In a spacious, minimalistic bedroom illuminated by a single lamp's yellowed light, a recently showered, groomed, damp Sakura, warm from the steamy rinse and soft from exfoliation and applied lotion, drew back steel gray satin sheets and slipped smooth creamy legs within the inviting folds of the bedspread. After an evening of self-care, she thought that certainly nothing could top the feeling of freshly shaven legs brushing against crisp, clean sheets. She sighed deeply, contentedly as she reclined, sinking into her husband's side of the bed. With a reaching limb and a tug upon a metal drawstring, the light was extinguished, and the beauty was bathed in darkness for a night of repose.
Limbs glided and swished along the satin plain, and delicate fingers drifted through wet locks of hair, the normally rosy blush shade of color darker, more of a magenta. She hummed. It was unusual for her to perform such a decadent spectacle of maintenance, which was typically reserved for her husband's arrival or special occasions. But damn it, the hospital had been hell lately, and damn it all once more, that she had no other means of shrugging off the frustrations of life, work, and handling the daily tasks of motherhood mostly on her own. She missed her husband, desired him most on nights like this where all she would prefer to do is ride him voraciously until she brought them both to pure bliss.
"I miss you," she uttered under her breath, addressed to no one else but him; she hoped he could sense her presence and loving contemplation of him wherever he was right now. The shirt she had deemed fit for sleeping this evening was an old thing of his, when he had lived with her and their precious daughter full-time several years ago during Sarada's infancy. Despite its age and weathered appearance around the seams, she insisted he wear it at least once during every blue-moon visit he saw his family. She missed all of him certainly, but his scent was particularly precious to her senses; that heady smell of trees, earth, fire, and something that was only him. If she closed her eyes and brought the fabric to her nose, she could focus enough to pick out a note or two of it. It made her heart swell and ache from bittersweet nostalgia.
She turned to rest on her side as she looked out the bedroom window. The curtains were still cast aside, and on a warm evening such as this, the pane of glass was purposely cracked open to let in the generous breeze; however, it was also a comforting habitual act for her – to leave the window ajar. That it might save him some trouble, or perhaps send him in her direction by some string of fate, hope, or prayer. Maybe tonight will be the night, was an ever-constant thought that crossed her mind, consciously or not.
On this night, she had no plan or expectation. She just missed him like she always did. Longed for his embraces, kisses, touches; such delights from him were plentiful, but only behind closed doors. He wasn't a forthright person for public displays of affections, rather, quite the opposite. But when he would come home, and they were dining as a family, she could read him easily when he was craving her attention. The long eye contact, the subtle non-verbal exchanges in facial expressions. How he would approach her from behind as she tended to a chore, how he would palm the small of her back with a faint touch pregnant with meaning, "speaking" his form of a summons. His hot breath gracing her skin, the obvious flare of his nose as he drew near her and inhaled her own smell. And sometimes, if he wasn't careful and she was being observant, she could detect the slight churning of fiery red pigment pooling behind that otherwise dark, devious eye. It made her wet every time.
As she laid in bed, she imagined the routine of his arrival: a long night of lounging in their living room, Sarada chatting him up, informing her father of her most recent missions, struggles, and accomplishments. He would look at her tenderly, his gaze so full of an unspoken adoration and love. Every once in a while, during Sarada's lengthier stories that she would narrate with lively animation, her husband would catch Sakura's eyes and shoot her the tiniest smile of appreciation and pride. At this recollection within the comfort of sheets and pillows, her body shuddered, and she nibbled her lip, yearning.
"Sasuke-kun…"
She closed her eyes. Fingertips skimmed her jawline, mimicking his teasing when he would catch her off-guard, cornering her suddenly, and reach for her with his firm, strong hold. His face would float closer to hers for two seconds at most without actually kissing her; then, the bastard would pull away before, God forbid, someone would catch him being physically affectionate to his wife. This always made her so frustrated and flustered with him. The corners of her mouth raised at the memory of his antics.
She returned to her original position upon the mattress, back resting upon the sheet, eyes open and looking forward, thinking. If she focused enough, remembered well enough, she could almost recall his touch as his fingers would wrap around her wrist and guide her to their bedroom. The walk to their private dwelling made deliberately slow, on his part, as he upped their sense of anticipation. He knew how to push her buttons every time. He was good at it, too.
Thinking of these nonetheless small gestures, she whimpered. Her hands flitted to her neck and down her décolletage. Eyes heavy-lidded, breathing deeply, tingling from mental imagery and lovely indulgent memories of their intimate evenings, she licked her lips; fingers traced the outline of her breasts before settling near the peaks, tweaking them, flicking, pinching just how she liked. Despite her own control of her body, he always, somehow, managed to do this better than her, but as her mind began to race and her body revved up to the heightened sensations of her self-pleasuring, she figured that this will have to do.
"Mmm. My darling…"
Her thumbs passed over her nipples quickly, her back instinctively arching, pelvis raising, the shirt riding up her body as she did so, revealing black panties as the only other garment on her body. The hypersensitivity of her bosom, when triggered, drove her insane with need, a fact of which he would take advantage every time he obtained the chance. So, imitating him to the best of her ability, she played with her chest, running her hands over the mounds under the shirt until there was no denying her of a much-needed release. She had to have it, now.
She stopped, halted everything as she sat up from bed and looked around the room. No one. Not a peep of sound coming from anywhere, except the occasional gust of wind. Perfect.
Her hands deftly performed the hand signs needed to mute the room, deadening any sounds that might escape her mouth and leak through the cracks of the walls.
That done, she checked the room again. No one was there. She was by herself.
A little hand snuck underneath her pillow and pulled out a cloth bag that contained a personal favorite, phallic toy, designed to make her convulse under the guidance of her own administration. She had an inkling, pre-shower and grooming, that it would come to this tonight. She deserved it, frankly needed it, and if her husband continued to be gone for great lengths of time, what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
To her knowledge, he was unaware of her little investment. The origin of the item, of course, was birthed during a night of drinking and wife talk amongst girlfriends. She had been surprised to learn that all of them, despite their good fortune of having their husbands nearby, owned a panoply of similar gadgets as an enhancement for their individual sex lives. Or, as one of them voiced bedroom difficulties with an unskilled partner: "I've got to get the job done!"
She had caved and purchased the toy after research and deliberation. There were too many lonely nights, and she assumed he wouldn't mind – not that she told him about it.
Legs kicked the covers away, panties thrown thoughtlessly toward the window. The shirt swiftly came undone down the middle and gathered in a heap around her middle. While a hand snaked around a breast for groping and fondling, other digits prodded her entrance without ceremony, confirming her excitement. With legs splayed, she reclined again into the plush comfort and brought the toy to her entrance, probing, dipping inside for a taste, letting her tight, needy walls relax around its girth. The other hand assisted, spreading her folds for access. Then, with the plastic tip penetrating her, easing it in, the toy slipped further and further within her depths.
"Oh… Oh, fuck…" she crooned. Oh, it was even better after several days of no time or energy for such private joys. It filled her enough, provided more length than was necessary; she wished she had experimented with a ribbed option, for she missed his protruding, thick veins and the ridges she had memorized along his hard shaft. Her husband would always be the best, there was no question or doubt in her mind, but a woman had to do what was necessary with the cards she had been dealt.
"Yes, Sasuke-kun… Fuck, yes… More…"
Those same words had been moaned countless evenings to his face, but they naturally tumbled out of her pursed lips as well when she was left with only her fantasies of him. Fingers worked her clit in proficient strokes as the tool slid in and out at a steady pace, her pelvis grinding against it. Her head and shoulders pressed more into the pillows, the plushness enveloping her while she rocked into the air. The pressure and heat gathered in her lower abdomen, and ah, what a mess she was making of her inner thighs as her wetness seeped out of her drenched core and saturated the skin around her vulva. Oh, it was good. This was so good, just what I needed…
"My darling… Yes…" she murmured. Perspiration dotted her forehead and chest. Her mouth opened in an alluring oval shape, tongue flitting out as if she could taste him in the air. Her hands increased the tempo. Hips undulated in a sinfully beautiful sway.
"Sasuke-kun… Oh… I need you…" Closing her eyes, she turned her head to the side, melting into her pillow as pleasure washed over her in cascading waves.
"Fuck, Sasuke-kun… That's good… Right there!" The toy plunged into her, the – there was no other word for it – squelching sounds emanating from her core a little embarrassing but heightening the pleasure, reminding her of their nights and how he would slam his pulsing erection into her over and over again, their juices mixing and sprinkling the surrounding skin and anything else that got in the way. As he would grow desperate for his mounting release, he would pound her so vigorously that his balls would slap against her, adding to the music. She had no substitute for that, but her mind painted a fairly accurate portrait, recalled the sounds and sensations…
"OH! Sasuke-kun! Fuck! Yes! Yes!" Her vocalizations were reduced to whines and melodic moans low in her register. The multitasking was paying off: fingers vibrated over the engorged clit, her chakra control taking the masturbation toward the apex, and the hand that governed the toy found the special spot, a rough little patch of pleasure, hitting it, rubbing, coaxing.
There it was; she had flirted dangerously close to the edge, waiting, working diligently, and was rewarded with a splendid fall, falling from the mountainous summit, the ecstasy flying through her, rushing. The contractions were mighty, her hand keeping the toy in position, buried, the toy somehow enduring the crushing embrace. Her fingers stroked the nub throughout the orgasm's minute-long effects. Her face and chest were flushed, skin damp, and as her pelvis lowered to the bed and limbs flopped upon the mattress, the relaxation settled in. Without looking, eyes shut, entranced by the colors behind her eyelids dancing and slowly fading, her hand carefully slid the toy out and let it rest upon its cloth casing. I'll… take care of it tomorrow, she thought, too busy enjoying the glow, and too lazy. She stretched her limbs in satisfaction.
"How was it?"
At the sound of the deep, rich baritone voice that could only belong to one person, green eyes shot open and investigated immediately, head turning toward the pitch-black corner of the room closest to the window.
"S-Sasuke-kun!" She sat up in a hurry, legs closed, arms covering her exposed chest, face ablaze, eyes bulging.
"That was quite a show." He stepped out of the shadows and peered at her, mismatched eyes finally illuminating at his bidding.
"S-Sasuke-kun…" She tried with little success in correcting the shirt over her shoulders, evading his gaze all the while, and murmured several nonsensical apologies.
"What are you sorry for?" With the cloak still draped over him in the darkness, it was as if he floated across the room, his strides wide, impatient. He met her at the side of the bed, hunching, looking over her.
"S-Sasuke-kun…" She watched him anxiously, pausing.
"Come here," he ordered.
She turned to face him, legs compressed and bent before her, attempting to shield herself.
"Don't you dare, Sakura," he hissed, and for a single moment, she wondered if she had, in fact, made him angry with her implementation of a toy, until his hand suddenly met her chest and pushed her down into the mattress with great force. Said limb then wrapped around her waist, tugging her close to him, and pulled her knees apart. "It's my turn, Wife," he hissed, his want evident.
She stared up at him, desire fogging her vision. She saw little in the blackness – his figure, his hypnotic eyes, the glint of his white, gritting teeth, and his… his hand that disappeared into his cloak and hastily undid the front of his pants.
"Oh! Oh, Sasuke-kun, let me help…" Eagerly, gleefully, she sat up and reached for him, only to be shoved back onto the bed.
"You've helped plenty already." He was panting now, and as her eyes adjusted in the dark, she saw more of his desperation, heat in his face, brows furrowed in concentration. When her eyes fell to the protrusion from his cloak, she gasped at his erection, standing tall, achingly hard and throbbing, leaking several beads of precum. "Look at what your little performance did, Wife."
She bit her lip and whined and writhed in front of him, wiggling her hips closer, spreading her legs wider, feet in the air. He ran his thick fingers over her soaked entrance, making her moan aloud with want. He grinned at her, the appearance of such a smile devilish with intent. "This is payback," he hissed and yanked her hip until his cock was flush with her entrance, "for your teasing letters." In spite of himself, a rumbling groan spilled out of his throat as he penetrated her with his swollen tip.
She screamed and reached for him, hands clawing at his arm, his cloak, something to ground her. He lurched forward, sheathing himself to the hilt with a grunt, while his torso encased hers in warmth and shadow, his scent wafting over her, consuming her senses. With his lone arm and the stump of his left surrounding her, he dipped his head for the long-awaited kiss, his tongue meeting hers before their lips even touched, already twisting and swirling, feasting on each other.
He thrusted, his shaft slipping and sliding out of her slick, velvet walls in a furious frenzy; her legs wrapped around his middle, her arms around his neck, clinging to him as close as she could possibly be. He broke away for oxygen, panting harshly, hovering over her pleasured face and watching her eyes roll back with satisfaction. "Fuck, Sakura…" he spat, heaving, bathing her in short, wet kisses everywhere, nipping her jaw, sucking on her neck. "Fuck!"
His arm dove, wriggling underneath her, and he buried his face in her hair and against her skin as he set all inhibitions free, fucking her how he wanted - fast, rough, and deep. Bucking, ramming, taking her with ferocity, he announced the arrival of his climax in a muffled shout and stuttering breaths, his cock swelling and shooting strands of his thick white semen into her constricting core. He ground into her, forcibly slamming his pelvis against her, more roughly than intended but welcomed by his wife, who only knew of this ridiculous pleasured stupor and nothing else. He collapsed atop her when he had spent himself, cock still embedded, unwilling to part ways with her just yet. He overwhelmed her shoulder and neck with kisses and murmured of how he had missed her, to which she nuzzled him and breathed contented sighs.
On the threshold of recovery, his head rose slothfully from the bed to stare at her. His trademark smirk was in place. By looking at him, she knew this was the start of a never-ending, unrelenting torrent of teasing. She scowled.
"What's wrong, Wife?" he spoke playfully.
"I know you have comments about it, so let me just hear them now and get this over with," she said with exasperation.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he murmured, the smirk widening.
"Sasuke-kun…"
"How did I perform in the field compared to my competition?" he prodded, eyes crinkling subtly.