Chapter 6: Josh kneels naked at Barry's feet, his body sore and marked from days of abuse, as Barry casually fingers his asshole while discussing stock prices with his guests, making Josh moan loudly with each cruel twist of his fingers.
The knife lived in his coat pocket. It was a cold, hard fact that accompanied him everywhere, a secret counterweight to the phantom tastes of Kevin and the ghostly itch of Greg’s lace. It didn’t make him brave. It made him calm. The screaming panic had solidified into a block of ice in his chest, and the knife was just another piece of that frozen landscape.
When the email arrived on Friday afternoon with Barry’s address and the simple, commanding line, Be at the door by 7 PM. Pack for the weekend, Josh felt nothing. He packed a small bag with a change of clothes, his toiletries. He placed the knife, still in its blister pack, at the very bottom. He didn’t know why. It just seemed to belong there.
Barry’s building was a steel-and-glass monolith in the financial district. The lobby was a cathedral of muted marble and silent elevators. Barry buzzed him up without a word.
The apartment door was a slab of polished dark wood. It opened before Josh could knock. Barry stood there, dressed in dark, expensive-looking casual trousers and a tight-fitting black t-shirt that strained over his belly. He looked Josh up and down, his expression one of mild appraisal, like a man checking the specifications of a delivered appliance.
“Come in. Leave your bag there.”
Josh stepped inside. The space was vast, open-plan, with a wall of windows showcasing a glittering panorama of the city skyline. Everything was sharp angles, polished concrete, and low leather furniture. The air was cool, smelling of lemongrass and ozone from the air purifiers. It was the antithesis of Kevin’s squalor, Greg’s sad clutter. This was power, sterile and absolute.
“This weekend,” Barry began, walking slowly around Josh, “is about obedience. Utter, unquestioning obedience. You are not an employee here. You are a utility.” He stopped in front of a sideboard and picked up a simple black leather collar, thick and unadorned. “You will wear this. At all times.”
He held it out. Josh took it. The leather was buttery soft, the buckle cold metal. He fastened it around his own neck. The fit was snug, not choking, but inescapably present. A tag.
“Good.” Barry pointed to the floor. “On your hands and knees. The hardwood needs to be kept spotless. You will traverse it that way. It will remind you of your place.”
Josh lowered himself. The floor was icy against his palms. He looked up at Barry from this new, familiar angle.
“Follow,” Barry said, and walked towards the kitchen.
Josh crawled. It was slow, awkward, humiliating. The collar rubbed against his Adam’s apple. He followed Barry’s slippered feet past a kitchen with gleaming, untouched appliances, into the living area. Barry settled into a massive armchair, picked up a tablet, and began to scroll. He ignored Josh completely.
For an hour, Josh knelt on the floor beside the chair, watching the city lights twinkle on. His knees and palms began to ache. Barry sipped from a glass of amber liquid, never offering a word or a glance.
The doorbell rang, a soft chime. Barry smiled. “Ah. Company. Stay.”
He answered the door. Two men entered, similar to Barry in age and bearing. They wore the uniform of casual wealth: designer jeans, soft sweaters. They glanced at Josh on the floor without surprise.
“This is the new one?” one asked, hanging his jacket.
“Mm. Still in training,” Barry said. “Drinks are on the sidebar. Help yourselves.”
The men, whose names Josh never learned, made themselves at home. They talked about market volatility, golf handicaps, a recent merger. They stood by the windows, glasses in hand, their voices a low rumble. Josh remained on all fours, a piece of living furniture.
One of the men, the taller one with salt-and-pepper hair, finally nodded toward Josh. “He housebroken?”
Barry chuckled. “Mostly. Still some defiance to be worked out. But he serves a purpose.”
“Yeah?” The man walked over. He stood in front of Josh, looking down. He nudged Josh’s shoulder with his polished loafer. “What purpose is that?”
“Open your mouth,” Barry said from his chair.
Josh opened his mouth. The man with the loafer looked, then smirked. “I see. Convenient.” He turned back to Barry. “So, about the liquidity event…”
The conversation resumed. Josh stayed, his jaw slack, until Barry finally said, “Close it. Go to the corner. Face the wall.”
Josh crawled to a corner of the vast room and knelt, his forehead nearly touching the place where two walls of glass met. The city sprawled beneath him, a universe of freedom he could see but not touch. He could hear the men laughing, the clink of ice in glasses.
Later, after the friends had left, Barry rose from his chair. He stood behind Josh, who still knelt in the corner. Barry’s hand settled on the back of his neck, fingers digging into the muscle above the collar.
“You did adequately. Silent. Unobtrusive.” His other hand unzipped his trousers. “Now, you perform your primary function.”
He didn’t bend Josh over. He simply pushed his head forward, towards the glass, and guided himself into him from behind. There was no lubricant, no preparation beyond the lingering moisture from Barry’s mouth on his cock. The entry was a dry,撕裂的 burn that made Josh gasp, his breath fogging the window.
Barry fucked him with steady, powerful thrusts, his grip on Josh’s neck keeping his face pressed towards the glittering abyss below. It was a punishment and a possession, a claiming of this view, this space, this body. Barry’s breath hitched, his rhythm growing sloppier.
“This is what you’re for,” he grunted, his voice thick. “You’re a fucking hole. My hole. You take my cock in any hole I choose. You understand? You’re nothing but a set of openings for me to use.”
He came inside Josh with a low groan, holding himself deep, pulsing. When he pulled out, a trickle of warm fluid traced a path down Josh’s inner thigh. Barry zipped up.
“There’s a blanket in the closet. You sleep on the floor at the foot of my bed. Do not get on the furniture. Do not use the bathroom without permission. Go clean yourself up. Use the sink in the laundry room.”
The laundry room was a closet with a deep utility sink. Josh cleaned himself with cold water and paper towels. He found the blanket, a thin woolen thing, and lay on the hard floor beside Barry’s vast platform bed. He listened to Barry’s even snores. The collar was still around his neck. The knife was in his bag, out in the hall.
Saturday passed in a blur of degradation and eerie normalcy. Barry made him crawl as he did household chores, pointing out dust on baseboards with his toe. He forced Josh to eat a bowl of plain oatmeal off the floor, without using his hands. In the afternoon, Barry video-called his mother, and Josh had to kneel silently in the frame, the collar visible, while Barry explained he was “mentoring a young intern on discipline and structure.”
That night, Barry had different guests. A couple. The man was jovial, the woman quiet, her eyes wide as she took in Josh on his knees. After drinks, Barry, in a display of dominance, ordered Josh to service the man.
“Show him how well you listen.”
The man, red-faced and eager, sat on the edge of the leather sofa. Josh had to kneel between his spread legs and take his soft cock into his mouth, working him to hardness with his tongue while Barry and the woman watched. The man’s hands gripped Josh’s head, his hips pushing up. He tasted of soap and sweat. He came with a shudder, and Barry made Josh swallow, then open his mouth to show it was empty.
The woman looked away, uncomfortable. Barry seemed to enjoy her discomfort most of all.
Later, when they were gone, Barry was aroused again. He made Josh lie on his back on the cold concrete floor of the balcony, the city lights swirling above. He mounted him, fucking him with a brutal, rhythmic intensity, his large body blocking out the sky.
“You belong to me,” he hissed, his spit landing on Josh’s face. “Every part of you. I own your mouth, your ass, your time. You are a thing I purchased with a job offer.”
Josh stared past him, at a single star visible between the towers. He thought of the knife in his bag. He calculated the distance to the door, the steps to the hall closet. The ice in his chest was so cold it burned.
Sunday morning, Barry was almost jovial. He made coffee, allowing Josh to kneel by the kitchen island. “You’ve lasted the weekend. I’m impressed. Most break down by now.” He sipped his coffee. “We’ll do this again. Regularly. It’s good for you. Builds character.”
He let Josh shower—under strict supervision, with the glass door open. He returned his clothes. “Take the collar off. For now.”
Josh unfastened it, his neck feeling strangely light, exposed.
“Get your bag. You’ll leave in ten minutes. I have a conference call.”
Josh went to the hall, his body stiff and aching. He lifted his bag. The weight of the knife was still there, a silent promise. As he shouldered the bag, Barry appeared, leaning in the doorway.
“One more thing,” Barry said, his voice casual. “I went through your bag while you were showering. Standard security practice.” He held up the blister pack with the cheap, serrated knife inside. He looked at Josh, not with anger, but with profound, amused disappointment. “What did you think this would accomplish?”
The ice in Josh’s chest cracked. A fissure of pure, undiluted terror shot through him.
Barry shook his head, a teacher with a slow student. “This is a violation of trust. A serious one. It shows a failure to understand the relationship.” He walked to the kitchen trash chute, a small door in the wall. He opened it and dropped the knife packet inside. They heard a faint, final clatter as it fell down the shaft.
He turned back to Josh. “Tuesday’s review is cancelled. You will report directly to my apartment next Friday after work. We will begin the weekend earlier. And we will focus exclusively on correcting this… rebellious streak.” He opened the front door. “Now get out. I have work to do.”
Josh stumbled into the hallway. The door shut behind him with a soft, definitive click. He stood there, empty, the ghost of the collar still on his neck, the phantom weight of the knife gone from his bag. Barry wasn’t scared. He was entertained. The game had just become more interesting to him.
The elevator descended. Josh watched the numbers flash. He had thought the knife was a secret power. It was just another test. And he had failed.
He walked out into the bright Sunday morning, the city alive around him. He had nowhere to go but back to his empty apartment, to wait for Friday, for the next lesson, for the deepening of the hole inside him that Barry was so expertly carving out. The ownership was complete. He hadn’t just taken his body. He had taken his rebellion, too, and thrown it down the garbage chute without a second thought.