Craigslist Revenge, Part I
Introduction:
A betrayed housewife turns to causal encounters to get even
We walked through the front door just after 5. My husband should have been home by then – he worked an 8-4 day most of the week so he could be free if the kids required. I called our for him as we walked in the door but was met with silence. “Must have gone out for an errand,” I thought to myself. I left the kids to their devices and made my way up to the bedroom. I called Mark’s name again, but again everything was silent. He must have left recently, though: his laptop was sitting open on the bed, screen off but still very much awake. I’m not sure what made me do it, but curiosity told me to wake it up. Mark had grown quite accustomed to his Thursdays alone, and those also corresponded to the nights he was least inclined to have sex. I had long ago figured it was a pornographic bonanza from the time he came home until I walked in the front door with the kids, and I was determined to see just what kind of smut was getting him off.
I walked over and rubbed my finger across the touchpad. It quickly illuminated the room in a bright white glow. Immediately, I could see the incriminating gray of an incognito browser – he had been browsing indeed. I sat down, somewhat titillated by what was to come. The first tab was a series of videos – mostly women performing oral sex, all of it very amateur. It was amusing, but I had expected harder-core. I flipped to the next tab, hoping for something juicier, but what I saw was not at all what I had expected. There, half finished on his browser, was a craigslist personal. “M4W” to be exact. “Bored husband seeks new experiences.” It was shocking; I thought I would throw up. And then I looked at the end of the ad. He had attached photos – not just shots of himself, but of him with someone else. He had done this before! This was his Thursday treat! No kids, no wife, just three hours to get blown before he had to be a father and husband again. I was getting sicker as I scrolled through. There were our sheets! Our bed! He had been fucking these internet skanks on our bed for god-knows-how-long, and all I thought was he had wanked himself out. I felt pathetic. The tears rolled forth, big wet, warm lines down my cheeks. My chest heaved as I sobbed over the computer. The emotions kept washing over me – sadness, fear, despair and, finally, anger. I would confront him that evening – make him confess, then divorce his ass and let him fend for himself. I did well enough on my own. That would do it.
I sat back and let it sink in, the idea that I would be ending 15 years of work that night. Despite everything he had done, it still made me apprehensive. Maybe there was an explanation. Maybe I hadn’t done my part, or he needed something else. God knows my needs weren’t being met either, but I wasn’t whoring myself out with every spare minute.
And suddenly it hit me.
Maybe there was a better option out there. My hands were still shaking with anger, but I directed the browser to the main “casual encounters” page. My hand hovered over “m4w”, then clicked. I scrolled through, clicking on a few with photos. Big, hard cocks promising “endless pleasure” to “one or more” lucky lady. They smacked of childish ego and, worse, disease. I couldn’t imagine what kind of woman had responded to Mark’s ads.
Still, the anger was washing over me. I looked at one more of his photos as inspiration, then went back to the main page. I wasn’t just going to match him – I would one-up him. I clicked firmly on “mm4w”, brining up an entirely new menu of carnal delights. Finally, I settled on one that met the needs of my libido and anger. It was a “group of close friends” who “specialized” in gangbangs for desperate housewives. The posting had a few convincingly amateurish photos of four black men ravaging a somewhat plump blonde. I imagined what it would be like to have two of those huge cocks pumping me at once, with two more in reserve once they finished. It turned me on more than I expected; I felt my hand moving almost unconsciously southward, until my fingers were pressing my dress slacks and panties against my newly wet slit.
That settled it. I opened my email in another incognito window and fired off a quick response. “Jewish housewife…Park Slope…unhappy marriage…ready now.” I hit send before I could give myself a chance to back out. I stood up and was ready to close the window when a response suddenly popped in.
“10:30 tonight?” was all it said.
I had another chance to back out. My hand was trembling as I reached for the keyboard. I paused again, then looked at my husband’s photos one more time for motivation. “You tell me where and bring your friends ;-)” I typed out and hit send.
He emailed back quickly with details – a motel in Red Hook, room number to follow – and I closed everything up in anticipation of my husband’s arrival home. I’d need a story.
When he came through the door, I just knew he’d been fucking around. All those strange changes to his scent suddenly made sense – they were his craigslist tramps. I came over and kissed him hello, trying to mask my anger and the fact that I, too, was about to become one of those tramps. He gave a half-assed excuse for his absence and asked if I’d been home long. I thought about flat-out lying, but remembered that the kids did know when they came home. I told the truth. He seemed a but uncomfortable knowing I’d been at home while he was getting blown, but he recovered quickly. Before he could say anything, though, I hit him with my plans for tonight.
“I’m actually on my way out,” I said.
“At 9:45?”
“There was a problem with today’s report at the office. Everything’s screwed up and we need to have a finished product by morning. I may end up using one of the crash rooms at work.”
“Crash room?”
I was caught in my lie and needed to push it through. “They turned two of the small conference rooms into rest areas – couches and cots and refreshments and the like. They’re mainly for the Hong Kong staff when they fly in, but people have been using them for late nights as well.” It sounded convincing enough.
“Well, I won’t wait up for you. Am I taking the kids to school tomorrow?”
I felt a slight pang of guilt when he mentioned the kids, but I battled through. We kissed goodbye, the perfect imitation of a happy couple, and I hopped in my car and headed for Red Hook.
After parking my car, I checked my email on my phone and saw that the room number had come through. I walked the mostly deserted street for a half block before I got to the hotel entrance. I walked in the front door, and the night clerk ignored me. Clearly I wasn’t the first to do this walk. I made my way up the staircase and walked slowly to room 212. I could hear several voices inside, but they quieted as my feet struck the floorboards outside the door. I paused again, took a deep breath, and knocked.
I wasn’t quite prepared for what greeted me when the door swung open. It was a man, to be sure, and big and black like I’d expected, but he was wearing absolutely nothing. No pretense of foreplay. Just straight up nudity. I looked down at his not-yet-erect cock – it was bigger than my husband’s when hard. A feeling of terror was welling up in me, but so was the wetness. Finally, he broke the pause. “You coming in white girl?”
I nodded timidly and walked through the door. It slammed shut behind me.
I finally looked up and took stock of the room. There were, to my surprise, not four black men as promised. Instead, the number had grown to nine fully nude black men standing around, staring at me.
“Word gets around fast when a Park Slope bitch wants to get fucked,” my host told me. “And that’s going to be hard to do with all those clothes on.”
I looked down at my outfit and realized I was at the point of no return. Clothes off, and this gangbang was really happening. I could still walk out if I wanted to. Of course, that meant back to my cheating husband and limited sex life. I looked down at the cocks, several of which were perking up, extending to lengths I only thought possible with silicone. “Let’s fix that,” I said. And with that I stripped down to nothing, nine men watching me and stroking themselves.
As I finished, I was prodded forward so the men could form a circle around me. They closed in slowly, reaching out their hands as they went. Soon, I had hands touching me from all sides – strange palms on my breasts, some new index finger wetting itself in my juices, an ambitious middle finger probing my ass. My body shuddered as they moved closer, their cocks now pressing against my hips and torso. I reached out with my right hand and grabbed hold of a cock. It stiffened appreciatively, and I rewarded it with a gentle stroke. My left hand ventured downward and did the same; this was really happening.
That was the last point at which I felt I had any control. As the circle kept groping, my host positioned himself in front of me. I leaned forward, wanting to reward my soaking pussy with a deep kiss, but he met my lean with a hand on my shoulder. His expression said he was ready to move on, and he pushed down hard, trying to bring me to my knees. That’s when I realized a crucial component was missing.
“Where’s your protection?” I asked. There was nothing but a chorus of laughter. I asked again, louder, and tried to tear away from his grip, but he had dug in. My prospects did not look good.
“Who wants to teach the white bitch a lesson about protection,” my host asked. One of the men stepped forward, vigorously stroking his cock. Before I could get an idea of what was going on, he let loose a massive load into my face. It was the first time I’d received a facial since college, and his cum burned my eyes as it ran down my face. I tried to spit out what had landed in my mouth, but the stroker reached over and ran his finger across my face, pushing the pools of cum into my mouth. It was still hot and, despite my predicament, I was relishing the feeling of having some stranger’s sperm swimming in my mouth. I thought of how many times I would kiss my husband with tongue after this. Like a good girl, I swallowed, and looked up.
“More please?”
