Frank stepped out of the office, but his heavy footsteps didn’t recede down the hall. They stopped just outside the door, and I could hear the crunch of his work boots on the gritty concrete floor. I squeezed my eyes shut, a fresh wave of terror washing over me. What was he doing now?
I heard the beep of a phone dialing, the sound unnaturally loud in the suffocating silence that had fallen after the last assault.
“Yeah, it’s Frank,” his voice was a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through the thin walls. “We need some beer up here at the office. Bring everyone and make it quick.”
He hung up without waiting for a response, the finality of the beep echoing my own death knell. A cruel smirk, I was sure, was playing on his lips. He wasn’t done. He was just getting started.
Time stretched into a torturous eternity. Every creak of the building, every distant hum of machinery, sent a jolt of pure fear through my battered body. The office, once a sterile, temporary space, now felt like a tomb, and I was the sacrifice laid out on its altar.
My entire body throbbed with a deep, bruised agony. My ass was a searing, burning crater of pain, a constant, throbbing reminder of the brutal violations. My wrists and ankles were on fire, the thin plastic of the zip ties cutting deep into my skin, the pressure making my fingers and toes feel swollen and numb. My breasts were tender, my neck ached from being yanked, and a dull, persistent throb had taken up residence behind my eyes.
I tried to stay perfectly still, but a low, pathetic moan of pain and discomfort escaped my lips, betraying my fragile attempt at hiding.
Then I heard it. The sound of multiple sets of footsteps, not just one or two, but a whole group, approaching down the hallway. They were loud, boisterous, and getting closer. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird trying to beat its way out of my chest.
The door creaked open, wider this time, and the dim light from the hallway spilled in, casting long, ominous shadows that danced like demons on the walls. The air grew thick and heavy, instantly filling with the overwhelming scent of sweat, stale beer, and the acrid tang of male aggression.
I could hear their voices, low and menacing, a murmur that grew into a chorus of cruel appreciation as they took in the sight before them.
Me. Bent over the desk, my wrists bound painfully behind my back, my body naked and exposed except for the ridiculous, tattered remnants of my black stockings and the high heels strapped to my feet.
“Look what we have here, boys,” Frank’s voice cut through the sudden silence, thick with cruel triumph. “Our dear Betty, all tied up and ready for us.”
A collective chuckle rippled through the group of men, a sound that sent a shiver of pure, unadulterated terror down my spine. I could feel their eyes on me, a dozen pairs of hungry, angry eyes roaming over my exposed, bruised flesh. They were taking in every mark, every handprint, every smear of filth left by Frank, Joe, and Tyrone. I tried to shrink away, to make myself smaller, to disappear into the hard wood of the desk, but it was useless. The zip ties held me fast, a helpless offering for their rage.
The first of the new men stepped into the room, a big, burly guy with a gut hanging over his belt and a cruel gleam in his eyes. “Well, well, well,” he drawled, his voice thick with contempt. “Looks like the queen of HR has been brought down a peg or two.”
He circled around me, his steps slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey, his work boots scuffing on the floor. “You thought you could just waltz in here in your fancy little outfit and fire us like we were nothing? Like we didn’t have feelings or families to support?”
He leaned in close, his breath hot and smelling of stale cigarettes on my ear. “You thought wrong, bitch.”
Another man, younger and thinner with a face twisted in a mask of fury, shoved his way forward. “You know how much I needed that job?” he spat, his voice cracking with emotion. “My wife just had our second kid, and the medical bills are piling up. And you just handed me a pathetic fucking severance check and told me to get lost?”
He slammed his fist down on the desk right next to my head, the bang making me jump and cry out as the jolt sent fresh pain through my bound body. “You’re gonna pay for that, you cold-hearted cunt. You’re gonna pay for all of it.”
The taunts and insults kept coming, a relentless barrage of verbal abuse that cut deeper than any physical blow. They were a wall of sound, of pure, concentrated hatred.
“Look at her, all dressed up like a whore.”
“Bet she thought she was too good for us.”
“Firing hardworking men while she sits on her ass in an air-conditioned office.”
I could feel the tears streaming down my face, mixing with the dried semen and sweat that coated my skin, creating a sticky, humiliating film. My body ached, every muscle screaming in protest, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t escape the torrent of their hatred. I was a prisoner, bound and helpless, at the mercy of these men who had every reason to hate me, and they were just beginning to exact their price.
The burly man who had first spoken, the one with the cruel gleam in his eyes, stepped back and looked me over like a piece of meat. “Ain’t gonna stick my dick in a sloppy mess,” he grunted, more to the others than to me.
He turned and rummaged for a moment on a cluttered shelf before coming back with a clean, white rag, still smelling faintly of laundry soap. It was a small, absurd comfort in a sea of horror.
He grabbed my ass cheek with one rough, calloused hand, yanking it aside to expose my raw, tender flesh. Without any warning, he shoved the rag between my legs and started wiping.
The fabric, though clean, was still rough against my swollen, bruised pussy lips and my brutally abused asshole. I screamed, a raw, ragged sound of pure agony as the coarse material scraped against the torn, sensitive skin, wiping away the sticky, cooling evidence of the previous assaults but replacing it with a new, searing friction. He was rough, methodical, and utterly devoid of care, cleaning me like one would wipe down a filthy machine part.
When he was satisfied, he pulled the rag away. It was stained and filthy now. He casually tossed it onto the desk right next to my head. The stench of stale come, my own blood, and my own filth filled my nostrils, a nauseating perfume of my own defilement.
I heard the metallic rasp of a belt buckle being undone, followed by the heavy thud of jeans hitting the floor.
“There we go,” he sneered, his voice right behind me. “All cleaned up. Can’t have the boys getting their dicks dirty, now can we? Gotta keep the office tidy.”
I didn’t have time to brace myself. I felt the thick, blunt head of his cock press against my entrance, and then he drove into me in one single, brutal thrust. A strangled gasp was torn from my throat. My pussy, already sore and swollen, was forced to accommodate him, the invasion a deep, aching stretch that burned with every inch he buried inside me.
He wasn’t gentle. He didn’t wait. He just started fucking me, hard and deep, setting a punishing rhythm from the very first stroke.
“Look at this,” he grunted, his hands gripping my hips so tightly I knew I’d have finger-shaped bruises tomorrow. “All dressed up in your fancy clothes, looking down your nose at us. But underneath, you’re just a hole. A warm, wet hole for us to use.”
His words were punctuated by the sharp slap of his hips against my bruised ass, each thrust a fresh wave of humiliation and pain. “You fire us, we fuck you. Seems like a fair trade to me.”
The other men had made themselves comfortable. The air grew hazy with the smoke from their cigarettes and the sharp smell of cheap beer. I could hear the pop of tabs being pulled and the glug-glug-glug as they drank.
“She’s got a nice rhythm to her,” one of them laughed, his voice echoing in the small office. “Bouncing back on it like she’s hungry for it.”
“Probably the only thing she’s good for,” another chimed in. “Hey, Frank, your HR department really knows how to boost employee morale! Give this one a raise!”
The burly man inside me picked up the pace, his breathing growing heavier, more ragged. He reached forward, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back, forcing my spine into an agonizing arch.
“Tell me what you are,” he snarled, his face next to my ear, his sweat dripping onto my neck. “Say it. Say what you are right now. Tell me you’re a whore.”
I could only sob, a pathetic, broken sound.
“SAY IT!” he roared, yanking my hair harder, the pain shooting through my scalp like lightning.
“I’m… I’m a whore,” I choked out, the words tasting like bile and shame.
“Louder!” he demanded, slamming into me with a particularly vicious thrust that made the desk groan.
“I’m a whore!” I screamed, the sound torn from my raw throat.
“Damn right you are,” he grunted, releasing my hair and letting my head fall back down to the desk with a thud. He started slamming into me then, a frantic, punishing rhythm that shook the desk with every thrust. The pain was a constant, deep ache, a fire being stoked with every violation.
“Just a cheap factory whore, getting paid in come instead of a paycheck. How’s that for a severance package?”
He drove himself deep one last time and held it there, his body shuddering as he emptied himself into me. I felt the hot, humiliating flood of his come filling me, another layer of filth added to the wreckage of my body. He stayed there for a long moment, panting, before finally pulling out with a wet, sloppy sound. A fresh trickle of his release immediately started to leak out of me, running down my inner thigh.
He smacked my ass hard, a final, stinging insult. “Next,” he grunted, pulling his pants back up. “Who’s got a problem with their severance check?”
The burly man had barely stepped away before another figure filled the space in front of me. This one was a black man, tall and lean, a shadow that seemed to stretch and loom over the desk. He didn’t speak at first, just moved with a quiet, deliberate grace that was somehow more terrifying than the others’ brutish aggression.
He knelt down beside the desk, his face close to mine. I could feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell the faint scent of beer and something else, something clean and masculine.
“My wife,” he said, his voice a low, smooth baritone that vibrated through the wood and into my bones, “she won’t let me have her ass. Says my dick’s too big. Says it hurts too much.”
He let the words hang in the air, a simple, devastating statement that was both a confession and a threat. “So I guess,” he continued, his voice dropping even lower, “I’ll just have to make do with yours.”
A fresh, cold terror seized me, so sharp and absolute it felt like a physical blow. I started to shake my head, a useless, frantic motion against the desk. “No… please, no…”
He stood up, and I heard the sound of a zipper being slowly lowered. He moved around in front of me, and through my tear-blurred vision, I saw him pull his cock from his pants. It was monstrous. It was impossibly long, a thick, dark shaft of flesh that seemed to go on forever, with a heavy, bulbous head that was already glistening with a bead of pre-come. It was a weapon. A tool of pure, unadulterated punishment.
He began to stroke it slowly, his big hand sliding up and down the incredible length of it, right in front of my face. The other men, who had been drinking and smoking, fell silent for a moment before erupting in a cacophony of jeers and cheers.
“Damn! You gonna split her in two with that thing?”
“Look at the size of that fucking horse cock!”
“Go on, man, ruin her!”
He just smirked, a slow, confident curve of his lips, and gave his cock a final, leisurely pump before pulling his pants down further. He walked back behind me, his footsteps deliberate and heavy. I felt his rough hands on my ass, his fingers digging into my flesh as he pulled my cheeks apart, exposing my already brutalized, gaping hole to the cool air.
I heard a wet, hacking sound, and then I felt a warm, thick glob of his spit land directly on my puckered entrance. A second followed, landing on the head of his own cock.
“Sorry about this,” he said, his voice a mocking, insincere parody of sympathy. “Forgot to bring the lube. Guess we’ll have to make do.”
I felt the massive, blunt head of his cock press against my torn, tender asshole. The pressure was immense, far greater than before. He started to push. It wasn’t a sharp, tearing pain like with the others. It was a slow, inexorable, crushing agony. It felt like I was being impaled on a telephone pole.
The head of his cock breached the ring of muscle with a searing, white-hot burst of pain that made me scream, a raw, ragged sound of pure torment. But he didn’t stop. He just kept pushing, and the invasion felt like it would never end. Inch by agonizing inch, he slid deeper into my bowels, stretching me to a point where I was sure I would split open. My body was a vessel being filled beyond its capacity, a desperate, screaming protest of flesh and nerve.
“Oh god… oh god… stop… please stop,” I whimpered, my voice a broken, pathetic thing. But my pleas were lost in the cheers of the men.
He kept going until, finally, I felt his hips press against my ass. He was all the way in. The feeling of being so utterly, completely full was a bizarre and horrifying kind of torture.
Then he started to move. He pulled back, and the sensation was just as agonizing, a slow, dragging withdrawal that felt like he was pulling my insides out with him. He pushed back in, a long, deep, grinding stroke that stole my breath. His strokes were incredibly long, each one a journey from the brink of relief to the depths of agony. He wasn’t fucking me; he was reaming me out, using his impossible length to scour me from the inside.
“That’s it, man, give it to her!”
“Yeah, show the HR bitch what a real man feels like!”
I cried and I pleaded, but the fight had been beaten out of me. My whimpers were soft, defeated things, the sounds of an animal that knows it is cornered and has given up all hope of escape.
“Please… it’s too big… you’re hurting me…”
“I know,” he grunted, his voice strained with effort, a low, rhythmic sound that was the soundtrack to my suffering.
He picked up the pace slightly, his long strokes becoming a bit faster, a bit more forceful. The desk rocked beneath me, a steady, hypnotic rhythm of violation.
After what felt like an eternity, his breathing grew ragged and his thrusts became shorter, more erratic. He drove himself deep one last time, a final, brutal shove that felt like it would push me through the desk. He let out a low, guttural groan, and I felt his cock pulse deep inside my ass.
Then came the flood. It was a huge, hot, endless torrent of come, pumping into my bowels in thick, powerful spurts. It felt like a gallon of his filth was being emptied into me, a deep, internal marking that was a final, ultimate act of ownership. The sheer volume of it was overwhelming, a warm, disgusting pressure that filled me to the brim and then some.
He stayed there for a long moment, his body trembling, his weight heavy and suffocating. When he finally pulled out, the sensation was a hollow, gaping emptiness, and I felt an immediate, massive gush of his come spill out of me, flooding down the backs of my thighs in a warm, sticky river.
He smacked my ass, not hard, but with a dismissive, final tap. “Told you my wife couldn’t handle it,” he said, his voice cool and calm.
The sound of the black man pulling up his pants was followed by the shuffling of another man taking his place. I didn’t have the strength to even tense up anymore. I just lay there, a limp, broken doll, waiting for the next form of torment.
“Man, I was hoping to get a piece of that ass,” a new voice said, nasally and whiny. He let out a disgusted sigh. “But damn, man. You made a fucking mess. It looks filthy. I ain’t sticking my dick in that.”
A wave of relief, so potent it almost made me dizzy, washed over me. He wasn’t going to. Maybe this was it. Maybe the degradation was enough.
The hope was shattered a second later by the sharp, metallic *pscht* of a bottle cap being twisted off.
“But we gotta clean you out before the next guy, right? Can’t have you walking around all dirty,” he said, his voice dripping with a cruel, saccharine mockery.
I felt something cold and hard press against my ruined, gaping asshole. My breath hitched in my throat. It was the neck of a beer bottle.
“No… no, don’t…” I whimpered, a fresh wave of panic surging through my exhausted body.
He ignored me. He pushed. The cold, unyielding glass rim of the bottle forced its way past my sore, swollen sphincter. A scream was torn from my throat, a raw, piercing sound of pure shock and agony. It wasn’t like a cock. It was hard, it was rigid, it was foreign. The glass was unnaturally, brutally cold against my inflamed, torn flesh, a searing, icy contrast that sent a jolt of confused, screaming signals to my brain.
He kept pushing, feeding the long, smooth neck of the bottle deeper into my bowels. The sensation was bizarre and horrifying. The glass was perfectly smooth, yet it felt like it was scraping me raw from the inside. I could feel the ridges of the bottle’s neck, the slight taper of it, every contour a new and unique form of violation.
The men roared with laughter, the sound echoing in the small office, a symphony of my humiliation.
“Look at that! A beer enema!”
“She’s a regular party girl now!”
“Hey, save me some!”
The man behind me chuckled, a high-pitched, gleeful sound. Then, I felt him shift his grip. He tilted the bottle. A rush of ice-cold, fizzy liquid flooded my insides. The beer. It was a shock so profound it stole my breath. The carbonation was a million tiny, sharp needles prickling my sensitive internal lining, a bizarre, effervescent agony that was completely unlike anything I had ever felt. The cold was intense, a deep, invasive chill that spread through my core, a stark, horrifying contrast to the searing pain of my torn tissues.
My stomach cramped violently, a deep, gut-wrenching spasm that made me cry out.
“Stop! Please! It hurts! Take it out!” I sobbed, my voice a pathetic, broken thing.
“Almost full,” he grunted, as if he were filling a gas tank.
He left the bottle lodged deep inside me, a cold, heavy presence. I heard him walk away, his footsteps echoing, and then the metallic clang of a bucket being placed on the concrete floor behind me. He came back and grabbed the bottle.
“Hold on tight, Betty,” he sneered.
He yanked the bottle out in one swift, brutal pull. The world turned into a rushing, gushing, humiliating waterfall. All the beer, mixed with the come and blood and filth inside me, poured out of my ass in a torrential stream, splashing loudly into the metal bucket. The sound was the most disgusting, degrading thing I had ever heard, a public announcement of my utter defilement.
The flow slowed to a trickle, then stopped. The bucket was kicked aside with a loud clang.
Before I could even process a single thought, I heard the frantic sound of a belt being unbuckled and a zipper being ripped down. He dropped his pants and, without a moment’s hesitation, shoved his cock into my just-cleaned, now-gaping ass.
The invasion was different this time. My flesh was still cold and numb from the beer, but his cock was alive and burning hot. The sensation was a bizarre, sickening contrast, a searing hot poker being driven into a frozen cavern.
“Oh, fuck yeah,” he moaned, his voice thick with lust. “That’s fucking wild. It’s hot and cold at the same time. Like fucking an ice queen on fire.”
He started to fuck me, his strokes fast and frantic, his hips slapping against my ass with a wet, meaty sound. Each thrust was a fresh wave of the strange, dual sensation: the burning heat of his cock forcing its way into my chilled, abused depths.
“Please… please stop…” I kept pleading, my voice a monotone, broken whisper. “It’s so strange… it hurts… please…”
“Shut up, you ungrateful bitch,” he panted, not slowing his pace for a second. “You’re getting the special treatment. The beer-and-dick combo. You should be thanking me.”
He grabbed my hips, his fingers digging into my bruises, and slammed into me with renewed vigor. The men were still laughing, still cheering, still drinking. The sounds of their pleasure were a constant, oppressive backdrop to my suffering.
He didn’t last long. The depravity of the act, the tightness of my ruined ass, the power of it all, it was too much for him. After only a few dozen frantic strokes, his body went rigid.
“Fuck! Fuck! Take it!” he yelled, and I felt his cock pulse as he shot another hot, thick load of come deep into my bowels, mixing with the lingering chill of the beer. It was a final, filthy insult, a warm mark of his ownership laid over the cold memory of his game.
He pulled out, gave my ass a sharp, stinging slap, and stepped away. “Who’s next? The bar’s open!”
My entire body was a symphony of suffering. My legs, stretched wide and tied to the heavy desk legs, were screaming. Cramps shot through my calves and thighs, vicious, twisting knots of muscle that made me whimper into the wood. My ass was a throbbing, burning ruin, a constant, searing reminder of the brutal invasions. My breasts were tender and sore, covered in the fingerprint bruises of rough, mauling hands. My stomach churned, a nauseous, painful knot from being slammed repeatedly into the hard edge of the desk. I was a vessel of pure agony, and I wasn’t sure how much more I could take before my mind shattered completely.
Through the haze of pain, I saw a pair of worn work boots stop in front of me. They were cleaner than the others. A younger man, I realized. He knelt down beside the desk, his face close to mine. He was handsome, with dark hair, piercing eyes, and a jawline that would have been attractive under any other circumstances. But his eyes were cold, like chips of ice, devoid of any sympathy.
“Man, they really wrecked you,” he said, his voice a low, almost conversational murmur. He glanced down at my exposed, leaking holes. “Your pussy and ass are a fucking mess. Filthy. I’m not sticking my dick in that.”
A flicker of something that might have been relief died instantly.
“But,” he continued, a slow, cruel smile spreading across his face, “I haven’t had a turn with that pretty mouth of yours yet.”
He reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from my tear-streaked cheek, a gesture so tender it was terrifying. “And you’re going to do all the work. You’re going to please me. You’re going to put your everything into it. And if you don’t,” he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper, “if I feel one scrape of teeth, if I think for a second you’re not trying your absolute best, I will beat you until you can’t scream anymore. Do you understand me?”
The threat was so real, so absolute, that a new wave of ice-cold fear washed over me, extinguishing the last embers of my fight. I was already in so much pain, the thought of more, of a deliberate, brutal beating, was unthinkable.
“Yes,” I choked out, my voice a hoarse, pathetic whisper. “Yes… I’ll do it.”
He smiled, a triumphant, knowing look. “Good girl.”
A desperate, foolish hope bloomed in my chest. “If… if I do… will you let me get off the desk?” I pleaded, my voice trembling. “Please? My legs… they’re cramping so bad.”
He pretended to think about it, tapping a finger against his chin. “Hmm. I don’t know. You’re a liar. An HR bitch. How do I know you won’t just bite my dick off the second I untie you?”
“I won’t!” I promised, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “I swear. I’ll do anything you want. Just… just let me off this desk. Please. I’ll prove it.”
He stared at me for a long moment, his cold eyes assessing my desperation. “Alright,” he said finally. “Prove it. Show me how much you want it. Right here. And if you convince me, I’ll cut you loose.”
I nodded frantically, a single, jerky motion.
He stood up and unbuckled his belt, then shoved his pants and his boxers down to his thighs. His cock sprang free. It was beautiful, which made it all the more horrifying. It was long and perfectly straight, with a smooth, velvety shaft and a flushed, sculpted head. It was the kind of cock you’d see in a movie, not in this grimy, hellish office.
With a supreme effort of will, I lifted my head, the muscles in my neck screaming in protest. The movement pulled at my bound wrists, sending a fresh wave of pain through my shoulders. I opened my mouth, my jaw aching, and took him inside.
I was desperate. I put every ounce of my shattered will into it. I was careful to keep my lips covering my teeth, creating a soft, wet cushion. I sucked hard, creating a tight, vacuum seal, and swirled my tongue around the sensitive head, tasting the salty, clean skin. I forced myself to look up, to meet his cold, piercing eyes, trying to project a desire I absolutely did not feel. I saw a flicker of satisfaction in his gaze, and it fueled my desperate performance.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his hand coming to rest on the back of my head, not forcing, just a possessive weight. “Show me how much you want to be untied.”
I started talking dirty, the words feeling like acid on my tongue, but I knew it was what he wanted to hear. “Mmm, you taste so good,” I moaned around his cock, the vibrations making him groan. I pulled off his cock for a second. “I bet you’d love to feel my hands on you, wouldn’t you? I could do such a better job if you let me use my hands… if you let me get on my knees for you.”
Before he could answer, I took him deeper, the head of his cock bumping against the back of my throat, and I fought down my gag reflex. “Please,” I whispered, pulling back just enough to speak. “Let me show you. Let me really please you.” As I licked his cock up and down.
He let out a low, chuckle. “Fuck, you really are desperate, aren’t you?”
He stepped back, and I felt a moment of panic that I had failed. “Alright, Betty. You’ve convinced me.”
He pulled a pair of wire cutters from his back pocket. The *snip-snip-snip* of the phone cord being severed was the sweetest sound I had ever heard. Then he cut the zip ties on my ankles, and then my wrists. The plastic snapped, and the sudden release of pressure was almost as painful as the binding had been. Blood rushed back into my hands and feet, a thousand pins and needles stabbing at me.
I struggled, my muscles stiff and uncooperative, but I managed to slide off the desk and collapse onto my knees on the rough carpet.
The movement was pure agony, every muscle in my body screaming in protest as I slid from the desk and collapsed onto my knees on the rough, abrasive carpet. But I didn’t care. I was free. The pins and needles in my hands and feet were a minor distraction from the overwhelming goal that consumed me: I had to please him. I had to make him believe I wanted this.
I immediately crawled forward, the movement clumsy and painful, and took his beautiful, terrifying cock back into my mouth. My hands were free now, and I used them. I slid one up his thigh, my fingers digging into the rough denim of his jeans for leverage, while my other hand gently cupped his balls, rolling them in my palm, my touch as soft and reverent as I could make it.
I worked him with a renewed, desperate fervor, a woman possessed. I bobbed my head, my movements fluid and practiced, taking him deeper with each pass. I used my tongue, tracing the thick vein on the underside of his shaft, flicking it against the sensitive head before swirling it around the rim.
“That’s it… that’s it… right there,” he panted, his hips starting to thrust gently, fucking my mouth in a slow, rhythmic motion.
I wanted more. I needed more. I grabbed his ass with my free hand, pulling him forward, urging him deeper. I relaxed my throat and took him all the way in, my nose pressing into the coarse hair at his base, my lips stretched taut around his girth. I held him there, fighting my gag reflex, tears of effort streaming down my face to mingle with the tears of pain and shame.
I pulled back, gasping for air, a thick string of saliva connecting my lips to his cock. I looked up at him, my eyes wide and pleading. “Am I doing a good job?” I asked, my voice a hoarse, desperate whisper. “Please tell me I’m doing a good job for you.”
“Look at the little HR slut, begging for a performance review!” one of the men jeered from the sidelines, and the room erupted in cruel laughter.
I ignored them, my focus entirely on the man in front of me. I went back to work, sucking him hard, my cheeks hollowing with the effort. I pulled off again, this time to degrade myself further, knowing it would please him.
“I love your cock,” I lied, my voice cracking. “I love being on my knees for you. I’m just a worthless whore, and this is all I’m good for.”
“Damn right you are!” another man shouted, followed by more hooting and laughter.
I could feel his cock twitch in my mouth at my words. It was working. I redoubled my efforts, stroking his shaft with one hand while sucking on the head, my other hand still massaging his balls. I could feel his body tensing, his thrusts becoming more erratic.
“Oh, fuck… I’m gonna come,” he groaned, his hand tightening in my hair.
With a loud groan, he stiffened, and his cock pulsed in my mouth. A hot, thick, salty flood of come erupted onto my tongue. It was a lot, and I gagged slightly but forced myself to swallow it down, the slimy, bitter texture coating my throat. I milked him with my mouth, sucking gently until he was soft, making sure I got every last drop.
I pulled back, looking up at him, my face a mess of tears, saliva, and his come. He looked down at me, a strange, unreadable expression on his face, before putting himself away and turning to join the others.
My self-degradation was an act, a desperate, calculated performance. I hoped my willingness, my eagerness to please, had been enough to make them drop their guard, to see me as broken and compliant rather than a cornered animal waiting for a chance to bolt.
A few of the men were gathered together near the window, cracking open new beers, their voices low as they talked about what a slut I was, how I’d probably enjoyed the whole thing. They seemed to discussing who was next. I stayed on my knees, head bowed, my body trembling, but my mind was racing, counting the seconds, waiting.
As soon as the fiery cramps in my legs subsided and the sharp pins and needles in my hands and feet dulled to a bearable ache, I moved. I launched myself from the floor, a surge of adrenaline overriding the screaming protest of every muscle. I ran.
I ran as fast as I could in the ridiculous high heels, the thin stilettos sinking into the grimy concrete, making me stumble. I was acutely, horrifyingly aware of my nakedness, the cool air of the hallway a shock against my bruised, come-smeared skin. The black stockings, now torn and stained, felt like a mockery of modesty.
Down the long, dimly lit hallway, I could see it: a bright red bar across an emergency exit door. Freedom. It was right there.
Suddenly, a blinding, white-hot pain exploded in my scalp as my head was yanked back with impossible force. Someone had caught up to me. A meaty fist was tangled in my hair, and I was pulled backward, my feet flying out from under me. I hit the rough concrete floor with a sickening thud, the impact knocking the wind from my lungs and scraping my skin raw.
Instantly, several men were on me, their hands like claws, grabbing my arms, my legs, my hair.
“Not so fast, you little cunt,” one of them grunted, his face inches from mine, his breath smelling of stale beer and triumph. “You’re not going anywhere. That was a stupid fucking thing to do.”
I struggled hard, kicking and thrashing, my nails scrabbling uselessly against the concrete and their rough jeans. But it was no use. They were too strong, too many. A raw, primal scream tore from my throat, a desperate, hopeful sound that echoed down the empty corridor. Maybe someone would hear. Maybe a night watchman, a cleaner, anyone.
A large, calloused hand was clamped over my mouth, cutting off my scream and smothering my breath, the smell of grease and dirt filling my nostrils.
They dragged me back to the office, my heels scraping and catching on the floor, my body a limp, useless weight in their grasp.
“Put her back on the desk,” Frank’s voice commanded, flat and cold. “But this time, face up. I want her to see us.”
They manhandled me back into the office, their laughter a cruel soundtrack to my failure. They threw me onto the desk, the hard wood a brutal impact against my bruised back. This time, they forced me onto my back, my arms pinned above my head by one of the men, his weight pressing down on my wrists. My legs were left free, splayed open, my battered, exposed body completely on display.
I was trapped again, but this time, it was so much worse. I was looking up at them, at their leering, angry faces, and I knew my brief, foolish hope of escape had just sealed my fate. The escape attempt had transformed their cruel amusement into a cold, hard fury.
I felt the sharp, biting sting of a new zip tie being wrapped around my right wrist. They pulled my arm out to the side, stretching it towards the far edge of the desk, and cinched it tight against the metal leg. They did the same with my left wrist, spreading my arms wide in a grotesque parody of a crucifixion. My legs were left to dangle uselessly over the side of the desk, my heels barely scraping the floor.
I was tits up, completely exposed, my bruised and battered vagina positioned right at the edge, a sacrificial offering for their rage. Tears streamed down my face, hot and endless. I had been so close. The red bar of the exit door was burned into my memory, a symbol of a freedom that had been snatched away.
“Stupid bitch,” the man who had caught me snarled, standing over me. He was a big, broad-shouldered man with a thick neck and a cruel twist to his mouth. “You think you can run from us? That was a big mistake. Now it’s really my turn.”
I watched in horror as he methodically pulled off his dusty work boots, then unbuckled his belt and shucked his pants and underwear down to his ankles. His cock was already hard, jutting out from a thick thatch of dark hair, thick and angry-looking, just like him.
He didn’t hesitate. He stepped between my dangling legs, lined himself up, and slammed into me. The invasion was brutal, a deep, punishing thrust that forced the air from my lungs in a pained grunt.
He started to fuck me hard, his hips a piston of fury, each thrust a punishment for my defiance. “You thought you were gonna get away?” he panted, his voice a low growl as he pounded into me. “You thought you were better than us? That you could just ruin our lives and walk out the door?”
He reached down and started playing with my breasts, but his touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark, confusing contrast to the brutal fucking. He cupped them, his thumbs brushing over my sore, hardened nipples, a soft, almost caressing touch that felt more violating than the rough mauling from before. It was a reminder that he could be gentle, but he chose not to be.
After what felt like an eternity of his hard, punishing rhythm, he suddenly pulled out. He climbed onto the desk, straddling my ribs, his heavy knees pinning my arms to the wood.
“You know,” he said, his voice thick with lust as he looked down at my chest, “I love tits more than anything in this world.”
He took my breasts in his big, rough hands, squeezing them together, mashing the soft flesh against his cock, which he now slid into the channel he’d created. The sensation was bizarre. It wasn’t painful, not like the other violations. It was just… strange. The hot, hard skin of his shaft sliding against the sensitive skin of my breasts, the pressure of his hands molding me to his will.
I watched, detached and horrified, as the head of his cock, flushed and angry, poked out from between my compressed breasts with each upward thrust, disappearing and reappearing like a perverse game of peek-a-boo.
“Lift your head and open your mouth,” he commanded, his voice loud and sharp.
I didn’t move. I just lay there, my mind a blank wall of defiance.
He brought his hand down across my face in a sharp, stinging slap. The sound echoed in the room, and my cheek exploded in a flash of pain. “I said, lift your head and open your fucking mouth!” he roared.
I still didn’t move, a silent, stubborn refusal.
His face contorted in rage. He squeezed my tits, hard. It wasn’t a mauling; it was a focused, brutal pressure. His fingers dug into the soft flesh, crushing it, and a sharp, shooting pain shot through my chest, so intense it felt like he was going to rip my breasts right off.
I couldn’t take it. A choked sob escaped my lips and I complied, lifting my head from the desk, my neck straining, and opening my mouth in a silent, defeated ‘O’.
“That’s what I thought,” he grunted, releasing the pressure slightly.
He continued to fuck my tits, his pace increasing, his breathing growing ragged. The head of his cock kept poking out, closer and closer to my waiting mouth.
With a loud, guttural groan, he thrust forward one last time. A thick, hot rope of come erupted from the tip, splattering across my chin and nose. It was followed by another, and another, a pearly white shower that landed on my cheeks, my lips, and directly into my open mouth.
The feeling was utterly degrading. The come was hot and thick, clinging to my skin like a slimy mask. It dripped from my chin onto my neck, and I could feel the texture of it on my lips, the salty, bitter taste coating my tongue.
He wasn’t done. He shifted forward, grabbing his cock and jerking it a few more times, milking the last drops from the tip. They dripped, slowly and deliberately, into my open mouth, each one a final, humiliating mark of his ownership.
“Swallow it,” he commanded.
I did, the thick, slimy fluid sliding down my throat, a final, bitter pill of my submission.
The man who had just finished with me climbed off the desk, leaving me a sticky, defiled mess. I lay there, my arms still pinned wide, my body a canvas of their contempt. I could hear them talking, laughing, passing around another beer.
Another man stepped between my dangling legs. I braced myself, a weary resignation settling over me. I could handle another fuck. At least my ass was safe for the moment, a small, hollow mercy in a night of endless torment. I closed my eyes, trying to detach, to go somewhere else in my mind.
To my complete and utter shock, I felt his hands on my ankles. He didn’t just spread my legs; he lifted them, high and then higher, pushing them back towards my head with a force that took my breath away. The position was horribly uncomfortable, bending my spine at an unnatural angle. My high heels, still strapped to my feet, were now pointing straight up at the ceiling, wobbling slightly.
I was completely and utterly exposed, my ass lifted off the desk, presented to him like a prize.
“No… no, not there,” I whimpered, a fresh wave of panic seizing me.
I watched in horror as he spat onto his cock, a thick, gleaming glob of saliva that he smeared over the head. He wasn’t even going to pretend to be gentle.
He lined himself up and pushed. The entry was a searing, blinding agony. My ass, already brutalized and raw, was forced to accommodate another cock again. A scream was torn from my throat, a raw, inhuman sound of pure torment. He didn’t stop. He just kept pushing, sinking deeper into my bowels, the pain a white-hot fire that consumed me.
“Please! Stop! It hurts! Oh god, it hurts so much!” I pleaded, my voice a broken, desperate sob.
While I was lost in the agony of the anal assault, another man appeared beside my head. I turned my tear-blurry eyes to see him standing there, his cock in his hand, stroking it slowly. He grabbed my chin, his fingers rough, and turned my head to the side.
“Open up, Betty,” he said, his voice flat and commanding. “Time to plug up all the holes.”
I was so overwhelmed, so broken, that I didn’t even have the energy to fight. I slowly, mechanically, opened my mouth. He slid his cock in, filling my mouth, the head of it pressing against my tongue.
And then, they began. A horrifying, synchronized rhythm of violation. The man between my legs would pull back, a searing, dragging withdrawal, and the man at my head would push forward, his cock sliding deeper into my mouth. Then the man at my head would pull back, and the man at my ass would slam forward, a brutal, deep thrust that shook the entire desk.
They were fucking me in tandem, using me like a piece of equipment, a human seesaw for their pleasure.
“That’s it, boys, get her from both ends!” Frank cheered from the sidelines. “Give the HR queen the teamwork she’s always talking about!”
The sight must have been grotesque: my legs, clad in torn black stockings, pointing straight up in the air, my high heels wobbling with every thrust from the man behind me. My body was a taut, tortured bow, being pulled from both ends. The pain was a constant, overwhelming symphony. The searing fire in my ass, the ache in my jaw, the strain in my neck, the humiliating fullness of having a cock in my mouth.
I could feel the man in my ass starting to lose control, his thrusts becoming faster, more erratic. “I’m gonna fucking fill this ass,” he grunted, his voice thick with lust.
“Me too,” the man at my head panted, his hips starting to jerk. “Get ready to drink it, you fucking whore.”
They came at the same time. The man in my ass drove himself deep with a final, brutal roar, and I felt his cock pulse, a hot, flooding wave of his come pumping into my already full bowels.
At the exact same moment, the man in my mouth let out a loud groan, and his cock throbbed against my tongue. A hot, thick, salty torrent of come erupted into my mouth. It was a massive load, and it filled every available space, coating my tongue, pooling against my cheeks, spilling out from the corners of my lips and dripping down my chin. The taste was overwhelming, a salty, bitter, slightly metallic flavor that was the essence of my violation.
I was forced to swallow, the thick, slimy fluid sliding down my throat in a humiliating gulp.
They stayed there for a moment, both of them buried deep inside me, their bodies shuddering with the aftershocks of their orgasms. Then they pulled out, leaving me empty, aching, and covered in their filth.
The two men who had just used me stepped back, joining the circle of onlookers. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, beer, and sex, a miasma of my own defilement. I lay there, spread-eagled on the desk, a limp, aching vessel, my body throbbing with a pain that had become a constant, dull roar. My mind was starting to drift, to retreat into a hazy, protective fog where the details blurred and the agony was just a distant hum.
“Alright, listen up!” Frank’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and urgent. “Break’s over. The sun’s gonna be up soon. The early shift will be here in a couple of hours. We gotta wrap this shit up.”
A grumble of disappointment went through the group, but there was an undercurrent of nervous energy now. The night, which had felt like it could last forever, was suddenly finite.
“Every man who hasn’t had a turn yet, get it now,” Frank commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “This is your last chance. Make it count.”
A figure detached himself from the shadows by the door and stepped into the dim light of the office. He was different from the others. He was younger, maybe my age, and built with a lean, hard muscle that spoke of countless hours in a prison yard, not a factory. His arms were a vibrant, chaotic tapestry of tattoos, colorful snakes and grim reapers and blocky lettering that snaked up to his biceps. I could see the edge of another tattoo peeking over the collar of his t-shirt, dark lines crawling up his neck.
His face, however, was the most terrifying part. It wasn’t just angry; it was a mask of pure, focused hatred. His eyes burned with a cold fire that seemed to see right through me, past the bruised flesh and the filth, down to the bone.
He stopped at the edge of the desk, looking down at me not with lust, but with a chilling, analytical contempt. He didn’t speak for a long moment, just let the silence stretch, letting his presence fill the room.
“This job,” he finally said, his voice a low, dangerous growl, “was all I had.”
He leaned in closer, his face inches from mine. I could see the fine details of his neck tattoo now. It was a teardrop from a tiger.
“When I got out of prison, no one would hire me,” he continued, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “No one. But T&A Pistons? They took a chance on me. They gave me a chance. A real life. A way to stay clean. And you,” he spat the word like it was poison, “you took that away. With your fancy clothes and your smug fucking smile. You flushed my life down the toilet.”
He stood up straight, a cruel, knowing smile twisting his lips. “So while I was waiting my turn, I had a lot of time to think. I thought about what would be the most degrading thing I could do to you. What would be the perfect revenge.” He paused, letting the anticipation build. “And I realized it wasn’t about fucking you. Any of these guys can do that. It’s about taking something from you. Something you can’t get back.”
He stepped back, his eyes never leaving mine, and with a deliberate, almost casual movement, he unbuckled his belt and shucked his pants and underwear down to his knees. His cock was hard, jutting out from a neatly trimmed patch of hair, a testament to his anger, but it was clear it wasn’t his focus.
He leaned over me again, his face close, his voice a low, conspiratorial hiss that was somehow more horrifying than a shout. “You’re going to lick my ass. You’re going to give me a rim job. I saw it in a porno once, and I’ve always wondered how it felt. And you, Betty, are going to be the one to show me.”
A wave of nausea, hot and sharp, washed over me. It was a degradation so profound, so viscerally filthy, that my mind recoiled from it. It wasn’t just sex; it was defilement of a different order.
A few of the other men muttered in the background, their voices a mix of shock and morbid curiosity.
“Jesus, man, that’s fucked up,” one of them said.
“That’s just nasty,” another commented, but no one moved to stop him. They were just spectators to my newest, deeper circle of hell.
He ignored them, his attention solely on me. He turned around, presenting his ass to my face, and backed up until his cheeks were just inches from my nose. The scent of his skin, clean and male, was a suffocating presence.
I squeezed my eyes shut and turned my head to the side as far as I could, pressing my cheek against the hard wood of the desk. A silent, desperate refusal. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
He stayed like that for a moment, a statue of impending threat. Then, he moved with terrifying speed. He spun around, his face a thundercloud of fury, and his hands shot out. One clamped over my mouth, his palm sealing off my air, while his other hand wrapped around my throat, his fingers digging into the soft flesh on either side of my windpipe.
The pressure was immense and immediate. Air was cut off completely. My eyes flew open in panic. I could feel the cartilage in my throat groaning under the force. My body, already battered and bound, erupted in a primal, desperate struggle. My legs, dangling over the edge of the desk, kicked wildly, my high heels scraping uselessly against the metal legs and the concrete floor. I thrashed my head from side to side, but his grip was like iron, pinning me in place.
Black spots began to dance in my vision. The sounds of the men’s laughter and the distant hum of the factory faded into a dull, underwater roar. My lungs screamed for air that wouldn’t come. The pain in my throat was a white-hot fire, but a strange, cold numbness was starting to creep into my extremities. I could feel my consciousness fraying, starting to slip away into a dark, quiet abyss.
He leaned in close, his face right above mine, his voice a calm, terrifying whisper that cut through the panic. “When you’re ready to do it, blink twice. Blink twice, and I’ll let you breathe.”
The choice was life or this. This unspeakable act or the final, peaceful oblivion of death. My body, however, had its own primal will to survive. As the darkness closed in, as my vision tunneled to a pinpoint, my eyelids fluttered and then closed, then fluttered and closed again.
Two blinks.
He released his grip instantly. Air rushed into my lungs in a painful, desperate gasp. I coughed and sputtered, my throat burning, my body wracked with the violence of it. He watched me, a cold, triumphant look on his face, and then he turned around again, once more presenting his ass to my face.
My body screamed in protest, but the memory of the suffocating darkness was a more powerful motivator than any pain. With a supreme effort of will, I lifted my head from the desk, the muscles in my neck straining and burning, pulling against the zip ties that bound my wrists. The position was agonizing, putting an impossible angle on my spine. My vision swam with tears of pain and humiliation.
He didn’t have to say anything. His silent, waiting presence was command enough. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the reality of what I was about to do, and extended my tongue. The first contact was a shock. It wasn’t foul or dirty, but the texture was strange and intimate, the skin soft and puckered, and the sheer wrongness of it sent a wave of pure disgust crashing through me.
My stomach churned violently, and I gagged, a dry, heaving retch that brought nothing up but bile. I could hear a low chuckle from him, a sound of pure, sadistic satisfaction.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a low, encouraging purr that was more degrading than any shout. “Get in there. Show me how sorry you are.”
I fought back the urge to vomit, the memory of his hands around my throat a fresh terror. I began to lick, my movements clumsy and hesitant at first. I traced the tight ring of muscle, the taste of his clean skin a bizarre counterpoint to the filth of the act. My tongue, tired and sore, felt clumsy and thick. Every muscle in my body was tensed against the revulsion, a constant, trembling battle.
“Come on, Betty, put some enthusiasm into it,” he grunted, shifting his weight slightly, pressing back against my face. “You fire a man without a second thought, you can at least put some effort into this. Make it feel good. Show me you really want that second chance to breathe.”
His words were like acid. I forced myself to be more thorough, to press my tongue flatter against him, to swirl it around the sensitive flesh. I could feel the coarse hair of his cheeks brushing against my eyelids. The position was hellish; my neck was on fire, my shoulders screamed from the awkward angle, and every time I had to swallow, I was fighting another wave of nausea.
“Yeah, just like that,” he moaned, a low, guttural sound of pleasure. “You know, for a high-and-mighty HR bitch, you’re a natural ass-licker. Maybe this is your real calling. Forget firing people, just go from office to office giving rim jobs. Bet you’d be a real morale booster.”
The men in the room were quiet now, the only sounds their heavy breathing and the wet, obscene sounds of my tongue against his skin. The silence was somehow worse than the jeers. It made me feel like a specimen under a microscope, an object of horrified fascination.
“Look at me,” he commanded suddenly.
I cracked my eyes open, my vision blurred with tears. He looked down between his legs, a cruel, triumphant smirk on his face. Our eyes met in the most debasing moment of my life.
“Keep going,” he ordered. “Don’t you stop. I want to see your eyes while you’re doing it. I want you to see who’s in charge now.”
I couldn’t look away. I held his gaze as my tongue continued its disgusting work, my tears streaming freely now, mixing with the saliva on my chin. I was completely broken, a plaything for his revenge. He had taken everything from me. My dignity, my body, my will, and now he was forcing me to participate in my own humiliation, to watch as he did it.
“Fuck, yeah,” he groaned, his eyes closing for a moment in ecstasy before snapping back open to lock onto mine. “That’s the look. That’s the look I wanted. That’s the face of a woman who knows she’s nothing. You’re not an HR manager anymore. You’re not Betty. You’re just a mouth. You’re just an ass-licking whore, and this is all you’re good for.”
After what felt like an eternity of the degrading act, he finally pulled away, his ass leaving my face. I let my head fall back to the desk with a thud, my neck muscles screaming in relief. I was gasping for air, my throat raw, my stomach churning with the lingering taste of him and my own bile. I had survived it. It was over.
He turned around, his hard cock jutting out, and looked down at me with a look of pure contempt. A cruel, knowing smirk spread across his face.
“I was never going to come from that, you stupid bitch,” he sneered, his voice dripping with condescension. “You think that felt good enough to get me off? That was just for me. Just to see the look on your face. Now,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, predatory growl, “I’m gonna get mine.”
He walked around the desk, his movements deliberate and menacing. He stood beside my head, and before I could even process what was happening, his hand shot out and tangled in my hair. He didn’t just grab it; he fisted it, a tight, brutal knot that sent a fresh wave of pain shooting across my scalp.
“Open your fucking mouth,” he commanded, yanking my head up and to the side, forcing my neck into a painful, awkward angle.
I complied instantly, my lips parting in a silent, defeated ‘O’. There was no fight left in me. He positioned his hips, and without any preamble, he drove his cock into my mouth.
Because I was still tied on my back, my head pulled over the edge of the desk, the angle was brutally direct. His cock, which I could now see was long and thick with a pronounced upward curve, slid past my tongue and hit the back of my throat. He didn’t stop there. With a powerful thrust of his hips, he pushed deeper, forcing the head of his cock past the tight resistance of my throat muscles.
It was a horrifying, invasive feeling. My esophagus was forced to expand around him, a thick, hard presence that was completely alien. I could feel every ridge and vein of his shaft as he buried himself to the hilt. His balls, heavy and covered in a coarse, wiry hair, came to rest directly on my nose and upper lip, the skin warm and slightly sweaty. The smell was an intimate, musky assault, filling every breath I was able to steal.
I was looking straight up, my vision filled with the underside of his thighs and the heavy sac of his testicles. It was a perspective of absolute submission.
He held himself there for a moment, letting me choke and sputter around him, my throat convulsing in a desperate, useless attempt to expel him. Then he started to fuck my face in earnest.
His strokes were long and deep. He would pull back until just the head was between my lips, giving me a split second to gasp for air, before slamming forward again, his entire length plunging back into my throat. Each thrust was a punishing blow, his hips impacting my face, his balls slapping wetly against my nose.
“Gag on it, you cunt,” he grunted, his voice thick with lust. “That’s it. Choke on my dick. This is what you get for ruining my life.”
My body reacted on its own. My gag reflex kicked in violently, my throat spasming around his cock, my eyes watering uncontrollably until tears were streaming down my temples and into my hair. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. All I could do was endure.
My legs, still tied to the desk, kicked and thrashed wildly, a frantic, useless dance of agony and panic. My heels scraped against the metal desk legs, the sound a frantic counterpoint to the wet, rhythmic sounds of him fucking my throat. My bound wrists strained against the zip ties, the plastic cutting deeper into my skin, but it was no use. I was completely immobilized, a vessel for his rage.
He was relentless. He set a brutal pace, using my throat like a cunt. The curve of his cock seemed perfectly designed to scrape against my sensitive inner walls with every thrust. I could feel the thick, bulbous head of his cock deep inside me, a constant, overwhelming pressure. His balls continued their rhythmic percussion against my nose, a wet, heavy reminder of my complete and utter defilement with every single stroke.
“Look at you,” he panted, his voice strained with effort. “Tied down and taking it. This is all you’re good for, Betty. Not firing people, not sitting in your fancy office. Just a warm, wet hole to fuck when we’re angry.”
He started to go faster, his thrusts becoming shorter, more erratic. His grip on my hair tightened, pulling painfully as he used my head for leverage. The world had narrowed to this one horrific reality: the thick flesh invading my throat, the lack of air, the frantic kicking of my own useless legs, and the heavy, rhythmic slap of his balls against my face. I was being unmade, piece by piece, with every brutal thrust.
The world had shrunk to the brutal rhythm of his cock in my throat, the suffocating pressure, and the wet slap of his balls on my face. The sounds of the room, the jeers, the laughter, had faded into a distant, muffled roar, drowned out by the frantic hammering of my own pulse in my ears. I was a vessel, a thing being used, my mind retreating into a dark, pain-filled corner to survive.
Then, through the haze, a new sound cut through. It was Frank’s voice, sharp and commanding. “She’s got other holes. Use one of them.”
A fresh wave of ice-cold terror, so sharp it was almost a relief from the suffocating heat of the moment, shot through me. I couldn’t see. My vision was completely blocked by the man’s thighs and balls, a fleshy wall of degradation. But I could feel.
I felt a pair of rough, calloused hands grab my ankles. They weren’t gentle. They clamped down like vices, yanking my legs up and back, forcing them towards my head. The position was a new kind of agony. My hamstrings, already screaming, felt like they were being torn from the bone. My spine was bent into a painful, unnatural arch, lifting my lower back off the desk. My high-heeled feet, once dangling uselessly, were now pointing straight up at the ceiling, wobbling with the strain.
In this new, horrifying position, my ass was lifted completely off the desk, presented at a perfect, vulnerable angle. I was a grotesque offering, pinned and spread.
I didn’t have to wait long. I felt the pressure against my already brutalized, gaping asshole. It was a blunt, insistent force, and then a searing, white-hot agony as another cock, thick and unrelenting, was driven into me in one single, brutal thrust.
A raw, strangled scream was torn from my throat, but the sound was choked off instantly by the cock still buried deep in my esophagus. The scream became a violent, convulsive gag, my throat spasming around the flesh that filled it. The pain was a symphony of torment. The searing fire in my ass, the deep, stretching agony in my thighs, the sharp, biting pain in my scalp from the hair still being pulled, and the constant, suffocating pressure in my throat.
They found a rhythm, a horrifying, synchronized assault. As the man in front of me pulled back, giving me a precious, gasping moment of air, the man behind me would slam forward, a brutal, deep thrust that shook my entire body. Then, as the man behind me withdrew, the man in front would drive his cock back into my throat, his balls slapping against my nose, cutting off my air once more. They were using me like a puppet, a human seeaw of suffering, their pleasure a direct function of my pain.
“Fuck, her ass is still tight,” the man behind me grunted, his voice a low, guttural sound of exertion. “Even after all that. Squeezes you just right when she screams.”
“I can feel her gagging when you do that,” the man fucking my throat laughed, a cruel, breathless sound. “It’s like her throat is milking my dick. Keep going, man. Make her scream again.”
Their words were a constant, degrading barrage, but the physical torment was about to get worse. I felt hands on my breasts. Two pairs of them. The man in front of me reached down, his hands mauling my tits, squeezing and kneading the sore, bruised flesh like he was trying to shape dough. At the same time, the man behind me, still pistoning into my ass, leaned forward, his own rough hands finding my breasts from above.
They were groping me from both sides, their hands a constant, painful presence. They squeezed, they pinched, they pulled at my already tender nipples. The sensation was a confusing mix of sharp, shooting pain and a deep, humiliating ache. It was as if they were trying to claim every part of me, to leave no inch of my body untouched, unmarked, unviolated.
“Look at these titties,” the man in front of me panted, his thrusts becoming more erratic. “Nice and soft. Too bad the rest of her is such a useless fucking cunt.”
“Her whole body is useless now,” the man behind me growled in response, his hands gripping my breasts so tightly I was sure he’d leave permanent bruises. “This is all she’s good for. A set of holes for us to fuck and a pair of tits to squeeze.”
The pain was overwhelming, a constant, roaring fire that consumed me. My legs were on fire from being held in the air, my thighs trembling with exhaustion and agony. My arms felt like they were being pulled from their sockets, stretched wide and pinned. My breasts were being crushed and twisted. My ass was a searing, burning ruin. And my throat was a raw, aching tunnel being brutally invaded.
My body was a taut, screaming bow of suffering, being pulled from both ends. I could feel the man in my ass starting to lose control, his thrusts becoming faster, more savage. He was pounding into me now, his hips slapping against my upturned ass with a wet, meaty sound that echoed in the small office.
“I’m gonna fill this ass up,” he roared, his voice thick with triumph. “Gonna paint her insides with my come.”
The man in my throat was close, too. His thrusts were short and frantic, his balls bouncing off my nose with punishing speed. “Swallow it, you fucking whore,” he grunted, his grip on my hair tightening to an agonizing degree. “Swallow every fucking drop.”
They came at the same time. The man behind me drove himself deep with a final, brutal shout, and I felt his cock pulse, a hot, flooding wave of come pumping into my already full, aching bowels. At the exact same moment, the man in my mouth let out a loud groan, and his cock throbbed against my tongue. A thick, hot, salty torrent of come erupted from the tip, shooting directly down my throat. I didn’t even have to swallow; he was so deep, it was a direct injection.
They stayed there for a long moment, both of them buried deep inside me, their bodies shuddering with the aftershocks of their orgasms, their hands still possessively gripping my bruised breasts. Then, slowly, they pulled out, leaving me empty, aching, and defiled, a sticky, broken mess on the hard wooden desk.
The last assault had broken something deep inside me. When they finally pulled out, leaving my body aching, empty, and leaking their filth, I didn’t move. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even whimper. I just lay there, my arms and legs still tied, my eyes staring blankly at the stained ceiling tiles. A strange, profound numbness had settled over me, a protective blanket against the overwhelming agony. The pain was still there, a constant, roaring symphony of fire and ache, but it felt distant, like it was happening to someone else. My mind was a blank, white void.
But a flicker of something, perhaps the primal instinct for survival, cut through the fog. A single, pathetic thought. *End it. Please, just end it.*
My lips, cracked and swollen, moved, forming words that were barely a whisper. “Please… please let me go.” The sound was thin, reedy, a broken thing. “I’ll do anything… just… let me go.”
Frank, who had been watching from the doorway like a king surveying his domain, stepped into the room. He walked slowly around the desk, his work boots crunching on the debris-strewn floor. He looked down at me, his expression unreadable, a mixture of contempt and something that looked almost like boredom.
“You want to go?” he asked, his voice flat and cold. “You think you deserve to just walk out of here after what you’ve done?”
I managed a weak, desperate nod, my head scraping against the hard wood.
“Alright,” he said, a slow, cruel smile spreading across his face. “I’ll give you a choice. Option one: we leave you here. Just like this. Tied to the desk. The early shift starts in a couple hours. Maintenance guys first. Maybe they’ll help you. Or maybe they’ll see a used-up whore tied to a desk and decide to get their dicks wet before they call the cops. It’s a coin toss.”
A fresh wave of terror, colder and sharper than before, pierced through my numbness. The thought of more men, of this night starting all over again, was a fate worse than death.
“Or,” Frank continued, savoring my fear, “option two. I cut you loose. You get to walk out of here. But you have to do one last thing for me. For us.”
I stared at him, my eyes wide, pleading. I would have done anything.
“I haven’t had my turn in a while,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, possessive growl. “And I want something special. I’m going to cut you loose. You’re going to stand up, walk over to that desk, and you’re going to bend over. Then you’re going to reach back with your own hand, you’re going to grab my cock, and you’re going to put it in your own ass.”
He paused, letting the horrifying instructions sink in.
“And then,” he continued, his voice dripping with malicious glee, “you’re going to fuck yourself with it. You’re going to move back and forth, and you’re going to take every inch. And while you’re doing it, you’re going to look at each of these men, the eleven men you fired and had us rape, and you’re going to apologize. You’re going to tell them what a filthy slut you are, and you’re going to thank them for teaching you a lesson. One by one. You do that, and you’re free to go.”
The room was silent. The other men watched, their eyes gleaming with a cruel anticipation. It was the ultimate act of degradation. To not just be raped, but to orchestrate my own violation, to verbally debase myself while physically impaling my own body on my torturer’s cock. It was a psychological destruction, the final shattering of my soul.
But the alternative… the alternative was unthinkable.
Through a haze of tears, I looked at the leering faces, at the hard, unforgiving concrete floor, and then back at Frank. I gave a slow, jerky nod.
“Alright,” Frank said, his voice triumphant. He pulled out his knife and cut the zip ties. The plastic snapped, and blood rushed back into my limbs, a thousand pins and needles of agony. I struggled to my feet, my muscles screaming, my body a canvas of bruises and come. I stumbled to the desk, my legs barely supporting me, and bent over, resting my forearms on the wood, presenting my ass to him.
I heard him unzip his pants. I reached back with a trembling hand, my fingers brushing against his hard, hot flesh. It was the most disgusting thing I had ever felt. I guided him to my torn, raw asshole and pushed back, impaling myself on his cock. A strangled cry of pain escaped my lips.
“That’s it,” he grunted. “Now get to work. Start with the big guy. The one who cleaned you up.”
I forced myself to look at the burly man who had first violated me. My voice was a hoarse, broken whisper. “I’m sorry,” I choked out, the words tasting like ash. “I’m a disgusting, filthy slut for thinking I was better than you. Thank you… thank you for cleaning my filthy holes and for raping me. I deserved it.”
The man just smirked and took a swig of his beer.
“Next,” Frank commanded, his hands on my hips, forcing me to rock back and forth. I moved to the younger, thinner man who had slammed his fist on the desk. “I’m so sorry about your family,” I sobbed, the motion of my body a steady, painful rhythm. “I’m a heartless slut, and I deserve to lose my job. Thank you for showing me how much I hurt you. Thank you for raping me.”
One by one, I went through them, each apology a new form of self-immolation.
To the man with the monstrous cock: “I’m sorry I was a coward. I’m just a tight-assed whore who needed to be stretched open. Thank you for ruining my ass with your huge cock. Thank you for raping me.”
To the man who used the beer bottle: “I’m sorry I was so dirty. I’m just a filthy party girl who needed to be cleaned out. Thank you for the beer enema and for raping me. It was… special.”
To the man who fucked my tits: “I’m sorry I defied you. I’m just a pair of worthless tits for you to use. Thank you for painting my face with your come and for raping me.”
To the two men who took me at both ends: “I’m sorry I’m just a collection of holes. I’m a worthless whore who deserves to be filled from both sides. Thank you for fucking my ass and my mouth at the same time. Thank you for raping me.”
To the man with the neck tattoo: “I’m sorry I took away your life. I’m nothing but a mouth and an asshole for you to use. Thank you for making me lick your ass and for raping me. I’ll never forget it.”
As I spoke, a strange thing happened. The men, one by one, started to lose interest. The performance, the ultimate submission they had craved, was now just pathetic. Their cruel smiles faded, replaced by looks of discomfort or boredom. They had gotten what they wanted. They had broken me completely.
One by one, they turned and walked out of the office, their footsteps echoing down the hall, leaving their empty beer bottles and their scorn behind. Soon, only three of us were left in the room.
Me, bent over the desk, fucking myself on Frank’s cock.
Frank, his hands on my hips, his breathing growing ragged.
And standing by the door, silent and still, were Tyrone and Joe. They hadn’t moved. They hadn’t participated in the final degradation. They just watched, their faces unreadable in the dim light.
Frank, oblivious or uncaring, was close to finishing. “Just two more,” he grunted. “The welder and the forklift guy.”
I looked at Joe, the younger, ambitious welder, his face a mask of conflicted emotions. “I’m sorry I was so arrogant,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I’m a pathetic slut who doesn’t know anything about real work. Thank you… thank you for being a part of this.”
Then I looked at Tyrone, the focused, hardworking forklift operator. His dark eyes held a complex mix of anger, pity, and something else I couldn’t name. “I’m sorry I looked down on you,” I said, a fresh tear rolling down my cheek. “I’m a worthless, privileged whore. Thank you… for being here.”
With a loud, final groan, Frank slammed into me one last time, and I felt his hot come flood my bowels. He stayed there for a moment, panting, before pulling out and smacking my ass one last time. “There,” he said, zipping up his pants. “Your severance package is complete.”
The moment Frank pulled out, the last of my strength vanished. My body went limp, and I collapsed onto the hard surface of the desk, my cheek pressing against the cool, stained wood. I was a mess of fluids and pain, my mind a blank, shattered slate. I lay there, my breathing shallow, wondering why it was so quiet. Why hadn’t Frank, Tyrone, and Joe left with the others?
My question was answered with terrifying speed. Strong hands grabbed my wrists again, not the rough, indiscriminate grip of the mob, but the focused hold of two men. It was Tyrone and Joe. They pulled my arms forward, pinning my face down against the desk, my body once again a helpless captive.
“No,” I whimpered, a fresh wave of panic and despair breaking through my numbness. “Please… you said you’d let me go. You said I could go.”
My plea was met with silence. Then I heard a sound, a metallic clatter from the corner of the room. It was the bucket they had used before. A new, weird plastic noise followed, like something being uncoiled. I craned my neck, my heart pounding with renewed dread, and looked back.
Frank was standing there, holding a long, black rubber hose, the kind used for a utility sink. He had screwed one end onto a spigot on the wall.
“Can’t have you walking out of here leaking all over the place,” he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. “It’s messy. And it leaves evidence.”
He walked over, the hose dragging behind him. Without any warning, he shoved the cold, hard, unyielding nozzle of the hose into my bruised, swollen pussy. I cried out, a sharp, shocked sound, as the plastic invaded my most tender flesh. He turned a knob.
Ice-cold water erupted inside me. It was a brutal, shocking invasion, a deep, internal chill that was agonizing. The pressure was immense, filling me up, washing away the sticky, warm evidence of the multiple rapes in a flood of icy violation. I struggled against Joe and Tyrone’s grip, my body bucking, but they held me fast, their strength absolute.
Just as I thought I couldn’t take any more, he pulled the hose out. A moment of relief, then a new horror. He positioned the nozzle at my torn, gaping asshole.
“No… no, please…” I sobbed, but it was useless.
He shoved it in. The cold water flooding my bowels was a different kind of agony. It was a deep, cramping, invasive cold that felt like it was freezing me from the inside out. My stomach cramped violently, and I gagged, my body heaving against the desk. Joe and Tyrone held me down, their hands like iron bands, forcing me to endure the final, clinical humiliation.
When he was finished, he pulled the hose out and tossed it aside. The water that gushed out of me was a humiliating river, clean and cold, washing the last of them away onto the floor.
They let me go then. I just lay there, shivering and dripping, my body trembling uncontrollably.
“Get up,” Frank commanded.
Slowly, painfully, I pushed myself up from the desk. My legs shook, but they held me. Frank placed my clothes onto the desk in a messy pile. Taking a look, they didn’t look damaged, despite how roughly they had been removed from me.
“Get dressed,” Frank said.
My hands trembled so badly I could barely manage the clasp on my bra. As I hooked it, the familiar fabric felt like a stranger’s against my bruised skin. I listened to his voice, a low, monotone lecture that was more terrifying than any of the shouting.
“I just washed away any evidence of the rapes,” he said. “There’s no come, no blood, nothing for a rape kit to find. If you were thinking of reporting this, you can’t.”
I stepped into the black lace panties, pulling them up my shaky legs. I was grateful to be covered again for the first time in hours.
“The cops in this city are all friends of the workers,” he continued, his voice calm and reasonable. “They grew up with us. They drink with us. They’d take one look at you, hear your story, and then they’d call us to laugh about it. You’d be the joke of the town.”
I picked up the black pencil skirt and zipped it up, the tight fabric a constricting band around my aching hips and thighs, hiding the many bruises on my ass and thighs.
“The people at the hospital who would check you out? Their wives, their sisters, their cousins work on the lines you just shut down. They’re our friends, too. They’d ‘lose’ your paperwork. They’d ‘forget’ to run the right tests. You’d get nothing but shame.”
I pulled the white sleeveless top onto my shoulders and buttoned it back up, the low-cut neckline framing the bruises on my chest. I was fully dressed again, Betty the HR manager, on the outside. But on the inside, I was a hollowed-out ruin.
“I’m sure you don’t want to be known at head office as the woman who was gang raped by the factory men,” Frank said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Imagine that. Every time you walk into a meeting, every time you ask for a raise, every time you fire someone, they’ll be whispering. ‘That’s her. That’s the factory whore. The one who got gang-raped by a bunch of blue-collar guys and liked it so much she didn’t even fight it.’ Is that the future you want, Betty?”
I stood there, fully dressed, my arms wrapped around myself, shivering. I looked at the three of them. There was no pity in their eyes, only a cold, final warning.
Frank walked up to me until he was just inches from my face. “Are you going to talk?”
I looked into his cold, hard eyes, and I saw my own future. A choice between two kinds of hell. I shook my head, a single, jerky motion. “No,” I whispered, the sound barely audible.
“Good,” he said.
They turned and left the room, their footsteps receding down the hall, leaving me alone in the silent, defiled office.
I stood there for a long moment, the silence pressing in on me. Then I moved. I walked out of the office, my steps unsteady, and through the empty, cavernous factory. The first gray light of dawn was filtering through the high windows. I pushed open the heavy door and stumbled out into the cool morning air.
I found my car, my sleek, professional sedan, parked right where I had left it. I fumbled with the keys, my hands shaking so badly it took three tries to unlock the door. I slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door, the solid thunk a final, suffocating seal on my prison.
And then I broke. A sob tore from my throat, a raw, agonized sound of pure despair. I curled up in the seat, my forehead pressed against the steering wheel, and I sobbed, my body wracked with violent, uncontrollable tremors. I knew, with a certainty that settled like a stone in my soul, that I would never tell anybody. I would take this secret, this horror, and I would carry it inside me forever.
As my sobs finally subsided into ragged hiccups, I started the engine. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and looked up. Through the windshield, I could see them. The first shift. Cars were pulling into the parking lot, men in work boots and jackets getting out, laughing, drinking coffee from thermoses, ready to start their day. They were the world I was supposed to control, the world I had just been destroyed by.
I put the car in drive and pulled away, my eyes fixed on the road ahead, not daring to look in the rearview mirror.