You’ve accepted it, now show your friends what it means to be a woman

I had always been really disgusted with girls who let their boyfriends walk all over them.

“Men are trash! Girls deserve better. Don’t let any man tell you what to do or wear, ever!”

I was berating my friend Rina after she told me her boyfriend didn’t want her going out in her sexy zero-suit Samus outfit. She acted sheepish but also very annoyed.

“Not all of us can be stone-cold ice queens, Ali! And I know it seems dumb to you, but it can be nice to have a guy who cares enough to be protective of you. I don’t always like it, but usually when he tells me what to do, I just feel warm, knowing he loves me. And it can be a relief to not always have to fight…to not always have to think.”

“Not think!?” I was furious. “You better think or men will enslave you and call it kindness.”

Weeks later, I was in a sexy dress, waiting for a blind date Rina had set up. I know, I know. But she hadn’t spoken to me for a long time and had practically begged me to go out with this guy, Rahm. She said he was exactly what I needed. I had been lonely…not to mention sex starved. I agreed. Rina got the biggest grin on her face – almost maniacal, really – and hugged me. So here I was, wearing the skimpy halter dress she had foisted on me. It slit open at the center of my chest so I couldn’t even wear a bra! I’d tried to refuse but she’d already told him I’d be wearing it so he could recognize me. Bluh. I wanted to run away from the restaurant. This was dumb. Besides, he was 10 minutes late! What a jerk!

Five more minutes later…

“Ali. You waited. Good.”

Really? Not even an apology?! Rahm was cute, at least. Nice clothes, too. No fashion-challenged slob here, unlike most men. I decided to give him one more chance.

When the waitress came back Rahm ordered first. Steak, rare. Then he ordered salmon and salad for me. LOL. What kind of moron alpha male trick was this?

“Thanks, but I’ll take the swiss burger with fries, actually.”

He gave the waitress a meaningful look She scurried away. Weird. But we chatted for a while and it was pleasant. He didn’t ask me much about myself but at least he was an interesting guy. Intelligent, too. I was a little impressed.

The room was so cold, though. I wondered how obvious my erect nipple were under the thin fabric of Rina’s dress. This thought sent a thrill through my body that did nothing to help the situation.

Then our food came. Steak…and salmon.

“This isn’t what I ordered!”

“Oh, um, but the gentleman. I mean, should I-”

“It’s fine, darling. Don’t fret your pretty little head. We don’t want to waste this good food. Isn’t that right, Ali?”

I couldn’t really argue with that. I hated it but he made sense; I despised all the food waste in the US. “Yes, I’m sorry, it looks very good.” The nervous waitress left us alone.

“No need to distress the help, Ali. Besides, you’ll like the salmon. I wouldn’t have ordered it for you if it wasn’t good.”

I guess that made sense, too. I never ate fish and assumed I didn’t like it, but shouldn’t I at least give it a chance? How did Rahm keep saying and doing so many things I disapproved of while I just kept conceding? My brain felt…fogged, around him, warm. I started eating the salmon. It was…actually really good. And I felt so much better and more energized eating a side salad instead of a ton of fries, which always left me feeling heavy and sluggish. I hated to admit it, but-

“Thank you for making me try this. I never would have given it a chance if you hadn’t been so forceful.”

“Of course. I find a forceful hand is best when guiding errant girls.”

“Ha!” I laughed aloud. Why did I feel so good? Why did I find Rahm so funny? Sure, he was smart and attractive and charming, but wasn’t something off?

I never open my legs for a guy on the first date! I told Rahm that as I stood in his bedroom, passively letting him turn me around, untie the strap of my dress, pull the fabric down, expose my breasts…

“I would never dream of asking you to compromise your principles. Ali. But I do need to get that dress back. Rina made me swear to reclaim it as soon as possible. She’d be very cross if I failed to do so.”

“But!” I gasped as Rahm slid the dress down my legs, leaving me in just black lace panties and heels. I didn’t even try to cover myself with my arms. It seemed wrong to hide what this man had uncovered. “W-what will I wear home?”

“Rina is coming for the dress in the morning. I’ll ask her to bring you a change of clothes, too. Do you mind waiting?”

“N-no, I guess that’s fine.” I stuttered, looking down and away. What else could I do, get in an Uber naked? Not that the thought wasn’t a little thrilling… What the hell was my deal tonight?! Also, I, found myself not wanting to leave Rahm’s apartment at all…

“Good. Now get down on your knees. You can keep your legs together, don’t worry. You need to learn how to give me a blow job before I consider fucking you, anyway. Got it?”

“Yes.” I replied, lowering to my knees instinctively.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes…sir.”

“Good girl.”

The next morning Rahm made me answer the door when Rina knocked. I still had my panties on, but that was it besides my mussed hair and the dried cum on my face (and on my chest, I suddenly remembered with a twinge). I was mortified but I also found I couldn’t disobey this man. Rina smirked evilly while handing me the change of clothes and taking her dress back.

“Well, well, not the high and mighty ice queen anymore, are we? I set you up on one date with the most dominant, misogynistic man I knew and here you are just hours later.” She reached out her right hand and caressed my cheek. Feeling the crusted cum, she retracted her fingers and sniffed them, smiling. “I see Rahm was able to train you just as he said he would. I must admit I wasn’t sure even he could make you bow so quickly. You know they call him the Feminist Breaker? Quite a track record. I shouldn’t have doubted he’d draw out the submissive slut in you.” Rina rested her fingers on my cheek again and slid them down my neck, to my chest, over the curve of a breast and finally pausing to casually play with my hardening nipple. “Welcome to the club. Now I must get back to my man. He has no idea the sort of ‘help’ you needed. I think you should probably go and attend to your man as well, don’t you?” I nodded, dumbly. “Good girl.”

I saw Rahm often over the next several months. After a few weeks of blow jobs and hand jobs, he even let me open my legs for him. After I begged him for it, that is.

He also told me if I was good I could eventually help him train other girls to be his fuck toys. I liked that idea a lot. I was so much happier after learning my place: beneath dominant men. I wanted to share my revelation.

So imagine my joy when he told me I’d get to help him break my old friend Rina and defile her until her jealous boyfriend didn’t want her anymore?

trigger-warning-rape:

Good, that’s how you should be treated. So tell everyone all about how you were raped.

Your best friend spread the news after you’d had a fight. The fight was about her borrowing your car without asking. But she decided to attack where you were most vulnerable. She’d never fully believed that the gang bang had been fully “unwanted.” Despite what you said about having been drugged. After all, she had searched out the video footage you’d said your parents had used legal action to get taken off the web. She contacted the girlfriend of the ringleader of the “rape” to get a copy. The girlfriend was glad to give it over under promise of anonymity. Your “best friend” Tina didn’t think you looked that out of it. More horny. You’d had enough coordination to suck a cock and give a handjob while being fucked from behind, after all.

Soon the video was spreading again. This time by encrypted Signal messages that couldn’t be stopped like before. “Slut machine” was written on your door in permanent marker. Your name was in stalls all over campus. Girls would grab your tits in public and moo. Guys would wolf whistle at you. You started getting invited to all the frat parties. Some were even held in your name.

It took months but eventually the excitement mostly died down. You met a nice girl. She said all that had happened to you broke her heart. After a few dates, she convinced you to go to a party with her. You hadn’t been to any since the rape.

You felt cautious but good. Really good, actually. Your girlfriend kept feeding you drinks. She led you to a bedroom and started making out. She pulled your shirt over your head and then you heard a ratchety click. Huh? Then another. You could see again as your girlfriend cut away your shirt and you realized you were handcuffed to the bed. Then she secured your legs. You were panicky but you trusted her.

That’s when some guys and girls came in with a nice light and a camera.

“Time to make another film, baby.”

After the third guy came, you were sobering up. All that was left was the shame and the sensation. It was just like before. You didn’t want this but your body did. You burned. You’d had enough of being a victim. No one even believed you.

“Release me!” They all laughed. “I want to turn over…So someone can fuck my ass properly! I haven’t had good anal since last time…” They laughed and cheered. Your “girlfriend” uncuffed you. You slapped her hard and then pulled her in for a kiss. “Does anyone have a strap-on? This bitch deserves a piece of me.”

I am no longer a feminist…

only-rape-fantasy:

hellforwomen:

chaos-doll:

I used to think I was special, I used to think that as a woman I deserved respect and special treatment for no reason other than the gash between my thighs. I used to decry the evils of misogyny and the unfairness of a patriarchal society. I used to march against the exploitation of women and protest the capitalist pigs that made their fortunes by selling unobtainable and oversexualized beauty standards to women.

I was a poster child for white, entitled, liberal America. I was raised in a politically correct environment, by left-leaning parents that never set boundaries or established structure. I went to schools where trophies and awards were handed out just for being present, I was immersed in multiculturalism and taught socialist values, right up through entry in university.

Then I discovered tumblr…

It didn’t take long for me to start to clash with misogynistic Men, I went at them with all the fervor of a typical Social Justice Warrior. I spouted every pseudo-intellectual talking point I could, to convince these mere Men that their opinions of women were wrong and offensive to the whole of society.

Some of the Men tried to debate me, but I wouldn’t listen. I refused to believe I could be wrong. I acted like a typical yappy pissed off cunt. This pattern continued for several days after joining tumblr, then one day I started looking at some of the porn these misogynistic Men posted…

I was disgusted at first by images of Men manhandling women, then I was angry at the captions describing the inferiority of women, I was just about to launch into another angry feminist tirade when one of these Men messaged me.

He was calm, intellectual, perhaps even a bit charming..

We talked for quite awhile, about the representation of women in the media, the expectations placed both upon Men and women, how my hardline stance was holding me back from seeing the bigger picture.

He showed me how to see the beauty in healthy sexual exploration on tumblr and encouraged me to edge to any imagery I found even slightly erotic.

He encouraged me to try to see things from a different perspective, he offered me an experiment. I was to spend a week consuming news and entertainment from sources that I felt opposed my usual worldview.

He literally burst my bubble.

So I spent the week consuming things from this new perspective, all while edging to porn that just a week previous I’d found appalling. I discovered kink after kink as i journeyed through the depths of tumblr, I started yearning to participate in fetishes I didn’t even know I had.

I began to understand the appeal in being treated like a sexual object.

Being tossed around and used.

Being slapped on the ass and called a “Good Girl”

Being pleasing and entertaining to Men.

Because of my gender, Men were going to view me as a sexual object anyways. I’d been fighting against such perception since puberty. I developed young and I developed well. My large breasts forcing me to work harder to prove myself, I was desperate to be taken seriously and not judged for my curves. I refused to be one of those girls that just coasted through life relying on the shape of her body.

It was exhausting..

..and I needed a break from all that. I was so tired of fighting an uphill battle, so tired of having to put in extra effort to be treated as an equal, so tired of being a contrarian cunt that didn’t understand her place in the world.

So I gave in.

I gave up.

I started edging to porn more and more, the more Male dominance the better. The more the woman was degraded and debased, the more I found myself wanting to be in her position.

On my knees..

..or at the foot of a Man.

Being told how inferior I am..

The Patriarchy turns me on.

Misogyny makes my tiny female brain leak out my cunt..

I rub my cunt to the types of things most liberals need trigger warnings for.

..and I just don’t care anymore. It’s too fucking sexy.

I used to be a feminist and a SJW…

Now i’m something else..something they wouldn’t understand..

I’m… liberated..

Cunts … here is a role model for you. If you are still sitting on the fence, or you have little cunt friends who don’t understand their place in life … this is the path for you and them to follow.

I usually don’t reblog other people’s shit but this bitch lays out a good roadmap to enlightenment. Well done whore.

Edging to the enemy.

trigger-warning-rape:

Your new art exhibit where you were willing to show off “the beauty of the female form” by exposing yourself at a frat party didn’t go how you expected. Your professor gave you a failing grade and the frat took you in after that.

Your old art professor was so mean and sexist! Women had destroyed performance art, he said! It was all bad poetry and buckets of menstrual blood, he said! There was nothing brave and manly anymore in performance art, he said!

Well you decided to show him that women were braver than men ever could be and that performance art could be of interest to both sexes!

You set up a performance at the frat house where your best friend’s bf lived. You were going to show him exactly why women exposing themselves and their feelings was such an important act. You would show him exactly what it was like for a woman to exist bodily in this men’s world.

In the end you were gang-raped by most of the guys. Your best friend’s boyfriend who said he’d protect you just laughed and egged them on, telling you your ‘best friend’ thought you were a “self-righteous cunt who needed to get knocked down a peg. Or knocked up.” He told you how your supposed friend had swapped out your birth control for fakes months ago. You were crying by the time your professor got to the front of the queue and began fucking your fertile pussy.

“Good job, you stupid bitch! You really showed the patriarchy, heh heh. This isn’t art, you moron. This is just you realizing where women really belong; not in art but on their knees! I hope you take this lesson to heart. I’ll help you on your path, though. I’ll make sure you fail out of the art program altogether! This is where cunts belong, not in my class. Say ‘thank you’ now, you whore.”

*sniff* “Thank you, p-p-professor.”

—————-

Your ‘best friend’ kicked you out of the apartment for fucking her boyfriend and being a whore. She made sure everyone knew, and all your friends abandoned you. Even your most sexually liberated feminist friends thought you were a traitor to the sisterhood. It was then a representative from the Frat told you how much money they’d made off of videos of you. He offered to give you room and board if you kept ‘preforming’ for them. That’s how you become a frat house whore.

womenwilldominate:

Millennial women are better educated, earn more, and are more likely to own property than Millennial males. Is it any wonder then that a recent study by Varo Money found that 41% of Millennial men would marry someone who earns more than they do so that their partner can pay off their debts. To compare, only 15% of Millennial women have that aim.

MindSweeper

soulcorruptor:

Sylvia sighed, her eyes mostly unfocused as she scrolled mindlessly through her Facebook feed. She didn’t know why she kept going. She saw nothing in particular among her friends’ posts that sparked her interest. Even the political and justice groups she normally participated in made her feel drained the second she looked at them. She couldn’t imagine how much worse it would be if she commented on anything and got drawn into yet another meaningless argument with a sexist asshole and trollish comments.

“I am so BORED,” Sylvia mumbled as she flicked the scroll wheel of her mouse, over and over again. She supposed it was about time she closed Facebook and started on her math homework. She had put it off for an hour already, and she would feel better when it was done.

Just as Sylvia clicked on the “x” to close the browser, something caught her eye. Hurriedly she reopened the window. The post was gone, buried under the refreshed feed, but she remembered that her friend Abby had published the post. A quick search took her to Abby’s profile, and at the top of that profile was the post title that had caught Sylvia’s eye.

“Abby just leveled up in Mindsweeper!” the title exclaimed in big cartoony yellow letters.

“Ha, I knew it,” Sylvia said to herself, a smile separating her plump lips. “Thought I saw a D there instead of an E.” Sylvia read the rest of the post. It appeared that Mindsweeper was yet another cheap Facebook clone of a classic game. It was so cheap in fact that it appeared no one on the dev team had noticed the glaring typo in the title. Either that, or they were trying to avoid a lawsuit. Either seemed plausible, really.

Now that she thought about it, Sylvia had not played the original Minesweeper since she was a child. Curiosity crept into her mind as she realized she never knew what she was doing when she played the original game. It might be fun to learn whether it was about more than just random clicking.

With that thought in her head, Sylvia opened the game and watched a cute cartoon boat sail across her laptop’s screen as it loaded. A talking mine popped up and gave a brief tutorial. It did actually boil down to some random clicking, but if a square had a number in it, the number indicated the amount of mines surrounding that square. Simple math could be used to figure out where the mines were to avoid them. However, the game was also on a timer, and the longer it would take to clear the minefield, the lower the score would be. The goal was to clear the mines as quickly as possible without screwing up. One wrong click and game over.

“Easy enough,” Sylvia murmured as she began to play. It took a few tries to get a good game going; the mines were randomly placed and Sylvia could accidentally hit one as soon as the second click. Soon, however, Sylvia was happily clicking along, her eyes flicking back and forth and her finger clicking madly to mark mines and clear new spaces.

And then…

“BOOM!” The tinny explosion took Sylvia by surprise; she’d gotten so far, marking 60 out of 99 mines, and had forgotten about the sound effect when a mine was hit. Sylvia harumphed and began a new game, and within seconds was lost once again in a frenzy of clicking and barely conscious logic games, deducing where the mines would be.

“BOOM!” Sylvia stared in shock as the mines exploded again, creating a dazzling little light display that left spots against her strained eyes. After a few rapid blinks Sylvia could read the words on the screen. She gritted her teeth as she realized the text explained the basic premise of the game to her in childish language, as if she had lost because she didn’t understand how to play.

“As if, anyone could win this game!” Sylvia muttered, and began again. At 70 mines she lost again. Again she was greeted by a dazzling light display and text that very, VERY patiently told her how to play. Again Sylvia grumbled and began anew.

After her fourth…or was it her tenth…or twentieth…loss, Sylvia glanced at the clock in the corner of the laptop screen. She’d been playing for thirty minutes! How could she have spent that much time on a silly little game? With fresh resolve, Sylvia began again. She swore that as soon as she won one game she would close it and start her homework.

Of course, that’s what they all say.

“BOOM!” Sylvia didn’t even blink this time, just stared and waited for the light display to end. She almost didn’t notice that the text had changed. When she did, she was furious.

“Most people have won by now, maybe you need to take a break,” it said. What. Most people have won? What was the game trying to say about her?! Sylvia kept playing, determined to get that victory.

“BOOM!” Again Sylvia stared, unblinking and feeling angry resignation. She grumbled when the text taunted her again. “Maybe this isn’t your game, you can quit anytime.”

“Never!” she seethed and played again.

“BOOM! Smarter girls than you have quit by now.”

“Smarter? Are you kidding me?” Sylvia played again, angrier still.

“BOOM! Even stupid girls win eventually.”

“BOOM! Even girls as stupid as you.”

“BOOM! There aren’t many who are stupider.”

At this point morbid curiosity drove Sylvia more than anything. She couldn’t believe what the game was saying about her. Of course, it was all prescripted, so it couldn’t be about HER, but Sylvia couldn’t help but take it a little personally. After all, she was an honor roll college student, president of the debate club, and a proud intern at a local accounting firm. This annoying little game was wounding her ego in all the right places, and she needed to prove it wrong.

“BOOM! You might be getting stupider.”

“BOOM! You might be getting sillier.”

“BOOM! You’re really a stupid little girl.”

“I am not stupid OR little!” Sylvie pouted. She couldn’t help it if she wasn’t so great at math or science, or if spelling was a challenge for her sometimes. She still did okay at school…didn’t she?

“BOOM! You’re getting stupider.”

“BOOM! You’re getting sillier.”

“BOOM! You’re getting sluttier.”

Now the game was slut shaming her? Okay, so maybe Sylvie liked to flaunt what she had, and maybe she had more fun fantasizing about sex than she did about work, but wasn’t that every girl?

“BOOM! You’re getting dumber.”

“BOOM! You’re getting weaker.”

“BOOM! You’re getting wetter.”

It wasn’t Sylvie’s fault that she couldn’t understand the coursework. It was all her silly teacher’s fault! Maybe she just needed to offer him a blowjob to get by. Maybe that’d work for the other professors as well. After all, brains were definitely not Sylvie’s strong suit.

“BOOM! You’re getting dimmer.”

“BOOM! You’re getting slicker.”

“BOOM! Use your other fingers for better results.”

SiSi knew what the game meant and immediately her fingers went to her dripping, quivering snatch. She kept losing, but the messages changed and made it easier to edge as she played.

“You don’t need your brains anyway.”

“Your cunt is all that matters.”

“Cock is all that matters.”

“You’re a sexy brainless slut.”

“You crave cock so badly.”

“Your empty head needs to be filled with cum.”

SiSi could only moan in agreement as she kept losing, kept surrendering to the game. Eventually she noticed a change in the light display-it was fireworks instead of mine explosions. She stopped fingering her pussy for a second to take in the new screen.

In front of her she saw all the mines had been marked and a cheering crowd of naked girls had gathered on the deck of the boat at the top of the screen. New text formed in the water below.

“Congratulations! Mind Swept! Level One Complete!

Would you like to try Level 2? Yes/No”

With a giggle and a shudder, SiSi clicked yes. She leaned back and began playing with her dripping cunt again, but not before clicking the “share” button and tagging all her feminist friends in a post advertising Mindsweeper. Something told her they would love this new game.