The Divine Invitation to Tsunade

The scroll arrived shrouded in purple mist, sealed with the emblem of a serpent devouring its own tail—Miguel's personal symbol. Tsunade raised it suspiciously, but before she could break the seal, the paper dissolved in her hands, releasing an intoxicating scent of jasmine and sweat.

*"Come. Bring your arrogance. Leave it at the door."*

The voice echoed in her bones.

When Tsunade's eyes adjusted, she was kneeling in the throne room, surrounded by naked and modified bodies—Sakura, Ino, Hinata, all transformed into hyper-feminine versions of themselves, larger breasts, wider hips, mouths drooling in unison. And in the center, Michael, reclining on the throne of women, his member already throbbing with anticipation.

—Ah, the *Hokage*— he laughed, his fingers tapping on the arm of the throne where Sakura writhed with a vibrator strapped to her clitoris—, finally decided to stoop to visiting her true superior?

Tsunade tried to stand. Her legs wouldn't respond.

—What have you done to my kunoichi?!— she growled, but her voice came out hoarse, weak.

Miguel snapped his fingers.

The pain came first—an unbearable heat between her legs. The *transformation* came after. Tsunade screamed as her breasts swelled, her nipples darkening and hardening like stones. Her hips widened, her waist narrowed, her thighs thickened—all *molded* to please.

—NO!— she yelled, but her body was already arching with pleasure, her vagina throbbing empty.

Sakura, kneeling beside the throne, smiled.

—Sensei. — she whispered, caressing her own thighs —, you were always so *tough*... but look at you now.

Tsunade looked down. Her hands—once calloused from punches—now had perfect nails, painted red. Her abdomen—once defined—was smooth, *soft*.

Miguel approached, his penis rubbing against her face.

—You spent your whole life pretending to be strong — he whispered, as Sakura spread her mistress's legs, exposing her already *dripping* vagina —, but deep down... you always knew you were just a *bitch* in heat.

Tsunade tried to deny it, but Sakura was already inserting two fingers into her, twisting them *exactly* as Miguel liked.

—Y-You... can't... — Tsunade moaned, her hips moving *against* her pupil's hand.

—Oh, I *can*—Miguel grabbed her blonde hair, forcing her to swallow his cock all the way to his balls—, and you'll *thank* me for it.

When the first spurt of divine semen hit her throat, Tsunade *understood*: All her strength, all her pride—had never been anything but an illusion. She was *made* for this.

And now, finally *free* from the lie, she smiled—while licking Sakura's fingers, already soaked in her own pleasure.

**"Thank you, Master."**

After all, the truth always set free.

And she had never felt so *free*.