Mia Harcourt stands alone in the biting cold, staring out into a world greying faster than she is. The woman finds herself approaching the second half of her forties with the worn out expression expected of somebody a good few decades older, giving the driest smirk her pale pink lips can muster as she considers the reason why she's chosen such a specific time to take her break. It's no secret in the company that despite her position in management, Mia Harcourt is a fucking pushover. That new employee, Connie Young, pegged her from the moment their hands met to shake. Half Mia's age, sharp and ambitious, Miss Young has twice the confidence of the woman Mia wishes she was. The new hire intimidates her from a place deep and primal, harking back to those days in high-school — and beyond — that Mia has tried to forget for longer than Connie's been alive. Curly, chestnut brown hair that makes Mia all too aware of her greys. A knowing smile that taunts her, haunts her, even when Mia's desk should speak to her authority; if she can't do it herself, how can she expect the inanimate oak to pick up her slack? The blatant dress code violations that Connie quickly figured out she would not be challenged on, the lazy work ethic that carelessly inconveniences the rest of the team who have to cover, the smell of alcohol on her breath and a mouth you'd kill your mother with. Gods, the awful language that spills from that mouth during work hours is enough to warrant HR meetings on its own pushing aside, well, everything else. 

And then comes those eyes. The very worst part of dealing with Connie for this woman who took her break to avoid confrontation. Those eyes are penetrative, violating, and unflinching. Mia has learned to stop looking up from her desk at all lest she catch those smug, narrowed eyes staring right into her core. Yes, Connie should be working and not creeping on her self-effacing divorcee manager, but again she knows, all too confidently, that she will not be called out on the act of misconduct. There's something in that stare of hers, right at the back, that makes Mia Harcourt's hairs stand on end and her collar feel tight. It feels like gazing into the abyss, a swirling empty black as night and void of humanity. Light cannot escape, nor enter, that black hole stare that crushes Mia's confidence within its overwhelmingly destructive mass. 

Mia Harcourt stands alone in the nipping wind, the dull overcast day pairing well with the listless expression on her face. Only when she's alone like this can she shed that timid haze that attracts a vulture like Miss Young, simply allowing her thoughts to coast along in a steady pull that accomplishes little more than mindless distraction. Blue light bounces from her eyes as the woman sucks the electronic cigarette in her mouth, held against her lips by a hand manicured for no one. Exhaling a taste of winter cherry she does not enjoy, Mia decides that perhaps she should simply resign from her position and escape this suffocating world of her. Of Connie. Of constant distraction and paranoia, of humiliation and—

"There you are, boss." The sudden voice has Mia tensing up, letting out a clamorous series of chokes from the poor inhale of flavoured vapor. Connie's voice demands her attention, somehow, and Mia is far too great a pushover to deny it. Doing so would be unprofessional, impolite, and worst of all it would betray to the predator sniffing out its prey just how fucked her nerves already are against those four innocuous words. Mia's hunched back straightens, perhaps dishonestly, as the woman struggles with ambition to present herself as the superior she's supposed to be. Her eyes do not find Connie's, that would be a step too far. Her gaze settles upon the newcomer's tardy work clothes and her embarrassment begins to flourish at the fact she lets this greenhorn walk all over her. Connie's blouse is untucked and uneven, undone buttons at its top and a distinct lack of bra that has Mia question if she hasn't been looking too closely. The older woman cannot help but gawk, as one would observe a traffic accident in abject horror she supposes. In place of the expected black slacks, or otherwise smart trousers appropriate for office professions, Connie struts around in faded black denim that stretches down to long, laced black combat boots with the chunkiest outsoles the woman has ever seen. "You look lonely today, so I thought I might give you some company. In fact... I've been hoping to find you alone for quite some time now."

If the temperature out here was any colder Mia is sure her heart would have just stopped dead right here and now. In her attempt to avoid Miss Connie Young, the woman inadvertently just served herself on silver platter. How did she... 

"Everything alright there, Mia? Cat gotcha tongue?" The playful twenty-something wears an expression of pure glee unbefitting of a thinking, feeling human. She's a mimic, a monster, smirking at her prey on the other end of a sharp hook. 

The woman realises how ridiculous this ill pounding in her heart is, the way her breath hitches a little more at each and every word from her subordinate. Clenching trembling fingers into fists and swallowing drily, Mia Harcourt finally decides that enough is enough. She'll tolerate this brat no longer.

_{"That's... Miss Harcourt."}

"No, it isn't." Connie snorts, lighting up a cigarette as she sidles up to the nervous woman she can practically smell the fear of. What's got Mia so spooked, Connie wonders disingenuously, a vicious curl on her plain lips. All of this because of a few little interactions, frightfully innocent ones at that. Mia had told her to shred documents and Connie, in kind, ordered the woman do it herself. The office became deathly silent, allowing Connie to repeat the command in firm, authoritative tone that told everybody listening in who was in control. Another time, her supposed boss had attempted to address the obvious whiff of alcohol she caught on Connie's breath; this was back when Mia still had the gall to call her out on such trivial matters, of course. Connie, in the manner of an unamused mother appeasing a fussy child, proceeded to circle around Miss Harcourt's fancy manager's desk and breathe directly onto the woman's face from only inches away. Yes, there it was: The stench of liquor and smoke and so much more... and Mia wasn't going to do a thing about it. "We're not in fucking high school, woman. I mean, aha, with that face you're showing we might as well be. Got your back pressed against your locker pretty often, huh? I know your type."

"Wh... What? Miss Young, that's—"

"Stop flapping your pathetic, sexless lips for a sec and listen closely, okay? I said I know your type, you gutless — fucking — pussy. If you were gonna do anything about me I'd have been gone by the end of my first week, so I'm saying we drop the act. I know exactly what you are, even if you're slow on the uptake yourself." Connie takes a drag from her cigarette, Mia still unable to lift her gaze to greet those horrible eyes and settling her stare on the glowing ember instead. "You're Conniebait~" 

"Excuse me?" Mia is a coward, not a cartoon character, so even she has the self-respect to understand this turn goes far beyond the unruly behaviour from before. She had been content to let things slide if it just meant she could avoid further conflict, future hardship... that and she had been nervous how Miss Young might've reacted had she fired the girl. Still, Mia is human, she finally finds her frustration reach a breaking point at words nobody should have to tolerate. "Now you listen, I'm many things but I'm not— aghh!"

"Did I say you could speak, cunt?" Connie's voice lowers drastically in tone, taking on that same air of threatening authority she had wielded like a spell to make the woman shred. At the same time, the young woman presses the tip of her lit cigarette into her manager's upper arm, just below her shoulder. Holding the ember into that exposed skin left uncovered by Miss Harcourt's sleeveless pintuck blouse, Connie revels in the pained expression given by her new unwitting plaything. 

Mia gasps, wheezes, choking not on vapour this time but plain old air; only lightly tinged by the foul stench of her own burning skin and wafting cigarette smoke. The woman's thoughts are sent into a complete disarray at the shock of being assaulted like this by her own employee, or anyone for that matter. It's akin to an out of body experience wrought by hardcore drug use, because Mia has trouble accepting that this really happened. If only it took away the pain, like a real anaesthetic, opposed to the one she shamefully imagines herself abusing to reach this surreal point. The edge of Connie's knife, poised to cut the strings on this marionette that masquerades herself as human. A real person would strike the girl, or at the very least shout for help, whereas Mia meekly retreats into the shell of herself.

"Oh... hm. That's better, quiet as a mouse. Well I mean..." Connie inhales that pungent and horrific air between them, bringing her face mere inches away from Mia's own wincing image. "Except for all the pathetic fucking squirming I mean. But I suppose that can't be helped, you're only human." Mia locks up, still reeling from the pain in her arm and not quite sure if she could raise her voice beyond a whimper even if she'd the courage to try. At least Connie considers her human, thinks the woman with a pitiful and wry curve daring to surface on her timid face. The way Connie said it though, no, the way she speaks in general... it's lording over her in a way that makes Mia's assigned humanity feel rather insignificant against her subordinate. Connie lords the fact over her, that she's only human, fit to hurt and shame in all the ways a soft fleshsack like herself cannot avoid succumbing to. 

The younger woman, who deigns to suggest she might supersede the humanity that makes Mia so frighteningly fucking weak in this moment, pulls the cigarette away from her manager's arm and places it between her lips, taking a long drag and proceeding to blow it back out directly into Miss Harcourt's face. As the woman predictably begins to cough, vision blurring, Connie continues gleefully. "God... out of all the women I've had the pleasure of fucking with, Mia, none of them were this much of a spineless cunt. I mean that sincerely, doll, you're the weakest dyke I've ever met."

What did Connie just call her? That's... Mia had been passively accepting the mistreatment, stunned into a silence she felt consumed by, but that word feels so out of nowhere that it has her resurfacing. Isn't that a slur for lesbians? 

"I can tell what you're thinking, slut... you're wanting to correct my assessment of you? Then fucking prove it, that you're not my wanton office whore, my glorified work mule. Seen you staring at me all week, caught you glancing." No, that's... Mia wants to protest and tell this terrifying presence that she has it the wrong way around, but then, she should already know as much. "Doing whatever I demand even when you're meant to be my boss, trying oh so hard to impress Miss Young while you're fucking yourself under your desk to all the lecherous, disgusting thoughts you're having about me." Her breath becoming shorter, and her sentences longer, Connie pushes herself into Mia's space with her knee parting the woman's legs. The older woman barrels back into the plastic wall of the smoking shelter and Connie engulfs her with lithe frame, more than enough to overpower the woman twice her age with. "Wanna get HR involved, tell them what a perverted lesbian you are that you can't even keep your hands out of your pants during work hours?" Drinking in the sight of Mia's horror at these twisted words, Connie cannot help bursting into a bout of crushing laughter that has her boss retract against the thin wall with small, meek stare. 

Mia Harcourt is confused. Why isn't she pushing this young thing away from her, or barking words of protest at such indecent and violating accusations? 

"Need a reminder of how weak you are for me?" Miss Young bites her lip and wraps her hand around the other's wrist tight enough to hurt. A wince crosses Mia's face and is summarily ignored as the walking HR violation brings the woman's vape pen up to her lips and forces her to take another hit. The older woman obliges, weakly, wondering why such a strange pivot in behaviour is taking place before remembering that this abyss before her is not something to be understood, but endured. Sanity begins to wane, the vapour filling her mouth and causing a strange thought to cross the woman's mind. She pushes back but Connie does not move, giving another cruel jeer in response to the feeble attempt. "I can see it in your eyes, hehe, impossible as it is... you're wondering if I didn't tamper with your little poser stick, hm?"

There's... no way. Mia tries to blow the vapour out quickly after another forced inhale and Connie's hand clamps down around the older woman's mouth and nose, forcing her to splutter against heady palm. Eyes widen in shock, incredulity and fear. There's no doubt it now, her new employee must be... spiking her? Did she snoop on the flavour Mia was using and switch the cartridge with a tampered one? That's so premeditated and elaborate that the woman can't help but want to laugh too, wondering what the point was.

"Mmh... I'm going to break you into my docile bitch, a pretty dyke preything that only knows how to please me. With tongue and tender touch, with a canvas of flesh ready to be flogged and marred for my amusement. How's it sound? It'll start to feel good, I promise, when your mind begins to unravel." Connie's hand pulls away and her other's fist crashes into her prey's sternum, causing the woman's lungs to evacuate all breath sharply. As Mia gasps and coughs, eyes beginning to water, Connie delicately cups that aged cheek and pulls her prey down into a sweet kiss that mixes up her thoughts of pain. "You've been puffing that shit like a clueless dipshit for over a week now, getting high as fuck on my supply without even being able to tell. When I gave you orders, slowly, you found that will to resist slipping away. Fuck, it was so funny seeing you have to rationalise your own pathetic obedience, telling yourself that you're just that much of a pushover! I mean, fuck, you at least used to act like a manager." Without ever letting Mia take a moment to recover, Connie pushes her foot forwards and hooks her ankle around Miss Harcourt's, pulling back to trip her prey until she's crashing down onto the hard concrete below them. 

Mia lands on the floor with a delirious headrush, vision beginning to blur as she wonders if this isn't just a dream. A nightmare, she means. Her body hurts, fresh pain from the sudden impact competing with the burn below her shoulder. Stray black hairs fall over her face as though attempting to call curtains on this charade, her lips lightly parted and coated in her own employee's spit. Why... why did she like that kiss forced upon her? Mia Harcourt is not interested in other women, she's never even considered it to be an avenue worth exploring. The woman was happy with her husband before the relationship soured. He was good to her, and more handsome than she deserved. 

So why can't she remember his fucking name right now?

"Mia." Connie speaks, in that same strict voice she had used before when issuing orders during working hours. Regretfully, Mia lifts her head, still dazed and unbearably hot all over. The woman is ragged and receptive, starting to wonder if just doing what she's told will make her life that much easier. A hand lands upon her head and Mia gasps, feeling the expanse of spreading fingers begin to grow across her thoughts and snap up all the real estate. Connie's fingers take the worry away, because she doesn't have to be so confused if she just lets them in. God... fuck... that's so wrong, she's not— "Take another hit, Miss Harcourt, you know you want to. It doesn't matter if I'm a woman, when being a pretty, shameless whore for me sends you off to paradise better than any man's touch ever could. Tactless, unbearable touch, you always dreamt of a feminine edge driving into your side, winding you, breaking you. Before you ever fucking knew me, you wanted my touch, needed it, you just didn't know it yet. I bet he was gentle, that man who left you for a younger woman. Ahahaha, don't you worry, pet. I won't be."

A heat blossoms between Mia's legs as the headrush takes her, a sort of sickly giddiness leaking down and corrupting her from those spread fingers that hold her head so firm. They feel so good, she concedes, wanting to die against that hand and be born anew should it alleviate this terrible and consuming stupor. _{"I'm not... a—"}

"That wasn't a suggestion, but an order. Take the hit, you spineless fucking cunt. If you were gonna fight this, you'd have done so before your ass hit the floor and you started lifting your head up into my hand like a pathetic, masochistic dyke who's perverse enough to actually like, no, love when I beat her. Take. The. Hit." Flicking her cigarette onto the floor, Connie snaps her fingers loudly and the sound hits Mia in a most unexpected manner.

The sound brings meditative clarity, her thoughts snapping into place for the briefest of moments before scattering back into their volatile state. Mia's mind is a petri dish of contradicting ideals, and Connie's treatment seeks to reform that chaos into something more valuable for them both. Isn't... she so nice? By the time Mia blinks away that malevolent moment of clear but corrupted thought, she's already inhaling from the electronic cigarette in her hand. Her eyes dull ever so slightly, only during the inhale, giving Connie the same sight of unwitting surrender she's been glancing openly at all week. Mia completes the inhale, face dark red when she considers why she did it. It wasn't just that Connie had ordered her to, with a snap that did something unwanted to her failing brain. It was the context given beforehand, the promises made. The older woman's body is flush with heat and denial, the loose strands of hair dangling down from her usually smart bun making her appear like little more than Connie's whore. 

Whore. Dyke preything. Shameless slut. Pathetic loser. Cunt. Lesbian. Pet. Why do these words suddenly bring such a fire to her thoughts, a conflagration of Connie's doing that makes it hard to remember what is and is not appropriate work conduct in this moment.

"Good girl, nice and messed up for me. You look like such a stupid, ditzy bitch right now, I'm so eager to show you the depths your own depravity will go to for me. I'll make you want it, crave it, degrading yourself until you've no identity but being mine. You exist to be conquered, Mia, and your flesh is my thrall. I don't care what you want, what you like, and where your tolerances lie. It's all flexible, moldable, and I won't stop fucking your head up until it's as broken as you'll soon beg for me to make it. Sexuality, preferences, dignity. These are human things. You're just my meat. So admit that you want me, and not demurely. Accept that you lust for me like a depraved, nymphomaniac lesbian would, play at being human for just a little longer and I'll reward you with more harsh treatment that I can see turns you on like nothing else." 

...

Mia pants, everything in front of her appearing so blurry, the words infecting her vulnerable mind like she had left the door open. Not even, this was a break in, Connie's long and chunky boot kicking down the entrance and letting herself inside. Oh fuck... those boots, the way the laces stretch up so far, the long zips on the side. The glossy black leather that scrambles Mia's thoughts between each and every breath. Connie catches Mia's dull stare focus on that immensely gorgeous footwear and giggles, the most girlish sound this demon has made yet. It makes Mia want to giggle too, but she's still too busy panting, her haggard state telling her that anything else, particularly words, is off the table for the time being. 

"Like them? They're basically catnip for depraved lesbians like yourself so it doesn't surprise me. Go ahead and look, lose yourself, I don't give a fuck. If it makes you weaker for me, then indulge. See, I can be kind when you earn it." The boot pushes forward and Mia tentatively reaches for it before shaking her head, her chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. 

_{"I'm not... not a lesbia—"}

Smack!

As is her right, Connie Young strikes her disobedient property and causes Mia to sway violently onto her side, collapsing onto the floor with her hair tie slipping free. A mess of untidy black hair spills like blood from her head and the older woman feels the cold of the concrete against her right cheek contrasting the hot sting kissing the left one. It feels strange, unnatural, how in her place she knows she is when treated so abusively. What the fuck did Connie do to her... and why is she starting to enjoy it, just like the girl had suggested?

"You're not a lesbian, but you stare so longingly." Connie soothes the red hot throb on Mia's cheek with the cool sole of her mesmerising combat boot, eclipsing Mia's face in shadow. She lives and breathes in Connie's shadow, it feels somehow homely. "You're not a lesbian, but you take my kisses like they're fucking medicine." Mia is reminded of that short exchange and gives a ditzy, drooling smile, a little red mixed in with that sluggish spill at the corner of her mouth. She's so dizzy, but being pressed into the ground like this makes her feel so much more grounded. "You're not my dyke, but you get excited when I mistreat you, fuck your mind up nice and good for me, think perverted thoughts about these boots I know you want to push down harder." Connie is almost exactly half her age, Mia reminds herself, noting that the youth are always more in touch with modern times. Mia has been out of the romance game for quite some time, perhaps it simply evolved... maybe she wants this? Is it good for her? Oh... does she care?

The woman bites her lip hard enough to break the skin and clenches her thighs together fiercely to prevent her wanton fingers from doing something truly untoward. Everything feels impossibly hot, from her body to her mind. Connie's a stove top she would and should sear herself against with dopey grin, a sultry self flagellation that kisses goodbye to the plain woman she thought herself to be. This is better, she thinks, loosening an incoherent giggle that comes out wrong with her cheeks pressed into the stone. 

"Break for me, whore. You love this, you need this. You're my thrall, my meat, a dressed up thing that has to pretend to be an office worker from time to time. A manager, even, but we both know what you truly are. My painslut lesbian, a piece of wanton flesh resembling human that can only ever truly feel sane when I'm flaying off its shame, unneeded inhibition that holds it back from being something truly, and beautifully abhorrent. A deplorable, messy existence in which you get off on ruining everything you used to be, for my amusement. Day after day, until you're well and truly spent." Connie's words become gospel, a holy scripture that Mia cannot help but absorb in this sorry state of hers. The younger woman is so radiant, so kind, a deep fervour beginning to build within her. It starts at the loins, that crushing tightness, and worms its way into her brain inch by wretched inch. "Touch yourself, pet, do you think I care? Do you think you do? Abandon that shame and fuck yourself stupid for me, or I'll remove my boot from your face and call it a day."

No... anything but that, thinks Mia with a pathetic tremble to her drooling, busted lower lip. That weight against her head is an anchor, she fears where she may drift with its presence removed. Will she lose herself completely? Oh, right now... that doesn't sound so bad... still, boot nice. Boot good, Mia likes boot... Guess she'll just have to fuck herself silly then, it's a good thing she's far too fucked in the head and lost in Connie's thrall to remember they're still in public. This place no longer feels real, it's less of a smoking shelter and more an interstice between one existence and the next. Mia begins to welcome the wretched life she barrels into, letting the dumb lesbian slut into her heart as her thighs unclench and she desperately pushes a hand into her uncomfortably tight pencil skirt. Fingers find such wetness, but Mia is too far gone to find herself shocked at this discovery, pressing down into that damp heat and cooing out into the harsh ground. Maybe... maybe she is a lesbian! She has to be, for this to feel as good as it does, for her to desecrate her own pride and present such humiliating show to her... to Connie. What is Connie to her? An employee? No, it's something deeper, Mia knows. Her flesh is Connie's thrall, which makes her feel so wonderfully, and dreadfully owned. Her owner's caustic, noxious touch makes her feel like fucking herself, and so she does so with a simple look in those unfocused eyes. Shame burns until the cinders turn to ash, and an unnatural calm begins to rule her. 

_{"Mmgh... wh-why..."} Mia Harcourt rubs herself forcefully, letting her own perplexing need pile on that shame, adding more fuel to burn in this intoxicating humiliation ritual she appears to gladly participate in at this point. The woman did not know she could ever feel so aroused, maybe Connie was right about her husband... or just men in general. Maybe... aha... maybe Connie is right about everything, that'd make it a hell of a lot easier to accept everything that's presently happening to her. Changing her. _{"Why're you so... why am I... ahhh... fuck..."} Mia buckles her hips, starting to thrust them into her fingers as her writhing body imitates an earthworm. "Fffuck!"

"You hear that? How pathetic you sound? That's good, Mia, we're stripping you down to the essentials. This is the real you, now get on your fucking knees for me." Connie lifts her boot, a clear imprint left against the older woman's face. "Don't stop touching yourself, obviously, or I'll kick you in the ribs. I might do it anyway, if you start to bore me..." 

Mia's mind spins, that drift she had dreaded sending her spiralling as her head suddenly feels the lightest thing in the entire world. The woman, drunk on deep submission and affirming degradation, sluggishly sits up onto her thighs and winces at the pain in her knees from this rough concrete ground. Still, the pain does not feel the same as it once had. She's a taste for it now, head bobbing as her fingers mash against her sex in messy ministration. Kneeling for Connie feels... nice. Mia thinks she likes it, but mostly all that Mia can think about is that deep itch in her cunt she can't quite relieve. 

Connie smirks, the sight only turning Mia on exponentially more and more as her ego dies against the hand soon holding her chin, her bobbing head forced into upturned tilt. "Stick your tongue out and pant for me, like a dog." Snap! 

Without caring about how humiliating it is, or perhaps letting that excite her further, Mia obeys. Hesitation died the moment that snap hit her ears, the forty-something year old woman dropping her jaw and letting her tongue loll out, coated in thick saliva built up from when she was being crushed under her owner's boot. A long line of bubbly spit hangs down from Mia Harcourt's tongue as she begins to pant, loudly, performing any and all tricks demanded of her if this treatment continues to feel so uniquely euphoric. Nothing has ever made her this excited, Mia becoming the mutt she's made to act in this moment eager to play with its owner. Eyes dull a little more, a manager's duty done for. 

"So cute..." Connie mutters with a confident simper, tilting the excitable puppy's head from side to side with her hand and feeling that entire body vibrate with pleasure from the way her bitch in heat fucks those fingers like she's trying to get herself pregnant. "So malleable, already, that fluffy headspace I pushed you into will let me get away with most anything, won't it? Hear that, prey? I can do whatever I want, okay?" 

Connie's bitch tilts its head and whines demurely, breath still ragged and panting becoming oh so laboured. It isn't like owner to ask, Mia nodding eagerly into hallowed hand and sublimating her higher thought against that divine touch. By comparison, her own whorish motions feel damned, profaned, and yet she knows that she cannot cease. She does not want to, better still, she isn't allowed to.

Fingers push into Mia's mouth and she inadvertently coats these sacred digits in her own sinful saliva, staring with wide, meek eyes at the cruel kindness glaring back at her. Oh good, owner is amused, right now that's all she cares about. Feeling driven by her own overpowering lust and need to escape the rational mind that once caged her, Mia accepts the fingers deeper and deeper into her mouth. Deeper still, drooling over fingers that taste vaguely of cigarette smoke and letting them violate her mouth however they please. The dog forgets language against those fingers, gagging on them and feeling tears begin to well in the corners of her eyes. A rational mind would tell her that these are brought from a natural response in the body, but to Mia these tears mean something else entirely. It is something holy, her gags are prayers to the only god she's ever known, and that unkind laughter which follows an intercession of the highest order. To have her prayers answered so soon is a miracle that Mia is all too happy to choke on.

"Suck."

The order hits her harder than any before it. Mia can feel the chemical she's been spiked with relinking neural pathways, rewiring her brain in such a way that all of this begins to click into place frighteningly well. It is her job to be her subordinate's depraved lesbian whore, her pet, her plaything, her preything. It makes her feel so happy she'd cry if she weren't already doing so. With an eagerness that could only ever be described as pathetic, Mia sucks those bunched up fingers in her mouth more wantonly than any cock that's ever reached her lips. She had thought she loved her ex-husband, but Mia gets it now. Men are second rate. But then, so are other women. Everyone pales in comparison to Connie, her treasured, deified Connie. Owner messes her up and Mia loves her for the tainted affection, unconditionally so. Mia knows she isn't straight, that much is obvious, but she isn't sure if she's interested in other women either? If... if Connie told her to be, she would, but otherwise she thinks she's just... Conniesexual. But then, thinking isn't her strong suit anymore. 

"Good pet. Let my fingers subdue your thought, let my words subjugate your shame, and let your own pleasure sublimate your straightness. I don't want you to climax against your own dirty fingers though, so you cannot finish yourself off until I tell you to. Understood?" Connie's infinity stretches to every corner of Mia's cracked open mind, the woman nodding happily, if exhaustedly, against those fingers she sucks clean. 

And then it happens. Footsteps, not just one set but several. Connie does not seem particularly fazed, having anticipated this to happen eventually, but Mia cannot help but tense up when she realises that several of their co-workers have stumbled upon this sorry scene. It returns her, somewhat, to the absurd reality of this exchange and horror spreads over her face to mix in nicely with the unrestrained lust. 

"Ah... hey guys, fancy seeing you here when you should be at your desks." Connie speaks smugly, treating Mia's employees like they're her subordinates. It's no wonder that they went looking when their manager never returned to her desk, but all four of them find the words caught in their throats as they watch their boss's unflinching masturbation. "Miss Harcourt was just, uh, demonstrating her dedication to the company. Bonding exercises get fucking wilder every year, huh? Someone should say something to HR!" Owner chuckles, turning her head to assess the shocked glances and letting the feigned humour die into sharp black look. "On second thought, we should all keep our mouths shut about it. Wouldn't want to lose our jobs, or worse." She speaks in the same deep, authoritative tone that had compelled Mia into servitude, the threat not lost on their co-workers. One of them even laughs, albeit somewhat nervously, approaching Mia with a burning curiosity in their eyes. 

"Connie, the fuck is this? I... don't wanna get involved, but—" 

"Oh, you don't? Then you must have walked over to her side by accident, Gloria. Best take a step back, she's not wearing a muzzle, see?" Mia glances up at Gloria and watches those eyes flare with interest, the woman having never made any attempt to hide her bitterness at Mia's promotion. The other three employees pretend not to watch, badly, lighting up their cigarettes and standing in an awkward huddle. 

"I... hah, christ. Mia, you're so gonna get fired for this you fucking freak... whatever you two have going on is all manners of fucked, but doing it here is just plain stupid." Gloria flinches when she realises that Mia has not stopped fucking her hand, nor fellating her subordinate's fingers, this entire time. Even now, Mia cannot bring herself to disobey her orders, unable to tell if this person lording over her is real or simply a resentful mirage. It's just... unimportant to her in this moment, when she's getting off on this reduction of identity and common decency.

Connie snorts, rolling her eyes at her co-worker's predictable reaction. In any normal office all four of these women would be running off to report them, gasping in shock and acting far less... calm and passive. Theirs is not a normal office, however, and Mia's vape pen was not the only tampering made in the name of workplace solidarity. Cohesion between co-workers is imperative, and Connie knows that her fellow employees are as flexible as Mia herself with just a little nudge in the right direction. "Oh please. If you want to mess with her, just say so, here's your chance to do something about that seething anger you've been holding onto since before I even got here. Just don't damage her too much, alright? She's mine, and better still, she's company property. Doesn't an office pet sound more productive than a limp-dicked manager who could barely do her job to begin with?"

"What... the fuck... I, hm." Gloria pauses, glancing back at the timid group behind her and shaking her head in incredulity. "She's not stopped..."

"And she won't, not unless I tell her to. I can lend that power to you, any of you, provided we start seeing eye to fucking eye in the next few minutes." A tense air fills the smoking shelter, tainted by the waft of lit cigarettes. Connie knows that the chances of these four women being gay before her were slim, but it hardly matters when they've all been compromised since her employment began. The way all of their eyes trace her and the bitch tells her that not a one of them isn't interested, isn't tempted, so now she just needs to show how malleable this creature before her really is.

Fingers slide from Mia Harcourt's mouth as spit trails down her chin, her owner wiping the soaked digits onto her blouse before yanking the first few buttons apart. A docile, panting thing lowers its head in reverence and Connie pets it with tongue-washed touch. "Mia, sweetie, tell them what a lesbian whore you are. Be concise."

The oldest and hardest working woman gives a shy glance over at the new people, furrowing her brow and chewing her lips nervously. Then comes the sounds that clicks it all in again, tells her she must obey or else she's nothing. Mia isn't nothing, she's meat, Connie's thrall of flesh and depraved, all-consuming need.

Snap!

"I-I'm a whore! L-lesbian, whore... I mean... concise uhm... I'm Connie's pet now, o-okay?" Shame would burn a hole into her cheeks were she to have any left, Mia realising she actually enjoyed how embarrassing that was to say, how utterly braindead she must have sounded. Connie's made being an airhead so fun, that Mia wonders what the allure to smarts is. 

Gloria's scorn fades into fascination, her eyes flicking between Mia's and Connie's as she tries to make sense of what she's witnessing. The woman pinches herself, smirking drily at the silliness of her own action. "But... how?"

"Grab that vape she dropped and put it to her lips. We can chalk this up to a team building exercise, haha." Connie relaxes once she sees that she's still in control, they're all too far gone. 

With a short pause for thought, Gloria stares down at the e-cigarette and shakes her head again, reaching down for it and flipping it in her hands as though looking for something that isn't there. Beside the cartridge, it's as mundane as any other of its make. "She high or something?" The woman scoffs, still putting on airs of nonchalance while shaking with anticipation. As the object makes contact with Mia's lips, Connie snaps her fingers casually and the older woman hastily takes it into her mouth, inhaling obediently and letting the vapour scatter her thoughts once again. Now that her mind has been adjusted, rewired, it hits so much differently to how it previously affected her. Mia allows her eyes to roll, losing herself in the bliss of what she's becoming, as innocuous white clouds escape her parted lips. A dopey smile touches her face, eyes hooded, and Gloria sees the truth reflected in that blissed out look. This isn't Mia, the woman she scorned so, this is just meat. They're no longer in a smoking shelter, but the butcher's corner, and everybody wants to sink their hooks into Miss Harcourt whether they're yet able to admit it or not. 

"I... I don't know what to tell her to do." The thirty-something employee, under the management of one Mia Harcourt, looks over at a woman a decade her junior with shared predatory gaze. She no longer cares about anything but taking advantage of this moment to have her fun, meaning she's right where Connie wants her. 

Mia's owner smiles pleasantly, pushing her boot forwards as she had before and deciding another demonstration is due. "Pet, worship." Snap!

The thrall's rolling eyes blink back into focus as the snap anchors her to Connie's stern command, the kneeling woman staring over at her owner's boot transfixed. It is a glorious leather limb, proffered and perfect. Mia has no difficulty understanding why she's being asked to worship it, the act seems so natural she almost feels guilty for having taken so long to figure it out. Connie's boots need to be worshipped, as does every inch of her owner, oh... Mia lusts for that younger body so badly it pains her more than the sharp digging against her knees. "Yes owner!" 

"Owner? Hah... ahahaha, okay, well I never actually told her to call me that but I guess this needy cunt of yours controls the pace of your fall even quicker than I do... fuck, that's so hot. I'm proud of you for making conclusions on your own when they please me, but know that if you're ever wrong I'll have to punish you pretty badly..." 

The dog doesn't care about that right now, not unless Connie makes it, head dipping low as it falls onto its hands and lifts its rear to get nice and close. Gloria's breathing grows abnormal as she stands to the side and watches this scene play out, her manager on all fours dragging her tongue in vigorous worship over sanctified black leather, determined to give the boot the otherworldly lustre she already sees it with. In this moment, Mia feels so in her place that she could cry more tears of joy and gratitude, already leaking both from between her legs while fingers pluck and body hums in tune. Not being a person is such a gift in this moment, she does not have to understand the humility of it anymore, fully losing self-awareness against that lovely footwear that goes straight to her empty head. Mia is meat. Meat is Mia. One moment it is a her, and the next it is not. She, it, cannot claim to hold onto personage brought by pronoun for much longer when it presses lips against owner's ankle and dies a hundred little deaths — drops a thousand deeper depths — and simplifies its dumb pet brain, a muscle ill-fit for thinking, at ten thousand miles a minute. 

It consumes her, and she becomes it.

"As you can see, there's nothing it won't do, no act too degrading. You've fantasised, I take it?" Ignoring the pet eagerly lapping at its master's tall boot, Connie tempts Gloria to join her in this bonding ritual with a seductive drop to her voice during that final question. They both know she has. 

Desire smouldering behind her bitchy hazel gaze, Gloria slips bare olive foot from her professional work flat and lowers it curiously onto the concrete. Her nails are painted bright red, the same colour as the blood that dries against the corner of her manager's mouth. "What do I say?" She demands of Connie, impatiently, her nerves deciding to clamber. 

"Order her, then snap your fingers. It's that simple, she's loose enough right now to follow them from anyone, any woman at least." Connie pushes the meat's head back firmly with her hand, watching that tongue hang desperately to continue worshipping. There's so little there now, in its eyes, the older woman having metamorphosed into something more useful and wanted. Something entertaining. 

Gloria gives a short nod, clearing her throat and noticing from the thick cloud of smoke that their audience has drawn closer. "You, thing." The woman starts, her uncertain yet strict voice giving Connie a good laugh she does well to hold in just this once. "My turn, okay? Do what you just did to her, to Miss Young, for me." Her leg pushes forwards, Gloria burning with curiosity and unnatural desire. Connie had switched out her hand cream a while back now, and the rest is history. 

Snap! 

Meat perks up, turning its head towards the other woman and staring at her leg with sudden confusion. This woman isn't wearing any boots, so how can it worship them? Pet makes the mistake of tilting its head towards Connie for guidance, owner suddenly gripping tight fistful of its messy black hair and shoving it down towards those painted toes awaiting it by the floor its learned to feel at home against. Suddenly, understanding dawns on the slow runt's face and an easy smile crosses its face. Oh good, now it knows what it needs to do. The well tamed tongue snakes out over the top of those sun-kissed toes and Gloria pulls back reflexively at the strange feeling. Pet whines, wondering if it made a mistake somehow, but soon the foot pushes back and it continues forward with the given order. There's a distinctly different flavour between the tastes of skin and leather, but that does not bother pet. On this hot day, the touch of salt on its tongue is actually rather pleasant. It enjoys it the same way most animals would. 

Gloria stands still, silent, gawking at the sight of her own foot being worshipped by a woman she's hated for far too long. Connie's thrall obediently laps over the top and sides, reaching around the ankle and dipping head deeper to find the heel. All the while, Connie finds herself stifling laughter, enjoying the way this appears to break Gloria's desire wide open like emergency mallet striking safety glass. 

"Connie..." Gloria practically chokes, unable to look the other woman in the eyes when she's still utterly transfixed by the sight below her. 

"That's Miss Young, actually." The younger woman cocks her head, watching her co-worker shiver against that tongue running up and down her lower leg dutifully. 

"I... yes, Miss Young." It's impossible to argue with the stipulation at this point, Connie has earnt the crowd's respect as much as she has their fear. There's a word for that, isn't there? Loyalty. 

"Did you have something to ask me, doll?" Connie pulls her pet away by its hair and forces it to sit up on its calves again, knees spread wide as owner pulls out a pocket knife to shed that skirt. Soon, the thing that used to be Mia is resting back with fingers buried into its sopping cunt, blouse torn and pantyhose unobscured by unnecessary clothing. It drools down its chest from one pair of lips and onto the concrete with another, Connie taking the vape pen from a frozen Gloria's hand and pressing it against her own lips. Connie inhales, then with her hand once again gripping her preything's hair she blows the vapour into its open mouth in a kiss that makes the meat convulse in delight. It is a lewd and repulsive showing, one that nobody here could dream of turning away from. "Hm?"

"Is she stuck like this?" The woman's question is not laced with concern or outrage, simply a calm curiosity that has Connie's characteristically cruel curl returning. 

"Yes, it's permanent. And yes, it'll be what happens to anyone else on the floor who decides they can't stomach this. Don't worry, the shell personality I beat into her head will be near indistinguishable from the one she had before... it won't be very hard, given how little she had of one in the first place." Connie's threat is genuine, the chemical they're all unknowingly hooked on leaves the human brain more open to change than it usually should be, letting her push it in any direction she likes. Push too far, however, and... well, somebody needed to be the example and who better than their very floor manager? This way, none of her new underlings will be confused about the hierarchy, question who's in charge. "You'll be coming to work tomorrow, on time, won't you Gloria dear?" The youngest woman here gives not just Gloria, but the rest of their team a challenging look that has them all at the edge of her knife. 

Gloria clears her throat again and then, Gloria wilts. "Y-Yes, of course." She watches Connie's expression darken and suddenly corrects herself. "Yes, Miss Young."

"That's a good girl." Connie says to the woman a decade her senior, circling around her hollowed out plaything and revelling in the way Gloria steps back to give her space. "Pet."

"Mmrgh?" Connie's bitch lifts its head, still in a daze from the drug that makes it feel like it's floating. Oh, it's owner! The woman shaped meat perks up with a smile, proving its failing sense of object permanence in the way its attitude shifts so dramatically upon looking up at that dazzling face. To look at Connie is to gaze upon heaven's steps, its glowing golden gate inviting pet inside again and again and again. 

"Present your tongue to me, but do not pant." That's a really difficult order, but then the sound of snapping fingers rings out and somehow the meat manages to perform. Is this a new trick? 

Connie looks over at the other three she has not accurately assessed the willing participation of, her eyes narrowing on them now and beckoning them over. "Ash your cigarettes out, and get back to work. This isn't break time is it?" She speaks with authority and amusement in the same breath, pulling her thrall's mouth wider open as a jolt of recognition passes those eyes. Fortunately for Mia, she's no longer here to feel this. 

A paralytic hesitation takes the three women, who stare with uncertainty at that ashtray starting to crave their cigarettes against its worthless tongue. 

"Don't make me ask again, girls, put your fagsticks out on this dykething's tongue and go back to your desks before I change my mind about this current arrangement we have going. Kay?" Connie hums, placing her hand to the back of her property's neck and pushing it towards the smoking office workers. At the same time, Connie starts to wonder about the other two in the office who do not smoke, so far this has gone better than she could have ever hoped. The last attempt was a disaster. 

One by one, the women succumb. Connie can tell they enjoy the power, as they press that hot ember down onto waiting tongue and twist. Anyone would, in their situation, she's sure of it. By the time they've left the smoking area in a silent, contemplative walk back to the mundane jobs they fill their time with, Connie's broken pet has already learned to enjoy being an ashtray. It didn't hurt as much as the burn Connie gave her, surprisingly, the pink muscle made for worship having been protected by both saliva and, of course, divine providence. Still, its mouth now tastes like cigarette ashes, an unpleasant flavour to be sure. If owner is pleased, though, then perhaps the flavour is not as bad as the meat first thought. 

"Gloria, you may stay and watch." Connie unbuckles her belt and at first, both the prey and the bystander think her about to dole out an assuredly unwarranted beating. Instead, Miss Young wraps the loop of leather around her new pet's neck, pulling it tight and using the excess length as a short leash. "I'm going to finally let you finish, now. The orgasm won't feel like any you're used to, so be warned and do try not to— oh why am I bothering to talk to you like you're still there, hm? Just don't be too fucking loud or I'll use this to cut off the circulation, got that?" Snap!

The pet gasps and nods, emphatically, finding speech to get stuck on its blackened tongue. Connie smiles, kindly, and the thing that obeys her pants excitedly in response. At the same time, Gloria finds herself pulled in, remembering the feeling against her leg that no man's affections have ever competed with in all her years of experience. 

Determined to watch her new conquest ride out its first climax, an aroused Connie Young pushes the thing onto its back and pries its legs apart with gentle, loving boot. The footwear then presses down slowly onto that hazardous heat between her pet's legs. It gasps, it groans, and it grinds. Applying more pressure until those fingers yet buried cannot pull out, nor the hand properly move, Connie watches her property roll its hips in a desperate frenzy, tightening the leash when its whines grow too loud. 

What remains of Mia Harcourt feels a jolt inside of its ailing brain as the belt cuts off breath and the boot grinds down into its owned cunt. The meat's body jerks uncontrollably, thrashing in its firmly held place as the most potent feeling takes its undeserving self to another plane of existence. Gloria can attest to this transportation, watching the property all too closely and seeing the way that recognition disappears from its eyes for the next minute and a half of whimpering convulsing orgasms. 

When the dim light finally returns to the thrall's rolling eyes, Mia does not come back with it. 

"This is so... I-I won't do anything about it, I promise. But fuck, that's so messed up." Gloria's humanity returns, briefly, for she's destined to become another complacent thrall in time. 

Connie removes her boot and leaves the exhausted pet to catch its breath against the concrete, turning to face her courageous co-worker. "Oh, sure. Still... Mia did not disappoint." The young woman turns back towards her subjugated property and grins, hands in pockets and shoulders all too relaxed. "You know, she caught me. When I was tampering with her vape, I mean. Like... she didn't know I was aware of her eyes pricking into the back of my head, but unlike all of you my awareness is still very sharp. I thought it was over, and that I'd have to move on again, another fucking failure. Next day? Nothing came of it, she was out in this very smoking area puffing that shit I know she saw me spiking." The brunette gives her pet an affectionate smile, before spitting on it and turning back to Gloria. "It was the first time I ever felt something real towards another human being, I knew I had to save her."

"Save her? This..."

"Gloria, don't ask any more questions unless you want a demotion. I trust you can read between the lines there, I'm trying to be nice here." 

The two stand, in silence, for the next ten, maybe fifteen seconds. 

...

"Yes, Miss Young." Gloria slips her foot back into her flat and watches as Connie Young extends her arm out, hand tilted down to present its back to the woman.

"Kiss." There is a serenity to this voice, and to Connie's ethereal smile in this moment, and Gloria quickly understands this act of swift and unquestionable submission to be an offering of peace. 

Knowing no smart alternative, Gloria nods and takes a deep breath, stepping forwards and lowering her head. Shaky breath collapses against Connie's skin and betrays Gloria's unease. A second later, the lips plant themselves onto that waiting hand and supplant Gloria's uncertainty with grim acceptance. This is, for better or worse, the way things are now. And both of them understand, deeply, that it could get much worse. 

"Good girl, now back to work with you." That curl is unreachable, Connie's words a cursive that curses her new subordinate's better judgement. Gloria has been told to do something, and comply she shall. 

"Yes, Miss Young." Speaks the older woman, breathlessly, feeling that she just survived a near-death experience. Her heart pounds in the aftermath of such an ordeal, a trial of loyalty, and Gloria hates how grateful she feels for having not been in Miss Harcourt's shoes when all is said and done. She's lucky, so she needs to show some damn respect. Without wasting another second in this looming presence that now lords her, Gloria scurries back into the building and leaves the two alone again at last.

Alone, and oh so amused. 

...

...

...

"Okay, you can cut it out now. You're fucking insane, you know that? Like clinically fucked in the head, worse than I am." Connie crouches down and flicks Mia Harcourt's forehead, eyes brimming with something akin to admiration. 

Mia blinks, still dazed and exhausted but unable to stop herself from letting out a string of delirious giggles at the accusatory tone in her accomplice's voice. "I've... hahhh... never gone through that much all at once, ahaha, the subspace is... mm, sure you don't want to try it some time Connie?" 

Connie swings her boot into Mia's ribs and the older woman moans, rolling over like a dog and sitting up with playful, lopsided grin.

"Hey, careful, you're pretty fucking high right now lady. This stuff's no joke, I saw you fade for a while there. And that's Miss Young to you, slut."

"Yeahhh... god... you're precious. I'm old enough to be your mommy, ahaha... a-anyway, the floor's all yours now. Enjoy your new power, Miss Young, I... ehe... I sure know I will." Miss Harcourt swallows the excess of foul tasting saliva in her mouth, taking a hold of the belt around her neck while reaching for her drugged vape. "Best get me a proper collar, hm? I-I have one saved in my basket already, if you didn't have anything planned!"

"You really disgust me." The brunette laughs, running fingers through her hair and sighing dramatically. "Half as much as you amaze me..." Her previously impenetrable eyes sparkle, finding it impossible not to be in awe of such depravity that forms the other half of the coin her kind coat too. There was no way of telling who might be listening in, or when their co-workers might discover them, so the two ended up spending a decent chunk of time performing for nobody. Still, it certainly got her masochistic manager in the right headspace for the remainder of the play. A half fiction at best, which is why it ended up being so believable.

"You're too sweet, kid... really. Mmh, it's a good thing it's quiet today. Cameras?" Mia stares up at the perched black plastic gazing back down at her, tilting her head like the dog she is. 

Lifting her head as well, Connie gives her winning smile. "It isn't on, and I already picked out a sacrifice to play patsy when security finds my oopsie." The dominant presents her pocket knife again and catches a lusty glint in Mia's returned gaze, rolling her eyes again. "You're too much... wanna get cut now too?"

The mid-forties middle manager licks her broken lips and shrugs, mischievous smile on a surprisingly impish face for a woman her age. "You... You know you don't have to ask, right?"

Connie drops down and straddles the woman's waist, heart always pounding so fiercely around this woman even when she managed to seem so composed. They just understand each other, in the worst ways possible. And now because of this woman's sick fetishes, proclivities that ruined a doomed marriage, their entire department will fear and follow Connie Young. "You know you do have to beg, though." 

"Ehe... touché, kid. Plead to bleed? Got a... n-nice ring to it, mm..."

...

...

...

What remains of Mia Harcourt?

Well...

You can't miss what you never had.