Academy's Pervert in the D Class
Chapter 83: spell order breakdowns

Chapter 83: spell order breakdowns

"What happens if you mix Fire and Water?"

It makes Steam. Too unstable for control.

"What spell do you use to dry wet shoes?"

Mini Flame.

"What color is Wind when channeled wrong?"

It turns white and howls loudly.

"What element is best for digging?"

Earth. With both hands and one word.

Lor sighed.

Even the questions about control were basic.

"How do you stop a floating rock?"

Say stop. Or slap it. Either works.

In just under two minutes, both homework sets were complete.

Math, spells, elemental theory—all scribbled down in Lor’s neat, controlled hand.

He closed both notebooks softly.

And smiled.

And that meant...

His eyes flicked to the door, the silver glow fading as he dropped the act.

He stood slowly, quietly, his heart picking up pace.

Then he moved—silent as a shadow—across the floor to crouch by the bathroom’s door.

His hand raised, fingers twitching with practiced focus.

He whispered the incantation under his breath, his mana tracing a small silver-blue glyph over the door’s brass keyhole.

Water Lens

A single, perfect droplet of water formed inside the lock—weightless, suspended.

It shimmered for a second, then stilled, rounding into a convex shape under the invisible threads of magic.

Lor leaned in, one eye to the hole, light bending through the watery lens.

The water lens pulsing gently with mana as it refracted the scene within—every drop of moisture on Eva’s thighs, every tremble in her hands captured with crystal detail.

Eva sat sideways on the edge of the bath, her blouse wrinkled and barely clinging to her shoulders, bra half-loosened from her rush.

Her skirt were long gone, kicked somewhere behind her in a rumpled heap.

One knee propped up against the tiled rim, her leg splayed wide open, exposing everything—her blue lace panties shoved aside, her pussy glistening with slick arousal, folds flushed and swollen, lips parted in desperate invitation.

She was soaked, her inner thighs slick with her own juices, dripping down to pool on the cool tile beneath her.

Her right hand worked between her thighs in slow, rhythmic motions—two fingers plunging deep inside her, curling against that sensitive spot with each thrust, pulling out with wet, obscene sounds that echoed softly in the small room.

Her palm ground against her clit in tight, frantic circles, hips jerking at every stroke, her plump thighs quivering with the building tension.

Her left hand gripped the towel rack like an anchor, knuckles white, as if the pleasure threatened to sweep her away.

She was panting, her chest heaving under the half-open blouse, full breasts straining against the fabric, nipples still hard and sensitive from Lor’s earlier worship.

Her eyes were closed, mouth slack, breath catching with every curl of her fingers inside her, every grind against her palm.

"L-Lor..." she gasped softly, her voice a breathless whisper, hips twitching upward as if chasing his touch. "Loe... god... more... please..."

Lor stared, unmoving, his cock hard and throbbing against his trousers, pulse hammering in his neck like a war drum.

Every breath she let out, every slick slide of her fingers, sent a new pulse of heat through his groin, his body aching to burst in and claim her.

He palmed himself subtly through his pants, biting back a groan, the risk making his arousal sharper, more intoxicating.

Then he heard it.

A creak.

From downstairs.

He froze, heart thudding as the sound grew clearer—the familiar light patter of bare heels on wood.

Mira.

His mother.

Moving in and out of the kitchen, her steps passing through the hallway—then fading toward the master bedroom.

Then coming back again.

She was pacing, tidying, doing her usual evening routine, humming faintly under her breath.

Right by the stairs.

Right by the bathroom.

Just a few feet and stairs from where Lor knelt, spying through a keyhole, his cock twitching with forbidden arousal, mana glowing faintly on the lock.

Inside, Eva’s fingers quickened, plunging deeper, her palm rubbing harder against her clit.

Her hips rocked, thighs tense and shaking, ass grinding slightly against the tile as she chased her peak.

She arched, back curving, lips parting wider now as her pleasure grew sharper, a soft whine escaping her throat.

Lor swallowed hard, his free hand steadying himself against the doorframe.

The danger made it worse.

Better.

His mother could come up the stairs at any second—call his name for snacks, knock on the door to check on them, see the faint glow of magic on the lock if she looked close.

Could hear Eva’s breathless moans through the thin wood if she got too near.

But Lor didn’t pull away.

Couldn’t.

His eye stayed glued to the lens, watching Eva finger herself harder—faster, her pussy clenching around her fingers, slick sounds growing louder, more desperate.

Her breasts bounced slightly with each rock of her hips, her face twisted in ecstasy, mouth open in silent pleas.

She was close.

So close.

Her body tensed, thighs quaking, fingers burying deep one last time as her climax built—

And outside, Mira’s footsteps creaked again—this time moving closer to the stairs, her humming growing louder.

Lor didn’t breathe.

Eva moaned—a soft, needy cry that nearly shattered the silence.

And kept going.

.

.

.

The quiet shuffle of feet drifted away from the stairs.

Lor held his breath, still crouched at the bathroom keyhole, his eye glued to the suspended droplet of water refracting the perfect view.

His cock strained painfully against his pants, every throb a reminder of the forbidden thrill, but he forced himself still, listening.

Mira’s going to the kitchen.

He exhaled slowly, relief washing over him—but it didn’t last, evaporating like mist as the scene inside pulled him back in.

Eva gasped sharply and jerked forward, her heel slipping against the wet edge of the tub.

She caught herself before tumbling, but her rhythm shattered.

Her fingers stilled, body twitching, breath caught between a moan and a frustrated sigh, her pussy clenching around nothing as the edge slipped away.

She hadn’t come. Not yet.