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.)
Bunny couldn’t believe it had come to this. She surely wasn’t going to go through with it, was she? She wasn’t going to say these horrible misogynistic things, out loud, in a room full of people, in a way that suggested she believed in them?
And wearing nothing above waist but a bra, for that matter – a bra that showed off a lot more of her large surgically-enhanced tits than she was comfortable with.
But nothing had changed in her situation. If she was fired from this job, she would lose access to the sizeable trust fund that supported herself and her mother. Her job was in “Female Resources”, and one of her duties was providing training, and she had received a clear direction to present training on “Women in the Workplace”, drawing directly from Tim Bolland’s patronising and degrading book.
Going to the training hall had required using the lift again. Her panties had still been there, lying on the floor fromh her encounter with Mr True. Blushing, Bunny had put them back on, promising herself that she wouldn’t lose them again.
The large training hall was arranged like a lecture theatre, with a lectern and whiteboard at the front, and tiered seating rising backwards towards the entry/exit doors. Bunny was standing by the lectern, and already the seats were filling with women – primarily the youngest and newest recruits of the company, whose attitude needed the most adjustment.
Several seats up the back were occupied by men. Bunny didn’t recognise them, but she had no doubt they were here to make sure she presented the material properly. They were staring at her tits with lustful, amused grins on their faces.
As the last women seated themselves, Bunny picked up the microphone and addressed the room.
“My name is Fuckbunny Penrose,” she said, blushing as she used her embarrassing full name. She hadn’t wanted to, but Tim’s book was very clear that a woman should introduce herself by the most demeaning version of her name, and she was expected to model the behaviours she was about to teach.
The book also specified other information that a woman should provide in her introduction.
“I have E-cup breasts,” she declared, “and my…”
She paused, blushing bright red. Was she really going to say this?
“My last orgasm was last night, while masturbating to rape porn,” she said, quickly, her face burning with humiliation.
There were some gasps from the audience – women who hadn’t quite realised the extent of the patriarchal culture at Kavenagh & True.
“We are here today to talk about women in the workplace,” said Bunny. “But actually, we can’t do that. And this is the reason why.”
She went to the whiteboard, and wrote a simple phrase on it.
THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A WOMAN.
“Woman is the word for a mature person of the feminine gender,” said Bunny. “But the truth is that, in comparison to men, our brains never fully mature. While men are able to make decisions based on logic and evidence, people like me have brains that are driven by emotions, arousal, pain, fear, and our instinctive desire to breed.”
This was wrong, she knew. It was a disgusting thing to be saying. It was traitorous to all her feminist education. And yet she had to say it.
And as she heard herself saying it, she experienced a strange sensation. Once again, her traitorous cunt was becoming wet.
She thought she knew why. Saying these things was giving her cognitive dissonance. She couldn’t reconcile the words she was saying with the person that she knew herself to be – and so her body was reacting with arousal as a way of dealing with the disconnect. It was a natural reaction to crisis and trauma.
And yet, wasn’t it exactly what she had just said? Her brain wasn’t operating rationally, but was instead being driven by her emotions and her cunt.
She felt a wave of confusion, and had to pause for a moment, before going on.
“Instead of saying woman,” Bunny said, “say ‘girl’. We are all girls – all nothing but children at heart – and we can only flourish in the presence of a father figure. Our brains are simply not fully developed, and we need male input in order to avoid becoming confused and distraught.”
There were mutterings and frowns in the audience. Many of the women didn’t like what Bunny was saying.
She took a note of them. They would be tested on the material at the end of the training, but they would require some further male assessment, with a quick trip to unemployment for those who didn’t take what Bunny was teaching to heart.
“I see some of you are confused and upset already,” she said. “That’s happening for two reasons. The first is that girls are stupid. It’s just a fact. We just don’t think very clearly, because there’s too much noise from our pussies and wombs and tits getting in the way of our brains. And that’s making it hard for you to understand what I’m saying properly.”
There was more muttering.
“And the second is that you have been told a lie by society,” she said. “Society told you that you were not stupid, and that naturally makes you feel upset and insecure when you feel you should be able to think like a man, but are unable to because you are a girl. The first step to feeling happier is to let go of that idea, and just accept that you are stupid, because you are a girl.”
Her cunt was so wet. She couldn’t believe how horny she felt.
“Now, I want you all to do an exercise for me,” she continued. “Take a piece of paper, and I want you to write on it ten times, ‘I am a stupid little girl’. Don’t worry about spelling. The idea is to embrace your stupidity. If you make mistakes, just leave them. But do try and make it look as cute and feminine as possible. Maybe dot the I’s with love hearts. And then sign your name at the bottom.”
The women in the room – or rather, the girls in the room – looked down at their writing surfaces as they began to complete Bunny’s task. No one was looking at Bunny – except the men at the back of the room.
Her cunt was so wet. Could she…
Standing behind the lectern, she gingerly lifted her skirt with one hand, and pressed a hand against her pussy. The pressure felt good, and she couldn’t help but gasp.
She raised her eyes and met the gaze of the men at the back. They were smiling even wider now. They knew what she was doing. They could tell.
She was so humiliated. And yet, she was so wet.
She held the gaze of the men, and worked a finger inside her panties. Slowly, she began to stroke her clit.
It felt so amazing that she almost doubled over at the waist. She had to hold onto the lectern for balance. Standing up in these high heels was hard enough without trying to masturbate at the same time.
She rubbed her clit urgently, furiously. She was so aroused. She needed to cum. It wasn’t ideal that the men were watching her, but she no longer cared. If she could just cum before the girls finished writing…
She was so, so close to orgasm when the first girl looked up from her task. Hurriedly, Bunny yanked her finger away from her pussy…
.. but in doing so, she pulled on her panties. And a moment later, as she smiled in what she hoped was an innocent fashion at the early-bird girl, she felt her panties began to slip down her thighs.
There was nothing she could do about it. A moment later, they fell away entirely, and caught around her ankles. The lectern hid it from the gaze of the class, but if she tried to take a step – or even lifted a high-heeled shoe enough to step out from the panties – everyone would see.
All the girls had done writing now, and were looking at her.
Suddenly, an idea came to her.
She bent down, stepped out of her panties, and then picked them up and lifted them to a height where the whole room could see them. She was embarrassed, of course – but she had seen an opportunity to lessen her humiliation by making the whole room share in it.
“And now we’re going to follow up with a practical exercise of deferring your judgement to the more intelligent brain of a man,” she said. “I want every girl in this room to take off her panties, and put them next to the paper you’ve just written on.”
There was a stir at this. The girls didn’t want to do it.
One girl up the back spoke up. “Are you joking?” she asked.
Bunny took a note of her. She would likely be fired after the training ended. “No,” she said. “If you don’t take off your underwear, you won’t pass the training, and if you don’t pass the training you can’t be continued in your job.”
With many blushes, the girls in the room reached under their skirts and worked their panties down their legs. Soon most of the girls had their underwear sitting on the writing surface in front of them.
One girl, a pretty blonde on the right side of the training hall, had done nothing, and was sitting there awkwardly, her face red.
“You there,” said Bunny. She peered at the girl’s name badge. “Tania. Why haven’t you taken off your panties?”
The girl said something. It was too quiet for Bunny to hear.
“Speak up,” said Bunny.
The girl blushed deeper, and then spoke louder. “I’m not wearing any,” she said, her face crimson.
Bunny didn’t know what to do about that. But one of the men up the back suddenly spoke.
“That’s fantastic initiative, cunt,” he said. “See me after the training, and we’ll arrange for you to get a pay rise or promotion.”
Tania was so relieved to not be in trouble – and so excited about the possibility of a reward – that she raised no objection to being called “cunt”.
“For the rest of you,” said Bunny, “I want you to hand your panties to your most immediate male supervisor after leaving here, along with the paper you’ve just written on. Tell him that it’s his decision whether you get your panties back, or whether you’re allowed to wear panties in future, because you’re too stupid to decide. I’ll be checking in with your managers, and if I don’t get a good report, you *will* fail this training.”
There were further blushes at the thought of this humiliating task. Bunny herself felt proud. No one had acted like *she* was a slut for taking off her panties, because they were all too focused on themselves.
Bunny now turned, and wrote a new phrase on the whiteboard.
MEN HAVE THOUGHTS, WOMEN HAVE FEELINGS.
“This, by the way, is the title of an upcoming book from our own Tim Bolland,” said Bunny. “Men have thoughts, but women have feelings. That’s because our brains aren’t developed enough to have actual thoughts. Our brain activity is derived from our hormones and endorphins and instincts, like an animal. So we should never say ‘I think’ – we should say ‘I feel’.”
She drew a crude picture of a brain on the whiteboard. On the left she wrote “GOOD FEELINGS” and on the right she wrote “BAD FEELINGS”.
“Where do a girl’s feelings come from?” she asked the lecture hall. “Well, girls have good feelings and bad feelings. Good feelings come from our cunt, and our tits, and from men. Our cunt gives us arousal and pleasure, and our instinct to breed. Our tits are designed for making milk, so they give us our desire to serve and please, and our general sense of happiness from doing so. And of course, a lot of every girl’s ‘thinking’ actually comes from outside of us, from men, who are our source of logic, safety, direction and approval.”
Most of the women were so shocked by the misogynistic things Bunny was saying, they were just staring at her. That was all right. It was best for them to accept how Kavenagh & True worked now, rather than be difficult into the future. But some were nodding – maybe not even aware they were doing so – as if everything Bunny said was making sense, and explaining things they had never previously understood.
“So,” continued Bunny, “when I say I am feeling happy, that is a thought that is coming from my tits.” And she cupped her tits and bounced them a little for emphasis – and, surprisingly, it actually did feel kind of good.
She turned to the other side of her drawing of the brain. “And where do bad feelings come from?”
On the board she wrote, “BITCH INSTINCT”.
“The bitch instinct is the part of us that has been tricked into thinking that we are the equal of men,” she said, “and so when it encounters the reality that we are more like animals than men, it gives us bad feelings. It can lead us to argue with men, and pout, and have tantrums, and generally be unpleasant.”
Underneath it she wrote “HEAD NOISE”.
“The bits of the brain that produce logical thought for men just produce nonsense in women,” she said. “We call this ‘head noise’. It can seem like thoughts, but if you pay attention to it you will just end up confused and sad. It may cause headaches. The key to happiness is to tune out your head noise as much as you possibly can.”
And lastly she wrote “STOMACH”.
“The stomach is the cause of your inconvenient needs, like hunger and toileting,’ she said. “and also the source of most unhappiness caused by illness.”
She pointed to the diagram as a whole.
“So what we want to do is maximise your good feelings – by concentrating on your cunt, on your tits, and on men – and minimise your bitch instinct, your head noise, and your stomach.”
She pointed at woman in the front row who was frowning. “You there – Kelly,” she said, reading the woman’s name badge. “What are you feeling right now?”
“I’m feeling this is hugely insulting, and I can’t believe that the company is authorising this as training,” she said.
“That’s a good example,” said Bunny. “And what part of you is making that feeling? Make sure you get it right, or you’ll be cleaning out your desk by the end of the day.”
Kelly flushed, and was silent for a moment before finally answering. “My bitch instinct,” she eventually admitted.
“Good girl,” said Bunny. “Now give me an example of a good feeling you have about this training.”
It took Kelly a while to think. Finally, she blushed and said, “I want to do this training because my manager Emilio wanted me to do it, and I need to keep him happy, and he’ll probably think it’s funny when I give him my panties and this paper.” She paused again, looking at the diagram on the whiteboard. “And that feeling is coming from my tits, because it’s about wanting to please a man, and it’s coming from a man, because it’s giving me direction and approval.”
“Excellent!” said Bunny. “Now I’m going to hand around a test. It has thirty examples of feelings, and you have to identify where those feelings are coming from. Then it asks you for five examples of feelings you’ve had that have come from your cunt, and then there’s a short essay section where you describe how you feel you should be punished if you act on your bitch instinct.”
By the time Bunny had handed out the test, she could hardly think straight. Her thoughts (her feelings, she corrected herself) were so confused. They were just… well, head noise. She felt so guilty for teaching this horrid misogynist course. And at the same time, her cunt was so wet – responding to her guilt and trauma with arousal. She wanted to confess that what she was doing was disgusting – that *she* was disgusting. She wanted to cry.
She looked at the whiteboard again. Bad feelings and good feelings. Maximise the good and minimise the bad. Could it be that simple?
She stood behind the lectern, and furtively lowered her hand to her cunt. All the girls in the room were writing. Only the men were looking at her. And they were… approving. A contemptuous, degrading kind of approval, sure, but they certainly didn’t object to her masturbating.
And when she touched her pussy, it felt so good that it was hard to think of anything else.
Maximise the good, minimise the bad.
She began to fingerfuck herself, right there in front of entire class of girls, and almost immediately she could think of nothing but how good it felt. The head noise and the – well, the bitch instinct, the part of her that was feeling guilty – were completely tuned out. They didn’t matter. And when she looked up into the eyes of the men at the back of the room, and saw them watching her, somehow it was even better.
She let her cunt do her feeling for her.
And she wondered how many times she could cum before the girls finished their tests.