Chapter 5

As I leave Mrs. Baker’s office, the scent of sex lingers in the air, a tantalizing aroma that I find delightful. I stop and realize that while feminine scents are nice for me but not for the rest of the male population, that will be a problem for Mrs. Baker. I concentrate and manipulate some mana to transport the odor molecules that linger in the air as well as on Mrs. Baker’s and my body. The best place to transport them to is outside the school building where they disperse into the atmosphere.

I need to do this cleaning procedure as a matter of course from now on if I’m to be gathering a harem for myself. Who wants a harem full of girls that have a reputation in school for smelling repugnant? I want girls who draw envy in my direction, call me an egotistical chauvinist if you like but I know deep down its way more than that. My main motivation is having a primal need to thoroughly corrupt beautiful virgin women, leaving them in love with me and a baby in their belly. The thought leaves me horny as hell, which is not good when I’m trying to hide a massive cock in my pants while walking down the school corridors.

I make my way to the English class, my mind buzzing with the excitement of my new conquest. Entering the classroom, my eyes scan the room for the perfect spot to continue my quest. And there it is: the prime seat, nestled between two beautiful and untouched flowers in the school—Angela Clarke and Gemma Shaw. But to my annoyance, it’s occupied by an obnoxious boy named Richard Kent, whose smug grin and puffed-up chest scream of his ignorance.

He’s regaling them with some childish joke, his tiny micropenis likely as limp as the punchline. They laugh, their sweet, innocent giggles music to my ears, but it’s a tune tainted by his presence. I clench my fists, feeling a twinge of jealousy. This is my world now, my playground of passion, and I won’t have some bumbling fool stepping on my toes. I take my seat two rows behind them at the back of the class, next to Chris Pickering who’s also looking at Richard with annoyance. There are some empty seats next to me. My eyes locked onto the back of Richard’s head, watching as he tries to impress the very females that I will soon claim as my own.

With a smirk, I focus my spiritual sight inward, peering through the layers of his clothing and into Richard’s body. His bowels are a tangled mess of nerves and muscle, untouched by the divine spark that fuels my lust. I extend a tendril of my power, reaching into the depths of his gut and giving a gentle, yet firm squeeze. His laughter dies in his throat as a look of confusion crosses his face, his hand reflexively moving to his stomach.

The classroom remains oblivious to my silent manipulation, their conversations and whispers a cacophony of innocence. Meanwhile, Richard’s eyes widen and his face pales, the first signs of panic setting in as he feels the unfamiliar sensation of my power playing with his insides. His cheeks redden and his posture stiffens as the pressure builds. The room seems to hold its breath, the very air charged with anticipation.

With a final twist of my spiritual grip, I force his bowels to release their contents into his pants, the warmth spreading and the smell of his fear and embarrassment mingling with the stench of shit. He jumps up, trying to cover his disgrace, but it’s too late. The girls, my future harem members, look at him in shock and revulsion. His smugness is replaced with horror as he realizes the humiliation that has just been visited upon him. The room falls silent, all eyes on him, and he knows that he has lost any shred of dignity he had.

The sight of Richard’s mortification brings a wicked smile to my face as he stumbles out of the classroom, leaving a brown trail behind him. The whispers and gasps follow him down the hall, a symphony of his shame. The air is ripe with the scent of his failure, and the girls’ revulsion palpable. Just like my world, lack of control of bodily functions are a sign of weakness or illness, and I have just used that to my advantage. I look across at Chris and see a look of delight on his face too.

As the stench reaches Angela and Gemma, their expressions turn from shock to disgust. They stand up, looking for an escape from the tainted area, and that’s when fate delivers them into my arms—or rather, my seating arrangement. Angela, her nose wrinkled in distaste, makes her way towards me, her eyes searching for a safe haven. She stops when she sees the empty seat next to mine, and without a second thought, she plops down, her body language screaming relief. Gemma follows suit, sitting on the other side of her, creating distance between us and the stench of Richard’s poop.

The door creaks open, and in waddles Miss Evans, her eyes scanning the room with a furrowed brow. She’s a sweet old thing, her eyesight failing but her hearing as sharp as ever. She sniffs the air, her nose crinkling at the odor. “What on earth happened here?” she asks, her voice a mix of concern and curiosity.

Paul Morgan, a timid boy who sits at the front, shoots his hand up like a rocket. “It was Richard,” he squeaks, eager to be the first to tattle. “He ... he had an accident!” The class titters, but Miss Evans’ gaze is stern. “An accident? Do elaborate, young man.”

Paul, emboldened by the attention, stands up, his eyes gleaming with spite. “Yes, Ma’am. Richard was sitting right there,” he points at the now-vacant chair, “and he ... he just couldn’t hold it in! It’s all over the floor!”

Miss Evans’s face twists into a grimace, and she nods. “Very well, Paul. Go fetch the janitor and have this mess cleaned up immediately. And tell him to bring some disinfectant; we can’t have this kind of ... distraction in a place of learning.” She turns to the rest of the class. “The rest of you, return to your seats and focus on the lesson. We have work to do.”

With the commotion dying down, I seize my opportunity. I concentrate my mana, my mind’s eye seeing the very air molecules around me. I manipulate them with a deftness born of natural talent, weaving a barrier that filters the noxious scent of Richard’s accident. It’s a subtle art, one that requires precision and finesse, but it seems I’m a savant. The air around Angela and Gemma shimmers, almost imperceptibly, and the smell of shit is replaced by a faint bouquet of roses and vanilla. The look of revulsion on their faces relaxes into one of mild confusion, and then they take deep breaths, their expressions clearing.

“Ladies,” I say, my voice a purr, “I’ve just used some spiritual energy to block the horrible smell and emit a more pleasant scent. It’s a little trick I learned in my ... spiritual training.”

Angela and Gemma exchange a look, their eyes wide with wonder. They’ve never heard of such a thing before. In a world where the scent of an aroused female is as foreign as a shooting star, they’re utterly baffled by the sudden change in the atmosphere. “It smells ... amazing, but I’ve never heard of spirituality affecting fragrances before, are you sure that it’s not some kind of cologne you have on?” whispers Gemma, leaning towards me to breathe me in.

“It isn’t cologne, its spiritual energy,” I inform them again, reinforcing the idea to hopefully prime their minds with the new concepts I’m about to introduce to them. In this world of no one being able to lie, they have no choice but to swallow everything I’m telling them. In this case though its the truth.

I lean back in my chair, a knowing smile playing on my lips. The stage is set, and now for the grand illusion. I gather my mana, focusing it into a tight coil in the palm of my hand. With a flick of my wrist, I send it spiraling towards Angela’s desk, the invisible force nudging her pen off the edge. It clatters to the floor, rolling under her chair. She gasps and bends over to retrieve it, but I’m quicker.

Before she can react, I’m out of my seat, sliding under her desk with the grace of a cat. My heart races, my cock straining against my pants. The scent of her arousal is faint but undeniable. “Let me get that for you,” I murmur, my voice a seductive purr.

Planting my face directly in Angela’s crotch, I inhale deeply, savoring the intoxicating aroma. She stiffens, unsure of what’s happening, her eyes wide with shock. She tries to pull away, but I hold her gently by the ankles, keeping her in place. “It’s fine,” I whisper, my breath hot against her skin. “It’s just me, here to help.”

Under the guise of searching for her pen, my mouth grazes against the fabric of her underwear, sending a shiver through her body. Her cheeks flush a deep crimson, and she gasps softly, her hands gripping the edge of her desk. I can feel her pulse quickening, her body betraying her innocence. My tongue darts out, tracing a line along her inner thigh, and she jolts, her eyes darting to the floor, checking if anyone noticed.

Miss Evans, her eyesight blurred by age and naivety, remains oblivious to the scene unfolding at the back of the class. She’s too focused on her book, her eyes squinted as she reads from the lesson plan. Just in case, I implant a one way illusion in front of our row of desks showing us paying attention to her. For a finishing touch, I create a sound proof barrier into the illusion screen to prevent noise of our escapade from travelling forward beyond our row of desks. I can’t believe how good I’m getting at this!

“What on Earth are you doing?” asks Gemma, who’s witnessing my intimate act with Angela, stares in shock, her mouth agape. She tries to process what’s happening, her brain racing to understand this alien concept.

“Oh my Godddd...” moans Angela. She’s unable to resist the unfamiliar sensations, opens her legs wider and sinks down in her seat. Her eyes meet mine, a mix of fear and curiosity shimmering in their depths. I lean in closer, my tongue tracing the lace of her panties, feeling her tremble. Her breaths come in short gasps, and she bites her lip to muffle the soft whimpers that escape her mouth.

“Stop that right now!!!” demands Chris Pickering, the star javelin thrower, sitting just two seats away. His jaw drops as he watches my clandestine maneuver. His cheeks flush, his own tiny cock giving a faint twitch of arousal, despite his utter lack of understanding. His eyes dart around the room, checking if anyone else has noticed the strange scene unfolding under Angela’s desk. He’s torn between disbelief and a primal instinct that whispers of something taboo and tantalizing. Chris can’t believe that Miss Evans, even with her bad eyesight, can’t see there’s something weird going on at the back of the classroom and calling a halt to it.