First Lesson in Common Sense (2)
After dashing out of the dormitory, I barely made it to the basic onomatopoeia classroom on time. The building looked just like any high school from the outside, but with different classrooms for every subject, we had to hustle from room to room every period, butts in the air. Probably intentional. Officially, the boys' and girls' classes were completely separate, but wander the hallways and you'd see every girl fawning over the boys, desperate to get picked.
Throwing sultry smirks, swaying their hips right in front of them, pushing up their tits to show off—it was all standard fare. Some went further, dropping to their knees in the hall to suck cock. "Um, is that... because of me, sirrr...?" "Yeah, you little slut. Who was shaking that fat ass right in front of me? Gotta take responsibility, right?" "I'll eat it up so good... ♡" I'd just seen a pair going at it on my way here. Her skirt was so short that squatting down exposed her panties and ass for all to see. She was finger-fucking her pussy deep while glued to his crotch, slurping away at his dick. Pussy juice dripping everywhere as she blew him—who the hell cleans that up? But that curiosity didn't last. I was too rushed to make class.
"Phew, close one."
I'd run so hard I was sweaty, tits bouncing and sore, but I'd made it on time. If it weren't for that thug senior... I could've packed leisurely, but the pressure to hand out pussy cakes had eaten my time. As I caught my breath, the tanned blonde girl next to me grinned and patted my back. "Breathe slower. Someone might think you're getting railed by a black cock."
"Hic, huuuh... What black cock...?"
"Oops, sorry. Is your owner's bigger than a black guy's? Or better stats? Size isn't everything, they say. Black and white dicks go soft quick, but Asian ones stay rock-hard."
"I don't care about that stuff..."
"Fair enough. You've already got an owner, so no need to think about other cocks."
Not exactly what I meant... "Anyway, did you... hand out your pussy cakes?"
"Shh! Not so loud!"
"What's the big deal? It's bitch class."
"...True. Anyway, haven't yet. Planning to tonight. But you sure I can trust you?"
"Just ask the senior yourself. Won't believe me otherwise."
"Hmmm..."
I eyed the girl beside me. No need to say she was pretty—tanned skin glowing dark, vibrant dyed blonde hair popping. More toned than my delicate frame, radiating healthy sex appeal. Geum Ye-rin. Lucky to sit next to her. She seemed lewd as hell—okay, a lot—but her heart was in the right place. Thanks to her this morning, I'd survived. If I'd gone to that senior thinking I had to fuck and thrown a fit, I might've been reported and dragged to the incinerator. She clued me in that it was just pussy cakes. Better than actual fucking, anyway. Once I had time, I'd buy her a drink or something... Not that it mattered much.
"Alright, let's start class?"
The bell rang, and the teacher—who'd been prepping—sprang into action. Unlike my old world where teachers had zero authority, here they wielded real power. Usually held by woman class grads. Not onaholes or toilet meat, not bitches or female bitches—actual humans. Intellectual jobs like teaching went to woman class women. So the mic-wielding teacher was worlds above our bitch class, female bitch class, onahole class, and toilet meat class. A rare "school" "woman" graduate. No wonder the students' eyes sparkled at her.
So different from my old world. Schools varied, but back home, public education was dying—kids sleeping, chatting, doing cram school homework in class. Here? Every girl in this class desperately aspired to woman class. How could they disrespect a teacher who'd made it there? She was their role model.
Not mine, though. No plans for woman class yet. Unless my grades were killer, I'd settle in bitch class. Better than barely scraping into female bitch class and dealing with workplace harassment. Living as Geon-yul's bitch forever sounds preferable. ...Is that mindset okay?
"Basic onomatopoeia will explore and practice lewd sounds, as the name suggests. People call military or police codes 'onomatopoeia' too, but what we'll learn is totally different. Anyone want to guess?"
Ignoring my swirling thoughts, she dove right in—not a full lecture, more like an orientation Q&A. I kept my mouth shut. Ye-rin thrust her arm up, smooth shaved pits fully exposed, tits jiggling as she waved. "Onomatopoeia are the naughty words to get owners horny!"
"Hmm, half right. Who can fill in the rest?"
Ye-rin's confident grin faltered. She'd jumped the gun, expecting full points. Now everyone hesitated, probably thinking the same answer. Me too—onomatopoeia just meant dirty talk, right? Nothing else came to mind. Not that I'd answer anyway. I ignored the teacher's scanning gaze. No reason to speak up on day one. Already drawing eyes from my contract with Geon-yul. I planned to lay low, zone out.
Shining in bitch class? Zero upside.
"Hmm, no takers? Any brave bitch wanna try?"
No answers, so she paced, then returned to the podium. "Hmm, are you baby bitches too shy? Guess I'll pick someone. Where's the roll call...?"
Roll call terror. Usually, they call the number matching today's date. I mentally checked—my seat number didn't match. Safe.
But she only glanced at the book, skipped the date. Some other criteria? I silently prayed: not me, please.
"Ah!"
She paused with a small groan, then perked up, scanning the room. "Oh, right—I heard there's already a bitch in this class who's found her owner. First one on enrollment day in ten years, they say."
Chills raced over me. No way. Gotta be kidding. Someone else over the weekend, right? Not me. She'd call another name.
"Let's hear from our star bitch. Yoo Chae-a?"
Fuck. I'd only contracted with Geon-yul to survive his suggestion, but now I was the model bitch. It's fine. Just answer. What was the question? Onomatopoeia definition. Ye-rin said naughty words for owners—half right, fill the gap...
...Whatever, wing it. "Words matter, but, uh, voice and tone too, right? Language and culture play in."
Yeah. Japanese AV moans hit harder than Western "oh fuck me"—sold there, so it stuck. Onomatopoeia factors in voice, tone, language, culture. Rough answer, but natural enough. No suspicion. I peeked at her reaction.
Something off. "Um, wrong?"
She froze like stone. I replayed—no mistakes. Why? Long pause, then trembling lips parted. "...Right."
"Huh?"
"Brilliant! No wonder they're calling you the once-in-a-decade bitch genius! Everyone, learn from model student Yoo Chae-a! First perfect answer in my career!"
"...Huh?"
"Just like Chae-a said, onomatopoeia includes not just dirty words, but horny voices, desperate tones, and differences in language or nationality between bitch and owner—five elements total. Other classes get three or four; you nailed all five alone. True genius."
No, overkill. First in your career? You look under thirty—how long's that? Bitch genius? That civil servant Kim Ji-yeon already annoyed me calling me heavenly bitch; no more nicknames.
"Whoa, amazing..."
"Figures—the one who snagged an owner in a day is different."
"Can I be like Chae-a...?"
"Her owner's hot too. Got it all."
"Ugh, I thought hard too. Chae-a, you're sneaky good at this? Thought you were dumb 'cause you couldn't plug your tail alone, but theory whiz, huh?"
"...Huh?"
Wait, what? Why the awe? Hidden camera? Even in this altered common sense world, this made sense? Did I do something epic? Pranking me? ...Nah, faces too serious.
"No, I mean, this... haa."
Driving me nuts. No words—just a weak smile.