The Traveling Pussy

Chapter 12: Ibiki’s Taste in Clothing

I woke up in what could only be called a cell. It was long and narrow and white. The bed was a cement slab with a mattress. The bedside “table” was just more cement slab. The toilet was your basic metal prison toilet, so that you couldn’t smash the porcelain for weapons. There was a drain in the floor and a simple pipe opening in the wall with a metal button over it. Curious I got up and pushed the button. Cold water gushed out of the pipe hole and spilled down the wall to the floor.

Annoyed I jumped back up on my slab to avoid getting my fluffy socks and favorite slippers wet. I was pissed. What the hell was Ibiki thinking? Ok, so we had only been having sex for only one day, but seriously, I had expected to wake up in his bed, not a prison cell. I’d also sort of expected to wake up naked not still in a sweater, sweatpants, socks, and slippers. I guess most girls would get creeped out if a brand-new lover knocked you out and undressed you, but I was sort of offended that he hadn’t bother to play a bit. It wasn’t very rational of me, because if I woke up naked I’d probably still be pissed, but rational thinking has never been my strong point when I first wake up in the morning.

Oh, god, maybe he was pretty damn serious about this slave crap he’d been spouting in the shower. But I was pretty sure I’d heard him say sex slave and frankly a basic prison cell didn’t seem very appropriate for a sex slave. Not that I had ever been one or that there was some sort of code about sexual slavery, but seriously, can you hear the term sex slave and not think of chains and leather? I can’t.

So was I just in ANBU custody? Surely this wasn’t a room in Ibiki’s house or apartment, whatever he had. I decided to use the facilities and sat down on my metal toilet. Immediately my mood improved because from the toilet I could see a big white cardboard box had been left at the foot of my cement bed. It was the sort of white box that bakeries and florists used. Maybe I had a special breakfast or flowers waiting for me?

I washed my hands with the stupid pipe, managing not to get soaking wet by concentrating my chakra in my feet and standing on the wall. I dried my hands on my sweatpants since I didn’t see a towel anywhere and went for the box.

It was clothing, my clothing. And some toys, my toys. And my four-inch high spiked “fuck-me” shoes, the black leather ones with the sexy studded strap that snapped around my ankle. I dumped out the contents of the box on the bed. There was a fairly small vibrator, a small butt plug, a black g-string, a black garter belt, a pair of red stockings, and what had been a dress. The front of the dress had been cut out so it would reveal my breasts. The skirt had been cut so that the garters and stocking tops would show. There was no bra. There was however a little chain with two slip-knotted loops on the ends. You put your nipples in the loop and tightened the slipknot as tight as you wanted. Of course if someone jerked on the chain, the slipknots would give a little and tighten more around the nipple. It was, however, something a lot more comfortable to wear than nipple clamps. None of this, however, was the sort of thing I was used to wearing to breakfast or for day two of a love affair.

Cripes, usually most guys didn’t get around to needing a garter belt and toys until they were a bit bored with the body—seen that, done that, how can you make that body look a little different? Hmmm, I didn’t know whether it was a good or a bad sign that Ibiki was interested in my dressing for sex this soon. I pulled the box back and examined it more closely. There was a note taped on the bottom of the box that I hadn’t seen.

The note said, “Come find me dressed for what you want to do today.” There was no signature, but there was a little sketch of an eye—the same sketch I would use to refer to Ibiki in my notes. Oh my! Well, this was worth waking up in a cell for—my choice. I could wear the sweats and sweater or I could were the heels, lingerie, and sex toys. It really was an obvious choice. It was also diabolically clever since I probably wouldn’t have been too eager to start running around in full slut garb with Ibiki on day two of our affair, but given a choice between no sex and sex, what’s a girl to do?

The note seemed to imply the door of the cell was unlocked, and I jumped up and tried it, just to make sure. It was. It opened into a simple corridor with no windows. I had no idea if I was above or below ground, in a house or a very, very odd apartment. Oh, well, I would find out when I went looking for Ibiki. I was rather annoyed there was no mirror in the room, and no hairbrush, no deodorant, no toothbrush, and no toothpaste.

As soon as I thought of toothpaste, I blushed. For some reason, the whole toothpaste thing freaked me out. I had no problem with anal sex, but I was used to human body parts or sex toys penetrating me. It had seemed so humiliating and dangerous, even perverted, to use a common everyday object for sex. But the sex had been great, and, after all, I didn’t keep anything in the shower but soap, bottles of shampoo and conditioner, a razor, my toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste. Of all the objects he had to choose from, I had to admit he’d picked the best one.

Just thinking about that sex in the shower made me eager to get put on this little outfit Ibiki had picked out and go find him. I stripped down and washed up as best I could with what I had. I put on the garter belt and stockings first. Only novices put the panties or g-string on first. I put on the shoes next, delaying dealing with the sex toys. Ok, I had to make a choice here—did I put on everything in the box or no. I thought about Ibiki and decided he was worth it. I turned on the vibrator and lay back on my cement slab and got myself in the mood. It didn’t take long until I was pretty wet. I used my own fluids to moisten the butt plug and insert it. Then I slid the vibrator in me and put on the g-string to hold the two of them in.

By this time my nipples were already excited, so it was easy to fasten the little slipknots on each one. The chain hung between my breasts, cold against my skin. I pulled the mutilated dress over my head. It had been a rather dull black dress with white polka dots. Now it was obscene. The neckline was below my breasts. The skirt barely covered my crotch. I thought about putting the dress on backwards, but I figured that would be showing fear and might also be seen as against the “rules.” I was no jounin, but you didn’t make chuunin without having lots of pride and a love of risk-taking.

I don’t know why, but the red stockings bothered me. With black shoes, dress, garter belt and g-string, why not black stockings? Or, if you had to have contrast, why not white stockings to match the polka dots? With black or white stockings this would be a pretty hot outfit for sex. With red stockings it was just slutty and tawdry. Ok, well, really it was slutty and tawdry no matter what color stockings were worn with the dress, but I was hoping the red stockings weren’t a sign that Ibiki had terrible taste in clothing.

I usually let my current lover pick out my clothes, especially for our dates. Of course, I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to have a date with Ibiki—I’d never heard of him ever going out with anyone before—maybe it was a rule that if you were the head of torture and interrogation, you couldn’t be seen out in public having fun. Anyway, as I moved out into that white hallway to search for my new lover, I was hoping this outfit wasn’t indicative of his taste in clothes.

Well, here was another choice—left or right. I remembered how the door on the left of my interrogation room had held Ibiki, so I decided on left. I tried the first door on the left. It was locked. The next one opened into a pair of stairs, going up. Up was usually good. Bedrooms were upstairs. I tried the door at the top of the stairs. It was locked with a number panel. Most doors like this had four-digit numerical passcodes. I punched in Ibiki’s birthday—no luck. I tried various parts of his ID number with no luck. Then suddenly on a whim, I punched in my birthday. The door clicked open. I grinned—he had wanted me to be able to open this door. Everybody knew that birthdays were the lazy man’s passcode, so using a birthday was like leaving the door open for a friend.

I moved out into the new hallway. It reminded me of the hallway in the ANBU building where I had been taken yesterday morning. I tried the first door I came to, which opened. I looked in and was appalled to discover I was interrupting a discussion between two masked ANBU members. It was immediately obvious it was Shino and Yugao Uzuki. Shino, of course, had that ridiculous collar, while the number of female ANBU members with rich, long purple hair has always been exactly one.

I was furious. Ibiki was a sick mother-fucker. I was going to find him and kill him.

The look on my face must have conveyed my rage because Shino said, “Ah, I don’t think he expected you to crack the door code. Ibiki’s private quarters are downstairs. I’d be really happy if you could pretend you never came up here; he was pretty pissed about yesterday.”

It’s hard to look dignified when you are in a dress that doesn’t cover your breasts. I sniffed my disgust at the whole situation, walked out into the hallway, slamming the door. Then I bolted down the stairs. That stupid fuck—what was he thinking using my birthday as the key code? Of course I’d figure that one out! My god, what the hell was he thinking? And why did he live in the basement of an ANBU building? Was he married to his damn job?

Then it occurred to me that I didn’t have to go find Ibiki. I could just put my boring sweats and sweater on and go upstairs and leave. Of course, I would have to walk by a bunch of ANBU ninjas who would no doubt be happy to tell Ibiki exactly when I’d left. I might even be tailed from the building--although that would be a silly waste of Konoha’s finest. Besides, what was the point in going back to an apartment that was probably either sealed or being emptied right now?

The next door I opened was to a small room full of file cabinets. I have to admit I hesitated. I was curious about what sort of files Ibiki had. But I thought about what his naked back looked like—the marks of torture on his body that made it clear each breath he took was a miracle, each breath was proof that this was a man who refuse to die. I didn’t want to read about torture, so reading the private files of the head of a torture squad seemed like a dumb idea.

I suddenly remembered a story I had overheard at a bar one night being told by Shizune, probably Konoha’s second best medical nin, only outclassed by the legendary Tsunade herself. It had been about one of Shizune’s first experiences on a battlefield. On an active battlefield, there could be more injured and dying shinobis than medics, and that was when the medical ninja had to make those instant choices, to triage the wounded into the can wait, can’t wait, and beyond help categories.

“You can’t worry or hesitate as you do it, you just act like you are trained to do and give it your all,” Shizune had said, “but there are those awful cases that haunt you later on in the lonely hours of the night when the self-doubts rise up and the voices of the dead you could save seem to be whispering at you from every corner.”

The bar had gotten very quiet at this point. Every chuunin and jounin in the place knew exactly what Shizune was talking about. This was the price that every leader paid—you made the life or death decisions, and you had to live with them. There was no jutsu that could change the past.

“I put the black tag on his body, the tag that meant this ninja was too far gone to save,” Shizune had said into that silent bar, “but he screamed at me, `I’m not dying, I’m not going to die, damn you, take that fucking tag off me! You’re damn lucky I’ve lost both my arms, or I’d kill you right now!’” The bar had exploded with laughter at this point, so I hadn’t heard the rest of the story. But I could imagine Ibiki saying something like that to a medic that was giving him up for dead.

The next door was a kitchen. Ibiki was sitting there facing the door, drinking his damn tea. I was already jealous of his love of tea, and it hadn’t been 48 hours since we’d started this thing between us. I was suddenly intensely aware of the small vibrator inside me, of the little plug in my butt, of my exposed breasts. I had to grab the doorway, so I wouldn’t fall as every muscle in my body just seemed to tighten and release at once. He had that black headscarf on that hung low over his eyes, but he didn’t have a shirt on. It wasn’t fair. I was pissed off at him about the door code, but when I saw that scarred chest with its one nipple, I couldn’t think about anything but wanting Ibiki.

I clung to the door jam and just looked at that beautiful chest and arms covered with those dark scars like some very sick piece of tattoo art. The scars just drew my eyes to the well-developed muscles of his body, those curves of flesh that told you here was a man who could lift the heaviest things, a man whose punch could break skin or bone, a man who wouldn’t tire easily.

Ibiki stood up, letting me see that he was completely naked except for his Konoha forehead protector, and that he very much liked my outfit. The sight of his cock jutting out from the dark hair of his crotch was mesmerizing. It was one of the few parts of him with no scars, with perfect smooth skin. After a few moments, I became aware that I was staring at his cock, and Ibiki wasn’t moving any more or saying anything. I shut my eyes, embarrassed, suddenly scared to meet his eyes. Shino had said Ibiki was pissed over my flashing him yesterday. I was suddenly terrified of what Ibiki would do if he knew I had walked into an ANBU office in this little outfit he’d picked out. I was a dead woman walking—well, not walking, clinging to a door frame.

I was in Morino Ibiki’s private quarters. He had at least one cell in his private quarters. I suddenly remembered hearing Kakashi, the famous copy-cat ninja, talking about how sadistic Ibiki was. Kakashi walked around reading porn practically 24/7—and he had been up against criminals like Zabuza, Orochimaru, and Uchiha Itachi who had the dreaded Mangekyou Sharingan. But even the great Hatake Kakashi, master of a thousand jutsus, had spoken of Ibiki’s sadism in a voice full of solemnity and respect.

“Tell me now, and I might be feeling merciful, Slave,” said Ibiki.

Oh god, of course he could read the message of guilt my body was sending. I let myself slide down to my knees and began to crawl forward to my Master. Tears were sliding down my face, but my body was already on the edge of orgasm. I got to his feet and couldn’t get the words out. I just started kissing and licking his feet, hoping he wouldn’t make me speak, wouldn’t make me say what I had done.

But then he pulled me up by my hair and bent me over the kitchen table. It seemed like it took minutes for him to push the polka-dotted fabric up to the small of my back. The sound of the vibrator inside me seemed very loud as did my irregular breathing and occasional sobs. He moved away, so I couldn’t feel him touching me. I began to sob louder. I was going to be punished, and I deserved it. Oh yes, I did. Oh, god, I wanted it. I needed it. I started to cum just thinking about it, and then the pain came.

I don’t know what it was he was using to create those slices of savage pain across my butt, but I was lost in my orgasm and somehow the pain just made it better. I screamed, just a scream, no words. I was just a mass of feeling cells without a thought. I threw back my head and howled like some primal beast angry with its world. Then I felt Ibiki on me, biting my neck, tearing my dress, forcing himself inside me, not caring that I was already partially filled with a vibrator. I felt years of civilization slipping away from me. I hungered, I wanted, I needed. Screams filled my ears, the sounds of two beasts, more animal than human. I was biting an arm, blood filling my mouth. I was sucking down the blood like it was the only thing I ever drank.

I don’t remember much else since at some point after this I took a blow to the head that knocked me out. I vaguely remember the table breaking and falling to the floor. The one thing I do vividly remember is the incredibly intensity of my orgasm. Ibiki hadn’t lost his touch--he was the master of pleasure, the one who could do what my hundred or so other lovers had never done. When Ibiki made me cum, I felt like the world was ending. It couldn't get any better than this.

Or, so I thought, then.