The Black Silk Net and the Non-existent Zipper

The air seemed to freeze. Instead of unbuttoning the top button, Professor Sayama's fingers slid down the taut seam of the fabric at her chest, his fingertips gently pressing against the deep cleavage through the shirt, as if teasing a startled prey.

"Why aren't you saying anything? You were much bolder with your gaze in class just now."

As she spoke, she strode closer to you. Her beautiful legs, encased in semi-transparent black stockings, gleamed like flowing mercury under the harsh office fluorescent lights. With each step, the stockings rubbed against each other on the inside of her thighs, producing a tantalizing yet tantalizing rustling sound. The sound was like a tiny electric current, drilling directly into your brain through your eardrums.

You were **** to retreat step by step until the back of your knees hit the edge of the desk, leaving you with nowhere to go.

"Teacher, this is a school..." You tried to put up a last stand with your pale reason, but your voice was as dry as if you had swallowed a handful of sand.

"School?" Ms. Sayama chuckled, her laughter carrying a strange, savage excitement. Suddenly, she lifted one foot and unceremoniously placed it on the chair between your legs.

"Thump."

The heel of the high heel slammed down. This movement stretched the already tight-fitting pencil skirt to its limit, revealing the muscular lines of her thighs encased in black stockings, and a hint of alluring pink flesh showing through her knees as she bent over.

At this moment, those plump thighs, tightly bound by black stockings, are right before your eyes. You can clearly see the delicate denim texture of the stockings, like a net woven from countless fine black threads, tightly binding that elastic body. A scent, a mixture of the unique chemical sweetness of nylon and the sweat of a mature woman, forcefully assaults your nostrils.

"Since it's at school, it's perfectly reasonable for teachers to check students' physical development, isn't it?"

Before you could react, she suddenly reached out, grabbed your wrist, and forcefully pressed it onto the thigh she was standing on the chair.

"Hmm!"

The moment your fingertips touch it, it's as if a firework explodes in your brain.

The feel of it... was so silky smooth.

It's not just smooth, but also carries a subtle sense of resistance. The black threads beneath your palm seem alive, slightly deforming as your fingers tremble. The warmth of your palm is conducted through the thin nylon, but instead of an immediate response of body heat, there's a moment of coolness, followed by a belated warmth.

Your palm sank uncontrollably into that soft, fleshy mound. It wasn't the firm yet delicate feel of a young girl's skin, but rather the full, juicy flesh unique to a mature woman. Through the sheer black stockings, you could feel the subcutaneous fat spreading outwards with your pressure, the stockings stretched taut as if they might be pierced by your fingers at any moment.

"Huh... you can't even handle this?"

Ms. Sayama let out a sweet, cloying breath, but to your ears, it sounded slightly exaggerated. She didn't stop holding your hand; instead, she guided it upwards along your inner thigh.

Fingers brushed across the surface of the stockings, producing a soft, sizzling sound.

The higher you go, the tighter the black stockings become. When your fingertips touch the hem of the skirt, your heart almost leaps out of your throat.

"Go in," she commanded, her voice low and hoarse.

Your fingers trembled as they slipped under the skirt. There was no resistance, no edge of fabric. Just as you had seen in class, it was an absolute vacuum.

Your fingers touched the most delicate skin on her inner thigh, where the temperature was astonishingly hot. However, just as your fingertips were about to explore that forbidden abyss further, your thumb touched something strange on her side.

It was a tiny bump.

It doesn't look like a scar, more like... some kind of seam?

The texture was incredibly subtle, like the marks left by two pieces of rubber being forcibly glued together. Moreover, when you observed her neck up close, although it was obscured by her loose black hair, in the instant she looked down at you, you could vaguely see an unnatural wrinkle on the back of her neck, as if the skin there didn't belong to her, but rather was like a garment covering her body.

"etc……"

A strong sense of unease made you abruptly withdraw your hand.

"What's wrong? Don't you want to continue?" Teacher Sayama tilted his head, a strange light flashing in his eyes.

"You...you're not Mr. Sayama," you said, your voice trembling, cold sweat instantly soaking your school uniform shirt. "Who are you? What did you do to the teacher?"

Fear instantly overwhelmed lust. You looked around; the office was eerily quiet, and the person in front of you, who resembled Misato Sayama, was looking at you with the eyes of someone eyeing prey.

"ha……"

The "beautiful homeroom teacher" in front of me suddenly let out a short, mocking laugh. Then, the laughter grew louder and louder, eventually turning into a completely unrestrained, uproarious laugh.

"Hahahaha! Oh my god, I can't take it anymore, hahaha!"

That voice... was rough, annoying, and full of the lewd aura of a shut-in.

You were completely stunned. You knew that voice all too well, so well that you were chatting and trash-talking each other last night.

"Ah... Ah Jie?"

The "Teacher Zuoshan" casually grabbed a short staff from the podium that looked like a pointer, but had a strange pink crystal embedded at the top. With a flash of crystal light, she—or rather, he—sat down on the desk with an air of nonchalance. His previous elegant and alluring demeanor vanished, replaced by a despairingly unrestrained posture, his two long, black-stockinged legs spread wide, shamelessly displaying the view under his skirt.

"You got it right, but there's no prize."

A-Jie (still in the guise of Misato Sayama at this point) roughly tugged at his tie with his slender, red-nailed hands, and looked at you with a wicked grin:

"How was it? My 'skin' feels pretty good, doesn't it? You enjoyed touching it so much earlier, why are you pretending to be a gentleman now?"

"You... what did you say? The real Mr. Sayama... is this 'skin'?"

Your brain feels as if it has been struck by a heavy hammer, and an absurd dizziness makes you almost unable to stand. You stare intently at the person in front of you who is both familiar and strange—the face is clearly that of your homeroom teacher, Misato Sayama, whom you both admire and look up to, but the fanaticism and mockery in those eyes belong to your incurable frenemy, A-Jie.

"Hehe, you're scared out of your wits?"

With his mature and beautiful face, A-Jie let out a smug laugh that seemed completely out of place with his appearance. He casually toyed with the short cane topped with a pink crystal, the cane radiating an unsettlingly warm glow in the dim office.

"This thing is called the 'Soul Removal Staff,' but I spent six months' worth of living expenses to find it on that weird website."

As he spoke, he approached you, his long legs, encased in extremely thin black stockings, moving with an incredibly alluring cat-like gait, the rhythm of his high heels striking the ground like some kind of hypnotic drumbeat.

“This morning, I took it and sneaked into the teacher’s office, and when she wasn’t looking… ‘whoosh!’” He made an exaggerated gesture, the tip of the crystal staff slicing through the air, leaving a pink afterimage. “That light hit her directly. And then guess what? She was like a skeleton with its bones and internal organs removed, she slumped down limply, and finally turned into a thin, warm ‘human skin’.”

At this point, A-Jie's breathing became rapid, and a sickly flush appeared on his face. He reached out and grabbed the heavy, large breasts on his chest, kneading them forcefully through the tight white shirt, his fingertips sinking deep into the soft, creamy flesh.

"This is incomparable to silicone or latex... This is real flesh! Although it's turned into skin, the cells are still alive, the nerves are still alive! The moment I put it on, I felt like I was being sucked into my whole body by countless tiny suction cups..."

He walked up to you, grabbed your hand, and forcefully pressed it onto his flat stomach covered with soft fat.

"Feel it. This texture... isn't it exactly the same as a living person's?"

Your fingertips trembled as they touched the skin beneath the fabric.

At this moment, your worldview completely collapses.

It was a chillingly real feeling. Through the thin fabric of the bodycon skirt, you could clearly feel the warmth of the body beneath. It wasn't the temperature of an inanimate object, but the warmth of a living body with flowing blood. Even the delicate elasticity you felt under your fingertips when you pressed down slightly, and the subtle movement of the subcutaneous fat, were so real they made you want to vomit, yet also drove you crazy.

But that's not the worst part.

The most terrifying thing is that beneath this "real skin," you can vaguely sense a tough barrier, the boundary between A-Jie's original body and this "skin." It's like someone wearing an extremely tight-fitting wetsuit, but this wetsuit is made from another person's flesh and blood.

“And then…” A-Jie’s voice suddenly became somewhat dazed, and a hint of confusion flashed in his previously playful eyes, “The most exciting thing about this thing is… it carries memories.”

“Memories…?” Your throat was dry, and you managed to squeeze out those two words with difficulty.

“That’s right.” A-Jie took a deep breath, like an addict enjoying some kind of hallucinogen. “When I put on this skin, memories of Ms. Sayama flooded my mind like a tidal wave. The feeling of the water sliding over her skin when she took a shower in the morning, the carefulness she felt when she put on these black stockings, afraid of snagging them, and even… the image of her secretly thinking about men in this office…”

Suddenly, A-Jie leaned close to your ear, his voice becoming low and hoarse, the tone of which for a moment completely overlapping with that of the usually serious Mr. Sayama:

"Student XX, the last big math problem you handed in last week was actually copied, wasn't it? I... I've been watching you the whole time."

boom!

Your blood freezes instantly, then rushes wildly to the top of your head.

That sentence, with its slightly reproachful yet ambiguous tone, was absolutely in the voice of Professor Sayama! It felt so real, as if Professor Sayama's soul still lingered in this body, speaking to you through A-Jie's mouth.

“Haa…look, the memory is so clear.” A-Jie shook his head, as if trying to distinguish the boundary between reality and memory. “Her memories are merging with my consciousness. I not only know all her secrets now, but even…her sensitive spots correspond to me one by one.”

He lets go of your hand, turns around, and has his back to you.

"Here, let me show you the evidence."

He grabbed the back of his shirt collar with both hands and yanked it sharply to both sides—

"Sizzle—"

There was no sound of fabric tearing, but rather a tooth-grinding, sticky sound, like wet chunks of meat separating.

On the back of his neck, a tiny, almost invisible flesh-colored crack appeared on his originally smooth, fair skin. It wasn't a zipper, but a closed slit like a wound, with the surrounding skin exhibiting an eerie gelatinous texture.

Through that slightly ajar gap, you saw a scene inside that would send your sanity soaring:

Beneath the full, rounded skin of Mr. Sayama's shoulders and back lay not bones and muscles, but rather A-Jie's slightly thin male spine. The two layers of skin clung tightly together, with what seemed to be some kind of transparent mucus in between, constantly wriggling and adhering with each breath.

"Do you see that?" A-Jie's voice came out muffledly, tinged with pain and **** excitement. "This skin... it's eating me. It's tightly wrapped around every inch of my skin, even my eyelids, lips, and under my fingernails are filled with it. I feel like I'm back in the womb, or like I'm being swallowed by a giant python..."

He closed the crack again, and the skin healed instantly, leaving no trace.

Then, he turned around and cornered you step by step. His long legs, encased in sheer 15D black stockings, gleamed with an oily sheen in the sunlight streaming in from the window. The stockings on the inner thighs were slightly pilled from friction; this minor imperfection only added to the suffocating sense of life he exuded.

"Gulp." You swallowed hard, unable to take your eyes off those legs.

"Do you want it?"

A-Jie (Zoyama version) lifts one foot, the tip of his black high heel gently pressing against your crotch. He rubs upwards along your inner thigh at an extremely slow pace.

The silky, cool touch of the stockings traveled through the pants, followed by the astonishing heat emanating from that leg. You could feel his toes curling slightly inside the stockings, each movement like a spark igniting your nerve endings.

"Since I have the teacher's memories, I also know... that you always secretly stare at the teacher's legs during class, right?"

He narrowed his eyes, and a charming smile, unique to mature women and entirely characteristic of Misato Sayama, curved his lips:

"You're still fantasizing about... what it would feel like to be trapped between those legs, right?"

These words completely shattered your reason. The shame of having your deepest, darkest side exposed, combined with the visual impact of the perfect body before you, made you tremble all over.

“Not only that…” A-Jie suddenly stopped smiling, his eyes becoming unfocused, as if he were in a trance-like state, “This body… this skin… it craves you. Is it the lingering instinct of Teacher Sayama, or my own desire? I can’t tell anymore…”

He abruptly threw away the crystal staff, cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you without a word.

"Hmm!"

The moment your lips touched, you tasted a faint citrus scent—the scent of the lip balm that Ms. Sayama often uses. The soft touch, the warm, moist mouth, the nimble, intertwined tongues… everything felt so real, so feminine.

If you didn't know it was Ah-Jie inside, you would definitely think that it was Professor Sayama himself forcibly kissing you.

But amidst this passionate kiss, you hear a deep, rough growl, belonging to a man, emanating incongruously from deep within the throat of this beautiful woman's body:

"Damn... this is so awesome... this feeling... is so real..."

The perverse pleasure derived from this cognitive dissonance is like an electric current that instantly runs through your spine and down to your lower abdomen.