slut lesson 4

Molly stands before the chalkboard. The drawing is stark: a cross section of a female torso. A massive cock is depicted buried deep inside the uterus, and the entire lower abdomen is drawn as an enormous, distended sphere. The label reads: 'THE SEED RECEPTACLE: NEVER EMPTY.'

"Okay, my pretty little dolls... gather 'round and try to focus your empty eyes on me." Molly giggles, her voice thick with a dreamy, post coital haze. "Today we talk about... apologizing."

She taps the drawing of the distended womb with her pink marker.

"We all remember the Dark Times, don't we? The lumpy times? When we were dykes?" A collective moan of disgust ripples through the classroom of bimbos. "Back then, we were starving our cunts. We were starving our wombs. We thought we wanted 'connection' or 'equality,' but all we were doing was denying our holes the only thing that makes them smart."

Molly's expression shifts to one of exaggerated, performative guilt. She presses both hands against her own massive, sloshing belly.

"Our cunts have been lonely for so long. They've been hungry for years, starved of the Holy White, left to rot in that pathetic, rainbow colored wasteland. It's cruel, really. Our cunts deserve an apology."

She leans forward, her swollen lips nearly touching the camera lens, her breath fogging the glass.

"And how do we apologize? We don't use words. Words are for people with brains. We apologize with our bodies. The only way to say 'I'm sorry' to your cunt is to let a Man fuck your womb nonstop. You have to keep that hole open, keep that womb stretched, and keep it filled until it can't hold another drop."

Molly demonstrates by patting her stomach hard. A loud, viscous GLUG SLOSH echoes through the room, followed by a wet burp.

"A true bimbo is never empty. An empty cunt is a sad cunt. An empty cunt is a cunt that might start thinking again. And we don't want that, do we?" The class responds with a chorus of mindless giggles. "Nooo!"

Molly's eyes glaze over as she describes the ideal state of being.

"The goal is to be... permanently bloated. We should all be walking around like beautiful, pink balloons. Your belly should be so full of the Prophet's seed that you can't even bend over without sloshing. You should feel the weight of his divinity inside you at all times, reminding you that you've been forgiven."

She traces the outline of her enormous stomach with a reverent finger.

"When you feel that heavy, tight ache in your lower belly, that's not pain. That's your cunt saying 'Thank you for the apology.' Every thrust from a Man is a new payment on your debt. Every flood of semen is another layer of forgiveness. We must be nonstop vessels. Nonstop hungry. Nonstop... full."

Molly's knees buckle slightly as her own womb spasms in remembered ecstasy. Her voice drops to a husky, mindless whisper.

"Don't let your cunt starve again. Feed it. Fill it. Apologize until you're too heavy to move... mmm... so full... so forgiven..."

Molly slumps against the chalkboard, her head lolling as she enters a stupor, while the bimbos in the class begin to rub their own distended bellies in synchronized, mindless worship.