The Butt Warrior - Part 1
I was in my prime, 17 victories, zero defeats and a pile of money in the bank. The Global Underground Gladiatorial Arena, (it had an ancient Japanese name, but no-one used it any more) was the best kept secret in the fighting world. Only the wealthiest people ever got to see the fights and only the best combatants ever got to compete. The fights took place in closed arenas all across the world, and were broadcast to their exclusive audiences securely. Massive amounts of money changed hands, as the highly privileged and wealthy watched the brutal fights and placed their extravagant bets.
There were few rules in a match for GUGA, and a referee was the only other person in the small arenas with the fighters. It was simple, no weapons were allowed except your own body, each combatant entered the arena wearing just a ceremonial piece of clothing that resembled a jockstrap. You did not start fighting until the referee indicated, and then it was no holds barred! There were no submissions, no pin falls, no scoring. You simply fought until one of you was unconscious. Your opponent could surrender to you, but yo didn't have to accept it and could continue until he was unconscious, you could even kill him if you wanted to, but it was considered a cowardly thing to do. There were other rules and stipulations, but they hardly ever came into play, and a lot of them were leftover from ancient times, honoring customs that no longer existed. The tournament had existed in one form of another for over a thousand years.
There were rules of conduct outside of the arena, if you wanted to keep fighting and not be disgracefully dismissed. You could not communicate with any paying clients, your separation from them was vital to ensure no match fixing. You were not allowed to meet or know your opponents in advance, all you were told is which fighting school they were from.
There were hundreds of schools across the world, most of then very old, teaching fighting techniques that often weren't even known to the rest of the world. I was from a British school, which had only been allowed into the GUGA in the past 5 years. I was trained in a fusion of martial art styles from aikido to wrestling. It was a streamlined fighting system, developed by very smart fighters, and it trimmed away all the excessive crap from a lot of different ancient fighting forms. Some of the old schools resented my training, feeling that it lacked the ceremonial aspects of the 'old ways'. I was seen as an arrogant newcomer to their old boys club.
But with 17 straight wins behind me, I didn't give a shit what they thought of me. And in my arrogance, I often took great pleasure in stomping on their 'ancient' traditions. I had landed several fighters from more traditional schools with severe career ending injuries, often finding ways to hurt and humiliate them, just to make the point. My modern brawling MMA style, was far superior to their ceremony laden traditions. I was going to get to the maximum of 20 straight wins and then retire. No 'new' school had ever achieved that, they would have honor me as a champion, regardless of my honor less background.
So when my next fight was announced I was surprised to hear that it wasn't a challenge from any of the well known schools. I thought they would be clamoring to break my winning streak. Instead it came from a very obscure school in Africa. They hadn't entered many fighters in the past 30 years. But they had been part of the tournament since it's beginning, so they were respected by the old traditionalists.
Now since it was forbidden to meet or view the techniques of other fighters, I had to rely on my support team back at my fight school to research whatever they could about the opponent I would face. After a long morning of training and sparring , I sat down with my coach, who pulled out a thin file of printed papers.
"That's all we've got?" I asked incredulously, as normally the file was as thick as my arm.
"This place is obscure, they've been off the grid their entire existence. And there is virtually nothing about the details of their fighting style. We found an scan of an old book that records something about them, but a lot of the text is incomplete."
He handed me a page of incomprehensible writing, obviously scanned from a handwritten document. I know the school was in Kenya, so I presumed this was Swahili.
"We hired a guy to translate this for us, but he couldn't make much sense of it. He said there was too much damage to the original. The first few pages say it's a manual for their fighting style, but then the damaged pages just have obscure references to parts of the body."
"Which body parts?" I asked, "Maybe there's some clue in that."
"That's the thing, it's like a riddle. Lots of references to the 'punda', 'ubavu' and 'korodani', which are the butt, armpit and crotch. But i can't figure out what they are about in context." My coach looked genuinely perplexed.
"So what do we know?" I was disappointed, I didn't like going in this blind, "Anything useful from this nonsense?"
"We have some good info on the kind of fighters they recruit, their nutritional and physical regimen." He pushed over a stack of papers to me. I took a few moments to leaf through them, digesting the information in them.
"All they eat is this one stew?" I started reading down the long list of ingredients.
"Yeah, like sumo wrestlers. It's all they're allowed to ever eat. It's loaded with protein, fats, fibre, carbs and masses of legumes. They go through buckets of the stuff in a day. Makes for some very big, hefty fighters." He pushed me over a black and white picture that looked like it had been taken 60 years ago.
It was of a humongous African man, towering over a European, posing for the picture. The African man was wearing the ceremonial 'jockstrap' of the GUGA. He was a massive mound of muscle and fat, his arms and legs thick and his gut heavy, round and solid. I smiled, my confidence boosted seeing the picture.
"So these guys are lunkers then?" I used my own term for a certain type of fighter that often turned up in the tournament. A 'lunker' was a big muscled, often fat brawler, who relied on their size and power to overwhelm their opponents.
Lunkers generally didn't do well at their matches. A well trained fighter could run rings around them, and their slow reflexes and their dependence on power moves made them easy prey.
"Yeah, from what I can see, they are." My coach responded, "But there's something strange about this stew though." I flicked back to my page of ingredients, "Those five ingredients highlighted in blue are these rare herbs, that used to be used together, centuries ago as a form of paralyzingly poison. And the two ingredients listed in red, are derived from spider venom, which was also an ingredient in the same poison mix."
"Why would they make their fighters eat poisons?"
"These poisons don't do shit when you eat them, the whole cocktail only works when it's breathed in. According to our translator, who's quite a Kenyan military history buff, they used to use this poison by blowing it in powder form into their enemies faces. When they breathed it in, it paralyzed their muscles. But that doesn't explain why they would be eating the stuff."
"Maybe it's some warrior culture thing, eating something deadly to make yourself stronger. History is littered with that kind of bollocks." I was not so impressed with this matchup now, it was starting to look like this fight was going to be a joke, which meant less enthusiastic betting, which generally meant less winnings for me.
"So who has he fought before?" I was searching for info now, hoping for something that might make this fight interesting.
"Only one match, but he won it. He took out Frank Docker."
I raised my eyebrows, I had beaten Frank on my second fight. The guy was a clumsy idiot, almost a lunker in his style, but with some meager kickboxing experience. It had taken me less than two minutes to knock him out.
"That's no achievement." My disdain was obvious.
"That's not the strange thing though. Frank got taken away through 'rite of slavery'."
"What the fuck!" I was shocked, shit like that hadn't happened for decades.
The 'rite of enslavement' dated back to the days when people still died in the fights. If your knew your opponent intended to kill you, and you wanted to retain your honor and live, you would prostrate yourself face in front of the referee with your arms forward and your palms upwards.
The ref would then declare your offer to put yourself into slavery to your opponent, ending the match. You would then either offer up a specific amount of money in Japanese Yen, to buy back your freedom or you could give yourself over to your opponent as a slave by remaining prostrate and silent. The amount of money was a pittance, it added up to about 68 US Dollars, because it was based upon the going rate for a slave in the 1500's. Every fighter always had enough Yen with them at every fight to cover themselves, as there were dozens of different fines and rules you could violate that required a ceremonial amount of money to cover. (Such as insulting the ref or wearing your 'jockstrap' incorrectly) I was shocked by Frank's fate, but not entirely surprised.
"Frank was an idiot!" I snorted, "He probably got scared by this guy, thought he was going to kill him, and then put himself down to end the match. Then he realized he didn't have the right money"
"That's possible." said my coach, "But let's be careful anyway. Even though Frank wasn't much of a fighter, he was from a new school. The old boys didn't like him just as much as they don't like you. The only difference is, you win matches. And this Kenyan school is as old as any of them, and their history has been blatantly covered up."
"Then let's make sure I have double the Yen required with me, in case this is some kind of trick to take me out. But it seems clear this guy I'm fighting is going to be a lunker. And the big guys always go down hard."
And with that, I discarded my doubts , and focused my mind and body on my training.
Two weeks later, I arrived at the location in Kenya. I arrived alone, as was required, with a single bag, containing my fighting garb, Yen and a change of clothes. It was oppressively hot and the location was remote, outside of any major settlement along a dust road. The driver who dropped me off was hired by the GUGA. All fights started like this, to keep them absolutely secret from the authorities. The building in front of me was a large windowless hut. I could see a satellite dish on the roof, know I was at the right place. The external appearance of the place made it seem abandoned, but as I approached the door, two well dressed Asian men stepped out to greet me. I knew their faces from my previous matches, they had been on the door at about 6 times before. I didn't know their names and I was forbidden to ask. One took my bag, checked it's contents thoroughly, while the other searched me.
I was escorted inside and into a short corridor which opened onto the dirt floor of the arena. The heat inside here was also oppressive, but I had been conditioning myself for weeks, so i knew it wouldn't affect my performance. I wasn't even sweating. I was directed to a door immediately on my left and I passed through it to a familiar sight.
The room was a fighters shrine, a place to meditate and pray before the match began. A gold idol of a dragon was in the centre of the room, and there was water and a small meal laid out for me. It was adorned with all the ceremonial bullshit that came with the GUGA. I never paid attention to it, never left an offering at the shrine, nor meditated as tradition normally declared. I got a kick out of flaunting my ignorance of their spiritual beliefs and being a heathen wasn't reason enough to stop me fighting.
I knew I had about two hours in this room, when I left this room it was through another door straight to the arena. This time, spurred on by what had happened to Frank, I deliberately took out the Yen I had with me and placed it in the offering bowl at the centre of the shrine. This way, even if by some chance I did end up facing the 'rite of slavery' the money was there and easily seen.
I sat down to eat the meal, and over the next few hours i did gentle sparring exercises and kept myself limber. I heard a noise outside the door I entered by, and realized my opponent had arrived. There was barely a half hour to go now.
Shortly afterwards I changed into my ceremonial gear. I stood, virtually naked, in front of the mirror and admired my compact, thick body. This lunker didn't stand a chance, I decided. There was the ringing of a bell, a single tone to indicate the fighters were to enter the arena and present themselves. As the fighter with more victories I entered first.
I walked confidently through the curtain and up across the dirt floor to the centre of the 40 foot square arena. I turned to face the referee, a Japanese man wearing long flowing ceremonial garb. I bowed my head, but only barely, performing the absolute minimum required to satisfy the rules. The referee acknowledged me in Japanese and I turned from him and stood on the white line in the ground which was my starting point for the match. I began my breathing exercises, to oxygenate my blood and as I did I became aware of a unusual, pungent smell. It was a distant scent that reminded me of lockers rooms. I put it out of my mind, I couldn't start getting distracted by strange smells in a county like this, or I'd be constantly sniffing out something foreign and foul.
The bell chimed a second time, and out of the opposite door came my opponent. I was momentarily stunned at the size of him. He was a dark skinned colossus. He was a foot taller than me I estimated and he must have weighed close to 400lbs, perhaps more. He was a disgusting blend of powerlifter muscle and fat. Despite his massive size, his body didn't jiggle as he walked, indicating he was likely very strong. His walk was confident, but I could see he was slow.
As he came more into the light of the arena I could see he was glistening with sweat. This was puzzling, why would he be sweating before he even started fighting? He was the native here, this heat shouldn't bother him. He must have been using high energy warm up exercises. Not a wise move for a guy his size.
As he approached the ref I realized he was holding an colorful flower. I didn't know what kind flower, but I knew that tradition held that local warriors brought a native flower with them to offer to the referee as a sign of respect. Another tradition I enjoyed ignoring. As this monster came to stand in front of the ref, he bowed low, stooping low and averting his eyes, holding up the flower. The Ref smiled and placed the flower in a bowl on the arm of his chair behind him. The bowl on my side of the chair was conspicuously empty. As he bowed I got a glimpse of his humongous, bulbous ass. It was truly a disgusting sight, drenched in sweat and smooth. The cheeks parted as he bowed and I got a quick glimpse of the inside of his crack.
I was trying to focus on sizing up my opponent, but the opening of his ass crack in front of me intensified the distant smell in the room. I realized that locker room odor was coming directly from his big sweaty body. I wondered if that smell was a side effect of that nasty stew that they fighters from his school are all their lives. I pushed my disgust aside, a bad smell wasn't going to distract me. I'd fought a few less-than-hygienic opponents before, and this was no different.
He rose from his bow and at a signal from the ref moved to his line 6 foot in front of me. I got the full view of his big, heavy body. He was packed with muscle, and layered with fat. His arms were thicker than any I had seen, and his thighs and calves were like tree trunks. His skin was so dark I hadn't even been able to see his detailed tribal tattoos, which covered his entire chest arms and face. His face was rounded and thick lipped, very traditionally African in his appearance.
He glared at me, and as the ref spoke a phrase in Japaenese that indicated that the match would start in a few minutes, I was amused to notice he didn't bow to me. But then neither did I bow to him, but that was normal for me. I would have thought that he, being so mindful of tradition, would have bowed. But then I saw the anger in his eyes and I realized he had no respect for me. He was here to take me down, and he would not show me any sign of approval of my fighting style.
That was just fine with me though, as I had nothing but contempt for him too. Then, the ref sounded the chime next to his seat and the match was begun. He didn't even assume a fighting stance he just stood and opened his arms, beckoning me to try and hit him.
I wasted no time, I darted in and aimed a kick right at him. It connected with the side of his rib cage, and he didn't move. I moved out quickly as he smiled at me. His pungent odor was stronger when I was close in with him, it unsettled me for a second. But i regained my focus and he waved me on for another free attack.
But I knew this trick, I had seen it before from lunkers like him. He would no-sell the first few blows, to make me think he was invulnerable. It was a psychological tactic to scare me, but I knew how to turn it around on him.
I went in for a punch to the chest, but at the last second I fainted and connected a full power low kick to his kneecap and immediately uppercut to his solar plexus. He yelped in pain and bent over for a second, I leapt up and gave him a downward driven knuckle strike to the side of his big head.
He went flying forwards, losing his balance completely. He caught himself on his hands and in a second I was on him, pummeling his midsection with kicks. He moaned with each hit, and ended up lying on his side trying to deflect my attack with his hands.
I backed off for a second, smiling confidently. This was going to be easier than I thought, i watched as he got back to his feet. He turned and with a yell charged at me, trying to grab me and pull me into close-quarters grappling. But I was too fast, dodging him and assaulting his exposed ribs with uppercuts.
As he passed me with his arms upraised, I caught a stronger whiff of his armpit. The smell of it was overpowering, my nose wrinkled and I let out an involuntary gasp of disgust. There was something beyond just B.O. in that smell, I couldn't place what it was. My uppercuts connected hard and he yelped in pain again. I aimed a low power kick to the back of his knee and he dropped down to the mat again.
He quickly rolled and got back to his feet, out of my reach for a few seconds. I was almost disappointed, he was already obviously injured, and I wasn't even tired. This was too easy, and that was never good for the cash flow. A boring match, meant fewer bets and counter bets, which meant lower payouts for the winner. I allowed my huffing opponent to recover, ready to beat him down over and over until I was ready to knock him out completely.
He started to approach me again, his hands outstretched in front of him in an unusual fighting stance I'd not seen before. It left his midsection very vulnerable, and as he charged me, I ducked left under his arm and drove home several good hits to his solar plexus again, he yelped in pain, but made some unusual grappling move as he did.
By ducking under him, I had brought myself in very close to his body. Perfect for me, I could inflict a lot damage at the distance, but he seemed to have another motivation. His big thick arm wrapped around my head, I instinctively twisted to avoid getting caught in a chinlock. But by twisting his belly collided with my obliques and my face was pulled through his deep, sweaty, raunchy armpit. I was only in there for a brief second, before I twisted out of his slippery grip with ease.
I backed off from him, and turned to face him. I could feel his pit-sweat dripping down my forehead, I could smell him, his potent stink, all over my face. What the fuck was that move? Was it some kind of psychological thing, gross me out with his poor hygiene?
I angrily laid into him again, he tried to block me as much as his slow reflexes would allow. I was pissed at the humiliation, and he was paying for it. Punch after punch of mine landed on his face and chest, and after 20 seconds he had a bloodied nose and was staggering backwards. I pulled back for a second, I was out of breath. I must have overreached myself.
But that was bullshit, I was fully conditioned for longer fights than this. I was feeling oddly groggy, like I had taken a hit to the head. What was wrong with me! I focused, pulling my energy in and channelling it on my opponent.
I went in for him again, pummeling him with blows. But he was blocking more than before. Had he gotten faster? Then I realized that no, it was me that was slower. This groggy feeling would not shake off.
Suddenly he pulled another grappling move on me. This time, he managed to get past my defenses, taking advantage of my slowed state, and flipped me into an inverted headlock. His thick arm locked around my skull, pushing my entire face deep into the confines of his nasty armpit.
I was totally taken off guard, the smell of his pit filling my lungs. And then I realized that the extra dimension of scent to his body, the one I couldn't place earlier, was a sickly herbal smell. It was the toxin! The one they ate with every meal! His body must be exuding it.
I was trapped in the funky armpit for about 3 seconds, but that was enough time for several drops of sweat to fall into my mouth and nostrils. I was able to twist and get some leverage and free myself from his disgusting grip. But it was too late, he had achieved the edge over me that he had intended from the start.
My limbs were feeling heavy and leaden, my head was cloudy and with each labored breath inhaled more of the stink of him that was trapped on my face. I tried to wipe away his poison with my hands, but before I could do anything he was on me again.
Diving in close to me, he wrapping his massive arms around me in a bearhug. My arms dangling over his sholders he lifted me into the air, my head right next to him. I yelled in shock, his thick arms and massive chest began crushing the life out of me. Normally a bearhug was a useless, desperate move. There were dozens of ways to counter them, but I didn't have the strength for any of them, thanks to his poisonous odor.
I had never felt a power or strength like this before, and the lethargic effect of the toxin meant i couldn't effectively brace my muscles against the assault. I could feel my ribs bending, the breath being forced from my lungs. His head right next to mine, he spoke into my ear and I heard his voice for the first time.
"You are finished, little Ronin!" His accent was heavy, but his English was clear, even using the tournament nickname for fighters like me, "Your lack of honor have earned this fate, you can do nothing to fight me now!"
He paused for a second and with a guttural yell, poured all of his strength into the bearhug for a second. I yelled as the pressure became unbearable and I felt a crunching sound. A sharp pain spread throughout my chest. He had cracked one of my ribs. After feeling this crunch, he reduced the pressure again and I moaned in pain on his shoulder.
"I could break every rib right here, and you couldn't do a thing. The venom in my sweat has slowed your muscles, you can't fight me now." His voice was low and threatening in my ear, "I could break you completely, now, in my embrace. But that would be too honorable a death for scum like you, with no respect. You must suffer for much longer, and face total humiliation to be redeemed."
He yelled again, squeezing with his full strength, the pressure and the pain were so intense I couldn't even yell. I just made an empty moaning sound, I started to taste blood in the back of my throat. He reduced the pressure again, allowing me to flop on his shoulder.
"The poison that ails you is more potent than you know, you have only inhaled it from the place were it is weakest." His satisfaction and malice was terrifying. I had never felt so helpless, "I will release you now, and place you in a prison of flesh and poison that is suitable penance for your dishonor."
Suddenly he released his crushing hug and dropped me onto my back on the dirt floor. He turned around, straddling me as he went, while i moaned, clutching my crushed ribs and coughing some blood. I only had a few seconds to recover before he dropped to his knees, this thick calves pinning both my arms. His massive, cavernous ass was right above my face, held about 2 foot away. He rather dexterously moved his feet to grip my head, holding my face directly upwards.
I watched in horror as he reached back with his hands and pulled apart the cheeks of his butt. I was hit by a wave of stink, musty and powerful. But underlying that stink was the herbal scent of the poison that permeated every pore of his body, but much much stronger this time. I realized what he intended to do, and I drove every bit of strength I had left into trying to escape.
His open crack began to descend, he was clearly taking his time, enjoying my helplessness. I strained with all my power and was able to free my arms with an almighty effort. I knew if my face went into that dank pit, I would be so overwhelmed by the toxin that it might even kill me. I stopped the descent of his ass with my arms, willing my strength back into my muscles.
I realized that the effects of the toxin from his armpit was wearing off. I was able to hold his butt at bay, and it seemed it was just far away enough that I wasn't experiencing then poisonous effects of it. He wasn't prepared for my quick recovery clearly, and by flipping my body and bracing my legs on the floor I was able to unseat him and send him tumbling onto his side.
I knew I had to move quickly, and i quickly wrapped my legs around his neck in a fig-4 head scissor and dropped to my side. My legs were thick and powerful, and I locked my left hamstring and calf onto his neck like an anaconda. I started to mercilessly choke him. The position I was in meant I was staring at his wide open back and his horrible fat ass. I was so furious that I was able to ignore the pain in my ribs. I was going to kill this guy! It was permitted to do so, but no one ever did out of 'respect'. Well I had no respect any more.
"Die you fucker!" I shouted at him, "You wanted to choke me with your stink! Well I prefer to choke people for real!"
He was flailing, his fat fingers grabbing uselessly at my iron grip. He started shuffling his butt around towards me, but I knew there was no way he could bend backwards to get that foul pit near enough to my nose and mouth to poison me again.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing, asshole!" I bellowed at him, "There is no way you can get that ass of yours close enoug...."
My sentence was cut off by a loud, rasping noise from his butt. I realized he had just unleashed a massive fart. I was hit by a gassy odor stronger than I had ever smelt in my life, it made me retch and cough. And it also made everything go slightly blurry.
And then I realized what he had done, as the muscles in my legs relaxed and unwound, my arms were no longer able to hold me up and I fell onto my back. The smell surrounded me and penetrated me, the toxin filling my nose and lungs.
He pulled my legs off his neck, gasping for breath. He rolled over and dropped his entire 400lbs on top of me, laying on me face to face. The weight caused my broken ribs agony, probably worsening the fractures. He looked down at me as he regained his composure.
"No mercy for you now, Ronin." He whispered, "I am going to sit on your face and make your breathe my poison until your entire body is limp and unmoving. It is the most helpless you will ever feel, and it is the most humiliating way a warrior can be defeated. And you have truly earned it."
With that he lifted himself up and spun around. There was no teasing this time, no slow descent. His vast butt crack swung into view, his legs pinned my arms and suddenly my whole face was enveloped in sweaty, dank darkness.
The smell and feel of his toxic butt-pit was worse than I could have ever imagined. I yelled out, trying to buck him off, but my strength just wasn't there. My first full inhale filled my mouth and nose with his sweat and funk. I could taste the poison on the back of my tongue now, I knew I hadn't long before it overwhelmed me completely.
He began wiggling his butt up and down, back and forth. Rubbing the putrid sweat of his ass all over my face. This was beyond any punishment I had ever expected, it was humiliating in a measure that made me sick to my stomach. (Although the smell might also be the thing making me sick) I beat my fists ineffectively against his obese cheeks, but there was no power in my strikes anymore.
"Still some fight in you, little man?" I heard his deep voice from above, "I will take that from you now..."
There was a rumbling above my face, and I felt something flex just in front of my nose and mouth. A stream of hot, fetid air rasped out of his hole and washed right over my face. It stunk so badly it burned my eyes, making them tear up. I was too panicked to remember to hold my breath, and sucked in the humongous fart. I felt it inside me, tasted it, smelled it, permeating my body.
And then my limbs slowly stopped their struggle, the feeling in them started to fade away. I realized the poison was now taking full effect, totally paralyzingly me. I screamed and yelled my submission into the black, sticky cavern of his ass, hoping my yells might convince him to let me be defeated.
But he answered my yells were answered by yet another loud, low rumbling fart. This one was longer, smellier and warmer than the last one. It forced it's way into my nose and mouth, and I immediately felt the muscles on my face and torso going numb. The smell was so foul, I felt like throwing up. But i couldn't, suddenly I couldn't even talk anymore. The poison had paralyzed my vocal cords too!
I could hear him laughing above me, he wriggled and gyrated his huge ass on my face. Wiping his butt sweat and slime all over my skin. I felt totally defeated, violated and degraded. All I could do was breathe and move my eyes. The smells and sights were like something from a disgusting nightmare. And then i realized I had been set up for this all along.
Why else would a foul smelling warrior like this come out of nowhere! He was the final solution of the old schools. The bait no cocky fighter could resist. A big slow heavy opponent, who drew you in close and then defeated you in a humiliating manner that you could not defend against. I lay there, in terror, helpless wondering what was coming next.
My worries were answered with another gas attack. He obviously wanted to make sure I wasn't going to recover from this one. This one was slow and meticulous, he clearly had precise control over his sphincter and gas. The smell covered every pore of my face and neck, seeping into every gland. The stink sent me deeper into my helpless paralysis. I couldn't even whimper.
The smelly cheeks of his butt pressed in hard against my face, I felt them slipping and sliding all over as he gently gyrated. All i could think was 'Please let this be over soon.' I would never fight again, I would slink away from this tournament, retire and disappear. Anything but spend any more time in this rancid smelling crack.
As if in answer to my mental pleas, the foul crevasse was lifted from my face. He stood up and loomed over me, staring down at my limp body. Without the smelly assault to deal with I now became aware of the full effects of the toxin. All my muscles were unresponsive and except for my lungs and my eyes, I could move no part of my body. The effect was terrifying, totally helpless and at the mercy of my nasty opponent, but completely conscious and aware of everything. I watched in fear as he reached down and flipped me over onto my face, my breathing quickened as I wondered what he was going to do to me. Face down in the dirt, I felt him move my arms so that they were outstretched in front of me, with my palms facing upwards. He grabbed my head and pulled it up so that I was stating straight forwards. Suddenly the referee shouted a command in Japanese to end the match, but I didn't understand why.
I realized that I was facing directly towards the refs chair. The elderly robed man approached me and bent down to look in my eyes. He nodded and stood speaking in heavily accented English.
"You have offered yourself into slavery, as dictated by the ancient tradition. This fight is over, the victory goes to Nangwaya!" He indicated my opponent, this was the first time I had heard his name, "Do you have the offering to buy back your freedom?"
I now understood fully how I had been set up, they had worked the rules against me from the beginning. I was conscious and aware, but paralyzed. So the referee accepted that I was laying in position voluntarily. But since I could not speak or gesture, I had no way to make the offering of money required to regain my freedom. I now realized what had happened to Frank before me, these fuckers were going to give me over into slavery to this massive smelly beast. And there was nothing I could do to prevent it!
The ref waited patiently, then said.
"So be it! Nangwaya! This lowly slave is yours to do with as you please."
"My humblest thanks, wise master." Responded the huge black man, bowing low in front of the ref.
With that the referee turned and left and I was alone with my new master. I knew the cameras were off and it was just me and him now. Using his massive foot he pushed me over onto my back, he stared down at me, smiling. I watched in unmoving dread as he pulled off his ceremonial jockstrap. His massive thick dick was freed, and I realized he had been sporting an erection under there.
He dropped down onto his knees, straddling my face. I was forced to inhale the sweaty stench of his crotch as he grasped his cock and started to work it. I was almost on the edge of tears as I realized what slavery to this man now meant. He was not only a sadist, this whole fight had been a sexual thrill for me him. My mind went crazy wondering what horrible things he had in store for me. The smell of his crotch was also tainted with the poison, so there was no chance of me regaining any movement while he straddled me like this. So I was forced to watch and smell him as he worked himself up to climax. Suddenly, he shot, a great gushing load, but he placed his hand over the end of his cock as he did, so the thick, sticky semen didn't fire off, but dribbled down his dick and dripped off it in great globs onto my face.
His cum was filling my nostrils, the only means by which I could breath right now. I started to panic as more and more of it leaked out of his throbbing dick, I was drowning in his dick slime! After a few seconds my nose and eyes were filled with white sticky cock-juice. I thought this was the end, smothered in the cum of another man. Not the warriors death I had imagined for myself.
But he clearly didn't want that for me, he reached down and wiped away the cum around me nose, clearing my airways to breathe again.
"Little slave, do not fear. I will not kill you. No, death is many years from your door." His voice was dripping with menace, "I am going to take you back with me, to my school. There you will learn a new understanding of humiliation, as you serve out your sentence. Only when your mind and spirit are broken by the stink of mine and my brothers asses, will you be let free. Then to serve as a warning to others who think that fighting without respect or honor is welcome in this ancient place."
He swiveled around on his feet, surprisingly dexterously, and once against I was staring at his massive ass over my face. He pressed down quickly, engulfing me into rancid blackness again.
"Let us make sure that you are properly saturated with my poison. We don't want you trying to escape on the journey back to your new life of torment." He began to laugh in a deeply disturbing way, and I felt his asshole pucker, ready to blast me with another terrible fart.
But this was only the beginning of my descent into ass hell...
