CoB: Family Matters [Sketch, Pics]

I’ve had this idea rolling around for a bit, but no time to make it into something longer. It’ll still probably get turned into a full City of Bears story at some point, with a few additional twists to it.

“Fuck boy, you’re such a hot fucker, damn,” Brett said, pushing back against his cub’s cock as he fucked him. Malcolm just moaned, as is other daddy. Garth, gripped him tight, around the belly, and pushed his own cock a little deeper into the boy’s ass, sandwiching him between his two daddies, right where he belonged, right were he assumed he’d be forever.

After a few minutes, they got their rhythm together, and fucked in a train for a few minutes. Malcolm, assaulted on both sides, lost his load first, pumping his cum deep into Brett’s ass, both of his daddies telling him how proud they were of him. Garth pushed the boy over the side of the bed and fucked him a bit deeper, while Brett got on the bed, and slid his cock into Malcolm’s mouth, the two bears leaning over him and sharing a kiss until they came, filling the cub at both ends.

Afterwards, the three of them laid in their sizable bed together, cuddling, discussing their plans to go out the next night and where in the city they might like to go, and it wasn’t long before his two daddies were snoring–but Malcolm wasn’t feeling very sleepy, he was still so damn horny. He slipped out from between his two daddies, and went to the computer to look at some porn–navigating to something a bit…wilder than his daddies were particularly interested in, but which Malcolm had been enjoying lately. Just looking couldn’t do any harm, right?


It was a few days later that malcolm woke up, and discovered the first tattoo. Thankfully it was…somewhat discrete, and he managed to cover it before either of his daddies saw it, and he frantically tried to figure out what to do. He…wasn’t changing, was he? He didn’t feel any different. Maybe it was just something residual from the club the day before, and he just hadn’t noticed it. In any case, he kept it covered up that day, slipping out of the house to investigate some services that might help remove the tattoo–but he was dismayed to find that everywhere he went, they couldn’t seem to get rid of it.

The next day, there were more, and he didn’t cover them quickly enough. His daddies saw them, and threw a fit, demanding to know where he’d gotten them, demanding to know what in the world he was thinking about. Their anger confused him–on one hand, he felt so shameful for letting something like this happen and come between him and his daddies, even if they were a bit vanilla and stodgy, but on the other hand, he felt something inside him craving punishment, and discipline, and he found himself flipping between two extreme moods. One moment, he would be screaming back at them, furious for not caring or understanding what he wanted, and the next he would be apologizing, stripping, and begging his daddies to punish him like the bad boy he was.

Brett and Garth didn’t know what to make of it–the change had been so sudden, and they both believed they could reason with him, and get their sweet little cub back–but it was clear, after another day, things were only getting worse. Malcolm, or Mal as he was calling himself now, slipped out of the house and didn’t return for days, coming back reeking of sex, saying the most vile things to them both. Garth…lost his temper, and locked him down in the basement, telling Brett to keep an eye on him, not listen to a word he said, and to keep him down there while he went to find something that might help.

He spent all day in the city, and found nothing for his situation. In fact, most men, one they heard the story, were appalled. Change was normal, and something that should be embraced. They couldn’t expect to keep their cub from changing, if that’s what he wanted. He returned to the house, defeated, in the afternoon, told Brett what he’d found out…and Garth convinced him that they should just keep him down there. That until he wanted to be their good little cub again, he’d just have to be punished.

Brett hated the idea, but went along with it. In the basement, Mal raised a louder and louder fit, pounding on the locked door, screaming horrific obscenities into the air, his voice dropping lower, growing gruffer, making Brett shake every time he had to pass the door. Garth kept looking for a solution in the city, but turned up nothing. He should have seen it coming, really–Brett didn’t have the resolve Garth did, and when he came home and found the basement door unlocked and open–he just assumed Brett had let him out, and Mal had fled. However, he didn’t find Brett in the house–but he did find a stranger covered in tattoos sitting out in the afternoon sun, smoking a cigar, waiting for him.

“Fuck, I missed the fuckin’ sun,” he said, got up from where he was sitting, and chased down Garth, tackling him to the ground, beating him, and then dragging him into the basement, throwing him into a cramped cage down there. Garth looked around the space in terror–his basement had become a complete sex dungeon since he’d last been down here. He begged Mal to let him out, as the big man climbed the stairs to the main floor again, but Mal just laughed. “Sorry–but I think you need some time in the dark, Garth–some time to learn how the darkness can change you. I’ll be back down in a few days to start training you both, when you’re a bit more…malleable.”

It was then that Garth saw Brett in another cage across the basement floor, huddled and crying, naked. Then the basement door slammed shut, and sent them into total darkness.

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