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The breakfast room stank of sex and broken pride.
Hiashi Hyūga knelt exactly where he had been ordered, spine straight, head bowed.
The soaked lace of his wife's torn panties still clung to his face like a blindfold, the fabric stiff with her dried arousal. He could smell her on it (musky, sweet, humiliating).
Every breath drew the scent deeper into his lungs. He did not remove it. He did not dare.
Across the room, the low table rocked violently on its legs with every brutal thrust of Minato's hips.
Hana's voice had long since shredded itself into raw, desperate cries.
"Ah—ah—ah—Minato—please—!"
The slap of skin on skin was relentless. Wet. Obscene. The table creaked beneath them, threatening to splinter.
Hana's legs were hooked over Minato's shoulders now, her body folded nearly in half, breasts bouncing wildly with each punishing stroke.
Her hands clawed at the wood, nails leaving pale scratches in the dark grain.
Minato's cock (thick, flushed, glistening) pistoned in and out of her with ruthless precision. Every withdrawal dragged the swollen crown along her front wall, every return slammed home so deep her eyes rolled back in her head.
Her pussy made filthy, squelching sounds around him, juices dripping down her ass, pooling beneath her on the table that had once hosted clan elders and formal tea ceremonies.
"Fuck, Hana," Minato growled, voice ragged. "Listen to you. Scream for me again."
He shifted his angle, grinding hard against her clit on the next thrust.
Hana shattered.
"Mmmmmh—ahhh—cumming—cumming—!"
Her back arched clear off the table, toes curling, thighs trembling violently around his neck. Her pussy clamped down like a vice, spasming in long, milking pulses that dragged a guttural groan from Minato's throat.
Clear fluid gushed around his cock, squirting in messy arcs that soaked his abdomen and the table beneath them.
Hiashi heard every second of it.
Heard his wife (the dignified, untouchable Lady Hyūga) reduced to a sobbing, begging mess on the Fourth Hokage's cock.
Heard her scream another man's name like a prayer. Heard the wet slap of hips, the creak of wood, the ragged edge of Minato's breathing as he chased his own release.
He did not move.
He did not flinch.
Inside his mind, cold calculation ran like clockwork.
Let the Hokage fuck her. Let him fuck Hinata again. Let him take every woman in the clan if he wanted. Pride was a currency Hiashi had long ago learned to spend. Power was the only coin that mattered.
Minato's rhythm stuttered. His thrusts turned erratic, hips snapping forward with desperate force.
"Fuck—take it—take all of it—"
He buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, animal growl. Hana whimpered as she felt the first hot spurt deep inside her, then another, and another (thick pulses flooding her, marking her from the inside out).
Her pussy fluttered weakly, milking him dry, drawing out every drop until he shuddered above her.
Silence fell, broken only by their ragged breathing.
Minato stayed inside her a moment longer, savoring the way her body still trembled around him. Then he pulled out slowly, deliberately, letting Hiashi hear the wet sound of his cock leaving his wife's ruined cunt.
A thick river of cum followed, spilling out of her swollen folds, sliding down her ass in slow, obscene rivulets.
Hana lay sprawled across the table like a broken doll (legs splayed, breasts heaving, face flushed and tear-streaked, eyes glassy with afterglow). Her yukata hung off one shoulder, barely clinging to her body.
Bruises bloomed on her hips in the shape of Minato's fingers. Between her thighs she was a wreck (red, swollen, dripping with him).
Minato tucked himself away with lazy satisfaction, then turned to Hiashi.
"Your wife is extraordinary," he said conversationally, as though commenting on the weather. "Tight. Responsive. Takes cock like she was born for it. Just like your daughter."
Hiashi bowed deeper, the panties still clinging to his face. "The Hyūga are honored that you find them pleasing, my Lord. I trust this… generosity… will not be forgotten."
Minato's smile was sharp enough to cut. "Oh, I won't forget. The Hyūga have earned a favor from the Hokage. A significant one.
You may call it in whenever you wish (resources, seats on the council, protection from the elders' faction). It's yours."
Hiashi's heart leapt behind his ribs. He kept his voice perfectly steady. "Your generosity humbles us, Lord Fourth."
Minato's tone shifted (colder now, edged with steel).
"One condition," he said. "You will never lay a hand on Hana or Hinata again. Not in anger. Not in discipline. Not in any way. Their bodies, their choices, their lives (they belong to me now). You do not touch what is mine."
Hiashi inclined his head. "Of course, my Lord. I would not dream of it."
He meant it. Wives and daughters were replaceable. Power was not.
Minato continued, voice dropping to something dangerous. "From this day forward, you obey them. Whatever they ask (however small, however humiliating) you do it.
Without question. Without hesitation. If I hear even a whisper that you've disobeyed…"
He let the threat hang in the air, heavy and absolute.
Hiashi swallowed once.
"Understood, my Lord."
"Good."
Behind Minato, Hana had finally pushed herself up on trembling arms. She'd pulled the yukata closed, but it did nothing to hide the marks (the bruises on her throat, the red imprints of teeth on her breasts, the way her thighs shook when she tried to stand).
Cum still leaked slowly down her inner thigh, glistening in the morning light.
She walked toward them on unsteady legs, stopping beside Minato. Her chin lifted (regal, even now). She did not look at Hiashi until she stood directly in front of him.
Then she did.
Her pale eyes were cold. Beautiful.
Utterly merciless.
Minato's hand settled possessively on the small of her back.
"You heard him," he said quietly.
"You're safe. Both of you. If he ever steps out of line (if he so much as raises his voice), you come to me. Or you send word. I'll handle it."
Hana's lips curved (not quite a smile, but something close).
"Thank you," she murmured. Then, softer, only for Minato: "My Lord."
She leaned up and kissed him (slow, deep, filthy) right in front of her kneeling husband.
Her tongue slid against his, a soft moan vibrating in her throat. When she pulled back, her lips were swollen, eyes dark with renewed hunger.
Minato squeezed her ass once, hard, then stepped away.
"I'll see you tonight," he said (not a request).
Hana's answer was a shiver and a nod.
Minato gave Hiashi one last, dismissive glance. "Clean this up," he said, gesturing vaguely at the ruined room. "And start learning how to kneel properly. You'll be doing a lot of it from now on."
Then he was gone (the doors sliding shut behind him with soft finality).
For a long moment, silence reigned.
Hana stood over her husband, yukata slipping off one shoulder again, cum still dripping slowly down her leg. She looked down at him (at the panties glued to his face, at the shorn ends of his once-proud hair) and felt nothing but cold, glittering triumph.
"Get up," she said quietly.
Hiashi rose instantly.
"From now on," she continued, voice soft as silk and twice as sharp, "you will address me as Lady Hana. You will speak only when spoken to. And every morning, you will kneel at the foot of my bed and thank me for the privilege of serving this family."
She stepped closer, until her bare toes brushed his knees.
"Do you understand?"
Hiashi bowed low, forehead nearly touching the floor.
"Yes, Lady Hana."
Her smile was slow, beautiful, and utterly cruel.
"Good boy."
She turned and walked away (hips swaying, back straight, the scent of sex and victory trailing behind her like perfume).
Behind her, Hiashi remained kneeling in the wreckage of his pride, already calculating how many council seats this humiliation would buy him.
And in the distance, the Hokage's laughter echoed faintly through the compound walls (low, satisfied, and promising many, many more nights to come).
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