Academy's Pervert in the D Class-Chapter 28: Ten each

Lor leaned against a dusty desk, his hazel eyes gleaming behind his messy black hair, his grin subtle but wicked.

He knew this day would come and he had this planned for a long while.

An act which had more to it than it appeared.

"Don’t forget to alternate after each slap," Lor said, voice low and theatrical. "Ten each. Make it count, or the Light won’t grant its wisdom."

"Ya Ya. now shut up." Viora snapped and nodded, gesturing for Myra to start.

Myra sighed, her skirt clinging to her curvy hips as she bent across Viora’s lap, her skirt inching up to reveal the edge of her lacy black panties, taut over her plump ass.

She braced her hands on the floor, her brown eyes flashing reluctance. "Soft, Viora. Like we agreed."

The first slap landed—a gentle pat, barely stirring Myra’s cheeks, the jiggle so faint it was more cute than sensual, her panties shifting slightly.

"One," Viora said, her voice flat, almost bored, her green hair swaying as she adjusted her grip, clearly holding back to keep her promise.

Myra stood, rubbing her thigh with a mock pout.

"My turn." Viora draped herself across Myra’s lap, her skirt hiking up to expose her red lace panties, framing her firm, round ass.

Myra’s slap was just as light, a playful tap that pinked Viora’s skin faintly, the jiggle subtle but enough to make Lor’s grin widen.

"One," Myra said, smirking, treating it like a formality to appease the Light.

They alternated, standing and bending after each slap, their skirts creeping higher with each switch to clear space for their hands.

The second and third slaps were equally soft, mere pats, their asses barely bouncing, their faces a mix of embarrassment and stifled giggles.

"This is ridiculous," Myra muttered after her third, her panties now fully visible, clinging to her curves.

Viora snorted, her skirt bunched at her hips, her red lace glowing faintly. "The Light’s probably laughing at us."

Lor watched, his hazel eyes glinting, savoring the absurdity.

They were keeping it light, their friendship holding the line—until it snapped.

On the fourth slap, Viora’s hand slipped landing a sharp crack across Myra’s ass.

The flesh rippled, a red bloom spreading fast, her black panties twisting deeper into her curves.

Myra yelped, her brown eyes wide, her thighs trembling.

"Viora, you jerk! That wasn’t soft!"

"It was an accident!" Viora protested as she looked at her hand confused, hiding a subtle grin.

Myra stood, her skirt now a crumpled ring around her waist, and bent Viora over her lap, her red lace panties barely covering her firm cheeks.

"My turn," Myra growled and raised her hand.

Her slap landing with a loud smack, Viora’s ass jiggling wildly, the red mark vivid, her panties slipping higher.

Viora gasped, her green hair whipping, her hazel eyes flashing. "You did that on purpose!"

"Now we are even." Mira said as she got ready for Viora’s turn.

But...

From there, it was war.

They forgot Lor, forgot the ritual’s purpose, their focus consumed by outslapping each other.

Myra’s next strike was a stinging thwack, Viora’s ass bouncing like jelly, her red lace twisting into a thin strip, exposing more of her reddening skin.

Viora retaliated with a harder slap, Myra’s plump cheeks rippling, her black panties nearly vanishing between her curves, her squeal a mix of pain and laughter.

"Think you’re slick?" Myra taunted, her next slap so forceful Viora’s hips bucked, her panties a tangled mess, her face contorted in a comical grimace.

By the eighth slap, their skirts were useless, bunched at their waists, panties fully exposed, their asses glowing red, each crack echoing like a firecracker.

Their thighs quivered, their breaths came in quick, angry giggles, their faces flushed with competitive fire.

"Got more?" Viora sneered, her slap making Myra’s ass jiggle so hard the chair creaked, her brown hair sticking to her sweaty forehead.

"Betcha can’t top this!" Myra shot back, her strike landing with such force Viora’s legs kicked up, her red lace barely clinging on, her hazel eyes squeezed shut in a mix of pain and absurd defiance.

Lor stood transfixed, his grin wide as sin, his hazel eyes drinking in the chaos.

The room was a cacophony of slaps, squeals, and bouncing flesh, their competitive rivalry turning the ritual into a hilarious, erotic spectacle and they don’t even realize it.

Their red, throbbing asses, the way their panties clung desperately to their curves, their oblivious battle to one-up each other—it was everything he’d hoped for and more. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

He didn’t need to say a word; they’d forgotten he was there, lost in their petty, panty-twisting war.

The tenth slap landed with a final, deafening crack from each, Viora and Myra collapsing onto the chair, panting, their skirts a crumpled afterthought, their red cheeks stinging so fiercely they winced with every twitch.

Their faces were flushed, hair disheveled, eyes glinting with exhaustion and lingering rivalry, their giggles tinged with embarrassment as they realized Lor was still watching.

Myra laughed breathlessly, rubbing her thigh.

"You hit like a damn ox!" Viora smirked, wincing as she tugged her skirt down, the fabric catching on her sore skin.

"Says the mule who tried to break me!"

Lor stepped forward, his movements slow, his voice deep and theatrical.

"The Guiding Light is pleased. Its desires are satisfied, and its wisdom will guide you."

Viora and Myra froze, their faces turning scarlet as they yanked their skirts down, the fabric scraping their bruised thighs with painful squeaks.

They hobbled to the desks Lor had set, wincing with every step, their butts stinging so badly they could barely sit.

Myra hissed as her red cheeks touched the chair, her skirt snagging on her thighs, while Viora perched gingerly, her green hair sticking to her sweaty neck, her hazel eyes darting to Lor with a mix of suspicion and grudging curiosity.

"You are now ready for the Light’s guidance. Sit. I will show you, what you need to be seen."

For a moment, neither girl moved, their faces contorted in comical pain as they tried to find a comfortable position, their butts throbbing with each shift.

Then, slowly, they leaned forward, their eyes sharp despite the sting, their skirts clinging tightly to their bruised thighs.

Their butts hurt like hell, but they didn’t speak.

For the first time, they were listening.

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