The Night I Went Out to Get Revenge on My Cheating Boyfriend

My name is Carla, and I’m twenty-eight years old. I’m not saying this to brag, but I’m the kind of woman who attracts looks when she walks into a place, and for a long time that mattered to me more than I’d like to admit. I’m thin, five foot eight, with brown hair reaching halfway down my back and honey-colored eyes that, people have told me, aren’t easily forgotten. That night, though, I didn’t want anyone to remember my face. I wanted one person to remember it, and for all the worst reasons.

I’m looking through some old photos on my phone and come across one from that time. I stare at it for a long while. I’m not the same person I was back then; I was more impulsive, more reactive, more willing to hurt myself as long as I could hit back. I’m not here to justify myself. I did something I’m not proud of, and at the same time, something that taught me things about myself that took me years to fully understand. So I’m going to tell it as it happened, without dressing it up.

Back then I was dating Diego. He was handsome, funny, had a certain charm, and the truth was, I laughed with him the way I did with very few people. The problem was that he disappeared. He’d go two or three days without giving any sign of life, answer in monosyllables, make excuses even he didn’t believe. I’d turn it over and over in my head, the kind of obsessing that keeps you awake and leaves you rereading conversations at three in the morning.

He’d done it a couple of times before, but this time was different. I noticed he was far too close to a female coworker. Much too close. And one of his friends let something slip by accident. At first I didn’t think much of it. Then he started with the not-making-plans and disappearing again, and that was when I saw everything clearly, with a clarity that hurt.

I called Sara, my best friend, and through my tears I told her what was happening. We decided to go out that very night. While I talked to her and cried as much as I needed to, another idea was already taking shape in my head, a much less healthy one.

“Want to go out and clear your head?” Sara asked.

“We’re going out to do more than clear my head,” I replied.

I started trying on clothes and realized that that night I wasn’t looking to have fun, but to be looked at. I chose something short, tight, and eye-catching. While I was getting ready, Sara called me again and suggested going to an area near where Diego’s friends usually went out. At first the idea didn’t appeal to me: if I was going to go out dressed like that, I didn’t want to do it in front of his crowd. But she insisted.

“Let his friends see you,” she said. “Let them tell him. Let him stew.”

Over the years I’ve learned that things like that don’t lead anywhere good, that the healthiest thing would have been to stay home and cut him off for good. But I wasn’t that Carla then. Then I was the one who wanted to stir up trouble, and, why lie, also the one who wanted to feel desired for once.

When I finished getting ready, I went downstairs and we took the subway. I was wearing a tight cream-colored miniskirt, quite short, with high-heeled boots and a strapless top that covered just enough. Underneath, stockings that showed the strip of skin between the skirt’s hem and the lace, and a thong so tiny that my shaved pussy showed through the fabric of the skirt whenever I moved. I’d spent quite a while straightening my hair. In the subway car I immediately noticed the looks; some men tried to hide it, while others stared at me without the slightest shame, from head to toe, throughout the entire ride. And that night, I liked it.

“Let’s go to that bar first and have a drink,” I said to Sara.

She looked at me in surprise. I’m not a heavy-drinking kind of person; I’m more of a beer, a glass of wine, and that’s about it. I ordered one drink, just one, because the moment I walked in I understood that I didn’t need anything else to get what I’d come looking for. I was attracting exactly the attention I wanted. We exchanged a few words with some guys and then moved on to a place where we could dance, to see if we ran into Diego’s friends.

***

And we did. Sara kept an eye out all night, and at one point she casually approached one of his friends. She came back looking distraught. Diego had said he had plans, that he couldn’t go out, one of those vague excuses people only make when there’s something to hide. Even his friends didn’t know where he was.

That finally set me off, but not in a good way. I felt like trash. I was devastated inside. The other times I’d preferred not to find out, not to investigate; this time I did, and reality came crashing down on me all at once. I went outside with Sara to get some air and swallow back my urge to cry.

“Let’s go home,” she said, worried.

I was about to say yes when some guys invited us back inside to have a drink with them. I let myself be carried along. He doesn’t respect me or desire me, I thought, and all I have to do is move a little to have half the bar staring at me. Maybe these guys will appreciate me, even if it’s only for one night.

I went back in, let them buy me drinks, and, glass by glass, I began to feel more comfortable. I started playing along with their comments and insinuations, and every step drew me a little deeper into the situation. I wanted to play, to go further, to end the night anywhere but in my empty bed. Sara noticed. The truth is, she behaved like a queen: when she saw where things were headed, she told me she was leaving and left me with one clear sentence.

“You know what you’re doing.”

Between dancing, brushing against each other, and exchanging looks, I met a group of guys who knew Diego’s crowd, so something would get back to him. One of them went after me without any hesitation. He wasn’t handsome, not by a long shot; he was broad, older than me, with a completely unremarkable face. But he had a touch of roughness that disarmed me. The way he spoke to me without asking permission, that “come here” that left no room for doubt, turned me on in a way I hadn’t expected. If it hadn’t been for that attitude, I wouldn’t even have noticed him. But between compliments, laughter, and hands that lingered too long, I let myself be carried away. Perhaps too far.

***

At one point I went with him to the bathroom. I went in with him without anyone saying a word, and once the door was closed, I let go like I rarely had before. He grabbed me by the waist, pressed me against his body, and shoved his tongue into my mouth without asking, licking my lips and biting me until I tasted iron. He lowered his hands, squeezed my ass over my skirt, and yanked it up to my waist, leaving my thong exposed beneath the bathroom’s stark white light. He slipped two fingers beneath the fabric, found my pussy already soaked, and let out a dry laugh.

“Look at you, you slut,” he whispered in my ear. “Dripping, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock in front of me. It was thick, much thicker than his broad, boring face would have led me to suspect, and it was already hard, the tip glistening. He put one hand on the back of my neck and pushed me down without saying anything else. I knelt on the filthy bathroom tiles and took him into my mouth all the way to my throat, swallowing him whole. I started sucking him hungrily, holding his balls with one hand and stroking the base with the other, letting a strand of drool run down my chin to my tits. He grabbed my hair with both hands and began fucking my mouth at his own pace, not letting me breathe while I gagged and my eyes watered.

“That’s it, bitch, let your mascara run,” he said. “Let your face show what you’ve been doing.”

He yanked his cock out of my mouth and pulled me up by my hair. He turned me around, stood me against the wall, finished hiking up my skirt, and slapped my thong aside with his hand. He smashed my face against the cold tiles, kicked my legs apart at the ankles, and drove his cock into me in a single thrust, burying it to the hilt. I screamed against the tiles and he covered my mouth with his hand.

“Quiet, or they’ll hear you outside.”

He began thrusting into me again and again, each stroke harder than the last, while I tried to hold myself against the wall with my palms spread flat. With his other hand he pulled my top down, freed my tits, and squeezed my nipples between two fingers, twisting them until a moan escaped through his palm. He fucked me with a violence I had never felt before, gripping my hair and using it as reins to drive my ass against his cock with every thrust. I could feel his cock reaching a place Diego had never touched, withdrawing completely and slamming back inside me, while the wet sound of my pussy filled the bathroom over the bar’s music.

I didn’t last at all. I came against the tiles with my mouth still covered, trembling from head to toe, squeezing his cock with my pussy until he let out a growl. I needed exactly that: someone to treat me that way, to make me feel desired to the limit. He didn’t stop when I came; he kept thrusting, taking advantage of the fact that I was still dazed, until he felt like stopping. And when he finally did, it was only because he felt like leaving me hanging. He pulled out his gleaming, throbbing cock, rubbed it against my ass a couple of times, and stayed there, breathing against the back of my neck. What we’d done in the bathroom, he told me, had only been the warm-up.

We straightened our clothes, went out, and no one looked at us strangely, although I could feel my own soaked pussy dripping down the inside of my thigh beneath my stockings. We stayed close for a while longer, and then he told me to come with him, that what we’d done before didn’t count. I lowered my head and followed him without asking questions, knowing that what came next would be different. And it was.

There was no house, no comfortable plan. He took me to a deserted, dark street with no one around and shoved me against him between two parked cars. “Right here, because that’s what you deserve,” he said, along with a few other things I’d rather not repeat. And in that state, it drove me wild. I don’t know whether it was the situation, the cold, or the way he handled me like a doll, but I was completely out of it, and I liked being that way.

He did whatever he wanted with me. He nearly tore my clothes off; he yanked my top down to my waist, bared my tits to the night air, and ripped my thong apart with both hands, leaving it dangling from one leg. He laid me across the hood of one of the cars, on my back, still wearing my boots, my legs spread wide. He spat on my pussy and shoved two fingers all the way inside me, moving them in circles while he watched my face.

“Look at how you’re opening up, you slut. Look at how you’re begging for more.”

He pulled out his cock again and drove it into me in a single thrust, without pause, without letting me catch my breath. He began thrusting as if his life depended on it, with an urgency that raised my temperature every second, the cold hood burning against my naked back. He looked me in the eyes while he penetrated me, gripping my breasts as though they were handles so he could hold me and use me as he pleased, twisting my nipples every time he pulled out and plunged back in. I tried not to moan, not to make a sound, not to attract anyone’s attention, but inside I wanted to scream like I couldn’t remember ever wanting before, and muffled moans escaped me with every thrust.

He lifted me off the hood, turned me around, and bent me over it facedown, my tits pressed against the cold metal and my ass sticking up toward the street. He spread my cheeks with both hands and looked at me.

“What an ass you’ve got, bitch. You’ve been showing it to half the bar all night.”

He shoved his cock back into my pussy and started fucking me from behind, every thrust harder than the one before, his hips slamming into my ass and making a sharp sound that echoed between the cars. He licked his thumb and pressed it against my asshole, forcing it in little by little while he kept thrusting his cock into my pussy. I moaned, and this time I didn’t even try to stay quiet.

“That’s it, slut. That’s how I wanted to hear you.”

He pushed his thumb in to the knuckle and moved it in rhythm with his cock, filling me twice over, my face smashed against the hood and one of his hands holding the back of my neck, pinning me there. I came again, harder than I had in the bathroom, biting my arm so I wouldn’t truly scream, and felt everything clench around his cock and thumb. He didn’t let up. He pulled out, turned me over again, sat me on the edge of the hood, and spread my legs himself with his knees.

“Now you’re going to swallow what’s coming to you.”

He shoved his cock all the way back inside me and fucked me while looking into my eyes, both hands squeezing my tits, faster and faster, leaving me less and less air. I could feel him swelling inside me, growing thicker, his rhythm changing. He pulled out at the last second, grabbed me by the hair, and yanked me down until my face was level with his cock, then came in streams across my face and tits, squeezing his cock in his hand to empty every last drop over me. A hot stream ran from my forehead to my chin, another got into my mouth, and another slid down my cleavage to my nipple. He made me suck the tip clean to the very last drop and swallow it.

That man, whom I hadn’t found attractive at all, fucked me a thousand times better than Diego had in months. He used me in a way Diego had never known how to, and I enjoyed it in a way that frightened me a little. When he finished, everything stopped abruptly. He pulled up his pants, tucked away his still-wet cock, and left me lying there, half naked, covered in semen and trembling, my thong hanging from one boot.

“I hope you enjoyed it,” he said. And he walked away.

I was left alone, catching my breath, exposed in the middle of the night, with semen cooling on my face and tits. As best I could, I cleaned myself with a tissue, pulled up my top, straightened my skirt, and called a cab. During the ride home I felt a strange mixture of filthiness and satisfaction that, to my surprise, I loved, still feeling his come running down my pussy inside the taxi. I had enjoyed myself like never before. And the best part, what I had really been looking for that night, came afterward, when Diego found out about everything.

I don’t tell this as a triumph. Looking back from where I am now, I see a hurt girl doing the only thing she could think of to keep from feeling small. But that night I also discovered a part of myself I hadn’t known, one that even now, whenever I look through those old photos, makes me stare at the screen a little longer than I should.