The wooden floor groaned under Lor's boot as he shoved an old desk to the center of the abandoned classroom.
Dust swirled in golden shafts of light piercing the cracked windows, settling like a faint magical haze.
Viora and Myra perched gingerly on their chairs, their skirts rumpled, their curvy thighs trembling slightly from the absurd spanking ritual.
Their faces, flushed from exertion and embarrassment, wore twin expressions of wary irritation and stubborn pride, their red cheeks still stinging beneath their tight uniforms, making every shift a wince-inducing ordeal.
Lor stood before them, his black hair falling messily over his hazel eyes, his grin subtle but smug.
He closed his eyes slowly, his breath evening out, taking on an almost theatrical gravitas.
When he opened them, his gaze seemed distant, as if the Guiding Light itself peered through him.
"The Light is pleased," he intoned, his voice low and reverent, trembling with feigned strain.
