Emma’s Division is 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.)

Previous parts:
One

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The Female Resources Division at Kavenagh & True was like no workplace Bunny had ever seen.

It was pink.  All of it.  The walls were a girly pastel pink, the carpet as a pink so pale as to be almost white, and the desks were all made of pink wood.  It was like walking into a tween girl’s bedroom.

The desks themselves looked wrong, and it took Bunny a second to realise why.  They were far lower than any office desks she was used to.  They almost looked like primary school desks. The women sitting at them were using very low-to-the ground chairs – which were also pink – and at this height their heads were only barely higher than a standing person’s waist.

The stationery was wrong too.  Where another office might have had pens and white A4 office paper, each woman in the Female Resources Division instead had a pack of children’s crayons, and a notepad of lined pink paper with a love-heart watermark.

And the women themselves!  Almost everyone she could see was platinum blonde, which made the women look like iterations of a single, pretty doll, each interchangeable with the next.  Likewise, almost every woman was either naturally buxom, or sporting a pair of fake plastic tits like Bunny’s own.  The very few non-blondes in the office – the brunettes and redheads – had the biggest tits of all, as if to compensate for their hair.

As she watched, a blonde working nearby sent a document to the printer, and rather than stand to walk to the printer, she instead crawled on all fours along the ground.  It made sense, in a way – the printer had been placed on the floor, rather than a raised stand, and it wasn’t far from the girl’s desk, and the girl was very low to the ground in her sitting position anyway.  It was just easier than standing.

The girl was wearing a very short skirt, and as she crawled, Bunny caught a look beneath it.  The girl wasn’t wearing any panties. 

Bunny blushed and looked away.

On the wall was a large poster.  It showed a blonde woman dressed in the manner of an executive – only her blouse was unbuttoned all the way down, she wasn’t wearing a bra, and her large plastic tits were about to spill out into view.  She was looking up at a man, taller than she was and dressed in a way that suggested he was in a relatively junior position.  Despite the difference in their apparent ranks, everything about the woman’s posture suggested submission and desperation to please – and one of the woman’s hands was actively massaging the man’s cock through his pants.

The text on the poster read “SUCCESSFUL WOMEN SEEK MALE ATTENTION”.

Next to it was a smaller poster, which only showed text.  It read, “MEN KNOW BEST.  Sign up to the Female Mentoring Program and get the benefit of a man to help you manage your professional and personal life!”

Bunny crossed the work floor to the door to the manager’s office.  The door, too, was pink, set into a clear glass wall.  Inside, she could see a managerial desk, and behind it was a big-titted brunette in a tight white blouse.  Bunny recognised this woman – it was Emma Cooper.  She had been a feminist icon in the business world – advocating gender diversity policies while climbing the corporate ladder at Kavenagh & True – and it had always been a goal of Bunny’s to work with her.  But she had gone quiet over the last couple of years – there had been vague articles about how she had “transformed workplace culture at Kavenagh & True with the approach called ‘Emma’s Policy’” – but Bunny wasn’t aware of the details.

The nameplate over the door didn’t say “Emma Cooper”, though.  It said “Sugar-Tits – Executive-With-Udders, Female Resources”.

The woman within the office made a “come in” gesture.  Bunny tried to open the door – but it was locked.

There was a swipe pad beside the door.  It read “swipe male employee card to access”.

Bunny didn’t have an employee card, of any type.

The woman in the office pointed downwards.  Bunny let her gaze follow the motion.

There was a large dog flap installed in the foot of the door.  Large enough for a woman to crawl through.  Surely Emma didn’t mean for Bunny to…

But she clearly did.  She was motioning at the dog flap insistently.

Bunny tried the door again.  Still locked.

There was nothing for it.  At least other women in this area were crawling.  She got down on all fours – tugging at her skirt to try and make it cover her panties – and crawled like a dog through the dog flap and into Emma’s office.

It was the first time that Bunny had crawled like an animal in a professional office – but it would not be the last.

Inside, she got to her feet, and took a chair opposite Emma.

The office was as strange as the space outside it was.  The decorations on the wall included a certificate proving that “Emma Cooper” had legally changed her name to “Sugar-Tits”; certificates attesting that “Sugar-Tits” had “Grade A Udders” and was a “barely acceptable fuck”; and a certificate of attainment from the third grade of primary school that suggested that Emma had “struggled with reading comprehension”.

What had happened here?  How had the famous Emma Cooper come to… this?

Emma smiled, and leaned forward in her chair.  “You must be Fuckbunny,” she said.

Bunny blushed.  “I generally just go by Bunny,” she said. Which was true – but was technically a violation of the conditions her father had placed on her trust fund.  If she was called Fuckbunny, she was supposed to answer to it.  But she didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot here.  She may have had to write her full name on her employee paperwork, but she didn’t have to reveal it *everyone* at Kavenagh & True, did she?

Emma laughed – and Bunny thought that the laugh was a little off-key, a little forced, like Emma didn’t really think it was funny, but had to act like it was.  “No, it’s okay,” said Emma.  “It’s a good name.  It shows initiative.  A lot of girls here end up changing their names to something more feminine to help them get a promotion – the girl with the red hair just outside my office legally changed her name from Rebecca to Sweet-Lips just yesterday – but you’re starting from ahead.”

Bunny just blushed.  Girls changing their names to get a promotion?  What exactly was going on here at Kavenagh & True?

She cleared her throat.  “So, I’m supposed to be starting in a position in Human Resources.”

Emma blushed for a moment – and a look of intense shame and guilt went across her face – and then she said, “Oh, no.  Human Resources is up the corridor.  Tim runs that.  This is *female* resources, and you’ll be working here.”

It took Bunny a moment for the significance of this difference to sink in.  Her face flushed.  “Female resources aren’t human resources?  Surely you don’t mean…”

Emma passed Bunny a thin, brightly coloured book.  The title was “Humans Have Cocks: The Case For Treating Women As Animals”.  The author was “Tim Bolland”.

“Our own head of Human Resources wrote this,” said Emma.  “A lot of it is about me, and what a stupid slut I am.”  She giggled – a stupid, humiliated sound, that it seemed like she was forcing herself to make.  “It’s really embarrassing to read, but I have to read it every night for my job, so Tim told me I should put a vibe in my pussy while I read it, and he was right, it makes it much easier.  You should read it too.”

Bunny stared at Emma in horror.

“That one’s a special ‘women’s edition’ that they had printed for female resources,” added Emma.  “That means it has pictures, and they’ve replaced all the long words with easy ones.”

“This is… misogyny,” Bunny spluttered.  “This is disgusting.  This is a joke, right?”

“Tim says all women are a joke,” said Emma.

“Is someone making you say this?” asked Bunny.

“Yes,” said Emma.  “Tim is.  Tim says it’s very important that none of my employees have any respect for me, so I have to make sure they see the real me at our first meeting.”  There were tears in the corners of her eyes, but she was still smiling.

“I can’t believe that the women here are putting up with this kind of attitude!” said Bunny.

“Kavenagh & True is very prestigious,” said Emma.  “Women are very keen to work here.  And we offer… other incentives, too.  And it pays well, by women’s standards.”  She paused.  “You sound like you don’t want to work here.”

“I don’t!” declared Bunny.

“Oh,” said Emma.  “Does that mean you want to back out of the job, then?”

Bunny did want to.

Only… she couldn’t, could she?

The humiliating terms of her father’s trust fund were very clear.  If she ever made a complaint of sexual assault or harassment, or supported the complaint of another woman, or left a job due to those reasons, her money would vanish.  Not just her own money – her mother’s as well, and the house her mother lived in.  Just one of his awful, misogynistic restrictions on his daughter’s life – much like her name and her fake tits – designed to humiliate her out of nothing but spite against Bunny’s mother.

But there was another thing.  Emma Cooper was someone Bunny had respected and looked up to.  And here she was, looking like a fuckdoll, in humiliating surroundings, with tears in her eyes as she told Bunny what a sub-human bimbo she was.

Emma needed help.  She needed to be rescued.  In fact, *all* the women here at Kavenagh & True needed to be rescued.  And Bunny wanted to provide that rescue.

“No,” said Bunny, in a small voice.  “I’ll do the job.”

“Excellent!” said Emma.  “Well, I’ll get you set up and show you around.”  She went to stand, and then something dawned on her.  “Oh, wait, I almost forgot!” she said.  “We need to choose you your spirit animal!”

“My spirit animal?” asked Bunny.

“Yes,” said Emma.  “It’s one of my ideas.  We encourage every girl at Kavenagh & True to have an aspirational animal.  It’s kind of like your “house” at a private school.  We have competitions between the animals, and you can earn points and prizes.”

Emma brought out a square of cardboard with four pictures on it.  She tapped the first picture.

“You could be a Cow,” she said.  “Cows are quiet, calm, and obedient, and they focus on producing value to men.  Our cows like to make sure their breasts are big and lactating, and they always do as they’re told.”

She tapped the next picture.  “Or you could be a Bitch,” she said.  The picture was of a dog.  “Bitches are driven by their cunts.  They’re high in energy, and always desperate to be fucked, and they’ll do anything to please their masters.  They require frequent discipline and training.”  

She tapped her neck, and Bunny saw that Emma was wearing a velvet collar.  Two silver charms hung from it, one below the other.  The first had writing on it, that read “Sugar-Tits”.  The second was the silhouette of a naked big-titted woman on all fours, being sexually mounted by a large dog.  

“I’m a Bitch, for example,” said Emma.  She giggled again, that same forced, humiliated sound, and then turned back to the cardboard square.

The third picture was of a cat.  “Or you could be a Kitten,” Emma continued.  “Kittens love to be touched and stroked and cuddled.  Their favourite place is on a man’s lap, and they like to be affectionate with other Kittens while men watch.”

Emma then came to the fourth picture, and stopped.  “Oh, of course,” she laughed.  “I forgot your name!  This one’s easy.  You’re a Bunny!”  She tapped the image of a rabbit.  “Bunnies are driven by their biological urges.  They are always wanting to breed, and don’t feel right unless a man is cumming inside them!  Most of our Bunnies have sworn off birth control and never looked back.”

“I’m not…” said Bunny, overwhelmed and humiliated.  But actually, wasn’t she a Bunny?  It was her name.  And one of her father’s cruel rules was directly applicable – no birth control, ever.  Bunny had gotten around it thus far by simply never letting a man cum inside her.

“Of course you are!” said Emma.  She opened a desk drawer, and brought a velvet collar and two charms out of it.  “We had the nameplate made for you in advance, and I have a spare Bunny ready to go.”  She attached the charms to the collar, and passed it to Bunny.

The first charm read “Fuckbunny”.  The second was a Playboy-bunny logo.

It was better than the “woman being fucked by a dog” charm that Emma was wearing, Bunny supposed.  

Emma clearly was waiting for Bunny to wear the collar.  Blushing, Bunny lifted it, and fastened it around her neck.

“Do you need to throw out your birth control right now?” asked Emma.

“I, uh, don’t use any,” said Bunny, muttering in an embarrassed voice.

“Oh, excellent,” said Emma.  “Good girl.  You know, we have very excellent maternity programs.”

Bunny felt a shudder of horror go through her, but said nothing.

“Well then,” said Emma.  “Let’s go and get you started in your job, shall we?”

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