DAMN AUTOCORRECT

Thanks to everyone who voted, for a trait. I love feedback and interacting with the community, but tragically this time around I'm running the voting through my Patreon, and the people with money voted for Damn Autocorrect. I still like to hear what you guys think of the story and choices, so don't be afraid to give your opinion and advice.

I might as well check to see if this stupid thing works, right here and now. Getting into the same room with Veronica seemed dangerous, considering… you know. I pulled the messenger back up, and typed away. “I’m touching myself ;), send me a pic of your roommate, she hot?”

I waited with bated breath, feeling more than a little silly. Of course Veronica would respond as reasonably as anyone would in this situation. Soon the high of getting a few pictures of her pussy would begin to fade, and I’d begin to realize how absolutely screwed I was not that these text messages could appear before a jury. Who’s liable to have a better case, the satan worshiping co-ed, or a black sexual predator? It was a toss up, but I didn’t think justice would be on my side.

“No way, hunk. You’ve had your fun, go to the police with that silly little video, and I’ll go to them with these naughty little texts. Our interaction has reached completion.” Damn, so she’d figured it out too, huh? I saw her begin to type up another message. “My silly little fingers slipped, that’s not what I meant to say!” Then again. “Damn Autocorrect, my phone is a dumb slut!” I’m pretty sure I could hear her toss her phone across the room by this point.

I for one was floored, and looked at my phone with renewed interest, and horror. It was real… which meant… well I had no idea what it meant, really. Clinically it meant that the women in my life would begin to act more submissive towards me if I made them. Which would mean on occasion I would gain traits with them that seemed to lead our relationship in a sexual direction. Knowing absolutely nothing else about the app or it’s capabilities, that sounded…. AMAZING!

I practically skipped out of the bathroom. Not only had I cum, but I’d fully realized and internalized that I was in the possession of some magical hardware, erm software. I bet you no man has ever left a bathroom more pleased than me in that moment, besides Elvis after he faked his death.

When I returned to my dorm, my roommate and his girlfriend were both making out in the hallway. He saw me, broke the liplock and waved. “Perfect timing.” I belonged to the stereotype of people who become best friends with their roommate. Brandy was a cool guy, who drank hard, and was into all the same basic stuff as I was. Video games, movies, yadda yadda.

His girlfriend Fiona, was a nice girl. The type that looks like a lesbian, but like… suck a lot of dick. Choppy pixiecut, bull nose ring, only wears high tops, and giant sweaters that hang off her shoulders. This one was Brown, red, and blue. “Sup, Bryce?”

I shrugged and ripped my shirt open. “Got a tampon for my chest.” Referring to the bandages on my chest.

“Woah!” They both recoiled in shock. “You got a tattoo?” Brandy asked.

“A brand.” I started to button up my shirt.

“Hardcore.” Fiona nodded her appreciation for my style, and leaned over to kiss her beau. “I gotta jet, I’ve got work in the morning. Send me a picture of the brand when he heals up.”

“Will do.” I finished buttoning up, and then pulled out my phone to check Fiona’s score in the app. 48SP, damn just barely missed a trait for her.

Was I already considering going after my roommate’s girlfriend?

Buddy, I already had plans for The Queen, mkay?

I looked to Brandy and headed inside. “And just so you know, it wasn’t ‘just in time.’ I thought I was going to get the room tonight.”

“That is what we agreed upon.” He shut the door. “But then I figured, what are the chances he actually get’s laid on the first night?” He scratched his chin. “Then again, I didn’t think you’d be getting a brand either, so maybe I don’t know you as well as I thought.”

I sighed and laid back on my bed. “Well it’s even weirder than that. My date drugged me, and gave me the brand while I was out. I’ve got a pentagram on my chest dude.”

“What?” Sure the dialogue sounded like a joke, but he could tell by my tone I was telling the truth. “Why?”

“You know, it never really came up.”

“What are the police doing?”

I hissed through my teeth. “Didn’t call them.”

“Why not?” He looked baffled, rightfully so I’d say.

“I sort of extorted my date for nudes, and now it’s kind of a mutually assured destruction scenario going on.”

“That is the stupidest, thing I’ve ever heard. You were attacked and…” I showed him the pictures on my phone. “...oh I get it. Nice.”

“Right?”

“Can you send those to me?”

I tapped away at my phone. “Done.”

He picked up his phone, and started looking at it. “So what are you going to do?”

Great question. I really did have two options laid out before me. I could explore the boring satanic cult that kidnapped and branded me, or I could have fun sex games with college students. Oh, decisions decisions.