Lover Boy

TW: Sexual Assault

You could insinuate I’m a bit of a womanizer.

My sister (affectionately) calls me a man whore but that doesn’t bother me. I come from a reasonably wealthy background and from the cradle my mother teasingly called me a flirt whenever she passed me around her friends.

Rest in peace mom. You always knew me best.

I’m not gonna lie and say I’m anything but good looking. I have a lot going for me in appearance. My eyes have been compared to sapphires. I take good care of my body, in what I do with it and what I put inside it. I’m practically a god.

My best ‘hunting ground’ is at work. My dad’s usually content to stay at home so I handle the business side of things, and there I find my prey. Sassy and sensual secretaries. Docile and doe eyed interns. Experienced and confident managers.

There was one intern as of late- Tiffany.

I love that name, Tiffany. It puts in mind a spritely young lady, giggly and optimistic, girly and fun. Tiffany was no exception to the rule. On her first day to work, she had put her brown hair in pigtails.

You heard me. Pigtails. I was hard for it the moment she shyly asked where she could find a laundromat near her apartment. She’d just moved from her parent’s house to work in ‘the big city’. She was optimistic about her future here.

I told her she had nothing to worry about while guiding her to her work station. My hand rested on the small of her back, no lower. Didn’t want to scare off the target so soon, after all.

I wasn’t the only one who had my eyes on Tiffany though.

Marc was one of my longer term employees, he’d been working his way up the ladder and even I knew a promotion to management was in the books since Dana had retired. We didn’t get along. He’d always been a bit snippy to me and I heard the gossip about the shit he talked behind my back, particularly about my appearance. I’d been used to that comments since I was a kid. My family has had albinism running through the bloodline since we popped over to America so many generations ago. I get that it can be a little alarming, but there isn’t room for that bullshit in my life.

I choose not to confront Marc about it though. I’m a classy motherfucker. I don’t start shit. I end it when those below me start to get too uppity.

However, within a span of the week I took off for my sister’s wedding, Marc had successfully wooed Tiffany. I came back to see Marc dropping her off and the telltale bruise of a hickey on Tiffany’s neck.

I was furious. But I kept my cool. Anonymously I submitted a report about sexual harassment in the workplace, Marc of course as the culprit. Can’t have employees dating after all.

While Marc was attending mandatory classes, I made my moves on Tiffany. Bought her flowers. Walked her to her car at night, after all, she always stayed late and it was unnerving to walk across a dark parking lot alone. Bought her lunch on a few days when someone swiped hers from the fridge.

When her dog got hit by a car, I offered my shoulders to cry on. I’d figured that since Marc was still busy, she’d fall right in my arms.

… She absolutely did not.

I mean, she was polite about it at least, but I got turned down. She was apparently really serious about seeing Marc and well, since I seemed to have a few girlfriends among the staff, surely them dating wasn’t that big a deal was it?

I might have punched a few holes in walls when I got home to let out my rage. Servants fled, knowing there was a chance they’d be next. My fists were bruised by the time I’d finally calmed down. I had them iced while I drank wine and began to think of my next move.

It hit me on my third glass of wine.

Surely there wasn’t a reason Marc and I both couldn’t have Tiffany, right? Monogamy is so out of touch with today’s modern society. I loved a good threesome after all!

It took a bit to arrange. After all, a threesome doesn’t happen overnight. It takes planning, maybe a little convincing, and of course, the proper setting.

The proper setting was my room. Lights down low, a few candles. Tiffany wearing rich purple lingerie. Marc’s body moving into hers while I watched. I’d already satisfied myself with her quite compliant mouth.

Marc wasn’t quite into it though. I guess it was all the blood. Slitting someone’s throat does make you bleed quite a bit after all, and Tiffany was absolutely a bleeder. It had dried before he got here though, so I’m not sure what the big deal was.

He looked up at me, sniffling as I pushed him into Tiffany again. “Why, Ambrose? What the fuck is wrong with you?” He sobbed.

I shrugged before I leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“If you’re having trouble keeping an erection, I’ll give you another Viagra… can’t be good for your heart though, so just enjoy yourself. At least she’s still warm.“