Daisy Chain Motel

TRIGGER WARNING / NSFW


Tease Me Reverse Cuck – mw4w – 34 (Addison)

Hello Craigslist Dallas!!
I’m a 34 year old curvy white woman. My husband is a 32 year old HWP white man. We tried cuckolding and really enjoyed it.

We want to reverse the situation with a special woman. I have a fantasy where he lightly ties me up and takes another beautiful woman in front of me. They taunt me and I beg them to stop. After a certain point, he unties me and forces me to join in.

Does this sound like fun to you?

We can meet on Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. NSA. No Drama. We are drug/disease free. Let’s chat a little first and trade pics if there is chemistry. Married women are better. Women with a little extra padding are best. Sorry guys – no men this time (;


A familiar mix of nervous emotions radiated through me in the parking lot of the Dallas Camelot Motel. Guilt and anticipation. Shyness and worry. I loved my husband, but he was never “in the mood” anymore. I stored my libido in deep hibernation until his business trips – when I responded to Craigslist ads.

The usual fear for my safety grew as a man drank from a beercan across the parking lot. Wonderful. I had condoms and dental dams in my purse, but I should probably start bringing a gun to these Craigslist encounters. Seriously.

I took a swig of tequila from a flask. During the week, the wife and I had girl-flirted over email and I really liked her. The pictures she sent looked promising. She was attractive with dark hair and full cheeks and breasts. The candid picture had been cropped from a larger one. The husband’s picture was a classic blue-tinted webcam photo. He sat at a computer desk with no shirt covering his wiry body.

2:59 p.m. Time to go. I was a wreck of nervous energy and guilt. In order to get from the car to the motel room, I put my brain on autopilot and worked through a simple task list.

  • Took one more swig and put down the flask.
  • opened the car door.
  • got out.
  • closed the car door.
  • locked the door.
  • ignored the growing tension in my stomach.
  • walked through the parking lot to room 115.
  • knocked on the door.

By the time my brain turned back on, the husband had opened the door. He was freshly showered and his hair was still wet. He smelled like soap and wore a nice button down shirt and slacks. I breathed a sigh of relief. He smiled wickedly and said, “You look great. Come on in.”

They had started without me. Experienced Craigslisters know how to skip the awkward small talk and get started in the scene. As anxious as I was, I was relieved that they knew the code. The wife was already naked and tied to a chair. The modest room had two queen sized beds and she was positioned to stare helplessly at one of them. Even with a red ballgag in her mouth, I immediately recognized her from the picture. Like me, she was curvy. She moaned urgently as soon as she saw me. They must have stuffed a rag in her mouth behind the gag because her cries were well muffled.

He casually asked, “Do you want something to drink before I pull off that dress?” His question was intended to antagonize and tease the wife. Her eyes went wide as she burst into full rage mode behind the gag. I was nervous but excited. We stood directly in front of her. He wrapped his arms around the small of my back and pulled me towards him. He confidently kissed me on the mouth as she protested. This was hot and felt right.

“Actually, I’m ready right now.” I turned my head to the wife and said “Sweetie, I’m tired of all your trash talk over email. You can have him after I’m done with him.” I leaned into the man and pushed him down on the bed for rough sex while the wife screamed bloody murder into the ballgag.

We narrated everything for her. As I told the wife exactly how it felt, she became more enraged. Her jealousy was so exciting that our talk became dirtier. Which made her more enraged. The cycles of sweaty bliss stabbed recklessly through the cheap motel room.

I was facedown on the bed and he was on top of me when things changed. His massive hands wrapped around my wrists and he was lost in pleasure. The wife’s muffled screams turned to angry sobs.

The sobs became gagged wails of self pity. I swiveled my head to look back at her and her chin was down on her chest. She wasn’t even watching. She just wept.

This wasn’t fun anymore.

“Hey stop. Seriously. Stop! Is she okay?” He leaned off me for a minute and I tried to slide out from under him. He came back with all his weight. Then I felt the handcuffs go on.


I was tied to a chair in the exact same position as the wife. He had jammed a rag into my mouth and tied a ballgag over it. My gag matched hers.

An internal door adjoined room 115 to room 116. When he unlocked and opened it, the wife made three quick bursts of muffled howling.

He drug my chair across the shag carpet into room 116. Room 116 was a mirror images of room 115, except it was covered in blood and filth. The mutilated, naked bodies of two dead women were shoved into a corner of the room. The oxygen in the room smelled foul. The outer bounds of my peripheral vision turned hazy.

The two dead women in the corner were heaped awkwardly together. I had never seen a dead human body outside of a funeral home. They looked fake and uncanny. Surely my husband caught me cheating and was playing a terrible prank on me. This had to be a sick prank.

One of the beds was directly in front of me. It was already covered in blood, feces, and bits of human tissue. I had made a terrible mistake and would soon join the two dead women in the corner. I should have bought a damn gun.

He sat at a small round table near the dead women and smoked some kind of drugs with a lighter and a glass pipe. Meth? Or crack? He shuddered and burst back into room 115.

He untied his wife limb by limb and wrestled her to the bed. She fought hard and loudly. But his brute strength was overpowering. I tried shouting to the neighboring rooms but the gag absorbed the sound.

Now it was me who was tied to the chair, gagged, and forced to watch what he did with the wife. And he did it.

Right in front of me.

The wife screamed and howled ineffectively as he tore out her life. I didn’t know people could endure so much pain without dying or fainting.

When she finally died he rolled off her. He was sweating and covered in blood. His erect penis jutted away from his lithe body. He pointed to the first two dead women and said, “As you can see, this was the third Mrs. Thursby since yesterday.”

“You are the fourth.”


Room 115. The bedside alarm clock read 7:58 p.m. There was a knock at the door.

I was still naked and tied to the chair. He had remade the bed and positioned me to face it. He had wiped off my ruined mascara. The ballgag was strapped firmly to my head. The rag inside my mouth kept working down my throat and I had to apply pressure with my tongue to keep from choking. He was freshly showered and wearing new clothes.

He answered the door and a woman in her mid 30’s walked in. Like me and the other women, she was cute and a little chubby. Through the gag, I screamed in anger and sadness and shock and frustration. I desperately signaled her to leave and get help. She grinned when she saw me tied and naked. The door made a clicking sound as he closed it behind her. He told her, “You look wonderful.”

“Thank you,” She tried to act cool and comfortable, but I could see by her eyes that she was nervous. Good. That could help us. She walked toward me. I could only muster a tiny bit of facial expression around the giant gag. I tried to communicate true fear, but she sat on my lap and ran her hand down my arm. “Honey, you look just as hot as your picture. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

This actually made sense. After placing the ad, he posed as the wife in email while talking to several victims. When lining up the schedule, he used the picture of each woman as the “wife” for the subsequent victim. Each of us recognized the previous victim, watched her be killed, then met the next victim before being killed. We were tied together like a chain of daisies.

But we had to stop the chain. I tried to communicate the simplest word I could through the gag, “Go!” “Go!”

“You sound completely stupid when you do that. Like a baby seal. It’s no wonder he needs a new woman.” She gave me a gentle grin as she moved back towards the killer. They piled their clothes on top of her purse by the side of the bed as I screamed. They crashed forcefully into the mattress. She taunted me and he goaded her. I had been in her exact position six hours before.

Their tangled legs and thrusting hips reminded me of the torture I had just witnessed of the “third wife.” I knew I would soon die the same horrible death as her. With him sweating and grunting and ripping me open with pliers. And then it would be this woman’s turn.

As I wept, he thrust progressively harder.

She grunted, “No! Stop it. I don’t want to do that.” And I knew what was about to happen.

“Stop!” She howled. “Owww! Stop, now. ”

“No!” She yelled in an unyieldingly clear, authoritative voice.

Then again, “No!”

And then a gunshot. A gunshot? She brought a gun! Gunshots belong in movies. It was shockingly out of place in a hotel room. But so was everything else in this situation. The sound was so loud that I couldn’t hear anything immediately afterwards. Or maybe nothing else made any noise. Until her cry started in mid gasp. The sobs pushed raw against a hoarse place in her vocal chords.

He was limp on top of her and she shook violently. She heaved him up and crawled out from under him. In the dim light, I couldn’t see his gunshot wound, but I could smell the powder.

She stood naked with blood on her shoulder and breast. Her hair was wild. She looked straight at me as she held the gun. “WHY!? Why did you two do this?!” Her voice curdled and choked behind the tears. I sobbed with relief. She continued shaking as she sat down on the other bed and dialed 911. She explained to the operator that she just shot a rapist and needed police help.

As I wept, she must have assumed I was mourning the death of my husband. She left me tied and gagged as she talked to the operator and waited for the police. Her face coursed with the agony of guilt. To her, he was just an overly aggressive paramour. She had to wonder if she would go to jail for shooting him. Or if she could have gotten out of the situation without killing him. She was about to experience the biggest plot twist of her life.

She didn’t know about the room with three dead bodies next door. She didn’t know that she had saved both of our lives. She didn’t know that I would hug her as soon as they untied me from the chair.

She didn’t know that we had already become sisters for life.

As the years passed, we would support each other unconditionally through upcoming divorces, remarriages, and children. She must have seen my mind working, because she pointed the gun at me. “Don’t move or I’ll kill you too, bitch”. She was still on the phone with the operator.

I loved that woman already.

 

 


Edit: For those of you interested, my friend and I have moved on since this event. We are still best friends and sisters. This essay was adapted from a speech I regularly give to support groups about our experience. If you would like me to speak at your event, please contact me at www.ovenfriend.com/daisy-chain-motel-commentary/
Published on Reddit.com/r/NoSleep as /u/OvenFriend on November 17th
Share ‘Daisy Chain Motel’ on Facebook

Want to Hear a Story?

Join the email group to get original OvenFriend short stories, content, and podcasts. No spam. No douchebaggery.

* = required field