D/s Naruto

Chapter 39 (Sunday 17 June 2007, morning)

“Go fetch me what I want from my safe, my slave,” ordered Kisame.

“Oh, Master, your safe, thank you,” said Itachi, overwhelmed. He was finally going to find out what Kisame kept in that damn safe. He been trying to wheedle it out of him for four years now. When he spent the night over here in Kisame’s penthouse, he almost always tried out a few new guesses at the combination. There was little in Kisame’s life he kept from Itachi, and what he did had always irritated him. What in god’s name was so secret, so valuable, he needed that ridiculously heavy safe that had cost so much to have installed?

Kisame gave Itachi the combination, which he memorized at once, hardly able to contain himself, wanting to open that forbidden box. He dashed off to the safe, squatted down in front of it, and quickly opened it. When the door actually gave under his hand, he felt suddenly terrified. What, what could he only see now that he was Kisame’s slave?

But there were no bones, no bloody hands, just tapes, books of either photos or cds or both and a black velvet jeweler’s box, a fairly big one. Itachi pulled it out and opened it. He was stunned. It was a platinum chain, a chain whose pattern of links was identical to the one around his neck. But this one, this one had no clasp and was shorter. Itachi knew exactly where it would fall on Kisame’s chest. It was much shorter than the chain around his neck now. He though he was wearing this chain, the chain Kisame had been wearing when they first met and had worn for months after then until he’d replaced it with the longer one. Itachi had assumed he’d had this one cut and lengthened and the ends formed into a clasp instead of being reshaped into one continuous loop. But instead, instead he had had it all along. Why the change? This chain, this one in the box, wouldn’t perfectly wrap twice around Itachi’s neck. Was that the reason?

There was another Megalodon tooth on this chain, but it wasn’t the one Kisame had been wearing since the moment they’d met. He knew, for he, more than anyone alive but Kisame, knew that tooth. He had studied it, played with it, sucked on it. This was a similar tooth, but not the same one. He wore the one Kisame had been wearing everyday for the last eight years. And had this tooth, this chain been waiting here for seven plus years, for the moment when Kisame needed another chain? Had he wanted Itachi as his slave for that long?

Itachi pulled out the big photobook that was on top. It was full of dvds labeled in Kisame’s hand, each one naming who Itachi had been domming and the date. Each one had a rating from one to five stars. Itachi flipped through the book—here was every session he’d had in the last year it seemed. He pulled the book out under it, but this one was full of photos—photos of him. Photos of him in public, laughing, or in private, relaxed. Photos of him naked, photos of Kisame fucking him, clearly taken by an automatic camera that Kisame had hidden and triggered. Other, grainer photos, stills from videos showing him fucking other men, showing his face as he came, as he dominated. Even a photo of him whipping a back he recognized as Sasuke’s. Photos of him, naked, sleeping. Photos of him on his birthdays, holidays. All him, Kisame and him, except for the men he was fucking, beating, or being serviced by—and never, never, could you see any of their faces. Under that book were just tapes: older videos of his domination sessions, ones before Kisame had gone digital with this very private collection.

Itachi felt shocked, shocked to his core. He’d never thought Kisame cared this much. He’d thought, in fact, that he was just another fuckbuddy of his, ok, his best fuckbuddy, a good friend, but this, this showed something more. This was obsession, the kind of obsession that the best Master/slaves had. Kisame had wanted him, wanted him as his slave for a long, long time. Itachi felt humbled. God, how many times had he left Kisame in a bed and gone to fuck another man? Dear God. But he’d said, his to whore—was he going to let, no order, Itachi to keep dominating other men? Or give him away to whomever he wanted? Or never let him fuck anyone ever again? But it wasn’t Itachi’s place to wonder. He was the slave.

And oh, oh, he wanted to please his master, to thank him for all his years of love, for waiting for him to come to his senses, for showing him this, the extent and depth of his caring, his feelings, his desire. Itachi put everything back in the safe but the chain. Then he put the chain with the tooth on it in his mouth and crawled to his master, whom he could hear in the kitchen. He crawled over to those sexy black feet and looked up, offering the chain. Kisame reached down, smiling, took it and put it around his neck. Itachi lowered his swelling face to Kisame’s feet and began worshipping them, licking and kissing as he had taught so many others to do.

He heard Kisame distantly making noises with dishes, pots, then his head was jerked up, and that thick black cock thrust into his mouth, into his throat. Hands gripped his head, his hair, and Kisame drove into him. Itachi struggled to position himself so he could take the fucking his mouth and throat were getting. He breathed through his nose, remembering every word of advice he’d give the subs he’d trained, relaxing. He was proud of himself for not flinching, not gagging, basking in his love for Kisame and his own perfect submission. And then Kisame came, flooding his throat with cum, and Itachi lost it. But Kisame held him there gagging, suffocating until he’d shot out his last bit of cum, only then letting go. Itachi collapsed on the floor, vomiting noisily, throwing up not only the cum but the bottle of vodka, the pretzels, and everything else still undigested in his belly. When he had nothing left to puke, he managed to pull himself together. He knelt in front of his vomit, panting, humiliated.

The kitchen was very silent.

Itachi had used the bullwhip on subs for gagging and spitting up his cum, but no one, no one had ever vomited up his cum and everything in his stomach. He knew he would be brutal to such a sub, and Kisame, Kisame had seen every one of his sessions it seemed. He would be even more harsh than Itachi, knowing that to be softer than his slave would lose him all respect. Itachi felt a shiver of fear, but it was a shiver also of anticipation. He started to sob, loud sobs, knowing he had failed his master, knowing his punishment would be terrible.

“When I come in your throat, slave,” said Kisame at last, “you will swallow it unless I order you to do otherwise. Crawl on your knees into the bedroom and fetch with your mouth the black leather wrist restraints from my night table, now, quickly. Do nothing but what I have said.”

Itachi wouldn’t have dared. He longed for a glass of water to rinse his mouth, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t get one for a long time. He returned as quickly as he could with the thick leather cuffs in his mouth.

Kisame took them and said, “Behind the back.”

Itachi immediately turned, put his hands behind his back, offering them to Kisame to cuff. When Kisame had cuffed them, he said, “Now, you will clean up the floor. Do it quickly, but well, and in a manner befitting a slave. You may not take a drink. When you are finished, I will give you a chance to redeem yourself before I decide on your punishment.”

Oh. Clever. This, this wasn’t even the punishment. He groveled on the floor, saying, “Thank you, Master. I’m so sorry, Master.” Then he put into plan the way he figured he could clean the floor. He knew where Kisame kept the rags and a bucket—his laundry room, just over there. Itachi crawled over and used his mouth to open the door, pulling down the handle, thankful that the doors in the penthouses didn’t have knob style handles, but rather lever ones. He pulled open the cupboard, pulled out a bucket using his teeth on the handle. He rapidly threw some rags in, the ones on the top he could quickly get. Oh, shit, he’d need trashbags. He picked up the bucket handle in his teeth and managed to get on top of the washer and dryer, place it in the deep sink and start the hot water. He was aware of Kisame’s gaze from the doorway and very careful not to get his mouth near the water. He then stood on the washer to tear off a trash bag from the roll, trying not to knock the roll off the shelf and send it down to the floor.

But immediately he couldn’t help but think how much he would enjoy watching a slave scurry around after such a roll and try to pick it up and reroll it. Trying to hide a grin, he changed his strategy, jerking the roll, which as predicted flew off the shelf. He checked the water level in his bucket and then leaped down from the washer, shaking his head a little as he did it, so his hair would fly out around him. He landed gracefully despite the cuffs and scurried about, making sure to wiggle his ass. He stopped when he judged there was about the amount of water he could carry in the bucket with his teeth, scrambling back up on the washer to shut the faucet off and raise the bucket up out the sink. He was suddenly aware of Kisame putting the roll of garbage bags up, taking the opportunity to smack Itachi hard on the ass, saying, “Hurry up, Clumsy.”

Itachi thanked him gratefully, despite the pain of the blow hitting one of his welts, knowing that getting the roll back up on the shelf would have been almost impossible. He lowered the bucket to the floor, got on his hands and knees, and crawled in to the kitchen with it. He scurried back after setting the bucket by the mess he’d made, getting the trash bags he’d worked hard to get. He shook open one of them with his teeth, then opened the cupboard under the sink in the same way, and took out an unopened roll of paper towels. He bit off the plastic wrapper, and then got a number of the paper towel in his mouth. At this point he realized he was going to get an awful lot of puke in his hair. Damn. Well, it couldn’t be helped. But as he picked up the paper towels in his mouth to make a first pass over the mess, Kisame barked, “Slave, over here.” He dropped the towels and crawled over to Kisame.

“I don’t want to smell your puke for the rest of the day, Slave. Is this how you anticipate pleasing me?”

“I’m sorry, Master,” said Itachi. “I didn’t think, Master.”

“Stand up and turn around,” ordered Kisame. He loved Itachi’s hair, loved brushing it, braiding it, but now he just quickly made a rough braid and then pulled him over to the counter by it, to grab a rubber band and secure the bottom. He then pulled open a drawer and took out a cheap pair of plastic chopsticks, twisting the braid up and securing it on Itachi’s head with the chopsticks. Then he grabbed a spatula, ordering Itachi to bend over.

It was awful. The metal spatula impacting on his welts, smacking him thoroughly until he started to cry and plead again. Kisame let him beg for a while before stopping and sitting down to watch the rest of Itachi’s clean-up job. He used the paper towels, holding them in his mouth, glopping up what he could and dropping them on the open part of the garbage bag, periodically getting up and raising the bag to keep the paper towels inside it. When he’d gotten up the worst of it, he went for the wet cloths in the bucket, now working to get up all the traces, the missed patches. When he finally thought he was doing more harm than help with the bucket, he went back to the paper towels. It looked pretty good.

If he had done it with his feet, it would have taken a fraction of the time, but of course it would have meant that the punishment that was coming would be much worse. He picked up the bucket and carried it back to the laundry room. It was difficult raising up the bucket, and the smell of the water made him glad it was time to dump it. He climbed up and sat on the washer. When his ass met the metal, he hissed in pain and stood in the washtub instead. He used his feet now, turning on the water, rinsing each rag, squeezing it out against the side of the washtub before dropping it over the side. He ran the water, cleaning the bucket and the washtub, and then jumped down, now using his mouth to put the damp rags in the dryer and turn it on. The bucket was put up, and he crawled back to take care of the trash bag and put up the paper towels. But when he got back to the kitchen, they were both gone.

“Come into the living room, Slave,” ordered Kisame. He was sitting on the back of the sofa which faced the large tv screen. The tv was on, frozen, and the remotes on the top of the sofa. There was a tape in there no doubt that Kisame was going to have them watch. Itachi wondered if the tape was part of the redemption or the punishment. He reached Kisame and again began to worship his feet.

“I’m going to give you a chance to redeem yourself as promised,” he said. “I’m going to fuck your face again, Slave, and you are this time to hold my cum in your mouth. None of it must come out and none be swallowed. Then I’m going to have you watch a little tape bent over and braced against the back of this sofa. I might finger you, smack you, or fuck you as you watch the tape. When the tape’s over, you are going to spit out the cum in your mouth into the bowl on the coffee table. If it’s all there, I will be merciful. If you fail to redeem yourself, your punishment will be harsh.”

“Yes, Master,” whispered Itachi, “Thank you, Master.” He knew he wouldn’t throw up again—there was nothing left to throw up, but to have to hold the cum in his mouth during a video no doubt chosen to upset or arouse him, oh, fuck, and not to mention being spanked or fucked at the same time—he might just fail. But then Kisame’s cock was in his mouth and throat again, making him unable to think. But his body was ready, and he tried to add to Kisame’s pleasure, to take over the blowjob, to reduce his Master to being the one feeling weak-kneed, unable to stand. He’d known from the moment Kisame had mentioned an opportunity that it would involve some cock sucking, and he was determined to give one of the best blowjobs of his life, even if he had almost no control at all. He loved the little cries that spilled from a sub’s throat sometimes when he fucked their mouths cruelly, and he found that once he started making those cries, himself, it was hard to stop. But still he used each chance he got to hum and moan around Kisame's cock, to suck, to tease with his tongue, to seduce.

And when suddenly Kisame warned him that he was about to cum, Itachi smiled around his cock, knowing that he had been good, very good. For Kisame to cum this fast after two earlier orgasms and when he had no doubt been planning to fully test Itachi meant the slave had been more seductive than anticipated.

He held the cum in his mouth and then positioned himself as Kisame had directed. He looked at the blank video screen with dread. It came on, and it was worse than he’d dreamed. It was Sasuke dancing for Naruto. Dear god in hell. Itachi tried to think about Kisame’s collection, Kisame wanting him, about the many great sessions of sex they’d had, about how this penthouse could use redecorating, about anything, anything but what his brother was doing on the screen. At some point during Sasuke’s gyrations, Kisame slid into his ass and began fucking him. Oh god, this was his slow pace. The one that Itachi loved. And sure enough, Kisame soon was hitting his prostate with each slow, steady thrust. And Kisame could do this for an hour, making Itachi come four, even five times, before shooting his sperm deep inside him. Oh god, how long was this fucking tape? He couldn’t come, that was a given. Slaves don’t come without permission. Whimpering even as he took care not to swallow his Master’s cum, Itachi suffered.

Sasuke’s punishment came as a relief. Sasuke being beaten was nothing new. But then, he’d never watched his little brother being beaten with cum in his mouth, a slave collar around his neck, and his Master’s dick sliding in and out of his ass.

It was torture, torture, but then, when Naruto told Sasuke he had to clean the floor, Itachi knew the torture was only now starting. And Kisame started talking in that low, sexy voice of his, “Look at your slutty little brother. He’s a better slave than you, a real ass slut. Look at him fuck that toilet brush. See how his greedy little anus swallows it up. Oh, but he suffers. How pretty he is when he suffers, isn’t he, my slave? See that cockring and nipple clamps Naruto has on him? Guess what you’re going to have to go buy from him? I think I’ll send you with a vibrator in your ass when you go to buy them. Oh, watch Sasuke’s ass clamp down on that brush! Look at the agony on his face . . . I think I’ll have to give you to Naruto and Sasuke to punish when you’re bad—“

And Itachi screamed, came all over the back of the sofa, and swallowed all of Kisame’s cum.

“Oh, my little slave,” said Kisame, “What have you done? Oh, you are going to suffer this week, suffer so much.”

Then he slammed into his slave’s ass, rough and hard, filling him with another hot load of cum as Itachi wept brokenly.