Life and Death of a Virgin Slut

In those days, among the slaves, the average dad was absent — often entirely, but at least mentally.

And in any case, the average single-mom or beat-dead dad was completely comfortable standing aside as the female versions of their parental failure presented themselves to the world as a lifelong toddler in a denim diaper.

Heaven-on-earth was a massively reduced population; and so “safe sex” was a metaphor for sterile sex, while Big Brother’s secular clergy warned endlessly about the social-sin of unauthorized life: routinely reminding that the worst crimes against humanity were “rape, murder, and teen pregnancy.”

Yet hyper-socialized cogs who birthed and minded new wards of the state until the youngsters became taxpayers (else test-subjects for military or prison) no longer dreaded cultural excommunication for failing to prevent life during a ward’s healthiest season — because to bloat fertile wards preemptively with life-prevention antibiotics was ubiquitous.

But before that paradise, when government-sponsored lifelessness was still not common sense, well-adjusted sociopaths had to maintain alternatives for providing their final progeny with the morality of sterility.

One popular option was to train their daughter to be a virgin slut: “Suck all the dick you want, my child — but never degrade yourself through the unnatural behavior of a breeding beast.”

Happy girls and their happy parents then lived happily ever after for a few years — until more girls and women than society could hide, they started dropping dead from throat cancer and suicide.

Or so was history, according to the magazines which girls would read while in the waiting-rooms for routine sterilization at Big Brother’s Prevented Parenthood clinics throughout the land — where countless a sterilized, disease-ridden college graduate tugged her denim diaper out from between her shaven, scab-covered vaginal lips, gave her sexy, puss-filled scabs a sassy scratch, and continued reading the magazine’s horror-stories of times before the paradise provided by the patriarchy which protected every slave-class girl’s mandatory right to be a frantic, desperate, sterilized workaholic.

No girl felt anything when learning about the prior horror; no girl felt anything about anything: long ago, the men who gave women rights had begun routinely vaccinating all girls against depression and thought generally, by all manner of misanthropic distraction and self-destructive flattery — and the well-understood, ever-present threat that she would lose everything if ever she so much as winced at the wrong time.

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