim shorts. While the former gave little away apart from a faint outline of a bra, the latter hugged her bum cheeks like an overeager aunt. She strode into my hall and plucked my shirt out.

“I’ll give you your shirt and leave if you answer me one question”, she bites her lips. “Why were you stalking my profile?”.

“Stalking? I —” I felt my words bounce off Bea, her brow furrowing, her lips curving at the corners.“Just be honest with me, Tyler”.

“I —- I wanted to see Patrick, if he seemed capable of doing such things”.

“*Things*”, she rolled her eyes. “*Things* Tyler. You’re speaking so slowly, and those are the words you still chose?”.

“I’m sorry, okay Bea, but fuck! What do you want me to say? You tell me we’re on a date, but then I find out you had a boyfriend. Have a boyfriend”, I correct myself. “You say you don’t need a knight, and yet you expect me to know what to say. I just met you. I went down on you. I barely know you.” The words are coming faster than I can think, that dependable filter of mine had yet to start up. “What am I supposed to say?”.

Bea plants her hands on her hips, her mouth not moving. “Finally. God, maybe you’ll be honest with me now”.

“About?”.

“About why you were stalking me.”

“It was because of Patrick,” I repeat.

“Nothing else? No other reason at all, hmm?”.

Bea’s prodding for an answer she wants, but I don’t know what it is. I open my hand, the veins running down my forearm full as their underlying muscles tensed. “Just tell me what you want to hear, Bea. You be honest with me now.”

And for the first time since she entered my condo, I see Bea’s shoulders drop forwards and her hands uncross, like she needed to physically disarm herself before the words she wanted to speak could roll out her mouth.

“So you didn’t feel anything?” Bea finally gives voice to the question she came here to ask.

“It was good, Bea, but you’re in a relationship,” I remind her.

“That wasn’t my question,” she reminds me.

There’s a fleeting moment where I consider telling her the truth. Because in that moment, I admitted it to myself, silently. It did feel different, that stupid clichéd spark. There was something about her, instantly I knew. But the moment doesn’t last. I can’t do this, not again. My life has been littered with dramatic, roller-coaster relationships, and I wasn’t about to reinsert myself into another one.

My head shakes. “Sorry Bea.”

“Fine then.” Bea hands me back my shirt, flicking her hair back. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you”.

I freeze, just letting her hand and my shirt dangle there.

“Did you hear me, Tyler?” she steps closer, bringing her face right below mine. “I said I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Bea can’t see me gritting my teeth, helplessly trying to keep my shitty poker face at bay, but as her fingers reach out and graze my chest, I can tell she knows.

All this while, I worried I would be perceived as the hunter, the ravenous one preying on a helpless other when they were vulnerable. Only now does it dawn on me that I should never have fretted, for I was always the prey, and the hunter was about to go in for the kill.

“I thought of you when I fucked Patrick”, she purred.

“Bea, stop … I can’t”.

“I came, Tyler. I came for the first time in months while fucking him because I closed my eyes and thought of you as he thrust into me.”

And then, finally, I snapped. Wordlessly, my mouth was on hers, tugging at her lower lip, then the upper. When her tongue slipped into my mouth, I began to suck on it. “Finally,” she smiled hungrily when I pulled away, my eyes dark and burning with lust.

My mouth then slides down her neck, trailing kisses and upon reaching the nape, I nibble. “You can mark me, he’s away for a week,” Bea does well to avoid using Patrick’s name. It only makes me bite harder. Bea can’t stop the moan that’s been brewing within, her hands losing grip of my shirt. It must’ve, because I feel it on my feet as I push her back into my island counter.

*My favourite shirt.*

I need her top off — now. My fingers trace down her neck, brushing past her shoulders and follow her sides right down to the curve of her waist, before they go back up and find their way to the hem of her tank top. Bea’s hands rise as I pull it up and off her, almost immediately wriggling out of her shorts.

“Hey!” she complains when I stop her, coming in for another kiss.

“Patience,” I insisted back. I needed time to drink her in, standing there in a matching set of a lacy white bra and thong. Her boobs perched delicately, lightly pushed up, the op lining of it so low a hint of areola peeped out.

“Fuck your gorgeous,” my hands cradle her face.“Why do you still have clothes on?” Bea quickly pulls my jeans down, while I took my shirt off, our actions syncing seamlessly.

Bea’s voice is needy when our skin touches. “So good…. ” she manages as my lips run down her body. “Please, fuck me, Tyler”.

My large hands grip her bum cheeks. Round and plump, they melt into my palms when Bea wraps her legs around my waist. I massage them eagerly.

“If I’m going to fuck you, it’s going to be in my bed,” I growl into her ear, then suck her earlobe.We’re in my room in seconds, both of us only in our underwear. I sit on the edge of the bed, Bea straddling me, her chest rising and falling, her breath stricken.

“Leave it on,” I commanded when Bea’s arms reached behind for her bra strap.

“Why?” Bea asked, grinding eagerly against the outline of my cock, which was still somehow contained within my boxer briefs.

“Because,” I whisper, “I want you to feel what it’s like when my cock rubs against you like this. When I tease you through the fabric of your thong”. I suck her earlobe again and see Bea’s eyes wide. Her hips jerked against mine, hoping she could somehow, someway charm my cock out of my briefs.

“That’s not going to work”, I hissed and bit her neck.

“Fuck Tyler, please.”

“I don’t want you to beg, not today.” I nudge her thighs slightly off me, noticing her juices leave a delicious damp spot on mine, and peel off my boxer briefs. Bea takes this as a cue to do the same, about to wriggle her thong off until I flip her, laying her back first on my bed.

“Not yet,” I murmur, my leg pushing between her thighs, which immediately part for me. Bea’s panties are soaked, the white lace dark where her pussy lay beneath. I slowly move my cock over the lace, the curve of my shaft pushing the damp fabric into her slit, sticking ever so slightly.

“That feels so good, Tyler,” Bea moans as I pick up the pace. The slightly bumpy sensation of the damp lace on my cock is incredible, her thong the only thing keeping my cock from finally pushing into her.“How does this feel?” I snarl again, my lips kissing, then nibbling the soft supple skin of her chest. I go close to those delicious nipples, my tongue licking around and over the bumps on her areola.

“Take it off, Tyler for fuck’s sake!” Bea whimpers, arching her back and pushing her chest into my face. Finally, I heeded her words and snapped the white bra off, flinging it to the corner.

“I’m going to suck on your nipples now, and then bite them.” I don’t know why I tell her this, my body is merely a passenger and my mind is driven by lust, aching to see pleasure wash over Bea’s face.

My tongue swirls over her nipples, roughing over her bud over and over. Bea’s hands run through my hair, her neck cocks back and her mouth hangs open with a silent moan. First, the left nipple begins to bloom, hardening under the pressure from my tongue flicking and rolling.

“Oh fuck”, Bea curses when I lightly rake her right nipple between my teeth.

“And now, Bea, I’m going to fuck you”.

“Wait,” Bea’s words surprise me. “I want to see your cock before …. ,” she trails off. Her eyes steady and slowly eye my hardness. “Wow … those veins”, she grabs my thickness, wiping precum onto her fingers then sticking them in her mouth.

Immediately, my mouth is on hers, our tongues intertwining, tasting myself in her, salty and sweet.

“Okay, go on then”, Bea pushes me away. “Fuck me”.

“As you wish, Bea,” I concede, rolling a condom on. My teeth pull at her bottom lips one last time, then I kiss down her throat, her chest, her midriff, her navel then the top of her thighs. Bea’s hands roam all around my back, first pulling my hair, then her nails dig into my back, looking for something, anything to grip and channel her pleasure.

And then, I push apart her pussy lips with my sheathed cock, running my entire length over her opening. Agonisingly, I repeat this again, then once more. Bea’s face is flush when she looks down at me, her eyes wide, her pussy ravenous.

That’s when I finally lined up my cock, and slowly push into her, my gaze never straying away from hers, and hers never from mine. Bea lets out a whimper, a needy, pleading, feral whimper and her eyes drip with pleasure. I almost cum right there.

She feels warm and tight and wet all at once. I groan, inching a little more in, then pull out, and slowly push in again, only allowing her pussy to feel my first few inches. Bea’s thighs close around me. They’re weak, shaky, but she’s trying to get me all the way in.

“Mngggg,” is all Bea’s mouth utters when I finally push all the way in, and then, “Oh God Tyler.” I slowly build a rhythm, my hands on either side of her, pushing my hips higher so when we grind, her clit rubs against me. Bea doesn’t speak, the only sounds that fill the room is that of our damp, sweat riddled skin slapping and sticking against one another.

“Don’t stop, Tyler, I’m close,” Bea finally admits, barely a few minutes after I’ve entered her. Bea’s hands then ran around my back, her nails digging into my back one last time in preparation for what’s to come.

“I want you to look at me when you come,” I tell her. She forces her eyes open, staring into me. I continue thrusting, feeling her heavenly pussy grow tighter and tighter around my cock, gripping me, milking me until, finally, she says. “I’m going to come. I’m gonna come.”

She’s looking at me when I feel her pussy convulse around my cock, her orgasm slowly spreading out and over every inch of her body, her back arching and her toes curling and her eyes rolling. “Tell me if it’s too sensitive,” I sputtered, almost breathless, continuing to thrust into her.“Don’t fucking stop, Tyler,” she responds. We share a deep kiss, Bea moaning into my mouth, her nipples rubbing up and down my chest. Only a minute or so later and Bea urgently blurts out, “Tyler, I’m cumming again. Oh … fuckk,” she croaks, this time her face contorts, her eyes shutting tight and her neck cocking and her face facing away. I felt her body jerk into me over and over, and her pussy somehow getting even tighter around my cock.

“I’m close,” I quickly tell her when I see her body finally ease and settle.

“On me …. Cum on, me”, she breathlessly says.

The condom is off the moment I pull out, and within seconds my cock loses all control, my balls emptying and pumping out white-hot ropes of cum, glazing her chest, her nipples, and then her midriff. I curse and loudly groan.

Hovering over her, we just stare at each other, both winded.

“I love how vocal you are,” she admires the amount of cum I’ve painted her chest with.

Without thinking, I slowly lower myself onto her, our bodies pressing against each other, and then I roll her around and onto me.

Our sweat and my smothered cum glued our skin together, Bea’s boobs pushed up, pressed against me. “You’re glorious,” I tell her, then kiss her.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Bea toys with me, then lightly pecks my lips. She takes time resting on me, before rolling off and pulling my hand around her chest. We shared a shower shortly after, and then later drifted off.

While Bea stayed the night, my eyes caught her phone light up at odd hours. I chose to ignore it, my conscious pacified, caged for one night. The guilt should’ve been eating away at me and yet, I felt barely a pang. It was too late now. I had just got on another roller coaster ride.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/11uqqng/the_social_media_influencer_convinces_me_to_help