Emily Yoffe's Wicked Advice

Emily Yoffe cackled while diddling herself over her latest question. People online had taken to calling her a witch over the advice she gave and columns she published, from blaming college women for their own sex assaults to misgendering a teen on behalf of her mom for a poorly conceived hit piece. If they could see her green skin, they would know how right they were. Unlike the good witches of the world, she got off on poisoning the internet well with her noxious takes. She used words, not spells, to taint everything she touched - and putting bad ideas in **** heads was perfect for it!

Eagerly, she began typing up her response.

"What did you expect when you went to a party in your first year of college wearing that? Everyone knows predators go after the newbies first, and coming to a party with a plunging neckline that low is no different than flashing them. And drinking anything that isn't a bottle of water you brought with you? Tsk tsk. Any woman planning to major in Women's Studies should have known better. Or maybe deep down you wanted your boobs groped? My advice: go to another party, but next time don't wear or drink anything provocative. I bet you'll realize that deep down you were just looking for an excuse for men to use you."

Her grin over her final touches would have terrified anyone that saw her for its unbridled joy and lust. Just imagining the outrage had one hand sinking into her sopping wet cunt, the other squeezing her filthy green tit. The black nipple had grown hard in the past minute, and pinching it brought out a moan broken up only by a series of soft, weak cackles. After so many years as a reporter, she finally didn't have to hold back her wicked desires. Her checks had cleared, her pension was ready, at 67 she was set for life no matter what horrible things she said about innocent women. Or men, as her next question raised. She had already started fingering herself while reading this plea from a self-described trans man hoping for a little guidance and maybe a compassionate ear. Boy, had they turned to the wrong woman. It took all her effort to pry her fingers from her nasty body and type out a response, her pussy juices spreading over the keys.

"I understand that you THINK you're a man, but let's be real. You were born with the right parts for a reason. Do you know how many women think they want to be men? It's natural in a world where men have it all and women have to put up with it. What you don't want to do is make a mistake and remove your breasts, then realize too late that you regret it. Before you take that step, I strongly urge you to go find a man and let him have his way with you. It doesn't have to be a Prince Charming, and in fact you should look for someone who isn't afraid to go wild on you. Someones, if you're lucky enough to find more than one. Trust me, little lady, you'll thank me when you have a nice big womb to show you that being a mother means more than some fantasy of being a man."

She couldn't control herself anymore. After hitting publish, she rushed to her cauldron, grabbed her broom and started riding it.

"Eeeheeheehee!" Every pass of the smooth wood handle on her labia made her drip into the already sizable deposit of past jilling. It wouldn't last for very long, after she smeared it on her face and tits. She may have needed it for the spell to make her skin look normal, but truth be told, she just loved walking around in public and daring anyone who smelled it in her presence to say something.

Her cackling reached its loudest when she came hard. The quivering of her thighs against a long hard stick had her sitting on the cauldron, panting, and fanning herself while the wonderful sound of notifications erupted from her computer. Without even looking at them, she knew she had another set of masturbation fodder waiting for her, and maybe a new question or two she could work her magic on.