Andy hadn’t planned on drinking tonight, but after getting his first beer free for buying a room at the inn, he hadn’t turned it down. But a few drinks later, he was feeling pretty strange. His shirt wasn’t fitting right, and he’d had to unbuckle his belt and undo his top button, which had been cutting into his stomach. He was also really itchy, but he figured it was just the Southern heat.

The rest of the patrons though–the bears eyeing the fresh meat–they knew the score. They could see the mutton chops developing into a nice full beard, the bulging, furry gut, the cigarette many hoped would morph into a cigar before too long. Some were restless, but they could wait. Wait until he was good and drunk, well into his change, before bending him over the stained pool table and having their way with his ass one after the other, and by the morning, he’d be begging them for more. No, for Andy, the road trip was over–he was about to become a permanent whorecub for the regulars at the Big Bear Inn.

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