NTR: Stealing wives in Another World-Chapter 15: Sex Ed(18+)

Allen stood at the front of the makeshift village classroom—a half-circle of stumps arranged around a flat rock he was now calling "The Pussy Podium." Behind him, a crudely drawn diagram was etched into the dirt with a stick. It looked like a vagina if you squinted... and were drunk... and forgiving.

He clapped his hands once. Loud. Sharp. Authoritative. Like a man about to teach sexual anatomy to a crowd of glorified cavemen.

"Alright, dickbrains. Let's get one thing straight: none of y'all know what a pussy is."

The men blinked. One scratched his head. Another raised a paw timidly. "Isn't it... the part you go into?"

Allen stared. "That's like saying the ocean is just 'wet stuff.'"

There were confused murmurs.

Fina sat nearby on a rock, munching dried fruit and grinning like this was the best show of her life. Zena and Cherry flanked her, taking notes on bark with charcoal like dedicated cooch scholars.

Allen cleared his throat. "Behold—your training dummy."

Mirka stormed out of a nearby tent, arms crossed, tail twitching with equal parts irritation and secret arousal. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

Allen grinned. "You owe me for saving your spicy pussy yesterday. This is redemption."

Mirka grumbled but stepped onto the flat rock and laid back, legs spread just enough to make every man in the audience turn red or start sweating like roast pigs.

Allen pointed dramatically at her with a long stick. "This—*this*—is a pussy."

One of the guys gasped like it was a museum reveal. "Whoa..."

Allen knelt beside her. "Let's go over the parts. Because clearly, y'all been treating this thing like a coin slot at the wrong arcade."

He pointed to the top. "This lil' guy? *Clit.* Not a decoration. It's a goddamn power button."

Mirka flinched. "Be gentle when you say it like that, damn..."

Allen ignored her. "You touch this right and she sings. You ignore it and she gets dryer than grandma's elbows."

He pointed lower. "Entrance. Where the cock goes. But you don't *just* go in, got it? You warm it up. Like an oven. You don't shove raw meat into a cold oven."

A guy raised his paw. "Do we... preheat the pussy?"

Allen blinked. "...Sure. Let's go with that. Yes. Preheat the pussy."

More nodding. The tribe was learning.

He tapped a finger to the inner lips. "These? Labia. Stop calling them 'the squishy bits.' These protect the inner canal. You respect the lips. You don't maul them like bread dough."

Another hand shot up. "What about the hole underneath it?"

Allen paused. "That's the butthole. Not part of today's curriculum. Don't mix the exits, folks."

Mirka groaned, face red. "Can you *not* talk about my butthole like it's a side quest?"

Allen smirked. "Focus, students. Now\... the angle matters. Your cock isn't a battering ram. It's a key. You don't *slam* it in—you *guide* it."

One guy scratched his chin. "What if she's tight?"

Allen nodded. "Then you warm her up. Use fingers. Use your tongue. Don't act like your cock's doing charity work."

Fina raised a paw. "Preach."

Allen stood back. "Let's review with a diagram."

He drew a quick outline in the dirt.

"Clit. Labia. Entrance. G-spot's in here—" he jabbed a squiggle. "You'll know you found it when she grabs your hair like she's possessed."

Cherry blinked. "What's the G-spot?"

Allen pointed to Mirka's belly. "Like... a pleasure button, inside. Hit it right and you'll make her toes throw gang signs."

Zena whispered, "I *need* him to show Banno this..."

Allen kept going. "And now\... cock etiquette."

He stood, pantomiming like he had an invisible dick. "You don't just poke. You tease. You glide. You make her *ask* for it. Got it?"

There were nods. One guy whispered, "Glide the cock. Make her beg."

Mirka was beet red now, covering her face. "Can I go home yet?!"

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Allen patted her thigh. "You're doing great, champ. The coochie thanks you."

He turned to the class. "Any questions?"

A dude in the back raised a paw. "How do we know when she's done?"

Allen blinked. "If you have to *ask*, she's *not* done."

Fina stood up. "Ladies, vote time—how many of you fake moans so your man will finish and stop humping like a jackrabbit?"

Every single girl raised a paw.

The guys collectively gasped like they'd been shot.

Allen whistled. "And that's why we're here, gentlemen."

He wrote "**MAKE HER CUM FIRST**" in big bold letters on a leaf and nailed it to a tree.

"Memorize it. Tattoo it. I don't care."

He looked back at Mirka and offered a hand. "You did amazing. Let's get you some juice and a towel."

She grabbed his hand, still blushing. "You owe me like... twelve orgasms after this."

Allen winked. "Baby, I'll give you the *deluxe curriculum*."

Behind them, the boys scrambled to copy diagrams and mutter terms to each other like they were prepping for the deadliest test ever invented.

"The clit is sacred..."

"Preheat the pussy..."

"No battering ram..."

And thus, the Tribe of Dumbasses took its first step into coochie literacy.

A new age was coming.

A wetter age.