An Ultimatum Shatters a Marriage

"Dad and Mom are inconsolable, but they don't know anything, except Dad caught her with another man. He says he told her to go home and make things right with you, or he would do it for her."

This information explained the 'Club Carmel incident' Cara and Donna discussed on the phone Sunday. Even though I trusted Christine, I kept my foreknowledge close to me. Yes, paranoia was crawling around inside my head, too.

I exhaled and stared at the reflections in my coffee. "That would figure. It was Saturday night when things started going off the rails. Cara came home after eleven, drunk, fucked, and smelling like sex. She tried to get me to have sex with her before passing out." I explained the events of Sunday, including her date and Sarah's overhearing our argument. Christine sat weeping and stunned. I left out the details about the overheard phone call, her iPhone, and email.

I added, "Her 'making it right with her husband' consisted of the ultimatum I told you about. Now, she's open and flaunts it in my face. She blames me because without her cuckolding me, she claims the sex with other men isn't very good. Can you figure that?"

Sadly, Christine said, "I'm so sorry, Ian. I can't imagine what's wrong with Cara. I know she loves and adores you." Her eyes changed from sad to warm and loving. "Ian, you've always been such a great guy! As a teenager, from the first time Cara brought you home, I had such a huge crush on you."

I smiled. "That means a lot. You're a good woman who hasn't let Jake's death and all you've had to endure make you bitter or angry."

We chatted for a while, and I observed, "You're out of school today."

"I took a personal day to sort this out." She looked at her watch and said, "I'll need to pick up the twins at three-thirty."

"You know," I began, "I haven't eaten anything to speak of since Saturday, but you've calmed me down, and now I'm ravenous. Have you eaten?"

Christine smiled and nodded. "I ate earlier, but I'd love a piece of apple pie. They make their own here."

I ordered a large salad, a double- cheeseburger, and a milkshake. With food in me, about half of my physical problems improved. The nervous, jumpy feeling subsided, though I still felt the deep ache of hurt and worry.

Since she was five minutes from the school, we hung around the café until a little after three, when I walked Christine to her car. "Thank you, Christine," I said. "You sure pulled me out of a ditch. I didn't know how bad off I was until I wasn't."

Her smile was huge. "Ian, I'm always just a phone call away. The kids love you, and you're welcome to drop by any time. You know that." Her eyes were warm and alive. She hugged me and lightly kissed my cheek before she drove away.

I felt strangely renewed.

The next day, Tuesday, I visited my financial advisor, my insurance agent, and my bank. I changed all of my beneficiaries from Cara as primary to my children. At the bank, I did the usual and divided the savings and checking accounts. Except for my 401Ks, we jointly held the rest. I called the credit card companies and canceled all the joint cards. However, we each had a personal VISA card in our names, so whatever Cara did with hers wasn't my concern. That's probably where all of her bar bills and other charges 'lifestyle' charges went.

I met with a lawyer that afternoon and showed him the proof I'd recovered from my wife's email and phone. He said there was compelling evidence for an adultery fault filing, which would probably affect the marital settlement. Cara's salary would also preclude my paying spousal maintenance, especially given the circumstances surrounding the divorce. He reminded me that anything else I could provide, such as proof of the ultimatum she'd given me, would be helpful.

That last request directly led me to what I eventually referred to as 'The Night'. After the blow-up by Sarah on Monday morning, she and Scott had been avoiding Cara. The kids and I hovered around the family room, and Cara stayed between the master bedroom, which I'd vacated Sunday, and the kitchen. Of course, my wife had come home from work after eight o'clock on both Monday and Tuesday. Ironically, both nights, she'd attempted to be cordial and engaging, though there was a tense nervousness about her.

Just after noon on Wednesday, my office phone rang, and I could see it was from Cara's workplace, but it wasn't her number. "This is Ian Pearce."

"It's me," Cara said. "I didn't think you'd take a call from my desk." I left that alone. "Anyway, I just wanted to meet with you away from the kids. I got a room at the Gateway Inn. I've got to fly to Denver in the morning, and it's right by the airport." As if to explain, she added, "I'm not sleeping at home, and I've got a long day tomorrow. Can you please?"

I thought it would be an excellent chance to get a recording of Cara's ultimatum. After pretending to think about it, I said, "Okay. What time?"

"Eight o'clock, okay?" I agreed, and Cara added, "Go to room 302. I went home earlier and packed my bag for Denver and checked in at the inn."

She even offered to provide dinner, which I politely declined. My insides were still too torn up to try and eat in her presence. The balance of the afternoon passed better than I expected. Under my anger, hurt, and uncertainty, a rugged resiliency was beginning to form.

On the way home, I stopped at a small security company in an office park. Only a tiny sign over the door indicated this business's existence, but inside was a high-tech storehouse of cutting-edge security systems and surveillance devices. They'd worked with us on a project we did for an energy company, and their people and equipment were without equal. Twenty minutes and nearly six hundred dollars later, I left with a fully functioning Montblanc PIX Petrol ballpoint pen which also happened to contain a sensitive, military-grade digital recording device with a 90-minute capacity. The best part is it was identical to the PIX I already carried!

"The Night" & Consequences

Cara greeted me in faded terry cloth shorts and a university t-shirt she habitually wore. Missing was the intensity and the anger she'd worn for days. There were two glasses of wine on the small, round table, one about a third empty. "Hey, Ian. I'm glad you came," she said gently. "Wine? I brought it from home. It's from the case we bought in Napa last year."

"Thanks, honey," I said, relaxing a bit. I didn't know what Cara wanted to discuss because, in my opinion, we'd reached a stand-off. Perhaps, I reasoned, she was here to reach some sort of compromise or even to make peace. I sat on the kitchen-type chair and took a sip of wine. It was perfectly chilled.

Outwardly calm, we were both nervous, and we killed several minutes chatting about nothing. Finally, Cara said, "Let me refill our glasses. Another?" I nodded, and she took the glasses to an ice bucket sitting in the sink. While she was gone, I turned my pen-recorder from standby to record.

When she set down my glass, she pulled a brand-new iPhone from her pocket and said, "Got my new one today. I still can't figure out where my old one went." I watched her face for any indication she suspected me and saw nothing.

Finally, Cara sat on the bed cross-legged and said, "Enough small talk, honey. Let talk about what we're we going to do." Her eyes hardened perceptibly.

I thought about how best to draw her out, and I said, "Let's talk about that stupid ultimatum you gave me. I can't believe with all the years we've been together and all we have faced together, you'd hold me to that!"

She sighed loudly. "Ian, I meant what I said."

"Impossible! You can't be serious!" I retorted, trying to push her.

"I'll repeat it, honey. I will date and have sex with other men. You can either accept that and be my loving, willing cuckold, and we will enjoy the greatest sex of our lives, or you can leave," Cara said confidently. "I love you more than you can imagine, darling, and if you would only try it, you would change your mind!"

I began to feel light-headed and wished I'd eaten something before having almost two glasses of wine. "Cara, I love you too, but I won't share you! I was your unknowing cuckold starting when?"

She chuckled. "Not that long. It was around the middle of December when the mind-blowing sex started, right?" Cara looked at me strangely and asked, "Are you Okay, Ian?"

I replied, "I think the wine and an empty stomach are a bad combination."

"Ian! If you try this with me, darling, I know you'll like it. Please, if you love me, Ian," she pleaded. I could only shake my head. She laughed drily and stated, "Well, honey, you are going to try it." That made no sense to me, but I couldn't entirely concentrate at that moment.

Cara phoned someone and said something I didn't hear. To me, my wife said, "Darling, I love you, and I apologize now for getting you here under false pretenses. And no, it's not the wine and empty tummy. I put something in your wine to chill you out, dear. You need to relax and calm down."

There was a knock on the door, and Cara let Donna, Matt, and Brent into the room. I recognized the two men from the photos. I slurred, "Well, look here, honey, it's Bitch Cocksucker and The Cuntlips Kid!"

Donna looked at the full-lipped Jason and laughed, "Oh, that one's going to stick!"

"Shut-up, Donna!" my wife hissed. "Brent, tie him up."

When I tried to stand, Jason pushed me roughly back into the chair, and Brent used four sets of flex-cuffs to tie me to the chair. Two went on my ankles, securing them to the front legs, and the other two attached my wrists to the metal tubing, where it made the turn between the seat and back of the chair. Donna wrapped a luggage strap around my lap like a seatbelt to secure me sitting. Brent duct-taped the flex-cuffs on my ankles so I couldn't lean the chair back and slip my legs free.

Cara knelt in front of me and gently held my face. "Darling, remember I love you. This is the only way to get you to understand what it's like." She showed me a ball gag and said, "We won't gag you unless you start yelling. Please, darling, just enjoy it! When they leave, it will be like it was before, just you and me. You'll see."

In a low growl, I said, "Go through with this, Cara, and there will be no more us. It's clear that after twenty years, you don't know me at all. What's left of my love for you is on the altar of your sick, pathetic game!" Her eyes widened in fear. "Turn me loose, send them home, and forget this!"

Donna said, "Ignore him, baby! He knows he will give in, and he's fighting it like a little macho bitch!"

Cara appeared to have second thoughts, but then without as much as a glance back at me, she slipped into her other skin and said, "I'll be right back! Blindfold him for now!"

Jason joked, "How about I use a plastic bag!"

Someone put a sleeping mask on me, and in my foggy state, I heard zippers, the rustle of clothes, giggles, ice, and pouring sounds. Indistinct whispers and wet sounds and moans. The bathroom door opened, and Cara giggled, "Damn, Donna, leave some for me!"

"My beloved Chuck the Cuck expects me to come home with a full load, so I'm starting early!" Donna countered.

Bodies brushed past me, and someone pulled away my mask. It was Cara. With a smile, she said, "Now, just relax and enjoy! In a little while, it will be you and me over there!" I noticed she was wearing the lingerie set I bought her for our last anniversary.

All four of them piled into one of the king-size beds. Cara and Donna immediately went down on Jason and Matt. Cara positioned herself so she could watch me. As she sucked Jason's entire cock into her mouth, she winked at me. The whole thing sickened me, but I watched, the hate and anger building in me. The knife she turned in my heart was cutting out the remnants of love I felt for her. The love that bound me to her was slowly turning to hate, and soon I'd be emotionally and physically free of her.

For the next hour, the four of them formed every sexual combination imaginable. Twice, my wife tried to give me a kiss, which I adamantly refused. The second time, Brent said, "Come on, cuck! It's the same she's been feeding you for months!"

They buy these motel chairs by the truckload, and they're pretty basic and cheap. The bottom and back are two plywood pieces, padded and covered with vinyl. Three pieces of machine-bent square tubing create the frame, and the whole chair is held together by a handful of screws.

While Cara and her fuck-buddies put on their show for me, I worked and twisted the chair, longitudinally and in a yawing motion. Being a lifetime swimmer, I have strong shoulders, arms, and legs. As the moans, insults, and fuck chatter got louder, I worked hard on the chair. My head had begun to clear some, and I felt the sides starting to separate at the screws. My hands were sticky, and I realized it was blood from the moving flex-cuffs cutting deeply into my skin.

It occurred to me that when the chair finally gave way that I would still be attached to its pieces. However, desperation drives people to do desperate things, so if nothing else, I would force them to respond in ways they wouldn't like. At this point, I was so enraged, the outcome of my escape, much less the consequences, didn't matter a damn to me.

To the accompaniment of Brent's balls slapping Donna's cunt and my wife begging Jason to cum in her, the chair finally gave way, but with a whimper and not with a crack or a bang. The sides separated, and leaning forward, I slid the largest part of the frame around me while I twisted the opposite way. Donna had fastened the luggage strap with the plastic clip off my hip, and I unsnapped it with bloody fingers.

I toppled over forward, and Donna screamed. Before anyone could react, I pulled my taped and flex-cuffed ankles away from the front legs as I ripped away in the opposite direction. Flesh, hair, sock material all tore loose, and I rolled to my side, holding the chair's two main remnants still flex-cuffed to my wrists.

Now fully aware, the two naked men rushed me, but the rage monster was awake and would indeed have his vengeance! The primal scream stopped both of them in their tracks. In a frenzy I still cannot understand, I tore into the two men. Even though the flex cuffs still bound me to the metal tubing, my bloody hands seized those pieces, and they became flailing weapons, each propelled by adrenaline-fueled rage. I attacked, battering, beating, and impaling with the chair's remains. I was homicidal at this point, disregarding the consequences.

It was my wife, sweaty, the torn remains of her wedding anniversary lingerie plastered to her, and leaking semen, who blindsided me and managed to calm me verbally. One of my few coherent memories of that following hour was of a howling beast, whose voice seemed to emanate from me, strapped to a stretcher. A soft voice always present in my ear, whispering, soothing. Handcuffs. A helicopter landing on the main road out front. Sirens. Bright lights in my eyes. Then, oblivion.

Ever wonder what it's like to wake up in the psych ward of your local county hospital? That's where I thought I was when I awoke the following morning, or at least I think it was morning. Since everything was painted in mid-century Soviet Gulag Gray, and I was restrained, I assumed this was either the prison ward or the psyche ward.

Seeing me awake, a nurse said, "Wait here, please. I'll be right back."

'Like I have a choice?' I thought. That made me laugh like I hadn't laughed in a while.

She returned with a doctor who played twenty questions with me, and after checking my pupils and reflexes, the nurse removed the restraints. Standing behind him was a man in a suit with a badge and I.D. hanging around his neck.

He said, "Mr. Pearce, I'm Detective Landon with SPD. I picked up your case from the overnight shift. First, do you know what happened to you? You were in pretty rough shape when they got to you."

I told him what I remembered and admitted that after I got loose and those two rushed me, I lost it. I asked him if my wife was with me when they found me, and he confirmed it. "So, that's all I re... No, wait. Where are my things? I was there to record the meeting with her, and I had a high-tech recorder running. Everything up through 90-minutes will be on there."

Detective Landon retrieved the hospital bag containing my belongings, and I was shocked at how bloody my clothes were. Seeing my expression, the detective said, "You were a mess when they got there. You lost a lot of blood and could've bled out." He quickly changed the subject. "Let's find this recorder, and then I'll bring you up to date."

When I recovered the surveillance pen, I showed him how to open it and directed him to my car, which was probably still in The Gateway Inn's parking lot, where he would find the download adapter in the glove box. "It's the Ford key, detective. A dark green Explorer parked by the fence." I said, pointing at my keychain.

After putting the pen in an evidence bag and labeling it, Detective Landon explained, "They gave you a combination of drugs, kind of like date-rape drugs but in lower quantities. We've got the vials, and they came from your wife's suitcase." He checked his notes.

"The two men you were struggling with were Jason Mentin and Brent Brozaki. They treated Mentin for a broken rib, a broken nose, two dislocated fingers, missing teeth, and a fractured jaw. They flew Brozaki to Trauma-One by Medi-Flite." Landon's finger ran down another page. "Yeah. Says here that busted chair frame pierced his lung and tore him up pretty good. He's in critical condition but stable. The Minton guy, he's already in the county lock-up along with the two women."

Surprised, I asked, "So, am I also in legal trouble?"

The detective smiled drily. "The DA looked at it, and they'll present it to a grand jury, but you'll get a no-bill. Fat chance they'll charge you at all." He cleared his throat. "Think about it. Your wife and her boyfriends drug, forcibly restrain, and make you watch your wife and her friends have an orgy. Also, the drugs she gave you - wait, I need to say 'allegedly' - along with acute stress contributed to some type of psychotic episode. That's why they had you restrained this morning. The doctor gave you stuff overnight to help counteract the drugs they gave you."

I exhaled and suddenly felt very depressed. "They're in jail for this?"

He nodded. "Yep, the DA is throwing the book at 'em, but mainly at your wife." Detective Landon stepped out into the hall and called someone. "You've got a visitor. I'll contact you when you get home. You'll need to sign some papers, but it can wait. This girl's been here all night." I saw him smiling and nodding at someone out of my view as he departed.

That's when Christine stepped around the corner, and her smile went from big to grandiose. "Oh, Ian! You're awake! We were so scared!" My sister-in-law grabbed me in as much of a hug as we could manage, given the I.V., the monitor cable, and my awkward position. "I'm so, so sorry she did this to you! Oh, Ian!"

They were arraigned at one o'clock that afternoon, and all pled not-guilty, except for the still-sedated Brent. Charges included possession of a controlled substance, gross negligence, infliction of bodily harm, false imprisonment, coercion, conspiracy, assault, battery, and menacing. Donna's husband, Chuck, put up their bail and got one of the attorneys in his firm to represent them. Due to the prurient nature of the crime, the media went into a feeding frenzy.

The tech company employing Cara, Brent, Jason, and the unit manager, Peter Brownlow, placed all of them on unpaid leave. Even worse, the very woke and socially conscious founder and CEO of the company maintained that while what occurred was lamentable and inexcusable, these activities weren't job-related. Further, he held that pending jail time, the employees would not be terminated. This was because that corporation was a leader in its field for second-chance opportunities, and these were trained, valued employees.