D/s Naruto

Chapter 52 (Monday 18 June 2007, early A.M. hours)

`He loves me! He really loves me!’ thought Iruka. Kakashi slid his cock in gently and pulled out just a few inches and slid it back in, his blue, blue eyes staring down over Iruka’s shoulder. They lay on their sides, like spoons, Kakashi’s head propped up on an elbow and Iruka’s looking up and back over his shoulder. The hand not under Kakashi’s head was caressing him, his face, his chest, his belly, his cock, his leg. Iruka had thought he had known Kakashi loved him, for Kakashi did all those kinky, painful things for him. He’d cry it out when Iruka would say, “Tell me,” or sometimes just on his own. But he’d say he loved Master, not Iruka. A part of Iruka had thought, deep down, that Kakashi just loved him because he was his dom, his Master, and believed that Kakashi didn’t like just Iruka, Iruka the school teacher, Iruka the guy who was plainer, shorter, weaker than Kakashi.

And this Kakashi, this Kakashi sliding gently in and out of him, plucking at his nipple, kissing his shoulder, had he ever thought Kakashi could be like this? He thought Kakashi was tough to the bone, too proud when he was being just Kakashi to be open like this, loving like this. He had underestimated his slave—no, his partner. He’d thought he was just Kakashi the slave and Kakashi the judo master. He’d not really understood how Kakashi the man was growing, changing. And now this was Kakashi the lover emerging for the first time, a new Kakashi: both gentle and aggressive, soft and firm, loving and teasing, serious and playful. This was lovemaking, lovemaking between two equals, two lovers.

But just then Kakashi pulled Iruka’s leg up, let him roll on to his back, and knelt up straddling the leg on the bed. He thrust deep into Iruka’s ass so his stomach rubbed against that leg he had raised up. He looked down on Iruka, those blue eyes boring into him, making him feel so embarrassed, so weak, so cherished. So maybe this wasn’t between equals, after all someone had to be seme, but it wasn’t limited by Master and Slave. There were no rules, no safewords, no contract that said this was how it was going to go.

And bizarrely, for all the dangers and extremes of the D/s world, there was this order, this control, at the heart of it. It was trust, but trust with safety lines, like the “leap of faith” he’d taken at that silly leadership course. You were trussed up, had triple safety lines on, lines held by your coworkers, then you climbed a forty-foot tree trunk studded with tiny spikes. With your coworkers cheering you on, you made that frightening step from gripping the trunk to balancing yourself on its small top, a little circle about ten inches across. Then you had to take the leap, leaping out into space for a trapeze that you couldn’t possibly reach. It was a mental challenge; you knew that you couldn’t fall all the way to the ground, that the ropes would stop you and let you hang safely suspended, so you wouldn’t die. But standing on that tiny top of the tree trunk, looking straight down, swaying, trying to balance, your body was screaming, “No! No! Death!” And loving the thrill, you jumped, riding the high, yet knowing, knowing as you fell helplessly through the air and the ground rushed towards you, you would live unless you were that one-in-a-million case where three safety lines failed. That was D/s—riding that edge, riding that high, yet knowing there were safewords, contracts, repercussions all keeping you safe. Because a dom that didn’t abide by safewords or contracts was a dom marked, blackballed, cast out, always haunted by his past, always being thrown out, “outed,” hounded out of the tight-knit world each D/s community in an area would form.

But this, this was real risk, laying your heart on the line. Being a dom, being a sub was a “scene,” a scene, an act, part of a play. It was playtime, a time you tried to keep out of your “real” life, your career, your family, your neighbors. But now there were no masks; it was just Kakashi and Iruka, seme and uke: no rules, no contract, no safeword. And Iruka was drowning in it in, sinking into in, surrendering his body, his love, and, most importantly now, once more, his trust. He believed Kakashi, believed he loved only him, wanted only him, needed only him. He still hurt, but that for some reason made it more intense, more frightening, more exciting. He never really been able to admit how much he liked being uke, being fucked. He’d had to make it rough, painful, hard, something a dom would take, something tough, manly, masterful--if you could ever really say getting fucked in the ass was masterful. In other words, when he’d been uke, he’d still been the top, the dom; he’d “bottomed from the top.”

But, god, it felt good to just let go, not just your body, but everything: body, heart, soul. To let things go from brain to lip without a stop. “Kakashi! Love me! Fuck me! Baby, god, baby, so good! So fucking good! Please, yes, more! Oh god, right there! Oh, baby! Yes, fuck, yes! Oh, god, fuck me, fucking give it to me harder, dammit! Yes! Shit, yes!”

And that ring on Kakashi’s cock, oh, god, how he loved how that felt in his ass, how it felt when it hit his prostate. And suddenly Iruka wanted to make Kakashi’s piercings hurt, wanted to tug on those nipple rings. “Please, please, I want to touch your nipples, tug on your nipple rings, jerk them, make them hurt!”

And Kakashi shifted, pulling both legs up, bending Iruka double, so he could lean down over him, buried inside him and have Iruka tug on his nipple rings. His head went back, back in that familiar look of pleasure, but even as Iruka was tugging, he could feel his ass stretched so wide, penetrated so deeply, his legs painfully stretched, forced back to his own shoulders almost. And Kakashi let Iruka’s legs support his weight and reached down with both hands and pinched Iruka’s nipples too. Iruka screamed at the intensity of it. He was helpless, impaled, speared, and his nipples were being crushed, exploding with the raw sensation, so erotic, so extreme, oh, god, he was coming! And his body contracted and tightened and shook, and the pain in his nipples was impossible to endure even as pleasure was shaking him, and he struggled and screamed and shook and let the cum blast out of him.

He blindly gripped those rings on Kakashi’s nipples, lost in his own world, tugging so wildly that Kakashi’s hands released Iruka’s nipples and pulled his hands from the rings. Kakashi, not able to take nipple pain, oh, god, a wave of guilt started to come over Iruka as his orgasm slowed. But Kakashi, his hands protectively over his nipples was crying out and coming, filling him, his face, oh, yes, that face he knew so well, that face that meant Kakashi was really flying, really coming hard. He clamped down his ass, trying to help, trying to milk Kakashi’s cock for more cum, crying out, “Yes! Fill me, Kakashi!” But then, the intensity of Kakashi pumping him full, the contracting of his ass that went from voluntary to involuntary, the arching awareness in his nipples, his everything—Iruka came a little more, another last spurt of cum flying out.

“Kakashi! Kakashi! I love you!”

And Kakashi, collapsing on him, kissed him, cradled him, loving him after the fucking, after the coming. Kakashi, his love, was whispering again and again in his ear in a low, sexy rasp, “I love you, Iruka, I love you.”