#03_Sleep Rape (1)
Nayae was barely conscious even as they stepped out of the car. Yuchan firmly supported her waist, her body hanging almost limp against him. With his body honed by consistent workouts and self-care, he could lift her with one arm if he wanted—no real strain at all. Feeling the soft flesh beneath her clothes lifted his mood considerably.
"Hau... Teacher... where ish thish?"
"On the way to your place. Come on, hop on."
Plum syrup and soda made the alcohol taste sweet, but they couldn't block its effects. Without that bitter aftertaste, she kept knocking them back without realizing how drunk she was getting. No wonder they called it a Lady Killer cocktail.
He already knew her address, so he carried the dozing girl from the passenger seat straight to the officetel near the academy. Slinging the sports bag he'd packed after his workout over his shoulder and pulling on a cap, he woke her.
"Ah... just a bit longer... wanna sleep more..."
She mumbled and squirmed, so he had no choice but to hoist her onto his back. Passing out when she drinks—classic Nayae, he thought. It suited her perfectly.
He rode the elevator to the eighth floor, heart pounding a little. If anyone spotted them, he'd just leave her there—but luckily, the hallway was empty.
"Nayae, wanna wake up?"
"Nooo..."
"Just open the door. Can't put you to bed at my place."
Even blackout drunk, she might not lose all her memories, and who knew what she'd recall later. Playing the kind, caring teacher, he guided her arm to the door lock. After a couple of fumbles, it clicked open. Her fumbling almost hid it, but he'd memorized the nine-digit code perfectly.
Still piggybacking her, he kicked off his shoes, flipped the light switch, and scanned the room. About 300 square feet, a modest two-room setup—really just a bedroom and living room separated by a sliding door. True to her nature, it was impeccably neat and serene. Laundry neatly folded, no dishes piled up. Even the stand mood light was stylish.
"Thankshuu..."
A thank-you in this situation? He couldn't help chuckling despite himself. Like a lamb thanking the wolf about to devour it.
"Drink this and sleep tight."
"Thankshuuu..."
He handed her the prepped water bottle, shaken well. Zolpidem—top-shelf American sleeping pill, infamous for its punch. A hypnotic sedative; she might stir while it kicked in, but she'd forget everything that happened. He'd calculated the dose perfectly for her weight and the sip she'd take—should knock her out cold in one go.
He'd have preferred GHB, the so-called "mul-ppong," for something like this. Superior effects, and it flushed out via urine within 24 hours—no evidence left. But mixed with alcohol, it risked respiratory failure during sleep. No other choice this time.
Already nodding off from the booze, Nayae plunged into slumber like she'd been hypnotized.
2. Zolpidem kicked in around ten minutes. Short half-life, so anywhere from two to three hours of dreamland, depending on the person. Barely enough time to savor it leisurely.
Waiting for the full effect, Yuchan flicked on the corner mood light and eyed her closely. Brown fleece hoodie, flesh-toned leggings—peak repeater-student fashion.
Throat parched, he grabbed water from the purifier and set up the digital camera on its tripod. The angle framed her bedroom perfectly as the playground.
He wasn't some collector like Hyunwoo, hoarding videos as a hobby. But in his line of risky illegality, gripping leverage over the target was habit.
His heartbeat thrummed with pleasant excitement. Clothes off. He'd laid a towel over the bedsheet—just in case of scents or fluids.
Confirming her breathing steady, Yuchan slowly unzipped her hoodie. She smacked her lips; he used the sound as BGM while peeling it off completely, revealing a yellow knit tee.
Stripping further tempted him, but redressing mattered. He settled for hiking it up. Whiter-than-expected skin gleamed under the yellow light. Cute little innie navel. Years of swimming had left her skin unbelievably soft. The slight pudge around her waist actually looked better than a too-skinny frame. Vibrant body under that prim exterior, his student.
He rolled the knit outward up to her bra. Soft cotton wireless sports bra—practical for long study sessions.
He wet his lips. Squeezed that tight, it was still C-cup; real size had to be D or more.
Slipping a hand under the gray cotton, he savored the feel. Even just groping, it tried to swallow his fingers—vicious texture. Prime genes, nothing else explained those perfect tits.
As he widened his reach, feeling the pebbled areola and perky nipple, the slight rasp was artistic. Dense yet moist flesh clung to his hand. He rolled the nipple with his fingertip; it twitched a few times, hardening slowly.
Withdrawing, he turned to the next target. Untied the legging waist, slid them down slowly. Easier to redress than the top, so off with panties too.
Smooth with just-right padding. Toned swimmer's muscles below promised excellent fucking. Great proportions—wide, high hips made her 5'1" frame look leggy.
Grabbing one leg to strip the pants, he licked her bare skin like a snake. Legs shaved smooth for the pool, no doubt.
Sports panties matched the bra. Fabric dipped into her crotch, hinting at plump mound. Hooking a finger under the waistband, he tugged them down slowly.
"Whew~"
A whistle escaped. Swimming was one hell of a sport. Her pubes neatly waxed—no strays poking out of a swimsuit. A bit of time had passed; sharp stubble pricked up faintly. Sparse body hair anyway, no big deal.
Beyond the triangle zone, her mound and slit were hairless. Panties gone, her pussy gleamed invitingly in his gaze.
Worth documenting. He snapped shots from every angle. Shame—it looked well-used. With a boyfriend like Hyunwoo, unavoidable, but still a letdown.
Yet the thick mound that'd camel-toe in tight panties, pink labia minora peeking even when closed—lewd as hell. Chewy clam-like labia majora, browned slightly with pigmentation. Clitoris fully hooded but bulging above the urethra—half a pinky finger, he'd guess.
Yuchan preferred this type. Flat, stripe-like pussies like in Western AVs lacked flavor. Real pleasure peaked when those lips wrapped obscenely around his shaft's sides.
"Mmngh..."
Nayae stirred uncomfortably. He wasn't worried—GHB waited as backup if she woke.
Lifting her plump ass slightly, he adjusted the towel.
"Alright, time to grade my lovely student's used pussy?"
Feeling the coke high fade, he snorted another pre-portioned line. That explains the trash talk spilling out, he thought, humming unconsciously.
No rush to thrust in. He wetted a finger with spit and probed her hole. Pinkish mucosa at the entrance welcomed him warmly inside.
Hot. Flesh walls writhed hotly, already a touch slick.
"Mm, nice internal moisture. +3 for that bumpy G-spot protrusion."
Whispering in her ear in his usual gentle tone, he kept appraising. Teasing her G-spot made her hips twitch faintly.
Sleeping women rarely reacted much to sex. "Grip on my finger: 4 points. Studious face hiding a bitch pussy: +2 more. Total 9?"
Still, his long fingers stirred her depths effectively. Voice low, but excitement pitched it higher.
A few prods, and her walls slickened with squelching sounds, clenching.
No sweat in winter, but unwashed, her musky scent rose. Pure female aroma.
"Sample time?"
Pulling out, he shoved the finger between her lips. Her face scrunched.
Deliberately, he pictured her in the counseling room—earnest model student trusting him. Raping the girl who believed in him.
No guilt. No morals to begin with, no thrill of taboo.
But visually intense. The girl always hiding her tasty figure under thick clothes now sported a man's finger awkwardly in her lower half, groaning.
That pale skin, those tits he'd wondered about; the pussy he'd imagined writhing. His for the next two hours.
That omnipotence spiked his dopamine.
Grading finale. "Overall: 9/10. But docking 8 for slutty high-school use with a boyfriend. Final score: 1 point. Step it up to prime bitch status."
Prize: thick saliva spat on her face. Watching her pure features defiled, he stifled a laugh, spread her diamond-flexible legs, knelt between, and thrust his cock in.
Condoms were luxury for fake-good-girl sluts.
"Ha-eung...!"
A final whimper escaped like sleep-talk. Her live pussy's pebbled, sticky grip was ecstatic, worth a sigh.
Each stab made her gasp raggedly; he captured her face perfectly on the camera screen.
Tight and gripping—first intrusion in ages, clearly. Worth the hassle.
Hand in her bra, kneading her jiggling tits. Heavy mass rippled satisfyingly in his grasp even with small motions.
"I'll drop by and fuck you whenever I'm free. Teacher keeps his promises—don't worry."
Tracking her cycle via desk calendar, hips pumping, he grabbed his phone. Besides the full-recording camcorder, he snapped best shots: her panting sleepy face, pussy obscenely devouring his cock and oozing fluids, tits spilling like snowdrifts when he nudged the bra.
Only thirty minutes gone.