BDSM - Beat, Dom and Shame Muscle

SURVIVAL ISLAND

Freaker

The man was lying on the ground, his face covered in blood, his nose broken. He had lost consciousness. I knew I had gone beyond the limits of the game, but I didn’t care. I had already almost been eliminated at the beginning of the adventure when I headbutted a Black guy, who was as muscular as me, because he kept interrupting me. He had been taken to hospital, and we never saw him again. I was called in, but the ratings had been so good and the public support for my character so strong that the producers had decided to keep me. They had even quietly encouraged me to continue. I had taken part in quite a few reality TV shows. I was mainly known for appearing on the show GLADIATOR, during which I had sent half the gladiators to hospital.

In this final challenge, I had to grab a key that opened a passage leading to the other finalist. My opponent was a young German half my size. He didn’t last long against me. We had been living together for several months. Several months watching fifteen idiots, men and women, compete in challenges of strength, endurance and combat. Several months on this rotten island, in the humid heat, surrounded by mosquitoes. Several months sweating, stinking and living like savages for this Netflix show called Survival Island. And now, finally, I was heading into the last round.

The door opens and there stands Mister Nice Guy, or Mister Perfect. Fuck, anyone but him ! Handsome face, great body, but too nice to be honest. I have never faced him directly, but he has beaten me 2 times in the endurance challenges, and he took first place in one of the strength challenges. I had suffered a cramp while hanging from a bar with both arms, with heavier and heavier weights attached to my legs. He smiles at me, but I know this idiot has no chance. Too bad. He had beaten the Asian guy I had wanted to face, a guy about my size. Beating him would have been far more impressive than beating this shrimp. Maybe I should be careful, though. If he managed to defeat that beast, he might be tougher than he looks. But then again, the Asian was all muscle and no brains, so I’m not really surprised. Mister Perfect holds out his hand. I take it and squeeze with all my strength, as if I want to break his bones. Now he knows who his master is.

Kad Royce

Honestly, I don’t really know how many months I spent here. A lot, I think. Time goes by strangely when you’re stuck on an island with fifteen super handsome guys who are always watching you. Like... really all the time. At first, I was impressed: perfect bodies everywhere, pub smiles, muscles shining in the sun. But I had a super simple plan: eliminate everyone, one by one. By staying nice, of course. I’m always nice.

The guys started calling me Mr. Perfect. I don’t really know why, but it sounds good. I’m handsome, I’m muscular, I’m nice, and I don’t like problems. I know it’s weird in a game where everyone wants to dominate everyone, but well... I’m just a cool guy who wants to do his best.

I came here to become famous. Before, I was a small influencer, like really small. Now, I have lots of followers. Some people don’t really like me, they say I’m too light, too stupid, too nice to win. But I don’t mind. I’m here to show that kindness is stylish. That gay himbos can be heroes. We don’t need to obey the alphas who want to control everything.

And now, I just won the last level. My opponent is on the ground. I submitted him with a Kimura. No one thought I could beat this Senegalese wrestler, huge as a buffalo. But I did it. With a smile. And now I have the key to open the hatch.

I’m almost at the finals. I think back to my arrival: some guys looked at me as if I was too “puny”. One of them even laughed. It was the Senegalese I just beat. Like, you should never judge a himbo.

I discover my latest opponent. And there... wow. Not him. The Freaker. The most violent, dishonest guy who ever plays by the rules. I remember his face when I beat him at several physical trials. He hates to lose.

I feel my heart beating really fast. Not because I’m afraid. Because I think it’s the perfect time to teach him something important: kindness wins too.

Freaker

I realize that now there is no one left but him and me. Suddenly, the VOICE echoes across the beach. It congratulates us on reaching the final. Then it shows the best moments from the show involving the two of us, including my defeats against Mister Nice. I hate losing, and seeing those images makes me angry. Then the host arrives to tell us what comes next. We will have a hut and a huge feast before the next challenges. There will be four in total, and we will discover them one at a time. If we are tied at the end, a final confrontation where anything goes will decide the winner. I smile, flexing my muscles every time I feel a camera pointing at me. Mister Nice shows his perfect smile, as he always does, whether he wins or loses, always offering a respectful word to his opponent, whether the guy has beaten him or been beaten by him.

I’m exactly the opposite. So, when the host asks me if I’m happy to be facing Mister Perfect, I don’t hesitate. “Yes, very. I’ve wanted to smash that fucking smile for a long time!”

We have the evening to prepare. We are also allowed to use a shower, a luxury that has been denied to us for months. They have placed us at opposite ends of the camp to prevent us from meeting. I jerk off under the warm water while thinking about my opponent, about that handsome little face of the perfect schoolboy and that body like a Greek statue, which has turned me on since his first appearance in the game. Everything would be perfect if I could fuck him right here, after the real meal waiting for me, one that isn’t made of roots, insects or strange plants. But I’m philosophical about it. If it isn’t today, it will be tomorrow…

Kad Royce

The voice is starting to talk about the really cool things we win because we’re both champions. We did lots of sports events, things where you have to run, jump, push, in short... things where you sweat a lot. You lost some, me too. But as soon as we met face to face, I immediately realized that we weren’t at all the same. You’re super competitive, you can see the rage in your eyes, like really. I’m gentle. I want to win, but only with things that are allowed, clean, kind. The images of our exploits pass, and my jaw drops when I see how you eliminated your last opponent. That’s exactly the kind of thing I don’t like.

The presenter explains the rules for the last round. Several stages... surprise challenges... and if we end up tied, a fight to break the tie. I can’t stop smiling when I imagine how many times I’m going to beat you. When he asks me what I think of you, I answer directly. My eyes shine, my smile a little too confident spreads on my face and I say: "A good lesson of kindness, nothing like to win this event."

After that, I’m going back to enjoy the luxury that production offers us because we arrived so far away. I take a shower and take all my time to take care of my body as I haven’t been able to for months: scrub, moisturize, I shave a bit to be on top. I’m finally ready for the feast. How can I explain what I feel just sitting at this table... Being able to eat while sitting... I had forgotten how amazing it is. I don’t eat too much anyway... I have to be in shape tomorrow... But damn, it’s been a long time since I last enjoyed a meal.

Freaker

At dawn, the piercing siren announcing the beginning of the challenges screams through the air, breaking the morning silence. I stretch, flex one of my biceps and kiss it, then check whether my morning erection is there. Everything is perfect. A true alpha. I get up, my body dripping with sweat. I consider taking another shower. There’s no point. I’ll be sweating like an ox as soon as the first challenge begins. Besides, my strong scent is an advantage. I’ve fucked a few guys here whom it drove wild. I slip into a pair of dark green shorts and plunge my head into a barrel of cold water.

One of the island guards leads me to the place where the challenges will take place. It is a plateau high above the ground, at the foot of an extinct volcano. The climb is difficult under the fierce sun. The path is rocky, and the stones dig into the soles of my bare feet. I complain as I walk, cursing the producers for wasting my energy on this pointless climb. Finally, I arrive. An arena of fine sand is surrounded by huge rocks. Beyond it, at each of the four cardinal points, a wooden palisade and a wide gate hide the different challenge areas. You arrive smiling and looking perfectly fit, with only a few drops of sweat running down your forehead. The sight of you already annoys me. I can’t wait to begin.

The VOICE replaces the aggressive siren. “First challenge.”1. The Suspension Bridge “You will each have to cross an unstable rope bridge while carrying a thirty-kilogram sack.” The gate rises, revealing a bridge made of wooden planks and ropes. It looks dangerously fragile. I’m not convinced it will support my 120 kilograms. The bridge is extremely narrow. There is no room for one person to pass the other without pushing him over the edge. Worse, it hangs at least one hundred meters above a half-dried river. One falls and you’re dead. I prepare myself mentally. I know I have to reach the bridge first and prevent the other guy from passing me. With my size, I will take up its entire width

The countdown begins. When it reaches zero, I run towards the thirty-kilogram sack. With one quick movement, I throw it over my shoulders. One hundred meters separate us from the bridge. Mister Nice has almost reached it already. He is running rather than walking. His long legs and lighter weight give him the advantage. My plan is ruined. He is already on the bridge when I arrive, blocking my way. I decide to use another tactic. I place my sack between my legs and grab the ropes with both hands. Then I begin swinging from left to right. The light bridge follows my movements, and the surface beneath our feet becomes unstable. I hope Mister Nice will fall or at least drop his sack into the void.

Kad Royce

It’s time to go. I’m really ready for this new challenge. Since the beginning of the adventure, I take each step as an opportunity to show how amazing my body is and how much I have an angel’s head. I jump in the shower, and I spend all the time looking at myself in the mirror. Every time, it has the same effect on me: I find myself so beautiful that I’m in a group. Once dried, I go back to my skincare routine: a cream on the face, lotion in my hair, two or three sprays of hairspray to keep my hairstyle perfect. There you go. I think I’m downright hot. I put on my combat shorts and leave, confident and super happy with myself, towards the meeting place. Honestly... I’m really hot.

The path to the place of the challenges is like... super long. And it goes up, and it spins, and honestly, it’s not easy. Fortunately, I have my overly stylish pink slides that save my life and prevent me from hurting myself on the rocks. I’m walking with two guys from production, and I’m trying to turn this little hike into a moment of pure sexiness. I know the audience loves it. I’m not called Mr. Perfect for nothing. Plus, there’s one of the guys walking right behind me. So obviously, in my head, I tell myself that he must be admiring my butt the whole way. And it makes me super happy. Like... really happy. When I arrive in the sand arena, my first concern is to check if I have sweated too much during the climb. Sweating makes my skin less photogenic on the screen, and I want to shine. But I don’t even have time to check that I see your muscle mass. You look like a ferocious beast, and in your eyes I see all the hatred you bear for me. So, I’m sending you a little kiss from afar, just to show you that it doesn’t affect me at all.

I hear the VOICE announcing the next challenge. Honestly, since the beginning of the adventure, I’ve been telling myself the same thing: he talks as if reading a microwave notice. Not at all sensual. He should, like... let go of his words, make a little "hmm" at the end, you know? That would make more TV stars. I can barely hear the challenge. A 30-kilogram bag... a small bridge... It sounds supercool. I’ve done something like that before at an amusement park, except that there’s no giant mascot to encourage me. It’s a shame. I’m looking at you. You’re right there, in a heated brain mode, with strategy, calculations, all that. As for me, I’ll give you a wink and let go: "No pressure, man... just fun." With my guy voice who really believes that everything is fun, even when it’s not. And while you’re thinking as if you were preparing for an exam, I hurry to grab the bag and put it on my shoulders. Hop. Simple. Beautiful. Effective. I’m starting to move forward with a heads-up, calmly, because I made sure to take off my shoes first. Walking barefoot is more stylish. That’s “beach hero.” And in my head, I think: "Wow, I’m so cool."

I’m clearly up to this challenge. Like, really. The bridge is too narrow for you to double me, so I tell myself it’s a bit like a podium just for me. I’m very careful with my appearance, because if I win, it has to be the coolest victory possible. I run smiling as if the bag on my back were just a fashion accessory. Too easy. But all of a sudden, the bridge starts to move. Like... really moving. As if a huge gust of wind had decided to party. I turn around, and I see you, Max, shaking your muscle mass to create this movement. It makes me smile. You’re such a bad sport, it’s almost cute. The advance becomes more complicated. I hold onto the ropes of the bridge to keep my balance, but I slow down. The advantage is that your strategy also slows you down. So, I keep my advance, quiet, as if it had been planned from the beginning. I keep going until the finish, and I cross the line first. I don’t even celebrate. I look at you, then I look at the audience behind their screen, and I let go: "I didn’t know that Max, my competitor, had worked in a carnival." With my best guy smile who thinks he just made an incredible joke.

Freaker

Fuck, you annoy me. Not a single drop of sweat, the smile of a handsome young star, and carefully practiced poses that show off your face and body. A real actor, behaving as if you were in an Indiana Jones movie with Harrison Ford. You would definitely play the good-looking hero whom the beautiful woman falls in love with. I never took classes at the Actors Studio. I’m a rough stone. I sweat, I stink, I say what I think, and I hate it when the cameras take close-ups of my face. When I see you running ahead of me, carrying that sack as if it weighed nothing, I think you have a beautiful ass, an ass that deserves to meet my cock.

But soon, my anger takes over. You’re moving faster than me. I admit that I’m afraid of heights, and being suspended above the void slows me down a little. But if you’re Mister Perfect, then I’m Mister Bad Guy. I’ll use any method I can to stop you. A drone is filming us. With my sack between my legs, I give it the finger. Then I continue swinging the bridge from left to right. But you barely stumble. I have only slowed you down a little. Worse, you have increased the distance between us. Too bad. It’s over. You’re going to win this challenge.

Just as I reach down to pick up my sack again, I notice that it has slipped to the side. I try to catch it, but my weight makes the bridge tilt, and the sack falls into the void. That fucking VOICE wastes no time. “Max is eliminated for losing his sack.” “GO FUCK YOURSELF!” The words fly out of my mouth, and I don’t even know whether they are meant for you or for the bastard hiding behind the VOICE. I give the drone the finger again, just as I see you step onto solid ground, every camera focused on your perfect face. I hear you make fun of me. I rub my crotch and whisper: “Soon. Be patient. Soon.”

By the time I join you and the host, I can see the crew preparing the second challenge. They remove several wooden planks, revealing a pond beneath them. Cages are hanging above the water. I try to look confident and not let myself become distracted. When the host, with his supermarket game-show face, asks if I think I can beat you, I answer immediately: “I’m more like the evil clown from a Stephen King story, so there’s no problem. I always win.” Suddenly, The VOICE makes its announcement: “SECOND CHALLENGE :THE SUBMERGED CAGES.”

Kad Royce

I’m already at the finish line. I turn around, and there I see you: dripping, struggling as if gravity had decided to punish you personally. I smile. It’s stronger than me. Seeing the "grand strategist" in a galley, it’s... delicious. Me, the himbo that everyone takes for a fool, it’s me who put you in this position. And honestly, it gives me infinite pleasure.

Your bag slips off your shoulders. I leave laughing. I don’t know what’s funnier: your angry look, your wet body, or the drone flying over you while you’re giving it a finger. I take a falsely shocked look, and I let go very hard: "I think Max doesn’t like to lose!" The production brings me a fruit cocktail with garish colors, perfectly matching my tanned complexion. I raise my glass as if it were a ceremony.

When your bag falls into a void and you scream, I sip quietly, sitting on my chair. My pink slides are back, thank you, production. The drone is flying over me; I give it a big smile and send an XXL kiss to my fans. The production voice announces your disqualification. I laugh, but really. For once, your cheating just offered you a nice humiliation. And me, I enjoy every second.

You’re close to the end of the bridge, and honestly, you look like a wild beast who just lost his snack. It’s funny, because you look exactly the same as every time I beat you in sports. I think you really have a hard time with defeat. Your eyes... wow. It looks like they’re trying to throw lightning at me. I look at you with a smile, super relaxed, and I let go: "Don’t hold a grudge, Max. You’ll have to get used to seeing me win. That might happen often." I’m proud of myself, like a proud muscular golden retriever who pulled off a magic trick without understanding how. I have to say that internally your alpha male gender, full of muscles, sweat and testosterone excites me quite a bit. In real life, you are exactly the kind of guy I like to dominate in a bestial fuck. This idea makes my bubble throb. The production is preparing the new event, and as usual, I am amazed. They are literally revealing a pond. A real pond. I’m blinking. How did they dig this while we were running? I don’t understand, but I love it. Above the water, cages are hanging. It reminds me of club nights where I used to dance in cages just to make my friends laugh. For a second, I wonder if the production knows my dancing skills. Then they release a second one. I stand there, open-mouthed, completely taken aback, as if someone had just told me that I had won a contest without registering.

Freaker

I don’t know who you think you are. I’m the star of this show. I’ve proved it throughout these long months with the number of fans I have and with my popularity. The nastier I became, the more the audience loved me, especially the women. And there you are, sipping a cocktail while I make a fool of myself during the first challenge and get disqualified like a piece of shit. And those fucking pink sliders of yours. I’m sick of looking at them. If I weren’t holding myself back, I would throw them into the ravine to join that fucking sack. The host won’t leave me alone. Why did I put the sack down? Was it too heavy for me? Why did I let it slip away? And so on. Too heavy for me? I laugh. I could carry that asshole on my shoulders all the way across the bridge and back again.

You look like an excited kid when you discover the pond, the cages and everything else. One day, you bored us all by talking about your talent for dancing. I’m going to make you dance. I’ll show you my talent as a choreographer, or rather, the talent of my cock, which tends to grow hard under my shorts whenever I look at you. And here comes that fucking VOICE again. I wouldn’t mind drowning it in this dark pond. I wonder what they have hidden in those deep waters. We soon learn everything.

The cold, mechanical voice, which has clearly never taken an acting lesson, explains that each of us will be locked inside a cage lowered into the water until only our heads remain above the surface. To escape, we will have to dive to the bottom of the cage, find a key attached to an iron ring buried in the mud, use it to open the lock from inside, and then swim back to the shore against a powerful artificial current.

They lead us towards our cages. I climb inside mine and grab the bars to keep my balance. I won’t need any key. My arms will be the key. I’ll tear the opening apart. I look at you and give you an ironic smile. I make my pecs bounce, then flex my biceps and forearms until a network of veins rises beneath my thin skin, some of them as thick as narrow ropes. The drone remains above me, its camera fixed on my Herculean muscles. I know I’ve already won the ratings battle.

Kad Royce

While the presenter comes to ask you about your feelings after your defeat, I keep my eyes on you. You really are the star of this show. I saw that all the viewers are for you... But they still haven’t understood that you were the star of the losers. You just miserably lost this round, and the second one will confirm my superiority. Honestly, you just have to look at our bodies, our faces, our aura to understand who the only winner may be. I am cool, handsome and popular... It’s already proof that you can only lose and that I can only win.

When the cages appear, I can see your brute behavior sweating from your body. You build up your muscles, take up your poses, and unconsciously or not, you highlight your bulge. Since the beginning of the competition, it’s been part of your routine. Since the beginning of the competition, I want to show you how I can destroy a guy as dominant as you. But it’s not only in the competition that I want to destroy you, it’s also sexually. I’m going to be the revenge of the himbo, the victory of the cute guys that everyone says don’t have brains for.

The voice explains the rules to us. Honestly, he could make an effort and have a sexier tone. I don’t understand everything about the rules, but I think we’ll have to find a key in the mud. The mud... I’m trying to remember what it is... I look disgusted by the camera, seeming to say that it’s something disgusting that makes me sick. My brain is already imagining the scene and I’m trying to visualize the victory... Not breathing for a long time... I tell myself that it might not be too difficult with the number of deep throats I’m used to dealing with.

They lead us to the cages... I can’t help keeping my eyes on you. You offer the spectators a real show that inflates your muscles like a modern-day Hercules. I almost feel like you’re going to break the metal of the cage with your arms or at least deform it. The drone is on you, filming you in front of all your fans. I need to do something to get some attention. You’re playing the beast, I’m going to play the himbo, starting to get worked up by running my hands over my nipples while my body sinks into the water. The drone is coming back to me.

Freaker

I hate being lowered into this dark water, locked inside a cage like a lobster caught in a trap. The water is cool, and it washes away the sweat covering my body. Suddenly, the drone turns towards you. I glance over and see you rubbing your nipples. My cock immediately grows hard. Fortunately, that part of my body is already underwater. I see the diver watching me smile. He noticed my reaction. But he already knows that part of my anatomy very well. I fucked him several times during my stay here. His body, that of a former Marine, is worthy of a Greek god.

Only our heads remain above the water. The host, wearing the permanent smile of a fading television star, reminds us that we have ten minutes to find the iron ring and the key, escape from the cage, and reach the shore. Suddenly, a deep mechanical noise breaks the silence, and the water begins to move. A powerful artificial current has just been activated. We will need all the strength in our arms and legs to swim against it, reach dry land and claim victory. Then the countdown begins. I flex my muscles. There is no way I’m diving into this filthy water and searching through the mud just to get out of here. My strength will be enough. I’m going to show them what I can do. And who knows? Maybe Hollywood will turn me into the next Hercules.

Kad Royce

As I see you sink, I can feel the unease that engulfs you. You, the alpha male, the supreme beast, the one who only sees the world as a fight from which you have to emerge victorious, you look bloody disgusted. It makes me smile because I should be the one who has trouble with what is dirty. I’m the himbo here. And you’re stealing my role. But you’re not playing it very well. So, I decide to take yours. I’m taking it on myself. I know that mud disgusts me as much as you do, but I’m going to force myself not to show any of my emotions. I sink, little by little, and I act as if I were entering a clear bath of the turquoise waters of Dubai. I don’t let anything about my emotions appear.

The water starts to move forcefully and the current sticks to me on the metal walls of the cage. I try to use all my strength to resist. My face is now almost underwater, and I see you pathetically showing your strength trying to break these thick bars. It makes me smile and I think I want to provoke you. I try to keep my stability against the cage floor and for a few seconds, I pull down my shorts to show you my sex—just to destabilize you, nothing more. I’m just trying to gain enough time to have time to swim freely to catch the key. I’ve never put my arms in something so disgusting, and I understand better why I was never a fan of fist-fucking. I end up finding the key, which allows me to open the hatch and start escaping from this place so cramped.

Freaker

I am underwater and watching you act like a disgusted little princess is making me angry. I signal to the cameraman-diver and point at my biceps. He gives me a thumb-up. I kneel down and grab two of the thick bars, trying to pull them apart. My biceps swell with the effort. I am pleased with their rugby-ball shape. They will look great on camera. I glance to the side to see how you are doing. You pull down your shorts and show me your cock. I am so surprised that I open my mouth and swallow a mouthful of water. I have to return to the surface to catch my breath and fill my lungs with air.

When I dive again, you are digging through the mud. I laugh to myself when I see the disgusted look on your face. Time for me to attract some attention. I get back into position and pull on the bars like a hero from an ancient epic movie. At first, I feel them move slightly. Confident, I pull with all my strength. My pecs look ready to explode from the effort, covered in deep lines and small veins. But the resistance is unbelievable. It always looks so easy in the movies. On top of that, the current keeps pushing me backward, forcing me to use all my energy just to hold my position.

I return to the surface once more to fill my lungs. You still have your hands buried in that slimy mud. When I dive again, I see you holding a metal object. Fuck! The key! You unlock the cage door and swim out, throwing me a look as you leave. I am having nothing but bad luck. Fuck, I have been such an arrogant asshole. Why did I listen to that guy from the production team who suggested breaking the bars? For safety reasons, they were supposed to bend easily.

Panicking, I plunge my hands into the mud. This time, luck is on my side, and I find the key easily. I unlock the cage, swim out and return to the surface. The current is terrible. I start swimming freestyle, but you are already close to the shore. I use the last of my energy, and the rage burning inside me gives me extra strength. You pull yourself onto the bank. There are still two minutes left on the clock. I tear through the water, driving my arms forward with more and more power. At last, I reach the shore and pull myself out of the water just as the final seconds tick away.

I lost, but I finished within the time limit. My honor is safe, but my anger towards you is stronger than ever. I shove away the asshole host’s microphone, refusing to answer his question. Then I push a cameraman, sending him falling into the pond, and walk back towards my hut to brood over my hatred and find a way to take you out of the game for good.

Kad Royce

While I’m swimming against the current, I can’t help thinking about your face when you saw me pull out my dick. I don’t know what was funnier—your shocked expression, your face right after swallowing half the river, or the pure rage in your eyes when you realized that I had played better than you. Honestly, it might be one of the best feelings of this whole adventure. I try not to think about it too much so I can keep moving forward... but wow, it’s hard to forget your wacky expression, your big eyes, your tongue hanging out as you were getting up to get some fresh air.

Your strength against a himbo’s brain? It looks like the himbo is winning. Tough luck, my friend.

How could you think that you were going to break these bars just with brute force? I have no idea what was going through your mind. But one thing’s for sure: you’re putting on a show. I can’t wait to be back on the ground to see your muscles flexed, your tense face, and above all your completely useless effort. Here we have a GIF that will make people laugh for decades. As I keep swimming, I remind myself not to forget to post it once the game is over. There’s only one round left and the victory is mine. I don’t see anything that could stop me from proving the superiority of himbos.

Finally, you yield to the wise solution. And once again, you copy my strategy. I never knew that a himbo like me could inspire a fierce beast like you. I turn my head just a few meters from the shore and see you moving forward. I’m assessing the situation. There’s almost no chance you’ll catch up. No need to waste my energy. I slow down, making just enough effort to reach the beach first. There are only a few meters left. A last effort, two or three style moves to look cool when I arrive. There it is. I did it.

I keep swimming until I can stand. Then I rise. Everything is calculated. Not even a James Bond girl walking out of the water could look better than me right now. I see production looking a bit annoyed that my victories are this easy, but the host comes to congratulate me. I crack a couple of jokes about the challenge just as you start emerging from the water. You look furious. I’m ready to greet you with: “Well, King Kong, you look just as comfortable in water as you did on that bridge.” But you don’t give me the chance — you bolt toward your cabin while I stroll across the beach, relaxed and radiant.

Freaker

I need to calm down and regain my confidence. Images of your two victories keep flashing through my mind. But it is your smile more than anything else that taunts me and drives me crazy. I walk towards the outdoor gym. There is nothing better for calming my nerves. I lift heavy weights, very heavy weights. My muscles scream in pain under the weight of the loads and the number of repetitions. Sweat pours over my body. It is what I love about bodybuilding, that strange mixture of pleasure and pain. I feel my muscles filling with blood and my mind trying to make me stop, but I resist.

Night falls, and I return to my hut. Tomorrow is the final challenge. I must win it so that my humiliation will not be complete. I get naked and breathe in my alpha-male scent. I look at myself in the mirror and get hard. I start touching myself, pumping my muscle, sniffing my armpits, pinching my nipples. I moan stroking my cock. I am magnificent. But soon my reflection fades away, and yours appears in its place. I jerk off faster. My excitement quickly reaches its peak.

My cock is as hard as steel. The head is covered with plenty of precum. I close my eyes so that I can see you more clearly. My hands slide over your muscular himbo body. My head falls back. The orgasm is coming. A violent shudder runs through me, and a massive jet splashes across the mirror. I scream your name as I come a second time. I open my eyes again. There is a smile on my lips. I feel a little confused. But suddenly, I know that even if I lose, you will belong to me. You just don’t know it yet.

Kad Royce

The production is about to take a break. I’m already in my film: two major points, a resounding victory, an XXL smile. The presenter congratulates me, the prod applauds me, the drone circles around me as if I were the center of the world. And honestly? I am. I am the sun, the hero, the guy who proves that a himbo can beat an alpha without breaking a sweat (well... almost).

I decide to go away for a while, just to enjoy my glory in silence. I take a towel, a tank top, and set myself up on the beach. With my legs crossed, my gaze lost on the horizon, I meditate. Bad tongues say that clearing my head is easy given how little there is in it. I say that’s precisely why I’m a genius: I optimized mental space. I breathe, I smile, I feel light. The drone is still filming me, of course. It knows how to recognize natural charisma.

It soothed me and it’s time to go to bed. I fall asleep like a baby, lulled by the sound of the waves and my own perfection. But in the morning, when I wake up, my sheets are soaked and it’s not sweat... Damn, would I have come in my sleep... Then images come back in my mind... You and me together in the same cage suspended on a bridge, and you fucking me so savagely that I had the most powerful orgasm of my life. Just thinking about these images again, my sex immediately becomes hard.

Freaker

The whirring of a drone wakes me up. It's in front of my bed. I make my pecs bounce, and I stretch my arms back while making sure to pump my biceps to the max. Then suddenly the VOICE booms: "HELLO SURVIVORS; IT'S THE BIG DAY; THE DAY OF THE FINALE, THE DAY THAT WILL MAKE YOU A WINNER;" A TV turns on. I see the images from the evening playing. The himbo on the beach meditating, controlling his movements according to the camera. Then me lifting weights, sweating, grimacing, screaming from the effort. Finally, the himbo again, sleeping restlessly, moaning and murmuring my name. To finish, me in front of the mirror, shooting my load while screaming my challenger's name.

I jump on the mattress in fury. I throw my fist at the drone with all my strength. The drone crashes against a wall of the hut. "BUNCH OF BASTARDS.. I'll teach you not to film me without my consent." I pull on some shorts. To taunt you I take the pink ones a fan sent me. I do some push-ups and pull-ups. I glance in the mirror. Everything is perfect. I smell the sweat and cum, but I've decided not to wash. I know my scent will distract you and diminish your concentration. I arrive ten minutes late. One of the producers is waiting for me.

He warns me that I screwed up and that the himbo has the public's favor. That production will do everything to make him win. They even developed a line of products with pink sliders of course. I restrain myself. But I'm angry. I had been promised victory. I had been asked to be the bad guy. The 800,000 euros are going to slip away from me. But especially the promise to participate in the Reacher 5 series where I was supposed to be the villain facing Alan Richson. I can't see the other asshole playing that role. I position myself next to him, almost pressing against him. I smile at the camera, putting on a confident and friendly air

Kad Royce

The alarm rings. These assholes from the production replaced the music in my alarm clock with an infernal siren. Usually, it’s with "I am a Baby Girl" that I come out of the arms of Morpheus and not with a noise that could wake the dead. I barely opened my eyes when the plasma screen in front of my bed turns on. I start by seeing this erotic dream I had with you. Given the smile I get when I’m dreaming, I can’t help hoping that if you fuck as well in real life as in a dream. But it’s time to get up. I’m taking a shower and changing. For the day of the grand finale, I’ve already thought about my outfit: my pink slides, a pair of shorts and a shirt in the same color and of course some heart-shaped sunglasses. Everything you need for the victory of himbos.

When I arrive at the filming location, everyone is attentive with me. I think it pays to be cool and nice. The production comes to tell me that I am now the favorite of the audience and that it is quite possible that I will be the new winner of this show. I blush a little. As an idiot, I became the audience’s darling. As for me, who everyone was making fun of, I became the idol of the crowds. I am living proof that being cool pays off.

While I’m just smiling, I see you arrive... in fact, I should have said that I see you roaring on the beach. You’re no longer Max. You are the storm, to see the hurricane. You seem furious and I think your anger makes me even more smiling. I know very well that I annoy you to the highest degree, and I think that’s what amuses me the most here. The more I smile, the angrier you get. You begin to approach me. Your body clings to mine. I feel your breath against my nose. I can smell your scent against my skin that smells like begonia. Damn, you stink of cum and sweat. I look at the presenter and say to him with a smile, "It’s not a tropical storm coming! It’s an orgasmic storm."

Freaker

When I see you dressed entirely in pink, with sunglasses of the same color, I think you have chosen the wrong show. You belong more on Love in Ibiza than on Survival Island. The VOICE speaks to us. I press myself even closer against you. Once again, you are wearing that begonia perfume for pussies. You make a joke about me, which i do not completely understand, Probably Himbo humor.

When I hear the announcement for the final round, I already know that I am going to win. “THE PATH OF BURDENS AND THE MAZE OF KEYS. This is your final challenge before reaching the arena " the voice continues." It will have two parts. First, you must pull a cart loaded with barrels weighing a total of 450 kilos along a very muddy path. The distance is sixty meters. The first contestant to finish will immediately enter the Maze of Keys. The second contestant will receive a three-minute penalty before he can enter the maze. You will then have to find the key that opens the doors of the arena. Keys of different colors will be hanging throughout the maze. A riddle will tell you which color you must find. The contestant who finds the correct key will receive an advantage in the final fight.”

I give a wide himbo smile. I worked as a dockworker when I was younger. Carrying, lifting, pushing and pulling are my specialties. As for the keys, I will take all of them down. That way, I am certain to have the right one.

Kad Royce

I can’t help but laugh when I realize that you didn’t understand my joke. You seem so wrapped up in your anger that you don’t even realize that you look more like a guy who comes to spend his night fucking than a fighter. The drones film my reaction and my laughing mouth as they go back and forth on your angry face... the contrast is striking.

But when I hear the presenter announce the challenge, my smile freezes a little. Don’t let it seem, don’t show Max that I know he might have the upper hand. I am an influencer, I am a gym coach, I am a night clubber. The event is worthy of a contest for the strongest man in the world. And in this kind of contest, I know that you should have the advantage. But I have to continue the show and above all, the public must not see my doubts. I take my stupid look, open my mouth and put my finger on it as if I didn’t understand much. "450 kg...????" And I don’t say anything else as if this figure was too big for me to understand

How convenient it is to play the himbo... This allowed me to reach the finals, and no one takes me for a serious competitor. By playing dumb, I manage to get what I want. Have time to think about the strategy that will allow me to beat you in this event. I want my victory to be total. I want it to be total and that it is not my victory but that of all the himbos on earth.

Freaker

You really chose the wrong outfit. Gone are the pink sliders, sunglasses, hat and shirt. The path is not long, but it is long enough to make us sweat our guts out. Water hoses spray the dirt track, turning it into an unbelievable sea of mud. I sink my feet into it with pleasure. I have always enjoyed crawling and fighting in the mud. It reminds me of my short military career with the paratroopers. The draw gives me the cart on the left. I immediately notice that its wheels are sunk deeper into the ground than yours. I wonder whether it is an accident or whether someone deliberately made my cart harder to move so that you could win. The large wheels are an advantage. The cart is also made of wood, which reduces its extra weight

I grab both shafts and try to pull it. It does not move. The VOICE announces that we have five minutes to reach the finish line. The winner will be the contestant who finishes the course or, if neither of us reaches the end, the one whose cart is furthest ahead. Then the VOICE begins the countdown. “Four… three… two… one…” The starting bell rings. You pull with your face twisted by the effort, and your cart begins to move. My fucking cart remains stuck. I step backwards and crouch down. I place the shafts across my shoulders. The drone is hovering above me and filming the scene, with the producers probably hoping to watch me fail. With a barbaric roar, I lift the cart and pull its wheels free from the rut. The effort takes a lot of energy, but there is no way I am letting you win.

I now move forward with long steps, bent over beneath the shafts. You are not far ahead of me, and you are clearly struggling. You have to stop regularly. Sweat pours over my body and runs into my eyes. The drone never leaves me. I know the viewers are going to love watching my shining muscles working at full strength. I catch up with you and pass beside you. I even have time to throw a taunt at you. “You should enjoy the mud. I’ve seen you putting it on your face often enough.” Your body is covered with muddy stains and splashes. We still have about half the course left. The drone stays focused on you to film your humiliation.

Twenty-five meters. Twenty. Fifteen. Then I suddenly feel a sharp pain in the back of my thigh. That fucking cramp again, the same one that already cost me another challenge. I grimace and stop for a moment. A drone immediately flies towards me. I show it my fully pumped, shining biceps. The pain begins to fade. I can smell your strange mixture of begonia perfume and sweat. You are only a few meters behind me. I start moving again, almost running this time. I give it everything I have left. Ten meters. Five. Two… I cross the finish line and stop in front of the entrance to the maze. I have won the first part. I will enter the Maze of Keys with a three-minute advantage.

Kad Royce

Here we are at the starting line. I’m looking at this path. It’s not a path; it’s clearly a mud bath. I take a disgusted look at the route we are going to have to take. I turn my eyes toward our carriages. They’re made of wood, massive and filled with barrels... Damn, how can they expect me to pull something like that. I look at the presenter, looking disgusted. "Where are the cars to pull these carts?" I fully play my role as a pitcher. But inside, I notice that the cart assigned to me seems easier to maneuver than the one you have, Max. I hear the voice telling us the rules of the event. In the meantime, I will stand behind the cart to be ready to push it. A guy from production is coming to explain to me that he needs to be pulled. I look puzzled as if I didn’t know the difference between the two until the presenter came to place me where I should be.

I start shooting as soon as the signal is given. Just lifting the cart requires me an incredible effort. I feel the sweat wash over me and I feel like I’ve never made such an effort. My muscles tense up, my face warps, my pecs swell up. I feel like I’m going to explode like a balloon. But I feel like it’s moving. I feel like I’m able to move forward, centimeters by centimeters. Honestly, the effort is too intense for me to look back. The sweat mixed with the mud stain, and I feel that I will soon be as pink as the clothes I was wearing earlier.

I am forced to take regular breaks. Each time, it is becoming increasingly difficult to lift the cart again. Each time, every centimeter gained becomes a test. The noise you make tells me that you’re getting close to me, that you’re catching up. The drone moves back and forth between you and me so that the spectators can see our muscles working hard and dripping with sweat. For the first time in the show, I’m not posing... I’m not performing... I’m only focused on this fucking cart that I want to move forward.

There aren’t many meters left. I’m almost here. But the effort is too great. I still have to stop. I breathe like an ox and I’m dripping with sweat. I try to concentrate. I try to lift the cart again, but I can’t do it. Come on, Kad! Motivate yourself! At that moment, you start to overtake me... No... It’s not possible... You seem to be in pain too, but your movements are wider... I manage to lift the cart and move forward again... But it’s too late... You are already in front of me. I try to accelerate but I can’t do it and slide, finding myself completely spread out in the mud as you cross the finish line... Holy shit... I’m going to have a 3-minute handicap to find these shitty keys.

Freaker

I turn around and hold back a laugh. You are lying in the mud. You are not going to make it across the finish line. I am surprised to realize that I almost feel sorry for you. The bell rings, announcing the end of the challenge. You get back up, and I cannot resist grabbing a hose and spraying you to wash away the mud. I deliberately aim at your crotch. The fabric of your shorts clings to your half-hard cock. I look at the drone and point out the exact spot it should film. The VOICE confirms my victory. It also confirms that I will be the first to enter the maze.

It announces that a riddle displayed at the entrance will reveal the color of the right key. I already know that riddles are not for me. The best plan would be to grab every key. But the VOICE continues, explaining that we are only allowed to take three keys, each of a different color. I cannot hide my disappointment. The door opens. I have four minutes to find my way through the maze and find the key. I should choose pink, but that would be far too obvious.

I read the riddle: "A poet once invited his beloved to discover whether the beauty of morning had kept its crimson dress. Find what he asked her to see. Its name is also the color of the key." My mind completely freezes. I am back in the same situation as when I was a schoolboy and lost all confidence whenever I faced a math’s problem or a sentence to translate into another language.

Kad Royce

When I get up, I take a few moments to remove the mud that blocks my vision. I think I really want to laugh at my situation because I must be so ridiculous with my outfit covered in mud. But I don’t even have time to open my mouth as I see you, watering me with a garden hose. For a few seconds, I tell myself that you have become kind. But I quickly realize that you are aiming at my shorts. The pink fabric sticks to my skin, and everyone can see the erection that is being created. Damn, losing to you gives me a hard-on... What the fuck is that!

I have to wait two minutes, but that doesn’t stop me from listening to the rules. Puzzles... I see all the assistants of the production dead laughing when they imagine me solving puzzles. I didn’t even know when I entered what a feel was... so to play Sherlock Holmes... Anyway, everyone, that I’m too stupid to make it... I’ll have to try to prove the opposite...

I’m pawing in front of the front door, but I can’t enter the maze. I have three minutes to observe you. I don’t watch what you do if you have a strategy. I am only focused on this body. I’m only focused on the movements of your muscles. The drone films you from every angle and each detail of your body makes my erection even stronger.

Freaker

I read the damned riddle a second time. “A poet once invited his beloved to discover whether the beauty of morning had kept its crimson dress…” The only morning beauty that comes to mind is my morning bonner. Anyway, that is what my beloved would see, and she would be surprised by its morning crimson dress. I should take a red one. But the answer seems too simple. Or perhaps it means the sunrise… Yes, that must be it. The key must be yellow or orange . More than a minute has already passed. I hurry along the long corridor. There are only black keys here. Then I reach a junction where the path splits in two. I take the path on the left. Orange keys hang above me I reached a dead end. But I have my first key.

I turn back and take the path on the right, where the keys are green. I hesitate for a moment. The island in the morning? No, that cannot be it. I continue, and three paths open in front of me. I take the one directly ahead. Pink keys are hanging there. I smile. I am tempted to take them down and hide them in the thick vegetation forming the maze. I reach a wall of greenery and turn left. The three minutes have passed, so you must be inside the maze by now. I keep going and find red keys. Crimson. It feels too obvious to be the right answer, but I take one just in case. I have 2 now.

I need a yellow key. I find myself back in the corridor with the pink keys, then return to the wall of greenery. This time, I turn right. There they are, hanging above me, bright as sunlight: yellow keys. I am certain I have solved the riddle. I take one and continue straight ahead. The long path finally leads me to the exit. A drone has followed me throughout my search. The host is waiting for me. He asks whether the riddle was too difficult. I take it badly. “Do you all think I’m an idiot? Just muscles and nothing else?”

I feel the tension rise. The host steps back, either as a precaution or because my smell has become unbearable. I hand my keys to a man I have never seen before, whom the asshole with the microphone introduces as the Keeper of the Keys. And then you appear. I look at my watch. You found your way through the maze faster than I did. There are only thirty seconds left. I smile pleased with myself. Then my smile disappears when you hand the Keeper a pink key.

Kad Royce

I finally enter the maze. I have the same riddle as you, Max. I read for the first time when the door closes. Holy shit, I don’t understand a single word of what’s marked. I stop filled with stupor. What does that mean? crimson... I remember that my grandmother had cinnamon can... It looks similar. So, I have to find cinnamon in this labyrinth. I am so proud of myself. I am sure and certain that cinnamon will allow me to go out first. Poor Max will be so disgusted when he understands that no one can compete with my genius.

I start looking everywhere at the first piece. Damn, no trace of cinnamon. I run to the ground and try to dig... nothing... I stop and look at the drone filming me. My smile becomes mischievous. Of course, they hid the cinnamon in another room. I think of myself as a fine sleuth, sure to crush Max by the finesse and relevance of my mind. I’m reaching the end of a corridor and now two directions are possible. No! It’s not possible! That’s not at all the plan I had planned. I stop and there I remain dazed in front of this alternative that I had not planned at all.

My plan is so good. It must have something to do with cinnamon... And now, I’m stopping. I don’t even know what cinnamon actually looks like. My grandmother used to put it in our infusions, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her use it. I’m looking for something I don’t know. Despair is starting to invade my eyes. I’m really too stupid. All these guys were right. A himbo had nothing to do in such an adventure. With fury, I kick the wall. The only thing I get is cries of pain. And that stupid drone who’s filming me. And that stupid drone who is broadcasting images of my stupidity to the whole world.

My anger is huge and I decide to get back to work. As I decide to head left, and I come face to face with a pink key. Rose... Himbo... Me... I trust my instincts and grab it by running to the exit. I see you not far from me and I start to go faster and faster to give the Keeper the pink key. I really hope that she is the one who will be the right key.

Freaker

What an idiot. He is even more stupid than I am. He simply chose his favorite color. At first, I am a little confused. Then I burst out laughing. I start singing, changing the words: “I’m a Barbie boy in a Barbie-pink world.” The host takes my keys. A drumroll accompanies his every move. He puts the red key into the lock. A harsh cracking sound announces his failure. He tries the orange key. The same sound again. The yellow one must be the right key. I am certain of it. Another drumroll, followed by the same horrible crack. I am crushed, but I also know that the pink key cannot be right. If it is, then something about this game stinks.

The host takes your pink key. Another drumroll begins, sounding more like approaching thunder. Then a triumphant trumpet fanfare suddenly explodes from the speakers. The key turns. The door opens. I forget about the cameras and the drones. I snatch the key from the lock and turn it over in my hands, examining it from every angle. “FUCKING BASTARDS! YOU RIGGED THE GAME!” I quickly realize that I have made a mistake when I see the host’s little smile and the producers grinning behind the scenes. Those bastards have decided to bring me down, and they will do anything to make it happen.

Kad Royce

You manage to put your keys before me in the hands of the presenter. So close to the goal, I am failing. I am taken by doubt. If only I hadn’t made the right choice. Cinnamon, crimson, pink... None of this makes any sense. I can see a kind of pity in your eyes. I can’t help but see the same thing in those of the production team. Fucking shit. Everyone here sees me as the perfect himbo, pretty, perfect but completely stupid. You start singing this song, which is one of my favorite ones. I can’t help but start dancing before realizing that you’re doing this to make fun of me. I stop straight, looking a bit sad because I think I’m starting to doubt my abilities. Maybe I’m just the himbo I show.

But your keys don’t seem to be working. I tell myself that there’s little chance of mine working. But when the presenter turns it, trumpets start to explode. Damn! I won this last race. I’m only focused on your reaction. You’re so pissed off that I can’t even see the smirk from the production who rigged everything up to make me the winner of this event. I don’t know what will happen next, but I know that I’m slowly starting to head towards victory. It amuses me to see your anger. I take the pink key, the pass inside my gym shorts to stick it against my hard sex dripping with precum. I give it to you by saying "A memory of your defeat, sexy!"

Freaker

A commercial break conveniently cuts off my burst of rage and my accusations. The producers approach me with threatening looks. They remind me of the terms of my contract. Even if I lose, I will still receive the nice sum of 300,000 euros. If I continue threatening them, they will cancel my contract and sue me for defamation. I calm down. And you choose that moment to give me the pink key, now covered in your sticky precum. It is not the key to your heart. It is just another way to humiliate me. The director announces that we are about to return live. I had completely forgotten that the finale was being broadcast live.

The asshole with the microphone pushes the door open and leads us into a circular arena. The ground is covered with sand. The walls are made from huge tree trunks. Two more doors have been cut into them, in addition to the one through which we entered. There is a raised platform for the commentator. Several drones hover above us. Two cameramen film us from different sides of the arena. The VOICE announces that anything can happen in this place. There are no rules, except that we must fight with our bare hands. The winner will be the man who defeats his opponent. I regain my confidence. This is something they cannot steal from me. Two punches to your pretty little face, and you will be joining Ken in Barbieland.

Then the VOICE continues. Because you won two challenges and found the correct key, you have earned three Jokers. You may use them against me at any moment during the fight. Your first Joker is THE MERCENARY. When you activate it, a professional fighter will enter the arena and fight beside you for two minutes. Your second Joker is THE BURDEN. When you activate it, a belt carrying thirty kilograms of weight will be locked around my waist. I will have to keep fighting with it for three minutes. Your third Joker is THE PRISONER. When you activate it, one of my wrists will be chained to the arena wall for two minutes. I will still be allowed to defend myself with my free arm, but you will be free to attack me in any way you want. As for me, I only won one challenge, so I have earned a single Joker: THE ALPHA BREAK. I can stop the fight once and rest for four full minutes. During that time, neither you nor your mercenary will be allowed to touch me.

Kad Royce

During the sales break, I can’t help but laugh when I see you so angry. You give the impression of not believing your defeat, going from stupor to stupefaction. What a pity that this scene is not broadcast. I’m sure you would have lost even more fans than in each of your defeats. I hope they’ll still be in the best of the show because you’re almost ridiculous for getting so angry. And the angrier you are, the more I keep my Zen and cool attitude. I know you can’t stand it, and I think that’s one of the things that amuse me here. Driving you crazy...

The ad is over and the voice announces the last test. Why does she show so much emphasis? I really need to talk to the production about it. She should ask me for advice on coolness. But as soon as I hear the content of the challenge, my gaze changes. A fight... with bare hands... My fighting soul only goes around one place... No one here knows it, but this himbo character is just a construction, just a facade... For several years, I have spent my evenings fighting in more or less illegal rings. It’s on these rings that I built this himbo character... He became me... enough for me to use him in this reality TV game.

I hear the bonuses I won during the different events. For a few moments, I hesitate. The more I see you in fury, the more I want to beat you. But not by using tricks and wiles... by using my strength and wrestling skills... Even if I look at the presenter, in my mind, I already see my victory... For a few seconds, I dream of this ultimate reward to which I could aspire work your muscular ass and hear this mass of muscle moan like no one has ever made you moan. This simple idea makes me want to take all my bonuses at the same time to beat you as quickly as possible.

But I realize that fucking is not part of the rules of the game. That would surprise me if the production agreed to broadcast live the two champions fucking like beasts in heat... Because that’s the state in which this challenge puts me... in rut. I believe that to be around you, to see you, to desire you, making me a fierce beast and hungry for flesh and blood.

Freaker

Your scent has changed. It's no longer that disgusting smell of begonias. Your slight scent of sweat is barely perceptible behind this new musk. I know it well. It's the scent of sex, a strong, wild smell that mixes with the ammonia-like scent of your precum. Your gaze has changed too. You're gliding over all my muscles as if you're trying to possess me. I'm also surprised by your attitude. You should be completely terrified at the idea of fighting. But you remain calm and confident. I don't think you're aware of the situation. 120 kg of pure muscle that's going to break you. I've only kept one thing in mind. Anything goes. I'll end the show with a bang. They've decided to do everything to make me fall, so I have nothing to lose. Soon I will possess you. I'll be your Ken, but not a sterile Ken, but an alpha Ken, a Ken who will make your moans and screams of Barbie boy echo in these walls and in all the households following our adventures.

Kad Royce

The way you stare at me, I understand that you have understood the change that has taken place in me. I am no longer Kad, the himbo. I’m no longer the kind fighter, still too stupid to understand the challenges offered. I’ve gone into warrior mode. I glance at your body as if I wanted to estimate the danger that I would face. 120 kg of muscles is not nothing for a guy like me. But my 92 kg have allowed me to beat guys much heavier and more robust than myself. The Senegalese whom I beat to finish in the final is present in the audience. I give him a nod to remind you that your looks don’t impress me. I am now a hunter, a predator. I know you think you can afford all kinds of punches and that you probably think I’m too nice a guy to fight with. I’m going to show you the opposite and prove to you that you’re probably not the most bestial of both of us.

Freaker

The VOICE echoes above the arena. “Here is the moment we have all been waiting for! The final challenge of Survival Island! All moves are allowed. The last man standing will win the final!” The bell rings. A sharp metallic sound breaks the tension. I do not move immediately. I take a wrestling stance and look at you. Your himbo smile is gone, and I like that. At last, I am going to discover what you are really made of. The drones circle above us. One comes down so low that I feel the air from its propellers on my shoulders. A cameraman moves closer. He points his camera at my face, then lowers it toward my chest and arms. The audience wants to see the muscles working, the sweat, the grimaces, the effort. With my exhibitionist side, I am going to give them exactly what they want.

I slowly roll my shoulders. My traps tighten around my thick neck. My chest rises with every breath. Sweat runs between my pecs, follows the lines of my abs, and disappears beneath my shorts. My massive arms remain slightly away from my body. I clench my fists, and the muscles in my forearms become hard. One hundred and twenty kilos. Not just weight. Above all, strength. But I know your ninety-two kilos are not just for show. I walk toward you, my bare feet sinking into the hot sand. My eyes slowly move over your body. Your broad shoulders, thick pecs, powerful arms, and defined abs. Sweat makes your skin shine. You have the kind of physique that makes me want to keep looking, even when I should be thinking about something else.

And then there is your smell. I notice it when I get close to you. A mixture of sweat and that masculine scent that belongs to you. It affects me more than I want to admit. I am used to my own smell, which is much stronger, but yours is different. It makes me want to get even closer. I smile despite myself. Shit. This is not the time to think about that. I lower my center of gravity slightly and suddenly move forward. I want to feel what your muscles are worth against mine. I reach out and grab your hands. My fingers close around yours, and I grip them firmly enough to make it difficult for you to pull away. “Let’s see what you’ve got in those arms, Kad.”

I plant my feet in the sand, spread my legs slightly, and begin to push. My shoulders tighten, my pecs become hard, and my biceps swell with the effort. I try to force your arms backward, make your knees bend, and finally bring you down to the ground using nothing but the strength of my muscles. I want to measure your power against mine. I lean forward even more, using my one hundred and twenty kilos to increase the pressure. Sweat runs down my forehead and into my beard. My thighs tremble slightly with the effort, but I keep pushing, my eyes fixed on your face. “Come on, Barbieboy. It’s time for you to bow before a real Alpha.”

Kad Royce

When I am in the arena, it is not the voice of the presenter that fascinates me, it is not your impressive stature that attracts my attention. It’s the audience. I see all these eyes looking at me. They are our former companions in adventure. Some beat you and they would really like to see you beat me up to believe that they have deserved their defeat. Others, I submitted them. They, I can see this hatred in their eyes. They still shine in their pupils. That glint in the pupils of the Senegalese that I beat in the semi-finals. He says again, "You’re going to get slaughtered. I had no valid reason to lose against you. I was better! It’s just a stroke of luck." If they all knew the way I heard that sentence. He’s too stupid, he’s too light, he’s not tactical enough. Since I was very little, that’s what I’ve been hearing. If only they could understand that this is what I built my character against. And that’s why I wanted to go to the finals so much. To show that external appearance doesn’t matter.

It’s only afterwards that I see you. You’ve never looked so impressive. I feel like I have a wild beast in front of me. The closer you get, the more I think the difference in body size is phenomenal. Each one of your muscles rolls. I’ve seen a lot of guys in my undergrounds fights but none had your presence, your confidence. You seem to be unfazed. Every step you take resonates on the sand. I have the impression that you don’t walk but that you invoke all the deities of the force to encourage you and be behind you. I look at you and I think that for one of the first times, I’m not reassured in a fight. But that won’t stop me from doing the show. I plant my feet on the ground and stop moving. Kad the himbo has disappeared. Kad the warrior will finally appear. You are now very close to me. I can smell your scent. If you imagined how much that smell was bothering me. I wonder how much it plays a role in my change of attitude. Damn, your smell made me lose myself.

That’s when your hands connect to mine. That’s when I feel your power. I see you wincing, sweating, making all the effort you can. I feel myself being bent. My arms can’t hold you back. My back is starting to burn as my back arches. Damn, you’re going to end up breaking me in half. I can’t let you take the lead from the start. I’m starting to turn my chest a little and move your hand towards my waist before trying to give you a shoulder strike that will be powerful enough, I hope, to make you fall.

Freaker

I realize that it is becoming unbearable. Your intoxicating scent, your shining muscles and your half-hard cock, whose attractive shape I can see beneath your shorts, all of it excites me and drives me crazy. I forget everything around me: the drones, the cameras, the hypocritical producers watching us, and our former opponents who still believe they are better than us, even after we defeated them. From the way you resist me, I can also sense that there is someone else behind the pink himbo, just as there is someone else behind the stupid brute I pretend to be for the public. When your shoulder slams into mine, I do not feel pain. I feel only another confirmation of my desire for you.

I keep hold of your wrist and use the momentum of your turn to pivot behind you. I release one of your arms while twisting the other behind your back. My forearm slides across your throat squeezing it. I pull you tightly against me, pressing your back against my pecs and my abs, both shining with sweat. I rest my head on your shoulder and lick the salty skin of your neck. My tongue moves up behind your ear before slipping inside and licking it. My hard cock presses against your shorts and pushes into the crack of your ass. I no longer care about winning. I no longer care about the rules. I no longer care about the fight. Only one thing matters: feeling you against me or inside me, kissing that face and that mouth, worshipping that long, hard cock, taking you in my arms and carrying you away from this artificial world.

Kad Royce

All these efforts that I am forced to produce to resist you are exhausting me. All these efforts that I have to produce for this show are tiring me out. If I listened to myself, it would have been a long time since I would have fought with you... I would rather spend a torrid night even in the worst cabin of this supposedly paradisiacal island. Each of your movements awaken in me sensations that I never imagined. The drones revolve around my face, revolve around muscles trying to give the public the most beautiful image of myself, the most mediatized. They can film my sweat drops. They can film my contracted muscles. They can even film the spots of precum on my shorts. They’ll never be able to catch what’s going on in my head.

It’s not to win that I want! It’s to feel your body. It’s not the pain I feel when you manage to counter my movement and I find myself stuck with my throat against your stocking. It’s the pleasure to know that a large part of your body is against mine. When you lick my neck and I feel your slime against my muscled skin, the whole audience can see the pleasure that is present in my eyes. Your penis is getting into my tight ass, your big cock slipping between my buttocks. The production is watching us, looking desperate because clearly it’s not a fight we’re fighting but a barely concealed sex scene. I have to continue the show and I’m trying to crush your foot with mine, hoping that’s enough for you to let me go even though I hope to keep being stuck to you.

Freaker

I can feel you don't have the heart to fight. You seem to be giving in to my desire to fuck instead. I feel your body trembling against mine. I want to push you against this wooden stake wall, pull down your pink shorts, and ride you. You crush one of my feet. I smile. The blow is painful, but nothing compared to the pleasure I get from holding you against me. A cameraman approaches me, "What the hell are you doing... The production isn't happy." I give him a threatening look. He backs away. I don't care about production. All that matters is you.

Suddenly, THE VOICE makes an announcement. It indicates that you've requested to use one of your jokers. The MERCENARY. I feel you press even harder against me, how you rub your ass against my cock. One of the arena doors suddenly opens and the MERCENARY enters. I push you aside. I flip off the production. The mercenary is the Asian guy I headbutted at the beginning of this fucking adventure. He is a colossus, a block of muscle on which even my 120 kg seem derisory. He charges without a word; his eyes empty of all emotion. I parry his first blow, a powerful hook that I narrowly avoid by bending in two. But he hits me in the back with such force that I fall to my knees, breathless. I see your blurry silhouette, your worry palpable even from a distance. It infuriates me. This worry. As if I needed to be protected.

The Asian grabs me by the hair, forcing me to raise my head. He prepares another blow, more brutal this time. That's when something in me breaks. Not fear. No. A cold, primitive rage. I let out a scream that is no longer even human. I straighten up in a single motion, grabbing his outstretched arm and twisting it with a speed and strength that surprises us both. A horrible cracking sound is heard. He screams in surprise and pain. I don't give him time to understand. I hit him in the throat, making him choke, then follow up with a series of elbow strikes to his face. His blood splashes onto my chest. He's on the ground, growling like a wounded beast. I throw myself at him, my fists raining down on him relentlessly, until his body becomes inert. I get up, panting, the mercenary's body motionless at my feet. I look at you, breathless, my eyes gleaming with a fierce light. I have won. A drone is over me filming my bloody muscles I strike a blow and It crashes on the sand .Now, there is only you and me.

Kad Royce

I’m no longer a fighter, I’m no longer a himbo. I’m just a guy who found the ideal man, the one with whom he feels good. I don’t care about these drones; I don’t care about the audience. I discovered something much more intense: your body, your strength. To say that I thought you hated me, to say that I thought I hated you. The stiffness of your sex against my ass, the torpor of your tongue on my neck... It made me realize that I was wrong. I don’t care about winning or losing this contest. I feel like I’ve won something more precious, more pleasant... You will be my reward; you will be my gain. The desire to fight is no longer present and I just want you to stay against me as long as possible.

But at that moment, the voice announces that I have asked for a wild card. I look at the audience with a stunned air. What the hell is this? The way things are turning out doesn’t seem to please production. Fuck! It’s that Asian you’ve already beaten who enters the arena. He starts hitting you hard and I barely have time to push myself. I see him hitting you and you quickly fall to your knees. The drones are focused on this action, and I hope no one sees the distress invading my face. Every blow you take hits me. Every movement of your body in pain makes my heart ache. It’s as if I care about you more than anything else. I’m about to pounce on your opponent to help you. Anger follows fear. I am furious because I see you suffering and I understand that production is not playing along and does not accept what fate is delivering to us.

You beat the Asian colossus and in my eyes, I hope you can guess all the admiration I have for you. This guy is on the ground, completely inanimate. I don’t care that you killed him. What interests me only is that you are here. Your chest is dripping with blood... The voice resumes in a relentless tone, "Take up the fight again!" I approach you and stick my chest to your back. I whisper in your ear, "Let me take care of you, Max!" ; And at that moment, my hand goes over your huge, muscular chest to remove this blood while my hips move as far as possible up your ass. I whisper in your ear "Fuck them! They can’t help what we’re feeling for each other"

Freaker

My victory changes the situation. The destruction of the drone does too. The cameramen have moved away from me, and the other drones are flying too high for me to destroy them. A heavy silence hangs over the arena, broken only by the VOICE ordering us to resume the fight. The metallic smell of blood now mixes with the scent of my sweat and precum. There is a sudden commotion inside the production booth. They are all on their phones. Of course, they do not like this gladiator rebellion. They thought they could eliminate me with the Asian guy, but they failed.

When you walk towards me, I expect you to attack. Instead, you move behind me. Your hands slide over my pecs. Your cock brushes against my ass, pushing the fabric of my shorts into the crack between my cheeks. Your words feel like a blessing. I turn towards you, my cock hard and dripping with desire. Dark stains begin to spread across the pink fabric of my shorts. I take your head between my hands and kiss you violently, nibbling your lips and pushing my tongue deep into your mouth to find yours. “I will be your Spartacus.”

I release you and approach the Asian guy’s body. I grab him by the throat and by his shorts. With several powerful movements, I lift him above my head like an extremely heavy barbell. I take a few steps towards the two cameramen, who do not miss a second of this demonstration of strength. Then, when I am close enough, I throw the massive body at them. They fall backwards, crushed beneath his weight. Their cameras slam into their ribs, breaking them on impact. I listen to the moans of those obedient bastards with satisfaction. I raise my fist towards the production booth and shout: “LET THE REBELLION BEGIN!”

Kad Royce

The atmosphere changes completely when I get closer to you and refuse to fight. We can feel that we have just changed sides. We are no longer the stars of the show; we are no longer windows to click and popularity. We have clearly become the enemies. I don’t know what’s going through your head, but I clearly want to run away, to leave this place and go hide with you in a secluded place. I don’t care if it’s paradise. Even in the worst corner of hell, I know it would be heaven with you.

I don’t know what’s going through your mind, but you’re moving away from me to pick up this inert mass that is now the body of this Asian. You lift him up and I remain speechless in front of your strength. You’re lifting it and I don’t know what’s more beautiful: your swollen legs, your protruding pecs, and your contracted arms... Or maybe it’s only this feeling you give me. You just told me that you will be my Spartacus and this reference makes me smile despite the tension that is clearly palpable in the arena. When I see you throw that colossus at the cameramen, I understand that something needs to change, that we have just reached a new milestone.

I’m getting closer to you. I see everyone stop filming. The doors leading to the center of the arena open. The voice asks all former participants to join the arena and eliminate us and that the winner of the battle will have the bonus of several hundred thousand dollars. I stick to you, back-to-back, as if we were one body against this horde of enemies. " All blows are allowed." is the last recommendation of the voice while already the first guys are starting to approach us.

Freaker

When the gate opens and all the eliminated contestants enter the arena, fourteen muscular men, fully rested, and I hear the VOICE encouraging them to eliminate us by any means necessary, I can no longer control my anger towards those losers. I am determined to break them, but my real goal is to get rid of the producers and make them pay for all the humiliation they have put us through. I hear helicopters flying above the arena. I glance towards the production platform. Those cowards have already fled, along with most of the technicians and cameramen. They have cut the live broadcast, probably claiming that there is a technical problem.

I move away from you and step slightly in front of you. I still feel that need to protect you. The first man to attack is the German I defeated to reach the final. He charges towards me with an iron bar in his hands. He raises it above his head and swings it down at me. I step inside the arc of the blow and catch both his wrists before the bar can gain its full speed. The impact shakes my arms, but I hold on. I twist his wrists, force the bar backwards towards his chest and sweep one of his legs from under him. He crashes onto his back. Before he can recover, I throw myself on top of him. I seize the iron bar with both hands and press it across his throat, using all my weight and strength. He grabs the metal and tries to push it away, but he is trapped beneath me. His face turns red. His eyes bulge, and his tongue curls inside his open mouth. I press harder. A dull crack breaks the silence. His body suddenly goes limp. He is dead.

 “All blows are allowed.” That is what they said. I get back to my feet and look at you with a confident smile. I know there are too many of them. But I also know that together, you and I can defeat every last one of them

Kad Royce

Each of our opponents is advancing towards us. You and I against the rest of the world... They all want revenge for the defeats we have inflicted on them. They all want to win the bonus that production has just promised them. I’m dying to tell them that they were tricked, that the production will never pay them a kopeck. But they wouldn’t listen to me. They are too obsessed with this thirst for money and revenge. We have 14 men to kill and there are two of us. They have the number, but we have love. Eliminate them one after another, taking care of yourself... It’s as if we were replaying these six months of broadcasts in a single instant.

I don’t have time to see who is coming towards you. There’s the Senegalese man approaching me. He’s holding a brass knuckle in his hands. I don’t have time to see him in detail, but already I feel his arm moving toward my face. I just have time to fold myself in half to avoid it. I feel the breath of my fist along my head. No mercy and no thanks. I clench my fist and connect it violently against his balls. I can feel my fist go into two huge testicles, maybe the biggest ones I’ve ever tested. The Senegalese collapses to the ground, screaming in pain. I look at him with hatred, grabbing a leg that I twist violently to break his knee. His calf hangs miserably.

I throw a glance at you, and I see that you managed to get rid of your opponent. You don’t look too hurt. But I have to look away from your magnificent body. Three former opponents are arriving at the same time. The gang of South Americans as they called themselves. Tattooed, pierced and looking at me with hatred in my eyes, one holds a rope, the second a knife and the third a shovel.

Freaker

I barely have time to glance towards you. That makes two. You have defeated that Senegalese mountain of muscle as well. Suddenly, hands seize my arms. I am pulled backwards and dragged across the sand. Fuck. It is the twins. Two athletic guys, blond like Nazi poster boys and just as racist and extremist. One of them locks his arms beneath my armpits and hauls me upright while the other uses my pecs and abs as a punching bag. His fists hammer into walls. My pecs are as hard as truck tires and my abs are a concrete barrier. Even so, every impact drives the air from my lungs and sends pain through my body. I let my head fall forwards, then violently throw it backwards. The back of my skull crashes into the face of the twin holding me. I feel his nose collapse on impact and warm blood run down the back of my neck.

He releases me and staggers away, stunned. His brother throws another punch, but this time I am ready. I catch his wrist, twist his arm and force him down onto one knee. I move behind him, keep his arm trapped against his back and seize the back of his neck. Then I drive him forwards into his brother, who is already coming towards me again. They both collapse onto the sand. I feel invincible. Perhaps it is because you are fighting beside me. I throw myself at them before they can recover. I seize each twin by the throat and drive them backwards until their bodies slam against the wall of wooden logs. I pin them there with my arms fully tensed, using the wall to support their weight.

Then, driven by testosterone and rage, I push upwards with all my strength. Their feet rise a few centimeters above the sand. They hang against the wall like two scarecrows, kicking wildly and trying to strike me, but their legs cannot reach me properly. My fingers tighten around their throats. Soon, their resistance fades. Their kicks become weaker. Finally, they hang motionless in my hands, like two lifeless rag dolls. I release them and let their bodies fall to the ground. Then I turn towards you. Fuck. You are fighting the South Americans. I am about to run to help you when a massive arm coils around my throat like a python. It is Piotr, an intimidating and really strong Polish bodybuilder

Kad Royce

I see them and they’re getting more and more ready. Damn, we’ll have to play it tactical. I hear Carlos, the guy with the load calling me "Himbo, Himbo.... Come on, little Himbo." Don’t get me upset, stay focused on my strategy. That asshole still hasn’t understood that I’m not really the image I wanted to give. But these sarcasms distract me and I just have time to avoid Joao’s stab wound. I move quickly feeling the cold of the metal a few centimeters away from me. That’s when a blow of rope lashes my side. I stagger and see the purple mark on my left side. Javier just hit me and starts laughing. These three assholes talk too much and don’t act fast enough. These two sidekicks are making fun of me by telling me that I’m finished.

That’s when I decide to attack. I focus my efforts on Carlos. He is the readiest, and he is the one my strategy relies on. While he’s having a laugh, I move towards him and try to make him lose his shovel with a roundhouse kick. She falls to the ground while he is falling, and I grab her before he gets up. I try to go as fast as possible, decapitating him with a sharp blow with the metal edge of the shovel. I keep it in hand, now facing my two opponents. They scream in horror when they see the blood geysers coming out of Carlos’s badly cut neck. This is the moment when I can enjoy it. I use the shovel to plant it in Joao’s foot, who drops his knife while he bellows like a pig being slaughtered. I get his knife and stick it right in the middle of the heart.

All I have left is Javier, the least fierce of the three. He begins to kneel on his knees, begging me to spare him. He just realized that I wasn’t just there to put pink in life. I approached him by grabbing his rope. He’s crying, this pussy! I walk behind him without looking at him and I think he doesn’t understand what I’m going to do. The rope runs around his neck. He begins to struggle, for a short time, before turning red and then livid. I look at you and see that you got rid of the Nazi twins. We just eliminated seven opponents... almost half... But we are still here together.

Freaker

I knew Piotr was strong. On social media, he was always showing off his power in incredible strength challenges. His arm around my neck felt like a steel vice. I could feel his cock pressing against my ass and his massive pecs crushing my broad back. I gripped his forearm with both hands, trying to break his chokehold. My breath was leaving me. Darkness began to close around my eyes, and I felt my legs starting to give way. “I thought you were stronger than this, Freaker. But I was right about you. Those muscles are only for show.” His sweat mixed with mine as I fell to my knees. My hands sank into the sand. I gave you one last look.

Where had the himbo gone? The blood of your opponents was spread across the arena, and the last one was choking on his own rope. Suddenly, my hand touched something metallic. The iron bar was lying half-buried in the sand. It was almost beyond my reach. Gathering what little strength I had left, I dragged myself forwards. Piotr’s arm crushed my throat as my fingers stretched towards the bar. Piotr was so proud of his strength that he failed to notice what I was doing. I could feel his hard cock pressing between my ass cheeks, staining my shorts with his precum. “Goodbye, Freaker.” My fingers finally closed around the bar. I seized it and drove one end backwards as hard as I could.

The blunt metal struck Piotr deep in the groin. A hoarse scream tore from his throat, and his arm immediately released me. I rolled away, gasping for air, then forced myself back onto my feet. Piotr was bent forwards, one hand between his legs, his face twisted in pain and sweat pouring over his powerful muscles. I turned to face him and drove the bar into his abs. “Yes. Goodbye, Piotr.” The impact folded him in half. His hands instinctively dropped towards his stomach. That gave me the opening I needed. I gripped the bar with both hands, swung it sideways and struck him across the temple. The impact snapped his head to one side. His knees hit the sand, and he stared at me in disbelief, his mouth hanging open as blood and saliva ran over his lower lip. He tried to speak, but only a faint, wet sound escaped his throat. Then he fell forwards and lay motionless in the sand, one hand still resting on the iron bar. Piotr was permanently eliminated from the game. I rushed towards you, took your hand and squeezed it tightly to give you courage. In front of us, the five remaining contestants had formed a wall. They were preparing to attack us together in circling us.

Kad Royce

My body is covered in the blood of these fucking Latinos, and I feel my side burning. I don’t know if I would come out of this fight unscathed, but what I want is to make sure you’re okay. For a few seconds I am horrified when I see Piotr strangling you. But like a modern-day hero, you manage to get rid of it. For a few seconds, I know I have time to look at you. You are magnificent even though I know that you are diminished by this series of fights. I try to enjoy as much of the show as possible with your body, your face, and I smile at you. For a few moments, time seems suspended and I want to enjoy this precious moment where silence reigns in the arena. Many might believe that it is the silence of death. On the contrary, I think it is a magical silence when my feelings for you become clearer and clearer.

But there is no time to dream about the future, the last five competitors are coming towards us. We are one with the other, but there are all five of them and they surround us. Two seem to be heading towards me. Ahmed, the Moroccan and Silvio, the Italian. I’ve never faced them in trials, but they seem particularly tough and are trying to break down the kind of wall that you and I form. By their successive attacks, their feints, they manage to make me move. That’s when they set up their plan. One grabs me by the arms, blocking me, while the other attacks me. I try to struggle, kicking Ahmed in the shins. But he doesn’t let me go. I can see Silvio moving forward. Damn, he has a lump in his hands. He’s giving me my first punch in the belly. I make a horrible scream. It’s as if my organs were exploding inside me. I look at my horrified opponents and then at my chest where a red patch is forming.

I fall to my knees in pain as Silvio approaches me. My head is at the level of his bulge. I can’t stop here. I can’t give up. I’ll blow his balls off with a violent head-butt. He collapses to the ground, and Ahmed comes to help him by letting me go. Despite the pain, despite the hematoma growing on my chest, I try to get up and grab the mass. I hit Ahmed on the head, who falls inanimate, then I hit Silvio on the chest, who also collapses. I immediately fall to my knees afterwards, the pain in my stomach being too great. I know that I am now too weak to keep fighting... But I will try.

Freaker

The remaining guys have a plan: separate us. There are only five of them left. Two attack you while the other three force me away from you. I am exhausted, but fighting for you gives me courage. And when I see how much trouble you are having with those two bastards, I begin to worry.

Three men stand in front of me. The first is Bruno, the man everyone calls The Whale. He weighs more than one hundred and fifty kilos. He is a mountain of fat with an enormous belly and sweat pours from every inch of his body. He surprised all of us during the challenges. Despite his weight, he was fast and performed much better than anyone expected. To his left stands Viktor, the Russian and one of Piotr’s closest friends. He is a magnificent beast who must weigh almost as much as I do. His eyes are filled with hatred because I killed the man who was both his friend and his lover. And then there is Shane, better known as The Snake. He is a young, athletic redhead, famous for fighting dirty and always siding with whoever appears strongest. I have never trusted him.

Bruno and Viktor charge at me together. Their heavy feet send clouds of sand into the air, stinging my eyes. I take a fighting stance, but I already know that I cannot stop this human landslide. They hit me at the same time, each driving a shoulder into one side of my chest. The impact lifts me from my feet. Pain tears through both shoulders, and for a moment I think they have been dislocated. I crash onto my back. Before I can protect myself, Shane rushes in and kicks me between the legs. A fire of pain tears through my entire body. I curl up instinctively, unable to breathe. Bruno drops his full weight across my legs while Viktor pins my shoulders against the sand. Shane grabs one of the chains that had been prepared for the Joker during our fight. Together, they drag me towards the palisade.

My heels cut two deep lines through the sand. Viktor pulls me upright against the wooden wall while Bruno keeps me trapped there. Shane wraps the chain around my wrist and locks it to a thick iron ring fixed between two logs. My arm is stretched high above my head, leaving most of my body exposed. Then the beating begins. Their fists slam into my abs, my pecs and my face. I pull against the chain with all my strength, but I am too exhausted and badly hurt to break it. Blood runs from my lips, my nose and my eyebrows. Blue and purple marks begin to spread beneath my skin. Every breath becomes harder. I am not afraid of the pain. I am afraid for you. I allow my body to become limp and pretend to lose consciousness.

What I expected finally happens. Convinced that I am finished, Bruno, Viktor and Shane turn away from me and begin walking towards you. The sight of them approaching you fills me with rage, but I force myself to remain still. I must stay calm. I need a few moments to recover my strength. Then I will break this chain. And I will come for them.

Kad Royce

I am exhausted, my chest is getting redder and redder, and I know that internal damage is proof that I am in danger. But I don’t care. I see these three assholes approaching you. I see their hands grabbing you and leading you to the fence. I see their fists destroying your magnificent chest. I see the air coming out of your mouth. I see the distress in your features. I feel guilty about all this. I’m the one who’s solely responsible for all this shit. It’s me who has been driving you up the wall since the beginning of the adventure with my air of a feathered himbo. It’s my fault if you suffer and I have to make sure that changes.

I sit up with difficulty. I walk slowly, I breathe slowly, my head is spinning a little. These three assholes are approaching me. I grab the mace and start moving towards them. Wearing it with both hands hurts so much. My stomach is pulling and I feel it’s more than just a bruise, probably an internal hemorrhage. But it’s okay. I see you unconscious, hanging on the wall and I wonder if you’re already dead. It’s not possible, but if it is, I have to avenge you. The three of them are just a few inches away from me, ready to attack me.

But I want them to pay. I want all three of them to suffer as much as they made you suffer. I’m getting close to Bruno. Its mass is impressive. If it touches me, it destroys me. I hold the mass at arm’s length and try to smash its tibia. He falls to the ground, and I use my last efforts to give him a blow of mass on his skull. He collapses to the ground... I have to stop for a few moments. The pain inside me is getting greater and greater. Viktor is facing me. I look at him and in his eyes I read that he believes me unable to fight him. I still hold the mace, but it uses more canes to keep the balance than weapons. Viktor approaches and I push him away by giving a blow of mass. I just manage to keep him at bay, and I know that I can’t do him much harm. I still see you unconscious and I think you must be dead. Tears are starting to flow from my eyes. Sadness mixes with anger as I brandish my mass despite this excruciating pain that fills the inside of my entrails.

The moment I feel a spike go into my back and through my rib cage, I remember that I was not wary of the Snake. He just put a spike through my body. I drop the sledgehammer, take a few steps... No, that’s not possible. Not now. I feel the forces abandoning me. I fall to my knees. Then my body falls in front. I feel that this is the end and what is most painful is that I am going to die without being able to see you, my eyes are stuck in the sand.

Freaker

I hear the sounds of the fight. I open my eyes and see those cowards attacking you three against one. I force myself back to my feet and pull on the chain with all my strength. Production certainly did not compromise on quality. The links are thick, and the steel shackle around my wrist feels unbreakable. But seeing you in danger gives me new energy. I plant one foot against the wooden post anchoring the chain and lean backwards, using the full weight of my body. I take a deep breath. My chest has never felt so thick or powerful. The pain has weakened me, but not enough to stop me from coming to your rescue. I grab the chain close to the shackle and pull again. The steel bites into my hands, cutting my fingers. Blood runs across my palms.

To my relief, I see that you have already taken care of Bruno, that enormous barrel of fat. But I know you have little chance against the Russian. He is almost as muscular as I am and even stronger than Piotr was. The damaged link nearest the shackle begins to stretch. I hear the metal groan under the strain. You are defending yourself well. But then I see the other bastard approaching you from behind. Shane is holding something in his hand. Before I can identify it, he strikes you. I see blood. You collapse face-first onto the sand. The sight sends a final surge of rage through me. I brace my foot harder against the post and throw my entire body backwards. The weakened link twists open and tears free. I run towards the two bastards. Shane immediately retreats behind Victor.

The Russian stands in front of me with a cruel smile on his lips. I stop a few steps away from him. He begins walking towards me slowly, confident that his strength will be enough. Then I remember the words of the VOICE. Anything is allowed. I scoop up a handful of sand and throw it into his face. Victor raises his hands and turns his head, temporarily blinded. I use that moment to charge into him. His thick muscles slam against mine. He smells of vodka and sweat. I drive my knee into his groin. His body folds forward, and I hammer a hook into his ribs. Then another. The third lands against his jaw and sends him staggering down onto his knees. I seize the back of his neck and pull his face against my filthy shorts. His hands close around my thighs, his nails digging into my skin as he tries to get back up. Before he can recover, I force his head between my legs and lock my massive thighs around his neck.

His hands claw at my legs, but his movements quickly become weaker. Keeping his neck trapped and twisted, I clasp my hands together into one heavy fist and drive it down between his shoulders. The impact forces his head sideways while my thighs hold it in place. There is a sickening crack. Victor’s body suddenly goes limp. I release him, and he falls face-first into the sand. He has joined Piotr in hell. I walk back towards you, keeping my eyes on Shane. I kneel beside you and carefully roll you onto your back. Your eyes open, and you manage to smile at me. “Hold on, my himbo"

Kad Royce

I feel myself emptying. It’s not only my blood that I’m losing, it’s also my strength, it’s also my consciousness. I can still vaguely hear the sound of your strength allowing you to free yourself from the chains, from the fight you are waging against Viktor. I feel that they are leading me to the kingdom beyond but that the path is not as calm as I had imagined. But all this is getting farther and farther away. I force myself to keep living so that I can spend some more time with you, just with you. I need to hold on until you have won this fight. You are my champion... You are my winner. You managed to open my heart, to make me understand that hiding behind appearances had no meaning. I hear at once a mass hitting the ground. It’s as if a seism was taking place on the path that leads me to death.

At that moment, I feel you holding me and I hear your voice. You tell me to hold on. I look at you and smile at you. I don’t answer anything. I am unable to do so and above all I want to keep the last seconds of my breath to look at you, to admire you, so that you are my last memory before being nothing more. I no longer have any strength, but my hand, miraculously, manages to pass over your face. This is the hardest effort of my life, and I feel that I am extremely slow. But my hand touches your cheek. I am just happy. I will leave by touching you. I will leave by remembering your skin, by breathing so weakly may it be your smell. I open my mouth and try to tell you, "I love you!" I don’t know if you heard it but I’m sure I said it. My eyes close and nothing more... I am no longer with this world...

Freaker

I am filled with hatred, consumed by the need for revenge. I see Shane running towards the gates. He tries to open them, but they are clearly locked. Then he attempts to climb the wooden wall, but he is too weak to pull himself up. Suddenly, I understand. Those bastards have abandoned us here, probably hoping that we will kill one another on this island, far from the rest of the world. I walk towards him. He presses his back against the wooden wall. His face has gone pale, and fear has covered him in sweat. Shane has always been a smooth talker. That is how he made it all the way to the semifinals. He tells me that he had no choice. That the others forced him to do it. That he has nothing against us. He claims we can still make a deal. We could convince Production that Kad and I are dead. He would collect the prize money and then share it with us.

I do not listen. This snake deserves to be crushed. When I am close enough, I grab him between the legs and squeeze. He folds forward with a scream. My other hand closes around his throat, and I drive him back against the wall. He struggles wildly, his eyes wide with terror. A sudden pain tears through my side. The bastard has a knife. The blade has cut deep into my flesh, but I refuse to let him go. I seize the wrist holding the weapon and slam it against the wooden wall. Once. Twice. His fingers finally open, and the knife drops into the sand. I keep hold of his wrist and wrench his arm behind his back. Shane cries out and bends forward under the pressure. I drive my shoulder into him, sweep one of his legs aside and hurl him face-first into the sand. The impact knocks the breath out of him, but he immediately begins crawling away.

Nearby lies the rope one of the South Americans was carrying. I pick it up and swing it like a whip. It strikes Shane across the back. He screams, begs and cries. When he rolls over, I lash his chest and thighs. The coarse rope tears his skin. He turns onto his stomach again and desperately crawls towards the opposite wall. I let him believe he is escaping. When he reaches the wooden barrier, I slowly follow him. He tries to pull himself up, but I place one foot between his shoulder blades and drive him back down. Then I move my foot to the back of his head and force his face into the loose sand. He bucks beneath me, clawing at the ground and desperately trying to turn his head enough to breathe. His resistance gradually weakens. The violent movements become brief spasms before stopping completely. I keep my foot in place for several more seconds. When I finally step away and turn him over, his eyes are wide open. Grains of bloodstained sand cling to his face and fill his mouth.

I leave him there and run back to you. Dropping to my knees, I carefully roll you over and pull you against me, resting your head on my chest. I kiss you on the mouth. You do not move. “You’re going to make it,” I tell you. I hold you tighter. Your body is still warm against mine, and I shudder. I know that I have lost you, but I refuse to accept it. Then I begin screaming for help. No one answers. There is only the restless noise of the jungle and the distant cries of birds. You have lost too much blood. Your wounds are too serious. Still, I keep shouting until my voice begins to break. Then I kiss your forehead, your closed eyes and your lips, my tears streaming down our pressed-together faces. We are prisoners on this island, locked inside this arena and abandoned by everyone. But I swear that I will find a way out. And I will make them pay.

THE END

Published: 8 days ago, viewed 79 times.