The Boss's Secret Fetish
The boss's secret fetish. A clichéd tale.
He'd transmigrated into a novel he hadn't even read, with no idea how to return.
Still, this has to count as a lucky break.
But amid the misfortune, there was fortune: he'd possessed a fine body.
The original owner was Ivan Strokov, underboss of Clarte Family, Europe's largest mafia organization.
He had a mountain of money saved up, and the only boss he needed to worry about was the organization's leader.
His underlings followed him loyally, thanks to the reputation he'd built, and life was free of want.
All that's left is to live it up.
As long as he didn't piss off the boss or stir up pointless rebellion out of ambition, he could coast comfortably until death.
What else could he do, anyway? He didn't even know the novel's plot.
That was the plan.
Until that night.
He'd fallen into a deep sleep like any other night.
But tonight, his slumber was shallow; even in sleep, he clearly heard the noises around him.
Screeech...
Then came the sound of someone opening the door to a room no one should enter.
"Haa... huu...."
Rough breathing—like someone uncomfortable, perhaps?
Or maybe just hearing things in his half-dreaming state.
He couldn't tell, but the breaths drew closer, until something climbed onto the bed and straddled his body.
"So defenseless like this... not even knowing what I do to you every night...."
...That voice sounds familiar.
Ivan sensed the woman atop him had a voice he knew.
He cracked his eyes open just a sliver, careful not to get caught.
Through his blurry vision: long white hair, black lingerie. And around her neck...
A collar?
Not even a choker—a full-on collar.
Was she some kind of whore?
Curiosity piqued; he opened his eyes a bit more to take in the woman astride him.
...What the fuck.
Recognizing her identity, Ivan went beyond shock to outright terror.
Her long white hair had made him suspect, but now suspicion was reality.
Why the hell is the boss straddling me?
The woman atop Ivan was someone he knew all too well.
Rosa Cardenas, boss of the Clarte Family. Capo Di Tutti I Capi. Most commonly called Freiheit.
One of Europe's most influential figures.
She was straddling him right now. If she realizes I'm awake, I'm dead.
The boss he'd wanted zero personal entanglement with had come.
If it were a regular underling, he'd have punished them harshly—but the boss? No recourse.
Ivan lay defenseless, offering no resistance. He just breathed steadily, feeling her every move. Tiny, soft hands groped his body; plush breasts rubbed against his chest, sending heavenly sensations.
Any man would have been rock-hard, but Ivan endured with superhuman willpower.
He kept up the sleeping act through the night.
Just before dawn, Rosa dismounted, slipped out as if nothing had happened, and shut the door.
Only when her footsteps fully faded did Ivan open his eyes properly.
"What the fuck...."
What the hell was that?
Was it all a dream? Faint red marks across his body proved it real.
Did she really think I wouldn't notice?
Before pondering her motives, how could she leave such obvious traces and expect to go undetected?
Even the most innocent person would suspect upon waking.
...Gotta play dumb for now.
Calling her out might get his head blown off.
Ivan rose, changed clothes, and prepared to head out properly.
An underboss rarely showed at the front lines, but he still had duties.
Today, too, he busied himself with his special assignment.
"You're a bit late today."
"...I woke up a little later than usual, ma'am."
Ivan had gone to Rosa's office.
Unlike other families' underbosses, Clarte's underboss directly guarded the boss—a special role.
Honestly, until now, he hadn't understood why she'd assigned him as her guard.
Sure, as the organization's second-strongest, he was the obvious pick.
But there were plenty of capable guards even without him...
Now he knew.
Why she insisted on him as her guard.
Why she'd rejected his repeated requests for reassignment.
Scratch, scratch...
The sound of her pen filled the office.
Rosa and Ivan said nothing, each focused on their roles.
...Feels a bit infuriating, though.
Sneaking in at night for that, then summoning him here like nothing happened? Shameless.
"Ahem."
After a long silence, Ivan cleared his throat.
"Boss. Did you sleep well last night?"
"...Same as always. Nothing special."
A fleeting hesitation, but no awkwardness.
Ivan noticed, though.
She knows it's not righteous.
She knew her actions couldn't be justified—yet she'd done it anyway.
Was this why lust was so fearsome?
Can't just keep taking this lying down.
If it escalated to actual rape, it'd be awkward for both.
"Come to think of it, I woke up feeling different today."
"......"
"Red marks all over, like mosquito bites. They don't itch, so no issue—but mosquitoes appearing out of nowhere was odd."
"I-is that so? No idea."
Ivan's intent: hint he'd noticed the changes on his body. Play ignorant of the night while pressuring her to stop.
If exposure risk rose, she'd quit.
No way she'd repeat it after this.
Her skill showed it wasn't her first time.
First time leaving marks, maybe—but not her debut; she'd have been clumsier.
This isn't some smut novel... Thrown for a loop here.
From transmigration to now, limited contact with the boss.
At most, since his guard appointment, they'd shared work hours.
"Just mentioning it. Who else could I tell but you, Boss?"
"R-right...? Your underlings avoid you too...."
"I don't think I look that scary. No clue why."
Bulky build, scarred—but not frightening, he thought. Silver hair, blue eyes—not sinister.
Yet they all steered clear.
He filled her workday with casual gripes like always.
She stammered often, embarrassed, but hid her face, feigning nonchalance.
...Ears that red? Hard to miss.
Ivan stared at her flushed ears.
Face hidden, but those ears screamed embarrassment.
They processed papers amid chatter until evening fell.
"Then, next schedule—business meeting—"
"Ah, canceled that for today."
Checking her itinerary was basic guard duty.
But she waved it off.
"...Sure it's okay? Heard it's a big drug deal."
"Who'd stop us in Europe? One day won't hurt."
"......"
Always so arbitrary.
Only he, the underboss, knew this side. What would others think?
Clarte ran on iron hierarchy and discipline.
Defiance meant corporal punishment; unrepentant, death.
An ingrained culture long before his transmigration.
Thanks to it, they became Europe's top mafia.
This world's people defied physics like in some battle manga, transcending human limits.
Assemble them, drill discipline and training—no organization could compete.
Old families fell to Clarte's blade, drunk on their own arrogance.
"No other business? I'll take my leave."
Guarding didn't erase his duties.
If anything, more work now.
"No—canceled schedule, but somewhere to go. Sorry, but handle extra today."
"...Somewhere?"
Sudden shift; Ivan felt unease.
"Yeah. Never drunk with my underboss—time for our first."
"......"
A chill ran down his spine.
One reason to ply him with booze now.
Hinted hard, but no quit in her.
Plan: get him blackout drunk, oblivious.
He swallowed a sigh, nodded.
Clarte's number two or not, refusing the boss? Impossible.
The outcome was set.