Academy's Pervert in the D Class-Chapter 67: messier

She did—faster, clumsier, desperate now—the oil coating her palms made her slick and clumsy, but her breasts clung to him perfectly.

Flesh slapped flesh with every frantic glide, wet and obscene, each squish a staccato echo in the silent room.

Her breasts bounced, slippery and eager, trapping his cock in a tight, gliding prison of heat.

Her glasses slipped halfway down her nose, barely clinging on.

Strands of hair clung to her damp cheeks, sweat and oil tangling them in a wild frame.

Lor’s voice cracked like thunder. "I’m—co—coming—!"

His hips jerked violently.

The first blast hit her chin like a slap, thick and scalding.

The next streaked across her cheek, cutting through a lock of hair.

Another strand of cum splattered her glasses, fogging the lens, and the last landed square above her breasts, high on her collarbone, a slow-dripping pearl.

She froze, breasts still wrapped around him, cock twitching between them, cum painting her like ritual.

Her eyes wide behind the smeared lenses, fog and seed distorting her stunned expression.

Her lips parted in a breath she forgot to take, the moment held in amber.

Warm seed slid in slow, viscous trails across her skin.

One rivulet traced a glistening line between her breasts, pooling in the hollow where her ribs met.

Sunlight from the window hit it like liquid gold.

Silvia blinked again—slow, dazed, lips trembling like they wanted to form a word but forgot how.

"Oh my..." Silvia whispered, her voice soft, trembling, as she sat frozen.

Shining cum streaking her chin, cheek, and glasses, a warm droplet sliding down her collarbone.

Her auburn hair clung to her flushed cheeks, her full breasts still bare, glistening with oil in the morning sunlight streaming through the window.

Lor’s breathing slowed, a beat of silence broken only by the chirp of a bird outside the window.

Post-nut clarity hit like divine lightning, guilt flooding his chest.

"I—I’m so sorry, Miss Silvia!" he blurted, hazel eyes wide with panic as he stared at the streaks on her face and chest.

"I didn’t mean to—right on your face—I should’ve warned you. I didn’t think—" His voice cracked, respectful but frantic. "You were just... so beautiful... so hot, and your breasts are amazing, and it felt too good—I didn’t think I’d... I mean..."

Silvia, cheeks flushed but oddly composed, gave a small smile, her glasses fogged and streaked.

"It’s alright, Lor," she murmured, voice gentle. "You’re young. And honest."

She took the damp bath towel he fumbled toward her with trembling hands, her fingers brushing his, warm and steady.

Lor watched, heart pounding, as she dabbed at her cheeks, then wiped her breasts with slow, graceful motions, lifting the soft weight of each mound to clean the lingering cum.

Her nipples, still faintly stiff, gleamed in the sunlight, her skin flushed with a mix of embarrassment and resolve.

His cock twitched faintly, the sight searing into his mind, but he kept his gaze respectful, fighting the urge to stare.

He grabbed a second towel, stepping closer, voice soft, reverent.

"Let me... help." He hesitated, waiting for her nod.

She blinked but didn’t stop him, her breath catching as he brought the cloth to her left breast, wiping gently—first the upper curve, then around the areola, avoiding too much pressure.

He treated her like something sacred, his touch careful, respectful.

He moved to her shoulder, brushing strands of auburn hair aside, wiping the edge of her glasses where droplets clung.

The intimacy was quiet, sincere, no longer sexual but... heavy with connection.

Who is he kidding, it was still sexual.

He adjusted the bridge of her glasses with his knuckle, his hazel eyes meeting hers briefly, a shy smile flickering.

Silvia pulled her bra back on, the pale pink lace hugging her freshly dried skin, then buttoned her blouse with a sharp tug, clearing her throat.

Lor yanked up his trousers, face still sheepish, his cock refusing to soften yet, heat lingering in his core.

After a moment of heavy silence.

Silvia spoke, voice soft. "Do you think... the Light was pleased?"

Lor’s eyes fluttered shut, chest rising with a deep breath.

When they opened, they glowed with golden light, deep and ancient, his posture shifting—regal, divine, a sacred force borrowing his body.

"The Light was pleased," he intoned, voice low, serene, resonating with celestial authority.

"You offered your vulnerability with sincerity. That is all it ever demands. In return, it offers guidance."

Silvia froze, her lips parting, glasses glinting in the sunlight, her breasts rising with a shaky breath.

Lor stepped forward, his presence pressing like a divine weight, the air tingling with his power.

"Miss Silvia," he continued, "you lack one thing—command presence. Your voice. Your stance. You must own the space, not apologize for it."

He gestured to a small stool, voice firm but kind.

"Sit."

She obeyed, almost instinctively, her skirt riding high, lace peeking as she settled.

Lor walked across the room, turning sharply to face her, his stance radiating conviction.

"Speak from your diaphragm, not your throat. Project, but do not shout. Let your students feel the certainty in your words, not just the meaning."

To demonstrate, he repeated one of her lecture lines, his voice clear, strong, rhythmic—transformed from her hesitant delivery into something commanding.

"Try it," he urged, eyes glowing faintly.

Silvia repeated the line, voice wavering.

Lor stepped closer, respectful but firm.

"Lift your chin. Loosen your shoulders. Breathe from here." His hand hovered below her sternum, guiding her to breathe deep, his touch light, reverent, avoiding her breasts.

She tried again, her voice ringing stronger, surprising herself, her glasses slipping slightly as she straightened.

Lor nodded, a faint smile breaking through his divine mask.

"Respect is not demanded. It is projected. Be the teacher you’d fear disappointing. That is how you reach them."

Silvia swallowed, emotion thick in her throat, her eyes glistening.

"I... I never imagined—"

He raised a hand, gentle, cutting her off.

"For now, just remember this. The Light watches those who try. Those who fail honestly are closer to grace than those who never dare." His voice softened, the divine weight lifting.

His eyes fluttered, the glow fading, and he stumbled slightly, rubbing his forehead.

"What just happened?" he mumbled, voice boyish again, the awkward Class D student returning. frёewebηovel.cѳm

Silvia stood, blouse neatly fixed, her posture taller, voice steadier.

She gave a small, almost reverent smile.

"I think," she said, eyes warm behind her glasses, "you just became my favorite student."

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