D/s Naruto

Additional Warning: Violence, blood.

Chapter 38 (Sunday 17 June 2007, early morning)

Sunday morning was always a subdued time at Uchiha’s, and after a rare night of drinking on the part of the staff, it was positively tomblike with no one wanting noise or light. In the elevator up to their private penthouses on the top floor, Kisame watched Itachi wobble a little. His white whale was vulnerable now, completely undone by this weekend’s transformation of Sasuke and a rare night drinking. All Kisame’s predatory instincts were telling him now, now was the moment to attack.

“My little brother the princess dragged off by his prince. He’s probably cum twenty times since we last saw him, the lucky bastard,” mumbled Itachi.

The lucky bastard! Finally, finally Itachi had admitted that somewhere inside him was a longing to be dominated, to be dragged off and claimed. The dominant inside Kisame rose up to the surface and took over, attacking.

His big black hand seized Itachi’s hair, wrapping it in his fist, jerking back, and his mouth came down on Itachi’s neck like a vampire’s, and he bit down, drawing blood.

Itachi was too stunned, too stupefied by alcohol to fight well, and mentally, hell, mentally, he had already been sliding into submission. Kisame’s assault sent him plunging down into it. The taste of Itachi’s blood in his mouth, Kisame ripped down the front of Itachi’s shirt, leaving it open with torn gaps where the buttons had been sewn on. The buttons themselves were still stuck in the buttonholes, held by little bits of silk torn away from that other half of the shirt. But Kisame didn’t notice. He spun Itachi by his hair, slamming his body, his face into the elevator wall hard. The other hand grasped the collar of Itachi’s silk shirt and jerked down, stripping it from him, leaving the long-haired dom half naked.

The long silky black hair in Kisame’s fist, that smooth white back against the silver gray metal walls of the elevator, the taste of blood in his mouth, all excited Kisame, but nothing had him so aroused as much as the thought that this man he had been stalking for eight years would be his at last, completely and totally. His body smashed against Itachi’s, slamming him harder into that metal wall, crushing him, pressing so hard, the heavy platinum chain and its giant tooth, his belt’s buckle, and the shape of his cock were imprinting themselves on Itachi’s skin.

Then the elevator pinged and the door slid open. Kisame moved towards it pulling Itachi by his hair, hurling him out on to the marble of the hallway between their two penthouses. Itachi landed on the floor in a heap. “Strip off those pants and get on your knees, now, bitch,” ordered Kisame, unbuckling his belt and pulling it out of the loops of his pants.

Itachi’s eyes were huge black pools in his shocked face. But before he could even protest Kisame brought the belt down hard on his naked shoulders, the leather ripping at his skin, immediately raising a huge wide welt. Itachi screamed and his body began to fight, but Kisame got ahold of his hair again and held him down in the hallway, whipping his back, growling out, “I said strip, bitch, not spawl on the floor or squirm or scream. When I give you an order, you are to obey it at once.”

“Kisame, Kisame, stop, stop,” screamed Itachi.

Kisame whipped harder.

“You bastard! You evil bastard! How could you do this to me? Kisame!”

The belt descended again and again until finally Itachi, grasped out in a sobbing voice, “Master, Master, please.”

And Kisame threw the belt away, saying, “Strip and kneel, slave.”

Itachi, his face hidden in his hair, struggled to stand and undo his pants to pull them down. It took him a little time to get on his feet. One of the welts on his back was bleeding a little, and his arms and hands shook as he tried to undo his pants. He fumbled with them, trying to hurry, but pain and the lingering effects of the night’s drinking made him slow. He stumbled and fell to his knees, the pants still too high, and with a loud sob, got up on his hands and knees and then shaking, pulled himself upright again. The pants were down around his ankles, and he fell again trying to take off his shoes. Curled on his side, he pulled them off, pulled off the pants, and naked at last, knelt at Kisame’s feet, his head down, his long hair spilling over his face.

“What are you?”

“A slave, Master,” said Itachi in a muffled voice.

“Louder,” ordered Kisame.

And Itachi lifted up his face, showing Kisame his tears, and said, “Please, Kisame, please stop.”

Kisame slapped him, holding nothing back, saying, “What did you say?”

And with blood oozing from his lips, his neck, his back, Itachi said, “Master, I’m your slave.”

Kisame leaned down and put his hands on either side of Itachi’s face, tilting it up to him. “Do you want to wear my collar, Slave?” he asked in that low, sexy voice of his, the voice that had seduced Itachi again and again over the last eight years. “Do you want to be mine, forever, only mine? Mine to beat, mine to order, mine to fuck, mine to share, mine to whore, mine to hold, mine to treasure?”

Itachi shook under Kisame’s hands, this time not from pain but from pleasure. His cock was jutting out, fully aroused even as his blood was still welling out, leaving red trails on his skin. But he didn’t answer, just looked up into Kisame’s eyes, desire and pride and pain all struggling.

And Kisame knew that this was the moment, the moment that he had worked towards for eight years, and still, still, Itachi resisted, hesitated, rejected.

He couldn’t bear it.

He held Itachi’s eyes for one more minute, stared at his face, and unable to resist, lowered his head and licked the trail of blood from his chin up to the corner of his mouth. He stood up with the taste of his love’s blood in his mouth, the taste of bitter failure, and walked to the fire stairs and began his slow descent to the ground floor. He had already passed the door to the third floor when he heard the stairwell door open and feet running down the stairs.

He paused, waiting, still looking down the stairwell, not really seeing it or anything. Itachi’s feet were flying down the stairs fast. Hmm, coming down to threaten me, no doubt, to tell me how I’m going to jail, he thought, resigned, accepting. He might even stab or shoot me, he mentally added, unmoved, uncaring, despite knowing Itachi had a gun in his penthouse and along with countless other knives and weapons.

But the figure that skittered around him had nothing in its hands and threw itself on the cement steps in front of him, grasping at his feet, begging, “Please, Master, please, forgive me, forgive me, forgive your slave! Please, please, don’t leave me! I’m sorry!” The white hands grasped his ankles in a death grip and that beautiful head of hair spilled at his feet. He could feel, vaguely, some pressure on the tops of his feet through his elegant leather shoes. The naked back and buttocks below him were stripped red and white, the red raw and bright against that pale, pale, perfect white skin he’d kissed and loved so many times.

“Master, Master,” cried Itachi, raising his face smeared with tears, his cheek already swelling and bruising, blood again on the edge of his mouth, “Please, please, I’ll do anything, anything, just don’t leave me, Master.”

He was his, his at last, his elusive prey, the Moby Dick he’d chased after for eight years. And Kisame reached up and unclasped the platinum chain he never took off. He smiled down gently, his face full of love as he wrapped the long chain twice around Itachi’s neck. It was the perfect length to go around that slender neck twice. He hooked the clasp and adjusted the chain, so the clasp was at the back of Itachi’s neck. From the front it looked like Itachi was wearing two platinum chokers, and on one, centered at the base of his throat lay the giant prehistoric shark tooth. Everyone knew that tooth, knew that chain. With just one glance they would know that Itachi was Kisame’s collared slave. How could they still run Uchiha’s now? But, that wasn’t something to worry about now.

“My slave,” said Kisame softly.

“My master,” echoed Itachi.

And the master picked up his slave in his arms, kissed him long and deep, and carried him back upstairs. The stairs seemed to climb endlessly, step after step. The hallway was too long, another unending length to be slowly crossed. And at last Kisame lowered his slave to his bed. He cried out in agony when his back and ass hit the sheets, but Kisame kissed him and spread his legs, leaving him lying there like that. He stood up and stripped, watching his slave cry and grasp for his breath. Then he got on the bed and straddled his slave’s neck, presenting his cock.

“Suck me, slave, get me wet, so I can fuck you for the first time. I want you to watch as I slid into you.”

“Master!” And with a bloody mouth, Itachi leaned forward, eager, wanting, sucking Kisame deep into him. Itachi, unlike Sasuke, could give good head, but never, never had he seemed so passionate, so committed to orally pleasuring Kisame. He licked and sucked, and if not for Kisame’s need to bury himself in his slave’s ass, he would have filled that willing mouth. He pulled out, and his slave cried out, “Master! Oh, Master!”

And then, he was there between his slave’s legs, sliding in, claiming what was his, all his. He was brutal, savage, slamming in and sparing his slave nothing, pushing his painful back down on the sheets with each stroke. But Itachi was lost, crying out in pleasure, alternatively thanking him, begging him for more, and then finally simply crying out what Kisame had always known was true but had begun to believe he would never hear: “Master, I love you! I love you so much! Master!”

And with a final shout of “Mine!” Kisame finally came, filling his slave fully at last.

And the great Dom of the city was now but a lowly collared slave.

His slave.