Academy's Pervert in the D Class-Chapter 29: perched

The wooden floor groaned under Lor’s boot as he shoved an old desk to the center of the abandoned classroom.

Dust swirled in golden shafts of light piercing the cracked windows, settling like a faint magical haze.

Viora and Myra perched gingerly on their chairs, their skirts rumpled, their curvy thighs trembling slightly from the absurd spanking ritual.

Their faces, flushed from exertion and embarrassment, wore twin expressions of wary irritation and stubborn pride, their red cheeks still stinging beneath their tight uniforms, making every shift a wince-inducing ordeal.

Lor stood before them, his black hair falling messily over his hazel eyes, his grin subtle but smug.

He closed his eyes slowly, his breath evening out, taking on an almost theatrical gravitas.

When he opened them, his gaze seemed distant, as if the Guiding Light itself peered through him.

"The Light is pleased," he intoned, his voice low and reverent, trembling with feigned strain.

"Its desires satisfied, its wisdom will now flow through me... to you."

Viora and Myra exchanged skeptical glances, Myra hissing as she adjusted her position, her skirt snagging on her sore thighs.

"This better be worth the bruises, creep, else I am beating you to a pulp right here. No mercy.," she muttered, her brown eyes narrowing, her brown hair sticking to her sweaty neck.

"Close your eyes," Lor said, his tone firm but laced with amusement. "Breathe. Let the Light see your flaws."

They obeyed, reluctantly, their curvy figures tensing.

Viora’s green hair swayed slightly, her blouse straining over her busty chest, while Myra’s skirt rode up to air her stinging ass cheeks, flashing a glimpse of her black lace panties as she squirmed.

Lor began pacing, his steps deliberate, his voice dropping to a whispery chant, as if possessed.

"Magic isn’t brute force. It’s rhythm. Precision. You fling mana like you’re tossing mud at a wall, hoping it sticks. It doesn’t. Control is about restraint, about feeling the flow."

He smirked, knowing his knowledge made their spell-casting flaws childishly obvious, but he dressed it up in the Light’s mystical guise.

Myra cracked one eye open, her lips twitching. "You sound like you’re summoning a succubus, not teaching us."

"I am," Lor replied, his voice hollow, eyes wide with mock intensity. "The Light is ancient, fickle. It demands pleasure and grants wisdom in return. You pleased it—now it speaks through me."

Viora snorted, wincing as she shifted, her red lace panties peeking out as her skirt bunched higher. "Get on with it, then."

Lor plucked a small chalk bead from the floor, no bigger than a cherry, and tossed it into the air.

With a flick of his wrist, a thin red arc of heat—precise, controlled, far beyond Class D’s expectations—shot from his finger, striking the bead midair.

It flew with a loud thock, embedding into the blackboard, leaving a smoldering dent.

The girls’ eyes widened, their sore butts forgotten for a moment.

"Your wrists are stiff, your mana’s sloppy," Lor murmured, stepping close to Viora, his voice almost hypnotic.

"Sit straight, like you’re balancing a crown. Shoulders back." He brushed her arm lightly, his fingers grazing the warmth of her skin through her blouse, making her flinch.

"Hold this." He pressed a chalk bead into her hand, his touch lingering just long enough to make her blush., "Now you try."

Viora inhaled, her green hair swaying, her busty chest rising under her tight blouse.

She muttered an incantation, her hand trembling.

The bead fizzled, then flared too brightly, blooming like a torch before vanishing in a puff of chalk dust.

She cursed, her skirt shifting to reveal more of her red lace as she squirmed in pain.

"Too much mana," Lor said, leaning closer, his breath brushing her ear. "Channel from your core, not your palm. Feel it here." His hand hovered over her stomach, not touching but close enough to make her tense.

"Again."

Viora tried again, her thighs pressing together, her sore ass stinging as she adjusted her posture.

The bead glowed, a tighter, controlled pulse this time, holding for a fleeting second before fading.

Her hazel eyes widened, a spark of awe breaking through her skepticism.

"It... worked," she muttered, her voice soft, her blouse straining as she leaned forward.

Myra scoffed, arms crossed, her skirt hiked up to expose her black lace panties, her curvy thighs twitching.

"What, she’s been practicing behind my back?"

"No," Viora snapped, wincing as she shifted, her red cheeks throbbing. "I’m listening to the perv."

Lor turned to Myra, his grin sharpening, his posture slouching casually.

"Your turn, Myra. No tantrums. Lift your wrist higher, like you’re threading a needle, not smashing a rock." He tossed her a bead, his hazel eyes glinting as she caught it, her fingers trembling slightly, her skirt snagging on her sore thighs.

Myra muttered an incantation, her brown eyes narrowing in focus.

Her flame sputtered, then flared weakly, the bead glowing faintly before popping with a sad fizz.

She growled, her curvy figure tensing, her blouse accentuating her bust as she leaned forward. "This is stupid."

"Breathe," Lor said, his voice deeper, stepping behind her. "Let the mana flow through your spine, not your chest. It’s rhythm, not rage."

He placed a hand lightly on her lower back, guiding her posture, the warmth of his touch making her flinch, her sore ass stinging as she straightened.

"Try again."

Myra inhaled, her brown hair sticking to her sweaty forehead, her skirt riding higher as she shifted.

The bead flickered, then glowed steadily, not bright but whole, holding for three seconds before dimming.

Her jaw dropped, her eyes staring at the bead like it had whispered a secret.

"Holy crap," she breathed, her thighs trembling, her panties flashing as she squirmed in her seat.

Lor stepped back, his grin wide but controlled, savoring their progress.

He’d used basic mana control techniques from his Earth knowledge of light novels which worked here perfectly—visualization, posture, breath—dressed up as the Light’s wisdom, and it was working.

Their sore butts, red and throbbing from their competitive spanking war, only heightened their focus, grounding them in a way their pride never could.

After practicing until they got exhausted,

The girls hobbled out of the classroom, their footsteps uneven, their skirts swishing.

They were quiet, not from shame but from something new—a flicker of belief in the Light’s power.

Their butts stung like hell, but their eyes were sharp, their minds buzzing with the feel of controlled mana.

Lor lingered behind, staring at the smoldering dent in the blackboard where his bead had struck.

He let out a slow, satisfied breath, the mana pendant from Nellie pulsing warmly in his pocket.

Outside, the afternoon sun dipped behind the academy towers, casting long shadows across the training field.

He didn’t smile.

He didn’t need to.

The Light was spreading.

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