Chapter 22: Mandatory Viewing
The drive back was silent. Josh stared out the passenger window, watching the convention center lights melt into the gridlock of downtown. The physical soreness was a deep, radiating throb, a constant echo of the violation. But it was dwarfed by the new, hollow calm inside him. The weeping thing on the floor had been left behind in that abandoned room. What sat in Greg’s car was just a shell, awaiting instructions.
Greg didn’t look at him. “The brothers are excited,” he said, finally, as they pulled into the underground parking of their sleek office building. “Barry’s arranged a little team-building session. HR-approved, of course.” He smirked, the expression stark in the dashboard’s green glow.
They took the elevator up to the executive floor. The familiar scent of lemon polish and recycled air hit Josh, a jarring contrast to the smells still clinging to his skin. Greg led him not to their cubicle farm, but to the main conference room—the one with the floor-to-ceiling windows and the expensive mahogany table. Light from the city skyline poured in, painting everything in cold blues and electric whites.
The room was already occupied. Barry sat at the head of the table, his large frame looking proprietary in the CEO’s chair. Kevin was to his left, fidgeting with a laptop. A few other men from the department—Mike from Accounting, the quiet Carl from IT—were scattered around, their expressions a mix of curiosity and uneasy complicity. A projector was set up, its lens aimed at a blank screen.
“Gentlemen,” Barry announced, his voice a warm, paternal boom that felt obscene in the context. “Thanks for staying late. This is a unique professional development opportunity. A case study in… external stakeholder engagement.” His eyes, small and sharp, landed on Josh. “Greg, is the subject prepped?”
“She’s ready,” Greg said, pushing Josh forward into the room. All eyes tracked him. He stood there, in his convention clothes, feeling the dried stiff spots on the fabric.
“Have a seat, Jessica,” Barry said, pointing to a chair placed directly in front of the projection screen. It was isolated, facing the audience. Josh sat.
Kevin connected his laptop to the projector. The blank screen flickered to life, displaying a video file manager. Josh saw the filenames, his stomach dropping. `Convention_Bathroom.mp4`. `Panel_Room_Trade.mov`.
“We acquired these from our network contacts,” Barry said, steepling his fingers. “Quality assurance footage. We’ll be reviewing Jessica’s performance metrics today. Greg, you have the remote?”
Greg held up the small clicker for the projector. “All set.”
Barry nodded. “Play the first one.”
Kevin double-clicked. The grainy, shaky footage from the convention bathroom filled the large screen. The angle was high, from a concealed camera. There Josh was, younger by just days, his face a mask of terrified shock as Greg advanced. The audio was a muffled cacophony of grunts and tearing fabric.
“Pause,” Barry said.
The image froze. Josh was pinned against the sink, his pants around his ankles, Greg behind him, mouth open in a grimace of effort.
“Now, observe the subject’s expression here,” Barry said, standing and using a laser pointer. The red dot danced over Josh’s frozen, wide-eyed face on the screen. “The initial resistance. The fear. This is baseline unacceptable for client-facing interaction. Greg?”
“Watch the transition,” Greg said, clicking forward frame by frame. On screen, Josh’s face changed, the terror melting into a slack-jawed, empty stare. “See that? System override. She learns her function. That blankness is her processing optimal service protocol.”
A chuckle rippled through the room. Kevin snickered.
“Resume,” Barry said.
The video played. The sounds of the assault filled the polished conference room—the wet slap of skin, Greg’s guttural curses. Josh watched his own past degradation on a sixty-inch screen, surrounded by colleagues. He felt nothing. He was a vacant chamber.
The video ended. Barry cleared his throat. “The second file, please, Kevin.”
`Panel_Room_Trade.mov` opened. This footage was darker, grainier, from a camera hidden in a fire alarm casing. It showed the whole transaction: Greg handing him over, the furries approaching, the removal of the tail plug. Josh watched, disembodied, as the wolf-man pushed into his frozen, pixelated form on the folding table.
“Pause right… there,” Barry commanded.
The image froze on a close-up, distorted by the lens, of Josh’s face contorted in pain as the knot breached.
“This,” Barry said, the laser pointer circling the expression, “is a critical failure point. The client’s product experienced clear distress. This is not the seamless integration we promise. However…” He clicked the pointer off. “It provides a valuable training opportunity. We learn from failure.”
He walked over to his briefcase and opened it. From within, he removed a sleek, silicone sleeve—a fleshlight—and a small bottle of lube. He placed them on the table with a clinical air.
“Kevin, rewind to the initial penetration. The moment of… entry shock.”
Kevin did so, finding the frame where the rubber canine cock first pressed against Josh’s body on screen.
“Greg, interface the training aid with the system, please.”
Greg took the fleshlight, squeezed a generous amount of lube into it, and then connected it via a long USB cable to Kevin’s laptop. On the laptop screen, a custom software interface opened, showing a simple control panel with a slider and a pulsing visualizer.
“This is a prototype,” Barry explained to the room. “Biometric sync. It reads the on-screen stimulus and provides tactile feedback. For immersive training.” He looked at Mike from Accounting. “Mike. You’ve been quiet. Why don’t you come up and experience the subject’s initial client engagement?”
Mike, a paunchy man in his fifties, looked nervously from Barry to the screen to the fleshlight on the table. He stood, his chair scraping loudly. “I, uh… sure. For the team.”
“Good man,” Barry said.
Mike stood beside the table, facing the screen. Greg handed him the lubricated fleshlight. Mike unzipped his fly, shoved his half-hard cock into the cold, gel-like interior, and held the device in place.
“Play, from the point of entry,” Barry said.
On screen, the video played in slow motion. The rubber tip pressed, stretched, and began to sink in. As it did, the software interpreted the visual data. The fleshlight in Mike’s hands began to vibrate and contract in time with the penetration, the intensity matching the stretching on screen.
Mike gasped. “Oh, wow. That’s… intense.”
“That’s the subject’s experienced tightness,” Greg commented, like a technician. “Note the clenching. The software replicates the muscle tension.”
On screen, the knot began to pop in. The fleshlight pulsed violently, then clamped down in a series of rhythmic, tight contractions. Mike groaned, his eyes glued to the horror on the screen, his hips thrusting involuntarily into the sleeve. “Fuck. That’s her… cunt taking the knot. Jesus.”
“It’s a high-fidelity simulation,” Barry said, smiling. “Who’s next? Carl?”
Carl from IT, a younger, slender man, stepped up quickly after Mike zipped himself away, flushed. He took his place, his erection already visible. He pushed into the fleshlight, still slick from Mike’s use.
“Run it from the wolf’s first thrust,” Barry ordered.
The video played. Carl watched, mouth agape, as on screen Josh’s body was jarred by the thrust. The fleshlight mimicked the sensation, a quick, shallow, pounding rhythm. Carl’s breath hitched. “She’s so… fucking tight. You can feel her trying to resist.”
“That’s the training value,” Barry said, his eyes shifting to Josh, who sat watching his own rape become a team-building exercise. “Understanding the resistance to overcome.”
One by one, the men took turns. They fucked the fleshlight synchronized to his violation, their grunts and crude commentary a soundtrack to the silent film of his destruction.
“Look at her face when the badger goes in! She’s just taking it.”
“God, that bastard’s huge. Feel that, she’s wide open.”
“Rewind that part where she gags on the fox guy’s dick. I wanna feel that throat squeeze.”
Barry watched, a satisfied professor. Greg operated the laptop, switching scenes, adjusting the “fidelity” settings to increase the suction or vibration. Josh sat perfectly still. He was a ghost in the room, a reference point for the apparatus they were using.
Finally, Barry raised a hand. “Enough. The hardware needs to cool.” He took the fleshlight from a panting Kevin, disconnected it, and placed it back in his briefcase. He walked over to Josh, standing between him and the frozen, final image on the screen—a close-up of his own tear-streaked, vacant face.
“The debrief,” Barry said, his voice dropping to a confidential tone meant for the whole room. “Subject shows high durability. Good compliance post-initial shock. However, the emotional leakage here,” he pointed at the frozen tear tracks, “is a product flaw. We need that blank slate. No tears. No… personality remnants.” He looked down at Josh. “Do you understand the performance gap, Jessica?”
Josh looked up at him. He looked at Barry’s florid face, at the expectant stares of the men around the table. He felt the last shred of something—dignity, anger, self—dissolve into the sterile, air-conditioned air.
“Yes,” Josh said, his voice a flat, quiet hum.
“What is the primary function?” Barry asked.
“To be used,” Josh recited, the words tasting of nothing.
Barry smiled, a wide, genuine smile of approval. He patted Josh’s head, a patronizing gesture. “Good. You’re learning. Meeting adjourned. Greg, she’s yours. The beta test with the board members is scheduled for Friday. Ensure she’s polished.”
The men filed out, chatting about the tech, the shocking realism, the funny expressions on “her” face. Greg waited until they were gone. He walked over to the laptop, ejected the thumb drive containing the videos, and pocketed it.
“Get up,” he said.
Josh stood. His body moved automatically.
“You heard Barry. You need to lose the tears. The… residual bullshit.” Greg circled him. “The board is old money. They don’t want a sniveling little bitch. They want a pristine product. A clean, functioning hole.”
He stopped in front of Josh, his eyes gleaming in the city light.
“So tonight, we’re going to practice. Until you can take anything, from anyone, and smile while you do it. Until ‘thank you, sir’ is the only thing left in your pretty little head.”
Greg reached out and took his hand, not with violence, but with a dreadful, possessive certainty. He led Josh out of the conference room, past the empty cubicles, towards the fire stairs. Down they went, into the bowels of the building, to the server room where the only sound was the endless, cooling whir of machines holding the company’s data. And where no one would hear the drills of the next lesson.
The server room was a tomb of light and sound. Racks of blinking machines formed narrow canyons, their fans emitting a constant, low thrum that vibrated in Josh’s teeth. The air was cold, chemically dry, and carried the smell of ozone and dust. Greg pushed him past the warning signs into a cleared space where a redundant power unit had been decommissioned, its empty metal frame a skeletal altar.
A thick, folded moving blanket lay on the floor. On top of it sat a black gym bag, zipper open.
“On your knees,” Greg said, his voice neutral, instructional.
Josh knelt. The blanket scratched his thighs. Greg pulled items from the bag with ritualistic care: a bottle of lube, a packet of wipes, a thick, black silicone ring, and finally, a new harness. This one was simpler, more utilitarian, with sturdy straps and a dildo that was featureless and cruel in its realistic veining.
“Barry’s right about the tears,” Greg said, kneeling behind him. He worked Josh’s pants and boxers down again. The cold air bit at his exposed skin. “They’re a defect. We’re going to drill until the defect is gone. You’re going to thank every man who uses you. You’re going to smile. Do you understand the program?”
“Yes,” Josh whispered to the humming racks.
“Good girl.”
Greg’s hands were methodical, not brutal. He applied lube, sliding two fingers inside Josh with a clinical efficiency. The soreness from the convention flared, a bright, unwelcome ache. Josh stared at a blinking green LED on a server across the aisle, counting its pulses. He felt the pressure of the new harness as Greg fitted it around his hips, tightening the straps until they dug in. The weight of the fake cock hanging between his legs was a familiar anchor.
“Phase one: endurance.” Greg stood, moving in front of him. He unzipped his own pants, freed his hard-on, and gave himself a few lazy strokes. “Open.”
Josh did. Greg fed his cock into Josh’s mouth, not thrusting, just letting it rest on his tongue. “Suck. Use your tongue. Good. Now say ‘Thank you, sir.’”
The words were muffled around the flesh. “Thank you, sir.”
“Again.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Greg began a slow, shallow rhythm, his hands holding Josh’s head steady. “You exist to say thank you. Your mouth, your cunt, they are receipt printers. Acknowledgement of service.” He picked up pace, hitting the back of Josh’s throat. Josh’s eyes watered, but he swallowed against the reflex. “No tears. Swallow them.”
The door to the server room hissed open. Footsteps echoed between the racks. Greg didn’t stop. Mark from Sales rounded the corner, his tall frame casting a long shadow. He leaned against a server rack, arms crossed, watching.
“Running diagnostics?” Mark asked, his tone light, conversational.
“Quality assurance,” Greg grunted, pulling Josh’s head forward onto him deeper. “Board meeting Friday. Can’t have performance issues.”
“Right, right.” Mark nodded, as if discussing a quarterly report. He watched for another minute, idly adjusting himself through his chinos. “Say, Greg. That simulation software Barry demoed… the tactile feedback was pretty impressive.”
“High fidelity,” Greg said, his breath catching.
“But a simulation’s still a simulation, you know?” Mark pushed off from the rack and took a few steps closer. His shadow fell over them both. “Can I… compare the real thing? For due diligence. Before the big presentation.”
Greg pulled himself from Josh’s mouth with a wet pop. He stepped back, tucking himself away. “Of course. Due diligence is key.” He gestured to Josh, kneeling vacant and open-mouthed. “The product is ready for testing.”
Josh felt a distant, cold click in his mind. A transaction. A review. He was the product.
Mark walked over. He unbuckled his belt, the leather sliding through the loops with a whisper. His cock, half-hard, sprung out. It was different from Greg’s, longer, with a prominent vein. He didn’t touch Josh’s head. He simply guided himself to Josh’s lips and pushed in.
Josh’s jaw ached. The taste was new, a different soap, a different skin. Mark set a steady, deep pace immediately, his hips driving forward until his pelvis met Josh’s lips with a soft tap each time.
“Fuck,” Mark sighed, looking down at the top of Josh’s head. “The software didn’t capture the warmth. Or the... the living tightness. Much better.”
He fucked Josh’s mouth with a placid, corporate intensity. One hand came to rest on Josh’s head, not gripping, just resting, a proprietorial touch. Greg watched, arms crossed, nodding in approval.
“See?” Greg said. “No struggling. Proper form. But we need to work on the affective response. She’s still too vacant.”
Mark withdrew, slick and shining. He tapped Josh’s cheek with it. “Turn around. Let’s see the main event.”
Josh pivoted on the blanket, his knees sore from the hard floor. He presented himself, the harness limp between his thighs. Mark knelt behind him. A glob of cool lube landed on his entrance, then a thick finger pushed in, scissoring roughly.
“She’s still loose from the trade,” Mark commented.
“Easier for you to do your job,” Greg replied.
Mark aligned himself and pushed in with one solid, unforgiving thrust. Josh’s body jolted forward. The fullness was immediate, a stretching burn that echoed all the way up his spine. Mark groaned, a low, appreciative sound.
“Oh, yeah. That’s the real thing. That’s the… the clinch. The software pulsed, but this… this grips.” He pulled back and slammed in again, settling into a punishing rhythm. Each impact drove a soft “uh” from Josh’s lips.
“Verbal acknowledgement,” Greg prompted, his voice cool from the sidelines.
“Th-thank you, sir,” Josh choked out, the words bouncing with the force of Mark’s thrusts.
“See? Improving.” Greg’s tone was that of a pleased coach.
Mark’s pace increased. His hands gripped Josh’s hips, fingers digging in. The slap of skin and the squeak of his shoes on the floor mixed with the server hum. He was panting now, his corporate demeanor cracking under a basic, driving need.
“Such a good little cunt,” he grunted. “Taking it so well. Gonna fill this tight… fucking… product.”
His thrusts became erratic, deeper. Josh felt him swell, pulse, and then a hot, sudden flood spilled inside him. Mark held himself there, shuddering, his weight heavy on Josh’s back.
After a moment, he pulled out with a slick, soft sound. He stood, zipping up. “Outstanding. The real-world application is clearly superior. The board will be very satisfied.”
Josh remained on his hands and knees, feeling Mark’s release leak out of him, onto the harness strap. The cold air of the server room hit the wetness.
Mark looked at Greg, then down at Josh’s exposed, used body. A final, dark curiosity flickered in his eyes. “You know, my wife… she’d never…”
Josh didn’t know what made him speak. The words surfaced from the numb void like a bubble from deep water. He stared at the server’s blinking light and asked, his voice flat and quiet, “Aren’t you married?”
The hum of the machines filled the sudden silence.
Mark barked a single, sharp laugh. He leaned down, his face close to Josh’s ear, his voice a confidential, venomous whisper. “She’s got headaches. And standards.”
He straightened up, adjusted his tie, and turned to Greg, all business again. “Product is approved for the board. Just… maybe polish the talking points.” He walked away, his footsteps fading into the mechanical thrum.
Greg stepped forward. He placed a hand on the back of Josh’s neck, his grip firm, final. “See? You’re learning. You just earned us the big account.” He pulled Josh up by the harness strap. “Now, let’s clean you up. We have more drills before Friday. You need to smile on command.”