The next morning, Mika's mock interview started right after breakfast. The silence in the living room felt heavy. The only sound was the rhythmic click of Mika's high heel against the floorboards.
Makoto sat rigidly in the wooden chair, his palms pressing into his knees. He could feel the starch of his shirt scratching against his neck, a constant reminder that he was currently a candidate, not a husband.
Mika sat across from him. Her charcoal-grey blazer was buttoned just enough to be teasing. She had pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, the lenses catching the afternoon sun and hiding her eyes.
He didn't need to see them to know she was analyzing him. He felt her gaze tracking the tremor in his hands and the way he swallowed every time her crossed leg shifted, making the lace of her thigh-highs whisper against the table.
"You're drifting again, Makoto-san," Mika said. Her voice was cool, but there was a roughness to it, a sign that she was enjoying this roleplay more than she would admit. "We are here to discuss your future at our startup. If you can't keep your focus on the Director in front of you, how can I trust you with our valuable codebase?"
"I'm focused," Makoto managed, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat and tried again, deeper. "I'm focused, Mika-san. Please ask the next question."
Mika leaned back, her chair creaking. She reached down, her fingers tracing the lace pattern, biting into her upper thigh. She didn't look down, keeping her chin up to watch him through the glint of her glasses.
"Very well, let's talk software architecture. You mentioned in your CV that you optimized a high-traffic server for digital media distribution. Tell me exactly how you handled the concurrency issues during the peak load."
"And Makoto-san?" She unbuttoned the top button of her blazer. The fabric parted an inch, revealing the pale skin between her breasts. "If you look down, or if you hesitate for more than three seconds, your punishment begins."
Makoto felt a bead of sweat roll down his spine. He locked his eyes on the bridge of Mika's glasses, forcing his brain to categorize the technical jargon he had been studying all night.
"The primary issue was race conditions during the inventory update," Makoto began, his voice gaining a shaky stability. "I implemented a distributed locking mechanism using Redis. By using atomic operations, I ensured that no two users could claim the same digital goods at the same time, even when traffic spiked by five hundred percent."
Mika's tapping foot slowed. She tilted her head, her lips curving into a small, sly smile. "Go on. What about the database? A standard SQL structure would have failed under that kind of heavy load."
"Damn, a trick question!" Makoto shook his head calmly, "SQL can sustain the load," he blurted out, his heart hammering. "I used a sharding strategy based on user ID to distribute the load across multiple nodes, reducing the write-latency to under fifty milliseconds."
Mika let out a soft, appreciative hum. She reached up and slid her glasses off her face, setting them on the table with a deliberate clink. She stood up, the movement causing her blazer to flare.
The heels of her pumps clicked like a countdown as she walked around the table. Then she stopped behind him, her hands landing on his shoulders. Her touch was cool, but the heat radiating from her body was undeniable.
"That was a good answer, Makoto," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. "And good answers deserve a reward."
She leaned over him, her hair falling around his face, smelling of jasmine and that sharp scent of herbal tea. She reached down, her fingers grazing his chest as she undid the second button of her blazer, then the third.
She wasn't wearing a bra. The pale curves of her breasts were revealed, the dark nipples teasing the edges of the grey fabric.
"But the next question is about soft skills," Mika purred, her hands sliding down to rest on his chest over his pounding heart. "This is where most candidates fail. They have the skills, but they lack the experience."
She walked back around to her chair but didn't sit down. She hiked her blazer up, perched on the edge of the table with her legs spread just enough to show the shadow where her stockings met her groin. She was bare underneath.
"Tell me, Makoto-san," she said, her voice dropping to a low whisper. "How do you handle a conflict between stakeholders with conflicting demands? For example, a stakeholder who wants all of your attention, and another who wants all of your resources."
Makoto's throat felt like it was full of sand. He stared at Mika, at the beautiful display of his wife acting as his judge. The sight of her, the sharp corporate blazer contrasting with her nudity, was overwhelming.
"I would prioritize based on the long-term stability of the project," Makoto whispered. "I would sit them down and communicate clearly to make sure everyone feels heard. But I would remain the final decision-maker..."
Mika's eyes shimmered as she reached down, her fingers disappearing between her thighs. She didn't look away from Makoto. She began to move her hand, a slow, rhythmic motion that made the silk of her blazer rustle.
"And if one of those stakeholders became difficult?" Mika asked, her voice hitching slightly. "If she demanded a private chat right in the middle of a sprint? How would you maintain your professional boundaries?"
Makoto couldn't do it. The logic in his brain was being drowned out by the blood rushing to his groin. His slacks were agonizingly tight, his cock throbbing with a desperate need. He looked down, his gaze fixed on her hand and the way her fingers were slick with moisture.
"I would give her what she wanted," Makoto groaned, his hands clenching the seat of his chair. "I would fulfill her requirement so we could move forward."
"Incorrect," Mika whispered. She stopped her hand, pulling it out and showing him her glistening fingers. "That is a failure to maintain boundaries. You surrendered to the distraction, Makoto. You can't let the stakeholders lead your own project."
A wicked grin spread across her face. "That requires a punishment." She stood up and walked toward him. She didn't stop until she was straddling his lap, her bare heat pressing against the fabric of his trousers.
Then she leaned in, her lips inches from his.
"The punishment is denial," she breathed. "I'm going to make you sit here, hard and aching, until we finish the interview. You aren't allowed to touch yourself or me. You will answer the next questions perfectly, or I'll go to my room and lock the door for the rest of the night."
Makoto let out a pained whimper, his hands gripping the armrests of the chair as if he were trying to weld himself to the wood. "Mika, please..."
"Question four," Mka ignored his plea as her hips ground a slow, torturous circle against him. "Tell me about your experience with AI integration."
The next twenty minutes were a mix of mental and physical agony. Makoto answered questions about project management and ethical data scraping while Mika used him as a chair. She kissed his neck, nipped at his earlobes, and whispered things into his ear that would have made Ayane blush.
Makoto vibrated with the effort to stay still, keeping his hands off her pale, inviting skin. His answers were short and technically flawless. He was learning to think through the lust, to sharpen his mind while his body was a wreck.
"Final question for you," Mika whispered. She was breathless now, her blazer on the floor and her stockings the only thing left. She was draped over him, her breasts pressed against his face. "Why do you want this job, Makoto? Give me the real reason. Not the corporate one."
Makoto let go of the chair. He didn't touch her, but he leaned his head back, looking up into Mika's flushed, beautiful face.
"Because I want to be the man you all think I am, Mika," he said, his voice raw. "I want to be the person who can provide a future for you, Yuna, Ayane, and Mafuyu-nee. I want to be your foundation, to make sure you never have to worry about work unless you want to."
Mika went still. The playful light in her eyes softened into something tender when she reached out and cupped his face in her hands. "That is the only answer that matters, darling," she whispered and leaned down to kiss him, a deep kiss that tasted of tea and devotion.
But as she pulled back, her face suddenly went pale. She stiffened, her hand flying to her mouth.
"Mika? What is it?" Makoto asked with concern.
Mika scrambled off his lap, her feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. She stood there for a moment with her chest heaving, her hand pressed firmly against her stomach. "I don't know," she murmured, her voice thin. "Just suddenly feel dizzy from the smell of the kitchen..."
Makoto looked toward the kitchen. Mafuyu was starting to prep dinner with garlic and onions; its scent was strong and savory. "Does it smell bad?" Makoto asked, standing up to support her.
"No," Mika whispered, her eyes wide and confused. "It smells overwhelming. Like I can taste it in the back of my throat."
She took a shaky breath and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'm fine, darling, truly. I think I just pushed myself too hard with your training. My hormones must be a mess from the stress."
She looked up at him, her smile returning, though it looked weary. "You did well today, darling. Talk to Ayane later, she said she has a surprise for you."
She leaned in, her voice dropping to a low, suggestive purr. "And since you passed the final question, I believe there is a reward." She took his hand, guiding it down to the wet heat between her legs.
"No more questions, Makoto," she breathed. "Take me!"
As Makoto lost himself in the pleasures of Mika's tight embrace and her lavender scent, a faint question popped up in his mind. "How did she know about those interview questions anyway? Must have done a lot of research, huh?"
The thought was quickly drowned in the back of his mind as Mika's riding started overwhelming his senses.