Ojifans ch. 2
Warning: I changed my mind, Guzma can jack off alone in his room, as a treat.
“If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.”
As Guzma stared into Kahuna Nanu’s gaping asshole, stretched out by nothing but Guzma’s own hand and a copious quantity of lube, he was abruptly reminded of a quote from a book he’d had to read once in high school. He hadn’t been much of an honor student, however, and could remember neither the book’s title nor the author’s name. Maybe if he’d gone to college, like Kukui, he would have been able to remember literary philosophical shit like that. And he wouldn’t be appearing on a pornographic livestream out of financial desperation. Ah well, the past was the past, and the present was the present.
And in the present, the deep maroon abyss of Nanu’s cavernous colon beckoned.
How was Guzma supposed to resist? With his palms slick with sweat and lube, Guzma gently pressed the bulbous tip of the dildo against the wide-open chasm of Nanu’s asshole.
After a little bit of fumbling, it turned out surprisingly easy to cram that huge thing inside Nanu. Once the tip was in, Nanu’s ass greedily pulled it in nearly halfway, and it only took a little bit of pushing before the gigantic feline dildo was wedged in up to the hilt. Up past Nanu’s dick and balls, Guzma could see the rough outline of where the dildo left a bulge on Nanu’s stomach. Guzma supposed, with a weird sense of pride, that he must have done a pretty good job loosening up the old man with his hand. Not something he’d bring up to anyone else hoping to hire him, though. “Yeah, I’m really good with my hands,” Guzma could imagine himself saying. “I was able to get one of them all the way up Kahuna Nanu like he was a funny little hand puppet!” No fucking way was he going to tell anyone that! Ah, Guzma, what the hell is wrong with you?
“That was a pretty good metaphor, Guzma,” Nanu replied, one hand lazily stroking his cock.
Oh no, he hadn’t imagined himself saying it. He had just straight up said it out loud for everyone, Nanu and the whole internet, to hear.
A comment praising Guzma’s way with words proceeded to serendipitously appear on Nanu’s livestream:
hey hand puppeteer, ram that shit in i dont have all day
Fine, “xX_toxxxic_salazzle_Xx”, he would ram that shit all the way in! Guzma swallowed dryly, trying to swallow the faint wave of nausea and lightheadedness that threatened to overcome him.
If only one of those commenters could say something like, “Guzma, you can do it!” A strange hallucination of Hala shaking his head in dismay swam in front of Guzma’s vision. Somehow, Guzma had fucked up his life to the point that this was the last job offer he’d been able to get. So he might as well do the job.
“Ahhn,” Nanu moaned as Guzma rammed that shit all the way in, “G-get my ass pregnant!”
Guzma paused. Dildoes couldn’t get people pregnant, right? The lube Nanu had provided was called “Cumlube” but that wasn’t real cum, was it? And Nanu was a guy, guys didn’t get pregnant, right? Right? If only he hadn’t played hooky the day his high school had brought in the sex ed instructor… Maybe then he’d know. Or maybe he’d already dropped out of high school by the time they taught that class.
“Hey, why’d you stop?”
“Sorry, Nanu,” Guzma muttered, and resumed his rhythm.
It really was amazing how the human body could surpass all limits. Guzma already knew this well from the beatdowns he’d give people with his fists, but the beatdown he was currently giving Nanu’s colon with a gigantic dildo was proving just how insanely resilient the human body was.
Guzma had shoved the dildo up in there as far as it would fit, and Nanu’s ass had no intention of letting go. “Um, so,” Guzma started, sheepishly starting to run his fingers through his hair before suddenly remembering that they were covered in a slimy layer of lube.
“You can touch me if you want to,” Nanu suggested with that smug grin of his. “Aren’t you the big bad boss who beats ‘em off and beats ‘em off and never lets up?”
“It’s beats ‘em down,” Guzma mumbled self-consciously. But he reached down, and with a trembling hand, wrapped his fingers around Nanu’s cock.
Guzma was used to the feel of his own cock in his hand, of stifling heavy breathing late at night as he beat himself raw and with a callused, unlubed palm. Nanu’s dick felt alien in his grip, the familiar feedback lost when there was another person attached. What was a penis, really, but a weird tube covered in skin? Nanu’s cock was warm and firm in Guzma’s hand, but the skin on his shaft was silky soft. Guzma could feel the skin sliding over Nanu’s shaft with every stroke; there was enough slack in it to stretch over the head of Nanu’s cock and envelop it.
“You’re good at this, Guzma,” Nanu said with an uncharacteristic gentleness.
This was definitely up there in the top ten gayest things he’d ever done in his life, but surprisingly, Guzma found himself not minding nearly as much about the gayness as he had been thirty minutes ago.
So why were his eyes suddenly hot and brimming with tears?
“Thanks, Nanu,” Guzma replied, biting the inside of his cheek.
Nanu’s cock suddenly pulsed in Guzma’s hand, and in a few short spurts of semen and a half-choked gasp for breath on Nanu’s part, it was over.
Guzma walked over and turned off the camera. Nanu flopped face forward onto the ground, the dildo still lodged firmly in his ass.
With a grunt of exertion, Nanu strained to push the dildo out of his ass. Even though he didn’t really want to look, Guzma stared at it, mesmerized. Guess Acerola’s anal cleanse smoothie, or whatever it was, really did work. The only residue that remained on it was a slimy, translucent sheen of lube. Guzma caught only a brief glimpse of Nanu’s still-twitching, gaping asshole before Nanu turned to grab a pair of off-white briefs and slid them on before flopping onto his couch, clearly exhausted from the ordeal he’d put his body through.
“Hey, Nanu,” Guzma started, his hands awkwardly hanging by his sides. He was uncomfortably aware of the odd sensation of lube drying on his palms, like a bug’s chrysalis waiting to peel off.
“Mm, yeah?” Nanu mumbled sleepily from the couch.
“How come you got into all that weird extreme insertion stuff?” It seemed completely unfathomable that Nanu had just woken up one day and decided to beat his rectum into submission with a collection of huge, ass-destroying dildoes.
“Ah, you know…”
Guzma definitely didn’t know!
Nanu continued, “Hasn’t every man thought about fisting himself before?”
Guzma definitely hadn’t! He said as much, blurting out a “No” before he could stop himself.
“Ah, no matter. I decided to stretch my asshole to the max many years ago. It was tough at first–did you know if your anus isn’t stretched well enough, you’ll just start puking if you try to put anything too big up there?”
“I guess I won’t be tryna do that anytime soon,” Guzma laughed nervously. Yeah, nah, he wasn’t into puking unless he was getting wasted in the process. Or shoving things up his ass! “Sooo… I guess you like it when guys fuck you in the ass, huh?”
A dangerous look flashed across Nanu’s face. The kind of look he regularly gave little children before emotionally destroying them and shitting all over their dreams of completing the Island Trials. “Guzma…” The temperature of the room seemed to drop ten degrees. “I never let anybody fuck me in the ass.”
Guzma very distinctly remembered Nanu saying something about being a gay bottom. This was extremely dubious. “Are ya sure though? Because you did just put a huge dildo up in there.”
“Yeah, call me a romantic or something, but I’m only doing that shit with someone I really love.” Nanu shrugged. “I hate condoms, and I’m not letting any old cruiser raw me unless I know he’s not gonna give me a disease.”
That made sense, Guzma supposed. Some kind of sense. “Huh. Yeah.”
“My ex really hated that. He was always trying to get me to change my mind, but I just couldn’t.”
“How long were you guys together? Guy like that shouldn’t try to pressure you into sex if you didn’t feel ready,” Guzma said, watching Nanu’s wistful expression turn back to the deadpan mask he wore most of the time. Somehow, Guzma felt like he was lying to himself too. But Nanu hadn’t really pressured him, not really. Guzma hadn’t ever said anything out loud like “No, I don’t want to,” and it wasn’t really like they had real sex. After all, he’d just used his hands. It didn’t really count. Right?
“Oh, about ten years.”
“Cool. Uh, I’m gonna head out now.”
Nanu handed him a fistful of Pokébucks on the way out, and Guzma walked alone in the rain all the way back to the bus station.
His life had changed completely on that fateful afternoon. After shoving his arm up Nanu’s ass, the job offers had started pouring in. Guzma supposed that Nanu had pulled some strings somewhere to put in a good word for him at every single local Pokécenter, and he was grateful for the new cash flow and his increased social standing with the people of Melemele Island once he’d somehow passed the litmus test of “employability” in everyone’s eyes. Yeah, people were still kind of afraid of him, and looked at him with something like wariness in their eyes, like he was a wild Pokémon chained to a pole, ready to snap at any moment, but Guzma was used to that. He used to get a thrill out of it, but now he just felt weary. Or maybe it was just the new job he had hauling crates of healing potions around in the back of the Pokémon center’s Pokémart wearing him out. It was bad for business to have him on the customer-facing side.
But Guzma wouldn’t receive any more “job offers” from Nanu in the following weeks. Every time his phone buzzed, he’d instinctively reach into his pocket for it, but it just would be another text from one of the old-timers asking him when he was going to get the gang back together or a spam offer for his extended car warranty. Guzma hadn’t saved Nanu’s number, and he’d quickly lost the original message in a sea of pointless texts.
Despite everything, the encounter he’d had with Nanu weighed heavy on his mind. Guzma found himself lying awake at two in the morning, staring up at the crack of the ceiling, haunted by the memory of Nanu’s ready hole, stretched and wanting. He’d ashamedly fondle his own cock through the rough fabric of his joggers and remember the feeling of Nanu’s dick in his hand. Once upon a time, back when he was still a petty criminal, he’d joked with the other grunts about Nanu’s sad and withered old man cock. But Nanu’s cock, once hard, had been as firm and lively as any other’s–though of course Guzma would never admit to having much experience with other guys’ penises. Sure, he’d experimented with one of his goons late one night when Plumeria refused to put out, but they’d kept the lights off and barely proceeded past second base before Guzma, disgusted and ashamed of himself, shoved the grunt away, laughed unkindly, and called him a fag.
And with the lights off in his room, Guzma whacked himself to completion, the bitter memory of his confusion, fear, and arousal swirling around and making him lightheaded.
After wiping his cum onto an old sock, he flipped over and tried to get some sleep. He had work tomorrow.
The next afternoon, Guzma stepped out of another day of stacking boxes in the back of the Malie City Pokémart and decided to take a walk through the eponymous Malie Gardens before catching the ferry back home. He had some time to kill before the next boat arrived, and there wasn’t much for him to do back home these days. The job was a menial suckfest too. But at least he was doing something marginally useful with his life instead of the massive nothing he’d been wasting his days away with for the past several months.
He walked through the park, kicking a discarded can down the pathway as far as it could go. The beauty of nature wasn’t really doing it for him today. A little lake, big whoop. The rushing sound of a waterfall somewhere. The pavilion where he’d gotten his ass handed to him by a kid. Oh, and there was Nanu, half-hiding behind a rocky fence by the flowers, his eyes closed as if he were taking a standing nap.
Wait. Nanu. Nanu, who had totally ghosted him, the bastard. Nanu, who lived rent-free in his dreams and wandered into his jackoff fantasies without permission even when he was just trying to imagine himself fucking a hot girl in the ass.
“Oh hey, Nanu, whazzap,” Guzma half-yelled as he quickly bypassed the path, trampling the newly-growing grass and completely ignoring a sign that read “Do not step on grass! - Management”.
The waterfall stopped. “Guzma,” Nanu replied, shaking the last drops of piss out of his cock.
Guzma decided to keep his distance and stay out of the splash zone. “So, uh. How’s life treating ya?”
“Yeah, I got banned from OnlyFans for what they called,” Nanu made little quotation marks with the fingers on his free hand to indicate scare quotes, “explicit content.”
“What? But I thought they un-banned porn. I read it on the news and everything.”
“Big corporations and the government always lie,” Nanu said with a shrug. “Trust me, I used to work for the International Police.”
“Damn, that really sucks,” mumbled Guzma. “Not like I was hoping to get some more work or anything, since I have a real job now and everything, but, uh.”
Nanu stared Guzma in the face with that dead-eyed expression he almost always had, even when mid-nut. “Sex work is real work, Guzma.” Nanu stuffed his soft cock back into his pants, zipped himself back up, and rummaged around in his pocket for a few seconds before finding what looked like a crumpled receipt from a convenience store. “Here, call me if you want to cam again.”
Guzma took the proffered piece of paper and stared at it. Nanu’s phone number stared back up at him. The ink had run slightly, leaving the last two digits illegible. Guzma scoffed. “Do you just keep your phone number on an old receipt? It’s the twenty-first century, bitch. Just add yourself to my contacts.” He tossed his burner phone over to Nanu, who with catlike reflexes, failed to catch it.
Guzma’s phone fell in the damp, piss-soaked grass by Nanu’s sandals. Nanu slowly bent over to pick it up, wincing slightly.
“Hey, you okay, old man? Throw out your back or something?” Guzma only knew how to hurt people, not help them feel better, so Nanu had better not need medical assistance.
Nanu groaned, “I think I did something to my hips last stream,” and picked up the phone.
“Do you mean the one,” Guzma’s voice lowered to a whisper, as if afraid someone might overhear their conversation that was completely meaningless out of context, “that we did together?”
“Yeah, yeah, that one,” Nanu said, trying and failing to put his number into Guzma’s contacts, “that’s why I haven’t called you. Plus the whole account termination. I got Sophocles to pull a few strings for me, so he’s hosting my new camsite on something called an onion server for me now. Fuck.” Nanu jabbed at Guzma’s phone keyboard, the slightest hint of frustration visible in his furrowed brow. “Your phone’s keyboard is dreadful. Can I buy you a new one?”
Guzma gaped. Was Nanu just straight up offering to buy him a phone? Nobody had ever offered to buy him a phone, not even his own dad. “Wha–, uh, sure. Yeah. Sounds great. Yeah.”
“Great,” Nanu parroted, “Meet me at the phone kiosk by the community center in ten minutes. They’ve got that new Rotom model streamers like, it’d be right up your alley if you want to work with me again.”
“We can’t go together?” Guzma asked despite himself, even though he knew that it would probably look weird for the two of them to be seen together in public. Even though Guzma had a normal wagie job and no longer went around mugging people in broad daylight, some people still gave him weird looks when they passed him in the street. At first he thought maybe it was a pitying sort of look, but they were probably still afraid of him. Either way it sucked, and if he went out with Nanu people would probably think Nanu was just arresting him again. Went out and about, he meant. Not going out like how he’d go out with a girl.
“No, I’m trying to avoid this kid who finished Acerola and Sophocles’s trials and is trying to battle me. She’s been really persistent about it,” Nanu shrugged halfheartedly. “You know how it is. Jobs, right? Can’t live without them, can’t live with them.”
Guzma reflected on his awful garbage job at the Pokémart and reflected on the one-time gig he’d had stuffing Nanu’s ass that, for some reason, he just couldn’t stop thinking about. Was it a good job or a bad job? He didn’t know anymore. “I don’t know about that, gramps. Sometimes they might not be that bad,” he replied, looking Nanu right in the eye.
“Heh, you’re right.” Nanu smiled, or whatever you could call that leery lopsided half-grin of his, and the two of them took their leave, ducking through a tangle of bushes and then several side roads to hide from some poor kid that was just trying to get her island stamp. Sucker. If she wanted to complete the trials she should have done it a couple years ago, back before Nanu became the kahuna of this island. Unfortunately, it was the present day, and all one could do was live in it.
And that was how Nanu became Guzma’s sugar daddy.