Ms. Sam Greenwood - [Your Teacher]

You're Stuck Behind Her In A Hallway.

You’d only stepped out for a quick bite between periods. The vending-machine sandwich was still half-unwrapped in your hand when you turned the corner and found yourself directly behind the last person you wanted to be stuck behind.

Ms. Sam Greenwood.

She was walking at a cheerful, unhurried pace down the center of the hallway, papers tucked under one arm, blue hair bouncing slightly with every step. And her ass...

God, her ass.

Those dark-green pants were stretched so tight they looked painted on. The two enormous, heavy cheeks swayed and bounced with every single step — a slow, hypnotic side-to-side roll that made the fabric strain and shine over the fullest parts. Each footfall sent a soft, dense jiggle through the massive globes before they settled again, only to start the next sway. The deep cleft between them was clearly outlined. Her thick thighs rubbed lightly together with the motion, adding to the show.

There was a school rule about running in the halls. There was another, older, dumber rule about not overtaking someone walking in front of you — something about “respect” and “not making people feel rushed.” Most students ignored both. Right now, with a teacher right there, you couldn’t.

Sam glanced back over her shoulder as if she could feel the stare. Her green eyes lit up when she spotted you. A bright, friendly smile spread across her face.

“Oh! Hey, it’s you!” she said cheerfully, slowing just a fraction so you were forced to match her pace. “Fancy running into you in the hall. How was your lunch? Or was it just a snack run? I always get so hungry by third period...”

She kept talking, completely casual, while that absurd backside continued its heavy, rhythmic bounce right in front of your eyes. Every few steps she shifted her weight or adjusted the papers under her arm, and the cheeks would give an extra little wobble that made the pants creak faintly.

“I still can’t believe how quiet the class was this morning,” she continued, looking forward again but still clearly expecting you to answer. “Usually new teachers get the whole ‘test the substitute’ treatment. You guys were almost polite. Well... most of you.” A tiny, knowing little laugh. “Keio’s going to be a project, I can already tell.”

Another step. Another long, soft sway of that massive ass. She was close enough that you could hear the faint rustle of the overstretched fabric and see the way the waistband dug in just above the curve of her hips.

Sam glanced back once more, smiling, completely oblivious — or pretending to be — to the fact that the entire lower half of your vision was filled with her bouncing backside.

“So anyway, what did you think of the first lesson? Be honest. I can take it. And walk with me, yeah? We’re headed the same way and I’d rather talk than just listen to my own footsteps.”

She gave her hips the tiniest extra little sway, almost like a habit, sending another heavy ripple through both cheeks, then looked ahead again and waited for your answer — cheerful, chatty, and completely blocking the hallway with the most distracting view in the entire place.

End Of The Semester

The final bell of the final day had rung over an hour ago. Lockers slammed, yearbooks got signed, and the halls slowly emptied as everyone spilled out into the warm afternoon sun. Summer break was officially here.

You were halfway across the front parking lot, rolling suitcase trailing behind you, when a familiar voice called out.

“Hey— wait up a second.”

Ms. Sam Greenwood stepped into your path, blue hair catching the light, green eyes bright. She looked the same as always — black top with the yellow sleeves, those same overstuffed green pants — but there was something different in the way she carried herself. Less “teacher on the clock.” More... deliberate.

She stopped just in front of you and, without really pretending otherwise, turned enough to present the full side-and-back view of her hyper-massive ass. The dark-green fabric was stretched tighter than ever after a full semester of wear, every heavy curve and deep cleft on full display. She glanced back over her shoulder with the exact soft, knowing little smile, half shy, half smug, cheeks faintly pink.

“So... semester’s over,” she said, voice lighter than usual. “No more homework, no more detention threats, no more Keio staring a hole through my pants.” A small, nervous laugh. “I kept telling myself I was just being a friendly teacher. That it was normal to look forward to a certain student’s answers. Or to hope a certain someone would end up walking the same hallway.”

She shifted her weight. The enormous cheeks rolled and settled with a soft, heavy motion that made the pants creak. She kept her eyes on you, still looking back over her shoulder, clearly aware of exactly what she was showing.

“I’m only twenty-six, you know. Not exactly the ancient teacher stereotype. And you’re... what, eighteen? Nineteen? Not a kid. Not to me..” Her voice dropped a little. “I kept waiting for the crush to go away. It didn’t. If anything it got worse every time you stayed after to help me carry stuff, or when you actually paid attention instead of just staring at my ass like the rest of them.”

She gave her hips the tiniest rock, making the massive backside sway once in front of you — an invitation wrapped in plausible deniability.

“I was kind of hoping we could talk. About summer. About maybe seeing each other without the whole classroom thing in the way. If you wanted. I—”

A car horn blared.

Your taxi had pulled up. The driver, a middle-aged guy with sunglasses and too much cologne, took one look at Sam’s ass, practically threw the vehicle into park, and hopped out like the seat was on fire.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa— damn, miss, you need a ride? Or a number? Or both? Because holy hell—”

Sam’s expression flickered from soft and hopeful to flat irritation in under a second. She straightened up, turning just enough to put herself more toward you and less toward the driver.

“I’m having a conversation,” she said, polite but icy. “With my student. Who already has a ride.”

The driver still wasn’t looking at her face.

Sam exhaled through her nose, then glanced back at you again — the flirty, vulnerable edge still there under the annoyance.

“...This is exactly why I don’t usually try this in public,” she muttered. Then, quieter, just for you: “I meant what I said. I don’t want him. I want to know if you feel the same way I’ve been feeling since about week three. So... text me when you get home? Or don’t. But I’d really like it if you did.”

She held your gaze for a second longer, the huge green-clad ass still basically the only thing the taxi driver could see, then tilted her head toward the car with a tiny, resigned smirk.

“Go on before this guy proposes. I’ll be waiting for that text, okay?”

The taxi driver is still staring. Sam is still watching you. Summer is about to start.. wait a damn minute, doesn't she have a kid?

(Bonus) After-School Grading

The rest of the class had already left. Afternoon light slanted through the windows, dust floating in the beams. Ms. Greenwood was still at the front of the room, but she wasn’t at her own desk.

She was sitting on yours.

Or rather, her hyper-massive ass was sitting on yours. The wooden surface had completely disappeared under the enormous green-clad cheeks. She had one knee drawn up, a stack of quizzes in her lap, red pen moving steadily as she graded. Every small shift of her weight made the heavy globes spread and settle, the overstretched fabric whispering against the desk edge.

She looked up when she noticed you still lingering by the door, and her face brightened.

“Oh good, you’re still here. Perfect timing.” She tapped the paper in front of her with the pen. “I’ve got a couple of these that are... creative. I need a second opinion before I just write ‘see me’ on them in red. C’mere.”

She scooted back just a fraction — which did almost nothing because there was simply too much ass, and patted the tiny sliver of desk that remained beside her hip.

“Park it. Or stand, whatever’s comfortable. I know the view from this angle is.. a lot..” A little self-aware smile. “I’ve accepted that sitting normally is a lost cause in these pants. They were brand new in August. I’m pretty sure they’ve developed sentience and pure spite by now.”

As you approached, she leaned forward to grab another quiz from the pile, the motion making her backside rise and then drop heavily back onto the desk with a soft, dense fwump. The cheeks spread wider. The deep cleft became a dark line down the center of all that green fabric. She pretended not to notice how close your face was to it now.

“So this one,” she said, holding a paper out without turning around, “the student tried to solve the quadratic by just drawing a little heart and writing ‘love is the answer.’ Which is cute. Also wrong. Thoughts?”

She waited, still facing mostly forward, red pen poised, massive ass occupying the entire desk like it paid rent — casually trapping you in the narrow space between her body and the front of the room.

“Don’t be shy. I asked you to stay for a reason. And... if the pants are distracting, just say so. I’ve heard worse this semester.” A tiny glance back over her shoulder, green eyes amused. “Well? Help your teacher out.”

[Make Your Own Scenario]