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Chapter 18 - Mebuki Haruno III
🕑 Added 2025-04-10 16:20:09 +0000 UTCMebuki's climax hit her like a sudden storm — her back arched sharply, her long, untrained legs locking around nothing as her inner walls fluttered around my fingers. It wasn't the controlled, vice-like clench of a kunoichi's body, just the raw, unfiltered spasms of a civilian woman who hadn't been touched properly in too long.
She had been ready for this, far more than I had anticipated.
It wasn’t just me—wasn’t just my touch, my words, the way I had played with her. The truth was, I had given her something else, something far more intoxicating. Time.
Time for her thoughts to work against her.
The moment I had gone silent, walking beside her without pressing, she had filled the void with fantasies of her own making. That kind of anticipation — letting her mind spiral — was far stronger than any teasing touch. She had already surrendered to this long before we stepped inside her home.
Maybe it was the power in this. A strong man, a jōnin of status, claiming her like she was something to be taken, possessed. The contrast between her goof, complacent husband and the undeniable presence of someone who had earned their place at the top.
Perhaps it was more than just the thrill of being with someone younger, someone stronger. Perhaps it was the sheer taboo of it, the idea of being taken by a man she barely knew, in the very home where she played the role of a dutiful wife and mother.
Or maybe it was something filthier. Maybe it was the thrill of cheating itself. A buried kink — the rush of doing something forbidden, of knowing she was stepping over a line she could never uncross.
Whichever it was, it had consumed her.
Mebuki's green eyes locked onto mine, hazy with the aftershocks of pleasure, her lips curling into a filthy smile that only deepened the faint lines on her face — lines of age, of experience, of a woman long past the innocence of youth. But there was no shame in that smile, no hesitation. Only satisfaction. Only hunger.
She licked her lips, still breathless, her voice dipping low and sultry. "Oh, goodness… I almost forgot what that felt like." A husky chuckle, almost as if she were laughing at herself. Her fingers trailed lazily up my arm, tracing along the muscle with clear appreciation.
Then, with a smirk that held both amusement and something dangerously close to admiration, she murmured, "You’re wasted on kunoichi, you know… a man like you should be taking care of a home, a family—" She let her fingers squeeze lightly at my wrist, her tone teasing, but her eyes said she meant every word. "I bet even a woman like me could stay loyal to a husband like that."
A wife’s words, wrapped in a mother’s logic — twisted and self-serving, but honest in its own way.
For a moment, I just stared at her.
Not because of the words themselves — I’d long since learned that lust could make people say things they’d never dare admit otherwise. Or didn’t mean. No, it was boldness. The sheer, unflinching way she spoke about loyalty with her legs still trembling from the fingers of a man who wasn’t her husband.
A wife, a mother, and yet… she didn’t even try to dress it up in shame. No excuses. No guilty fumbling. Just an indulgent, satisfied smile and a suggestion so audacious I almost laughed.
What a lost cause.
And then she took it further.
"Of course… Sakura would be more fitting for your valor and confidence. She is still young, but she’ll grow into a fine woman. With the right man guiding her, she could make for an exceptional wife."
I blinked. Ah. So that’s still the game.
Mebuki leaned in, her tone slipping conspiratorial, as if we weren’t still in the aftershocks of her own betrayal. "She’s smart, driven… she just needs a strong hand. Someone who can shape her into a proper woman, into something worthy of a man of your caliber."
I almost wanted to ask if she heard herself. If she had even the slightest awareness of what she was doing. Trying to sell her daughter to a man who had just made her fall apart in her own marital bedroom.
Still, it made me wonder, just how far the apple fell from the tree.
….. or rather how close.
Sakura’s obsession with Sasuke had always seemed shallow — just another infatuated girl chasing a pretty face. An infatuation that grew into obsession.
But how much of it had been about him and how much had been about what he represented? A link to something greater than she could ever be on her own.
I thought of her older self, years from now, shamelessly draped in the Uchiha insignia as if it were hers to claim. A girl who once swooned after a man who barely tolerated her, only to later walk around wearing his crest, as if she had been born to it.
Was it just childish infatuation? Or had she always been taught to marry up?
Perhaps both.
I dismissed the thought of Sakura for now — there’d be time to dissect that particular brand of hypocrisy later. Right now, I have a far more pressing matter to attend to.
With a rough grip, I spun Mebuki around and shoved her against the door, her palms slapping against the wood to brace herself. She let out a startled gasp, followed by a throaty, delighted laugh.
"Mmm, so forceful," she purred, arching her back in blatant invitation. "About time you stopped teasing, boy."
My fingers found the slit in her dress, pushing the fabric aside. The tight pink leggings clung stubbornly to her, but not for long. I traced where they met her stomach, then dragged them down, her panties sliding with them in one smooth motion.
Her ass was small but round, high-set, soft in the way only a civilian’s body could be. Untouched by the strain of kunoichi training, yet still kept firm enough by vanity. It yielded just enough beneath my hands, plush under my grip, the kind of ass that belonged to a woman who tried to stay youthful but couldn’t fight time completely.
I let my fingers knead into the flesh, savoring the contrast of toned and tender. Then, with a smirk, I murmured, "Well, before I think about the daughter… I should see if the mother is even worth my time."
Mebuki let out a sharp breath, then, with a smirk, pushed her ass back against me, her movements slow and taunting.
"Careful, dear," she murmured, tilting her head just enough to glance at me over her shoulder, her green eyes gleaming. "You might just decide the mother is more than enough for you."
Doubt it. Had she not been Sakura’s mother, I wouldn’t even consider her.
With a rough tug, my cock sprang free, Mebuki’s gaze snapped over her shoulder—her green eyes widening before darkening with primal hunger.
"Oh—Oh my—" Her voice trembled, half-gasp, half-laugh, cheeks flushing as her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "I knew a shinobi-sama would be impressive, but—fuck—I didn’t—ah!—expect this."
“So flattered.“
A smirk curled my lips as I pressed the thick head of my cock against her entrance. Her mature pussy already glistening, neatly trimmed with just a hint of stubble, not freshly shaven but tended to, as if she cared just enough about appearances but never expected to be touched like this. The lips were flushed pink, slightly parted, already slick and eager.
Mebuki didn’t wait.
Like the desperate bitch she was, she spread her legs wider, arching her back and pushing herself back against me, trying to force me inside.
I rewarded her impatience with a sharp crack of my palm against her ass, making her yelp.
"Patience now," I growled, grinding against her but not giving her what she wanted yet, "are you this fucking eager with your husband?"
To my disappointment — or maybe I should’ve expected it — Mebuki just laughed, breathless and shameless.
"Kizashi?" She let out a filthy little laugh, grinding back against me. "Oh dear, he can’t even last long enough to make me wet." She rolled her hips, her pussy practically dripping around my tip. "He can barely get it up half the time—and when he does? Ha. Let’s just say… I fake it a lot."
I rolled my eyes. I probably should stop trying to spice things up with her. Bet there were more fun prostitutes around. At least she’s free.
With a grunt of indifference, I gripped Mebuki’s soft, slightly plush hips — the comfortable curves of a woman who enjoyed her meals — and slammed into her in one brutal thrust. The air punched out of her lungs in a sharp "Oof—!" as her body stretched around me, warm and snug, the untrained tightness of a civilian who hadn’t been properly fucked in years.
For a second, she just shook, her fingers scrambling against the door, her mouth hanging open in silent shock. Then, as soon as she caught her breath, the moans started—loud, unfiltered, dripping with obscene delight.
"Oh—oh fuck—!" she gasped, her voice already wrecked. "You’re—nngh—so thick, I can feel every inch—!" Her hips rolled back, trying to take me deeper, her inner walls fluttering like she was already halfway to another orgasm. "It’s—ah—it’s like you’re branding me—filling me up so full—Kizashi never—never—!"
She cut herself off with a whine as I pulled back and snapped my hips forward again, making her tits bounce under her crumpled dress.
"Never what, Mebuki?" I taunted because I couldn’t help it, driving into her with slow strokes.
"N-never stretched me like this!" she wailed, her voice breaking. "I—I can feel you in my stomach—!" Her hands clawed at the door, her back arching. "Kami, yes—just like that—! You’re ruining me for him—!"
Dramatic bitch. I snorted.
The moment Mebuki's climax hit — her inner walls fluttering in rhythmic spasms around my cock — I didn't give her a second to recover.
That's when she's most sensitive.
When every nerve was still singing from pleasure, when her body was trembling and oversensitive — that's when it hurt the best. When the line between pleasure and pain blurs into something messy. When a woman like Mebuki — used to lazy, vanilla fucking from her pathetic husband — realizes just how out of her depth she really is.
I didn't slow down.
I snapped my hips forward, driving into her with a force that made her shriek—half in shock, half in overstimulated pleasure. Her cunt was still clenching from her orgasm, her inner walls trying to milk me as I fucked her through the aftershocks, each thrust punching another broken noise from her throat.
"W-wait—ah! I just—I just came—! You can’t—nngh!—you can’t just—oh kami—!" Her voice was a breathless, quivering mess, half-laughing in disbelief, half-sobbing from the relentless pace, her fingers scrambling against the door for purchase.
I ignored her.
Gripping her soft hips tight enough to leave bruises, I hoisted Mebuki’s hips higher, lifting her clean off the ground until her toes barely scraped the floor. Now she was suspended, her balance entirely dependent on the door handle she clung to with white-knuckled desperation—her body weight dragging her down onto my cock with every thrust.
The position stripped her of control.
No leverage. No resistance. Just helplessness.
A woman like Mebuki — used to playing the strict housewife, the one who held all the power in her little domestic world — now had nothing to grip but a door handle, nothing to steady herself but the man fucking her senseless. It was humiliation in its purest form. She was just a toy, a vessel, a convenience.
"W-wait—ah!—I just—I just ahh moment—!" she babbled, her voice slurred with pleasure, her thighs trembling. "Y-you can’t just—nngh!—lift me around like some—some—!"
I was not listening to her words. Not when her starved pussy had more convincing arguments.
She was cumming nonstop.
Her cunt was fluttering from climax to climax, her inner walls oversensitive and clenching around me in weak, involuntary spasms. Every snap of my hips dragged a choked gasp from her throat, her body torn between pleasure and overstimulation.
"P-please—! Hah—! I can’t—!"
Good.
That was the point.
Keeping a firm grip on Mebuki’s hips, I dragged her backward—still impaled on me—toward the bed. Her fingers clawed at the door handle in frantic resistance, but the flimsy latch gave way, the door swinging open with a click as her fingers slipped from the polished metal. She let out a startled yelp, her body lurching forward before I caught her weight effortlessly.
"Looks like even the house is on my side," I mused, dragging her toward the marital bed—the same one she shared with that weak-willed husband of hers.
I dumped her unceremoniously onto the edge, her upper body collapsing face-first into the mattress. Her once-pristine white dress with its teasing side slits was now crumpled and rucked up around her waist. The tight pink leggings and lacy panties she'd been so proud of were tangled around her knees, the fabric straining against her pale thighs, her long legs dangling off the side, spread and trembling.
The position was undignified, vulnerable—her ass raised in the air, her cunt on full display, still glistening and stretched from my earlier assault.
Mebuki whimpered, her fingers clutching at the bedsheets, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Y-you’re—ah—you’re rough," she slurred, her voice muffled by the mattress.
With a sharp slap to her already-reddened ass that made her yelp, I growled, "Spread yourself. Properly."
Mebuki let out a breathy, theatrical gasp—half scandalized, half delighted—before obeying with exaggerated slowness, reaching back with both hands to pull her cheeks apart, exposing herself completely.
"Mmm~ Like this, darling?" she purred, her voice dripping with faux innocence even as she arched her back further, presenting herself like a bitch in heat. "Or do you want me to—ah—beg for it first?"
Her fingers dug deep into the plush flesh of her own ass, sinking into the soft, untouched curves of a stay-at-home mom. With a slow, filthy drag of her nails, she spread herself wider, exposing not just her dripping, flushed cunt but the tight little pucker beneath it, clenching slightly in the cool air of the bedroom.
Pathetic.
And yet, effective.
"You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?" I gripped her hips tighter.
She dared to laugh, breathless and shameless. "Oh, please—like you’re not enjoying it more," she taunted, pushing back against me. "A young, powerful man like you, fucking a married woman in her own bed? Please. You’re harder than—nngh!—"
Her words dissolved into a moan as I shoved into her without warning, cutting off her gloating.
That was when I felt a familiar presence enter the house.
