Subjugating Sarah Ch. 04

Story Info
Sarah gives in and becomes the office submissive.
2.7k words

Part 4 of the 4 part series

Updated 01/23/2024
Created 07/05/2023
Share this Story

Font Size

Default Font Size

Font Spacing

Default Font Spacing

Font Face

Default Font Face

Reading Theme

Default Theme (White)
You need to Log In or Sign Up to have your customization saved in your Literotica profile.

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here


I had changed. A lot. The whole office dynamic had changed. The initial idea offered to me by the guys had been this: making the only female in the office its slave. That my uniform should be total nudity, collared and cuffed, and that I should adopt a submissive attitude towards the men. Calling them all Sir, not acting as their equal, being sent to do menial tasks and made to kneel on the floor, etc, etc, you get the point. In a way, roleplaying as a hyper exaggerated version of what a sexist office in the 50's would have been like.

At first, I had only said yes to one of the core components of the offer: sexualizing me. Gendering the office by clearly delineating the female from the men through a change of uniform. I had fought against that, but then gave in, and began wearing lingerie as my uniform.

Then, I had given in to my sexualization further by accepting the full extent of their initial sexualization idea: total nudity. But that was it. No further, I had told myself. I wasn't their slave, or their submissive, in fact at that point I was acting even tougher. I was simply another employee, but I was naked. Nothing more.

And then, I had given in to my own needs. The need to feel sexy. Not just be naked, but to live and breathe and embody that nudity as an expression raw feminine sensuality.

And now, I was completely different. My cold, tough exterior was gone. I had become like a girly, bubbly slut; strutting around my clothed coworkers, shaking my ass and tits and asking them playfully to look. I'd do erotic dances for them in the leisure room, crawl around on the ground like a bitch in heat, do lap dances. The cold, unforgiving Sarah was nowhere to be seen. Now all you saw was a girl who looked even sluttier than a porn actress writhing around the office, constantly presenting her body to the ever-present male gaze.

I even started flirting with them. I had always found them all attractive to some extent. Some moderately so, some very much so, and not one of them wasn't attractive enough that, if turned on, I couldn't imagine the most unprofessional, not safe for work behaviour with. That's why I started saying it was O.K for them to touch. In fact, I straight up began asking for it.

Never in their minds had they even considered the idea of laying a hand on me. They had offered me to be naked and to act like a slave, but funny enough, they turned all shy and uncertain when I mentioned touch. It took a bit of convincing to do, but now, I was getting what I wanted. When I walked past some of the guys in the hallways, they'd give me a little slap on the ass. When I was standing by the printer, they'd slowly cup my ass cheeks, sometime two guys at a time. It would start with a little caressing, then turn to grabbing and fondling.

I didn't even hide how turned on I was. They could see I was wet and aroused. Sometimes, I'd just drop the files I was holding and place my hand on their chests, feeling the texture of their suits, that symbol of their total superiority over me as males. I even started asking them to wear ties from time to time. They mostly didn't wear ties as our office had a slightly more relaxed dress code, but I found it sexier when they did. I don't know, there was something about ties that felt even more, how can I put it... Classic manly man in power, patriarchy, that kind of thematic thing. I wanted to play up that scenario of the powerful man vs the vulnerable, naked, sexualized woman. I loved flirting with them, making myself all girly, twirling their suits between my fingers while they slapped my ass. I was vulnerability, fluidity and beauty, while they were strength, dominance and power.

I had never had so much fun. For the first time in a decade, I felt happy. No stress, no anxiety, no frustration. Just happiness.

One morning, I was rearranging the files on the meeting room table. My face was acting all nonchalant and casual, but my back was arched, my tits forward and presented to the men around me. As was now usual, a few of the guys began surrounding me. I could feel their breaths on my neck. They surrounded and towered me, and I felt so... powerless. Like if I wanted to go away, they wouldn't let me. I imagined them pinning my wrists to the table, and... Wooh. I took a deep breath.

I had gone down the rabbit hole on every level. But not this. Not the total relinquishing of power. I wasn't going to betray what remained of my feminist credentials.

And yet, before I knew it, I felt a little tap on my ass.

"Get on the table," Jim said.

I smiled and obeyed. I wished I could have said that I "accepted." But he hadn't asked an equal to do something. He had told me to. And I was obeying. I crawled up on the table and stayed on all fours. They told me to arch my back more. I obeyed.

A little slap. Nothing too harsh, just a little flirtatious slap from Jim. Then from Ron. Then from Peter. I noticed the latter taking off his tie.

"You don't need to look," he said. "You don't get to see." He gestured for me to look forward, and then proceeded to tie his tie around my eyes like a blindfold.

I was breathing deeper now. I was getting wetter and wetter. The slaps on my ass were turning harsher. They were turning into spanks now. Then something happened for the first time. Fingers slowly introduced themselves between the locks of hair on my head... and grabbed them all. I gasped. Shudders tickled all throughout my body.

Whoever was grabbing my hair pulled it back, forcing me to arch my back even more. My ass was fully presented to them.


They were spanking me. Straight up just spanking me. I couldn't believe it. Fuck. I couldn't believe it was even happening. I couldn't like it, I shouldn't have... But I loved it.

I felt hands caressing my body. There were multiple pairs of hands caressing my bare skin, until they reached down and began fondling my tits.

"Is that O.K?" I heard Max ask. I nodded. I was too aroused to be able to talk.

The spanking went on for minutes. For minutes, I had my hair pulled, my body fondled, my ass spanked. When it was done, I could barely contain the desire to masturbate, but I had established a very firm rule of no contact with my pussy. Neither them nor me. I knew that if I opened that Pandora's Box, I wouldn't be able to control myself anymore, and I was barely able to control myself already.

I got down on the floor and removed the tie from my eyes. "Wooh... that was something," I sighed, all flushed and biting my lips. "So... what was I being punished for, exactly? I thought I was a good employee..."

The guys shrugged. "It's not about what you did or not," James said. "That's just how you should be treated normally. It's putting you where you belong."

An overwhelming sense of arousal took over me. I took a deep sigh to control myself.

"No," I said. "None of that. We're not doing the submissive thing. That was... a one off. It was cool. But that's it."

I was about to leave the room, but Steve spoke up.

"The original idea was you being the office slave. Not just naked or slutty. The slave."

"Your idea," I retorted. "Not mine. You came up with it completely on your own."

"Not completely on our own," Mark said. "It's you who opened up about having submissive fantasies first. If you hadn't, we would have never approached you with the idea."

I shook my head. I wanted it so, so badly. I wanted nothing but to get on all fours, crawl towards them, kneel at their feet and make a pledge of submission. I wanted to ask them to humiliate me, to put me where I belonged. I wanted it so bad.

But I had a moral obligation. I was a modern woman of the 21st century. Women before me had fought for us to be equals to men. The very fact that I got aroused thinking of being dominated by them was insulting to me, to those women, to my entire feminist conviction that had been my central life philosophy for the last ten years.

I knew that in the long run, never giving fully to my desires of total submission in the office would gnaw at me. Render me miserable. And that in old age, I would regret not having lived out the most amazing opportunity of sexual exploration offered to me in my life. I knew I would be miserable for it.

But the feminism I had been taught in college, the one that had latched onto me for years, wasn't about choice. It was about power. Feminism was about giving us women power. Giving us equality. Like a superhero choosing to sacrifice their happiness for the greater good, I had a moral obligation to be miserable. I had the moral obligation to be unhappy, and anxious, and stressed, as long as it kept me equal and powerful.

I left the room, and promised myself I would never let any man, neither in this office nor my future private sex life, EVER degrade me in even the slightest way, ever again. Not even that move of pinning my wrists above my head against the wall. Not even that. Nothing. Power was my moral obligation to strive for as a feminist. Even at the expense of my happiness. I told myself that the greater my unhappiness, the greater my misery, the more of a mark of honor it would be. The same way that the greater a wound in war was, the greater the honor and sacrifice bestowed on a soldier.

Society was a war. A war between the patriarchy and those it oppressed. That's what I had been taught. I had been taught to detest BDSM. Taught that women posing nude with makeup on were unwittingly enacting internalized misogyny induced by the patriarchy that brainwashed us from childhood. That those women weren't truly happy, that they didn't know what they were doing, and were unknowingly being exploited. That a true feminist would never enjoy that. I had been taught to mock the cowardly philosophy of this asinine "Choice Feminism," which I had been taught was nothing more than the cherry picky coping mechanism of women with internalised misogyny too cowardly to commit to truly fighting for their equality.

No, I wasn't going to submit to the patriarchy. I would keep on fighting, and wear my wounds, my unhappiness, my misery at not experiencing my patriarchy-induced fantasies as marks of pride. The feminism I had been taught wasn't about choice, or happiness. It was about power. And I would choose power.

Then one day, a call came. It was Mr. Peterson, one of the nationwide higher ups of our company. He had good news for me.

I had been promoted. I had just risen in the hierarchical ladder. I would now be higher than all my colleagues in the office here and be given authority over each of them to delegate exactly what they would do in accordance with the central needs of the company. And that's where I would be sent: to the central hub of the company.

Goodbye to this office. I would be flying west, where I would now move to work at the central headquarters of our company. I had now attained one of the highest corporate positions possible. There it was. In my hand. Power. All those colleagues around me, I would be their superior now.

"We recommend getting rid of the suit you have now and getting yourself a fresh one," Mr. Peterson said, totally unaware of what I had become in the previous months. For weeks, being his main contact in the office, I would have hour long calls with him, and he'd be totally unaware that I was talking to him with not a piece of clothing on, whilst my colleagues were constantly groping and pinching my ass. He had no idea I had been talking to him all this time while biting my lip, aroused out of my mind, wet down there. All of that, because I was experiencing my most perfect fantasy of all.

And now, it was all going to disappear. Gone. I would be sent to a place of power, wearing a suit, wearing power, being power itself.

When I returned home, I felt none of the pride and happiness I was supposed to. This had been my goal for the last ten years. To gain more power, to affirm myself as a woman, equal, in a world of men.

I looked at how I was now. And I looked at who I had been for the past ten years. I looked at these two versions of me, and the choice tore me from the inside.

The next morning, I went to the office. The guys, unaware of my promotion, asked me what was going on. They could see my dead-inside stare. Could probably sense my inner turmoil.

"Did you ever end up buying those cuffs and that collar? From when you wanted me to be the office slave?" They told me they had kept them in one of the desks in case I ever changed my mind. I took a deep breath. "O.K. Meet me in the conference room in ten minutes. I just have to make a quick call."

And I did. I made that call. Mr. Peterson was disappointed. Not me.

Then I went to that desk. I saw what was there. Sighing, I changed myself, and a minute later, with my entire body trembling, I entered the conference room.

One afternoon, exactly a week after giving the news of my refusal to Mr. Peterson, I was kneeling with my hands cuffed behind my back on the floor of the conference room. I was facing the wall. Behind me was the conference table. An audio call was about to begin with Mr. Peterson. Our office had had administrative problems for the past few years, and the past few months had been one long grind during which we reorganised our workflow. The grind had been a success, and Mr. Peterson wanted to have a quick call to check up on the current status of the office.

I looked behind me. The men were sitting down, getting ready for the call, wearing their suits, looking oh so manly and powerful. Liam was standing above me, petting my hair.

"Do you want to participate to the call?" he asked. "You can if you want to."

I looked at it all and shook my head. "That's not where I belong," I said, smiling. "That's male business. I belong here."

"Good girl."

He grabbed my hair and made me look to the wall in front of me. They had placed a suction dildo against it. They had used edible food marking to write words on the dildo. The dildos said: "I'm equal."

"You don't stop sucking until the words have disappeared. Understood?"

"Yes Sir," I whispered.

He left me to join the call, and I performed my role while the men performed theirs.

"Great to know your structure works well," Peterson said. "Where's Sarah by the way? It's usually her I speak to."

"Oh, she couldn't be here. Don't worry, she's making herself much more useful right now. She's right where she belongs."

Please rate this story
The author would appreciate your feedback.
Our Comments Policy is available in the Lit FAQ
Post as:
lucy_sometimeslucy_sometimes5 days ago

Complete and utter filth.

Loved it!

AniMeretrixAniMeretrix16 days ago

Goddess this is so fucking hot I hope there is more of this.

Fuck I want to work in an office like that so badly.

AnonymousAnonymous30 days ago

Lyla, how can we support your work?

AnonymousAnonymousabout 1 month ago

Psychological aspect. The fall is growing but it is becoming necessary. She is submissive, humiliated, on a leash, has nipple rings, but she becomes a need for men for the project. He falls and works.

CheekyDick1960CheekyDick1960about 1 month ago

Thank you Lyla. I like all your stories, and I am looking forward to see how you will link this one up with the office slave sequel. You're doing great. Continue like this

Show More
Share this Story


Similar Stories

Helena's Family 01 +PICS Conversation between mother and Illustrated
Mom's Superpower -- Illustrated! Busty mother inspires both of her Illustrated
Book Club Orgy Three girls and a guy have a night to Group Sex
The Pool Party Game Ch. 01 About how I let my girlfriend participate in a crazy Illustrated
Can I Watch, Mom? (Illustrated) Mom trades sexual favors with her Illustrated
More Stories