Emma’s Policy, Part 10
Emma was certain that she had ruined her life. Or rather, she had let Tim ruin it.
Her plastic surgeon had been very good, really - her new fake tits hadn’t needed anything like the healing time that the internet had led her to expect. But they were huge, and obvious, and none of Emma’s clothes fit properly anymore. They bulged lewdly against the thin cloth of her blouse, and they hurt - all the time - because of how tightly crammed into her undersized bra they were.
Tim had already raped her three times since she had come back to work with her huge new fuckballoons, taking care to ejaculate in her pussy every time. Since Emma had given up birth control on TIm’s instructions, she was in a state of constant panic about this, but Tim wouldn’t let her take a pregnancy test. “I feel that pregnancy should be an interesting surprise for a woman,” he told her, and that was the end of that.
And today the first of her bank cards had arrived in her new name. She had legally changed her name to Sugar-Tits - first name Sugar, last name Tits - and she felt a sick, humiliated arousal every time a new letter arrived for her, with a letter inside politely addressed to “Miss Tits”.
Tim had been there when the bank card arrived, because he had let himself into her house last night using her own keys - which he kept now for “safe-keeping” - to give her a “surprise raping” in the middle of the night. Emma had never been more frightened than when she woke in darkness to find a man on top of her, his cock in her cunt - and to her shame, the fear had made her cum no less than three times, while Tim had ejaculated into her unprotected womb.
He had slept over, in her bed, telling her to sleep on the floor, and in the morning she had made him breakfast, without even having to be told, sucking his cock docilely as he ate. When she brought in the mail from the letterbox, he made her give it to him, and he opened each of her letters, confiscating the bank card when he found it and telling her she could ask for his permission if she wished to use it. She still didn’t know what had been in her other mail - Tim had simply said that she didn’t need to know, and kept the letters.
But on the Monday morning of Emma’s eleventh week of subjugation, just when she was thinking about giving up, a spark of hope arrived.
Emma had been delivering the documents that Tim had asked her (a photocopy of her own tits) for to his in-tray, while Tim had been out of the office at a meeting upstairs. There, in the middle of his desk, were the most recent HR financial stats - including the stats on her own diversity policy!
Emma couldn’t help herself. She picked up the papers and skimmed through them. Understanding them was hard - she hadn’t had to look at any serious information in weeks, and everything that was happening to her made her feel stupider. Her brain didn’t feel as complex as it once had.
But she got enough. The numbers were turning around. There was evidence that her diversity policy was beginning to yield quality, productivity and financial benefits for the company - at least, in every division other than the one that Tim was charge of.
She might yet win this. She might be able to defend her policy, and get out from under Tim’s thumb.
There were only two weeks left till the company would be forced to formally assess her policy. In a fortnight, her fate would be decided one way or the other. Was there enough time for these numbers to reach the point that they needed to reach?
She thought there was.
She carefully put the papers back where she had found them, and returned to her desk, lowering herself onto the dildos on her tiny stool and resuming work at her child-sized workstation.
When Tim returned, he had a girl with him. She was pretty, in an innocent small-titted way, with long red hair and a cute little outfit that made her look attractive but unthreatening. She was clearly distressed, and her makeup showed signs that she had been crying recently.
“This is Bianca,” said Tim, turning the girl to face Emma. “Up until just now, she’s been working reception downstairs. This morning, a random search turned up party drugs in her desk. Her immediate supervisor wanted to call the police, but I’ve convinced them to give Bianca one last chance. She’ll be working for me, now, as a second assistant.”
He turned to the girl. “Honeybee, this is Sugar-Tits. She’ll be your direct supervisor now. You’ll be taking her duties of bringing me coffees and meals. I expect you to follow any instruction she gives you, no matter what it is. If I hear even a single complaint, I will not hesitate to call the police after all.”
He turned back to Emma. “Sugar-Tits, I expect our little Honeybee here to follow the exact same protocol that you do. If I’m unsatisfied with any aspect of her performance, you will receive an appropriate punishment on her behalf.”
“Yes, sir,” said Emma, already struggling to think through what this meant. She had to get the girl to follow all her demeaning rules? She couldn’t, could she?
“Honeybee, go fetch me a coffee, would you?” asked Tim.
“Absolutely,” said Bianca immediately.
Emma flinched at the missing “sir” in Bianca’s response. “Maybe I should come with you,” she said quickly. “Show you the ropes.”
Bianca looked at Emma, and couldn’t help a sneer of disgust at Emma’s big fake tits and childish workstation. “I know how to make coffee,” she said, and set off for the coffee machine before Emma could stop her.
Emma cringed as Bianca returned and gave Tim his coffee.
Tim took it in good grace, and then said, “Honeybee, go take a break, would you? I want you back in an hour.”
“Sure, Tim!” said Bianca brightly, and Emma winced again, watching her leave.
Afterwards, Tim just looked at Emma. Emma felt herself shrinking down. She knew what he wanted.
“Sir, you need to punish me,” she said. “I’m so sorry for being a stupid slut who didn’t make Bianca do things right. You need to slap my face six times because she kept not calling you sir. You need to whip my fuckmelons with a belt sixty times because of all the times she was disrespectful…”
Emma’s voice quavered and trailed off. “Sir,” she said, “I don’t think I can *take* sixty hits on my udders…”
Tim was silent. He just waited.
Eventually, Emma continued. “And you need to spank my pussy, because I was sitting there with dildos in my holes like a dumb bitch while she was disrespecting you,” Emma finished, quietly.
“Good girl,” said Tim. “Strip.”
“Sir?” asked Emma. “My tits…”
“It will hurt a very great deal, Sugar-Tits,” said Tim. “I suggest you begin masturbating to help with the pain.” He was smiling.
As Emma undressed in front of Tim, and then knelt on the ground, cupping her tits for him to abuse, she thought back to when she had joined Kavenagh & True. She had been a bright, innocent young woman just like Bianca, eager to do a good job and afraid of fucking up.
Back then, an older woman had taken her under her wing. Lindy Kavenagh, wife of firm founder George Kavenagh, had showed Emma the ropes, given her good advice, told her she could succeed if she worked hard and didn’t take shit from men. It was literally because of Lindy’s help that Emma had become the executive who had championed the diversity policy that had gotten her into all of this.
Bianca needed a mentor just like Emma had had. She needed someone to build her up, and tell her to be proud of herself.
And then Tim started whipping her. Hard, without mercy. Emma tried not to scream, but after the third strike Tim had to stuff her panties into her mouth to keep her quiet.
As Tim brutalised her new plastic tits, and Emma started to cry, she knew she would do anything - *anything* - to avoid feeling pain like this again. She couldn’t believe that Bianca had been such a disrespectful little skank and gotten her into this position. The girl would have to be taught. She would need to learn to answer to the name “Honeybee”, and go without panties, and accept sexual molestation as a compliment.
Tim had said that Bianca had to do anything Emma said. Emma could slap her. Emma could undress her. Emma could whip the girl’s tiny little inferior tits, and pass on every bit of pain that Tim was giving her.
She just needed to get through two weeks of this. Then her policy would show its true merit, and she could have revenge on Tim, and get back all of her status. It was unfair for Bianca that she would have to spend these two weeks learning to be a good little slut like Emma had, but it was a sacrifice in the name of a greater good. It wasn’t a betrayal of her ideals to turn Bianca into a brainless little sex-muffin - it was really very feminist, a step on a path to a higher victory.
It was with these thoughts in her head that she orgasmed on the fortieth blow to her tits, and the fifty first, and then again on the sixtieth, and when Tim got out his cock afterwards, she began to suckle on it eagerly, a pacifier to soothe the agony in her fuckbags. She knew that after Tim came, it would be her cunt’s turn to feel the belt, and so she was careful to give Tim an excruciatingly long, pleasurable oral servicing.
After all, she wanted Bianca to return while she was still sucking Tim’s cock. She wanted Bianca to see her nude, kneeling with a mouthful of her boss’ dick.
Because if there was one thing that was obvious, it was that the girl needed a role model.