Chapter 7: Father
The soreness lasted for days. A deep, internal ache that was a constant reminder. Baki moved through his training with a new focus, every stretch, every lift, echoing the memory of that night. The scar on his side was a pale whisper compared to this fresh, living brand inside him.
He found Yujiro in the private dojo, a cavernous space of polished wood and the ghosts of a thousand sparring sessions. He was standing perfectly still, a meditation of pure potential energy. He didn’t turn as Baki entered.
“The muscle fibers have reknitted,” Yujiro said, his voice flat. “You’re back at ninety-eight percent.”
“I feel strong,” Baki said. It was true. But the strength felt different now. It felt like it belonged to Yujiro, on loan.
Yujiro finally turned. His eyes tracked over Baki like a predator assessing a familiar piece of territory. “Strong enough to take it again?”
The air in the dojo thickened. This wasn’t about fighting. They both knew the it.
The hunger, which had only been sleeping, roared awake in Baki’s gut, sharp and desperate. It wasn’t a gentle wanting. It was a need that felt like being gutted. The memory of being filled, wrecked, used—it was all he could think about. His cock swelled painfully against his training pants.
“Yes,” Baki said, his voice cracking. Then, the dam broke. The polished composure he’d carried for days shattered. “Please. I need it. I can’t fucking think. I just need your cock. Your massive, throbbing cock inside me. Please, dad. Right now. I need you to fuck me again. I need to feel you tearing me up.”
Yujiro’s calm shattered into a predatory grin. He crossed the space in a blink, his hand snapping out to cup Baki through his pants, squeezing the hard length of him. Baki cried out, hips bucking.
“Disgusting,” Yujiro breathed, his own arousal pressing thick and evident against Baki’s thigh. “My own son, begging for my dick like a bitch in heat. After everything. After I already ruined you for anyone else.”
He pushed Baki down onto the hard wood. There was no steam, no water, no softness. Just the unforgiving floor and the smell of old sweat and polished pine. Yujiro ripped Baki’s pants down, not even bothering to remove them fully. He spat into his palm, a crude, wet sound, and slicked himself. He didn’t prep Baki at all. The head of his cock, broad and veined, pressed against the tight, barely-yielded entrance.
“You want it? Take it.” Yujiro shoved forward.
The burn was blinding, a dry, brutal fire. Baki screamed, back bowing off the floor. Yujiro sheathed himself to the root in one relentless thrust, burying himself in the clenched, protesting heat of his son. He didn’t move, letting Baki feel every impossible inch, the brutal stretch, the obscene fullness.
“Fuck! Dad! Oh god!” Baki babbled, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.
“God again,” Yujiro mocked, leaning over him, his face inches away. He began to move, shallow, grinding pumps that ignited every raw nerve. “He doesn’t live here. Only me. And you’re just my son. My perfect, tight little ass to fuck whenever I want.”
He pulled out almost all the way and slammed back in, making Baki gasp. The rhythm was brutal, piston-like, each impact jolting Baki’s body across the smooth wood.
“Look at you,” Yujiro grunted, his voice dropping into a filthy, intimate growl. “My boy. My beautiful, strong, perfect boy. All this power, all this fight… for this. To be my personal cocksleeve. I think about sucking that perfect cock of yours. Tasting my son. I think about this perfect, tight ass choking on my dick every time I see you train. Knowing I’m the only one who gets to open you up, who gets to feel you clenching around me when you cry.”
The dirty talk was a weapon, more violating than the physical act. Baki sobbed, clutching at Yujiro’s forearms, his body a map of conflicting sensations—searing pain, devastating pleasure, and soul-deep shame that only made him harder.
“I’m fucking my son,” Yujiro hissed, driving into him with jackhammer force. “Rough fucking my own flesh and blood. Pumping load after load into this perfect gut. The world sees the Ogre. They don’t see this. They don’t see me breeding my own progeny. They can’t do a damn thing about it. Morals? Taboo?” He spat to the side. “Words for weak men. You belong to me. Every cell. Every fucking heartbeat. You’re all mine.”
He changed the angle, hitting a spot that made Baki see white. Baki’s orgasm ripped through him, violent and unexpected, his come striping his own stomach and chest. Yujiro didn’t stop. He fucked him through the oversensitive convulsions, making Baki scream from the overload.
“Please!” Baki wailed, mind fracturing. The deepest, darkest want surfaced, coated in the vile language of absolute possession. “Get me pregnant! Please, dad, I don’t care how, just get me pregnant! Fill me up so deep it takes! I want everyone to know I’m yours! That you put a baby in your son! Fuck it into me! Make me carry it!”
Yujiro’s control snapped. His thrusts became frenzied, animalistic. He grabbed a handful of Baki’s hair, yanking his head back. “You want that? You want me to knock up my own boy? To see my son swollen with my child? You sick, perfect thing. You’re all I ever wanted. This. Right here. This man I made from my own seed, begging for more of it inside him.”
He was pounding into Baki now, the force threatening to break bone. The slapping of skin, the wet, slick sounds of brutal penetration, filled the sacred training space.
“You’re the only thing that’s ever mattered,” Yujiro growled, the confession ripped from him by sheer physical fury. “This strength. This defiance. This perfect, filthy mouth begging for his father’s cock. I’d break the world for you. I’d tear the fucking sky down if it meant I could keep you like this. Under me. Full of me.”
Baki was beyond words, reduced to guttural cries with every thrust, his body used utterly, a vessel for his father’s madness and a need he could no longer deny was his own.
Yujiro’s rhythm stuttered. He shoved in one final, devastating time, hilt-deep, and held. A raw, shuddering groan tore from his throat as he came. Baki felt the hot, pulsing flood, jet after jet, filling him, a claiming that was both biological and blasphemous. It felt endless.
As the last pulses faded, Yujiro collapsed over him, his weight a familiar anchor. He nuzzled into the sweat-damp mess of Baki’s hair, his lips against his son’s ear. His voice, when it came, was a rough, ruined thing, stripped of all pretense.
“I love you,” he breathed, the words ghosting over Baki’s skin. “In my way. With my cock buried in your guts and my seed pumping into you. That’s my love. It’s all I have. It’s all you get.”
He stayed inside him, softening, as the evening light died in the dojo’s high windows. Baki, wrecked and overflowing, understood. This was the victory. This was the defeat. This was the only language they had ever truly spoken. He closed his eyes, the vile, beautiful words echoing in the hollows of his bones. I love you. A curse. A covenant. The only truth left.
The words hung in the stillness of the dojo, a confession so grotesque it felt sacred. Baki lay pinned beneath him, feeling the slow, softening slip of Yujiro inside him, the cooling trickle of his father’s come leaching out. His own mind was a static hum. I love you. It wasn’t a comfort. It was the final lock on a cage he’d begged for.
He turned his head, his cheek against the cold, polished wood. “Your way is fucking me raw on the floor.”
Yujiro didn’t move. His breath was warm on Baki’s neck. “You got a better way?”
Baki didn’t. All the paths led back to this: impact, possession, a pain so deep it felt like truth. The hunger, momentarily sated by the violent climax, was already coiling back into existence in his gut. It was an addiction etched into his marrow. He pushed at Yujiro’s shoulder, a weak shove. “Get off. You’re heavy.”
Yujiro withdrew, the movement making Baki wince. He stood, a tower of scarred muscle and drying sweat, and looked down at his son splayed on the floor, used and glistening. He didn’t offer a hand. “Clean up. You’re a mess.”
It was two days before Baki could sit without a sharp reminder. He trained through the discomfort, channeling the persistent, aching fullness into his kicks, his punches. The phantom sensation of being stretched open, filled to bursting, became a dark rhythm underlying his movements. He’d catch Yujiro watching him from across the estate, a smug, knowing look in those pitiless eyes. The look said mine more clearly than any words.
The confrontation came in the subterranean bath, a room of dark tile and pooling shadows from a single overhead light. Baki was waist-deep in the steaming water, trying to soak the last stubborn knots from his muscles. The heavy door groaned open, and Yujiro entered, a towel slung over his shoulder. The atmosphere compressed instantly, the steam feeling thicker, harder to breathe.
Yujiro sank into the water opposite him, the liquid rising near the rim. They didn’t speak. The only sounds were the drip of condensation and the slow lap of water. Baki’s heart began a slow, heavy drum against his ribs. His cock, treacherous and already half-hard, stirred in the concealing water. Yujiro’s gaze was a physical weight, traveling over the marks he’d left days before—faded bruises on Baki’s hips, the scar on his side.
“Still thinking about it,” Yujiro stated, his voice a low vibration in the humid air.
Baki looked away, at the rivulets on the dark tile wall. “No.”
“Liar.” A pause. “What part?”
The directness was a bullet. Baki’s control, the careful denial he’d built, crumbled. He met his father’s eyes, and the words tumbled out, raw and shameless. “The part where you called me your perfect boy while you were splitting me in half. The part where you talked about breeding me. It’s all I fucking think about. I wake up hard, dreaming of your cock. I train and imagine you bending me over the squat rack and fucking another load into me. It’s sick. It’s so goddamn sick and I don’t care.”
A slow, triumphant smile spread across Yujiro’s face. He moved through the water, a shark closing in. “Say it clearer.”
Baki’s breath hitched. “I want you to fuck me again. Right now. I want you to ruin me all over again. I want your dirty talk in my ear while you do it. I want to hear how much you love fucking your son’s tight ass.”
Yujiro was on him in a surge of water, his hands rough on Baki’s skin, pushing him back against the slick tile edge of the bath. The air left Baki’s lungs in a rush. Yujiro’s mouth crashed down on his, a demanding, tongue-thrusting kiss that tasted like possession and the mineral tang of the water. He bit Baki’s lower lip, drawing a sharp gasp.
“You’re an animal,” Yujiro growled against his mouth. “My animal. Conceived by me, trained by me, and now you’re just a hole I designed for my own cock.” His hand plunged between them, finding Baki’s erection and squeezing it painfully. “You get hard from the thought of me violating you. From the thought of my seed taking root in your belly. That’s the most beautiful, fucked-up thing I’ve ever seen.”
He manhandled Baki, spinning him around and pressing his chest hard against the cold tile. The water sloshed over the side. Yujiro spat onto his fingers, then pressed them roughly against Baki’s entrance, not even attempting to prepare him properly, just a crude, wet pressure before replacing them with the broad, unforgiving head of his cock.
“Beg for it,” Yujiro commanded, the head pushing insistently, stretching the ring of muscle. “Beg for your father’s dick.”
“Please,” Baki choked out, his fingers scrambling for purchase on the slick tile. “Please, dad, fuck me. Shove your huge cock in me. I need it. I need you to own me again. Make me your bitch. Make me take it.”
With a brutal, gut-deep snarl, Yujiro sheathed himself in one relentless thrust. Baki’s cry echoed off the tiles, a sound of pure, shattered pleasure-pain. The burn was immediate and exquisite, the sensation of being brutally filled so familiar now and yet still overwhelmingly intense. Yujiro didn’t wait, setting a hard, deep, pounding rhythm from the first stroke, each impact driving Baki’s hips against the hard edge.
“You feel that?” Yujiro grunted, his voice hot and ragged in Baki’s ear. His hands gripped Baki’s hips hard enough to bruise, holding him in place for the punishment. “You feel how deep I am in my son? I’m in your guts. I can feel your heart beating around my cock. This is where you were made, and this is where you belong. A sheathe for my fucking weapon.”
“Yes!” Baki screamed, the vulgar words fueling his arousal to a fever pitch. His own cock was trapped against the cold tile, leaking furiously with each brutal inward plunge. “It’s so deep! God, it’s so deep, dad! Breed me! Fuck a baby into me, I don’t care, just fill me up! I want it! I want your fucking offspring swimming in me! Mark me from the inside out!”
Yujiro’s rhythm became frenzied, piston-fast, the water churning around them. He leaned over, his teeth closing on the juncture of Baki’s neck and shoulder, not quite breaking the skin but promising it. “You want that? You want my child growing in your belly? My perfect boy, swollen and round with my kid? Everyone would see. Everyone would know you’re mine. That I fucked my seed so deep into my own son it took. That I own you that completely.”
The fantasy, spoken in Yujiro’s guttural, obscene growl, tipped Baki over the edge. He came with a shattered sob, his orgasm ripped from him violently, his spend adding to the churning water as his body clamped down viscously on the cock impaling him.
The tight, fluttering convulsions were too much for Yujiro. With a final, savage roar that seemed to shake the very foundation of the room, he buried himself to the hilt and came. Baki felt the hot, pulsing jets, one after another, a flood that seemed to go on forever, branding him internally, a claim that was both promise and curse.
He sagged, held up only by Yujiro’s crushing grip and the tile at his chest. Yujiro stayed buried inside him, panting, his forehead pressed between Baki’s shoulder blades. The only sound was their ragged breathing and the slow drip of water.
Yujiro’s voice, when it came, was spent and utterly sincere in its depravity. “We could do that. If you wanted. We could try until it took. Who could stop us?” He pressed a kiss, oddly tender, to the bite mark on Baki’s shoulder. “Nothing can stop us.”