Chapter 15: Barry pins Josh's wrists to the sticky break room table while Greg spits on his hole and shoves in raw, the fluorescent lights exposing every twitch of Josh's abused body as Barry films it all with one hand while jerking off with the other.
The break room’s fluorescent lights buzzed like trapped insects. Josh stood frozen in the doorway, the greasy smell of microwaved popcorn coating his throat. Barry and Greg leaned against the counter, heads bent over Greg’s phone, their laughter a low, shared rumble.
“Look at that fucking face,” Barry wheezed, jabbing a thick finger at the screen.
Greg glanced up, his eyes locking onto Josh. A slow grin spread. “Speak of the devil. Come see your close-up, Jessica.”
Josh’s feet carried him forward, a moth to the cruel light. On the phone, his own terror-filled eyes stared back, his lips stretched purple around Barry’s girth. A whimper echoed tinny from the speaker.
Barry’s hand shot out, clamping onto the collar of Josh’s polo, yanking him forward. “Time for a sequel,” he growled, and shoved Josh backwards. His hips cracked against the Formica lunch table, sending a half-empty mug crashing to the floor.
Greg was already on him, his hands rough on Josh’s belt. The buckle gave with a metallic shriek. Barry kept him pinned with one massive hand while Greg yanked jeans and briefs down to his thighs. The cold, slick tabletop pressed against his bare skin.
“Hold him,” Greg said, his voice tight.
Barry leaned his full weight across Josh’s chest, crushing the air from his lungs. He could smell stale coffee and Barry’s acrid sweat. Greg spat into his palm, the sound obscenely loud in the sterile room. He didn’t bother stretching, just guided himself against Josh’s exposed hole and pushed, hard. The burn was immediate, a brutal, tearing re-entry. Josh screamed into Barry’s forearm.
“Shut up,” Barry hissed, grinding his elbow into Josh’s mouth. Greg began to piston, his thrusts short and vicious, each one driving Josh’s spine into the hard table. The rhythmic squeak of Greg’s shoes on the linoleum timed the assault. “Tight little cunt,” Greg grunted, his breath coming in hot puffs against Josh’s neck. “Missed this, didn’t you?”
The break room door hissed open. A silhouette paused, then retreated silently, letting the door swing shut. No one would come. Josh’s world narrowed to the searing pain below, the weight on his chest, and the buzzing of the lights bearing witness.
Greg’s rhythm became brutal, a relentless hammering that jolted the table against the wall with each thrust. “You see that, Jessie?” he panted, his voice raw. “Your cunt’s getting wetter the more I hurt it.”
Barry shifted his weight, freeing one hand to claw at Josh’s jaw, forcing his head toward Greg’s phone, still propped on the counter. The video played on a loop, a silent, high-definition ghost of the same violation. “Watch yourself take it,” Barry snarled, his breath hot in Josh’s ear. “Learn.”
A strangled sound escaped Josh’s throat, part sob, part gag. His body was betraying him, a traitorous heat coiling low in his gut beneath the agony. Greg’s pace intensified, his balls slapping wetly against Josh’s skin. “Yeah, you fucking feel that,” Greg groaned, his fingers digging bruisingly into Josh’s hips. “Your pussy’s clenching like a bitch in heat.”
The searing friction began to mutate, the pain blurring into a shameful, shocking rush of sensation. It was a physiological hijacking, a sickening echo of the convention floor. Josh’s vision swam, tears blurring the fluorescent lights into starbursts. A broken moan was ripped from him as the coil snapped, his body convulsing under Barry’s pinning weight.
White hot release shot from him, streaking his stomach and the filthy table, a grotesque testament to his broken will. Greg rode him through it, snarling, “There it is! Look at this slut cumming from getting her ass fucked!” Josh’s whole world dissolved into a shuddering, silent scream of shame.
Greg’s thrusts became punishing, slamming into Josh’s oversensitive body as his own release cooled on his skin. “Filthy little thing,” Greg grunted, his rhythm losing all pretense of control as he chased his own end. Barry watched, his expression shifting from cruel amusement to something colder, more detached.
He pushed himself off Josh with a grunt of disgust, wiping his hands on his pants as if touching Josh had soiled him. “Fuck this,” Barry muttered, his voice devoid of its earlier heat. He looked from Josh’s shattered form to Greg’s sweating, pounding figure with utter contempt. “I’m done.”
Greg didn’t stop, his fingers digging deeper into Josh’s hips. “Done?” he panted, barely glancing over.
“This,” Barry said, gesturing vaguely at the whole sordid scene. “This pathetic shit. It’s boring.” He zipped his fly, the sound final. “I quit. The job, this… whatever this is. You can have your twisted little wife all to yourself.”
He turned and walked out of the break room, the door sighing shut behind him, leaving only the hum of the fridge and the wet slap of skin. Greg’s pace slowed, then stopped, buried deep inside Josh. A strange, possessive silence filled the vacuum Barry left. Greg leaned down, his lips brushing Josh’s ear, his voice a low, trembling whisper thick with a terrifying new ownership. “Mine now,” he breathed, before resuming his brutal, solitary rhythm. “All mine.”