D/s Naruto

A/N: Thanks DuosAngel (I typed Angle first, which given my point made me laugh) for finding the typos! And thanks Waru for my first review on this chapter and such a nice one! I love the yaoi, Waru, by the way! Oh, and if you are wondering, Chapter 72 is set at the Hyuuga office building because Neji's got to go to work on Monday.

Thanks for all the hits, the high votes, and the reviews!! You folks motivate me to write for you, cause I'm finding that having free time in the summer means paradoxically I'm getting less and less done, not more. Also I'm a big Tour de France fan, and I always waste hours and hours in July on OLN/VS. But frankly, I'm so bummed over the Tour today, I wrote this instead--so who says no good comes out of sports stars cheating and breaking our hearts?

Hmmm, if I ever get this past June in this (dear god, what would July be, Chapter 400?) maybe I'll have someone be a tour fan--Naruto? Deidara, just cause he seems like he could be French--art is a bang, I don't know, I can see some guy smoking in a cafe with a beret saying that . . .

Yours,
Hestia

ps. the cat still has the "mass" in his belly, new operation date is in the first week of Aug. He has pancreitis?? (no idea how to spell that) and a hardened upper left ventricle of the heart. Damn, my cat has a hard heart--no wonder he can sneer so well. Cats, btw, are all into D/s--the Dom is the cat who sits in the highest position. And my guy is a DOM par excellance! (He's got a blog--blog.huskercat.com--and a webpage, huskercat.com).

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Chapter 71 (Sunday 18 June 2007, afternoon)

Shino was washing dishes in the kitchen, the kitchen where he’d first been fucked, the kitchen where he’d had some incredible sex yesterday, but all he could think of was Gaara and his slave. He’d seen the whip marks on Shikamaru’s shoulders, seen the too red, swollen look of Shikamaru’s anus when he’d bent over to pick up some ice he’d dropped in the kitchen. But the slave was happy, very happy. Could he be happy being a slave? His fantasy of living here as Kankurou’s slave that he had this morning came back to him. Would Kankurou ever look at him the way Gaara looked at his slave? Shino thought about that as he watched the dishwater swirl out of the sink.

Suddenly he knew that Kankurou was watching him, could feel his eyes on him. His cock stiffened and the tip hit the cupboard. Shino suddenly wondered how it would feel to stand up with that sound in his cock. Shino bent forward a little, and one hand slid down to his cock and stroked.

“Did I give you permission to do that, pet?”

Oh, god, his voice, that voice that had penetrated his drunkenness on Saturday night, that voice that had seduced him in the Hummer, that voice that urged him to go wild—he could probably come from just listening to that voice talk dirty to him and not touching himself. Shino stroked himself harder, not answering Kankurou.

“You will stop, or I will call a cab and you will leave now,” said Kankurou in a voice that suddenly seemed flat, dull, distant. Shino’s hand froze. He hadn’t really made a conscious decision to be disobedient; he just wanted to get Kankurou’s attention, and it had felt so good. He didn’t want to leave; he didn’t want to go back to feeling dead, lonely, and sad.

“There is some ginger root in the refrigerator, do you know what I want you to do with that, pet?” asked Kankurou, the seductive note back in this voice.

Shino shivered, both horrified and excited. “Yes, master,” he said, his voice quivering. He’d heard of it—figging, putting ginger root plugs in the body to create a burning sensation, but it wasn’t a dog thing. Did he really want to do this? Did he want to go home? Even as he pondered that, he was going to the refrigerator, looking for the ginger root, pulling it out, turning to the island in the center of the kitchen. No, there wasn’t anything at home. But what if he couldn’t take this? Didn’t some people really suffer from this? But it couldn’t be worse than getting a tattoo, could it? But he’d not gotten a tattoo in his ass, had he? Yes, but wasn’t this how he always felt as he planned more and more elaborate tattoos? Wasn’t this what he what he was always seeking when he swam and swam or went under the needle again and again—to feel so much he couldn’t think, couldn’t remember, couldn’t care if he passed out or died. Shino thought about that as he carefully cut the ginger root to be smooth, taking off the top layer. But swimming and tattooing don’t involve your heart, said a little voice of protest in his mind. Oh, god, the plug was ready—it was too soon. The buttplug of ginger was ready before he was, and his body started to quiver, the muscles in his ass and chest tightening and releasing.

“Are you scared, pet?” said that intoxicating voice.

“Yes,” popped out of Shino’s mouth, surprising him not because it was true, but because he’d said it. “Yes, Master, I am.” And not of what happens to my body, but what might happen to my heart, he thought.

“What are your safewords, pet?”

And suddenly the fear was gone, replaced with a feeling of trust and something deeper, richer, so sudden, so strong, that Shino’s hands trembled and he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. He could be this man’s slave, he wanted to be this man’s slave, to hear that voice day and night, to--

“Your word to stop what I am doing is yellow, to stop the session is red,” said Kankurou softly, now standing very close to him, so close Shino could see that big, strong hand of his, that hand that made his look small, delicate, that hand that made him feel so alive and so sexy. “What are your safewords, pet?”

“Yellow and red, Master,” said Shino as he picked up the ginger plug he’d formed and dropped down to the floor, kneeling, holding up the root, “I’m sorry for touching myself, Master. I was thinking of how that sound would feel when I was standing, and it excited me. Please, Master, punish me, teach me how to be your sub, train me.” And as he said it, he accepted it, accepted that it was true, that this was what he wanted—the chance for something like Gaara and Shikamaru had, the chance for a new love, a new life, a new sexual adventure that would take him places he was only beginning to imagine.

Now it was Kankurou’s turn to feel overwhelmed—this beautiful, gorgeous creature had tears in his eyes and was trembling with fear, yet he was kneeling, wanting to be his sub, his trainee. His. And so sensual, so meant to be a sub that he was masturbating thinking of that sound penetrating deep in his cock, wanting it inside him, stretching and filling him. And he would get it, oh, yes, he would. “Very pretty, pet,” he said, “but you need lots of training if you want to be my sub. If you want to wear my training collar, you’ll need sign a contract for quite a long time. You think about that tomorrow when you don’t have a collar on your neck, but for now you are wearing a collar, and when you do, you don’t touch yourself unless I order it. Now put that in your ass and crawl down to the playroom for your punishment.”

“Yes, Master,” said Shino, feeling such a rush of emotions he couldn’t make sense of them, and even better, he didn’t want to—he didn’t have to worry about what he felt, he just had to obey. Suddenly it all seemed so simple—there was no future, no past, just now. He had nothing to do but obey, obey like he wanted to, love like he wanted to, to just feel, feel honestly. Kankurou would take care of the rest. Shino lowered the ginger down and raised his bowed head. Spreading his knees, he reached down between his legs and forced the plug inside himself, without any lube or preparation. It was as wide as two fingers, and it took him a while to get it in. When it was in, it was still a little cold from the refrigerator, not burning, not tingling at all—yet.

But his butt suddenly panicked, spasming, pushing it out, and he had to reach down to hold it in until he got control of his muscles. He must hold it in to please Master. He was being punished, punished like a bad little pet, and oh, he was bad because he was loving this punishment, loving feeling Master’s eyes on him, seeing Master’s cock already hard as he finally had the plug held securely in his ass. He was Master’s pet, and his body was only for Master to pet, not him. As Shino crawled down the hall, he could feel the burning starting—a good burn, a burn that made him want to feel more. By the time he reached the playroom, his ass was tingling pleasantly—oh god, it made him wanted to feel Kankurou in him, fucking him, fucking him hard, taking that tingling to an orgasm, to satiation. He paused at the door to playroom, waiting for further orders.

“No, go on to the bedroom,” ordered Kankurou, “Get the box of sounds, pet, and then back to the playroom on your knees.”

Shino heart leap up at that command—oh, god, this burn and the feeling of the sound together—oh, my god, just thinking about it was so exciting that he was starting to drip. He crawled down to the bedroom, conscious of the plug, conscious of Kankurou close behind him, memories of how good it feel to be held right on the edge by him, Master’s cockring around him, unable to come and needing it so badly that when Master took off the cockring, the orgasm had left him unable to move, completely spent. He’d often tried to reach that place by exercise, but reaching it by sex—it was so much better.

The burning from the little plug was increasing, sort of how Master’s paddling had made his asscheeks burn more and more, making it hard to focus on anything but his ass, making it harder to crawl, putting him on the edge of coming. When he had to lean over the bed to get the box, the thought of that metal sliding into his cock with this burning itch for cock in his ass, this burning that was growing, oh, god, that thought was so exciting that he was afraid if his cock touched the bed he’d come. He made sure to avoid that, focusing on holding in, on submitting. Maybe the sounds were for Master. Oh, god, when Master had pushed into his ass with that big ball on the end of the sound in his cock—dear, god, how was this going to be punishment? Master knew that Shino wanted to feel that metal wand in him again; he’d told Master that was why he had stroked himself. So maybe this was just to make him suffer, to think he would get that metal in him, but he wouldn’t—but, oh god, it wasn’t as if he needed more than this plug of ginger for pleasure or pain—the burn was growing even more, as intense as the burn from a hard paddling.

Oh, no! Moving on his knees made it harder to hold the plug in. He needed to clench, which made the burning increase even more. Oh, he needed fucked or at least paddled. The burn of the paddle would distract him from this burn—no, no, what was he thinking—then he’d just burn on his butt and in his ass, burn with need, with want. Oh, god, six more feet, six more feet of this, no, four, no, oh god, so much more intense, two feet, one foot, here.

By the time, Master put his ankles and wrists into cuffs, slowly, carefully, he was crying softly, tears running down his face, his body shaking. His asshole was on fire, desperate for anything that would bring some relief. His ankles were spread wide, obscenely wide with a long spreader bar. Then Kankurou hooked the wrist restraints on to the chains from the ceiling, pulling them up, so he was on his tiptoes. This was the position that bad subs were put in for beatings, for long ones. He had to hold the plug in, to take what Master did, to please Master, Master with the magic voice, magic mouth, magic hands, magic cock. Master that wanted him, used him, and then held him. Master—oh, god, his hands were on the plug in his ass! Master pulled the ginger root out and pushed it back in sharply—and it was too much, oh, god, too much—he was going to come, he had to hold back.

“Master! I’m close! Please, I can’t hold back!” And the burning, stinging plug was driven in and out, rough on his unlubed asshole, and he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t hold—“Master! Master!”

He was coming, sobbing, hanging by his wrists, his footing lost, the weight of the heavy spreader bar pulling him down painfully, and still Master was fucking his ass with that torturous thing. And then as one last deep burst of cum shot from him, he found the words—“Sorry, so sorry, Master. Please, please, don’t send me away, please, give me another chance, I, I, please, can’t, I—“ He broke off, overwhelmed, sobbing, sobbing like he hadn’t sobbed in years.

Kankurou stopped playing with the ginger root plug, moving around to look at Shino’s face, Shino’s heavy crying. Oh, this amazing man—so strong, so silent, so sexy, hanging here and sobbing for him, aching for him, coming for him. He wanted nothing more than to kiss him, to hold him, to love him—dear god, he was falling in love! And he couldn’t let himself just comfort, just stoke, just hold—he was a dom and had a dom’s responsibilities. And this was an important scene, maybe the most important scene he’d ever done. He needed to push Shino farther, to take him to his safe word or to subspace, to dominate him—oh, god, those tears, that pain, so perfect!

He slapped Shino, not hard enough to cut his mouth or knock loose teeth, but hard enough to shock him into silence and to make him pull himself back on to his tiptoes. “Listen to me, pet. You came because you aren’t trained. You tried to hold back, you warned me, and that pleases me. This is what I want from you. I want you to show me how you feel, honestly. You can cry, you can scream, you can pee or shit yourself, you can come. But you are not to resist anything I do. If you can’t take it, you use your words. You are to thank me, thank me repeatedly, and tell me how your punishment makes you feel. I don’t want you silent. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master! Oh, god, thank you! Thank you! Thank you for the burning, thank you for the permission, thank you for the restraints! Thank you for your voice, for the collar! It’s burning, Master, so intense, so hot, my asshole is on fire, Master. Ohhhh, god, Master--”

Shino’s speech ended in a whimper as Kankurou had the metal sound from this morning in his hands. The sight of those big hands, football player hands, holding that metal tube with the ring around it above that thick, thick cock of Kankurou’s made Shino hard again. And then the metal wand was sliding in his urethra, lubed with his own cum, and he was moaning, thanking Master, telling him how good it felt—and the tight ring at last went over the edge of his cockhead, and it was in, all the way in.

“So good, Master, so good, thank you, oh, Master, thank—“

Crack!

The blow of the paddle on his right asscheek was intense, sharp, overriding the feelings in his ass and cock. He couldn’t speak for a moment and then cried out his thanks, but the second and third blows came so fast, so painfully, he had to struggle to stand and couldn’t talk again. The fourth blow landed right over the plug, and he cried with the pain. Now as the blows fell, he couldn’t help but clench around the ginger, making the burn so savage now it was agony. And he was burning on his ass and in his ass. And the blows kept coming. He struggled to thank Master, to stay on his toes. The blows moved down his thighs, terrifying him with how close they were to his balls.

Crack!

Pain—stars—dizziness—the paddle had hit his right ball, and he was dying. He was going to black out—no, no, the blows were moving up, up to the most padded part of his ass, and he would survive. But just as he was feeling he could bear it, the paddle moved higher to the top of his ass where there was less muscle, where it hurt more—now back down, just over the plug—

He sobbed wildly, shaking, and became incoherent—and then the words started.

“So gorgeous when you cry for me (crack!), when your body arches for me (crack!), when your cock and balls shake like that (crack!) Your beautiful, decorated skin moves for me (crack!), your creatures are dancing (crack!), walking over your body, slithering up and down (crack!) Those bugs crawl over you, binding you tighter than I have (crack!) So fucking hot (crack! crack!), so fucking beautiful the way you take each blow (crack!), god, to hear you cry (crack!), to see your skin darken (crack!), those arm muscles, those legs (crack!), to see—“

And shuddering, sobbing, Shino came again, the cum spurting out through the metal tube in a wild arc as once more he couldn’t hold his footing and swung on the chains. He was swinging, swinging, floating, spraying, shooting his cum—

Master, Master’s words flowed over him, praising him, caressing him, and his bugs were moving over him, making every bit of his body tingle—

And then his cock, his cock was extending, lengthening—oh, no, it was just Master putting that heavy ball on the end of the sound, making his cock drag down with the weight, swing, swing like a heavy clock pendulum, oh, god, so good, swing, his cock was swinging, his balls were swinging, he was swinging, floating, burning, beyond burning, melting, and the heat was making the bugs move faster over his skin—

And the plug was gone, and he flew down, down towards the floor, and the chains were swaying and clanking, and Master was fingering him, stretching him, fucking him, fucking him without lube to take away the burn of ginger, fucking him, fighting his body to force himself in, roughly, painfully, but with a pain that was also pleasure. He wanted this, he needed this, this fucking that was taking away the burn, that was splitting him wide, that was pounding him, claiming him, spearing him. Master—oh Master, he was everywhere, in him, on him, his fingers in his hair, on his nipples, oh god, not his nipples too—but yes, yes, they were Master’s, Master’s to pinch and pluck, just as Master was fucking him, fucking him hard and deep, his body spread, stretched, straining—the rod of metal in his cock, the rod of flesh in his ass slamming into his prostate, the heavy pull of the ball on his cock, the heavy fullness of his balls that should be empty, should be dry. The burn, the burn everywhere, the tingle everywhere, Master’s words, Master’s touch, Master fucking, fucking him—everything all at once—

Coming, coming, flying, swaying, his cock exploding, blasting, and shouting, shouting, noise, sparkles, the wall of the playroom out of focus, the walls whirling, his body swinging, and he was being filled, filled, filled, filled with cock, filled with cum, filled with warmth, with happiness, with completeness, with love. Full, full, perfect, full, Master all around him, holding him, in him, over him, flesh over flesh, skin on skin—plummeting, falling, his ankles spread so wide sliding back from him, all his weight on his wrists, his arms, hanging, Master’s weight on him, no--off him, just hanging, no--lifted, supported, held—and dripping, sloshing, Master’s cum in his ass splashing down, slipping out, spilling out, bursting out of his still-hot, still-tingling, still-stinging ass, the coolness, the wetness slipping away, so he was empty, burning again. And that emptiness, even as he felt Master’s arms around him, made him cry out, “Master! Master! Please! Please!”

But then Master was spanking him, angry, and he found his voice, and thanked him, thanked him for the pleasure and the pain, the paddling and the fucking, the orgasms, the sperm in his ass, the burning, burning from the ginger, from the paddling, from the spanking, the weight of sound with its heavy ball, the pinches of his nipples, the way he was spread, chained, hung, helpless, the way Master talked to him, touched him, beat him, fucked him, Master’s cock, Master’s fingers, Master’s touch . . .

And at some point the spanking stopped, and he was being fucked again, fucked with cum as a lube, and the burning was fading, just a pleasant tingle, just a warmth, a hotness that was good, oh so good—and Master was once more thrusting in, driving him, filling him—and he begged, begged for him to come in him again, to fill his ass once more, to thrust a plug in him afterwards so he could feel the cum in him, coating him, soothing him, reminding him he was just a fuckhole, a bitch, Master’s bitch, so lucky, so happy, he wanted to serve Master, to lick him, to suck him, to kiss him, to give him everything, everything because he loved Master, he loved him, he loved him—

Master screamed and came, came hard, came long, filling, filling, oh, full, full. So full that when Master’s cock slid out, the cum was spilling down his legs immediately—but then, it was his turn to scream as a huge buttplug filled him—its widest part much wider than Master’s cock, stretching him unbearably as it slid in, then relief as it cleared his anus, resting with its tip as deep as Kankurou’s cock or maybe deeper—he couldn’t tell, but he felt even fuller. And the chains were being pulled up, up, up, and he was once more on his tiptoes. And his mouth was dry, so dry it hurt to talk, but he had to thank Master, and he did, for he loved Master, oh, god, he loved him. And he would do anything for him, anything, if he could just stop sinking, sinking. And he couldn’t keep his eyes open, they were heavy, everything was heavy—his tongue was dry and heavy in his mouth, his weight was pulling down his arms, the heavy bar on his ankles seemed to weigh more, the plug and the cum were heavy in his sore, burning ass, and that the heavy metal wand with the ball on it was pulling his cock down. Yes everything was going down, he was sliding down—no, no, he was hanging here in the playroom, not sliding anywhere—but his senses were telling him he was falling, the way when you are drunk you know you aren’t spinning, but you are.

Kankurou sat on the spanking bench against the wall in front of Shino, his chest rising and falling. The sight in front of him seemed unreal, unbelievable: that muscled, tattooed body hanging exhausted, dried tears and drying cum on it, stuffed front and back, helpless, completely spent, completely submissive. This was the dom Professor Shino Aburame, the one who had all the subs at Uchiha’s wanting to be his pup, his boy. And he was Kankurou’s—body and heart. This beautiful thing had said he loved him, cried it out, again and again. And this was it, this was love, the real thing. And he couldn’t hold back anymore, he had to kiss him, to hold him. He released the ceiling chains one last time, and Shino swayed wildly, unable to support himself, crying out in shock.

“Oh, boy, my boy, my beautiful boy, my darling boy, my precious pet!” The words were coming out, out of his control, as he unhooked the wrist cuffs and lowered Shino to the floor so he could undo the cuffs on his ankles, remove that spreader bar that was now in the way. And then he was lying on the floor, the cold tile floor with the drain in the center, not caring how hard it was, needing to press his body to Shino’s, to kiss him, to love him with lips, with tongue, with words, with his hands.

“I’ll train you, my pet, I’ll treasure you, I’ll care for you, boy,” he said between kisses. But he was too much of a dom to be entirely full of soft words, and now he was whispering in Shino’s ear how he would take care to train Shino’s ass to take his cock without stretching, to take his fist, his arm, to crave cock even more than it already did. He would train Shino’s nipples to take clamps, weighted clamps, train them so they would long for the clamps, for the weight, so he would want them pierced, want to feel them ringed—and then Kankurou’s head lowered to those nipples, biting and sucking, pinching. And Shino, his Shino, his slutty little sub was hard again, panting, whimpering.

But he begged for a drink, not for Master’s cock or Master’s touch, and Kankurou lost a little control and knelt around Shino’s head, pushing his ass down on Shino’s eyes, thrusting his cock into Shino’s mouth, moving and shifting until he could drive into that wetness. His cock was too thick for anything but the cockhead to fit down a throat, but he pushed in and out, his face now down by Shino’s cock around the sound. He suddenly had to see Shino’s cockhead. He pulled out of his boy’s mouth, just leaving his cockhead inside his boy’s lips, and twisted off that ball, wanting to see the tip of that cock with the metal tube in it, to see if it was dripping. And when the ball came off, he could see it was leaking, and even more arousingly, he could feel Shino sucking on him, responding, trying to pleasure him—returning his cruelty with submission, with devotion. Shino’s hands were around the base of his cock, on his balls. He lowered his head and sucked the tip of Shino’s cock, metal and all, and felt Shino go wild beneath him—sucking harder, his tongue thrashing around, his hands moving faster, his body arching up. He felt his balls tighten and knew he was going to come one more time. He fisted Shino’s cock, sucked hard, and tasted his cum, drank it down. Now, now, he could go—he thrust down hard—just once—and released.

The orgasm was even more violent, more intense than when he’d been thrusting in his boy’s tight ass, and he knew suddenly he’d pushed himself too far. He pulled off Shino and collapsed against him on the cold tile, unable to move. He heard Shino making gurgling noises, felt him roll towards him, felt a damp stickiness on his thigh that had to be some of his cum spilling out of Shino’s mouth. But then there was the warm weight of Shino pillowing his head on his thigh and one arm resting over his belly. Kankurou lay on his back, unable to move, unable to talk. They lay there, silent, warm flesh against warm flesh with cold tile under their bodies. Shino let out a soft snore, and Kankurou tried to force himself to sit up, to be a responsible dom, to give his sub aftercare. For a moment, he thought he had gotten up and was carrying Shino to the bathroom, but the soft whir of the central air conditioning starting up woke him, and he wasn’t in the bathroom, he was still on the tile floor of the playroom on his back with his right arm between Shino’s legs, his hand resting on that incredible ass.

“Shino?”

There was no answer.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I just can’t move yet. But I’ll make it up to you, love, I promise.” And Kankurou’s voice fell silent as he slid into sleep. But in his dreams he kept whispering to Shino all the things he would do, making promises. And Shino whispered back to him. When he woke a little later, the dream slipped away as he lost himself in running his fingers over Shino’s tattoos, over that shockingly built body that could have stepped out of a fitness magazine. He carried Shino to the kitchen, pulling a bottle of cold water from the refrigerator, accidentally waking him as he shifted him in his arms.

“Shhh, baby, I got you, and I have a drink for you." He sat on the chair, the very chair they had first made love on, and held the bottle to Shino’s mouth, letting him drink his fill, whispering although there was no reason to, no need to. “Drink up, beautiful, as much as you want. Do you want something else to drink instead, sexy boy? Food? Bathroom?”

But Shino shook his head and then pushed it into Kankurou’s chest, clinging tightly. “You don’t have to talk any more, baby, but if you want something, anything, just ask,” said Kankurou before sipping a little of Shino’s water, then setting it on the table, and wrapping that arm around Shino. His lips kissed Shino’s temple, his forehead, and then his mouth, this time softly, gently, then more intently and passionately. He broke the kiss and cursed, and Shino let out a cry of pain, which made him curse again, saying, “Dammit, I’m not a lover, I’m your master. I can’t kiss you for more than a few minutes without wanting to fuck you. Feel me, feel my cock, feel what you do to me—“

“Master, fuck me, fuck me, I want to please you, I want your kiss, I love you,” cried Shino, his cock too filling with blood.

“Ah, fuck, boy, I was going to pamper you, wash you, feed you—now I’m going to fuck you like a savage!”

But Shino was already moaning, licking and kissing Kankurou’s neck, his one hand finding and stroking Kankurou’s cock. Kankurou stood and half dropped, half pushed Shino down on the kitchen table, pulling his legs up on his shoulder, and jerking out the buttplug. His cock slid in Shino’s stretched and wet asshole—oh, fuck, yes! Aftercare be damned—there was still fucking to be done. But as he thrust in again and again, he had the feeling he would never be done with fucking Shino—not in an hour, not in three or four, not tonight, not tomorrow, not in a week, a month, a year, two year, four years, a decade. Fuck! So perfect! So tight!

“Master!”

Oh, dammit, he might just need a lifetime—or two. For a lifetime of fucking Shino, he’d give up heaven without hesitation.

Shino screamed as Kankurou began to slam in harder, faster.

Paradise, this was fucking paradise.