Run

You back up, mouth agape. What the fuck is wrong with these animals? You turn around to run, and-- WHUMP! Someone tripped you by your ankle, and now your lying on your stomach, winded!

"Oh no you don't!" Clipboard Girl says. "You, my friend, signed a contract! And you wouldn't want me to report you to the police, would you?"

"You wouldn't take me to the police when you'd probably get arrested too!"

"There isn't anything slightly incriminating in this contract. Just that you need to listen to any orders given to you by male teachers."

You look up at her condescendingly smiling face as she places her foot on your back, preventing you from standing. "If you need a teacher-fucker so bad, why don't you do it?"

"Me?" she mockingly scoffs. "I'm just the lowly Secretary, this is the President's honor, Mr. Student Body President."

As you struggle to get up, you hear an increase in the background sounds of ravenous fucking. Brenda moans as the teachers grunt as they all climax. Clipboard Girl lets you stand up as one teacher, Mr. Jackson, a math teacher, approaches you, buttoning his shirt.

"So, this is our new president, Margaret?" he asks as he fastens his belt. "John, right? You were in my pre-algebra class freshman year, if I remember right. Well, you're lucky--we're all tuckered out this morning, you can go about your day. But if you get a pass directing you to any teacher's class with 'meeting' as the reason, you must go there immediately."

Mr. Jackson, Margaret, Brenda, and the other teachers leave, and you think about this for a minute.

There right--there's nothing illegal about this. Immoral and indecent, yeah, but you and Brenda are both 18, and you're pretty sure last year's president was too. And defying them might technically be the illegal thing, if this contract is as strict as Margaret implied.

The bell for first period rings, and you bolt, arriving at your science class--thankfully taught by a woman--a few minutes late. It's a dull class, something about whales, until a pass is placed on your desk by an office messenger. Mr. Marks wants to see you in his classroom, now.