of course he does...

"MMMMMMffff!" moaned Tiffany, biting her lip, and rubbing her ass against the chair for all it was worth.

"Miss Daniels, is something wrong?" asked Mr. John, interrupting his lecture. He stared at her. The entire English class stared as well.

"No sir, I'm OK," the suffering teenager squeaked out.

"Then why are you squirming so much in your seat and making noise?" he asked.

His eyes glittered with a touch of evil for he had been eyeing this lush little teen ever since her hot little ass had wandered into his class a couple years ago... this whorish vision of a teenage slut that sauntered in today totally blew his mind...

"I'm sorry," said Tiffany. "I'll be good."

"Stand up, please," ordered Mr. John. He gave her a hard look, willing her to get to her feet. Reluctantly, Tiffany slid out of her seat and stood beside her desk. Every male eye in the classroom was riveted either on her naked thighs (the leg men) or her nipples, which pushed against the thin fabric of her top.

"Miss Daniels, which poem are we discussing?"

Tiffany blushed. She had no idea. She had been so pre-occupied by the feelings her young crotch that she had tuned the teacher out for the entire class.

"Mr. John? Please? I don't feel well," Tiffany said, her voice taking on the pleading tone of a little girl.

"And what exactly is the matter, Miss Daniels? Do you have ants in your pants?"

The whole class burst into laughter. Tiffany turned crimson red in shame.

Because the truth was, while she did not have she did have ants in her pants. She felt like she had hundreds of ants crawling all over her pussy, down between her legs, along her ass crack. She had a tickling wet itch up deep inside her pussy, and a burning sensation deep up inside her rectum.

Mr. John waited for an answer. Tiffany wondered: Did her know? She stammered, unable to answer.

"Well, if you won't even give me the respect of an answer to a simple question like whether you have ants in your pants, would you please come up to the front of the room?" Green asked, politely but firmly. Tiffany didn't move. Her heart was pounding like mad.

"Now, little miss!" barked the English teacher. "Or it will be detention for you today after school!"

Detention? thought Tiffany. God, that was the last thing she could handle. Reluctantly, she walked to the front of the room her mind dreading the prospect of being stuck in detention with that overt of a school principal... he had been eyeing her like a piece of meat for years and had even slipped a hand under her skirt and groped her ass a time or two over the years... ugh... what a monster "I believe you know the spot," Mr. John said, breaking her train of thought and gestured at the blackboard.

There was a chalk circle drawn there, and whenever a student misbehaved, John ordered them to stand with their nose pressed to the circle and their back to their fellow students. Tiffany had never been singled out for this humiliating punishment, and on this of all days! She didn't know how she could bear it.

"Circle or detention, Miss," her teacher said coldly. Suddenly she knew, somehow, that John was in on it, that he knew what the "phone call curse" had done to her that morning. How her mind had dressed her as this slutty character of a teen cheer girl... parading her in front of the class while all eyes ogled her tight thighs and dreamed of seeing her tight ass and her perky firm tits...

John knew about the "call and the curse", Tiffany thought. And if he knew, detention would be far, far worse than the chalk circle. It would mean she'd have to keep the outfit on and the itchy feeling in her wet pussy combined with her "cursed" exhibition streak she was having would be unbelievably awful trapped with that pervert of a principle... why was she so scared??

Slowly, Tiffany walked to the front of the room, as the guys snickered and watched the sway of her short, pleated cheer skirt moving back and forth across the ass they all wanted more than anything in the world. Her cheeks burned. She felt as if she was on the verge of tears, but told herself she would not cry. She reached the black board and pressed her nose into the circle. In order to do so, she had to stand so close that her 36-C breasts mashed into the blackboard as well. She worried that she was getting yellow chalk marks all over her top right over her breasts, which would call even more attention to them the rest of the day, but she did not dare take her nose out of the circle.

Mr. John went back to his lecture on Emily Dickinson, but no one was listening. The boys were all ogling Tiffany, wondering why she had started dressing like such a slut. The girls looked at her with various mixtures of envy for her good looks and malice for her past bitchiness.

"Nice ass, Tiff!" she heard a boy yell. She couldn't recognize the voice, but her face felt so hot. She didn't dare look around and let them see her. Tiffany felt the itching start again, deep, deep insider her ass. She wanted more than anything to rip her thong panties down, even there in front of everyone, and plunge her fingers up her own ass, scratching the itch and satisfying it. But with every eye on her, that was impossible. Even if she had been alone, she knew what would happen if she was caught doing such a shameful thing....

So Tiffany suffered. And waited in agony. There was still half an hour to go in English class.