Slake Saga: The Tournament Continues

The story of my character's progress through Damian's Tournament goes on--and we have our first, rather surprising, defeat . . . !

Some anon in the last post asked for more Slake stuff! YOU GOT IT, SIR. These stories are all pretty old by now, as the tournament in question has by now ended. As usual, follow me on furaffinity if you'd like more recent examples of my work and ongoing story.

Slake and Conquer belong to me. Screwjob belongs to Zyxxs. Damian, Egad, and Danial belong to Bogrim. All other characters belong to their respective owners.

 (art by Pockyrumz)

Slake & Conquer - Pre-Match Bout

“I’m sick of this. When are we gonna see some action?” the blue oni muttered, bludgeoning the punching bag before him with swift, hard blows.

“Heyy, calm down, buddy. You know our match ain’t for a while yet. Why don’t you just relax ‘til then?” Screwjob told him. The big troll was lounging on the one ratty couch they had in the trailer, beer in hand, television remote in the other. He was wearing a stained wife-beater and ripped jeans.

“Hmph. Maybe you can relax. I’d rather be training,” Slake told him shortly.

“Figured you’d say that. Well, at least the view is nice,” Screwjob leered. His partner, though short-tempered, was as buff as they came and hadn’t yet picked up on the nuances of ‘shirts’.

“ . . . what was that?”

“Ooh, pipe down. They’re showing the match-ups now!” Screwjob evaded the question and leaned forward to the TV. He turned up the volume as Slake approached from behind, towelling off his sweaty body. A long list of names scrolled by on the screen, with an announcer listing each as they appeared. “ . . . Kingman and Argo? Who the hell are they?” the troll asked as their first opponents were listed.

But Slake didn’t answer. He wasn’t even listening to his partner. Every inch of him had gone taut, like a bowstring pulled so far back it might snap. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his eyes were glaring yellow fire.

“Slake? Uhh, Slake? You okay?”

When the hell . . . did he join.

Screwjob glanced at the TV screen, still full of names. “Who?”

“I’m goin’ out!” Slake snapped. The door slammed behind him practically before he’d finished speaking. The only thing he’d grabbed on the way out was his huge and intimidating spiked iron club.

The buzzed troll remained on the couch, wondering what had just happened. Did Slake know someone else in the tournament? He scanned the list again, but couldn’t tell who it could be. Hell, even though they’d been sparring together a couple days now, in most ways Slake was still a total stranger to him so it’s not like he could expect to know anyway . . . The fact that the oni had brought his club along though, meant there might be trouble. Should Screwjob follow him?

“Ehhh, fuck it,” he said, and flipped to a 24 hour porn channel.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, in one of the many hotels set aside for champion usage, Conquer was sitting with his own partner--a young man named Daniel Ratsbane, apparently the son of the Tournament sponsor himself, Damian Ratsbane.

Although Daniel hadn’t yet grown nearly to the size his father was, he still possessed a muscular body which was bigger and stronger than most rats. He was a bounty hunter for hire and carried himself like an Old West gunslinger. He wore a cowboy hat, dark pants, and an open vest, through which three pronounced scars could be seen on his proud chest. Holsters for pistols were clamped at his sides, which Conquer knew could shoot poison darts at opponents. Though he’d been matched with the rat randomly, Conquer was satisfied that Daniel wouldn’t be a complete burden once the battles began. At the moment the rat was relaxing on his bed while Conquer paced about the room.

“So you think there is little stock to be put in the rumors that have been circulating?” he asked him calculatingly.

“Man, I still don’t know what rumors you’re talking about,” said Daniel with an easy shrug. “You gotta be more specific. I just joined the tournament myself, remember?”

Conquer grimaced. With one or two exceptions, most individuals he had mentioned his growing suspicions to had similarly rebuffed him with laughs and easy shrugs just like Daniel’s. They were comfortable in their assumptions, having never learned to look at anything beyond surface appearances. But the ones who hadn’t, the whispered things he’d overheard . . . Perhaps he was just being paranoid. But he had managed to survive through the many long centuries mostly through being paranoid.

“Don’t you think it odd? None of the Champions defeated so far have turned up on your media, which otherwise hounds after every scrap of information they can get their hands on regarding this event.” Conquer gestured to the television which even now was running a recap of the last fight. A body-morphing dragon and what appeared to be a Roman centurion versus two white dog fighters in a burning desert. “What happens to them after that final teleport, and where do they go?”

“Hah! They probably skip town,” Daniel laughed derisively. “I know I would, if I lost on global TV. Talk about embarrassing.”

Could the explanation be so simple? But no . . . all of Conquer’s instincts continued to tell him there was something more. Still, as Daniel said, this was a global event, with hundreds or even thousands of people and workers involved. What could it be used for other than exactly what it appeared as--a fighting tournament?

“Well . . . I suppose . . . if the son of the sponsor himself knows nothing,” Conquer said cautiously. “If there was anything going on beneath the surface, surely Damian Ratsbane would not allow his own flesh to participate. . . ”

“Oh, my dad? Actually, he doesn’t even know I’m here.”


“Yeah. I know a guy. He got me registered on the down-low, so the head office doesn’t even know about it. It’s gonna be a complete shock to the ‘big boss’ when he sees me fighting.” Daniel grinned, before looking to the side and somewhere far away. “My old man and I haven’t exactly been on . . . speaking terms for a while. That’s why I entered, to prove myself to him, that he was wrong about me.”

But Conquer brushed those personal revelations aside. He leaned down so his tusked face was right in Daniel’s. “Who is this ‘friend’ of yours that could hold so much power here?”

“Hey, cool it, man. Maybe ‘friend’ was the wrong word. I’d never met him before he offered me a free pass,” Daniel explained. “He was just some scrawny fox.”

“And did this fox have a name?” Conquer asked, barely keeping his impatience in check.

Daniel scratched his head as he tried to remember. “Yeah, it was . . . Ryan . . . something? Actually, it was kinda weird. It was like he knew a whole lot about me. And about my dad, too. Said he wanted to help arrange a meeting between us. A place where we could ‘finally work out our differences on equal terms’, whatever that means.”

Ryan? The name ringed no bells in Conquer’s mind. Who could it be? But still, this more than anything convinced him that something was going on beneath the surface of this Tournament. And whoever was responsible, perhaps even the ‘Big Boss’ himself was unaware. He was about to question his partner further when there was a knock at the door.

“Ah! I know who that is!” Daniel was up on his feet in an instant, smirking. He crossed to the door and opened it, to reveal a buxom rabbit female in a tight dress on the other side. “Eliza! Hey, you bring your friends over like we talked about?”

“They’re on their way, sugar,” the rabbit giggled and slid her hands over Daniel’s toned chest. “I wanted you all to myself first.”

“You naughty girl . . . “ Daniel grinned and grabbed hold of her ass. He seemed to have forgotten about Conquer’s presence completely, until the Oni King testily cleared his throat. “Oh! Uhh, hey if we’re done playing ‘20 Questions’ you mind clearing outta here for a few hours?” Daniel asked him innocently. That innocence quickly faded, as the young rat next gave him a lecherous grin. “Me and Eliza have some, uh, ‘business’ planned . . . “

“I see,” said Conquer sourly. He knew that ‘Tournament groupies’ had become rather common of late, as local females in the area regarded the many strong champions waiting their turn to fight to be desirable for mating purposes. And Daniel was one of those champions who never turned down a romp. He noticed that, though Eliza seemed a bit frightened of his own powerful appearance, she also ran her eyes over his large and muscular body.

“You’re free to stay of course, if you like,” Daniel thought to offer. “There’s a bunch of girls coming and I’m willin’ to share.”

“No, thank you . . . “ Conquer gave him a smug grin of his own. This wasn’t the first time Daniel had made him such an offer. He seemed to see it as a sort of bonding experience between males. However, although Daniel enjoyed feminine company a great deal, Conquer didn’t see much use for them personally. “I will leave you to your . . . entertainments. I have much to think about anyway.”

“Okey dokie, dude. Seeya later then. I’ll take the sock off the door when I’m done.”

* * * * *

Conquer took his leave of the hotel and began to walk the dark city streets, picking directions at random. He mulled over the various facts he had picked up.

From what he had heard, this Damian Ratsbane was a powerful and ruthless businessman. He played the game well, and fully utilized every resource at his disposal to come out on top time after time. But Conquer couldn’t understand how a man such as that could spawn an heir . . . like Daniel.

The boy seemed an odd anomaly. Hardly a successful businessman, he instead scraped by from payment to payment as a carefree bounty hunter. Rather than long-term planning, Daniel cared only about sating his immediate desires. Whether that meant food, sleep, battle, or sex, was all up to the moment. Not only that, but he was completely free of suspicions, even though he must know what his father was capable of best of all . . .

So did that mean there was no cause for suspicion?

Conquer shook his head with a scowl. This was only leading him in circles. The only way to know anything for sure would be to either con the information out of one of the event’s higher echelon attendants, or perform his own investigation. The former was beneath his dignity, and the latter would be barred to him as he was actively participating as a champion . . .

Noticing that he was being followed, he turned into a deserted park.

If he had any sense at all, Conquer decided, he would have already left this world and returned to his kingdom where the base of his power was. His resources were frustratingly limited here. He didn’t have access to his armies nor his higher level powers. Indeed, he would left already, except that . . .

. . . Slake was involved.

His fool of a son had likely entered this tournament without a second thought, only desiring to stretch his muscles and test his combat skills. And although Slake was strong as any warrior could desire, and shrewd in his own selfish way . . . he was not perceptive. If there truly was some trick involved here, then Slake would no doubt fall for it like any other guileless champion.

And Conquer couldn’t have that.

When the time came and Slake grew strong enough to shrug off his magic banishment, he would return triumphantly to his home realm. Every existing Oni knew this. Indeed, the whole kingdom was collectively holding their breath for that fateful day. Because, at that point, Conquer and Slake would do battle. It would be a glorious display of fighting and sorcerous prowess never before seen in that world, as each mighty warrior strived only to subdue and sublimate the other. And whether at the end of that inevitable conflict Conquer won or lost, either way that day would occur. To that extent at least, he had claimed dominion over his son’s future.

So he would have to remain here and safeguard that future, at least until the time came for them both to depart. All the while fighting the very one he sought to help, and to test. Conquer did enjoy a challenge. He’d merely have to keep an eye out for anything suspicious in the event that . . .


How ironic. Just as Conquer had been musing about watchfulness, he sees the club hurtling at him out of the corner of his eye. He had just enough time to duck and feel the aftershock of the weapon slamming into the concrete sidewalk behind him. His lips curled.

“Ah, I was wondering when you would show yourself. You always were impatient like that. Couldn’t hold it in until the main event, could you?”

Slake himself stood before him, a hulking mass of blue muscle and enraged emotions. The oni hefted the club back up, having left a small crater where it had landed. “With you here, I don’t *need* to wait,” he told him furiously. “You’ve left yourself open, old man, and I’m about to show you why that was the worst mistake you’ve ever made.”

“And here I thought that was your conception.” Conquer smirked and folded his arms. “I’m waiting, then.”

“ARRRRGH!” Slake didn’t hold back as he charged again, swinging his massive weapon. Though he was unarmed, Conquer was unperturbed as he dodged the blow by the barest breadth.

“I hear that you’re playing at hero now, by the way,” Conquer told him conversationally as he dodged back. “Don’t you think this ‘teenage rebellion’ phase of yours is wearing a little thin?”

“I haven’t even STARTED rebelling yet!” Slake swore at him, and rammed his shoulder into his father’s strong red chest. He was rewarded by a gasp of breath from the king, an unexpected hit. He followed it up with a blow of his club that sent Conquer sprawling. He advanced forward to where his foe had landed. “Since you exiled me, I’ve devoted every second of my life, every facet of my being, to getting stronger. To hunting for a way back. To undo every humiliation you dealt me, and pay it back a thousand-fold! And now that time has come!”

“Is that . . . so . . . ?” Conquer panted, rising to his knees and holding his ribs which Slake had just broken. Despite this, his tusks turned up into a satisfied grin. “Good . . . that’s exactly what I’d hoped you’d do.”

“Hah! Don’t try your mindgames on me, old man! Face facts. You’re alone, unarmed, and your powers have grown weak over the years. Your time is over! All that while I am young, strong, and more than capable of killing you where you stand.”

As if to prove his point, Slake raised his club up high over his head, wielding it both hands . . . and brought it down on his father with a cataclysmic crash.

When the dust had settled, Slake looked down expecting to see a mangled and bloody corpse. His heart almost stopped instead when he saw his father, eyes glowing red, his powers flaring all about him, and the head of Slake’s club in his palm as if he’d caught it!

“You would think after what you suffered through last time, you would not underestimate me again, whelp . . . “ Conquer snarled.

“N--no fucking way!” Slake shouted. He tried to yank the club back, but Conquer held on to it tenaciously with his one hand. “You’re not in your kingdom! You’re weak here! You ain’t attuned to ‘nothing!”

“Aren’t I?” Conquer asked, his energies flowing into the club, replacing Slake’s energies with his own so that the blunt instrument would regard him as its master. “Have you forgotten so quickly? Your weapon itself is of my kingdom.” He stood up, slowly, obviously affected by the blow he’d taken but still able to fight. “And you . . . would be surprised at what I can do, even without an attunement.”

The King of the Oni concentrated, and a wave of nausea enveloped Slake. Before he realized what was happening, the rebellious Oni felt his head growing faint. He growled with outrage, seeing the victory he’d worked so hard and long for getting snatched away. “You’re . . . cheatin’ somehow! This club is mine, not yours!”

Conquer’s lips curled again. He pulled, and plucked the club’s handle out of Slake’s slipping grip. Without a care, he tossed it over his shoulder where it landed with a heavy thud. “I don’t need to ‘cheat’, Slake. Not when you have learned nothing in all these centuries. I may not be as powerful in this realm as in my own, but I am still a force to be reckoned with. And now, I will show you exactly what remains as my property . . . “

Without a word, he stepped forward. Slake grimaced, his feet somehow stuck in place. He swung a fist at him, but Conquer caught that blow and twisted the offending limb behind Slake’s back. “Argh!” Slake cried out, but Conquer was showing him no mercy as he pressed it up high, threatening to break the bone. The pain was enough that Slake didn’t even realize where his powerful father’s other hand was . . . not until he felt the cloth of his pants tearing under his claws.

“Almost a shame to destroy these. They’re new, aren’t they? Did you have them made just for this tournament?” Conquer asked, before ripping them clean off Slake’s body. “Ahh, but here we are. *This* is of my kingdom . . . “ Conquer purred, grabbing the bulging pouch of Slake’s fundoshi underwear. The brawny blue oni cursed as his opponent copped a good feel on his manhood, and twisted to try to flex his arm free. Conquer would have none of that though, and tightened both his grips. The fighter groaned as he was overpowered on two fronts..

“You . . . bastard . . . “

Even as he spoke, Slake could feel the cords of his fundoshi somehow unravelling, reacting to Conquer’s touch. Just as he’d feared, the piece of fabric still identified as a part of Conquer’s kingdom too and a few moments later it fell away and he was naked, gritting his teeth as his dominant father stroked up and down on his exposed shaft.

“Not only that. *You* are of my kingdom . . . “ Conquer murmured in his ear. As he spoke those words, Slake suddenly felt a wave of weakness hit his body. He couldn’t explain it, but it was as if all his muscles had turned to jello. He gave a groan of frustration as his struggles unwillingly slowed themselves, and he felt something pressing into the cleft between his round blue buttocks from behind. It was his father’s own hardness, rising from his royal fundoshi pouch.

Slake growled, helpless, as the mighty king continued pumping him, his cock reacting to that hateful yet familiar touch the more he tried to resist. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like, the feeling of his father’s rough hands grasping his cock, playing with him and doing whatever he liked. No! He wouldn’t let this happen again! Slake gave one last effort at wrestling himself away, but could get nowhere with his arm caught and his body not reacting properly to the orders he gave it.

“It’s been quite some time since I’ve had you like this, Slake. Have you missed it as much as I have?” the red Oni whispered in his son’s ear, smirking.

“Argh, fuck you! What is this? What’ve you--nnghh!--done to me?!” Slake gasped. He felt something tickling his arms in the back, and with a start realized it was his fallen fundoshi. Under Conquer’s control now, it moved as if with a mind of it’s own and coiled itself around Slake’s wrists. Feeling humiliated at being tied up in his own underwear, Slake regardless didn’t have the strength to fight back and groaned as he was soon tightly secured with his arms behind his back.

His large cock, under the influence of an old detested curse, responded to his new bondage as well, immediately growing to its full length, throbbing in Conquer’s grip. Slake snarled in humiliation at his condition, even as Conquer gave a loud laugh. He’d tried so many times to break the Captivitas Curse, but each time had ended in failure . . .

“I have done nothing at all, except reclaim my ownership over you,” Conquer said mockingly. Now that Slake’s arms were bound, he was free to move his other hand up, first feeling along Slake’s solid abs, then up to his hairy, muscular chest. He smirked as he ran his fingers over solid pecs, before grabbing one of his progency’s large, erect nipples. Another hitch in Slake’s breath gratified him, and he felt the boy’s cock jump with the unwelcome yet undeniable pleasure. Conquer’s own cock, bulging in his fundoshi, grinded against Slake’s ass. “It seems that, somewhere in the back of your mind, you still view yourself as one of my possessions. A psychic remnant from your time as my slave, no doubt. My magic took advantage of you as easily as it would any other mere object. You are under my power now.”

“No!! That’s fuckin’ impossible!” Slake roared out, straining once again to free himself, to undo his tiger-skin bonds, to turn and attack his father, to do anything at all. His cry of rage when he was unable to summon enough strength to perform even one of the above tasks resounded through the entire park.

“The proof is your own weakened state. A touch was all that was required to reinstate your submission. Don’t you see?” Conquer smiled. “Even after all these years you still have not grown strong enough. Not enough to break your exile, not enough to defeat me in battle, not even enough to shrug off my control. It is clear now that you will never prove stronger than me. Give in, Slake, and I will allow you to return home . . . as my toy.”


Conquer smiled, silently pleased at the spirited response, though Slake couldn’t see. His pumps grew quicker, speeding up the surge of seed which was fast approaching his caught son. “Enough of these games then! I will prove your inferiority to me without a shred of doubt . . . !“

“No! No . . . Ah! Ohhhhh!” Slake tried to resist the surging in his loins. But even his formidable willpower, honed over many long centuries through cultivating his inner need for vengeance, was not able to stand against the combined might of what was being done to him. The curse, the weakness, his defeat in battle, all contributed. . . but especially because it was Conquer, his own father and the man he’d sworn to defeat doing it all to him. Every memory he’d buried in his own psyche of being held captive by the evil king for all those years was flowing back. He hated it! He should be the one dominating. Him, Slake! But his father had defeated him yet again, turning him into a mere muscle-bound puppet. And now to find that his body had somehow been conditioned to actually crave a return to that state . . . !

“Aahhhnghhh, ooohhh nng AHHH!” Slake threw his head back against the king’s powerful chest, his body now putty in Conquer’s hands, letting the man do with him what he would. The two horned demon Oni, one blue and moaning, the other red and dominating, moved as one in the night, their sweaty and muscular bodies grinding together . . . And after another minute, Slake’s finally couldn’t take any more. Knees buckling, he shot out a huge load--the biggest he’d had in almost a century--and his seed splattered all over chest and abs. Some even landed on both his and Conquer’s face. The king licked the seed from his chops with a satisfied grin as Slake slumped down, exhausted.

The red oni smugly paced around his defeated foe. By forcing his opponent to come first, Conquer had clearly expressed his dominance. But he wasn’t finished yet. He took out his own hard rod and began to stroke it.

Still panting from the sheer volume of his orgasm, Slake nonetheless snarled as he saw Conquer start to beat off right in front of his face. This was the ultimate humiliation! But he was too weak to do anything about it, of course. He could only growl harshly, kneeling on the ground like some whore, his arms bound behind his back forcing his cock to slowly rise again despite his wishes. A few seconds later and his father pumped out his own load, shooting it right onto Slake’s face and chest. “Argh!” Slake swore as some got in his eyes, stinging them. He was now covered in both his father’s and his own spunk, the two seeds mixing, running over each other . . .

Now panting himself, Conquer grinned down at his boy. “Now that I have proven your inferiority to me beyond a shadow of a doubt . . . there is no need to fight in this tournament any longer. You will leave this arena, whelp, and train yourself for at least another dozen centuries before you consider challenging me again!”

This was it. The moment of truth. His whole goal behind degrading Slake in this way had been to force him to make this choice--to force him to leave this event which Conquer suspected was a trap.

But, it was doomed to failure.

Slake’s yellow eyes blazed up at the man who dared to humiliate him so. His face and brawny body coated in a thick layer of jizz. To have this done to him . . . It enraged Slake. Made him want to prove himself even harder. To make Conquer acknowledge his strength! Overthrow him, and then . . . to pay him back for every last degradation! With a rip, the strip of cloth holding his hands together was broken, and he was standing, his muscles free once more, his hard-on bouncing as he made an angry declaration. “You think . . . you’ve beaten me? Think again! That was only a warm-up. And there’s no way in the seven hells I’m leavin’ this world without a proper match, old man!”

Conquer’s eyes widened as his son stood under his own power. Somehow, Slake had broken the ownership hex Conquer had placed on him . . . a task which should have been impossible for him at this stage. Was his anger really that great? Pride mixed with his usual lust, that his son had accomplished such a feat. Unfortunately, however . . . his son’s defiance now burned even brighter. There would be no way to separate him from this tournament unless Conquer truly broke him, and that was not something he was willing to do at this point.

As Slake raised his fists as if he wanted to do battle again right then and there, Conquer merely sighed and crossed his powerful arms. “Very well. I will agree do battle with you once more . . . But not here. If you wish to challenge me again, do so in this tournament you cling so fervently to. If you can make it that far, I will deign to test your skills once more.” It was the only way after all. Protecting him while fighting him . . .

“HAH! It’s on then, bastard! This whole world is gonna watch as I beat your ass!”

"Then until then, my defiant one . . . "

* * * * *

It was past midnight. Screwjob was just starting to rub his third load out when he heard the usual grumpy stomping that signalled Slake’s approach. The door slammed open, and in came his partner--looking pretty damn worse for wear.

Now, Screwjob was used to people looking down on him for his former profession. Yeah, he used to be a stripper, a prostitute for those clients who had good taste in trolls for lovers, and he had offered pretty good bang for his buck. But at least he wasn’t in the habit of coming home with his clothes in tatters, shreds hanging from his buff body and concealing nothing, or with his face and hairy chest totally covered and stinking from cum of unknown origin.

"Shit, Slake, you look like one of my clients after a session."

“It’s a long story!” Slake mumbled, blushing as he hiked to the bathroom covering his crotch.

* * * * *

Conquer gazed down at Daniel Ratsbane, the buff rat snoring after his evening’s exertions. The scent of strange feminine perfumes still hung in the air about his bed, making Conquer’s nose wrinkle. In his own kingdom, they had no such creatures as those. There was only the one type, males. So much less confusing that way.

He hadn’t noticed the parallels until now. Himself and Damian. Slake and Daniel. Two fathers and two sons. The sons wished nothing more than to be brashly acknowledged by their fathers. But the fathers . . . they were too powerful to reveal such weakness, too powerful even to let their guard down, lest they be devoured by vultures. A sad story, almost.

Well, perhaps the sons would get their wish before this Tournament was over. Conquer removed his ‘king’ fundoshi in preparation for bed, and looked up at the moon, shining outside his hotel window. His powerful red nude body was outlined in its glow.

Only time would tell what would come of all this.

 Fight Description: Daniel & Conquer

(this story by Damaratus, and is best read in tandem with Daniel's Capture)

 Conquer had not slept a wink since he had shown up his upstart son, Slake. He knew that his match would be coming up soon and the information available on them had been far less than he expected. In truth, the hardest part for Conquer was actually not knowing. In his own kingdom he knew everything that was going on, he had a connection to the very world itself. The strange disconnection that he felt outside of his realm was uncanny and made him feel like he was walking through fog. The meager possessions he had brought with him when he decided to enter into this strange tournament, as well as the few items his son had, were the only things that helped him draw upon the power of his kingdom. He glanced over at Daniel, the son of the mastermind behind the tournament, he was nothing but a child, one who thought he was already living in the shadow of his father, but had not let it crush his spirit so much as let it energize him and drive him to do things on his own. That kind of ideal is probably what got him to join the tournament, because if Conquer had been Damian, Daniel would have never even gotten close to a sign up sheet at least not without a father's blessing.

As the sun rose on the day of their battle, the young rat started to stir. He had fallen asleep on the couch where there had been a couple of fans had occupied his time, but now he was simply laying on the couch by himself in nearly nothing. He began stretching out the early morning kinks in his arms and legs and even his tail.

"It's about time you woke up." A very deep, somber voice said behind him.
"Hey, can't a guy have a little fun when he's not fighting?" Daniel asked with a grin.
"You've been fooling around ever since we became teammates, I'm surprised you're not taking this seriously."
"I'm taking it seriously, you just don't understand how skillful I am is all. My old man doesn't either."
"Your 'old man' as you call him has wisdom on his side, something you're clearly lacking."
"WHATEVER! I don't need the same lecture from you as he'd be giving me!"
"Fine whelp, but you had better get yourself ready, our fight is in an hours time."

Daniel sneered and got off of the couch taking only a moment to grab his hat from the messy coffee table and angle it on his head as such that you could barely see his eyes underneath before he made tracks to his bedroom, the one room that was still impeccably clean as he had never even bothered to use it during the time they had stayed there. The bedroom had simply served as a place for him to leave his clothing, so when he finally came back out again he had donned a simple pair of jeans and vest.

"You don't look much like one who would hunt bounties." Conquer scoffed.
"Least I'm wearing more than a loin cloth." Daniel gave another sneer.
"It's a fundoshi you brainless rat." Conquer seethed, but knew he'd need to keep his cool since his focus was better left to the battle.

Conquer and Daniel both left at the same time and made their way to the arena. There was some kind of statement about random battlefield and such, but Conquer didn't feel the need to listen to the paltry ramblings of useless judges and Daniel was far too excited about being able to show off how good he really was, and as the countdown to teleportation began he looked up to the upper tier viewing booths.

"Watch me old man, I'm gonna be the next boss of this place."

Conquer felt a strange sensation, like some strange outside force manipulating him, an energy surged through him and where once he was standing in the enclosure of the arena he was now on the precipice of a cliff side, rain falling over him, causing his muscular red form to glisten. He looked forward and saw a series of wooden pylons and on the far side was clearly his foes, the ones who would have to be taken down. He stayed calm and focused on his unknown opponents, he'd need to give them some time to reveal what kind of abilities they might have as he had seen other fights and so far all the warriors present had some kind of special skill beyond merely being good fighters. Based on experience he knew if they were given enough time they would show off what talents they possessed.

"C'mon old man, let's get going already!" Daniel broke the tension as he adjusted his hat to keep the rain out of his face and then pulled his guns out and started toward the pylons.

Conquer was quick to grab him by the vest and keep him from moving.

"Don't be so hasty, you don't know what they might be capable of."
"Whatever it is I'm sure I'm better than they are, so let me go!"

Daniel tugged at the muscular oni's grip.

"Fine!" Conquer let go. "Make a fool of yourself. I could probably take these two on my own anyway."

Conquers' eyes began to glow and his body was surrounded by an eldritch energy that was causing even the rain to evaporate before it even struck his body. As he did this he kept track of Daniel who had just leaped on to the first of the wooden pylons. The rain had clearly made them slick, but he was able to traverse them with little trouble, it was hard to admit, but it was possible that the seemingly overzealous rat had some kind of skills after all.

As the spry rat landed on another pylon he was surprised by the sudden sprouting of thorny vines around his feet.

"What the hell?" Daniel put his arms up defensively as the vines lashed at him.
"Hey Conquer, help me with these damn things!"

I told him not to be hasty. Conquer thought as he focused his magics and released a spell that not only struck his opponents but caused the vines to wither.

"Thanks red man! Now leave them to me." Was all Conquer heard as he saw his teammate pull out his gun and fire a couple of darts at their opponents before progressing to the next pylon.

Conquer knew that his teammate was getting ahead of himself and the red oni resigned himself to having to try and make sure that he didn't end up double teamed. He jumped out and landed easily on one of the pylons. Despite his solid build he could still remain light on his feet. Years of lording over his realm had not made him soft in the least. It took very little time to catch up with Daniel who was nearly being reckless in his charge toward the damaged opponents. His next leap took him in front of his teammate.

"Hey! I told you I was gonna finish them off!" Daniel said angrily.
"Now is not the time for this Daniel, we need to focus and win, these two opponents are nothing."
"And that's why you should just let me take care of it." Daniel said trying to jump ahead.

At that moment a volley of greenish fireballs flew through the air at both of them catching the rat in mid flight and bouncing off of the oni. There was no way to maneuver around them and he took the hit which sent him flying back against the pylon that Conquer was standing on. In a gut reaction he grabbed and snagged the oni's leg nearly knocking him off balance in the process.

"Stupid child now look what you've done."

Daniel held on and looked upward catching nothing but rather open view Conquers' nether regions in the process. The two struggled on the pylon as the oni was far too big to allow his partner to stand in the same location. It only really occurred to Conquer at this point that the two of them really didn't mesh well as a team. Maybe if they had practiced during any of the time that Daniel had been off enjoying himself this might have been a different situation, but from the start they were never in sync. Daniel's feet clawed at the slick pylon as he tried to get some kind of traction, at the same time he reached up blindly and managed to grab the big oni's fundoshi, which slipped from around his hips having been singed and weakened by the fireball volley. The sudden exposure was less of a problem for Conquer versus becoming entangled by the fundoshi. It was in that momentary loss of focus that Conquer realized only too late what was going to happen. Thorny vines suddenly protruded from a lower portion of the pylon, but this time they actually broke the pylon causing it to start toppling over, at the same time a massive focused green foxfire blast hit the oni king straight on before could raise his defenses. With the additional weight of the struggling rat and his legs entangled there was little that Conquer could do besides fall with his teammate into the pit below.

There was no impact for Conquer or Daniel as both were expecting. Just the strange teleportation sensation that had been felt at the start of the match.

Conquer became aware that he was not simply back in the arena. Even more so as he tried to move and found himself bound by a tight rope that seemed to only tighten further as his muscled strained in an attempt to break free. To make it worse he was entirely naked and completely erect, the ropes had been so expertly tied that he was not going to be able to relieve himself either. He tried to summon his great powers as his eyes glowed, but he felt nothing, his connection to his power, to his realm, had somehow also been severed completely. He cursed loudly at his predicament, but only a muffled sound came about as he became all too aware of a ball gag that was in his mouth. He was not used to being the one subjugated and it only angered him further, and as he realized there were more like him in the same state, he began to become fully aware of the motives behind the tournament. It wasn't long before he saw a strange fox in a suit appear nearby.

"Guess I got here before Damian." Egad chuckled. "You're a big guy aren't you? I'd love to have the chance to break you, but I've got bigger fish to fry." He grinned and then moved on to the very next glass enclosure.

Conquer could see that it housed his Daniel. His teammate had ended up in nearly the same predicament, save for the fact that he had kept his hat and a set of dog tags. Beyond that he was equally naked and just as monstrously erect. The great king oni, having realized that brute force would not get him out of his current state, decided that he would be patient and listen in on things instead.

"Hello there Danny-boy. Looks like you've gotten in over your head. Just wait until Damian gets wind of this, though he may have already." Egad chuckled again. "Don't worry, I've got a little business with daddy, but be sure, we're going to see each other again."

Egad licked his lips and eyed the rat up and down before he made his departure.

Nearly the same time as the door closed from Egad's departure, the main door opened and Damian Ratsbane stepped in dressed in a fine white suit that did nothing to hide his musculature or his obviously large package. He walked slowly down the line of captive trophies until he reached the one containing Conquer.

"I've always wondered how much a king's ransom is really worth..." he said as he tapped on the glass admiring the finely toned form of the red oni as he heard him mumbling through his ball gag. "Now who is my other trophy?"

Conquer watched as Damian approached the second pod, only the back of the second captive was to him, but as he got closer he noticed the hat on the fighter's head.

"It can't be...what are you doing here?" he said in disbelief. "You were not supposed to be here! You were not on my list of fighters!"

Damians words turned to anger. "You stupid, stupid boy. That's right, not even a man, but still just a boy." Daniel dipped his head down in shame.

Conquer, on the other hand, simply chuckled a little behind his gag gaining a bit of satisfaction despite still being stuck as a trophy.

"How did you manage to slip in? You're not smart enough to do it on your own."

Damian looked at his trapped son who grunted through his gag and motioned with his head toward the door that lead back to his office. When the boss rat turned his head from the pod to the door only one word was uttered:


Conquer watched as Damian skulked grimly from the pod holding his son to the door that the strange fox had exited earlier. The large white rat's fists were balled up tight, and even the red oni could tell that there was an energy about him, the kind that came from pure, unadulterated rage. There was going to be a confrontation, and woe to the person who was going to be on the receiving end of that rage. The last thing that Conquer would hear was the door to Damian's office slamming shut, and when the echo of the door had finally dissipated it was just him, Daniel, and the grunts and mumbles of the rest of the captured fighters who had failed to win their bouts.

 (portrait of Screwjob, drawn by Blazingcheecks)

 Remote Wars!

(co-written with Zyxxs)
 Everything was prepped. He'd eaten and drank his fill, performed his ablutions, finished his training hours ago. Now there would be no distractions. Absolutely nothing could drag Slake off the couch where he was hunkered down in front of the TV.

The talking heads were going, giving their usual worthless opinions on the next match as they had been all evening, as if they had any insight whatsoever. Slake didn't care. His whole attention was focused on the small timer in the corner of the screen, counting down to the start of the evening's match. Ray and Onyx versus Daniel and . . . Conquer.

He would watch his father keenly during this fight, making note of every movement he made, every attack he utilized. It was part of his preparations for his own battle with the man. His fight would start here, in observation.

It was the final minute now. Very soon, the camera would shift to the rain-slick battlefield Conquer's fight was due to take place in. Slake chewed his lip as he sat, engrossed in the numbers going down.

00:00:05 . . . 00:00:04 . . .

Behind him he absently heard the door opening, and knew that his partner must be home early. He didn’t pay it any heed.

Screwjob kicked off his boots as soon as he came inside, marching into the room and scooping up the remote from the small coffee table situated in front of the television. Not even half-paying attention to the program that Slake was watching -- he could only garner that it was the latest match of the tournament -- Screwjob wasn’t at all cognizant of who was participating, or any other details of the match for that matter. While the troll knew the importance of watching the tournament and sizing up possible future opponents, he just wasn’t in the mood for strategizing tonight, having just returned from being stood up by a potential date.

The big troll hit a button on the remote to change the channel.

Suddenly, the screen shifted. Instead of the tournament coverage, there was now a skimpily clad pro-wrestler tiger on the screen performing a clothesline on his opponent, a mean-looking boar in a skin-tight singlet with a muscle gut. Announcers were giving a play-by-play and the stands were going wild, several signs visible with crude slogans on them. Slake blinked in utter confusion, not understanding what had happened to the machine. "Hey--! What gives!!"

“Ahh, wrestling! Fuck yes!” Screwjob smiled as he flopped down on the couch right next to the oni, ignoring the blue guy's protest.

It took Slake several seconds to even realize what had happened. They didn't have TVs where he came from, or any other electric technology for that matter. But he soon pieced it together. His partner Screwjob was responsible for the change of program . . . the program he'd been gearing himself up to watch all day . . . and it was due to the slender brick of plastic that he held. It was a controller of some kind, Slake recalled.

"I was watchin’ that!" he snapped, making a grab for the thing. "Change it back!"

Screwjob grumbled, immediately pinning the remote between his meaty thigh and the armrest of the couch. There was no way he was letting Slake change it back; it seemed that nowadays their lives completely revolved around the tournament – these guys won, these guys lost, bracket this, match that -- Screwjob wanted a little break from the tournament and watch a different kind of sport where men just beat each other’s faces in.

“No, Blue, I’m sick to death of the tourney,” Screwjob snarled, “Let’s just enjoy some good wrasslin’!”

Was Screwjob shitting him? Slake had literally spent his whole day making sure there'd be no distractions for when this match took place. And no sooner was it about to start, that the overbearing troll swaggers in and changes it, all on his own accord? Speaking of starting . . . Slake's eyes darted to the clock hanging over the TV.


"Sick of the tournament? That's the whole point we're even here, dumbass! Now give me that!" Slake followed the path of the remote, diving over Screwjob's body to reach the remote and thus the television for himself. "Aren't you supposed to be out tonight, anyway? You said not to fucking wait up!"

“Fuckin-A, Blue! What are you? Five?” The big troll growled as Slake made a move for the remote, crushing his legs. “And for your information, I had a date and got stood up. I’m not in the mood for fucking games here!” Screwjob jabbed his forearm into the oni’s chest, shoving with his sheer muscle mass . . . a defensive move which would have knocked away most mortals . . . but this was an oni he was up against.

"YOU'RE not in the mood for . . . ?! This ain't just a game, jackass! Now give me that . . . " Slake's eyes flared, burning gold. "Or yer gonna REGRET it."

Screwjob then flopped over onto the couch’s armrest, shielding the remote. However, with all the weight shifted to one side of the couch, the entire piece of furniture comically toppled over, spilling the troll and the oni out onto the floor.

The troll saw the remote slide across the floor and scrambled for it, snatching it and quickly shoving it down the front of his jeans.

“Get off, Slake! This is ridiculous!”

Slake followed the object with his eyes as his troll partner stuffed it down his pants, making his crotch bulge obscenely. The oni snarled. If the troll thought that was gonna keep him at bay . . .

Under other circumstances Screwjob's behavior might have been acceptable. Hell, for any other fight it *would* have been acceptable. But this was The Fight. THE Fight. So Slake didn’t have time to mess around. His partner was about to learn what so many before him had -- that it was a bad idea to get between Slake and what he wanted.

The massive Oni dove again, this time right for Screwjob's junk. The move seemed to take Screwjob by surprise, and since every second was precious Slake didn't even bother yanking down his zipper. Instead, his big blue clawed hands took hold on either side and . . . RRRRRRIPPPPP!!!

Screwjob had gone commando for his date . . . .a fact that the oni discovered firsthand as the oni’s supernatural strength ripped the troll’s jeans in twain like a piece of paper and Screwjob’s impressive junk spilled out of the ruined crotch of his jeans, flopping right on his face. Momentarily blinded by that, Slake didn’t react in time to catch the remote as it followed suit, and it clattered to the floor next to the two wrestling men.

“You…YOU ASSHOLE!” The troll was seething now. “THOSE JEANS WERE BRAND-FUCKING-NEW!”

The demons of rage lending him strength (and a bit of insanity to go along with it), Screwjob grabbed the oni by his broad shoulders and rolled on top of him. Using a martial arts maneuver, Screwjob spun around on Slake’s mighty chest . . . and the oni suddenly found his face buried nose deep in the troll’s bared ass, being smothered by it.

“UH HUH! UH HUH! YOU LIKE THAT!?” Screwjob bounced up and down on the oni’s face. He didn’t care how ridiculous the scene might have looked…he was pissed and was looking for a quick and efficient way to humiliate the oni. “EAT MY ASSHOLE, YOU DICKHEAD!”

"Wha--GGRRMMPH!" Slake's reaction to those words, whatever it may have been, were effectively smothered as his face was forced into Screwjob's ass crack. Muffled by the broad and hairy buttocks pressing down on him, all Slake could do was groan in outrage and ineffectually try to throw the troll off him. But somehow Screwjob had gotten stronger -- a LOT stronger.

"You motherfucker! Get the fuck off me--MMMMPH!" Slake's face was pressed down on again as the troll started bouncing his ass on him, now trash talking as well. Slake was pissed as hell, face turning red not only from humiliation and lack of oxygen, but anger as well. He'd
been taken by surprise by Screwjob's sudden increase in strength, but enough was fucking enough! As the next descent of those hairy cheeks descended, Slake tilted his head forward, the horns on his head suddenly not looking like mere decoration anymore.

Screwjob cackled and cussed like a maniac as he bounced up and down on Slake’s face, feeling his puckered, musky anus rebounding off the oni’s nose, the troll listening to Slake’s muffled grunts and protests. It gave the troll a sadistic sense of satisfaction…

…and then there was a sudden, agonizing pain in his buttocks, as if someone had plunged a couple of daggers into his ass – one in each cheek – and it wasn’t far at all from the truth of what had actually happened. He instinctively leaped right off on Slake, face-planting on the hard floor. Immediately he channeled his curative power right into his ass, soothing and healing the stab wounds there.

Just as Slake had planned, his big partner sat right on the pointy objects, and Slake grinned as the troll reacted as if he were a cartoon character who'd sat on a cactus. While Screwjob was grabbing his ass and swearing, Slake made for the remote. He dove over the floor, entire arm outstretched. If he stretched just a little more . . . he could almost reach . . . !!

“You blue motherfucker! That’s IT! THAT’S FUCKING IT!” Screwjob roared, and then leaped onto Slake once more.

The two began to roll around on the floor, Screwjob wrestling the oni like a crazed bear . . . not really noticing his exposed penis starting to grow hard from all the bodily contact and exertion.

“Annnd Umaka goes for the chokehold!” the television roared over their display, as the crowd egged the two fighters on.

"GRRRR! You're messing with the wrong Oni, asshole!" Slake roared. He hadn't expected Screwjob to recover so quickly, but the oni gave as good as he got. His big muscles flexed against Screwjob's, both seeking to come out on top. Whether through happenstance or subconscious imitation, they in fact were following many of the pro-wrestlers moves being announced on the TV. With the burly troll completely naked and Slake in just a scant fundoshi
however, their 'match' looked more like the foreplay in one of Screwjob’s pornos than any televised wrestling event.

That impression was only heightened as Slake rolled on top of him, pressing down on and feeling Screwjob's boner for the first time. He flushed slightly, though he made sure to make a show of snorting in distaste. Since the troll had been dumped on his date, all that stymied sexual energy had to flow somewhere, Slake supposed. But now wasn't the time for that! For that matter, now wasn't the time to wonder why his own cock was growing more than a little excited as well.

With a deft flip, Slake tossed Screwjob off him, listening as the nude troll crashed through the coffee table, shattering it into splinters. Reaching out, Slake finally grasped what he sought. Success! Remote in hand, Slake pointed it at the TV . . . and tried to remember how to work it. "Dammit, go to the match all ready you stupid thing!" he said, pressing random buttons.

“GRRAAHHHH!!!” Screwjob had quickly rebounded, leaping at Slake like a crazed wildcat.

The troll wrapped his muscular arms around the oni’s waist as the two crashed to the floor again and the whole trailer shook. The channel had stopped on the children’s network, and the remote’s “Max Volume” button was hit in the struggle. Screwjob ground his teeth as the grating theme song to “The Adorables! Magic Ponies Show!” blared throughout the room, heightening the troll’s rage all the more.

"AAAARH!" Slake howled from the deafening noise of insipid children's programming, which was worse than nails on a chalkboard to the demonic being. It was enough to actually momentarily stun him, giving Screwjob the edge he needed. Slake struggled angrily under the troll's weight as the man again bore him to the floor.

Rolling Slake over onto his belly, Screwjob had maneuvered in such a way that he was now sitting on top of Slake’s back, facing his ass. Slake’s arms were twisted up and pinned beneath his weight.

“I’ll teach you a lesson!” Screwjob grabbed the back of Slake’s fundoshi and tore the garment from the oni’s body, leaving that blue ass exposed. “A lesson you’ll NEVER forget!”

Slake felt his fundoshi whipped free of him, leaving his hairy rump naked and mooning the water-stained ceiling. "What the fuck--?" he started, but next thing he knew the strong troll was slamming his palms against his ass. Screwjob practically rained down swats on Slake’s bared buttocks, the troll striking with his open palms again and again in rapid succession, as hard as he could.

"AOWW!" Slake howled again in surprise, immediately bucking as Screwjob gave it to him good and hard, those slaps resounding against his muscle cheeks. They were hard enough to make even his hard buttocks wobble from the force, and bounce off the floor as Slake jerked. "What the FUCK do ya think you're doing, troll!" he roared, straining to lift himself up in a fury.


"I'm giving you one last warning . . . !" Slake growled. Ironically, Slake's original plan once he'd brought the TV back to it's original, proper orientation, had been to haul Screwjob over his *own* knee for a nice, extended punishment session. He'd done it once before, and the troll clearly needed it again for thinking to take over his 'turf' -- in this case, the TV room. Now, however, he found his own ass under fire, and Slake snorted and grunted in anger as broad red hand prints took shape over his ass.

The remote was only a few inches from his face, as if mocking him. With his arms pinned beneath Screwjob's big naked body he was momentarily unable to reach it. Even with that weight on him however, Slake’s fury was enough to fuel his strength, and he managed to raise his hairy chest a few inches off the floorboards, slowly regaining ground.

Screwjob had completely lost himself in the haze of his rage, adrenaline pumping. Slake’s blue ass had quickly turned bright red and swollen, and was now purpling as the troll continued to pummel the oni’s backside.

Just then the troll’s brutally rhythmic swats were jarred as Screwjob suddenly felt the oni lifting up off the floor a bit. The troll was almost impressed, until the logical portion of his mind managed to break through the animalistic fury and remind Screwjob that he was tussling with an oni, after all – he shouldn’t be so surprised. And if he wasn’t careful his own ass would soon be under fire.

“Oh no you DON’T!” Screwjob, determined to keep his dominance in the fight, flipped around on Slake, pressing against his broad blue back. “Where do you think you’re going!?”

The oni grimaced as his attempt at reclaiming his position of dominance was turned around. The troll had merely altered his position to keep him down, although at least those burning spanks had stopped. However, Slake's ass was hardly finished suffering under the troll's power.

The troll wrapped his muscular arms around the oni’s torso, squeezing hard . . . and then with one unceremonious movement, it happened. As if it had a mind of its own, Screwjob’s raging erection had slipped between Slake’s buttocks, spearing his tight hole balls-deep.

Lost in his enraged madness, the troll just followed through on instinct and began to thrust, all the while continuing to berate the oni beneath him.

All through the fight, Slake had seen Screwjob as merely an obstacle. A thing that stood between him and his goal of studying his father in battle. He'd dismissed Screwjob several times, simply getting him out of the way to pursue the remote instead. However, the troll had now done maybe the one thing he could've to get Slake to quit worrying about the damn TV and focus entirely on the opponent he'd underestimated . . . Butt fucking him.

"AAAAGUH!" Slake roared as he suddenly felt an intruder between his beaten buttocks and pressed right up against his backdoor. He need hardly look back to affirm it was Screwjob's large and randy erection, seemingly acting on it’s own and wanting payback on Slake from the last time they'd tangled. Slake's eyes widened, and he quickly tried to turn himself, to twist his rump away -- but it was too late. The troll, finding the position pleasurable, had already slammed his hips down, pushing the rod straight into Slake's defenseless asshole.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!!" Slake screamed as Screwjob humped into his ass, struggling to take such size. It'd been ages since the last time he'd been fucked. Hell, the last time had been by fricken’ *Wuku*. To oni, such activity was restricted to after a battle, to cement one's dominance on the fallen. In Slake's mind, he hadn't been defeated yet, was still struggling to win back victory . . . This damn troll was using sex as a way of combat itself! The oni's hands scrambled around the floor, searching for a way to press himself up and loose, without taking yet *more* of Screwjob’s length. All the while he struggled to keep from howling in pain as his ass was stretched wide by his partner's big dick.

"I'M GONNA MURDER YA FOR THIS, BASTARD!" he roared as he clenched his eyes shut in pain. . . and enjoyment. Perhaps it was an after-effect of having so recently been dominated by Conquer. Regardless, his own cock was hard as a rock as well, grinding against the floor beneath his body as he squirmed and clenched. He was a roiling mass of angry blue muscles.

The troll didn’t process a word of what Slake was saying, nor was he even fully aware that he was actually raping the oni – to the enraged Screwjob, he was just continuing to assert his dominance . . . show Slake exactly who he had messed with. Teach him a lesson for daring to cross Screwjob, especially after such a horrid evening.

His dick taking control, it found a nice, warm home in Slake’s hole as it thrust in and out rapidly, the only lube being the precum that was gradually coating the hot, tight oni passageway in slimy troll semen. Showing absolutely no mercy, Screwjob’s hips slammed against Slake’s brutally beaten ass again and again.

“YEAH! YEAH!” Screwjob threw his head back and howled, “Who’s your Daddy!? Say it! SAY IT! Who’s your DADDY!?”

"My DADDY is who I’m trying to fuckin’ WATCH, you horny DOUCHEBAG!" Slake roared at the top of his lungs. Ponies giggled over rainbows as he saw stars from the troll ramming his prostate at full force.

“Yeah, that’s right, bitch! I’m your Daddy!” Screwjob just chirped in response, completely oblivious to what Slake had actually said – his mind so clouded with rage and lust that when he had heard words coming out of the oni’s mouth the troll had just assumed that it was what he had wanted to hear. “Big Papa Screwjob is a’fuckin’ your whore ass!”

Tightening his grip even more, Screwjob continued to pound away, panting like an animal as he thrust in and out of the oni’s backside, seeming to gain momentum and a sort of rhythm, his brain coming up with the big idea to ride the big blue man all night long – his body began to charge up with magic sexual energy, ready to send both his and Slake’s sex drives into complete overdrive and beyond. . . . When all of a sudden . . .

“TAKE IT! TAKE IT BIIiiitch . . . aarrgghh . . . !” Screwjob had blown his load early, squirting thick, viscous ropes of troll semen deep into the oni’s bowels.

Having expended so much energy subduing Slake, the sudden and great burst of magical activation was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back, despite the adrenaline rush the troll was on; instead of invigorating the two into a wild night of raunchy sex, it simply caused the troll to sputter out.

Screwjob’s face, already flushed red with exertion, became even more crimson with embarrassment as what had happened slowly dawned upon him. Loosening his hold on the oni, Screwjob just collapsed upon Slake, the troll’s body glistening with sweat and reeking with musk.

“Y…Yeah…” Screwjob sputtered, trying to cover up the humiliating end to an otherwise impressive performance, “Showed you a thing or two, huh?”

The troll’s eyes then rolled back into his head as he passed out, his entire massive body weight slumping down squarely on the Slake’s back, the troll’s dick still buried deeply in the oni’s ass.

"You . . . sure did," Slake grunted, annoyed as fuck at what had just happened. Not only had his partner just screwed him relentlessly into the floor like a complete bitch, but then he had the nerve to fucking fall ASLEEP after he was done? "And you wonder why your date didn't--nngh--show up. You're a real charmer," he told him crossly as he tried to shift out from under the muscular and sweaty troll.

That proved more difficult than he’d anticipated, however. Screwjob was one heavy fucker, and all that grappling, wrestling, ass slapping, and mostly getting screwed by one massive dick had tired Slake out more than he liked to admit. To his frustration, the oni found himself exhausted as well. Not to the point of passing out, but definitely unable to budge his slumbering partner from his new bed.

Grimacing at this ridiculous situation he’d found himself in, Slake stared at the remote longingly. Just out of his reach. . . . He’d have to catch a repeat showing of his father’s match when it aired.

Until then, Slake grit his teeth as he remained under Screwjob’s big body, feeling the warmth of his cock still buried up his ass, semen leaking out . . . He felt the troll give a slight grunt in his sleep, mumble something unintelligible, then instinctively cuddle against the source of warmth under him. Surrounded by broken and overturned furniture, his own cock still rock hard but left unsatisfied, Slake counted to ten and distracted himself by waiting to see how the saccharine sweet episode of The Adorables! would end.

 (art by Kartos with additional shading by Bogrim)

 The Biding of a King

 Over the millennia, Conquer had defeated and captured entire hosts of his fellow demons, binding them savagely to his will. Now he was getting used to being a prisoner himself.

The mighty king was currently on his knees, arms tied behind his back. The rest of his body was bound as well--strong, tight ropes criss-crossed his proud, powerful musculature in an elegant pattern which served to put his nudity completely on display as he struggled uselessly. Try as he might, he could not break free from them. Surrounding him on all sides was a glass dome, far too small. It pressed in on his arms and legs, making him unable to even shift position in the tight confinement. It made him feel like a bug on display. A ball-gag was stuffed in his mouth, muffling his voice and making it impossible to speak.

And most maddening of all? His cock was somehow rock hard and smeared up against the glass, and had been so from the instant he’d arrived. A further loop of the ropes had been tauntingly placed around the base of the thick and throbbing shaft, giving the appearance that his masculine organ was held in bondage just like the rest of him. It was yet one more element of the humiliation used in displaying his body.

Is this what it feels like to be under my own Captivitas Curse? Conquer wondered uneasily. The spell had been one of the prime methods he’d used to take over as much territory as he had in his own realm. When used on a subject who was bound as he was, it caused them to experience unending sexual pleasure. The effect was so powerful, most soon gave in to the effects and accepted the domination willingly . . . at which point they became his slaves. Conquer knew of only a scant few who had been able to resist, his own son among them.

This was different, however. While he did feel the urge for sexual release due to the stiffness of his member, there was no magic at work here, no ulterior motive to subdue him. His cock was simply, inexplicably, hard, and that was all. It was almost as if the hardness of his organ was an action independent to the rest of him which otherwise had no bearing. To that end, he paid his ‘condition’ no heed. Still, it was quite distracting.

That didn’t stop the other captured champions, however. Even as Conquer watched, he saw several men trying to relieve the unending aching of their loins. Three tubes down, a powerful wolf wearing only a bandanna and with a Chinese dragon tattoo on his strong chest and abs was moaning through his own gag and rubbing his horny rod against the inside of the glass itself in search of release. A digital display at the bottom of his tube read ‘#111 Ace’, and he was tied in shibari style, much like Conquer was.

Further down, a muscular red lion and a dragon were attempting much the same, hampered though they were by their own ropes. In the opposite direction, Conquer spied what appeared to be a male centurion unicorn discard his own dignity and attempt to beat off, though his own efforts were made impossible by metal manacles secured around his wrists. Everywhere he looked, a man’s rod stood straight and proud, begging for orgasm, but unable to be given that relief. Even while the champions slept as best they could in their ropes, their members pulsed and remained rigid.

And those were only the men in his line of sight. He couldn’t see the entire room since much of it was shrouded in shadow, but he got the feeling it was massive. Filled with tubes exactly like the ones he and the others were squeezed into. Most were still empty, but for every day he remained here that number decreased, as more and more defeated champions were teleported to their new homes. And while it was impossible get an accurate count to verify, Conquer had the feeling he knew exactly how many tubes there were.

128. The exact number of tournament entrants.

How foolish I was. He grimaced. Falling for this scheme as if it were a venus fly trap and I the fly.

But how could he have known? To know that what appeared to be large-scale battle tournament was in fact a large-scale kidnapping operation, designed to capture only the strongest and most desirable of men? Impossible, of course.

Except that he should have known. Should have made it his business to know. He was lord of a race of powerful demons, and the only reason he had remained in power as long as he had was due to his ability to see a trap before it was sprung. That he had failed to do so in this case was inexcusable. A mistake that an Oni barely past his first century would not make . . .

He pushed those thoughts out of his mind. It would do no good to dwell on failures. Though, naturally, bound as he was and with absolutely nothing to occupy his time, there was little else to do other than reflect on the reasons he’d ended up here. Nothing to look at, nothing to listen to. How could there be? The room they were stuck in was featureless. Blank. The only objects it contained were he and his fellow prisoners. The only sounds to be heard were their moans and muffled grunts. The only sights to be seen were their naked bound bodies. And while the sight may have been amusing, even arousing, had he been on the outside of the glass prison, to be just one among their number was a completely different experience.

Every day passed exactly the same, which was maddening itself in a way. By Conquer’s estimate he’d already been there for almost two weeks. Enough time to fall into a regular ‘routine’ of sorts. Each day he would wake up. He would fight with his ropes for a time, until his powerful muscles ached from the strain. He would then attempt to call on his sorcerous powers, aiming to forge a link home.

Whatever aspect the glass tube contained however, it also somehow cut off his link to his domain. It was an uncanny feeling at first, as for centuries the king had been accustomed to the feeling of magical energies flowing into him through his horns, augmenting his might. To have it now be simply . . . gone, was like losing one of his very senses. He recalled how closely the mouse called Doctor Mize had examined his readings while he’d been getting attuned to his devious teleporter, and suspected that scientist of somehow neutralizing his abilities. Regardless of reason, he was left with only his own physical strength to rely on and, while it was formidable, it was frustratingly not enough to break the ropes keeping him captive.

The only true way to mark time was that around “noon” of each day as he reckoned it, another set of champions arrived. Since it was the only event of note that happened with any sort of regularity, Conquer found himself actually looking forward to each new batch, if only for the novelty of something new. Who would it be this time? A demon, a magic-user, a kick-boxer, a ninja? The continuing tournament had nothing if not variety of future slaves.

Observing the captured champions’ reactions to their sudden change in location was interesting too, although only for a time, as most fell into the same basic patterns. Indeed, even he himself had followed them. First was surprise, followed by either outrage or fear. They would struggle with everything they had. They would make muffled threats or whimpers. And in the end . . . nothing. There were no options here in this unending gray imprisonment. Nothing to focus on beyond the perimeter of their tubes and their own bound condition. Although many still continued to resist, Conquer could see that several in the first group of champions had already given up in their spirits. Surely the sight of so many of their fellows in similar conditions only assisted in convincing themselves how futile it all was. They no longer resisted the ropes binding them. Instead, they spent the days doing nothing at all, staring listlessly into space without struggling or even thinking anymore. Only the continued perkiness of their swaying cocks spoke that they were still still experiencing any sensations at all. The sheer ennui and lack of stimulation had done them in.

But not Conquer. Not yet. And if he had his way, not ever. Although he may have been a mere bondage slave at the moment, he was still King of his people. He had conquered entire regions of his land through sheer force of will. He could surely endure this objectification for however long it lasted.

* * * * *

The former bounty hunter known as Daniel Ratsbane dozed in his tube, hard cock throbbing along to whatever dream he was having, ropes binding his wrists, legs, snout, and dick. Conquer watched him, eyes narrowed. It was his partner’s fault he was even trapped here in the first place. The foolish gunslinger had refused to obey orders, and had even outright rebelled against Conquer’s authority during the fight. That lack of teamwork had cost them the match. Conquer still recalled the feeling of being knocked off those wooden stands together, Daniel clinging to his body, the feel of the teleport kicking in and dragging them to . . . here . . .

More than that, Daniel had entered the tournament without once suspecting it was a trap, despite knowing his own father was behind it and what he was capable of. Due to that Conquer had lowered his guard as well. A mistake, obviously. If he ever got loose--and he planned to, at the earliest opportunity--he would pay Daniel back handsomely for his insolence. The buff and athletic rat would think twice before crossing him again once he was brought over the demon ogre’s knee, pants shucked down and his helpless, naked and toned buttocks under unrelenting fire from Conquer’s strong and punishing palm. Conquer would beat his former partner until he begged for mercy, and that would only be the barest start of his discipline . . .

Thoughts such as those kept Conquer going as the days slipped by. Unsettlingly, enough had passed now that they were starting to bleed into each other in his memory.

A twitch of Daniel’s cock told Conquer that his partner was waking up. He glared as the rat came to. Daniel refused to meet his eyes however, and glanced the other way, face flushing a bit. He seemed to feel a measure of shame at least for their current status. Not good enough. Conquer attempted to berate the boy for his part in their plight--but of course all that came out was the usual muffled “mmph”’s and grunts. The gags made even arguments among themselves impossible.

But the ball-gag did even more than simply inhibit speech. Conquer could not even swallow his own saliva with it stuffed so in his mouth, and a small stream of it drooled down his chin. It made him feel even more foolish. And all the other champions were in the same predicament. Most simply gave up trying to communicate after a while. No one could understand them, not even their fellow prisoners. And the various ropes made even body language futile as well, of course. And in the end . . . no one wanted to speak much, anyway, while held in such a way. They were lesser than men now, captive trophies. They retreated into themselves as a way to forget their mortifying situation.

If the indignities prone to being held in such a state were humiliating to the other fighters however, they were even more so to Conquer who was accustomed to absolute control over his environment at all times. He was the master, and everything he surveyed should thus belong to him. To know that this was not so anymore . . . that he himself was a possession of some villain . . . It made him furious, and prompted many sudden struggles and rages as the days, and weeks, continued to drift by.

Chief among those glib villains was Damian Ratsbane, the tournament runner himself. He had been there to greet them when they’d first arrived, and Conquer still snarled angrily as he recalled the huge rat’s taunts. . . . Though after his first visit when the tournament owner had seen Daniel bound in the neighboring tube to Conquer’s, he had not come back for further conversation. Conquer still saw him greet other newcomers however, and he occasionally removed some champions to ‘play’ with, returning them later blushing hard and looking extremely sore.

The fox, Egad Nob, was another. Lately he’d been taking great pleasure admiring his newest prize, who in this case appeared to be Daniel. From the way he spoke to the boy, he could only be the same fox who had lured the cocky bounty hunter into joining the tournament in the first place. Now, he claimed he’d 'won' the lad off of Damian, and often came around to leer lasciviously at the young buck’s helplessly bound body . . . though he wasn’t shy about admiring Conquer’s nearby muscular form as well. Conquer always simply glared back.

To himself or any other Oni, to dominate another was regarded as a demonstration of strength, to showcase the might of the combatants with a contest of power. The taking of the defeated was simply another element of showcasing how strong the victor was. With the fox, however, it seemed as if he more desired to bring the mighty low. Rather than glorify his own might, he sought only to diminish that of others . . . As if to prove that power itself was in fact meaningless. It was the act of a small and petty creature, and Conquer was disgusted by it. The fact that his own capture seemed to corroborate Egad’s point further annoyed him.

But the third visitor he received was the one who made him the most uneasy. The others who came, Damian and Egad . . . they were evil and conceited, yes, but in the end were still just men. But this other . . .

It was a member of the Dominant Six Conquer had not encountered before. A muscular and hooded male with remnants of broken shackles around his wrists and ankles. A metal cock ring was also fastened around the base of his member, apparently keeping it permanently hard. Most disturbing of all, a red gemstone hung on a necklace about his thick neck. Even with his own magic inert, Conquer could sense a powerful and evil aura radiating out from it.

When he’d arrived, the being did not speak. Instead . . . he had simply stood outside Conquer’s tube, staring at him through the glass. At first Conquer had been irritated. Who was this creature who dared to examine him, a mighty king, so closely? But as time went on, he began to grow perturbed. Almost an hour had passed, and the hooded man had barely moved. The more he stared, the more Conquer felt like what he in fact was--a helpless object, his body and swollen cock on display with no say in the matter for himself. And the man on the other side of the glass . . . ?

At first Conquer had judged him by his nudity and shackles, thinking he must be another prisoner like himself. One who had escaped perhaps and now wandered free. But as the hour dragged on and Conquer took a fuller measure of him, it became clear this was not the case. There was no hint of fear, or of the mindset of slavery in the man’s stance. This was no being who feared the ropes all about him . . . at least, any longer. They were merely trappings of a life he’d once lead, perhaps.

And at the end of the hours, the man had spoke just one sentence. His voice was deep and demonic, but hollow. And though, his message was brief, it was enough to send chills down Conquer’s bare back.

“You will make a fitting vessel . . . “

With that, after a pleased stroke of his rod, the creature had left. Conquer was left with more questions than answers. Who had it been? And what did it wish to do with him? A vessel? And most strangely, what manner of gemstone was that which had glistened against his strong chest . . . ?

* * * * *

As time wore on, Conquer’s struggles grew less and less frequent. He sought to conserve his strength instead. It was only logical, after all. Since it was clear that brute strength would not free him, he would have to rely on his intellect. Eventually there would come an opportunity to escape and bring vengeance down on his captors . . . he would simply need to keep his head, and wait until the right time to seize it.

And until then, he’d just need to get used to being a nude bondage prize.

The throbbing in his cock drove him to distraction, making it difficult even for one of his willpower to think or plan. But he kept on, ignoring the hardness as best he could. Most of the other champions were not so strong, and had long ago given in, helplessly trying to spurt their essence all over their tubes. The task proved impossible for them of course. But that didn’t stop them from continuing to try, driven mad with frustrated lust. For many, their bindings seemed designed just as much to taunt them with their horny cocks as to hold them captive.

Was this the crux of the villains’ plan? To make the champions so eager to experience relief, any relief at all, that when the time came they’d gladly accept any hand wrapping around their members, even if it belonged to a new ‘master’ and they had to bargain away what remained of their very freedom in order to experience it? If so, Conquer almost had to admire it for it’s deviousness, and, looking around at all the moaning, tied up studs, one with a fair chance of working.

The moment he dreaded most of all hadn’t happened yet, at least. With each new flash of light, each new bound and muscular addition to the collection . . . Conquer expected to see Slake’s surprised or, far more likely, enraged, face. Slake’s big and thick blue cock, tied like the rest of him and pressed up against the glass. He silently sighed in relief each time it was not so. While there was no love lost between them, Conquer did not wish to see Slake put under such circumstances as these. At least . . . not unless he himself had orchestrated them.

Still, Conquer knew it was only a matter of time until his defiant son joined them all in this grey netherworld. Slake was a proud fighter, but also a fool. He would not even suspect what was occurring here until it was too late. After all, if Conquer himself had been taken without difficulty, then Slake would pose no challenge at all . . . But so far at least, he remained outside, fighting and free.


But once he was captured . . . then what? For that matter, what would happen once every champion was captured? Conquer did not know what Damian’s plans were, and he did not care to find out. Trapped as he was however, it seemed that he probably had no choice. In time he would know them. Every champion would know them, whether they wanted to or not.

Conquer struggled listlessly in his bindings, grunting into his gag and his big, red, dick wobbling, until the day when the lights flashed and he would see his son again.


  1. I love Slake.
    Also, more Screwjob.
    We need it.

  2. Make a post about Spartans. Wars, weapons (toys), armors. Love your work! ^^