Jack of All Trade

Jack of All Trade – Chapter 4: It's Anko!

Disclaimer: Don’t sue me


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“Text” – Talking
“Text” – Thought


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“You are late”

Comrade Mitarashi glared at him.

“I shall have to mention your tardiness when I do a report on the demonstration.”

Itachi gaped at her. “Why? Look around you, people are still arriving.”

“These are workers who had to leave jobs and family to come here at great personal sacrifice. All you had to do was get your bourgeois little ass in line-on time!”

She gave him her back and walked away, leaving him angry and frustrated.

“What a bitch!” Itachi bitterly thought as someone slapped him on the shoulder.

“Are you ready to fight the Sennin thugs?”

It was Kisame.

“I’m ready to kick your Sunahoa friend in the ass. The girl just berated me like she was a colonel of artillery.”

Kisame laughed. “You’re not the first one to want to do something with her ass, but not every man wants to kick it. Most of us want to stick our sausage in it. Some women who come into the cause believe in a bit of communal love to go with a communal economy. Personally, I’d like to give Comrade Mitarashi a taste of my sausage, but she isn’t the communal-love type. But I have never seen her so completely antagonistic toward anyone in the Party as she is with you, my friend. She seems to have taken an instant dislike for you.”

Kisame moved away to greet an arriving Party member.

Itachi struggled with anger, resentment, frustration and inexorable attraction before he sought out Comrade Mitarashi in the crowd. At first he told himself he wanted to get close enough to tell her off, but deep down he realized that he merely wanted to get close enough-period.

“A dog,” he thought to himself, “a whipped dog that lies at its master’s feet and whimpers, that’s what I am.”

The verbal dressing down she gave him had gotten him sexually aroused. Watching her work the crowd, going from one member to another to give instructions and encouragement, watching her eyes sparkle when she laughed, her breasts strut out, made him horny.

He got close enough to her so he could listen to her instructions, even though Kisame had told him the drill earlier. They were to march down the middle of the street, sticking together, singing a Yasukist song. They were to start no trouble with the police or Sennins. But everyone knew trouble would come, anyway. Even policemen who had not been attracted to Sennism were antiyasukists. The marchers would expect no quarter from the Sennins and no help from the police.

As he mingled, he listened to “veterans” of previous marches talk of police brutality, or comrades run down by police horses and clubbed by Sennin brutes. He wiped his wet palms on the sides of his pants. He became more excited and nervous as the time to march arrived.

There were three hundred of them, a motley bunch: factory workers and miners, women store clerks and men employed in low-level government jobs; an old man and woman with white hair and a young woman with a baby in her arms, but most of the marchers were middle-aged and younger, at least half of them university students. Most wore black mourning bands on their arms to commemorate the death of two young Yaskukists who were brutally murdered by a special paramilitary group loyal to Orochimaru.

As the march started, the word went out to pin a black star on lapels. Itachi pinned his on and began marching under a banner of the hammer and sickle. As he marched, he joined the others singing a national Yasukist song.

“Arise, the wretched of the world!”

“We are nothing-thus let us be everything!”

As they walked, he pused his way through the crows until he was positioned next to Comrade Mitarashi. As he came up alongside, he asked, “What is your first name?”

“Comrade, the same as yours, Comrade.” Mitarashi replied with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“Have we met before?” he asked.

“Met?” She glanced at him. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Then why are you angry at me?”

She stiffened and shot him a look. “I’m not angry at you.”

“Yes you are, from the very first moment we were introduced. You were friendly to Kisame and caustic to me.”

They marched together for a moment before she answered. “I’m not angry at you personally, I am angry at what you represent. You believe it is an intellectual pursuit, something to debate with school chums. You forget that it is warfare between the classes, that at some point you must pick up a gun or a shovel, or use your bare hands if there is no other weapon, and go into the streets and fight. Without blood spilled, bourgeois society, with its class distinctions of workers and capitalists, will never be destroyed and the proletariat will not become the masters of their own fate. When I see you Konohoans take to the streets and spill blood for the cause, I will have respect.”

“I don’t need your respect. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in the streets right now.”

He moved away from her, angry. But after a moment his anger faded and he was a little amused at her attacks on him. In truth, he had met many other continental regional Yasukists with the same attitude about the high class Yasukists. And he admired their courage and determination. He had come to the continent not only to experience firsthand the plight of the Sound worker, but to test his own mettle.

He watched her as they marched and sang, her chin lifted high, her face glowing with determination. She wore the hat and pants of a middle class worker, but had a black star in the front of her blouse. He tried to keep beside her but lost his position as enthusiastic marchers surged by him. As he marched and sang with his comrades, his fear and nervousness was replaced by a swelling of pride and camaraderie.

She looked back, caught him looking at her, and linked her arm with a man next to her and lifted her chin higher. He laughed, delighted at her antics, thrilled to be finally on a street, demonstrating for the cause he had adopted as his life’s work.

The anthem faded as the marchers turned a corner. Down the block stood a line of mounted Sound police, their spiked helmets and spit-polished leather shining, blocking their passage. Behind the marchers, several trucks pulled up and began unloading uniformed men carrying clubs and shields. The marchers slowly came to a halt.

“It’s Sennin’s Storm Troopers!” Comrade Mitarashi said.

“They’re blocking us, they won’t let us through,” someone else yelled.

It took a moment for Itachi to understand. It was the police who were blocking them, preventing them from leaving the street so that the Storm Troopers would have their way with them.

He felt the wave of fear and anticipation that went through the crowd, sucking it in, raising his own fear level. His elation was suddenly gone. These were the dreaded brown-shirt paramilitary thugs that carried out the bloody street battles and violent harassments that the Sennins wanted done in private.

He gawked as Comrade Mitarashi stepped forward and threw a rock at the line of Storm Troopers.

“My God, she’s insane,” Itachi thought.

It broke the dam.

The brown-shirt Sennins waded into the demonstrators, swinging clubs. The demonstrators had been warned not to carry any weapons out of fear of confrontation with the police. Now they were easy victims for the thugs.

Itachi was carried along as the panicked radicals tried to escape the brown shirts by rushing the police lines. The line of mounted officers drew their sabers and surged forwards on their horses, ramming the demonstrators and bringing their savers down on them.

Itachi was unexpectedly knocked off his feet by a horse. Rolling to avoid being crushed, he got to his hands and knees just an as officer’s saber came down on his head and he went down again.

He lay stunned, unable to move. His vision blurred for a moment and his head buzzed as the screams, shouts and commotion swirled around him, the pounding of hooves, pelting the cobblestones. He sat up and felt the blood on his face.

Almost immediately, a pair of hands helped him to his feet.

“We have to hurry.”

It was Comrade Mitarashi.

She pulled him along by the arm roughly and he staggered beside her, almost losing his footing, but she kept him from going down.

“Hurry, hurry.”

They darted into an empty alley two blocks down the street, a rush of adrenaline carrying them away from the fray.

Itachi closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, his heart still racing. He was nervous, hyper, but strangely elated. This is why he had come, to march in a demonstration, albeit getting attacked hadn’t been part of his plan. He almost couldn’t remember getting hit on his head, it had happened all so quickly. But now he was beginning to feel a dull ache on his forehead.

He winced when Comrade Mitarashi touched his face.

“You’re bleeding, a cut on your forehead.”

“I don’t care.” He touched the blood with his fingers and held it up to her. “Konohaon blood, you see, we can bleed for the cause.”

“It’s just a scratch. Better Yasukists than you have given their lives for the cause.”

“Is that what it’s going to take to impress you? My life?”

“It would take a miracle, and those are no longer sanctioned by the Party.” She looked both ways down the alley. “When we go back out into the street, we have to pretend we’re just out for a stroll. Pull your hat down over your wound.” She removed the hammer-and-sickle emblem and black star from her clothes.

“Where are we going?”

“To a safe place. It’s only about five blocks from here. Are you okay, can you walk?”

“Sure, like you said, it’s just a scratch. Let’s go.”

Moving back into the street, she held his arm and they proceeded to walk at a leisurely pace, ignoring the drama around them, as policemen on foot, horses and horse wagons rushed by them.

“Just smile and nod as they go by,” she told him.

He waited until they had passed before he said, “The police were there to help the…”

“Of course. They’re part of the system of keeping the people oppressed. Why should that surprise you?”

She was slamming him again, he thought.

“It didn’t. Like everyone else, I knew the police were on the other side of politics. I was just making a comment. Why do you have to kick my feet from under me every time I say anything?”

She was silent for a moment. “You stood up fine during the altercation.”

“Thanks. Maybe next time I’ll lose an arm or a leg and please you even more. Why did you bother saving me back there? You could have left me to be martyred.”

“Comrades don’t abandon each other.”

She stopped in front of a brown building, weather-worn and neglected, with iron railings over the lower windows. By the door stood a planter box devoid of any plants.

“Here we are.”

Once inside, they went up a spiral wood staircase to the third floor and paused by a door.

“The whole building needs a coat of paint,” Itachi thought, but he had a good feeling about it. It was old but it had character. She opened the door and locked it behind them once they were inside.

“Come in the bathroom, I want to get a closer look at your head.”

“Is this your apartment?”

“No. It belongs to a friend. I live in the country of Sand.”

It was one large room with a bathroom. A pot-bellied stove stood on one corner of the room, along with a small table and two chairs. On the other side separated by a room divider was a small divan and double-sized bed. The whole room felt warm and cozy, simple yet homey. Judging from the flowers he saw in several places, he assumed her friend was a woman. “Is your friend a woman?”

She didn’t answer him as he followed her into the bathroom.

“I was right, it’s just a scratch,” she said, washing the wound with rubbing alcohol. “You’re a bleeder, aren’t you?”

He examined the wound in the mirror. “It’s a damn bludgeoning, not a scratch!”

“You men. You’re all babies. You’ll live.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“No, just not overly interested. I’ve seen worse-on better men.”

He swayed dizzily and she grabbed him and steadied him. “I feel like I’m going to faint.”

“Come sit down on the bed.”

She helped him to the bed and he fell onto it, taking her with him. At first she struggled to get out from under him but he held her down and kissed her on the mouth. She didn’t resist the kiss, but pushed him back after their lips parted.

“You’re not hurt.”

“Yes, I am. My heart hurts.”

“You’re lying.”

“True, but that’s irrelevant. I wanted to kiss you from the moment I saw you.”

He looked at her thoughtfully. He had never met anyone like her. None of the other women he had been with, which hadn’t been many, had ever attracted him sexually. There was something different about Comrade Mitarashi. It wasn’t that she was any prettier that the other women he had dated. Probably not any smarter. But there was an essence, a feminine mystique about her that drew him inexorably to her-even when she was stepping on his ego.

“What is it about you that makes me want to make love to you?”

“It’s your irresponsibility toward the suffering of your fellow man. You’re not a revolutionary, you’re a lackey for a capitalist-“

He put his finger on her lips. “Ssshh. You’re a woman. I’m a man. Let’s not talk about politics.”

He kissed her again, fondling her breast with his hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“About to make love to you.”

“Then stop acting like you’re still in a Konoha drawing room. We’re adults. Sex was popular when humans were living in trees, so let’s go at it like the animals we are.”

She sat up and unbuttoned her shirt and threw it over the bed. With one swift move, she unclasped her flesh-colored bra and tossed it. Her porcelain breasts were full and round, the rosy nipples already were hard. They were the most beautiful breasts he had ever seen. Not even the pictures of the women’s breasts at the Konoha Museum, which is where he saw most of the breasts in this life, compared. He had an urge to suck them right away and was about to do so when she quickly bent down and removed her boots. Then she stood up and dropped her pants. She wasn’t wearing any underwear. She turned around and faced him.

“What are you waiting for?”

He hadn’t made any move to get undressed yet. He was too mesmerized by her body, her nakedness. Standing totally naked in front of him, his eyes passed over her pubic hair, slightly darker than her light brown hair, and focused on a mole on her abdomen just below her belly button. It caught his eye. It was perfectly round, almost black. There was something even sensuous about it.

“What are you staring at?”

He didn’t realize he had been staring. “You have a beautiful body.” She was neither thin nor fleshy, the muscles well-toned and defined.

“You’re not lying again, are you?”

“No,” his dry mouth croaked.

“Good, because I know what you need. The doctor will fix you up.”

She undid the buttons on his shirt and flung it over the bed. “Just close your eyes and leave everything to me.” She pushed him back down on the bed. Her fingertips moved playfully down his chest, around his belly button and over the bulge already getting hard beneath his trousers.

He could feel the heat rising in him. As a male he was culturally molded to be the aggressor; it was titillating for him to experience her taking the lead. For a woman who gave the impression that her main interest in life was revolution, her femininity surprised him.

She got on top of him, spreading her knees slowly apart, her wiry pubic hair brushing against his waist before she slid down over his legs. “You Konoha schoolboys are not used to being with a real woman, are you?”

She undid his belt and the top button of his pants and pulled the zipper down. “You annoy other boys and they annoy you. But I’m not a schoolboy,” she whispered in his ear, letting her hard nipples brush against his chest.

He opened his eyes. The aches in his groin was growing.

“I didn’t tell you to open your eyes. Keep them closed,” she ordered.

She took out his rigid penis through the opening of his underwear and started massaging, slowly at first, then more fervently, finally putting her wet mouth on his organ.

The urgency in his body mounted. “I can’t stand it anymore. I’m going to explode.” He rolled over on her back and thrust himself inside her. She was already wet. The rhythm of their bodies carried together and they both climaxed quickly. He kissed each of her nipples before he fell back on the bed, spent from his orgasm.

When he rolled on his side and looked at her, her eyes were closed. Her body glistened. He watched the motion of her breasts move up and down as she breath. He guided his hand over her smooth stomach, down between her thighs, and began massaging her breast. Watching her body respond to his touch got him aroused again.

“Oh, G-God,” she moaned, spreading her legs apart. “I’m going to explode again.”

He felt the surge of excitement in his body. He pushed himself inside her as her whole body shuddered against him, his own climax following immediately.

“Anko,” she cried out.

He looked at her puzzled. “What?”

“My name is Anko,” she said, smiling at him. “If we’re going to be lovers, we might as well call each other by our given names, don’t you think...Itachi?”


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Author’s Note: Steamy enough for ya people? Heh...more to come