Sex in the Approval Department

Foreword: The following story is meant simply as a satire and should not be construed as a personal attack on anyone. Additionally I would like to add that Literotica is a very well run site and their popularity can speak for itself. That said, nothing is beyond the occasional jab.

*

Long ago in the website of Writpornotica there lived a woman in the approval department named Jane. Jane was responsible for reading written submissions and quality controlling them before they were published on the site. While some level of quality control is indeed necessary in the world of Wiki-porn, Jane was what you might call an uptight grammar Nazi. How bad were things? Just see for yourself. . .

The messenger popped up on her screen, "You have got to be fucking kidding me!"

Jane, sipping her coffee, unfazed by the brash protest burning through her glasses, typed back, "Spelling and grammar are legitimate grounds to reject a story over."

"I misspelled one fucking word. This is un-fucking believable!"

"Spelling errors and grammar are legitimate grounds upon which to reject a story. Re-read the guidelines if you have any problems with that."

"It was one word! You could have fixed it yourself! Let me tell you, nobody treats Dick Spitzer this way. I have literally been to hell and back."

She rubbed her temples, exposed by her tightly tied-back brown hair, and fired back, "You really need to look up the definition of 'literally' some day. It might improve your grotesque grammar."

"My grammar sucks? Okay. Possible. It's also possible that you're in the first stages of toxic shock syndrome from a tampon jammed too deep up your cunt and I'm just the first victim of your symptoms. I'd rate the problem as about fifty-fifty either way."

Jane burned into the screen with her eyes, "Goodbye, Mr. Spitzer. Oh, and take your story with you."

She clicked the reject button on him once again, and blocked him from her messenger. How dare he! She knew how far to stick in a tampon. Granted, it was the only thing that had gone that route with her in the past fifteen months. This no doubt played some role in her increasingly stringent standards in story approval.

She stood up from the computer and shuffled over to the mirror. She was not an unattractive woman, though due to her position with the website she had perpetual bags under her eyes and was pushing the envelope on albinism due to the sheer lack of sunshine her skin would see on a daily basis, she had a certain regal beauty about her. That this regal beauty is so often associated with being a queen bitch is a matter for another fairy tale, but I digress. . .

She was thin both in figure and face. Her breasts were healthy handfuls. Her dark brown hair was tied back in a single rope, and with each passing cockless day that rope just got tighter, and tighter, and tighter. She screamed of an unfulfilled passion ready to explode from this taught mortal coil at a moment's notice. She saw this in the mirror, and decided to go back and reject some more submissions over petty bullshit.

At about a half past 8 there was a knock at the door. 'Who could that be?" Jane wondered, "I have no friends."

She shuffled on over to the door, and peaked through the eyehole. Through the hole she saw the distorted figure of a black man. 'A black man!' She gasped to herself. 'If I make sure to be careless enough, maybe he'll rape me!' She quivered in delight at the thought, and threw open the door with speed, passion, and total disregard for every safety guideline police drum into our heads every day.

The black man jumped back with a start. Jane heaved with passion when she saw him. He was tall and muscular, obviously a man who worked out regularly. His shoulders were broad and his frame large. He was adorned in a polo shirt with khakis and loafers. When he caught his breath from the startling manner in which she had opened the door, he introduced himself, "Hello ma'am. My name is Charles. My car broke down and I was wondering if you would call triple A for me. . ."

"Come in!" She demanded. Secretly, she was hoping he was a thug ready to shove her onto the sofa and ravage her over, and over, and over again. Not that she was a racist or anything. I mean, she could conceive of black men as things other than thugs and rapists and . . . Well. . . The jury is still our on whether or not interracial porn is fundamentally exploitative of black men or actually empowering of them, but I digress. . .

I mean, the primary audience of interracial porn is generally white men, which places the black man in the role of prostitute to the whims of rich white men. On the other hand, the fact that what once would have invited vigilante retaliation is now a paid profession suggests economic empowerment based on the grounds of former oppression, but I have digressed from my digression, and totally sidetracked the plot to address the sensibilities of modern society.

Jane was consumed with less pressing issues. She was busy growing hornier and hornier just being in the presence of a man who didn't require two C batteries. She ran to get the phone, and Charles made his call.

"Two hours! That's preposterous! I'm a platinum member. Very well, but I will be considering downgrading my membership over this." With that he angrily pressed the off button on the phone.

"How long will they be?" She asked.

Charles glared at her. . . The sort of glare you give to someone who asks a question like "hot enough for ya' out there?" Quickly he put on the fakest smile humanity has ever seen, and answered her "Two hours."

Jane, barely paying attention, to anything he was saying amidst her erupting geyser of hormones, nodded at this. "So, what happened?"

"Well, I was playing basketball with some kids down at the Y and. . ."

"Basketball?!"

"Uh, yah, it's an after school thing. I help out. . ."

"You're a basketball player!?"

"Uh, I play basketball with the kids. . ."

"You're a basketball player!?"

"Uh, I guess in the sense that I play basketball with some kids yes."

Jane creamed herself right then and there.

"I don't see what the big deal is. . ."

Doesn't see the big deal? Doesn't see the big deal? Did that poor fool not realize that basketball players are to white chicks what bug zappers are to moths!? But it was too late. He had damned himself. Before he knew it Jane launched herself with a roar upon him and began licking and biting him up and down and tearing his shirt off.

"Whoa! Wait! Lady I don't even know you!"

Jane began rubbing his dick through his pants, and Charles began to get a hardon.

"Aw to hell with it. Charles is gonna get himself some!"

Charles tore off his shirt, and Jane climaxed at the very sight of this rippling hulk of a man engaged in such an act of passionate abandon. Charles kissed wildly up and down her neck and slid his hand up her pale white thighs. She spread her legs willingly and allowed his fingers up into her juicy cunt. Charles tore off her shirt and bra. He finger-fucked her wildly and sucked away at her nipples. Jane climaxed again on his fingers, jerking and grasping his hand and slamming the fingers into her with each spasm and wave.

Jane fell to her knees and whipped off Charles' pants. His stiff prick stuck out, and Jane couldn't help herself but to grab in and suck the thing up and down. Charles grasped Jane's rope of hair and rammed her head into his cock. Jane gagged, and coughed, and grasped his ass cheeks to hold herself down. When Charles released her she gasped for air, and plunged back down on his cock.

Jane was ready for Charles to cum, but Charles hadn't had nearly enough ass yet. He picked Jane up and bent her over her computer desk. He rammed his dick in from behind, and Jane yelped in sinfully delightful pleasure. Charles pounded her like the desperate little cockslut she was. As he banged away behind her, he saw on the monitor two buttons for the website. One said "approve," and the other said "disapprove." Charles rammed away, and got a great idea.

As he fucked away, he demanded, "Do you like it?"

"YES!" Screamed Jane.

"Do you approve?"

"YES!"

"No! Do you approve?"

"Yes, I do!"

"Show me you approve!"

"I approve! I approve!" Jane clicked the button for approval on the story. And another loaded up for review. "I approve!" She clicked again. "I approve, I approve, I approve."

Before long, as Charles fucked on, Jane had approved all the stories that were pending from the previous month.

"I approve! I approve!"

And after that, Jane had approved all the stories from last week.

"I approve! I approve!"

Before she knew it, Jane had approved every story awaiting review a Writpornotica. She approved every story, no matter how many spelling and grammar errors it had in it. She approved them, and left them to the mercy of the reader voting and new story reviews, which is what those fucking features were made for in the first place, but I digress. . .

Charles flipped her over, and splattered Jane's face with a healthy load of cum. When he was done, they both collapsed. After smoking several cigarettes, and a nice little post-sex jerk down, Charles was off, for triple A had fixed his car.

I wish I could say the land of Writpornotica lived happily ever after, but things were really only cool for about fifteen months or so. I leave you, the humble reader, to scroll back to the beginning of this story to do the math on that one.

So, the moral of the story is: Remember, the greatest of all human attributes is the ability to laugh at ourselves. . . Even if you work for Writpornotica