Gaara's Nightmare

“Gaara’s Nightmare” for llyoung

Gaara heard his father’s voice shouting at him, “Die you miserable little shit that killed your mother and her brother, just die!” Then the dark silhouette of his father in the doorway, slammed the door, leaving him chained there with his broken ribs and arm in the dark. Gaara screamed, and no one, no one came, no one heard him—and then his father was back trying to kill him. He lashed out, punching and kicking trying to protect himself, screaming, “No, father, no, no, no! I didn’t kill her, I didn’t kill mother, please, please! I was just a baby, please, father, please, don’t, no!” But his father jerked the chain on his neck hard and his fist connected with his temple, and he felt that familiar blackness close over him, as he screamed, “Why? Why?”

Gaara woke up feeling odd. His head hurt, hurt like he’d been beaten up. He opened his eyes and saw a pair of empty heavy leather boots near his face, and he felt a little burst of happiness. Master’s boots. All was right with his world—and oh, god, oh god, Master had bound and gagged him in the night! Excited, Gaara struggled against the bonds and cried out against the gag. It was the biggest ball gag Neji had, the one that hurt to be in too long, oh god, hurt so good! His jaws were stretched so wide that he felt it in his jaws long after the gag came out, that reminder he was Neji’s, Master’s pet to play with, to hurt, to punish, his precious, precious pet.

God, he loved Master! Master cared about him enough to get up from his bed in the night, gag him as he lay sleeping on the floor by the bed, chained there. Master had pulled his arms behind his back and bound them tightly together from elbow to wrist with what felt like many, many leather straps buckled tight. And his hands—his hands were encased in those leather mitten like things, except there wasn’t a thumbhole, and they were tight. Oh god, the tight leather, like some narrow bag, fitted over his hands, rendering them into helpless, useless leather flipper-like things. He tried to lift his bound arms and encased hands, and pain ripped through him. Oh, Master, Master!

The chain on his wrist cuffs was attached to clamps on his balls. If he tugged his arms or wrists, they jerked on his balls painfully. He could feel his balls now, aching, hanging beneath his engraved cockring—oh, god, the sex one. He had two—one for all day that didn’t actually do the best job of keeping him from coming and wasn’t very heavy. Then there was this one—it was tight, so tight on the top of his balls, and heavy, god, heavy. He loved it. And they both said, “Property of Hyuuga Neji” on them. Master had them made just for him and had measured him with his own hands. Oh, god, when Master put the tighter, heavier one, he was usually going to be punished, punished hard, or fucked, fucked hard. And he couldn’t forget it was on, and when it came off, the ache lasted quite a while afterwards, which was good, so good. Every painful bit of his body reminded him he was Neji’s pet, Master Neji’s slave. His pain pleased Master, and that was all he lived for, pleasing his beautiful, beautiful Master.

His legs, his legs were bound together as well by leather straps buckled tight, one after another, down to his ankles. He couldn’t bend them, couldn’t moved the apart. And his ankle cuffs, secured together were tightly chained to the foot of the bed. He twisted and struggled, just to feel how helpless he was, how much Master had secured him. Every unnecessary buckle or bond to Gaara was a sign of love. Yes, his father had merely locked a dog collar around his neck and hooked it to a short chain to the wall. He’d never bothered with any other bonds and would just kick or break his bones or knock him out, not caring.

But Master, Master would make his bondage an art. Master didn’t chain him up from hate but from love. He’d never said it of course, but Gaara knew hate, knew it through and through, inside out, upside down, from every angle possible. Master Neji didn’t hate him.

And the catheter in his dick proved that. His father left him to lie in his own piss and shit. Never, never would Master Neji do that. No, no, he might have to hold it, hold it until it was painful, but he’d be given release always into a toilet, a pot, or a few times at night, he been finally permitted to release himself in the garden, and he’d been given a small trowel to bury his shit and then hosed down again and again by Neji’s own hand until he was clean.

And now, now, he couldn’t even tell if he needed to shit or pee, since his cock and ass were so tormented! His cock was in the black leather strapped thing—that set of six leather rings that could be laced so tight around his shaft, all linked by one vertical strip. Just thinking about his cock made it move—or try to. The top black leather ring of the cock sheath, the one just under the flare of his cock head, had a ring on it that was linked to a chain, running up his body, forking to run to his clamped nipples, and then to the ring at the front of his collar. Every time he shifted or his cock twitched it tugged on the metal clamps—the most painful ones. They were the ones where the metal teeth bit into his nipple, the ones that if they were jerked too hard actually cut him just a little. Never bad enough to scar or endanger his nipple, just enough to hurt for a few days.

Oh, god, god, this was the most Master had ever done to him all at once! It everything at once, and every bit of his body hurt so good. And his ass, oh, god his ass! He’d avoided thinking about that because now, focusing on it, he began to shake uncontrollably, the shakes setting off pain in his balls and cock and nipples and ass and arms and mouth . . . oh god, everywhere, everywhere! It was like Master was everywhere. Gaara screamed around the ballgag and tried, tried to still himself and not think about his asshole, his back, for the huge dildo in him felt like it speared right up into his back. It was the big one—the one that was three inches around and studded with smooth metal studs and hard plastic bumps that hurt so much when the monster was inserted or moved inside him. And to make it worse, just at the base the dildo flared to four and a quarter inches—that always, always made pain rip through him when finally that last bit popped in and held, held the huge thing inside him, splitting him apart. The insertable part was ten inches long—not bad if something was small or narrow, but with this monster, an agony, a wonderful, delicious agony.

It took a lot of work to get that into Gaara’s ass without tearing, something Master Neji was always careful to do, although that last little bit almost always made just a little tiny, tiny tear. And at times there were other little anal tears as well, nothing bad, nothing that bleed a lot or long at all. He didn’t mind a little blood, and it always was just a little, little bit. He bled more from biting his lip!

And the care Master lavished on Gaara when there was even the slightest bit of blood from his asshole always made Gaara so happy that he looked forward to those little tiny tears in his anus. They always meant Master Neji would be rimming him—kissing and licking and making him come again and again from the feeling of his tongue in his ass. And the tiny anal tears made the fuckings afterwards hurt a bit, and that little extra pain always made him come harder and longer. And he’d torn a little, he could tell. It hurt, it hurt inside. And that was Master’s right, Master’s pleasure. And Master would have him describe the pain, exciting him, leading him to fuck him again and again. And usually when he was a little torn, a little bloody, he got to come and come and come.

Oh, god, Master! Master! Master! How he loved Master Neji! His asshole was Master’s, all Master’s. And Master wanted him to feel this pain, feel this intensity, this suffering, this sensation of helplessness, of weakness, of love.

Yes, he loved Master, loved the pain Master gave him because that pain was a sign of Master’s love. And with this much pain everywhere, all he could think of was the pain, the pain that meant that Master loved him. Oh, god, all he could think of was Master. Master, god, Master, please! Please! And shaking and sobbing and screaming, Gaara twitched and endured and suffered and loved. Master! Master! Master!

He didn’t know how long this state went on—he couldn’t keep track of time. And then there was Master—oh god, Master was hurt, Master had a bruised face, a black eye. Master! Master! His Master! He would kill who ever did this to Master happily if only he would let him! And the ballgag was pulled out, and he gasped out, and he whimpered and pleaded with his eyes for permission to speak from the man standing over him, clad in black leather, looking down at him with a frozen, face showing nothing but an icy anger.

“You may speak,” said Master in that cold, emotionless voice that Gaara knew meant he was hurting and upset. Oh, god, why couldn’t that person have hurt Gaara instead, have beaten him? He welcomed the physical pain, welcomed it because it made that inside pain go away. Master said he was a pain slut, and Gaara knew it was true. But only if the pain was from Master, for Master. Oh for that pain, yes, yes, he’d do anything to feel it!

But Master, oh, poor, poor, Master! Oh, he was hurting inside, hurt beyond that obvious bodily hurt! Master didn’t like pain, no not like Gaara. Who had done this? Was it his horrid uncle? Or some awful punk? And Gaara tried to push down the little bit of happiness bubbling up in him that made him feel guilty. Master would punish him, hurt him, until he felt better inside, because when Master Neji was inflicting pain, it made him feel good. And then when his Neji felt good, then he would love him, again and again until all his Master could think of was his adoring submissive slave, all he could feel was pleasure, and everything, everything in the world was perfect! Yes, yes, this had happened before, but never had Neji looked so hurt. Never had Master needed him more! And, oh, oh, he wanted to make Master feel good, so good, and take all his pain on to him!

And with permission to speak, he spilled out the thing that had been in his mind as he lay there suffering, hurting in his mouth, his nipples, his arms, his back, his ass, his cock, his balls, his legs. “Master, Master, I love you, I love you! Thank you for binding me in the night! Thank you for this pain. Thank you, Master! I’m your slave, Master, please, please, use me!”

Oh, god, Master’s beautiful face, so beautiful when it warmed like this, when it looked so passionate.

“Shut up, Slave! Don’t tell me what I know! Tell me about your father, everything about your father,” ordered Neji.

“Yes, Master!” said Gaara focusing on Neji as he began to speak, not really hearing his own words. Hearing of other’s suffering, hearing of other’s pain made Master feel better. And some might think less of him for that, but Gaara knew pain, real pain, the inside pain. And whatever could take that away from Neji, that was good. Because making Master Neji feel good made Gaara feel so good, made Gaara’s emotional wounds all go away. And so he told about his childhood, told Neji all the shameful, painful details, watching the emotions fly over Neji’s face, seeing his anger and rage at Gaara’s father, seeing Master Neji’s love.

And he couldn’t help interrupting his story with comments like, “Master, Master, I love you, thank you for this pain ripping apart my ass!” And the more he saw Neji’s face transforming, the more he couldn’t help but squirm, making his own pain intensify, making it harder to tell the story, making him interrupt more and more with thankful descriptions of the agony he was feeling.

And Master gradually stopped demanding answers and finally when Gaara could only sob with the agony he felt, that ball gag was forced back in his mouth. And then he picked up a little black plastic fly swatter—a silly little thing, ridiculous, that couldn’t hurt Gaara at all. And he struck him all over with it, causing little light stings that drove Gaara wild. He thrashed and cried around his gag, and all the pain he felt tormenting him, ripping over him, was caused by his movements, not the light stings that felt so good.

“He’s dead, that fucker’s dead, your fucking evil bastard father’s dead. And you’re mine! Mine! Forget him! If he was alive, I’d kill him! No one, no one hurts you but me! Understand that! You are mine, and no one touches you, no one gets near you, no one but me! My pet! My Gaara! Mine!”

Oh, god, Master’s! All Master’s! He loved him so much!

“Love only me! Think of only me! Dream of only me! Mine, dammit, mine!” And the swats intensified, and the stupid plastic fly swatter broke. And Neji cursed and threw the useless handle away. He stomped away and came back with a light riding crop, the lightest one he had. And he’d undid his pants and pulled out his cock.

Master’s cock! Master’s hard cock! Master was hard, Master was aroused, Master was pleased! It was too much, too much—and Gaara felt himself start to come—a dry orgasm as his balls were ringed so tight and that catheter was in his cock—but the pleasure, god, the pleasure! And it was making his ass contract and spasm around that hard, huge plastic thing inside him. And the pleasure made him writhe, and the writhing made the pain worse, and the pain made the pleasure increase, until he couldn’t think, couldn’t control himself, he was going to come and come again and again until he blacked out.

And Master leaned down and undid the ball gag, and he couldn’t talk, couldn’t apologize, couldn’t even say he loved him, he just let the noise rip out of him as the pleasure and pain spiraled through him, and he could feel himself losing the ability to think, to see, to hear . . .

And when his hearing and vision came back he felt nothing, nothing but a pure, pure pleasure and joy. He was in his body, but also not, floating above it, seeing Neji hitting him with the little crop, crying, and shouting things that he couldn’t understand other than knowing, knowing Master had never loved him more. And Master came, came hard, spraying his face, making him rush back into his body because he loved Master’s cum, loved it so much he was coming dry again, coming with Master, coming at the sight of Master above him, spraying onto his face, that look of pure ecstasy, pure love on it!

“Listen to me, Slave! Can you hear me?”

“Yes, Master!” cried out Gaara.

“I’m going to unbind you, Slave, and you are going to crawl and get the bull whip. And you will beg me to whip you and thank me for each lash. You are being punished for calling out your father’s name in the night and waking me. Never, never, will you mention his name again, Slave. You have no family but me. You are no one’s son or daughter, you are my slave, my pet, my fucktoy. And with my bleeding lashes on your body, I’m going to put my fist inside you, so you remember, you belong to me, only me. And then I’ll fuck you till I’m tired, Slave. And you will thank me for it, thank me.”

“Master! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Neji jerked on the chain on his between his nipples, but in his state of joy he couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel anything but good, and he kept thanking Master and declaring his love in a babble, until Neji straddled his face and thrust his cock into his mouth, fucked it hard and fast, filling it with cum. And then he rolled Gaara over and dumping cold lube over his stretched asshole, jerked the ring attached to the base of that huge dildo and began fucking him with it.

Oh, god, that, that he could feel, that hurt, hurt so good! He screamed his love, his pain, his thanks, and his apologies because without permission another one of those dry orgasms took him. And Neji was screaming something at him too, something he couldn’t understand, but he could hear Master’s voice, hear the passion, hear the love in it until the blackness took him again.

And that, that was his life for an eternity it seemed—for at least a day, he would come to consciousness, and Master would hurt him until he came so hard he passed out. He was whipped and fisted and fucked by a dildo and Master’s cock together and covered with hot wax. He screamed and had his face fucked so often and so hard he couldn’t talk or scream as the sweet torture went on. He remembered coming, finally coming wet, coming on Neji’s boots and then licking them clean. He ate, he was forced to shit, to pee, and still the punishment, the pain, the pleasure, and the periods of blackness continued until he surfaced oddly, strangely. He was floating, floating in whiteness. And someone was yelling at Master, who was protesting.

Master needed him! It was hard, so hard, but he tried to talk, to demand this person go away, leave Master alone.

“Don’t yell, no, my Master, no, stop.”

And they did, there was silence, and he smiled. And then Master Neji was passing him water from his mouth to Gaara’s. And Master was kissing him between sips of water. His hands, his face, oh, he was gentle, he was loving. And then, then Master said, “I love you, Gaara, I love you.”

Oh! This was a dream! That was why it was so fuzzy and distant and odd. Oh, the best dream, the best dream ever. And then because it was a dream he could use Master’s name. “I love you, Neji, I love you.”

Oh, oh, a perfect, perfect dream! Because Master kept saying he loved him, saying he loved Gaara. And then the whiteness took him.

And he woke up, feeling wonderful but weak, in Master’s bed. Oh, yes, this was the pampering time. And Master, always so kind, so sweet, so different in these special little periods said, “Are you awake, my good little Slave? Are you going to remember this?”

“Yes, Master,” said Gaara, a little surprised at how weak his voice was.

“I love you, Slave.”

“Neji!” cried Gaara, shocked.

The pinch on his nipple hurt, hurt so much more than a mere pinch should have, hurt in a wonderful, wonderful way. His cock leaped to life, and he moaned and panted, crying out his apology, his love, his pain, his pleasure.

And then Master’s fingers let go, and his head went down, and he sucked Gaara into his mouth. Oh, god, god, he was going to come. In his soft, barely there voice, he begged to come, and Master lifted his head and said, “Until you leave this bed, Slave, you can come as much as you want. But you can’t talk unless it is an emergency, or I ask you a question.”

And then he lowered his head and kissed the tip of Gaara’s cock. “How do you want me to suck you, pet, fast or slow?”

“Slow, Master,” said Gaara softly. Yes, now it was time for slow and sweet and soft.

And it was like a dream. Neji, naked, his hair down around him, kissing and licking and sucking and rimming him. Neji, his proud Neji, massaging him, washing him, cooking for him, and feeding him. And best of all, holding him while he slept and waking him in the night to make love to him.

But like all dreams, it came to an end, but Gaara was happy when it did. Because as much as he liked those pampered times, they had their downsides. He didn’t get to brush Neji’s hair in the morning and night, he didn’t get his morning spanking, he didn’t get to wear his favorite nipple clamps, and he didn’t even get to give Master his morning blowjob. Nor did he get to cook for Neji and stand at his side and watch him eat, fetching what he needed, rubbing his shoulders, and watching that cold, proud hardness fade away.

And after Neji’s dinner, oh Gaara loved that. Neji would sit at the table with his coffee or wine and watch Gaara put his food into a bowl on the floor and pour his drink in a bowl. He would watch Gaara eat as if it was the most fascinating thing and feeling that stare on him always excited him. Most nights dinner was followed by play, and some nights it started even before Gaara ate. Neji loved to see him eating and drinking from his bowls with an ass striped or red, and sometimes Gaara would be slow or make some little error, to give Master a reason to pull him over his lap. As fun as it was to lie in bed and have Master feed him, it was much, much better to be eating on the floor, his ass stuffed, his buttocks and thighs hot and red, his nipples clamped, and Master’s eye on him.

Oh, yes, the sweetness and softness was nice for a while, a change that made him appreciate even more the joys of being Master’s slave, Master’s pet. But to spend each day like that, oh, no, no, no. That, that would be a nightmare.

And deliberately Gaara disobeyed that day, so when night came, he was punished. Thus as Neji lay sleeping, he was awake, chained at the side of the bed on the floor with no sleeping bag or pillow, his mouth gagged, his hands bound, his cock ringed, a sliver of ginger inserted in his little cockhole and a plug of ice melting inside his ass that was crisscrossed with stripes from the riding crop. And all night as he lay there, mostly awake, he thought of Master, feeling Master’s punishment, Master’s love on his body. And in the morning, when Master asked how had his night been, he answered truthfully, happily, “Painful, very painful. Thank you for punishing me, Master, and reminding me of what a lucky, lucky slave I am. I love you!”

“Did you enjoy the pain last night, Slave? Look at me and tell me the truth.”

Gaara raised his eyes to look into those odd pale eyes of Neji, and he let his happiness show in face as he said, “I loved it, Master. I’m sorry, I know it was supposed to be a punishment, but I enjoyed it.”

“Pain slut!”

“Yes, Master. I’m sorry. I love you.”

“Hmmmm, well, sorry isn’t good enough. After breakfast, you’ll get another punishment.”

“Thank you, Master!”

“Shut up, Slave, and get over my lap for your morning spanking. And you aren’t to make a sound, understand, or that punishment will double.”

And Gaara eagerly crawled up to lay over Neji’s lap, his cuffed hands resting on the small of his back. He wouldn’t make a sound at all, and that, that would be his true punishment. Because if he did, Master Neji might be late for work, and that always made him cranky and unhappy. No mornings, mornings were for being good as much as Gaara was tempted. And after all, he was already promised a punishment after breakfast. Double punishment would just be greedy and selfish, and Master deserved better than that.

And as Master’s hand descended again and again, Gaara smiled in bliss, pushing his ass up for more. On mornings like this, he could almost believe he’d always been this happy, always been Neji’s slave. That, that horror that was his life before Neji had put his leather belt around his neck and claimed him, that was just some nightmare.

“You’re wiggling your ass too much, Slave, no matter how quiet you’ve been. You are to lie on my lap, not dance on it. You’ll get that double punishment, and you’ll thank me for it when I let you talk again.” Gaara’s heart overflowed with love—and unable to say it, it spilled out of his eyes in happy tears. And knowing that Neji loved to see his tears and they made him happy, just made Gaara happier and made those tears spill out harder and faster. It was the start of another perfect, perfect day.