TrueFace's Voice
I'm Zeus Lucifer Joy, 15, sprawled in Ms. Layla Rose's English class, my eyes glued to her. The Kingdom of Whispering Winds hums outside, but in here, it's all about her tight shirt, stretched over her bust, the outlines of her bra visible, teasing my senses. Those papaya-sized breasts, round and full, make my mouth dry, urging me to squeeze them, to drink their sweetness with my hands. She's not the skinny teacher from primary school seven years ago—back then, her bust was small, her frame all angles. Now, at 40, she's chubby, gorgeous, her 38-32-36 figure filling out her dress, hips swaying as she writes on the board. My heart races, a thrill pulsing through me, but I control it, biting my lip. She's my zoology teacher too, her voice sharp but her curves soft, a contradiction that drives me wild.
"Class, first day—pay attention," Ms. Layla says, her tone firm, eyes scanning us. "If you understand, raise your hand." I keep mine down, lost in her bust, imagining the taste of that forbidden fruit. Some kids raise theirs, but I'm too distracted, my body tingling. She catches my stare, her lips twitching. "Zeus, I know you," she says, voice low, almost teasing. "You solved algebra in 4th grade, Pythagoras in 6th—nobody that age could. You're talented."
I shrug, heat creeping up my neck. "I don't brag, Ms. Layla. No need to tell everyone." My classmates whisper, still buzzing about my full name—Zeus Lucifer Joy, a new transfer student they didn't know had such a reputation. They're shocked, but Layla's words make me grin. She knows me, always has, since I was a kid dodging her ruler.
The bell rings, sharp and loud, cutting our talk. Layla turns, her bust bouncing slightly, and my eyes follow, hungry. "Don't forget your books, Zeus," she says, her voice a warning but her smile a spark. "Or I won't let you in." I nod, my head spinning, her curves burned into my mind as she leaves.
TrueFace's Voice
I slump in my seat, head resting on the desk, half-dozing, my body still buzzing from Layla's presence. A metallic clank at the door jolts me, and I lift my forehead, eyes narrowing. Mrs. Baby Lizzy strides in for technology class, and my heart kicks into overdrive. Her black saree hugs her curves, the blouse tight, framing her bust like a forbidden treasure, full and heavy, making every boy in the room shift in their seats. Her hips sway, the saree clinging to her thighs, and I'm lost, my mouth watering, a thrill shooting through me. I want to touch her, to feel that softness, to lose myself in her warmth.
She starts attendance, her voice smooth, calling names. "Zeus Lucifer Joy," she says, and her eyes snap to me, wide with shock. She drops her pen, hurrying to my desk, her saree rustling. "Luci! When did you transfer here?" Her voice is a mix of surprise and warmth, her bust close as she leans down, the blouse outlining every curve. My body tenses, a heat surging, remembering 7th grade—her class, my hand slipping where it shouldn't, caught red-handed. I faked tears, and she hugged me, her bust soft against my face, a pillow of warmth. I moved my head, savoring it, my hand grazing her waist, her moan soft before she pulled back, flustered. She resigned soon after, leaving for another school.
"Mrs. Lizzy," I say, my voice low, "I transferred this term. Didn't know you'd be here." I grin, my eyes flicking to her bust, then her twilight eyes, sparkling with something unspoken. She's older now, maybe 35, but hotter, her chubby figure a dream that makes my pulse race.
"You never told me," she says, her lips curving, a hint of that old connection. "Still causing trouble, Luci?" The class laughs, but her gaze locks on mine, a spark that sets my body on fire.
Mrs. Baby Lizzy's Voice
Zeus—Luci—sits there, his eyes bold, no longer the boy I caught in 7th grade, his tears a clever act. He's 15 now, handsome, his shoulders broad, a manliness that stirs something in me. His gaze lingers on my saree, the black fabric tight against my curves, my blouse framing my bust. I feel every boy's stare, but Luci's hits different, a thrill that makes my skin tingle. "Let's focus, class," I say, my voice steady, but his look—hungry, intense—pulls at me, rekindling that moment years ago when his face pressed against me, his hand on my waist, a moan escaping before I stopped it.
"Luci, you're still my number one student," I say, smiling, keeping it light. "Don't let those thoughts distract you." He smirks, his eyes flicking to my bust, and I shift, the saree clinging tighter, my heart racing. I shouldn't feel this, but the heat in his look, the way he says "Mrs. Lizzy," stirs a thrill I can't ignore.
TrueFace's Voice
Her words hit me, her tease a jolt that makes my body hum. I want to feel her again, her bust soft like that day in 7th grade, her waist warm under my fingers. My classmates whisper, eyeing me—the new transfer with a full name like Zeus Lucifer Joy—but all I see is Lizzy, her saree a second skin, her curves a dream I want to chase. "No distractions, Mrs. Lizzy," I say, my voice husky, "just learning." She laughs, but her eyes flicker, a spark that says she feels it too.
Class starts, circuits and wires, but I'm wired on her, my eyes tracing her bust, her hips, the way her blouse strains. I imagine her in Veloria, a queen with a body that calls to me, her touch a fire I want to burn in. The carved box in my bag hums, its glow faint, whispering of the Scroll of Truth, but it's Lizzy's curves that consume me, a thrill I can't shake.
TrueFace's Voice
The class drags, but Lizzy's every move keeps me hooked—her saree swaying, her bust bouncing as she points to the board. I'm back in 7th grade, her hug a memory that burns, her softness a pillow I want to sink into. My hand twitches, remembering her waist, her moan a sound I crave again. She catches my stare, her twilight eyes narrowing, but there's a smile, a spark that says she remembers too. "Zeus, focus," she says, her voice low, teasing, and my body heats, a thrill pulsing through me.
The bell rings, and we spill into the courtyard for a break. Boys whisper about Lizzy's saree, her curves, and I feel a possessive spark— she's my memory, my fire. I join a stone hand game, Monaa's favorite, and picture her nightdress, her yellowish-brown skin glowing. Vanilla's giggle echoes from across the yard, her skirt tight, and Maya's smile flashes, but it's Lizzy I want. She watches us, her blouse tight, and I toss a stone, aiming to impress, my heart pounding.
Back in class, Lizzy leans over my desk, checking my circuit diagram. Her bust brushes my shoulder, her lavender scent overwhelming. "Good work, Luci," she whispers, her breath warm, her eyes locked on mine. My hand grazes hers, a bold move, and she gasps, her body still, then steps back. "Luci, we can't," she says, but her eyes say different, a fire matching mine. I grin, my starfire burning, my destiny calling. The box glows, a vision flashing—a Velorian temple, the Scroll of Truth glowing, a queen with Lizzy's curves guiding me. I'm Zeus Lucifer Joy, my hidden flame unveiled, ready to chase my truth.
TrueFace's Voice
The next day, Lizzy's class is all I think about. Her saree, black again, clings to her hips, her blouse tight, her bust a dream that makes my body hum. I want to touch her, to feel that softness again, to hear her moan like before. She calls on me, her voice smooth, and I answer, my eyes locked on her curves, earning a nod. "Smart as ever, Luci," she says, her smile a spark, and I feel the class watching, knowing I'm the transfer with a full name like Zeus Lucifer Joy, but all I see is her.
After class, I stay, helping with circuits. She leans close, her bust brushing my shoulder, her lavender scent overwhelming. "You've grown, Zeus," she says, her voice a whisper, her eyes searching mine. My hand grazes her waist, a bold move, and she gasps, her body still, then steps back. "Luci, we can't," she says, but her hand lingers, a steamy moment that pulls me deeper. The box glows, whispering of the Scroll, but it's Lizzy's curves, her spark, that drive me forward, a boy ready to claim his truth.
Hint for Chapter 8: Blaze of Forbidden Desires
Zeus, 15, burns with desire as Ms. Layla's chubby bust and heart-shaped curves tease him in class. Princess Monaa's nightdress clings to her yellowish-brown skin and full breasts during a private game. Their seductive touches ignite a forbidden storm of passion, pulling him into steamy longing and testing his control.