Academy's Pervert in the D Class

The stone armor released all at once.

It crumbled.

The plates separated cleanly at every joint and dropped to the wet dungeon floor in a cascade of heavy clanks, scattering across the stone around his feet.

Lor rolled his shoulders, free again, the dungeon air cool against his bare skin after the sealed heat of the armor.

Sweat cooled along the lines of his back and chest. He looked down at Aurora.

Still face-down on the wet floor. Silver hair spread around her like spilled moonlight, soaking up the shallow water.

Not moving.

The rise and fall of her back was slow, deep. Unconscious.

He crouched, hooked a hand under her arm, and dragged her across the floor toward the far wall — the one furthest from the doors, solid and thick, older stone than the rest.

She was heavier than she looked.

Or perhaps just more resistant, even unconscious.

Her body scraped wetly across the stone, the sound soft and continuous.

Her silver braid trailed behind her, unravelling strand by strand.

He set her down carefully against the wall and began to strip her.

First the boots.

He unbuckled them with care, fingers brushing the slender arches of her feet as he eased the leather free, revealing the pale curve of her ankles and the soft underside of her toes.

Next the pants.

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband and peeled them down over the swell of her hips.

The material resisted for a moment, stuck to the damp skin, then yielded — revealing the long, elegant lines of her legs, the soft inner thighs, the full, heart-shaped curve of her ass barely covered by dark lace panties that were already darkened with water.

The cheeks were firm yet plush, the kind that would bounce under a firm hand. He took his time sliding the pants the rest of the way off, letting his palms graze the backs of her thighs as the fabric came free.

Then the corset.

It was laced tightly, moulding her already dramatic figure into something even more exaggerated.

He worked the ties loose one by one.

Each release made her torso expand a little more, the heavy weight of her breasts settling lower, the deep valley of her cleavage softening as the rigid structure gave way.

When the last lace slipped free he peeled the corset open and off, and her breasts spilled free into the support of a sheer, almost translucent bra.

The cups were strained, the soft, pale flesh overflowing the edges, nipples already faintly visible through the wet fabric — light pink, peaked, and tight from the cool air.

They were large, heavy, perfectly rounded, the kind that would fill and overflow a man’s hands.

The underboob was soft and smooth, the skin there unmarked and sensitive-looking.

Her waist was narrow, the soft plane of her stomach rising and falling with each unconscious breath, leading down to the delicate dip of her navel and the high cut of those lace panties that barely covered the soft mound between her thighs.

He propped her against the wall, arranging her carefully so her silver hair framed her face and the full weight of her breasts settled forward.

Then he put both hands flat against the stone surface behind her.

His hands glowed with magic.

The wall responded — slow at first, then with increasing certainty, tendrils of stone pushing outward from the surface like fingers uncurling.

They wrapped around her wrists first, drawing her arms out to the sides and sealing them against the wall in thick, smooth cuffs.

More stone rose and curled around her ankles, lifting her legs high, folding them up and back until her knees were nearly past her shoulders, thighs forced wide apart.

The stone sealed her ankles to the wall above her head, locking her into a deep, exposed fold.

Her hips were tilted upward, the soft, lace-covered mound of her pussy pushed forward and open, the thin fabric stretched taut across her folds.

Her heavy breasts rested high on her chest from the angle, the soft undersides fully visible, nipples pressing hard against the sheer bra.

Completely at the mercy of a Class D student in her own dungeon — legs over her head, ass and tits shamelessly presented, arms pinned wide.

He stepped back and looked at his work.

Aurora on the wall in that erotic position, silver hair cascading, body gleaming faintly with residual water, every soft curve forced into perfect display.

He waited.

Nothing happened for a while.

Lor waited for her to regain consciousness so that he could start teasing her.

But the resistance only lasted a few seconds.

His fingers trailed lightly over the soft underside of one breast, circling the heavy weight without quite touching the nipple.

He cupped the other, testing its softness, feeling the way the flesh yielded and spilled between his fingers even through the bra.

He traced the edge of her panties where they dug into the soft flesh of her hips, then ran a single fingertip along the stretched lace covering her pussy, feeling the faint heat and the way the fabric was already slightly damp.

He pinched the soft inner thigh, then the outer curve of her ass where it was pressed against the stone.

Slow, unhurried touches. Exploring. Claiming the map of her body while she was still under.

The candles burned.

The shallow water on the floor reflected their light in small, shifting patterns.

The dissolving remnants of the bone sword had completely vanished.

"!!#"

Then Aurora made a sound — a short breath.

Her head moved. Her eyes opened slowly, then more quickly as the situation assembled itself.

She looked at the stone around her wrists. Then at the wall behind her.

Then at Lor, standing in front of her with his hands in his pockets.

And then at her legs forced high above her head, her stripped form, the way her heavy breasts sat full and exposed in the sheer bra, the way her lace-covered pussy was presented and spread open by the angle of her thighs.

He could see confusion, then surprise, then anger in her face.

Her eyes shot daggers at him.

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