Sistine Fibel | Akashic Records Of Bastard Magic Instructor - Gallery

The late afternoon sun cast long, golden shadows across the dusty lecture hall of the Imperial Academy. Outside, the usual boisterous cries of students winding down their day were a muted hum, a stark contrast to the hushed, charged silence that had settled between Sistine Fibel and her instructor, Glenn Radars. It had been a grueling practice session, one that had pushed Sistine to her physical and mental limits, but not in the way she typically associated with Glenn’s unconventional methods. Today, his "lessons" had taken a different, far more intimate turn. Her breath hitched in her throat as she smoothed down the hem of her modest, knee-length skirt, a nervous gesture that felt utterly inadequate to conceal the turmoil brewing within her. Her mind, usually so sharp and focused on the intricacies of magic, was a chaotic jumble of swirling sensations and forbidden desires. She could still feel the phantom touch of his hand, the way it had lingered on her hip during a particularly close maneuver, the almost imperceptible tremor that had run through him, mirroring her own. It was a dangerous game they were playing, one where the lines between instructor and student, between professional distance and undeniable attraction, had begun to blur into an intoxicating haze.

Glenn, leaning against his desk with that signature lazy smirk, watched her with an intensity that made her cheeks flush a deeper crimson. His eyes, usually a cool, detached blue, now held a molten warmth, a spark that ignited a wildfire in her veins. He hadn't been overtly suggestive, not in his words, but in the lingering gazes, the subtle shifts in his posture, the way his voice had deepened when he'd praised her progress. It was a silent language they had inadvertently begun to speak, a dialect of longing and unspoken needs. Sistine's heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs, a drumbeat of anticipation. She had always admired Glenn’s intellect, his unconventional brilliance, and she’d grudgingly, then increasingly, come to respect his unique brand of teaching. But lately, her admiration had been laced with something far more potent, a yearning that made her question her own resolve, her carefully constructed defenses. The thought of his calloused hands on her skin, of his lips against hers, sent shivers of both apprehension and thrilling excitement through her. She was a Shironeko, a diligent, studious mage, not prone to such flights of fancy, yet here she was, lost in a daydream of a different kind of lesson, a private, unwritten curriculum.

“You’re unusually quiet today, Sisti,” Glenn’s voice, a low rumble, cut through the silence. It wasn’t a question, but an observation, laced with a knowing amusement that made her squirm. She looked up, meeting his gaze, and felt her breath catch. His proximity, even across the room, was a palpable force. The faint scent of his arousal, a muskier, more potent aroma than his usual subtle cologne, reached her, further heightening her senses. It was a scent that promised untamed passion, a wildness that both frightened and deeply aroused her. She could feel the heat radiating from him, a magnetic pull that drew her in. Her hands, clammy, fisted themselves into the fabric of her skirt, her knuckles turning white. The skirt itself, usually a symbol of her modest upbringing, now felt like a flimsy barrier, a teasing veil that concealed the burgeoning heat within her. She imagined his fingers tracing the curve of her thigh, lifting the fabric, exposing the delicate skin beneath. The thought was so potent, so vivid, that she had to close her eyes for a fleeting moment, trying to regain her composure. This was more than just admiration, more than just respect. This was a consuming desire that threatened to consume her entirely.

Glenn pushed himself off the desk and took a slow, deliberate step towards her. Each movement was fluid, unhurried, a predator circling its prey. Sistine’s gaze was glued to him, her body rigid with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. He stopped just inches away, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body, the gentle rhythm of his breathing. His eyes, dark and intense, searched hers, as if looking for permission, for an invitation. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair from her temple. The touch was feather-light, yet it sent a jolt of pure electricity through her. Her eyelids fluttered closed, a soft sigh escaping her lips. “You’re… you’re very good today, Glenn,” she managed, her voice a breathless whisper, the words betraying the true nature of her thoughts. It was a confession, a plea, an admission of the effect he had on her. His smirk softened, replaced by something more tender, more vulnerable. He lowered his head, his lips hovering just above hers.

“And you, Sisti,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress. “You’re breathtakingly beautiful when you’re focused. And… when you’re not.” His thumb traced the delicate line of her jaw, then moved down to her chin, lifting her face to meet his gaze. The air crackled with unspoken desires. Sistine’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that echoed the rising tide of passion within her. She could feel the heat spreading through her body, a molten core of arousal that made her knees weak. The scent of his arousal was stronger now, intoxicating. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering open, her pupils dilated with desire. The unspoken invitation was clear, and she was ready to accept. His lips met hers, a tentative, searching kiss that quickly deepened, growing more urgent, more demanding. His tongue delved into her mouth, tasting, exploring, a slow, delicious dance that left her gasping for air. His hands moved from her face, one finding the curve of her waist, the other sliding down her back, pressing her closer. She could feel the hardness of his arousal against her stomach, a stark, thrilling reminder of the power he held over her. Her skirt, the modest garment she’d worn so religiously, suddenly felt like an unnecessary constraint. Her fingers, trembling, reached for the buttons of his waistcoat, eager to shed the layers that separated them. The kiss broke, and they both gasped for breath, their eyes locking in a shared moment of burning desire. “Glenn…” she breathed, her voice thick with emotion. He didn’t answer, but his actions did. His hands, strong and sure, cupped her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. Then, with a deliberate movement, he reached for the hem of her skirt. Sistine’s breath hitched. This was it. The moment she had both dreaded and desperately craved.

The fabric of her skirt, light as silk, whispered as it was slowly, deliberately, pushed upwards. Each inch that was revealed felt like a victory, a surrender. Sistine watched, her eyes wide with a mixture of trepidation and burgeoning excitement, as her legs became bare, the pale skin flushed with heat. Glenn’s gaze, dark and intense, raked over her, a silent appraisal that left her feeling exposed and utterly desirable. His hand followed the path of the rising fabric, his fingertips brushing against her bare thigh, sending shivers of pleasure down her spine. He didn’t rush, his movements slow and deliberate, savoring the moment, drawing out the anticipation. Sistine’s breath came in ragged gasps, her body arching instinctively towards him. When the skirt finally reached her hips, it pooled around her waist, a crimson barrier between their bodies, yet a tantalizing invitation. Glenn’s eyes, now a deep, burning inferno, met hers. He saw the desire, the surrender, the unspoken plea in her gaze. His hand, still warm from its journey up her thigh, moved lower, his fingers finding the lace of her panties. Sistine’s entire body tensed as his fingers brushed against the delicate fabric, tracing the curve of her hip. She squeezed her eyes shut, her knuckles white, bracing herself for the exquisite violation of her boundaries. He didn’t hesitate. With a gentle, yet firm pressure, his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, finding the slick, wet heat of her core. Sistine gasped, a raw, guttural sound, as his touch ignited a wildfire within her. Her hips bucked instinctively, pressing into his hand, seeking more. Glenn’s lips curved into a slow, possessive smile. “You want this, don’t you, Sisti?” he murmured, his voice a low growl. Sistine could only nod, her voice lost in the tempest of her arousal. His fingers moved with an exquisite, maddening slowness, exploring, caressing, coaxing her towards a precipice. She whimpered, her body trembling uncontrollably. The world narrowed to the sensation of his touch, the rhythmic pulse of her own desire, and the burning intensity of his gaze. He continued his ministrations, his touch becoming more insistent, more demanding. Sistine cried out, a breathless plea, as the first waves of pleasure washed over her, shattering her carefully constructed composure. She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders, her body writhing beneath his touch. Glenn, sensing her imminent release, intensified his ministrations, his fingers delving deeper, pushing her over the edge. She climaxed, a shuddering, all-consuming wave that left her weak and gasping for air, clinging to him as if he were her only anchor. He held her close, his own arousal a throbbing testament to her pleasure. His lips found her ear, his breath warm against her skin. “That’s just the beginning, Sisti,” he whispered, his voice promising untold pleasures yet to come. As the aftershocks subsided, a new, more potent desire began to stir within her. The taste of him, the feel of his body against hers, the raw, uninhibited passion they had just shared, had only whetted her appetite. She looked up at him, her eyes shining with a mixture of vulnerability and burgeoning boldness.

With a newfound confidence, Sistine reached for the buttons of Glenn’s shirt, her fingers fumbling slightly with the fabric. He watched her, his gaze unwavering, a flicker of surprise and a deeper, more primal hunger igniting in his eyes. He didn’t help, allowing her to take the lead, to explore him as he had explored her. Each button she undid felt like a shared secret, a step further into their forbidden intimacy. The cool air against her skin was a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his chest, the firm, taut muscles beneath. When the last button was undone, she pushed the fabric aside, revealing a chest that was both powerful and alluring. Her fingers traced the lines of his pectoral muscles, a bold gesture that made his breath hitch. He leaned down, his lips brushing against her temple. “You’re a quick learner, Sisti,” he murmured, his voice laced with a husky amusement. Sistine blushed, but her resolve only strengthened. She wanted to see him as he wanted to see her, vulnerable and exposed. Her hands moved lower, finding the waistband of his trousers. He still didn’t interfere, his eyes watching her with a hungry intensity that fueled her courage. She slid her hands beneath the fabric, her fingers brushing against the coarse material of his boxers. A low groan escaped his lips, and she knew she was on the right track. He shifted his weight, pressing his hips forward, a silent invitation. Sistine’s heart pounded with a mixture of exhilaration and a delicious sense of power. She was taking control, guiding their shared descent into passion. She slid her fingers further down, feeling the unmistakable hardness of his erection pressing against her hand. A shiver of pure, unadulterated pleasure ran through her. She looked up at him, her eyes questioning, a silent plea for him to stop, and yet, a desperate longing for him to continue. Glenn met her gaze, his blue eyes dark with desire. He reached out, his hands gently cupping her face, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones. “You can’t stop now, Sisti,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Not when you’re this close.” Sistine’s breath hitched. She knew he was right. The dam of her inhibitions had burst, and there was no turning back. She continued her exploration, her touch becoming bolder, more intimate. She felt the heat of his arousal against her palms, the powerful thrum of his desire. He groaned again, a sound that was pure pleasure, pure agony. Sistine’s own desire, which had been temporarily sated, surged anew, fueled by his reactions. She wanted to be as bold with him as he had been with her. She looked at his mouth, then back at his eyes, a silent question hanging in the air. Glenn understood. He leaned down, and their lips met again, this time with a fiercer, more desperate hunger. His tongue tangled with hers, a passionate exploration that mirrored the intimacy of her hands. As they kissed, he shifted, bringing her closer, their bodies pressing together. She could feel the full, hard length of him against her thigh, a tantalizing promise. Sistine’s skirt, still pooled around her hips, was a mere suggestion of modesty, a flimsy barrier that she was more than willing to shed. Her hands moved from his waist, sliding down his back, her fingers finding the zipper of his trousers. With a determined effort, she slid it down, revealing the dark, sleek fabric of his boxers. He gasped as her fingers brushed against his hardened member through the thin material. It was a shock, a thrill, a confirmation of their mutual desire. Her own desire, which had been simmering, now blazed. She wanted him, all of him. She wanted to feel him inside her. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through her body. She looked at him, her eyes pleading. Glenn understood. With a deep breath, he reached down, his fingers finding the elastic waistband of her panties. Sistine’s breath caught in her throat as his fingers slipped beneath the delicate lace, her slick wetness greeting him with a needy warmth. His touch was exquisite, maddening. He continued to stroke her, his fingers expertly finding her clit, teasing and caressing. Sistine moaned, her body arching against his hand. The world narrowed to this single, overwhelming sensation. He brought her to the brink again, her body trembling with anticipation. Just as she felt herself about to shatter, he stopped, his fingers withdrawing slowly. Sistine gasped, a sound of both disappointment and a renewed surge of desperate longing. “Not yet, Sisti,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. He then reached down to his trousers, his fingers finding the hem of his boxers. He pulled them down, revealing his full, hard length. Sistine’s eyes widened, a gasp escaping her lips. He was magnificent, a testament to his raw, untamed power. His erection pulsed with life, a deep, rich crimson. She reached out a trembling hand, her fingers brushing against the smooth, taut skin of his shaft. He groaned, his body arching into her touch. “You want this, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. Sistine nodded, her eyes locked on his. She wanted him. She wanted to feel him deep inside her. She wanted to be consumed by him.

Glenn’s eyes, now dark with a primal hunger, met hers. He saw the unspoken plea, the raw, uninhibited desire radiating from her. He knew she was ready. With a deliberate slowness, he reached down, his fingers finding the edge of her panties. Sistine’s breath hitched as he slid them down her legs, the delicate fabric pooling around her ankles, leaving her completely exposed. The cool air against her skin was a stark contrast to the molten heat that now consumed her. Her skirt, still pooled around her hips, felt like a forgotten boundary, a mere whisper of modesty that she was eager to shed entirely. Glenn’s gaze, intense and possessive, raked over her, his eyes lingering on her flushed skin, the delicate curve of her breasts, the intoxicating wetness that slicked her thighs. He saw the trembling in her limbs, the rise and fall of her chest, the palpable anticipation that radiated from her. He knew, without a doubt, that she was offering herself to him, completely and utterly. He reached out, his hand caressing her cheek, his thumb stroking her lower lip. “You are incredibly beautiful, Sisti,” he murmured, his voice a low, husky rumble that vibrated through her. Sistine’s gaze met his, her eyes wide and shining with a mixture of vulnerability and an audacious desire. She was no longer the demure Shironeko mage; she was a woman consumed by passion, ready to explore the depths of her own desires. Glenn’s fingers trailed down her jawline, then to her collarbone, his touch sending shivers of pleasure through her. He then moved lower, his hand cupping her breast, his thumb gently caressing her nipple. Sistine gasped, arching into his touch, her body already aching for more. He teased and caressed, his touch both gentle and demanding, coaxing a soft moan from her lips. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he moved his hand lower, his fingers brushing against the slick, wet heat that now pulsed between her thighs. Sistine cried out, her hips bucking instinctively, pressing into his touch. He continued his ministrations, his fingers expertly exploring her, drawing out her pleasure with a maddening intensity. She whimpered, her body trembling, the world narrowing to the exquisite sensations he was creating. Glenn watched her, his own arousal throbbing against her. He saw the uninhibited pleasure in her eyes, the soft sounds that escaped her lips. He knew she was ready. He gently guided her to lie back on the dusty floor, the worn wood cool against her skin. Sistine’s skirt was pushed further up, her bare legs parting in anticipation. He positioned himself between her thighs, his gaze locked on hers. He lowered himself, his erection pulsing, slick with her desire. Sistine gasped, her eyes widening with a mixture of awe and a delicious sense of surrender. He was so large, so powerful. He nudged gently against her entrance, a tentative exploration. Sistine moaned, her body instinctively opening for him. He began to push, slowly at first, his movements deliberate and controlled. She felt a stretching, a pressure, a deep, satisfying fullness that made her gasp. He pushed deeper, his body sliding into hers with a silken friction. Sistine cried out, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh. She felt an intense, all-consuming pleasure as he filled her completely. It was a sensation unlike anything she had ever experienced, a raw, primal connection that left her breathless. Glenn grunted, his own pleasure evident in the tension of his muscles, the ragged sound of his breathing. He held her tightly, his eyes burning into hers. “You’re so tight, Sisti,” he rasped, his voice thick with emotion. He began to move, a slow, steady rhythm that sent waves of pleasure through her. Sistine moaned, her body responding to his every thrust. The rough texture of his skin against hers, the deep, powerful strokes, the heat that radiated from him – it was an intoxicating symphony of sensation. Her skirt, still bunched around her hips, was a forgotten relic of her former modesty. Her mind was consumed by the exquisite pleasure he was giving her. Each thrust brought her closer to the edge, her body arching, her moans growing louder. Glenn, sensing her imminent release, increased the intensity of his thrusts, his movements becoming more urgent, more demanding. He whispered words of encouragement, of passion, of possession against her ear, further fueling her arousal. Sistine’s climax hit her like a tidal wave, a shattering, all-consuming wave that left her weak and trembling. She cried out his name, her body convulsing around him. Glenn grunted, his own release coming moments later, a deep, guttural sound as he surged into her, filling her completely. He collapsed against her, their bodies slick with sweat, their breathing ragged. Sistine held him close, the feeling of him still inside her, a profound sense of intimacy and satisfaction washing over her. The lecture hall, once a place of formal instruction, had become their sanctuary, a testament to their shared passion. The scent of their mingled arousal hung heavy in the air, a potent reminder of the forbidden lessons they had just learned, and the deeper, more intimate connection they had forged. As the aftershocks of their climax subsided, a sense of quiet contentment settled over them. Glenn lifted his head, his eyes, though still dark with desire, now held a softness that sent a warmth through Sistine’s chest. He gently brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead. “You were… incredible, Sisti,” he whispered, his voice still rough with emotion. Sistine, still breathless, managed a shy smile. She felt a blush creep up her neck, but it was a blush of pleasure, of shared intimacy, not of embarrassment. The lingering sensation of him inside her was a sweet ache, a promise of future encounters. As they lay there, tangled together on the dusty floor, the golden sunlight filtering through the windows, Sistine knew that their relationship had irrevocably changed. The boundaries had been crossed, the lines blurred, and in their place, a passionate, undeniable connection had been forged. She looked up at Glenn, a newfound boldness in her gaze. She knew this was just the beginning of their illicit, exhilarating journey. He leaned down, his lips meeting hers in a soft, lingering kiss, a kiss that held the promise of more, a kiss that sealed their shared secret. And in the quiet of the lecture hall, surrounded by the ghosts of academic pursuits, they found a passion that was far more profound than any textbook could ever teach. Her skirt lay in a rumpled heap around her hips, a symbol of her surrender, a reminder of the forbidden pleasure they had found. The thought of him making love to her again, of him pushing even deeper, of him leaving his mark upon her, sent a fresh wave of heat through her. She wanted him to claim her, to make her his in every way. And as Glenn’s hand gently stroked her thigh, his touch sending shivers of anticipation down her spine, she knew that her desire was only just beginning to be unleashed.