The room was a crucible of raw emotion, the air thick with the heady scent of lust and the bitter tang of betrayal.
Mikoto Uchiha lay beneath Minato Namikaze, her body a trembling altar to his dominance. Her raven hair spilled across the silken sheets like spilled ink, framing a face flushed with a primal, almost feral ecstasy. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes, once sharp with Uchiha pride, were now pools of molten desire, locked onto Minato's piercing blue gaze. Her full lips parted, releasing a symphony of moans that sliced through the silence, each one a dagger to Fugaku's heart.
"Ahhh… Minato… it's… too much… ahh…" she gasped, her voice a broken melody of surrender as his thick length stretched her, filling her in ways that made her body sing and her soul unravel.
Mikoto's body arched, her hips tilting instinctively to accommodate Minato's size, but the sensation was overwhelming, like a storm crashing through her.
No matter how many times he claimed her, it was always this way—raw, intense, as if her body were being remade by his touch.
"S-so… big… please… ahh… give me… time…" Her words were a plea, but her eyes burned with hunger, a desperate need that consumed her.
She was a kunoichi, bred for strength and duty, but in this moment, she was nothing more than a woman yielding to the alpha, her instincts screaming to submit, to breed, to be-kernel with the strongest.
Minato's lips curled into a predatory smile, his cerulean eyes glinting with triumph as he watched her writhe beneath him. His pride surged, a wildfire in his chest, knowing he could reduce the Uchiha matriarch to this state of helpless ecstasy. No one else—not her husband, not any man—could claim her like this.
"You're mine, Mikoto," he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine. His hands roamed her body, possessive and sure, as he savored the power he held over her.
"You'll beg for me soon enough."
From the shadowed corner of the room, Fugaku Uchiha stood, his heart a battlefield of agony and twisted arousal. His dark eyes were fixed on his wife, the woman he loved, the mother of his sons, as she surrendered herself to another man. Mikoto's body was a vision of devastating beauty, and from his perspective, it was a tormenting masterpiece. Her porcelain skin glowed under the dim light, unmarred except for the red marks Minato's lips and teeth left on her. Her curves were a cruel temptation—her hips full and inviting, her waist slender, and her breasts… gods, her breasts. They were large, soft, and perfectly rounded, swaying with each of Minato's movements.
Fugaku had always adored them, the way they felt in his hands, their warmth and weight, but now they were Minato's to claim, his fingers kneading them, his mouth marking them as his own. The sight was a blade twisting in Fugaku's gut, each moan from her lips a fresh wound.
Mikoto's cries grew louder as Minato's hands squeezed her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples.
"Ahh… Minato… yes… like that…" she moaned, her voice thick with need. Her back arched, offering herself to him completely, her body a canvas for his desires. His lips descended, biting and sucking, leaving trails of red across her skin.
"Mmmh… you're so… perfect… ahh…" Her words were a venomous arrow aimed at Fugaku, and she knew it. Her eyes flicked to her husband, a cruel smile playing on her lips as she spoke, her voice loud and deliberate.
"You're everything, Minato… so strong… so much better than him… than Fugaku…"
Fugaku's breath caught, his chest tightening as if crushed by an invisible weight. The humiliation was a living thing, clawing at his soul, tearing away the stoic mask of the Uchiha patriarch. She never made those sounds for me, he thought, the realization a bitter poison.
Their lovemaking had been dutiful, restrained—soft gasps, quiet murmurs, never this raw, unfiltered passion. He hadn't even begun to move inside her yet, and she was already lost, her body trembling with pleasure he could never give her. His mind spiraled into a dark abyss. What would Itachi think? Sasuke? The thought of his sons witnessing this—his wife's surrender, his own failure—ignited a perverse spark of arousal that sickened him. His body betrayed him, his erection straining against his will, fueled by the shame of being less than the man who claimed his wife.
Mikoto's gaze locked onto Fugaku's, her eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "Minato… ahh… you're a real man…" she gasped, her voice breaking as Minato began to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting deep, eliciting a sharp cry. "Fugaku could never… never fill me like this… never make me feel… ohh… like this…" Her words were a deliberate assault, each one a lash across Fugaku's pride.
She moaned louder, her body rocking with Minato's rhythm, her breasts bouncing, her thighs quivering as she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper. "You're… the alpha… the only one… who can have me…"
Fugaku's heart shattered, the pieces grinding into dust. His love for her, his duty to the clan, his pride as a man—all of it was crumbling under the weight of her words.
Yet, the humiliation fed a dark, masochistic hunger within him, a twisted pleasure that made his blood burn. For the clan, he told himself, clinging to the lie. This was for the Uchiha's future, for the strength of their bloodline. Minato, the Yellow Flash, the Hokage, was the strongest, the best. A child born of him would elevate their clan… but the cost was his soul, his dignity, his everything. The thought of his inadequacy being laid bare before his sons haunted him, yet it stoked the fire in his loins, a shameful contradiction he couldn't escape.
Minato's hands gripped Mikoto's hips, his thrusts growing harder, more possessive. He reveled in her submission, in the way her body molded to his, her walls clenching around him. "You love this, don't you?" he growled, his voice rough with desire. "You love how I make you feel… how I own you." His lips found her breast again, sucking hard, leaving a dark mark that screamed possession.
Mikoto's moans became desperate, her nails raking down his broad back, leaving red trails of her own.
"Yes… Minato… I'm yours… only yours…" she cried, her voice a sultry hymn of surrender. Her hands roamed his body, worshiping his strength, his power. "Fugaku… he's nothing… nothing compared to you… ahh…" She glanced at her husband again, her smile wicked and unrelenting.
"Look at him, Minato… look at how weak he is… standing there, watching… he can't even touch me like you do."
Fugaku's knees nearly buckled, the weight of her words crushing him. His vision blurred with unshed tears, but his body burned with a twisted need, his arousal a traitor to his pride. He hated her for this, hated Minato, hated himself most of all.
Yet, he couldn't look away from her gorgeous form—her breasts heaving, her hips bucking, her face alight with ecstasy he could never give her. She was a goddess, a kunoichi whose very nature demanded the strongest mate, and he was not that man.
Minato's eyes flicked to Fugaku, a glint of triumph in them. This was more than physical conquest—it was a destruction of will, a claiming of legacy. "She's right, Fugaku," he said, his voice calm but laced with venom. "You'll never be enough for her." His thrusts quickened, each one driving Mikoto closer to the edge, her cries growing frantic.
"M-Minato… I'm… I'm going to…" Mikoto's voice broke, her body trembling violently as she teetered on the brink. She turned to Fugaku one last time, her eyes blazing with cruel satisfaction.
"Watch, Fugaku… watch how a real man makes me come… something you'll never do… never…" Her words dissolved into a scream as her climax hit, her body convulsing, her nails digging into Minato's back as waves of pleasure tore through her.
Fugaku's world collapsed, the sound of her ecstasy a final, brutal blow. His heart pounded, his breath ragged, as shame and arousal warred within him. Minato's own release followed, a low growl escaping him as he claimed her fully, his eyes never leaving Fugaku's, the message clear:
This is power. This is victory.
Mikoto lay panting, her body glistening with sweat, her eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. She reached up, stroking Minato's face, her voice soft but cutting. "You're everything, Minato… everything Fugaku will never be." She didn't look at her husband, but the words were for him, a final twist of the knife.
Fugaku stood frozen, a broken man in the shadows, his soul laid bare. The room spun, his shame a living flame, yet his body ached with a need he couldn't deny. For the clan, he told himself, but the lie tasted like ash. This was no longer about duty—it was about the annihilation of his pride, and the dark, twisted pleasure that came with it.