Chapter 59: Irma's Re-education

"Awright, Bitch," Pop resumed, now that he was thickening back up, "today's class in what's real an' what ain't is in three parts. Ya had the explanation -- now it's time for the demonstration!"

Irma looked up, confused. Sticking his horse-cock halfway down her throat and spewing semen into her mouth wasn't the main event? Pop was letting her do all the work this time, rather than jamming away; as a result, some sanity had returned. But she was STILL up the creek, buck- naked with a big black cock in her mouth and a choke chain around her neck. Arthur and Ms. Frick were STILL just looking on, letting Mr. Williams do whatever he felt like -- even helping in spots! The fugue state she'd been in at the height of the blowjob was fading, but the confusion over her motives continued, robbing her of strength. What if Mr. Williams was right? Even in general? Well, he had some things to prove...

"Awright, hands and knees. Time for the second hole." Pop backed out of Irma's mouth. Turn your big ass..." Pop pondered a minute, playing to both of his audiences, "this way, I think..." The position he placed Irma in, tugging her leash to control her, faced the couch at an angle, giving Arthur and Frieda a view from Irma's front right and the kids in the kitchen a view of her right rear.

Irma glared some, but she didn't fight things too much; the choke chain was a constant reminder of who had the upper hand. Her tormentor's voice sounded behind her, conversationally, "This is the demonstration. What is the purpose of a demo? Anybody? To prove you ain't jus' talkin' shit, for one thing. That would be most of what's happenin' here, now. We gonna do this doggy-style, Bitch, 'cause it's how ya do a bitch, and I don't hafta look at all them rolls you got this way. I got a view of your big ass from here to the fuckin' horizon, but that's maybe a good thing..." A finger probed her vagina, and she lurched in surprise -- a movement that stopped abruptly due to a tug on her leash. "Hold the fuck still!" her tormentor grated. "You know you're wet, Bitch? You're in fuckin' heat, here! Jus' goes to prove my point, don't it?" The finger slipped in, and Irma, mortified, realized that he was right. The invading finger wriggled around a bit more, then withdrew; the voice behind her murmured, "No call to do much to get ready..." -- and something the size of a telephone pole started nosing at her opening!

Frieda and Arthur had a fine view of the flow of Frieda's facial expressions, from surly to surprised to embarrassed and humiliated to shocked. Irma's eyes bulged and she let out a squawk, then turned her head and gazed wide-eyed over her shoulder.

Pop, grinning, was force-feeding Irma his length. It wasn't necessarily pleasant -- Irma wasn't THAT wet -- but he was deliberately making it an experience. There were a couple of additional factors, here -- Irma hadn't used her pussy in quite some time, for one -- but nobody was really looking at them. Pop's foreskin was helping him; where lubrication stopped between it and Irma, he could and did continue to slide through and challenge her inner lining using his own lubricated piston -- then he would back off a bit and push some more cock into Irma's little-used hole. The whites of Irma's eyes were showing all around the irises at this point; Irma's mouth was open, but all she could seem to get out was "Huh!" at every in-stroke. Pop just grinned at her, knowing that it was THE thing to do, psych-warfare. "As I was sayin'..."

Pop's cock had been huge in her mouth, but Irma hadn't connected that with the idea of a pussy-expanding experience! No one else -- not even that bastard Chase -- had ever actually bored her open. In reality, the difference wasn't that much -- and having gone unused for as long as it had, Irma's twat had tightened up some -- but it was a new experience. And it kept coming...

Ten inches exceeds the normal depth of most women's vaginal passages, and Irma was no exception -- so Pop's cock bashing into her cervix produced another eye-pop for Arthur and Frieda to see, followed by Pop's explanation, "Oops! Bottomed out! Gonna have to work a bit to stretch things..."

Irma snapped her head around again, and got visual confirmation; her tormentor wasn't mashed against her ass, he was working free, and she could FEEL the tip of his cock punching her insides! Glazed, she turned her head back to the front, just as Pop started working up to full strokes, "Ohmigod!"

Comparison of her current tormentor to Chase was an obvious jump for Irma; he was her last sex partner. Chase had been Arthur's boss for two and a half years -- and he was about as evil as they come. After spending a few months consolidating his position, he'd suddenly visited Irma at home one day. Chase loved to exercise control, and he could be smooth about it, or he could be rough; Irma was a fine target for several reasons. First, her weight problem led to low self-esteem. Second, there was Arthur, who wasn't rapidly climbing the corporate ladder and whose limitations and faults were things Irma tended to comment on in order to prop herself up. Since she believed in those limitations and faults implicitly, that belief was a lever...

Chase showed up at the door one bright morning at ten a.m., catching Irma doing housework in a housecoat. After an initial exchange of pleasantries, Chase delivered the sad news, "It's too bad I'm going to have to can Arthur -- he's such a diligent worker..." The ensuing tale of how Arthur had no spark, no growth potential, fed directly into Irma's preconceived notions; only later did Irma come to wonder why he showed up at her home to deliver this bit of bad news. At the time, though, she was looking to preserve her seat on the money train, and she fell right into Chase's trap. "Isn't there anything anyone can do?" And the rest was history...

Chase didn't use her often, but he would show up sometime during the week before payday every month and spend part of the day making her suck him and fuck him while abusing her with her physical issues and Arthur's nonexistent personality and intelligence failures. Irma developed a fine case of self-loathing that she transferred to Arthur -- who, after all, was the cause of the whole mess in her mind. Chase's more aggressive sexual style, married to the misconception that he was her savior, suffering Arthur's idiocy for her sake, made it easy to cut Arthur off, sexually; Irma conveniently forgot who was practicing infidelity, too, given her justifications for it.

Ironically, when Chase left -- one of his other victims managed to expose his web of deceit and he was quietly bustled out -- Arthur succeeded him in his management position -- but Irma never bothered to put two and two together.

The upshot of the whole deal was that Pop Williams wasn't breaking as much new ground as he might have; in many ways, he'd stepped into an old pair of shoes and taken Irma down a series of well-worn paths. As a result, the demolition of her anti-black prejudice (instilled by Chase, incidentally, partly by means of the holding up of one of Arthur's black co- workers as the individual more deserving of Arthur's salary) was given a rocket-assist by his adoption of means similar to his unknown predecessor. In short, Irma was somewhat used to being fucked and told what to think -- and she was being ROYALLY fucked!

Chase had been a bit better lover than Arthur -- more size, more aggressive, more controlling. That had ultimately made Chase right in all things and Arthur an idiot. Pop had come in like gangbusters, and he had the equipment to back it up; when his cock hit bottom in Irma he was rolling over her -- physically and mentally -- like a freight train!

"I dunno jus' how to deal wit' you, Bitch, you bein' some kinda cross between a pit bull an' a pot-bellied pig like ya are..." Pop grunted. "Guess I'll jus' pound on ya 'til ya howl..."

For most people, the look on Irma's face as Pop got into his stride would have been priceless; her mouth was open, and she was gazing at the couch arm through wide, sightless eyes. Irma's whole attention was on her incredibly full pussy and the pneumatic drill made of flesh that was widening and deepening it. Pressure and pain -- except for the intermittent flashes when Pop bashed her cervix again -- were fading to something else; Irma was conditioned to enjoy sex while suffering pain and humiliation, so there were no barriers to the pleasure that began to roll in.

For Arthur, though, the view was painful. He knew that look, and he knew that it exceeded anything he had ever managed to extract from Irma; now, fresh atop the admission that he'd been cuckolded by his old boss, he was watching Irma with a different man, and although he had passed on several opportunities to stop it, watching the whole thing and realizing that Irma was going to reap satisfaction from the act hurt.

And Irma already was drawing pleasure from Pop's pounding. His thick tool was ironing her entire channel, and even though he wasn't balls deep, his swinging nuts swung between the chubby outer lips of her sex and slapped her clit as he hit bottom on every stroke. Pop dragged the huge, cellulite-pocked, shivering moons of her ass toward him on every stroke, and every stroke it got easier and Irma got more cooperative. Looking at her old man, he felt bad, but the plan was in place and he was makin' it happen... Irma started making little whining grunts at every stroke, and the look on Arthur's face told Pop all he needed to know about where she was... "Shit, Bitch, you even grunt like a pig!" Pop half-expected the comment to shut her up -- but, if anything, Irma got louder... About two and a half minutes in, Pop felt her pussy tighten up; a few strokes later, Irma threw her head back an howled, "Oh, GOD!" and started shaking like a leaf -- or maybe a big bowl of Jell-o.

That triggered Frieda; she could contain herself no longer. She came forward and circled the rutting pair, examining the act, the junction between the black man and the white woman, the motions, touching each of them here and there -- not sexually, necessarily, but compulsively. She got down on her hands and knees to look, and circled to watch the play of expression on Irma's face as she chased a second orgasm, then looked up to watch Pop's concentration as he continued to pound Irma in a manner that Frieda had never before witnessed.

Returning to Arthur, she murmured, "I never did that. Is it the position? Hubby always lay on top of me..."

"I'm sorry?"

"She's getting something... primal from this -- I can feel it. Is it because they're doing it that way?"

"Oh." Arthur sighed. "No, it's not about position -- at least, not as long as you can actually complete the act. The position you're talking about works, too. It's about -- oh, I don't know -- being properly equipped, physically and mentally."

"I see..."

Arthur scratched his head. "We're a fine pair; you've never experienced orgasm, and I'm not very good at producing them..." He looked away at the rutting couple before them.

Frieda sensed the darkness, the pain in him. "You're being too hard on yourself. There is more to whatever went on than you understand at this point, I think. As for this," she waved at Pop and Irma. "We bought into this without realizing, maybe, just how it was going to be. He's not trying to take her from you; he is just trying to subjugate her, pull her teeth so she cannot hurt anyone."

"I know. But she hasn't been mine for a while. I've been hers, sort of -- a possession, a beast of burden, somebody to bring home money. But that's been it, for a long time."

They were interrupted by the onset of Irma's second orgasm; Irma turned vacant eyes to the ceilng and moaned, "Oh God! OhgodohgodohgodohgodOHGOD!! OH!! GOD!!!" throwing herself manically back at Pop.

Pop grinned, grunting as he continued to thrust through her climax, "Awright, you be takin' it all, now, Bitch! Now we goin' for puppies! Put your head down, Bitch -- I wanna feel your pubic bone!" Irma did as she was told, laying her head on her forearms. Pop picked up the pace, "Awright, this time, I'm gonna shoot in ya! You're gonna have twins from old Pop ta push around in a baby carriage with Mary's kids!"

Having gotten that out, Pop looked up and made a throat-cutting gesture of denial, pointed at Irma's head and then whirled a finger beside his ear in the universal gesture for craziness -- but it really wasn't anything Arthur wanted to hear. "I think... I need to go sit down somewhere," he said faintly.

Pop made urgent motions at Frieda, who collected Arthur's arm before he could wander off and brought him around -- something only possible because Arthur was beyond resistance. Pop took Arthur's arm and gave him a shake. "Don't run off -- I need ya for the ass-end of this. We'll fix things then so you get a leg up on her ass again, okay?" Arthur nodded, but there wasn't a whole lot of belief in him.

Meanwhile, Irma started the final approach to her third orgasm of the session. Pop's pounding had stretched her to the point that now he was getting the whole length of his cock into her -- and bashing her clit with more than just his balls. Add the tilt when he instructed her to drop her head to the floor, and he was dead on her most sensitive spot -- and it was thoroughly effective! "Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!! Oh!! Oh!!! Oh!!! OH!!! OOHH!!! O GAAAAAWWWDDDD!!!!!!!" Irma screeched as the waves poured over her.

Pop was in there, swinging, "HERE COMES THEM PUPPIES, BITCH!!!" he yelled, and proceeded to grind himself into her, adding little thrusts to the mix.

Irma rode out her climax and basically collapsed as Pop withdrew; she had been lifted higher -- and dropped lower -- than she ever had before. Add a little physical abuse and a lot of psychological trauma, and she was washed out.

Pop waved Frieda over and handed her the leash. "If she moves, either haul on this or sit on her -- I need to talk to Arthur, here." Waving Arthur after him, he headed for the dining room.

"Awright, it's like this. I didn't cum in her; I ain't Superman, and I can't do three in an hour, so I jerked her chain. Now we're gonna move on to Phase Three. I'm gonna teach her a lesson -- an while we're at it, we're gonna remind her who's on top at your house. When I get goin', I want you ta circle 'round front an' get you a blow job. Git mad and fuck her face; teach her a lesson! She'll remember it later, an' you'll make some ground..."

"I'll... think about it."

"You should, Man. She owes ya. Might even fix things." Pop lifted the cover off the butter dish in the center of the table and collected a chunk, then grabbed some napkins from the napkin holder. "Let's git started."

Irma roused a bit when she realized that someone was playing with her ass. She waved a hand back there, trying to bat whatever it was away -- and got a swat on her left ass cheek for her trouble. "You awake, Bitch?" her tormentor's voice sounded behind her. When she didn't reply immediately, she got another swat, "Pay attention -- I'm talkin' to ya!"

"Yes!" she croaked.

"Good." Pop started dabbing butter around Irma's brown pucker. "Now we to Phase three, where, havin' proved my point, I punish ya for bein' a bad bitch!" He laid the napkins on Irma's lower back and greased up his middle finger, then without further ceremony poked it as far as he could up her ass. "Any ideas how I'm gonna do that?"

"AWP!" Irma's eyes popped at the unwelcome invasion, and she tried to crawl off -- but Pop was holding the leash looped around his left forearm. "Don't fuck around!" he cautioned, "My hands are greasy! You get caught up in that thing and I might be real slow getting' you out!"

Irma stopped and concentrated on trying to find a way to move that Pop's finger couldn't follow -- but she wasn't that flexible. Pop pulled the finger, and she breathed a sigh of relief -- but it was so he could go to two, she found out a moment later. "Please... !" She begged.

"Sure, sure, gimme a minute..." Pop deliberately pretended to misunderstand while he greased his dick with his left hand. "I know you're in a hurry to get your ass poked and get it over with..."

"Wha... ?" What her tormentor had just said barely sank in before something large and blunt made its presence known at her sphincter. "Noooooo!"

"Oh, yes, Bitch! Now's the time when you pay for all the shit you caused!" Pop tightened up on Irma's leash so she couldn't escape and began forcing his cock -- rock hard in anticipation of this event -- through the stubborn door to Irma's colon!

"AAAAAAA -- URK!" Irma lunged forward and the collar clamped down on her neck, restricting her airway and causing her pain from multiple points -- and, of course, stopping her dead in her tracks.

"Hate to say I told ya so..." Pop said, matter-of-factly. "I'll lookit fixin' your collar when I'm in all the way. Meantime, I guess you better not do that again, huh?" He jacked up the pressure on her abused anus, "Ya know, it'll go faster if you're headed this way instead of bein' headed that way! Hold still and back up!"

But Irma couldn't do that -- she lacked the will to override the pain. Her virgin asshole was on fire, being ripped to shreds! That telephone pole of a cock... She had no problem visualizing Pop's violation of her protesting anus. Meanwhile, she was panicked, choking...

"This be takin' some time," Pop announced. "Mebbe you should ask you old man for some help? I'd be real nice, if I was you..."

Arthur! Yes! Looking around, she managed to get her husband's visage to swim into view and beseeched him, croaking, "Please!"

"Whatcha gonna give him?" Pop taunted. "I'd at least offer him a blow job, if I was you, after all he does for ya... It's probly the least you could do..." Pop turned his eyes on Arthur.

"Yes! Yes! Please!" Irma croaked. Spots were beginning to appear before her eyes.

"Up to you, Man..." Pop said, waiting.

Arthur strode forward and started wrestling with the collar. "Push on the tines, there, and it'll release," Pop instructed. Arthur did so and the collar loosened with a slight pop. Irma collapsed forward, her lungs pumping like a bellows.

Pop hauled on the leash, tightening it again. "Git your ass back in the air, Bitch!" The collar didn't close far before Irma was scrambling backwards, kneeling up. "Better!" He realigned his cock and again started forcing it in through the out door.

"Aaahhh! God! Stop! Please!" Irma croaked.

"Ain't no stopping this piece, any more than there was the other two. Shit, this one's where I get even! You expect me ta back off that?" Pop grunted. Irma's anus slowly flowered open, continuing to fight its rear guard action in vain.

"You're killing me!" Irma squealed.

Pop tugged on the leash. -- not enough to tighten it -- just a reminder. "You ain't seen what I seen," he replied. "I could stick my arm up that muthafuckah to the elbow, and you'd be okay after a while... You need to shut the fuck up. An' I DON'T see you suckin' off your old man, yet! That'll keep that fat mouth of your busy..."

"Uuh..." Irma, reminded, looked up at Arthur, her expression a clear entreaty to be let off the hook.

But Arthur had taken Pop's advice, and let slip his anger. The potency that his shame and humiliation had robbed him of came back with it, and he presented Irma with a full-fledged hard on. "How many of these have you given away to others?" he grated. "Time to start catching up!" Chastened, Irma opened her mouth.

Pop, who had paused momentarily to let things on the other end settle out, resumed the attack -- and Irma, caught off-guard, lurched forward. The result was Arthur hitting the back of her throat on no notice, causing her to choke. This demanded a withdrawal -- but to do that meant impaling herself on the hot poker in her ass! Survival brings its own imperatives, however; Irma backed up, coughing. The coughs caused her colon to spasm, and she ended up taking in two inches of Pop's probe in the process! Pop chuckled. "Mebbe you oughta choke her again!"

"Maybe!" Arthur glared down at Irma; clearly, the worm had turned! "Suck!" Irma, eyes on her husband's face despite the pain being inflicted on her more than ample ass, set to work on his erection, eyes watering.

Pop was deliberately making his effort less than pleasant, and Irma tried to scream "OW! OOH! PLEASE! IT HURTS!" but what came out around her husband's cock was a succession of emphatic moans, "MMM! MM! MMM!! MM MMM!"

Pop grinned at Arthur sarcastically and said, "I think she likes it!" He continued jamming away, once again gaining purchase from the extra layer provided by his foreskin.

The look this comment generated on Irma's face was priceless, but everyone was busy, so it went without comment. Her ass was on fire, and Arthur wasn't being any too gentle with her mouth, taking her by both sides of the head and ramming himself in and out, grunting, "Come on, show me how you do it..." She was choking, and her ass was shredded and no doubt bleeding -- and trying to handle both at the same time had her taxed to distraction!

In an effort to get SOME control over SOMETHING, she put her hands on Arthur's hips. Arthur couldn't decide whether he like this or not, but Pop advised, "Let her work. If she fucks up, slap the shit outta her!" Irma heard him, and when Arthur released her head, she made certain that he could tell the difference. "Of course, you may wanna get in there occasionally to let her know what's good and what ain't..." Pop added. He was mostly inside her now, and moving back and forth in short strokes, opening things up for more serious abuse. "Awright! I'm gonna git mine, now, Bitch -- you make DAMN SURE your ol' man gits his! Thirty minutes with your fuckin' ass an' I KNOW you been fuckin' up by the numbers for YEARS an' you owe him PLENTY! You got me?" Pop swatted her ass with a buttery hand, HARD!

"MMMMMMMMMM!!!!" Irma wailed, redoubling her efforts, watching her husband's glaring eyes and angry features.

Frieda had backed off to a neutral corner; the violence level was up there a bit too high for her comfort. She continued to watch -- the sex act in front of her was an amazing spectacle, something she'd heard about vaguely but never hoped to witness. But she was happier distancing herself from the more aggressive aspects.

Pop started digging in, driving, going for his cum, finally -- bumping Irma with every stroke, making her go "Mmph!" around Arthur's cock. But he had one more trick up his sleeve, and he intended to play it if he could... He'd extracted about as much intense pain from pounding her ass as he could; now, he could tell that she was conforming to him and the pain was banking, settling back to a burn. She didn't need his whole length to get the job done and neither did he, so he worked a hand past his groin and into her drippy slit, finding her clitoris without much of a problem. That done, he started working it between two fingers, adding a new dimension to her perceptions of the act.

Arthur saw the move, and saw Irma's eyes pop. Pop grinned at him and winked. Now, bent over her back to work the hand, he hissed, "Yeah, that's right, Bitch! Slut that you are, I'm tearing your ass up -- an' I'm gonna make you ENJOY it!"

The idea hit Irma between the eyes -- was that possible? Her tormentor said it was -- and Arthur's hard grin said that HE thought it was... The hand working her nub was giving it too much attention to ignore, and the pain was mostly gone... The telephone pole in her ass was starting to feel a LOT like a telephone pole in her pussy... Oh, Gawd! It WAS possible!

Arthur grabbed Irma's ear, giving it a tug, "Hey! Suck, or I'll have him put his fist up your ass!" He wanted to slap her, but he didn't want to interfere too much with what Pop was doing. Irma went back to work, diving on him, and Arthur started to feel a familiar tickle at the base of his cock. "Better! MUCH better! I'm gonna bury this thing -- don't you spill a drop!" Arthur let his orgasm come to him, enjoying it fully, glorying in unaccustomed power over his partner. He cupped his hand behind Irma's head, stuck his glans in the opening of her throat, and started pouring ejaculate into her!

Irma was stuck. She tried to swallow, and something happened; Arthur went even deeper! She wanted to gag, but really couldn't get the whole thing going; apparently, it was too late for that. She could feel the pulses from Arthur's semen delivery system on her tongue, but she couldn't taste anything -- obviously, it was going right down her throat! Dazed, she couldn't really digest how she felt about that...

"Breathe through your nose, ya silly bitch!" Pop admonished her. He didn't want her passing out or getting any too distracted. Arthur staggered back and Irma took in a big gulp of air, hacked a couple of times, and settled down, looking confused, drool pouring out of her. "Have her clean it off," Pop recommended. "Get some more fun out of it..." Arthur nodded and waded back in, allowing Irma to nurse on him.

It was time to finish this freak show. Pop got seriously back to work, both fucking and working Irma's clit, and in a few moments her hips started to dance. Pretty quick, she was going to go off again, and Pop was going to rub it in -- but first, there was one final item... Pop looked directly at the kitchen door and waved his unused arm.

"That's our cue," Stick grunted, standing up. Mary nodded. She wasn't really sure she wanted to do this to Momma -- but then, she owed the support to Poppa and everyone else... Teddy stood and followed.

Irma had tunnel vision. She was well beyond her limits -- but there was another orgasm coming -- a different orgasm, made of new, strange stuff, but an orgasm, nonetheless. She was sucking on Arthur's cock -- which really wasn't softening up that much -- while she got pounded and rubbed, pounded and rubbed...

Pop hissed in her ear, "Hurry up and cum, ya silly bitch, so I can unload in your big, fat ass! Gonna give ya a black cum enema to match the load makin' puppies in your old, sloppy cunt! Can ya feel 'em in there? Can ya? Makin' puppies?"

"Ooog! OOOG! OOOOGG!!" Too much imagination put Irma right over the edge! Her pussy spasmed, her ass spasmed -- and Pop got that last little bit he needed, and HE spasmed, pouring semen deep into Irma's colon! "That's it, Bitch! Suck me dry!" Pop jizzed three shots into Irma's rectum, pulled out and shot two more over her back for good measure, then picked up the napkins and wiped off his cock and his hands.

Arthur backed off, and Irma collapsed, rolling onto her side, gasping. "Well, Bitch, congratulations! You're a three-hole whore! Say it! Say 'I'm a three hole whore'!"

There was no fight left in Irma. "I'm a three hole whore!" she gasped.

"Say 'I'm inferior to everybody'!" Pop prompted.

"I'm inferior to everybody!"

"Say, 'I want half-black grandchildren'!"

"I want half-black grandchildren!"

"Now roll over and say it again!" Pop directed.

Irma rolled over, to find Mary, Stick, and Teddy standing over her. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, looking at her daughter, then said, "I want half-black grandchildren."

Mary eyed the wreck of her mother for a moment, then replied quietly. "Only about half of them will be, at this rate. Teddy's kids will be white. I hope that's all right..."

Irma started bawling.

Late lunch at the Pinkersley's was done casually in the TV room. Charlotte arranged seating with herself on one side of Claudette and Ted on the other and deliberately distanced a bit in a separate armchair. Charlotte led off, "So, Princess, wasn't breakfast interesting?"

"Well, I leaned a few things," Claudette replied carefully. "I have to say the attitudes and the behaviors that you ascribe to this... issue you say I have seem a bit far-fetched."

Ted's eyebrows went up; Charlotte, the only one to notice, smiled gently. "You think we're going overboard? Being over-protective, perhaps?"

"Well, it certainly seems like it..."

"I see. What about your behavior at breakfast, Dear. How would you characterize it?"

Claudette thought about it. The conversation had gotten racy... After everyone left, she and Ted had had sex at the table -- but Mom and Daddy probably didn't know that... "Well, things got a little racy..."

Charlotte sighed. "Princess, one part of the problem here is that when it's all said and done, some of the most outrageous things seem perfectly reasonable to you; remembering them, you tend to paper over details that others might find particularly memorable. THAT's why you need a keeper!"

"Oh, Mom -- you're exaggerating!"

"Am I?" Charlotte smiled crookedly. "Let's see, shall we?" She clicked on the TV and queued the VCR. "You see, I had this problem, too -- I really didn't take things seriously until presented with them graphically. Knowing this, your father and I took the liberty of taping our breakfast conversation for later viewing..." Charlotte shut up at that point; the VCR was running.

Claudette watched; obviously Mom felt there was something to be learned by this. The first couple of minutes were pretty boring; after all, she'd lived through them that morning -- but after that... It got more and more embarrassing. She'd basically undressed at the breakfast table, more and more aggressively pursued Ted's cock -- actually sucked it! Oh, God! Mom and Daddy were still sitting at the table when she hopped up and started fucking Ted! Daddy stood right there and talked to her while she was... ! By the time it was over, Claudette was cherry red, leaking tears of embarrassment. "Shut it off! Shut it off!"