Chapter Text
Your first month at Pierce & Pierce had been an exciting one. A new woman always drew a lot of attention from the guys, but you specifically had drawn interest from a particular one.
As Paul Allen’s secretary, you certainly had a lot of face time with him, but a certain Patrick Bateman had been interacting with you equally as much, if not more.
Maybe it was the fact that Paul didn’t know his real name, or maybe it was Patrick’s jealous nature, but you could tell that he needed to get to you before Paul did.
And this provided you with endless entertainment. At this point, you could barely have a conversation with Paul without Patrick cutting in. So, you flirted back, which landed you in your current situation- seated on his counter, legs wrapped around his waist, making out.
“Fuck, Patrick,” you moaned as he bit and sucked at your neck, in a clearly visible spot. You noted the way he exhaled deeply when you said his name.
You’d pissed him off immensely when you didn’t finish your drink at dinner, but you couldn’t tell if it was because he put in the effort to remember your favorite drink and order it for you, or if it was because you didn’t drink the roofies he tried to slip you. Observant as you were, you weren’t sure it mattered - he literally slipped it in your drink right before your eyes.
Patrick pulled back from your neck. “Let’s take this to the bedroom. I’d hate for you to miss out on my silk sheets,” he said. You giggled at him, ensuring you had your purse with you before following him to his room.
“Okay, these are really lovely,” you said to him, seated on his bed, running your hand across the sheets, “but I’ve seen more expensive. You’re going to have to do better than this to impress me, ‘halberstram,’” you joked.
The twitch of Patrick’s eye was barely noticeable before he surged forward, pinning you to the bed by your hips as he restarted the make out session. He could definitely feel you smile against him, and he picked up his intensity in return, ripping your blouse open, no doubt ruining the buttons.
You had him right where you wanted him.
The larger the ego, the more fragile it was, and Patrick was no exception to the rule. Insulting his money and individuality was just the first step, however.
You moved one hand from his waist to his chest, shirt having been discarded long ago, admiring the muscles built ever so thoughtfully below the skin. Your other hand came to rest on the bulge in his pants, stroking him through the fabric as he grew harder from your touch.
He glanced to the side, eyeing himself in what you realized to be a mirror. Patrick was admiring himself equally as much as you; the way you were pressed beneath him being the selling point.
You brought your still-heeled foot to his chest, pushing him back from you as you batted your eyelashes, momentarily distracting him from his own reflection.
You moved off the bed, walking over to the wall and setting down your purse. Patrick now stood between you and the bed as you walked back to him. You sunk to your knees, removing his pants and letting your eyes flick back up to his face before focusing on his dick.
Patrick’s hands wove into your hair as you slid your mouth around his cock, making a show of rolling your eyes back and gagging. Your acting was worthy of getting soaked with tomatoes, but Patrick, ever the self absorbed man, didn’t notice how fake you were being.
He fucked into your throat as your hands gripped his thighs. He didn’t make a noise besides the sound of his breathing slightly picking up, but the feeling of his hands growing tense in your hair gave away the fact that he was close. He came down your throat, and you swallowed around him.
Once Patrick released the grip on your hair and leaned on the bed slightly to momentarily rest before enacting his fantasies of fucking you senseless, you shifted closer to him, running your hands over his thighs.
You were slightly nervous about this stage of the plan, but you’d decided to rely on your instincts. It would’ve been easier to simply slip him the same drug he’d attempted to give you, but then he wouldn’t be entirely present to witness his own, rapidly approaching egotistical demise.
Every thought in your head was telling you a man like Patrick Bateman would be against a woman even touching his ass, but your instincts were telling you to not judge a book by its cover.
His cold eyes settled on you, positioned between his thighs. You stroked his dick again, your hand wet with your own spit. Then, moving down, you experimentally licked the hole.
“Fuck.”
You silently applauded yourself for finally drawing a sound from him, but you were simultaneously nearly stunned as you licked more aggressively. Bateman, continuously full of surprises, was into it.
On top of having a body that looked as though carved from stone, he kept himself expertly maintained, even down to washing everywhere. You could speak from experience in stating that many men in his position did not.
You used one hand to jerk him off as you continued to eat his ass as he finally spoke more to you.
“God- fucking slut, you like eating ass?” He groaned. You moaned into the hole, the vibrations making his cock jump. It amazed you that in his head, he was still in control of this situation.
Hoping to draw more of a reaction from him, you slipped a finger inside, but he was barely even surprised. For a man as homophobic as they come, Patrick Bateman is proving to be one hell of a fag.
You dragged your thumb across the head of his dick, simultaneously shoving another finger into him and licking up the underside of his dick.
“Fuck… gonna fuck you so hard you cry,” he mumbled, nearing release. You were using your fingers to stretch him, but not too much. You wanted it to hurt when you fucked him, but you didn’t want to cause any extreme damage.
“Pa-atrick,” you moaned against him, and finally, he came again. You pulled your face back in time to just let the cum land on Patrick instead of you.
You jerked him through his release, and didn’t stop. His stamina impressed you, as he didn’t immediately get overstimulated, but it took far less time between the second and third orgasm than it had between the first and second.
By the time you had him nearing his fourth, he was gasping for air, every muscle in his torso tensing beneath you. You admired how he blinked back the tears forming, but continued thrusting up into your hand; he was denying his body so as to not hurt his ego.
He spilled over into your hand again, his low groans getting ever so slightly higher and higher.
Patrick said something, finally, but it was largely unintelligible. You could only make out the words “bitch,” “cunt,” and, for whatever god forsaken reason, “meat” and “bone.”
You mercifully pulled your hand off, leaving him to catch his breath as you returned to your purse to grab the woman of the hour: your bright pink strap on. And a Polaroid camera, but he didn’t need to notice that yet.
You attached the strap around your hips, watching Patrick as he slowly sat up.
You barely gave him time to see the strap before grabbing him by the once perfectly-styled hair and manhandling him into being on all fours.
Before completely ruining him, you reached to jerk him off first, and was surprised to see his dick was already hard again.
“Oh my god, Patrick, you like being on your knees?” You laughed, lining up with his hole.
He squirmed underneath you, rapidly trying to come back from the overstimulation you sent him into.
“Do you want me to put lube on it?”
“Fucking bitch. I’m gonna fucking kill you after this. I’m gonna dismember you and fuck your corpse cunt with your arm. I’m gonna- BITCH!” He yelled as you slapped his ass, relishing the way the firm flesh jiggled.
“Since you asked so nicely,” you said, grabbing a small bottle of lube (travel sized!) and squirting some on the pink dick.
“FUCKING CUNT!” He screamed at you, trying to move.
You just tightened your grip on his hair, once again lining up with his hole. “Aw, Patty, what’s the problem? You seemed pretty into it when it was just my fingers. Don’t like taking dick?” You giggled, pushing the head in as he mumbled something inaudible. Slowly pushing more in, you leaned over him, breath hot against his ear. “Does the dick make it a little too gay, Bateman?”
“FUCK YOU!” He screamed, but the screams broke off into little moans as you moved, slowly thrusting into him. His fingers curled into the sheets on his bed and his head hung low, but his cock was rock hard.
You picked up the pace, grabbing his narrow, almost feminine hips as the sound of skin slapping filled the room. “You’re so fucking pathetic, Patrick. You got off so much on calling me a slut, but look at you now.”
“F-fuck you- a-aahn~ fuck-“ he moaned as you sped up.
You ran your hands up his back, admiring the work it must’ve talked to build all the muscle. It was all laid out here for just you.
Patrick moaned louder as you continued building speed and hitting deeper inside of him, and with one particularly brutal thrust, he jolted forward, making a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob.
“Are you fucking crying?” You asked, reaching around and grabbing his dick to jerk him off.
“Meat bone meat bone bone meat bone bone-“ he mumbled, but you grabbed him by the hair and yanking him up from all fours to a kneeling position.
You looked into the mirror across from you, admiring his blushing, tear stained face as you continued to thrust into him and jerk him off.
“F-fuck you,” he moaned.
You smiled at his reflection, pulling his hair to make sure he was also facing himself.
“God, Bateman, look at yourself,” you said, and his fuck-drunk eyes looked himself up and down, face turning even redder with shame. “I bet you love to use this mirror to watch yourself fucking women. I saw you looking at yourself not that long ago, you know. How does it feel now?”
Patrick moaned.
“You’re so beautiful,” you murmured. “So pretty, all ruined on my dick.”
He shivered. “Please…”
You had him. Finally, you fucking got him.
“You can barely even look at yourself! Two hours ago you were trying to roofie me, and now look at us. Karma really bit you in the ass, didn’t it.”
He sobbed again, the head of his dick an angry red from all of the abuse, and yet still, he didn’t cum.
“You’re such a pretty little girl for me, Patrick.” The words stung him, working to tear down whatever remained of his horribly fragile ego.
“So- so- fuck, ah!” he moaned, and you tugged his hair again.
“How many people have you killed, Patrick?” You asked him, stilling your hips.
His eyes widened, meeting yours in the mirror. You grabbed the camera from next to you on the bed, and quickly took a picture that you didn’t think he even noticed.
And just like that, you shoved him down again, hammering into him.
You snaked your free hand around his neck, holding firmly enough to make him feel it as the tension became unbearable.
“Please! F-fuck, ah- fuck- please!” He groaned, sobbing again. “So- fuck- ha-harder-“ he moaned, quietly enough that you weren’t even sure you’d heard right. He was gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles were white, his body shaking and heaving from the pressure.
Finally, he spilled into your hand again, and you slowed your hips, releasing your hold on his neck and dick slowly.
He was gasping for air, and you slowly pulled out of him, removing the strap on.
You placed it in your bag and turned around to show him the picture you got of his beautiful downfall, but he was already passed out cold on the bed.
For as knowledgeable on Patrick Bateman as you were, you were also unsure as to what would come of this. Would he go even more insane? Would he break down? Quit his job? Kill more people? Or would this make him, somehow, more sane and normal?
As you grabbed your stuff, you took a tube of lipstick out of your purse, quickly drawing a bright red heart on his sheets. It would anger him, absolutely, but a man like him had to know where to go to get stains out.
You swept out of his apartment, giddy just thinking about how he would show up to work on Monday.