Story and Art by
Story and Art
Tenaki reached the castle gate at noon. He knew why he had been summoned. An army of invaders was approaching and soon it would reach the open plains to the east. Tomorrow a final battle would decide the fate of Tenaki's master, the Shogun whose name was Kanemoto, and Tenaki would ride at the head of his army.
For hundreds of years Tenaki's forefathers had lived on Kanemoto's land and defended the estates from rival shoguns. From those ancestors Tenaki had inherited physical and mental traits of the Samurai, and now he was the bravest of them all. In stature he was magnificent, almost a foot taller than most of his men; and his strength was heralded throughout the land.
When Tenaki stood before the Shogun and bowed, in the great hall of the castle, he saw in the eyes of Kanemoto something he had never seen before. It was not fear. It was resignation; and before a word was spoken Tenaki knew that his fate had been sealed. In guttural phrases, brutally frank and without embellishment, Kanemoto described their perilous situation. His rival's army was great, more than twice as large as his own, and it had ravaged three other shoguns along the way. Tomorrow, Kanemoto and Tenaki would fight with their men, fight to the very last man, and then they would be defeated.
As he was about to dismiss the man who had been his favorite of all the Samurai, Kanemoto spoke these words:
The Samurai's life, like the cherry blossom's, is
beautiful and brief. For you, as for the flower,
death will follow gloriously.
One of the Shogun's aides informed Tenaki that tonight was to be a special night and the warrior was to be granted his every wish; and so Tenaki spoke these words:
"I ask that the woodland teahouse be my abode tonight. The moon is full and the nearby springs are flowing warm and clear. And my second wish is that Rikishi join me there at midnight, to fight for the honor of becoming a Samurai."
His wishes were granted.
For over a year Tenaki had watched Rikishi elevated in rank among the bushi, or warrior class. By winning every wrestling match he had ever fought Rikishi was entitled to fight one last bout, with Tenaki; and if he survived that contest he would become a Samurai. Now Rikishi would have that chance. He would wrestle Tenaki in the teahouse at midnight.
When Tenaki arrived at the teahouse a geisha greeted him, served wonderful food to him, sang and danced for him, and then massaged his naked body. She waited with great anticipation, hoping for an invitation to sleep with him, but the handsome Samurai dismissed her and she departed in tears. Tonight was to be a night to remember and the geisha was not part of his plan. He prepared the arena for the ensuing contest, arranging the tatami mats and opening wide the shoji screens, and the teahouse was flooded by the silvery light of the full moon.
In the hot springs below the teahouse Tenaki passed the evening hours. He thought about his many contests with brave warriors, brutal fights with no holds barred, usually ending with the challenger disabled or unconscious. Submission was considered dishonorable. Tenaki broke the bones of his opponents more frequently than not and left them bloodied and immobile. He had never lost a match.
Tonight, however, as he lay in the hot waters of the spring, a wave of warm sensuality washed over him as he thought of Rikishi. He remembered the magnificent youth as he appeared in tournaments: over six feet tall, a marvelous physique; and he recalled how the young warrior dispatched his opponents with speed and awesome strength. Lost in those dreams and reverie, Tenaki watched his own penis as it floated between his legs, tumescent, growing.
An hour before midnight Tenaki returned to the teahouse. For an hour he prayed.
In the distance, on the trail that led to the teahouse, the sound of a horse's hooves broke the silence. Nearer the sounds came, until horse and rider arrived at the gate. Then he heard approaching footsteps and Tenaki's heart beat faster.
No words were spoken as Rikishi entered the teahouse. The warrior bowed to his captain, and then he slowly removed his robe and carefully folded it, placing it in the doorway. He stood at attention, and he waited.
Tenaki's eyes roamed over the challenger's body, admiring the broad shoulders, the tiny waist, the muscular arms and bulging thighs. He was aware that Rikishi matched him in height and was close to his weight, and he would soon know if the youth possessed an organ equal to his own. Tenaki was aroused. He arose and removed his robe.
The fighters wore silken loincloths, the traditional garb for tournaments and in matches performed for royalty. Tonight the loincloths were merely ceremonial; it was time to strip the cloth away, to face one another in absolute truth, and to test the depth of their masculinity. They began to unwind the several yards of silk, slowly and provocatively. Two gigantic organs were at last exposed and the combatants bowed, one to another. In the dim light of the night four eyes were lit with the fire of sexual desire.
Tenaki and Rikishi faced each other in the center of the tatami mats, crouched forward and glared at one another, fiercely. This odd behavior was designed to intimidate an opponent; and often the glaring would go on and on, with both men waiting for the moment of attack. This night the atmosphere was electric and the facing off continued for more minutes than they could count. Both of the men began to perspire, a sign of excitement; and their cocks became turgid as they filled with blood.
Soon Tenaki's penis was hard and pointed to the sky, a warrior's sword bathed in the silver light of the moon. The Samuari who attained an early erection and maintained it throughout the match was considered a champion whether he won or lost. Tenaki was a champion. But Rikishi was in awe of his captain, the greatest of the Samurai. His sword was not entirely ready for the battle. The fighters withdrew from their crouched positions and Tenaki dipped whale oil from a nearby cask. He poured the oil on Rikishi's chest. In rivulets the oil ran between the pectoral muscles and over the abdominals and reached his genitals. As Rikishi massaged his chest and abdomen and swollen penis, the muscles glistened in the moonlight. Quickly the marvelous cock of Rikishi was a sword to be reckoned with: it was as long as Tenaki's and almost as thick, a gleaming spear of silver.
At once the battle was joined. Two magnificent bodies crashed together; oiled muscles slapped and sweat spattered; droplets of moisture reflected light like diamonds in the air; grunts of surprise and admiration broke the silence; two solid silver shafts were held aloft, eager for the battle. A test of strength then commenced: hands were locked, chests slammed together, biceps strained.
When Rikishi felt the mighty power of Tenaki he knew that only his speed and agility would save him, and he broke away; but he was not prepared for the onslaught that followed, the explosive blow to his sternum and the chopping punches to his kidneys. Momentarily stunned and bewildered, he backed up and turned, seeking escape; but Tenaki was behind him, and then Rikishi felt muscular arms encircling him. He was trapped in one of the champion's favorite holds. Tenaki often used the bearhug to finish an opponent, but now it was designed to weaken Rikishi, and the strategy was working. The vise tightened and Rikishi writhed, unable to breathe, powerless to escape.
The champion sensed that he had an early advantage and decided to take Rikishi to the mat. He dumped him like a sack of rice; and when Rikishi got to his knees Tenaki was waiting for him. The vicious hammerlock might have dislocated another wrestler's shoulder but Rikishi withstood the assault.
Fueled by erotic passion, Tenaki reveled in the domination of his young foe. He savored the feel of his hands and arms on the oiled sinews of Rikishi's body, and so he released the hammerlock. Now positioned under Rikishi's broad back, his sweaty chest pushing against it, Tenaki gripped the big cock like the hilt of a sword.
Rikishi broke away, struggled to his feet, and attempted to keep away from the aggressor; but Tenaki was on the attack and easily trapped him in a guillotine. With his right fist Tenaki pounded Rikishi's ribs, again and again, until the young fighter shouted in pain. The right fist closed on Rikishi's cock once again. Tenaki smiled. The hardon had not diminished, it had become more rigid in the heat of battle, and Tenaki knew in his heart that this man would be a champion.
Perhaps Tenaki became overconfident, or perhaps his focus was blurred by the organ in his right hand. Some error in strategy allowed Rikishi to throw him off balance; and in an instant Tenaki found himself on his back, with his head locked in the powerful arms of the challenger.
The hold lasted for several minutes. Tenaki's breath became shallow, he was becoming light-headed, he struggled to break the headlock. But Rikishi had now recovered from the initial onslaught and felt stronger and stronger. In fact, Rikishi sensed that his hold was so deadly that it might render the champion unconscious. He relaxed his grip. 'Why', he thought, 'do I want the battle to go on, on through the night? Even if it might end in my own destruction?' Most warriors understand the inexplicable pleasure of combat for combat's sake. There is some mysterious alchemy in the agony of defeat.
He released the headlock and Tenaki rolled away. Both men were on their knees with Rikishi in control.
Now it was Rikishi's turn to hold the splendid body of his hero and grip the sword of Tenaki's manhood. Both of the fighters slowed the action and breathed deeply. The summer night was humid and perspiration dripped from them, sweat combined with oil lubricated every movement, and Tenaki was momentarily overcome by the massaging hand of Rikishi.
When Rikishi made his next move he sealed the fate of Tenaki. The young challenger had always won his matches by using his powerful legs. In this match he had waited for an opportunity to crush Tenaki between his thighs, and this was the moment. The body scissors locked around the champion's ribcage and all the muscular might of Rikishi signaled Tenaki's doom. For the first time the champion was being dominated by a magnificent male. He was being pushed to the point of orgasm. He fought against it, gritted his teeth, moaned with every assault of those muscular thighs, and waited for the coup de grace.
The body scissors lasted an eternity. Rikishi was relentless. Periodically he struck the heel of his left hand against Tenaki's pectoral muscles, karate chops that resounded in the silent space, each one taking its toll. Tenaki groaned but would not submit. He was unable to prevent the crucifix hold that followed, and his torment continued. Repeatedly, Rikishi pounded his ribs and levered his right arm until the doomed fighter uttered words of despair: "Ee yeh, Rikishi! Ee yeh!"
Tenaki now realized that his defeat was imminent. But this match was different than all of his other contests. Never before had a challenger thrilled him as did Rikishi. And in defeat he would experience a new kind of victory, for the moment would be orgasmic; and he would go down before a magnificent, young warrior, a true Samurai. After all, this was a game. It was a game of subjugation and submission, of triumph and defeat, of sexual release and unbridled passion. So he would play it out to an absolute climax.
He did not resist when Rikishi mounted him, pinned his arms and began the rhythmic male2male mating. The challenger's cock flattened Tenaki's rigid penis and then plowed it until Tenaki whispered pleadingly "hai . . hai . . hai". He looked into the eyes of the handsome new champion and saw himself, and in the center of his sexual being he felt swords crossed and throbbing.
The contest of swords, the battle of magnificent silver weapons, continued for several minutes, driving the combatants to the edge of ecstacy, and then Rikishi lunged against Tenaki's surging scepter and they climaxed together in a mighty rush of super samurai warrior jizz.
Samurai legend held that two warriors who mixed their seed in combat would live long and happy lives. Heroic men often discovered their true sexuality while wrestling and chose the path of Bi-do, or "the beautiful way"; and the love of one Samurai for another was called Nanshoku. Tonight, in a teahouse lit by an August moon, Rikishi became a Samurai. Two beautiful men had tested one another in combat and discovered Bi-do. And now they professed Nanshoku, love and allegiance forever.
Our heroes would not live long lives. Tomorrow, they would ride together at the head of an army, charge into a hail of arrows, and they would surely perish. Together, swords held high and smiles of victory on their lips, they would die "the beautiful way", the way of the Samurai.
The cult of the Samurai emphasized masculinity and was very much like the creed that evolved in ancient Greece. Homosexuality was practiced in the Samurai camps, usually among warriors and their young recruits. Love of women was devalued because it was thought to feminize a man; in fact, homosexual love was considered more noble than heterosexual love.
We know that their style of wrestling predated Sumo, and was more like pankration (no holds barred; a combination of throws, blows and ground wrestling; pretty brutal). Perhaps my fiction is not too far from reality.
It's a fascinating subject and I would enjoy hearing from anyone who can add to my fantasies about the Samurai.
The Man2Man Alliance
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