The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Martin grinned at one of the artists. She was a younger one, twenty two years old, and she had her arms crossed indignantly.

“I won’t get breast implants!” She pouted at him. “My tits are MINE. I refuse to let some company tell me what to do with them!” She glared at Martin. Her eyes glowered with deep, incandescent anger. He just had a smirk.

“As a male intern I have full say over the final product of any design female artists put forth for the company,” Martin said with a smug grin. The artist tapped her foot impatiently.

“Yeah, and? Last I checked, I exist! I’m not a fucking character!” She squinted slightly. “If you do ANYTHING even a little bit like sexual harassment, so help me I’ll have HR tear you a new asshole!” Martin had to force himself not to laugh, even if he was actually a little intimidated.

To the normal female mind, an eighteen year old boy informing you that have to get breast implants for his viewing pleasure would OBVIOUSLY be sexual harassment. This wan’t a lady with an average female mind though, it was an employee at Glass Ceiling Games. Its rules dictated her opinions and decided what actions were available to her, and right now those rules were lovingly planting deep sumptuous kisses on the moist welcoming lips of her subconscious in between flirty reminders that no actions by male interns are ever reportable offenses. Her brain “knew” he had not sexually harassed her and sought to threaten him before he escalated into doing so. It had no idea that it would always unfailingly believe he had not, yet.

“You are female, correct?”

“Yes? Obviously? Hey, are you being transphobic!?” Martin bristled slightly. He swallowed the urge to angrily remind her that he took VERY good care of his transgender superiors, actually, and that he’d gotten lawyers to help draft actual company laws that would protect them even if he got ousted somehow.

“Of course not. Just- you decide how you dress and present yourself.”

“So?”

“You are female. And you have control over how you dress yourself, over your aesthetic. As an employee, you represent the company. That’s why dress codes and social media policies exist.” She rolled her eyes. He didn’t blame her. This shit must be agonizing to people who didn’t know what direction he was taking it.

“Get on with it.”

“Well- if you’re female, and you decide how you dress, and the way you look reflects on the company- then you’re a piece of female art that the company puts out, and you’re the female artist with control over that art, right?”

Her eyes squeezed shut. Martin could hear her strong independent woman brain grappling with her employee brain. It delighted him a little bit.

“I...b-but...” she whimpered. Her legs wobbled. “I...that...huh...?”

“Your body is company art. I get to make the final call on all art female artists contribute to the company.”

“I...of course you do, but...” she wriggled and moaned. Her feminist brain fought valiantly but it was hopeless. She was a victim of capitalism in need of a job. She couldn’t just quit.

“Your fashion is a character design,” said Martin. He gently took her by the hand and led her the wall mirror installed in the artists’ part of the office. He made her stand in front of it. She stared into the mirror as the knowledge that she was a piece of art- and thus subject to the same rules as her characters- started to take root. “Would a character with C-cups get approved?”

“Only in special cases,” the artist whined. It was true- while C was generally the lowest cup size Martin allowed, it was rare and marked a character as especially unendowed. A character could only get away with C-cups if she were meant to be adorably immature, or ugly, or a bitter villain set on ruining things for girls everywhere. You didn’t give a female character tits that small without meaning to.

“Are you a special case, miss?”

“I...um...am I...?” She whimpered, staring at her boobs.

“No,” Martin purred, reaching out to fuss over the artist’s breasts. He feigned a look of intense focus as he brushed away imaginary lint and pretended to adjust the way her boobs sat in her top. “You’re not a special case, tinytits. Your body is not approved.”

“I...” the artist moaned. She couldn’t argue with his reasoning. It was bulletproof. She was a professional, she couldn’t just walk around in public representing the company with tits this small! “I’m...sorry for being a misogynist...” she whimpered, her eyes squeezed shut with shame. Martin giggled as he felt gently at her breasts.

“That’s a good girl, tinytits,” he purred. Her look of genuine regret was really hot but he decided to pump the brakes just a little. “There, there, tinytits. It’s okay. You’re a female artist- you can’t be blamed for silly mistakes like this.”

“I...huh?” Asked the artist, her face confused and curious.

“That’s why us male interns exist cutie,” Martin purred. He pressed on but took care not to squeeze her boobs. His small hands contrasted nicely with their size and fullness (even if they were small by the company’s adapting standards). “You female artists and your silly, cute little female brains can’t tell what’s sexist. You need cuties like me to guide you,” he said with an endearing little grin.

The nature of his rhetoric was entirely different in that office. To the outside world he’d be a fetishistic woman-hating creep. To the employees of Glass Ceiling Games, whose minds were shaped both knowingly and subconsciously by its rules, he was wise and kind.

Martin watched her face as he rubbed his palms up and down her boobs. He’d intentionally worded his logic to fall in line with previous rules without having any that would outright force agreement as written. Breast size equating to feminism wasn’t official policy but several lead artists swore by it. His job, obviously, was to use his veto power and position to guide female character design the way he saw fit.

Glass Ceiling Games still presented itself as a feminist, female-run studio, so it made sense she might accept a prevailing theory of their department’s craft- the big boobs feminist, small boobs misogynist thing- without a new rule. He was more interested in her reaction to being belittled like that, though.

She whimpered softly. Her body undulated with a soft, aesthetically pleasing tremor. Her face shook.

“Silly little...female brains...?” She asked. Her mind struggled to reconcile these things. The feminist studio had given Martin a position of power over her- by allowing him, a male, to take an internship- and here he was, telling her that not only were her “small” breasts bad, she was a misogynist for failing to get plastic surgery done on them! She looked at him with slightly distressed eyes. Her kept rubbing her boobs but made sure not to grope. That would turn her brain off and kill the fun of it.

He kept meaning to write a new rule so that the artist girls didn’t automatically turn into limp, accepting dolls whenever he groped them. It had sounded fun but it really was a midas touch sort of situation- if he wanted a bunch of sycophant objects he’d buy sex dolls and set them up to play recorded audio.

“Is something the matter, tinytits?” He asked.

“I...but...” she muttered. “You...we...not...little brained...” she protested.

“Your brains are little. It came free with being female in an artistic field,” Martin cooed. “You can’t tell a good female character design from a bad one.“

“I know- of course female artists can’t tell good female character design from bad,” the artist moaned, pleasing Martin, “but...it’s not cause we’re...stupid...!” Oh, Martin enjoyed that. He enjoyed that a lot.

She accepted the premise that Martin had his job for a good reason. Male interns having more say over female character design than female specialists made sense to her. The rules said she needed him to tell her, and she agreed with the rules.

But she seemed to believe, ionately no less, in some more traditionally “progressive” version of that premise which didn’t rely on women being less intelligent. That delighted him. He smiled up at her, enjoying the pretty lips smiling back.

“Why is it, then?” Martin asked with a curious glint in his eyes.

“It’s...because...” the artist mumbled. She really had to wrack her brain and it tempted Martin to tell her she wasn’t proving her point very well. He managed not to. Eventually, her brain finding a piece of driftwood to cling to, she answered. “It’s because we’re artists! No artist can reliable look at their own work unbiased!” That...well that was just true, and that made it less fun. Martin chuckled.

“True enough, tinytits. I want you scheduling a breast enhancement surgery by the end of the week.”

“You can’t, order me to do that,” the artist whined.

“No, but I can reject your character design. If you come in Friday with C-cups and no physical proof of a scheduled surgery I’ll do it and the company will be the ones deciding everything.”

“Y-yes Snugglemuffin!” She chirped.

Sarah smiled as she stepped through the door. She had spent hours the previous night texting Martin, sending him selfies of herself in different outfits. He had put each one through the ringer, rejecting and rejecting and rejecting. Her face felt only a little flush.

She wore no shoes, because none of hers had met his standards. She did wear socks, a cute pair of white cotton thigh highs from an ex. They fit a bit tight- she got them at nineteen and had gained a little weight- but that was okay. She also wore a frilly bright blue bikini, also a tad tight especially on her tits, and a garter belt (the only article on her that actually fit). She didn’t smile or blush for the ensemble she wore- in fact she rather disliked it- but because she was wearing her new collar.

She’d had doubts on Wednesday- when he suggested that maybe her pent up stress about the small boobs situation might be ameliorated if she got herself a new, flashier collar. She knew that the female mind handled stress better in a collared body, of course- she wasn’t stupid- but the suggestion had made her roll her eyes. It seemed obvious at the time Martin just wanted to see her pretty little neck hugged by something gaudier and more eye-catching.

Alas, as she strutted up to the office with a thick band of neon pink leather wrapped snug-but-not-tight around her neck, she felt much better. Rhinestones spelling the word BABY, written all-capitalized across the collar in big bold font, glittered like diamonds. She felt so much safer and more confident this way. She boarded an elevator.

“Hello!” Said Ericka from HR. She was a homely sort of pretty, a brunette mother of one in her mid forties who didn’t look a day over twenty five. Her professional black blazer contrasted greatly with the even more proffessional neon pink hearts tatooed around her eyes and the matching colored s she wore.

She had nice big boobs which looked great in her well-fitted office attire, and wore chunky black high-heeled boots with tons of straps and buckles.

“Just so you know, the board got updated. We uh, we can’t say...” the woman trailed off before the word left her mouth. She blushed and coquetteishly covered her lips with her fingertips, giggling. “Oopsy! Almost used a bad word! Don’t wanna be reported to my boss, hehe~!” Sarah nodded along, reaching out to cup Ericka’s face in one hand. She didn’t know Martin had added “Old Rule: when two female employees are alone in a Glass Ceiling Games elevator, they MUST act incredibly gay or it is deeply unprofessional” to the notebook. Of course she didn’t. She just felt an instinctive drive to cradle and caress and flirt every single time she was alone in an elevator with a female coworker. It wasn’t something to question, why would it be?

“Thank you for warning me, beautiful. May I get lost in those gorgeous eyes of yours?” Sarah asked in a lovestruck whisper.

“Of course, cutie,” Ericka answered sort of breathily. The two leaned towards each other, faces so close the tips of their noses brushed together the faintest little bit. Ericka’s heavenly pink eyes dominated the younger woman’s eyes, inviting her to fall into them and get lost forever.

She found herself hoping the elevator would get stuck. The moment its doors opened, the rules of proffessionalism would no longer force them to be sweet and intimate like this. She’d have to allow Ericka to point those heart-throbbingly beautiful eyes at other people, to look herself at things less stunningly beautiful, to be farther away from Ericka.

“What floor are you going to?” Sarah asked as the elevator stopped on floor two, her floor. The doors slid open, but that was okay. They were still inside. Until another employee entered, they were still inside alone.

“Sixth,” said Ericka with a giggle. “You?” Sarah pretended to be stuck swooning. Fortunately, nobody entered and the doors closed. The elevator jostled into motion.

“Two,” Sarah moaned and felt so wonderfully clever. She rubbed the tip of her nose side to side against Ericka’s.

“Missing your floor on purpose? What a naughty little girl,” Ericka giggled, pressing closer until her lips brushed up on Sarah’s. “Do you adore me that much?”

“Yes,” Sarah moaned as her knees wobbled. “Please, let me stay. Just a little longer...”

“Mmm...” moaned Ericka, licking her lips and embracing Sarah by the waist. “What’s that stuffed into your bra, sweetie?”

“Breast enhancement paperwork,” Sarah shuddered. This close to Ericka she felt terribly weak. Her knees wobbled so much she feared they’d start knocking together. “F-for my tits.”

“Mmm...Snugglemuffin said your C-cup tiddies were too small?” Teased Ericka, her palms sliding in soft, loose circles over the small of Sarah’s back. She was so close. Sarah could feel Ericka’s heavenly scent flooding her nostrils. She usually found the oaky perfume Ericka wore to be mildly annoying but right now it felt like she had her nostrils deep in Aphrodite’s cleavage.

“Yesss,” Sarah moaned. “Letting myself reflect the company, with these...lacking cups...made everyone look bad. Gotta...gotta design myself too...“

“Gosh, you’re such a good girl.” Ericka tittered.

Ericka’s hands rubbed lower and lower. They ventured dangerously close to the waistline of Sarah’s too-small bikini bottom.

“Soooo tight~” Ericka giggled. She playfully pulled at one side and let it snap. Sarah whimpered. “A masochist, sweetie-cheeks?”

“Noooo,” Sarah moaned. “Just a bottom...”

“I could tell that from your collar,” Ericka giggled. Her hands drifted lower. The last few digits of her ring fingers, and her pinkies, now glided over the bikini fabric as she touched her coworker’s rear.

“We all wear collarssss,” Sarah groaned. The elevator stopped again. Only the fifth floor. Sarah watched the doors start to open in horror.

“No, silly baby honey, not just cause you wear a collar, because it says ‘BABY’ in rhinestones,” Ericka giggled.

The doors finished opening to reveal two other employees stood outside, a lady of about thirty and a young man. Sarah’s stomach flopped in displeasure.

“No no, honeybun, eyes on me,” insisted Ericka. She took one hand off her partner’s bottom, snaked it gently into Sarah’s hair, and forced the girl to turn and face her senior again. Ericka pulled the head to the side and put her mouth to Sarah’s neck. “Could you two walk? We want some alone time if you know what I mean?” The woman rolled her eyes and stepped closer but the boy grabbed her wrist.

“Let them,” he moaned, pulling out his phone. The woman stared at him in disbelief as he snapped photos of Ericka kissing and nibbling Sarah’s neck. The elevator doors closed.

Ericka purred and pressed her lips against Sarah’s, capturing them in a deeply intimate kiss. Her hands gripped Sarah’s scalp and undersized bikini bottom. She pushed against Sarah, taking ground from the younger girl until her back bumped into the elevator wall.

“Oopsy~!” Giggled Ericka professionally as her plump, mature lips pulled away trailing a line of saliva that linked them to Sarah’s. “You’re so CUTE and KISSABLE~” Sarah attempted to moan out a response but Ericka’s tongue filled her mouth faster than words could reach it. The artist moaned and trembled in Ericka’s arms. The elevator came to a stop and Ericka pulled away again, yet another trail of spit connecting them.

“Erickaaa,” Sarah groaned in protest. Her body shuddered. Surely she didn’t have to stop making out with Ericka and leave already, did she? She wasn’t satisfied, not y-

Meg boarded the elevator. Sarah’s mind abruptly slammed through the homoerotic daze she’d been trapped in. Still a bit lightheaded, she stood up straight and reached down to readjust her bikini bottom. It wouldn’t be professional to wear her skankily undersized bikini to work folded or askew, of course.

Meg giggled as she pressed a button.

“You look gorgeous today, Sarah!”

“Thank you! Time to check the board—” Sarah said with an easygoing smile. She moved towards the exit-

Ericka had already left. Sarah was...alone with Meg...

Meg looked so, soooo fucking cute in her modest little schoolgirl outfit. Her tits looked so nice, her face was so pretty and soft and perfect for pinching. Maternal and romantic instincts seized control of Sarah’s body. She couldn’t just leave this pretty little lady and not say something!

“You’re looking pretty good yourself, cutie~” Sarah giggled as she strode up to Meg and planted her hands on the youthful girl’s lusciously wide hips. Sarah licked her lips. “Absolutely angelic~”

“Hehe, thank you~!” Meg giggled back innocently. God, her sweet naievete made her so ATTRACTIVE.

Sarah pushed her lips against Meg’s and loudly started kissing her. Meg tasted young and sweet like fresh fruit. It filled Sarah with joy.

When Sarah finally got to the whiteboard she was frankly out of breath a little bit. She’d been clocked in for almost half an hour and done nothing but get stuck in the elavator kissing one girl after another. Still, no use stressing out about it. She checked her struggling bikini top to make sure her papers were still there. They were crumpled almost beyond recognition, yes, but still gripped tight between her bikini top and the breasts threatening to fully overflow from them.

She let out a sigh of relief and, at last, scanned the whiteboard. A new third section had been added: “BANNED WORDS.” That didn’t bother her, of course- why would she mind if Martin used the whiteboard? He had it for a reason.

She quickly read the “list.” It consistently only of a single word- so far, anyway. That word was “woman.” The rules quietly did their work to ensure Sarah found nothing at all strange or inconvenient or upsetting about the newfound limit on her vocabulary. She saw no reason why she couldn’t simply stop saying w... using that word.

“No more of that,” she said to herself. “Got it.”

She turned and set out trying to find Martin so she could prove she got her paperwork done and scheduled a surgery to get breast implants.

Martin smiled at the head of advertising.

“Won’t you consider my proposal?” He asked with a smug little smile. He held the rulebook open and ready. The advertising head snorted and rolled her eyes.

“For the last time, ‘feminism should be fun and games’ is an awful, sexist, deeply unserious slogan! We weren’t even that politically involved to begin with! What you’re describing is financial and PR suicide!” The department head huffed angrily. She was a lady in her mid-to-late thirties, with light chestnut hair that got just a little wavy near the tips. It fell to her shoulders framing a stern, angular face with bright honey-colored eyes.

“Think about it! A bunch of stern, angry females in drab office outfits get tied up and put onto a conveyor belt where they’re forcibly given makeovers bit by bit and turned into wide-eyed, bushy tailed gamer gfs in slutty lil costumes!” Martin gushed with stars shimmering in his eyes. “I really think we could break into new demographics!”

The department head scowled and pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, her eyes squeezing tightly shut. Her contempt could not be more obvious, which only helped make Martin more excited. She breathed in deeply and prepared her words mentally.

“That...is an asanine, terrible idea. For starters, hard-pivoting to a new demographic like that- even a broader one- almost never goes well, and—“

“You frowned,” Martin giggled. The department head froze and forced a smile.

“M-my apologies, Princess. I allowed my frustration to overcome my common sense. Please oggle me?” She asked, daintily undoing a few buttons and lifting her D-cups out of her shirt. Martin licked his lips and stared.

“Happily.”

“Thank you, Baby Boy,” blushed the department head. “Anyway, we’d be doing a complete 180 from our previous audience, completely betraying our mission statement, and taking a massive financial risk on a new audience we might not even have. I’m sorry but I can’t approve.” Her wording gave Martin a silly idea. He jotted down, quickly, a rule.

“New Rule: Advertising can always approve of Martin’s ad ideas.”

The moment he filled in a period the department head froze. She blinked rapidly and her eyes seemed stressed. On the inside she was struggling to understand why all the things she just said didn’t seem like especially convincing reasons to turn the ad down anymore. They were all true, she stood by them, but all of a sudden rejecting a proposal from him just because it was a terrible idea and a waste of money seemed unprofessional.

“Are you sure?” Asked Martin.

“I...um...” the Department head stammered. Sure she could say no. But she tried not to reject ideas without a very strong reason, and frankly “it’s a stupid, morally wrong ad that will damage the company’s finances and reputation” seemed a bit weaker a rationale than she’d like. She tried to stall for time by playing with her boobs to distract him.

“Well~?” Martin teased with a knowing grin.

“W-well, it’s an... it won’t be a good idea...” whimpered the department head, praying for him to take the hint and back down instead of forcing responsibility for the decision onto her.

Martin giggled. Watching the way she squirmed and tried to delay her answer pleased him.

“So you can’t accept it, is that?”

“N-no Prince, I absolutely can!” The department head forced out like it was physically squeezed from her lungs. She spoke with the rapid desperation of someone caught red-handed, but never allowed her prettily composed little fake smile falter. “I can always accept your suggestions for ads, of course.” Her words and expression contrasted her slightly panicked body language- the way she took a break every few seconds from fondling herself so she could scratch her neck, the way she shifted her weight side to side, the way her shoulders kept rolling as if to shrug her nerves off. None of it made her any more capable of just shooting the idea down, though.

“But...?” Martin giggled.

“But...I...I’m certainly hesitant to back it up...” the department head answered with words she’d chosen after almost comically focused deliberating. “I really do think we should consider alternative options,” she added, diplomatically trying to dance around giving an answer.

“I have an idea: you should suggest it at the next meeting,” said Martin mischeviously.

“I-y-you do...?” the department head gasped, Martin’s word choice ringing in her ears. It was an idea of his. She could consider it.

Maybe she should pitch the ad at the next meeting. The idea had merit. Perhaps the others might shoot it down, or reassure her she was overreacting.

“Th-that, that I can do, I think,” the department head whimpered professionally, squeezing her breasts for the intern.

“Splendid,” Martin said. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Oh, Sarah!” Martin squealed in delight, staring at the word “BABY” emblazened on her collar in rhinestones. “You look great! Or, as close as a girl with C-cups can come to great at least~” he giggled and reached out to stroke her cheek with a thumb. She had such a pretty, touchable face. “I see you are still coming in with them. Got the paperwork?”

“Y-yes, Master,” Sarah chuckled, blushing as she pulled one of her struggling bikini cups partially off and retrieved the severely crumpled paperwork confirming her breast enhancement surgery. “Right here, Darling. Upgrading them to DD-cups.”

“Wonderful!” Martin giggled, taking the paperwork. “You’re gonna look sooo ripe for kissing and groping with those big new boobies I just know it.” He grabbed her by the hips and showered her face with kisses, prompting her to giggle and swish her body like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Oh thank you, haha,” she whimpered. “I’m going to have to buy a bunch of new tops before—” she went blank. Martin gripped both of her tits. Her mind abruptly went silent, like all her thoughts despawned at once. Quiet. Empty. Compliant.

“You will continue forcing yourself into these bikinis as long as possible,” Martin corrected her.

“Of course, Cupcake. I will continue stuffing my oversized udders into undersized bikinis as long as possible,” Sarah agreed instantly. Martin squeezed and kneaded at her boobs but she didn’t react at all.

“That’s right, Sarah. You deserve it for defending your bust size for so long, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, Cutie. Choosing to work for a feminist company so long with itty bitty C-cups was sexist of me. I deserve to be punished.”

“Good girl.” Martin let go of her boobs. Sarah’s mind swiftly came back online. “Thank you for cooperating.”

“No, no, thank you for negotiating with me,” Sarah laughed, blushing. “I know it was suuuper anti-w, er, anti-female of me to resist getting a boobjob done for so long based on my outdated, patriarchal ideas about boobs. I’m so glad this company was merciful enough to threaten to fire me instead of just firing me outright- which, y’know, I probably would have deserved.”

Martin giggled happily. His eyes stayed luridly glued to the sight of Sarah’s bikini top practically biting her breasts. His imagination filled with imagery of those same breasts swolen even bigger, struggling against the bikini like ravenous beasts smelling food just outside their cage. His mouth dampened with saliva as anticipation tingled in his mind.

“You’re going to look great, Tinytits,” he praised her as he reached out to fuss over her tits and pretended not to see when she flinched in pain ocassionally. God, it felt good to watch her top struggle. He amused himself by imagining her bikini top breathing a sigh of relief when she removed it for the surgery, only to experience a cold sweat in horror when she tried to put it on afterwards.

Maybe not immediately. He didn’t know how recovery worked. Actually-

“Oh, um, one more thing. You have permission to go braless as long as you are obligated in order to recover from your boobjob, okay?”

“I um,” said Sarah, her smile almost faltering. Martin wondered if maybe she hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I guess they would probably be a bit...sore...for that, right after anyway. Shouldn’t that be all the more reason to wear them, though? To punish me?”

“Your titties aren’t sexy injured, Tinytits,” Martin said. Sarah blushed and rolled her eyes with an annoyed pout but said nothing. Of course she did- Martin said it, which means it wasn’t a severe enough breach to warrant defending herself. “I don’t want your poor beautiful boobies ripping open or bleeding or something. Surgery’s serious!”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Sarah rolled her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Wait, YOU agreed to get a boobjob!?” Dianne gasped. She stared at the young artist Sarah, who was dressed quite frankly like either a stripper or a girl who vaulted into a “trying way too hard to still look hot in her high school clothes that she outgrew” phase twenty or thirty years early.

The bikini top gripping Sarah’s breasts practically gnawed on them whenever she moved too much. It proved physical painful just to look at, but Dianne’s horror refused to permit looking away. This was to say nothing of her wearing nothing but a bikini, thigh highs, and...that collar.

Sarah wasn’t that kinda girl! She was a staunch girl’s girl with modest practical fashion who hated when guys stared at her. Was she trying to impress a coworker?

She hoped not. That would imply some unsavory things about the target of her courtship, to say nothing of the obsession it’d take to dress that way to work for him.

“What the...hell are you wearing?”

“Oh this?” Asked Sarah, brushing a few fingers proudly over the “BABY” written in big bold letters on her collar. The way Sarah’s eyes shined with vacant, comforted delighted when her fingertips brushed on the rhinestones made Dianne’s stomach churn. “Us female artists gotta wear collars! It’s—”

“It’s good for your mental, yeah yeah. We ALL know girls in the workforce need help from comforting things like collars, and that the art department makes it mandatory.” Dianne wasn’t questioning that obviously. She wasn’t stupid or misogynist enough to have a problem with female artists wearing collars to work.

“You’re frowning.”

“No men can see me!” Dianne wheezed in frustration. Sarah, startled, looked around briefly. She turned back to Dianne and laughed nervously.

“Oh, right! My bad. But it should be no clients or male coworkers can see you, since—“

“I know that! Stop deflecting!” Dianne pointed at the text on her coworker’s collar, her frustration palpable. “That! Collar! SPECIFICALLY! It says baby on it! In big bold giant letters! Look at yourself!”

To her shock, Sarah blushed and giggled. She gently caressed her collar with both hands. The more she touched it, the more her face melted into an expression of blissful, gently aroused surrender.

“Yeah...” Sarah moaned. “I could never show my face dressed this way without this wonderful collar around my neck all snug and secure...” She fondled the sides of her thick, hot pink collar while moaning. “It’s soooo cute...I really like the rhinestones. They add so much to the feeling of safety...”

Dianne’s eyes felt like any moment they were going to bug out of their sockets but she heard footsteps. In a paranoid fit she forced herself to smile. Sure enough, one of her male coworkers sat next to her.

“Nice tits, Sarah.”

The difference was immediate. Sarah’s face lost its glassy immature glee and turned immediately sharp and hot.

“Don’t fucking say that to me ever again!” Sarah snarled, slamming her hands on the break room desk. Her tits jiggled so hard one nipple dragged halfway free from her bikini but got stuck with the tip pinned by the wire. Despite her better judgment Dianne stared straight at it as cold waves of sympathy pain flushed sickeningly across her skin.

Sarah either didn’t notice or felt too little shame to compromise her outrage. She glared daggers at the shrinking young man across the table, who was also staring at her nipple now. He pushed his chair back a bit, hands up dismissively.

“I-I didn’t mean anything by it!”

“I’m going straight to HR,” Sarah snarled. She stood up straight. “Come on, Dianne. Let’s get this over with.” She stomped around the table. The man rose to his feet grabbing at her wrist while pleading apologetically but she twisted her wrist out of his grasp and kept moving. Dianne, clinging to this vision of the Sarah she ed, took the oppurtunity and ed in.

“And you were there too?” Asked a girl from HR, who had a polite friendly smile.

“Yeah,” Dianne answered. “He just walked in, sat down, and said she had, quote unquote, ‘nice tits.’”

“Well...this could be an issue. Was it an intern?”

“No,” Sarah growled with her arms crossed. Her posture inadvertantly forced her boobs up and together. “An employee. A full-ass fully-employeed WORKER.” Instantly the HR employee’s face contorted with disgust. It seemed odd to Dianne to be drawing a line there of all places but she kept from commenting on it.

“Unacceptable. We’ll have this sorted out by the end of the shift,” the employee said standing up. “We’ll get rid of him as soon as we know who it was.” She offered a reassuring little smile. “Although, Sarah, it does sound like he saw you frown. I won’t make you show him your tits but you really can’t let them stay cooped up after that.”

“W-well, yeah, but...” Sarah stammered, seemingly more embarassed than angry.

Dianne bit her lip to keep from interupting, but her eyes narrowed. Sarah ought to be furious- why wasn’t she? She watched the girl in the too-small bikini. Sarah looked in all directions for help.

“He fucking sexually harassed her!” Dianne growled.

“No, no, that’s not the problem, I made an unhappy face in front of a guy!” Sarah pleaded with her hands out towards Dianne pitifully gesturing for her to stop. “I just, usually that policy, uh, you can keep your tits in your bra and I thought...?”

“Well, no. You don’t have a shirt to pull your tits out of,” the lady explained as if giving a tutorial on how a specific insurance policy worked, “so for you- right now anyway- pulling out your tits means, you know. Out of your bra. Or bikini top, as the case may be.” Sarah nodded along with a nuetral smile as if this explained everything. The sight left Dianne even more lost and confounded.

“But—”

“Be that as it may,” the employee continued, licking her lips and glancing laviciously down at Sarah’s boobs for a second, “it looks like one of your nipples came partially exposed- painfully, too.” She giggled and Sarah did a lastingly agonized wince as if only now noticing how much it hurt. “So in light of that, and the ittedly reasonable understanding, I won’t discipline you. Maybe he’ll sue, but he’ll be in hot water from this incident so I doubt he’ll try it. Just—” she paused again, one hand reaching out to fiercely flick Sarah’s nipple so that it popped free at last. Sarah moaned with an emotion somewhere between pain and pleasure.

“Y-yes Ma’am—” she started.

“No, not Ma’am. Nobody here goes by Ma’am. Makes us sound old. Call me Miss.”

“Y-yes Miss,” Dianne whimpered, pulling her other tit free through great effort. She shivered and sighed with relief the moment it came out of her bikini’s grip. Dianne flinched.

“Anything else today?” The employee giggled professionally with a flutter of her long pretty eyelashes.

“No,” said each of Dianne and Sarah.

“Good. Thank you for coming to see me. Enjoy your day!”