You step off the private shuttle onto the cobblestone circle in front of St. Lilith’s Academy, and the first thing that hits you is the smell: thick, sweet, unmistakable. Cum. Fresh, old, and everything in between, baked into the stone by decades of spilled loads. It clings to the air like perfume.

The massive oak doors swing open by themselves. Two seniors in half-buttoned blouses are waiting, cocks already out and lazily stroking. One is 6'4", blonde, horse-hung, knot the size of a softball. The other is shorter, violet hair, pierced nipples poking through her blouse, precum dripping in a steady string from her slit. They grin when they see you.

“Fresh meat’s here,” the blonde announces into a walkie-talkie. A cheer echoes from inside the building, hundreds of voices at once.

They don’t ask your name. They don’t need to. You’re the only skirt on campus without a bulge swinging underneath it.

The violet-haired girl circles you slowly, lifts the back of your uniform skirt with two fingers, and whistles. “Still dry. That won’t last five minutes.”

They each grab an arm and march you through the doors.

The main hall is a cathedral of dark wood and stained glass, every pane depicting some long-forgotten saint getting railed by a circle of futas. The entire student body is already assembled in perfect rows, blouses open, skirts flipped up, every single cock hard and pointed at the stage like an honor guard. The low, constant stroking fills the air, wet, rhythmic, hungry.

Headmistress Valeria waits at the podium. 6'8", silver hair in a severe bun, crimson blazer barely containing tits the size of beach balls. Her cock is out, resting across the lectern like a python, thick veins pulsing, knot already half-swollen. A single bead of precum the size of a shooter marble rolls off the tip and splats onto the marble floor.

She doesn’t speak into the microphone. She doesn’t need to. The hall goes dead silent the second her golden eyes lock on you.

“New student,” she purrs, voice like velvet dragged over steel. “Strip. Slowly.”

Your fingers shake as you unbutton the blouse. Every button pop is answered by a soft groan from the crowd. When the fabric falls off your shoulders, five hundred cocks twitch in perfect unison.

Skirt next. You let it drop. No panties (the welcome packet was very clear). Cool air kisses your bare pussy and you feel yourself clench involuntarily. Someone in the front row moans like they’ve been shot.

Valeria crooks a finger.

The two seniors drag you up the three steps to the stage. Your bare feet stick slightly to the wood; someone came here very recently. They force you over the podium, chest pressed to the warm, polished surface that smells like a thousand loads. Your toes barely touch the floor.

Valeria steps behind you. You feel the heat of her body first, then the weight of her cock sliding up the back of your thigh, leaving a wet trail. The knot kisses your entrance, already bigger than your fist.

“First lesson,” she says, loud enough for the entire hall to hear. “At St. Lilith’s, every hole has a purpose.”

She thrusts.

One single, merciless stroke and eighteen inches spear into you. Your vision whites out. The knot doesn’t go in yet; she just lets it sit there, stretching your lips obscenely wide while the entire school watches your belly bulge.

A bell rings somewhere far away. Class has officially begun. Behind you, the shuffle of chairs. Footsteps. Hundreds of them. Valeria leans over you, lips brushing your ear.

“Welcome assembly lasts until you’re knotted or unconscious, little human. Whichever comes first.”

She pulls back and slams home. The knot pops inside with a wet, obscene sound that echoes off the rafters.

The roar that follows shakes the stained glass.

Your new life just started, and you’re already dripping down your thighs in front of twelve hundred futanari who haven’t cum yet today.

Enjoy your first period. It’s only 8:02 a.m.