D/s Naruto

Chapter 64 (Monday 18 June 2007, morning)

Itachi lay face down on the kitchen table, painful hard still, with a rolled up pancake saturated with syrup and melted butter half in and half out of his ass. After he had finished cooking, Kisame had ordered him to the bathroom to give himself an enema with the apparatus that attached to the tub faucet. He had to given himself three of them even though the water had come out clear the second time. The third time had just been to amuse Kisame and humiliate Itachi. Then he had reheated breakfast and now this. And each time Kisame finished a pancake, he lingered, licking and thrusting into that sore ring of muscle in a way that felt so, so good. Oh, god, Kisame was getting close to finished with this pancake.

Itachi struggled to lie still as the last bit of pancake popped out of the tight ring of his anus, making it contract in a pleasurable jolt. The space of time before Kisame’s tongue descended was filled with that mix of sexual fear and desire that Itachi was getting so familiar with—and that was so much more intense and arousing than simple wanting. Subbing had been the way his sexuality had been shaped, the thing he had first fantasized about, the thing he had made taboo and even more arousing. Part of the reason he was such a good dom was that he knew, knew completely how subs felt and what made them tick, knew exactly what he secretly wanted, mostly subconsciously. And Itachi’s fear and rejection of his own inner submissive desires had made him a dedicated, controlled dom.

Now, collared and in love, he was learning that fantasies and realities differ in intensity—and the reality of what was being done to him, what he was doing to himself, was making him feel like he had not really been living for years. And the hard use of his body made everything extra sensitive. He doubted his nipples would soften for another day even if they were untouched. Right now they were so sensitive the cool wood of the tabletop felt like an itchy wool fabric rubbing back and forth over each nub. And his anus was tingling. It could be the syrup or the butter or crumbs of pancake, but Itachi doubted it. For he even though his aching cock had dominated his senses for most of the morning, he’d been aware of his asshole and his nipples. Then Kisame’s tongue licked at that tingling pucker, and Itachi’s world narrowed down to that sensitive bit of flesh.

The tongue lifted, but its effects continued. Itachi felt that ring of muscle contracting and releasing wildly despite his effort to hold still.

“Do you like my tongue on your fuckhole, slave?” demanded Kisame.

Itachi gave up his struggles at the sound of that voice and its crude question. He moaned and pushed up his ass, “Oh, yes, Master, yes, I love it.”

“Then let me hear it. I want to hear your pleasure and your pain, your submission.”

Then that tongue thrust into Itachi, and this time as Kisame chased after crumbs and licked at the syrup and butter coating of his ass, Itachi bucked and cried out. And with each sound, each movement, the part of him that had been suppressed for so long emerged more. He began to beg, beg for Kisame not to stop, then beg to come, and even if he couldn’t come, to be fucked, to feel Kisame’s cock on his prostate, stretching him, claiming him, filling him. And Kisame did just that—fucking slowly, steadily, with pinpoint aim until Itachi for the first time in his life experienced what it was like to have an anal orgasm without shooting out a load of sperm with his cock. His ass took control, and Itachi lay helpless as the shuddering sensation rocked him, overriding everything—making him forget the needs of his balls and cock, the pain in his nipples, the soreness of his jaw and throat. And through it, Kisame held himself inside him, then added to Itachi’s pleasure by losing control himself and spraying inside him, crying out “Itachi!”

Never, never had the sound of his name meant so much to him. It told him he was loved, loved as helplessly as he loved, that the slave had also enslaved his master. Itachi’s mouth poured out words of love, “Master Kisame, I love you! I love you! Oh, god, I love you more than anything or anyone!” And Kisame, collapsed over his back, tugged at Itachi’s hair, pulling his head around as far as it could go, so he could kiss him.

Then Kisame lifted himself off Itachi, and Itachi had the weird feeling that Kisame had been holding him down, and he was now so light he was floating a little above the surface of the table. But Kisame demanded a glass of orange juice and more coffee, and Itachi obeyed, finding the simple task somehow erotic, emotional, enthralling. When Kisame patted his head as he took the cup of coffee, a wave of pleasure seemed to fill Itachi. He licked and kissed at Kisame’s feet, fascinated by the way the rich color of his skin whitened on the soles of his feet. When Kisame shifted his foot, so he could worship the bottom of it, Itachi felt like he was licking and kissing at the inside of Kisame, a hidden private part, so unlike the rest of his beautiful black body. Itachi was deep in subspace, so deep he had no sense of it, no sense of anything but how he was Kisame’s, how he needed to please Kisame, to give everything to Kisame.

When Kisame ordered him on the table again, face down once more, and began to paddle him, it felt good, right, perfect. The burn, the pain, and then even the tears that came, all pleased Kisame, all were for Kisame. There was nothing but Kisame. The sound of the paddle hitting his ass was beautiful to him. The cock fucking his face, his throat, brought him bliss as did the feeling of the cum spraying on his face, his hair, his sticky body. And when Kisame disappeared for a while, leaving him kneeling there, the cum drying on him, cum and syrup dribbling out his asshole between his red, burning, paddled asscheeks, Itachi was smiling and happy.

Then Master was back, sucking, pinching, teasing his nipples. The pain was worse than the pain of the paddling, and his tears and sobs came quickly. But as the pain went on he couldn’t hear himself cry anymore, couldn’t hear anything. But this was for Master, he was Master’s, and he was both in agony and not in agony but something else, something peaceful, something wonderful, something beyond pain or pleasure. When Kisame thrust a ring through his right nipple, piercing him, drawing blood, he smiled even as the pain made him sway and the world start to darken and slide away. Another ring pierced his left nipple, and Itachi’s body seemed to start to float again. He felt Kisame moving him, entering him again as he floated on his back above the kitchen floor. He could feel Master’s cock moving in him once more, see his beautiful, beloved Master over him, but soon his sight seemed to just go away, and all he could do was smell syrup, coffee, and cum and feel that cock going in and out. Then the smell went away, and the feeling grew fainter until Itachi passed out.


Kisame watched as Itachi finally blacked out, but he couldn’t stop himself. The sight of Itachi’s newly pierced nipples, the tiny few drops of blood from the piercing, the drying mess of his cum on Itachi’s face and in his beautiful hair—oh god, it was too much: he had to fuck his slave, fuck him hard and fill him with more of his cum. But, now, now when Itachi was unconscious, he could release the cockring and let his body release that cum it needed to let loose. He removed the cockring, and even unconscious, he was able to bring Itachi to orgasm with just a few strokes as his body was so primed to come. The sight of the wet, white fluid smeared on his hand and Itachi’s gorgeous stomach made him begin thrusting into his ass rapidly, forcefully.

It was a new low for him, fucking his lover when he was unconscious, but that realization wouldn’t really occur to him until after he had with a sob, come, crying out, “Itachi! Itachi! I love you!” But somehow even after he had cleaned up Itachi’s cum and replaced the cockring, he couldn’t feel guilty—too many other emotions were flooding him.

The smelling salts awoke Itachi, and Kisame lavished him with aftercare. Later, later there would be time to question himself, but now he had a slave to feed, to bathe, to drug, to kiss, to caress, to love.

Now he had Itachi.

Nothing else mattered.