Pussy Brain Bypass

CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!

That’s the only sound I can really hear, over and over: my hips smacking Momo Yaoyorozu’s perfect ass, the meat of her cheeks rippling like she was made for this. Sunlight’s streaming through the windows behind me, glinting on her creamy skin, highlighting every little shiver and bounce.

Damn, look at her. Bent over Todoroki’s desk, skirt bunched up around her waist, nothing but smooth, flawless flesh and the occasional flash of pretty pink wrinkled star between those round cheeks as I pound her from behind. My hands are dug into her hips, fingers sinking into her skin for leverage, and every thrust just sets off another chain reaction of ass waves and wet, obscene slapping noises.

I can feel her. Tight, slick, so hot I swear she could melt me. Her pussy is like velvet wrapped around me, squeezing and clutching with every movement-like her body’s trying to memorize the shape of my cock. Every withdrawal threatens to suck me back in; every push sends shockwaves up her spine and makes her tits swing like pendulums under her chest.

It’s not just the sex, either. It’s the setting.

Middle of class. Aizawa droning on in the background. Todoroki not moving a muscle even though my girl is bouncing her ass against his desk like a trophy on display. Most everyone were doing their best not to look, though I caught Ochako blushing hard as she peeked over. For a second our eyes met, hers wide, cheeks scarlet, caught in the act, and then she jerked her gaze away, pretending to scribble notes as if that could erase what she’d seen.

My boy Denki, at a diagonal half way across the class, half turned in his seat, eyes wide, mouth slack, hands twitching like he doesn’t know whether to cheer or jerk off.

Our eyes lock and a full telepathic conversation takes place:

Him: “Bro… that’s really happening?!”

Me: “Inside. Balls deep. Right now.”

Him: “No way. No fucking way.”

Me: “Wanna see proof?”

His eyes go even wider.

I grin.

Grip Momo’s hips.

And slowly, slowly, I pull back and stand on my tippy toes to tilt up and make my rock-hard Momo-glazed dick easily visible above the twin hills of her ass.

Seven inches.

Eight.

Her pussy lips cling to me like they’re trying to stop me from leaving. Her folds stretch, glistening, drooling down my shaft. The room lights glint off the wet trail as I show it to him, my veiny purple monster, slick with Momo’s perfect upper-class pussy juice.

Denki visibly shudders.

Mouths the word: “Legend.”

I wink.

Then slam back in with a wet slap.

Momo gasps, hands digging into Todoroki’s desk, tits bouncing like they’re trying to high-five his face.

The whole thing is so far beyond anything I ever fantasized I almost laugh every time I drive in and feel her quiver around me.
This should be the best day of my life.

And, yeah, it basically is.

But something starts gnawing at me.

I keep going, clapping those cheeks, pushing in as deep as I can, just to see if I can make her lose her composure, make her scream. That’s what a dick this big is supposed to do. I’m giving her the full Mineta experience here!

But Momo’s quiet.

Way too quiet.

Sure, her body’s reacting; tight, shaky, working to keep up, but her mouth? She’s holding back. Not a single scream, not even a whimper. Just those careful little breaths, her polite little gasps, like she’s presenting a science project and not getting her pussy rearranged by the most legendary cock in U.A.

I slow down, frowning, trying to listen for any crack in her voice.

Nope... still the model student, even now.

That just won’t do.

Not with the show I’m putting on.

Not with everything I’ve worked for.

Something’s gotta give.

And it’s about to be her.

I muttered it under my breath:
"It’s normal that when a pussy gets fucked by a guy with a monster dick and real skills, the girl’s brain short-circuits. She literally can’t help reacting. Moaning, gasping, obeying, her whole world becomes the cock, and she’ll say or do whatever dirty thing makes him happy, like she’s being puppeted by her own pussy.”

The next thrust feels different, like there’s an electric pulse shooting through both of us. Momo’s whole body jerks under my hands. Suddenly, she gasps, loud and helpless, and it’s like something inside her snaps.

Her back arches, ass quivering against me, and she lets out a high, shameless moan that echoes across the room. It’s raw, ****, like her mouth doesn’t belong to her anymore.

“Mineta... ah! Oh... oh my god, it’s too much... so big-” she whimpers, every word trembling, needy, pouring out of her in a voice I’ve never heard before. Her fingers claw at the desk, hips rolling back, greedy for every inch I’ll give her.

Her hips buck back against me, ass rippling under my hands, and she cries out, “Oh god, Mineta-kun, your cock is so huge! I’ve never felt anything this deep... ahh! You’re stretching me open, filling me up like I was made for you!”

I nearly lose it. My hands grip her tighter. I pound in deeper, harder, spurred on by every filthy compliment.

Then, even as her voice breaks with another brainless gasp, she manages:
“Mineta-kun, your balls are so heavy. I can feel all that precious Lifeline legacy slamming into me! I’m honored to take every drop, please, don’t stop, breed me right in front of everyone! Make sure they all know your cock owns me!”

Woah! My ego explodes. My cock throbs, and I can’t help but laugh, low and dirty soaking it all in.

Her voice gets rougher, more ****. She starts chanting, “So big, so good, yes, Mineta-kun, just like that! Ruin me! I want everyone to see how perfect your cock is, how good you make me feel! I’m your personal cum-dump, your trophy slut. Fuck me as hard as you want!”

It’s like she’s reading my mind, saying everything I’ve ever wanted to hear. Every time she gasps or screams, she throws in another line about how tight she is, how perfect I am, how nobody else could ever fuck her like this.

Momo had felt it as a flicker, then a surge. A blooming in her pelvis had reached up and short-circuited her brain, blanketing her thoughts in thick, hazy static. Suddenly, every cool calculation and rational assessment was being usurped by something deep in her body.

She knew the moment the bypass activated. Her mouth moved without permission, pouring out high, needy moans and filthy, **** praise for Mineta’s cock. Her intelligence didn’t disappear; it just re-routed. Her mind, sharp as ever, analyzed Mineta’s every twitch and grunt, then funneled exactly the right words to her tongue.

She was a genius, after all. If her body was going to be controlled, at least her pussy could be clever about it.

Her hips rolled back into each slap. Her cheeks flushed with arousal and effort. Her voice spilled out with every thrust: “So deep! Oh Mineta, your cock is perfect, I can feel you everywhere. Please, don’t stop, don’t ever stop!”

She heard herself babbling and felt her throat vibrate with mindless, eager pleas. Somewhere behind the fog, a tiny sliver of her old self watched in astonishment.

So this is what it means to be puppeted by pleasure…

Every word was picked for maximum effect—she could sense Mineta’s reaction, feel his cock throb even harder every time she said something about his size, his strength, the legacy in his balls. She wasn’t just getting fucked, she was performing—her intelligence and training in service of her own overwhelmed nerves.

Her vision blurred with tears and heat as she pressed her chest into Todoroki’s desk, fingers digging grooves into the wood, breasts swaying heavy and uncontrolled with every impact. Her body felt like it was singing—a humiliating, glorious duet between her vagina and Mineta’s cock, with her own brain reduced to a very enthusiastic backup singer.

There was no room left for modesty. No room for composure. Her only job—her only purpose—was to squeeze, praise, and beg, to make sure Mineta knew how thoroughly he owned her in this moment.

Aizawa blinked, almost lazily, as the volume of wet flesh-on-flesh slaps and the frantic, helpless moans of Yaoyorozu began to overwhelm even his usually robust powers of focus.

He'd seen a lot in his teaching career. He had broken up hallway brawls, mediated rivalry disputes, and confiscated more contraband hero gadgets than he could remember. But a full-blown, mid-lecture public fucking? In the case of Mineta, it wasn't exactly outside the realm of what counted as "business as usual."

The so-called "pussy brain bypass" was well-documented. It was rare, yes, but when you combined Node status, that ridiculous length, and a cultural hero legacy, the result was predictable.

The first time Aizawa had heard about it, he had privately scoffed. Now, he simply accepted it. The science was odd, but the effects were undeniable. All it would take was the wrong supervillain-or an underprepared heroine in the wrong place-for the bypass to turn a
seconds.

He closed his lesson book and let the chalk drop. “We’re done for now. Study on your own until this… resolves.”

His voice cut through the classroom, making a few heads snap up. But soon most eyes were fixed on the spectacle.

From Aizawa’s vantage, leaning on his own desk, arms folded, the visual was striking, almost artistic in its obscene clarity:

Momo Yaoyorozu, bent over Todoroki’s desk, posture near textbook-perfect for what was happening. Her skirt was hiked up, bunched carelessly around her slim waist. Her panties were tangled at one ankle, a dainty pastel loop. The girl’s waist dipped dramatically inward, accentuating a long, deep curve of spine and the athletic swell of her hips. Her ass was round, pert, and high from years of elite training and genetics creating a canvas as perfect as it was inviting.

Mineta, absurdly short, but with a cock that defied all reason, was perched precariously on the rolling seat of her abandoned chair. His hands locked tight around her waist, he drove his hips in frantic, piston-like thrusts. The glistening length of his oversized shaft was visible at every other withdrawal, slick with arousal and ringed by her stretched, pink folds.

Yaoyorozu’s arms were braced against the desk’s surface for leverage. Her breasts; full, heavy, and utterly natural, swung freely beneath her, pendulous from the deep arch of her back. Every hard thrust made them sway, swinging in counterpoint to the rhythm of Mineta’s frantic hips.

Her face was a study in abandon: eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, cheeks aflame, her voice echoing shamelessly with every bounce and squelch. Momo, the straight-laced perfectionist, was reduced to a helpless, loud, **** mess- a vivid display of just how thorough the “bypass” effect could be.

Aizawa could see the class: Kaminari leaning forward, mouth agape; Mina’s blush spreading down her neck; Uraraka hiding behind her hands, but peeking through her fingers; Jiro half-horrified, seemingly caught somewhere between envy and awe.

Eventually, Mineta’s rhythm reached a fever pitch. He grinned like a lunatic, smacking Momo’s ass sharply, and barked a jubilant command: “Bounce those fun bags up to the front of class, Yaoyorozu! Lay that beautiful body out on Aizawa’s desk so everyone can get a real look!”

She straightened up, breasts swaying, and glanced over her shoulder with a wicked, breathless grin. In the same breathy, mind-broken voice, she purred, “Yes, Mineta-kun! You want everyone to see what a perfect little slut I am for your cock? I’ll put my tits on display for the whole class! Watch me bounce, everyone—this is what it means to serve the best dick in U.A.!”

Aizawa watched the procession with the deadpan resignation of a man who’d seen too much, too often.

Yaoyorozu led the way, striding up the aisle with her skirt hiked and her breasts, large even by the overachiever standards of Class 1-A, swaying and clapping with each determined step. The soft percussion of flesh, unmistakable in the silence, was as rhythmic as any march.

Mineta followed in her wake, only coming to her hip in height, his own anatomy making a statement no training manual could cover. His ridiculous endowment, hanging heavy, swinging from thigh to thigh, mimicked the motion of Yaoyorozu’s breasts almost perfectly, each step sending his cock flopping audibly in counterpoint to her bouncing chest.

From his post at the front of the room, Aizawa couldn’t help but note the visual symmetry: two students, both singularly over-equipped, crossing the classroom with total abandon- her breasts leading, his schlong keeping pace. The absurdity was almost artistic in its perversion.

He took a long sip of coffee and set the thermos down with a sigh.

There really wasn’t a teacher’s guide for this.

Jiro watched in utter disbelief as Momo helped Mineta onto Aizawa's desk. For all his bragging, Mineta barely reached hip-height on Momo, and it was almost comical watching her bend down, hands under his armpits, and lift him onto the front edge of Aizawa’s desk like he was a wayward toddler who needed to be parked before snack time.

Mineta grinned, swinging his legs like he owned the place, his enormous cock already hard and bobbing between them- a sight so out of proportion to his body it bordered on the surreal. Momo clambered up beside him, bracing herself with a hand on the desk and then, Kami help her, she swung one leg over and straddled him, her bare ass facing the class with all the confidence of a girl about to give a speech, not get railed in public.

Momo’s skirt bunched high, bunching at her waist as she found her balance in a deep, athletic squat. Her hands planted on Mineta’s shoulders, she hovered just above the tip of his glistening cock. Her ass- pale, round, perfectly toned from years of hero training, became the centerpiece for every eye in the room.

Then, with a slow, practiced motion, Momo lowered herself. Jiro’s breath caught as she watched her best friend’s pussy lips part and begin to swallow Mineta’s monster cock, inch by thick, glistening inch. The display was as explicit as it was mesmerizing; slick fluids already coated the shaft, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Jiro shot Kaminari a glare as he leaned further over his desk for a better view, then flicked one of her earjacks at his head- just enough of a snap to make him flinch and sit up straight. Typical.

Jiro had always prided herself on being the “cool” one, the voice of reason, the girl who wasn’t fazed by much. But as Momo Yaoyorozu, her best friend, the smartest girl she knew, lowered herself onto Mineta’s frankly insane cock, right there on Aizawa’s desk, it was impossible not to watch. In fact, it was impossible not to stare.

She’d barely glimpsed the action from the back row, just flashes of flesh and wet noises that made her cheeks burn. Now, though, it was all right in front of her. Momo’s perfect, creamy thighs were spread wide, skirt hiked, as she squatted low, her breasts bouncing with every descent. Mineta’s shaft, fat and veined, shone slick in the harsh classroom lights, and every time Momo dropped down, her folds seemed to devour him- stretching, gripping, almost hypnotic in how they swallowed every inch he offered.

Jiro felt something she absolutely, positively refused to name; a low, syrupy throb deep in her own body, like her uterus was heating up from the inside out. There was no reason for her to get wet, but she could feel it, clear as the blush crawling up her neck. Her thighs squeezed together automatically.

She kept telling herself this was wrong, that she should be worried about Momo, or pissed at Mineta, or embarrassed for everyone. But her eyes didn’t leave the spot where slick, pink flesh met thick, pulsing cock. Not for a second. The way Momo moved- so confident, so committed; sent an unwanted thrill right through her. And the sound… Kami, the sound. Wet, messy, absolutely filthy.

Jiro always thought she’d seen the worst Mineta had to offer. But today, he’d outdone himself, and he’d dragged Momo—her Momo—right along for the ride. It was surreal, watching the girl she admired for her poise, intellect, and reserved grace now perched atop Mineta on Aizawa’s desk, her skirt bunched up like a flag of surrender.

But this wasn’t some helpless, mindless mess—at least not on the surface. Momo rode Mineta with a rhythm that was almost artful, her big, gorgeous ass rising and falling, flesh clapping loud enough to echo through the classroom. Every bounce was deliberate, every movement performed with purpose. And with each downward slam of her hips, Momo gave voice to the kind of praises Jiro would’ve sworn she’d only ever heard in the raunchiest back-alley club, not the top classroom of U.A.

“Oh, God, yes! Look at this cock, so thick and perfect!” Momo’s voice was bright, melodic, but dripping with lust—a melody of depravity. Each praise was punctuated by the wet slap of her thighs meeting Mineta’s, the obscene sounds ringing out as bold as any rock anthem. And somehow, it didn’t even sound awkward coming from her. That was the scariest part.

Jiro felt her body react in ways she really wished it wouldn’t. Every time Momo ground down, pausing to twerk on Mineta’s tip, her own thighs pressed tighter together, slickness gathering between her legs no matter how hard she fought it. She shouldn’t be feeling this way. She should be annoyed, worried for her friend, mad at Mineta for making a show of it. But all she could do was stare—hungry, mortified, fascinated.

Momo didn’t hold back, either. She’d lift herself up, rotating her hips, grinding slow and deep, the tip of Mineta’s cock glistening with her own arousal as she put it on display for the whole room. “Ladies, just look at this magnificent dick!” she crowed, flashing a proud, almost smug grin. “Can you see how it stretches me, fills me up? This is what a real man’s cock looks like!”

The words made Jiro’s head swim, and she could feel the heat flooding her cheeks, her ears. Every time Momo slammed back down, her voice rose higher- “It’s so hard and deep inside me! Every inch makes me want more!” -each declaration more brazen than the last.

It was like watching Momo’s genius, her drive to excel, all aimed at one single depraved performance—turning the praise of Mineta’s dick into an artform. Twerking at the peak, she flaunted the shine of their combined fluids, her voice purring with pride. “This cock is a masterpiece! It drives me wild, makes me cum so hard. I’m just a horny slut for it, aren’t I? Just watch how well it fucks me!”

Jiro should’ve been horrified. She was horrified; at least, part of her was. But another part, the traitorous, warm, curious part, couldn’t look away. Momo’s words were too sharp, her movements too skilled, the whole act so outrageously over the top that it left the class paralyzed- entranced, aroused, speechless.

It was wrong. It was wild. It was so “normal” now that there was no way to stop it, even if she wanted to. And judging by the insistent throb between her own thighs, she wasn’t sure she really did.

But as Momo’s breasts bounced and her praises grew louder, Jiro made herself a silent promise: After class, she’d be there for her best friend. No matter what.

I was sweating. No, I was drenched. There was no way the others weren’t noticing how red my face was or how I kept fidgeting in my seat. But then, how could they, with that going on up front?

Momo’s lewd voice echoed around the room, somehow getting louder each time Mineta thrust. I could barely breathe, and it wasn’t just me reacting.

Kacchan's snarl was sharp, just under his breath but deadly clear. “Tch. Fucking hell. Of course it’s this pervy grape bastard, getting all the action in the world…”

Hachiman’s voice was dry and almost philosophical, as if he was doing some kind of meta-commentary: “Society truly has lost its way. Or maybe it’s just finally being honest. Either way, I’m not even surprised.”

Mina, pink cheeks even more vivid than usual, was hugging herself and half-squirming in her seat. “Whoa. Momo’s really, like, going off. Did you hear that line about being a hero slut? That’s… wow.”

Tsuyu’s big eyes blinked, her tone matter-of-fact but unbothered. “Ribbit. At least she seems happy. It’s important to be enthusiastic about one’s duty, ribbit.”

Near the wall, Yuigahama gave a muffled squeak, her hands pressed tight to her mouth as she tried and failed to hide her own arousal and shock. “O-ohmygosh, she’s really saying all that… in front of everyone…”

Just as another slap rang out, Kirishima punched his own thigh, half in disbelief, half in awe. “Dude, Mineta’s a legend. That’s some manly stamina! Like, is this gonna be a regular thing, you think?”

My legs were locked together so tight I thought my thigh muscles would cramp. It didn’t help. My erection throbbed like a warning siren, pounding along with my pulse, reminding me every single second that this was real. This was happening, right here in class.

Momo Yaoyorozu, elegant, perfect, the very definition of composure, wasn’t even remotely herself now. She was bent in a sharp L-shape over Aizawa-sensei’s desk, her breasts squished against the polished wood, face turned to the side and half-hidden by a fall of disheveled black hair. Her bare ass was on full display to the class, legs spread just enough to show the soaked, obscene details between her thighs. Mineta, crouched on the desk behind her, pumped his ridiculous cock in and out of her with wild abandon.

What really made it impossible to look away, or to hide what was going on in my pants, was her voice.

She was loud. Really loud.

“Ahhh! Oh god, yes, YES, deeper, Mineta-kun, fuck me with that huge cock! Split me open! Oh, I can feel you in my guts! Fill me up! Show everyone what a real hero’s cock can do!”

It was like watching one of those Western pornos, except it was Momo. Our Momo, Class 1-A’s vice rep and model student, and every single person in the room could hear every filthy, brainless cry.

I tried to **** my mind somewhere else, anywhere else. The history of the Consent Crisis, the rise of PCS culture, government hero protocols, why Lifeline’s legacy was so important. This was supposed to be civic duty, legacy preservation; heroes making sure not a drop of “essential genetic material” went to waste. I’d read the papers. I’d seen the charts.

I’d scrolled past explicit PCS content on social media feeds, on public advertising screens, and even in educational materials, discussing everything from consent to Quirk-related intimacy issues. The images, always explicit yet somehow mundane, featured IDs prominently displayed, timestamps, and sometimes even biometric data to ensure everything was above board.

But hearing Momo, Momo, crying out about Mineta’s cock and how she was being “bred like a hero slut” was a hundred times more intense than any video or media graphic.

My cock throbbed with every slap of Mineta’s hips. Every time Momo’s voice peaked in another shameless squeal, “Oh! Mineta, I’m cumming again, everyone look, he’s making me cum so hard!” I wanted to crawl under my desk and disappear. But I couldn’t stop watching.

She was a hero. She was doing her duty. That’s what I kept telling myself, even as I squeezed my thighs and prayed no one would notice the tent in my uniform pants.

I **** myself to write something. Anything. Quake-zone entry protocols. Evacuation priorities.

But it didn’t help. I was so aware of my body, of the blood pulsing in my face, in my hands, in that humiliating, throbbing place between my legs. Was this normal? Was I normal?

Momo-san was a real hero. She was doing her part for Lifeline’s legacy, for all of us. That’s what I should focus on. That, and the blessed certainty that Mineta-kun was as heterosexual as humanly possible, so I’d never be called on to “save” his cum myself.

Probably.

Aizawa-sensei raised his voice, flat and commanding. “Everyone, gather around my desk. Now. Front and center.”

There was a scraping of chairs, a shuffling of feet. Even Kacchan, who’d been muttering and glaring, rose without protest, eyes narrowed as he drifted closer. The rest of us hesitated, wide-eyed, then moved forward in a loose semicircle, close enough to see everything but careful not to get in the splash zone.

Aizawa gestured lazily to the spectacle on his desk with a clinical detachment, eyes slightly narrowed. “Since Mineta has decided to hijack my class, we might as well get something useful out of it. You’re all future heroes, so pay attention.”

He snorted, chalk in hand. “Let’s talk about the so-called ‘pussy-brain bypass.’”

He turned and scrawled a quick, rough diagram of pelvic anatomy and neural pathways on the chalkboard: arrows from pelvis to brain, a question mark by the midbrain. “This is a real phenomenon. Happens when a heroine gets penetrated by a partner who’s outside the statistical norm. Prolonged, deep, or unexpected. Like our current demonstration.”

Mineta, grinning like a gremlin, gave Momo a slow, hard thrust, making her gasp and jolt forward on the desk. Her breasts, squashed to the lacquered surface, wobbled under the ****. Her thighs quivered with every movement.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” Aizawa went on. “A superheroine's little hole isn’t some magical ‘I win’ button for every villain out there. There are, statistically, very few males who can induce this effect.” He cast a long, unimpressed look at Mineta, who beamed. “So don’t get carried away.”

He snorted again, a little louder. “Frankly, I expect the opposite. If anything, most female heroes will be able to trick overconfident moron villains into thinking they’re compromised, when actually they’re waiting for an opening.”

Mina, never one to hold her tongue, leaned toward Tsuyu and stage-whispered, “Honestly, I bet half of us could fake it better than any villain could tell. Let them think they’ve got us, then bam, acid to the face.”

Tsuyu just blinked, her voice flat and deadpan as ever. “Ribbit. If some villain tries to fuck me stupid, he better know I can clench hard enough to snap his dick in two.”

Aizawa-san was nodding. “The best scenario is not to get fucked. Full stop. But if it does happen, and you find yourself up against an idiot who thinks he’s the main character in a porn flick, use it. Act like your brain’s gone soft, let him lower his guard, and then take him down. Remember, you’re heroes, not victims.”

He went on. “Naturally, some underground heroes have exploited this phenomenon. While public-facing pros generally avoid it, infiltration agents and ‘gray zone’ operatives have been known to subdue female villains through sexual compromise.”

I blinked, the words lodging somewhere dark in my imagination.

“You mean,” I muttered, mostly to myself, “some heroes have sex with villains into giving up intel?”

“Underground work. Nothing official. But yeah. If you’re hung enough…”

Momo was moaning now, louder. One leg kicked lazily against the desk as Mineta’s hips smacked wetly into her thighs. Her hair stuck to her face, her lips parted and drooling against the lacquered wood, her ass bouncing each time he drove home.

I swallowed, hard.

Iida raised his hand, ever the student.
“Excuse me, Sensei,” he asked, voice only slightly strained, “but how does one resist a pussy brain bypass if they’re caught in a compromised situation?”

Aizawa's reply was as dry as ever.

“You don’t,” he said flatly. “If the guy’s big enough and the technique’s good enough, nothing resists it. It’s called a ‘pussy brain bypass’ for a reason. Well, in the worst case, that is. In actuality, there is a gradient in which it can be resisted."

Mina snorted beside me, whispering, “Oh my god…”

Aizawa continued, his voice smooth, bored, as if he was just describing a new villain arrest statistic. “There are jokes about men thinking with their other head. But in bypass cases, women literally start thinking with their pussy. You stop prioritizing logic. You stop caring about duty. You start making decisions based on how deep he’s inside you and how badly you want to feel that again.”

Momo let out a high, broken gasp at that moment, her hand scrabbling for something to grip on the desk’s surface. Mineta had just pushed deeper, so deep I swear I saw her back arch in reflex, like her spine was reacting to pressure inside her womb.

“And to be clear,” Aizawa went on, “someone like Mineta here? Rare. And thank god. A true villain equivalent, say, someone with All Might-level charisma, a telepathic Quirk, and that kind of size, that’s catastrophic. You don’t just lose a fight. You serve them. You spill intel. You sabotage missions. You beg to be used again.”

“That’s part of why PCS compliance became policy,” Aizawa continued, droning in that flat, tired tone. “The Consent Crisis started because people weren’t prepared. There were no records. No checks. Some women got dicked into turning on entire teams.”

Yuigahama timidly raised a hand, looking between Momo’s shuddering body and Aizawa’s bored gaze. “Is that why Midnight’s… you know. The way she is?”

Aizawa actually smirked, just a hint of dry humor. “Yes. And I pity the villain dumb enough to try and bypass her brain through that pussy. Midnight has years of tactical dick exposure. She can orgasm through a crowbar and keep reciting coordinates.”

A nervous ripple of laughter passed through the group.

“She’ll tell you herself,” Aizawa added. “The place to have your brain bypassed is somewhere safe. With allies. With partners you trust to use you right.”

He turned, finally, to Mineta, still humping Momo’s upturned hips with glazed, unsteady eyes. Sweat dripped down Mineta’s face, his hair sticking out at every angle. He blinked, barely processing, momentarily lost in the haze of sensation and spectacle. The classroom seemed a million miles away.

Aizawa sighed, his patience thinning. “Mineta. Demonstrate the obedience effect for the class.”

Mineta’s brows furrowed. “Uh… What?”

“Just give her a command,” Aizawa repeated, deadpan. “Show them how it works.”

Mineta hesitated, blinking hard, the thought slipping through his overexcited brain like water through a sieve. Then, grinning dumbly, he gripped Momo’s hip, leaning in.

“Uh… Momo, bark like a dog.”

As if on cue, Momo’s voice rang out, bright, loud, and eager, utterly shameless.

“Arf! Arf! Arf!”

A wave of shock and stifled laughter rolled through the class, but Aizawa just nodded, the very image of dry acceptance. “Thank you, Mineta. Point made.”

I saw it click for Mineta, right there in front of the whole class, as if someone had flicked a switch inside his head. His expression sharpened with giddy delight, and his hands dug harder into Momo’s hips, like handlebars on a bike.

He leaned forward with that unmistakable greedy grin. “Momo, use your quirk and make me a trophy. Label it ‘Biggest Cock in Class.’ Gold, please.”

There was a little twinge in my chest, something between a nervous flutter and the worry I got before big tests. But this was normal, right? That’s what my mind told me. Still, the way Mineta grinned gave me a sense of wary anticipation.

Momo’s reply was a broken, needy moan. Then, just above where Mineta’s cock pistoned into her, I watched her Quirk bloom. Usually her creations were pristine, flawless, like she’d conjured them straight from a 3D printer. But this trophy came out wild, uneven, trembling with every jolt of her body. The gold base wobbled, the stem leaned, and the letters on the side warped.

B iGGeSt CoCK iN ClaSS
thAnk U\~ momo\~ <3

Crowning the whole thing was a massive, perfectly sculpted golden cockhead, detailed to an embarrassing degree.

Mineta cackled, pure joy. “Holy crap! You even got the vein on the side! Momo, you’re a genius!”

I just stared, my mind racing to log every detail. It was all so efficient, somehow. Like some new kind of teamwork.

Momo whimpered again, eyes unfocused, trophy balanced on her hip as Mineta kept moving behind her.

I squeezed my notebook tighter, knuckles white, the edge of the paper digging into my palms. I couldn’t look away, not even if I wanted to.

Every thrust sent Momo’s body rocking forward, her hair splayed in wild black waves, her voice tumbling out in these delirious, filthy declarations I’d never have believed could come out of her mouth. “Yes! Stuff me full, don’t stop, give me every drop!” I could feel my whole face blazing, ears burning, as her words echoed around the room.

My brain screamed at me to take notes, to analyze what was happening for the sake of “heroic case studies,” but all I could manage was a shaky scrawl in the corner of a blank page:
“Pussy brain bypass—dangerous for female heroes. Don’t let this happen in combat, especially against big-dicked villains.”

I risked a glance down; my pants had a definite, shameful bulge tenting out, but the mortification was slightly lessened when I noticed Kirishima beside me, shifting awkwardly with a matching outline, and Tokoyami’s feathers rustling uncomfortably as he crossed his legs. Even Kacchan was scowling fiercely but not making any attempt to hide his own very obvious… uh, reaction.

Aizawa didn’t look fazed at all. He was lecturing in that flat, dry voice, drawing diagrams on the board while Momo’s moans reached a fever pitch behind him. It was like a fever dream, a nightmare for my nerves, but somehow everyone else was just studying it. Like it was another rescue scenario or villain takedown drill.

I wanted to sink into my chair and disappear, but every time Mineta cried out and Momo arched her back, my heart thudded louder, blood rushing in my ears. I just prayed that no one would notice how hard I was shaking, or how **** I was to look away and just couldn’t.

Mineta’s rhythm lost all pretense of control; his hips started stuttering, then bucking wildly, like he was powered by pure animal instinct. His cries got high and ****, almost a cackle, almost a sob. “Oh, oh shit, holy fuck, I’m gonna, Momo, I’m-!”

He slammed in deep, little legs flexing, and I watched the muscles in his back go tight as a bowstring. Momo, still splayed across the desk, arched her hips up to meet him, her whole body shivering, breasts mashed to the wood, that golden trophy winking on her hip.

He howled, hips blurring like a cartoon, and his cock jerked so hard I thought he might actually pass out. His hands clamped down on Momo’s waist as he emptied himself into her, over and over, every spasm stretching out the moment.

It just kept going.

Hot, messy, noisy, obscene. Momo didn’t even try to hide her reaction; her mouth hung open in a dopey, blissed-out smile, eyes rolled back as she just rode the aftershocks. Her whole body glowed with the flush of orgasm, sweat gleaming on her back and shoulders. If anything, she looked more relieved than anything, like she’d run a marathon and finally crossed the finish line.

Honestly, I’d never seen anything like it. You hear stories about big penises, but this was different. The way Momo’s whole body shivered with every final twitch of Mineta’s cock, you could just tell there was no exaggeration in those rumors. She’d gotten her fill, and then some.

When Mineta finally sagged forward, gasping, his face shiny with sweat and triumph, Momo just sighed, a deep, content, almost grateful sound. Like she’d checked off a major life goal.