**[WARNING]: YURI CONTENT AHEAD!**
Amy blinked. "Uh…"
She clutched the robe tighter to her chest, heart skipping a beat. 'Did she… come to the wrong room?' she wondered. The woman's voice, the outfit, the way she moved — none of it felt like a regular palace maid.
Before Amy could form a question, the woman stepped closer. Calm. Confident. Unapologetic. She placed a folded cloth and a dark-glass wine bottle onto the nightstand.
"You've had a long day, haven't you?" she murmured. "Would you like a shoulder massage? Or perhaps a sip of wine?" Her lips brushed close to Amy's ear. "…Or should I stay and help you relax in other ways?"
Amy stiffened, her breath catching. Even if she was a woman… getting that close to someone's ear was dirty play. Her cheeks burned.
"I—I could use a massage," she blurted out, trying to shift the moment back to something safe. "My shoulders are… really sore."
The maid smiled — slow and knowing. "As you wish, my lady."
She stepped around behind Amy and gently rested her hands on her shoulders.
"You'll want to remove the robe," the maid said softly. "Oil can ruin silk."
"I… I'm not wearing anything under it," Amy admitted.
The maid chuckled. "We're both women. There's no need to be shy."
Amy hesitated — then slowly turned away, cheeks red, and slipped the robe off her shoulders. She laid face down on the bed, bare as the day she was born, arms folded under her head.
The maid uncorked a crystal vial and drizzled warm massage oil over Amy's back in a thin, glistening stream.
Then her hands began to move.
At first, they were professional — firm pressure, expert fingers kneading into muscle and tension. Amy relaxed into it with a soft sigh. The hands moved down her spine, circling her shoulder blades, rubbing long lines from her neck to her waist.
But then… things shifted.
The maid's touch grew slower. Thumbs drifted lower than necessary. The pads of her fingers glided down Amy's sides, teasing the outer curve of her breasts before returning to her lower back. Then again — slower, bolder.
Amy tensed. "That's a little—mmh—low…"
"Shhh," the maid whispered. "You're trembling. Let me soothe it."
Fingertips dipped again — brushing under her arms, gliding across the sides of her breasts.
Amy gasped. "W-wait, I—"
"Hush…" the maid whispered, her lips brushing the nape of Amy's neck now. "You're so tense. Let me take care of you."
The hand slid in again — this time with more purpose. Two fingers stroked up the length of her pussy, parting her folds, feeling just how wet she was already becoming. Amy's breath hitched.
"Oh gods…" she whispered. "Why does that feel…?"
"You're sensitive," the maid murmured, pressing soft kisses along Amy's spine. "Your body's been ignored. Starved. You need this."
Her fingers circled Amy's clit now — featherlight at first, then firmer, rhythmic. Amy buried her face in the mattress, moaning softly, her hips twitching with every swirl.
"I-I shouldn't… mmhh…"
The maid straddled her gently from behind, leaning down — their bodies barely touching. "But you want to. Don't you?"
Amy whimpered.
That was answer enough.
The maid kissed her shoulder again, then slid down her back — trailing her lips down Amy's spine, her hips, and lower. She eased Amy's thighs apart, spreading them gently, until her glistening pussy was fully exposed to the cool air and hungry eyes behind her.
A hot breath ghosted over her folds.
Then came the first lick.
"Ah—!"
Amy jerked, gasping as the maid's tongue ran slowly up her slit — flat and warm, a deliberate tease. Then another lick. And another. The maid buried her face into Amy's pussy, licking deep and slow, savoring every twitch and moan.
Her tongue circled the clit in soft spirals, then flicked against it, faster, sharper. Amy's hips bucked.
"Nnnghh—w-wait, that's—too fast—!"
But the maid didn't slow down. She reached underneath and cupped Amy's breast with one hand, squeezing softly as her tongue worked faster — lapping, teasing, fucking her with each stroke.
Amy was losing herself. Her moans filled the room, raw and unfiltered now. She couldn't stay still. Her hips moved on instinct, chasing each lick, grinding into the maid's face shamelessly.
"F-fuck—no no, I'm gonna—!"
The maid moaned into her cunt, the vibrations sending Amy over the edge.
Her orgasm hit like lightning — her entire body tensing, trembling, crying out into the sheets as pleasure exploded from her core. Her thighs clamped around the maid's head, her hands gripping the bed like lifelines.
And the maid didn't stop. She kept licking — slow and soft now, dragging it out, letting Amy ride every aftershock.
When Amy finally collapsed, trembling, the maid kissed her inner thigh and sat up — her chin glistening, her eyes warm with satisfaction.
"You came so beautifully," she said softly, brushing hair from Amy's flushed face. "You don't need to be afraid of your desires, Saintess."
Amy couldn't respond. She was too dazed, too sated, too overwhelmed. But she didn't pull away when the maid lay beside her, wrapping warm arms around her body and whispering sweet nothings into her ear.
Not every room echoed with sex…
Some chambers remained quiet.
Emily, Sylvie, and Lisa — despite their beauty, prestige, and elevated ranks — responded very differently when their assigned attendants approached.
In Emily's room, the maid was gentle, beautiful, and perfectly trained. She offered a shoulder rub. A drink. Even a shy compliment about Emily's "radiant magical aura."
But the Saintess-class girl stared back coldly, arms crossed over her modest nightgown.
"No, thank you," she said firmly. "I don't need anything."
There was a pause — the kind that could have turned awkward — but the maid simply bowed.
"As you wish, Lady Emily," she replied with a respectful smile. "Sleep well."
She left without another word.
In Lisa's room, it was two well-built male attendants — confident, charming, perfectly sculpted from neck to abs. They offered to knead out the "tension in her thighs" after a long day of standing.
Lisa gave them a long look… and then rolled her eyes.
"Tch. I'm not some prize cow in heat," she said, climbing into bed and pulling the covers over herself. "Get out before I put a blade between your legs."
The men exchanged a glance and retreated with polite bows, offering no argument.
Sylvie was a different case entirely.
Two busty maids had entered her room — both soft-voiced and seductive, their bodies almost touching as they whispered promises of a "spiritual cleansing" ritual unique to Lunera.
But Sylvie had stiffened instantly, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"I'm… not comfortable with that," she said, backing away, arms held close to her chest.
The maids caught the shift immediately. One of them bowed her head slightly, her tone shifting from sultry to sincere.
"Understood, Lady Sylvie. You have nothing to fear from us. We'll be just outside your door should you need anything."
They didn't linger. They didn't insist.
Selene's orders had been clear: Only those who respond willingly.
~~~
But not everyone was offered special treatment…
Unlike the chosen few whose stats soared and classes dazzled, not all students were graced with royal indulgence.
The palace hospitality, as it turned out, was very much tiered — and ranked, just like the rest of this damn world.
For those with A-rank and above, maids stood waiting in pairs or trios outside their doors — their duties ranging from delivering fine wine to much, much more intimate forms of "assistance." Foot massages, warm baths, oral pleasure, or full-body worship… all offered with trained precision and perfectly practiced seduction.
Meanwhile, for those of lower rank, the attention dropped off swiftly.
For C-rank students, a single maid might knock politely and deliver a pillow.
For D-rank? Maybe a folded towel and a note of congratulations.
For F-rank?
There was nothing.
No knock. No wine. No sultry greetings.
Not even a maid posted in the hallway.
Oliver's room was at the far end of one of the guest wings — a smaller door, tucked near the back stairs. He had no idea it was more or less the servant quarters. The furniture was simpler, the sheets were thinner, and the magical lighting dimmer than what others were given.
But to him?
It was paradise.
He lay sprawled across the bed, snoring softly, fully clothed, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The mattress was firm, the air was scented with lavender, and he even had his own bathroom.
What more could he ask for?
If he had seen the silk-draped bed where Daniel was currently being ridden to orgasm, or the soaked tongue worship Amy was enduring on the high velvet sheets two floors up, he might've screamed into a pillow.
But ignorance, at least tonight, was bliss.
And so, as the palace halls pulsed softly with moans, whispers, and the slap of thighs on skin…
Oliver Shaw, the forgotten F-Rank Linguist, slept like a rock.
Alone. Unaware.