The Summer Storm.
The hot days follow one another, with no end in sight. The air is parched and dry. Then there comes a stillness in the air, thick and oppressive—the calm before the storm. Suddenly gusts of wind arrive, and flashes of lightning, exciting and frightening. Allowing no time to run for shelter, the rain comes, and brings with it a sense of release.
At last.
Please call me, I need you so badly. I dream about what you did to me, and I want more, I want so much more. I've never done anything so dark, so forbidden, so perverted. I want to keep going. I need you to control me, make me do bad things that I would never have the courage to do by myself.
You must make me suffer a little more, one more night, before you throw me back into the boredom of my once-dangerous life. It's not dangerous anymore. There's nothing that scares me, only you have that power, because when you let me be afraid, when you blind me and strip me, it feels like you're pulling me out of a frozen pond. I've always hated the cold. You're my sun, my light, my campfire on a snowy night. Without you my senses are numb. Nobody has ever treated me like you, and I like it, I really do, and I want to keep going farther, take me higher.
You may not believe this, but I've always been attractive to other guys, they're always trying to talk to me or pet my hand, hoping for a date, maybe a kiss on the cheek, and then you took me, you ACCEPTED me, of all people! They all think I'm so strong and independent, none of them could imagine me being submissive. Did you realize that? None of them could imagine me now, waiting for you to send for me like some medieval princess awaiting her dark knight, to treat me roughly, to give me orders, bring me heel.
Please teach me more of this evil tantra, I've kept myself in good condition for you. Every day I make certain my pussy is bare and clean. I'm making myself more and more beautiful for you, just you and nobody else, all I want if for you to mistreat me again, just once. You're my Master, you're my demon god, please don't abandon me like a child in an orphanage. I can make you come, I want to feel you coming, no matter where or how, I haven't made your come flow over me, I want to feel it, I want to see it, I want to taste it and savor it and know that it's because you get turned on by me, little worthless me. I've never even touched your body, never even seen you shirtless, never felt your cock harden in my hand, or in my mouth, on my tongue, I want to feel it deep inside my pussy, or inside my ass, even kinkier, it doesn't matter. What matters is you, your desire, your pleasure, I can be good to you if you give me the chance, I need you to rape me again, I need you to fuck me, I didn't know I was so perverted.
You've unveiled me to myself.
Nobody has ever treated me like you, I've never played a game this addicting, not even imagined it could exist, now I'm begging you, please call me and tell me to come over.Maybe one day I'll tell all that to him.
I keep my cell beside me every night. As soon as our training ends for the day, I activate it and keep it close. I keep my showers brief and bathe quickly, checking the call list once my hands are dry enough to see if he's called, trembling each time a number I don't recognize flashes.
But it's not him.
It's never him.
Every day that passes is like a blade plunging that much further into my body, that much deeper into my heart.
I see Sasuke every day, and he sees me. But it's not him. The Sasuke that trains by me—and Naruto, and Kakashi—is the same incredible shinobi that he always was. And I act, as best I can, as the regular Sakura that everyone knows. Sometimes, it feels like nothing has changed.
But it's obvious that everything has changed.
Every time we talk as a team, I can't hide the starving puppy-dog look I'm certain I wear. Whenever he addresses me, says my name, I pray that we make eye contact. I want to see his eyes drill into mine like he did that night. But it never happens. His control is unbelievable.
He is always unbelievable.
I hardly eat anymore. It's harder to study. I drink lots of green tea and pray for dangerous missions. I thought I could reach him, thought that I could make Sasuke Uchiha want me, thought that I could make him desire me just a little. But every day I see that he doesn't care about me at all. He probably is reveling in his own indifference.
I look at the other girls in Konoha. Every night I try to masturbate, try to orgasm, but it's useless—I always see him sucking a tongue that belongs to Hinata, or running a cool hand along Ino's curvy ass, or fucking Tenten…or even the adults. It's possible, isn't it? There's nothing that Sasuke can't do; perhaps seducing his teachers—no, the Hokage herself!—perhaps that's the biggest challenge available to him. And I know he can do it if he wanted. Of course he would want to. Kurenai-sensei is so beautiful, and Tsunade-sama so rare.
During these nightmarish nights I dream of Kurenai-sensei's back arching as he whips her. I dream about him fucking her, brutally, her cries, her orgasm…him drying her tears with kisses.
What has he done to reduce me to this state? Is this just the fact that he's resisting me so easily, or has he performed some kind of spell? Is it something else? Even though he's a part of my team, nobody in the village really knows Sasuke. I hardly know him. He could be something monstrous, something entirely different than what we know.
I don't care. I NEED to feel him again.
The things he's given me the chance to experience are too strong. I just can't resist the way my heart starts racing as soon as I think of him. Whenever I'm alone, in my house, in the bathroom, in the hotsprings especially, I recall being blindfolded, and try to remember the tone of his voice, his words, his hands.
I can't get to sleep at night without imagining his fingers in my cunt and his orders whispered in my ear. He was right, it's just as he said: I can no longer have an orgasm without his touch. I can't even heal myself, now. The orgasms are building, but they never come. I never come.
With every day that passes, the memory of that voice fades a little more.
Every evening I go home and get ready, hoping he'll call for me that night. I wear only thongs now, or nothing at all. I've hidden my stilettos behind a folded coat in my dresser.
But he never calls.
Every day I see him. Every day my desire to hear his call grows stronger, but so does the likelihood that he's forgotten me, grown bored. The pain of it is unbearable.
Why doesn't he call?
I have so much to experience, so much to give, if only he knew. I need to see him again, to show him I can be worthy of him, to pay him some kind of tribute like he deserves, make him proud of me, devote myself to his pleasure. He can do what he wants with me, with my body and soul, I can rise to any of his demands, all I need is one more chance, one call, from him.
He doesn't know what he's done to me. He wouldn't recognize me in my fantasies, maybe just my arched back and presented ass, waiting for him, begging for him to do what he will with me. I'd like to tell him that I don't expect anything long-term, that I'd be satisfied with just being a steamy break in his otherwise normal routine.
The torture of waiting.