Story: Compelled Courtesy, Part 1

Tahlia watched as broad-shouldered, hairy, greasy Angus Corville squeezed the ass of her beautiful dark-haired girlfriend Junko, and she burned with fury.  She hated that it was happening.  She hated that it was happening right here in the office, at a social lunch, where anyone who cared to look would see it.  She hated that it was Angus, the most disgusting man on the Highwater Project oversight team, who was doing it.  And she hated that Junko was not just letting it happen, but was giggling and smiling at Angus, as if she *liked* it.

She couldn’t do anything.  She couldn’t say anything.  But when Angus finally tired of sliding his hand under Junko’s short pleated skirt and groping her assmeat, he sauntered towards Tahlia. He wasn’t really interested in her – he wanted another glass of office-funded booze from the table behind her – but his gaze, as always, came nowhere near her face, instead resting on her generous breasts – concealed as best as Tahlia could manage beneath a sweater.

“Nice tits,” he said, as he drew near, his face twisted in an arrogant sneer.

And Tahlia responded immediately, without thinking, by giving him the middle finger.  “Fuck you,” she hissed.

It was too much.  It was inappropriate for the workplace – more inappropriate, even, than Angus commenting on her tits, given the blokey culture of the Highwater Project.  But it was too late to take it back.  She flinched in anticipation of Angus’ response.

But he just smiled, and pushed past her to grab his next drink, his upper arm brushing against her breasts as he did so.

“You shouldn’t discuss your fantasies in the workplace,” he whispered into her ear as he moved past her.

She shuddered, and pulled away.  Men were gross.  Angus was the grossest.  But she was lucky.  Angus would not report her to HR.  She would keep working – for now.

But it was only a matter of time, and she knew that even before Junko grabbed her wrist, after the lunch was over, and pulled her into the women’s toilets.

“You can’t keep doing that,” she whispered in Tahlia’s ear, as she pressed Tahlia up against the wall of the toilet cubicle, and nuzzled her lips against Tahlia’s neck.

“What am I supposed to do?” protested Tahlia.  “He’s a pig.”  She let her hands stray to where Angus’ had been earlier, letting her fingers run across the smooth skin of Junko’s buttocks.  Junko was wearing a thong, and Tahlia felt a new surge of rage at the idea of Angus’ hands enjoying this bare, taut assmeat.

“You’re a *lesbian*,” replied Junko.  “And so am I.  And if anyone *outs* us as lesbians, you know what will happen.  We’ll have to go on the state lesbian register.  We’ll probably lose our jobs – the owners of the company are devout Christians, after all – and we may have trouble finding new ones.  We’ll have to film one of those gross videos where we apologise to all the men we know for being lesbians.  We’ll have to attend monthly psych sessions – and if those psychs refer us for conversion therapy, we’ll *really* be screwed.”

Tahlia wanted to cry, thinking about it all.  They were living in one of the most conservative jurisdictions in the western world, when it came to treatment of lesbians.  And the worst thing was, they had *chosen* to move here, lured by the chance to work on Highwater, one of the most significant civil engineering projects of the century.  Junko had been uncertain, but Tahlia had *promised* that she could stay in the closet and hide her sexual orientation, for the sake of the high pay and the career-making opportunities.

“I know you hate it,” whispered Junko, running her hands up under Tahlia’s sweater to squeeze her large tits through her bra.  “I know.  But you just have to play along.  The men are pigs, but just smile and let them touch you a little, and it will all be fine.”

“I can’t,” gasped Tahlia.  “I’m trying, but I – I can’t.  The thought of a man touching me like that – squeezing my ass or whatever – it makes me sick.  Even just seeing them do it to you – I’m scared I’m going to scream and make a scene.  And then… then everyone will know.”

Junko shut Tahlia up by leaning in and kissing her, and forcing her knee between Tahlia’s legs so that she could grind her thigh against Tahlia’s pussy.  Tahlia moaned.  Junko was so beautiful, and her lips felt so good…

“Look,” said Junko, when the kiss was over.  “I know of something that might work.  It’s a little weird, but… it could save our jobs.  Would you be willing to try something unusual?”

“Anything,” said Tahlia.  “Anything for you.  Anything to stop feeling like this.”

“It’s a company called Average Availability,” said Junko.  “They have a hypnotic technique that helps women be more… agreeable.  Less bothered by stuff like this.”

“Less bothered by sexual harassment?” said Tahlia.  “I *should* be bothered by it, Junko!  It’s gross!”

“Being bothered by it is going to ruin your life, Tahlia,” Junko hissed.  “Is that what you want?”  She ground her knee against Tahlia’s cunt as she spoke.

Tahlia sighed.  “No,” she said.  “No.  I know that.”

“They help women,” said Junko.  “They helped that actress, Alyssa Vandred, get that role in The Rape Liar, and become famous.  They can help you, Tahlia.”

Tahlia sighed.  She knew Junko was right.  Junko was always right.

“Okay,” she said.  “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

And she kissed Junko, and kept kissing her, until she found herself shuddering to a mid-workday orgasm against Junko’s thigh in a cubicle of the women’s toilets.

===

The offices of Average Availability were non-descript, and the technician who welcomed her didn’t even give his name.  Instead, he just passed her some complicated paperwork, which Tahlia signed without reading, and then he escorted her to a small room with a medical bed, some equipment, and a pair of headphones.

“So this is the Compelled Courtesy program,” he said.  “It’s a little less intense than some of our other offerings.  Just lie on the bed and put the headphones on, and the procedure will begin.”

Nervously, Tahlia got onto the bed, and did as she was told. She settled the headphones over her ears….

… and then suddenly it was dark outside.  Time had passed – and she had been completely unaware of it.

“Very good,” said the technician.  “The process is complete.”

“What happened?” she asked, her mind blurry and confused.

“Only hypnosis,” the technician replied.  “The Compelled Courtesy program is now complete, and I can confirm that your brain has been reprogrammed to train itself in being agreeable.”

“Train itself?” said Tahlia.  “I don’t understand.”

“Well, as I understand it, you were previously a frigid bitch, who found it difficult to admit that she wanted the sexual attention of men,” said the technician.

Tahlia opened her mouth to protest.  None of that was correct – she didn’t want anything to do with men!  But then she realised that if she disagreed with him, she would have to explain that she was a lesbian – which she did *not* want to do.  This was Junko’s plan, and Junko, as always, knew best.  It was better to be labelled as frigid than outed as a dyke.

“The Compelled Courtesy process is just going to help you lower your shields a little, and enjoy that attention from men,” said the technician.  “It’s good for you, really.”

He leaned forward and looked at her directly.

“First of all,” he said, “you’re going to find that you’re unable to report or complain about inappropriate sexual behaviour, to anyone.  That mostly applies to what you might call sexual harassment, but if necessary it goes all the way up to rape.  As far as your interactions with the rest of the world are concerned, any sexual or gender-based interaction you have with a man is something that was welcome.”

Tahlia felt alarm rising.  This wasn’t what she had expected – or wanted.   “But…” she began.

“Let’s test that out, shall we?” said the technician.  “Why don’t you tell me about the last time you were sexually harassed?”

Tahlia felt her answer form in her mind.  Angus Corville had commented on her tits, and she had hated it.  But when she tried to move those words to her mouth, they wouldn’t go.  It felt like pushing against a door that wouldn’t open.

But if she just changed the shape of those words a little…. Altered what she was saying.

To her alarm, once she allowed that idea to begin – changing her words – she couldn’t stop it, and they changed far more than she had intended.

“Angus Corville complimented me on my large boobs,” she heard herself say, “and I pretended that I hated it, but honestly I liked the attention.”

Her face went bright red.  She couldn’t believe she had said something so wrong – so disgusting – so untrue.  She tried to immediately correct it, or take it back – but once again her mouth wouldn’t open.

“Excellent,” said the technician.  “So that’s working well.  Now let’s move on to the substance of the procedure.  It works on our ‘average availability’ model – that is to say, that it compels you to, on average, accept the attention of men.  You still retain the ability to call out men for inappropriate behaviour and reject their interactions with you – but you’ll need to save it for the most egregious insults.”

“What do you mean?” asked Tahlia.

“Well, when a man has a sexual interaction with you, or an interaction based on your gender – such as groping you, demeaning you, discriminating against you, propositioning you, or sexually objectifying you – you will have three choices,” said the technician.  “You can either reject it, or accept it, or actively encourage it.  Do you understand?”

Tahlia shuddered at the very idea of encouraging her sexual objectification.  But she nodded.

“Accepting it is good,” said the technician.  “That’s what we want for you, yes?  So that you’re less of a bitch at work, and so that you can enjoy that male attention.”

Tahlia would never enjoy male attention, but she understood the point – that if she could just accept those daily insults, she would be safe from being outed as a lesbian.  She nodded again.

“Ah, but rejection, that is what gets you in trouble,” said the technician.  “So you will find that each time you reject such attention, your brain will make up a little rule for you, and force you to follow it.  Something to punish you for being a bitch, or to help you to be more agreeable in future.”

Tahlia didn’t quite understand.  “You’re going to make me follow rules?” she asked.

“No,” said the technician.  “You’re going to make *yourself* follow rules.  You have to understand, hypnosis can’t *make* you do anything.  On some level, you want this.  You want to be changed.  You want to be less of a bitch.  You want to get along with men.  And because of this, you can make *yourself* do things – your subconscious controlling your conscious, do you see?”

Tahlia did, in the abstract, but still didn’t understand what was actually happening to her.

“Let’s demonstrate, shall we?” said the technician.  “I will do something, and you will reject me.”

And without further warning, the technician reached out, grabbed Tahlia’s left tit, and squeezed.

Tahlia squealed, and slapped his hand away.  “How dare you!” she squeaked.

And then, suddenly, she felt something happen in her brain.

I shouldn’t have done that, she thought.  That was a bitchy thing to do.  I shouldn’t be a bitch.  I should be nice to men.

From now on, she thought, when a man shows interest in me, I’ll give him a compliment, and I’ll do my best to believe it.

“You have… a really handsome chin,” she heard herself say.

It *was* handsome, she thought.  Not that she was into such things.  But it was bold and dominant.  It she had to kiss a man, it would be enjoyable to kiss this one – to run her hand over his face, and feel his lips pushing hard against hers…

What were these thoughts?  These weren’t lesbian thoughts.  They felt alien in her brain – and at the same time, insistent, and distracting.

If this man was eating her pussy, she might feel his chin rubbing against her groin, and…

Gross.  Gross.  She tried to stop it.

The technician was laughing.

“Ah, see?” he said.  “You have made up some rule about complimenting me, haven’t you?  No need to answer, I can see that you have.  This is what will happen when you reject male attention.  A new rule, each time, making you more agreeable.  More courteous.”

“Make it stop,” said Tahlia.  She felt like she might cry.  “I hate it.”

The technician shook his head.  “No,” he said.  “We do not reverse the process.  It’s in the paperwork we signed.”

“So what, I’m just going to think this… forever?” asked Tahlia.

“Of course not,” said the technician.  “Only until you become the woman that you wanted to be when you undertook this process.  You see, while *accepting* male attention will merely allow you to avoid new rules, actively *encouraging* it will allow you to choose two of your current rules and delete them.”

“I don’t want to encourage it!” wailed Tahlia.

“Yes, you do,” said the technician.  “On some level.  Otherwise the process wouldn’t work.  Some part of you wants men to compliment your tits, Tahlia.  You have to understand that.”

It wasn’t true.  It was a lie.  The idea of men even *looking * at her tits sickened her.

“Just encourage it,” said the technician.  “You just need to do something to encourage men to grope you, or objectify you, or interact with you sexually, or demean you based on your sexuality and gender, in a way that wouldn’t have otherwise happened.  So it needs to go above and beyond what they were already going to do, and above and beyond what your current rules are making you do.  It’s entirely your choice what you do – but it will be your *choice*.”

“Please, just put me back the way I was,” said Tahlia.  There were tears in her eyes.

“I already said no,” said the technician.  “But it really is very easy.  Just go outside, find the first man you see, and invite him to have a good squeeze of your boob, and you’ll be back to no rules.  And then you just have to be a good girl and not be a bitch to men in order to stay that way.  It shouldn’t be too onerous.”

Tahlia already knew that she was *not* going to be encouraging any man to squeeze her boob.  She would figure out another way out of this.

“What’s to stop you just squeezing my boob again and again until I accept it?” said Tahlia.

“There’s a limit,” said the technician.  “Only one harassment per day per person.  You’ve refused me once and made up a rule.  I can keep harassing you, but you can keep saying no for the rest of the day with no further consequences.  But it applies to the encouragements, too – you can only encourage a given man once a day, and you can only encourage a given action once a week.  So if you invite a man to squeeze your tit, and delete some rules as a result, you can’t get benefit from encouraging him to do anything else for the rest of that day, and you can’t get benefit from people squeezing your tits for the rest of the week.”

It just kept getting worse, apparently.  Tahlia’s lips quivered with misery.

“And it has to be an encouragement,” said the technician.  “It doesn’t work if he was going to sexually harass you anyway.”

She had to make things worse for herself than they would otherwise have been, in other words.

“Oh, one last thing,” said the technician.  “We’ve had trouble before with clients complaining about our process, and pretending that they didn’t want it, or seeking help to try and get it reversed.  That caused us a lot of headache and legal trouble, so we’ve added just one more alteration.”

Tahlia cringed, knowing she wouldn’t like it.

“You’ll find that you can’t tell anyone that you’ve been through this process unless they already know about it,” said the technician.  “Further, you can’t suggest to anyone that you didn’t want the process or don’t enjoy its results, or that you want it reversed.”

The technician helped Tahlia up from her bed – and then he slapped her on the ass.

“Run along home now, little slut,” he said.  “And enjoy the first night of the rest of your life.”

===

The driver in the taxi home was a man.  He stared at her tits whenever they stopped at the lights.  Tahlia wanted to tell him not to, but fear dissuaded her.  She had hated the feeling of her brain going strange, and making up a rule for her.  She didn’t want to feel that again.  So she let the man ogle her boobs through her sweater.

“You have really strong arms,” she found herself saying.  “They’re sexy.”

He smiled at her, and for a moment, Tahlia panicked, thinking she was going to be assaulted, or raped.

But he just said, “Thank you,” and kept driving.

===

When she got home to the small-but-elegant apartment she shared with her girlfriend, Junko was waiting.

“How did it go?” she asked.

Tahlia wanted to cry.  She wanted to say that it was a nightmare.  She wanted to get Junko’s help to undo the process, to find a new hypnotist and reverse this horrible thing that had been done to her.  She wanted to say how the technician had squeezed her tits and slapped her ass and called her a slut, and suggest they sue his ass off.

Instead she found herself smiling.

“It was so good!” she enthused.  “I can’t talk about all the details – some proprietary confidentiality thing – but I really enjoyed it, and I think it’s really going to help me!”

Junko had been a little tense, but now she relaxed.

“That’s wonderful,” she sighed.  “See?  I told you so!  I’ve made you dinner – and then afterwards I thought we could celebrate in bed…”

Dinner was wonderful.  Junko’s dinner was always wonderful.  And bed was better.  Junko, naked, pressed her lithe, sexy body against Tahlia, and kissed Tahlia, and her fingers found Tahlia’s wet, eager pussy….

… and Tahlia burned with humiliation and shame, because for some reason she couldn’t stop thinking about the arms of the taxi driver – how strong they looked – and what they would feel like holding her down, forcing her against her girlfriend, controlling her, whether she wanted it or not…

===

You can buy original novel Average Availability right now in the All These Roadworks store for only $7.99 USD – and your purchase will support me to keep writing new stories like this one!  (Click here to view in store.)

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