A group of 25 or so Waycroft seniors milled about in the hallway outside of a classroom. Byron was sitting against the wall, trying to look inconspicuous. He, like the fellow seniors around him, was waiting for Senior Seminar to begin.

This would be the first time he would come face to waist with the headmistress since the incident in the cafeteria. He had called her Bella, something he knew she hated, and he didn't think she would be likely to simply let this go. Also, although he had taken special care to dress himself properly today, his skill at tying a tie still left a lot to be desired. He had managed to get his tie knotted at his neck but it looked like it had been tied by a blind toddler who was missing most of his fingers.

Byron's plan was to try to be as inconspicuous as possible and hope he went unnoticed. He wished he had a few allies in this class but he hadn't really met any of the people now gathered in the hallway. His roommate Damien, he knew, was also in this class but he was ditching or, at the very least, late.

Familiar thumps started coming from down the hall and the milling students backed up to clear a wide path for the headmistress. Bella Emery came down the hall, her thick legs moving slowly but her long stride carrying her huge body swiftly toward the classroom. The headmistress glanced at the students, the tallest of whom came no higher than her navel, as she approached the classroom (Byron tried to stay out of sight) but did not address them as she pushed open the door. For a moment, despite the doorway being quite wide, Byron didn't think the headmistress's wide hips, today encased in a tight pencil skirt, would fit through. But she didn't slow down at all, evidently having cleared this obstacle before. Headmistress Emery's wide backside pressed on both door jams, some of the bulk of her ass being compressed between them, as she strode swiftly through the door. As she cleared the doorway, her butt wobbled softly, as if shaking off the discomfort of squeezing through an opening that was not entirely equipped for it.

The class gave the headmistress several moments before following her into the classroom. Bryon couldn't blame them, even if he hadn't been avoiding her Byron knew to give the headmistress's hips a wide berth, having been waylaid by them mere days before. Byron tried to melt into the middle of the pack of students but, having been slow on the uptake, ended up at the very back.

Byron chanced a glance at the headmistress as he entered the classroom. To his complete shock, she smiled broadly as she spotted him. She took several steps toward him, her weight shaking the soft wood of the classroom much more intensely than it had the polished oak of the hallway.

“Hello Byron,” she said, putting a huge hand on his upper back.

This was not the first time that Byron had noticed how comfortable the headmistress was with physical contact, his observation accentuated in no small part by the fact that Emery's hand covered 2/3rds of his back.

“No need to be so scared,” she said with a little laugh, flashing her straight white teeth. “I'm not an ogre. I appreciate you making an effort on your uniform.”

Byron attempted to smile back at her, still uneasy.

“You still need to figure out the tie, though,” she said, not unkindly, “do they not have YouTube where you're from?”

At this gentle ribbing, Byron gave a genuine smile, the tightness in his chest easing, “I gave it my best shot, Headmistress.”

“Come here and we'll fix it.” The headmistress grabbed Byron by the tie and pulled him gently towards her desk. Byron noticed that while the chair behind the desk had been replaced with one that had a chance at supporting her, the desk was the standard desk he had seen in every classroom. The sound of straining metal filled the room as the headmistress gently settled some of her weight on the corner of the desk. Despite taking up well more than a quarter of the desk, less than half of Emery's colossal rear was supported by the unequipped furniture. Judging by the impressive muscles bulging slightly out from the headmistress's thick thighs and calves, she knew better than to overburden a desk that had been designed for normal humans.

For the third time in a week, headmistress Emery unfastened his tie, her big fingers surprisingly nimble in undoing the knotted mess. Byron turned slightly red, aware that his classmates' first impression of him was that of being dressed like a child.

The headmistress bent down to start fixing his tie, the massive swell of her bust missing hitting his face by inches. The headmistress's forehead pressed lightly on his as she considered his tie, her light red hair falling around his face, the scent of her shampoo surrounding him. It was something fruity, he thought, like mangos. Unbidden, unwanted, his teenage libido revved at the scent. Byron cast his mind around for something to distract himself. As strong as his sex drive might be, he knew what was off limits and headmistress was at the top of that list, even if she hadn't been big enough to squash him like a bug.

Byron failed to tamp down his instinctive response. There was something intensely sensual to him about a woman's hair, the smell of her shampoo. Emery's soft hair tickled his face. He had heard, he couldn't remember where, that this color red couldn't be replicated with dye, it only occurred naturally.

“All I ask for is respect,” the headmistress was saying, her mouth level with his neck, her breath a gentle tickle on his adams apple “and for you to do your best. If you can do that you'll find me very easy to get along with. You might even find me pleasant.”

Byron, who was looking resolutely straight ahead and casting his mind out for a sport less erotic than baseball, felt rather than saw, the headmistress smile. She synched his tie, a little firmer than he might have done himself, and straightened up so Byron was looking at her stomach.

“There,” she said, placing a large finger under his chin and guiding his face up until he was looking into hers. Her hand, despite it's size, was very soft. “All better.”

“Thank you, Headmistress.”

Quite ready to be away from the headmistress's nonexistent of concept of personal space and her intoxicating scent, Byron spun around, faintly red with embarrassment and repressed hormones. As he faced his classmates he was sure he noticed mocking amusement in some of the faces, especially the boys. He was relieved to see an open seat in the back corner and headed towards it, eager to escape the judgmental looks.

“Senior seminar!” the headmistress boomed from the front of the class. “What is it? Well, if the former upperclassmen that I'm sure you've heard from are to be believed, it's a complete blow off class.”

The class chuckled slightly.

“But no, it is not. Senior Seminar is about life after high school. It is vitally important. You will certainly be given more freedom to do things your own way in assignments, but everyone will do the work. You will do the work even if I have to sit on you and make you. And with me, that is not something students often survive.”

The class laughed again, but Byron did not. He found this statement too close to reality to find amusing.

“We'll cover a variety of topics, from taxes to job hunting, but we'll focus a lot on college since that will be your next step. Everyone who goes to Waycroft will be accepted to and have the opportunity to attend college. Full stop. Zero exceptions. It has been this way since the school opened and it will certainly be this way so long as I am headmistress. I can not speak for whatever bum they get to replace me.

But to know how to approach your college career or even which college is right for you, you'll need to have some idea where you want your life to go. So that's what I'd like you to do now. Think about what you'd like your life to look like in 10 years. You'll be 28 and I... will still be young and vivacious. You should break into groups of 4 to discuss. Bounce ideas off of each other, figure out any considerations or obstacles you may not have thought of.”

There was a sudden upswing in sound as Headmistress Emery headed to her chair. Byron addressed the 3 students closest to him, all girls, attempting to regain some of his swagger.

“Ladies, I think we should form a group,” Byron said brazenly, “I'll give you a moment to consider how lucky that makes you.”

A moment of silence. Byron's stomach dropped. It was a big swing, if they didn't bite he'd look like a real asshole.

Then, laughter. More, probably, than the goofy joke deserved, meaning Byron had delivered it with the necessary amount of raw confidence.

“Shall we?” he asked, smirking.

It didn't take Byron long to realize he had absolutely no idea what he wanted his life to look like. The girls- all of whom had told Byron their names, none of which he remembered- seemed to all have a pretty good idea where they wanted to be at 28, both in career and in life.

The floor began to shake with the headmistress's heavy steps as she began to walk around to follow up with different groups. She turned sideways to fit in between rows of desks, the round moon of her ass hanging precariously over the heads of the students behind her, while the thunder of her thighs bulged over the desks on both sides, knocking things over. Students who had been at Waycroft were apparently too used to this sort of thing to notice, not even stopping their discussions to pick up the items unceremoniously thrust to the floor by Emery's hulking thighs, but Byron, still adjusting to the headmistress's size, couldn't help but watch.

As the headmistress rounded on his corner, Byron tried to jump back into the discussion but still didn't have much to add. Emery squeezed between the last row of desks, her thigh knocking Byron's paper off of his desk, along with one of the girls' entire backpack. Byron was cast into shadow, the giant swell of the headmistress's butt just above his head. Although the headmistress showed no signs of being unsteady on her feet, Byron still had the feeling of being directly below a poorly hung, monstrously heavy piece of art. He chanced a glance upwards as Emery asked how they were doing. Even up close, her dark pencil skirt betrayed no details of the blimp of the headmistress's behind except it's enormous size.

“Headmistress Emery, what do you think of this as a timeline?”

Byron dodged just in time. The headmistress bent over, her huge ass expanding and lowering in a single, seam testing movement. Her butt hovered just over Byron's desk as she checked his group-mate's work, forcing him to lean almost entirely out of his seat to avoid it. Even looking right at it after it nearly accosted him, he found it hard to comprehend the size of the headmistress's massive butt. The tight skirt restricting it's size, it still overshadowed Byron's desk and chair with plenty of room to spare. The mass of the headmistress's butt floated away from him and suspended again overhead as she stood. Byron was able to straighten up out of his uncomfortable, ass-dodging position.

“And how are you doing? What have you got?” The headmistress was addressing him over her shoulder. Byron was surprised she could see him at all past the bloat of her own ass but he could just make out her eyes beyond the huge surface of poor, beleaguered black fabric.

“I- uh... I don't really know,” Byron admitted.

“Ok,” she said softly, “that's all right. We'll get you sorted.”

Her eyes crinkled over the balloon of her ass. “I'll be back to check on you later.”

She shuffled up the row, her steps shaking the ground and her thighs knocking things over as they squashed between desks.

At the end of class, Byron again got caught behind the throng of students all hurrying to leave. Before he could reach the door a huge thigh thumped down in front of him, so close that he nearly ran into it. The thigh completely hid Byron from view, he guessed it was time and a half as big around as him at his widest point. Byron's face snapped up to meet Emery's but he had to go so uncomfortably far back that he tweaked his neck. Wincing, he stepped back to meet the headmistress's eyes without having to strain. Almost in tandem with him, the headmistress stepped forward so he was still too close to easily meet her eyes. Slower and more carefully, Byron bent his head backwards to look into the headmistress's fetching face. He suppressed a stab of irritation, did she really prefer to stand so close that he had to strain to look her in the eye and she had to look over her massive chest to see him?

“Byron, you will report to my office on Monday afternoon after your classes to begin your work-study,” the headmistress stated.

“Yes headmistress,” Byron responded. “Uh, what will I be doing?”

“You'll be my assistant for the time being,”

“Like Lindsey?”

“No, Lindsey is a receptionist. She answers phones, makes appointments, that sort of thing.” Emery said, a note of the expression that made Byron uncomfortable appearing on her face. “You'll be helping me directly.”

Confused, Byron asked “What does that entail?”

“Oh, a little of this, a little of that.”

If she wants to be cryptic, Byron thought to himself, let her. He walked around the pillar of her body, looking forward to getting back to his dorm and starting the weekend. He was almost out the door when the headmistress grabbed his arm roughly. Her fingers encircled his slender arm with room to spare.

“Byron,” the headmistress said, no trace of malice in her expression but making a fierce amount of eye contact.

“Yes, headmistress?” he asked, alarmed.

“Don't be late.”