The Social Justice Warrior

Chels couldn't keep away from Twitter thanks to the literal war that was going on about her and her fellow women online. She clicked on the photoshop window she had open on her second monitor. There was a picture of her -- marble white skin, short, dyed pink hair, skinny, heart-shaped face -- that she had added text to. She couldn't believe that in this day and age people still couldn't accept feminism. Which is exactly why I have to keep fighting these manbabies.

She typed a message into the textbox on the screen, probably too forcefully. She hated this stupid imageboard, with its "2edgy5me" attitude about every serious issue including, lately, her favorite writers and magazines. These nerds just don't understand why it was important to share stories of disempowered groups like women and minorities -- no matter the cost. They didn't get that no matter how good her life was, it would never outweigh the oppressive force of the patriarchal microaggressions that permeated the lives of her and every other woman.

Thank god Chels' father had hired a cybersecurity expert for her, that meant she could really show these idiots who is boss with no personal repercussions. She had come up with a brilliant "false flag" that she was sure the media would pick up on immediately. They all fought for social justice like she did. Well, the good ones at least.

"Fuck these stupid Vivian posts, you faggots", she typed into the text box, cringing at the f-word, "focus on the bitch who actually needs to be fucked."

Then she saved and attached her custom photo. It was the picture of her, with red text overlay reading, "Next on the hitlist: Chels La Marke, Social Justice Whore." No doubt her sisters in feminism would be monitoring the thread and screencap it immediately, send it to the "right" people. These Vivian threads were the worst. So perverted.

Chels tabbed back over to her twitter timeline. Only boring "goobergrapers" repeating the same old arguments. Objectivity, "ethics", etc.

"Bored now, fuck you", she typed.

Chels was proud of herself. She'd been personally responsible for creating a petition that got Bayonetta 2 removed from her local games stores, she'd actually made a few ex-"gowmbergrompers" check their privilege for once, and now she was going to successfully false-flag a bunch of shitgoblins into visiting and "ddosing" her personal blog. Hellooooo Patreon money.

Chels sighed. Nothing left to do but wait. Her boyfriend was out distributing flyers for their bi-weekly Feminist Science Club meeting, not that he'd ever actually make a move on her anymore. It had been fun and arousing guilting him about every sexual urge he'd had, but he'd been completely domesticated lately, and, though she hated to admit it, she was bored of that. Sometimes she couldn't help but imagine being taken by a nice strong man. She couldn't help the patriarchy she had been socialized in, sometimes it slipped into her fantasies!

Chels found herself imagining some /fit/izen juicehead ignoring her preaching and whining, pushing her down on the bed, tearing her clothes off and fucking her tiny ass raw. She begged him to stay, to emotionally attach, but he never would. He ignored all of her commands, always returning when he pleased to please himself with her. Like some kind of toy. This figure had invaded her fantasies as of late. It turned her on so damn much. Guilty pleasure, she figured.

She slipped her hand down her pants, revealing the Raised Feminist Fist tattoo she had tattooed above her...Cunt. That word, so filthy, always turned her on. She hated it, of course, but it was so powerful and so charged that it always worked for her. Cunt, cunt, cunt. She whispered it softly as she slipped her fingers down into her thin slit. She was still tender from her failed pube-dye experiment last week, but that almost added to the sensation of her sliding her fingers between her lower lips.

She imagined herself reluctantly letting go, letting the muscled man lift her small frame and slide his cock into her, stretching her more than her boyfriend(s) ever could. He pounded into her again and again, and she looked down to see her crotch throb with each thrust. She could imagine his hands on her back, his muscles flexing as he fucked her so hard.

Damn, I'm really getting into this, she thought, pushing the fantasy one step further, I'm really enjoying getting fucked by an "alpha".

She was soaking herself, and she laughed at a thought. My boyfriend really is a fucking beta isn't he? That only turned her on more. Her whole body was feeling warm and tingly. She could tell this orgasm was going to be astronomical. She flicked her finger across her clit rapidly, sending shocks of pleasure through her crotch and thighs. For some reason, her clit felt twice as hot and engorged as usual. Damn fantasies...

There was a ding from her laptop. A PM? What the fuck? She spun in her chair and, using her other hand, snagged the mouse and clicked on the twitter tab. Who the fuck is this? Some random Social Justice blogger she had followed back last week had sent her a PM.

"Nice try, Chels, I know it's you posting on chan", the message read, "you've been posting under the same I.D. across multiple threads you fucking retard, and your security sucks. If you haven't already noticed, I've devised something special for you, courtesy of my friends on the deep web. Hope you liked this actual sock account."

Chels' skin prickled. Who the fuck are you? Her hand hovered over the keys, but she couldn't think straight. She was still so turned on. Her head was hazy. She felt hot. A second message dinged through.

"Go check that Vivian thread you shitted up. I dare you."

Instinctively, Chels tabbed over to the thread. Ten updates. All of them except one were denouncing her image. The last one was a hyper-realistic picture of Vivian fingering herself. The text next to it read, "Have fun looking like this girl for the rest of your life, Chels." For some reason, the image turned her on. Chels shook the thought from her mind, as best as she could.

It was then that she noticed the room was foggy. There was some kind of purple haze filling her vision. She tried to stand, but her legs were wobbly. She accidentally gasped, taking the purple smoke into her lungs.

"Oh gawd..." she moaned, as every erogenous zone on her body came alight with feeling.

Chels threw her head back, filling her lungs with the purple smoke. She caught a glimpse of her screen, which was glowing bright green. My computer...compromised? She could barely think.

A light pain shot through her spine, waking her enough to stumble to her feet. Her cunt was so wet for some reason. She looked down at herself. Something was definitely wrong. Her pants were tightening. She rushed to peel them off, but only succeeded in drunkenly stumbling as she hopped out of her pants. Hell, my shirt too? She took that off next.

Looking down again, she could have sworn her body was warping before her very eyes. Am I fucking high? Her legs were thickening, her feet, shrinking. She felt herself grow closer to the floor. Chels' eyes shot to the body mirror in the corner of the room, and she stumbled towards it.

"My legs feel weird..."

Chels gawked at the image reflected in the mirror. She was inches shorter, she'd gained weight, and...spots...were spreading across her bared breasts. As she leaned in for a closer look, she realized they were freckles -- and that her once nearly flat breasts were pushing outwards and gaining weight. She watched in horror as her areolas lightened and expanded. An involuntary moan slipped from her lips as a wave of pleasure surged from her cunt.

She gripped the side of the mirror, clenching her eyes shut and moaning again. When she opened her eyes, she was horrified to see her hair lengthening and changing in color. Oh god. It's red. Oh my god what is this? She watched her breasts settle into their larger size and greater weight, her face round out ever so slightly, her belly get a little lazy pudge, her hips round out, and then it all clicked when her eyes changed. Green. Why are my eyes green! No, this is impossible!

Chels looked at herself again, gawking. Gone was the skinny, dyed-hair, pixie girl with marble skin. Instead, her body became that of a short, slightly pudgy, large breasted, red-head. Her eyes looked tired, and her expression, mildly annoyed. With horror, Chels realized that her tattoo had become a green-and-purple infinity. She had become a perfect model of a "girl who games", that GamerGate icon, Vivian James.

Chels screamed in horror, the voice that came forth completely alien to her. It was soft and a little raspy instead of the loud, nasally voice she had always known to be hers. Her hands shot to her face, touching to feel if it was real. As her fingers touched her cheeks, the finishing touches of her radical female transformation completed. Freckles dotted across her face, and reddish pubic hair appeared above her slightly chubby cunt. She gawked in terror and arousal.

Her cheeks were flushed red, and, somehow, she couldn't help but be turned on looking at her new body. Her mind filled with images of Vivian -- herself -- being fucked. She imagined her now large, heavy breasts bouncing with each thrust of her imaginary lover. His cock pushed into her reddened pussy, sliding against her enlarged clit.

Chels, still dizzy, fell onto her bed, unable to resist fingering herself. Frantically, she felt down between her new folds and quickly found her clit; it was indeed larger. She stared at her tattoo, turned on by the downright evil of it as her fingers flicked across her nub. Such a taboo image, on her flesh. Her breasts jiggled as she forcefully fingered herself, hoping to replicate the images flashing through her mind so rapidly.

She closed her eyes tight, picturing cum rising from the cock of her lover and splashing into her red pubes, across her infinity tattoo, and onto her thighs. She tried with whatever will remained to think of her actual boyfriend, but it just didn't turn her on at all. She came to the image of Vivian-Chels being fucked by a musclebound, masculine, hero trope. She came, convulsing and tightening around her fingers.

Falling to the floor in ecstasy, Chels glanced over at her computer. A red light was visible through the dissipating purple-and-green haze. The light of her webcam. They have it on video... Chels honestly tried to work up care, but, for some reason she couldn't. She was so satisfied. She hugged herself, shivered slightly in the last wave of orgasmic bliss, and went to stand.

Chels felt so relaxed. Even her expression felt chill. She walked over to her computer, smiled slightly, and sat down in the chair. She didn't even try to turn off the webcam. Something about not giving a shit felt nice. She bit her lip as a thought crossed her mind. A half-second later, she had propped her leg up on the armrest, giving the webcam a nice view of her red-haired pussy.I should be concerned, right?

Chels clicked out of twitter, opened up steam. Fuck it. I feel fucking fantastic. I'll just play a game and let this fucker enjoy the view. Unbeknownst to her, the video of Chels La Marke A.K.A. Vivian James was streaming live to her Social Justice blog.

There was no going back.