Academy's Pervert in the D Class

Morning light sat pale and even across the upper floor of Nellie’s mansion.

The house was too large for one person. Hallways held their own quiet. Rugs swallowed footsteps.

The air still carried last night’s soap and the faint sweetness of the oil she used on her hair.

Somewhere downstairs a clock marked the hour with a soft, expensive click.

Nellie stepped out of the bathroom with nothing on.

Steam followed her into the corridor and thinned against the cooler air. Her skin was still damp in places.

Water beaded along her collarbones and ran in a thin line down the centre of her chest.

Her ash brown hair clung to the back of her neck in silky wet strands.

She had left her glasses on the sink.

Without them her face looked younger and softer, the usual careful look replaced by the loose calm that only came after a long bath.

Her body was small in the shoulders and narrow through the ribs.

Her breasts were petite, round enough to hold a shape but sitting high and modest on her chest, the nipples a warm pink and already tight from the change in temperature.

The underside of each breast was smooth. When she walked they barely moved.

Below that her waist dipped in, then flared into wide, heavy hips.

Her ass was full and round, the cheeks thick enough that they touched when she stood still.

Her thighs were thick and pale, the inner skin soft, the outer lines strong from walking and from the kind of training she never talked about in class.

Between them her pussy was neat and flushed from the heat of the bath, the outer lips slightly puffy, a faint gleam of leftover water still caught there.

She hummed as she walked.

The tune had no words. It was the same aimless morning sound she made when the house was empty and she could pretend the day belonged only to her.

The humming bounced off the high ceiling and came back thinner.

Her bare feet crossed from tile to runner. Each step made her ass shift.

The heavy cheeks lifted and settled. The cleft between them showed and hid again.

The kitchen was already bright. Sunlight lay in a wide panel across the long counter and the dining table.

A chair near the table held a folded white apron, the kind meant for actual cooking, with a full front panel and strings long enough to wrap twice.

Nellie stopped in the middle of the floor, looked down at herself, and let the towel she had been holding fall.

It hit the tiles in a damp heap.

She lifted both hands and cupped her breasts.

Her palms covered them easily.

She pushed them together, then let them go, then lifted them from underneath and looked down the line of her own chest. They were still small.

The special medicine she had been taking for the past few days— the expensive, poorly labelled vial from a stall in the black market — was barely working.

The skin felt a little warmer than usual. That was all. maybe a little extra weight. No new fullness. No change she could show anyone.

She pressed her thumbs over her nipples and watched them tighten further.

"...Still the same," she murmured.

There was no anger in it. Only a small, familiar disappointment that she had already learned how to put away.

She dropped her hands, picked the apron off the chair, and stepped into it.

The white fabric settled against her bare skin.

The top edge sat low enough that the inner curves of her small breasts showed when she moved.

The cloth clung to her damp stomach.

When she tied the strings at the small of her back, the apron pulled in at her waist and left her ass completely uncovered.

The round, pale cheeks stayed out in the open.

The thick thighs stayed bare. From the front she looked almost dressed. From behind she was not dressed at all.

She turned the oven on.

Heat began to build behind the iron door with a low, steady sound.

Nellie took flour from the cupboard, then sugar, then butter from the cold box.

She set each thing on the counter in a neat line.

The humming started again.

She cracked an egg. She measured. She was reaching for the wooden spoon when the thought arrived, sudden and physical.

Her ass clenched.

The thick cheeks squeezed together under the open back of the apron. Her thighs shifted. A small, hot pulse moved through her pussy and left it wetter than the bathwater had.

Right. The tail.

Lor liked the tail.

The last time he had come for the ritual he had spent a long time on her ass. The tail, the plug. Then his attention stayed there even after he had already come once. He had watched the way the tail moved when she tried to stay still.

He had told her, without dressing it up, that he liked her like that.

Nellie wanted to be ready the next time.

She left the kitchen with the apron still on and the oven warming behind her.

Her room was dimmer.

Curtains cut the morning light into a single pale strip across the bed.

The cat ears from the last visit sat on the dresser beside a folded pair of paw gloves she had not put away.

The tail plug lay in the top drawer on a clean cloth, the base flared, the shaft smooth, the faux fur of the tail a soft dark color that went well with her hair.

Beside it was a small glass vial of clear liquid.

Nellie sat on the edge of the bed, knees apart, the apron riding up her stomach. She opened the vial, let three drops fall onto the pads of her first three fingers, and closed it again.

The liquid was slick and scentless. It warmed almost at once against her skin.

She reached behind herself.

Her index finger found the tight ring of her asshole and pressed in.

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