The glow returned moments later, and Grant had to stop his rows for the moment, because his skin started to itch. It was all of this body hair and these too tight of clothes. They always made him itch, but he never seemed to remember to go get some better fitting garments. He took advantage of his momentary break to take a sniff of his pits, and then a longer one, his hand rubbing his hard cock in his shorts, as he let off another belch, and feeling braver, he lifted his arm up over his head, rubbing his nose right in the pit, loving the feel of his hairy pits grating against his wild, tangled beard.

“Hey, Grant, if ya ain’t too busy over there,” Jack said with a smile, “Would ya mind spottin’ me on the bench press?”

Grant looked over his shoulder sheepishly, a bit embarrassed to have been caught getting off on his pit stink by someone as hot as Jack. “Sure man, I’d be happy to,” he said, got off his machine and hurried over to where Jack was positioning himself under the barbell. Even just standing over him, Grant could take in the musk which surrounded Jack. How could he have not noticed how amazing that smells before? He’d always thought that he’d hated it, but already he couldn’t get enough to satisfy himself suddenly. Again, he was struck by how he looked in the mirror across the room, and yet, it was his reflection–why did it bother him so much? Everything just seemed so…different, all of a sudden.

“You ready Grant?”

“Oh…yeah, whenever you are.”

Jack started pressing the bar, Grant counting off his reps, but mostly unable to take his eyes off himself. There was something wrong here, something that should be obvious, but it was like something hiding impossibly well right in plain sight. He shouldn’t look like this. That’s what was wrong. He didn’t know what he was supposed to look like, sure, but it wasn’t this–this massively fat man with a dingy beard and greasy hair, with clothes too tight, his skin bursting with hair. He grabbed the barbell as Jack was in the middle of one of his last reps, and shoved it down, pinning it against Jack’s chest, catching the big bear off guard. “What the fuck have you done to me, Jack?” Grant said.

“What the–what are ya even talkin’ about!” Jack cried, trying to push the bar off his chest, “Let me up, will ya?”

Grant felt a tremor of doubt in his chest. No, it couldn’t be Jack. Jack wouldn’t do something like that to Grant…right? No…no, of course not. But then that meant that they were both in danger, that Marcus or Clark or Doug were somewhere around here, maybe even manipulating them both. “Look, I don’t…I don’t think it’s safe here, I think one of the other masters…I think they did something to me.”

“Just let me up!” Jack shouted, and Grant helped lift the bar back into place, letting Jack sit up and take a few deep breaths. “Alright, what it the world are you talking about?”

“Someone did it to Len man, they changed him, they kicked him out of the program, and now I think they’re doing it to us. Do you…do you feel different at all?”

“No, do you?”

“I don’t…My head is telling me that this is all wrong, that…but I don’t know, it just isn’t right. It isn’t right at all. And there’s this glow I keep seeing, this weird glow, and then…”

“A glow eh?” Jack said, it didn’t happen to look like this, did it?” Grant turned around to see that Jack had a small handheld raygun in his hand pointed at Grant, and a second later, the tip of the gun engulfed Grant in that same glow, and he felt sucker punch to the gut. It was Jack–Jack, his hero, had been doing this to him–whatever this was. Shouldn’t…shouldn’t he be happy about that? The glow faded, and he was left trying to sort out the sudden crush of contrary feelings. Honor, fear, confusion, lust–he didn’t know what to feel, or why he should be feeling any of it. “It’s just a little something I picked up from Bear Boutique a little while ago–somethin’ called a Slobifier. Great little thing, ain’t it? Not only can it make someone slobby, it can change how they think, ‘n even change how they treat other slobs.”

“That’s amazing,” Grant said. He loved it when Jack spoke–he loved listening to Jack’s voice so much. He’d do anything for Jack.

“Yeah, sure is. Now Grant, how about ya do a few reps yerself? I’ll spot ya.”

“Oh..sure! Yeah, we can do that, but why are you…I mean, why me? Why use it on me?”

“Well, because you were such a tight ass before, I figured you could stand to loosen up a bit.”

“So I was different before–who was I? Tell me what you did.”

“Why? Ain’t you enjoyin’ who ya are now?” Jack said. Come on, lie down on the bench, and lets keep going with your workout.”

Grant was torn. He wanted answers, but he also really needed to do what Jack said. He couldn’t resist obeying anyone as dirty as he was, so he figured they could always talk about it later. He lied back down on the bench, and Jack went around to the head, and when Grant looked up, he saw that Jack had stripped off the denim shorts he’d been wearing and had nothing on other than his signature suspenders strapped onto one of the filthiest jockstraps Grant had ever seen. He wanted it. He wanted it on his face, in his mouth, all over his body. “Oh fuck Jack, why have you been hiding that from me?” he said, and went to lick the pouch, but Jack backed off.

“Nuh uh, ya gotta finish your reps first.”

“Please Jack? Please just a taste?”

“Are ya tellin’ me that you’d rather taste my nasty, pissy jock instead a workin’ out?”

That was a stupid question, Grant thought, why would he ever choose differently? He nodded, “Fuck yeah, man, give it to me.”

Fine, ya can taste it,” Jack said, “but only if you piss yourself. Right here, right now.”

“What?” Grant asked, taken aback.

“I wanna see ya piss those army shorts of yours. I want to see them soaked. I want to see you fucking piss your pants like a real nasty son-of-a-bitch. Then you can taste my sweaty jockstrap.”

Grant really wanted to taste it. What harm could there be in pissing his shorts? Something about it felt…just wrong, but thinking back, he’d woken up more than once after a night of drinking to find he’d pissed himself. Who really cares? Still, between his hard on, his inability to look away from Jack’s jock, and his nerves, he found pissing to be next to impossible. “I…I don’t think I can.”

“Do ya want some help?”

“I…I guess so. I do really want to taste your jock.”

“Well, the slobifier here, I can use it to make you incontinent. I can make it so ya have to piss yourself. How does that sound? I mean, ya can’t taste my jock until ya piss those shorts, so what have ya got tah lose?”

That was a horrible argument, or, it should have been a horrible argument, but everything that came out of Jack’s mouth just seemed to make so much more sense than it really should. And hadn’t that gun, that slobifier been the source of the rest of his problems? Were they really problems at all? And he did want to taste his jock, so what choice did he really have? “A–Alright, I guess you can do that to me.”

“That’s a good pig,” Jack said, aimed the gun at him and let loose once more. Grant didn’t feel any different once the glow faded, but a second later, he felt a strange warmth spread in his shorts, and sitting up, he could see the front of them darken, the piss flowing beyond his control, before flowing onto the bench and off the sides, where it dribbled onto the carpet.

“Fuck, oh fuck Jack that feels so good, and it reeks man–it fucking reeks…”

“You like that, don’t you, the smell of piss?”

“Oh yeah…oh, I don’t…I don’t feel too good…” Grant said, feeling a cramp in his gut. A moment later, he let loose with what he was expecting to be a fart, but was much more than that, shit suddenly packing itself into the back of his tight shorts. “Oh…oh god, I just…just shit myself.”

“Feels even better, doesn’t it?”

“God, it does…no, no this is so fucking messed up.”

“But you do get to taste it now, isn’t that what you wanted?” Jack said, pushing Grant down onto the bench and leaning over his, smashing the filthy jock right into his face. A second later, Jack started pissing himself, the stream flowing out of the jock and down over Grant’s face, into his open mouth, Grant couldn’t seem to close it for some reason, he needed that piss in his mouth, and the jock pressed against his nose stank of stale cum and piss and he was in heaven. He could smell his own shit now, mixing with the piss in the air, driving him to new heights of pleasure, and suddenly he was shooting his wad right into his shorts, letting it sink in with his piss. He’d never cum spontaneously like that before, but he had just as little control over that as the rest of his fluids, suddenly.

“Ha, alright, I think yer ready fer the truth,” Jack said.

“What do you mean?” Grant said, but the glow surrounded him again, and suddenly, as though a different light was shining on the events of the past hour, he remembered. He remembered all of it, how he’d been, how Jack had been changing him slowly, slowly reducing him to this…this nasty fucking slob! He scrambled up off the bench and backed away from Jack, “What the fuck!” he sputtered, “You fat fucking pig, what the fuck did you do?”

“Now, now, be nice, I ain’t the only ‘fat fucking pig’ here anymore.”

“Change me back.”

“Hah, no way”

“If you don’t change me back,” Grant said, starting to advance on Jack, but the redneck leveled the gun at him, and he stopped.

“You probably don’t want to find out what this thing will change next. All I did just now was make you aware of the changes. As much as I like having you as a lovestruck little pig, I’d rather finish off with the real Grant.”

“Why me?”

“Everyone’s picking off somebody. Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing.”

“But why me?”

“Because you’re a fuckin’ snob, dumbass. I just want tah show ya that yer nothin’ more than a pig, like me, everyone else is gonna be, and I’m gonna be king pig, whether you like it or not. However, judgin’ from the cum stainin’ yer shorts, I think ya like it more ‘n ya let on. Reagrdless, I’m done wit’ ya now. There ain’t no way yer gonna stick around in the masters program, since the only thing gettin’ you off in the near future is the smell a piss ‘n shit.”

“You can’t just leave me like this, remembering who it the fuck I was!”

“Sure I can. I wouldn’t want you tah have any regrets, would I?”

“You fucking asshole.”

“Don’t worry Grant, you’ll settle into it. Before long, you won’t be able to imagine bein’ anythin’ other than a filthy pig, ‘n ya’ll love it all. Now why don’ ya march on out a here, while I’m goin’ easy on ya. Drop out a the program, ‘n I won’t have tah pay ya another visit wit this guy.”

“Please, don’t leave me like this. Just do me that fuckin’ service. I’ll drop out, I’ll do whatever you want. Just change me back.”

“But I like you much more like this, and don’t worry, by the time I’m through with this campus, everyone is going to be as dirty as us. Won’t that be fucking hot?”

Grant did his best not to think about it, but it was making his cock hard again, and Jack was coming closer now. “Keep…keep back,” Grant said.

“Just think about it Grant, think about who you used to be, that tight ass marine, think of all the work you had to do. Now, all ya have to do is laze about, pissin’ and shittin’ yerself, cummin’ on occasion. Isn’t that a better life?” Jack said, rubbing Grant’s crotch.

“No…No, I don’t think it is.”

“Why?”

Grant didn’t have an answer to that–why didn’t he have an answer? It should be the simplest question in the world, but he was…enjoying this. Enjoying this a lot. He let out another belch, and that pleasant self-satisfaction filled him with pride. He tried to fight it back, but it was authentic. He did feel proud of himself. He was reveling in this in ways he couldn’t even begin to grasp.

“How about this. How about I trust you to help me out?” Jack said, and Grant felt Jack press the gun into his hand. “Everyone needs to feel like this, Grant. People fight it, they always do, but you can bring them down to our level. You can show them how wonderful it is to be a slob.”

“No…”

“You can’t fucking resist me, Grant,” Jack said, leaning in close, and Grant nearly fell forward, desperate to get Jack’s scent on him–in him, everywhere. Jack needed to be in charge, he realized. The world needed him to lead it, and if Grant…if Grant could help him do that, it would be an honor. He was down on his knees then, sucking on Jack’s cock through the wet pouch of his jock, and Grant realized that he’d been beaten. That he had accepted Jack’s world, that this was indeed best to him, and that he would do his best to help Jack succeed, because it was the right thing to do. It was right, to serve Jack, and he did need to show everyone else how true that was. Jack let his cock slip out of the punch, and Grant happily sucked it down, tasting the filth coating the shaft, thankful that Jack, his master, was allowing him the honor of service. It was an honor, a true honor, and when Jack’s cum filled his belly to the brim, he came again, without touching himself.

“Ya know what ya need tah do, don’t ya?”

“Yes sir,” Grant said.

“That’s a good marine. Now get to work,” Jack said, and left the gym, Grant following him out a few minutes later, wanting to get out before anyone caught him in there, and before he could meet any traffic on the way back to his dorm who might smell the shitload in his shorts. He got back before his cadet had returned from his run, and he sat there, in the dark, smelling himself, holding the gun and terrified of doing what was necessary. It couldn’t really be the best thing, could it? But Jack, his master, had told him to do it–so he…he had to, as sick as it might make him to do it.

When his cadet came into the room, panting a bit, the stench of musk in the room was overwhelming. “Holy crap…what is that,” he said, “Sarge? Sarge, are you there sir? What’s that smell?”

He could just barely make out a fat figure sitting on the bed, holding something, no, pointing something at his chest. “I’m…I’m sorry Cadet,” he heard his sarge said, and then he was surrounded by a strange glow, and then, nothing much mattered to him. He could smell it though, he could smell what he needed. Snorting a bit, he made his way to the bed and buried his face into the seat of his Sarge’s shorts, smelling and licking at the shit there, hungrier than he’d ever been in his life, and Grant felt a shiver run through him. Still, he did need someone to clean him up a bit, and who better than his cadet? It felt…surprisingly good, he realized, to make someone into a slob like him. Maybe Master Jack was right. Maybe they were all just pigs at heart. Well, Grant would do his part. If Jack wanted an army, he was going to get an army. He had a sergeant to lead it after all–now Grant just had to recruit all the soldiers he could find.

Chapter 3

“Well Officers, here we are, the scene a the crime,” Jack said, leading the massive men to the spot in the forest where the strange corpse had been found once people had woken up from hibernation. “We don’ know much about what happened, other than the fact that Tristan Newbeary and Professor Erikson are missin’ but I was hopin’ the two a ya could help us with that.”

Jack was a big man, but even he didn’t really want to get on the bad side of Officers Leather and Rubber. The two of them were infamous on the force, not only for their imposing physiques, but also for their curious methods of punishing any wrongdoer who crossed their paths.

“Well, if the two of them are just missing, then there’s no crime for us. We have better things to do than run errands for you, Jack.”

“Well how do ya know there wasn’t a crime committed?”

Leather cocked an eyebrow, but looked over at his partner rubber, the muscle bound hulk, his huge cock crammed in the leather thong he always wore. “Rubber, why don’t you give the place a sniff–nothing can beat your nose at sniffing out a crime.”

Rubber chuckled a bit, but apparently Leather wasn’t kidding. The rubber clad hulk stepped into the middle of the scene, and took a deep inhale through his nose, a bigger breath than Jack had ever seen someone take before, and he held it for a good minute, his eyes clenched tight, before exhaling it in a large burst. “There’s something on the air alright,” Rubber said with a growl, feeling that familiar, lovely rage start building in his gut, “something happened here…murder? Kidnapping? and something…something foul. Fuck, something, really, really rank.”

Leather looked at his partner curiously, “What was it?”

“I…I don’t know,” Rubber said, taking another breath. “All I can say, is that it’s one of the worst crimes I’ve ever smelled, it’s horrible…it’s making me…really angry…” he said.

“Well then it’s settled,” Jack said, “Ya’ll can hunt the two a them down then.” He looked at Leather and Rubber, but neither one was listening. “Right you two?”

The growl in Rubber’s throat was growing louder, and he suddenly threw a punch into the trunk of a tree next to him, his fist bursting through the wood like it was hollow, and making the entire century old tree shudder, and nearly tumble to the ground. “We have to punish this, this is…this is…” Rubber managed to get out, but the rage was quickly consuming him.

“Well what was it, Rubber? What was the crime?”

“I don’t…I don’t know. It was an abomination here, someone did something unnatural…they did it…there,” he said, pointing towards the science building where Erikson’s labs were housed, “but the perpetrator isn’t there, he’s…he’s gone. He was the one kidnapped, but not the murder, no. We have to punish this, Leather, this should have never happened.”

“Well now hold yer horses fellas,” Jack said, “I just need ya tah find them, not punish them.”

Quicker than Jack had imagined him capable of moving, Leather had crossed the distance between them, “You don’t get to decide matters of justice, Jack–we do. That’s our role. It’s what we do–what we are.”

“Hey man, I know that,” Jack said, backpedalling, but Leather had caught a whiff of something off Jack, and it wasn’t just the redneck’s filthy musk, and he pursued it, sniffing a bit himself.

“You’d better watch yourself Grant, I can smell…intent. What are you planning later?” he said, “At the…at the gym? With…someone in the military? That mean anything to you? Maybe we should stake that place out, make sure you stay out of trouble.”

Jack did his best to play it cool, “I ain’t got no idea what yer talkin’ about, Leather. Ya know I’m a good, law abidin’ citizen.”

“Well then you won’t mind if we pursue the crime here as we see fit, since you wouldn’t want me to charge you with obstruction of justice, would you? Are you planning on getting in our way?”

“No sir, you do what you do best.”

“Good. Rubber, lead the way. Let’s find out what happened here, and make sure whoever did this gets their proper punishment.”

Jack watched the two of them stalk out of the woods, back towards their squad car, which was still comically small for their massive frames, but the two of them made it work somehow, and he wondered who, exactly, the two of them were pursuing. Was it Tristan? Erikson? Who had kidnapped who? And which of them had committed a crime bad enough to make Rubber react like that? Hell, Jack already knew the answer to that question. It was Erikson–who knew what that crazy professor had been up to in those labs of his? Jack had never had much interest in science, preferring to focus on his Masters studies, but from the rumors he’d heard, it had been some pretty strange stuff. Still, the good news was that Leather and Rubber were going to find him. Of course, the bad news was that Erikson was going to get what sounded to be a pretty stern punishment. Still, Jack wasn’t entirely sure that was a bad thing–after all, that just meant there was one less person in his way. Still, Leather had been a little too exact in sniffing out what Jack had planned for later. He wondered, briefly, whether he should wait, but decided against it. The power struggle had already begun. He’d spotted Len getting three fists crammed in his hole the night before at the club. Jack didn’t know who had done it to him, but he sure as well wasn’t going to stand by and let someone else come to him. No, Jack would lead–and once everyone else loosened up a bit, they would understand that, and he knew just who to loosen up next.

***

Grant, wearing the Army tank top and fatigue shorts he always wore to the gym, let himself into the weight room with the key Coach Red had given him, and shivered a bit. Even though everyone was awake, and Spring was coming, there was still a definite chill of winter in the air, especially this early in the morning. Still, he’d rather work out now than have to deal with all of the jocks and amateurs getting in his way during the daytime. Grant was regimented above all else, and if he didn’t adhere to his workout schedule, which had been optimized for maintaining his body fat right at seven percent, he got angry. And for his cadet’s sake, he’d been trying to get angry less often. Most days, he had his cadet work out with him, however after the long sleep, they’d gone into their first work out a few days ago too quick, and he’d pulled his shoulder pretty bad. He was doing a five mile run instead of his usual work out, and Jack would need to time everything perfectly to get everything done without his usual spotter, assistant, and slave on hand to help him out.

However, when he walked into the weight room, he was surprised to find that the lights were on, and that there was someone there already lifting, and much to his surprise, it was Jack. Jack–big, slobby, redneck Jack, was working out. Grant had never seen him lift a weight, much less do any kind of real work at all, so what in the world was he doing here? “Hi Jack–I’m surprised to see you here this early.”

“Oh! Hey Grant,” Jack said, setting the dumbbells he’d been using down. “I wondered if I might run into you today.”

“I’ve never seen you work out before.”

“Ha, well, that’s cause we’ve never worked out at the same time!” he said, “I usually come durin’ the day, but I thought I’d try out the early mornin’, since you’re always talking it up.”

“Who gave you a key?”

“Coach Red, who else? He gave one to you after all, I just suggested that it’d be fair fer me tah have one too.”

Grant just stared Jack in the eye. His story was plausible, but almost too plausible for Grant. Something fishy was going on here, and he’d have to figure out what it was. Everyone in the masters program was on edge since Erikson disappeared, wondering what was going to happen to the college now, if he nor Tristan came back soon. Still, maybe he was trying something new. Grant didn’t really have any reason to be suspicious–still, he was going to do his best to keep his eye on him while they worked out. He trusted Jack as much as Jack trusted him–which was not at all. “Alright,” Grant said, “Just try and stay out of my way. I have a routine, and I like to stick to it, alright?”

“Ha, I know how ya is wit the sticks up yer ass. Ya really should try and loosen up, ya know.”

“Thanks, but I think you’re loose enough for both of us.”

Jack let out a big belly laugh at that, and went back to lifting his weights, leaving Grant to start his own workout. He checked the time, and headed over to the pull up bar, jumped up and started on his first set. While he started out keeping an eye on Jack in the mirror in front of him, he quickly became immersed in his own work out, and keeping up with his schedule. Trying to watch Jack while he worked pushed second onto his times, and he just couldn’t allow that. He was so focused that he almost didn’t notice the strange glow engulf him in the mirror momentarily before disappearing again, so quickly that he wasn’t even sure anything had happened at all. However, the next time he pulled himself up, he nearly lost his grip, when he caught a whiff of the stench coming from his pits. It was some of the worst BO he’d ever smelt, and he thought back, certain he’d put deodorant on. Had he forgotten? In his confusion, he realized he’d lost count of his reps, and dropped back to the ground, trying to regain his composure. Even with his arms down, he could smell himself, and he realized the smell wasn’t just coming from his pits. His entire body was suddenly sweaty, his tank top nearly soaked through, and while his pits were the worst by far, all of his sweat was rank. But that’s how it always was, wasn’t it?

Grant shook his head, trying to clear it, and remember. He hadn’t put deodorant on, but then again, he didn’t use it anyway. Nothing could really cover up the stink of his pits, and he hated the scent of that stuff anyway. He’d much rather just go all natural–people could just deal with it, and he’d always sweated hard during his workouts, so why was that odd? He glanced over his shoulder, and saw Jack facing away from him at the pec deck, focused on his own routine, and he glanced up at the clock, cursing himself. He’d fallen minutes behind now–he couldn’t afford any more distractions. He jumped back up and grabbed the bar, ready to pull himself up when the glow returned. He was certain he’d seen something now…wasn’t he? Still, he couldn’t let it distract him, he had a workout to do.

He tried to pull himself up, but found it surprisingly difficult. Huffing and puffing, he could only squeak out eight reps before dropping back down, breathless. What in the hell was up now? He’d always been able to max out closer to twenty-five, not at eight. Still, considering the weight he was packing, he had a lot more weight to haul up there than other guys, Grant thought, giving his small, but firm gut a pat, so maybe it wasn’t that surprising. Still, the only way to get better was to keep at it. He jumped up again, missing the glow this time, and grunting and groaning, fought with the bar, desperate to get just one rep out, but there was just no way he could get his fat frame up, and he dropped down again, a bit unsteady on his feet.

Hell, what it the world was he thinking, trying to do pull ups? He’d never been able to do a pull up once in his life, he thought, giving his gut a good shake. It’s firmness was gone, and it sagged out the bottom of his sweat soaked army tank quite a few inches. That was embarrassing–he could at least dress in clothes that fit him when he went out, for Christ’s sake, what had he been thinking? His shorts were stretched uncomfortably tight around his thighs as well, and turning around, he could see that the top of his ass crack was actually showing over the waistband. It was disgusting, surely he wouldn’t go out looking like this by choice, what was going on?

His worries were suspended for a moment by a sudden cramp in his gut, followed by a massive belch which nearly rattled the equipment around him, and he clamped his hands over his mouth in shock and mortification. That was definitely not normal, what the fuck was going on? He was staring at himself in the mirror when he caught sight of that glow again, but forgot about it as soon as it disappeared. Ah hell, he thought, who cares what he looks like? He doesn’t have to be ashamed of himself, so why should he care what other people think of him.

“Dang man, that was an impressive belch. I didn’t know you had it in you,” Jack said, catching Grant off guard, and he blushed. Jack had liked that? Well, maybe…maybe he did care a little bit, about what people thought. Well, he cared about what Jack thought, at least. He’d always liked Jack, even…admired him a bit.

“Ha…you, you really think so?” Grant said, a bit giddy, “I bet…I bet I can do another one.”

“Oh? Let’s see.”

Grant started working the gas in his guts around, opened his mouth for another belch, when the gas erupted out the other end, with a nasty, wet fart that stank to high heaven, the shock on Grant’s face even apparent to Jack, who erupted with laughter.

“Holy fuck, Grant, that was awesome!”

“Ha, I wasn’t expecting it, but yeah, I guess it was, wasn’t it?” There was that giddy feeling again, or was it attraction? No, there was no way he could be attracted to Jack. That was just…gross, right? I mean, the guy didn’t shower, and from the state his pig was always in, he was into some pretty filthy stuff. Still…there was something Grant couldn’t shake. He liked getting compliments from jack. He wanted Jack to like him–that made him feel really good. He shook his head a bit, and realized he’d completely messed up his workout schedule, but who cares? Jack didn’t have a schedule, so why would Grant need one? Still, if he couldn’t do a single pull up, he really needed to work on his back, so maybe some rows would be a good choice.

He headed for the rowing machine, setting it for his usual weight, but found it surprisingly difficult to reach the pull bar with this gut in the way. Again, he was struck by how odd it seemed to him, that he was fat. Still, he’d always been fat, right? But then why was he working out? There was something he was missing, something odd going on here, but he couldn’t figure out what. Still, lunging forward, he managed to grab the bar without hurting himself and started rowing, when that glow came back. He wasn’t facing a mirror now, so he caught it just outside the field of his vision, but nothing seemed different when it faded, so he forgot about it, as he leaned into his pits a bit, enjoying the smell wafting off them. He could still smell that fart he’d let off earlier, and the rank stench was so hot, he felt his cock start to harden in his shorts.

Chapter 2

“–and then I did this one just before the meeting, so it isn’t quite finished, but I’ve been pretty sure that, well, that the light I saw in the forest, that it wasn’t really a yellow, but more of a green, you see. I mean, that’s what it was in my hibernation dream, I think–at least, that’s what I remember, and the figure, well, I think that rather than saying it was like a shadow, it was more like a mirage, like the air just sort of bent around the body, and then it almost shimmered into being. I think I thought it was shadowy, because the light behind the body was so bright that the bod–”

“Look, as much as I love the art gallery each week, Ron,” Dennis said, before stuffing his fat hand back into the bag of chips he had in his lap, “This art of yours isn’t helping. It’s just bullshit, alright? I mean seriously, what does it matter whether the light was red or purple or whatever.”

“Yeah, well if you’d seen what I fucking saw, then maybe you’d care.”

“Yeah, well none of us saw it, and none of us care, so why don’t you just fuck off?”

“Guys!” Matt said, “Enough, Dennis, leave Ron alone, we’re all dealing with this in our own way, alright?”

“Yeah, some ways are just a bit more productive than others,” Dennis scoffed through a mouthful of chips.

“Yeah, well at least I have a healthier coping mechanism than eating myself silly.”

“I told you, I was fucking cursed,” Dennis shouted, “I can’t fucking help it.”

“Preaching to the choir, man,” Gus mumbled, looking a bit bored, “”weren’t we all? Still I think you’re looking pretty good.”

Dennis rolled his eyes. Gus’s boyfriend Clay was probably the fattest guy on campus now, and pumped cum from his cock into his fat rolls as he walked, and Dennis couldn’t help but feel a bit envious.

“Look, let’s get back to what we were doing,” Terry said, “Do you want to keep going Ron?”

Everyone looked over at the big bear, cigar in his mouth, eyes welling up, and he ripped up the watercolor he’d painted, and started sobbing. “I’m trying to remember, I really am, I know what I saw was important, but I just can’t…I can’t…”

Terry was off his feet and had the big bear in his arms before anyone else could react, and Matt felt his heart swell. He’d made the right decision, crossing campus. Terry was the sweetest, most compassionate man he’d ever met, and he was lucky to have him now. Terry had been surprised and gleeful when they’d woken up in each others arms, and the sex, after their cocks had been pent up in hibernation for over a month, had been long, their orgasms massive and numerous, like everyone else on campus it seemed like, but for them, it had been special. It was a new beginning, and when Matt got his stuff from his dorm room a day later, and told him he was moving out, he was able to do it with a confidence that caught even Tom by surprise.

However, this first resistance meeting was not going as well as Matt might have hoped. Before hibernation, they’d been discussing whether or not a long sleep would hurt or hinder their memories. Apparently, the later was the case. Nearly all of them reported having a harder time recalling what they had been, and five members hadn’t even shown up, making Matt worry that they’d lost their previous identities entirely. Ron was the exception–he’d spent his entire sleep caught in the same dream he’d had every night since the changes–the forest, the light, and the figure. He had never gotten more out of it than that, and Matt was worried it was driving him a bit insane, especially since assholes like Dennis didn’t have much sympathy for him. Still, even Terry had admitted to Matt in private that Ron’s art shows had gotten more eccentric and wild as of late. The art, which had begun from reasonably understandable, representationalist roots, had, in the month before hibernation, taken a far more surreal and abstract direction, and Ron’s mental stability had started wearing thin as his art was driven further and further from life. When his cub left him a week before he fell asleep, it crushed him, and Matt was now seriously worried about him, and whether he might hurt himself.

“Look, maybe we should just call it a night. We’ll meet again next week. Make every effort you can to find everyone who didn’t come tonight–see if…well, if there’s anything left, but don’t give us away.”

“Hold on,” TJ said uncrossing his tattooed arms are leaning forward. He hadn’t said anything yet this meeting, and everyone had forgotten he was there, “There’s something else that we need to talk about, something big. I mean, I don’t have all the details, but…well, there are plenty of rumors flying around the administration building, and I think we need to look into them?”

“Rumors? Really?” Gus asked.

“Don’t discount rumors, trust me,” Dennis said, “What are people saying?”

“Well, apparently, there were some disappearances that happened on campus that happened over hibernation, or at least, that’s what I’m hearing.”

“Who went missing?” Matt asked, “Is it anyone we…uh, know?” he asked, wondering whether their missing members might have been abducted.

“No, or at least, that’s not what people have been saying,” TJ said, “It’s a lot…worse. Well, I don’t know, it’s just…if it’s true. then–”

Oh just spit it out already!” Dennis said.

“Ok, ok, Vince heard from Greg, that, when Harry was up by the board room for the trustee meeting, he heard someone shouting, and they said that Professor Erikson and Tristan Newbeary were missing, along with Frank Longen. Just gone, and no one knows where any of them went.”

Everyone was silent–even Ron stopped his blubbering for a moment. “What…What does that mean?” Matt asked, “Who’s in charge now?”

“Well, best possibility? Someone on the board of trustees took control, but I don’t think so. Rumor has it, the person shouting in the meeting was a member of the Masters Program. My best guess? They’re in charge now.”

“What does that mean?”

TJ shrugged. “I have no idea, but it seems like we should do something about it, right? Aren’t we the feared campus resistance movement? This might be the chance to come out of the woodwork and take advantage of some chaos to try and fix this?”

“How, we still don’t even know what happened.”

“It was the woods, whatever happened in the woods! Why won’t any of you believe me?”

The meeting devolved into flurry of voices, until finally Matt shouted, “Alright, that’s enough!” and everyone settled down. “Look, we don’t even know if the rumor is true–we need to confirm it, and then we ought to try and find out what happened, and if there’s anything we can do about it.”

“What in the hell would we do, even if it were true? If Tristan disappearing isn’t enough for all of us to just change back, then what in the world is it going to take?” Dennis said.

“Well maybe we need to find him.”

“And how are we supposed to do that, exactly?”

“Look, I think everyone’s tempers are running a little high right now,” Terry said, “Why don’t we give this a break for a week, split up, see what we can find out, and meet back here, same time next week. I think the best thing we could all do is just calm down a bit.”

No one disagreed, and got up and left, none of them feeling good about how the meeting had gone. Matt looked around, a disheartened. Terry and him, when they’d started gathering people together, hadn’t planned on forming a resistance group. It had just been a way for all of them to come together and keep remembering who they were before the changes swept campus. However, once Tristan had labeled them the resistance, the mantle had fallen on them to try and do something, but none of them had a clue what was going on in the first place. It was hard enough just hanging on to who they were, without also trying to save everyone else. Soon, everyone had left aside from Terry, Ron, and himself, and Terry came over. “look, I think I need to take Ron back to his room, and make sure he’s ok. The guy is…well, pretty exhausted. I don’t think he really…slept, this winter, do you know what I mean?”

Matt nodded, “Yeah, I understand. Hey, maybe, uh…maybe give him one of those blowjobs of yours. They always put me right to sleep,” he said with a grin, hoping the joke wasn’t too ill timed, but Terry just smiled, and walked back to Ron.

“Alright you big lug, let’s go get you to bed.”

“But I…I have a painting I need to finish back in the room, I don’t want to sleep yet,” Ron said, but the exhaustion in his body was obvious. Terry gathered up the bears artwork and helped Ron stumble out of the room and off to his dorm, leaving Matt to walk back alone. It was just coming up on dusk outside. They’d found that meeting in the evening let them both have some privacy but also avoid the suspicion of late night meetings. If security stumbled on them, they usually just said they were a study group, and they didn’t really bat an eye, often enough. The best disguise usually was just hiding in plain sight. Still, the walk back to the dorm was empty, and so when Matt heard the voice call his name behind him, he flinched, and felt a bit of a knot form in his stomach. “Matt!” Leon called, “There’s our man, hey Matt, wait up!”

Matt sighed. He’d known that something like this would be coming down the pipe eventually. Tom was too much of an asshole to talk to Matt directly about what had happened, so naturally he’d send his two surrogates, Leon and Butch. Unfortunately, Matt actually liked both of them. They were both nice guys, fun to party with, and great in bed. It was just Tom who the jackass of their group. Unfortunately, Leon and Butch didn’t see it that way. They thought Tom was a natural leader, and that he and Matt were perfect together, never minding how Matt might feel about it. The few times he’d complained to them about Tom’s rough treatment, they’d usually dismiss his concerns with a joke, or just insist that Matt must like it since they were together. He kept walking, pretending, for the moment, that he didn’t hear them.

“Matt,” Leon called again, running up, Butch chugging along behind him, “Hey come on, aren’t we still friends? We just want to talk.”

“I’m not talking about Tom, if that’s what you want to talk about.”

“Nah man, we don’t have to talk about Tom,” Leon said, laughing nervously, “We just haven’t seen you in class lately, and we were a bit worried.”

“I switched majors.”

This caught Leon off guard. “What? But Construction…Construction was your life man, what’s up?”

“No, construction is Tom’s life, I never cared for it. I’m going into Daddy Studies.”

“Daddy Studies? Seriously? You want to end a stodgy old prude or something?”

“I’ve been enjoying it a lot more than fucking construction.” Matt was still walking. Leon had made a few attempts to get in front of him, but Matt just kept going. Finally, Leon grabbed him by the arm and pulled on him to stop, and Matt yanked his hand away, “Don’t fucking tough me.”

“Dang man, calm the fuck down,” Butch said, “We’re all friends here.”

“Look, I know Tom sent you here to talk to me, but I’m not going back to him, alright? So why don’t we just go our separate ways, since neither of you can see him for the asshole he is.”

“Look, we know Tom can be a bit rough around the edges, but that why you two were so great together! Because you could take it. I mean, now Tom’s just a bit, well…” Leon said, “Look, we’re worried about him, and we were thinking that if you just talked to him, maybe he would be a bit better.”

Matt rolled his eyes, “I’m not talking to him. I have no reason to talk to him.”

“Look, he’s really in a bad way,” Leon said, “I’m serious man, you know how Tom has his bad spots, well this one…well, he’s really wreaked man, he fucking loved you.”

“No, he loved my holes.”

“No, he loved you,” Leon said, throwing himself in front of Matt, making him stop, “Look, I know that the two of you have had your differences, I know your relationship wasn’t perfect, I know all of that, but think about Tom for a second, he hasn’t been to class, he’s throwing shit around the room, he’s fucking nuts at the moment.”

“And you think I want to talk to that?”

“I’m just saying that it might help him.”

“No,” Matt said, pushing onward, “I’m not going to talk to him. He wreaked our relationship, not me, I don’t care how he feels about it. He can go see one of his fuckbuddies and work it out of his system. God knows, he had plenty of them behind my back.”

“Alright, I’ve had enough of this,” Butch said, “You need to talk to him. At least clear the air for the rest of us.”

“No. I don’t have to.”

“Do it, or we’ll go ahead and tell security about that little meetings you’ve been having with those friends of yours. I don’t think that it’s a study group–there isn’t enough fucking involved. So what could it be, I wonder?”

“Well, it is just a study group.”

“Oh yeah? For what class?” Matt didn’t have a lie ready for that one, and he fumbled his words for a moment, before he decided to just keep on walking. “I fucking mean it, Matt,” Butch said, “I’m not bluffing here.”

“Oh for fucks sake, fine, I’ll fucking talk to him,” Matt said, “But not because you’re threatening me, just because it’s the only way the two of you will fucking leave me alone.”

Butch and Leon beamed a bit, glad that they’d gotten through to him, and the three of them changed direction, setting off for Matt’s old dorm, where Tom was supposedly locked in his room, smoking up a storm, and sure enough, there was so much it was leaking out the cracks of the door. Matt wondered how in the hell one guy could put out that much smoke, but then he was through the door, Leon and Butch nearly pushing him inside, and shutting the door behind him.

“Tom?” Matt called into the haze, “Tom, are you there?”

There was no answer. Matt walked a bit deeper, the amount of smoke inside making even a practiced smoker like himself cough a bit. The tobacco was also different from anything Matt had ever smelled Tom smoking before. He preferred darker, almost burnt tobacco, and this was much lighter, almost sweet around the edges. It was making him feel a bit floaty…and happy. As he worked his way deeper into the room, he found that there was no one there at all, and that all of this smoke must have come from the pile of of ash in the tray on the bedside table. Feeling a little woozy now, he worked his way back to the door and called out, “What gives guys? Tom’s not even in here?” However, again, no one replied, and when he tried to door, it was locked, or not locked, but barred. They were keeping him in there, but why?

“Oh you little fucks,” Matt said. It was the smoke, there was something in the goddamn smoke. Already he was feeling something change inside him, and without even hesitating to looking the mirror, he started ramming himself against the door, trying not to breathe in, but it wasn’t budging. He looked around and saw the window and threw it open, but there was no way he could get the smoke to clear in time. He looked down–his room was on the second floor–he could make it, provided he could slip through the window.

It was a tight fit. In fact, Matt thought that the reason he eventually squeezed through wasn’t because he was small enough, but because he was getting smaller, but slip through he did. However, he made the mistake of going out head first. Luckily, the bushes down below broke his fall, but he still got the wind knocked out of him. Still, he was alive, and looking down at himself, relatively the same as he had been. He’d lost a bit of height, and looked like he’d put on some weight. What in the hell had the two of them tried to smoke him out with? He looked down at the cellophane wrapper he’d grabbed from the bed and saw it read Bear Boutique on the label, that store at the mall nearby he’d heard was some hot new store at the mall. Leon and Butch had heard him struggling out the window, and had run down the stairs and outside to where Matt was pushing himself up off the ground.

“What the hell man?” Leon said, “What was that all about?”

“The fucking smoke, you assholes!” Matt screamed, “What kind of fucking smoke was that?”

“I don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about, you’re talking crazy man, did you talk to Tom?”

“Tom’s not even in there. Did he put you up to this? Was this his fucking idea to try and get me back? That’s fucking messed up. What was it. What were those cigars you fucking burnt?”

Leon and Butch looked at each other a bit shiftily, but refused to give up the game. Matt turned around to stalk away and stopped in his tracks, as he saw Tom walking towards them, chuffing on his own cigar, and he stopped, genuinely surprised to see Matt there talking to Leon and Butch. “Was this your fucking idea, Tom?”

“What are you even talking about?”

“Look, we were just trying to do you a favor,” Butch said, “We just wanted to get you two back together.”

“What was in the goddamn smoke, Butch?” Matt asked.

“Shut up, man!” Lepon said, but Butch felt too guilty to lie now.

“Look, it was Leon’s idea. He thought that, well, if we made you a little more receptive to Tom’s attitude, then maybe the two of your could get back together like we all want.”

“What was in the smoke, just fucking tell me.”

“It was…well, a mix of things. Something to, you know, make you a little more submissive, and a little more cubby. We just wanted you to be happy man, and you were always happy with–”

Butch didn’t get out another word, before Matt’s fist slammed right into his mouth. He wheeled on Leon, and went to sock him, but Tom ran up and grabbed him, holding him back. “I’ll fucking kill you!” Matt said, flying off the handle, “God fucking damn it! Haven’t we all been fucking changed enough?”

“Calm down Matt, for fuck’s sake, you’re embarrassing yourself,” Tom said, and Matt wrenched himself out of his grasp.

“Did you know about this?” Matt said, turning to Tom, “Because for a second, I thought you were better than this.”

“Look, Matt, I’m sorry. I’m sorry these two are such idiots, and I’m sorry I was such a jerk, alright? Maybe…maybe we could all just go out for a drink, eh? Like old times? Maybe a round of strip poker?”

“Fuck you,” Matt said, and spit in Tom’s face. “Fuck all of you.”

Tom’s face, went from sweet to mean in the space of a second, but Matt was ready for him. He dodged the left hook he always opened with, and landed a sucker punch right in his gut. “We’re fucking over Tom. For real. I’m done, and see if you can get that through your friends’ heads too,” Matt said, and walked away.

“You’ll be back, you fucking pansy!” Tom shouted as best he could with no breath in him. “You fucking want me, and you always will. No cub can give you what I can, no cub can give you what you fucking need. You’re always gonna be my bitch, Matt, fucking always, just you fucking wait.”

Matt didn’t respond, and just kept walking, now crying, cursing himself for being stupid enough to walk into a trap like that.

Back in the room, Terry still wasn’t back from taking care of Ron, and so he took a moment to strip down and take a look at himself. He had changed a bit. He was shorter, and definitely a bit stockier and chubbier. He even looked a bit younger–the grey he’d by now become accustomed to in his beard gone, along with some of his wrinkles. He noticed with some disappointment that his cock had shrunk a bit–no more than an inch, but still, he was pissed. He hoped the changes would reverse eventually, but he doubted that would happen. The changes here didn’t seem too fond of going away with time.

It was hard not to cry again, as he took measure of himself. Just as he was getting used to one body, those fuckers were trying to give him a new one? He didn’t want to deal with it–with any of it. He just wanted his old body back, but he didn’t even think he could remember what it looked like anymore. He was too used to this bear in the mirror, and these big hands and feet, and his beard, and now…now he didn’t even know if he wanted to give it up. He was happy, here with Terry. he really was, and if he went back to how things were, this would have to go too. He’d be straight again, and he’d be the same tight ass Christian he’d been before, and he didn’t know if he wanted that either. Still, what he always came back to was choice. He wanted control, and it felt like everyone was doing their very best to rip in away from him. Still, no more. He wasn’t going to let anyone push him around or change him anymore.

Terry returned a few minutes later, finding Matt on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Hye. Ron’s down, and out like a light. I hope he sleeps soundly for a bit,” Terry said, “You…you alright?”

“No…No, I’m not alright,” Matt said, and told Terry about what had happened, how Leon and Butch had confronted him, about their idiotic trap, and about his confrontation with Tom. Terry stayed silent the entire time, just listening, occasionally stroking Matt’s thigh, watching his daddy cry as he recalled what had happened. “I’m just…just so tired of being changed, Terry. I’m so tired of people trying to make me into something I’m not. But the thing is…even I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t…I just don’t know.”

Terry could sense that words wouldn’t do any good here, so he climbed on top of Matt and gave him a deep kiss, Matt eagerly returning the favor, wrapping Terry in his arms. “Well, I know one thing you are,” Terry said, “You’re my big daddy bear, even if you’re a bit younger than you were. So how about you give my cubby butt a good fuck? I bet that would make you feel better.” With Matt on his back, Terry moved to fuck himself on Matt’s cock…but found it only semi hard, which was strange. Usually Matt had no problem getting it up during their sessions, and Matt was obviously embarrassed. He was horny–that wasn’t the issue, it was just like his cock wasn’t getting the right signal from his head.

“It..It’s ok, we can just cuddle for a bit,” Matt said. Terry feeling bad himself, decided that would have to do for the moment, but after a few minutes in bed together, Matt got up, using the excuse that he had to go to the bathroom. Down the hall, he went into a stall and locked the door, and started jacking his cock. Lying with Terry had only made him hornier and hornier–he needed to get off, but his cock stayed soft. Still, in the back of his mind, he knew what might work. He licked a finger and slid it into his ass with an uncharacteristic shudder and moan, as his cock immediately stiffened to full mast. Apparently, one of the cigars in that medley had been designed to turn him into a complete anal whore, and he felt the anger build up in him again. Those fucking assholes had really fucked him over, and goddamn, if he wasn’t going to get them back for it somehow. Still, he knew how to work his cock now. He went back to his room, and he grabbed one of Terry’s buttplugs, and slid it into his hole without a word, Terry watching Matt’s cock leap to attention.

“Something in the smoke?” Terry asked.

“I think so.”

“Well, fuck it. Get over here and fuck me, daddy,” Terry said, and Matt was happy to oblige him, and god, if it wasn’t one of the most intense fucks Matt had ever had. The sensation of being filled while he fucked was nearly a sensory overload, and that only made him feel worse. Angry, humiliated, he started slamming his cock deep into Terry, not even hearing as Terry started to protest, eventually pulling himself off of Matt’s cock.

“Fuck Matt! I know you’re angry, but you don’t have to be rough with me.” Terry said.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Matt said, trying to get a handle on himself. He just felt so strange all of a sudden, and he couldn’t chalk all of it up to the smoke. “I just…God, I just don’t know.”

“Look, it’s alright if you can’t tonight, I understand.”

“No, that’s not it. It’s just…I’m going to get them back, they’re all going to regret it. Tristan, Tom, all of them.”

Terry didn’t know what to say, and Matt rolled him back over and fucked him again, as sweetly as he could, but the innocence in his sex had gone, and Terry missed it. Still, it was good enough to get them both off, and they both fell asleep in each other’s arms, but Terry fell asleep last, uncomfortable in Matt’s arms, though he wasn’t able to tell, exactly, why that was, and he slept roughly, running towards something he could never quite catch up with.

City of Bears Series 3: Rising Powers
Arc 2: Nature Abhors a Vacuum

Prologue

“He’s gone? Just gone? How did this happen? What happened?”

“It was Tristan, it has to be.”

“Tristan’s gone too, dumbass! How could it have been Tristan?”

“He took him somewhere, obviously.”

“But why would Tristan leave campus, that doesn’t make any sense. Fucking think, you dipshit–have you got a goddamn brain in there?”

“Does it matter who did it? There’s fucking no one leading the campus! How are we supposed to keep things going without Erikson or Tristan?”

“Don’ fergit, we’re the Masters here. We oughta be in charge anyway.”

“We can’t just–”

“We sure as hell can. Ain’t no way they can stop us. Marcus runs security, the whole staff is fuckin’ terrified a us–wha’ the problem?”

“There’s the resistance. We can’t let them find out.”

“Like the fuckin’ rabble matters.”

“Don’t discount them just because of how they look. They’re planning something. There’s no way they could still be around if they weren’t far better organized than he ever anticipated.”

“Look, the fact is that we don’t know.”

“Ah think we gotta act.”

“No shit we have to act, the problem is figuring out what to do.”

The six men at the table fell back into silence, their slaves behind their seats, tense, sensing their masters’ tension. It was already clear that three of them were dominating the conversation. Marcus, naturally, because we’d been appointed to head up Erikson’s security services, whose primary task was eradicating the resistance movements on campus. The other five were fairly convinced he was incompetent–but Marcus was right–they were good at hiding their tracks. The other two, dominating out of sheer personality, were Clark and Jack. The first dressed in his now trademark polo and khakis, a cub short of stature, but someone who everyone at the table had learned to respect, however grudgingly, due to his natural flare for command. Jack, stinking as usual, the others scooted away from him, his gut pushed up against the table, wearing nothing more than jeans held up by suspenders and his boots, the still cold weather apparently not fazing him in the least. The other three found themselves increasingly marginalized. Doug, the pipe smoking leather master, Len, the cowboy bondage expert, and Grant, the rigid drill sergeant, could all sense that a shift had occurred, and they’d missed their opportunity to ride it.

“Look, first things first, we need to give the staff someone to answer to. I’ll go to administration today, and make sure they know we’re going to be calling the shots for now.”

“Fine, but we still need a plan.”

“No fuckin’ shit we need a plan–the plan is tah find Erikson, ya dimwit!”

“Oh and how are we going to fucking do that?”

“How ‘bout the police? Ah got’s a few connections there. Leather ‘n Rubber can sniff out just ‘bout anythin’.”

“Fine. And we need complete silence on campus. No one can know. If the resistance finds out about this, things will only be harder to control.”

“Well maybe you should focus on finding them, Clark, since you’re so obsessed with them.”

“You know what? Fine, I will.”

“What about us? What are we going to do?”

“Just maintain order, keep an eye on things, make sure nothing goes wrong.”

“This is bullshit, you’re cutting us out.”

“Now ain’t the goddamn time for a fuckin’ hissyfit o’er who git’s a job tah do! We gotta be united ‘n this, or the whole thing is gonna come crashin’ down.”

“He’s right, we all have to be in this together.”

“Fine, fucking fine. Let’s just get a move on then.”

“Alright? Then let’s go and keep this whole mess from falling apart completely.”

The six, already divided, got up from the table, eyeing each other, sizing up the competition. Nature hates a vacuum, and the six of them were all racing to the center of it as quickly as they could, and they could all sense that there was only room for one at the top.

Chapter 1

“And no one has any idea where they went? There wasn’t a note or anything? What are we supposed to do?” One of the board members said, looking at the two empty seats at the table, where Tristan and Frank usually sat, directing the meeting.

“Unfortunately, and there was, well, something discovered outside the President’s Residence, but we’re currently having it investigated, to see if there’s anything we can learn abut what might have happened,” Ken said, a burly bear dressed in a leather suit. As Secretary of the Board, he had taken it upon himself to lead the meeting, but even he wasn’t sure what to do. Tristan was the ringleader–they all were obliged to simply agree with whatever he wanted. Without him here…they were adrift, and none of them knew what to do. They had allowed themselves to be driven for so long, that with the reins gone, they just stood there, gawking at each other, not knowing what to do. The meeting had been scheduled ahead of time, for the second day of term, but when they’d arrived, waiting for the two seats at the head of the table to fill, and when it became apparent that they weren’t going to be filled, they set about to find out why. What they’d found was…disturbing. The President’s Residence ransacked, the frozen corpse of some hideous dogbeast back behind the building, and when they heard that Professor Erikson hadn’t reported in to his classes for two days, they could only fear the worst. They all knew of the brewing animosity between the two of them–but none of them could figure out what might have happened.

“Well, we need to do something.”

“Oh course we need to do something, the question is what.”

“Isn’t this a good thing? Wasn’t…weren’t…”

“We have to tell campus, or contact the police.”

The meeting descended into a muddle of conversations, slowly growing in volume, Ken looking for something to say, but there were no words he could find to establish order. It was almost a relief when the doors to the boardroom burst open, and a short, stocky cub dressed in a polo and khakis stormed in, and said, “Hey you fucks! Pay attention.”

No one paid him any mind, however.

“All of you fucking listen to me, you goddamn fucks!” Clark shouted across the room, his voice slamming right into the faces of the board of trustees, and he climbed up on a chair so he could be seen better. God, how he hated being five foot two, every single day he woke up and still couldn’t put his feet on the ground while they hung off the bed added a bit more fuel to the spiteful flame which burnt in him. He did everything to compensate–he worked out every day, stretching his polo shirts and khakis to the limit. His clothing, in it’s conservative nature, helped draw attention to him as well, considering that it was far more fashionable these days to go bare, but every time, every goddamn time he had to climb onto something to get someone’s attention, God, one of these fucking trustees was going to get it, and they were going to get it bad.

The board meeting went silent for a moment, most surprised that their summary dismissal of the cub hadn’t been enough to deter him. Apparently, none of these fucks knew enough about the Masters Program to be afraid of him, but they’d learn. “Young man, we’re going to have to ask you to leave–this is a closed meeting,” Ken said.

“Yeah, well I’m not leaving, so you can suck it. I’m here to tell you that this fucking board isn’t going to be making any goddamn decisions unless I fucking allow it, got it?”

“Alright, I’ve had it,” a Ken said. This was a problem he could handle–he knew how to discipline a cub, and this would show everyone else that he was in charge of the situation. “Cub, it’s time for you to listen you your betters and leave.” He got up from his chair and walked over towards Clark.

Finally, Clark thought, a fucking target. He waited until Ken came close and tried to grab him, ready to simply try and pick up Clark and throw him from the room, but Clark grabbed the man by the beard, yanked him down, gripped the back of his head, and slammed it down into the oak table loud enough to make every man in the room cringe.

“Don’t touch me,” Clark said, slamming his face into the wood again, “Don’t any of you think about fucking touching me unless you want to end up looking like this, got it?” he said, yanking up the bear’s bloodied face, nose broken, the man crying, but not even aware he was doing so. “Gonna make you a fucking example. You try to fuck with me? Any of you want to fuck with me, or anyone in the fucking Master’s program, you’re gonna fucking regret it,” Clark said pulling his cock out of his pants. Truly, it was the only thing on clark which wasn’t small. Measuring a foot long when soft, with big balls beneath, it looked even more massive attached to his short frame, reaching more than halfway down to his knee. “Fucking suck it. I said suck it!” he screamed at Ken, shoving the head into his mouth, the bear moaning in fear, with every man in the room silenced, and thankful that they hadn’t been the one to stand up and challenge the cub. “Any fucking questions about any of that? Anyone else want to say anything? Call me short? Try and treat me like a fucking child?”

The room was silent, aside from the bear choking on the cock Clark insisted on ramming down his throat, and it stayed silent as Clark continued thrusting and bucking, cumming all over the bear’s bloody face a few minutes later.

“Leave it there. Take your fucking seat, and be thankful I didn’t feel like taking your other hole today. Now what do you fucking say, bitch?”

“I’m…sorry.”

“I don’t want your goddamn apology,” Clark seethed, grabbing the bear by the collar and yanking him close to his own face, “I just gave you a gift. Now what do you say?”

“Thank you.”

Clark slapped him, “Thank you, what?”

“Thank you…sir.”

Clark released him, and the bear hurried his way back to his seat, none of his colleagues looking him in the face. “Now then, if there are no objections, here’s what all of you are going to do. You will let no one outside of this room know about the disappearance of the President or Professor Erikson. No one. If I find out that someone else knows…well, let’s just say a busted face will be the least of your problems. Your job, for now, is to keep the status quo going for as long as possible. If we need something else from you, we’ll let you know. Do you all understand me? I don’t want to come back here because there was some sort of confusion about what is going on here.”

None of the board members said anything to object, but that wasn’t enough for Clark.

“I like my fucking bitches to tell me when they fucking understand something,” he said, and a chorus of “Yes sir” and “We understand sir” was mumbled from every seat at the table.

“Good, don’t fuck with us, and definitely don’t fuck with me,” Clark said, and left the room.

The board dismissed itself a few minutes later, most of them relieved. The moment of potential freedom had been avoided–control passed from one tyrant to another. They would keep the status go going, because that’s what they’d been told to do.

Clark, however, was just getting started. Beating down that board member had only lit the flame of horniness. He hadn’t planned on making his move this early, but he needed to fuck someone’s hole, and he knew just who was going to be getting his cock tonight. First though, he needed to pick some things up from the lab, and then he was going to be paying Len a little visit.

***

The Masters Program meeting was now two days behind Len, but he still was feeling slighted. He could sense that Clark, Marcus and Jack all say themselves as being in control of the situation, Leaving Doug, Grant, and himself behind, but he wasn’t about to go down that road without a fight. he was a Master too–he’d passed the test–the six of them were equals, the ones who had come out on top, and if those three couldn’t see that, well, then they wouldn’t just have to shown that, by force, if necessary.

He returned his attentions to his slave, Max. They were doing some flexibility work tonight, to better enable him to hold the more extreme bondage positions for longer periods of time. That was Len’s skill, really–bondage. He could tie any knot, force a human body to control itself into positions of amazing pleasure, which, with a twist, could become excruciatingly painful. He styled himself as a bit of cowboy, mostly as a joke–because he did love lassoing weaklings and hog tying them. In his practice room, he had on his chaps, a worn leather vest, and his signature cowboy hat, watching Max suspended in the air try not to show his discomfort at having his legs stretched apart and back up over his head, held there with strong, cable like ropes. He thought about how gratifying it would be to tie down Clark, Marcus and Jack and force them into these positions, listening to their joints pop and dislocate in their sockets. They wouldn’t be able to sideline him then. Hell, they probably wouldn’t even be able to walk. “Flexibility position twelve, Max.” he said, keeping an eye on the clock, and watched as his slave expertly maneuvered himself in a new position, this one designed to stretch his back, Max nearly able to bend behind and touch his head to his heels in the air. The training was hard on him, but Max did enjoy it–the burn of the ropes, the pain in his joints. He didn’t remember his old self anymore anyway, none of their slaves did.

He barely had time to register the sound of the practice room door opening, before the baseball bat swung at his knee, not hard enough to shatter it, but enough to collapse Len to the ground howling in pain, the perfect height for the second swing to connect with the side of his head,a perfect hit, enough to render him helpless, but not enough to knock him out. The only person who could land hits with that sort of finesse was was Clark, and sure enough, Len looked up and saw the cub standing over him, grinning, bat in hand. “Good evening Len, how are things?” Clark said, full of the sweetest malice.

“You little fuck, I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Len slurred, but his head was spinning, and his right leg wouldn’t do anything his head told it to do, leaving him to try and crawl away, but one of Clark’s dress shoes pressing down on his wounded knee sent a jolt of pain through him, and held him in place.

“Now now, I just wanted to have a little chat, is all. See, I’ve been thinking Len. I’ve been thinking that, well, six people at the table is just too many, Len. I think that in the coming months, well we Masters are going to have to make some quick decisions, and we just can’t afford to have any disagreements in the heat of the moment.”

“You little fuck.”

Clark brought the bat down again, this time, on Len’s shin, just hard enough to send a hairline fracture up the length of the bone, making the cowboy scream. “Quit calling me little! I fucking hate that, you goddamn cowboy fuck, you’re fucking lucky I can’t fucking kill you right here, because goddamn, I would spray those fucking brains of yours all over this filthy floor, but if you keep calling me little, or small, then I’m going to have to clean up a body, and that isn’t going to make my night. Don’t make me clean up your body, you fucking cunt!”

He watched Len sob for a second, calming himself back down, and then grabbed him by the hair, and sith surprising strength, dragged the cowboy out of the room.

“Where the fuck are you taking me?”

“I have a room all set up for you, bitch. Don’t you worry. See, I think you need something other than bondage to keep you occupied, since you aren’t going to be in the masters program, after tonight. See, we can’t tolerate having any bottoms at the table, right? And I think I have the perfect position for a cowboy like yourself.”

Len struggled, but Clarks grip on his hair was too tight, and he pulled him into a room down the hall, where he saw a large contraption set up in the middle of the room. “First things first,” Clark said, and applied one of Erikson’s mind patches to Len’s skull, the shock rippling through Len’s skull. “Stand up, and straddle the horse,” Clark said, and unable to resist the command, Len did as he was told. He could see what the machine was now–it was a fuck machine. He’d never used one on Max, but a few other masters had used it on their slaves if their holes were too tight to let in a fist.

Clark strapped him in, and Len laughed, “You think a bondage master can’t best a few fucking straps?”

“Oh, you aren’t going to want to escape–this is just to keep you in position. Initiate program, ‘Tijuana’,” Clark said, and light exploded in Len’s field of vision, as the program Clark had spent the afternoon loading into the patch began implanting itself into Len’s mind. The information was coming intoo fast for Len to process, but he felt a growing need. A need in his ass. He needed to be fucked, it was going to overwhelm him, he could already sense it. When he felt Clark press the head of his massive cock against his cherry, he eagerly pushed back. It hurt, but it was supposed to hurt. If it hurt, that meant it was big, and he wanted it big. The bigger the better. The best fuck was the fuck that ripped him apart. Clark, for his part, worked his cock in as fast as he could. He’d been fantasizing about this fuck all day now, after the meeting with the board, and he was so horny, it didn’t take long for him to cum, and pump the first load of many Len would gather in the rest of his life. With Len’s ass now primed, he moved the head of the machine into place, and the ten inch dildo started working itself in and out of Len’s hole, the cowboy not caring, so long as he was getting fucked. The program would take a few hours to be fully loaded, which was fine. Clark needed to do some work on Len’s slave after all. There was no avoiding it–all of their slaves would be attached to them for life, but there was no reason Clark couldn’t make him better able to help his master in his new role, and he abandoned Len there, moaning, the thoughts from the patch beginning to solidify in him, becoming as real to him as his own.

He soon discovered that it wasn’t just cock that he needed–he needed a very particular kind of cock, the biggest cocks that the animal kingdom had to offer. His cowboy persona, crafted more as an inside joke than anything,was quickly becoming a different kind of reality. Len loved spending time on the farm, with the animals, but only so he could cajole them into fucking him. Donkeys, bulls, horses, anything bigger than what a human could give him, that was his real fantasy. And the brutality! Men were too gentle–Len wanted it rough–brutish and animalistic, the only thought being lust and domination. For him, the next few hours passed in a blur, and while he enjoyed the perpetual fuck, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t big enough for him, not by a long shot. The program finally wore down, leaving Len there, strapped to the horse, fucked but not enjoying it. He started squriming his way out of the straps, when the door opened, showing Clark in the doorway, with Max.

“There he is Max, go ahead and show your master your new tools,” Clark said, “So long Len–I already put your resignation in for you. Enjoy yourself, and all those pony shows you’re going to be staring in soon.”

Len wasn’t listening–he was staring at Max. He had no idea what Clark had done to him, but he was a mess–or at least, his hands were. They were huge, each fist the size of a small mellon, as though they’d been grown to massive size, and from Max’s discomfort, it didn’t look like he could unclench them. His arms all the way up to the shoulders were equally thick, and so long they dragged almost to his knees, but that didn’t even take into account his cock. It was completely rigid–possibly permanently so–but was so thick and long that it hung down anyway, nearly two feet long, and as thick as a two liter soda bottle. Len needed it. He needed that cock, and both those fists in his, all at the same time. Still, he had a lot of training to do before he’d be able to manage that–but one day–one day he would get there, and he’d have the biggest hole the world had ever seen. “Get over here Max, and fuck me. Open up your master’s hole with that cock of yours.”

Max was confused. Fuck his master? That seemed wrong, but it was an order. Clark had been busy injecting his limbs with silicone–Max knew he would never be able to cum, or even go soft, ever again, but if that’s what his master wanted, that’s what he would do. Clark could hear the screams of Len echo up and down the hall, begging Max to go deeper even as his hole was ripped wider and wider, and Clark smiled. One down, and only four more before he proved to them all that the little guy always comes out on top.

We’re at a bit of a stopping point in the story thus far, so if you have any questions, or are confused about anything, or just want to tell me you love/hate it, drop me something in my ask box, or just reply here, and I’ll answer it. 

Also, for those of you who might have missed an entry–I know a few got posted late at night, here are links to the eight entries I’ve posted thus far.

One – We Meet James, and find out what happened in the chapel at the end of Big Bears on Campus.

Two – We catch up with Matt, and see how he’s dealt with the changes.

Three – Matt and Terry fall in love.

Four – Matt takes a risk, and Chapter Three takes a false start.

Five – Scuzz has a run-in with Erikson, and the wall gets cracked.

Six – We get a closer look at some of Erikson’s experiments.

Seven – Frank Longen meets an unfortunate fate.

Eight – An abduction, a mercy killing, and Tristan decides to fight.

***

He was close now, so close–he was no longer moving his feet, the world was moving around him, turning beneath him, driving him closer to his destiny. He was in the thicket, in the woods around the mansion, so quiet, and then, a howl and a bark–his pets had found a mark. Was Tristan awake? Making an escape? He moved quicker, but in the woods the sounds echoed and bounced in strange directions, Erikson moving with greater haste as the snarls of his pet’s rage turned to sudden pain, then terror, and then were silenced, replaced by a horrendous sounds, something like what might only be heard in the early morning hours of a butch shop, done before the customers arrived, so as not to terrify them. Erikson drove onward, and he smelled the fresh blood before he saw the red, before he saw the carcass. Alpha, his beautiful Alpha–dead. Something–someone–had taken a hold of it’s jaws and…and ripped it apart, right down the middle, flaying open its carcass in a spray of blood Erikson would have admired had it not been such a personal injury.

Anger and rage clouded through him, the adrenaline triggering a further stimulus from the stimpatch, forcing Erikson’s vision into a tight tunnel. He could see…footprints, but not just any footprints, massive feet, a giant’s feet. Could it be Scuzz? Could the true Alpha been set loose inside him? Fear coursed through Erikson next–whatever had down this, he did not–he had not counted on another variable, he hadn’t anticipated this. He had to go back, he had to analyze, he had to think and study and research and–

He had a strange moment of lucidity. The world around him was no longer making sense. The trees were walking, the snow melting, a flood washing the world away beneath his feet, leaving him in a void. Were his eyes closed? When had he closed them? Was he standing, sitting, kneeling, lying down with his head in the cold snow? Was any of this a dream? Any of it? And then he was gone, swept into the sleep he’d denied himself too long.

From behind the tree where he’d hid, Beta watched this, watched Master collapse to the ground, exhaustion, fear and anger finally overwhelming and shutting down his system. He and Alpha had found the Trespasser, and Alpha had attacked him. Beta had seen him ripped apart–the Trespasser was in the house now, Beta could smell him, that overwhelming musk, the stench of his Alpha’s blood, and he was afraid. And yet…

He was free. He could run, he could leave. He sniffed the air, and caught something else on the wind, an old scent, a scent he’d slept with long ago. It was not here…however, he could follow it. It was Prey–the Prey that Master had sent them after, but the trail would not be there for long, and yet this Prey…was it not also a Master? Had it not been a Master…before? It was torn, there, between loyalties and fear and the taste of freedom it had no idea to do with. Still, this Master would die of cold, if Beta did nothing for him. Still, this Master was cruel, why should Beta care? No, he would find the old Master, or Prey–Beta did not know what he would be when he found him, but that is where he would go, and he broke off into a run, off campus and into the city, chasing Tristan.

Erikson was already shivering in his sleep, his lips and eyes beginning to frost over when footsteps came close by again and stopped. James, covered in blood, had not found what he was looking for, what God had told him to seek, in his dream, but this man, this man shivering in the cold, there was a light of God about him, a shimmer of something, or perhaps it was his own curiosity. In any case, the man would die there if he did nothing, and he had caused enough death, to last his entire life. He trod over and hefted Erikson up, carrying him as he might a cub, out of the woods and down into sewers beneath the city, slumbering, soon though–soon to wake. James could hear them stirring, the same way he could hear the distant rumble of a cataclysm approaching. An armageddon, perhaps. He had souls to save–he told himself–for God’s judgement would be harsh, swift, and terrible–and none but those close to God would escape it.

Chapter 5

Tristan ran. He hated running, but he was still too tired, and the pendant too far strapped of power to risk teleportation. He could end up who knew where, or not even materialize at all, if something went wrong. He had hoped that the pendant would regain some of its power while he slept, and it had gained some, but considering the events currently roaring their way across campus and across the city, how could he sleep? He’d always known that Erikson, when given a chance, would use Frank against him. That was why he’d given Frank so little information to begin with about himself, especially once he’d started snooping and prying. Still, he hadn’t known for sure until Frank had got up and sleepwalked out of the residence soon after they’d begun hibernation, and it was then that Tristan realized that this would not be a restful winter. Erikson was awake–awake and working and planning and plotting, and Tristan had been so focused on expanding his power to the city, he’d neglected to gather much information of his own.

He had underestimated him. He had underestimated all of them. When he had scoped this dimension, these men, they had seemed like such easy targets. Easily suggestible, forms malleable, with no resistance to his clan’s magic at all. He had rushed into his invasion, expecting to have consolidated power within a large region by now, but these human’s malleability had a dimension he hadn’t anticipated, which thwarted him at every turn–a startling commitment to agency. It seemed, that if there was one thing a human didn’t want to do, it was anything that someone else told that human to do. They were fundamentally opposed to authority, and as easy as it was to warp their bodies, their minds twisted and changed of their own volition into something Tristan could neither anticipate, nor appreciate. And as he sat in the house, alone, he realized that his plan had crumbled to pieces. He didn’t have the power to reassert control. He didn’t have the information to beat these humans at their own games. It was so much simpler in the clan–control was established by one thing–power. But here, ever the weak could become powerful if they banded together, like that cursed resistance of students which he’d still been unable to fully eradicate, even with erikson’s assistance.

He’d been watching the doors of Erikson’s labs, waiting for the Professor to make his move for weeks now, dozing and sleeping as much as he could, but the light sleep wasn’t enough for him, or the pendant, to recharge, and when Erikson had stumbled forth, carrying an ungodly load of equipment, a massive gun in both hands, and two beasts by his side that he had never seen before, Tristan had known he had a single option–to flee. He didn’t know what that gun would do to him, but he could be certain that he didn’t want to find out. Bundling up as best he could, wishing this human form had more fur to keep him warm, he’d set out on foot. He’d never been able to figure out how to work those accursed cars these humans drove around on their streets. Besides, the snow was far too thick for a car, and while the going was slow, he was far enough away that the scream of a beast’s pain was nothing more than a whisper on the harsh wind roaring between the city buildings.

Tristan had nowhere to go, no. Nowhere he could hide. There was only one place left, really, and even that might be dangerous. Back to Maxwell–well, back to Scuzz. Maxwell was gone, locked away, and again, Tristan felt a horrible pain in his heart at what he had done. Still, it had been as necessary, as it was horrible. He’d done many, many horrible things now–and yet, this one was far worse than anything he’d done before, he could sense that. This wasn’t a crime committed against a foreign species–this was a crime against his own kind, against his own family. That, by clan law, was unjustifiable–even without stealing the pendant, if the clan knew of this, he would be sentenced to death if he ever went back. He laughed. Like he could ever have the strength to open that portal again. There was no going back, he could sense. Not now, not ever. He was marooned here, it this foreign land, by his own foolish design. He had run away from his problems there, just as he was running from them here. Would be ever stop running? Would he ever be anything more than a coward?

The mall, thankfully, was close by. It still took him a half an hour to reach it, when it should have only taken him ten minutes, but it could be worse. He broke open one of the locked doors, not even caring, and made his way to the boutique. Scuzz was probably asleep, and it would be better if he was. Tristan could see him for a moment, just look, gather his thoughts, and then be on his way–wherever he was going to go. He had no plan, he had no target, he had no path. He didn’t know what he was going to do.

The gate was down at Bear Boutique, but he had a key, and he rolled up the gate, and walked into the store, but he could immediately sense that he wasn’t alone. He could hear someone…sobbing in fear. He found the source of it in the backroom, where Scuzz was huddled, naked, in a small ball, rocking back and forth. Tristan felt his heart leap when he saw him. The magic–the magic he’d cast, locking Maxwell away–it was so weak. What had happened to it? Who could have done this?

Scuzz looked up when he heard Tristan come in, and his eyes were fevered and bloodshot. “You! You, it’s you, the one in the cave, the one I saw in the cave, you–you did this to him, why? Why did you do it? Why?” he shouted.

Tristan said nothing. What could he say to him? To Scuzz, or to Maxwell? Whoever was in there at the moment?

“Please…I’m sorry, I just did it to make Master Erikson happy, so he’d, so he’d make me feel good again. I didn’t know what was on the other side, I didn’t know, but I wanted to know and I knew Erikson would want to know, and there was a crack, and He was there, and I shouldn’t have done it, I shouldn’t have done any of it…Please, put him back, put him back in, he’s eating me. He’s eating me inside my head!” Scuzz screamed, scratching at his skull, in some places hard enough to draw blood. “He’s hungry, and angry, and oh God…oh God the things…the things he says he’s going to do to you…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know…Please, put him back–save me, please save me.”

“I…I can’t,” Tristan said.

“What the fuck do you mean, you can’t!” Scuzz screamed at him, crawling over to where Tristan was standing, “Look at what you did to him. To me. To this whole damn city! And you’re telling me that you can’t? Please, I’m begging you, I’ll do anything. Just save me from him, please. If…If I sleep again, I’m not going to be able to escape, like I did. He’s in there, I can hear him laughing, I can smell the evergreen…I’m tired, I’m so tired, I can’t hold on for much longer.”

“I can’t, I can’t do anything, I’m sorry.”

“You can! You’re lying!”

“I fucking can’t!” Tristan shouted back, “You aren’t even real! I made you, and you can fucking die for all I care, I should have never even made you exist.”

“How…How can you say that? How can you–I’m real! I’m here, I have memories, I have friends, I have thoughts and wants, and everything else, how can you–I’m real, I’m a real as you are. Please, help me.”

Tristan looked down at him, at the filthy biker his magic had made, and he felt pity. This was cruel, this was the height of cruelty, what he had done. What he was going to do,–it would be an act of mercy. Tristan got down on his knees, and with a small breath of power from the pendant, he began to sing the lullaby he’d been sung as a cub, that he had sung that day in the cave.

“I know…I know that song–he, he knows it. He knows you’re here…please, don’t…don’t make me sleep. He’s waiting for me, he’s waiting, and he’ll…he’ll…”

“Shush, I know, and I’m sorry. But it’s the right thing to do,” Tristan said, and then continued the song. He had committed a grave wrong, against Maxwell–he deserved to come back, he deserved that much from Tristan. He’d been a fool to think he could control all of this. a fool. He watched as Scuzz’s struggles weakened, his eyes fluttering closed. It really was a mercy to him. He would lose the battle with sleep eventually–this was far kinder, but he would need to be gone when Maxwell woke up. He had no doubt that Maxwell would be seeking him out, for revenge, and goodness knows Tristan deserved it. He thought, for a moment, of staying. Of waiting. He could apologize, he could offer himself, he could let Maxwell enthrall him. The deep part of his mind, remembering that night, ached for it, ached for submission, but his cowardice…he would run. He would keep running, it was all he knew how to do anymore, and as soon as Scuzz’s head hit the carpet, Tristan left, running, not knowing how long it would take Maxwell to consume the rest of the spell, and then wake himself up to pursue him.

He beat a hasty path back towards the exit, but came to an abrupt halt, as a beast–one of the beasts he had seen leave the lab with Erikson–step through the broken door of the mall, growling and snarling at the sight of Tristan fifty yards away. He looked the beast in his eyes, and saw that, not only were they human–he knew them. They were Frank’s eyes. Erikson…what had he done? Frank snarled, the hair standing up on the back of his neck as he advanced slowly through the shards of broken glass. Tristan’s first thought, so strong it nearly overpowered him, was to run, but he knew that there would be no outrunning this beast. This was as far as running could take him. He could see hesitation in the beast’s eyes–did Frank remember him? It was possible, he figured, but Erikson had likely trained him well, and trained him to kill. He readied himself, and a moment later, the beast charged.

Tristan had forgotten what it meant to fight, until that moment. When the beast collided with him, when he felt the sheer power thrown at him, his body responded in ways he could barely remember, slipping away from the monster, but not before his claws had raked through the coat he wore, breaking through his skin. Tristan felt his reslove shake. He couldn’t win…and yet, he had to. He had created this mess, he had begun all of this, and he had to finish it. He had to bring it to whatever conclusion that might come. He had to fight. He was done running and hiding. With a snarl, he flung himself at the beast. He couldn’t recall, in the bloodhaze, what had happened. All he could remember was the thrill he’d felt, sinking his cock into the beast’s ass, hearing it howl in submission. He had beaten it, he had won. And when he finished, the beast knew it was bested. This was not Prey–this was Master, and when Tristan left, the beast followed.

Tristan was done running, he realized. He would fight. Still, he couldn’t return to campus, or to the boutique. He would have to go elsewhere, but he would win. Let these rising powers squabble amongst themselves–he would be back, and when he came, he would finally crush this human species beneath his rightful throne.

End Arc 1: While a City Sleeps

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.”