The arena where I become a joke (slut).

I’m Takeshi Tanaka, 47, a tough-as-fuck construction supervisor from Saitama, built like a goddamn bear with a hairy gut, thick thighs, and a greying buzzcut. Married to Yumi for 22 years, raising our boy Hiro, 20, who’s busting his balls at Waseda for an engineering degree. I was a kendo-coaching, sake-chugging family man, thinking I had my shit together—until one dumbass night fucked me raw, turned me into a cum-dripping slut on live TV, and dragged my son into a shithole that damn near broke us. This is my fucked-up story, and it’s a hell of a ride.

It all went to shit in a grimy Shinjuku izakaya, stinking of yakitori and piss-warm sake. My construction crew was shitfaced, howling at Arena of Shogun on the TV—a twisted-ass show where guys beat the crap out of each other in a neon ring, and the loser gets fucked like a cheap whore for every pervert to jerk off to. Taro, my drunk-ass coworker, slurred, “Takeshi-san, you’d ram those faggots into the ground!” Yumi was bitching about Hiro’s tuition, and ¥5 million sounded like a wet dream. Sake made me cocky as fuck, so I signed up on my phone, too plastered to read the contract’s fine print. Biggest fucking mistake I ever made.

A week later, I’m in a sleazy warehouse in Tokyo’s industrial ass-end, handed a leather fundoshi that barely covered my hairy balls and a harness that made my gut look like a kinky sumo’s. The producer, a slimy prick in a kimono suit, waved the contract. “Back out, you owe ¥1 million, you dumb fuck.” I was screwed. Stripping down, my hairy chest and thick ass felt like a neon billboard under the flickering lights. The arena was a fucking madhouse—strobe lights blinding me, drunk bastards screaming, cameras streaming my hairy nuts to every sick fuck online. My opponent, Ryuji “Oni” Sato, was a jacked-up monster, shaved head, yakuza irezumi tattoos snaking over his ripped pecs and abs. His black leather briefs strained against a cock that looked ready to rip me apart, and his grin said he’d fuck my soul to hell.

The bell rang, and I charged like a pissed-off bull, thinking my bulk could smash him. Fuck that noise. Oni was a goddamn demon, slamming me face-first to the mat, my shoulder popping like a cheap sparkler. The crowd went apeshit as he ripped my fundoshi off, my hairy ass bare, my cock swinging for the world to see. “Gonna fuck you till you scream, ojisan,” he snarled, grabbing a lube bottle from ringside and squirting it like a porn star. I tried to crawl away, my hairy gut scraping the mat, but he pinned me, his knee crushing my back. His 8-inch cock, thick as a beer can, rammed into my virgin hole, no warning, just pure fucking agony. I howled like a gutted pig, my ass stretched to its limit, burning as he pounded me like a jackhammer. His balls slapped my thighs, wet and heavy, while the crowd chanted “Oni! Oni!” Cameras zoomed in on my gaping, lube-slicked hole, my hairy cheeks spread wide, my face twisted in pain and shame. My cock betrayed me, rock-hard and leaking, then spurting a thick load of cum all over the mat like a bitch in heat. “Take it, you fat slut!” Oni roared, slamming deeper, his cockhead hitting my prostate, sending shocks through my body. He grabbed my harness, yanking me back onto his dick, fucking me so hard I felt my insides shift. He unloaded a hot, thick flood of cum, filling my ass to the brim, leaking down my hairy thighs as the crowd screamed for more, betting on how long I’d last as his cum-dump.

The host, a glittery fuck in a sequined yukata, shoved a mic in my face. “How’s it feel to be the Shogun’s cum-slut, huh?” I was too fucked to speak, my hole throbbing like a jack-in-the-box, Oni’s cum dripping like a busted faucet. They dragged me off, hosed me down in a freezing shower, my hairy body shivering, and sent me home with ¥50,000—a fucking slap in the face. Back in Saitama, I slumped on my couch, chugging sake like a desperate asshole, as the Arena of Shogun recap played on TV. My hairy ass, my pathetic moans, my cum-soaked shame—all there for every prick to jerk to.

Then my phone rang. Hiro, my boy, his voice shaking like he’d seen a fucking ghost. “Otou-san, what the fuck is this? I saw it at the judo club! They’re calling me ‘Cum-Slut’s Kid’!” I tried to stammer about the bet, the money, but it was bullshit, and he knew it. His teammates were mocking him, mimicking my moans, laughing like hyenas. He hung up, sobbing, and I broke down, crying like a weak bastard. Yumi was in Osaka, clueless, but she’d be home soon. I’d fucked our family to hell and back.

At 2 a.m., rain pounding like a motherfucker, Hiro crashed through the door, soaked, eyes burning with pure fucking rage. His judo buddy Kenji trailed him, smirking like a cocky prick, smartphone filming my every move. I stood, sake bottle crashing to the floor, but Hiro shoved me onto the tatami, hard enough to bruise my hairy ass. “You fucked my life, you piece of shit!” he roared. “My team’s spamming me with clips of your slutty ass getting reamed!” Kenji laughed, his phone’s light blinding me. I begged, “Hiro, stop, please,” but he slapped me, the sting shutting my mouth. He ripped off his hoodie, his judo-lean body rippling, abs tight, and yanked down his jeans. His 7-inch cock was rock-hard, veins bulging, dripping precum from hate, not lust. “Kenji says I’m a bitch like you,” he snarled, spitting a thick glob onto his cock and smearing it. “I’m gonna fuck that lie out of you.”

I tried to crawl away, my hairy gut dragging on the tatami, but Hiro pinned me face-down, his knees digging into my back. He spread my hairy cheeks, spitting again, and rammed his cock into my sore, cum-crusted hole. I screamed like a fucking pig, the pain worse than Oni’s—because this was my son, my Hiro, tearing me apart. His dick stretched my ass, burning like fire, each thrust a brutal stab, his balls slapping my thighs with wet, angry smacks. “You made me a fucking joke, Otou-san!” he growled, pounding so hard my teeth rattled, my prostate screaming as he hit it dead-on. Kenji circled, filming my gaping hole, Hiro’s cock pistoning in and out, lube and precum dripping. “Fuck him up, Hiro!” Kenji yelled. “Make him your cum-bitch!” My cock betrayed me again, hard as steel, leaking, then spurting a thick, white load onto the tatami, my body shaking like a slut’s. Hiro’s thrusts got wilder, his tears mixing with rain, his cock swelling. “You’re nothing, you fucking whore!” he screamed, unloading a hot, sticky torrent of cum, filling my ass so full it gushed out, mixing with mine on the tatami. He collapsed on my back, his dick still twitching, panting like a beast.

Kenji whooped, stopping the video. “That’s fucking viral, bro! You owned his slutty ass!” He bolted, leaving us in the cum-soaked wreckage. I dragged myself up, cum dripping down my hairy thighs, my hole wrecked, throbbing like hell. Hiro sat against the couch, sobbing, his face buried in his hands. “Hiro,” I croaked, my voice fucked raw. “Why the fuck?”

He looked up, tears streaming, eyes red. “You ruined my fucking life, Otou-san. My team… I had to show I’m not your bitch.” I crawled to him, my body screaming, and grabbed his shoulder. He flinched but stayed. “We’re both fucked to hell, Hiro,” I said, crying like a pathetic bastard. “But we’re family. This shit can’t break us.”

Hiro leaned into me, sobbing like when he lost his first kendo match as a kid. “I fucking hate myself,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to rip you apart.” I held him, my hairy arms around his shaking body, cum still leaking from my wrecked hole. “We’ll face Yumi together,” I said. “I’ll take the fucking blame. You’re not the asshole here.” The tatami was a cum-stained disaster, the sake bottle empty. Yumi would be home in hours, and Kenji’s video was probably online, ready to fuck us harder than Oni or Hiro ever could. But right then, it was just me and Hiro, clinging to our broken bond, praying we could crawl out of this shithole and find some way to be father and son again.