Kirigakure lay in ruins, its streets shrouded in mist and blood. The other shinobi villages, overwhelmed by the Edo Tensei attacks orchestrated by Orochimaru, were too busy protecting their own lands to come to Kiri's aid. Makima, after massacring the Seven Swordsmen and crushing Ao, had captured Mei Terumi, the Mizukage, as a trophy. Kiri's most powerful ninjas were dead, and Mei, broken but alive, was now at her mercy. Makima had no intention of killing her—not yet. She wanted to teach her submission, to bend this proud woman to her will.
Makima's dungeon, carved into the depths of a cliff near Kumogakure, was a den of power and perversion. The black stone walls oozed moisture, lit by torches whose flickering light cast twisted shadows. Chains hung from the ceiling, iron manacles clinked softly, and a collection of whips, ropes, collars, clamps, and other tools of control lined a massive wooden table. The air smelled of leather, warm wax, and palpable tension. At the center, a bed covered in black sheets, framed by metal bars, seemed to await its prey.
Mei Terumi was strapped to a steel chair, her wrists and ankles bound by chakra-sealed manacles. Her Mizukage robe, torn, revealed voluptuous curves, her auburn hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. Her green eyes burned with defiance, but a flicker of fear danced within them. Makima, in a black corset and tight pants, stood before her, her grafted arm pulsing softly. An aura of dominance radiated from her.
Makima approached, her heels clicking on the stone. She gripped Mei's chin, forcing her to look up. "You're pathetic, Mizukage," she murmured, her voice low, almost tender, but laced with menace. "Your village is in ashes, your swordsmen are dead, and you? You're mine."
Mei clenched her teeth, her breath short. "Go to hell, monster. I won't break." Her voice trembled, but she spat the words with broken bravado.
Makima smirked, running a finger along Mei's jaw, then down her neck, brushing her skin. "Oh, you will. You'll beg, even." She grabbed a whip from the table, cracking it in the air, CRACK! Mei flinched, but her eyes remained fixed, defiant. Makima stepped closer, wrapping a red silk rope around Mei's neck, tightening it just enough to quicken her pulse. "Tell me, Mei, have you ever been at someone's mercy? Truly?"
Mei swallowed, her face flushing under the pressure. "You're sick. Just kill me and get it over with."
Makima tightened the rope, her lips brushing Mei's ear. "Kill you? No, darling. I'm going to break you, and you're going to love it." She stepped back, grabbing a feather from a drawer and running it along Mei's collarbone, then down her chest, eliciting an involuntary shiver. Mei bit her lip, holding back a moan, but her body betrayed her, her muscles tensing under the manacles.
The dungeon door creaked, and Mabui entered, her slender figure clad in black leather, her silver hair pulled into a tight bun. Her green eyes gleamed with devotion to Makima, and a cruel glint danced in her gaze. She wore a whip coiled at her waist and a leather collar around her neck, a sign of her submission to Makima. "Mistress," she whispered, bowing slightly. "Do you need me?"
Makima turned, a satisfied smile on her lips. "Mabui, my sweet. Come, show our Mizukage what she's going to become." She gestured for Mabui to approach, and she obeyed, her graceful steps contrasting with the oppressive atmosphere. Mei watched, her eyes widening slightly, a mix of anger, fear, and shock.
How had the Raikage's subordinate become so twisted?
Makima unstrapped Mei from the chair but kept her wrists manacled, forcing her to kneel on the cold floor. "Watch closely, Mei," she said, her voice commanding. She pulled Mabui against her, her hands sliding over the kunoichi's hips, then down her back, eliciting a sigh from Mabui. "She knows her place. You'll learn."
Mabui knelt before Makima, her hands brushing her mistress's thighs with almost religious reverence. Makima stroked her hair, then pulled it slightly, drawing a soft HMMM from Mabui. "Show her, Mabui. Show her what it means to obey." Mabui nodded, her lips brushing the leather of Makima's pants, her movements slow and deliberate, charged with controlled sensuality.
Mei, kneeling, growled, her cheeks burning. "This is disgusting. You're both twisted." But her voice lacked conviction, her eyes fixed on the scene, unable to look away. There was something strange—she thought a genjutsu was manipulating her reality, but it was just the power of control.
Makima smirked, releasing Mabui to stand. She guided Mabui to a suspended bar, binding her wrists with red ropes, leaving her hanging, vulnerable, yet consenting. "Disgusting? Wait until you see what's next, Mizukage."