She’d clicked through to the “Openness and Honesty” quiz on Facebook, thinking it would be a fun game for the afternoon. Three hours later, she could remember none of it, except a memory of some buzzing sounds, but she had other problems.
She had, for example, been trying to cover her tits for nearly an hour now, but no matter how she moved her arms or arranged her jumper she just couldn’t seem to bring them into a position where her large boobs were concealed.
What was worse, the more she tried, the more guilty she felt about trying, leading to an overwhelming urge to punish herself by photographing her bare tits, and emailing the photograph to a random male acquaintance along with an invitation to arrange a date to come round and fuck her. She didn’t even like many of these men. She didn’t want to fuck them. But it was what she deserved, wasn’t it, for being a naughty girl and trying to cover her tits as if she was people instead of a fuck-cow?
She made a distressed noise and tried unsuccessfully again to somehow move the jumper so it would fall across her chest. It used to work. She remembered that she used to have her tits covered all the time. She just… couldn’t remember how, exactly, she had done that.
Openness and honesty, her brain told her. Be honest. Be open. Admit you’re a fuck-cow.
She mewled unhappily again. She couldn’t stop thinking about all the friends she was going to have to invite to fuck her if she didn’t give up and let people stare at her tits like a good fuck-cow. And she couldn’t stop wondering why her cunt kept getting a little wetter each time the word “fuck-cow” passed through her brain…
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