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Chapter 44 - Boob Logic
🕑 Added 2025-05-24 13:19:37 +0000 UTCSakura went utterly still, like a deer hearing twigs snap in the woods.
The forest froze. No bird or leaf dared make a sound.
I could hear her breath catch. The quiet wasn’t peaceful anymore. Part of me was already preparing to get punched.
She slowly turned her head to look up, eyes wide, jaw slack, like she wasn’t sure she’d heard me right. That hopeful second where someone prays, ‘No, there’s no way you just said what I think you said.’
“What,” she asked flatly, “the actual hell did you just say?”
I smiled lazily, like I’d just commented on the weather.
“Well, you know… I just touched another dude’s tits.” I said, my hand still patting her head, “I need to, like, spiritually cleanse my hand. With real ones.”
There was a pause.
A long one.
Like I’d just barked in the middle of a funeral.
Sakura blinked. Once. Twice.
Then her mouth slowly parted in an expression I could only describe as horrified betrayal. Like I’d just farted in the Hokage’s office and handed her the blame.
“ARE YOU—WHAT—YOU CAN’T JUST—” She spluttered, eyes unable to decide if they wanted to go wide in disbelief or narrow to murder-slits.
Then she smacked my hand off her head. Not hard. More of a flailing slap, like slapping a fly she only just realized was there.
"You touched Naruto's—and now you want to—to— are you messing with me right now?!"
She turned a full circle like she didn’t know where to aim her fury.
Then turned back, pointed at me, and hissed, “You need help. Not a tit.” Arms crossed now, cheeks flaming with rage and humiliation.
“Hey, hey, now, don’t get all flustered.” I leaned back a little, “I don’t mind they’re small.”
Her jaw dropped. “What did you just say?”
“I’m just saying,” I said with a winning grin, “There’s nothing wrong with small. I love small! Small is… compact. Strategic. Tactical-grade. Low drag in battle.”
She blinked. Visibly ran the math in her head.
Then made a horrible noise, somewhere between a choke and a squeal, turned around, and dragged both hands down her face.
“You’re the worst,” she groaned into her palms. “You’re—the actual worst person alive. I am not talking about this with you—why are we even—stop saying stuff—”
But even as she ranted and flapped and flailed, her ears burned red.
She was so fun to rile up.
Looking at her back, my eyes dragged down to her…..
Pin her against the tree, yank up that useless pink flap she calls a skirt, tear through those skin-tight shorts, and stuff her arrogant, loudmouth cunt full of everything she deserves.
I exhaled slowly through my nose. Not yet, man. Timing was everything. How much pent up was I that even a dude in a jutsu was an acceptable option, and now this…. This mission needed to end soon, and I swear I will get Anko pregnant the first night at the village. With how things are, bet she will be in the first shot.
Shaking my head, I stepped forward, nice and slow, like I was approaching a wild animal that might punch me so hard I left the atmosphere. I laid one hand right between her shoulder and neck, clothed, neat, deliberately unthreatening.
Sakura’s shoulders stiffened... then one shifted up, almost like trying to shrug me off. She didn’t say or try anything else when that didn’t work.
Bingo. I licked my lips. My conditioning was going even better than I thought.
“Think about it, Sakura,” I said, playful again, dipping into that low-pressure tone I’d been using to push all the right buttons. “It’s a win-win situation.”
She made a strangled, incredulous sound. “How is any of this a win?! You perv!”
“You've heard,” I drawled, “that boobs get bigger when they’re regularly fondled, right?”
She made this weird choking cough-scoff sound. “Shut up!” she snapped, voice cracking with sheer offense.
“I’m serious! Everyone always gets it wrong. You see, it doesn’t work when you do it. Gotta be someone else. Science.”
At that, she went quiet. Too quiet. Her posture was stiff, but I could see the shift. Just a twitch in her fingers. And that nervous little glance to the side.
She was trying not to perk up at it.
Which, of course, meant she absolutely did.
Of course, I thought, amused. Typical small chested anime girl. Besides, Sakura was her mother’s daughter, one couldn’t expected her to be at least bit vain.
I smiled wider.
My hand moved without rush or fanfare, sliding down to her bare shoulder now, pressing skin-to-skin. I started the same gentle rhythm from earlier, a tender-pat kind of caress, knowing full well how skin contact attached itself to the brain like glue.
Felt warm. Smooth. Soft in that slightly athletic way. My fingers memorized it.
No protests. Not even a flinch.
Damn, I thought, letting the grin tug wider. She was getting used to my touch wonderfully. Good. Touch is the first truth the body learns. Before logic, before guilt, before words, there’s skin, pressure, warmth. You teach someone to accept your hands, and the rest comes easily.
But you can’t start with the end. If you grab too much too soon, the body resists—fights it.
Still, she was softening to my touch faster than I’d anticipated. Nearly as receptive as Ino. That was enough to wake up the paranoid voice in my head — every shinobi has one.
It made me wonder.
Maybe all those years starving for Sasuke turned need into a reflex. Being overlooked time and ime again taught her to grasp at whatever came close. Even if it was the man who railed her dear mom.
Maybe a weak father, indeed, made her crave someone firmer. Someone who would discipline her. Or maybe she just inherited her mother’s hunger and never got a safe place to spend it.
Or maybe I was reading too much into it, and the early fight drained her.
Whatever the reason, Sakura was not capable enough to fool.
I gave her another few seconds of silence, letting the motion lull her like a trickle of honey, before adding—
“I mean, don’t get me wrong—I love small. I wasn’t lying. But let’s be honest. Most people love big ones.” I leaned just a bit closer and whispered, “People like Sasuke, for example…”
She tensed under my hand; a fuse lit in her spine.
“SASUKE-KUN?!” she screeched, swinging halfway toward me—face pink, eyes wide, voice offended on different levels. “What does he have to do with my—”
She cut herself off with a squeak, like the very topic had physically tasered her throat.
“Just saying.” I smiled, unbothered. “He’s probably into ‘big’. That’d explain why—”
"Don’t bring him into this! What is wrong with you?! Don't you dare use him for your—your perverted nonsense!"
She whipped around again, arms flailing in frustration as she put space between us, only to stop a few steps away, still not leaving. She let out an exasperated sound halfway between a scream and a groan and dragged her hands down her face again so hard I half-worried for her eyebrows.
I put my hand back on her bare shoulder.
“I…... hate you,” she said. But it was breathy, worn-out.
She didn’t move my hand.
Didn’t bring up the part where I was still touching her.
Didn’t storm off.
She just seethed there, radiating pink heat like a broken microwave, face glowing.
I didn’t laugh, though her reaction begged for it.
I was starting to believe.
Shouting and talking in general helped vent. That was the goal of this play.
Arguing pulled her out of that snail-shell of shutdown silence she folded into when she was overwhelmed. And I, being a bastard about it, gave her someone to throw all that heat at.
There was relief in outrage.
And I’d given her a place to funnel it. A little anchoring dose of chaos, to distract her.
The skin contact was to progress things with her. I was certainly not throwing away the opportunity.
Soften the edges with a little dopamine. Warm her to my presence, make my hands feel familiar, even… welcome. Knowing her stubborn streak, I had not expected it to last this long.
But now?
Now I was starting to believe she might actually let me touch her boobs.
Which was, honestly, hilarious. And also kind of disappointing.
Because it meant I’d overestimated her. It meant I had wasted time. When I could have taken her the first day, just like I had taken her mother.
Yet…. I played it safe. Since, unlike her mother, Sakura wasn't just some girl I wanted to fuck.
I wanted her wrecked, emotionally and otherwise. I wanted her to fall. I wanted her to be obsessed with me the way she used to moon over Sasuke. I wanted that obsession.
An obsession that endured betrayal, humiliation, and near-death. An obsession that survived the blade pressed to her throat, the cold dismissal in his eyes, and the years of silence that followed.
It wasn’t love. it never needed kindness to survive. It fed on rejection, grew in the cracks of her pride, and clung to the fantasy long after reality had turned cruel. She made excuses for him because the pain gave her purpose. It wasn’t about being loved—it was about being chosen, someday, maybe. That hope, however poisonous, was hers. And that obsession lived on, not because it was strong, but because it refused to die.
That was what I wanted from her.
Not love. I don’t expect her to love me. Hell, I don’t expect that from anyone. I knew I was not fit for that kind of sentiment.
My thoughts were interrupted abruptly by her voice. Small. Too quiet.
“Is this,” she muttered, head lowered now, shoulders tight. “How you deceived Mother…” Her voice trailed off.
Hum? An eyebrow rose slowly. I brought a hand to her cheek. Soft and warm and deliciously with no protest. My fingertips slid down until they cradled her chin.
Sakura’s skin wasn’t trembling but her breath was. Tremulous little huffs. Like touching her this way drained her fighting spirit through the skin. She didn’t stop me as I lifted her chin, coaxed her face upward so I could look at her.
She was so cute when she was meek like this.
I looked into her eyes, those bewildered emeralds, and saw that delightful contradiction swimming just beneath the surface.
Caught between pride and confusion. Panic and….. desire?
That desperate need to regain control and be touched again.
There it was. In that look. The flickering vulnerability, soft as candlelight.
She wanted to deny me... but she wouldn’t. Not right now.
From that, I made a very simple deduction. Yes. I could touch her tits.
But it would be a bad, terrible idea.
“Deceived?“ I tilted my head slightly and said, voice light, “Is that what you think I did? To your mother?”
The way her eyes shifted, such sweet, tearing dissonance, nearly made me groan. Conflict bloomed behind her lashes. Anger and shame, flickering almost-guilt, and under all that: curiosity.
She averted her eyes with a sharp inhale, like she couldn’t bear the weight of her own thoughts. Her bottom lip trembled, soft and pink and bitten from nerves.
I brought my thumb up and brushed it along that trembling swell. Damn, her mouth…
Her lips were plush like fresh bloom petals, too perfect for a girl who had no idea how hot she looked when she was vulnerable like this. I wanted to kiss her. Not sweetly, but hungrily. Leave a mark. Leave proof that she’d been there, in my grip.
I wanted these lips wrapped around my cock. See her defiance melt while she blinked up at me from her knees, those same lips wet and stretched.
But I just swept my thumb across them. Once, then twice.
The trembling stopped beneath that slow, gentle motion.
She stilled.
I was about to lean in. About to escalate. Tilt her gasping over the edge where there was no going back—
A shrill whistle split across the forest air.
My body snapped upright. Frowned, instantly scanning the treeline.
The direction we’d left the client……. Animal panic. Crushed leaves. A bird scattering.
Standard Konoha field alert, long-high call for Ambush. Sai.
I turned back fast to Sakura.
She blinked up at me, confused. Eyes darting, reading my tension. Her voice caught on the inhale of a question before she spoke it aloud.
I sighed. “That was the alert signal. We’re under attack.”
Her shoulders squared instantly—but her face couldn’t quite hide a complicated brew of reactions.
I softened my tone. Let hazy flirtation die. Forced the jounin back in.
“Are you in condition to fight?”
She stared a beat too long before her brain caught up. She blinked fast, then glared. Beautiful, stung, and sharp.
“Do I look like I’m impaired to you?” she scoffed, nostrils flaring, posture lifting.
Classic Sakura. All offended pride and wounded feminine fire.
I didn’t voice my doubts. Instead, “Let’s go.” I said.
