Emma's Policy

Part 4

by All These Roadworks

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

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Emma’s Policy, Part 4
Story by All These Roadworks (2021).
It was the start of the eighth week since Tim had discovered just how much money Emma’s feminist diversity policy was costing the firm of Kavenagh & True.  Each week she had agreed to a degrading rule from Tim, to buy his silence on the failure of her policy, hoping that the numbers would turn around.
The numbers had not turned around.  Tim had summoned her to his office.  He had asked her to bring him a report - a summary of the progress of *his* policy, which appeared to be a policy of turning Emma into the company slut.
She looked down at the report she had prepared as she walked carefully towards Tim’s office in her eight-inch stripper heels.
To increase my value to the company, I am required to obey the following rules
  • Address all men as “sir”.
  • Respond to demeaning names like “sugar-tits” as if they are my name.
  • Dress for work in sexy underwear, short skirts, high heels, and cleavage-emphasising tops.
  • Don’t resist or complain when men sexually harass me - it’s a compliment!
  • Only sit in one of two ways - kneeling in front of the man I am talking to, or in a chair with my skirt pulled to my waist and my legs spread.
  • Ask permission from a male to (a) use the toilets; (b) take a break; (c) go home; or (d) put on, remove or rearrange my clothing while in the office. If I am refused permission, I must wait at least 10 minutes before asking another man.
  • Call attention to my fuckability. My body language must emphasise my slut-tunnel and my rape-balloons.  My spoken conversation must put the thought of raping me into the mind of any man I speak to.
In addition, the company has graciously made renovations to my office.  The walls are glass, allowing men to observe me at work.  There is a dildo on my chair, which I must insert into my pussy in order to use the seat.  There are pornographic photos on my desk, and my computer desktop background is a series of pictures of myself, showing me masturbating, with educational phrases overlaid.
Further, my male subordinates are helping me learn to write my work communications so they use language more appropriate to my gender, such as referring to my udders as “rape-balloons” instead of breasts, and referring to my gender as “dumb sluts”.
So far the program is very successful and represents a stroke of genius by its originator, Tim.  I fully endorse the indefinite extension of the program and feel I would benefit from having the restrictions on my behaviour expanded.
Emma absolutely did NOT endorse any continuation of these rules, but Tim had asked for the last paragraph specifically.  It was going to go in his files, which would all be presented to the board if the stats on Emma’s diversity program didn’t turn around by the end of the quarter.  She only had five weeks left before that deadline.
She entered Tim’s office, and closed the door behind her, grateful that Tim, at least, had some privacy in his workspace.  She crossed the floor to Tim’s desk, placed her report in front of him, then knelt at his feet, cupping her breasts in her hands, and waited for him to acknowledge her.
He pretended to ignore her for a few moments, and then swivelled his chair with a sigh to face her.
“Good morning, cunt,” he said.
She flushed.  She hated that, even after several weeks, the casually degrading names everyone now used for her still made her blush.  She knew that men enjoyed seeing her embarrassment, and wished she could avoid giving them the satisfaction - but she couldn’t.  Each insult was like a little kick to her soul - and, even more embarrassingly, ever insult produced an eager little throb in her cunt.
“Good morning, sir,” she said.  “Do I look sufficiently fuckable today?”  She had to put the thought of raping her into his mind at some point in their conversation, and she preferred to get it out of the way early - although she was sure he didn’t need any help from her to turn his mind to sexually degrading her.
“You’re adequate,” he said.  “Your fuckbags could stand to be bigger.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said.  “I’m sorry they’re not larger.”
“I’m sure it’s no surprise to you that your ridiculous pro-female policies still show no sign of being profitable,” said Tim.
It wasn’t really any surprise, but it was bad news regardless.  She bit her lip anxiously.  “I’m sorry, sir,” she said.
“I assume you’re still not ready for me to tell the board what a failure you are?” he asked her.
She wasn’t.  She’d come this far.  If it was going to show results, the last month of the quarter was when it would happen.  She still had hope.  “No, sir,” she said.
“Do you want to tell me about the other thing that happened this week?” he asked.
She did not.  She pursed her lips and remained silent.
“I’m told that you seduced six men in the Human Resources section into having sex with you right there in the public workspace,” said Tim.  “I’m told you encouraged them to ejaculate in your pussy, anus and mouth.  I’m told that you orgasmed.  And all this after spending an entire day begging men for permission to masturbate in the toilets.”
The shame was intense.  Emma looked downward, unable to make eye contact, her face flaming, wishing she was elsewhere, wishing she was dead.
It wasn’t entirely true, of course.  She hadn’t seduced them.  They had raped her.  The whole HR area had gang-raped her.  Only - had they?  She had been so wet *before* they started.  And she hadn’t been wearing panties.  She’d left them in the toilet, because she’d taken them off to masturbate and been so horny she’d forgotten to put them back on.  And she *had* orgasmed.
Whenever she thought about it, it threatened to blot out all other thoughts.  She had once been a feared, respected junior executive in this firm.  She had been far above any of the men who had just fucked her.  The idea that she had been raped by multiple cocks, right in the middle of the open-plan office, by co-workers, and that she had not only let it happen but *orgasmed*, was so overwhelmingly shameful that it caused a discontinuity in her thoughts.  Surely the woman that this had happened to was not the same woman who had been on top of the world only a couple of months ago?  Either the rape wasn’t real, or the memory of being a professional woman wasn’t, surely.

She knew that they were both true - but it wasn’t a comforting thought.  It wasn’t one she liked. 
“What do you think would normally happen to a woman who had public sex with co-workers during work hours?” asked Tim.
Emma felt like she might cry.  “She’d be fired, sir,” she said.  “And she wouldn’t get a good reference.”
“Well, not good in the areas she wanted, anyway,” laughed Tim.  “But don’t worry, Emma, you’re not going to be fired.”
She felt a surge of relief.  “Thank you, sir,” she said, and the gratitude was genuine.
“But you are going to need to be disciplined, and it will go on your formal file,” said Tim.  “I want a formal description of what happened in my inbox by the end of the day.  It should indicate the truthful position that it was all your fault, and absolve your co-workers of any responsibility.  Make sure to include clear pictures of all the parts of your body that they used.”
Emma blanched.  But she knew she was lucky.  If Tim hadn’t wanted to play his cruel game with her, she really would have been fired for what had happened.  In a perverse way, she was fortunate to be the subject of his abuse right now, and she knew that now was not the time to object or argue.
“As for your rule for this week,” said Tim, “it’s clear that you need a more direct kind of discipline to keep your wanton whorishness in line.  From now on, if a man believes that you have been a slut, he may, of his own initiative, give you ten spanks with a ruler or his hand to your exposed cunt.  If he thinks you have been insufficiently respectful or pleasing to a man, he may give you either an immediate slap across the face, or ten blows with a belt or his hand to your exposed breasts.  And if your work performance has been poor, or you’ve just been generally difficult, stupid, or disobedient, he may give you twenty spanks to your buttocks with any implement of his choice.”
Her eyes were wide with horror.  The idea of exposing her breasts or pussy to a man on command was bad enough - letting him *hit* her there was worse!
“Oh, don’t look like that, sugar-tits,” said Tim.  “You’ll only be disciplined if you’re bad.  All you have to do is please men without being a slut, and perform your job well, and no one will have cause to punish you.”
She whimpered.  She wanted to beg for mercy, but feared that would make it worse.
“Oh,” said Tim, “and you’re probably wondering how men will *know* to do this to you.  That’s a good question for such a dumb cunt.  I thought about how much fun you’d have if I just sent out a company-wide email…”
She pictured it, and quivered with shame.
“... but then I came up with a better idea,” he said.  “You’re going to go to every man in the company, one at a time, and beg them to do this to you.  Not tell them they can.  Not ask.  Beg.  Like your career depends on getting them to agree to punish you.”  Tim paused.  “Because it kind of does, sugar-tits.”
She didn’t want to do that, didn’t want to think about doing that.  “May I go, sir?” she asked.
He sighed - and slapped her across the face.  She gasped.
“No,” he said.  “You may not go.  And the slap is for thinking that it’s your place to ask, instead of my place to dismiss you.  You haven’t thanked me for doing this to you yet.”
She was not so far degraded that she couldn’t feel anger at this idea, but she suppressed it, gritting her teeth.  “Thank you, sir,” she said, quietly.
He shook his head.  “No, that’s not right,” he said.
“Thank you for making me beg my male co-workers to spank my fuckhole, ass and rape-balloons,” she said.
Tim laughed.  “That’s better,” he said - and then unzipped his pants, and took out his thick, erect cock.  “But I want you to *thank* me.”
She stared at his cock, then looked up at him, hoping for a reprieve that she knew wasn’t coming.  Tim only waited.  And so, resigned, she leaned forward and began to suck on Tim’s cock.
“There’s a good little cocksleeve,” cooed Tim, stroking her hair as she sucked on him.  She did her best to please him.  When he neared orgasm, he reached out and grabbed her hair, and began using it as handles to violently face-fuck her, pumping into her throat as she coughed and gagged and tried to pull away, until eventually he ejaculated hot sperm into her mouth.
She felt a little pride that she managed to swallow it all.  Not so much as a drop drooled from her mouth onto her dress or breasts.
Tim nodded as he pulled out of her, then said, “Take off your panties, lie on my desk, pull up your skirt and spread your legs.”
“What?” asked Emma, surprised.  She had just pleased him, surely.  Wasn’t her ordeal temporarily over?
“You just sucked my cock like a slut,” said Tim.  “You need your slut punishment, remember?”
“Please, no!” she begged - and gasped when he slapped her again.
“I can keep slapping you,” said Tim, “or I can tell the board how much money you’ve cost this company, or I can have you fired, or you can get up on the desk and do as you’re told.  Which is it going to be, fuckpig?”
She blinked back tears, and took a deep breath.  Then - “The desk, sir.  I’m sorry, sir.”  She stood, pulled down her panties, and climbed up on the desk as she had been told.
The position confirmed her humiliation, because with her cunt exposed to Tim’s gaze it was clear that her pussy was very, very wet - as it always was when she was degraded.  Tim didn’t comment on it, and neither did Emma. 
“Ask for it,” said Tim.
“Please spank my rapehole ten times because I acted like a slut, sir,” said Emma.
Tim complied.  He showed some mercy - he used his hand.  Emma had been eyeing the wooden ruler lying on one side of Tim’s desk with apprehension, but he never reached for it.  It *hurt*.  Emma wasn’t sure how much was pain, and how much was shock.  She had never been deliberately hit in her naked cunt before, and the fact she was lying here spreading her legs for it, not trying to defend herself, did something strange to her mind. 
Each slap was a little like being fucked.  Each slap was a little like when her father had spanked her naked bottom as a girl.  Each slap was a little like masturbating.  Each slap was a little like being called a cunt and a bitch and a fuckpig.
She got wetter on the first slap, wetter still on the second.  By the third slap, she was so soaked that each impact made a wet squelching sound.  She started to moan on the sixth slap, because she knew what was about to happen, but Tim showed no mercy, and so on the eight slap she was powerless to stop herself - she orgasmed. 
And then orgasmed again on the tenth slap.
When she climbed down from the desk she was crying, not from pain - for the pain hadn’t been *that* bad - but from the shame of knowing what a slut she was.
Tim kept her panties.  She didn’t even notice.

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