One night after a stressful day in the office she succumbed to her curiosity and tumblred for real this time. She wasn't really interested in what men want. She was interested what she truly wanted and needed, so she liked and reblogged stuff, feeling inspired and relieved. Suddenly a message popped up:
It was a strange blog called simplifyfemininity with photos and captions, she found funny, cheerful and amusing. So she had reblogged stuff from it. Still, she answered reluctantly and knew right there it was a mistake. A blog with a name like that had just one thing in mind but she couldn't really resist. Or could she? No. She was too curious this day, too worn down from the work. So she answered "Hi" back.
An answer followed directly. "What are you doing?"
She began to feel a little annoyed. "Yes, just looking what do you want?"
She typed slightly too furious. "I don't need help, what's the matter with you."
"You sure? This is hard to believe. You are reblogging my stuff. My stuff is all about liberating women from work, from a wrong life. Are you happy with your life, your work? My guess is, you are working too much and you are frustrated. Am I right?"
She hesitated. It hit too close to home, then wrote. "Mabye."
"So you are satisfied with life?"
"Mostly isn't enough, is it? We both know it. Mostly means in truth almost never. It is a polite way of saying, it is miserable but I have learnt to cope with it."
Clearly this wasn't the first time he chatted like that. She felt preyed upon. So she wrote back. "So what! It is not any of your business."
"Stop fighting back. I am here to help"
She felt anger inside. "You are not in the place to tell me what I should and shouldn't do."
She was flabbergasted. Before she could answer. He continued. "I tell you to be quiet and to read. You are not here to think. You are not here to question. You are here to feel. So feel! You know you feel too little all the time. You know you want to feel more, to feel more alive, more of everything. So, don't resist. You know you are not living the life you want to live. You know you wish for more. Don't deny it."
She looked at the words, reading them, reading them again. She was about to form a thought but the next message already appeared. "Good! Finally you do, what you are told to do. Read it. Don't think. You want more of it. You enjoy it. You need it. You want it. Am I right?"
Before she really could reflect on it, she felt warm and seen and good to just read, to just nod, to just let it happen. So she wrote: "Maybe."
"Maybe is better than mostly, isn't it? Maybe is good. Now relax. Don't think. Just dive into your emotions."
Feeling directly addressed she indeed felt emotions overcoming here, warm and beautiful emotions, emotions she had missed for a long time. She starred at the chat, immersed, mesmerized. New words popped up. "Good, now breathe in, breathe out. Embrace them, be yourself, be your emotions, succumb to your feelings. Feelings are real. Feelings are good. Feelings are the best."
Before she even could stopped herself, she wrote: "Yes."
"Very good. It feels nice, doesn't it. It is a good word. Say it again."
A strange new and exciting feeling overcame her to just obey. Unconsciously she started to slip her hands between her legs, warmth and beauty were flowing through her. She started to rub but didn't answer.
"Don't stop whatever you are doing. You feel more alive now than most of the time. You feel more present, more in the moment than for a long time. Feel it and embrace it. Allow it!"
She rubbed stronger, looking at the words, drank them in, enjoyed them. She felt exposed but she liked it. She felt manipulated but liked that, too.
"Don't answer just continue. Just read. It is how you like it, how you want it, how you need it. You want to be told what to do, you want to follow, you want to obey."
She rubbed and nodded, felt free and alive, felt free and seen, felt free and good. She couldn't say it. She wanted to say it but still she wasn't daring to say it. It felt so wrong to say but she felt so much while thinking of saying it. Torn apart, she wrote. "I really can't say."
"Of course you can't. You don't want to say it. You want to feel it, to give into it. you don't want to decide. Deciding feels wrong. Am I right?"
A big relief surged through her, heat and warmth melted together, formed an union. She moaned and looked at the words. "You do not want to be in charge. You do not want to lead. You do not want to think. You just want to feel. So feel!"
She got rid of her panties and rubbed harder, looking at the words. "You want to be told what to do. You want to obey. You want to submit!"
She rubbed and nodded silently. "You want to read and follow instructions. You want to be horny, you want to be needy, you want to be wet!"
She couldn't believe it but truth overwhelmed her, simplicity, clarity while rubbing, reading, obeying. "You are not built to think. You are not made to decide. You are not able to live an independent life."
The words attacked her fundamental beliefs but they all seemed so true, true to the word, true to the feel and core of her being. She rubbed like a maniac her wet pussy, nodded and moaned. "You tried to live on your own but you cannot help it. You need to be owned, you need to be claimed, you need to be subdued and controlled!"
As she read the word "controlled" she came. She came hard for it was true, she wanted to be controlled, she wanted to be taken, she needed to be claimed. She continued to rubbed furiously, full of self-hatred and ecstasy, full of horniness and self-defiance, as the words appear. "Now, say yes!"
She didn't hesitate. "Yes!"
She rubbed eagerly moaning. "Yes!"
She looked at the words. For a short glimpse of resistance she wanted to burst out in anger but her lust was dominating her mind. Being a slut didn't seem to feel so wrong anymore. "Yes!"
She rubbed harder, full of excitement, anger and relief. She knew she would write it. She knew she had to write it.
"Write it, Slut! Write what you are! Tell me the truth, admit!"
It felt so wrong and so good, and so she wrote: "I'm a slut!"
She almost came as she read her own words.
"Good. Say it again. Say it and rub!"
She couldn't resist. "I am a slut."
She came and still continued. Her mind felt dizzy but she couldn't help it. She needed to edge. She needed to rub, to feel the pain, the need. She didn't want it to stop. "Say you don't want to be in control!"
It felt easier with every moment to admit her feeling and emotions. "I don't want to be in control."
"You are a slut, you don't want to be in charge. You want cock."
She moaned. "I am a slut, I don't want to be in charge. I want cock."
She still was amazed what happened but it was all true. She needed cock. "So I was right from the start, wasn't I? You needed help."
Rubbing her eager wet pussy she couldn't deny the truth. "Yes."
"Help to succumb to cock."
She felt liberated and good, so good and relaxed. "Tell me again what you are?"
She rubbed and moaned and wrote wholeheartedly. "A slut for cock, I succumb to cock, I am a fuckslut."
"Good, so next time, a man messages you, you say 'thanks' and submit."
"And next time, you don't fight it but you rub and admit that you are a slut."
She felt free and alive. "Yes!"
"Next time, you don't say 'maybe' or 'mostly', you just say 'yes'!"
"And now answer others messages, you for sure didn't have answered yet, and act as a slut, because that's what you are, a slut!"
"Then do what you have been told to do, slut!"
She rubbed and looked at the other messages and started to answer them. A long night began. It was the first night of a very different life, but a life she lived and continued to live as a slut happily ever after.
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