The Pochamacha Noir - Busan Redemption
Copyright© 2025 by Noctavya
Chapter 7: Salt and Sand
Drama Sex Story: Chapter 7: Salt and Sand - A retired Korean Black Ops made a heartwarming friendship with a prostitute
Caution: This Drama Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mult Coercion Consensual Drunk/Drugged NonConsensual Rape Fiction Military Tear Jerker BDSM Rough Safe Sex Revenge Violence AI Generated
The air smelled like brine and fried squid. The seagulls screamed like drunk ajummas fighting over a sale. Hana squinted at the ocean as if trying to decide whether she could assassinate it.
She couldn’t. So she just stood there awkwardly in cargo shorts and a plain black tee, holding a cooler bag like it was a weapons case.
“Jesus, you look like you’re about to raid a meth lab, not sunbathe,” Sang Mi laughed, skipping barefoot across the sand in an oversized hoodie and pink flip-flops. “Relax! No one’s shooting at us today.”
“I don’t trust the ocean,” Hana muttered. “It’s ... too wide. No cover. Open terrain.”
“Bitch, you need therapy,” Sang Mi said, smacking her shoulder. “And a margarita.”
They set up a modest picnic on a quiet patch of beach. Nothing fancy—some kimbap, beer, and a Bluetooth speaker blasting early 2000s K-pop. Sang Mi peeled off her hoodie to reveal a very tiny bikini underneath, which made Hana flinch like she’d seen a sniper scope.
“Why are you twitching?” Sang Mi teased, biting into a triangle of kimbap. “Not like I haven’t worn less.”
“I have a combat reflex when there’s too much exposed surface area. Makes me want to grab a sniper rifle.”
Sang Mi nearly choked laughing.
Later, they sat facing the sea, legs buried in warm sand, sipping beer from cans.
“You ever had someone so bad in bed, you started thinking about your taxes mid-thrust?” Sang Mi said suddenly, staring at the waves.
“I’ve ... never paid taxes,” Hana deadpanned.
Sang Mi wheezed. “I had this guy last week—super rich, looked like a drama oppa. You’d think he had skills. Nope. Five minutes. Five! Like I was an item in a speed run.”
“Maybe he thought it was a tactical retreat,” Hana mused.
“Don’t tactical retreat in a vagina!”
They laughed until they nearly spilled their drinks.
Sang Mi calmed first, brushing sand from her legs. “I don’t hate it, you know. The job. I mean, it pays. I get to choose. Beats being someone’s struggling receptionist who gets groped during company dinners.”
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