Moriko's heel came down on the bound girl's fingers with a wet snap. "Intermission," she announced, licking sake from her ledger's spine as clients began selecting "refreshments" from the trembling lineup. The fire noble's teeth gleamed bloody as he leaned over Hinata's seared throat. "Now," he murmured, hot breath fogging her Byakugan lens, "let's discuss your *inheritance*."
Ino's vomit hit the tatami with a splatter of bile and chakra residue as Stone shinobi unplugged from her ocular meridians. Himari's scream was barely human when the ambassador's shock-cane found the slave seal's nexus point. The grinding wheel's whine pitched higher as Tenten's femur met stone.
Sakura counted Mist kunai rotations by the teeth marks in her tongue.
Somewhere beyond the pavilion's paper walls, a nightingale cried twice before going silent.
The nightingale's severed head landed between Sakura's splayed thighs with a wet plop—the Mist kunoichi's tanto glinting as she flicked blood droplets onto the kunai brand. "Count the seconds," she whispered, pressing the blade's edge against Sakura's clit where the steel matched the scar's serrated pattern. Across the chamber, Hinata's Byakugan veins bulged grotesquely as the fire noble forced her forehead into a sake dish, the alcohol igniting against her sealed pupils with a hiss that smelled of burning retina. Himari's slave contract pulsed like a live wire when the ambassador's shock-cane found the exact frequency to trigger involuntary orgasms—her back arching as urine splattered the noble's silk trousers.
Moriko's ledger page tore as she recorded Tenten's armory barcode being engraved deeper with each rotation of the grinding wheel, the stone's screech syncing with the girl's gagged screams. Ino's jaw dislocated with an audible pop when the Stone shinobi rammed their fused earth fists into her mouth, her tongue flattening against the chakra-draining seals carved into their knuckles. The bound twelve-year-old's whimpers turned rhythmic as another noble heated his signet ring against her exposed ribs, the sizzle counting down like a grotesque metronome.
Sakura's vision swam red when the Mist kunoichi twisted all four kunai simultaneously—their edges catching on pubic bone in a way that sent white-hot agony lancing up her spine. Across the room, Hinata's fingernails splintered against the sake dish's porcelain as the burning alcohol seeped beneath her sealed eyelids. Himari's slave seal ruptured along its central seam when the ambassador activated its self-destruct sequence—thick ropes of chakra-infused semen erupting from her urethra in time with the taiko drum's accelerating beat.
Moriko's crimson nails scraped against Tenten's thigh burns as she inspected the freshly deepened barcode. "Still legible," she mused, snapping the grinding wheel's pedal to maximum speed. Ino's convulsions sent arcs of stolen Yamanaka chakra zipping between the Stone shinobi's teeth—their laughter muffled by the meat of her cheeks forced between their molars. The bound girl's countdown hit zero as the noble's signet ring met sternum, her scream cutting off abruptly when the scent of charred marrow filled the air.
Sakura counted twelve kunai rotations before her bladder released—warm urine mixing with the nightingale's congealing blood in a parody of mizu shōbai hospitality. Hinata's sealed eyes boiled over when the noble poured molten gold into her sake dish, the liquid metal tracing Hyuga veins with surgical precision. Himari's anal prolapse hit the ambassador's knee with a wet slap as her slave seal's final failsafe triggered—the embedded chakra strings now puppeteering her spasming body through the motions of an obscene tea ceremony.
Tenten's femur snapped audibly when the grinding stone hit a stress fracture—the armorer's assistant catching the bone shards in a ceremonial cup for later engraving. Ino's tongue flapped grotesquely against the Stone shinobi's chakra-siphoning knuckles as they pistoned their fused fists deeper, her gag reflex long since overridden by neural overload. The bound girl's ribcage yawned open like a broken music box when the noble pried free her still-beating heart—its frantic pulsing slowing as he pressed it against her branded shoulder to compare sizes.
Moriko's spit-polished heel came down on Sakura's kunai brand with enough force to crack pelvic bone. "Day one," she purred, licking ledger ink from her fingers as the pavilion's shoji doors slid shut on five broken girls, "completed."
The Chrysanthemum Pavilion's torches guttered out one by one, leaving the girls in a darkness that smelled of seared flesh and spent chakra. Sakura's kunai brand throbbed in time with Hinata's shallow breaths—each exhale whistling through teeth clenched around a scream. Tenten's femur had been set with armory-grade splints, the wood grain now patterned with bloody fingerprints where she'd clawed at the grinding wheel's restraints. Across the room, Ino's tongue lolled grotesquely from her dislocated jaw, her pupils still flickering with residual Stone chakra. Only Himari remained upright—her spine rigid where the slave seal's remnants pulsed like a dying star—as Moriko's ledger snapped shut with finality. "Dawn," she announced to the weeping shadows, "comes early."
The straw mats reeked of mildew and old semen when the girls were shoved into the training annex at dawn, their bare feet sticking to residue that crackled like dried salt with each step. Twelve perfectly spaced holes lined the cedar partition—each precisely positioned at groin height, their edges worn smooth from generations of desperate mouths. The silence shattered as Moriko's crimson-tipped fingers unspooled a scroll detailing the day's objectives: *Glory Hole Endurance Trial - Minimum 40 Servicings Per Orifice. No Refusals. No Breaks.* Sakura's healing chakra stuttered when she spotted the lubrication troughs beneath each hole already filled with a viscous green liquid that steamed faintly—Mist Country's famed numbing agent laced with just enough stimulant to prolong agony.
The first client's cock punched through Hole Three before Himari could brace herself, the Fire noble's girth stretching her lips obscenely as he immediately began fucking her face with the practiced brutality of a man who owned slaves. Across the row, Hinata's Byakugan veins bulged when an Earth shinobi's rock-hard erection split her tender flesh—his earth-style chakra callusing her throat in real time to "reduce friction." Tenten's scream was muffled by the Lightning diplomat currently electrocuting her uvula, his pleased chuckle vibrating through her jaw as she convulsed around him.
Ino's dislocated jaw proved an asset when two Stone shinobi shoved their fused cocks through Hole Five—her stretched esophagus accommodating their knotting technique with a wet pop that made Moriko's ledger quiver. Sakura's healing glow flared crimson as Mist kunoichi alternated kunai and cocks in Hole Seven—each thrust timed to reopen freshly healed tissue. The lubrication troughs bubbled ominously when Himari's nose broke against the partition from a particularly brutal thrust, her blood mixing with the green solution to form a nauseatingly festive hue.
By hour three, the annex floor was slick with drool and involuntary orgasms—Hinata's knees giving out only for the earth shinobi to simply lift the entire partition to maintain angle. Tenten's gag reflex had long since been overridden by lightning chakra, her throat now pulsing in perfect sync with the diplomat's discharge cycle. Ino's tongue lolled like a used washcloth beneath the Stone shinobi's dual ejaculation, their fused release flooding her stomach with enough earth chakra to visibly distend her abdomen.
Sakura lost count of kunai rotations after Mist's seventh switch between blades and flesh, her healing factor now stitching wounds around actively penetrating objects. Himari's slave seal remnants glowed whenever a Fire noble came—each hot splash triggering phantom contractions that milked clients dry before they'd fully softened.
Moriko's tally marks bled together when Hinata's sealed eyes spontaneously wept vitreous fluid—the earth shinobi having overstimulated her optic nerves through throat chakra. Tenten's oil-slicked thighs finally gave out during Lightning's twelfth discharge, her spasms now purely autonomic as the diplomat used her tongue to wipe himself clean. Ino's stomach ruptured at servicing thirty-eight—stone-tainted semen geysering from her nostrils as the shinobi simply switched to her ears.
When dusk filtered through the soiled rice paper walls, the girls lay in a tangle of exhausted limbs and overflowing troughs. Sakura's kunai brand pulsed around a still-hard Mist cock. Hinata's swollen throat emitted wet clicks with each shallow breathThe dawn gong struck with the same metallic finality as a kunai being driven into flesh. Himari's swollen lips parted around a silent scream as the first cock of Day Two punched through Hole Six—thicker than yesterday's, its barbed ridges catching on her torn frenulum with a wet *schlick*. Across the partition, Tenten's eyelids fluttered at the unmistakable scent of armory oil wafting through Hole Four, her thighs instinctively clamping shut only for the Lightning diplomat's waiting cattle prod to remind her of protocol. Sakura's healing chakra sparked uselessly when the Mist kunoichi slid a freshly sharpened tantō alongside her latest erection—the blade's serrations perfectly matching the scar tissue it was methodically reopening.
Moriko's crimson nails scraped against the cedar as she marked the first tallies—her ledger page already spotted with droplets of whatever viscous fluid was dripping from Hole Nine where Ino's ruptured esophagus now served as a Stone shinobi's makeshift onahole. The green lubricant steamed where Hinata's tear ducts had overflowed into it, her Byakugan veins pulsing unnaturally as the earth shinobi ground his calloused pelvis against her nose with each thrust.
Somewhere beyond the blood-slicked partition, a client murmured appreciatively about "generational durability."
The second hour brought teeth.
The first molar cracked when Hole Nine's occupant—a Stone shinobi with wrists like granite—decided Ino's jaw needed "adjusting." The sound echoed through the annex like a walnut splitting, followed by the wet squelch of his fist forcing her dislocated mandible wider. Hinata's nasal bones gave next, the earth shinobi's rhythmic face-fucking now punctuated by the crunch-crunch-crunch of cartilage collapsing with each thrust. Sakura's healing chakra flared crimson as Mist tantō met kunai scar for the thirty-seventh time—the blade's edge catching on her clitoral hood with surgical precision while its owner lazily stroked himself to the rhythm of her whimpers.
Moriko's tally marks bled into the cedar when Tenten's armory barcode began smoking—the Lightning diplomat having discovered her conductive tattoos made for "entertaining grounding points." Himari's slave seal remnants lit up like a hellfire lantern as Fire Country's ambassador fed his entire forearm through Hole Six, his signet ring scraping her molars with each piston-like motion. The lubrication troughs boiled where Ino's regurgitated stone chakra met numbing solution, the chemical reaction sending up spirals of jade-green vapor that made clients groan appreciatively.
By noon, the partition's holes had worn smooth as river stones—Hinata's forehead permanently dented around Hole Three's edges from the earth shinobi's insistence on "proper Hyuga branding." Sakura's thighs trembled around the Mist tantō now vibrating inside her, its harmonic frequency tuned to make scar tissue sing. Tenten's convulsions had synchronized with the Lightning discharges—her body arcing off the floor exactly 0.3 seconds before each shock, as if attempting to outrun her own nervous system.
Moriko paused her tallying only when Himari's gag reflex finally failed—the ambassador's fist emerging from Hole Six dripping with bile and something darker that made the watching nobles lean forward hungrily. "Ah," murmured a rice paper silhouette, "the rabbit's finally broken."
The annex door slid open as the first molar of Hinata's upper jaw joined Ino's in the growing pile beneath Hole Nine.
Hole Seven's occupant—a Mist kunoichi with poison-laced fingernails—dragged Sakura forward by the hair as she aligned the tantō's tip with the kunai brand's deepest scar. The blade entered with the same wet resistance as yesterday, but this time the kunoichi twisted counterclockwise, her free hand pinching Sakura's clit between thumb and forefinger like a dial. "Count the rotations," she purred, her breath reeking of sea salt and menstrual blood as the tantō's serrations caught on fresh granulation tissue. Across the partition, Ino's remaining molars shattered in unison when the Stone shinobi forced a kunai between her jaws—its edge scraping her palate in time with their thrusts, each stroke leaving behind flecks of ore that glinted dully in her vomit.
The rice paper walls trembled as Hole Four's Lightning diplomat activated his full-body taser technique—Tenten's conductive armory tattoos glowing white-hot where his fingers dug into her hips, her scream syncing with the sizzle of burning flesh as her barcode reached critical temperature. Hinata's Byakugan veins pulsed like live wires where the earth shinobi's calloused knuckles ground against her optic nerves, each thrust forcing vitreous fluid down her cheeks in thick, yellowish strands. Moriko's tally marks bled into the wood grain as Ino's ruptured esophagus finally gave way entirely—Stone shinobi now fucking straight into her stomach cavity with wet, squelching sounds that drew applause from the observation gallery.
Hole Six's ambassador twisted his signet ring inside Himari's trachea, the Fire Country crest branding her larynx with every pull—her choked gargles syncing with the wet slap of Sakura's thighs against Mist steel. The tantō's harmonic vibration hit resonance frequency—Sakura's scar tissue singing in perfect unison with Tenten's electrocuted convulsions as the Lightning discharge cycle completed. Across the partition, Hinata's nasal bones collapsed entirely—the earth shinobi's pelvis meeting her orbital sockets with a crunch that sent bone fragments skittering into the lubrication trough.
Ino's remaining teeth joined the pile beneath Hole Nine as the Stone shinobi switched to her ear canal—their fused cocks splitting the tympanic membrane with a pop that echoed through her skull like a kunai striking bone. Himari's slave seal remnants flared as the ambassador's fist breached her cardiac sphincter—his fingers curling around her stomach lining in a mockery of a handshake. The green solution boiled over when Tenten's barcode finally caught fire—her scream harmonizing with the sizzle of burning flesh as the Lightning diplomat ground his hips forward, using her body to extinguish the flames.
Dusk found them arranged like broken dolls—Sakura's thighs still spread around the cooling tantō, Hinata's face a ruined mask of blood and ocular fluid, Ino's jaw hanging by torn ligaments. Moriko's ledger snapped shut with a sound like breaking bones. "Tomorrow," she murmured, stepping over Tenten's twitching body, "we test tear resistance."
The third dawn arrived with no fanfare—just the rasp of Moriko's brush tallying final marks in her ledger: Sakura's kunai brand now sutured shut with Mist wire, Hinata's hollowed eyes weeping chakra-rich fluid into vials, Tenten's smoldering armory tattoo still glowing faintly where Lightning diplomats had tested its conductivity limits. Himari's slave seal had crystallized into a permanent collar of scar tissue, pulsing with each heartbeat like a second throat. Ino's shattered jaw hung slack, her tongue swollen from hours of channeling stolen Stone chakra through saliva—a living filtration system for earth-style venoms.
Mission parameters had been exceeded in grotesque excess. Forty servicings per orifice became eighty. The noble's "pet" endured two weeks' worth of protocols in fifty-two hours. Armory efficiency peaked at 143%. When Moriko slid the completion scrolls across the blood-slicked floor, the girls' trembling fingers left smeared prints—Sakura's healing chakra too drained to seal papercuts, Hinata's Byakugan veins leaking pale fluid onto the parchment.
They limped to the Hokage's office in staggered formation, their uniforms sticking to half-healed wounds. The Third's pipe smoke couldn't mask the scent of burnt flesh and ruptured membranes as they knelt—Himari's slave collar audibly cracking when she bowed. "Requesting... Slug Forest," Sakura rasped through a throat raw from neutralizing Mist toxins via forced vomiting. The Hokage's gaze lingered on Ino's wire-stitched jaw, Tenten's still-smoldering thighs. His sigh sent ash drifting onto their mission scrolls like morbid snow.
"Approved," he said, and none of them wept. Not when their bodies could still produce tears.