Emma's Policy

Part 3

by All These Roadworks

Tags: #cw:noncon #D/s #dom:male #f/m #humiliation #office #sub:female #bimbofication #blackmail #exec2sec

Emma’s Policy, Part 3
Story by All These Roadworks (2021).
If you enjoy this story, you can support its creation by buying the complete novella for only $3.99 from my creator store!  (Click here to view in store.)
When she returned to her desk, Emma discovered the “renovations” that Tim had talked about.
First of all, the solid opaque partitions around her office had been replaced with glass.  The whole floor could see into her office now. 
However, in an act of mercy, an additional panel had been installed on her desk.  If she was sitting at the desk, with her chair pulled all the way up to it, no one should be able to see her pussy - although they would surely notice if she tried to masturbate.
When she went inside, she discovered the next change.  In the middle of her office chair, there was now a thick plastic phallus sticking upwards and back, at a slight angle - a dildo.  She blushed.  She had no doubt where it was intended to go.  It would be difficult to sit on the chair at all without sliding it into her pussy.  Tim hadn’t told her she had to - but she did still have to work, and she had *no* doubt she was not allowed to swap this modified chair for a normal one.
She looked around.  No one was looking.  Awkwardly, she tried to sit in the chair while avoiding the dildo - but it was no use.  She couldn’t fit her entire ass between it and the back of the chair - and if she tried to move forward it poked lewdly at her anus.
Blushing again - it seemed like all she ever did now was blush - she lifted her skirt, twitched the crotch of her panties to one side, and let the dildo part her cunt lips and push into her pussy as she slowly lowered herself onto it.  In truth, it felt good - really good.  She couldn’t help but sigh as she felt the plastic fill her wet fuckhole.  Then, quickly, she scooted the chair up to the desk, so she couldn’t be seen.
It was here that she encountered the next change.  Two photo frames had been placed on her desk, where another woman might have pictures of her husband and children.  In one, a nude blonde bimbo with fake tits was kneeling, cupping her tits, and smiling, with her legs slightly parted to show a shaved, wet cunt.  She was wearing a dog collar, and a chain leash hung down between her tits, its handle resting on the floor between her legs.
The other photo showed two naked bimbos tongue-kissing.  Their tongues were extended from their mouths, entwined around each other.  Their eyes were closed.  Their oversized boobs were crushed against each other.  And there was a sticky white fluid in one girl’s hair, dripping down off her face - a droplet had landed on the entwined tongues - and then splattering on the tits of both girls.  It was cum.  Some man had ejaculated over these two bimbo lesbians.
Her face went bright red as she saw them, and her first instinct was to turn them face down, and try to hide them.  She couldn’t have porn at her desk!  Especially such slutty porn! 
Except Tim had had them put here deliberately.  This was no accident.  Clearly, he wanted them here, right where she could see them.  He wanted them to be in her field of vision all day long.  Reluctantly, she blushed, and left them alone.
Then, when she turned on the computer, she got her final shock.  The desktop wallpaper had been replaced with an image from footage Tim had filmed of her masturbating in the toilet.  It showed her on the toilet, her head tilted back to make her face clearly identifiable, her legs spread, her cunt visible, her fingers buried in her fuckhole.  Beneath the image, in clear, large letters, were the words, “I GOT WET FROM BEING CALLED A RAPE-PIG.”
As she watched, the image refreshed.  It was the same humiliating photo of her masturbating, but now the words said, “I MASTURBATE IN THE TOILETS LIKE A WHORE.”
She went into the computer settings and tried to change the background, but she didn’t have the user privileges to do it.  She was stuck with it. She noted it was set to refresh every ten minutes with a new image from the server - she presumed there were many versions of the image, each with a different degrading subtitle.  She felt embarrassed that they were on the server - had IT seen these images?  Had Tim shown people the footage? 
She could at least open an application, she thought, and enlarge it to fill the desktop - except that she soon discovered that when the desktop changed, it tabbed her out of her application so she could see the new text.  “I SPREAD MY LEGS FOR MEN AND LIKE IT.”  She blushed, and reopened the document she was working on.
She had her first taste of her new rules on language a little while later.  She had sent a document to the printer.  With some regret, she eased herself off her chair dildo, and walked out of her office to the printer - but her document was nowhere to be seen.
The man closest to the printer was Jules - tall, and quite attractive, but very junior in the office.
She walked over to him - and paused.  Should she kneel beside him?  Or bend at the waist?
She knelt.  “Excuse me, sir,” she said.
Jules didn’t pay attention to her. 
She blushed.  “Sir?” she asked.
Still no answer. 
Reluctantly, she stood, and bent at the waist, putting her elbows on Jules’ desk.  Her skirt rode up at the back, and she knew she was exposing her (quite wet) panties to half the office.  Her tits swung downwards, and she was terrified one was going to fall free of her bra and top. 
“Excuse me, sir,” she said. 
Jules turned to look at her - and she blushed, as he was staring straight at her tits. 
“What is it, cunt?” he said.  “Wow, you look like a pornographic Barbie in that pose, only less intelligent.”
She fumed at the insult, but said, “Thank you, sir!” as she was required to.  And then, because she was required to put the idea of fucking her into his head, she said, “Do you think I’d be a *good* pornographic Barbie?”
He laughed.  “You might be fun to play with,” he said, and from her vantage point she couldn’t help see a growing erection appearing in his pants.  Mission accomplished, she thought.
“Anyway, I’m wondering if you’ve seen the document I printed, sir?”  she asked.
“Oh, yes,” he said.  “It looked like it was written by a child, so I threw it in the bin.  Maybe you’d better fix it and print it again.”
She felt a surge of anger – dangerous anger – and bit her lip, controlling herself.  “May I ask what was wrong with it, sir?” she said, her voice struggling to be respectful.
“Well, you kept talking about how to make our products appeal to women, when I think you meant to say how to make them appeal to dumb sluts,” said Jules.  “Maybe do a search and replace.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Emma. 
“That’s all right,” said Jules.  “I’ll check your printing from now on and make sure you’re don’t make any more errors like that.”
And he did.  Emma went back to her desk, re-impaled herself on the dildo, search-replaced “woman” to “dumb slut” and re-printed, and Jules let her collect the document - but from that point on, she found her output being policed by Jules.  She learned to type “fuckballoons” or “rapemelons” instead of “breasts”, and “rapehole” or “slut-tunnel” instead of “vagina”.  She also learned to rephrase how she presented her ideas - she wasn’t allowed to say “I think” or “in my opinion” - because she didn’t have thoughts or opinions.  She wasn’t allowed to follow any opinion or statement of a man with anything that contradicted it.  Whenever any bad idea, failure or less-than-perfect success was associated with a woman, she had to mention that fact, name the woman, and call her a dumb cunt.  And when she explained the motivations of any woman, she had to do it in a degrading way.
On Tuesday of the week, she found herself giving a presentation at a meeting to senior executives.  Sitting at the meeting table with her skirt bunched around her waist, her legs spread, and the crotch of her panties soaking wet, she said, “I think we have a real opportunity to expand our market share with dumb cunts.”  One of her hands was cupping her left tit, and the other was toying with the cleavage-line of her dress, tugging at it idly.  She noted that the men in the room were looking at her tits, not her face, and she felt a surge of accomplishment.
“If we more aggressively target the dumb cunt market,” she continued, “we could sell a lot more products, because dumb cunts like myself are stupid and we think with our rapeholes.  We haven’t explored this option in the past because Jackie in marketing, who is a pointless slut with ugly small rapemelons, was too stupid to think of it.”  And then, to make sure the thought of fucking her was in their heads: “If I was that dumb, I’d probably deserve to be held down and raped.”
Everyone laughed at her - but approvingly.  It was the kind of supportive mockery one might direct at a stupid but beloved pet, and it actually felt kind of good.  She felt a little warm and fuzzy that she had entertained the men.  And then they agreed to implement her plan, as well - after re-explaining it in more intelligent language than she had been capable of.
She came out of the meeting dripping wet, and she stopped at the first man she saw, bending at the waist.  This time one of her breasts *did* pop out of her dress, and she panicked with embarrassment as she stuffed it back into her top.  She knew she should be even more embarrassed, but her pussy was so wet.
“Please, sir,” she begged, “may I go to the toilet and piss?  I’ll need to take off my panties and put them back on again when I’m done.”  Except that wasn’t why she *really* wanted to go - and she had to make him picture fucking her anyway, so - “And may I also masturbate my pussy while I’m in there, sir?”
“Sure,” said the man, staring at her tits.  “But you’re not allowed to cum.”
She moaned with disappointment.  She could wait 10 minutes and ask a different man - but she couldn’t bear the thought of not touching her cunt for another 10 minutes.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, and ran to the toilet.
Except masturbation without release did nothing to help her.  She fingerfucked herself desperately, coming close to orgasm several times and forcing herself to stop.
After ten minutes, she pulled up her panties and staggered out of the toilet to a nearby man.  “Please, sir,” she said.  “I was just masturbating in the toilets but I wasn’t allowed to cum.  Please can I go back in and finish?  I’ll need to take off my panties and put them back on again.”
“You can go,” said the man, “but you’re still now allowed to cum.”
She moaned with frustration - but went back in and spent another 10 minutes edging.  As soon as 10 minutes was up, she rushed back outside, bumping tits-first into a man from HR.
“Please, sir….” she said.
“You can keep masturbating,” he told her.  “But you can’t cum.”
She wanted to scream at him and punch him - but she went back.  She couldn’t think straight anymore.  She’d been masturbating for half an hour.  She needed to cum.  She thought about just doing it, and breaking the rules - but it felt so *wrong* to disobey Tim.  He told her what to do, and she did it, and it made her pussy wet, and it humiliated her like she deserved….
She emerged one last time, and staggered to a nearby desk, bending at the waist to lean on it.  Both her tits flopped out of her dress into full view, but she didn’t even notice.  “Please, sir,” she began, and then stopped.
People were laughing, and pointing - particularly people behind her.  Her pussy felt strangely cool.  And then she realised - she had taken off her panties for the last masturbation, but she had been so confused and horny she had forgotten to put them back on.  They were lying on the floor in the toilet.  And now, bending over, her skirt riding up her ass, her sopping wet naked pussy was fully visible to everyone beside her.
Her eyes widened, and she tried to straighten - but the man whose desk she was at grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her back down to the desk.  “Go on with what you were saying, slut,” he said.
She whimpered.  “Please sir, I left my panties in the bathroom.  May I go back and put them on?”
“No,” he said.  “Was there something else?”  He was still holding her hair.
Now she sensed someone moving up to stand behind her, and a moment later she felt a finger probing her cunt.  She yelped, and squirmed - but she wasn’t allowed to resist sexual harassment, and anyway there was little she could do with her hair being gripped like this.
“Please, sir…” she began again.
The finger pushed between her cunt lips and into her pussy.  Her words trailed off into a slutty moan.
“What was that, fuckpig?” said the man holding her hair.  There was laughter from throughout the office.
“Sir, I…” she started - but the man holding her hair now used his other hand to grab one of her exposed tits, and squeeze it, hard.  Her words were eclipsed by a squeak of pain - and then another, higher-pitched squeak.  He had taken a bulldog clip from his desk and clamped it onto her nipple.
She struggled to think straight.  This was wrong.  This was happening in the middle of the office in front of everyone.  She had to fix this, and set things back to how they should be.  She had to….
Then she heard an unmistakable sound from behind her - the sound of someone unzipping a zip.
She froze.  The laughter around her was intensifying, and there were some assorted cheers - “Do it!  Give it to her!”
And then, just like that, she felt a cock push into her pussy.
She orgasmed.  Right there, in front of the whole office, visibly and noisily, making a loud slutty moan that sounded more animal than human, her whole body shaking, her cunt spasming crazily around the invading phallus.  And when the unidentified man began thrusting into her slut-tunnel, she orgasmed again. 
I’m being raped, she thought.  I’m being raped by an anonymous man in front of all of my colleagues, and they’re all cheering for it to happen. 
And then - I orgasmed.  From rape. In front of everyone I work with. 
And then - I’m letting it happen.  I’m not resisting.  Oh god, there’s a *bulldog clip* on my nipple, and it hurts *so much* and I’m just holding still like a…
Like a good girl, her mind supplied, and to her horror she felt a little surge of pride because, yes, she *was* being a good girl, being a good little fucktoy for the men, a pleasant little sex decoration and a hole to use…
The thought made her orgasm again.
The man at the desk yanked on her tits, pulling her away from the desk, and she found her head descending towards the man’s lap - and, yes, he had his cock out too, and she only had a moment to see it before she instinctively opened her mouth and felt it slide over her tongue and bump against her tonsils. 
Like a good girl, she started to suck.

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