Substitute
Chapter 60

Jiwon pulled off his pants and underwear in one swift motion, then slipped on the garment the professor handed him.

Huh. It wasn’t pants—it was a skirt. A cool, airy fabric that fluttered around his knees. And, as expected, it was stark white. So white that it felt like it might dissolve into the walls and the bed at any moment.

“Professor, I’ve changed,”

he called out instinctively, raising his voice more than he meant to. A chuckle echoed back in response.

“You’ve got a good set of lungs.”

The professor pulled back the curtain and appeared, pushing a silver trolley in front of him.

He closed the lace curtain again, then motioned for Jiwon to lie down.

Jiwon lay back and looked up at the professor.

With exaggerated, showman-like gestures, the professor pulled on a pair of white latex gloves.

Right hand, snap! Left hand, snap!

The sharp smack of the latex clinging to his large hands rang out crisply.

“Cold?”

“...Yeah. A little.”

“Just bear with it. It’ll heat up soon enough.”

The professor murmured ambiguously as he drew the silver trolley closer.

“During class, I’ll be restraining your hands and feet.”

Jiwon didn’t grasp what he meant right away.

Only when his wrists and ankles were secured one by one with restraint straps did it click—Ah.

They were the kind used in psychiatric hospitals, the kind they used to bind patients with severe symptoms. And yet, even as he lay there restrained, it didn’t feel strange. In fact, the restraints were so absurdly soft that rather than feeling bound, he felt as if he were being held tightly by someone who loved him—comforted, secure.

If it’s a class, why lie down?

The thought occurred to him now, but it didn’t seem odd.

All he could think about was how cold he was.

He shivered, wishing someone would just throw a blanket over him already.

But instead of a blanket, the professor gently adjusted the skirt over his body.

“During class, you might get an erection. Sometimes, you may even ejaculate.”

The professor’s voice was sweeter than it had ever been.

“Occasionally, they urinate too.”

Did he laugh?

No, the one who laughed—was himself.

Jiwon giggled as if he’d just heard a funny joke.

“That’s why we use skirts.”

It didn’t sound logical at all, but he nodded far too earnestly and said, “Of course.”

“Alright then. Let’s begin the lesson.”

“Yes.”

Jiwon became the perfect, obedient student.

The professor reached into the trolley and pulled out a glass bottle shaped like a narrow-necked flask. He held it up in front of Jiwon’s face, then popped the cork.

Pop!

It made a sound like opening a bottle of wine.

For some reason, Jiwon burst into laughter, his upper body jolting from the effort.

“This sound will be nothing compared to what comes next,” the professor said, and very slowly tilted the flask over Jiwon’s chest. He lowered it precisely over Jiwon’s nipple. It looked like he was going to pour too much all at once, but instead, the liquid streamed out gently.

The moment the fluid touched his nipple with a soft plop, Jiwon flinched hard. It felt like he’d been burned by wax. No—was it cold?

The liquid touched him again, running down his chest in slow, heavy streams.

It flowed along his skin sluggishly, almost deliberately.

The professor took his time, pouring the liquid over both of Jiwon’s nipples until his chest was thoroughly soaked. Then he poured some into his own hands.

His previously white hands turned translucent—and then, flesh-toned.

With those wet hands, the professor began to stroke Jiwon’s chest. More precisely, he stroked both the real areola and the false one.

It tickled. That was all.

Jiwon might as well have had no erogenous zones on his chest at all.

That made the professor’s careful, devoted movements over his areola seem ridiculous.

Snrk. Heh, heh.

Laughter leaked out—something that didn’t even sound like his own voice.

He hadn’t meant to laugh, but he couldn’t help it.

It tickled too much.

Would the professor misunderstand it as mockery? But he didn’t. He stayed completely serious.

His hands didn’t stop. With meticulous, almost obsessive fluidity, he traced over the real and fake areola again and again, layering sensation with each pass.

How long did it go on?

Then, suddenly—zap—a jolt shot through him.

Gasp! His hips lifted off the bed.

When the professor's fingers circled his areola again, this time Jiwon's whole body twisted in response.

“Ah... nnnh! Ahhh!”

Bizarre, obscene moans spilled from his mouth.

Just like the professor had said, heat surged through his entire body in an instant.

A soft laugh escaped the professor.

“How does it feel?”

he asked kindly.

“Ah—! Nnh!”

Jiwon responded not with words but with thick, drawn-out groans.

“Good. Very good.”

The professor didn’t even use his palms—just two fingers, tracing over each areola.

And yet, every time his fingers made contact, Jiwon’s body writhed. His brain felt like it was dissolving in pleasure.

“Ahh—! Nnh! Hngh!”

He kept moaning, unable to believe those sounds were coming from him, lifting and lowering his hips again and again.

He twisted his upper body.

Tears welled from the pleasure. His lips, soaked in sensation, dribbled with spit.

It wasn’t his chest being touched—it felt like it was his cock. And it trembled from the pleasure.

Twitch, twitch.

Every time the professor’s fingers brushed over him, Jiwon’s entire body trembled like he was being electrocuted. He didn’t know what to do with the ecstasy that climbed up his spine.

He forgot how to breathe—then exhaled in shallow gasps.

The pleasure was so intense it blanked out his mind.

And then—flick—the professor’s finger grazed his nipple.

“AaAAAH!!!”

Jiwon screamed.

For a brief moment, it felt like his nipple had been seared with a branding iron. Then, his whole body shook uncontrollably.

“Ah—hhhhhkk!”

He sobbed as he came.

He ejaculated. The skirt was soaked through.

The orgasm lasted a long while. Jiwon shook so violently the bed itself rattled beneath him.

The professor stepped back from the bed, folding his arms like a surgeon who had just finished an operation. Then, with a satisfied expression, he quietly watched Jiwon tremble and ride it out.

“First session—complete,”

the professor said.

“Now, we’ll begin the second session right away.”

His voice sounded distant.

Jiwon was still shaking as he watched the professor approach again.

He didn’t remember how he ended up in the recovery room. He couldn’t recall when he’d changed clothes either.

When he came to, he was back in his sailor uniform, hooked up to an IV.

Did he faint again?

But no—he realized almost immediately that he hadn’t.

He remembered the class in vivid detail.

From the very beginning to the very end—from the first session to the third—he remembered everything.

Even the way that sheer white skirt had clung to his lower body like skin, soaked with the precum and semen he’d spilled during class.

And yet... nothing about it felt strange.

If anything, Jiwon chuckled weakly as he replayed the entire process in his head.

It had been the best experience of his life.

He’d had no idea something like that was hidden inside his chest.

That the man called “professor” had uncovered his erogenous zones didn’t feel shameful or wrong in the slightest. This was the sex party, after all. Just like with the honey collection, just like when he sucked the dummy’s cock—this felt like a natural extension of that.

He only felt one thing: joy. A craving to experience that class again.

“Insane. Fucking insane,”

he recited aloud, repeating exactly what Park Geonwoo had once said to him.

And then, slowly, he fell asleep.

****

All day, he couldn’t get his head straight. Any little sound made him laugh. A ridiculous, uncontrollable happiness buzzed through him.

At the same time, every single cell in his body felt awake—too awake. It was overwhelming. Every sound echoed inside his skull, and the movements of others felt exaggerated and massive, startling him again and again.

To make it worse, he was wracked with a splitting headache and a burning thirst. He kept wandering between bottled water and drinking fountains, but no matter how much he drank, the dryness never left.

Still, Jiwon felt like he could float.

He was certain now. He finally had proof.

They had definitely used drugs in that “development class” today.

The absurd sexual pleasure he’d experienced during the session—and the wave of aftereffects that followed—were all the evidence he needed. His own body was the proof.

Because of all the water he’d been drinking, Jiwon barely touched his food. His throat was so tight that he couldn’t swallow anything except water.

He wasn’t the only one. Everyone else seemed affected too, but even now, the captain didn’t offer any scolding or warnings.

Right after the class ended, he’d only felt giddy. He hadn’t had the time—or the clarity of mind—to think about drugs or analyze anything.

He exchanged mysterious, knowing smiles with the other sailors, giggling as he slung his arms over Park Geonwoo’s and Kim Yunho’s shoulders.

“Crazy, right?” Geonwoo said, loud and grinning.

“Yeah, hyung. Totally insane,” Jiwon replied just as loudly.

Kim Yunho had pissed himself again. On the way out of the classroom, he’d wet himself standing up.

“Ah, fuck. I soaked myself again. I’ll go change.”

Kim Yunho chuckled sheepishly and headed back to his room.

“That fucker pissed again. He’s so damn sensitive,” Geonwoo muttered, and Jiwon giggled at that too.

Just like the day before, Son Geonwoo joined their group during the post-lunch break.

“You had development class today, didn’t you?”

He slid in right next to Jiwon and asked with a sly tone.

“How good was it, that you’re smiling like that?”

Son Geonwoo sounded jealous, but his face was all smiles.

He casually reached out and tapped Jiwon’s chest.

Jiwon flinched, startled—then laughed at the tingly jolt that raced through him.

Even he knew how crazy it was, but he enjoyed Son Geonwoo’s touch.

Then he saw Number 3—and like a madman, ran straight toward him.

He grabbed his arm and flat-out called him a murderer. Locking eyes with Number 3’s round, startled gaze, he chuckled and muttered, “Little shit hasn’t even dried behind the ears and already trying everything,” half-mocking him.

“You bastard. I’m not doing anything with you.”

Jiwon declared it flatly.

As he turned to swagger back to his seat, Number 3 caught his arm.

“You had the development class?” he asked.

Odd. Only the sailors were supposed to have attended—but Son Geonwoo knew, and now Number 3 did too.

“Yes!” Jiwon answered as he cleaned out his ear, shouting like a grade-schooler.

“Jesus,”

Number 3 muttered, laughing.

“Jesus,”

Jiwon echoed, laughing along.

“You didn’t get fluids in the recovery room?”

“I did!”

He answered clearly and cheerfully again, like a kid reciting in class.

“Then what’s with you?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Just... drink more water.”

Number 3 gave him a gentle warning, barely furrowing his brow.

“I am drinking a lot. That’s why I have to piss like crazy. I want to go now, it’s driving me nuts. Wanna come with me to the bathroom?”

Jiwon shouted the offer so loudly, everyone in the lobby could hear it.

Number 3 let out a soft, airless laugh and tilted his head.

“You’re supposed to whisper stuff like that,” he said, then waved toward the far side of the room.

Park Geonwoo came running over.

“Ah, forgive me, my lady! Our young master is still uncultured and caused offense!”

He exaggerated a dramatic bow in mock-historical drama speech, voice booming loud enough to make Jiwon’s ears ring.

Number 3 shook his head, muttering, “This is hopeless.”

His voice was full of laughter—but whether it was amusement or disbelief, it was hard to say.

Before they knew it, Son Geonwoo was approaching again, swagger in every step.

“I’ll take him,” he said to Number 3, then draped an arm over both Park Geonwoo’s and Jiwon’s shoulders.

What did Number 3 say in response?

Jiwon couldn’t quite catch it at that moment. The sound didn’t come through clearly.

He dug at his ear again.

He wanted to stay with Number 3 longer, but Son Geonwoo’s grip steered him back toward the sofa.

Honestly, he could’ve shoved him off if he wanted to. But something deep down told him not to—that it would be better not to resist.

It was one of the smartest things Jiwon did that day. Not pushing Son Geonwoo away by force.

His hearing and sense of touch finally returned to normal around bedtime.

As they all headed back to their rooms, his ears cleared. His throat was hoarse from how much he’d been shouting.

“Agh, I’m wiped.”

The words slipped out of him as he opened the door.

His legs felt like they were made of lead.

He was so drained he couldn’t even think about showering. He didn’t glance at the late-night snack; instead, he stripped, relieved himself, and collapsed straight onto the bed.

And then, he fell asleep.

He dreamed he was drifting {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} through space—and then, plunged into the deepest sleep he’d ever known.

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