Chapter 59: First Lesson
"Ahhh—! Fuck—" Oliver gritted his teeth, his arms straining against the bindings.
Isolde bit her lip, shuddering as she took him all the way to the base. "Mmmhhh~ gods... you feel so good..."
She didn’t move right away. She just sat there, grinding her hips in slow circles, milking him without giving him enough friction to cum.
"You’re torturing me..." Oliver groaned, his forehead beaded with sweat.
"That’s the point," she teased, finally starting to ride him properly.
Slap! Slap! Slap!
The sound of skin meeting skin echoed in the room, wet and rhythmic.
Oliver’s breathing turned ragged, his hips thrusting up instinctively.
"Please—!" he begged.
"Not yet..." She grinned down at him, riding faster now, her breasts bouncing with every movement.
"Isolde—!!"
"Now," she finally commanded, slamming down on him one last time.
Oliver let out a strangled groan as he came hard, filling her with hot spurts that made her gasp in turn.
"Mmmmhhhhh—!" Isolde shuddered, her own climax crashing over her as she ground against him, milking every last drop from his twitching cock.
When she finally stopped, she sat there panting, her hands resting on his chest.
"You lasted longer than I thought," she said with a smug grin, untying his hands at last.
Isolde finally slid off of him with a soft, satisfied sigh, his release dripping down her thighs. She lazily traced circles on his chest with one finger, her crimson eyes half-lidded.
Oliver was still breathing heavily, arms sprawled out on the bed, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.
"...You’re insane," he murmured, but there was no anger in his tone — only exhausted admiration.
"Insane for you," Isolde teased softly, then whispered a cleaning spell under her breath.
A faint shimmer of magic washed over both of them, wiping away sweat, fluids, and the messy evidence of their play. The sheets looked fresh again, their skin cool and dry.
Isolde smiled faintly, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. "Goodnight, master."
Oliver chuckled tiredly. "You really need to stop calling me that."
"Mmm... never," she murmured, already drifting off.
For a long while, the room was quiet — just the steady rhythm of their breathing. The faint glow from the candle burned down to nothing, leaving only the silver light of the moon through the window.
Oliver drifted off to sleep with Isolde’s warmth pressed against him, his hand resting on her hip.
~~~~~
Warm sunlight filtered through the curtains, landing across Oliver’s face. He groaned and tried to roll over, but a familiar weight pinned him down.
Isolde was draped over him like a blanket, one bare leg hooked over his hip.
"Morning," she said sleepily, opening one crimson eye.
"...Do you always sleep on top of people?" Oliver asked, his voice muffled by her hair.
"Only the ones I like."
He flushed, trying to keep his thoughts from going somewhere dangerous this early. "We should... probably get up. We have things to do."
"Mmm..." She made no move to get off him, only wriggled closer, deliberately brushing against the morning hardness pressing against her thigh.
Oliver groaned. "You’re doing that on purpose."
"Maybe," she said with a lazy smirk.
Isolde stretched, entirely unbothered by her nudity, before dressing herself piece by piece, clearly taking her time just to make him watch.
When they were finally dressed and ready, Isolde said, "Go grab breakfast. I want to go over some things before we start your lesson today."
Oliver did so, making his way downstairs to the common room.
The inn was quiet at this hour, most guests already gone or still in bed. Serena, the hostess, was wiping down a table when she spotted him.
"Well, well," she said with a knowing grin, striding over with her usual sway of the hips. "The young hero is up early."
"Morning," Oliver said, taking a seat near the corner.
Serena leaned against the table, far closer than necessary — close enough that her generous cleavage nearly brushed his arm. "Where’s your lovely companion? Wore her out last night?"
Oliver choked on air, face going crimson. "Wha—No! She’s just... she’s upstairs getting ready!"
"Uh-huh," Serena said, clearly amused. Then she bent down to grab a dropped rag from the floor — and Oliver got a very generous view of what was under her skirt.
His nose almost started bleeding on the spot.
When she straightened, Serena caught the look on his face and grinned like a cat who’d cornered a mouse. "Like what you see?"
Without thinking, Oliver nodded.
Then he realized what he’d just done. "N-No! I mean—yes—wait, no! I didn’t—"
Serena laughed, throwing her head back. "Calm down, kid. I was just teasing. You’re too easy."
Oliver slumped back in his chair, half-embarrassed, half-annoyed. "You could give someone a heart attack doing that."
"That’s half the fun," she said with a wink, heading back to the kitchen. "I’ll get your breakfast. Don’t pass out while I’m gone."
Oliver watched her leave, still red-faced, and muttered under his breath, "One day, I’m going to teach you not to tease me like that..."
He didn’t notice Serena’s mischievous grin as she peeked back around the corner, clearly pleased with how flustered he was.
When Serena returned with his breakfast, she didn’t just set it down — she leaned over the table so far that her apron brushed his chest.
"Here you go," she said sweetly.
Oliver swallowed hard, trying to focus on the plate of food rather than the view.
And then it happened — as she straightened, her hand accidentally brushed across his lap, right over the bulge that had been straining in his pants since the upskirt incident.
Oliver stiffened like he’d been hit with a paralysis spell.
"Oh?" Serena said, her voice a touch too innocent. "You really are an honest boy, aren’t you?"
"I—uh—t-thank you for the food!" Oliver stammered, grabbing the tray as if it were a lifeline and practically bolting for the stairs.
Serena chuckled behind him, shaking her head. "Adorable."
When Oliver reached the room, he paused outside the door, took a deep breath, and willed himself to calm down before stepping inside.
Isolde glanced up from her parchment as he entered. "That took you long enough."
"Yeah, sorry," Oliver said quickly, setting the tray down between them. "Serena was... chatty."
"Mm." Isolde didn’t press, just handed him a cup of tea from the tray. "Eat quickly. We start your first lesson right after this."
Oliver nodded, trying not to think about how Serena’s fingers had felt brushing him.
~~~~
After they had their breakfast Isolde ordered him to sit beside her.
Oliver obeyed — though his earlier good mood began to fade as the hours crawled by.
At first, he was excited. Magic runes, mana circuits, binding arrays — it all sounded so cool. But three hours in, his enthusiasm had turned to suffering.
.....
Hours. It had been hours.
Oliver sat cross-legged on the floor, a book of runic theory open in front of him, his eyes glazing over as Isolde’s calm, lecturing voice droned on like a professor who’d forgotten students need to breathe.
"...and as I said, when carving the rune for flame resonance, you must maintain the correct angular curvature of the outer ring," Isolde said, tapping the diagram with a slender finger.
Oliver nodded mechanically, though he wasn’t sure if anything she’d just said had actually reached his brain.
Focus. Focus. Focus.
WHACK.
Her fist came down gently — but firmly — on the top of his head.
"Pay attention," she said sweetly.
"Y-yes, ma’am..." Oliver rubbed his skull, suppressing a groan.
Minutes — or maybe hours — later, another WHACK followed when his head started drooping forward.
By the time she finally closed the book, Oliver’s head felt like a drum.
"That’s enough theory for today," she said, rising gracefully.
Oliver slumped backward, throwing his arms out dramatically. "Gaaaah! Thank the gods! My brain feels like mashed potatoes."
She gave him a long, amused look. "You really are a whiner."
He ignored the jab, stretching his aching shoulders. "Okay, Madam... since we’re done for today, I’m going out. If I stay cooped up in here any longer, I’ll go mad—"
THUNK.
Something heavy landed beside him.
He glanced down to see one of the cheap swords they’d bought lying at his feet.
"...Uh oh."
"Where do you think you’re going?" Isolde asked sweetly, a little too sweetly. "We’ve done theory. Now comes practice."
Oliver groaned. "You’re a demon."
"I heard that."
"No, no, I said beautiful teacher."
She smirked knowingly. "Nice try. Now, pick up the sword. Let’s see if you can even draw a proper power-flow line without turning it into a mana bomb."
Oliver grumbled under his breath but obeyed, snatching up the weapon.
Oliver took a deep breath, holding the sword steady in his lap. The cool metal gleamed under the lamplight, waiting for him to scar it with his first ever rune.
Isolde sat nearby, cross-legged and watching him like a cat about to witness something hilarious. "Remember what I taught you — keep the flow steady, don’t force it, and visualize the rune clearly before you start."
"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Oliver muttered.