Chapter 1 — The Red-Tongued Beauty I Dreamed Of — Part 1 (1)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. All characters are adults aged 18 or over.

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There was a woman I wanted to devour more than anything. The desire to seduce a woman I found attractive might be a natural male instinct, but she—she drove me absolutely insane.

Even now, the memory remains vivid. The moment I first saw her in that lecture hall.

"Hey, what's her name?"

"Who?"

Freshly discharged from the military and back on campus, I was still awkward, out of place, struggling to readjust to student life. I'd been working at the company for about nine months now, living in my small studio apartment, trying to balance the routine of a sales job with the strange rhythm of being a student again.

That day was no different. I sat beside my fellow discharged classmate, blankly staring ahead like always.

"The third seat from the front, middle row, on the left."

It might've been coincidence—but looking back, it probably wasn't.

Because right at that moment, one female student suddenly stood out, as if the camera had zoomed in on her alone.

"Not sure. Why?"

"Just wondering. Is she from our department?"

"Why? You like her?"

Andrew, my classmate who'd enlisted and discharged around the same time as me, reacted with amused curiosity.

I didn't confirm or deny. Instead, I kept scanning her with my eyes.

At the time, she had no idea I was even looking at her. But if I had to pinpoint our first meeting, that was it.

It felt strange. And the emotion was overwhelmingly intense.

Sure, it wasn't unusual for a man to notice a pretty girl—but this feeling was different.

Looking back, she wasn't strikingly beautiful.

Her face was just… average. The kind you'd pass on the street every day—slightly cute, but not stunning. Plain. Unremarkable.

But that wasn't why she held my gaze so completely that day.

It was that unbelievably full, red-tipped chest of hers.

Ah, even now I can't erase that electrifying image from my mind.

The way her plump, melon-like breasts swelled beneath her thin blue knit sweater—the perfect, tantalizing outline.

I didn't even start remembering her face clearly until I'd seen her in class two or three more times.

And even then, I never looked at her face first—unless something unusual happened.

My eyes always went straight to her chest. Only after that did they drift up to her face.

I can say with certainty: her plain face meant nothing to me.

In fact, maybe it was the contrast—the modest, unassuming face paired with those outrageously full breasts—that made my lust burn even hotter.

Now, reflecting on it, I think I might have a fetish for voluptuous breasts.

My ex-girlfriend from the military—yes, we'd broken up right before discharge, pathetically enough—had been way too skinny.

I'd grown tired of groping a body with nothing to hold onto. That frustration must've amplified my craving.

At the time, I desperately wanted my next girlfriend to have at least a C-cup—soft, bouncy, full.

I don't know if I'd always been this way, or if the deprivation during military service had twisted my desires into something permanent after meeting her.

But one thing was certain: from the very first moment I saw her, I was utterly captivated by those magnificent breasts.

Falling for a woman because of her chest before even remembering her face? Yeah, I realized then just how ridiculous I was.

"Andrew Yoo."

"Yes?"

From that moment on, I started paying close attention whenever the professor called roll, trying to catch her name.

It wasn't hard. I just moved to a seat where I could see her lips, then watched carefully to see which name made her respond. Twice was enough.

"Grace Jeong."

"Yes."

And so, during my second class after returning to school, I learned the name of that female student: Grace Jeong.

I wasn't a total outsider in the department. I got along well enough with seniors and juniors, and I showed up at social events.

But the problem was, Grace was the outsider.

In class, she always sat with the same small group. I'd never seen her at department events or outside lectures.

Recalling her circle of friends—about three or four girls—I remember they were, frankly (and I apologize for the harshness), complete nerds.

Then again, objectively speaking, Grace herself wasn't much to look at—except for that one extraordinary feature.

Andrew kept asking me what the hell I saw in her, but when you want someone easy to conquer, the hunger only grows the longer you go without.

And it burns even hotter when you realize the "easy" girl isn't so easy after all.

Judging by her isolated social circle—always clinging to the same few friends—there was no natural way to approach her.

I discreetly asked around among younger classmates and found out only that she was two grades below me in the same department.

No other information.

I don't know if I was drawn to her romantically, or if I just wanted to bed her at all costs.

But at the time, it didn't matter.

All I did was imagine—endlessly—my hands gripping and kneading each of those massive breasts.

My fantasies about Grace grew more frequent, more consuming.

Did she have a boyfriend? If so, had they had sex? How had he handled those killer breasts?
What would it feel like to finally take them in my hands?

To be precise, I almost never imagined dating Grace.

In my fantasies, she was never my girlfriend—only my sex partner.

Embarrassing as it is to admit, even though I frequented certain websites and consumed plenty of online sexual content, the idea of having an actual offline sex partner felt impossible.

I wanted a relationship with Grace that was purely physical—no romance, no emotional entanglement.

At the time, the idea of sex without dating felt utterly unrealistic.

"Hey, you really gonna do it?"

"What?"

"Pfft. You're insane. This is gonna be so embarrassing."

Time passed, and I still hadn't found a single excuse to get close to her.

Eventually, I realized there was no other way—only a direct approach.

No more hesitation. Just go for it.

I still remember how much Andrew teased me when I told him I was going to talk to her.

On the day I finally decided to approach her after class, I walked over with a mix of excitement and dread.

"Hey, um, just a second."

Honestly, I was so nervous I barely remember the moment clearly. And the fragments I do recall are too humiliating to describe.

All I remember is the awkward stares from her friends, the way they looked at me like I was some creep.

Me telling Grace I wanted to talk outside.

Leading her to the brick flowerbed by the entrance of the academic building.

Sitting beside her.

And then, cautiously asking for her contact info, saying I'd like to get to know her.

"Ah, but I'm sorry… I already have a boyfriend."

That was probably the first time I'd really heard her voice. And the words crushed me.

I wasn't shocked, honestly. Just bitterly disappointed to have my suspicion confirmed.

From experience, the girls who weren't stunningly beautiful but still had a quiet charm—those were the ones most likely to already be taken.

How could I assume I was the only guy who'd noticed Grace?

I don't need to repeat the pathetic things I said afterward—trying to play it cool, muttering things like, "Oh, really? I had a crush on you. Too bad."

Anyway, I got completely shot down.

We weren't close to begin with, so there was no real awkwardness between us afterward.

I worried the story might spread—girls' gossip can be terrifying—but luckily, since Grace didn't participate in department life, nothing major came of it.

Even if it had, I wouldn't have cared much.

After that, Grace would occasionally nod and bow slightly when we passed in class—just a polite junior acknowledging a senior.

No other interaction.

And I made no further moves.

But inside? It was a different story.

Outwardly, I acted like I'd moved on. But inwardly, my obsession with Grace only deepened.

The kind of thing her boyfriend would've freaked out over: in my mind, Grace was now violently shaking those massive breasts, getting fucked hard by my cock, over and over.

How furious would he be if he knew his girlfriend was being mentally raped in someone else's fantasies dozens of times a day?

But that low, dirty thrill—the excitement of imagining it—only made me hornier.

I didn't have a girlfriend. I wasn't the type to go to clubs or bars. My entire sex life consisted of occasional masturbation.

But the frequency increased. And when I watched porn, I only wanted one thing: big-titted women. All because of Grace.

Did the craving fade after I came? Not at all. The emptiness afterward only made me want her more.

I realized then that this wasn't something I could satisfy with a screen.

Only by finally, physically taking Grace—by devouring those breasts with my hands and mouth—would this thirst ever be quenched.

That's when my obsession turned fanatical. How could I get her? That single thought looped endlessly in my head.

As far as I knew, Grace never wore tight clothes. Always loose shirts, baggy tees.

And yet, I could still see the outline of those full breasts.

Imagine how I felt when winter came and she started wearing form-fitting sweaters.

For two full seasons, I couldn't let go of my obsession—with Grace, or more precisely, with her red-tipped chest.

During that time, I dated another girl. We broke up after about three months.

We had sex a few times, but after a few rounds, it became dull. Just another hole.

Even when I was with someone else, "Grace Jeong" remained in the back of my mind—labeled: The one I must have, no matter what.

It felt cruel—wanting her this badly and having to suppress it.

I remember thinking: If I don't fuck Grace before I die, I'll die with regret.

Now, looking back, it's strange. How could I obsess over one woman so intensely—just because of her breasts?

But back then? I would've gladly traded half my life just for one night with her—free to do whatever I wanted.

Time passed. Grace was slowly fading from my mind, becoming just another fantasy figure in my sexual daydreams.

Then, I grew unexpectedly close to a junior in my department—through a group project.

Her name was Julia, same grade and year as Grace.

Julia was outgoing and social—unlike Grace—and well-liked by nearly everyone in the department.

Getting close to her wasn't hard.

She was naturally friendly, but I had another motive.

Since she knew almost everyone in our year, I thought maybe—just maybe—she could be my way in to Grace.

I wasn't so pathetic that I'd cling to a girl who'd already rejected me.

But honestly? If a chance came up, I'd take it.

And even without that ulterior motive, Julia was someone worth getting to know.

"Grace Jeong? We're not that close."

"You know she has a boyfriend, right?"

"Yeah, I know she has one."

"Is he from our department?"

One day, after we'd grown close from taking the same class the next semester, I casually brought up Grace.

"No, I heard from others he's from the physical education department."

"PE department?"

Learning her boyfriend was a PE major sent me spiraling into another wave of inferiority.

A PE student—he'd probably be rough in bed.

Would he grab her huge breasts violently while slamming his cock into her?

Would her tits bounce like rubber balls when she rode him?

I couldn't stop imagining her being brutally used, her red-tipped breasts abused by some muscular, savage man.

For a while, that filthy fantasy wouldn't leave my head.

"Julia, I actually liked Grace."

"What? Seriously?"

"Yeah. After coming back to school, I tried hitting on her, but got shot down because she had a boyfriend."

"Whoa… that's totally unexpected. So you like that type, brother?"

"What type?"

"You know… plain, modest? She's not really the type that stands out."

Julia had no idea I was obsessed with Grace for one reason only—her chest. Her reaction was pure surprise.

Anyway, about a month after I confessed this to Julia, I learned something important from her.

She told me she'd mentioned to one of Grace's friends that I'd liked Grace.

I didn't expect Julia to keep it a secret, and it wasn't a big deal if it got out.

Still, I was a little disappointed by how quickly she'd talked.

But what mattered more was that her friends already knew.

According to Julia, Grace's entire friend group seemed aware that I'd made a move on her.

Well, girls' gossip spreads fast. I guess I'd already become their joke.

"From what Grace's friend said, she didn't seem that disgusted when you said you liked her."

"You have a boyfriend too, right? If someone liked you, even with a boyfriend, you wouldn't hate it, would you?"

"Yeah, I guess. Forget it. There are prettier girls out there anyway."

The words You just don't get Grace's appeal nearly burst out of my throat.

Anyway, Julia's comment briefly reignited my fading fantasies about Grace.

But I didn't dwell on it.

Nothing special happened between Grace and me after that.

Time passed.

And eventually, I graduated.

I didn't hear from Grace again until long after I'd started working.