I reached down and cupped Mebuki's tits for the first time. I hadn't gotten the chance last time, too busy railing her from behind.
They were modest and soft. Breasts that had fed a child and then spent years slowly surrendering to gravity. They weren't perky like a kunoichi's—no chakra reinforcement, no muscle tone to keep them tight—but they had weight to them. Warmth. I squeezed gently, feeling the give of her flesh, the way her skin dimpled under my fingers. Her nipples were already hard, pressing into my palms.
Mebuki giggled, a girlish, high-pitched sound that clashed horribly with the faint crows-feet crinkling around her eyes.
"Oh, my..." she cooed, arching her back to push her chest further into my hands. "You finally noticed them? I was beginning to worry your eyes were only for the... what is between my legs."
She shifted on her knees, the wet stain beneath her spreading slightly as she adjusted her position. Whether it was to give me better access to her tits or just to get closer to my cock, I couldn't tell. Probably both.
While stroking my shaft with both hands, she leaned in and started peppering it with kisses, her red lips pressing wet, sloppy smooches along the base and the underside and along the bottom half. The parts she hadn't been able to fit in her mouth. Each kiss left a fresh red mark, her lipstick painting my cock like she was signing her name on a masterpiece.
"Mmm..." she hummed softly, her eyes fluttering shut as I kneaded her breast, my thumb brushing over her areola. "So strong... even your hands are mmm... exceptional..."
I twirled my fingers around the sensitive skin of her areola, watching her shiver. I found the hardened nub of her nipple and pinched it.
She gasped, her grip on my cock tightening reflexively. But it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.
I pinched harder.
"Ah!" She jolted, but the maso she was, she also moaned, her hips bucking forward involuntarily. "Eishin-sama, that—mmm—that's—"
I pinched harder still, twisting slightly.
"Nngh!" Her moan came out strangled, breathy, laced with pain but not pulling away. "It—it hurts! It hurts…. but—oh—"
I pulled. Hard.
Her back arched, her mouth falling open in a silent scream before sound finally caught up. "Ahhh!" She clenched down on my cock with both hands, her thighs trembling. "It—it hurts—but—heavens—you're so aggressive with it— It's like you're trying to—Ahh!"
I couldn't pinch any harder without actually damaging her, so I held the pressure steady, watching her face contort—pain and pleasure blurring into something indistinguishable.
Then I let go.
Her nipple snapped back into place, redness blooming on her pale skin. She let out a long, shuddering sigh that sounded far more like disappointment than relief.
I internally lamented that this was why masochists were so fucking tricky. You couldn't punish them the normal way. Pain was just another currency, and they were rich with it. The ones with oversized egos were even worse. They'd reframe the hurt as validation, proof that they were special enough to endure it.
Mebuki licked her lips, then looked down at her abused breast with a dazed curiosity, as if trying to calculate the value of the bruise forming there. She touched it gingerly, wincing slightly, like she couldn't quite understand why the pain had felt so good.
Interestingly, she hadn't figured out she was a masochist yet. Understandable. Her husband was a wimp, and she had faced no one who would roughen her up good.
Then she looked at my hand, grabbing it with both of hers to inspect the calluses on my palm.
"Ahh... your hands… they're like iron." Her voice was hushed, awed. "How terrifying... how much strength you carry in just your grip."
Before I could respond, she pressed my hand back against her breast, forcing me to cup it again.
"A man of your standing shouldn't have to stop," she breathed, her smile widening, lust distorting the aging lines around her mouth, making her look almost feral. "Shouldn't have to be gentle."
I unconsciously squeezed harder, rougher, and she gasped, arching into it.
"Ahh—yes—it hurts, but—mmm—it's a grand sort of pain." Her breathing quickened, her words tumbling out faster now. "So much better than those soft, pathetic touches of civilian men like Kizashi. It feels... expensive. Like I'm being marked by someone who actually matters."
Expensive pain. Fuck me. She really was out of her damn mind.
Her gaze dropped back to my cock, and she nuzzled her face against it, pumping the shaft with one hand before the other joined in. She released my wrist, letting me fondle her tit on my own now, and murmured, "Mark me, Eishin-sama. Leave your claim on my skin while I take care of this magnificent blade of yours... and extract every last drop of your precious essence."
I was both intrigued and completely fed up at this point.
I let go of her tit, my hand shooting up to wrap around her throat, sliding up to clamp onto her jaw. I forced her head back, dragging her face away from my crotch. She resisted for a split second, trying to stay attached to her new favorite toy, before the pressure on her jawbone forced her to look at me.
Her expression was dazed, red lips swollen and wet, eyes glazed with lust.
"What could a weak, old, cheating slut like you possibly know about handling a man like me?" I sneered, keeping my voice low and dangerous.
Flash of offense. Her eyes narrowed, the 'Keren' inside her bristling at the insults 'old' and 'weak.' But then her survival instinct—or her fetish—kicked in. The indignity melted into a sycophantic, lust-tainted smile.
"I may be getting older," she said, the words clearly tasting bitter in her mouth, "and perhaps I lack the... brute strength of your usual company—heavens know I can't contain you on my own. But honey, you'll learn that I'm not like most women." She reached up, her fingers trailing delicately over the hand I had clamped on her face. "I know how to endure. I can handle a great shinobi's fire better than some little girl. I may not be able to hold you forever... but I will surprise you."
Oh, would you look at that, the delusional woman had some self-awareness in her.
I stared at her for a long moment. She looked horrific and erotic all at once.
Her face was a disaster. Mascara streaked down her cheeks in uneven lines. Foundation was smudged and patchy, revealing the faint crow's feet at the corners of her eyes and the deeper lines bracketing her mouth. Spit glistened on her chin. Lipstick smeared across her cheek and lips, painting her like a used whore. And yet, that smug, self-important smile persisted.
Eventually, she couldn't handle my stare. Her eyes flicked away, her confidence wavering slightly.
"Is that so?" I muttered. "Hands behind your back."
The housewife blinked, then a flush rose on her neck. She giggled—breathless and giddy, like a schoolgirl being told a secret. "My, my, Eishin-sama, so commanding. I do love a man who knows what he—"
I shoved her head down onto my cock, cutting her off mid-sentence.
"Gmph!"
Her eyes bulged as my dick plunged past her lips, past her teeth, straight into her throat. I didn't stop. I didn't ease in. I went all the way, the head of my cock hammering against the back of her throat.
"Hrk—gaaaagh!"
She gagged—hard—her body seized up as her throat rejected the intrusion. Her hands flew up instinctively, slapping against my thighs to push herself away.
I grabbed her hair and held her there.
Her throat spasmed around me, tight and wet and desperate, saliva flooding her mouth and spilling out over her lips. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the ruined mascara.
I pulled her off.
She gasped for air, coughing and sputtering. "W-wait—you can't agh… Eishin-sama—you have to warn me when you—"
I slapped her across the face.
Not hard. Not nearly as hard as I'd spanked her ass. Just enough to sting. Just enough to shock.
The sound cracked through the room.
Mebuki froze. She knelt there, chest heaving, one hand hovering near her stinging cheek. She looked up at me with the same wide-eyed, uncomprehending look Sakura had given me in that alley.
"What did I tell you about those hands?" I growled.
"I..." Mebuki stammered, her voice small, trembling. She looked at her own hands as if they had betrayed her, then back at me, her green eyes wide and watery. "I was just... I didn't mean... How dare you—" She cut herself off, the automatic indignation of a civilian wife dying in her throat as she remembered exactly who she was kneeling in front of. "I... you can't just, who do you— that was not…."
She didn't even know what to say.
"Let's try that again," I said, my voice dropping into that command tone that usually made genin back at the Academy stiffen and salute. "Hands behind your back."
That seemed to work just fine with her as well. Her hands moved immediately, snapping behind her spine even as her mouth kept running. "I—Eishin-sama, you can't just—this is not right, you can raise your hand— nobody has ever—I mean, I am a respectable wife, not some alleyway—gack!"
I'd heard enough. I slammed her head down, driving my cock straight into her throat before she could finish that lie.
The sensation was obscene. The inside of her mouth was a chaotic mix of hot velvet and too much saliva. I could feel the ridge of her hard palate against the head of my dick, and the fluttering panic of her uvula. It was so fucking good.
The wet, choking sound filled the room. Her throat spasmed again and again, tight and convulsing, rejecting the intrusion with every fiber of her being. Spit flooded her mouth, spilling out over her stretched lips and dripping down her chin. Her eyes went wide, watering instantly, tears mixing with the smudged mascara already streaking her face.
She tried to bring her hands forward instinctively to push me away, to protect herself, but she stopped herself. She gripped her own wrists behind her back, twitching, forcing herself to submit to the intrusion.
"That's it," I said, my voice low and rough. "Keep those hands where they are. Relax your jaw. Open your throat. Let's see if your words were just hot air or if you can actually back them up."
The housewife's indignant response came out garbled and wet—"Mmmmph!"—but the glare she shot up at me was sharp. She looked more offended that I'd challenged her bravado than upset about the phallic object currently occupying her airway.
Unbelievable.
I threaded my fingers through her blonde hair, grabbed a fistful, and started using her head like a fucktoy.
I didn't ease in. Didn't build up. I just fucked her throat—bottoming out carelessly, over and over, the head of my cock hammering the back of her throat with every thrust. I used just enough force to overwhelm her without actually hurting her, but I wasn't gentle. The sound of her gagging filled the room—wet, obscene, punctuated by choked gasps whenever I pulled back just enough for her to snatch half a breath.
She should have hated it. A vain, status-obsessed civilian should have been revolted.
Instead, Mebuki Haruno seemed to welcome it.
Her eagerness resurfaced, tackling the abuse like she was starving for it. Her tears were flowing freely now, tracking through the ruined landscape of her foundation, but she started meeting my thrusts. When I pushed, she leaned in. When I pulled, she chased.
It was in the subtle things. The way she flattened her tongue to give me more room. The way she timed her breath—short, desperate inhales through her nose on the upstroke—to maximize her endurance. She hollowed her cheeks on the pull-back, creating suction. She tilted her head slightly on the next thrust, angling her throat to take me deeper.
She was learning and adapting in real time.
By all rights, this should have delighted me. A woman this eager to choke on my cock, so shamelessly willing to endure degradation, was a gold mine. I should be enjoying the ride.
But this was Mebuki. And the sensations of her throat—tight, wet, massaging—were pushing me dangerously close to the edge.
I couldn't just cum. Not yet. Because of her.
She was a repressed, desire-starved, delusional housewife. I was the one supposed to be fucking her. Dominating her. Showing her the real meaning of pleasure. Not the other way around.
I gritted my teeth, grabbed her hair tighter, and shoved my length as deep as her anatomy would allow. I held her there.
Her reaction was immediate and nasty. Her eyes bulged, veins popping in her forehead. Her throat clamped down on the head of my cock in a violent spasm, milking me against her will. She started to shake, her knees vibrating against the floor, her body fighting for oxygen.
She tried to massage my dick with her throat muscles, but the lack of air turned urgent fast. She was a civilian weak. Her lungs lay empty.
She started coughing around my shaft, spit flying, bubbling at the corners of her lips. The wet heat of her struggling throat was dangerously stimulating, sending electric shocks straight to my groin.
Then, finally, she did what I expected.
She tapped.
She broke her posture, bringing her hands around to shove frantically at my thighs.
I was close. So close.
I let her go.
She ripped herself off my cock, and collapsed forward, bracing herself on my legs, hacking and wheezing. A long string of saliva connected her lip to my cock before breaking and landing on her chin. She looked wrecked; mascara streaked, foundation smudged, lipstick smeared across her chin and cheeks.
"Ah! Nngh..." she rasped, her voice raw and abused. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing lipstick across her cheek. "You're so... careless with me. Do you have — cough— Do you have any manners? Treat an older lady like... like livestock..."
I raised my hand.
She flinched back, her eyes widening. A nervous, crooked smile spread across her face. "You—you wouldn't hit a lady, would you? A man of your rank knows when a point is made..."
"What do you think?" I asked flatly.
She just sighed, then looked at my cock with an almost mournful expression.
"I felt you then," she murmured, her voice dropping to something softer, more intimate. "You were so close. If I'd just held on a little longer..." She mumbled under her breath, barely audible. "I could have reaped my reward... if only..."
Then, to my absolute stunning disbelief, she turned her cheek to me.
Just like that. Offering it.
I stared at her for a moment, genuinely astonished. This woman was crazy. All masochists were a little unhinged, but this...
I slapped her.
Her head snapped to the side. She immediately brought a hand up to caress the reddening skin, her eyes gleaming with that terrifying mix of pain and satisfaction.
"Oh! It stings," she hissed, glaring at me with faux-anger that barely concealed her arousal. She leaned forward, breathing hard directly onto my crotch. "You'd better make it up to me, Eishin-sama. You owe me now. Fix this..." She leaned in close to my cock, her breath hot against the slick skin, and whispered directly to it. "By releasing everything you have... all over my face. Don't you dare hold back."
I scoffed, but I opted to play on her ground. "You've got no ground to make demands, Mebuki. So far, all you've done is talk. If you want my cum, you're going to have to earn it. And frankly? You've been disappointing so far."
I was being a bit salty, I'll admit. But I really was running out of options with this hungry little milf.
I put my hand on her head.
I didn't even have to order her this time. Mebuki immediately swept her hands behind her back, interlacing her fingers, exposing her chest and throat completely. It was obscene—how willingly she submitted, how eagerly she offered herself up to be used. The vulnerability of it, the total surrender of her defenses, sent a spike of dominance through my spine that nearly hardened me to the point of pain.
I started face-fucking her again, as rough as she could handle.
And that was when I realized I had underestimated Mebuki Haruno.
She didn't just get used to having a dick in her mouth for the first time. She got better. I felt the barrier at the back of her mouth yield. She opened her throat wider, relaxed her jaw further, and took more of me with each thrust. Her tongue worked overtime, stroking the underside of my shaft every time I pulled back.
Fuck.
She was a natural. A masochist with drive.
I'd wanted to put her in her place using something she had zero experience with, something she should have found revolting. But I was the one losing now.
And she sensed it too. That proud, smug look returned to her eyes—even as she gagged, even as spit poured down her chin, even as her face turned red and blotchy.
With my back against the wall, I resorted to the only move that had worked on this dumb maso-bitch. I plugged her throat and cut off the air to her lungs.
That move got her cheek slapped twice more for bringing her hands up.
But on the third try... she stopped fighting.
She wasn't giving in. She wasn't tapping. Her face was turning a shade of violet-blue, her green eyes rolling back in her head, yet she kept her hands strictly behind her back. She was letting me suffocate her with my dick.
And the freak she was, she loved it.
I felt her body shudder violently, a full-body seizure of pleasure. Below us, a fresh wave of fluid soaked into the hotel carpet as she squirted again, her thighs clamping tight. The intensity of her throat convulsing around me—clamping down like a vice grip in her death throes—made my dick throb so hard I saw stars.
I was about to cum. I was right there.
That level of submission, that willingness to die just for pleasure, made my cock throb so hard I nearly lost it right there.
But a sliver of conscious thought whispered that if I unloaded down her throat while she couldn't breathe, she might actually die.
I swore and yanked her off my dick with everything I had.
She collapsed forward, coughing violently, gasping for air, spit and drool pouring from her mouth. Her body convulsed as she hacked and wheezed, trying desperately to fill her lungs while her mind was still flooded with pleasure.
"No..." she rasped, her voice barely audible. She nuzzled her face against my softening dick, trying to take the head into her mouth, but her lips were too slippery, her strength gone. Her hands, funily enough, stayed behind her back. "No... I was... so close... my essence... I almost... had it..."
She looked like a junkie going through withdrawal. She kept mumbling, broken and incoherent. "So close... you shouldn't have... stopped... I need... I need..."
She pressed her ruined face against my cock, smearing spit and tears across the shaft.
I stared down at her, flabbergasted. This was what she was thinking about? After nearly dying from asphyxiation? She really was lost, and when the fuck did she unlock a cum fetish?
I put my hand on her head and sighed hard. Then I patted her gently, almost fondly.
"You," I said slowly, genuinely at a loss. "are the craziest goddamn woman I've ever met."
She looked up at me from my crotch, slowly a proud smile spreading across her wrecked face.
It was a picture of total ruin. Her hair was a bird's nest. Her face was an abstract painting of smeared makeup, tears, snot, and spit. She was kneeling in her own fluids, red handprints on her face and tits, her dress discarded in the corner. She was kneeling, naked, hands still locked behind her back, her face leaning against my crotch.
No dignity of a mother. No pride of a wife. No respectability of a mature woman.
She was just a greedy and needy slut.
And she looked so fucking proud of it.
"You loved it," she rasped, her voice hoarse but smug. "I saw it in your eyes….. I felt it in your member….. You were going to cum. So why did you stop? Why deny us both? Don't hold yourself back, Eishin-sama. Give me what I earned."
I sighed again.
Masochists really were hard to deal with. The ones with oversized egos and obsessions, even worse.
At least I hadn't lost to her. I just... hadn't gotten her where I wanted her yet. That's all.
I didn't think I could handle losing to her. She wasn't Kushina, after all.
"Is this a trait of Haruno women?" I mumbled under my breath, almost to myself. "Forgetting their place?"
Mebuki perked up at that. Her smile grew sharper, predatory. She hummed, a vibrating sound in her chest, and stroked her cheek against the side of my shaft.
"It seems," she purred. "You've given some thought to Sakura. She wouldn't handle this as well as I did, of course. The girl lacks discipline. Lacks refinement. But she's still young. She has a good head on her shoulders. She could learn. She is my daughter after all. If you….. married her, Eishin-sama, you could remove her from that useless and dangerous kunoichi work she's wasting her time on. She could become a proper wife. A proper woman. If she learns to serve you half as well as I do... imagine the dynasty you could—"
I didn't know what to think of that.
I didn't have to.
The daughter burst out of the closet, flushed and furious.
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