Chapter 9: Josh whimpers as Greg's thick cock stretches his sore hole, his legs shaking while Barry laughs and zooms in on his tear-streaked face, whispering 'Smile for the camera, princess' as Greg slams into him brutally.
The door opened before Josh could even raise his hand to knock. Barry filled the doorway, backlit by a dim, yellow-ish light from within. He wore a stained t-shirt and sweatpants. The smell that wafted out was immediate and overwhelming: stale beer, unwashed laundry, and beneath it, the sour tang of male sweat.
“Get in,” Barry grunted, stepping aside just enough for Josh to squeeze past.
The living room was a monument to neglect. Pizza boxes formed a fragile tower on a coffee table stained with ring marks. The walls, a dingy beige, were covered in posters of bikini-clad video game characters and fantasy artists’ renditions of exaggerated female forms. Greg was already there, perched on the arm of a sagging sofa, a cheap beer in his hand. He grinned, his eyes immediately crawling over Josh’s body.
“Look who’s here,” Greg said, his voice a nasal taunt. “The new girl.”
“Kevin couldn’t make it,” Barry said, closing the door with a definitive click. The lock engaged. “Date night with his wife. Pathetic. Means we get more time with you.”
Josh stood frozen just inside the room, his heart a trapped bird beating against his ribs. The cold core inside him seemed to expand, pushing out feeling, leaving only a hollow readiness.
Barry walked around him, a shark circling. “Greg here’s been thinking about that sweet little ass of yours all week. Haven’t you, Greg?”
“Fucking obsessed,” Greg said, taking a swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Kept picturing that cunt in those chinos you wear. Thinking about how it must look when it’s all pink and warm.”
The words were ugly, meant to degrade. They washed over Josh, not landing on feeling but on that cold, factual part of his mind. This is what happens here.
“You know the drill,” Barry said, stopping in front of him. “Clothes. All of them. On the floor.”
Josh’s fingers felt thick and clumsy, but he obeyed. His jacket first, then his shoes and socks. The damp carpet prickled against his soles. He unbuttoned his shirt, slipped it off his shoulders. The air in the room was warm, thick, and it clung to his skin. He undid his belt, the clink of the buckle obscenely loud in the quiet room. He pushed his pants and briefs down in one motion, stepping out of the pooled fabric. He stood naked, arms slightly away from his sides, staring at a water stain on the wall opposite. The humiliation was academic now, a data point. His body was just a thing in the room.
“Turn around,” Barry commanded. “Let Greg get a look at his prize.”
Josh turned. He heard Greg’s sharp intake of breath, a low whistle. “Fuck, Barry. It’s even better than I remembered. So fucking perfect.”
“Bend over,” Barry said. “Grab your ankles.”
Josh bent at the waist, the position vulnerable and exposing. The dim light from a dusty floor lamp cast his shadow, grotesque and elongated, across the carpet.
“Look at that,” Greg breathed, his voice closer now. Josh could smell the beer on his breath. “That’s a pretty pussy, right there. All tight and unused.”
A hand, warm and damp, cupped his buttock, squeezing roughly. Josh flinched, a reflex he couldn’t suppress.
“None of that,” Barry said. Then, to Greg, “Go on. Warm it up.”
The first slap came without warning. A sharp, stinging crack that echoed in the cramped space. Pain blossomed, hot and sudden, across his left cheek. Josh gasped, his fingers tightening around his ankles.
“That’s one,” Barry said, a bored commentator.
The second slap landed on the same spot, harder. Then the right side. Greg found a rhythm, alternating cheeks, his blows falling with a steady, practiced precision. The slaps were not the open-handed swats of a joke; they were deliberate, measured impacts meant to hurt, to burn. The sound was flat and wet. Josh’s skin began to heat, a fierce glow spreading under the surface. His eyes watered from the pain, but he made no sound.
“Getting nice and red,” Greg panted, his own excitement audible. “Look at it jiggle. Fuck.”
The spanking continued, a relentless percussion. The initial sharp pain had merged into a deep, throbbing ache. Josh’s entire world narrowed to the furnace of his own ass, the grit of the carpet under his fingernails, the rasp of his own breath. The cold core inside him held, a secret glacier amidst the fire on his skin.
After a dozen more blows, Greg stopped. “Fuck, my hand’s sore,” he chuckled. Josh heard the clink of a belt buckle.
“No marks on the front,” Barry warned. “Use your hand.”
Greg’s hand returned, not slapping now but groping, kneading the sore, heated flesh. He spread Josh’s cheeks open, a rough, invasive motion. “So wet already,” Greg lied, his voice thick with malice. “This slutty little cunt is begging for it.”
Josh heard the tear of a foil packet, the fumble of clothing. He braced himself.
“Up,” Barry commanded. Josh straightened, his body protesting, the muscles in his back and thighs screaming. Greg was sitting on the edge of the stained sofa, his pants around his thighs, his erection thick and ruddy in his hand. He was slicking himself with lube from a small bottle Barry handed him.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Greg sneered. “Ride it. Show us how much you love it.”
Barry was holding his phone up, the screen glowing. “Smile for the camera, Josh. This is for the HR file. Demonstrating… interpersonal team bonding.”
Josh moved as if automated. He positioned himself, knees on the couch on either side of Greg’s hips. Greg’s hands grabbed his sore buttocks, squeezing hard enough to make Josh cry out as his fingers pressed into the bruised flesh.
“That’s it, bitch,” Greg growled. He guided himself, the blunt, wide head pushing insistently against Josh’s entrance. “Take it all. Be a good girl.”
Josh lowered himself, the stretch a breathtaking, brutal invasion. He was dry, despite Greg’s claims, and the burn was immediate, a tearing sensation that forced a choked gasp from his throat. Greg didn’t wait, didn’t care. He shoved upwards, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.
“Oh, fuck,” Greg moaned, his head lolling back against the sofa. “That’s it. That’s the fucking cunt. So goddamn tight.”
The pain was shattering, a white-hot lance that pinned Josh in place. He felt stuffed, torn open. Greg’s hands clenched on his hips, fingers digging in, and he began to move Josh on him like a doll, setting a fast, jarring rhythm.
“Yeah, ride that cock, you slut,” Barry’s voice came from behind the phone. “Look at that ass bounce. Look how red it is.”
Josh bit his lip until he tasted blood. The physical violation was one layer. The crude commentary was another. But worst was the sound, the wet, rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh, a brutal soundtrack to his own destruction. Greg’s thrusts became harder, more erratic. He was grunting, animalistic sounds, his hips pistoning upward to meet Josh’s forced descents.
“You like that, don’t you?” Greg spat, his eyes glazed. “You love getting your pussy stuffed by a real man. Tell me you love it.”
Josh remained silent, his body a vessel for this violence. The cold inside him was the only thing holding him together.
“Say it!” Greg yelled, and one hand left Josh’s hip to deliver a stinging slap to his already burning ass.
“I love it,” Josh whispered, the words ash in his mouth.
Greg’s orgasm hit him like a seizure. He stiffened, a guttural roar tearing from his throat, and his thrusts became shallow, frantic pulses as he emptied himself inside Josh. He held Josh down, impaled, for a long moment before shoving him off.
Josh collapsed onto the filthy carpet, his legs unable to hold him. He lay on his side, curled instinctively, feeling a hot, shameful trickle down his inner thigh.
Barry lowered the phone, a satisfied smirk on his face. He peered at the screen. “Good footage. Very… collaborative.” He looked down at Josh, a heap of bruised flesh and silent suffering on the floor. “Clean yourself up. The bathroom’s down the hall. We’re not done.”
As Josh pushed himself up, every muscle screaming, Barry nudged Greg with his foot. “Get dressed. Your turn’s over.” He looked back at Josh, his eyes dark and empty. “My desk was just a warm-up. Now you’re going to learn how to really keep your mouth shut.”