Receptive Penetration

Director Cha Yuri had the allure of a true femme fatale. I had applied on impulse after falling for the way she looked in a news article, and somehow my application had passed. Out of more than a hundred résumés I had flung into the void, it was the only one that stuck.

A woman who introduced herself as the team leader guided me into the conference room.

Only Cha Yuri—Director and CEO—came in for the interview.

"Why did you apply to a company that makes sex toys exclusively for women? Especially someone with no experience in the industry whatsoever."

A slender neckline. Milk-white skin. A V-shaped face that looked as if it had been sculpted with painstaking care, and a perfect nose. Cold hair. And those eyes.

Those eyes could be as impassive as moonlight one moment and as sharp as needles the next. A soft, melting sensuality filled the office until it was hard to breathe.

"Can you answer me?"

I couldn't very well say because you're beautiful, or because I have debts and nothing else was accepting me. This body of mine had once come close to becoming student council president on the strength of this three-inch tongue alone.

"One day, by chance, I saw a Discipline product. It was elegant. And at the same time, it made me imagine. Bold and dangerous, yes—but what would that sensation feel like? Would a pleasure as deep as that aesthetic reach both body and mind? I still don't know. I could only imagine it through sight and touch."

Could a lie told without even wetting my lips excite Director Yuri?

"That would be a realm rather difficult for you to know precisely, Mr. Doyun."

Not a flicker crossed her ice-like expression.

"You're right. But I believe in the power of beauty that blooms at the edge of limits. I am not a woman. Even so, I want to keep imagining and learning, to add one spoonful of imagination to that elegance—like a wet dream that digs through the haze of adolescence."

She rose slowly and began to walk the length of the conference room.

"I can see that your eyes are as sharp as glass, Mr. Doyun. And that aesthetic obsession that feels as if it might choke the lungs. When you can talk like that, I almost think you must be quite confident in your imagination. And then I wonder whether you're simply measuring everything through a man's gaze after all."

She came to a stop behind me. The scent of vanilla made my heart kick a little faster. I slowly met her eyes. She laid a hand on my shoulder and looked down at me. Instinct warned me that this person was dangerous. But my tongue kept doing its duty, kept working my mouth.

"Everyone carries a seed of sexuality, to differing degrees. Who knows? Perhaps some woman is living inside my unconscious."

For the first time, a glint of interest lit Director Yuri's eyes.

"Anima, you mean. Well, let's say that's so."

"Going further—before we are men or women, each of us lives inside a different set of senses. Seen that way, the gap between male and female might actually be where they touch."

She slowly set her hand on my shoulder again.

"Is that so? Anyone can talk. Have you ever thought deeply, for instance, about the word pi-sap-ip—receptive penetration?"

"The sensation. The context. How you might express it as a flavor? How it changes with the weather. Which nerves it passes through when it delivers the sharpest pleasure."

"Given the structure of the body, knowing it directly would be impossible. Still, I believe inference is possible. If you truly built the imagination cell by cell, nerve by nerve—"

"That might reveal a face of receptive penetration no one has ever seen. Ah. Truthfully, I don't even know penetration yet. I'm a virgin."

"It seems you really haven't had your eyes open for long. Like the imagination of puberty. Sit down."

It was not the sort of thing one did in an interview.

Director Yuri curled her fist, leaving a gap, and held it out in front of me. No one had said a word, yet my face flushed as red as a ripe persimmon.

"Put your finger in."

Only then did I come back to myself. I extended a single index finger and carefully brought it close.

"Slowly. Softly. Come inside."

The gap between her curled fingers seemed to beckon me in. I had boasted that I would learn, and already I was trembling.

I hid that feeling and set my hand against hers. When I pushed in slowly, I felt the faint skin closing around my finger, and she caressed that place of mine lightly, delicately. Not a tight grip—only the subtlest kneading—and something fluttered in my chest.

Without meaning to, I lowered my eyes.

Our sweat mixed and turned sticky. Fifteen seconds or so felt like forever. Her fist seemed to chew and swallow my finger.

"This is penetration."

"Ah…"

I let out the breath I had been holding until my lungs were full.

"Now it's your turn, Mr. Doyun."

An unnameable shame rippled through me. The fist I had clenched felt strangely embarrassing. Her finger slowly closed the distance.

I held my breath without thinking. That white thing did not enter at once. It circled the entrance as if exploring, then slipped in—almost touching, almost not—ticklish and soft.

One finger, seated to the root, filled the inside of my fist completely.

Then it drew out with deliberate pressure and flicked lightly at the entrance.

I sucked in a handful of air without meaning to.

The inside of my fist was hot and damp. Blood rushed to the crown of my head until I could not breathe. A feverish warmth seemed to turn across my face.

"This is pi-sap-ip. Receptive penetration."

The finger that had withdrawn came back in at a yearning new angle.

What had begun as cautious play arrived as something inexpressibly sensual. A crescent-moon smile hung on Yuri's face. The sleepy look in her eyes had vanished without a trace; her flushed expression was so different I could have believed she was someone else. A rosy tint bloomed across her milk-white skin.

She turned her back and walked quietly toward the door. I asked, breathless, toward that retreating back.

"Is this enough, then?"

"Your mindset passes for now."

For the first time she smiled—a small, bright curve—and looked straight at me.

"I'll watch you for two months."

And so I entered Discipline. For two months I would have to prove my own worth.

Looking back, a thought comes to me. If it had been the later me, could I have answered so easily then—talking about an inner woman and all the rest? Because when I opened my eyes someday after that, I was already in a complete woman's body.

2.

It was my first day at work.

As we began our duties, we exchanged formal greetings.

"Hello, Mr. Doyun. I'm Kwon Ayoung, the team leader you met briefly last time. Well—I've finally gotten one team member, anyway. Haha."

I remembered. My first impression of Team Leader Kwon Ayoung, the one who had guided me to the interview, had been that she was a little dense.

That was the Ayoung I had met. But the moment I came on board, she turned sharply pointed.

"I have a question. You're a man. How exactly are you going to review our products?"

Had she been hoping for a female hire and been badly disappointed? In moments like this, playing dumb was best.

"I'll work that much harder on the design. I am a designer, after all."

"Well, you say you're in your second year. Whether you can perform at a senior level, whether you'll properly consider the functionality of our products… haha."

"Don't worry. I'll behave as obediently as the tongue in your mouth."

Whether the retort had stung her, Ayoung spun on her heel.

"Today, go through all the materials in the email I sent you before you leave. And make a summary and send it over."

The materials in the email were enough to take two full days.

"Pointless territorial crap… haah."

I was sighing my way through overtime when the door to the CEO's office opened and Director Cha Yuri approached. Even the way she stood was sensual. I looked away quickly. If I kept looking I would fall too fast—thrash around in that place and forget everything.

While I was still writing the report, a flushed breath brushed my ear.

A sweet vanilla scent.

"Mr. Doyun. Overtime on your first day."

"Ah—yes."

I turned my head without thinking, and the soft swell of her chest filled my vision. Damn. I kept looking without meaning to.

"You can look."

"Pardon?"

"When a pretty one does it, it's cute."

Pretty one. What was this person? I truly could not tell.

"Am I pretty?"

The protest was lightly dismissed. Before I knew it her fingers had swept my bangs aside.

"Mm. Yes. You are pretty. I'm only saying so because it's just the two of us."

I was flustered. She wasn't teasing—she meant it—and I could no longer answer.

"But those lips. Oh, how pitiful."

Sadness pooled in her gaze. Was that not teasing either? At this point I was starting to lose track.

"They're all cracked. It must hurt."

I was not the type to put anything on them, but the weather had been dry lately and they split and stung easily.

"Hold still."

Force entered her tone.

She took out a lip balm and lightly set it against the edge of my mouth.

"Part your lips a little."

"I'll pass. This is too…"

"Is it lewd?"

My words died.

"Kang Doyun said it himself, didn't he? That imagination matters. So I made a decision."

"…"

"That I want to keep touching that strange imagination of yours. Strictly as part of the work, of course."

"That's absurd. Sophistry like that—"

"Then tell me. Imagine how it feels when the lip balm goes on. If you get it right, I'll give you extra points."

It was a sensual provocation. I grew serious without meaning to. It wasn't the kind of thing that should have made me serious. It was just that she was pressed so close.

Pressed so close.

And I liked it.

I parted my lips a little. My cheeks burned red.

Part of the work, and the purpose of inquiry. Those two made such excellent excuses.

"Good boy."

Each word sank heavy into my chest. People who said sweet things were usually either con artists or fools. She was a little devil who was neither.

The soft lip balm quietly stroked the edge of my mouth, then slid across my lips. I drew a breath without thinking, and the vanilla scent bloomed sharp and sudden.

The fact that I was sharing her scent made my face flush.

"Well? A little different from the imagination, isn't it."

"Yes…"

"There's body heat. There's movement. Countless gestures and signals cross and set the nerves on fire. Even so—can Mr. Doyun keep saying things like 'add one spoonful of imagination,' the way you did earlier?"

I shut my mouth.

"See? You've read a lot of books, but it seems you don't have much experience. You inquire a great deal, yet you miss the important thing."

"What important thing?"

"That you don't even know how pretty you are. It's strange. That's all."

"I don't look in the mirror much."

"Stand up. That's a work order."

What a convenient excuse.

I stood and fitted my body to the director's hand.

She led me to the mirror in the room. A pretty child with glossy lips was standing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠there.

"Isn't this pretty enough?"

I wondered if she had heatstroke. But the vanilla lip balm with its faint tint of color—by that single nuance alone, the androgynous atmosphere tilted hard to one side.

What it called to mind was femininity. No one had ever handled my complex this seriously.

I stared hard at the child in the mirror.

They were smiling a little.

"How about dressing up sometime? I think it would suit you."

"I don't really have the leeway."

"Is that time? Or money? Both, I suppose. You even got scammed, I hear."

Putting that unnecessary story in my cover letter had been a mistake. At least there was no pity in her voice, which made it easier to hear.

"Let's go shopping together tomorrow."

An unexpected remark.

"I want to dress you in pretty clothes. Wouldn't that help with design, too? You're a ruthless aesthetician, after all."

"…"

"Your answer?"

"I… understand."

I really did seem to be the type who got scammed easily. And I was deeply relieved that she was not a con artist. If she had ever set her mind to it, she could have scammed the entire world.

"That lip balm—what's it called?"

"Femme Fatale."

The soft roll across the tongue, then the hard stop of the plosive—it was just like her.

"It's the name of a women's masturbation tool."

I was so startled I hiccuped.

"Hic! I—hic!—where's the water cooler—"

She quietly handed me a glass of water.

"What? Are lewd imaginations suddenly coming to you?"

"It is sensual, after all…"

"Right! I like sensual things too. Ah—Yerim should try one of our products sometime."

"Who is Yerim?"

"Is there anyone in this room besides us?"

"I'm Doyun."

"But I want to call you Yerim."

Was she ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠insane? There was a saying that if a crazy bitch looked beautiful to you, your life was over. It wasn't quite that bad yet.

"Please don't tease me."

"Why? You never ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠know. Maybe the name of the anima in your unconscious is Lee Yerim. Who can say?"

"Director—have you been drinking?"

"Oh my. I like that. Want to go have a drink?"

That was when I realized Director Yuri's half-lidded eyes had nothing to do with ptosis or anything of the sort.

The moment she showed her true colors, both her personality and her gaze flipped a full hundred and eighty degrees. Lunatic, I think they called it.

"So what does Yerim think?"

"About what…?"

"I like imagination too. But imagining and then experiencing is even better."

"Are you recommending a women's sex toy to me right now?"

"Mm, is that what I'm doing? I suppose it is."

"Given my physical structure…"

"A good dodge, Yerim. By the way—do you know what kind of place this room is?"

"I don't."

"People masturbate in here all the time."

"Please don't joke."

Hearing that, I could almost smell something indecent ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rising in the soundproofed space.

"No, it's true. Otherwise where would we test the sex toys? We can't go home every single time."

"I… see…"

"Right. You're late filling it out, but I've printed the consent form."

"What kind of consent form?"

"You'll know when you look. I think Yerim ought to get a little experience. Not necessarily right this second."

This woman was a femme fatale. If I got any closer, I would be the one who fell apart.

"In other words, I'm also asking you for help with sex-toy testing. You weren't planning to dump the entire load on the team leader, were you?"

"I don't understand what you mean…"

"Every sex toy here was born by way of Team Leader Ayoung's insides. Literally her insides.

If we'd hired a woman this time, we could have lightened the load. A shame. What to do. Maybe my eye was wrong."

I felt backed into a corner. On the sheaf of paper, it said this:

I had not done well in the interview.

All of it had been inside this person's calculations.