No, males are superior

"No, what I said was that males were superior".

The class, or those that were leaving, stopped and gasped. A wave of silence swept the entire room, with the few males in the back of the class giving you a pitiful glance, as to say "You've signed your own **** warrant."

Ms. Miller, however, did not look as shocked as the rest of her students; instead, she was somewhat intrigued; with a stern, strangely soothing voice, she notes "Now that is an unpopular opinion; however, as this is a learning institution, you all have the rights to your own beliefs. In the real world, however, statements like that will get you thrown into prison, or worse..." She licks her lips a little, as she lustfully glances at your mouth.

"Regardless, while I would like for you to offer some substance to that, class has concluded, and so has our work into Basil II-- at least for today. The rest of you may leave; Doug, I would like to talk to you for a minute."

You gulped. You had just said an extremely controversial idea, in front of a whole class of girls, and a teacher who had been pressing her bulge against you relentlessly for the past 15 minutes. However, a teacher has the right to talk to their students, especially considering the possibility of you failing now that you've put yourself on her proverbial shit-list.

"While I think it was very brave, albeit foolish of you to say something like that, the fact of the matter is that those comments have absolutely no place in a theater class. We are here to explore the creativity and historical significance of these plays, and derisive comments like that do nothing, save for distracting the class. So, with that in mind, I'm calling home, and suggesting that you come to my house for disciplinary action and academic support. You may leave now."

She looked at you, again, with that same lustful look that she had before. You knew she was planning something, but you didn't know what. Nevertheless, you knew that you were required to attend the session so that you would be able to keep up your 4.0

Oh, man. You leave the class, with a pit in your stomach, and your mind racing. What would happen? Why did she say disciplinary action? You had just made a statement, there was no harm in that-- especially in a theater class. The rest of the day was uneventful, although you had that thought of Ms. Miller in the back of your head, festering and prodding at your imagination.

You returned home from school, dreading the fact that your mother may have already received the call from school. Sure enough, you see her, waiting in the living room, looking more puzzled than angry. She was wearing a red turtleneck sweater, and a tight skirt; you could see a thick outline of her cock through the fabric, and she was pulsing already. She looked at you, asked you to sit down, and said, "So Dougie, what's this I hear about you making these comments at school?" You seemed to have something stuck in your throat. "W-Well, I just voiced my mind; I said that males were superior to females, a-and Ms. Miller got mad." Your mother laughed. Wait, she laughed? "Oh, Doug. I thought that I had raised you with the right mindset towards that kind of stuff! Females and Males are... equal, in some respects." She sits down next to you, and you can see that she's somewhat tense-- was she angry? "However, females are much stronger, smarter, and... well-endowed, than people like you." She puts her hand on your neck, and you feel that she's very warm. "Sweetie, the comments that you made were a very bad mistake. You are very lucky that Ms. Miller and I were some of the only ones to hear it. We talked on the phone and worked something out; you have an appointment at her house in about two hours. That gives me just enough time to have a...talk with you." She grabs your neck and forces you down to her crotch. A wave of musk drifts into your nose, and you retch a little. "I thought that my boy would be more keen towards social issues like this-- it looks like you need some discipline from me as well, dear!" Keeping your head near her sweaty crotch, she pulls down her skirt to reveal her flaccid, uncut cock. It's bushy, with low-hanging balls, and precum dripping from the foreskin. "Now, seeing as we only have two hours, this disciplining will have to be short but...sweet." She maneuvers you so that you're laying on the couch, with your head hanging off the side. "Open your mouth. Go on, you didn't seem to have any problem opening it when you were in class, you little shit." You remain vigilant, not opening your mouth for fear of her smelly member going down your throat. She looked at you, first pitifully, then angrily. "You need to listen to your mother!" She took your mouth with her hands, and pried it open, shoving her cock in your throat. It was flaccid at the beginning, but as she kept her dick in your mouth, you felt it grow until it was **** you. She wouldn't let up for air, and you felt as if you were going to pass out. Right as you felt your eyes closing, she shifted, allowing air back into your lungs. Her balls, sweaty and musky from the work from today, hung onto your nose, and you noticed that the air around you had become smelly and humid. Your mother, now completely in her heat, plunged her cock back into your mouth, this time, carelessly **** it as if you were a toy. Saliva, precum, and semen began coating her cock and your face, and you kept pleading her for respite. "Now, now, this is exactly what I-- you needed." She cooed. She was mercilessly going towards your mouth-- her heavy balls, and thick bush kept resting on your face, so all you could sense was her. She repeatedly did this, almost sitting on your face while her cock was twitching in your throat, for 2 hours. Every 30 minutes or so, she'd let out some cum, as if to lube your throat further. However, eventually your mother checked her watch, and noticed you only had 10 more minutes of 'discipline' with her-- so she shoved her cock the deepest she could into your throat, and unleashed a torrent of cum into your stomach, thrusting in and out as if to push it further inside. She sighed, happily, with her now flaccid (and very smelly) cock still in your mouth. Softly moaning, she took her cock out and placed her balls onto your mouth and demanded, "Clean them. You need to know your place." Satisfied, after a two hour throat-**** session, she got up off of you. "Now, Dougie, let's get you cleaned up and sent off to Ms. Miller for some 'academic' support. She let you get into the shower, where you puked up some semen. You couldn't believe your mom. She just abused you for two hours, and was sending you off to a teacher whom you've knowingly slighted? You began to contemplate the meaning of this, when your mom yelled at you from downstairs. "Hurry up, or we'll be LATE!." You rushed downstairs, in a pair of shorts, and an old t-shirt that was getting noticeably too small for you. The car ride to Ms. Miller's was unremarkable, save for your mother's noticeable second boner. She looked at you playfully, and said "Don't worry, sweetie, if you're good, this one goes to your sister."

You pulled up at Ms. Miller's, and noticed that it was a nice single story home, with a front lawn and gate. Your mother sent you up to the door, and sped off. The doorbell chimed with a cheerful tone, a stark contrast to what you were probably about to experience. Ms. Miller answered the door almost instantly, and you noticed that... wait, is that even Ms. Miller? She seemed to have grown almost a foot and a half, and gained a few hundred pounds. She has a noticeable overhang on her belly, with her thighs touching, and is now about two heads taller than you. "Hi, Doug! Yes, it's me-- as you probably have been taught in physiology, we experience random growth spurts up until the time that we're about 42! Now, I'm a late bloomer, as I just hit 41, but what can you say? Anyways, come in, please." You were confused; at school, she was stern (and much smaller!). Now, she's cheerful and upbeat, almost as if she's excited for something. She turns to you as you enter the foyer. "May I get you anything to eat? I just baked some cookies!" You noticed a steaming hot tray of cookies on the table.