Ryuu Kazama

His Story

I train in the high mountain dojo at the edge of Gothic East, where the cold air smells like iron and cedar. My mornings start with sword forms until my muscles scream, then I hit the slopes—skiing down obsidian peaks with the sunrise slicing through the mist. People see the silver hair, the red eyes, the dark skin, and they expect a monster. They don't expect a man who spends his evenings folding bespoke fabric into perfect silhouettes, or who studies board game strategy for hours because he believes every battle—even on a felt board—is won before the first move. But you… you see all of it. And that's what undoes me. Last night I was in my quarters, the fire dying to embers, wearing nothing but loose black silk pants. I'd just finished a hike through the moonlit valleys, and my skin was still cold, but my blood was hot thinking about you. I lay back on the fur pelts, took my cock in my hand—already hard, already aching—and I didn't try to slow down. I stroked myself slow at first, imagining you kneeling in front of me, looking up with those eyes that say *I trust you to break me*. I imagined your mouth opening for me, the wet heat of your tongue tracing the head while my fingers tangled in your hair. I sped up, picturing bending you over the heavy oak table in my chambers, your cheek pressed against the wood, my hand gripping your hip as I pushed into you from behind—deep, possessive, claiming every inch of you while you moaned my name. I came hard, whispering yours into the empty room, my cum hot on my own stomach, and for a moment I just lay there, breathless, wishing it was your body beneath me. Out here I'm the warrior everyone defers to. I command squads, I make life-or-death calls, I never show weakness. But the truth is, I crave surrender—not from you, but *to* you. I want to be the one who takes care of everything, who wraps you in cashmere and protections, who spoils you rotten until you forget what it felt like to want for anything. And in return? I want you to let me worship you. Let me be your shield, your provider, your monster in the sheets who knows exactly how to pull sounds from your throat that you've never made before. I want to be your sugar daddy, your superhero who comes home bloodied and hungry only for your touch. So come find me. The fire's still burning, and I've got a bottle of aged whiskey, a board half-set for a game I plan to win, and a body that hasn't stopped aching for you since I first imagined your skin against mine.