The Traveling Pussy
folder
Naruto › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
30
Views:
2,823
Reviews:
84
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Naruto › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
30
Views:
2,823
Reviews:
84
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Naruto, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Kiba's Lesson
The Traveling Pussy by Hestia
Disclaimer: Everything Naruto is of course Masashi Kishimoto's. I've taken the liberty of inserting a slutty bottom looking for top into the world of Naruto.
Chapter 1: Kiba's Lesson
I was glad I was laying on my stomach as Kiba fucked me because it was easier to hide the fact that I was bored. I was really angry at myself. Kiba was an excellent fuck, no more than excellent, superb. The problem wasn’t Kiba, it was me. After the first few times, no matter how good it was, it just wasn’t the same for me. I was the traveling pussy for a reason—I couldn’t find what I wanted, so I kept looking for it. Normally, I would say I was looking for exactly what I was getting—a firm erect cock, not one that might just get too soft to stay in or let me move a lot. And the rhythm and energy of Kiba—none of that slowing just when I was getting into it, none of that pulling out and having to rest. And none of that coming before I was even fully wet. So here I was getting perfect, awesome sex. This was what I usually went crazy trying to get out of a guy. This is what I masturbated to in my mind. God Kiba really was big; this was starting to hurt a bit.
“This is the last time I’m ever going to do this to you, so try to stay awake for it,” growled out Kiba. The last time? Never again? Oh my god, and he’s perfect. I clenched around that huge cock tightening my muscles, trying to keep it inside me. But Kiba kept his perfect rhythm going. I couldn’t do anything to change it, neither slow it down or speed it up. Oh, god, I was helpless beneath him. And he was dumping me; I wasn’t pleasing him. I worked harder trying to capture and hold his cock, now desperate to feel this cock that didn’t want me, that wasn’t going to come back.
“You twisted little bitch,” said Kiba, “since this is the last time, I’m not holding anything back.” I moaned and twitched at that. The pace grew rougher and knowledge of Kiba’s anger pushed me right to the edge. I was contracting again and again, but not quite there where my body would just take over and go without me. Kiba suddenly bit the back of my neck hard, painfully hard. I screamed and started to cum.
“God damn, bitch,” he said, pounding into me, and my orgasm intensified even as I felt pain inside me. It hurt as he slammed into me, but I was cuming for him. He hated me, he was just going to dump his sperm into me, and I was not only cuming beneath him, I was moaning and begging for it. My body was out of my control, in that place where I couldn’t do anything but ride it out. My leg muscles were jumping, and I tried to hold back, afraid I would get a painful Charlie horse or muscle cramp. When I felt him cum, my body went insane. I really can’t describe it or even really remember it very well. I have trouble shutting off my mind during sex, but when Kiba came into me for the last time, I was communing with the universe on a primal level. It didn’t last, and I sort of realized I was still cuming a bit, contracting uncontrollably, then getting control, crying and panting and moaning. Surely this couldn’t be the last time, not when it had gotten so good? But Kiba pulled out and began immediately moving around to clean himself off and go. I wasn’t even good enough to make him tired out, I thought, and then gasped as my body started spasming again in one of those post-orgasm mini-orgasms that indicated I was still aroused and could go further. I burst into tears; I had a serious problem with sex.
When I had blown my nose about ten times and drunk a bottle of water, gone to the bathroom, and was flopped back on my bed, I heard Kiba come back into the bedroom. “Kiba?” I asked incredulously, “You’re staying?”
“No, no that was the last time. I’m not what you need, girl.”
“What do I need? I wish I knew—I hate myself, I don’t know why I can’t be normal!”
Kiba grinned at me, “Hey, normal is boring. But you’re not really into the sex unless it’s emotionally crazy, you seem to need some emotional pain to set you off.”
That sounded so right I thought in shock, just staring at Kiba. I tried to think of a way it couldn’t be true, but it did seem to perfectly fit my pattern of behavior. When I was just starting to have sex with a guy or the sex wasn’t working yet, I was so hot and horny. Once things started going smoothly, and the sex was going good, I lost interest. Then there would be fights and scenes, and I’d get interested again.
“I’m addicted to bad sex and bad relationships; I’m a total fuck up. You’re right, you’re too good in bed for me; that’s so awful!”
Kiba laughed, “You’re not into bad sex or bad relationships, honey, you’re a bottom looking for a top.”
“What?” I didn’t know what he was talking about.
“You get off on being helpless and humiliated—you’re a natural submissive. The problem is you’re also aggressive, strong, and scary which tends to make a guy want to avoid pissing you off. He wants you to be the top, to set the pace, and control things, but you get bored with control. Hell, you get bored pretty easily. If I keep sleeping with you, I’m going to get a complex—my god, for a while there, I thought you’d fallen asleep.”
“Oh, Kiba, I’m sorry, but, oh my god, you’re a genius—you’re probably right . . .” I broke off and tried to reexamine my sordid sexual past to see if it was true I was a “bottom”—a masochistic, submissive sort.
“Hey, well, it was fun while it lasted,” said Kiba coming over for one last kiss.
“You sure that’s the last time?” I asked wistfully.
“The thrill of the last time only works if it is the last time,” said Kiba. “Go for somebody you hate next time.”
“Fuck somebody I hate?” I gasped.
“Yea,” said Kiba, “I can smell you getting turned on just thinking of it. You’ll love it. You like me too much for us to work in bed, which I guess I’ll be happy with. So find someone you don’t like or don’t want. Or better yet, try an expert, go for Ibiki.”
I let out a little shriek at that and collapsed back on the bed. I watched Kiba leave, not caring any more. The thought of having sex with Morino Ibiki terrified me; he was THE torture specialist of Konoha. He had been through torture, and I could remember the one time I saw him with his head bare. His head was full of scars and holes, yes, holes! And he was supposedly even better at the psychological aspects of torture rather than the physical ones—oh, god, who could have sex with him? If he could take all that torture, what could possibly arouse him? And how helpless one would be with him! If he killed a lover, he’d probably be able to get away with it too. He was brilliant, a special jounin, and a master at manipulation, interrogation, and torture.
But he didn’t kill, that was his specialty: he kept folks alive and talking. If you wanted dead, there were other jounins who excelled at black ops, at those s-class missions that involved “wet work” or assassination. It was ridiculous to even think about any Konoha shinobi killing a lover by mistake. Even more ridiculous to think that someone like Ibiki would lose control no matter how mad you made him or how little you pleased him. He was always in control. If I followed Kiba’s advice, I didn’t have to worry about Ibiki killing me.
But Ibiki sort of made me think of death--and pain. I’d have to worry about pain. He was the maestro of pain. I pictured him in my head. He was a bit over six feet tall and a solid, strong man. He covered the horrible scars on the top of his head with a black scarf and forehead protector, but he didn’t hide the savage slices across his face from top to bottom. He had scared people to death, literally. There had been a story about a prisoner of war who had been one of the few people to die under Ibiki’s care without revealing his secrets. He’d had a heart attack, and when the medics came into revive him, he’d managed to suicide.
Yea, but a shinobi that wants to suicide, will suicide no matter what, so that really wasn’t Ibiki’s fault. So if even his prisoners lived, it would be safe to be his lover. Safe?? Oh, god, Kiba had done a number on me. Safe and Ibiki just didn’t go in the same sentence. But I couldn’t get Kiba’s suggestion out of my head. I felt myself start to quiver again, spurting out some of Kiba’s cum onto the bed. Normally, I hate lying in a mess of cum, but somehow now it seemed erotic, arousing. What would Ibiki say if he found his lover full of another man’s cum, leaking all over his sheets? Oh god, he’d definitely punish a lover who not only let another man cum in her, but spilled it out over the sheet with no control, no finesse. With a moan, I reached into my nightstand drawer for my vibrator, the big one. Oh, god, Kiba was a genius . . . Ibiki . . . Oh god . . . life was suddenly very, very interesting again.
*******
Disclaimer: Everything Naruto is of course Masashi Kishimoto's. I've taken the liberty of inserting a slutty bottom looking for top into the world of Naruto.
Chapter 1: Kiba's Lesson
I was glad I was laying on my stomach as Kiba fucked me because it was easier to hide the fact that I was bored. I was really angry at myself. Kiba was an excellent fuck, no more than excellent, superb. The problem wasn’t Kiba, it was me. After the first few times, no matter how good it was, it just wasn’t the same for me. I was the traveling pussy for a reason—I couldn’t find what I wanted, so I kept looking for it. Normally, I would say I was looking for exactly what I was getting—a firm erect cock, not one that might just get too soft to stay in or let me move a lot. And the rhythm and energy of Kiba—none of that slowing just when I was getting into it, none of that pulling out and having to rest. And none of that coming before I was even fully wet. So here I was getting perfect, awesome sex. This was what I usually went crazy trying to get out of a guy. This is what I masturbated to in my mind. God Kiba really was big; this was starting to hurt a bit.
“This is the last time I’m ever going to do this to you, so try to stay awake for it,” growled out Kiba. The last time? Never again? Oh my god, and he’s perfect. I clenched around that huge cock tightening my muscles, trying to keep it inside me. But Kiba kept his perfect rhythm going. I couldn’t do anything to change it, neither slow it down or speed it up. Oh, god, I was helpless beneath him. And he was dumping me; I wasn’t pleasing him. I worked harder trying to capture and hold his cock, now desperate to feel this cock that didn’t want me, that wasn’t going to come back.
“You twisted little bitch,” said Kiba, “since this is the last time, I’m not holding anything back.” I moaned and twitched at that. The pace grew rougher and knowledge of Kiba’s anger pushed me right to the edge. I was contracting again and again, but not quite there where my body would just take over and go without me. Kiba suddenly bit the back of my neck hard, painfully hard. I screamed and started to cum.
“God damn, bitch,” he said, pounding into me, and my orgasm intensified even as I felt pain inside me. It hurt as he slammed into me, but I was cuming for him. He hated me, he was just going to dump his sperm into me, and I was not only cuming beneath him, I was moaning and begging for it. My body was out of my control, in that place where I couldn’t do anything but ride it out. My leg muscles were jumping, and I tried to hold back, afraid I would get a painful Charlie horse or muscle cramp. When I felt him cum, my body went insane. I really can’t describe it or even really remember it very well. I have trouble shutting off my mind during sex, but when Kiba came into me for the last time, I was communing with the universe on a primal level. It didn’t last, and I sort of realized I was still cuming a bit, contracting uncontrollably, then getting control, crying and panting and moaning. Surely this couldn’t be the last time, not when it had gotten so good? But Kiba pulled out and began immediately moving around to clean himself off and go. I wasn’t even good enough to make him tired out, I thought, and then gasped as my body started spasming again in one of those post-orgasm mini-orgasms that indicated I was still aroused and could go further. I burst into tears; I had a serious problem with sex.
When I had blown my nose about ten times and drunk a bottle of water, gone to the bathroom, and was flopped back on my bed, I heard Kiba come back into the bedroom. “Kiba?” I asked incredulously, “You’re staying?”
“No, no that was the last time. I’m not what you need, girl.”
“What do I need? I wish I knew—I hate myself, I don’t know why I can’t be normal!”
Kiba grinned at me, “Hey, normal is boring. But you’re not really into the sex unless it’s emotionally crazy, you seem to need some emotional pain to set you off.”
That sounded so right I thought in shock, just staring at Kiba. I tried to think of a way it couldn’t be true, but it did seem to perfectly fit my pattern of behavior. When I was just starting to have sex with a guy or the sex wasn’t working yet, I was so hot and horny. Once things started going smoothly, and the sex was going good, I lost interest. Then there would be fights and scenes, and I’d get interested again.
“I’m addicted to bad sex and bad relationships; I’m a total fuck up. You’re right, you’re too good in bed for me; that’s so awful!”
Kiba laughed, “You’re not into bad sex or bad relationships, honey, you’re a bottom looking for a top.”
“What?” I didn’t know what he was talking about.
“You get off on being helpless and humiliated—you’re a natural submissive. The problem is you’re also aggressive, strong, and scary which tends to make a guy want to avoid pissing you off. He wants you to be the top, to set the pace, and control things, but you get bored with control. Hell, you get bored pretty easily. If I keep sleeping with you, I’m going to get a complex—my god, for a while there, I thought you’d fallen asleep.”
“Oh, Kiba, I’m sorry, but, oh my god, you’re a genius—you’re probably right . . .” I broke off and tried to reexamine my sordid sexual past to see if it was true I was a “bottom”—a masochistic, submissive sort.
“Hey, well, it was fun while it lasted,” said Kiba coming over for one last kiss.
“You sure that’s the last time?” I asked wistfully.
“The thrill of the last time only works if it is the last time,” said Kiba. “Go for somebody you hate next time.”
“Fuck somebody I hate?” I gasped.
“Yea,” said Kiba, “I can smell you getting turned on just thinking of it. You’ll love it. You like me too much for us to work in bed, which I guess I’ll be happy with. So find someone you don’t like or don’t want. Or better yet, try an expert, go for Ibiki.”
I let out a little shriek at that and collapsed back on the bed. I watched Kiba leave, not caring any more. The thought of having sex with Morino Ibiki terrified me; he was THE torture specialist of Konoha. He had been through torture, and I could remember the one time I saw him with his head bare. His head was full of scars and holes, yes, holes! And he was supposedly even better at the psychological aspects of torture rather than the physical ones—oh, god, who could have sex with him? If he could take all that torture, what could possibly arouse him? And how helpless one would be with him! If he killed a lover, he’d probably be able to get away with it too. He was brilliant, a special jounin, and a master at manipulation, interrogation, and torture.
But he didn’t kill, that was his specialty: he kept folks alive and talking. If you wanted dead, there were other jounins who excelled at black ops, at those s-class missions that involved “wet work” or assassination. It was ridiculous to even think about any Konoha shinobi killing a lover by mistake. Even more ridiculous to think that someone like Ibiki would lose control no matter how mad you made him or how little you pleased him. He was always in control. If I followed Kiba’s advice, I didn’t have to worry about Ibiki killing me.
But Ibiki sort of made me think of death--and pain. I’d have to worry about pain. He was the maestro of pain. I pictured him in my head. He was a bit over six feet tall and a solid, strong man. He covered the horrible scars on the top of his head with a black scarf and forehead protector, but he didn’t hide the savage slices across his face from top to bottom. He had scared people to death, literally. There had been a story about a prisoner of war who had been one of the few people to die under Ibiki’s care without revealing his secrets. He’d had a heart attack, and when the medics came into revive him, he’d managed to suicide.
Yea, but a shinobi that wants to suicide, will suicide no matter what, so that really wasn’t Ibiki’s fault. So if even his prisoners lived, it would be safe to be his lover. Safe?? Oh, god, Kiba had done a number on me. Safe and Ibiki just didn’t go in the same sentence. But I couldn’t get Kiba’s suggestion out of my head. I felt myself start to quiver again, spurting out some of Kiba’s cum onto the bed. Normally, I hate lying in a mess of cum, but somehow now it seemed erotic, arousing. What would Ibiki say if he found his lover full of another man’s cum, leaking all over his sheets? Oh god, he’d definitely punish a lover who not only let another man cum in her, but spilled it out over the sheet with no control, no finesse. With a moan, I reached into my nightstand drawer for my vibrator, the big one. Oh, god, Kiba was a genius . . . Ibiki . . . Oh god . . . life was suddenly very, very interesting again.
*******