Academy's Pervert in the D Class-Chapter 98: After the Mom

"Correct again," Kiara said through gritted teeth, her nails digging into her palms under the table.

Lor leaned over, whispering so only Kiara could hear, his breath hot against her ear. "She’s enjoying this way too much."

"She thinks she’s smarter than both of us, let her have it," Kiara whispered back.

"Don’t mumble," Mira said sweetly, sipping her tea, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Speak up. I want to learn subtraction too."

Kiara forced a smile, her fingers twitching as she continued, her body tense with the effort to maintain the facade.

They went on—fives and sevens, twos and nines—and every time Kiara posed the question to Lor, Mira answered first, her soft voice eager, fingers already curled or raised in anticipation, her plump figure swaying slightly as she leaned into the game.

Lor eventually dropped his head in his hands, groaning.

Kiara just muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible, but not for Lor, "You know, I think I’d rather suck your cock again than go through another ten-minute round of subtraction with your mother showing off."

Lor coughed, violently, his cheeks flaring red as he choked on air, his cock twitching hard at her words.

Mira tilted her head, her smile innocent but sharp. "Did you say something, dear?"

"Just that Lor’s subtraction needs... serious oral focus," Kiara said without flinching, her icy blue eyes glinting with wicked amusement, her thighs pressing together under her skirt as she fought a smirk.

Lor’s eyes widened, his heart racing, torn between horror and laughter.

Mira just nodded, sipping her tea, her smile unwavering. "You’re a wonderful teacher, Kiara. This is so fun."

"Thank you ma’am" Kiara replied with a subtle smile.

Lor gave her a helpless look, his hazel eyes pleading for escape, but the cookies between them remained untouched, growing colder by the second, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on.

.

By the time Kiara stood up and brushed the creases from her skirt, the awkward tension in the room had mellowed into something warmer—absurdly domestic, even, the cinnamon-sweet air blending with the fading musk of their earlier acts.

Mira smiled, collecting the plates and cookie tray with a cheerful hum, her plump figure swaying as she moved, her long black hair catching the lantern light like a soft halo.

Kiara gathered her bag, moving toward the main door of the house, the wooden floor creaking softly under their steps.

"You’ll come again, right?" Mira asked, pausing near the door with a small cloth pouch in hand, her kind eyes twinkling with a mix of warmth and mischief.

Kiara blinked, then smiled—a real one, shy at the edges, her sharp edges softened in the glow of Mira’s maternal warmth.

"If Lor needs more math help... definitely." Her voice was smooth, but her icy blue eyes flicked to Lor, a hint of their earlier heat lingering beneath the politeness.

"Good," Mira said, pressing the pouch into Kiara’s hands, her fingers brushing the younger woman’s for a fleeting second. "Here, a few cookies. For the walk back."

Kiara accepted them, her cheeks warming slightly, the black lace of her skirt shifting as she adjusted her stance. "Thank you, Miss Vayne."

"Take care, dear."

Kiara gave Lor a sideways glance, the heat from earlier softened into something else—a twitch of fondness, maybe, or the ghost of their shared secrets.

She turned, stepped out into the cool night air, her silhouette swallowed by the quiet street beyond, the wind chimes tinkling faintly behind her.

Mira watched the door for a moment longer, then turned to Lor with an unreadable smile.

"She’s a good girl," she said lightly, her voice warm but knowing. "Looks a little sour on the outside—sharp, like a blade—but she’s good."

Lor nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, his hazel eyes drifting to the floor. "Yeah," he murmured. "She is."

Mira reached out and patted his cheek once, her touch gentle but firm, then turned toward the kitchen, her hips swaying slightly.

"Dinner will be ready soon. Go take a bath. And your father will be home any minute."

"Right," Lor said, already heading back toward his room.

Mira moved to the kitchen, humming a soft tune, her heart light with a quiet joy.

She felt radiant today, the warmth of the evening settling in her bones.

Elen would be home soon, and with this mood, he might just get a reward later that night—a private, intimate one, she thought with a sly smile, her hands already busy prepping dinner.

Lor kicked the door shut behind him, stretching his arms out as he crossed the room, the heat of Kiara still lingering in the air—or maybe it was just in his blood, her taste, her moans, the slick feel of her pussy still vivid in his mind.

He needed the bath.

No amount of steam-cleansing was going to replace real water now, not after the mess they’d made.

He pulled open the wardrobe door, grabbing his towel from the middle shelf, the fabric soft and worn.

And then—

Something fluttered.

Soft. Black. Lacy.

It hit the wooden floor like a velvet whisper, delicate and unmistakable.

Lor stared.

Kiara’s panties.

Still faintly warm from her body, the very same pair he’d slid off her earlier—black lace, the edges intricate, the crotch glistening faintly where her slick had soaked through, the musky scent of her arousal sharp and intoxicating, filling his senses like a forbidden spell.

When did she?

He stood there for a second, just breathing, his cock stirring faintly in his pants.

Goddamn.

Is Kiara the best girl or what?

He crouched, fingers brushing the lace with a reverence usually reserved for relics.

He brought them to his face without hesitation, pressing the soaked patch over his nose, inhaling deep—his eyes fluttering shut, jaw clenching as the scent of her filled his head like smoke.

Musky, sweet, filthy.

Her pussy on fabric.

Her essence, bold and unmistakable.

"Fuck me..." he breathed, voice thick, drunk on her.

He didn’t smile.

He growled—a low rumble of hunger curling in his chest—and tossed the towel over his shoulder.

Still holding the panties to his face, he stood and walked toward the bathroom, fist tightening around the damp lace like it was his tether to her.

He didn’t want to stash them.

He wanted them with him.

In the heat.

In the steam.

Against his cock while he remembered the way her moans sounded with his tongue in her, the way she swallowed him, how her thighs had trembled when she came against his face.

By the time he stepped into the bathroom and locked the door, his pants were already unzipped, and the lace was still pressed to his mouth.