Pride and Punishment.

"Okay, sorry honey..."

Hubby, hesitated for a second-head popped through the partially open door, around the corner, at the top of the basement stairs, out of line of sight-then dismissed what his intuition told him to be probable; but, not readily logical, of the possible happenings down there; around the corner, in the dimly lit arena, of the dank makeshift utility room, down the stair--amid the going's-on in the musky musty air. He has no idea---Why, he's just--a man...!

Chapter 16.

Within reason, allowing the benefit of doubt to reign, but not totally appeased by the final flimsy retort, he gained; Megan's naive better-half--Oh, please...spare me...?--reluctantly slammed the door shut again, just as the biggest wave of her continuing orgasm hit her loins---and hit her hard!

The sheer intensity of the orgasmic-pleasure-tsunami, ravaging at her shuddering frame, at her bones even, delving into the very marrow of her being: The shock-wave, propagating-out from the epicenter of her pulsating clitoral head, like the leading edge of the percussion-front from "Little Boy", itself, devastating everything in its path, as it flows, unrestricted, at ballistic velocity, over a pristine, unsuspecting land: The effect flooding her electrified buzzed hypothalamus, buried deep within her mammalian brain stunned her.

...Her senses swamped, and set-adrift in an all-consuming raged sea of utter hedonistic lustful burning desire and wonton exotic greed.

The wave of endorphin hit her ganglia's sex-organ, with the ferocity of a Banzai Pipeline thundering ashore, on a treacherous beach somewhere in mid Pacific: She, as helpless as the Hawaiians of old, braving THE' beast, bobbing on their wooden strips, like salty ballerinas, dancing wonderfully atop their crude long-boards: Like them, feeling nothing more than a lone passenger aboard the malicious glassy surface of the thundering behemoth, speeding along its frictionless spine--ultimately out of control in the big picture--an insignificant "smart" piece of flotsam--hanging in there, hanging a 5, risking it not for profit, and at this level not for pride; some scoff at it---hanging in there--hanging deep, hanging a perfect 5: Hanging on for dear life--hanging in there---just for the ride.

She took the hit well, but her ass betrayed her, and it let out such an enormous fart which sounded like a duck being run over by a steam-roller! Her bung-hole quaked in spasms. Blinking in symphony with her orgasm, so violently, that an enormous log got ejected from her spasming, open-and-shut, pooh-hole.

Megan collapsed into the pile of washing, and lay still, there on the floor, for several minutes, until her head cleared, until she regained her senses.

When she came to, she panicked, and cleaned the piss up with the dirty clothes, wiped her ass on he husband's jockey-shorts, and polished the love-juice off the corner of the washer, in double-quick time.

The log was a problem, it was too big to push down the washer drain pipe, so Megan hid it in the bottom of the detergent box, shoveling soap powder over it with the measuring scoop, until it sank deep down under the white snowy flakes: Swallowed silently like an unsuspecting body under shifting grains of quicksand.

Chapter 17.

Megan has always loved the taste of hole-juice and day-old-sperm. It reminds her of her youth, when she would lick all the girls in the dorm when they returned on a Sunday night, after their hot, steamy weekends at home with their naughty, naughty, boyfriends. It turned her on so much--so often..

Why, only last night, Francis came home, looking flushed in the face: Megan detected foreign vulva-cream off her daughter's lips and smelled pussy-juice on her breath as she kissed her mother adieux for bed: And Megan-spotted-several pubic hairs stuck to Francis' cheek: Glued by a slippery glistening, thick fluid, that had dried there. She noticed the hairs were of different color--ginger, blond and brunette. Megan prematurely concluded that Francis must have had her face in at least three vulvas that very evening alone!

Megan silently sampled her daughter's fragrance as they hugged and kissed. The aroma was unmistakable, and strong! The little bitches must have been worked-up into a frenzy: The stinky scent of honey-cinnamon, and a hint of black pepper with a twist of cilantro bathed her baby's face. Megan knew it had to be crack juice; it was so pungent, and ripe!

Megan's nipples hardened upon first sniff, and her clitoris swelled and ran its pink little head all the way out of her prepuce like a torpedo being loaded for action into it's sub's hollow launching-war-tube: Poking its little arrow-head--clear--from her outer upper-labial-lips.

Megan excused herself, and repaired to the bathroom. Her intent--to rub herself-off between the legs--but she came shamelessly in the hallway, instead; hanging white-knuckled onto the door-knob before she got there: Her clitoris abrading itself into orgasm on the inside of her rough lace panties. Something had to be done about this!

Francis: Megan's eldest daughter, therefore, stands accused of wantonly licking vulva of trollop, whore and strumpet--kissing, sucking and gobbling unwashed puckered rose-bud; even going as far as to insert a wet little tongue deep inside the dark, mysterious bung-holes of dirty little bitches, and pimply wanking jocks, white-knuckled, with their teeth hanging out of their heads to dry; polishing their bishop's heads, and shooting their steaming creamy liquid hosts down my daughter's neck.

Thrusting it; her tongue, mind you, wholly into their dripping love-tunnel caves--lapping and drinking greedily at warm honey fluids enticed from their flowery labial glands: And also, cavalierly, allowing male contingents of the crowd, to fuck her holes, coming not only in her hot, little snatch, but also shooting their load up into her pooh-pooh hole, whilst she, no doubt, gave others around her blow jobs left right and center, guzzling, and gnawing at their turgid proboscises; gulping down shot after shot of their milky, white, hot come; emptying scrotum after scrotum of ejaculate down her open throat, into her eager little tummy: Aided solely by her fingers rammed securely into their hairy little male bung-holes, up to the knuckle: Digging well manicured nails deep into her lover's prostate nut: Ensuring she gets every last single drop of cock-come out of their stiff young rods! Megan could taste it off her daughter's tongue when they kissed; they always kissed French style, they love it. All the family kisses French. Kissing is one thing, but the rest of it, well--! This... Is considered--Naughty!

Chapter 18.

Naughtiness, begets punishment! Before punishment is deemed appropriate it must first be--warranted. Therefore, there must be an--Inspection! Megan must decide, based upon the findings of said "Inspection", whether punishment itself--used as a corrective tool, only--is called for, or even needed, at all?

Megan thought,

"...for everyone, my dear Francis, is presumed innocent, until... But, if you have let Men! infiltrate, any, or all of your holes, rocking and thrusting their stiff rod into you, and coming down, through your throat; splashing their hot, thick, sticky semen into your accepting tummy, or filling your pillowed love-tunnel with their creamy sperm, coating your quivering cervix with their saline balm; as your womb shudders in chaotic-sympathetic-resonance with its thundering orgasmic spasm; or shooting their semen high-up inside your anal chamber, as you both writhe in utter ecstatic carnal pleasure together: Complicit in your combined guilt.

Well, such naughtiness, has to be addressed, and after the fun is subsided, darling Francis; as the saying goes, "Then it's time to pay--The Piper!" And, my sweet lovely--innocent--angel, Megan [is] that very Piper! And be sure, [She] always collects her due...."

Chapter 19.

Megan felt--justified--in her assessment of the situation, even though all of the evidence, was rather circumstantial, and based mainly on her own experience--not to mention her envy and jealousy. Megan felt she was still young at heart, and if anyone in Her house was going to lick cunt, and blow cock, then it ought---by right of her massive past experience, expertise, let alone her burning, insatiable, desire---be Hers and Hers alone...!

Megan remembered when she was her daughter's age, " Why I would have the netball team lined-up six deep, after Wednesday-night practice. I would lay on a center pew, and as they came out of the showers, they would, one by one, straddle the pew, descending over me, and do themselves-off on my face. My tongue flashing about like a King Cobra tasting the air for danger. Everyone of them I did in less than a minute a piece: They loved me on the team--I was useless on the court, but the loved me on the team!

We all got caught one night by the coach, Mrs. Craner. She went absolutely ape-shit, and ran around smacking the buttocks of every player on the team... And sent them home crying, threatening to tell all of their parents, she never did though.

She made me wait in her office for a full hour while she berated the whole team, and when the last of them were sent packing, she came and got me.

She dragged me out of her office, and told me to take the chair I was sitting on with me.

She marched the both of us back into the shower room, and turned the showers on full.

Steam soon filled the space between us, and she grabbed the chair and put it under the handle of the door, so that it couldn't be opened from the outside.

I was sweating because of the steam, and I was nervous and confused, I didn't know what was going to happen...?

We stood there, facing each other semi-obliterated, through the hot clouds of the showers running.

Mrs. Craner--coach Craner--more commonly known as "camel-toe Craner", due to her enormous camel-toe that she paraded around with her wherever she went. It was the talk of the college, and the secret fantasy of every horny little freshman runt, along, no doubt, with all the many lesbians, and half of the faculty, to boot! I, personally, looked it over once or twice, but to be frank and honest, I had bigger fish to fry...and summarily put the gaping carp's mouth out of my immediate thoughts.

I didn't know what to do, standing there in the clouds of the shower room, then "camel-toe-Craner" spoke.

"Megan, you have been a very naughty girl." she said in a quavering vibrato.

"Yes, miss..." I offered back in my best guilty sounding voice.

"You have to be punished." responded the camel-toe.

"Yes, miss..." I whimpered back at her.

"Have you showered yet Megan." she asked evenly.

"No miss, not yet...I was--"

"Yes, Megan...I know...you were---too busy doing something else! Isn't that right, Megan Phillips?"

"Yes, miss...I...I...I'm--"

"Yes, Megan, we all know your--sorry--but that doesn't quite set the records straight, now does it?"

"No miss...I mean no it doesn't Mrs. Craner...miss, no it doesn't coach Craner."

"Okay then. You seem repentant enough. I will let this go this time Ms. Phillips, but don't let it happen again, do you understand me Phillips?"

"Yes, miss! Thank you miss, I don't know what got into me miss." I said with a sight of relief.

"It was probably the Devil Phillips--The Devil do you hear me Phillips?"

"Yes, Mrs. Cramer---The Devil. May I go now coach--I have to be home by--"

" I thought your said that you haven't showered yet Phillips...?" insinuated camel-toe Craner.

"Yes, miss, but I--" I pleaded.

"Then get your kit off and into the showers with you Miss Phillips. I can't send you home to your mother, smelling like that now can I?" bellowed Craner.

As coach Craner said this, she was simultaneously disrobing.

I noticed that her breasts were simply enormous, and that her teats were very dark and stood out almost a full inch.

" I haven't had my shower either Miss Phillips," said camel-toe in a low sultry tone that bewildered me, "I'm sure you don't mind if I share the shower with you, do you...? There isn't very much time left before security locks up for the night...and I need to feel fresh before I get--intimate..." breathed coach Craner hotly.

I blinked several times as she took off the bottoms of her jogging pants!

No wonder she had the nickname of "Camel-Toe Craner".

She was exceedingly hairy down there! Her bush was wild, and thickly covered her entire belly with a dark curly line stretching up from the middle of her jungle, encapsulating and passing her navel by some three inches. Her vulva made mine look like a tiny little slit; like a sweet smiling goldfish's mouth; hers looked like a picture I remember of daddy proudly holding up a 20lb carp that he caught that summer up at the lake; its huge rubbery lips red and blue, and so out of proportion to the rest of its body.

I stripped and my little titties bounced and defied gravity itself as I yanked my top and bra off over my head all in one go, and my shaved vulva hid like a shy sea anemone between the sandy colored shores of my crossed thighs. I was almost certain that I heard Mrs. Craner let out a low moan, as she looked me over; her jaw drooping open, and jutting forward.

Coach Craner opened her legs wide, and stretched her arms up into the air, clasping her hands high above her head. Huge tufts of hair billowed out from under her armpits. I was transfixed! I had never seen such a thing on a woman before. I thought only men had hair there. My jaw drooped open, and my eyelids fluttered with embarrassment like a butterfly cooling itself atop a fully blossomed tulip's petals swaying in a gentle breeze, basking in a blasé of a midday's cruel sun.

Camel-toe Craner saw my surprise, and I was almost sure I detected a hint of a grin flashing across her face, then disappearing back into her subconscious, as quickly as it had come.

"Don't you stretch Miss Phillips before you go into a hot shower?" she said invitingly, "You really ought to you know. It relaxes the muscles and tendons."

"No coach...I...I...didn't know--" I spluttered.

"Well, you ought to know...Megan. May I call you Megan? It's such a...pretty name. You may call me Jean, but never in front of the other girls, Megan. I have to...maintain a--professional distance--in public. In front of the other girls, you will refer to me as Ms. Craner, or just coach, but when we are alone, Megan, it would be nice if you will call me--Jean, I'd like that. I'd like that a lot Megan, I really would. But never call me Camel-toe Craner, Megan--at least not to my face."

A tear rolled down her cheek.

"...Such a cruel name. You girls don't know what I have gone through all my life. I was born with an abnormally large vulva, you see...and anyway, its been just...just...just been very difficult for me Megan, all my life." she sniffled.

"Yes. Ms Craner...I ...I...I mean, Yes, Jean." I faltered.

Chapter 20.

Jean smiled, then bowed her head for a moment, as if shy, or relieved to have gotten something off here chest to an old friend. She subtly brushed her tears away quickly with a an adroit swish of both index fingers shooting in opposite directions like a pair of opposing windscreen-wipers one sees on cars in black-and-white Hollywood movies of old.

A moment later, her head sprang back up and she was back, as coach Craner again.

"Come Megan, let me show you the proper way to stretch." she said lovingly.

I tried to refuse, but she insisted.

"Now Megan, kneel down right there, and hold onto my hips securely, while I touch my toes first with my right hand then with the left, and so on. And remember, the twisting action of the waist is very good for the figure." she instructed.

"Yes, miss...I mend Jean--sorry, I forgot..."

"That's alright Megan, you will get used to it after a while."

I remember getting worried; thinking what she meant by, '..after a while.'?

I knelt down and Jean turned around with her back to me. She opened her legs very wide, and motioned for me to hold onto her hips. Jean--coach--has a good figure, like all athletic types, but it is what is called--a full figure. She has a rather slim waist, but her bottie is enormous, with not an ounce of fat on it though, and her thighs are what is called ball-crushers---Thunder-Thighs!

"Now Megan, hang on tight, and remember its all in the twisting."

As Jean bent over from the hip, and twisted downward to touch her toes, her entire buttocks opened up wide, just inches from my face. Then she rose up--then over again--twisting to touch-down with the other hand: Then repeat...

Left, right-left, right--faster and faster. It was impressive! Jeans bung-hole was dark brown, and nestled in a mass of course black hair: It was the size of a silver dollar, at least; and it was quaking as she worked her muscles. Her sphincter constricting, and releasing her massive ring so much so that it looked as if it was winking at me.

Jeans vulva had opened up wide, and her labia majora, and minora, were engorged, and hanging out of her, flapping back and forth as she worked-out in my face.

I could smell both holes distinctly.

She pooped a small little fart during the stretching activity. I determined she had eaten flap-jacks and maple syrup with whole wheat-walnut toast, and coffee for breakfast; I noticed a nut fragment entangled in the hairs of her ass-hole, and she partook in a caesar salad with orange juice for lunch--and I smelled day old semen there as well!

A steady stream of thick, love-tunnel cream driveled off her flapping labial wings, and stretched out into the air between us, whipping around in fine-dancing gossamer threads as she twisted around between my arms athletically. She hadn't showered this morning, and I picked up the distinct acrid scent of latex rubber from her turgid vulva.

I concluded Jean was insecure in her heterosexual relationship with her husband, possibly because, of the abnormality of her genital region, and there was no children. Jean was having an affair too, I felt.

She must have been out last night fucking her boyfriend, hence the smell of condom from her love-hole. Husbands don't bother with such cumbersome articles. By the time she got home, her spouse, the cuckold, already in bed, unconsciously caught scent of her pheromones from the prior love-making stint earlier in the evening: He probably became aroused, and subconsciously, both, wanted to make love to his unfaithful wife, and simultaneously punish her for betraying him.

To satisfy both desires, he fucked her brutally in her ass-hole, and denied her his seed, throwing it to waste deep in her anal chamber, robbing her of his unborn children: Such a wicked thing to do to a potential mother.

Spurt after spurt--after hot, sticky spurt, his soldiers died, running down her warm logs, deep inside her dirt-box--and she felt the grief--intently!

With Jean, now doing double-duty, under the sheets with her simpering hubby, to cover for her steamy affair with her fancy-man earlier; exhausted, and late getting to sleep; hence, dozing through the morning alarm--rushing out with no shower--Why it's written all over her ass, "...my dear Watson!"

Chapter 21.

Jean, Ms. Craner, was sweating profusely, and stood up. Her buttocks closed around the nut stuck amid the hairs of her puckered rose-bud. She turned around to face me, and with an exercise-induced-endorphin-rush of a smile, asked,

"So, Megan, do you see how it's done-- Did you see?" she repeated excitedly.

"Yes, Jean--I saw it...very clearly-- I saw it all. Thank you." I answered in kind, repeating myself like her.

"Okay! Let's see how good a student you are then, Megan. Come on, it's your turn now-Jump to it girl-come on don't be shy, Jean will hold you, come now--I said NOW! Miss Phillips!..."