Now travelling to Tokyo...
Moto Club 'Yomi'
It’s an unusual venue for a match–a somewhat run-down wrestling ring (and are those blood stains on the canvas?) in the middle of a run-down air space, somewhere in the back alleys of Ikebukuro, Tokyo. The buzzing, blinking neon sign from the sketchy convenience store across the way competes with the muffled, heavy J-metal coming from inside the graffitied’ industrial building behind you. The sign above the corrugated iron entryway reads: Moto Cluib Yomi. The gate is spray painted over with flames, and the head of a monstrous, Japanese ogre.
You’re starting to question why you agreed to a fight in such an odd venue. Still, the money is worth it. Underground matches, adjacent to the legitimate spellbreaking circuit, pay good money. And by the looks of things, this fight’s already drawn quite a crowd. You know your ears will be ringing, either from blows to the head, or from the thunderous engines of the motorcycles pulling alongside the court.
Rough crowd, by the looks of things. Bosozoku, biker punks, aren’t well tolerated by the Tokyo elite. They’ve had to carve out an underworld for themselves here, among the yokai-haunted back streets, where even magi fear to tread.
Right now, you’re dressed in a plain black shirt and shorts–your gear concealed, per the warnings of the spellbreakers you know who helped set up this sanctioned brawl. Under the watchful eyes of Japan’s premier fed, Okami, you can’t be too careful. Boss Mamasan has eyes and ears everywhere, and unlike magnanimous CEOs such as Colt the Bolt, she is far less forgiving of underground fights on her turf.
A beer bottle shatters against concrete, drawing forth a high pitched laugh from a purple haired girl in a kitsune mask, perched atop a bike. Next to her, a punk takes a drag from a cigarette.
“Wonder what kind of idiot you think Aka’s gonna fuck up tonight?”
“Heard he’s still pissed from losing his match against Phoenix the other week. I almost feel bad for the sucker who meets the broadside of Black Emperor tonight.”
Not exactly the words you want to hear from this crowd. The hot, Tokyo twilight is rife with blood lust.
It’s then you realize–not all of the bikers behind the kabuki masks and bandanas are human! The giant, ox-headed brute in the leather jacket on the big bike at the front of the pack, staring you down, certainly isn’t! So, the urban legends are true. Club Yomi is a front for a biker gang for yokai, demons, and outcast humans.
Before you decide to slink away while you’re still unnoticed, you hear a distant bang of metal. It gets louder and louder. The punks, on hearing it, whoop and holler and whistle–some of them revving up their motorcycle engines. You sense this fanfare is in part due to the approach of your opponent.
The rhythmic banging–a heavy, metal object against brick façade–grows louder and louder, til you catch a flash of white against the shadows of the alley–the reflection of light on an animal’s horn. No, not an animal. But not a man either.
Standing at an imposing height, the muscular being, his custom leather jacket parted open against his intimidating pectorals, tosses back his white hair. You spot his half broken horn and its intact counterpart. Mirroring this are his eyes–one, completely scarred over by a gash from long ago–the other, bright orange–a dark pupil set like the shadow of Mercury in front of the sun. You’re so transfixed, and slightly unnerved, by the size of this creature that you only just realize his scarred skin is an attractive, deep shade of red.
Your opponent isn’t even human!
So, the legends you read were true: an oni still walks the streets of Japan. This is the Lightning Drinker, Akanemaru.
Your eyes travel down from his leather jacket, to his tiger-striped, battle trunks, which call to mind old watercolours of his kindred–the wild, man-ogres or yore who sent storms and earthquakes to villages that displeased them; that terrorized and devoured men whole; that could, if reasoned with, bestow certain heroes who curried their favor (usually with sake) with immense powers.
The hulking monstrosity draws near, and as he enters the proximity of the dirty, trash-strewn court, a nearby punk–in a Hannya mask–slams down a boom box and blasts Akanemaru’s entrance music.
Now you wonder if you’ve made a mistake. Still, no turning back now. You remove your shirt and drop your pants, revealing black trunks, and make your way to the ring before any of these punks can boo you or throw garbage at your back (you know they would).
Meanwhile, Akanemaru still interacts with the crowd. You cannot possibly begin to fathom what about him inspires loyalty from his gang–it’s not all fear. A young, human punk in slick shades and a pompadour hands him a white bottle. Aka snatches it out of his hands and chugs in, streams of sake dribbling down his chin.
His eye widens and he spits a fine mist of sake out into the punk’s face, smashing the bottle at his feet.
“Fuck outta’ here with this cheap crap!”
The punk cowers.
Aka wipes his mouth, stares down at his subordinate, and then cuts a genuine–if not intimidating, toothy grin, before slapping his young friend on the back. “Haha! I’m just busting your balls, my man, don’t go cryin’ about it!” He saunters away. “But if you get me that dogshit, corner-store sake again next time, I’ll break your damn fingers. Also, get home before 8 and do your homework before I come over to your apartment and pile drive the shit out of you in front of your mom!”
“Y-yes-yes, boss,” the young punk squeaks.
The red warrior sneers. “Heh. Well, let’s get this shit over with. I got places to be.” The oni pulls himself into the ring without any strutting, showing off, or playing to the crowd. Giving you the briefest of look-overs, he removes his jacket and hands it off to a trusted henchman. “And I better not see any stains or tears on it later, or your ass is grass.”
You’ve been warming up and stretching for a solid minute or so, but despite Aka’s grumbling of ‘having better things to do’, he’s happy to take his sweet time, yawning, throwing you annoyed glances, rubbing sweat from his brow, and spitting right on the canvas.
Finally, he approaches you, chest puffed out. He looks you up and down, and you can’t decide if he’s angry, hungry, or intrigued.
“Huh?” He grins at his audience (my, his teeth are sharp) “You gotta’ be kidding me. This scrawny little fuck is my opponent!” He holds his head back and laughs, a guttural, yet high pitched cackle. Then, his face immediately turns dark and dismayed–as if your presence is an insult. “Don’t make me laugh! Well, I’ll give you a chance to tuck your tail between your legs and run, because I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I’m not nice.”
From somewhere out in the crowd, a scratchy, female voice pipes up. “He’s lying–he beat up my grandma’s debt collectors.”
“HEY!” Aka snarls, stomping over to the ropes and pointing at his target, while the rest of the gang giggles. “FUCK YOU, KAIRI, I TOLD YOU NEVER TO REPEAT THAT!”
So, that’s it. The Yomi Club loves getting a rise out of their leader. And, despite his gruff and intimidating disposition, you can’t help but think that his lower cuspid teeth, permanently jutting out from his lower lips, are somewhat endearing.
Growling, Aka pushes off the ropes, now tensing his muscles for the fight. He’s revved up like a motorbike, and the look in his eye sends a cold wave up your back. The ref, a wobbling, mohawk sporting drunk, doesn’t inspire much confidence. Where did they even find this guy?
“You’re pretty cute though,” the muscle-bound ogre says as he looms over you. You know better than to try and shake his hand. “I’ll give you that. What you packing in those trunks, baby? Doesn’t matter. I’ll find out soon enough.”
He presses his sweaty, round chest to you. With his height, it comes up to your face. You stare, eye level, at Aka’s intimidating pectorals and begin regretting your choices.
“And by the time I’m done with your punk-ass, I’m not the ONLY one who's gonna' be red all over. I'll be YOU! After I smash you face in!”
The bell rings, and you know now to hesitate will mean a swift and painful end to your win streak. Akanemaru is fast, but his movements suggest the unsteady eagerness of an upstart. Akanemaru may be big and bad, but he’s not been at the game for long. He gets you with a chest chop that knocks you silly, but his follow-up with his fists leaves him wide open. You go low, target those big legs, and knock him onto his back before he can react.
“What the hell!?”
Confidence returns to you as you swing off the ropes, gathering momentum, and land an elbow drop against the red guy’s juicy chest–a perfect target. The unruly gang outside the ring–not daring to defy their leader–boos and jeers at you, throwing half-eaten onigiri and empty beer cans into the ring, turning the canvas into a garbage heap.
Aka brushes an empty can of Asahi aside and throws his feet out, getting back onto his feet with an impressive recovery. “Nobody makes me look a fool in front of my boys and girls and UNSPECIFIED NON BINARY IDENTITIES IN BETWEEN!”
Akanemaru, true to his epithet, roars like a peel of thunder as he raises his big boot and STOMPS into the canvas, shaking the arena. Now, not just the arena. A wolf-headed gang member cries out. The trembling beneath your feet doesn’t subside, but increases, into a full on tremor. Buildings sway, and gang members rush to keep their bikes from tipping over.
“Damn it, Red!” Another feminine voice calls out. You notice that it’s the only one to make Akanemaru flinch. “Always pullin’ this crap.”
Akanemaru’s quake magic is too much for your footing. You try to balance yourself, but fall back onto the mat, your world turned into a roller coaster ride as car alarms and sirens go off in the distance. No way you can get back onto your feet while this is going on–and Akanemaru knows it.
Even in the modern day, an oni can still wield catastrophe like a weapon.
“Awww what’s wrong,” Aka sneers arrogantly. “Losing your footing? I can make the earth move by my presence alone.” The big oni charges forward, jumping into the air, onto the rope, and back flipping–
“I am a FUCKING FORCE OF NATURE!”
Right onto your prone body!
The earthquake suddenly stops–and your heart almost does too. It’s a heavy blow. Akanemaru goes for the pin, and you realize you’re not going to kick out in the time–but the drunken, bought-off ref stumbles as he tries to get the mat. You kick out.
And Akanemaru is furious. “WHAT THE HELL IS THAT, YOU DRUNKEN BASTARD!?” Akanemaru grabs the ref by the scruff of his neck, even as the oni’s gang pleads for him to come to his senses. “I’LL ROCK YOUR SKULL!”
While Aka wails on the ref, you take the opportunity to get to your feet, run and drop kick Aka right on his rippling back.
The oni heel bounces off the ropes and onto his back. You return the favor and splash him from the top, right on his abs. Before you can get the pin, however, Aka tosses your aside like yesterday’s news. You land painfully on your back.
The demon rises, spits, and crawls to the ring’s edge. You can tell the red is already unconscious. Not good. Akanemaru no longer cares about the win. His singular focus. now, is on causing you as much pain as possible.
Steam pours from his nostrils. Akanemaru reaches over the side of the ring. “You little PRICK. Fine, you want to play like that? Rules are for suckers, anyway.”
The red oni now brandishes his weapon of legend, a metal, spiked club affectionately called Black Emperor. You’ve seen the dirty fighter use this weapon before to turn the tide of battle, when the ref isn’t looking that is.
“Bow down before THE EMPEROR, BITCHASS,” Aka says as he swings his weapon.
WHAM!
You don’t even process the blow–metal against skull. Thank goodness for the blessing of soma, or else you’d surely incur permanent damage or worse, right then and there. Instead, a darkness grips you and your rag-doll body slinks to the mat.
“Huh? No teeth flying out?” Akanemaru trials his club, while the crowd cheers. “Man, I must be getting shit at my aim. Let’s give you another, for good measure.”
Just as your eyes start fluttering open, and your concussed mind tries to make sense of the blue of colors–mostly red–you see Akanemaru hoist Black Emperor above his head, aimed square at your eyes.
“DO IT, RED! BASH HIS BRAINS IN!”
You wince, waiting. Then, Aka stops. “Nah. That’d be boring…”
A sigh of relief. Maybe you still go this. Maybe Akanemaru is capable of small mercies after all.
An explosion of thunder knocks you into full alertness, but the flash of lightning blinds you. A streamer of writhing lighting descends from the heavens, causing all the biker punks banging on the ring apron in excitement to flinch and back off.
Eye glowing white and mean, Akanemaru points his electrified weapon at you and bears all of his fangs. With his hair teased up and dangling in the air, he looks like a demonic thunder god–true to his mythological nature.
“EAT SHIT, PUNK.”
Your body convulses before you even realize you’ve just been zapped by summoned electricity. Thankfully, the numbness spares you any pain. Twitching, and only vaguely aware of your surroundings, you’re completely helpless as Akanemaru bends over and pulls you onto his back, your tingling spine pressed against his hard, muscular delts.
The ornery oni roars out his submission finisher. “ROCK GOROSHI SPECIAL!”
Arms and legs bent beneath the oni’s pits, Aka turns his body into a demonic torture device, stretching all your limbs out across his massive, rippling back. You can barely move your lips to shout out your submission. Akanemaru keeps the hold on longer–not just longer, but jumping up and down and laughing, piling on the pain. Just as you wonder if you’ll black out first, he released your spent body, which falls to the mat, limp.
Engines roar and bikers shout Akanemaru’s praises. You’ve been defeated!
“But I’m not done,” Akanemaru snarls. He pressed his palms against your vulnerable chest, like a beast ready to tear into its prey. To add to the image, he leans over–white hair dangling in your face--and licks the sweat off your neck. “A little taste. Now, you pissed me off, kid.”
Akanemaru grabs you by the neck and forces you into a standing position, his giant legs wrapped around your torso, threatening to turn your bones and organs into jelly.
“Give me my special shit,” Akanemaru roars, motioning for one of his lackies to hand him a drinking gourd, tied with red string. He pops the top with his sharp teeth, takes as swig, and sighs with content. His quads tighten around you. You aren’t going anywhere.
“Let me introduce you to oni culture, kiddo. This is what we do to humble weaklings. A little sip of this stuff will put hair on your chest…and erase a few brain cells.”
At his mercy, you don’t even have the strength to plead your release. Aka takes another swig, but doesn’t swallow. You realize, with disgust (and a bit of curious arousal) what’s happening as he pulls your neck painfully to his face and opens his mouth, forcing the sharp liquid into your mouth. He clasps his big hand around your lips and nose, and rubs your neck with the other–like an owner forcing medicine down its dog's throat. You have no choice but to swallow the foul tasting liquid.
The pain immediately subsides. However, in its place, is a dizzy euphoria. You’re immediately drunk, knocked flat. Your eyes swivel around and around, much to Akane maru’s amusement.
“You don’t look so good, kid “Heh. This stuff’ll make you even more dizzy. At least it’ll help with the pain. Here, have some more.”
This time, Akanemaru pours his special brew on himself. It runs down the deep valley of his pectorals, and anoints his pulsing chest with liquor. That massive chest finds itself to your face enveloping and smothering you with sweat and brine.
“Better feel tongue on that chest,” Aka snorts. “Or I’ll smother you with ‘em.”
You have no choice. Either lap up the liquor and sweat like a good puppy, or experience a humiliating end. You do as you're told. Admittedly, you’re aroused. Or, maybe, that’s just the liquor talking.
“Shit FUCK that feels good,” Akanemaru says, tongue sticking out his mouth like a beast in heat. He clearly doesn’t mind the audience watching. “Now, do the nips. Suckle on me like a good piggy.”
You don’t need to be told twice. Mind seized by mysterious elixir, your lips find their way, hungrily, to Akanemaru’s right nipple and you suckle on his musty, oni body like a baby calf.
“Ffffffuck,” Aka moans. “If that’s what your mouth can do to my chest, then I can’t wait to find out what it does later. Maybe I got some use after you after all. Still, you pissed me off and made me look bad during the start of the match. I think your punishment’s gotta continue, PUNK.”
A blow to your gut cuts off any pleasure, and the wind escapes your mouth. Splayed across the canvas, both punch-drunk and regular-drunk, there’s no way you’re getting up til your conqueror lets you.
“Pissin’ me off,” Akanemaru snorts. He turns around and tugs off his trunks, unexpectedly. Out in the audience, several members whisper, earning them another demonic glare from their leader. You, however, are entranced by the big, red, muscle butt several feet away from your face.
“Now, I’ll show you how us oni show our dominance,” Akanrmaru says. Bending over, he crosses his arms across his chest and slams one foot into the ground, recalling a sumo stance, and then the other. Then, slowly, he sits back and…
“Take a good whiff of the smell of victory, kid.”
Big, red cheeks smother your mouth and nose, forcing your face into Akanemaru’s ass. Sweaty, salty, sweet, and not entirely unpleasant. Thank goodness your inhibitions are already dulled. You don't’ even mind all the punks laughing at your plight.
You can’t see it, but Akanemaru raise his fists into the air; a gesture part of this oni ritual. “Ah, and I forgot to mention…” Aka says, sshifting his weight further onto your face. “Us oni have some damn powerful pheromones. All of that nice, oni scent is gonna rev up your hormones like a chopper. And it looks like you’re already excited. Drunk on my special brew, and drunk on my alpha scent. You’re gonna cream right in front of my boys, kid!”
You fear he’s right! You’re already sporting a massive tent in your pants, and though you can’t see the wet spot blooming at the tip, the rest of the punks and Akanemaru can. You moan, trying to submit and beg, but your desperation is swallowed up by your new master’s big, muscular butt.
How is this possible? You aren’t even jacking off–your hands limp and useless on the canvas. Somehow, between Akanemaru’s mysterious sake brew, and his intoxicating scent, your cock is throbbing and tingling with sensation, of its own volition. You’re drunk on oni. Poisoned. This may be the underworld, but you feel like you’re in paradise.
“Too badass for ya, babe?” Akanemaru laughs, now veering into a more modern form of flexing, posing with his biceps raised. “Let’s see you blow your load for your new demon king.”
The request is like a magic spell. At his demand, and despite your resistance–only building up the inevitable–you release one more, muffled, high-pitched moan as you completely ruin and cream your black trunks, now soaked milky white. Around the ring, the rowdy audience hollers, laughs, and whoops. You don’t care if Akanemaru smothers you now. Between the humiliation and the release, you’re content to be vanquished.
But, Akanemaru is many things–a killer of men is not one of them (any more, that is). With a smug smile across his fanged lips, the demon king raises, bestowing fresh air upon you. He leans over–and for a moment, you’re afraid he might tear into your neck. Instead, he sniffs you.
“Heh. Smells like oni. That little potion and my pheromones may have just rewritten your pea brain. What do you say?”
Your thoughts have turned wild, your mind taken over by pure id. True to Aka’s magic, your mind–temporarily, anyway–has become demonic. “Raaaaaghhh!” you roar, wide eyes, content in your post-orasgmic state. “RAAAAAGHHH!”
Akanemaru smiles–quite charming. “Looks like we got a wild one on our hands, here! Come on little oni, I’ll take you back to my cave.”
Unable to move, and snarling like a beast, Akanemaru hoists you onto his back and escorts you out of the ring, while your drool and claw at the air, your erection still pressed against your soaked briefs.
“Hehe, maybe you’ll be my dinner for tonight,” Akanemaru says, slapping your butt. “And…it looks like I’ll be eating good. Hehehe…”
The End
No comments:
Post a Comment