Fun with Class 1-A [pt. II]

I grinned wildly as my words set events in motion like I’d just wound up a wind-up toy and let it march straight into perversion paradise. Momo rose from her seat with that calm, collected grace like Aizawa had just asked her to take attendance—not lead a tit-focused ritual—and started walking down the aisle toward the front.

My eyes drank her in greedily. The swish, swish, swish of that blue-green pleated skirt stirred something primal in me, the fabric flicking lightly around the curve of that perfect ass—tight, toned, and devastating. Her creamy thighs shifted in rhythm beneath the hem, and I found myself leaning just slightly in my seat to keep the view uninterrupted.

“Tch. Just get it over with,” Bakugou growled, slouched with his arms crossed but eyes definitely not closed.

“A-Are they really doing this again?” Midoriya asked nervously, face bright pink as he fumbled for his notebook—eyes darting everywhere except at the girls.

“Of course,” Iida barked, one hand already slicing the air. “Physical maintenance is essential. Warm-ups improve blood flow and mobility! This is rational, Midoriya!”

“Yeah, bro. Raaaational,” Kaminari snorted. “Can’t be superheroines without upper body… um… elasticity.”

“You’re drooling,” Hikigaya noted dryly.

“Silence, ye degenerate animals,” Tokoyami muttered. “This classroom reeks of bloodlust… and lust-lust.”

When Yaoyorozu reached the front, she turned with elegant poise and, without fanfare, unfastened the buttons of her blouse. One by one.

Then she shrugged it off entirely and after unsnapping her bra at the back which delightfully thrust her cans out and let them hang, showing off plenty of creamy cleavage, she set it aside too.

Boom.

The biggest tits in class dropped free—full, heavy, round, but with a soft teardrop hang that gave them natural bounce and weight. She lifted them in both hands with casual precision, her fingers sinking slightly into the thick undercurve as she gave a slow upward adjustment like she was preparing for a medical demo.

Nipples? Deep berry red, thick and puffy, the kind that demanded to be suckled. Her areolae were wide and subtly dimpled, flush against pale skin like the perfect landing zones.

They were huge. Bigger than anyone else in the room by far. But not quite as huge as the pair I’d buried my face in that very morning—Bakugo’s mom, that walking wet dream of a blonde with thick thighs, a mouth that didn’t quit, and fat F-cups that had practically smothered the life out of me while she rode my cock like a stolen bike. That comparison made these big naturals look just a bit less legendary by contrast—but only just. My balls throbbed painfully at the memory, and his cock, still jammed painfully down his pantleg, gave another hungry twitch.

My eyes flicked from Momo to sweep greedily across the entire class as all the girls were already in motion, standing up and getting out of their tops.

Jiro undid her blouse with a sigh, revealing that lovely pair of compact tits—small, tight to the chest, more attitude than mass, with sharp little pink nipples poking out like they had opinions.

Her voice was flat. “Can we make this quick? I’m cold.”

“Y-You’re doing great, Kyoka!” Kaminari piped up.

“Say that again and I’ll bounce a speaker off your teeth,” she replied, not missing a beat.

Tsuyu lifted her shirt with one fluid movement, bra already undone. Her apple-sized tits swung down and out slightly—loose-hanging teardrops with heavy bottoms.

And her nipples pointed outward, like they were staring off in opposite directions. Not straight ahead—east and west, baby. The kind of thing some might find weird, but I? I was fucking entranced.

“Seriously though, can someone at least turn the heat up? My nipples are turning into dials. Ribbit.”

“Not complaining!” Kaminari called out.

“I will sit on your face and not in the good way.”

Yumiko Miura opened her blouse with mechanical boredom, her gaze fixed on the wall, not the boys, revealing a textbook “medium” chest—round, forward, and perfectly spaced.

But her areolae? Pretty big. Dusky beige circles that practically covered half of her breasts.

“If any of you simps so much as breathe loud, I will report you to Nezu.”

“You think I’m scared of a rodent?!” Bakugou barked.

Mina whipped her bra off and her big tits practically leapt out. High-sitting, springy pink domes that defied gravity. Tight skin. Bright reddish-pink nipples that stood out like neon signs.

She spun in place, letting them jiggle freely, wide circles like she was bouncing to a beat.
“Let’s go, bounce squad!”

Yui Yuigahama fumbled with her buttons, cheeks flushed as she peeled her shirt open—then gave a little squeak as her bra slipped loose and her breasts bounced free.

Decently big and they were shapely—round, firm, and high on her chest, sitting so close together they seemed to press into cleavage without any help. Not wide-set like Mina’s playful bounce-prone pair, which wobbled apart with every hop. Yui’s stayed neatly aligned, like they had discipline.

“Please stop staring! Or… at least blink occasionally!”

“Sorry!” Kirishima said, hastily turning his gaze.

Ochako peeled her bra off slowly, then frowned as her tits flopped free.

Round, plush, and eye-grabbingly jiggly—but her nipples were in.

Innie nipples.

Just flat areolae with soft depressions at the center. Like her tits were shy. It was… weirdly adorable.

Ochako grumbled, “Seriously, couldn’t this be a private warm-up?”

“That defeats the purpose of team coordination,” Iida chimed in, still facing forward, eyes resolutely closed.

“Okay, but whose team-building exercise is tit-flops?” she asked, bouncing once to prove the point. The wobble was a thing of absolute beauty.

In my head, I was already confirming my full Class 1-A mental boob chart—Jiro and Yukinoshita sitting around a modest A-cup, Miura and Tsuyu solidly B, with Yuigahama’s soft swells tipping into a C, Mina and Ochako bouncing around D territory (though Ochako’s innie nipples gave her bonus points for mystery), Momo reigning supreme with her majestic E-cups, and Hagakure... well, judging by the dangling bra-cups, I gave her a provisional C+, pending hands-on confirmation.

Momo was still there at the front.

Calm. Steady.

Tits bare, full and glorious. She adjusted one briefly with her fingertips, then folded her arms beneath them, pushing them up so the heavy weight bulged slightly over her forearms.

Once the room finally settled—with the girls standing topless or with their shirts hanging open, the boys seated and mesmerized, and Aizawa tucked into his sleeping bag with eyes conspicuously closed but clearly awake—Momo gave a small, composed nod.

“Alright girls, Set one: Lift and Drops.”
As one, the girls reached for their chests.
Hands slid beneath soft flesh, cupping breasts in practiced rhythm. They lifted, held for two beats—then let them fall.

Slap. Bounce. Quiver.

Again.

Mina was first to grin. “Up we go~!” she sing-songed, bouncing hers extra high before letting them crash down with flair. The spring-loaded flesh jiggled in widening ripples, and she giggled when Kaminari groaned softly.

“Look. Elsewhere. Kaminari,” said Yukino coolly, not even looking at him. She lifted her modest breasts with mechanical precision, her mouth a flat line, eyes half-lidded in cold disapproval.

Tsuyu did her lifts with bare efficiency—tug, drop, repeat. Her nipples pointed outward like twin compass needles, and every bounce made them swivel slightly. “Mine feel heavier today… Ribbit”

Ochako, clearly flustered, muttered under her breath and did her lifts anyway. The bounce was generous, her breasts wobbling like water balloons

“Set two: Full-palmed Squeeze. Five repetitions.”

Palms spread wide.

Each girl pressed inward, flattening breasts against ribs, squeezing until nipples puffed outward, then released.

Miura made it look clinical—no expression, no extra motion. Her large nipples crinkled faintly under pressure, and her breasts rebounded with a soft thump.

Hagakure, meanwhile, had taken a different approach. She’d left her blouse on, fully buttoned at the bottom but open above the chest—a clever cheat that gave just enough shape to her otherwise invisible form. The sides flared gently around her midriff, clearly resting against the undercurve of breasts that couldn’t be seen, but could be imagined.

And when she pushed her bra cups down, letting them hang like pendants at her ribs, the effect was oddly surreal—empty fabric responding to invisible pressure as her hands moved confidently through midair.

She began her squeezes with vigorous motions. Each press made the bra cups compress inward, distorting around the unseen swell of her chest. The blouse tugged slightly with each motion, outlining soft mass where no eyes could follow.

“Dude,” Kaminari whispered, eyes locked on the shifting cups, “she's got ghost tits.”

“Best mystery in the room,” Kirishima breathed, a bit too loudly.

Hagakure laughed, cheerful and teasing. “You guys watching close? I’m giving you all the hints!” She gave another exaggerated squeeze, causing the bra cups to bulge outward for a moment before snapping back. “I’ve been practicing my technique~!”

Yui huffed beside her, cheeks pink with mild irritation. “Don’t encourage them, Toru.”

“What? It’s a stretch routine!” Hagakure replied innocently, cupping upward and wiggling her shoulders for added motion. “I'm just doing it with a little flair!”

Yui rolled her eyes and resumed her squeezes—smooth, restrained, and quiet, like she was determined to offset Hagakure’s antics with a little dignity.

“Rotation Set. Clockwise, then reverse.”

Hands glided smoothly over breasts.

Each girl performed slow, steady circles—palms shifting, fingers spreading, nudging soft skin in hypnotic spirals.

Jiro let out a short sigh. “I swear, this is just fanservice for the boys.”

“It is!” I thought proudly. “It truly is!”

Tsuyu’s rotations were wider, more exaggerated, her nipples slowly spiraling outward like dials tracking barometric pressure. She slowly blinked at all the rolling breasts across the classroom. “Ribbit. Hypnotic.”

Mina, of course, exaggerated hers just for fun—circular rolling motions that sent her tits into chaotic orbits. “We should do this to music,” she said. “Get like a beat going.”

Yukino’s circles were precise and small. Controlled. Clinical. “This is to increase blood flow, not to entertain you.”

“Speak for yourself,” Kaminari muttered, then instantly yelped as Yumiko snapped her bra strap in his direction. “You want a nosebleed, or a broken jaw?”

Soon-too soon!- they all finished up.

“Next set: The Bounce.”

Momo didn’t even raise her voice.

And yet—all of them jumped.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Breasts of every size launched upward, slapped downward, swung side to side with glorious obedience to physics.

And finally…

“Time for the Tit-stretch,” Momo said calmly.

“Ugh. Can we please skip the pull-part today?” Yumiko asked, her voice level but faintly exasperated as she crossed her arms under her breasts. “My nipples are still sore from Tuesday’s hold sets.”

I perked up immediately—hold sets? Tuesday?!
There were even more of these routines I hadn’t seen?!

Momo nodded without pause, her voice as smooth as always. “That’s fine. You may opt out for today. I’ll make a nipple balm for you after we finish.”

Make. A. Nipple. Balm.

I almost came on the spot.

My cock throbbed like it was trying to punch its way out of my pants to get a better look.

“Begin on my count. Three… two… one. And hold it.”

Thumbs and forefingers locked around nipples and the girls pulled.

My breath hitched hard as the synchronized tit-stretch began, the bouncing chaos having given way to a surreal display of discipline and raw lewd elegance. Every girl in the room now held her nipples aloft like sacred offerings to gravity itself, bent arms raised, tit-flesh taut and lifted towards the ceiling.

The classroom was a field of stretched, worship-worthy breasts—gleaming skin pulled upward, nipples straining toward the ceiling like little pink beacons of obedience. Even Jiro now had her barest swell of breast skin pinched and stretched into taut little tents—tiny peaks of defiance against her usual flatness. Ochako, heartbreakingly, wasn’t pulling her inverted nubs—those frustrating innies still tucked away, untouched, as if teasing me personally. But Momo… Momo was divine. Her massive tits stretched so high, she could’ve easily sucked on her own nipples if she tilted her head. And gods, I wished she would.

My erection throbbed like a living creature stuffed down one pantleg, pulsing, the head mashed somewhere near my knee. My balls—swollen, ****, and trapped—throbbed heavily between my thighs like ticking time bombs. Each heartbeat sent a visible shudder through my body.

And yet what aroused me most—what truly made my cock ache with godlike pervert purpose—wasn’t just the ocean of swaying tits or the nipple-pulled glory stretched out before him… it was the simple, undeniable fact that I had done this.

With one sentence.

One offhand remark, tossed like a casual joke—and society had obeyed.