The Traveling Pussy

Chapter 21: Ibiki’s Rage

An hour or two later, I was still sitting in Falling Leaf Square, drinking yet another cup of tea. Amazingly, I had been about a half a year since I’d last spent the morning in a public square people-watching. I had got a lot of people-watching in on my job at the gate, but the folk entering and leaving town late at night aren’t the types hanging around one of Konoha’s hippest places on a weekend morning. It was fun sitting and watching the life swirling around me.

I felt oddly invisible in my plain blue kimono without a weapon. I had been an orphan for many years now, but as a shinobi, I hadn’t felt like one. I’d always had a team or an assignment or a mission—I had had people that would freak if I didn’t show up somewhere at a certain time. I realized I was in a pretty rare situation for most adults: I had no deadlines, no one counting on me for anything, no appointments. I could do whatever I wanted to today.

What did I want to do today?

Ibiki.

My energy came back in a rush, and I got up, paid, and headed over to the building that had been my home for the last two weeks. I was absurdly easy to get into the former ANBU building. The building was for sale and a large sign that invited potential buyers to come in and check out the premises. I headed for the door to Ibiki’s apartment. I looked into every room on the way there and found nothing but realtors, clients, and a bunch of curious folk who were looking around as if seeing empty rooms was right up there with touring a museum.

The door to Ibiki’s stairs wasn’t open, and it still had a coded lock. I punched in a few combinations before I found the one that worked. It was Ibiki’s birthday that opened the lock. My heart began to beat faster as if I’d been left a love note. I tore down the stairs and went straight to the bedroom. The door was locked. I tried Ibiki’s birthday, and it didn’t open. I tried my own birthday, and the light on the lock went from red to green signaling it would now open. It was another sign of love. I pulled open the door. I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t expect to see Ibiki stabbing and slicing the mattress like a crazy freak wearing nothing but a pair of black silk boxers.

Ibiki rarely took off his forehead protector even in front of me. He didn’t seem the type to take out his emotions on his possessions, but he’d pulverized his room. The bedroom I spent the best nights of my life in now looked like a bizarre combination of a crack house and a Christmas snow globe. Every piece of furniture was smashed into pieces, every wall had holes in it, every bit of fabric was sliced or torn. The pillows and quilt had been down and now the released bits of goose feather were everywhere.

With his scars scoring his skin and the white down clinging to trails of sweat, Ibiki looked like a demon beast from mythology. I hurled myself at him, wanting to draw that raging energy onto myself, to feed whatever mad hungers were driving this need to punch, smash, slice, and stab. I clung to his body and tried to kiss him. He threw me down on ruins of the mattress and started slicing away the kimono. The speed with which he reduced the blue cloth to ribbons was amazing, and then I was face down and the sound of the knife and air on my skin told me the back of the kimono was getting the same treatment.

He flipped me over on my back again and cut off his boxers. The knife was thrown away, and he leaned down and stuffed my mouth with his underwear. I struggled instinctively to spit out that cloth, but he just shoved it in deeper, stretch my mouth, filling my cheeks.

The metal pole of a floor lamp thudded down on the shredded remains of the mattress above my head. The blue strips of my sliced komono tied my wrists to the pole. Then my legs were pulled up and my ankles tied on the pole as well.

Another piece of the torn kimono went around my eyes, shutting me into darkness. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t speak, I was spread open, helpless, vulnerable. Ibiki’s fingers slid into my pussy, already wet and swollen. He worked in and out with two, three, four fingers, and I could feel the muscles in my legs spasming, but the shameful stretched position he had tied me in made it impossible to squeeze my legs shut, to protect myself from him. His four fingers suddenly pulled out abruptly, and I was left lying there, my mouth straining around his boxers, drool no doubt slidding a little out of my spread open and filled mouth. I was shaking and crying and aroused and wanting.

Then I felt his hand again, but this time slick with some lube, and he was forcing his whole hand into me. It wouldn’t go of course, but Ibiki was an expert. He worked me slowly and methodically. I came around his hand, and he ignored it. I had a panic fit and struggled seriously, straining to get away, but he just add some sort of band of chakra around my wrists and feet and eyes. He was an elite jounin, and I had no chance. My muscles began to protest the position and jumped and twitched in painful contractions. I sobbed in earnest, in genuine pain, but still that hand kept working at me, pushing in farther, spreading me wider. It took forever, and I alternated between orgasmic bursts of pleasure and painful muscle cramps, neither stopping Ibiki. Then his entire fist was in me, his fingers deep in me, touching things that had never been touched, stretching me in a way I’d never felt before.

I’d gotten so used to the wet cloth in my mouth, it was shocking when it was pulled abruptly out. The fist was still in me, moving. My jaw was sore, and everything in my mouth painfully dry. Then the headband was ripped away, exposing my eyes to the light. The hand inside me plunged in and pulled back, and I could watch Ibiki now, naked fierce, scarred, and with feathers stuck here and there on him like some terrifying primitive god figure. Our eyes met, and I could see his need for me, his rage over everything that had torn us apart, see that this plunging of his hand into me was some sort of bizarre acting out of a need to be in my heart, in my mind, to punish and please me, to force something to go the way he wanted.

I smiled up at him and whispered in my hoarse, aching voice, “Ki-ki, I love you.”

His head didn’t move, he didn’t say anything, but the muscles in his face relaxed and a glow seemed to come back in his eyes. Then his head lowered out of my line of vision, and I felt his mouth on my clit, his fist in my cunt, and I came until I blacked out.