The Pink Slip Payback - Ch. 02 - Three Men and a Desk

Introduction: The three men aren't finished with Betty. They escalate the assault.

Synopsis: Frank, Joe, and Tyrone bind Betty to a desk. They violate her in every way, subjecting her to a humiliating and painful gangbang.

I lay in a heap on the floor, a trembling, sobbing mess, my body a canvas of their filth and abuse. The industrial carpet was rough and abrasive against my cheek, each fiber feeling like a needle against my skin. The taste of their salty, bitter come was thick in my mouth, coating my tongue and throat, and I could feel it, a warm and humiliating trickle, leaking out from between my legs, mingling with my own shame.

My fingers, shaking uncontrollably, fumbled with the sides of my blouse, trying to pull the two halves together to cover my heaving breasts. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my skirt, which had been bunched around my hips, and tried to push it down, a desperate attempt to cover myself, to reclaim even a single shred of decency in this moment of complete violation.

For a fleeting, foolish second, I let myself believe it might be over, that they had taken what they wanted and would leave me to my brokenness here in this temporary, sterile office.

But the three of them were still there, standing over me like wolves circling a fallen deer, their shadows swallowing the meager light. Their heavy breathing filled the small office, a sound that made my stomach clench with renewed terror.

Frank's voice cut through my haze of pain, rough and devoid of any mercy. "We're not done with you yet. You won’t be needing these.”

Before I could even register his words, his hand was on my back, shoving me face down onto the floor again. I cried out as my already aching body hit the rough carpet.

He grabbed the collar of my blouse and, with a single, violent tug, ripped it down my arms and off. He then yanked the loose bra from my body, the straps snapping as he pulled it free. I heard the soft thud of the fabric hitting the far wall and then the floor as he casually tossed them away, discarding the last remnants of my professional life like trash.

Panic surged through me, a raw, animal instinct to survive. I scrambled, trying to crawl away from him, my nails digging into the abrasive carpet, my legs kicking uselessly in the air. "Get off me!" I screamed, my voice hoarse.

But he was too strong, too heavy. He simply pushed me back down, one hand planted firmly in the center of my back, pinning me as easily as if I were a child. I felt his rough fingers hook into the zipper of my skirt, and then he yanked it down my legs with brutal force. I thrashed, trying to kick him, to grab the fabric and hold on, but it was no use. He pulled it free from my ankles and tossed it aside to join my other clothes.

Now I was naked, save for the black thigh-high stockings clinging to my legs and the heels still strapped to my feet. I felt completely exposed, utterly humiliated, a piece of meat laid out for their amusement.

"Alright, break time's over," Frank grunted, his voice a low rumble of command. "Get her up."

Joe and Tyrone moved instantly, their hands rough and calloused as they grabbed me under my arms. They hauled me to my feet as if I weighed nothing, my body completely limp and unresponsive. My head lolled forward, my hair a tangled curtain hiding my face, and my legs buckled beneath me. They held me upright, holding me up by my arms, my feet barely touching the floor in my heels. I was a puppet with its strings cut, a ragdoll for their amusement.

Frank stepped back and crossed his arms, his eyes roaming over my naked form with a cold, assessing gaze that made my skin crawl. "Now that's a proper look for you," he said, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "Nothing but stockings and heels. Just like a high-priced whore you see in the movies, except you're not getting paid for this."

He reached out and casually ran his hand up my side, his calloused palm scraping against my ribs. He cupped one of my breasts, his thumb brushing over the nipple, which was hard and tight from the chill and the fear. He squeezed, not hard enough to cause real pain, but with a proprietary, demeaning pressure that made me want to shrink away and disappear.

His hand continued its journey down, over the curve of my stomach, his fingers tracing the line of my hip before sliding down to the smooth, bare skin between my legs. He ran a single finger along the slit of my cleanly shaven pussy, a gesture of such casual ownership and violation that a fresh wave of nausea washed over me.

"Please," I finally managed to choke out, my voice a broken, pathetic whisper. I lifted my head, forcing my tear-blurry eyes to meet his. "Please... just let me go. I won't say anything. I promise. Just... let me go."

My plea hung in the air, a fragile hope in the face of their overwhelming brutality.

Frank just laughed, a short, harsh sound devoid of any humor. He withdrew his hand and wiped it on his jeans as if he'd touched something dirty. "Let you go?" he scoffed, looking over at Joe and Tyrone. "Did you hear that? She thinks we're just gonna let her waltz out of here after everything she's done."

He leaned in close, his face inches from mine, his breath smelling of stale beer and cigarettes. "We're not even close to being done with you, bitch. You wanted to fuck with our lives? Now we're gonna fuck with yours."

“Get her back onto the desk,” Frank commanded, his voice flat and final.

The hands holding me shifted, and then I was flying through the air for a split second before the world exploded in a flash of pain. They slammed me face down onto the desk again, the impact brutal enough to knock the wind from my lungs in a whooshing gasp. My cheek smacked against the hard, unforgiving wood, the taste of blood filling my mouth from where I'd bitten my tongue. The stack of termination papers scattered, fluttering to the floor like dead leaves.

Through the ringing in my ears, I heard the clatter of the desk phone next to my head. A hand grabbed the receiver, and then I heard the sickening sound of the coiled cable being ripped from its socket in the base.

Before I could even process the movement, they were grabbing my hands, forcing them behind my back. I felt the slick, plastic-coated cable wrap around my wrists, once, twice, three times. They pulled it tight, the thin cord biting deep into my skin, the edges digging in with a searing pain as they yanked it into a vicious knot. My hands were now useless, pinned securely together, the pressure immediately cutting off my circulation.

A fresh wave of panic, pure and primal, surged through me. This was different. This wasn't just holding me down; this was permanent. I fought back with a desperate, renewed strength, kicking my legs out, thrashing my body from side to side, trying to buck them off, but it was like trying to fight off a tidal wave.

"Hold her still," Joe grunted, his full weight pressing down on my back, making it impossible to breathe, let alone move.

Then I heard it. A sharp, terrifying *zzzzip* sound that cut through my own panicked sobs. Something hard and unyielding was wrapped around my ankle. A zip tie. They pulled my left leg wide, stretching it towards the heavy metal leg of the desk at an unnatural angle. The tie cinched shut with a final, irreversible *click*, the sound of a trap springing shut.

They did the same with my other leg, pulling it towards the opposite desk leg. I was spread-eagled and utterly immobile, my body a taut, helpless, upside-down 'V' bent over the desk, completely open and exposed to their mercy, or lack thereof.

"Damn, look at that," Joe whistled, his voice thick with lust. "All tied up and ready to go. She's practically begging for it."

Frank ran his hand over my upturned ass, still framed by the black stockings. "Such a hot little piece of ass," he murmured. "And dressed so nice for us. It's like she knew we were coming."

Tyrone just grunted in agreement, his presence a silent, heavy threat. I squeezed my eyes shut, tears of pure terror leaking from the corners.

Then, I felt a new, horrifying touch. Frank's finger, thick and calloused, was tracing the tight, puckered ring of my asshole. My blood ran cold.

"You know," Frank said, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "We've fucked her pussy and her mouth. But there's one hole left. And I think that's the one that really needs a lesson."

"No," I whimpered, the word a choked, pathetic sound. "No, please, not there. I've never... please don't."

A new, more violent panic seized me. I thrashed against my bonds, the plastic cutting into my wrists and ankles, but it was no use. I was completely trapped.

"Shut up," Tyrone snarled, grabbing a fistful of my hair and slamming my face down against the desk, holding me there.

I heard Frank spit, and then I felt the wet, disgusting glob of his saliva land on my ass, right over my forbidden entrance. He used his cock to smear it around, the head of it pressing against the tight, unyielding muscle.

"Please! Please, stop! I'll do anything else!" I screamed, my voice raw with desperation. "Just not that!"

He ignored my pleas completely. He began to push. The pressure was immense, a searing, splitting pain as my body fought to reject the invasion.

"NOOOO!" I shrieked, a sound of pure agony.

He just kept pushing, a slow, relentless, agonizing force. "Relax, Betty," he grunted, his voice strained with effort. "It's gonna happen whether you want it to or not."

With one final, brutal shove, the head of his cock breached the tight ring of muscle and slid inside. A scream was torn from my throat, a raw, inhuman sound of pure torment. The pain was blinding, a white-hot, tearing agony that radiated through my entire body. He didn't stop, pushing deeper, inch by agonizing inch, until he was fully sheathed in my ass.

"There we go," he groaned. "Tightest fucking hole I've ever been in. You were saving this one for us, weren't you, you little tease?"

He started to move, a slow, deep, grinding rhythm that was a constant, searing torture. Each pull back was a brief, stinging relief, followed by a new wave of agonizing pain as he slid back in.

"Look at her, taking it in the ass like a pro," Joe laughed. "All that fight gone out of her now."

The degradation was as painful as the act itself. I was being torn apart, used in the most vile way imaginable, and there was nothing I could do.

He didn't stop. After the initial, searing breach, Frank didn't give me a moment to adjust to the agonizing fullness. He started to move, his thrusts long and impossibly slow, pulling back almost all the way out before sliding back in, a deliberate, torturous rhythm that made every nerve ending scream. Each inward slide was a fresh wave of burning, tearing pain, a violation so profound it felt like he was impaling my very soul.

"No, please, stop, it hurts, it hurts so much," I sobbed, my voice a broken, pathetic thing.

My pleas only seemed to encourage him. "That's it, Betty, you keep begging," he grunted, his voice a low, rumbling sound of pure satisfaction. "I love the sound of that. It's music to my ears."

He grabbed my ass with both hands, his fingers digging into the flesh, holding me still as he continued his slow, deep assault. "Such a perfect ass," he commented, his voice thick with lust. "And it's all mine tonight."

He would occasionally reach underneath, his rough hand mauling my breasts, squeezing my nipples hard, sending sharp jolts of pain through me that were almost a distraction from the fire in my bowels. "You feel that? That's what happens when you fuck with people's lives. You get fucked right back."

I fought. I thrashed against my bonds with every ounce of my remaining strength, the restraints cutting deep into my wrists and ankles, the desk scraping against my skin. But it was useless. I was stretched wide, completely immobile, a perfect offering for his depravity. Every time he pushed back into me, a scream was torn from my throat, a raw, desperate sound of pure agony that echoed in the small office.

He was enjoying this, savoring my pain, using my suffering as fuel for his lust. The long, drawn-out rape was a psychological torture as much as a physical one. There was no escape, no respite, just the endless, rhythmic, searing pain and his degrading voice in my ear.

After what felt like an eternity, his slow, deliberate pace began to change. His breathing grew heavier, more ragged, and his thrusts became faster, more forceful. The slow, torturous rhythm was replaced by a frantic, pounding urgency.

"Yeah... fuck... I'm gonna... gonna fill this tight ass up," he panted, his words punctuated by the sharp slap of his hips against my bruised flesh.

He was slamming into me now, his body a blur of motion, the pain a constant, blinding inferno. With one last, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and roared, a sound of pure, primal triumph. I felt his cock pulse deep inside my ass, a hot, flooding wave of his come pumping into my bowels, a final, ultimate mark of his ownership.

The orgasm seemed to last forever, his body shuddering against my back as he emptied himself into me. The feeling was the most violating of all, a deep, internal warmth that was a constant, filthy reminder of how completely he had claimed me, how he had taken a part of me that no one ever had.

He stayed there for a long moment, his weight heavy and suffocating, his ragged breath the only sound. When he finally pulled out, the sensation was a strange, hollow emptiness, and I could feel the immediate, sticky trickle of his come leaking from my ruined ass, running down the back of my thigh.

I lay there, broken and sobbing, my body a vessel of their filth, my mind a shattered ruin. I had been violated in every way a person could be, and I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that they were not done with me yet.

None of them moved right away. For a fleeting second, a hollow, empty relief washed over me. It was instantly shattered.

"My turn," Tyrone's voice was low and cold, a stark contrast to Frank's cruel playfulness. This was pure, undiluted rage.

I heard him move behind me, and then, without any warning or preparation, he drove his cock into my already abused, gaping ass. A fresh, blinding wave of agony, more intense than before, tore through me. A scream was ripped from my raw throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated torment.

He was bigger than Frank, thicker, and his entry was a brutal, punishing act of violence, a deliberate re-opening of the most intimate wound. He didn't start slow. He immediately set a vicious, aggressive rhythm, his hips a piston of fury, slamming into me with enough force to make the heavy desk groan and skid a across the floor with many of the plunges.

Each thrust was a deep, searing violation, re-opening the tears Frank had made and creating new ones. The pain was a constant, white-hot fire, and I was sure I was being ripped apart from the inside out.

"This is for my fucking severance check!" he snarled, his voice a guttural growl of pure hatred. He brought his hand down on my upturned ass in a sharp, stinging slap that made me cry out. "And this is for my fucking job!" Another slap, harder this time, leaving a burning imprint on my skin that was a whole new world of pain.

He reached underneath my chest with both of his rough hands, lifting my upper body off the desk while squeezing my breasts painfully. "You look down on me, you stuck-up bitch?" he growled, his face close to my ear. "You think I'm just some nigger you can throw away?"

His words were venomous, each one a fresh humiliation that cut deeper than any physical blow. He mauled my breasts, squeezing and twisting them, adding new layers of sharp, shooting pain to the overwhelming agony in my ass.

Releasing one breast, he grabbed a fistful of my hair again, yanking my head back at a painful, unnatural angle, his face next to mine. "Tell me you love it," he grunted, his thrusts never ceasing, a relentless, punishing beat. "Tell me you love this black cock in your ass."

I just sobbed, my mind a fog of pain and terror. I couldn't speak, could only make pathetic, whimpering sounds.

"SAY IT!" he roared, yanking my hair so hard I thought my neck would break. He slammed into me with a particularly brutal thrust that sent a shockwave of pure agony through my entire body.

The pain was all-consuming, a tidal wave that was drowning me. I just wanted it to stop. I would have said anything, done anything, to make it end. Through the haze of tears and suffering, the words finally came, a broken, defeated whisper.

"I... I love it," I sobbed, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "I love... black cock."

The moment the words left my lips, he let my body fall back down onto the desk and his entire body went rigid. He let out a long, guttural groan, a sound of both triumph and release. He drove himself into me one last, punishing time, and I felt his cock throb violently as he emptied himself deep in my bowels. His come was a hot, flooding wave, a final, filthy mark of his victory.

He stayed there for a long moment, his body trembling with the exertion, before finally pulling out. I lay there, a broken, sobbing wreck, my body a canvas of pain, my mind a hollowed-out void. I had said the words. I had surrendered completely. And in that moment, I knew there was nothing left of me to save.

Tyrone pulled out, and a hollow, gut-wrenching emptiness settled in my bowels, a void that was instantly filled by a fresh trickle of their combined filth, running hot and sticky down my thighs.

I heard the scrape of metal legs on concrete and the sharp, satisfying click of a lighter. Through a haze of tears and pain, I could see them, Frank and Tyrone, leaning back in borrowed office chairs, silhouettes against the grimy window. They were smoking, watching me like I was the final act of a depraved show they'd paid to see.

"Last hole, last man," Frank said, his voice a low, lazy rumble as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Let's see what you got, kid. Don't disappoint us."

Joe, who had been pacing like a caged animal, practically vibrated with a frenzied, unhinged energy. "Oh, I'm not gonna disappoint," he giggled, a high-pitched, manic sound that sent a fresh wave of terror through me. "I'm gonna wreck her."

He was on me in a flash, his movements clumsy and desperate. There was no ceremony, no preparation. He grabbed my bruised, tender ass with both hands, yanking my cheeks apart, and then he rammed his cock into my already brutalized asshole.

The world exploded in a supernova of pure, white-hot agony. A scream, raw and inhuman, was torn from the depths of my soul, a sound of an animal being skinned alive. The pain was a fresh, searing inferno, as if Tyrone's brutal assault had merely been the prelude to this final, complete annihilation.

He didn't build a rhythm; he immediately started a frantic, jackhammering pace, his hips a blur of mindless, violent motion. Each thrust was a deep, punishing stab, a brutal reminder that I was no longer a person, but a thing to be broken.

"Yeah! Yeah! Take it all!" he shrieked, his voice a crazed, nonsensical chant. He brought his hand down on my ass in a series of sharp, stinging slaps, the blows landing randomly, frantically, adding a chaotic, stinging rhythm to the searing fire in my core.

"Tell me you love it! Tell me you love being raped! Tell me you love getting fucked in the ass by us!" he demanded, his words a frantic, desperate litany.

I was gone. My mind had detached, floating somewhere above the desk, watching the pathetic, sobbing creature below being torn apart. I couldn't form words, could only make choked, animalistic whimpers as my body was ravaged.

This wasn't enough for him. He needed my participation, my surrender. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back at an angle that sent a sharp, shooting pain down my spine.

"SAY IT!" he screamed, his face contorted in a mask of insane fury. "SAY YOU LOVE OUR COCKS! SAY YOU LOVE BEING OUR RAPE TOY!"

He slammed into me with a particularly violent thrust that made the desk groan and shudder, the force of it jarring my teeth. The fight was over. There was nothing left. All I wanted was for the pain to stop, for the noise to stop, for it all to just end. Survival was the only instinct left, a primal, desperate need to make the storm pass.

The words were a hollow, defeated whisper, a key to a cage I desperately wanted to unlock. "I... I love your cocks," I sobbed, the sound barely audible, thick with tears and snot. "I love... being raped."

A guttural, triumphant sound tore from Joe's throat. He answered my surrender not with words, but with a renewed, brutal frenzy. He slammed into my ass with a series of punishing, extra-hard thrusts, each one a deliberate act of obliteration. He would pull back until the head of his cock was just barely inside my tortured, gaping ring, pause for a split second, and then drive forward with every ounce of his strength, a pile-driving force that made the desk legs screech in protest.

"You... fucking... love... it!" he grunted, punctuating each word with a vicious slam. "You love... being... a... filthy... whore!"

Another thrust, harder than the last, sending a fresh shockwave of searing agony through me. "This is all... you're good... for!"

With a final, brutal shove, he buried himself to the hilt, held it for a moment, and then yanked out with a wet, sloppy sound. He wasn't done. He brought his hand down on my ass in one last, stinging slap, the crack echoing in the small office, a final, exclamation point of pain.

Then, his footsteps receded. I heard him walk around the desk, his steps heavy and purposeful. A moment later, he was standing in front of me. I couldn't lift my head; it was too heavy, my neck too weak. He solved that problem for me.

He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head up off the desk, forcing me to look at him. My neck screamed in protest, but I had no choice. My vision, blurry with tears, slowly focused.

And then I saw it. His cock, jutting out from his body, was a grotesque monument to their violation. It was slick and shiny, coated in a thick, milky sheen of the other men’s come, streaked with faint, pinkish smears of blood, and flecked with disgusting, brown bits of my own shit.

The sight was so vile, so profoundly degrading, that a fresh wave of nausea churned in my stomach.

"Look at it," he snarled, holding my head steady by my hair. "This is what you did to us. This is what you are."

While Frank and Tyrone whooped and cheered him on from their chairs, Joe started to jerk himself off with his free hand, his fist a blur of frantic motion just inches from my face.

"That's it, kid, paint her face!" Frank roared. "Give the HR queen her bonus!"

Tyrone just laughed, a low, dangerous sound. I was trapped, forced to watch the final act of my own debasement, my body aching, my mind shattered.

I saw his body tense, his strokes becoming shorter, more erratic. "Open your mouth, you fucking slut!" he commanded.

I squeezed my eyes shut, a final, pathetic act of defiance. A moment later, the first thick, hot rope of come splattered across my cheek, hitting me with a wet, sticky slap. The shame was instantaneous, a burning blush of humiliation that started in my chest and spread to the roots of my hair.

Another rope hit my forehead, dripping down into my eyebrow. I could feel the texture of it, thick and stringy, the heat of it against my cold, tear-streaked skin. It landed on my nose, my lips, my chin, a relentless, degrading shower. I could feel it matting in my eyelashes, sealing them shut.

Each spurt was a fresh mark of ownership, a brand of filth that I could feel seeping into my pores. The humiliation was absolute, a complete and total annihilation of my self-worth. I was nothing more than a canvas for their contempt.

When he was finished, he milked the last drops from his cock, wiping them on my cheek. He leaned in close, his voice a low, triumphant hiss. "Now you look like you belong in the gutter, where trash like you belongs."

He let go of my hair, and my head fell back onto the desk with a dull thud, smacking into the pool of cooling semen and my own tears.

I was exhausted, every cell in my body screaming in protest. My ass was a throbbing, burning crater of pain. My legs, still stretched wide and tied to the desk, were cramping violently, the muscles knotting in agonizing spasms. My breasts were sore and tender from their rough mauling.

But the physical pain was nothing compared to the crushing weight of the shame. I lay there, a broken, defiled mess, covered in their filth, my body a ruin, my mind a hollowed-out void. They had taken everything from me. And I knew, with a chilling certainty, that they were finally done.