No running in the halls!

Try as you might to get away, the crowd of on-lookers is still on your unfortunately bare ass. The whoops and wolf-whistles don't die down even after taking a sharp turn down a side hall; bolting up to the second floor slows them down slightly as the throng of thirsty students bottleneck all trying to make their way up the stairwell, but the heavy double doors at the top threaten to put your right back in their hands. This set has been a problem for as long as you've been in attendance, hinges rusty and slow, but as you throw your side against its push bar it may as well be locked for how little you're moving it!

"Gotcha now, George!" Tiffany calls from behind you, and you wince. Letting your junk hang free, you take both hands and push the doors open as hard as you can, knowing that whatever is on the other side of it can't possibly be as bad as what's behind you!

"Whoa, be careful--- Oh my God!"

...Standing there is your homeroom teacher, Ms. Amaro. You're paying the price for putting your brain on auto-pilot, and wound up right outside the door for your first period class, having sprinted the same route you take almost every day anyway. Ms. Amaro, a short woman dressed in a burgundy dress and matching jacket, is stood outside of it, as usual, ready for her students; she's a newer teacher, having only started a year or two ago. Her youthful looks and optimistic attitude lead to her first set of students getting away with quite a bit, and while her ****, naive nature still shines through, she has a tendency to get very particular and very strict when she thinks a student might be trying to make her look foolish. And when it comes to looking foolish, it'd be hard to beat standing buck naked in the middle of the school hallway, standing tall with arms wide open. Ms. Amaro's brow creases into a frown, her mouth agape, her cheeks bright red, and her eyes.... locked dead center onto your half-mast cock, still completely uncovered in front of her, before you come crashing back to reality and slap your hands back down over your junk.

"Oh my-- George, you-- why-- what is the meaning of this?!" Ms. Amaro stammers out, spell finally broken as she looks you in the eyes.

"I-I can explain!" you stammer in return, "I didn't mean to-- this wasn't my idea!"

"That hardly stopped you from going along with it!"

"N-no! It's not like that, i-it's--!" The ringing of the first period bell sounds throughout the school, cutting you off. The crowd of onlookers, having been hanging back behind the double doors, pushes past you on their various ways to class, many of them still fighting amongst themselves to pass close enough to you to leave some lingering pinches and squeezes on your cheeks, unmoved by Ms. Amaro's reminding them that they're late. Sam brings up the rear to grope your rear, sidling past you into the homeroom you both share.

"Sorry I'm late, Ms. A!" she says, smirking at you, "I was looking up the school's dress code again; can you believe George can totally come to class like this?!" You glare at her as she laughs and continues to her seat. You look back to the fuming Ms. Amaro, who takes a deep breath, puts one hand on her hip, and points into the room.

"Fine then. To your seat, young man!"

"Ms. Amaro, this really isn't what I wanted," you plead, "Can I please, please, go to the locker room, o-or the office, the nurse, anything!"

"You can stay as you are, and you can stay like this in detention, if you don't put that butt-- if you don't take your seat right now!" You flinch, and follow her order; your step-mom would never take your side if you got detention, and having to spend even more time at school today, like this, seems like a new layer of Hell. You take your seat, unfortunately smack dab in the center of the room, as your fellow students gasp or giggle at you. You take your seat, flinching at the cold chair against your cheeks, as your teacher shuts the door, pausing to collect herself before turning to face the class.

"Good morning, everyone," she says, forcing a very even tone, "as you can all tell there's an elephant in the room--"

"I'll say there is!" a feminine voice mutters from behind you, and the class titters as you feel your 'trunk' stiffen against your hands.

"Ahem! There is an-- well, I won't allow anyone to be... distracted, even with the... distraction, in the room." Ms. Amaro walks between the desks, over to you, and in a more hushed voice, she adds, "I won't allow you to distract yourself during my class either, young man. Hands above the desk, please!" Your heart sinks.

"B-but--!"

"Hands where I can see them!" she repeats, louder, and you hear gasps from the surrounding seats as you wince and comply, hands placed on the desk, and letting your 9-inch erection spring free under the desk. Ms. Amaro takes a deep breath again, nods, and walks back to her desk; the second her back is turn, you hear a camera shutter from the desk next to you, and whip your head to the left to catch the curly black-haired cheerleader sat there sneaking her phone back into her pocket, as the announcements crackle over the PA system.