D/s Naruto

Warning: enema and shitting out objects in this chapter/If you didn't like Chapter 20 (Lin and others who share that opinion), do not read this one. This one makes Chapter 20 look like a church picnic.

ART LINK: I am so lucky--I now have gotten THREE pictures for my story!! Kristal has drawn what happens in this chapter and posted it at her livejournal site

http://community.livejournal.com/kakairu/1232072.html

It's awesome! I didn't imagine the little Kanji name pendants hanging so low on chains (I sort of just saw them hooked right on the rings)--the only difference between her vision and mine--but I like Kristal's vision even better--it's sexier!

Thanks Kristal!

XXXXXXXXXXAnd Now For the ChapterXXXXXXXXX


Chapter 21 (Saturday 16 June 2007, evening)

It had taken Kakashi years to accept that he found enemas exciting. He hadn’t wanted to even give himself one or let himself be given one for years. Then to admit that it gave him pleasure—that had taken more years. It had been one of the things that had held him back from earning his slave collar. He had to accept that like with sex and eating, his pissing and shitting were under the control of his master. An enema was a standard procedure for all subs before extensive scening, but it wasn’t something that Kakashi had endured punishments over before he had come to accept, even look forward to. Having Iruka watch or administer the enema now was so thrilling that he often begged for a cock ring or permission to squeeze himself to keep himself from coming in that moment when everything came out. Iruka often used humiliating language, but nothing, nothing was so humiliating as the truth when getting an enema—it was dirty, he was dirty, he was disgusting for being aroused by such a dirty thing--a slutty, slutty, dirty boy.

An enema was the one thing that made him cry easily, for if he resisted or struggled, Iruka would force the maximum amount of water into him and make him hold it longer than needed—long enough to make him cry and beg, long enough that when the water and shit came pouring out it was so intense, so painful, so humiliating, he would actually sob, not just shed tears. That those times he came even harder, more intensely, only embarrassed him more, but left him completely in a state of submission. His helplessness to hold back the shit, the contractions, and, worst of all, his excitement, reduced him to a state were he needed Iruka completely. But tonight, tonight there was no resistance in him at all. He was all Iruka’s. He let Iruka position him, finger him to prepare him for the nozzle, and insert it. All the while Iruka ordered him to tell how it felt, to admit his own excitement and the thought of not only being emptied, but the promise that came with that—for what Iruka emptied, Iruka filled.

When he was fully empty, Iruka began cleaning the rest of him. He washed his hair, his body, still periodically tugging and jerking on the chains. Master shaved, Master powdered, Master scented. Even his teeth were cleaned for him and flossed for him. Scented moisturizer was rubbed into his body, his nails cleaned, clipped, and the part he didn’t like, his cuticles pushed back. Toe rings, anklets were put on him. Earrings were hung in his ears to match the ones in his nipples, cockhead, and scrotum. His hair was carefully dried and styled. Mascara and eyeliner were added to his eyes, and a soft gloss smeared on his lips. Then Iruka took out a long, black leather strap, and Kakashi held his two arms back together behind his back straight down. The strap was wound around and around his arms and finally around his wrists. Two of the holes punched in it periodically were aligned by his wrists and a heavy padlock snapped in place. A black leather collar went around his neck above his silver slavecollar, and a black leash was attached.

Then Iruka had Kakashi bend over a spanking bench in the playroom. Once more he fingered Kakashi, making sure his anus was open, ready to be penetrated. Kakashi didn’t know what his master intended. He felt something metal, large pushing at his anus. It was clearly tapered for it forced that tight pink ring of muscle to stretch. Iruka pushed hard, it popped in—a metal egg shape on some cord. Was it a vibrator? What was it? But then again, once more another metal egg being pushed in. The eggs, for egg-size they were, would be too big to be pulled out like anal beads—surely? Oh, my god, was that what Iruka intended? Or would he have to shit out the eggs in a bowl for him? How many would he put in him? What, what was his master doing?

As each egg went in, Kakashi felt that sharp pain of his anus being stretched. With a large butt plug that pain was common—but you only felt it once going in and once coming out. But Master, oh god, Master was putting a third egg in him—oh god, oh god, it was pushing the others inside him. Another, another, oh god another. Now he was talking to him—oh, Master, oh, Master.

“Take it, take another, my little ass slut. I’m filling up this slutty little ass of yours. Open up, for me, my fuckhole. Thank me for filling your shithole, slut.”

“Thank you, Master,” said Kakashi, but his voice was quivering.

“Don’t you cry, slut. If you smear that mascara, you’ll be punished. Come, come, don’t you want your ass filled? Your cock is so hard, boy, you must like this. Take another one, there, good boy, very good. Is your ass feeling full now, boy?”

“So full, Master, so full. They are so hard, so many, so big, so deep, Master. Oh, Master, Master, I’m so full, so full I hurt.”

“One more, just one more. Seven eggs in your ass, filling you up. Here, now. No, no, pushing it out, no, take it in boy, hold it in.”

But Kakashi couldn’t help it, his ass didn’t want to take that last egg and kept pushing it out. Iruka left it out, went and got the black leather set of straps that usually held a dildo or butt plug tight up his ass. The leather belted around his waist, his upper thighs, ran down his ass crack, around his balls and cock, and back up to the belt on the waist. The last egg was pushed in the straps tightened to hold it in. Kakashi’s begging apologies for forgiveness for forcing the egg out, however, were not enough to avert punishment. Iruka picked up a leather paddle and proceeded to give him fourteen blows—two for each egg. Each blow of the paddle made Kakashi’s ass clench, feeling the metal stretching and filling him painfully. The metal inside also made the blows more painful. And each time he jerked at the pain of the paddle, the chains on his cock, his balls, and running between his piercings moved.

It was too much, too much. His nipples were on fire, his whole cock painfully aroused, and the tip burning from the tugging. His balls were cruelly pinched by the chains attached to his cock rings. And the tugging on his scrotum was a bit painful too although the least of his pains. But his ass, so full, so stretched, and now bruised from the leather smacking into his flesh and pressing it into the metal. He couldn’t cry, couldn’t cry. Master wanted him with his eye makeup perfect. Master wanted to show him off. Oh, god, for Master, for Master, he could endure. And then Master was lifting his chin, kissing him. Whispering words of praise, praising the beauty of his reddened ass, the black straps, the gold chains, his bound arms. Praising and kissing, then ordering him to suck him again, promising this time he could swallow, this time master would cum in his throat.

Then once more on his knees, Master’s cock in his mouth, in his throat. Only now, he was suffering, full, aching, burning, needing. But Master, Master was hard, Master was pleased. Master would let him drink him down, take his seed into his body, into his chest. Master was crying out, moaning, oh, oh, oh, he was pleasing him, pleasing him.

“Yes! Yes! Suck me! Mine!” cried Iruka as he felt his orgasm coming upon him. “Look at me, you dirty, bad slut! Look at me!” And Kakashi’s eyes, full of unshed tears, glittering, wet, made more beautiful by the eyeliner and mascara, that was all Iruka needed to take him over the edge. His beautiful, suffering slave—bound, beaten, stuffed, pierced—all his, all his—every perfect inch of him.

Iruka pulled out his cock, bent, and kissed his slave again. He could feel him trembling. He stroked, petting, praised. He fixed his lip gloss, checked each strap and chain. His words soothed Kakashi, letting him find the space where he could endure this. With his hands behind his back, Iruka had to help his boy to stand. He slipped a simple pair of sandals on his slave’s feet and took the long, hooded cloak he used to cover Kakashi for trips to the club in bondage or nudity or both. The leash hung down against Kakashi’s chest, unused for now.

Iruka took Kakashi into the bedroom, sitting him on the bed. Kakashi begged to kneel, so his sore ass wouldn’t need to touch the fabric, to feel weight. Also the metal eggs when he sat seemed to push down, seemed to hurt more sitting than when standing or kneeling. Iruka told him no and began to dress himself. He put on black leather pants, so tight he had to wiggle to get in them. Kakashi’s cock had been hard and aching for an hour now, and he begged to be able to cum, to masturbate. Iruka said no. A soft white silk shirt went over the pants. Iruka pulled on black leather boots, slouchy loose ones, and added some cologne—one Kakashi had chosen for him, one that he found sexy. Tonight it only added to his suffering.

Then Iruka stood and pulled up Kakashi. It felt so good to stand, but standing made all the gold chains move and shift. The heavy gold tags with Iruka’s name on them swung on his ears, his nipples, his cockhead, his ballsac. The metal eggs shifted, and that last one pushed against the leather strap over his anus, wanting out. But the strap held tight. Walking, oh god, walking—it was too much, no, no, a step, then another. He was going to fall, he was just going to collapse, because his body needed to, had to spasm and come and shit out all these eggs—and it couldn’t. He would just fall and die. But Master, Master was leading him, praising him. And the heavy cloak covered him, covered his face, and he let himself shed tears, knowing even as he did, he would be punished for them. The elevator, yes, standing still, endurable, endurable. The walk to the car, too long, the step, oh god, oh god—his body rocked, shook.

“Please Master, please Master, it’s too much, please, please,” begged Kakashi.

“Shhh, my slave, so close, so close, just a few steps to the car. You can do it, my boy,” said Iruka.

Oh god, his neighbors, no, no. He forced himself to walk in the cloak silently, smoothly. His pride made him. Then the car—sitting. With his arms bound behind him, he wasn’t able to sit comfortably. Iruka belted the seatbelt around him carefully. The seatbelt moved over the fabric of the robe and over his the chain between his nipples that ran down to his cock. But that was nothing compared to the feeling in his ass with his weight once more on his paddled asscheeks and pushing down on the eggs filling him, stuffing him. Pain. Pain. But at least not moving—the chains no longer moving, just full, just full. He could do this. He wouldn’t need his safeword, but he had it, he had it. All he had to do was say “sycamore,” and this would be over. But his master, his master—oh he wanted to please him, to sit at his feet and be feed.

“When we get to the club, you may choose, slave. You can shit out the eggs into a bowl in the foyer before we eat or you can have the chain through your piercings removed. If you keep them both, I won’t punish you for crying, and you have my permission to cry as much as you like for the rest of the evening. Think about what you want, boy. If you wait until after dinner to shit out the eggs, I’ll reward you with an orgasm. Do you understand, boy? Do you need me to repeat that for you?”

“I understand, Master. I don’t need you to repeat yourself, Master. Thank you, Master.”

The car hit a pothole, and Kakashi cried out in pain and began to cry. The ride to the club seemed to take an eternity.

By the time Iruka was handing Kotetsu his keys, however, Kakashi had forced himself to stop crying. He would not cry outside the club or in the foyer. Once he was kneeling at Iruka’s feet under the table, then, then he could cry. He could do this; he would do this. Iruka helped him out of the car and whispered, “I love you, my boy, make me proud.”

Oh, Master. Oh—oh, for you, for your love. Suddenly it was easy to walk in, to let Iruka take the cloak and hand it to Izumo. To keep his eyes down, following the leash. He could here clapping, complements, voices praising him to Iruka. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t put faces to those voices. He was loved, his master loved him. Then Iruka was asking, “Slave, have you made your choice?”

“Yes, Master. I choose to wear what Master has chosen for me. Thank you, Master, for dressing me, chaining me, binding me, stuffing me. I love you, Master.”

“Magnificent!”

“Fabulous!”

“Such submission! Such beauty! Such pain!”

The voices praised him, praising his master, pleasing his master. Then the table, the pillow, at last kneeling down, and Iruka pulling his head on his lap—oh, so lucky, so lucky, to rest his head on master’s lap. But then master was holding a glass of water for him. And taking a sip, that moved his throat muscles, moved his chest, set off a cascade of pain. And that last egg pushed out just enough to hurt his anus, hurt so bad he cried out loudly and began to sob.

How long he sobbed he didn’t know, but then a ball gag was being forced into his mouth and bell ball in his hand. He sobbed harder around the gag, knowing he wasn’t going to be fed his dinner. But each time he thought of giving the ball a shake, his master would raise his head up and tell him how much he was pleasing him, how beautiful he was. And then suddenly, when Master had only finished his soup, Master was pulling him up, guiding him up to the raised stage. A little pot was there on the stage, and he knelt, his back to the diners, the pot between his legs, his Master in front of him. And then the black strap holding the eggs inside was removed, and he knew what he had to do. The first egg flew out and hit the metal pot loudly. The next was easy—painful coming out, but the joy of having it out far stronger. The third and fourth flew out. But then, then, the eggs were deep in him. So deep, they didn’t want to come out. He had to strain, to push, to shake. To his horror, Iruka removed the gag, and his sobs and tears were loud in the quiet room as everyone watched. Finally, number five hit the bowl with a clang, followed by six. But the last one, the last one, seemed to not to want to come. He strained and pushed. Iruka’s look of disappointment made him push harder. Then Iruka jerked savagely on the chain through his piercings, and he screamed and spasmed, his body jerking wildly, and the last egg dropped into the bowl even as he fell forward into Master’s body, unable to kneel.

Then Master was removing the cock rings connected to the painful chain cage around his balls. He was turned around, to face the crowd. Master ordered, “Slave, come in the bowl, cover those eggs with your cum.” His hands were still bound, padlocked behind him. Nothing, nothing was touching his cock. But he heard his Master unzip his pants, felt his Master’s hard cock touch the nape of his neck, and then, then, he was coming, crying out, “Master! Master!” as his sperm poured out of him, rope after rope of white cum landing on the eggs, covering them, smothering them with cum.

But even as his orgasm died away, he could feel the hard tip of his Master’s cock on his neck, and he turned, turned without permission, seeking that cock, crying out a wordless cry of want and need. And then once more his Master was inside him, filling him, feeding him—the food he would always want, always crave. The applause, the cries, the voices shouting, none of it made sense. And then he was being hoisted over Master’s shoulder, his head dangling down by Master’s ass, being carried away. He might have passed out, but he remembered hitting the bed, remembered the feel of Master’s cock thrusting in him, remembered being pulled up, so his cock could be stroked as Master fucked and fucked and fucked.

When he woke in the night, all the chains, all the straps, were gone. The only thing keeping him in the bed was his Master’s arms. And then those arms moved, his Master moved, and began to show Kakashi just how pleased and proud he was. He was washed and cuddled, fed tiny tibits and allowed to drink from his Master’s bellybutton, his mouth. He was licked and sucked, and then, his Master made love to him, long and slow till he shattered and cried at the beauty of it and his own happiness.

On nights like this, he felt like he was the luckiest man alive.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


A/N:
Here's the timeline, for those who are interested. Prologue--May, Chapter 1 is a Friday in June, maybe the 15th or so, a week after Itachi's birthday, June 9th. Pride week is always the last week in June.

On Chapter 21--there wasn't any poop involved in Kakashi's little show so it was ok for the dining room (the enema got rid of it all). By "full" I wasn't trying to mean he had to pee--I just mean he felt his ass was full. Maybe I'll go back and try to figure out how to make that clear.

Oh, I did mess up on Gaara's kata--he does Karate, solo, kata in the laundry room and judo kata with partners at the dojo. I need to look into fixing that too at some point.

Thanks to the person who caught my Naru/Nara errors--HumanInfiltrator, I think.

Thanks for all the encouragement and reviews!

And thanks to Allys for the great outfit she drew for Sasuke that I gave to Kakashi in this chapter!