Welcome back for the latest title! I know that I said this one was coming last week, but you know how things roll around here. Tales that are supposed to be short ones, end up a little longer than intended.
In the June Roadmap, I labeled this title Molding Mona, however, after some thought I decided to title the book after the name of the course that our unfortunate heroine has to take. Feminine Fundamentals.
This DomCo tie-in story can absolutely be read as a stand-alone title. Set in the aftermath of Korrupting Kayla: Book Two, this 15-chapter read follows the misadventures of Mona. A college Freshman, Mona is set on pursuing a degree in Feminism and Gender Studies at an inclusive university.
When she begins her study in the class, Feminine Fundamentals, her life quickly slides out of control. The awful lessons that she has to study contain so many degrading ideas, but the ideas are also confusing. Every time she attempts to counter one of the lessons, she only ends up further convincing herself that the class is right.
In the weeks that follow her enrollment in Feminine Fundamentals, everything will change. Her relationship with her roommate. Her work life. Her crush on the handsome Carter. The campus around her. Nothing will change quite so much, though, as Mona herself.
Length: 35K words, 178 pages
1. The Female Animal
3. Wet Cunt
6. Defining Characteristic
9. Basic Looks
11. Just A Kiss
12. New Uniform
14. You Are Your Cunt
Chapter One: The Female Animal
On Mona’s first day of class in Feminine Fundamentals, she sat in the front row. She assumed, incorrectly, that this course would be a blowoff class and an easy A. One could not exactly blame Mona for this assumption, as the start of the class began with hilarity. The class instructor took to the front of the room and the chatty lecture hall full of Freshman girls fell silent.
The instructor was a platinum blonde, wearing bubblegum pink, high-heeled boots that came to her knees. She staggered, more than walked, almost with a drunken swagger, to the front of the class. Her tight, pink leather micro miniskirt was so short that the girls in the front row, Mona included, caught an easy glimpse of her bare pussy. The instructor’s big, round tits were tightly packed into a too-small top in the same silly pink.
“Good morning,” she called to the stunned class, “Welcome to Feminine Fundamentals. You’ve all taken the intro class on Feminist Theory. You’ll note the word ‘theory’ meaning that it is basically make-believe and opinion, with no basis in fact. Fundamentals, however, are the basis for something that is true. Hello, everyone. My name is Professor Jiggletits McCunt.”
Mona, along with several other girls, burst out into laughter. Professor Jiggletits McCunt’s face turned a shade of pink, nearly identical to her clothes. When the laughter began to die away, she said, “Thank you! That’s an appropriate response to any girl that introduces herself. It’s more than appropriate for a girl’s mere presence to be greeted by laughter, preferably at her humiliation.”
There was no further laughter at this remark. There were only confused stares and a few jaws on the floor.
“I am not a real professor,” Professor McCunt went on. “Your real instructor is Professor Langston, and he is a man. He’s busy teaching men useful things. My title is purely an honorary degree, which is the greatest achievement that a girl can really hope for. This is because, as you’ll come to find out in this course, girls are actually brainless animals that are ruled by their cunts, their tits, and their feelings.”
Mona’s hand shot up. Professor McCunt pointed to her and asked, “Yes?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Mona stated, red-faced. “I’m here and paying actual money for an actual degree.”
Professor McCunt simply nodded and asked, “Are you, though? Paying actual money? Or did you receive a student loan or grant?”
“Well,” Mona admitted, “I got student loans. But I’m going to pay them back with my own money! Money that I earn by having a career.”
“I see,” Professor McCunt said. “And that’s because men have given you a chance to have an education at their expense. The real reason you’re in college is that you have a big rack and are, actually, quite stupid. If you were smart, you wouldn’t be here. Now, please make sure you aspire to complete this class successfully. You know, so you can get a ‘career’ that will allow you to pay back those loans.”
She added air quotes to the word “career” and said it mockingly, in a way that Mona found demeaning and infuriating. It made Mona want to walk up and slap Jiggletits right across her huge, balloon-like, jiggling tits. She, and every other student, seemed dumbstruck by the fact that she’d just called Mona stupid.
“That probably made you feel angry, didn’t it?” McCunt asked.
“Of course,” Mona shot back.
McCunt nodded and said, “Feelings. You feel angry. You feel offended. You feel as if that’s unfair.”
“Duh!” Mona said, folding her arms under her breasts.
Professor McCunt went to the whiteboard, took up a marker, and wrote the word “Feelings,” in crude, block letters. The “F” was written backward.
“Feelings are the primary motivator of all girls,” she said and turned back to the class. “Don’t bother taking notes. You won’t use them anyway. You’ll come to learn that everything in this course, you already know. It’s biologically hardwired into you as a girl.”
“This is such bullshit,” Mona muttered under her breath and the girl next to her nodded in agreement.
“Feelings are what operate girls, while thoughts, ideas, and ambitions drive men,” McCunt continued. “Girls want to feel good. They want to feel accepted. They want to feel pretty, safe, and taken care of. Those feelings come from two primary sources. Your cunt and your tits.”
There were some murmurs of confusion and disagreement amongst the students.
“You, girl,” McCunt said and pointed to Mona, “What’s your name?”
“Mona,” Mona snapped.
McCunt went to the board again and wrote the word, “Moan,” in the same block letters and underlined it.
“That’s not how you spell it, you… you bimbo!” Mona protested.
“I’m sorry,” McCunt said, without turning around. “Does that make you feel even angrier?”
Mona shut her mouth and sulked. McCunt drew a crude representation of Mona beneath her misspelled name, giving her scrawled figure oversized breasts, then adding a few drops of moisture between her spread legs. She drew an arrow, pointing toward Mona’s wet cunt.
“Mona is feeling angry,” McCunt explained, “because she’s currently suffering from dry cunt.”
“I am not!” Mona protested, unable to let it slide.
“A girl with a wet cunt doesn’t feel angry,” the professor said. “A girl with a wet cunt feels happy. I can only ascertain, then, that you have a dry cunt.”
There were a few giggles from some of the girls, and a few murmurs of, “Dry cunt.”
“Is your cunt wet, Mona?” McCunt asked.
“That’s… that’s so gross! You can’t ask me that! And stop saying that word! This is a school!” Mona whined.
“Yes. You’ve chosen to enroll in an inclusive university that’s dedicated to ensuring its students receive equal time learning a number of viewpoints. Just as you took a class in Feminist Theory, and another in Gender Identity. Did you feel that those courses were gross?”
“No,” Mona grumbled.
“Again, we come back to Mona’s feelings,” McCunt said to the class. “Mona feels that this viewpoint is gross because Mona is suffering from dry cunt.”
Mona blushed and sank down in her seat.
“Now, Mona, if you’re quite finished interrupting the lecture, I’ll move on.”
Mona stewed but said nothing.
“Dry cunt is a very serious condition that we’ll address in a future lesson,” McCunt said. “Today, we’ll cover the basics of the female animal.”
Mona made a strangled little noise. McCunt paused, quirking a brow at her, but Mona chose not to speak. The professor returned to the board.
“The Female Animal,” she wrote in block letters, again writing the F backward.
“The female animal exists to serve three central purposes,” McCunt explained and began to write on the board. “Service. Procreation. Entertainment. Each of these purposes has any number of means by which it can be fulfilled. Would someone like to give me an example of service?”
At first, no one raised their hand. The girls all looked at each other, but then Mona volunteered.
With a smirk, she said, “A woman can serve as an executive. Like a CEO.”
“That’s interesting, Mona,” McCunt said. “Is a CEO serving? Or are they being paid?”
“Of course, they get paid,” Mona said. “Everyone has to get paid!”
“So, I assume that you chose CEO in order to illustrate that a female is just as capable as a man?”
“They are! We are!”
McCunt nodded and said, “Capability to perform at a high level illustrates what we’ll cover in a future lesson. That is, there are exceptions to everything in nature. However, your example does not illustrate your supposition that all females are capable of such feats. Furthermore, holding power, like a CEO, is an aphrodisiac. It leads to wet cunt, which makes a female feel happy and fulfilled. And, since you feel you’re a very intelligent girl, I’m sure you’re also aware that a CEO delegates a great deal of responsibility. How many successful CEOs are doing all the work themselves? It’s a team effort.”
Mona chose not to reply.
“Would anyone like to give an example of procreation?” McCunt asked the class.
Mona, again, raised her hand. McCunt pointed to her and remarked, “It’s good to see that the rest of you already understand that a girl’s mouth shouldn’t be used to express her opinions. Yes, Mona. Go ahead.”
“Donating eggs!” Mona said.
“Very good, Mona. A woman can donate eggs to aid in alternative means of pregnancy. That’s a wonderful example.”
McCunt wrote the word, “Donate,” on the board.
“And who has an example of entertainment?”
“Dancing!” Mona blurted, and then her face fell as McCunt smiled.
“Now you’re getting it, Mona! Dancing is an excellent form of entertainment.”
“Not, like, stripping!” Mona added.
“So, you’re saying that women who choose to take up the profession are, what? Not dancers? Not entertaining? That seems like a very judgmental attitude, Mona.”
“I didn’t say that!” Mona snapped.
“Then, perhaps you’ll volunteer to work as a dancer when we get to the Work Study portion of the class later this semester.”
“I’m not going to be a stripper!” Mona stated.
“That’s unfortunate,” McCunt said. “With tits like those, you’d be very entertaining.”
Mona sputtered angrily and sank even further into her seat as the class laughed.
“Now, don’t laugh,” McCunt said. “Mona is illustrating exactly why a girl’s mouth shouldn’t be used to express opinions, especially when suffering from dry cunt. When a girl attempts to vomit her feelings out, as if they were thoughts, it will inevitably lead to her mockery and humiliation. As you’ll come to find, mockery or humiliation can be a cure for dry cunt, but there are much quicker ways to deal with the condition. Do you feel mocked and humiliated, Mona?”
Mona sniffled a little bit and nodded her head once.
“And I’d be willing to bet that those feelings are, even now, causing your cunt to wetten.”
Mona looked horrified and mumbled, “Nuh uh!”
McCunt held her gaze for a second longer until Mona looked down at her desk and blushed. Her cunt was actually a little wet now, which was confusing.
“Given that Mona’s attitude has become somewhat more docile,” McCunt said, “it’s reasonable to assume that my supposition is correct. The wetter a girl’s cunt becomes, the more docile, compliant, and empty-headed she gets. The same can be said for the size of your tits. In short, bigger equals dumber.”
Mona made another little noise and McCunt’s attention snapped toward her. She waited for a protest. Mona did not give one. She, instead, attempted to hide her large breasts with the desk.
“As you can tell, my tits are very large. I chose to make them bigger in order to show that I am more entertaining and stupider than a girl with small tits.”
There were some grumbles from the class, which McCunt ignored.
“Dry cunt leads to irritability and negative feelings,” she explained. “A girl with a wet cunt doesn’t feel those things. By now, I’m certain that most, if not all of you, are familiar with the state of mind caused by a wet cunt. Even Mona. A wet cunt leads to feelings of happiness because a wet cunt is your natural state. If any of you would like to make sure you have a wet cunt, feel free. A girl learns best with a wet cunt, after all.”
To make her point, McCunt licked her fingers and began to rub her pussy under her skirt as she continued, “Service, procreation, and entertainment. The three primary functions of the female animal. When a girl attempts to perform some function that does not coincide with one of these three purposes, it only leads to stress, negative feelings, and a general state of unhappiness.”
The stunned class simply blushed and muttered as they watched the instructor idly finger her twat as she spoke. At the back of the class, the door opened and a man wearing a janitor’s uniform slipped inside. McCunt turned her attention to him.
“Ah, excellent timing,” she said and waved the man down. As he walked, the professor said, “This is Mr. Thompson. He’s one of the school’s cleanliness technicians. I’ve asked him to stop in to help demonstrate a point.”
Mr. Thompson stood to the side of the lecture hall. McCunt made her way to the board and, reading from a card, wrote out a complex math problem.
“Mona,” she said and Mona looked frightened. “Would you please come to the board and solve this problem for us?”
“Me?” Mona squeaked.
She held out her marker. Mona looked around for help, but there was none. With her head down, she walked to the front of the class and accepted the marker, then stared in confusion at the math problem. For several minutes, the class was silent as they watched Mona stare at the board.
“I… I don’t know how,” she said.
McCunt nodded and said, “That’s alright, Mona. Do you feel stressed over it?”
Mona slowly nodded.
“Do you feel uncomfortable and stupid?”
Mona wiped away a humiliated tear and nodded again. McCunt put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.
“You’re trying to do something that wasn’t meant for you,” McCunt said soothingly. “Complex tasks aren’t one of your three functions. When you lie to yourself and pretend that they are, you’re only fueling the negative feelings. If you want to return to your seat and rub your cunt, it will feel better. I promise.”
“I… I don’t,” Mona objected softly.
McCunt patted her head and said, “Go sit down. There’s a good girl.”
Blushing and humiliated, Mona took her seat again. The class turned its attention back to the instructor. Under her desk, Mona gave her cunt a little rub through her pants and realized that did, actually, feel a bit better.
For another few minutes, they watched the instructor try, and fail, to solve the problem on the board. Finally, red-faced, she sighed and held out the marker to Mr. Thompson. The janitor accepted the marker, solved the problem without thinking, and set the marker down.
“As we’ve demonstrated,” McCunt said as she bent over the desk, “two girls have attempted to perform a function that is not a service, not aiding in procreation, and in no way entertaining. Both of us became flustered, upset, and stressed.”
McCunt spread her legs slightly and bent forward further, mashing her tits against the desktop. The janitor stepped behind her and the class gave a collective gasp as he unzipped his pants, pulled out his cock, and pushed it into McCunt’s cunt. He began to slowly saw his prick in and out of her fuckhole as the astonished class looked on.
“However,” McCunt said breathily as the janitor banged her against the desk, “by providing a service and being entertaining, I’m already feeling much more positive and happy. My cunt is getting exceptionally wet and,” the janitor slapped her jiggling bottom, “Oh! And… I’m going… going to…”
She stopped and put her head down on the desk. Her hands grabbed the far edge and she held onto it, white-knuckled, as the janitor began to roughly pound his dick into her from behind. His hand shot out and grabbed her hair, jerking her head back. The stunned class watched with a mix of fascination and disgust as their bimbo instructor’s flushed, horny face stared vacantly ahead. She made little panting noises and, after a few minutes of hard fucking, a little trail of spit drooled from her open mouth to fall on the desktop.
When Mona glanced sidelong at the girl sitting next to her, the girl’s hand was very suspiciously moving underneath her desk. She heard a quiet moan from behind her. Mona, herself, felt a little hot but she was determined not to rub her cunt and betray herself as some kind of animal. Then, the instructor gave a violent jerk and the janitor groaned.
He released his grip on McCunt’s hair and her face fell forward. The janitor clung to her hips, burying his cock in her wet hole, and the assembled, paralyzed students watched him ejaculate into their teacher. More gasps and a few groans followed when Thompson roughly pulled McCunt off the desk and pushed her to her knees. He fed his slimy pole into her panting mouth, gripping her hair again and using it like a handle to clean his prick, with no more regard for her than he had for using a plunger on the toilets.
When he was finished with her mouth, he used her blond hair to dry his spit-coated cock, then smacked it against her cheek a few times as he chuckled. When he tucked his dick away and zipped his pants, he strolled from the room, whistling a tune. McCunt wobbled to her feet.
Her top was slightly askew, and her hair was a tangled mess. She staggered around the desk. A trail of slut slime and semen coated her inner thighs, slowly making its way toward her heeled feet. She leaned against the desk with one hand and caught her breath.
“That will… conclude… today’s lesson,” she said. “Please make sure… you read… the assigned chapter for next week.”
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