D/s Naruto

Additional Warning for this chapter: short omorashi fetish scene (sexual arousal associated with having a full bladder)


Chapter 48 (Sunday 17 June 2007, morning to noonish)

Gaara lay on his back watching Shika ride him, entranced. His arms were still above his head, the bit gag still in his mouth with those chains running from both ends of the bar that forced his jaw apart to his nipple ring and a nipple clamp. His cock was still pulled up tight by the chain on the leather ring under its head that ran up to the ring on his collar. But Gaara had undone the leather strap trapping his slave’s sperm in his balls and pulling them down so painfully. The cuffs were still around his ankles, but the spreader bar was gone, so he could straddle his master. Shika was still in subspace, his face peaceful, radiating bliss. Yet his ass was tight around Gaara, and while his pace was slow, he forced himself down and raised himself fully. Those startling, surprising curls moved around his face as his head rocked forward and back each time he raised and lowered himself. The gold rings in his ears glinted through the brown curls.

Shikamaru’s eyes opened and met Gaara’s with a look that sent him right into climax, thrusting up and exploding inside that tight warmth. Gaara’s hands reached up to Shika, one grasping the chain to his cock and the other the one to his clamped nipple, pulling. Behind the gag, Shikamaru cried out, his face contorting with what looked like pain. But that ass clamped down even tighter around his ejaculating cock, and Shikamaru’s own cock began to spray. But the tight leather just under his cockhead was chained so the only direction his sperm could spray out was up—up on to his chin, his face, his chest.

They came together, eyes on each other, lost under each other’s spell. Then, as they could come no more, and Shikamaru dangled helplessly from his wrist cuffs, his strength gone, Gaara had to taste that cum on his face, had to lick it and lick over all of Shika’s face, had to hold his slave close so he could feel his heartbeat against his skin and hear his cries under his lips. He pushed himself up, Shikamaru still impaled on him, his weight heavy. It didn’t take long to unfasten each wrist, to pull off the bit gag and unhook the chains to Shikamaru’s reddened, abused nipples. The leather ring quickly unsnapped from Shika’s cock, the chain to the collar was unhooked and tossed away. And then Gaara could kiss, caress, and love.

Those words, the words that had seemed so hard to say last night, just slipped from his lips as he licked and kissed every bit of Shikamaru’s chest, chin, and face. “I love you, love you.” Then he licked and kissed lips that had been stretched around the leather bit, dipped his tongue into that mouth that had struggled around it, crying out. It tasted a little dry, a bit foul, no, a lot foul from drugs, drink, and dryness. And Gaara knew it was time to lavish his love with care. He sat up and adjusted Shika’s unresisting body in his arms before rising up and carrying him down the hall and out the door into the garden. It was already growing warm, but the birds were still the loudest sounds, at least three different types chirping and trilling over the sound of the water spilling endless into the fountain’s basin. Two that had been drinking from the fountain, flew away he stepped under the outdoor shower and pulled that chain he’d put around Shikamaru’s neck before he’d pushed inside him for the first time—the first time he’d ever pushed inside anyone.

The water was cold, but Shikamaru didn’t seem to even notice. Gaara opened his mouth and let the shower fill it with water, then lowered his head and let the water spill from his mouth to Shika’s. Shika swallowed and his head tilted back over Gaara’s arm, his neck in its collar exposed to Gaara, its cocoa color seeming the most beautiful color of all. Gaara wanted to wash Shika, to lick his skin, and he couldn’t do this still holding him.

“Give me your wrists, baby,” he said, the endearment slipping from him for the first time in his life, yet seeming so natural it went completely unnoticed. Shika lifted his leather cuffed wrists, and Gaara shifted him in his arms so one hand could fasten them together then slide them up over the shower pole. Gaara leaned in kissing Shikamaru as he let him slip from his arms, his weight hanging from the copper pipe. Gaara steadied his love on his tiptoes and reached for one of the cups on the shelf in the stoop. He helped Shika drink and rinse his mouth, then kissed him for the longest time. As Shika began to shiver, Gaara washed him, washed his hair, and awakened his desire. Here, here where Shika had first called him master, where Gaara had first experienced what it felt like to fuck someone, it was easy to become lost in loving. But this, this time was for Shikamaru. His hair and body clean, Gaara turned off the water, knelt and licked and sucked and caressed until that coffee-colored body climaxed. Gaara swallowed it down and then once more picked up his love and carried him through the garden to lay him on the green pillows under the wisteria vines.

Shikamaru slid almost immediately into sleep, his wrists still linked together, and Gaara went inside and made breakfast. There was coffee, milk, the last little bit of juice, bacon, oatmeal, and muffins. He brought it out to the garden and woke his slave with kisses. He fed him each thing that he asked for. A whisper of “bacon,” bring his hands with a piece to Shika’s lips while a request for juice or coffee might mean he lifted the cup for him or he filled his own mouth and passed it to him in a kiss. And finally the whispers for muffins, oatmeal, coffee, bacon, slid into little whispers for kiss, touch, lower, deeper, Master.

And Gaara gave Shikamaru everything he asked for.

But after some time after the loving, Shika stirred fretfully, and Gaara asked softly, “What is it, baby?”

“I need to pee, pee badly,” said Shikamaru.

“Hmmm,” said Gaara just watching him.

“Please, Master, let me go.”

“I’ll never let you go,” said Gaara.

“Only go pee, not leave you, never leave you,” said Shikamaru.

“Hold it a while,” said Gaara, enjoying the sight of Shika shifting uncomfortably.

“Yes, Master,” said Shikamaru.

“Such a sad, look, my slave,” said Gaara. “Does it hurt?”

“A bit, Master, it’s difficult to hold back, I’m so full, the pressure—please, I don’t want to ruin the pillows, Master.”

“Hold it inside and look at me, look into my eyes.”

Shikamaru squirmed, struggled, and stared up at Gaara. Tears filled his eyes; this was too humiliating, too embarrassing, too sordid. But at the same time a part of him was excited. But his need to pee was too strong to let him feel any strong arousal. He struggled against his body’s need as Gaara sipped more coffee and watched. The coffee was gone, and Shikamaru tried to focus on the sound of the birds. But the water in the fountain made him want to pee even more, and he shifted and moaned. The need was painful, intense.

“Master! Please! I can’t hold it, I need to go, to go now,” said Shika.

“Go in the bamboo, then, where I can watch you,” said Gaara.

And Shika burst into motion, leaping and running to the garden’s edge across the sand, crying out with relief as the urine sprayed out into the swaying bamboo. He then leaped gracefully on the wall, went and washed his hands in the shower, and returned along the path. The beautiful pattern in the sand was broken only by his footprints. He reached the wisteria covered platform, knelt on the bluegreen rock before it, and thanked and apologized his master.

“You’re a dirty, disgusting thing, Slave,” said Gaara. “No doubt you need to shit, too. Clean yourself, clean these dishes, deal with your dirt and mess. Don’t bother me until everything is spotless, and you’re mind is as calm and clean as the morning mist,” said Gaara, picking up the coffee mug and moving around Shika where he knelt on the path to the house. He forced himself not to look back, not to stop, not to run back and take that sweet body in his arms one more time. In the kitchen he poured himself some coffee, forcing himself not to run back to the door, back into the garden, back to Shika’s welcoming body and arms.

He put his coffee in the bedroom, then used the bathroom, wanting it to be free for when Shikamaru came in. His slave needed some time alone, time he could make last as long as he wanted before coming back to Gaara. It was up to him now. And Gaara shut the bedroom door and began to set it to rights, glad that there was only the high tiny window that looked down on the garden, windows he’d have to stand on something to look out of. He picked up the chains, leather strap, took down the bar suspended above the bed. He put them away in the closet, rather than take them back into the living room, not wanting to bother Shika for his ears could hear him in the kitchen. But listening, listening like this wasn’t really giving him privacy either.

Gaara went and turned on the television, finishing up his straightening, then finally getting into bed, plumping up the pillows, sipping his coffee and staring blankly at the screen, not really seeing the animated figures fighting away on it. When the closing music began, he restarted the show, letting his eyes slid shut. He wasn’t sleeping, he was just resting a bit, just waiting for Shika.

But when Shikamaru at last opened the door, he didn’t hear him, didn’t realize it. His head was back against the pillows, eyes shut, and his chest was rising and falling in slow, even breaths. The remote had fallen from his hands and lay on the bed next to him. Shikamaru walked over to the television in that cupboard he’d not looked into before. He examined the rows of dvds carefully, finally finding volume 1 of the show that Gaara had put on last night. He pulled it out, careful not to let the links on his cuffs clink, and put in the disk, picked up the dvd remote, and went over and slid into “his” side of the bed.

He started up the disk, lying back, not surprised when Gaara pulled him over and wrapped an arm around him, kissing the top of his head. Gaara took the remote from him and changed the set up so the voices came out in Japanese. Neither he nor Shikamaru said anything. There was no need. Shika lay back in Gaara’s arms, held securely, content to just lie there and laze away the rest of the morning.

When the disk finally stopped, Gaara switched off the dvd and the tv. They lay there in silence until Gaara said, “One day.”

Shikamaru looked at the clock and then understood. Yes, one day. Twenty-four hours ago, he had first stepped inside this house.

“One day since you deflowered me,” said Gaara.

Shikamaru gasped and turned to look up at Gaara, disbelieving. But he knew even as his mind told him it was impossible, that Gaara spoke the truth.

“For me, you gave it to me,” he said reverently.

“Yes.”

“The first.”

“Yes. For everything.”

Shikamaru’s eyes grew even wider as he realized what Gaara was telling him, and then, a heady possessiveness flooded him, his cock hardened, and he rose above Gaara, his hand tightening in Gaara’s hair, his body pushing apart his legs. “Mine, all mine. Only mine.”

“Only yours. Only your touch.”

And Shika shook with the feelings that rushed through him, and he kissed those pink lips, crushing them, biting, drawing blood.

When he lifted his head, Gaara, the master, was gone. The pale white face under that rich, blood-red hair, was a trembling virgin’s, flushed, half frightened, half full of desire, completely vulnerable. Shikamaru laughed, a low sexy laugh that made Gaara flush pink, shut his eyes, and turn his head away.

Oh, Gaara, Gaara. He had used him more roughly than any dom had ever used him, and now, he was shy, blushing in his arms, confessing his inexperience. Shikamaru had been having sex for six, no seven years, and he found it boring, dull without the thrill of dominance and submission. But not now, not like this.

And on those soft white sheets, he felt like a bridegroom with a blushing bride. He took his time, trying to put every bit of experience he had into making love to Gaara.

Later, much later, when Gaara lay under him, spent and exhausted, gasping for air and looking too dazed to even know what his name was, Shikamaru laughed again. “Was it good for you, Master?” he asked.

Gaara’s eyes crossed for a second, making him laugh again, then focused on him—those strange eyes, that looked less aquamarine today, more like the color of celadon porcelain or milky jade. They bore into Shikamaru, subduing him, making him bite his lip, suddenly unsure, waiting on his answer. He shifted a little on the bed and the metal links on his wrist cuffs clinked, reminding him of his role in this relationship.

But then Gaara’s mouth curved up in a smile, and he said, “Yes, it was good. Now, go make us some lunch,” he added, his hand smacking down hard on Shikamaru’s ass.

Shikamaru body jerked, but he grinned and leaned down, giving Gaara’s nipple a quick bite, before scampering from the bed.

“That’s one stroke with a crop, tonight,” said Gaara. “And the sand in the garden better not have footprints in it either.”

“Yes, Master,” said Shika vanishing out the bedroom door.

And Gaara’s eyes shut, and he lay back exhausted from speaking, from thinking. He could feel his blood pulse through his body. Everything felt so sensitive that he was sure he could feel the blood moving not just in his thighs and neck and cock, but also in his ass, his toes, even in the roots of his teeth.

The sounds of whistling and dishes clattering came down the hall.

He would get up and walk down that hall and eat his lunch. Just not now. Not until all the parts of his body stopped trying to tell him how good they felt, distracting him with shocks of sensation and ripples of awareness. Not until his breathing was normal. Not until he could look at Shikamaru and not pant and feel like moving his mouth to form words was something amazingly complex. Until then he would just lie here, just resting, just feeling . . . And with a smile on his face, Gaara, the one who never slept, drifted off into dreams for the second time in one day.

For little miracles happen all over the world every day.