You select your pets for the day

The final bell rings. You lean back in your leather chair, watching the last of the girls file past your office window—their skirts barely containing the swell of their young asses, their blouses now deliberately untucked by a few teachers who couldn't wait. Through the intercom, you call for the lineup.

The hallway echoes with the shuffle of thirty pairs of kneesocks and the occasional whimper as girls are led into the assembly hall. You stand at the head, your team of teachers flanking you—Mr. Vance, Miss Harrington, Coach Barlow, old Mr. Simmons with his perpetual hard-on tenting his trousers. Each has their clipboard, their measuring gaze.

"Front and center," you command.

The girls line up, hands behind their backs, chins lifted. Some are trembling. One—a petite blonde with freckles and wide blue eyes—has a faint glistening trail down her inner thigh. Anal plug, you note with approval. Her owner's request.

You walk the line slowly. Finger under a chin to tilt a face up. Squeeze a breast through the thin fabric of a blouse. Hook a thumb under the waistband of a thong and snap it against her hip. The teachers murmur to each other, jotting notes.

"Number seven," Miss Harrington says, pointing to a curvy brunette with full lips and a dazed expression. "Look at that cunt. She's already wet. I want her under my desk tomorrow."

Mr. Vance steps forward and cups a redhead's ass, squeezing hard. She gasps. "This one. Perfect for the anatomy demonstration. I'll have her bent over the desk, legs spread, while I point out the difference between a virgin and a used pussy."

You select your own—the blonde with the plug. A little thing, barely developed tits pushing against her unbuttoned blouse. She shivers when you take her wrist and pull her close. "What's your name, pet?"

"Lily, Headmaster." Her voice wavers.

"Lily. You'll do." You pat her cheek. "To the lounge."