From his vantage point, Fei-yu had a perfect view of Himuro's curves. She was sitting with her legs crossed, and her plump, firm buttocks were squeezed against the chair, threatening to burst out of her tight black pencil skirt. They looked incredibly meaty and inviting.
But as his gaze traveled lower, his heart nearly stopped.
There, dangling from her toes, was her black high-heeled shoe. The gap between the silk-covered sole of her foot and the shoe was like a black hole, drawing his eyes in. He could see the perfect arch of her foot, covered in sheer black nylon.
"Hmph. You finally decided to show up? I thought you were going to wait until next period," Himuro said without looking up. Her voice was cold and sharp.
"Sorry, I got held up," Fei-yu said, thinking of the gyarus and the encounter with Miwa.
"Held up? You mean held up 'groping' Ms. Shirakawa and fighting in the hallway?!" Himuro looked up, her icy eyes boring into him. She slammed her pen onto the desk. "You need to learn respect! You should respect your teachers like you respect your parents!"
The bang was so loud it woke up Ms. Mikami, a teacher sleeping at the desk across from them. "Earthquake! Run!" she screamed, jumping up.
The other teachers laughed. "Ms. Mikami, you're just dreaming."
"Oh... sorry. My mistake," she muttered, turning red and hiding her face.
Fei-yu almost burst out laughing.
"You think this is funny?!" Himuro snapped, her own face flushing with embarrassment for her colleague. "If you laugh again, I'm making it a 1,000-word essay! Sit down and write!"
She shoved a piece of paper and a pen toward him. Fei-yu looked around and realized the office was packed; there were no empty desks.
"There's no room, ma'am. Maybe I should go back to class?"
"No. You'll just cheat again. You're writing right here under my nose." She scooted her chair to the right, leaving a tiny space on the edge of her desk. "Squat down and use this."
Fei-yu sighed and crouched down. As he tried to think of what to write, a scent hit his nose. It was a rich, woody fragrance—like sandalwood—mixed with the unmistakable, musky scent of a woman's skin. It was intoxicating.
He adjusted his position, trying to hide the growing bulge in his pants. He realized he was becoming more and more obsessed with these scents, especially from women he had already "claimed."
He looked over and saw Himuro's foot again. She was swinging it back and forth, the black silk shimmering. Each movement sent a waft of her "scent" toward him. He couldn't concentrate on writing a single word.
What should I do? he wondered, a wicked thought forming in his mind as he stared at that moving, nylon-clad foot.