Hello!
I'm new here, but I whipped something up in the past couple of hours that I thought some of you might enjoy. It's mostly world building, inspired by a roleplay prompt I made a while ago on another site. Essentially, it's a world where women suddenly get stripped of all rights. Completely and utterly. The thought being that it could lead to all sorts of "hilarious hijinks" with girls who would face something that is unthinkable in the real world, and to them, even in their world. It's basically a "what if"-world.
I always enjoy feedback, whether it be on my writing or on my ideas - so... you know, don't hold back (English is not my first language, so I know I've got some ways to go in that department).
Anyway, here's the intro:
The Message
https://joom.ag/rSZYAnd if you think links are sketch af, here's the plain text version (Although I highly recommend using the above link - so much easier to read):
It was a rainy Thursday afternoon when everyone gathered on the couch to watch the president speak. It had been a hot topic, debated for what felt like years, but as usual the issue was never explored or discussed as a whole, but always focused on small pieces of it which seemingly fit the politician’s and media’s agenda that particular week. The bill was known colloquially as the “Hierarchy Act” and all the adults had voted on it two days prior, with the promise that their votes would be the only thing determining if it passed the legislature or not. All your friends and colleagues were regurgitating half-truths and conjectures about it that they in turn had heard from whatever channel they liked to watch during the evening news. Like how girls wouldn’t be allowed to drive, or how fathers would be able to spank their kids again, like in the olden days.
The truth was much more comprehensive and all-encompassing – but also more sinister – although you wouldn’t experience that until later. What the Hierarchy Act really did was effectively make women second tier citizens – no, non-citizens – not only bound by the law, but the word of the men in their lives. Furthermore, women would no longer be under the protection of any law that spoke of “person”, “man” or “woman”, or any derivative thereof. They would no longer be viewed as people in the eyes of the law, meaning every crime committed towards a female would no longer be a crime under the Hierarchy Act.
And there you sat, with your family, eating snacks and cuddling in the sofa, watching the grey man in a fancy suit behind a solid mahogany desk deliver the results of the vote.
Everyone had expected the vote to fail. Every debate program had concluded with how ridiculous the Act’s premise was. Every man and woman on tv had claimed they would of course vote “no”.
You remember your wife gasping as the president announced that the vote had passed with 52% in favor of it. You remember seeing your daughters not really realizing what any of it meant as the president broke down the demographics of the voters: How 99% of men had voted yes, and a few percent of the women had done so, too. It was the greatest conjob the world had ever seen.
The president concluded his talk with an amendment to the act – one which he did not need a vote to attach. He said that the words “woman”, “female”, and “girl”, were no longer fitting for those with a vagina between their legs. Those words would be removed from the dictionary and replaced in all government approved texts with “whore”, “cocksleeve” and “bitch”. Your wife quickly covered the ears of your youngest, but it was too late. The president said his goodbyes and it went to commercial.
The true purpose of the act was now much more transparent.
I also wrote a story to fit in this world. I wanted to make it longer, and I still might, but so far it's
just snuff, and not much else:
The People Pleaser
https://joom.ag/i7ZYPlaintext:
The broadcast finishes and John strokes his chin only to find his mouth to be wide open. He swallows, trying to digest what his president – the leader of his nation – had just said. Is his wife – his beautiful wife – and his two adorable daughters… Are they nothing now? He had worked his entire life to support his family. To allow his wife to explore her artistic side, rebuilding an office in the house for her to paint in with his own hands. To support her while she followed her dream of becoming a famous painter. To allow his teenage daughter Miranda to go to cheerleading camp over the summer, to buy her a brand new iPhone when the screen on her old one cracked. To pay for his youngest, Sarah, to ride horses every weekend, and drive her to her friends that always seemed to live at the opposite end of town.
Had he dropped out of college, only to get a job at Costco to support his then newly founded family just to have it mean nothing now? He loved his wife… Right? He used to love her. When she would come over to his dorm in the middle of the night with a bottle of wine and a textbook to “study” – he loved her then. Or rather, he loved how she made him feel back then. How she would act like he was a strong and powerful man whom she just couldn’t resist throwing herself at. The more he thinks about it, the more he questions his life’s choices. He could’ve been someone by now. He could’ve been a manager or an executive. Hell, he could’ve had his own company! He shakes his head to get rid of the thoughts. Is he having a mid-life crisis in the middle of all of this?
John scrolls up and down the page dedicated to putting information out there about the new Act. His mind is absolutely blown by what it contains. He has to check the address-bar at the top several times – often after pinching himself, both metaphorically and literally. Yup, still “.gov” at the end of it. An official government document. John scrolls down to the Frequently Asked Questions section.
“Am I allowed to hit a woman?”
“Yes, you are allowed to do anything you want to a woman. Be aware that by ‘woman’ we refer to what now officially is known as a ‘whore’.”
John scrolls down and look at another question.
“What is a ‘whore’?”
“’Whore’, ‘Cocksleeve’, and ‘Bitch’ all refer to the same thing: Someone with a vagina, and what used to be known as a ‘female’.”
“Who is affected by this act?”
“Every whore, regardless of age, ethnicity, race, class, or otherwise is affected by this change, and will immediately lose all rights previously afforded to them.”
John pauses. That means not only can he punch his unappreciative wife in the gut, like she deserves, but he can do it to Miranda and Sarah, too? The thought scares him. He can even- He can use them. He tries to think of something else, but the only image his mind will conjure up is Miranda with tears in her eyes, begging him not to rape her. His cock starts growing in his pants. No, no, no – he wants to take care of his family. To be there for them, to support them and love them, and have nice family dinners on the weekends, and maybe touch Sarah’s thigh, and watch movies together and slap Miranda across her bitchy face, and- Shit! John is hooked on the thought now. He can’t get it out of his mind. He wants to fuck their mother up so badly for all the things he has done for her, while getting nothing in return. He wants to watch Sarah and Miranda strip in front of him. He wants to be their first. He wants. He wants it all!
John races home from work as soon as his shift is over. Determined like never before he walks into his three bedroom suburban house. Miranda is sitting on the couch in the living room, her face buried in her phone, not giving even a glance at her father as he walks in.
John’s wife Naomi is in the kitchen, idly stirring a pot as she tries reading a recipe. John is actually furious by now, having pondered every single time she has manipulated him on the way home. Now she has the nerve to look like she’s doing something for him? Like she ever cooks anything for him? Like she ever even went grocery shopping? No, fuck that. Fuck her!
“Hey, honey. How was wo-“ Naomi starts, but is promptly interrupted by John who grabs her right arm and twists it behind her back with one hand, and grabs her long straight black hair by her neck with the other and shove her hard into the cupboards.
“What the hell are you doing!? Let go!” She wheezes between her teeth. John slams her head against the massive oak cupboard. The bang is audible throughout the house, and even made Miranda turns her head from her phone, although she quickly resumes her texting when nothing more comes of it.
“Not so fucking tough now, huh? You fucking bitch! All my life I’ve done whatever the fuck you’ve wanted. No more, you understand? Now you’ll do whatever I ask, whenever I ask it!” John wheezes back at her with a growl in his voice. A little delirious, but mostly just confused to where this all came from, Naomi can only produce a weak “what?”
“Put your hand into the pot,” John commands his wife and looks down at the pot she was just stirring in. The red tomato-based sauce is simmering away with bubbles quickly forming and popping on the top of the runny liquid. It almost looks like an aerial shot of a volcano from where they stand above it. Naomi still cannot fathom what is going on as her face is pressed against the cupboard. Another “what?” escapes her.
“Put your fucking hand into the fucking pot. You’re going to feel a fraction of the pain you’ve caused me,” John explains. Naomi looks down at the pot, and at her hand. It’s like she has trouble connecting the dots. Does he want her – his loving wife – to burn herself? All she can say is yet another “what?”
That sends John over the edge and he lets go of her hair and instead takes hold of her arm just below the elbow, and forcefully points it to the pot. Slowly he descends her hand and arm towards the hot sauce. Naomi now starts to realize that he is not playing around and starts resisting him, but he’s too strong for her. She pleads with him, repeating “no” a thousand times over. John smiles and yanks her arm down into the pot. Naomi gasps, as if to gather air, then screams at the top of her lungs. John keeps her hand in the pot for a few seconds, then he lets her go and takes a step back.
Naomi retracts her hand and clutches at her burnt extremity as she collapses down to the ground. Miranda rushes into the kitchen to see her mother on the ground, holding onto a red-painted hand, crying loudly, and her father standing above her, smiling. Miranda starts moving towards her mother but John puts up a hand telling her to stop.
“Hand me that knife, would you?” John asks his daughter and points to the one on the cutting board. Miranda, naïve as she is, complies, unaware that her father has become unhinged. John takes the knife in his hand and smiles at his daughter. He swings the knife at Naomi’s face. Not hard, but almost in a casual manner. Like he was trying to get her attention. But, it being a sharp knife, it cuts her. She squeals and looks up at him, not even registering that she has just been cut, yet. Miranda definitely does, and freaks out.
“What the fuck. What the fuuuck! Whaaaat!? Dad? Daaaad!?” She hysterically cries out. Naomi now sees the knife in Johns hand and realizes he has just slashed her cheek open. She stops crying and a deer-in-headlights expression comes across her face. John swings again and Naomi puts her arm up for protection. A big gash forms on her upper arm and she screams as John swings again. And again. Miranda picks up her phone and dials 911, and in pure panic mode she enables the speaker. John stops swinging and points the tip at his wife. He starts jabbing it at her, almost like he’s teasing her. She tries to defend herself, but end up getting stabbed a dozen times in her arms and hands crawling away from him. John is in pursuit, continuing his stabbing as they go along.
“911, where’s your emergency?”
“Please! Come quick! My dad! He’s- He’s killing her!”
“Is your dad being hurt?”
“No! He has a knife, he’s hurting my mom! You have to stop him!”
“Is he stabbing her?”
“Yes! Come quick!”
“Nice. Is she hot?”
“N- What? You need to send the police! He’s killing her!”
“Oh, yeah? How old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
“What’s he doing right now, then?”
“He’s still stabbing her! Stop! Daaad! You’re hurting her!”
“Yeah, but where, though? Is he stabbing her in her face, arms, legs? What?”
“Everywhere! Hands and arms and face and everywhere!”
“Is he stabbing her in her cunt or tits?”
“What!? He’s- He’s-“
“You should tell him that it’s awesome. He should jam that knife up her cunt, make her fuck it until she dies.”
Miranda is in shock. She just stares at her phone. Stunned. John listens to the call with one ear as he keeps on plowing the knife through the skin of his wife, who’s now leaking from two dozen slits and gashes all over her arms, torso and face. She can’t even lift her arms anymore and is just panting on the floor now. John grabs her ankle and drags her back across the floor to where they first started. He crouches down and starts pulling her pants off. He liked the idea that the 911-operator had. Miranda can’t look away. She also can’t look. She can’t do anything. The synapses in her brain that are responsible for her fight or flight-response are firing blanks right now. She can do nothing at all as her mother’s pants gets tossed at her feet.
Naomi is still very much conscious. The stabs and slashes have all been fairly superficial, albeit incredibly disturbing and painful. She too, is too shocked to speak or move, and is like a limp mannequin in John’s hands. He spreads her legs and props her knees up to get a better view of the whore’s cunt. He moves over to give Miranda a good look, too. He can see the fear in his daughter’s eyes as he places the tip of the bloodied blade at his wife’s clit. He plays with it a little, tipping it over the edge of the blade from side to side a few times. Then, without warning, he pushes the blade into his wife, straight through her clit, splitting it in half. Naomi screams so hard she almost instantly loses her voice. Her whole body cramps up and John has to use force to keep her legs apart. He starts fucking her with the knife, sawing the blade through all the sensitive tissue between her legs as his daughter watches.
After only a minute of intense knife fucking, Naomi falls into unconsciousness. Blood is pouring out over the tiled kitchen floor and John realizes that his wife is most definitely beyond saving. He removes the knife from her- well, he doubts it could be called a pussy anymore. It’s more like a canyon now. He reaches up and plunges the blade into his wife’s chest, just to get rid of it, really. He sighs contentedly and puts his hands on his thighs. Almost like a victory pose. He looks up at Miranda, who’s now pale as a corpse, shivering with tears streaming down her face, without a single sound coming out of her.
John pulls his daughter down to the floor with him. He sits her in his lap and hugs her from behind as they watch Naomi die. He removes her long brown hair from the left side of her face and places it over her right shoulder. He dives into her neck and starts kissing her. His right hand finds her b-cup over her shirt and roughly he assaults her soft flesh.
“You and Sarah are gonna put on a show for me when she comes home from school. God, I bet your sister’s pussy tastes amazing. You can tell me later,” John gently speaks into his daughter’s ear. Miranda throws herself to the right and starts puking.
What'd'ya think?
