The classroom buzzed with nervous energy as Moriko dropped a lacquered wooden box onto the demonstration table with a decisive thud. "First missions," she announced, her crimson nails tapping against the lid. "Every kunoichi draws her assignment today—no trading, no complaints." Her gaze lingered on Himari's still-fading cane marks before sliding to Sakura's white-knuckled grip on her desk. "Ino. You're first."
Ino's chair scraped back with deliberate slowness, her chin high even as her fingers trembled reaching into the box. The parchment crackled as she unfolded it—her breath hitching at the bold red stamp marking it Rank B. *Seduce and extract intel from Stone shinobi during bathhouse encounter. Minimum two targets. No killing.* The room's temperature seemed to spike as Moriko's smirk widened. "Ah, the Yamanaka specialty—mind and body manipulation. Report to Interrogation for pheromone training at dusk."
Hinata went next, her small hands vanishing into the box up to her wrists. The characters on her slip swam before her eyes—Rank B, *Serve as pleasure attendant for noble delegation. Full penetration required. Chakra suppression seals mandatory.* A drop of sweat trailed down her neck as Moriko plucked the paper from her grip. "Hyugas always draw the aristocrats," she mused, tapping the mission scroll against Hinata's flushed cheek. "Their Byakugan makes them *exquisite* at anticipating needs."
Sakura's turn came with a stomp that made Naruto jump in his seat. Her mission slip unfolded to reveal *Infiltration: The Bloody Mist's Pleasure Quarter** * Moriko's laughter was a knife dragged along glass. "Haruno... you'll be *very* popular." Sakura's fist crumpled the edge of the parchment, her healing glow flickering dangerously pink between her fingers.
When Himari stood, the whispers died instantly. The box's interior felt strangely warm as her fingers closed around a slip—Rank A, stamped with the Hokage's personal seal. *Serve fire noble embassy as ambassador's pet. Extreme sadomasochism protocols authorized. Mission duration: 2 weeks.* Moriko's fingers snatched the scroll before Himari could react, her smirk turning feral. "Oh, *little rabbit*... you'll learn why we call pain the fifth element."
Tenten's slip fluttered to the floor unread—Rank C, *Weapons maintenance via genital stimulation. Servicing armory staff nightly.*
Moriko clapped once. "Missions begin at midnight. Dismissed."
Himari's fingers found Sakura's wrist under the desk—their pulse points aligning like a silent countdown.
Ino's mission
Ino's mission briefing came at midnight, delivered by a masked ANBU operative who smelled of iron and bitter herbs. The scroll pressed into her palm bore the crimson seal of Special Operations—reserved for missions requiring psychological infiltration and full sensory compromise. She unfurled it under the flickering lantern light, her pulse stuttering as she parsed the details: *Infiltration Target: Two Stone jōnin, border patrol veterans. Primary Objective: Extract supply route schematics for Hidden Earth outposts. Secondary Objective: Assess sexual stamina thresholds for future interrogation protocols.* The ANBU's fingers brushed her wrist as he handed her a vial of pheromone oil. "Apply behind the knees and earlobes," he murmured. "Their chakra will synch with your arousal cycles within ten minutes of skin contact."
The bathhouse steamed with the mineral tang of hot springs, the air thick enough to mask the tremor in Ino's fingers as she untied her yukata. Her first target—broad-shouldered, with a jagged scar bisecting his collarbone—leaned against the rinsing basin, his gaze tracking the way the silk clung to her damp thighs. "Yamanaka," he drawled, thumb rubbing the clan crest branded on her inner wrist. "Heard your kind fuck with their minds." Ino arched into his grip as he pulled her against him, the coarse hair of his chest scratching her nipples through the thin fabric. Her chakra threads pulsed at her fingertips, poised to slip into his tenketsu points the moment his guard dropped. "Only if you're lucky," she breathed, rolling her hips against the hardness pressing into her stomach.
His companion's teeth grazed her shoulder blade—a warning nip that sent her chakra spiking in reflex. The second Stone shinobi was leaner, his fingers calloused from weapon drills as they slid between her thighs. "Tight for a mind-fucker," he growled, two fingers thrusting into her without preamble. Ino gasped, her knees buckling as her nails dug into the first man's shoulders. Perfect. Their chakra flared in response to her pain—just enough dissonance for her mental probes to slither through the gaps in their defenses. She tasted iron and loam—memory fragments of border patrol rotations flickering at the edges of their synapses.
The first man twisted her nipples—hard—as his companion's fingers curled inside her, hitting the spot that made her vision white out. Ino leaned into the pleasure-pain, her chakra threads weaving deeper into their nervous systems. Supply routes materialized in her mind's eye—hidden paths through Earth Country's ravines marked by coded blazes on canyon walls. She bit her lip to stifle a moan as the second man's thumb found her clit, rubbing rough circles that sent her hips jerking forward. *Focus*, she reminded herself, even as her thighs trembled. Every gasp, every shudder was data—their responses catalogued for Konoha's interrogation archives.
The first man bent her over the rinsing basin, his grip bruising as he yanked her hips back. His cock pressed against her entrance, the head catching on her folds as he chuckled at her whimper. "Mind-fuck this," he taunted, sheathing himself in one brutal thrust. Ino's scream dissolved into a choked gasp—the pain searing through her pelvis as her chakra threads latched onto his amygdala. His memories flooded her: midnight rendezvous with Earth couriers, the scent of damp parchment as maps changed hands. She clamped down around him, her inner muscles fluttering in the rhythmic pattern Moriko had drilled into her—two quick pulses, aThe Stone shinobi's thrusts faltered as Ino's chakra coiled around his synapses—her technique syncing his pleasure centers to her pain, each sharp snap of his hips now feeding her intelligence instead of his dominance. She gasped against the wooden basin, tasting his memories like stolen wine: hidden outpost coordinates, patrol weaknesses, the way Earth's border guards always looked left first. His companion's fingers tangled in her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat—just as planned. Ino's lips curled in a smirk only the steam could hide. Konoha's best interrogators never needed tools. Just flesh.
The Stone shinobi's grip tightened as Ino arched beneath him, her body shuddering with the aftershocks of his climax—and the stolen intel now seared into her mind. His companion's chuckle was rough against her ear, fingers twisting in her hair as he pressed a kunai to her throat. "Clever bitch," he murmured, dragging the blade down to trace her collarbone. "But we know what Yamanaka do with their mouths." Ino's breath hitched as his other hand slid between her thighs, slick with her own betrayal. The bathhouse steam clung to them like a second skin as he hissed, "Now let's see what you swallow."
The kunai's edge bit into Ino's thigh—not deep, but enough to draw a thin line of blood that mixed with the bathwater swirling around their legs. Her gasp turned into a choked laugh as she locked eyes with the Stone shinobi, her chakra already coiling around his wrist like a venomous vine. "You first," she whispered, and the man's pupils dilated as her memories flooded his mind—not secrets, but the visceral recall of every kunoichi's training session where they'd learned to *enjoy* the blade. His kunai clattered to the floor just as his knees gave out, his moan drowning in the steam.
The Stone shinobi's companion lunged, but Ino was already moving—her heel hooking behind his knee as she twisted, using his momentum to slam him face-first into the steaming water. His thrashing sent waves sloshing over the tiles as she pinned him down with her body weight, her lips brushing his ear. "Tell your Hokage," she murmured, "Konoha's flowers have thorns." His choked scream bubbled beneath the surface as her chakra ignited his nerve endings—a final gift of pleasure so sharp it felt like death.