D/s Naruto

Chapter 76 (Monday 18 June 2007, morning)

“Dammit, Deidara! You know I hate it when breakfast is late! You better have a fucking good reason for making me get up and come find you!” Sasori shouted as he stormed down the stairs, heading for the kitchen. Deidara had gotten up to fetch them breakfast in bed and not returned. Sasori was fuming. Ever since Saturday night, he’d been in a bad mood. There was the whole thing with Gaara—Shikamaru had seemed like a good, obedient slave when he’d helped drop off his stuff at Gaara’s, but really, was he still alive? That damn fool was living in Gaara’s house without a contract. Shit, that futon in his living room was full of bloodstains—was that skinny little kid with the curls ready for that? And good cooking and being good-looking wouldn’t help if Gaara wanted blood. The last fucking thing he needed was another crisis like that time the damn fool had taken that meth and got himself arrested in Vegas. Well, if he killed or maimed that Nara kid, there was no way Sasori would be able to keep him out of jail.

Then, there was his other moronic nephew, Kankurou. He’d handcuffed and driven off with a brainiac professor that was a DOM, and god-damn leatherdog trainer to boot! What the fuck was that about? The man had been drunk, piss drunk—and that was Hidan’s and Kisame’s fault, and if there was a lawsuit or trouble, they would fucking pay! That guy with the all those fucking tatts would sober up, find his ass was sore as hell, and use that egghead brain of his to make trouble. What was it with Kankurou? He needed to figure out if he wanted in the scene or out, to fuck men or women, and to learn to protect himself. Contracts, contracts, contracts! Those two fools both needed that beat into them!

“Deidara! I’m going to make you sorry for this!” screamed Sasori finding the kitchen empty and no food in sight. If he couldn’t beat his nephews, he beat his slave. He been coddling Deidara since he’d taken that kick to the balls, but this was what happened when you coddled a slave. He heard giggles from the pantry and strode over and jerked open the door. His three live-in servants--the cook, housekeeper, and gardener--were in there with their fingers over their mouths. They shook their heads, but Doria, the cook pointed towards the breakfast room.

Sasori sighed and went over to the door to the breakfast room.

It was art.

Deidara’s kind of art, art that wouldn’t last.

But it was beautiful.

The round breakfast table was gone, replaced by one of the low circular platforms that supported masses of flowers or a Christmas tree when the Sunas had a big party. It was draped with a shiny white fabric. An ice sculpture of a large bird in flight sculpted by Deidara dominated the table, rising up over his gorgeous body that lay over the platform with his long blonde hair spilling around it. The morning sun, the warm gold paint on the walls, all conspired to make Deidara’s body look impossibly perfect, golden, and gorgeous. And there were flowers—golden, yellow, and white roses—thornless, stemless, just the heads and petals. Gardenias, dalias, jasmine, daisies, and other blooms he’d didn’t recognize—none in water, all soon to turn brown and wither, but now perfect, arranged in piles, cascades, in an artistic juxtaposition that had won Deidara prizes at flower shows. But this display wouldn’t last long enough for anyone to judge, and that stunning ice sculpture would melt, and the food—ah, the food—fruit and cream on that gorgeous body, bowls of fluffy scrambled eggs that would soon grow cold, cream puffs, bacon—a trail of bacon broken into one-inch pieces that swirled up one leg. Lox, cream cheese, and black caviar lay on those balls and cock that he loved so much.

“Deidara, the expense, the mess,” he said, trying to hold on to his anger.

“And will you remember that twenty years from now? Or will you remember a breakfast that is fit for a god?”

“A god?”

“Come, Master Sasori, feast on me, I am a sacrifice left for you by those that worship you.”

Sasori sighed again—he was getting old, cranky, and spoiled. He just wanted to eat in his bed, to read the paper, and now this. And if he didn’t eat, Deidara would be devastated, and Doria would cry, and the food would be bad for a day or too. Lucia wouldn’t empty his trashcan or ruin something in the wash, and Roberto would find it necessary to use some loud piece of landscaping equipment just when he wanted to rest. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Deidara, but really—

“A man that has such a feast before him is a king indeed. Never have I seen a meal I desired more.”

“Baki! What are you doing here?”

“Aching with envy at the splendor before me,” he said, seeming much more Arabic than normal. And looking at the longing in his face, Sasori felt a rush of pride and possessiveness. Yes, this beauty, this artist, was his. But he could share, let someone who would never know the full wonder of Deidara taste just a little bit of it.

“Eat with me, Baki. I live surrounded by such beauty that I sometimes I need other’s eyes to show me the splendors I enjoy.”

Baki bowed his head and said in voice full of emotion, “Thank you.”

They both took off their clothes first—Doria, Lucia, and Roberto came out of the pantry and took them, before vanishing again. They each took a side of Deidara’s body—nibbling up those legs and arms, feasting on the food on the chest, then the nipples, then on the testicles. There were things to drink, to pour over Deidara’s belly, into his mouth—juice, coffee, and champagne. Baki licked and lapped up his drinks from Deidara’s stomach, his tongue plunging into that bellybutton to get every drop. And Sasori sipped from Deidara’s mouth, letting him swallow some, sometimes sucking long after the champagne was gone, the drink turning into a long kiss. He’d forgotten how sensitive the inner flesh of Deidara’s elbow was—and how truly amazing his thighs were. And there was the feast on his balls and cock to be savored—their two tongues moving together, sometimes touching.

And there was yet more food to scatter over Deidara, to start the whole process all over again. They ordered him on his stomach, and now feasted from his back, from that ass, that perfect ass. When they were no longer hungry for food, Deidara was rolled over again, and Sasori let Baki milk that cock of Deidara’s as the big Arab stroked his own. He pushed his golden slaveboy’s head into his lap and lay there with a handful of hair that he used to pull that mouth farther over his cock. It had been a long while since he’d shared Deidara, and he let himself catch his boy’s excitement. There was a pink flush over that golden, sticky body now, and his boy was moaning and humming around his cock, moving eagerly to swallow him down as if he was starved, bucking into Baki’s mouth wildly—and this wild, sexy thing was his, all his! Deidara sucked hard and making Sasori’s leg kick out and topple some artistically piled flowers. But what was that under those gardenias? Oh, god, his little slut had hidden a paddle and flogger under the flowers! And he would use them on him, no, they would use them on him—oh, god, the humming, the twisting—dear god! And with a shout, Sasori came, filling his boy with his cream.

When they’d all come, and they lay there in the sun in the wreckage, Sasori amused himself by breaking off ice feathers from the sculpture and sliding them around over Deidara’s sticky body—enjoying the reactions he was drawing with the cold ice. He was too spent to play with the paddle or flogger—yet. And Baki, grinning destroyed the other piles of flowers, finding a bowl of lube, a can of icy pain spray, and piles of long, thin rods. The first rod was dipped in lube and slid easily into Deidara—it was thinner than a finger, after all. Baki applied a few paddle strokes, then Sasori added another rod. By the time they had five rods inside that tight little hole, Deidara’s ass was uniformly dark pink. By the seventh rod, it was red. It was harder to slide the rods in now, and Sasori had to carefully pull apart a space in the center of the group of rods, working the new ones into the middle. By rod ten, Deidara was crying out, squirming, moaning piteously. Sasori gripped the ends of the long rods and pulled out and pushed in, and Deidara came violently on the table, making Baki and he laugh.

But coming without permission couldn’t be tolerated, and Sasori picked up the flogger. Baki slid in rod eleven, and then Sasori let the flogger dance over Deidara’s shoulders. Deidara gave a little scream, but Sasori could tell his slave was enjoying his suffering, enjoying the pain. “Another,” he ordered Baki.

The fifteenth rod didn’t want to go in, but Baki was patient, using more lube around the ring of Deidara’s anus, more on the rod. “That’s wide enough, now, for both of us,” said Sasori his voice now thick with excitement.

“Standing?”

“Yes, that will be nice. Now, let’s turn over my bad boy,” said Sasori, dropping the flogger.

Deidara was flipped over, and his cock was hard again, red and dripping—but Deidara’s eyes, face, lips, neck, chest, and nipples were all red, too. “Master, Master, please, please,” begged Deidara wildly, so lost in sensation he forgot to specify what he was begging for. Sasori gripped the base of Deidara’s cock hard, saying, “Now, Baki!” Baki pulled the long rods completely out of that tight asshole with one quick jerk, and Deidara went wild, his screaming and convulsing beautiful, the most beautiful dance that a dom can see. Only Sasori’s tight grip on the base of his cock held back his cum, and they watched his cock twitch, his balls shake, his anus flutter.

Then they coated their cocks with lube. Baki lowered Deidara onto his dark uncut shaft, Deidara’s back against his chest, his legs held wide and apart. Sasori watched that cock slide into Deidara’s asshole, his shaven, sticky balls looking full and tight, his cock bouncing and dripping. He stepped close, positioning his shaft against Baki’s, under those sticky, full balls, and then they pulled down together on Deidara, their cocks against each other, pressed so close, feeling the pulse of each other. Baki was speaking Arabic now, a sign that he was losing control—Sasori loved the sound. Baki and he had been the terrible twosome for years as he’d grown up, closer to each other than Sasori and his own brother, who’d left home early. They moved together now in Deidara’s golden body, all their cries blending--Baki’s Arabic, Deidara’s incoherent pleas, and his own curses. Deidara squeezed tight, and they cried out, straining to hold back, to make this last. And it was too perfect, too good, and Deidara was loving this too much—damn him, the slut, damn him!

“You’re mine, dammit, mine! Tell me you’re mine, you whore,” he growled as he and Baki slammed Deidara down again and again onto their cocks that were pressed together, fused, stuck to each other, their balls slapping together.

“Sasori! Sasori! Yours! Always yours!”

And that look, oh, that look—yes, Deidara was his, all his—and Sasori screamed and let the orgasm take him, felt Deidara convulse and throb, felt his cum shooting up on his chest and neck, felt Baki, his weird Arabic wails accompanying the squirming, the throbbing, as he too shot his spunk deep into Deidara. God, the feeling of another cock coming against yours, feeling that orgasm from root to tip against your own spewing cock—oh, god, it made him blast out one last burst of cum, and then he couldn’t scream, could process anything, he just felt, just existed for that one perfect moment as three bodies came together.

When they could hardly stand, Baki pulled out, making Deidara scream and thrash. Sasori held his precious boy tight in his arms, looking at Baki who was bowing his thanks.

“I’ll report back later today, Master,” he said, then gracefully moved to the French doors, opened them, crossed the stone patio, and lept into the pool that wrapped itself around two-thirds of the house like a moat. Master—what a complement from Baki! Yes, he was Master of this beautiful boy in his arms. And suddenly he felt strong, and Deidara as light as a bird.

Deidara lay bonelessly in his grip, spent and helpless, moaning softly. His arms tightened around him, and he headed for the stairs. He wanted his shower, his bed, a nap, and then to read his paper with boy’s head on his lap, playing with that long hair he loved. It was a bitch having to climb the stairs, but the shower in the guest room on the first floor wasn’t as big and didn’t have his things in it. But it didn’t matter, it really didn’t, he thought as he climbed up the curving stairway, a smile on his face. He was the master of his world, the king of his kingdom, and everything in it right now was good, very good.


The breakfast nook was spotless by the time Deidara and Sasori came back down in the early afternoon although the table hadn’t been put back yet. Sasori sat in the den in his favorite leather recliner with his laptop on his lap, periodically raising his head to watch Deidara swim by in the pool. He was debating if he should go in tonight to Uchiha’s. He was still angry over the incident with Naruto and Sasuke, and Ibiki’s call yesterday hadn’t really convinced him those two weren’t going to be trouble. Neither Itachi nor Kisame had bothered to call him, and he refused to even listen to the voice messages that Kotetsu and Izumo had left him, flipping past them on the answering machine. If Itachi or Kisame had something important to tell him, they’d call him themselves. Maybe he and Deidara would go in tonight, maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe he’d just take Deidara back upstairs and make him describe how it felt to have his and Baki’s mouths on him, to have Baki’s mouth on his cock as Deidara sucked on his master, how it felt to have those rods stretching him, to feel that paddle, that flogger—then how it had felt to have two cocks thrusting into him, spraying into his ass, filling him—fuck! Sasori’s cock was remembering how it felt. Maybe he should get up and call his bitch over here and have him suck him off again.

He was rubbing his hand over his cock, trying to decide what to do, when the intercom sounded, and Lucia informed him that Baki had arrived. Good! He was early! A wicked little voice whispered in his ear that Baki would be thrilled to get another chance to play with Sasori and Deidara. He shushed that voice, thought about Sasuke, and his cock went flaccid. God, he hated Itachi’s brother, that stuck-up, snotty brat! Sometimes (though he’d never, never, let Itachi know this) he’d thought that it was the evil side of Shiva that had saved the kid—Shiva the destroyer. Yeah, Shiva’s tear wanted someone so good at making everyone else shed tears alive. Whoever had beaten the kid to death, well, that wasn’t right, but sometimes he understood it. The official story was the evildoer was a thief, but the official rumor was it was someone in the family. Sometimes he suspected Itachi, but it wasn’t something you talked about to Itachi if you didn’t want to end up near dead yourself.

Ah—the whole thing was crap! That damned necklace the Uchiha family was so proud of was a fraud, the experts said. That’s the only reason the kid has it—it’s just worth a few million, not some priceless relic. My mother has broaches worth more than that thing! Fucking ugly broaches, but a hell of a lot more impressive than that ratty-looking “sacred talisman.” God, this was a weird day—he’d not thought about that stupid tear of Shiva for years, and god, when was the last time he and Baki had fucked someone together? Too long ago! And that little whelp Naruto was going to let Sasuke and Itachi fuck him on Saturday supposedly—hah! He’d bet good money that would never happen.

Lucia ushered in Baki and went to fetch them both some iced tea. He tried to get Baki to sum up his news, but he shook his head, indicating they needed to wait for the drinks. “You might want whiskey,” suggested Baki, making Sasori shout for Lucia to hurry.

Baki went over and moved the glass decanter with whiskey in it and a cut crystal glass next to Sasori, irritating him. Then at last when Lucia was gone, Baki spilled his news: “Kisame has collared Itachi with his platinum chain and giant shark’s tooth, Sasuke has collared Naruto with Shiva’s tear, Kakashi overpowered Iruka who was punching and fighting him for real, gagging and binding him, driving off with him in the back of their car, and Ibiki had a sub session with Raidou.”

Sasori was dying—literally dying, choking on an ice cube. The room was growing dark, and he thought at least I’m dying having had some of the best sex of my life. Then Baki’s arms were around him, under his arms, jerking hard, and the ice cube flew across the room.

He sat back down in the chair, wheezing, gasping. Finally, he was able to talk.

“Jesus Fucking Christ!”

“Have a whiskey,” said Baki, rubbing his shoulder soothingly.

“Send for another bottle,” he gasped out.

“No problem, Master, no problem,” said Baki.