D/s Naruto

Chapter 46 (Sunday 17 June 2007, late afternoon)

“Sasuke! Should I call an ambulance?” asked Ibiki forcefully and loudly enough that Itachi and Naruto heard it. Itachi hadn’t thought his situation could get any worse—Neji, Sai, and a few other members had already seen the collar and figured out his new status. He was standing here with his pants down getting fitted for a stainless steel cock ring by his brother’s dom and the newest, thus theoretically at least, least important member of his own club. And the minute Naruto had put his hands on his cock, he had been able to tell that Itachi had a vibrator, a very quiet one, rumbling away in his ass. It was also pretty easy to guess he wasn’t allowed to come since he was in a cockring already. But with Ibiki’s words, things got even more unpleasant, for Naruto, in either shock or anger, tightened his previously gentle, professional hands around Itachi’s cock. The blonde’s nails were cutting into his sensitive skin, and Itachi bit his lip not to scream. Fortunately, Naruto decided almost instantly to go out after Sasuke, releasing him.

There was the sound of scuffling, and Itachi just stood there, not sure what to do. But just as he was starting to pull up his underwear, Naruto and Ibiki came through the curtain.

“He doesn’t want to see you now, and you need to finish with Itachi,” Ibiki said in that voice that Itachi new meant he was unhappy with you and about to unload a number of grievances. “I cut Sasuke’s umbilical cord, and he’s been hard to tie down ever since. You’re better off giving him some time. And if you leave, we’re leaving, and that just might be a bit of a security problem. And speaking of security problems, this emotional shit had no place at Uchiha’s. You and Sasuke don’t get in the door until you have a contract signed for whatever sessions you are planning. And you leave any illegal, concealed weapons in your vehicle or at the coat check. You do realize two policemen saw you pull out an illegal concealed weapon and assault another club member? Two policemen who aren’t very happy with either you or Sasuke. Fit Itachi for ball clamps to match the nipple clamps if you have them,” ended Ibiki abruptly as Naruto had by this time finished adjusting Itachi’s cockring, leaving it on in place of the leather one he’d been wearing.

“Ball clamps don’t need fitting,” said Naruto, but he felt up Itachi’s balls quickly anyway before saying, “You can dress now. Ready to pay?”

Itachi quickly pulled up his underwear and pants, saying, “Yea, I’ll use a credit card today. If you want to give me back the check, you can put it all on the card.”

“I already deposited it,” said Naruto. “Come up front.”

It didn’t take long to pay, and thankful, two female shoppers had come in, which insured that nothing else was said beyond polite nothings. Then there was only the walk back to the club, to Kisame--a walk with Ibiki.

“You’re lucky Kisame decided to collar you,” said Ibiki after they’d gone a block or so, “because I think that may be the one thing that doesn’t make Sasuke hate you worse than he already does.”

“Would he really have stayed with me so long if he hated me?” asked Itachi, half defiant and half looking for reassurance.

“Don’t get soft, Itachi, just because you’ve let yourself be collared. Some of the strongest men of will and body I know are submissives. If you are going to be a slave, have some fucking pride and do it right. Denying the truth is weakness,” said Ibiki harshly.

“And what is the truth, really?” asked Itachi. “He actually hugged me yesterday. He was so happy then. I don’t know what made him suddenly try to push away Naruto. But I think by now he’s figured out he doesn’t want to. I hope he can get it together before Naruto is tired of his shit.”

Ibiki laughed.

“What?”

“You put Kisame through eight years of shit, and now you’re so critical of Sasuke for one day of it,” said Ibiki.

“Did you know what Kisame wanted from me? No, don’t answer because I’ll never know if you did or you’re just saying you did to make me think you know everything,” said Itachi, clearly irritated.

They walked along in silence for a bit before Ibiki began his usual interrogation. Typically it became a game between them—a game that usually ended with Itachi not only losing but highly aroused and wanting Ibiki to dom for him. But today, Itachi just answered.

But even without Itachi’s usual prevarication, by the time they were walking up to Uchiha’s, Ibiki was just getting in stride. Raidou was working the valet parking and door today. He, too, wore his hair in spikes like Kotetsu, but his spikes were neither so long nor so spiky. His face was disfigured by two scars that went across the bridge of his nose and spilled down across his left cheek. Unlike the narrow, clean lines of Ibiki’s scars, Raidou’s were wide and branched like a river. They had been made by acid when Raidou was young and dumb. He had let himself be picked up by a true sadist, perhaps a serial killer in the making, and then not been able to escape. If he hadn’t been rescued by his friend, Genma, he likely would have such scars all over and possibly even not be alive to tell his story. He had never subbed again and rarely dommed. He, like Genma, worked at Uchiha’s to supplement the meager living they made with their art glass. Most people, in fact, believed that Raidou’s scars were from a glass-blowing accident. Tobi, the investigator used by Itachi, had discovered the truth.

Itachi stopped and asked Raidou to call up to Kisame’s penthouse if there was any sign of Sasuke or Naruto. He was about to walk away when Ibiki grabbed his arm and said, “Introduce me.” Startled, Itachi complied, not realizing the two hadn’t met and also wondering why Ibiki even cared. It wasn’t like Ibiki to get distracted by anything when in full interrogation mode.

“Oh, Raidou, this is an old family friend of Sasuke’s and mine, Morino Ibiki. Ibiki, this is Namiashi Raidou, a glass artist, who works with us part of the week.”

After the two men shook hands, Itachi was puzzled when Ibiki pulled out a cigar and told him to go up without him as he wanted a smoke. Now that was even weirder than wanting to be introduced to Raidou since Itachi had never seen Ibiki smoke a cigar in daylight. As Itachi rode up the elevator, it occurred to him maybe Ibiki just wanted to talk with Raidou about their scars. Or could he be interested in doing a scene with Raidou? Well, that was unlikely to happen! Raidou was probably right after Gaara and Chouji in sexual abstinence at the club. It was a club, after all, designed to facilitate sex. Employees got to use the club for free when they weren’t working although any additional charges and fees had to be paid. Just about every employee took advantage of that and indulged in scening here at the club. A scene didn’t have to involve sex, but it usually did. Had Raidou ever been involved in scenes with sex? Itachi tried to remember, but he couldn’t. Raidou was one of the least memorable of his employees.

It was at that point that the elevator reached the penthouse floor, and Itachi’s thoughts were now all focused on Kisame. Once out of the elevator he stripped down to nothing but the new cock ring and his collar. Then he carefully put on the nipple and ball clamps with their dangling silver chains. He folded his clothes and placed the bag with all of the boxes from Naruto on top of the pile. Picking it up, he went and knelt down at Kisame’s door and rang the bell. He wasn’t surprised when Kisame didn’t answer the door right away. Leaving a slave waiting naked at a door was very much something a good master did, thought Itachi. The part of him that had been a dom for so long started a little lecture in his head.

First, this teaches you that you have no control over your time. Your wishes count for nothing; it is your master’s wishes that count. Also the pain and humiliation of kneeling where you can be caught or seen by others make you realize how much you prefer the gaze of your master. You long for him, you can’t wait to enter that room despite knowing that you will likely suffer in it. But it will be suffering that pleases your master, not this lonely suffering that you worry your master doesn’t even know about. Of course, he does, but the slave, especially a new slave, worries. Why doesn’t master call them? Have they displeased him? Will he neglect them? Of all punishments, neglect is the one that hurts the true slave the most. The waiting slave moves into a different headspace. He may become filled with an overwhelming feeling of doubt, needing to prove his love, his submission. Or, he may become blissful, lost in the knowledge that his patient waiting, his humble kneeling, pleases his master, and is his proper place. He glories in holding his position when it become painful, knowing this is his lot in life to suffer beautifully for his master, to hold that position until he collapses, to push his body as far as it can go for the sake of his master.

When the lecture in his mind ended, Itachi thought about his choice this morning. The welts on his back still hurt a bit, but nothing like they had when fresh and dripping a little blood in two places. Yet, even with that pain, the thought of never making love with Kisame again had given him a pain that had overwhelmed anything his body felt. And if he had let Kisame go down those stairs, he might not have come back up them except to move out. He hadn’t felt this sort of sickening, dizzy, bone-deep excitement and desire to please since, well, since before he had been betrayed, before the horrors with Sasuke. And then—then he had been innocent, or maybe ignorant was the better word, while now he was neither. He knew full well what might, no, what would await him as a slave. He shivered and the chains jingled, the vibrator moved, and he moaned. Already he needed to come so badly he hurt, and he had a week of this ahead of him. The vomiting was really not the reason for this punishment; it was no doubt to show Itachi just a fraction of what Kisame had suffered in the years he was waiting to collar Itachi.

The memory of the contents of that safe filled Itachi with the sudden feeling of being loved, totally loved. It must be love, nothing else could have kept him here with me otherwise. No one has been my friend as long as he, no one not working for my family or me, no one not related to me. Memories of their lovemaking filled his mind. He had always enjoyed it, but it wasn’t enough to let him break from the D/s scene, enough to make him brave his parents’ racism. He would get sick of the kisses, the caresses, and long for the harshness of a scene, the snap of a whip. But now he had it all—his lover and the D/s scene together. Oh, lord, his mind was going crazy with thoughts of what Kisame might do to him. The nipple and ball clamps felt heavy, very heavy, and Itachi had a feeling they wouldn’t come off for a long, long time.

God, the pair Sasuke had worn must be much heavier, given they were gold. There is no way I’ll let myself be out subbed by Sasuke. I will endure this, all of this: the pain on my back and my face; the more erotic pain in my nipples, cock, and balls; and that distracting pleasure in my ass. My ass, oh, god, Master, it is all yours. Itachi flashed back to the memory of being fucked Friday night in the control room, to squeezing out Kisame’s cum, and his comment about enjoying watching that. Oh god, he would likely be squeezing a lot of things out of his ass for Kisame. He remembered Kakashi’s little display with the eggs—oh, god, Kisame might do something like that.

Or worse—Itachi thought about what might be worse, which only made him more excited, more conscious of every inch of his naked body. His body began to talk to him—a shivering pulse running up his spine, a throbbing in his shoulder from the spot where he’d bled, a quivering in his ass, the knotting tightness of the muscles in his left leg, and a twitch in his right eye—as if every part of his body wanted to remind him that he was nothing but flesh, Master’s flesh, Master’s body to play with or neglect as he wished. He didn’t need his brain to work hard, to think deeply: he need only think of what would please Master, ways to serve Master, ways to submit more fully. Suddenly Itachi started to panic; he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t—

Kisame opened the door, and Itachi felt like bursting into tears in relief. And then that sexy, low voice of his began to sing to him, and he did start to cry. When Kisame sang Barry White, well, that really wasn’t an uncommon reaction. “My first, my last, my everything . . . You’re the answer to all of my dreams . . . “ And Kisame backed into his living room, drawing Itachi after him on his knees. “You’re my sun, my moon,” he sang as he shut the door, “my guiding star.” Then he picked up Itachi and carried him to the sofa and coffee table, singing, “My kind of wonderful; that’s what you are.”

He set Itachi on the coffee table like a centerpiece and walked around him admiring the picture he made with his long beautiful hair, his red striped ass, his erection so red and firm, his nipples and balls decorated with the beautiful silver spills of chain, and Itachi’s eyes red and spilling tears. “I know there’s only, only one like you,” he sang, “Ain’t no way they could have made two. You’re all I’m living for, your love I’ll keep for evermore.” Then standing right in front of Itachi, so he could look up into those red eyes, he finished with the line that made Itachi feel like he’d do anything, everything for Kisame, “My first, my last, my everything.” Kisame pulled out his cock and gestured for Itachi to get down on his hands and knees and go down on him as well. And Itachi sucked, licked, worshipped Kisame’s cock as his master sung lyrics of his own mingled with odd snatches of songs to him: “My prize, my prey, my precious slave . . . Never, never gonna give you, up, I’m never ever gonna stop, Not the way I feel about you . . . I know how to do it to you, I know how to make you feel like you wanna feel, and my slave will feel so used. I’m qualified to satisfy you . . .”

Outside the building under the hot sun of a June afternoon, Raidou shivered. He knew about Ibiki—Itachi’s dom. Was he angry at Kisame’s claiming him? What does he want with me? Or am I just imagining he’s not here just to smoke? Raidou kept peeking out of the corner of his eye at the larger, more scarred man. Then Ibiki reached up and pulled off his black do-rag, and Raidou stared openly. The scars all over Ibiki’s bald head were exactly like the two across his left cheek, made from acid. Oh, god, what had happened to him? He must not have had a friend to save him, like me, Raidou thought. He must have suffered so much, so much more than I.

“When do you go off shift?” asked Ibiki.

Raidou blinked. “At five,” he finally said.

“Want to play?” said Ibiki in voice that made Raidou’s toes curl in his shoes and his cock stir.

He licked his lips, saying, “Maybe.”

Ibiki laughed, and Raidou’s cock immediately went fully hard. “Meet me in the bar, and let’s explore just what that maybe means,” he said.

Raidou didn’t say anything, and after a bit Ibiki asked, “So you blow glass, do you?”

“Ah, yea.”

“I heard that glass blowers have to have exceptionally strong mouth and throat muscles and extremely precise control of their breathing.”

“Ah, yea.”

“I heard a story about a glass blower blowing a guy,” said Ibiki blowing a perfect smoke ring.

“Oh?”

“Yea, the guy said that his cock had never felt anything so tight. It was the most amazing thing. Then just when he was about to blow, the guy upped the pressure so that he that broke some blood vessels on his cock just as he came. The pain and pleasure ripped through him at the same time. The next day his dick was bruised. But he said it was worth it.” Ibiki blew another smoke ring.

Raidou wanted to get down on the sidewalk and try that on Ibiki, but all he did was swallow and shift on his feet, saying, “Oh.”

“You any good at blowing?” asked Ibiki.

“Uh, uh, well, I’ve made some pieces I’m proud of,” said Raidou, refusing to interpret Ibiki’s question in a sexual way.

“I’ve done some fine pieces myself,” said Ibiki in a way that seemed clearly to have nothing to do with glass as all. “But I could use some practice with my technique, Raidou.”

Raidou. The way Ibiki said his name, Raidou. Oh, that sounded so good.

“So, Raidou, how about you let me practice on you?”

Shit. He’d missed something there. Practice what? Raidou looked up at Ibiki, who was now way too close, way too big, way too sexy.

“Open up,” Ibiki said softly.

And Raidou obediently opened his mouth.

“Ah, still got a tongue in there,” said Ibiki, touching Raidou’s lower lip with his finger.

And Raidou couldn’t help it: without thinking, his tongue reached out to lick at Ibiki’s fingertip. He blushed.

“Five o’clock,” said Ibiki, “Don’t make me wait.” And he crushed out his cigar in the sandy container for just that purpose and strode into the club not even looking back.

And Raidou was left, mouth open, cock hard, and head full of visions of Ibiki doing him, practicing his techniques on him. Oh, god, five o’clock was way too far away. The cigar in the sand seemed to call to him. He wanted to pull it out of the sand and put it in his lips, his mouth, and taste Ibiki on it. Dear god.

Twenty minutes later, Genma came out from the front desk and stood next to his friend. He was sucking on a cinnamon stick as always, but Raidou found it particularly distracting today. They stood there in silence, such good friends they really didn’t need to speak.

Finally, Genma shifted the stick in his mouth and said, “So I should just go home alone, eh?”

And Raidou blushed again, not looking over, and just said softly, “Yea.”

“Want a Valium?”

“Fuck off!”

“So passionate already. Huh. Well, have fun, loverboy,” said Genma starting back to the door.

Red-faced and agitated, Raidou almost let him go back inside without another word. But he’d been staring at the cigar, rock hard, for the last twenty minutes. “Genma?”

“Yea?”

“Can I have one of your cinnamon sticks?”

And Genma didn’t laugh, he just came over and hugged Raidou hard. He slid a cinnamon stick into Raidou’s hand and asked, slyly, “Should I have Chouji send out a banana?”

“Prick!”

“Oh, you’re going to get some, tonight, Raidou, plenty of prick,” said Genma, going inside with that last infuriating word.

And Raidou spent the rest of his shift alternately torn between fear and eagerness, sucking fiercely on a cinnamon stick.

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Hey, Vague, don't tell me I have typos and not tell me what they are! But thanks for adding my stories to your archive!

Please, everybody, let me know if you spot any gaffs or mistakes I can fix.

Thanks morbid dreamer for pointing out my discrete/discreet and prostate/prostrate problems. I've got a million of those--oooppps! It will take a while to fix all of them, but I'll get on to it soon.

And once again thanks for all the reviews!! Wow--500!!!