Punishment for Piggy Ch. 01

*****Sharkies*****

I still remember the night. It would not be a night easily forgotten. Let me assure the reader, the following is a true story. The following events actually happened to myself, and a friend of mine, a collegiate duffus named Ralph, one March evening, in our Pacific northwest college town. I was a sophomore at the time, struggling to earn a History degree.

We were typical college kids. We tried our best to uphold all the great college traditions. We drank beer. We smoked weed. We got drunk. We chased poon. And with harden dick, we tried to fuck as much sweet tight college pussy as humanly possible. Occasionally, we attended class and crammed like fiends for mid term and final exams.

I walked into Sharkies. It was the usual Friday night routine, hanging out in our local bar, down on the strip. The stink of stale beer and smoke seasoned the old bar from the hardwood floor, to the wooden rafters over head. Sharkies had been there for as long as anyone knew. It was an institution on the strip. The pitchers were cheap. The beer, cold, most of the time. The bartenders; Dickheads. The pussy--- fresh, young, and classroom sweet. Sharkies was located right across the street from the college dormitories.

"A pitcher of Cragshead, with two mugs," I said to the gruff bartender, with tattoos crawling up and down his arms.

The walls were littered with frame after frame of old photographs, college memorabilia and pennants. Titles and banners, designating some divisional championship from this year or that. Some great victory on the field of battle. Important at the time, but now, forgotten and forgotten again. A footnote in a record book nobody reads anymore.

The photos were of more interest. The pictures on the walls told the story of countless generations of college students that had come before, for the few who would care to notice.

In one black and white photo, young cheerleaders, from some time in the 1950s, I would say, posed with some football players, garbed in their long outdated uniforms. In another, a host of well dressed young people, posed together in a grand ball room. They appeared to be attending some black tie affair, The year? The 1920s, maybe? The early 30s?

"Eight and a quarter," the tattooed beerslinger said, and set the full pitcher on the counter. I handed him a ten-er.

Many of the young people in those photographs lay in the ground now, I realized, their entire lives, long past. But in their day, they too were young. And they were having fun. The pictures clearly showed that much.

The bar keep slammed my change down on the counter with a tap of his hand. His, not so subtle, way of demanding a tip. "Yeah, here's your 75 cents, dick wheat," I dropped the coins in the tip jar.

I found a booth and poured myself a cold frosty mug of the ale. Umm, it was a fine draft, made by a local brewery. A stout, hop-ey brew that filled the senses. I took another foamy sip. It was still early, and the flood of young drinkers hadn't yet descended into the entertainment district. That would happen later.

It was a nice sized crowd, I thought, with the usual honeys scattered throughout. I wasn't alone for long. I spotted my frat brother, Ralph, walking in the door of the bar.

"Ralphatrocious!" I proclaimed his arrival.

He flopped into my booth, and helped himself to my pitcher of beer. He poured himself a frothy mug of rich ale, with a nice head of vanilla foam bubbling up. He always seemed to have an instinctive ability to show up just after I bought the beer.

"What up, brah." the Ralphticious one replied, and we bumped hands, as a greeting. He upended his beer mug and drank the contents down with one large gulp. He reached for the pitcher and refilled his mug.

"Dude! I'm sitting there in Spanish class and Jennifer fuckin' Hawkins sits one row down, and one seat over. I got the perfect cleavage shot the whole fucking class. Her fucking tits, are so fuckin' fine! BIGGEST Fuckin' tits on campus--- no lie, brah. I swear!"

The Ralphinator liked his tits.

"Dog, I'm tellin' you. Fuckin' HUUU-mongous! Los cheetas de Grande, aye, CABRONE! The whole fuckin' class all I could think about was burying my face in those those big CHAS. Fuck dude, I had a hard on all worked up, just starin' at 'em. And THEN, the FUCKING PROFESSOR calls on ME."

"And—did you know the answer?"

"Well, FUCK NO, DUDE! I didn't even know the question! All I knew—Jennifer Hawkins tits were givin' me a dick ache!"

"Which one is she again?" Did it really matter? Pristine, fine little fillies, with bodies to die for, were a dime a dozen in our college town.

I was distracted by the tasty thighs of a colt legged blonde in a short pleated skirt and dark knee socks. She stood at the bar, talking with some friends. Her golden brown legs were perfectly fit and trim. Her long, straight flaxen yellow hair framed her pretty face, and fell below her tits.

"Umm, I'd like to frame my face with those meaty thighs," I thought to myself, "then frame my tongue between her two moist pussy lips. Fuck, yeah. Baby, you can leave the knee socks on! I bet she's got a little bubble gum pink blonde pussy, too—damn," I thought.

She noticed me staring and shot me a dirty look. She turned her back to me, and back towards her friends. Geez, her butt was perfect too. I liked her even better when she turned away! For a split second, I imagined corking my dick up her precious butt hole, a big knot of her blonde hair in my hand, and thoroughly ass fucking her, while she pouted and begged me to stop.

Like I said, pristine, fine little fillies, with bodies to die for, a were a dime a dozen in our college town.

"Dude! Remember, she was at the kappa party last weekend, remember?" Fucking Ralph kept going on. "She was there with the other two. . . the littler one? The three little tri delt cunnies. Remember? DUDE! How could you forget? The green fishnet stockings?"

"Oh, yeah, her." I had no idea who he was blabbering about. "Sweet tits, indeed," I said, just to appease Herr Ralphenhoffer.

"Mark my words," Ralphie boasted, " I'm gonna TIT FUCK those MELONS before semester's end!"

"To Jennifer, and her big fucking tits," I said, as I raised my glass, and we toasted our mugs of beer.

"May they be soon washed with the seeds of my loins, brah," he countered, and we drank again.

It was about that time we came to meet Frank Acosta, the man who would blow our efin' minds that night.

"Hello gentlemen, how are you all doing?" The man was standing at our booth. I had noticed him earlier, seated at the bar. An older chap. He wore a silver sports coat, a light blue shirt, no tie, and snakeskin cowboy boots under his gray slacks.

"What's zup, brah," the Ralphster said, and helped himself to the last pour of ale from the pitcher.

"You mind if I join you guys for a minute?"

The man seemed out of place. He was older, with a silver goatee beard dressing his chin, and a turf of white hair around his temples.

"Sure." I gestured for him to have a seat next to Ralph.

"Frank Acosta," he said and extended his hand across the table.

"Brendan Knorb," I said as we shook hands, " and Ralph Tannerman"

"Nice to meet you, brah, yo," Ralph said and made a lazy, pathetic attempt to shake the man's hand.

"Waitress!" the man flagged down the girl with silver rings in her nose and eyebrows, just as she walked by, "let me buy another pitcher, what are you guys drinking?"

"Cragshead," I said quickly, as the waitress turned away, her short shorts crawling up her butt crack.

We chatted about the bar, what a cool old place it was.

"It's a shit hole, but it's our shit hole," I said proudly. We talked about college life, and all the sweet college pussy.

"Yes, I know about the sweet college poon!" Frank said as he looked over at a table of six sorority girls. They were all dressed for maximum prick tease value. They were already drunk as hell, and loudly cackling in the booth.

"But they are all so---very young," he said, "and so very stupid."

Frank's skin was a dark olive complexion. He had thick black hair, except for the gray parts. He looked to be of Indian descent.

"I'm Turkish-Canadian," he said, when I asked. He had dark eyebrows over dark eyes, with an odd twinkle in his left eye. He was kind of a wild looking character. He had a thick black mustache on his chiseled face.

"I'm a professor in the School of Anthropology," he happened to mention as we chatted.

"Geez, the guy is like, a Turkish Indiana Jones, with a little Marlboro Man mixed in," I had decided.

The pitcher was about half full, when Frank finally said, "The thing is gentlemen, I have a little situation, and I need a few good men to help me out."

This sounded intriguing, some kind of job offer for an industrious college dweeb, perhaps, I thought. What the fuck was this guy getting at?

"What's that, Frank," I asked. I was just the least bit suspicious.

"It's a problem with the little lady. You see guys," Frank poured another mug of beer, "the thing is, sometimes she can be a real miserable little cunt."

What the fuck, I thought, did he need some kind of marriage counseling? He topped off our glasses with the foamy ale, polishing off the second pitcher.

"I know, dude!" McRalphenfly blurted, "Women, you can't live with 'em, and you still gotta fuck 'em. What are you gonna do?" Ralph gratefully accepted the last pour from the pitcher. I noticed Frank wore several gold rings on his hand. One was encrusted with diamonds around a large red set stone. He continued.

"Well, it's important to have a firm hand, Ralph. About once every six months, my wife starts acting like a rude little pig, and I have to step in and do something about it, for the good of the marriage."

Frank spoke with an accent, but I couldn't place it. It was like, 1/3rd sand nigger, 1/3 Canadian, and 1/3 Greek shipping tycoon. He had a big nose on his dark face.

"Dude, like how? What do you do."

"Well, it's and understanding me and my wife have, Ralphie, it's complicated." He checked his watch. "Lets just say, she's waiting at home this very moment. She's probably pacing the floor right now, nervous as hell, listening for the sound of my car in the driveway." Frank snickered, " I told her I'd be home two hours ago, but I like her to sweat it out awhile."

"Dude, like, what happens when you come home, brah?" Ralphatorious had his curiosity piqued.

"When I get home," Frank Acosta said, "she will kiss the Dragon's Tail." Ralph and I looked at each other. Frank took a long sip of ale.

Ralph's mouth hung open, and I listened intently, suddenly very interested in what the man had to say.

"Kiss the, WHAT?" Ralph asked, with a laugh, before Frank continued.

"Oh, she knows it's for her own good. I give her these corrections often, and she always responses well to them."

"How can we help, Frank?" I asked.

He grinned, his weird eye twinkling, "I would like a couple of strangers to---witness,uh-- her,--- correction. I want her very embarrassed--- humiliated, even." He paused for another sip of ale. "It's for her own good. Now, tell me guys, are either one of you offended by the sight of a naked woman?"

*****Mercedes Benz 550SL*****

"Dude--- this guy's fucking with us! I guarantee it. He's not coming, dude."

We waited in my Toyota, at the intersection Frank had said he would meet us. The smell of skunk, shit, and flowers hit my nose. I looked at my traveling companion. He' was busy breaking up a sugary, stinky bud, and stuffing it in a glass pipe.

"Maybe," I said as I watched him fire the bowl. Frank was taking longer than I had expected. Maybe he was having a laugh, at our expense. Dr. Ralphen Von Ralphenstein had the pipe burning good. He handed it to me.

"Dude, we may as well go back in the bar. He's not coming. We'll finish this bowl , then go back." Ralph said in that pinched voice stoners use when they try to talk, and hold in a hit, at the same time.

We had passed the bowl for the third or fourth time, when I saw the black Mercedes Benz 550SL coming down the street.

"Juan Ralphanitos, you are wrong yet again." I said, and blew out a herculean sized hit of the primo, with a cough.

I could see Frank in the drivers seat giving me a a big thumbs up sign. He gestured for me to follow and took off down the road. I pulled out behind him. We made our way out of the the central district and onto the expressway. We zipped onto the Pacific Highway, then rolled on for another 10 minutes.

"Dude, do you think he's really gonna whip her!" Ralph said, as he hurled down another toke of kind.

"I guess we'll find out," He handed me the pipe as we flew down the interstate.

"The Prof wants to whip his fat-assed old wife, and wants us to watch? What the FUCK! WHY NOT!" The Ralphniator was getting excited.

We took an exit a few miles out of town, out in the suburbia, then turned into a plush, gated community. The neighborhood had huge 3 story houses lining the streets. "Nice pads," I surveyed the obvious. The sterile, oppressive conformity of the neighborhood hung on every street sign.

Frank's place was at the end of a cul de sac. He greeted us at the door.

"Gentlemen, come in," he welcomed us. He led us to a wet bar and proceeded to pour three whiskeys—on the rocks, then we went in the living room. "Have a seat, I will be, uh, right back."

We sat on a couch n the middle of a large, well appointed, room. It was obvious Frank was a man of classy tastes. On the wall, an oil painting of a nude woman, laying across a red couch, was placed over the fireplace. On a table by the entrance, a 3 foot statue of another woman, clad in a toga that left one breast bare.

"Whoa, so this is how the other half lives," Ralph said as he looked around the spacious room. He took a sip of his whiskey, and nodded at the glass with appreciation.

There was some kind of white furry rug on the floor of the living room. I decided it must be a polar bear rug. I looked for the bear's head, but couldn't see one.

There was a glass art piece, that existed for no other purpose than to look exquisite. And it did. The 1 inch slab of green tinted glass was concave shaped, and rested on a dark oak table.

When Frank returned, he had changed into a long gold robe, with some soft slippers on. He went around the room, lighting candles, and lowering the lights to a dim soft tone.

"Geez," I thought, "it's like he's transformed into some kind of kinkmeister / Hugh Hefner persona," my stoned mind reasoned. "Maybe this guy doesn't even have a wife. He's probably gonna drop that robe and start trying to dick charm us any second now," I suddenly thought.

"Gentlemen, the two of you just REEK of marijuana. Shall I call our local police and report two illegal drug abusers?" Ralph and I looked at each other.

"HaHaHaHaHa," Frank busted out laughing. "Only joking," he grinned with his weird eye twinkling.

"FUCK, dude!" Ralpho said, relieved.

"I know you students like to smoke your ganja. But I prefer a fine cigar."

Frank offered us cigars from a small wooden box. I declined, but Von Fuckhead snatched one up.

"Dude, do you like, mind if we, uh," Ralph approached the subject with his usual diplomacy, "you know, like, fire off a tasty bowl in here?" he asked.

*****Oink Oink Oink*****

"Well, gentlemen, I believe---it is time." Frank announced. "Ralph, put down your ganja for a moment, and help me move this table." They cleared a space right in front of the couch where Ralph and I sat. The white furry rug seemed larger, once it was cleared. Frank brought over a full length mirror, and placed it directly across from the couch.

He went to a plant rack in the corner of the room, and pulled out a long leather rod. I glanced at Ralph. There was a long silence as Frank inspected the rod with pride. The supple thin rod was about 3 ½ feet long.

"Never underestimate the power of a good correction, gentlemen. Remember that—when you take a wife." He caressed his hand up and down the smooth leather, as if it were a beloved pet. Then the silence was abruptly broken.

"PIGGY!" he yelled, and slammed the rod into the wooden coffee table. "COME FORWARD!"

We heard a sound behind us, and sure enough, a woman came into the room. Ralph and I could hardy believe it. Frank's wife was hot as hell. She looked to be in her mid thirties. She stood about 5' 9" tall, and had a fine full figure. Ralph grinned at me, his eyes wild with excitement. I knew exactly what he was thinking. She was a total MILF.

She teetered in tall black high heels and some sheer black panty hose, that stretched over her long full legs. A skimpy pair of sheer black panties covered her treasures, and a flimsy Victoria's Secret push up bra encased her large tits. I could make out a patch of hair under her panties. Her nipples were stiff and pointed through the bra.

The woman had a pretty face, with big green eyes and long blond hair that fell to her tits. She wore bright red lipstick on her full pouting lips. She never made eye contact as she stood before Ralph and I. Occasionally she would give Frank a frightened glance, before returning her eye's to the ground. She seemed genuinely afraid, quite uncomfortable, and very embarrassed, to be presented like she was.

Frank stood beside his wife, and gently stroked her hair. "So beautiful," he tenderly said. "Let's finish getting you ready, dear."

Frank reached in a shopping bag and pulled out two gloves—well gloves, sort of, these came from some costume. The woman placed one hand in one, then the other in the other. When she held her hands up, she had two little piggy hoofs instead of hands! He helped her position her hoofs together, in front, like two pig legs.

But Frank wasn't finished—not by a long shot. He again reached in the bag and pulled out a rubber piggy nose, on an elastic band. He put it over his wife's head and snapped the rubber band in place. The lady wore the upturned piggy nose on her pretty face. He had one more surprise for his wife. A plastic hair piece, with two rubber piggy ears went over her head!

"Assume the position, piggy," The woman groaned.

She bent over slightly, pushing her butt out behind her. Her heavy breasts hung down. She held up her little piggy hoofs together in front of her chest.

"Wow," Ralph broke the mood. "She really does look like a pig!" I shot him a look.

Frank put the rod between her legs and rubbed the hard leather against her flimsy panties. The woman stiffened and her eyes got wide. He rubbed her magic spot with the leather rod. I saw her swallow hard as she tried to keep her composure.

"Eye's up, piggy," Frank commanded. The woman's face was red,and her lower lip stuck out. She had a pouty, uncomfortable expression on her pretty piggy face. It looked like she was holding back tears. Frank worked the rod around on the under side on her panties. I felt electricity in my groin when her eyes locked with mine.

"And now, gentlemen, it's time for piggy to kiss the Dragon's Tail. She's been a VERY poorly behaved piggy, of late."

The woman squirmed and gave a quick nervous glance to the long leather rod in Frank's hand.

Frank slipped his thumbs in her panties, then pulled them down her legs to her ankles. My eyes went straight to the triangle of blonde hairs between her legs. Frank then unsnapped her bra, and let it fall to the floor.

"FUCK YEAH!!" Ralph interrupted. "SHE'S FINE!"

"Shut up, Ralph," I admonished him, "don't interrupt the man." Ralphatrocious shot me a sullen look, then fired off another bowl. The fuckwit never knew when to shut up.

Frank began to slowly pace around and his wife. He tapped the rod against his hand, in a gentle rhythm. "Yes, a VERY naughty little PIGGY." He continued slowly circling the woman. "She's been spending WAY too much MONEY!"