D/s Naruto

Chapter 25 (Saturday 16 June 2007, evening)

Kisame got a panicked call from Itachi when word had come that Sasuke was being led up to the club’s door on a leash in nothing much more than pants and some ribbon. He left Deidara in charge of the monitoring room and headed upstairs, talking to Sasori on the way. He would eat with Itachi in the dining room. It looked like it was going to be worth it—Kisame was pretty sure that Kakashi wasn’t going to make it through dinner. Seeing Kakashi break would be pretty spectacular. But now, with Sasuke apparently deep in subspace, Kisame could care less what the hell was going on with Iruka and Kakashi. He’d gotten upstairs in time to see Naruto leading Sasuke into the dining room. Itachi was freaking out a little because his little brother had been wearing a pair of fifteen thousand dollar gold and garnet nipple clamps he’d seen on Naruto’s website, as well as a gold master-and-slave bracelet. “He’s buying him; my brother is acting like a little whore for some gold decorations,” Itachi had ranted.

Kisame’s response was simple, “Then just buy the things for Sasuke yourself. If he’s doing it for the gold, he might as well do it for you.”

Itachi’s face had gotten a cold hard look, and he’d glared his best glare at Kisame, who finally said, “Just kidding, Itachi, sorry. But, write a damn note and a check and buy the fucking things.” A quick search on the web got them an estimate of what Naruto would charge for the rings and bracelet, and the check and note were written. Itachi and Kisame went into eat. Sai went from temporary bar boy to Itachi’s note bearer, although entranced by Kakashi’s onstage performance and Sasuke’s spanking, it was a good forty minutes after the note had been written that it got delivered.

Kisame and Itachi both watched as Naruto talked to Sasuke after reading the note. But when Sasuke started pulling on the little nipple clamps, clearly sick with desire for Naruto, Kisame watched Itachi’s face. To his surprise, Itachi seemed to be lost in thought. His eyes were unfocused a bit, and Kisame’s own darted between Itachi’s eyes and the table with Naruto and Sasuke, and he confirmed for himself that in fact Itachi wasn’t really looking at them anymore.

When the answer Sai brought the answer back, Kisame watched Itachi’s face to see how he reacted. He seemed distracted and handed the notes and check to Kisame after a glance. Kisame felt his heartbeat speed up. He thought he known everything about Itachi, but Itachi was receding into some headspace that he couldn’t follow.

When Gaara arrived, Kisame felt a rush of affection for “Little Red.” Gaara was, of course, Little Red to Sasori’s Big Red. Itachi came alive again, once more focused on the information coming into his earpiece and accessing the situation. When Sasori got Neji and Gaara out of the dining room, Itachi and Kisame just exchanged glances before abandoning their dinners. Itachi headed over to Kimimaro, and Kisame went out to the foyer to take over hosting. It was a rare night, indeed, for Kisame almost never was the public face at Uchiha’s. But he knew every member, maybe better than Itachi and Sasori for all he’d never talked to most of them face to face. No, instead he’d read their files, watched them all, and in his sharp mind had them filed and categorized. Fortunately, he had dressed well tonight. He looked very much like the wealthy co-owner of an expensive, exclusive club.

Kisame’s expensive, elegant, and sexy clothes had been carefully chosen. After Itachi and he had not quite quarreled on Friday, Kisame had felt the need to look good on Saturday. He wanted to remind Itachi of just why he had been secretly sleeping with the same man for eight long years. He’d worn silver-gray silk pants and shirt. His large prehistoric shark tooth on its platinum chain should have looked overdone, but instead it looked sexy and dangerous. It reminded people of Kisame’s race, his size, and made them wonder about his background—Kisame could sometimes almost see in the faces of some of the white members their effort to suppress their nervous recollections of racial stereotypes about big black men with expensive jewelry. But people didn’t come to a D/s club who weren’t attracted to fear in some basic, almost primal way. He was, in fact, very popular with members. It was a sign of being in the club’s elite to spend time with Kisame.

Kisame smilingly gave Naruto the key to Room 1, ignoring Sasuke according to club etiquette. Itachi took Kimimaro up to the unnumbered room, giving Kisame an almost apologetic look as he got the key. Kisame gave him a reassuring smile and wink back. He knew that it was out of pity and a sense of business pride that Itachi was domming for Kimimaro tonight, and he didn’t mind. It would make some hot viewing for the next week since he wasn’t likely to be let back into Itachi’s tight ass for a while. Besides, it was probably good that Itachi was going to spend the night focusing on something other than Sasuke—or Sai who looked too much like Sasuke.

Word came over his earpiece that Kiba and Akamaru were leaving. Good—they really were heavily booked tonight and the need for a room equipped for a dogtrainer and leatherdog wasn’t something that would have been easy to pull off. Although they could have as long as Kiba would have been willing to linger downstairs for an hour or so until Room 4 was cleaned out and Gai could be coaxed to forgo his reservation. Itachi would have been delighted to deny Gai and his sub Lee a room—his lover, Kisame reflected, really was a bit too stuck on appearances. And as for Gai’s tight green spandex, well, Kisame had seen worse. He felt a little protective towards Gai and Lee, and Itachi knew it, which might even account for Itachi’s slight hostility to the pair. At least a part of Kisame hoped that Itachi felt a little jealousy even if it was subconscious and unwarranted. Gai and Lee were genuinely nice men, very honest, very open. They were subsequently easy to manipulate. But Gai had a hard core to him, a strength that a lot of people forgot. He and Lee were both cops, and while they seemed so nice, any number of jailed criminals would tell another story.

Kiba gone, Kisame heard in his earpiece from Hidan that Shino was drunk. Hidan wanted to know if he should cut off Shino or not. Shino wasn’t going to be in a scene with anyone, but still Uchiha’s wasn’t the kind of club were people got drunk. Few people drank here anyway since scenes and drinks didn’t mix well—almost all the dom/sub contracts at Uchiha involved no drinking/drug clauses. Shino, what the hell to do with Shino? And good lord, when Sasori came back with Gaara and Neji, it was likely that Neji would fall apart. He’d not only been dumped by his sub, but his sub had gone and basically eloped, getting married not but hours after their affair was over. That would be a blow for any man, but to a man as proud as Neji—well, fuck—it was a living nightmare. And Neji knew all about nightmares. But on top of dealing with Shika, Neji had to deal with Naruto who he had rejected and been badmouthing for years showing up and become a legend in a mere two nights. Seriously, the Hyuuga could lose it totally.

Kisame thought about Neji. He had seen one of Neji’s nightmares on a rare night the Hyuuga and Shikamaru had spent in the club. Kisame always did a quick scan of all the rooms, even the ones that legally he shouldn’t be scanning, when the club had a code red—a crisis that might require police, fire, or ambulance. Contracts, clauses, whatever—if police, fire, or ambulance came on the premises and wanted in anywhere, Kisame wanted to know what was likely to happen. That night when Neji had been crying aloud in his sleep, suffering in his dreams in Room 6, one of the diners had choked—ironically enough on an innocuous piece of steak. Given all the times throats had been stuffed with assorted gags, dildos, and cocks, and often flooded with saliva and cum at the same time, it was bizarre that one of Chouji’s fabulous dinners would trigger a code red. Go figure.

Kisame told Hidan to water down Shino’s drinks and chat him up, and thought about how to deal with Neji. It occurred to him maybe he could try to get Shino and Neji together—but no, it really wouldn’t work. Not because they both were doms, but because they both should be subbing. Both were hurting, hurting inside—Neji, never really having been loved, and Shino, for having been loved and having the one who loved him die. And when you are hurting inside, hurting like that, being a dom wasn’t likely to help—at least not in Kisame’s opinion. It might for some, but Kisame from observation had found that submission required you to let go of your old hurts. For one thing, you had new hurts to worry about—from your Master’s floggers, paddles, etc.—but also subbing helped because to submit, to truly submit was to let go, let go of old pains, old fears, old wounds, old memories, and live in the now.

The now: the time when you were the center of your Master’s world. When everything, everything, was about you—every moment of apparent neglect, every denial, every humiliation, every cruel touch—it was all about taking you to the point of total submission. You had to earn your caresses, your kisses, your soft pillows, your orgasms, your looks of approval, and, above all, your words of approval. You earned it all. You might never hear words of love, but you were your Master’s greatest possession, greatest treasure, greatest obsession. No one on earth was more important to your Master than you—even when he laughed at you and smiled and talked to others, showered them with kind words—oh, you knew, you knew it was all for you really. And if he failed you as a Master, you left him. And there was no greater blow. Ah—the blow that Neji was feeling.

Yes, the Master, the dom, seemed to have all the love and get all his desires met—but he had his punishments, his cuffs, his cages, his chains, and all the doubts that came with them. True submission couldn’t be forced; it was given. The Master had to stay in control, had to be responsible, had to plan, had to inspire, had to provide, had to care—it was a position that required a lot of giving. The Master gave, the Master withheld—and so often that withholding was really another way of giving. And when you were hurting like Shino and Neji, it wasn’t really a good time to be giving, to be responsible, to be planning, to be shaping and controlling another’s life. They could both use a good cry and a good fucking.

Shino and Kiba would always be friends, and Shino would periodically take care of Akamaru for Kiba, and, in return, Kiba would let his friend fuck his dogboy once in while. It really didn’t matter. The three of them could fuck each other in any combination, but nothing would change the fact that Kiba and Akamaru were so intimate, so right together, so much two parts of one whole, that no one, not even Shino could change that. What Kisame had a feeling Shino needed was something completely different. He had often thought that Gaara might be able to make something of Shino, that the sadnesses in both of them might speak to each other. But Gaara, Gaara was likely too much for Shino, and of course now he was married. Dear God! Wait until his brother hears that Gaara took a slave before him. Kankurou would be shocked—Kankurou! Kisame smiled, pulled out his phone, and called Kankurou.

Kankurou was the plain one of the family—the one whose hair was a dull red-brown, the one with freckles, the one a bit overweight. He, like his uncle, worked in robotics and was brilliant at that. Gaara was the apparent dummy of the family, not having gone to college nor really worked a job. But Gaara lived off the money he had inherited from his dad—something that Kisame knew that only a very smart and very controlled person would be able to do. For Gaara, like his father, invested wisely and lived simply. In contrast, Sasori and Kankurou worked hard, earned more money than Gaara ever had in a few months, and spent heavily. Sasori had “retired,” but he was number three here at the club and really more of an equal to Kisame and Itachi than an employee. Kankurou, busy being a sensational name in robotics, rarely came to the club. When he did show, he often wore bizarre costumes that hid his resemblance to his uncle and brother.

When Kankurou answered, Kisame said, “Your brother collared a slave today. If you want to see him before his week off for his honeymoon, you better get your ass over here, bro.” Kankurou sputtered and hung up. Like Sasori, he had a million-dollar home in one of the nicer parts of town and a ton of expensive toys. He’d be here in no time if he didn’t get a ticket on the way. Kankurou, like Sasori, had a way of manipulating people one-on-one that Kisame was envious of. But Kisame himself could play people and get them to do what he wanted without their knowing it as well. No one could be so intimate with Itachi and not be a master at mindgames. He’d have Shino and Kankurou at least drinking the night away together within an hour. But could he get Kankurou to make a play for Shino? With the sensual shows of Kakashi and Iruka, then Sasuke and Naruto, topped off with Gaara’s romantic declarations, Shino would be no doubt desperate to escape from his memories. So desperate, he might just want to try subbing.

Neji, on the other hand, wasn’t ready to sub. But he needed a dom. Kisame grinned—he was such a bad boy! He called Sai and took him into his office. Sai was more than happy to be a house sub for the night, more than happy to sub for Hyuuga Neji if he was interested. He’d been both a house sub and dom at Danzou’s club, Roots. Kisame had Sai sign the new contract. It actually gave him a little bit of hope to find that Itachi hadn’t already started the process to take Sai from waiter to house sub. Now, the only problem might be that Neji would consider Sai Itachi’s leavings. Kisame thought for a moment and called Sasori.

“Big Red, I’m think Sai will be a good way to keep Neji happy when he gets back here. Would you let Deidara give him a little makeover, so he doesn’t look like Itachi’s leftovers? It might be awkward since Itachi is consoling Kimimaro. By the way, your other nephew is on the way over.”

“Fine, Kisame, I don’t have time here,” said Sasori. Kisame just hung up. He arranged for Kakuza to take over the monitor room, so Deidara could polish Sai up a bit. Then he chatted up Gai before he headed up to Room 4 with Lee. He was starting to feel a little tired—god, Itachi and Sasori did this all the time. Kankurou arrived about the same time that Sai emerged from the elevator with the Deidara touch. Dear god—aqua ruffles?! But the white leather pants were good. Oh, well, Sai hardly looked like the slender quiet boy in black leather shorts who had been kneeling at Itachi’s feet earlier. His hair was spiked up, his lips pink and glossy, the aqua ruffled silk shirt loose and flowing over the tight white leather pants. He looked like a very, very expensive boy toy—perfect for Neji. Kisame sent Sai into the bar with a simple nod and went to greet Kankurou.

Kankurou was in a black set of coveralls and a black cap. He managed to make them look sexy, however, more fighter pilot coveralls than I-do-maintenance coveralls. Kisame nodded to Gemna to take over as host and led Kankurou to the bar. Not but a few minutes into the story of Gaara’s surprising visit to the club, he pretend to be needed in the kitchen. Hidan was focused on Sai, leaving Kankurou most likely to turn to Shino for more info. In the kitchen he called Hidan, who let him know that in fact, Shino and Kankurou were now talking. He gave it a bit of time before heading back to see if he could nudge things along.

It was another twenty minutes before Kotetsu called saying Sasori was pulling up. By this time, Shino was seriously drunk. In the twenty minutes Kisame had sat in Itachi’s office, the bar had filled. Hidan had gotten busy and had Kakuza helping. Watering down Shino’s drinks had been forgotten. The allure that had first filled the bar with every unattached dom and sub was Sai. Evidently Deidara’s fashion sense was better than Kisame’s. But Sai was now competing for attention with Shino. Fuck, Kisame was feeling tempted to make a play for Shino himself and was half hard in his pants. Drunk, Shino had put on his reflective sunglasses instead of his reading glasses, stripped off his ridiculously baggy shirt, and, as a result, was oozing sexuality.

Shino was a racial mongrel: a mix of African-American, Japanese, Portuguese, Irish, and several types of Pacific Islander. But right now, he was 100% sexy. For one thing, he was, as they say, ripped. Under his baggy clothes, he had muscle definition that was intense enough to be almost inhumanely sexy but not overdone to the point you thought about steroids and plastic surgery. Evidently he had been channeling his grief into some serious exercise. His skin was faintly damp looking—from sweat or just plain arousal--which made the muscles look even better, and of course, the tattoos, too. His skin crawled with them—the reason he usually completely covered himself from chin to wrist. They weren’t normal tattoos—they were strings of crawling, twisting, bug-like things that twined together in a way that was vaguely Celtic, vaguely Asian, vaguely obscene, and fully fascinating. When he flexed those incredibly muscles, the swirling lines of strange critters, many tentacled or multi-legged, seemed to move over him. It was faintly repulsive, yet addictive. And watching Shino, all the vague terrors associated with tattoos surfaced in your mind—in those undulating bands, were they gang signs or marks of the Yakuza? But did it matter? Aren’t all bad boys desirable?

Kisame had to work to get Kankurou’s attention off Shino to let him know that Sasori, Gaara, and Neji were on their way. To Kisame’s amusement, Kankurou put that magic of his to work. Whatever he whispered in Shino’s ear had him sliding off his barstool and following behind him. Maybe it was some sort of robotics expert thing? For when Sasori and Kankurou wanted someone to follow them, they did like puppies on a leash, or puppets on a string. or whatever the fuck metaphor you preferred. It was annoying in a way since many a night Kisame had watched Itachi walk away from him or let him walk away. But if the prey came to the hunter so easily, was it really worthy prey?

And suddenly Kisame felt swamped with need for Itachi. He didn’t even care anymore. Fuck, Sasori was back. He headed for the elevator, and Kankurou and Shino didn’t even notice. He had to see what was going on with Itachi and Kimimaro. Besides with that many singles in the bar, Deidara should be up there singing.

When he was at last in the monitoring room, Kisame focused on what was going on in the unnumbered room. The shimmer of lust Shino had evoked exploded into white-hot arousal at the sight of Itachi, naked with his long hair swirling around him welding a whip. Kimimaro was strapped to a cross, screaming. But he was a pain slut—the long-haired platinum blonde was deeply aroused, begging for both whip and cock. Kisame called Itachi and watched as the whip lowered, the oldest Uchiha brother answered, and then turned to stare directly into the camera.

“God, baby, you’re so fucking hot with that whip. I love watching you dom. Do you think he’ll scream that much when you fuck him?”

Itachi smiled, “Just stand back, partner, and watch me work,” he whispered before he disconnected.

Partner—partner—god, when Itachi called him partner, all was right with the world. He sank into the black leather chair, unzipped his pants, dribbled a little lube on his fully erect cock, and watched. Itachi, his very own bad boy, put on a show just for him. And later, the next time his bad boy came to him, he’d put this tape in the VCR and fuck Itachi from behind as he watched himself fuck Kimimaro. He moaned as Itachi shoved the handle of his whip deep into Kimimaro’s ass. His mouth went a little dry, and he spun around get himself a bottle of water from the tiny fridge in the corner.

It was then that Kisame got distracted at the sight of Sasuke with what looked like a toilet brush sticking out of his ass, rocking back and forth on the floor at Naruto’s feet. He stared, and the scene suddenly made sense. Evidently Naruto’s coffee had somehow spilled on one of the larger area rugs in Room 1, and Sasuke was scrubbing the stain out—with a toilet brush that was partially up his ass. Kisame watched as Sasuke pushed his ass back and forth over the stain, his cock jutting out, dark red, unable to come because of the golden cockring tight around it. The ribbons threaded in his back flexed with each thrust of his hips. The jeweled chains swung from the nipple clamps as Sasuke pushed himself back on to the handle of the toilet brush, pushing it across the carpet, and then tightened his ass around the brush, dragging it forward again. He was crying, shaking with what was clearly at least partly sexual pleasure, and without even hearing the words his mouth was so rapidly forming, Kisame knew he was begging Naruto for something.

No, Kisame wouldn’t fuck Itachi while making him watch his session with Kimamaro. No, he’d shove his big hard cock into Itachi’s tiny tight asshole while making him watch his little brother get off on riding a toilet brush, all the while crying and begging his blonde dom. And then he’d just hold his cock inside Itachi, not moving until he was crying and begging just like his slutty little brother. He’d make Itachi finally see that he needed Kisame, needed his cock in him like he needed air in his lungs. It was time to tame his bitch.