The Cheating Zone 07 The Test

The Cheating Zone 07: The Test

As always, constructive comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Please remember, this is a work of fiction, meaning that it is not real in any way, shape, matter or form.

Have you ever had one of those days where you felt like you just stepped into the Twilight Zone? I did, and I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.

Was it a dream? Was it real? I don’t really know.

Maybe if I explain, you can help me understand.

My name is Jack Colton, and for the last five years, I’ve been married to Liz, a wonderful woman who can rock my world with a smile. As I sat on the couch in the apartment we shared, I wondered what was happening to our marriage. Lately, she’d been preoccupied with her job at McMaster and Carson, a large, prominent legal firm downtown, and it seemed like lately, she’d been gone more than she’s been at home. Worse yet, she seemed to act as if I wasn’t even a part of her life.

I understood when she took the job that there might be times when she would have to work late, as her firm often takes on high-profile cases that require a lot of time and effort. But there was something different about the current case she was working. According to what she told me, a group of women were suing another large legal firm for sexual harassment. Heading up the case was one John Hermes, a fairly new attorney the company recruited from New York.

The name was very familiar to me. John and Liz were an item during college, but she broke it off when she caught him cheating on her. Liz and I were friends at the time and she spent many hours crying on my shoulder. Those hours turned into dates and then into a full-blown relationship. Right before graduating from college, I asked her to marry me and she accepted.

Liz was hired by McMaster and Carson after graduation and was working her way to a partnership. I started my own IT consulting firm and was now doing quite well, having hired a crew of engineers and field techs to service his ever-growing customer base.

At first, things were tight for us. It’s not easy running a start-up company while paying bills, you know. Early on, we sometimes had to rely on Liz’ income to pay the bills. She never complained at all, and was very supportive of my efforts, telling me that things would work out just fine. Fortunately, things got progressively better as time went on. Liz still brings home more than I do, but not by much.

Nevertheless, I was concerned -- not about money, but about John Hermes. From what I learned online, John had married and had fathered a child. But, I learned through the grapevine, which included some of my clients, John had a reputation as a pussy hound.

I also noticed something else. Liz had started wearing a crystal teardrop pendant John had given her when they were together in college. She once told me that John said it was a reminder that she belonged to him. As long as she wore it, he owned her, she said.

Of course, that was back in college when they were a couple. She quit wearing it when they broke up and I thought she had gotten rid of it. I asked her about it when I saw her put the thing on, but she just waved me off, saying it accentuated her skirt.

There was something else. Liz was now spending more time out “with the girls” than ever before. I know she works hard and I never begrudged her spending “happy hours” with her colleagues every once in a while to blow off steam or to celebrate a victory in court, but it was happening two or three times a week, and often until fairly late at night.

I didn’t want to accuse her of doing anything inappropriate, but I began to think there was something going on between her and John. So, one night, I went to the bar where Liz and her friends gathered after work. As I watched from my corner booth, Liz danced several times with John.

She never told me that he was with them -- I thought this was a “girls” night. Worse yet, I was steamed by the adoring looks she gave her old college boyfriend. I took video of them dancing, and even though John never touched Liz inappropriately, I still didn’t like the way they were carrying on.

That night, I went home and waited for Liz, who came stumbling in about midnight. She ran into the bathroom and took a shower before coming to bed. I had read enough stories on Literotica and other sites to know this was a sign that she might very well be having an affair with her old college flame. To say that I was furious would be an understatement, but I needed more information before confronting her.

Then I received news that my father, Mack, died of a sudden heart attack. A career Marine, he survived three tours in Vietnam and retired in 1983, having served 20 years.

He was a big man who took no shit off of anyone, but he was a lovable teddy bear to me. I couldn’t even recall him ever raising his voice to me. All it took was “the look” and I knew I had screwed up. I remembered the nights when Dad would sit me in his lap and tell me stories about our family. I was just a child and I loved those times together.

He had a large scrap book, bound with the family crest on a deep purple background, that held photos and articles of his ancestors, dating back to the early 20

th

century. I loved hearing the stories Dad would tell about our ancestors, many of which sounded like plots for old movies.

After retiring, my dad worked for Harman Enterprises, a company which owned a large factory in town. At first he was a maintenance man but quickly became chief of his maintenance crew. He worked hard all his life so his mother wouldn’t have to and I could go to college without having to take out an expensive student loan.

Then he died, and a piece of me died with him. Dad had taught me the value of hard work, taught me how to fix a car, and how to hunt and fish. But most important, Dad taught me what it meant to be a man.

Although Liz could take bereavement leave to be at Dad’s funeral, she ended up having to take depositions from people regarding the sexual harassment case. I was very upset, especially given how much Dad loved her and treated her like the daughter he never had.

I was also embarrassed, having to explain to his family and close friends that Liz’ work was essentially more important than my father’s funeral. Surely, someone else could take those depositions, but Liz said John had tasked her with it and she had no choice.

Things were a bit frosty around the house after that, but it got worse a few days later.

I was at a client’s office this morning installing new updates on a server when I got a text message: “Coffee shop, corner of 3

rd

and Madison. 2:00 pm. Be there.” It was signed, “H.” I knew the “H” stood for Hermes, as I had seen texts on my wife’s phone from him before, and knew that he always signed them that way so people would know the text was really from him.

Who the fuck did this guy think he was, giving me orders like this? Yeah, I was pissed. But I was also curious. What did he want with me? Did it have anything to do with Liz? Was he going to come clean? Was this the end of my marriage? I had to know.

I was familiar with that part of town and I didn’t remember seeing a coffee shop on that corner. There was an old strip mall there but it had been torn down and a new building was set to be put up there. I finished the job and headed out.

When I reached 3

rd

and Madison, I saw an old wooden building that looked like it could be part of a set for an old western movie. I saw a silver Jaguar parked by the building and the license plate, which read, “Hermes 1,” indicated that it was his car. There were no other cars in the dirt lot.

I parked next to him and went inside. Hermes sat at the only table in the shop and there was no one else there, except for the barista, whose facial features seemed somewhat plastic to me. Hermes already had two cups of coffee on the table and he motioned for me to sit.

I pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. I refused his offer of a handshake, causing a smirk to come across his face.

“What do you want?” I asked. His smirk grew.

“Right to the point,” he said. “I like that.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I just wanted you to know that I’m going to fuck your wife very soon. And she’s going to love it.” I was fuming.

“I know you and Liz were an item in college, but she’s my wife now,” I said. “What makes you think I’m just going to sit and do nothing?”

“I don’t know what you’re going to do,” he said. “And you’re right, we were a couple in college for a while. You see, for me, it’s not just the actual conquest, it’s the chase that gets me off. Part of that is letting the man I’m going to cuckold know what’s going to happen. Maybe even give him a chance to stop me.”

“Have you already fucked her?” I asked. He shook his head.

“No, not since I last had her in college,” he said. “Things are different now. You know she’s been wearing that pendant I gave her in college, right?”

“Yes,” I said.

“She’s been wearing it because I asked her to. I always thought she looked good with it and like I told her in college, as long as she wears it, I own her,” he said. He took another sip of his coffee and looked at me.

“Tell me, Jack, how much do you love your wife?” he asked.

“She’s my life,” I said. “I’d die for her.” He nodded his head.

“Of course you would,” he said. “You love her more than your own life. That’s understandable. But let’s be honest. Dying is easy. Everyone dies. None of us are getting out of this alive. But tell me, would you kill for her? Hmmm? Would you kill to keep the woman you love?”

“What the fuck kind of a question is that?” I asked. “Maybe if it was a life or death situation, but come on, we’re civilized men. We don’t do pistols at 20 paces anymore.” He chuckled.

“Civilized,” he said thoughtfully. “So, Jack, does a civilized man curl up in the fetal position and suck his thumb while his wife is ravaged by another man? Does a civilized man put his face in his knees and cry as his wife screams for more pleasure from another man’s cock? Does a civilized man beg and plead with his wife, hoping she doesn’t humiliate him in the worst way she can? Tell me, Jack, what does a civilized man do these days?”

“Why are you asking?” I responded. “Is this some kind of a fucking test?” He laughed.

“Of course,” he said. “Isn’t everything in life a test? How we react and deal with adversity -- isn’t that the true measure of a man?” I sat back in my chair, listening to his words. There was some truth in what he was saying and I could hear my Dad saying something very similar. Hermes got up out of his chair.

“Just so you know,” he said. “Your wife and I haven’t done anything ... yet. But she’s getting closer and closer. I guarantee you that if you do nothing, she’ll be mine -- forever. The ball’s in your court. Just ask yourself: What would your great-grandfather have done?” I looked at him, surprised. What did he know of my great-grandfather and why would he mention him? “See ya around,” he said, walking out of the shop.

I sat there for a few minutes, stunned at what I just heard. Then I realized I needed to get home, to Liz. I needed to stop her, somehow.

I got home and ran in the house, calling for my wife, but she wasn’t home yet. I waited, anxious to see what she would say. After more than an agonizing hour, she came in the house, but there was something different about her.

She moved like an automaton, almost like she was being remotely controlled. She looked around, but focused on nothing. I stood right in front of her, calling her name, but she didn’t even blink. Then I saw it -- the pendant around her neck -- and it was blinking. What was up with that? She moved around the house for a while like a robot, repeating the same thing: “I have to go. I have to meet him.”

After a few minutes of this, she walked out of the house, ignoring my calls. I watched as she got in her car and backed out of the driveway. I grabbed my keys and jumped in my car, following her. I had to know where she was going.

It was easy to follow Liz to where she was going. She did nothing to try and lose me and soon, we were at the corner of 3

rd

and Madison. As I watched, she pulled into the dirt lot next to the building where I met Hermes earlier today, but it looked different. What the hell is going on, I asked myself.

I parked next to her car as she got out. She didn’t even look at me or acknowledge my presence. The pendant around her neck was blinking even faster. She walked through the door and I followed close behind.

When I walked into the building, I was shocked. This wasn’t a coffee shop anymore. Something had happened since I had been here just two hours ago. Instead of a coffee bar and tables, there was an archway with a stand-alone panel in front of it.

Hermes stood in the archway with Liz. His arm was around her and she was staring at him, eyes wide, oblivious to anything else. The pendant continued to blink. Hermes looked at me with a smirk on his face.

“Well, I see you made it,” he said. “Good. I tell you what. I’ll give you eight hours. If I don’t see you at the end of that time, Liz will be mine -- forever.” He picked up a very large hourglass, turned it over and set it back down.

“Liz, don’t go,” I called out. She turned to me, slowly, her face still blank.

“Goodbye, Jack,” she said without emotion. Hermes laughed and pressed something on the panel. Stepping back into the archway, he waved and then disappeared with Liz.

I looked around, trying to make sense of what was going on. I realized I had very little time and I had no idea what was on the other side of that archway. But it didn’t matter -- he had her and I needed to rescue her.

I ran to the archway and looked at the panel. There was a digital clock counting down from 8:00:00 and a large square button that flashed red, then white. The words, “Press Me,” showed clearly when the button flashed, mocking me, taunting me to press it.

“Fuck it,” I said to myself. I mashed the button as hard as I could and stepped into the archway. As I did, a mist enveloped me and the room before me disappeared.

The first thing I noticed was the extremely bright sunlight. Then I felt the oppressive heat. I looked around and saw myself on what looked like a seaside wharf. There was a group of about 50 men in khaki uniforms milling around on the dock next to the sea wall. A small group of what I assumed were sailors were looking after a small howitzer. Off in the distance was a large white naval vessel, perhaps a battleship.

I didn’t recognize the ship at first and it didn’t look like any ship I had ever seen before. In fact, it looked like something right out of an old history book.

I took inventory of myself, and realized I was wearing a uniform of some kind. It was heavy, made of khaki, with leggings very much the same as what the other men wore. On my right side was a pistol and a sword hung from my left. I drew the sword and inspected it.

It was wider and much heavier than a ceremonial sword and had a blood run that went nearly the full length of the slightly curved blade. This was made for combat, I realized. Even though it was heavy, it felt balanced in my hand and I found that the tip seemed to float as I moved the blade around. I looked at the blade and saw my own reflection in the polished metal. It was me, but with a pencil-thin mustache. Damn, I thought to myself, I’m one good-looking son-of-a-bitch.

I put the sword back in its scabbard and looked up to see Sgt. Carson coming over to me. How the hell did I know who this was, I asked myself. Looking at the other uniformed men, I realized I knew every single one of them. There was Corporal Spivey, adjusting the packs on the others. Private Jackson was inspecting his M1898 Krag rifle. How did I know these men, and how in the hell did I know what kind of rifles they carried?

Sgt. Carson stopped a few feet from me and saluted. I returned his salute automatically. He handed me a map.

“Sir, our scouts just confirmed the sultan is holding an American woman hostage in his fortress right up there, about one and a half miles away,” he said, pointing to a building on a hill in the distance. “According to our scouts and the locals, the sultan has about 40 men, armed mostly with single-shot muskets.”

“So, we out-man them and out-gun them. Is that what you’re saying, Sergeant?” I asked. The sergeant nodded his head.

“Yes, sir,” he said. I nodded my head and looked at the fortress on the hill through my telescoping spyglass. I consulted the map and committed the route to memory. I put my spyglass away and turned back to Sgt. Carson.

“Well, then, Sergeant,” I said. “Maybe it’s time to introduce the sultan to the big stick.” The sergeant smiled.

“Yes, sir, I agree,” he said. I nodded my head.

“Form the men, Sergeant,” I said. “We’re going in.” He smiled, saluted and turned away as I returned the salute. Holding the map, I pulled out my sword. I sliced one corner off the map just to see how sharp this thing was. I smiled and put the map in my pocket. Hermes was going to pay.

I looked and saw the men were fully formed and standing at attention. My eyes were drawn to the two flags in front of the formation. One was a 45-star U.S. flag, the kind flown between 1896 and 1908, but the other surprised me. The field was a deep purple with our family crest in the middle. I drew my sword and held it by my side as I marched to a point in front of Sgt. Carson.

He saluted me with his rifle and I returned the salute with my sword, again wondering how I knew to do that.

“The company is formed, sir,” he said. “All men are present and accounted for.” I nodded my head.

“Very well, Sergeant,” I said. “Take your post.” He turned on his heels and took his place next to the formation. I looked at the men and instinctively knew what needed to be done.

“Fix bayonets,” I ordered. The men drew their long bayonets and positioned them over their rifles. “FIX!” The men placed the bayonets, locking them on the rifles.

“Aaagh!” they shouted in unison. I could feel the adrenaline start to course through my body.

“Right, FACE!” I ordered. The men turned to their right. The flag bearers moved to what was now the front of the formation.

“Port, ARMS!” I shouted. All 50 men brought their weapons up.

“Forward, MARCH!” The company began moving forward in step. “Column left, MARCH!” The company was now turning left. I waited until they were a couple steps from the road along the back part of where we were formed. “Column left, MARCH!” I ordered, walking to a point directly in front of the company.

I turned and took my place at the head of the column, directly in front of Sgt. Carson, who quietly sounded cadence so I could be in step with the rest of the company. We were coming upon the road heading inland and ultimately leading to the fortress.

“Column right, MARCH!” I ordered, turning to the right. I looked behind me to make sure the entire company was on the road. I put the flat part of my blade in my gloved left hand, and gave the order. “Double time, MARCH!”

The entire column began moving forward at a much faster pace. I could hear the boots hitting the ground in unison behind me and I had to admit, it motivated me to keep going. We ran through the tiny town, sending locals scurrying off the road to avoid us.

As we ran, I ignored the oppressive heat and the stench of the town and focused on what lay ahead. All I could think of was killing Hermes and taking my wife back. The fucker would pay for doing this to us. And my blade was just the thing that could make it happen. Yes, I thought with a slight smile, that motherfucker would learn the meaning of cold steel first-hand.