I exhaled heavily, my chest heaving as the aftershocks of the orgasm rattled through my bones and soul.
"That was... fucking amazing," I muttered, barely coherent.
I looked at Sakura.
She was still on her knees, sitting back on her heels in that w-sitting position girls do when they're trying to make themselves small. Her head was turned away from me, one hand covering her mouth as she coughed softly, her shoulders trembling. No cum had landed on her. What she didn't swallow, Mebuki had caught it all like a greedy goblin, but saliva and spit coated her chin and neck, shining under the dim hotel light. Her red shirt clung to her modest chest, damp with sweat and exertion. Her long pink hair was a mess, tangled and disheveled from my grip.
She looked hot. Nasty. Cute. Innocent.
And she'd just deepthroated me better than most seasoned kunoichi.
I felt a little dizzy. The climax had hit harder than I expected. I'd swear Sakura was a little bit better than Ino—though it was hard to compare. Different techniques, different flavors.
I exhaled slowly and walked over to the bed and sat at the edge.
"I... I can't believe I just..." Sakura started mumbling to herself, her voice quiet and shaky. "that wasn't—I mean, Mom just pushed me and then I had to... and then you were... and I..."
I pursed my lips. I wasn't supposed to hear that. And I definitely wasn't supposed to answer it. But she needed consoling. They were still mother and daughter, after all.
"Mebuki is certainly..." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "She has her own way of doing things. But she does have your best interests in mind, Sakura. In her own... unconventional way, she has your interests in mind. She wants you to succeed. She just... has a very specific idea of what success looks like."
That seemed to hit a nerve. Sakura whipped her head around, her long pink hair swinging behind her, and finally looked at me. Her green eyes were wide and wild.
"She's insane," Sakura snapped, her voice cracking. "You know that, right? She is actually, certifiably insane. Who does that? Who pushes their daughter's head onto—onto a man's—" She gestured frantically at my crotch. "And then has the audacity to ask if I swallowed? God, I'm going to need therapy. So much therapy."
I deadpanned at her. Yes. She's insane. I couldn't argue with that. So I ignored it.
"She was right about one thing, though. You are resilient. You handled that better than most experienced kunoichi would on their first time. You should be proud of yourself. Chin up — no spiraling into self-pity now."
Sakura sighed, wiping her mouth one more time with the back of her hand. She was still on her knees, sitting in that cute, vulnerable position.
"Just... give me a minute," she muttered, holding up a hand. Her breathing was heavy. "My jaw hurts. My throat hurts. And I think I swallowed... stuff. Ugh." She grimaced, touching her throat gingerly.
A long pause stretched between us. She coughed a couple of times, then started muttering again. "I looked so stupid," she mumbled, her voice small. "I sounded so stupid. Oh gosh… You probably think I'm pathetic."
I was pretty sure by this point she was just fishing for sympathy or praise—classic Sakura, turning her embarrassment into a performance to manipulate the emotional response she wanted.
Despite knowing her play, I still felt the urge to reach out and pat her head.
"I don't think that at all," I said firmly, sitting up slightly. "You just proved yourself in a way most people never could. You faced something uncomfortable, something terrifying, and you did it anyway. That's not pathetic. That's courage."
My words hit their mark. I saw her shoulders relax, her breathing even out. But she was still trying to act unaffected, biting her lip and looking away.
"I'm just… trying to understand where the line is," she said, her voice wet and shaky. She paused, working her lips for a long moment, then looked up at me with those piercing green eyes.
"Is that the reason?" she asked tentatively.
"Reason for what?"
"For... everything." She gestured vaguely between us. "The training about discomfort. About controlling my impulses. Using your fingers in my mouth to teach me 'control.' Was all of that just... preparation? Were you just training me to be able to take—to take..."
Her eyes landed on my dick. It was still semi-hard; it was devoid of the red ring; the daughter had done a wonderful job cleaning her mother's mess. She swallowed hard, and when she looked back up, there was fire in her eyes. Her brows furrowed in accusation.
"Was it all just so I could suck you off better?"
I raised a brow. I was honestly taken aback. By both her bluntness and the fact that she had figured it out. But... this was Sakura for you.
I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I raised my hand and silently gestured for her to come closer.
She choked on her next words, the accusation dying in her throat. She hesitated, her fists clenching at her sides, anger warring with obedience, but the conditioning won out. Slowly, reluctantly, she started to stand.
I watched her rise, my eyes tracing the movement.
Her nice thighs specifically. Soft, pale, framed by those black shorts and knee-high boots. Her legs were lean but not toned, civilian-soft with just a hint of developing muscle from recent training. The way her knees straightened, the slight tremble in her stance, the glimpse of exposed skin between her shorts and boots—it was all maddeningly innocent and impossibly erotic.
My dick, which had just started to soften, abruptly stopped its descent and began to twitch upward again.
Sakura sidestepped the mess her mother had made on the floor—the wet pillow, the puddle of fluids—and walked over to me, her jaw set.
"What?" she huffed, her lips twisting in irritation when she reached the edge of the bed. "Are you going to answer me, or are you just going to—"
I reached up and poked her forehead.
Two fingers. Right in the center. It was a gesture I'd shamelessly stolen from that brooding Uchiha bastard, but damn if it didn't work.
"What...?" Sakura blinked, her brain seemingly resetting. Her mouth hung open slightly, the anger evaporating instantly into confusion. The forehead she was so insecure about, the one people mocked, I had…. always found it cute.
I smiled at her, my voice soft. "Would you truly hate it if that were the case?"
"I—what? I—" She stammered, her face flushing pink again. "That's not—I mean—yes! Of course! Because that would be—it's manipulative and—and wrong and—"
"Be honest with me, Sakura."
Sakura's mouth snapped shut. Her eyes flickered away. She fluttered her lashes, her hand drifting up to touch the spot on her forehead where I'd poked her.
"I... I don't know," she muttered, her voice barely audible. Her cheek was tinted pink. "I... I didn't—I don't think so."
I smiled. I'd already read her like a book. Her anger hadn't been about being used—it was a childish defense mechanism to save her pride. She wasn't angry about the act itself; she was angry because she felt like she should be angry. She was trying to align her feelings with what society told her was right, fighting against the undeniable fact that a part of her had enjoyed evrything.
I reached up and patted her head. She leaned into it immediately, her eyes fluttering shut.
"Good girl."
She shivered at the words.
"There's no shame in what you did," I said gently, threading my fingers through her hair. "And there's no shame in what you felt." I could feel her wanting to argue here, but the dopamine hit was too strong. She stayed silent. "It's natural. Physiological. You have nothing to worry about. Nobody's going to hear about this. It'll stay our secret. I'll make sure your mother doesn't speak of it. Alright?"
She nodded slowly against my hand. "Yes... Sensei."
"Good."
"Um... Sensei?"
"Yes, Sakura?"
She fluttered her eyes at me, then glanced to the side, then back at me. She pointed a trembling finger at my cock. Her face was burning red again.
"Could you... maybe put some clothes on now?"
I glanced down at my naked form, then back up at Sakura.
Her face was still flushed, her eyes darting between my face and the rest of me like she couldn't decide where it was safe to look.
"I could do that," I said, my voice low and teasing. I let my hand drift from her hair to her cheek, my thumb brushing her cheekbone before sliding down to cup her chin. I tilted her face up, forcing those big green eyes to meet mine. "Or... you could stop being such a prude, like your mother said, and learn to have a little fun. Join us in the undressed fashion statement we've got going on. What do you say?"
Sakura's eyebrows trembled. Her lips parted slightly.
"Sensei," she mumbled, her voice strangled.
Then her expression shifted. Her nose scrunched up in that adorable, annoyed way she did when she was trying to be mad but didn't have the conviction to pull it off.
"Don't push your luck," she snapped, though her voice lacked heat. "Just because I... helped you... doesn't mean I'm your—your pillow! Or whatever Mom is!"
But she didn't pull away from my touch. In fact, she leaned into my palm just a fraction, her skin warm against my fingers.
"Your mother is many things," I said dryly. "But a pillow isn't one of them. Pillows are soft and quiet. Mebuki is neither." I grinned. "You, on the other hand... you're much better quality."
Sakura made a noise that was halfway between a huff and a snort, fighting a smile she clearly didn't want to show. She looked away, biting the inside of her cheek, trying to look unimpressed, but the pink dusting her cheeks gave her away.
I let my thumb drift upward, running it slowly over her lower lip. It was swollen, puffy from use, and darker than usual. I remembered how those lips had felt wrapped around me—tight, wet, struggling to accommodate my size.
My dick gave an appreciative jump.
Her soft, plump lips… I pressed gently, and she let me, her mouth parting slightly under the pressure. Her breath hitched.
"Sensei..." she murmured, her voice quieter now, more uncertain. "Can't we just... talk? I'm tired. My jaw is locking up. And I really, really don't want to embarrass myself more than I already have today."
Smart girl. She'd already figured out I wasn't done with her.
I smiled, looking deep into her wide, wary green eyes.
"You did wonderfully, Sakura," I said, my voice warm and reassuring. I flipped her lower lip down with my thumb, exposing her bottom teeth. "And you're going to keep doing wonderfully. You've shown me how you respond to discomfort. Now I want to see how you handle extreme comfort."
She blinked, her brow furrowing in skepticism. "That... that doesn't sound like a real lesson. That sounds like….."
I just smiled.
"Tell me to stop," I said simply.
Before she could respond, I moved my free hand slowly, casually, and rested it on her inner thigh, right between the hem of her shorts and the top of her knee-high boot. The skin there was warm, soft, and trembling.
Sakura flinched. Her breath hitched in her throat, her eyes widening a fraction. She looked down at my hand, then back up at me quickly, uncertainty flaring in her gaze. Her lips parted, but then she stopped herself.
She didn't say stop.
I held her chin firmly, keeping her eyes locked on mine as I began to caress her thigh in slow, lazy circles. The pad of my thumb traced the same spot she'd been gripping earlier when she was kneeling beside her mother.
Her breath hitched. Her pupils dilated.
She still didn't say stop.
I began to move. Slowly. Escalating with each pass.
My fingers traveled higher, brushing against the underside of her thigh, teasing the edge of her shorts. Her skin was impossibly soft, unmarred by the calluses and scars that came with real shinobi training. It felt plush, yielding under my touch. She shivered under my touch, her legs pressing together instinctively.
"Relax," I murmured, my thumb still playing with her lips, dipping just inside to brush her teeth.
She bit down lightly on my thumb—not hard, just a reflex—and I smiled. I gripped her thigh through the shorts, squeezing gently.
Sakura's breathing grew ragged. Her eyelids fluttered. She was trying to pretend she didn't know what I was doing, as if she stayed silent, I might stop on my own.
But she was shit at restraining her instinctive reaction. Her thighs trembled. Her hips shifted slightly, unconsciously seeking more contact.
I kneaded the flesh of her thigh, working my way inward, inch by inch. Her muscles twitched under my palm. Her face was a study in conflicted desire—brows furrowed, cheeks flushed, lips parted around my thumb.
I slipped my hand under the useless pink apron skirt and kneaded her flesh through her thin and tight shorts.
She stiffened, her eyes darting away in a futile attempt to pretend this wasn't happening. She bit her lip, staring fixedly at the wall, as if ignoring my hand would make it disappear. But she wasn't stronger than her impulses. Her thighs parted slightly—just a fraction—inviting me in.
"S-sensei…" she gasped, one eye squeezing shut, her voice trembling. "You—you shouldn't—"
"I didn't hear you say stop," I replied calmly.
She bit down harder on my thumb—still not enough to hurt—but I pulled it free and pressed it more firmly against her lips, forcing her to relax.
"Open," I commanded softly.
She obeyed, and I slipped my thumb back into her mouth. She didn't bite this time. She just closed her lips around it, her tongue twitching against the pad.
I continued my exploration, my fingers finally reaching between her legs.
"Not there!" she gasped around my thumb. "Please, not—"
And fuck, she was wet.
Even through the fabric of her shorts, I could feel the heat, the dampness soaking through. I ran my finger slowly back and forth along the seam, tracing the outline of her virgin slit.
"Ah!" Sakura jerked, her hips bucking involuntarily. "Not—not there—Sensei, you can't—"
I pressed a little harder, dragging my finger along the covered line of her cunt.
"So this is why you didn't want me to touch you, huh?" I mused aloud, my voice low and teasing. "You're drowning down there, Sakura."
A noise of pure mortification ripped from her throat. She tried to turn her head away, shame flooding her face a brilliant, painful crimson. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole.
"Look at me," I commanded.
She resisted for a second, then obeyed, turning her shame-filled eyes back to mine.
"Sensei, I—" she mumbled around my thumb, her voice muffled and mortified. "I didn't mean to—I didn't—"
"When are you going to learn, Sakura?" I interrupted, my tone serious now. I pulled my thumb from her mouth and cupped her jaw, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to look at me. "I'm your sensei. Your teacher. I'll be beside you when everyone is against you. I will never make fun of you, belittle you, or mock you for having an honest reaction. Do you understand me?"
Her green eyes shimmered.
"Mmmph-you..." she mumbled around my thumb. Thank you.
The flush on her cheeks deepened, but she didn't have time to process the embarrassment.
I stroked her clit—just one firm, deliberate swipe through the slick folds.
She gasped loudly, her body bowing into my touch. Her hips snapped forward, chasing the sensation before she could stop herself.
"Good girl," I murmured, watching her pupils dilate. "Ready for the next lesson?"
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