It's Common Sense to Catch and Train a Passing MILF Doctor♥
1.
Bzzzzt—
The smartphone rattled on and on. Across its screen, a stack of KakaoTalk notifications had piled up.
This. This was exactly why I despised men.
Utterly oblivious to how much of a nuisance their very existence was. Unable to take a hint even from silence, they just kept firing off message after message. It went beyond disgusting—it made my blood boil.
I heaved a long sigh and opened the messages the piece of trash had sent. Not because I cared what they said. Only to leave him on read and deliver the message you're being ignored, so shut your mouth.
Except.
The moment I actually read the message, I found I couldn't possibly leave it unanswered.
That lunatic… how did he know that?
Startled, I snatched up my phone.
I typed as fast as my fingers would move. Before I could even back out of the chat room, the unread "1" beneath my message vanished.
[…]
The little indicator that he was typing something. Dying to know what he was writing, I couldn't bring myself to leave the chat.
……Time crawled by.
And crawled. And crawled.
"This bastard.. what the hell is he even typing."
Just as I was reaching the end of my patience, his message arrived.
"Hah? Uh? Hah?!"
The absurdity burst out of me out loud before I could stop it. In the photo he'd sent, I was stark naked. And not merely naked, either. The me in that picture had her hips tilted up, rubbing between her own legs, hard and shameless. The piercing on my chest and the surging tide between my thighs were just a bonus.
I ground my teeth.
"You.. insane bastard.."
But with evidence like this, maybe—just maybe—I could get this piece of trash expelled. Thinking that, I fired back a reply before he could get any other ideas.
This time the reply came instantly.
'A whole screen full of question marks..'
"Mm.. ah.. ah..?"
The moment I looked at that pile of question marks, something in my head snapped. A feeling of being sealed inside a deep, dark, and comfortable little room.
Bzzzzt—
The smartphone's alarm roused me from my daze.
"Ha. Men."
Watching them spam you with messages over nothing more than an exchanged number was enough to make bile rise. To silence the uselessly ringing alarm—that is, to leave his message on read and convey you're being ignored, so shut up—I opened our chat room.
But hold on?
'Did I.. reply to him at some point?'
Our chat history showed three deleted messages from him, and one from me: Are you out of your mind?
Something felt off, but it was the message above those that seized my eyes. And it was self-evident that this was the thing to deal with first. Because written there was our home address.
I moved to demand, fast, how he knew where I lived—only to find that beneath that message sat yet another one from me: How the hell do you know that, you insane bastard?
'What.. is this now..?'
Had I been hacked or something? As I was wondering, the phone rang.
Riiing—
Kim Taesung
The name glowing on the phone screen. Ask him about the messages I'd supposedly sent, about how he knew our address, and the outline of this mess would come into focus. I accepted the call.
"Hello?"
"Hey! How the hell do you know my addr—"
"Ah, shut it. You're too loud, bitch."
"…What?"
This absolute lunatic…
He digs up my home address, and on top of that he curses at me? Ha. I'd put up with men until now because I hated the idea of despising someone purely for being male—but with that insolent, revolting attitude to match his face, I could finally despise him with a clear conscience. My chest felt lighter already.
"Well, then. I'll just have to report you for stalking."
"Pfft. Kkk-kkk-kkk. Pfft."
Typical of a worm living a worm's life. That air of go ahead, report me. Well, sure—prison or no prison, a gutter rat was going to keep living in the gutter either way.
"Don't laugh. I'm serious. The constant messages, knowing my home address when we've never even met—that's more than enough to…"
"Pffhbt. What a dumb~ass. I was actually going to hear you out, since there was still a little time left. Unbelievable."
"…What?"
"Hey. Listen up, because I'm only saying this once. You and I have not spoken today. At all."
What lunacy was this now? I was dumbfounded.
"I'll repeat it. Forget everything from the last ten minutes. Make it as if it never happened. You can do that, can't you?"
You can do that, can't you? You can do that, can't you? You can do that, can't you?
Those words alone kept echoing through my skull.
'U.. uuuh..'
And then, slowly, that sensation from before came creeping back. The feeling of consciousness being swallowed by the unconscious. Of going numb, sealed in a dark little room.
The light drained from my eyes.
The last ten minutes. The phone call with him. The conversation we'd exchanged. The strangely doctored photo he'd sent me. Even the fact that he had ever messaged me at all—every last trace of it dissolved away.
All that remained in my head was a single, powerful suggestion: none of that ever happened.
That one suggestion lasted only moments, yet it ruled my body completely. Roughly thirty seconds. A vanishingly short span of time—but it was more than enough. For me to delete the call log with my own hands and back out of his chat room—simple tasks—thirty seconds wasn't just sufficient. It was a surplus.
And so every trace of contact with him was wiped away. About ten more seconds passed.
Bzzzzt—
"Haa, honestly."
At least facing down that piece of trash today had been worth standing up for. My chat list was brimming with greetings from friends—half of them telling me I'd worked hard today, the other half praising my looks.
"This is why I live the way I do.."
That retarded bastard.. no—goodness. As much as I can't stand him, I don't usually stoop to crude language like that. Why did I..? Hmm. No idea. Anyway, the trash hadn't contacted me after all, contrary to expectations, so all that remained was to close out the day happily.
Praying that tonight, at least, I wouldn't plummet to my death in my dreams, I closed my eyes.
2.
Inside a pitch-black room.
Kim Taesung sat raking his fingers through his bleached-yellow hair, eyes glued to the monitors.
Click.
As his mouse moved, six monitors stacked floor to ceiling flickered to life, each displaying a feed from a different angle. But they shared one thing in common: every single screen showed the same person.
Yeon Cheongha.
"Pfft."
One look at that bitch and the laughter came. How could it not? The Yeon Cheongha on screen remembered absolutely nothing of her conversation with him today. Sure, it was his ability's doing—but watching a girl that sharp and that proper act like a total brainlet never failed to get him hard.
"Kkk-kkk. What a retarded bitch. Isn't that right?"
Kim Taesung idly stroked the woman slurping away at his balls beneath his chair. A gray MILF dress; golden eyes tinged with brown, the same shade as the Yeon Cheongha on screen.
"Ah, kkk-kkk. Hey—here, and here. Lick between them, dumbass. How many times do I have to tell you? Keep it up and I'll go play with your daughter instead."
"Hueeeeehk!! Shluuurp!"
Yeon Cheongha's mother, Lee Seoryeon, wheezing out vulgar noises like a sow in heat, devotedly ministered to the space between the blonde delinquent's balls and his asshole.
"Yeah. Just like that, you filthy slut."
Her training was only half finished—but for her age, she was far too good a catch to throw away. The fact that she was his target's mother made her a delicious side dish, too. And above all—
'Thanks to this sow, I found the daughter.'
"If you don't work hard, your little girl will be the one playing under my crotch instead. Understood?"
"Shluuurp! Slurp! Mwah-shlup!"
Lee Seoryeon answered not with words but with the base, animal sounds of a sow. Roughly translated: I'll work hard! Please don't touch my daughter!
"Good. Suck well, and I won't lay a finger on her. So suck harder, bitch!"
Smack—
The crack of a palm against her cheek rang through the room. Unmindful of her burning face, Lee Seoryeon kept serving Kim Taesung's crotch. And his promise—that he wouldn't touch her daughter so long as she sucked well—was entirely sincere.
"Kkk-kkk-kkk.."
A smile spread across Kim Taesung's lips. Because for the daughter, Yeon Cheongha, he intended to skip the crude threats altogether. He would break her brain, purely and simply, and make her kneel of her own accord.
In that sense, thinking back on it, picking up this sow that day had been a stroke of genius.
3.
That day, too, Kim Taesung had prowled the streets, hunting for targets as he always did. That was when he spotted her: a sow strutting down the road, vulgarly swaying a pair of absurdly oversized hips. His first thought was that she'd do nicely. But a MILF bitch hiding that sprawling ass under a doctor's gown and loose slacks? That grated on him. Without further deliberation, he locked in today's target: that pig.
"Guess it's her today."
Kim Taesung possessed two abilities. The first was hypnosis, its effects shifting with the depth of the target's mind. The second was the self-erasure of memories and any related evidence.
He favored the second—memory erasure. It was limited: one day, one person, roughly twenty minutes. But twenty minutes was plenty of time to catch a target the instant she stepped into some secluded spot and rape her. The real-world clout he'd spent some twenty years cultivating made it possible.
Lee Seoryeon, the woman he'd first laid eyes on that day, had originally been nothing more than a cumrag for a one-night rape. But in the alley where he'd toyed with her, sticky and slow, after her shift—on that street where he'd fucked her until semen drooled out of her womb, wiped her memory, and sent her on her way—Kim Taesung came to understand, for the first time, the meaning of the phrase love at first sight.
There, in his field of vision, stood two well-tended flowers.
"Mom! There you are. Where did you run off to……."
No one had ever seized his cock at first glance before. In the beginning, his own awkwardness had made every encounter forgettable; by now, it was his familiarity and boredom that did it. A face that was elegant even at a glance. Conversation befitting a girl on the verge of graduating. Kim Taesung racked his brain trying to pinpoint what, exactly, about this bitch had made his cock sit up and take notice.
He couldn't find it. A pointless exercise in observation—except for one thing, a single meaningful discovery: the urge to throw her down, make her kneel, and break her, right then and there. His hands and feet shook with it.
But he'd already spent today's memory erasure. Promising himself next time, he typed the name he'd overheard from the mother-daughter chatter—Yeon Cheongha—into his phone, and walked away.
Back home, he threw every connection and resource he'd accumulated into digging up her file: her background, her friendships, her habits, her personality, her history with men. Only then did Kim Taesung catch a glimpse of what set that bitch apart from all the others—what had made his cock fall in love at first sight.
A competitive streak that demanded she always be the best. A kindness that nonetheless drew her personal line in ink. And above all, a hatred of men, instilled by her father's influence. All of it told him the same story: this bitch, no matter how thoroughly he rewrote her common sense—no matter how he hypnotized her, raped her, erased her memories, and played with her like a toy—would never, never break. And every time her sanity came back, she would claw her way upright again.
Since gaining his ability, Kim Taesung had prided himself on having the finest eye for women in the world. It wasn't empty confidence; the results backed him up. So his judgment now could not be wrong.
From that day on, he kept his gaze fixed on that one bitch alone. No blackmail. No rape. He poured his time into constructing, in reality, the moment she would become his slave of her own free will.
And so, weaving together every thread of influence he had, he brought into being the Low Birth Rate Prevention Act. Its actual contents, of course, were nothing so outrageous as placing one man in a girls' academy or one woman in a boys' academy. The point was simply that such a law existed—that it had been passed and promulgated. That fact alone was what mattered. Forcibly implanting something that never existed, versus nudging an existing fact a few degrees sideways: the difference in difficulty was the difference between heaven and earth.
Just once. A single deeply rooted falsehood, accepted as common sense, becomes the wedge that drives all manner of absurd "common sense" into the brain.
With that, every preparation for Yeon Cheongha's training was complete. Time passed, and today marked the first day of that training. A successful day, exactly as planned, built on the genuinely promulgated law. If he'd pushed a little harder than strictly necessary, that was only because the crude thoughts of his onahole bitch ringing out every time he used his ability had gradually begun to grate on him. He'd erased all those memories, so it would be fine.
Replaying the past, Kim Taesung renewed his vow: until Yeon Cheongha was remade into his personal brainlet onahole, he would use nothing—nothing—but Common Sense Alteration.
A lewd smile curled his lips at the thought of training Cheongha into a half-broken retard, and he ground his heel into the sow still slurping greedily at his cock.
Thud— Thud— Thud—
"Hrghk♥ Ohhok♥ Nghit—nghiiit♥"
"Kkk-kkk-kkk-kkk."
"Uuhiit♥ Nghiiiit!♥ Ohhoghoghok♥"
The sow's wails filled the room. And on the monitor, the onahole—blissfully unaware that her own mother was being put through such things by the very object of her contempt—slept the sleep of the contented, her day neatly wrapped up and put away.
Like a good little retard♥