Eleanor Rooney, the Dean of Discipline at your school

You glance back at the door and see that it's Eleanor Rooney, the Dean of Discipline, terror of the boys and futas of your school, dressed in her usual school outfit of a tight white dress shirt that cupped her H-cups tightly and a loose dress that fell to her ankles, making it impossible to tell how high up the six inch heeled, black leather boots went...unless her mammoth cock got so hard that it lifted her skirt...

Everyone tried that, teasing her a bit, but so far, all anyone knew was they went past her calves and her cock was reportedly the biggest in school, even if hidden. The few students who'd earned her true discipline wouldn't talk about how big it was, just dreamily confirming it was the biggest and that if they wanted it again, they had to be good bois. Which they invariably became. It was honestly a bit scary...

But, she was smoking hot, one of the tallest futas at school, she towered over you by more than a foot and a half, even without the heels, putting you about even with her massive breasts. You'd teased her a bit with your friends, but never even come close to actually earning her attention, as you'd always been a good boy at school...but you had just skipped? That couldn't be it, lots of students skipped, especially senior year! She couldn't be here for you, she must be off today and this is all just a coincidence.

And she's looking directly at you. And walking towards you, with that same strong, purposeful, stride she uses when she breaks up a fight between futas, or you still remember when Katie Jensen tried to put hands on one of the men working the cafeteria and Eleanor actually lifted the other futa off the ground and threw her...

As she approaches, you find yourself growing hard, something your shorts do nothing to conceal and you find yourself blushing at being seen dressed like this by someone who actually knows you. You absently notice she doesn't have any drink tickets in hand, or a key to a locker, and finally **** yourself to actually look at her face. To your surprise, her beautiful, if arrogantly sculptured features don't seem to have any real expression on them beside a slight smile as she approaches. She's closing the distance fast. You could still run, try to find someplace to hide, but you're not optimistic about your chances.