"I'm not going to beat around the bush, Michael. You're a smart man, and I can tell you see yourself as a straight-shooter. So, I'm going to shoot straight with you," my wife's boss said, sipping a neat glass of expensive Scotch just after our wives had excused themselves from the table to powder their noses.
I stared at the man. I disliked him immensely; he came across to me as an arrogant, self-absorbed blowhard. He dressed in a flashy, Italian-made suit that I would never be able to afford on my salary as an investigative journalist for the local newspaper. I didn't know what he had on his mind, but I was curious, so I let him keep talking. He'd had this smirk on his face that seemed to say "I'm better than you and I know things you don't."
"Alright," I told him, as I removed my hand from my pants pocket to sip my glass of much cheaper bourbon. "Shoot away."
The smirk got even smarmier. I hadn't wanted to punch someone in many years. The smirk on his face was rapidly bringing the desire to do him bodily harm to the top of the list of things I felt like doing at the moment.
"I'm going to fuck your wife," he said with absolute confidence.
Well, that wasn't what I was expecting him to say. I mean, I had known for some time that was his goal. I had warned Debbie several times that I thought her boss had sinister motives, but she told me I was nuts. To hear him put his desires to words so directly, so blatantly, was a surprise. He was an arrogant prick, and now I definitely wanted to punch him in the face and wipe off that lingering smirk.
He paused, letting his words sink in, with the smirk still in place. He seemed to be enjoying himself. I took a deep breath and willed myself not to react. I could tell he wanted me to be shocked or angry, to protest or make a scene so that he could humiliate me more than he already had. Years of playing garage poker had given me the ability to keep my feelings well hidden. He was watching me closely as if he were trying to detect a tell, some nervous tick that he was getting under my skin. Instead of reacting the way he expected, I grinned.
"Oh really?" I asked. "You sound pretty sure of yourself."
"I'm always sure of myself, Michael," he said, grinning back at me. I had never seen someone grin and smirk at the same time, but this prick just did. "I'm going to fuck Debbie, as much as I want, whenever I want, and there is nothing you can do to stop it."
I felt like a superhero in a comic book facing some costumed arch-villain. You know, the bad guy who is so sure of himself that he has to give a speech revealing his dark plan so he can rub it in the good guy's face and revel in a false sense of superiority. I read a lot of comics as a kid. Ok, I admit, I still read them as a grown-ass man. All those long-winded assholes were narcissists with bloated egos and a strong sense of entitlement, just like this dickhead sitting across the table from me.
"You can try to stop it from happening," he went on with his discourse. "But, it is inevitable at this point. You're in a no-win situation. You're playing in a game you don't understand against a master player. If you try to warn her, she won't believe you. The more you protest and pull her away from me, the harder she will resist and the faster she will be in my bed."
I felt my rage rising higher and had to focus my breathing to keep my face from turning bright red. I could not believe the unmitigated gall of this prick. I've hated dickheads like him my whole life. Bullies. Spoiled little rich kids. For him to speak so confidently about Debbie letting him fuck her was nauseating. I couldn't imagine her ever cheating on me and certainly not with this douchebag. Then again, stranger things have happened. Pocket aces don't always win.
"You're damned if you do and damned if you don't. Do nothing, and I will fuck her and claim her as mine. She most likely would hide it from you, trying to protect your feelings and maintain your pathetic marriage, while fucking me behind your back. Fight the inevitable, and she will turn against you, and not only will I fuck her, but you'll lose her completely. Fight me, and I'll destroy your lives after I've fucked her anyway."
I was seething on the inside. My left hand was resting on the table, but my right was on my lap, hidden from his view. I was clenching it in a tight fist, ready to lash out.
"Did you practice this speech just for me, or have you given it to a bunch of other poor schmucks before me?" I asked, continuing to grin. I saw a slight twitch in his left eye. I wasn't reacting the way he wanted, and he was getting pissed. That was a tell. I had struck a nerve.
"Your wife is enamored with me. She respects me. Hell, she may even be falling in love with me. She's practically given herself to me already. I could have fucked her by now, but I'm playing the slow game. I want to be certain that when I make my move, she will submit completely to me."
"Why her?" I asked.
"Well, it certainly is not because of her looks. She's not what anyone would call hot. She's far beneath my normal standards. I've improved her, of course, getting her to wear sexy clothes to the office for me, sending her to the best stylists in town and hiring her a personal trainer."
I had wondered how we were paying for all of that. My wife had told me it was a benefit given to all of the executives at her level. I also struggled with understanding why he wanted to fuck my wife if he didn't find her attractive.
"I could have far younger and sexier women if I wanted them," he explained. "But, that's boring after a while. It's purely a dominance thing. I get off on taking happily married women, in love with their husbands, and getting them to betray their spouses and submit themselves, willingly, to me. That's far more satisfying than rutting with an air-headed bimbo."
"And why are you telling me this?" I asked, my voice even and emotionless.
"I want you to know, in absolute clarity, what is going to happen and what your wife is going to be doing. I want you to wonder every night when she comes home if I fucked her. I want you to lose your manhood, letting me fuck her and doing nothing. "
This bastard was one sick puppy.
