Not much work had been done that day.
Again — Shiho's fault. Of course.
They always acted surprised afterward. But the second their brain caught back up with their body, reality always came crashing down.
And Shiho…..
What a predictable little panic it was — knees trembling, thighs clamped shut, as if that would stop the warmth from leaking out of her well fucked cunt. Her lips pouted into that tight line, her fingers fussed with her skirt. She went full librarian horror: fretting over pregnancy, mumbling numbers about cycles, whispering guilt like a script rehearsed a hundred times. So sweetly distressed, you'd think I'd put a curse on her womb.
I was a bit offended, to be honest.
I wanted to bully her in that moment. I wanted to tease her, remind her she was still in the Konoha Library, that there were hardly any angles not in range of a patrol or a surveillance seal— hell, even the Anbu probably saw sheets of lust — there was no such a thing — rippling in the goddamn chakra grid by now. But I held off.
Instead, I placated her. Told her that the chances were low — some line about how ovulation windows were narrow, pre-ejaculate wasn't always potent, whatever, pseudoscience would calm her down long enough to bend her back open.
And then I very calmly proceeded to raise those odds dramatically.
I sat her down on the wooden staff cart between the rows of books, pulled aside those soaked little panties still clinging to her trembling thighs, and slid my cock back into the cunt that still hadn't closed fully around the last load. No warm-up. No mercy. Just a methodical, slow push.
Her hips gave a helpless twitch under me.
There was no need for foreplay now—none of that appeal to her pleasure. She was already a mess, soaked with semen and slick humiliation, her cervix tender and her fair legs struggling not to squirm under pressure.
So I fucked her casually. Thoroughly.
Her back arched just slightly on the edge of the cart, mouth open but silent now that her will had been thoroughly spent, and I worked her body into a couple more orgasms.
I came again with a slow, cruel flex—deep, filling, tight against that perfect dim little chamber at the back. A deliberate injection. A second dose. Hot and thick and without a trace of hesitation.
Her pussy fluttered around me, weaker now, my cum displacing my own earlier mess like an offering to her womb.
It made me wonder what Anko would do if I told her of this. Her competitive spirit would probably flare up. Or not, she seemed quite serious about not wanting kids.
Too bad because I'm serious about this, too.
After that, Shiho went even quieter.
She kept shifting in her seat like it was just discomfort, with those soft fidgeting excuses about leaking — just blame-the-seed nonsense. Her body also refused to forget so easily. The warmth inside her had heat and presence, and she couldn't unclench her thighs or sit still with her long skirt sticking and her panties damp.
Which made her even more distressed—blushing, embarrassed, fidgeting with her uniform now like she could somehow smooth the evidence off her sleeves and coat.
She wanted to go home. But her legs weren't obeying yet. And she lacked the bravery to walk out on me and with that appearance. Disheveled, visibly altered. She always acted so meek after sex—deflated, out of breath, eyes turned submissive as if each stroke drained some right from her body.
So I did what I knew she needed but wouldn't dare ask. I bent her again. This time, lower, slower, her body limp with overstimulation and nerves, and gave her womb one more gentle reminder.
That this wasn't her choice.
It'd been so long since I'd had sex like that.
Fully unrestrained. Selfish.
Sex with Anko was good — intense, loud, slick with knife-edge need. But it was always a performance. She wanted to be conquered, sure, but only if she could still bite back, laugh through it, turn it into competition. I had to keep one hand on her pulse and another on her leash, making sure the balance stayed just right—dominant but not dismissive, rough but not careless. Her pleasure mattered. Her resistance mattered. She needed to feel ruined without ever really being. An exhausting kind of control.
And Kushina… Kushina was an S-tier milf.
But it was selfless sex. She was an Uzumaki, after all — impossible stamina, near-predatory hunger. Just one deep thrust into her and her body would clamp, chase you with aching heat, milk you straight to the hilt with such force it felt like you owed her for entering her at all. I hadn't been focusing on myself during sex with her. All my instincts turned outward, into pleasuring her. Giving. Studied precision. Skillful hands. She didn't ask for it, but how the fuck do you fuck a woman like that casually? You serve.
But Shiho…?
Shiho was easy.
Too easy.
She came loose under a stare. She came practically shaking when I talked to her roughly. I didn't have to think. I didn't have to try. Just being myself — when I was in that mood, I'm always in the mood — was enough with her.
It was the little things.
The way she twitched whenever I stood too close behind her. The way she started squirming whenever I called her "good girl". The yielding. Everything in her posture, in her mouth, in her pulse whispered, yes, before I ever laid a hand on her. She didn't need coaxing. She didn't want to play games. She didn't want to compete at all. She just... wanted to be looked at and valued. Taken and filled and praised or toyed with — all up to me.
She had no demands, no expectations. Just reactions.
Shiho belonged in my palm.
And the best part? She was quietly filthy. A little shy genius with a slut's receptors. Her uniform wrinkled, her thighs always tight together after class, notebooks full of neat handwriting and barely-hidden stains. Her panties told the truth her lips tried to hide. And she never asked me to stop.
Not even when I knew I should.
Still, after that… I tried to get some work done.
Even with the heavy throb of need still in my stomach, even with Shiho breathing beside me, glazed over and utterly spent, a boneless, shaky little mess tucked into herself in that modest long brown skirt. Knowing my seed was still leaking from her, soaking slowly and sticky into those plain cotton panties underneath and dripping to her thighs, it made me....
Motivated. It made me motivated.
Wasn't that the whole damn reason I was working on this project in the first place?
A civilian-grade sealing scroll system. A product with just enough flair for profit but basic enough to scale.
Capital.
Not glory. Not rank.
Money for raising children the right way.
I won't have my children eat stale bread and warm water for dinner because I couldn't keep my urges in check. I won't raise a daughter who whispers hunger into her sleeves because we couldn't afford rice that week. I won't raise a son who flinches at the empty wallet sitting where meals should be.
Fuck that.
My dick may lead me to my grave, but I will never let it mess with the future of my kids.
I would sooner chop it off than let it ruin the fucking bloodline.
It was around midday when a clerk handed me a thin piece of paper. It seemed regret came sooner than expected.
The higher-ups had found a mission for me.
They don't waste time, do they?
— — — — —
I didn't stop for dinner.
The message had been clear — an immediate summons. No room to breathe, let alone eat.
Still, I could've stolen time for a meal.
But instead, I chose to walk Shiho home.
Her house sat on the edge of the market district, just like mine. Small. Modest. Quieter than the streets around it.
But unlike my four walls, you could tell a girl lived here. Even one like her—reserved, twitchy, and, most of the time, buried in books.
Still, a house was afforded to an orphan.
Not for long. I told myself.
I'd get something better.
Within the Hokage Tower, I wasn't left waiting this time, not like before.
Minato Namikaze greeted me with that usual calm voice, smooth as lacquered wood, always about two decibels too soft to be aggressive. With a smile, I doubted he meant.
"Thanks for coming on short notice, Sasayaki-san." He said, his smile almost apologetic. "I didn't want to call you out this soon… but we're short-staffed."
I nodded, reflex perfect, posture squared. The ideal soldier.
But some part of me inside still twitched—my hand drifting near the pocket where I'd stashed them.
Kushina's panties.
Minato's nose crinkled—just for a split second—and I caught myself. Not the panties, idiot. It's probably the smell of sex still clinging to me. How…. embarrassing. Despite myself, I felt my cheeks heating up.
Fortunately, he didn't comment on it. Showing the consideration expected of a leader.
"Before I brief you," Minato said, "you're going to meet your team."
My eyes narrowed.
Team?
Not unusual, on paper. But these field teams were usually patched together through the personal channels or clan heads directly, if you were someone. For it to come personally from the Hokage?
That was new, for me at least.
I turned to the third occupant of the office. A young man, standing too straight for comfort near the scroll rack.
Root.
I knew the outfit before I knew the face. I remember it from the show. It was quite unusual after all. Black-grey jacket. Red straps. Canvas backpack bulging with ink sets. Tipless tantō on the back.
But what caught my eye—what held it, really—was the fucking shirt.
That high-collared midriff.
Exposing the boy's bare stomach, pale and smooth as ink-washed porcelain.
The kind of skin that didn't look like it had ever been truly sunburnt or cut. Not scarred skin. Prepared skin. Artificial perfection. Fragile on purpose.
Effeminate.
I forced my eyes away. I don't like this.
He had that Root look—wide, unblinking eyes and a face that either hadn't learned emotion or had it burned out with poison drills. Hair jet black and cut close, brows minimal, lips pale and dry.
"This is Sai," Minato offered, calm and warm as always. "He was under Anbu's intel division before this operation. Consider this extended vetting."
Extended vetting. Translation. He's been cleaned, but you need to confirm there's a soul left in there.
I gave Sai a short and couldn't help my stare dropping at the boy's stomach again. Still bare. Still… weirdly delicate in texture.
And wondered if I was supposed to trust someone who didn't even feel the need to cover their kidneys.
But it wasn't just him I started to doubt.
Maybe this wasn't a test for Sai.
Maybe it was for me.
After all… I fucked the Hokage's wife.
It didn't matter that every angle, every choice, every move seemed to prove Minato didn't know. That there were no confronting glances. No pressure in his voice.
Possibility isn't confirmation. And paranoia's the kind of shadow that never leaves you.
It might've been a strategy.
I eyed Sai again. If it came down to just the two of us, I could end him. Some bruised part of me welcomed that idea. But trust was the real poison.
A dagger in the dark is deadlier than a sword at dawn. I read that somewhere, or maybe I made it up. The point was, the people closest to you knew precisely where to stick the blade.
Funny thing about betrayal—it was not the enemy you gotta watch. It was the friend who knew where you slept.
And that was no paranoia. He's one of Danzo's men.
I opened my mouth to ask and probe, when the damn door exploded open behind me.
Hard.
Loud.
Every instinct in me flinched. My hand went to my thigh pouch. Sai didn't blink.
A bright, too-loud shadow burst in with the confidence only a son of a legend could wear.
"Yoooo, Old Man! Is the super-secret mission squad ready? I've been doing push-ups all morning — dattebayo!"
Blonde. Loud. Sunlight incarnate. The son of the Hokage with more chakra than sense. Smiling like he owned the place.
Oh, no….
Behind him came the ticking sound of boots. Sakura.
She scowled — rightfully so, if I may add — once her eyes landed on me.
Minato merely smiled at that, as if the chaos were part of the plan.
"These are your team members, Sasayaki-san," he said smoothly. "You'll be leading them through this assignment."
Fucking fantastic.
You've got the Root mute with possible leash orders, the unpredictable child of legend powered by god-blood, the pink-haired not yet medic with vendetta eyes.
I was going to be burdened with the reincarnation of Asura-fucking-Ōtsutsuki.
I didn't roll my eyes. Didn't twitch.
But my soul screamed a little.
The boy of prophecy….. my responsibility.
Fuck me.