Chapter 25 - Chapter 24 : Why this is such a drug - Part  2

Primetime: Chapter 24 

Welcome to Chapter 24 of Primetime. Sorry for long long delay.

Tags: Uzumaki Kushina, MILF, Corruption, Cheating, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism

Discord server (Sublime Vectors) invite code: nm8hVrk7zr

Well, here it is, and I hope you all like it.

Thank you to my Discord server members for their valuable feedback and suggestions. I hope you like some of them being taken into account.

If you liked the chapter, kindly take a minute of your time to leave a review. They help me and encourage me to write the next chapter.

Posted on: Dec 25 2025

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Chapter 24 : Why this is such a drug - Part 2

Jiraiya leaned against the frame of the sliding door, camera cradled in his palm, the faint red glow of the recording light still steady on the tripod behind him. He had expected to be giving constant instructions, to guide her every movement the way one might direct a nervous amateur. Instead, he found himself doing little more than watching.

'I can't believe this is the same woman who was complaining about modesty just a couple of days ago,' he thought, a wry twist pulling at his lips. 'There might be some truth in what that Shiro guy said about her. She's got a fire, and it just needed the right spark.'

He shook his head once, eyes narrowing as though to chase the thought away. 'Damn… does her husband even know what kind of show she is capable of putting on? Well, who am I to say what they like behind closed doors, but if he doesn't, he is missing out on something rare.'

Then through the translucent glass of the washroom, he caught sight of her silhouette. The faint outline of the redhead moving under the spray of water was blurred, but it was enough to stir his blood again. He reached for his camera. He knew it would not capture anything clear, yet he raised it and clicked a few shots anyway, just for the thrill of it.

'This is sexy as hell,' he thought, the corner of his mouth twitching. The sound of the shower mingled with the faint click of his camera. Her figure shifted, a hand moving to smooth over her stomach, then up along her chest as she tilted her head back beneath the stream. Even through fogged glass, the gesture was alluring. He snapped a few more pictures, each click, a secret indulgence, his eyes glued quietly to the blurred but tempting figure of the woman under the shower. Soon it was over as he saw her moving behind wall possibly for a towel,

The sound of water shutting off cut the silence. Jiraiya straightened, gripping the camera tighter. A faint creak of the sliding washroom door followed, then the slow reveal of Kushina.

She stepped out barefoot, steam curling behind her in tendrils. Her wet red hair clung in glossy ropes to her shoulders and back, rivulets of water dripping from the tips and running in thin trails down her skin. The towel she had chosen was the smaller one, its edge barely covering the tops of her thighs. It started just above her breasts, the swell of her cleavage pressing the cotton outward as if ready to pop free with the smallest slip.

Jiraiya's eyes widened despite himself. Tiny beads of water had gathered between the valley of her breasts, trickling down, sliding lower until they disappeared beneath the thin towel. His throat tightened.

Kushina's violet eyes flicked to him, and in that instant she felt the absurdity of it all.' Oh my… I'm standing like this… dripping wet, barely covered, and I'm about to do a shoot like this. Her heart kicked against her ribs, the thought teetering between shock and thrill.'

Jiraiya's mouth parted slightly before he caught himself, snapping his lips shut and forcing composure back onto his face. "Damn… you are one hot woman."

The words came out rougher than he intended, reverent and edged at the same time.

Kushina sputtered, caught between indignation and embarrassment, but the heat blooming across her cheeks betrayed her. For a moment she shifted the towel higher against her chest, fingers curling at the fabric as if to hold it tighter. Then, almost as quickly, her lips curved into a small smirk, her violet eyes gleaming.

"Careful, Jiraiya-san," she said softly, voice light but threaded with mischief. "You'll make me think you're forgetting this is professional."

Inside, her thoughts swirled hotter. 'Hot woman…He really said that. Just outright…. And here I am enjoying this. Kami, When was the last time I acted so cheeky with some more than Minato?'

Her smirk lingered, daring him, testing him, even as droplets slid from her wet hair down into the hollow of her collarbone and the damp towel clung tighter to her curves.

Jiraiya cleared his throat, rolling his shoulders back to shake off the raw edge in his voice. He forced the camera strap higher against his neck as if that simple motion could anchor him back to professionalism. "Well… what can I say, Kushina-san," he drawled, though his grin betrayed him. "You are one hell of a woman, and I'm not a monk to pretend otherwise. I'd be lying if I said I didn't notice." he spoke, eying her up and down again much to her hidden delight.

Her blush deepened at the bluntness, hot and swift across her cheeks. She opened her mouth to answer, but only a soft breath slipped past before she pressed her lips together. The sheer honesty of his words rattled her more than the cameras pointed in her direction. "Do you say to every woman you shoot at?" she asked not wanting to lose a war of words with him. 

As she said the towel shifted against her chest as her hand pressed it closer, but her violet eyes betrayed the storm brewing beneath her calm. She flicked a glance at his lens, then at his eyes, then back again. A small smirk curved her lips, unwilling, unplanned, but undeniably there.

"A woman worthy of my attention and of being in my photo shoot is certainly worth it. You deserve every compliment for the God-built wonder that is your body." he spoke not looking away from her 

"Careful, Jiraiya-san," she said, her tone lilting with mock-warning, the edge of play unmistakable. "You certainly know how to flatter a woman. Is that a quality that a professional in this line of work should have?"

Jiraiya's grin widened. He tilted his head, the prime lens glinting as he leveled it squarely at her. "Professional or not, Kushina… the camera doesn't lie. And right now, it's telling me you're breathtaking."

Her pulse leapt. She clutched the towel tighter for an instant, then loosened her grip as if reminding herself of the role she was meant to play. 'Kami… why do his words keep landing so deep? Why does it feel less like he's directing me, and more like he's peeling me open?'

He lifted his free hand, motioning her closer with an easy curl of his fingers. "Come here," he said, calm but coaxing. "Don't think, just move. Let me see you."

Her feet hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward. Each stride was deliberate, measured, though her heart thudded wildly in her chest. The towel clung desperately, heavy from the water still dripping down her skin. It hugged the swell of her breasts, the top edge straining to contain them, making very profound valleys, while the bottom hem ended scandalously high at her thighs, high enough that with each step it swayed, threatening to bare more.

'I must look ridiculous. Like a fish stumbling out of the sea… or a wife caught halfway between bath and bed.' The absurdity bubbled at the edges of her thoughts, yet with it came a thrill she could not suppress.' I'm walking toward him like this. Towels clinging, nothing left to imagination. And he's watching every second.'

Click. The shutter clicked. 

Click. Then again. 

Click. And again.

Jiraiya shifted, his stance widening as he crouched low, adjusting the angle of the lens to catch her movement from below. The soft hum of the video camera on the tripod filled the silence, its steady red light recording each frame. He snapped photos rapidly, then paused, lifting the camera slightly higher to frame her from mid-thigh upward.

"Beautiful," he murmured under his breath, not quite meant for her ears. "The towel's holding well enough, but your poise is perfect, Don't fix the towel. Let it cling where it wants."

Kushina swallowed, her throat dry despite the droplets still running from her hair. 'He's right. It feels like the towel could slip any second. Like one more step, one more breath, and it'll fall. And he wants that tension. He's feeding on it. Kami… so am I.'

She took another step, the towel shifting, the swell of her breasts pressing against the fabric until a tiny bead of water slid straight into the valley between them. She felt it trace downward, cool and electric, slipping beneath the edge where the towel threatened to gape.

Jiraiya's mouth parted again, and she caught it. That slip of composure. That crack in his mask. He closed it quickly, lifting the camera higher, but the damage was done, she had seen it.

The knowledge sent a shiver of power through her. 'He can't hide it. Not even him. He can't resist, and he's… undone. And I like it'

Her lips curved again, her smirk no longer hesitant but deliberate. She tilted her chin slightly, letting her wet hair slide forward to frame her face. She stopped mid-step, placing her weight onto one hip, the pose casual but laden with invitation.

"You keep staring at me like that," she said lightly, her voice low and teasing, "and I might actually start to believe you."

Click. Click.

Jiraiya lowered the camera just enough for his eyes to meet hers directly. "Then believe it," he said, his voice steady but his gaze burning. He lifted the lens again in the same breath, as if sealing away the intensity in the language of images.

The shutter's rhythm resumed, capturing the droplets racing down her thighs, the sway of the towel clinging to curves it had no business hiding.

Kushina's thoughts swirled with a dangerous cocktail of nerves and thrill. 'Minato… if you could see me now. Would you think I'm shameless? Or would you smile, proud that your wife could be bold enough to step into the lens like this?'

Another step, another click. Her towel shifted again, baring more of her thigh, creeping higher with the friction of her movements. She let it. She didn't adjust, didn't tug it back into place. Instead, she raised her chin, owning the precariousness of it, as if daring the towel to betray her.

Jiraiya captured it all, his focus unwavering, though his thoughts were a storm behind his calm. 'She's radiant. Almost like Tsunade was in front of a lens. And definitely more playful than Mei Terumi could have dreamed. And she doesn't even know it yet.'

Kushina stopped a pace before him, close enough that he could smell the faint sweetness of the shampoo mingling with the salt of her skin. Droplets still clung to her collarbone, catching the light like tiny gems. Her towel looked ready to tumble, her chest rising and falling beneath it with each breath.

Her smirk softened into something else smaller, quieter, more dangerous. 'Oh Kami… I'm really doing this. And the worst part? I don't want to stop. This is is I love it'

The shutter clicked once more, then Jiraiya lowered the camera again, his grin sharp and reverent. "Perfect, Kushina. Absolutely perfect."

Jiraiya spoke as he adjusted the prime lens, his voice calm but firm. "Alright, Kushina… now stand in front of the mirror. Like you've just stepped out of the shower. Not posing, just checking yourself."

Kushina swallowed, glancing at her reflection, droplets still clinging to her crimson hair. She lifted a hand, dragging wet strands away from her cheeks, twisting them loosely. The towel shifted with the motion, tightening around her breasts and clinging to her hips.

Click.

Jiraiya crouched slightly, angling from behind. The mirror caught her full body almost ready to pop out of the towel, her flushed cheeks, damp skin while his own lens captured the curve of her ass framed by the towel. The fabric was plastered against her, hinting more than it hid.

'He's recording me, snapping me from every angle… and I'm letting him. Just like I dreamt about in childhood of being a model, those secret daydreams I never admitted.'

Click. Click.

Her gaze lingered in the mirror, uncertain but curious. That was when Jiraiya spoke again.

"Now… pose as if you're taking a sexy selfie," he said, tilting the camera. "Don't overthink it. Natural. Like it's just you and your phone. I'll catch the rest."

Kushina blinked. "A… selfie?"

"Exactly," Jiraiya nodded, pointing toward her bag near the drawer. "Grab your phone. Click one for real if you like. Be yourself. It'll feel more authentic."

She hesitated, then bent to pick it up. The screen lit instantly Minato and Naruto smiling back at her as her wallpaper. Her breath caught. 'What would Naruto think if he knew his mother was doing a shoot like this? Would he approve? Or would he be shocked?'

Her fingers trembled faintly, then steadied as she raised the phone. She angled it toward the mirror, the towel clinging tighter across her chest.

"Good," Jiraiya said softly, snapping a frame as she lifted the phone. "Now smirk, just a little. As if you know exactly how tempting you look."

Kushina obeyed, lips curving into a playful smirk maybe real, maybe acted as she held the phone up, pretending to frame herself.

Click.

Jiraiya's lens caught the double image: her front in the mirror, towel threatening to slip, wet hair trailing, and her back from his own angle, ass framed, beads of water sliding down her thighs.

'Oh Kami… it's like two of me. Minato would see me. Then… strangers too. What would KunoichiHub say if this ever leaked? Would they call me bold? Beautiful? Shameless? Of course they would like to do things to me' The thought both terrified and thrilled her.

She snapped a few pictures and lowered the phone slowly, her chest rising and falling faster than before.

"Good," Jiraiya murmured, shifting lower, capturing the droplets sliding down the backs of her thighs. "Now bend a little… like you're looking for something in that drawer."

Kushina turned, hesitation pricking at her chest, but she obeyed. She bent forward slightly, tugging the drawer open, her fingers grazing the edge as if searching.

The towel betrayed her instantly, hiking up with the bend. Her ass pressed against the fabric, stretching it taut over her ass, the underside of her cheeks almost visible.

Click.

'Oh Kami… the towel's lifting… he can see how close it is to baring everything.' Her face burned, but she didn't stand up. Instead, she reached deeper into the drawer, her thighs shifting with the movement.

From Jiraiya's viewfinder, the shot was sinful perfection. The towel clung for dear life, but gaps formed when she leaned too far, exposing brief, dangerous flashes. His breath quickened. He lowered the camera just an inch, eyes drinking in what the lens had already caught. Beads of water trailed down the backs of her thighs, glistening in the light, leading his gaze higher.

"Be more teasing, Imagine your husband's sitting on the bed," Jiraiya said, his voice a low rasp. "You're in nothing but that towel… bending, in search of something for your underwear. You're teasing him, Kushina. Making him suffer. Take delight in it."

Her lips parted, the words striking something sharp inside her. 'Minato, on the bed… watching me like this. Seeing the towel ride up. Watching me bend… oh Kami, I'm teasing him, aren't I?'

Click. Click.

Jiraiya crouched lower, daring to angle the lens upward. For the briefest second, the towel shifted enough a glimpse of smooth, bare mound, shaven, spotless, a faint glisten betraying her arousal. His heart seized, his finger hovering a fraction too long before pressing the shutter.

Click.

The image seared onto his memory card, and onto his mind. His breath hitched. 'She's smooth. And glistening. Kami… she's aroused. Was it deliberate? Or did she not even notice? I wanna lick her'

His mouth went dry. 'This one… this is mine. My personal shot.' he though as a he saved picture of her shaven pussy saved in camera's memory

Kushina straightened without knowing, finally tugging the towel. She held them as she tightened the knot , turning to face him.

'He's filming me, capturing me. Every slip, every second. And I'm not stopping him.'

Jiraiya steadied himself, the camera warm in his grip, his voice dropping into something slower, heavier. "Now, face me," he said, eyes glinting behind the lens. "Hold the towel to your chest… and step into the role. Imagine your husband's here. Tease him. Let me see that."

Kushina hesitated, gripping the fabric tighter against her damp skin. Water still slid in trails from her hair, tracing down her collarbones to disappear into the towel's edge. Her breath caught, her violet eyes flicking to the camera lens.

'He wants me to… tease? Like I'm playing with Minato. Like I'm making him suffer. Kami… what kind of wife am I to even imagine this? And yet… my heart's pounding, and I can't say no. This is exactly right. I love this. I love to tease'

Jiraiya's voice softened, coaxing. "Don't overthink it. Just hold it. Loosen the knot. Let the fabric slip a little. Enough to make him wonder… enough to drive him mad."

Her lips parted. She drew one hand upward, pressing a finger lightly to her lips like the gesture of shushing an imagined Minato while her other hand slid down to the knot between her breasts. She pulled, not fully, just loosening it enough that the towel sagged lower, her breasts straining against it now willing to be let out in open. Droplets trickled into the valley, glistening in the warm light.

Click.

The camera froze the moment: towel clinging, cleavage bared, her finger poised against her lips like a secret she would never tell.

'Oh… I'm really doing this. Teasing as though Minato's sitting just across the room and not Jiraiya. The towel's slipping… one breath too deep and I'll spill out. This is supposed to be private but I'm am getting captured'

Jiraiya's voice grew rougher. "Good. Very good. Now… let's tease him more."

He stepped aside, twisting one of the tall lamps until its glow faded, plunging half the room into shadow. He moved again, switching off another until the only illumination came from the wall sconce above the vanity mirror. The dim golden light poured across Kushina's front, leaving the rest of the room hushed in soft darkness.

"Turn to the mirror," he instructed. "Seductively. Hold the towel wide. Let me capture your silhouette."

Her heart slammed against her ribs. "Jiraiya-san…" she whispered, startled. "You mean if I open it, I'll be…"

"Nude, I know," he said simply, lowering the camera an inch. His tone was calm, confident. "But the light will keep it soft. It will be a silhouette not an exposure, Trust me."

Her breath quickened. 'Nude. In front of him. Kami… he'll see everything. Everything. My curves, my nipples, My… . And yet… why does the thought make me tremble more with excitement than fear? This feels like… like the night I skinny-dipped with Kurenai in the sea. That rush of freedom, the exhilaration, the thrill of being seen even when you're trying not to be.'

She drew in a sharp breath, then nodded faintly, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Alright… let's see if your light can keep its promise."

Kushina turned slowly, her back to the mirror, then pivoted until her front faced the golden glow. Her fingers tightened on the towel's knot once… twice… and then, in one smooth motion, she pulled.

The towel opened like wings, spreading wide in her hands, its white expanse catching the light.

Click. Click. Click.

Jiraiya's camera drank it in. Her body, framed in silhouette, glowing with moisture, was bare until the upper thighs where the towel's corners hung, and then bare again from the curve of her waist up to her shoulders. Every contour was etched in light the arch of her breasts, the long line of her torso, the taper of her hips.

"Perfect," Jiraiya muttered, clicking faster.

'I've opened it. I'm holding it wide like a curtain, and he's snapping me bare. This isn't a wife's modesty, this is a woman flaunting herself. And… and it feels good. Too good.'

She turned slightly, as instructed, keeping the towel stretched between her hands like a veil. The shift in angle offered Jiraiya glimpses not meant for the lens flashes of full frontal through the reflection.

Through his viewfinder as he looked to the mirror, his heart skipped. As he saw her nipples flushed pink, stood proud against the golden light, her mound clean-shaven, gleaming faintly as droplets traced down over it.

He hissed through his teeth. His finger froze a moment above the shutter before snapping again. 'Kami… I can see her. Clear. Is it deliberate? Or a mishap? She doesn't even realize the mirror betrays her. Or does she?'

Click.

Kushina held her arms wide, back arched slightly, the towel a flimsy disguise. Her lips parted on a breath, violet eyes hazed in the mirror's reflection. 'I look like… like a goddess in silhouette. I should feel shame. I should cover myself. But instead… I feel powerful. Desired. Alive. This is what I had seen some models do I wonder what I look like ?'

"Turn a little more," Jiraiya said quietly, his tone reverent now. "Keep the towel stretched. Just enough to veil, not enough to hide."

She obeyed, angling her hips, her breasts now a perfect curve in the golden glow. The towel shielded parts, but only barely.

Click. Click.

'I'm teasing… tormenting. Just like he said. If Minato were here, he'd be undone by now. Would he scold me? Or kiss me until I can't breathe?'

Jiraiya lowered the camera slightly, swallowing hard. "Incredible," he muttered under his breath, before snapping again.

Her head tilted, her red hair clinging damp to her shoulders, droplets of sweat now on her skin despite being in a room with air conditioning running in full flow, running down her collarbone, disappearing between her breasts to her nipples. She shifted her grip, raising the towel higher, then lowering it again in one fluid tease.

The mirror caught every slip, every secret and Jiraiya captured them all, but he did not tell her yet.

"Perfect," he whispered again, eyes glued to the lens. "Absolutely perfect."

Kushina held the towel wide, shoulders lifted, the soft gold from the vanity light tracing her outline. The room behind her fell away into a quiet shadow. Jiraiya shot in short bursts, then slowed, adjusting the focus, then shot again. The rhythm felt like breathing.

"Hold," he said, low and intent. "Now angle your right shoulder toward the mirror. Keep the towel stretched. Look at your reflection like you are checking a secret only you know. Admire your body"

She turned a fraction. The towel stayed taut between her hands, a curtain that did not quite cover. In the glass she caught the line of her collarbone and the firm set of her jaw. Something steadied inside her.

'You are not hiding. You are choosing. There is a difference.'

Click. Click.

"Good," Jiraiya murmured, adjusting the lens, his voice carrying that hushed reverence he could no longer disguise. "Now… face the mirror again. Ease the tension in your arms, let it hang like a thin veil over you. Let the towel drop to your posterior.. I'll capture your perfect backless shot."

Kushina's pulse quickened, but she obeyed. Her arms relaxed, and the towel slid down, resting low across her hips. It draped loosely, just enough to cover what modesty demanded, though from behind it revealed the faint divide of her ass crack, the soft round of her cheeks glowing under the warm light.

She caught her own reflection in the mirror and nearly laughed at the thought. 'I'm… practically naked in front of him. And I don't even care anymore. Kami, he can see everything in this reflection. My nipples… my mound… he must see it all.'

Jiraiya steadied himself, lowering slightly for the angle. His camera snapped

Click. Click. 

freezing the image of her bare back, her towel like a ribbon framing her hips.

"Perfect," he whispered. "Hold it just like that. You're art, Kushina."

Her lips parted, a shiver running through her at the words. "Art?" she said softly, almost teasing, though her cheeks were crimson.

"More than art," Jiraiya replied without hesitation, snapping another series. "Alive. Honest. Stunning."

Her heart kicked hard. 'He really thinks that. He's not just saying it for the shoot. He's… seeing me.'

The towel shifted as she loosened her grip, baring a little more cheek, the faintest glimpse teasing at what it hid.

Click. Click.

From the mirror, Jiraiya's lens captured more than the sensual frame he promised her flushed nipples, hardened and proud, her clean-shaven mound faintly glistening under the light. He exhaled hard, snapping those too, knowing she hadn't noticed. 'Kami… these ones I'll keep. Personal. For me. At least for now hehe'

But aloud he kept his tone steady, as some one who did things like that a thousand of times. "Perfect back shot. Just a hint of reflection in the mirror to arouse interest but not exposed keeping it sensual. That's the one."

Kushina tilted her head, her wet hair sliding down her spine, the towel a flimsy shield now. Her violet eyes gleamed at her own reflection, a smirk curling her lips.

'Oh Kami, I'm really letting him see me like this… and I'm enjoying it.'

Click. Click.

"Let your chin drop slightly. Now let one corner of the towel fall down a bit. Let it be more suggestive" His smile bent. "Imagine your husband is by the door. He knows exactly what you are doing, and he cannot look away."

Kushina lowered one corner. It was nothing and it was everything. The light deepened at her waist, the silhouette lengthened, the mystery sharpened. Heat rose in her cheeks and she let it be.

'You would be watching me right now, Minato. You would not interrupt. You would just breathe and wait for me to ask you to come closer.'

Click.

Jiraiya drifted to her left, quiet as a cat. He aimed just past her shoulder to catch both reflection and reality in the same frame. The mirror gave him her face, eyes half-lidded and focused on something beyond the glass. The lens in his hand took the rest, the long line of her side, the towel flared like a white banner. 'She doesn't even realise I can see everything now or she does not care" Jiraiya thought

"Keep the towel open. Let it hide you from me, but not from the mirror."

She pivoted, fluid and sure. Her hair, still damp, slid along her shoulder blades. The towel lifted and fell with the motion, caught for a breath in the air, then stilled again in her grip. In the reflection her profile glowed. The gold light loved her.

'I wanted this when I was younger. I feel… alive. Seen. Beautiful.'

Click. Click. Click.

"Now bring the towel in, but not closed," he guided. "Gather it to the middle as if you are about to wrap up, then stop. Hold that almost."

Kushina drew the fabric inward until it became a narrow fall of white from her chest to her thighs. She pressed it lightly to herself, more symbol than cover. Her breathing eased into something deep and steady. She lifted her chin and met her own eyes in the mirror.

"Beautiful," Jiraiya said. "That is the frame."

He eased a few steps to the right, crouched for a lower angle, and took her in against the glow. The lens pulled close, then closer still, capturing the droplets beading along her collarbone, the wet hair clinging to her shoulder, the poised tension in her hands. He swallowed and steadied his finger.

"Shift your weight to your left leg," he instructed. "Let the right knee soften. Yes, exactly. The line is perfect."

Kushina followed, the shape of her body changing with the new balance, softer and more inviting. She gave a small, private smile at the reflection, then let it fade into something thoughtful. Her mouth parted, then closed again.

'Do not push. Let the moment come to you. You are the moment.'

Click.

"Now lift the towel to shoulder height, arms wide again," Jiraiya said, voice warm with approval. "We will play with cover and reveal. Open, close, open, close. Slow, like waves."

She raised the towel, exhaled, then drew it inward again, then widened. Each motion was unhurried. The fabric blurred at the edges while her silhouette stayed sharp, a pulse against the gold. He shot each pass as if it were a new chapter.

"Turn a quarter toward me," he said. "Stop. Look at me, not the mirror."

She did, eyes lifting from the glass to the lens. The look was direct and unguarded, almost curious. He felt it land.

Click.

"Good," he said, almost a whisper. "Now look away again. Imagine you hear your name from the bed."

Kushina's smile tilted. She looked past the mirror, toward where she imagined a husband would be. The air changed around her. The towel breathed with her.

'Say my name again. I am not done teasing you.'

Click. Click.

He took a long shot that held the whole scene, then stepped in for detail. The camera traced the fall of droplets along her shoulder, the line it drew toward the center of her chest, the bead that caught on the fabric and would not move. Her fingers tightened, then relaxed. He captured that too.

As Jiraiya came near the mirror he spoke "Now we snap pictures towards bed. "She nodded a towel held around her by hands"

 "Now turn towards the bed. Keep the towel behind you as if you are about to wrap it around your back. Do not wrap it. Hold it like wings."

She turned. The towel lifted and spread, framing her from behind. Her spine was a clean vertical line. The light kissed the curve of her neck and the slope of her shoulders. She held the towel out and felt for the first time like she could fly.

'If I let go, it will fall. If I hold on, I can make them wait. Waiting is its own kind of power.'

Click.

"Angle your head over your shoulder," he added. "Give me your eyes again."

She looked back, a glance that carried mischief and promise in equal measure. Her mouth curved just enough. The towel fluttered as a current of air from the vent moved through the room, then stilled.

Click. Click.

"Wrap it now," Jiraiya said, finally. "Slowly. Do not rush the fabric. Let it find your shape."

Kushina gathered the towel to her back and let it slide around her, closing the curtain in increments. The light caught on the edges, then disappeared as they overlapped. When the ends met at her front she gathered them lightly in place, not tying, simply holding, as if she might undo it again the moment someone asked.

"Take a small step toward the bed," he said. "Then stop. I will come closer."

She stepped. He followed. The lens was near enough to catch her breathing. He framed her from the ribs to the top of her thigh, then lifted it to her face and held it there.

"You are doing more than you know," he said softly. "Do you feel it."

"I do," she answered, the words barely above a breath.

'I feel like a door that is opening and closing at the same time. I feel like the water is still running even though it is not. I feel like someone is waiting for me to invite them closer.'

Click.

"Now for the playful ones," Jiraiya said, easing back into the work. "Hold the towel in front of you with both hands like you are about to present it. Lift it to cover your chest and hips. Hide and then peek."

Kushina lifted the towel and let it become a sheet between her and the lens. She raised it high enough to conceal, then lowered it by a hand's width, then raised it again, letting the light trace her wrists and forearms. She shifted her weight and bent one knee, toes pointed to the rug. A flash of girlhood slipped through the woman she had become.

"More legs," he said. "Just a touch." As he kept snapping pictures getting more view of her intimates. 

She slid one foot forward, heel lifted. The towel remained, but the shape behind it made promises. She laughed quietly, surprised by her own ease.

'Look at me playing with you. Look at me deciding how much to give and how much to keep.'

Click. Click.

"Turn your back again," he said. "Hold the towel behind you at hip height. Let the light outline your shoulders and neck."

She turned and lifted the towel. Her head dipped and she watched herself in the mirror, eyes softer now, unguarded. The room looked like a memory she would keep.

"Close your eyes," he said. "Count to three. On three, let the towel fall to your elbows and catch it again. Not lower."

She closed her eyes. One. Two. Three. The towel dropped to her elbows and she caught it, forearms folding across her middle. The fabric draped in a graceful arc. The movement was small and devastating.

Click.

"Again," he said. "Eyes closed."

She repeated it, a second time, then a third, and on the third she smiled with her eyes shut as if she had heard Minato laugh from the bed. She let that smile linger when she opened them.

Click. Click.

"Now hold it high again, both hands," Jiraiya said. "Walk toward the mirror. Step in the pool of light. Put your weight on your front foot. Tilt your head like you are listening to someone whisper your name."

Kushina walked and stopped where the gold was strongest. She shifted forward onto the ball of her foot and tilted her head. For a heartbeat she thought she heard it, the quiet call of a voice that knew her better than anyone.

'Say it again. Ask me to stay right here.'

He framed her at three distances, then put the camera down just long enough to adjust the sconce so the light skimmed her shoulders with a faint halo.

"One last run in the light," he said, voice low. "Open the towel to shoulder width. Hold. Turn a quarter. Hold. Face me. Hold. Smile if you want. Or do not. Whatever is true."

Kushina opened the towel and moved through the sequence with unhurried grace. She faced him and did not smile. She looked instead like a woman who did not need to. The lens loved her for it.

Click. Click. Click.

He lowered the camera and exhaled slowly, as if he had been holding his breath for too long. The red record light on the tripod camera still glowed, quietly doing its work.

"You were right," Kushina said, voice steady now. "The light kept the promise."

"It did," he answered. "So did you."

Jiraiya placed the camera on the dresser and took a deep breath .

"Break for water," he said gently. "Then we continue." as he quickly walked to the wash room.

Kushina tied the knot on her towel firmly, trying to steady her breath. Her chest still rose too fast, her heart thudding from the excitement she couldn't name. She stepped out of the pool of light, the gold slipping from her skin, leaving her bare shoulders in the cool shadow. She reached for the small refrigerator tucked in the corner, pulled a chilled water bottle free, and poured it into a glass.

She drank deeply, the cold sliding down her throat, grounding her, but not enough to calm the pulse racing in her chest. She set the glass down and turned back. For the first time, she noticed Jiraiya's silhouette faintly outlined behind the translucent washroom door. Her face reddened instantly.

"Did he… see me? My silhouette when I was showering?"

Her heart skipped, but then her mind whispered back. 'Not that it matters. I've already shown him more than that.'

The thought should have stung with shame, but instead a thrill rolled through her. Exhilaration replaced hesitation. Sitting now on the small stool near the vanity, she became acutely aware of how wet she felt between her thighs.

'I'm wet… what kind of woman am I becoming? But it's not like it matters, right?. It's not like I slept with him. And didn't Minato-koi say he doesn't mind if anyone looks?'

Her lips parted slightly, her breath unsteady as the thought twisted darker, until it made her thighs clench and rub together with a kind of impatience. 'Oh… how I want to touch myself right here, in the presence of another man who isn't my husband.'

-----------------------------Primetime-Reloaded------------------------------------------------------------

"Break for water," Jiraiya said gently. "Then we continue."

He turned and walked to the washroom, closing the door with a quiet click that felt louder than it should have. The hush inside pressed close. Cedar and stone, water lingering in the air, the faint scent of her shampoo still drifting like a secret. He set the camera on the vanity and gripped the marble with both hands, knuckles pale, shoulders tense.

"Pull yourself together," he muttered at his reflection. "You are here to shoot, not to shatter."

His chest rose and fell like he had been running. The mirror gave him a man older than the legend, a man with eyes he did not always recognize. He turned the tap and cupped cold water on his face. It startled him, a clean shock that cut through the heat and steadied his breath. Droplets ran down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. He welcomed the chill.

'You are not a boy. You are not a fool. You are a professional. Now is not the time' he muttered to himself

The words helped, a little. Not enough to erase the images his mind had already pinned to the inside of his skull. The towel slipping while she stepped forward. The gold light sketching her into silhouette. The quick, dangerous flash in the mirror that gave him more than he had earned. The shape of her hips, the glisten on her skin, the way her eyes softened and then sharpened like she had looked past him into a place only she could see. 

'Her big breasts with pink nipples ready to be sucked and her pussy , damn how much I wanted to lick it and then use it' 

He braced his hands on the marble and let his head hang. "Damn," he breathed, low and frustrated. "Not many women get me like that." And he had a hard on from the moment she had started undressing, and to be honest this type of shoot were his fantasies that he played from time to time.

He had shot a hundred women, maybe more. He had seen all of them, their nerves, bravado, boredom, hunger. He had learned to translate all of it into light and shadow. There had been times, more than a few, when the set did not end with a wrap. When the high of making art folded into something else once the last light turned off. He had share of fucking models into the very room after the shoots. 

He remembered a night long ago, a shoot that launched a career and a rumor at the same time. Tsunade, younger and proud, the first time she trusted him to show the world her strength without making it smaller. He remembered the way the city air had tasted on the walk back from the studio, the laugh that startled out of both of them on a stairwell landing, the kiss that had followed because it would have been stranger not to. It had been careless and perfect, and the work had still been the work. He remembered they had drunk and then they had a great fuck. 

He exhaled and shook his head. 'This is not that. This is different. She is different at least for now. I need to train her more. Now is not the time' he thought to himself.

Kushina had come to him wrapped in doubt and curiosity, and then she had opened like a door she had been holding shut for years. He had guided, but she had chosen. That line mattered. It mattered more than he had expected. He still had to keep expectations for his masterpiece on KTV and his promise to Danzo.

He turned off the tap and dried his face with a folded towel, careful and methodical, as if the ritual might leach the urgency from his skin. His gaze drifted to the corner, to a small, careless splash of black lace near the baseboard. Her panties. The ones she had dropped when she had showered.

 'I need them for the next part' He told himself they were only props. Still, the sight of them now tugged at something raw.

"I'm Professional," he reminded the empty room. "Always." As he looked at his hardened cock.

He stepped closer anyway, knee bending, hand hovering above the lace before he let his fingers close around it. The fabric was lighter than he expected, cool from the stone floor. A faint, clean scent clung to it, a wash of soap and something like salt air from the open shower. He held it for a moment that felt longer than it was 'I'm a man too and this thing is playing with my weakness.'

He drew a slow breath. It tasted of cedar and something more. He loosened his shoulders and rolled his neck. He pictured her in the mirror light, this time sans towel, looking back at the door with that half smile that said she had not decided to end anything yet.

"Damn she settled on the role so quickly as if she was born for it," he whispered. 

He closed his eyes and pictured Kushina as she had been just five minutes ago. The image didn't fade, it seared itself into his mind like a brand. That small, defiant tilt of her chin. The shy smile that she didn't even know she weaponized. The way she had clutched that towel to herself, not just as cloth but as if it were some unspoken answer to a question no one had dared voice before. She hadn't just been covering herself; she had been declaring a choice that she would decide when to cover and when to reveal, and that the rest of the world would have to adjust around her. The glimpse of her big breasts, nipples and pussy.

Jiraiya let out a ragged breath, leaning against the tiled wall of the washroom. His chest rose and fell with a rhythm that betrayed the storm building inside him.

"Damn it… I can't…" he muttered under his breath, voice low, as though confessing to the echo of the empty room.

He felt himself twitching hard against the zipper of his pants. He had been hard from the moment she had stepped out, wrapped in white terry cloth, droplets still sliding down her pale thighs. Every step of the shoot had been torture lighting, focus, framing while his cock strained, begging, throbbing with each glimpse of her skin.

'I'll lose it if I don't do this now…' His inner voice was rough, almost desperate. 'Better here than out there. Better I get it out before I can't hold back anymore.'

His left hand braced against the sink. His right hand moved quick, pulling at his fly until the zipper gave way with a sharp metallic rasp. His cock sprang free, thick and swollen, head flushed dark with blood. He gritted his teeth as the sudden release of pressure made his whole body jolt.

"Fuck…" he whispered, eyes clenching shut again.

His palm wrapped around the shaft, hot skin meeting hotter skin. He began slow, stroking from base to crown, each glide pulling a hiss from his throat.

And then came the memory. The vivid replay of that moment when he had caught a glimpse of her nude body. The flash of pink. Her nipple, small and perfect, hardened from the cool air. His mind seized on it like a starving man on food.

He imagined his lips on her, tongue flicking, teeth grazing. His free hand trembled against the sink as the other pumped faster.

"Kushina…" The name escaped him in a low mutter, almost a growl.

He sped up, each stroke harsher than the last, his hips jerking forward in tiny thrusts that matched the rhythm of his hand. He pictured her moaning beneath him, back arched, hair a wild halo across his sheets. He imagined the grip of her body around him, tight, wet, the sound of her voice breaking as he filled her again and again.

"Ahh….fuck… you'd scream for me… I know you would…" His muttering grew feverish, words tumbling out unbidden as sweat dotted his brow.

The pressure built fast, too fast. His thighs tensed, calves flexing as he leaned heavier onto the sink. The strokes blurred into frantic motion, knuckles white around himself, pre-cum slicking his palm until it drips onto the ceramic tile.

'Her moans… what would they sound like when I finally thrust into her? High-pitched? Breathless? Or would she choke it down, try to stay strong even then?' The thought pushed him to the edge.

His hand moved faster, wrist snapping, hips driving forward in rhythm. His breath came ragged now, echoing harshly off the tiled walls.

"Oh… oh fuck…" His voice cracked. His body shuddered.

The climax hit with brutal force. Thick white ropes spurted forward, hitting the inside of the commode with wet slaps. His groan reverberated low, primal, through the empty washroom. He kept stroking, milking every last drop, until the last twitch left his cock and his body sagged against the sink.

For a moment, silence. Only his heavy panting filled the space.

Then a bit of relaxation. The sharp bite of reality as he glanced down at his soiled hand. Sticky, dripping with what had been meant for her.

"Tch…" He clicked his tongue, almost scolding himself. Still, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "You did it again, old fool. Can't keep your hands off even in your own head."

He reached over, snagged the lace scrap of her lingerie from where it had been folded on the counter. The delicate fabric still smelled faintly of her. He wiped his hand clean, slow, savoring the mingled scent of her and his release. Then, with practiced calm, he tossed the soiled lace aside and turned to wash his hands under the cold stream of the faucet.

The icy water bit at his skin, dragging him back to focus. He cupped it, splashed his face, exhaled long and steady.

"Enough," he told his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were red, his grin wolfish. "It's time to finish this shoot."

Straightening, he zipped himself back up, adjusted his shirt, and rolled his shoulders. His cock still felt heavy, half-hard even after release, but his mind was steadier now. He could go back out there. He could face her again.

He gathered himself, the way he did before a difficult shot. Shoulders back. Breath in. Pause. Breath out. He collected the lace from the vanity and folded it once more, neater still. He looked down at his hands, big and lined, then at the small garment resting there.

'Set the stage. Do the job. Give her the frame she deserves. She will come to me on her own. I'm training her.'

-----------------------------Primetime-Reloaded------------------------------------------------------------

Kushina stood alone in the quiet of the suite, her face still a bit warm as her thoughts grew about excitement of shoot till now . She had wrapped the towel tighter around herself, not because she needed to, but because the pause felt deliberate and measured.

Her eyes drifted toward the washroom. The glass there was as before never was translucent and was opaque enough to soften details, but not enough to erase shape or movement.

She saw him.not clearly not completely but enough.

A tall silhouette near the sink. Then closer to the commode area. A shift of weight. One hand braced. The other moving in a rhythm that did not belong to washing or adjusting clothing.

Her breath stilled.

She did not look away.

The realization settled slowly, then all at once.

'Is he…?'

The thought sparked something sharp and electric in her chest. Not embarrassment. Not fear. Something else entirely.

Power.

A faint smile touched her lips, uninvited but welcome.

'So even Jiraiya-san could not keep himself untouched.' She felt a quiet thrill at the idea. Just the understanding that she had done this without trying. Without offering anything. Without even deciding.

She shifted her weight slightly, letting the towel loosen just a fraction, aware of her own silhouette now reflected faintly back at him. Not that he would be able to see that but it was more for herself.

Her mind flickered with possibility. He was supposed to be the legend. The professional. The one in control.

And yet here he was, undone behind glass, because of her.

-----------------------------Primetime-Reloaded------------------------------------------------------------

Jiraiya opened the washroom door and let the cooler air of the suite meet him. The room felt larger, the shadows friendly again. He crossed to the bed, placed the panties at the center of the coverlet like a note, then bent to lift the bra she had left near the chaise. He smoothed the strap and set it beside the lace, as if pairing them would make sense of the storm he had left in the other room.

"Final part for the day," he said under his breath.

He returned to the washroom for the light stand he had moved earlier, coiled the cord with practiced fingers, and carried it to the bed's left side. He set the angle to low and warm, the way that made skin glow without bleaching it. He moved the second stand two steps to the right and tilted it until the headboard caught a soft line that would cradle her instead of flattening her. He stepped back, considered the geometry, and nodded once.

'She will look at these frames one day and see herself. Not me. Not the equipment. Herself.'

The thought steadied him more than the water had.

He heard her shift, the faint whisper of fabric. She was near the vanity stool again, or perhaps at the window. He did not look yet. He wanted to be sure his hands were done fidgeting before his eyes tried to write poetry he could not afford.

He chose a lens and mounted it with a delicate twist that clicked like a lock finding the right key. He checked the battery. He adjusted the ISO down, favoring the richness of the shadows over the safety of brightness. He set the shutter a hair slower than usual. He trusted his hold. He trusted her stillness.

"Alright," he said to the room, softer than a call, louder than a prayer. "Alright."

He glanced up at last and caught only the edge of her in the mirror, a ribbon of red hair and the slope of a shoulder. Enough to make the breath catch again, but not enough to break the calm he had patched together. He looked away on purpose, back to the small rituals that made him himself.

He gathered the discarded towel from the bed and shook it once, then folded it and placed it on the chair where she could take it if she wanted it. He straightened the pillow near the headboard where her hair might fall if he asked her to lean back. He slid the bra two inches to the right so the lace would sit even in the frame when the camera glanced at the bed between poses. None of it, unnecessary. All of it right.

"Ready," he told the camera under his breath. "Ready," he told the lights. Then, finally, "Ready," he told himself.

He turned toward her and kept his voice level. "Break is over," he said, the smallest smile there for her and no one else. "If you are, we can set the last series."

-----------------------------Primetime-Reloaded------------------------------------------------------------

Jiraiya was bent over the bed, adjusting something. Her eyes caught on the items spread neatly across the covers: her bra and panties, the same ones she'd discarded earlier.

Her lips parted, heat creeping up her cheeks. 'Did he… bring them here from the washroom? Kami, he must have. He even placed them carefully like props. My panties on the bed… for his shoot.'

Her face flushed red, but she didn't question him.

"I'm ready," she said softly, steadying her tone.

Jiraiya straightened, the camera snug in his grip, his tone steady again. "Good. This will be the final part for the day." He nodded toward the garments laid out neatly across the bed. "But first go to the washroom. Wet your skin and hair again. I want you to look as if you've just stepped out of the shower… again"

Kushina blinked, then glanced toward the closed door, her lips parting faintly. "Again?"

"Again," he confirmed, tilting the lens as if framing her already. "Dress here, naturally, as if the water is still dripping off you. Don't rush. Let the towel play its part too, slipping, clinging, teasing."

Her throat tightened. A tremor stirred low in her belly, but she didn't argue. She drew the towel tighter against herself and stepped toward the washroom. The fabric brushed her thighs with every stride, heavy and damp, and each footfall felt deliberate, weighted, like she was crossing into a point she couldn't step back from.

'He wants me to look fresh from the shower again. Wet hair, wet skin… it means he'll be watching water trail over me all over again. Kami, why am I shivering in anticipation instead of resisting?'

She slid the door open, the steam-sweet air inside greeting her. The bamboo pipe shower stood waiting, water already beading along its lip. She untied the knot, letting the towel fall in a whisper to the stones, and stepped beneath the stream. Cool rivulets coursed instantly down her shoulders, plastering her hair to her back once more. She tilted her head, closing her eyes, lips parting as the droplets kissed her chest and traced downward. She eyed her pussy and saw it glisten in light.

'It feels like starting again… like giving him another first look. Except now I know exactly how much he's seeing. Maybe he's watching again' she eyed the translucent glass wall again she couldn't see anything but light from the other end. 'Maybe it's nothing' she thought.

She ran her hands quickly along her arms and down her thighs, ensuring her skin gleamed under the spray, then shut the water off with a twist of the bamboo handle. For a moment she stood there, breath unsteady, hair dripping, her nipples tightening at the touch of cool air on wet skin.

She bent, scooping up the towel. The fabric clung instantly, plastering itself against her curves as she wrapped it back around her chest. Her violet eyes lifted to her own reflection in the small mirror above the vanity, wet hair, flushed cheeks, water droplets streaming into the line of her cleavage.

Her lips curved faintly. 'Yes… this is what he wanted. And I'm giving it.'

With that, she opened the washroom door again, stepping out into Jiraiya's waiting frame, the towel dripping, her hair a river of red shining dark under the lights.

Click.

"Perfect," he murmured, his eyes pressed to the lens.

'I am not ashamed. I am choosing, this should be easier than the earlier part won't it.'

Jiraiya clicked twice before she even reached the bed, capturing her approach. She bent slightly, the towel tugging tighter across her breasts almost popping out, as she reached for the netted panties.

"Now," he said, his voice low, "face me. Hold the towel to your chest… and step into them. Let the lens see everything."

Her violet eyes widened, heat spiking through her, then narrowed into a daring smile. "Everything?" she teased softly.

"Everything," Jiraiya replied, lifting the lens to his eye.

Kushina pinched the towel to her breasts with one hand, the damp fabric clinging tight to her thighs, then bent gracefully. This time not minding if he saw more than what was needed . Her free hand slid a leg into the lace, then the other, slow, deliberate.

Click.

The camera froze her mid-motion, thighs pressed together, the lace sliding up over wet skin. Droplets rolled down her calves, catching the light as her toes flexed against the carpet. She pulled the panties higher, snugging them over her hips, the towel slipping with the movement.

'Oh Kami… I'm really letting him see this. Dressing step by step, like Minato watching. I should feel ashamed, but… why do I feel thrilled?'

Click. Click.

Through the viewfinder, Jiraiya caught her hips in lace, the snug black framing her curves, the outline of her ass defined with perfection. Her chest rose sharply, nipples hard against the towel. His finger trembled on the shutter. 'She's aroused. She has to be. She's not just following directions now, this is her.'

Kushina's gaze flicked at him through the lens, lips curving faintly. 'He knows. He sees me. And I'm not stopping.'

Click.

She turned slowly, presenting her back. The towel loosened, sliding down to her waist, baring her wet shoulders, the graceful line of her spine. Her crimson hair dripped steadily, droplets tracing down until they slipped beneath the waistband of her panties.

"Beautiful," Jiraiya muttered, his voice strained. "Don't move."

'He's seeing every drop race down my back… catching them in his camera forever. Am I… letting him keep me this way?'

She reached behind her, fingers finding the straps of her bra where he'd laid it across the bed. She slipped her arms through slowly, towel now clinging only by her grip at her chest. Her back glistened under the light, droplets catching like jewels.

Click. Click.

"Perfect…" Jiraiya whispered, lowering the camera just enough to draw breath. "You're just fucking perfect."

Her heart skipped, throat tightening at the weight of those words. 'I can't believe he's saying that. And worse, I'm believing him. I shouldn't. But I am. And I like it'

She drew the straps over her shoulders, fumbling at the clasp with slow care, as if performing for someone unseen. Her towel hung precariously at her chest, ready to slip with one wrong motion.

Click.

Through the lens, Jiraiya's mind replayed what he'd caught earlier the glimpse of her bare mound, glistening, proof of her arousal. He snapped another, trying to bury the thought, but it was there, hot and undeniable. 'She definitely knows what she's doing'

Kushina exhaled, fastening the bra at last. The towel slipped a fraction lower, exposing the upper swell of her breasts and pinks of areola. She didn't fix it. She stood there, hair dripping, body barely contained in lace and towel, eyes soft but alive.

'This is me. And I'm not ashamed.'

Kushina drew the straps over her shoulders and felt the bra settle into place. She checked the clasp with careful fingers, then let her hand fall to the knot of her towel. The fabric clung stubbornly for a second like it did not want to end the moment.

"Beautiful," Jiraiya said, lifting the camera. "Hold. Eyes here."

Click.

She turned her face to him, chin slightly raised. The softbox near the headboard caught the shine in her hair and set a warm bloom along her collarbones. She breathed in and out and let the quiet return.

'He is watching me dress. And I am letting him. Keep your head clear. You chose this.'

"Step closer to the bed," Jiraiya instructed, shifting his stance. "We will finish here."

She did as asked, feet sinking into the thick rug, towel still hooked under her fingers. Her panties were already in place, the bra neat and dark against damp skin. She set one knee onto the edge of the king-size mattress and balanced there, the towel still drawn across her front.

"Now let the towel fall," he said gently. "Not a drop. A release."

Kushina loosened her grip. The towel slid from her hands and toppled lightly onto the covers, a pale fold against the dark spread. She did not reach for it again. She let herself exist without it.

Click. Click.

"Perfect," Jiraiya murmured. "Bring your shoulders square to me. Turn just a little. Yes, there."

The lens framed her from the ribs upward. He didn't rush the shutter. He held the beat, then pressed down.

Click.

"Adjust the strap," he said. "Slowly. Like you're fixing it for yourself, not for me."

Kushina lifted her hand and coaxed the strap into place. The damp fabric tugged faintly at her shoulder, the simple action making her chest shift against the thin bra. Her nipples pressed stubbornly against the wet mesh, hard points visible through the fabric, each motion accentuating them. The intimacy of the moment startled her more than any dramatic pose had.

'Breathe. Don't tremble. Own the small things. They look truest on camera.'

"Now check the other one," he added. "Eyes to the side, as if you see your reflection."

She obeyed, turning her chin, violet eyes softened as though she were catching herself in the mirror. The light painted her throat and jaw, droplets still clinging to her hair and trickling down over her collarbone. Jiraiya drifted left, framing both the arch of her neck and the subtle swell of her breast beneath damp lace.

Click.

"Sit," he instructed. "Edge of the bed. Feet flat for a moment."

Kushina lowered herself onto the mattress, the towel sliding from her lap to the side. Now just a bra and panties. The bedding gave beneath her weight, steadying her. She smoothed a palm across her thigh, unconsciously dragging moisture down her skin, leaving a faint sheen. Her hair dripped in uneven strands, sticking to her shoulders. She tucked one behind her ear with a casual grace that made Jiraiya's finger tighten on the shutter.

Click.

"Lift your chin," he coached. "Easy. Good. Now cross your ankles."

She crossed them, the motion drawing her legs together, tightening the cling of her panties. The netted lace was nearly transparent under the lights, showing the faintest outline of her mound, damp and glistening. She felt the cling herself, but instead of shame, a shiver of excitement ran through her.

'He can see… I know he can. Through the lens, through the fabric. Kami, why does the thought make me wetter instead of ashamed?'

Click.

Jiraiya adjusted the lamp near the headboard, his movements precise, careful. He returned to her with the same absorbed intensity he gave the equipment. "One more small adjustment," he murmured. "Turn your hips toward the pillows. Keep your shoulders with me."

Kushina shifted, twisting her waist. The change pulled the lace taut across her hips, riding higher, exposing the crease where thigh met pelvis. Her bra straps strained slightly as her torso turned, nipples pushing against the wet mesh like they were desperate to be free. She felt heat rush up her cheeks but let it show in a half-smile.

Click. Click.

"Good," he said, his voice lower now. "Now stand. We'll take the last set."

She rose from the bed, toes curling against the rug for balance. Water from her hair dripped in tiny beads, racing down her spine and disappearing into the waistband of her panties. Jiraiya stepped back, lowering the camera for a low angle, then raising it to her eyes.

Click.

"Hands at your sides. Let them relax. Now place one hand at your waist. Yes, keep it there. Chin higher."

Kushina obeyed, the motion causing her breasts to lift within the bra, mesh pulling tighter across her hardened nipples. The towel still hung loosely at her hip, damp and forgotten, leaving most of her curves framed in little more than the lingerie clinging like a second skin.

'I feel like I'm parading myself for him. Every inch is bare under these clothes. Yet I'm not ashamed. I'm… thrilled.'

Click.

"Turn three steps," he said. "Stop on the third. Don't count. Feel it."

She moved slowly, each step a sway of hip, lace pulling tighter across her ass. On the third step she paused, weight settling into one leg, shoulders soft. Jiraiya caught the pause itself, that instant when decision lived in the body before it became visible.

Click.

"Now bring your hands through your hair," he said. "Not performative. Functional."

Her fingers threaded into the soaked red length, combing it back. Water streamed down over her arms, trickling into the valley of her breasts before soaking into the netted bra. The fabric turned darker, more transparent, revealing the flush of her nipples even clearer. She exhaled slowly, eyes half-lidded.

Click.

"Almost there," he whispered, voice barely holding steady. "Lie back onto the bed, but only a little. Forearms behind you. Keep your chest lifted. Look at me."

Kushina eased onto the mattress, propping herself with her forearms. The pose arched her chest, pressing her breasts upward until the damp bra barely held them. Her thighs drew together instinctively, panties clinging in a way that revealed more than they hid. She found his gaze through the lens, her breath uneven but her eyes steady.

'This feels like the part of a night when silence starts to mean something else.'

Click. Click.

Jiraiya circled for a three-quarter angle, framing her torso with care. His lens lingered on the way droplets ran over her stomach, disappearing beneath the lace waistband. He adjusted focus delicately, as though the smallest shift might break her spell.

"Now let your head tip back," he said. "Close your eyes. Not staged. Just rest."

She let her head fall, crimson hair spilling across the pillow. Her eyes closed, chest rising and falling with unsteady rhythm, nipples pressing harder against the lace with each breath. For a moment she forgot the lens entirely, lost in the hush of the room and the heat of her own body.

Click.

"Open."

Her eyes met his again, clear but smoldering with something she hadn't intended to reveal.

Click.

"Last," Jiraiya said, though his voice wavered faintly. "Sit up. Gather the towel, place it at your side. Then look down at your hands as if deciding whether to pick it up."

Kushina pushed herself upright, water still glistening along her thighs. She lifted the towel, set it deliberately beside her, and let her eyes fall to her hands. For the first time, she didn't reach to cover herself.

'This feels… intoxicating.'

Click.

Jiraiya exhaled, long and ragged, lowering the camera. The silence returned, heavy and thick, filling the corners of the suite. The steady red blink on the tripod winked out, leaving only the soft glow of the lamps painting the room in muted gold.

"That's the day," he said quietly, his voice calmer now. "You did beautifully."

Kushina's head lifted, her lashes fluttering as though waking from a trance. "That's it?" she asked softly, almost disbelieving. Her lips were slightly parted, her chest still rising and falling with the tempo of nerves that hadn't yet settled.

"For today," he confirmed with a nod. "We have more than enough." He shifted his stance, tone dropping to something sly. "I think you can enjoy the services here in this room until morning, before we depart. Gatou-san has graciously gifted us. I'm told the services are arranged so couples don't have to leave the room… that they can continue to ban…" He coughed, masking his slip with a laugh. "You know… enjoy themselves while they get to know each other."

He eyed her with a playful smirk. "Maybe we could…"

Kushina's gaze flickered to the towel draped across her thigh, then back to him. Something loosened in her chest, a knot she hadn't known she was carrying. She pulled the towel across her lap, not to hide, but as a self-conscious gesture. "Jiraiya-san?"

Jiraiya stepped back, chuckling. "I'm joking. Haha. Since you're alone here, you can stay and enjoy the services. I'll enjoy my night elsewhere." He slung the camera strap over his shoulder and made his way toward the door, a bounce in his stride.

"Thank you," she said softly behind him, her voice faint but sincere. "For everything."

He raised his hand in a casual wave, not turning back. The door of the suite opened with a muted creak, then clicked shut, leaving her in silence once more.

Kushina sat still on the edge of the bed, towel snug against her body. Her reflection glimmered faintly in the darkened window. 'A room to myself… and that bath looked heavenly, didn't it? That infinity pool was really something…'

The thought nudged her to her feet. She stood slowly, then let the towel slip from her hands. It fell soundlessly onto the carpet, leaving her completely bare. Her nipples tightened instantly in the cool air, a faint shiver running through her as goosebumps kissed her skin. Below, the soft lips of her freshly shaved sex glistened faintly in the lamplight.

"Damn… I was so aroused during that shoot," she whispered to herself, pressing a hand lightly against her stomach. The memory of Jiraiya's commands, the click of the camera, the deliberate poses each replay made her body thrum with heat.

She moved toward the washroom where the infinity pool waited, her hips swaying with each unhurried step. Her bare feet whispered across the polished floor, her red hair trailing down her back like a silken flame. She reached for the door, fingers brushing the handle, already picturing the warm water enveloping her.

What she didn't know , what she had completely forgotten in her haze was the tripod camera still standing by the bed. Jiraiya's "careless" hand had left it behind, its red light glowing steady again, quiet, unobtrusive. She had grown so accustomed to its presence that she no longer noticed it. The lens, perfectly angled, recorded every detail: the towel falling, the sway of her hips, the nude redhead glowing against the soft light before she disappeared out of frame.

The washroom door closed with a muffled thud, the sound of running water soon filling the suite.

And then, the silence shifted.

The door of the suite opened again. This time, slow, careful. A figure slipped inside, the shadow stretching across the floor as the door eased shut. The latch clicked, deliberate, and the suite returned to stillness except for the soft whir of the hidden camera and the steady rush of water from beyond the washroom door.

The intruder stood still, watching the space where Kushina had been just moments earlier. Their eyes lingered on the discarded towel, the faint warmth of her presence still clinging to the air.

-----------------------------Primetime-Reloaded------------------------------------------------------------

The nude redhead stepped onto the smooth stone edge of the infinity pool, the fading sunlight painting the sky in deep gold and rose. Below her, the horizon stretched endlessly, the ocean blending into the dusk until sea and sky were one. From the fourth floor, the drop beyond the invisible edge of the pool made her feel as though she were floating above the world itself.

The water was warm as silk, lapping against her thighs as Kushina eased into the infinity pool. The sun had dipped low in the sky, casting long amber rays over the open ocean beyond. From the fourth-floor suite, perched high above the beachside, the pool's invisible edge made it seem like the water poured directly into the sea. There was no one above her. No one below. No eyes watching.

At least, that's what she told herself.

Completely nude, she slid forward until the water reached her hips, her breasts softly bobbing in the gentle ripples. A soft moan escaped her lips as the heat that had burned under her skin during the shoot began to cool, washed away by the caress of the pool.

"Kami... this feels heavenly," she whispered to herself, her breath curling faintly as it met the open air.

The scene was beautiful, too beautiful to fully process. The orange-red haze of the sky. The ocean stretched endlessly. The reflection of her bare shoulders glistening on the water's surface. It was like stepping into a dream. Her body, still flushed from the camera's gaze, now melted into the horizon as if nature herself was claiming her. 'I missed these sunsets'

She leaned against the pool's smooth ledge, resting her elbows and staring into the distance. Wind kissed her damp hair, and her thoughts drifted freely now that no one was around.

"Kami… I was so gone back there…" she muttered, lips barely moving. "Shit, I'm pretty sure Jiraiya-san saw everything…" Her voice trailed, unsure whether to sound worried or aroused.

'Did he… see my nipples? Maybe my pussy too?' she wondered, trying to remember scenes like they were from a movie, especially scenes before the mirror . Her thighs pressed together under the water, a reflexive reaction as the thought burrowed in. She pictured him behind the camera, that ever-knowing smirk, his finger steadily pressing the shutter as she exposed herself inch by inch. And maybe… just maybe, not all of those shots were erased.

The idea lit something inside her that she didn't want to name.

"But why don't I get angry?" she whispered. "Why do I… like that?" Her cheeks turned warm again, this time not from sun or steam but embarrassment. Her fingers moved, curling at her stomach. "No. No. Think of something else. Think of Minato… I promised I wouldn't cheat on him," she said to the sky, the water, to herself.

Then, in a voice even quieter, she added, "Again." As acts with Taikin and Shiro this morning came to the forefront of her mind. The word dropped into the silence like a stone in a pond, and for a moment, everything stilled.

She was so deep in her thoughts, swirling between guilt, lust, and fantasy, that she didn't hear the faint sound of the sliding suite door. Or the quiet footsteps crossing the tiles behind her. Not until they were too close.

The voice came low and smooth, almost teasing, with a tone that sent her skin prickling.

"So… my sexy redhead who's now MILF is here."

Her heart leapt to her throat.

She turned, eyes wide, breath hitching. "You…?" she gasped, hands instinctively flying to cover herself. One arm crossed over her breasts over hardened nubs, the other snapping down to shield her most intimate spot beneath the water. Her hair clung to her damp shoulders, nipples still stiff, body completely exposed save for her trembling hands and the slight distortion of the water's surface.

Her flush deepened tenfold. Not just from being seen, but from who was seeing her.

The figure stood at the edge of the pool, the shadows casting across his frame. He was in no hurry. No surprise. As if he had expected to find her like this.

Kushina's lips parted, but no sound came out at first. Her mind raced with panic, with questions, with shame, but also something else. Something electric crawling down her spine.

"You're not supposed to be here…" she said breathlessly, the heat of her face nearly unbearable.

The man only smiled.

-----------------------------Primetime-Reloaded------------------------------------------------------------

The afternoon sun had already begun its slow descent when Shiro leaned back in his office chair, eyes glassy, hand rubbing absently along the stubble of his jaw. The air-conditioning buzzed softly, ignored, as paper lay untouched across his desk. His mind hadn't been in his work since morning.

Not since Kushina had denied him.

She had been there. In the shower. Wet. Flushed. Naked.

He had dropped to his knees in that steamy glass enclosure, heart pounding in his ears, the scent of her body driving him mad. His tongue had parted her slick folds, tasting the soft heat of her shaved pussy, his palms anchoring her trembling thighs as they squeezed against his cheeks. Her breath had hitched, her spine bowed. Her fingers had tangled in his hair.

And then, she'd stopped him.

"Not like this," she'd whispered, her voice cracking. "Not now."

Shiro had pulled back. His jaw clenched. His cock aching. His heart fucking raging. He'd listened. Like he always did.

'Why the hell did I pull away?' he thought now, slamming a report shut with a thud that echoed in the empty room. 'I was so damn close. Why did I listen to her? She was right there.'

His chest tightened as the memory bled deeper.

Watching her come undone in front of him had cracked something open, something he thought was long buried. It had dragged him back years. Back to when she was his.

Back to their teen days.

Her laughter had been louder back then. Less guarded. Her figure was just as firm even though she had become more goddess now and rawer somehow. Her appetite? Kinkier than anything he'd ever experienced. She was wild, adventurous. She'd made him feel alive. Like he was enough.

And then she had fucked someone else. A visiting streetball player from the U.S. Tall. Loud. Cocky. Covered in tattoos. She thought he didn't know. But he did. He'd always known.

And when they broke up, she hadn't cried. Hadn't begged. Hadn't even looked guilty.

It was like she had been waiting for it. Like she was happy to be rid of him.

That smile that lightness in her step after still haunted him. His life had never recovered from it. Not really.

The women who came after were placeholders. Conversations stayed at the surface. Sex was mechanical. Nothing stuck. He simply never met another woman like her again.

His family had pushed for marriage over the years. Pressed him about responsibility. About legacy. About settling down.

He couldn't. Not when he had known what he'd once had and lost. And now, after all these years, she is here. Right here.

On his turf. Walking his halls. Flashing that same smile. Wearing clothes that clung in the same way they used to. Still making his heart skip without meaning to.

His resort. The same one that used to be hers.

Back. And more stunning than ever.

'Kami, she's become even more beautiful and fuckable,' he thought, bitterness cutting through the admiration that swelled in his chest.

He'd seen the way the men looked at her, especially those spoiled brats Jin and Yami. During the wet‑shirt shoot their eyes had been glued to her, drawn in by every movement she made. Some things never changed. She still had that unintentional power over men, that quiet pull that made them forget where they were. She didn't even need to try.

They were idiots, yes, but even they had noticed how close she'd been to him that morning. The way her body leaned ever so slightly his way, how her tone softened when she said his name. The familiarity hadn't been lost on anyone. It was there, between them, an invisible thread still humming after all these years. Like her body and mind still remembered him.

But for Shiro, it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

Around five in the evening, the knock on his door came without warning. Gatou barged in as he always did, smoke already curling from a cigar he hadn't even asked permission to light.

"KTV crew's leaving tomorrow," Gatou said, lighting a cigar like the words didn't matter. "But at least I got what I wanted out of it. That redhead and Kurenai, they made this weekend memorable."

Shiro froze mid‑movement, hand hovering over the desk. "They're leaving?"

"Yup. But you know what is really happening right now?" Gatou grinned, smoke curling around his words. "That redhead? Kushina? She's doing a private shoot in the honeymoon suite. With Jiraiya, of all people."

Shiro's stomach tightened. His knuckles whitened around the edge of his chair as his boss just threw a cold water glass to him.

Gatou didn't stop talking, feeding on his silence. "You know what those private shoots mean. It's not just pictures, Shiro. You've seen how that old man operates. He gets what he wants. He ain't just taking photos. He's probably balls-deep in that redhead right now." Gatou chuckled, the sound low and grating. "Wouldn't surprise me if he brings back some very personal souvenirs for his collection. Maybe I could strike a deal with him to share what you think ?"

The words blurred after that. Shiro barely heard them. His vision narrowed until all he could see was the faint trail of smoke drifting upward and the pulse hammering at the side of his neck.

'Again' It was happening again. The same gnawing feeling that had ruined him years ago helplessness, jealousy, betrayal.

She had denied him that morning. Told him she wasn't ready. Said it wasn't the right time.

But she'd walked into a private suite with Jiraiya. The man's voice alone oozed perversion.

'No. I can't allow that,' he told himself, heart pounding.

He tried to keep his expression even as he looked across the desk at Gatou. "Really? Her?" he asked, managing a half‑smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Gatou chuckled, exhaling smoke in a lazy curl. "Yes. To be honest, I was expecting Kurenai to stay as well, but apparently she has to host her show tonight. The redhead though now that's a surprise. Who could tell she hides a spark under all that polite talk." He smirked, leaning back in his chair. "What do you think she's like with dick in her? Screamer? Moaner? What do you think her favourite position is?"

Shiro forced a grin, his jaw tight enough to ache. He knew this routine. Gatou talked this way about every model that passed through his resort, turning them into stories for his own amusement and him as the listener and accomplice to those stories.. Shiro had laughed along before. But not this time. Not when it was her. Not when she was doing it again.

"Cowgirl maybe, Maybe the kind that takes control," he said evenly. Trying to sound joking and hide the hints of truth he learned from his experience with her.

Gatou barked a short laugh. "That's one way to put it."

Shiro rose from his chair. "I'll be right back, boss. Something I just remembered."

"Go on," Gatou said, waving his cigar in lazy approval.

Shiro left without another word. His movements were too tight, too measured, every step meant to keep him from showing the rage trembling under his skin. His mind wouldn't stop replaying images of old memories colliding with new jealousy until they blurred his mind and imagined her riding with Jiraiya's cock inside her with a smirk looking at her 'You can't have this' she spoke in his imagination. 

The resort's corridors stretched out before him, lit by the gold of the setting sun. He turned a corner just as an elevator chimed open.

Jiraiya stepped out, whistling lightly, a camera hanging from his shoulder. The man looked relaxed, satisfied.

Shiro forced a smile, the mask settling over his face. "Fruitful day, Jiraiya‑san?" he asked casually.

The older man smirked, never slowing. "More than fruitful, if you know what I mean. She's quite the handful."

The doors slid shut behind him before Shiro could reply.

He stood there for a long moment, the hall around him silent except for the hum of air‑conditioning.

He wanted to scream.

'It happened again. She cheated on me again. The first time wasn't enough. She had to repeat it.' not even realising she wasn't even his anymore

He turned, rage and shame swelling, and headed toward the honeymoon suite. Toward the place where she had just given herself to someone else. Toward the woman who had once been his.

'This time,' he thought, 'I won't let her leave without knowing what she did to me.'

'No. I won't allow that', he told himself, heart pounding.