Slake's Battle & Bondage Pose, sketch by Bogrim
Entering the Tournament (Slake)
Are you sure this is a good idea, Slake?
Why not? I like to fight. This’ll have fights.
I get that, but . . . shouldn’t you be focusing on your heroic deeds? Not joining some . . . battle tournament?
I don’t tell YOU what to do in your spare time, do I?
Slake was standing in a long line on a street corner, mostly composed of mean-looking fighters and guys wearing muscle-shirts. Actually, he’d been standing in line for the better part of the day, slowly edging his way up to a large building down the block. That’s how long it took to get into this event, and that was only for registration. A large billboard for ‘Damian’s Tournament’ loomed overhead.
“Isn’t it great?” a young Cheetah nudged him from behind in line. “The first tournament didn’t even get half this many applicants! I think it’s because the first one was so popular. Now everyone wants a piece of the action! I tried out last time too, but couldn’t make it past the obstacle course. I’ve been training hard though, and I’m gonna do way better this year!”
The Cheetah paused in his rush of words, looking expectantly at Slake as if he expected him to reply. All he got though was a hard glare--which quickly made him decide to try his luck chatting with the man on his other side, instead.
Slake turned back around with a grimace. What was the deal with these people? What was it about a big, hulking, perpetually scowling blue Oni that drew them to him like maggots to rotting meat and made them think he gave a shit about anything they might want to prattle on about?
I want to go on record saying I still think this is a bad idea.
The Oni grimaced. And here was the biggest prattler of them all . . .
It’s just, I’ve been getting a bad feeling the closer you get to entering that building. There’s still time to turn back, you know . . .
You know what I think your real problem is, old man? Jealousy.
Jealousy!? What . . . !
That’s right, jealousy! Of this teleporter gizmo the vids keep flashing. I think you’re scared that once they do that attunement thing to me, that I won’t need you anymore.
On the massive electronic screen towering above them, a display was even now being shown demonstrating the mentioned teleporter. It was footage from the last tournament. A large hawk was teleported to a mountain arena high up in the clouds, along with a wrench-wielding wolf. A swift transition later, and you could see the aftermath of that battle, with the defeated hawk disappearing as instantaneously as he’d arrived.
Other matches were quickly shuffled through too. Two tigers, one using tech and the other magic, teleported into a futuristic battlefield of some kind. A snake assassin and a wolf, appearing in a boxing ring. A muscular lion fighting the same wolf with the wrench from before. Each fight began the same way--with two champions teleported to their assigned arena. And each ended with teleportation as well--with the defeated fighter disappearing, shortly followed by the victorious winner.
Slake idly wondered where the defeated fighters were teleported to. He didn’t watch enough TV to know if any of them had given post-battle interviews or not.
I have nothing to be jealous of, Oni! You think a mere contraption can replace my ability? Besides, you must know that even the strongest of tech can’t pierce the veil between dimensions--can’t send you where you really want to go . . .
Guess there’s just one way to find out, huh? Who knows, maybe a free teleport is part of that ‘Grand Prize” they keep yammering about.
Grrr! I’m telling you, I’m getting a real bad vibe from this whole operation!
Then why don’t you just keep outta it? Slake thought-snarled at the old monk who’d conned him into becoming a temporary hero. If you don’t like it so much, take the fucking month off!
But . . . you might need me. My insights could help you--
The only thing they could do here is give me a fucking headache. Got it? I don’t want to hear a mental peep out of you until this whole Tournament deal is done. I don’t even want you watchin’ me! And I’ve gotten to where I can tell when you’re watching me, for your information. I get this tingle right on the back of my neck . . .
Oooh, oooh, fine! Wuku snapped back. Slake had to restrain a smirk, as the geezer sounded just like a pissed off monkey at the Zoo. If that’s the way you want it, then that’s the way it’ll be! Just don’t come begging back to me if things go wrong.
Yeah, yeah. You know what they say about hell and snowballs.
For once, he got no reply. Only silence reverberated through his skull.
Slake took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and smiled. Now that that was dealt with, this Tournament would be practically a vacation. Just the kind of break he needed . . .
Lord of Embers (sketch), by Pockyrumz
Entering the Tournament (Conquer)
"I still don't see the point of this device. Why would I need this petty . . . science when I can just teleport to the battlefield myself and annihilate all who come before me?"
"Please sir, it's all procedure," replied Doctor Mize patiently, "Every fighter participating in Mr. Ratsbane's tournament must be attuned to the teleportation machine. It's part of the rules packet that you signed during registration."
"Hmph!"
It’d been ages since Conquer had walked among mortals on the outer planes, and he was beginning to remember why. The mighty king stood in the attunement chamber, waiting impatiently for the scientists to prepare the device. His red and muscular body was naked, having been told that clothing of any sort would apparently disrupt the process. He stood with his arms crossed before him, not bothering to cover up. Why should he? Every inch of his form was regal and powerful, and that included his private parts. If he were back home in his own palace, a dozen slaves would already be on their knees before him, begging to lick at his pleasure.
"Let’s see . . . it says here your reasons for entering the Tournament are to battle one fighter in particular," Doctor Mize said absently, more to make conversation than anything else, as he looked over Conquer's personal data on clipboard while the device fired up. "You realize of course that we cannot guarantee you and he will actually get a chance to fight. The matchups are randomized. You might be in a different bracket, or one of you might get eliminated first--"
"I understand, of course," Conquer interrupted. "One can never predict fate while on the battlefield."
"I couldn't have put it better myself, sir."
"That is fine.” The demon’s eyes lowered, and his voice dropped low. “Even a small chance to test how far the boy has come will make this excursion worth it . . . " Conquer's murmured words were directed at himself, but Mize's sharp ears were listening for all they were worth.
The scarred king huffed as the waiting seemed to drag on interminably. "Isn't the device ready YET? My patience has limits," he growled.
"Just a few more moments . . . " Doctor Mize told him. "We still aren't used to such an influx of test subjects--er, champions. All the new prospective fighters entering, it's been hard to keep up with the demand."
Conquer merely snorted. All he was hearing were excuses. And he didn't like the way this 'meek' scientist was stealthily eyeing him from time to time. It was either simple lust at his impressive body, or something more sinister. Either way, there were more going on behind those thick lenses than the mouse let on. Perhaps it was a mistake to enter this 'Damian's Tournament’. Pure impulse, extremely unlike him. Only a few trusted retainers were even informed that he’d be absent from the courts for an unknown period. There hadn’t been enough time to properly scope the place out, let alone learn its secrets . . .
When the report from his spies came that Slake had entered however, Conquer had made arrangements without a second thought. It'd been so long since he'd seen that furious scowl and those clenched fists. The fire in those yellow eyes . . . Conquer bared his pointed teeth in a smile. He couldn’t wait to see the expression of outrage on Slake’s face when he learned that his ‘beloved’ father had entered as well.
Still, as delightful as the thought of that was, something in his instincts told him there was something not right about this set-up. And in the hundreds of years he'd ruled his savage domain, his instincts had very rarely lead him astray.
"Ah. There we are.” Mize finally looked up from his monitors. “The scanners have returned to their default settings now. If you'll step right up sir, the machine is ready now . . . "
"But I am not so sure I am ready for it to be used on me," Conquer told him with an overbearing scowl.
Mize sighed. Every so often they would get men like these. Stubborn. Most were simply bashful. Despite making it through the obstacle course, for whatever reason they balked at exposing themselves naked to a room full of scientists. They were usually handled gently, assured it was all necessary for the attunement process. Even complimented to give them the necessary confidence boost.
This man was different, however. Rather than be embarrassed about his nude state, he was suspicious of the attunement process itself. Hadn’t he seen all the footage and demonstrations held around world? All courtesy of various outlets controlled by the Dominant Six, and all for the sole purpose of gaining public trust for further tournaments just like this one? Or perhaps . . . this Conquer wasn't questioning the science, but rather, the motives.
Could the large demon actually be suspecting the real motive behind the Tournament?
In the mouse scientist's other ear, another voice was speaking to him through an earpiece, telling him in no uncertain terms that if let this deliciously majestic quarry get away, than funding for his future projects might very well find themselves in jeopardy.
“It is perfectly harmless, I assure you . . . ” Doctor Mize started on his usual spiel when champions expressed reservations.
“HAH!” Conquer threw his head back and barked out a rumbling laugh. “As if any of your pathetic devices COULD hurt me!”
"Although . . . It actually is incredibly painful to get attuned . . . oh great demon," the scientist said, quickly hitting on different a strategy he thought might work. "Only the toughest of the tough could possibly withstand it. That other oni in the tournament . . . the blue one . . . If nothing else, you could prove you can take what he couldn't."
Conquer hesitated. "Slake? He couldn't take it?"
“Is that his name?” Mize shrugged off-handedly. "Yes . . . He cried like a baby."
"Hmph! Very well, we shall see how painful this is. I will submit myself to this foolishness," Conquer said, striding forward, powerful body rippling with every move. "I still say it is pointless, however."
"Yes. Yes . . . " Mize said, hiding his smile at his ploy's success. "Just stand in the very center of the platform--yes, that's right."
He typed furiously as the strong Oni stood in position, wanting to get it done as quickly as possible before the subject proved difficult again. As he worked, various devices detached and began scanning every inch of Conquer's proud body. A glow was emitted from the platform, burning brighter and brighter, and a low pitched whirring of some kind echoed from underneath.
It wasn't painful at all, Conquer decided, confused over why his strong son would react so badly. It was nothing but a mild electrical buzzing all over his body. In fact, it was even somewhat relaxing. Almost . . . pleasurable. With a frown, Conquer realized that his cock was reacting to the machine, for some reason becoming aroused. Though he attempted to will it down, the machine’s probes seemed to give it a mind of it’s own. It continued to rise, until it reached its full impressive girth and length, all as the machine continued to hum around and over him. His cock remained that way for the rest of the attunement process, rigid and hard as a rock. He grimaced. All the scientists in the room were quietly staring at it, but no one commented.
Why should they? It was all procedure.
'Good First Impression?' by Kartos
Partnering Up
The obstacle course he’d just gone through, while possessing its share of pitfalls, had in the end turned out almost pitifully easy. Hardly even worth the effort for one of his strength. Despite that, most of the competition he'd entered with had been unable to traverse it and flunked out as a result. Maybe this world didn't have much challenge to offer after all. If he couldn’t get what he needed here then he may as well leave. Slake had come this far though, and it seemed a waste to leave now after taking the trouble to go through the lengthy sign-up process.
The Oni was naked, his pants and fundoshi left behind in a locker with the guarantee that they'd be dosed with some sort of machine as part of the 'attunement' process, whatever that meant. Slake didn't pay much attention to the science mumbo-jumbo he kept hearing from the various scientists around here. All he cared about was the competition, and whether they could sufficiently satisfy his lust for violence or not.
Speaking of, Slake took a look around himself. Not every guy had utterly failed at the obstacle course, and he could perceive through the steam several other naked male forms around himself washing up from their workout. A good variety of body-types was represented, from a mean-looking bull terrier to a heavier white tiger, a blue dragon, a slim bat, and even a coiled cobra. And then there was himself, the beefy blue Oni who, in his own opinion, was bigger, rougher, and meaner than any of them. Regardless of size or species, all were relaxing under the water now, proud they'd made it through and ready to take the last registration step once they were done here.
Slake turned back to himself. Once it all started next week, he'd do a fight or two and, if it was too boring, he'd just bail. No sense wasting his time here if there wasn't any glory to it. And once that was over with, he'd get back to his real mission, searching for a way home . . .
He was just deciding that as he bent over to scrub his heavy balls when Slake felt a sudden sharp--
*SNAP!*
The Oni jumped with a startled oath, feeling a sting on his right ass-cheek. He whirled around with a snarl, ready to deck the guy who'd dare mess with him by towel-snapping him in the showers.
The man he found behind him however didn't quake in fear as most would when confronted with a pissed-off demonic ogre. Rather, he grinned broadly. It was a troll, burly and brown-skinned, with two big ram horns on either side of his brutish face. He held a rolled up towel, and gave a guffaw when he saw how angry Slake had gotten. "HAW! HAW! No need to get bent outta shape, Blue! Just my way of getting your attention is all."
Slake gave a short growl as he looked at the other male. By themselves either fighter would tower over most other men, but to each other they saw about eye to eye. The troll was built like a brick shit house and muscular, and in addition looked used to throwing his weight around. Still, Slake figured any fight between them would be a one-sided affair, with himself as the inevitable victor. It wasn't arrogance, but simply a factor of knowing just how damn good he was. He did however feel an knee-jerk instinctive dislike for the guy due to the fact that his horns--ridged, rounded things--were larger than his own, which more resembled sharpened tusks sprouting from his forehead. He scowled as he rubbed his ass--a fucking welt had been left there--then crossed his big blue arms and waited, water spraying down on him from above. "Well, you've got it."
"Hmmm . . . " Instead of immediately making his intentions clear however, the troll simply leaned back and took in all of Slake's massive form. He paced back and forth, sizing up Slake's muscles. It went on long enough that Slake started to feel like a piece of meat and got self-conscious, particularly of his hanging privates which for some reason the troll didn't exclude from his examination. It didn't escape Slake's attention either that the troll was exceptionally well-hung also--not that he looked--though perhaps that was simply a trait of their species. The Oni was just about to demand an explanation when the troll grinned up at him and held out a hand. "Yep, I think you'll do just fine. Whaddya say, wanna team up?"
Slake blinked. Of all the things he had expected to hear, that hadn't been one of them. "What?"
"Haven't you heard? Apparently this here tournament's gotten so popular that the first couple rounds are gonna be tagteam battles. That means ya gotta fight with a partner! And since we both look like such strong, strapping men, I thought maybe we oughta team together. Better you than some pansy! Hah hah! Am I right?"
Now that Slake thought about it, he HAD heard something to that effect announced earlier while he'd been standing in line. He hadn't paid it much heed however, being more focused on other things. He narrowed his eyes at the burly troll. "And why should I team up with you?"
"Heh. If you're asking if I got skills, don't worry. I’m a trained merc, one of the best. Just don’t ask for my squad’s name--we’re one of those secret undercover ones. They’re a good bunch of guys though. Ain’t too particular ‘bout jobs as long as we get paid, and the dangerous jobs always pay better, so you gotta be good or you don’t make the cut. How ‘bout you? You look like you’ve been in your share of scrapes.”
“I’m an exiled demon prince who’s searching for a mystical way back home because I’ve sworn blood vengeance on my father,” Slake said flatly.
“Hey, whatever man. We all got our crosses. You can fight, though?”
Glaring at the man’s impudence, Slake cracked his knuckles.
The troll laughed. “Okay, okay, that’s good enough for me! Oh, and almost forgot. In addition to my mercenary skills, I also got this handy little trick." He went to turn Slake around. Annoyed and confused, Slake nevertheless allowed the other man to position him so that his back was to him. A second later, the troll purposely and firmly grabbed one of his bare and muscular blue buttocks.
“YOU . . . !” Roaring in outrage, Slake was about to whirl around and deck the guy--again--when something brought him up short. An odd cooling sensation had spread over the cheek. Reaching down to where the troll's hand had just left, Slake was startled to find that the welt left from his earlier towel snap had completely disappeared. There wasn't even a raised mark on the skin. The oni’s eyes widened.
"Yep! I got some talent at healing," the troll explained to him, giving him a friendly spank as the oni slowly turned. "Figured it might come in handy here and there--and it has. We ain’t just talking ‘bout little welts either. I can do big stuff, too. " He extended his hand once more. "Name's Screwjob. So, yes or no?"
This time there was only some minor hesitation before Slake took the proffered hand. The troll’s ability seemed quite useful, and his offer did have some logic to it. Better to choose your own partner than be stuck with a possible weakling. They shook together, both squeezing and testing the other's strength. " . . . Slake," he answered. "And sure, for now. If I need a partner anyway, it might as well be you."
Screwjob leered up at him. "That's what I'm talking about! You're gonna be glad you met me, buddy. I got the feeling that if we two work together, we can wreck anybody we come across. In fact, I already got some strategies worked out if you wanna hear ‘em."
"Perhaps . . . later . . . " Slake grumbled, attempting to extricate himself from the friendly arm now wrapped around his brawny shoulders. His body now clean, he tried to make his way out of the showers, pushing past the numerous other athletic men soaping themselves, the room having filled some while he was in there. Partnering up was one thing, but he wasn’t interested in spending any more time with the overbearing troll than absolutely necessary. Despite his intentions however, his new partner was right beside on the way out, jabbering away, now slapping his back as he made some raunchy joke.
The two made plans to meet up again once registration was over and they'd both been 'attuned', to work on their teamwork and work out strategies. That is, Screwjob made the plans and Slake just made grudging affirmatives. As they spoke, the Oni felt the troll's palm lower, and then a light, daring squeeze on his rump again--this time definitely not for healing purposes. Slake muttered to himself as the troll departed after imparting one last spank. What had he just gotten himself into?
He still really wasn't so sure about this Tournament . . .
Getting a Few Things Straight
Co-written with Zyxxs
A low hum of elemental current. The waters flowed over rocks and ground, sluicing a path of least resistance. Slake could feel their energies all around him. The natural powers of this world weren't particularly strong, but--if he could manage to bond himself at least partly to them--they might prove to be a great help in the upcoming battles. All he needed to do that was a bit of time and luck . . . and a whole lot of peace and quiet within which to meditate.
That last condition was proving to be difficult, however.
He was pulled from his meditations by the rough and caustic voice of his new 'partner', the raunchy troll Screwjob. Slake's teeth ground together as he pulled himself back to the physical plane for the fifth time that afternoon . . .
"What was that?" he snapped at the other man.
"I was just askin' . . . you always do this meditation thing in just yer undies?" the troll asked him.
Slake glanced down at himself. As soon as they'd left their filthy rental trailer and gotten themselves some privacy, Slake had discarded his pants. He was now standing ankle-deep in the cold waters of some mountain run-off, deep in a glade they'd found, clad in just his familiar fundoshi.
"I'm most comfortable like this," he explained with a roll of his eyes. "And that's important when forming a bond to the elements. No outside distractions. Speaking of . . . " he turned a glare on Screwjob, who for his part was wearing a pair of tight black pants, fingerless gloves, and combat boots. "I think I've told you that every time you interrupt me means I gotta start all over again, haven't I?"
"Okay, okay! I'll be cool man." Screwjob held his hands up, though he kept smirking as Slake grunted and turned his back again. "It's just . . . I wasn't sure if you knew half your ass was hanging out or not."
I'm gonna murder this guy, Slake grumbled to himself, before once more reaching his consciousness out to the elements, trying to commune with that blasted water . . . Flowing, cool, washing away into the lakes and gullies of this land . . .
Screwjob gave a sly smirk in Slake's direction as the oni was absorbed in his trace once more, and then quickly stuck his tongue out at the big blue man. Walking to the opposite end of the glade, the troll produced a cigar from his back pocket. He cut off the cap, lit it, and wasted no time puffing away. The troll closed his eyes and sighed happily in between puffs, letting the sweet aroma of the exotic magic-tainted tobacco fill his nostrils. Behind his eyelids, his blood-red eyes began to shimmer with a mystical green light as he was invigorated.
"Silly shamanistic magicians," Screwjob chuckled in reference in Slake, "Having to constantly commune with this spirit and that spirit, in order to use your own powers. Looney hippie. Thank the Almighty I'm hermetic; my powers are my own--I can use them as I please." He then tapped the fat middle of his special cigar. "But a little 'enlightenment' never hurts, either."
Screwjob then began to take long, deep drags off his cigar; and purposefully puffed the thick smoke in Slake’s direction. Yeah, maybe he was trolling a bit just to get Slake’s attention. But waiting around for him to finish was boring as hell. Had to entertain himself somehow.
The oni growled inwardly as he tried to focus, aware that Screwjob was stomping around behind him. Normally he didn't have this much trouble concentrating, but for some reason he was hyper-aware of the other man he'd just met. Like he couldn’t stop paying attention to him, even when he tried focusing elsewhere. Probably because he'd never known anyone so annoying.
But he had a reason for wanting to interface with this world’s elements so badly. It’d been only a day since his father had so humiliated him yet again, here in this very same park. Slake’s face burned at the memory. That old feeling of helplessness which had come back . . . of a total loss of control as he’d writhed and moaned in Conquer’s sure grip. He hated it! But the most frightening part was that some small part of Slake actually enjoyed it too. Was it a lingering aftereffect of his long years spent as Conquer’s prisoner? What the hell was the matter with him! Either way he knew that he had to get stronger--much stronger, if he hoped to challenge the great king again.
A minute later however, he smelt a cloud of tobacco in the air. Now that was just fucking great. Carcinogens were man-made, yet another barrier he'd have to break through to get at the river's core. "Ey! Do you mind?" he yelled, dragging himself out of his trance yet again. "This is a . . . what-the-fuck you mortals call them. A no-smoking zone. Now either get lost for an hour or so, or do something that WON'T distract me. Practice with your fuckin’ whip over there or something."
"Relax, Blue, I'm almost finished," Screwjob took a few more puffs on his cigar before he rudely put it out on the rough bark of a nearby tree. "Ahh! That's some good shit!"
The troll stretched. Perhaps I am being kind of a dick to him, Screwjob thought, but at the same time, he didn't find that he felt all too badly about it. This was his way of unwinding, after all. His Runner teammates back home all put up with him, even found his acerbic attitude to be endearing in its own way over time; his new partner, especially being an all-powerful oni, would acclimate quickly, he thought.
Truth be told, a part of him was a bit nervous. Entering this tournament was a real spur of the moment decision, and it was his very first time ever doing something of this caliber on his own. But at the same time, he felt a tingling thrill over jumping into such a predicament; the same feeling that manifested every time he went on a dangerous mission with his team; the thought of fighting tooth and nail against overwhelming odds, the threat of being killed, but his ego telling him that he'd be just fine in spite of it all--he reveled in it.
"C’mon. Fuck meditating, Slake!" Unfurling his whip, Screwjob set his sights on a very succulent target. The tournament wasn't scheduled to begin for a week; Slake had plenty of time to commune with whatever douchebag water spirit he needed to get in touch with. The troll brought his arm back, and a moment later, the whip whistled through the air as its end squarely struck the blue oni right on the ass, hard. "Let's do some sparring!"
"Ngah!" Slake spat out, eyes snapping open in surprise, pelvis thrusting forward at the sudden bite. This was the second time Screwjob had snapped him right across the rump--first back in the shower area of the Tournament building, and now here. The whip hurt a lot more than a simple wet towel, though. The beefy Oni snarled deep in his throat as he turned to glare at his partner. His deep voice barely contained his fury as he spoke, very slowly:
“Did you just . . . WHIP me . . . in the ASS?”
The horned mercenary threw a cocky grin at him as he reined his whip back and playfully readied it again. “And if I did?”
“That does it . . . “ Slake muttered.
He'd initially teamed up with Screwjob because the man's abilities had seemed useful. But there were clearly a few things that needed to be straightened out between them. The troll was acting like, well, a troll. And the best way to curb that behavior was to nip it in the bud right from the start. And Slake was just the man to do that.
"You want a spar? Fine!” Slake growled as he stepped out of the river, the hairs on his lower legs sticking to his wet blue skin. His beefy arms flexed as he surveyed his opponent. “You want one . . . you GOT ONE.”
"Heh!" Screwjob winked at the oni, swinging the length of his whip around and around over his head. "That's the spirit, Slake! Get angry! We'll channel it against our opponents."
Ducking his head down, Slake charged like a combination between a raging bull and a football linebacker. The earth was clawed up beneath his feet.
There was one thing Screwjob had always heard about oni, but had unfortunately forgotten on this occasion. They could get really mean if they wanted to, and the gods help anyone who was in their path when that happened.
Case in point . . .
Screwjob gasped in surprise as the oni came at him. Having just been playing around at the time, he wasn't able to dodge in time and suddenly felt the wind knocked out of him as he was lifted off his feet, the beefy arms of Slake wrapping around his midsection, "H--HEY!" Screwjob gasped as he struggled in the oni's might grip, "We're just sparring, dammit!"
Managing to get his arm in a proper attacking position, Screwjob threw the length of his whip down all across the oni's back with a loud CRACK. "Now knock it off and let me go!" Being so used to his teammates following his orders, his ego ensured him that Slake would see the error of his ways and back off.
The Oni grunted again as the whip came down across his broad back, leaving a burning line. He snarled at the troll's continued resistance. "Oh no, this ain't just a spar any more," he told him, sharp teeth flashing as he grit his teeth and, muscles flexing, lifted the troll's whole body up off the ground. Though both were large and muscular fighters, Slake's strength was slightly greater. He was able to keep Screwjob aloft with minimal effort, clasping his arms around the man and squeezing hard, giving him a bear-hug. "This is about our continued partnership. It's time you learned . . . not to go an' piss me off." The Oni scowled as his muscles hardened, feeling Screwjob's struggles start to ebb. He'd caught the troll by surprise, it seemed like.
Screwjob struggled mightily in Slake's grip, but the oni held him fast. For as big and strong as the troll was, he was no match for the demonic being, who was holding him off the ground as if Screwjob's massive frame weighed nothing.
"Erk!" The troll gasped, "Come on, Slake, you're going too far! Get off me, or I swear I'll . . . I'll . . . !"
“Or you’ll WHAT?” Slake goaded him with a monstrous sneer, certain there was nothing the troll could do.
Screwjob suddenly gripped one of Slake's forearms tightly. He was able to bark out a mystical incantation, calling upon his sexual magic and channeling a nasty little jinx into the oni's body. Screwjob's aim was to force Slake into ejaculation--an instant sexual climax so powerful that Slake could do nothing but writhe around in an agonizing euphoria. Now, this worked like a charm against mortal opponents...but a demon might be a different story--Screwjob could only hope his spell would have enough of an effect that it would at least force Slake to let him go.
"Ahhh!" Slake mouth opened to growl in rage--but all that escaped was an aroused groan. He wasn't sure if the bulge that suddenly formed in his fundoshi was the aim of the spell, or merely a side-effect, but either way it caught him by surprise. The Oni almost came then and there, soaking his underwear with seed . . . but Slake had experience fighting back against such attacks. During his years held captive in his father's dungeons--as well as the time since, any time he was bound or tied up--he'd trained his willpower to resist magical calls to the pleasure centers of his body. Not enough to totally negate the spell's effect, but at least he could still think while under its influence.
His grip did loosen though--there was no way to keep that from happening. He felt Screwjob drop to the ground, catching his breath--but by then he'd taken too long, and Slake had gotten his boner under control. If there’d been more distance, Screwjob could have likely kept him at bay with that whip of his. But close up, he hadn't a prayer. He grabbed the troll again by his thick biceps. "You . . . are gonna regret that," he growled, nostrils flaring right in the man's face.
Shit! Screwjob inwardly cursed, Shit! Shit! SHIT! The troll felt the oni's body shudder in sexual ecstasy, moan like a whore . . . but even though his grip on the troll did loosen up a bit, allowing the troll's feet to touch the ground, Screwjob knew instinctively that it wouldn't be enough for him to escape . . . although he still tried, but predictably the oni's grip was still too steadfast. That was his fear--the spell only succeeded in pissing Slake off even more. Now he was in for it.
Gripping the big man with both hands, Slake tossed the mercenary over--right across a raised knee, bending the troll at the waist with the power of it and forcing his backside good and high into the air. Just ripe for a good spanking.
And spank it he did. SMACK! Slake's hand landed right on that pinned, muscular butt. WHACK! His hand fell again, a lot harder that time.
It was unexpected when Screwjob didn’t get a faceful of fist. However, Screwjob found himself even more surprised when he was instead hauled over the oni's knee, his ass raised high in the air. What? In his daze, it took Screwjob a moment before it finally dawned upon him exactly what Slake was doing.
"Oh for fuck's sake, Slake, no!" The next spank descended upon his upturned butt, which sang in pain. Each firm slap was harder than the one before it. "ARGH! FUCK! Stop, Slake, STOP!" Screwjob began to squirm like a frantic worm upon the oni's lap.
"Oh no, not when I've finally caught you, ya goon!" Slake thundered with a snarling laugh, cracking his palm down on the writhing seat of Screwjob's pants. His blue hand was big and meaty, easily able to impart sting even through the troll's pants and tough hide. This was his preferred method of discipline, and he was gratified to see it already having an effect. As Screwjob tried to escape, Slake casually threw a leg over the troll's, keeping his struggles to a minimum. He steadied the man’s body with one arm, while he kept warming up the caught merc's backside with his other. "I'm gonna teach you just what happens to those who irritate me . . . You thought it was funny to whip my ass, now I'm gonna return the favor!"
Now, Screwjob had gotten himself into some pretty hairy situations before, been beaten up, shot, experienced pain . . . but he had to admit, this was a first. The only times he'd ever been "spanked" before in his life was during moments with his clients and in a couple of his porno movies, and even then the spankings weren't "serious" . . . they were light and meant for sexual stimulation only.
But this...this was for real. The troll was being punished like some unruly child. Screwjob's face turned beet-red in humiliation, his eyes starting to water as the waves of pain shot through his body with each savage swat in his upturned ass. A part of him refused to believe this was actually happening to him. The other wanted to beg for mercy, as the blows hurt like hell.
"Stop, Slake!" Screwjob's voice was angry as he tried to regain control. "Fucking STOP spanking me! I'm not some fucking brat!"
"Could’ve fooled me! Now quit squirmin’!" Slake told him sternly, keeping up the non-stop barrage of punishment. "I've tried to be patient with ya, 'partner', but it hasn’t done any good. Now we’re gonna have a little talk and see if that works better. My hand's gonna do all the talkin', and your ass is gonna do all the listening! Now stay still and take it like a man!"
The land where Slake came from was populated solely by strong, full-grown ogres like himself, and spankings were the most common punishment there. It didn't occur to him the embarrassment an outworlder would feel pinned helplessly over his lap with his ass getting pummeled . . . not that it would matter to him if it did. All Slake cared about was establishing his 'alpha' status and ensuring no more of Screwjob's nonsense while they trained together. And there were so few methods of establishing dominance better than bending a fellow male over your knee and beating his rump a hot and burning red until he cried for mercy.
Screwjob, however, didn’t share Slake’s viewpoint. he continued his frenzied struggles, twisting his strong body and kicking his legs, doing everything he could to get away. He even threw an arm back to get in the way of Slake’s spanks when the pain grew to be too much. The relief didn’t last long though, as Slake immediately grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind his broad back.
"Since you're still struggling, I don't think this is really gettin' through to you . . . " Slake snarled, and dug two fingers into the waistband of Screwjob's dark pants. With an angry lurch, he'd tugged them down a good six inches, exposing two flushed brown curves of firm and muscled buttocks. An instant later he’d worked them down the rest of the way so Screwjob’s whole ass was exposed. "Let's see if this is any better!" He couldn't help but grin as his palm landed again, this time on bare backside. Slake always did enjoy putting a man in his place, and this troll had been asking for it since the moment they'd met.
"NO! NO!" Screwjob screamed over and over again as he felt the next blow rain down on his now-naked backside, and as expected, it hurt even worse.
Screwjob began to breathe heavily, rapidly . . . his ass felt like it was on fire. The tears were freely pouring down his face now, which blushed an even deeper hue of red. Never before had he felt pain quite like this, or been so humiliated . . . and just when he thought that things couldn't possibly get any worse, he’d felt Slake suddenly tug his pants down, the cool air of the room washing over his stinging, burning bottom. The troll gasped, realizing that he had no more padding between his flesh and the oni's hand--Screwjob's already-tortured ass was now completely exposed and vulnerable to the thrashing that Slake was giving him. “Noooo! Ow, FUCK!”
"YES!" Slake shouted back, accentuating his correction with another heavy swat to the agonized and helplessly flexing butt. Each cracking blow of his palm against the hard, tough glutes only further reddened the troll's flesh, making the man’s hairy buns clench and wriggle.
“I’m supposed to be the leader here, dammit! You can’t--ARRRGH!--do this!” Screwjob bellowed miserably. How did this happen? Along with the physical agony, his ego was being bruised as well as he was put into place by the man whom he'd thought of as a subordinate.
"Is that so," Slake said smugly, now commanding Screwjob's attention with every new and ever more painful spank. "You ain't the boss of this outfit, pal. Only reason I teamed up with ya was because I thought we might fight well together. That means I ain't interested in yer jokes and pranks, and from now on, you ain’t gonna tell me what to do! Got it?"
Screwjob kicked his feet and squirmed and struggled with all his might...but still to no avail. Even with all his troll might, he could not stand up to Slake's otherworldly strength. At this point, Screwjob finally caved in, cursing his ego for letting him think that messing with an oni was a good idea.
"OK! OK!" His words came out in a cracking bawling tone; Screwjob was mortified, "You win! I'm sorry! No more annoying ya just fer--AAHH!--fun! An’ I won’t try and boss you ‘round no more either! Just STOP, please!"
Slake smirked as his partner gave in, all the resistance having apparently been beaten out of him. There was never anything quite like a good bottom-scorching to make a man agree to just about anything. “So next time I tell you I’m gonna be meditating . . . ?”
“I’ll be quiet and--OOOH--not interrupt ya! I’ve give you yer--OWWWW!--space!” cried Screwjob.
"Good!” Slake said, pleased. “Now, just to make sure the lesson truly sinks in . . . " The oni raised his knee higher and pushed down on Screwjob's back, forcing his head to the ground and his red backside to rise even higher. That opened up his upper thighs and lower cheeks to discipline, as well as the area inside his very ass-crack--traditionally the most sensitive parts of the rump for beating. 'Mercy' clearly wasn't in Slake's vocabulary, as he didn't even hesitate before setting those areas aflame as well, intent on beating his partner's toned and muscled backside until it was hot as a volcano and the troll was outright bawling--much like the brat he claimed he wasn't.
"Wh--What are you d--doing!? HEY!" Screwjob demanded in between sobs as he felt Slake push him up even higher. He grunted as his face was pressed against the floor, feeling his ass cheeks being splayed wide open, exposing his most private areas. Not that he would necessarily mind another man seeing him like this . . . he’d been a paid whore for a long time, after all . . . but in this instance, it humiliated him all the more.
And then it happened.
"ARGH!" Screwjob's cry was one of pure, guttural agony, Slake's hand coming down mercilessly on his most sensitive areas. The troll drew in a deep gasp, sucking in granules of dirt that choked him . . . and then it happened again. And again. And again. At this point, Screwjob had passed his breaking point. He now bawled like a bad little boy . . . openly, unabashedly . . . the tears flowing down his face in rivulets. He prayed to all the gods for mercy.
And mercy did come . . . a good five minutes later. The mighty whacks did finally began to relent however as Slake decided the man had been beaten enough. "Hmph! Think on this the next time you pester me after I tell you I'm not to be disturbed, or feel the need to comment on my attire," Slake said sourly, giving him one last whack. This exercise had used up valuable time he could’ve spent training . . . though he couldn’t help admiring the muscular and meaty buns he'd left so nicely blistered. To be honest, he supposed he had somewhat enjoyed himself. It'd been a good way to blow off steam, especially after his humiliating loss the night before. And in his new career as 'hero' he hadn't truly dominated a fellow male in some time.
That didn’t mean he would go easy on his partner now that the punishment had ended however. He grabbed a fistful of Screwjob’s hair, yanking his head back by it at the same time as he rudely squeezed one of the troll’s swollen and blistered ass-cheeks. "Have you learned your lesson now, mercenary, or shall I need to repeat it again?"
“NNGH! I’ve learned, I’ve learned!” Screwjob shouted quickly, twisting his hips weakly as his butt-cheek flexed under the oni’s sharp fingernails. “At least . . . for now. Can’t make . . . no promises ‘bout the future. . . . Know myself too well fer that. Ya might have to do this . . . couple more times ‘fore I learn fer good.”
Screwjob couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his own mouth, choking in between sobs. Why not just agree to never be an asshole again and spare himself more punishment in the future? The answer came in the form of his cock, now totally rigid and pulsing against the warm blue skin of Slake’s muscled thigh. Fuck, when had that happened? From the first moment he’d been thrown over the oni’s knee? The second his ass had become so hot he couldn’t even think anymore from the pain? Or was it just now, as his hair got pulled and his tortured ass gripped, as his dominant partner totally put him in his place?
Had he, on some level, actually enjoyed this? Enjoyed getting his ass beaten, submitting to a superior man? For all this time Screwjob had reveled in the life of the dominator, the top dog . . . he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so weak and vulnerable . . . and yet, there was something compelling about it.
"Hmm . . . hmmph. Well. I suppose you can't help who you are," Slake said, smirking as he too noticed the troll’s needy hardness. Such a reaction to discipline and domination wasn’t unusual among his own kind, but it was typically seen as a sign of weakness, that the victim enjoyed his defeat and secretly wished for even greater punishment. But the time for punishment was over for now. The ogre’s palm shifted, and he began to, almost gently, rub the firm and heated flesh.
Screwjob’s answer hadn't been the one Slake had been looking for, but it somehow seemed appropriate to the rough and randy mercenary. The brawny Oni chuckled to himself as his fingers continued their caresses, feeling the troll groan thankfully as the fire in his ass was eased somewhat. It would be some time before Screwjob could sit comfortably again.
Some time later, Slake found his meditations proceeding much better than they had earlier. Aside from a few muffled whimpers the clearing was now as peaceful as could be.
Screwjob had been left up against a tree, with his pants and underwear gathered around his ankles, blistered behind mooning the glade for all the world to see. Face and bottom both burning as he endured his ‘corner time’, Screwjob mulled his next move. Once he was able to pull himself together enough to concentrate, he'd go about healing himself -- as brutal a thrashing as he had received, it was still nothing he couldn't set right in an instant. But...he then had a funny feeling that maybe he should leave it as it was for a while...to, by the gods, bask in it?!
“Hey! I told you before--no playing with yourself,” Slake said suddenly, though without turning around. “I can tell when you are . . . “
Screwjob grit his teeth and groaned, and moved his hands up again to the back of his head where he’d been directed to leave them. This sucked ass. Spanked like a champ, and now unable to even enjoy the aftereffects of it. But he knew that he couldn’t move a muscle until Slake was finished. At least . . . not unless he wanted another spanking. And as sore and aching as his poor troll buns were right now, he really didn’t.
The oni smirked as he again submerged his subconsciousness into the natural world. Maybe this partnership was gonna work out after all.
'Hey, that HURTS!' preliminary sketch by Maryn
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