Vizem
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Chapter 124 - Petals and Discipline
🕑 Added 2025-10-20 11:15:08 +0000 UTCAuthor’s Note:
This chapter’s longer than usual (4.7k). It just kind of happened? I'm running into an opposite problem with Ino than with Kushina. I was going to split it, but it felt wrong to stop right in the middle. Think of it as a bonus chapter.
Hope you enjoy it. I had a lot of fun writing this one.
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The click of the lock sliding into place echoed through the quiet shop like a gunshot.
Ino stood at the door for a moment, her back to me, hand still on the lock. Then she whirled around, clutching that bouquet I'd made her like a talisman. She didn't just walk back—she practically floated, her steps a cheerful tap-tap-tap that brought her right back to my side.
The sounds of the crowd outside felt distant, muffled. In here, it was just us and the floral-scented air and the light filtering through the windows.
She stopped in front of me, close enough that I could see the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat.
"We should—" Her voice came out smaller than usual. She cleared her throat, tried again. "We should be quick. Mom will be back soon, and if she finds the door locked, she'll—"
"Quick?" I reached out, caught a strand of her platinum blonde hair between my fingers, feeling the silky texture. "You think you deserve quick after all that attitude earlier?"
Ino pouted. "I said I was sorry."
"Mmm. You did say that." I let the hair slip through my fingers, then traced the line of her jaw with my knuckle. Her eyes fluttered half-closed at the touch. "But I'm not sure you meant it. I think my little flower might need a reminder about proper behavior."
She swallowed hard, her grip tightening on the bouquet stems. "What kind of reminder?"
Eager, aren’t we? Fortunately, or unfortunately, I was just as excited; the proof was in my pants.
"Well," I said, letting my hand drop to her waist, fingers finding that exposed strip of midriff that had been tormenting me since my previous life. Her skin was warm, soft, and I felt her stomach muscles contract under my palm. "You said you wanted to be quick, right? That you're worried about your mother coming back?"
She nodded, not quite trusting her voice.
"Then here's what's going to happen." I started tracing slow circles on her stomach, watching goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch. "You're going to finish that bouquet you started earlier. The one for my order. And it needs to be perfect—your best work. No torn paper, no messy folds."
Confusion flickered across her face. "That's... that's the punishment?” she said in disappointment. “Just finishing the—oh."
The 'oh' came out breathy as my hand slid lower, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of her purple skirt.
"Not quite," I murmured. "See, I am a man who trusts his good girl implicitly.” She squirmed with a twitching smile. “You said you're sorry, and I believe you. So instead of punishment, I decided to give you a chance to show me. I think a... practical demonstration of your remorse would be far more convincing than words ever could be.“
She blinked her long lashes.
“You're going to finish that bouquet while I help you remember how to behave. Finish the bouquet, and there won’t be any punishment. Understand?"
Her light green eyes went wide, pupils dilating. "That it?" she said, but the eager smile on her rosy lips gave her away. Trying to act all proper again. Well relatively.
"Or would you prefer I stop? Leave you here to work in peace?"
"No!" The word came out sharp, desperate. Then, quieter, "No. I'll... I'll try."
I chuckled.
"Good girl." I took the finished bouquet from her hands—my gift that she'd been clutching like a lifeline—and set it carefully on a nearby shelf. Then I turned her around. With a demure dip of her head, she yielded to my guidance, letting me steer her gently toward the work counter where the unfinished paper cone and scattered flowers waited.
I positioned myself behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of my body, and wrapped my arms around her waist. My hands splayed across her exposed midriff, thumbs stroking the soft skin just above her navel.
"Now then," I said against her ear, "let's see how well my little flower can follow instructions."
Ino's hands trembled as she reached for the paper, trying to remember where she'd left off. I could feel every breath she took, the way her ribcage expanded and contracted, the slight arch of her lower back as she leaned forward to grab a pair of scissors.
I let my right hand drift lower, tracing the curve of her hip through the fabric of her skirt, then sliding around to her inner thigh. The mesh armor there was warm from her body heat, and I could feel the give of soft flesh beneath it.
Her breath caught. The paper in her hands crinkled.
"Focus," I reminded her, my fingers drawing lazy patterns on her inner thigh, so close to where I knew she wanted them but not quite there. "The bouquet won't make itself."
"You're—" She tried to start folding the paper, but her hands weren't cooperating. "This isn't fair."
"Life isn't fair, little flower." My left hand slid up from her stomach, fingers spreading across her ribcage just beneath the swell of her breasts. "Now work."
She whimpered—actually whimpered—but picked up a stem of baby's breath and tried to position it in the paper cone. Her hands shook so badly she nearly dropped it.
I rewarded the attempt by letting my right hand slide higher on her inner thigh, fingers pressing firmly against the mesh, feeling the heat of her through the material.
"Eishin—" My name came out half-plea, half-warning.
"Yes?" I kept my tone conversational, like we were discussing the weather, even as my fingers found the edge of her mesh shorts beneath her skirt and began working their way under the fabric.
"I can't—" She dropped the flower. "I can't think when you—oh—"
The 'oh' came because my fingers had finally found bare skin, sliding along the crease where her thigh met her pelvis. So close. So fucking close to where she needed me.
"Pick it up," I instructed. "Start again."
A frustrated sound escaped her throat, but she obeyed, bending forward slightly to retrieve the fallen stem. The movement pressed her ass back against me, and I heard her sharp intake of breath when she felt exactly how hard I was.
"Feel that?" I asked, pressing my hips forward slightly. "That's what you do to me. Walking around in this outfit with your stomach showing, prancing around the shop like you don't know exactly what you're doing."
That wasn’t entirely fair; I was like that before I entered the shop. But just like I said, life was not fair.
"I wasn't—" But her protest died as my fingers finally, finally slid through the waistband of her skirt and found a way to her smooth and hairless little cunt.
She was, unsurprisingly, ready; her petals already slick.
I'd expected her to be wet—she always responded quickly—but this was always a delight to know the effect I had on my little flower. My fingers slid through slick heat, finding her unbreached entrance and circling it.
A melody of pure surprise escaped Ino's lips, pitched high and sweet, as her whole body went rigid.
"So wet already," I murmured appreciatively. "And I've barely touched you. What would Inoichi say if he knew his princess was dripping in the family shop?"
"Don't—" She gasped as my fingers found her clit, circling it with the barest pressure. "Don't talk about—oh god—"
"Work," I reminded her, even as I increased the pressure slightly. "The bouquet, Ino."
Her hands fumbled with the flowers, trying to arrange them, but every few seconds I'd stroke her just right and she'd lose her grip. A rose fell to the counter. Then another. Her breathing had gone ragged, and I could feel her thighs beginning to tremble.
I'd only been touching her for a few minutes and she was already close. Sensitive little thing.
My middle finger dipped lower, tracing her entrance, gathering her wetness and dragging it back up to her clit. The slide was obscene, slick and easy, and Ino's head fell back against my shoulder with a moan.
"Please—"
"Please, what?" I kept the rhythm steady, not quite enough pressure to push her over, just enough to drive her crazy.
"Please, I need—I need to—"
I felt the telltale flutter of her inner thighs, the way her whole body started to tense, reaching for release. Her hips began rocking against my hand in small, awkward movements.
And I stopped.
Complete stillness. My hand stayed where it was, cupping her, but not moving. The same thing I did with Kushina an hour ago, I was repeating it here. I should be boring, but it wasn’t; two different women, two different bodies, two different reactions.
"No!" The word came out anguished. "No, no, please, I was so close—"
Some girls had too much pride to beg in this situation. Begging felt like a loss of power, a diminishment of the self. Ino Yamanaka had no such problem. It wasn't that she lacked pride—far from it.
Ino's confidence was so unshakable that she could freely expose her deepest needs without it diminishing her in the slightest. For her, begging wasn't an admission of weakness; it was a declaration of her need to someone she trusted.
"I know." I pressed a kiss to her temple, enjoying the way she writhed against me, trying to create friction that I wasn't giving her. "But you haven't finished your work yet. Look at this mess."
The counter was scattered with fallen flowers, crushed petals, torn paper where her grip had been too tight. The bouquet was nowhere near complete.
"I can't," she whimpered. "I can't do it like this, you have to—"
"I don't have to do anything." But I did slide my fingers through her folds again, restarting that maddening rhythm. "You just need to focus better. Try again."
“Moo,“ Ino sobbed in frustration, but obediently reached for a fresh sheet of paper with shaking hands.
This time, she made it halfway through folding the cone before I changed my angle, fingers dipping lower to circle her virgin entrance while my thumb found her clit. The dual sensation made her knees buckle slightly, and I had to use my left arm to hold her up, my hand spreading across her stomach.
"That's it," I encouraged, feeling the helpless clench of her petals against nothing. "You're doing so well."
She wasn't. The paper was crumpling in her grip, her movements increasingly erratic. But the praise made her try harder anyway, even as her body trembled and her breath came in harsh pants.
I could feel her getting close again. Her clit was swollen under my thumb, her folds slippery and hot, and the soft sounds she was making—half-moans, half-whimpers—were driving me insane.
"Eishin—" My name came out broken. "Please—I'm going to—"
I withdrew my hand entirely.
"No!" This time it was a wail. She spun in my arms, looking up at me with eyes bright with frustrated tears, her hands clutching at my chest. "Why did you—I was right there—"
"I know." I brought my fingers to my mouth, maintaining eye contact as I licked them clean. Her taste was sweet, musky, and defensively virgin. "But you still haven't finished."
Her face flushed darker, watching my tongue slide along my fingers. "You're being mean."
"I'm being fair." I turned her back around, positioning her at the counter again. "You wanted to be quick, remember? So be quick. Finish the bouquet."
She made a frustrated sound but tried again, picking up flowers with hands that wouldn't stop shaking. This time I let her work for almost a full minute before sliding my hand back under her skirt.
The whimper she let out when my fingers found her again was music.
I skipped the teasing this time, going straight for her clit with firm, focused strokes. Her hips jerked, and a lily fell from her grip as she gasped.
"Keep working," I instructed, even as I felt her legs begin to shake.
"Can't—" She was barely coherent now. "Please—please let me—"
"Not yet."
This time when I stopped, she actually stomped her foot, the gesture so petulant and young that I had to fight back a smile.
"Eishin!" Her voice was thick with unshed tears. "This isn't—you can't—"
"Can't I?" I caught her chin, turning her head so I could see her face. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, her lips parted and pink. "You are my little flower. I care for you, but time and again you keep running wild and testing patience."
A tear actually slipped free, tracking down her flushed cheek. Not from sadness—from sheer sexual frustration. Her body was wound so tight she was practically vibrating.
Fuck, she's so gorgeous like this.
"Please," she whispered, and there was no attitude left in it. Just need. "Please, I'm sorry, I'll be good, just please—"
"Then prove it." I slid my hand back into her skirt, two fingers dipping into her smooth cunt this time, just barely, just enough to make her gasp. "Finish the bouquet. Show me you can be good."
She whimpered but turned back to the counter, trying desperately to focus through the haze of arousal. My fingers stayed inside her skirt and drenched panties, not moving, just filling her slightly while my thumb rested against her clit.
The first time she managed to actually place a flower correctly in the cone, I started moving slowly, moving up and down her swollen pussy lips, grazing all those spots that made her see stars.
"Oh—" Her whole body jerked.
"Good girl," I praised, doing it again. "See? You can do it when you try."
But the praise and the sensation were too much. She was falling apart, what remained of her carefully maintained composure crumbling with each stroke of my fingers. Another flower, the rhythm of my fingers picked up. The obscene squishy sound coming between her legs, as well as the sweat noise of her throat, filled the shop, and I could feel how close she was.
So close.
I pulled from her sensitive folds and stopped.
This time, the moan she made was nearly a scream, choked off at the last second by her biting her own hand. When she pulled it away, there were teeth marks on her skin.
"I can't," she gasped out, turning in my arms again. Her ponytail was disheveled now, strands of platinum blonde hair sticking to her sweat-dampened neck and face. "I can't, Eishin, I can't think, I can't work, please—" She was crying in earnest now, frustrated tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. "My body—I can't—it's too much—"
Her hands clutched at my shirt, and I could feel her trembling from head to toe. The proud Yamanaka princess was nowhere in evidence. This was just a desperate, needy girl who'd been edged to the point of not caring.
"Then I guess you'll have to accept your punishment," I said, my hand sliding to cup her face, thumb wiping away a tear of over-stimulation. "Because if you can't finish the bouquet, you don't get to finish at all."
"That's not—" She hiccupped, more tears falling. "That's not fair, you know I can't—not when you're—"
"Life isn't fair, little flower." I let my other hand drift back to her stomach, fingers tracing patterns on that exposed skin. "I thought we established that."
She looked at the counter, at the mess of flowers and torn paper, at the utterly ruined bouquet she'd been attempting to make. Then back at me, her light green eyes swimming with tears and desperation.
"I… I can't do it," she admitted, voice breaking. "I've tried, I keep trying, but every time you touch me I just—I can't think, I can't make my hands work right, and I need—" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I need you so much it aches."
"Then let's try something easier," I suggested, guiding her toward the counter where the blank sheets of paper were kept. "Just make the cone. That's all. Just fold the paper into the right shape. Surely you can manage that?"
She nodded frantically, grabbing a sheet with shaking hands. "I can do that, I can—"
My hand slid back into her skirt, fingers finding her drenched folds.
The paper crumpled immediately.
She, in fact, couldn’t do it.
What followed was a masterclass in cruelty, or at least, that's what Ino would probably call it. Seven sheets of paper. Seven attempts. Each one ending the same way. Her coordination shot to hell, and the paper was either torn or crumpled beyond use.
I worked her methodically. Fingers stroking her clit with just enough pressure to drive her insane, but not enough to finish. Occasionally dipping lower to tease her entrance—never breaching, never going inside despite how her slutty body begged for it—just circling and gathering her wetness to make the slide against her swollen nub even more maddening. Every time she got close to actually folding the damn paper, I'd change my angle or increase pressure and watch her fall apart all over again.
After the seventh ruined sheet, I decided to make it even harder. And if part of that decision was because she was still happily wearing earrings another man had gifted her… well, I wasn't that petty. I swear.
My left hand, which had been supporting her stomach, slid up to cup her breast through her purple top. She was braless. Of course she was. The outfit didn't really allow for it, was the excuse she told, but who knows? I could feel her nipple already hard against my palm.
"No—" She shook her head frantically. "Not—I can't handle—"
She knew what was to come. What awaited her when she got played in both up and down. She knew the feelings and sensations that would utterly overwhelm her.
I squeezed gently, feeling the soft weight of her, and her back arched into the touch involuntarily. Her breasts were on the larger side, perfectly proportioned to her frame, full enough to overflow my hand, firm and sensitive. When I found her nipple through the fabric and rolled it between my fingers, she made a sound like she was dying.
"Paper," I reminded her. "Fold the paper, Ino."
She grabbed another sheet with hands shaking so badly she could barely hold it. But she tried even as I worked her body with both hands now. Fingers stroking her delicate petals while my thumb circled her clit, other hand kneading her breast and teasing her nipple.
The paper didn't stand a chance.
Neither did Ino.
Her legs gave out halfway through the first fold, and only my arm around her kept her upright. She was making continuous sounds now, soft cries and whimpers she couldn't suppress, her head thrown back against my shoulder as her body chased sensations she wasn't allowed to complete.
"Please—" The word was barely intelligible. "Please, Eishin, I'll do anything—I'll be so good—I'll never argue again—just please let me—I need to—my body needs—"
I could feel her getting stupider by the second, her vocabulary reducing to helpless fragments, her thoughts scattered to nothing but pure sensation. The careful, image-conscious clan princess was completely gone. This was just carnal need, pure and simple.
"You haven't finished your work," I reminded her, but my voice was rougher now. Watching her fall apart was affecting me more than I wanted to admit.
"I—Ah!—I can't!" Her sensitive and ripe body fully overstimulated. She turned in my arms, pressing her whole body against mine. "Your little flower can't—she needs—needs to bloom so badly—Nngh!—Please water me, Eishin—let your flower open—Mmh!—I'll wilt if you don't—I need—Yes, right there!—please just let me bloom—let me cum—I'll take whatever punishment you want after—I don't care—just please—"
Oh, smart little thing. She knows exactly what she's doing. Or was it instinct?
The floral references, said in that breathy, desperate voice, she'd figured out that framing it in flower metaphors got to me. Smart girl. Manipulative little slut. My manipulative little slut.
Her hands fisted in my shirt, her face buried against my chest, and I could feel her hips making small grinding movements against my thigh.
If I were to pull out my dick right now, yank her skirt up, and sink into her fresh, welcoming pussy, I was certain she'd fly into ecstasy and not mind one bit me stripping her virginity in such a brute and unromantic way.
That was just how far gone she was. And as much it was tempting, as much as every voice in both heads screamed at me to do exactly that—to take what she was so desperately offering—I didn't.
I had enough control left to know my little flower deserved better for her first time than being fucked against a counter in her family's shop.
Barely. I barely have that much control.
"If I let you finish now," I said slowly, "before you've finished your work, then you'll be choosing your punishment."
She pulled back just enough to look up at me, and the sight of her face nearly shattered my composure entirely. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, tears still falling, her cheeks flushed a deep pink that spread down her neck. Her lips were swollen from biting them, parted around quick, shallow breaths. Strands of platinum blonde hair had escaped her ponytail and stuck to her tear-dampened skin.
She looked absolutely wrecked.
Absolutely desperate.
Absolutely beautiful.
"I-I don't care," she whispered, and there was no hesitation in it. No pride. Just raw, honest need. "I don't care about the punishment. I don't care about anything except—please—I need you to make me feel good—I need to cum so badly I can't—please, Eishin, please—"
"Alright," I said softly, and watched hope flare in those tear-bright green eyes. "Since you asked nicely."
My fingers found her clit immediately, and I began working it with firm pressure while my other hand slid down to grip her ass, keeping her steady.
Her ass was perfect, soft and full and round. It shouldn’t be said, but it was way better than Sakura’s, and a shapely ass was all that pinket had working for her. Sad.
Ino’s butt was not only well-shaped and soft, but I could feel the firm muscle beneath the give of flesh, the way it tensed and released with each shuddering breath she took. When I squeezed, she whimpered and pressed closer.
"Oh—oh—" Ino's whole body jerked, her hands clutching tightly at my shoulders as I worked her sensitive flesh.
She was so swollen, so ready, her clit hard beneath my fingers as I circled it, stroked it, gave her exactly what her body had been screaming for. Her hips began moving in rhythm with my hand, small, pitiful thrusts that she couldn't control.
"That's it," I murmured against her ear. "Take what you need."
And damn, she was trying to. Her nails dug into my shoulders hard enough to hurt even through my shirt, her breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps against my chest. I could feel every tremor that ran through her, every clench of muscles as she climbed higher and higher.
The hand on her ass squeezed harder, fingers digging into the firm flesh, and she made a sound that was almost a scream, barely muffled against my shirt. Her whole body was shaking now, legs threatening to give out entirely, held up only by my arm and the desperate way she clung to me. Even then, she spread them to give my hand full access to her little cunt.
"Please—" She was still begging, even as I gave her what she wanted. "Please don't stop—don't stop—I'm so close—"
Her platinum blonde ponytail had come half undone, long strands falling around her flushed face. There was drool at the corner of her mouth from where she'd been biting her lip so hard, mixing with the tears and a bit of ruined mascara that still tracked down her cheeks. Her purple top was wrinkled from her own desperate clutching.
She looked nothing like the carefully composed Yamanaka princess who'd been arranging flowers an hour ago. This was pure need, pure desperation, pure animal pleasure-seeking. A girl who had fully relinquished every shred of dignity to the altar of her need. A girl who had long since made peace with the ferocity of her own body’s desire.
A little slut who'd finally gotten what she needed.
My fingers worked faster, finding the rhythm that made her gasp loudest, made her hips jerk hardest. Her clit was slippery with her own wetness, the slide obscene and easy, and I could feel her virgin entrance clenching rhythmically just below where my fingers worked, desperate for penetration, I still wasn't giving her.
"Eishin—" My name came out broken. "I'm—I'm going to—"
"Then cum," I told her, my voice rough. "Cum for me, little flower. Let me see how you bloom."
The permission was all she needed.
Her orgasm hit like a thunderclap.
Her whole body went rigid, back arching, a cry tearing from her throat that she tried desperately to muffle against my chest but couldn't quite manage. I felt her clit pulse beneath my fingers, felt the gush of wetness that soaked through her shorts and dripped down her inner thighs, felt every violent tremor as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her.
She came hard. Being edged so many times had wound her so tight that the release was almost violent. Her legs gave out completely, and she would have fallen if I hadn't been holding her, if she hadn't been clinging to me.
"Oh god—oh god—" She couldn't stop saying it, the words slurred and broken as her body continued to spasm. Her hips were still moving against my hand in small, involuntary jerks, drawing out every last second of sensation.
I kept my fingers moving through it, gentler now but still there, extending her pleasure until she was making small, overwhelmed sounds and weakly trying to push my hand away.
When I finally withdrew, she made a soft, broken whimper.
And then she started to slide.
Her grip on my shoulders loosened, her legs completely unable to support her weight. There was no grace to it. She slid down my body like a rag doll, leaving a wet streak on my pants from where her soaked shorts dragged against the fabric.
By the time she reached the floor, she was completely gone. A puddle of a girl, kneeling with her legs were sprawled inelegantly, knees apart, still trembling with aftershocks. Her head lolled back, eyes unfocused and glassy, that dumb, blissed-out smile spreading across her flushed face.
I took a step back to really look at her.
Fuck.
Her ponytail was a disaster, half the hair loose and tangled around her shoulders and face. Tear tracks stained her cheeks, mixing with smudges of mascara and the slight sheen of sweat on her skin. That carefully applied makeup she'd been wearing was smudged, her lipstick bitten off entirely. Drool glistened at the corner of her mouth, which was still parted around shallow, satisfied breaths.
Her purple top was twisted, the high collar pulled to one side, showing the curve of her collarbone and the upper swell of one breast. The exposed midriff was flushed pink, pale skin marked with small red spots where my fingers had gripped too hard.
There was nothing of the upper-class clan girl in her now. No carefully maintained image, no concern for appearances or propriety.
The smile on her face was pure, uncomplicated happiness. Dumb and dopey and utterly content, like nothing existed in the world except the afterglow still pulsing through her sensitized body.
She looked like an absolute mess.
I crouched down in front of her, catching her unfocused gaze. "Still with me, little flower?"
She blinked slowly, that stupid smile never wavering. "Mmm..." It wasn't really a word, just a sound of acknowledgment. Her eyes tried to focus on my face and mostly failed.
"Good girl," I said, and watched her smile somehow get even wider at the praise. "My good little flower blooms so beautifully."
Another happy sound, this one almost a purr. She swayed slightly, and I steadied her with a hand on her shoulder.
I shifted slightly, trying to ease the painful pressure in my pants—a problem that had started with Kushina's "innocent" massage and had only gotten worse with this not-so-innocent girl. My cock was straining against the fabric, aching for relief that flower arranging definitely hadn't provided.
Well, little flower, I thought, looking down at her blissed-out, kneeling form, you kept this problem alive. Guess you get to solve it.
