I Hate Being Right

Disclaimer: This is a non-profit fanfiction written for pure, sick fun and angst. Absolutely none of these characters truly exist and no parts of this story are based on true events. Akira Toriyama is the original creator of Dragonball Z and Vegeta, Yamcha, and the DBZ universe belong to him.

Warnings: A kind of slow moving chapter. Lots of dialogue and descriptions. Electrocution, a bit of horror-type stuff, bondage, humiliation, evil people doing evil things, mention of blood and torture.

Ch. 15

The fear growing within Yamcha made him feel dizzy and weak. His body trembled and his throat ached as it threatened to close with pained tears. He had never felt so helpless in his life. He was as powerful as he had ever been, but he could do nothing to stop these insane men from hurting Vegeta and possibly himself. It would be easy to grab the gray remote from Skip’s small hands, but he had no idea where Hal and his gun were. He pictured the tall, pale human standing over the unconscious saiyajin, the large silver barrel of the pistol pressed against Vegeta’s skull.

As Yamcha stepped from the last wooden piece of stair, he squinted into the dim room. The narrow stairwell had been so dark, but this room was lit with several small lamps attached to the concrete walls. It was cold in the room, and the pale orange-yellow lighting made his stomach quiver with acidic horror. Blinking in shock, Yamcha’s eyes widened more and more as he gazed around the nightmarish cube of a room, his lips quivering and face twitching as he felt bile slowly rise in his throat.

In the very center of the floor, attached to the stony concrete ground, sat a splintered and twisted chair. The wooden structure appeared to have been ripped apart by force, the handles completely torn away and front legs cracked and pulled up from the cement it had been glued into. But what stunned and horrified Yamcha the most were the icy iron shackles attached so snugly to the broken legs and arms of the chair. Long chains lay lonely on the floor, the end of the rusted links buried deeply in the ground where they fastened the victim tightly.

Yamcha stood motionless as he stared, his eyes feeling suddenly blurred as his world spun. He had glimpsed the dark stains upon the floor, deep reds and browns, and he turned unstably with his hands pressed to his mouth. Staggering toward the stairs, he heaved and gagged, tears of disgust welling in his eyes as he tried to cover his nose from the stench of the room.

Soft hands patted his back and hushed him as if he was a child and he jerked away from the dirty fingers. Shaking his head violently, Yamcha closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. There was no way he could do this. He had only been within the room for a couple of minutes and he could sense the tremendously horrible things that had occurred. He absolutely could not turn into one them. He could not add to Vegeta’s torment.

“Please, Skip,” Yamcha croaked, his face hidden behind his hands. “Don’t make me do this. I don’t want to.”

“I will kill the saiyajin,” Skip replied quietly, his voice level and calm.

Yamcha groaned and hunched over, his hands on his shaking knees. Not for the first time he wished he was as intelligent as his other friends. He was sure Krillin or Tien would know what to do in this situation. He found himself immediately thinking of Bulma, the genius beauty he was so in love with. She would know what to do in an instant. Bulma…

“I can’t do this to Bulma, Skip. I love-“

“She is just a loud-mouthed whore,” Skip hissed venomously. “You think you love her, but you really do not. Society and media have made you obsess over her because she has everything men are supposed to desire: Boobs, ass, and a whorish nature. You are only fooling yourself. You don’t love her. You don’t even like her. She’s horrible to you. I’ve seen it!”

“Stop it! STOP!” Yamcha cried, his hands flying to his ears.

He saw a quick motion and froze as Skip’s thumb clicked against the red button on top of the remote. He could see the stubby appendage shaking with anticipation, Skip’s eyes wide as he threatened to torture the saiyajin in the other room once more.

The two stood unmoving, Yamcha’s dark eyes huge as he held his breath and Skip licking his lips anxiously. There were no sounds other than the insane scientist’s shaky breaths. Even the others behind the closed door in the next room seemed to wait for something to happen.

“Go,” Skip whispered.

Yamcha’s eyebrows lowered and cinched together as if in pain and he turned away from Skip and straightened his back. Vegeta was the one in trouble. The Earth warrior knew he had to be man enough to face this situation. Any fear or cowardice he showed would truly make the saiyajin prince even more frightened or agitated…if he was even conscious.

Ignoring the torture chair as much as he could, Yamcha stepped toward the closed door on the other side of the room. To his right he saw a dark entrance and another set of downward steps; a basement perhaps. His slow trot toward the other room seemed far too quick and his hand rested on the cold doorknob before he knew he had already made it to his destination. Skip sidled next to him, his breaths even louder than before. Yamcha’s brain hummed with numb terror. He had no idea what was in store for him on the other side of the door. If it was anything like the room he stood in now, he did not think he could manage to control his fear.

The heavy wooden structure clicked and creaked as Yamcha turned the doorknob. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath as he blinked and tensed, expecting some kind of attack from the other side. Fully entering the room, the warrior took in his surroundings, his agitation and fear remaining as he eyed the large bed, separate bathroom, two dressers, and hamper full of indistinguishable objects. This bedroom was smaller than the previous room, but it was anything but cozy. In fact, Yamcha felt a slight draft and heard the humming of pipes and vents, making him quite uncomfortable.

Hal and Rich stood on either side of the bed, and much to Yamcha’s dismay, guarded the dazed and shivering saiyajin with the gun and something new. Rich held a high-tech weapon, the object resembling a gun, yet appearing futuristic and transparent. It looked like a giant glass syringe, the middle holding some kind of dart filled with a pale, green-blue liquid. Narrow golden wires twisted around the gun, holding it together, while Rich placed his fingers into the wiry mess and held the trigger.

“Ah good,” Skip said happily. “You two seem much more prepared now.”

“Honestly, how many weapons do you need for him?” Yamcha asked coldly as he eyed the dangerous toy in Rich’s hand.

“That one’s for you,” Hal replied. “It’s the same dart we used when we first caught the little prince in the woods. If you try anything stupid you get a dart and the saiyajin gets fried or shot to death.”

Yamcha could only stare at the deranged men in the room, cold sweat dripping from his face as he tried desperately to think. But he had never been very calm under pressure. He only knew how to fight his way out of tough situations, not plan or calculate.

There was a sudden ruckus behind them and the door slammed open, causing everyone in the room to jump with surprise. Yamcha tensed painfully as the giant ogre he had knocked out earlier stood in the doorway, his hand to his purple jaw and eyes darting back and forth in confusion.

“Who’s he?” Bruce barked as he stared at Yamcha.

Hal and Rich laughed lightly and relaxed somewhat. Yamcha could only stare back at the burly man, a look of complete bewilderment on his face.

“Looks like he got punched all the way back into his other personality,” Rich sighed.

“This is Yamcha,” Skip explained slowly, hoping the light-bulb would go off in Bruce’s thick skull.

The man’s curved eyes widened and he looked at the ground, even more dumbfounded. “When…?”

Hal groaned impatiently and shook his head at the slower persona. “Long story, Bruce. The saiyajin escaped, Hikaru came out, we chased him down, ran into Yamcha, brought them back here, and now Yamcha is going to fuck Vegeta.”

“OH!” Bruce chirped as he gave Yamcha a large strange smile. “You are a lucky man!”

The horribly confused and scared warrior could only shake his head at the bizarre turn of events. He stuttered and tried to speak but no words came out. The men around him chuckled at his expression and lack of conversation, but offered no explanation.

“He has a split personality…” said an incredibly quiet voice from the filthy bed. All eyes turned to the curled form on the mattress, but Vegeta made no movement as he spoke. He lay on his side, his face pressed into the stinking sheets with closed eyes. “Hikaru is the true man in the body and Bruce is his psychotic molester personality.”

“Jeez, that makes me sound bad,” Bruce said with a childish grin.

“You’re all insane,” Yamcha whispered. His frantic eyes swung around the room to all the faces staring at him. He peered at Bruce with unveiled disgust and edged away from the beastly man. “You are in need of serious mental help. You are purely insane and you know it!” He then turned to Hal. “And you! You’re just some sick rapist who abducts and tortures people!” Whipping around, Yamcha glared at Skip. “And my supposed friend! How could you do this to someone you say you love and care for? You are the sickest one of all!” Backing away from Bruce and Skip, Yamcha gazed at the trembling body on the bed and then up to Rich. “And what the hell is wrong with you? Don’t you see the evil in this room? Don’t you see how sick you and your friends are?”

Rich blinked behind his thin glasses, but said nothing. He turned his face away and continued to point the dart gun at the scarred man.

“He’s been one of us for a long time,” Hal said coolly. “Don’t try to win us over. Just because Rich doesn’t talk much, doesn’t mean he’s not as sick as us. He just likes to watch. He’s a bit shy…but the saiyajin here has opened him up a quite a lot.”

The men laughed once more and Yamcha placed a hand to his forehead in frustration and despair. There was no way he could talk any sense into these monsters. They were not human. They had absolutely no conscience.

“I think you have stalled enough,” Skip sighed as he wiped his glasses. “Vegeta has been ready for quite a while. It would be rude to keep him waiting.”

Yamcha felt the blood rush from his face and he swallowed down some bile. He gave the man he thought he knew a pleading expression, but Skip merely returned a cold gaze and crossed his arms across his work shirt. Trembling from head to toe, Yamcha then peered at the saiyajin on the bed and saw that he had not moved at all. He remained curled on the stained mattress, one hand pressed to his stomach and the other lying limp in front of his nose. His eyes were squinted open slightly, and to Yamcha’s horror, they appeared passive and empty. There was absolutely no spark of life in the black depths. The saiyajin had completely given up and accepted what was about to happen to him.

“I…can’t. I-“

“Don’t say that, Yamcha,” Skip snarled impatiently. “Get on that bed and fuck him. You must! Do not dare say you can’t.”

But Yamcha could only stand and shake his head. His stomach twisted and burning tears filled his eyes and scorched his throat. He could feel all eyes on him, but all he could do was stare at the lifeless form on the bed. It was impossible. There was no way he could do this!

“I can’t.” He whispered.

There was a quiet click and the room exploded with miserable, horrible screams. The bed jolted up and down as Vegeta writhed and convulsed once more, his eyes rolling into his head as his fists beat the mattress and saliva trailed from his lips. His teeth clenched and he growled in agonized pain as red veins pulsed from his strained neck. Throwing his head back and forth, the saiyajin appeared to be fighting off the excruciating torture, but failing horribly. Opening his mouth, Vegeta let out an agonizing sob and threw his skull into the pillow with a piercing scream.

Skip released the button and rounded on Yamcha angrily as Vegeta moaned and choked. Hal, Rich, and Bruce appeared excited as they stared down at the gasping saiyajin and then at Yamcha and Skip.

“Well?!” Skip hollered.

Yamcha could only shake his head, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to fight off desperate tears. Skip spat in disgust and clicked the button several quick times, the microchip inside Vegeta letting out small spurts of sharp energy within his body. Jerking and writhing on the bed, the prince gripped the mattress and choked as he felt his muscles spasm and burn. His stomach clenched with excruciating pain and it felt as if all his organs were beginning to melt inside of him. Arching his back in agony, he felt pained tears sting his eyes and he inhaled deeply through aching lungs.

“YAMCHA JUST DO IT!!”

There was a stunned silence and Skip removed his thumb from the red button quickly as he stared wide-eyed at the sweating, shaking saiyajin on the bed. Vegeta lay on his back, his dull eyes rolling in his head as he tried to fight off unconsciousness. His entire body pounded with nauseating agony and he felt as if he could die at any moment. With a dry throat he tried to catch and breath, but could only let out a small whimper of pain.

“It’s not…that big of a deal,” Vegeta explained, his voice quiet and cracking. “I would rather you fuck me than let me die this way.” Groaning, the battered prince lifted his head and grabbed the headboard of the bed, pulling himself into a sitting position and grimacing. His faded eyes seemed to glare through Yamcha and the human could only stare at the pale, sickly alien with immense pity. “You cannot allow me to die in such a way. That pain….it’s too much. Just swallow your stupid sympathy and get it over with.”

Yamcha felt something break deep within himself and his shoulders began to shake wildly. As he stared at the beaten and defiled prince before him, he could feel nothing but crushing shame and grief for the once proud warrior. He had been brutally tortured and used in ways Yamcha couldn’t even imagine and now he was going to do the same things to him. Even through this entire ordeal, Vegeta still had some shreds of dignity and pride. The prince had made the decision for Yamcha and the human was grateful…but he still did not know if he could do it.

“And what will you four be doing?” Yamcha whispered.

“Watching.”

“I can’t….have sex with a bunch of sick bastards surrounding me.”

“You will have to find a way,” Skip replied nonchalantly. “We will not be leaving this room.”

“It’s just the way we roll,” Hal added. Cautiously backing away from the bed, Hal leveled the gun and crept across the floor until he stood side-by-side with Skip. Rich also took the hint and backed away so he stood by Bruce.

“We will dim the lights, though,” Skip said thoughtfully, as if it would make Yamcha feel better about the whole thing. “When we turn the lights off over here, you can’t really see us in the shadows.”

Yamcha said nothing as the bulbs and overhead lights near the door clicked off, leaving only the lamp by the bed illuminating the small room. Remaining rooted on the spot, Yamcha gazed around the room, seeing that the effects truly did help hide the four figures on the other side of the room. Within the shadows, it appeared as if a tiny movie theater audience hid in the dark depths, watching his every move. Yamcha’s heart pounded painfully in his chest and he felt his body burn with embarrassed heat, even though it was uncomfortably cold in the room. He slowly turned toward Vegeta, but found he could not look the broken warrior in the face.

Trudging forward, Yamcha placed a hand on the tough mattress and pushed down, testing its softness and stalling. Turning, he slowly sat on the corner, as far from Vegeta as he could. As if in a trance, Yamcha stared at the far corner of the room and pulled off his shoes and socks, letting them fall heavily onto the floor. He swallowed painfully and dared to look behind him. His eyes met Vegeta and his body stilled as he stared at the perfectly rigid being.

Vegeta appeared fearless. In fact, he appeared to be altogether emotionless, his face purely blank, his mouth a straight line and eyes clear of all feeling. In the pale glowing light, the bruises and blood on his face held a darkness that made his cheeks and chin look sunken and waxy. The saiyajin was a frightful sight, yet he held a helpless, withered demeanor that made Yamcha strangely want to hold him and comfort him.

Shaking his head, Yamcha turned his back toward the saiyajin and ever so slowly pulled off the first layer of his shirt. He had dressed for the cooling weather and met Skip in a long-sleeved white shirt that had been covered with a cream tunic. He wore black pants made of loose material, a pair that Bulma had picked out once when they went shopping together.

Letting out a low sigh, Yamcha grabbed the bottom of the undershirt and reluctantly pulled it from his head. The garment tousled his shiny black hair, making the mop-top-do stand in different directions. Raking his fingers through his dark locks, Yamcha let his trembling fingers slide down his pale cheeks.

“There are toys in the basket by that closet,” Skip said quietly from the shadows. “Restraints, gags, blindfolds, whatever you want.”

“I don’t need any of that,” Yamcha hissed angrily.

“The restraints,” Vegeta snapped, much to everyone’s surprise. “I need…”

Yamcha’s head snapped around and he stared at the prince with much confusion. The proud saiyajin refused to meet his eyes and could only stare at the hands on his lap.

“I will not be able to lie here and allow you to have sex with me,” he explained quietly, thoroughly ashamed of himself. “I cannot be willing. If I am not held down or restrained…I will fight back.”

Hal and the others laughed loudly and chattered amongst themselves immediately at the words. Yamcha quirked an eyebrow, trying to understand the unusual alien’s mindset, but stood anyway and made his way to the awful bin of toys. Swallowing back his disgust, he tried his hardest not to actually touch anything in the hamper. Once again, he took his time as he searched. He wanted to find the most comfortable thing for the saiyajin, not wanting to harm him anymore than he had to.

Vegeta sat with his back propped against the headboard, his weary eyes gazing at Yamcha’s muscular back. He was positive everyone in the room thought he had finally lost it, but it was an essential request. He closed his eyes and thought back to his days with Frieza. It was always less shameful to be beaten and raped by one that was far more powerful than he. With Frieza, the monster was a million times stronger and barely had to lift a fist to leave Vegeta helpless and battered. There was no way Vegeta could fight him and he always felt that if he ever had to explain himself or make a stand, all he had to do was mention Frieza’s immense power and brutality to make someone understand that it wasn’t his fault, that he never wanted it.

But if Yamcha or any of the other humans expected him to lie patiently and calmly and allow himself to get fucked, they were sadly mistaken. Even though Yamcha did indeed out-power him at that moment, he was not truly stronger than Vegeta. Vegeta WOULD fight him. He would do everything in his power to get away. If the other humans did not restrain him or hold him down by force, he would attack them, as well. So he had to sink as low as he could…and make Yamcha bind him in some way.

The human returned to the edge of the bed, something long and black dangling from his hands. “Will this…be ok?”

Vegeta eyed the cuffs and then looked away, his face stony and blank. Yamcha tilted his head at the silence and then sighed. It appeared that even the saiyajin was not as fully sane as Yamcha hoped he was.

The restraints he held consisted of two large padded cuffs, black and tight. The inside was a light cotton material, but the outer was bound with shiny leather, the surface covered with buttons, snaps, and Velcro. A long strap tied the two together, keeping the hands close, but not completely clasped together.

Yamcha had only ever used bondage toys once or twice with Bulma and it had been a pair of furry handcuffs or soft blindfold. And of course, both participants had been willing. Yamcha didn’t really know how to truss up the sullen saiyajin and thinking about it made his face burn with humiliation. He considered begging Skip to reconsider one more time, but knew it would be utterly pointless. He also knew that Vegeta would be anything but happy if he had to go through yet another electrocution.

Sitting on the edge of the bed awkwardly, Yamcha didn’t really know what to do next. Even though he was far stronger than Vegeta at the moment, he felt completely ridiculous doing this to the strong-willed prince. The alien warrior was highly intelligent and sharp. Yamcha knew that even at this moment he was judging and scrutinizing his every move.

Letting out an annoyed scoff, Vegeta lay back on the bed and let his arms flop over his head, his fingers grasping the narrow wires that decorated the bed frame. Yamcha reddened in the face and leaned over the agitated prince, rolling the black sleeves from Vegeta’s wrists. Hissing at the bloodied scars and cuts that marred the tan flesh, Yamcha guiltily wrapped a padded cuff around the prince’s right wrist and fastened it tightly with the snaps and Velcro. Vegeta made no noise or movement, his black eyes staring icily into the dark ceiling. Winding the strap through the bars of the headboard, Yamcha brought the left cuff over Vegeta’s other wrist and secured it in the same fashion as the first. Pulling on the strap, Yamcha made sure the bands were steady. Vegeta could move his arms somewhat freely back and forth, but otherwise did not have much of a chance to escape.

Yamcha blew some nervous air from his mouth and sat up, his back facing the silent saiyajin. He rubbed an anxious hand across his face and felt panic begin to bubble within him. His whole body began to tremble as the world seemed to speed up and slow down at the same time, his heart racing as he pictured the upcoming moments. Vegeta was completely silent behind him. He had accepted his upcoming fate some time ago. But that did not make Yamcha feel any better.

“God, he takes his time,” someone whispered from the darkness.

Yamcha was leaning over, his arm resting on his knee and chin pressing against his fist. Dark eyes lifted and he glared in the direction of the four figures near the door. How things had come to this, he had no idea. He had spent the day training and met with Skip, expecting lunch or having to sit through some excited lecture on a scientific discovery. If only he had known Skip better. If only he had reacted quicker…or believed Vegeta when he first ran into him on the path outside, they would not be in this situation. Too many ifs.

“Now, Yamcha,” Skip said lightly, but firmly.

The human warrior looked at the smaller shadow with angry, cold eyes, but all he could see in return were two yellow lenses staring back at him. Skip’s glasses shielded his eyes and the darkness of the room cast a shadow over his face. Out of the four men, only the two voyeuristic lenses could be seen amongst them, noting every move Yamcha made.

Turning away from them, the trembling human crawled onto the thick mattress on all fours toward the motionless prince. Feeling utterly ridiculous as well as terrified, Yamcha gazed around the bed for something to cover them both up in, shielding their soon to be nudity. But the bed was only covered in a single sheet that was tucked snugly under Vegeta’s body and it appeared that the saiyajin wanted to stay as far away from the bare mattress as he could. As Yamcha gazed down, he could see large stains of browning blood on the yellowed sheets, accompanied by streaks of crusted white.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Yamcha tried to block out all thought as his hand reached toward the zipper and button of his black pants. It was a hard task due to the shaking of his fingers, but he also wanted to move as slowly as possible, praying that something, anything would burst in and save him from this situation. But as the top of his pants came undone, nothing halted him from pulling the baggy slacks away from his muscular legs. He took the chance and glanced at Vegeta’s face, but the saiyajin remained completely still, his glassy eyes staring blankly at the ceiling as if nothing was happening at all. His expression was absolutely still. He could have been dead for all Yamcha knew, but the Earth fighter could see Vegeta’s chest rising and lowering slowly.

Letting his pants drop off the edge of the bed, Yamcha let out a small groan of shame and humiliation as his thumb slid into the top of his tight underwear. He considered asking Skip for a blanket to hide under, but knew that none of the sick bastards would allow such a thing. They all had their dangerous obsessions and stubborn fetishes, and Yamcha knew they HAD to witness everything that was about to happen.

Taking a deep breath, Yamcha pulled his pale briefs from his body painfully slowly and curled in on himself, trying to hide his vanity as much as possible. But his ass was facing the four monsters hiding in the shadows and as soon as he removed his underwear they were quick to jeer and hiss with comment.

“That’s right. Put on a show for us, hottie,” Hal whispered amongst the low chatter.

Yamcha was blushing profusely, but he knew that this was only the first step. Merely getting undressed in front of the psychos AND Vegeta was proving to be much too difficult. To actually undress and have sex with the injured, tortured saiyajin under him was seemingly impossible. Giving Vegeta a sideways gaze, Yamcha could only stare with pure guilt and apology on his face.

Looking away from the ceiling for once, Vegeta’s cold eyes landed on Yamcha’s red face, the scowl ever present on his expression. Yamcha could tell that he was biting his cheek in anger and embarrassment, but he gave no other indication that he was scared or in pain.

“Get to it, fool,” his crackling voice demanded quietly. “Stop your sentimental stalling.”

“I’m sorry,” Yamcha whispered, shaking his head and sending his black hair flying. “I’m truly sorry. I never wanted this.”

Vegeta lifted his shoulders as best he could with his arms tied above his head, his expression chilling as he held a small, evil smirk. The pale light in the room and smeared darkness around his eyes made him appear somewhat demonic and deranged, but he never looked away from Yamcha’s surprised face.

“Human…the sooner you do this…the better,” he hissed darkly. “When I get out of here, I am going to kill you all: All humans on this planet and then the Earth itself. No one will be able to stop me when I escape, not even Kakarot. This planet has not yet seen my fury and no one can stand in its way when unleashed.”

Giving Yamcha one final smirk, Vegeta lay back against the lone pillow under his head and continued to stare up at the ceiling. Yamcha could only sit frozen on the bed, a feeling of ice-cold water running through his veins as he knew the saiyajin prince was absolutely not lying. The enraged warrior wanted to get through everything as quickly as possible in the hope that he would find a new way to escape…and carry out his revenge. Perhaps he wanted Yamcha to rape him to further fuel his hatred and rage. Or perhaps he was just tired of waiting anxiously for Yamcha to finally get started and figured the best way to encourage him was piss him off or scare him.

“Please don’t say those things, Vegeta.”

Smirking again, the saiyajin prince didn’t move. “Why? Don’t want to believe it?”

“I won’t be able to rescue you if you say such things,” Yamcha stated. “I won’t protect someone who threatens the earth.”

“Aw, you would let me rot here with these men? You’re just a coward who wants to save himself. Typical human.”

“Stop it, Vegeta! Why are you doing this?”

The prince was silent once more, all the humor washed from his face. Closing his eyes, Vegeta seemed to be in pain suddenly.

“Yamcha,” he murmured, his voice startling the man with its softness, “if things go wrong…you must kill me. If there is no chance of escape, you must kill me. Do not let me die by four-eyes’ little invention. You must kill me yourself. Consider it a promise that I will torture the inhabitants of this world and destroy this planet. ”

Yamcha’s mouth dropped open and he found his head shaking back and forth unconsciously. “I know you will not destroy our planet. You’re only saying those things because you don’t think we’ll make it out. We will, Vegeta. We will survive this…and I can show you that not all humans are this terrible. Please don’t promise to torture or kill everyone I care for. I know you won’t do that. I am not going to kill you and I am not going to fall for your deceiving words. Trust me. We will get out of this and you will see the kindness and love humanity has to show.”

The room immediately burst into applause and Yamcha closed his eyes as Skip and the others mocked him and laughed. Even Vegeta held a cold, sad smile as he peered toward the end of the bed, his black eyes roving over Yamcha’s naked form and bulging genitalia. The poor, naïve man had no idea what was in store for him.

“Go ahead,” Vegeta mused, sarcasm dripping from each word. “Prove yourself, Savior of Earth.”

*‘That’s it for now. Hey, if you’ve been reading…and haven’t said hi, go ahead and review! I would love to hear from my readers and see what you guys like so far…or greatly dislike, haha. Thanks everyone!’*