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Mikoto Uchiha adjusted the strap of her sandal for the third time, though it didn’t need adjusting. The lanterns flickered along the street, casting uneven shadows that made the village feel larger, emptier than it was. She exhaled slowly, pressing her fingers against the fabric of her yukata, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles.
"Pathetic," she muttered under her breath. Not at the street, not at the night—but at herself. The Uchiha compound was quiet behind her, its walls holding in secrets like a clenched fist. She shouldn’t be here. Not like this. Not for *him*.
The apartment building was as shabby as she’d heard, its wooden steps groaning under her weight. She didn’t knock. The lock was laughably simple; a twist of chakra, and the door clicked open. Inside, the air smelled of instant ramen and unwashed laundry. A small, blond head poked out from a nest of blankets on the floor.
"Who’re you?" Naruto blinked up at her, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His voice was still thick with drowsiness, trusting in a way that made her jaw tighten.
Mikoto smiled. It was the kind of smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Someone who wants to help you," she said softly. Her sharingan spun to life before he could react.
Naruto's pupils dilated, his breath hitching as the world tilted sideways. Colors bled together—red, black, swirling patterns that coiled around his thoughts like smoke. His limbs went slack, the blanket slipping from his fingers. Mikoto watched, unblinking, as the boy’s face went blank, his usual restless energy collapsing inward like a house of cards.
"Stand up," she murmured. Naruto obeyed instantly, his movements smooth and precise, as if she’d pulled his strings. His blue eyes were glassy, fixed on nothing. Mikoto reached out, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone. Too thin. The village’s neglect was written in the sharp angles of his frame. A flicker of something dark and possessive curled in her chest.
"Listen carefully," she said, her voice a velvet command. "From now on, you belong to me. You will obey without question. You will *want* to obey." The genjutsu deepened, weaving its threads into the fabric of his mind. Naruto’s lips parted, a soft, shuddering sigh escaping him. She could feel it—the moment his resistance crumbled, the moment his will bent to hers. It was intoxicating.
A floorboard creaked outside the apartment. Mikoto’s head snapped up, her sharingan scanning the door. No chakra signatures. Just the wind, or maybe a rat. She exhaled, turning back to Naruto. His small hands hung limp at his sides, waiting. She cupped his chin, tilting his face toward the dim light. "Good boy," she whispered. The words dripped like honey, sweet and suffocating. Naruto’s eyelids fluttered, a smile tugging at his lips—not his usual grin, but something emptier, sweeter. Hers.
Mikoto perched on the edge of Naruto’s unmade bed, the springs groaning faintly under her weight. She crossed her legs, the fabric of her yukata pooling around her like spilled ink. The room was too small, too warm—the scent of boyish sweat and cheap detergent clinging to the air. Her sharingan still glowed faintly in the dimness, painting the walls with shifting crimson patterns.
"Strip," she said, the word sharp as a kunai.
Naruto didn’t hesitate. His small fingers fumbled with the hem of his orange pajama shirt, tugging it over his head in one clumsy motion. The fabric caught briefly on his chin, but he didn’t pause, didn’t question. His shorts followed, pooling around his ankles with a whisper of cloth. He stepped out of them, bare feet pressing into the cold floorboards. Mikoto’s gaze trailed down his frame—the jut of his ribs, the knobs of his knees, the soft, childish curve of his belly. Vulnerable. Exposed.
"Now the rest," Mikoto murmured, her voice a velvet blade. Naruto's fingers twitched toward the waistband of his underwear—plain white, frayed at the edges—before hooking beneath the elastic. The fabric whispered down his thighs, catching briefly on one ankle before he kicked it aside with a small, obedient jerk. The air in the apartment was stale, but the sudden exposure still raised gooseblesh along his arms. Mikoto didn't blink. Her sharingan traced the dip of his hipbones, the shallow hollow between them, the way his breath hitched but didn't stutter. No shame. No resistance. Just the quiet, pliable stillness of a puppet with its strings cut.
"Kneel," she said.
Naruto sank down without a sound, his knees meeting the floorboards with a dull thud. The position was unnatural for a child—too formal, too practiced—but his body arranged itself perfectly, spine straight, palms resting slack on his thighs. Mikoto leaned forward, the mattress creaking beneath her. She caught his chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting his face up. His pupils were blown wide, black swallowing blue, his lips slightly parted. A thin line of droglead trailed from the corner of his mouth. She wiped it away with her thumb, slow, deliberate, pressing just hard enough to make his breath catch.
"Open," she commanded.
His jaw fell slack instantly, tongue lying heavy and passive behind his teeth. Mikoto exhaled through her nose, something primal and satisfied coiling low in her gut. He was *perfect* like this—pliant, unresisting, his every muscle waiting for her next command. She dragged her thumb along the wet heat of his lower lip, then deeper, tracing the ridged roof of his mouth. Naruto gagged instinctively, his throat fluttering, but he didn't pull away. Didn't even try.
"Good," she purred, curling her fingers into his hair. The strands were coarse, sun-bleached from too many hours training outside. She fisted a handful, not quite pulling—not yet—just letting him feel the weight of her control. His eyelids fluttered, a soft, hazy sigh escaping him. Mikoto smiled. "You *like* this, don't you?" The genjutsu pulsed between them, a living thing, wrapping tighter around his mind with every passing second. Naruto's nod was barely perceptible, his body swaying ever so slightly into her grip.
The floorboards groaned again outside the door. Mikoto's head snapped up, her sharingan flaring. This time, the chakra signature was unmistakable—close, too close. She hissed through her teeth, yanking Naruto forward by the hair. "Stay silent," she ordered, her voice a razor's edge. His breath hitched, but he nodded, his lips sealing shut. The knock, when it came, was sharp enough to splinter wood.
Mikoto moved like a shadow unspooling from the doorframe, her yukata whispering against the floorboards as she lunged into the hallway. Hinata barely had time to gasp—her Byakugan still active, the veins around her temples pulsing—before Mikoto’s hand clamped around her wrist like a vice. The girl’s sandal scraped against the wood as she was yanked forward, her small body crashing into the apartment with enough force to send a stack of ramen cups toppling.
Hinata’s breath came in shallow, panicked hitches as she scrambled to her knees. The sight before her rooted her to the spot: Naruto, naked and kneeling, his skin pale under the flickering overhead light. His eyes were empty, his mouth slightly open, a thin trail of drool glistening on his chin. The air smelled like salt and something metallic—fear, maybe, though Naruto didn’t seem afraid. He didn’t seem anything at all.
"Hold her," Mikoto murmured, her voice low and honeyed. Naruto moved before the words fully left her lips. His body was warm against Hinata’s as he pinned her wrists to the floor, his knees bracketing her hips. She could feel the jut of his ribs pressing into her, the frantic rabbit-quick pulse of his heartbeat where their skin touched. Hinata whimpered, her Byakugan flickering wildly as she strained against his grip—but Naruto didn’t budge. His fingers tightened, his blank eyes staring through her, as if she were nothing more than a training dummy.
Mikoto crouched beside them, her sharingan casting eerie red patterns across Hinata’s face. "Sweet little Hyuuga," she crooned, brushing a strand of hair from the girl’s forehead. Hinata flinched, her breath hitching as Mikoto’s nails grazed her skin. "You shouldn’t have seen that." The words slithered between them, thick with promise. Naruto’s grip shifted, his thighs pressing harder against Hinata’s as Mikoto’s gaze locked onto hers. The last thing Hinata saw before the world dissolved into spinning tomoe was the wet, terrified reflection of her own eyes in Mikoto’s pupils.
Mikoto's fingers lingered on Hinata's cheek, her thumb pressing just hard enough to dent the soft flesh. "A genjutsu would be too kind," she mused, her voice like silk-wrapped steel. "You don’t need illusions when you have *leverage*." Her sharingan dimmed, the crimson receding to leave only the cold, calculating darkness beneath. Hinata trembled, her Byakugan still active, veins throbbing at her temples as she stared up at Mikoto—then at Naruto, his vacant expression, his hands still pinning her wrists with mechanical precision.
"You love him, don’t you?" Mikoto whispered, leaning down until her lips brushed the shell of Hinata’s ear. The girl shuddered, her breath coming in ragged little gasps. Mikoto didn’t wait for an answer. "Disobey me—even once—and I’ll snap his neck like a twig." Her hand slid down to Naruto’s throat, her fingers flexing lightly against his pulse. Hinata’s eyes widened, a choked sound escaping her. "N-no—"
"Prove it," Mikoto interrupted, straightening. She flicked her fingers toward Naruto. "Undress her. Every stitch."
Naruto’s hands moved without hesitation. His fingers hooked into the collar of Hinata’s lavender yukata, yanking it open with a sharp *rip* of fabric. Buttons scattered across the floorboards like teeth. Hinata gasped, her arms jerking instinctively to cover herself—but Naruto caught her wrists again, forcing them back to the floor. His grip was unrelenting, his expression eerily serene as he peeled the ruined fabric from her shoulders. Hinata’s chest heaved, her ribs visible beneath her skin as her undershirt followed, tossed aside like garbage.
The air was thick with the scent of salt and fear. Hinata’s breath hitched as Naruto’s fingers skimmed the waistband of her shorts, his movements methodical, unhurried. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears spilling down her cheeks as the last of her clothing pooled around her ankles. Mikoto circled them, her yukata whispering against the floor. "Kneel," she commanded. Hinata hesitated—just for a heartbeat—but Naruto’s hands were already on her shoulders, pushing her down until her knees struck the wood. The impact sent a jolt up her spine, but she didn’t make a sound. Couldn’t.
Mikoto crouched before her, tilting Hinata’s chin up with one finger. "Good girl," she murmured. Her thumb smeared a tear across Hinata’s cheek. "Remember: his life is yours to lose." Behind them, Naruto remained still, his bare skin gleaming in the dim light, his empty eyes fixed on nothing at all.
"Gather them," Mikoto said, her voice a slow, syrupy command that pooled in the air between them. "Every scrap of fabric you own. Bring them here." Naruto twitched like a marionette with its strings tugged, his limbs moving before the order fully registered. He crawled backward across the floorboards, his knees leaving faint indents in the wood, then rose with that eerie, boneless grace the genjutsu afforded him. Hinata watched, her breath trapped in her throat, as he rummaged through the single dresser shoved against the wall. The drawers screeched open one by one, revealing crumpled shirts, mismatched socks, a single pair of pants patched at the knee.
Naruto worked methodically, folding each item with exaggerated care despite the tremors in his fingers. The orange jumpsuit came last, dredged from the bottom of the drawer like a carcass pulled from a river. He laid it atop the pile with a reverence that made Hinata's stomach clench, then carried the bundle to Mikoto's feet, kneeling again as if the act of offering was sacred. The clothes smelled faintly of cheap soap and boyish sweat, the fabric worn thin at the elbows and seams. Mikoto nudged the pile with her toe, her lip curling at a particularly frayed hem.
Mikoto flicked her wrist, a sliver of chakra igniting at her fingertips. The flame danced, small and precise, casting jagged shadows across the walls. She held it over the pile of Naruto’s clothes, watching as the first thread of orange caught fire with a hiss. The fabric blackened, curling inward like a dying insect, the stench of burning polyester thick in the stale air. Hinata whimpered, her knees digging into the floorboards as the heat lapped closer, but Mikoto didn’t spare her a glance.
The jumpsuit went next, the flames devouring the garish orange with almost gleeful hunger. Mikoto nudged Hinata’s discarded yukata into the pyre with her foot, the delicate lavender fabric surrendering instantly to the blaze. The firelight painted their skin in flickering gold and red, the shadows twisting grotesquely around them. Naruto watched, blank-eyed, as the last remnants of his identity dissolved into ash. His hands rested limp on his thighs, his breathing unnaturally even.
Mikoto tilted her head, watching the last embers of the fire die into gray dust. The scent of burnt fabric clung to the air, acrid and final. She turned to the children—Naruto kneeling perfectly still, Hinata trembling beside him—and smiled. "Pets don’t need clothes," she murmured, running a hand through Naruto’s hair like he was a stray pup. His breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away. Hinata’s fingers dug into her own thighs, her knuckles white.
"Prove it," Mikoto said, her voice dropping to a whisper. She gripped Naruto’s wrist and guided his hand to the hem of her yukata. "Remove it for me. Like a good pet." His fingers trembled against the fabric, but he obeyed, tugging the garment open with slow, deliberate movements. The yukata slid from her shoulders, pooling at her waist like water. Beneath, her skin was pale and unmarked—and bare. No bra, no modesty, just the swell of her breasts and the dark peaks of her nipples hardening in the cool air. Hinata made a small, choked sound.
Mikoto cupped Naruto’s chin, tilting his face up. "Suck," she commanded, pressing his mouth to her left nipple. His lips parted instantly, his tongue flicking out to lap at the stiff bud. The sensation sent a shudder through her, her fingers tightening in his hair. "You too," she said to Hinata, dragging the girl forward by her arm. Hinata whimpered but didn’t resist as Mikoto shoved her face against her other breast. "Good pets *serve*," Mikoto sighed, arching into their mouths. Naruto’s sucking was clumsy, unpracticed, but Hinata’s was hesitant, her tongue tracing slow circles as if afraid to hurt her.
The room was silent except for the wet sounds of their mouths and Mikoto’s soft, approving hums. She tangled her fingers in Naruto’s hair, guiding him deeper, his nose pressing into the soft flesh. Hinata’s tears dripped onto Mikoto’s skin, warm and salty, but the girl didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Mikoto’s breath hitched, her hips shifting imperceptibly. "Again," she murmured, and they obeyed—always, always obeying.
Mikoto exhaled sharply through her nose, her fingers tightening in Naruto’s hair as his tongue flicked clumsily against her nipple. The sensation was dulled by the genjutsu’s haze—his movements mechanical, unpracticed—but the heat of his mouth was still intoxicating. She glanced down at Hinata, the girl’s lips trembling as she lapped at the other breast with hesitant, featherlight strokes. Too timid. Too *gentle*. Mikoto’s free hand snaked down, her nails grazing the soft flesh of Hinata’s chest before pinching her nipple between thumb and forefinger, twisting sharply.
Hinata gasped, her body jerking, but Mikoto held her in place with a grip like iron. "Did I say stop?" she murmured, her voice honeyed and dangerous. Hinata’s whimper was muffled against Mikoto’s skin as she resumed her task, her tongue moving faster now, desperate to please. Mikoto twisted again, harder, relishing the way Hinata’s breath hitched, the way her small hands clenched uselessly at her sides. Tears dripped onto Mikoto’s thigh, warm and slick.
"Pathetic," Mikoto sighed, tilting Naruto’s head back to admire his glassy, vacant expression. A thin strand of saliva connected his lips to her nipple, glistening in the dim light. She wiped it away with her thumb, then smeared the wetness across his cheek. "Both of you." Her fingers dug into Hinata’s nipple once more, twisting until the girl whimpered into her skin, her body trembling like a leaf in a storm. Mikoto’s own breath came faster now, her hips shifting subtly against the air. The power thrummed through her—their obedience, their pain, their *need* to please her. It was better than any genjutsu, any battlefield victory.
She released Hinata’s nipple abruptly, leaving it red and swollen, and cupped the back of the girl’s head, forcing her deeper. "Harder," she commanded, and Hinata obeyed, her tongue pressing insistently against Mikoto’s flesh. Naruto, ever the eager puppet, mimicked the motion without prompting, his teeth grazing her just enough to make her hiss. Mikoto’s thighs clenched. "Good," she breathed, her voice ragged at the edges. "Now *beg* for it."
Hinata’s voice was a broken whisper against her skin: "P-please…" Naruto echoed it, his tone hollow, automatic. Mikoto shuddered, her fingers tightening in their hair as she arched into their mouths. The room smelled of salt and sweat and something darker, something *hers*.
The night smelled of charred wood and spilled blood. Mikoto felt the shift in the air before the messenger arrived—the way the village's chakra network pulsed like a wounded animal, threads snapping one by one. When the Uchiha runner knelt before her, his mask cracked and his breath ragged, she already knew. "It is done," he gasped. "The Hokage is dead. The compound burns."
Mikoto's lips curved. Not a smile. A blade being unsheathed. Behind her, Naruto and Hinata knelt motionless, their bare skin painted orange by the distant fires. The runner's gaze flickered to them, then away just as quickly. "Casualties?" she asked, though the answer coiled in her gut like a snake.
"Lord Fugaku fell facing Jiraiya. The Third perished in the initial assault. Danzo's body was found in three pieces." The runner hesitated. "And... your son. Sasuke was caught in the crossfire near the academy gates."
Mikoto's fingers twitched. Just once. The genjutsu binding Naruto flickered, and for a heartbeat, his blue eyes cleared—wide, terrified. Then she clenched her fist, and his face went slack again. "How?"
"A stray fireball. He didn't suffer." The lie was clumsy. Mikoto let it hang in the air like smoke.
"Leave us."
The runner vanished. Mikoto turned to the children. Hinata was shaking, silent tears cutting through the grime on her cheeks. Mikoto crouched, cupping the girl's chin. "You understand now, don't you? There's no one left to save you." Her thumb pressed into Hinata's lower lip, smearing blood—not the girl's. "The Hyuuga compound is ash. Your father's head decorates the gates."
Hinata whimpered.
Mikoto stood, her shadow swallowing them both. The village outside roared—somewhere, a building collapsed. "From this moment," she said, her sharingan spinning lazily, "you belong to the Uchiha. To *me*." She traced a finger down Naruto's spine, feeling him shiver. "And you will help me rebuild."
The last word tasted like a promise—or a curse.
The Hokage office stank of burnt cedar and fresh ink, the desk polished to a cruel shine under Mikoto’s fingertips. Naruto and Hinata knelt beside it, their bare knees pressed into the plush rug—once Minato’s, now hers. The morning sun sliced through the blinds, painting stripes across their skin, their collarbones, the tremble in Hinata’s thighs. Mikoto leaned back in the chair, her thighs parting beneath the desk. "Closer," she murmured. They shuffled forward without hesitation, Naruto’s forehead brushing her knee, Hinata’s breath hot against her calf.
The Uchiha guard returned with two collars—black leather, polished buckles glinting like knives. Mikoto took her time fastening them, her nails scraping Naruto’s throat as she adjusted the fit. The metal tag read *Property of Mikoto Uchiha* in neat, unforgiving script. Hinata’s was tighter, the leather biting into her skin when she swallowed. Mikoto hooked the leashes to the desk leg, giving them just enough slack to kneel upright but not enough to turn their heads. "Perfect," she sighed, running a hand through Naruto’s hair as the first shinobi entered.
The reactions were delicious. A chuunin dropped his scroll. A jounin’s fist clenched so hard his knuckles popped. None dared speak. Until Kakashi.
He materialized in a swirl of leaves, his Sharingan already bleeding red. "Mikoto," he growled, the word ragged with fury. His gaze flickered to Naruto—the boy’s hollow eyes, the drool streaking his chin—and something in him snapped. Lightning crackled along his fingers, the Chidori’s scream tearing through the office. Mikoto didn’t flinch.
Her guard moved faster. The blade entered through Kakashi’s ribs, the tip erupting from his sternum in a burst of blood and torn muscle. Kakashi gasped, his Chidori sputtering out as the Uchiha twisted the sword. "Distracted," Mikoto tutted, watching the light fade from his eye. The body hit the floor with a wet thud. She nudged it with her sandal, then smiled down at her pets. "Clean this up."
"Fasten his first," Mikoto murmured, dangling Naruto's collar between two fingers. Hinata's hands shook as she took it, her fingers brushing against Mikoto's palm—warm, deliberate. The leather was stiff, the buckle cold against Naruto's throat as Hinata looped it around. Mikoto watched, her sharingan spinning lazily, as Hinata pulled the strap tighter, tighter, until the leather creaked and Naruto's breath hitched. "Good. Now yours."
Hinata's collar was thinner, the edges sharper. She fumbled with the clasp, her breath already coming in shallow gasps as she secured it high on her neck—just under the jaw, where every swallow would remind her of its presence. Mikoto leaned forward, adjusting it with a cruel twist, until the leather dug into Hinata's windpipe. The girl's lips parted, her face flushing as she struggled to draw air. Mikoto smiled. "Perfect."
She crooked a finger at Naruto. "Up." He moved like a puppet pulled upright, his knees scraping the floor as he staggered to his feet. Mikoto spread her thighs, patting her lap. "Sit." The moment his weight settled against her, she seized his chin, forcing his head back against her shoulder. Her sharingan flared, the tomoe spinning faster, deeper, as she rewrote the genjutsu's parameters. Naruto gasped, his body tensing—then going slack as awareness flooded back into his eyes. His pupils dilated, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he realized where he was, *what* he was. Mikoto traced his bottom lip with her thumb. "Try to move."
Naruto's muscles locked, his fingers twitching uselessly against his thighs. His voice cracked—"L-let me—" —but his body stayed perfectly still, trapped between her legs. Mikoto hummed, nuzzling into his hair. "Oh, *there* you are." She could feel his heartbeat rabbiting against her chest, the way his throat worked as he fought to scream, to thrash, to *anything*. But the genjutsu held, seamless and suffocating.
Hinata whimpered beside them, her collar cutting off her air in shallow, desperate bursts. Mikoto didn't glance her way. "Now," she murmured against Naruto's ear, her hands sliding down to his hips, "let's see how long you can *hate* me while your body begs to obey." His shudder was answer enough.
Mikoto's index finger pressed against Naruto's lower lip, the tip dragging downward until his mouth fell slack with obedient instinct. "Suck," she commanded, her voice a velvet whisper. His lips closed around the digit without hesitation, the warmth of his mouth enveloping her skin as his tongue lapped mechanically at the pad of her finger. The sensation sent a slow curl of satisfaction down Mikoto's spine—his hollow-eyed submission, the wet heat of his mouth, the way his jaw worked like a well-trained animal's.
Her other hand slid between his thighs, fingers tracing the delicate length of his small, flaccid penis with calculated tenderness. Naruto shuddered, a whimper trapped in his throat as her thumb brushed the underside, coaxing him to half-awareness despite the genjutsu's grip. Mikoto's lips curved as she felt him twitch against her palm, his body betraying him even as his mind screamed silent protests. "There," she murmured, stroking him with featherlight precision. "Just like that."
Hinata's ragged breathing filled the space between them. Mikoto didn't glance away from Naruto's face—the tear streaking his cheek, the way his nostrils flared with each stifled sob—as she reached out with her chakra and spun the genjutsu around Hinata's consciousness. The girl gasped, her Byakugan flickering wildly before settling into dull, resigned clarity. She could still *feel*, still *think*—but her arms moved without her consent, her hands rising to cup her own small breasts.
"Twist," Mikoto ordered. Hinata's fingers pinched her nipples, twisting viciously as a choked cry escaped her. Tears spilled freely now, her body arching into the pain even as her face contorted in silent pleading. Mikoto's smile widened. "Harder." Hinata's nails dug into her own flesh, leaving crescent marks as she obeyed, her breath coming in shattered little whimpers. Naruto's hips jerked in Mikoto's grip, his muffled moan vibrating around her finger as he watched—unable to look away, unable to stop the traitorous heat pooling low in his belly.
"Good pets," Mikoto sighed, her thumb circling the head of Naruto's cock, smearing the first bead of wetness. Hinata's hands moved faster now, slapping her own breasts with sharp, stinging blows, the sound echoing off the walls like a macabre applause. Mikoto leaned back, her sharingan drinking in their shame, their helpless arousal, the way their bodies moved for her—*only* for her. The room smelled of salt and sweat and something darker, something *hers*.
Naruto's breath hitched in shallow, desperate bursts as Mikoto's fingers tightened around his cock—small, flushed, and twitching against her palm. His hips jerked erratically, the genjutsu's grip fraying at the edges as pleasure coiled low in his belly, a traitorous heat he couldn't suppress. Mikoto's lips curled, her thumb swiping over the slick tip just as his thighs trembled. "Not yet," she murmured, her voice a velvet lash. Her sharingan spun lazily, and Naruto's body locked mid-twitch, his orgasm suspended on a razor's edge. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he whimpered around her finger still lodged in his mouth.
Hinata's hands froze mid-strike against her own breasts, her chest heaving with silent sobs. Mikoto didn't speak—just flicked her gaze toward the girl, and Hinata's body moved without protest. Her knees scraped across the floorboards as she crawled forward, her tear-streaked face tilting upward in vacant obedience. Mikoto guided Naruto's hips forward with her free hand, pressing the swollen head of his cock against Hinata's parted lips. "Swallow him," she ordered. Hinata's mouth opened wider, her tongue flattening as Naruto's small length slid past her lips with a wet, choked sound.
Naruto's back arched violently as Mikoto released the genjutsu's hold on his climax. His cry was muffled by her finger, his hips stuttering as he came in hot, pulsing spurts down Hinata's throat. The girl gagged, her eyes fluttering shut, but she didn't pull away—couldn't. Mikoto's thumb pressed into the hollow of Hinata's jaw, forcing her to swallow every drop, the muscles in her neck working convulsively. Naruto's thighs shook, his cock twitching weakly against Hinata's tongue as she continued to suck, her tears dripping onto Mikoto's lap.
Mikoto sighed, tilting Naruto's head back to admire his ruined expression—lips swollen, face streaked with tears and saliva. Her finger slipped from his mouth with a wet pop, and he sagged against her, his breaths coming in ragged, hitching gasps. Hinata remained kneeling, her lips still parted around Naruto's softening length, her own arousal a slick shame between her thighs. Mikoto traced the shell of Hinata's ear with her damp fingertip, humming. "Again," she murmured, and Hinata's throat convulsed around nothing, her body already anticipating the next command.
Mikoto's fingers tightened around Naruto's softening length, her thumb pressing into the sensitive underside with calculated pressure. "Again," she murmured, her voice honeyed with false patience. Naruto whimpered against her finger still lodged in his mouth, his hips twitching weakly as Hinata's lips trembled around him. Mikoto twisted Hinata's left nipple between her free fingers, the girl's muffled cry vibrating through Naruto's skin as she redoubled her efforts—her tongue lapping at his half-hard cock with desperate, mechanical strokes.
The taste of salt and shame clung to Mikoto's skin as she withdrew her finger from Naruto's mouth, trailing it down his chin to gather the drool pooling there. "Open," she commanded, and his lips parted instantly, his tongue lolling obediently as she slid two fingers between them this time. His jaw stretched uncomfortably, tears welling at the corners of his eyes as she pressed deeper, her nails scraping the roof of his mouth. Beneath them, Hinata's breath hitched as Mikoto's other hand twisted her right nipple sharply—the pain forcing her to take Naruto deeper, her nose brushing the wiry blonde curls at his base.
Naruto's cock twitched against Hinata's tongue, responding to the dual stimuli of Mikoto's fingers fucking his mouth and the wet heat enveloping him below. Mikoto hummed her approval, rolling Hinata's nipples between her knuckles as the girl's cheeks hollowed—sucking in time with the thrust of Mikoto's fingers in Naruto's mouth. The rhythm was cruel in its precision: each twist of Hinata's flesh matched by a sharp scrape against Naruto's palate, each choked gasp from the girl echoed by a muffled sob from the boy.
The air grew thick with the sounds of their submission—the wet slap of Mikoto's fingers plunging past Naruto's lips, the choked gags as Hinata took him deeper with every tug at her breasts. Mikoto's thighs tightened around Naruto's hips, her own breath coming faster now as she watched his body betray him anew—his cock swelling to full hardness against Hinata's bruised lips, his tears dripping onto Mikoto's wrist as she fucked his mouth with relentless precision.
"Good pets," Mikoto sighed, her voice thick with something darker than pride. She curled her fingers sharply against Naruto's tongue, feeling him convulse around her as Hinata's teeth grazed him in response to another vicious twist of her nipples. The pain-pleasure feedback loop between them was exquisite—Hinata's suffering fueling Naruto's arousal, his shame amplifying her obedience. Mikoto leaned back, her sharingan drinking in every shudder, every tear, every broken gasp as she orchestrated their ruin with nothing more than the flex of her fingers and the weight of her will.
Mikoto's fingers tightened in Hinata's hair, forcing her head down until Naruto's cock pressed against the back of her throat. "Hands behind you," she ordered, her voice dripping with false sweetness. Hinata's arms jerked obediently, her fingers trembling as they trailed down her own spine, over the curve of her ass—then hesitated. Mikoto twisted her nipple sharply. "Inside."
Hinata gasped as her own middle finger breached her virgin hole, the dry stretch making her spine arch violently. Tears streamed down her face as she worked the digit deeper, her body resisting even as the genjutsu forced her to curl it inward, searching for that awful, forbidden spot. Naruto whimpered around Mikoto's fingers still buried in his mouth, his hips twitching as Hinata's choked sobs vibrated around his cock.
"Both," Mikoto corrected, slapping Hinata's free hand away when she tried to ease the pain. The second finger joined the first with a sickening stretch, Hinata's breath coming in ragged bursts as she scissored them inside herself. Mikoto watched, entranced, as the girl's tight rim strained around the intrusion, the muscles fluttering in protest. She leaned forward to whisper, "Now suck him like you mean it."
Hinata obeyed instantly, her throat convulsing around Naruto as her fingers pistoned deeper into her own ass. The pain was blinding—her untried body burning with every thrust—but the genjutsu held her open, held her moving, held her *wanting*. Naruto's cock twitched against her tongue, his muffled cries growing louder as Mikoto twisted both Hinata's nipples sharply between her free fingers. His hips jerked erratically, his balls tightening against Hinata's chin as pleasure and shame warred in his gut.
Mikoto sighed, rolling her hips against Naruto's back as she watched them unravel—Hinata's tears dripping onto her own thrusting fingers, Naruto's thighs shaking with withheld climax. She pressed her lips to his ear, her breath hot as she murmured, "Come for me, pet." His body obeyed before the command fully registered, his cock pulsing down Hinata's throat as his scream was swallowed by Mikoto's fingers. Hinata's eyes rolled back, her own orgasm crashing through her as her fingers crooked violently inside herself—the dual sensations of pain and forced pleasure short-circuiting her resistance.
Mikoto leaned back, her sharingan spinning lazily as she took in their ruined forms—Hinata collapsed over Naruto's thighs, her fingers still buried in her own ass; Naruto slumped against Mikoto's chest, his cock slick with spit and tears. She traced the shell of Hinata's ear with a damp fingertip, humming. "Again." Their trembling began anew before the word had fully left her lips.
The tatami mats were cold beneath Hinata’s knees, the scent of sweat and musk thick in the air as Mikoto dragged Naruto forward by his collar. His skin was fever-hot against Hinata’s bare thighs when Mikoto forced him between her legs, his breath ragged against her slit. "Lick," Mikoto commanded, her fingers tightening in his hair until his scalp burned. Naruto’s tongue dragged upward in one slow, shuddering stroke—clumsy, unpracticed, but obedient. Hinata whimpered, her hands fluttering uselessly at her sides before Mikoto caught her wrists and pinned them behind her back.
"Watch," Mikoto murmured against Hinata’s ear, her sharingan spinning lazily as Naruto’s tongue circled the girl’s clit with mechanical precision. Hinata’s back arched, her thighs trembling as pleasure coiled low in her belly—wrong, so wrong, but the genjutsu held her still, forced her to feel every wet, lingering pass of Naruto’s mouth. Mikoto’s nails dug into Hinata’s wrists, drawing blood as she guided Naruto lower, pressing his face deeper until his nose brushed her pubic bone. Hinata’s cry shattered into a gasp when his tongue breached her, the flat of it stroking upward in a rhythm that made her toes curl against the floor.
Mikoto exhaled sharply, her free hand slipping between her own thighs as she watched them—Hinata’s tears glistening on Naruto’s cheeks, his throat working as he swallowed her wetness like a man starved. "Faster," she breathed, and Naruto obeyed instantly, his tongue fucking into Hinata with jerky, desperate thrusts. Hinata’s hips jerked, her body betraying her as pleasure built like a storm in her gut, her thighs clamping around Naruto’s head as Mikoto’s fingers twisted in her hair.
"Come," Mikoto ordered, and Hinata shattered with a sob, her orgasm ripping through her like a blade as Naruto drank her down. Mikoto’s own climax followed—a sharp, satisfied sigh as she rubbed slow circles over her clit, her sharingan memorizing every twitch of Hinata’s overstimulated body, every shudder of Naruto’s spent form. She released Hinata’s wrists, watching the girl collapse forward over Naruto’s shoulders, her breath coming in ragged, wet gasps.
Mikoto traced the bite marks on Naruto’s neck with her thumb, her voice a whisper. "Again." Their trembling was answer enough.