Creak—
"Mother, I'm home!"
Hirose Yoru pushed open the front door, already bending to swap her loafers for slippers when something stopped her cold. A pair of men's shoes—leather oxfords, scuffed at the toe—sat neatly beside her mother's flats on the genkan.
These are Hayanui Riku's shoes.
She recognized them instantly. The same ones he'd worn when he showed up on their date like some unwanted side character from a Toradora knockoff.
"Mother!"
Yoru stormed through the living room, sock-footed, her school bag swinging from one shoulder.
In the kitchen, Madam Hirose Kaguya stood at the stove, a pair of cooking chopsticks in hand. Steam curled up from a simmering pot, carrying the warm scent of miso and green onion. Beside her—close enough that their elbows nearly touched—stood Hayanui Riku, a chef's knife resting on the cutting board in front of him, freshly julienned carrots fanned out in a neat pile.
"What are you doing here?"
Yoru's voice came out sharper than she intended, her gaze drilling into Riku like he owed her money.
Riku set the knife down with a soft clack against the wooden board. His expression didn't waver—calm, almost bored, like a cat who'd already caught the canary and was just deciding how to play with it.
"Madam Hirose invited me over for lunch. Isn't that right, ma'am?"
Across the kitchen, Kaguya froze mid-stir. Her back was to her daughter, but Riku caught the way her shoulders stiffened, the subtle hitch in her breathing. Two full seconds passed before she managed a jerky nod.
"Y-Yes. That's right."
Her voice came out thin, reedy. The flush creeping up her neck had nothing to do with the stove's heat. One hand drifted behind her, tugging at the hem of her blouse—pulling it lower over her hips.
Why is she acting so strange? Yoru's eyes narrowed.
"Mother, why would you invite him?"
Kaguya didn't turn around. "He's... been helpful. With some things."
Yoru's jaw tightened. She looked between her mother's rigid spine and Riku's infuriatingly neutral expression, and something cold settled in her stomach.
"Fine."
She spun on her heel and stalked toward her bedroom, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the hallway mirror.
Kaguya flinched at the sound.
That girl is going to be the death of me.
The thought barely finished forming before she became acutely aware of the silence. The television was off. No traffic noise from outside. Just the soft bubble of the miso, the hum of the refrigerator, and the sound of Riku setting down his knife.
They were alone.
The ten million yen he'd given was already sitting in a hidden compartment under her bed. And the notification on his phone—two hundred million yen, deposited—meant their arrangement was now irrevocably sealed.
Riku was, by any reasonable measure, a wealthy man.
And she was, by the terms of their contract, his.
The knife stilled.
Inside Riku's mind, a familiar voice unfurled—calm, clinical, like a narrator in some late-night visual novel:
「You've identified a prime opportunity. Madam Hirose is alone, vulnerable, occupied with cooking. Her daughter has retreated. If you press now—here, where discovery is possible—the psychological impact will be devastating. Her dignity, her self-image as a mother... all of it can be shattered in a single afternoon. Forget a hundred days. You can break her in weeks.」
Riku exhaled slowly through his nose.
Kaguya must have sensed the shift in the air, because her stirring slowed. She spoke without turning, her voice barely above a whisper:
"Riku-kun... Yoru is still in the house. Perhaps we should—"
"Madam."
He was already moving. Two steps closed the distance between them. His chest pressed against her back, the heat of him soaking through the thin cotton of her blouse. She smelled like sandalwood soap and frying oil and something floral—shampoo, maybe, or the remnants of perfume from this morning.
"You said a hundred days," he murmured against the shell of her ear. "Anytime. Anywhere. Isn't that what we agreed?"
His hands slid around her waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her blouse. The pads of his fingertips traced slow circles against the soft skin of her stomach, climbing higher.
Kaguya's grip on the cooking chopsticks faltered. They clattered against the edge of the pot.
"W-Wait—"
Her body pitched forward involuntarily, hips pressing back against him as his palms found the swell of her breasts. No bra. She hadn't had time to put one on when Yoru came home early—she'd only managed to throw on a blouse over her bare skin, and now Riku's hands were cupping her fully, thumbs brushing across stiffening peaks.
"Still as sensitive as ever, Madam."
Nnnh—
The sound that escaped her was half-gasp, half-moan. She clamped a hand over her mouth immediately, eyes darting toward the hallway.
Yoru is right there. Right there, twenty feet away, behind a single door—
"Riku-kun, please—Yoru is—she's still—"
"I know."
His voice was steady. Unhurried. But his hands didn't stop. If anything, the pressure increased, kneading, rolling, tugging at the sensitive buds until her knees threatened to buckle.
"Ahh—"
The cry slipped out before she could catch it. Kaguya slapped both hands over her mouth, trembling.
---
In her bedroom, Hirose Yoru sat cross-legged on her bed, arms wrapped around a pillow, glaring at the far wall.
He's like a ghost. Everywhere I go, there he is. Lurking. Smiling that stupid smile.
She hugged the pillow tighter.
I have to tell him. Clearly. Firmly. That whatever he thinks is happening between us—it's not. I don't care what it takes.
She nodded to herself, steeling her resolve.
That's right. No matter what, I'll make him understand.
Her expression hardened with newfound determination.
---
Meanwhile.
In the kitchen, Riku had her pinned against the counter.
His body pressed flush against hers from behind, hard and unyielding. Kaguya could feel everything—the rigid length of him grinding against the cleft of her ass, the heat radiating through both their clothes. Her cheek was pressed to the cool laminate countertop, one leg lifted, her skirt hiked up around her hips.
Her panties—pale blue, cotton, embarrassingly plain—had been tugged aside.
"R-Riku, not here—if Yoru comes out—"
"Then you'll just have to stay quiet, won't you?"
His lips brushed the curve of her ear, breath hot and damp. One hand gripped her raised thigh, holding her open; the other pressed flat against her lower back, pinning her in place.
"I'm starting now, Madam."
No—no, no, no—
But her body betrayed her. The slick heat between her legs, the way she arched into his touch despite herself—she was already soaked, had been since the moment he'd first touched her waist.
The tip of him nudged against her entrance.
Kaguya bit down on her knuckle, hard enough to leave marks.
He pushed inside.
「Shameless Thief」 activated.
Her vision swam. The sensation was overwhelming—thick, stretching, filling. Years of widowhood had left her body tight, almost virginal in its resistance, and the intrusion made her gasp against her own fist.
"You're squeezing me so hard, Madam." Riku's voice was strained, the first crack in his composure. "When was the last time someone was inside you like this?"
She couldn't answer. Couldn't think. Could only feel him sinking deeper, inch by agonizing inch, until his hips were flush against her ass and she was stuffed completely full.
Oh god oh god oh god—
He began to move.
Slow at first—measured, deliberate strokes that dragged against every sensitive ridge inside her. Each withdrawal made her clench around him involuntarily; each thrust punched a muffled whimper from her throat.
"M-Mmph—nnnh—"
The wet sounds of their coupling filled the kitchen. Soft, obscene squelches that seemed impossibly loud in the afternoon quiet.
Kaguya's hips began rocking back to meet him, her body moving on pure instinct.
I can't—I can't stop—
What kind of mother am I?
The thought should have doused her arousal like ice water. Instead, it only made the heat between her legs pulse harder. The shame, the degradation, the knowledge that her daughter was right there, oblivious—it was twisted, wrong, and god help her, it was making her wetter than she'd ever been in her life.
Riku noticed. Of course he noticed.
"You like this," he breathed against her neck. "Being taken where anyone could walk in. Where your own daughter could see you bent over the counter like a bitch in heat."
Hnngh—
Her walls clenched around him so hard he grunted, his rhythm faltering.
"Fuck—Madam—"
He drove into her harder. Faster. The counter's edge dug into her hipbones with each thrust. Kaguya had given up trying to stay silent; she'd stuffed her entire fist against her mouth, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as her body shook with suppressed moans.
Click.
The sound of a door opening.
Kaguya's heart stopped.
No—
She shoved Riku backward with a strength born of pure panic, wrenching herself off him—oh god the feeling of him sliding out—and dropping to her knees behind the kitchen island just as Yoru's voice floated in from the hallway.
"Mother? Are you okay? I heard a weird noise."
Kaguya crouched on the tile floor, skirt still bunched around her waist, thighs slick and trembling. Riku lay flat on his back beside her, his cock still hard and glistening with her arousal, an almost amused expression on his face.
She wanted to strangle him.
Instead, she called out, voice cracking:
"I-I'm fine! Just—dropped something. Cleaning it up now."
Footsteps approached. Yoru's silhouette appeared at the edge of the kitchen's entrance.
"Do you need help?"
No. No no no no—
"No!" Kaguya's voice came out too sharp, too high. She forced herself to breathe. "No, sweetheart. I've got it. Lunch will be ready in just a few minutes, okay?"
A pause.
"...Where's Hayanui Riku?"
Kaguya's mind blanked. She looked down at the man sprawled beside her, his chest rising and falling with quiet breaths, that infuriating half-smile still playing at his lips.
Think. THINK.
"He—he had something come up. Left a few minutes ago."
"Oh." Yoru's voice brightened noticeably. "Good."
That horrid man better stay gone.
Yoru's private thought carried the weight of genuine relief. She lingered another moment, then turned back toward her room.
"Let me know when food's ready."
The door clicked shut.
Kaguya sagged against the cabinet, chest heaving.
For three full seconds, neither of them moved.
Then Riku's hand found her thigh, warm and insistent, sliding upward.
"She's gone, Madam." His voice was low, thick with want. "Shall we continue?"
Kaguya stared at him—at the hard jut of his arousal, the knowing glint in his dark eyes, the way his fingers were already slipping between her legs again.
I should stop this. I should tell him to leave.
Her body answered for her. She climbed back on top of him, knees bracketing his hips, and sank down in one smooth motion.
The stretch made her eyes roll back.
Riku's hands gripped her waist, steadying her, guiding her into a slow, rolling rhythm. The tile was cold against her knees but she didn't care—couldn't care—not when every downward grind lit up nerves she'd forgotten existed.
"Ahhn—hahh—"
She rode him in silence, biting her lip bloody to keep from screaming.
Behind her daughter's closed door, Yoru pulled out her phone and started scrolling, completely unaware that twenty feet away, her mother was bouncing on her classmate's cock with an expression of ruined ecstasy.
The kitchen filled with the soft, rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin.
Kaguya's hips stuttered, her inner walls fluttering around him as the pressure built toward something unbearable.
"R-Riku—I'm—"
"Go ahead."
He thrust up to meet her, hard, and she shattered—coming with a silent scream, her body convulsing, clenching, milking him until he followed her over the edge with a low groan.
Warmth flooded her insides.
She collapsed against his chest, gasping for air, utterly boneless.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sounds were their mingled breathing and the forgotten pot on the stove, still bubbling away.
Then Riku's hand came up to stroke her hair, almost tenderly.
"Same time tomorrow, Madam?"
Kaguya didn't answer.
She pressed her face against his shoulder and tried to remember what it felt like to have dignity.
The memory wouldn't come.
---