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Ciaran walked over to the sobbing Alison, and reached out to stroke her hair – a condescending, patronising gesture, but one that Alison interpreted, in her traumatised state, as genuine affection.

“Well, you definitely fucked that one up,” he said.

She looked up at him, eyes wet with tears, her expression hurt, betrayed. “You told me to do that!” she bawled.

“I told you to dress attractively to get their attention,” said Ciaran. “Spreading your pussy for a room full of co-workers was all your idea.”

Her lips trembled. Her eyes were wide. He saw the flicker of resistance burn in her – and then gutter. “I’m sorry,” she wailed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m useless. I’m just…”

He watched. He knew what she wanted to say. She wanted to say she was a dumb big-titted baby. She wanted to say she was a perverted little slut. That she deserved rape. Those words were going around and around in her head, echoing in the space left by her humiliation and failure.

But she wasn’t quite there yet. She bit her lip, and shook her head, and said nothing.

“How about I take you back to your office?” said Ciaran.

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “I should pack my things…”

“Whatever for?” asked Ciaran.

She looked at him in disbelief. “Aren’t I fired? Or… terminated? Whatever? After what I just did?”

Ciaran laughed. “I did tell you that it wouldn’t be easy, changing culture in this firm,” he said. “But I think what you’ve just been through shows that we need you more than ever. You’re not going to let one little setback stop you protecting the women in this company, are you?”

“But I…” – she paused, confused. “I undressed… they filmed me…”

“And Harry said he wouldn’t share it, as long as you gave them all another presentation,” said Ciaran. “Which means you have another opportunity to teach them to respect women in the workplace.” He looked around for her panties, and couldn’t see them. “Vijay must have kept your underwear,” he said. “You’ll just have to go without for the day.” He put an arm around her shoulders, and began to usher her out of the meeting room.

She balked. “I can’t!” she said. “It was my first meeting, and I – I fucked it up. I can’t!”

He looked at her, and gave her time for the next words to form in her brain – the words “i need a man”. And then, just as he knew they would be appearing there, he said, “Don’t worry – you’ve got me. I’ll help.”

The flush of relief over her face was immediate and gratifying. She didn’t even know what help she needed yet, but the knowledge that a man would help her was making her feel safer already. 

He led her back to her office, and sat her at her computer desk. 

“Now, I think you’d better type up a report of what just happened, and email it to me,” said Ciaran. “If there *is* any complaint arising from this, it will be best to have your contemporaneous record at hand, to provide you with the best defence. Just set down your version of what happened, and email it to me.”

“Yes, of course,” said Alison, dazedly.

“Make sure to admit that you acted like a whore,” said Ciaran. “If there’s obvious lies in your account, no one will believe it.”

“Yes…” said Alison. “Thank you, Ciaran.”

“That’s all right, sweetie,” said Ciaran. He reached out and stroked her hair again. Then he left her to write her report.

Of course, he knew that it would take her quite a while to finish the task. Almost as soon as he left, her watch flashed bright pink, catching her attention and leading her off into a brainless trance, where it whispered to her that she was a dumb big-titted baby and that she liked to please men. When she emerged from that space and began trying to write about her morning’s humiliation, the hypnosis caused her to begin to sexually fixate on it. 

The more she thought about being humiliated by the men in the meeting room, the wetter she got, and the more she needed to cum. She found herself raising her skirt to her waist again, and bouncing on the moulded protrusions of her office chair.

Ciaran watched all this over his hidden cameras, and when he judged she was just about to have a slutty orgasm right there in her office, he returned to visit her, pushing her door open without warning, making her blush bright red and jerk her hands away from her pussy and tits.

“I brought you lunch,” he said, and set a sandwich and a glass of orange juice on her desk. Once again he had smeared the sandwich with his cum. The orange juice contained a shot-glass full of his piss. He sat there across the desk from her and smiled as he watched her eat his cum and drink his piss, while desperately trying to hide the fact that her skirt was bunched around her waist, her cunt was bare, and she was only a few flicks of her clitoris away from an orgasm.

When she was done, she looked at him, clearly wanting him to leave, so she could finish masturbating.

But he wasn’t ready to go just yet.

“Alison,’ he said, “it smells like sex in here.”

She went bright red. “What?” she said, then, “What do you mean?”

He smiled. “Have you been masturbating, Alison?”

There was a beautiful, desperate, trapped look on her face. She didn’t want to say yes – but he had only to look over the table at her bare pussy to know that she had.

“It’s okay, Alison,” Ciaran said, in a coaxing, gentle voice. ‘You can tell me. Have you been rubbing your pussy like a slut?”

“I’m sorry…” said Alison, in a small, broken voice.

“Sorry for what, Alison?” asked Ciaran.

“I can’t help it,” she said. “I don’t know why. I can’t stop. I’m…” – her voice hitched in her throat, a pathetic sob – “I’m a perverted little slut.” 

And she started to cry.

He moved round and sat beside her. There was no hiding her bare pussy now, or the puddle of cunt-drool that was pooling between her legs from her wet snatch.

“Alison,” he said, “I want you to reach down between your legs, and pinch your clitoris, okay?”

“What?” she asked, confused.

“Pinch your clitoris very hard,” he told her. “So it hurts. And tug on it, until you cum from the pain. Can you do that for me?”

She whimpered. “Why?”

“Because you’re being a slut in the office, and you need to get that under control,” said Ciaran. “I don’t want to report you. I’m on your side. But you need to teach yourself that you’re being a disgusting whore. So I want you to reach down and pinch your clitoris like a good girl.”

Her brain was running in circles. She was embarrassed, humiliated. She was filled with gratitude that he hadn’t just immediately reported her for masturbating at work. She was aware of his threat that he *might* report her. She didn’t want to hurt her cunt – but she *did* want to cum…

Slowly, she reached down, and squeezed her clitoris. It seemed she was the kind of girl who had a sensitive clit – she winced almost immediately.

“Harder,” said Ciaran – and Alison squeezed harder. She knew she deserved this. She had been feeling like she deserved to be punished ever since she had started getting wet from reading Ella’s rape report yesterday. 

“Now tug on it,” said Ciaran, and Alison began twitching her hand, in small convulsive jerks, tugging at her sensitive clit. She started to cry as she did it, and Ciaran put an arm around her, pulling her head down onto his shoulder. He could smell her hair, and see right down her blouse to her cleavage.

“Good girl,” he told her, and heard her moan sluttily at the pleasure she felt from his approval.

And then she began to shudder, and Ciaran knew she was cumming – cumming from pain and shame, which to his mind was the only way she ever deserved to orgasm. He held her, and looked down at her, and when she turned her head to look up, he kissed her on the lips.

She moaned, and kissed him back as she orgasmed, and he felt her melt in his arms.

When it was done, he said, “You shouldn’t have done that, Alison.”

“I’m sorry,” she said instinctively, although she didn’t know what he meant yet.

“Kissing me was inappropriate,” said Ciaran. “I was just trying to help you, and you went and took it too far.”

She looked mortified. “I’m sorry!” she said, and now she really did mean it.

“I can’t believe you just masturbated to orgasm in front of me, Alison,” said Ciaran. “That’s disgusting.”

“But…” she began. She wanted to say he had told her to – but she had already been masturbating when he walked in, hadn’t she? “I’m sorry,” she said, lamely.

“Give me your skirt,” he told her. And to his delight, she obeyed without questioning, uncinching her skirt from around her waist and passing it to him, leaving her completely nude from the waist down in her office chair.

“I’ll keep this until tonight,” he told her. “You’ve wasted enough time masturbating. You need to get actual work done now. This should incentivise you to not leave your chair until your work is done. I’ll give it back to you at home time.”

She was confused, ashamed, vulnerable – and so she just said, “Thank you, sir,” and let him leave her office carrying her skirt in his hand.

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Of course, he didn’t bring the skirt back to her at the end of the day. Instead, he sat in his office, working late, and waiting. Finally, at 7 pm, Alison did what he had been hoping she would do – she scurried bare-cunted through the building to his office. Almost everyone had gone home by now, and no-one saw her, but he wanted her to have that experience of walking through her workplace with her pussy exposed. He wanted that to start feeling normal to her.

“Please, Ciaran, can I have my skirt back?” she asked when she got there. Her hands were trying to cover her cunt and ass at the same time, without success.

“I got your report on this morning’s situation,” said Ciaran, ignoring her. “Thank you for that.”

In truth it had been a singularly erotic piece of work. As Alison had begun to sexually fixate on it more and more, the description of what had happened had become more and more specific, until Alison was describing in great detail just how wet her cunt had been and how whorish she had been to show it to the men. Ciaran was certain that he could ruin her career forever on the basis of that document alone, although in her current aroused state he doubted Alison had realised yet just how unprofessional her report truly was.

“You’re welcome,” said Alison, and then, without prompting, added, “sir.”

“Here you go,” said Ciaran, and passed her the skirt. “Now run along home.”

“Thank you,” said Alison, hurriedly putting the skirt back on, and backing out of his office.

He watched her go. Ciaran himself would take a taxi home, but he knew that Alison would head home on the same train she had arrived on. At 7 pm, the train was a significantly less safe and public place than it was in the mornings. He liked the thought of her riding it with no panties, wondering if she was going to be raped, reflecting with shame on her slutty behaviour throughout the day.

But of course, she was going to have a far more interesting time than that. Because he had sabotaged the cinch of her skirt, and if he had judged it correctly, the entire skirt was going to fall off her after about 30 minutes of wear.

She should get used to showing her cunt to a train full of strangers, after all. Because if she couldn’t get used to that, she was going to have a lot more trouble with the things Ciaran had in store for her down the road…

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If you enjoyed this story, you’ll love my e-book A Woman’s Work – Stories of Workplace Degradation, available for only $3.99 USD from AllTheseRoadworks.com! Purchases support the creation of new, free content – including this story! (Click here to view.)

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