Katie and Mavie, two top accountants

Whatever commotion is happening over on the far side of the office at the women's toilets, it doesn't concern me - I went before I left home, like most people with common sense would do. Like Mavie and I, the two top dogs of the accounting team.

"Mavie, do you have the inventory forms for last month?" I ask, typing away at a spreadsheet.

"Here you go," Mavie responds, holding out a stack of papers for me to take without looking up from her own stack of pen-and-paper reports.

"Thanks."

Both Mavie and I know we're the only two sensible employees in this whole dysfunctional company. Management might disagree, as management's wont to do, but they just don't want to admit we're the backbone of operations here - practically its brains.

"Mavie, huh?" an unfamiliar man's voice comments. "Swapping your keyboard and your chair. And you are?"

"Kathryn, or Katie if you like," I reply, briefly looking up to address him, before my eye is caught by Mavie pulling her chair off the desk.

"Mavie?"

"Can I have the inventory forms back? I'm going to kill the idiot who ordered my desk supplies," she mutters. "What is this chair tied to the computer for...? Ugh. Are you seeing this?"

"Insane," I groan, commiserating with her as I hand the forms back to her. "Who orders a keyboard too large to put on a desk? It's practically the size and shape of an office chair."

With some difficulty, Mavie unplugs the chair from her computer, freeing it to sit on the floor, in front of her keyboard, where a chair should by all rights go. With a huff of exertion, she squats her perky, black-miniskirted ass on top. Its plastic cushion buckles under her OL posterior in a cacophony of clicks, and she comes to a rest barely an inch above the floor. Tucking in her stockinged legs, she returns to typing on her keyboard.

"Ugh, this chair is so uncomfortable, and I can't even see around my keyboard. Is it working, Katie?"

"The keyboard? I don't see anything being typed," I say, glancing at Mavie's screen.

"Great. Stupid wireless solutions. I know my calculator was in one of these drawers..."

"Oh, good idea," the man says, cutting in as he finishes stroking himself off over Mavie's back, sploodging thick white strands of semen all down her rack-accentuating shirt and over her tight butt, with no regard for her privacy or decency.

"What are you doing?" Mavie understandably inquires with an irritated glare, not happy that a man's just reduced her clothed ass to a bukkake prop in the middle of the workplace.

"Swapping that jizz and your calculator, obviously," the man says.

"For god's sakes. The janitors aren't going to be happy when they find your handiwork in my drawers, you know! Now let me just..." Mavie tries to reach for her calculator, but with how sticky and disparate it is, and how hard it is for her to reach what white pearly strands are clinging to the backs of her shoulders, she only manages to gather about half of it in her hands before giving up.

"Do you need to borrow mine?" I ask, seeing she isn't having any luck retrieving her own. "Maybe we should have a word with all our electronics suppliers if yours get stuck to you like this. Absolute nonsense that women should have to put up with using calculators that smell so... pheromonal."

Mavie grumbles, wiping her hands off on her ass again to put her calculator back where it was for now, its gooey form smearing all over the taut surface of her derriere. "Yes, if you please."

I'm just about to reach for my calculator when the man leans over and mutters "swapping your calculator and you" to me. Ah! I stand up promptly and give Katie's coworker a smile. "Did you need me?"

Mavie blinks. "Yes, thank you, 7173.55 times 102.5% to the fifth power please? And tell Katie thank you for lending me her calculator, though I don't know where she's gone."

"Err..." Even though my whole purpose is to calculate, my circuits are struggling to process the prompt given to me. "Sorry, you'll have to give me a moment." While I chew on my task, I lean back down and open the third drawer on Katie's side of the desk to find her nestled inside, resting gray and rectangular with an array of numbered and symboled buttons below her screen. "Mavie says thank you for lending me to her, Katie."

Katie doesn't respond. Oddly, for a human, she's shockingly inanimate - is she lacking in sentience? I'd appreciate if she didn't try to mimic objects like us - I have my pride compared to a mere human female, you know! If she can't handle something as simple as being a plastic case with buttons to push, god knows how she convinced anyone she was smart enough for this job!

"Excuse me, calculator?"

"I... I'm sorry, I got a little sidetracked." Ugh. It's hardly the time to be mad at my owner when I'm not even fulfilling my own purpose. "I don't think I'm quite functioning right..."

"Do you need batteries?" Mavie helpfully suggests, holding up two fresh AAs.

"Oh, that might do it! Just insert them in the back, through the anus."

Mavie comes around and unzips the zipper on the pencil skirt I'm wearing (though I only now question why I'm wearing it - I mean, look at me, tits and pussy aside, I'm a calculator, not a woman), then tugs the skirt down over my plump cheeks. Next, she fishes my white cotton panties out of my asscrack and pulls those down too, and exposes my wet, fleshy rear port to the open air of the office space.

The soppiness of it surprises me, and reminds me of how Katie practically drools anal juice whenever she secretly masturbates in the office during overtime, pervertedly rubbing all manner of objects - including myself - against her anus, feeling their curves and contours. There must be no inch of her desk untouched by something that's been against or inside her asshole. I recall her even fitting her entire computer mouse up there one time, driving her cursor haywire as she frantically masturbated with a wire trailing out of her ass...

While I'm lost in recollection, Mavie kneels down, face inches from my cheeks, and inserts the first battery into my fleshy entrance port, pushing gently but smoothly until my internals swallow it the rest of the way with a pop. She quickly does the same for the second battery, feeding it inside, where I feel it bump against the first with a clack.

Then strangely, my pickups seem to reject the batteries. My asshole reflexively convulses, and hastily ejects them right back out of me, shooting the two now-slicked AAs onto the carpet.

"Hmm. Maybe solar power will do it? You have been in that drawer for a while..."

"Perhaps!" I agree a little desperately, slipping my skirt off the rest of the way so I can move from the spot. Surely a simple arithmetic answer can't elude me like this. I'm even struggling to recall the exact calculation she input into me in the first place. What's wrong with me?

Pushing me over to the office window, Mavie indelicately shoves me up against the glass, pressing my face, breasts and hands against the transparent surface to catch the light of the sun as I get a full view of the city below.

"Any better?"

"...No..."

For good measure, she tries inserting the batteries again as I continue to charge from the sunlight, but my fleshy interior compartment is truly unfit for function, ejecting them just as quickly as it did the first time, even causing my face to contort and my mouth to open wide, lolling my tongue against the glass with involuntary grunts of pleasure.

"Hmm. Well, I'll just have to borrow someone else's calculator then."

"I'm very sorry..." I moan dejectedly, rear port still twitching as lasciviously as Katie's asshole did when grinding against me in the past.

"No, I'd blame the morons who ordered you. Our inventory troubles extend to bad lots of calculators, apparently," Mavie sighs. "Can you throw yourself in the trash? I'd do it myself since you don't have any batteries inside anyway, but my carrying strength isn't enough for you."

"Certainly," I reply, peeling my body away from the glass window in plain view of half the city, spotting Mavie's wastebasket as I do...

...and its size. Mavie's lips purse. "Ah, you won't fit, I see. Not with that massive derriere of yours."

"I won't, sorry. Thank you for trying to use me, at least. It's more than I deserve," I say, bowing deeply, thrusting my still-naked port out towards the window as it dribbles anticipatory juices.

"I don't need thanks from a broken calculator, I need a working one," Mavie replies. "You can't calculate, you can't be charged, you can't take batteries, you're not even compact enough to dispose of. Just how obsolete are you?"

"I apologize, I truly am a waste of space..."

"Honestly, with a design like yours and the clear lack of processing power, you would've been better off as a sexdoll. Can't even be trusted with simple arithmetic...!"

"Hey now, break it up," the man comments out of nowhere, sidling up to Mavie and clapping a hand on her shoulder. "Don't you think you're being too mean to Katie's calculator?"

"Am I?"

"It's stuck in Katie's body, after all."

"But it's a calculator! It has a purpose!"

"Yeah, well, I hear tons of people feel stuck in their own bodies and can't do shit about it. Why don't you try a little empathy?"

"Empathy?!" I exclaim, unable to hold back my indignation. "I'm an object, so don't treat me like I have the concerns a person would do! I don't have free will or rights or any of that nonsense! That's for human beings, like Mavie!"

"But you've got a female body just like her," he grins.

"That is no reason to give me respect! I may have the same tits and pussy and - god forbid - brain that Katie did, I might be sentient like Katie, but I do not appreciate being treated as human just because you see those traits in me!" I cross my arms and huff, my body's cunt beginning to leak and drip from some kind of aberrant arousal reaction. "I hope you don't go around presumptuously treating every 'female' you see with that level of respect! I am malfunctioning garbage, and that's that!"

"Why are you so wet, then?"

"Well, my body is female, isn't it?! Surely you know how many women secretly yearn to be less than human, that nothing turns them on more than being regarded as subservient, inferior, inanimate objects like myself! Now that it's no longer a person, Katie's body must be instinctively rejoicing!"

"Fine, fine," he relents. "Anyway, Mavie, if you need to throw it out, here - I'll swap your trashcan and liner with your shoes and pantyhose."

"Much obliged," Mavie responds dismissively, though she hides a little embarrassment as she furtively tugs out her feet and slips out her legs from her pair-of-heels-shaped trashcan and the tall nylon liner inside them, hoping nobody caught sight of her inexplicably wearing her own waste depository like underwear.

"Get a grip, Mavie. What are you doing, throwing your trash in your own tights?" she mutters to herself, grabbing the plastic sack of her pantyhose by its crinkly white handles, tipping its contents into the top of her trashcan's leg-shaped nylon liner through its tight elastic rim, and letting the crumpled paper balls and plastic wrappers fall into the glossy black receptacles at the bottom.

That done, Mavie looks at me expectantly and hands me the liner so I can dispose of myself, while she pulls her baggy pantyhose up around her feet and seats them back in the basin of her freshly-emptied shoes, after which she hops awkwardly back to her desk and resumes her seat on the floor.

I slip my own shoes off, then duly throw myself into the trash one leg at a time much as my currently-inanimate owner would put on pantyhose, since the nylon wastebasket is conveniently in a form that'll fit my female body's contours. My feet land on pillows of garbage at the bottom of each shaft with a crinkle. That done, I rest by Mavie's desk and await my fate.

It's not long before the janitorial team comes and collects my trashcan, pulling me out of the heeled receptacle in my nylon sleeving and slinging me over the shoulder roughly like the oversized garbage I am. Rough workers' hands fold me up into a ball so I'll fit inside the large black refuse sacks that collects me, then I'm taken out through the lobby, down to the service level, and thrown into the dumpster where I'm left to rest in darkness, awaiting the dumptruck that'll transport me to the final destination for all unwanted trash.

As my body leaks from a buildup of internal pressure, suffusing the trashcan clad around my legs and slowly pooling inside the bag I'm in, I grumble to myself - couldn't they have paid any mind to the fact I'm electronic waste? They ought to have separated me out instead of irresponsibly sending me to the same landfill as everything else. The right thing to do would have been to refurbish me, turning me from a calculator into something more useful. Taking advantage of Katie's body's form, they could make a sentient sexdoll to provide an anonymous owner with a perfect set of female holes, conveniently sans any human rights to get in the way. Not that it's my place to decide my own fate - if humans decide I should be tossed away without a care in the world, that's still their right...