Downfall 1

Author's note: I don't condone sexism in any way, shape or form. Sometimes what is both forbidden and intellectually repulsive is most arousing.

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Samantha took a long, ragged breath before stepping out onto the office floor. Once upon a time she'd managed a team in this section of the building, strutting between cubicles in expensive blazers and fashionable skirts. Now she scurried down the hall naked from head to toe. Tits bobbing with every unsure step and every frightened glance. Pussy and legs immaculately shaved, no way to hide her shame-fueled arousal.

Samantha turned a corner. Two men in cubicles spotted her, laughing and clapping at her nudity. She swallowed hard, continuing past them with her head hung and her nipples taut, resisting every urge to cover herself. At least they weren't former members of her team, she thought, though she knew that was only a momentary respite.

Samantha came to the two rows of cubicles where the people she'd once managed worked. They were all empty. Samantha didn't allow herself a sigh of relief. She continued forward, feeling every fiber of carpet against her bare feet, feeling alien wandering her former workplace and place of pride in the nude, past the cubes and to the door of the meeting room on the building's outer perimeter. The meeting room that was always reserved for the team's weekly meeting.

Samantha stood before the door, heart pounding. She reached out her hand briefly, but hesitated. Once upon a time she would have flung it open and immediately stepped in to take command. Now she teetered nervously from foot to foot, looking around for any excuse to be somewhere else, dreading what was to come.

Samantha closed her eyes and took another long, ragged breath. She emptied her mind as best she could, and before she could think about it she thrust out her hand and knocked on the door. When she opened her eyes, she was half-shocked that she had actually done it. That was it, then, she thought. She'd officially thrown herself to the wolves.

"Come in!" a cheerful-sounding and familiar man's voice answered from within.

Samantha felt herself start to go numb as she opened the door and stepped inside.

A roomful of men immediately broke out into laughter, cheers, hollers and broad grins at the site of her standing there buck naked, tits, ass and swollen cunt on full display in the meeting room she once presided over.

Samantha had never felt so humiliated. She recognized most of them men. Jacob, a clean-cut man and previously her unofficial number two and workplace confidant stood from his seat, whipped his phone out of his pocket and started snapping pictures. Several other men followed suit, laughing and joking and commenting on her body all the while.

"I knew always knew she had some top-tier tits, man!" someone said.

"Was she always such a slut? Look at her, she's wet! She's getting off on this!" another man said to a swell of guffaws.

"Bet you always dreamed of fucking that sweet little ass, huh, Jacob?" said Roberts, an overweight and balding engineer while her elbowed Jacob in the side. "Maybe now you'll get your chance!"

"Now, now, gentlemen," an unfamiliar gray-haired man at the head of the table said, smiling. "As you may have noticed, we have a lady in the room! Now, I've been informed that this fine specimen was previously the team leader and direct report for most of you, back in the dark times. There'll be no more of that, thank God. As you know, the company is already looking both internally and externally for a proper male replacement manager for you all. Now then," he said, looking Samantha up and down, "I'm pleased to inform you that Samantha here has been thoroughly demoted and given a new position better suited to her abilities at the bottom rung of our brand new promotional ladder for women."

The men cheered and clapped.

"Now then, sweetheart, why don't you tell these gentlemen your new title?"

Samantha bit her lip. She glanced across the room at the smiling, excited faces of her former employees, taking them in one by one while her stomach tied itself in knots. She cast her eyes down at her breasts. On the edge of tears, she forced out the words: "J-junior Urinal, sir. For the f-first floor West m-m-men's room."

There was a brief moment of silence before the room broke out into a frenzy of whoops and hollers and the heaviest laughs she'd heard all morning.

"Holy shit," Jacob said, falling back in his chair and cracking up.

"Is this for real?" someone asked.

Another man nodded enthusiastically in response. "Hell yeah it is!"

"Bravo to whoever came up with that position!" called out Charles, a normally quiet and withdrawn programmer who sported thick glasses and a well-trimmed ginger beard and who Samantha had always scored highly on performance reviews. "It fits her perfectly. Maybe now her mouth will actually be useful for once!"

Samantha gulped. She felt chills. She was quivering where she stood. These men used to respect her. Or at least, she'd thought they had. Had they felt this way about her for the whole three years she'd been a manager? Maybe even before that?

The man at the head of the table waited for a lull in the rabble before speaking again: "You gentlemen will be happy to know that I've booked Samantha for the full duration of this meeting."

"Booked her, sir?" Roberts asked.

"Yes," the man said, "all the girls on the Urinal teams servicing the washrooms are available to be booked for meetings. The company hopes this will improve morale and attendance at meetings and minimize the need for anyone to step out to take a leak during long-hauls. There's a special widget in Outlook to book Urinal girls. The only stipulation is that you can't book out all the girls who work in a particular men's room at the same time, at least one needs to be in there for regular service. Most of the men's rooms currently have two dedicated Urinals. HR has already added a chapter to the online employee's handbook with all the details. Anyway, that's enough about that. Please take your spot in the corner back there, sweetbuns," he said, gesturing.

"Yes, sir," Samantha said haltingly.

She slowly walked the length of the room, feeling a dozen pairs of eyes on her. She couldn't help but notice six large pitchers full of water on the table and a glass in front of each man. In the back corner of the room, next to the big bay window - on the first floor, where anyone passing by on the street could see inside - there was a bright blue mat on the floor. Samantha stepped onto it. It seemed to be some kind of space-age super-absorbent fiber sponge type thing. It seemed ready for a lot of use, Samantha thought.

Samantha turned back to face the men. Their eyes were all still on her. They were still making comments to each other, looking her up and down, appraising her like a piece of meat. Samantha got down on her knees. A few eyes widened. Men poked and prodded each other excitedly. Samantha's training kicked in. She spread her thighs just so. She folded her hands behind her, straightened her back and thrust her breasts outward. She let her eyes lose focus until they looked dead, hazy. She tilted her head back and opened her mouth wide, as wide as she could sustain. The men began to laugh and joke anew. They took out their phones and snapped more pictures. Her transformation was complete. She was now a human urinal.

Somehow the meeting managed to get on track, moving on to matters of deadlines and software design. The men took copious sips of water, pouring glass after glass. Occasionally they glanced back at her and chuckled at the position she'd put herself in, sitting there so patiently with her mouth open, inviting them, almost begging them to use it. But for the most part they ignored her. Samantha's mind began to wander, unable to focus on what anyone was saying, occupied with maintaining her pose.

She thought back in mild shock at how rapidly things had changed. It had only been a month ago that Samantha had chaired her last meeting in this room. So much had happened.

It was halfway through President Trump's forth term, after the midterm elections, that things finally went off the rails. The grassroots upstarts that first appeared during his third term, the offshoot of the Republicans calling themselves the Natural Order Party, were taking over. The last remnants of the Democrats were booted from their seats and the old-school Republicans had suddenly been reduced to a rump in both the House and the Senate.

The Natural Order Party didn't waste any time flexing their newfound legislative power. Women's rights were thrown onto the trash heap of American history faster than anyone was prepared for. Some women were smart and wealthy enough to flee the country when they saw which way the wind was blowing, but the vast majority were caught off guard. One day they all woke up and heard the news that the N-O-P were due to put a bill on Trump's desk that afternoon that would take away their rights to vote and handle money and effectively turn them all into property for men to own. Some women sheltered in place, placing their hopes on the Supreme Court, long-since packed with handpicked Trump appointees, to restore sanity. Samantha took a taxi to the nearest airport instead.

Emergency laws were quickly enacted to halt a mass exodus of professional and educated women that was immediately dubbed the Bitch Drain. Samantha was stopped, collared and leashed minutes before she could board a plane bound for Canada. Her nearest male relatives living on the other side of the country, Samantha was instead turned over to her boss. The brand new pre-filled paperwork making her his legal property was rubber-stamped the next day.

Her office, the American headquarters of Civil Software, was undergoing a massive restructuring. Women who hadn't escaped or been removed from the workforce by their new male guardians were assigned to a brand new hierarchy of positions that was completely separate from the ladder of clerical workers, sales associates, software engineers and middle managers that was now reserved for men.

Samantha's former boss and current owner spent two weeks personally retraining her for her new job. As a urinal. He placed a great deal of emphasis on obedience, deference, learning to assume what he called 'the position' and suppressing her gag reflex to the point where she could slowly swallow by tipping her head back and working her neck muscles, without having to close her mouth. Her never actually made her drink urine, instead using water to train her. He seemed to take a perverse pleasure in preparing her for everything short of the true experience.

Samantha was pulled out of her reverie. She became aware of a figure in front of her. She glanced up and her eyes focused until she saw Jacob's face looking down at her. Samantha's cheeks flushed. She'd had a crush on him, once, but it didn't pan out. I guess it figures he'd be my first, Samantha cursed to herself.

Behind him, men were snickering and tittering with glee. Jacob flashed his trademark charming smile. Then he unzipped, pulled out his flaccid penis and began aiming, hovering inches from Samantha's wide open mouth.

There was a time Samantha would've dreamed of seeing Jacob's penis, maybe even having it in her mouth, but not like this. It took Jacob an agonizingly long time to get ready. Samantha became hyper aware of his body, of every little slouch as he relaxed his posture, of every breath he took. Eventually Jacob closed his eyes and let a tiny sigh flare out his nostrils. Samantha was confused for a moment. She was caught off guard when the first spray of piss hit her tongue.

Samantha's eyes went wide. She quickly felt overwhelmed. The acrid taste against her tongue made her want to double over and spit it out, but she held steady. The smell of urine filled her nostrils as droplets aerosolized in her mouth. Samantha subtly maneuvered her head, angling herself to ensure she got as much as possible of the arc of Jacob's pee into her mouth, just like she'd been taught. The liquid rapidly pooled around her tongue, threatening to spill out between her teeth, but she managed to start gulping back just enough to stop herself from overflowing, without closing her mouth, continuing to accept all the piss that came her way.

Eventually, after what seemed like an unreasonably long time and an exhausting amount of work for her neck muscles, Jacob's stream slowed to a trickle, and then stopped. Samantha reduced her frantic efforts, breathing heavily through her nostrils. Her mouth was still filled nearly to the brim with frothy yellow piss. Some of the men in the room, her former employees and a few new faces, came forward to take more pictures and to pat Jacob on the back.

"Everyone in the office needs to see this," Charles said, attaching a pic he'd taken to an email and firing it off.

"Everyone in our foreign offices, too!" someone said, sounding almost giddy. "Ooh, there's some companies we partnered with that had guys who had to deal with her too, right? Make sure they see this!"

"Nicely done, man," Roberts said with a chuckle and a hand on Jacob's shoulder.

Jacob looked down at what he'd done, at what Samantha had become. Samantha's mouth slowly drained, gulp by careful gulp. Jacob gave out a dry, disbelieving laugh. "Never thought I'd see the day I'd get to put her in her place," he said. "I could get used to this."

"How was it?" Roberts asked.

Jacob shook himself off over Samantha's face. Tiny droplets stuck to her eyelashes. He wiped himself on her chin and finally put himself away.

"Feels amazing, man," he said. "You should try it."

Roberts smirked. "Don't mind if I do," he said, his eyes flickering.

Jacob stepped aside and ushered Roberts forward with a sweeping gesture.

Roberts took his place in front of Samantha and quickly produced his flaccid-yet-girthy dick. He looked down at Samantha and sneered. "Remember when she blocked my promotion just so she could give the position I'd earned to some dumb bitch instead?" he said to no one in particular. "I dunno if getting to piss in her mouth every day will make up for that injustice, but it's a start." He took a moment to reach down and cup Samantha's breast before getting into position.

When Roberts began the blast of urine was so strong and fast that Samantha nearly gagged. She went to work as best she could. Roberts' piss tasted subtly different, heavier, darker. Was it a diet thing? Before she had time to put any more thought into that line of questioning Roberts changed things up, suddenly lifting his penis and changing his aim, pissing over her gaping mouth and onto her face. She closed her eyes reflexively. It got into her hair and up her nose. She struggled to adjust, to lift her head to match Roberts' new trajectory, but he shifted again, this time aiming down and pissing on her tits. Eventually she caught the stream in her mouth again - 'where it belongs', she thought bitterly, remembering an oft-repeated refrain from her owner's training regimen. Droplets of urine streaked down the curves of her body, dripping down from her thighs and from the swollen lips of her cunt.

When Roberts was done he smeared his dick against her cheek, then put himself away and stepped aside. He was quickly replaced by another man.

Samantha recognized Walter, an older gentleman with short gray hair. She knew him as a kindly old man, not the hardest worker and not exactly on the ball, but only two years from retirement. Samantha had blocked efforts to replace him, allowing him to keep his position more out of kindness than anything the bean-counters upstairs would approve of.

Before he took out his wizened old dick, Walter looked down at Samantha, half in pity. "You must be none too bright to have ended up here, huh, little missy?"

Something about the way he said it made Samantha feel more ashamed than she had all morning. And that was coming from someone who just swallowed two bladders' worth of piss, Samantha thought. "No, sir," she said. "I'm very stupid to have taken a position as a Junior Urinal, sir," she remembered the lines her owner had had her rehearse over and over. "But men need somewhere to piss, and where better than a stupid whore's mouth, sir?"

Walter scoffed. "Well, I suppose that's right," he said.

Samantha took what comfort should could from the fact that Walter's was a slow trickle instead of an overwhelming gush like the previous men. But before Walter was even done, other men had begun lining up behind him.

The meeting was only an hour long, but it seemed to drag on forever. Swallowing load after load of hot, acrid piss took almost all her attention and overwhelmed her senses every time. But she still found moments to tune out and let her mind wander. She thought back to how she'd joined the company and worked her way up. Further back, graduating from high school with honors, a full load of AP courses. Moving on to 4 years of college, a degree in Computer Science with a Minor in Women's Studies. Her intelligence and her way with words had always been her greatest asset. And it wasn't her life's devotion or anything, but she'd always considered herself a feminist. She knew the theory. She didn't go to protests or anything, but she knew how to stand up for herself. At least, she'd thought she did. When the time came that her rights were truly under threat, she hadn't done enough. Now here she was, on her knees, staring off into space dead eyed while men lined up to piss in her mouth, gulping down every drop without an ounce of self-respect, agreeing with every belittling comment they made about her.

This was just day one. Was this going to be her life from now on? No one had let revealed the whole promotional ladder for women to her - better to keep women in the dark about this stuff, after all - but she'd overheard her owner talking about it on the phone on day between training sessions. Women would be considered for promotion once a year. After Junior Urinal, there were of course Urinal and Senior Urinal positions to ascend to. After that, there was something about women becoming office pets, crawling around from cubicle to cubicle to give blowjobs and who knows what else. Beyond that things were murky, but the top of the ladder sounded like some kind exclusive Executive Whore position, a private consort for the company's top brass. Samantha reasoned that some of the C-level guys were into their personal assistants enough to have moved them into those positions right off the bat.

As the hour dragged on and Samantha finished chugging down her fifteenth load of piss - some of the guys had gone for seconds - something interrupted the rhythm that had developed.

Charles was having trouble getting the last few spritz of pee out into Samantha's mouth. He was starting to get hard. Charles looked around, unsure of what to do with himself. One of the other men sitting at the table looked back and saw what was going on, but he just laughed and turned back to the task at hand.

If Charles thought he was having an awkward moment, he should try it from my position, Samantha thought, sitting there with her mouth open while Charles got harder and harder.

Inevitably, Charles began stroking himself, his erection pulsating inches from Samantha's face.

Samantha didn't know what to do. Her training hadn't covered this. Was she supposed to help? She stank of piss all over by this point, did that turn him on? Ultimately, Samantha reasoned that a real urinal - the porcelain kind - would just sit there and take whatever came its way, so she did nothing, opting instead to stoically if awkwardly sit there and wait while Charles beat himself off right in front of her.