Emma’s Division is the sequel to my novella-length story Emma’s Policy – An Executive’s Slide Into Workplace Submission, which you can buy for only $3.99 USD from my creator site! (Click here to view in store.)

Previous parts:
 | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten


Bunny was so confused when she returned to the Female Resources division. She had come to Kavenagh & True to learn from her feminist idol, Emma Cooper – but had instead found Emma transformed into a submissive bimbo heading up a team of degraded sluts. And just today alone, Bunny had been forced to kiss her female co-workers, been fed cat-food by a male superior as though she were an animal, been slapped and spanked by a younger man until she called herself a cum-toilet and a cunt; forced to masturbate to orgasm in public, and been made to offer suggestions on how to cause herself to be raped more frequently.

And no one treated this as strange. Everyone just acted as if this was what a pretty girl should expect in a modern workplace. 

Had Bunny been a different woman, with a different life history, she would have quit. She *should* have quite. She knew this. But her lifestyle – and that of her mother – was dependent on the sizeable trust fund created by her estranged father, and that trust fund in turn required that Bunny never quit a job due to sexual harassment. 

So she would continue on, and hope to find a way to maybe end this nightmare, or convince her hero Emma to fight back against this humiliating culture.

But she had no idea how. And it was so hard to think, amidst all the degradation – and, she had to admit, also so hard to think because of how traitorously wet her cunt kept getting. No woman could think straight while horny – and Bunny felt like a slut, because she was getting horny more and more often at work. What kind of a whore had a wet cunt at work, she wondered?

A whore like her, apparently.

As she walked back across the open-plan portion of Female Resources to Emma’s office, she intended to re-open the question of why Emma was behaving like such a bimbo, and what could be done to resist the misogyny in the office. But when she entered Emma’s office, Emma immediately stepped towards her, wrapped an arm around Bunny’s back, and kissed her deeply on the lips.

Bunny melted. Her mind went blank. She felt her tits pressing against Emma’s oversized bosom, her thighs against Emma’s thighs. Her arms went instinctively around the small of Emma’s back, and her lips parted to allow Emma’s tongue into her mouth. Her cunt throbbed urgently and it was all she could do not to try and grind her pussy against Emma’s leg like an animal in heat.

This was Tim’s “female co-worker relationship policy”, intended to transform and improve the relationships between the women in Female Resources – and it was working. With one kiss, Emma had forced all the fight and resistance out of Bunny’s body, and now all Bunny wanted to do was please her beautiful superior.

Emma broke off the kiss.

“Um…” said Bunny, dazed, her mind blank. For a long moment, she couldn’t remember why she had come here, or what she had intended to say.

“I’m glad you’re back,” said Emma. “I want you to go over this, and prepare it for tomorrow.” She handed Bunny a binder full of documents.

“What…” asked Bunny, still dizzy.

“One of the responsibilities of Female Resources is to present training to the girls of the company,” said Emma. “Tomorrow we’re doing a presentation on ‘women in the workplace’, based on Tim Bolland’s writings. I want you to go over the material in the binder, and organise it into a presentation for tomorrow.”

Bunny opened the binder and looked at what was inside. Her face immediately coloured with embarrassment and anger.

“I can’t present this!” she objected.

“Of course you can,” said Emma. “Tim personally asked for you to be the presenter. It’s an honour. You don’t want to disappoint him, do you?”

Bunny didn’t. If she disappointed Tim, he would spank her – or worse. But still…

“Just be a good girl, and make Tim happy,” said Emma. “You want to be a good girl, don’t you?”

There was something electric about those words – and doubly so when Emma said them. Bunny *did* want to be a good girl. She wanted to be a good girl for Tim – and she *really* wanted to be a good girl for Emma.

“Yes,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Excellent,” smiled Emma. “Then hop along, little Bunny. Get to work!”

And Bunny retreated obediently, and spent the rest of the day preparing for her new assignment.


She asked Emma permission to leave work half an hour early. She needed to buy new heels on the way home. Emma kissed her – and once again Bunny melted into a brainless, wet-cunted mess as her boss held her and forced her tongue into Bunny’s mouth – and then agreed.

Soon Bunny was on her way home with a pair of the highest heels she could find. She was not at all sure she could walk in them without something to hold onto – but that was exactly what Leroy had asked for, and she feared what would happen if she didn’t do as Leroy had asked. He would punish her, certainly – maybe with another bare-assed spanking, and maybe with something worse – and he might complain to Tim, who would *also* punish her… and then possibly fire her, which would be the end of her trust fund, her lifestyle, and her mother’s house and financial security.

At home, she queued up the next of Leroy’s “rape videos” and watched it It depicted a woman being beaten and raped by a co-worker in an office, as depicted from the point of view of a security camera. Bunny watched it and stroked her pussy and tried to decide if it was staged or not. It still felt strange to masturbate to something that might be a real-life non-consensual rape. Was she a traitor to her gender for doing this? Or just a woman choosing from between bad options in a world run by men? 

By the time the woman in the video was crying, and the man was ejaculating in her asshole, Bunny no longer cared, because she herself was orgasming, gasping and moaning with her whole body shaking as she stared into the woman’s traumatised eyes and pictured herself receiving the same treatment.


It turned out that Bunny *couldn’t* walk in the high heels. She avoided putting them on her feet until she arrived in the office’s underground car park, because she certainly couldn’t drive in them, but after stepping out of her car on the vertiginous heels she immediately had to put a hand on the roof of her car for support.

The angle of the shoes left her feet almost vertical, as though she were standing on her tiptoes. Her calves felt unnaturally taught, and she had to keep her back almost completely rigid to avoid the weight of her large tits causing her to topple forward. She blushed, and wondered if she could get away with taking the shoes off until she was inside the building.

“Do you need help there, cupcake?” asked a male voice.

Bunny turned, and her heart sank when she saw William True, the son of the firm’s founder, standing nearby in a suit and tie that must have cost more than Bunny’s car. This was the man who had watched as she was molested in the elevator on her very first day at the company.

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Bunny. “I’m just having some trouble in these heels.”

“I understand,” said True. “Balance can be very hard for the female brain, especially for someone with sex-melons as ridiculously huge as yours. Allow me to help.”

It was an instruction, not an offer. He moved next to her, picked up her arm and put it over his shoulder, and then wrapped his own arm around her back. It curled around her torso and came to rest on her tit, which he squeezed – not in a subtle way, but hard, with genuine force, enough to make Bunny squeak. It wasn’t a caress, it was a grip, and Bunny realised that if she fell over, Mr True would likely hold her up by her breast, with all the pain and humiliation that would bring.

“Thank you, sir,” said Bunny, blushing. She couldn’t believe she was thanking someone for squeezing her tit and commenting on her “sex-melons”, but she didn’t want to piss off someone as influential as William True.

“No trouble at all,” said True. “Fuckbunny, wasn’t it? It’s genuinely a pleasure.” And with that, he began to walk her across the car park towards the elevator leading to the upper floors. He moved at a swift pace, and Bunny honestly couldn’t keep up. She found herself flailing with her feet as True half-dragged and half-carried her across the car park. Her weight was half supported on his shoulder, and half supported by his painful vice-grip on her breast. The hand holding her breast was squeezing her tit in distracting pulses, as if trying to squirt milk from it, and her traitorous pussy was once again becoming wet.

“How are you finding the work, Fuckbunny?” asked Mr True as they worked. “I know that most women who work here find it very hard to perform their work, because of how a woman’s cunt interferes with the operation of her brain, but I imagine for someone with udders as big as yours, your breasts must also have an impact on your intelligence. Which would you say makes you stupider, Fuckbunny – your cunt or your tits?”

The question was humiliating, but she was in no position to argue while being effectively dragged across the car park by her breast. Besides, there was a clear and truthful answer to the question – as embarrassing as that truth was – and there was no point in telling Mr True anything he didn’t want to hear.

“My cunt, sir,” she breathed. “It’s definitely my pussy that makes it hardest to think.”

Mr True nodded. “Next time you see Tim Bolland, ask him to give your cunt a taste of discipline. You’ll find it clears up your mind dramatically.”

Bunny moaned. She didn’t want to tell Bolland anything of the sort – but she couldn’t tell how serious Mr True was, or whether he might check in on whether she’d obeyed.

They were nearing the elevator now, when Mr True stopped, and released her. Bunny tottered on her ludicrously high heels.

“This is taking too long,” said Mr True. “Let’s try this instead.” And before Bunny could object, he had picked her up bodily, lifting her right off the ground, into the air – and then draping her over his shoulder, ass up, so that her legs were against his chest, and her head and arms hung down towards his buttocks.

She wiggled slightly, instinctively trying to escape – but two things immediately became apparent. The first was that he had a surprisingly strong grip on her, and that she was in no danger of falling accidentally – and the second was that if she *did* escape that grip, she would fall quite painfully onto her face. 

She held still, blushing.

“Please,” she said. “There’s no need for this.”

“Nonsense,” said Mr True. “You’ll take all day to get to your office in those heels. I’ll just carry you.”

Mr True carried her across the parking lot. As he walked, she realised with dismay that her shirt was falling down towards her head. She tried to lift it back up and tuck it into her skirt – but moving her arms just enabled the shirt to fall the rest of the way down, over her head, down her arms, and drop to the ground.

She wiggled with dismay. She was now wearing nothing above the waist but her lacy lavender bra!

“Please…” she said. “My shirt…”

They were already leaving her shirt behind. But Mr True paid no attention to her, and soon the shirt was lost out of sight as they rounded the front of another parked car. Bunny could do nothing but allow herself to be carried, upside-down and half-dressed.

Soon they reached the elevator, and Mr True pressed the call button. The doors opened on an empty carriage, and True carried her inside.

Bunny felt humiliated. She was being carried like an object, or a piece of meat, as though she was incapable of walking.

“Please, you can put me down,” she said. Only he couldn’t, because she *couldn’t* walk in these heels, and she was only going to embarrass herself again when the doors opened.

“It’s okay, Fuckbunny,” said Mr True. “You could stand to lose a little weight, but you’re not too heavy.”

At the ground floor the lift stopped, and to Bunny’s further humiliation two more men got in. She couldn’t see their faces – all she could see in her current position was Mr True’s ass – but she thought from her voices they might be the men she had shared a lift with on her first day – including the man who had stuck his fingers into her pussy from behind.

They laughed as they entered, and the doors closed behind them and the lift began to move again. 

“What have you got there, Will?” asked one. “Go hunting this morning?”

“I found her lost and confused in the parking lot,” said Mr True. “Poor thing needed a man to help her to the elevator. She says her cunt makes it hard for her to think.”

One of the men sniffed. “Smells like she’s wet right now,” he said.

Bunny’s face flared with embarrassment. She *was* wet – but the idea that someone could *smell* her made her want to die of shame.

“I think you’re right,” said Mr True. “Can you check?”

And before Bunny could do anything, one of the other men in the elevator had flipped up her skirt, and pulled down her panties to expose her ass and pussy. Then she felt a finger press against her pussy lips, and then slide between them into the warm, tight wetness of her cunt.

She struggled. “What are you doing?” she protested.

“Yep, she’s soaking wet,” said the man with the finger in her cunt. He pumped it in and out of her a few times – making Bunny moan involuntarily – and then pulled it out and wiped it clean on her ass. “It’s a wonder these bimbos even know their own names. They’re basically just life support for a wet hole and a pair of fuckbags.”

“Let me see,” said the other man – and then he, too, was pushing a finger into Bunny’s pussy.

Bunny wailed and struggled. It was useless against Mr True’s strong hold on her – but it did make him slightly adjust his grip on her legs, and when he did, Bunny’s panties fell the rest of the way down her legs, and over her high heels, to fall to the elevator floor.

The man was sliding his finger in and out of Bunny’s fuckhole. Bunny couldn’t think straight. She was being finger-raped, in public, right here in the elevator, and no one was stopping it. In fact, they thought it was funny. One of the men laughed at Bunny’s futile wiggles.

“Pinch her clit,” said the first man to the one with his finger in her. “That always makes them squeal.”

“No!” said Bunny weakly – but to no avail. She felt the man spread her pussy lips, and then – OW! – pinch her clit. She bucked her body violently.

“Hold still, Fuckbunny,” said Mr True, “or else I’ll drop you.” It sounded like a threat.

The other man pinched her clitoris again. Bunny squeaked, and tried to hold still.

Finally the elevator dinged, and the doors opened. It was her floor – Female Resources. And Mr True finally walked forward, and lowered her to the ground.

“There you go, Fuckbunny,” he said. “It’s your home. Run free.”

She blushed, and looked back at the lift. The two men who had molested her pussy were smiling at her with smug, arrogant expressions. She was now wearing nothing but a skirt, a bra, and high heels. Her panties lay at the men’s feet. She wanted to go back for them – but the doors would close soon, and Mr True was looking at her expectantly.

She knew what was expected.

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

“Good girl,” said Mr True. And then the doors closed, and he was gone.

Bunny turned and prepared to walk towards the Female Resources offices. But almost immediately she felt herself losing her balance on the heels. She staggered towards the wall and put a hand against it for balance.

Maybe she could walk using the wall as support? But the wall was smooth and slippery, with no handholds, and it still wasn’t enough to let her walk steadily.

She whimpered. She didn’t know what to do. She could take off the shoes – but if anyone saw her like that, and told Leroy, she would be punished, and maybe lose her job. She could wait here for another man to find her – and the idea of male help was attractive in many ways, but she wasn’t sure she could bear another humiliation like her experience with Mr True.

And then she realised what she needed to do. She had seen other women doing it in the office, and had wondered why any self-respecting woman would behave that way.

But now she knew. And she had no choice but to do it herself.

Slowly, she got down on her knees, then put her hands on the office carpet. 

And, like the good girl she was, she started to crawl.


If you enjoyed this story, you’ll love the prequel e-book Emma’s Policy – An Executive’s Slide Into Workplace Submission – or any of the other e-books in the All These Roadworks store! (Click here to view in store.)


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