A/N: Sorry, guys, I missed the last update. Be assured, I will make it up to you another time
— — — — — — — — — —
MEBUKI HARUNO
Mebuki couldn't hide her giddiness anymore as she skipped on her toes to the mirror. The string on her backside flared, but even that was not enough to ruin her joyful mood.
She leaned forward toward the mirror, inspecting herself with an appraising eye. The exaggerated makeup had smeared in all the wrong places. Too much at the lashes, too little at the corners of her mouth. The lines she had tried to bury were there anyway, peeking through like gossip. But not for long.
The harsh, artificial light of the hotel bathroom was usually a woman's worst enemy, exposing every pore and predicting every future wrinkle, but Mebuki Haruno did not shy away from her reflection. Not today. Today, she glowed.
She stood naked before the mirror, humming a soft, delighted tune, her hands excitedly inspecting the most precious substance in the Elemental Nations.
"Blessed," she murmured aloud, her voice hushed with reverence. "Truly blessed."
With the delicate precision of a master artist, she scooped a generous dollop of the pearl-white elixir from her clavicle—where Eishin-sama had so generously painted her—and began to massage it into the fine lines around her eyes. It was warm, thick, and possessed a musky potency that store-bought creams simply could not replicate.
She gigled in delight. She couldn't help it.
The fools in the village paid fortunes for slug mucus or crushed pearls, but Mebuki found something better. She was a woman of research, a woman of the world. Shinobi of Eishin-sama's caliber possessed chakra that saturated every cell, every droplet of fluid. This was vitality in its purest form. It was liquid youth.
She had suspected it for a while, after that delightful afternoon in the market when she had first ensnared his attention. Her charm, of course, had been irresistible. He had pressed firmly upon her back that day, and for a week afterward, the skin there had been as smooth as porcelain, firm and unblemished. Since then, she had read the texts, books, scrolls, and any words she could find.
It wasn't superstition. It was observation. Science, even, if one thought about it properly. Shinobi were different from civilians—everyone knew that. Their chakra made them stronger and incredible. It stood to reason that their... fluids... would carry some of that potency. Some of that vitality.
Digest for health, apply for beauty, she recited mentally, spreading the fluid down her neck with upward, sweeping strokes to combat gravity.
"Oh, it tingles," she murmured, watching her skin shine under the layer of seed. "It's working already. I'll look ten years younger by morning."
She dipped her fingers into another streak, this one across the swell of her breast, and smoothed it over her throat, working it into the soft skin there. The scent was musky, earthy, undeniably virile, and it made her dizzy with want.
Focus, she told herself sternly. This is about maintenance. About preservation.
But no. Her skin needed it more.
Though she had to fight the urge to lick her fingers clean. The smell alone was intoxicating, triggering a low, pulsing heat between her thighs that she ruthlessly ignored. She'd indulged enough for one evening. Any more and she'd look desperate.
She turned slightly, angling her body to examine her backside in the mirror.
And winced.
Her ass was still red. Angry, mottled red, with the clear imprint of a large hand stamped across both cheeks. It throbbed with a dull, persistent ache that flared every time she shifted her weight.
But she didn't regret it.
A lesser woman might have felt humiliated. Mebuki, however, smiled, a small, triumphant curl of her lips.
Men like Eishin-sama needed that. They needed a woman who could take it, who wouldn't crumble under pressure, who understood that dominance was just another form of respect. If she'd whined or complained, he would have lost interest. But she'd endured. She'd submitted. And in doing so, she'd earned his favor.
Besides, the pain's temporary. The benefits are not.
She reached back gingerly, her fingers brushing the tender skin, and hissed through her teeth. It hurt. But it was a good hurt. The kind that reminded her she was still desirable. Still worthy of a strong man's attention.
It hurt because it had meant something.
That was the rule. A man didn't bother to discipline what he didn't value. Kizashi had never done anything but apologize. Kizashi had never taken. He asked, he pleaded, he sulked. A man like that didn't give a woman security; he gave her more work.
She loves her husband, but they deserve so much more.
Her mind drifted, unbidden, to the other villagers.
Fools, she thought with a derisive snort. All of them.
The whispers had already started. She'd heard them at the market earlier that week, the nervous chatter of civilians who didn't understand the first thing about shinobi politics. Eishin-sama had killed someone important, and now the village was abuzz with fear.
Idiots.
They didn't see what Mebuki saw. They didn't understand that killing someone important wasn't a mistake—it was a display of power. It was proof that Eishin-sama was strong enough, ruthless enough, to do what needed to be done.
And men like that? Mebuki swallowed, her thighs pressed together, and the heat in her womb flared. Men who could make entire villages nervous?
They became Hokage.
Mebuki was certain of it. The Fourth wouldn't live forever, and when the time came to choose a successor, the council would look for someone capable. Someone feared. Someone who could protect Konoha from its enemies.
Eishin-sama fit the bill perfectly.
And if Sakura wasn't foolish enough to squander the opportunity Mebuki was carefully constructing for her, then she would be standing beside him when he ascended. The Hokage's wife. Or lover. Or something close enough to matter.
And Mebuki? Well, Mebuki would be right there too. She would be Eishin-sama's family. She would be invited. Considered. Protected. She could walk through the village, and people would weigh their tone before speaking to her.
Why not just do it herself? To be fair, Mebuki had thought it more than once, but…. It had been difficult managing Eishin-sama's appetites. A man that virile, that powerful—he could have any woman in the village.
Mebuki was practical. She knew her own... limitations. The lines around her mouth that no amount of makeup could fully hide. The softness in her belly that childbirth had left behind. And she certainly couldn't keep up with his dominance in bed. She still remembers how stretched her insides felt after he had done and had his way till she fainted. No, as much as she loathes admitting it, Mebuki really couldn't hold him on her own.
But Sakura? Sakura was fresh. Untouched. And if Mebuki was clever—and she was always clever—she could bind him through her daughter where she couldn't through herself.
She smiled at her reflection and tried not to focus on the heat between her legs. She was pleased with her foresight.
And the Heavens were by her side. How else would you explain Sakura being here today?
A sudden sound, sharp and high, cut through the door.
Sakura's voice.
Mebuki froze with her hand over her face, listening. Another sound followed, muffled by the wall, carrying the unmistakable pitch of panic and overwhelm.
Of course.
Mebuki froze, her hand hovering over her hip. Her eyebrow twitched.
Annoying child.
She let out a sharp sigh through her nose. Was Sakura ruining it? Was she being too difficult? There was a fine line between playing hard to get—which Mebuki had tried to teach her, though the girl had no aptitude for subtlety—and just being a nuisance. Eishin-sama had a high tolerance, but everyone had their limits.
"She better not be ruining this," Mebuki hissed under her breath.
She quickened her pace, scooping the remaining essence from her skin and spreading it with hurried, efficient strokes. Over her cheeks. Her forehead. The bridge of her nose. She didn't have time for precision anymore. Sakura was out there, alone with Eishin-sama, and if she said something stupid—if she panicked and ran, if she insulted him, if she acted like the stubborn, self-righteous brat she so often was.
She needed to get back out there. She needed to smooth things over, perhaps offer herself again if Sakura had spoiled the mood with her shrill complaining. It was a mother's burden, truly, always cleaning up the messes her daughter made.
After all she had done. It had taken work to get Sakura into position tonight. The girl was stubborn and didn't understand the game yet. Didn't understand that beauty and youth were currencies that depreciated rapidly, and that a smart woman leveraged them while she still could.
But Mebuki had managed.
Sakura was... difficult. She was loud, unrefined, and stubborn. She lacked Mebuki's grace and feminine wiles, opting for those dreadful ninja exercises that built unseemly muscle. She was an unpolished stone, full of sharp edges and bratty insecurities. But she was young.
"Fresh flowers for the altar," Mebuki mused. Sakura may be foolish, but she was lucky—so very lucky—that her mother had the foresight to salvage her mediocre prospects.
Men like Eishin-sama, powerful men with insatiable appetites, they eventually grew bored of perfection. They craved variety. The contrast between Mebuki's experienced, masterful guidance and Sakura's tight, clumsy innocence... it was a potent cocktail. She had seen the way his eyes darkened when Sakura choked.
She gave herself a small, satisfied smile.
Really, she'd handled it brilliantly.
The situation had nearly collapsed. Sakura bursted in like a delinquent, shouting, making a scene. Typical. Sakura always had to announce herself, had to be loud, had to be difficult. The girl took after her father in all the worst ways: all emotion, no strategy.
But Mebuki was smart. She'd pivoted. She'd redirected. She'd turned a disaster into an opportunity so quickly and so readily that it still surprised herself with her own brilliance.
She had hit two birds with one stone. She was able to get him to release his essence and to showcase her daughter's potential. Two wins. Truly…. nobody understands the extent of Mebuki's intell—
Another sound of Sakura's uncouth sound rang through. Louder than previously.
"Oh, for heaven's—" Mebuki swore under her breath, dropping the towel. "That girl has no sense of timing."
She turned back to the mirror frantically. There were still streaks of Eishin-sama's blessing on her fingers—precious, potent streaks she hadn't had time to massage into her cuticles. She couldn't waste them. Not now. Not when she needed every ounce of vitality to go out there and perform damage control.
Impulsively, driven by a sudden, primal urge she told herself was efficiency, she shoved her fingers into her mouth.
The world tilted.
Her eyes rolled back as the flavor exploded across her palate, salt and musk that seemed to pulse with chakra and virility.
"Oh—oh my—" She gripped the sink for support, panting. Heat bloomed, and her thighs pressed together reflexively, trying to contain the sudden flood of wetness. "That's—that's divine—"
A phantom jolt of electricity shot straight down her spine and hooked into her womb, causing her empty uterus to flutter with a ghost of heat that nearly made her moan aloud.
Kami above, she thought, her eyes rolling back for a split second as she sucked the digits clean. It was ambrosia. It was life itself. No wonder the Mizukage had fallen; a man carrying this kind of fire could probably impregnate a stone if he tried hard enough.
She pulled her fingers out with a wet pop, panting slightly, her face flushed with renewed vigor.
"Focus, Mebuki," she scolded herself, smoothing her hair back with wet hands. "Save the dynasty first. Indulge later."
She slapped on her best 'long-suffering but charming mother' smile and threw open the bathroom door.
"Now, now, Sakura, there is no need to be so dra—"
The words died in her throat.
She pushed open the door.
And froze.
Eishin-sama was on top of Sakura.
Her daughter was completely naked, sprawled across the hotel bed like a sacrifice on an altar, her long pink hair fanned out in a sweaty tangle. Her legs were spread wide, trembling, and her face—oh, her face was flushed that particular shade of crimson that Mebuki recognized all too well.
Eishin's face was buried between Sakura's thighs.
Mebuki's smile twitched.
Then twitched again.
Her brain stuttered, trying to reconcile the image before her with what she'd expected to walk in on. She'd anticipated punching and kicking. Resistance. Perhaps Sakura curled up in a corner, hugging her knees and sobbing about her ruined purity.
Not... this.
"Oh, my," Mebuki said, her voice unnaturally bright. Her smile stretched wider. "I see someone's started the party without me!"
— — — — — — — — — — —
You can read up to 8 chapters ahead at patreon.com/vizem