City of Bears Series 3: Rising Powers
Arc 2: Nature Abhors a Vacuum
Prologue
“He’s gone? Just gone? How did this happen? What happened?”
“It was Tristan, it has to be.”
“Tristan’s gone too, dumbass! How could it have been Tristan?”
“He took him somewhere, obviously.”
“But why would Tristan leave campus, that doesn’t make any sense. Fucking think, you dipshit–have you got a goddamn brain in there?”
“Does it matter who did it? There’s fucking no one leading the campus! How are we supposed to keep things going without Erikson or Tristan?”
“Don’ fergit, we’re the Masters here. We oughta be in charge anyway.”
“We can’t just–”
“We sure as hell can. Ain’t no way they can stop us. Marcus runs security, the whole staff is fuckin’ terrified a us–wha’ the problem?”
“There’s the resistance. We can’t let them find out.”
“Like the fuckin’ rabble matters.”
“Don’t discount them just because of how they look. They’re planning something. There’s no way they could still be around if they weren’t far better organized than he ever anticipated.”
“Look, the fact is that we don’t know.”
“Ah think we gotta act.”
“No shit we have to act, the problem is figuring out what to do.”
The six men at the table fell back into silence, their slaves behind their seats, tense, sensing their masters’ tension. It was already clear that three of them were dominating the conversation. Marcus, naturally, because we’d been appointed to head up Erikson’s security services, whose primary task was eradicating the resistance movements on campus. The other five were fairly convinced he was incompetent–but Marcus was right–they were good at hiding their tracks. The other two, dominating out of sheer personality, were Clark and Jack. The first dressed in his now trademark polo and khakis, a cub short of stature, but someone who everyone at the table had learned to respect, however grudgingly, due to his natural flare for command. Jack, stinking as usual, the others scooted away from him, his gut pushed up against the table, wearing nothing more than jeans held up by suspenders and his boots, the still cold weather apparently not fazing him in the least. The other three found themselves increasingly marginalized. Doug, the pipe smoking leather master, Len, the cowboy bondage expert, and Grant, the rigid drill sergeant, could all sense that a shift had occurred, and they’d missed their opportunity to ride it.
“Look, first things first, we need to give the staff someone to answer to. I’ll go to administration today, and make sure they know we’re going to be calling the shots for now.”
“Fine, but we still need a plan.”
“No fuckin’ shit we need a plan–the plan is tah find Erikson, ya dimwit!”
“Oh and how are we going to fucking do that?”
“How ‘bout the police? Ah got’s a few connections there. Leather ‘n Rubber can sniff out just ‘bout anythin’.”
“Fine. And we need complete silence on campus. No one can know. If the resistance finds out about this, things will only be harder to control.”
“Well maybe you should focus on finding them, Clark, since you’re so obsessed with them.”
“You know what? Fine, I will.”
“What about us? What are we going to do?”
“Just maintain order, keep an eye on things, make sure nothing goes wrong.”
“This is bullshit, you’re cutting us out.”
“Now ain’t the goddamn time for a fuckin’ hissyfit o’er who git’s a job tah do! We gotta be united ‘n this, or the whole thing is gonna come crashin’ down.”
“He’s right, we all have to be in this together.”
“Fine, fucking fine. Let’s just get a move on then.”
“Alright? Then let’s go and keep this whole mess from falling apart completely.”
The six, already divided, got up from the table, eyeing each other, sizing up the competition. Nature hates a vacuum, and the six of them were all racing to the center of it as quickly as they could, and they could all sense that there was only room for one at the top.
Chapter 1
“And no one has any idea where they went? There wasn’t a note or anything? What are we supposed to do?” One of the board members said, looking at the two empty seats at the table, where Tristan and Frank usually sat, directing the meeting.
“Unfortunately, and there was, well, something discovered outside the President’s Residence, but we’re currently having it investigated, to see if there’s anything we can learn abut what might have happened,” Ken said, a burly bear dressed in a leather suit. As Secretary of the Board, he had taken it upon himself to lead the meeting, but even he wasn’t sure what to do. Tristan was the ringleader–they all were obliged to simply agree with whatever he wanted. Without him here…they were adrift, and none of them knew what to do. They had allowed themselves to be driven for so long, that with the reins gone, they just stood there, gawking at each other, not knowing what to do. The meeting had been scheduled ahead of time, for the second day of term, but when they’d arrived, waiting for the two seats at the head of the table to fill, and when it became apparent that they weren’t going to be filled, they set about to find out why. What they’d found was…disturbing. The President’s Residence ransacked, the frozen corpse of some hideous dogbeast back behind the building, and when they heard that Professor Erikson hadn’t reported in to his classes for two days, they could only fear the worst. They all knew of the brewing animosity between the two of them–but none of them could figure out what might have happened.
“Well, we need to do something.”
“Oh course we need to do something, the question is what.”
“Isn’t this a good thing? Wasn’t…weren’t…”
“We have to tell campus, or contact the police.”
The meeting descended into a muddle of conversations, slowly growing in volume, Ken looking for something to say, but there were no words he could find to establish order. It was almost a relief when the doors to the boardroom burst open, and a short, stocky cub dressed in a polo and khakis stormed in, and said, “Hey you fucks! Pay attention.”
No one paid him any mind, however.
“All of you fucking listen to me, you goddamn fucks!” Clark shouted across the room, his voice slamming right into the faces of the board of trustees, and he climbed up on a chair so he could be seen better. God, how he hated being five foot two, every single day he woke up and still couldn’t put his feet on the ground while they hung off the bed added a bit more fuel to the spiteful flame which burnt in him. He did everything to compensate–he worked out every day, stretching his polo shirts and khakis to the limit. His clothing, in it’s conservative nature, helped draw attention to him as well, considering that it was far more fashionable these days to go bare, but every time, every goddamn time he had to climb onto something to get someone’s attention, God, one of these fucking trustees was going to get it, and they were going to get it bad.
The board meeting went silent for a moment, most surprised that their summary dismissal of the cub hadn’t been enough to deter him. Apparently, none of these fucks knew enough about the Masters Program to be afraid of him, but they’d learn. “Young man, we’re going to have to ask you to leave–this is a closed meeting,” Ken said.
“Yeah, well I’m not leaving, so you can suck it. I’m here to tell you that this fucking board isn’t going to be making any goddamn decisions unless I fucking allow it, got it?”
“Alright, I’ve had it,” a Ken said. This was a problem he could handle–he knew how to discipline a cub, and this would show everyone else that he was in charge of the situation. “Cub, it’s time for you to listen you your betters and leave.” He got up from his chair and walked over towards Clark.
Finally, Clark thought, a fucking target. He waited until Ken came close and tried to grab him, ready to simply try and pick up Clark and throw him from the room, but Clark grabbed the man by the beard, yanked him down, gripped the back of his head, and slammed it down into the oak table loud enough to make every man in the room cringe.
“Don’t touch me,” Clark said, slamming his face into the wood again, “Don’t any of you think about fucking touching me unless you want to end up looking like this, got it?” he said, yanking up the bear’s bloodied face, nose broken, the man crying, but not even aware he was doing so. “Gonna make you a fucking example. You try to fuck with me? Any of you want to fuck with me, or anyone in the fucking Master’s program, you’re gonna fucking regret it,” Clark said pulling his cock out of his pants. Truly, it was the only thing on clark which wasn’t small. Measuring a foot long when soft, with big balls beneath, it looked even more massive attached to his short frame, reaching more than halfway down to his knee. “Fucking suck it. I said suck it!” he screamed at Ken, shoving the head into his mouth, the bear moaning in fear, with every man in the room silenced, and thankful that they hadn’t been the one to stand up and challenge the cub. “Any fucking questions about any of that? Anyone else want to say anything? Call me short? Try and treat me like a fucking child?”
The room was silent, aside from the bear choking on the cock Clark insisted on ramming down his throat, and it stayed silent as Clark continued thrusting and bucking, cumming all over the bear’s bloody face a few minutes later.
“Leave it there. Take your fucking seat, and be thankful I didn’t feel like taking your other hole today. Now what do you fucking say, bitch?”
“I’m…sorry.”
“I don’t want your goddamn apology,” Clark seethed, grabbing the bear by the collar and yanking him close to his own face, “I just gave you a gift. Now what do you say?”
“Thank you.”
Clark slapped him, “Thank you, what?”
“Thank you…sir.”
Clark released him, and the bear hurried his way back to his seat, none of his colleagues looking him in the face. “Now then, if there are no objections, here’s what all of you are going to do. You will let no one outside of this room know about the disappearance of the President or Professor Erikson. No one. If I find out that someone else knows…well, let’s just say a busted face will be the least of your problems. Your job, for now, is to keep the status quo going for as long as possible. If we need something else from you, we’ll let you know. Do you all understand me? I don’t want to come back here because there was some sort of confusion about what is going on here.”
None of the board members said anything to object, but that wasn’t enough for Clark.
“I like my fucking bitches to tell me when they fucking understand something,” he said, and a chorus of “Yes sir” and “We understand sir” was mumbled from every seat at the table.
“Good, don’t fuck with us, and definitely don’t fuck with me,” Clark said, and left the room.
The board dismissed itself a few minutes later, most of them relieved. The moment of potential freedom had been avoided–control passed from one tyrant to another. They would keep the status go going, because that’s what they’d been told to do.
Clark, however, was just getting started. Beating down that board member had only lit the flame of horniness. He hadn’t planned on making his move this early, but he needed to fuck someone’s hole, and he knew just who was going to be getting his cock tonight. First though, he needed to pick some things up from the lab, and then he was going to be paying Len a little visit.
***
The Masters Program meeting was now two days behind Len, but he still was feeling slighted. He could sense that Clark, Marcus and Jack all say themselves as being in control of the situation, Leaving Doug, Grant, and himself behind, but he wasn’t about to go down that road without a fight. he was a Master too–he’d passed the test–the six of them were equals, the ones who had come out on top, and if those three couldn’t see that, well, then they wouldn’t just have to shown that, by force, if necessary.
He returned his attentions to his slave, Max. They were doing some flexibility work tonight, to better enable him to hold the more extreme bondage positions for longer periods of time. That was Len’s skill, really–bondage. He could tie any knot, force a human body to control itself into positions of amazing pleasure, which, with a twist, could become excruciatingly painful. He styled himself as a bit of cowboy, mostly as a joke–because he did love lassoing weaklings and hog tying them. In his practice room, he had on his chaps, a worn leather vest, and his signature cowboy hat, watching Max suspended in the air try not to show his discomfort at having his legs stretched apart and back up over his head, held there with strong, cable like ropes. He thought about how gratifying it would be to tie down Clark, Marcus and Jack and force them into these positions, listening to their joints pop and dislocate in their sockets. They wouldn’t be able to sideline him then. Hell, they probably wouldn’t even be able to walk. “Flexibility position twelve, Max.” he said, keeping an eye on the clock, and watched as his slave expertly maneuvered himself in a new position, this one designed to stretch his back, Max nearly able to bend behind and touch his head to his heels in the air. The training was hard on him, but Max did enjoy it–the burn of the ropes, the pain in his joints. He didn’t remember his old self anymore anyway, none of their slaves did.
He barely had time to register the sound of the practice room door opening, before the baseball bat swung at his knee, not hard enough to shatter it, but enough to collapse Len to the ground howling in pain, the perfect height for the second swing to connect with the side of his head,a perfect hit, enough to render him helpless, but not enough to knock him out. The only person who could land hits with that sort of finesse was was Clark, and sure enough, Len looked up and saw the cub standing over him, grinning, bat in hand. “Good evening Len, how are things?” Clark said, full of the sweetest malice.
“You little fuck, I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Len slurred, but his head was spinning, and his right leg wouldn’t do anything his head told it to do, leaving him to try and crawl away, but one of Clark’s dress shoes pressing down on his wounded knee sent a jolt of pain through him, and held him in place.
“Now now, I just wanted to have a little chat, is all. See, I’ve been thinking Len. I’ve been thinking that, well, six people at the table is just too many, Len. I think that in the coming months, well we Masters are going to have to make some quick decisions, and we just can’t afford to have any disagreements in the heat of the moment.”
“You little fuck.”
Clark brought the bat down again, this time, on Len’s shin, just hard enough to send a hairline fracture up the length of the bone, making the cowboy scream. “Quit calling me little! I fucking hate that, you goddamn cowboy fuck, you’re fucking lucky I can’t fucking kill you right here, because goddamn, I would spray those fucking brains of yours all over this filthy floor, but if you keep calling me little, or small, then I’m going to have to clean up a body, and that isn’t going to make my night. Don’t make me clean up your body, you fucking cunt!”
He watched Len sob for a second, calming himself back down, and then grabbed him by the hair, and sith surprising strength, dragged the cowboy out of the room.
“Where the fuck are you taking me?”
“I have a room all set up for you, bitch. Don’t you worry. See, I think you need something other than bondage to keep you occupied, since you aren’t going to be in the masters program, after tonight. See, we can’t tolerate having any bottoms at the table, right? And I think I have the perfect position for a cowboy like yourself.”
Len struggled, but Clarks grip on his hair was too tight, and he pulled him into a room down the hall, where he saw a large contraption set up in the middle of the room. “First things first,” Clark said, and applied one of Erikson’s mind patches to Len’s skull, the shock rippling through Len’s skull. “Stand up, and straddle the horse,” Clark said, and unable to resist the command, Len did as he was told. He could see what the machine was now–it was a fuck machine. He’d never used one on Max, but a few other masters had used it on their slaves if their holes were too tight to let in a fist.
Clark strapped him in, and Len laughed, “You think a bondage master can’t best a few fucking straps?”
“Oh, you aren’t going to want to escape–this is just to keep you in position. Initiate program, ‘Tijuana’,” Clark said, and light exploded in Len’s field of vision, as the program Clark had spent the afternoon loading into the patch began implanting itself into Len’s mind. The information was coming intoo fast for Len to process, but he felt a growing need. A need in his ass. He needed to be fucked, it was going to overwhelm him, he could already sense it. When he felt Clark press the head of his massive cock against his cherry, he eagerly pushed back. It hurt, but it was supposed to hurt. If it hurt, that meant it was big, and he wanted it big. The bigger the better. The best fuck was the fuck that ripped him apart. Clark, for his part, worked his cock in as fast as he could. He’d been fantasizing about this fuck all day now, after the meeting with the board, and he was so horny, it didn’t take long for him to cum, and pump the first load of many Len would gather in the rest of his life. With Len’s ass now primed, he moved the head of the machine into place, and the ten inch dildo started working itself in and out of Len’s hole, the cowboy not caring, so long as he was getting fucked. The program would take a few hours to be fully loaded, which was fine. Clark needed to do some work on Len’s slave after all. There was no avoiding it–all of their slaves would be attached to them for life, but there was no reason Clark couldn’t make him better able to help his master in his new role, and he abandoned Len there, moaning, the thoughts from the patch beginning to solidify in him, becoming as real to him as his own.
He soon discovered that it wasn’t just cock that he needed–he needed a very particular kind of cock, the biggest cocks that the animal kingdom had to offer. His cowboy persona, crafted more as an inside joke than anything,was quickly becoming a different kind of reality. Len loved spending time on the farm, with the animals, but only so he could cajole them into fucking him. Donkeys, bulls, horses, anything bigger than what a human could give him, that was his real fantasy. And the brutality! Men were too gentle–Len wanted it rough–brutish and animalistic, the only thought being lust and domination. For him, the next few hours passed in a blur, and while he enjoyed the perpetual fuck, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t big enough for him, not by a long shot. The program finally wore down, leaving Len there, strapped to the horse, fucked but not enjoying it. He started squriming his way out of the straps, when the door opened, showing Clark in the doorway, with Max.
“There he is Max, go ahead and show your master your new tools,” Clark said, “So long Len–I already put your resignation in for you. Enjoy yourself, and all those pony shows you’re going to be staring in soon.”
Len wasn’t listening–he was staring at Max. He had no idea what Clark had done to him, but he was a mess–or at least, his hands were. They were huge, each fist the size of a small mellon, as though they’d been grown to massive size, and from Max’s discomfort, it didn’t look like he could unclench them. His arms all the way up to the shoulders were equally thick, and so long they dragged almost to his knees, but that didn’t even take into account his cock. It was completely rigid–possibly permanently so–but was so thick and long that it hung down anyway, nearly two feet long, and as thick as a two liter soda bottle. Len needed it. He needed that cock, and both those fists in his, all at the same time. Still, he had a lot of training to do before he’d be able to manage that–but one day–one day he would get there, and he’d have the biggest hole the world had ever seen. “Get over here Max, and fuck me. Open up your master’s hole with that cock of yours.”
Max was confused. Fuck his master? That seemed wrong, but it was an order. Clark had been busy injecting his limbs with silicone–Max knew he would never be able to cum, or even go soft, ever again, but if that’s what his master wanted, that’s what he would do. Clark could hear the screams of Len echo up and down the hall, begging Max to go deeper even as his hole was ripped wider and wider, and Clark smiled. One down, and only four more before he proved to them all that the little guy always comes out on top.
Bracken's Corner 