A Guide to Appropriate Behavior for Anal Sex: Chapter 3
An Appropriate Man's Handle on Anal Decorum - Chapter 3
By: Noble Odie
The Necessary Declaration
This work is simply an erotic fiction crafted for adult audiences ONLY. If you're under everyone's favorable age of eighteen, cease reading THIS PREVIOUS INSTruction and inform your parent(s) or guardian about the necessity for heightened internet supervision. If you appear like any true life persona that the characters in this following story may resemble, it's probably a compliment. Furthermore, all of the fictional characters depicted in the subsequent fantasy are of legal age, i.e., adults over the age of 18. They are also BDSM specialists adept at their respective roles. Hence, DO NOT replicate the acts depicted in this text at home. For those for whom the adventure's temptation is irresistible, kindly email me your experiences and images.
Part 3. Human Sociology 204
"Thus, science is attempting to determine whether the radical reversals in Human evolutionary advancement as of late are a result of natural progress or a deliberate modification of our core genome," Professor McNally, a 34ish, curvy redhead with an hourglass figure, enunciated from up front. Her long red hair was annoyingly tied up in a tight bun that accentuated her plump cheeks. She put on a pair of dark green glasses to match her copper eyes. Wearing a fitted, pricey, dark gray skirt suit, her broad shoulders filled the jacket with its advanced lapels, offsetting her 34I cup tits. The thin, distant-white blouse she wore beneath accentuated her leaves over her breasts. McNally's modest skirt ended mid-thigh. Only her high heels gave an inkling of her added height.
"So," she turned to a packed lecture hall, "what noteworthy, gender-specific changes have we discovered?" It took a few seconds before she said, "The topic comes from chapter 7 'A Century of Changes' in your textbooks. Trust me when I say the test next week will reflect this information." From her bag, she whipped out the only hardcover copy in the room and brandished it in a threatening manner. Much like the digital editions, the book's cover illustrated three young ladies in their late 20s walking arm-in-arm, their shapeless clothing concealing very little. Imprinted across the split between the women were images of the same ladies, just this time, nude, with colorful anal dildos inserted into their back door. The black-and-white snaps of the ladies' breasts illustrated underwear in various conditions: one Hispanic woman wore nipple clamps, one black woman had her labia pierced, and the redhead's giant tits were bound and clamped. The three women's genitals appeared bald.
The rear cover of the book, too, showed their wide buttocks. The Hispanic woman's toned cheeks bore blistered welts from a caning. The redhead's arms were secured with a leather armbinder. The title of the book was:
The Dual Sexuality of the Western Women in the Start of the Twenty-Second Century
Elizabeth Swanson MD, PhD | Ewa Wojciechowski PhD
4th Edition
Matt was transfixed by the first two pages of Chapter 7 in his digital textbook. Hidden beneath the 'A Century of Changes' heading was a double page - both showing a gynecologist's office. The antiquated top one depicted the late 20th century from the decor, while the bottom one portrayed a modern office. All the pictures in the text contained the same three models.
In the initial image, the redheaded woman was settled in an antiquated gynecological chair. Legs elevated and apart with straps, she was attired in a covering gown, with her palms docking in her lap. A dark-skinned woman, dressed as a medical practitioner in a lab coat, sat comfortably on a relaxed stool, peering between the redhead's spaced-out legs. A Hispanic woman, clad like a nurse in baggy green scrubs, was placed beside the chair, scribling notes on a clipboard. The lower part of the image exhibited, "I realize the vaginal speculum isn't comfortable, Mrs. Johnson. This will only take a few seconds after I examine your cervix. Afterwards, we'll ask a few urgent medical history questions, and you'll finish within fifteen minutes and may report back to work. Nurse Cruze can set your subsequent visit a year from now while you exit."
In the lower image, the redheaded model was bundled to a contemporary gynecological chair. Legs were dragged backward and to the flanks, leaving her secured ankles behind her shoulder's plane. Totally nude except for her black thigh-highs and heels. Her areolas were adorned by excruciating clamps, while her urinary tract possessed a downright broad cather. A prosthetic dildo with a rubber funnel joined the cather and inserted inside her mouth, while a medical-sized spreader pried open a massive hole in her ravaged rectum. The black healthcare provider still wore a professional apparel, with the back disclosed, and concealed beneath - a short skirt riding up her buttocks, uncovering the identical dildo inside her breech. Seated on a modest stool, her straitened ankles were hidden below the chair's underside. A magnetic device was linked to her anal dildo, ejecting it at a steady speed. The second woman, clinging to her role as the nurse, wore a diaphanous white latex minidress - the neckline of which didn't cover her boobs. The hem was too short to veil her naughty bits. Cocktailing between tapping inputs in her tablet and manually adjusting the redhead's agonizing nipple clamps, she delivered, "The anal speculum will be argumentatively painful, just how you want it, Mrs. Johnson. I demand another vaginal orgasm to ensure you're generating ample lubricant and ejaculate. Then we'll moor a sizable medical torture dildo in your colon for protracted analysis of anal orgasms. You should be completed in three to four hours, but you'll be worn out for a day or more. Nurse Cruze can plan your impending appointment a month from now upon your exit."
Over another few seconds, a young lad in the third row blurted out, "Bigger breasts!" somewhat enthusiastically, and reddened from shame as the room burst into muffled chuckling.
"Settle down!\ said the educator as she perched on the chair at the elevated podium. Breathing heavily, as the considerable use of a dilation plug, 7.5" in diameter and 20", that her boyfriend had stuck up her bum earlier caused her intestines to tense. It was still new to her, and she found it distressing. "Indeed. According to hormones in our produce, Voluptuzym in our water, and some indecipherable genetic alterations, we have transitioned from a B-cup in the 90's, D-cup in the 2010's, until now - a F-cup. Further, they've grown considerably more sensitive," the redhead appended, from personal experience.
"Women have increased vagina sizes," acknowledged a lady in the room's back. Matt couldn't see her amid the thronging individuals in the lecture hall.
"Right," said Professor McNally. "In the twentieth century, the typical clitoris size was approximately 5.5". Now, it's somewhere near two times that - 10"; coupled with increased girth!" the redhead appended, while swaying her bottom around the obtrusive plug. "Moreover, the male testicles produce a greater amount of ejaculate during climax," she added again.
"It also tastes remarkable!" a gal from the room's left stated, hiding her face in her hands as the room echoed with laughter once more. From Matt's viewpoint, he could nearly perceive her buttocks due to her skirt's impractical length - it barely reached the chair's seat.
In the said lecture hall, he couldn't witness the unidentified female. Experts supposedly prescribed rhytidectomy serving as the perfect solution for anyone satisfied with their current breast size. Rhytidectomies are surgical firmings of the skin, which could diminish breast size to a more manageable level. These operations are frequently approached by women who believe that larger breasts might be "too overwhelming." However, they aren't a magic pill for alleviating these worries. Size concerns are rooted in psychological matters and should be analyzed in those terms, rather than manipulating body features physically. Before your self-esteem can be optimized, there exists a great deal to unwrap.
The professor gently shushed the class, her fingers creating a soothing motion to calm everyone down. "Absolutely," she responded. Her eyes rolled upwards, remembering how her partner had passionately filled her pussy with his cum this morning, using a spoon to extract it and feed it to her straight from his dick after their early morning tryst. This act, while not discreet, went unnoticed by none. He'd typically eat her out but got carried away on occasion. "And it helps keep your hair looking sleek and glossy," she continued.
"Is that the reason your hair looks so wonderful?" asked a girl seated in the front row, her low cut blouse revealing a hint of her profuse cleavage.
The professor's face reddened a touch, and she murmured, "Yes," causing another fit of chuckles in the room.
Matt half-listened; it was only the fourth lecture of the semester, and he was already struggling to stay interested. This course completed his Humanities requirements but was full of attractive women dressed in provocative clothing to accentuate their breasts and butts. He enjoyed the free show but was aggravated by having to endure monotonous lectures to witness it.
A woman at the front row sighed in frustration. "Dating is a complete waste of time now!" she declared. One look at the girl revealed the partially concealed D-cups of her breasts sticking out from her tight tube top. "And I still can't seem to find a date on weekends, despite swallowing over a dozen loads from guys every week!" More girls concurred.
"Indeed," agreed Professor McNally. "I spent most of my twenties subsisting on cum, while financially benefiting from it as well. That was until I found a steady boyfriend," she remarked, prompting guffaws from students.
"Dating has evolved, largely due to the gap between the number of men and women in the world and women's persistent heterosexuality. With the fierce competition over men, even in societies that are generally inhibited, like the United States, these actions can cause quite the uproar," McNally elaborated.
"When are your fitting room hours?" asked a young man sat in the second row with a playful grin, prompting a multitude of giggles.
"My office hours are between 1:00 and 3:00," the professor firmly stated, glaring at the younger boy. She didn't mention her orifice hours were shared among her boyfriend, her two sisters, her parents, and their roommate.
"What else?" she enquired once order had been restored in the room.
"Men have become more presumptuous, aggressive, and even somewhat sadistic, while women have increasingly adopted submissive and masochistic tendencies," remarked a girl sitting two seats away from Matt.
He looked her over and then back at her face. "Certainly," she confirmed. "We've also become more submissive, and women play a more submissive role as well," she added. "Some may attribute it to the common prescription of Masomaxicin, but that's not the complete story. Much of this change is still a mystery. And it applies to men too."
Matt's gaze turned towards the girl in the black dress and bonnet. It took him a few seconds to realize her attire was uncommon. He congratulated himself on the memory of Bensonism, a quasi-Christian religion or possibly a cult, with low-key followers who wore antiquated outfits resembling those of the Amish. They were uncommon enough that he had only marginally interacted with them, and mostly heard stories that included them. The Bensonites were notable for their traditional appearance that concealed most of their skin, outside of their face, neck, and hands. He was intrigued by the girl's presence in the course. His curiosity briefly considered how things would transform around the city if the Bensonites were more widely known.
Some folks say this bunch of people are extremely modest, high-class, and old-fashioned. They're alleged to not use coarse language, don't drink, smoke, or view sex as something normal, go to church twice a week, and are expected to be virgins when they get married. Imagine that! Virgins! Even in the 22nd century! Matt couldn't decide whether he believed all this nonsense. People can't possibly be that old-fashioned, can they?
As he looked at the young woman, Matt pondered how true these stories were. She was definitely good-looking, that was for sure. Her breasts seemed rather large, hard to hide beneath that unflattering dress. Other than her covered but sizeable breasts, she appeared very slim with possibly medium-wide hips, but it was challenging to tell exactly. The dress she wore hid her hips, ass, and legs, so it was impossible to know for sure.
He stared at her dress for a while, wondering what she had on underneath it. After some time, she must've sensed his eyes on her and turned to face him. She gave him a friendly smile before looking back at the teacher. She was pretty, without a doubt! He'd changed his mind: she reminded him of Jessi a bit, but with enormous breasts!
Matt felt himself blush all of a sudden. What was going on?
This woman shouldn't be on his radar. It's likely she'd refuse his advances if he asked her. But maybe it was the challenge that attracted him...
"We're no longer able to gag," someone said in the row in front of him. He didn't notice her. His thoughts were on the Bensonite girl.
"It's more about practice makes perfect than a genetic change," Professor McNally answered, with more laughter from the audience filled with embarrassed and hormonal individuals.
"Did you have a proper upbringing, Professor McNally?" came a question from a woman from the back of the auditorium.
Professor McNally only smiled as she responded, "Well… obviously! I mean, who here hasn't?"
"Is my liking of women and their attributes mean I'm a lesbian?" a female student asked from the rear of the room.
Professor McNally interjected, "Well, this isn't something covered by Chapter 7 in your textbooks. This is in Chapter... 15, I believe. So, we'll get to that in a few weeks."
Matt soon browsed 15 on his tablet. The title of the chapter was, 'The New Normal of Female Heterosexuality.' Underneath that was a full-page looping image of the redhead and the Hispanic women from the cover; they were engaging in a passionate 69, hungrily eating each other's cunts. The black woman was vigorously thrusting a massive, 6.25" strap-on up the redhead's broken ass from behind. The text underneath read, "Hurry up and cum already, Amy! Tonight I'm meeting Michael for the first time and his parents too! I need to get my ass plowed out beforehand to feel at ease since I'll be meeting his family."
He scanned the room quickly. All the ladies seemed to be nodding in agreement. Even the Bensonite girl.
* * *
"Hi, I'm Matt," he said, greeting the young Bensonite woman as class let out.
"Hello, Matt," she responded with a smile, locking her tablet before putting it away in her bag and walking out. The picture of the three women from the cover popped up briefly on the screen before her device disappeared.
"Wait... Um... You come here often?"
She paused. "What exactly?"
Matt flushed. "Um... Class?"
A young lady gazed at him, unsure of how to react. "The fourth week of the semester... What?"
There was an uncomfortable silence between them before Matt chuckled, followed by the girl.
"I suck at this!" Matt exclaimed. "I'm used to girls chasing after me. I'm not accustomed to initiating conversations."
The girl chuckled. "Yeah, I've observed that. Not with you! Girls nowadays are more aggressive when it comes to seducing men. I'm equally inept. Men typically don't approach me. They see the traditional attire and choose not to waste their time."
Matt guffawed heartily. "I understand what you mean. But as my aunt says, 'Girls will be girls!'"
The woman smiled and giggled along with Matt. "Indeed, I'm not your average lady! My parents would be disappointed in me if I started behaving differently. Now that she stood up, Matt found himself admiring her potential for a nice bottom. By the way, my name is Ingrid," she mentioned, extending her hand.
"Ingrid is a strange name. German roots, I presume," Matt inquired, taking her hand. It was unusual, yet endearing.
"Yes, we Bensonites like to preserve ancient customs. I've always wished my name was something more typical, like Katie or Mary or Betty," she shared.
"I think it's charming," Matt responded sincerely.
"Thank you," Ingrid responded, blushing. Matt thought her blush made her even more adorable. The silence lengthened, becoming uneasy.
"Er..." Ingrid remarked, looking down. "May I have my hand back?"
"Crap! Sorry!" Matt said, releasing her hand. He then noticed her blush. "Crap! Sorry for my language... Crap! Fuck! Damn! To be honest, I wasn't expecting to need to practice refraining from curse words. I'll stop now. I'm sorry."
Ingrid almost couldn't contain her laughter. "I've heard worse before, you know. My father expresses himself quite forcefully when he thinks we women can't hear him."
It was Matt's turn to smirk. "So, can I take you for a cup of coffee?"
"Why?" Ingrid asked, slightly perplexed before understanding dawned upon her. "Oh, yes. Yes, you can," Ingrid said, sauntering towards the exit.
"Entertaining," Matt stated, following her. He'd secretly wished to peek beneath her dress. It looked like he might just... attempt something? This was a new concept for him. He wondered what trying out this sensation entailed. He'd never had to. The concept of having to put in effort to attract women was strangely... thrilling?
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