The frenzied, electrifying coupling stretched on until the eastern horizon shimmered with the faint glow of dawn, only then beginning to subside.
Zulu, seated with Takeo impaled upon him, maintained a relentless rhythm, thrusting like an untiring piston in a final, fervent surge. He unleashed torrents of scalding seed, flooding the depths of Takeo's thoroughly claimed, sensitive rear.
Bathed in the night's carnal baptism, Takeo was astonished to find his chiseled physique had become like a parched sponge, greedily soaking up Zulu's essence. His body had molded itself to the barbarian's raw, ebony frame with startling compatibility.
Through the endless night, Takeo lost count of how many times Zulu had filled him, only aware of the relentless waves of molten semen that overwhelmed his senses, drowning him in a tide of desire.
Now, Zulu gently massaged Takeo's ravaged, swollen rim, tender from the night's excesses. The stretched, tender flesh slowly seeped thick, creamy seed mingled with slick fluids, trailing lasciviously between Takeo's bronzed glutes.
Within, Takeo's soul remained a battlefield of conflict. His body had wholly embraced Zulu's invasions, reveling in the savage, untamed pleasure. Yet his samurai pride, the unyielding dignity of a Yamato warrior, still fought bitterly against surrender. Caught in this tangle of emotions, he spoke, his voice hoarse and low: "I…"
Zulu cut in, his tone bold and teasing. "If I win the tournament, will you be my man-wife?"
In a rare shift, Zulu abandoned his earlier aggression, softening his tone with an unprecedented earnestness as he sought Takeo's consent.
Far from his homeland, alone in a foreign land, Zulu harbored a deep yearning to forge a new family--a sprawling one, ideally, with as many wives as fortune allowed.
"And if you lose?"
Deep down, Takeo quietly hoped for Zulu's victory in the tournament, but his pride refused to yield so easily. After a moment's hesitation, he masked his desire with a veneer of reserve, setting his terms: "If… if you lose, you'll serve under me obediently. From then on, you come when I call, without fail."
"Deal! It's settled!"
Zulu agreed without a moment's pause, his dark face breaking into a confident, resolute grin.
"My faith differs from yours," he continued. "The God of Vitality I worship grants blessings only through a bond of partnership. Come, kiss me, and we'll seal our companionship."
His voice carried a commanding edge, yet beneath it lay a subtle, almost imperceptible tenderness.
"What?"
Takeo's cheeks flushed a deep crimson, ripe as a sun-warmed tomato. He shot Zulu a flustered glare, his voice tinged with indignation. "How dare you disrespect the Martial Sovereign? And you call yourself a warrior…"
"Hurry up. The tournament's about to start, and time's running out," Zulu pressed, brushing off Takeo's protests with a firm, unyielding tone.
"Look," Takeo began, his mind a whirlwind of conflict. Though his heart wrestled with hesitation, his body betrayed him, leaning forward almost involuntarily. He clung to a facade of defiance, warning, "After… after I kiss you, you'd better win that tournament. Losing is not an option, got it?!"
"Then bring that face closer and let me kiss you properly," Zulu commanded, a feral grin curling his lips, his voice thick with dominance and raw intent.
Their lips met in a fleeting, delicate kiss, like a dragonfly skimming water. Takeo squeezed his eyes shut, his chiseled frame rigid as a marionette, every movement stiff and awkward.
Zulu ran his tongue across his lips, savoring the moment, musing that for Yamato men, a kiss might carry profound shame. The samurai code exalted rugged masculinity, prizing stoic resolve and valor. An act as intimate as kissing, in the eyes of traditional Yamato warriors, likely bore a stigma rivaling that of same-sex coupling.
With that thought, Zulu said no more. He swiftly dressed, readying himself for the tournament arena.
"I'm off," he stated flatly, turning to leave the tent.
Takeo remained caught in the aftershock of that sudden kiss, his cheeks burning a vivid scarlet, the heat radiating to his ears, lingering stubbornly. He had never shared such closeness with his own wife, let alone the courtesans of the pleasure districts, where encounters were purely physical, lips never truly meeting.
And now, to have kissed a lowly foreign slave…
The Tournament Arena.
Three critical matches remained, each a conquest Zulu was determined to claim.
The "Blessing" was a divine gift, a surge of celestial power that unlocked the latent magic within mortals, granting extraordinary enhancements. Yet its effects varied widely, shaped by the deity worshipped and the individual's unique constitution.
Zulu revered the primal God of Vitality, whose most potent blessing amplified reproductive prowess to unparalleled heights. His sweat, semen, urine, and even blood carried a powerful aphrodisiac quality, capable of igniting human desire with devastating ease, plunging them into a delirium of carnal ecstasy.
On the vast, solemn open-air stage, Zulu felt invigorated, his spirit sharpened by the previous night's fervent coupling. His body thrummed with newfound strength, as if the union with Takeo had not only sated his physical lust but also amplified his combat prowess.
In the next two matches, Zulu fought like a tiger unleashed, unstoppable and fierce. He dispatched two formidable Yamato samurai with ease, securing swift victories. His momentum carried him triumphantly into the tournament's final showdown.
Even the exalted sovereign, drawn by the grandeur of the samurai tournament, graced the arena to witness the final match.
To the crowd, Zulu was merely a lowly foreign slave, fortunate to scrape a minor warrior's title at best. No one had anticipated his relentless ascent, cutting through opponents to stand on this spotlighted stage, vying for supreme glory against Yamato's elite.
Clad in ornate armor, Yagyu Takeo stood with solemn focus, his piercing gaze fixed on the arena where two warriors faced off, blades drawn, tension crackling. Yamato swordsmanship was renowned--swift as lightning, precise as a specter, and venomous as a viper. The clash of steel rang out, sharp and resonant, echoing across the vast stage.
Zulu's opponent was the most formidable of all: a muscle-bound samurai specialized in raw power. With a deep breath, the warrior's chest heaved, his muscles swelling as if inflated, his bronzed skin radiating heat like a branding iron, exuding waves of suffocating intensity.
After several fierce exchanges, Zulu felt the terrifying magnitude of his foe's strength. Each collision of blades erupted like mountains crashing, the deafening impacts jarring his grip, numbing his arms, and nearly wrenching the sword from his hands.
The Yamato Martial Sovereign… was this the pinnacle of the warrior's path these samurai revered?
At this critical juncture, with his life hanging by a thread, a towering, unyielding figure materialized before Zulu's eyes, vast as a mountain and clad in spectral armor. Wielding a gleaming blade, it exuded an awe-inspiring aura, like an ancient war god descending to command the mortal realm.
Zulu unleashed a earth-shaking roar, primal and ferocious, tapping into the depths of his latent power. His blood surged like molten lava, coursing furiously through his veins. Scalding heat roared through his limbs, and his chiseled, ebony muscles radiated visible waves of steam. With each breath, a savage, untamed force erupted like a volcano, swelling to engulf the arena.
In that desperate moment, Zulu had miraculously received the blessing of the Yamato Martial Sovereign, the revered deity of the samurai.
The crowd sat stunned, jaws agape, scarcely able to process the unthinkable. A lowly, barbaric foreigner, blessed by the Martial Sovereign?
It shattered their entrenched beliefs, dismantling their ingrained prejudices and arrogance in a single, breathtaking instant.
Yet only Zulu knew the true source of this newfound blessing. It wasn't a gift from some ethereal deity but a tangible force drawn from his bond with Yagyu Takeo, his partner in both flesh and spirit.
Through their profound physical and emotional connection, Zulu had tapped into the formidable strength of the noble samurai at this critical moment, achieving an unparalleled enhancement of his body.
His opponent, caught off guard by the sudden shift, lost all composure. Shock and disbelief etched across his face, he failed to mount any defense against Zulu's lightning-swift counterattack. The razor-sharp blade pierced his shoulder with merciless precision, sealing the outcome in an instant.
With the crisp sound of steel slicing flesh, the gripping samurai tournament reached its climax.
The undisputed victor, against all odds, was the foreign slave from the Black Beast Tribe--
Zulu!
The onlookers, still reeling from the unexpected outcome, stood frozen. Yamato samurai prided themselves on pure lineage and unmatched skill, their inherent exclusivity and arrogance deeply ingrained. For a moment, no one dared to cheer, and an eerie silence enveloped the arena.
Amid this awkward hush, General Yagyu Takeo, resplendent in his ornate armor, broke the tension. With a solemn expression, he began to clap, the sharp sound sparking a surge of fervor. The Yamato soldiers snapped out of their daze, erupting into a deafening roar of cheers and applause, each wave louder than the last, threatening to shake the very foundations of the arena.
Through the cacophony, Zulu's gaze cut through the teeming crowd, locking onto Takeo with unwavering intensity.
Their eyes met, a collision of sparks in the chaos, the air between them crackling with unspoken electricity.
Takeo squirmed under Zulu's predatory stare, feeling as exposed as if stripped bare in public. His cheeks flushed crimson, and he coughed twice, a feeble attempt to mask his fluster and embarrassment.
The surrounding soldiers, oblivious to their general's discomfort, rushed forward with flattery, lauding Takeo's masterful guidance. They marveled at how his disciplined tutelage had transformed a crude, barbaric slave into a peerless martial prodigy--a testament to the adage that great masters forge great disciples, earning their boundless admiration.
The sovereign, aloof and detached, had risen and departed the moment the victor was decided, showing no interest in the ensuing award ceremony or its formalities.
Yoshiaki Hattori, the ninja leader, approached Zulu, inquiring what reward he desired.
Unfamiliar with Yamato's reward system, Zulu faltered, unable to name a specific wish. He replied vaguely, deferring the matter: "I'll think it over and decide later."
Hattori, unsurprised, nodded in acknowledgment. "Very well. Come to me when you've made up your mind."
As the crowd buzzed with speculation about the lavish rewards Zulu might claim, General Yagyu Takeo stunned them once more. Addressing the soldiers with commanding authority, he declared, "As of today, Zulu is no longer a lowly slave. He will serve as my personal aide and be elevated to the rank of high samurai! Henceforth, you will treat him with respect and deference--no slights or neglect will be tolerated. Understood?!"
When the throng dispersed and the clamor faded, Takeo sought out Zulu in private. Lowering his voice, he spoke with a hint of eager anticipation, laced with subtle intimacy: "Tonight, meet me at the hot spring inn."
Zulu's desire flared at the words, a primal urge surging within. He yearned to pull the proud general into his arms right then, to claim his lips in a fierce kiss, celebrating this hard-won victory and the sweet promise it held.
That evening, upon arriving at the hot spring inn, Zulu found Yagyu Takeo already waiting in an elegant private suite.
As expected, the room--once graced by the sovereign himself--was exceptional, its understated opulence evident in every refined detail.
Takeo had clearly indulged in a few cups of sake, his cheeks flushed with an alluring blush. He wore only a loose yukata, barely concealing a thin fundoshi beneath. His chiseled, muscular frame peeked tantalizingly through the open collar, swathes of honeyed skin exposed to the air, a feast for Zulu's predatory gaze.
Lounging with his legs spread, Takeo reclined on plush cushions, his long fingers beckoning with a suggestive gesture. "You did well today," he murmured, a faint smile curling his lips, his eyes glinting with subtle approval and warmth.
Zulu, burning to claim his long-awaited prize, wasted no time. He settled close to Takeo, snatching a delicate cup brimming with clear sake from the table. Tilting his head back, he downed it in one gulp, the fiery liquid searing down his throat, igniting the smoldering desire within him like a spark to dry tinder.
Zulu's gaze roamed hungrily over Yagyu Takeo's powerful, chiseled physique, every curve and contour radiating raw, masculine allure. His groin stirred, a primal beast rearing up, tenting his clothes with undeniable urgency, ready to break free and conquer.
Takeo, clearly swayed by the sake, wore a hazy, almost dreamy expression on his handsome face. His eyes narrowed slightly, his voice tinged with tipsy bravado and a touch of arrogance. "Don't think yesterday proves anything. I'm a battle-hardened warrior, a man who's seen every kind of beauty. In the pleasure districts, even the most renowned courtesans fell apart under me, begging for mercy…"
"Hmm."
Zulu's lips curled into a knowing, provocative smirk. He leaned in close, his warm breath grazing Takeo's sensitive ear like a soft feather. At the same time, a rough, heated hand slid onto Takeo's taut, muscular waist, fingers brushing the thin yukata, feeling the scalding heat of the skin beneath.
"I won't lose control like yesterday!" Takeo declared, his tone hardening as if issuing a challenge to Zulu--or a vow to himself. "I'll never lose to a barbarian like you again!"
Yet his words betrayed a desperate attempt to mask the eager, restless desire already simmering within.
A mere fifteen minutes later, the private hot spring suite echoed once more with Yagyu Takeo's lust-drenched moans and wanton cries.
"Ohhh… ngh… ahh…"
His voice fractured, each syllable heavy with unspeakable pleasure and surrender.
Zulu ripped off his pungent, musk-soaked fundoshi and draped it roughly over Takeo's handsome face. Brandishing his thick, veiny, ebony cock, he dragged it brazenly across the general's cheeks, the coarse glans tormenting Takeo's sensitive skin like an exquisite, cruel toy.
Under this savage, commanding onslaught, the last pitiful shred of Takeo's samurai pride was pulverized, ground to dust, and swept away. His once-proud, tightly sealed lips fell open in abject submission, parting like a ravenous beast to engulf Zulu's massive tip. He sucked eagerly, lips stretched and distorted, saliva mingling with the slick precum dripping from the head, glistening shamefully in the dim light.
If the filthy fundoshi were lifted, no trace of the formidable, muscular general would remain. In his place would be a depraved, white-eyed thrall, reduced to the basest of whores, greedily devouring the colossal rod before him, lost in the intoxicating abyss of carnal bliss.
"Ccall me what?"
Zulu's low, gravelly voice, laced with a cruel smirk, rumbled in Takeo's ear.
"Master… husband…"
Takeo's murmured response, foggy with submission, carried a faint, almost imperceptible note of attachment, the words themselves a shameful confession.
"Wrong!" Zulu barked, unsatisfied, his demands growing harsher and more degrading. "Call me Daddy! Louder--let me hear you say it!"
Overwhelmed by the pungent, intoxicating musk of Zulu's thick, ebony cock, Takeo's reason dissolved entirely, his final defenses crumbling to ash.
Like a spineless creature, he surrendered wholly to desire's command, his voice breaking as he uttered the humiliating title he'd never forget: "Daddy…"
The moment that mortifying syllable left his lips, Takeo's mind erupted as if a thousand fireworks had ignited at once, dazzling light flooding his world. A tidal wave of unprecedented pleasure, like a volcanic surge, consumed him. A sated moan tore from his throat, and his cock, unable to withstand the intensity, unleashed a scalding, musky stream of golden urine.
"Keep going--make it sound sweeter! Tch, your filthy piss is all over my feet. Lick it clean, now!"
Zulu's voice grew more arrogant, his commands dripping with a chilling blend of cruelty and sadistic amusement.
"Daddy! Big-dick Black Daddy! Please… use your son's slutty mouth to serve you!"
At this moment, Takeo finally understood the visceral truth of what the innkeeper--his peer in age--had felt under Zulu's domineering assault at the hot spring. Confronted by Zulu's tyrannical orders, Takeo found no spark of defiance within him. Like a loyal hound, he crawled submissively, tongue extended, eagerly lapping up the pungent pool of Zulu's musky urine from the floor.
Zulu, with brazen confidence, spread his legs wide, his thick, veiny, ebony cock looming like a king's scepter before Takeo's face. The gaping slit at its tip, fierce as an enraged beast, pulsed, spraying scalding streams of piss.
How could Takeo resist such a "delectable" gift?
Without hesitation, he opened his mouth wide, like a devout worshipper, gulping down every drop of his Black Daddy's sacred torrent, swallowing it all with fervent devotion.
"Fuck! What are you waiting for?! Suck my balls properly! Use that slutty mouth to worship every inch of my body--got it?!"
Like a fervent devotee, Yagyu Takeo obeyed without question, lavishing attention on the massive, intimidating ebony cock before him. His soft tongue greedily traced every inch of skin, as if determined to cleanse every pore with reverent licks.
The once-elegant hot spring suite, no longer scented with refined incense, was thick with the raw, primal musk of masculine desire--a potent aphrodisiac that overwhelmed Takeo's hypersensitive senses.
As he devoured Zulu's length with abandon, Zulu seized him from behind, powerful arms locking him in place. His muscular legs pried apart Takeo's glutes with savage force. The opulent hot spring pool--once a sacred space shared only with the sovereign--now degraded into a vessel for their lust.
Zulu, like a ruthless king, pounded into Takeo from behind, his thrusts unrelenting. Scalding jets of musky urine erupted like a breached dam, flooding the warm pool, mingling with the pristine water. Soon, the once-pristine bath would be transformed into a sordid mire of semen and piss, steeped in debauchery.
"Ohhh! Black Daddy! You're too much! Ahh… fucking… so deep!"
Takeo's raw, lascivious moans filled the lavish suite, his rugged voice soaring with each syllable, dripping with unbridled pleasure and surrender.
Zulu, like an insatiable beast, poured every ounce of his strength into relentless, savage thrusts. His rock-hard cock, like a battering ram, pounded Takeo's tight rear, sending ripples of provocative flesh undulating across the general's firm, masculine glutes, each wave a lascivious spectacle.
Under the ceaseless assault of pleasure, Takeo's eyes rolled back uncontrollably, his consciousness slipping into a haze. His body betrayed him entirely; his cock, drained of its capacity to spill seed, now gushed like a broken faucet, spraying musky urine in uncontrollable torrents that mingled with the pool's once-pristine waters.
The Takeo who once boasted of his "battle-hardened" prowess was gone. His prized manhood, now a mere ornament, could no longer deliver true ecstasy. Only his rear, that secret, sensitive passage, could propel him to the heights of desire, plunging him into the endless abyss of carnal bliss.
Zulu's thick, iron-like arm clamped around Takeo's neck, forcing his head back for a fierce, possessive kiss, brimming with raw dominance.
At this moment, deep within Takeo's soul, the vaunted spirit of bushido and the honor of a samurai had surely vanished like fleeting clouds, leaving no trace behind.
Takeo's mind was consumed by the thick, ebony cock savagely plundering his sensitive rear, entwined with a dizzying blend of ecstasy and shame. Their naked, muscular bodies--Zulu's chiseled bulk and Takeo's sculpted frame--locked together at the pool's edge, writhing and grinding in frenzied passion. Their vigorous movements sent waves of warm spring water splashing everywhere.
The pool's surface shimmered with a faint yellow froth, veiled by rising steam, indistinguishable as either lascivious urine, creamy semen, or a sordid fusion of both.
"Ohhh--Big-Dick Black Daddy! I'm gonna… gonna piss again! Ahh!"
Takeo's voice broke into a wild, unrestrained cry as another scalding torrent of urine erupted from him, flooding into the pool, merging irrevocably with the once-pristine waters.
The lavish bath, once Takeo's exclusive sanctuary, had degraded into a public cesspool, defiled by rampant lust and debauchery. Should Yamato's sovereign return, the reeking, filthy waters would surely drive him to flee, clutching his nose in disgust.
"Fuck you to death! I'll ruin you, you slut!"
Zulu roared like a rabid beast, thrusting with ferocious intensity. Each brutal impact seemed intent on shattering Takeo, breaking him apart until he was utterly subdued, helplessly surrendered beneath Zulu's relentless dominance.
Zulu hoisted Takeo's bronzed, muscular glutes, unleashing a tempest of unrestrained thrusts. His thick, ebony cock, as if imbued with sorcery, plunged deep into the warm, slick depths of Takeo's core, striking with precision, only to withdraw abruptly, trailing a glistening string of creamy seed that arced lewdly through the air before slamming back in with ferocious force.
Takeo's once-tight, dusky rim, ravaged by relentless assaults, had slackened into a gaping, unclosing seam. Its flushed inner walls protruded, dripping with slick fluids, a debauched and ruined sight.
The general's cock, once iron-hard and weeping with desire, now hung limp and defeated between his thighs. Not from pain, but from the overwhelming intensity of pleasure that had stripped it of its vigor, leaving it to dribble clear, musky fluid in a futile release of lingering lust.
"Daddy! Oh! Oh! I can't… ngh… I'm done for…!"
Takeo's voice broke into hoarse, desperate wails, each syllable laden with the agony and ecstasy of a man teetering on the edge of collapse.
This wild, frenzied night of carnal indulgence showed no sign of abating.
Throughout their fervent coupling, Takeo was driven to the brink of oblivion multiple times, fainting under Zulu's relentless onslaught. Yet each time his consciousness wavered, Zulu's wild, commanding caresses roused him, dragging him back into the ceaseless vortex of carnal surrender.
Zulu's touch oscillated between extremes: at times, he kissed and stroked Takeo's sweat-slicked, chiseled frame with lover-like tenderness, whispering softly, his voice warm and coaxing; at others, he transformed into a brutal, muscular beast, pounding mercilessly, propelling Takeo to the peaks of ecstasy only to hurl him into the depths of depravity.
Finally, Takeo's ravaged, sensitive rear reached its physical limit, unable to endure further intrusion. Helplessly, he hooked his hands behind his bent knees, pressing desperately against the swollen, tender edges of his gaping rim. With legs splayed wide, as if offering himself to a deity, he welcomed Zulu's savage, probing tongue, which launched a fresh assault, sending spasms through his trembling muscles and triggering another gushing climax of raw pleasure.
"Ngh… ahh…"
Takeo's voice was reduced to shattered moans, his consciousness flickering like a candle in the wind, teetering on the edge of extinction.
"Still alive, slut?"
Zulu loomed over the broken, muscular form beneath him, his rough hand delivering two sharp slaps to Takeo's sweat-drenched cheeks. The crisp sound of the blows echoed through the spacious suite.
Yet Takeo remained lost in his depraved, vacant state--eyes unfocused, tongue lolling, a shameless thrall oblivious to the world. Zulu's harsh actions elicited no response, as if Takeo's consciousness had fled, leaving only a hollow, chiseled shell behind.
"Tch… looks like I really fucked you senseless. Can't even hear me anymore," Zulu muttered under his breath, his tone laced with a mix of lingering hunger, mild regret, and smug satisfaction at his prey's complete submission.
END