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Amelie reported to Mr Horner’s office the next morning.
She couldn’t meet his eye. Last night she had pissed on her own clothes in front of him, and then (at his request) she had written a report on that very act and emailed it to him.
Mr Horner hadn’t specified a length for the report, or any of its content, but as Amelie had begun typing, she had thought about how she would soon be confronting her worst client – Gary Sands, the Lightning Rapist – and then she had started thinking about what Mr Sands would want her to do… or rather, how her actions might displease him.
And so she had been completely honest, shaking with humiliation even as she typed, and she had spelled out every sensation she had experienced while pissing in front of her boss, the humiliation, the degradation… and the arousal. She had been explicit about how the disgusting act had made her pussy wet.
And then she had gone on to describe the further humiliation of wearing a diaper home, of driving mostly-nude through the city at night, the knowledge that no one was *making* her do all this, but that she just liked obeying men. (This was a lie by omission, because of course her client Ray Batsby had told her to be obedient, but it was also the truth, because she was sure another woman wouldn’t have been such a submissive slut – but she was not that other woman.)
And then finally she had described deliberately pissing into her diaper before bed, as Mr Horner had instructed her to do.
The final report ran to nearly ten pages. The cover read “What It Felt Like To Piss On My Clothes In Front Of A Man”, in large print, and below it, in an even larger font, was Amelie’s name.
Mr Horner was smiling when Amelie arrived in front of him.
“I enjoyed the report on last night’s activities, Amelie,” he said.
Amelie blushed. “Yes, sir,” she said. “Thank you sir.”
“Print up six copies of it and have them thermal bound,” he said. “Two for me, one for your permanent file, one for you to take home, one for your work desk, and one for the coffee table in your office.”
Her eyes widened. “The coffee table in my office?” she asked. “But my clients will see it…”
Mr Horner sighed. “Amelie,” he said. “This isn’t me telling you to do this as your employer. I can’t give you an instruction like that. But I *am* telling you to do it. There will be no consequences if you disobey, do you understand?”
She whimpered. No consequences other than Ray Batsby’s anger. It was unlikely he would ever know if she disobeyed, of course – but Amelie nevertheless knew that she was going to do as she was told.
“Yes, sir,” she said, quietly. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“You can put other books or whatever on top of the report, so maybe your clients won’t see it,” said Mr Horner. “But you’ll know it’s there.”
He paused, and then added, “Oh, and print an additional copy of the title page, and have it framed. You can put it in your house, somewhere that guests will see it.”
Amelie made another noise of distress. Literally no one would know if she ever obeyed this humiliating instruction – and yet, again, she knew she would do as she was told. Something in her – deeper than Ray’s instructions – found it hard to resist an instruction from an older man, giving with confidence and a commanding tone.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
“Now, about the matter of toileting,” said Mr Horner. “Do you think you can control your bladder, Amelie?”
It depended on what he meant by that. Amelie didn’t want to wear diapers at work – but she also knew she was going to keep asking Mr Horner for permission to piss, and if he refused that permission then she was going to wet herself.
“I don’t know, sir,” she said, honestly.
“Do you want to wear diapers, like a slutty baby, Amelie?” he said.
“No, sir,” she replied, quickly.
“Are you going to keep asking for my permission to piss, Amelie?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” she said, blushing.
“You understand that nobody is stopping you using the toilets normally, any time you want, without asking?” said Mr Horner.
“Yes, sir,” said Amelie.
“Very well,” he replied. “Then you have my permission to relieve yourself whenever you want during work hours, providing you obey the following conditions: you are not to use the women’s bathrooms; you are to strip completely naked before pissing; and you are not to do it in any room with a closed door unless there is someone in the room with you. Do you understand, Amelie?”
She wanted to cry. “Yes, sir,” she breathed.
“Good girl,” said Mr Horner. “Go print that report, then see to your clients for the day.”
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She only had one client for that day. She’d cleared the rest of her schedule, because she was afraid of what state she would be in after that first meeting.
Her client was Gary Sands, the Lightning Rapist. He was the man who had thrown out Amelie’s birth control and forbidden her from acquiring more. He was the man who had forced her to secretly register as a sex offender on the national database. He was the man who had made her fuck herself with a stun gun and discharge it into her pussy as she orgasmed.
He scared her in a way that no other client did, and as she prepared for her meeting with him, she began to think about how he would react to her. She didn’t want to anger him. If he was angry with her, he might really hurt her. He might discharge her stun-gun into her twat repeatedly until she blacked out – or, worse, make her do it to herself (and she knew that she would obey if he told her to). He might decide to reveal her sex offender registration to others. He might just slap and punch her.
She cast her mind back to her last meeting with him. He had caught her topless and covered in cum, after she had been ejaculated on by her previous client, Chris Swain, and he had told her he liked her that way. He had gone through her purse, to check she still had no birth control, And he had made her throw her clothes in the garbage.
Amelie dithered for a bit. She checked her purse to make sure it had nothing in it that she wouldn’t want Gary to see, and then placed it in an accessible location on her desk. Then she stripped completely nude, and hid her clothes under the guest couch, where hopefully Gary wouldn’t find them.
Then she knelt, nude, in the centre of the office floor, and waited for Gary to arrive.
He let himself in, five minutes later, and stood looking down at her. Despite everything, Amelie thought he looked devilishly handsome. He had acquired a tailored suit from somewhere, and between that and his distinguished salt-and-pepper hair and beard, he looked a little like her father.
“Well, well,” he said, staring down at her naked, kneeling body. “It looks like you’re learning to be a good cunt, Amelie. I’m impressed.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Amelie, looking down at his shoes.
“Tell me, Amelie,” he said. “Did you actually throw your clothes in the garbage, or have you just stripped naked and hidden your clothes somewhere?”
Amelie blushed. She didn’t want to tell him her clothes were hidden – but the idea of lying to him (and being caught) terrified her. And he *would* catch her out. She could picture him stalking around the office, throwing furniture aside, until he found her hidden blouse and skirt.
“I took them off and hid them, sir,” she mumbled.
He moved forwards, and grabbed a handful of her hair – and then viciously slapped her across the face – once, twice, three times. Amelie squealed.
“You DUMB CUNT,” he snarled. “Your clothes go in the GARBAGE, do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” she mewled. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Do it NOW, slut,” he growled.
Amelie scampered across the floor on all fours, not daring to stand, and pulled her clothes out from under the couch. Then she crawled to the window, opened it, and pushed her clothes out, letting them fall towards the garbage hoppers below. That was another professional work outfit she had lost, and they weren’t cheap – and nor did she know how she was going to make it through the rest of the day without any clothes – but these were problems for the future.
Right now, all that mattered was pleasing Gary Sands.
“Show me you’ve learned,” said Gary, when Amelie returned to her place in the centre of the floor. “What did I just tell you?”
“I’m a dumb cunt and my clothes go in the garbage, sir,” said Amelie.
“Good girl,” chuckled Gary.
He went to her purse and began to sort through it.
“Still off birth control, Amelie?” he asked her.
“Yes, sir,” she said, truthfully.
“Good girl,” he told her.
He pulled her car keys out of her purse and looked at them thoughtfully. “Is your car in the parking lot outside the building?” he asked her.
“Yes, sir,” she replied.
“Good,” he said. “I’ll be taking it. You can catch the bus.”
Amelie’s eyes widened. “But… I’m still paying it off.”
“Good,” he said. “Keep paying.”
Then he pulled out her credit card.
“I’ll be taking this as well,” he said. “See that it’s fully paid off at all times.”
Amelie did not want Gary making free use of her car and credit card – but she didn’t dare resist him. Instead, she asked, “What will you use it for, sir?”
He came over and slapped her again.
“That’s none of your damn business, slut,” he said. “Maybe I’ll buy rape porn on the internet. Maybe I’ll hire prostitutes. Maybe I’ll make donations to pro-rape lobby groups. Whatever I want. Just see that you pay for it. If it gets declined, for any reason, I’ll make you wish you were never born.”
“Yes, sir,” said Amelie, unhappily.
He went to her desk and open the drawer – and then took out the stun gun she stored within it. He passed it to her.
“Why don’t you go ahead and tell me about your sexual activity since I last saw you, slut?” he said. “And masturbate with this while you do.”
He opened his fly and took out his cock. It was hard, and he used his hand to point it towards her, and began to stroke it.
“We’ll play a little game,” he said. “If I cum before you do, I’ll cum on your face and tits, and you’ll have to wear my sperm for the rest of the day. But if you can cum first, then I won’t.”
He laughed, and then pointed to the stun gun with his free hand. “And, of course, you know what to do when you cum.”
She did know. She would discharge the stun gun into her own twat as she orgasmed. It was intensely painful, not to mention degrading, and messing with her orgasm that way did weird things to her head. But she knew she would obey.
She pushed the stun gun into her cunt, and began to fuck herself with it, as she told Mr Sands all the slutty things she had done since they last spoke.
She confessed to watching the video of Ray Batsby raping his victim Taylah – and how she has masturbated, and orgasmed, as she had watched it. She confessed to sucking Ray’s cock as he had laid out her new life principles – that men were never wrong, that she would never contradict a man, that she would bear the blame if anything a man did made her uncomfortable.
She confessed to inviting Chris to rape her, and letting him cum in her unprotected pussy. And, finally, she confessed to urinating on her clothes in front of her boss, and being made to wear a diaper home.
As she explained all her slutty behaviour, while completely nude, kneeling in front of a violent rapist and staring worshipfully at his cock, she felt her orgasm approaching. It was humiliating and disgusting that she would want to cum under these conditions – and yet she couldn’t help it. There was something wrong with her, she knew – something that meant she deserved all these humiliations.
And as the orgasm hit, she pulled the trigger on the stun gun.
Pleasure and pain blasted through her in equal measure. She felt herself lose control of her muscles and fall to the floor, her legs twitching, her hips bucking.
“Good girl,” laughed Gary. “I won’t cum on your face after all, it seems.”
He knelt on the floor, between her legs – and then he was pushing her down, leaning on her, and she felt his cock enter her still-spasming pussy.
“No,” she whimpered.
“Yes,” he breathed. “Let’s see if I can put a rape baby into you, shall we?”
And he began to fuck her unprotected, fertile cunt…
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