Okay, here we go—Cheater Cheater take two. This was my first ever story published on this forum. It caused such an uproar that the Mods took it down after 2 days for not following guidelines. Okay it was a little dark (okay a lot dark). It was shocking and brutal, and I was called a number of unflattering terms for even thinking it up. I was criticized for having a MC martial artist who didn't use martial arts and a father willing let his daughter be punished harshly (Ya'll never knew my dad—ask my sister). Whatever.
So, I basically gutted the original and rewrote it minus all the gore and horror. My goal with this piece is to still throw a spin on the whole 'cuck gets revenge' theme and I think I did well. The last version had folks threatening to call the civil rights down on my head for cruelty to women, awful acts of sadistic mayhem, yada yada. Fine...Paul keeps his dick this time. Not that it'll do him any good. Enough spoilers.
You have been warned. I hope you enjoy it. If you don't, remember four little words: It's just a story.
-Dys
Cheater Cheater
The front door opened, and a tall figure entered the darkened house. There was a click and light flooded the room, revealing the man seated in the easy chair off to the side. The intruder gasped in surprise as he noticed him freezing in his tracks.
"Hello Paul." The seated man said pleasantly. His eyes betrayed the ominous underlying anger and hate. "Please come in." He waved to a chair across the room from his, Paul gulped when he saw the gun pointing the way.
"M—Mikey..." He stammered. "Wha—what..."
"You two weren't expecting me to be home, I guess." Michael Trent stated dryly. "Don't worry buddy. Char will be along shortly." He explained as he waved the pistol at the chair once more.
Paul Anderson, Charlotte's immediate supervisor at the accounting firm, swallowed nervously as he walked over to the chair and sat.
"She has no idea either." Mike winked at him. "It will be our surprise." He grinned and rose fluidly to his feet. He strode across the room like a predator, stepping on the balls of his feet and maintaining a low center of gravity, as if it were second nature.
It was—after a lifetime of street fights, hardship, and questionable life choices. Michael Trent was not a guy you wanted to fuck with. He moved as if he were in total control of everything around him. He stood over the nervous man and held up several thick black zip ties. "Go ahead and put your hands behind the back of the chair for me."
A moment later Paul was secured tightly to the chair, his hands bound to the seat behind him and each of his ankles to the front legs. With a final touch Mike slapped a wide strip of silver duct tape across his mouth. "I don't want you blowing the surprise." He said as he placed the weapon on a shelf nearby. He switched the light back off and returned to his seat. They waited quietly in the darkness.
***
It was 8 years before, that Michael had met Charlotte Milano, at the annual charity event held for the Mission Hills Fire & Police Departments. It was a huge event held at Columbia College where he pursued a career in architectural engineering. Char arrived in tow with her father Luca Milano, a powerful businessman with suspected ties to the underside of little Italy.
The Milano's were pure Sicilian, transplanted directly from the Palermo region of the island. They carried themselves with panache and swagger, exuding wealth, and power wherever they went, and they dressed the part. Their pure Mediterranean bloodline also imparted a special trait upon the women—unsurpassed beauty. 20-year-old Charlotte Milano was blessed with it in abundance. Her dark olive skin and ebony hair, paired with almond brown eyes, thin nose, and exquisite high cheek bones; lent her an exotic radiance that turned heads everywhere. She stood 5'6" but enjoyed an additional lift from her 3-inch heels. She wore an elegant pale lavender gown that floated about her like thin gossamer, barely concealing her elegant figure. She carried herself with an air of mystery and aloofness.
Michael Trent was not the most imposing person, standing only 5' 8" and carrying his 190 pounds on a slender frame that he usually concealed in baggy slacks and loose-fitting button-down shirts. He kept his light brown hair a bit long and rarely combed it, giving him a haggard unkept look that earned him bemused quips from students and faculty alike. At 22 years of age, he was older than most of the student body. Yet he carried himself with a quiet unassuming manner that made him easy to ignore. He preferred it that way. Only a discerning eye would note the posture and subtle behaviors that suggested a sense of readiness and explosive potential.
Growing up on the streets of southern California forged a hardness to Michael. He found himself often hanging with the wrong crowd as well as the juvenile justice system. Gangs, foster homes, shelters, and detention were his teachers in the game of survival. Until he was placed with a charitable older black man named Old John. John ran a youth center and took in a lot of lost causes, sheltering them, teaching them, and giving them outlets for their pent-up frustrations. Michael found himself in the boxing ring early and was subjected to more beat downs than he could remember before he began taking the lessons to heart and allowing himself to be molded into something other than an angry young man with little regard for anything but his own welfare. He not only learned to control his body but also his mind. Eventually he took less and less punishment in the ring and began delivering some of his own.
More, he developed a sense of confidence and pride and at Old John's urging, completed his high school education and began taking free classes offered to disadvantaged youths. He still ran the streets but did so earning his keep by delivering pizzas and sandwiches until landing his first job with a construction company. The foreman was a friend of Old Johns and quickly took up Michael's education and upbringing. He also worked him to the bone every day, 12 hours a day accept Sundays. When he began showing an aptitude for reading blueprints and CADs, the foreman began grooming him for other things than manual labor. Eventually through corporate community outreach programs, Michael was awarded a partial scholarship and tuition aid to pursue a higher education. He enrolled in college part-time and continued to work his butt off, eventually climbing his way up to assistance foreman.
It should not have happened. Not by any stretch of imagination—could one conceive Michael and Charlotte becoming an item. It was still a mystery to him what she ever saw in him in the first place. Despite the odds they ended up together, talking about unimportant things, as they toured the event side by side, never once imagining a budding relationship. Later, when they parted ways, it was with a brief handshake and warm smiles. Michael walked away whistling softly to himself, amazed by her captivating beauty, but knowing that she was well and truly out of his league. He was also aware of the quiet scrutiny he received for the bodyguards and her old man.
It was by pure chance that they met again. Once more outside the tight knit Italian community. She was shopping with two other women, both as elegant and beautiful as their companion. He recognized her first (how could he forget) and greeted her pleasantly. She wore a classy floral print skirt that rode well above her knees, exposing two very shapely legs as well as a distracting amount of cleavage. At first, she seemed cool to his approach but then her face lit up when she recognized him. She immediately embraced him and kissed his cheek like an old friend. "Michael!" She purred in her honey sweet voice. "It is so nice to see you again." She excitedly introduced him to her friends who scrutinized him dubiously. In her heels she stood over him, and his unremarkable appearance and personality seemed hardly in keeping with their standards. Char ignored their misgivings and promptly invited him to lunch. When he hesitated, she latched onto his arm and would accept no excuses.
***
As he waited quietly in the dark room, he found himself wondering if she had ever really loved him. Was it even love that he had ever felt for her—once upon a time, before he discovered the hidden, painful truth? Whatever 'it' once was, was now gone, in its place a blackened pile of smoldering ashes. He hated her now. It was a raw emotion he rarely, if ever felt in his lifetime. An intense anger fueled by betrayal, shame, and utter humiliation. It was only through iron resolve and discipline that he was able to contain it with no outward expression. Thanks to those early lessons in the ring, he was able to compartmentalize and bring to bear an intense focus, just like he did when preparing for a match with an equally driven opponent.
The gun was a prop. It was real enough and loaded. But he never intended to use it—he did not need to. He was well enough equipped to cause damage without a weapon. It was only a means to compel obedience, without resorting to physical means. He rubbed his red knuckles as he recalled his earlier confrontation with two enforcers. He smiled darkly, remembering the satisfaction of sending them back to their boss, bloodied and broken.
How did it all come to this? He wondered. The cheating was bad enough. But their intentions for him as a part of their twisted charade, that was just over the top. A willing, even subservient cuckold? No way in hell! They thought they knew about power and control but had no idea with whom they were dealing. He was about to turn the tables on them in a wholly unexpected manner. Charlotte would be arriving home soon. Then she would discover a side to him she could never have conceived of, even raised as she was, a scion of the old mafioso families predicated for violence.
***
They had several dates before she took him to meet her family. Her father Luca greeted him with a warmth and acceptance that did not reflect in his eyes. He was gruff but well-mannered and dressed impeccably in a custom-tailored Italian suit. He was surrounded by a group of silent, tough looking fellows in oversized jackets. Michael was well aware of their purpose and function but pretended otherwise. He was so taken by the attentions of the lovely girl that he overlooked a great deal just to be with her.
He found himself at the Milano mansion often. Several times he would find himself left to the company of the old man and his men while she took off for God knows what. He did not mind her absences or the cool looks and attitudes he found regarding him. At first he felt as if he were intruding but eventually he was welcomed, if grudgingly. His lowly status as a street bred student did not reflect well on him or his attentions for the daughter of a powerful man.
Several weeks after they first met, Luca pulled him aside and they walked around an elegant inner courtyard garden, bursting with botanical wonders. The head of the family spoke to him with a thickly accented voice that seemed at once soft and dangerous. "Michael, I think you are a good man." He said quietly. "Perhaps even a man worthy of my daughter—that remains to be seen."
