"You know why you're here, young man."
He didn't respond. There wasn't really anything he could say; with every passing moment, he was being pulled a little deeper into the hot, wet confines of his guidance counselor's vagina. In fact, he was really paying less attention to her words and more attention to the vice-like grip of her pussy as it squeezed more and more of his body into hers.
"You called Mrs. Johnson a 'cunt.' You know it's inappropriate to call anyone, including and especially your English teacher, the C-word."
He was now trapped up to his torso and he was beginning to panic. He struggled and squirmed ineffectually. His lower half was being held so completely that his attempts at kicking were laughable (and actually, in managing to tickle her, he did cause some slightly thunderous giggles), while his flailing outside and on her lips only managed to turn her on and speed up his predicament.
"So I have to take you out of class and take time out of my schedule just to teach you the appropriate use of language. This isn't a good use of anyone's time, but you have to learn: your teacher is not a cunt; your girlfriend is not a cunt; I am not a cunt."
The only part of him remaining outside her labia was his head; the rest of him was entombed inside her. He could see a giant finger, with a nail larger than his head, slowly approach him. The pad of her finger landed gently on his head.
"This is a cunt."
She pushed, and he was entirely swallowed by his guidance counselor's cunt.
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