Like most urban professional men, Victor considered himself a good husband. He worked hard to provide for his family. They lacked nothing. The children went to the best private schools, and he and his wife drove matching luxury SUVs with personalised number plates. Their palatial home in an exclusive cluster complex in the plush green northern suburb of Bryanston was exquisitely furnished and decorated.

He worked hard, so what if he occasionally fished in the pond? Exploiting eager, naive young junior auditors serving their articles at the firm gave him quite a thrill. It was one of the perks of the job—an unspoken agreement by the senior partners in the firm. It was considered to be an opportunity to relieve stress. The unwritten rule was, ‘Never get caught.’ The firm had a sexual harassment policy designed to protect employees. However, in truth, most senior male employees treated it like a suggestion. In private conversations, they exchanged tips on loopholes in the policy with laughter and conspiratorial whispers, secure in the knowledge the ‘boys’ club’ would support them if any of the juniors filed a sexual harassment case.

Victor was one of the best of an elite breed. These were men at the top of their game, deftly fencing their way through company politics to make senior partner, general manager, or managing director, depending on their industry, while working hard to make themselves indispensable.

The unmatched ecstasy of sex was his drug of choice; the hotter and more illicit, the better. It kept him from losing it. It was all part of a game. There was the thrill of the chase; the more a woman resisted, the greater the sense of accomplishment when he finally had her writhing and moaning beneath him. So, what if the discarded and disgruntled ones called him a ‘Corporate Fuck Boy’. The truth was, they’d be back in a heartbeat if he gave them the slightest encouragement. He was that good, and worst of all, he knew it. Many of the naive young things he had bedded went on to date and marry other people, but a few still looked wistfully his way, hoping that one day he would ask them for a roll in the proverbial hay one more time. He was unmoved. For him, the thrill of the chase and the novelty of conquest was unmatched.

His wife had some idea of his liaisons, but the number would have shocked her if she knew. She turned a blind eye, having resigned herself to being the good wife and mother, the one who was above reproach and lent respectability to his image when it counted.

So, from one year to the next, he rose in stature in the firm while preying on young, impressionable women who found themselves serving their articles under him. This year, as managing partner, he broke with tradition and insisted on meeting the new crop of junior auditors. Sure enough, one caught his eye at once. She was not his usual type. He liked them light-skinned and curvy, but there was something about this one. Tall and dark in complexion, her figure was akin to that of a greyhound—lean, lithe, and athletic. She had an endearing little gap between her front teeth when she smiled. She seemed shy, shifting uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze.

He asked Aviwe, the HR manager, her name. Xongotela Maluleke. He was intrigued. She had been top of her Accounting class at the University of Limpopo. A country girl, he thought. The firm had funded her studies. In the weeks after that, he paid her special attention, requesting that she bring him files, coffee, giving her special assignments that required her to be alone with him. He called her Xongi, pronouncing the X as “Shh.” She blushed endearingly when he complimented her. A month into her joining, he was no closer to getting the first bite of her cherry. He was not in a hurry; there were still a few of the girls who were willing to put out for him.

One day, Aviwe overheard a conversation in rapid-fire Setswana in the deserted break-out area. To her surprise, she saw Xongotela pacing agitatedly as she spoke. Aviwe, being Xhosa, spoke very little of the language, so she could not follow the conversation. She made a note to check on her. Later when they spoke, Xongotela explained that her Mum was a MoTswana and she had to deal with an issue at home, but it was all sorted out.

Xongotela continued to do the special assignments as requested by Jonathan. Aviwe tried to warn him to avoid being seen as obviously favouring her, but the warning was ignored. Xongotela seemed so innocent and stared uncomprehending at Aviwe when she tried to tactfully warn her not to spend too much time alone with Victor. She also tried to gently dissuade Victor from taking advantage of the country girl. He feigned innocence. He insisted he saw potential in the girl and wanted to groom her personally. “Yes,” Aviwe thought, ‘just like all the others.’ Sexual grooming was not just a function of childhood sexual abuse. Aviwe gave up in disgust. They were consenting adults after all.

The hunter in Jonathan was in full flight, and he would not be stopped from pursuing his prey. Xongotela, meanwhile, continued with her coy and endearing manner, while making every effort to be professional. She was a quick learner, very organised and efficient, and soon, she was trusted enough to be given a set of keys to Jonathan’s office, much to the chagrin of Janet, Jonathan’s PA.

Early one morning, Janet came in as usual, only to find Xongotela in the office. She was holding the brass Foo dog ornament that sat on Victor’s desk just as Janet appeared in the doorway. She seemed a little flustered, put the ornament down in its place, then took some files from the in-tray and hurried off to the open-plan office where she normally worked. Janet tried to tell Victor about the incident, but he dismissed it, saying he had asked her to come in early to look at the files he left in his tray.

A couple of days later, they were working late, reviewing the financial reports for a noticeably big client who was listing one of their divisions on the New York Stock Exchange in a few weeks.

Xongotela brought Victor a tall black Americano as asked. She set the coffee down in front of him. He looked up and, smiling suggestively, reached out and touched her hand—a gentle, lingering touch. Xongotela froze, unsure what to do next. Victor gave her a winning smile, pleased by her reticence. He looked forward to preying on her, just as he had done with her other colleagues.

Over the next few days, Victor was pleased to see Xongotela giving him coy looks. For him, that meant he was close to the proverbial touchline. The team congregated at a nearby restaurant and bar for drinks on a Thursday evening. As the evening wore on, colleagues began to leave, some going straight home. A few senior partners left early, and their ‘marks,’ the junior auditors they were sleeping with, left a few minutes later to join them in the parking lot.

Victor fell back on a trick that had served him well over the years with the tougher ‘marks’. He pretended to be too drunk to drive and asked Xongotela to drive him to his ‘friend’s place’ to sleep it off. This worked on the young girls who were often keen to drive his sleek BMW Seven Series. Xongotela agreed. Victor put on one of the best performances of his career, pretending to be drunk, even leaning on her as they went to his car. A couple of the senior partners who remained gave each other knowing looks. They had seen this performance before; they had occasionally tried it themselves, but no one did it as well as Victor.

Victor lolled in the passenger seat. His pulse raced as Xongotela leaned over to fasten his seat belt. She selected the address from the list displayed by the built-in GPS system. Xongotela drove the car smoothly, navigating the suburban roads that led from their office. When they arrived at the apartment block a few kilometres from the office, Victor pressed a remote control to open the gate, and they drove in, the gate closing behind them.

The ‘friend’s place’ was empty. Xongotela helped Victor up two flights of stairs to the first floor. He was so aroused; her arm was around his waist while his was over her shoulder. The place was clean, well-kept, but empty, devoid of personal touches. It was, in fact, the ‘slaughterhouse’ as the firm’s boys’ club called it. They pooled funds to rent the place to bring young, unsuspecting women there for sex. This was, in fact, a frequent practice among men of their class. When the lease was up for renewal, they found a similar property in the area and shifted every year to avoid detection.

As Xongotela placed Victor on the sofa, she bid him goodbye, saying she would call an Uber ride. Emboldened by the privacy of the quiet apartment and heated with desire, Victor stood up and pulled Xongotela towards him and, slipping his hand inside her blouse, he unhooked her bra, saying, “You smell so good. I can’t wait to…”

What happened next still had him stunned for the next few years when he recalled it. Xongotela wrestled herself free of his grip. She punched him in the stomach, then whirled around him, kicking him hard on the back of his right knee. He landed face down on the floor. Before he could react, he felt his hands being pulled behind his back and heard the unmistakable click of cold steel of handcuffs around his wrists. Xongotela took the remote control out of his pocket and opened the gate.

As Victor lay on the ground trying to make sense of what was happening, he tried to raise his head, only to see Xongotela squatting next to him, the barrel of a revolver aimed at his forehead. Gone was the coy smile and hesitant manner; in its place was the grim look of a determined woman, who was not to be trifled with. Victor was speechless for the first time in his life.

The door opened. In walked three police officers. They saluted her. “Lieutenant Colonel!“

“At ease, Captains!“ She replied, rising to her feet. Victor found his voice and he was led, protesting loudly, to the waiting police van. Curious neighbours and workers at the complex came out to watch the drama. Victor was driven to the police headquarters for questioning.

Six months later, Victor appeared in court for one count of attempted rape. The star witness was Lieutenant Colonel Maluleke. He was also tried for several other counts of rape with aggravated assault. That little drunken act to lure unsuspecting young women, which was his signature, was the modus operandi of a serial rapist. Most of the victims were too scared or ashamed to report, except one.

Unfortunately for Victor, she was the niece of the Chairperson of the ruling party’s Women’s League. Lieutenant Colonel Maluleke, with her youthful appearance and petite figure, volunteered to go undercover to investigate and be the bait. She collected information using the recording device she had placed inside the Foo dog’s mouth.

Victor’s case was fast-tracked through the court system. There was a great deal of media attention. The accounting firm issued a media statement condemning the crime and committing to enforcing its sexual harassment policy. Aviwe was astonished at first, then felt vindicated. She had her hands full as more victims came forward. Some were still working for the firm. The firm paid for therapy sessions and, where required, financial compensation for the victims to redeem its bad reputation as a haven for sexual predators.

The judge sentenced Victor to several years in prison. She noted in her judgement the number of counts, the severity of the cases and the abuse of his position of power within the firm. He was to be incarcerated at Leeuwkop maximum-security prison in Johannesburg, serving many of the sentences concurrently. He would only be eligible for parole after a minimum of five years.

His wife filed for divorce, which was uncontested. He got the news one cold, rainy morning from one of his few remaining friends. The rest of the ‘boys’ club’ distanced themselves. In a single evening, he had gone from being successful and respected to a target for the prison gangs.

He never made it out on parole. He contracted HIV/AIDS and died of complications from pneumonia. His siblings collected his body, and he was laid to rest in a small private funeral back home in KwaZulu-Natal.

This is a cautionary tale of a hunter caught in his own trap. Tell us what you think of the story in the comments.

©️Pearl Deyi 2025