The Size Matter Society Pt. 00

Chapter 00 - Prologue (How everything started)

The transformation of our world from a capitalist society to a society where penis size determines social hierarchy was a long and tumultuous process, shaped by a multitude of factors and forces that worked together in complex and often unpredictable ways. Yet, at its core, this transformation can be traced back to a single, catastrophic event that forever changed the course of human history.

The event in question was a widespread loss of fertility among men with smaller penises, which occurred as a result of a yet unknown combination of environmental factors, genetic mutations, and other variables. The precise nature and cause of this loss of fertility remain a mystery to this day, but its effects were nothing short of devastating.

As the number of men with small penises dwindled, those with larger members began to assert their dominance over society, using their perceived sexual prowess to gain power and influence. At first, this was a subtle and gradual process, as men with larger penises began to take on more prominent roles in business, politics, and other spheres of life. However, as their numbers grew and their power consolidated, their influence became more overt and aggressive, leading to the establishment of a new social hierarchy based on penis size.

In this new social order, those with larger penises occupied the top rungs of the ladder, enjoying privileges and benefits that were denied to those with smaller members. They were the politicians, the CEOs, the media moguls, and the cultural icons of their time, using their sexual prowess to reinforce their dominance and keep the lower classes in check. Meanwhile, those with smaller penises were relegated to the bottom of the social hierarchy, facing discrimination, marginalization, and even at the hands of their larger counterparts.

This new social order was not without its challenges and struggles, however. The capitalist system that had dominated the world before was no longer sustainable in this new reality, and a new economic system had to emerge to meet the demands of this society obsessed with penis size.

As this new economic system took hold, it began to shape the very fabric of society, influencing everything from politics to culture to personal relationships. The pursuit of sexual dominance became the driving behind all aspects of life, with people constantly striving to enhance their penis size or find partners with the desired attributes. The resulting society was one in which physical attributes, particularly penis size, became the most important factor in determining a person's worth and value.

In the end, the transformation of our world from a capitalist society to a society where penis size determines social hierarchy was a dark and disturbing one, revealing the worst aspects of human nature at their most . Yet, even in the midst of this chaos and depravity, there were still those who fought to resist and subvert this new order, striving to create a better, more just world for all.

In this world, where the size of a man's meat stick determines his place in the pecking order, there are some pretty unique and creative names for the classes. At the top of the heap are the "Alphas," the men with the biggest packages who rule over all like gods. They're the ones with the private jets, the yachts, and the luxury penthouses.

In the middle of the pack are the "A.J's," or Average Joes, men with average-sized schlongs who make up the bulk of the population. They're the ones who have regular jobs, live in nice neighborhoods, and can afford to take a vacation once a year.

Then there are the "Shorties," men with small penises who are at the bottom of the totem pole. They're the ones who do the grunt work, the janitors, and the fast food workers.

To maintain this rigid social order, there are strict laws and regulations in place. Those who dare to defy the system are dealt with harshly, often facing or imprisonment. In this world, size is everything, and the size of a man's member at birth determines his entire fate in life.

Women in all classes are expected to be subservient to Alpha men and to cater to their every need and desire. They are constantly classfied by the Alpha class through a mobile app that rates their appearance, obedience, and sexual availability. This app, known as the "FemmeScore," allows the Alpha class to easily control and manipulate women, and those who fail to meet the standards set by the app are punished severely.

To maintain their status and avoid punishment, women must always be well-groomed, obedient, and willing to submit to the sexual desires of their male superiors. Their worth in this society is entirely dependent on their appearance and sexual desirability, and any deviation from the norms of the society is met with harsh consequences.

In this society, women are just as divided and evaluated as men, but in a different way. They are ranked on a five-star system based on their physical appearance, obedience, and general demeanor. The Alpha men have the power to rate any woman they come into contact with throughout the day using a mobile app, and these ratings determine the woman's social status.

The highest-ranking women (4+ stars) are considered to be the elite of society, and they are often courted by the Alpha men. These women are given a generous allowance from the government, and they have access to high-paying jobs and positions. Many of them aspire to become the wives of an Alpha, which is considered the ultimate achievement.

Women who fall into the 3+ category are still considered to be desirable, and they are often chosen as mistresses or lovers by the Alpha men. They can still have children and lead relatively comfortable lives, but they are not afforded the same privileges as the highest-ranking women.

Those who fall into the less than 3+ category are considered to be undesirable and are often shunned by society. They are yet allowed to date Average Joes or Shorties, which is a source of great shame for them and their families. In this world, women are judged solely on their appearance and their ability to please the Alpha men, and their fate is tied to the whims of these powerful men.

TODD WILSON STORY:

I groggily stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist. I grabbed my phone and opened up the app that had been haunting me for weeks now. The app was called "The Classifiers," and it was the most popular app among high school students. It claimed to predict what class you would belong to once you turned eighteen years old.

I nervously clicked on the app, praying that this time it would show me something different. But as the app loaded, my heart sank. The same number appeared on my screen, 4.6 inches. I sighed heavily, feeling like a complete loser.

I had heard the rumors at school about the app being inaccurate. It was a ruler that you placed on your erect penis, and it would tell you whether you were going to be an Alpha, Average Joe, or Shortie. I had always suspected that I would be classified as a Shortie, but a small part of me hoped that my penis would grow just enough to make me an Average Joe.

But as the app confirmed my fears, I couldn't help but feel insecure and submissive. I knew that being a Shortie would mean that I would be at the bottom of the social hierarchy, that no girl would ever be interested in me. And to make matters worse, my friends had all been classified as Alphas or Average Joes.

I finished getting ready for school, feeling defeated and hopeless. As I left my house, I couldn't shake the feeling that my future was already determined, that I was destined to be a loser.

As I walked towards the school, I saw an Alpha guy walking with two gorgeous redheads. With their long, luscious curls of fiery red cascading down their bodies, the girls were an absolute vision of seduction. Their every move exuded an undeniable sensuality that could make any man's heart race. Their bodies were a work of art, perfectly sculpted to tempt and tease any admirer. The mother seemed to be in her mid-thirties was wearing tight yoga pants and a crop top that showed off her toned abs. The daughter was probably my age, wearing a short skirt and a tight tank top that hugged her perky breasts. The Alpha guy was wearing gold rings and a collar, and he was groping both of their asses as they walked, and they were giggling and flirting with him shamelessly.

I couldn't help but feel envious of the Alpha guy and the attention he was getting from those two beautiful women. As I approached them, I heard them whispering to each other and giggling, trying to guess the exact size of his dick. The older one said, "I bet it's at least eight inches. I can't wait to feel it deep inside me." The younger one blushed and giggled, saying, "Mom, that's so gross, but you're probably right. He's such an Alpha, he must have a huge dick."

The Alpha guy overheard them and turned around, smirking confidently. "You think you can handle me, ladies?" he said, his eyes scanning them both up and down. "I bet neither of you has ever been with a real man like me."

The older woman laughed and said, "Oh, I've been with plenty of real men, but none of them could satisfy me like I think you could. Maybe we should find out for ourselves."

The younger one blushed even more, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. I felt like I was intruding on a private moment, but I couldn't help but listen in, feeling both aroused and ashamed of myself for doing so.

As I walked a few steps behind the alpha and the two gorgeous redheads, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy as I watched them chatting and laughing. Suddenly, the alpha made a crude joke that made the older redhead burst out in a fit of laughter that seemed a little too .

"Oh man, you two are crazy for my dick, aren't you?" the alpha sneered, grinning smugly as he eyed the two women up and down. The younger redhead giggled nervously, but the older one let out a laugh that echoed through the street.

The alpha's expression twisted into a scowl, and he grabbed his phone out of his pocket, muttering something about "having standards." I watched in disbelief as he snapped a photo of the older redhead and pulled up the rating app FemmeScore, giving her only one star.

"Your laugh is way too loud, lady," he muttered, his fingers tapping away at the screen. "I like my women to giggle like obedient school girls, not like old movies witches."

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The alpha's cruel behavior made my blood boil, and I felt a surge of anger and disgust that made my stomach turn.

The older girl trembled as she approached the Alpha, apologizing profusely for her behavior. "I'm very, very sorry, sir," she stuttered out, her voice shaking with fear. "I didn't mean to laugh too loudly. Please forgive me."

But the Alpha barely spared her a glance, his eyes already flickering back to his phone as he continued to type away at FemmeScore.

He sneered at her as he spoke, his tone dripping with disdain. "You should know better than to act like a fool in public," he said coldly. "You're lucky I didn't give you zero stars. Next time, behave like a proper lady and don't embarrass yourself in front of others." The older girl nodded frantically, still calling him "sir" and treating him with a respect that he clearly didn't deserve.

But the Alpha wasn't satisfied yet. He smirked to himself as he entered his scathing review into the app, relishing the power he held over this woman's reputation. "Laughed too loudly and disrupted the peace. Needs to learn to control herself in public," he typed out, hitting the submit button with a satisfied grin. As the older girl scurried away, her head hung low in shame, the Alpha chuckled to himself, feeling a sense of twisted pleasure at his own cruelty.

As I walked away, I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be an Alpha like that guy, to have women throwing themselves at me and begging to feel my dick inside them. But I knew that was just a fantasy, a dream that I would never be able to fulfill as a future Shortie with a small penis.

I made my way down the crowded hallway, backpack slung over my shoulder. As I reached the door to my History class, I could already hear a few guys inside, chatting with the teacher. Mrs. Williams was standing at the front of the room, looking stunning as always in a tight, short skirt and a low-cut blouse that accentuated her curves. Her long blonde hair was flowing down her back, and she had a warm smile on her face as she greeted the other guys.

Mrs. Williams is known for being one of the most intelligent teachers at the school. She holds a Ph.D. in Black History and has a passion for teaching that is infectious. However, she also has a submissive personality when it comes to the future alphas of the class. As the whole team of teachers, she knows that they will be the ones with the power and influence, and she is willing to do whatever it takes to keep them happy.

I walked up to her and said, "Good morning, Mrs. Williams."

"Good morning, Todd," she replied, her voice sweet and musical.

The other guy chimed in, "Morning, Mrs. Williams."

But then, the door opened again, and in walked Jason, the black student. He didn't bother with formalities, simply greeting her by her first name and giving her a compliment that made me cringe.

"Hey, Lauren," he said, his tone smug. "Looking fine as hell today. And that fat ass of yours is just begging to be spanked."

Mrs. Williams giggled, her demeanor changing in an instant. Suddenly, she was flirtatious and coquettish, playing right into Jason's hands.

"Oh, Jason, you always know how to make a girl feel special," she purred, flipping her hair and giving her ass an involuntary little shake. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Jason was objectifying Mrs. Williams right in front of me, and she was lapping it up like a kitten with cream. But at the same time, I couldn't deny that her ass did look pretty amazing in that skirt.

As I took my seat, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy and shame. The other guys in the class were already treated like Alphas, and now it seemed like Jason had moved up even higher in the ranks. I wondered if I would ever be able to measure up to them, or if I was destined to remain a mere mortal among the gods of the school.

As Mrs. Williams began the class, I tried to focus on the lesson, but my mind kept drifting back to the uncomfortable encounter with Jason. I couldn't believe how easily Mrs. Williams had played into his hands, and it made me wonder if she was truly passionate about teaching or just using it as a means to gain the attention and admiration of the Alphas.

"Today, we're going to be discussing the Revolution of the Alphas," Mrs. Williams began, her voice laced with excitement. "This was a pivotal moment in history that led to the rise of the alphas and the establishment of their dominance over the rest of society."

As she spoke, I could feel the tension in the room rising. The Alphas were always a sensitive topic, and I could see that Jason was already smirking, as if he knew something the rest of us didn't.

"So, who can tell me what sparked the Revolution of the Alphas? Maybe you, Jason?" Mrs. Williams asked, scanning the room.

There was a long pause before Jason spoke up, a sly grin on his face. "Sorry, Mrs. Williams, I was too focused on your ass jiggling to pay attention. I'll pass that one."

Mrs. Williams giggled like a schoolgirl, clearly flattered by the comment. "Oh, Jason, you're too much," she said, shaking her head. It was clear that Mrs. Williams was more interested in playing into his Alpha persona than actually teaching us something valuable.

But then, she turned her attention to me. "What about you, Todd? Do you know the answer?"

I hesitated, knowing that my response would determine how Lauren viewed me in class. "Um, well Mrs. Williams, I think the answer has something to do with the emergence of the alpha male as a dominant in society, but I'm not sure of the specifics," I replied.

Lauren looked disappointed. "Todd, I expected better from you," she said, her voice stern. "You need to be more aware of the history of the Alphas and their accomplishments. These men have played a significant role in shaping our society, and it's important to show gratitude for their contributions."

Mrs. Williams continued with the lecture, going into detail about the Revolution of the Alphas and how it changed the course of history. As she spoke, I tried my best to focus and take notes, but my mind kept drifting to Jason and the way he had just objectified our teacher.

Suddenly, Mrs. Williams interrupted her lecture and turned to us with a mischievous grin on her face. "Alright, class, let's have a little competition," she said. "I'm going to ask a question, and whoever gets it right will earn two extra points on their next quiz."

My ears perked up at the mention of extra credit, and I leaned forward in my seat, eager to hear the question. Mrs. Williams continued, "Who can tell me the name of the first black woman to hold a high-ranking government position in the United States?"

I racked my brain, trying to remember any historical figures that fit the description. But before I could come up with an answer, a girl named Lindsey raised her hand.

"Yes, Lindsey?" Mrs. Williams called on her.

"The answer is Shirley Chisholm," Lindsey replied confidently.

Mrs. Williams beamed at her. "Correct! Two extra points for you on the next quiz. Well done."

But then, Lindsey surprised us all by saying, "Actually, Mrs. Williams, I would like to transfer my extra points to Jason."

Mrs. Williams looked surprised but pleased. "Oh, how kind of you, Lindsey. Are you sure?"

Lindsey nodded. "Yes, I'm sure. I just wanted to do something nice for him."

Mrs. Williams smiled at her. "Well, that's very thoughtful of you, Lindsey. I'm sure Jason will appreciate it."

This was such a common tactic that girls used to get the attention of the future alphas. They would try to impress them with their selflessness and kindness, hoping to win their favor.

As the class continued, I couldn't shake off the feeling of frustration and resentment. It seemed like everything in this school revolved around the alphas, and those who weren't a part of their elite group were looked down upon.

I wondered if I would ever be able to break out of this cycle and make a name for myself, or if I would always be relegated to the sidelines, watching as the alphas took center stage.

As the bell rang, I quickly gathered my belongings and prepared to leave the classroom. But as I headed towards the door, I noticed something unusual. My teacher, Ms. Williams, was engaged in a conversation with Jason. They seemed to be speaking in hushed tones, as if they didn't want anyone else to overhear. Curiosity got the better of me, and then I slowed down to listen in.

I couldn't hear a lot, but one sentence was very clear as it left Ms. Williams' mouth: "I've been feeling a bit lonely lately, and I could use someone to keep me company. Call me tonight, and we can talk about it if you want."

She was playing with her hair and speaking in a high-pitched, bimbo-like tone that I had never heard before. The few words that was said was enough to me understand, but yet couldn't believe what I was hearing: Ms. Williams was giving Jason her phone number!

Accepting that this kind of treatment wasn't for me or for the most number of students, I headed to my next appointment, the gym class. I walked into the locker room, trying to keep my head down as I made my way to my locker. I always hated changing in front of the other guys in gym class.

They were all so big and muscular, and I didn't want them to see that I wasn't as well-endowed as they were. I couldn't help but feel inferior, knowing that I was a future shortie. It was a constant reminder of my inadequacy, and it made me feel small in more ways than one. I quickly changed into my gym clothes and made my way to the gym, hoping that the class would be over soon so I could escape this torturous environment.

I walked towards the gym court, feeling a little uneasy about what was going on. A few students were huddled around Mr. Robert Larson, our gym teacher, and they seemed to be in a heated discussion. As I got closer, I could hear them talking about changing things up in the class.

"What kind of changes?" Mr. Larson asked, looking a little nervous.

"We want to be the ones who decide what activity everyone should practice," one of the future alpha students said. "We know what's best for the class."

"And as we'll be coordinating everything, we should get an A+ for gym class," another future alpha chimed in.

Mr. Larson looked like a deer caught in the headlights, and I could tell he was afraid of the alpha students. I stood back, watching the conversation unfold, unsure of what to say. He was a forty-year-old white teacher, who also was an Average Joe. As any lucid "smaller" man, he was afraid to confront someone who would become an Alpha very soon.

"I don't know guys. Listen, Gym class is about learning new things and trying out different sports. It's not about just doing what one person wants."

The alpha students just laughed, as if Mr. Larson's objections were a joke.

I couldn't believe what I was witnessing. The alpha students had Mr. Larson cornered, and they were making it clear that they held all the power. As they laughed at his objections, their arrogance was palpable.

But then, their laughter turned into a sinister smirk, and one of the alphas stepped forward, getting dangerously close to Mr. Larson's face.

"Listen here, Bob," he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "You have one last chance to accept our terms. If you don't, we'll make your life a living hell. We'll pay a little visit to your fat-ass wife and make sure she knows what a spineless loser you are compared to a future alpha. And every time you come home and kiss your wife, it's possible that the taste of her mouth might be different, who knows... And don't even think about keeping your job as an educator. We can make that disappear in an instant. We could get a bunch of girls to say you harassed her. That wouldn't be hard to pull off with all those girls dying to suck a superior dick, you know that right?

Mr. Larson's face paled, and I could see the fear in his eyes. It was as if all his principles and integrity were crumbling before my very eyes. He took a step back, his tone changing completely.

"I-I understand," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're right. It's your class guys, and you should have the final say. I'll support whatever decisions you make."

My jaw dropped in disbelief. Mr. Larson, the once-respected teacher, had become a submissive servant to the future alphas. The alpha students smirked triumphantly, pleased with their victory over Mr. Larson. They exchanged glances, silently acknowledging their dominance over the class and the teacher.

As the future alpha students commanded everyone to gather at the center of the gym, a sense of unease and anticipation filled the air. We all huddled together, unsure of what was about to unfold. The alphas stood at the front, their smug expressions signaling their newfound power.

One of them stepped forward, clearing his throat to get everyone's attention. The murmurs died down, and the gym fell into an eerie silence. He began to speak, his voice strong and authoritative.

"Listen up, everyone. We've come to realize that this world operates on a certain set of rules. It's a world where the strong dominate and the weak are left behind. And guess what? We're the strong. We're the ones who will shape the course of our class." His words hung in the air, seeping into the hearts and minds of everyone present. It was a chilling reminder of the social hierarchy we were all to navigate.

"And now, let's divide the class," one of the alphas announced, relishing in their newfound power. "Any alpha can choose between basketball or football. It's your chance to show off your athleticism and dominate the field."

I watched as the alphas confidently raised their hands, selecting their preferred sport without a second thought. They already knew they would excel in whatever they chose, and the rest of us were merely spectators in their kingdom.

"But what about the girls?" another alpha chimed in, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "You have the privilege of choosing between cheerleading, athletics, or any sport that allows you to wear those tight shorts. Embrace your femininity and let the world admire the beauty of your booty."

"And as for the Average Joes and the Shorties," one of the alphas continued, his tone dripping with mockery, "consider yourselves the Practice Cheerleading Team. Mr. Larson here will be responsible for training you to sing with girly voices and move those hips. Get ready to show off your 'talents'.'"

My heart sank as I realized the depth of their cruelty. The alphas had reduced us to a laughingstock, relegating us to a position of mockery and humiliation. I could see the anger and frustration in the eyes of my fellow classmates, but we felt powerless to challenge their authority.

As the alpha students continued to assert their dominance, their words cutting through the air like venomous daggers, a heavy silence fell upon the gym. The atmosphere was thick with a sense of foreboding, as if the weight of their expectations had already settled upon our shoulders.

It was clear that the alphas had already decided where each of us belonged. Their gaze lingered on the Average Joes and the Shorties, relishing in the knowledge of the imminent humiliation they would subject us to.

The leaders' voices carried on, their words etching themselves into our minds like a cruel mantra. "Remember, your scores in this class will determine your fate. Failure to perform as the best girly-men cheerleader team will result in flunking gym class. So, put in the effort, show us your enthusiasm, and embrace your newfound identity."

Yet, as I glanced around the room, I could see the resolve forming in the eyes of my fellow classmates. We may have been relegated to the role of the "second" cheerleader team, but how could we say no?

As the tense atmosphere lingered in the gym, Mr. Larson, to salvage his dignity, mustered the courage to challenge the alpha students once more. His voice trembled slightly as he spoke, trying to reason with them.

Mr. Larson: "Look, boys, I understand that you have the power here, but please reconsider. Making me coach this... 'sissy' cheerleader team would be demeaning and unfair."

"Oh, Mr. Larson, it's not about fairness anymore. It's about asserting our dominance and making you squirm. We're not interested in your concerns." said one alpha student smirking.

Mr. Larson pleadingly tried one last time to convince them. "But there must be some other role I can take on. I've been a gym teacher for years, I know sports. Let me coach basketball or football, anything but this."

"Sorry, Mr. Larson, but we've already made up our minds. You're going to be the coach of our 'second' cheerleader team. And if you resist, well, we might just have to make you part of the cheerleaders themselves."

Mr. Larson's face paled at the thought, realizing the magnitude of the humiliation that awaited him. Fear mingled with resignation in his eyes as he looked at the smirking alpha students.

"Alright, alright. You win. I'll be the coach for the cheerleader team. Just... just promise me you won't take it any further." accepted Mr. Larson

"Oh, Larson, you're in no position to make demands. But don't worry, we'll make sure you get to experience the full joy of the cheerleading world," answered another student laughing triumphantly.

Mr. Larson's shoulders slumped in defeat, his attempts to resist crushed under the weight of their dominance. He resigned himself to his fate, desperately hoping that his concession would be enough to spare him further humiliation.

Mr. Larson: optimism "Very well, boys. I'll do my best to guide these 'sissies' as you call them. Just remember, they deserve respect too, regardless of the role they've been assigned."

The alpha students erupted into a fit of laughter, their amusement fuelled by Mr. Larson's futile attempt at redemption.

Oh, don't worry, Bob. We'll give them all the respect they deserve as we watch them prance around in those cute little uniforms," said one of the alphas mockingly.

The taunting laughter echoed throughout the gym, a cruel reminder of the power dynamics at play and the impending trials the "sissies" would face under Mr. Larson's begrudging coaching.

As a girl nervously approached one of the alpha students, her concern about her grades evident in her eyes, she mustered the courage to voice her worries. I watched the interaction unfold, a twisted grin spreading across my face, knowing the torment that awaited her.

"Um, excuse me. I'm not really into sports, and I'm worried about how it will affect my grades. Will I be penalized for not participating?" one of the girls asked.

"Oh, sweetheart, don't you worry. I've got a special plan for you. Turn around and show me your back." answered an alpha student smirking deviously.

The girl hesitated for a moment, unsure of what was to come. But curiosity got the better of her, and she slowly turned around, exposing her back to the alpha student.

"Ah, perfect! You see, my dear, as long as you show up to class in those tight shorts, be a good little girl, and follow my lead, you're guaranteed an A+. No need for any actual physical exertion. Just let me handle everything."

"Oh wow, really? That's all I have to do? No more sweating and struggling in sports? Just looking sexy and pleasing you guys? Sign me up!" giggling with delight the girl looked very interested.

Her naïveté and eagerness to please the dominant forces in the class became evident as she eagerly embraced her new role. The sinister influence of the alphas had successfully warped her perspective, igniting a twisted sense of empowerment through objectification.

As I stood there, witnessing the disturbing dynamics unfolding around me, a wave of unsettling thoughts washed over my mind. I couldn't help but question if this was the life I was destined to lead, whether I should accept it and find happiness in my subservience to the alphas.

A mix of anger, resentment, and resignation swirled within me. Was I condemned to be a mere pawn, to conform to their twisted desires? Should I surrender my individuality and dignity in the pursuit of their approval? These questions echoed in my mind, tearing at the fabric of my self-worth. What a shitty life. Damn it!

DAVID WILSON (TODD'S DAD)

I am David Wilson, an average joe, married man, and father of two wonderful kids, Todd and Camila. I have been working as an assistant journalist at the big newspaper Alpha Media Network (AMN) for the past eight years now, but I have always been treated as a loser rookie by my superiors and colleagues, who are mostly women or alphas. As an A.J (average joe), my job is basically to do whatever my alpha superiors or the women who work there tell me to do.

However, I believe that I am a terrific writer and I have big dreams of being promoted someday. Despite the constant ridicule and belittlement that I face at work, I always strive to do my best and produce quality work. I take pride in my writing and I am always looking for ways to improve my skills and gain recognition.

Even though my job can be frustrating at times, I am grateful for it, as it allows me to support my family and provide for them. I hope that someday I can rise above my current position and achieve success in my career as a journalist.

As I sit in my cramped cubicle, surrounded by grey office partitions that seem to suffocate me with their lack of space, I feel a deep sense of bitterness slowly simmering within me. I've been working here since I graduated with a degree in journalism, but it feels like I'm still just a dumb rookie assistant.

No matter how hard I try, how many articles I pitch, how many hours I put in, my boss always shoots me down with a curt "no." It's like they don't want to give me a chance to prove myself, to show them that I'm more than just an average Joe trying to make a name for myself in a world ruled by alphas.

But I won't give up. I'm a good writer, damn it. And I know that someday, somehow, I'll get my chance to shine.

I was lost in thought, reviewing my latest article about the new law prohibiting average Joes from earning inheritance, when the sound of someone clearing their throat startles me back to reality. I look up to see Sandy, the new intern hired only a week ago, standing awkwardly at the edge of my cubicle, clutching a pile of papers to her chest.

Sandy is a walking embodiment of everything that's wrong with this world. She's tall and willowy, with legs that go on for miles and a mane of perfectly coiffed blonde hair that cascades down her back like a golden waterfall. She wears a tight pencil skirt and a low-cut blouse that leaves little to the imagination, and every movement she makes seems calculated to draw attention to her curves. But it's not her looks that make her so unbearable. It's her personality. She's a total bitch, with a voice that drips with sarcasm and a way of speaking that makes it clear she thinks she's better than everyone.

I can feel the tension building inside of me as Sandy saunters over to my cubicle, her hips swaying in a way that's almost too exaggerated to be real. Her long, blonde hair cascades down her back in perfect waves, and her makeup is so expertly applied that she almost looks like a different person than the one who stumbled into the office on her first day.

As she reaches my desk, she flashes me a dazzling smile that makes me want to punch something. "Hey there, Davey," she purrs, her voice dripping with condescension. "I was wondering if you could do me a little favor. You know, since you're just an assistant and all."

I already know where this is going. Sandy has a reputation around the office for being a total bitch, always pushing her work onto other people and taking credit for things she didn't do. But I try to stay calm as she shoves a stack of papers into my hands and starts explaining what she needs me to do.

Basically, she wants me to review all of this paperwork for her so she can go home early and "take care of some things." Translation: she wants to go home, paint her nails, and post some sexy photos on Instagram. And she expects me to do her job for her.

I try to argue that I'm already swamped with work of my own, but Sandy doesn't seem to care. "Oh, come on, Davey," she says, rolling her eyes. "It's not like you have anything better to do. And if you need to work through lunch or stay late, well, that's just the price you pay for being an assistant, right?"

I grit my teeth, feeling the anger bubbling up inside of me. But I know that arguing with Sandy is pointless.

So, I take the stack of papers and try to focus on the task at hand, even though I can feel my blood pressure rising with every passing second. Maybe if I can get this done quickly, I'll have time to work on my own article and finally prove to my boss that I'm more than just an assistant. But deep down, I know that's probably just wishful thinking.

I can feel my blood boiling as I reluctantly agree to do Sandy's work for her. What choice do I have? I can't afford to lose my job, and if I don't do it, she'll just go to our boss and spin some lie about how I refused to help her.

But Sandy doesn't seem to care about any of that. Instead, she smirks at me, her lips curling into a condescending smile. "Aww, thanks Davey," she coos, using that sickly sweet tone of voice that people usually reserve for talking to puppies or small children.

I can feel my fists clenching at my sides as she continues to talk down to me. It's bad enough that I have to do her work for her, but now she has to rub it in my face like I'm some kind of incompetent assistant.

But I try to keep my cool. I don't want to give her the satisfaction of seeing me lose my temper. So I just grit my teeth and nod, muttering something about how it's no problem.

Sandy starts listing off a laundry list of tasks that she wants me to complete for her. "So, Davey, first you need to go through these reports and highlight any important information. Then, you need to type up a summary of each report and send it to me in an email. And finally, you need to file these reports in the right place in the cabinet. Got it?"

I nod, feeling a sense of dread wash over me. This is going to take hours, and I have my own work to do. But Sandy doesn't seem to care about that.

Sandy leans in closer to me, practically purring like a cat. "Thanks again, Davey," she says in a sickly sweet voice. "You're such a good little assistant, aren't you?"

With a deep sigh, I turn back to my computer and start typing up the summary reports, trying to ignore Sandy's presence as much as possible.

"Oh, David," she purrs, her voice dripping with condescension. "I almost forgot to mention. If anyone asks, make sure you tell them that I did all the work. And don't forget to emphasize how efficient and brilliant I am."

"Of course, Sandy," I reply, my voice dripping with false sincerity. "I'll be sure to let everyone know just how amazing you are." Sandy's smile widens, oblivious to the venom laced within my words. She saunters away, her hips swaying as if she owns the entire world.

It's infuriating, but I know better than to confront her. Instead, I play the obedient fool, executing her commands without question. As I delve deeper into Sandy's workload, a sense of foreboding creeps over me. I can't help but wonder what kind of chaos she might unleash if I were to refuse her demands.

The consequences of crossing Sandy are far from pleasant. I've witnessed her toxic charisma firsthand, the way she twists words and distorts reality to suit her own agenda. She holds power over the unsuspecting minds in this office, and I refuse to become another casualty of her treachery. My mind races, conjuring vivid images of the possible repercussions. I can envision her planting seeds of doubt or poisoning the minds of our colleagues with her venomous whispers. That bitch..

The clock taunts me, its hands creeping closer to the dreaded hour of 6 pm. I've sacrificed my own time, tirelessly toiling away on Sandy's neglected tasks, only to find myself drowning in the abyss of my own workload. The realization hits me like a slap in the face, a cruel reminder of the unfairness that pervades this wretched existence.

A wicked grin slowly spreads across my face as a devious thought takes hold. I've earned a moment of respite, a chance to indulge in the forbidden fruit that this censored world denies me. With a newfound determination, I make my way to the bathroom, a secret sanctuary where the allure of temptation awaits.

The all-seeing artificial intelligence embedded within every digital device stands ready to enforce its tyrannical censorship. Images of women, even in the slightest hint of sensuality, are swiftly blurred, denying the Average Joes their carnal satisfaction.

Sports websites become my refuge, a treasure trove of alluring athletes clad in tight-fitting attire. As I feast my eyes upon these athletic goddesses, the A.I. overlooks their enticing forms, granting me a tantalizing glimpse of beauty amidst the oppressive censorship.

Each touch on the screen takes me deeper into a world of sensual bliss, as I revel in the forbidden fruits of sports photography. The adrenaline courses through my veins, an intoxicating blend of pleasure and rebellion. In these stolen moments, I am the master of my desires, defying the shackles of this repressive society.

As I navigate through the treacherous landscape of my secret desires, one name reigns supreme in my twisted fantasies: Samantha Winter. A blonde goddess who graces the volleyball court with her athletic prowess, she possesses a power that extends far beyond her athletic abilities. Samantha, the seductive streamer, knows just how to ensnare the average Joe and exploit their desires for her own gain.

With a devilish smirk on my face, I whisper Samantha's name as if conjuring a forbidden spell. She is my favorite athlete, not only for her skillful performance on the volleyball court but also for her uncanny ability to allure unsuspecting souls into funding her insatiable bank accounts.

Through her enticing style and sultry demeanor, Samantha weaves a web of temptation, drawing in hoards of admirers who eagerly donate their hard-earned funds. She preys upon the desires of the average Joe, exploiting their weaknesses to fill her coffers with ill-gotten gains.

With a burning desire to see Samantha Winter in all her unadulterated glory, I embark on a treacherous quest. My efforts to find uncensored images of her have been in vain, thwarted by the ever-watchful eyes of the AI that blankets this world in suffocating prudishness.

But a glimmer of hope emerges as I stumble upon Samantha's personal website. A devilish grin creeps across my face as I discover a tantalizing video, cloaked in a $10,00 price tag. Each second of her sultry performance comes at a cost, a mere pittance compared to the depths of my insatiable desires.

Without hesitation, I click the forbidden play button, eagerly anticipating the forbidden fruits that await me.

Samantha Winter, draped in a pristine white towel, glistens with a seductive aura as the video begins. A malicious grin stretches across my face as I realize the length of this enticing display, a tantalizing one minute and forty-seven seconds.

The mirror serves as Samantha's accomplice, capturing every curve of her flawless body as she addresses her captive audience. A wave of anticipation washes over me as she greets the viewers, her voice dripping with sensuality.

"Hello, darlings," she purrs, her tone laced with honeyed temptation. "I've missed you all so dearly. It seems I've come before you today with a somber message, a realization that haunts my delicate heart."

The seductive facade begins to crumble as Samantha delves into the depths of her manipulative tactics. She cunningly speaks of her failure to reach the coveted one million dollars in donations this month, her voice laced with feigned disappointment. The fire of greed burns in her eyes, hidden beneath a veil of vulnerability.

"I find myself at a crossroads, my lovelies," she confesses, her words dripping with calculated desperation. "If I cannot secure the wealth and adoration I so desire, I fear that my presence on this very platform may be in jeopardy. Am I not captivating enough? Do you not yearn for my divine essence?"

A subtle manipulation dances in her voice, planting seeds of doubt and guilt within the hearts of her loyal followers. Samantha masterfully spins her narrative, weaving a web of insecurities and desires, playing upon the weakness of her unsuspecting victims.

"But fear not, my darlings," she coos, a wicked smile playing upon her lips. "Together, we can transcend these earthly limitations. Show me your devotion, shower me with your affections, and I promise to reward you with the forbidden fruits of my essence. Help me reach the pinnacle of success, or watch as my divine light fades into obscurity."

With each passing second, Samantha Winter manipulates the minds of her audience, enticing them to surrender their fortunes in a bid for her favor. The dance of deceit continues, the web of temptation growing stronger with each whispered promise.

As the seductive monologue of Samantha Winter unfolds, her alluring voice caresses my ears and stirs a primal hunger within me. The sight of her wrapped in a tantalizingly white towel, teasingly revealing her curves in the mirror, becomes an irresistible invitation for my darkest desires.

Unable to resist the call, I give in to the sinful whispers echoing in my mind. My hand swiftly finds its way beneath my pants, as the pleasure-seeking fiend within me takes control. With each breathy word that escapes Samantha's lips and each tantalizing glimpse of her flawless form, my arousal intensifies.

My grip tightens, fueled by a mix of lust and wickedness. The forbidden act of self-indulgence commences, guided by the hypnotic sway of Samantha's manipulative monologue. In the depths of my mind, I revel in the transgressive pleasure, liberated from the chains of morality and decency.

Her words, like a siren's song, feed my fantasies as I lose myself in the unhinged dance of self-gratification. The images of Samantha's towel-clad allure serve as the canvas upon which my debauched desires unfold, heightening my ecstasy with each passing moment.

As the intoxicating video of Samantha Winter reaches its end, I surrender to the uncontrollable surge of pleasure coursing through my veins. With an unrestrained moan escaping my lips, I release my carnal desires into the waiting embrace of my hand, painting it with the evidence of my unhinged indulgence.

But as the euphoria subsides, a sinister realization dawns upon me. A wicked grin twists my lips as I notice the flickering glow of a new price tag, boldly displaying $20.00. The insidiousness of it all becomes apparent--my insatiable desire for a rewatch would now come at double the cost.

As I finally emerge from the bathroom, the weight of my indulgence lingers in the air, mingling with the remorseless truth of the ticking clock. It's already 40 past 6 pm, and I can feel the impending burden of unfinished work weighing on my shoulders. The night ahead promises to be a long and arduous one.

With a sigh, I make my way back to my cubicle, settling into the familiarity of my chair. Just as I prepare to dive into my own tasks, a notification from my conniving wife, Donna, interrupts my thoughts. An audio recording materializes on my phone.

I press play, and her voice fills the silence, dripping with a concoction of sweetness and malice:

"Hey babe, like, where are you?" she giggles. "Listen, don't bother waiting for me tonight, David," her voice crackles to life, and I can sense the strain beneath her every word, laced with a hint of deceitful sweetness. "I'll be out for a while, helping my alpha boss with a meeting presentation. You know how persuasive I can be when it comes to sealing deals."

"Damn it! Not this again..."