Robbie Blane; 25 year old Event Coordinator, and Boyfriend of the User

Authors Note: Hello Folks, BreaktheBar here. The following story is my take and twist on the AMA. My favourite thing to do on CHYOA is to find that New Idea fore some of my favourite stories and really have fun digging in and exploring corners and places that others haven't gone. In this story, our protagonist Robbie Blane is not the AMA User. Instead, his fiance Cassidy has been the User for the entirety of their relationship. This is not the story of a New User, this is the story of Cassidy making up for her mistakes and indiscretions to Robbie by turning the App to his benefit.

Most of this story will follow many of the themes in my other writing, and those seen in some of the other threads here - romance, harems, hot chicks, and lots of sex. But I also feel I should do something I've never done before and give a Fair Trigger Warning: because of the topic I figure I should just in case any of you might be struggling in your personal lives - many of these early chapters deal with the admittance and fallout of Infidelity by the Fiance on the Main Character. It was in the past, and she is admitting it seeking redemption, and it's a messy conversation and things don't wrap up with a nice bow on it. I've tried to make it Real, because it's a real topic that often gets bent for Kink and in this story, I don't want it to be a kink.

With that being said, I hope you enjoy what I'm calling AMA: The Boyfriend, which will be receiving daily updates supported by my Patreon, where patrons can always read at least 5 chapters ahead.

Editor’s Note: Usually I feel the need to talk up a new author, at least in the first chapter. I don’t feel that here. Y’all are gonna love this. ~W.
_

---

I was coughing on dust, tears welling in my eyes as I looked down at the pool of my vomit on the side of the desert highway. We were somewhere in Arizona, or maybe Utah, my pickup pulled off to the side of the road as dust swirled around us whenever a transport truck burned by.

“I’m sorry,” Cassidy sobbed. She was sitting up in the cab in the passenger seat, the door hanging open. It was almost funny - I’d been worried about the fact that she had a reciprocal gag reflex when I pulled over, feeling myself about to hurl. I’d been worried about her, when the rest of my body hurt because of her. Because of her words. She’d thrown up moments after I did, my partner even in that.

My partner in everything, I’d thought.

I spit the sour taste of bile out of my mouth and sat back on my heels, closing my eyes and just feeling the heavy beat of the sun on my skin. The burn I wanted, to distract me from the hurt inside.

“Robbie?” Cassidy cried.

I stood up without saying anything to her and went to the back gate of my truck. I unlocked it and shoved our luggage aside underneath the bed cover and found the cooler. I pulled it forward and popped it open. We’d only had a six-pack in the house, but I’d loaded it with ice before we left on our trip. Her trip, really. I was just supposed to be along for the ride. The plan was to pick up more closer to Lake Powell, before we went to the houseboat rental place.

Standing on the side of the road, I cracked open the beer on the edge of the cooler and didn’t even care that it foamed up. I took a pull off of it, swirling the cold beer in my mouth and then spitting it out. Then I drained the rest of the fucking bottle and threw the empty as far as I could into the desert.

I slammed the gate shut and stomped around to the driver's side of the truck again, opening the door angrily and getting in, and slamming it shut.

Cassidy slid fully into the cab and shut her door. She was wearing a cute little outfit of daisy duke shorts and a crop top that hugged her slim body, with the sort of kneesocks she knew I liked on her long legs, and checkered low ankled vans. She’d had those shoes for years - I’d bought her those shoes during our first year at University. Cassidy had gone full emo-girl on them, drawing on the white rubber soles with permanent markers. I could picture the ‘Cassie Hearts Robbie’ on the right side of the right foot.

“Please talk to me,” she asked quietly, trying not to sob again.

I put both hands on the centre of the steering wheel and leaned in, letting the truck horn wail into the desert as I grit my teeth and then yelled with it, loud in the closed cab of the truck. I stopped when I broke down crying. Cassidy was crying as well, hugging herself.

When we’d cried ourselves out, I fished behind my seat and found a roll of paper towels, ripping off a couple and handing them to her before taking some for myself. I blew my nose, and then wiped my face.

“It doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Why would you-” I couldn’t finish.

“I loved you. I always loved you. None of them meant anything. It was… I was an addict. To the game, to the feeling. To the sex,” she said. I could hear the heartbreak in her voice, the deep seeded guilt that she’d been carrying around for years.

“But it doesn’t make sense,” I said again.

“The App,” Cassidy said.

“Start from the beginning again. Spare me the… the details of who,” I said.

“It showed up on my phone on my eighteenth birthday, the first day of Senior Year. My Mom had died the week before. I didn’t even open it the first week. When I finally did, it seemed crazy to me, too,” Cassidy said. “A phone app that claims to affect your relationships like a game? It was stupid. But it could do things - every time I spoke with someone, they would show up in the app. It didn’t matter if I had their contact information, or were friends on social media or anything. They would show up, with a picture and a score. An ‘Affection’ rating, counting how much they liked me. That afternoon I was the yearbook photographer for the fall swim meet - you won first place in the breaststroke. And afterwards, when we talked, and then I checked your rating, I realized that we weren’t just friends. You loved me - and 82 in Affection, and a 33 Love. I’ll never forget those numbers. Sure, my Dad loved me more, but he didn’t actually like me as much as you did. You were my only real friend. Did you know you were the only kid from our school to wish me a happy birthday that year? No one else remembered. I don’t think I ever told you that. So I asked you out, right there at the swim meet, and that’s all it took. It’s like I’d given you permission to love me even more, and you shot up to a 60 Love score, and a 70 Lust score.”

“I’d asked you out three times before,” I said. “You always thought I was joking, or teasing you.” It was part of the cute couple story our parents told their friends, now. We didn’t have a ‘meet cute’ story because we’d grown up three doors down from each other since we were six.

“And you opened up this… this world for me. Of being loved, but also being wanted. Robbie, you gave me every ounce of love I needed. Please believe me, everything else was just… lust. And power.” Cassidy paused for a long time. “I didn’t even try, the first time. One minute I was helping her with some homework, the next she was kissing me in the library, whispering how I was so nice, how she wanted me. I’d seduced her without even trying - sure, she was a closet lesbian, but I knew it was the App. And I let her go down on me, and I felt… wanted. And she did what I wanted. By Christmas break I’d perfected the method - I could seduce any girl in school. It was so easy. I could say the right things, notice a new earring or haircut, and in five days or less I’d be knuckle deep in their pussy. And we would go on dates and talk on the phone, and you’d show me every day how much you loved me, and rock my world when we’d get to sleep together.

“By the end of the year, I’d probably had a lesbian encounter with two-thirds of our graduating class, plus several girls I met at other schools while I was taking photos at sporting events, and a half dozen more in the neighbourhood. That summer, any day that you weren’t dicking me down, I was on a pussy rampage - MILFs in the neighbourhood, women who worked retail at shops in town, I could play them like puppets and get what I wanted from them.”

“I didn’t even know you were bisexual,” I said.

“Because I hid it from you,” Cassidy said. “Because- because I knew the whole time what I was doing was wrong. I was lying to you, and lying to myself. I’d tell myself it wasn’t a big deal since I never had sex with guys. That you would think it was hot when I eventually told you. But I worked so hard to keep it a secret, even while you poured your love on me. I kept it up during college, all the way into third year. Always with girls, and never in our apartment - I don’t know why I knew that was a line I couldn’t cross, doing it in our place, but I just knew it was a betrayal too far without ever thinking about it. Then - well, do you remember when the depression started?”

“November, third year,” I mumbled. “Right after Halloween.”

She nodded. Cassidy was sitting in her seat, hugging her legs to her chest. She’d lowered her sunglasses - little round ones she called her ‘Leon the Professional’ glasses. They were blacked out, but I could see her red eyes as she stared down at the console, unable to meet my gaze. “There was this girl who I was working on, and she resisted me longer than anyone had for a couple of years. She was like this challenge I had to crack. Finally, on Halloween, I was helping her with her costume and she turns to me and asks me if I want to be in a threesome with her and her boyfriend, and I suggest that just the two of us could fool around, and we go in circles a bit and she ends up crying because she wants me, but doesn’t want to betray her boyfriend who she loves and plans on marrying. And she ends up deciding she can’t give in, and she just leaves. Says we can’t be friends anymore because I’m dangerous to her relationship, and walks out.

“And that’s when it hit me that she wasn’t something to chase, she was what I should be trying to be. She- I- I broke. It took a few days for me to really realize it, mostly because I got blackout drunk on Halloween with you, and kept the party going to try and drown out my own head. But when I came out of that, I knew I was the worst fucking person. I tried deleting the App, but it wouldn’t get off my phone. I tried getting a new phone, and it just appeared on the new one without me doing anything.”

“And at the same time, I was just drowning. I didn’t care about school, I didn’t care about anything except that I knew I’d been absolutely horrible to you. You, Robbie, the only person who loved me before the App. And even when I wouldn’t get out of bed to shower, and I started failing all my courses, you were there. Caring for me. Loving on me. And I decided to try and make it up to you by being the best fucking girlfriend I could - I was terrified if I told you, you’d leave me. Or that you’d stay because of the App. The App could make you accept it if I wanted, but I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t change you like that, couldn’t betray you again. So I did everything I could think of to make it up to you without telling you, and I swore I would never open the App again.

“But I was still around girls I’d seduced, who wanted more. Just because I didn’t open the app didn't mean it wasn’t still working. So I dropped out of school - I know I terrified you and my Dad, but I had to do it. And still, as soon as I told you it was because of November, you supported me immediately. And from then until this morning I never opened the App even though it was there waiting for me, every day. Three and a half years. But I couldn’t turn off the guilt. Over time it would build up in me, and then you’d do something out of the blue that would set it off. Not birthdays or Valentines, those I could prepare for. I mean like when you spent your first paycheck from the hotel on the new bed for our shitty apartment. Or when you just casually told me one day that you’d literally hide a body for me, no questions asked. Like, why that set me off, I don’t know. But it meant something to me because I knew it was true. You would ruin yourself, desecrate your soul for me, and I was-” she sobbed.

“Every time I went into the depression, you were lifting me up, and I’d feel more guilty because of it. Because I didn’t deserve you. And then you’d find some way to make me get out of bed, to get moving. And the guilt would lower enough so I could breathe again, at least a little. And then life would kick in again. But when you proposed, I knew I couldn’t keep doing it. I couldn’t put you through that for the rest of our lives. I couldn’t keep lying to you. I had to tell you.”

“We got engaged six months ago,” I said softly.

“It’s taken me this long to figure out how,” she said. “But not just how to say it, Robbie. I knew there was no way to say it where it wouldn’t take us to the breaking point, and God I hope we’re not over it. No, I needed to figure out how to make amends. To show you how fucking sorry I am. And really explain not just what I’d done, but why it happened and kept happening.”

“So you figured in the car, while I’m driving us to a week-long working vacation, was the right time?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No, well, sort of. When you took the time off to come on this trip with me I knew this was the opportunity, so I started making a plan. See Robbie, if I could, I would just give you the App. I would hand it to you and say ‘Now it’s your turn’ because I realized that part of what I did was I never even gave you the chance to do it with me. My teenage brain never thought, ‘Hey, I bet Robbie would love fucking all these girls with me.’ But other people can’t even see the App when I have it open on my phone. They just see Messenger, or some game because of its stupid fucking magic. So I decided that I would do everything I could to make this week just a sample of what I want you to have.

“Robbie,” she said. “This week we’re going to be on a houseboat with a dozen hot, sexy cosplayers, models and streamers. From what I heard about last year’s trip, they got a little wild. This morning I opened the App and I spent every point I’d accumulated for years buying you upgrades. Not things that would affect your mind, the way you think or feel, just things that make you more of who you are already. Robbie, if you’re not about to break up with me and take back my engagement ring, the start of my apology to you is that I want you to have sex with as many of the women on this trip as you can if they’re willing. And I’d bet at least half of them will be.”

I just looked at my fiance.

I knew her. At least, I thought I did. I thought I knew every part of her, even her depression. I’d figured out the cycle, how to get her out of it. But this-

“I never wanted anyone but you,” I said.

She started crying again. Sobbing, fat tears pouring from her eyes. Ugly crying. “I know,” she wailed.

This… this sorrow. This guilt that she was showing me, broke my heart all over again. She’d been holding this in, boiling herself in it. Torturing herself with it. The whole App thing was - it was insane. A magic phone app?

But the guilt was real. The pain was real. She wasn’t trying to blame the App, or else I might have thought she was making it up. But it was just a tool.

“What does it say now?” I asked her.

“What?” she asked, sniffing hard and wiping at her cheeks.

“The App,” I said. “If it tells you what I’m feeling for you, what does it say now?”

Cassidy picked up her phone from the floor of the truck where it had fallen earlier and opened it up, tapping at the screen. It looked like she opened up WhatsApp to me. Then she burst into fresh tears, like she’d just had a part of her ripped away. “It’s just question marks,” she sobbed. “You’ve never been question marks before. Never!”

“What do question marks mean?” I asked.

“It means you’re trying to make a decision,” Cassidy said. “And I can’t do anything about it.”

“What was my score this morning?” I asked. “What was my score before this conversation?”

“You’ve loved me and liked me 100 percent since the second week we were dating,” Cassidy said. “Lust score fluctuates more based on if someone’s gotten any recently - basically how horny they are. But that’s never dropped below 50 before.”

I just nodded. “Cassidy, if this whole App thing is- if it’s real. How am I supposed to trust what I’m thinking? How am I supposed to trust my heart? How do I trust you?”

She closed her eyes and hung her head, burrowing her face into her hands. “I know,” she whispered. “I know. This is why I never told you. Because it doesn’t matter - I lied. I’m a liar. I cheated on you. I’m a cheater. I can’t… I can’t change that. But I want to make up for it. I want you to love me again, if you can. And I want to earn your trust back if that’s even ever possible. But I couldn’t keep being a liar and stand in front of you at our wedding without breaking.”

I just sat, staring at my hands in my lap for a long time. Two transport trucks burned past us, the wave of their passing rocking even my heavy pickup. One honked its horn loudly.

“Robbie?” Cassidy asked. “Talk to me. Please. Please?”

I shook my head. “I just- I don’t know, Cass. You’ve broken my heart. I’m furious enough to break things, and I’m horrified enough to scream, and I’m feeling so much despair that I want the world to just swallow me up.”

She cried softly, and I could tell she wanted to reach out to me, to take my hand, but was scared to.

“But every time I look at you, I just want to make you stop hurting. I want to tell you I understand, even if I don’t. And that I forgive you, even if I don’t know if I can. Hell, I want to tell you that I believe you, but it’s all so wildly insane that one part of me wonders if this is some nightmare I’m stuck in. But I figure if this were, you’d have been cheating with guys to really drive that home.”

We sat on the edge of the desert for another twenty minutes. Neither of us spoke.

Finally, it was just too hot in the truck and I turned over the engine, getting the air conditioning to kick back in. I punched the console, turning off the stereo before it could start playing again.

“What’s it called?” I asked.

“Pardon?”

“What’s the App called? It’s got to have a name.”

“It’s called the Affection Multiplier App. The AMA.”

“Yeah?” I asked. “Well, fuck the AMA and whoever decided to ruin our lives with it.”

Breakthebar erotica is powered by Patreon, where AMA chapters are releasing 5+ chapters ahead. PM if interested in making a Commission.