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Chapter 17 - Mebuki Haruno II
🕑 Added 2025-04-09 14:49:09 +0000 UTCWe reached her home—a modest, two-story house tucked within one of Konoha’s quieter districts. Civilian quarters. No grand compounds, no sprawling estates like the clans had. Just simple, practical homes lined neatly along the streets, built for families that lived off steady, average incomes.
The Haruno house was no exception. The walls were clean but plain, the roof showing early signs of wear—nothing severe, just the creeping neglect of a household that didn’t have the spare funds for constant upkeep. The small front porch had a pair of sandals set neatly by the door. A potted plant sat beside the entrance.
Inside, the decor leaned toward ostentatious. Cheap imitations of noble aesthetics. Delicate vases, decorative fans, and silk cushions arranged just so to give the illusion of class. There was a lingering scent of tea leaves and cheap perfume.
I set her groceries on a small wooden table just past the entrance. Beyond it, the interior was exactly what one expected. Modest. Tidy, but lived-in. The kind of home where everything had a place, not because of discipline, but because there wasn’t enough space for disorder. A cabinet filled with mismatched dishware stood against the far wall, a set of family photos arranged carefully on a shelf nearby.
Mebuki followed my gaze, her lips pressing together as she noticed what had caught my attention — the framed family photo on the wall.
Sakura, younger, smiling brightly. Kizashi, grinning. And Mebuki herself, stiff-backed, composed, wearing a smile.
She exhaled through her nose, tilting her chin slightly as if dismissing whatever thoughts had surfaced. "It’s not much," she murmured, watching me carefully now, gauging my reaction. "But it’s home."
I let my gaze shift back to her as she hovered beside me, smoothing her dress as if that would steady her nerves. I smiled. Self conscious?
"Mebuki… your home is beautiful," I whispered, closing the distance between us. "Just like its owner."
The older woman sucked in a breath — soft, barely audible, but I caught it. Her green eyes flickered, uncertainty warring with something else.
"You—" She hesitated, her lips parting, searching for the proper response. A deflection? A scolding? A laugh?
None came.
I was close now, too close for polite conversation, yet she didn’t move away. Her fingers twitched at her sides, gripping the fabric of her dress as if grounding herself. But her gaze—her gaze was locked on mine, drawn in despite herself.
"That’s…" She swallowed, voice quieter now, almost breathless. "That’s very kind of you to say."
I held her gaze, let the silence stretch, let the moment breathe.
"Kind?" I echoed, voice low, intimate. "No, Mebuki… just honest."
A flush crept up her neck, blooming across her cheeks. She was still gripping the fabric of her dress. Her fingers twitched, just slightly, and she finally forced a breathy laugh, shaking her head. "You're quite… bold, aren’t you?"
"I told you, didn’t I?” I smiled. “When you see something you want, you have to be bold and direct."
I reached out, my fingers brushing against the soft skin of her exposed arms, just below her shoulders, where her dress left her skin bare.
Mebuki stiffened. A sharp intake of breath. Her body tensed, but only for a heartbeat. Then, a slow exhale, her posture loosening, melting under the warmth of my hands.
She didn’t pull away.
I leaned in, just enough for my lips to hover near her ear. Close enough that she would feel the warmth of my breath, close enough that my voice would slip past her defenses like silk.
"And now…" I whispered, letting Devil’s Whisper seep into my tone, "what I want is you."
Her body jolted. A shudder, small but undeniable.
The first time I used it on her, she had been too guarded—shaken by the robbery, too wrapped up in her own superiority to let it fully sink in. But now? Now, she had let her walls down, eager to please, eager to grasp at status.
The Devil’s Whisper slithered through her defenses effortlessly, not because she was weak-willed, but because she wanted to be persuaded.
I probably didn’t even need to use my gift. But I wanted to. Wanted to reinforce my presence in her mind, to make sure she remembered this moment—not as a mistake, but as something inevitable.
She trembled, lips parting, her breath shallow. A flush dusted the tips of her ears, spreading down the pale skin of her throat.
The moment hung between us. I brushed my lips lightly against the delicate curve of her ear. Barely a touch, just enough to feel the tremble that passed through her. Testing the waters.
When she gave no negative reaction, I trailed lower, pressing a featherlight kiss to the curve of her jaw, then the hollow beneath her cheekbone. Each touch was unhurried and slow, giving her every opportunity to recoil, to slap me, to hiss how dare you like the respectable married woman she pretended to be.
I wanted her to snap back, to scold me like a mother would. To remind me that she was a devoted wife, that this wasn’t her. I wanted her to resist, to prove herself better than the woman I thought she was. One who would never betray her vows, who had more dignity than to be swayed by a stranger’s words or actions.
I was a scumbag.
I knew that. A manipulator, a horny predator, a man who took what he wanted without remorse. But despite it all, some stubborn, foolish part of me still hoped others weren’t as weak as I was. That Mebuki, for all her vanity and social climbing, would prove herself better than this. That she’d shove me away, disgusted, and I could walk off with the grim satisfaction that at least someone had morals.
Not that I’d give up. In fact, I’d redouble my effort at the challenge.
Still, the thought surprised me.
When had I started thinking like this?
… after Kushina, maybe.
Fiery, loyal, and unbreakable Kushina. A woman I had never believed her capable of betrayal, yet she had...
My mouth hovered just above hers, close enough that our breaths mingled. One more second, and she’d either—
"W-wait—" Her voice was a trembling whisper, her hands pressing weakly against my chest. Not shoving, not yet, but the resistance was there.
I stayed still, hovering just above her lips, waiting, giving her space to decide.
"This isn’t a good place," she said, her voice still shaky, her green eyes flickering between the door and me, clearly aware of the risk. "We could be found here..."
I was about to respond. The fact I hoped she would push me away means not I held no desire to fuck her, but her next move caught me off guard. A shy, indecipherable smile tugged at her lips, and she hesitated for a moment. Then, without another word, she grabbed my hand and led me further inside.
Past more family photos and into her marital bedroom.
The irony was almost poetic. The bed was neatly made, the pillows fluffed, a faint trace of floral perfume lingering in the air. A married couple's sanctuary. And now, it would bear witness to her betrayal.
Mebuki turned to face me, her chest rising and falling too fast, her cheeks flushed. There was no hesitation in her eyes now—only hunger and lust.
"Lock the door," she breathed.
And just like that, any last shred of respect I might have had for her evaporated.
I should have been pleased. This was what I'd wanted, wasn't it? Proof that she was exactly the kind of woman I'd pegged her as — vain, selfish, easy.
But instead, as I reached behind me to turn the lock, I felt something unexpected—
Disappointment.
Mebuki Haruno, pushed herself against my chest, launching herself at me with a vulgar smile twisting her carefully maintained features. The lines around her mouth — those subtle marks of age she no doubt hated — deepened as she grinned, her lips parting greedily. It was an expression a woman her age shouldn’t make, something unbecoming, too undignified — and yet, damningly, it made my cock twitch in response.
"You an awful man…. someone your age… you shouldn’t be toying with feelings like that" she gasped, hands already clawing at my clothes, her voice dripping with a performative scolding that only made her sound more obscene. "Teasing me, in broad daylight — what kind of woman do you take me for?"
The hypocrisy was almost impressive. She wasn’t actually protesting — she was fishing, her tone laced with breathless lust, each word a transparent plea for me to reassure her, to tell her she was still desirable, that she wasn’t just some aging housewife.
"A married woman," she panted, pressing closer, "an older woman like me — you should be ashamed!"
But the way she ground her hips against mine betrayed her real intentions.
I could have laughed.
Instead, I gripped her waist, pulling her flush against me, letting her feel exactly how little shame I had.
"You don’t sound very ashamed yourself," I murmured against her throat.
My hands moved over her without restraint, fingers digging into the soft give of her hips, the plush curve of her ass — so different from Kushina’s battle-hardened muscle. Mebuki was all civilian softness, her body shaped by years of domestic ease rather than shinobi discipline. The fabric of her dress strained as I kneaded her, the material bunching under my grip, her pink leggings stretched taut over the round swell of her backside.
Her ass filled my palms nicely—not toned or athletic like a kunoichi’s, but a plush, protruding swell, unmistakably feminine in its roundness. Unique, even. I squeezed hard enough to knead the flesh, feeling the way she shuddered, her breath hitching in a shameless moan.
"A-ah! Your hands—" Her voice was a breathy pant, dripping with theatrical awe. "So big… so strong… Is this how shinobi handle women?"
She was laying it on thick, words spilling between gasps as her fantasies tumbled out—half-baked reverence for strength, power, status — everything her husband couldn’t give her.
I didn’t humor her. Instead, I shoved her against the wall, teeth scraping her neck as my mouth found the fluttering pulse beneath her skin. No restraint. No hiding marks. Her skin was pale, softer with age, lacking the sun-hardened resilience of a fighter. Bruises would bloom easily here.
Mebuki arched into me, her body jerking as I bit down—not enough to draw blood, but enough to make her yelp. Her fingers scrambled at my shoulders, nails biting in.
"Y-yes—! Like that," she whined, her hips rolling back against me for friction. "Oh kami, you—you're so much rougher than—"
She cut herself off, but the implication was clear.
My fingers didn’t hesitate—sliding past the slit in her dress, past the waistband of her ridiculous pink leggings, burying themselves inside her panties without ceremony.
She was already slick.
Mebuki gasped, her hips jerking forward shamelessly as my fingertips found her folds—neatly trimmed, but not freshly shaved, the soft stubble of three days’ regrowth scraping against my knuckles.
"Hah—! Y-you—oh kami—such a bold—ahn—man!" she babbled, her legs parting instinctively, her hips canting forward to give me better access. "T-to just—take what you want—nngh—like some—ah!—some untouchable lord! Doesn’t—ah!—ask permission!"
Her cunt was embarrassingly responsive, clenching around nothing, her wetness coating my fingers as I dragged them through her lips. She wasn’t tight like a kunoichi would be—years of childbirth and a lack of muscle tone left her looser, softer—but she made up for it with sheer desperation, grinding against my hand like a bitch in heat.
Her fantasy was painfully obvious—this wasn’t just about sex. It was about status. About being claimed by someone above her station, someone who didn’t need to ask.
So I didn’t.
My thumb circled her clit — slow and rough — and she nearly crumpled, her knees buckling as she clung to my arms.
"W-wait—I—ah!—I can’t—!"
I didn’t let her finish.
Two fingers shoved inside her without warning or consideration, curling just enough to make her shriek.
The first orgasm of many to come.
— — — — — —
A/N: Alright, quick scheduling update for everyone!
So, I’ve been testing out this Monday-to-Friday posting schedule, and while it’s been fun, it’s also been a lot. Between writing, real-life stuff, and trying not to burn out completely, I’ve realized I probably can’t keep up that pace consistently without losing my mind or the quality of the fic.
Starting next week, I’ll be switching to an every other day posting schedule. Still regular updates, just with a little more breathing room so I can keep the momentum going without running myself into the ground.
Appreciate everyone who's been reading along and dropping comments — seriously, it helps more than you think. Hope you enjoy this chapter, and as always, let me know what you think!
