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?

youngwhoregirl:

unitedstatesdaddyassociation:

Reblog if you love being catcalled, looked at, and even touched by men in public.

It’s my favourite thing, we need to encourage it

eep.

My Boss is an Ally

I was working in an office during summer break from college. It was sort of an internship, but I actually got paid. It was a lot of fun and felt like some good job experience. I was basically a secretary but I got to manage a few people too and they were talking about a real job after I graduated. So I wasn’t worried when my boss called me into his office, until I saw the dour look on his face.

“Please close the door. This is a little sensitive. No, don’t sit.”

I stood awkwardly in front of my older boss as he looked me up and down in my black skinny jeans, black silk dress shirt, plugs and bleached hair. My boss was a bit of a silver fox. His attention made me shiver.

“You know how we monitor the internet traffic of our employees.”

“Wha-…N-no, sir.” I stumbled over my words, blushing.

“It’s in the handbook you agreed to be bound by when you started. You really should read it. There’s lots of…liberties we can take.”

“Oh?”

“Yes…well, more to the point, IT sent word you’d been spending more and more time going to non-work sites. No worries, they don’t see the specifics. It all gets flagged by the system and obfuscated, but I was sent the list to review. Standard practice. I expected Facebook, Twitter, porn. Unimportant stuff we don’t care about. But it seems you’ve been spending hours each day browsing transgender sites. MTF, specifically. Instructional, supportive, some…lewd.”

“I’m so terribly sorry, sir! It won’t happen again! I was still getting my work done, I swear! It was for a friend!”

“Hush, hush. No, no, quiet your hysterics. I’m not firing you. You’ve made me realize that our health insurance doesn’t cover gender transition, or whatever you call it. I’m in talks with HR to get that fixed. Would you like that?”

“Ummm, yes sir, but I’m a temp employee. I don’t get benefits. And I’ll be back in school soon.”

“Yes, about that. Well, what’s more important, being a girl or being a college graduate?”

He had me there. I was quivering. From anticipation, fear, confusion, eroticism. “A g-girl, sir?”

“Good! Glad to hear. No one cares if an airhead secretary finished college. So how about you drop out and come be my assistant full time? Then you can start taking hormones immediately. Don’t even bother to officially drop, actually. Failing out of college will get you so much more in the proper mindset for your new life.” I just nodded, dumbstruck. Some part of my mind screamed at the degradation and sexism, but my libido had teamed up with my gender euphoria and was firmly in control.

“You know I like you, right?” my boss continued. “How much I’ve come to depend on you? It would be cruel to leave me now. I know we were grooming you for ‘better’ things but I think you’ll agree that the real best thing for a dumb bimbo like you isn’t to be a manager but rather my secretary”

I nodded, mouth slightly agape, drooling.

“I’m so glad you understand! I normally like cute young girls as my secretaries. When I got you I was initially disappointed. And then worried at how much I…enjoyed having you serve me. It didn’t help what a pretty thing you were. I felt very confused since I don’t like guys. Plus, the other upper managers teased me, y’know? ‘Roy, how’s that assistant treating you? Is it true men are better at giving head?’“

“I’m, uh, sorry, sir. I should have, um, told you sooner?”

“Yes, you should have. Trust your boss. I can’t help if I don’t know the truth. Well, the important thing is I know you’re a girl now and I can rest easy. I don’t have to feel weird about wanting to plow you. Uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to sexually harass you.”

“Oh, um, no offense taken. It’s…a little flattering.”

“Just like a girl! You know how many girl secretaries I’ve had that eagerly jumped on my cock?”

“No?”

“Me neither! A dozen? Most of them, in any case. By the end. Girls like powerful, older men. They like being put in their place. Do you?”

God, how did he have me so spot-on? I was just about to cream my panties.

“…yes, sir.”

“See, you’re such a good girl! Who could argue with that? Idiots.”

Tears were forming in my eyes. “*sniff* thank you, sir.”

“What should I call you? Do you have a new name picked out?”

I nodded and spoke meekly, “K-Kendra, sir.”

“Kendra! Lovely name. I’ll get HR on that. Now, Kendra, you’ll get more hours and the chance for overtime, but you’ll make less per hour, of course.”

“Wh-what? But why?”

“Silly girl. Women make less than men. You want to be a woman, right?”

I nodded, dazed.

“Good! Plus it will offset the cost of adding trans coverage to our health plan. Just think of all the supposed men we could be paying 22% less! Sure, there will be migration in the opposite direction, too, but I think our misogynist culture will keep most of them away. And draw your lot like a moth to the flames”

Fuck! He had my number. I was squirming.

“Well I can see I have you intrigued. Show me that big clitty of yours. Yes…now! Mmm, not bad. Though I suspect no one ever mistook it for a real cock. Not just that it’s a bit small for a cock, but everything about you. It just doesn’t add up that you could be anything but a girl.”

Tears were falling down my face as I stood before my boss with my erect clit out. “yes, sir.”

“Mmmm, now strip for me. You want it, right? Good. Now take off all your clothes. Let me see your slutty girl body. Wow, what a perfect canvas for a new girl to start from. I can’t wait to watch it develop. Okay, now I’m going to suck that clit. You’re not to fuck anyone with your clit, anymore, you understand?”

I nodded.

“Good girl. Now only use this pussy back here. If you decide to shrink that clitty and get another pussy, then you can get fucked there, too. But be a good girl. No topping.”

I whimpered as he sucked me. Eventually I was wracked with an orgasm and he let my juices fall all over my stomach and chest.

“Just rub that in. Yes, use your hands. It’ll dry eventually and then you can get dressed. You’ll smell of sex all day, like a proper slut.”

Then he started fucking my ass (um, pussy?). He rubbed some of my own lubrication in there. I moaned with abandon in his office, wondering who could hear.

“Now about those stock boys you manage. I know you like supervising people, but it just isn’t seemly for a good girl like you to be ordering men around. Even if they are just teenage layabouts. It would damage their morale. But, I’m not a cruel man. And I’ve overhead that they like you; in fact, they want to get you in a dress and bend you over as I am. Clever boys. So I’ll let you still work with them. It’s just that the only commands you can give them will be mine. Any input you have for them will be more of a…suggestion. As men, young and immature though they may be, you are to respect their greater aptitude for logic and critical thinking. If they countermand or question you, thank them for their input. If they try anything…well, understand it’s good for morale. Got it?”

“Y-yes, sir! Fuck! How are you so good at this?”

“Thanks, Kendra. I have decades of experience bringing impressionable young girls to heel. Now, we’ll send out an office-wide email Monday congratulating you on your new position, letting people know about your name and pronouns, and letting everyone know that if they need anything at all that you are here to help anyone in any way you can. Sound good?”

“Fuck! Ahhh. Yes, sir!”

“You might want to apologize to the stock boys for ever putting yourself over them. I’ll set up a meeting, okay?”

“Yes! Mmmmmm.”

“Mind if I cum in you?”

“Please! P-please, sir! Give me your cum!”

“Good girl.”

The 6 Step to Accepting you’re Inferior

summa-obsequium:

There is always a process you sluts go through when you slowly have to work through just why all this degrading and filthy porn gets you so wet, even when society tells you only vanilla sex is normal. Lets take a visual look at just what you go through so you can figure out just what step you’re on now.

Step 1: Shock

From the first time you happened across not so vanilla porn you were surprised just how much is resonated with you. You couldn’t fathom that someone could like this so you just told yourself you were disgusted by it. Yet even after you got over the initial shock you found your mind always wandering back to just how happy she looked serving a man.

Step 2: Denial

You just cant keep those filthy thoughts out of your head and instead of accepting that they get your cunt wet you keep lying to yourself and telling yourself they are wrong, or that only freaks like that stuff. Even as you feel your cunt drip you choose to ignore the heat rising in your body and instead focus on the fact that you’re a “strong independent woman”.

Step 3: Anger

You suddenly find yourself filled with the need to prove you’re not into being degraded or talked down to. Maybe you go join a feminist rally to yell in men’s faces so you can forget about just how much you wish they would just tell you to shut up and suck their cock. Usually this phase lasts until the slut simply cant take it anymore and gives in, moving us to the next step.

Step 4: Bargaining

You keep telling yourself it’s just a harmless fantasy, that just because you masturbate to women being abused and humiliated, it doesn’t mean you want that done to you. Many sluts that come to my blog are stuck on this phase, and need a bit of help accepting what they are.

Step 5: Guilt

Naturally the next thing you sluts feel is an overwhelming sense of guilt as you slowly begin to accept that you get off to male superiority, and that the thought of being controlled and used by men gets you wetter than you thought possible. You find yourself just hoping that none of your friend or family find out what a dirty slut you are so you shamefully delete your history after every masturbation session.

Step 6: Acceptance

Finally after so many amazing orgasms and hardcore fucks your mind can finally rest easily as you accept your place as an inferior fuck toy. No more fighting yourself, no more shame or fear that you will change forever, you know what you are and you even find it funny you fought it for so long. Now you let men decide the things for you, as you focus on more important things like looking sexy and making men cum.

My Boxer Girlfriend

power-to-girls:

I’ve been dating Alexia, my girlfriend for over a year now. She has been the love of my life during all this time, She’s great. She
behaves like a leader, she has done martial arts since she was a child,
she is one of the feminist activists of the university, and she loves
me with madness. But
the bad thing, is that I’ve never known if I’m a real lesbian, the
truth is, that I’ve never enjoyed sex with her as I do with a man.

Over a week ago, the gym where she trains, prepared a sparring session, to prepare Alexia for a fight soon. His rival was a rookie boy of his own weight, named Davis. My
girlfriend was very confident, and a little cocky, she told me she was
going to knock out Davis still with the protective helmet on.

The day of the sparring arrived and the noob knocked out Alexia in 12 seconds. He left her unconscious in the ring, while the other guys on the gym laughed and recorded her. The worst thing about it … I got extreamly horny when I find out what happened.

The
following days to that have been hell for Alexia, they harass and Bully her every day, they don’t stop playing the video of the defeat, they imitate the way she fell to the ground, and they call her degrading names. Davis is now a kind of Hero in the gym, they call him “smasher of feminism”. I don’t know how Alexia is holding it.

I decided to go and talk to them directly, confront them so they would stop harassing my girlfriend. At first they laughed at me, so I went to talk to Davis in the locker room, but when I entered I found him naked in front of me.

His
penis was huge, and I could not stop looking at it, I began to explain to
him that I was Alexia’s girlfriend, and I needed him to stop
attacking her. The words came out little by little, I could not concentrate with Davis’s penis in front of me, until he interrupted me. -Take out your tits. He said, I looked at him without knowing what to say, -Take out your tits cunt. He repeated. -Yes Sir. I
answered while I took my tits out, he have slapped me around a little,
My boobs, my face and my ass, then I put my on my knees and I started to
suck his dick and balls, he fucked my face merciless. After
a few minutes of intense facefucking he took it out and started jerking
directly on my face, while I was offering my tits to him. He started to cum in my face and tonge, a huge load that made a mess. He fucked my face for a minute after that, and told me: -Now get out, but do not clean your face cunt. I got up, but before leaving, with a shame look in my face I said: -Thank you for putting me and my girlfriend in our place. He smiled and answered: -You’re welcome dyke. I
left the gym with all the guys looking and laughing at my cum covered
face, they took pictures and two of them actually slapped my ass. I supose that my relationship will be over when the guys show Alexia the photos of her girfriend cum covered by her bully.

‘Princess’ had been your pet name for your girlfriend from the start. You even used it around others. Your mean coworker thought it was girly and a sign of weakness. He made fun of you frequently and mercilessly.

“You’re such a fucking beta, bro! ‘My princess!’ Eesh. But seriously dude you’re just giving her too much power worshiping her like that. A girl needs a man to take a stronger hand. Call her babe, chick, or slut even but not princess. Unless…is it like a sex thing? Does she dress up like a bimbo Disney princess and let you ravage her while she calls out for Prince Charming to save her?”

“What? Ew. No, we’re not into weird infantalizing and rapey stuff like that.”

“Yeah, right, dude! If she likes being called princess then she’d love being treated like one. You just need to make sure you get the better end of the deal. All girls secretly have rape fantasies. That’s what rape culture means.”

“I…that’s not…no.”

“You try getting raised to be a sex object and see what fantasies you end up with. I’m just helping girls who are already broken by the system achieve some joy.”

“Uh, you’re such a woke meathead, huh? That’s not us. We love and respect each other.”

“Sure you do, but she doesn’t call you her Prince, does she? Thought so. Wise up and give your girl what she craves or someone else will.”

Later that week your Princess mentioned the meathead had friended her on Facebook. She hated him but didn’t want to cause trouble for you so she accepted. You tried to get her to unfriend but she thought that would be more trouble than sticking it out.

Soon she started complaining about all the sexist, rapey memes he posted. Some to her wall! Just block him, you urged. But now she was looking at it as a sociological experiment. She wanted to understand the mind of a misogynist bro. Maybe she could change him.

That’s how she ended up agreeing to get coffee with him once a week. She didn’t tell you. He did. When you brought it up she just said she thought you’d overreact. He wasn’t as bad in person, she said. She was getting through to him. Though she did have to listen to his weird hypotheses about how women could find liberation by embracing objectification. So dumb, she told you.

So it was a surprise when she agreed to an exchange of principles. She’d dress really slutty all week and post OotD to instagram if he’d stop catcalling women and be really respectful instead. Then they’d see how much this changed each of their minds. He swore she’d like the attention if she just leaned into it for a while. She thought he’d come to find women responded to him better if he didn’t harass them. You hated this. But she wouldn’t back down.

At least you got most of the benefit of seeing her dress up. And he was nicer at work. You asked him about it.

“I figure you’re so emasculated that you’re basically a girl, dude, so I should be more respectful to you too.” Ugh. Had to ask.

At the end of the week you got this snapchat while they were out on their coffee date…

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.

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.

XOXO soulcorruptor