Mebuki's pale, mature ass was now a vivid, angry red, vibrating with the aftershocks of each impact.
I hadn't gone light on the cheating wife. Sure, she was still a weak civilian, and I'd held back most of my strength—couldn't have her passing out or needing a hospital visit—but her ass was thoroughly spanked. The skin was hot to the touch, radiating warmth even from a foot away, and faint handprints overlapped across both cheeks like a chaotic constellation.
She was shaking. Her knees knocked together against the edge of the mattress, and her head was buried in the duvet, muffling her ragged breathing. Her ass was still raised high, if not higher. She was bent completely in half, her spine curved in a way that had to be uncomfortable, but she didn't adjust.
She was still stubbornly holding one ass cheek open with a single trembling hand, fingers digging into the abused flesh, obscenely presenting herself to me—and to the closet—even as her body shook. The other hand had abandoned its post entirely, white-knuckled and gripping the hotel sheets like they were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.
Her asshole winked at me.
With each ragged, desperate breath she took, the tight ring of muscle pulsed, clenching and releasing in an involuntary rhythm that was downright hypnotic. It was like her body was begging for something it didn't even understand.
"My…. goodness, Eishin-kun," Mebuki panted, her voice muffled by the bedding before she turned her head, cheek pressed against the mattress. Her smudge-proof mascara had proven to be a lie; dark streaks ran toward her temples. "You really are... quite the brute. A lady expects a certain... finesse."
She tried to inject that haughty, scolding tone into it—the voice of a woman who nitpicks the quality of produce at the market—but it was ruined by the lust coating every syllable.
"Proper gentlemen," she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut as another tremor ran through her, "know how to treat a lady of quality."
But her body told a different story. It was practically screaming its gratitude for the abuse.
Her pussy was gushing. There was no other word for it. Viscous and thick, clear fluid oozed from her entrance in a continuous, obscene stream, coating her swollen lips, running down the insides of her pale thighs, and dripping off her knees onto the floor. Some of it bypassed the journey entirely, falling in fat, glistening droplets straight from her slit to form a small, shimmering puddle.
I licked my lips, taking in the obscene display.
She might be protesting with her words, but she was categorically, undeniably loving this treatment.
It seemed delusion and being a squirter weren't the only traits she shared with her daughter. Getting disciplined was also a shared kink.
But the roots were different.
Mebuki's need for discipline came from years of walking over her weak, spineless husband. She'd never been challenged, never been checked, never had someone grab her by the metaphorical scruff and remind her that there were limits to her bullshit. She craved correction because she'd spent decades starving for it, and now that she had it, her body was reacting like a desert plant finally getting rain.
Sakura's need, on the other hand, was newer. Fresher. It came from growing up watching her father get steamrolled and her mother dominate without ever being competent. She resented their authority because it had always been weak or hollow. But when faced with real, undeniable competence—someone who could back up their commands with strength—she folded like wet paper.
I placed my hand on Mebuki's tender, warm ass, and she jerked like I'd hit her again.
But I didn't. Instead, I started caressing it. Gently. Lovingly. My palm slid over the heated skin, feeling the raised welts, the softness of her flesh giving way under my touch. I traced the curve of her ass, down to where it met her thighs, and she shuddered, a low, broken groan spilling from her lips as she leaned back into the touch. She pushed her hips against my hand, seeking the heat, seeking the pressure. Her pussy convulsed, sending another glob of slick down her thigh.
I had deliberately positioned myself to the side, giving the closet a front-row seat to the show. Sakura had a clear view of her mother—bent over, ass red, pussy dripping, begging for more while pretending to scold me.
And yet... silence. Not a squeak.
That annoyed me more than it should have.
I didn't know exactly what I wanted from the pink-haired brat. Did I want her to burst out screaming? To cry? To beg me to stop? Maybe. But the fact that she could watch her mother being degraded like this—stripped of dignity, spanked like a misbehaving child, leaking fluids all over the floor—and just sit there...
It pissed me off.
But it was also rather impressive.
She really was the perfect pet student. She'd gladly side with whoever she deemed held the most authority over her, even if it meant watching her own mother get debased. She'd let me drag her family through the mud, then make it sound reasonable and mature just to keep her position and not feel bad about it.
She was a bad girl. A very, very bad girl.
And bad girls needed to be punished.
I smirked.
Maybe that was it. Maybe that's why I kept pushing. The more noise she made now, the better it would be later. I could use it as an excuse to discipline her after this was over. After all, I'd ordered her to stay put. If she gave herself away, if she made a sound, then she'd failed as a kunoichi. Failed to hide. Failed to control herself.
And failures needed consequences. Something she lacked her whole life, and I was adamant to teach her.
It wasn't even a real plan. Just me dressing up my urges in tactical justification. But it was good enough.
I raised my hand up and then brought it down hard on Mebuki's exposed, reddened ass.
SMACK.
"Ah-HAA!"
Mebuki's head jerked up, her mouth falling open in a silent scream before sound finally followed—a raw, guttural moan that was completely unfiltered. Her whole body convulsed, hips bucking forward involuntarily, and another gush of fluid spilled from her pussy, adding to the growing puddle on the floor.
This was real. No performance. No fake, breathy moans meant to flatter my ego.
She'd dropped the act somewhere around the fifth slap, and now she was just riding the sensations, her body reacting honestly for the first time since she'd walked into this room.
Mebuki Haruno might be a delusional, status-obsessed harpy, but she was honest about her appetites, True to her feelings and urges. She didn't lie to herself about what her body craves, even if she lied about everything else.
I was pretty sure she'd climaxed at least once already. Maybe twice. Just from having her ass spanked.
She was definitely a masochist. Probably a humiliation fetishist, too. And judging by the absolute deluge soaking the carpet, likely some kind of freak who'd been stifling these urges for years because Kizashi would rather apologize to a doorframe than raise his voice, let alone spank his wife.
Maybe she got off on being treated roughly. On being reminded of her place. On submitting to someone who didn't give a shit about her ego or her opinions.
Or maybe she just loved being spanked.
Either way, the amount of arousal pouring out of her was genuinely impressive. Bordering on cartoonish.
"Ah, that was…." Mebuki whimpered, her face buried in the sheets again, hips twitching involuntarily. "That—that was too much! You can't just—oh!"
She was squirming, her ass shaking like jelly, but she didn't close her legs. She kept her ass open with a stubborn hand. And her pussy was still dripping like a broken faucet.
"We agreed on peeking only!" she wailed, her voice thick and slurry. "Just a peek! Not... not this... barbaric...You weren't supposed to… oh, d-do it again."
The last part slipped out before she could catch it, an urgent, greedy demand that undercut every protest she'd made.
I snorted despite myself and reached to her core, running my fingers over her eager, dripping cunt.
It was soaking wet, the heat radiating off it intense even through the slick layer of arousal that coated my palm. Her pussy wasn't just damp; it was practically drowning, a testament to just how badly she needed this, how much she'd spent secretly fantasizing about exactly this kind of degradation.
Mebuki's whole body jolted, her hips jerking forward like she'd been shocked. A strangled gasp tore from her throat, and her knees spread wider on instinct, opening herself up even more. Her hand slipped from her ass cheek entirely, both palms now flat against the mattress, bracing herself.
"You've been bad," I growled, my voice low and accusatory. "Very bad."
I pushed two fingers inside her without warning.
I didn't wait for an answer. I shoved two fingers deep inside her, ignoring the gasp that tore from her throat as I stretched her open. I twisted my hand, scraping against her internal walls, then withdrew just as abruptly. My fingers came out coated in thick, translucent juice, strings of it connecting my hand to her body.
I didn't wipe it off. Instead, I smeared it back over her pussy lips, spreading the slick mess across her swollen labia, watching as her hips jerked and her whole body shuddered.
"You left your family," I continued, my tone dripping with mock disapproval. "Snuck out of your house to visit a man half your age. And now you're bent over, spread open, showing yourself in the most obscene, shameful position imaginable."
I dragged my slick fingers up to her clit, circling it once, and she cried out.
"Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" I pressed. "A wife and mother acting like a common whore."
"N-no—don't say that," Mebuki stammered, her voice breathless and shaky. But even as she protested, her hips pushed back against my hand, chasing after more contact, more friction. "It's… it's been so long, Eishin. I just needed a moment. The house is so suffocating sometimes. You don't understand what it's like, being trapped there, day after day. Kizashi doesn't…. He doesn't appreciate what I do. None of them do. I needed this. I deserve this."
Her words slurred together as I stroked her cunt, fingers sliding through the slickness, teasing her entrance but not giving her what she wanted.
She was using the same flawed, self-serving logic I'd fed to Sakura. Reclassifying her selfishness as necessity. Framing her cheating as a form of self-care that ultimately benefited the family she was currently screwing over.
The realization hit me with a delightful jolt of satisfaction.
If Sakura had held any lingering doubts about the morality of this situation, hearing her mother regurgitate those exact justifications would cement them in her mind. It was validation from the source. The daughter would internalize it, believing that this was normal, acceptable, even necessary.
And yet, from the closet—nothing. Not a sound.
"I-it's only natural…. I'm doing—doing this for them, really. So-ahh, so… I can go back r-refreshed and—ahhh!"
I hummed thoughtfully, slipping a single finger inside Mebuki's cunt, just enough to make her gasp and cut off her rambling justifications mid-sentence.
"That still makes you a bad wife," I said evenly. I slid my hand lower, tapping the inside of her thighs firmly. "Open wider."
She obeyed instantly, her legs spreading further apart without hesitation, exposing everything even more obscenely.
"And a bad mother," I added, rewarding her obedience by sliding two fingers back into her slick, viscous heat. I curled them slightly, finding that rough patch of nerves that made her whole body seize. "What would Sakura think if she saw you like this?"
Mebuki moaned, her head thrashing against the sheets, but the question didn't seem to land the way it should have.
A normal mother would've been horrified. Ashamed. But Mebuki?
She barely reacted.
"Sakura?" she let out a dismissive little scoff, though it turned into a moan halfway through. "She's still a child. She doesn't know what it means to bear responsibility. To carry the weight of a family on your shoulders every single day."
She was already pivoting, already reframing her actions as justified. Criticism. Victimhood. Even with my fingers inside her, she couldn't help but elevate herself by pushing her daughter down.
"A mother is allowed a moment for herself," she insisted breathlessly. " Especially a mother who's carried a family that long. Besides… she's not like me. She doesn't have the… the maturity to understand these things yet. T-though I suppose if you were to guide her… she might learn properly. She's a lovely girl, she may be stubborn at times….. She's lucky, really. I'll make sure she got the best—ah!"
I curled my fingers hard inside her, cutting off her words with a choked cry.
Oh. Right, I forgot she was trying to set me up with her daughter. Funny enough, we had the same goal from different angles. Also, she was trying to play matchmaker while actively cheating on her husband. Though it was nice to see that she wasn't so far gone in her delusions that she would think she could climb higher on her own merit.
I started fingering her in earnest now—hard, fast, ruthless. My fingers pumped in and out of her soaking cunt, the wet, obscene squelching filling the quiet hotel room. Her pussy clenched around me, hot and slick and desperate, and I could feel the convulsions starting deep inside her.
"Oh my— Yes! Ahh! Just…. Ahh, just like that!"
Mebuki shot her hands forward, clawing at the sheets, her knuckles white. Her hips lifted higher, pushing up onto her toes as her body tried to escape and chase the sensation at the same time. Her voice broke into ragged, uncontrolled moans, no longer performative, just raw.
The feel of her was something else, soft, yielding, but gripping my fingers with surprising strength. Her walls fluttered and clenched erratically, her body climbing toward release whether she was ready or not.
I focused my hearing on the closet, waiting for Sakura to slip. To make a sound. To give herself away.
But there was nothing.
Disappointment warred with pride in my chest.
At some point, I'd started seeing this as a game. A test. And Sakura was winning by staying silent, by enduring this degrading spectacle without breaking.
In the end, I tried to cheer myself. I'm still the real winner. I was going to fuck the mother now, and eventually, I'd have my way with the daughter.
Mebuki started slipping away, the tension in her body ratcheting up as her climax approached.
"Stay still," I ordered, using the same command I'd given her daughter earlier.
I slipped my free arm around her waist, locking her hips in place against the mattress. Then I violently increased the speed of my fingers, stirring her insides into a frenzy.
"I'm coming!" She tried to squirm away, tried to pull away or push into me—her body didn't even know what it wanted anymore. But she was just a weak civilian. Holding her down was effortless as I kept the pressure relentless. "Oh, I'm coming! I can't—it's too much—!"
I stirred my fingers inside her, curling and twisting, hitting every sensitive spot I could find.
"Please—please, I'm—" Mebuki gasped, her voice high and desperate. Her hands clawed at the sheets, pulling them loose from the mattress. Her feet pushed uselessly against the floor, trying to find leverage that didn't exist.
Her pussy convulsed around my fingers, the contractions coming faster, harder, more erratic.
And then she exploded.
Her whole body went rigid, her back arching violently as a strangled scream tore from her throat. Her cunt clamped down on my fingers like a vice, and then she was squirting—a forceful jet of clear fluid shooting out and splattering onto the floor, adding to the puddle she'd already made.
The spray was powerful enough to reach halfway to the closet.
Her strength gave out immediately. She slumped forward, her arms giving out, her face buried in the mattress as the aftershocks continued to rack her frame.
I licked my lips, letting go of her waist. She slid down the side of the bed, her ass and lower body slipping off the mattress until she was lying on her stomach, half on the floor, half on the bed, panting like she'd just run a marathon.
I pulled my fingers out slowly, watching them glisten obscenely in the light. Juice dripped from my knuckles, trailing down my wrist.
I looked at the floor. The puddle from the spanking. The wet spray from her climax. It had nearly reached the closet door.
And through all of that, Sakura hadn't made a sound.
I'd played enough. Time for the main event.
Sakura could stay in that closet and watch. If she was going to be this obedient, she could at least learn a thing or two about taking a cock by watching her mother get plowed. Consider it part of her training.
I started stripping.
My shirt came off first, tossed carelessly onto a chair. Then my pants, kicked aside. I stood there, fully naked save for the bandages wrapped around my chest, arm, and leg—battle scars on display.
I turned around, letting my cock stand at full mast, hard and ready, pointed directly at the prone form of the helpless housewife on the bed.
A brisk, rather loud noise came from the closet.
Like someone had stumbled. Or kicked the door.
I smiled.
That was a pleasant, delightful little boost to my ego.
But I'd wasted enough attention on the daughter already. It was time to give the mother my full focus.
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