Catch and Release

AN: I got a sudden craving for some domme!Sakura fic, but couldn't find any. (Actually any female/Naruto would have been fine.) So I whipped this up real quick. It's mostly just to satisfy my bondage craving so if you're not big into that, at least you've been warned. Also, I ran out of steam before I got to the smut, so uh lemon next chapter if anyone wants to read it... >_>


“Naruto, you dumbass!”

The familiar words were quickly followed by a punch to the gut, and he doubled over in agony.

“Sa-Sakura-chan.” He could barely gasp over the pain as she slung him over her shoulder, effortlessly. He felt drained and pathetic, limp as a rag doll under the sheer force of her fury and strength. He let her carry him a few feet with only a grunt to indicate his discomfort before she roughly deposited him on the grass and forced him onto his stomach. After all, how could he resist against the girl he loved and lusted after? But mostly because struggling usually made it worse.

He wasn't exactly sure what he'd done this time, only that there was a sixty percent chance he deserved it. He hadn't even had a chance to properly tease her, which worried him.

“Sakura-chan?” His voice lilted in his uncertainty as she secured his wrists together with tight cinches and fast, hard jerks. It felt complicated. And effective.

It wasn't that he didn't trust her, or that he was afraid (except for that one time when her face turned so purple that he thought she might actually kill him)—he was used to bearing the brunt of her anger, he was used to being punched a lot—it's just that she didn't normally take it farther than that. Didn't normally, meaning before a couple months ago.

The first time, he'd made an off-hand comment about her hips compared to Tenten's and then at the realization, stupidly tried to run. (In his defense it had been meant as a compliment, mostly. After all he liked them.) But he hadn't gotten far before he was sputtering around a mouthful of dirt and being strung up by his toes so fast it made him dizzy and his skin burn. After her anger resided, she'd laughed at his wild attempts to wriggle free and teased him that he was lucky she hadn't strung him up by something else, causing his face to burn for entirely different reasons. She'd finally let him down—none too gently—after he complained about the blood rushing to his head and an exaggerated anxiety of passing out.

The second time, she'd sloppily laced his hands behind his neck to keep him from flailing his arms after he tried to fight her off while she dunked him face-first into the river. He'd been choking on laughter and water when he noticed the seductive pout to her lips as she half-smiled at him, and he was suddenly all too aware that they'd both gotten drenched.

After that the incidents increased to where he was beginning to wonder if he could do little besides constantly antagonize her. It was almost as if he couldn't help himself. I'm sorry. It had actually slipped out last time when she'd finished binding him to the tree and stepped in front of him with a look that indicated she was about to show him the true meaning of pain. He'd looked away, embarrassed at having ruined the game (that's what it was now after all, him feigning ignorance about purposely provoking her and her overly punishing him for the annoyance, right?), and she only whispered in his ear, No harm, no foul. What exactly did that mean? He couldn't explain the disappointment he felt at having gotten off so easily. It made no sense, but he'd felt restless for a long while that night.

When she failed to respond to his implied question, he offered in a more noticeable whine, “It kinda hurts. . .”

He expected her to quip how much more it was about to, but instead she just huffed a “Suck it up.” He would have protested further (and louder), but surprised, he realized that she'd slowed her motions, noticeably gentler as she looped and pulled the rope into an intricate lattice up his arms.

He still felt speechless, nearly breathless as she rolled him over and straddled his hips.

“I've got some questions for you.” Her expression was stern, distracting.

“W-what?”

She reached for the front of his jacket collar, brushing her fingertips across his throat as she slid the zipper down slowly. He looked down to the space of his still-clothed chest, somehow feeling exposed beneath the gaping jacket and then to the slit of tan skin above his hip bone where her thighs bunched his t-shirt.

With his eyes still resting on her thighs, he mumbled, “About what?”

“Did you talk about me to Lee-san recently?”

“Ah.” For as much as Bushy-brows liked to ramble about fairness and the purity of one's earnest, determined effort in a fight, sometimes he inadvertently pulled underhanded tricks. Like blabbing to Sakura-chan about their 'contest' regarding her underwear. Considering the situation, she suddenly didn't seem angry enough. For which he was both relieved and worried. “You're not going to believe me, but I didn't come up with the idea.”

“Enlighten me.”

The relief was short lived. He felt his eyes widen slightly as she pushed up his undershirt.

He squirmed, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in his compromised position—with Sakura-chan he felt a lot of things but vulnerable wasn't usually one of them. “S-Sa—” He swallowed thickly, trying to think of what to say.

“Hmm?” She slid a palm up, over his ribs and brushed her fingers under the fabric of his shirt where it still covered his chest before gliding them back down to graze across the slowly surfacing seal on his stomach.

“Did Tsunade-baa-chan tell you to learn Hojoujutsu? 'Cause if you need to practice on someone, you know you don't have to make excuses with me, Sakura-chan.”

He tried to laugh, but her fingers kept tracing the darkening marks on his skin. He felt his face flush even as he tried not to become aroused. God, if she realized, he could only imagine the beating.

“I'm not practicing military rope-work, Naruto.”

He did laugh then, weakly and wriggled a little to prove his point. “Could have fooled me.”

“Lee-san says he's going to wait forever if he has to in order to earn my 'most precious and personal possessions'. You were going to steal a pair, weren't you?”

“No!” She knew him too well. “I so was not going to do that, Sakura-chan.”

She reached under his shirt again and pinched a nipple, hard.

“Ow, ow, okay. Okay.” He writhed under the pain, causing her to ride his hips, one hand gripping his shoulder in order to keep him pinned down. “Stop, I'll confess.” But it felt good too, and he had to bite back a moan. He never imagined Sakura-chan would touch him there, even if it was under the guise of torture.

“Confess.” This was the part where normally she'd laugh and tease him before letting him go, but instead she leaned closer, face serious as she said, “I want to hear it.”

For a second he had the urge to refuse out of spite, but he mostly felt confused so he explained, “It's not like I could get them any other way.” And for some reason he felt the need to clarify so he added, “But I wasn't seriously going to. I swear.”

“Really?”

“Sakura-chan, you know I-I wouldn't—” She was rubbing her fingertips across his nipple, scraping her nails lightly across the skin. Was she thinking about pinching him again? “I promise, I'm telling the truth.” The thought of her continued 'torture' nearly made him desperate. He shuddered at the thought of what else she could have in mind for punishing him. Plus, he wanted her to believe him. He might joke about the idea to his friends, but he'd never purposely do anything to disrespect her.

“You're such an idiot.”

He knew it. He knew it better than most people did. It was especially true when it came to Sakura-chan, but dammit, he just couldn't help himself. He was about to apologize when she reached for the zipper to her shirt, and he bit his tongue instead.

“You just assume things without even trying,” she explained as she unzipped her shirt slowly to reveal a matching, lace bra.

Wait, lace? This couldn't be what she wore everyday. Which meant. . . she wore it for. . . If he had managed to keep from being fully erect before, there was no fighting it now. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the blood colored garment; it contrasted sharply against her smooth, pale skin.

He wanted to reach up and touch it, cup his palms over those perfect, pushed-up breasts, dance his fingers across the supple mounds. He wanted to free them. “Sakura-chan. . ?”

He shifted uncomfortably, well aware that he was unable to indulge even the least of his desires. It seemed somehow unfair to finally be offered the thing he'd wanted for so long only to now have it held just out of reach. Which was probably exactly what she intended. Did she think she could make him beg or was this humiliation enough?

“Lee-san wouldn't tell me what you promised if you lose.”

“I won't lose.” He was sure of that. Unless Sakura-chan gave Bushy-brows a pair just to spite him.

She frowned, but only slightly. “You sound awfully confident.”

He tried to shrug but found the effort wasted against the strictness of the tie. “You're not interested in Bushy-brows. You wouldn't lead him on.”

“Like right now.”

He wasn't sure what she was getting at, but he could tell he was starting to make her angry. “You do a lot of things to me you wouldn't do to him, Sakura-chan.”

She sighed and pinched his nipple again (which was really starting to get sore). “That's why you're an idiot.”

“Ah, ow, I don't—mhmf.”

He stiffened when she leaned down and pressed her lips against his. It took him a moment to realize she'd started kissing him, working her mouth against his and sucking lightly at his bottom lip before he moved to return the gesture.

It wasn't either of their first kisses—his had regrettably been with that bastard Sasuke, and he could tell from the way she sucked on his tongue and teased hers across his lips that she certainly wasn't lacking in experience or technique. But at that moment he didn't envy the person who'd stolen her first kiss. After all, it was their first kiss and it was good. Better than good. It was. . .

He broke away panting, wanting to say something—anything to indicate his pleased confusion at the unexpected turn of events, but she caught his lips once more and swallowed his soft moan of pleasure. It was frustrating; he wanted to touch her. After all this time, finally—to be unable to even touch her. . . But it was also somehow exciting, being restricted. She controlled the pace of the kiss, she controlled everything. How far would she take it? Was she merely teasing him? What if she was planning to use him for her own pleasure?

A small noise caught in the back of his throat as she slid down his body, rubbing over the length of him while she mouthed wet kisses down his stomach. Please, please, please. Her fingertips curled over the lip of his pants, and he closed his eyes, ready.