A/N: Extra chapter because I'm tired of writing smut for a month, and I want this 'arc' to end.
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SAKURA HARUNO
The slit in the closet door was narrow, but her vision had always been sharp. It was one of her best traits, alongside her impeccable chakra control and her book smarts. She was the smart one on Team 7, the mature one. She needed to look at this objectively.
In the darkness, a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
She watched Sensei's hand crack against her mother's bare, red, uh, bottom. Mom was draped over the bed, legs dangling, dress hiked up, looking nothing like the strict woman who scolded Sakura for not sitting with her knees together.
Sensei thought he was so clever, trying to provoke her with this… this display. He thought she was some fragile little genin who would burst out crying because her mother was getting a spanking? Please. This was clearly a test. A high-level psychological endurance test designed to measure her composure under extreme social stress.
She had figured him out.
If she stormed out now, she'd fail. She'd be proving him right; that she was just a child. And worse, she'd be no better than Ino. That loudmouth Ino wouldn't last thirty seconds in here without screeching. But Sakura? Sakura was different. She was mature. She was analytical. She could handle this.
Sensei's hand came down again. The sound was wet and sharp.
Her mother's body jerked, and her thighs trembled. But she didn't leave. She didn't fight.
See? Sakura thought, nodding to herself in the dark. It's proof. Sensei was right. Mom wants this. I was being selfish to doubt him.
It was a tactical assessment. Mom was clearly… releasing stress. Knowing how her mom usually was, if she wanted to leave, she would. This was consensual. It was fine.
Then Sensei's fingers vanished inside her mother, driving deep and ruthlessly.
Sakura flinched despite herself. That looked… invasive.
Sensei's fingers worked in a steady rhythm, and Mom's hips rolled to meet him. The wet, obscene sounds filled the small hotel room, and Sakura felt her face burn.
Why am I still watching?
Suddenly, her mother screamed and convulsed. A forceful jet of clear fluid exploded from between her legs, splashing across the hotel floor, the spray almost hitting the closet door.
Sakura flinched back as if she was about to get hit, her thighs clenched together instantly, a hard, involuntary snap.
What—what is that?
She stared at the wet patch on the floor, horror and recognition warring in her brain.
No. That wasn't urine.
A memory flashed, unbidden and sharp—the mission to Wave. Sensei's hand on her own behind after he'd healed her. The warmth of his chakra. And the humiliating, soaking wetness she'd felt spreading through her panties afterward.
Sakura felt her face burn hotter; her ears buzzed in shame. That was sweat! She told herself firmly. I was in shock! And—and stressed and— Adrenaline overload causes involuntary fluid release. It's a medical response. It wasn't… whatever this is.
It definitely wasn't plain arousal. That would be perverse. She wasn't like her mother, leaking all over the floor like a broken pipe. She was a shinobi. It was just biology.
Yeah…. Sakura shelved the embarrassing memory in place, it would never resurface.
Her mother collapsed forward onto the bed, gasping for air, her body twitching with aftershocks. Sensei pulled his fingers free slowly, and they glistened obscenely in the dim light.
Sakura's eyes followed the movement, transfixed.
And then Sensei stood up.
He started undressing.
Sakura's heart slammed against her ribs as he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the bandages wrapped around his chest and the hard, defined muscle beneath.
I should close my eyes.
She didn't.
He unbuckled his belt. Shoved his pants down.
And then he was naked.
Sakura's mouth went dry.
That's… that's…
She couldn't finish the thought. Her brain short-circuited, unable to process what she was seeing.
Sakura's eyes widened until they burned, and she had bumped into something while adjusting to get a better look. She had studied anatomy diagrams in the Academy library, clean, ink-drawn lines of the male reproductive system. She knew the theory.
She was absolutely not prepared for the reality. That brief glimpse through his hospital gown during her visit had done nothing to ready her for this.
It was… huge. Thick and veiny and angry-looking, pointing straight at the closet door. At her.
She swallowed dryly, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. How does that even fit? It looked like a weapon. Inner Sakura screeched something about physics, but the rest of her was frozen, staring. Would Sasuke look like that eventually? Or was Sensei just… an anomaly? A prodigy in everything?
She really should look away, but...This is just anatomy, she told herself desperately. I'm a medical student. I'm observing this clinically. For educational purposes.
Her heart was racing. Her palms were sweating. And there was a strange, hot pull low in her stomach that had nothing to do with medical curiosity.
But as she watched, Sensei moved behind her mother, positioning himself between her dangling legs. Sakura's breath hitched. Her hand drifted unconsciously to her stomach, pressing against the fabric of her black shorts.
"I… I don't remember it being quite that big," her mother breathed, her voice thick with wonder.
Her Mom confirmed it. It seemed that was indeed not a normal size for a— for a—
I need to leave. Right now.
Sensei smirked, leaning down to whisper something in Mom's ear. Sakura couldn't hear the words, but her mother's face flushed a deep red, and she let out a breathless, girlish giggle.
She sounds like a teenager. Like Ino-pig fawning over Sasuke-kun.
The thought made Sakura's stomach churn with disgust.
Sensei pressed over her mom's back, stroking his— his thing up and down. The wet, squelching sound made Sakura's skin crawl.
And then her mother pulled away.
Mom's hand shot up to Sensei's chest, not pushing him away but holding him at bay. She started talking quickly, nervously, something about waiting and being a lady and needing time.
Sakura almost felt relieved.
See? Mom's stopping this. She's coming to her senses. This is going to end now.
But then her mother's hand started wandering. Stroking Sensei's chest. Tracing the lines of his muscles.
"My goodness," Mom whispered, transfixed. "You're so strong. Kizashi doesn't have anything like this."
Sakura's free hand clenched into fists.
Don't bring Dad into this.
But her mother kept going, her voice turning dreamy and ugh!
"You're like a statue. So firm. So powerful."
Sensei flexed.
Mom moaned.
Sakura wanted to scream.
He's half your age, Mom. Half. Your. Age.
But the words stayed locked in her throat.
Sensei said something teasing, and her mother laughed—awkward and genuine—before swatting his chest playfully. Then she wrapped her fingers around his thing, giving it two tentative strokes like she was testing its weight.
Sakura's eyes widened.
She's… she's touching it.
"The proof that you're ready is all over the floor," Sensei said, his tone light and mocking.
Mom flushed deeper, embarrassment and arousal warring on her face.
And then her mom started talking, and Sakura bristled. How could she say that about Dad? It was disrespectful. It was cruel.
But… the thought traitorously whispered… is she wrong?
Dad was kind of a pushover. He let Mom stomp all over him. He never took charge. He wasn't like Sensei. Sensei was powerful. He commanded the room. He made people listen—made them obey.
Sasuke wouldn't be weak like Dad. Sasuke was strong. Cool. Handsome. Just like…
Her eyes flicked back to Sensei, to the muscles in his forearms as he held her mother down. Just like him.
If Dad was stronger, maybe Mom wouldn't be here. Mom wouldn't need to do this. Really, this was Dad's fault for not being man enough to handle a woman like Mom.
Then her mother's voice shifted, turning catty and superior. "Those masculine, hard-bodied kunoichi could never do this… too proud… too rigid… real femininity knows when to yield."
Sakura's jaw dropped. Excuse me?
Was she talking about her?
Sakura looked down at her own legs in the dark. She wasn't rigid! She was feminine! She had long hair! She wore pink! Just because she could throw a kunai didn't mean she wasn't a woman!
But… is that why Sasuke ignores me? The insidious thought crept in. Am I too rigid? Too tough? Does he want someone soft and yielding like… like Ino? Or like Mom?
No. Mom was just jealous. Jealous because Sakura actually had chakra and a career, while she just had tea parties and… and this.
To say that Sakura didn't feel vindicated when Sensei started spanking her Mom again would be a lie. He called her mother a bad wife. A bad mother. A cheating whore who'd left her family to spread her legs for a man half her age.
And with every sentence, he brought his hand down hard on Mom behind. This was why Sensei was the best. Nobody would have dared do that to Mom to teach her a lesson. Certainly not, Dad. But sensei did. Sensei was different. He even made her apologize! Sakura would swear this was the first time she heard anything close to an apology from her Mom's lips.
But something was wrong. What's wrong with her? Mom seems almost…. wanting this?
The thought made Sakura's skin crawl.
Sakura's hand pressed harder against her stomach, fingers splaying wide.
And then another thought, quieter and more insidious, slipped through the cracks.
Am I like her?
She remembered the spanking. The way Sensei's hand had felt then. The sting. The heat. The way it had hurt. She hated it then; it was humiliating, she even cried, but the memory….
No. That was different. I was in shock!
But her body was reacting now. Heat was pooling low in her belly, spreading through her limbs like warm honey. Her nipples pressed hard against the fabric of her shirt, and she shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore it.
Her hand slid lower.
Just… just for a second. Just to… to adjust my stance.
Her fingers brushed against the apex of her thighs through her shorts, and she froze.
Stop.
She pulled her hand away, clenching it into a fist at her side.
I'm not like Mom. I'm nothing like her.
But her eyes stayed glued to the scene in front of her.
Mom slumped and dropped to her knees on a pillow.
What is she doing? Sakura wondered, frowning. Is she praying? Begging?
Then her mother did something out of Sakura's imagination; she leaned forward, opened her mouth, and took— took him in!
Sakura's hand flew to her own mouth, covering a gasp.
She couldn't see well; her mother's back was facing the closet but… what the hell. People… people put that in their mouths?
She could hear her mother choking, gagging as she struggled to take the length. Drool spilled down her chin. It looked — it sounds messy and undignified.
And suddenly, the parallel hit Sakura like a physical blow.
His fingers.
Only an hour ago, Sensei had forced two fingers into her mouth. He'd pushed past her teeth, tickled her throat, made her gag and choke while he told her to be a good girl.
He wasn't training her gag reflex for combat.
He was training her for this.
"No," Sakura whispered into her palm, shaking her head. "That's… that's ridiculous. It was control training. It was vital for stealth missions."
But her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. She could practically taste the ghost of his skin. Her saliva glands worked overtime, pooling liquid under her tongue.
She watched her mother bob her head; the wet, slurping noises fed directly into the closet. But she had to admit to herself that things…. it would require training to be able to handle it. And Sakura had proven herself good at this, he even praised her so….
Sakura's other hand, the one on her stomach, slipped lower. It wasn't a conscious decision. It was gravity. It was the heat radiating from her core, demanding attention. Her fingers brushed the apex of her thighs through her shorts.
She froze.
Stop it, she ordered herself. This is perverse. You are watching your mother. You are not a pervert.
She tried to lift her hand away. She really did. But her legs were pressed tight together, grinding against each other, and the pressure felt so good it made her toes curl.
Just a little. Just to stop the ache. It was a stress response, like the wetting. She just needed to regulate her chakra flow.
Then Sensei grew impatient.
He grabbed Mom's hair and ruthlessly shoved his hips forward, burying himself deep in her mother's throat.
Sakura wondered if that hurt. It must be, that thing was so… b-but didn't fight it. She made a muffled, desperate noise, but she took it. She let him use her. She was limp, accepting, submitting.
Just like Sakura had submitted when he held her neck.
Is that what I looked like?
A strange, heavy heat pooled low in her belly, heavy and insistent. Her hand slid lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her black shorts. She shouldn't. This was wrong. This was perverted. Ino would never do something this gross.
But Ino wasn't here.
And Sensei…
Sakura stared at his face. His jaw was clenched, his neck corded with tension, head tilted back in a mask of raw, aggressive pleasure.
A spike of jealousy, hot and ugly, clawed at Sakura's chest.
Why does she get to make him look like that? She's old! She's weak! She's... she's just my mom. It's not fair.
I could do it better, the thought whispered. I have better chakra control. I wouldn't gag.
The thought horrified her, but it also sent a jolt of electricity straight to her swollen button. She directed her fingers to that sensitive place. If she focused there… it will end soon….
Smack!
Sakura jumped.
Sensei had slapped her mother. Hard. Right across the face. Her head snapped to the side, a red mark blooming on her cheek. Her eyes went unfocused, glassy with tears.
Sakura pressed her fingers harder. She didn't hear what they said, but Mom did stand, didn't leave, so she probably didn't hate it. She likes it. As weird as that is, Mom likes being hurt. Just like that spankings. It was insane, but… she trusted Sensei. He may look scary sometimes, but he was good; he would never hurt her or her mother.
But Sakura remembered the sting on her own ass. She remembered the tears. And she remembered the floaty, warm feeling that came after the pain stopped. The feeling of being small. Of being held. Of not having to make decisions because Sensei was in charge.
Am I like her? The fear was cold, but the heat between her legs was scorching. Is this genetic? Do I want him to hit me, too?
"No…mmh," she whimpered silently. "I'm not like her. I'm strong."
But she was rubbing herself faster now. She couldn't stop. The wet and obscene sounds of her mother sucking, the sharp cracks of skin on skin, the low growls from Sensei—it was overwhelming. Her hips bucked involuntarily against her hand.
Sensei slapped Mom again. Smack. And again. Smack.
Sakura rubbed faster, matching the rhythm of the slaps. Her breath came in short, shallow pants. She bit her lip hard, trying to stay quiet. She was wet. So wet. Just like Mom.
Sensei looked like a demon. A beautiful, terrifying demon. Sweat glistened on his muscles, his face twisted in focus as he used Mom's mouth like a toy. He was so powerful. So in control.
She was getting off on this. Oh, God. She was getting off on watching her teacher degradingly use her mother.
What's wrong with me?
She was disgusting. She was a failure.
But she was so, so close.
Mom started choking harder, sputtering as Sensei went harder, deeper, faster. The slapping rhythm increased. She was suffocating, turning red, and yet she was—she was releasing fluid again, her body shaking in a violent, terrifying orgasm.
Sensei pulled back, panting, but Sakura barely followed, her mind focused elsewhere.
"Is not knowing your place a trait of all Haruno women?" he mused aloud, his voice rough. Sakura's hips bucked involuntarily.
No, I don't say that, don't— but…. Teach us—teach me. Sensei, please. Teach me my place. I wanna be good…. I want to be your…. mmh.
Sakura's breath hitched. She was on the edge. Just one more second—
Then Mom's words reached Sakura's consciousness through the fog of pink.
Sakura froze.
Yet the pleasure crashed into her all the same. A sharp, blinding wave of release, but it was immediately poisoned. Curdled into something black and furious.
Her mother was….
Right after sucking him off. Right after betraying Dad. Right after degrading everything Sakura stood for. She was offering Sakura up like some— like some…ugh!
Rage, pure and white-hot, flooded Sakura's veins, burning away the shame, the arousal, and the fear.
Sakura slammed her hand against the closet door, shoving it open with a bang that shook the frame.
She stumbled out into the hotel room, face flushed crimson, legs shaking, wetness soaking through her shorts, and eyes blazing with fury.
She had watched enough.
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