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Civilians in Power

Chapter Text

"Yondaime-san. I'm glad to see you."

The voice of councilor Genzai Morimoto was quiet yet firm as he addressed the man sitting behind the hokage's desk.

Minato Namikaze, the Yellow Flash, clasped his hands and met the dark eyes of Konoha's trade representative. Broad-shouldered and grizzled with heavily calloused hands, Genzai certainly looked the part of a seasoned craftsman, even though he hadn't done an honest day's work in decades.

But that was politicians, for you. They liked to say they spoke on behalf of the people even while they sipped imported tea from antique crystal china and sat in polished, over-cushioned chairs. Minato could not decry the man for his attempts to maintain the air of an honest, hard-working arbeiter without considerable hypocrisy on his part. After all, did not he himself betray his own constituents on a much deeper and more fundamental level?

"You as well, Morimoto-san," Minato said, nodding to the councilor and swallowing his regrets. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Genzai smiled.

"Ah, you always cut straight to the point, Hokage-sama," he said, giving the honorific a slightly ironic inflection. "Can't I simply drop by to say hello to the most important political figure in Konohagakure?"

Minato smiled in turn, but the expression did not meet his eyes.

"We both know that's a lie, Morimoto-san. I am merely a servant of the people."

"Yes, yes. As should be all great leaders," said Genzai with a gracious wave of the hand.

But there was a glint of something else in his eye, and the councilor looked sidelong at a family photo sitting on the Hokage's desk. He saw Minato and his wife, and their two children also: the son Naruto, and the daughter Naruko.

Minato followed Genzai's glance, seeing where the councilor's eyes fell upon Naruko and Kushina.

The blond forced himself to smile.

"Have my children proven themselves acceptable to their stations?" Minato asked politely, thinking ruefully of how he and Kushina had consigned them to inescapable servitude under the civilian council.

"They have," said Genzai, smiling. "I favor the girl, myself, but then her duties run much closer to my own interests."

Minato knew Genzai wasn't referring to Naruko's role as a bodyguard.

"And Naruto?" he asked lightly.

"He keeps the militants in check," Genzai said, gesturing disinterestedly. "He is simply a shinobi, no matter how powerful. At the end the day he is just a saber to rattle, a threat with which to keep troublemakers in line. But Naruko, now, she is a kunoichi. I like kunoichi."

The grin that spread across the trade representative's face following this remark left no room for illusions as to why it was that he liked the female class of shinobi, kunoichi who were widely known for their precisely cultivated beauty and sexuality.

Minato did not allow himself to feel guilty about this. He and Kushina had made their decision years ago. They had ceded power to non-martial civilian factions in hopes of reducing the influence of hypermilitaristic partisans like Danzo, an example followed by many leaders of the other great villages who were also tired of such people in their ranks who clamored for war and constantly pushed the limits of their treaties.

It had even kind of worked. There had been little real international military conflict in the past seventeen years, no significant battles and certainly no war. Were it not for the other costs, this would have seemed a perfect solution, but as the saying proves, power corrupts, and the civilian council was perfectly willing to exert its newfound authority on the shinobi who had once lorded over them.

"I'm glad she is satisfactory," Minato said.

"Much more than just satisfactory," said Genzai, grinning pervertedly. "But I digress. Let's talk business, you and me."

Minato did a very good job of crafting a smile from his grimace.


"Kurenai-chan, my darling, won't you show my friends that wonderful thing you do with your tongue?"

Kenichi Morimoto, sixteen year old nephew of civilian council member Genzai Morimoto, leered at his wife. Kurenai Morimoto nee Yuuhi stared miserably into her lap while Kenichi's friends hooted and whistled. Her dress was embarrassingly slinky, cut so low at the breast that she showed as much underboob as cleavage, and slit so far up the thigh that it was clear she wore no underwear.

She glanced furtively around. If they were in a private venue this request might have been within the tolerance of her long-broken dignity and self respect, even if all his friends were still watching. But they were in a park, and many other people watched and stared at their gathering besides.

At Kurenai, in particular.

So that they could not be mistaken for civilians, all shinobi were made to have the village's mark branded somewhere visible on their bodies. For men, often it was the back of the hand, or the upper arm, or the forehead. For women like Kurenai, that tattoo was usually placed in more intimate places. Like the chest, thighs, navel, or buttocks. Kurenai's was around her right nipple. According to law she could not cover much more than half of the mark without risking prosecution, either, and trying to remove it would revoke what precious few rights she still had. Therefore she had to wear exclusively these sorts of embarrassingly low cut shirts and blouses—embarrassing even for her, who had never been a stranger to showing cleavage.

Kurenai looked down and saw that Kenichi had undone his zipper and allowed his dick to flop out of his trousers. It was still flaccid at present, but it twitched and visibly swelled as he looked at her and grinned, no doubt envisioning her doing just as he 'requested'.

Kurenai swallowed. For the most part, laws concerning public decency were the same as before the paradigm shift. Public nudity was generally prosecutable, the only major exceptions being if the offender was a ninja, or engaging in sexual congress with a ninja. Civilians called this a privilege for the proud defenders of Konoha, but everyone knew the real intent of this exception.

Kurenai looked into the eyes of the boy—not even a man—whom she had been forced to marry. They said it was to ensure the continuation and enrichment of shinobi bloodlines, a vain falsehood by every measure. Absently she stroked her cheek, recalling how her husband used to correct her disobedient behavior before she'd finally learned to obey unquestioningly.

Kurenai did not sigh. She did not ask Kenichi if he would change his mind. She did not ask if they could go somewhere more private. She simply got down on her knees and put a hand to the straps of her dress.

"Do you want me to do it clothed, or—?"

One of Kenichi's friends wolf-whistled.

"Take it off!" the teen jeered.

Kenichi nodded agreement.

Kurenai gulped and undid the ties of her dress. Slowly, but not so slowly as to seem like she was delaying, the kunoichi lifted her dress over her head and laid it aside, exposing her naked, womanly form to all who cared to see. Many men in the park watched hungrily or appreciatively. Many women sneered and whispered scornfully among themselves.

Great, creamy tits heaved as Kurenai sucked a bracing inhalation. Round and ruddy, milky and plump, her breasts drew praise and degradation alike from her husband's friends. They compared her unfavorably with bovines, asking whether she lactated regularly, and what Kenichi did with all the excessive milk that surely came from her nipples.

Kurenai shivered at their abuse. Her eyelids fluttered low, and her striking red irides peered up from amidst white sclera, looking distinctly like a sharingan without tomoe. Kenichi smirked at her and idly lifted up his semi-erect cock. His eyes did not meet hers but rather traveled unashamedly down her nude, voluptuous form.

Broad, child-bearing hips thrust back to make a tight yet generous posterior buck in the air and flex gorgeously. Kurenai shuddered and arched her back, spreading her legs to bare her pussy. She looked meekly up at her husband's cock, and knowing he would take it out of her hide if she refused, she parted her lips and raised her mouth to take in his phallus.

"That's right, babe," Kenichi said. "You know what your husband needs, and you take care of his needs. You're a good, dutiful wife who knows exactly what her husband is owed."

Kurenai closed her eyes and felt her cheeks burn, her mouth moving steadily back and forth over Kenichi's cock.

Slurp, slurp, slurp.

If she displeased him, she would be punished. If she refused him, she would be punished. If she failed him, she would be punished.

And she did not want to be punished.

So she dipped her head and ran her lips over the teenager's phallus, sucking his cock in the nude in the middle of the park while onlookers leered and sneered.


"Mm, have you put it inside her yet?" an aging, portly civilian said to his stocky, balding compatriot. "It's a wonderful fit, and she's so soft and juicy. Of course, you can tell that much just by looking, can't you?"

He rested a hand above the curve of a soft, round ass. Fingers dug in through the fabric of a very short skirt, gripping the soft tissues of an ample posterior and eliciting a breathless whine from Hinata Hyuuga, who sat tense with her back ramrod straight while the pot-bellied old man roughly fondled her ass.

"Oh, I have," said the balding man opposite, grinning at his friend. "She loves it when I plow her. Begs for me to come in her unworthy militant pussy. Don't you, Hinata-chan?"

Hinata blushed shamefacedly and twiddled her fingers.

"Y...Yes, Nakagawa-sama," she hesitantly stammered. "I l-l-love it when you fuck me."

"See, Kitaguchi?" said Nakagawa, grinning at his friend. "She's a greedy little thing. You can't satisfy that precious bitch without getting nice and rough; and I've fucked her naughty ass more than you have, I'm sure."

Hinata's blush further deepened. She did not allow herself to squirm or lower her gaze, though. Instead she made herself smile and demurely nod in agreement with this statement, even while on the inside she felt hollow and cold.

"You're full of bluster today, Nakagawa," said Kitaguchi, shaking his head. "Have you really fucked her like you say you have? I think you're lying. Hinata-chan, has he really fucked you and made you beg for it, fucked you the way I have?"

Hinata did not answer immediately, recognizing a landmine when she saw one. Her present client was Kitaguchi, and she was implicitly ordered to do whatever was necessary to service his ego and keep him satisfied. Civilian merchants and businessmen like this were the lifeblood of the village, or at least their money was. Her duty was to the mission, even if that mission was a standing, lifelong order to serve as a sex slave and public toilet for every citizen in the Land of Fire.

On the other hand, it was not her place as a kunoichi to shame or embarrass any civilian, let alone one as affluent as Nakagawa. She could hardly say he was an inadequate or inferior—well, not lover, no, she would not apply such a lofty name to these people—but still, to say he wasn't as good as Kitaguchi would likely wound his pride, and that was a major no-no. Likewise to downplay Kitaguchi.

So she was silent for a long, drawn-out moment, carefully considering her options before she finally managed to compose an appropriate answer.

"I would not presume to judge, one way or the other," Hinata said softly, doing her best to ignore it as Kitaguchi slipped a hand up her dress. "That is not my place. I am merely a kunoichi, here to please you and serve you. I can't be trusted to form opinions."

Nakagawa laughed.

"Fair enough!" he said boisterously, grinning at Hinata from across the table. "You're just here to look pretty and give us something to brag about. We don't ask trophies who's more worthy to own them, after all."

Nakagawa reached over to grab a handful of Hinata's chest. She breathed in sharply as thick fingers dug through the thin fabric of her blouse to squeeze and knead her shapely, corpulent teat. Her breathing shuddered as Kitaguchi simultaneously slid a finger between her thighs to tease at the entrance of her sex. Hinata felt herself grow moist.

Feeling wonderfully ashamed and knowing the penalty she would face if she failed to serve these men, Hinata spread her legs and hiked up her skirt. At a silent command from Kitaguchi she turned in her chair so that her body was facing out to the rest of the restaurant. Other diners watched from the corners of their eyes, many with a great deal of interest, as Hinata lifted herself off of the chair far enough and long enough for Kitaguchi to get under her, his fly unzipped.

The Hyuuga heiress dropped herself back onto the man's lap, biting her lip as a throbbing dick sprang up between her legs. Its bulbous head rubbed her labia, and her eyelids fluttered as a jolt went through her body. It was arrogant to think as such, as if she had any right to it for herself, but Hinata felt genuine pleasure from his touch. She felt the warmth of his cock and knew that she wanted it inside herself.

With a wretched, adorable moan Hinata arched her back and gripped the back of the chair as Kitaguchi reached around to grab her breasts and thrust himself up into her cunt. Nakagawa watched in amusement.

The onlookers smiled to themselves, thinking what a whore the heiress of the Hyuuga clan was, and how shameless and perverted kunoichi were.

Those uppity, overpowered sluts really were only good for this kind of thing.


Tazuna the stout, aging bridge builder from the Land of Waves smiled at his grandson as the boy—a young teen, now—ordered their escort onto her knees so he could adjust her collar. It was an article fashioned from bright red leather, a dog collar with a shiny brass name tag that read Hana Inuzuka.

Connected to the collar was a leash. This leash had sealing scrit woven into its surface, and while Tazuna did not understand the mechanics, the Konoha craftsman he bought it from had sworn that this made the leash effectively unbreakable. While Tazuna didn't especially care—they had only bought the leash to use on their escort, after all—he knew that Inari was quite pleased to yank the leash and drag the woman stumbling after them.

She was a buxom brunette, and her flak vest was impractically low-cut. It exposed maybe two thirds of the woman's modestly tanned bust, and while Tazuna was no military strategist, he was fairly certain this made the article quite useless as protection. Again, not that he cared about that. All that mattered was that it made her nice to look at, nicer than she would have been otherwise, and she was quite easy on the eyes to start with.

Apart from the vest, she wore knee high socks in blue shinobi sandals. They could peg her socks as knee-high because those were the only things covering her legs. Below the waist and above the knee all that she wore was a pair of tight, skimpy booty shorts, and these were cut indecently high. More than a little undercheek was exposed, maybe a third of each buttock left bare. They gave her a considerable camel toe, as well.

She obviously didn't dress this way for her own comfort. The shorts were so tight that she had visible trouble walking at anything more than a civilian's pace. If there was a fight with another ninja she would be useless in terms of combat, even if not in protecting her charges. After all, should someone waylay Tazuna and his grandson, they could simply point to Hana and offer to give her to the attacker in exchange for safe passage. It was a tried and true method.

And sure, doing such would likely result in the bitch getting raped or beaten or broken into slavery and sold on the black market.

There was no "but" to be made about that statement. If it happened it would be a desirable outcome, whether or not it actually served any purpose for Tazuna and Inari. Hell, once he got home he was seriously considering just keeping Hana and sending a message back to Konoha to say that she had been lost on the way. The kunoichi would make a nice coming-of-age present for his grandson, if nothing else.

Inari was clearly interested in her, too, judging by the way he let his hands wander away from the collar to trace their way down Hana's front, delving into her vest and exploring the hidden reaches of her tits under her shirt. The Inuzuka moaned weakly at this treatment, but she didn't protest.

She was very well trained, and she looked like she would make a better whore than a kunoichi.

Tazuna almost chortled at this thought.

As if there was any difference between the two.


Haku was bent over a table. She was naked, her small breasts mashed onto the hardwood surface, her firm and white posterior quietly slapping the pelvis of an overweight, florid faced construction worker.

She felt the man's cock inside of her. It was bigger than she initially expected, if not the biggest she'd ever encountered. He was respectably sized and possessed of moderate stamina. At least, he'd been fucking her for more than a few minutes now with no apparent signs of slowing. But she doubted it would be long before he was done, either way.

Before he was done, and the next man switched in.

Haku closed her eyes and thought of Zabuza-sama. Her insides warmed in bittersweet gladness at the memory of the man, even as they writhed at the reminder that he was no longer here to guide and protect her. She tried not to think about how she had begged for her life after failing to protect her master, about how the citizens of Wave had sneered and accepted her service in repayment of the evils Gato had done them.

She wished she had possessed the courage to stand and fight and die honorably beside Zabuza's fallen form. She hated herself for the cowardice she had shown on that day, the fear that had consumed her when the notion of death transformed itself from a vague inevitability into an immediate and all-too present possibility. She hated the cold, hollow feeling that had filled her at the thought of death, the fear despite all teaching that this would be the uttermost end of her thought and being.

She hated how she had abandoned all pride, all honor, all dignity, and fallen on her face, bowed to the people of Wave and desperately begged them to spare her life. She hated them for showing her what they called "mercy", herself for believing them when they had called it "mercy", and the fact of her womanhood for what it led them to make of her pleas.

Had she been a man they might have just killed her, or even if they spared her at least simply put her to work in some menial and nonessential but laborious job. They might have just branded her a prisoner and set her to make-work tasks until the day she gave up the ghost and died of exhaustion.

But Haku was in another way still mortally afraid of dying. Only now it was not a fear of cessation, a fear that dying would end her. Now she feared death as a continuation, feared that death would not end her suffering but bring her into new realms of misery and shame. She feared that whatever she found after death would be too much like what she lived through now. That thought, that irrational fear, was enough to make her despair of being, whether alive or dead.

The man fucking Haku came, interrupting her thoughts. She felt his thrusting reach a fever pitch, then stop, his cock twitching and convulsing as it disgorged its load of semen, shooting another wad of sperm into her maiden sex. Despite herself she felt a perverse, morbid pleasure.

Unbidden, she thought of how much it would hurt to give birth. She had not done so yet, not herself, but she had heard tell of labor pains and maternal fatality. Childbirth was dangerous, harmful and excruciating for humans as it was not for most beasts. In shinobi villages there was medical ninjutsu, healing arts and sciences to ease the pain and make life all but assured. She did not know if this was the case in the Land of Waves. Even if it was, she did not think they would give her very much in the way of medicine for the pain. All she could hope was that she would be able to endure it when the time came.

Not if.

Even as the next man grabbed her by the hips and lined himself up with her cunt, Haku knew that it was only a matter of when she got pregnant. This was a breeding program, after all. Ostensibly a project to ensure the survival of her valuable bloodline, although in reality it was likely as not just another way to wear her down into dust with continuous, degrading punishment.

She would be make to copulate with civilians until she became pregnant. She would be made to have their children, and she did not think the people of Wave would be so kindly as to let her keep and care for the offspring herself. Likely they would be sold off to the highest bidder, the boys as potential weapons for the civilian-run shinobi states, the girls as future breeding stock for the Yuki family's hyouton bloodline limit. Haku knew with a grim, crushing certainty like the weight of a mountain atop her breast that she would be bred and bred, fucked and fucked and made to give birth again, again, again until she was too old and worn out and broken to do it anymore.

Truthfully, this was not too different from how Kirigakure probably would have treated her, if they'd gotten hold of her first, and it was this understanding that really smothered her hope. Zabuza-sama had risen against this new, twisted system, and he had been put down like a dog. She had followed Zabuza-sama and believed wholeheartedly in his teachings, and now she was tied down and forced to breed with complete strangers. Not even fellow shinobi. Just civilians with no bloodline, no concept of chakra or ninjutsu or honor.

She felt like she was the only human in a world of animals. Least of all life, made to obey the cruel appetites of every brute to cross her path.

Could there be any worse fate than this?


Anko Mitarashi could remember a time when to be a kunoichi was worthy of honor and respect, a time when shinobi were feared and revered as the dangerous but noble protectors of the village and its people. This was not unusual, not yet. Many still were old enough to have lived in a time before the great change, before the Yondaime and his Red Devil of a wife sold them all out.

Anko was an intelligent woman for all her bluster, for all her brashness and theatrics a kind and empathetic and aware person who knew the world and the people and the meanings of that which most overlooked. She understood more deeply than most the notion that one day it WOULD be rare for someone to remember a time before this, an age of the world when shinobi were more than tools of the ignorant masses, when kunoichi weren't treated as lower than prostitutes.

Eventually there would be no one who remembered such a time, if things did not change. Eventually this new way would be the only way anyone had ever known, and then it would never change, not without some great and cataclysmic upheaval, possibly not until centuries had passed. And by then, what would have become of shinobi, of the great and noble clans, of the lesser families, of the common citizens who strove against all odds to prove their worth and defend their homes?

Their history was being erased. The faces of the first three hokage on the mountain were vandalized and allowed to decay. Chips were knocked from the faces by irreverent civilians, and vulgar words were plastered across their brows. Schoolbooks were rewritten to paint Hashirama Senju as a petty warlord, Tobirama the Nidaime as a racist empire builder, and Hiruzen Sarutobi as a doddering fool. Minato the damned Yellow Flash, meanwhile, was made out to be an enlightened leader, a peaceful revolutionary who had overthrown the corrupt, warmongering system of the previous three hokage without taking a single life.

Propaganda, plain and simple. It was sickeningly black-and-white, simplistic beyond all semblance of reality, twisted and bent over backwards to glorify the new civilian leaders of Konoha, of the great ninja villages. Those who knew what was good for them, who did not wish to be expunged from the records and made an unperson, would do whatever they could to suck the dicks—literally or metaphorically—of Konoha's new overlords. Men fearfully sang the praises of this new world order and did the dirty work of the civilian council without a single question voiced. Women bent over and stripped off their clothes and submissively gave up their bodies to the cruel, lustful whims of their civilian masters.

Anko, no matter how much she loathed it in her heart, no matter how much she raged inwardly at the horrible, oppressive machinery of this backwards new order, was no different from the rest. Whatever his faults, Orochimaru had taught his students how to survive; Anko knew better than to fight, no matter how it galled her to surrender.

She was a ninja, not a samurai. Whatever the propaganda of the previous regimes about ninja code and duty foremost—and for all the rose-tinting of nostalgia Anko was smart enough to recognize the talk for what it had been—survival came first, then success, then honor at a very distant third. If it meant she could live another day, she would lie back and take whatever they did to her. If nothing else, she could pray for a day when the chance would come to turn the tables. If that should pass, then every one of these events, these indignities, these abuses, would serve as fuel for retaliation and justice. Should revolution ever erupt, Anko did not doubt that kunoichi would prove the most viciously zealous in avenging themselves.

But it did not seem likely that this would happen anytime soon, if ever within her lifetime.

Anko tried not to think too hard about that as she was pinned to the alley wall by a huge, meaty fist with far more size than actual power. There was no discipline in this great oaf's grip, none of the bone deep, steely sinew firmness of shinobi. He was a civilian, whoever he was, and in all likelihood so were his little buddies.

They moved slowly, clumsily by her standards, seeming to blunder about like hamstrung bulls. If she made the effort she could easily knock them down without doing any actual harm, bump their pride back to a more appropriate level and teach them not to take kunoichi lightly. But Anko knew just as certainly that if she raised a hand against these thugs she would be prosecuted for assault, never mind that they had started it, that her actions would be deemed as self defense in any sane, reasonable society.

A bony, rat faced young man leered at Anko as her cheek was pressed hard against the wall. He yanked on her trench coat and leered at the fishnet underneath, her upper body practically naked below the open, tan coat. More than once Anko had been told that she looked like a flasher in her preferred get up, but this how she liked to dress herself. She knew of course that it led men to think she was easy, to think that she was asking them to stare and approach and solicit her. She knew how it made civilians view her, the way she dressed herself.

She didn't care. It drew their attention? It made them pick her out from the crowd? It led them to believe she was some kind of horny slut begging for a good, hard fuck?

That was the point. Not because she enjoyed being treated this way, being looked at like a harlot and dragged into alleyways by two-bit chumps who wouldn't have been so much as speedbumps were she allowed to fight back. Of course she didn't like this. She knew there were a few younger kunoichi who had known nothing but this life, like Naruko the Hokage's daughter. A number of those poor things DID enjoy this, if only because they were taught that they should, that being treated this way was right and proper and natural for them.

It was foolish sentimentality on her part, perhaps, but Anko felt like it was her responsibility to do what she could to alleviate the pressure on those girls. She was a seasoned kunoichi, would have been a jounin if not for the system's descent into this perverse farce. Some of those girls might have become her students, or her subordinates, were things still as they ought to have been. It was practically her duty to draw fire off of them, to divert the enemy's attention onto herself. That was something every Konoha ninja had been taught for generations, a sometimes furtive and sometimes open defiance of the Ninja Code. From the First Hokage down to herself and her peers, it was understood that the elder shinobi, the veterans, were responsible for the well being of those beneath them.

The next generation was what mattered most.

This was not battle, and this was not death, but Anko still held to those ideals. She still believed, and she was still shinobi. She would endure it. If she could help even one girl to find some brief respite from the lustful depredations of these bastards, Anko felt like her life would still be able to have some meaning, like she could still have pride in herself as a kunoichi. That was just the kind of person she was. It didn't matter if she herself was dragged off and gang-raped. Every cock getting shoved inside of her was a cock that didn't go inside one of those poor young kunoichi who might have been her students, her charges, her soldiers.

It hurt. It was miserable. It was disgusting and degrading and hellish like nothing else. She hated the taste of their disgusting, unwashed cocks, a mix of sweat and testosterone and stale piss. She hated how it felt when they threw aside her trench coat and seized her tits through the fishnet, the way they squeezed and stroked and handled them so brusquely, indelicately, uncaringly.

It was humiliating to have her face thrust down on their nasty, brutish cocks, a hundred times more size than sense. To have her ass cheeks spread apart by their weak yet calloused grips, her anus rammed into without so much as a drop of lubricant, her asshole ripped apart by a fat, throbbing, meaty erection.

It felt abominable to have their cocks stuffed one after another into her cunt, her labia spread so far apart that they could no longer close the whole way, her once pink and lush insides now worn, dark from constant use, smoothed out by continuous penetration, loose and much stretched if still hot, still wet, still good enough to fuck and get these apes off.

They were like animals. They fucked her every way their little used brains could devise, the majority of their meager cunning spent on inventing vaguely new ways to degrade her and use her and fuck her. They raped her in the alley, not out of sight but just a foot from the sidewalk, their forms still half in the light, and Anko's body thrust out for all who cared to look and see.

She hated them so much. She wanted to hurt them, to beat them, to kill them. She wanted to exercise every last lesson she had ever been taught by Orochimaru, to erase these worthless ruffians from the face of the earth, to end their lives with such insidious creativity that all who looked on their corpses would know the meaning of true fear. But these idiots were as powerless as cockroaches in the grand scheme of things. Killing them would do nothing but earn her a quick and painful end, if she was lucky.

If she was unlucky, she would end up like Naruko or one of the other young girls sold out to the civilian council to buy favor for their spineless coward families. She would be taken apart in mind and soul, stripped layer by layer of ego and history and morality. She would be reduced to an unthinking doll, part sex toy and part guard dog, just a bundle of prettily-arranged holes and mounds for some fat old merchant to play with and use as a bodyguard.

A part of Anko wondered if that wouldn't be preferable to this. At least then she would be blissfully oblivious of the disgrace, reduced to the most basic senses of gladness and pleasure with no concept of shame, discomfort, or ignominy.

But the rest of her thought of the girls, the young ones who had known no world but this, no way to live but this, and she knew that she could—if not endure this treatment, then at least do some good before she finally broke and forgot herself. And as the cocks drove into her again and again, stirring a shameful and unacceptable pleasure somewhere deep in her belly, Anko thought with quiet resignation that this might not be very far off.

She closed her eyes and relaxed, allowed the men to rape her in the alley, in full view of all passerby.

It almost felt... good, now.

Yes, it really wouldn't be much longer.

But that was fine.

Anko...

Anko didn't really care about anything, anymore.

Chapter Text

SMACK!

A compact, feminine fist drove itself with carefully controlled force into a lean, white gut. Slender was the belly this lightly tanned hand smote, and husky was the grunt brought forth by the blow. A woman of respectably average stature with long, strikingly red hair took a single step back and held up her arms in a defensive posture.

Gray eyes met blue. Two faces were much alike in shape but otherwise in color, one fair peach and the other light olive, one with cheeks smooth and bare, the other with cheeks a little rounder and marked with three horizontal lines apiece, like whisker marks. It was the same with their bodies, one only a little less in height and the other slightly taller, while their figures were nearly so alike they could have been called interchangeable.

The taller, fairer, older, red-haired woman had breasts that were slightly less perky, tits just beginning to sag in age, though her skin was still smooth. Her womanhood looked marginally less fresh than the blonde's, too. more worn and used and stretched, if still very much plump and juicy. Her backside was softer, fattier, bouncier, and her thighs had a greater girth and weight. The redhead was by all accounts a woman at or near middle age, although she still had almost no wrinkles.

As much could be attributed to her Uzumaki blood, the natural longevity of her clan enabling her to theoretically retain at least some such aspects of youth quite late into life, and she was still in her prime by most measures. Her body was not degenerated, even if it had accumulated slightly greater curves, a little more attractive, cushioning fat here and there. Her metabolism was no longer that of a teenager, and while she kept herself in excellent shape the bodies of a girl and a grown woman simply weren't the same.

Kentaro Karasuyama appreciated every aspect of Kushina's body. The lifelong tradesman and lumber magnate looked like he might have once been quite impressively built, broad-shouldered and burly with arms like tree trunks from honest, manual labor. But he had gone to seed many years ago, black hair now grizzled, a brown face creased and somewhat blanched by age, hard muscles softened and diminished by years of a councilor's sedentary lifestyle. While he might have once boasted a toned and definite six pack, now he had a modestly expansive gut, a potbelly that grew infinitesimally larger with every passing year.

To one side of Karasuyama stood Naruto Uzumaki, Kushina's son. The young man watched with a slight blush, despite all determined stoicism of expression, as his mother and twin sister sparred in the nude for the aging councilor's entertainment. Naruto had been taught well by his father, and he knew that his duty was to stand by and let these things happen, to enforce, as was it needed, all commands of the civilian council. He was a guard and an attack dog, and he knew his place.

At Kentaro's other side knelt a nondescriptly attractive kunoichi with short, raven hair. Shizune Kato, she was, niece of the long deceased Dan Kato, and former pupil of Tsunade of the Senju. She was merely average in almost every respect: looks, curves, temperament, talent. Nonetheless she had her fans in the council, and she was often busied with serving some randy civilian or other. Shizune was very cheap compared to the Hokage's wife and daughter, too.

Still, the woman did her best to fulfill the terms of her assignment, and despite a poorly disguised expression of misery, she ran her lips up and down Kentaro's admittedly impressive cock. The man might have been a lay she could boast of, were he thirty years younger, and she not expressly ordered to do this.

Idly, Kentaro ran his fingers through Shizune's hair, pressing lightly down on the back of her head. She gagged a little into his lap, but she did not try to fight it and rather did her best to relax and swallow his full manhood. It throbbed in her mouth, and the musky reek of his sex filled her nostrils. Humiliating as it was, she marginally enjoyed the treatment.

That wasn't a good sign, she knew.

Naruko skipped back from a retaliatory sweeping high kick of her mother's, an attack which provided all watching with a splendid view of the redhead's nether regions. Naruko had her arms drawn defensively up before her face and chest, while Kushina's were folded more to the side, balancing her form during the kick. Neither of these did much to cover them in any meaningful, decency-supporting ways.

Kentaro watched the heave of Naruko's insignificantly less ample bosom, the glistening trail of a couple beads of sweat crawling their way down the ponderous curve of her perky, generous tits. She was tighter and fresher than her mother, more youthful if no more meaningfully sexy. Her ass was firmer, not much smaller and just as round, just as shapely on wide hips that promised themselves to be excellent for bearing children when their time came.

The councilor felt himself grin uncontrollably at this thought. He wouldn't mind gifting that cute little calf of Minato's with the joy of motherhood, and even considering that in only this most passing and noncommittal fashion caused his cock to twitch mightily in Shizune's mouth. The medic-cum-cocksleeve gasped at the sudden convulsion of his shaft, and her cheeks reddened hotly. She squirmed in what might have been either disgust or pleasure, her face so pink and obscenely contorted that it was impossible to judge by her expression.

Naruko was cute. Hell, she was genuinely sexy by this point. Kentaro could remember when she had been a blushing young teen performing her first true mission as a kunoichi, when she had still been slim and girlish despite the swiftly burgeoning globes of her bosom, the almost daily increasing swell of her hips. She'd been no child, but she hadn't been a real woman either. In some ways the girl was still childish, still a mere girl compared to her mother.

But she had been more of a girl then, and less of a woman, if only by the comparison of her figure and experience. When Karasuyama, Morimoto, and Shigekuni had given the cute little bitch her first taste of what it meant to be a kunoichi in this new, idyllic age—idyllic for them, at least, and for civilians like them—she had been properly grateful and obedient. Many ninja still foolishly wished for things to go back to the way they'd been before Minato's sensible reforms, ere the Yondaime had wisely and humbly deferred to the wishes of his civilian protectorates, whom he most graciously accepted as the village's true authorities, but the Hokage's family was faithful.

Karasuyama sighed nostalgically, watching as Naruko ducked under a punch from her mother, then sprang back with an uppercut that drove most entertainingly into the underside of Kushina's tits. He looked at the blonde's tight, round ass and thought of a time when it had been both smaller and softer, tighter and younger and truly virginal.

Naruko had been enthusiastic, her first time. She had bowed graciously to her hosts—her clients—greeting them with a soft, courteous, "Your servant, lords." An uncharacteristically formal and even archaic welcome from the spirited, vibrant lass. This took Azuma, that was to say Councilor Shigekuni, who represented a number of profitable mining interests and had the most acquaintance with Naruko-chan's temper and manners, quite by surprise.

But Genzai Morimoto had simply smiled and told the girl:

"Your father's trained you well." Genzai had always been the most familiar with Minato. "You speak as dutifully as your mother. But are you equal to her responsibilities?"

Kentaro could remember himself smirking at this. Good old Genzai was a real manipulative bastard. He could talk a miko with a vow of celibacy into prostituting herself cheap on the side, and get himself a free ride out of the deal to boot. Saying it like this practically challenged the teen to prove she was as good as her mother at being a shameless, come-guzzling whore, and naturally she took the bait hook, line, and sinker.

"I am. O-Of course I am!" Naruko's voice echoed in Kentaro's mind, as crisp and clear as if she spoke the words aloud in this very moment. Her voice back then was little different from how it was now, maybe just a little less deep, a little less rich and husky. "I can do anything mom can. I'm an Uzumaki too!"

"Does Uzumaki mean 'whore', now?" Azuma had said to this, chortling. "It's certainly a fitting sentiment, if that's the case."

The quizzical quirk of Naruko's head had been an adorable contrast to the youthful sexuality of her naked, yet blossoming form.

"Was it ever anything else?" she asked in such a tone that it was difficult to say whether she said this facetiously or in earnest. Her expression was just a little too innocent to be genuine, however.

"Not if you ask me." Kentaro's own words still seemed witty to him, although Genzai and Azuma had rolled their eyes at his remark. "At least, kunoichi have always dressed the part, whether Uzumaki or otherwise."

The pleased flush of Naruko's cheek at this barb would have been enough to make them feel the stirrings of lust even if they had been, until then, completely unmoved by her naked presentation and subservient tone—as they had most assuredly not been. And the wriggle of her hips, the clasping of her hands, the squeezing of her even-then generous breasts together between her arms, and the minute spreading of her legs all contributed well to the arousing view of her form.

"Then it's tradition," Naruko said, as if more to herself than to them. Perhaps a reassurance to soothe some final, stubborn misgivings. "It's only proper for me to..."

Privately, Kentaro had mused at whether a tradition of one generation was really a tradition at all, because whatever the teasing and sophistry, OF COURSE kunoichi had long been soldiers, spies, and assassins who only rarely dabbled in anything even vaguely resembling this modern, institutionalized prostitution.

But none of them said anything to contradict the girl, and she had then taken a deep breath, relaxed, and presented herself completely.

"Please forgive my inexperience," she'd said to them.

Right before Azuma Shigekuni shoved his cock into her mouth.

The look of shock on her face at the suddenness of this, and the subsequent transformation of that look into one of contented pleasure, was still crystal clear in Kentaro's mind. His cock throbbed in Shizune's mouth as he recalled Naruko's swift acclimitization to deepthroating Azuma. He felt Shizune run her tongue with goodly skill, if less relish, up and down his thick, pulsing shaft while Kushina tried to capture Naruko in a hold, only for Naruko to twist away and knee her mother in the back.

It wasn't a serious fight. Truthfully, it was barely even a spar by ninja standards. It was a show, that was all, and so Kushina did not retaliate right away to Naruko's strike but posed for a moment with a look of theatrical pain, her arms spread wide and her breasts briefly wobbling. Her cunt was a tad bit slick, the redhead a confessed masochist and exhibitionist even before being broken in by the council.

Briefly Kushina eyed her son, and Kentaro saw a gleam of shameful pleasure in the woman's eye, before she turned her gaze to him and looked hungrily down at his lap where Shizune's head bobbed, steered by his broad and still somewhat powerful hand. The older woman smiled even as Naruko circled back around, moving at a snail's pace by shinobi standards, to place her own more youthful form between her mother and the councilman.

Naruko looked first at Kentaro, taking her eyes off of her mother in an obvious and intentional act, bending forward and staring with undisguised jealousy at the way Shizune was being lightly forced to deepthroat Karasuyama-san. She pouted and wiggled her hips, and Kentaro thought pleasedly of his first time fucking that girl's ass, when he had helped break her into life as a kunoichi.

Naruko's bottom had been soft, and very tight. Genzai of course took the girl's main virginity, her cunt, being an important friend and partner of her father's, while Azuma who knew the girl graciously deigned to fuck her face. Kentaro, having least claim and least bond to the cute little blonde, had been left to take what remained: her anus, which had been just fine by him. It was always fun stuffing a kunoichi's asshole and feeling her squirm blissfully or miserably on his cock.

It didn't matter whether the kunoichi enjoyed it, of course. But Naruko had been trained very well, and while still an anal virgin she had been taught what to expect and how to do it. She did it, too, doing the best to accommodate their treble penetration of her youthful, virgin body, and to pleasure them with said body as much as she could manage.

Naruko had been able to manage a fair damn bit, too, for a virgin. Personally Kentaro didn't think that any other girl could have ever been as skillful for their first time. She'd been bred and raised for this, more than any other kunoichi of her generation informed and instructed of her true, proper role in society and how best to fulfill it. She was cute, she was enthusiastic, and she was smart.

Probably the closest that anyone had ever yet come to being a prodigy of prostitution, though Kentaro had heard some good things recently about the Hyuuga head's younger daughter...

"Fwughmme, fummee, fu'me!" Naruko had tried, futilely, to say through a mouthful of councilman Shigekuni's cock. They all knew what she meant by that, and they'd graciously obliged the silly little bitch's selfish, presumptuous pleas.

They'd fucked her, and they'd fucked her hard. When the three of them were done, other councilmen then came in, and they too fucked Naruko, and before the day was through all the councilmen and all their sons and cousins and brothers and fathers had broken the girl in, had plowed her and made her into a true, honest kunoichi.

She was the finest of her generation, a genius whore, a paragon of sluts, the perfect cocksleeve and come dumpster alive. Nothing that went on two legs was more suited to the modern role of kunoichi than was Naruko Uzumaki, and nobody alive—not even the girl's mother—was quite so well adapted, so enthusiastic about her duty.

Naruko presented her ass to Kentaro and looked at him slavishly over her shoulder, just long enough to give her mother a nice and easy opening. Kushina did not smirk or declaim victoriously, and Naruko did not cry out in dismay (or satisfaction) when her mother took the bait and lunged forward with a swift, light blow: a punch to the chest.

Neither of them was using anything like ninja strength in their spar. Partly because they were kunoichi, sex workers and not fighters. They were not at all very powerful, compared to their male counterparts whose lives were devoted mind and soul to serving as weapons of the council. They were playthings, trophies, decorations, just soft and bouncy and cute.

The two women barely had any capability to wound or maim each other, scarcely any more than a couple of civilian women might have. Kushina was stronger than her daughter, having come from a generation when kunoichi were still expected to fight alongside their male counterparts, but her skills were much atrophied from disuse. Naruko, in contrast, had only the barest martial training, just enough to give her body that certain sinuous quality of which no civilian woman could boast.

So Kushina's punch to Naruko's chest did little, really, save to make her bosom bounce and wobble. That was what Kentaro wanted to see, and he shoved Shizune's face a little harder still down on his cock. The former medic gagged reflexively, and her eyes were by now rolled up far to the white. She moaned weakly, almost despairingly into Kentaro's cock, her modest bosom heaving and a white, perky ass wagging.

Naruko spun around, backstepping from her mother's attack and dropping her torso, thrusting up her hips, raising a long and shapely leg in a high back kick. Her tits bounced more violently still with these quick movements, and her ass flexed. Her cunt splayed open more than just a little with the far spreading of her legs, and the heel of her flying foot caught Kushina on the shoulder.

Kushina's entire body jolted from the impact, one of the most powerful if risky kinds of taijutsu strikes. Her maternal breasts leaped up and fell back down in such a way as if to illustrate both their softness and their immense weight, and her legs spread farther apart to root her stance and square her feet.

Naruko dropped her leg and moved back into a standing, ready fighting pose, arms held defensively as a lithe, sinuously curvaceous form moved slowly and fluidly. She fairly circled her mom, blue eyes glinting as they drank in the view of the redhead's gorgeous, motherly body. Kushina watched Naruko move with wariness, panting somewhat heavily, clearly tired from the spar.

For all their stamina in bed, neither woman was quite fit to fight for any length of time. Kushina not since she was young, and never had Naruko been so able. But the blonde was youthful and fresh and spry, and however good Kushina may once have been, and whatever the longeval vitality of the Uzumaki clan, Naruko had the advantage now.

And she pressed it suddenly, leaping at her mother from the rear the moment she was able to get behind her back. Kushina, by the look on her face, knew the attack was coming, but though she tried simultaneously both to duck and sidestep, Naruko anticipated the evasion and corrected for it, and then Kushina did not have any more time to react.

Naruko threw her arms around her mother and wrestled her to the floor. Kushina's great, milk-laden tits squashed onto the floor, and her plump, voluminous ass was straddled by her daughter. Naruko practically spooned Kushina, and councilman Karasuyama's cock hardened significantly at this sight. Naruko reached around to grab the bulged-out sides of her mom's flattened rack, and aggressively she sealed her lips around one of the redhead's earlobes, causing the older woman to moan and writhe beneath her.

Karasuyama thrust more rapaciously than ever into Shizune's mouth, the woman's cheeks turning a faint shade of blue. His cock twitched violently at the sight of Naruko mounting and grappling and molesting her winded, blushing, hopelessly mewling mother. He grinned, imagining that the two beautiful kunoichi were fighting to be the next to suck his cock, and with that he finally came.

His semen filled Shizune's mouth. He could smell its faintly pungent odor even through the woman's lips, and he saw the expression of mingled glee and disgust on her face. It pleased him as much as the numbing, mind-melting rush of orgasm to see Shizune's expression and to hear her try, with only some success, to slurp up and swallow the entirety of his ejaculation. That was a big task, and not necessarily one that was within her capacity.

But she gave her best shot, and she managed to swallow at least half of it without too much difficulty. The rest she had more trouble with, though, and Karasuyama did not mean to let her go until she had gotten the whole load. Still, eventually, with much labor and desperate gulping, Shizune was able to get the entire mouthful of come down her throat.

Only then did Karasuyama finally release her and permit her to move aside, and by this point Naruko and Kushina were no longer wrestling. Indeed, they rather simply lay there tiredly, expectantly, looking up and eyeing him with lewdly hopeful expressions.

Councilman Kentaro Karasuyama grinned.




"You exist to serve the council, Naruko-chan."

"And so does Naruto-niichan. Why can't we train together, then?"

"That's... different. Your duties are not the same as his. Your duties will be like mine."

"Yours, mom? But I don't think I know what you do. You never told me you did anything."

"You were too young to know before. Not anymore, though. You're a big girl, now, and it's finally time for you to learn."

Naruko could still remember that fateful discussion with her mother, the day of her and her brother's fifth birthday. After a small, private celebration their dad had taken Naruto, saying it was time to begin his training. Mom had then taken her by the hand and led her in the opposite direction.

It was the first crack of a yawning gulf that would eventually separate her and her brother, the day when they each began proper instruction in their true duties. There was nothing practical then, only lectures and theory and demonstrations. For Naruko, at least, it was several years of observing her mother and replicating her actions with pillows or dummies or harmless phallic facsimiles before she actually did anything real.

She hadn't truly understood it, then. As young as she'd been it had all seemed like a very funny game. Even when she felt the first stirrings of enjoyment in miming her mother's activities, she hadn't grasped the reality of what it would mean, the magnitude of that fate to which she was irrevocably consigned. Until her first time with those councilors, with them and what had to have been all their male friends and family, an endless gangbang with countless cocks of every size and shape...

Until then, she'd had no idea how marvelous it would be. How wonderful it was to be a kunoichi, a public use sex toy for every remotely important civilian in Konoha.

Naruko Uzumaki had long ago been made into a true and enthusiastic slut. She was weaned into a life of sexual servitude, like a frog in slowly boiling water, and she didn't notice until it was too late just how far everything had gone. And when she DID notice, she was ecstatic.

There was no other way to put it. Naruko could barely remember a time before this, any time at all when things had been otherwise than they were now. It was all she knew, what she had been raised to want to do, what she had been taught, trained, and conditioned to desire above all else. Her mother had made a true whore of her. Kushina Uzumaki had done a splendid job of transforming her daughter into a shameless cunt that thought only of being filled up with cock and pumped to the brim with semen.

Perhaps even too good of a job.

Kushina was naturally a bit adventurous herself, had been a lusty and enthusiastic lover even before things changed. Not promiscuous, per se, but she'd never been too discriminating about who she bedded, either before or after dating and eventually marrying Minato. She'd enjoyed sex, she'd seen it as a fun pastime, and she'd been willing to swallow her pride to help her husband.

She chose this path for herself. She had no right to complain on her own behalf, and it was too late by far for regrets to accomplish anything, even if she'd had any. But she couldn't help feeling a little unhappy when looking at her daughter in this state, and that unhappiness was only deepened by the perverse twinges of pride and jealousy.

She learns so quickly. She really is a genius.

A genius of sex. A prodigy whore. Talented without peer in bed, the alley, and anywhere at all that people wanted to fuck her. Naruko had no shame, no sense of disgust, no maidenly innocence or dignity. How many times could it be said before it got old? Naruko was a slut, a slut of the highest caliber, a slut without peer in all the wide world.

When Karasuyama rose from his seat and approached them, seeing the two voluptuous, naked woman, mother and daughter both, lying there atop one another, Naruko raised her hips from spooning her mother's great bouncing ass and spread her long, shapely legs as far apart as they could go. She turned on top of her mother and presented herself to the councilman, nestling her chin on one of Kushina's generously doughy buttocks.

"Good girl," said he, leering at Naruko's firm backside and juicy, much used cunt. "That's what I like about you. You know your place, and you do your duty. I don't have to say a word."

"I live to serve, Karasuyama-sama," Naruko said demurely, a tone of subservience which did little to conceal the ravenous, lustful zeal in her voice. She was ready and eager, almost inappropriately bold in carrying out her tasks.

Kushina moaned beneath her daughter, looking very shameful indeed with her head between the girl's knees. A little of Naruko's nectar dripped down into the silky, crimson locks of a pureblooded Uzumaki. The gleam of that moisture in Kushina's hair produced a marvelous visual effect.

Karasuyama's cock throbbed, standing back up to full mast. Shizune watched from behind the councilman, still naked and on her knees, her comparatively modest figure slick with sweat and ruddy from a lingering blush of abashed arousal. Naruto stood opposite the raven haired woman, his own cheeks a slight pink and hands curling momentarily into fists.

There was a touch more fight in the boy than in his sister. That was not unusual. Male ninja were still soldiers, still spies and assassins even if their authority was much reduced. They were more willful than whatever the kunoichi of this age had become, subtly more inclined to pride and aggression, and Naruto was an Uzumaki, possessed of his mother's fiery temper.

It had taken the Yondaime a great deal of effort to cool and harden his son's passionate heart. It had not been a complete success, if only in the sense that Naruto had enough lingering sense in him to feel occasional stabs of shame and anger when he saw his mom and sister treated like this. At least he knew better than to act. He knew, however good he was, that rebellion would be followed by swift and merciless punishment.

So he stood by and watched, and tried very hard not to grow angrier or aroused as he watched his relatives present themselves to the potbellied councilman and accept his cock with slavish, gleeful mewling.

Naruko whined at the feeling of Karasuyama's cockhead bumping up against her womanhood. Puffy nether lips throbbed with the blazing pleasure of contact, and her head swam at the very thought of penetration. She bucked her hips, slapping her pelvis down on the councilman's erection, trying to force her cunt over his manhood.

Kushina craned her head and raised her eyes, watching from below as her daughter took Karasuyama's cock into herself. The redhead felt her own pussy ache with an exquisite longing at the sight, and she licked her lips and sighed wistfully. Her bosom mashed against the floor, and her backside lewdly supported her daughter's chin.

"Good girl. Very good girl," Karasuyama grunted, grabbing hold of Naruko's hips and thrusting. He went most easily inside her, and the sopping heat of her blossom enveloped his length with that perfect Uzumaki brand of carnal hospitality. "You are a perfect whore, Naruko-chan. It's what you were born to be. I mean, how could you ever be anything else, with a mother like yours?"

He leered down at Kushina's form, which was twisting and squirming under Naruko. He caught a glimpse of the redhead's face, and he saw that her cheeks very nearly matched her hair. His balls ached with their recent, copious ejaculation. His dick tensed at Kushina's half-seen expression, and at the soft whine she produced in response to his words.

"I am," Naruko moaned, her tongue lolling out shamelessly as she spoke. She bucked her hips with a perverse enthusiasm, grinding a hot and juicy cunt on old Kentaro's cock. "Ohh, I am! Mom taught me everything I know, you know. It's thanks to her that I can be such a good, useful bitch. Ngh! Thank you, mom!❤"

Kushina moaned wretchedly in reply, shuddering guiltily and gleefully at Naruko's words. She twisted beneath her daughter and somehow managed to roll onto her back, displacing the blonde's chin from her ass.
 
In either revenge or gratitude, Naruko promptly mashed her lips against her mother's cunt. If there was anything Naruko could do better than sucking cock, it was probably eating pussy, and she enthusiastically pleasured her mother, giving thanks to the soil from which her own fertile ass had sprung. Kushina had to bite her lip to keep from crying out unduly, and her entire body seemed to freeze and convulse in an veritable electrocution of eroticism.
 
Karasuyama's wrinkled, hairy, pendulous ballsack dangled low and swung as he fucked Naruko. Her buttocks smacked his navel while his balls clapped her thighs, and even as he bottomed out his cock in her cunt, he could feel Kushina's hot and heavy breath wash over his loins. He grinned at the feeling, and he basked in the ecstasy of Naruko's sex, not tight perhaps, but wonderful in so many ways, its very inner textures seeming designed specially and exclusively to get men off.
 
"Fuck me," Naruko moaned through the folds of her mother's cunt. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! Karasuyama-sama's cock is the best... I love that cock! Yes❤ Fuck me with your great, big, manly cock!❤"
 
It was partly just flattery, vaguely insincere ego-stroking to make the councilman harder. But nonetheless her words had impact, and Karasuyama smacked her backside with a harsh laugh.
 
"You cunt," he said roughly. "You kunoichi."
 
In tone he made the latter sound infinitely more degrading. Naruko did not seem to disagree with this emphasis, and she moaned lewdly.
 
"I'm a kunoichi," she said enthusiastically. "I'm a dirty, naughty, shameless ninja woman with needlessly huge tits and a stupidly plump ass and a slutty, greedy, come-guzzling cunny❤ Fuck me, master! Fuck me, Karasuyama-sama! I'm a human dumpster! A worthless kunoichi bitch!❤ Yessss!"
 
She bucked her hips and cried out euphorically. Her backside crashed against his navel, and his cock buried itself to the uttermost depths of her cunt, and his strong hands squeezed her hips until they were sore. She felt her mother writhe beneath her, and she buried her face once more in Kushina's pussy.
 
She could feel it drawing near.
 
Kushina opened her mouth and took Kentaro's balls into her mouth. The taste of them was strong and pungent, a taste she knew well, and the musk of his manhood flooded her nostrils. Moaning, she sucked on his balls and rolled her tongue over them, flattening her tits against her daughter's belly.
 
This was their duty. It was their obligation to the order Minato had established, to the civilians who now ruled Konoha, who had ruled it since the earliest days of her children's lives. This was the only use she had left in this world, unless it was to bear more children for the hokage.
 
And it was the only use her daughter had, too.
 
Kushina wondered, idly, if she truly regretted this. It was difficult to say absolutely. Sometimes she did regret it, while at other times she was glad of it, proud of herself for what she had done. What she did even now. She was proud of Naruko, too. Proud of her daughter, unconditionally so. It didn't matter if her baby girl was whore or hokage, Kushina would always love her and feel glad.
 
Glad to see her happy.
 
Glad to see her brainwashed and debased.
 
Kushina supposed this made her something of a monster. She was willing to turn her own daughter into such a thing as this, such a beastly and degraded sort of woman who knew no purpose in life save to be fucked. It was fine to resign herself to such a fate, but doing the same to her own flesh and blood...
 
Yes, she really was some kind of monster, wasn't she? All the more, perhaps, for how deeply these contemplations thrilled and aroused her. Some people called her a devil. It was an apt choice of words. She was a devil.
 
A sexy, voluptuous succubus queen.
 
It thrilled her, this thought. All of it was ultimately on her shoulders. It was because of her suggestions, her encouragement, that the civilians had done such with the kunoichi, that the other nations had likewise adopted this perverse, corrupted system.
 
All because it got her off. All because she found the idea oh so very arousing.
 
Kushina sucked harder on Karasuyama's balls, and she reached up to grope Naruko's ass. She felt her daughter's tongue curl around her clitoris, felt her heart leap in her bosom, felt her entire body stiffen and throb.
 
It was time. For all of them, it was time.
 
They came.
 
Naruko and Kushina were equally content.
 
 
 
 
"How are you doing, Hokage-sama?"
 
Kenichi Morimoto, head of the civilian council, addressed Naruto Uzumaki with a gracious smile. At his side stood his wife's bastard daughter, Mirai Sarutobi, who in every aspect of her person expressed utter and perfect servility.
 
Naruto nodded to Kenichi. His face was lined with care well beyond his years, and his hair was shot through with premature streaks of gray. With hands folded on his desk and eyes that were intently dispassionate, he returned the greeting.
 
"I'm fine."
 
"As am I," said Kenichi, disregarding the slight impoliteness in Naruto's terse reply. "And your children, also, are doing very well. You and your wife have taught them excellently. Himawari-chan is as talented as both her aunts combined, and even more enthusiastic."
 
Naruto's expression was stolid, but something bitter flickered through his eyes.
 
"I'm sure she is," he said, his voice a touch hoarse. "And Boruto?"
 
"Well, he's a good bodyguard." Kenichi shrugged. "Seems to fancy Sarada-chan, though. Not that I blame him, but that girl is a little too popular for any shinobi to lay his claim on her. Not while she's still so young and fresh, anyway."
 
He grinned in a manner that, in another time and another place, might have gotten him clocked. But Naruto simply nodded, an almost meek sort of gesture given the situation.
 
"I suppose," he said carefully, evenly.
 
Kenichi fixed him with a smug look.
 
"Do you wish it was otherwise?" he asked. "The system we have now?"
 
Naruto knew what an honest answer would earn him, what it would earn his wife, son, and daughter. He wasn't a fool. He couldn't afford to be.
 
"I don't," he lied through his teeth.
 
Kenichi smiled. He could see it all in Naruto's eyes: the anger, the frustration, the helplessness. It was a pleasant view.
 
Lightly, the councilman patted his illegitimate stepdaughter on the shoulder.
 
"You have done an excellent job continuing your father's good work," he said. "You are, I think, as great a man as he was. Perhaps even greater."
 
Kenichi pushed Mirai forward. He gestured a command, and she began to disrobe.
 
"Would you like a taste, then, Hokage-kun? Of the fruits of your people?"
 
Naruto fought back a grimace, and he forced himself not to avert his eyes. He couldn't afford to falter or quail. It was a ghastly offer, and he felt pity for young Mirai, for his sister and his wife and his daughter, and for every other kunoichi of the Leaf. But he could not refuse.
 
That would be imprudent. He knew the councilman too well to think it would be fine.
 
"I would," he lied helplessly, silently begging forgiveness.
 
Mirai beamed slavishly at Councilman Morimoto, an expression that made Naruto feel hollow inside.
 
Kenichi's eyes glinted triumphantly.
 
"Then pray sample my daughter." He said the word scornfully, but Mirai looked pleased by its use. "If you would, Hokage-sama. And while you do that..."
 
Kenichi clapped his hands. Naruto was not remotely surprised when Naruko, Hinata, and Himawari stepped in through the door, clad in aught but their birthday suits.
 
He closed his eyes, not wanting to see what came next.
 
Hokage...
 
That title was meaningless, a mockery. He absolutely hated it.
 
And he couldn't do a damn thing to change it.