Amanda was the brightest young star in the world of marketing and social messaging – and now the President was offering her the opportunity of a lifetime.

She had made her way up through university at a record speed, buoyed by her natural intelligence – but aided by a generous scholarship from a feminist trust, and also (if she was being honest) by her stunning good looks and generous cleavage.

Upon graduation, she had moved from marketing firm to marketing firm, delivering award-winning advertising campaigns and becoming the most aggressively-headhunted creative in the industry. She had been featured on the cover of industry magazines, gone on paid speaking tours, and been feted by peers and clients alike.

Finally, she had received an invitation to the White House. There, in the historic Red Room, she met with a male presidential aide.

“We have a challenge for you,” said the aide.

“I’m listening,” replied Amanda, leaning forward – a move which angled her cleavage towards the man, a tactic which she always found gave her an edge in conversations.

“The government has invested a vast sum of money in tackling harassment and violence towards women,” said the aide. “We’ve run campaigns urging men to speak out to other men; we’ve raised awareness; we’ve passed new laws. And yet our courts are clogged with more sexual harassment disputes than ever before.”

“You want me to come up with a new campaign to fight harassment of women?” asked Amanda.

“Maybe,” said the aide. “Frankly, what we want is for the issue to just go away. We don’t want to hear about it anymore.”

“In a way that keeps women voting for you, though?” queried Amanda.

The aide made a face, and wiggled a hand in the air. “Our research suggests that our female voters are rusted on. They hate the other side so much, they’ll vote for us no matter what we do.” He leaned in close, and spoke in a lower voice. “And – look, keep it to yourself – but there are some electoral changes coming in later this year, and once they pass we think there are going to be far fewer women turning up to vote on election day anyway.”

Raised as a feminist, Amanda felt a twinge of alarm at this confession – but she was a professional first and foremost, and her mind was focused on the challenge at hand.

“What’s the pay attached to this job?” she asked.

The aide named a figure. It had two more zeroes on the end than Amanda had been expecting. Her eyes widened.

“And in addition,” said the aide, “you’ll have the gratitude of the president, which is hard to put a price on.” He paused. “Or the displeasure of the president, if you were to turn down the job. Which is also hard to price.”

Amanda took the job. How could she not?


The answer came to her late that night, as she lay in bed, and she hated it.

She hated it with every fibre of her being. It was disgusting. It was a violation of everything that she believed.

And yet… it would work. It would do what the President had asked for. It was bold, and eye-catching. It would transform political messaging overnight. She would go down in history – albeit not in the way she had intended to.

She moaned. She felt dirty. She didn’t want to use this idea.

But she was cursed to be kind of woman who simply had to succeed. She couldn’t turn away from a powerful idea, even if it was an evil one.

She whimpered.

Her hand crept down under the bedsheets, and slipped under the hemline of her panties. She cupped her vulva in her hand, and then slipped a finger between her pussy lips and began to stroke her clitoris.

She would be a traitor. She would be a gender traitor. Women would hate her.

But the President would love her. And she would have solved the problem that no other communications professional had solved.

Her pussy got wetter, and wetter, and by the time she felt her orgasm approaching, she had convinced herself it was actually a good idea, and decided to go through with it.


The pretty young actress stared at the script, outraged. “I can’t read this!” she protested. “This is disgusting! I thought this was an anti-sexual harassment ad!”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “You’re a paid actress, Jennifer” she said. “Just read the lines.” She gestured around at the film set, the cameramen, the lighting and makeup and crew. “We’re all ready to do this.”

“No!” objected Jennifer. She threw the script on the ground, and the pages scattered. “You asked for me not just because I’m an actress, but because I have a reputation standing up for women’s rights. I can’t read this… misogynistic rubbish!”

Amanda sighed, and walked over to Jennifer. She put an arm around Jennifer’s shoulders, leaned in close – and then showed Jennifer a photo. No one else could see it except her and the cute young 20-something starlet. 

Jennifer’s face went pale.

“You see, the thing is, Jennifer,” said Amanda, “the FBI sometimes likes to conduct surveillance on pretty little celebrities like you. They can usually find some legal excuse – for you, it was that they were worried about your connections to radical feminist movements – but really they just want an excuse to spy on hot little sluts getting naked. And last month they took some *very* interesting photos of you. And they gave them to the President. And the President gave them to me.”

“Please…” begged Jennifer, eyes wide. “This isn’t – I mean, I can’t….”

“Now, in that photo,” said Amanda, quietly, “it *looks* like you are kneeling naked in front of a black man’s cock. And unless I’m *very* mistaken, that black man is NOT your husband Ryan, am I right?”

Jennifer just whimpered.

“And in that photo, you’re cupping your tits – very nice tits, by the way – and your mouth is open,” continued Amanda. “And it looks to *me* as though that black man is *pissing into your mouth*. Would you say that’s a correct interpretation of that picture, Jennifer?”

Jennifer looked like she might cry.

“Now, you can imagine what will happen if the tabloids get that photo,” said Amanda. “You can imagine the headlines they might run. ‘PISS-SLUT JENNIFER CHEATS ON HUBBIE’. ‘JENNIFER HUNGRY FOR INTERRACIAL PISS’. They’ll be quite graphic, I would think. And your husband will leave you, of course. And all those contracts you have with nice family-friendly film companies like Disney will just… vanish. Your career will die overnight.”

“Please…” whimpered Jennifer.

“So Jennifer,” finished Amanda. “How about you pick up that script you dropped, and be a good little slut, and read your fucking lines?” She leaned in and kissed Jennifer lightly on the cheek. “There’s a good little bitch.”

And that was the last resistance Amanda had from her pretty young actress.

“Hi!” said Jennifer brightly – a little too brightly, but there would always be the chance for second and third takes later. “I’m Jennifer, and I spend a lot of time talking about protecting women from sexual harassment. Do you get bored of listening to me whine on like a bitch about it? Then just slap me!”

A man stepped into the frame and slapped Jennifer across the face – hard.

Jennifer gasped, and staggered back – and, unfortunately forgot her next lines.

“He actually slapped me!” gasped the actress. “For real! I thought it was supposed to be a stage slap!”

“Why on Earth would it be a stage slap?” asked Amanda. “The whole point of the ad is to encourage people to actually slap you. Now take it from the top, and this time try to make it sound like you believe what you’re saying.”

Jennifer stared at Amanda in despair and disbelief. Amanda ran a finger over the blouse pocket where she had stored the photo of Jennifer, and the actress got the message.

“Hi! I’m Jennifer…” she began again, and read through her script. This time she sounded better. She ended with, “Then just slap me!”, and once again the man stepped forward and slapped her across the face.

To Amanda’s pleasure, this time Jennifer just gasped gently, and then went on with her script.

“Slapping me is the best way to get me to shut up,” she enthused. “And are you worried I’ll complain that I’ve been slapped? Then slap me again!”

The man did. There was a red mark on Jennifer’s cheek now.

“If you overhear another woman saying she’ll complain about violence or sexual harassment – then slap her too!” Jennifer said. “If enough of us do our part to slap whiny ungrateful bitches, we can make this whole topic go away, so you’ll never have to listen to a woman complain about it again.”

“Cut,” said Amanda. “That’s a wrap.” She headed for her trailer office, to go over the footage that had just been shot.

Jennifer hurried after her anxiously. “You’re not actually going to air this ad, right?” she asked, nervously. “It’s awful. It’s misogynistic. And… it might make people actually slap me. I’m a little scared.”

“Let it go,” advised Amanda, still walking.

“But I’ve read about you,” said Jennifer. “That’s why I originally agreed to work with you. You’re a feminist, and…”

Amanda stopped, and looked the young actress in the eyes. Then, cruelly, deliberately, she slapped Jennifer across the face. Hard.

Jennifer gasped and clutched her cheek.

“Did you not listen to your own ad?” asked Amanda. “I don’t want to hear it. Now, you’ve got two hours for lunch, and then we’re shooting another one, where you’re in an office and you complain to your employer that you’ve been raped by a co-worker, and he slaps you and tells you to go say thank-you to your rapist for the compliment.”


The two hours of lunch for Amanda were not restful. After the second time she viewed the footage she had just shot, she found herself suddenly running to the toilets to throw up. What she was doing betrayed everything she had ever believed. It was misogynistic and vile. Was she really doing this?

And yet, it was the job of a lifetime. The job to reshape society, at the request of the president, and forever redefine the boundaries of gender relations with a single ad campaign – even if it may not be pushing those boundaries in the way she had dreamed of as a child. Other women would kill for this chance.

So she got a hold of herself, washed out her mouth, and went on with the filming.


Over the next week they shot dozens of short commercials. It was amazing the number of prominent women the White House was able to provide blackmail material for. Woman after woman – all of them feminists – showed up to shoot what they thought would be a women’s rights campaign, only to discover that they would be expected to say something quite different.

“Hi, I’m Jeanette,” said on mature woman with blonde hair and spectacles. “As a lecturer in feminist theory, I provide absolutely no value to society. So when I open my mouth and start bitching about things no one cares about, I need someone to shut me up. That’s why I tell my male colleagues ‘Just Slap Me!’”

A man stepped into frame and slapped Jeanette across the face, knocking her glasses to the floor. Jeanette hadn’t wanted to film this, of course, but the evidence of her embezzling her university’s funds to pay her gambling debts had convinced her.

“Maybe someday I’ll learn to show my tits and spread my legs like a good girl!” said Jeanette. “But the only way I’ll learn is if men like you remember to slap me. Don’t think twice – just slap me!”

A couple of days after filming that commercial, Amanda learned that some of the male crewmembers had dragged Jeanette into one of the trailers and gang-raped her, slapping her whenever she objected. With the threat of a prosecution for embezzlement hanging over her, Jeanette was obviously never going to complain about her treatment. Amanda only learned about it when she caught two cameramen swapping photos of Jeanette’s rape. She felt sick, and pretended she hadn’t seen it.

Instead, she went to her cinematographer, an older man named Harry, and said, “Harry, I need you to slap me.”

He opened his mouth, and she cut him off. “Don’t ask why. Just…. just, please, slap me.”

Harry nodded, and did as she asked, slapping her across the face hard. Amanda gasped – with pain, but also with pleasure and relief. She deserved to be slapped. Honestly, she deserved more than a slapping, but this would do. It cleared her head. It let her keep working.


Another ad was filmed with teen idol Jaya Moore. She’d entered the acting business as a child star in Disney shows. Now she had a career as a pop singer, with a hit album, she was a national sex icon, and she’d just turned 18. Girls wanted to be her; boys wanted to fuck her.

The ad showed Jaya in her bedroom with a boyfriend – with the boy played by Toby Herron, himself a teen heartthrob. Toby was pressuring Jaya into sex, and Jaya was saying that she wasn’t ready.

Then Jaya turned to the camera. The lines she was about to say had made her swear like a sailor when she read them – but then Amanda had told her how she could make Jaya’s upcoming drug possession prosecution go away, and Jaya had reluctantly agreed to play along.

“I’ve been cockteasing Toby for weeks with my slutty outfits and flirty behaviour,” said Jaya. “And now I’m going to give him blue balls – I’m such a bitch! Seriously, Toby – don’t put up with cruel games from a slut like me. Just slap me!”

And Toby did – slapping her across the face once, twice, three times. The script called for Jaya to look more aroused after each slap, and the girl turned out to be a talented actress, able to feign arousal even after receiving some very real (and hard) face slapping.

“I’m sorry, Toby,” she breathed. “I was so stupid. You were right. Fuck me.”

The script ended there – and Jaya probably thought the filming would too. But instead, Toby kept pressing forward, and began ripping at Jaya’s clothes. 

“What the fuck?” swore Jaya, and struggled to push Toby’s hands away – so Toby slapped her again, and again, until Jaya started crying, and let Toby pull the clothes off her, exposing her pert teen breasts. 

Then Toby had his cock out, and he was pushing it into her pussy, and raping her, right there on camera.

None of this was a surprise to Amanda. They couldn’t afford either of these stars if they’d had to pay them their normal rates. Jaya would be cheap because of blackmail, and Toby had agreed to do the ad for free when Amanda had told him he’d be allowed to rape Jaya.

Further, the video of this rape would sell for a fortune to rich collectors who fantasised about the cute young teen. Amanda had promised that the whole campaign could be made for a shoestring budget, and the sale of this rape video would fund much of the production costs for the ads.

She watched Toby cum inside the crying girl’s pussy, and then climb off her. She watched as crew members helped the sobbing teen idol off set, taking her to a trailer to “get her cleaned up”. She watched several of the male crew following along towards that trailer, and knew that Jaya wasn’t going to get any cleaner – she was going to be gang raped. Because of Amanda.

Amanda went to see Harry, and asked him to slap her again. But one slap wasn’t enough. She could hear the sounds of Jaya being raped through the trailer walls. She begged Harry to slap her again and again, until her face was bruised, and then she went to her own trailer, undressed, and began beating her cunt with her hand, as hard as she could, muttering, “Slut. Slut. Slut. You fucking gender traitor. Slut.”

It hurt – but after the tenth blow, she found herself orgasming, and that just made her feel more guilty.


The final ad featured a politician – a young, pretty congresswoman named Rosa, from the President’s own party. Amanda hadn’t needed to blackmail her – the President had arranged everything for her. He had simply told Rosa that she wouldn’t be endorsed at the next election unless she did the ad. Rosa, forced to choose between her principles and her seat in congress, had chosen to keep her seat.

They filmed it on the floor of congress itself, in an empty room between sittings.

“Hi, I’m Rosa, and I didn’t get into congress because of my intelligence – I got her because I’ve got great tits!” read Rosa, giving her best vote-winning smile even as part of her died inside. “So it’s no wonder people get bored with me when I open my mouth to speak. That’s why I tell my colleagues to just slap me!”

Amanda had arranged two male politicians to take part in the shoot – one from Rosa’s own party, one from the opposition. Her same-party colleague now grabbed Rosa’s arms and pinned them behind her back, while the opposition member slapped Rosa across the face – and then deliberately undid the top three buttons of her professional blouse, exposing her cleavage and bra.

“If you see a woman being a bitch – just slap her!” continued Rosa, trying to smile through her pain and embarrassment. “It’s the only way she’ll learn!”

They finished filming – and the crew stepped forward to finish undressing Rosa. 

Rosa wasn’t going to be re-elected, Amanda knew. She had pissed off the President with her feminist agenda one too many times. Her two male colleagues would shoot a second ad, now – one where Rosa was slapped and raped, and then, covered in cum, she told people not to vote for her, because she was too stupid and cock-hungry to be a politician.

Being slapped by Harry wasn’t enough for Amanada anymore. After five slaps to the face, she still felt guilty – she could still hear Rosa crying as she was raped – so she ended up stripping for Harry and lying on her back on one of the craft tables, Harry’s cock in her mouth, and her legs spread so that Harry could whip her pussy with a leather belt while she sucked him to orgasm.

But in the end, she orgasmed too, on the seventeenth lash of the belt against her cunt, so she wasn’t sure it really counted.


The campaign was a huge success. Within three months of the launch, surveys reported that the number of women who had been recently raped or sexually assaulted had skyrocketed – but the number who were prepared to publicly complain about it had dipped to nearly zero. It became a common experience for most women to be slapped a couple of times a day. Nearly 90% of men agreed that slapping women was appropriate and enjoyable, and around 75% agreed that difficult women deserved to be raped. 

Interestingly, the numbers of women who believed the same thing were steadily climbing the longer the campaign went on.

The President invited Amanda for a private meeting at the three-month anniversary of the campaign. Amanda dressed in her best suit for it. She had made a list of the favours she wanted to ask of the President – a presidential award, maybe; seed funding for her own ad agency.

But when she arrived in the Oval Office, and opened her mouth to greet the President, he just smiled, and slapped her across the face. Her eyes widened – and the President slapped her again. Before she knew what was happening, the Secret Service officers were grabbing her, and ripping off her clothes, and then she was forced to her knees as the President took his cock out and stuffed it into her mouth.

“You’ve run a wonderful campaign, Amanda,” he said, as he began to facefuck her while the Secret Service held her in position. “Really an excellent job. And we’re looking at the possibilities for the future now. We really do spend a lot of money on welfare and healthcare for women. We’re wondering if we could save that money if we legally re-classified women as animals.” 

He sighed, and slapped her face for fun, and Amanda had to be careful not to bite down on the presidential cock.

“We want you to run a new campaign, Amanda,” said the President. “Something along the lines of ‘women aren’t people’. Emphasise that they’re stupid, they think with their cunts, and so forth. I’ll even loan you one of my own daughters – you can film her naked on a cow-milker. She’ll probably enjoy it.”

He fucked her mouth more vigorously now.

“Do you know,” he said, “we estimate that your little campaign makes you responsible for more rapes of women than any other person in human history? Isn’t that astonishing?”

Amanda moaned. She felt the guilt rising again. She wished the President would slap her again. She reached down and started to rub her pussy. Maybe arousal would make the guilt go away.

“I think you’ll enjoy this campaign, Amanda,” the President said, pumping towards his orgasm. “I think it’ll be a lot of fun for you to know you’re dehumanising your entire gender – dehumanising yourself – working to ensure that you’ll never be treated as anything but a cow to be milked and bred for the rest of your life.”

And the President ejaculated down her throat, Amanda reached her own orgasm, and knowing that she was cumming from betraying her own gender made it very hard for her to believe that the President was wrong.


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