A Woman's Work - Stories of Workplace Degradation
All These Roadworks
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A Woman’s Work
Stories of Workplace Degradation
© 2020, 2023, 2024 All These Roadworks
The author asserts their right to be identified as the creator of this work under the name “All These Roadworks”.
All images in this book, including cover art, were created by All These Roadworks.
All characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters involved in sexual situations are intended to be aged 18 years or over, and any implication to the contrary is an unintentional miscommunication.
The events and themes presented in this story are for the purpose of erotic fantasy. They are not intended to depict actual events that have happened, or should happen. The author believes firmly that real sexual relationships should only occur between consenting adults, and be built on the principles of respect, communication, honesty, and risk-aware enthusiastic consent.
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Table of Contents
Foreword
Agreeable
Being A Role Model For Young Women
Customer Satisfaction
The Eurydice Foundation
Five Days
The Four Keys To Happiness
Kenzie’s Job Hunt
The Little Book of Feminist Guilt
Making The Unreasonable Work
Nikki
Office Diversity Plan
Office Hygiene
Office Trick or Treat
Personal Trainer
Professionalism
RFID
Stress Ball, Part 1
Stress Ball, Part 2
Stupid Bitch
Team Player
Trying To Be Professional
Unready For Responsibility
The Walk
The Whore’s Rose
Women's Debating
Bonus: Workplace Posters
Foreword
It’s a fantasy, not an instruction manual.
The stories collected in this volume are kinky fantasies. It’s normal to fetishise the forbidden. It can be a healthy way of processing trauma or frustration from our daily lives. It can be fun, satisfying, and exciting. Don’t feel ashamed to enjoy them.
But it’s the responsibility of everyone – and particularly people with these fantasies – to work to create a world where everyone – and, specifically, women – are safe, respected, and able to indulge their sexuality without shame or fear, whether that means consensually engaging in wonderful fucked-up kink, or living their entire life without every encountering it.
Satisfying, sustainable kink can only be built on a foundation of firm respect for boundaries, respectful communication, and positive, explicit, enthusiastic consent. That’s a world where everyone kinky will find it easier to find partners and hook up for the interactions they enjoy, and where those who aren’t interested won’t be bothered – and that includes people who might be interested, but not now, or not under these conditions, or not with you.
Don’t let your kinks be your politics.
If you don’t already have anyone to share your kinks with in real-life, get involved in your local kink scene. Join an online community. Be polite, ask what the local rules are, listen to people who know what they’re doing before you go charging in yourself, introduce yourself and be prepared to make friends before you make partners. Confidence is sexy; not being able to hear a “no” is not.
I’m not your manifesto, and I’m not anyone’s plan for a functional society. Read, enjoy - and then go out and be fantastic, safe, respectful kinksters.
===
Speaking of which – if you obtained this document without paying for it…
Writing takes time. It’s easier if I’m paid for it. Please consider visiting my website and leaving a tip; buying this story collection or a different one; or subscribing.
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Agreeable
Dorothy was an asset to the company, but she had problems with insubordination - always difficult and stubborn whenever she was told to follow someone else’s idea rather than her own.
After a contentious disciplinary meeting, she agreed to a course of therapy with the company hypnotherapist.
The hypnotherapist’s brief was only to make her more agreeable, but he noted that all her superiors were men anyway, many of them his close friends, and so he opted for a simpler set of suggestions to implant in her head: “Men are always right. If you think about disagreeing with a man, you will feel like a stupid giggling brainless bimbo. Agreeing with men makes you happy.”
Her session was on a Friday afternoon, and he tested her immediately after she came out of hypnosis. “I think that was a very good session, don’t you?” he asked. She blanked for a moment, and then nodded enthusiastically, and then her smile widened as her trigger that agreeing made her happy kicked in.
“Good girl,” he told her. “In fact, I think it would be a good idea for you to thank me by sucking my cock, don’t you agree?”
Her face twisted - she wanted to disagree - and then her trigger kicked in, and she giggled stupidly, smiled, and said, “Yes!” She crawled on hands and knees to him, extracted his cock from his pants, and began to suckle on it eagerly. He could see that behind her smile, a part of her mind was fighting her conditioning, humiliated and blushing. He liked that part. He patted her head like a pet while she sucked him to orgasm.
The next day, a Saturday, she was gardening in her front garden, trying to understand why she had sucked the therapist’s cock the other day. She felt like a slut, unable to comprehend why she had behaved so whorishly, and why doing it had made her so happy.
Her cell phone rang. It was her manager.
“What are you doing today, Dorothy?” he asked her.
“Oh, just gardening in my front garden. What’s up?”
“I think you’d look a lot prettier if you were gardening naked, so all your neighbours could see you. Don’t you agree?”
Dorothy felt herself starting to blush, trying to disagree with the ridiculous suggestion. But as she did, she felt it hard to muster those thoughts. A stupid little giggle escaped her lips, and she heard herself saying, “Yes, that’s a wonderful idea, sir!” To her horror, she found herself stripping naked, right there in her front yard where her neighbours could see, exposing her pretty little shaved cunt and her shapely tits to the world.
Her manager was still talking on the phone. She put him on speaker.
“In fact, I have some ideas for improving your work at the office, and your life generally, Dorothy. I want to see if you think they’re good ideas. First of all, I think you should probably burn any clothes you own that don’t make you look fuckable. Get rid of all lower bodywear that isn’t short skirts, and all shoes that aren’t high heels. Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”
No! No! her mind said, but instead she said, “That’s a great idea!” and shivered when the corresponding rush of happiness for agreeing with a man ran through her. She knew she would do it, too - it was, after all, a good idea that she agreed with.
“Also, I think you need to consider an underwear OR outerwear policy. No bra or panties if you’re wearing a skirt or shirt - no shirts or skirts if you’re wearing underwear.”
“I love it!” she giggled. Her elderly Croatian neighbour on one side had emerged from his house and was staring at her naked body. A teenager walking a dog had stopped to stare at her.
“Also,” her managed continued, “I think you’ll be happier if you’re horny all day. Why don’t you drive, naked, down to the local sex shop, and buy a big thick vibrator with labia clamps at its base, so you can use the clips to keep it inside you all day without wearing panties. Wouldn’t it be a good idea to have that inside you and turned on all day at work?”
She wanted to cry, but disagreeing made her feel stupid and silly, so she giggled and said, “You’re so smart. I should absolutely do that.”
“Good girl,” he said. “And start each day by giving me a blowjob, yes?”
“Mmm, yes,” she purred. More people were stopping to stare at her slutty naked body. She blushed.
“Last thing,” her manager said. “We’ve had a bit of an office mistake here and accidentally changed all your identification, desk nameplate and email address to say “Fuckbunny”. It would be a hassle to change it all back. Why don’t you go buy that dildo, and once it’s inside you, head down to the government shopfront and just legally change your name to Fuckbunny? Don’t you think that would be a good way to help the company out?”
“Yes, sir,” she giggled.
When her manager had hung up, she looked at the crowd of people staring at her naked fuckmelons and sluthole, and thought about driving naked to a sex shop to buy a dildo that she would clamp painfully to her labia, and then permanently changing her name to “Fuckbunny”... it should horrify her. It did horrify her. But at the same time, a man had suggested it, so it all made her so very happy...
She became aware that her cunt was dripping wet. Without even being told to, her hand dipped to start masturbating it...
Being A Role Model For Young Women
McKenzie was surprised that the company were prepared to send her on the leadership course - “Being A Role Model For Young Women” - as she had thought she had something of a reputation as a bitch around the office, and would not have thought the company wanted her to be a role model for anyone.
The course ran for two weeks. The first two days, McKenzie and the other women sat in a lecture theatre staring at a screen. When she went back to the hotel afterwards, she couldn’t remember what she had just watched. She remembered strange flashing lights, and a hum in her ears. She felt strange.
On the third day the course facilitators gave each woman a vibrator, and without even thinking about it, they all slipped the devices into their already-wet pussies, and let it buzz inside them as they again watched the bright, flashing screen.
That night, McKenzie looked at the notes she had taken during the day. She had no memory of writing them. They read, “Dumb slut. Good slut. McKenzie good slut. Stupid bitch slut.” She had drawn pictures of herself next to them, pictures where her tits were cartoonishly large, and what appeared to be semen was dripping from her face and udders. She was unaware that she was idly still working the vibrator in and out of her twat as she looked at these notes.
On the fourth day, it didn’t seem strange to McKenzie that she greeted the other women on the course by tongue-kissing them and squeezing their tits through their tops. That was just how women should greet each other, she thought. Nor did it bother her that the morning activity required each girl to expose their cunt (dripping wet, of course) to a photographer for him to take photos of.
In the afternoon, the girls were delighted to receive their complimentary shirts from the course. Each shirt was white, tight enough to strain against their tits, short enough to expose their midriff, and printed on the front was an enlarged photograph of that girl’s wet pussy. The girls got new ID badges to go with it, that again showed their spread fuckhole instead of their face, and a slightly edited version of their name. McKenzie’s said “Bitchslut McKenzie.” They all watched the flashing screen again, and by the end of the day it didn’t even feel strange to McKenzie that people were calling her “Bitchslut” as if it were her name.
On the fifth day, none of the girls were wearing any clothes other than their cunt-photo T-shirts. At lunch, instead of food, they were each given a small bowl of white fluid. McKenzie instinctively knew it was sperm, and, hesitantly, seeing the other girls doing the same, she placed it on the floor, got down on all fours, and licked it up from the bowl like a cat. Moments later, she froze, as she felt a tongue licking her pussy from behind. A girl had come up behind her, also on all fours, and begun to tongue her twat. McKenzie let it happen, and soon felt herself orgasming in public from her first lesbian experience.
Over the weekend, the girls all got their boob jobs. McKenzie’s tits were upsized into slutty fake udders, which delighted her. She signed all the paperwork as “Bitchslut”. She thanked the doctor by sucking his cock - twice. The second time he came on her face, and she giggled with delight at how *right* it felt to have cum drying on her cheeks.
In the second week of the course, none of the girls walked anymore, instead crawling around like good girls with their heavy new udders hanging beneath them. The beds in their hotel rooms had been replaced with dog cages, that they happily slept in, and all their meals now had cum mixed with them, and they ate them from dog bowls on all fours. Between sessions of the flashing screen, the course facilitators would fuck the girls, or the girls would lick each other’s pussies. Bitchslut found herself thinking of the other girls in terms of the unique look and taste of their cunts, instead of their faces or names. She hoped they thought of her the same way too.
On the last day, the facilitators walked the girls through the formal paperwork to legally change their names to their new preferred identities, and McKenzie legally became Bitchslut. She chose “Rapecow” as her new surname, because she thought it suited her and she liked how “Bitchslut Rapecow” sounded. They all changed their social media profile pictures to images of their cunts, and took time to send videos of their recent sexual behaviour to their families and friends along with personalised invitations to fuck them with or without their consent.
Lastly, they went through the paperwork that would, as far as legally possible, make them the property of the companies that had sent them on the course. Bitchslut thrilled at the thought of her manager being in charge of her finances and wardrobe and having the power to make all her legal decisions for her. She hoped he sold her house and clothes and made her sleep naked in a cage in the men’s toilets at work. After all - it was important to be a good role model for young women...
Customer Satisfaction
Yurizan was struggling to make ends meet as a local GP. She had too few patients, and the patients she did have just weren’t coming back. If she didn’t turn things around soon, she’d go bankrupt.
She identified customer satisfaction as the key. She needed to give patients a better experience. Searching online, she found a motivational self-hypnosis course, and over the next week she used sleep-training tapes, white noise, and self-repetition to implant a single idea in her head: “I will achieve 100% satisfaction.”
At the end of the week she felt driven and excited about her new initiative. She started handing out satisfaction surveys to her patients, to identify ways she could improve. However, she had not expected the results.
Most of her patients simply rated her as “fine”, with no further feedback. However, one elderly man had written, “Your bra was distracting.” A teenage boy had written, “show us your tits lol”. And that was the entirety of the specific feedback on the surveys.
Yurizan looked at the suggestions, pursing her lips. They weren’t serious, of course. And yet… the patients weren’t completely satisfied. And it was clear how to make them happier. The old man wouldn’t be distracted by her bra if she wasn’t wearing one. And the boy wanted to see her tits.
She tried to tell herself not to do it. It was stupid and whorish and humiliating. It wasn’t professional. She didn’t want to. It was embarrassing. But her brain said, “100% satisfaction”, and she couldn’t argue with it. So when the next male patient arrived, she took off her shirt and bra, and sat there with her tits bare, blushing.
It was an awkward interview. He stared at her tits the whole time. She prescribed him some antibiotics for his cough, and gave him a satisfaction survey. When he was gone, she looked at it, and glowed with happiness. He had given her a perfect rating, and written, “Nice boobs.”
After that, there was nothing for it. Topless became her new uniform for male patients. She let patient after patient stare at her tits. And she gave each of them a satisfaction survey.
At the end of the week, she read the results again. Her satisfaction from male patients had gone up dramatically. But there was a lot more written feedback. One man said, “Can I touch them?” Another said, “Nice fuckbags – but what about the cunt?” A third said, “Disappointed she didn’t check the health of my cock, and give it a taste test.”
When she saw that last comment, she quickly screwed up the paper and tried to pretend she hadn’t seen it. But she had. The patient was disappointed. He’d only given her a 4 out of 5 for satisfaction. And he’d made it clear what would have gotten her the fifth star.
She cried a little when she thought of what she had to do.
By this point, Yurizan was noticing that she was becoming very busy, and by now almost all of her patients were men, mostly repeat business. Often they didn’t really seem very sick at all, but she still gave them a check-up, like a professional.
Only, some of the ways she gave the check-up were not very *traditionally* professional. For instance, she was now nude for male patients. She would spread her legs when they looked at her, to give them a good view of her pussy. If they seemed interested in her tits, she would invite them to touch her. And every male patient got a close-up inspection of his cock, which would end with her kneeling in front of him and giving the tip of his dick a little lick, to see what it tasted like.
Licking her patients’ cocks was embarrassing enough, but sometimes the men would grab her head and force it down on their groin, penetrating her mouth with their phallus. They would facefuck her as she struggled, until they ejaculated in her mouth, then wipe their cocks clean on her cheek.
And what could she do about it? Go to the police? She couldn’t explain why her face had been near their cock to start with, or why she was nude. So she just thanked them for their visit. And anyway, these patients gave her very good satisfaction ratings.
Sometimes patients would have very odd medical conditions. One man told her that his wife had a condition of “bitchiness”, and he’d heard it could be cured in a woman by slapping her and smearing her own cunt juices over her face, so of course Yurizan had to help him test it. It hurt, to be slapped across the face, and it was humiliating to have him stick his fingers up her cunt and then smear her sex juices over her cheeks – and then of course she gave him the lick test, and he fucked her face – but the important thing was that he left satisfied.
Another man was worried that he couldn’t sustain an erection if he was fucking a woman who was crying, so of course Yurizan let him hurt her by slapping her tits till she was weeping, and then it turned out that he absolutely could stay hard enough to fuck her pussy until he came inside her.
But somehow 100% customer satisfaction eluded her. The men always had a way for her to improve. And when she eventually saw the feedback she had been dreading, she knew what she had to do. “I don’t like it when you pretend you’re not a stupid bimbo,” said one survey. “I want fucking you to be cheaper,” said another. “You make a better whore than a doctor,” said a third.
And so she spent the weekend making the applications to have her medical practice rezoned as a brothel. She put an ad out for other women to come and work alongside her in her quest to give men 100% satisfaction. And she tore up her medical degree, sat down nude at her computer, and Googled, “How to become stupider”….
The Eurydice Foundation
After Skylar was raped by a co-worker - Morgan from IT - in a traumatic encounter in the stationary cupboard during an office party, she resigned from work. Even though she’d filed charges, Morgan got bail and kept his job, and she couldn’t bear to stay in that workplace and see him every day.
However, she found it difficult to find another job, and as Morgan’s trial approached, she ran out of money. She made enquiries with women’s help organisations, and that was when the Eurydice Foundation reached out to her.
The Eurydice Foundation was not a women’s help group - in fact, she found its offer incredibly demeaning to women... but she couldn’t disregard it. They offered a simple deal. She had to discontinue all birth control, and then turn up to a private house on three separate occasions. On each occasion, she would find it empty, and she would strip until she was wearing nothing but her high heels, and then she would spread her legs, bend over, grip her ankles, and close her eyes.
At that point someone would enter the room and fuck her. She would not see who it was, and she would keep her eyes closed until they had left and she heard her phone ring telling her it was okay to open them. If she completed all three occasions, they would pay her a quarter of a million dollars, plus the costs of either keeping or aborting any resulting pregnancy.
However, if she opened her eyes or looked back even once, to see who was fucking her, she would forfeit the money, and the Eurydice Foundation would control every aspect of her life for a year.
She dithered for a few days, and then finally agreed. She needed the money. They told her to discontinue birth control immediately, and scheduled her sessions over a week, immediately following when she was to give evidence in Morgan’s trial.
She turned up to the first session nervous and shaken. She had just been cross-examined for two days on her sexual history, on how slutty she dressed, on how she had led Morgan on and begged him to rape her. The defence suggested she moonlighted as a prostitute and she said she didn’t. So she was shaking as she arrived at the empty house she had been told to go to, undressed, parted her legs, bent over, and closed her eyes.
She heard the door open, and someone entered. Despite herself, she was wet - there was something sexy and naughty about this, and she quivered as she heard whoever it was unzip their pants, and then squeaked with delight as she felt his hard cock push into her moist cunt. She orgasmed twice as he fucked her and ejaculated inside her, and if anything, standing there afterwards as he left with his cum dripping from her fuckhole was even more erotic than the waiting.
It had turned out to be very pleasurable. Her only concern was, had she heard only one set of footsteps leave the house after her partner was done? Or had there been two?
She arrived two days later for the second session, already wet before she walked in the door. She got naked and into position, and blushed as she realised that lubricant was literally dripping from her pussy and pooling on the floorboards beneath her.
When the door opened, there was no doubt this time - there were two sets of footsteps entering the house. Maybe three. Was she going to be gang raped? She couldn’t decide if she was scared of the thought, or aroused. She wanted to look, but kept her eyes screwed shut. In the end, it was only the one cock that penetrated her. She had no idea if it was the same man as last time or someone different, but she orgasmed nosily three separate times as his dick violated her.
There were three days till the third session, and she spent them all in a state of heightened sexual awareness. She knew that any man she met might have fucked her, and she’d never know it. She blushed in any conversation with a man, and she found her cunt getting wet whenever someone looked at her. She secretly wished this next session wouldn’t be her last.
She turned up to it early, and masturbated for half an hour in her car before going in. She took up the position eagerly, barely able to wait to be fucked. Eventually the door opened, and... how many people were entering? Five? Seven? Ten? It seemed like a crowd. She paled, and felt some of her arousal leave her. She hadn’t signed up to let a crowd watch her get fucked. Or had she? She could barely remember the paper she had signed. She should have looked at it more closely.
She was still wet enough for the cock, though, when it entered her. She bucked her hips against it vigorously. She felt strange about this setup, and thought if she could make her partner cum quickly, it might end sooner. But her partner fucked her with a measured, vigorous stroke, and showed no signs of cumming.
She heard a cough from somewhere in the audience, and someone said, “Pardon me” - and she realised she knew that voice. Entirely without thinking, her eyes snapped open, and she looked back over her shoulder.
What she saw was the whole courtroom from Morgan’s trial. The judge, defence and prosecution counsel, and all members of the jury were lined up along the wall, watching her get fucked. And the man fucking her... was Morgan. She had been eagerly trying to make her rapist cum.
The jury foreman cleared his throat and said, “Your Honour, we accept the defence’s argument that Ms Leigh is fundamentally a whore who seduced the accused. She clearly is eager to have sex with complete strangers so we see no reason she wouldn’t consent to sex with Mr Morgan. We find the accused not guilty on all counts.”
Skylar wailed, and pulled herself away from Morgan. She huddled in a corner, trying to cover her nude body from the court’s eyes.
“I thank the jury for their verdict,” Morgan was saying. “And now, under the terms of her contract with me, Ms Leigh having opened her eyes during the proceedings, she’s obliged to accept my direction in each aspect of her life for the next year.”
“Agreed,” said the judge. “What do you intend to do with her, Mr Morgan?”
“I think I’ll get her a breast enhancement,” said Morgan, “and a tattoo indicating her consent to being raped by anyone who sees it. I don’t intend to press charges for the false allegation, but perhaps we could arrange for her to visit the jail each weekend and sexually service the prisoners? But first I think I’d like to finish impregnating her. Would the court mind holding her down while I finish fucking her?”
“Absolutely,” said the judge. “Counsel, if you’d each secure one of Ms Leigh’s legs, I believe it’s only fair to let Mr Morgan finish what he started...”