I don't know what I was thinking when I wrote this, to be honest. It's het, but only because it's genderbent. And...well, let's just say that Itachi could never top Kisame under any circumstances XD It turned out a little fluffy at the end, which is odd...
I'm sorry for not updating for so long. I'm trying to rectify that now.
Before you read on, I must warn you that this is very very smutty.
Now...on with the fic!
Her fingers were warm and slick inside him. She probed deeply, chuckling against his neck as he shifted uncomfortably, her breath tickling his nape where her name was etched in curly black letters.
Her fingers were not gentle; but, then, neither was the rest of her. Yet her callouses and bitten nails had marginally little impact on his level of his discomfort. Liberal application of a cool, tangy, lime lubricant had seen to that.
She was being careful, but she was trying to look as though she was not.
Her thick fingers, so masculine, with their scarred knuckles and ragged nails, hurt. But it was her birthday. She had asked for this, and Itachi would not refuse her what she wanted. And, in any case, he was comforted by the feel of her leather-clad breasts against his back, and the smell of her deoderant curling into his nostrils even as her fingers curled into his body.
"Do you like this?" she purred, thrusting her fingers languidly. The awful squelching sounds made him cringe, but she only let out a groan of passion. He could not answer her, though. The ball gag between his lips would not let anything more than an incoherent mumble pass from his mouth.
"You look so hot like this," she whispered into his ear, nibbling it briefly as she paused, "All spread open just for me on my birthday,"
She slid another finger in alongside the first two, her palm flat against the parting of his buttocks. By now, smooth, viscous lube was dripping out of his stretched anus, trickling over the back of his testicles. She dipped the fingers of her other hand into it, smearing it around, up across his buttocks until he was sure that they were shiny. Her peculiar fascination with that particular part of his body seemed to be reaching new heights.
"You're so pretty, Itachi," she told him, tugging on the chain that bit into his nipples and hung down beneath his body like a cold, skinny snake, "Look at all of this beautiful hair, and your soft white skin. You're my pretty little girlfriend, aren't you?"
He bit down harshly on the ball gag as his nipples were stimulated, catching the soft flesh of his inner cheek. A tang of iron filled his mouth. He could not answer her, and his head felt too heavy to nod, as though it was weighed down with rocks. But she expected an answer, and she would make him give her one. That she would force him even further into submission was thrilling, although Itachi would not admit it to anyone other than himself.
"Aren't you?" she repeated, fingers twisting into his hair and pulling his head back painfully so that she was looking into his eyes. He met her dark gaze head on, breathing in the sea salt scent of her blue hair. He was kneeling up now, the spreader bar spanning his knees and pressing painfully into the backs of his thighs. Her fingers were still jammed into his body as though they would never be removed.
He jerked his head in her grasp in affirmation, trying to ignore the pain in his scalp. She seemed satisfied with this, for she shoved him back onto all fours with a hand on his neck, pressing his cheek into the soft mattress in a way that caused the strap of the gag to bite into his face. This did, however, ease the pressure on his legs. Nevertheless, he was not comfortable with his backside thrust out so brazenly in her direction.
He would indulge her, of course. It was her birthday.
"Good girl," she breathed into his shoulder. Her hot, hot breath dampened the grey pinafore he had been talked into wearing, the warmth making its way through even his blouse to caress his skin. He did not much see the point in wearing it anymore; it was open at the front so that she could tease his nipples at her leisure, and it was hitched up around his waist.
She pulled her fingers free with an uncomfortable, wet sensation and a slurping sound. He shuddered with revulsion; she groaned with libidinous awe. Lube was dripping from his loosened hole, which felt much to open for his comfort; tingling, sore and yearning for...something.
"Maybe I used too much lube," she mused, trailing her fingers around the circumference of his hole, "I should clean you up, hm?"
He did not like that tone. It was mischievous, filled with dark promise, and utterly filthy.
He could tell that she had moved away, because he could no longer feel her warmth and the slide of leather against his back. He chewed on the gag in frustration. Not only did he no longer know where she was (which was always worrying, because, if she was out of his sight, she was normally doing things she probably shouldn't have been), but he also missed the warmth, missed the slick leather encasing her breasts as they pressed into his back.
He was startled by the firm press of two thumbs between his buttocks, spreading him open more widely than he'd previously thought possible. He flushed slightly, instinctively knowing that she was staring at there. But he dared not move out of his position. And, anyway, it would have been difficult to do so with his legs arranged as they were. So he remained as he was, hoping that she would soon get bored and move away.
To wish such a thing was an exercise in futility, he soon discovered. For, instead of moving away, she moved closer. He felt the hot wetness of her tongue reaching into a place he was sure no tongue should ever go into, pressing so deeply that he felt her lips against him, her teeth digging in slightly in a way that was not unpleasant. Her breath was hot and moist like the bathroom when somebody has recently showered, and her tongue bar was caressing his insides in an entirely spine-tinglingly wonderful manner. Against his wishes, a low moan reverberated against his gag, muffled but still distiguishable.
When she pulled away, Itachi imagined that her face was shining with lubricant and spit, and her grin, a jagged white line, cut a swathe through the mess. His suspicions were confirmed when she leaned forwards again, lying flush against his back, and kissed his neck with slick lips that smelled strongly of lime. Her gentle teasing, so at odds with her domineering approach to sex, felt sublime, and he shifted slightly in blissful relaxation, dragging one stocking-wrapped knee through the mess of lubricant and white fluid that had collected upon the downy covers.
"Of course," she said as she paused, "Pretty girls love having their necks kissed, don't they? It makes them feel loved. And you're a very pretty girl, aren't you, Itachi?"
Her fingers slipped back inside surreptiously, the slide less smooth without the half a bottle of lubricant she had cleansed from him with her sinuous tongue. To his surprise he let out a strangled gasp as though he had just been swimming underwater for a long time and had now broken the surface to draw some much-needed air into his lungs. The friction was glorious, and her fingers were so deep inside him that her knuckles were pressed harshly against his hole, slipping and sliding in spit and lubricant. She was moving them at a languid pace- neither quickly nor slowly- but she was thorough, spreading him open widely with firm, steady fingers.
It made him wonder what she had planned; what she was stretching him for in the first place. And it made him shiver, because he had an inkling of what she intended to do to him, and he was sure that he was going to love it. This terrified him a little. Yet, rationally, he knew that he should have expected this.
For she was a domineering woman with strong masculine fingers, and hair like a cornflower at dusk, and smooth ebony skin as dark as the promise-filled laughter that tickled his ear when he shuddered in her grasp. And he was thin and more beautiful than any man should be, long-haired and lily-pale that he was. She would, of course, be in charge of their relationship, and he would submit to her whims because he enjoyed it, and people had been joking that he was her girlfriend for an eternity, so what did it matter if they turned out to be right, so long as she did not stop kissing his neck?
"I wish you could see yourself," she told him breathlessly, moving away again, "You're so beautiful. That's what I love about you, Itachi. You're like a kagema; so pretty and androgynous and slutty, but you're not a kagema, because you're mine alone, aren't you?"
He jerked his head, his aching jaw feeling heavy, and his breath catching in his throat at her desperate tone. She needed him as much as he needed her. She needed to own him, as much as he needed to be owned by her. His insides clenched with emptiness, desiring her possessive touch, but he stopped himself abruptly, not wanting to make his image more lewd than it already was. She chuckled, suggesting that she knew what he was doing and found amusement in his continued attempts to retain some semblance of propriety in spite of his position.
The bed shifted as she stood up. He felt the lack of her warmth with disappointment. Then, she was in front of him, all black leather and dark skin and mischief. Her breasts were fit to burst from the tiny scrap of leather binding them in place, but he noticed this only distantly, as he was preoccupied with the eight-inch rod of black latex staring him in the face. The combination of femininity and masculinity was a curious juxtaposition.
"I want you to suck it," she announced, her fingers carding through his loose hair. She had probably smeared lubricant through it, adding to the debauched picture he presented. No doubt this was deliberate.
Her request was an odd one to Itachi, as she could derive no physical pleasure from the act. Nevertheless, when she had removed the gag and he had flexed his aching jaw, he replaced it with the faux penis, tasting cloying rubber. It would have been far more to her advantage had she pressed Itachi's face to her dripping crotch rather than to this rubber phallus, but he dared not complain and continued to suck even though he felt like the definition of idiotic. His obediance paid off; she murmured words of encouragement to him, staring down at him with a lusty gaze, the proof of her desire glistening at him through the crotchless leather knickers she wore. He made an attempt to touch her there, but she pressed her legs together tightly and pushed his hand away admonishingly.
"The only one getting anything inside them tonight is you," she promised as she pulled away again. He did not expect this, and a mouthful of saliva was discharged down his chin as a result. Then her blue hair was tickling his shoulders and her tongue was sweeping over his chin, sneaking across his lower lip teasingly. She snagged the pink flesh between her teeth, tugging playfully, and then pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth before she stood up straight and disappeared behind him.
Blunt pressure against his hole made him jolt slightly, with the unfortunate consequence of causing the first inch or so to pop into his body. In spite of her attentive stretching, it hurt. She'd probably purposely bought the largest, most fearsome-looking dildo she could find, if the filth she was whispering in his ear as she slowly pushed inside was any indication.
"I wish you could see what I'm seeing right now," she groaned, and he knew that she was unabashedly staring at that private, shameful place as she stretched the skin a taught, pale pink with the long rubber bung strapped to her crotch.
"You're taking it all in," she informed him with breathless wonder, "All of it. You're so pretty, Itachi. Your ass is perfect. It's all round and white and soft, but not too soft, because that would just make it flabby. I never thought I could like rimming somebody, but you're so pretty, so how can I not?"
Her words, so matter-of-fact and uttered in such a tone, struck a cord in Itachi, and he found himself anticipating whatever she gave him. He didn't care what she did. He just wanted to feel her pressing against him with her hot strong body, her fingers stroking his hair and her tongue bar flicking over his skin. He thrust his backside back with a groan, feeling soft, malleable leather and the stubble of her pubic hair as the curve of his buttocks slotted into her hips like some sort of hedonistic jigsaw puzzle.
"Yessss!" she hissed, bending low over him and nibbling his ear, "Do you like that?"
She moved her hips tauntingly, drawing out slightly and pushing back in with a delicious stretching twist at the end. He dropped his face into the crook of his arm with a whimper. A loud cackle of glee told him that he should not have bothered, because she'd heard him loud and clear. She always did. That was what he loved about her.
The next retreat of her hips was sharp as she pulled out all the way, and the reentry was a jolting, rapid, harsh thrust that made his buttocks shake from the impact with a loud clap of flesh-on-flesh.
"Oooo!" he cried out as she caught his prostate with the bulbous latex head, "Kisame!"
"Yes?" she crooned, nibbling his neck with her too-sharp teeth as she stopped all movement of her lower body. He did not answer in words. He chose to buck backwards so that he could grind the rubber cock into himself, stars bursting behind his eyelids.
"Please," he whispered (It was her birthday, he reminded himself).
"Hmm?" she asked, thrusting shallowly without the force to make him scream, "I can't hear you. You're too quiet,"
Oh, she most definitely heard him. He could tell by the infliction of amusement in her voice.
"Please!" he said, louder this time. She laughed cruelly in his ear, her finger tracing the stretched rim of his hole, and he thought to himself That is going to hurt tomorrow.
"Please what?" she cooed, "Please stop? Please untie me? Please fuck me? Which one is it, beautiful?"
"Please...," he groaned in frustration, wriggling his hips, "Please...fuck me,"
She knew he hated vulgarity with a vengeance. She knew it. And, yet, she always made it her mission to get him to cuss like a European hooligan at a football match. She thought it was hot; he thought it was degrading. Yet he did not dwell much on it at the moment. He would later, when she inevitably brought it up in conversation, but, for now, he was moaning in rapturous pleasure as she pulled her hips back and then plunged in again with the force and ferocity of a bull elephant. He found himself amazed at her proficiency, and he wryly thought that maybe she should have been born as a man. For all that she was pretty, she was too tall, too tattooed, too pierced, too crude, too sinewy, too dominant. Yes, perhaps she should have been a man. Itachi knew that it would not have made a difference. He would have still wanted her, because Kisame is always Kisame. Or maybe he should have been born as a woman, and he knew that it would not make a difference either, because, if Kisame is always Kisame, Itachi is always Itachi.
"Say something else," she gasped, her sweaty fingers sliding on his hips, "Say something so fucking dirty that I'll never forget it!"
"No!" he moaned in response, drawing out the word in a crude, juvenile way like a child that does not want to leave the park. He was grunting on every inward thrust as she caught his prostate repeatedly, as if she knew where it was.
She probably did.
"Do it!" she snapped, dealing his backside an open-handed blow so that he tightened deliciously around the unyielding intrusion, "Now!"
Another slap, this time on the other side.
"Kisame...I-!" he began, only to be cut off again by another, harsh slap.
"F-Fuck!" he muttered, his eyes stinging. He would not cry. He would not be reduced to tears by a woman who was reaming his backside with an eight inch rubber cock, slapping his cheeks red-raw. He would not! He refused!
But, with a particularly rough stab of his prostate, he felt tears spill from his eyes, spattering the rumpled, lube-stained bedclothes with tiny, dark droplets.
"Oh shit, you're crying!" she hissed, her voice saturated with perverse awe and lust, "Oh fuck, that's hot,"
She rammed her hips against him harder. He sobbed into his arm.
In a flash, she pulled out abruptly, leaving him hard and aching, precum dribbling steadily onto the bed. He made a sound of protest which quickly turned into a moan of relief as she unfastened the spreader bar and began to rub his aching feet. His respite did not last for long. With her famous strength, she flipped him onto his back like she was hauling a sack of potatoes and sucked the big toe on his right foot into her hot mouth. She knew his feet were sensitive. The only conclusion that Itachi could come to was that she wanted to see him sobbing hysterically by the time the night was done. She was a sadistic bitch, but maybe that wasn't a bad thing.
As predicted, it was not long before he was begging her to stop, shivering and juddering like a faulty car. He was sobbing silently into his arm. He could not bear to look at her right now. It would just make him worse.
"You've got such girly feet," she hummed, having pulled her lips off his toe with a wet pop, "Look at these painted, manicured nails,"
She swirled her tongue around his nail and over the pad of his toe, which was pruny due to the extensive saliva bath it had received from her. Itachi looked down at his feet, inwardly admitting that she was right as he regarded (through his wet stocking) the delicate bones and his white, white skin and his long slender toes capped with perfect purple nails. Then, he looked at her, and felt his breath stutter in his chest. She had stopped what she had been doing, and was looking up at him with that jagged grin that normally spelled trouble.
When she stood up and walked around him, he was thankful that he could now move, because he was able to turn to follow her path. He did not much like surprises. At least this way he would know what she was doing.
He was bemused when she simply sat on the bed by the pillows with an inviting smile, the latex penis jutting into the air provocatively. Her spread legs revealed her desire to him; her inner thighs glistened with moisture, and her heat was swollen and red.
"Ride me," she ordered quietly. If he'd had any doubts, her expression told him that she was not joking and expected him to do as she asked. He clambered to his knees awkwardly, his pinafore slipping down over his thighs. Only the jarring protrusion jutting out from his body, pushing the skirt outwards, gave away his true gender. She appeared to appreciate this; her eyelids slid down until she was staring at him through slitted eyes and dilated pupils.
He clambered over her awkwardly, shuddering as the wet tip of the latex penis jabbed at his inner thigh, leaving a damp spot. Slowly, he backed towards her, until he felt her against his back, and then he reached behind himself, groping for the dildo. With a laugh, she took control, gripping one hip and moving him into position while she held the latex cock up for him to sink down on.
"Go on," she urged in a ragged whisper, her thumb digging into the swell of his buttock through the pinafore. Itachi swallowed and took a deep breath before pressing down against the cool, domed head. At the precise moment it slipped inside, he trembled, biting his lower lip, feeling his ring clench around the groove beneath the plastic head. He felt her fingers scrabbling against the back of the pinafore as she hurriedly rolled it up, wanting to watch his descent herself.
His thighs shook with the effort of keeping him in the same position as he waited for her finished pushing the skirt out of the way. He would not normally allow such a thing but...well, it was her birthday after all, and he would not deprive her of any part of her sexual fantasies.
"Shit!" she muttered as he resumed his descent, sliding down until his soft buttocks met her pelvis. His nails dug into his palms as he rocked slightly, trying to get used to the sensation, opening himself up wider. He felt her eyes on him, and blushed slightly, imagining the picture he made to her. The stark black phallus was disappearing into his body, and he thought that she probably appreciated the contrast between the pale skin stretched over his buttocks and the pinker skin between, and the dark rubber cock, glistening with lubricant.
"Come on!" she snapped impatiently, her hand coming down onto his right cheek with a ringing slap. This caused him to jump slightly, the front of the pinafore brushing his thighs as he rose up slightly and slid back down again. The whole movement only lasted a fraction of a moment, but it stole an open-mouthed moan from his throat, and he twisted the pinafore between his fingers. When he rose up again, he did so all the way, feeling the firm slide against his prostate. His knees trembled weakly, so he slammed back down on her pelvis a little harder than he'd intended to, feeling a dull pain inside. For one panicked moment, he thought that maybe he'd seriously injured himself, but, as he slid off the cock to inspect himself, the pain disappeared again, although he was certain that he would feel it again tomorrow.
Still, he thought it best to check that his actions hadn't caused him any damaged. Without much thought, he slid off her lap and lay on his back, spreading his legs and sliding two fingers inside himself. They were blood-free when he inspected them, as was the dildo, which he took to be a good sign. It was only when he heard a quiet "Fuck!" from Kisame that he realised what he'd done, and what position he was in, and what effect such an act would have on her.
In a second, she was on him, throwing his legs roughly over her shoulders and slamming back in quickly. His eyes rolled behind his clenched eyelids as he let out a shout of pleasure. Whether by uncanny skill, or by luck, she had ploughed directly into his prostate the first time, and, if the wicked grin he saw when he managed to open his eyes briefly was any indication, she was aware of what she had managed to do. She kept aiming for that point, making him gasp, groan and shriek like...like...
"You're my perfect little girlfriend," she told him, panting with exertion. One of his legs slid off her shoulder as she tore her hand away, so he clenched it around her hip, feeling leather and hot, sweaty skin against his knee, watching as she slid her hand down underneath the latex penis strapped to her groin, rocking into her own touch with every thrust of her hips...
The image made Itachi's cock twitch, dribbling precum onto the skirt. With a shiver, he threw back his head, tearing frantically at the duvet beneath his body, and he thought to himself that he couldn't possibly ruin the covers any more, so what did it matter?
It didn't. Not to him; not when he was so close to cumming all over himself because his girlfriend was reaming him sore with a fake cock.
"Ah...ooo!" he wailed, his toes curling in those stockings as she slammed into him with particular ferocity. At the same time, she seized one of his feet and sharply sucked on, and then bit, his toe.
And that was all it took to send him screaming towards orgasm. He choked out a hoarse cry that vaguely resembled her name and locked his legs around her neck, pulling her down on top of himself. He must have blacked out for a moment, because, when he became aware of his surroundings and his pulse stopped hammering so strongly in his throat, he realised that he was now lying in a different position.
"K's'me?" he slurred tiredly. She was stroking his hair, her body moulded against his naked back as he lay limply on his side. He had drool down his chin and tears on his cheeks, and a sore backside that was dripping a lubricant and saliva mixture down the crease where his right buttock melded into his thigh.
"Go to sleep, beautiful," she told him with a chuckle, gently removing the nipple chain. She sounded much more composed than him. But, then again, she, unlike him, had not endured a complete sensory overload.
"Did you...?" he trailed off sluggishly, struggling to keep his eyes open.
"Twice," she purred, seeming to understand what he was asking, "I'm very satisfied, so don't worry about me,"
"Mmmkay," Itachi moaned, snuggling into his fluffy pillow. She whispered something about him being adorable, which would probably make him a little annoyed ordinarily, but, at the moment, he did not care.
"Hey, Itachi?" she asked abruptly.
"Mmm?" he mumbled, his eyes sliding open just a mite due to extreme effort on his part.
"I didn't know you liked being spanked," she said almost nonchalantly, a finger tracing over the letters of her name that were etched into the back of his neck as proof of his devotion and faithfulness. He trembled slightly in her grasp, feeling almost too comfortable and happy.
"Neither did I," Itachi admitted dryly.
He wanted to tell her about the effect she had on him. He wanted to tell her that she made him feel safe when others could not. He wanted to tell her that her dominance over him was welcome not because he was kinky, but because he was always looking after other people, so it was a heady feeling to be looked after for once.
Most of all, he wanted to tell her that she was the beautiful one, even if her hands were rough and masculine and her teeth were too sharp and she was taller than even him.
But he didn't. There was no point when he was so tired. He'd probably just mess up his words if he did try.
And, besides, she knew what he was thinking anyway.
He turned to her, and, before his nerve could fail him kissed her on the lips. It was probably a revolting kiss, what with his slobbery chin and the way that he probably smelled of sweat and sex and saliva, but she responded eagerly.
"Thank you," he told her when he pulled away.
"No, thank you," she said suggestively in response.
He wasn't referring to the sex. But he was willing to bet that she probably knew that anyway.