SAKURA HARUNO
Waking up felt like surfacing from deep, heavy water. Her eyelids were leaden, glued shut with the crust of sleep, and her limbs felt strangely disconnected, tingly and numb all at once. For a moment, she just lay there.
Everything felt... soft and warm and so pleasant. Her bed was a cloud, her blankets a cocoon. Her body was loose and heavy, like she'd been dissolved into the mattress. She felt good. Really good. The kind of bone-deep satisfaction that came after a really intense training, muscles pleasantly sore, skin tingling with residual warmth.
Except... this wasn't training soreness. Or rather not the usual kind.
This was different.
This was an ache between her legs. A tenderness in her hips. A dull throb in her inner thighs. Everything below her waist felt rearranged. Fundamentally altered, like someone had taken her apart and put her back together with different spacing. She pressed her thighs together experimentally. The ache that answered was deep, internal, structural.
Her eyes fluttered open. The ceiling of her bedroom swam into focus, familiar, painted cream, with the little crack in the corner she'd been staring at since she was eight.
Oh.
Her eyes snapped open. The memories didn't trickle in; they crashed over her like a tidal wave. The hotel room. The closet. Mom. The lessons. Sensei.
Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.
Sakura shot up in bed, ignoring the groan of protest from her lower back. He had brought them home late last night, dropping her off in her bed. She remembered…. Oh god. She remembered everything!
She pressed her hands against her burning cheeks. God, she had actually done it! She had really done it! And not just... normal it. She had done things that would make the girls in the romance novels she secretly read faint dead away.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stop the flood of images, but they came anyway. His scent, his voice, his strength…. His weight pressed her into the mattress. The way he'd held her neck, pinned her down, or when he lifted her like she weighed nothing. The way he'd kissed her forehead so gently right before he—
Stop it! Don't…..
But she couldn't. Her brain was replaying everything in vivid, humiliating detail. The way he'd made her spread her legs. The way he'd looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. The way he'd told her she was beautiful. That her eyes were—
Her hands slid down from her face, drifting over the red t-shirt she'd slept in, landing on her lower belly. She pressed down on the soft skin, her brow furrowing.
It felt... empty.
Yesterday, she had felt full. Stuffed to the brim. There had been a pressure there, a heavy, solid weight that stretched her from the inside out, making her feel grounded and barely able to breathe. Yet she felt complete then. Now, there was just a hollow ache, a phantom sensation of something massive missing.
And that felt... wrong. Empty. Like something essential had been removed, leaving a cold, empty pang in its place.
Her hand slid lower, curiously and almost absentmindedly. She was just checking, that was all. Her fingers found the waistband of her shorts, and before she could think too hard about it, they slipped underneath.
She touched herself through her panties, and even that light pressure made her gasp.
Sensitive.
So sensitive.
She was swollen down there; it was all puffy and tender. She pressed a little harder, and the ache flared sharper. A reminder of what she'd done. What she'd let him do.
Her thoughts drifted, sliding away from shame and toward something warmer and pleasant.
The way he'd stroked her hair. The way he'd whispered her name and told her how well she was doing, how much of a good girl she was. He kissed her forehead. He held her tight in his big, strong arms. He hugged her and made her feel….
Sakura's breath grew heavy, and her fingers started moving on their own. Slow circles over the fabric, chasing the ghost of that feeling.
Then her eyes snapped open, and panic seized her, pushing away the haze of sleep.
Wait. Wait.
She yanked her hand back like she'd been burned
Wait.
She scrambled out of bed, nearly tipping over as her legs wobbled,
Wait.
She rushed to lock her bedroom door.
She stood in the middle of the room and shoved her shorts and panties down to her ankles. Heart hammering against her ribs, she widened her stance, bending her knees to peer down at herself.
It looked... mostly normal. Not as terrible as she feared after all that. A little puffy, maybe. The lips were a deeper shade of pink than usual, but the entrance was closed. She reached down gingerly with a trembling finger, parting the folds to probe the entrance.
Sakura let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, her knees going weak with relief. "It's there," she breathed. "It's there, I'm…."
Sensei had really done it. He'd healed her. She was pure again. Untouched.
She pulled her shorts back up and turned—
And froze.
The photograph on her desk stared back at her.
Team Seven. Her, Naruto, Kakashi-sensei... and Sasuke-kun.
Sasuke-kun's handsome face looked out at her with those dark, mysterious eyes.
She bit her lip; she should be feeling wrong, and she was! What she did was wrong, Sakura knows that. Sleeping with her sensei was immoral and improper and perverted and—and—
Sakura felt guilty about it, but.
But... she couldn't help feel a little smug as well.
She stepped closer to the photo, staring at Sasuke's image. She has always been behind them, always the girl they saved or ignored, and why? Just because she wasn't born from a clan or she didn't have a Hokage as a dad? No, they don't have the right to judge her. Now she has a sensei and—
"I'm not a little girl anymore," she whispered to the picture. "I'm... experienced now. I know things. I've done things."
Things Ino had probably never done. Ha. She will probably run away, all flushed and scared, the moment she sees Sensei's monstrous thing.
She smiled faintly. Now she was ahead of her. She'd win.
Then she wrinkled her nose. "Ugh."
She was feeling all sticky and sweaty. She smelled herself. Her scent was gross and weird.
But she didn't pull away immediately. She took a deep breath, and oddly enough, it made her stomach do a weird flip-flop.
"Shower," she announced firmly to the empty room. "Definitely shower."
---
Sakura peeled off her clothes in the bathroom, tossing them into the hamper without looking. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and stopped.
"Sensei!" she hissed, glaring at her own reflection.
Her body was covered in marks.
Bruises. Bite marks. Red splotches shaped like fingers on her hips, her thighs, her waist. A dark, ugly hickey on the side of her neck. Another on her collarbone. And her breasts were littered with purple and red marks and even faint teeth marks around the nipples.
She stared at herself, a mix of annoyance and something else curling in her stomach.
"He's such a brute," she complained, tracing a particularly dark mark on her shoulder where he'd held her down. "How am I supposed to hide these? I'll have to wear a high collar for a week! Stupid, perverted Sensei..."
But as she complained, her fingers lingered on the marks. They were vibrating with heat, or maybe that was just her imagination. He is so weird and perverted… He had looked at her small chest, and he had kissed it. He had called them beautiful. He had licked them until she screamed.
A flush that had nothing to do with the steam crept up her neck.
She quickly turned on the shower and stepped under the spray. The hot water hit her skin, and she hissed. She hoped it would dispel her improper thoughts, but it had the opposite effect.
Sakura grabbed the soap, lathering her hands, and started to wash her thighs. Her skin was sensitive, jumping under her own touch.
"You're a walking nerve ending," his voice echoed in her memory, deep and mocking and appreciative.
"Leave me alone," she mumbled, annoyed, but her hands moved slower. The soap was slippery, slick... just like she had been.
She closed her eyes, tilting her head back under the spray. The image of him loomed in her mind. Broad shoulders blocking out the hotel light, dark eyes burning with that intense, focused lust that made her knees weak.
"Sensei..."
Her hand slipped between her legs. Just to wash. Just to clean up.
But her core was already throbbing, waking up at the mere thought of him. It felt swollen, the lips rushing with blood. Her fingers brushed her pleasure button, the place he had tormented so exquisitely, and a jolt of electricity shot straight to her brain.
"Nnnh..."
Stop this, Sakura….. You can't, it is not right, this is too… too much….
Her fingers wouldn't listen. They started to work, sliding through the slick soap. It wasn't the same. Her fingers were too small. Too soft. They didn't have the calluses, the roughness, the terrifying size that made her feel small and helpless, yet so protected.
"Good girl," she heard in her head, and her thighs pressed together instinctively, seeking friction. "Look at you, so tight yet you're taking it so well."
She slid one finger inside. Tight. So tight. The membrane he'd restored was there, a delicate wall stopping her.
"Please..." she whimpered to nobody, pressing against the barrier. "Be….. gentle, sensei."
Her other hand moved up to squeeze her small breast, pinching the nipple hard, trying to replicate the ecstatic jolts he'd given her. It wasn't enough. She shoved two fingers of her left hand into her mouth, gagging herself slightly, tasting soap and water, pretending it was his thick, salty fingers. Or his big thing.
Shut up, she ordered herself in his voice. Shut up and suck, you messy little brat.
In the shower, she let herself be pathetic. She moaned around her fingers, her hips bucking against her other hand down below. She imagined his big arms wrapping around her, crushing her against his chest, making her feel tiny and safe and overwhelmed.
She pushed her finger deeper into her entrance, poking at the healed hymen. She wanted to break it. She wanted to tear it open right now, to feel that sting, that claim.
"It's too big, Sensei," she moaned, the water drowning out her voice. "You'll—- it's too much….."
But Sensei wouldn't listen to her useless complaint. Sensei was the assertive sort and knew what was best for her. Sakura just needed to be a good girl and take what he would give her. Like the attentive and dutiful student she was.
She rubbed her clit furiously, chasing the memory of his dominance, of his thumb, the memory of his relentless tongue. It was tantalizing and frustrating. She couldn't reach the spots he hit. She couldn't fill herself up the way he did.
But the fantasy... the fantasy was powerful. Him holding her down. Him telling her she was his favorite student. Him ignoring Mom to look at her.
"Yes... yes... ah!"
The climax hit her fast and hard, a jagged spike of pleasure that made her knees buckle. She slumped against the tiled wall, sliding down as her body spasmed. She felt the familiar contraction, and then— splash, squirt —fluid ejected from her, mixing with the shower water, swirling down the drain.
She stayed there for a minute, panting, water sluicing over her heaving chest.
"Ugh." She opened her eyes, groaning in frustration. "That was... okay. But not like his."
It was a cheap imitation. A snack when she was starving for a feast.
Then, panic flared. She looked down at her hand, and at the water swirling at her feet. Was that... red? Her hazed brain took her a moment to catch up.
"No, no, no!"
She scrambled to her feet, turning off the water violently. She spread her legs, trying to see past her stomach. Had she broken it? Had she gotten carried away and popped her cherry with her own finger like an absolute idiot?
She grabbed a towel, drying herself frantically, and checked in the mirror.
Still intact. Maybe a little irritated, maybe stretched a tiny bit, but the barrier held.
Sakura slumped against the sink, clutching the towel to her chest. Her heart was racing a mile a minute.
Relief and shame hit her in equal measure.
"What is wrong with me?" she whispered, staring at her reflection in the fogged-up glass. "I just... I just did it for Sensei. Not Sasuke-kun. Sensei."
She covered her face with her hands.
"I almost broke it. I almost— oh god, how would I have explained that to him? 'Sorry, Sensei, I got too excited thinking about you and accidentally tore my own hymen. Can you fix it again?'"
She laughed, a high and hysterical sound for a long moment before sighing heavily.
"I am….really a pervert," she muttered, shaking her head, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth despite the shame. "Like sensei, like student, huh?"
She finished drying off, scrubbing at her skin until she was pink and raw, trying to wash away the evidence of her depravity. But even as she finished, she knew it hadn't really worked.
The feeling was still there. The emptiness in her belly. The heat in her blood.
Sakura returned to her room, closing the door softly behind her. She needed to get dressed properly. Something that covered the marks.
She rifled through her dresser, pulling out a high-necked red top that would hide most of the damage. As she opened the second drawer to grab fresh shorts, her hand froze.
The drawer.
Tucked in the corner, half-hidden under a folded pair of training tights, was the pair of panties. Her mother's panties. The ones Eishin-sensei had made her keep that day—the day she'd caught them together. The day all started.
They were white once. Now they were stiff, stained with dried fluids—his and hers, mingled together in abstract, yellowish patterns that made her stomach twist.
Sakura stared at them for a long moment.
She didn't know why Sensei had told her to keep them. She didn't understand the point. She had hated him then, for what he did, and he made her do. But she'd done it. She was his student now. He'd given her an order, and she'd obeyed.
"Knowing him," she grumbled under her breath, shutting the drawer with a snap, "it's probably just something perverted."
She was starting to figure him out. He's definitely weird enough for it.
But she wasn't upset about it anymore. It wasn't her place to judge, not after all she has done. She was his student. Her job was to learn, to obey.
Her stomach growled. Right. Food. It was nearly midday, and she hadn't eaten since... yesterday? Before the hotel? Time was blurry.
Sensei had given her the day off. She remembered. He'd told her to rest, to recover. They'd start training again tomorrow.
He'd kissed her forehead when he said it.
Wait. Had he? Or was she making that up?
Her memories were a bit hazy around the edges, blurred by too much dopamine and adrenaline.
"Get it together, Sakura Haruno," she muttered, slapping her own cheeks lightly. "Stop being all over the place."
She stepped out of her room and headed toward the kitchen, her stomach rumbling louder. But the moment she crossed the threshold, she froze.
Both her parents were already there. Her father was sitting at the table, reading a newspaper and chuckling at something. Her mother was at the stove, humming a cheerful tune as she stirred something in a pot.
"Good morning, sweetheart!" Mom chirped, turning around with a spatula in hand. Her smile was bright, radiant even. "Sleep well?""
Sakura froze in the doorway. Mom looked tired. Satisfied? No—tired. The same bone-deep exhaustion Sakura felt, hidden under that manic brightness. For just a second, watching her mother's theatrical cheer, Sakura felt something unexpected.
Not quite sympathy. Not quite solidarity.
She looked away, disturbed by whatever it was.
"…. morning," she muttered flatly, sliding into a chair at the table and fixing her gaze on the wood grain.
How could her mother act so... normal? So cheerful? Like nothing had happened? Like she hadn't spent the entire night—
How could she even stand after Sensei had shoved his long, thick—
Sakura swallowed hard, her face heating.
She didn't think that place could even be used for that. She'd seen the panic in her mom's eyes when Sensei lined himself up. She'd heard the sounds. And the worst part? Sakura had helped. She'd held her own mother down while Sensei—
A tiny, dark thrill sparked in her chest. She remembered how powerful she'd felt. Her mother, who controlled everything, who nagged and criticized and lorded her authority over the household... had been completely helpless. And Sakura had been the one holding her there.
Sakura knew it was wrong, but Mom started it first; she was just getting back at her! And—and she couldn't possibly tell no to sensei, now could she? It couldn't be helped if she had felt... good about it. Like, finally, finally being the one in charge.
"So, Sakura-chan," her father's voice cut through her dark thoughts, making her jump. "How did things go with your new sensei yesterday? Your mother said you had a special tutoring session with her present?"
Sakura's heart stopped. Her eyes went wide, darting to her mother in a panic.
Did she tell him?! Did Mom spill everything!?
"It—uh—it was fine! Just... training!" Sakura stammered, forcing a sheepish smile. "Really educational! Lots of... um... hands-on learning!"
"Oh, it went wonderfully, Kizashi," Mom turned from the stove, waving a wooden spoon. "Eishin-sama is such a dedicated teacher. He wanted to make absolutely sure that Sakura—being a civilian-born student—didn't fall behind her peers. I was there to assist, of course. Moral support and all that."
"Is that so? Well, that's wonderful!" Dad chuckled good-naturedly. "Gotta work hard if you want to keep up, right? Though it did run quite late, didn't it?"
"Eishin-sama is very thorough," Mom said smoothly, stirring the pot. "He doesn't believe in half-measures. If he's going to teach something, he teaches it completely."
Sakura felt her face burn. Was her mother trying to hint at it? Or was Sakura just reading into everything now?
She didn't know whether to be relieved that her mom was covering for them or incensed by the sheer audacity of the lie. Or maybe... maybe she was just amazed at how clueless her dad was.
Mom clearly hadn't showered. She looked and smelled a mess of sweat and another man. How did Dad not notice?
"Eishin, huh..." Dad mused, tapping his chin. "I feel like I've heard that name before."
"Of course you have, silly!" Mom's smile widened. "He's that amazing shinobi I told you about! The handsome one from the market? Who stopped that thief from stealing my purse?"
"Oh! Him!" Dad slammed his hand on the table, laughing loudly. "That's right! Ha! Small world, huh? The Grocery Savior is teaching our daughter!"
"And it is Eishin-sama, Kizashi," Mom cut him off with a scary glare that Sakura, still, after everything, was afraid of, and her Dad wasn't immune to it either it seemed. "He is a powerful Jounin and the benevolent teacher of our daughter. You have to show some respect."
Dad swallowed and then started chuckling awkwardly to diffuse the tension. "Yes, yes, dear. Eishin-sama, it is." He turned to Sakura, no longer able to hold his wife's glare. "You've found yourself a real hero, Sakura-chan! I heard he took down some bigshot from Kiri recently? Impressive stuff! And to think he accepted you as his student... we must be doing something right!"
Sakura managed a weak nod. "Yeah... he's... really strong."
"Maybe I should come along instead to the next parent-teacher meeting," Dad suggested cheerfully. "You don't have to burdon you mom with it. Besides, I'd love to meet him properly. Shake his hand, thank him for—"
"No!" Mom snapped, her voice sharp enough to make both Sakura and Dad flinch.
Dad blinked, his smile faltering. "Why not, dear?"
"Because..." Mom's eyes narrowed dangerously. Then she softened, smoothing her apron. "Well, shinobi training is delicate, Kizashi. You wouldn't understand the nuances. Distractions can be dangerous. And it's not a burden at all, I rather appreciate Eishin-sama lenghy lessons, it's a change from the daily monotone of the housework."
The tension at the table spiked. Sakura looked between her parents. Her dad confused and slightly hurt, her mom looking ready to stab someone with a chopstick.
Crap.
"Actually, Dad," Sakura interjected quickly, pasting on her best innocent-daughter smile. "It's just that Sensei's schedule is super weird! You know how Jonin are. Meetings are totally arbitrary and last-minute. You're busy with work, right? It would be a hassle for you to run back and forth." She gestured to her mom. "Mom's got more free time. She can handle it just fine. She's been doing great so far."
For a second, silence hung in the air.
Then, mom shot her a look, a smug, knowing smirk that made Sakura's blood boil.
"See?" The Haruno matriarch purred. "You heard our daughter, Kizashi. I can handle it just fine."
Sakura's face flushed red. She knew what her mom was implying. She was thinking about Sensei's monstrous—
Sakura squeezed her thighs together under the table. The phantom sensation of being stretched, filled, and split open returned with a vengeance. Heat pooled in her lower belly, making her squirm.
Damn it, Mom! Why are you thinking about that at the breakfast table?! With Dad right here?!
"Well, if you say so," Dad relented with a laugh. "I trust you, Mebuki. You've always been good at these things. Guess I'll leave the ninja stuff to the ladies of the house!"
She watched her father laugh at his own joke, oblivious, and something ugly twisted in her stomach. Was it pity? Contempt? She shouldn't be thinking this. She shouldn't be comparing them. But the thought came anyway, cold and mean. Of course, Mom needed—
She cut the thought off, guilt burning her throat. But it was true, wasn't it? Her mom could handle Sensei. She'd taken everything he'd given her—well, mostly. Eventually. With a lot of screaming.
If Dad couldn't even notice that his wife smelled like another man...
Sakura shook her head, disgusted with herself for even thinking it.
Mom eventually set plates of food in front of them. Like they were a normal family.
Sakura sighed and started to eat. The food was good. It filled the hollow feeling in her stomach, easing the hunger pangs.
But as she chewed, she realized something unsettling.
Her stomach was full. But lower down... deeper inside... there was a new kind of hunger. A gnawing, empty ache that rice and miso soup couldn't touch.
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