Her once resentful, unyielding eyes gradually softened into something dangerously alluring—so enticing they seemed to glisten with unshed tears.
Tsunade felt her legs weaken, a hollow ache blooming in her lower body, the sensation of emptiness and weakness now almost overwhelming.
At that moment, she finally understood why someone like Hayashi had been able to make others kneel before.
A sudden, treacherous thought slipped into her mind: This bastard is… surprisingly considerate.
Tsunade startled herself with that thought.
What am I thinking?! This depraved lunatic has made me endure one humiliating thing after another, stripping away my dignity—yet I'm… grateful?
Determined to suppress the strange impulses coursing through her body, she tried to banish all stray thoughts, and above all, to stifle the sounds that might escape her lips.
She clamped her mouth shut, as if by doing so she could erase the surging sensations within her.
Instead, she poured every shred of focus into the task at hand—her hands moving with determination along the rigid form before her.
Hayashi wasn't idle either. His hands eagerly toyed with Tsunade's hardened pink buds, pinching them between his fingers with alternating tenderness and teasing cruelty. Sometimes he brushed them with his nails; sometimes he tugged lightly, stretching them just enough to make her gasp inwardly.
Dozens of seconds passed, his hands continuing their relentless attention. The peaks had grown even more taut, their flush deepening, the skin around them prickling with tiny bumps—natural proof of her body's reaction.
Hayashi closed his eyes, savoring the dual stimulation from both his lower body and his fingers.
Her technique was clumsy—woefully unskilled, even.
But the fact that Tsunade—princess of the Senju clan, future Fifth Hokage—was doing this for him brought an intoxicating sense of triumph. It more than made up for any lack of finesse.
Her most sensitive places were under siege, her breath growing heavier, her proud, finely shaped nose flaring as she inhaled sharply.
Even while she fixed her mind on the task, trying to ignore the sensations racking her body, they only grew stronger, sharper, harder to suppress.
She clenched her jaw, battling the dangerous urge to throw him down and take control herself.
Twenty minutes later, sweat beading her brow, cheeks flushed, Tsunade suddenly collapsed, unable to keep her balance.
Hayashi, eyes still closed in pleasure, suddenly felt the weight in his hands pulling forward. He let go instinctively, opening his eyes to see what had happened—only to find her sprawled on the floor, breathless, face streaked with sweat and tears.
Her bare torso glistened, sweat trailing over pale, flawless skin, running down her smooth stomach toward the waistband of her torn pants—a sight indecently suggestive.
A single glance told Hayashi exactly what had happened.
His gaze drifted lower, where her pants were soaked—so much so that a thin stream had pooled onto the floor.
Inwardly, he couldn't help but admire her resolve. With that much need building up, most women would have pounced on him long ago.
Still, he smirked and teased, "No way… the proud princess of the Senju brought to this just from me playing with her breasts?"
To his surprise, Tsunade didn't snap back. She lay there as if she hadn't heard, eyes unfocused, tongue barely peeking past parted lips, chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.
Seeing her like this—utterly spent—Hayashi fell silent, simply watching the steady rhythm of her breathing, the movement of her sweat-slick body.
I could just lie against her, drink in every bit of her warmth…
After several minutes, Tsunade regained some composure. Sitting up slowly, she frowned at what lay before her.
She started to wipe the sweat from her brow, but froze mid-motion, remembering what her hands had just been holding. She stared at them in disgust, silently vowing to scrub them clean dozens of times when she could.
Then, as if nothing had happened, she knelt back down and resumed her work without a word.
Her stubborn pride showed through; she didn't cry or lash out like an ordinary woman might. She had rested, and now she would finish what she'd started.
Hayashi studied her face with interest—humiliation and defiance clear in her expression, yet beneath it, a blush that hinted at the pleasure she'd tried to deny.
Two minutes later, Tsunade looked up at him with irritation."What's going on? Why hasn't it happened yet? The book said fifteen minutes—this is already twenty-three!"
"I've… already gone once, so why hasn't it happened for you?"
She spoke freely now—after all, the line between propriety and shamelessness had already been crossed. Besides, this man was only a manifestation of her subconscious… wasn't he?
She didn't yet realize her boundaries were slipping, her shame thinning each time she yielded to him.
Hayashi, amused by her impatience, let a slow, wicked smile spread across his face."Then let's try another way—use your mouth."
Her reaction was instant."Absolutely not! Don't even think about putting something that filthy in my mouth!"
He raised an eyebrow. This woman just drenched herself in front of me, and she's still acting tough?
No matter. He had ways to make her submit. Resistance, after all, only made the game more satisfying.
While picturing her inevitable reaction, he spoke softly, dangerously:"If it won't go in your mouth…""…then I'll just have to put it in your other mouth."
"What do you say, Princess Senju?"
He'd found her weakness and knew how to press it. Lower the bar just a little more, and she would step over it herself.
As he expected, Tsunade faltered. Her eyes shut in reluctant surrender, her voice weary but melodious."No… I'll use my mouth."
"Once I do… you have to keep your word."
"Don't worry," he said smoothly. "As long as you obey, I won't hurt you."