Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Handjob Girl Han Yura
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June 10, 2025, 12:12 PM.
The Bitcoin chart on my battered smartphone screen was a fucking abyss.
Just last night before bed, there'd been a faint glimmer of green candles hinting at a rebound. Now they were gone, swallowed whole by a massive red candle drilling straight down to hell.
4.8 million won turning into 480,000 like some twisted magic trick.
I'd cracked the secret of alchemy.
Not turning lead into gold, but gold into shit.
"Haa..."
A sigh heavy with despair erupted from the depths of my lungs.
Fuck it, whatever.
Life's already trashed. What's another 50,000 won gonna change?
I needed to fill this void somehow.
I pulled up my call history with practiced ease.
Without a second's hesitation, I tapped the most pathetic name in my drab contacts list.
[Handjob Girl]
'Available?'
I fired off the short text, and less than a minute later, a razor-sharp reply came back.
'3rd floor.' Same spot as always.
I fished a crumpled 50,000-won bill from my wallet, shoved it in my pocket, and headed out.
Off to blow 50k after losing 4.8 million.
What a pathetic, pointless way to console myself.
Third floor of a rundown commercial building in downtown Siheung. Unisex bathroom.
Stepping into our usual spot, I was greeted by the familiar white mask and an even more familiar bored gaze.
How many times had we done this weird ritual...?
First time, I was shocked. Second, confused. By the third, it was just routine.
And people, once they get used to something, start noticing the details they used to miss.
Before long, instead of counting bathroom tiles, I was studying her.
For starters, she was tall.
I'm 175 cm, so by rough guess, she had to be late 160s.
Always in flats or flat sneakers, so that was pure height.
Not skinny-skinny, but not overflowing with curves either.
Her proportions were just straight-up cheating.
Slim frame, elegant lines—even baggy clothes hinted at the graceful silhouette underneath.
Her long neck, the delicate bones of her wrist gripping me mechanically.
Her style was peak 'effortless chic' every time.
Today was no different.
Plain black hoodie, wide-leg slacks.
But her 'plain' was leagues beyond mine.
Her hoodie had crisp edges, unlike my washed-to-death rag—fabric so soft you could feel it from across the room.
Her pristine white sneakers never had a speck of grime.
Like she walked on a different plane from this filthy bathroom floor.
The white mask still covered half her face.
But that made the exposed parts pop even more.
Glossy long straight hair screaming high-maintenance.
Cool, elongated monolid eyes.
The bridge of her nose and skin around her eyes above the mask? Flawless white, not a blemish.
She'd be pretty without it, no doubt.
Less a hunch, more an unsettling certainty of perfection.
And the thing that messed with my head most: her scent.
Not heavy perfume.
Like luxury soap fresh from a shower, or crisp linen softener from a five-star hotel.
But underneath that pristine cleanliness, a faint chill—something cool and metallic.
Post-rain earth, maybe, or raw iron.
Heterogeneous, yet weirdly addictive. The one raw edge to her calculated perfection.
This walking collection of flawless details was now gripping my dick, opening her mouth with the world's most bored expression.
"Ah, fuck... My arm's killing me... Hurry up and cum already."
'Here we go again with this bitch...'
First time we met, her prickly attitude had me rattled. Now? I just gazed down lazily and shot back.
"Shut up and play with my balls while you do it. Why bitch at me if you're the one sucking at it?"
Her eyes narrowed.
A muffled curse from behind the mask.
"...Fucking annoying, you piece of shit."
She spat it out, but her hand didn't stop.
If anything, her mechanical strokes got even lazier, like she was yanking weeds.
Her irritation didn't end there.
"You pig, wash your dick before you come. Smells like rotten squid, no joke."
'Rotten squid?'
I was speechless for a second.
All my chill evaporated. 'Did I shower this morning?'
Too glued to the Bitcoin charts. Probably not.
"You're wearing a mask."
My logical comeback, but she glared like I was the sorriest fucker alive.
"Your dick stink cuts through masks, asshole."
Her confident verdict shut me down cold.
My defeat.
Keep this up, and my ego would be shredded.
I pivoted fast.
"Making money's just one long string of bullshit anyway."
Her eyes narrowed at my random philosophy drop.
'What nonsense is this fucker spouting now?' I pressed on shamelessly.
"Anyway, babe. Mind if I touch your tits?"
A glance loaded with pure annoyance from the nameless Handjob Girl.
She sighed dramatically through the mask, like she was doing me a huge favor, then stood from the toilet seat.
Now we faced each other in the cramped stall. She started stroking me slow again.
"Pinch my nipples like last time, and I'll bust your balls, fucker."
I grinned and called her bluff.
"Bullshit, slut... You loved it—your thighs were grinding like crazy."
Killing intent flashed in her eyes.
"Wanna die?"
That icy line melted my bravado.
"Nah."
I backed down. She went back to bored mode.
Cautiously, I slipped my hand under her hoodie.
First touch: stretchy, firm sports bra.
I wrestled it down with effort, and finally, her breast filled my palm.
Full handful, with just a bit spilling over. Perfect size.
Denser and firmer than expected—not squishy, but sculpted elastic flesh under baby-smooth skin.
Her nipple already hard against my palm.
Bodies closer in the tight space, her scent hit harder.
Luxury soap mixed with that cold metal tang, tickling my nose, dizzying my brain.
The feel under my fingers, the smell in my nose—worth every penny of 50k already.
But good things don't last. Friction was starting to sting.
I didn't know her name, never had a real talk, but somehow knew we were the same age.
So 'hey' became our natural vibe.
"Hey, dick's getting raw. Spit on it."
Her eyes flashed 'this guy's for real,' then went dead.
She released my chest, hesitated, then tugged the mask under her chin.
First look at her lips and jaw: perfect contours, just as my bad hunch predicted.
She spat clear saliva into her pale palm a couple times.
Then gripped me again.
"Schlick, schlick—"
The wet, obscene sounds echoed in the bathroom. I bucked involuntarily, moaning.
"Ah, yeah... there... focus on the head."
At my blunt request, a vein pulsed faintly on her forehead.
"Fuck, you ask for the world."
She cursed like always but zeroed in on the glans as ordered.
Squelching pleasure shot up my spine.
But the peak didn't hold.
"Seriously, my arm hurts. Don't hold back—just cum already."
Her voice dripped real annoyance.
I resented her breaking the flow.
But blowing 50k in minutes? No way.
I laid out my perfectly reasonable stance.
"If I cum quick, it's my loss. Why should I?"
Her hand froze at my bold reply.
She looked up, genuinely baffled.
"Ah, fucking infuriating..."
Deep frustration in her tone. Prime negotiation time, I figured.
I threw out my final offer with a grave face.
"Let me touch your pussy, and I'll bust in 10 seconds flat. Deal?"
The air in the stall froze solid.
Killing intent on a whole new level poured from her eyes.
The kind where I'd believe her threat to crush my balls.
"Wanna die?"
I tucked tail at lightspeed.
"Nah."
Negotiations failed.
She resumed her soulless strokes in silence.
A few minutes later.
Real orgasm built, surging from my spine to my scalp.
I groaned short and came hard.
White ropes splattered, soiling her pale, pretty hand.
"Ngh... fuuuck..."
Before the aftershocks faded, she twisted her grip, milking every last drop.
The sharp jolt made me shudder again.
She stared blankly at her messy hand and asked flatly.
"Damn, you came a ton... Don't you jerk off normally?"
I caught my breath, flashing a smug grin.
"You drain me regular. My hand? Where's the fun?"
Her brows furrowed at my answer.
"Someone'd think I'm letting you fuck me or something... Talk like that?"
I grinned at her sharp jab.
"Jealous much?"
She shook her head like I wasn't worth it.
"Psycho."
She shoved tissues in my hand, washed up meticulously at the sink, and bolted without a backward glance.
I wiped my dick roughly, followed her out sans goodbye.
Like some unspoken pact, we walked the dingy hallway side by side.
"Hey, starving. Ramen and kimbap?"
I broke the silence. She whipped around.
"Why the fuck would I eat ramen with you?"
"Fair."
I shrugged nonchalantly.
She scoff-laughed in disbelief.
"Un-fucking-believable."
Pointless banter as we hit the elevator in the dark old academy building.
Ding. Doors opened. We stepped into the creaky box.
Claustrophobic space amplified her scent.
As doors shut and it jolted down, I mustered courage again.
"Hey, but... you don't sell pussy?"
Her gaze turned quietly to me.
"Nah, don't."
Firm no, but I pushed.
"200k, deal?"
Her roar exploded beyond imagination.
"I SAID NO, FUCK!!!!!!!"
This bitch swallowed a fucking train horn.
Her bellow shook the rickety elevator.
I clapped my hands over my ears and crouched instinctively.