Mebuki turned her head, foggy green eyes struggling to focus through the haze of her squirt-inducing orgasm.
"What… what was that?" she mumbled, her voice thick and lazy. Her body gave a lingering twitch, a spasm that rippled from her core out to her fingertips, and another drop of fluid leaked from her entrance to join the puddle on the floor.
I waited a moment. But when the noise wasn't followed by the door bursting open with indignant screams, I patted her ass soothingly, stroking the warm, reddened skin a couple of times.
"Probably just the wind," I said easily, not putting much effort into the excuse.
Mebuki released a lazy, content groan, her body still twitching with aftershocks. Then, predictably, she started complaining.
"Honestly," she muttered, rolling her eyes, though the lids were heavy. "You'd think a place with these rates could afford proper maintenance. This place is barely better than a roadside inn. The walls are paper-thin, and don't even get me started on the bathroom fixtures. Absolutely unacceptable. At least the mattress isn't lumpy."
She sniffed disdainfully, her naked ass still presented to the room as she criticized the décor. A frog croaking like a noble.
I smirked toward the closet.
Since Sakura clearly wasn't going to interrupt the show to defend the hotel's honor—or her mother's dignity—I pushed the thought of her to the back of my mind. I moved behind the middle-aged woman, stepping between her dangling pale legs. Her lower body was still hanging off the edge of the bed, her thighs spread, her bare pussy glistening and inviting.
Perfect.
Mebuki cut off mid-complaint, her green eyes going wide as they locked onto my cock.
"My goodness," she breathed, a flush rising up her neck that had nothing to do with the spanking. "I… I don't remember it being quite that… big. No wonder I felt so…" she breathed, her voice taking on a tone of wonder mixed with apprehension. She licked her lips, staring openly. "So hollow, afterward. The aches lasted for days, you know. Good aches, of course. But still."
I smirked, leaning down to grasp her hips.
"Happy to hear I made an impression," I said, my voice dropping into that charming, witty cadence that worked so well on her type. "But last time was just a warm-up, Mebuki. Just a little taste. This time, I'm going to fuck you properly." I licked my lips, not mincing my words, "You won't be able to stand after I'm finished with you."
Her breath hitched.
I pressed the head of my cock against her slick pussy lips, not entering yet, just teasing. I dragged the tip along her slit, coating myself in the copious amounts of natural lubricant she'd just expelled. She was absolutely drenched, still leaking from her earlier climax, and the wet, obscene sound of my cock sliding through her folds filled the quiet room.
The MILF shuddered, a full-body tremor that started in her thighs and ended in a gasp. Her hands clenched on the sheets again, knuckles white.
"You're going to… oh my," she whispered, sounding both flattered and genuinely impressed. Figures, the slut she was. "You really do intend to… to handle me properly, don't you? A woman like me needs a firm hand, I've always said so, but… oh!"
She trailed off, blushing through the heavy foundation caked on her cheeks.
But then, just as I started pressing deeper, angling to push inside her, she quickly shifted her hips away, removing her pussy from my cock's path.
Her hand shot up to my chest, not to push me away, but to hold me at bay.
"Wait! Wait, Eishin-kun!" She put on a forced, seductive smile that didn't quite reach her panicked eyes. "Don't be hasty! A gentleman doesn't rush the main course, does he? A lady needs… well, she needs to be properly romanced. Foreplay is an art, you know. You can't just dive in like a… like a beast."
I deepened. Foreplay seriously? I made you come more than once, you vain slut. But I didn't rush it. Mebuki wasn't the type to refuse me; she just wasn't capable of saying no to her needs and desires.
Her hand, meant to keep distance, faltered.
Her fingers curled, dragging against my pectoral muscle. Her eyes dropped from my face to my chest, and the panic bled away, replaced by pure, unadulterated fascination.
"Oh," she murmured, her voice taking on a transfixed quality. "You are… so solid. Like carved stone. Not soft at all. Kizashi is… well, I never— But this…" She traced the line of my muscle, looking awestruck. "This is real power. This is how a real man is built. You can easily scoop a woman off her feet and…." She licked her red lips, her fingers squeezing and exploring.
I really wanted to tell her that her fanning over me meant absolutely nothing. Her validation was worthless.
But damn if it didn't feel good anyway.
I couldn't help it. I flexed slightly, watching her eyes widen as the muscle jumped under her palm.
It was really hard not to preen under that kind of attention. Kunoichi were used to fit bodies, used to seeing muscles on their teammates and sparring partners. But a weak civilian woman like Mebuki? She was drinking it in like she'd stumbled into a forbidden shrine.
"I think you're ready enough," I drawled, vaguely gesturing with my chin toward the puddle of her squirt still glistening on the floor. "The proof is all over the floor, Mebuki."
Mebuki let out an awkward, genuine laugh, embarrassment staining her caked cheeks a deeper red. She swatted my chest lightly.
"That!" She sniffed, defensive now. "That was your fault! You… you surprised me! I'm not usually so… unrefined. It was a reflex! Don't you dare think I'm easy, young man!"
I narrowed my eyes.
I didn't know where this sudden apprehension was coming from. Five minutes ago, she'd been practically begging for it, eager to spread her legs and show off her holes. Now she wanted to take it slow?
My patience for this bitch was limited. Very limited. But I decided to humor her. Just a little bit. If this was her move to be at the top the I would just have to put her back in her place.
"Tell me," I asked, infusing my tone with just enough polite curiosity to mask the mockery. "Does your husband ever elicit such… reflexive responses?"
I reached out casually, cupping one of her breasts through the thin sundress.
She wasn't wearing a bra. My hand molded over the soft, mature flesh easily. It wasn't perky like a twenty-year-old's, but it had a heavy, satisfying weight to it.
The housewife rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might stick that way. She scoffed, a harsh, dismissive sound.
"As if," she muttered, her tone dripping with disdain.
But then she sent me a coy, proud look, shifting her torso to give my hand better access, practically feeding her boob into my palm. Her breathing quickened as I started kneading her breast, my thumb circling her hardened nipple through the dress.
"That man?" She laughed, bitter and mocking. "I can count on one hand the number of times he's managed to get me even slightly damp, let alone… whatever this is. And that's when he could even get his… his thing working. Most of the time he's too drunk or too tired or just—oh, just… He's useless. Completely useless."
"Is that so?"
"Ah—d-don't get me started," she continued, not even explicitly acknowledging the fondling as she launched into her tirade. "He comes home smelling of grease and failure, drinks his cheap sake, and falls asleep on the couch. And w-when he does try…. It's like—ah— being pawed at by a golden retriever.Ah…. He asks…. he asks permission for everything! 'May I touch you here, dear?' 'Is this okay, dear?' T-tha was cute at first b-but—ah… it became a bore. It's pathetic!"
I already know this slut felt neither guilt nor shame for cheating on her husband, but damn, she wasn't mincing her words at all. Words that grew more heated as I squeezed her hardened nipple, rolling it between my fingers. Her chest rose and fell faster, her breath coming in shallow pants.
"He's weak," she hissed, her hands running over my chest and shoulders, exploring the hard muscle. "As a man. As ah… husband. He could….. barely satisfy a woman when he was young, let alone now. I don't even know why I—ahh—"
I paused, listening.
Surely NOW she'd react. Her father being emasculated, her mother betraying the honor of her family—surely this was too much.
But the closet remained silent.
Unbelievable.
The cheating wife's breathing was getting heavier, her speech pattern shifting from mocking disdain to heated, breathless desire as my thumb circled her hardening nipple. Her hands roamed over my chest, squeezing my arms, feeling the difference between me and the husband she despised.
"He's nothing… nothing like…" She panted, her green eyes fluttering as she chased after that pleasure shooting the her nipples. "Not like…"
"Not like me," I finished for her, my voice low and confident. I twisted her nipple sharply.
"N-no," she gasped, her head tilting back. "Not like you."
I was genuinely surprised.
Not at Mebuki— I already know what type of woman she was — but at Sakura.
Her mother had just spent the last minute mocking and degrading her father in the most vicious, disrespectful way possible, and Sakura hadn't made a single sound. Not a gasp. Not a protest. Nothing.
She didn't give a shit about her father. Not even a shred of loyalty or filial piety.
Damn.
Kizashi Haruno must be the unluckiest bastard in the village.
But I found it hard to feel bad for him.
At this point, he was to blame for this, too. Marrying this bitch. Staying married to her. Letting her walk all over him for decades. Raising a daughter with zero family values and an obsession with validation. How dumb did you have to be not to notice any of this rot in your own home?
No, he was complicit in his own misery. A passive father enables a toxic mother, which then creates a daughter with no family loyalty. This entire Haruno family was fucked up beyond repair.
And I'd be the dumb one to feel bad for any of them.
But since Kizashi was that useless, it fell on me to step in.
It fell on me to straighten out the wife and daughter, to keep them in their proper place. It was my duty—my burden, really—to discipline both of them, to tame their delusions and their pride and mold them into something useful.
Someone had to.
Mebuki stared up at me for a long moment, her green eyes foggy with lingering lust, chest heaving beneath my hand. It took her a long moment to regain enough composure to speak, swallowing hard as her shallow breaths gradually deepened.
She patted my chest lightly, a laugh bubbling up from her throat, breezy and breathy, though tainted by the tremor in her hands.
"You see?" she murmured, her voice thick but striving for that cultured, knowing tone she clearly thought made her sound sophisticated. "This is precisely why we shouldn't rush. A lady deserves to savor her moment, Eishin-kun. Especially when…"
Her free hand slid down between us. Her fingers brushed against my hip before curling around the thick shaft pressing impatiently against her thigh. She squeezed, testing the weight of it, and gave two slow, tentative strokes from base to head.
"Especially when something this… hefty needs proper preparation," she purred, her voice dropping into that breathy, bedroom tone she thought was seductive. And I had to give it to her, in that moment, it kinda was.
She was performing again, but there was genuine nervousness underneath it.
She licked her lips, looking up at me through heavy lashes, the heavy makeup around her eyes creasing with her smile.
"Besides," she added, her voice taking on a smug, competitive edge, "I can show you things those rigid, hard-bodied kunoichi could never."
She was dissing them again. Trying to elevate her own sloppy, untrained eagerness by painting real strength as a defect. She needed to believe she was better than them, that her softness and her supposed refinement made her more desirable.
I hummed, curiosity piqued despite myself. I smirked down at her.
"Something kunoichi could never do, huh?" I repeated, my tone teasing.
My hand, resting on her hip, slid down to squeeze the supple, giving flesh of her mature ass. I kneaded the cheek firmly, feeling the heat still radiating from the spanking, before letting my fingers trace inward. I skimmed over the soaked, swollen lips of her pussy and continued straight up the cleft of her buttocks.
"Like using this?" I growled.
My finger slipped easily between her cheeks and pressed firmly against her tight, puckered asshole.
Mebuki's entire body jolted.
Her green eyes went wide, the pupils shrinking to pinpricks. Her whole body jerked as if I'd touched her with a live wire, and she tried to scramble forward, her hand shooting out to grab my forearm in a desperate, frantic grip.
"Ah—wait—what are you—"
Her surprise twisted into indignation, then quickly into an awkwardhigh-pitched laugh, trying to mask her panic with forced levity. She pushed against my chest with her other hand, trying to create distance, but she was far too weak to budge me even an inch.
"Ah—now, now… let's not get carried away, hm?" she said quickly, her voice pitching higher. She started squirming, trying to slip out from under me when she wasn't able to push me away. "That place is… oh my, no. That place isn't for — it's not for that. It's not good. It's improper. Women don't—I mean, respectable women don't—"
She squirmed harder, her hips twisting as she tried to dislodge my finger, sliding and slipping on the damp sheets.
"Trust me," she chuckled nervously, "you wouldn't enjoy it. It's… tight, yes, but not the good kind. And think of the mess! A man of your status shouldn't be dealing with… well, dirty things. It's beneath you. A high-ranking shinobi deserves better than—than that. Think of your reputation!"
I watched her retreat with a raised eyebrow, amusement curling in my gut.
So even this status-obsessed, willing-to-do-anything slut had boundaries.
Who knew?
She'd just made herself a little more interesting in my eyes. The only thing I loved more than women with boundaries was breaking those boundaries. Watching them shift their principles, rationalize their way into new depravities, forget the lines they'd sworn they'd never cross. Hearing "no" turn into "maybe" and then into begging for it… that was intoxicating.
And to achieve that…. it wasn't just about force. It was about patience. About finding the right pressure points and applying just enough leverage to make them choose to yield and step over those hard-drawn lines.
And Mebuki, for all her delusions and vanity, had just revealed a pressure point.
I licked my lips, my eyes flicking briefly toward the closet where Sakura still hid in silence.
I wondered if the mother shared the same pain tolerance as the daughter.
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