You shift uncomfortably in your seat and readjust your skirt. Unlike most private schools, St. Olga's (motto: "A Girl Should Be Comfortable In Her Own Body") has a maximum uniform skirt length, among other things (such as forbidding bras and and requiring that all girls wear thongs or no underwear at all). In your case, your skirt barely covers your ass--such as it is--when standing, and does nothing for you when sitting down. The other girls' skirts hardly do anything for them at all, be they standing or sitting. In fact, since your assigned seat this period is in the third row, you have an unparalleled view of Bertha McIntire's 69-inch ass right in front of you. Her ass spills out over the edge of her seat and jiggles hypnotically whenever she moves. You've been on the receiving end of Bertha's ass too many times to count.
You dig and scratch around in the depths of your own asshole, trying to get your thong to cover more of you, but it's to no avail. Sighing with resignation, your attention first turns back to Ms. Cushman's lecture, and then wanders as you find yourself eyeing your classmates warily. Today is Wednesday--hump day, the most dangerous day of the week--and Lunch is next period. If past experience is any indication, someone's going to jump you in the cafeteria today and try to eat you. It's happened every Wednesday this month without fail. The first time, Candace Hogg simply grabbed you from behind and stuffed your head in her mouth. You escaped by shedding your shirt and running like hell. Last week, as you were awaiting your tray from the lunch lady, two girls grabbed you, dragged you over to their table, and started swallowing you from both ends. When their lips met in the middle, they started to bite down, but Ms. Cushman intervened and forced them to let you go. The two things you remember most about that day are Ms. Cushman's warning that you owed her one (followed by a suggestive wink and licking of the lips) and how the lunch lady laughed and laughed the whole time.
You think she was in on it. If she wasn't then, she sure is now.
Just then, the lunch bell rings. Half of the girls stampede out the door and head for the cafeteria. The other half linger suspiciously. Bertha gets up slowly, then turns around to face you. She winks and makes a "come hither" gesture. You gulp.
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