Emma’s Division is a sequel to Emma’s Policy, which you can now buy in e-book format for only $3.99 USD! Purchases fund the creation of new, free content. (Click here to view.)

Previous parts:
One
| Two | Three | Four

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Bunny spent ten minutes paging through the employee directory, intending to do a better job on her second try at “ranking employees by the quality of their tits” – but she began to feel nervous as she did so.

What *were* the best tits? Tim had suggested that a woman with an A-cup who hadn’t posed topless for the company shouldn’t be near the top of the list – but beyond that, what was he looking for? Just the biggest and most naked tits at the top? Did he prefer natural boobs, or surgically enhanced ones? Did he have preferences about nipples or areolae, as to size and colour?

She felt a presence standing behind her. It was Emma – “Sugar-Tits” – the head of Female Resources. Emma had noticed Bunny squirming, and had come to check on her.

“Is everything okay, Bunny?” said Emma, kneeling down beside her.

“I don’t know how to judge which tits are the best,” admitted Bunny.

“Well, that’s only natural,” said Emma. “After all, you’re only a woman. Have you considered asking a man for help?”

Bunny flushed red at the demeaning implications of what Emma had said – and yet, she couldn’t deny its logic. She was preparing a subjective list, for the tastes of a man. She should get a man’s input.

“Is it a bad idea to ask Tim?” said Bunny.

“No, it’s a fine idea,” said Emma. “Here’s his email address. Just email him.” She picked up one of the thick crayons on Bunny’s desk, and awkwardly scrawled out an address on one of the cute notepads.

Bunny did as she was told. “Dear sir,” she wrote, “What criteria do you use to judge which are the best breasts?”

She looked at it before pressing send. It was about as professional as she could make an email about ranking women by their boobs – but she felt nervous about it. She instinctively knew it wasn’t right somehow.

Quickly, without stopping to think, she changed the word “breasts” to “tits” – and then added, “I am sorry I am such a dumb cunt.” Then she pressed “send”.

The answer took about 10 minutes to come back. “Thanks for your question, sweetie,” it read. “A bitch’s udders should be large, accessible, and a source of shame and humiliation to her. They should be fun for men even when they’re not fun for her. Print out these five pictures and display them at your desk as a guide.”

There were indeed five pictures attached. When Bunny printed them, she found they all displayed naked women with large, clearly fake tits, engaged in degrading sex acts. One woman had a man’s sperm dripping from her face and breasts. Another had her hands behind her head, and was thrusting her tits out so a man could whip them with a belt. A third was a woman in a professional business suit, on a crowded train, who appeared to have knelt on the floor and pulled her breasts out of her top so that she could give a titjob to what appeared to be a homeless man, in front of a crowd of strangers. A fourth was jogging nude in public, her tits bouncing as people stared. And the fifth was a woman in a ballgag, her hands cuffed behind her back, being led through a crowded shopping mall by a leash attached to clamps on her nipples.

Clearly all these women were large-titted, exposed, and degraded – but they had something else in common, too. A look of insecurity in their eyes – a desperation to please, a sense of shame and guilt over their slutty position.

Bunny went back to the employee files, and began efficiently sorting the list again. She knew what went at the top now – women whose tits were big, whose tits were fake, whose tits were exposed – but who also had that sense of weakness in their eyes. Sometimes their faces marked them as natural victims. Other times a look at their employee notes revealed that they had previously put up with sexual harassment, or that they were in dire financial straits and desperate for their job, or that the company had obtained compromising material on them during their employment.

It occurred to Bunny as she sorted that she was making a list of the women it would be easiest to rape and get away with it – but she pushed that thought down, ignoring it.

And then at the bottom of the list she put the women with small tits, no nude photos, and an attitude problem. Women who had complained about the behaviour of men. Women who did a poor job when given demeaning tasks. Bunny thought briefly that it was a collection of sour bitches – and then chided herself for thinking so poorly of her fellow women, especially ones who were quite rightly resisting the company’s shocking misogyny.

Doing the list properly was hard work, and Bunny still wasn’t done at 5 pm, as the other women in the area began to leave. She saw Emma crawl out of her office, and vanish to the elevator, then the other women around her packed up and left. But Tim had told her to stay until she had finished the job.

The last woman to leave was Pumpkin. Bunny was engrossed on sorting the tits on her screen, and didn’t even notice Pumpkin packing up, until suddenly she became aware that the woman was right behind her. She looked up – just as Pumpkin reached down, grabbed Bunny’s shirt, and sliced through it with a pair of scissors.

“Oops!” said Pumpkin, a cruel smirk on her face. “Looks like there are *consequences* for being a bitch and losing points for your faction. Have a nice trip home, cunt.” And she ran for the lift before Bunny could even react.

Bunny looked at her shirt in horror. The scissors had cut all the way across the back. The fabric hung in two pieces – it was simply unwearable. She cast around for something to replace it with, but could see no good candidates. She wished she had worn a jacket.

She reluctantly removed the ruined scraps of cloth. Without them, she was wearing nothing but a skirt and a lacy white bra. No panties, no shirt. It was a completely inappropriate outfit for the office.

She thought about leaving immediately and running for her car – but she *knew* she would be fired if she did that. So she did the only thing she could do – she kept working, wearing nothing but a bra above the waist.

Luckily, no one came through her area – either male or female – and within an hour, she had completed her list. She printed it off, and clutched the resulting paper to her breasts as she scampered downstairs to Tim’s office.

Luck was with her again. She encountered no one in the elevator, or in the darkened after-work corridors that she passed through. She reached Tim’s office, got down on all fours, and crawled through the pet door.

“Ah, Fuckbunny,” said Tim. “I see you’ve improved your wardrobe.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Bunny reflexively. “Another woman cut my shirt off…”

“She did you a favour,” said Tim. “You have excellent fuckbags. You should show them off more.”

Bunny felt a confused blush spreading over her face, as she reacted both to the compliment, and the degrading way it had been phrased.

“Here’s your report, sir,” she said, passing him the document.

Tim took it, and looked through it. After a while, he spoke. “This is an acceptable improvement,” he said. “Well done, Fuckbunny.”

“Thank you sir,” said Bunny.

“How is your ass?” said Tim. “Hurting? Show me.”

Bunny blushed again – but Tim had already seen her ass that day. She turned and lifted her skirt.

“Very purple!” he said, with approval. “Some good bruises there. I imagine it hurts to sit down.”

“Yes, sir,” admitted Bunny.

“Have a lollipop,” said Tim. Standing he moved to in front of her, and passed her a round, sugary red candy.

Bunny demurred. “It’s okay,” she said. “I don’t need one.”

“It wasn’t a request,” said Tim. He pushed the lollipop towards Bunny’s mouth, and Bunny instinctively opened her mouth and accepted it.

“Good girl,” said Tim. “Now come lie over my lap, and we’ll rub some ointment into that ass to treat the bruises.”

Bunny didn’t want to do that – it would be demeaning all over again – but her ass *did* hurt, and she didn’t know what would happen if she said no to Tim. So she obediently came and lay over Tim’s lap, ass up, still sucking on the lollipop.

Tim got out a jar of some oil from his desk drawer, and then began to carefully massage it into Bunny’s naked ass. To Bunny’s surprise, it felt *amazing*. The ointment tingled, and Tim’s hands were both strong and skilled. She found herself making involuntary moans around her lollipop, and raising her ass up to bring it closer to his hands.

Her cunt got wet again – and wetter and wetter – and then suddenly Tim moved his hands to her mouth, and he plucked the lollipop out of her mouth by its handle – and then pushed it into her pussy, candy-end first. One pump, two pumps – and then once again, Bunny was orgasming like a slut in the lap of her employer. She gasped, moaned, and shook – and as she did so, Tim popped the lollipop back in her mouth.

She gagged. It tasted like her cunt. But Tim kept it there, until she accepted it, and resumed sucking on it.

“That’s how good girls eat lollipops,” said Tim. “Two pumps in their cunt, every five minutes, then back to their mouths. There’s no sugar in these ones – they’re nice and safe for your pussy. Do you understand?”

Bunny’s brain was still glitching from the orgasm. She just made an incoherent moan.

Tim let her lie there on his lap until she felt safe to climb down. As she stood there in front of him, she felt obscurely guilty again, for no good reason.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, embarrassed – and then, when he said nothing in reply, she found herself adding more, before she could think about what she was saying. “I’m sorry I’m such a dumb cunt.” It felt good to say, somehow – like it relieved her of responsibility for her slutty orgasm.

“You’re forgiven,” said Tim. “I have one more reward for you before you leave.”

Bunny raised her eyebrows. She wasn’t sure she wanted whatever “reward” Tim had in mind.

But it turned out to be actually tempting. “I have a spare shirt you can wear home,” said Tim. “And I’ll give it to you – if you give me your bra first.” He held up a button-up white business shirt, pulled from the cupboard at the side of the office.

She thought about it. She pictured taking off her bra here, in front of Tim, and letting him see her tits. She didn’t like the idea. But then she thought of leaving the building, and walking two blocks across town to where she had parked her car, wearing only her bra. She liked that even less – and there was a real chance she’d be raped, or worse.

“Fine,” said Bunny, blushing again. She undid the cinch at the back of her bra, and lowered the cups from her large, plastic funbags. She tossed the bra on his desk – next to her panties from this morning, she saw – and stood there with her arms crossed over her naked tits.

Tim just waited. After a while, Bunny gave in, and lowered her arms, and let him see her breasts.

“Good girl,” said Tim – and passed her the shirt. 

Bunny hurriedly pulled it on. “Thank you, sir,” she said – with some resentment, but also with some genuine gratitude.

“Now run along home and get some rest,” said Tim. He passed her back the last page of her employee list. She saw he had circled the last five names. 

“What’s this?” she asked.

“That’s your work for tomorrow,’ he said. “I want you to edit the files of these five ladies to show evidence that they’re disgusting sluts that no one would ever employ. Then you can go and tell them that they’re fired. Make sure to tell them it was your recommendation, because their tits were disappointing. Be nice and loud, so their whole section can hear.”

Bunny paled. She couldn’t! Everyone would think…

Everyone would think she was a traitor to her gender. But wasn’t she? She had made these rankings, after all. She had had a good idea how they would be used. And she had just orgasmed on her superior’s lap from having a lollipop shoved up her fuckhole. 

“Five minutes,” said Tim, chidingly.

Bunny didn’t know what he meant – and then, suddenly, she remembered. But he couldn’t be serious, could he?

Of course he could. And he could still ask for his shirt back if she displeased him.

She took the lollipop out of her mouth, put it under her skirt, pushed it into her cunt, and then brought it back out and put it in her mouth again. Once again, it tasted like her pussy. Somehow her cunt was even wetter than it had been when she orgasmed.

She turned, and crawled out of Tim’s office through the dog door, heading home.

And although no one was watching her, she pushed the lollipop into her pussy again in the elevator, and back into her mouth – and repeated it, furtively, on the streets outside the office as she walked hurriedly to her car.

When she got to her car she could bear it no longer. With the lights off, desperately hoping no one walked by in the carpark and saw what she was doing, she pushed the lollipop into her pussy, then into her mouth, and then used her fingers to masturbate herself needily as her mouth filled with the taste of her cunt. 

She pictured Tim spanking her – Tim rubbing lotion into her ass – exposing her tits to Tim – and then she was wildly, whorishly orgasming in her car’s driver’s seat, and she didn’t care, because it felt so *good*.

And this was only her first day at the office…

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If you enjoyed this story, you’ll love its prequel story, Emma’s Policy, available for only $3.99 USD at the ATR store! (Click here to view.)  You’ll also love A Woman’s Work – Stories of Workplace Degradation, also only $3.99 USD! (Click here to view.)

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