Chapter Three

The heavy resonance of a car door closing signaled the arrival of another workday in the concrete bowels of the parking garage. Rikki pressed the button on her key fob and listened for the audible chirp of the lock before she turned toward the exit stairwell. As she walked, the one-inch heels of her shoes produced a steady, reassuring thud against the hard surface, a sound that felt grounded and professional. It had been fourteen days since that intrusive, masculine voice had echoed inside the brunette’s skull, and the silence had become most welcome. For two full weeks, Rikki had reclaimed her morning routine without the terror of her limbs acting on their own or her voice betraying her feminist values.

The political editor took a deep, steadying breath and adjusted the strap of her purse, feeling a surge of genuine hope that the nightmare was finally over. She had spent those fourteen days convincing herself that the events of the previous months were the result of an isolated, stress-induced psychological break. She had even begun to move past the sexual trauma of the motel and the office, focusing instead on the important work at hand. However, as she reached the door to the street and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass, Rikki’s gaze inevitably drifted downward.

The unmistakable, heavy mounds of her chest remained a permanent reminder that things would never truly be the same again. Even beneath the modest layers of her gray blazer, her F-cup saline implants sat high and firm, their sheer volume and unnatural weight a constant physical anchor to the month she couldn’t remember. The feminist manager had learned to navigate the world with this new, exaggerated silhouette, but the sensation of the plastic shifting beneath her skin still felt alien and provocative. Despite the physical change, the woman felt mentally sharp and prepared to face the day, especially the difficult task of her first official mentorship with Liam Manning.

Rikki stepped out onto the sidewalk, where the crisp morning air of Manhattan brushed against her neutrally made-up face. The entrance to the Vogue Femme building was only a few yards away, its glass doors revolving with the steady stream of employees heading to work. The brunette tightened her grip on her purse and prepared to walk into the lobby, her mind already rehearsing the professional, distant tone she intended to use with Liam to re-establish her authority. She was a senior editor and a leader, and she was determined to prove that her inexplicable actions of the past were a distant memory. She approached the tall building, her heart skipping a beat as a foreign voice echoed in her mind.

“Did you miss me, princess?”

That gruff, masculine voice returned with the force of a physical blow, the gritty baritone chuckle vibrating inside her head with a clarity that made her gasp for air. Rikki’s stride faltered as the familiar, icy dread flooded her system. She tried to ignore the voice and keep walking toward the building, to push through the glass door and refuse whatever demands it had returned for, but the woman’s legs suddenly refused to obey her mental commands. Instead of turning toward the lobby, her feet carried her straight past the building entrance, her heels clicking on the pavement as she marched away from her workplace.

“No, no, stop!” Rikki whispered, her voice trembling as she fought to plant her feet or turn her body around. The brunette felt her muscles lock in a way that made her movements appear effortless and confident to any passerby, even as she screamed internally for control. Her legs moved with a fluid, purposeful stride that carried her further down the block, her body weaving through the morning crowd while she remained a passenger in her own skin.

Viz laughed again, the sound low and rich with a sadistic kind of satisfaction. “Poor little bird. I gave you two weeks of silence to think about complying with your new reality of your own accord, but I realize now that you are far too airheaded for that kind of independence,” the voice explained jovially. “You spent all that time trying to pretend you didn’t suck off your subordinate and trying to find ways to hide those gorgeous new tits I gave you, instead of embracing the role I have planned for you.”

The political editor’s mind raced as she felt her own body continue to march away from the office, her legs carrying her toward a part of the city she didn’t frequently visit. “You can’t do this to me again,” she said out loud, prompting a man passing her to raise his eyebrow. “I have a life, and you’re not going to ruin it! I am a Senior Political Editor, and I have responsibilities that don’t involve whatever sick game this is.”

“You have the responsibilities I give you, doll, and right now, your priority is looking the part,” the voice retorted, his tone becoming sharper and more commanding. “That mousy look you’ve been clinging to is boring and beneath a woman of your new stature. We are going to ensure that whenever you walk into that office later today, everyone sees the real you, Rikki.”

The woman’s heart pounded against her ribs as she felt her body turn a corner, her eyes scanning the storefronts as she searched for some clues as to where she was being taken. He said he wanted to rid her of this mousy look, and so wherever it was he was leading her to, Rikki was certain she wouldn’t enjoy it.

“Where are we going?” Rikki asked, her voice barely audible over the noise of the city traffic. She felt her hand reach up to adjust her hair, her fingers smoothing the dark waves as if trying to protect them from the change she was certain was coming. Her mind flashed to the “stripper closet” in her office and the bold red lipstick that had started it all, and she knew that whatever Viz had planned would be a total betrayal of the image she had worked so hard to maintain.

“We are going to give you an upgrade that complements those tits, princess,” Viz replied with a dark, amused purr. “By the time we’re done, you won’t even recognize the woman who woke up this morning, and that’s exactly the point.”

Rikki’s legs carried her toward a polished, high-end salon with large windows and a minimalistic aesthetic. She fought the movement until the very last second, her muscles straining against the invisible force that pushed her through the door and into the air-conditioned reception area. The silence of the last two weeks was officially over, and as she approached the desk, Rikki knew that the woman who walked out of this building would be a stranger to everyone she knew.

❖

The chime of a small bell above the door announced the arrival of another guest as Rikki was propelled into the reception area of the salon. A young woman with a mess of pink-tinted curls and a bright, dimpled smile looked up from a computer screen, her eyes widening with a practiced sort of hospitality. This was Kara, the stylist who seemed perfectly at home amidst the row of hair products and designer chairs that defined Sapphire Falls Hair and Beauty. She smoothed her colorful apron and stepped toward the counter with a bounce in her step that suggested a naturally bubbly personality.

“Welcome to Sapphire Falls! I’m Kara, and I’m so happy to see you this morning,” the stylist chirped, her voice carrying a light, melodic quality. She glanced down at a leather-bound appointment book and then back at her visitor with an apologetic tilt of her head. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but we are absolutely slammed this morning. We’re fully booked up for the next several hours, so unless you already have an appointment on the books, I will have to put you on our waiting list and call you if someone cancels.”

Rikki felt a wave of relief wash over her. If there was no room for her, then the voice’s plan would have to be delayed, giving her a chance to perhaps wrestle back enough control to escape the area. She opened her mouth, fully intending to thank Kara for her time and turn back toward the street, but the words that emerged from her throat were not her own.

“Actually, I have a nine o’clock reservation under the name Veronica Reynolds,” Rikki’s voice stated with a confident, effortless tone that she did not command.

The brunette watched in internal horror as Kara’s eyebrow shot up in surprise. The stylist turned back to her diary and flipped through a few pages, her finger tracing down the column for the morning sessions. Rikki’s mind raced with confusion; she had no memory of ever calling this establishment, let alone booking a high-end hair appointment under her full name.

“Oh, look at that! Veronica Reynolds at nine a.m. sharp,” the pink-haired stylist beamed, her smile returning with double the intensity. She leaned over the counter and looked at Rikki with a curious, analytical gaze. “I see you left quite a detailed request in the notes here, Veronica. I have to say, I am really looking forward to getting started. It’s always a pleasure to help a client get rid of a drab style and find something that actually makes an impact.”

The political editor gasped in offense. How dare that bright-haired bitch call her style drab? She fought with her own mouth to form the words to cancel, to tell the oblivious stylist that she had changed her mind and needed to leave immediately. She took a breath, ready to protest, but her body betrayed her once again.

“I’m ready to get started, Kara,” Rikki heard herself say, her voice sounding eager and cooperative. “I want a look that is the total opposite of what I have now. I’m tired of being invisible and want something bold and bright.”

Kara giggled and clapped her hands together in delight. “I absolutely love a challenge like that! Most women are so afraid of change, but you seem like you know exactly what you want from these notes. Please, follow me back to my station, and we’ll make some magic happen.”

The brunette followed the bubbly stylist toward a large mirror and a comfortable black chair. She felt her body sink to the leather and relaxed against it, her legs crossing at the ankles, while Kara draped a black nylon cape around her shoulders. Rikki stared at her reflection, her dark waves still looking professional and dignified, and her mind screamed for her to stand up and run before it was too late.

“Just relax for a moment while I get everything set up at the color bar,” Kara said as she patted Rikki’s shoulder. “This is going to be a fun process, so just sit back and enjoy your time here.”

As the pink-haired woman walked away to gather her tools, the familiar, gritty baritone of Viz echoed in Rikki’s skull. “You look far too stressed, princess,” the voice mocked condescendingly. “I think it’s time for a nap. I’ll take over from here while you get some much-needed rest.”

Rikki’s eyes widened as she immediately went to retort, her lips parting to scream at the entity, but a sudden, overwhelming heaviness settled behind her eyes. The woman’s vision blurred, and her head tilted back against the headrest, her consciousness slipping away into a dark, forced slumber before she could utter a single word of defiance. Resistance was futile, and before long, she found herself out cold.

The world returned in a slow, disorienting haze as Rikki’s eyelashes began to flutter open. They felt remarkably heavy, as if some unseen weight was pulling at her eyelids with every attempt to focus. Rikki blinked several times, her eyesight slowly clearing to reveal the bright interior of the salon once more. She felt a strange tightness across her skin, and a lingering tingle at her fingertips, and for a moment, she had no idea how much time had passed.

“Look who’s awake! Welcome back, sleepyhead,” Kara’s voice rang out from somewhere behind her. The stylist appeared in the mirror, her face glowing with a sense of immense pride. “I just finished the final touches while you were dreaming away. You were the perfect, quiet client for such a big job.”

Rikki’s eyesight finally snapped into focus, and she stared directly into the mirror. However, it was not the stylist she had her attention on. The woman sat beside the pink-haired worker’s reflection stared back at Rikki with an expression of abject horror. She looked like a total stranger. Her dark, sophisticated waves were gone, replaced by a long mane of platinum blonde hair that was so bright it looked almost synthetic. Aggressive streaks of vibrant red highlights ran through the pale strands, creating a bold, striped effect that demanded attention.

The transformation on the woman’s face was just as jarring. Her once-natural eyebrows had been plucked and shaped into thin, high-arched peaks that gave her an expression of permanent, seductive surprise. Her eyes were framed by thick, heavy, curled lashes and an abundance of shimmering silver eyeshadow that made them look large and flirtatious. Her naturally plump lips, which she had always tried to downplay, were coated in a thick, glossy layer of fire-engine-red that emphasized their plumpness to a degree that felt obscene.

Rikki gasped as she registered the total erasure of the woman she had been when she first entered the building. Her trembling hands rose toward her face in a reflexive gesture of shock, and the stranger in the mirror mimicked her with a mocking fluidity. As her fingers came into view, the woman’s eyes nearly bulged from their sockets at the sight of her new nails. Her natural, short-trimmed tips were buried beneath long, pointed red 2-inch acrylics that curved like dangerous talons. They were sharp and vibrant, finished with a high-gloss sheen that made the bright color look as though it were still wet. The feeling of the heavy, artificial extensions was entirely foreign, and Rikki hated their appearance with every fiber of her being.

This was not a mistake or a simple makeover; this was an intentional rebranding of the woman’s entire identity. The dark-haired intellectual who took pride in her understated professionalism and feminist values had been replaced by a platinum blonde caricature designed for the male gaze. Rikki screamed internally, her mind clawing at the walls of her consciousness in a desperate attempt to reject the image. That is her, she told herself with a mounting sense of despair, realizing that she was living in a waking nightmare that she couldn’t escape. Every time she tried to focus on a way to undo the damage, the voice of Viz seemed to hum with a satisfied resonance.

“There is no need for such a tragic expression, princess,” the voice whispered smugly, filling her mind with an oily comfort. “You look far better now than you ever did in those drab, boring colors. You should be a gracious girl and thank the nice lady for all her hard work.”

Rikki felt the invisible pressure of his will clamp down on her throat once more, overriding the scream that was stuck in her chest. Her brightly colored mouth began to move of its own accord, her plump lips stretching into a wide, gushing smile that felt like it could tear the skin.

“Oh my god, Kara, thank you so much!” Rikki heard herself exclaim, her voice rising in a high-pitched enthusiastic trill that she found repulsive. “I am absolutely obsessed with this new look. It is so much more me than that old, boring style I was dragging around. You really have an eye for what makes a woman stand out.”

Kara giggled and clapped her hands, clearly delighted by the reaction from her client. “It was honestly my pleasure, Veronica! You were such a perfect, sleeping client while I was working. It gave me the chance to really focus on the red highlights and get those brows just right. I knew the platinum would make your eyes pop, but seeing it all put together is even better than I imagined.”

Rikki felt her body lean forward, her hand reaching out to pat Kara’s arm with a dainty, affected grace that was entirely performative. The long acrylic nails glinted as she moved, catching the light as she gestured toward her new hair.

“You are a total genius,” the brunette-turned-blonde continued, her words flowing with a nauseating warmth. “I don’t think I could have ever dreamed of something this bold on my own. It makes me feel so empowered.”

The stylist beamed and began to unfasten the black cape from around Rikki’s neck. “I am just so glad you love it. Sessions like this are exactly why I got into this business. Why don’t we head back up to the reception desk and settle up the payment? I got all your details saved from the reservation.”

Rikki felt the weight of her F-cup implants shift beneath her gray blazer as she stood up from the chair. Her legs moved with a fluid, effortless stride, her heels clicking across the floor as she followed the pink-haired woman toward the front of the salon. Inside, her mind was still reeling in absolute despair, witnessing the destruction of her professional reputation through the mirror of her own reflection. She moved toward the desk to pay for a transformation she never wanted, her heart shattering as she realized that the Senior Political Editor of Vogue Femme had been effectively buried beneath a layer of synthetic blonde hair and scarlet red paint.

As the woman strode out of the salon, Viz’s control guiding her back to work, his voice returned. “I’d say that trip was a resounding success,” he mocked her as Rikki noticed the brief glances of countless men walking by. “Now, let’s go see what we can find in that secret office closet of yours.”

❖

The full-length mirror against the far wall of the political editor’s private office provided a view of a woman who felt like an intruder in her own life. Rikki stood motionless, her hands trembling at her sides as she took in the provocative ensemble that Viz had forced her to choose from the secret cabinet. She wore a white blouse with a neckline that dipped dangerously low, inviting the eye to follow the swell of her surgically enhanced breasts. Over it, a bright red suit jacket with padded shoulders added a sharp contrast to her new platinum blonde hair, while a matching knee-length red pencil skirt adhered so tightly to her hips that it made every movement a challenge. The skirt was intentionally restrictive, forcing her into a narrow swaying gait that was further exaggerated by the four-inch patent red stilettos on her feet.

The new blonde felt exposed, as if the bold colors and the tight fabric were a public declaration of a new identity she had never chosen for herself. The woman who had built a career on feminist intellectualism was now presented as a high-end caricature, and the realization made her stomach churn with a deep sense of abject humiliation. She reached up to touch the red acrylic nails that glinted as she moved, wondering how she could possibly command respect in a boardroom when she looked like she belonged on a centerfold.

A sharp beep from the watch on her wrist shattered the woman’s internal spiral, and she looked down to see the digital numbers glowing at 11:00 a.m. The time for her first mandatory mentorship with her former-intern-turned-journalist, Liam Manning, had arrived, a task she had been dreading since Daniel Newsom had issued the directive. She couldn’t understand why the CEO had insisted the meeting take place in Liam’s new office instead of hers, but she knew that arguing would only further undermine her position. Reluctantly, the plump-lipped blonde picked up a thin folder containing her notes and turned toward the door.

Navigating the distance between her office and Liam’s new enclosed quarters across the hall required a level of concentration Rikki found difficult to maintain. The restrictive nature of her pencil skirt meant that she could only take small, measured steps, and the four-inch heels forced her into an undulating rhythm that felt entirely too suggestive for the workplace. Every motion of her legs caused the fabric to squeeze around her thighs, and she could feel the weight of her oversized breasts shifting beneath the thin white silk of the blouse. The blonde felt as though every eye in the bullpen was tracing the curve of her hips, and the silence that greeted her appearance was heavy with unvoiced judgment.

Charisma perked her head up as the blonde editor approached, her fingers frozen over her keyboard. The personal assistant didn’t say a word, but her gaze lingered on Rikki with a mixture of confusion and shock that was impossible to ignore. She looked at her boss’s platinum hair and the bold red of the suit, and her lips parted slightly as she tried to reconcile this version of the woman with the fierce, powerful leader who had saved Charisma from a life on the pole. Rikki kept her eyes forward and ignored the silent scrutiny of her friend, determined to reach her destination before her resolve crumbled entirely.

The door to Liam’s office was shut, and Rikki didn’t bother to wait for a reply after she delivered a sharp, authoritative knock. She pushed her way inside and stepped into the private space, finding herself standing before a man who was starting to look sickeningly comfortable in his new position. Liam was leaning back in his plush office chair as he typed away at his computer, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he paused to watch his boss enter.

“Ms. Reynolds, a guest should really wait for a proper invitation before entering someone’s private space, don’t you think?” Liam asked, his voice dripping with a patronization that made the blonde’s blood boil.

“I am your boss, Liam, and everything on this floor belongs to me,” Rikki retorted, her voice sounding sharp and authoritative. “I suggest you remember that if you want our relationship to go smoothly.” The woman took a seat opposite the man’s desk and placed the folder on it.

Liam didn’t seem bothered by her correction; instead, his eyes traveled slowly and deliberately over his boss’s new appearance. “I have to say, I absolutely love what you’ve done with the hair, and your face, and that chest,” he remarked, before the blonde cut him off.

“Watch it, Liam,” Rikki warned, her eyes narrowing as she flipped open her folder on the desk between them. “I am here to fulfill a requirement from the board, and I intend to get this over with as quickly as possible. I have much more important matters to attend to than your professional development.”

The editor settled her gaze on the documents before her, determined to get this session out of the way. She cleared her throat and began her lecture, determined to ignore the way Liam’s eyes remained fixed on the dip of her neckline.

“We are going to start by discussing professional boundaries and the responsibility of leadership,” she stated, her voice sounding as firm as possible. “As a mentor, it is my duty to ensure you understand that your role isn’t just to produce content. It is about uplifting your staff and fostering an environment where every voice is respected. As journalists at a publication like this, it is our primary job to give a voice to the marginalized and the downtrodden.”

Liam raised an eyebrow. “Uhm, forgive me, but isn’t our job just to report the truth, no matter who it supports?” the man asked with a casual shrug of his shoulders. He wasn’t looking at his own notes; he simply watched the way Rikki’s bright red lips formed each word.

The woman groaned and felt a flare of intellectual frustration. That was such an old-fashioned way to think of the world. “The truth is often subjective and shaped by the point of view of the narrative, Liam,” she barked. “For far too long, the rich and the powerful have had their fingers on the scale of what is acceptable as the ‘truth.’ Our mission is to challenge those established power structures.”

She noticed her subordinate glance down at her sharp, alluring nails the moment she said the word ‘fingers,’ frustrating the blonde woman and prompting her to place her hands in her lap, out of the man’s sight.

“You speak very well for a woman who looks like she spent six hours getting ready this morning,” Viz’s gruff voice hummed inside Rikki’s head, interrupting her own thoughts as he mocked her internal efforts to stay professional. “Do you think he cares about power structures right now? He’s thinking about those oral skills you demonstrated months ago to save his job. He’s wondering if that mouth still tastes like his gratitude.”

The woman’s fists clenched in her lap, her long nails pinching into the palm of her hands. She forced herself to continue, her words coming out in a faster, more desperate clip. “Empathy and perspective are the core of what we do,” she continued. “If you cannot understand the struggles of those beneath you in the social hierarchy, you will never be more than a corporate hack.”

“I think I understand hierarchy perfectly well, Ms. Reynolds,” Liam replied, his grin widening as he noticed the sense of discomfort in the woman.

“He isn’t even listening to your theories, princess,” Viz whispered with a cruel chuckle that seemed to vibrate in Rikki’s teeth. “He’s watching your chest rise and fall as you struggle to breathe in that tight jacket. Don’t you think we should give him a repeat experience? I think it would be helpful for him to know exactly what leadership truly tastes like.”

The suggestion from the voice sent a jolt of alarm through Rikki, and her heart began to race with a frantic rhythm. She tried to swallow the rising panic and keep her focus on the notes in her lap, her mind racing to find a way to finish the session before Viz could act on his dark, humiliating impulse. The blonde opened her mouth to continue her lecture on the social responsibility of the press, but her throat felt tight and constricted, as if an invisible hand were closing around the windpipe.

“The essence of…. of real leadership involves…” the editor began. She fought to find the next word, but her body was already beginning to move against her will. She watched in horror as she stood from the chair, her internal mind echoing “no, no, no, no!” but her body refused to listen.

The brunette-turned-blonde felt a surge of desperation as she tried to plant her feet or turn back toward the door, but her limbs were entirely under the command of the sadistic entity invading her mind. She marched toward Liam, her four-inch heels clicking steadily across the floor while her mind screamed in silent protest. Liam’s smirk faltered for a moment, and he looked up at his boss with a confused and wary expression as she came to a stop directly in front of him.

“Ms. Reynolds? Is something wrong?” the subordinate asked, his voice cracking slightly as he took in the furious intensity of her gaze.

Rikki felt her knees instantly buckle as Viz forced her down to the floor. She found herself kneeling between the man’s legs, the bright red fabric of her pencil skirt stretching to its limits across her thighs as she settled into the humiliating position. Her mind was a whirlwind of shame and fury, but her voice emerged with a seductive, almost purring quality that made her feel sick.

“Don’t mind me, Liam,” the blonde heard herself say, her hand reaching up to rest suggestively on his crotch. “I just want to ensure you are truly absorbing the lesson. I want you to tell me what you have learned in this session and what leadership means to you.”

The woman felt her hand move to the zipper of Liam’s pants, and she pulled it down with a slow, deliberate motion that made her long nails press against the fabric. Her mind recoiled in horror as she reached inside and pulled the man’s member free, her fingers wrapping around his cock with a practiced technicality. She leaned forward and parted her plump, red, glossy lips, the intense color creating a stark contrast against his skin as she took him in his mouth.

“Well,” Liam began, his voice shaking as he leaned back in his plush chair and his hands gripped the armrests. He couldn’t believe his luck. “I think I’m beginning to understand. I have learned that leadership is about… it is about recognizing when someone else has the superior skill set and being willing to submit to their expertise.”

Rikki began to bob her head at a steady pace, her tongue swirling around the sensitive tip as she hollowed her cheeks to create a powerful suction. She could hear the muffled wet sounds of her own participation, a series of noises that made her want to weep in frustration.

“Mmm-hpg… glip… mmgh,” the blonde editor sounded out, her mouth entirely occupied as she worked on her subordinate with an expertise she despised.

“I think leadership is about control,” the man continued, his confidence returning as he looked down at the beautiful blonde pleasuring him. “It is about the person with the most power being able to make everyone else do exactly what they want.” He paused momentarily before continuing. “You are a very effective leader, Ms. Reynolds, because you are showing me exactly what you are willing to do to succeed.”

Rikki paused her blowjob for a moment, her face lifting just enough for her to look up at him with wide, glazed eyes that Viz was carefully controlling, her lips less than an inch from the wet cock. “You are doing great, Liam,” her voice stated with a breathless, encouraging warmth. “Carry on. Tell me more about what you believe leadership really is.”

She went back to the act without waiting for her subordinate to respond, her red-lipped mouth enveloping him once more as she worked the man with a renewed intensity. She could feel her breasts swaying as she bobbed, and the tight suit jacket made every breath a challenge. Inside, her mind was screaming for her to stop, to bite down on his disgusting dick and to run out of the office and never look back, but her body was a passenger to Viz’s sadistic whims.

“I believe leadership is about…. It is about the ability to command attention and to make others see the world through your lens,” Liam panted, his hips beginning to buck against her mouth as the pleasure intensified. “It is about being the center of the story and having everyone else play their part to support your narrative.”

The subordinate’s breathing grew heavier, and his moans began to fill his small office, his fingers reaching down to tangle in the platinum blonde hair of the woman between his legs. Rikki worked him faster, her hand twisting in sync with her mouth as she brought him to the very edge of his release. The political editor felt a surge of panic as she realized Liam’s orgasm was approaching, and she fought with every ounce of her will to pull her head back. She actually managed to succeed in pushing back. However, Liam was much faster.

The man reached down and grabbed her head with both hands, his fingers digging into her scalp as he held her firmly in place against his groin. Rikki’s eyes widened in a silent scream as she felt him begin to spasm, the first hot spurts of his cum hitting the back of her throat with a force that made her gag.

“I think leadership is about not letting a single drop of opportunity go to waste, don’t you, Ms. Reynolds?” Liam joked, his voice strained and thick with the effort of his climax. He held the blonde there, feeding her his seed and forcing her to take it all while he watched her lustfully.

Rikki was forced to swallow every drop of the salty, warm substance, her throat working rhythmically until there was nothing left to deliver. Once he had finished, Liam finally released his grip, allowing the blonde to pull away. The political editor immediately stood up with a clumsy step, her restrictive skirt smoothing over her hips while her mind reeled in absolute fury. She reached for her folder and checked her reflection in the small mirror on the desk; her makeup was still impeccable, and her glossy red lips remained perfectly painted despite the facefucking she had just endured.

“Thank you for your time, Liam,” Rikki heard herself say to her own abject horror, her voice sounding steady and professional as she clutched the folder to her chest. This had crossed a line, yet the new blonde had no idea how to stop these intrusive thoughts and forced actions.

She turned on her heels and tottered out of the office without waiting for the former intern to respond, leaving Liam more than a little confused as he stared after her. As she walked back toward her own office, her tall heels clicking against the floor, Viz’s voice returned with a jovial, satisfied chuckle.

“I thought that was a very productive meeting indeed, princess,” he remarked, his tone dripping with mocking praise. “You are such a natural at mentorship.”

Rikki didn’t respond, her mind a whirlwind of hatred and shame as she passed the open desks of the intern bullpen. She caught a glimpse of Charisma, who was watching her with a look of mounting concern, and the blonde editor quickly reached up to wipe a stray bit of moisture from the corner of her mouth. She didn’t look back as she disappeared into her large office, leaving her assistant to silently wonder what had happened to the fierce, powerful leader she had always known.

❖

The double-thick walnut doors of the executive boardroom remained closed as the sounds of muffled conversation drifted into the hallway. After a hurried lunch spent trying to scrub the phantom sensation of Liam from her mouth, the blonde editor found herself hesitating before the entrance. Daniel Newsom had called an impromptu board meeting just half an hour ago, a calendar insert the political editor almost missed as she was busy brushing her teeth. He didn’t mention what the meeting was about, but noted that attendance was mandatory.

Every step in the woman’s four-inch patent stilettos felt like a loud announcement of her presence, and the tight pencil skirt made the walk from her office to the top floor feel like an exhausting ordeal. She adjusted the lapel of her red jacket, trying in vain to pull the fabric over the excessive cleavage revealed by her blouse, before she finally pushed the heavy doors open.

A sudden, sharp silence descended upon the room as Rikki entered. The long, glass-topped table was already occupied by the executive elite of Vogue Femme, and the blonde felt the weight of their collective gaze. Daniel sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable and cold, while the female executives were lined up like a jury. CFO Sarah Miller and COO Elizabeth Adams sat to his left, their eyes narrowing as they took in Rikki’s radical transformation. To his right, Rebecca Jensen, the CTO, and HR Director Katherine Young exchanged a quick, worried glance that did not go unnoticed.

The most jarring sight, however, was her own subordinate, Liam Manning. He sat at the far end of the table with a smug grin that made the editor’s blood run cold. What the hell was he doing there? The asshole was an intern on the verge of losing his job a couple of months ago, and now he was sitting in on an important board meeting. What was going on? Beside him was an older man with thinning gray hair and a weathered, traditionalist face. Rikki moved toward the only empty chair, her narrow skirt forcing her once again into a swaying gait that she knew looked entirely too suggestive for a professional summit.

“I am glad you could join us, Ms. Reynolds, though I would prefer it if my Senior Political Editor were on time for such a monumental announcement,” Daniel remarked, his voice smooth and devoid of any real warmth, prompting the blonde to blush as she moved. He didn’t wait for her to sit before he gestured toward the man at his right. “Before we get to the heart of today’s meeting, I would like to introduce our newest executive. This is Jonathan Hughes, our new Director of News. Jim has had a long, storied career in this business, and more importantly, he knows exactly what sells in a modern market.”

Jim Hughes gave a stiff, perfunctory nod toward the group, his gaze lingering on the blonde for a second longer than was polite. “It is a pleasure to be here,” he said, his voice a gravelly rasp.

Daniel tapped his fingers against the glass table, reclaiming the attention of the room. “The reason I have called you all here today is to announce a fundamental shift in our corporate strategy. Vogue Femme is going to start moving away from traditional print media,” he said to an audible gasp from his audience. “We are going to pivot our primary resources into live news, and Jim will be heading up that transition. I am currently in the final stages of negotiating a four-year deal to launch our own news network that will compete directly with the traditional cable giants.”

The room erupted into a low murmur of disbelief, and Rikki felt a surge of professional outrage that managed to boil to the surface. Her former boss, her mentor, Heidi Kraft, had always been openly opposed to transitioning into live media, believing that becoming beholden to advertisers made it impossible to report objectively. “Mr. Newsom, you can’t be serious,” she stated, her voice trembling as she leaned forward, inadvertently causing her large breasts to strain against her blouse. “Our message and our brand are much better when they are laid out in print, where we have space for nuance and intellectual depth. Putting ourselves in the crosshairs of big media firms is a tactical nightmare, and it risks diluting the very values and reputation we have spent years building. Heidi understood that.”

Sarah Miller, the CFO, adjusted her glasses and nodded in agreement. “I have to side with Rikki on this one, sir. The overhead for a live network is astronomical, and the risk to our current advertisers is significant if we pivot this aggressively.”

“Heidi is no longer the CEO of this company, and her outdated, cautious philosophies are the reason Vogue Femme has been stagnating for the last three years,” Daniel stated harshly, his voice cutting through the room as he narrowed his eyes in Rikki’s direction. The man leaned back in his leather chair. “This pivot will move the company forward into a new era of relevance and massive profit, and I will not have it undermined by a misplaced sense of sentimentality for a previous administration. This is not a voting matter or a committee decision, ladies. My position as CEO is to make the difficult decisions, and I have already signed the preliminary agreements for the network launch.”

A sharp silence followed the man’s declaration, the executive women at the table looking down at their hands, unwilling to challenge the man who held their livelihoods in his grip. The CEO stood up and began to pace the short distance behind his chair, his gaze landing heavily on Rikki as he stopped directly behind her.

“A successful new network requires more than just dry facts and political analysis; it needs a soul, a personality that the audience already trusts and admires,” the man continued, his voice dropping an octave as he placed a hand on the back of Rikki’s chair. “This new brand needs a face that can stop a viewer from scrolling and compel them to watch, and it just so happens that Vogue Femme has its very own TikTok star sitting right here at this table.”

The blonde felt a cold wave of shock wash over her, her heart hammering against the high-set mounds on her chest. “Me?” she asked in horror. “I am the Senior Political Editor, Mr. Newsom,” she managed to say, her voice sounding thin and unsure in the large room. “My role is firmly behind the camera, deciding what appears on the pages. I have absolutely no desire to be in front of a camera, and I refuse to be chosen as your on-air talent.”

The sound of a low, dry chuckle filled the room as the CEO began to make his way back toward the head of the long glass table. He didn’t look offended by her refusal; instead, he seemed genuinely amused by the idea that she believed she had a choice in the matter. He pulled out his high-backed chair and settled into it with a slow, deliberate confidence, his eyes never leaving the blonde woman who was trembling in fury in her seat.

“I’ve spent several hours reviewing your ‘RikkiRoar’ TikTok account, Ms. Reynolds, and I must say that I am incredibly impressed with how you can capture and hold an audience,” the man stated, his tone carrying an authoritative note of praise. “You have a natural charisma that is rare in this industry, and your ability to distill complex political theory into viral bites is exactly the kind of engagement we need for the network launch.”

Rikki opened her mouth to argue that her TikTok was a platform for feminist activism, not a pilot reel for a corporate news network, but the CEO continued before she could find her voice.

“Furthermore, I believe your recent physical changes have made you the ideal candidate for this role,” the executive added, his gaze drifting lazily over her face before lingering on the visible cleavage of her blouse. “Your new hair and those other modifications you’ve invested in recently have proved to me that you finally understand what this company needs. You have the look of a modern icon, and I intend to capitalize on that aesthetic to ensure our network is a success from day one.”

The blonde felt a surge of nausea as she realized the man was using the results of her forced transformation as justification for her potential reassignment. “Mr. Newsom, with all due respect, my appearance has no bearing on my professional qualifications as an editor,” Rikki protested, her hands clenching in her lap until her long nails bit into her skin. “I am a leader, an editor, and I won’t be put on display for the sake of your ratings.”

“I don’t think you understand the situation, Rikki,” the CEO replied, his voice dropping into a cold, uncompromising register that made the rest of the board shift uncomfortably in their seats. “I am not giving you an option here. You will accept the role of primary news anchor when the network goes live, or you can clean out your office and find another job. I suggest you take the afternoon to decide which of those paths supports your expensive tastes and your current lifestyle.”

Rikki sat in a stunned, suffocating silence, her mind reeling as she realized that her entire career was being dismantled in front of the very women she had always looked up to as examples of courage. She looked toward Elizabeth Adams and Katherine Young, searching for any sign of support, but the executives kept their eyes fixed on their laps. They were unwilling to risk their own positions to save her from the man at the head of the table.

“And to ensure we have a balanced dynamic on screen, I have already decided on your co-anchor,” the man continued, his eyes flashing with glee as he looked toward the end of the table. “Your partner on the morning desk will be Liam Manning. He has shown a remarkable ability to connect with his colleagues despite such a short tenure at the company, and I believe the two of you will have an undeniable chemistry that will keep the viewers coming back.”

The room went cold as the implication of his words settled over the group. Rikki felt as though the floor was vanishing beneath her, her mind flashing back to the humiliating encounter in Liam’s office only an hour prior. The idea of being anchored to the man who had just used her for his own pleasure was a horror she could barely comprehend. Beside her, Sarah Miller gasped in shock. It was obvious that not everyone was on board with this decision.

“Wait, Mr. Newsom, surely we should consider hiring actual, seasoned newsreaders to head up such a massive new department?” Rebecca asked, her voice tight with a professional skepticism that Rikki was grateful for. “Liam is barely out of his internship, and while Ms. Reynolds is a brilliant editor, neither of them has any former broadcast experience. This seems like a massive risk for a four-year investment.”

“I firmly believe in using the talent we have in-house, Rebecca,” the CEO replied dismissively, his tone ending any further debate on the matter. “This is a fantastic opportunity for both of them to grow with the company. Rikki and Liam are the future of the Vogue Femme News Network, and I expect everyone in this room to give them their full support.”

He stood abruptly and began gathering his folders, signaling that the meeting was officially over. “That will be all for today. I have a press release to finalize, and I expect you all to fully support this transition. Jim, Liam, with me.”

The man marched out of the room, followed by an arrogant, grinning Liam and the new Director of News. Rikki remained seated in her chair long after the doors had closed, her mind in a state of absolute shock as she stared at the empty seat at the head of the table. She could feel the lingering, judgmental stares of the female executives as they slowly began to filter out of the room, their silence a crushing weight of betrayal. She had gone from a powerful editor to the face of the company, and she hated every moment of it. Looking down at her red-tipped fingers, the new blonde realized that the feminist world she had built was now crumbling around her.

❖

The heavy click of the front door’s deadbolt provided a momentary, deceptive sense of sanctuary as the outside world was finally shut away. Inside the quiet luxury of Rikki’s high-rise apartment, the silence felt heavy and welcoming, pressing against the blonde editor as she leaned her back against the wood. Rikki let out a long, shuddering breath she had been holding since she left her office to end the workday. Her feet ached with a dull, throbbing intensity from the hours spent balancing on her tall stilettos, and the skirt felt like a tourniquet around her lower half. With a groan of genuine physical relief, the woman reached down and kicked the red heels off her feet, watching them tumble onto the floor without a care for where they landed.

She moved into the living area with a stiff, gingerly gait, her toes curling into the plush carpet as she savored the tactile sensation of freedom. The red suit jacket was the next thing to go, peeled off her shoulders, and tossed unceremoniously onto the back of the designer sofa. Without the structured layer of the blazer, the silk blouse suddenly felt dangerously thin, and the weight of her implants pulled at the fabric in a way that made her feel more exposed than ever. She didn’t stop to look at her reflection in the darkened windows or the hallway mirror; she was too afraid of the stranger with platinum hair and garish red lips who was staring back at her each time.

Instead, she marched toward the small, refined study at the end of the hall, her mind fixed on a single, desperate goal. She was fed up with losing control of her life, and she needed to understand what was happening to her. Throughout the day, Rikki had been a passenger in her own skin, a witness to the sexual violation of her professional boundaries and the systematic, slow destruction of her career. The blonde sat in the leather chair behind her desk and pressed the power button on her laptop, her heart beating heavily against her ribs as the machine hummed to life.

The political editor’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, her long red nails clicking softly against the plastic as she logged in. She was going to search for everything—auditory hallucinations, neuro-parasites, advanced subliminal conditioning, and even the occult. Something supernatural had happened to her, and there had to be an explanation. She needed a name for the baritone voice that kept turning her into a puppet, and she needed a way to excise him before the “News Network” contract became a permanent shackle. Her mind was racing with frantic theories; there had to be an explanation.

“I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you, princess,” the voice returned, the sound vibrating through the base of Rikki’s skull with a sudden, jarring clarity.

Rikki gasped sharply, and she felt her entire body go rigid with a cold, familiar dread. That damn fucking voice was always present, watching her every move. The blonde tried to ignore the intrusion, her eyes fixed on the glowing screen as she typed the first three letters of a search query, but her fingers suddenly froze. She watched in horror as her hands moved of their own accord, the cursor sliding away from the browser window and clicking the shutdown icon with terrifying precision.

“No, please,” the blonde whispered desperately, her voice cracking as she fought with her own mechanical actions. “I just want to understand. What the hell are you?!”

“What I am, dear, is your guardian angel,” the baritone voice replied, the tone thick with a proprietary kind of affection, making the woman feel nausea rise in her. “I am the one looking out for your best interests when you’re too stubborn or too blinded by your own outdated ideologies to see the path toward true fulfillment.”

The former brunette’s eyes welled with tears of pure frustration as she stared at the black screen of her computer, her hands still resting on the plastic casing. “A guardian angel doesn’t violate someone’s body,” she snapped. “A guardian angel doesn’t destroy a woman’s career and force her into these situations.”

Viz let out a low, dismissive chuckle. “You’ve always been prone to dramatics, Rikki,” he taunted. “But we don’t have time for a philosophical debate. It’s time to get up and move. You have a date to get ready for tonight, in fact, you have a lot of dates to prepare for.”

“Dates? What do you mean by lots of dates?” she questioned, her heart beating ever faster against the high-set mounds of her chest. The thought of being forced into the company of more strangers, especially after the day at work she had, made her stomach turn with a fresh wave of bile.

“I made you a promise, princess, if you can remember, and I always keep my word,” the entity reminded her, his voice shifting back to that gritty, commanding register that signaled the end of her autonomy. “I told you that I would find you the perfect man to help you forget all about that loser ex-fiancé of yours.”

Before the blonde could comprehend his words, a sudden, sharp movement pushed the leather chair back, and Rikki’s legs acted on their own. She tried to grip the edge of the desk to anchor herself, but her fingers simply slid off the polished surface as the editor’s body was forced upright. The pencil skirt pulled tight against her thighs, and she found herself turned toward the hallway, her stride purposeful and fluid despite the mental screaming of her own consciousness.

“You aren’t giving me a choice, are you?” Rikki asked as she tried to reason with the sound in her head.

“Choices are for people who know what’s good for them, doll,” Viz purred, the sound filling her mind with a sickening sense of triumph. “And we both know you’ve been making the wrong ones for twenty-seven years. Now, let’s get you into something that really shows off that new body of yours. We have lots of men to meet, and I want to make sure every single one of them gets a good, long look at what they’re dealing with.”

The blonde watched helplessly as her hands reached for the buttons of her blouse, her mind still screaming in protest as her fingers began to work with steady efficiency. The sanctuary of her own home had been breached, and as she was forced toward the vanity, she knew that the night ahead would be another chapter in the total humiliation of the feminist she claimed to be.

❖

The sharp click of six-inch stiletto boots striking the worn floorboards of the King’s Inn bar announced an arrival that was entirely out of place in the dusty, dim establishment. Rikki felt herself propelled through the door, her body moving with a confidence that made her stomach churn with a deep sense of humiliation. She was dressed in an ensemble that felt like a direct assault on her dignity: a crimson spandex micro-dress that was so short it barely covered the essentials, and its neckline was practically non-existent, leaving the vast, high-set mounds of her F-cup breasts almost entirely exposed to the room.

Her legs were encased in black fishnet stockings held up by thick lace garters, and a pair of thigh-high red patent leather boots with spiked heels added a towering, provocative height to her frame. There was no room in the ensemble for a set of bra and panties. The woman felt every inch of the “bimbo” caricature Viz had designed, her red-streaked platinum blonde hair cascading over her shoulders in wild, artificial waves and her plump red lips gleaming with a thick layer of gloss. Around her neck, a heavy rhinestone choker acted as a glamorous collar, and oversized silver hoop earrings brushed against her jaw with every forced movement of her head.

Rikki’s eyes scanned the room, landing on a large “Speed Dating” sign that hung over a series of numbered tables. The blonde gasped as she realized the intent of the evening, and what the voice in her head meant when he said she would be having ‘lots of dates.’ She didn’t want to date anyone; she just wanted her old life back, and she wanted the man she had been supposed to marry to come save her from this nightmare. However, Viz had other plans, and the political editor’s feet carried her toward Table 3 with a steady pace.

A man in a dress shirt approached the transformed blonde, clutching a clipboard with a trembling hand. He looked at the towering, blonde woman and seemed to lose his train of thought for a moment as he stared at the exposed swell of her chest and the bold, silver eyeshadow that made her eyes look mesmerizing.

“Hi there, my name is Jack, and I’m the organizer of the event. Thanks for coming,” the man managed to say. He looked at Rikki with a mixture of awe and intimidation. “I see you are at Table 3. Do you have any questions about the rules or the process before we get started with the first round?”

Rikki gritted her teeth. She wanted to tell the nervous man that she didn’t even want to be here and to throw her out, but she knew the voice in her head wouldn’t allow that to happen. Instead, her mouth opened of its own accord with a high-pitched, bubbly enthusiasm.

“Don’t worry about the rules, Jack. Just bring me the men and let’s see if any of them are man enough to handle me,” she heard herself say, her voice carrying a flirtatious, shallow tone that made her want to gag herself.

Jack let out a nervous chuckle and nodded quickly. “Alright then! I love the energy. I’ll get everyone situated.”

The organizer moved to the small stage and addressed the crowd of men who were nursing beers, some of them watching Rikki with hungry, lustful eyes. “Alright, gentlemen, the rules are simple. The women will stay seated at their assigned tables, and the men will shuffle around to the next table every time the bell rings. You will each have exactly two minutes to impress your date before moving on. Good luck!”

A sharp, metallic clang of a bell echoed around the room, signaling the start of the first rotation. Rikki watched as a middle-aged man with a receding hairline nervously approached the table. He sat down with a gentle, hesitant smile and adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses while looking at the blonde.

“H-hey, my name’s Justin. I’m a lecturer at the university, focusing on 18th-century European history,” the man said, trying to maintain a level of dignity despite the way his eyes kept drifting toward the exposed, heavy weight of the woman’s breasts.

“History? Pthhhh,” Rikki’s voice snapped before she had a chance to react, her lips curling into a cruel, mocking sneer. He was too old for her, but the feminist had always respected men with an academic background. The voice in her head, however, had other ideas. “I’m not looking for someone to bore me with a lecture, Justin. You look like you couldn’t even find my clit if I gave you a map.”

Her comment was loud enough to earn a couple of snickers from nearby tables, and Justin’s face turned a deep shade of crimson. He spent the remainder of his two minutes staring at his lap in stunned silence. As soon as the bell rang, he practically tripped over himself to get away from the table. Rikki felt awful for what she had said to him.

“Great comment there, princess. He looked like a total bore,” Viz remarked in amusement as the blonde waited for the next date. “We need to find you a real man.”

The next man to sit down was Kyle, a fit, outdoorsy type wearing a flannel shirt. He was a good-looking young man, and he leaned in with a confident, friendly grin that almost reminded Rikki of her ex-fiancé.

“Hey there, I’m Kyle,” he told her. “I love hiking and traveling. I just got back from a month-long trip through the Andes. What do you enjoy?” His gaze settled on the transformed blonde’s face with genuine interest.

“Hiking? You mean you enjoy sweating in the dirt and sleeping in a tent like a fucking hobo?” Rikki’s mouth asked, her voice dripping with a shallow, abrasive arrogance. “Do I look like someone who wants to go camping? Next!”

Kyle blinked in shock, his friendly expression hardening into one of disgust. He spent the next sixty seconds telling her how rude he thought she was, which made Rikki extremely uncomfortable. Eventually, the bell rang, and the man disappeared.

“He was a bit pathetic,” Viz commented as Kyle moved on. “He’s looking for a companion, an equal, but we’re looking for something else, aren’t we, doll?”

The third man was Hank, a loud, jewelry-clad crypto-bro type who smelled of strong cologne. He leaned back in the chair and tapped the gold watch on the table, looking at Rikki with an appraising, greedy gaze. The blonde almost recoiled from the strong stench; she hated men like this.

“I’m Hank, babe, but I don’t mind you calling me Daddy. I’ve made a killing trading coin, and I love to spend my money spoiling the right kind of bitches,” he bragged, his eyes traveling down to Rikki’s fishnet-clad legs before moving back up to her chest. “You look like you’d be an expensive habit.”

Rikki’s mind recoiled from the man’s blatant misogyny, but she had no control over her own body. Her torso leaned forward, her chest pressing against the top of the table as her hands reached out to trace the rim of her glass with a slow, provocative motion.

“Finally, a man around here who realizes how the world works,” she purred, her voice bubbling with a forced, greedy enthusiasm. “I am a very expensive habit, Hank, and I expect to be treated like a queen. How about you tell me more about how much you like to spend on your toys?”

“He’s a bit slimy,” Viz noted with a sense of fun even as the crypto-bro kept speaking. “He’s a shallow asshole, but at least he knows that you have a price tag. Let’s dump him in the maybe pile.”

The two minutes felt like an eternity for Rikki, but eventually the bell rang. Hank was replaced by Brad, a chubby, frat-boy type with a stained baseball cap and a smug, entitled expression. The young man sat down and didn’t even bother to look at her face, his gaze fixed entirely on the fake mounds on her chest. Rikki already didn’t like where this was headed.

“I’m Brad. I finished college a couple of years ago, and I spend most of my free time gaming and watching sports,” he started, his voice carrying a crude, arrogant quality. He demonstrated every unattractive trait the woman could think of. “I’ve always said that a woman’s uses are better spent in the kitchen or sucking cock than anything else. You look like you’d be a pro at the latter, am I right?”

Rikki’s internal consciousness screamed in absolute fury at the vulgarity of the man’s words, but her body had already surrendered to the entity. Instead of slapping the smug look off his face, the blonde leaned forward even further, her heavy breasts spilling over the top of the red spandex dress until her nipples were barely concealed. She let out a low, throaty laugh that sounded entirely too practiced and enticing.

“You’re fucking right about that, big boy,” the blonde purred, her red lips curving into a sultry grin. “I’ve been told my mouth is one of my best features, especially when I’m put to work. I’m not really much of a cook, but I’m a total pro at making sure a man like you gets exactly what he wants under the table. Why don’t you tell me more about what you’d have me do as you’re watching the game?”

Brad’s eyes widened as he leaned in, his gaze fixated on her glossy mouth. That approach had never worked before. “I like your attitude, babe,” he told her. “Most girls around here are too stuck up to admit what they’re good for.”

The bell clanged, and Brad sleazily ran a finger along the trace of the woman’s hand before standing up, giving her a wink as he exited. Rikki felt a wave of nausea wash over her as she realized her body had just confirmed the most degrading stereotypes she had spent her career fighting.

“I like that one, princess,” Viz remarked in her head. “I think he knows how to handle a girl like you at your worst. He doesn’t particularly care about your brain, but that’s a refreshing change, isn’t it?”

The fifth man to arrive was Miles, a young student doctor with thick spectacles and a nervous, earnest expression. He sat down and tried to maintain eye contact, though the proximity of Rikki’s exposed, surgically enhanced chest made him visibly tremble.

“Hey, I spend a lot of time in the lab these days, and it gets very boring,” he explained, his voice carrying a gentle, soft-spoken quality. “I’m looking for someone I can really talk to after work, you know? Someone with a bit of substance.”

“Substance? It sounds like you’re just too scared to touch a real woman,” Rikki’s voice barked as she tossed her platinum hair over her shoulders. “Do I intimidate you, Miles? Would you like to touch me?”

Her forwardness prompted Miles to turn a bright shade of pink, and he spent the rest of the time trying to stutter out an apology before the bell mercifully ended his ordeal. Rikki felt another pang of guilt, but Viz was already laughing in the back of her mind.

“Wow, what a performance,” the entity spat. “You broke him in under a minute, poor lad.”

Rikki was getting sick of these dates as the sixth man took his seat. Dave was a wealthy socialite dressed in a tailored suit that cost more than Rikki’s entire month’s rent. He sat down and adjusted his gold cufflinks, looking at the blonde with a wanton interest that made her feel like a piece of high-end property.

“I’m Dave, and I travel quite extensively for my business interests,” he began, his voice smooth and arrogant. “I’m looking for a specific kind of companion to join me on my travels. I need a girl who looks like a total plastic slut on my arm but knows to keep her mouth shut when I’m talking to my associates. You certainly have the look I’m after.”

Rikki’s mind burned at the insult. She had built her own reputation, and this man stood for everything she fought against. The arrogance of men, who thought women were nothing but trophies. It made her sick. However, her body moved with a fluid, suggestive grace. She reached up and played with the choker around her neck, her long red nails clicking against the jewels as she gave him a sultry, wide-eyed look.

“I think I may be just what you’re looking for, babe,” the blonde heard herself say, her voice bubbling with a vapid, enticing warmth. “I love to travel, and I promise you that the performance is even better in the bedroom. I can be as loud and as quiet as you want me to be, as long as you keep me in the lifestyle I’m accustomed to.”

The man continued to talk as Viz gave his input. “I think he has the right idea,” he commented. “He wants a trophy, and you’ve got the right look for it. What do you think?”

Rikki ignored the rhetorical question as Dave moved on, allowing the seventh man to sit down. He was a plain-looking man in a shirt and vest, and as he sat down, he squinted at the woman with a confused, searching expression. Rikki realized, with a jolt of pure terror, that she recognized him; he was Tom, one of the guys from the mailroom at Vogue Femme.

“Wait, do I know you?” Tom asked, leaning in to get a better look at her face beneath the heavy makeup. “You look a lot like that editor from the fifth floor, but the hair is… well, you do look a little different.”

Rikki felt ashamed. It was one thing to be paraded in front of a bunch of strangers, but she worked with this man. Her cheeks began to blush. However, Viz’s control was absolute, and her body leaned back, her hands reaching down to adjust the hem of her dress until it was dangerously high on her thighs.

“Ms. Reynolds? Never heard of her,” the blonde laughed, her voice carrying a loud, abrasive slang that was the opposite of her professional tone. “Call me Trixie, or Candi, or whatever the fuck you like. I’m just here for a good time and a real man. Think you can handle that?”

The man nodded, but it was clear he was out of his depth, and by the time the bell rang, he scurried away, too embarrassed to look the hot blonde in the eye.

“That was a close one, princess,” Viz mocked, his voice filled with amusement. “Imagine if the mail boy found out his boss was out here looking for a new master. That would be a fun story to tell his colleagues, wouldn’t it?”

The final rotation brought the eighth and last man to the table, a slim, well-dressed individual who carried himself with a quiet, observant confidence. He looked like the kind of man Rikki would have enjoyed a conversation with, but she was certain the damn voice in her head was going to ruin it. He introduced himself as Ian and mentioned that he was a blogger and equal rights advocate, leaning forward with a respectful smile that made the blonde ache for a normal conversation.

“I spend a lot of my time researching and writing about modern empowerment,” Ian explained, his eyes remaining fixed on her face with a lot more self-discipline than her previous dates. “I actually follow a lot of content creators who share those values. Have you ever heard of RikkiRoar? She’s a TikTok star with some fascinating views. You should give her a listen. It’ll make you realize you don’t need implants or all that makeup to validate yourself. You are more than just what men think of you.”

The sheer irony of the man’s statement felt like a humiliating weight pressing against the blonde’s chest, making it difficult for her to breathe. Ian was talking about her own values, her own platform, and her own struggle for agency, yet he had no idea that the woman he was trying to empower was the very person he was using as an example. Rikki’s mind screamed for her to tell him the truth, to tell him that she was the woman behind the account and that she was currently a prisoner in her own skin, but the control of the voice inside her head was too much to overcome.

“RikkiRoar? That bitch is a stuck-up prude who wouldn’t know what to do with a real man if he came with an instruction manual,” the blonde barked, her voice dripping to a venomous, shallow cruelty that she found repulsive. She leaned forward until the tops of her F-cup breasts were practically brushing the table, her big lips curling into a sneer. “I don’t need a lecture on ‘substance’ from a beta male who thinks ‘equality’ is going to get his dick wet. Look at these tits, Ian. Do they look like they belong to a woman who cares what a scrawny blogger thinks of her?”

The man’s respectful smile vanished, replaced by an expression of deep, visible disappointment. He pulled back in his chair as if to distance himself and the aggressive caricature sitting opposite him. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to offer some perspective,” he managed to say. “I didn’t realize you were so committed to this…. lifestyle.”

“Commitment? I’m committed to finding a man who knows how to use me, not one who wants to read me bedtime stories about equal pay,” Rikki heard herself say to her own disgust. “Why don’t you find some mousy little brat to bore with your empowerment talk and let a real man come over here and put this mouth to better use? You’re wasting your time with me.”

The bell clanged a final time, marking the end of the speed-dating ritual. Without offering another word or even a parting glance, the blogger stood up and pushed his chair back with a sharp, grating noise on the floorboards. He looked at the platinum blonde woman with a mix of pity and revulsion, his eyes lingering for a split second on her pouty lips before he turned and marched away toward the bar. Rikki felt nauseated as she watched him leave, her mind screaming that she agreed with every word he had said, even as her body remained seated in a provocative pose for the benefit of the room.

The organizer of the event returned to the center of the bar and clapped his hands to draw the attention of the remaining participants. He carried a stack of small, printed cards and a handful of golf pencils, moving from table to table with an upbeat energy that felt entirely at odds with Rikki’s internal state. When he reached Table 3, he stared at the woman’s exposed, heavy breasts for a heartbeat too long before he placed a scorecard in front of her. The political editor watched her own long, red acrylic nails press into the paper as she took the pencil, her heart hammering against her ribs as she realized she was being forced to participate in the final selection process. The man told her to mark down her scores and pick her favorite before he hurried away to the next table, leaving her to face the consequences of the evening’s systematic degradation.

The baritone voice of the sadistic entity returned to the forefront of her mind as Rikki sat there with the pencil in hand, his tone dripping with a dark, satisfied amusement that made her want to vomit.

“That was fun, princess,” he remarked joyously. “There were a lot of worthy candidates, but I think you’ll agree with me that one stood out from the rest. I think it’s time to reintroduce yourself to your prize.”

Rikki’s heart sank as she stood up, her body moving her toward the dark corner of the bar.

❖

The narrow wood-paneled corridor leading toward the stranger’s apartment was filled with the sound of heavy, desperate breathing and the frantic rustle of spandex. Rikki felt herself shoved up against the wall as Brad’s meaty hands, clumsy and aggressive, worked to pull down the front of her red micro-dress. The woman’s mind continued to scream in absolute horror, her feminist soul recoiling from the raw, unrefined lust of the man before her, but her body was a willing participant under the command of the sadistic voice in her head. The editor arched her back, her plastic implants spilling over the top of the fabric as Brad groaned into her neck, his teeth grazing her skin with a possessive force. She felt the cool air of the hallway hit her exposed chest, a stark contrast to the heat of the man pressing against her, and she let out a low, enticing moan that she couldn’t stop.

Outwardly, the blonde appeared as though she couldn’t get enough of the man she had met just a couple of hours ago, her long red acrylic nails digging into his shoulders as she pulled him closer. Brad fumbled with his keys, finally managing to unlock the door before kicking it open and dragging his conquest inside the dark entryway. They didn’t even make it past the living area before the making out intensified, their bodies banging against the furniture in a series of loud, chaotic thuds. Rikki felt her hips strike the edge of a side table, knocking a lamp onto the floor, and a second later, the sound of a glass smashing against the coffee table echoed through the room. She didn’t care about the damage; she was a passenger in a body that was currently obsessed with the smell of cheap cologne and the rough grip of a disgusting man who viewed her as nothing more than a toy.

The struggle continued into the bedroom, where the air was heavy with a musky and unappealing scent that made the blonde’s stomach turn. Brad didn’t bother with romance or even a gentle touch; he simply threw Rikki onto the mattress like a ragdoll, the bedsheets cool against her exposed skin as her dress remained bunched around her waist. As she bounced slightly on the bed and looked up, her silver eyeshadow-covered eyes fixed on the large poster of Beefcake that was pinned to the ceiling directly above her. The sight of the man who represented everything she despised fueled her anger, and the realization that she was in the lair of a devoted fanboy added a layer of profound nausea to her situation.

“Nice poster,” the woman heard her own voice comment, the words bubbling with a vapid, enticing warmth entirely manufactured by Viz.

“Thanks, doll,” Brad grinned, a dark predatory expression that made his chubby features look even more arrogant as he loomed over the edge of his bed. “Beefcake knows exactly what bitches are really good for, and I intend to follow his advice to the letter tonight,” he told her, his voice thick with a crude confidence.

The blonde’s internal mind was a whirlwind of hatred and fury, but her body remained in a state of provocative submission. She watched through her own eyes as Brad stripped out of his clothes with a frantic energy and crawled onto the mattress. He reached out and placed a large, sweaty hand behind the feminist’s neck, his fingers tangling in her freshly lightened hair to pull her forward. The man hovered her face directly over his crotch, the proximity making the woman internally scream out to Viz for mercy.

“It’s time to warm me up, bitch,” Brad commanded, his voice a low growl of expectation.

He didn’t wait for a reply before he shoved his semi-hard cock into her mouth, the force of the movement pushing her head back and making her gag. Rikki’s mind recoiled in absolute horror as the man began to fuck her throat, his hips moving with a steady, relentless pace that ignored her need to breathe. The blonde was forced to take the length of him over and over, her glossy red lips stretched wide to accommodate the intrusion. The sound of her own participation filled her ears, a series of wet and metered noises that signaled her total physical surrender to the manosphere fanboy.

“Mmmgh... hppph... glugh... haaa,” the blonde editor sounded out behind the obstruction, her long red nails digging into the bedsheets as she fought to maintain her composure.

Brad was relentless, his fingers digging into her scalp as he held his sexual partner in place, treating her mouth like nothing more than a convenient fleshlight. He seemed to enjoy the muffled, helpless noises she made, his breathing becoming ragged and animalistic as the friction intensified. Rikki felt her oversized breasts swaying with the movement of his hips, the sensation serving as a constant reminder of the physical modifications that had made her a target for men like him. She was mentally screaming for a pause in the action, but her body continued to serve him with an expertise that left the man groaning in a dark sort of satisfaction.

“Glllp... mm-hpg... hwaa,” the phonetic sounds continued as her throat worked to swallow the intrusion, the red of her plump, pouty lips glistening with the moisture of the act.

Eventually, Brad appeared to grow tired of the oral display and gripped the woman by her hips, flipping her over onto her stomach with a rough motion. Rikki felt the air hit her backside as the man reached down and hitched her red dress up even further, exposing the black fishnets and the red lace of her garters. She shuddered as she felt his thick fingers slide against her sensitive folds, the touch demanding as he prepared for his next act. A moment later, the date pushed into her with a single, powerful thrust that made the bed rattle against the wall.

The man began to fuck the blonde with a punishing and aggressive pace that forced the air from her lungs in a series of sharp gasps. Rikki’s body was arching under him, her red boots kicking at the mattress as the friction began to build into a desperate and localized heat. The sensation was overwhelming, the physical reality of the act clashing with the internal horror of her surroundings. She felt every inch of him, the way he filled her and the way his skin rubbed against hers, and she realized with a sense of profound shame that her body was responding to the very stimulation that was degrading her.

“Oh god… yes… fuck me!” her voice gasped out into the pillow, the words sounding breathless and entirely too genuine as Viz took total control of her vocal cords.

Brad didn’t offer a single word of comfort, his breathing becoming a series of snorting grunts as he intensified his efforts. He reached forward and grabbed the woman by her shoulders, pulling her back against his chest so that he could feel the weight of her implants. Rikki felt his hands lower to her nipples, the touch rubbing against her until she was aching and hard. She was a whirlwind of sensory input: the musky smell of the unwashed room, the sight of the disgusting poster, and the heavy movements of the man behind her.

“Give it to me… harder…. I want it all,” Rikki heard herself moan, her head tossing from side to side as the pleasure began to spiral out of control.

The movements of the man behind her grew even more frantic as Brad neared the edge, his hips slapping against her with a steady force. Rikki felt her own climax beginning to build, a powerful and pulsing sensation that started in her core and radiated outward to her fingertips. She fought against it with every ounce of her will, her mind trying to reject the pleasure that was being forced upon her by a Beefcake fan, but Viz was undeterred. He took the budding sensation and twisted it, amplifying the neurological signals until she was on the verge of a total breakdown.

Suddenly, Brad let out a loud and triumphant shout as he began to climax, the hot spurts of his seed filling her as he bucked one last time. The sensation of his release was the final trigger for Rikki’s own body. Her orgasm hit her like a physical explosion, a wave of pure and unadulterated pleasure that was so intense it almost felt painful. The blonde’s back arched in a violent and prolonged spasm, her red boots kicking at the mattress as she screamed into the quiet of the smelly bedroom. The world began to spin as the neurological overload reached its peak, and the entire room blurred into a chaotic mess of colors.

Rikki felt the final waves of the climax wash over her, her mind fracturing under the weight of the sensory input and the utter destruction of her dignity. Her eyes went blurry, and the image of the manosphere icon was the last thing she saw before her vision failed completely. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and the world went black as she slumped into the mattress, her consciousness slipping away into a dark and forced void while her body remained tangled in the sheets with the man she despised.

❖

Rikki slowly blinked her eyes open as the consciousness of a new day began to pull her from the dark void of her blackout. The first thing she noticed was an overwhelming, foul taste that coated the back of her throat and the roof of her mouth. There was a foreign object occupying the space between her teeth, a soft and damp fabric that felt entirely wrong. The blonde sat up with a panicked start and reached into her mouth, her long acrylic nails catching on the fibers as she pulled the obstruction out and spat it into her hand. The woman stared down in silent, mounting horror at a pair of pink Lycra panties that were saturated with a salty, metallic texture that made her stomach do a violent somersault.

The editor shot a glance toward the other side of the bed where the man sat, or rather lay, still deeply immersed in his own slumber. True to form, Brad was snoring indignantly, his mouth hanging open as he lay sprawled across the messy sheets, too out of it to explain to Rikki why he had apparently used her mouth as a hamper for someone else’s undergarments while she was unconscious. Rikki felt a visceral nausea rise in her chest as she realized the depth of the disrespect she had endured. She didn’t know the name of the woman those panties belonged to, and she didn’t want to know. She only knew that the feminist leader she once was would have burned the building down, but she had a feeling the vindictive voice in her head wouldn’t let that happen.

She moved with a deeply quiet efficiency, sliding off the mattress and gathering her discarded things from the floor. Her red spandex microdress was a wrinkled mess, unevenly draped across her hips, and her fishnet stockings were ripped in several places. She struggled to pull her six-inch boots back over her feet as she zipped them up firmly. The woman didn’t bother looking for a mirror to fix her hair or the smeared paint on her lips; she only wanted to be gone before the manosphere fanboy woke up to demand a second round.

The walk of shame back to her lavish, high-rise apartment was a grueling gauntlet of public judgment. As she moved through the early morning streets, the sharp click of Rikki’s heels sounded like a countdown to her own social execution. Commuters in sensible, day clothes turned their heads to stare at the disheveled blonde in the skimpy red dress. She could feel their silent disapproval and the odd, amused smirk, but she kept her head down, her mind trying to silence the shame she had felt throughout the journey.

Once she eventually reached the sanctuary of her own home, the blonde wanted nothing more than to scrub the scent of Brad’s bedroom from her skin and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep in her own bed. However, as she passed through her study door, a compulsive need to check her digital life had taken hold of her. She rarely went a few hours without reading her emails and personal messages, and the idea of not replying to a potentially important message gnawed at her soul. Rikki sat at her desk and opened her laptop. At the very top of her inbox sat a new message from the CEO, Daniel Newsom, sent only an hour prior.

“Rikki,” the email began, the tone sounding professionally excited and entirely too cheerful for the early hour. “I am thrilled to officially announce that we are launching the Vogue Femme News Network in two weeks’ time. This is a monumental moment for our brand, and I want you to be the centerpiece of that success. Attached is the first draft of your new primary anchor contract. Please review the stipulations immediately. If you wish to talk over any of the points or suggest amendments, notify me at once. I look forward to your signature.”

The blonde felt a surge of nervous anticipation as she clicked the attachment, her breath hitching in her throat as the document loaded.

—————

EXECUTIVE EMPLOYMENT AGREEMENT: NEWS DIVISION

PARTIES: This agreement is entered into between Vogue Femme Media Group (The Employer) and Veronica Reynolds (The Employee).

1. POSITION AND PRIMARY OBJECTIVES: The Employee shall serve in the capacity of Primary News Anchor and Co-Host for the launch of the Femme Vogue News Network. The Employee’s primary role is to counterbalance the masculine aura of her co-host and to ensure an aesthetically pleasing presence during all on-camera interactions.

2. ON-SCREEN IDENTITY AND NAMING:

• Moniker Designation: The Employee shall adopt and use an exclusive professional on-screen moniker for all broadcast, promotional, and social media purposes. This name shall be designated solely by the CEO.
• Property Rights: Any and all on-screen names, social media handles, and associated branding created for the Employee are the exclusive intellectual property of the Employer. Any requests to alter or change this identity must be submitted in writing and are subject to the absolute discretion and approval of the CEO.

3. PROFESSIONAL BRANDING AND AESTHETIC COMPLIANCE:

• Visual Standards: The Employee acknowledges that the success of the Network is dependent upon a specific brand-approved aesthetic. The Employee agrees to maintain a physical appearance and personal grooming standard as dictated by the News Division.
• Mandatory Wardrobe: The Employee agrees to adhere to a strict visual standard as curated by the News Division. All garments, accessories, and footwear worn for professional purposes and public appearances must align with the Network's aesthetic requirements as determined by the CEO.
• Persona Training: The Employee shall participate in mandatory "Persona-Development Workshops" to perfect her on-camera presence. These sessions will be mandated at the discretion of the CEO to ensure total tonal alignment with the brand.

4. AVAILABILITY AND EXCLUSIVITY:

• Service Requirements: The Employee shall remain on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, for any breaking news story. The Employee must be available to report to the studio or any external location within ninety (90) minutes of notification.
• Event Attendance: The Employee is required to attend any and all promotional events, galas, and appearances as mandated by the Employer.

5. COMPENSATION AND TERMINATION:

• Base Salary: The Employee shall receive an annual base salary of $500,000.
• Termination for Cause: The Employer reserves the right to terminate employment for "Aesthetic Non-Compliance" or failure to maintain the required public persona as mandated by the CEO.

—————

Rikki sat in a state of frozen, disgusted silence as she reached the end of the text. The contract felt like a total betrayal of her intellectual career, reducing her to an ‘aesthetically pleasing’ object whose only job was to soften the image of the lowly former intern she had almost fired. The 24/7 availability and the forced persona training were nothing more than a legal way to ensure she remained under the company’s thumb at all times. She was a journalist, damn it. A political editor who knew how to run an entire department, not some TV bimbo men could jerk off to before they headed off to work. Rikki refused to be the face of such a sexist venture, and she felt a real spark of defiance flare up in her chest.

The blonde began to type a reply, her fingers moving with a frantic speed as she drafted a message that rejected every single term. She wanted to tell Daniel that she would resign before she signed such a humiliating document. She was a Senior Political Editor, and she would not be turned into some camera-facing doll for the sake of his ratings.

However, as the woman’s fingers hovered over the send button, the familiar, gritty tone of her mental tormentor rumbled through Rikki’s skull, and she felt her hands lock in place. The entity let out a low, amused chuckle that made the blonde’s blood run cold. “Now, now, princess, we don’t want to make any hasty mistakes,” Viz purred, his presence expanding until he had total control over her motor functions.

Rikki watched, in a state of internal screaming, as her own hands returned to the keyboard, highlighting her entire rejection, then hit the delete key. Her fingers began to type a new message, the words appearing on the screen with a terrifying, effortless precision that she couldn’t stop.

“Dear Daniel,” the message now read. “Thank you for your draft. However, I am currently unhappy with the terms as they are written, and I will not sign until the following amendments are added to the contract.”

The blonde’s eyes widened as she watched her hands type out the degrading new terms. “I require a healthy weekly stipend to be paid into a separate account for the sole purpose of maintaining my professional appearance on the company dime. Furthermore, I require a monthly allowance to be allocated for any further physical improvements or modifications to my aesthetic, provided such improvements are subject to the prior approval and direction of the CEO.”

Rikki tried to pull her hands away from the desk, her mind clawing at the control Viz had over her muscles, but she was entirely powerless. She watched as her perfect stiletto-shaped nails hovered over the mouse, and a second later, she heard the distinct, final click as the message was sent to Daniel Newsom.

She was horrified at what she had just done. She didn’t want a stipend for her appearance, and she certainly didn’t want ‘further improvements’ to a body that already felt foreign and grotesque to her. She didn’t want to be the face of the network or a trophy for the CEO, yet she had just legally demanded that her own degradation be subsidized by the company. Her life was spiraling out of control with a speed that left her breathless and dizzy, and she had no idea how to fix the damage.

“Don’t worry so much, Rikki,” Viz interrupted her thoughts, his voice filling her mind with a disgusting sense of comfort. “I know exactly what is best for you, and I’m going to guide you through every step of this new chapter in your life. You’re going to be the most beautiful, compliant star this city has ever seen.”

Rikki slumped back in her leather chair, her hands falling limp at her sides as she stared at the sent confirmation on her screen. She felt the heavy weight of her plastic F-cup breasts and the lingering tightness of her red dress, and wondered where it had all gone wrong. She had a fiancé, a career,  and a life to be proud of, but it was suddenly all falling apart from every direction, and she had no idea why. She was in the middle of her worst nightmare, and she had no clue how to wake up.

End of Chapter Three.