The low breakfast room had never felt so vast, and yet so suffocatingly small.
Hana's entire world had collapsed into the space between Minato's body and her own. The polished table beneath her back was cool against her fevered skin, but everywhere else she burned.
Her yukata hung open like shed petals, the obi long since discarded. Only the pale-blue bra and the soaked white lace of her panties remained, and even those felt like cruel, temporary barriers.
Minato's fingers were still inside her.
Two thick digits, curled and stroking, scissoring gently, learning every secret inch of her with devastating patience. His thumb circled her clit in slow, maddening loops that made her hips jerk helplessly upward.
Every breath she took tasted of him: ozone, cedar, raw male heat. Her heart hammered so violently she was certain he could feel it through her ribs.
"Mmmmmmmh…"
The moan tore from her throat, low and trembling, nothing like the refined sounds she had been trained to make. It was animal. Needy. Honest.
Minato's eyes darkened to storm-blue. "Just like that," he rasped against her lips. "Let it all out. Don't hold back those pretty noises for me."
He swallowed the next moan with a kiss that felt like conquest.
His mouth slanted over hers, hot and demanding, tongue stroking deep, claiming every corner until her head spun.
She kissed him back with a desperation that shocked her (lips parting wider, tongue sliding against his, soft whimpers vibrating between them).
She had never been kissed like this. Never. Not in twenty years of dutiful marriage had anyone ever devoured her the way Minato did now.
His fingers never stopped.
He pumped them slowly, deliberately, curling to stroke that spot high inside her that made white sparks explode behind her eyes.
Her pussy fluttered around the intrusion, slick walls clutching greedily, trying to keep him deep.
Each thrust of his hand sent liquid heat spiraling through her belly, coiling tighter and tighter until she thought she might shatter.
She could feel his cock now (hard, impossibly thick) pressing against her thigh through his trousers. The shape of it branded itself into her skin. Long. Heavy. Pulsing with the same frantic rhythm as her heartbeat.
Ahhh… I want it.
The thought flashed through her mind, filthy and unbidden, and shame tried to rise (only to be drowned beneath another wave of pleasure as his thumb ground down on her clit).
She wanted that cock inside her.
She wanted to be split open, ruined, remade.
The kiss went on and on, endless, drugging. She lost track of time, of place, of everything except the slick drag of his tongue and the relentless stroke of his fingers. Her hips rolled shamelessly against his hand, chasing the pressure, begging without words.
Then, cruelly, he stopped.
He tore his mouth from hers and withdrew his fingers in one slow, deliberate glide. The sudden emptiness was agony. Hana's eyes snapped open, glassy and dazed, lips swollen and wet.
She stared up at him in stunned betrayal, as though he had stolen the air from her lungs.
Minato licked his fingers clean, one by one, eyes locked on hers the entire time. "Do you want more, Hana?" His voice was rough velvet.
"Yes," she breathed, the word falling from her lips before shame could catch it. She didn't look at Hiashi. Couldn't. Her husband had ordered her to serve the Hokage.
This was obedience. Nothing more.
(That was the lie she wrapped around herself like armor, even as her body screamed the truth.)
Minato's smile was slow, predatory, and devastatingly tender all at once.
In one fluid motion he stood, scooped her up as though she weighed nothing, and spun. The breakfast table met her back with a soft thud.
Plates clattered to the floor; a porcelain teacup shattered. He stepped between her thighs, spreading them wide, settling her ass right at the edge so that her soaked core was perfectly aligned with his hips.
His hands moved like magic (obi gone, yukata peeled away, bra shoved up beneath her arms until her breasts spilled free, heavy and flushed, nipples tight and aching for attention).
Cool air kissed her skin; gooseflesh raced across her chest. She should have felt exposed, humiliated, lying half-naked on the family table with her husband kneeling only feet away.
She felt only hunger.
Minato stripped himself with lethal efficiency. Shirt first (revealing the sculpted planes of his chest, the faint scars that only made him more beautiful). Then trousers. Then nothing at all.
And there it was.
His cock.
Hana's breath left her in a rush.
It was even more magnificent than she had imagined. Thick, long, flushed dark with arousal, curving slightly upward in proud defiance.
The head was broad and glistening, a bead of precum pearling at the slit. Veins stood in stark relief along the shaft, pulsing visibly. His balls hung heavy beneath, drawn tight with need.
Just looking at it sent a fresh flood of wetness between her legs. Her inner muscles clenched on nothing, aching to be filled.
She had heard Hinata's cries last night (had known, in some distant corner of her mind, that the Hokage was gifted), but this… this was beyond fantasy.
Minato stepped closer. His hands slid up her thighs, thumbs tracing the crease where leg met hip, and hooked into the waistband of her panties.
One sharp tug and the delicate lace tore like tissue. He balled the soaked scrap in his fist and, without breaking eye contact with Hana, flung it.
It struck Hiashi square in the face with a wet slap.
The drenched fabric clung to her husband's cheek, dripping slowly down his jaw. Hiashi did not flinch. Did not wipe it away. He simply remained on his knees, head bowed, the evidence of his wife's arousal marking him like a brand.
Hana felt nothing. No shame. No pity. Only a savage pulse of triumph and lust.
Minato's hands returned to her thighs, spreading her wider, opening her completely. The head of his cock nudged her entrance (scalding hot, impossibly broad).
Just the pressure of that blunt crown kissing her soaked folds made her sob.
"Ohhh…" Her voice cracked. "Your cock is so hot… just resting at my entrance is making me wetter…"
Minato's eyes flared. "Tell me what you want."
"Please," she whimpered, hips rolling upward in desperate invitation. "Please put it in."
He pushed forward.
Slowly.
Agonizingly slowly.
The fat crown breached her first, stretching her open with a burn that bordered on pain and felt like heaven. Hana's back bowed off the table. A raw, guttural cry tore from her throat.
"Ohhhhh… yes…!"
Inch by merciless inch, he sank into her. Her pussy fluttered wildly around the invasion, walls rippling, trying to adjust to the impossible thickness.
Every ridge, every vein dragged against sensitive inner flesh, lighting her nerves on fire. She could feel herself stretching, yielding, opening in ways she never had before.
Halfway in, he paused (just long enough for her to feel the devastating fullness, the way her body clung to him, the way her clit throbbed against the base of his shaft where it pressed flush against her).
Then he thrust.
One hard, deep stroke that seated him to the hilt.
Hana screamed.
The sound echoed off the rafters (raw, broken, ecstatic). His cock filled her completely, the broad head kissing her cervix, thick shaft splitting her open in the most exquisite way. She could feel every throb of his pulse inside her, every twitch of that massive length buried deep.
"So big," she sobbed, nails raking down his back. "So hot… I can feel you everywhere…"
Minato drew back slowly, dragging that devastating cock along every screaming nerve ending (until only the flared crown remained, stretching her entrance obscenely).
Then he slammed home again.
The table rocked violently beneath them. Hana's breasts jolted, nipples scraping air. Another scream ripped free as he set a brutal, perfect rhythm (long, deep strokes that ended with his hips grinding against her clit, sending sparks exploding behind her eyes).
"Ah! Ah! Ah—!" Each thrust punched the air from her lungs, each withdrawal left her empty and aching, each return filled her so perfectly she saw stars.
He fucked her like a man possessed (hips snapping, cock pistoning in and out with wet, filthy sounds). Her pussy clenched around him on every stroke, greedy, desperate, trying to keep him inside. Juices coated his shaft, dripped down her ass, soaked the table beneath them in a growing puddle.
Minato leaned down, teeth scraping her throat. "Listen to you," he growled. "Screaming for my cock while your husband watches. Tell me how it feels, Hana. Tell me how much better I am."
"So much better," she wailed, legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back to pull him deeper. "You're splitting me open—ah! I've never been fucked like this—never—!"
He shifted angles, hooking her knees over his elbows and folding her nearly in half. The new position let him sink even deeper (impossible, obscene depth that made her eyes roll back in her head).
The fat head of his cock battered her cervix on every stroke, sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain radiating through her core.
Her first orgasm built like a storm.
She could feel it gathering low in her belly (white-hot, unstoppable). Her clit throbbed against the grind of his body, swollen and hypersensitive.
Her pussy began to flutter in warning spasms, clenching rhythmically around the thick cock pistoning inside her.
"I'm—ah!—I'm going to—"
"Come," Minato snarled. "Come all over my cock while your husband watches you fall apart."
The command snapped something inside her.
Hana screamed until her voice cracked.
The climax hit her like a kunai to the chest (white-hot, blinding, devastating). Her pussy clamped down hard, spasming wildly, milking him in rhythmic pulses that seemed to go on forever.
Pleasure detonated in her core and radiated outward in endless, shattering waves. She thrashed beneath him, back arching off the table, toes curling, tears streaming down her temples.
Minato didn't stop.
He fucked her straight through it (harder, deeper, prolonging the climax until she was sobbing from overstimulation).
Every thrust sent fresh bolts of pleasure-pain shooting through her core. Her clit throbbed against the grind of his pelvis, swollen beyond bearing.
"Please—please—too much—!"
she wailed, even as her legs tightened around him, even as her hips rolled up to meet every punishing thrust.
"You can take it," he growled. "You were made for this."
He released her legs only to flip her over (hands gripping her hips, hauling her up onto her knees, bending her over the table so her cheek pressed to the wood, breasts crushed beneath her, ass high in the air). The new position left her utterly exposed, dripping, trembling.
He entered her again in one brutal thrust.
Hana's scream was muffled against the table. The angle was deeper, more savage. His cock dragged along her front wall with every stroke, battering that spot that made her vision blur.
One of his hands fisted in her hair, arching her back; the other slid beneath her to pinch and roll her clit.
Another orgasm built almost immediately (faster, hotter, more violent). Hana sobbed, shaking her head, but her hips pushed back to meet every thrust, greedy for more.
"Please—please—again—!"
"Come again," Minato
commanded, voice ragged with his own restraint. "I want to feel you break a second time."
She did.
Harder this time. The pleasure was so intense it felt like dying. Her entire body seized, pussy gushing around his cock, juices squirting in obscene pulses that soaked his thighs and the table beneath them.
She screamed until her throat was raw, until the world dissolved into white-hot ecstasy.
Minato's rhythm finally faltered.
His thrusts turned erratic, hips slamming against her ass with desperate force. His cock swelled even larger inside her, stretching her to the absolute limit.
"Fuck—Hana—!"
He buried himself deep and came.
The first hot spurt deep inside her triggered yet another climax (smaller, sharper, but no less devastating). Hana sobbed as she felt him pulse again and again, flooding her with heat, marking her from the inside out.
Her pussy clenched greedily around him, milking every drop, drawing out his pleasure until he shuddered above her, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades, breath ragged.
For a long, long moment, the only sounds were their mingled panting and the soft drip of their combined release onto the ruined table.
Slowly, gently, Minato pulled out. The sudden emptiness made her whimper. He turned her over, cradling her trembling body against his chest, brushing sweat-damp hair from her face.
Hana lay boneless in his arms, wrecked and glowing, filled with him, claimed in every way that mattered. Tears streaked her cheeks (not from sorrow, but from the sheer overwhelming intensity of what she had just experienced).
Minato pressed a soft kiss to her temple. "Beautiful," he murmured.
"Absolutely beautiful."
Across the room, Hiashi still knelt.
Silent.
Unmoving.
The soaked panties clung to his cheek like a badge of surrender.
And Hana, for the first time in her life, felt nothing when she looked at him.
Nothing at all.
Only the slow, steady throb of Minato's seed deep inside her, and the terrifying, exhilarating certainty that she would beg for this again tomorrow.
And every day after.
———-
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