Chapter 13: The Gangbang Gamble
The silence after the stream didn’t last. It was filled by the relentless ping of digital cash. The gangbang demand trended within an hour. The specific sum was astronomical.
“It’s not a suggestion,” Evan said three days later, his laptop glowing in the dark living room. He hadn’t slept. “It’s an ultimatum with a timer. They’ve pooled the funds into an escrow. It releases if we complete the act within the week. If we don’t, the account reverts. We lose everything we’ve built.”
“How many?” My voice sounded distant, even to me. I was scrubbing my hands at the kitchen sink, long after the taste of Drew had faded.
“Five. Plus Drew and me on… support. Chat wants to see us involved. Even if it’s just watching.” He cleared his throat. “I posted the ad. Vetted the responses. They’re clean, discrete. Just guys who want a turn. No attachments.”
Drew was uncharacteristically still, hunched over his phone. “It’s just bodies, Tay. Like a sport.”
I turned off the water. The financial math was simple. The existential math was a black hole. “Set it up.”
Evan’s “vetting” meant five strangers clustered awkwardly in our dingy hallway at 9 PM on a Tuesday. They were a blur of nervous laughter and too-strong cologne, masking a base scent of anticipatory sweat. A tall guy with gym muscles, a middle-aged dude in a polo shirt looking like he’d come from a PTA meeting, a skittish younger guy, and two others who blended into a wall of hungry eyes.
The living room was a stage. The green-screen city was off. The room lights were low, the ring lights blindingly focused on the couch, which was now draped in a cheap, shiny throw. The air stank of lavender spray from Drew’s frantic attempt to clean.
“Rules,” I said, standing before them in just the black boxers. My tone froze their shuffling. “You wear a condom for anal. You pull out of my mouth before you cum. You do what I say, when I say it. You look at the camera more than you look at me. Break a rule, you’re gone, and you don’t get your money back from the guy who hired you.” I jerked a thumb at Evan, who stood behind the main camera, a ghost in the shadows.
They nodded, a pack of dogs sighting raw meat.
Evan handed me the ropes. Silky, restrictive. I lay back on the couch, the throw slick under my bare skin. I handed the ends to Drew. “Do it.”
His fingers trembled as he looped the ropes around my wrists and ankles, tying them to the sturdy legs of the heavy couch. Every pull tightened the knot, my limbs stretching wide. The vulnerability was absolute, a cold, spreading panic under my ribs. I fought it down, sealed it behind a wall of glass. I was above this. Observing.
Evan started the stream. His voice was a smooth, professional murmur. “Welcome back. The menu tonight is all-access.”
The first one, Gym Rat, was on me before the chat welcome banner faded. No kiss, no caress. His hand groped between my legs, two thick fingers pushing into my cunt. I was dry. He spat on his hand, shoved them back in. A burning stretch.
“Fuck, she’s tight,” he grunted to the room, as if scoring a point.
He positioned himself, his cock—thick, veined—slapping against my thigh. He guided the head, pushed. The invasion was a blunt, tearing pressure. My body yielded, a betraying wetness seeping out from trauma, not desire. He sank to the hilt with a groan.
The rhythm was jackhammer fast, his hips pounding the couch into the wall. The sound was a wet, slapping noise, his balls hitting my ass. I turned my head to the side, stared at the peeling wallpaper. I detached. The body on the couch was a thing, a rented hole. Taylor was somewhere on the ceiling, watching.
He came quickly, shuddering, pulling out to spray stripes of cum across my stomach and tits. The camera zoomed in on the viscous pools.
Polo Shirt was next. Older, calmer. “The mouth,” he said, not asking. He fisted his cock, already hard, and brought it to my lips. I opened. The taste of latex and another man’s sweat. He fed it in, deep, using my face. I choked, tears leaking automatically. He fucked my throat with slow, deliberate pistons, his hand tight in my hair. My gag reflex was a raw, shredded thing. He pulled out, jerking himself, and came across my cheek and lips. I kept my mouth open, letting it drip.
The younger one took my cunt next, slick with the previous man’s spend. He was clumsy, frantic. His thrusts were shallow and too fast. He moaned my stream name, a twisted fan letter. When he came, he collapsed on me, his weight smothering.
“Off,” I croaked. Drew came over and pulled him away.
Anal was the middle-aged man with sad eyes. Evan tossed him a condom. He rolled it on, used half a bottle of lube that felt cold as it trickled down my ass crack. The pressure was different, wrong, a unbearable fullness that breached a final internal fortress. He entered with a low groan, his pace agonizingly slow, each thrust a violation so profound my detached self on the ceiling shuddered. I made no sound. The camera watched my face, a mask of blank acceptance.
The last one wanted my mouth again. I was raw, throat swollen. He didn’t care. He fucked it until his hips stuttered, and he yanked out, painting my nose and eyelids with hot, bitter spurts.
Through it all, Drew and Evan watched from their chairs. Drew’s pants were open, his hand moving in his lap, his eyes glazed. Evan’s gaze was fixed on the monitor, on the rising numbers, his jaw clenched tight, one hand subtly adjusting himself through his jeans.
“Finish it,” Evan said, his voice hoarse. “The chat wants the roommates.”
Drew stumbled over. He was half-hard, overstimulated and ashamed. He positioned himself at my well-used cunt. He pushed in, soft, then hardened inside the wrecked, slick heat. “Taylor, I…” he whispered.
“Shut up and cum,” I breathed, my voice shattered.
He did, quickly, with a sob, his head buried in my neck.
Then Evan. He approached like a man going to the gallows. He stood between my splayed legs, looking down at the mess of fluids, at Drew’s spent cock sliding out. He unzipped, freed himself. He was fully hard. He didn’t touch me except to guide himself into my ass, the condom from the previous man still in place. His entry was smooth, practiced. He set a deep, grinding rhythm, his eyes locked on mine. There was no friendship in his look, just a bleak, shared damnation. He fucked me with a quiet, intense fury, chasing his own degradation. When he came, it was with a silent, convulsive shudder, his forehead touching mine for a second before he recoiled.
The stream ended. The strangers left quickly, quietly, money transferred, avoiding each other’s eyes.
I lay tied, smeared and dripping, hollowed out. The ceiling Taylor slowly dissolved, pouring back into the ruined body on the couch. A full-body tremor began, uncontrollable, my teeth chattering.
Drew, weeping quietly, untied my wrists and ankles. The blood rushed back in fiery pins and needles. I didn’t move.
Evan was back at the computer, the blue light reflecting in his dead eyes. “Escrow released,” he said. “We broke the platform’s single-event record.”
I pushed myself up. My joints screamed. My insides felt loose, wrong. I walked, smearing their mess on the floor, to the bathroom. I turned the shower to scalding and stood under it until my skin was bright red, but the feeling of invasion, of being occupied territory, didn’t wash away. It had seeped into the marrow.
I dressed in my own old hoodie, a garment that swam on my new frame. When I returned to the living room, Drew was gone, his door closed. Evan still sat at the desk, staring at the graph of their earnings—a vertical spike like a heart attack.
“We need to talk about the schedule,” he said, not turning around. “Consistency is key after a viral event.”
I looked at the couch, a crime scene under the sterile lights. I looked at Evan’s back, at the closed door behind which Drew hid.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice a raw scrape in my throat. “Schedule a meeting.”