Chapter Text
Ken Masters (September 20, 20XX)
I promised myself I wouldn't cry.
The slim bamboo cane cracks against my bare back, flicking away a line of sweat with each blow. One after another the lashes paint over the older welts that line my skin. Bruises that'd been just about done healing flare up again, and they pulse with dull throbs when those new streaks of fire cut over them. The floorboards are cold against my naked torso. My nipples are pebbled and hard against the wood. Between the howls I snivel, panting like a bitch until the polished surface under me is damp with my breath, spotted with tears and saliva.
I'm sobbing: tears drip down my nose, the back of my throat tastes salty. Spittle flies with each yelp I let out.
It really is fucking amazing that a layer of cotton can make all the difference.
At first I'd thought this was going to be the same old shit. I could handle it, I told myself. I've had to get on all fours and clench my teeth for the rod before, and every time I was just about able to take everything the old man dished out. I wish he'd just leave me alone. It's not like dad would ever know if I just spent all my time in Japan this time dicking around instead of training.
But then Gouken told me to undo my belt and strip off my sleeveless uwa-gi before lying on the floor. So there I was in my red pants: bare-chested, a chill prickling my skin even though the evening air is still warn and heavy with humidity. I was mentally preparing for yet another beating when I winced at the next command.
“Ryu, hold down his ankles.”
God fucking dammit.
I bit my tongue and said nothing, just fumed and told myself to take this punishment like a man. The new setup made me nervous of course. Shirtless? Being held down? Was the old man just screwing with my head?
The heat flushed to my face when I felt Ryu's hands grip my bare ankles, pressing his weight down to keep me pinned. I knew from personal experience Ryu had good grip strength. But he also knew restraint, and his fingertips dug into my skin just enough to keep from bruising. Still, I tried wiggling my feet to see how much slack he gave me. Not much.
The first blow caught me by surprise then. It was deceptively soft the way the cane cut through the air, like the edge of a hawk's wing. But then it struck, and the sound of rod against skin was like the sharp crack of thunder in my ears. I arched back, let out a choking gasp. My elbows dragged across the floor as I pulled my arms in reflexively, but Ryu held me steady and kept me from thrashing.
A second blow came, and a third. A layer of cotton would've absorbed the bite of the stick. It would've kept those knobs of the bamboo cane from bruising too much. I would've at least felt like I had a little protection! I'd already lost count a handful of blows in, too busy squealing in pain from the razor edge of that rod to think of anything else. The sound of that cane cracking against my skin rang in my ears.
This was hardly the first time I'd been whipped by Gouken. I'd been spending every summer being trained here in his dojo ever since I was twelve, and in this backwater village things get a little... traditional. Back then it'd only been a few light smacks to get me in line. Maybe a firm crack on the scalp that left a small bruise.
After what happened though, Dad must've told him to stop holding back.
So for the first time I'm really losing it. My breath heaves and I cough against the floor, leaving long, wet streaks of spittle against the wood. I sob. I howl. The blows came again and again, and I'm about to break and beg Gouken to stop, just please stop! Was he trying to kill me?!
And finally, for a moment, the rhythm of the beating hits a pause. There's sweet relief in that instant, but there's a tension too, because I know it's not over yet.
The tip of that slim cane prods at my chin now, and I lift my head to look up to the Master. The dude has scary-ass eyes when he's angry, but I've always been able to meet an authority stare for stare and grin like I don't give a shit.
This time I can only manage the stare.
“That’s twenty, Ken. You have another ten more to go. Would you like to rest for a minute or get it over with?”
For a moment I just meet his gaze silently: chest heaving, throat bobbing with each hard swallow. Fuck you, old man... I think to myself. As if he's gonna do favors for me. I’ve lived through more than enough “This is for your own good” and “This’ll build character” speeches and I don't need any more of this crap. I'm aching, and by this point I just want to die already.
“Keh,” I grunt, and quietly I put my face to the floor and let him get on with it.
I can be obedient when it suits me.
I hate this place. I hate this dojo in the middle of nowhere, this old karate sensei who should've been jailed for abuse long ago. No good coffee shops within fifty miles. No wifi. No girls. Still, that isn't the worst part.
I have my beef with the little brown-haired Japanese country boy that's supposed to be my sparring partner.
I flinch at the sound of the bamboo cane cutting through the air, and soon I'm yowling like a cat again.
~~~~~
(2 Weeks Earlier)
Her slim fingers were cold when they explored my body. They ran along my torso, squeezed my pecs, caressed my shoulders and arms. I'd become used to people admiring my physique. Modeling for dad's fashion company will do that.
It was one of those hot summer nights, so I'm in a red tank top and white board shorts. Part of the Masters summerwear line. Not too flashy, perfect for mingling. Normally I wouldn't be wearing the cowrie shell necklace or ankle bracelet- years of martial arts training made me wary of accessories that an opponent could grab onto- but it was a party, and being cute was my whole thing.
I just took a nice long drag off my vape, tilted my head back, and blew a puff of white smoke into the night air. The fruity aroma of vaporized cannabis resin mingled with the smell of chlorine and sunscreen and woodsmoke from the grill. The firepit gave off the faintest whiff of rubbing alcohol as the flames danced and flickered from the Tahitian blue glass pebbles. Warm chatter bubbled around us while laughter and the occasional heavy splash came from the pool.
"You've filled out even more this summer," Kay mused as she continued to touch me. I can feel the heat of my own pulse thudding in my chest... and twitching down below.
I smirk. "You almost sound disappointed."
"No, just... enjoying all these new contours," she purred. Her dark lips pulled into a faint smile, and she looked up at me through eyes ringed with deep black smudges.
She started playing with my hair, leaning into the arm I've got draped around her. It was still taking some getting used to, the fact that I'd gotten taller than her. Stronger. Well-muscled and athletic. Kay always liked her guys on the cuter, slimmer side.
I was just barely into my rebellious phase when first I met her at that Christmas party. Dad had decided I needed to wear my best, so I was sporting a freshly tailored eggshell white three-piece suit that I'd be outgrowing in six months. Kay though was this high school sophomore four years older than me, wearing her boyfriend's jacket and dressed in all black, though she'd snort if you ever described her as goth.
Her nail polish was chipped. Faint blue-gray trails of mascara skimmed down her cheeks, like she'd been crying. Her pants were far past distressed- they were practically tortured... slashed and strained so much they did nothing to hide the straight white scars along her thighs. I knew I had to put on a good impression. Act mature for my age. But I was a kid next to a teenager, and in that moment she scared the fuck out me.
Kay wasn't her real name, either. Her mom had been a fan of some old TV series that trended when she'd been born, and just had to name her daughter after the leading chick. Girl had every right to hate it when she got older.
"I just started bulking again," I grinned, giving my arm a flex. "Got gym five days a week now. A couple hours on weights, another hour of cardio, then I've got several sparring partners to rotate through."
"Several?" Kay leaned her head on my shoulder. She'd dyed her hair again recently... a dull silver-gray with a pink base this time. Like a manic pixie dream girl who'd tipped to the other end of bipolar disorder.
"Eh they're nothing compared to Ryu. Dude lives like a monk in the dojo. I can't exactly spend all day on martial arts like he does. Most of us have to plan for college and shit."
I took a sip from my red solo cup. Rum and Coke, easy on the Coke. I gazed into the sweet, heavy brew with a smile. God I missed the taste of debauchery, even if my mind was still fixed on Japan. Training was important, sure, but spending three months sober still felt like I'd wasted the best season of the year.
"Though I'd finally caught up to him this summer," I continued, "We're pretty much an even match now. Bet next year I'll be able to kick his ass consistently."
"Or you could just stay in town for once."
"Do I have a reason to stay?" I smirked.
"I can think of at least one..."
Her hand dipped down to fondle my cock through my shorts.
"Mnfhh..."
I sighed, leaning my head back. Part of me was well aware of the fact that the other guests here have been checking me out ever since I arrived. Like I said, it's not like I was unused to the attention. At least three outta four people here have seen my dick, if not in person then leaked through the selfies in that one recent incident. Besides, it's just that kinda party. By the end of the night the cleaning crew will have to swap out the jizz-tainted water from the hot tub and clear the condoms from the grounds with a rake. A handjob on the poolside couch is nothing.
Kay had given me my first kiss when I was a freshman, y'know. Ended up making out at two in the morning on a beachhouse sofa while Tyler lay passed out in the bedroom. I still remember how her kisses tasted like artificial mango from the energy drink she'd been working through.
Over the years I'd find other girls to play with, but like the tide Kay would drift back now and again. She'd lay claim to other firsts with me over time, with this hunger and intensity no other girl had.
Not that I minded, though. I liked the attention, once I got used to the fact that she was a crazy bitch. The butterfly tattoo she'd gotten etched into her sternum is a dead giveaway these days. She smelled like cheap perfume, sweat, and cigarette smoke. It still turns me on... practically synonymous with the scent of pussy.
"You... make a convincing argument..." I huffed. Kay kneaded my shaft from base to tip in a way that made my toes curl. "But... I don't... don't plan to slack off on my training..."
"Musclehead."
"Whore."
I winced as her nails dug into my arm. There was a predatory smirk on her lips. "If I were a whore I would've charged you a dozen times by now."
I'd been bricked up ever since she sat down next to me tonight, and even though I'd tucked to hide my boner she knew all my sweet spots. With my foreskin completely pulled back the head of my cock was rubbing against the inner lining of my boxer-briefs and dribbling precum like a leaky faucet. Even if she stopped now I'd probably be left with a pretty obvious wet patch soaking through the cloth.
But like a tease Kay switched to easing off just a little. It was at the point I was starting to whimper with the urge to hump up into her hand. I clenched my hips, pressed into the couch cusions like I wasn't trying to claw through it. Tried to keep in control. Desperation is for losers, and I'd decided early on that there was another girl I wanted to start off with tonight anyways.
She'd just slipped her hand under the waistband of my shorts for a little skin-on-skin contact when I sensed someone approaching behind us.
"You sluts sure are having a good time."
Tyler tussled my hair and chuckled. Feeling his fingers in my hair took me outta the moment. It was the sensory equivalent of hitting a speedbump, and all of a sudden I was jolted back to the present. Kay kissing a trail down my torso started to feel like a distraction. She pulled my shirt up to my chest, baring my abs.
"H-hey dude..." I huffed, resting a hand on the back of Kay's head.
"Done mingling already, puppy?" The back of the couch creaked as he leaned against it. "You know you've got all night to play, right?"
"Just giving the crowd a show," I huffed as those fingers smeared my own juices along my length.
Thriving in the LA social scene meant having looks, talent, or knowing how to network. Tyler's ability to juggle all three was what drew me into his circle. That, and he was an easy and reliable source for candy.
But I also knew that Tyler just wanted to show me off to his buddies. Nothing adds a glow to a social space quite like having a hot young athlete to hang out with. One of the little unspoken reasons as to why the guy chose to keep me in his contacts. Tyler prided himself on throwing some amazing house parties. And the hot young guests that attend them.
Tyler rolled his eyes. "Well if you really are gonna do tournament circuits be sure to protect your face. Can't have our local prettyboy all busted up in the moneymaker."
"I'd still have my charming personality- nghhh..."
"You know your dad would lose his shit if that happened." Tyler held out his hand then, and after a moment I passed him my vape pen. He took a long rip off of it.
"It's not like modeling's my fuckin' day job," I snorted. Dad only set up those gigs now and again to get me more involved in the company. Made me the face of it, more or less.
"Hey. Language," Tyler said in a strained croak, before exhaling in a long, misty stream and passing the vape back. Dude's got lungs like an orca.
"Fuck my language." It was an old inside joke between us, when I started cursing every other sentence in an attempt to fit in with his friends. I'd thought it made me seem more mature at the time. Tyler and his buddies thought the opposite. The asshole still doesn't let me live in down.
I took another pull and let the cacophany of the party roll over me like a storm. The sensations blended in a chaotic mix... the colored LED lights, the flowing beat of the music, the sound of half a dozen conversations muddled through the veil of my high. The slick, juicy strokes Kay was giving me stacked hot spikes of pleasure on top of one another until I was grazing the threshold.
I gripped the couch cushion. My legs trembled and straightened out, toes gripping the warm tiled edge of the firepit. A few heads turned our way. More than a couple hands twitched towards their owner's crotches.
Kay was about to start using her mouth when I exhaled all of a sudden, double-tapping her forearm with my hand.
"E-ease up..." I panted, almost pleading.
I almost yelped when I felt her nails dig into the inner flesh of my thigh, right next to my nuts. Okay, Kay was annoyed I'm putting her off, I get it. But she knows I'd circle back to her later.
"I'm gonna go get a drink." She straightened her jacket and strode off. I was left staring at her back, one hand reaching out, but it was too late to say anything. The onlookers blushed and turned away. A couple conversations that'd begun to trail off started back up with an awkward stutter.
"Don't worry, I'll help her cool off." Tyler sighed. They'd been dating the whole time I'd known them, so it was probably best to leave it to him. All I could do was adjust my shorts and ignore the ache in my nuts. It felt like some fluid went down the wrong tube for a moment.
"So..." I scrubbed my fingers through my hair. "Whacha think of Liz? The new girl."
"Eliza," Tyler corrected. "She's pretty cute. I would've thought she was a bit basic for you."
"Hey just because I've got broad tastes doesn't mean I don't appreciate the classics," I laughed. Blond preppy cheerleader-looking girl with a cute set of tits? Who'd say no?
"Probably took a lotta coaxing. She doesn't... y'know. Seem the type."
"Well..." I trailed off.
Tyler laughed and threw an arm around me, "See, this is why I love you, bro. Your cover photos make you look like such an angel but I know deep down you're a dirty lil' bad boy."
He's got me there. My obsession with anal was basically an open secret in this crowd.
I'd taken ownership of that long ago. If anything, it helped a lot. Filtered out the prudes, but more importantly it helped get girls mentally prepared. Give them time to process, maybe even practice a little for what I expected, in exchange for the privilege of getting pressed into the sheets by me.
"Here. I got something special for you." Tyler took out a glass pipe and a small envelope of folded wax paper. I leaned in to check out the blue-gray powder he was sprinkling into the bowl. It wasn't meth... Tyler knows that shit would be extra risky with my meds. He also knows ketamine wasn't my vibe. Some new designer shit that's being synthesized now, probably.
He plucked a lighter from his front pocket and lit the tiny pile as he sipped from the stem. It smelled like shoe polish. Or calligraphy ink.
I gave him a bit to soak it into his lungs before I asked.
"What is it?"
He exhaled, and the breath rolled from him like smoke from a dragon's maw. "Some new shit called Bliss. Gets the serotonin flowing without killing your boner. You'll love it."
He handed the pipe to me. Granted, there was that initial wariness of trying some new sugar, but I could always trust Tyler to have stuff that helped make a good time even better.
The powder was flecked with bits of black char now, but about half of it was still melted together like a crushed-up Jolly Rancher that'd been left out on a muggy day. I'd originally planned on dropping a couple tabs of acid chased with some ecstasy. Make tonight real special.
"I dunno if I wanna fly high on some new shit," I muttered, mostly to myself. There's only so many cross-fades I'd wanna handle at once.
Tyler looked at me for a good long while. His face was starting to flush, and he started scrubbing his cheek with a knuckle like he was fascinated by the texture of his own skin. I couldn't tell if he'd seriously come up that fast or if he was just thinking long and hard about what to say.
"Yeah I get it. Still kinda traumatized from what happened last time?"
"Last... time...?" I asked, trying to pretend I didn't know what he was talking about.
"Dude, come on. You guys left the door open."
"...Fuck."
I'd forgotten. I'd been zonked out on an extra-high dose of edibles and poppers, trying to test a new dosage limit. The girl who'd been pleasing me had decided it was a good time to experiment and propped my thighs on her shoulders. What started as some amazing head had turned into a deeply invasive surprise rimjob.
She'd barely touched my dick in the heat of it, but I'd nutted so hard it'd splashed against the bedframe behind me. Afterward I'd locked myself in the restroom with my head in my hands, still cosmically high and stuck in a dissociative panic spiral over what this meant for my manhood.
I'd tried to play it cool of course. Pass off my little freakout as having hit a limit on how well I could handle my weed.
Sitting here now though with Tyler casually tossing that out rankled me. He'll be teasing me about this for ages. Maybe even joke about helping me "explore that side of yourself." Dude knows I'm straight as a Hobby Lobby aisle, but he always had a way of pushing people to the edge.
So the ball was in my court now. He'd seen me hitting a limit I hadn't been able to overcome. That, for a moment with my ankles in the air and my fingers gripping the headboard, I'd become defenseless. He'd seen that I might, in any way, still feel defenseless.
So I looked him dead in the eye, and on an impulse I flicked the lighter on.
That decision right there was the start of how it all fucked up.
~~~~~
Each time sensei beat me Ryu had to sit off to the side and watch. We were supposed to be sparring partners. Brothers in training. That meant eating together, sleeping together, bathing together. Being punished together.
This is already the third time in these past two weeks that I got the rough treatment, and like always Ryu just watches from afar. There isn’t fury in his eyes, or shame that he has to participate in my humiliation. No, it's disappointment and pity.
Pity!
I hate my dad for exiling me to this rural backwater for the foreseeable future, but I'm not gonna forgive pity.
Now here's Ryu, a guy no older than me, holding down my ankles as I squeal and writhe under the cane, trying to keep me from kicking too much. I can feel him watching as sensei rakes my back with bright red slashes, laying them one after the other evenly across my skin. Gouken pauses with each stroke so one sting doesn't dull me to the next: just hard enough to make me scream, but just light enough that he doesn’t break open my skin.
And then it's over.
For a few minutes I lie on my belly, weeping at the master’s feet. I'm able to choke back most of it, but a few sobs leak out. My face is wet with tears and snot and spittle.
“Ryu, you are dismissed.”
I don’t need to hear the little swish of cloth to know that Ryu had bowed.
“Osu,” he says firmly. Yeah, what a little angel.
When the screen door shuts Gouken taps my shoulder with the cane.
“Stand up."
I stumble as I clamber to my feet. My knees ache from scraping them against the floor as I kicked. My feet are numb from how Ryu had squeezed my ankles when he held me. My back feels like I'd been tied down to a hot grill, but I’ll be damned if I can't take his speech standing. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. My wrist is damp with sweat, and I end up just smearing the wetness across my face instead.
Yeah, real dignified.
Normally I would be smirking or rolling my eyes through the scolding, but right now I'm not in the mood. I just stare at the floor and sway unsteadily. Maybe it's from standing too quick or from the adrenaline crash, but I'm lightheaded to the point that I'm desperate for him to finish so I can fall face-first onto the floor and pass out.
“Ken, your father sent you to me to be tamed. To make you a man. If you cannot learn honor, it will be a long time before I let you go. If you cannot learn humility... well, it will take you even longer to learn honor.”
I gaze up at him in silence.
“You will not have supper tonight, Ken. Dismissed.”
Yeah, like I love your fucking fish and pickled vegetables so much.
I amble away on shaky legs, and when I slide open the screen door Ryu is waiting for me in the hall, leaning coolly against a support beam. His arms are crossed.
God I hate him.
“Do you need some help?” he asks.
“No,” I grunt, but he still walks by my side as we make our way to our room. Like he's going to forgive me that easily.
That's what's so insufferable about Ryu. He would forgive me that easily. Even when he was a kid he'd had the whole Zen act down... all quiet and serious and focused. When we first met I'd thought he was just some slack-jawed country boy. And sure, at first he was kinda fascinated meeting a blond American his own age. But there was something extra annoying about how muted his reactions turned out to be.
He just blinked when I tried to strike up chats about partying with Hollywood insiders. He shifted focus to our daily routine when I wanted to tell him about traveling to New York and Hawaii and Rome and Tokyo. Dude nodded and looked away when I hinted at the modeling gigs. I shouldn't have been surprised when he was just as deadpan when I tried prodding him about the kinds of girls he was into. Somehow, that frustrated me the most.
Well, until now at least.
It'd taken a couple summers before we stopped being wary around each other like a pair territorial cats. We'd even warmed up to one another over time. But the way he reacted when I came back to the dojo in the wrong season... for the first time he didn't really welcome me. He didn't even ask why I'd come back less than a month after I'd left.
If anything, Ryu just seemed annoyed that I was breaking the flow of his routine. Like doing morning runs along the mountain trails or practicing katas or doing laundry by hand without me fucking it up was his life's mission.
And he did it all with a firm "Osu!" whenever sensei gave him commands. Like a tame little dog.
It's intolerable.
And I swear, man, I've tried to fix him. I've tried. But with all his focus on his training and his duties in the dojo, there just isn't room for anything else in his mind. Which makes it easier now, I guess, because I'm done trying to introduce Ryu to the kinda fun a virile young tomcat is supposed to be on the prowl for. I'm done trying to be his bro when he only ever sees me as training buddy or rival.
I was not going to be outclassed by some fucking Japanese hick.
I'd been in a foul mood ever since I'd been sent to exile here. It's no surprise that it'd affected my training. But Ryu wouldn't take excuses or cut me any slack when we sparred, like he was Gouken's little deputy.
In the past I'd learned how to tough that out for a few months. Now that I'm stuck here for the foreseeable future though... putting a cap on my frustrations was gonna be impossible.
So this afternoon, I was drenched with sweat, panting and aching with bruises from going toe-to-toe with him when I'm not in the fucking mood. Ryu strode over to me, wasn’t even breathing hard even after knocking my ass to the ground a dozen times. All when I knew I was better than this. I knew that we should've been an even match by now.
"You lack focus, Ken. Like always," Ryu reached a hand out to help me stand.
In that moment he'd finally let his guard down. I tell ya, the look on his face when I buried my fist into his exposed gut was fucking sweet. With how lean and taut his stomach was it was like punching a brick wall, but his eyes went wide and he arched forward with a gurgling sound. Then he crumpled to the floor like a rag. I was hoping to see him choke up and vomit as he moaned from the ground. The satisfaction of seeing him squirm like that lasted a whole two seconds though when Gouken grabbed me and well… you know the rest.
When we finally get to our room I collapse, moaning into the floor. It's cold, and the polished wood surface is chilly against my bare chest. My nipples feel pinched. A layer of stickiness clings to my skin: I hadn't been able to bathe after our workout, and the whipping itself had worked up a new, acrid sweat.
Ryu says nothing as he lays down the bedding. Yeah, we share a futon on the floor, which weirded me out at first. For a week when I'd first entered the dojo I slept on the edge of my side and on top of the covers in case he tried to spoon me or something. Even as a kid I'd heard that Japanese guys can get touchy. Gouken though just looked at me like I was the weird one when I complained.
I crawl onto the fluffy bedding, grumbling into my pillow. For a moment I tense... I swear to God, if Ryu chides me for not washing up before getting into the nice clean sheets I'm gonna hit him again even if I'd end up getting my front whipped too. Thankfully he does the smart thing and keeps quiet.
He tugs the blanket up to my waistline, careful to not pull the sheets over my still-tender welts. I grunt again, not exactly in the mood to set aside my pride and thank him for anything right now. The floorboards squeak as Ryu kneels next to me.
“Ugh, what do you want?” I growl.
His voice is smooth as he unscrews a little container, “Those welts must hurt. I’m going to apply some ointment.”
I scowl, but my face is turned away from him. Gouken frowns at the idea of tending these wounds right afterwards. He always said spending a night aching is supposed to build character. Doubly so when it's supposed to be a punishment. The fact that Ryu here is going against his sensei's wishes, doing the right and honorable thing instead of the obedient one… God I hate him.
I toy with the idea of knocking him to the floor again, maybe breaking that stony face of his. In my fantasy I make him hurt, until he's begging me to stop.
“Hold still,” he murmurs, ointment squelching beneath his hands. The smell of herbs stings my nose.
I wince as his slim fingers spread the balm along my back, bringing me out of that happy reverie. I fume over the brotherly affection behind his touch as he massages the ointment into my bruised flesh. The stuff burns and tingles as Ryu smears it along my skin, but once the heat recedes my welts do hurt a little less. His fingers are warm and gentle. My body shivers.
One of these days I'm gonna beat this country boy hard, and I’m gonna smirk down at him as he’s lying bruised and battered on the ground. Then I’ll do it again the next day. And again, and every time after that until he acknowledges me for once. I’m not gonna lose to some hick who’s been living in the backwater ass-end of Japan all his life.
We’ll see who’s so perfect then.