Deanna Sloan was pretty enough, buxom enough, and connected enough that she could get away with being a bitch, and that was how she had risen to the position of senior manager without in any way moderating her tendency to treat her subordinates like trash and explode into a temper tantrum at the slightest provocation.
Her latest office tantrum was over the printer. She emerged from her secluded office into the open-plan area that she managed to retrieve a memo that she had sent to the large shared laser printer. But she soon discovered that she was in the print queue behind 500 pages of mail-out material, and she would have to wait nearly half an hour before she could collect her own printing.
She took out her frustration on Seth, who had initiated the mailout printing.
“Did you even *think* before starting that printing?” she yelled at him, in front of everyone. “What if I needed to print something? Are you an *idiot*? Or are you just the sort of walking *shit* that thinks your printing is more important than management’s?”
Seth said nothing. There was no arguing with Deanna when she was in a mood like this. No matter what he said, it would only provoke her more. He certainly didn’t dare mention that she had ordered him to prioritise the mailout printing just that very morning.
Instead, he stared at her tits. She never noticed him doing that when she was this angry. She never noticed anything. And her tits were truly spectacular, packed into that tight suit bodice. And it was the only way he could get revenge for the unjustified public scolding he was receiving – by objectifying her in his own mind.
He pictured her naked, humiliated, at the mercy of her male employees. He liked that thought.
And, as she continued to scream about the printer, he had an idea.
It was two days later that Seth came into Deanna’s office, carrying a piece of equipment.
“What the fuck is that?” asked Deanna.
“It’s a dot matrix printer,” said Seth. “I thought it might solve your problem.”
She regarded it doubtfully. “It looks like it belongs in the fucking stone age.”
“It’s pretty old,” agreed Seth. “From the late 1980s. But I asked IT if we could get you your own personal printer, so you wouldn’t have to queue, and they said there was no budget for that. So I got this one for cheap, and fixed it up for you so it will work with modern computers. For simple documents, it will work just fine. You can print things on your own time, without ever leaving your office.”
Deanna was, despite herself, impressed. Sure, the clunky thing looked ancient. But she didn’t need to print anything complicated, most of the time. And she knew that her employees hated her – it would be nice to not have to mingle with them.
“All right,” she said. “Set it up.”
Seth smiled. “Right away.” He paused. “Just a warning though – it’s a little loud. You should probably keep your door closed while you use it.”
The printer *was* loud, and Deanna learned just how loud the first time she printed a document on it.
SKREEEE – TIK TIK TIK TIK TIK TIK – SKREEE
The device had a printing head that moved physically back and forth across the paper, like a typewriter, and every time it moved down to being a new line it sounded like a wailing banshee. In between, it made a rhythmic tick-ticking that was oddly soothing.
SKREEE – TIK TIK TIK TIK TIK TIK – SKREEE
Deanna felt herself growing oddly sleepy as she listened to the tortured rhythmic clicking of the printer. Her eyes became unfocused.
… and then, suddenly, the printing was done. The printer was silent, and her page was waiting for her in the output tray.
She looked at her computer. The time seemed wrong. Twenty minutes had passed. Had she just zoned out for a whole twenty minutes? Had she been sitting here, doing nothing?
She went and collected her printing from the printer tray and stared at it blankly. Then she looked at her screen. And clicked “print”.
SKREEE – TIK TIK TIK TIK TIK TIK – SKREEE
The next three days went quickly for Deanna. In fact, she could barely think what she had done with her time. She had been in her office, certainly, and printed some documents. It had been so nice to not have to go outside to collect her printing. And she had come to like the sound of the dot matrix printer. It was almost… addictive.
In fact, it gave her a little thrill to listen to it, and she was constantly seeking out excuses to print more documents, just to keep it ticking away in the background.
There were signs that something was wrong, of course. On the second day, when she got up to go home, there was a wet spot on her chair. And then she realised there was a wet spot on her *dress* – and in fact, that her *panties* were soaked. And that was because (she realised, with a gasp of shock) her pussy was achingly, desperately wet.
TIK TIK TIK went the printer.
She needed to deal with this, she realised. She couldn’t go home like this. With a wet spot on her chair. With her panties wet. With her pussy throbbing so *loudly*.
TIK TIK TIK went the printer.
Yes, she would deal with this.
And then her mind went blank, and she had no awareness of what she did next – which was opening the door to her office, moving her chair so that everyone outside could see her, removing all her clothes, then sitting naked in her chair and beginning to openly masturbate.
All that she was actually conscious of was a moment an hour later, when all her co-workers had left, and the office lights were turning out. She was dressed, and ready to go home, and she felt deeply relaxed and happy.
She didn’t even look at the wet spot on her chair. She just went home.
And the next day she had a meeting in the morning. It was her turn to take minutes, but all she could think about was all the things she needed to print back in her office, and how she was missing the comforting sound of the printer.
She didn’t hear a word that was said in the meeting. And when the meeting was nearly over, she looked down at the notes she had taken, and audibly gasped.
BE A SEX OBJECT
TITS = FOR MEN TO ENJOY
SILLY LITTLE DEE-DEE
WET LITTLE SLUT
TURN OFF MY BRAIN
Why had she written that?
And then, even worse, she saw that she had written *on her arm* as well. In thick strokes of blue pen, her arm said “NO BRAINS JUST TITS”.
The executive manager who was speaking at the time had heard her gasp.
“Is something the matter, Deanna?” he asked.
Deanna desperately tried to cover her arm and her notes. “No, sir!” she said. “Just… ah, remembered that I left the lights on at home.”
The executive manager scowled at her, but let it go.
Deanna felt a sense of panic. She was going to have to produce minutes of this meeting – and she had no idea what had been said. What was she going to do? She might be fired!
She felt panic all the way back to her office – but as soon as she saw her beloved dot matrix printer, the panic cleared. She sat calmly down at her desk, and typed all of the things she had written on her notes into the printer, and pressed “PRINT”.
SKREEE – TIK TIK TIK TIK TIK TIK – SKREEE
On the fourth day, her office looked different, and she felt that sense of panic returning.
There was a poster on her wall. Previously, there had been an inspirational image, about the power of women to defeat sexism. But now it had been replaced by a picture of a blonde bimbo in a revealing bikini, and the text under it read “NO BRAINS JUST TITS”.
That wasn’t appropriate decoration for an office, surely? How had it gotten here? Had *she* put it up? A dim memory suggested that she might have. But why would she do such a thing?
And the name-plate on her desk was different. Previously it had read “Deanna Sloan, Executive Manager”. But now it just read “Dee-Dee”. And there was a love heart after her name. And the whole plate was bright pink.
She tried to understand what was happening. She had felt so strange, recently. Ever since she got the printer. But the printer was helping her, wasn’t it? The noise it made was so relaxing….
There was a knock at the office door. Her subordinate, Seth, stepped into the room, holding a cardboard box.
“How can I help you, sir?” she said – and blinked. That wasn’t right, surely? It wasn’t how she normally addressed Seth. Didn’t she generally call him… a fuckhead? A human shit?
She shivered. That was an appalling way to treat a man. What if he was offended? What if he didn’t approve of her?
“Your new business cards arrived, Dee-Dee,” said Seth, smiling.
She blinked again. That name – Dee-Dee. Like on her nameplate. People didn’t call her that, did they? It felt demeaning – infantilising. Like she was a child. And it sounded like – well, like a bra size. DD. It sounded like she was named after her tits.
But it was there on her nameplate. Surely it wouldn’t be on her nameplate unless it was something people called her?
She realised Seth was staring at her tits. Without consciously thinking about it, she undid the top button of her blouse, to give him a better look.
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “You can just put them on my desk.”
Seth deposited the box, and left, grinning.
Deanna opened the box and looked at the cards inside.
“Rape me or fire me!”
And then there was her office phone extension, and email, and, for some reason, her home address – and a photograph. The photograph was of her, from the waist up, completely nude. She was cupping her tits as if offering them up to the viewer, and had her mouth open, and her tongue hanging out, like a dog.
It was disgusting. She looked like… like a whore. Like a fuckdoll.
Who had taken the photo? When had she posed for it? Who else had seen it?
There were 500 business cards exactly like it in the box.
She felt herself hyperventilating with panic. She was anxious, scared, confused.
There was only one thing that would calm her down.
She went to the computer, found the first document she could, and printed it.
SKREEE – TIK TIK TIK TIK TIK TIK – SKREEE
And her mind went blank.
“Wake up, Dee-Dee.”
It was Seth’s voice. A man’s voice. She couldn’t refuse, even though she wanted to. She wanted to stay where she was, down in the darkness, with the sound of the printer. She didn’t want to be awake. She didn’t want to be aware of what was happening to her. She liked it better when she didn’t know. She liked it better when she had no brains, just tits.
But she had to obey. So her mind slowly surfaced.
It was bright. She was in the open plan office, near Seth’s desk.
She was bent over at the waist. Her hands were on Seth’s shoulders, and she was looking at Seth, who was sitting in his office chair.
She was completely naked.
Her eyes widened with horror. She was *completely naked*. In public. In the office. In front of everyone she worked for.
And worse still, all her employees were gathered around her. In fact, Seth’s hands were on her tits, squeezing and rubbing them. It felt good, to be honest.
And… something was in her pussy.
She tried to stand upright, but her body didn’t want to.
“Sir?” she asked, staring at Seth in panic. “What’s happening?”
“You’re just being a good girl, Dee-Dee,” said Seth. “Your conditioning is tight enough now that I can bring your conscious mind to the surface so it can understand what is happening, but it still won’t be able to override your programming.”
“What’s in my pussy?” she asked. She tried to look behind her to see, but she couldn’t without taking her hands off Seth’s shoulders – and her body wouldn’t allow her to do that.
“Devon and Jai made a bet on how many whiteboard markers they could shove in your pussy,” said Seth. “Jai bet he could get fifteen in there. He’s up to eleven right now.”
Deanna felt something else push into her cunt, widening her pussy entrance and making her feel uncomfortably full. “Twelve now,” she heard Jai laugh.
She felt her body suddenly shake, and her pussy spasm. She moaned involuntarily.
“Oh, that’s part of your programming,” said Seth. “You orgasm from humiliation, objectification and abuse now. Just a little gift to you – a bit of mercy, really – given how much of those you’ll be experiencing from now on.”
“This isn’t really happening,” said Deanna. “I’m going to wake up…”
“I’m afraid it’s all real,” said Seth. “Yes, it was a stroke of genius to program subliminal messages into the sounds of a dot matrix printer. I really am wasted at that this shitty job – but I suppose it does come with certain benefits.” He laughed, and squeezed Deanna’s tits tighter. She squealed – it hurt.
“This was your idea, you know,” said Seth. “Sort of, anyway. At first, all the printer was telling you to do was to humiliate yourself because you were a dumb bitch. It didn’t even have specific instructions. But on the very first day you crawled out here, completely nude, and kissed the cock of everyone in this team, and apologised to each of us for having been a dumb bitch. And then you asked us how you should be punished.”
To her horror, Deanna could remember it now, just as Seth had said it. She remembered the intense feelings of guilt and shame as she had undressed and prostrated herself before the men. She had felt so humiliated to be nude before them – and yet at the same time it had felt so *right*. After all, she *had* been a bitch – and now she was finally admitting it.
“Oh, you remember now?” laughed Seth. “And do you remember what happened next?”
“You said…” began Deanna, in horrified recollection. “You said I should tell you what *I* thought I deserved. Honestly, from my subconscious. How I should be punished for having been such a dumb bitch for so long. And I said…”
She went silent.
Seth had to squeeze her tits again to get her to continue, and Jai pushed another whiteboard marker into her pussy as he did.
“I said I should be raped, or fired,” moaned Deanna. “Or both.”
“So we told you to objectify and humiliate yourself as a brainless bimbo until you had been both raped and fired,” said Seth. “And we set up the printer to reinforce it.”
The terrifying thing was that the words sounded so *good*. Raped or fired – a deep, primal part of her really *wanted* that to happen. Believed she deserved it. Felt she would never be satisfied until it happened. And she knew that the sheer humiliation of not just being fired, but for being a wanton bimbo slut, would give her such an amazing orgasm…
Jai pushed a fourteenth whiteboard marker into her cunt – and it was all she needed to orgasm again. And this time her cunt spasmed so hard that it pushed all the intruding stationery out of her pussy. The whiteboard markers cascaded to the ground between her feet.
“Aw, damn,” cursed Jai.
“Only fourteen,” laughed Devon. “Pay up.”
“You’ve been coming out here three times a day, completely nude, and begging us to play with you,” said Seth. “And only going back in your office when we’ve humiliated and abused you enough to make you cum. Do you remember last night, when Devon repeatedly slammed your tits in his desk drawer while you masturbated? Or that morning, when you begged Mark to kick you in the cunt?”
That explained why her pussy and breasts were so sore, she supposed.
“From now on, you’re going to be aware of what’s happening to you,” said Seth. “But you’re not going to be able to stop yourself from doing it. And tonight you’re coming back to my house – it’s about time you had your first gang-rape with all your employees, don’t you think?”
She wanted to swear at him, to spit at him, to shout at him. She wanted to call him a fuckhead and a human shit. She wanted to beg him to free her from this humiliation.
She did none of that. “Yes, sir,” she said, in a small voice. “I want to be gang-raped.”
“Good girl,” laughed Seth. “Now go back to your office and look at all the work you’ve been doing, Dee-Dee.”
He released her tits, and Deanna was able to straighten up, and stagger back to her office, completely nude.
The first thing she did in her office was start the printer. She wanted to noise to make her brain go blank, so she could forget what was happening, and make the shame and humiliation go away.
But now it just made its sound. It was addictive, certainly – she was still listening carefully – but her brain was still working. The printer no longer needed to send her conscious mind to sleep in order to deliver its programming to her.
And she could see now what she had been printing. Not work documents at all – but rather page after page of slutty babble.
Some of it was confessions – confessions that could get her fired.
I MASTURBATE AT WORK.
I LOOK AT RAPE PORN ON MY WORK COMPUTER.
I DON’T DO WORK, I JUST PLAY WITH MY PUSSY.
Others were surprisingly detailed sexual fantasies.
“I want Seth to take away my birth control. I want him to shove his cock up into my cunt, and cum, and cum, and fill my womb with sperm, so I get pregnant, and my belly swells up, and my tits leak milk, and none of my clothes fit, and I have to give up my career. I want to be a dumb breeding whore and live in a cage at Seth’s house.”
(Reading this made her check the handbag sitting on her desk, and to her horror, her birth control medication was gone. What had she done with it? Thrown it away?)
And then many pages were just filled with bimbo nonsense.
DUMB SLUT, DUMB LITTLE BITCH, GOOD GIRL COCKSUCKER.
I LOVE CUM, CUM ON MY TITS. STUPID LITTLE NAKED FUCKSLUT.
MEN SHOULD USE MY TITTIES. NO BRAINS, JUST TITS.
DUMB LITTLE BIG-TITTED DEE-DEE. JUST GIGGLES, NO THOUGHTS.
The box of business cards on her desk was open. She looked inside, and realised nearly 100 were gone. Had she given them out? To who? Were people now holding cards with pictures of her naked tits on them, where she called herself “Dee-Dee Melons, Executive Bimbo”?
And… what *had* she been working on, these past few days?
She sat at her seat, still naked, but oblivious to her state of dress, and started scrolling through her emails.
Her inbox was full.
One was from the university where she had studied for six years and received two degrees. It was notifying her that, “as per her request”, it was cancelling and rescinding her degrees, and deleting all records of her educational attainment. It thanked her for her honesty about “how she had obtained her degrees entirely by sucking her lecturers’ cocks”, and it would note her on its publicly-accessible records as a cheater and a slut.
Another email confirmed that her forms had been received, and that her name had been legally changed to “Dee-Dee Melons”. It attached an amended copy of her birth certificate bearing her new legal name.
Others were confirmations that she had successfully transferred her bank account, house and car into the possession of Seth. Some of them noted that they didn’t really require the additional information that “she was too stupid to manage money and needed a man to do it”, but thanked her for the context anyway.
And the rest of the emails were from people she knew – friends, family, acquaintances, co-workers. And as she read them, it became clear what she had been doing with her time. She had been recording a series of personalised nude videos for everyone she knew, in which she jiggled her naked tits and begged them to rape her.
Some of the replies were disgusted. Some of them were worried about her. But a disturbingly large amount were accepting her offer, and interested in scheduling a time.
She felt so much shame, she could hardly bear it. She couldn’t deal with it. She wished she could just let the printer turn off her brain, so she didn’t have to think about what she had just done to her life.
But its droning sound no longer offered oblivion.
She tried to think like the printer made her think. Maybe she could make her brain go blank.
“Dumb little Dee-Dee,” she said to herself. “Stupid slut. No brains, just tits.”
And she gave her breast an experimental slap with her hand. It felt good, honestly. Which is to say, it hurt, but she deserved the pain, didn’t she?
“Nothing but stupid DD melons,” she whispered. “Dumb cunt. Just do what men want. Don’t think.”
She slapped her breast again – and then spread her legs, and slapped her cunt.
It was hard to bring herself to hit hard enough to get the pain she really deserved.
Her pussy was so wet.
This was helping. She didn’t need to think about the shame. Just her tits and pussy.
“Be an object,” she told herself. “Be a fuckdoll. Good little Dee-Dee. Obedient little cocksleeve.”
She slapped her breast again.
It wasn’t enough. She needed it harder.
She knew what she needed.
She went to the office door, still nude, and called out, “Seth, sir? I’m afraid I’m a stupid little bimbo and I need help slapping my tits hard enough to hurt. Can you come and help me, sir?”
Seth came in, grinning, and closed the door behind him.
“Please, can you beat my tits?” she begged him.
He unzipped his pants and took out his cock.
“If you suck well enough,” he said, “I might be persuaded to beat your tits until you cry.”
She looked at his cock. It was hypnotic, in its own way, bobbing slightly in front of her eyes. It might make her happy, like the printer had made her.
She opened her mouth.
She would *much* rather cry from getting the tit pain she deserved than cry from thinking about what she had done to her life.
“Good girl, Dee-Dee,” Seth said, as he pushed his cock into her open mouth, and began to stroke her hair. “Don’t worry, once you’re fired for being a slut, you can live in a dog cage at my house.”
And Dee-Dee was so grateful that she made him cum very fast indeed.
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 my creator site! (Click here to view in store.)