The Traveling Pussy

Chapter 25: Ibiki’s Stress Relief

I got home and the house was empty. The dining room table was set, and some food was clearly being prepared in the kitchen, but no Ibiki. Then I saw the note on the refrigerator. “Emergency at work. Sorry Baby, Eye.”

Wow! We were back to little love notes and acting like a normal couple. Hmmm—maybe I should get a job. God, what do people who aren’t ninjas do? I thought about it, and the first thing that popped into my mind was that flower shop of Ino’s. I began putting up the food Ibiki had abandoned to go interrogate or torture some poor sap, thinking about working at Ino’s shop. I’d last about twenty minutes. But, hey, I thought, I should go around tomorrow and pick something out for Ibiki. I had never sent him flowers. Guys aren’t really into flowers, but I liked sending them anyway. I had a feeling sending Eye flowers would bring out that soft, vulnerable Ibiki—the one that blushed, the one that was nervous about parties, etc.

Parties! Hey, I should throw a party. This place of Ibiki’s would be a great place for a party. I thought about the little B&D playroom in the basement—hmmm, I could really throw some very interesting parties here—there were enough sex toys in those glass cabinets for a fairly big party. But Ibiki and I were in no position to throw that kind of party. But a big old fun party with drinking, loud music, folks necking in the corner, telling stories, maybe showing some scars, or a little dirty dancing—yeah, that would be fun. This place could easily host a party for thirty people, and fitting in fifty would be possible.

I stopped putting up the food and sat down and began absent-mindedly eating. The last party I’d been to had been that one at the Yellow Flash Pub for Gaara that I’d completely failed to take advantage of—I’d been in the “honeymoon” period when I couldn’t get enough of a new lover. Gosh—I just realized I was still crazy about Ibiki, and we had clearly made it past the “honeymoon” stage. I been in this house for almost two weeks and we’d only had two sex sessions. And we’d snuggled—gee, had I managed finally to have a normal relationship?

A sudden memory of sucking two cocks other than Ibiki’s yesterday night popped into my head, and I choked on the water chestnut I was eating. Ok, well, not normal, but maybe functionally dysfunctional? Oh, and if I was going to talk Ibiki into a party, I better check out the whole place more seriously. It suddenly occurred to me maybe this wasn’t even Ibiki’s place—we’d never talked about that. I’d been so busy writing about the recent events of my life, I hadn’t explored the place or even checked to see if all my stuff was here.

I guess I had still been in shock over this “I’m-no-longer-a-ninja” thing. It was one thing to feel you were a little suicidal and not the best person to be involved in dangerous missions (although, hell, when was my last dangerous mission?), but it was another to find you were officially too unstable to be trusted to walk around with weapons on you. At least that was the only reason I could think of for being “retired.”

But my curiosity was back to normal level. I finished eating, cleaned up the kitchen and dining room, and set about exploring the place. In the living room I discovered something that made my heart beat wildly and convinced me this was Ibiki’s home. There was a lovely niche that acted as focal point in the living room. The center object on display was a gorgeous ceramic bowl of exceptional beauty with a design of lotuses on a gold background. The gold was true gold, and the workmanship was fantastically detailed. But it was what was in the bowl that made me want to act like Shuichi in one of his happy moods, dancing and singing—the broken pieces of my favorite teapot, the one Ibiki broke on the first day we’d had sex.

I remembered him telling Shino to stick the pieces in the gold lotus bowl in the living room. It never occurred to me that his little apartment in the basement of that ANBU building (that one ANBU had moved out of for some bizarre reason—oh, yeah, probably because of me no longer being a ninja) didn’t have a living room. I stood there for the longest while just looking at the pieces feeling loved.

I found most of my boxed up stuff in a second bedroom upstairs. I had spent the week so far in the master bedroom, the downstairs office, the bathroom, the kitchen. I hadn’t done more than glance into the living room or second bedroom. I still hadn’t gone into the upstairs office—it was clearly Ibiki’s private workspace, and I really didn’t want to annoy him or know any details about his work. But with a kitchen, dining room, office, living room, and bathroom downstairs, we could sure have an awesome party here.

I made myself some tea and headed up to the bedroom where all my stuff was—it was time to unpack and spread my stuff everywhere. I always invite Ino to my parties to flaunt my last guy in front of her and check out her latest. Since we usually ended up essentially trading men, it was sort of a tradition—a tradition that was over! But if Ino was invited, of course, Sakura was invited. And then if I didn’t invite Hinata, she was hurt, and I had never want hurt Hyuugas around. If Hinata was coming, of course Kurenai and Hanabi would have to be. At least three of that bunch were stunning and sexy (no, I won’t say which), so I wanted to mark my turf very clearly before I let any of them in the door.

Later that night when I was unpacking some of the clothes that had never made it over to Ibiki’s rooms in the ANBU building, I started thinking about dressing up for Ibiki. I hadn’t really been making any extra effort to look nice this week. What if he was really out sleeping with someone else? I wasted an hour trying on various outfits that I had forgotten I had. Embarrassingly I had so many clothes that when I’d been moved into Ibiki’s little apartment, he’d only taken a small selection over.

He’d missed some good outfits, but, hey, he was a guy. And I had a chuunin uniform then that I wore a lot, too. Damn, I would need more clothes now that I was a civilian, which would definitely mean getting a job. I know that sounds stupid since I was surrounded by close, by seriously, I’m a very girly girl at heart. I thought about my nice week with regret--too bad I couldn’t get paid to sit around and write about my life since that was so relaxing. Since Ibiki was my audience, I’d kept the sex stories to the minimum required, but I could probably fill a number of porn novels that would rival Icha, Icha, Paradise—HOLY SHIT! I could write crap like the Icha, Icha series—damn, I’d have to look into that.

Musing on the idea of writing dirty novels for a living, I pulled everything out of boxes. A few hours later, the room looked like a closet had exploded. At the bottom of the last box, I found an outfit I’d never worn and forgotten about that made me laugh. It was an orange mini-skirt and cute peach, pink, and orange flowered top. I’d got it when I was thinking of going after Naruto. The very day I’d bought it I was in the mission room with my genin team and Naruto, and he’d had a bad case of gas. Once you have to endure forty minutes with a farting Naruto, you really need to love the guy to want to sleep with him. The orange outfit had never seen the light of day.

I tried on the skirt and blouse and was pleased to find it still fit. It looked pretty good next to my tan skin, but it was bright. The orange color reminded me of the covers of the Icha, Icha series, and I rooted through my junk and found a copy of the fourth volume—the only one I had--and started rereading it to see if maybe erotic novelist was the career for me. By chapter four, I was remembered why I didn’t like these books—the author clearly was a guy with no clue as to how women thought and felt. But I guess his audience was guys. Jeepers, how could Kakashi read this stuff all the time?

I fell asleep reading the novel because I woke up being carried in Ibiki arms. I let myself fall back asleep in his arms assuming he was taking me to the master bedroom. I know this because I remember waking up startled to find myself back in the kinky basement on the black fur with Ibiki fitting that black leather collar around my neck. He looked particularly cold and scary. Darn—it must have been a nasty job he was called in on, my poor baby.

“Sit up and present me your wrists,” said Ibiki.

“Yes, master,” I said doing so and watched as below the sleeves of my blouse he put on the leather cuffs and hooked them to each other. There was so little slack, I couldn’t move my wrists apart.

“Kneel facing towards me.”

“Yes, master,” I said and did that curious as to what Ibiki had in mind. It was a little hard to do quickly with my wrist locked together. Not surprisingly Ibiki pulled up my skirt and slapped me on the ass, saying, “Too slow, slave.”

OK, so he wanted to play master and slave. He began belting leather straps around my upper torso, so my arms from my shoulder to elbow were strapped tight to my body, immobile. The belts were tight across my body and breasts, crushing my breasts flat in a way that was painful, but bearable. Ibiki wasn’t belting the straps tight enough that the blood to them was being cut off—I wasn’t in physical danger of permanent damage like an actual ANBU prisoner might be—but just in for a little bit of low-grade pain that would gradually increase if this game went on for too long.

My master made sure to adjust the straps so my nipples were between two of them. He pulled out a kunai and cut the material of the blouse just enough so my nipples were exposed. Ibiki next used a small chain he hooked on to my collar to pull my wrists up about eight inches from my neck, again careful to adjust the chain so my nipples weren’t covered by my forearms.

I was expecting Ibiki to do something with my ankles or legs, but instead he just ordered, “On the floor, Slave, kneeling before me.”

It was hard to get down off the fur-covered platform into a kneeling position without the use of my arms, and I wasn’t surprised when Ibiki said, “Your too slow, so I’m going to have punish you, slave.” His foot slid between my knees and pushed them apart. “Keep your knees spread like that. You are to stay kneeling exactly like this during your punishment. “ His hand adjusted the angle of my head, “You are not permitted to move your head. You are no longer permitted to speak or make any noise.”

Ibiki reached down and bunched the orange skirt up around my hips. I didn’t have any underwear on. He walked out my sight of vision, so silently I couldn’t hear where he was. I wanted to lick my lips. Holding still so vulnerable with my legs spread was making my vagina flush with blood and fluid. It was hard not to twitch a little. Of course I had to wait that way, knowing he was likely getting ready to do something painful to my asscheeks.

The first smack right on the crack of my ass startled me since he was so silent and since it fucking hurt. I cried out in shock before I remember the rules.

“Disobedient slave! What did I tell you! You get five more strokes of this spanker for that on top of your punishment for being slow. “

Oh, shit, I might now be able to keep quiet for this. The second smack hit the same place and hurt even more, but I was able to keep quiet. He moved to focus on my right ass cheek for three spanks and then three on the left. Then he hit again right on the crack, and I had to bit my lip not to scream. Tears were running down my face. The chain running from my collar to my wrists jingled a little as I was shaking from the pain despite trying to hold still and silent.

Ibiki walked around in front of me and tilted up my head, so I could look in his eyes. I could hardly see because of my tears. His thumb moved gently over my lip, rubbing where I’d bit it. He pulled the thumb away and up to his mouth, licking the blood on it. Even with tightness of the straps and the burning feeling of my ass, I found the sight of that tongue licking his thumb and tasting my blood incredibly erotic. Ibiki’s hands then went to my nipples, gently running over the stiff nubs. “Your nipples are hard even though you are crying, slave. What a slut you are! Let’s see if you’re wet.”

He crouched down and pushed a finger into me. I could hear the squelching sound my fluids made as he pushed into me. He pulled out the finger and rubbed it against his nostrils before putting it into his mouth and sucking it a bit before his hand fell away.

“You slut! I’m going to fuck you and fill that slutty cunt of yours with cum before I give you your five extra spanks.” He picked me up and threw me down on the platform on my back with my legs hanging off the edges on either side of him. He didn’t strip, just unzipped and pulled out his cock and pushed into me. He didn’t slam into me or rush, just methodically worked in and out. It felt so good, I couldn’t help it—my mouth fell open, I began to pant, wanting to thrash my head from side to side. The chain to my wrists kept me from moving my head easily however.

“Let me hear it,” Ibiki said in a voice, which for the first time since he woke me up, sounded relaxed, warm, and sexy.

Relieved I let myself cry out, forgetting the whole master slave game, lost in how wonderful it felt to have the man I loved inside me. I couldn’t reach up with my arms to hold him, to caress him, so I wrapped my legs around him. There was blood splatter on the front of his uniform that I hadn’t noticed before. What kind of normal life could we have? But as he cried out my name as he came, I forgot all my worries and let the pleasure take over my body and my mind.

My heart was too full of love, however, for the pleasure to have any impact.