Previous chapters:
One | Two | Three
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The rush of panic that flooded through Sarah was overwhelming. She felt her breath catch in her throat.
“I can’t,” she said. “I can’t. Lachlan, I can’t surrender anymore. You don’t understand. It’s frightening! The things I’m doing – that I can’t stop myself from doing… I could have died last night when I drove off the road!”
“I didn’t make you drive home drunk,” said Lachlan, his face a mask of cold anger. “In fact, I specifically told you not to. It was you being a difficult bitch that caused that to happen. And I was the one who helped you when it happened, remember?”
“Please,” begged Sarah. “I’m sorry. You caught me doing… that thing with the money. So just tell me what you want. I’ll pay you. Or… let you see me naked, or… whatever you want. Just let me out of this… this mind-control thing.”
Lachlan shook his head. “The Securo-System isn’t easily reversible, Sarah,” he said. “I can’t undo it without help, and if I went for help I’d have to explain your embezzlement, and I don’t think that’s what you want me to do, is it?”
She shook her head, her eyes wide. She had stolen quite a lot of money from the Department for Women. If it was revealed, she was certain she would go to jail.
“And anyway, it seems you still haven’t learned your lesson about being a good little executive and following the rules,” he continued. “After all, you’re late today. Unacceptably late.”
“I’m sorry,” whined Sarah. She was late because of Lachlan, really. Because Lachlan had made her stay up late watching rape porn, and because Lachlan had insisted on making her spend the time retrieving the car she had abandoned last night instead of just taking a taxi straight to work. But she was smart enough to know that bringing up those important points was not going to assist her to secure Lachlan’s mercy now.
“Remember, Sarah,” said Lachlan. “It’s not me doing this to you. You’re doing it to yourself, now. It’s your own mind that’s going to make you surrender something. It would make you surrender something even if I didn’t ask for it. Even if I said I was letting you off the hook. You can feel that, can’t you? You know it’s true?”
She whimpered – and Lachlan knew that she *could* feel it, the irresistible weight of the hypnotic programming, forcing her to give up another aspect of her identity to Lachlan’s control.
“What’s it going to be, kitten?” he asked her. “You gave up control of your transport, and control of your hobbies. You weren’t doing a very good job of managing either of them, so it’s just as well that I’m making decisions about those things for you now. What are you surrendering next?”
He could see that she was thinking back over the list of things she might surrender. He didn’t have to show it to her again – the hypnosis had stamped it on her mind in a way that she couldn’t forget.
He wondered what she would choose to surrender. Her bladder? Her privacy? Her emotions? She wouldn’t understand the full consequences of some of the choices on the list, but they would all be frightening for her – and he enjoyed her fear, and her powerlessness to stop herself from submitting to him.
In the end, she chose what seemed to her to be the least extreme choice on her list. “My work space,” she whispered.
He sighed. It *was* a less intense choice than many on her list, and there was some disappointment in that. But at the same time, it presented new options to further degrade and humiliate the big-ttited executive bitch.
“Good girl,” he said, and patted her on the head. “I’ll take control of your work space.” He could see from the expression on her face that she could *feel* the change happening – the ability to control her own work space or make decisions about it being firmly locked away from her behind strong hypnotic walls. She had lost another part of herself, however small, and it belonged to him now.
“Go and find some work to do somewhere else in the building,” he told her. “I don’t care where. You can come back to your office after lunch, and see what I’ve done with it.”
Her eyes were wide in terrified anticipation – but she did as she was told, leaving Lachlan alone to work on her office.
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He could have been unsubtle. He wanted to put up hardcore porn on her office walls, and posters that said “ALL WOMEN ARE SLUTS”. He wanted to place the picture he had taken of her last night, bare-cunted in her car, in a large frame on her desk. The humiliation it would cause for a woman who until recently had considered herself a feminist, who headed up the government’s Department of Women, would be intense.
But it would also get her fired, likely on the very same day. There were more than enough people in the Department who would enjoy seeing the busty bitch get her comeuppance, but that didn’t mean they could tolerate her displaying hardcore porn in the workplace without dismissing her. And if Sarah Rose was fired, it would weaken Lachlan’s hold on her, and reduce his ability to further humiliate her.
So for now it needed to be small, and discreet.
For now.
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He could tell he had done well because when Sarah returned after lunch and saw the changes, she made an audible squeak, and rushed into her office, shutting the door hurriedly to screen the interior from outside eyes.
“What have you done?” she hissed to Lachlan. “What is this?”
“Just a little decoration, to make your office more feminine,” smiled Lachlan. “After all, this *is* the Department of Women.”
Sarah’s computer screen had been replaced with a bright pink display, and she had a new keyboard and mouse in matching tones of girly pink. Her black leather executive office chair had been replaced by a bright pink gaming-style chair. And there was a teddy-bear sitting on her desk next to the monitor – a rather friendly-looking fellow who exuded an aura of huggability.
Lachlan had also filled the holes in Sarah’s office bookcases, where she had once had books of feminist theory prior to starting to use them as toilet paper. The new books were a mix of torrid romances (“Becoming The Pirate’s Slave-Bride”), embarrassing self-help books (“Coping With Adult Incontinence”) and children’s picture books (“Baby’s First Trip to the Farm!”). He’d even slipped a book of hardcore misogynist theory in there (“The Female Intelligence Myth”), which was concealed enough that no one was likely to see it, but which would keep Sarah in a state of terror that it might be seen as soon as she realised it was there.
And finally, in one corner, there was a low plastic table, in bright primary colours, obviously designed for children. Above the table, he had stuck a piece of white paper to the wall, on which was written (in bright red crayon) “SARAH’S TIME-OUT CORNER”. The table itself bore a small collection of Barbie dolls, building blocks, colouring books, and crayons.
“Change it back!” demanded Sarah.
“Now, do you really mean that?” asked Lachlan. “Do you really believe that your opinions about your work space are relevant or important?”
She opened her mind to argue with him – but her brain wouldn’t let her do it. She *knew*, deep down, that her opinions about this *weren’t* important. She had given that away.
“No,” she whispered, horrified.
“Now, come and take a look at your computer,” he said, leading her around to her new chair. (There was no dildo on it – yet – which was yet another unfortunate concession to needing to keep Sarah employed.)
Sarah sat obediently, if reluctantly.
“We’ve changed your login password,” said Lachlan. “It’s ‘I am a cunt’, no spaces, no capitals.”
(It wasn’t a very secure password, but then again Lachlan didn’t really care if someone was able to break into Sarah’s computer.)
She glared at him, but typed the password into the computer. The desktop appeared.
“Does IT know about all of this?” she asked.
“Just my friend Armin,” said Lachlan. “I told him you wanted all of this, and he arranged to requisition the new furniture and set up your account the way you wanted it.”
Of course Armin had had some questions, Lachlan knew – but it had only taken the suggestion that the bitch-boss Sarah Rose was being set up for humiliation to get Armin fully on board with Lachlan’s plan.
Sarah’s desktop had been changed, too. Her desktop background had been replaced with a pink-themed image with the words “GOOD GIRL” emblazoned in flowery handwriting in the centre. All her system fonts had been changed to an infantile cartoonish scrawl, with love hearts dotting the Is, and stars around the capital letters.
She would eventually discover other changes, too. When she went to do anything significant on her computer – whether creating a document, or emailing a colleague – a little dialogue box would pop up, which said, “You’re not very smart, Kitten – are you sure this is a good idea?” And it would make her wait a full 15 seconds “to think about it” before she could press a button labelled “Yes, sir” to proceed. It was intensely patronising, and it would subtly decrease Sarah’s productivity, and thinking about how much it would infuriate and humiliate Sarah dozens of times each day made Lachlan’s cock harden eagerly.
There were other subtle sabotages installed. Sarah’s spellcheckers would now suggest incorrect spellings to her, and when she saved or emailed text a custom script would run to randomly remove punctuation or replace words with inappropriate or misspelled versions, which she would be unable to see until someone questioned her over her mangled English. Her calendar would sometimes delete or move appointments without telling her, leaving her constantly forgetting meetings or turning up to them late.
But she would discover all that later.
He had also had Armin install spyware on Sarah’s computer. She hadn’t given up her privacy yet, but there was no sense letting an opportunity go by. He would be able to see her work, her browsing history, her emails, and anything else he wanted from her work terminal.
Sarah didn’t like her new-look computer, but there was nothing she could do about it. Instead, she turned to the kiddie table in the corner. “And what’s this?” she asked.
‘It’s a little space for you to de-stress,” said Lachlan. “Any time that you’re being a bitch, or making everyone unhappy, any man can just suggest that you go and have a time out, and you can just sit there in the corner and do some colouring or read picture books for half an hour.”
“Absolutely not,” said Sarah. “That’s demeaning. People will think I’m a child.”
“Excuse me,” said Lachlan. “Is Sarah the person who decides how she uses her work space most productively? Or is it me?”
She glared at him – but there was only one answer she could give. “It’s you,” she said, through gritted teeth.
“Good,” said Lachlan. “Then stop being a bitch, and go have a time out in your corner.”
She was still glaring at him. Her hands gripped the arms of her chair, and her knuckles were white.
He looked back at her.
She couldn’t resist. She got up, went to the corner and knelt on the ground. She stared at the child’s table in front of her.
Then, with a shriek of pure rage and frustration, unable to control herself, she picked up a crayon, opened a colouring book, and began to colour.
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Watching Sarah’s humiliation for the rest of the afternoon was delicious. He liked the look of her at the kiddie table, infantilised and blushing, so much that only an hour after she had returned to her desk, he went back into her office to instruct her to take another time out.
He wondered if he had gone too far. Two separate subordinates – one male, one female – came to her with questions while Sarah was playing with the Barbie dolls at her kiddie table, and Sarah wasn’t even able to get up, instead having to answer their questions on her knees with the dolls in her hands. But while both subordinates smirked, and clearly found their boss’ behaviour to be strange, embarrassing and hilarious, neither appeared inclined to complain about Sarah’s new office or her playtime at the children’s table.
In the evening she went home in her pink bimbo car, the seat-dildo in her pussy, the misogynist podcast playing on her stereo, and he knew that once at home she would continue using her feminism books as toilet paper, and watch rape porn for an hour before bed.
When she returned the next morning – on time, to his mild disappointment – he worried that she might break down and resist his entire “Sarah re-education program”. She paused at the entrance to her office, looked at the embarrassing décor within, and he thought she might turn and run, fleeing from the workplace and never returning.
But she went inside her office, and closed the door. Lachlan thought about visiting her to give her a time out – but instead he used the spyware to see what she was doing on the computer.
She was using her browser. She was typing words into a search engine.
“How to cure hypnosis.”
Her screen filled with results. Lachlan wasn’t worried. The Securo-System was no ordinary hypnosis – it worked, after all, whether the recipient wanted it to or not – and no conventional answer on the internet would enable Sarah to defeat its hypnotic compulsion.
Sarah spent about an hour flicking through various web pages before appearing to arrive at the same conclusion.
She started trying to do work – but within 20 minutes, the infantile fonts of her computer, and the patronising “are you sure” dialogue boxes, had driven her to distraction. She returned to the search engine.
“How to reset your desktop,” she typed. And then “how to override administrator restrictions”.
And that was it. He had her.
He rose, to walk over to Sarah’s office, and explain that attempting to circumvent the office’s IT restrictions was a breach of the code of conduct.
And then he would find out what she was going to surrender next.
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