Bitch Academy

When I opened my eyes, the first thing that greeted me was the blanket rising like a tent.

My cock was so big it jutted past my pants and poked the covers straight up. I groped the space beside me out of habit and found no one. Aside from the rock-hard erection, my body felt remarkably refreshed—healthy, even.

Breakfast waited on the living-room table. Steam curled from a bowl of white rice and a pot of doenjang jjigae that filled the apartment with its savory, earthy scent. Back before the possession, when I lived alone and survived on convenience-store meals, a scene like this had been pure fantasy.

My phone showed a message from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Chaerin saying she was heading out for her part-time job. The meal itself was ordinary rice and stew, yet eating real home cooking after so long made me genuinely happy. Thinking of her waking early, shopping at the market, and cooking for me, I wanted to praise her.

After finishing breakfast I searched for the marriage academy she had mentioned the day before. The official name was the perfectly ordinary Marriage and Family Harmony Academy University. The related searches and community posts, however, were far more blunt.

The premise was simple. In a society with an extreme gender imbalance, the state had created this adult academy university to combat low marriage and birth rates. The Marriage Academy was not a place where women went looking for men; it was a place where women learned everything necessary to be chosen by one. Women became bitches waiting to be selected, and men married whichever bitch they fancied. It was also a regular university where students took major courses for careers alongside the marriage curriculum.

My scrolling finger stopped. The words under the mandatory curriculum stabbed into my eyes.

Male Psychology Analysis, Techniques of Praise and Affirmation—those I could accept. But then:

Even that still felt abstract. So it was a place where women learned every method of caressing and fucking? The next entry shattered any remaining illusions.

It was insane. They actually taught women how to have sex at the academy? Just as every Korean man was drafted into the military, every adult in this country—man or woman—was required to enroll in the academy. That meant every woman in the nation received mandatory education in caressing and sex.

What came next was even more staggering.

“Teaching materials?”

If I became one of those materials, it meant I’d be caressed and fucked by all those women, didn’t it? Excitement tingled through the fingers that tapped my phone screen. My head filled with nothing but fantasies of the Bitch Academy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that would begin tomorrow.

I kept searching—campus life rules, location, and finally the incoming-student supply list. The moment I clicked, a long roster appeared.

Just two words. That brevity said everything.

The women’s list, by contrast, stretched on forever.

Just the book titles left my jaw hanging. This wasn’t a marriage academy—it was a slave academy.

While I was still searching, my phone rang. The name on the screen wasn’t Chaerin’s but Han Subin’s—the blonde beauty I had met at the hospital yesterday. Of course I answered at once.

Her voice over the line was tight with nerves. The tremor proved that calling a man was still a rare event for her.

“It’s fine. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to check if your body was okay. Are you really all right? It must have been hard at the hospital…”

“It was nothing. I just lay there for a bit.”

“If anything happens, tell me right away! My mom’s a doctor, so I can get help immediately.”

Subin asked after me as carefully as if she were handling fragile treasure. The excessive concern felt almost awkward.

“More importantly—are you going to the academy tomorrow too?”

“Yeah. Oh! I checked ahead of time, and you, me, and Chaerin are all assigned to the same class!”

“Oh yeah? Want to head over together in the morning, then?”

At my suggestion I heard her suck in a sharp breath. Silence stretched for a moment.

“…R-really? We can… go together?”

“Why not? We’re in the same class anyway.”

“Y-yes! I’d love that! Of course I would! Then I’ll come to your place tomorrow morning! What time should I get there?”

Her voice was bursting with excitement. We settled the plan quickly. Still, it was obvious she didn’t want to hang up; she hesitated and found a new topic.

“Um… are you looking forward to the academy? Or… are you a little worried?”

Worried? Only that my erection might never go down. Outwardly I answered with calm indifference.

“Dunno. We’ll see when we get there. Sounds fun, though.”

“R-right? It’ll definitely be fun! And you… you’ll do great. Everyone’s going to like you.”

Having run out of things to say, Subin eventually ended the call with a promise to see me tomorrow.

“See you tomorrow!”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

By evening Chaerin returned from her part-time job. She looked tired, yet the moment she stepped inside she began preparing dinner for me. The sizzle of oil and its rich aroma filled the small apartment, and my stomach growled on its own.

I lay on the mattress and watched her busy back—the apron strings cinched around her slender waist, the round outline of her hips visible through thin pants. Imagining that body learning every service technique at the academy made tomorrow feel even more promising.

“It’s ready, so come out.”

Her blunt voice was accompanied by the clink of two plates set on the table. Freshly made omurice still steamed. On top of the fluffy yellow egg she had drawn a crooked cat face in ketchup. She had clearly tried hard, but artistic talent was not among Chaerin’s gifts.

“This cat looks kind of angry.”

Her shoulders flinched. She avoided my eyes and cleared her throat.

“Shut up and just eat. I just scribbled it without thinking.”

An obvious lie—her face was bright red. I smirked and picked up my spoon.

“Thanks for the food.”

I was about to dig in when I noticed Chaerin still sitting motionless.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

“Huh? Obviously the man takes the first bite, then I eat.”

“Ah.”

Truly a convenient world for men.

I scooped a big spoonful of omurice into my mouth. Soft egg and warm, savory fried rice melted together. It was pretty good.

After we finished and while Chaerin washed the dishes, I found something among her things: several thick books—academy textbooks. The thickest practical manual caught my eye especially.

Service Techniques for Master

Bored, I pulled it out and flipped the pages. Explicit anatomical diagrams and detailed photographs explained exactly how to handle a woman’s body. I turned the pages in quiet admiration of the sheer frankness until I stopped at “Chapter 2: Foundations of Caressing — Nipple Development.”

What an absurd explanation of nipples. I kept flipping.

That was as far as I got before Chaerin, who had somehow sidled up beside me, peeked at the same page.

“…Ugh, they really teach all this.”

She muttered, trying to sound casual while looking away, but her bright-red earlobes betrayed her true feelings with perfect honesty.

“Can I touch your chest later?”

“Really?!”

Chaerin cried out in pure delight. Realizing how loud she had been, she grew thoroughly embarrassed.

“…I-I don’t know! I’m going to wash up first. I got all sweaty from work!”

With that she fled into the bathroom as if escaping. I composed my heart with solemn reverence and prepared myself to touch Chaerin’s breasts.