Lachlan had to admit that the office was a prettier place these days.  And it was Sarah who deserved the credit.

 

Having purged the Department of Women of feminists - or at least, of any woman who voiced opposition to Sarah’s new direction for the office - Sarah had begun to rehire to fill the empty position.  And she was actively seeking out women who were both traditionally beautiful and deeply incompetent.  Her ideal candidate was platinum blonde, with high heels, big fake tits, and a brain so tiny that it had trouble holding two ideas at the same time.

 

No matter what position these women were allegedly hired for, their duties would be the same - photocopying, note-taking, answering phones, and preparing drinks and snacks for the male employees.  They were instructed to refer to all male employees, at any level, as “sir”.

 

These hires had a dramatic effect on office culture.  Firstly, they made the remaining women insecure about their looks, as they were suddenly surrounded by gorgeous big-titted bimbos.  Many started deliberately dressing sexier to compete.  Others resigned, and that was fine too.  

 

Secondly, they changed the attitudes of the male staff.  The more women in the office that were pretty and stupid, the more than the men expected *all* the women to be pretty and stupid.  Women who had worked in senior policy roles at the department for years suddenly found that their opinions weren’t being asked for, and that their male colleagues were expecting them to bring them coffee and perform secretarial duties.

 

Sarah had also instituted a program of “enrichment activities” for the female staff.  Really, these were just games that the female employees were encouraged to play, but Lachlan and Sarah had both agreed the phrase “enrichment activities” contributed to a perception of women as animals, and that it was therefore the right phrase to use.

 

Each game had a winner, and one or more “losers”.  Any woman who didn’t take part was automatically a “loser”, or otherwise it was the worst-performing woman in the Department, and losers were rewarded with unpaid overtime doing menial and frustrating work.  The winners, on the other hand, got gift cards for stores selling lingerie, make-up, homemaking supplies, and sex toys.

 

Lachlan’s favourite “enrichment activity” was the beauty pageant every Wednesday in the office’s large lecture hall, where each female employee was encouraged to strut onto stage to show off their work attire.  They would be instructed to run their hands through their hair, cup their tits, bend at the waist to show off their cleavage and ass, and blow kisses.  The men would vote on which women were prettiest and ugliest - and the men routinely rewarded the women with the biggest tits, the skimpiest clothes, the shortest skirts, and the sluttiest attitudes.

 

It was an enormous pleasure for Lachlan to see women who had once been on a career path to being executives forced to squeeze their tits and pout desperately for male approval, hoping to establish themselves as that little bit more fuckable than their peers.

 

It was a poorly-kept secret that doing well in these pageants was important, because once each week Sarah was finding an excuse to fire a woman from among those deemed least attractive by the male staff.

 

Other enrichment activities included “Comedy Tuesdays”, where women were encouraged to submit their best blonde joke.  The winners were inevitably the jokes that were the most sexual and misogynistic, and the winning jokes were printed out in large print and hung on the office walls.

 

Comedy Tuesdays had become even better after Lachlan had filed an anonymous complaint that “blonde jokes” were unfair to blonde employees and exclusionary of other women - and so now Comedy Tuesdays involved “women jokes”, which were exactly like blonde jokes except that the word “blonde” was replaced by “woman”.

 

“What does a woman put behind her ears to make herself more attractive?” read a plaque in the corridor near the elevators, and it included the answer: “Her ankles.”

 

“How do you make a woman wet herself?” read a poster in the break room.  “Put her in a round room and tell her the bathroom is in the corner.”

 

“What’s the difference between a mosquito and a woman?” said a large sign in Sarah’s office.  “A mosquito stops sucking when you slap it.”

 

The female employees learned to always laugh at these jokes, and repeat them to other employees, because women who were seen looking sour and not laughing when such jokes were made were also in line to be fired.

 

Lachlan had some concern that this process might be too sexist for the office to get away with - but Sarah did an excellent job of explaining to anyone who asked that it was the *women* who had volunteered these jokes, so they clearly *couldn’t* be sexist.

 

“Why is a woman like a donut?” Sarah would ask after giving this explanation.  “Because they’re both begging to be filled with cream!”  And she would giggle - not a sound that Lachlan had told her to make, but something she had started doing herself, after she realised it deflected aggression and made her seem harmless.

 

And on Fridays was “Erotic Book Club”, which was theoretically to empower women by making them feel safe to discuss sexuality openly.  Each woman was required to give a synopsis and review of a piece of erotic literature she’d read in the past week - and again, this was judged by the men.

 

It quickly became clear that the men voted for women whose books sounded like things that they, the men, would enjoy.  Other things that increased a woman’s chances of winning were describing the sex scenes in lewd detail, and admitting that she, personally, had felt her cunt wetten while reading the book - or even that she’d masturbated to its contents.

 

This soon had women picking their reading choices to satisfy male fantasies, and consuming stories about bimbos with big tits being dominated, humiliated and raped by men, and claiming (truthfully or otherwise) that they had masturbated to those fantasies.

 

One of the best bits of all this for Lachlan was that with each new degradation Sarah visited upon her female staff, she came to him to explain it - and not just to keep him informed, but because she was desperate for his approval.  It was her new emotions.  She knew that he was abusing her - and the approval of men who mistreated her made her happy.  She hated it, but it was true.  She lusted for his approval.

 

Her new emotions were screwing with her in other ways, too.  She hated hearing her name now, and loved being called demeaning nicknames.  Actually, that wasn’t quite true - she hated demeaning nicknames, and blushed with humiliation to hear them.  But at the same time, they made her happy.

 

He had helped her out by beginning to publicly call her “sweetie” and “sugar-tits” in the office, and when the other male staff saw him getting away with it, they slowly began to act the same way.

 

And for the few holdouts who had kept calling her “Miss Rose”, Sarah had had a quiet, blushing conversation, where she had admitted that name made her uncomfortable, and it was fine to just call her “honey” or “babe”.

 

Sarah’s example in this regard had other effects, of course, and now it was rare to hear *any* female employee in the office called by her actual name.  Lachlan had helped with this, too, by quietly vanishing the name plates from the desks of female employees late one night.  He had also gotten HR to give the women new email addresses, that identified them by their position rather than their name, to better help the men of the office to forget the names of their female co-workers, and instead just refer to them as “the redhead” or “the one with the tits”.  He hoped that once everyone got used to this that he could redo the emails again, this time based on hair colour and bra size, so that a given woman might be “DDtits_blonde_03” or “Ctits_brunette_09”.

 

What was particularly impressive about Sarah’s success in this regard was how hard it was for her to *think* now.  Concentrating made her unhappy.  Letting her mind go blank made her happy.  She had every incentive in the world to just sit in her office like a placid big-titted cow and let the world go by - and yet the basic drive of her ambition, subverted to Lachlan’s misogynistic aims, was forcing her to work hard at humiliating women, no matter how uncomfortable it was to think hard about anything.

 

To go with her internal work, Sarah had come up with another outward-facing campaign for the Department to run, called “Be The Woman You Want To Be”.  It told girls that whatever type of woman they wanted to be, they were allowed to be it.  Theoretically empowering - except the specific examples that the Department ran alongside the campaign were stripper, sex worker, trophy wife, home-maker, and porn star.

 

There were advertising spots on the internet to go with these.  “I want to show men my tits,” said one woman, “and that’s okay!”

 

“I want to suck cock for money,” said another, “and that’s okay!”

 

“I want to be a sexy decoration for my husband,” said a third, “and that’s okay!”

 

It went hand-in-hand with an active campaign encouraging young women to drop out of school to pursue these careers.  School guidance counsellors were given brochures for local brothels and plastic surgeons to hand out to schoolgirls, and were advised to suggest to attractive girls with low grades that they might be biologically suited to fuck men for money.

 

“Some girls are just stupid,” said a poster displayed in those schools, “and that’s okay!”

 

None of this went unnoticed by the outside world.

 

On a day a couple of weeks after the campaign started, Sarah came to Lachlan’s office, shaking so badly that he leaped from his chair, worried she was suffering some kind of medical condition.

 

But it was nothing a hospital could help with - it was merely his mind control, tearing her apart.

 

She had tears in her eyes, but a desperate fragile smile on her lips.  He could tell she was sexually aroused, but at the same time she wanted to scream, or break something, or break *him*.

 

She showed him a newspaper.  It carried an opinion column.

 

The title of the column read: “SARAH ROSE: GENDER TRAITOR?”

 

The text of the column was a vicious takedown of everything that Sarah now was.  It started with outrage at the Department’s “misogynistic” new ad campaigns, and then moved on to questioning Sarah’s credentials as an executive, as a feminist, and as a woman.  

 

A photographer had caught a picture of Sarah in her full pink high-heeled cleavage-revealing bimbo outfit, outside her home on a weekend, as she tongue-kissed her blackmailed lesbian girlfriend Faith, while openly groping Faith’s tits.

 

The article implied that Sarah was a slut and a whore.  It questioned her intelligence and competence.  And it finished by suggesting that if Sarah was so keen to get young women to start careers in brothels, then maybe that was where she belonged herself.

 

Lachlan was alarmed by the article - did this spell the end of Sarah’s employment?  But he was more alarmed by Sarah herself.

 

“Tell me what’s going on in your head, Sarah,” he told her.

 

“This article… calls me a bimbo and… and a slut, and… and a gender traitor,” said Sarah, struggling to speak between panicked, gasping breaths that made her sound hysterical.  “It’s… it’s…”   

 

She shook her head, trying to separate out her thoughts.

 

Then she looked up at him, with big eyes.

 

“Are you pleased with me?” she asked, in a small, broken tone.

 

“Tell me what’s going on in your head, Sarah,” Lachlan replied.

 

“I feel sick,” said Sarah.  “The things in this article - I would have rather died than have them ever written about me.  The old me would have.  Before you…”

 

Before he had enslaved her mind.

 

“I feel so humiliated, and guilty,” said Sarah.  “I feel like I’m disgusting.  I look like a slut in that photo.  And they’re telling the whole world that I’m doing misogynistic things…”

 

She paused.

 

“... which I am,” she continued.  “Because you made me.  Because you made me want to do them.  Because you made me get off on doing them.  Because you made me hate women and believe that women with big tits deserve degradation and abuse.”

 

She took a deep, gasping breath of air.

 

“But feeling like this is how I *should* feel,” she said.  “I deserve it.  Because I’m a woman.  Because I have big tits.  Because I’m a stupid slut and I keep breaking the rules and having to surrender things.  Because I think with my cunt and keep picking stupid things to surrender.”

 

Another breath of air.

 

“And every time I get reminded that I’m ruining women’s lives - encouraging them to be decorations and toys for men - I get so turned on by it that I want to masturbate.  It makes me happy.  I get happy from knowing that I’m betraying women - even as I hate myself for it.”

 

One more, long, choking, sobbing breath.

 

“But mostly I just want you to approve of me,” she said.  “I want you to tell me I’m a good girl for being a slut and a gender traitor and a stupid cunt.  And I hate that I want that.  I hate you.  I hate it so much.  But it’s the only thing that’s going to make me feel okay…”

 

Lachlan moved forward.  He took Sarah’s chin in the fingers of one hand, and tilted her face up towards him.  Then he kissed her.

 

When the kiss was done, he said, “You’re a good girl.  You’re a good girl for being a gender traitor.  You’re a good girl for being a slut.  You make me pleased.”

 

Sarah let out such a powerful sigh of relief - and release - that Lachlan feared she might collapse.  Every muscle in her let out its tension all at once.

 

“And Kitten, this problem comes from thinking too much,” he told her.  “You’re caring what people who aren’t me think about you.  You just need to stop thinking.  It feels good not to think doesn’t it?”

 

“Yes,” she admitted.

 

“So just turn off your brain,” he told her, “and you’ll feel good.  And if you need a little more help, maybe masturbate.  Thinking with your cunt feels better than thinking with your head, doesn’t it?”

 

“Yes,” she sighed.

 

“But Kitten…” said Lachlan.  “There’s something we need to discuss about this.”

 

“Yes?” asked Sarah.

 

“This article reflects very badly on the Department,” he told her.  “And it’s against the Code of Conduct for employees to take actions that bring the Department into disrepute, isn’t it?”

 

Sarah stared at him, and shivered with sudden repressed horror.

 

“Yes, sir,” she said, in a small voice.

 

“Go away and think about what you’re going to surrender, Kitten,” said Lachlan, “and I’ll see whether I can save your job.”

 

“Yes, sir,” said Sarah, and scurried away, her face white.

 

Leaving Lachlan to work out how to solve the problem she had presented to him, and stop all of her hard work in demeaning women from running head first into the wall of public opinion…

 

(TO BE CONTINUED)