Makoto shrugged, smiling. "Fine, fine. I'll take care of our food, and then our design and printing later."
They kept working for a while. When Makoto finished setting up his web project, he glanced at the clock and noticed they'd somehow skipped lunch; it was already almost five. "I'm going for groceries. What do you all want for dinner?"
Ayane, still nursing her thumb, looked up with a hopeful smile. "Katsudon!" she declared, her voice loud and cheerful. "With extra onions!"
Yuna glared at her, a low growl rumbling in her chest. "We're not having katsudon again. We had it last week." She turned to him with an annoying glint in her eyes. "I want steak. A big, thick, expensive one." She looked at Ayane with a silent challenge. "And a side of creamed spinach."
Mika, who had been quietly sleeping at his feet, stirred. "Curry," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. "I want your curry." She nuzzled against his ankle with a small, contented sigh.
They all turned to him, their expressions a mixture of expectation, challenge, and unspoken desires. Steak, katsudon, or curry. The main wife, the new challenger, or the second-in-command.
He had to choose wisely.
Makoto just stretched and yawned. "Geez, you're all so demanding! I guess I'll need to find a way to satisfy you all."
He looked at Ayane with a knowing expression. "You, come here for a bit. Punishing Mika and coding were so tiring. I need a stress ball before I leave."
Ayane, who had been trying to look innocent, froze. A slow blush crept up her neck. "A stress ball?" she repeated, her voice breathy. She put her hands on her hips in theatrical defiance. "What do I look like, a squishy toy from the dollar store?"
But she was already walking toward Makoto, her hips swaying with confident rhythm. She wasn't going to back down. Not in front of them.
Yuna let out a long, suffering groan. "Oh, for fuck's sake," she muttered, turning back to her sewing machine with a furious jab of the foot pedal. "Just go to the store already, you fucking pervert! My steak is waiting!"
Mika, from her spot on the floor, lifted her head. A slow, analytical smile spread across her face as she watched Ayane approach him. "You should be gentle with her," she whispered, her voice dripping with sweet condescension. "Or rougher, she might prefer it rough."
Ayane stopped right in front of him. "Well?" she said, puffing out her chest. "You can squeeze away, big guy. Don't be shy."
His hands shot out, grabbing her breasts with a rough grip. He squeezed hard, kneading them. A sharp, choked gasp tore from Ayane's throat. Her whole body went rigid, her defiance melting away. "Ngh! Okay, okay, not so hard, you fucking gorilla!" she panted, her face crimson. "They're not stress balls... they're premium, limited-edition collectibles!"
Makoto pulled his hands away, only to slide them back into her shirt and fondle her breasts directly. "When I say they're stress balls, they are stress balls." He looked at her, his eyes sparkling wickedly. "Tell me again. Whose do those belong to, Ayane?"
A low moan tore from Ayane's throat as his hands found her bare flesh. The rough, calloused skin of his palms against her sensitive nipples was a shock, a jolt of pleasure that made her knees go weak. "Ngh... fuck..." she panted, her head lolling back, her hands gripping his wrists. Her grip was tight, frantic, her nails digging into his skin, but she wasn't pushing him away.
She was holding on, anchoring herself. Her whole body trembled.
"They're... they're yours..." she choked out, her voice a raw, broken whisper. The defiant challenger was gone, replaced by this quivering, whimpering thing. "All yours..." she repeated, a tear rolling down her cheek. "Just... just don't break them..."
Yuna, from across the room, let out a long sigh. "Five more minutes," she muttered to herself, her foot pressing down on the sewing machine pedal with furious force. "If you're not out the door in five minutes, I'm ordering a pizza."
Makoto kept playing with Ayane's breasts for exactly four minutes and forty seconds, then turned to leave. Ayane collapsed onto the couch like a boneless wreck. Her shirt was askew, her face flushed, and her breathing came in ragged gasps. "Fucking monster..." she panted, a slow, dazed smile spreading across her face.
"Don't be jealous, Yuna. You were the only one getting bred yesterday." He laughed and rushed out. The front door slammed shut, and his laughter echoed for a moment before fading. The room fell into heavy silence.
Then Yuna exploded.
"WHO'S JEALOUS?!" she shrieked, her voice raw with mortified fury. She ripped the fabric from the sewing machine, her hands trembling with rage. "I'M NOT JEALOUS! I'M THE MAIN WIFE! I'M THE ONE HE..."
She couldn't even say the word. A deep blush consumed her entire face. She grabbed the nearest thing (a tomato-shaped pin cushion) and hurled it at the door with all her might. It bounced off with a pathetic thud.
"I HOPE YOU GET HIT BY A TRUCK!" she screamed at the closed door.
From the floor, Mika, who had been quietly observing, let out a soft giggle. She slowly pushed herself into a sitting position, unbothered by her nudity. She looked from Yuna's fuming form to Ayane's blissed-out state on the couch.
"He's just reminding us of the hierarchy," she said, her voice soft. "It's important to know your place." She looked down at the bright red, fading handprints on her own ass with an almost nostalgic expression. "And to be grateful for the attention you receive."
===
Makoto arrived at the supermarket, putting ingredients for curry and spinach into his basket, along with some beefsteak and pork loin.
Then his phone started to ring with notifications and messages.
[Yuna has added Ayane]
[Yuna has changed the group name to: "Yuna and the Backups"]
Yuna: Hey, you fat pig. I forgot to tell you. My period will be next week. So buy me a box of pads. The ones with wings I usually use. And the extra-long, overnight ones.
Yuna: And don't you dare get the cheap, store-brand crap.
A moment later, another message followed.
Mika: Oh, what a coincidence. I think my period is starting next Friday, too. Could you get me the same kind, darling? I'm not as picky.
Mika: By the way, it also means that Yuna and I will both be ovulating in about three weeks, at the same time.
"Typical Yuna and Mika," He sighed as he picked up some sanitary pads from the women's aisle and put them into the shopping cart. "Next three weeks? Right in time for the Tokyo Anime Festival. Maybe I should buy some condoms too, considering how reckless we were..."
Lost in thought, Makoto kept walking to the condom shelves. Then he felt a touch on his shoulder and turned around. He was expecting a stressed-out parent with a runaway toddler or a confused elderly person needing help reaching the top shelf.
He did not expect to see Mafuyu-nee.
She was standing there in the brightly lit aisle, looking small, fragile, and terrified. She was wearing a simple, frumpy cardigan and a long skirt, as if trying to be as invisible as possible. Her face, which was usually a canvas of warm smiles, was pale and drawn. She clutched an empty shopping basket like a lifeline.
"Makoto-kun..." she whispered, her voice raw and shaky. "I'm so sorry about the other day. I just... I panicked." She wouldn't meet his eyes. She stared at the floor, at a spot somewhere near his feet.
"I was hoping I'd run into you," she continued, her voice so quiet he could barely hear it over the cheerful pop music playing on the store's speakers.
"I need a favor." She finally looked up, and her eyes were wide, shining with unshed tears, and filled with desperation.
"Please," she whispered. "I don't know who else to ask."