I Slept with my Acrotomophile Boss

My dad called me right after I got paid.

He said my little brother needed money for school, Grandma had medical bills, and there was still the rent, water, and electricity.

Then, at the end of the call, he admitted he’d lost money gambling.

I sat in the security booth, rubbing my bad leg, completely lost for what to do.

A car horn blared, and I quickly raised the security bar.

Just one look and you could tell how expensive the car was.

It belonged to the boss, who had a thing for amputees.

Damn it.

I kicked the table leg hard to vent.

Not long after, I heard a knock on the window of the security booth.

I looked up. "Oh, it's you, Mr. Grant."

"Sorry about making you wait. I had to pick up a call."

Charles Grant stood next to the window with a small smile. There was a glint in his eye. The warm look on his face seemed fake.

"That's okay. I did not wait too long.

"You look like you're in a bad mood. Is everything all right?"

I leaned against the door, resting my bad leg, and waved it off.

“I am fine. Just lost a game, that is all.”

Charles looked down. His eyes lingered on my leg with a strange kind of hunger.

That’s how rich people were. Their lives were so comfortable, they ended up with weird fetishes.

He enjoyed men, excitement, and was an acrotomophile.

Charles licked his lips. His narrowed eyes showed both concern and a spark of something harder to name.

“It’s been raining a lot. Your leg must feel worse.”

“I’m fine.”

The conversation should have ended there.

However, he stayed. Charles hesitated, then spoke softly.

"I don't come here often. I am looking for someone to help me take care of my house. Can you help me find someone suitable if you have time?"

Poor people have no dignity. He had set the stage, and I was prepared to take it.

"There's no need for that. What do you think of me?"

So, I quit my security job and moved into Charles’ house.

My salary was 20,000 a month. All I had to do was clean the house. I could even visit my grandmother at the hospital during the day.

If only Charles did not throw me perverted looks.

This would have been the world's best job.

Tonight, a stranger called the house to inform me that Charles was drunk, and I should go get him.

The garage was filled with expensive cars. I picked the flashiest one and drove to the bar.

He was dead drunk. His face was flushed, and his eyes were red. He looked like he had too much makeup on.

I had to half carry and half drag him home. I flung him onto the bed.

His arms were around my neck, and he refused to let go. His lips kept brushing gently across my face.

If something seemed too