## Chapter 492 – #103_I’M An Associate Professor And You Are(4)
#491
1.
Tonight’s instructions from Associate Professor Amelia.
“Caregiver, based on what I’ve taught you, thoroughly clean my body.”
Siwoo faithfully followed those instructions.
Like a doctor fish, he clung to Amelia’s naked form, licking and sucking every inch of her subtly sweaty skin, leaving deep, lingering kiss marks.
-Chuuup chuuup
“Like this?”
“Haa… Y-yes… You’re quite useful, caregiver…”
Being caressed all over with soft lips and a tongue was something she had experienced before.
However, enduring it not on a bed but in the library, where silence should be maintained, and while standing, was quite overwhelming for Amelia.
Siwoo, holding Amelia’s arms up, licked and sucked her smooth armpits.
The salty scent of sweat.
A slightly higher temperature than other skin.
He thoroughly explored the curves of her armpits with his tongue, savoring every part of her.
“Heeuuuuh…!”
Amelia, her body trembling at the sensation of a soft tongue tickling her sensitive areas, still maintained her authority as an associate professor.
She wanted to say, ‘Don’t… lick there…’ but fulfilling his request came first.
“Care…giver… Don’t just… focus on one spot… Clean other places properly too.”
“Just a little more.”
“Hieeuh…”
Even a witch sweats.
Amelia, though not prone to sweating, was feeling sticky and damp today due to various hardships.
Watching him lick her armpits made the ticklish sensation even more embarrassing.
Amelia, her legs twisting restlessly from Siwoo’s flamboyant tongue movements, teared up.
Her lips twitched with an expression that was hard to tell if it was a laugh or a cry.
“Associate Professor, now I will clean the other armpit thoroughly.”
“W-wait a minute… Caregiver…! Haaah…!”
And then, a twist that shocked Amelia during her ordeal.
-Drip
A stream of sweet nectar flowed down Amelia’s thigh as she fidgeted.
It was shocking in a different way.
Amelia hated ticklishness.
Even when Sophia playfully poked her side, she would always get serious.
-Chulup chulup!
But the sensation that had been painful until the middle was gradually turning into a strange heat she had never felt before.
Her body was heating up like this just from being tickled in a non-sensitive area.
Maybe she, not Siwoo, was the real pervert.
Just as she was panicking at the self-loathing and the gradually rising heat in her body.
Finally, Siwoo’s mouth left Amelia’s body.
By then, both of Amelia’s thighs were soaked with arousal fluid from the ticklishness and sexual excitement.
“Haa… You’re… quite good, caregiver…”
“You flatter me.”
“Next time, clean me as thoroughly as you did today. And…”
It would be nice if it ended here, but there was still a second class left.
“Today, we have a class about the female body. Follow me to the lecture hall right now.”
A magic class and sex education where Siwoo was often used as a teaching aid.
Today’s teaching aid was none other than Amelia herself.
2.
Teleport from the library to the lecture hall according to the script.
The number of witches had decreased, and naturally, the number of apprentice witches had also decreased, so there were many empty lecture halls in Trinity Academy.
Even if that weren’t the case, there were no apprentice witches taking classes at this time.
Among the many lecture halls, the one Siwoo and Amelia chose was the lecture hall of the second teacher who had taught Odile and Odette.
In the past, Siwoo had been a teaching aid there, completely naked, or had received public masturbation or a public handjob.
But today was different.
“Caregiver, today I will use my body for the lesson.”
“Yes, Associate Professor.”
Associate Professor Amelia herself was giving a live, uncensored sex education lesson.
She was standing on the lectern with the same voice and expression she usually had when standing on the podium.
Right in front of her, 30cm away, stood Shin Siwoo, a diligent student.
Who would have thought they would end up doing this kind of role-playing?
“……”
It was embarrassing.
She was ashamed and wanted to run away.
But Amelia completely threw off her cloak.
Her white naked body, marked with reddish kiss marks from Siwoo’s licking and sucking, shone in the moonlight.
Siwoo was the only student here.
Being used as a ‘teaching aid’ was quite humiliating, even setting aside the unsightly acting.
But Siwoo had been forced to show his disgraceful side in front of the twins because of Amelia.
The thought that she shouldn’t run away just because that shame had become her own took hold.
A lesson only for Siwoo, to correct the past of two people who had gone astray.
Amelia resolved that she would overcome this ordeal and face Siwoo even more.
“Caregiver, look here.”
With such a determined heart, she hesitantly spread her legs.
Amelia’s thighs, completely bare and soaked, and her femininity, which had become much more moist and sticky, were fully exposed.
To fully meet expectations, Amelia, having renewed her mindset and begun to adapt to this awkward role-playing, was giving a performance that was reaching its peak.
She looks down at Siwoo with an aloof expression and gaze, as if she were standing on the teacher’s desk, legs spread, displaying her private parts, and saying, “Showing my naked body to a lowly slave is nothing to be ashamed of,” or “It’s part of the lesson. It’s strange to feel shame.”
“Yes, Associate Professor. I’m looking at it.”
“Before we begin the actual lesson, I’ll explain the names of each part of the female genitalia and their current state.”
I’m already staring a hole through it as it is.
The sound of the rain was deafening.
The rain was coming down in sheets, and the wind was howling like a banshee. It was the kind of storm that made you want to curl up in bed with a good book and a cup of hot chocolate. But I couldn’t do that. I had to get to the library.
I pulled my coat tighter around me and stepped out into the storm. The wind immediately tried to rip my umbrella out of my hand, but I held on tight. I trudged through the puddles, my shoes squishing with every step. The library was only a few blocks away, but it felt like miles in this weather.
Finally, I reached the library. I shook off my umbrella and stepped inside, grateful for the warmth and dryness. The library was quiet, as always. The only sound was the gentle hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of pages.
I made my way to the back of the library, to the section where they kept the old books. I was looking for a particular book, one that I had been searching for for months. It was a book of ancient legends, and I had a feeling that it held the key to something important.
I scanned the shelves, my fingers running along the spines of the books. I was about to give up when I saw it. A small, leather-bound book tucked away on the bottom shelf. I reached for it, my heart pounding in my chest.
I pulled the book off the shelf and opened it. The pages were yellowed and brittle, but the words were still legible. I began to read, my eyes scanning the ancient script. As I read, I felt a strange sensation, like a tingling in my fingertips. I looked up, and I saw that the lights in the library were flickering. The air was thick with a strange energy.
I knew that something was happening. Something big. And I knew that I was right in the middle of it.
It’s Amelia’s pussy, which I’ve seen up close countless times already.
But seeing Amelia’s pussy in submissive slave mode was on a different level of appreciation than seeing Amelia’s pussy in her prickly assistant professor mode.
“First, this part that protrudes in a gentle mound shape, covering the pubic bone, is the mons pubis. It’s also called the pubic mound. I have pubic hair growing here, but some women don’t. It becomes more prominent when you lie flat on your back.”
Amelia continued her explanation in an intellectual tone. It was the return of Associate Professor Amelia, who used to dominate the twins with her icy voice and charisma from the podium. Though the lecture content was a bit strange.
“This swollen part here is the labia majora, which belongs to the external genitalia. As the literal translation suggests, it’s like a big lip, and as you can see, it’s thicker and softer than normal skin. Caretaker, would you like to touch it?”
“Yes, Associate Professor.”
It was Siwoo, who was observing directly from the table almost right in front. He reached out and gently pressed Amelia’s labia, which was as soft as pudding. A pleasant elasticity and a softness that pushed back against his finger.
“How is it?”
“It’s soft.”
Before Siwoo could even ask a question, Amelia added an explanation. Amelia pointed to each part of her body with her finger, continuing her explanation in a calm and low tone.
“The part surrounded by the labia majora is the labia minora. There’s a rumor that its shape and color change depending on a woman’s experience with men, but the effect is minimal. Congenital factors largely determine its size, shape, and color. In my case, it’s a small form that hardly protrudes externally, and the color is close to a bright red.”
“Associate Professor Amelia, you’re beautiful even here. Like flower petals.”
“Don’t talk nonsense and focus on the lesson.”
Amelia’s voice trembled as she glared sharply at Siwoo, who playfully stroked the flower petals.
“At the point where the labia minora meet, there’s the urethral opening. Like the anus, it’s a vestigial organ that witches no longer need.”
Amelia’s slender finger slightly parted her labia, revealing a small hole that seemed barely large enough to fit a cotton swab.
“……”
Amelia held her breath for a moment.
Even if it was role-playing, it was still a perverted act.
It was excruciatingly humiliating to explain the precious arsenic so nakedly in front of him, and yet, for Amelia, it was a salvation.
Because this was how she could atone for her mistake, which she had pessimistically believed she could never take back.
The day I turned twenty, I received a strange gift.
It was a small, old-fashioned music box. The kind you’d see in a dusty antique shop. The box was made of dark wood, and the surface was worn, as if it had been handled countless times. There were no decorations, just a simple, unadorned box.
I didn’t know who had sent it. There was no sender’s name on the package, just my name and address written in neat handwriting. I was curious, so I opened the lid.
A delicate melody began to play. It was a tune I’d never heard before, but it was strangely familiar. It was a sad, yet beautiful melody, like a lullaby from a distant dream. I listened to the music for a long time, lost in thought.
The music box was the beginning of everything.
That night, I had a strange dream. I was standing in a place I’d never seen before. It was a dark forest, and the trees were so tall they blocked out the sky. The air was cold and damp, and the only sound was the rustling of leaves.
I felt a strange sense of unease, but I couldn’t move. I was rooted to the spot, as if I were a part of the forest itself. Then, I saw a light in the distance. It was a small, flickering light, like a candle in the darkness.
I wanted to go to the light, but I couldn’t move. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I was trapped in the dream, unable to escape.
Then, the light began to move. It came closer and closer, until it was right in front of me. It was a small, white figure, like a child. The figure reached out to me, and I felt a strange sense of peace.
The next morning, I woke up with a pounding headache. I couldn’t remember the dream clearly, but I had a strange feeling that it was real. I looked at the music box on my desk. It was still there, as if nothing had happened.
I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew that the music box was the key to everything.
“그리고 요도구 위로 올라가면 소음순이 모이는 모서리가 있죠. 그 정점에 있는 이것이 음핵, 혹은 클리토리스라고 불리는 성감대에요.”
“You’re quite pretty here too.”
“…Refrain from idle chatter, caretaker.”
Amelia’s sprout, slightly more swollen than usual with excitement, is moving little by little, its shell half-peeled.
이미 애액으로 윤활은 충분할 테지만 아멜리아는 제 두 손가락을 쪽 빨아 침을 묻힌 채 살살 클리토리스를 문질렀다.
The old woman’s face was a roadmap of wrinkles, each line a testament to the years she’d weathered. Her eyes, though clouded with age, still held a spark of mischief, and her hands, gnarled and knotted, moved with a surprising agility as she kneaded the dough. The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the small kitchen, a comforting scent that had been a constant in my life.
“You’re staring again, child,” she said, her voice raspy but warm. “What troubles you so?”
I hesitated, unsure how to put my thoughts into words. “It’s just… everything feels so different now.”
She chuckled, a low rumble in her chest. “Different? Of course, it’s different. Nothing stays the same, not even the sun in the sky.”
“But it’s not just that,” I insisted, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s like… the world has changed, and I’m still stuck in the same place.”
The old woman stopped kneading and looked at me, her eyes piercing through my facade. “And what place is that, child?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, feeling a lump form in my throat. “I just feel… lost.”
She reached out and took my hand, her touch surprisingly gentle. “Lost is not a place, child. It’s a feeling. And feelings, like the wind, come and go.”
“But what if it doesn’t go?” I asked, my voice trembling. “What if I’m always lost?”
She smiled, a knowing smile that seemed to hold the wisdom of the ages. “Then you learn to navigate the darkness, child. You find your own stars to guide you.”
I looked at her, my heart filled with a mixture of hope and fear. “And how do I do that?”
She squeezed my hand, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “By living, child. By making mistakes, by learning from them, and by never giving up on yourself.”
I nodded, feeling a flicker of determination ignite within me. “I’ll try,” I said, my voice stronger now. “I’ll try my best.”
The old woman smiled again, her eyes filled with pride. “That’s all anyone can ask, child. That’s all anyone can ask.”
And as I looked at her, I knew that she was right. The world might have changed, but I still had myself, and that was enough. I would find my way, even if it meant navigating the darkness. I would find my own stars to guide me.
The day I turned twenty, I received a strange gift.
It was a small, old-fashioned music box. The kind you’d see in a dusty antique shop. The surface was a faded rose color, and the edges were worn, as if it had been held and cherished by many hands.
I didn’t know who had sent it. There was no sender’s name on the package, just my address written in a neat, elegant script. I turned the box over in my hands, a strange sense of anticipation building within me.
I opened the lid.
A delicate melody began to play. It was a tune I’d never heard before, yet it felt strangely familiar, like a forgotten dream. The notes were clear and bright, and they seemed to vibrate in the air around me.
As I listened, the room around me began to blur. The familiar walls of my apartment seemed to melt away, replaced by a swirling vortex of colors. I felt a strange pull, as if I were being drawn into the music itself.
And then, I was no longer in my room.
I found myself standing in a place that was both familiar and alien. It was a forest, but not like any forest I had ever seen. The trees were tall and slender, with leaves that shimmered like silver. The air was filled with a soft, ethereal light, and the ground beneath my feet was covered in a carpet of moss.
I looked around, my heart pounding in my chest. Where was I? How had I gotten here?
A figure emerged from the shadows of the trees. It was a young woman, with long, flowing hair the color of midnight and eyes that shone like stars. She was dressed in a simple gown of white, and she moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly.
“Welcome,” she said, her voice like the gentle rustling of leaves. “I have been waiting for you.”
I stared at her, speechless. Who was she? And why did she seem to know me?
“My name is Lyra,” she said, as if reading my thoughts. “And you, my dear, are the one who will save us all.”
I blinked, trying to make sense of her words. Save them? From what?
“The world is in danger,” Lyra continued, her voice filled with a sense of urgency. “A darkness is spreading, threatening to consume everything we hold dear. You are the only one who can stop it.”
I wanted to laugh. Me? A simple college student? How could I possibly save anyone?
But as I looked into Lyra’s eyes, I saw a depth of sincerity that made me believe her. There was something about her, something magical and powerful, that made me feel like anything was possible.
“How?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “How can I save them?”
Lyra smiled, a gentle, reassuring smile. “The answer, my dear, lies within you. You have a power that you have yet to discover. And I am here to help you find it.”
And so began my journey into a world beyond my wildest dreams. A world of magic and danger, of love and loss, of hope and despair. A world where I, an ordinary girl, was destined to become a hero.
“이런 식으로, 아이를 어르듯이 부드럽게 문질러주면… 쾌감이 발생하고, 남성기만큼 극명한 차이는 아니지만 크기가 커다랗게 변하면서 즉각 발기합니다.
I’m currently fully erect from the caretaker’s sexual activity and continuous caresses. However, I’ll demonstrate by hand for the example in class.
The world was a stage, and I was merely an extra.
That’s how I felt, anyway.
My name is Kim Hana. I’m twenty-eight years old, and I’ve been working as a contract employee at a small publishing company for the past three years. My job title is “Editorial Assistant,” but in reality, I’m more like a glorified errand runner. I fetch coffee, make copies, and occasionally proofread manuscripts. It’s not exactly the glamorous literary life I’d imagined when I majored in Korean Literature.
My life is as bland as unseasoned tofu. I wake up, commute to work, do my assigned tasks, commute back home, eat dinner, and go to bed. Weekends are spent catching up on sleep or doing laundry. I don’t have any hobbies, no exciting social life, and definitely no romantic prospects. My friends, if I can even call them that, are all busy with their own lives. Some are married, some are traveling the world, and some are climbing the corporate ladder. I, on the other hand, am stuck in this monotonous loop.
I often wonder if this is all there is to life. Is this the peak of my existence? Will I spend the next forty years of my life doing the same thing, day in and day out? The thought is both terrifying and depressing.
I sometimes fantasize about a different life. A life where I’m not just an extra, but the main character. A life filled with adventure, passion, and maybe even a little romance. But those are just fantasies. In reality, I’m just Hana, the contract employee who blends into the background.
Today was no different. I woke up, got ready, and headed to work. The office was the same as always: a chaotic mess of papers, half-empty coffee cups, and stressed-out editors. I went through my usual routine, fetching coffee, making copies, and trying to stay out of everyone’s way.
“Hana-ssi, can you please proofread this manuscript?” my supervisor, Mr. Park, asked, handing me a thick stack of papers.
“Yes, Mr. Park,” I replied, taking the manuscript.
It was a romance novel, the kind that always made me roll my eyes. But I had to do my job, so I sat down at my desk and started reading.
The story was about a young woman who meets a handsome stranger and falls madly in love. It was cheesy and predictable, but I found myself getting drawn into the story. For a brief moment, I forgot about my own mundane life and imagined myself as the main character.
But then, reality came crashing back. I finished proofreading the manuscript, handed it back to Mr. Park, and went back to my usual routine.
As I was leaving work, I noticed a flyer on the bulletin board. It was an advertisement for a writing workshop. “Unleash Your Inner Storyteller,” it read.
I stared at the flyer for a moment, a strange feeling stirring inside me. Could this be it? Could this be the thing that finally breaks me out of my monotonous loop?
I didn’t know, but I decided to take a chance. I tore off the contact information from the flyer and headed home, a tiny spark of hope flickering inside me.
스윽스윽 아멜리아의 손끝에 따라 이지러지는 비비탄 총알만 한 클리토리스.
The old woman, who had been staring blankly into the air, suddenly turned her head. Her eyes, clouded with age, focused on me.
“You… you’re the one who came that day, aren’t you?”
Her voice was raspy, like dry leaves rustling in the wind. It was a voice that seemed to carry the weight of a long, hard life.
“Yes, Grandma. It’s me.”
I approached her slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. It had been a long time since I last saw her. The last time I visited, she had been in much better health. Now, she looked frail, her skin thin and papery, her body shrunken.
“I knew it… I knew you’d come back.”
A faint smile touched her lips, a smile that was both sad and strangely comforting.
“I’ve been waiting for you, you know.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner, Grandma.”
I sat down on the edge of her bed, taking her hand in mine. Her hand was cold and bony, but I held it tightly, trying to convey all the love and concern I felt for her.
“It’s alright, child. You came, and that’s all that matters.”
She squeezed my hand weakly, her eyes filled with a strange light.
“I have something to tell you… something very important.”
My heart skipped a beat. What could be so important that she had been waiting for me to tell me?
“What is it, Grandma?”
I leaned closer, my ears straining to catch every word.
“It’s about… about the secret.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible.
“The secret… that has been passed down through our family for generations.”
My eyes widened. A secret? What kind of secret could it be?
“What secret, Grandma?”
I asked, my voice trembling with anticipation.
She looked around the room, as if afraid someone might be listening. Then, she leaned even closer, her lips almost touching my ear.
“It’s… it’s about the hidden treasure.”
My breath caught in my throat. Hidden treasure? Could it be true?
“Hidden treasure? What do you mean, Grandma?”
I asked, my mind racing with possibilities.
“It’s… it’s buried somewhere on this island.”
She whispered, her eyes gleaming with a strange intensity.
“Our ancestors… they hid it long ago. And now… it’s your turn to find it.”
My heart pounded in my chest. This was unbelievable. A hidden treasure? It sounded like something out of a fairy tale.
“But… but how do I find it, Grandma?”
I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
She smiled, a knowing smile that seemed to hold all the secrets of the world.
“The answer… it’s in the old book.”
“The old book?”
I repeated, my brow furrowed in confusion.
“Yes… the one that’s been kept in the attic.”
She closed her eyes, her breathing becoming shallow.
“Find the book… and you will find the treasure.”
Her hand went limp in mine, and her eyes closed completely.
“Grandma? Grandma!”
I called out, shaking her gently. But she didn’t respond. She was gone.
I sat there for a long time, holding her hand, tears streaming down my face. She was gone, but she had left me with a secret, a quest, a legacy.
The hidden treasure. The old book. It all seemed so surreal. But I knew I had to do it. I had to find the treasure, not just for myself, but for her, for my family, for the generations that had come before me.
I stood up, my heart filled with a mixture of grief and determination. I had a mission now. And I wouldn’t rest until I had completed it.
I looked around the room, my eyes searching for any clue, any hint that might lead me to the old book. And then, I saw it. A small, wooden door in the ceiling, almost hidden from view. The attic.
I knew what I had to do.
Amelia was already wet, and the repeated insertions and caresses had only made her wetter.
그녀가 야들야들한 클리를 지속해서 꾸짖자 투명한 애액이 주륵 흘러나왔다.
It was a very lewd liquid that looked like drool.
The old man’s face was a roadmap of wrinkles, each line etched with the stories of a life lived under the harsh sun. He sat on the low stool, his back slightly hunched, his gaze fixed on the chessboard before him. The black and white pieces stood like silent sentinels, each poised for the next move in a battle that had been waged for centuries.
“You’re thinking too much, young man,” the old man said, his voice raspy like dry leaves rustling in the wind. “The game is not won by thinking, but by feeling.”
I frowned, my brow furrowed in concentration. I had been studying chess for years, poring over books and analyzing grandmaster games. I had memorized openings, endgames, and tactical patterns. Yet, every time I played against the old man, I felt like I was playing a different game altogether.
“But strategy is important, isn’t it?” I asked, my voice tinged with frustration. “You can’t just move pieces randomly.”
The old man chuckled, a low rumble that shook his frail frame. “Strategy is like a map, young man. It shows you the way, but it doesn’t tell you where to go. You must feel the path, sense the flow of the game.”
He reached out a gnarled hand and moved a pawn, a seemingly insignificant move that sent a shiver down my spine. It was as if he had touched a hidden nerve, revealing a weakness in my carefully constructed defense.
“See?” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You were so busy looking at the big picture that you missed the small details. The game is not about the grand strategy, but about the small moments.”
I stared at the board, my mind racing. I had been so focused on the overall plan that I had neglected the present moment. I had been so busy thinking that I had forgotten to feel.
“I don’t understand,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
The old man smiled, a gentle, knowing smile that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe. “You will, young man. You will.”
He moved another piece, and the game continued, a silent dance between two minds, one young and eager, the other old and wise. And as I played, I began to understand what the old man meant. The game was not just about strategy and tactics, but about intuition, feeling, and the subtle art of being present in the moment.
“이렇게 흥분한 여성의 신체는…. 이렇듯 애액을 분비하게 되는데. 이렇게 되면 삽입의 준비가 완료된 거에요. 보시다시피 충분하겠죠?”
I was a bit surprised when I opened my eyes.
The first thing I saw was a familiar ceiling. It was the ceiling of my room, the one I’d been staring at for the past 20 years.
‘What’s going on?’
I tried to move my body, but it wouldn’t budge. It felt like I was trapped in a thick, heavy blanket.
‘Am I having sleep paralysis?’
I’ve had it a few times before, so I wasn’t too surprised. I tried to move my fingers, but they wouldn’t move. I tried to move my toes, but they wouldn’t move either.
‘This is weird.’
I tried to move my head, but it wouldn’t move. It was like my whole body was glued to the bed.
‘Is this some kind of prank?’
I tried to open my mouth, but I couldn’t. I tried to scream, but no sound came out.
‘This is not good.’
I started to panic. I tried to move my eyes, but they wouldn’t move either. It was like I was trapped in my own body.
‘Am I going to die like this?’
I started to feel a cold sweat running down my back. I tried to calm myself down, but it was no use.
‘Think, think. What could be happening?’
I tried to recall what I had done before I fell asleep. I had gone to work, came home, ate dinner, and then went to bed. Nothing out of the ordinary.
‘Then why am I like this?’
I tried to think of any possible reasons. Maybe I had a stroke? Or maybe I was poisoned?
‘No, that can’t be it.’
I was healthy, and I hadn’t eaten anything suspicious.
‘Then what is it?’
I was starting to feel desperate. I tried to move my body again, but it was still no use.
‘I’m going to die like this.’
I closed my eyes, accepting my fate.
‘Wait, what if I’m not dying?’
I opened my eyes again.
‘What if this is a dream?’
I tried to pinch myself, but I couldn’t move my hand.
‘Then how do I wake up?’
I started to think about how I usually wake up from a dream. Usually, I just wake up naturally.
‘But what if this isn’t a normal dream?’
I started to think about the possibility that this was a lucid dream.
‘If it’s a lucid dream, then I should be able to control it.’
I tried to focus my mind. I tried to imagine myself moving my body.
‘Move, move!’
I tried to move my fingers, and this time, they moved slightly.
‘It worked!’
I tried to move my toes, and they moved slightly too.
‘I can move!’
I tried to move my head, and it moved slightly.
‘I’m getting there!’
I tried to move my whole body, and this time, I was able to move it a little.
‘I can do it!’
I kept trying, and eventually, I was able to move my whole body.
‘I’m free!’
I sat up in bed, breathing heavily.
‘What was that?’
I looked around my room. It was the same as always.
‘Was it really a dream?’
I got out of bed and went to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror.
‘It’s me.’
I splashed some water on my face.
‘I’m alive.’
I went back to my room and sat on the bed.
‘That was a weird experience.’
I looked at the clock. It was 7:00 AM.
‘I should get ready for work.’
I got dressed and went to the kitchen. I made myself some breakfast.
‘I’m still a bit shaken up.’
I ate my breakfast and went to work.
‘I wonder if that was a sign of something.’
I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was different.
‘I’ll just have to wait and see.’
I went to work, trying to forget about the strange experience.
But I couldn’t.
The feeling that something was different kept lingering in my mind.
‘What was that?’
I couldn’t help but wonder.
아멜리아는 자위를 멈추고 자신의 질구를 뻐끔 벌려 보였다.
벌렸음에도 한없이 작은 구멍 크기와 꿈틀거리는 질육의 움직임은 더 없이 선정적이다.
The day I turned twenty, I received a strange gift.
It was a small, palm-sized music box. The outer shell was made of dark wood, polished to a smooth sheen, and the lid was inlaid with a silver crescent moon. It was beautiful, but what was even more striking was the melody it played.
It wasn’t a song I knew. It was a melancholic tune, like a sigh escaping from the depths of a long, lonely night. The notes were so clear and pure that it felt like the music was resonating not just in my ears but deep within my heart.
I had no idea who sent it. There was no sender’s name, no card, nothing. It was just the music box, sitting alone on my desk.
I wound the key and listened to the melody again. The sound was so captivating that I found myself lost in thought. It felt like the music was telling a story, a story that I couldn’t quite grasp.
The next day, I went to the library. I wanted to find out more about the music box, about the melody it played. I spent hours searching through books on music history, on antique instruments, but I couldn’t find anything that matched.
I was starting to feel a little frustrated. It was just a music box, but it had somehow become the center of my world. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, about the mysterious melody, about the person who had sent it.
That night, I wound the key again. The music filled my room, and I closed my eyes. I imagined myself walking through a dark forest, the moonlight filtering through the trees. I could hear the sound of a stream, the rustling of leaves, and then, the melody of the music box.
It was as if the music was guiding me, leading me somewhere. I followed the sound, and soon, I found myself standing in front of a small, wooden cabin. The cabin was old and worn, but there was a warm light coming from the window.
I hesitated for a moment, then knocked on the door. The door creaked open, and a woman with kind eyes and a gentle smile greeted me.
“Welcome,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
I was taken aback. “Who are you?” I asked.
“I am the one who sent you the music box,” she replied. “And I have a story to tell you.”
She led me inside the cabin, and as I sat down by the fireplace, she began to speak. She told me about a world beyond our own, a world of magic and wonder. She told me about a love that transcended time and space, a love that was as beautiful as it was tragic.
And as she spoke, I realized that the melody of the music box wasn’t just a song. It was a story, a story that had been waiting for me to hear.
I spent the rest of the night listening to her stories, and when the sun began to rise, I knew that my life would never be the same. The music box wasn’t just a gift. It was a key, a key that had opened a door to a world I never knew existed.
And I knew that I had to find out more.
“That should be enough, I think.”
“다시 한 번 정리하겠어요. 금일 수업은 관리인이 조금만 건드려도 가버릴 정도로 저의 약점을 낱낱이 파헤치는 것. 이 안에 관리인의 성기를 직접 삽입해 제 약점을 찾도록 하세요.”
The wind was blowing.
It was a wind that carried the scent of the sea.
I was standing on the deck of a ship, looking out at the vast ocean.
The sea was a deep blue, and the waves were crashing against the hull of the ship.
I could feel the spray of the sea on my face.
The ship was moving slowly, and I could hear the creaking of the wood.
I was alone on the deck, and I felt a sense of peace.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
The air was fresh and clean.
I opened my eyes and looked out at the horizon.
The sun was setting, and the sky was a beautiful orange and red.
I watched as the sun slowly disappeared below the horizon.
The sky was now a dark blue, and the stars were beginning to appear.
I stayed on the deck for a while longer, watching the stars.
Then I went inside.
It was Siwoo, who had already found it hard to resist the urge to insert.
He inserts properly once again in front of her.
“Ah…!”
The old man’s face was a roadmap of wrinkles, each line a testament to the years he had weathered. His eyes, though clouded with age, still held a spark of mischief, and his hands, gnarled and calloused, moved with a surprising dexterity as he tended to his garden. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers, a symphony of nature that seemed to hum in harmony with the old man’s gentle humming.
He paused, his gaze drifting towards the distant mountains, their peaks shrouded in a hazy blue. A sigh escaped his lips, a sound that spoke of both contentment and a deep-seated longing. He had seen many seasons come and go, had witnessed the ebb and flow of life, and yet, there were still mysteries that eluded him, questions that lingered in the quiet corners of his mind.
A small bird landed on the edge of his watering can, its bright eyes peering up at him with an innocent curiosity. The old man chuckled, a low rumble that seemed to shake the very ground beneath his feet. He reached out a hand, and the bird, unafraid, hopped onto his finger, its tiny claws tickling his skin.
“Ah, little one,” he murmured, his voice raspy with age, “you remind me of a time long past, a time when life was simpler, when the world was full of wonder.”
He closed his eyes, and for a moment, he was transported back to his youth, to the days when he was a young boy, full of energy and dreams. He could almost feel the warmth of the sun on his face, the wind in his hair, the laughter of his friends echoing in his ears.
But the moment passed, and he was back in the present, the weight of his years settling upon him once more. He opened his eyes, and the bird, as if sensing his change in mood, took flight, soaring into the sky with a graceful ease.
The old man watched it go, a wistful smile playing on his lips. He knew that life was a journey, a winding path filled with both joy and sorrow, and that the only thing that truly mattered was the way one chose to walk it.
He picked up his watering can, the weight of it familiar in his hand, and continued his work, his heart filled with a quiet peace. The garden was his sanctuary, a place where he could connect with the earth, with the rhythms of nature, and with the memories that shaped his life. And as he tended to his plants, he knew that he was not just caring for them, but also for himself, for the soul that had weathered so many storms and still found beauty in the simple things.
Regardless of the circumstances, Amelia’s body was also more than ready to receive his sex. She bit her wrist and let out a soft moan, but soon returned to her near-expressionless assistant professor mode, staring intently at Siwoo.
The old man’s face was a roadmap of wrinkles, each line a testament to the years he’d spent under the sun. His eyes, though clouded with age, still held a spark of mischief, and his hands, gnarled and calloused, moved with a surprising dexterity as he tended to his garden. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers, a symphony of nature that had been his constant companion for decades. He hummed a tuneless melody, his voice raspy but full of a quiet joy, as he carefully pruned a rose bush, his movements slow and deliberate, each action a ritual performed with the utmost care.
시우는 깊게 삽입하기 전 성기의 각도를 높게 세워 아멜리아의 질천장을 자극했다.
It was, needless to say, the area where her G-spot was located.
The wind was blowing.
The wind was blowing hard.
It was a wind that made you want to curl up in a ball.
I was sitting on the cold floor, hugging my knees.
The room was dark.
It was so dark that I couldn’t even see my own hands.
I was scared.
I was always scared.
I didn’t know why I was scared, but I was always scared.
I was scared of the dark, I was scared of the wind, I was scared of the silence.
I was scared of everything.
I wanted to cry.
But I couldn’t cry.
I had forgotten how to cry.
I had forgotten how to laugh too.
I had forgotten how to smile.
I had forgotten everything.
I was just a shell.
An empty shell.
I didn’t know who I was.
I didn’t know where I was.
I didn’t know why I was here.
I just existed.
Like a ghost.
A ghost that had forgotten everything.
The wind was still blowing.
The wind was still blowing hard.
It felt like the wind was trying to blow me away.
I wanted to be blown away.
I wanted to disappear.
I wanted to be nothing.
I closed my eyes.
I wished I could just disappear.
But I couldn’t.
I was still here.
Still sitting on the cold floor.
Still hugging my knees.
Still scared.
The wind was still blowing.
“Agh…! First… Caretaker, there… keep stimulating that spot.”
Assistant Professor Amelia’s sex education, not sexual education, had only just begun.
