George stood outside The Pit, off to one side of the entrance, just beyond the scope of the streetlights, smoking a cigar, and waiting. He’d been standing there for close to an hour, waiting for him to show up, his target–a man named Trey Donovan. They had business that needed to be settled, not that Trey was aware of the debt he owed. Still, he’d been a blight on the local scene for long enough that someone needed to deal with the fucker, and George knew that if anyone could deal with him for good, it was him.
Trey thought of himself as an alpha, not that he really knew what that meant. An alpha ought to be a leader; to Trey, it simply meant dominator. He cared only about himself, about his needs, about his looks. He was, George supposed, appealing, of one had a fetish for gorilla silhouettes. He almost certainly was on steroids, from how large he was–it was clear he was compensating for something, and everyone who’d been with him (or raped by him) could attest to his rather…lackluster size. Still, anyone who mentioned that tended to end up with one of those massive forearms shoved inside, whether they were ready or not. He was a brute, cruel and unfeeling, and George had seen too many boys and cubs he liked be ruined by Trey, in one way or another.
George considered himself a daddy, and he looked the part too. Past what some might consider his prime, his hair greying and balding past the crown of his head, a big full gut pushing out against the thick leather harnesses he liked wearing. Still, he knew how to win someone’s obedience, how to create a bond more lasting than the ones Trey fostered out of pain and fear. Some brutes could only learn in the language of brutes, and George was certain Trey was one of them. If he could only get off by making people feel small, then perhaps what he needed more than anything else was to feel small himself. So small, he’d never hurt anyone ever again–George would make sure of that.
He heard the roar of a motorcycle coming down the street, and saw the hulking bull sitting in the saddle pull over to one side of the street and park. He was decked out in leather and denim, all the clothes a bit too small for him on purpose. Trey got off and stomped his way down the sidewalk and up into The Pit, passing George on the way, not even giving the old bear a glance, since George wasn’t exactly his type. He didn’t even hear the strange mumbling coming from the shadows, though he did feel a strange…sensation as he climbed the steps, like some shadow had attached itself to him. He tried to shake off the feeling, but couldn’t, growled and went inside, figuring a rough fuck would make him feel better. George just smiled, waited a few more minutes, put out the butt of his cigar, and then followed Trey inside, ready to get to work.
It hadn’t taken Trey long to get started. In fact, he had probably grabbed the first slightly appealing guy he’d seen, dragged him into a room, bent him over the bench and started on him–or at least that’s what it looked like. The guy was young, short, a bit of a twink, kind of into it, though he kept asking Trey to take in a bit slower–not that he was listening. A few men were watching, and George joined the circle, watching for a moment, before he said, just above a whisper to the man next to him, “What is it, four inches, ya think?”
The man he’d spoken to, knowing Trey’s reputation, immediately turned around and left the room–the other men following suit. Trey, too, had heard him of course, and stopped his rutting, gripping his victim tight to hold him in place, turning to where George was standing, leering. “Big enough to fuck you up, old man. W don’t you just shut up and watch, and see what a real man can do?” The quaver of doubt in his voice was apparent even to him, and he started fucking harder.
“You’re not a man, you’re just a fucking animal. A fucking animal with a tiny, worthless dick,” George said, “You’re pathetic.”
Trey pulled out, and snarled, but something was wrong with him. He knew that he should be angry–no, he was angry, but he should be…angrier than he was. Part of him, some strange part of him was…a bit turned on, by the insult, for some reason. The young twink took his opportunity, rolled off the bench and ran off, Trey realizing too late that his fuck had gotten away. “Ya know, I don’t usually fuck old farts like you, but I’ll ram my fist up your hole just to teach you a lesson about respect!”
He charged George, ready to tackle him. “You’re weak,” George said. Something affected his stride, and Trey stumbled, nearly tripping. “You’re weak, and you’re worthless.” No, no, this wasn’t right, Trey thought to himself, this fucker couldn’t…couldn’t say shit like this to him! He threw a punch–George caught his fist in his own…and his hand should have been so much bigger, but somehow…somehow this old, fat man could palm his fist in his own…and…and… “Bend over, bitch,” George spat.
Trey fought. He fought this…this this sudden desire to submit, something he’d never felt before in his life, something he’d never even imagined himself capable of feeling. He took a step back, but George closed the distance between them, one of the bears hands wrapping around his neck. “You worthless piece of trash, don’t even think about it. You know you deserve this. I’m gonna show you just how little of a man you are. Now bend the fuck over, whore–I won’t tell you again.”
George shoved him back, Trey trying to keep his balance, but he fell on his ass, and…and he got on his knees, helped himself up with the bench, and…and bent over, the whole time, his mind screaming at him, unable to understand why he was doing this, as he heard George’s belt buckle click open, his zipper drop, and the old bear shoved his eight inch cock in balls deep.
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