Someone has to go first, after all

Ms. Pershing nodded to Miss Cassidy and, with a firm hand on your back, the gym teacher ushered you down the aisle of the auditorium and up the stairs to the stage, where Ms. Pershing joined you as the three of you headed back behind the curtain. Your eyes are taking their time adjusting to the dim light backstage, but you don't need to see her expression to hear the frustration in her voice.

"Thank you, Sara," she says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"... Sasha, are you sure we should still be doing this?" Ms. Cassidy asks, glancing back and forth between the two of you, "it's not too late to pull out, and--"

"Incorrect," Ms. Pershing interrupts, "just organizing this has already taken too many favors, and if we don't give some kind of feedback over it, heads are going to roll. Speaking of which..." Your principal turns and peeks between the curtain, and you can hear an indistinct but loud chatter coming from the girls in the auditorium, while the faculty remaining in the room try to rein them in. "Whoever fu--" she glances back to you, and quickly corrects herself, "whoever messed up the mailing list for today is going to be in for quite the talking to." She winces as you hear start to hear some shouting, and Ms. Pershing quickly lets the curtain fall closed. "Go give them a hand. Let me deal with this."

Ms. Cassidy gives you one last nervous look, before hurrying away, leaving you alone with your principal. You gulp as Ms. Pershing eyes you up and down, before she lets out a sigh and starts to massage her temples.

"We both find ourselves in a somewhat... awkward position, Sam," she says after a moment, "and I won't lie to you; I'm about to ask you to do something.... difficult." She lets the implication hang in the air for a moment, and you can't help your mind from wandering; the idea of seeing all the girls naked is a powerful thought, from the teachers who would have to stand full frontal in front of every chalkboard, to the bare butts you'd be following to each and every class, let alone every unrestrained bounce and wobble during gym later in the day...

But the reality is, you'd be stripped right alongside them, giving them a clear look at what was already tenting the front of your jeans, and knowing you'd be outnumbered was... somewhat intimidating, to say the least. "I-I'm not sure I can do this," you reply. Ms. Pershing looks down at you, no less annoyed, a twinge of guilt crosses her face.

"I won't **** you do to anything, of course," Ms. Pershing says, and you don't love the amount of time she spends trying to find her next words, "but given the delicate nature of what we intended to do today, it's success," she says-- "and our jobs," she mutters-- "rests now on your willingness to participate. As such, though it would be irresponsible of me to make any specific promises off the top of my head..." she pauses, and sighs, and places a hand on your shoulder, "Off the record? We'd owe you. Big time." There's a pleading look in her eyes, and you swallow hard, knowing that the next words that leave your mouth are what most people would call 'pretty dumb' or 'insane'.

"Okay," you say, "I'll do it."

Immediately a weight melts off of your principal's shoulders. "Thank you," she says, and immediately snaps back to work. "Get undressed and leave your clothes... there!" she says, pointing to a nearby shelf, between a roll of gaffer tape and a long-forgotten prop sword. "I'll have someone collect them later-- I need to go salvage this!"

"Wh- so you want me to just... stand naked back here?" you ask.

"Don't worry," she says, "you'll know when we're cuing you up" And with a frantic thumbs up, Ms. Pershing slides back out in front of the curtains to curtail the complaining from your classmates, leaving you alone and, for just a moment longer, fully dressed. You close your eyes, steel yourself, and quietly, shakily, kick your shoes off, pull your socks off, and shuffle off your jeans, the stuffy, dusty air of the backstage clinging to your now bare legs. Pulling your shirt off, you're left in nothing but a pair of black boxer-briefs; your last scrap of dignity, for as little as it left to the imagination with your swollen bulge stretching the front of it. After another couple deep breaths, you hook your thumbs into your waistband, and pull down- and nearly have a heart attack as, at the very moment your cock springs out to point forward, the chatter on the other side of the curtain suddenly peaks to a roar. You clamp your hands over your cock, letting your briefs fall to your ankles and your eyes dart around in a panic, but after a few frantic seconds the roars die down, and you realize it couldn't have been over you... right?

Kicking your shorts into a pile with your other clothes, you pick them up to put them on the shelf as instructed, glancing over your shoulder every couple of steps, your bare ass facing the thankfully obscured audience. Walking back to where Miss Pershing left you, hands firmly over your junk, no matter how hard it was fighting to pop out into the open. You shuffle back and forth for a few moments longer, weighing one last bolt for the exit in your mind, when all of a sudden the curtains flew open!

Caught like a deer in the headlights, you did nothing but tighten your grip over your cock, only for the sight in front of you to keep you frozen in place...