12

2:00 PM.

"Crap! The interview!" he yelled, bolting down the hallway like a sprinter at the Olympics. His bag bounced against his back, sketchbook tucked under one arm, and thoughts flying faster than his feet.

The interview for the male servicing job—he had forgotten completely. It wasn't even a walk-in place. They'd been clear in their mail: "Be punctual. We don't reschedule." after he had sent his nudes and fully got accepted.

He dashed out of the security gate, climbing on his motorcycle, helmets worn already.

He was about turning the engines on when a black Lamborghini pulled up in front of him, its tinted window glass automatically rolling down. He peeked in to find a lady, one looking in her mid fifties in the driving seat.

"Mr. Yuki Mori?"

"Yes ma'am? How did you---?"

"Get in the car. I was asked to pick you up. Here's my business card." She shoved her hand into her pocket and took out a purple velvet card and handed it over to Yuki. Yuki stared at it, reading through it.

It was an invitation to an event held by Tokyo life, the email address found on the job flier. "I—I thought I was supposed to go to the office for my interview…" Yuki stammered, still trying to grasp the situation.

She smiled faintly, her lips curling into a polite, almost robotic curve. "This is the interview. They prefer to assess their candidates in… a more personal environment."

Yuki hesitated, glancing at his motorcycle, then back at the sleek Lamborghini. His mind raced, but his gut told him this wasn't a scam. The company had been clear about how exclusive this was, and judging by the woman's composure, she wasn't here to waste his time.

"Alright," he finally said, voice uncertain but determined. "I'll get in."

She gave a single nod, and the door clicked open. Yuki slid into the car, the leather seats surprisingly comfortable, and the faint scent of expensive perfume lingered in the air. The woman started the engine, and they drove off without wasting any more precious time.

"How can you rate yourself on being a male stripper?"

"Um, I haven't. Actually if you read through my application you would know that I am just a virgin. I haven't fucked or slept with anyone but actually..." Yuki rattled and stopped when he wanted to mention his first blowjob with Ayumi last night.

Yuki's words hung awkwardly in the air, and he realized he might have said too much. He cleared his throat, his nerves bubbling up again.

"I mean, I'm open to learning," he continued, his voice shaking just a little. "I know the job requires a certain… experience. But I can assure you, I'm adaptable. I can follow direction well." The woman didn't respond immediately, her eyes focused on the road ahead.

"Do you know who your clients are?"

"Both men and women that needs sex?" Yuki answered oddly, while sweating. The lady herself was busty, a figure eight and well toned face outline.

"No, your clients are women, mostly in their thirties or forties, some even in their twenties, and they're looking for one thing. They're either divorced, in marriages where their husbands are too busy to give them attention, or they're seeking an escape. Some are married to men who enjoy sleeping with their secretaries and just don't care."

Yuki's stomach turned slightly at the bluntness of it all. His mind raced, but he stayed quiet, trying to follow her words.

"These women don't want relationships, Mr. Mori," she continued, her tone almost clinical. "They don't want any strings attached. They want sex—pure and simple. No love, no expectations. They get to release all that pent-up desire without worrying about pregnancy or emotional baggage. They just want to take pleasure, as much as they can, until their time runs out. And it's your job to provide that."

Yuki swallowed hard. The reality of the situation was starting to set in, and it was a lot heavier than he had imagined. He tried to steady his breathing, his throat dry.

"So… just sex?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She glanced at him for a moment, a faint smirk curling on her lips. "Exactly. No complications. No mess. Just satisfaction. And if you want this job, you need to be good at it. You need to give them exactly what they want, and leave them wanting more."

Yuki swallowed, his throat dry. The car's air felt warmer suddenly, or maybe it was just the heat crawling up his neck.

"These women," she continued, her fingers lightly drumming the steering wheel, "are powerful. CEOs, celebrities, politicians' wives. Most of them are in their thirties, some in their twenties—divorced, bored, or married to men who haven't touched them in months. They come to us to feel alive again. To forget that their lives are managed like spreadsheets and PR statements. And some," she turned to him slightly, her eyes sharp, "just want a boy toy to ruin."

He blinked.

"They sign contracts," she added, "clear, no-attachment rules. No babies, no broken hearts. Just pure, decadent pleasure. And if you're chosen, Yuki, you'll be their fantasy come to life."

Yuki stared ahead, unsure if he was breathing properly. The things she was saying—it felt like something out of a secret diary he didn't know he kept.

She leaned in a little closer, her perfume curling around him like smoke. "Now tell me, Mr. Mori..."

He turned to meet her gaze.

"How open are you to BDSM—bondage, discipline, dominance, submission, sadism, and masochism?"

The words dropped like stones in the silence between them.

Yuki's heart thudded hard in his chest.

"I… I've never tried it," he admitted, cheeks reddening. "But I'm curious."

Her smirk deepened. "Curiosity is a beautiful place to start. But curiosity alone doesn't tie a woman up and make her beg."

Her words, her tone—teasing, testing, like she was licking at the edges of his mind—made Yuki shift uncomfortably, a pulse growing beneath his jeans.

"You'll learn," she said smoothly. "If you're worth the time."

She reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a sleek black envelope, and tossed it into his lap.

"Read that tonight. It's the first lesson." Yuki stared at the black envelope resting in his lap, turning over to the woman beside him. With a steadying breath, Yuki peeled the envelope open and pulled out a cream-colored card, embossed with gold lettering. His eyes scanned the name at the top—and immediately widened.

Katashi Kurica.

His heart skipped.

"No way… Renji's mom?" he muttered under his breath. This was going to be so good. First, Renji's girlfriend gave him a blow job and now, he was going to learn how to fuck his mother.

Fuck!

Fuck!

This was so bad, and naughty!

He knew that name. Everyone in Tokyo did. Katashi Kurica—enigmatic, ruthless, and filthy rich. Owner of luxury chains, media houses, and a stake in almost every high-end business in the city. Her photos were rare, her appearances even rarer.

And she was going to be his client?

He turned sharply toward the driver. "You're joking, right? Katashi Kurica? That Katashi Kurica?"

The woman gave a light laugh—cool, low, and laced with knowing. "I don't joke about Katashi. She's our top-tier client and your future boss, if she approves of you. Which…" she trailed off, eyes glancing at him from the corner, "is a very big if."

Yuki's pulse thundered. "Boss? I thought I was meeting an interviewer."

The woman finally slowed the car at a red light and turned fully to face him. "Katashi is both. Your first assignment and your judge. She doesn't just hire anyone. She chooses. She tests. And if you fail…" she shrugged, "you don't get a second chance."

The light turned green, and the car surged forward again.

"She likes her boys trained, obedient, and confident. Don't stutter. Don't tremble. And never, ever, touch her unless you're told to. She will read every inch of you—how you look, breathe, talk, even how long your eye contact lasts. You're not going to her for sex, Yuki. You're going for submission."

Yuki clutched the envelope tighter, his mouth dry.

"When… when do I meet her?" he asked, voice low.

The woman smiled thinly. "Tonight. Her penthouse. Dress well, speak less, and listen to everything. If she likes you, you'll know it."

She paused.

"If she doesn't…" her eyes darkened a shade, "you'll feel it. One more thing, do not wear condom, she loves it raw!"