Naruto Kinks
folder
Naruto › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
25
Views:
3,898
Reviews:
23
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Naruto › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
25
Views:
3,898
Reviews:
23
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.
Sakura/Deidara, Bondage
Dei/Saku, bondage: she ties him up. Also work in hand-mouths.
There was something unnatural about a woman who could manhandle you like a god damned sack of potatoes. There was something inherently fucked-up about the Leaf kunoichi if all of them were like this: petite and weedy with not nearly enough curvature through the hips, creamy-skinned and with hair the color of spring petals—soft yet eye-catching and vivacious—all of this masking a hidden strength enough to rival seven rampaging bulls.
Deidara of all people should have known better than to underestimate a foe on the battlefield.
But this is different. She's naked and dewy, alluring despite the strength—especially because of the strength, and he wants nothing more than to give it to her hard and harder, to drive her chin into the damp earth after a morning rain, but he's the one groaning now as she wrenches his arms behind him and forces him to his knees. She binds him up, and he lets her do it, dammit, because he wants to see where this will go or something, because again she's a naked woman, ripe for conjoining and he can't stop thinking about how much darker her hair had colored in the juncture of her thighs where she'd moistened against his touch.
Yeah, he'd done that.
She latches his arms so close together, so tight he can barely gasp around the pain, his chest forced out at such an awkward angle that for a moment he fears the stitching over his heart-mouth will tear, and then she presses him cheek-down in the dirt at an angle which leaves his ass noticeably vulnerable in the air.
He tries to squat, hisses, “Bitch.”
She's too busy straddling him to retort, and doesn't care, jiggling his bound wrists beneath her until he has the sense to wriggle his fingers against her hot sex in some pleasurable manner, attempts to slip them into her opening, but she denies him. She juts her hips to position herself further up his hands, rocks against his palms, and it is then that he understands.
Of course he's angry. It's a fucking insult to his mastery and degrading and there's no fucking way he's going to—but his hands often have intentions of their own and they seem to like the idea, readily lapping at the soft, pink skin. They make slurping noises, exuberant in their task, and he cringes.
She leans forward, mewling and plants her lips against his shoulder-blade. Her breasts are smushed against his back. She tugs at his hair with one hand, fisting and un-fisting a tangle of blond strands close to the base of his skull.
Deidara imagines that hand working around his cock and lets out a shuddery breath, closes his eyes tight.
There was something unnatural about a woman who could manhandle you like a god damned sack of potatoes. There was something inherently fucked-up about the Leaf kunoichi if all of them were like this: petite and weedy with not nearly enough curvature through the hips, creamy-skinned and with hair the color of spring petals—soft yet eye-catching and vivacious—all of this masking a hidden strength enough to rival seven rampaging bulls.
Deidara of all people should have known better than to underestimate a foe on the battlefield.
But this is different. She's naked and dewy, alluring despite the strength—especially because of the strength, and he wants nothing more than to give it to her hard and harder, to drive her chin into the damp earth after a morning rain, but he's the one groaning now as she wrenches his arms behind him and forces him to his knees. She binds him up, and he lets her do it, dammit, because he wants to see where this will go or something, because again she's a naked woman, ripe for conjoining and he can't stop thinking about how much darker her hair had colored in the juncture of her thighs where she'd moistened against his touch.
Yeah, he'd done that.
She latches his arms so close together, so tight he can barely gasp around the pain, his chest forced out at such an awkward angle that for a moment he fears the stitching over his heart-mouth will tear, and then she presses him cheek-down in the dirt at an angle which leaves his ass noticeably vulnerable in the air.
He tries to squat, hisses, “Bitch.”
She's too busy straddling him to retort, and doesn't care, jiggling his bound wrists beneath her until he has the sense to wriggle his fingers against her hot sex in some pleasurable manner, attempts to slip them into her opening, but she denies him. She juts her hips to position herself further up his hands, rocks against his palms, and it is then that he understands.
Of course he's angry. It's a fucking insult to his mastery and degrading and there's no fucking way he's going to—but his hands often have intentions of their own and they seem to like the idea, readily lapping at the soft, pink skin. They make slurping noises, exuberant in their task, and he cringes.
She leans forward, mewling and plants her lips against his shoulder-blade. Her breasts are smushed against his back. She tugs at his hair with one hand, fisting and un-fisting a tangle of blond strands close to the base of his skull.
Deidara imagines that hand working around his cock and lets out a shuddery breath, closes his eyes tight.