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Disclaimer: This is a work of erotic mind control fiction with aspects of coerced sexual activity; all characters are 18+

[Part Two Here](

**FEMINIST CORRUPTION WATER, PART 3:**

It’s very early when I jolt upright in bed, fear and compulsion demanding that I make myself up extra nice this morning. It’s a very big day. A day that could seal my fate for better or for worse . . . and it entirely depends on my boss’s reaction to my apology letter.

After a careful shower—where I scrub myself down with luxuriously scented soaps and shave my already baby-smooth legs, armpits, and pussy—I swipe on smoky-black eye makeup and ruby-red lipstick before heading out to a local adult shop to buy new work clothes.

I’ve never worn so much slutty makeup before, but I’m terrified that Mr. Rizzo might reject my letter, publicly and cruelly, ripping it up and spitting on it in front of the entire office. He’ll probably laugh in my face if I don’t manage to make myself sexy enough for him. The wondered humiliates me, thinking of his face twisting with disgusted amusement; *“You’re too old, Krissy,”* I can imagine him telling me, *“I only gave you this job to punish and demean you. It’s all been borrowed time at ITR—time that runs out when I grow bored of knocking you down from that high horse of yours….”*

I can’t let him grow bored of me. I need to prove to him that I’ll pleasure him senseless and look amazing while doing it. Otherwise, Jennifer and I will be out on the streets (or worse, I’ll get locked up and she’ll be sent to *The State Institution for Unwed Girls*).

In a panic I browse the lingerie and costume isles at *Sleezy-EZ-Tarts*, picking out a black, lacy corset that will narrow my already slim waist and push my full tits up to look like double D’s (and God I hope Mr. Rizzo thinks my tits are big enough, even though they will never be quite as ample as Rebecca’s!), and then I discover a matching thong and skirt, with sheer, thigh-high stockings that clip onto the short hem.

A cold part of me can’t believe that I’m actually gonna degrade myself like this, but I shove those destructive thoughts down, knowing that I’m already on the cliff’s edge of going into what they call ‘female hysteria’.

“Don’t think like that,” I whisper to myself as I strip nude in the dressing room, changing from my old work outfit into my new one.

My eyes widen as I take myself in. The woman in the mirror doesn’t look like she’s ever had thoughts about shooting or stabbing her boss; the woman in the mirror looks like a pin-up girl or a porn star. My tits bulge out the top of my tight corset, the upper cleavage jiggling with every breath. My long legs look extra sultry in the dark, sheer stockings; my strappy stiletto heels make me even taller, like a sex queen. My ass looks round and toned, the cheeks exposed through the tiny, lacy, black skirt (which doesn’t quite cover my thong underwear, exposing the sensual dip of my camel toe).

*I look like a complete bimbo,* I realize in awe, my smoky bedroom eyes gazing widely back at me and my red lips open like a blow-up doll’s. *I look like a fucktoy—and Mr. Rizzo’s gonna love using my mouth as his cocksleeve….*

These thoughts should make me sick with rage, but instead warmth curls in my mind and between my legs, my pussy twinging as I imagine being used for my boss’s pleasure. Rebecca’s grateful moans as she drank Mr. Rizzo’s cum flood my brain, and I realize that I’m ridiculously wet at the wondered of getting a chance to be in her place.

Will Mr. Rizzo see that I’ve changed from a combative harpy to a docile, pleasure girl? Will he appreciate that I desperately want to please him? Will it be my throat he shoots his load into, both this morning and every workday morning from here on out?

***

“Wow, Ms. Winters!” Lucy gushes, “You look phenomenal!”

I blush, both loving and hating how her eyes catch on my breasts and sweep down to the exposing skirt; I see her gaze trace the openly laced fabric and my clit swells, poking out the camel toe of my flimsy, thong underwear.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

She starts to hand me my glass of water when Mr. Rizzo bursts out of his office. “Hold up, girls!”

I stiffen, anxiously looking to his face. Is this about the letter? And, more importantly, is he gonna like what he sees enough to accept it?

“Krissy, in my office, now,” he says, waving for Lucy to go.

Lucy immediately takes a few steps away and then hesitates. “She hasn’t had her water yet, sir….”

“That’s fine. She doesn’t need it now.”

*Oh shit*, my mind blares. Am I about to be fired? I really want to drink the water regardless, if only to calm myself and ease my aching head.

I lead the way as he gestures, tempted to look at him and see if he’s watching my ass sway (as seductively as I can manage) as I walk down the hall and enter his office door.

“So . . . I read your letter,” he starts slowly.

“I hope it wasn’t too forward, sir.” I turn and bat my eyelashes at him, doing my best to look alluring and apologetic. “I would love to make amends for my wrongdoings.”

“Wonderful,” he breathes, shutting the office door and then stepping towards me.

My heart soars as his apelike hands reach out and grasp both my tits, bouncing them hard and humming appreciatively.

“*This* is wonderful. Your conditioning is finally working. You know, I was starting to lose hope for your transformation and integration into this office….”

I’m not quite sure what he’s talking about and my mind races as he continues on, “You see, you’re quite a bit older than the girls we typically test our products on. A lost cause, is what most of the data would say about women over the age of thirty. But I had faith that our *Female-Hysteria-Begone* powder would eventually work on you with enough discipline and training. Especially if I kept you on a strict schedule for consuming massive quantities of the stuff.”

Is he talking about the special, mineralized water? Is that why it’s so addictive—because it’s some type of mind-addling drug that ITR invented?

My pulse skyrockets as he leans forward and says, “Kiss me like a good girl.”

Part of me doesn’t really want to and that part really wants to ask for him to dose me with the water again. But I know this is some sort of test that I can’t fail, so I force myself to kiss him, my lips tentatively brushing his before opening to caress his tongue with my own. It feels so wrong and yet so right, especially when he squeezes my tits hard enough to bruise; I start to kiss him passionately, wanting both to please him and for the pain to stop.

“Good slut,” he says between kisses. “I almost believe that you’re sorry.”

His praise fills me with warmth—even though I know it shouldn’t. I wait until he pulls away to say, “I am very sorry, sir. Please let me prove it to you.”

Am I really gonna be able to go through with this though? I see the heated challenge in his eyes as I sink to my knees, my hands only shaking slightly as I fumble with the zip of his trousers. Obviously, he doesn’t want me completely oblivious or mind-addled yet. He wants to see me degrade myself while I’m aware and desperate. He wants to see me break through my internal resistances and be the good girl that I’m supposed to be, if I want to keep being employed here.

“Oh,” I gasp as I pull his dripping erection free.

I can smell the musky sweat and arousal radiating off of him; it makes me aroused and sick all at once. He grins at me, although his eyes are cold, dark points of hatred. I can tell he’s not sure that I’ll follow through, and so I stroke him a few times, steeling myself, and then I suck his engorged cockhead into my mouth.

“Good,” he whispers. “Finally doing what you’re designed to do by nature.”

I shouldn’t like hearing that, but a sick thrill goes through me as I start to bob up and down on his cock, tasting the salty spurts of his precum.

*You should do a better job than Rebecca,* my aching mind tells me. *Make him see how sorry you are!*

I pull him in as deep as I think I can go, gagging a little, and then force myself to relax my throat and take him in further. I’ve never tried to blow a man like this before; I’ve never tried to debase myself this much. Mr. Rizzo’s answering groan vibrates all through me, filling me with pleasure.

*I’m doing a great job,* I tell myself, beginning to massage his balls with one hand and using the other to hold onto his thick, upper thigh for stability.

His round gut presses into my nose as I force his cock all the way in, and then I hear the sloppy sounds of my own mouth as I eagerly deepthroat him.

“God, yes,” he says, slapping my tits affectionately. “I’ve wanted to do this to you ever since I first saw you.”

Shame and pride boil through me as I desperately keep sucking on his twitching cock. I’m finally pleasing him the way I’m supposed to. I’m finally securing my place here at ITR. I’m finally becoming just the woman he’s at all times envisioned I could be.

*But at what cost?* a dangerous little voice asks me.

I stuff it deep down inside and concentrate on the *gluck-gluck-gluck* sounds of me pleasuring my boss with my willing throat. He wraps a hand around the back of my neck and pumps his hips greedily, raping my mouth even faster.

*Oh God, I can’t breathe!* my aching mind screams.

But then he curses and shudders, dousing my convulsing throat with hot, salty sperm. I sputter and choke, forcing myself to swallow as he squeezes rhythmically. My pussy spasms as he lets me go, relief and pleasure flooding through me, and I hum at him, “Mmm….”

“Well done,” he says hoarsely, pulling back to wipe the last drizzle of his cum across my cheek before stuffing his cock back into his trousers. “A badge of honor to wear throughout the rest of your day here. Don’t wash it off.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I think I’ll even take a picture of you, right here like this,” he says, pulling out his cellphone. “Then I’ll blow it up and display it in my office. I’ll title it ‘employee of the month’.”

Part of me wants to beg him not to, but another part flushes with pride. “Thank you, sir. That’s very kind of you….”

It’ll be so embarrassing to see a poster of myself (red-faced and on my knees in my whorish costume, my lipstick smeared and Mr. Rizzo’s cum gleaming across my cheek) up in his office, every day as I fetch his coffee and dictate his phone calls. It’ll be even more embarrassing to have other people see this degrading moment memorialized when they come in here….

“Stay right as you are. I’m going to call in the board members.”

I blink up at him in horror, but don’t dare move as he goes out of the office and gathers up a handful of men that I recognize upon their return.

“Well, look at that,” one of them says appreciatively. “Guess old dogs can learn new tricks.”

I want to glare at the bespectacled man, but don’t, demurely keeping my eyes on the floor instead.

“Usually, the powder works pretty quickly on young women, which is why they make better employees, sure,” Mr. Rizzo agrees, launching into a speech. “But this proves that older women can be tamed, as well. Now we can market our product to both corporations and the husbands of America. How about the slogan: ‘Turn your mouthy housewife into the obedient bimbo that you deserve!’?”

“It’s perfect,” another board member agrees.

“This is only the midpoint of Krissy’s transformation,” Mr. Rizzo says slyly, beaming at his enraptured crowd. “You have a daughter, don’t you? Little Jenny-bear?”

My insides freeze solid as he uses her childhood nickname, one he must have learned when we worked together all those years ago at Titanico.

“Yes,” I choke out. “Why?”

I know they can all see the open fear on my face. I don’t want Jennifer to have anything to do with this madness. I want to keep her far away from my reality here—and this place altogether.

“Well, we won’t go into that now.” He keeps smiling. “But soon everyone will see.”

***

Over the next few weeks, Mr. Rizzo increases my water consumption from two glasses a day to four. The office also starts a new panty and bra inspection policy, enforceable every morning, where every female employee lines up and has her tits squeezed for plumpness and her pussy fingered for wetness.

“Very wet,” Mr. Rizzo says appreciatively, wiggling one of his fat fingers inside my soaked cunt. “Good girl.”

The praise makes my pussy spasm around his finger and a heady rush of pleasure sears into my brain. I’ve started orgasming now every time I blow him, and I think some of it has to do with being fingered every morning, and some of it has to do with the copious amounts of water I’m drinking. I feel dumber and hornier every day. My tits have grown at least one cup size, too.

It’s not long after he inspects my new lingerie set (a strappy red ensemble with crotchless panties and open o-rings to expose my dusky pink nipples) that he’s having me blow him in his office.

“I’m thrilled you’re so willing to wear the outfits I pick out for you, Krissy,” he whispers. “Think back to your first day here, you were hardly even able to call me ‘sir’!”

I keep downing his cock like my life depends on it, willing for his cum to fill my mouth, and for the warmth thrumming through me to widen into my own climax.

*I love blowing my boss,* my warm mind chants. *I love being his willing cumslut.*

When he finally ejaculates into my throat, I orgasm so hard that my pussy sprays hot girl-cum all down my bare legs.

I beam at the camera as he takes another round of pictures for his wall, not even caring that the other girls are starting to get jealous about all of the attention that he pays to me. They’ve been telling me that I’m very lucky he’s taken a shine to me and that I’m blessed to be the girl he has pleasure him multiple times a day. Lucy even thinks that I might graduate to being fucked on his desk, like she is sometimes (*“…without a condom, because a woman’s highest goal is to be a mother”,* she says).

I’m already a mother though, so I’m not quite sure how I feel about that, although my warm mind tells me the chance to bear Mr. Rizzo’s baby would be a massive honor.

That’s not quite how I feel when I get home at night, though. My mind aches, my body shivering with withdrawals as I clutch my pillow and think: *What the hell am I turning into?*

***

“Tell me about Jenny-Bear,” Mr. Rizzo asks me.

I’m not quite sure what he wants to know, so I explain to him that Jennifer is set to graduate high college the following month and that she’s excited to attend Brighton University (also, I explain that I’ve painstakingly saved up for her to go, living off only my mediocre wages from ITR to keep us barely afloat).

He swipes his thumb over my cum-stained lips, rubbing the last drops of his ejaculate into them. “What does she look like?”

I have pictures of her on my phone, so I show him, my warm mind humming as he nods appreciatively. “She’s a very pretty, young girl. She looks a lot like you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You know, education is kind of foolish these days. Young women are supposed to marry and become mothers . . . or join the workforce and serve men as nature designed.”

“She’ll be able to land a better job if she has an education, sir,” I say very softly.

“Will she? Where did your education get you?”

I’m not sure what to say to that. An old part of me wants to argue: ‘*It’s crucial! She can be independent from men! She can earn her own money and go her own way in life!*’—but he is right; in this current climate, every well-to-do woman I know of is either no longer working (because they got too old or their upper-level position was simply dissolved) or they’ve taken on much lower-level roles of becoming maids, caretakers, and such . . . or even prostitutes for the government regulated brothel.

Worse, I can hardly remember what I learned in school. It seems like another lifetime ago.

I nod at him meekly, not able to meet his eyes. “It didn’t get me anywhere, sir.”

“Why don’t you have Jenny intern here over the summer? It wouldn’t pay much, but it would be good experience for her.”

I don’t want to say no, but something deep inside me can’t agree to have my beloved daughter come to a place like this. This might be my lot in life now, and my true destiny, but I still see something brighter for her—something better and outside all of this madness.

“Maybe, sir, I’ll ask her if she’s interested,” I lie.

“Hmm.” He sounds disappointed, like he doesn’t believe me, but unzips his pants so that I can give him another sloppy blowjob before lunch. “Do think on it. I would love to meet her….”

But can I really do that? I don’t want Jennifer to come anywhere near this man, even if I now mostly adore him. She’s better than this. Better than I am. I still need to protect her from all of this.

***

Another week slips by and I don’t mention anything about ITR to my daughter. It lives in the back of my mind, deep down somewhere, since I’m still hoping she’ll finish up high college and then move onto school.

“Mom, some guy followed me home,” Jenny says through tears, peeking in on me getting ready for bed. “I wasn’t going to tell you, but he grabbed me in the parking lot and told me that girls don’t belong in school.”

“Why weren’t you going to tell me?” I ask, my voice rising in alarm.

Her pretty face twists, her watery eyes widening. “It’s just . . . you’ve been so different lately….”

“You’re still my baby girl,” I say, rushing to embrace her. She cringes in my arms and it’s then that I realize that I’m not wearing much, so I let her go. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. I kicked him and got away—but I’m scared, mom. What if he follows me tomorrow?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go to school tomorrow,” I discover myself saying.

*College is sort of dumb anyway,* a strange wondered pops up. *What did it ever do for you?*

The warmth in my mind hums in approval, no longer aching at night but comfortable now that Mr. Rizzo is letting me drink water continuously throughout the day.

“Maybe you can just lie low for a while,” I continue, “and play it safe. You could always get your GED.”

Jennifer wrinkles her freckled nose. “Brighton doesn’t accept students who have GEDs.”

“I’m sure we could ask for an exception. Or we can petition your school to let you finish at a later time, due to the current political climate unrest….”

“Maybe,” Jennifer whispers.

“Or you can risk being assaulted . . . it’s up to you.”

She sobs and turns away from me, rushing down the hall to her room.

*You did well*, I tell myself as I crawl into bed. *You told her the truth.*

***

The next morning I’m sobbing my own frightened tears as I enter the office, my lingerie torn and my face bruised.

“What happened?” Lucy exclaims, rushing to embrace me.

I sag into her slender arms, blubbering, “The taxi driver tried to rape me!”

Lucy’s squeeze on me loosens. There’s a long awkward moment of silence, before she finally asks, “Why are you still commuting to work?”

“Huh?”

“It’s just . . . all the girls here live on the premises.”

“What?”

Lucy stands back and looks me in the eye, her expression conflicted. “Maybe I’m not supposed to say anything about it.”

“Say anything about what?” Rebecca asks, flouncing over to us with her massive, bare breasts jiggling every which way.

*Mr. Rizzo must want* her *to be topless*, my warm mind whispers jealously.

“Nothing,” Lucy says awkwardly, pulling at her long, dark hair. “Ms. Winters was almost raped on her commute here.”

“You should be living in the luxurious basement commons with us,” Rebecca says. “But maybe you can’t since you have a kid and all….”

Mr. Rizzo strides out of his office, his expression grim. “What’s going on out here?”

Both girls fall silent, staring at the ground.

“I’ve been assaulted,” I tell him weakly. “I got away before anything serious happened. My daughter has been harassed lately too, sir.”

“Let’s discuss this in my office.”

Five minutes later, I’m detailing the grisly scene where the cab driver pulled off down an alleyway and got into the back seat with me. He’d ripped my bra and panties, striking my face several times when I resisted him, and it was only by dumb luck that I managed to knee him in the groin and hoist open the door to get away.

“That’s just the way of things now, Krissy,” Mr. Rizzo says. “Men are allowed to take what’s owed to them. You used his services and he was going to use yours in turn.”

“But I don’t want that, sir!”

“You shouldn’t, no . . . because if you were raped, I’m sorry to say that you would be immediately terminated. ITR doesn’t permit the employment of soiled goods. The other girls here have made me their legal guardian. They live on the premises and are protected by ITR’s impenetrable security. Perhaps that is something you should consider for yourself and dear Jenny-Bear.”

I blink at him with wide, watery eyes. I do want to be protected, especially if it’s by such a strong man and by such a strong business as ITR (even if I’m still not sure that I want my beloved daughter to be subjected to this work environment).

*She’d be fine,* my warm mind assures me. *She’d be much safer here.*

A hesitant smile spreads over my face. “You would do that for us?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, sir! Thank you,” I gush, reaching to pull his face to mine.

I passionately kiss him, tasting his musky, salty tang and giving him all sweetness in return.

He pulls away from me after a long moment, saying huskily, “You would need to sign a contract of course. All your assets would go under my name for protection. You would sign over your rights to drive and to go off of the property without an ITR security member.”

“Jennifer’s too?” I ask weakly.

“Yes, since you are her legal guardian. Unless you want to leave her to fend for herself, which I believe is a breach of the law.”

I nod sullenly. “Then she’d be taken . . . to live at the government facility.”

“Right.”

When I pause too long to answer him, my eyes tracing the lines of the carpet, he whispers, “But remember, if she is raped, she will no longer be employable and most men won’t want to marry her either. She’ll be lucky to be placed in a brothel. Raped women can even be subjected to imprisonment, if it’s claimed that they tempted an innocent man and then went hysterical on him….”

Cold anxiety grips my throat. Will the cab driver report me for attacking him? I hadn’t meant to accidentally seduce him, but I know my slutty clothes and sexy demeanor might have confused the poor man. I suddenly feel terrible for assaulting his groin—like I’m the villain.

“Can you help me convince my daughter to live here?” I ask weakly. “Maybe if we just got her to start interning first—”

“Yes, yes,” he interrupts me, smiling. “Why don’t you tell her you need to sell the car? I’ll take it over, as it’s an asset of yours. We can start by having neither of you driving or taking cabs. I’ll send a limo for you each morning and she can come along if she agrees to the internship.”

My insides flood with warmth. *How generous Mr. Rizzo is being!* my mind rejoices. He’s not even forcing either of us to do anything, but offering protection for giving up something as simple as driving or risking ourselves to cab drivers.

*Women have no company going out into the world alone, anyway*, my mind tells me firmly. *Independence is dangerous.*

“Thank you, sir,” I gush at him.

“I don’t like this ripped look that you’ve got going on,” he says, motioning towards my tattered lingerie.

“Would you prefer I take it all off, sir? I could work completely nude today.”

He nods, beaming at me.

I strip slowly for him, trying to entice him with my flouncy tits and round ass. He’s been so good to me (and my Jenny-bear) that I want to show him how thankful I am. My pussy leaks trails of wetness down my thighs, and my thoughts are one long blur of: *how lucky you are to have such a kind, intelligent, and strong man to protect you and your daughter.*

“Do you want me to pleasure you with my mouth, sir?” I ask shyly, steeling myself to ask him what I truly want to know. “Or would you like to take me on your desk—and fuck my pussy?”

The me of months ago would be horrified that the me of now is so willing to whore myself out to my boss, but that part of me is dead now. None of those thoughts cross my mind as Mr. Rizzo groans appreciatively and moves over to his desk, unbuttoning his trousers in anticipation.

“I’m so thankful for you, sir,” I gush, my entire body pulsing warmly as I position myself on his desk and spread my legs for him. “I’m so wet and horny for you….”

It feels sort of weird to say those things, but it also feels really good, too. I’ve never been one to talk dirty or try to seduce anyone—at all times being a strong, confident woman that made love primly and cleanly. I’ve never tried to make anyone want me, because I was at all times sure that I was more than enough. Now I feel shy and vulnerable, like my body and brains might be inferior, but I also feel intoxicatingly horny. I desperately want my boss’s cock.

“Fuck me,” I say, moaning sluttily as he pushes his wide frame in between my slender legs.

“Good girl,” he whispers, dragging his engorged cockhead against my slit. “Beg me.”

“Please, sir! Please, please, fuck me!”

Bliss lances through me as he shoves himself inside my sodden cunt, and I scream in pleasure, wrapping my legs around his flabby body and taking him in ball’s deep. I nearly orgasm right then, the warmth expanding so hard inside me that I sway with dizzying ecstasy. I’m finally getting fucked by my strong, powerful boss. I’m finally pleasing the man who is making my entire life a possibility.

*A woman’s highest goal is to be a mother*, my mind chants as Mr. Rizzo pumps into me.

I can imagine him taking Lucy’s slight frame, with her small tits and barely legal body, right here where I am now. A jealous competitiveness goes through me. How many times has Mr. Rizzo doused her insides with his cum? Is she already pregnant, but just not showing yet? Her youth and vigor outshine mine, and I refuse to be the old, dried-up hag that some of the men here claim I am.

“Cum in me,” I beg, lifting my hips to make Mr. Rizzo slam deeper inside. “Give me your seed! Make me pregnant!”

He groans deeply and then grabs my head to kiss me, his tongue hot and wet in my mouth. “Good slut,” he whispers. “You’re learning your place so well.”

A wild, hot frenzy takes over me, and heat floods my body as I piston myself into Mr. Rizzo’s thrusting cock, determined to milk all the cum out of him.

“My job is to please you!” I cry out, bucking my hips wildly. “My job is to bear your babies!”

“Fuck,” he gasps, his entire body shuddering.

Hot gushes of cum flood my cervix, his twitching cock spraying violent bursts of seed into me as he pins me to the desk. I cry out as my world narrows into one, long point—all throbbing and wet heat and brightness. My womb convulses, drawing all his sperm up greedily as I orgasm.

*I hope I get pregnant,* my warm mind blares. *It would be such an honor to bear Mr. Rizzo a son.*

“Good slut,” he groans, rocking against me heavily as he finishes draining his balls, his cock slowly softening. “You have fulfilled your purpose.”

I smile gratefully as he pulls away and begins snapping pictures of me (my face flushed and my legs spread, my dripping fuckhole oozing his cum).

“Everyone will want to see proof of this,” he tells me, smiling.

Distantly I remember a past me who would be horrified by what I’ve become, but I want to kick her in the face as pleasurable heat ribbons all through me. I’ve just done very well for myself, I realize. I’m securing myself a place at ITR—and one for my daughter, too.

Jennifer might not be as enthusiastic as I am to work for ITR, but after I turn over the Camry to Mr. Rizzo and she has no way to get to college (unless she wants to risk it by walking miles, unarmed and unprotected), I think she’ll come around and see what a great opportunity this is. Because who wouldn’t want to serve such a powerful man and a powerful business?

——————-

Thank you for reading Part 3 of my complete 25k+ word series [Feminist Corruption Water]( (bundle on sale now); this work was commissioned by a wonderful client. More info on my [commissions here.](

NSFW: yes

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