Story by All These Roadworks (2021).
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Olivia’s manager was a sexist pig. He belittled her in the office, called her a slut in front of the other employees, and consistently stared at her tits rather than looking her in the eyes.
But at the end of the day he *was* her manager, and Olivia needed the job, which was why she really shouldn’t have started swearing and yelling at him when he grabbed her ass on a busy Thursday afternoon.
She realised quickly she’d gone too far as she saw her manager’s face turning purple with rage, but it was too late, and soon she found herself in his office, wilting under his steely glare.
“That was inappropriate behaviour, especially from a woman,” he hissed at her. “I am your superior, and you do *not* criticise or correct me in front of other employees.”
“I’m sorry…” she started, although really she wasn’t sorry, just regretful of the consequences.
“There’s two ways this can go, Olivia,” her manager said. “The first is I fire you, right here and now. You clean out your desk and don’t turn up tomorrow. The only reference I’ll give you is that you’re a difficult bitch who no one should hire.”
“Please,” she begged. “I’ll do better. I need this job…”
“Then you’ll agree to the other option,” he said, “which is performance management. I have a two week residential course on effective communication I want you to do. I’ll give you leave. If you attend the course, and pass, and then show an improved attitude in the workplace, you can continue in your position.”
“Yes!” she said eagerly. “Absolutely.”
He produced a round of paperwork for her to sign, indicating her acknowledgement of her inappropriate behaviour and her agreement to the performance management plan. When it was done, he gave her the address to attend for the communication course.
She arrived at the course the next day – lessons would start over the weekend – and was shown to her live-in cottage. The facility was a small village of huts and conference rooms, contained within a high barbed wire fence. She wondered about the security, but didn’t ask.
The horror only set in after she was given the course training materials, and saw the full name of the course at the top – “Respectful Communication for Difficult Bitches”. She looked at the list of lesson topics, and immediately tried to collect her belongings and run. She soon learned the purpose of the fences, though – and the muscular security guards who tackled her to the ground, and took the opportunity to squeeze her tits and groin as they secured her. She had committed to the course, and she would not be able to leave.
She reluctantly attended the first lesson with a group of other nervous-looking young women who were clearly in vulnerable positions like her own. It was called “Making Yourself Look Worth Talking To”, and it was a lesson in how to dress for work. The girls were required to bring in the clothes they had bought to the retreat. The course instructor took out every piece of clothing that wasn’t sexy or slutty, and then stripped the clothes the girls were wearing off them if they weren’t sufficiently attractive. Olivia was lucky to be allowed to keep her black lace panties, but nothing else. Many of the girls ended up nude. The girls then made small bonfires to burn their old clothes in.
Afterwards the girls were required to buy new clothes from the course’s catalogue. Every item available would have looked appropriate on a sex worker, and the girls had to spend their own money to buy them. Olivia was spending money she didn’t have, and realising she would leave here even more desperate to keep her job. She picked out some tiny microskirts and some white button-up tops that would show her cleavage and midriff. She thought they were the closest to work-appropriate she could find.
More classes followed. “Turn-taking in Conversation” focused on the idea that when someone wanted a woman to stop talking, they should slap her. The girls would pair up and discuss various topics, slapping their partner across the face when they wanted a turn. Later, they paired up with male instructors, and learned that they should only speak in the first place if they were asked a question. The instructors asked the girls to describe their sexual history, then slapped them when they became bored of their answers.
The classes became more sexual after the third day. “Receiving Criticism” required the girls to masturbate as the instructors called them sluts and whores and criticised their weight, appearance and intelligence. They learned to respond to insults by becoming aroused and thanking their insulter.
“Taking Instruction” taught the girls to respond to male commands instinctively and immediately. Shock collars were put on their necks, and they were given commands. Girls who paused before obeying would receive an unpleasant shock. By the end of the fourth of these lessons, Olivia found she was literally unable to stop herself painfully pinching her own clitoris or slapping her own tits if she was told to by a man.
In “Contributing Ideas”, the instructors would pitch the girls a basic scenario, and the girls had to come up with ways to make it more degrading or humiliating for themselves. Olivia initially found it hard to volunteer ideas for demeaning herself, but after the instructor used a Taser on her pussy near the end of the first week for being a difficult bitch, she began trying harder, and soon was suggesting that office meetings could be improved if she was nude and masturbating and being forced to sit on thumbtacks, and the instructor told her she was a good girl and much improved.
The lesson that Olivia first hated the most, but came to enjoy, was “Active Listening”. It taught her the right way to have a one-on-one conversation with a man – bare her tits, extract his cock from his pants and point it at her face while giving him a handjob, and when it was her turn to talk to instead kiss him on the lips until he pushed her away.
In the first week, she hated how it demeaned her. She hated exposing her breasts. She hated sexually servicing men whose names she didn’t even know. She especially hated it when they orgasmed, splashing hot cum over her face and tits that she wouldn’t be allowed to wash off until classes finished for the day.
But every evening, the speakers in the girls’ cottages played white noise laced with subliminal hypnotic suggestions, reinforcing the girls’ lessons as they slept. Every morning, their breakfast was spiked with aphrodisiacs that made them aroused and stupid. Their first lessons of each morning and before lunch required them to spend an hour edging without cumming, leaving their sex-crazy and desperate. They were only allowed to orgasm when they demonstrated a particular eagerness for being a submissive cunt in class. (Olivia’s idea about the thumbtacks resulted in her first permission to orgasm, which she immediately did, blushing, in front of the entire class.)
By the second week, Olivia was actively chasing that permission to orgasm, and Active Listening was her best chance to gain one. She bared her tits quickly to the instructors, and carefully and enthusiastically pumped their cocks as they spoke. She had learned that if she made a silly little bimbo giggle at appropriate moments, their cocks would twitch in a way that betrayed their enjoyment, and when it was her turn to “talk” she would give them passionate, warm, slutty kisses until they put their hand on her face to push her back into her seat. When they came, she opened her mouth to let some get into her mouth, then licked her lips, and made a show of transferring their cum from her face and tits to her mouth, rubbing the remainder in as though it were luxury skin lotion.
“Thank you for sharing your ideas with a dumb bitch like me,” she would say. “Would it please you to slap me?” And after they did, they would usually give her permission to cum, which was everything Olivia now wanted and needed.
At night, she began to wonder if she even *could* orgasm any more without permission from a man, or whether she would be able to cum if she didn’t have that feeling of being demeaned and objectified…
The final lesson was “Displaying Your Best Assets”, and it simply consisted of every girl making a booking with a private surgical clinic to get a boob job. None of the girls had enough money to afford it, of course, but the instructors were ready for that, and helped each girl go through her contacts list and ring each man she knew and ask them if they would be prepared to pay $300 to fuck her. It took her ringing nearly 40 people she knew before she found enough who didn’t hang up in disgust for her to cover the surgical costs. The next name on the list would have been her father. She wondered if her daddy would have paid for her boob job. She wondered if he would have wanted to fuck her in return just like all the other men…
By the time Olivia returned to work, everyone in the office agreed that her attitude was much improved. She taught all her co-workers to shut her up by slapping her so quickly that her manager bought her a “Best Office Slut” mug to keep on her desk in appreciation. Everyone liked her new tits and her new outfits, and her “active listening” was so popular that she now spent almost all of her time in one-on-one meetings with men.
Once she demonstrated her ability to “contribute ideas”, she even started getting invited to the previously men-only high level executive meetings, where the entire senior management would listen attentively as she described ways to humiliate herself and the other women in the office. When she came up with an excuse to send every other female employee on the same course she had just been on, they rewarded her by ordering her to strip naked and bend over the boardroom table so they could take turns raping her.
Of course, she knew being raped was a reward in and of itself, but when her manager told her she had become a very good and obedient slut as he ejaculated into her pussy and pulled on her hair, she practically glowed with pride, and when he then told her she was allowed to orgasm, she finally knew what real job satisfaction was…