Discipline Under the Desk
Kim Aran's teachers' lounge glowed softly in the afternoon sunlight.
A copy of La Religieuse lay half-open on her desk. She rested her chin on her hand, pen between her lips, lazily turning pages.
Knock, knock.
She lifted only her eyes at the sound. When she spotted the student peeking around the door, the corner of her mouth curved upward.
"Well, if it isn't my little poet. Come in, quickly."
She didn't stand. Instead, she tapped the desk with her palm and nudged a chair toward him with her foot.
The student entered with an awkward smile and carefully took the seat across from her. An old notebook and a folded novel rested on his knees.
"Um… last time you asked why literary characters keep choosing suffering for themselves. The more I read, the more confused I get."
Aran widened her eyes and dropped her hand from her chin with a soft slap.
"Oh, that question? I love it. Honestly, I'm a little moved right now."
Her tone was playful, but genuine delight shone in her eyes.
"Suffering in literature isn't just a device. It's raw emotion. Happiness can be faked, but pain can't. Nothing reveals someone's true feelings quite like pain."
When the student nodded and opened his notebook, Aran lightly tapped the cover with her finger.
"Know why I like that question so much? Because it means you're a real reader. The ones who ask because they actually want to understand are the best."
She narrowed her eyes and gave him a brief smile across the desk.
"You already know I say this all the time—literature is voyeurism. We peek at other people's emotions, desires, and misfortunes. Even if we don't experience them ourselves, we confirm our own feelings by watching."
The student wrote something in silence.
"But Teacher, do you really think they choose suffering because they're honest?"
She blinked, chin still resting on her hand, then slowly curled her lips.
"Sometimes it's honesty. Sometimes it's fear. Some embrace suffering for love, others cling to it like punishment for their guilt. Either way, the self is there—its own reasons, its own feelings. That's what makes it literature."
The student looked at her with deeper eyes. Aran smiled with her eyes and raised her palm.
"That was a perfect literary question. I'm giving you an affection bonus. Your next assignment score might go up~"
The student bowed his head with a smile. Aran crossed her arms and leaned back against her chair.
"Having someone to talk about things like this with is the greatest luxury for a teacher. Thank you. I feel completely refreshed today."
As the student bowed and turned to leave, she called out playfully from behind.
"Hey, bring me coffee next time. Literary counseling at this level is basically a paid service~"
The student laughed, bowed again, and left. Only after the door closed did Aran slowly turn her gaze toward the window. The sunlight slanting in was beginning to stretch long shadows across the room.
Once the student was gone, the bright smile on Kim Aran's lips gradually faded. Warmth drained from her eyes, and the light laughter vanished, replaced by a cold, expressionless mask.
She tilted her head slightly and spoke in a low, deep voice that seemed pulled from somewhere dark.
"Come out…"
The playful tone from moments ago was gone. The drawn-out ending carried a strangely wet sense of dominance and an eerily sweet seduction.
Then it happened.
In the quiet air of the lounge, the darkness beneath the desk began to move ever so slightly. From the deep space under Kim Aran's legs, a man slowly crawled out.
His chin tucked low, waist pressed close to the floor, he moved like a trained beast waiting for its master's touch—both cowed and desperate. His wrists were bound behind his back with handcuffs. His upper body was nearly naked, but the most important part between his thighs was locked inside a glossy black leather chastity belt. The faint clink of metal rings and the soft scrape of knees against the floor slowly stained the quiet room with an obscene presence.
The man finally reached her chair and pressed his forehead to the floor, kneeling once more.
Aran looked down at him without blinking. A smile spread slowly across her lips.
She drew a quiet breath and rose from her desk.
Click—
The sound of her high heels striking the floor rang through the lounge like a measured rhythm. She walked without hurry, spine straight, her slender silhouette revealing the toned lines of hips and thighs honed by swimming. Each step made her skirt sway gently.
Click— click—
She reached the door, tilted her head, and slowly turned the handle.
Click.
The lock slid into place. The entire space grew quieter, thicker with tension.
"Phew… We almost got caught, didn't we?"
She let out a short sigh, the corner of her mouth lifting in a playful arc even now. But when she turned around, not a trace of laughter or ease remained. Her gaze had already locked onto its target.
Aran walked slowly to the desk and picked up a pair of rubber gloves that had been tossed there. They were the thick green ones the swimming club used for cleaning, still carrying a faint rubber smell. She slipped them between her fingers, lightly snapping the material like a priestess preparing a ritual.
She stopped in front of the man and, with a casual flick of her wrist—like a noble slapping a commoner's cheek—struck his face with the glove.
Smack—
The rubber glove hit deep, clinging wetly to his skin before slowly peeling away. His head jerked to the side, but Aran didn't so much as twitch an eyebrow.
"How dare you…"
Her lips parted slowly, her low voice seeping into the room.
"What did I teach you about acting without permission? You moved before I gave the order? You really are an ill-mannered thing."
Her tone sank heavily, a whisper that was both languid and razor-sharp.
"Is that what you call manners? Where exactly did you learn that, hm?"
She spun the glove once more on her fingertip, then swung it hard from the opposite side.
Smack—
The glove struck again. His thighs trembled visibly beneath the chastity belt, and a quiet breath escaped his lips.
Without bending her knees, Aran leaned forward slightly and brushed his chin with her hand, slowly lifting it. Cold fingertips traced up to his neck, sending shivers down to his cuffed arms.
"How dare you… while I was talking literature with my beloved student…"
Her gaze slowly pressed down on his face.
"You filthy thing actually tried to lick my feet during that precious time?"
Her lips curved as if smiling, but the expression held far more humiliation than anger.
"Disobeying orders is one thing, but you just polluted my time and my conversation with garbage."
She didn't allow him to answer. Under her stare, his shoulders quietly sank. Aran's lips slowly twisted upward—sharp with contempt and dominance.
She tossed the glove onto the desk without care. It landed with a soft thud beside her bag, but she paid it no attention. Instead, she slipped off her high heels one by one, leaned back deeply into her chair, and elegantly crossed her legs. Her stockinged foot rose slowly, the smooth curve catching the light as it swayed in the air.
"Phew… What am I supposed to do with you? Come here."
Her voice sounded tired, almost indifferent. The man bowed his head and crawled forward on his knees. The handcuffs swung behind his back, the metal fittings on his chastity belt clinking softly. He stopped in front of her feet, breath held.
Aran slowly lifted her stockinged toes and pushed them between his lips. He opened his mouth at once, eyes fluttering shut as he began licking with wet, vulgar sounds—like a dog.
Aran watched him with an amused little smile, wiggling her toes left and right, pressing deeper into his mouth.
"Heh… You really are an incorrigible dog."
She exhaled softly, tilting her head back as thoughts drifted through her mind.
'Min-gyu has no classes today… and that sister of his always comes in even when she doesn't have to… Hmm…'
She rested her chin on her hand, feeling his tongue curl around her toes through the stocking, and lowered her gaze.
'Those two are probably having sex right now, aren't they? Having fun without me…?'
The corner of her mouth twitched. A strange emotion—half jealousy, half playful curiosity—traveled down to her foot.
"Suck deeper."
At the quiet command, the man bowed even lower, licking her foot with shameless, dog-like devotion. His forehead and nose rubbed against the stocking as he clung to her like an animal.
It was one of Aran's favorite sights.
She rested her chin on her hand, savoring the movement of his tongue, and let her own thoughts wander. A faint smile played at her lips—not quite joyful, but the calm expression of someone who already knew exactly what was coming.
'Phew… The swimming club finally starts tomorrow~'
She stretched the words out, pushing his tongue away with her toes. The wet foot glistened in the air.
'That sister is the advisor… and I've already marked Min-gyu and placed him there… I deliberately put them together~'
Her voice carried a tangled mix of malice, anticipation, jealousy, and excitement.
'I'm so looking forward to it… Those two… Just thinking about it gets me excited, you know? Those two are—pfft.'
She slowly lifted the corner of her mouth and looked down at the man kneeling at her feet, clinging to her foot.
'Honestly… it might be my favorite thing to watch.'