View Submission

Goblin's Note: I've had this idea bouncing in my head for a while now! Yeah, it's pretty dumb, but it made me giggle. ;D

~~~~

Trembling, I look over my shoulder. The door to the closet remains closed, locked, and barred with a broom.

Honestly, I know I should work facing the door. That way, anybody who somehow makes it in won't be able to see what's on the screen. But something tells me my face will give it away anyways. And I'd rather they see what I'm reading than see the expression of guilt, shame...and, yeah, lust.

My roommate doesn't know what I do. She can never work out where I am when I vanish into our shared closet—it's not like either of us use it to store clothes. I'm not sure she has clothes other than her "miniskirt and tiny blouse" ensemble.

I giggle to myself. I wonder how she'll react when summer ends?

An image immediately flashes into my head—Jenny, shivering in the snow, her pert nipples plainly visible poking against her thin blouse...I shake away the thought, groaning. The last thing I need is to start fantasizing about her. She's probably into that thing, come to think of it, but I'm not. I've just been reading way too much smut lately.

And it is smut. I can't even pretend it isn't. I look at one of the three dozen tabs open in Airstork (my current web browser, terrible as it is). The title and synopsis read, Sundae School: A christian chereleader gets free ice cream and must (i-)scream for more.

I try to ignore the five dozen popups. I'll go through those later—lately, I've been finding them more and more...um, interesting. Look, I'm just not going to close them all without consideration, alright?

I glance over my shoulder again. The door is still shut.

I start to read.

Sunday the cheerleader moaned, spooning more of the sinfully rich, delicious chocolate sundae into her mouth, licking it off the spoon like the nectar of the gods.

she whimpered as her plush moist lips wrapped around the spoon's handle, going up and down along the shaft almost by some sort of primordial reflex. Like this was what she was meant to do from birth. it was so naughty, but it felt sooo fun to do!

she giggled. "Sundays eating sundaes!!" she bubbled, licking the spoon clean. She shoved it down back into the bowl of what seemed like neverending free chocolate sundae.

"It sure was nice of tim to give me all this ice cream!" she thought, beaming in utter pleasure as she ate more ice cream. She did not love tom—he was a nerd, and she only liked big strong guys who knew how to push her around, but tom was a good friend.

She realized she was out of ice cream at last. Her eyes welled up with tears, cascading down her perfect cheeks and tickling her huge perky breasts. She needed more!!! She couldn't imagine living without this wonderful delicious, almost NAUGHTILY titillating dessert!

Why was tim smiling as he watched her break down over a dessert? She wondered. Did he know something funny? Why did she care about a stupid dessert anyways? Why was...

"Have some more." Tim said, smirking as he handed her another bowl.

"oooooh! Thanks!" she gushed, bountiful breasts bouncing as she started eating again. She had completely forgot what she was thinking about as her brain had melted with one look at that sinfully rich ice cream.

She was so silly! It was getting sooooo hard to think for some funny reason, but all the food wasn't making her fat at all! It was like all the weight was going to her brain and freezing...."oooooh", she whimpered.

She felt SO HORNY!

The ditzy blond had never been super smart, but now "I feel...funny" she whimperd.

"That's right, Tim said, chuckling. "this ice cream is making you only able to think about one thing."

"What?!" Sunday squealed. What was it? She couldn't think about anything!

"Sex," he said, smugly. "you'r getting dumber and dumber, aren't you? Not that you were very intelligent before." He laughed. "but now, you're like all women are. By the time this sentence is finished you'll be just the dumb slut you want to be deep down."

"Oooooohhhhh..." She giggled, fingers snaking up her tiny little skirt. What was she upset about again?

"You're just a slut," he laughed. "Aren't you?"

She beamed at him. She knew this one!! "Yes!" she squealed, happy to know the answer.

She felt so hot! She just had to...had to...

"No fucking yourself," he said, wagging a finger like a disaproving teacher. Smirking at her disappointed look, he went on, "you can fuck my dick instead."

"Ooh! YAAAAY!"

I click the "Next" button and wait for the second page to load.

I really should stop reading. This is the shittiest smut I've read since...well, the last tab, Lesbian Catgirls vs. Tentacle Pirates.

Remembering something, I quickly go and bookmark the previous tab.

Anyways, I really should stop. This is awful, awful writing. An insult to the English language. Also, it's really, really misogynistic.

But for some reason, the fact that these stories on The Antholorgy are damn awful is kind of the main appeal.

I have a weird fetish. I didn't always have it, but ever since I found this site...well, I have it now. And it's here to stay. I am turned on by trashy, dirty, stupid smut. The more poorly-written the story, the naughtier it feels.

It's the rush of abandoning my artistic integrity. I act like one of the idiotic "heroines" in these stories just for a few minutes by reading shit that makes Twilight look like the Book of Kells.

And it's...hot.

I finish reading "Sundae School". Then I read "Slutty Mary, Slutty Mary, Slutty Mary". Then "Pussy 'n' Booty". Then "The Witch Gets Ogrewhelmed". Then "Sucky-Suckybus Summoning". Then—

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK

"Hey, Sandra?" calls my roommate. "Are you in there?"

I go still.

"Uh..." Jenny sounds embarrassed. That's unusual for the girl with no shame. "I kinda left my panties in there last night. I was in a hurry to hide them, 'cause my gran-gran was stopping by and they aren't...um...clean. I should really get them in the laundry, though."

I blink, feeling around. Panties? I didn't see any—oh. Lovely. They're still wet.

I close my laptop case, sighing. "One sec, Jenny."

My momentary mortification has passed quickly, thanks to Jenny's own, and I am eager to get back to my stories. Later, I promise myself. Later.

~~~~

That night, I have a dream.

I'm sitting on my bed, naked, typing on my computer. I'm writing something, but my typing is too fast for me to make out any of the words.

The laptop starts to feel warm in my lap. I frown. I'm not running Facebook or anything. Is this another virus?

Then it starts to get...really warm.

Comfortably warm. In the background, I vaguely register that the walls have turned into a verdant expanse of bright evergreens. Birds tweet and screech and warble in the treetops above, but on my bed, none of that matters.

I give a soft sigh as I feel the warmth entering my nether regions. My legs spread of their own accord. I keep typing with one hand, my fingers a blur, and the other starts just slightly—not even fully deliberately—rubbing the laptop against my crotch.

I realize that the pleasure is starting to get distracting. I also realize that, as I get distracted, my writing slows down. I can almost make out letters now.

I start deliberately rubbing. I just want to know, I tell myself. I'll stop the second I can see.

Whoever said you can't lie to yourself was full of shit. You totally can. You just need to not pay much attention. And let's just say I'm getting pretty damn distracted right now.

Then, it happens. As I rise to the point just before orgasm, I can read the words!

Aren't you tired of fighting? I hear the words in my head spoken by a husky, sensual voice. Don't you just want to SUBMIT?

And then I hit my climax, and the words become the last thing on my mind.

~~~~

I wake up. The insides of my thighs feel sticky.

Oh, no. I groan. This makes, what, the fourth time this week?

Ever since I found the site...

The site. I grab my laptop from the side of the bed and sit up. I can blow off a day of classes. I just got the greatest idea for a story.

I close a couple popups, one of which featuring a man and a woman fingering each other. I always keep my laptop muted nowadays. I load Anthrolorgy ("Lose yourself in your own fantasies!") and login.

There it is. In big, bold blue letters.

SUBMIT

Up until now, something's held me back. Embarrassment? Self-doubt?

No more, I tell myself. Taking a deep breath, I click the link.

Nothing happens.

Frowning, I click the link again. Nothing.

"Ugh." I glare at the computer. "Stupid website."

Something flashes on the screen.

I blink. It was too fast to catch—there it was again!

When it flashes a third time, my finger creeps to the "Print Screen" key.

The fourth time, I catch it.

STUPID SLUT.

"Oh. Is that all?" I scowl. Must be one of those viruses the site's always giving me. I really should be more careful. I go to open 'Badware Bites', my antivirus program.

The screen flashes. My head tilts. What was I about to do?

The screen flashes again.

I need to submit, I think, frowning. I click SUBMIT. Nothing happens.

The screen flashes again. It's starting to make me feel kind of dizzy.

I decide to open up a text document. At least I can get started writing. Maybe the site will get fixed in the meantime.

The screen flashes as I start typing. I write for about a minute, then stop. Wait, what?

There, in the document, in all-caps and bold...

WHY DON'T YOU SUBMIT?

"I'm trying," I mutter. Then tilt my head again. Okay, what am I—wait, did I just type something else?

YOU DON'T CARE WHY THIS IS HAPPENING.

Well, no. Why would I?

I go back to writing, as the screen flashes again.

YOU WANT TO SUBMIT.

"Yeah..." I mutter, not quite registering the text. This story I'm writing is so hot!

YOU'RE A HORNY BIMBO.

This does register somewhat. "Well, no," I snap, "I—wait, why am I..."

YOU DON'T CARE WHY THIS IS HAPPENING.

I go back to writing.

YOU'RE FEELING WET.

I shift uncomfortably.

YOU WANT TO TOUCH YOURSELF.

I hesitate. I've never masturbated in the main room before—Jenny wouldn't care, I'm sure, but still—

YOU'RE SOOOOO WET.

A little sigh escapes my lips. Extended syllables? A classic mistake of the amateur erotica writer. My left hand creeps beneath the sheets.

YOU'RE A HOT, DUMB LITTLE BLONDE.

"Mm..." Wait, that wasn't fair. My ponytail was dirty blond at...

DIRTY.

"Mmm...dirty..." I of course know better than to masturbate here, but the hand under my sheets has other ideas. I feel it thrust into my warm cunt, and give a little "Ooh!" of pleasure and surprise.

REFLEX.

Yes...as if by reflex. As if this is all I can do. It's not my fault. I'm not even really controlling the hand at this point...

YOU'RE A HORNY GIRL AND THE SLUT INSIDE YOU IS TAKING OVER.

...not my fault...

Maybe you can't fool yourself, but you can fool yourself into thinking you've fooled yourself. That's all the excuse I need as my hand goes to town, thrusting two fingers in and out, in and out, as I type...

YOU WANT TO SUBMIT.

"I'm trying," I gasp. It feels so good...

YOU NEED TO SUBMIT.

"I'm trying!" I whimper. I'm building...

WHY DON'T YOU SUBMIT.

"You won't let me!" I'm near tears. I'm so close...so close to orgasm...

BEG ME TO LET YOU.

Now I hesitate. There's something...something strange...

Subliminal. Subliminal messages! Fuck, I'm being—

FEELS SOOOOO GOOOOOD TO GIVE IN

Tears pour down my cheeks as I thrust into my wet cunt, getting the sheets even stickier and the process. I'm a sweaty mess at this point, crying pathetically as I type with one hand and rock myself back and forth with the efforts of the other. "Please! Oh, please let me submit! Oh, god, god, yes, yes!

SUBMIT.

I exit the text document and click the button.

The page loads.

I stare in disbelief as I find myself face-to-face with a webcam. Staring at me, with a wide smirk, is a beautiful young woman. She looks like a teenager—surely at least ten years my junior!

Her long scarlet hair cascades down her shoulders. Her emerald eyes bore into me, instantly surmising my situation. Her plump, pouting lips curve upward, as she apparently finds it to be hilarious.

"Good," she whispers. "Keep touching yourself."

I can't do anything but. I'm trying so hard to reach my climax...

"You're a good slut, aren't you?" she whispers. Her voice comes out crackly. Her camera clearly isn't very good.

But despite the poor quality (or, at this point, maybe even because of it), I can't help myself. I am hers. I nod, biting my lip. "Yes..."

"It's so hard to think, isn't it?" she coos.

"Oh, yes, mistress..." The 'mistress' comes out of its own accord. My eyes widen, realizing what's happening.

My mistress smiles triumphantly. "You just want to submit, don't you?"

I'm driving in and out of myself like a jackhammer. Every time I hear her voice, the pleasure seems to increase tenfold. Every time she says the word "submit", I shake and shiver like I'm having a mini-orgasm. I just want to keep hearing it...just want to keep staring into those eyes...

"Just...wanna...submit."

"Gooooood girl," she whispers, drawing out the 'good' absurdly long. I quiver with longing. "You'll be a good slutty-smutty for your mistress, won't you?"

"Ooh...ooh, yes, mistress." My right hand starts pinching my nipples as my eyes half-close. Feels so good. So good. Oh, god, I can't... "I'm gonna...ooh, mistress, I'm...I'm gonna..."

My mistress smiles. "Now, here's what you're going to write, my pretty slut."

I stare at her with wide eyes, panting from my exertion. My mind is gone. In its place is a reservoir of emptiness, waiting to memorize whatever my mistress wills.

"First," she purrs, licking her lips, "you're going to start writing screams."

My left hand pulls out of my cunt, then back in, then out, then—

"OH! OHHHHH GOD YES YES I'LL BE YOUR SLAVE OH PLEASE LET ME BE YOUR SLAVE I WANNA FUCK FUCK FUCKYFUCKYFUCKY—"

I couldn't tell if I was saying it or writing it. Trying to decide felt too much like thinking...

and all i wanted to do now was fuck, fuck, FUCK!!!