SMASH or PASS

Some women came once and never returned. Some came weekly. Some developed patterns: same day, same time, same room. Regulars. The regulars were easier to manage because their schedules were predictable. The walk-ins were harder because they appeared without warning, between classes, during meals, in corridors, on stairwells.

One woman ambushed me in the library stacks during a study session...

◇◇◇

The library stacks smelled like dust, old paper, and quiet desperation. I was three Chapters into a thesis on interdimensional mana flux that was drier than the fucking desert when I heard the soft scuff of shoes on the polished floor.

She stepped out from between two towering shelves of Convergence history. Glasses, dark hair pulled into a messy bun, lips pressed into a thin line of frustration. A senior, probably. Her sweater was tight across a frankly outrageous chest.

"I’ve been watching you read for forty minutes," she said, her voice a low, husky whisper. "And I can’t concentrate anymore."

Then she was on me. Her mouth crashed against mine, all hunger and no finesse. The textbook hit the floor with a dull thud. Her hands fumbled with my pants, yanking them and my boxers down in one rough pull. My dick sprang free, already hard from the sheer audacity of it.

She didn’t hesitate. Dropping to her knees, she took me into her mouth with a hungry, wet slurp that echoed in the silent aisle. God damn. She knew what she was doing. Her head bobbed fast and deep, one hand working my shaft, the other cupping my balls. The sounds were obscene. Guttural gulps, slick sucks, the wet pop every time she pulled back to swirl her tongue around the head. Her glasses fogged up.

"Fuck, your mouth," I grunted, my head thumping back against a shelf of ancient battle treatises.

She looked up at me, eyes wide and dark behind her fogged lenses, and moaned around me, the vibration making my knees weak. She deep-throated me then, taking me all the way until her nose was buried in my pubes, and held it, gagging softly. My hands tangled in her bun, holding her there for a second before letting her up for air.

She gasped, spit and pre-cum shining on her chin. "Need you inside me," she panted, scrambling to her feet and turning around, bending over the very study table I’d been using. She hiked up her skirt. No panties. Her ass was huge and pale, two perfect, full moons in the dim library light.

I spat into my hand, slicked myself up, and pressed against her entrance. She was dripping wet. I slid in with one smooth, deep thrust. She let out a choked, shuddering cry and immediately bit down on her own forearm to silence it.

I set a punishing rhythm, my hips slapping against her ass with sharp, stinging cracks that echoed between the shelves. Each impact made her jiggle. I couldn’t help it—I raised my hand and brought it down hard on one cheek.

SMACK!

A sharp, crisp sound. She jolted, a high-pitched squeal escaping her bitten arm. A bright red handprint bloomed on her white skin. I did it again. SMACK! On the other side. She was sobbing now, pushing back against me desperately, each slap making her clench around me like a vice.

"Please," she whimpered, a broken whisper. "More. More."

I fucked her harder, the table screeching across the floor with every drive. My thumb found her asshole, rubbing small, firm circles against the tight ring. She went rigid, a strangled gasp catching in her throat.

"Y-yes... there..."

I pushed my thumb in, just the tip. She screamed into her arm, her whole body convulsing in a sudden, violent orgasm that had her milking my dick relentlessly. I pulled out, my cock slick and glistening, and positioned the head against that now-glistening, winking hole.

"This," I growled.

She just nodded frantically, her face buried.

I pushed. It was tighter, impossibly so, a hot, constricting ring of muscle that fought me for every inch. She whined, a continuous, reedy sound of pain and overwhelming pleasure. I bottomed out, my balls pressed against her soaked pussy. She was full, stretched, trembling.

I started to move. Slow, at first, then harder. The lewd, wet squelch of my dick in her ass mixed with the slap of skin. Her hole clung to me, gripping and releasing. I could see it—with every pull back, the dark, puffy ring gaped slightly before swallowing me again.

She was coming almost constantly now, quiet, shaking little peaks that had her clenching around me in rhythmic pulses. I grabbed her hips, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass, and fucked her like I was trying to break her. The sound of our bodies, the creaking table, her muffled, slutty cries. It was a symphony of depravity in the middle of a place meant for silence.

I came with a final, deep grind, pumping my load into her ass. She gasped, feeling it, and her own orgasm ripped through her one last time, leaving her limp and trembling over the table.

I pulled out slowly. The sight was something else: my cum already starting to leak out of her well-used, gaping asshole, dripping down onto her trembling thighs. She didn’t move. Just panted, face down on my open textbook.

I pulled my pants up. "See you next week?" I whispered.

A weak, shaky nod against the page.

I left her there, a used, messy secret in the restricted section, and went to find another, quieter place to actually study. My concentration was definitely shot.

◇◇◇

Pixia kept a running count from my collar.

"Forty-seven," she said on Wednesday of week three.

"Forty-seven what?"

"Individual women. Since day two. Forty-seven unique contacts. Average SP per contact: 8~ Total passive SP from academy encounters: 496. Projected total if you maintain this pace through the semester: approximately 1,800 SP." She kicked her legs.

"So this is four to five times more efficient than a farm quest."

"You’re also four times more efficient than a professional who does this as a CAREER. With contracts. And guild oversight. And medical screening." She dimmed. "You’re doing it in a lecture hall with a cloudy crystal and used textbooks."

The encounters varied. Every woman was a person with a specific situation.

There was the alchemy prodigy who wanted to talk about reagent formulas for an hour before she’d consider touching me. "Moonroot reacts with silver nitrate at a 3:7 ratio. Most students use 2:5 and their results are garbage. You’re the analytical reasoning student, right? Does the math support my hypothesis?" I did the math. Her hypothesis was correct.

SP gain: +7 from Uncommon-tier.

There was the Thornguard captain’s daughter. Sera. Row seven. She approached me in the courtyard with the directness of someone whose father commanded soldiers. "My father is Captain Varen. If you don’t sleep with me, he will investigate your background." She crossed her arms. "Does that scare you?"

"I don’t have a background worth investigating."

"Thursday. Come to my room at 8. I have a couple of friends with me." She smiled and left. Maybe thinking her threat will work regardless.

Well, it did. But only because I needed SP.

SP gain: +22 from Rare-Tier.

There was the woman who cried afterward. Happy tears. "I’m twenty-one. I applied for a breeding contract two years ago. Position 847. Out of over a thousand." She laughed through the tears. "And you just said yes. Just like that."

SP gain: +4 from Common-tier.

There was the noble who sent her SERVANT to make the appointment. She waited in a reserved parlor wearing a blindfold. "I don’t want to see your face. I just want to feel." She had a numbered list of requests written on parchment. "Start with number one."

There was the woman who brought a contract. An actual legal contract. "Terms of engagement. Duration: two hours. Compensation: one gold plus a letter of recommendation." She produced a pen. "Sign here."

"This has a fucking non-compete agreement."

"Standard. For the arrangement’s duration, you agree not to engage with competing noble houses."

"I’m sleeping with women from twelve competing houses."

"...I’ll remove the non-compete."

The variety kept the schedule interesting. No two encounters were alike because no two women were alike.

There was a woman from the fishing village. She’d brought a picnic basket to the groundskeeper’s shed courtyard. Sandwiches. Fruit. A blanket. "I thought we could eat first," she said. "I’ve heard you never eat before doing this kind of stuff."

She was right. I usually skipped meals between encounters because the scheduling was tight.

She sat with me on the blanket and talked about her hometown. A coastal village where the ratio was 200:1 instead of 99:1 and the breeding queue was three YEARS long.

"I came to the academy to learn," she said. "But I also came because there are three men here. In my village, there are none. The last man died when I was twelve. Most women younger than my mother’s generation has never touched a man. Not once. Not in their entire lives."

"How does that work?"

"It doesn’t. The village is dying. Every generation is smaller. The breeding contracts bring in outside males for two-day visits, but the queue is so long that most women age out before their number is called." She touched my arm. "You’re warm. I didn’t expect you to be... this warm. I mean... The breeding catalog has photographs of actual men, but photographs aren’t warm."

SP gain: +6 from Common-tier.

The sandwich was good too.

There was the woman who wanted to practice combat techniques without clothes. "Instructor Vance says skin contact improves mana sensitivity," she explained, removing her uniform with the efficiency of someone who’d rehearsed this justification. "This is technically training."

"Did Vance actually say that?"

"She said something ADJACENT to that. I’m paraphrasing liberally."

"Whatever, let’s just fuck..."

There was the woman who scheduled me three weeks in advance. She was a count’s daughter.

She sent a formal appointment card through the academy mail system with a time, a location, and the note: "Please confirm availability at your earliest convenience." I confirmed. She sent a follow-up card: "Confirmed. I will prepare refreshments. Do you have dietary restrictions?"

’What sort of question is that? Just let me hit smh...’

However, I did not have dietary restrictions. She sent a third card: "Excellent. I have also prepared a brief questionnaire regarding your preferences. Please complete and return prior to our appointment."

What type of fucking PR manager I was going to fuck?

Whatever... SP... I need more SP...

I completed the questionnaire. It had fourteen questions. Question seven was: "On a scale of 1-10, rate your enthusiasm for the following activities." The activities were listed alphabetically.

Pixia read the questionnaire from my collar. "She’s treating this like a procurement process. There’s a satisfaction survey at the bottom."

"Should I fill that shit out too?"

"Fill out everything. Women who organize this carefully are the ones who talk the least and tip the most."

She was right. The encounter was efficient. The satisfaction survey was returned the next day with a 9/10 rating and a note: "Would schedule again. Minor deduction for punctuality (arrived 90 seconds late)."

Who the hell is she giving this to?

Probably her friends I guess. Whatever, more free advertisement.

There was the professor’s teaching assistant who left a note on my desk: "Faculty cannot fraternize with students. I am not faculty. I am a teaching assistant. The distinction is technically meaningful... My husband died years ago! Please let me fuck you—"

"..."

The distinction was technically meaningful. We tested its meaning at 3 PM in her office.

There was the woman who wanted to talk. Just talk. For an hour. She sat across from me in a study room and asked questions about Earth without knowing she was asking about Earth.

Celeste Morne.

"You think differently from everyone else. The way you answer questions in Mana Theory. You use frameworks nobody here uses. Where did you learn them?"

"I read a lot."

"You read books that don’t exist in the academy library. I’ve checked. The analytical methods you use in your written work reference principles that aren’t in any textbook I can find." She leaned forward. "Where are you actually from?"

"Brannock."

"Brannock doesn’t produce people who think like you." She studied me. "You’re hiding something." She smiled.

"Everyone’s hiding something."

"Most people hide small things. You’re hiding something large." She stood. "I’m not going to push. I just wanted you to know that I noticed." She walked to the door. Stopped. "For the record: the sex isn’t why I come back. The conversation is. You’re the only person at this academy who makes me think."

"Isn’t the only reason means it’s one of the reasons."

She smiled. Her silver eyes shining brightly.

"It is~"

Well, she is Aldric Morne’s granddaughter, and her family is a very powerful one, so I wanted to have a great relationship with her too. So of course, we fucked multiple times.

"So~ when will you do it?" She asked me as she kept smiling.

"...Do what?"

"You know, merry me?" Her smile widened.

....Huh?!

"W-what do you mean?"

She raised her eyebrow as if she was surprised I didn’t figure out something like that. "It’s clear, isn’t it? Marrying me? I mean, you took my virginity, so no other man would take me for sure. You did so because you planned on marrying me from the start, right? No man takes the virginity of a noble woman without marrying her."

My face went pale.