Lachlan had let Sarah go for three weeks without finding a reason for her to surrender anything further.  He had, at times, wondered if he even *needed* to do anything further to the pretty blonde bitch.  She was doing a wonderful job of betraying her gender and transforming herself into a slut without any further intervention, it seemed.

 

The “It’s OK To Look Pretty” campaign was progressing forward nicely.  One of the key posters had been enlarged to fill the wall near the water cooler in the open-plan office area.  It showed a curvy woman with dyed blonde hair and giant fake tits.  She was kneeling, wearing nothing but a bikini, and cupping her breasts to offer them up to the viewer.

 

“This Is What A Successful Woman Looks Like”, read the poster’s text.

 

Another, smaller, poster depicted celebrity women’s rights campaigner Katalyn Brovard.  She was famous for stridently declaring that no woman needed a man in her life - but here she was, completely naked, with her hands and arms artfully covering her nude tits and pussy.  “Even Feminists Like Looking Pretty,” read the text.

 

(Katalyn hadn’t wanted to pose for this photo, even with the ridiculous cash that the Department had offered her to take part, but the Minister had made some enquiries, and an anonymous call had been made to her suggesting that the police were considering looking into certain indiscretions from her time in college, and just like that Katalyn had agreed to do the humiliating photo shoot.)

 

Many of the women in the office were dressing more attractively now, too - those who had always wanted the opportunity to look sexier, and those who sensed which way the political wind was blowing in the department.  Skirts were shorter, blouses were tighter, make-up was sexier, and high heels were everywhere.

 

Not every woman in the department was happy with this direction.  In fact, nearly half were not.  But for the time being there was little they could do about it.  And with every day, as their colleagues dressed sexier, these dissenters stood out more and more, in their plain, professional outfits.

 

Lachlan had watched with delight as Sarah had attempted to complete her usual workload, while concealing that she had a plug in her anus, or a vibrator buzzing in her pussy, or clamps on her nipples, or her tits in bondage.  He watched her struggle to avoid revealing that she couldn’t say the word “breasts”, but only its demeaning derivatives.  

 

He had observed as she struggled to retain her identity despite the fact that she was using her former feminist texts as toilet paper; that she was listening to misogyny every morning and evening in her car; that she was eating meals flavoured with sperm; and that she was watching an hour of rape porn every night at home.

 

But he couldn’t resist doing more to her.  He had noticed her retreating to her office in the afternoons and closing her door and drawing the blinds, and staying a little late until everyone had gone home, so today he waited until a little after 5 pm, and then pushed his way into her office, closing the door behind him.

 

Just as he had thought, she had her skirt pulled up to her waist, and she was masturbating.  She had a thick plug stuffed in her anus, and her blouse was unbuttoned to show the heavy weights hanging from her nipples by clamps, which bounced up and down painfully with the energetic motions of her masturbation.

 

She didn’t even notice him come in at first, but when she did, she tried to stop masturbating.

 

“Oh, no,” he said, “keep going.  After all, you’ve already broken the Code of Conduct, don’t you think?”

 

“What?” she said.  “No….”  But her hands were already going back to her pussy, eager to bring her to her release.

 

“Masturbating in your office, Kitten?” he said.  “Do you think that’s consistent with the Code of Conduct?  And nobody made you do it.  I certainly didn’t make you do it.  This wasn’t one of your rules, was it?”

 

She whimpered.

 

“Keep rubbing your cunt, Kitten,” he said, “but you’re not allowed to cum until you tell me what you’re surrendering.”

 

She made a squeaky sound of distress and humiliation.

 

“In the past you’ve mostly made these decisions sober,” Lachlan said.  “You’ve made sensible decisions.  But I wonder what you’ll give up when you’re horny.”

 

He looked around.  

 

On one wall was another of the posters from the new campaign.  It showed a woman with fake tits, with her hair in pigtails, wearing nothing but a pink bikini and sitting behind a desk.  “This Is What A Female Manager Looks Like,” said the poster.

 

“I like the decoration,” said Lachlan, smiling.

 

“Please,” said Sarah.  “Please.”

 

“Please, what?” asked Lachlan.  “Are you going to ask for me to not do this again?  You know it’s not me.  You’re going to do it to yourself.”

 

“No,” she whimpered.  “Please let me cum before I have to think.”

 

“I don’t think so, Kitten,” said Lachlan.  “And again, that’s not me.  Tell me - do you really believe that you deserve to cum first?”

 

She did not.  He could see it in her eyes.

 

“So what will it be, Kitten?” he said.  “If you choose something interesting, I might give you a little reward.  Maybe body shape?  Are you ready to get nice big fake tits yet?  Or your reproductive system?  I’d love to put a baby inside you, and you’d look cute with leaky tits and a big baby belly…”

 

She made a distressed noise.  She looked like she might cry, but she was still furiously masturbating.

 

“What will it be, Kitten?” he said.  “Don’t take too long.  After all, you need to cum, don’t you?  The sooner you choose, the sooner you can cum.”

 

She wanted to resist him, he saw - but not as much as she wanted - no, needed - to orgasm.  The constant confusion, and the constant sensory focus on her tits and cunt, had taken their toll.

 

“Well?” he asked.

 

“My friends,” she gasped.

 

His eyes widened in surprise.  Did she not realise what he could do with this?  Or was she being deliberately self-destructive, in the throes of her lust?  

 

It didn’t matter.  It was done now.  He could see it in her eyes - the feeling of the hypnotic treatment setting in, enforcing the surrender.  Everything in her life that fell under the category of “friends” was now in Lachlan’s control.

 

“Good girl,” he told her.  “You can cum now.  Cum like the slut you are.”

 

And she did, immediately, pushing a hand into her mouth to stop herself from squealing as she began to buck, and shake, with the force of her orgasm. 

 

He reached out and stroked her hair with one hand as he watched her humiliate herself.

 

“I want you to hold a party, Kitten,’ he told her.  “As soon as you can.  For all your friends.  So that I can meet them.”

 

She looked at him nervously.  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

 

“Just meet them,” said Lachlan.  “And see who they are, and how they fit into your life.  I’m going to… improve some of your friendships.  And find you some new friends.  And probably some of your old friends are going to have to go.  But you knew that when you surrendered it to me, surely?”

 

She said nothing.

 

“But I’m pleased that you chose something interesting to surrender, Kitten,” he told her, “so I’m giving you a reward.  I’m going to let you off the hook for my rules about the clamps and butt plugs and so on.”

 

She looked genuinely grateful,  “Thank you, sir,” she said.

 

“So from now on you don’t have to follow those strict rules,” he told her.  “After all, they were pretty confusing.  You just have to make your own choice every day to wear something that hurts and degrades you, and focuses your attention on your tits and/or cunt.  It’s entirely up to you what that is.”

 

He smiled.  “In fact, it would be unethical not to.  For a woman like you, to go around without degrading and hurting yourself, it would be bitchy and sinful.  You’d feel very guilty.  Wouldn’t you?”

 

And he watched as the new ethical information settled into her.  There was a glimmer of a tear in one of her eyes as she realised she *believed* this now, deep down.

 

“Yes, sir,” she said, quietly.

 

“Just anything that makes you feel inferior and slutty,” he said.  “And which keeps you thinking about your tits or pussy all day, either because they’re stimulated or in pain or both.”

 

He thought of something, and added, “Oh, and when you’re away from work, your outfit should focus the attention of *others* on your tits and pussy too.”

 

“Yes, sir,” said Sarah again.

 

“You look like you’re about to cry, Sarah,” he told her.  “You’re pretty when you cry.  I think I’d like to see you cry.”  He pointed at the floor near her chair.  “Why don’t you stand up and do some jumping jacks for me, until those weights hanging off your nipples bring you to tears?”

 

“No!” she objected. 

 

And he liked that.  There was still much to break in her.  Her growing confusion and slutty behaviour might be suppressing it a little, but it was still there.

 

“Well, you have two choices, Sarah,” he told her.  “Either you can do those jumping jacks, or I can play with your  ethics a bit more.  I’ve got lots of ideas.”

 

She hesitated still, clearly not wanting to deliberately hurt herself until she was in tears.  But it was a mistake, because Lachlan wasn’t bluffing.

 

“Okay, here’s one for you,” he said.  “The most bitchy and unethical thing a woman can ever do, ever, is to stand up for the rights, independence or dignity of another woman.  Am I right?”

 

She physically flinched at his words - but she had no defence against his control of her ethics.  “Yes,” she breathed.  “I’m so sorry.  I know I’ve done that in the past, but - what am I saying?  I don’t believe - but I do…”

 

She was going to cry just from this, in a minute, but he didn’t want her to get away with disobeying him.

 

“Jumping jacks, Kitten,” he snapped.  “Now.”

 

She reluctantly stood up, and began bouncing, jumping off the ground, spreading her legs and arms and then bringing them together.  Each bounce made the weights on her tits fly up into the air, and then yank down again with agonising force.

 

It didn’t take long for the tears to come, and once they did he grabbed one of the tit weights, and used it to pull her forward and down into a kneeling position.  He sat in her chair, and adjusted his pants to take out his cock, and then guided her head down onto it.

 

“There’s a good kitten,” he sighed, as she sobbed, and sucked his cock.  He stroked her hair.  There was something that was just more satisfying about a blowjob when the woman was crying.

 

“You deserve this, Kitten,” he whispered to her as she sucked.  “You know you do.”  

 

And after some time, he allowed himself to cum in her mouth, grabbing her head and forcing her down on his groin so she couldn’t escape.  There would be no saving this sperm for her next meal.  Lachlan wanted to ejaculate down Sarah’s throat, with no care for her own preferences or comfort, and that was exactly what he did.

 

When he was done he allowed her to pull back, coughing, her cheeks streaked with tears and her nose snotty.  He passed her the box of tissues on her desk to clean up.

 

“Now, I think you need to do something about those bitches in the department that aren’t on board with your new policies,” said Lachlan.  “If you let them just continue brooding, eventually one of them is going to go to the media, or the union, or otherwise cause you problems.  You need to bring them into line, or get rid of them.”

 

“How?” asked Sarah, her voice tear-choked and pathetic.

 

“Well,” said Lachlan.  “Let me tell you about a little loophole in our Human Resources policies.  You see, normally if you make a complaint about an employee, your name gets attached to it, and the employee gets a right of reply.  But as of last year - well, actually, this was your idea.  Do you remember how you changed that policy?”

 

Sarah was clearly struggling to think, but after a moment, it came to her.  “Sexual assaults and harassment in the office,” she said, finally.

 

“That’s right,” said Lachlan.  “And what happens with those?”

 

“Those kind of complaints are anonymous,” said Sarah.  “And they go on the employee’s file, and even the employee isn’t allowed to see them.  And if they get three complaints they’re automatically fired.  It was to encourage women to come forward without fear of reprisals…”

 

“That’s right,” said Lachlan.  “So all you have to do is make three anonymous complaints against each of these women, and they’ll be fired for sexual misconduct.  They won’t even know why - but their next employer will, if they ever dare to ask for a referral, or go somewhere else in the public service.  And because of your position, you can enter your complaints directly onto the HR database.”

 

“I had that access in case an employee came to me with their complaint…” said Sarah, slowly.

 

“That’s right,” Lachlan said, “and you can make up as many imaginary employees with imaginary complaints as you want.”

 

She thought about that for a while.  “But…” she said, finally.  “Doing that would be against the Code of Conduct.”

 

“That’s right,” said Lachlan.  “You absolutely shouldn’t do it.  And I’m not ordering you to.  But think about your ethics, Sarah.  These women are making a stand against your policy based on their beliefs about the rights and dignity of women.  Do they *deserve* to be employed here?”

 

Sarah whimpered.  As a result of the changes Lachlan had just made to her ethics, she believed they did not.  And yet a strong part of her was aware that Lachlan had *done* that to her, and that she had previously believed something else, and that she would once have been horrified at the thought of firing a woman for being too much of a feminist, let alone making false sexual harassment allegations against her.

 

“I’ll just leave that in your hands,” said Lachlan.  “Just something to think about.”

 

And then he stood, and departed her office, leaving her mostly naked with weight on her nipples, a plug in her ass, and the taste of his cum in her mouth.  

 

That night she would drive home in her pink bimbo car with a dildo in her pussy, and she would eat her cum-flavoured meal and watch her rape porn, and then sleep, and return the next day.

 

And she would try to resist Lachlan’s suggestion.  She would tell herself that nobody was making her do that, and that it would be stupid to do it, and that it would get her in trouble with Lachlan - and maybe even the law, if anyone found out.

 

And then she would see one of her subordinates glaring at her, wearing a frumpy traditional business suit, and she would remember that standing up for the dignity and rights of women was the most evil, bitchy, unethical thing that a woman could do.

 

And then she would go back to her office, and open the Human Resources database, and begin detailing an imaginary report by an imaginary woman about how the subordinate in question had once pressed her up against the wall in the women’s toilets and groped her pussy…

 

(TO BE CONTINUED)