Isn't there SAT retesting today?

Grinning from ear to ear, and still soothed by the sounds of about a dozen teens finishing up their group masturbation down the hall, Ernest (with his magically enhanced and permanently attentive cock) was ready for some more "touch power" fun.

As he wandered the abandoned halls of his school, he saw an unexpected sign: "SAT Retake, this way." Oh right! he remembered. His guidance counselor had told him no retake was necessary, but he was aware that there was an opportunity today for seniors to have one last chance at a higher score while they waited for colleges to offer financial aid packages.

"Sounds like fun," he chuckled as he pointed his stride to the cafeteria.

The large room was virtually silent as he peeked through the double doors. The usual long tables had been replaced by rows of desks, where a couple dozen students were quietly working on their tests. At the front of the room was a proctor's desk, though Dr. Brody, the biology teacher, was pacing around, carefully watching the students.

Ernest scanned the room, looking for a good target for his mischief. It didn't take long for him to discover the perfect mark.

Amanda McCallister sat in the front row of desks. Her straight blond hair and makeup framed an attractive face, and Ernest wasn't surprised to see that she was looking her best even on test day. Amanda was a perfectionist prude. She was a tennis player, a cellist, and Ernest couldn't believe that he had overheard her saying that she was going to retake the SATs again to try to get a perfect score.

Well, fuck that.

Because between Amanda McCallister's white tennis shoes and pleated tennis skirt were her glorious, smooth legs.

That'll do just fine, Ernest thought.