﻿Bring Your Master To Work Day

Author: Ice Bear

http://mcstories.com/BringYourMasterToWorkDay/index.html

Added 03 September 2016
Updated 24 September 2016
mc mf ff md
The New HR director has an ideas about how to improve morale at work.


Part One

Megan Divan heaved her usual sigh as she passed through the revolving doors that lead to the site of her daily drudgery. Like she did every day. Sure, maybe today was special, but the occasion was as “special” to her as the memo about not pilfering post-its and paper clips was “urgent.”

I mean, Bring Your Master To Work Day? This was just idiotic—a classic testament to the idea that a committee was a life form with six or more legs and no brain. As the chair of the social committee, she’d headed up the meeting to plan the company’s annual Bring Your Daughter To Work Day. Instead… after lots of discussion, they wound up with this lunacy.

Bring Your Master… I mean, really. This was going to be a complete waste of the paltry budget set aside for it. At least there was going to be a free lunch.

Megan rode the elevator up to their floor, and immediately the fuzzy, atonal muzak piped non-stop through the PA system was assaulting her sense of taste. Here it was, seven o’clock in the morning, and the crap was already running. Still running from yesterday, for all she knew.

Ever since their new HR manager Desiree had been hired on, she’d insisted on the stuff. “Morale booster,” she said. Megan had been optimistic at first—every employee could access the system, select their own tunes, the only limitation being what you were willing and able to inflict on your coworkers. That part was good, only the shoddy third-rate hardware for it left everything half-obscured behind a wall of static.

Ah, well. Most of the time she didn’t even notice, in one ear and out the other. Harmless white noise.

For the next hour, Megan decorated the office for the occasion, feeling foolish every second of it. Readying the punch bowl and other dishes for the luncheon, setting up funtivities in the break room, reviewing her detailed agenda for the day (as if it would matter), putting up the big gawdy “WELCOME MASTER” banner across the entryway.

(Megan had told Desiree this sign should read “masters” to be more inclusive, but Desiree insisted singular would be fine. Frankly, Megan couldn’t begin to imagine they’d have enough to merit even the singular, so she hadn’t put up much of a fight.)

By the time everyone else started showing up an hour or so later, things were looking as good as they ever would. Not that anyone noticed or said thank you. Such was the lot of the junior HR representative. If anything went well, it would be to Desiree’s credit; if anything went poorly, she’d find a way to pawn it off on Megan.

Everybody took Desiree’s word on everything around here, it seemed. That woman could get away with anything.

At least people were taking the event seriously. Not a woman came in wearing anything outside the day’s uniquely “casual” dress code. (Desiree had called it casual; Megan, when she heard the details in the day’s digital agenda, had called it whorish. But like most things, it wasn’t her call to make.)

About a third of the ladies were wearing ultra-brief ultra-tight miniskirts, as was Megan herself. All the other ladies were wearing short, low-cut dresses that looked more appropriate in a night club than a professional office.

Except for Patty, who was rocking a way-too-tight-for-work pant suit, complete with a blouse that was tied off just beneath her breasts to show her impressively flat mid-riff. Megan could hardly blame her for showing off. All the women on staff had braggable bodies of one sort or another, of course.

Desiree had cleaned house of the older folks when she came on board, followed shortly by the men, narrowly dodging a slew of law suits. She’d had her reasons—reducing payroll, increasing innovation, putting a fresh face on the office—but still, it had definitely been a shake-up. When the dust settled, Megan had to concede that the company was in good hands, those of an assortment of talented young women. Lovely ones, at that.

The company had once had a diverse assortment of body types, running from painfully skinny Skyler to Gail the Whale, as she was called. Then Desiree had changed the company’s health insurer, and daily hour-long workouts became mandatory to retain benefits. In six months, there wasn’t a woman in the company who wore larger than a size 4.

Desiree had actually gone so far as to make special deals with local vendors so the ladies could renew their wardrobes for their healthy new bodies. Megan hadn’t even really needed to, but then, the discounts were just too darn good. Practically half her paycheck went to buying skanky clothes she never even wore.

Objectively, she felt humiliated every time she even tried one of the new outfits on, and she’d talked to her work buddies and knew they felt the same. Still, a deal was a deal, and Desiree had more or less insisted. Even as whorish as she felt going to work dressed like this, at least everyone else was too.

Megan watched with satisfaction as the girls gave themselves once-overs, making sure everything looked just right for all these so-called masters that obviously weren’t going to show up. A nice thick layer of makeup was applied on every face, a heavy coat of lipstick on every lip. Some women went the extra step and sprinkled glitter across their exposed bosoms, or let a coworker do their hair.

Grace and Gretchen—the so-called twins, for their similarity of appearance—took turns granting the other pig tails. They wore matching tartan skirts and white blouses, matching portraits of slutty schoolgirls.

Megan could hardly believe all this effort for such a stupid occasion. What kind of self-respecting adult woman had a master? Much less brought him in to work! It was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard.

Only then, Desiree showed up.

Along with Desiree’s master.

The whole office looked on with rapt attention as the two entered. He was an older man—not old, per se, but older than any of the twenty- and thirty-somethings in the office. He wasn’t especially good-looking, either. A little paunchy, not a whole lot of toppings on the table. At first Megan assumed he was a client, but then she took stock of two things. First, no one was to schedule any client meetings today.

Second, his hand was resting square on Desiree’s plump bottom.

“Hey, everybody!” she greeted the crew, cheeks reddening as the whole company saw her walking in as some stranger’s arm candy. “I’d like to introduce everyone to my—”

The man silenced her with a finger to her lips. “Enough yap, sweetie. Wow, this place looks really great—thank you, thank you all so much for making me feel so welcome. Desiree was really nervous you all wouldn’t come through, but something told me you’d prove her wrong. Right, babe? Who knows best?”

Desiree took a deep breath, and the usually assertive HR manager responded in a tiny voice. “You do, mumble.”

“Come again?” He grinned, tapping his ear.

“You do, master,” she repeated, only barely louder. Loud enough for the office to hear her, though.

Megan grinned. Her planning hadn’t been for nothing after all!

“Damn straight,” he said, slapping her hard on the behind. “You all can call me Master, too, or if you’d like to be a little less formal, Master Dylan. I’m easy-going about it.”

“Welcome, Master Dylan,” Megan said, deciding to make this whole awkward situation as light-hearted as possible. “We’re very pleased you could join us today. I think you’re going to have a lot of fun, and I hope you’ll learn a lot about our company.”

Dylan turned his attention to Megan, leering undisguisedly at the cleavage exposed by her top, which had a low square neckline that took advantage of the push-up bra Desiree had demanded of her for the day. “Damn, honey, looks like you could teach me plenty.”

She endured his ogling with dignity, like a professional. It went on for more than a minute—he asked her to twirl for him, and she did, wishing her dress didn’t expose her bare, shaved pussy as she did so. (The day’s dress code had expressly forbidden panties.)

It was Desiree who put an end to it. “Master, I believe you said you wanted to start the day in my office, performing a few last-minute tweaks to the day’s digital agenda?” After a moment, he stopped staring at Megan, and she took it as permission to cease her spinning. She had to steady herself against a wall, she was so dizzy from it.

“Right, doll face, right. C’mon, let’s hop to it.” He snapped his fingers, and Desiree literally leapt into action, darting into her office. Dylan followed behind her.

Megan’s work station was just outside Desiree’s office, so she didn’t really have much respite. Everything about today was at least a little strange, but really, what struck everyone as being just plain wrong was not having the digital agenda in their inbox to start the day.

It was another of Desiree’s initiatives, and again, seemed like such a good idea from the outset. Everybody came in and was treated to a cup of coffee brewed and poured by Desiree herself (those who didn’t care for it soon picked up the habit), then watched the digital agenda as they sipped away.

The agenda was just a daily video Desiree distributed, a combination of blandly inspirational quotes and clips, business-related reminders, and a cacophany of irksome noises and ugly feedback thanks to whatever cheap-ass software she’d employed.

Frankly, it complemented the muzak perfectly.

Megan had sold the idea to the company on the basis of being a time-saver on reading pointless memos and avoiding needless meetings. Instead, it absorbed at least an hour every morning, often more. Nobody even paid attention to it—every last lady in the company just stared into space, slack-jawed, as digital Desiree jabbered on about God only knew what.

Today, for the first time in months, there wasn’t one. How did she used to start the day? She didn’t even know what to do, so she just sat at her desk and anxiously clicked “refresh” in her email every two or three seconds.

She could hear Desiree and Dylan’s muffled voices coming from the adjacent office. She only half-listened, distracted by her need to get the digital agenda ritual done and over with so the day could begin.

“…already included the trigger, Master…”

“…redhead in the pants, what’s that about?”

“…practically obey my every word as it is…”

“…see if you did right or if I need a new bottom bitch…”

“…please don’t throw me away, Master…”

“…please don’t embarrass me in front of the company…”

“…please touch me…”

Geez, what a slut, Megan thought, still clicking that refresh button.

Finally, mercifully, the email arrived. She eagerly double-clicked the attachment and let the tedium roll. Today’s agenda was read by Desiree and Dylan together, but it was no more interesting for it. In fact, it was far less so than usual. Obey Master, permit him whatever he wants, don’t be ruffled by anything unusual… same basic message, repeated over and over in a hundred ways.

Same old boring garbage. In one ear and out through neither.

It was barely distracting enough to keep her from being annoyed by the sounds of Desiree grunting and wailing in her office. Once, after a particularly loud shriek, Megan craned her neck to peer in the open door, but there was nothing interesting, just her slut of a boss bent over her desk with her skirt flipped up over her ass, Master Dylan plowing her from behind.

She promptly got back to watching. One thing at a time.

“Hey guys, I don’t know if you’re ready or not, but we have some of our festivity funtivities ready to go whenever, um, Master Dylan is ready,” Megan announced in Desiree’s doorway a short time later.

Dylan pulled out of Desiree with a wet plop and tucked his gear away without missing a beat. Despite not being remotely attracted to the man, Megan couldn’t help but stare at the man’s cock until it was out of sight again. “Oho, funtivities? I can hardly wait. Sure, let’s get this party started.”

Panting, Desiree rolled off her desktop, knocking some papers and a picture of her family to the floor. “Yes, let’s,” she said shakily.

She was halfway to the door before Megan felt compelled to say something. “Um, Desiree… you forgot to put your skirt back on.” Not that the junior HR rep cared about her supervisor embarrassing herself in front of the whole office, but it reflected poorly on the department.

Desiree went crimson at the faux pas, but Dylan just laughed. “Tsk tsk, jelly tush, carelessness in the workplace shouldn’t be overlooked. C’mon, now you’re going without.” Desiree nodded, and trailed along behind them naked from the waist down, her pussy juices already trickling down her leg.

Megan didn’t make a big fuss over it; sure, her supervisor was a total slut, but it was Bring Your Master To Work Day, after all. What was she supposed to do, not bring him? Or not obey? Both were equally preposterous. Not like she wasn’t juicing up herself. Just in case.

Most people noticed them enter the office from the HR area—after all, how do you not notice a half-naked woman in the workplace? (Or her Master, for that matter, whom Megan found impossible not to watch closely for any sign of a command.) Still, she raised her voice to make sure everyone who might need to heard her.

“All righty, ladies, we’re getting funtivities underway, so first up I need my WTB task force to convene in the conference room. Team TORA, you’re on deck so don’t get involved in anything you can’t put a bookmark in.”

Megan lead Master Dylan and the four girls on the task force into the conference room. Desiree followed, not seeming sure whether or not her master was done with her. Jessica, Melissa, Gail and Angela didn’t even need prompting to line up shoulder to shoulder against the wall, projecting courteous and inviting smiles.

They were professionals all right, even if they hadn’t exactly been trained for this.

“All righty, Master Dylan,” Megan began, “first up is a game we call ‘Who’s That Bust?’. We think you’re really going to enjoy it.”

Dylan guffawed at the name. “Oh, that’s just marvelous. Your idea, Snatchmuffin?”

Desiree shrugged. “It came out of the committee. We adapted it from a game we played with the children on Bring Your Daughter Day, but decided Master might prefer something a bit more… adult.”

“Well if I’m guessing the rules right, you decided right,” he said, looking along the line of bosoms. With good reason. The committee had chosen the women for this game carefully.

There was Angela, trim and petite, but who after the company-sponsored augmentation sported a pair of breasts that were far too large for her tiny frame. Jessica’s were the smallest of the lot, probably only a C cup, but with her height and wide hips the imagination might guess them larger than they were. Melissa’s were the Baby Bear of the group, not too much, not too little, but just right for her body.

And Gail… well, her colossal tits were the only reason she’d been unsuccessful in shedding the nickname “the Whale” after she lost almost eighty pounds and had surgeries to tighten her skin and smooth everything out presentably.

(Megan still thought it was a wasteful inclusion in the health care package, but today at least, it made some sense.)

Megan cleared her throat. “So it’s a relatively simple game. You have as much time as you want to study the girls’ chests while they’re still covered.” (“Covered” was a relative term; not a girl here was more than an inch from showing nipple with their choice of garments.) “Then you close your eyes and have to guess using only your sense of touch whose, um, breasts belong to whom.”

Each participant was to introduce herself, but Dylan just told them they’d be One, Two, Three and Four, names didn’t much matter to him. “Whose Them Boobies,” he said, leering across the bounty of exposed flesh. “Titties like these, gotta say this is a game where you win even if you lose, eh HR rep lady?”

She wanted to point out her name was Megan, but after he’d just said he didn’t care about the women’s names, she skipped it and responded to the point of his remark. “That’s the idea, Master—all supposed to be in good fun for you. We selected some of the best, um, titties in the office.” She wrinkled her nose at using the word titties, but if that’s how master wanted them called, she’d honor it.

As Dylan walked in circles around each of them, studying the four women from every angle, the girls placidly stood there jutting their boobies out for inspection. Megan had to hand it to them; she wasn’t sure she’d be nearly so professional about being inspected like a piece of meat.

“Um, Master Dylan, you’re not supposed to feel the girls yet,” she said gently. Not that what he was feeling was going to give him an edge. She hoped she didn’t sound like she was telling him what to do; she just wanted to make sure he understood the nature of the game. “Sorry,” she apologized. Just to be sure.

He just rolled his eyes, and after a bit more probing, slid his hand out from under Melissa’s skirt. “Fine, fine. Nothing braggable down there anyway.” Melissa pouted a moment, but a stern glare from Desiree put a fake smile right back on her face.

When Dylan said he was ready, Megan told him it was time to blind-fold him. She began removing her bra awkwardly under her clothes. (It had been Desiree’s suggestion to use a bra as a blindfold, which was the only reason Megan had been the sole exception to the No Bra policy today.)

Dylan frowned and made a gesture; Megan understood its meaning, and so simply opened her blouse up and slid it off her shoulders, leaving it tucked into her skirt, then removed her bra in front of everyone.

It was humiliating, being topless in front of this man, some other woman’s master, but then, she supposed it was only fair considering the activity. Once it was off, her nipples hardened instantly (from the AC, of course, she definitely wasn’t aroused… much). Megan smiled politely and placed one of the cups over Dylan’s face, then secured it as best she could.

“All right ladies, strip and shuffle! Titties out!” Megan announced. She felt uncomfortable treating something this degrading as just a game, but everybody put up with a certain amount of juvenile nonsense in their jobs. Right?

Megan put her blouse back on as the other girls shed theirs, or lowered the top half of their dresses down around their waists. They were indeed each distinct. Jessica’s cone-shaped nipples protruding; Gail’s massive and slightly sagging without being droopy; Melissa’s perky with tiny dark brown nipples; Angela’s ludicrously fake-looking, the male-fantasy kind one never saw outside of pornos.

Desiree just sat back on the conference table and softly rubbed her thighs together, a puddle of pussy juice beginning to form immediately. Slut.

“All right, Master Dylan—time to play ‘Who’s Them Boobies?’!” She came up behind him, very conscious of the way her nipples pressed into his back through their shirts, and guided his hands out to the first contestant, Melissa. It was hard to believe she was actually putting a man’s grubby paws on her colleague’s naked titties, but…

It was on theme for the day, she had to admit.

After a few minutes of fondling and kneading her boobs, then pulling her forward and inhaling her nipples into his mouth, Dylan prodded her back and grinned. “That’s my girl Two,” he announced confidently.

Two, Melissa—though now that Master said so, Megan had to admit she made more sense as a “Two”—giggled, obviously flattered. “Nicely done, Master!”

He patted her tits, then took both nipples and tugged her a bit aside. She moved, gasping at the rough handling, but didn’t stop rubbing her nipples once she’d started soothing them. “Next!”

Next was Three—err, Angela—and this time he guessed it much sooner. “How’d you know?” she asked, a bit sulkily.

“Could tell they’re fake—not the best boob job I’ve ever tasted, I gotta say.”

“It’s all the company plan covered,” she pouted.

“Yeah, I hear ya—cheapskates in corporate, right?” Still, he let her motorboat him a little, and that seemed to cheer her up. Megan had to admit, it was good to feel useful, to obey.

The final two girls were trickier for him. Four the Whale was obviously huge, but everyone could tell he’d fallen for their trick and assumed One’s were nearly as massive. Besides, they were both all natural, and with only hands, she could appreciate it wasn’t easy.

He was much more thorough, using not only his hands and his mouth, but having Four and One alternate titty-fucking him. First on their knees, then mounting them on their backs as they lay atop the conference table. (Everyone took great pains to make sure Master Dylan didn’t fall, blindfolded as he was.)

As HR rep, Megan was put in charge of lubricating the girls’ tits with her tongue. Her boyfriend would’ve been insanely jealous; he’d been bugging her about having a threesome with his ex-fuck-buddy for years.

She didn’t swing that way, though; Megan was only licking her coworkers boobs out of professional courtesy.

Master never did cum. Impressive stamina in him, or maybe he was still recovering from fucking Desiree in her office earlier. In the end, they helped him down off the table, and everyone cheered in triumph as he guessed them incorrectly. One was positively beside herself to have her comparatively modest titties mistaken for Four’s gigantic knockers.

Master Dylan laughed good-naturedly at his error. “It’s harder than it looks, girls!” he insisted as he removed his blindfold. (Megan hid a glower as he tossed her $80 bra in the garbage.) To prove his point, he had each of them, One through Four, take turns closing their eyes and grope and suck on the others’ tits.

Even though they were admittedly less thorough than him, they had to concede, it was tougher than they’d thought it would be. They all tried their best to hide their embarrassment as colleague after colleague fondling and licking one another’s tits. Each understood the heady scent of feminine arousal in the room was only for the occasion, not the activity.

“All right, you’re done with your first funtivity, Master Dylan. Would you like to move on to the next, or do you need some time?” Megan asked as things wound down. She deliberately left it vague as to what he might need time for, either playing with One through Four, fucking Desiree again… whatever he might command Megan herself to do…

Master Dylan was eager to move on though. “Oh hell, if that was just your opener, I can’t wait to see what else you tasty little sluts have lined up for me!”

Megan’s professional pleasantry almost slipped at his sexist slur, but she held it together, just. “All right. Well Two, Four, Three, One, thanks to each of you for your assistance,” she said, working down the line, making eye contact to remind them they were technically more than just tits on legs.

Damn, now she’d have to update the company directory.

Two extended a hand to Dylan to thank him for coming in today, but instead of shaking her hand, he squeezed her left tit. “My pleasure, babe, and I tell you what, why don’t you ladies leave those titties out for me, in case I get bored later on in the day. Besides, racks like yours, would be a shame to hide ’em away.”

They each blushed to some degree, but none were rude enough to decline. Topless, the girls left the conference rooms and went back to their desks, chins held high. The rest of the office looked at them with curiosity, but they had jobs of their own to do, and obviously this was what Master wanted.

“Desiree—get your skank hand out of your twat and fetch me some coffee,” Dylan commanded.

The HR manager pulled her hand out from between her legs like it was scalded. “Sorry, Master, but, um, we don’t have any coffee here. At least, not any that isn’t… um…” she looked at Megan nervously, for some reason.

Why was Desiree so nervous? Was there something wrong with the office coffee? Something she was afraid Megan would find out about?

Damnit! She just knew Desiree was using some cheapo brand.

“Well if there’s no coffee here, then maybe you should ask yourself if there’s coffee someplace else, eh?” Dylan asked, rolling his eyes at her obtuseness.

“Of course! I know exactly what you like. I’ll get right on that,” she said, hopping to her feet and scurrying to the door. “Um, before I go out, can I, um… put my skirt back on?” Her request was so meek Megan barely heard it. It was so strange, coming from the normally confident, assertive HR manager.

“Would that get me my coffee faster?”

“Uh, no Master, I suppose it wouldn’t.”

“Well there’s your answer. No hurry your ass up before I replace you with this one.” Megan’s eyes bulged for a moment in shock. Her?! Desiree didn’t waste a moment, literally running out of the conference room, her bare ass cheeks red with embarrassment. Or shame at having to have such basic tasks explained to her.

“So, baby cakes. What’s next?”


Part Two
Elle gave Master Dylan a guided tour of the office while Megan got Team TORA together for the next funtivity. Mostly this consisted of her trying to explain various office functions while calmly tolerating him sticking a finger in her mouth, reaching a hand up her dress. Or down her dress. It didn’t take long—the office wasn’t that big, and Elle wasn’t hot enough to distract him for that long. (She was one of the plainest girls in the office—a 7 at best, as the guys said.)

Luckily, Team TORA was prepped and ready for their task, and was more than ready to go by the time Elle lead him back, using his finger up her pussy like a leash to guide him. The whole office was gathered for this one, as it was a participatory event.

“Welcome back, Master. Now it’s time for a game we call Tits or Ass. Have you played before, or do you need me to explain the rules?” Megan announced. She felt stupid asking, but really, if there was a man who’d ever played this, Dylan was he.

“You know, I don’t think I have,” Dylan said. He didn’t address the question to Megan, as he was instantly distracted by the flesh parade before him.

“All right, well it’s pretty easy. Each of our TORA team members are going to come before you one by one, and the girls are going to take a vote on whether they think you’ll be drawn more to their titties or their ass, quickly and anonymous tallying the votes using an app our IT specialist Casie developed.

“Then, you say which one you think is better, and I’ll reveal the girls’ vote. If you agree with the majority, that employee is awarded one day of PTO!” The girls oooohed, as Desiree the HR manager was notoriously stingy with leave.

They stopped looking so impressed upon hearing the rest of the prize description. “That’s right, a bonus day of PTO that she will use at Master’s behest, to wait on him hand and foot for the entire day, in whatever manner he chooses!”

The crowd was kind of quiet at that. After all, it was one thing to honor this preposterous holiday in the office, where they were paid to put up with difficult clients and budget shortages and coworkers’ gropy masters. But to take it outside the office… they’d be just as depraved and slutty as Desiree. For a day, anyway.

Although, as Megan reminded the sullen gathering, it was paid time off, so technically they still got paid to deal with it. This mollified them, if only a little.

“So, any questions before we get started, Master Dylan?”

“Yeah, just one. Uh… why are they wearing those leather gimp masks?”

Megan nodded. “Ah, of course. Some of our employees have never been modeled or been judged on their bodies in competition before, so we thought we’d allow them some semblance of anonymity. You know, for modesty.” And it’s on theme, you Philistine, Megan thought. It really bothered her to have her creativity go unappreciated.

“Well, that makes sense,” the man conceded, “though it probably doesn’t help the black girl or that Indian chick.”

Right, Megan realized far too late. I’ll have to apologize to Pavani and Keira later.

With that, the competition began.

Team TORA had been hand-chosen from the office staff selecting for girls who, at least as near as she could tell, had similarly attractive tops and bottoms. Tiffani with her runner’s body, tiny tight ass and barely B cup boobs riding high. Monica the intern, the quintessential college hottie with her gym-sculpted butt and perfect little sorostitute tits (also sculpted, but on the company health care plan). Gina in accounting, with her hourglass figure, tiny waist and impressive thigh gap between stupefying breasts and a butt that Megan could hardly believe of a white girl.

Even having helped hand-pick the participants, she wasn’t certain who was who. After all, what she thought was Tiffani could as easily be petite Jessica the receptionist. It didn’t really matter. Dylan agreed with the mob’s verdict more often than not, and Megan made sure to take detailed notes, per his instructions. (Initially, she’d just been noting the ones who needed the PTO, but he said he wanted a spreadsheet tracking votes, his guess, accuracy, the whole kit and caboodle.)

In the end, it was a stupid game, but once the group got past the worst of the awkwardness, it made for some fun. For the guessers, at least. Most of the TORA girls were turned so beet red in embarrassment (and/or arousal) that Megan couldn’t help feel sorry for them. Pavani nearly passed out, she was so self-conscious.

Dylan definitely enjoyed himself regardless; in fact, he told Megan to fudge the results on a couple girls and give them the PTO anyway. “I mean, this tasty little bitch’s booty is dynamite, sure, but I think the crowd convinced me that those titties are really where it’s at.” The girl—Daphne? hard to tell with the mask—laughed politely, and Megan obediently altered the results.

A while later it was winding down, the losers heading back to the restroom to dress and return to their theme day work attire, the winners shedding their masks in front of the office per Master’s orders so he could inspect his bounty. They glared at Megan for having the rules changed on them suddenly, and she shrugged helplessly as Dylan speculated when he might be able to spare a day for them to serve.

Then, Desiree returned with his coffee. She was still naked from the waist down, her blouse only barely concealing the fact that she wasn’t wearing panties. It had been almost two hours.

“Your coffee, Master.” The HR managed walked right up to her master, striking a deep curtsy and holding it. Everyone could see her bare butt like that, the slut, but did she even blush? Well, yes, but not nearly enough for the woman who’d put them all in this awkward situation.

Dylan brushed Courtney off his lap like an insect as he glared at his slave. “Where the hell have you been? There’s a coffee shop not three blocks from here. I was starting to think you ran away, wanted your freedom or something.”

“Oh no, Master, nothing as stupid and selfish as that,” Desiree insisted fervently, either too embarrassed or too submissive to make eye contact with anyone present.

“Well then? Your knees are dirty as hell—you trip and spill it? Like six times?” He folded his arms across his chest.

“It is a story that I would not want to bore you with, Master.” Her legs trembled at holding the pose, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.

“What? Two fuckin’ hours for lukewarm coffee from a dirty slut, I damn well better get a story out of it.”

Desiree nodded, and then sunk down to a kneeling position. She didn’t quite sit down, keeping her butt several inches clear of her feet, so that her posture looked more like one of pleading and less like one of respite. Megan could hardly believe at what a closet skank her supervisor was.

“You see, I went to the coffee shop, just like you told me. Only… they wouldn’t serve me. They told me I was making the other customers uncomfortable, and that I needed to leave.”

“Why was that?”

“Master?” Desiree looked puzzled by such an obvious question. “Because I am half naked. Like a slut.”

“Well aren’t you one? Don’t go getting high on mighty on me, Des.”

“You’re so right, of course,” she agreed reflexively. “So, because I looked like the slut that I am, they made me leave. I begged, but they wouldn’t listen. They had to drag me out, and threatened to call the police if I returned.”

She ignored Dylan’s laugh as she went on. “I think they may have called them anyway, because as I was on my way back to my car to go to another coffee shop where I could use the drive-through, I was stopped by a police officer.”

“Oh gosh, how’d you talk your way out of getting busted?” asked Two. Master gave her an annoyed look, then with a gesture commanded her to put her thumb in her mouth and suck on it like a toddler. She did, sullenly.

Desiree answered anyway. “I made up a lie about why I didn’t have my skirt. I don’t think the office believed me. Either way, he said it was a crime and I had to be taken in. Can’t let naked women walk the streets, he said. So… I begged, again.”

Big surprise that this dumb slut’s first resort always seemed to be desperate pleading. “Only then, I guess he liked seeing me on my knees, because he said he knew a way I could get out of it. I knew what he meant, and I didn’t want to delay your coffee by my getting arrested, so… I followed him into an alley and sucked his dick.”

Her lips quivered; Megan could only imagine having to do something so degrading, much less tell all of her coworkers about it. Of course, she wouldn’t ever put herself in that position by serving a master in the first place. Because she wasn’t a total fucking dolt.

“So yeah, I blew him, and he pulled out and came on my titties.” Megan hadn’t noticed that stain on her blouse, but she saw it now, a mostly dry little off-white on the white. “Then he said I could go, but if I didn’t get out of there quickly, next time it’d take more than a blowjob. So I thanked him, and then I ran to my car and got in and drove to the coffee shop on Lincoln Avenue and there was an accident that slowed me down and that’s why it’s lukewarm. Master.”

Evidently, Dylan had no more pity for his slave than Megan had for her boss. (Man, his slave had underlings… just imagine if they ever found a way to exploit that, Megan thought for a moment before returning her attention to Master Dylan.) “So you fucked up, is what you’re saying. Damn, you’re out giving away free blowjobs and it doesn’t occur to you to offer one to the barista to get me my damn coffee?”

“It was a woman,” Desiree protested feebly.

“Oh, right, I forgot how much women hate oral sex,” he said sarcastically. “All right, that’s it. For one, you’ve lost your blouse privileges. For two, just to make sure you take my point, you’re going to go around to each and every woman here and offer to eat them out to completion in your office. I don’t wanna see you hanging out at any of our funtivities until you’ve reached out to everyone.”

Desiree gasped, but her shock was fast overwhelmed by her obedience. Her numb fingers fumbled at buttons until her blouse was undone, and then dropped it on the floor.

As one, the office gasped in shock at what was beneath. Not at Desiree’s body, which all had known was absolutely top notch. But at what was on it. Her entire back was a mess of tattoos, all of which were very impressively drawn and colored designs featuring a woman who was unmistakably Desiree. And in all of them, she was nude and engaged in some form of sex act.

In fact, as Megan—and the rest of the office—pored over this living kama sutra, all of them were of some sort of submissive nature. On her left shoulder she was bent over in the downward facing dog position, a man embedded in her sex. There were several angles of her kneeling to give a blowjob, including a side view where her eyes looked up at an unseen recipient in search of approval and another where she was fingering herself. They were incredibly detailed and vividly colored, each flowing into the next so that it was just a panorama of Desiree being a sex slave.

There was a long silence as everyone moved around to get a good look. It was Desiree who broke it by looking up at Vicki and asking, in a soft voice, “Vicki, do you want me to go down on you in my office?”

Vicki blushed and shook her head; then she asked Crystal, who scowled in disgust. After that, Marie just took the HR supervisor’s hand and pulled her off towards the HR nook. Megan just frowned at the lack of professional discretion.

“Well, I suppose that’s really the perfect segue into our next funtivity…”

The lunch was nothing impressive on its own, just cold finger sandwiches, a veggie tray and myriad snacks. For the sole arrival on Bring Your Master To Work Day, however, it must’ve seemed pretty special.

Megan and the luncheon team had made sure to have a low-mess lunch so that the girls could participate in the accompanying activity. Megan had forgotten until just before it started that Desiree had been the one to suggest it, which made sense now.

A slutty tattoo contest.

Each girl had half an hour to use the art supplies sitting around the break room to design one. (It was strange to think in years past, these same art supplies had been a way to amuse the daughters of employees on Bring Your Daughter day.)

Then when time was up, each girl sat on Master’s lap and showed him what she’d come up with. Master would pick his three favorites. The girls who designed them would get to decide who had to actually get it inked on them.

The person whose design Master liked least would have to get all three of the best designs on them. Every woman present shuddered at the thought of it.

“I thought you said there was no reason to fucking worry, because there was no way any masters would show up to this thing,” Patty hissed at Megan in a low tone as she sketched out her design.

“How was I supposed to know! Like you were so sure we’d have a line out the door of everybody’s masters showing up. Besides, this whole thing was that skank Desiree’s idea!”

“Well Desiree wasn’t the one who put me on the cherry relay race team either, now was she?!” (That event was one of the last of the day—the girls had to pick up and carry a cherry using only their pussies and carry it across the room and deposit it in a cup. Megan didn’t even think it was possible, frankly, though Monica the intern said her sorority had done it as a hazing thing.)

“Sorry, OK? Everybody had to be part of something. Desiree’s orders.”

“Yeah, well you tell Desiree I’m not thrilled about the prospect of eating a bunch of cunty cherries.”

(Oh, that was the incentive—the losing team had to eat all the cherries.)

Needless to say, the girls outdid themselves with their designs. There wasn’t a single one Megan wouldn’t have been mortified to have emblazoned on herself. She was glad she didn’t have to participate herself—she was just there to organize and assist.

And to sit on Dylan’s lap while he waited and hand feed him his lunch while he felt her up. He got bread crumbs all down her top as he ate, then made Bobbi lick them clean when he was done. At least she only licked the exposed portion, and not her entire titties. (Weird to think she’d once thought of her titties as “breasts”.)

Once all the designs were submitted, Dylan looked them over for a couple minutes. “All right, I think I’m ready to name my three winners, so they can name their losers. Though I just want to say, you’re all losers in my book.” Dylan laughed; the girls chimed in halfheartedly a moment later.

“In third place, we have ‘Slutty Trump Stamp’! Come on down, artist!” It was Four, actually—just a simple set of block letters that read just that. Megan had thought it was a shoe-in for dead last given the lack of creativity and artistic rendering, but as Master put it, “Sometimes it’s good to just come right out and say what you mean. Art can be interpretive; this is nice and literal.”

“In second place, we have… ‘Winking Big Titty Girl’! Where ya at, Winking Big Titty Girl—aha, there you are.” This time it was actually Patty who came forward, looking immensely relieved even as she blushed at holding up her design. It featured a woman with a cartoonishly thin waist and a set of tits that no bra could possibly hold. Like he said, it was topped off by a brightly smiling face that was winking, like her super-jugs were some kind of secret she was letting the viewer in on. Patty had even framed the drawing with a woman’s back, so it was clear from the scale employed that the tattoo would be waist to neck on its recipient.

“And finally, our winner—Own Me Girl!” Nobody was surprised at this—sassy little Grace in her pigtails smiled the obnoxious smile that had been smiled by every obnoxious asshole who’d known they’d won before the contest was over throughout history.

Megan couldn’t blame her, though—her design was incredible, even if it was perverse as hell. She’d drown a woman, then on her hands and ankles there was a tattoo of shackles and chains. The figure was posed with legs crossed at the knees, hands clasped pleadingly, and the tattoos lined up so that the chain on one wrist meshed up with the chain on the other, and likewise at the ankles.

Whoever had it, they’d never be able to wear anything but full-length pants and long sleeve tops ever again. Or just throw their self-respect out the window.

Master ordered the girls to applaud the winners, a command which they gamely obeyed. “Now, starting with third place, you tell us who you want to brand? Who gets to wear the Slutty Tramp Stamp?”

“And I have to pick someone? I can’t just do a pass?” Four asked.

“Nope, sorry—I don’t make up funtivity rules.”

“All right.” She looked around, and not a person there could make eye contact with her. It was like waiting for the teacher to call on someone when no one had done the reading. Everyone just tried to be invisible. “I choose Gina .”

There was a collective sigh of relief—except from Gina. “What the hell, Gail!”

“It’s actually Four now,” Four replied, “and I had to pick somebody. And I remembered how you used to make all those jokes about me behind my back, started that whole ‘Four the Whale’ nickname. Serves you right, Gina.”

“Anyways,” Dylan interjected over their quibbling, “next up, Big Titty Winker. Who gets to be blessed with this masterpiece, darlin’?”

“Her.” Patty didn’t hesitate for an instant. She was pointing right at Megan.

The junior HR representative froze in place as the rest of her life flashed by in an instant. Never being able to wear a swimsuit again. Never making love with the lights on. Doctors gaping at it while they gave her check-ups. Her parents finding out that she was a total whore, with the ink to prove it.

“Sorry, sexy HR lady is off limits,” Dylan said. There was a collective grumbling, but Megan couldn’t hear it over all the blood suddenly rushing to her cunt.

This man, her master (for the day, anyway), had saved her from that fate. The most horrifying prospect she’d ever been faced with, and he protected her.

Surely that earned him a little extra servitude, right? Megan saw herself on his bed, doggy style, waving her ass at him to seduce him to stick his cock in her pussy. Or her ass. Whatever Master wanted. He deserved either, surely, just for this. It didn’t matter to her that she wasn’t attracted to him—he just deserved her worshipful servitude.

A little of it, anyway. Megan had no intention of going full Desiree and throwing her whole life away.

Megan didn’t even overhear Patty’s brief, petulant outburst about the unfairness of it, or Master telling her that for back-talking, she’d volunteered to get it put on herself instead. Megan didn’t notice the baleful glare Patty directed at her; noticing that wasn’t going to do a damn thing to make Master happier.

She tugged her neckline down and the hem of her skirt up, for good measure.

“Now our last little masterpiece, why don’t you tell us who you’ve chosen, and why you’re choosing them,” she heard him say. Slowly, she was coming out of that intense moment of blissful subservience, though she wondered what all stray desires had followed her back.

“Is there anyone else off limits?” Grace asked timidly, wary of making the same mistake Patty had, of earning the same consequence.

“Just the HR gals—I’ll take care of inking my own bitch,” he said with a chuckle.

For half a second Megan thought he was referring to her instead of Desiree, and she tried her best to turn her lustful groan of delight—my own bitch—into the clearing of her throat. A couple women nearby eyed her askance, but then went right back to avoiding Grace’s notice.

“Then… I guess I’ll do Gretchen. Everybody always says how we look alike, and it always takes new hires like a month to tell us apart even when we’re not trying so… this’ll finally be a way to separate us.”

“What… but… you… we…” Gretchen stammered, her own pretty pig-tailed face draining of color.

“You’ve been copying my style for too long, Gretchen—look at it this way, I’m helping you stand out.” Grace shrugged.

Dylan applauded her decision, and soon the whole gathering joined in. Even Patty, Gina and Gretchen. Master obviously wanted them to, after all, so they cheered on their own humiliating fates.

“Okey doke—now don’t think I forgot about the last bit,” Dylan said as it quieted down. Indeed, at him saying so, it went totally silent. Everyone had just sort of hoped he’d forgotten the last place “prize”.

He paced back and forth, looking around between all the drawings. Finally, he settled on one in particular, a picture ostensibly of a red flower. The artist, Courtney, even had an art minor, Megan was pretty sure.

“This stupid thing, I gotta say, is the pretty clear loser. I mean, a flower? What are we, like, eighteen years old, getting our first tramp stamps to make daddy mad? Come on.”

The girls were quiet, looking amongst one another and masking their confusion. Could he not see it? How could anyone miss it? Especially someone who’d already had sex at least twice today, and seen or touched the pussies of close to half the girls in the office.

Courtney took a moment to speak up; it was difficult to challenge Master’s decision. (Megan could hardly imagine the stress of such a thing.) “Um, Master Dylan? It’s… it’s a yonic flower.”

“So? Who cares whether it’s a tulip or chrysanthemum or a fuckin’ yonic? It’s not slutty.”

Courtney cleared her throat, her voice cracking twice as she pressed on, desperate to avoid her proscribed punishment. “No, Master. Yonic means resembling the female vagina. Like phallic, for penises. It’s, um, inspired by the work of Georgia O’Keeffe. I… I understand if you don’t see it that way.”

The man paused, rubbing his chin and giving it a second look. Slowly but surely, a boyish grin broke out on his face. “Well I’ll be goddamned, babe! It sure is—what’s that word, yonic? Yeah, damn straight! I take that back, this is fuckin’ art! Tell ya what, just for that, no loser! Well, other than those three cunts,” he said, inclining his head to Patty, Gina and Gretchen.

As one, the girls fell all over themselves cooing and pawing at him and kissing him and thanking Master for his kindness. It was like a tornado of girls, swirling around him to give thanks for his mercy and good taste. Megan sort of got swept up in it all, literally getting dizzy as she ran her fingers across Master’s shoulders and chest.

No, not her master. Desiree’s.

Semantics, really.

She excused herself to the hallway, where she fell back against the wall and lifted her skirt, her fingers going right at her steaming wet pussy as she bucked and quivered and moaned. No one seemed to hear her though, or at least no one came out to intervene.

Well, one person did.

“Can I eat that for you?” Desiree asked, licking her lips.


Part Three
I can’t believe I work with such a bunch of stupid sluts, Megan thought to herself as she returned to the conference room an hour later. Before, there had been the daring outfits occasionally reduced to nudity as funitivities and Master’s whims demanded. Pretty girls with half-covered bodies beneath sulky pouts. (Well, whenever Master wasn’t looking; if they saw him looking, they smiled.)

Now, there was hardly a girl in the office that wasn’t in some state of partial undress. Patty was the only one fully clothed, still wearing her clingy pantsuit that on a normal day would be scandalously tight, but today made her look practically a nun. And Patty looked like she regretted it to her core, her thighs rubbing together in disconsolate coveredness, hands idly rubbing at her breasts in frustrated lack of access.

As Megan observed from the doorway, she could see how the girls tried to keep themselves in Master’s field of vision, trying to lap up his attention. Ditzy giggles were echoing down the hallway. More than a few of her colleagues were openly playing with themselves. Four women were crowding around Master’s cock, engaged in a spirited discussion about how the company wasted such resources when they didn’t even have a budget for blowjob training.

The room positively reeked of female arousal. And Megan should know—she’d just left a room that smelled almost as badly of it. She’d had no interest in having a woman go down on her. Indeed, the junior HR manager had never even had that one weird drunken experiment cliché in college. She just wasn’t into chicks.

Yet when her lazy, shiftless, incompetent bitch of a boss had meekly asked if she’d like to be eaten out… she hadn’t been able to say no. Maybe it was because she could tell Desiree didn’t want to do it and she wanted to take her down a peg. Maybe it was just to enjoy a little power trip. Maybe, just a little bit, she’d thought how hot it would be for Master if he walked in on them.

He hadn’t, unfortunately. So Megan had just leaned back in her manager’s chair—infinitely more comfortable than her own—and tried to ignore the staticky muzak piping out of the PA system as Desiree ate her out like a woman possessed.

The junior HR rep had to hand it to her; she was intensely dedicated to obeying not just the law of her master’s commands, but the spirit as well. If she ever decided to serve a master (not that she would) (probably) she hoped to have half her gusto and sticktoitiveness. She never let up, never asked for a break or indicated she’d like one. Every time Megan told her how to do it better, she’d adjusted her technique immediately.

In fact, she was so obedient, her erstwhile subordinate had gotten increasingly demanding about it. Then when her boss did nothing to object, she even started working out some of her pent-up frustration. It began with pedestrian prodding. (“Get your tongue deeper, bitch”)

Before long it escalated into things that were just flimsy pretexts for abuse. (“Did I tell you to ease up on my clit, you walking talking jizz mop? Quit trying to think for yourself before you drain what little battery you have left, airhead.”)

Still, that she had taken a short break was no reason for the rest of the office to just act like they had the day off. Master wasn’t their master, after all, and they still had work to do. “Ahem.”

The girls looked over to her, sheepish expressions in abundance. It was like she’d caught them playing minesweeper—only instead of looking for mines, they were looking for cocks. One in particular.

“I believe you all have jobs to do?” she said imperiously. She didn’t usually feel so authoritative, but having her boss on her hands and knees doing her bidding must have jarred something loose. The girls sullenly began to shuffle out of the room, most of them not even bothering to pick up their discarded clothes. She doubted they even knew whose were whose any more. They cooed farewells to Dylan as they departed, and some even kissed him goodbye.

“I do hope you meant blowjobs, or at least handjobs,” Master said, grinning at his departing bounty of T&A.

She couldn’t remember why she was so grateful to him any more, but she recalled he’d done something wonderful for her. Something that had put her in his debt. So whether he was a chauvinist pig or not, that meant she had to smile through comments like that. “Not exactly. That is, unless you meant that as a command, Master…?”

He looked like he was considering it, but shrugged. “Nah. We just missed you, so the gals were nice enough to help me stave off boredom.”

That stung. It was her job to entertain any masters who arrived for the day, and here she’d fucked it up. Still, not like she’d been gone all that long…

Oh shit. A glance at the clock showed she’d been gone for almost two hours. How on earth had she let her cunt-brained idiot of a boss distract her that long? She had half a mind to go back in there and take that gutterslut over her knee and spank some discipline into her.

Instead, smiled placidly at Master Dylan. “Yes, and I’m very sorry about that. I think we’ll have to cancel the 1:00 event to get us back on schedule.”

“That’s fine. What was it, if I may ask?”

“Nothing too exciting—just a little presentation on what services we offer here. Mostly informative, with just a bit of visual aids to give it some appeal. Not Leslie’s finest work, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh. What sort of services do you offer here?” There was almost a knowing gleam in his eyes, for some reason.

Megan opened her mouth, then closed it. Damnit, she should know this. Were they importer/exporters? No, that wasn’t it, they’d stopped doing that months ago. Now, they… um, they…

Well, shit. Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember the office actually making anything or providing any type of service. Still, she’d sound like an absolute moron to say it aloud, so she sugar-coated the truth. “We’re between major projects at the moment, Master, but we’re always in search of exciting new challenges.” There, vague and optimistic.

“So, how about… wait, do we need to be moving on to the next thing yet?”

“No, we’ve got a few minutes before we need to set up the final event.”

“Groovy. So yeah, then how about you? You like working here?”

Megan shrugged. “It’s all right. Pays the bills.”

“Too demanding?”

“The opposite, actually. I feel like I have to go in search of something to do half the time. I have all this energy and drive to get things done, but… all too often there’s nothing that needs doing.”

“Oh, my little Ditzy Dezzy take on all the heavy lifting, does she?”

Megan sneered. “Hardly. To be perfectly honest, Master,” as she couldn’t imagine being anything but honest with him, “your slave is not much of a worker. She just tries these hare-brained schemes to improve morale and productivity that only ever set us back. What actually needs doing is all on me.”

“Well you seem good at it. Organized, disciplined, serious about your work.”

“Thank you, Master. I’m hoping to get promoted someday, so I want to make sure I give our corporate overlords every reason to say yes.”

Dylan stroked his chin. “Corporate overlords, eh? Tell me about them.”

She tried to think. The company had been sold some time ago, right before Desiree was brought in and given what should’ve been Megan’s job. Who had they sold it to? It had been… um… Mr. Somebody? She was pretty sure it was a mister. “I, um, I actually don’t know.”

“Huh. Well who’s in charge of the office? Never did figure that out. Your ladies are more lookers than talkers.”

They were good-looking, she had to admit, though it still raised her hackles for just a moment. She’d been in the modeling industry herself for a time a few years back, but she’d abandoned it because she was tired of not being taken seriously for her skills, and for her brain. Degrading women by valuing their beauty over their capability was a big pet peeve of hers.

“Oh easy, that’s… um…” Shit, who was it? Mr. Sinclaire had been the manager before Desiree’s cleansweep of the old folks and the men (and Sinclaire had been both). After… was there a manager? “…that’s nobody, really. We have department heads and all, and Desiree certainly throws her weight around more than a bit, but we don’t actually have a strong central leader.”

Which was a shame. Having a single dominant person in her life—in her work life, that is—sounded very appealing of late.

“Yeah, it’s hard for me to imagine my little Desiree calling the shots for anybody. Still, seems like it’s working on everybody. Err, for everybody. Whatever. At this point, why bother being coy, right?”

She had no clue what he meant, so just smiled and agreed. Then she saw the time. “Oh! If you’ll excuse me, Master, I have our final funtivity to set up. Though this one isn’t really fun—it’s for philanthropy.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah—we’re having an auction!”

This had been the one event in the day’s itinerary that Megan, and indeed, the rest of the office, had been genuinely looking forward to. No more skimpy outfits, no more standing on display, no more getting groped and sucked on by strange men. Just a simple auction, the benefits going to entirely to charity.

Except, now that Master Dylan had made a few last-minute changes… well, she just hoped the girls would be supportive of the new direction.

As the last few girls took their spots—only Desiree and Sally were gone, the former eating out the latter—Megan took her place at the podium. “All right everyone, thanks for coming to today’s auction.” They applauded politely. “Great, great. Now I wanted to let you know that there’s been some small shift in the items being auctioned, as a special request from today’s guest, Master Dylan. I know we were all looking forward to some of the items promised, but I guarantee that these will be every bit as exciting!”

The smiles vanished. They’d been promised a bid on a weekend getaway at a resort. Spa gift certificates. An espresso machine. A ten-day cruise. The rug was being pulled out from under them—and was about to get even harder to bear.

The muzak was suddenly cranked way up, or maybe just sounded louder in the silence.

“So,” she went on, “the first item up for bid today is… Crystal!” She pointed to where her colleague was sitting in the crowd.

Crystal, their quality control specialist, looked as surprised as the rest. “Wait, what?”

“That’s right everybody—it’s all-inclusive! Come on up, Crys!”

Master wolf-whistled as the buxom redhead made her way up to the front of the room. She was still naked from earlier, but now looked a bit like she regretted it. “So wait, is this a bachelorette auction now?” someone called out. The girls looked confused.

“Yeah, wasn’t this supposed to be for charity?” asked another.

“Precisely,” Megan said. It sounded politer than slave auction, anyway. “Only now, the charity will be for the girl being auctioned. All proceeds go to the bitch on the block!” That had been Master’s term, but it was catchy.

“Um, I’m not a bachelorette,” Crystal said quietly. “I have a boyfriend. For eight months.”

“Well not any more you don’t,” Megan said. Master had been quite specific on that. Slaves didn’t have boyfriends. They had masters, and men their masters told them to fuck.

“Oh. OK then. How long is this for?”

“How long is what for?”

“Like, if someone wins, how long do they get me for?”

Megan shook her head. “No dear, we’re not auctioning off your time. We’re auctioning off you. In perpetuity.”

“Wait, you can’t… I won’t let you…” Crystal frowned at a sudden burst of static from the PA that went on for almost thirty seconds. As it went on, the frown faded. “Well let’s do this then.”

“All righty, anybody want to make an opening bid on the lovely and talented Crystal? C’mon, give ’em a whirl, girl,” Megan prompted.

Crystal spun, showing off her pale round ass. She even had cute little freckles across her chest, nearly the same color as her hard nipples. A Gaelic tattoo decorated her lower back.

No one spoke up. “Come on, hundred dollars for Crystal. Your very own slave girl, one of a kind,” she said. Still nothing. Megan understood it. What would one do with a slave these days? And how awkward would it be owning one of your own coworkers? It was uncomfortable enough having Desiree’s master in just this one day.

“All righty, fifty, do I hear fifty?” She waited. “Twenty?” The girls looked around sheepishly. “OK, ten bucks. Remember, this is for charity.” Nada. “Seriously you guys? Fine, five dollars. That’s not even a cheap lunch. Surely she’s worth that.”

Nobody, not even for a dollar, nor for a quarter. This was starting out horribly. “Please,” Crystal addressed the crowd. “Please, I promise I’m worth it. I’ll be so good, I swear, you’ll never regret it. Please buy me, someone? Anyone?”

Master Dylan finally sighed. “Well, lucky for you, I’m partial to redheads. Tell ya what, I’ll bid… a dime.”

Megan didn’t wait to hear more; she banged her gavel on the podium. “Sold, to the master in the corner for ten cents!”

Crystal heaved a sigh of relief. The sexy redhead rushed over to his side and fell to her knees, nuzzling him lovingly with her cheek. “Thank you, Master! Oh thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you! You won’t regret this I promise!”

He put a finger to her lips to silence her, which she immediately sucked into her mouth and started fellating. Master, who had helped himself to Desiree’s loose change jar, handed the girl a shiny dime and she siezed it like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Megan took a deep breath, and went on with the auction. “Next up, Tiffani!”

The girls at least had the politeness to applaud this time. Maybe they could sense how stressful it was to be up in front of all of your peers and have them see your worth decided in precisely monetary terms.

Megan understood. Watching Crystal stand there agaonizing that she might be completely worthless had been difficult to witness; seeing that somebody was willing to pay for her had been an immense relief to everyone.

Tiffani came up, her petite runner’s body bouncing lightly on her feet. She tried to smile, putting her best foot forward. Megan tried a more modest opening bid this time at forty bucks, but got no more response than she had last time. Again, she began working her way downwards.

Tiffani definitely put more into it than Crystal, spinning and bouncing, turning her back on the crowd and pulling her little butt cheeks apart and bending over. Megan could see them mumbling about her merits, but still, nobody put in a bid—not until she got down under a dollar, where once more Master came to her rescue.

“Fine, fine—flat-chested as she is, I’m sure she’s at least worth a nickel. Unless anyone thinks she’s worth more?” Tiffani smiled hopefully to her coworkers, but nobody spoke up. Half what Crystal had been worth, but still, something was better than nothing. A nickel meant she had value. With a bang of the gavel, she joined Crystal behind Master, immediately launching into a silent backrub.

Monica the intern was up next; with her youthfulness and her shapelier tits, she went for a full quarter (to Master, again). Then went Vicki, the top-heavy blonde sales department head; she took the podium and gave a little pitch about her refined blowjob technique, how tight her pussy was. She spent the whole downward bidding process fondling her hefty tits and teasing her slit.

Master paid almost a dollar for her. Megan could practically hear Vicik’s pussy flooding at the revelation of being so valuable. Comparatively, anyway.

Patty was sold for a penny, but only after she stripped out of the pantsuit and begged Master to punish her for her selfishness and let her prostitute herself out to men she knew to pay him back. It was a bit much—surely Patty would make at least a penny for her first trick—but Master was a soft-hearted man, it seemed, and finally agreed to buy her.

One by one, the junior HR rep went down the list—which was just a print-out of the company registry she’d reorganized by birthdate, just so it wouldn’t be in predictable alphabetical order.

Desiree was left out, since she already belonged to someone. This was a good thing, because Master got a little too generous with some of the hotter girls, tossing out quarter after quarter, until the last few girls had to settle for pennies apiece like Patty. It was all he had left, and everyone was enjoying watching him buy their coworkers so much that they didn’t want to disrupt the fun by bidding on them himself.

Megan put her time management skills to use, pacing things just so that Master had a moment to enjoy each fresh acquisition, letting the girls celebrate being reunited with their former coworkers, now co-slaves. The final auction ended at 4:40, just twenty minutes to closing time.

(By then Master had run out of even pennies; Grace and Gretchen, who were supposed to be the highlight of the auction as a twinnish pair, had been sold for a piece of Master’s pocket lint, which they had to split between them. Still, everyone agreed it was better than nothing.)

“Thank you everyone, thank you for your generosity in giving so much of yourselves to this worthy cause,” Megan said. “I believe that concludes the day’s funtivities.”

“Wait, what about Megan?” said someone. A chorus of voices echoed the same concern.

Megan shook her head. “I’m not on the list.” As indignant outcries arose, she called out, “Master said to leave myself off.” That shut them up promptly. Not that she felt like she needed to justify herself to these bitches, these pieces of Master’s property. She was partially jealous that they’d get to serve him night and day, sure, but they were slaves and she was free. That meant she was their superior. That meant they shouldn’t question her.

Master shook his empty money jar. “Sorry, folks. Even if I had any change left, I couldn’t afford a tasty little bitch like that.”

Then Desiree returned from her office along with a very satisfied-looking Deborah. The HR manager was on her knees, her mouth hanging open slackly. After spending five hours eating pussy on her knees, Megan could well imagine she was too weak to stand, her jaw too tired to close.

She’d been given a simple order, and she had—as always—fucked things up.

“Cuh ah eah yah ouh?” Desiree said as she stopped in front of Two.

“God damned stupid fuckmeat bitchwich twat-licking cumbucket!” Megan said. The eyes of every other girl in the office went wide at her invective, but Megan didn’t care. These bitches were all of them less than her. “Are you not done offering your mouth to everyone yet? Can you not follow one simple fucking instruction? It’s almost quitting time! How many more do you have to go?”

Desiree tried to state a number several times, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate and Megan tired of trying to make it out. “OK, raise your hands if Desiree hasn’t yet offered to eat you out, ladies”

She did a count. Fourteen. Fourteen more girls left unsatisfied by her worthless boss.

“Fine. You know what? I think I speak for everyone when I say I don’t want to be at work until 8:00 so Desiree can finish her workload. So, those of you with your hands up? Keep them up, and pair off with someone else whose hand is up. Then get together and eat one another’s pussies.”

There was a moment of hesitation, a strange little wrinkle in time where it seemed a little strange for a colleague to order a mass lesbian orgy. Then the moment passed, and reality took hold. Megan watched them meekly pair off, obviously impressed by the authority of this woman. This free woman, with no master who owned and controlled her.

Megan had Crystal join the supervision—she was quality control manager, after all—and together, they made sure each slave was eagerly and efficiently getting their partner off. Some were less experienced, so they put them into a sixy-nine so they could synergize their efforts and not waste time.

Desiree watched glumly, obviously ashamed of her inadequacy and dimly grateful for the unsolicited aid. The girls who’d already had their shot at her either clung to Master, taking turns sucking him off or giving him something fun to do with his mouth and hands, or just watched and played with themselves. Megan made mental notes of who was serving in what capacity, and how effectively.

By the stroke of five, with the help of her fellow slaves, Desiree’s task was done. Or done enough—it was definitely not an exemplary day for the HR manager. Megan took her boss over her knee and spanked her unrestrainedly as the last few orgasms trickled out of their colleagues. Her was beet red by then; her nominal subordinate doubted she’d be able to sit on it for a day or two.

Just as well. As far as Megan was concerned, Desiree belonged on her knees.

“Good work today, you cock-starved bimbos,” Master announced. “Go ahead and get dressed while I go over a few things.” The girls thanked him—for no real reason, but he’d given them a command so it seemed like the thing to say—and began searching for discarded clothing. Several of them couldn’t find their clothes, and braced to depart in just their panties, or nothing at all.

(Patty flatly refused to put her pantsuit back on.)

“Now I want to come clean with you all, since you’ve been so hospitable to me today. I’ve owned Desiree for more than a year now, and she was my first of many. Today, I look forward to expanding my collection of fuck toys to the lot of you. I’m going to do awesome things to each of you.”

They preened, applauded. With these simple words, they felt more appreciated than Desiree had ever made them feel. “Early this year, I bought this company with the hopes of expanding my collection of fuck toys. So when I sent my little slut Desiree here to start brainwashing you gals, preparing you to submit, I never thought it would work out this great. I have to say, I’ve really outdone myself with you all.”

Megan’s eyes bulged as she listened. He was the one who’d bought the company? And… brainwashing? No wonder these weak stupid whores all submitted to him so easily! Thank goodness she’d resisted it herself, or who knows what might have come of her! Still, to think she now worked for this man, her coworkers’ master… this could get messy indeed.

“So now, I not only own your company, but I own you. Desiree will distribute a memo tomorrow of the new policies and expectations, but for now, I just want to start with these inspirational words.

“You little sluts belong to me now. Which means everything you used to own, I own. If you used to be in a relationship, you’ll break it off tonight. If you were married, file for divorce. Your hubbies can have the kids, unless you got a daughter old enough and hot enough to be any good to me.”

Megan glanced at Casie; her daughter was about to finish high school, and was quite a looker. Casie was already grinning at the prospect of enslaving her daughter for Master. Megan almost interrupted to compliment him on the effectiveness of his brainwashing program, but he was the CEO, after all. Some things, one just didn’t do.

“So for starters, go ahead and return my charitable contributions. Come on, you heard me, in the jar.” He held it out; one by one, the girls returned the money they’d been bought for. It made sense—slaves didn’t own property, after all—but felt a little deceptive. Then again, so did brainwashing them into being his sex slaves, so Megan conceded it might not be worth getting judgmental over.

“What about salaries? Will we still earn that?” Vicki asked. “For you, I mean. Obviously not for ourselves.”

“Good question. Since I own the company, doesn’t really make sense to pay you just to take it back and let Uncle Sam take a bite out of what’s mine in the interim. Especially since I still have an employee to pay, don’t I?”

Dylan turned to look at Megan; she resisted the urge to fall to her knees and ask how she could serve him. Further proof she wasn’t some weak-willed hussy like the rest of them. He pulled her into his lap as he addressed her. “You’re probably wondering why I didn’t take you too. Right?”

“No, actually. I’m an independent woman, and I’m not for sale.”

He laughed, the indulgent way one might laugh at a little kid who’d said something stupid. “Sure you are, Megan. Now, as the CEO, it’s time to do a little restructuring.”

“Am I being fired?” She frowned. It was difficult to compete with free labor, certainly.

“What? No, far from it. In fact, I’m promoting you. You’re getting Desiree’s old job. More or less.”

Desiree smiled and breathed what sounded like a sigh of relief. Small wonder, thought Megan, as she’d never been any good at the job to begin with. “There are going to be some changes in your responsibilities though. I’ll still need you to recruit for me, looking for the same kind of hot, easy babes you’re already working with. Then I’ll need to make sure the girls are being properly trained to serve me, as well as a lot of the little day to day stuff. Making sure they’re fed, clothed when and how I want them, that kind of stuff. Are you up for that?”

It sounded like an awful lot of responsibility and authority, actually.

Megan had dreamed of this moment for years!

“Absolutely, Master. I can’t wait to get started—I already have lots of ideas for how to get your sluts working much more efficiently, and with greater motivation. Although…” She took a deep breath to steady herself, as she was both nervous and presently being fingered by her new boss. “There is the issue of my new salary.”

Normally she wouldn’t discuss this in front of the others, but now, they were just property. Their opinions mattered just as much to her as the lampshade’s.

“I’m glad you asked. I’m prepared to offer you this,” he said, pulling out the waistline of her panties to the point that they were nearly ripped off. Master Dylan deposited the jar of change in them.

“I’m sorry? Is this… hourly?”

“Annually.”

Megan thought back on it; there probably wasn’t ten bucks in the entire jar, far less than her current salary. She was pretty sure, at least. The details weren’t coming to her. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I can…”

“You didn’t hear me out—there’s also a new benefits package. Namely, that you also get to serve me along with the rest of these bitches. You’ll be my little sex slave too, except you get to do it by choice. You’ll get all the cock I feel like giving you. How’s that sound?”

Wait, serve… by choice? Wasn’t being someone’s slave definitionally a matter of choicelessness? But then… what did it matter. Choice or no choice, it was a chance to serve and please Master. Negotiation had never been her strong suit.

“I accept!”

Four Months Later
Megan practically skipped into work, like she did every morning nowadays. She just loved her job! It was so full of unexpected surprises, intriguing challenges, and rewarding sluttery. Hardly a day went by when there wasn’t some curve ball thrown her way that she had to correct for, to make sure everything was running precisely how Master liked things.

Why, just yesterday Master had told her he was canceling casual Fridays—like she’d told him he would when he’d instituted the policy. Most days, the girls dressed practically, wearing see-through bras and panties, skimpy miniskirts and thongs and tops that barely concealed their tits. But then a few weeks back Master had said that sometimes he liked the office to feel like an office, and to have the girls programmed to dress and behave like office workers so he could come in and “fuck a bunch of boring business bitches,” as he put it.

Of course, that had been a whole huge batch of new programming to do, re-training the girls on what normal office girls acted like, then buying them suitable attire. Basically, bringing them back to where they’d been before the big Bring Your Master To Work Day had redefined things—all so when Master got bored of it, she could undo it.

Which, as the sharp professional she was, she was ready for.

Today was Diversity Day, something the company had done for years to appreciate the broad variety of women present in the workplace. More recently, Megan had adapted it to their new mission statement (very simple, easy to remember: “Always Please Master”). So they’d be practicing their French kissing, getting Brazilians, doing some lesbian and bisexual woman appreciation initiatives, receiving lessons from the Kama Sutra from Nandi, and staging an exhibition hall of fetishes from around the world.

“Diversity wasn’t a burden to be tolerated,” she’d reminded them in yesterday’s morning brainwashing video. “It is a source of strength.”

Megan was excited. The stupid cock-hungry sluts who toiled for Master alongside her were, for all their inferiority to her, hard workers and enthusiastically obedient to their new HR manager. Sure, Master only fucked Megan himself once a week or so, but she had his bitches to compensate.

Besides, whenever he had a man he wanted taken care of, to support his other dealings, Megan would often handle the cock herself. Each prick inside her was an opportunity to grow and develop.

She gave a sharp tug on Desiree’s leash, and the junior HR rep stumbled forward, murmuring hasty apologies for slowing Megan down. Not that she had been, but Megan still enjoyed reminding her of the reversal in their roles—she’d even prepared special training messages to make Desiree serve her almost as lovingly as she did Master. Almost.

She watched Desiree scurry about the office doing all the set-up that needed doing, smacking her ass with her riding crop whenever she moved too slowly, or seemed too complacent. Which hardly ever happened, but she knew Desiree loved the attention too much to withhold it from her. When all was done and the other girls were walking in (a few crawling in; Master did like his bitches in bitch position, after all), she told Desiree she was a good girl and had served adequately.

As always, Desiree came on the spot.

To think, this grand adventure of productivity and workplace satisfaction had all begun with such a foolish-sounding holiday. She remembered laughing at Desiree’s proposal at first, thinking what a waste of time and resources it was. Thinking she was a complete slut, a whore with no self-respect. Megan had been right of course, yet that day had been the silver bullet that had gotten the whole company energized for their new direction.

Now, every day was Bring Your Master To Work Day.

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