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I was the head of a boutique clothing company. I started the company in my early 20’s and built it into one of the leading fashion wear brands over the last 20 years.
The greater strides I made in business the more focused my time and mind came on my business. The men I dealt with in business were fake and I hated the idea that a compliment should make a woman putty in their hands. Why could they not be honest about their feelings? In fact I found myself being more contemptuous towards men and their chivalrous attitude. I was a strong independent woman and I wanted to be admired as such.
It had been almost 10 years since my last date with a man and with that sex with a man. I knew my body better than anyone and I preferred masturbation to sex. I no longer wanted to play the courtship game with a man who wanted to impress with his car or his wallet and his fake words.
It was late as I walked over to the kitchen and tried to scavenge some food. For a moment I thought a domesticated man that would cook for me and clean my house may not be such a bad idea. There was nothing to be found and I tapped a takeaway app on my phone and ordered a pizza.
I was lounging on the sofa in my silk pyjamas as I waited for the pizza delivery. The shirt was buttoned up and it felt comfortable but also looked elegant. I looked to go without a bra when I was in my loungewear. I treasured comfort overlooking ‘sexy’.
I was scrolling through the news when a headline grabbed my attention, “Incels: The Greatest Threat to Women”.
I had never heard this term before, ‘Incel’. The dramatic tone of the headline caught my attention and I clicked on the story. It was then that the story explained that an ‘Incel’ was someone who was Involuntary Celibate. I had a little smile to myself as I would probably be classed as Voluntary Celibate but there was an intrigue around why these men were considered a danger.
The more I read the more I was becoming fascinated with this concept of an incel. The anger and hatred they seemed to have for women was shocking. I imagined these pathetic nerdy horny men so desperate to fuck a woman but so ugly and unapproachable that no woman would fuck them.
These men full of hot angry cum and no one to fuck so they hate women. They litter the internet with their vitriol and hateful comments against women.
My mind developed an image of these hard horny men and I found my breathing becoming shallow. Was my rage at these men causing this?
I was absorbed in the article reading about these horny desperate men that were sat in their parents’ bedroom spewing hate at women. All of a sudden I heard a knock at the door and it brought me out of my reverie. To my shock my free hand had been manipulating my clit under my pyjamas. I felt a moistness on my fingers and I could not believe what came over me. Was I turned on by these pathetic men?
I shook my head at the thought and went to collect my pizza. The pizza delivery man was short and fat and I wondered to myself, “Was he one of these incels?” Or was the fact that he had a job proof that he was not living in his parent’s basement and was able to socialise.
I found myself staring at him and he gave me a bemused look which brought me back to reality.
It had been another busy day at the office. I found myself working longer hours now than I did in my early years. The daily grind was relentless and I always found myself pushing myself to improve the company.
It was getting late into the evening but luckily I had some left over pizza from the night before. As I thought back to the pizza the incel story came back to my mind. The article mentioned a website popular amongst these incels and I felt this urge to experience how these men behaved.
I entered the link from the article and began reading the various articles. The articles struck me as targeting men and framing women as sluts for their gratification. It was nothing that I did not expect but then I saw the message board’s page. I was not braced for the display of vitriolic masculine toxicity. Women were either ‘whores’, ‘cunts’, ‘sluts’ or ‘bitches’. It was almost like an alternative universe and I felt this strong urge to slap these Incel morons down to size. I read more of the messages and threads. I was become absorbed by this website.
I found myself sucking on the end of my pen as I read more of the disgusting messages. I was beginning to feel hot and opened a couple of buttons of my blouse as I read comments on leading feminists such as “the Cunt would complain less if she had a cock down her throat” or “the Whore needs a good fuck.”
They were the worst kind of people but I could feel the moistness between my legs and the sweat on my body. I began to flap my shirt as I was feeling hotter and hotter. Inexplicably and without conscious thought I began to clutch my breast and gently manipulate it.
I had been on for hours and it was only when I heard the cleaners coming in for the midnight shift that casino siteleri I realised the time. I quickly closed the page almost embarrassed at being on such a website. I would actually prefer them to think I was watching porn.
I was in bed trying to sleep but the conflict within me was preventing me from sleeping. Why were thoughts of these men causing such arousal within me?
I had been off men for the longest time, I found the dating ritual out dated, the idea that a man needs to hold doors open or pay for a meal or pretend to be in love or provide false compliments. Despite these shows of ‘chivalry’ I always found them a disappointment in the bedroom. I was proud that I dedicated myself to my company rather than wasting it on a man. I liked to be in control and I was not willing to give up the control to a man.
I was working on the spring lounge collection and I had an important meeting with a buyer from Europe. It was an important that I was trying to enter. My mind had to be focused.
It was one of our ‘sexier’ collections as we tried to strike a balance between sexy and relaxed wear for women. I wanted a design for women’s comfort and not around what men wanted to see. It was too often that women’s clothing was designed on what men found desirable but I wanted a line for women.
The next few days were spent finalising the designs before the presentation. They had to be altered for the European market.
As the meeting approached I was becoming slightly nervous. It was a big venture and it was crazy to think that one man had so much control over my business.
He was late for the meeting and that slightly annoyed me. He had a smooth and sophisticated way about him. He was dressed in a sharp designer suit and his hair was immaculate.
He inspected the clothing line and nodded his approval. He turned to me ever so slightly and asked, “Is there a model to show these clothes?”
“No unfortunately not,” I had not thought of the need for a model as the clothes spoke for themselves, “but the clothes were modelled at our recent show and I am happy to show the pictures.”
“You are a perfect shape to be the model,” I was left open mouthed by his unprofessional manner. I knew my face had gone red as it often did when I was embarrassed and I had an urge to slap him but I swallowed my pride and politely refused, “The CEO at this company does not model. No matter how perfect her shape is. So can we talk business?”
We ended up negotiating an agreement but the whole exchange reminded me of my reasons for distancing myself from men. I did not like men objectifying women in the workplace but as a CEO I had to prioritise the company over any feelings of feminism.
I still had a sense of resentment at the exchange a few days later and my anger was slowly bubbling. I was bewildered by men and this idea that women were only to be judged on their bodies and not the content in their mind. It reminded of the pathetic incels and their view of women as ‘Cunts’ as though that was the only body part that defined us.
I hadn’t visited the website in a few days but I was slowly reeled back in. As I went through the posts and comments it only served to intensify my anger and I was becoming more infuriated. Someone needed to put these pathetic men in their place.
I went to post a reply but it asked me to sign up. I created an anonymous profile with the name, ‘LadyBoss’. These pathetic men needed a real woman to put them in their place.
I saw a post about a nipple slip by a leading actress on the red carpet. It had a number comments;-
“These whores sell their bodies every day. Sluts.”
“This slut has been fucked on every casting couch in Hollywood.”
“Hoes from Hollywood.”
The misogyny made my blood boil. Why did they hate women? Just because women would not fuck them does that mean that they should hate successful women?
I began writing a reply but found my hands shaking at the rage I was feeling. These pathetic losers had made me angrier than ever before. I was going back and forth with my thoughts and my mind had built up this rage against these men;
“You pathetic Incels.
A successful woman has a wardrobe mishap and she must endure pathetic virgins still living in their mother’s basement abusing her. Men that have never had the pleasure of a woman’s touch or company.
You pathetic excuse for men.”
My reply was not the thoughtful response I had envisaged but perfectly reflected my hatred of these pathetic men.
It was then that I felt the full force of their venom and vitriol against women. They immediately turned on me;
“Look at this Cunt. She had to call herself LadyBoss so we take her seriously. Stfu and get in the kitchen.”
“The birch needs a hard cock in her mouth to shut her up.”
“The epitome of cuntishness. What an absolute Cunt!!”
“LadyBoss, how many men did you fuck on your way to become LadyBoss? Dirty fucking slut.”
“She is nothing more canlı casino than a dried up old hag. No one wants to fuck this old bitch.”
These were strangers on the internet but that last comment cut a little close to the bone and I wondered if there was truth to it? I reassured myself that it was my choice to be celibate and I had made the choice to stay away from men.
Their response made me more resolute and I retorted;
“You basement dwelling losers. You would not know what to do with a real woman. A successful and intelligent woman. You can only jerk off to porn in your mom’s basement. You will always be pathetic.”
I began to feel uncomfortable and hot in my clothes. I slid off my pyjamas and to my dismay found my panties to be moist. I unbuttoned my shirt and took it off. Feeling more comfortable in just my lounging bra.
My reply received the same treatment as my initial post and I felt there was no getting through to these men but then a notification popped up to say I had a private message. I had not noticed this facility before but it immediately got my interest.
I went to read the message from ‘DivideConquer’. As soon as I opened it my screen was filled with a picture of a hard dick. The pulsating red head seemed angry and so engorged it was ready to explode. It was an apt analogy for these losers.
Subconsciously I was running my fingers around my nipple. I was caught for a few moments as I took in the dick. It was the first time I had ever received an unsolicited dick pic and it took me by surprise. He sent a further message which took me out of my reverie, “Finally something has shut up your whoremouth.”
The analogy was stupid as I was typing with my fingers but I was dealing with stupid incels. They needed to know their place in this world, “Did you really think that wimp small dick would impress anyone? I was surprised you could even get it hard. You pathetic man. You have no intellect or talent.”
My fingers were manipulating my nipple as I found myself being absorbed by this exchange. I hoped my last message would put an end to it but to my surprise he came back, “Ha. You dried up old hag. Are you afraid to admit that this cock made your cunt wet? I can get hard even for a dried up cunt like yours. Can you remember the last time you saw a cock? Intellect? I am more intelligent than any dried up old cunt.”
I read the message a couple of times the ferocity hitting me like a freight train. I was roughly manipulating my nipple and squeezing my breast with one hand while typing with the other. Why was I getting turned on by this angry exchange? These pathetic incels were not worthy of my time. I was Sarah Brown, CEO. At 45 I had an important job and I was considered influential in the surge of women in business. What was I doing online engaging with such losers?
My hand slid down my body and in my justification I told myself I needed to prove him wrong and he had not made me wet but as my hand went over my panties I could feel they were completely soaked. Instead of moving my hand back to a natural position I kept it there and explored my vagina. Gently running my fingers over my lips and circling my button.
I did not want to lie so I replied in a way to change the discussion, “If you believe you can best any woman. I am up for the challenge. We can have a match on chess. But what do you want to wager?”
My father and I regularly played chess while I was younger. I knew most of the key strategies and I wanted to show this pathetic incel what it would feel like to be beaten by a woman.
“Firstly, I noticed you did not deny your dried up old cunt is wet for the first time in a long time. Be grateful you old cunt and thank my cock. Secondly, the wager is that if I win you will be my sexual slave for the day.”
I pulled my panties to the side and began to slide a finger into myself. I was so hot and wet. Why did the idea of being his slave turn me on so much?
I began to finger myself in a steady rhythm as moans began to leave my lips. I was relieved for the privacy with the exchange happening over private messages. He did not know the effect this exchange had on me.
“Your small dick makes me laugh. If I win I want you to apologise on the message board to every woman you have insulted and admit that you are a pathetic incel loser.”
I was fingering myself harder as I insulted him. I had never been this turned on before and this exchange was making me hot like never before. I could feel my orgasm getting closer and closer. I moaned, “Incel bastard fuck me,” as I came from a powerful orgasm.
I gathered my breath as I came down from my climax. I realised the time and the tiredness in my body was now realised as I fell asleep.
In the morning I saw that he had replied, “Challenge accepted. My username on the Chess Player app is Lord Chessington.”
I rolled my eyes at the pathetic name. He was such a lame loser and I was hoping to punish him. I sent him an invite but then kaçak casino realised my username included my name. My username was simply SarahBrown. Why did I have to be so straightlaced?
There were many Sarah Browns in the world and I hoped he would not be able identify me. I had to be careful that my online foray did not put me in trouble in my real world.
He sent me a message, “Are you ready to be my slutty sex slave?”
I replied promptly, “Just take your beating like a man.”
He made his move by sending a pawn out. It was the move of an amateur and I saw no real thought or strategy behind it. My father had taught me two key plays the Kingsman and the Lone Knightsman. I sent my Knight out in the middle to try and control the board.
He almost immediately exposed his Queen and I did not hesitate to take it out. It was from there that he had no real hope against me and I dominated him. I was sat at my desk at work as we played this game and I loved the dominant feeling over this pathetic weasel. It gave me a thrill and I could not help but squeeze my legs together as I felt that excitement from the night before.
I checked the app and he had sent a quick message, “I was not prepared. I needed more time. Can we play best out of 3?”
I laughed at the pathetic weasel but I liked our little game, “You will write that post on the message board today. I will give you another game but this time if you lose you will be my slave for the day. Accept the challenge if you dare.”
His reply seemed nervous, “Challenge accepted.”
I went first and played the same strategy by trying to take the centre of the board. I wad bolder than before knowing that I was up against an amateur. He was playing more cautiously and he played two strange moves with his bishops. I saw them exposed and felt it was an easy hit. I took his two bishops but then he wiped out my knights. My father had taught me that the key to winning the game was always knights and the queen. I now felt exposed and I wondered if this was luck or did he have strategy behind it. I had to think about my next move.
I sent him a message, “Good move. I will need some time to think of my next move.”
I was only able to return to the game late in the evening. I was surprised to see there was no obscene message from the pathetic incel.
I assessed the board and to have any hope in this game I had to protect my Queen. Why was I so foolish to play another game?
But I was sucked in by the thrill of it. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing up as I thought about my next move. The app then alerted me to a message, “Are you still playing or are you quitting?”
He was getting confident, “I don’t quit. I will make my move. What is your real name?”
I made my move as he replied, “Brian Hall. I don’t care about your name. I will just call you Cunt.”
I was going to enjoy rubbing his face in my feet when I won. He rushed his next move and exposed his knight. I took it without hesitation and felt it evened up the board. He had improved so much over one game? Or was I giving him too much credit?
He sent me a message, “I will shut your whore mouth with my cock when I win this. I will tie you up and whip you till you scream to be fucked by my incel cock.”
He was an asshole but I found myself getting aroused, “You will pay for your words. Will your virgin dick be up for the job?”
I was in bed and my hand was already in my moist panties circling my clit. My mind was so cloudy and conflicted when it came to this incel. A part of me wanted to lose just so I could be fucked by his angry incel cock. But what would stop me from fucking him if I won? I shook my head, I would never fuck an incel.
I was thinking about my next move when he shot back, “I would fuck your dried up cunt until it was dripping with cum juice. Emptying my swimmers into you’re dried up old womb. I would not stop until I fucked a baby into your old dried up cunt.”
That really got under my skin. I had sacrificed children for a career. I did not want to be another mother living through her children, I wanted to build something and create waves in the world which I felt I was able to do. But this message brought back my bodies yearning and I could not help but slide two fingers into myself and begin to finger fuck myself. The incel bastard was driving my body wild sexually. I came for a second night in a row to this incel bastard.
The next morning I had a clear head and I saw my opening. I made my move and closed my pieces around him. He fell into my trap and I had him checkmated.
I sent him my address and told him to be there at 8.00am the next morning.
I tossed and turned all night thinking about my decision. Why did I not meet him in some hotel? Why was I meeting him at all? I did not need a slave that was his pathetic request. What was I hoping to get out of all this? I was so horny and hot that I came 3 times before I was able to sleep.
I had slept in just my bra and panties. A habit I was developing with my nightly masturbation sessions. I was awoken by a knock at the door and I was slightly startled. I had never expected him to turn up, I quickly picked up a robe and went down to greet him.
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