To the Private Research Lab.
Back in my dorm room, I locked the door twice, then three times over, leaned back against the bed, and stared at my mana communicator's screen.
"I wonder when she'll send it~"
[ Origin-tracing spell detected. ]
[ Tracing spell completely neutralized by security systems. ]
A short notice flickered to life at the top of the screen, then faded away.
"Heh heh."
A laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it.
True to form for a great archmage, she'd apparently tried to trace the sender the moment the message landed. But no matter how brilliant a 6th-circle genius she was, both my account and the Spank-Bank Gallery were anchored by a 7th-circle Transcendental Ward — a spatial distortion barrier forged with every last scrap of my knowledge and power.
Even a prodigy like Elena couldn't crack an independent server slathered in every security spell known to man.
Please do hurry and send it, Professor — I'm simply dying of anticipation over here.
I checked the clock in one-minute increments.
Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty.
The communicator stayed silent.
Perhaps it was the petty pride of an imperial noble, the Empire's finest elite. The video didn't arrive right away — but that was exactly why I believed it would.
Someone like Elena would never stand to watch the honor and status she'd clawed for get slammed into the gutter overnight.
Exactly forty-seven minutes.
That was how long it took for Elena to snap her petty pride in half and submit to me.
[ Inbox : 1 file has arrived. ]
The instant the message chime rang, the corners of my mouth curled upward.
Without a shred of hesitation, I ran the file with administrator privileges.
Playing across the screen was the large bathroom mirror I'd seen that day.
The beauty staring straight into the mana communicator's lens was Professor Elena — completely naked, without a single thread on her.
Sky-blue hair spilled down over her porcelain-pale collarbone and shoulders, and her golden eyes, usually brimming with charisma, were drowning in shame. And that gaze was fixed on the camera lens.
The faint crimson flush rising on her face stoked my lust even hotter.
Worse, her plush, heavy tits swayed with a thick, lewd wobble every time she drew a ragged breath.
Elena clenched her jaw and forced her lips apart.
"I, I am......"
Somehow, her voice came out drenched and wavering.
The haughty, frost-cold voice of the daytime Ice Witch was nowhere to be found.
"Every night… I jam my… pus…sy… a b…itch in heat… who belongs… to M-Master… and no one else…."
But a lukewarm surrender like that wasn't going to satisfy me.
I fired the message off — and how long did it take this time? It couldn't have been even five minutes.
Slender white fingers pressed down and squeezed at her enormous breasts, kneading them hard.
Her pink, fever-flushed nipples slipped out from between her fingers. Her other hand, trembling faintly, crept downward and began rubbing the plump folds of her snow-white pussy, still utterly smooth and hairless.
"Hah……♡ I, I am…… every night, finger-fucking my pussy…… ngh, a bitch in heat……."
Every time her fingers swept over her clit, Elena's body flinched a little harder. Snow-white cheeks dyed scarlet with shame, the debased spectacle of her groping her own chest — together they made her look like a bitch in rut, through and through.
"Master's very own…… mnnngh♡, bitch…… I am……."
Hah…… fuck, I'm losing my mind.
"Goddamn bitch…."
My lower half swelled up like it was about to burst.
I wanted to drain the pipe right that second, but I didn't act on it.
Sure, watching fap material is always nice — but I was sitting in a position where, played right, I could rail Elena herself. Or anyone. Jerking off alone right now was the kind of thing only a brainless moron would do.
It would be a waste of precious cum, plain and simple.
Those plump pink nipples and that slick-drenched pussy would have to take my cock rammed deep inside them sooner or later, so I could taste and ruin the real thing firsthand. Until then, my precious little sperm recruits were staying safely banked, every last one.
Eventually, I picked the mana communicator back up.
No matter how many rut-crazed sucker bastards came hauling money to my door, one principle never changed.
On the Spank-Bank Gallery, every beauty's bare body was for my eyes alone.
Without hesitation, I uploaded the video on the spot.
A dense fog of light draped over the upper half of her face, her chest, and the valley between her legs. What remained was her obscene silhouette and that wet, whimpering nasal moan — and even that had a light voice modulator laid over it.
The moment the post went live, the gallery broke out into an outright riot.
Nothing but beasts in heat filled the comment section.
Right — in this backward fantasy world, stimulation like this had to be rare as hell.
Yes. This was dopamine. This was what sex was.
And the fappers' excitement converted straight into cold, hard money flowing to me.
Enormous wealth came pouring in without a second's pause.
I stared at the astronomical figures floating in the air, and laughter spilled out of me faster than I could hold it back.
Power? Status?
In this world soaked to the bone in capitalism, money is strength. That mountain of capital those rutting swine threw at my feet would become both the spear and the shield that raised my power higher.
The Academy's main lecture hall.
Professor Elena stood before the lectern in her usual flawless form.
A navy uniform fastened without a single gap all the way to her throat. A skirt without one wrinkle. Even her sky-blue hair, wound up immaculately, not a strand astray.
Of the woman who'd stood before a mirror last night, wringing her own tits and panting out a confession that she was a bitch in heat, there was no trace whatsoever.
Elena ran the class as she always did, gazing down at her students with those cold, glacial eyes.
As usual, I savored the view of Elena's aloof face while sliding my mana communicator beneath the desk.
It wasn't yet time to show my face directly.
If I wanted to melt the perpetually prim Ice Witch down to nothing, I had to be more meticulous — marinate her in shame from every possible angle, until she had no choice left but to obey me.
Under the desk, hidden from sight, I slowly typed out my next message to Elena's communicator.
- Tonight, you will film the video in your private research lab, where no one can see.
- Your uniform is to remain perfectly buttoned and immaculate,
- and you will record yourself lovingly, thoroughly sucking on the dildo you used for your last masturbation session, and send it to me.
- Since it is for my personal collection, the footage must run no less than ten minutes.
I'd sent the message and was lounging back, waiting out the rest of class, when—
"Student Logan."
Class wrapped up, and before Elena left the lecture hall, she called my name from behind the lectern.
Her golden eyes were aimed precisely at me.
"When class is over, come to my private research lab."
My heart dropped through the floor with a clang.
What now? Yesterday's summons had been for lousy classroom conduct. But today I'd sat there quiet as a lamb, hadn't I? And I didn't think I'd been made!
'Don't tell me…… she actually caught on?'
There was no way in hell the 7th-circle Transcendental Ward had been breached.
But this was the Empire's premier 6th-circle archmage. Could she have read the motion of my hands on the communicator, some faint ripple in my mana, and deduced that I was the administrator of the Spank-Bank Gallery?
If she had…
I'm fucked.
Choking down the cold sweat sliding down my spine, I nodded with perfect composure.
"Yes, Professor."
Elena sat bolt upright on the sofa, and across from her sat yours truly, head hung low like a condemned criminal. Inwardly, I braced for the worst while grinding my brain for whatever excuse might work.
Fuck if I know.
"Student Logan. Your magical aptitudes lean heavily toward ancient language decoding and mana wave analysis, do they not."
"……Yes. That is correct."
Elena knit her brow faintly and slid a single document envelope across the table with extreme care.
"I have received reports that highly indecent and malicious spycam videos are being shared within the Academy of late. That someone has been filming the private lives of students and professors alike."
I stared at her blankly.
Elena cleared her throat once, as if to smother her own shame, and continued in a voice that was cold yet almost pleading.
"Your grades are wretched, but I am aware that when it comes to the theory of tracing mana residue, you are second to none in this Academy. Will you help me…… reverse-trace this shameless wretch's IP?"
