Story by All These Roadworks (2023).
Author's Note: I'm financially supported by my writing, so if you enjoy this story, please support my ability to write more by purchasing an e-book or membership from AllTheseRoadworks.com! (Click here to view the store.)
“Get motivated!” read the giant billboards, the online ads, and the in-store displays. “With TaskMistress, you can accomplish all your goals!” And alongside them, the company mascot - a saucy brunette, with a realistically curvy body, wearing a business suit and holding a whip - and, importantly, wearing a single simple metal earring in her right earlobe.
The earring WAS the TaskMistress, and it was an overnight success. The technology was revolutionary. It linked to an online calendar, run from a phone app. The earring constantly played sub-audible white noise directly into its wearer’s ear. It communicated with the brain on a subconscious level - and, like magic, the wearer would just *know* what upcoming appointments they had, where to go in order to attend them, how long they had until their next appointment. The information just was there in their brain when they reached for it, as their subconscious processed the noise from the earring. It was a kind of sorcery - the kind every woman had to try for herself.
And, importantly, the earring gave the woman a little extra suggestion - motivation to attend her appointments, and to excel at them. It was the perfect thing for the woman who found it hard to get out of bed, or who suffered from low energy on busy days. With TaskMistress, it didn’t matter how many things you put in your schedule - you got them *done*, each and every one.
Miranda, for example, had been on the verge of getting fired from her public service job for her pathological inability to turn up to anything on time. She was late for work, late for meetings, and never managed to meet deadlines. Then she bought herself a TaskMistress, and suddenly everything was fixed. She was getting up earlier, getting dressed faster. Instead of running for meetings half-prepared with an armful of unorganized documents, she would power-walk towards them, carrying everything she needed in a neatly indexed folder, and be in her seat, ready to go, exactly three minutes before the scheduled time.
There was even talk that she might get a promotion. She loved TaskMistress so much that she bought one for all five women she supervised, and insisted that they wear them every day. She would have bought them for the men, too, but few men had pierced earlobes, and in any case the TaskMistress branding was aimed so directly at women that men were reluctant to use them.
But despite all that, Miranda didn’t keep up to date with the technology news. So she didn’t hear the rumours about TaskMistress - and the rumours about things that could go wrong with it.
To be fair, TaskMistress did its best to suppress those rumours. In their bid to be a market success, they had used the hypnotic suggestions of their devices to cause TaskMistress wearers to believe they loved the device, and resist efforts to cause them to stop using it. Doing so was totally illegal and unethical - and they couldn’t talk about the problems with the device without revealing their criminal behaviour.
The problem was this: third-party users could add things to a woman’s schedule. They weren’t supposed to be able to - in theory, you could send a meeting request to a TaskMistress user, but she had to accept or reject it. But that all happened at the app side of the equation. The software on the phone handled the process of accepting or rejecting, and then wirelessly sent the approved schedule to the earring.
But it was possible to use your phone to impersonate the phone app, scan for the signal of earpiece, and upload a new schedule item directly to the earpiece. The earpiece would then repopulate the new item into the schedule on the app.
And while the makers of TaskMistress had a good process for updating the software on the app, they had forgotten to give themselves a way of updating the drivers on the earpiece, without having the user choose to do it manually.
This was all very theoretical at first. A few clever hackers discovered the vulnerability, and demonstrated it, and TaskMistress went to work on fixing it.
But then one highly-motivated teenager - eager to exploit his attractive Mathematics teacher’s TaskMistress earring - created an app called BitchTamer, that allowed anyone to access any earpiece, easily and intuitively. And when the app connected to an earpiece, the first thing it did was introduce a new schedule item, to be acted on immediately:
“PERMANENTLY DISABLE UPDATES ON YOUR TASKMISTRESS APP, AND MAKE AN IMMEDIATE DECISION TO NEVER UPDATE OR REPLACE YOUR EARRING.”
The first warning for a victim would be finding themselves suddenly fiddling with their phone settings, without realising they were doing it.
But upon completing the task, their next schedule item would come up.
“MAKE A PERMANENT COMMITMENT: WHEN YOU DISCOVER ITEMS IN YOUR SCHEDULE THAT YOU DIDN’T APPROVE, YOU WILL NOT ATTEMPT TO DELETE THEM, AVOID THEM, SEEK ANY ASSISTANCE IN AVOIDING THEM, COMPLAIN ABOUT THEM, OR DISCUSS THEM WITH ANYONE ELSE. YOU WILL TAKE ACTIVE STEPS TO PREVENT PEOPLE FROM HELPING YOU WITH THIS PROBLEM.”
“Yes,” the woman found herself saying - as Miranda found herself saying, to her confusion, one Monday afternoon. “I commit to this. I will submit to the appointments I didn’t make. I will not let anyone stop me from submitting.”
After that, the woman was at the mercy of the hacker.
It wasn’t every man who had access to the app - it required a certain ability to navigate to the dark web, and sideload software onto a phone - but for those who did, they had the world at their fingertips.
Devin, for instance, had been a subordinate of Miranda for a year. He had watched her progress towards dismissal with glee, preparing to step up and take over her job - and the substantial bump in authority and pay that came with it. But then the bitch had turned up one day with that earring, and suddenly she had been a new woman. No one could keep up with her insane, demanding pace - it wasn’t human - or at least, no one until she had bought the earrings for the other women. And then suddenly Devin wasn’t next-in-line for management, but instead was struggling to keep up with even the ditziest blonde in the unit. It was like they had become tireless robots.
But, of course, robots could be programmed.
The BitchTamer app gave Devin a view of Miranda’s entire schedule. Not only could he see her work appointments, but also her personal appointments. Tomorrow, for instance, her schedule read “12 noon - pussy waxing at Butterfly Parlour”. He grinned, and altered this item to add an additional line. “Ask them to put me in the most public place, where passers-by can see me, and don’t bother reducing the pain.”
He looked through the rest of her calendar, and began making adjustments. She would be a little later to this appointment. A lot later to another one. She was presenting at the sectional meeting on Wednesday, and he changed the title of her presentation from “Preventing Harassment in the Workplace” to “Making the Female Workforce More Attractive To Men”.
But he needed an immediate assurance that the app had worked. So he created an entirely new schedule item for Miranda, and set it to start in half an hour.
Miranda blinked. It was time for her next appointment. She didn’t remember making an appointment for right now, but there it was, at the front of her mind.
“2 pm. Meet with Devin about my physical appearance at work. Make sure he is happy with the way I dress.”
She was confused. Why would she have made that appointment? *When* had she made it? Why was it important what Devin thought of her appearance?
She didn’t understand any of it - but she knew that she was highly motivated to get this done. She walked to the door of her office, and called out, “Devin, I’m ready for our meeting.”
Devin was inside her office in seconds - wearing a huge shit-eating grin that Miranda didn’t like the look of. Actually, she didn’t like anything about Devin. He was arrogant, ambitious, and dismissive of her and of women generally. At first he had at least had the defence of getting results - but since TaskMistress, the girls in the office were outperforming him so regularly that Miranda was thinking about having him transferred somewhere that she wouldn’t have to deal with him.
If she hadn’t liked his grin, she *particularly* didn’t like the way he first closed the door to her office, and then closed the blinds on the window, giving them complete privacy.
“What’s up, Miranda?” he asked, sitting opposite her.
“Well, we made a meeting to discuss my physical appearance,” she said. “It’s very important to me that you should be pleased with the way I dress at work, so I guess I’m looking to see what you want from me in that area.”
“Well, Miranda,” said Devin, still smiling, “you’re a stupid cunt who doesn’t realise that her value lies in her fuckbags, so I guess it makes me pretty unhappy when you cover your tits with a bra and blouse like that instead of letting the world enjoy them.”
Miranda’s mouth fell open in shock. How dare he! How DARE he! She struggled to find words. Her face turned red.
But he’s unhappy with you, said a voice in her head. You need to fix that.
She did need to fix that. She was very motivated to achieve her goals in this meeting.
“I don’t like the way you’re talking to me, Devin,” she said, her face flushed with anger. “It’s rude and inappropriate. But I want to reach a resolution here that we can both be happy with. Clearly you don’t like it when my tits are covered, but I don’t want to go around topless. How about if I show my breasts to you right now? Will that satisfy you?”
She couldn’t believe what she was saying. She didn’t have to show her breasts to ANYONE, let alone Devin! And that was so inappropriate and unprofessional!
Except - she was motivated to get results. It was very clear what the purpose of this meeting was - to ensure that Devin was happy. Sometimes you just had to grit your teeth and give the stakeholder what it took to satisfy them.
“Why don’t you *start* by taking off everything you’re wearing above the waist, and giving it to me to hold?” said Devin. “I think if you did that, I might be open to negotiation.”
Miranda looked at him. Part of her was fighting. Every taboo in her life told her that she didn’t undress at work, particularly in front of a man who she disliked. But she needed to get a good outcome from this meeting, and sometimes you needed to give a little before you got what you wanted.
“Okay,” she said, and started to undress. Her blush got brighter and brighter as she removed her business jacket, and then her blouse, and then finally her bra, revealing her large, natural tits to his gaze. She wished her nipples weren’t erect. It was just the unexpected cold, but combined with her blush, she worried that Devin would think she was aroused.
As she took off each item of clothing, she handed it to Devin, and Devin folded it and placed it in his lap - just out of her reach.
“I suppose those udders are just barely acceptable,” said Devin. “They could be bigger. And they would suit you better if they were plastic and fake. You should apologise for them.”
Miranda avoided eye contact. “I’m sorry my tits are disappointing, Devin” she said. “I’m sorry they’re not bigger. I’m sorry they’re not fake.” She paused. “But is this enough to make you happy?”
“Are you wearing panties?” asked Devin.
“Yes,” said Miranda.
“How about you fix that?” asked Devin.
Blushing, Miranda stood, reached under her skirt, and pulled her white cotton panties down her legs, stepped out of them, and then handed them to Devin. She sat down again, keeping her legs closed and pulling anxiously on her skirt hem.
“Okay,” he said. “I can make a deal. I mean, I could say that I’m not happy unless you turn up to work naked every day, but then you’d get fired pretty quickly and I wouldn’t get to kind-of-enjoy your barely-acceptable fuckbags, right?”
Miranda said nothing.
“So how about we compromise?” he said.
Miranda nodded eagerly. She liked compromise.
“All right,” said Devin. “We’re going to say that Wednesday is No-Panties Wednesday, and Friday is Bare-Cunt Friday. No underwear on either day, right? And short skirts, always. I don’t want to see you in anything that comes within a foot of your kneecap.”
Miranda nodded unhappily.
“And then we want some short recurring appointments. To start the week off, first thing when you arrive at the office on Monday, you strip naked, photograph yourself, and send the photo to me. That’s how good girls start the week. Then 2 pm to 3 pm on Tuesdays is Topless Tuesday. Between those times you don’t wear any clothing between your waist and your neck, no matter what. We’ll do the same thing on Thursday at the same times - that’s Topless Thursday. All Wednesday morning, from 9 to noon, I think you can be naked from the waist down while you’re in your office. If you have an appointment to go elsewhere, you can put your skirt back on for the duration - but still no panties, right? We’ll call that Whorish Wednesday. And then Friday from 4 pm until you receive permission from me to go home, you can be completely nude. That’s called “TGIS” - “Thank God I’m A Sextoy”.
“I don’t want to do those things,” Miranda said, desperately trying to get control of the situation.
“Well, Miranda,” said Devin, “that’s the only arrangement under which I’m going be happy with you wearing clothes, ever. Take it or leave it.”
She was silent. She swallowed. Devin was smiling that smile again, and staring at her tits. Her barely-acceptable tits. She felt guilty. If only her tits had been fake, she might have gotten a better deal from Devin, and satisfied him more easily. She felt like she should apologise for her tits again.
“I’ll take it,” she said finally.
“Good girl,” said Devin. “Now go put your new appointments in your calendar.”
And he watched as she entered them in her own TaskMistress calendar - “How Good Girls Start The Week”, “Topless Tuesday”, “Whorish Wednesday”, “No-Panties Wednesday”, “Topless Thursday”, “Bare-Cunt Friday” and “Thank God I’m A Sextoy (TGIS)”. Soon her earpiece would be motivating her to do these things - and to be *good* at them.
“Good girl,” he said again.
He gave her back her work jacket. He kept her blouse, bra and underwear, and watched with amusement as she tried to button the jacket shut across her large tits tight enough to hide them from view.
After he had left Miranda’s office, Devin immediately set her a new appointment.
It was for 10 pm that night.
“10 pm - Sexy time. Pick a room of my house that faces the street. Open the curtains wide. Strip nude. Masturbate until I cum - but only let myself cum if I’m thinking of Devin raping me. Say every thought that enters my head while I’m masturbating out loud. When I get close to cumming, ring Devin on my phone and let him hear what I’m saying as I cum.”
Devin’s phone rang that night at 10.40. He chuckled. It must have taken Miranda a long time to accept that she wouldn’t be able to stop masturbating until she orgasmed - and bring herself to deliberately imagine being raped in order to achieve that orgasm.
He answered the phone.
Miranda’s voice came down the phone line to him - hoarse, lustful, humiliated, desperate.
“Fucking me…” he heard her say. “Please stop. Stop, Devin. Please. Don’t cum inside me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry my tits are ugly. I’m sorry I’m a cunt. Oh god. Please. Please rape me. Please don’t. Please stop. I’m going to cum. I’m going to cum. I’m going to cum from you raping me….”
And then there was a single long, drawn out orgasmic wail.
When he heard this, he laughed - a cruel chuckle.
And when she heard him laugh the wail got louder, as her humiliating orgasm turned into an even more humiliating double-orgasm.
He hung up on her.
Devin found he was suddenly looking forward to working at the office in ways that he never had before...