D/s Naruto

A/N 2009: I've decided to start writing again, and I'm redoing this chapter, replacing it with the "lost" chapter I found, which I continued. Since I've screwed up the order all ready, I'll just put the "new" chapter after all the messed up stuff.

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A/N: Thanks for the all the support! I'm pretty much recovered from the computer trauma and can write again. Of course I'm still swamped with work, but who isn't? Thanks Duos Angel for finding that funny typo (it's almost worth not fixing because it's so stupid it's silly-I fucky-ed myself laughing).


Chapter 85 (Monday 18 June 2007, early evening)

Kimimaro lay on the side of Hiashi’s good arm, his hand still gripped tightly by his new master’s. He was glad that Hiashi had whipped his cock because without that lingering pain, he might not believe this was real. He’d been fucked bareback, filled with cum, but his body had already forgotten that. The cum he’d cleaned out at the doctor’s office, and the faint sense of use in his ass could have been from masturbation, not sex. It was only that pain in his cock that made it clear that yes, he had become a slave, he had fallen in love, and he was going to live in this wealthy home.

Wealth, riches, money—Orochimaru had been rich, but it wasn’t something Kimimaro had really experienced. But here, my god, there was an elevator! Who had an elevator in their home? Hiashi’s house was like a mansion in a movie or a TV show, though Kimimaro. He’d been shocked not only by the elevator, but by the servants and the huge master bedroom. Thomas had helped him undress Hiashi, shown him the refrigerator, the temperature controls, the bathroom, and the intercom, explaining how to summon him or another servant. He’d gotten a brief glimpse of “his room” and heard just the faintest noises as Theresa, the housekeeper, “got it ready.” It was weird, like being a dom, having someone do things for him.

And the room—how had it not been ready? There was a huge four-poster bed with pillows and a comforter, no smell or mess, nothing, in fact, but elegance and beauty. A sunrise or the inside of a rose had been the images that had come to mind when he had peeked into the huge bedroom adjoining this one. The walls, the long flowing, fancy drapes, the elaborate fabric all over the four-poster bed, the lush bedding, the soft lounge chair, and the pillows scattered about all were soft peaches and pinks. Maybe getting the room ready meant taking out the breakables or expensive things? But he’d heard faintly through the open door to the connecting bathroom, the soft hum of a vacuum cleaner. The thought of that feminine room being his, his to redecorate, was upsetting. Maybe this was a test—he would come up with designs, and then he would get exactly what he didn’t want. That would be like Orochimaru. Or maybe he would have to work to earn the new decorations? Perhaps it was a test to see if he was greedy or ungrateful? There would be beatings, Hiashi had said, but he had implied they would be for sexual reasons.

His new master didn’t seem to want a normal dom-sub relationship. It was frightening, but at the same time, thrilling. Kimimaro had mentioned to Thomas before he’d left this bedroom that he hadn’t checked out from the Stardust. The new slave had just a little worry that perhaps he might end up back there tomorrow, but he was assured the bill and check out would be taken care of. “You take care of Mr. Hyuuga, and we’ll take care of the rest,” Thomas had said. And he was being taken care of--he was owned now and already being pampered! He was lying here on master’s bed, permitted to hold master’s hand—no Sir’s hand. He had to think of Hiashi as Sir, or as Hiashi, not master. And oh, how he wanted to please Sir, to love him, to love Hiashi, who needed him more than Orochimaru ever had. Sir had suffered and was suffering—and yet, he was able to control and dominate. His voice—oh, god, a perfect dom’s voice, so commanding! Yes, he had servants, but no sub, no slave, no lover. Kimimaro would be all of those that for Hiashi, would satisfy his sexual cravings, his dark needs.

Kimimaro could understand how Hiashi had forgiven Sai for the rape. There had been too many time in his life when he had wanted Orochimaru to rape him or make him hurt just to feel a connection with him. He’d been happy to endure it from others too, as long as his suffering pleased Orochimaru. Sai’s assault seemed to have tapped something in Hiashi, something that sent him out seeking Kimimaro. And so both of them would forgive him—for really, the line between rape and rough sex was a thin one if domination and submission, sadism and masochism were an essential part of your sexuality.

And because masochism was a large part of Kimimaro’s own sexuality, he lay next to Hiashi perfectly happy even though his hand was numb from his new master’s tight grip and his stomach was growling with hunger. When Hiashi finally awoke, he worked hard to please, helping the older man to the bathroom, smoothing the gels and creams the doctor had given him on his abused body, feeding him carefully the meal that Thomas had brought, before nervously setting his own tray of food on the floor and beginning to eat at Hiashi’s order. It was difficult to eat with those pale gray eyes staring down at him so intently, and Kimimaro was only able to eat about half of the food on his tray. When he had set both of their empty trays out in the hallway, once more he helped Hiashi use the bathroom, brushed and flossed his teeth for him, and brushed and braided his long hair. When Hiashi was settled again in the bed on his side so neither his arm nor ass and back were in discomfort, he knelt on the floor by the bed, head down, hands behind his back, knees apart, with his erection jutting out. It seemed like an eternity that he knelt there, and he wondered if he would have to kneel there all night.

“Masturbate for me,” ordered Hiashi. “Look at me while you do it; I want to watch your face as you cum. If you have toys you like to use, you have permission to get them and use them.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Kimimaro. It didn’t take him long to pull out his favorite things. The first thing he did, however, was snap on a leather cock ring, tight enough that he wouldn’t come easily, but not too tight that he couldn’t come with it on. When he used his favorites toys on himself, he had to do that, not to come within one minute. Then watching those pale gray eyes, he pulled and tugged at his nipples, playing with them long after they were hard little nubs. The metal clamps made him shudder, and his fingers trembled as he added the heavy weights. But it wasn’t really the clamps or the weights that had him more aroused than usual—it was those almost white eyes boring into him. He’d always thought gray eyes were cold, but Hiashi’s silvery-gray eyes blazed and seemed hotter than Orochimaru’s golden ones.

He lay back on the floor, knees up and spread wide, and spread lube on the dildo he liked to use—it wasn’t big, only five inches, with a wicked curve at the tip that would hit his prostrate each time him forced it into his body. It was a hard, clear plastic with a circular hole in the end he threaded his finger through. It wasn’t very wide either—the tip was quite narrow and wide central part not quite an inch in diameter. But it was nubbed, wildly nubby—only the little curve at the top and the ring at the bottom where smooth—everything else was big nub next to big nub, making the little dildo look nothing like a penis. It felt nothing like a penis, either. He slid it into himself, whimpering at the way the hard bumps felt pushed through his tight asshole. When he’d first gotten the toy, he’d stretched himself first with a butt plug, but he long since stopped that. He loved the shock when the smooth tip gave way to the bumpy body of the toy. Stretching ruined the intensity of the effect.

“That looks painful,” said Hiashi, “Is it?”

“Yes, Sir,” moaned Kimimaro, pulling it out and shoving it back in, slowly. “Wonderfully painful, a good pain, the sort of pain that you can savor, like suffering waiting to open a gift.”

Watching Hiashi, he began to move his hand faster.

“What do you think about when you do this?”

“I pretend my master is watching me,” said Kimimaro, stopping with the dildo in him, resting against his prostate. His body shook, for he was already feeling close to orgasm. The weight on his nipples, the sting on his cock that he was carefully not touching, the sensation on his prostate, all were now secondary to the sensation in his anus, which was painfully excited and spasming around the smooth base. “I image that he is enjoying the sight of my pain, getting hard from it. He orders me to fuck myself faster, calling me a slut and a whore, and when get so excited I come despite the cock ring and orders not to, he makes me keep fucking myself until he finally shoots his cum on my face and body.”

“That’s a slutty fantasy, boy, you are a little whore. You’re ass is twitching around that thing, wanting more. Show me how much you like fucking your ass hard, slut.”

Hiashi’s words, his voice, were bringing Kimimaro’s fantasy to life, and he let himself go, his hand thrusting the hard, bumpy dildo into his tight asshole again and again, as he worked himself closer and closer to ecstasy. He gasped out his feelings, hiding nothing: “Sir, Sir! The feeling of your belt on my cock, your powerful voice, the taste of your cock, your kiss—I’ll do anything for you, anything. I love you!”

“You’d love anyone, slut! But not any more--that heart of yours, that pretty body is mine now! Now shut you mouth, and put that energy into fucking that greedy little hole I’m looking at. Don’t shut those green eyes, look at me, whore!”

Hiashi’s pale eyes blazed at Kimimaro, deep creases appearing around his eyes as he focused on Kimimaro with an intensity he’d never experienced before. He felt as if the older man was looking through him, seeing inside his body, the beat of his heart, the movement of his lungs, the tensing of his muscles, the pressure of the sperm building, filling him. These eyes—they were seeing not just his body, but his feelings, his dreams, his every emotion. He was helpless, completely vulnerable—and those eyes were feasting on him, delighting in his pain, his need, his desire.

“Come for me!”

Crying out “Hiashi!” Kimimaro did just that. Such beautiful obedience deserved a reward, of course. Crawling under the covers to suck Sir’s cock, Kimimaro was in a state of dazed rapture, deeper in sub space than Itachi’s whip or Orochimaru’s water sports had ever been able to send him.