Bunny had promised Pumpkin and her cruel friends that she would be a “good little fuckbunny” and earn them 100 points in the office competition, but she still didn’t want to, and she got no sleep that night, tossing and turning and trying to think of how to get out of her dilemma without being beaten again by Pumpkin, or getting fired, or…
… getting pregnant.
That was what she was really afraid of. The demeaning conditions on her trust fund prevented her from using contraceptives, and prevented her from having abortions. And she was reasonably certain that she was fertile.
But she had spent all her adult life trying to avoid becoming an obedient, domesticated homemaker. That was the future that her father had wanted for her – entirely to spite her feminist mother – and she had studied and worked to escape that fate, despite her embarrassing name, despite her oversized fake tits, despite all the frustrations of a male-dominated world.
If she got pregnant – and particularly if she got pregnant from anonymous sex with a random man – she would be what she feared most. A breeder. An incubator for male sperm.
And would she be able to continue in her job while pregnant? While giving birth? Would a workplace as misogynistic as Kavenagh & True give her maternity leave – or would she be fired?
If she was fired, her trust fund would vanish, and she would be out on the street, along with her mother – and her new baby.
She tried to masturbate to take her mind off the stress – but her thoughts kept looping, and soon she realised she was still thinking about pregnancy as she masturbated, picturing Pumpkin’s big round pregnant belly and her swollen, leaky tits. She pictured herself being raped, being impregnated, crawling around at the office half-nude, her own belly big and round, her own oversized udders leaking milk onto the carpet…
She orgasmed, screaming with shame and humiliation and fear and lust. And even then, sleep would not come for her.
By morning, she was a mess – tired and emotional and anxious, her pussy still wet and throbbing. She thought about calling in sick – but she wasn’t sure it wouldn’t result in being fired. And anyway, she had to start earning points, somehow. She only had a week.
So she dressed, and went to walk, and crawled through the office on all fours. But when she crawled through the doggy door into Emma’s office, Emma could immediately see that there was something wrong.
“Hey, now, Fuckbunny,” she said in a calming voice. “Is everything okay?”
Bunny tried to say that she was – but instead she burst unexpectedly into tears, and soon she found herself bawling everything to Emma. She told her boss about Pumpkin’s threat, about how she was scared of being fired, about how she was terrified of impregnation.
“There, there,” said Emma, as Bunny cried. She put her hands on Bunny’s cheeks, tenderly, and brushed the hair out of Bunny’s eyes. Then she moved down and began undoing the buttons on Bunny’s blouse.
“What are you doing?” asked Bunny, between choking sobs.
“Sssh,” said Emma. “You’ll feel better without this on.”
The blouse came off, and Emma dropped it into a drawer of a filing cabinet. Then Emma began to uncinch Bunny’s bra.
Bunny resisted, trying to pull away. “No…” she said.
“You’re unhappy,” said Emma, ignoring Bunny’s resistance and pulling the bra off, exposing Bunny’s large tits. “Where does unhappiness come from?”
Bunny remembered back to her presentation. “From my head noise,” she sniffled. “And from my bitch instinct.”
“That’s right,” said Emma. “So just put those feelings away. What do we listen to to become happy?” Her hands were moving down and undoing Bunny’s skirt.
“Our cunts,” said Bunny. “And tits. And… men.”
“Good girl,” said Emma, removing the skirt. “What do your tits want?”
Her tits were warm, her nipples hard. They looked eager. “They want to please you,” whispered Bunny, blushing.
Emma hooked her fingers into the waistband of Bunny’s panties and pulled them down. Bunny obediently stepped out of them, leaving herself naked but for her high heels. She looked nervously at the glass windows of Emma’s office. Absolutely anyone could see in, and see Bunny’s naked body.
“And what does your cunt want?” asked Emma.
Bunny remembered what kind of feelings were associated with cunts. Arousal. Sexual gratification. The pleasure of pissing. The pleasure of… breeding. She shivered.
“It wants to cum,” she whispered, and it was the truth.
Emma began to take off her own clothes, and Bunny stared in lustful fascination as her boss bared her own large tits to Bunny’s gaze.
“And men,” said Emma. “So what would Tim tell you about these feelings?”
She thought, and immediately knew the answer. “He would tell me I’m a dumb slut, and my opinions don’t matter, and I should be a good cunt and spread my legs so I can breed.”
Emma smiled, pulling off her own skirt. She wore no panties. “Good cunt,” she said. “And doesn’t that feel better?”
And the strange thing was that it did. A large part of her rebelled at giving in, at just *submitting* to an idea so demeaning, so objectifying, that may well ruin her life. But at the same time the thoughts she had wrestled with all night had left her miserable and exhausted. They *did* feel like head noise, and they *did* feel like they were coming from her bitch instinct. And what her tits and cunt wanted was so clear.
And she could *hear* Tim in her head, telling her what a dumb slut she was, and he was *right*, because no woman who was in control of her life would have lain awake all night masturbating to thoughts of her pregnant co-worker. She *had* to be a dumb slut, because she was completely nude in her boss’ office and her cunt was wet, and that didn’t happen to nice, normal girls. The things Tim would say about her would be completely correct.
“Yes,” she breathed.
And as a reward for telling the truth, Emma kissed her.
Bunny lost control. It felt so good to feel Emma’s warm lips on her own, to feel Emma’s large breasts crush against Bunny’s own fake udders, to feel Emma’s hand on her cheek. She pressed against her boss eagerly, squeezing Emma’s tits, humping her naked wet cunt against Emma’s thigh, moaning like the slut she knew that she was.
“Come over here,” said Emma. She led Bunny to her desk, and then swept off almost all the objects on the desk – taking care only to lift the computer monitor safely to the floor. Then she pushed Bunny. Bunny fell backwards onto the desk, ass down, tits up. Emma smiled, and climbed on top of her, on all fours in a reverse position, her mouth over Bunny’s pussy, and her pussy over Bunny’s mouth.
“Lick,” said Emma, and lowered her pussy down against Bunny’s mouth.
Bunny didn’t need to be told twice. She began to eagerly lap at her boss’ wet fuckhole, enjoying the taste, enjoying the submission, enjoying that her choices had been taken away from her, and that all she had to do was obey.
And a moment later she felt Emma’s tongue returning the favour, licking the thick, sticky cunt-slime away from Bunny’s twat.
But Emma’s licking didn’t last long. After a moment, she pulled her head away – and then Bunny yelped with pain. Emma had pinched her clitoris.
“It feels good to cry into a woman’s cunt,” said Emma. “It’s good for you. Cry for me, Fuckbunny. Let it all out.” And then she began to slap Bunny’s pussy with her hand.
It hurt! Bunny wriggled and tried to protect herself, but Emma had the perfect leverage. She casually kept Bunny pinned to the desk, her legs spread apart, and continued to beat at Bunny’s cunt, each slap harder than the one before. And all Bunny could do was lick Emma in return. She couldn’t turn her head away. She was lucky she even had room to breathe.
“That’s a good slut, Fuckbunny,” cooed Emma. “Listen to your cunt feelings, like the silly little animal you are.” And she slapped and slapped at Bunny’s pussy.
Bunny *did* start to cry again. The confusion and horniness and pain and affection and torture and fear all mixed up inside her and she felt herself start to sob as she licked, gasping on each breath, tears running down her cheeks and mixing with her boss’ cunt juices.
And Emma was right – it *did* feel good to cry into a woman’s cunt. To let her individuality vanish, and be nothing but a machine for pleasing Emma’s fuckhole. To lick and lick and cry and cry and be nothing and nobody.
“Try and cum,” Emma told her. “Good sluts cum when they’re crying. Good sluts like being abused until they cry. Good sluts like being broken. Good sluts cum from being broken.”
And then Emma was licking her again, her tongue running over Bunny’s clit and pushing into her vagina, and in between licks Emma would pinch and pull Bunny’s clitoris in ways that made her squeal, and the pain and pleasure mingled together into a loud, slutty confusion.
“Well, this is a pleasant sight to see,” said a voice suddenly – a male voice. Bunny recognised it. It was Tim. Tim had entered the office and was standing there right now, watching the two women lez off. Bunny tried to turn her head to see him, but she was trapped between Emma’s thighs, able to look at her boss’ slutty wet cunt and nothing else.
“Fuckbunny has been very confused,” said Emma, still pinching Bunny’s clit. “We’re helping her have a good cry-cum, to sort it all out for her. Would you be able to help me hurt her?”
“Absolutely,” said Tim, and she heard the sound of leather on cloth. Tim was taking off his belt. And then a moment later, Emma shifted her weight, and….
Bunny’s whole body bucked. She tried to throw Emma off her, but Emma was too strong. She tried to bring her knees together, but Emma was pressing on one, and Tim was pressing on the other, and she could do nothing to protect herself.
Tim had just whipped her cunt. With his leather belt.
Bunny screamed into Emma’s cunt. She tried to form words, to beg Tim not to whip her, but it was just a confused sobbing, slutty babble, and Emma’s twat muffled it anyway.
“Keep going until she cums,” urged Emma. “She needs a good cry-cum.”
Bunny’s mind raced. Tim was really going to keep doing this – whipping her most delicate part with a leather belt – until she managed to orgasm. She had to make it stop. It hurt so much. It wasn’t sexy, it was painful. She had to think of something sexy, so she could cum.
She thought about Pumpkin’s pregnant belly.
No, that was wrong. Not that.
She thought about Pumpkin’s leaky tits.
She thought about Emma’s cunt. She thought about Emma’s tits.
She thought about being raped by CJ. She thought about how it had made her cum.
She was frantic, her whole body shaking, out of her control. Her tongue was fully extended into Emma’s fuckhole, and she was drinking Emma’s slut juices. Her tits were crushed against Emma’s belly.
With the noise the belt was making, surely it had attracted someone’s attention.
In fact, it probably had. People were probably watching right now. Watching her nude body. Watching her cunt getting whipped as she licked her boss’ snatch. Watching her shaking like a whore with every strike.
She tried to ignore the head noise. She tried to ignore the bitch instinct. She tried to feel with her cunt and her tits.
Good bunnies breed.
And suddenly she was orgasming. And Tim and Emma were laughing – laughing *at* her – because they could see her cumming. And there were other voices laughing, too, both male and female. People *had* been watching.
A part of her wanted to die of humiliation, right there. But that was head noise, and she ignored it.
“Is there anything else I can do to help this little slut?” asked Tim, as Bunny shook and trembled with pleasure and pain and humiliation.
“Well, sir,” said Emma. “The thing that made her sad in the first place is that she needs to *breed*.”
“Well,” said Tim, “I can certainly help with that.”
And before Bunny could react, before she could struggle – however ineffectual that may have been – she heard Tim unzip his fly, and a moment later his warm, hard cock pushed into her cunt.
“Let’s impregnate the cute little fuckbunny,” said Tim.
And just like that, he began to rape her.
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