This story acts a sequel to the novella-length e-book “Emma’s Policy”, but also works as a standalone read. You can buy “Emma’s Policy” as an e-book from the All These Roadworks e-shop for only $3.99 USD – and support the creation of more great stories! (Click here to view.)

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Bunny Penrose was nervous, arriving for her first day of work at Kavenagh & True. She had obtained excellent marks in college, and she knew that she deserved the job at the prestigious firm. She had graduated from her bachelor’s degree at the age of 21, and she knew she was smart, motivated and ambitious. And yet, she suspected that she had gotten the job not because of her qualifications, but because of the size of her lewd, embarrassing fake tits – the E-cup plastic boobs that she hated, that made her look like a sex-doll in even the most concealing clothing.

If she had had the choice, she would never have gotten the plastic surgery. But Bunny’s circumstances were somewhat unusual.

She had arrived for her first day dressed in a smart, well-tailored business suit, and was reassured to find that she was clearly better dressed than the lobby receptionist, who appeared to be wearing a rather tight evening dress. 

She was also wearing a dog-collar, with a little name-tag hanging from it that read “Sweet-Cheeks”. Bunny, who had been raised in a very feminist household – albeit under some unusual conditions – felt herself tense up at the self-demeaning outfit. Didn’t this woman have any dignity?

“Ah, Miss Penrose,” said the secretary, checking her computer. “You’re expected in Emma’s Division. Seventh floor, through the door in front of you, and then the office at the far end of the building from the lifts”

“Thank you,” said Bunny. She unconsciously ran a hand over her honey-blonde hair – still pulled back in a ponytail – and headed towards the elevators that the secretary pointed at.

The elevator arrived promptly, and Bunny stepped in. Two men got in with her – both older than her, and dressed in expensive suits. They moved to the back corners of the elevator carriage, leaving Bunny to stand awkwardly near the doors.

As the doors closed, and the lift started to move upwards, Bunny jumped. Someone had just touched her ass! She had felt fingers on her upper thighs, just below the bottom of her short business skirt. She cast a shocked look over her shoulder, and took a half-step forward towards the doors – but she couldn’t tell which of the men had touched her. Both looked innocent.

She looked forward again, blushing intensely. The harassment was wildly inappropriate – but she didn’t want to start an argument on her first day on the job if she didn’t need to. Surely they wouldn’t dare do it again.

On the first floor, the doors opened, and another man stepped in. She recognised this one – it was William True, the son of firm founder Balthazar True, now himself in his forties. He was distinguished, and radiated power and wealth. Bunny backed up towards the two men in the rear of the carriage to give him room. Mr True accepted the space as his due – but continued to stand facing Bunny, rather than looking at the doors. It felt strange and awkward.

“Ah,” he said, looking down at Bunny – or rather, she realised, looking at her large tits. “You’re the new hire, I believe. What was the name? Fuckbunny Penrose?”

Bunny blushed, as she always did when someone used her full name. “Yes, sir,” she said. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“Unusual name, don’t you think?” asked Mr True, smiling.

Bunny opened her mouth to reply – but instead, she yelped. The hand was back on her ass – and it was sliding up under the hem of her skirt, moving up her inner thigh towards her pussy.

“Something the matter, Miss Penrose?” asked Mr True.

Bunny’s eyes were wide. Her hands went to the hem of her skirt, trying to hold it down as the hand went up between her legs. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder. She knew that making a sexual harassment allegation on her first day was a great way to lose her job – or be doomed to being given the garbage jobs, and talked about behind her back. From the angle of the hand, whichever man was molesting her had to be bending over, or squatting. Couldn’t Mr True see what was happening?

“No, sir,” squeaked Bunny, trying to pretend everything was normal.

The hand slid further up between her legs, moving with irresistible force, parting her legs slightly even as she tried to clamp them together. She felt a finger brush across the lacy crotch of her panties.

“I asked about your name, Miss Penrose,” Mr True repeated.

“Yes, sir,” said Bunny. “My mother and my father divorced when my mother was still pregnant with me. My father was quite rich, and my mother was not. My father agreed to establish a sizeable trust fund for me, on several conditions, and my mother accepted rather than leave us both poor.”

Bunny broke off, and gasped. The hand between her thighs had just twitched her panties aside, and she felt one finger begin to tease gently at her cunt lips. Traitorously, her pussy was beginning to respond to the molestation by becoming wet, and she knew that soon the finger would discover the moistness of her arousal between her pussy lips. She fought off the urge to reach behind her and slap at the hand, and just tried – in vain – to clench her legs together tighter.

She went on. “One of the conditions was that he got to choose my name, and that I keep and use it for as long as I wanted access to the trust fund. My mother was a feminist, and my father hated her, so he named me Fuckbunny just to spite her. We went to court over it, and the judge ruled that I could go by a shortened form of it in casual situations – like, Bunny – but I had to use the full version in formal contexts.”

She whimpered suddenly. The finger had made its way past her cunt lips, and was now pushing up into her fuckhole – which was becoming progressively wetter and better-lubricated with each second. It was becoming hard to think about anything except her pussy. She heard a cruel snicker from behind her, but still wasn’t sure which man it was.

“And the other conditions, Fuckbunny?” asked Mr True.

“I had to get a… breast enhancement on my 18th birthday,” said Bunny – and then stopped. The other conditions weren’t ones she liked to share with people. Mr True didn’t need to know about them.

The finger began to pump slowly in and out of Bunny’s cunt. She was unable to stifle a slutty moan – and then she did something that filled her with shame: she parted her legs slightly, to give it better access. The guilt of doing so was almost overwhelming, but if she struggled further, she might fall over, or otherwise cause a scene – and besides, it felt so good…

“Well, you have fantastic sex-melons, Fuckbunny,” said Mr True enthusiastically. “I think you’ll fit in here just fine.”

Bunny blushed at the backhanded compliment – and took a half-step backwards to allow her molester a greater ability to finger her fuckhole. The fingers inside her felt so good. She wished he would finger-rape her faster. She felt like she might be able to cum…

There was a “ding” – and the doors opened. She was on the seventh floor.

“I believe this is your stop, Fuckbunny,” said Mr True, smiling.

The hand vanished from between your legs so quickly she wondered whether it had ever been there.

Her face flushed, her mind dazed, Bunny took a couple of tottering steps forward, exiting the lift. “Thank you,” she said, not entirely knowing whether she was thanking Mr True for his compliment, or thanking her abuser for letting her go – or thanking him for abusing her in the first place.

She briefly thought of finding a toilet, and masturbating, and finishing the job her molester had started – but that was crazy, wasn’t it? She was about to start a new career in a prestigious firm. She had to get it together.

She straightened her skirt, and took a deep breath. Behind her, the elevator doors closed, and Mr True and the two men were whisked away to some destination on a higher floor.

She was in a small lobby area. No receptionist here – just a couple of chairs to wait in by the lifts. And ahead was a door, leading to a wide open-plan office area, staffed almost exclusively by women.

And above the door was a sign that gave her pause. In firm Helvetica script at the top of the sign it read “FEMALE RESOURCES DEPARTMENT”.

Beneath that, in pink crayon, someone had written “EMMA’S DIVISION!” in curly, flowing letters. The dot over each of the Is was a love heart.

And beneath that – and this was clearly part of the original sign as printed, which was somehow the worst part of all – was the stylised silhouette of a nude big-titted woman, ass up, tits down, crawling like a dog.

Bunny briefly considered turning and leaving immediately – going back down the horrible elevator and fleeing the building. 

But she didn’t. Because she was a capable young woman who didn’t give in to her fear. So instead, she stepped through the doorway, into the female resources department…

… and into a life that would soon make the harassment she had received in the elevator look like nothing more than a handshake between colleagues.

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