A romantic dinner and a weird one?

The warm glow of Ichiraku Ramen spilled across the cobblestone street like liquid gold, and the group of six stopped in their tracks at the sight of it.

This was not the Ichiraku that Naruto remembered from before the booklet's intervention — but for everyone else, it had always been like this, and the warm familiarity on their faces reflected a lifetime of knowing this place as the crown jewel of Konoha's dining scene.

The original counter and stools were still there, almost quaint now, tucked to one side like a historical artifact — the humble roots from which the restaurant's legend had grown. But behind it, through an archway draped with hanging wisteria and soft paper lanterns, the restaurant opened up into something grand. The dining room was spacious and intimate all at once, a careful balance of warmth and elegance. Polished dark wood floors reflected the candlelight from dozens of small tables, each one set for two — couples' tables, almost all of them, with white linen cloths, slim ceramic vases holding single sprigs of cherry blossom, and pairs of lacquered chopsticks resting on little porcelain stands. The walls were hung with tasteful calligraphy scrolls and ink paintings, and the ceiling was strung with a constellation of tiny paper lanterns that cast a soft, amber glow over everything, making every face beneath them look warmer and more beautiful than the daylight version.

A gentle soundtrack of shamisen music drifted from somewhere unseen — not loud enough to intrude on conversation, just enough to fill the silences with something lovely. The air smelled incredible: rich pork broth, roasted garlic, fresh noodles, sesame oil, and underneath it all, the clean fragrance of the wisteria hanging at the entrance.

And the staff.

Teuchi still stood behind the main counter, his headband tied neatly, his smile wide and welcoming — the heart of the operation, as he'd always been. But the floor of the dining room was staffed entirely by waitresses, and Naruto's booklet-enhanced reality had been... generous in its hiring practices.

The first to greet them at the entrance was Ayame — the original, the veteran, the queen of the establishment. She wore the standard Ichiraku waitress uniform, which was to say she wore an apron and absolutely nothing else. The white cotton apron hung from her neck and tied at her lower back, covering her front from collarbone to mid-thigh — but leaving her sides, her arms, her legs, and the entire expanse of her bare back and ass completely exposed. She moved through the restaurant with the practiced grace of a woman who had been serving ramen in the nude for years and no longer thought twice about it. Her tits pressed against the inside of the apron fabric, their shape clearly outlined, her nipples creating two subtle points in the cotton, and when she turned to lead them to their table, the full, round cheeks of her ass swayed freely with each step.

"Welcome to Ichiraku!" Ayame beamed, clutching menus to her chest. "Oh, Naruto-kun! And guests! We've been expecting you! Your table is ready, of course."

Behind her, the other waitresses were tending to their respective sections, and Naruto took them in with the wide-eyed appreciation of a creator admiring his own gallery.

There was Fumiko — a chubby woman in her late twenties with a body built for comfort and sin. Her apron strained at the front, barely containing the generous swell of her belly and the enormous, heavy breasts that rested atop it like two dough balls proving on a warm shelf. Her wide hips rolled with each step, her thick thighs rubbing softly together, and the apron's hemline rode up in the front from the sheer volume of flesh beneath it, exposing extra inches of plush, dimpled thigh and the glimpses of a meaty hairy pussy. Her bare ass was a masterwork — two huge, round, pillowy cheeks that jiggled independently with every movement, soft and heavy and hypnotic. She carried a tray of ramen bowls with the effortless strength of her arms, smiling warmly at a couple as she served them.

Then there was Reiko — the MILF, early forties, with the kind of face that had only gotten more beautiful with age. High cheekbones, full lips, crow's feet at the corners of her knowing dark eyes that only made her look wiser and sexier. Her body was lush and ripe — big, heavy tits that hung with the particular gravity of maturity, their shape fuller and more teardrop than the younger girls', her dark nipples visible as wide shadows through the thin apron fabric. Her waist had the soft, lived-in curve of a woman who'd had children, and her hips flared wide below it, her bare ass carrying the voluptuous weight of experience. She moved through the dining room with calm, maternal authority, refilling sake cups and adjusting candles.

At the far end of the restaurant, clearing a table with efficient, powerful movements, was Takara — the tomboy. Tall — easily five-ten, maybe more — with broad shoulders, defined arms, and legs that looked like they could kick through a castle wall. Her body was hard where the others were soft, her stomach flat and ridged with visible ab muscles, her small but firm breasts two tight little handfuls that barely moved when she bent and lifted. Her bare ass was muscular — high, tight, sculpted — the kind of ass you could bounce a coin off of. She had short-cropped dark hair and a jawline sharp enough to cut, and when she caught Naruto looking, she flexed one bicep and gave him a cocky wink.

And finally, weaving between tables with a tray almost as big as she was, came Momo — and Naruto had to blink twice. She was tiny. Barely four-foot-nine, with a round, cherubic face, big doe eyes, and a button nose dusted with freckles. She looked like she could be fourteen, though she was apparently old enough to work here, and her voice was a high, sweet chirp that made everything she said sound like a question. But from the neck down, her body was a physics-defying contradiction. Her breasts were enormous — disproportionately, almost comically huge on her small frame, each one bigger than her head, stretching the apron to its absolute limit. The fabric tented out so far from her chest that there was a visible gap at the bottom where the apron simply couldn't maintain contact with her body, offering a clear view of her smooth stomach and the underside of her massive tits from certain angles. Her hips were wide relative to her tiny waist, her bare ass a perfect pair of round, perky globes that jutted out behind her like two ripe peaches.

"Your table, Naruto-kun!" Ayame announced, gesturing toward the corner window where a table for two sat bathed in candlelight. The small wooden placard read: Reserved for the Future Hokage. "And for your friends, we have the adjacent tables, right here," Ayame nodded, pulling out chairs.

Tenten and Ino hovered at the edge of the group, exchanging a glance. As the couples began to settle, it became clear that the restaurant was set up mainly for two-person tables — which left them as the awkward third and fourth wheels with nowhere obvious to sit.

"Um," Tenten began, "maybe we should just grab a seat at the counter—"

"Nonsense." Hinata's voice cut through with pleasant authority. She had already settled into the booth beside Sasuke, her massive breasts resting on the white tablecloth like two pale, barely-contained monuments, the oiran dress's neckline doing its eternal battle against gravity. "Ino, Tenten, sit with us. There's room."

She gestured to the opposite side of the booth — a curved bench seat that could comfortably fit two. Sasuke and Hinata were on one side, and the other was wide open.

Ino froze. Her eyes darted from Hinata's warm smile to Sasuke's impassive face to the empty seat across from them and back again. What is she doing? What is she DOING? She's inviting me to sit across from her boyfriend? Is this a trap? Is she going to dump soup in my lap? Is she going to—

"Come on, Ino Whore, don't be shy," Hinata cooed, patting the table invitingly. "We're all friends here."

Tenten, who had exactly zero strategic reservations and a whole lot of tactical opportunism, immediately saw the opening. She grabbed Ino's bare, painted elbow and steered her toward the booth. "What a great idea, Hinata, you thoughtful bitch!" she chirped, sliding Ino into the seat directly opposite Sasuke before Ino's paralyzed brain could object. Tenten dropped in beside her, sandwiching Ino between the wall and herself, her Happi coat hanging fully open now with both bandage-freed tits out and not a single fuck given.

The seating arrangement was surgical: Hinata next to Sasuke on one side, Ino directly across from Sasuke, Tenten beside Ino.

Sasuke's dark eyes met Hinata's briefly. She gave him the subtlest nod — barely a millimeter of movement, but he caught it. Play along. Enjoy it. He didn't fully understand the game yet. The architecture of Hinata's strategy was still opaque to him, the way a shogi master's opening moves might look random to someone who couldn't see ten turns ahead. But he'd learned something important about Hinata over the past twenty-four hours: she was never random, she always had a plan, and following her lead had so far led exclusively to good things.

If his gorgeous, terrifyingly intelligent, exhibitionist girlfriend wanted the hot naked blonde sitting across from him at dinner, then the hot naked blonde would sit across from him at dinner.

"Menus!" Momo appeared at the table's edge, the tiny waitress stretching on her tiptoes to hand out the leather-bound menu books over the table. The motion lifted her apron, and the massive underswell of her tits emerged from below the fabric's edge. Her enormous chest bounced and swayed as she distributed the menus with cheerful efficiency. "Tonight's specials are the Signature Tonkotsu with slow-braised pork belly, the Spicy Miso with chili threads and soft egg, and the Hokage Bowl, which is our everything-in-it specialty!" She recited the list from memory, her sweet voice carrying through the warm air. Then she leaned in conspiratorially and lowered her voice. "And of course, we have the special menu if anyone's interested~"

She produced a smaller menu from behind the regular one — bound in red leather, with a gold tassel bookmark. Naruto, at the next table over, caught a glimpse of it as Reiko offered one to him and Sakura as well.

The "special menu" was exactly what the booklet had made it: a full service list of sexual options, priced and described with the same matter-of-fact professionalism as the food. Handjob appetizer (available from any waitress, 15 minutes, pairs well with any broth). Blowjob entrée (throat or standard, ask about our deep-throat discount). Full service (waitress of your choice, private booth available, 30 or 60 minute sessions. Couples' package: Waitress joins your table for a threesome experience, dessert included.)

Sasuke glanced at the special menu, then closed it and set it aside without a word. His expression didn't change.

"Just food," he said.

Momo's huge eyes drooped with visible disappointment, her lower lip pushing out in a pout that made her look even younger than she already did. "Are you sure? Takara-san just got back from her break and she's really energetic tonight and I—"

"Just food."

"...Okay," Momo sighed, collecting the red menu. Her massive tits swung like pendulums as she turned away.

At Naruto's table, the same scene played out. Reiko had leaned down to present the special menu, her heavy, mature breasts hanging in the apron's gap inches from Naruto's face, the dark circles of her areolae visible through the thin fabric. Her knowing smile said I've seen your type before, sweetheart, and I know what you want.

But Naruto — for perhaps the first time in his booklet-enhanced life — shook his head. "Nah, just the regular menu tonight!" He grinned up at Reiko, then turned that grin to Sakura. "This is a special night. Just me and my girlfriend."

Reiko's painted eyebrows rose. She straightened up, her breasts swaying back into the apron, and gave a small, approving nod. "As you wish. I'll give you two a moment with the menu." She glided away, her bare ass rolling with each step.

Sakura, who had been gripping her menu with white knuckles from the moment she'd seen the MILF waitress practically dangle her tits in Naruto's face, slowly relaxed.

"...Thanks," she said quietly, not quite meeting his eyes.

"For what?"

"For not..." She gestured vaguely at Reiko's retreating form.

"Oh! Nah, I wouldn't do that on our first date, Sakura-chan. That'd be super lame." He opened his menu. "Besides, I already know what I'm getting. The Hokage Bowl. Obviously."

She snorted. "Obviously."

---

Dinner at Naruto and Sakura's table unfolded like a scene from a romance movie that neither of them had signed up for but were both stumbling into despite themselves.

The food was exceptional — this had always been true, even before the booklet, but now the presentation matched the quality. Sakura's Signature Tonkotsu arrived in a beautiful ceramic bowl, the broth a rich, milky gold, the pork belly so tender it dissolved on her tongue, the egg perfectly soft-boiled with a jammy center that oozed when she broke it. Naruto's Hokage Bowl was a mountain of everything — noodles, pork, egg, bamboo, corn, nori, scallions — and he attacked it with his usual enthusiasm, but made a visible effort to eat with his mouth closed and use his napkin between bites.

The effort was... endearing. Sakura watched him carefully slurp a noodle instead of inhaling it, dab his chin with the cloth napkin instead of his sleeve, and sit up straighter in his chair. He was trying. Trying so hard, in fact, that it was almost more charming than if he'd been naturally suave.

"This is really good," Sakura admitted, taking another bite of the pork belly. "Like, really good."

"Right?! I told you Ichiraku was the best!" His blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight. "Old man Teuchi is a genius. He's been making ramen since before either of us were born. He told me once that the secret is—"

He launched into an enthusiastic monologue about broth-simmering techniques, and Sakura braced herself for boredom — but it didn't come. Because Naruto talked about ramen the way other people talked about art or music: with genuine passion, deep knowledge, and an infectious love that made the subject matter feel almost important. He knew the cooking times, the regional variations, the history of every ingredient. He described the difference between Hakata-style and Sapporo-style with the analytical precision of a food critic, and when he got to the part about how Teuchi had spent three years perfecting his current tonkotsu recipe, his voice dropped to something almost reverent.

He loved this. Really, truly loved it. And listening to someone talk about something they loved was always more interesting than the subject itself.

"You actually know a lot about ramen," Sakura said, and it came out surprised enough that she immediately felt guilty.

"Well, yeah! I eat it every day! You'd be weird not to learn about something you eat every day!" He laughed. "That's like being a ninja who doesn't know about kunai."

"When you put it that way, it makes a weird kind of sense."

"See? I can make sense sometimes!"

She laughed. A real laugh — the third or fourth one tonight, and each one came easier than the last. He noticed, and his whole face softened with a happiness that had nothing goofy about it. Just warm. Just... nice.

They talked about missions after that — the good ones, the bad ones, the ones that had gone hilariously wrong. Naruto told the story about the time he'd accidentally summoned a toad inside a client's bedroom during a bodyguard mission, and Sakura was laughing so hard she nearly choked on a noodle. She told him about the time she'd mislabeled a patient's chart during her medical training and accidentally prescribed "two tablespoons of ground cinnamon" instead of "two CCs of chakra-infused serum," and the patient had sneezed for three hours straight. Naruto wheezed.

By the time the bowls were empty, Sakura had stopped thinking about the cock entirely. Not because she'd forgotten about it — it was still very much on the agenda — but because she was having an actual good time with an actual good guy, and the realization was settling over her like a warm blanket.

He's funny, she thought, watching him flag down Ayame for a second bowl. He's thoughtful — he remembered my dango. He's passionate about things. He tries really hard, even when he's not good at something. He's... kind. He's always been kind.

The candlelight caught his blue eyes and his whisker marks and his crooked grin, and Sakura felt something shift in her chest — a subtle rearrangement, like furniture being moved in a room she'd thought was already decorated.

Maybe this isn't just about the cock anymore.

...But the cock is still a HUGE plus.

---

At the other table, the atmosphere was considerably more... complex.

Hinata had positioned herself as close to Sasuke as the booth physically allowed. Her right side was pressed entirely against his left— shoulder to hip, thigh to thigh, her bare shoulder warm against the fabric of his kimono. Her massive breasts, already fighting a losing war against the oiran dress, were resting partially on the table and partially against Sasuke's arm, the pale upper curves rising and falling with each breath. Every time she reached for her chopsticks or lifted her cup, her whole chest shifted and rippled, the dress's neckline performing its eternal tightrope act.

She ate with one hand. The other rested on Sasuke's thigh under the table — not doing anything scandalous, just... there. Warm. Possessive. A constant reminder that he was hers, even as she orchestrated the seating that put another girl directly across from him.

Ino, for her part, was trying to be dazzling. Tenten, beside her, was running support operations like a field commander.

"So, Ino," Tenten said brightly, nudging Ino's elbow under the table, "why don't you tell Sasuke about the time you single-handedly completed that C-rank mission in the Land of Rivers?"

"Oh! Yeah!" Ino straightened up, her painted tits lifting with the motion. "So I was supposed to be backup, right? But Shikamaru fell asleep — obviously — and Choji was busy eating — obviously — so I had to take point, and—"

She launched into the story with animated enthusiasm, gesturing with her chopsticks, leaning forward across the table (which gave Sasuke a direct line of sight down the painted "neckline" of her body-paint kimono to her actual, bare, unpainted nipples), and generally being as charming and sexy and impressive as she could possibly manage while completely naked in a restaurant and pretending not to be.

Sasuke listened with polite attention, occasionally nodding, his dark eyes following Ino's animated gestures — and, yes, occasionally dipping to the very obvious body on display across from him. The body paint was good, but up close, under the warm candlelight, the illusion broke down entirely. He could see the slight sheen of her actual skin beneath the pigment, the way her real nipples created raised bumps in the painted "fabric," the smooth, bare cleft of her pussy visible below the painted "hemline" whenever she shifted in her seat. She was naked. Completely, undeniably naked. Sitting across from him, talking enthusiastically about ninja missions, with her tits out and her pussy bare and paint smeared across her collarbones from where Hinata had pressed against her earlier.

"—and THAT'S when I used the Mind Transfer on the bandit leader and made him surrender!" Ino finished triumphantly, tossing her blonde hair. The crystal hairpin Sasuke had won for her caught the candlelight and sparkled. "Pretty badass, right?"

"Impressive," Sasuke said. And meant it.

Ino glowed. Her whole painted body seemed to light up from within.

"Right? Ino's amazing," Tenten added, draping an arm around her friend's bare shoulders. "And she can do this thing with her chakra where she—"

"Oh Tenten please—" Ino starts as under the table, something warm and smooth pressed against Ino's inner thigh.

Ino's voice cut off mid-sentence. Her eyes went wide. Her chopsticks froze halfway to her mouth.

Across the table, Hinata was eating her ramen with serene, one-handed grace, her lavender eyes half-lidded in an expression of perfect contentment. She was looking at Sasuke. Talking softly to him about the pork belly. Smiling her gentle, pretty smile.

Her sandals were off.

Her bare foot — soft, warm, the arch smooth and the toes delicate — had slid silently across the gap under the table and was now resting against the inside of Ino's left thigh. High. Very, very high. Just below where thigh became something else entirely.

Ino's mouth opened. No sound came out.

What—

The foot moved. Slowly, deliberately, Hinata's toes trailed upward along the sensitive skin of Ino's inner thigh, feather-light, barely there — and then there, pressing gently against the warm, bare, paint-free flesh of Ino's completely exposed pussy.

Ino's spine went rigid. Her eyes bulged. A choked, strangled noise escaped her throat that she immediately tried to disguise as a cough.

"You okay, Ino Whore?" Tenten asked, patting her back.

"F-fine!" Ino squeaked, her voice an octave higher than normal. "Just— hhk— swallowed wrong!"

Under the table, Hinata's toes found Ino's slit. The soft pads of her toes pressed against the puffy outer lips, feeling the heat radiating from them, feeling the slick wetness that was already gathering there because Ino had been low-key aroused all goddamn night and her bare pussy had no clothing to hide it. Hinata's big toe slid between the lips, nestling into the groove, finding the slippery warmth within and pressing up against the hooded nub of Ino's clit.

Ino's hand slammed down on the table. The bowls rattled. Sasuke's sake cup wobbled.

"Ino?" Tenten frowned.

"I'M FINE! Great! The ramen is just— hhhh— really spicy! So spicy! Wow!" She grabbed her water glass and downed it in one gulp, her throat working desperately, her thighs trembling under the table.

Hinata's foot worked in slow, lazy circles. Her big toe rubbed Ino's clit in a steady rhythm — up, around, down, press, up, around — while her other toes stroked along the slick folds, spreading the wetness, occasionally dipping slightly between the lips before pulling back. It was maddeningly gentle. Deliberate. Expert.

And Hinata was giving zero indication that anything was happening. She was leaned against Sasuke's shoulder, talking about the fair, about the Ferris wheel lights, about how pretty the lanterns had been. Her voice was soft and steady and completely unbothered. She even picked up a piece of pork belly with her chopsticks and offered it to Sasuke, who ate it from the tips with a small nod of appreciation.

Ino was going to die.

The foot pressed harder against her clit, the ball of Hinata's foot grinding in a slow, firm circle that sent shockwaves through Ino's entire pelvic floor. Her cunt clenched around nothing, desperate, aching, and she could feel herself dripping — actually dripping — onto the booth's leather seat beneath her bare ass. There was going to be a wet spot. There was going to be an obvious wet spot.

"So anyway," Tenten continued, oblivious, "Ino's also been working on this new jutsu that—"

"Nngh!"

"...Ino?"

"K-keep talking! I'm listening! Just— the wasabi— oh god— hit different—"

Hinata's toes curled. The big toe pressed and rubbed at Ino's clit while two other toes slipped between her drenched folds, the smooth, warm skin sliding effortlessly through the slick arousal. Ino's thighs clamped together involuntarily, trapping the foot, but that only pressed it harder against her throbbing cunt. Hinata responded by flexing her ankle, grinding her toes deeper, finding the swollen bud and working it with tiny, precise, devastating little circles.

Ino gripped the edge of the table with both hands. Her painted knuckles went white. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts through her nose, each exhale shaking slightly. She stared straight ahead at the candle flame, willing herself to focus on anything other than the unbearably skilled foot between her legs.

Don't cum. Do NOT cum. She's testing you. She's playing a game and if you cum she WINS somehow and you will NOT let this Hyuga bitch WIN—

Hinata's big toe flicked across Ino's clit in one sharp, sudden stroke.

Ino came.

It wasn't a big orgasm — not a screaming, body-shaking, eyes-rolling-back kind of orgasm. It was a small, tight, contained explosion — a hard clench of her internal muscles, a rush of wet heat flooding against Hinata's foot, a full-body shudder that she desperately tried to disguise as a shiver. Her thighs locked. Her jaw clenched so hard her teeth creaked. A thin, reedy whine escaped through her nose, and she covered it by picking up her water glass and drinking deeply from an already-empty cup.

Under the table, Hinata felt the gush of warmth against her toes. She felt the trembling of Ino's thighs. She felt the spasming clench of the blonde's pussy against her foot.

She smiled into her ramen.

Good girl.

The foot withdrew. Slowly, silently, it slid back across the gap, leaving a glistening trail of Ino's arousal on the leather between them. Hinata slipped her sandals back on under the table and reached for her sake cup, taking a delicate sip as if nothing whatsoever had happened.

Ino sat there, trembling, flushed from her painted collar to her painted hemline, her pussy throbbing and dripping onto the seat, her clit buzzing with aftershocks. She stared at Hinata across the table. Hinata met her gaze with innocent, warm, lavender eyes and mouthed a single word:

Cheers?

Ino was going to kill her. Or fuck her. Possibly both.

"You know what!" Hinata announced cheerfully, sitting up and raising her hand for a waitress. "We should celebrate tonight! I'll order us some sake — the good stuff!"

Momo appeared with impressive speed for someone carrying breasts that outweighed her torso, balancing a tray of sake bottles and ceramic cups. "The premium junmai daiginjo! Excellent choice!"

Hinata poured four cups — one for herself, one for Sasuke, and two for the girls across the table. She slid them across the white tablecloth with a warm smile.

"A challenge," she said, her voice light and playful, lifting her own cup. "Since we're all kunoichi here — let's see who can keep up! The last woman standing wins bragging rights for the rest of the year!"

It was bait. It was obvious bait. A fishing hook the size of a kunai, dangling in front of them with a neon sign that said TRAP.

"You're ON, HOEyuga!" Ino snarled, snatching her cup. Whatever post-orgasmic haze she'd been floating in evaporated instantly, replaced by white-hot competitive fury. She'd just been secretly made to cum under a dinner table by another girl's foot and she was NOT going to lose anything else tonight. "Tenten! Cups up!"

"Hell yeah!" Tenten grabbed hers, both freed tits jiggling in her open Happi coat with the enthusiasm of her reach. "You think you can outdrink a weapons specialist, Hinata, you busty bimbo? I once drank Guy-sensei under the table, and that man drinks like he trains — with the POWER OF YOUTH!"

"Then this should be easy for you~" Hinata smiled, clinking her cup against theirs.

They drank.

Cup one went down smooth. Cup two followed fast. By cup three, Ino and Tenten were pouring for each other, their competitive spirits blazing, each one matching the other drink for drink while throwing increasingly slurred insults across the table.

"Y'think — hic — y'think you can out-drink ME, Ino Whore?! I once — I trained with NEJI for sixteen hours and then drank a WHOLE bottle—"

"Pffft, that's NOTHING, you flat-chested slut! I — I drink — Ino Yamanaka drinks everyone under the table, that's — hic —that's just SCIENCE—"

Cup four. Cup five. The premium sake was dangerously smooth, dangerously easy to drink, and dangerously potent.

And across the table, Hinata and Sasuke were nursing their first cups.

Hinata had taken exactly three sips total. Each time Ino or Tenten looked her way, she'd lift the cup to her lips and pretend to drink, then set it back down still full. Sasuke had caught on by the second round and followed suit, his own cup barely touched, a ghost of amusement playing at his lips as he watched the two kunoichi across from them race each other toward oblivion.

By cup seven, Ino was listing sideways. The body paint on her left shoulder had smeared against the booth's leather back, leaving a violet streak and exposing a wide patch of bare, unpainted skin. Her eyes were glassy. Her cheeks were flushed a deep, genuine red beneath the paint. Her nipples were so hard from the combination of alcohol and lingering arousal that they cast actual shadows in the candlelight.

Tenten was worse. She'd slumped forward onto the table, her unbound hair pooling on the white tablecloth, both bare tits resting on the table's surface like two exhausted creatures that had given up on life. Her Happi coat had slipped entirely off one shoulder. She was giggling at nothing and periodically trying to pick up chopsticks with her feet.

"Annnnother round!" Ino slurred, grabbing the bottle and pouring with the accuracy of a blind woman throwing kunai in a tornado. Sake splashed across the table, across her painted wrist, down the front of her "kimono" (body). "We're — we're just gettin' STARTED, HiTATA! — giggle— You can't — you can't beat us! Right, Tenten?"

"Mmmmfffhh," said Tenten, face-down on the table.

"She says HELL YEAH!"

Hinata watched them with the serene patience of a cat watching two mice walk into a trap. She refilled their cups one more time — her own still nearly full — and smiled.

"You two are so impressive," she said warmly. "Such strong drinkers."

"DAMN RIGHT WE ARE!" Ino bellowed, and drank.

---

The evening wound to its close in the warm amber glow of Ichiraku. Teuchi was wiping down the counter, humming. Ayame was clearing the last tables, her bare ass swaying as she moved between them with practiced efficiency. The other waitresses — Fumiko, Reiko, Takara, and Momo — were finishing up their own sections, though Takara kept glancing at the group with vague disappointment that nobody had ordered from the special menu.

Naruto stood from his table and offered Sakura his hand. She looked at it for a moment — then took it. His palm was warm and calloused and bigger than she'd expected, and when his fingers closed around hers, she didn't pull away.

"Walk you home?" he asked.

"...Yeah," she said. "Yeah, okay."

At the other table, Hinata was gently extracting Ino and Tenten from the booth. It was like peeling wet noodles off a pot. Tenten had to be physically lifted to a standing position, at which point she immediately leaned on Ino, who immediately leaned the other direction, and the two of them swayed like a pair of drunk metronomes.

"I shink — I think the room is moving," Tenten announced with great concern.

"The room is NOT moving, you lightweight bitch, YOU'RE moving," Ino corrected, then walked directly into a chair.

Hinata caught her by the waist — one arm around Ino, the other stabilizing Tenten — and addressed Sasuke with an apologetic look that was about thirty percent genuine and seventy percent thinly-veiled triumph. "Sasuke-kun, I'm so sorry — I should probably take these two home. They're in no condition to make it on their own, and I'd feel terrible if something happened to them."

Sasuke looked at Ino — barely standing, body paint smeared, one tit fully exposed where the paint had rubbed away, her pussy bare and glistening faintly in the lamplight, her eyes unfocused and her lips mumbling something about "showing that Hyuuuuga biiitch." Then he looked at Tenten — both tits entirely out, Happi coat hanging off one arm, booty shorts riding up so far that it looked painful, attempting to give a thumbs-up but pointing at the ceiling instead.

Then he looked at Hinata. His girlfriend. Who had orchestrated this entire evening with the precision of a military campaign, from the seating arrangement to the drinking challenge to this exact moment.

She smiled at him sweetly. Innocently.

"I understand," he said, because he did. "Take care of them."

Hinata leaned up and kissed him. It was soft, brief, warm — her full lips pressing against his, her massive tits compressing against his chest for just a moment before she pulled back. "Thank you, Sasuke-kun. I'll make it up to you."

"I know you will."

He watched as Hinata guided the two wrecked kunoichi out of the restaurant. She had one arm around each of them, and her hands — visible from behind — had slid down from their waists to settle firmly on their asses. Her left hand cupped a generous handful of Ino's bare, paint-smeared ass cheek, fingers sinking into the soft flesh. Her right hand gripped Tenten's mostly-exposed rear through the thin, barely-there denim of the booty shorts.

"Heyyyy," Ino slurred, vaguely noticing the hand on her ass. "Yer — yer hand is on my butt..."

"I'm supporting you," Hinata said pleasantly. "So you don't fall."

"Oh. Okay. Thass... thass nice of you, you big-tittied bitch..."

"Sheeee's grabbin' my ass too," Tenten observed from the other side, her head lolling against Hinata's shoulder. "S'warm..."

"Just keeping you steady, Tenten."

"You got — you got really warm hands, y'know that? Like... really warm... nice hands..."

The three of them disappeared around the corner — Hinata walking steadily, gracefully, with a drunk, half-naked blonde on one side and a completely-tits-out brunette on the other, her hands firmly gripping both their asses, guiding them through the night toward the Hyuga compound.

Sasuke leaned against the wall of Ichiraku and watched them go. The corner of his mouth twitched.

She's something else.

---

The walk to Sakura's apartment was quiet — the good kind of quiet. The kind where two people have talked enough for one evening and are comfortable just existing next to each other.

The streets were mostly empty now, the late hour having cleared the usual crowds. Paper lanterns still glowed along the main roads, casting pools of warm light that Naruto and Sakura passed through one by one, their shadows stretching and shrinking on the cobblestones.

Naruto's hand was still holding Sakura's. Neither of them had acknowledged it. Neither of them had let go.

"I had a really good time tonight," Naruto said as they turned onto Sakura's street. His voice was quieter than usual — not subdued, just... sincere.

Sakura looked at their joined hands. Then up at his face — the candlelight from a nearby window catching his blue eyes, his whisker marks, the genuine, soft, almost vulnerable smile on his lips. No pranks. No clowning. No desperate energy. Just Naruto.

"...Me too," she said. And meant it completely. "You were... different tonight. Or maybe not different. Maybe you were always like this and I just didn't..." She trailed off, frowning at her own words, then shook her head. "I had a good time, Naruto. That's what I'm saying."

His grin returned — warmer, less manic, more real. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They reached her door. Sakura fished her key out of her purse, and the familiar awkwardness of the end-of-date doorstep moment settled over them. She turned to face him, the red yukata catching the moonlight, the ribbon he'd won for her still in her hair — fixed, straightened, but still there.

"So," she said.

"So," he said.

Pause.

"Do you want to come in?"

The words left her mouth before her brain could veto them. She blinked, surprised at herself, and immediately felt her cheeks burn — but she didn't take it back. Something in her chest — something that had been building all evening, through the fair and the laughter and the dango and the ramen and the way he'd remembered her favorite food and the way he'd said no to the special menu for her — that something had reached critical mass, and it was done waiting.

Naruto's eyes went wide. "Really?"

"Don't make it weird."

"I'm not making it weird!"

"You're making the face."

"What face?!"

"The excited-puppy face. The one where your eyes get huge and you look like you're about to vibrate out of your skin."

"I can't help it! You just invited me in! That's — are you sure?"

She grabbed his wrist and pulled him through the door. "Get in here before I change my mind."

The door closed. The lock clicked.

Sakura's apartment was small and clean — a studio with a bed against one wall, a kitchenette on the other, and a bathroom through a narrow door. There were medical scrolls stacked on her desk, a vase of flowers on the windowsill, and the stuffed frog from the fair sitting on her pillow.

They stood in the entryway, close, the air between them suddenly thick with everything neither of them had said out loud yet.

Sakura took a breath.

Then she grabbed the front of his kimono, pulled him forward, and kissed him.

It wasn't delicate. It wasn't shy. It was the kiss of a woman who'd spent an entire evening building up pressure and was done with the valve being shut. She pressed her mouth to his hard, her fingers knotting in the fabric of his kimono, her body arching up on her toes to reach him. Her lips were warm and soft and tasted like cherry lip gloss and sake, and when she parted them and let her tongue trace along his lower lip, Naruto made a sound in his chest like something had been knocked loose.

His hands found her waist — then her hips — then the curve of her ass beneath the short red yukata, and he pulled her against him. The kiss deepened. Her tongue slid against his, hot and wet and hungry, and his responded in kind. She could feel his heartbeat hammering against her chest, could feel his cock stirring against her stomach through the layers of kimono, and the first brush of that hardening length against her body sent a bolt of raw electricity through her that made her gasp into his mouth.

Oh God. It's real. It's real and it's huge and it's pressed against me right now.

They stumbled toward the bed — a clumsy, tangled, half-blind stumble of mouths and hands and fabric. Naruto's obi finally gave up its fight for existence and unraveled, his kimono falling open to reveal his broad, tanned chest and the hard planes of his stomach. Sakura's hands ran up his abs, feeling each ridge, each warm inch of skin, and she bit her lip so hard it went white.

"Hold on," she breathed, pulling back. Her cheeks were burning. Her eyes were bright. She looked nervous and excited and determined all at once. "I want to do something. For you. Think of it as a... a gift. For being a good date."

She reached into a drawer and pulled out the Bitch Buster.

The dildo sat in her hand — fat, pink, rubbery, glowing faintly with that familiar pulsing light that had plagued her since Naruto had written it into existence. It was warm to the touch. It hummed with a subtle, living vibration, as if it knew what was about to happen.

Naruto's eyes went wide. "Is that—"

"The Bitch Buster. Yeah." Sakura looked at it, looked at him, and her expression shifted into something fierce and a little wild. "Don't ask questions. Just — just watch."

She reached behind herself with one hand, pulled the back of her yukata up over the swell of her ass, and — with a sharp inhale through her teeth — pressed the tip of the Bitch Buster against the tight, pink pucker of her asshole.

"Sakura-chan, are you— holy shit—"

She pushed it in.

The dildo slid into her ass with a wet, obscene sound — slowly at first, her tight ring of muscle stretching around the girth, the rubber shaft sinking inch by inch into her clenching, spasming back passage. Sakura's eyes went wide and her mouth fell open in a silent scream, her free hand gripping the bedsheet so hard her knuckles turned white. The Bitch Buster glowed brighter, brighter, brighter — blazing pink light spilling through her fingers, between her thighs, painting the walls of the apartment in pulsing, warm fuchsia.

And then the transformation hit.

It started in her chest. A tingle, a warmth, a swell — like balloons inflating behind her ribcage. Her breasts, modest and perky beneath the red yukata, began to grow. Sakura looked down and watched, open-mouthed, as the fabric tightened over her expanding chest. Her tits pushed outward, filling the V of the yukata's neckline, then overflowing it — swelling beyond the bounds of the garment, the silk straining and then giving way as two massive, round, firm breasts spilled free. They kept growing — bigger, heavier, rounder — until they were each the size of melons, sitting high and proud on her chest, her nipples fat and stiff and pink, the areolae puffed and wide and tingling with hypersensitivity.

But it wasn't just her tits. The Bitch Buster, lodged firmly in her ass, seemed to pour its energy through her entire body. Her hips widened — a subtle but unmistakable expansion, her pelvis flaring outward, her hipbones pushing the yukata's sash apart. Her ass swelled — each cheek inflating with new, round, firm flesh, the kind of ass that looked like it had been sculpted by a god with very specific tastes. Her thighs thickened — still toned, still muscular from her training, but now with a layer of plush softness that made them press together at the top. Her waist stayed narrow, maybe even narrower, creating an hourglass curve so dramatic it looked drawn.

Sakura stood before Naruto, transformed. The red yukata hung open, unable to contain her new proportions, revealing her heaving, massive breasts, her tiny waist, her swollen hips, her thick thighs, and between them, her pussy — smooth, puffy, already glistening with arousal, the lips swollen and flushed pink.

The Bitch Buster glowed steadily in her ass, its base peeking out between her newly-inflated cheeks, pulsing warm light.

"Ah — ah — fuck, it's — it's so much," Sakura panted, swaying on her feet. Her enormous new tits heaved with each breath, bouncing and wobbling, her nipples throbbing with the enhanced sensitivity that the relic bestowed. Every heartbeat sent a pulse of pleasure through the dildo in her ass, through her swollen, aching tits, through her dripping, clenching pussy. She was on fire.

She looked at Naruto. Her green eyes were blazing.

"Come on then, Naruto," she said, her voice rough and breathless, and she dropped the yukata entirely, letting it pool at her feet. She stood naked before him — massive tits, impossible curves, the Bitch Buster's pink glow emanating from her stuffed ass — and crooked one finger at him. "Show these stuck up, horny, bitch what you've got."

Naruto's kimono hit the floor.

Oh. My. God.

Sakura's brain went to static. White noise. System failure. The cock — THE cock — the legendary, fantasized-about, masturbated-to, spent-an-entire-afternoon-screaming-about-with-dildos cock — was RIGHT THERE, standing at full, throbbing attention between Naruto's legs.

It was enormous. Thick, veined, rock-hard, curving slightly upward with an aggressive, proud jut that made it look like it was aiming at her. The head was wide and smooth and flushed a deep pink, already glistening with a bead of precum that caught the Bitch Buster's pink glow and sparkled. The shaft was ridged with veins that pulsed with his heartbeat, and the sheer girth of it — fuck, the girth — made her thighs clench involuntarily. Below it, his balls hung heavy and full, drawn up tight with arousal.

Ino and Tenten had been right. They'd been so goddamn right. Every fantasy, every estimation, every exaggerated moan they'd made while stuffing themselves with the biggest dildos Tenten owned — it was all underselling it.

"Holy shit," Sakura whispered. "Holy fucking shit, Naruto."

He grinned — that warm, real, slightly-sheepish grin that she'd spent the entire evening falling for — and rubbed the back of his head. "Is it... okay?"

"Okay?! It's— how do you even walk with this thing?!"

He laughed, and the laugh broke whatever remaining tension was in the room. She laughed too — helpless, disbelieving, giddy — and then they were on each other.

He crossed the distance in one stride and kissed her again, harder this time, his hands sliding up her waist to cup her massive, newly-grown tits. The contact made Sakura's entire nervous system light up like a firework display. His calloused palms against her hypersensitive nipples — it was like touching a live wire. She moaned into his mouth, loud and unashamed, her back arching to push more of her breast-flesh into his grip.

"Fuck — fuck, they're so sensitive—" she gasped as he squeezed, his thumbs rolling her fat nipples in circles, pressing them flat and then letting them spring back up, each compression sending a jolt of pure, crackling pleasure straight to her pussy. Her cunt clenched so hard she nearly came from the tit-play alone.

He dipped his head and took one nipple into his mouth.

"AAAH—!" Sakura's scream bounced off the apartment walls. Her hands flew to the back of his head, clutching fistfuls of blond hair, pulling him deeper. His tongue was hot and wet against the stiff, throbbing peak of her nipple, lashing and swirling, and when he sucked — hard, with the full vacuum pressure of his mouth — she felt it in her toes. Her clit pulsed. Her pussy gushed. The Bitch Buster in her ass seemed to vibrate in response, amplifying every sensation.

"Naruto — oh God — your mouth — don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop—"

He didn't stop. He switched to the other breast, laving the neglected nipple with broad, flat strokes of his tongue before sealing his lips around it and sucking until Sakura's knees buckled. He caught her by the newly-expanded ass — his hands sinking deep into the plush, firm flesh of her cheeks, his fingers finding the base of the Bitch Buster and pressing it, just slightly, making Sakura shriek with the dual stimulation of his mouth on her tit and the dildo shifting in her ass.

"Bed," she panted. "Now. Right now."

He lifted her. Just — picked her up, hands under her ass, like she weighed nothing, and carried her two steps to the bed. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and his cock pressed against her drenched pussy lips — the fat, hot head nestling into the groove of her slit, smearing her juices along his length, the contact so electric that both of them groaned simultaneously.

He laid her down on the bed. Her enormous tits fell to either side of her chest, heavy and round, the nipples pointing skyward, still glistening from his mouth. The Bitch Buster's pink glow emanated from between her ass cheeks, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Her legs were spread wide, her swollen pussy lips parted, the inner flesh slick and pink and begging.

Naruto positioned himself between her thighs. The head of his cock pressed against her entrance — hot, broad, insistent. Sakura looked down between her huge tits at the massive shaft about to enter her and felt a rush of adrenaline that was half fear, half want, all need.

"Do me!" she screamed. "Do me like needy slutty bitch I am!"

He pushed in.

The head breached her pussy lips with a wet, obscene pop, and Sakura's vision went white. Not from pain — from fullness. From the sensation of her cunt stretching open around the widest cock she'd ever taken, the smooth head spreading her inner walls apart as it sank deeper, her pussy gripping him like a vice, her slick arousal squelching around the shaft as inch after thick inch disappeared inside her.

"Oh — oh GOD — oh my GOD, Naruto, it's — you're so — hnnnngh—!"

He went slow at first. Controlled, steady, feeding his length into her in one continuous, achingly slow push. Her pussy fluttered and clenched around him, adjusting, stretching, the walls molding to his shape, every ridge and vein of his cock dragging against her inner surfaces with devastating friction. She could feel him everywhere — pressing against her front wall where her G-spot screamed, pressing against the back where the Bitch Buster filled her ass, the two sensations sandwiching the thin membrane between her holes and creating a pressure so intense she saw stars.

And then his hips met hers. Fully inside. Balls resting against the base of the Bitch Buster's shaft, his cock buried to the absolute hilt in her cunt.

"Fuuuuuck," they said in unison.

A beat. Two heartbeats of perfect, trembling stillness, both of them adjusting to the sensation — her to being more full than she'd ever been in her life, him to the tight, wet, rippling heat of a pussy squeezing his cock from every angle.

Then Naruto pulled back and thrust.

Sakura screamed.

Not a moan. Not a gasp. A full-throated, neighbor-waking, walls-shaking scream of raw, unfiltered pleasure. His cock dragged against every nerve ending inside her on the pull-back, then slammed home with a force that made her massive tits bounce up to her chin and back down, the heavy clap of flesh against flesh ringing through the apartment. The Bitch Buster shifted in her ass from the impact, pressing deeper, and the combined sensation of cock in cunt and dildo in ass made her cum on the second stroke.

"I'M — I'M ALREADY — FUCK!" Her pussy clamped down around him like a fist, rippling, clenching, gushing, her juices flooding out around his shaft and soaking his balls, her thighs trembling violently, her toes curling, her massive tits shaking and bouncing as the orgasm ripped through her body.

Naruto didn't stop. He set a rhythm — deep, hard, steady, each thrust bottoming out with a wet slap that made her huge ass cheeks ripple and her tits fly. The bedframe creaked. Then groaned. Then started slamming against the wall in a metronome of bang, bang, bang that any neighbor within three apartments would hear clearly.

"Naruto — ah — Naruto — AH — your cock — your fucking COCK — it's splitting me — I can't — it's too good — FUCK!"

She came again. And again. The Bitch Buster in her ass was in overdrive, pulsing hot pink light in rhythm with Naruto's thrusts, each pulse sending a wave of enhancement through her body — making her tits swell a fraction bigger, her nipples throb harder, her pussy clench tighter, her sensitivity crank up another impossible notch. She was a feedback loop of pleasure, each orgasm amplifying the next, and Naruto's relentless cock was the piston driving the machine.

He shifted angles — lifting her hips, tilting her pelvis, and the head of his cock found a spot inside her that made her entire body lock up. "THERE — RIGHT THERE — DON'T MOVE — DON'T YOU DARE MOVE—"

He didn't move. He hammered that spot with short, hard, rapid thrusts that made a wet schlick-schlick-schlick sound, his cock pistoning in and out of her clenching cunt so fast that her juices frothed white around the base of his shaft. Her tits bounced in tight, violent circles on her chest, the heavy flesh slapping together and apart, her fat nipples tracing blurry figure-eights in the air.

"Tell me," Naruto panted, grinning down at her, sweat dripping from his brow onto her heaving chest, "tell me this was worth the date."

"WORTH IT — AH — SO WORTH IT — YOUR COCK IS — NNGH — THE BEST THING — THAT'S EVER HAPPENED TO ME — FUUUUCK!"

Another orgasm. This one was big — a full-body, seizing, screaming, sheets-ripping explosion that made her vision go pure white and her ears ring. Her cunt clamped down so hard that Naruto groaned, his hips stuttering, his cock throbbing inside her.

"Sakura-chan — I'm gonna—"

"INSIDE — DO IT INSIDE — FILL ME UP, NARUTO—"

He buried himself to the hilt and came.

The sensation of his hot cum flooding her pussy was the final trigger. Thick, heavy ropes of seed pulsed deep inside her, painting her walls white, filling her to overflowing, the sheer volume of it — thank you, booklet-enhanced infinite reserves — making her feel bloated and stuffed and complete. It gushed out around his shaft, unable to be contained, soaking the sheets beneath them, mixing with her own juices in a river of white that pooled on the bed.

"More," Sakura gasped, her eyes wild, her body trembling. "Don't stop. I don't care if you just came. More."

He was still hard. Of course he was still hard. She could feel him, rock-solid inside her cum-flooded pussy, twitching, ready.

He grinned, and went to work again, gripping her hips and flipping her over onto all fours. Her massive tits swung beneath her like heavy pendulums, swaying and slapping together with each thrust as he pounded into her from behind. The Bitch Buster glowed between her round, plump ass cheeks, the base bouncing slightly with each impact, the dildo shifting inside her with every stroke. He reached forward and grabbed a fistful of pink hair, pulling her head back, and she screamed her approval.

They fucked like animals. They fucked like they were trying to break the bed — and they very nearly did, the wooden frame protesting with escalating volume. They fucked standing up against the wall, Sakura's legs around his waist, her enhanced tits smashed against his chest, the Bitch Buster pressed between her ass and the plaster. They fucked with her on top, riding him with wild, desperate energy, her massive tits flying in every direction, her hands braced on his chest, his cock disappearing into her gushing cunt over and over.

She came more times than she could count. Five. Seven. Twelve. Each one hitting harder than the last, the Bitch Buster amplifying everything, her body curving and swelling and throbbing with enhanced sensation. She called his name until her voice cracked. She called him things she'd never called anyone — don't stop, fuck me harder, your cock is perfect, you're amazing, I'm yours, I'm YOURS—

And somewhere in there, between the orgasms and the screaming and the cum and the pounding, sweaty, incredible realness of it all, a thought crystallized in Sakura's sex-addled brain with perfect clarity:

It's not just the cock. I actually like him.

The thought made her cum again.

---

They collapsed at some indeterminate hour of the night — could have been midnight, could have been three AM, neither of them had any idea or any capacity to check. The bed was destroyed. The sheets were soaked through — a swamp of cum and sweat and Sakura's juices, twisted and knotted and half pulled off the mattress. The wall behind the headboard had a pattern of impact marks from the frame slamming against it. Gamabunta Junior, the cross-eyed frog plushie, had been knocked off the bed at some point and lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling with his button eyes.

Naruto lay on his back, his broad chest heaving, his body coated in a sheen of sweat that caught the faint glow of the Bitch Buster still pulsing between Sakura's ass cheeks. His cock, finally softening, lay against his thigh — slick, glistening, still impressive even at rest. His hair was plastered to his forehead. His grin was the grin of a man whose wildest dreams hadn't dared be this wild.

Sakura was curled against his side, her massive, enhanced tits pressing warm and heavy against his ribcage, her leg draped over his thigh. Her pink hair was a disaster — the ribbon he'd won for her was somehow still in it, tangled but present. Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips were swollen. Her pussy was still faintly leaking his cum onto his thigh, a warm trickle that neither of them had the energy to address. The Bitch Buster remained firmly lodged in her ass, its base protruding between her plump, expanded cheeks, still glowing that soft, contented pink — like even the relic was satisfied.

The apartment smelled like sex. Not subtly, not faintly — the entire studio was saturated with it. The musky, salty, unmistakable scent of hours of fucking — sweat and cum and the warm, intimate fragrance of two bodies that had been pressed together in every conceivable configuration. Underneath it, the faintly sweet, almost electric undertone of the Bitch Buster's energy, like ozone after a lightning strike.

"That was..." Naruto started, his voice a wrecked, raspy whisper.

"Yeah," Sakura agreed, her voice equally destroyed. "It was."

Silence. Comfortable silence. The kind of silence that follows something that doesn't need words.

"Ino and Tenten are going to lose their minds when I tell them," Sakura mumbled into his chest, her eyes already closing.

"Tell them what?"

"Oh nothing, just forget it."

He laughed — a low, exhausted, happy laugh — and pulled her closer. Her enhanced tits squished against him, her leg tightened over his thigh, and the Bitch Buster's warm glow pulsed softly between them like a nightlight.

"Goodnight, Sakura-chan."

"Mmm. Goodnight, Naruto." A pause. Then, very quietly, barely audible, muffled against his chest: "...Thank you for remembering the dango."

His grin softened into something tender. His arm tightened around her.

They drifted off together — exhausted, sweaty, smelling like sex, the Bitch Buster still glowing in Sakura's ass — into the deep, dreamless sleep of two people who had just had the best night of their lives.