The next morning, Moriko stood at the front of the classroom without a single hair out of place, her kimono pristine—only the faint tremor in her hands. "Today," she announced, voice steady as a kunai's edge, "we'll practice sensory deprivation techniques." Behind her, a fresh scroll unfurled to reveal intricate bondage diagrams. Himari's stomach dropped when Moriko's gaze locked onto hers, that familiar smirk returning. "Volunteers?"
The silence stretched thick as tar until Moriko's polished nails tapped the scroll with deliberate precision. "Himari," she purred, the name dripping like honey laced with venom. Himari's breath hitched—every muscle locking in instinctive rebellion—as Moriko's fingers closed around her wrist, tugging her toward the demonstration table with the same casual cruelty as a cat playing with its prey. "Let's show them how a *proper* kunoichi takes her lessons." The ropes slithered from Moriko's sleeve like living things.
The ropes coiled around Himari's wrists like serpents, their rough fibers biting into her skin as Moriko whispered, "Remember, little kunoichi—pain is just pleasure in disguise." Across the room, Sakura's knuckles whitened around her kunai, Naruto's jaw clenched, but neither moved as Himari's breath hitched—half-terror, half something darker—when Moriko's fingers traced the fresh seal on her thigh. The instructor's smile widened. "Let's begin."
The ropes tightened with a sudden jerk, wrenching Himari's arms above her head as Moriko's knee pressed between her thighs. A hush fell over the classroom—only the ragged hitch of Himari's breath and the whisper of rope against skin cutting through the silence. Then Moriko leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of Himari's ear as she murmured, "Scream for them, and I'll make it worse." Himari's whimper dissolved into a choked gasp as Moriko's fingers twisted in her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat—just like they'd practiced.
Moriko's hand clamped over Himari's mouth before the first scream could escape, her other hand snaking down to pinch the inside of Hisari's thigh—sharp enough to make her jerk against the ropes. "Good girls stay quiet," she breathed, watching the way Himari's pupils dilated with fear and something else entirely. Behind them, Anko chuckled darkly as she strolled between the desks, dragging a kunai down the spine of each frozen student. "Pay attention, maggots," she purred, stopping to grip Naruto's chin when his gaze dropped. "This is how we teach obedience in Konoha." Moriko's fingers dipped lower, pressing against Himari's clit through her shorts with calculated pressure—just enough to make her hips twitch involuntarily. "And this," she whispered loud enough for the back row to hear, "is how we reward it." The first tear traced a hot path down Himari's cheek as her body betrayed her, arching into Moriko's touch despite the humiliation burning through her veins. Somewhere to her left, Sakura's choked sob echoed almost as loudly as the wet sound of Moriko's fingers pushing past fabric.
Moriko's fingers twisted deeper, her nails scraping sensitive flesh as Himari's body convulsed against the ropes. The classroom air thickened with sweat and salt as Moriko leaned in, her breath hot against Himari's ear. "Count for them," she ordered, flicking her wrist sharply—pleasure-pain blooming bright behind Himari's eyelids. A whimper tore free before she could choke it back. "One," Himari gasped, thighs trembling as Moriko's fingers circled faster. Naruto's chair screeched backward, but Anko's kunai pressed between his shoulder blades before he could stand. "Two," Himari moaned, voice breaking as Moriko's thumb pressed cruel against her clit. The ropes burned, the eyes burned hotter—Sakura's muted crying the only protest as Moriko smirked. "Good girl."
Moriko's free hand yanked Himari's shorts down her thighs, exposing the glistening evidence of her shame to the entire class. "Three," Himari sobbed, back arching as Moriko's fingers plunged inside without warning. The sound was obscenely wet, echoing off the Academy's wooden beams. Anko's laughter slithered through the room while Naruto's fists clenched—knuckles white around the kunai he couldn't throw. Moriko's rhythm turned punishing, her palm slapping against Himari's clit with each thrust. "Four—ah!—four," Himari choked, tears dripping onto the demonstration table. Someone retched in the back row. Moriko's smile never wavered.
The fifth count dissolved into a wordless scream as Moriko crooked her fingers just right, wrenching a violent orgasm from Himari's trembling body. Rope fibers dug into her wrists as she thrashed, the pleasure so sharp it bordered on agony. Moriko held her through it, fingers never slowing even as Himari's vision whited out. When she finally stilled, gasping, Moriko licked her fingers clean with deliberate slowness. "Five," she purred, watching the class's horrified faces. "Always make them beg for the next number."
Himari's legs gave out the moment the ropes loosened, her knees hitting the floor with a thud that echoed louder than her ragged breathing. Moriko stepped back, adjusting her gloves as if she'd merely demonstrated a simple knot technique. "Tomorrow," she said sweetly, "we'll practice resistance training." Her heel pressed down on Himari's trembling fingers. "With live volunteers."
Moriko's cane whistled through the air before landing with a sharp crack across Himari's upturned palms, the sound like a firework detonating in the suffocating classroom silence. "Every girl earns her reward," she purred, dragging the cane's tip down Himari's spine as the students shuffled forward—some hesitant, some with darkening eyes. Naruto's turn came third; his hands trembled around the cane's handle before swinging with desperate restraint—the impact still hard enough to leave an angry red stripe. By the seventh stroke, Himari's palms glowed crimson, her whimpers hitching each time the cane kissed fresh skin. Sakura's swing faltered halfway—until Moriko's grip corrected her aim with brutal precision, whispering, "Harder, or you'll take her place." The cane's next crack split the air like a kunai strike, Himari's scream dissolving into wet sobs as Ino brought it down with practiced cruelty, her swing honed by years of aristocratic discipline. When the last stripe bloomed across her fingertips, Himari's hands hung limp and ruined—yet Moriko merely smiled, tracing the swollen welts with a lover's tenderness. "Good girl," she murmured, pressing a kiss to each throbbing palm. "Now kneel and thank your classmates properly."
Himari's knees hit the wooden floor with a wet thud, her swollen hands hovering uselessly in the air as the cane made its final rounds—this time delivered between her thighs by each classmate, each stroke punctuated by Moriko's murmured instructions: "Deeper." "Harder." "Make her count." The cane cracked against her inner thighs in rhythmic succession—Sakura's hesitant tap blooming into Naruto's punishing swing, Shikamaru's lazy flick giving way to Ino's vicious snap—until the welts formed a lattice of fire across her skin. When Kiba brought the cane down with a growl, the impact forced a broken "Six!" from her lips, her body jerking forward only to be yanked back by Moriko's grip in her hair. "Again," Moriko commanded, guiding Hinata's trembling hands to strike the same throbbing spot, the cane's bite drawing a fresh scream as Himari's thighs glistened with sweat and other fluids. By the time the cane returned to Moriko's waiting fingers, Himari's legs were splayed wide and trembling, the stripes an angry map of her classmates' "lessons"—each welt a brand, each sob a currency paid in full.
Moriko's cane tapped once against the blackboard—the sound crisp, final. "Class dismissed," she announced, stepping over Himari's shuddering form without a glance. The students fled like startled birds, their footsteps echoing through the halls, leaving only the wet sound of Himari's tears hitting the floor. Behind her, the scroll of bondage diagrams rolled shut with a whisper, its contents already burned into every student's memory.
The classroom door creaked open long after the last footsteps faded—Sakura's hesitant silhouette outlined in moonlight as she slipped inside, Ino and Hinata shadowing her with stolen medical supplies clutched to their chests. Himari didn't lift her head from the floorboards where she'd curled into herself, her breath hitching when Sakura's fingers brushed the welted skin of her thigh. "Shhh," Ino murmured, pressing a damp cloth to the worst of the stripes, her other hand tilting Himari's chin up. The kiss tasted like salt and stolen defiance, Ino's lips moving gently against hers as Sakura's salve-soaked fingers traced each throbbing welt. Hinata's trembling hands gathered Himari's ruined ones between her own, her mouth finding the swollen knuckles with a tenderness that burned worse than the cane—their silent rebellion written in shared breath and shaking touches. Outside, a branch scraped against the window like a kunai testing locks. The girls worked faster.
Sakura's thumbs pressed into the deepest welts along Himari's inner thighs, the medicinal cream cooling the fire as Ino's mouth trailed lower—her kisses following the path of Sakura's fingers with deliberate slowness. When Himari whimpered, Hinata caught the sound with her own lips, her tongue tracing the split in Himari's bottom lip where she'd bitten through during the sixth strike. The ointment's sharp herbal scent mingled with sweat and the metallic tang of old tears as Sakura's hands grew bolder, massaging the salve into skin still twitching from phantom blows. Ino's teeth grazed a particularly vicious stripe near Himari's hipbone, drawing a gasp that Hinata swallowed hungrily, her fingers tangling in Sakari's hair like she could anchor them both to this fragile moment.
The medicine jar clattered to the floor as Sakura pushed Ino back against the demonstration table, their mouths crashing together with a desperation that left Hinata breathless—Himari's fingers clutching at their uniforms as if to say *me too, don't stop, I'm here.* Hinata answered by dragging Himari up onto the table beside Ino, her hands mapping the medicine-slick paths Sakura had left behind, her kisses following like vows whispered against heated skin. Ino arched between them with a broken laugh, her nails scraping down Sakura's spine as Himari's teeth found her throat—their touches equal parts apology and promise, the classroom's shadows hiding how their fingers trembled alike.
Hinata's palm slid between Himari's thighs without preamble, her touch feather-light against oversensitive flesh as Sakura's mouth descended on hers—the taste of medicinal herbs and shared rebellion thick on their tongues. Ino's leg hooked around Himari's waist, pulling her closer until their foreheads pressed together, their ragged breaths mingling as Hinata's fingers pressed deeper, drawing out a moan that Sakura caught in her own mouth. The salve made everything slick—Himari's thighs, Hinata's questing fingers, the way Sakura's hands gripped Ino's hips—their movements frantic now, as if Moriko might burst through the door any second.
When Himari came, it was with Hinata's name bitten into her shoulder and Ino's fingers laced through hers, Sakura's murmured *we've got you* warming the hollow places the cane had left behind. They stayed tangled together long after, their hands still roaming—not to heal, but to memorize. Dawn found them pressed forehead to forehead, Himari's striped thighs bracketing Hinata's hips, Sakura's healing chakra glowing faintly where her palms rested over Ino's rabbit-quick pulse. The first birdsong made them jump. They scattered like leaves in a storm—but not before Himari caught each of their wrists in turn, pressing a kiss to their palms that said *tomorrow, again, always.*
The week blurred into a haze of stolen moments—Himari's fingers brushing against Sakura's wrist during kunai drills, lingering a second too long; Ino's lips grazing Hinata's ear when adjusting her stance in taijutsu practice, breath hitching just once before pulling away. By Thursday, Himari had stopped flinching when Sakura's healing chakra traced the fading welts on her thighs, instead leaning into the touch with a quiet sigh that made Ino's gaze darken. The boys noticed first—Naruto's usual clumsy flirting stuttered to a halt mid-sentence when he caught Hinata pressing a water canteen into Himari's hands, their fingers entwined around the metal. Shikamaru's bored observations sharpened as Ino deliberately bumped hips with Sakura in the lunch line, their laughter a shade too intimate. By Friday, Kiba's nostrils flared when passing their huddled forms behind the training posts, the scent of sweat and something muskier making his claws unsheathe instinctively.
Then the demands started.
"Teach me," Naruto blurted after class, cornering Himari by the weapon racks, his usual bravado fraying at the edges. His eyes dropped to her neck where Sakura's teeth marks still bloomed purple. "I wanna—I need to know how to—" His voice cracked as Himari's thumb absently traced her own bruised lower lip, the memory of Hinata's bite making her shift uncomfortably. Behind them, Shino's hive buzzed louder when Ino stretched her arms overhead, the hem of her crop top riding up to reveal Sakura's fingernail scratches along her ribs.
The following morning, Himari found Kiba waiting at her usual training ground, Akamaru whining at his feet. "Show me," he demanded, claws pricking her waist through her thin shirt. "How you—" His words dissolved into a growl as Sakura stepped out from behind the trees, her glare icy but her lips still swollen from Himari's mouth. When Kiba lunged, it was Sakura who intercepted him—not with a punch, but by dragging him down by his scarf into a searing kiss that left him panting against her collarbone. "Like that, dog-boy?" she taunted, even as her fingers trembled where they gripped his shoulders.
By week's end, even the quietest approaches turned predatory—Choji's usual shyness burned away by the sight of Hinata pinning Himari against the storage shed, their uniforms rucked up around their waists. His hands, usually gentle with ration bars, gripped Himari's hips hard enough to bruise when Hinata relinquished her mouth with a wet gasp. "My turn," he rasped, more plea than demand, and Himari's breath hitched in something between fear and anticipation as his teeth found her throat.
The girls never refused.
Not when Shino cornered Ino by the koi pond, his insects forming a living barrier as his usually reserved hands mapped the curve of her ass through her shorts. Not when Neji pressed Sakura into the dojo mats with a knee between her thighs, his Byakugan veins flaring as he inhaled the scent of Himari still clinging to her skin. And certainly not when Naruto finally worked up the courage to drop to his knees before Hinata, his whimper of "please" echoing louder than any demand as her fingers tangled in his hair.
They learned fast—these hungry boys. Naruto's clumsy hands grew deft tracing the bruises Sakura left along Himari's ribs; Kiba's claws retracted when mimicking the way Ino's teeth scraped over Hinata's pulse point. Even Shikamaru's lazy thrusts between Himari's thighs gained precision after observing how Sakura's fingers curled just so inside Ino. The girls arched into every touch, their moans equal parts instruction and reward—until the boys' pleas turned to growls, their curiosity to possession.
By Sunday evening, Himari stumbled back to the dorm with Sakura's bite on her shoulder and Naruto's come drying between her thighs, the week's lessons etched into her skin alongside the cane stripes.