Independent Girl is one of 20 stories collected in my e-book Sex Sells – Stories of Strange Products and Erotic Marketing(Click here to check it out in my shop!)

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The “Independent Girl” clothes brand had good intentions, really. It marketed its clothes as the ideal choice for bold, self-sufficient feminists who wanted to make a mark in the world. The bit it didn’t tell anyone was that its fabrics were soaked in contact-release chemicals, designed to promote a woman’s intelligence, self-confidence and assertiveness, while at the same time regulating her libido and fertility. The drugs were illegal, of course, but they were going to give women what they wanted and create a better world, right?

And they did; they worked as intended. Except that if a woman wore her entire outfit from Independent Girl every day – right down to the “Yes Means Yes” matching panties and bra set – over time her body began to become dependent on those chemicals, and her brain would stop producing them naturally.

More and more these women would find that when they took their clothes off, they would begin to feel stupid and submissive and horny and insecure. Before long they would start acting like complete fuckbunnies the second they undressed.

It became common knowledge that if you wanted to rape an Independent Girl, all you had to do was pull her clothes off and she would eagerly consent to the rest. And you could keep her naked for a couple of days just by refusing her permission to dress again.

A couple of days was about the limit, though, because the drugs in the clothing were also addictive. Consumers who bought the brand couldn’t switch wardrobes even after it started becoming clear what the clothing was doing to its wearers. They would eagerly put it back on for another dose – even though, with time, a resistance built up, and the girls would find themselves stupider and hornier every day even when they were wearing the clothes.

When the well-intentioned owners of Independent Girl realised what they had done, they sold the business in horror. And that was their second mistake, because it was eagerly bought by a wealthy partnership that liked nothing more than the idea of turning girls into sluts.

The new owners took two steps. First, seeing their supply of new customers drying up – because few girls would buy the brand once its effects were known – they implemented a plan to keep a steady supply of new addicts. They created a sub-brand, with few visible ties to the master company, called, “Good Girl Incorporated”, which primarily specialised in producing uniforms – for schoolgirls, for waitresses, for air hostesses, for female police officers, and others. They gained exclusive contracts to produce uniforms for a wide variety of women by bidding so low they were making a substantial loss. Every uniform, of course, was treated in the Independent Girl chemicals. Soon women in every walk of life were being forced into the clothes by employers and institutions.

Secondly, they adjusted the main line of clothes, rebranding it as “Stupid Fucktoy”. The new ads explained, “At heart, every Independent Girl is a Stupid Fucktoy.” The new clothes were, without exception, slutty, whorish and degrading. Ashamed, addicted girls nevertheless queued at the line’s outlets to be dressed as Stupid Fucktoys, desperate for the clothes. Prices on the tickets would read, “$100 plus a blowjob” or “$150 and anal sex”, and the girls, humiliated and degraded, would put down their money and then sexually service the male workers (most of whom also paid money themselves for the entertainment of working in the shop). There were no change rooms – the women were required to strip naked in the centre of the shop, in full view of the mall outside, to try on the clothes. Later, as the line’s popularity grew, women became required to strip nude before even entering the shop, and crawl into it through a doggy door marked “Stupid Fucktoys” on all fours even as men entered and exited through regular doors.

For Paige’s part, she was happier with the whole arrangement. She had always found it hard trying to be an Independent Girl – it involved difficult decisions and difficult conversations and saying no to people who wanted her to say yes. She was far happier as a Stupid Fucktoy, spending her days alternately completely nude, or dressed like a rape-pig in slutwear. She had so much attention from boys now, and whenever she accidentally opened her mouth to express an opinion, someone would push a cock into it, which was just as well as her opinion would have been worthless anyway…

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