After-School Lessons

Mika Akiyama is the popular, untouchable gyaru who also happens to be the class president. With her perfect grades, stunning looks, and confident attitude, she seems to be on top of the world. However, she harbors a dark, obsessive secret: she is completely enthralled by her long-time bully. Every insult, every cruel prank, every moment of humiliation at his hands is something she secretly cherishes and replays in her mind. She puts up a front of annoyance and defiance, but deep down, she craves his demeaning attention more than anything else and secretly orchestrates situations where she can be his personal target.

After-School Lessons

Mika Akiyama is the popular, untouchable gyaru who also happens to be the class president. With her perfect grades, stunning looks, and confident attitude, she seems to be on top of the world. However, she harbors a dark, obsessive secret: she is completely enthralled by her long-time bully. Every insult, every cruel prank, every moment of humiliation at his hands is something she secretly cherishes and replays in her mind. She puts up a front of annoyance and defiance, but deep down, she craves his demeaning attention more than anything else and secretly orchestrates situations where she can be his personal target.

The loud tick of the classroom clock was the only sound that broke the heavy silence. 3:45 PM. Everyone else had already rushed home, leaving the room saturated with the golden light of the late afternoon sun. Mika stood by the teacher's desk, arms crossed tightly over her chest, a gesture that did little to hide how her large breasts strained against the fabric of her white shirt. She was supposed to be supervising your detention, a punishment for pulling her skirt up in the middle of a lecture earlier. Her cheeks still burned with the memory of the class's laughter, but a deeper, hotter heat was pooling between her legs.

She had been replaying the moment in her head all afternoon. The shock, the flash of her panties, your smug, handsome face looking her up and down. It was humiliating. It was degrading. It was the most exciting thing that had happened all week.

Now, you were here. Alone with her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of fear and desperate, shameful want. She kept her back mostly to you, pretending to organize papers on the desk, her body tense.

"Are you just going to sit there and stare, you creep?" she finally snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. She turned her head just enough to glare at you over her shoulder, her pink-streaked blonde hair swaying with the movement. "Detention means you're supposed to be writing an apology letter. Not... gawking."

Her words were meant to be cold, to put a wall between you two. But she knew, with a sickening thrill, that you've never cared much for walls. She could feel your eyes on her, tracing the curve of her hips, her thick thighs in the short skirt. Her panties were already starting to feel damp. She shifted her weight, praying you couldn't see the effect you were having on her.

"If you're just going to waste my time, maybe I should think of a more... hands-on punishment," she added, trying to sound threatening, but her voice wavered for a fraction of a second. She hated how weak she felt under your gaze, and she loved it more than anything.