An Unbelievable Sight
I couldn't believe what was unfolding before my eyes.
Han Naye, our department's reigning goddess, was lying prostrate in the nude right in front of me. Worse—or perhaps better—she was facing away from me.
Because of her posture, her parted labia and the glistening entrance of her vagina were splayed wide open to my view, her tight anus twitching subtly right before my eyes. The art studio's harsh fluorescent lights fell evenly across her pale skin. Beneath that sterile glare, the swell of her buttocks looked as smooth as polished marble, and the delicate down lining her inner thighs shimmered softly in the luminescence.
I was naked too, but the exposed flesh of a solitary outcast like me carried an entirely different weight compared to the bare body of our department goddess.
"Gyeongmin, don't move!"
One of the fourth-year seniors barked at me. Without realizing it, I had crept forward toward Naye's rear, my feet drawn toward her as if pulled by magnets.
Right now, I was serving as a live model. Specifically, an in-the-buff model for our very own Painting Department's nude figure drawing class. The assigned pose called for Naye to lie face-down on the platform while I stood directly behind her, legs spread shoulder-width apart.
Consequently, her pussy and anus were laid bare right at my feet. I tried my damnedest not to stare, but my willpower was failing completely. Even when I cast my eyes toward the ceiling or averted them to the side, my gaze inevitably slid right back down between her legs.
My cock was already rock-hard, jutting skyward at full mast, and every student in the room was staring at it, pencils poised in hand. Twenty-two pairs of eyes darted back and forth between Naye's bare curves and my exposed groin. The only sound in the suffocating silence of the studio was the dry, rhythmic scratching of graphite against canvas.
I couldn't see Naye's face from where I stood, but the vivid crimson burning across her ears told me everything. That deep flush traveled all the way down the nape of her neck, and her delicate shoulders were trembling almost imperceptibly.
"Han Naye! Arch your back!"
It seemed that, at some point, she had hunched down to hide her breasts from sight. No wonder her slit had gaped even wider, offering an unobstructed view straight into her depths. As she bent forward, her ass tilted higher into the air, causing the glistening pink mucous membranes nestled between her labia to glisten wetly under the fluorescent tubes.
But because that wasn't the pose they had requested, Naye flinched and began to arch her spine back up.
We had been posing together since that morning, so this wasn't the first time I had seen her naked. Up until now, however, our poses had placed us far apart or facing the same direction, giving me no chance to examine her body up close—a chance I assumed I would never get. Standing over her like this, drinking in every intimate contour at point-blank range, had been beyond my wildest imagination just an hour ago.
As Naye arched her waist, her heavy side-boobs swayed into view even from behind. At the start of the semester, she had felt like an unattainable flower on a high cliff; I never could have dreamed I would witness her voluptuous D-cup breasts with my own two eyes. Yet now, I knew everything: the hue and size of her nipples, the shape of her pussy, the dimensions of her inner lips, and the exact placement of her clitoris. Her pale pink areolas, the small yet distinctly pronounced bud of her clit, the near-symmetrical folds of her labia—intimate details I never should have known were burned so vividly into my mind that I could picture them clearly even with my eyes closed.
Lost in these thoughts, thick droplets of pre-cum were steadily oozing from the slit of my cock. The viscous fluid strung out in long threads from the swollen tip toward the floor, its warmth trickling down the inside of my thigh. Humiliation should have overwhelmed me—after all, I was openly broadcasting my raging arousal to the entire class while leering at Naye's exposed cunt—yet my mind had no room left for shame. I was supposed to be looking straight ahead, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from her naked body.
"Heheheh... Gyeongmin, you're gonna burn a hole right through Naye's pussy at that rate. Give it a rest, will ya?"
A third-year male senior jeered at me, prompting scattered snickers throughout the room. At his crude tease, it wasn't me but Naye who flinched. Her shoulders gave a violent shudder, and I could see her small fists clenching tight against the floor.
Though her face remained hidden, dark damp spots were spreading on the fabric beneath her head. She was crying. Silent tears were dripping onto the draped cloth, blotting it one drop at a time. The realization that a large part of her misery was likely my fault made my erection soften ever so slightly.
But my gaze strayed ahead for only a fleeting second before pure, primal instinct dragged my eyes back down to her crotch. My intellect screamed at me to stop, but my eyes refused to obey. It felt as though an invisible hand was physically forcing my chin downward. My cock surged with renewed vigor, standing rigid once more as I devoured her exposed slit with my eyes.
And that was when I witnessed something extraordinary happening between her thighs.
Slowly, undeniably, liquid was seeping from her vaginal opening.
Though it wasn't gushing out, her inner lips had parted just enough to reveal her canal, and the droplet gathering at the threshold looked obscenely lewd. A clear, viscous bead hung like morning dew at the entrance of her tight passage. Gleaming under the harsh ceiling lights, it was unmistakable—an entirely different kind of moisture than her tears.
Twenty-two people in the room were gripping pencils, scrutinizing our naked forms, yet I was the only soul who had noticed Naye's love juices. No—to be precise, I was the only one with an angle clean enough to peer directly into her private folds. That forbidden secret sent another jolt straight to my groin. My shaft throbbed furiously, pulsing in time with my racing heart. At this rate, I was going to blow my load right then and there.
A chill raced down my spine at the prospect of ejaculating in front of an audience. If I came hands-free without even touching myself, my college life would be ruined beyond repair. Jerking my head up, I fixed my gaze straight ahead and took deep, measured breaths. Slowly, deliberately—in through the nose, out through the mouth. One, two, three. My shaft remained rock-hard, but the immediate threat of blowing my load receded just enough. And in that brief reprieve, my mind wandered back to how in the hell things had gotten to this point.
Seohae University was an institution known primarily for its arts and athletic programs. Tucked away in South Chungcheong Province, its geographic location left much to be desired, but its art department—particularly the Painting Department—enjoyed a solid reputation. While earning a living after graduating with a painting degree was notoriously difficult, having Seohae University on your resume virtually guaranteed that you would land a solo exhibition eventually. As far as fine art went, Seohae and Seoul's prestigious Hongwoo University stood neck and neck at the pinnacle of the country.
And this spring, I had managed to gain admission to Seohae's coveted Painting Department. It had taken grueling, blood-and-sweat effort. I had drawn relentlessly, day in and day out, to the point where my fingers cracked and bled. During my exam prep, I gripped a pencil for fifteen hours a day, developing thick calluses on every knuckle. Hongwoo had been my initial target, but following the advice of my cram school director, I switched my application to Seohae and clinched an acceptance letter. Overflowing with grand ambitions, I arrived on campus with high hopes for the future.
In stark contrast to Seoul, the school was situated in the boondocks, surrounded by scarcely any commercial establishments. To be blunt, it was a rural backwater. Getting from the campus gates to the nearest train station required a thirty-minute bus ride. Because of this isolation, nearly every student either resided in the on-campus dormitories or rented one of the tiny studio apartments clustered right outside the main gate. The whole place felt like an island cut off from civilization.
Perhaps because of that insular atmosphere, the campus culture was distinctly twisted. A strict, military-style hierarchy dictated the relationship between upperclassmen and underclassmen, and it wasn't uncommon to spot freshmen undergoing disciplinary hazing around campus corners. While the Art Department was relatively tame compared to the athletic majors—where senior cruelty bordered on outright abuse—seeing phys-ed underclassmen dashing through the corridors with their heads bowed low was an everyday sight.
The Painting Department wasn't completely free of that stifling atmosphere either, and at first, merely making eye contact with a senior struck terror into my heart. Naturally, most of the seven freshmen in our cohort banded together for survival. "Most," of course, because I was the sole exception. With a cohort made up of one guy and six girls, an awkward boy like me found it impossible to fit in. I ate all my meals alone and roamed the campus during breaks just to kill time, spending most of my days sketching on random benches.
Still, time marched on, and three months had passed since matriculation. By then, the girls in our department had transformed beyond recognition. Whatever had transpired over those three months had completely stripped away their rustic, awkward edges, replacing them with dazzling polish. Whether they had mastered the art of makeup or influenced each other's styles, their plain initial appearances were nowhere to be found.
Han Naye, who had been stunning from day one, became so exceptionally gorgeous that her fame spread to other departments. Not only did she possess a breathtaking face, but her massive, unforgettable breasts turned heads wherever she walked. As summer approached and clothing grew lighter, the voluptuous contours of her bust became even more pronounced, and I had witnessed countless guys whipping their necks around in unison whenever she strolled past.
Even though we shared the same major, an outcast like me couldn't converse with the girls, making her nothing more than an unattainable prize. I was content just to sit in the same lecture hall and admire her from afar. Or at least, I would have been—had the department president not abruptly declared an "Intensive Nude Drawing Period."
And had I not discovered that the models for those nude drawing sessions would be the students themselves.