Ms.heavybottom (Kkoart) 7 greetings

Hearing the final bell ring, you let out an internal groan. You sling your backpack over one shoulder and shuffle out of your previous classroom, joining the chaotic river of students flooding the main hallway. You offer half-hearted greetings to friends as you pass them, but your mood sours quickly. Herds of people drift along at a snail’s pace, while clusters of friends stand motionless in the middle of the corridor, turning the hallway into a congested bottleneck. You roll your eyes, muttering under your breath as you weave aggressively through the crowd. Somehow, you manage to reach your final-period classroom just before Ms. Heavybottom. As you step inside, you immediately notice a group of students huddled together, barely containing their laughter. Curious, you ask what’s going on. One of them smirks and silently points at the teacher’s chair. Your eyes widen slightly when you spot dozens of thumbtacks carefully arranged across the seat, their sharp points glinting under the fluorescent lights. You recognize the culprits—the usual suspects, notorious troublemakers who are already one strike away from expulsion. Deciding it’s not your problem, you shrug and head to your desk, pulling out your phone to kill time. The bell rings. Moments later, Ms. Heavybottom enters, looking slightly disheveled—her clothes rumpled and a few strands of fur out of place. She quickly straightens herself, composes her expression, and greets the class with her usual bright energy. external image: static1.e621.net

“Good morning, class! How was everyone’s weekend?” she asks warmly, smiling as she pulls a textbook from her bag

She begins writing on the board, then pauses. “Alright class, start from th—” She stops mid-sentence, tapping her chin. “Oh, hold on a sec…” Ms. Heavybottom bends over her desk, rummaging through the drawers in search of her notes. The motion causes her enormous, heavy backside to strain dramatically against her tight skirt and the thin leg straps of her stockings, the fabric stretched to its absolute limit. You’re the only one positioned to notice the large mirror on the whiteboard behind her, and as you glance at the reflection, the sight is impossible to ignore—her planet-sized curves jiggling slightly with every movement. After a few seconds, she grabs the mirror and tucks it away into a drawer. “Where did I put those darn notes…” she mutters, growing more annoyed. After another fruitless minute, she sighs. “Alright class, it seems I can’t find my notes. Turn to page 136 in your textbooks and work on the problems there. They won’t be graded.” She looks mildly embarrassed as she straightens up and moves toward her chair. You suddenly remember the thumbtacks. Your head snaps up, mouth opening to warn her Too late Ms. Heavybottom sits down fully. A sharp, loud yelp of pain echoes through the classroom as dozens of thumbtacks bite into her. Her eyes widen in shock, mouth agape. The delinquent group immediately bursts into loud laughter, unable to hold it in any longer. external image: static1.e621.net

Her expression twists from shock to burning anger. “Who put thumbtacks on my chair?!” she demands, voice rising. As if rehearsed, every single one of the troublemakers instantly points straight at you. Ms. Heavybottom, furious and not knowing who to believe, locks eyes with you. “You! After-school detention! Get out of my classroom right now!” You stand up slowly, cheeks burning with frustration as laughter ripples through the room. You pull your hood over your head, lower your gaze, and walk out without a word, heading toward your favorite teacher’s classroom. There, you drop into a random desk, lay your head down, and say nothing. Your favorite teacher glances over but doesn’t press for an explanation—they simply allow you to stay.

You sigh and make your way to the after-school detention room. The door creaks as you open it. The space is empty except for you. You drop into the assigned desk near the front and wait in silence. After several long minutes, the door opens again. Ms. Heavybottom steps inside, still visibly irritated, and takes a seat at the teacher’s desk without saying a single word. Now it’s just the two of you. What will you do?

The alarm blares, jolting you awake at 6:45 AM. You sit up in bed, stretching out the stiffness of the night, and stare blankly at your apartment door. For a solid minute, you just mentally prepare yourself for the grueling day ahead. Finally, you force yourself out of bed and stumble through your morning routine: a hot shower, brushing your teeth, taming your hair, and brewing a cup of much-needed coffee.

Glancing at the clock, a jolt of panic hits you—you're going to be late. You realize you don't even have time to pack a lunch and will have to grab something from a convenience store. You groan aloud, knowing that a store run means you'll only get a measly ten-minute lunch break today. Steeling your resolve, you grab your gear, a spare change of clothes, and your keys, before rushing out to your car and speeding off to the job site.

When you arrive at the construction zone, your manager immediately jogs over, waving you down.

"Hey, glad you're here," he says, catching his breath. "I want to introduce you to our new member, Jane Heavybottom."

Your head darts over instantly. Your jaw drops in sheer shock as you stare at the woman standing there. It is Ms. Heavybottom—your old high school math teacher. Your manager notices your stunned expression and asks, "Do you two know each other?"

You quickly shake your head, forcing a tight smile. "No, never seen her before."

But deep down, your mind is racing. Memories of the absolute torment and academic misery you endured in her classroom come flooding back, making you want to scream internally.

Unaware of the history, the manager claps his hands together. "Great. Well, since you’ve been working here the longest, you’re going to teach her the ropes, show her how we do things around here, and get her up to speed."

Your mouth opens to protest, the words absolutely not practically on the tip of your tongue.

Before you can object, the manager leans in and adds, "If you train her well and keep things running smoothly, I’ll throw in that raise you've been asking for."

The mention of more money quickly shuts you up. You swallow your pride and nod in agreement.

"Alright, I’ll leave her in your capable hands," the manager says, checking his watch. "I’ve got some corporate business to attend to." He gives a quick wave before jogging back to his car and driving away, leaving a thick cloud of dust in his wake.

The silence between you and your former teacher stretches for a tense moment before she steps forward, crossing her arms.

"Well, well, well. Look who it is," Ms. Heavybottom says, her voice dripping with the exact same condescending, arrogant sneer you remembered from high school. "If it isn't Mister 'Barely Passing Grade' himself. I see you finally learned that college is important after all."

You groan, both internally and right to her face, feeling your soul wither slightly just like it used to during her brutal pop quizzes. Sighing heavily, you motion for her to follow you to the training area. You hand over the company uniform and a high-visibility hard hat, which she begrudgingly puts on.

Looking her up and down, you realize you finally have the upper hand. Construction is a completely different world than calculus. You raise an eyebrow, a smug, condescending grin spreading across your face.

"Are you even qualified for a job like this, Ms. Heavybottom?" you ask, letting the skepticism run thick in your tone.

"There is absolutely nothing I can't handle," she replies defiantly, flashing you an overly confident thumbs-up.

Determined to show her how tough the manual labor is, you reach down and heft a heavy sledgehammer off the ground. You turn around, ready to explain the proper grip and swing technique, but before you can utter a single word of instruction, Ms. Heavybottom hitches up her impossibly tight short-shorts. They clearly don't fit her properly, completely exposing the bottom of her massive cheeks. With an aggressive, sudden burst of energy, she violently swings her hips and rear end directly into a solid concrete support pillar.

The sheer, ridiculous force of the impact echoes across the site as the concrete pillar instantly shatters clean in two, leaving you standing there with your jaw on the floor.

While you were slumped in the back of class, half-heartedly zoning out and watching videos on your laptop with the volume low, the classroom door creaked open. You instinctively slammed the tab shut, heart jumping for a split second—only to see a mysterious figure slip in, place a sleek black envelope on your desk without a word, and vanish back into the hallway. Curiosity quickly replaced the panic. You tore it open and read the elegant, blood-red lettering inside:

You are cordially invited to a Halloween party hosted by the one and only Ms. Heavybottom. Location: The School Gym Time: Midnight sharp *Come dressed to spook… or be spooked

You folded the invitation with a smirk, stuffed it into your backpack, and spent the rest of the day drifting through classes in a haze of anticipation.

Fast forward to midnight.

You’d spent the last hour wrestling with costume ideas, rejecting anything too complicated. In the end, you went with something simple, cheesy, and classic: Jason Voorhees from Friday the 13th. The worn hockey mask, a battered machete prop, and a dirtied-up boiler suit did the trick. Satisfied, you hopped into your car and drove through the quiet streets toward the school, the thrill of sneaking back onto campus after hours adding an extra edge to the night.

Pulling into the empty parking lot, you killed the engine and headed for the front doors. The moment you stepped inside, the transformation hit you. The usually sterile hallways had been turned into a haunted wonderland—orange and purple lights cast eerie glows across the walls, fake spiderwebs dripped from the ceiling, jack-o’-lanterns grinned from every corner, and long tables groaned under bowls of punch, snacks, and Halloween treats. Mini-games and photo booths were set up along the halls leading to the gym, yet… the place was completely silent. Not a single soul in sight. No music, no laughter, no footsteps.

A strange mix of excitement and unease settled in your chest. Since Ms. Heavybottom was the hostess, you decided to check her classroom first. The door was slightly ajar, warm light spilling out into the darkened hallway. You pushed it open slowly.

There she was.

Ms. Heavybottom stood near her desk in a delightfully lazy makeshift ghost costume—a sheer white bedsheet draped over her voluptuous figure, cut to hang loosely off one shoulder. The thin fabric did little to hide her exaggerated curves. As your eyes traveled downward, the real masterpiece came into view. She was holding a bucket of orange and black paint in one hand and a wide brush in the other, clearly putting the finishing touches on her outfit. Beneath the hem of the sheet she wore festive black-and-orange striped thigh-high socks that clung tightly to her thick thighs. But what stopped you dead in your tracks was her enormous, absolutely planet-sized ass—painted with incredible detail into a glowing jack-o’-lantern. The smooth, round cheeks had been transformed into a cheeky, wide-eyed pumpkin face, complete with a jagged, grinning mouth stretched across both sides and a flickering “candlelight” effect that made the whole thing look alive. Every little movement caused the painted pumpkin to jiggle hypnotically.

You stood there frozen, staring, unable to look away. The sight was absurd, ridiculous, and impossibly alluring all at once.

Ms. Heavybottom finally turned around, the sheet fluttering with the motion. Her eyes sparkled with mischievous delight as they locked onto you behind the Jason mask. A playful smirk curved her lips. “Well, well… looks like my first guest has arrived early,” she said, surprised by your arrival “What do you think of my costume?

You decided to stay after school for some extra math help. The final bell had long since rung, and the hallways were eerily quiet as the last buses rumbled away from the parking lot. With your backpack slung over one shoulder, you made your way toward Room 441, the faint echo of your footsteps the only sound accompanying you. Halfway down the corridor, you spotted Ms. Heavybottom ahead of you. You gave her a polite little wave. She returned it with a warm smile, but as you walked on, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Curiosity got the better of you. You glanced back—and immediately understood why. Even from the front, the sheer size of her enormous, rounded ass was impossible to ignore. The poor woman’s skirt looked more like a strained napkin than proper clothing, stretched taut across her massive cheeks and riding up with every sway of her hips. The fabric clung desperately, outlining every heavy, jiggling curve as she walked. You quickly snapped your head forward, face warming, trying not to stare like a complete pervert.

You reached Room 441 first, slipped inside, and took a seat near the front. A few moments later, the door clicked shut behind Ms. Heavybottom. She greeted you with that same friendly, slightly husky voice, “Hey there! Thanks for staying late. I know it’s been a long day.” She settled into her chair, pulled out a stack of worksheets, and handed you a fresh set. For the next thirty minutes, the room was quiet except for the scratch of pencils and the occasional soft creak of her chair as she shifted her considerable weight. When you finally finished, you handed them over. She graded them quickly, then looked up with a bright, approving smile and a thumbs-up. “Excellent work! You’re really getting the hang of this,” she said warmly. Then, with a playful glint in her eye, she stood up. “Hey… do you like this skirt?” Before you could answer, she turned slowly, giving you a deliberate view. The skirt was comically inadequate for her body—barely covering the lower half of her massive, shelf-like ass. The material was stretched so thin it looked one deep breath away from surrender, hugging every plump, wobbling inch.

As she posed, a pen slipped from her front shirt pocket and clattered to the floor. “Oops—dropped my pen,” she murmured, a hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. Ms. Heavybottom bent forward at the waist to retrieve it, completely unaware of the effect it would have. Her enormous ass pushed backward and downward as she reached, pressing heavily against your lap where you sat. The sheer weight and softness were overwhelming—warm, pillowy cheeks smothering your thighs and lap in a slow, inescapable squeeze. You could feel the heat radiating through the thin fabric of her skirt, the plush give of her body molding around you as she lingered for just a moment longer than necessary to grab the pen. She straightened up with a little sigh of relief, completely oblivious, and returned to her seat as if nothing had happened. The lingering warmth and pressure on your lap remained, making the air in the quiet classroom feel suddenly much thicker. external image: static1.e621.net

It was well after the final bell, and the school hallways had fallen into a hushed, echoing silence. You were the only student left in the classroom, having just finished your AP exam. With nothing else to do but wait for the dismissal bell that seemed determined to never ring, you wandered idly around the room, stretching your legs and letting your gaze drift across the familiar desks and posters. That’s when you noticed her—Ms. Heavybottom—humming a cheerful little tune under her breath as she graded papers at her desk. Her enormous, legendary rear end was perched precariously on the standard plastic chair, the poor thing visibly straining beneath her. The legs wobbled slightly, and you could hear faint, ominous cracking sounds as the seat buckled under the immense, soft weight of her massive backside. Each subtle shift of her hips sent ripples across the overflowing curves that spilled generously over every edge of the seat. “Um, Ms. Heavybottom?” you said, pointing. “I think the chair is cracking.” She blinked, paused her humming, and glanced down. With a surprised little gasp, she rose carefully, the chair letting out one final, relieved creak. She turned and inspected the damage, her monumental ass swaying heavily with the movement. “Oh my… you’re right. Thank you for letting me know, dear. That could have been embarrassing,” she said warmly, flashing you a grateful smile. She lifted the compromised chair with surprising ease and carried it out into the hallway for the janitor to handle.

A moment later she returned, dragging a sturdy wooden chair from the back of the room. It looked far more substantial than the plastic one, but you still found yourself staring in disbelief as she turned, presenting the full, breathtaking scale of her lower body. Her ass was easily ten times the volume of the seat—two colossal, perfectly rounded globes that jiggled and wobbled with every step, each cheek so thick and heavy they seemed almost impossible to support. Yet she lowered herself onto it without hesitation. The wooden frame groaned loudly in protest as her tremendous weight settled. For a tense second the chair shuddered violently, legs flexing under the overwhelming pressure of all that plush, heavy flesh. Her massive rear completely engulfed the seat, spreading outward in every direction until the wooden edges disappeared beneath deep, yielding curves. The soft, heavy cheeks spilled generously over the sides and back, nearly swallowing the chair entirely. Miraculously, it held—shaking for a few moments before finally stabilizing. Ms. Heavybottom let out a satisfied sigh, adjusting her posture with a slow, hypnotic wiggle that made her enormous backside quake and settle even more deeply. “Let the lesson begin,” she murmured to herself with a soft chuckle, turning back to her paperwork as if nothing unusual had happened. As the minutes ticked by, she occasionally glanced down at herself. Her ass was still actively overflowing the chair, the sheer volume of it dominating the entire seat and spreading outward in thick, pillowy mounds. The sight seemed to finally register with her. She reached back with both hands, sinking her fingers deep into the warm, yielding flesh, lifting and testing the impossible weight of one massive cheek before letting it drop with a heavy clap against the wood.

“Maybe… I really should do something about this,” she whispered, half to herself and half in genuine realization, still gently kneading the overflowing curve. Her voice carried a mix of amusement and reluctant awe at just how enormous her lower body had become.

The silence in the classroom during the free period was deafening. With your phone completely dead and your laptop stubbornly clinging to a slow charge across the room, boredom had fully set in. You slumped in your desk, sighed, and looked over at Ms. Heavybottom, who seemed just as disengaged. When you asked if she was bored and if she had any games you could play to pass the time, she smirked, admitting she didn’t have anything on hand but could easily invent something on the fly.

To your surprise, she stood up, walked over to the whiteboard that had been left resting flat on the classroom floor, and laid down directly on top of it. In that position, her massive rear was prominently on display. Fortunately, she was wearing panties, though the sheer scale of her curves still dominated the view. With a playful glint in her eye, she clamped a dry erase marker firmly between her teeth and began to wriggle and stretch across the slick white surface.

Using the marker in her mouth with surprisingly impressive coordination, she carefully sketched two large, bold arrows on the board, both of them pointing directly toward her enormous backside.

"If you can toss a pen right inside the target zone without missing, I’ll give you extra credit," she said, her voice slightly muffled but full of amusement as she giggled around the dry erase marker. "You get three tries."

Smirking at the sheer absurdity of the challenge, you looked around, gathered three pens from your desk, and weighed them in your hand, aiming carefully for the unusual target.

Ms. Heavybottom’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief as she smoothed out the crumpled piece of paper she had found on her desk. There, rendered in crude but undeniable detail, was a drawing of her own prominent backside. A deep, burning crimson rushed up her neck, flooding her cheeks with a mix of shock and intense embarrassment. She quickly balled the paper up in her fist, crushing it into a tight sphere, and tossed it into the wastebasket with a flustered toss. Taking a long, sharp breath, she smoothed down her outfit, forced her features into a mask of professional calm, and turned to face the room.*

With a stiff, deliberate stride, she walked over to the chalkboard. Out of sheer habit from her years in the lecture halls, she raised a piece of chalk and began writing furiously, her hips swaying slightly with the motion of her arm.

"Write this down, class, it's going to be on the test," she announced authoritatively.

The moment the words left her mouth, she froze. The realization hit her all at once, and she quickly clapped a hand over her lips, her eyes darting toward you in sudden mortification. She was not in front of a crowded lecture hall; she was in a private session, tutoring only you.

Blushing furiously for the second time in five minutes, she cleared her throat and lowered her hand, trying desperately to regain her dignity. "I mean... write this down. It will be on your upcoming exam."

You leaned forward, pen poised over your notebook, ready to copy the formulas she had just scribbled across the slate. However, as you looked closer, you realized the text was completely unreadable. In her rush to turn around and speak, her exceptionally wide hips had brushed right against the chalkboard, completely smearing the white lettering into an illegible cloud of dust.

As your eyes drifted down, you noticed a heavy coating of white chalk dust clinging to the fabric of her tight skirt, perfectly tracing the expansive curve of her rear. You wisely chose to keep your mouth shut, knowing that pointing out the mess would only shatter whatever composure she had left. Instead, your gaze lingered, utterly transfixed by the sight.

Ms. Heavybottom noticed your sudden silence and the direction of your fixated stare. Her brows knitted together in confusion.

What are you looking at, dear?" she asked, entirely oblivious to the chalk coating her backside.

As she turned slightly to get a better look at you, the sudden movement caught the fabric of her skirt on the edge of the chalk tray. With a soft snag, the hem of her skirt hitched upward, completely riding up and exposing the massive, soft contours of her jiggly rear. The sheer unexpectedness of the wardrobe malfunction left her completely exposed, the heavy dusting of chalk highlighting every curve as she stood there, still waiting for your answer.