The mission dossier slipped from Himari's fingers—Rank A, stamped with the Hokage's personal seal in wax the color of dried blood. Her lips parted as she read the damning line: *Serve Fire noble embassy as ambassador's pet. Extreme sadomasochism protocols authorized. Mission duration: 2 weeks.* The parchment smelled of burning sage and something darker—ink mixed with a pheromone keyed to her chakra signature. Tsunade's scribbled note in the margins was brutally concise: *"They requested a kunoichi who can take a whip without breaking. Show them why Konoha whores outlive their enemies."*
Phase one was conditioning. The ANBU medics strapped her to a steel table in the black-ops ward, needles sliding into her spine to heighten pain receptivity while suppressing vocal cords. "Scream and you fail," the medic muttered, pressing a scalpel to her inner thigh. The cut seared—a precise incision for subdural pleasure-pain nodes—and Himari bit down on the gag until her jaw cracked. By dawn, her nerves were rewired; every lash would feel like a lover's kiss, every burn like a caress. The ambassador's preferences were etched into her skin now: *Wants them broken but still fighting.*
Nightfall brought the first test. The embassy's silk-draped chambers reeked of clove oil and sweat as the ambassador circled her, a barbed whip coiled in his fist. "On your knees," he murmured, dragging the metal-tipped tails down her spine. Himari obeyed, her movements deliberately clumsy—playing the novice, not the predator. The first strike split the air like kunai, lashing across her shoulders hard enough to draw blood. She gasped, *let* her body tremble, while her chakra coiled beneath the skin, numbing the damage before it could hinder her.
The ambassador's boot hooked under her chin, forcing her gaze up. "You'll learn to thank me for that," he purred, thumb smearing her blood across her lips. Himari's tongue darted out—calculated hesitation—before licking it clean with a shudder that wasn't entirely feigned. His pupils dilated; she'd hit the profile's mark. *Aristocrats like their pets half-feral.*
By the third night, the whip was routine. The real challenge came when he summoned his retinue—six noblemen with hungry eyes and hands that knew exactly where to grip. They pinned her over the low table, a map of the Daimyo's trade routes spread beneath her, ink smearing as her sweat dripped onto the parchment. "Mark the weak points," the ambassador ordered, thrusting into her hard enough to rattle the teacups. Himari's fingers trembled—*perfectly*—as she faked struggling to focus, dotting the map with deliberate errors near Konoha's borders.
The seventh night introduced electricity. The ambassador's new toy was a Raiton-charged rod, its tip sparking blue as he traced it down her sternum. "Count for me," he whispered, pressing it to her clit. Himari's back arched off the bed as the voltage seared through her, her voice breaking on "T-three—" just as the door slid open. The Daimyo's spymaster stood framed in the doorway, his gaze locked on the way her thighs convulsed around the rod.
Negotiations began in earnest after that. The ambassador fucked her on the council table while the nobles argued tariffs, her choked moans punctuating their debates. Himari memorized every scroll they touched, every seal they broke—her chakra-sensitive nodes recording the pressure of their fingerprints. When the spymaster finally bent her over his knee, his fingers digging into the fresh welts on her ass, she *let* him feel her tremble. "Such a quick learner," he mused, palming the injection site on her thigh where the ANBU had embedded their listening seals.
The final test came at dawn on the fourteenth day. The ambassador shackled her wrists to the bedposts with chakra-suppressing cuffs, his teeth sinking into her shoulder as he whispered, "Show me what you really are." Himari's eyes fluttered shut—not in submission, but to hide the flare of green as her chakra overrode the nodes' limits. Her scream as he rammed the electrified rod inside her was *real* this time, her body seizing not from pain, but from the pulse of stolen data transmitting to Konoha.
Debriefing was a haze of antidotes and cold compresses. Tsunade's fingers glowed green as she peeled back the layers of damage, her mouth tightening at the scar tissue forming in precise ANThe ambassador's breath was hot against her ear as he tightened the silk restraints around her wrists, his fingers lingering just long enough to trace the faint scars from previous missions. "Tonight, little kunoichi," he murmured, pressing a kunai's cold edge to her inner thigh, "you'll learn the difference between pain and punishment." Himari's pulse spiked—not from fear, but anticipation. The blade bit just deep enough to draw a thin line of blood, her enhanced nerves singing with the precision of the cut. Outside, the distant sound of shattering porcelain signaled the distraction team's arrival. Right on schedule.
She arched her back with a gasp as the ambassador's free hand twisted in her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat. "Such pretty reactions," he mused, dragging the kunai up to her collarbone. "But let's see how you handle *real* pressure." The door slid open without warning, revealing the Daimyo's spymaster flanked by two armored guards. Himari's breath hitched—this wasn't part of the script. The ambassador's grip tightened imperceptibly, his kunai now a silent warning against her jugular.
The spymaster's eyes flickered over her bound form, lingering on the fresh welts crisscrossing her thighs. "You've been… thorough," he observed, stepping closer. Himari's muscles tensed as his fingers brushed the injection site on her hip—the one hiding Konoha's data seals. The ambassador's chuckle was dark. "She's resilient. Broke three whips already." The spymaster's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Then she'll survive what comes next."
Himari barely had time to process the words before the guards seized her, their chakra-suppressing gloves nullifying her enhanced reflexes. The spymaster produced a vial of swirling black liquid—*truth serum*, her training supplied—and her stomach dropped. This was an unsanctioned interrogation. The ambassador's smirk faltered as the spymaster gripped her jaw, forcing her mouth open. "Let's see what your pet *really* is," he murmured, tipping the vial toward her lips.
Her body moved before her mind caught up—a sharp twist of her hips dislodging one guard's grip, her teeth snapping shut millimeters from the spymaster's fingers. The kunai clattered to the floor as the ambassador lunged, but Himari was already rolling, her silk restraints tearing against pre-weakened threads. The spymaster's curse was cut short as she slammed her forehead into his nose, the crack of bone muffled by the guards' shouting.
Chaos erupted. Himari's knee connected with a guard's groin, her follow-up elbow strike aimed precisely at his temple. The second guard drew a tanto, but she was faster—her bare foot hooking under his wrist to send the blade skittering across the tatami. The ambassador's fist caught her ribs, but she rode the impact, using his momentum to flip him onto the low table. Splintered wood and scattered scrolls filled the air as the door burst open again—*Konoha ANBU*, their masks gleaming in the lantern light.
The spymaster staggered upright, blood streaming from his nose. "You'll regret this," he spat, but the lead ANBU's blade was already at his throat. "Mission parameters have shifted," the operative said coolly. Himari didn't wait for orders. She snatched the fallen truth serum vial and drove it into the ambassador's thigh as he struggled to rise, his scream cut short by a chokehold. The guards lay motionless—tranquilized, not dead. *Clean extraction.*
Silence fell. The ANBU commander tossed her a folded uniform, his gaze lingering on her injuries just long enough to confirm they were superficial. "Intel secured?" he asked. Himari's lips curled as she pulled the stolen trade scrolls from their hiding place—nestled between her thighs, where no noble would dare look. The commander's nod was approving. "Mission accomplished."
Dawn found her in Tsunade's office, the Hokage's fingers glowing green as she assessed the damage. "You let them get close," Tsunade observed, probing a bruise that wasn't entirely faked. Himari's smile was all teeth. "Close enough to steal everything." The mission scroll dissolved in the brazier, but the real trophies were elsewhere—etched into the Daimyo's compromised trade routes, whispered in the spymaster's fever dreams, and pulsing in the ambassador's veins where the *truth serum* had been replaced with a slow-acting poison.
The after-mission glow lasted precisely six hours—enough time for Tsunade's medics to patch the worst of the whip marks and for Himari to down two vials of soldier pills with a swig of sake.