He had to get closer, he needed to see his creation with his own eyes. He couldn’t be certain that the beast was really under his control, but still, the thrill of danger was just increased his arousal. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, amazed, first of all, at how large Randall had become. He certainly was no longer a pup Erikson himself stood at six and a half feet, and the beast dwarfed him by at least six inches. The beast went to take a step towards him, a low, barely audible growl coming from it’s throat, but Erikson, in a well practiced voice of command, ordered “Stay!” and he halted his advance. Erikson came close then, stroking the beasts fur, feeling it calm to his touch. It was still afraid, afraid of the pain it had just experienced, and unable to understand what had just happened to its body, but he knew this man, knew his scent. This was Master. This was who he must obey. If he did not, then he would face…punishment. The beast had already endured much at this man’s hand, and had no desire to test it’s boundaries. It was stronger, sure, but Master was smart, and it wanted to obey him. Obedience made the beast happy.

Erikson moved his hand down, to the beast’s groin, stroking the sheath until the red head of the beast’s cock emerged, slowly, the head human-like by bulbous, like a dog’s. He hoped it would knot properly–how else would the dogs be able to detain the resistance members they chased? Still, he would discover the answer soon enough, but first, a small bit of pleasure for himself. “Down,” he ordered, and then said, “Suck.”

The beast could no longer wrap it’s lips around the shaft well enough to create a vacuum, however the raspy, long tongue snaking it’s way up and down the shaft gave Erikson plenty of stimulation, the sharp prick of the fangs against his tender flesh a welcome delight. The beast could sense that Master was happy, and this made the animal happy too, and made him horny. He wanted to fuck, he realized. He needed prey, he needed to fuck the prey. He needed to chase, and run, and fuck and pleasure himself. Could Master be prey? No, he told himself harshly–that would be foolish. Erikson could sense the animal’s growing need for satisfaction, and decided it was time for the real event to start. He pointed to the door leading into testing room three. “When the door opens,” Erikson said, “You will hunt. You will find your prey, and subdue it. Do not kill–only harm, and fuck. Do you understand?”

The animal nodded, excited. It would have a hunt! Master would provide him with prey, and a hunt. It watched the door, eagerly, as Master left the room. It would hunt well, it would please Master, it would fuck, and harm, and subdue its prey–it could barely contain its excitement. Outside, Erikson hurried to the other cell, and checked the monitor–sure enough, there was Frank Longen, Dean of Students as well as Tristan’s lover and right hand man on campus, usually helping him handle the day to day things of life in the city. Erikson had been quick to capitalize on this, abducting Frank one evening and giving him one of his patch prototypes. To his knowledge, Tristan was unaware that Frank had been reporting on his actions to Erikson for months now. Still, if this winter went as it should, Frank’s services as a spy would no longer be needed, and he could take on a new role that Erikson had planned for him. Frank was a wake on the monitor, and shaking in fear? Cold? Erikson didn’t know, or really care.The order implanted in Frank’s subconscious had worked perfectly–sleepwalking here naked in the midst of his hibernation. The winter out there would be enough to chill any bear’s bones.

Not saying anything, Erikson hit a button on the control panel, the door between Frank’s cell and the testing room sliding open, revealing a large room filled with high steel walls–a maze, in fact, about the size of a football field.

“Erikson? What is this? I told you what you needed, I did everything you asked.”

“Oh, you served your purpose wonderfully, Mr. Longen. However, I have no more need of your services as a spy, so I will now utilize you as a…test subject. All you have to do, is find the exit, and I’ll let you go, how does that sound?” Erikson smiled. There was no exit, just the other door, leading to his pet’s cell, which slid open now. A howl loud enough to be heard through the concrete walls of the room went out as the beast raced into the maze.

“What…what was that?” Frank asked.

“Why, just a friend I’d like you to meet. Best hurry–he’s much faster than you are, and desperate for a fuck.”

Frank didn’t need to hear anymore, and he took off into the maze. Erikson sat back, and applied another stimpatch, the jolt of energy bringing the chase into perfect focus. Through the cameras, it was like he was down there, watching the two come closer and closer together, the beast howling and panting as he neared his prey. Frank was soon hopelessly lost–not that it would have mattered. His pet spotted the bear at an intersection, Frank screamed, and sprinted in the opposite direction, but his pet raced faster than even Erikson’s cameras could track, barrelling into Frank, sinking it’s teeth into his shoulder, holding him in place, screaming in pain, as it blindly thrusted its cock into the bear’s ass, making him scream in pain and terror, and Erikson felt his cock pulse. His eyes inches from the screen, he jacked his cock, panting in time with his beast, wondering what it would be like, being a ruthless beast, designed to inflict pain and terror into the hearts of others. His pet’s claws sunk into Frank’s flesh, drawing blood and holding him in place as it rutted, letting loose a wild howl of conquest as it came, the head of his cock inflating with blood, locking it deep in Frank’s colon, tying them together. It was time, Erikson thought, and he lowered the walls of the maze, entering the room himself and walking to where Frank was sobbing in pain and terror, ass ripped open, shoulder ripped open, his gut and stomach punctured–but nothing life threatening, he saw–his pet had done very well.

“You didn’t do very well, Mr. Longen.”

“What is this beast? What have you been doing down here?”

“Goodness, what haven’t I been doing down here,” Erikson said,crushing his boot into the wound of Frank’s shoulder, making the man scream, “I’ve been such a naughty bear, these past few months, I suppose. But do you really want to know what he is? I could show you, I suppose.” Erikson pulled out the second dose of the gene serum, and sunk it into Frank’s arm, “You’ll be my second pet, in a few minutes.”

Frank cursed at him, trying to crawl himself off the beast’s cock, but the pain soon washed over him. Erikson focused on the change, on the fear and pain in Frank’s eyes as he changed. He didn’t want to forget this, not ever. He was so close to cumming, his cock right at the edge, but not yet, not yet–there was still more to do. Now stronger than ever before, Frank, fully changed, clawed his way off Randall’s cock, stood and snarled at Erikson. Randall made to defend his master, but Erikson commanded him to stay, and then squatted down. He wouldn’t know what these beasts were capable of until he’d fought one himself, until he’d felt the claws rake at his own flesh, felt their jaws close on his limbs. He would fight Frank, he would dominate him, show him who his Master truly was. Frank, howling, charged at Erikson, mindless, furious, horny, and had he not been gravely injured and exhausted from his transformations, it was likely Erikson would not have survived. However, Erikson fought him tooth and claw, eventually working his way behind the beast, sinking his cock into his already wrecked hole, Frank howling in anger, but knowing he had been bested–dominated. Something in him, some bestial knowledge admitted that this man, this bear, was his right and true Master, and he submitted, head bowed as Erikson roared and fucked his hole, gripping the dog’s tail with one hand as he thrust in and out, Randall watching from a distance, proud of his Master for putting the beta in its place. Erikson came, all of the pain boiling over into a single roar of satisfaction, and he felt Frank’s new doggish cock erupt beneath him, happy that his Master had used him for his pleasure. Frank felt no will to fight anymore–he was the beta, he would submit, and when Erikson pulled out, Frank truned around, lapping away the blood and cum from his cock, head bowed, hoping his Master would forgive him for challenging his authority.

“You, he said to Frank, “are Beta, and he, is Alpha, I am Master. Do you understand?”

The dogman nodded, pleased with his new name. Beta–it was his place, his role, his new identity, his old life already slipping away from his animalistic mind.

“Alpha, you will train him. Be strict, and as harsh as you must be, for Beat to understand.”

Alpha nodded, but first, he must reassert his role as Alpha, and fuck Beta’s ass once again. Erikson left them to their rutting, pleased with his experiment’s results, but he had a more important task at hand. He set off for the lab, a trail of sweat and blood dripping behind him, unnoticed. He had a weapon to craft–one which would change the course of mankind forever.

Chapter 4

The snow had stopped, for the moment, and Erikson could see buds emerging on the trees as he trudged through the snow on campus. It was slow going–he hadn’t had time to work on miniaturization, so his radiation gun was so heavy he had to hold it with both hands, and that wasn’t even counting the generator strapped to his back, but still, a man of his stature had no trouble carrying it across campus. It was time–the research was done, the testing over–it was time to act. It was time to put the homo ursa in a cage, where it belonged.

He’d never seen the campus this quiet, in all the years he’d taught there. If he thought hard, he could still remember his old self, the weak, mousy man he’d been, his high minded principles of ethics, his pledge to never tamper with the human mind. What a crock he’d been. He knew better now, he could see–actually see–the possibilities. They floated around him, like motes before his eyes. Hallucination? The stimpatches? He’d put on three, the chance of side effects were increased, but he stopped and help one in his hands, cradling it, staring at it, it’s brief luminescence, before he crushed it. Why had he done that? It didn’t matter, he was becoming less certain of things as he walked.

He’d read studies, of men who had been kept awake for extended periods of time, of the lucid hallucinations, the paranoia, the anger, the suicide rate. He’d been awake for months now–he’d gone through all of it, and pushed through into a new mental state. His thoughts sluggish, and yet pristine, as though everything he thought bore the mark of absolute truth, truth weighing them down so they could only move slowly. He looked around, and the motes were gone, but the sense of purpose drove him onwards, shuffling through the waist deep snow. He’d forgotten what sleep was like, now. In fact, he decided that it was unnecessary–he had gone this long without it–he could go longer. He had so much work to do, he didn’t have time to waste sleeping ever again. Humanity had been sleeping for millennia, and it was about to lurch awake. Erikson would be the needle of science, sinking into the flesh, propelling it forward into the future. It was in sight now, the President’s Residence, glowing faintly. Erikson would extinguish that light–he would be the one glowing by the end of the day–he would be the mote of destiny, only his would never be crushed out–it would burn–burn across the earth, and never be extinguished–and he would rule…oh, would he rule the world, the throne of science placed high over all mankind, with Erikson upon it.

***

It was the thick of winter, now, and Erikson hadn’t dared sleep in weeks, not even a nap, knowing that if hibernation gripped him, all of what he’d worked for these long months, alone in his lab, would be ruined. It was all so close to coming together, he could feel it, but still the secret of it all eluded him. The pendant, the boutique, Scuzz, Tristan, the changes, this inexplicable magic, all of it was connected, the lines coming clearer by the hour as he poured over his research, but still…something was missing, but he was close, so goddamn close, he could taste it, and it was all coming down to this sample he’d taken from Scuzz–all of the secrets were bound up in the genetic code there, but there was just one problem–it was perfectly human, when Erikson very well knew it shouldn’t be, that it couldn’t be. Every single theory required Scuzz and Tristan to share be of some alien origin, how could he be human? It fact, he knew it wasn’t human, but it wasn’t any of the data which told him that, or rather, it was how the data told him this, that he found suspect.

To be more specific, the data he got from Scuzz’s sample was always human–but in all of his multiple analyses, he had never gotten back the same human–the genetic code always carried with it small variations, generally meaningless, but something that simply couldn’t happen if he was actually human. To Erikson, looking at the genetic data, it felt like these outliers, these anomalies, were remainders of a division problem which kept coming up different every time he processed it. The big picture was right, but the little bits left over could never quite match up. Unfortunately, he had no way of figuring out why the sample acted this way, well, no other explanation other than magic, but he was a scientist–magic, if such a thing did exist, could still be quantified. Granted, he didn’t have much reason to doubt its existence now, but without studying it, he couldn’t know it’s place in the equation, and he certainly couldn’t just wave away the anomalies with it–he had to figure out what made all of this work.

In the end, he was glad to have acquired such a large sample–it left him plenty oto test and experiment on, but he was reaching the end of even the massive jar he’d collected at the boutique after Christmas. If he couldn’t get to the bottom of this, well, then he was left with conjecture and estimation, but that was unacceptable. Still, he was getting closer and closer. Just the day before, he had discovered that certain levels of radiation could cause the variations in the genetic structure to become exacerbated–though whether that was simply mutation or an interference with the magical field, he didn’t know. Still, adjusting the magnitude and frequency was yielding the best leads he’d found all these past months, so he would pursue it to the end.

He had just finished the latest batch of tests using the radiation, and was waiting for the results to develop, applying another stimpatch to keep himself awake. Sure, there were some side effects–he’d had a few hallucinations, thrown and smashed some lab equipment against the wall, but for the most part, he was lucid–so incredibly lucid, it was almost terrifying. He could see all the flaws in everything, when he was this awake, all the flaws that he, and only he could fix. Oh the progress he’d made in the last few months, the technologies he’d developed! It was like the laws of reality were warping themselves to his desires–it was astounding. Genetic manipulation, neurochemistry, behavioral modification, it seemed that the horizon was limitless. There was no telling where science could take humankind were he untethered from Tristan’s leash–the fool, the usurper. An alien, something inhuman, meddling in the business of men–well Erikson would have the final say in that. It would be science, not magic, which guided this new world into the future, and with Erikson at the helm, there was no telling where the heights of power, glory and pleasure for man might reach.

Sure, there had been some necessary sacrifices–there always was, when it came to science, and when one was moving at Erikson’s hectic pace, some losses would be expected. A few minds and bodies destroyed though, was, in his opinion, fair, when it amounted to a glorious new era for humanity–or even beyond humanity. Tristan was only interested in power and control–he had no real vision. Erikson wanted progress. He should be leading, not that freak sleeping away in the President’s Residence.

The timer rang, and Erikson rushed over to the screen, checking the level of the anomalies from the batch of twenty tests he’d run. Most were useless–nothing more than the usual variation he’d always gotten. He was about to lose patience and hurl something at the wall when he saw it–a completely abnormal result. Jittery, though whether it was from the patch, or from excitement, he expanded the results of the sample–and found a completely new genome–nothing like anything which had ever walked the planet. Was this it? The truth? The result he’d been looking for all this time? He ran a scan, comparing it to all other genetic profiles on earth, and which it was closest to homo sapien, the next closest match down the evolutionary tree was the family Ursidae. It validated his hypothesis–Tristan and Scuzz weren’t human–he might call them Homo Ursa. But where had they come from? Why were they here? It didn’t seem reasonable that they could be actual aliens, it was more like they were an evolutionary branch which was never explored. An alternate dimension? Some different timeline? It seemed like the most plausible, but the amount of energy needed to cross dimensions, destroying the laws of physics and thermodynamics in the process–it would be astronomical. If he could find the source of that power, if he could harness it, who knew what he might be able to accomplish. The feats of the last month would appear as baby steps next to the strides he could make in the name of humanity. Still, he should test the sample again, just to make sure.

He located it, and also fetched a second, fresh sample to try replicating the experiment, but as he found the test tube–something assaulted his senses. It was the sample, the cum. It was different, visibly different, and even though it was corked, Erikson…he could smell it. And oh, did it smell amazing. He should drink it–he should see what would happen. It would be an experiment, nothing more, and then, he could find more, and drink that too, and find the cock that made it, and worship it, and serve it, and never leave it’s side, empty his mind of all this worthless knowledge and just serve the alpha, yes, that alpha, the tube was at his lips, he could already taste it–but no. He yanked it away, not daring a single taste, and rushed across the room, his resolve quivering, before hurling it into the furnace, the compulsion fading, but not before his mind screamed at him for destroying something that should he treasure and worshiped. Panting, he slumped against the wall, exhausted. Scuzz was an alpha–but none of the other cum had made him feel like that. Could…was he, the real Scuzz, the Homo Ursa that his radiation had unmasked…what was he?

Suddenly, Tristan didn’t seem like the worst of his problems–he may have just uncovered one more. Certainly Scuzz was within his grasp for the moment, but if the spell holding his true form back, if that was broken, what then? KIt was a terrifying thought, to imagine what sort of beast might produce such a concoction which would overwhelm even his own vast intellect. One thing was certain, he would make no other tests on the sample–even though his body was pleading with him to make more, just so he could taste it, just once–only he already knew, that if that passed his lips, there would never be ‘just once.’ No, this sample, this was not just Homo Ursa, he might as well call it Homo Ursa Major, he thought with a chuckle, a chuckle he couldn’t stop for a good ten minutes, the laughter infectious. The stimpatches did that–once he started, it was difficult to stop. Still, he had so much more work to do, he thought, struggling up, hunched over with a deep, belly laugh. He had to weaponize the radiation, he had to test its capabilities, and all before the spring came, less than a month away, but first–first, he needed a break. He had so much energy, so much pent up, he had to expel it, he had to focus, and he knew just how to do it.

The labs had grown in the past few months, Erikson had contracted scores of construction students to expand the basements under the science building, of course wiping their memories afterward, to ensure his secrets were safe with him. Not even his masters students had any clue about the scope of his projects. Sure, he did have some teacher’s assistants, but he could trust them–after all, the only thoughts any of them could have were those he allowed them to have. However, there was a new serum he’d been aching to test out, but he’d been saving it for a situation where he had a large amount to…vent, because he could tell it would be quite a show. He went to a terminal and ordered the transference of two prisoners to rooms adjacent to testing facility three, and then he stopped by the genetics lab where he picked up two vials of genetic therapy serum seven. Pity all of his TA’s were asleep, he would have to administer the serum himself. Still, he could take some pleasure in that, and he made his way to the cell of the first prisoner..well, this one was less of a prisoner, and more a guest. The admissions director had come to him, saying that two of the schools alumni wanted him fast tracked for pup training, and given the size of their prospective donation, Erikson hadn’t been able to say no. While the young man had taken quite well to his training for the last few months, the professor decided it might be fun to push it to some extremes.

Randall, as he was called, was on all fours, sitting at attention, when Erikson came into the room, wearing his required gear–collar, knee pads, and fist mitts. He knew better than to speak, especially in Erikson’s presence, but the pup’s confusion was obvious as the professor removed the gear, extending and contracting his fingers, as though he’d forgotten he’d had them–and in fact, thanks to Erikson’s mental manipulations, he actually had. Still the serum was going to make the gear unnecessary, provided it worked as expected. If not–well, then the pup would probably die, but he wouldn’t be the first, nor the last. Science required sacrifice–and Erikson had no problem sacrificing anyone, if it was necessary for progress.

He made sure the cameras in the room were recording, before he quickly administered the serum in the pup’s arm, who gave a quiet yelp from the pain of the needle, and then Erikson beat a quick exit. He didn’t want to be around in person until he was certain his mental control would remain intact through the transformation, and assuming the pup even survived the transformation. The probability of survival was put around sixty percent, still, who could know? That’s why there were experiments, after all–to find these kinds of things out. Erikson rubbed the growing bulge in his crotch, waiting for the first signs that the serum was working, as the pup’s heart rate sped up a tick, indicating his system becoming stressed, and he knew the first outward sign would emerge soon.

Sure enough, it began at the injection site, the pup itching his skin absent mindedly, until he noticed that where he was scratching the skin was breaking out with short, coarse fur. This, of course, caused the pup to start panicking, but Erikson was happy to see that there was no break in his mental conditioning. The pup uttered not a single human word, just whining, before moving to the door and clawing at the reinforced steel, however, the pain was escalating quickly, along with the pups vitals, and he slumped down, likely because his muscles were spasming beyond his control, and his bones were reshaping themselves, rendering them unusable for the moment. Yes, the pain–the pain was likely excruciating–watching the pup suffer, Erikson was already hard, and this was just the prologue to the main event. The changes were accelerating now, just as the models had predicted. This was where the greatest stress would come–if the pup survived the next few minutes, the chance of survival rocketed up to a projected ninety-eight percent.

On the screen, Erikson zoomed in the camera, giving himself a better look at the pup’s changing form, his legs and arms being the most noticeable, slimming down, his joints shifting and lengthening, his hands and feet reforming into furry paws, though they retained their thumbs, he noticed. That was exciting actually–if they retained substantial mental capacities as well, he might have quite the clever, and useful beast on his hands. The legs were now shaped to encourage four legged movement–ideally they would be capable of standing on their hind legs as well, but their greatest speed would come from being four-footed. The changes started showing on the pup’s face as well, his skull shifting, a muzzle growing out, his mouth extending forward as his teeth reformed into fangs, bared in pain and confusion. He had close to ninety percent of his body covered in fur now, and Erikson was pleased to see that the pup’s vitals were holding steady–his fun wouldn’t be spoiled, then, by the pup dying prematurely.

The changes were slowing now, and Erikson was looking at a far better result that he could have every imagined, a beautiful, vicious, hybrid, capable of running speeds above forty miles per hour, jaws capable of snapping bones, and, hopefully, the fierce loyalty and obedience of an expertly trained dog. He saw the pup struggle onto all fours now, and Erikson was happy to see that his muscle memory had adapted well enough to enable movement, so hopefully, if any physical rehabilitation was needed at all, it would be minimal. Still, it would be best to try some simple commands. He activated the room’s speaker, and said, “Sit.” The response wasn’t quite immediate, but it was sufficient. Most likely it was still trying to grasp the changes to it’s body. The beast sat, and waited for the voice’s next command. “Stand,” Erikson said, wondering if it would be capable of walking on it’s hind legs. He wasn’t disappointed. While shakey, the beast was able to stand on it’s wide feet, though it’s body forced it to hunch over slightly. For the first time, Erikson was able to take in the pup’s physique. The therapy had been designed to encourage muscle growth, but these results far surpassed what he’d been expecting. The chest and torso were still largely human in appearance, aside from the superficial hair, and the pecs and abdominals of the beast were amazingly defined. Oh, what pain this beast could inflict! Those claws, those teeth…Erikson let out a moan, wishing he could test the capacities with one of his Pain TAs–he would love to know exactly how excruciating it would feel, having those scratch someone’s body. It was beautiful, the most beautiful thing he’d seen in weeks.

(Note: I’m reposting the beginning of Chapter 3. I added a couple paragraphs at the beginning to keep the mirrored structure of this arc going. It isn’t deja vu, I swear, and the words aren’t double counted, for those keeping score.)

Chapter 3

It was wider than when he’d started–Scuzz was certain of that, but for all of his work, over these hours and days, and all he had to show for it was a crack barely wide enough to slip his fingers into. Still, it was progress. He wondered how long he had been at this, attacking the wall in his mind with whatever his mind could conjure for him to destroy it with–explosives, pickaxes, cranes, anything and everything, and yet nothing–he would never manage to break it down at this rate–there simply had to be a better way. He stuck his nose to the crack, inhaling the scent of pine trees which haunted him now. It was so familiar, but why was that? He’d lived in the city his whole life, hadn’t he? Sure, he’d gone camping a few times before, with Brute and the thralls, but this was different. He’d lived here–he was certain of that now. This was a smell of home. He inhaled again, and held it, when a memory him him suddenly, out of the blue, nearly hard enough for him to stumble backwards away from the wall.

A cave–he could remember a cave, sleeping on a flat slab, eating fish–fish from a stream, and silence, and alone, and regret and fear–terror at himself, and that was it–but it was his, and he clung to it like a thief to a purse. A moment later, there was a loud crack–and he watched the wall splinter apart, the crack he’d made widening to the size of his fist. He rushed forward–light–he could see light! There was something, maybe a whole world on the other side, but then the light was blotted out, there was the glint of a fang, a red, bloodshot eye, and then light again. The stranger, the whisperer–Scuzz had many names for his companion, the prisoner on the other side of the wall. He hadn’t given much thought really to who or what he might be, but now…now there was a tremor of fear, from that single glimpse. Still, he didn’t have a choice. He needed in–and whatever that meant letting out, it was worth it. It was worth knowing, what had been locked away from him, and if what was in there could help his master–if it could give Scuzz a chance to feel that wonderful pleasure again–then he would do anything.

***

Scuzz sat at the counter in Bear Boutique, flipping through the latest issue of Cubby Magazine which had arrived in that morning’s shipment, massaging his cock through his grimy jeans as he flipped through the photo shoot of the Boars, the champions of the high school football championships this year, posing naked with their coach. It really was no wonder they’d come out on top–apparently their musk was so powerful, half of the players they faced fainted right on the spot, leaving themselves opened for quite the fuck. He glanced around, flipped to the centerfold of the team’s captain showing off his ripe pits and thick cock, Scuzz licking his lips and figuring a quick wank couldn’t hurt. Toilet would love to suck down his load of course, but Scuzz had been feeling kind of…irritable of late. He was tired all the time, and he just couldn’t stop eating for the life of him. Hibernation was coming early to him apparently, because Brute, Beast and Toilet didn’t seem that close to turning in for the winter. Still, from the lack of traffic, it didn’t look like business would be picking up much until springtime.

He checked the clock–still an hour until he could close up shop and go to bed early–again. He was just so ready to sleep this coming winter away, and from the chill in his bones, he could tell it was going to be a cold one. He was glad he had Brute and their thralls to cozy up to in the coming months, he’d always hated hibernating alone…though he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d been alone. It was the wall again, always that damn wall. He’d hoped that he’d stop caring what was on the other side at some point, but it was always there, holding his mind at bay, taunting him with…well, something, not that he could remember what it was.

He was about to pull out his cock when he heard to door chime of someone walking into the store, and grumbling, he put down the magazine to see who was coming in. To his surprise, it was a face he recognized, and not one he’d been expecting. He’d only met the man a few times, when he’d come by the shop to demo a few of the products he’d invented which were now stocking the store’s shelves. Apparently, according to Tristan, he was quite the genius when it came to psychological manipulation. What was his name again? Scuzz couldn’t remember–he’d never really been one for names. Hell, he was sometimes glad he only had one himself. “Well, I wasn’t expecting you today. Come by to drop of another one of your inventions for us to sell?”

The professor looked up over at Scuzz and smiled, “No, I’m afraid today is a personal visit–not a business one.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot your name, what was it again?”

“You can just call me Erikson, or Professor Erikson, if you’d like.”

Fat chance, Scuzz thought, smirking at the thought of him calling anyone professor. Scuzz was a graduate of the school of hard knocks, as he liked to say–he didn’t have much patience for anyone he considered high minded, and Erikson sure fit that bill, as far as he was concerned, though the bear was certainly impressively dressed. The leather dress shirt was amazingly tailored, as were his pants, and while he was definitely too clean for Scuzz’s liking, he could definitely appreciate the older man’s physique. “Alright then Erikson, what can I help you with? Looking to purchase something in particular?”

“No, I’m not looking to buy. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about a few things.”

Scuzz looked at him, puzzled. “What would that be?”

“I’d like to ask you about Tristan Newbeary–what do you know about him?”

“Not very much. He’s just the shop’s owner and investor–he’s not really concerned with our day-to-day operations as long as we’re making money–and we’re not having any trouble with that.”

“It was a smart idea, sending out those samples.”

“Ha, Tristan wasn’t too fond of it, but I figured it would work.”

“Look, Scuzz, right?” Erikson said, coming close, “I’m just going to be honest with you. I know, that you know something about Tristan. Something I need to know, and I’m going to get it out of you one way or another, do you understand?”

“Well, I’d be happy to tell you what you need to know, but I don’t know what you need to know, so I can’t help you.”

Erikson stared Scuzz down for a moment, neither man flinching, before he said, “Alright, let me back up a bit. Here’s why, I think you know something about Tristan Newbeary–it’s because neither of you seem to have any record of actually existing.”

“Well I’m here, aren’t I?”

Erikson rolled his eyes, “Well, naturally, but that’s not quite what I mean. What I mean, is that both of you seem to have popped into existence here a few months ago, in the sense that there’s no record of either one of you prior to then. So, that means one of a few things might be true. Either you’ve both been living off the grid from birth, until a few months ago, or you both appeared out of thin air, and considering some of the things I’ve seen of late, I’m betting on the second. So quit with the dumb act–we both know you’re much smarter than you let on. Where in the fuck did the two of you come from, and what the hell are you?”

“I’m just a man like you.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me–I’ll get the truth out of you one way or another.”

“I’m telling you the truth. If you don’t believe me, ask Brute–the two of us have been mates for years now–and as for not having a fucking history, who don’t you just check the fucking criminal records? I can sure as hell tell you I have a few records there.”

Again, Erikson backed off, and Scuzz could tell that this wasn’t how he’d thought this conversation was going to go. After a moment, Erikson spoke again, “Alright, fine. I suppose this only leaves three options. Either you really are human, which could be true, but doubtful, or you’re lying to me very skillfully, or you actually don’t know. How about we find out which one is which?” Before Scuzz could dodge out of the way, erikson had slapped a strange patch onto the side of his head, and a second later, he felt a painful jolt of electricity shoot through his temple and dig it’s way into his mind, making him wince and cry out in pain. “Oh be quiet, and don’t fucking call for your friends.”

Scuzz’s mouth immediately shut itself, and Scuzz reached for the patch to rip it off, but his finger’s couldn’t get a grip on it. In fact, it almost felt as though it were melting into his skin. “Oh don’t worry, the neurocircuitry is already planting itself into your dermis–it won’t be coming off anytime soon. But you don’t actually want it to come off–you want to keep it on, and keep it on there. Keeping that patch there keeps you under my control, and being under my control feels so good, you don’t want that feeling to go away, do you?”

It did–It did feel good. It felt so good to be under Erikson’s control. Scuzz tried to fight it, but even his alpha mind was no match for Erikson’s technology. “No…No, I don’t.”

“Now, be polite. I like all of my students to refer to me by my title. You’re my student for the moment, and there’s a lesson I need you to remember, and you do want to make your professor happy don’t you?”

“Yes professor, what lesson?” Scuzz said, his mind happily accepting the scenario. Scuzz so wanted the professor to be happy, he’d do anything for him.

“I want you to tell me about Tristan Newbeary, about what he is, about where his power comes from, and where you both came from, and why he needs you. Tell me all of that, and I’ll be the happiest professor in the world.”

Scuzz wracked his mind, looking for an answer–and every time, he ran into that wall. The answers–all of them–were on the other side, but he couldn’t reach them, and everytime he tried, he was thrown back. “I…I know, but I can’t remember. I’m sorry Professor, I don’t know.”

“Hmm…well, there’s nothing that can jog the memory like a bit of pain, right?”

Had Professor Erikson not already told him to stay quiet, Scuzz would have screamed, and screamed louder than ever before in his life. The pain, it was everywhere–his skin ripping, his bones aching, his lungs choking off, stomach aflame with acid, and he threw himself at the wall, he threw himself at it, beating on it, desperate to get across it, to the truth, so the pain would end, so his Professor would be happy with him and end the pain, but he couldn’t beat it, it was too high, and too thick, and only when he was a blubbering mess, crumpled on the floor of the shop, did Erikson end it.

“Hmmm…” Erikson said, looking down at the defeated alpha with no emotion at all. “This is not what I was hoping for. Well, I suppose there’s one other way of finding out what you are, but I’m going to need a sample.”

“What…Professor, why are you doing this?”

“Oh hush–pain is good for the soul, don’t you know that? You just stay right there for a moment while I get things ready for you, alright?”

Scuzz couldn’t do anything but obey at this point, but now that the initial shock was over, he found that his mind could worm its way around the implant a bit, at least giving him a space to wedge in a clear thought or two. This fucker was obviously deranged, but with complete control over his body, there was nothing Scuzz could do about it. Even if he called for help no one would hear him. Brute and Beast were out back handling the latest shipment, Toilet was chained up in the bathroom, not that he would have been much help if he weren’t. There had to be someway out of this–there had to. Why was this guy so interested in him? Sure, he was an alpha, but he was no one special, but a nasty ass biker bear with a thing for filth, and of course he’d “existed” for more than a few months. He could remember back farther than that, couldn’t he? I mean, it had taken some time for him to remember everything in his past…and there were some times, just a few, where, well, the memories he had just didn’t seem real. Still, they were the only ones he had, how could they be wrong? If they were wrong, then where were his real ones?

The wall, that damn wall in his fucking head, he could tell everything was back there, everything he needed to know but there was no way in. He saw that Erikson had pulled some equipment out of a small bag he’d brought in with him, and now he came over to Scuzz carrying it. “Take off your pants and take out your cock–I don’t want to touch them.”

Blushing a bit, Scuzz did as he was told, hauling out his thick, ripe cock, and with a sneer, the professor slipped a plastic sleeve over the entire shaft, planting it at the base, and then hit a button. Immediately, Scuzz felt the sleeve contract and begin milking him in strokes more powerful than any blowjob he’d ever received, and he let out a gasp, his cock immediately leaking cum into a tube connected to a sleeve, where it was deposited into a massive jar. “Yeah, don’t worry, I bet you’ll be able to fill that whole thing by the time I’m through with you. Now, that’s gonna take a few minutes, and I love seeing big, tough alphas on their knees. Beg, pig. Beg for the privilege to suck your professor’s cock.

The circuitry told him to do it, but the alpha in him was standing stronger now, his hormones and domineering side pushing back against Erikson’s technology. “No–No, I won’t. I’m not going to play this sick, twisted bullshit game with you!” he snarled.

“Well, the alpha has some bite in him after all. Fine, you don’t have to suck me off. I’ll just go find that little thrall of yours and make him do it–and then I’ll slit his throat and leave his bloody corpse there for you to mop up, how does that sound?” Erikson said, drawing a sleek knife which reflected his smile into Scuzz’s face. “But I mean, it’s just a thrall, right? I mean, there are millions of guys who I suppose would eventually love to be your toilet, what’s the harm in there being one less filthy fuck on the planet, eh? And, I do so love the sound of a good scream…”

“Fine,” Scuzz spat out, “I’ll suck your cock, I’ll…oh, fuck…” he said with a shudder, and another load shot from his milked cock into the jar. He may have found a way to resist the commands of the professor, but obeying them still felt–amazing. So good that it almost hurt in the most beautiful way.

“Well, go on then, beg. Beg like a little bitch.”

“Please…please let me suck your cock, professor,” Scuzz said, shuddering and shivering in pleasure, “Fuck my face sir, shoot your load across my face like I’m your fucking whore.” Scuzz couldn’t help himself, that pleasure, it was stronger than any drug he’d ever had, and he wanted more, he wanted to feel that good again, he wanted to feel like that forever and always, and if Professor Erikson could give that to him, it just might be worth it.

“I’m really not a fan of positive reinforcement,” Erikson said, “But I can’t deny that it get’s results. Alright, suck my cock, bitch,” he said, pulling out his cock, and Scuzz raced to obey, his hands shaking as he undid the professor’s fly and hauled out his cock, unable to get it in his cock fast enough for his own liking, but when he did, it came back, even stronger this time, and it did hurt, it felt like the pleasure was going to rip apart his very soul, but he wanted it that way, he wanted it, and Erikson could give it to him. He didn’t care anymore, about resisting, about the wall, he’d do whatever this man wanted. He would walk off a cliff for him, if it meant he could feel like this on the way down, to his death. Orgasm after orgasm rocked its way through his body and out his cock, the jar steadily filling, his balls aching as they drained themselves for his master. Scuzz was hopeful he would earn the privilege of having his master cum down his throat, but Erikson’s eyes were on the jar, and when it was full, he pulled his cock from between Scuzz’s lips and zipped up, leaving the alpha whimpering and aching in need.

“Alright bitch, that’s all I need from you.”

“No, please, let me do something else for you, please, I need–I need it, I need it so bad, just something, anything,” Scuzz said, crawling after him, drained and exhausted beyond measure.

“Well I don’t need you for anything, if you won’t tell me what I need to know.”

“I don’t know, sir. I don’t I swear, I’m telling the truth, I don’t know anything about Tristan, or myself other than my memories, and I’m as human as you are, I swear.”

“Ha, well, we’ll see about that,” Erikson said, swilling the cum in his jar, “Pity someone wiped your memory. Still, if you want more, if you ever want to feel like this again, well, just remember where your loyalties lie. Tristan has done nothing but lie to you, I assure you. There is a sea change coming, new powers are rising–it’s time for men to take the reins of our own destiny, and if you’re a good pig, I might let you live at my feet in my new world, how does that sound?” Erikson laughed, and left the store, not even looking back, and Scuzz knew he should fight back, that he was better than this, but the image of himself, kneeling at that man’s feet…the pleasure shuddered through him, much weaker, but still there. His cock would have kept leaking, but there was nothing left for him to cum. He collapsed to the carpet, exhausted, feeling the sleep of hibernation start to overtake him. Good, it was time. Better to sleep than to live without his master’s pleasure surging through him.

Distantly, he could sense Beast and Brute discovering him at closing time, both of them heaving him up and carrying him to the bed where they tucked him in for a long winter nap, but Scuzz wasn’t there–he was at the wall. The wall–Professor Erikson needed whatever was on the other side, and he would get to it, he would beat this damn thing if it was the last thing he did. He came close in the dreamspace, running his hands across the perfectly smooth and even surface, without a hint of an imperfection. What was in there? What was being kept from him, and who was keeping it there. Tristan–that Tristan, could it be him? Could he have done this to him? Erikson seemed to think that they were connected, but he had no clue how they could be. He pounded on the surface with all of his strength, but he had no idea how to get past it. The wall was insurmountably high, and stretched on to infinity in every direction, but still, he had to try, for his master’s sake.

He set off to the left, figuring neither direction mattered, checking the surface for any sign of weakness. He walked for what might have been hours or days, and he was about to give up when he saw something–a crack. A hairline fracture, really, he would have never noticed it had he not been running his fingers along the surface. He put his face to the crack–pine trees–he could smell the scent of pine. What did that mean? Could his master use it? Would it be enough?

He started pounding and hammering at the crack with his hands, desperate to get through, now that there was a glimmer of hope for him, screaming and shouting at the barrier, so loud he didn’t hear the faint voice until he’d fallen to his knees, exhausted. It wasn’t much, barely a whisper, like the hint of pine in the air. “That isn’t going to work,” the hint of a breath said.

“Who’s there, who are you?” Scuzz shouted into the crack.

A chuckle, barely distinguishable, but the person was laughing at him. “My how I’ve fallen, so much for all my grand ideals, I suppose. How stupid.”

“Answer me, who are you? How can I get in there?”

“Get in? Ha, you think this wall was made to keep you out? Idiot, this wall was designed to keep me in. That patch your…‘Master’ stuck on you blew this crack in the wall, but unless you’re far thinner than I expect you to be, I don’t think either of us will be crossing over anytime soon.”

“No, I have to get in there, I have to know what’s in there. Tell me, tell me what’s there, what is it?”

“Just memories…some regret and mistakes. I doubt that master of yours would be very interested in any of it. Besides, if you get in, that means that I will be getting out–are you sure you want that? Don’t you think I might be locked away in here for a reason? Ah, but you’ve probably already made up your mind. Well scratch away, my friend, scratch away–let’s see how far you can get in your winter’s sleep.”

So scratch he did, or he started scratching. Looking down, after a few minutes, he saw a pickaxe, and then a jackhammer, and then a wrecking ball, and he worked on that wall ceaselessly, because every time he stopped, there was just that empty pit where his master’s pleasure had been, and the stranger laughing. and always the scent of pines, growing stronger and stronger as the crack widened bit by bit. The smell of the past, of loneliness, of freedom, of a world far away, of home. Yes, home, a place he’d been. He could feel the memory coming back, something distant but there all the same. He pressed his face against the crack, now wide enough that he could feel air brushing his face. A different air, an air he hadn’t felt in ages, free of soot and grime, and he drove at the wall even harder. He would get there, eventually, that much he knew. He wouldn’t stop until he did. However, he no longer knew what really drove him,the desire to please his master, or his sheer curiosity. And always, the stranger laughed, a laugh of malice, and in the back of his mind, he wondered what he might release upon himself when the wall did finally crumble down. He would find out soon enough however, and when he woke in Spring, it would be without this wall, and maybe with a grain of truth, both for himself, and for his master.

“I didn’t mean what I said before–you’re a fantastic top,” Terry said, making Matt laugh as he fucked him.

“Well good–I’d hate to disappoint,” Matt said, “You want my cum up that hole of yours again?”

“Fucking give it to me–all of it.”

“You asked for it.”

Matt started bucking harder, panting a bit, and with a shudder, he buried his cock deep in Terry’s ass and came, filling him to the brim, but he didn’t let Terry get off his cock until it had completely softened and slipped out, and Terry didn’t seem to mind the closeness. As the clung to each other there, in the baths, coming down from the thrill of a fuck, Matt asked, “Do you…do you want to go back? Do you want things back the way they were?”

Terry didn’t answer immediately, his head resting on the big bear’s chest, and Matt just hugged him closer, feeling his heart swell a bit. It was different when he held Terry, than when he hugged Tom. Tom always felt like a battle, but with Terry–he wanted to cradle and protect him, and Matt knew he shouldn’t feel like that, that this was just this body and twisted world and all the rest, but on the other hand, part of the reason he’d asked Terry the question at all was that he didn’t have an answer himself. “I don’t know,” Terry finally said.

“Me neither.”

“Let’s not talk about it. Not right now, ok? Just…Just hold me for a bit longer.”

“Alright.”

Matt could feel Terry’s cock poking him in the gut, and he wrapped one of his huge hands around it and started working the shaft, Terry shivering from the rough calluses on his palms, but not complaining. Matt worked him slowly, bringing him to a quiet, shuddering orgasm after a few minutes, one Matt couldn’t be sure he even enjoyed. Terry gave him a kiss, and slid out of Matt’s arms, zipping up the ass of his shorts, not saying anything.

“When can I see you again?” Matt asked. Terry didn’t say anything again, and when he made to walk out, Matt grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “What’s wrong? Fucking talk to me, boy.”

“Oh quit the fucking daddy act,” Terry said, yanking his arm away, “Look, I don’t know, alright? I don’t know about who I want to be, and I don’t know about you, and I just need some fucking space alright? I just…I just…” he started to tear up, and when Matt pulled him close he sobbed into his chest, “I just wish someone had asked me, I just wish I could have had a choice.”

Matt held him for a few minutes, his own feelings in a confusing jumble. Suddenly, his fight with Tom didn’t seem to matter one bit, the validation of his own worries and memories, and the feelings that were growing in his heart around Terry, he wanted this cub to be happy, and safe and…and his. He couldn’t deny it, he wanted him for himself. Was that the daddy in him speaking, or was it Matt? He couldn’t tell where the line between them even was, if there had ever been one at all. He was exhausted suddenly, feeling like he could sleep for weeks. Finally, Terry collected himself, and when he left, Matt didn’t try to stop him. They needed space, he needed space. He had to sort his own thoughts out. He went and took a shower, and then wandered around campus for a bit, before returning to the dorm and apologizing to Tom. However, the rough sex that followed left him feeling empty. He didn’t share anything with Tom–they were intimate, and yet the whole of Tom’s being was sealed off from Matt. As Tom fucked him, he wondered whether Tom remembered what had happened, and he realized that Matt would never be able to ask him. Tom didn’t seem like the type who would remember that–he had taken to his new self too well to care about who he’d been, and Matt felt himself miss Terry even more when they were sharing a cigar on the bed in silence, with miles of distance hidden away in the inches separating them.

It was a few days later when Matt got the call from Terry. He’d been too nervous to pick up the phone with Tom around, so he waited for a moment when he was alone to call him back.

“I need to talk to you again,” Terry said, when he picked up.

“What’s wrong, are you alright?”

“I’m starting to forget again. Where can we meet? The baths again?”

Matt agreed, and hurried over, Terry arriving a few minutes after him. They talked for well over an hour, or really, Terry talked, and Matt listened, letting him recall as much as he could about his past life, letting him reinforce it as best he could. When Terry had gotten out all that he could, and Matt pulled him close for a hug, he tried to pull away, but Matt wouldn’t let him go.

“I can’t–I can’t do this,” Terry said.

“Can’t do what?”

“I can’t–I can’t keep feeling like this with you, I just can’t.”

Matt leaned in and kissed him anyway, and Terry’s resistance didn’t last after that. From that point onward, even though neither of them said it aloud, they knew they were in this together. The meetings, the almighty resistance which formed from that day in the baths, was really nothing more than a bunch of them sitting in the room, remembering themselves. Matt and Terry both started looking for others who remembered what happened. Some wanted to change back, others were happy with who they were now, but by and large, all of them agreed–they wished they had had a choice in what had happened to them all. It was this message, Matt thought, which had led to such a backlash from Tristan and Erikson and the rest of the campus–it was that they objected not to the change, but to the forcefulness of it which stirred the campus up.

But now, well, now here Matt was, unable to sleep, unable to think about anything other than Terry, curled up in his room where Matt should be too, holding him in his arms. They had decided it would be for the best for the two of them to keep up appearances, for Matt to stay with Tom, and for Terry to keep up with his business major. Terry’s work didn’t bother Matt as much as he would have expected it to. Terry was a professional, and sex with customers, for him, was just a transaction–he knew that what they shared was deeper than that. But every night he had to sleep with Tom and those inches between them was another wound in his soul. He couldn’t face that anymore.

He got dressed in his warmest clothes, packed a bag with as many of his things as he could fit, being as quiet as he could, but Tom never even stirred awake. It was tough going through the waist deep snow covering campus, but Matt wouldn’t be turned back, not now, not ever again. Terry had given Matt a key to his dorm room, a small basement single in a dorm on the other side of campus, and it took Matt a good hour to get there, and he stomped the damp snow off him in the foyer of the building before racing down to Terry’s room, wondering why he hadn’t done this weeks ago. He let himself in, and saw Terry buried under the covers of his bed, sleeping fitfully, and Matt stripped down as fast as he could, slid into beside him and pulled him close.

Terry never woke up, but as soon as he felt Matt’s arms curl around him, the fits stopped, his breathing eased, and he snuggled back into Matt’s warm body. This was where he needed to be, Matt realized. He did have a choice–he’d always had a choice. It didn’t matter where the changes had placed him–what mattered was what he wanted, and who he loved, and that was Terry. Sleep came on him them, sweeping him away into hibernation. He didn’t know what would come with the spring thaw, but he knew he would face it with Terry by his side, with his cub, with his love, and no one would take that away from him without one hell of a fight.

Chapter 3

Scuzz sat at the counter in Bear Boutique, flipping through the latest issue of Cubby Magazine which had arrived in that morning’s shipment, massaging his cock through his grimy jeans as he flipped through the photo shoot of the Boars, the champions of the high school football championships this year, posing naked with their coach. It really was no wonder they’d come out on top–apparently their musk was so powerful, half of the players they faced fainted right on the spot, leaving themselves opened for quite the fuck. He glanced around, flipped to the centerfold of the team’s captain showing off his ripe pits and thick cock, Scuzz licking his lips and figuring a quick wank couldn’t hurt. Toilet would love to suck down his load of course, but Scuzz had been feeling kind of…irritable of late. He was tired all the time, and he just couldn’t stop eating for the life of him. Hibernation was coming early to him apparently, because Brute, Beast and Toilet didn’t seem that close to turning in for the winter. Still, from the lack of traffic, it didn’t look like business would be picking up much until springtime.

He checked the clock–still an hour until he could close up shop and go to bed early–again. He was just so ready to sleep this coming winter away, and from the chill in his bones, he could tell it was going to be a cold one. He was glad he had Brute and their thralls to cozy up to in the coming months, he’d always hated hibernating alone…though he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d been alone. It was the wall again, always that damn wall. He’d hoped that he’d stop caring what was on the other side at some point, but it was always there, holding his mind at bay, taunting him with…well, something, not that he could remember what it was.

He was about to pull out his cock when he heard to door chime of someone walking into the store, and grumbling, he put down the magazine to see who was coming in. To his surprise, it was a face he recognized, and not one he’d been expecting. He’d only met the man a few times, when he’d come by the shop to demo a few of the products he’d invented which were now stocking the store’s shelves. Apparently, according to Tristan, he was quite the genius when it came to psychological manipulation. What was his name again? Scuzz couldn’t remember–he’d never really been one for names. Hell, he was sometimes glad he only had one himself. “Well, I wasn’t expecting you today. Come by to drop of another one of your inventions for us to sell?”

The professor looked up over at Scuzz and smiled, “No, I’m afraid today is a personal visit–not a business one.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot your name, what was it again?”

“You can just call me Erikson, or Professor Erikson, if you’d like.”

Fat chance, Scuzz thought, smirking at the thought of him calling anyone professor. Scuzz was a graduate of the school of hard knocks, as he liked to say–he didn’t have much patience for anyone he considered high minded, and Erikson sure fit that bill, as far as he was concerned, though the bear was certainly impressively dressed. The leather dress shirt was amazingly tailored, as were his pants, and while he was definitely too clean for Scuzz’s liking, he could definitely appreciate the older man’s physique. “Alright then Erikson, what can I help you with? Looking to purchase something in particular?”

“No, I’m not looking to buy. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about a few things.”

Scuzz looked at him, puzzled. “What would that be?”

“I’d like to ask you about Tristan Newbeary–what do you know about him?”

“Not very much. He’s just the shop’s owner and investor–he’s not really concerned with our day-to-day operations as long as we’re making money–and we’re not having any trouble with that.”

“It was a smart idea, sending out those samples.”

“Ha, Tristan wasn’t too fond of it, but I figured it would work.”

“Look, Scuzz, right?” Erikson said, coming close, “I’m just going to be honest with you. I know, that you know something about Tristan. Something I need to know, and I’m going to get it out of you one way or another, do you understand?”

“Well, I’d be happy to tell you what you need to know, but I don’t know what you need to know, so I can’t help you.”

Erikson stared Scuzz down for a moment, neither man flinching, before he said, “Alright, let me back up a bit. Here’s why, I think you know something about Tristan Newbeary–it’s because neither of you seem to have any record of actually existing.”

“Well I’m here, aren’t I?”

Erikson rolled his eyes, “Well, naturally, but that’s not quite what I mean. What I mean, is that both of you seem to have popped into existence here a few months ago, in the sense that there’s no record of either one of you prior to then. So, that means one of a few things might be true. Either you’ve both been living off the grid from birth, until a few months ago, or you both appeared out of thin air, and considering some of the things I’ve seen of late, I’m betting on the second. So quit with the dumb act–we both know you’re much smarter than you let on. Where in the fuck did the two of you come from, and what the hell are you?”

“I’m just a man like you.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me–I’ll get the truth out of you one way or another.”

“I’m telling you the truth. If you don’t believe me, ask Brute–the two of us have been mates for years now–and as for not having a fucking history, who don’t you just check the fucking criminal records? I can sure as hell tell you I have a few records there.”

Again, Erikson backed off, and Scuzz could tell that this wasn’t how he’d thought this conversation was going to go. After a moment, Erikson spoke again, “Alright, fine. I suppose this only leaves three options. Either you really are human, which could be true, but doubtful, or you’re lying to me very skillfully, or you actually don’t know. How about we find out which one is which?” Before Scuzz could dodge out of the way, erikson had slapped a strange patch onto the side of his head, and a second later, he felt a painful jolt of electricity shoot through his temple and dig it’s way into his mind, making him wince and cry out in pain. “Oh be quiet, and don’t fucking call for your friends.”

Scuzz’s mouth immediately shut itself, and Scuzz reached for the patch to rip it off, but his finger’s couldn’t get a grip on it. In fact, it almost felt as though it were melting into his skin. “Oh don’t worry, the neurocircuitry is already planting itself into your dermis–it won’t be coming off anytime soon. But you don’t actually want it to come off–you want to keep it on, and keep it on there. Keeping that patch there keeps you under my control, and being under my control feels so good, you don’t want that feeling to go away, do you?”

It did–It did feel good. It felt so good to be under Erikson’s control. Scuzz tried to fight it, but even his alpha mind was no match for Erikson’s technology. “No…No, I don’t.”

“Now, be polite. I like all of my students to refer to me by my title. You’re my student for the moment, and there’s a lesson I need you to remember, and you do want to make your professor happy don’t you?”

“Yes professor, what lesson?” Scuzz said, his mind happily accepting the scenario. Scuzz so wanted the professor to be happy, he’d do anything for him.

“I want you to tell me about Tristan Newbeary, about what he is, about where his power comes from, and where you both came from, and why he needs you. Tell me all of that, and I’ll be the happiest professor in the world.”

Scuzz wracked his mind, looking for an answer–and every time, he ran into that wall. The answers–all of them–were on the other side, but he couldn’t reach them, and everytime he tried, he was thrown back. “I…I know, but I can’t remember. I’m sorry Professor, I don’t know.”

“Hmm…well, there’s nothing that can jog the memory like a bit of pain, right?”

Had Professor Erikson not already told him to stay quiet, Scuzz would have screamed, and screamed louder than ever before in his life. The pain, it was everywhere–his skin ripping, his bones aching, his lungs choking off, stomach aflame with acid, and he threw himself at the wall, he threw himself at it, beating on it, desperate to get across it, to the truth, so the pain would end, so his Professor would be happy with him and end the pain, but he couldn’t beat it, it was too high, and too thick, and only when he was a blubbering mess, crumpled on the floor of the shop, did Erikson end it.

“Hmmm…” Erikson said, looking down at the defeated alpha with no emotion at all. “This is not what I was expecting. Well, I suppose there’s one other way of finding out what you are, but I’m going to need a sample.”

Twenty minutes, long enough to pop down to the campus store, pick up some cigars and pull out some cash to pay for his date. As he walked over, he was suddenly struck by how natural this all felt, but just a short time ago, if someone had told him that after having a fight with his boyfriend he would call up and actually buy sex from a prostitute, he would have probably gone white in the face and thought they were the devil. And yet, here he was, buying some cigars, lighting one up immediately, happy with smoke in his lungs again. God, he hated that he loved it. Even if…even if things did change back, he didn’t think he’d be able to keep away from the damn nicotine. Still, the possibility of things changing back seemed like quite the long shot, but he had to hope for something. James was still out there, other people might have escaped. Still, if they were going to tell the authorities, wouldn’t they have done something by now, the national guard rolling into campus, shooting rubber bullets and tazers? Actually, he didn’t really want to be on the wrong side of that, if that did happen, still, if not that, then what?

He pulled some cash out of his bank account, finding a bit less in there than he’d thought he’d had. With a sigh, he figured their little company should pick up another contract with the school for some construction cash–it was his major after all–but working with Tom on a project was about as much fun as living with him. Leon and Butch–they helped mellow him out a bit, but the whole experience usually just boiled down to Tom ordering everyone else around and doing barely any work himself. God, Matt hated all of this. He hated this campus, this body, these urges, this relationship, this whole goddamn life. The anger was starting to spoil his mood as he came up on the baths–he’d been excited for his meet-up with the cub, but only because it was a way of getting back at Tom. He didn’t really feel like having sex though, a fact which had caused the whole argument to begin with, but he’d made the commitment, and had the money, so he might as well try to have a little fun.

He checked his watch as he came up on the baths, one of the new additions to campus, taking the place of the swim center. There was still a pool in there–somewhere–but it had been expanded and grown to include a huge complex of saunas and locker rooms which never seemed to end, and which was the most popular sex spot on campus. At least he didn’t have to take a contract to clean the baths–they paid shit, and you never knew what nasty thing you might find in there. Of course, the students who did take those contracts probably thought that was just a perk of the job–but Matt had no interest in that. He meandered about, early, wondering whether he should go in and head to his locker, or just wait for the cub to arrive. He decided to wait–the inside of the place was such a mess, he’d probably never find him if they went in separately.

He didn’t have to wait long– a few minutes later a familiar silhouette came strutting down the walk towards him, dressed in some tight leather shorts, cupping that amazing ass which was just as hot as Matt remembered, and a leather harness hugging his chest in all the right places. “Hey daddy,” the cub said, grabbing Matt’s collar and giving him a deep kiss, teasing Matt into taking his tongue and shoving it down the cub’s throat. “So, should we get a room?” the cub added with a grin when they parted, and Matt led the way into the building. The baths were sparsely occupied–normal for a weekday during classes, and in the first empty room they found, Matt dragged to cub in, shoved him up against the wall and started breathing smoke down his throat, but the cub pushed him off. “Hold up there daddy, I take my payment up front–keeps you bears from dining and dashing.”

“Sure, whatever,” Matt said, grabbed the fifty bucks from his pocket and tucked it down the front of the cub’s shorts, and then started kissing him again, the cub undoing the straps of Matt’s overalls and letting them drop to the floor, rubbing his hands over the bear’s furry, taut gut, before Matt wrapped his arms around the cub and pulled him close, rubbing their bellies together.

The cub eventually pulled away, unzipping the rear of his leather shorts and bending over a bench, showing off his cherry to Matt. “Well come on daddy, give me another fuck like that one before, make sure I remember this one just as well.”

“You fucking slut, I’m gonna rip it apart,” Matt said, got down behind the cub, and quickly realized that one thing in the room wasn’t feeling the mood–his cock. He could only get it half-mast, and couldn’t even work it into the cub’s well practiced hole. “God–God fucking damn it,” he said, backing away red in the face, about to pull up his overalls and spare himself to embarrassment of trying anymore. He’d bottomed for Tom so much, maybe he’d just forgotten how to top. He should just go back and let Tom have his way with him–and just try to forget about all of this crap, and just get used to it. Get used to being Tom’s lackey, his sex toy, his employee, his fucking bitch.

“Hey hey, what’s up daddy, what’s the matter?” the cub said, coming over.

“Look, just forget it, alright? Keep the money, this was a stupid idea–I should just go.”

“Here, let me work on it for a bit, I can get it up–” the cub said, getting down on his knees, ready to suck him off, but Matt gave a growl, palmed the cub’s head with his massive hand and shoved him away, harder than he’d intended, so that the cub flew backwards, his head hitting the concrete floor with a loud smack.

“Oh shit,” Matt said, getting down quickly, “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry–are you alright?”

“You fucking asshole, a fucking ‘no’ would have been enough!” the cub shouted, clutching the back of his head.

“Look, I just still don’t know my own strength, and–”

“Fucking forget it–and you know what?” the cub said, wobbling upright, “that fuck we had? Fucking mediocre–you’re a shitty top, for the fucking record.” He headed for the door, still uncertain on his feet, leaving Matt on his knees, feeling even worse than before, and before he could stop himself, he was sobbing, feeling more alone than ever before. It would be so much easier if he could just forget who he’d. Just forget like everyone else had, apparently. He felt like he was the only one who could remember it all from before–who knows, maybe he was the only one. Every day felt like an act, like he was pretending to be someone he wasn’t, stuck in a costume he couldn’t take off, and he loved it, or part of him loved it–and he hated himself for loving it more each passing day.

He didn’t know how long the cub had been standing there, watching him cry from the doorway. But he looked up and there he was again, still angry and rubbing the back of his head, but there was something unreadable on his face as well, an anxiety and confusion and hesitancy which didn’t suit him all that well. When he noticed him, Matt had no idea what to say. “Look, I’m really sorry, I am–I know I’m a shitty top, I just needed some space from my boyfriend, and–”

“Look, I don’t care,” the cub said, “What did you say earlier, when you got down on the ground after you pushed me?”

“What?”

“What did you say?”

“I…I said…I don’t know my own strength, sometimes.”

“Why did you say that?”

Matt didn’t say anything. He’d just given up the game–what could he even say to that?

“Look, this is…this is important. Just tell me, why did you say that? I’m not–I’m not going to think you’re crazy, I swear–I just…just tell me, alright?”

“Because, well, a month ago, I wasn’t…well, I wasn’t this strong,” Matt said sheepishly, feeling silly, but the cub rushed over.

“Fuck, you remember, don’t you. You do! God, I thought I was the only fucking one.”

Matt just gaped at him. It couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t. “Look, I’m just–I just have to go. I need to go make up with Tom, and tell him I’m sorry, and then we need to fuck, and I can just get this all out of my system,” he said, mostly to himself, but the cub dragged him back down.

“Tell me,” he said.

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me who you were. Tell me what you remember. I don’t…I don’t have much, and I…I don’t want to just disappear. Just tell me, please. I won’t tell anyone, I just have to know I’m not crazy. I have to know that what happened actually happened, tell me who you were, please.”

Matt told him–everything he could remember. It felt strange telling it to someone else–he’d told himself the story so many times that he might as well have just imagined it. But telling someone else, it made it real again. He told the cub about who he’d been, how he’d been a devout Christian, how he’d hidden away in his room like a few others once the changes had started sweeping through campus, and the cub listened to all of it, never interrupting, not asking any questions, just listening. Matt finished off by telling how he’d been changed during the poker game, but petered out before the point where he’d fucked the cub.

As soon as Matt finished, the dam broke, and the cub gushed out his own story. His name, it came out, was Terry, and he’d been an art student. He’d changed on the second day, when he’d come into one of his art classes and discovered that, instead of drawing, he was going to be the nude model for the class. However, as the teacher sketched him, he found his body frozen, changing to match what the bear of a teacher was drawing, not the otherway around. The professor had turned him into a cub, desperate for a fuck, and he’d fucked and sucked his way through the entire room, his appetite insatiable. He’d had so many bears since then he’d lost track, though at fifty dollars an hour, he was sitting very pretty as far as money went, even if he hated what his body made him do. He told Matt that, over the past week, the memories had started fading a bit. He hadn’t been able to sleep, for fear of losing that little bit of his old self still left, but telling Matt his story, it all came rushing back, stronger than ever, little details popping out for him to recall–his mother’s name, the town where he’d grown up, his first girlfriend.

Somewhere in the story, Matt leaned in and kissed the cub again, and after a moment of hesitation, the cub kissed him back. Matt didn’t have any problems performing this time around, and he clutched the cub close, sitting on the bench, Terry bouncing up and down on his thick cock, both of them kissing and crying and happier to have found someone else who remembered.

Chapter 2

Matt had never seen so much snow in all his life, and he doubted anyone in the city had. Sure, the campus got a light dusting every year once or twice, but the climate just wasn’t suited for the kind of snow they were getting at the moment. He wondered if this had to do with the changes too–was the weather changing too? It wouldn’t surprise him if it was, after all, everything else was changing too, well, had changed. Everything seemed to be settling down, at least for the moment. He’d heard some tales of the city around them starting to change, but he had no idea how long it might take. Still, the campus had fallen in days, why would the city last much longer? Granted, there were several million people to change, compared to a few thousand, but how many weeks? Months? He sighed, watching the smoke from his cigar crash against the window, a thin film of smoke mirroring the frost on the other side.

He was too tired to think about any of this clearly. He just felt sick to his stomach. Two months of searching, and nothing–they were nowhere closer to figuring out what was going on here than they had been before. Who was Tristan Newbeary? Where had he come from? What was he, even? Not human, they knew that much, though they didn’t know what he was if not human. An alien? An animal made human? A government experiment? They’d gone through so many possibilities in their meetings that even the craziest ideas were starting to make as much sense as the sane ones. Ha, The Resistance, the college called them. Such a mighty title for something so aimless, and maybe even a bit hopeless. What had they managed to accomplish, aside from kicking the hornet’s nest a bit? All they’d done was break into the first level of Professor Erikson’s labs, and the president’s residence, not that they’d gotten very far in, or learned anything of use. One thing was for sure though, was that Tristan and Erikson weren’t wasting any time in trying to destroy their little group. Matt could sense it was only a matter of time before they were discovered, and his heart caught in his throat, thinking of Terry, and what might happen to him when that happened. Still Terry was smart, he’d get out somehow. Matt was the stupid one, he’d be the one left behind, just like before.

He couldn’t see the chapel from here, but he looked in that direction anyway, thinking of James, wondering what had happened to him. That day, when he’d gone by the chapel and seen the caution tape, security going in and out like it was a crime scene…he’d feared the worst, but James wasn’t the victim, in was Joseph, one of the altarcubs. The details of the episode were never made public, but Matt knew that something strange happened after that. If those three days before were the garden of eden, that death, that was the first sin in a new world, and the only person unaccounted for in the entire event was James. Still, James wasn’t a killer. He certainly wasn’t strong enough to take Joseph, a massive Sodomite, and break his back against the wall of the chapel. Still, what other explanation was there? He could say to himself that James wasn’t a killer until he was blue in the face, but the obvious told him otherwise. Still, where had he gone? He’d explored the chapel quickly once it had been reopened to the rest of campus, and the only oddity he’d found was a newly painted wall down in the basement which didn’t tell him much of anything, and the Chaplain…well the Chaplain didn’t seem to remember anything strange happening at all, and Matt had been afraid to ask about anything specific, for fear that the man would start wondering why Matt was asking all of these questions in the first place, and report him to Tristan, or worse, Erikson.

Tom shifted in the queen sized dorm room bed next to Mat and started snoring softly, and Matt looked over at him, taking a deep drag off his cigar. Tom, god, he was beautiful when he was sleeping, Matt loved him like this. It was when he woke up that he turned into an absolute terror. Well, even that wasn’t quite true. He could be sweet, and nice, and kind, so long as you did everything he told you to do when he told you to do it. Matt had once or twice jokingly suggested that Tom look into applying for the Masters Program, and Tom always laughed back in a way signaling he already had. But Matt did love him, in a strange way, he even loved the domineering parts–it certainly made for some hot sessions in bed, Tom tying him down to the bedposts and wreaking his hole all night long, alternating between dildos and his big cock, the room a complete haze of smoke from their cigars, making Matt cum over and over again. Sometimes, deep in those sessions, Matt could even forget about what had happened. Think like someone fully converted, like a real bear, and god if he wasn’t happy when that happened. It would be so much easier to just forget, forget about the terror he’d felt hiding in his room those days, forget about the guilt and the sins he’d committed in the eyes of God, forget about the resistance, and Terry and all the rest.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the chained leather wallet and flipped it open, and again, he was struck by his hands, and how big and worn they were. Inside, tucked into a side pocket, was a small business card, now a bit faded, but still legible:

Terry VanWise
Student in the School of Business and Management
(and sexy fucking cub to boot)
555-253-5297

Matt wondered how things might have turned out differently, if he hadn’t found that card that day, or if he hadn’t been in the mood to call. Still, the point was moot now–and he wondered if part of the reason he couldn’t sleep was because he wasn’t with Terry. Still, there was no helping it. He had to be here with Tom, he had to keep up his cover, no matter how much he wanted to be elsewhere, with Terry wrapped up in his own thick arms, under some flannel sheets maybe, slowly thrusting his cock in his boy’s ass, rocking them both to sleep in the process. He wrapped one of those big hands around his cock, milking it quietly. He doubted that Tom would wake up, but he certainly wouldn’t be happy if he caught Matt jacking off without him being involved, or without his permission. He thought of that day, still worried, still exhausted, still knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep, not today, and probably not the next either, not until he was away from Tom, and back with Terry.

***

“What the fuck is your problem, you fucking prude!”

“You’re my fucking problem! You are, you fucking asshole, I’m fucking sick of the fucking fountain of bullshit that just spews from your mouth every goddamn time you–” but Matt didn’t get to finish, as Tom threw a punch that connected with his jaw, sending Matt tottering back against the wall in the dorm hallway. All the other doors were open, some people even stepping out to watch, though most just looked through the cracks. Still, they all knew what was going on–Matt and Tom were at it again, for the hundredth time maybe. They were the fighters of the entire building–their arguments could spring up anytime, and generally woke everyone in the building up–though their makeup sex was usually just as raucous.

“You fucking asshole,!” Matt screamed, and threw himself at Tom with a growl, knocking both of them to the ground, the two of them ripping at each others clothes, scratching and punching and trying to pin the other down. Finally, Butch and Leon came charging over, pulling the two away from each other and breaking up the fight.

“Jesus Fucking Christ, can’t the two of you give it a goddamn rest for the night?” Leon said.

“Well maybe if someone would put out more than once a week–”

“I fucking offered to blow you! I’m just not in the fucking mood for you to whip my ass so hard I won’t be able to sit in class tomorrow!”

“You sure as hell seemed like you were in the mood last time we did it. You were fucking begging me for more yesterday!”

“Well that was fucking last time, and this is the fucking last time!” Matt shouted, wrestled himself away from Butch and stormed off down the hall.

“Oh you’ll be fucking back! You want it bitch, just fucking admit it!” Tom screamed after him, but Matt just ran faster, down the stairs and out the front doors, sobbing.

God, he hated him so much, Matt thought, getting out of sight from the building before sitting down on a bench and getting himself under control, massaging his aching jaw. Still, Tom was right–it had been fun, getting tied down and whipped, it was just…God, he just didn’t feel like it today, wasn’t that fucking allowed? Couldn’t he have just one night where they fucking cuddle, or just watch a porno, or go out to dinner, or fucking anything that didn’t involve Matt feeling like a complete whore? Hell, the whole dorm already thought he was Tom’s bitch, and he hadn’t exactly given them much evidence to convince them otherwise, but today–well, today the memories were just so strong, just touching Tom made him sick, a twisted reminder of how far he’d fallen in the past month, since the changes had swept campus, since he’d been changed. He didn’t dare talk to Tom about it–Matt didn’t think he remembered anything before the changes, or rather, he remembered things, but they were wrong. Still, Matt had no proof, no way to convincing even himself that these memories were right, just his faith, which was growing weaker by the day. Maybe…maybe he should go to that workshop by Erikson, that one for these sorts of problems. Maybe it would make him feel better. He’d written down the number to call to make an appointment somewhere–probably somewhere back in that fucking dorm room.

Matt pulled out his wallet and thumbed through it, looking for the number, but he didn’t find it. What he did find though, was a business card. He stared at it for a second, trying to remember where he’d gotten it, and he chuckled when he did. It was his second fuck, that damn cub after the poker game where he’d lost his fucking identity to Tom, Butch and Leon like a fool.

He turned the card over in his head a few times, then felt in his pocket for a cigar, but realized like an idiot he hadn’t grabbed any on his way out. Hell, if he was going to leave, he was going to have to go back there eventually. Still…why not make Tom sweat it out a bit? Why not have some fun with someone else for once? Tom played around all the time, but he always got so pissed when Matt looked at any other bear…well fuck him. Matt could have other people, if Tom could, and fucking that cub…he hadn’t been on top in so long, maybe that would let him work off some of this aggression. He did have his phone, at least, so after choking back some anxiety, he dialed the number, and it picked up after the second ring.

“Hello? Who is this?” the voice said on the other end.

“Oh, uh…hi. I’m calling, well, I’m calling because you gave me your business card a while back? And I was, well, wondering if you wanted to meet up again.”

“Man, I have so many guys I meet up with, you’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

Matt laughed, “Well, it was in the common room of Thompson-Reynolds, a big orgy that interrupted a poker game. I seem to remember hauling your ass up and fucking you with my big cock while you were up in the air…”

the cub laughed, “Oh you! I do remember you, quite fondly, actually. I was beginning to think you would never call. So, what can I interest you in? It’s fifty dollars an hour, extra for kink. I’m orange, but if it’s freaky it’s gonna cost you.”

Matt sighed. School of Business, naturally he was studying to be a prostitute. Still, what was the harm in paying for an hour? He had the money. “I just need an hour–sometime to wind down a bit. I just had, well hell, it doesn’t matter. Where should I meet you?”

“Campus baths. twenty minutes. That work for you?”

“Sure.”

“Alright, see you then, daddy.”

City of Bears Series 3: Rising Powers
Arc 1: As a City Dreams

Chapter 1

He was being tested, as Christ had been tested. As Moses before Christ, as Abraham before Moses. He was being tested, and he would be clean. This was not a time of Christian peace, this was not a time of love thy neighbor or the golden rule. This was a return to the true Christian roots, this was cowering in the sewers, this was persecution, but he would overcome these trials as his predecessors had, James thought, battling the sleep which had already consumed the small congregation around him, huddling together for warmth. This was a battle, a war, for nothing less than the soul of a city, perhaps even the world, and he would fight it to his last breath. They had hoped to make him their warrior, their champion of their false heathenism, their hedonism, their defilement, but no, he’d stood true in his mind at least, if not his body. Even if the flesh had betrayed him, his spirit would not turn so easily.

The chapel seemed so far away now, those last, terrible days he had spent on campus, watching that madness consume everyone around him. Remembering that flight to the chapel that autumn day, sprinting past the heathens, the corrupt, he had never felt so scared in all his life. Still, he’d never felt doubt that he wouldn’t make it. While he’d had to take some detours to avoid capture, he had made it unharmed, and untouched by the filth spreading across the college like a wildfire. He fought off sleep for a moment longer, fearing the dreams which would come to him. The dreams, they were where the devil tempted him, where he magnified every doubt James had and attempted to drive him from his holy path. Still, he knew his body would not be able to resist for long, and he finally sucumbed, dreaming of the chapel, of what had happened there, a dream which never would leave him until the end of his days.

***

“Thank Christ, you made it,” the chaplain said, throwing open the door just long enough for James to slip inside and then he slammed it shut behind him. “I was beginning to think it had taken everyone else. Do you know of anyone else who might be safe?”

“One, just one. Matthew Quidmore, I told him I’d try and get here, and tell him if it was safe,” James said, pulled out his cell phone and sent Matt a note telling him to try and join them. In his heart, James could already tell Matt wouldn’t be of strong enough faith to make the journey…but he had to try and help him. He couldn’t stay in that small dorm for the rest of his days, though being turned into…into whatever those men, those beasts where could very well be a fate worse than death. The chaplain wiped his steady brow and returned to the sanctuary where James saw that the only others who had made it there were some fellow Christians who James knew in passing, by the names of Joseph and Anthony. Counting the chaplain, that made four. Four of them against the hordes outside? How could they even hope to fight them off, should they attack? “Is this…is this all of us? Are we the only ones who made it here…safe?”

“So far,” Joseph said.

“So far? Well, there’s no one else out there, this is it. This is it, oh fucking God…” Anthony said.

“Have some fucking faith, you fucking coward!” Joseph shouted at him.

“Boys, this isn’t going to help anyone,” the Chaplain said.

“But he’s right, James said, “There isn’t anyone else out there. I mean, it’s true. What are we going to do? We need some sort of plan here. I thought…I thought that you all had some idea of what to do here. I thought there would be a plan.”

No one spoke. The silence did more to kill James good mood than anything else. He’d made it past all of those beasts out there for what? To huddle here with these terrified people? The chaplain was soft, overfed. He didn’t look like a fighter. Joseph had spunk, but was so scrawny there was nothing he’d be able to do to fight someone off, and Anthony was so close to tears there was no chance in hell of him being much help. This was a mess. Suddenly, James hoped Matt would make it here. Matt was smart, a thinker, a planner. He’d figure out something. Still, James knew he wouldn’t make it, but he had faith anyway. It was all he could do now. “Look, we need…maybe we just need some time to all call down. Matt is going to try and get here, let’s wait and see if he makes it. We can give him an hour at least, and then…then we’ll see what we can come up with, for a plan, alright?”

“I think that sounds alright,” the Chaplain said quickly, “Now…now I need…I think I need to pray, for a bit. I’ll be in my office, alone…” he said, and excused himself. James looked at the other two, turned around and left. He wanted to be alone too. He decided to wait in the narthex by the doors, to see if Matt would come, but already sensing he wouldn’t. Anthony gave Joseph a small grin, but Joseph just rolled his eyes and stalked away, not wanting to deal with Anthony’s insecurities, leaving him alone in the sanctuary where he sat in a pew, and tried not to cry in terror. He needed to be strong, they all did. He would do his best, like Jesus would.

In the chapel office, the chaplain, Paul, shut the door behind him and heaved a sigh of relief. The attraction was only growing inside of him–it wouldn’t let go. He’d always been gay, but the shame of it–he’d never once consummated his lust with another man, but ever since this…whatever this was…it had been harder and harder to keep it under control. Jacking off helped a bit, but it was so difficult to hold back now. Still, he had these young men to think about–to guide. He had to be their leader, their pastor now. After all, there was no one else now. Still, Paul had never been a leader. Always chubby, always taunted. The church had been a place where he went because all were equal in front of God. There were no losers in heaven, and if he got there, he wouldn’t a loser then. Still, his cock was rock hard, and impossible to ignore, but he had to resist. He went to the desk and flipped open the bible there to the beginning and began reading, hoping he might manage to distract himself.

He read through the creation, how God had separated the light from the darkness, and then filled the oceans with his semen. How the land has risen at his command, how he’d sacrificed all of his testicles but two to populate the heavens with stars and planets. And finally, how he’d crafted the animals and plants of the world and given life to a man, Adam, before resting. Something…something seemed wrong about this. Very wrong, but Paul couldn’t figure out what, exactly, it was. As he kept reading, he saw that God had taken one of Adam’s ribs to make him a mate, a second man named Steve, and how God had given them the gift of pleasure, and told them to fuck and prosper in the garden of Eden he’d created for them. Adam and Steve became intimate with one another, and as Paul read page after page of their sexual explorations, he found his cock could not be ignored, and he pulled it from his pants and began stroking himself off. This was wrong, he knew it was wrong, that this wasn’t the story he’d always known, and yet…he had spent so long denying himself the pleasure God had intended men to use. Why? Why had he done such a violence to himself, to his soul? Had he been wrong all these years?

God commanded Adam and Steve to not eat from the tree of knowledge, though a snake eventually tricked Steve into eating from the tree, and sharing it with Adam, and in that way sin entered the world. The sins of shame, chastity and abstinence. Paul knew then that he had sinned. He had sinned in the eyes of God. He had denied himself the world’s true pleasures, for what? Why should he fear what other people thought of him? Why should he have been ashamed of his body? As he read, the clothes he wore began to change, his button down shirt and slacks shimmering and vanishing, leaving him nearly naked. He now wore a white silk vest so thin that light could shine through it freely, a thong of loose mesh prominently displaying his rigid cock, white shoes on his feet and a black leather collar around his neck, with a square of white covering his adam’s apple.

A light coating of golden fur flowed over his body, nearly matching the trim on his vest and his thong. The lovingly crafted beard he stroked filled him with pride, and his belly grew even larger. After all, he was a true hedonist–he lived for pleasure, and that included gluttony. He lived to eat, he lived to fuck, he lived to worship his God. He leaned back and gave his cock a few strokes, feeling it expand and lengthen in his hand, as he shot his cum over his belly, rubbing it into the fur, thanking God for his gift, as he always did after cumming. He would sin against God no more. He would follow the righteous path, and he would guide the men in the church, his charges, to the godly path as well. He would be the leader they needed in this time of need, and he would lead them to sex, pleasure and true glory in the eyes of God.

***

Anthony sat in the very quiet sanctuary, crying, and hating himself for it. He wanted to be strong and brave, but how could he, in the face of what he’d seen? The day before he’d come back from class to find his roommate in bed with another man, the entire room filled with the stench of sex, and he’d ran. If he hadn’t come here to pray and found the chaplain, he didn’t know what would have happened. He wasn’t strong enough to go out there now, if he did…if he did he didn’t want to think about what those beasts might do to him–do to all of them. Sure, Joseph was tough, but he couldn’t fight them, none of them could. They didn’t even have a clue how to fight them. The beasts out there were their teachers, their friends…they couldn’t just kill them, and they had no idea how to change them back. It was hopeless. Why shouldn’t he be crying? They should all be crying, not just him.

“Tell me my son, what troubles you so? Certainly there is nothing so terrible that you must feel such pain,” a voice said behind him as a hand settled on his shoulder. The chaplain, Anthony knew that, but when he looked back at the scantily clad priest beside him, he did a double take. That wasn’t right, it was…what? The chaplain always dressed like that, and why shouldn’t he? He was proud of his big cock, like all Christian’s should be…right? Anthony’s head hurt suddenly, and he dropped his head into his hands, trying to sort through his thoughts. “Come Anthony, tell me what fills your hard with such dreadful sorrow.”

“It’s just…It’s just the…the beasts out there are so strong, and there are so many of them. How could we ever hope to fight them? What are we supposed to even do to get out of here? We’re trapped like rats.”

“Fear not my child. God always helps those who are righteous and weak conquer those greater than them. Do you not remember the story of David and Goliath? Come, let me remind you of it,” the Chaplain said, and sat down next to Anthony in the pew, resting his hand on the young man’s thigh, uncomfortably close to his cock. Anthony almost flinched away, but didn’t. He wanted to listen, and hear what the Chaplain had to say. Listening to his voice was so soothing, so pleasurable, he could forget for the moment about the terror walking around outside. “David was a young cub, an Israelite, when they were at war with the Philistines, those terrors who sought only to render pain onto others, not the pleasure of God. Goliath was a massive Philistine, his cock nearly two feet long and impossibly wide, and each day he came out to challenge the Israelites to send forth a Champion to meet him in sex, but every warrior who had accepted that challenge met only a painful end ripped apart on Goliath’s cock.”

“What?” Anthony said, “that’s not…that’s not right…” but he quieted down as the Chaplain’s hand began stroking his hardening cock through his pants.

“Shush now, your memory has betrayed you; let me finish. Now David, a small, slight cub, with barely a hint of hair on his body, the future King of Israel, heard of the challenge and told Saul that he would accept. Saul did not think young David stood a chance, but he offered his his armor, which David refused. He went alone, trusting in the pleasure of our lord God to guide him. He met Goliath in his tent that night, and none of the men could believe that such a small cub would ever be able to take Goliath’s massive cock, and certainly not Goliath himself. Still David came to his tent, climbed up on his cock and slowly began to take it up his ass, every last inch. Goliath was unaccustomed to such pleasure, and he came with such force that night that he died, David emerging the next night with Goliath’s cock as his own, the Philistines fleeing in terror at the sight of David leading the army of Israel. So we much always remember, dear cub, that there is far greater strength in God’s pleasure than in pain or fear or sorrow, so wipe away those tears, cub, and let us explore God’s pleasure together.” The Chaplain wiped away Anthony’s final tear, and leaned in, giving the cub a deep kiss, Anthony resisting for a moment before succumbing to the Chaplain, and when the older bear pulled back, he left Anthony with beautiful, supple lips framed by a soft goatee.

“Thank you Chaplain, please, please let me be your David,” Anthony said, licking his lips.

“Haha, very well, altar cub, but promise you won’t kill me with pleasure, alright?”

Anthony grinned, got down and began sucking down all of the Chaplain’s cock in one fell swoop, his mouth immediately adjusting to the cock, sensing the older bears sensitive areas and teasing them relentlessly. This new chaplain was no stranger to sex, and yet this felt special, like his first time with his own pastor all those years ago. Anthony came up and bent over the pew, his short altar cub kilt riding up and revealing his fuzzy asshole, “Please Sir, fuck me like Goliath, I want it rough, sir.”

“No cub, I won’t do that, pain is not the way of the church,” the Chaplain said, “Here, let me educate you, and show you the glory of God’s wisdom in giving us the pleasure of sex.” He rammed his cock into Anthony’s ass, and while it hurt, the pain was such that it only drove Anthony to new heights. The Chaplain was right, this was far better than any pain he could want. He may have been gifted with David’s lips and hole, but there was nothing better than a righteous fuck from his Chaplain. Paul built the cub up slowly, drilling him deep, sending him higher and higher until the cub couldn’t take anymore, sending his cum arching out over the top of the pew.

“Thank you Chaplain, that was what I needed–I won’t be afraid anymore.”

“You have David’s gift, cub, no cock will be too much for you–there’s no reason to be afraid. Now, come with me. I want to find Joseph and James–I fear the two of them might also be plagued with doubts. I think that God’s pleasure will right them before too long.”

“Yes, Chaplain, let us tell them the good news,” Anthony said, “I saw Joseph go into the sacristy.”

“Then we will start there. Come altarcub,” Paul said, leading the way, pleased that there were still two other young men here to whom he could give the gift of God’s pleasure.

***

Joseph paced the sacristy behind the sanctuary, fuming. They had to do something, and they had to do something this very second. He could feel opportunity slipping away as they waited, because the others were too terrified to act. God had surely brought the four of them here, together, for a reason, but Joseph had no idea what they could do. Still, guided by the hand of God, what couldn’t they do? If the Lord is with them, they sould be able to smite the beasts outside, and yet, where was God? Why, even in this dire situation, did he remain silent?

The sinners are at the door, bearing down on them–this is the moment when God reveals himself, when he sends his angels, his champions to lead the faithful into battle, but where is that righteous hand of God? There was just silence, no divine judgement, no pillars of salt, no flood, and he couldn’t accept that. He knew that God was supposed to help those who help themselves, but that’s just an excuse given to people who whine about God not helping them pass their final. God is active in the world, Joseph had to believe that–it was the only thing keeping him going. But then where was he? Where was his anger–his might, when it was so direly needed?

The door opened, and when Joseph saw that it was the Chaplain and Anthony, he sighed and turned away. “Did the guy James is waiting for show up or something? I already told you, the only thing we can do is arm ourselves, and trust that God will protect us. Every moment we waste just lets them grow stronger.”

“Young man, Joseph, I sense such…anger in you. Please, come sit with us and tell us what troubles you. Anger is not the way of the Lord,” the Chaplain said, and Joseph didn’t recognize the voice for a moment. He’d imagined the Chaplain to have a more snivelly tone, but the voice that spoke was confident and compassionate–and even sweet, a voice you wanted to listen to. He stared at him for a moment–his brain desperately trying to scrape together some evidence that something was amiss, but there was nothing, just a sense that something had changed while he wasn’t looking, like he’d walked into a room whose furniture had been completely rearranged, but for the life of him he couldn’t recall the original configuration. “Here, come sit with us here, let us talk.” The Chaplain and Anthony sat on the floor, and Joseph wondered whether either one of them was cold, with their flesh directly on the tile, but he crossed the room and joined them, feeling oddly modest next to the Chaplain and his first altarcub.

“I just…I don’t understand. This…whatever is happening outside, this event, it just…I feel as though the Old Testament has come to life, with it’s magic and pagans, and it seems like God should have woken too, right? But then why is he still silent? He must have brought us together here for a reason, but I just don’t understand why, like Sodom and Gomorrah, he doesn’t send forth his angels, or simply smite the city.”

“Well, that’s not the true message of Sodom and Gomorrah, Joseph, God doesn’t want to kill, that is not his way. Death is the opposite of his godly pleasure.”

Joseph just stared at him, confused, but the Chaplain’s smile, so sweet, also seemed like he was on the inside of a joke Joseph had missed. “I don’t–”

“Hush my boy, let me tell the story again, and I will tell you what I think it means, is that fair?” Joseph nodded, and Anthony leaned in close, licking and nibbling at the Chaplain’s fat nipple as he began his next tale. “Now, Sodom and Gomorrah were two cities whose inhabitants were grave sinners against the Lord. Inside the city walls, none of the men were allowed to wear their beards, their bodies were kept shaven, and sex was explicitly forbidden. Many had even committed that most egregious of sins, castrating themselves, denying themselves God’s most grand pleasure, and dressing themselves in formless robes so that no man could be pleased by their appearance. Camped outside the city was Lot and his two cubs, and God sent two angels to his house, to try and find if there were any righteous souls left in either city. Lot was a true man of God, full of beard and thick of hair, and he welcomed his guests, giving them a grand feast and reveling in the pleasures of their bodies.”

“No…this…this is so wrong,” Joseph said, standing up weakly. He couldn’t keep listening to this, this was sinful–there was no way this could be the story he was thinking of, even if all of his memories were agreeing with the Chaplain. The corruption had gotten in, and he had to get away. Sensing his friend’s fear, Anthony stood up and pulled him close, kissing him with his supple lips, feeling Joseph melt against him, unable to resist Anthony’s gift of David, and the altarcub undid the fly of Joseph’s pants, pulling out his stiff cock.

“Come, the Chaplain hasn’t finished the story–I love listening to this one, don’t you?” Anthony said, “I know you have so much anger in you, but let me help. Let me–let us–relieve you of your burdens. Let us show you the true nature of God’s pleasure.” Anthony didn’t wait for Joseph to say anything, just dropping to his knees and taking his cock to the hilt, Joseph too weak to resist.

The Chaplain stood up from the ground, came over continued the story. “Lot had never met men of such virility as these two guests of his, and he and his cubs learned much from them in the ways of pleasure, but the citizens of the cities, awakened by the sounds of their sexual revelry, charged out and went to Lot’s camp, demanding he hand over the two visitors to their judgement. Lot refused, but instead, with much sorrow in his heart, offered them his two cubs, telling the citizens that they could do with them as they wanted. The men from the city refused, and told Lot that they would take him instead and do far worse, but as they came close, the angels revealed themselves. The men attacking lot were struck with a curse, giving them body hair far thicker than any man had ever seen, and the castrated among them regrew their balls, their virility forty times what it had been before.”

Joseph, locked in place by the sheer pleasure coursing through him, looked down and saw that his clothes had disappeared, leaving him as skimpily dressed as Anthony, in an altarcub kilt, vest and collar, but unlike Anthony’s relatively smooth, chubby body, Joseph saw that he was covered with coarse, black fur, so thick he could barely see his skin through it. Anthony ran his hands through it, making Joseph’s balls ache. They were growing, he could feel their weight stretching his scrotum down, until they hung out the bottom of his silk kilt. The lust coursing through him now, he had no time for anger. He grabbed the back of David’s head, slamming his foot long cock deep down his fellow altarcub’s throat, but David had no problem taking the entire length.

“God, then sent the angels into the city, but they could not find even ten righteous men within the walls, and so he cursed the cities,” the Chaplain said, “He cursed them with the affliction you have, Joseph, but do not fear, it means you are greatly favored in the eyes of God, to be gifted with such vigor and virility.” Joseph wasn’t listening–his entire being was focused on his cock now, eyes glazed over, fur matted with sweat. When he was fucking, which was nearly all the time, he couldn’t think about anything else–the lust consumed him entirely. He didn’t miss the anger, the wrath which he had been so preoccupied with moments before. This was so much more pleasurable–this was what God wanted for him–he had come, he had sent the Chaplain and his voice to show Joseph the righteous path. “And that is the true meaning behind the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, that anger and hatred, especially when wielded in name of chastity and self-righteousness are great sins in the eyes of God. But God does not want to destroy them, he wants them to understand and accept his pleasure. He is a harsh God, but he wants nothing more than for us to be happy.”

Joseph came, the flood of cum as great as that which had consumed the Sodomites during that first night, and it was no surprise that Lot’s husbear, when turning back to look at the sight, had collapsed into a puddle of semen. There was so much that even Anthony struggled to hold all of it, but he was used to Joseph’s loads by now. No one else could keep up with Joseph’s loads and needs, and Anthony was more than happy to give him the pleasures of God’s whenever Joseph needed satisfaction–which was often, and the Chaplain was more than happy to guide them both deeper into God’s pleasures.  Eventually, the flow halted, and Anthony allowed  Joseph to extract himself, some clarity returning to his eyes. Still, Joseph would never be the brightest of bears–the lust making its way through him made sure of that, but he loved Anthony, and he loved the Chaplain, and that was enough for him. He kissed Anthony, tasting himself on his lips, and felt the lust begin to boil once more, but before he could follow the urge, the Chaplain grabbed his furry shoulder and pulled him up.

“Come you two, there will be plenty of time for all of us to celebrate, but there is more work for us to do. There is one more young man who requires guidance–do either of you know where he is?”

“I…I see him go to Narthex…” Joseph said, his voice impossibly deep, more of a growl than a voice.

“Ah, very good Joseph. Shall we go help him? I’m sure he is deeply worried for his friend. Let us assure him that he has nothing to worry about, and that God will provide for the pleasure of us all.”

***

James was sitting, facing the doors, full of faith that Matt would come to the door, and yet knowing, somehow, that he had already fallen. Still, hope was one of the few weapons he had left. He had to hope that God would provide for them, and lead them to safety. However, while it was easy to talk about faith and God, the reality was more difficult. The doubt, the fear–it was so difficult to keep at bay. In all honesty, James had never felt more weak, in face of what he had witnessed. How could a person, anyone, hope to stand against something like this, this strange affliction which had consumed campus in a matter of days? He had never seen anything like it, himself, and he didn’t think anyone else had either. What could they even do to stop it? He was growing increasingly certain that flight would be their only option, but where would they go? He recalled tales of the first Christians, huddling in sewers and tunnels beneath Rome, and the building rumbled. That must be the city’s subway system–he’d heard that there was a tunnel which ran underneath campus, funny that he’d never felt it before here.

“Are you alright, young man? Could you use some company?” James turned around, saw the three bears standing in the doors to the sanctuary and feel off the bench he’d been sitting on in fear. His head, his mind was telling him that this was right, that the three men approaching him were as they should be, but he fought past it. This was wrong, he could trust nothing other than his faith, and he knew this was wrong. He made a dash for the door to the basement, but with a deep growl, Joseph charged forward and slammed into James, pinning him to the ground, unable to resist grinding his hard, massive cock into James’ back. “Come now, don’t be afraid, we’ve come from God to help you in your time of need. Now, what is your struggle, little cub? What are you battling in your heart?”

“I’m not your cub! Let me go.” James shouted, and renewed his struggles, but he was too weak to break Joseph’s hold on him. Weak, he was weak. His faith was strong, but his body weak, how could he hope to do anything if he couldn’t even save himself from this? The Chaplain came around him, got down and James looked up into his eyes. They were kind eyes, generous eyes. If he let himself go, he could tell he would be happy, but that was the temptation, wasn’t it? That was the allure–safety, security, but God’s way was hard, and he would fight for it.

“I sense,” the Chaplain said, still looking in his eyes, “Yes, I sense that it is your weakness which you hate, isn’t that right? Well, don’t you know that true, mighty strength can only be found through God? Here, Joseph, keep holding him. I think our young friend here needs to hear the story of Samson and Dellan.” James tried to shut out the voice of the Chaplain, but it was so sweet, it wormed it’s way into his ears anyway. “Now, Samson was born to Manoah and his wife, who had been unable to conceive, but an angel of the lord came to them and instructed them that, from birth, Samson, from birth, must follow the way of the Nazarites, never cutting his hair nor beard, and never once bathing in anything other than God’s rain from the sky. And as their son grew, they discovered that the vow gave his amazing strength, and a powerful musk which no man could resist, allowing him to bed with any man he so chose.”

James could feel himself changing. It was happening, but he couldn’t look down to see what was happening, for Joseph still had him pinned to the floor. There was a stench in the room, like a locker room which hadn’t been washed in ages, and suddenly, Joseph felt much lighter on James’ back. He wanted to keep listening to the story, he loved hearing the Chaplain’s voice, and he could feel himself close to succumbing to temptation, but he wouldn’t –he couldn’t. With a mighty roar, he heaved Joseph off of him and scrambled up, unsteady on his feet. He saw that he now towered over the three men in the room, and when Joseph charged him again, James, with a single slap, threw him against the wall sideways. There was a sickening crack, and the altarcub collapsed to the carpet, unmoving. Anthony screamed, running for his lover, the Chaplain speechless, and James knew this would be his only chance. He dashed down the stairs, barely fitting in the tight stairwell, and into the small parish hall underneath the sanctuary. There, on the wall, was a mirror, and James let out a scream when he saw his reflection. He was a monster–a true beast of a man. At least seven foot tall and thickly muscled, his hair and beard longer than any he’d ever seen and crusted and matted with filth. He was a Samson, this new Samson, unwashed, unshaven, and stronger than any man in the world, but now he needed to escape.

The tunnels. He’d heard the subway earlier, it had to be close, and it was his only chance. He ran around the room, punding on the walls until he heard a boom hollower than the rest. He backed up against the opposite wall, and bracing his shoulder, charged the weak wall, plowing through three feet of concrete and dirt and stone to fall into the dark tunnel on the other side. He was free, for the moment, but he had not gotten away unscathed.

He heard men searching him for days afterwards, but he hid well, going deeper and deeper into the abandoned tunnels, praying to God at every turn to guide him. He was caught between people now, and his mind was so torn, he had no idea what to do. Finally, deep in the dark, an answer came to him. He did not know whether it was true or a hallucination, but after his fourth attempt to bathe and cut his hair had failed, this body revolted by the water, his hair unbreakable by even the sharpest stone he could find, he resolved to kill himself. But as he was readying himself, a brilliant figure had come to him, a bright, brilliant, angelic light, and he knew then, what he had to do. God had given him the strength he’d needed, as sick and twisted as that was, but not for the purpose he had imagined. He knew now, why God had forsaken them in the chapel–it was because this was not an assault from a demon, or from Satan–this was a punishment, delivered from the hand of God himself–a true biblical plague upon the hearts of men, but he had been spared.

His heart, his faith, had shielded him, but if this was truly God’s will, then he would come to his service. He would reduce these sinners to the beasts of their hearts, and when not even ten righteous men were left, like the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah it would be razed to the ground in a true cataclysm. He would further this cities destruction, he reasoned–this was the only purpose he had left. On his throne, the giant, this Samson slept, his mindless, disgusting, sex-obsessed congregation moaning in their fevered, lust filled dreams, but James dreamed something else. Righteous fire. An explosion. A true, godly purge of sin from this world which had forsaken him.