Erica's new whore office ID card

"Yeah, I took your office's ID card from your purse last week," I confessed, showing her a picture of her card.

Her old card is a boring one that only contains her face, name, phone and email, the company and department name, and worst of all, a lame slogan, probably picked for her department.

The professional you need to win your rights. Pretentious, especially using it with a woman. A woman, including my sister, shouldn't talk about rights. It is worse in this case because it does not specify women's rights only. With this ID card, anyone could think she has rights!

"You took it from my purse?" She complains, looking at my phone and confirming this is her ID.

"Don't complain. You know very right you don't have privacy."

"I know, brother," she admits."I have no rights, but that is not the problem. I have been all week searching for it and asking for a temporal one every day," she said, resting her head over my shoulder, with relief from not needing to continue searching for her id.

I take my wallet out of my pants pocket, pick up her ID card, and show it to my sister. "Here it is," I tell her, with her ID in my hand.

My sister is shocked, watching her ID, unable to speak due to the impression. I have made some improvements to her card that she didn't expect.

"What is this?" She finally asks.

"Your ID, sis, don't you recognize yourself?"

"That is...that is...a cunt!" She yells, looking at the cunt that has replaced her face on the card.

"It is your cunt, to be precise," I correct her.

This is the most noticeable change. I replaced her face with a photo of her cunts, taking it from one of the pictures he sent me when she tried on her sexy clothes.

"This is me?"

"Here is the original. I remember you willingly showed me your cunt when trying your new lingerie." I said, showing her the picture she sent me a few weeks back.

"You are right. I remember that photo," she admits.

"Don't you like the other changes?"

I kept all the essential information from the original card and included missing new data. Her status of being owned, her owner (that means me), and her orgasm restrictions.

"Pronums?" She asks, looking at another thing I added.

I have added her designed pronouns. She is an object, which should be reflected as her gender. And at the same time, her pronouns...or rather, its pronouns, should be it/its. Of course, it is hard to fight against years of using she/her, and no matter how I try, I will probably call it her instead of it, but even so, I like to include her object status in her id.

"Oh, yeah, I want everyone to know you are an object."

"I know I am an object, but this..." she tries to continue, lowering her face due to embarrassment.

"What? Isn't it grammatically correct? Object pronouns are it/its. Is elementary."

"I know...but...is...is...so humiliating," she responds, lowering her voice on the last word.

"What did I tell you about humiliation?" I ask her, putting my hand near her crotch.

"That I need it. It is healthy for me to be humiliated... degraded... and objectified," she admits, opening her legs to let me start playing with her.

"Good girl," I praise her as I start rubbing her cunt.

"Do you also like your new lemma? The old one was boring; even sound like you had rights."

"I am sorry, brother...but that..was about our client's rights."

"I still believe this one is better."

"I love it, brother!" She screams, full of pleasure, thanks to my hands.

I have replaced the phrase of her old ID with a new one that is more appropriate for a girl like it.

Do not allow women like me to have rights, opinions, nor dignity. Say no to feminism.

Mostly because I had already made her edge on the floor, and her new id card had made her horny, I sense she has quickly reached the edge, so it is the moment to stop.

"Enough, you can't cum," I told her, slapping her cunt.

"Thank you, brother."

She remains breathing heavily, looking at her new card, and it is evident that she likes it.

"That is not my work email," she says, looking at the new email address I put on the ID. InferiorCount instead of EricaCampbell.

"It is now, sis. I used your computer to talk with an IT guy from your company. Nice guy. I told him you have been commanded to change your address, and he did it."

"He didn't put any trouble?" She asks, surprised.

"Of course, he said it wasn't appropriate, but he did it anyway. I suppose it is part of the app protection. No one in your work can stop anything I **** you to do."

"So, that means in my office?"

"Everyone will see this email the next time they put your name."

"Wait...wait.. you want me to use this for real?" She protests, realizing this isn't any joke.

"Of course, Sis. You will use this next Monday."

"I need to go to the office tomorrow!"

"Really? Well, use it tomorrow, then," I respond to her. I thought she would have tomorrow free to continue my corruption, but this won't change my plans very much.

"But this will destroy any respect I still have with my coworkers," she pleads, trying to convince me.

"Sis, we talked about this when I captured you."

"I know, brother. I know..." She accepts, defeated. "I don't care that you don't respect me. I love it, in fact. But I head-noise I could pretend I am a person in my office."

"That is wrong, Sis. You know it. Anyway, I don't think your female coworkers respect you so much anymore."

"All those bitches hate me. Fucking feminists! They call me gender traitor..."

"Which you are," I interrupt her.

"And proud of it," she agrees with my words." But what about the people? The men."

"They won't respect you anymore. That is true. But they will look at you as something better..."

"What, Brother?" She asks, intrigued.

"They will see you as the piece of meat that you are. They will value you more when they recognize your true self, something whose only worth is his body. A woman, after all."

"Really?" She asks me, with less preoccupation in her voice.

I don't say anything more. I reach my hands again to her cunt, to show her how wet she is.

"I am still not sure."

"Your cunt says the opposite," I tell her putting my hands with rubbing my hands with her cunt's moisture on her face.

"I am still worried."

"That is just your opinion, and what we said about women's opinions?"

"We ignore them. They are worthless. I shouldn't have an opinion of my own." She repeats what I told her many times, showing me that her mind is already molded to my liking.

"Look, Sis, " I told her, grabbing her face with one hand. "Your face hole is lying," I said while slapping her face. "Or your cunt hole is lying," I continue slapping her cunt with my other hand. "Which one?"

"You will make me do it no matter how much I plead, right?" She makes a final question, knowing there is no way to convince me.

"Which hole lies?" I ask again, slapping both parts again.

"My mouth is lying!" She finally admits what I already knew. "I love it! I want to use it every day!"

As promised, I slap her face as punishment a few times. She thanks me for every slap, which sounds fantastic.

"Thank you!Thank you!Thank you!" She continues even after I have finished.

I sit again near her and continue showing the ID.

"You have included my orgasm denial?" She said, pointing at the part where the ID specifies she can't cum and another section where she can write how many days.

"Yeah, you can write her with a sharpie how many days you have been without one."

"You could have written the current number of days," she said, noticing that in the part Days without an orgasm, I hadn't written the current value.

"Actually, I don't remember," I laugh.

"We talked about it this morning. It has been five days."

"Well, I forgot. Tomorrow, writes a 6."

After admiring the ID front, I show her the back part.

First, in upper caps, it has a prominent notice stating that the ID carrier is not a person.

THE OBJECT THAT CARRIES THIS ID IT IS NOT A PERSON.

And then, instructions in case the object is lost so it could return to me and some instructions to not expose her to bad things.

Erica is a thing. It is an owned property of Greg Campbell. If you find it lost, call xxx-xxx-xxxx so it can return to its owner. It should not engage in any sexual intercourse, including female orgasms, without its owner's approval. For safety measures, keep it away from any expression that could be considered feminism, including the false notion that women are persons.

"Don't you think it has become overly saturated?" She asks, realizing that the ID has so much information.

"I know. But I wanted to make a statement about you. That is the most reduced version I could make."

"It would work?"

"It should. I printed this over your old card, so it has the original identification chips."

"What if they don't let me use it in the office?"

"It is an order from me so that they won't stop you."

Anyway, I want to expose her openly in her office. I have started making plans to turn her workplace into a men's paradise like my campus. After all, it is Holes' father's office, so I could probably do something to work there once I graduate from college. Making my sister exposed openly like this could help me find which of her coworkers I could tell about the APP.

"What if anyone asks me to confirm my identity? My face is not on the card."

"But your cunt is; show it."

"How embarrassing...but they can't touch, right?"

"Of course not. You are mine. If they do, tell them respectfully that you are already owned."

"The ID also includes your name, isn't that a risk?" She made another point about the part of the ID where it says that I am his owner, with my name on it.

"I am sure the app protection will work. I don't want to hide it."

"I assume you want me always to have it visible."

"Of course. What about having it attached to your nipples?" I ask her, grabbing her tits.

"I already have this," she replies, pointing her face to her nipple clamps.

"Oh, yeah, what about your tongue?" I continue giving ideas, putting my hand on her mouth to pick her tongue.

"I...neef... tho...tolk...workong..." She tries to respond with her tongue on my hand.

"Yeah, you are right. Then, put it on your neck. Attached to your collar," I answer, grabbing her collar to show her. The shackle to attach her leash is perfect.

"You mean my chocker," she corrects me, remembering that she uses a chocker instead of a collar in public.

"Yeah, that's right," I confirm to her, letting her still use the chocker instead of the collar in public. But if my plan works soon, she will use the collar even in the office.

"Ok, Sis. Now is the time to continue training you."

"Great! What will you teach me today?"