Garbed in a Pristine Gleam!
Disclaimer: Naruto is Kishimoto's property. I'm not making any money from this story.
Warning: Morbid Content. Reader discretion is (strongly) advised.
AN: Dedicated to NXSE.
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Afar—afar, she heard their turning spar. Stars—dust in night's play. Sky—musk from passion's spray. Herbage lush, flowers growing on supple stalks, that invaded the stones, pressed together in the stone-pathway. It led to their abode, draped in distorted decorations of flora pretty, not denizens of this place—alien and lovely, like they.
Came hither this night, ushered her to a place where passions collapsed onto the wood and floors, constructed by hands deft and fingers strong. The house creaked as she sank down to her knees, lost amidst a maze of bodies white and shadows tar. Withered wood, harkening to her flesh's exigencies, spoke out, bore a storm.
Thunder lashed. Rain splashed. Sky crashed. Colours bounded, galloping heed-less to fill up sky, visions. Trousers rode down lithe legs, cocks sticking straight out: each a bit different from the other, smooth and venous, beaded heads. Bodies—their pores opened, sweat oozed, odours came and none escaped the air's dragnet, attached to her senses, into which their odours caught up, that spread out, settled on her.
Uchiha—a pantheon of best men! They were the quiescence of a girl story-teller's wishes—hard and comely their manner; deep and lovely their banner, of equal virtue and excess passion. She ensconced herself amidst their legs, shivered in their fine shadows that escalated across her face and limbs. Her heat accorded with theirs—body sung songs, mouth craved Uchiha cocks. Her overweening want to devour each droplet down to her soul—to become one with reds—rendered her breathless. She was most panglossian in her views!
They arrogated colours unto themselves, robbed the world of hues. Agents of vengeance on her right, Leaf's thrall on her left—cock and bull on both sides! She looked up and located him in dark's steady arms: Sasuke—her heart's Prince, her ruler, her other part, a power she conferred on him—she singled him out by the beauty of his person, a face that had no equal, his majesty a rude divinity.
She groped for him, his laggard meat distant; and it broke her heart to itsy-bitsy pieces. The story from the Land of Rising Sun had long since ended; this was her story, born from a gloomy breast, of a girl discarded that possessed her frame, and she deserved to see his cock, beaded thick with arousal, lift up in joy!
O', happy, happy joy! He swelled, from a lost boy into preternatural Kami of punishment, in her hand; and, as soon as the head passed the lips, she tasted his slime on her tongue. Once she had him deep inside, she suckled, cheeks hollowed. He closed his eyes, his throat trembling under sweat, bore down on her throat. Sobs and gasps melded—his charms endeared him to her, always.
She took the bones of his hips, brought him forward to her, and his hips pumped, and he kept on, not disciplining his primal part. His cock pulsed faster than her heart, steel-hot and bulging, pushing out air and spit, all dick in her mouth. Then a saintly indignation twisted his face, flowers melting away on his cheeks, and his rampant penis launched vigorous fluids that settled over her tongue like loose cream.
He gasped, the dune of his breast heaving, fingers pulling back her hair like torn scroll; and more of his tapered slime invaded her mouth, crawled down her throat, settled between her teeth like tape-worms. White of his flesh, demarcated by flush and shadow, stood before her: dead silence prevailed.
Outside, rain fondled flowers, planted in small open patches along the pathway: inside, groans and grunts, shaped by vertigo, sprung. He dragged out his softening arousal, strings and all, and her voice fell into a quiver, her flesh and slit cringing. More—more!
Itachi—his face exhibited a melancholic hue, being of a willowy grey. Most beautiful, tragic boy, she beheld him, and he wounded her spirit in evil and relative ways, unspoken his terms. His penis came to life, yet he turned, and she looked at his rippling and sweat-sprinkled back, at the junction between his shoulders, a separation of whites and greys mingling, at the white buttock in her hand and the black seam that invited her; and she had been a true-est masturbator of his dogma, whiffing his anal scents in baser realms where Christian creed flourished!
She burrowed between his cheeks, worked her tongue in and out of the tight whorl, fearing adornment, of deep woodsy shade similar in character to caramelised saccharine, hand pumping his organ to a stark hue. He was ready; and he turned, rounded blood-filled tip sinking deep, and she suckled long and hard!
She let him pace this intricate ritual, his blunt movements. In moments, he burst wide open, disappearing into her, her finger moving. She let him fall from her mouth, his fluids following his cock and sticking to her chin, a collection of bursting globs. Away—away into the shadow he went; her face, studded with green-rimmed eyes, shone with the brilliance of their ecstasies.
Madara, whom she styled a villain, stood dominating, staring down, cock leaping whence his thighs almost touched in twitches; and she opened her mouth wider, and his lengthening penis marched forward inch by inch, shoved its way inside in fits and starts.
Storm rattled above the house, and his violent flesh released into her his fluids in great quantities. He pulled and slime escaped her mouth and coated her tiny breasts in gouts of thick white. She pulled in the moist-laden air, timbre of her voice low and melodious.
Quick, as if a trained maneuver, their ancestor shifted and penetrated her mouth, his expression of gloom-pervaded features excited her sympathy. Each jerky advance of his penis caused trembles of varying intensity in her mouth and mind—so many Uchiha tastes, so little time!
And he came, like a rope pulled and clapper against the bell, and his body rang out, burst into her mouth. Then he retreated and another Uchiha entered and settled until it stirred. Delicate—thin in his person—Shisui's face exhibited a frenzied hue, partly by grief and partly by gloom.
With him still slipping in her slime-gathering gullet, a thicker cock probed, and the two moved easily as twisting eels in a tight river-tunnel, tireless in her mouth's trench. Slurping-sloping-slurping—sounds stabbed air's cavity! Their cocks plunged, sperm foaming about her mouth in quaking layers, curds of which outlined her jaw. In deep lights, she supplicated to be made a harlot, her mouth their juices' container!
Then they circled about, man in mask clapping in a sombre space, closed their fists round their still-heated organs till their knuckles turned whiter, and siphoned passion, luxuriant and thick, from their bodies onto hers—coating her semen-streaked piglet-pink hair, which framed her over-glazed face, filling up her mouth to over-flowing, spattering her flattened bosom and muscular thighs.
Yet still they were not done, which thrilled her olid cunt, which was of no use to their ripe-red genitals—a prospect of deep unions between their match-less fleshes as inutile as her plain body! Enflamed their spewing organs, spleens one against the other; priest and penis stood in equal stature; air heavy with accumulated smells from their loving loins. And they squeezed, giving out rising sighs and diminishing cries, and cocks, glaring at heads, traced the air with colourful showering arcs, apogee of their passions! Uchiha piss-drinking, jissom-suckling sow, she craved, swooned, crooned! (In another realm, where realities danced naked in aisles, her body's inhabitant played ruthless and soul-stirring games with her clit! O', magic-borne faerie Uchiha-men most-sublime, where hast thou fled—into aether's spread? Come unto me, ruin my reeking cunnie, pour into my webbed crevices your filth, for no one ever will—my sexualities numerous, occasionally unstated!)
They aimed right at the scum-stirred pink core of her mouth, each arc glittering sparkles of countless droplets: faint yellows from vengeful Trans-migrants, mustard browns from Leaf's adorers—sure signs of a liver's failing; and their Queen! was garbed in a pristine gleam, sluiced down by holy waters serene, stars in starless fabric, sparkling . . .
"That'll do, little piggy—that'll do!" spoke they, in unison, in the frowsty, male-scented room whilst the masked one clapped, clapped, clapped!
I'm an Uchiha sow—a True Uchiha sow—at last! she thought, drinking down the last of the amber liquids and glutinous jism, fainting . . .
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The End