The summons arrived at midnight, its black parchment heavy with the Fire Daimyo's crimson seal—a mark Hinata recognized from childhood horror stories whispered between Hyuuga daughters. The scroll's edges were gilded, a mockery of luxury, and when she unrolled it, the ink smelled faintly of fermented plums—a nobleman's joke, ensuring even the parchment aroused her. *Hyuuga Hinata is hereby summoned as a cultural envoy to the annual diplomatic summit,* it read, the elegant calligraphy belying the demand beneath. *Her presence shall grace the chambers of all attending dignitaries for the duration of the event.* Neji's fist shattered the engawa railing when he read it, his Byakugan veins bulging. "They want to breed the Byakugan into their bloodlines," he spat, but the elders had already anointed Hinata's wrists with *shiro-yuri* oil—a concoction that would amplify her sensitivity tenfold and flood her scent glands with pheromones no man could resist.
The palanquin ride to the capital took three days—three nights of Hinata curled on silk cushions that stuck to her sweat-slicked skin as the oil worked its way into her pores. The first evening, she'd tried to rub it off with rice paper, only for the clan matrons to reappear and paint it higher up her thighs, their fingers lingering near the places that made her breath hitch. "The Daimyo's nephew requested you specifically," the eldest murmured, her nails scraping Hinata's inner wrist where the pulse fluttered. "He's heard how… *vocal* Hyuuga girls become under pressure." By dawn on the third day, Hinata's smallclothes were soaked through, her nipples stiff enough to ache against the robe's fabric every time the palanquin jolted over rough terrain.
The Daimyo's courtesan met her at the vermilion gates, her kimono slit to the hip to showcase legs marred by old bite marks. "Little dove," she purred, guiding Hinata past tapestries depicting Hyuuga envoys of generations past—each woven with threads dyed to match their flushed skin. "Thirty-seven men await you tonight. The Earth envoy likes to draw blood, the Wind merchant prefers tears, and the Lightning delegate"—her smile sharpened—"has a *thing* for the Byakugan's glow during climax." Hinata's hands trembled as she was led into the bathhouse, where steaming water swirled with herbs designed to soften her muscles and deepen her scent. The courtesan's fingers were ruthless as they scrubbed her raw, pausing only to twist her nipples or dip between her thighs to check her readiness. "Good," she murmured, withdrawing slick fingers and wiping them on Hinata's collarbone. "You'll need all the slickness you can muster."
The banquet hall stank of roasted duck and male sweat, the nobles' laughter crescendoing as Hinata was paraded in wearing nothing but a translucent gauze robe tied with a single knotted cord. The Earth envoy—a mountain of a man with hands like bear traps—yanked her onto his lap before she could kneel, his thick fingers already tearing the cord loose. "Let's see these famous eyes," he growled, wrenching her chin up until her Byakugan activated reflexively. His grin widened as he pinched her nipple hard enough to bruise. "Perfect. Now watch while I ruin you." He took her right there on the banquet table, his thrusts knocking over sake cups as the other nobles cheered, their hands groping her flanks and ass as she was impaled.
By the fourth noble—a Wind Country merchant with perfumed oil dripping from his beard—Hinata's thighs were streaked with fingerprints and drying seed, her voice hoarse from screams she couldn't suppress. He forced her to kneel on crushed pearls, their jagged edges slicing her knees as he mounted her from behind. "Such soft skin for a killer," he chuckled, his grip on her hair pulling strands loose from her ceremonial updo. Hinata focused on the chakra points in his wrists, counting them like meditation beads until his grunts faded into white noise.
The sixth through tenth blurred into a nightmare of groping hands and inventive humiliations. The Lightning delegate used charged senbon to make her muscles spasm uncontrollably during climax, while the Water aristocrat bound her in silk cords that tightened with every struggle. "Hyuuga pride," he taunted, licking the tears from her cheeks, "looks exquisite on its knees."
Midnight brought the Daimyo's nephew—a lithe sadist with a collection of branded kunoichi collarsThe Daimyo's nephew dragged Hinata by her hair into a private chamber lined with mirrors, their surfaces polished to reflect every angle of her humiliation. "Show me those eyes again," he demanded, backhanding her when she hesitated. Her Byakugan flared involuntarily—just as his knee drove between her thighs, forcing them wider. "Good girl," he purred, tracing the veins around her pupils with a kunai's tip. "Now keep them open while I fuck them." His thrusts were methodical, each one timed to the pulse of her dojutsu, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, "Imagine your father watching."
The twelfth noble preferred her mouth, his grip on her jaw tight enough to dislocate as he forced her throat open. "Swallow it all," he grunted, his free hand twisting her nipple cruelly. Hinata's vision swam with tears, her nose clogged with the musk of his groin as he choked her on his cock. Around them, nobles placed bets on how long she'd last before gagging—their laughter muffled by the wet sounds of her struggle.
By the twentieth, Hinata's body moved on autopilot—kneeling when commanded, arching when slapped, her Byakugan activating on cue like a trained animal. The Stone delegate made her stand on trembling legs while he took her against a pillar, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave bruises in the shape of his clan's insignia. "This is what peace treaties are made of," he sneered, biting her shoulder as he came.
The twenty-fifth was worse—a retired shinobi who used chakra threads to manipulate her nerves, forcing her to climax on his fingers before he even entered her. "Hyuuga biology is so… predictable," he murmured, watching her body convulse against her will. Hinata's scream lodged in her throat as he finally sheathed himself inside her, his thrusts synced to the artificial pulses of pleasure still racking her body.
Neji found her at dawn, collapsed in a storage room with her ceremonial robes torn and her thighs streaked with drying fluids. His hands trembled as he wiped her face with his sleeve—not gently, but with a violence that matched the fury in his Byakugan. "They *marked* you," he hissed, thumb pressing into a bite mark over her pulse point. Hinata's breath hitched as his other hand slid between her legs, coming away slick with proof of her body's betrayal.
He fucked her against the wall with the same precision he used in battle—each thrust calculated to overwrite the nobles' touches, his teeth sinking into her neck where the Daimyo's nephew had left his claim. "Remember," Neji growled, sealing her chakra points in a sequence that felt like vengeance, "Hyuuga don't kneel for outsiders." The sound of approaching footsteps only made him move harder, his grip on her hips leaving bruises darker than any noble's.
When it was over, Hinata dressed in silence, her movements stiff with pain and the weight of Neji's cloak around her shoulders. The summons lay at her feet, its edges charred where he'd burned the clause demanding her return. She touched the bite marks on her collarbone—now mingled with Neji's—and smiled.