Himari awoke to the sting of sunlight through broken shoji, her body screaming in protest as she peeled herself from the sweat-stained futon. The echoes of last night—Naruto's ragged breaths, the instructor's mocking laughter—clung to her skin like phantom fingerprints. She stared at the darkening bruise on her wrist, shaped like a kunai's hilt. *Welcome to Konoha*, she thought bitterly, reaching for her discarded uniform. The first bell would ring soon, and every kunoichi knew: missing class after your deflowering means whipping .
The sliding doors hissed open to reveal two figures—one towering and whip-lean, the other curved like a drawn blade. The male instructor's flak vest hung open, exposing a lattice of old scars, while the woman beside him twirled a coiled rope between her fingers like a kunai. "Welcome to Advanced Interrogation Tactics," the woman purred, her sandals tapping a slow circle around the kneeling chuunin. "Or as we call it..." Her rope snapped taut with a crack that made several students flinch. "Breakfast." The male instructor's grin split his beard as he palmed a wooden paddle. "First rule?" He brought it down hard on the chuunin's upturned ass. "Pain is just pleasure... with consequences."
Himari's knees hit the tatami mat with a muffled thud, her thighs still sticky from last night's training as the female instructor's rope traced a slow, teasing line up her inner thigh. Across the room, Naruto avoided her gaze, his knuckles white around a kunai—whether from fury or the memory of his tongue between her legs, she couldn't tell. The male instructor chuckled, tossing the paddle to a smirking Sasuke. "Second rule," he murmured, gripping Himari's chin to force her eyes onto the chuunin's reddened flesh. "Every scream is a lesson." The rope tightened. "Now, who's hungry?"
The female instructor's rope snapped against her palm. "Volunteers?" she purred, scanning the room. Sakura's hand shot up first—her cheeks flushed, but her jaw set with determination. The instructor's smirk widened as she dragged the rope along Sakura's collarbone. "Good girl." Sasuke stepped forward next, his expression unreadable, though his fingers twitched near his kunai pouch. The male instructor barked a laugh, shoving him toward the center mat. "Eager, Uchiha? Or just itching to prove you can take it?" Sasuke's glare was answer enough.
The female instructor looped the rope around Sakura's wrists in a practiced motion, yanking them above her head. "Lesson one," she murmured, her breath hot against Sakura's ear, "is learning how to beg without words." Sakura's gasp turned sharp as the rope bit into her skin—just enough to sting, not enough to bruise. Yet. Sasuke watched, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable as the male instructor shoved a leather gag between his teeth.
"Lesson two," the male instructor growled, pressing a knee between Sasuke's thighs, "is taking what you're given." He landed a sharp slap across Sasuke's ass, the sound echoing off the training hall walls. Sakura whimpered, her hips jerking involuntarily as the female instructor's fingers traced the rope's path down her torso. Sasuke's breath hitched around the gag, his knuckles whitening against the mat.
The instructors exchanged a glance, then a nod. The female instructor's hand tangled in Sakura's hair, forcing her to watch as the male instructor dragged Sasuke onto his knees. "Lesson three," they said in unison, their voices dripping with dark amusement, "is sharing." Sakura's eyes widened as Sasuke was shoved toward her, his bound wrists brushing her thighs. The female instructor's laughter was a whisper against her neck. "Congratulations, recruits. Advanced training starts now."The male instructor pressed the wooden paddle into Sasuke's palm, curling his fingers around it with deliberate force. "First rule," he growled, guiding Sasuke's wrist toward Sakura's upturned ass, "you don't stop until she thanks you." The paddle cracked down—too hesitant—earning a scoff. "Harder, Uchiha. She's not made of glass." Sakura's gasp was sharp as the second blow landed, her fingers clawing at the mat. The female instructor tutted, yanking Sakura's head back by her hair. "Say it," she purred. Sakura's lips trembled before forcing the words: "Th-thank you, Sasuke-kun." The male instructor smirked, adjusting Sasuke's grip. "Again. And make her mean it."
Sasuke's next swing landed with a wet smack, his jaw tightening as Sakura's body jerked forward. "Thank—ah!—thank you!" she whimpered, tears streaking her flushed cheeks. The female instructor traced a kunai along Sakura's spine. "Louder." Sasuke's nostrils flared, his next strike splitting the silence like a kunai through paper. Sakura screamed, then choked out: "Thank you, Sasuke-kun! Please—*more*!" The instructors exchanged approving nods.
By the fifth strike, Sakura's ass was mottled red, her "thank yous" hoarse but instant. Sasuke's breathing had turned ragged, his knuckles white around the paddle. The male instructor leaned in, murmuring: "See how she *needs* it now?" Sakura's hips twitched involuntarily as the paddle hovered—begging without words. Sasuke obliged, his swing vicious enough to send her sprawling. Her moan was half-sob, half-gratitude.
The female instructor hauled Sakura upright, forcing her knees apart. "Good girls earn rewards," she crooned, sliding two fingers into Sakura's dripping cunt. "Count." Sasuke's paddle fell in rhythm with the fingers thrusting inside her—each impact wringing a gasped number from Sakura's lips. "Seven! *Ah!* Th-thank you! Eight! *Ngh!* Thank you—*please!*"
When Sakura's legs gave out, the male instructor caught her, shoving her face-first onto Sasuke's lap. "Last lesson," he growled, pressing Sasuke's hand to the back of her neck. "Make her thank you *while* you fuck her." Sakura's whimper dissolved into a scream as Sasuke sheathed himself inside her in one brutal thrust, the paddle cracking down mid-stroke. "*Thank you—ah!—thank you, Sasuke-kun!*"
The instructors watched, arms crossed, as Sasuke pounded into Sakura with methodical precision, her ass glowing red beneath each fresh smack. Her voice broke around relentless gratitude, her body convulsing as the pain and pleasure blurred. The female instructor's smile was knife-sharp. "Now *that's* a proper graduation gift."
Sasuke's hips stuttered, his grip bruising on Sakura's hips as he came with a choked snarl. She sobbed her thanks into the mat, her thighs shaking. The male instructor tossed a towel at them. "Clean up. Next pair in five."
Sakura limped to the corner, her "thank yous" now instinctive, while Sasuke stared at his palms—paddle-grooves bitten into his skin. The female instructor leaned close, whispering: "Welcome to the big leagues, Uchiha."
The female instructor's rope snapped against her thigh as she surveyed the remaining students. "Next," she purred, her gaze lingering on Hinata's trembling form before sliding to Kiba's restless energy. The boy's grin turned feral as he shoved forward, but the instructor's rope lashed out—catching Naruto's wrist instead. "Ah-ah," she chided, yanking him toward the center mat where Sakura's slick still glistened. "Uzumaki owes us a demonstration." Naruto's protest died as the male instructor pressed a kunai to his throat, whispering, "Or would you rather watch *her* take your place?"—nodding toward Hinata's pale face.
The female instructor's fingers curled around Hinata's wrist like a kunai's hilt, yanking her forward with a cruel twist. "Hyuga," she murmured, pressing a coiled rope into Hinata's shaking palm, "you'll learn what your delicate hands are really for." Hinata's breath hitched as the instructor forced her fingers to tighten around the rope—rough hemp biting into her skin—before dragging her toward Naruto's sprawled form. "Lesson one," the instructor breathed against her ear, guiding Hinata's hands to Naruto's wrists, "is tying the knot... before they tie you down."