Checking Out at 5:15 PM Chapter 4: Between a Seductive Housewife and a Strict Boss (Patreon)

Working at the front circulation desk of the municipal library meant dealing with all sorts of people. You had your usual early birds—angry elderly men who would rush straight to the Shinbun (newspaper) corner the moment the glass doors slid open, escaping the suffocating heat of their nagging wives or the icy chill of their distant families. They were easy to handle.

Female patrons, however? They were a completely different breed, especially when their brand of harassment was delightfully, agonizingly subtle.

The hushed silence of the library was suddenly filled with the soft, rhythmic rustle of fabric. I stood behind the polished mahogany counter, the faint, comforting smell of old paper and ink lingering in the air, when a woman stepped up to my register.

“Is that all for today?” I asked, keeping my professional customer-service smile intact.

“Yes, only this one.” The woman smiled, nodding gracefully. “Say... do you know what kind of story this is?”

She was a mature, married woman, and undeniably beautiful. Even with a subtle expression, her smile was undeniably sensual. A light layer of makeup enhanced her features, drawing my eyes to the glossy, wet sheen of her soft pink lips. Her dark hair was loosely gathered into a ponytail by a simple scrunchie, draped over one delicate shoulder, exposing the smooth, pale skin of her neck.

She was dressed like a conservative, everyday housewife—a modest, form-fitting ribbed knit dress paired with a soft cardigan. Yet, the way the fabric clung to her generous curves made her look dangerously sexy. As she stood just inches away across the counter, the intoxicating scent of mature jasmine perfume and warm, flushed skin drifted into my nostrils. I could practically feel the sultry heat radiating from her body.

And I knew exactly why she was in heat. The book resting on my counter was the culprit.

“The Key by Junichiro Tanizaki,” I said, trying my absolute hardest to sound like a perfectly calm civil servant. My hand, however, betrayed me with a slight tremble as I scanned the barcode.

“It’s my first time borrowing it,” she murmured, her voice a husky, honeyed whisper that sent a shiver down my spine. “Do you know what it’s about?”

“...I am sorry, Riyousha-sama (Dear Patron). I haven’t read it. Shall I look up the summary for you?”

“No, it’s fine, but...” The innocent smile on her face slowly melted into something deeply vulgar and inviting. Her heavy-lidded eyes locked onto mine. “Do you want to know?”

“.....................”

I am still a young, healthy man.

I swallowed hard, desperately trying to suppress the heavy reaction my body was having to the blatant invitation from a woman who was probably closer to my mother’s age. Who in Japan didn’t know Junichiro Tanizaki? The title sounded romantic, but the story was anything but. The Key was an infamous tale about a husband and wife leaving diaries for each other to orchestrate illicit affairs and fulfill their deepest, darkest voyeuristic fetishes. Tanizaki was practically the grandfather of NTR in this country.

“Do you want to listen, Motoi-san~?” she cooed, leaning closer over the counter. Her cleavage peeked just slightly from the collar of her dress, and her jasmine scent grew overwhelming.

Smack.

Suddenly, the book was snatched from my trembling hands and slammed down onto the desk by a slender, pale hand.

“Is this the only book you’ll be checking out, Madam?”

The voice belonged to Misaki, my boss. While her tone started at a reasonable volume, she emphasized the word "Madam" just loudly enough to echo, practically slapping the flirting patron in the face with the reminder of her age.

“Yes, that’s all.” The mature woman didn’t flinch. Instead, she offered Misaki a calm, patronizing smile.

“Motoi, process the book quickly. You have a mountain of tasks waiting for you,” Misaki ordered, her voice cold enough to freeze the summer heat.

“Yes, Kacho (Manager).”

I hurriedly stamped the due date. The immediate, intoxicating temptation of a beautiful housewife was great, but it couldn't compare to the stability of my civil servant job. Misaki knew I wasn't terrified of being fired—government jobs were ironclad—but I was terrified of being transferred to some hellish Tokyo branch where I’d be forced to work until 2:00 A.M. Here, the pay was modest, but I got to clock out at 5:15 P.M. sharp. Unless, of course, I was leaving with my boss.

“Here is your book, Riyousha-sama.”

“Thank you, Motoi-san.” As she reached for the book, her warm, incredibly soft fingers deliberately brushed against mine, lingering for a second too long. “I will return to you after I finish reading it... and tell you exactly what I thought of it.”

“...Please take your time.”

The mature woman turned to leave, but not before glancing at Misaki with a soft snort. “You’re no different from me, you know. Why pretend to be such a saint?”

Her voice was hushed, but in the quiet library, it carried perfectly to both of us.

“I am much younger than you, Grandma...” Misaki muttered under her breath. I could hear the faint sound of her teeth grinding, making zero effort to hide her hostility.

I said nothing. I heard nothing. I pretended to be a statue.

“Are you okay, Motoi?” Misaki asked, her sharp glare softening into genuine worry as she turned to me.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry, Kacho.”

I knew the "seductive mature woman" trope was popular in manga lately, and honestly, being mildly sexually harassed by a gorgeous older woman at work was something many guys would kill for. But I kept that thought strictly to myself.

“Being a librarian might seem like a quiet job where we just deal with books, but we’re essentially in the hospitality sector,” Misaki sighed, crossing her arms in frustration.

The motion pushed her impressive chest upward, stretching the fabric of her tailored blazer to its absolute limit. The button over her bust looked like it was crying out for mercy. I immediately forced my eyes to stare at the ceiling.

“All we do is treat the patrons kindly, but some people always misunderstand our intentions,” she continued.

She was right. You'd think people who read books were educated and well-mannered, but the library saw its fair share of weirdos. If it were a rowdy man breaking public property, I could just call security. But subtle sexual harassment from a housewife? There was no protocol for that.

“If you encounter a situation like that again, don’t hesitate to call me, okay?” Misaki stepped closer, patting my shoulder firmly.

“Thank you, Kacho.” I nodded, internally thinking that I didn't actually mind the "inconvenience," but smartly kept my mouth shut.

“But...”

Suddenly, Misaki closed the remaining distance between us. She shattered my personal space completely. I could feel the radiant heat of her body, and her signature scent—a crisp, sophisticated blend of citrus and soft florals—enveloped me. Her hands pressed firmly against both of my tense shoulders, and she leaned in until her lips were mere inches from my ear.

“If you slack off on your job to flirt with the patrons... I might need to have a very long talk with you in my office,” she whispered, her breath tickling my skin and sending a completely different kind of shiver down my spine.

“Don’t worry, Kacho. Do I look like someone who would neglect my work?”

My heart was hammering against my ribs. I might still be young and wildly inexperienced at handling beautiful women invading my space, but my survival instincts kicked in, allowing me to deliver a perfectly smooth reply.

“Good. I expect a lot from you.” Misaki smiled, clearly satisfied with my obedience, though she let out a quiet, helpless sigh as she rubbed her temples.

Oh? I had worked with her long enough to read her cues. I knew this was my opening to suggest she go home and rest instead of dragging me out for the night, but she beat me to it.

“Don’t forget about tonight. I’m taking you somewhere good to eat later.”

“..................”

Leaving no room for argument, Misaki turned on her heel and walked away, the sharp clack-clack of her shoes echoing through the aisles. I watched her go, entirely helpless.

“Excuse me, can I borrow this book?” another patron asked, breaking my trance.

“Right away.”

I shoved my lingering thoughts aside. No matter how demanding she could be, I couldn’t deny that Misaki was breathtaking. She had a reputation as an "Iron Lady," feared by many for her strict presence, but up close, her skin was flawlessly fair. When a few stray strands of hair had slipped from her neat bun earlier, brushing against her flushed cheek and exposing the smooth, delicate curve of her nape, I had nearly lost my mind.

“Here are your books. They are due back on...”

I forced myself to focus. Thank God I was assigned to the circulation desk today. If I had been shelving books in the narrow, dimly lit aisles with her, I might have shown an incredibly inappropriate reaction on my lower body, and...

What am I thinking?

She’s my boss. I shouldn't be entertaining such dirty thoughts about her. I slapped my cheeks lightly, banished the distractions, and powered through the rest of my shift.

5:15 P.M.

Quitting time. Sharp, no overtime, pure bliss. I packed up my things and walked back to the staff room to meet Misaki.

When I walked in, she froze. She looked up at me from behind a towering stack of paperwork, her expression incredibly awkward. She looked exactly like a little kid who had just been caught sneaking a cookie right after brushing her teeth.

“I-I’m sorry...” she stammered, a rosy blush dusting her cheeks as she avoided my gaze. “I... I have to work a bit of overtime...”

“..............................”

I let out a long sigh inwardly. Her problem wasn’t nearly as cute as a kid sneaking a cookie, but looking at her flustered, embarrassed face... I decided I didn't mind waiting.