The Half-Moon Truck Stop
By Bjorn Torson
It was an all night truck stop, as most are, just off the interstate near the mountain town of Clifton, Oregon.
Mark came here often. He liked the night air and the smell of pines on his walk from the little house his dad had built back in the late sixties. He liked to come to the truck stop for dinner and pie after, and especially for the view. It wasn’t that the Half Moon’s diner looked out on anything more spectacular than the view Mark had from his own bedroom; from his bedroom window Mark had a panoramic view of the surrounding mountains and a lake in the distance. No, Mark came for a view the surrounding countryside couldn’t provide; a view of the beefy men who stopped in on their way to deliver their loads at the other end of their routes.
Some of them were regulars and he’d gotten to know them over time. Others were one time customers and Mark savored them all the more because he knew he’d probably never see them again.
Mark liked them big, bearded, and burly. He loved the thickly muscled, well tanned arms covered in curly fur with, more often than not, some tattoo with meanings that were sometimes only known to the one wearing the design. He loved the chest hair that poked out over the second undone button of the plaid flannel or long-sleeved cowboy shirts. He loved the suspenders on the men with round bellies, most of whom were older, and he loved the bulges in the crotches of their pants; but most of all and he loved the natural way in which they showed off these masculine attributes. There was no posing, no primping; these men came off the road tired and hungry with an ‘I don’t give a shit, take me as I am’ attitude about their appearance, and Mark thought they were at their best that way. They were far more real to him than any model in a magazine.
He’d been coming here for two years now on a regular basis, sizing up his prey. It had been four years since his encounter outside of his home and he was almost ready. He felt ready to take the chance tonight; he felt luck was on his side. He’d seen which of the regulars were homophobic in the extreme and which seemed neutral and rarest of all, which seemed interested. He watched those most carefully and had nurtured friendships with the interested ones he liked the best. He knew he could get close to them without arousing suspicion. Even better, they might well invite him in and then it would be too late for them to react. Mark was now a very selective hunter.
There was Big Red, a sixty something papa bear. He had a huge frame that supported lots of muscle and a large round belly he loved to feed at the Half Moon; a cane supported that huge frame. Red wore ‘Y’ backed suspenders; the British called them ‘braces’ as Mark recalled from a trip he’d made to London and a visit to a Bear gathering there. The suspenders enhanced Red’s look, made him look more ‘Bearish’ in Mark’s eyes. Red was a Vietnam vet and had come out of the war with a limp to remind him how lucky he was; and how lucky his buddy wasn’t. If Red had stepped on the mine, he wouldn’t have had a limp at all, in fact, he wouldn’t have cared about anything ever again.
Red was mostly grey, but there was enough red in his full long beard and hair to merit the name yet. Mark listened to Red’s stories of the war, his trips to Sturgis on his Hawg and stories of his travels in his rig. Mark saw both merriment and sorrow in his soft grey eyes and thought how wonderful it would be to take Red, to have those eyes looking into his as he committed the act. Red would be a challenge physically. Sure, he had a limp, but he was strong and able to take care of himself in a fight. He’d seen the results of Red’s capabilities on the would-be mugger who tried to roll Red for his money. The guy was very happy to be taken away by the police to a nice safe cell after his encounter with the "Ol’ Gimp". Red would not be an easy target. If Mark chose Big Red, he’d have to do it within the next few months. The ol’ Red Bear was getting ready to retire at the end of the year and he didn't make it up to the Clifton area that often anymore. He might retire down south in Northern California and be hard to find. Mark knew if he wanted it to be Red, he’d have to act next time he saw him here in and he’d have to be damned careful when he took him.
There was Mike. Mike was another favorite. He wasn’t nearly as big as Red. He was about five-eight, the same as Mark, and in his mid thirties, just like Mark. But where Mark was lean, wiry and hairy with a bushy brown goatee, Mike was built like he wrestled bears as well as being one. Mike was a stout fireplug with red and yellow flames tattooed up his arms. Dark curly hair covered those well muscled arms. His neatly trimmed full black beard would join his chest hair if he didn’t keep it so well shaved. Mike shaved below the neck line of his T-shirt, so Mark didn’t know how hairy his chest was, but if his arms were any indication of what his torso and other more entertaining parts looked like, Mike would probably turn out to be a walking shag carpet. Mike would be easy, he was not often aware of his surroundings, he was not a hardened veteran like Red or some sort of martial artist and his physique was not so overwhelming that Mark couldn’t take him. Still, a good hunter never underestimates his prey; deer can sometimes injure or kill the man who hunts them. It was rare, but it happened. Still, Mike was not like the one Mark had encountered four years ago; that encounter had given him a particular nightmare for a year after, but Mark didn’t have that nightmare anymore. His nightmares were different; now, he was no longer the victim.
Ray was a little round teddy bear; jovial, cuddly and a little shorter than Mark. He was an older man with a full white beard and curly white arm and chest fur. Like red, he wore suspenders, but his were ‘X’ back. He played Santa during the holidays and he was a natural. The Half Moon stayed open on the holidays. Truckers need to eat on Christmas too and the menu offered Christmas dinner with all the trimmings to men on the road, away from their families. For some of them, like Ray, this was their family. These were the only people they saw on a regular enough basis to call ‘family’. Ray showed up the day before Christmas at the diner dressed as the archetypical ‘Jolly St. Nick’ with twinkling blue eyes, a hearty, ‘Ho, Ho, Ho" and small gifts of chocolates for everyone. He had given Mark a pipe for Christmas and this was because Mark had expressed an interest in them when he saw Ray light his up. Ray introduced Mark to pipes and pipe tobacco that Christmas. Ray was a loner and Mark wondered how he stayed so jolly. Perhaps Ray wasn’t as mirthful as he appeared. Mark knew Ray was divorced a long time ago and there was no one in his life. His kids sided with their mother in the divorce and as a result he had an estranged relationship with them. Ray had hinted that he’d like to find a driving partner to help him on his long hauls and Mark felt his aching loneliness as he said it. Mark sensed that Ray wanted a male partner to share his cab, someone young and strong to watch out for him. Mark was young and strong… and could take care of Ray easily. Perhaps what Mark might do to him would be a blessing. Perhaps Ray would accept it, perhaps even welcome it?
Unfortunately, tonight, none of his favorites had come to The Half Moon Truck Stop. Mark had sat and read his book in his booth as he had his steak and now his apple pie. Carrie, the waitress, doted as always on Mark and he always gave her a good tip. Al, the cook, had once again outdone himself with the food; it was what drew the customers and everyone knew it, but it was a slow night and even Al’s cooking couldn’t bring in truckers and travelers that weren’t there. After an hour of sipping his coffee and reading, Mark decided at 1:30 to head back to his place, perhaps hang out for a little while outside the truck stop, just in case. He went through the important contents of his backpack: sturdy nylon rope, a ball gag he’d picked up in a sex shop in Portland to insure his chosen could not summon help. He’s modified the gag with a hole for breathing, but any screams or yelling would largely be unheard. He had a funnel. There was some lubricant for the preliminaries and for the finale, an extremely sharp, high quality steel, five inch long, American made hunting knife. Not a custom job, it was assembly line and common; but it was perfect for what he wanted it for. Mark looked around and pocketed the knife; it would be invaluable if one of his favorites did make it here tonight. Mark would casually smoke his pipe and wait until 2 am, just to be sure.
Perhaps tonight, after all, was not the night, he thought. He would not have one of his favorites this night, he was sure. Mark sat as he packed his pipe and watched the trucks come and go; he lit his pipe and ran his hand over the sheathed piece of steel in his pocket, thinking about what he might do… and if not tonight, there were perhaps more auspicious nights.
Bert scratched at his salt and pepper beard. He was trying to stay awake. He rubbed his pale blue eyes and drank some more coffee. He turned up the radio, opened his window to the cool night air and did a few other tricks that keep you awake while driving. He yawned, drank the rest of his coffee and pulled out a cigar. He lit and puffed on it, drawing its pungent smoke into his lungs and rubbed his eyes again. He had a load he had to get to Portland and he was close to being there. Hell, he was ahead of schedule, but he was coming up on a mandatory rest period. Just a few more miles on the road and he’d be in Clifton where he could fill the rig up, grab a bite to eat, catch eight hours of sleep and if he was lucky he’d have someone to share his bunk.
Bert was a loner; it was just in his nature. Sure, he had a house in Portland, in a rural area on the outskirts, actually; but there wasn’t anyone waiting for him there and that was fine by him. Bert liked that he wasn’t tied down to one man; it meant he could be with as many of them as were willing to share his bunk. When a casual ‘fuck for fun’ relationship started getting serious, he drew the line. He was honest and up front about it, but inevitably some guy would get to the point where he’d say he wanted to spend his life with Bert on the road. Bert just couldn’t see hanging out with the same man twenty four/seven for the rest of his life and worse still a relationship without breaks from each other would tear it apart. Well, there was one man, but that was a different story. He was a trucker too and understood the need for being apart for awhile. It always made coming home better, more special.
Bert was a good looking man, or so he’d been told by many of the guys he’d fucked around with. He was well muscled, but not a body builder. He had love handles, but he wasn’t really chubby. The thing that really drove his fuck buddies wild was his furry body, his thick beard and his slow and deliberate way of fucking; Bert was a horny Bear, but he had control; and that control, the ability to make the fuck last, was the real attraction.
Bert never stuck a ‘Bear Flag’ sticker on his truck or went to Bear events. He supported Bears with his vote and purchases of Bear mags. He had a subscription to Ursine Stud that came to his house and in larger cities he’d pick up some of the other mags but that was about as far as his involvement in the Bear community went. He didn’t see the need to be an obvious Bear as it kept the ones that weren’t brave enough to find out if he was or not at bay. It also meant that he got a lot of good eye candy because straight Bears wouldn’t shy away from him. In a place usually covered by his shirt he did have a Bear paw tattoo and there was a big grizzly tattooed on the outside of his right thigh, but that was a personal thing. No one saw these tattoos unless he was undressed and if Bert was undressed the man viewing them expected to see them on his furry body.
Bert liked to fuck; he liked to be fucked too. Bert was easygoing about it and derived pleasure from most kinds of sex. He drew the line at scat, but he’d had a few piss play sessions he rather enjoyed. Thinking about this, of course, didn’t help. He was now not only tired and hungry, but horny as well. He’d messed around with lots of other truckers and knew who he was likely to meet at the Half Moon. He hoped to see Big Red’s rig when he pulled into the Half Moon. It had been about three months since he’d seen Red. They’d been fucking each other for almost twenty years off and on and if there was anyone in the world that could tame Bert and settle down with him, it was Red. Bert had never met a man he got along with as much as Red. Red had, over the years, stayed at Bert’s place with him when they were both between runs. Red didn’t annoy him the way most guys did after a few days and Red had never suggested that they become a couple. Red valued his time away from Bert as much as Bert valued his. They were very compatible and after twenty years, Bert decided to make the offer to Red. Red, after about a month of thinking about it, agreed. It wasn’t a formal arrangement, but after twenty years you don’t need to write out the rules and read them to each other.
Thinking about that thick carpet of red and silver fur all over his huge body had Bert leaking like a sieve. Bert rubbed his crotch through his jeans and grunted. He needed to fuck and soon; he hoped that one of his fuck buddies would be at The Half Moon. He rolled his half smoked cigar around in his mouth and rubbed his crotch again, but kept from pushing himself into full orgasm, edging just heightened his hunger and if there was no one available and willing at the Half Moon, he’d satisfy himself. Not as much fun as a fuck buddy, but it would do. Soon he saw the sign that read "Clifton - 14 miles".
"Good," he growled around his cigar, "Daddy’s almos’ home. Sure as Hell hope there’s someone aroun’ to play with t’night."
Bert looked at the clock on the dashboard. It was 1:25 am.
Mark looked at his watch. It read 1:35 am. He blew clouds of sweet nutty smelling smoke and watched the lightning dance in the clouds of the oncoming storm. He took the pipe from his mouth and looked at the bowl. It was a small bent pipe with a small bowl; it easily fit in his hand. It was just enough for a quick smoke. Ray had called it a ‘starter’ pipe and Mark guessed that Ray had intended for him to graduate to a larger one, but Mark didn’t feel the need to smoke often or great amounts. He sat on the bench, looked up at the stars on the edge of the ominous clouds and thought about that night four years ago when he was attacked.
His father had died five years before the attack, leaving Mark the house and a nice little nest egg of stocks and savings. Mark didn’t need much and lived off of the interest gained after taxes. He had been coming home at just about this time of night and it had just rained. He’d parked his car and was walking up the steps to his house when out of nowhere he was jumped from behind; he barely got a glimpse of a tall, thin, wildly bearded man in ratty fatigues that looked like they were a surplus store purchase and had almost been worn out. Mark was knocked to the ground; he hit his head and was unconscious in seconds. The last thing he remembered was his attacker rolling him over and grinning.
When he awoke, his jacket was off, his t-shirt had been ripped down the front and his pants had been pulled down. One shoe was off and the pant leg above it was completely off that leg. The other leg had his pants bunched around the remaining shoe. The missing shoe was a few feet away on the walkway to the door. Mark’s ass hurt; he reached down and felt his asshole, it was slick. He examined his anus and pulled his hand to his face to get a good look in the dim light provided by his porch light. There was blood and what he guessed was semen on his hand and Mark knew his attacker had raped him. From the amount of semen Mark guessed his attacker had ejaculated at least twice, perhaps three times. There were scratches, deep gouges on his buttocks and back, where sharp, unclipped fingernails had raked him. There were bite marks on his chest which were bruised but not bloody.
Mark pulled up his clothes, stumbled into his house and showered; he was too ashamed to get help and even if he had an STD, Mark would rather have died from AIDS than admit he’d been raped. Mark cried, off and on, for a solid week after the numbness wore off. Mark became a recluse; he didn’t leave the house except to get necessities.
Mark had wanted to be a painter and had studied his art well, but couldn’t sell anything. His beautiful seascapes or forest and mountain pictures were excellent in their execution, but were not what the public wanted. After the rape, Mark started painting dark, brooding, gothic pictures with a violent undertone. These pictures were in mostly monochrome; greys, black and white with just a hint of red in them. Others were bright red-orange; flame-filled hellish pictures of rape and murder, cannibalism, torture or mutilation. He signed these pictures under his pseudonym Jack Ripper. It was catharsis, but to his amazement when his agent saw these small slices of Hell, he was not repulsed but overjoyed.
His agent placed a few of his most violent tableaus in special ‘underground’ galleries or avant-garde galleries in New York, London, San Francisco, Paris and Berlin... and they sold! Mark became sought after, but managed to maintain his anonymity. When he had to make appearances, he wore a porcelain half mask and a latex appliance for the other half, giving him a mummified ‘Phantom of the Opera’ air. He did not speak often and when he did, it was in a hoarse whisper. His patrons loved it. It was as dramatic and disturbing as his work and some called him "The Lich Lord". It was pure theater and Mark kept his secret with it. And, oh, how the checks just kept coming in.
Soon, Mark had millions in the bank even after his agent’s fees, but he didn’t move into a fancy house; Mark remained low key. Mark had nightmares still, and they were fueling his lurid paintings, but they were also fueling his secret lusts. His erotic nightmares were filled with images of the wild-bearded man but he was not raping Mark, Mark was the attacker and as he shot his seed into the man, Mark became his attacker and began hunting other men. Mark often awoke sweating profusely in a pool of his own cum after such nightmares. Mark had a desire and it was eating him alive, changing him from victim to hunter. He wanted a man now, a man to feed his hunger, and he wanted to have that man forever. Mark was deeply disturbed, he had become a predator and tonight he had the need to hunt.
Mark puffed on his pipe a last time and tapped out the ashes, "Perhaps I’ll go home and paint." he mused aloud to no one. He often stayed awake until a few hours after sunrise and then slept until evening. It was 1:40 am and Mark had just made up his mind to leave when a distinctive black rig with a nice detail of painted silver flames came into view. Thunder echoed above him and Mark smiled as he screamed his delight in the vaults of his mind; it was one of his favorites! One of the men he wanted to have forever had shown up just in the nick of time, like the cavalry. He was the one he hadn’t counted on and now, fate had delivered him to Mark. Bert would be the recipient of Mark’s desire; Mark would do what he had planned to Bert, then they’d be together forever! Mark felt the cold piece of steel in his pocket. He thought about the rope in his backpack, the gag he’s use as he performed the deed and he went to meet Bert, the first man he’d noticed giving him the hungry look; the same look that Mark would give Bert at long last to let him know he was willing. How appropriate that Bert had been the first burly Bear trucker to have taken an interest in Mark, how appropriate indeed!
Bert pulled into the Half Moon at 1:38 by the dashboard clock. He pulled up to the pumps and sighed as he turned off the engine. He took out his card from the black leather biker’s wallet chained to his belt for the pumps. He took a quick whiff of his pits before climbing down and decided he didn’t stink too badly and he got out to pump some diesel. He took a long last drag on his cigar and tossed it to the ground, grinding it out with the heel of his black leather work boots. His jeans were tight, but just in the right places, his long sleeved red, black and white flannel was open down the front with the arms rolled up and his black muscle shirt hid his chest and belly fur, but anyone looking could tell Bert was a furry bear. His arms were covered in dark brown hair and he didn’t bother to trim the hair around his neck so it joined with his beard and connected to the hair on the back of his neck and from there to his back. Bert was furry from head to toe. His big pure silver Harley Davidson belt buckle was slightly hidden beneath the small overhang of his beer belly.
Bert ran the card through the reader and put the pump nozzle into the tank and began pumping the diesel. Just about that time, a thirty something man came around the front of his rig and greeted him.
"Mark! How’s it goin’ buddy?" Bert said with a huge smile on his face. He thought the sinewy young man with the goatee was a pretty handsome young man for being so lean. If he had a few more pounds on him he’d look better, but still he wouldn’t kick him out of his bunk. Well, he wouldn’t until it was time to hit the road again, that is. He’d noticed that Mark had paid a lot of attention to his hairy ol’ Bear body on more than one occasion and often wondered if Mark would be game for a roll in the hay. He’d even dropped a couple of hints, but Mark just kind of stammered a bit and changed the subject. The kid was a serious closet case, but Bert respected that and wouldn’t push the issue. It wasn’t like Bert was desperate, though tonight he was as desperate and horny as he could possibly be. He hadn’t hooked up with anyone in at least a week and a half and hadn’t had time for a jerk even just before sleep as he was too tired to stay awake that long.
What Bert found most intriguing about this sharp eyed young man was his brooding mood. He seemed so intense and so within himself, but Bert supposed many artists were that way. Bert had the urge to delve deeper into Mark if he could, to see what was eating at him and perhaps help him by doing so. Bert was no artist and didn’t understand the temperament, but sex sometimes released the real person hiding behind the image they’d built for themselves. He thought Mark was a fantastic artist and appreciated his gift. Mark had shown him some of his nature works and he had even seen a couple of Mark’s paintings hanging in the Half Moon diner. The kid was good; his land and seascapes were beautiful and so life like it was as if you could walk into them.
"It’s goin’ pretty well, Bert," Mark said as he fingered the knife in his pocket. "How are you doin’?" he asked, a smile splitting his bushy brown goatee.
"Oh man!" Bert said and grunted, "It’s been a long haul; all the way to Tucson and back. Hot as Hell too. It’s not s’ bad in the winter, but late summer is Hell in Arizona and a course, I need a li’l relief."
"What’s the problem?" Mark asked.
"Ya know," Bert said, deciding to see if Mark would be willing to help him out with his problem, "somethin’ needs to be fixed and a li’l horizontal mambo would prob’ly do jus’ that. I’m damned horny tonight." Bert looked briefly at Mark’s crotch.
Mark bowed his head turned slightly away and smiled, thinking, 'This is gonna be too easy.'
Bert grinned from ear to ear, looking down at the inflated bulge in Mark’s crotch. He turned back to read the pump and chuckled inwardly as he thought, 'This is gonna be sweet! He’s finally ready.'
Lightening flashed a few miles away.
Mark turned to find Bert staring interestedly at his crotch as he pumped the diesel. Bert looked into the shorter man’s eyes and Mark said, "So… I’ve never done the horizontal mambo before." He grinned broadly at the big hairy trucker. "Could you give me a couple of lessons?" Mark could almost sense the man’s lust as a physical force, pulsating from him like waves of heat. Bert’s cock bulged in the front of his pants and Mark was pleased with the size of his equipment.
"Son, I’m a very well trained, qualified instructor in that particular dance step. I been practicin’ that one ever since I was ‘bout thirteen and I ain’t never had a dissatisfied dance partner yet," Bert said and his pale blue eyes twinkled with delight. "I’ve gotta get me a bite t’ eat and fill out m’ log on the laptop while I’m shovelin’ food into this gut," at that he rubbed his nice round belly, "but I’ll leave the cab door unlocked when I park it over in the ‘Honeymoon Lot’". Bert gestured over to a large dark corner of the huge parking lot that Mark knew to be a place where the truckers parked their rigs if they were interested in something more than food and sleep.
There weren’t any rigs parked over there tonight; Mark would have Bert all to himself, to do with as he pleased and no one would hear anything.
Mark smiled broadly and scratched at the stubble on his cheeks and Bert watched with interest as he did so. Bert liked face fur, "Too bad the kid doesn’t grow a full beard, but Hell, what he has is nice." He thought. The tank was full and Bert capped it. He hopped back up in his truck and said, "Don’t be wearin’ nothin’ too complicated son."
"Oh, I won’t be wearin’ nothin’ more complicated than a smile,” Mark said.
"Hot Damn!" Bert said. "I’ll wolf down supper and write jus’ what I have ta for my log. See ya in awhile, baby!”
"I’ll be waitin’, papa," Mark said with a wink and he walked off toward his house until he was out of camera view. Then he doubled back to Bert’s rig, being careful not to be seen. Bert had just parked his rig and was headed toward the diner when Mark climbed up the passenger side, the side not facing the diner, and got into the cab.
Bert sat down and Carrie came to take his order within a minute or two of being seated. He checked his watch; it was 1:58 in the morning. Bert didn’t want anything that would take too long to fix, his cock was throbbing in anticipation and his thoughts were back in his rig where he knew that handsome young stud was waiting to plow or get plowed; Bert didn’t care which, he liked both. He also liked the sweet snuggling that came after a satisfying romp in his bunk; it always helped him sleep soundly. The smell of another man, the feel of his own hairy chest against that man, the steady breathing and warmth of a buddy sleeping in his arms; it all made Bert sleep more contentedly and seemed to refresh him more. Ah, but Bert would be getting that kind of contented sleep a lot more of the time soon, when he and Red got together permanently; but until that time, and after when he was on the road, he’d bed those men who wanted to sleep with a big ol’ hairy trucker Bear. Red had no problem with that and perhaps that was what made Red the perfect husband, he fit with Bert like no one he’d ever known. Bert had a raging hard-on in his pants thinking about Mark and Red both and was thankful that Carrie couldn’t see it from her angle.
Carrie finished taking his order: it was a quick meal; a mushroom & bacon burger, fries, coffee and a slice of apple pie a la mode. Bert told her there would be a nicer tip for her if it got to him in the next fifteen minutes.
Carrie smiled, "What’s the hurry, hon?"
Bert grinned, "I gotta hot date watin’ and I have to get at least a couple of hours of real sleep tonight, even though I’m gonna put eight hours in the log."
Carrie laughed, "You always tip me good, hon. I’d bring it to you fast even if you didn’t offer a bigger tip. Don’t you worry, I’ll get it out here PDQ."
"Thanks Carrie, you’re the best." Bert said.
"Hey, who am I to stand in the way of true love?" Carrie asked, taking the menu. She winked and walked away.
Bert plugged in and fired up his laptop. Bert always got this booth when it was available because it had an outlet under the table. He made some quick log entries while he waited for his food, catching up on the paperwork was always a pain in the butt, still, it had to be done or he’d be caught at a weigh station and fined. He was just about done when Carrie came back with the food.
"Here sugar, hot off the grille. The pie is fresh, just a couple hours old. I hope your lady friend appreciates our fast service." Carrie said.
"Oh, I’m sure she will." Bert said.
By the time Bert had finished up his log he’d wolfed down his meal and Carrie had refilled his cup. The lightning was hitting closer now and the thunder that followed made the building vibrate slightly. Bert left a forty percent tip, made a quick trip to the men’s room and headed back to his rig with laptop in hand.
It began to rain and by the flashes of lightening in the sky; Bert figured it was going to be one Hell of a downpour. That was just fine with him, it meant that any noise would be masked by the rain and thunder and no one would bother to get too close to his rig on foot. It’s not that there were nosy people around; truck stops are pretty anonymous. Even if you’re a regular, what keeps truckers coming back is a warm welcome and the respect for a man’s privacy. Bert had been "knockin’ boots" with other guys, very discreetly of course, in the honeymoon lot of the Half Moon for fifteen or so years by now and if anyone suspected Bert was humping Bears and Cubs, they didn’t say anything.
He figured by the way Carrie looked at him when he would come into the diner that she thought Bert was as straight as her cheating, wife beating, ex-husband. Bert was rather glad to hear that the son of a bitch had run his pickup into a boulder. Carrie had finally kicked him out with the help of the local cops and he’d gone to drown his sorrows and plot his revenge at The Crowbar; a biker bar not far from the Half Moon. He hadn’t gotten a chance to do any drowning when he decided he was going go back to the house and "kill the fucking bitch". Carrie’s departed husband had bit the big one when he lost control of his truck around a wet curve. The fucking bastard had died instantly, totaling his new truck, but he had died with a nice healthy insurance policy that would keep Carrie and her daughter fairly well taken care of. Still, Carrie had to work as she’d set up a trust fund for Emma with most of the insurance money. She longed for a good man to warm her bed and take care of her needs; unfortunately for her, Bert wasn’t that man.
That reminded him; Bert had visited The Crowbar once or twice. There was some really nice biker fur in the joint and Bert enjoyed the musky, 'men’s locker room' scent of the place. That’s where he’d hooked up with Red the first time. Red was doing Boilermakers and Bert joined him. They’d stumbled back to the honeymoon lot after last call and Red said he needed some help from his new buddy to get back to his rig as his limp was worse when he was drunk. Red handed him his keys and pointed out which one was his saying he was, ‘so damned drunk he couldn’t work the lock’. Bert thought this might just be a not too subtle way of getting him into the cab after some of the hints Red had given him while they were drinking, but he wasn’t going to burst Red’s bubble. Bert poured Red into the bunk of his rig and Red asked him to help him get his clothes off as he was too drunk to do it. Bert chuckled and started pulling off his boots and then his Levis at Red’s insistence; Red wasn’t wearing any underpants. Red pulled his shirt off and laid back, he winked at Bert and slurred out, "Come to papa, you big hairy…" and Red passed out. In a few seconds he was snoring away. Bert was going to leave, but decided he’d just pull off his clothes and sleep in Red’s rig as he was too drunk to manage the steps down without falling on his face. He managed to get down to his skin and laid down next to red when he too passed out next to the big guy, his arm draped over Red’s furry chest.
In the morning, Bert awoke with Red chewing on his nipples and licking his pits. Red then started caressing and nuzzling in his beard, licking at Bert’s chin and lips and then forcing his tongue into Bert’s mouth for some deep kissing. Red had just assumed they’d fucked and Bert wasn’t about to correct him, well, not until they’d really fucked. Bert grabbed a condom from the shelf next to the bunk and Red gave him a wicked grin as he opened it and rolled it onto his stiff meat. That had been about nineteen years ago and these days Red didn’t get around as well as he used to, but with Bert’s help, the ol’ Red Bear would do just fine.
Bert was hard and hornier than ever as he reached his rig and opened the cab door on the driver’s side. It had just started to really pour as he made it inside the cab. Small hailstones mixed with the rain made a din on the metal roof of the cab. The storm was a bit of a freak as it usually didn’t rain this hard at this time of year. He had pulled the blackout curtain around the driver’s side to cover Mark’s entrance from the other side before he’d left and so he had to duck under to get into the cab. He shut and locked the door and laid the laptop down in the passenger’s seat, reaching over to lock the passenger side as he did so. The dashboard clock read 2:50 am, sex was going to take a bite out of his sack time, but it was going to be well worth it.
"Hell!" Bert thought, "I can run on fumes, I’ve done it afore!"
He pulled the other curtain around and the cab was dark. He moved to the sleeper, unbuttoning his flannel shirt as he did so. It had begun to hail outside
"Hey, baby," he said in a deep, soft, sexy growl that was still loud enough to be heard over the hail. The rumble of his voice made his chest vibrate in a pleasing way, "Daddy’s home!" Bert said as he unbuckled his belt and rubbed his aching cock.
Thunder crashed above as Bert moved toward the bunk.
Mark climbed into the cab and immediately his nose was beset by the sent of cigars and man musk and an animal musk smell he didn’t recognize. The dashboard clock read 1:55 am; tonight, Mark would have what he’d wanted for so long. His cock was throbbing as he removed the items from his backpack. He removed the knife from his pocked and opened it, put it on the bed and then began removing his clothes. Mark inspected the unmade bunk. The sheets were not filthy, but Mark could tell it had been awhile since they and the covers had been washed. A Bear skin lay over one end of the bunk and Mark realized that the bear’s scent was the animal he’d smelled. That musky scent, mixed with the woodsy cologne Bert wore and the cigars gave Bert a very unique, masculine scent. Mark loved it. He picked up the Bear skin and rubbed it on his face, feeling the warm fur caress his cheek. Mark then picked up the top sheet and bunched it under his nose. He slowly took in a deep lung full of Bert’s manly musk. Mark could smell the man’s semen mixed with his sweat, Bear musk and the other scents and he moaned in pleasure.
This was the perfect man for him; he could smell it in his sheets. Bert was going to be the big, virile, muscular victim of Mark’s unnatural and violent desires. When Bert came back, he would seduce him, tie him down, put the ball gag in his mouth and then, he would fuck him, slowly and purposefully, finally releasing his seed into the great Bearish man. He would dominate him as he’d been dominated four years ago by that stranger. Then, for the finale, he would take out his knife and make the cut while Bert watched, wide eyed like an owl, as the blood flowed! He would go the further step that the stranger who had raped him hadn’t. He knew he would never be the same after tonight and his paintings would take on a different tone with deeper meaning.
Poking around, looking for something to which he could tie a rope, Mark discovered that Bert had some very handy, very sturdy, metal loops hidden beneath the mattress. They were securely welded to the walls of the truck. Mark found a set at the foot and head of the bunk, perfect for tying someone spread eagle and they looked like they could hold someone of Bert’s obvious strength easily.
"Oh, you kinky ol’ Bear you," Mark chuckled, "you make it far too easy for me!"
Mark opened a drawer beneath the bed and discovered Bert’s stash of Ursine Stud magazines. The latest issue with Anthony Mitchum on the cover piqued Mark’s interest. His neatly trimmed full black beard was similarly cut to Mike’s beard and he could tell that it would join to his chest hair if he didn’t keep it so well shaved on the front of his neck and down to the T-shirt line. The guy looked like Mike, enough that they could be cousins. If Mike had shown up tonight instead of Bert, he might have been the one tied up in the coming half hour to forty-five minutes. Then again, perhaps not: Mike might not have been as desperately horny as Bert was.
Mark saw a flash of lightening and then heard thunder. He counted ten seconds and heard thunder. The storm brewing was about ten miles away. That was so very fortuitous as it would cover any noises Bert or he might make. Luck was truly with him tonight, he had almost given up hope, but now he saw that the weather conditions, the sparse business the Half Moon was doing and his victim’s needs were all coming together to create the perfect opportunity for Mark. It was as if it had been ordained to happen.
Mark shook himself out of his musing and put all but the latest issue of Ursine Stud back in the drawer. He put that issue on the bed. Mark would flip though and edge a bit if he had time before Bert got back. Mark prepared the ropes and hid the knife beneath his clothes in the neatly folded pile by the bed, next to his backpack. Mark then set about straightening the sleeper up a little. He put Bert’s dirty clothes in his army duffle bag, as it seemed it was full of rank clothes already. Mark took a quick huff of each of the tighty whities and T-shirt underarms as he put them in the bag. Mark licked the pouch of one particularly rank pair of dingy briefs and his cock drooled out pre-come as he did. This was going to be a perfect night and he wanted it to look that way when he began. Mark knew there’d be a nasty mess when he finished, but Bert probably wouldn’t care at that point. Mark found a wall sconce with a candle in it. He found a lighter with an ashtray that had a couple of Bert’s cigar butts in it. He lit the candle and opened the vent for a little air. It wouldn’t do for them both to die in the sleeper; no it wouldn’t do at all. The sleeper looked cozy and romantic.
Mark made the bed, setting the Ursine Stud mag aside and laid the brown Bear skin over the bed when he was done. He climbed on it and couldn’t believe how wonderful the Bear fur felt against his naked back and butt. He flipped open the mag and began fantasizing about Mike as he looked at the pictures of his doppelgänger, Tony Mitchum. Mark began edging, bringing himself close and backing off. Mark had to be as ravenous as Bert would be to make the ritual all the more perfect.
Mark was feeling a bit sleepy when he heard the rain begin, quickly followed by the patter of hailstones. Mark heard the cab door open and he set the magazine down. He was ready, it would begin very shortly. Mark heard Bert shut the door, set something down and lock the passenger side door.
He heard Bert growl in a sexy voice just above the din of the hail, "Hey, baby, Daddy’s home!"
There was a crash of thunder.
Bert was smiling as he unbuckled his belt and looked around the sleeper. His flannel shirt was unbuttoned and the black muscle T-shirt was purposely riding up, showing off the black and silver belly fur. Beneath his beard, his chest hair peeked out over the top of the crew neck band. On the bed lay one Hell of a sexy young Cub, naked and on a Bearskin, just like a classic porno shot, the latest issue of Ursine Stud was on the floor by the bunk.
Mark rose from the bunk, "You like what I’ve done with the place?" he said as he began removing the plaid flannel from Bert’s bulky torso.
He took the shirt and sniffed it’s freshly infused, musky scent and grunted his approval.
Bert smiled at the obvious acceptance of and indeed pleasure in Bert’s scent. "I guess I ain’t too neat, am I?" Bert said, and lightening flashed through the small vent windows in the sleeper.
"And why should you be? You’re a busy man; you haven’t got time to tidy up."
Bert took Mark into his arms for a full, deep kiss. Mark dropped the flannel and reached under Bert’s T-shirt, running his hands through the thick, salt and pepper fur on Bert’s round belly and chest, when he reached Bert’s left nipple, he tweaked it and Bert growled, hugged the naked Mark even tighter to his muscular body and became more aggressive in his kissing. Mark reached a second hand up under Bert’s stretched black T-shirt, moving through the dense jungle of black and silver fur, and pinched the right nipple. Bert moaned into Mark’s mouth and a crash of thunder vibrated the whole truck as they kissed. Mark alternated between nipples, rolling them between his fingers and thumbs, tweaking them occasionally. Bert broke the kiss and raised his arms above his head and Mark removed the dampened muscle shirt and, after taking another deep sniff of the sweaty garment, tossed it onto the flannel. Bert had dropped his arms and they now rested on Mark’s shoulders, encircling him and giving Mark the scent of his fully exposed furry arm pits.
Mark reached up and ran his fingers through Bert’s thick beard, massaging, scratching, caressing as he did. As he moved his fingers to Bert’s furry cheeks, he reached up with an open mouth and began sucking and nibbling on Bert’s furry chin. He got Bert to open his mouth and he pushed his tongue in. They kissed and chewed gently on each other’s furry lips, licking and nibbling as the rain poured. The hail had stopped and it was quieter in the cab now, but not by much. It was pouring hard outside and inside the sleeper, the windows fogged; though that couldn’t be seen through the heavy tinting. Mark moved his hands down and rubbed his fingers in Bert’s armpit hair, soaking his digits in Bert’s musk. Mark then put his fingers to his nose and sniffed. A broad smile bloomed beneath his bushy goatee and he began rubbing Bert’s scent into his moustache and goatee.
"Daddy, would you let your boy clean your pits?" Mark asked as he removed his hands and placed them back in Bert’s pits.
"You really like my smell, dontcha son?" Bert asked.
"Yes, Daddy," Mark paused and licked his fingers, "I’ve been waiting to sniff and taste your musk for a long time," Mark confided.
Bert chuckled and raised his arms, bending them and lacing the fingers together behind his head. "If you think your ol’ Daddy needs a bath, Daddy’s more than willing to let his boy bathe him," Bert said. "It’s in your nature, isn’t it son?" Bert looked deep into Mark’s hazel eyes.
Mark returned the probing look. He wasn’t sure how much Bert could read from him. He didn’t know how much of his plan Bert might have guessed and hoped he wouldn’t guess any of it. He chose to divert Bert’s thoughts. Bert gave Mark a knowing look, one that chilled Mark as he was sure Bert had guessed, then suddenly, Mark was lapping Bert’s pits as if he were dying of thirst and Bert’s sweat was the only thing that could sustain him.
As Mark licked and nibbled, his hand rubbed Bert’s rock hard cock while the other pushed at Bert’s shoulder blade to mash his arm pit into Mark’s face. Bert giggled as the ample goatee tickled and the gentle biting sent thrills through his huge frame. Bert adjusted to a wider stance and leaned against the wall of the cab.
After a few minutes Bert was getting too close to entering orgasm and moaned aloud, "Let’s take this over to the bed and cool off a bit."
Mark smiled. Bert wasn’t thinking about analyzing him. That was good, once he had Bert tied, he could complete his plan.
Mark traced the Bear paw tattoo hidden beneath the salt and pepper fur below Bert’s left pectoral, swirling the damp fur into ringlets. He then knelt down and began unlacing Bert’s boots; as he did so, Bert ran his fingers through the young man’s hair. Bert thought as he looked at his naked partner’s back that he was covered quite nicely in dark back and shoulder fur. He wasn’t nearly as furry as he himself was, but the kid would probably gain more as he grew older. He’d felt Mark’s butt as his hands had slid down his back and enjoyed how furry that was too. In fact, Mark was what the Bear community sometimes called a ‘Wolf’ or ‘Otter’. Lean, not bulky but muscled and covered in fur, even if it was a lighter covering. Bert chuckled as he thought about that and Mark looked up and smiled. Then Mark’s face changed with a questioning look.
"Am I pleasing you, Daddy?" Mark asked his eyes full of concern.
"Oh yes, my Son, you please Daddy very much," Bert said with a reassuring smile as he stepped out of his boots. Mark removed the socks, put them in the boots and set the boots by the shirts. Mark then unbuttoned Bert’s jeans, but he didn’t open the zipper; instead, Mark gently bit Bert’s erection through the denim. Lightening flashed and, open mouthed and looking down, Bert drooled onto his chest as he was lost in the pleasure. His rough hands ran feverishly through Marks hair and pulled his head gently to his crotch. Slowly Mark pulled the tab of the zipper down, releasing Bert’s cock. Bert wasn’t wearing his briefs as he’d used his last clean pair up about three days ago.
Mark worshipfully liberated the large, thickly veined, uncut cock from its denim prison as thunder rolled through the sky. Bert hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and pushed them down, revealing his huge, low-hanging, furry pouch. Mark was very pleased; he could smell the funky build up hidden beneath Bert’s foreskin. Bert’s tool size pleased him as well, it was two and a half times the length of the width of Mark’s hand and about as big around as a large, ‘D’ cell Maglite flashlight. Mark lifted the heavy balls, the obvious reason for Bert’s low hanging sac. Bert’s balls were about the size of small hen’s eggs and Mark kissed them. Bert was leaking pre-come like a faucet with a slow leak. He was breathing heavily as he watched Mark at his worship of his manhood. Mark reached out with his tongue and cleaned the underside of Bert’s cock of the glistening fluid.
Bert moaned, "Oh fuck." A shiver ran through his huge body. He wanted to force his cock down Mark’s throat until the kid’s goatee meshed with Bert’s pubes. He wanted to face fuck him, but he knew if he did, he’d shoot far too soon.
Mark then began removing the jeans, marveling in the candlelight at the beautiful grizzly tattooed on Bert’s outer right thigh. Mark would have another image to paint; the grizzly was a work of art even if it was obscured by the dense fur on Bert’s thigh. Bert stepped out of his pants and Mark tossed them on the pile of clothes.
Mark looked up at Bert and said, "May I please be on top, Daddy? You’re so huge; I’m going to have to be carefully broken in before I can take you."
Bert smiled, "Fuckin’ is fuckin’ to me, Son as long as I get to shoot. I like it both ways. So, you go first and I’ll open you up easy like when it’s my turn."
Mark’s eyes brightened, his plan was coming to fruition!
"Oh, thank you Daddy!" Mark said, and the pair moved to the bed.
Bert took the bearskin off the bed, placing it in the driver’s seat in the cab.
"It’s a gift from an old friend and keeps me very warm on some of the colder nights," Bert said of the skin as he returned to the bunk.
"Now why would a handsome devil like you need a skin to keep warm? I bet you spend every night with your furry body wrapped around a different cub." Mark's appreciative words regarding Bert’s naked body brought a twitch to the big man’s cock and a smile to his face.
"Oh, if that was only true m’boy; if that was only true!" Bert said. "How do you want me?"
Mark smiled in a sly and mischievous way, "Trussed up for thanksgiving with an apple sized gag in your mouth."
Bert laughed, "You’re not so sure you can handle a big ol’ buckin’ bronco like me, are ya son?"
Outside lightning flashed.
"Well, I found the anchor loops for ropes at the foot and head of the bunk. Since I’m into a bit of kink and bondage, I figured we could… you know," Mark said and thunder underscored his words.
"Yeah, I know an’ I usually don’t do that the firs’ time ‘round, but I’ve made exceptions before an’ if it really gets your nut off, then I don’t have a problem with bein’ tied." He paused and looked Mark in the eye with a smoldering stare, "As long as I get to fuck you after in the same way."
"I was hopin’ you would." Mark moved over Bert’s prone body to deep kiss the one he’d chosen to fulfill his dark desires.
Mark pulled the nylon rope out of his backpack and tenderly wrapped the loops around Bert’s wrists. He secured the man’s arms, spread as wide as he could get them and then he began nuzzling in Bert’s pits as the rain pounded the cab and the wind shook the truck softly. Bert moaned in appreciation. His huge erection drooled out his slick, clear, male nectar which was smeared on Mark’s furry belly as he nibbled and licked first in one pit, then each nipple and finally in the other pit. Mark spread Bert’s legs, bound his ankles as he had Bert’s wrists and tied them to the hand anchors welded to the wall of the cab so that Bert was bent in half on his back and was now wide open for a deep fuck. Mark caressed, fondled, nibbled on Bert’s black and silver speckled beard and rubbed his own face fur into it’s luxuriously thickness. Mark mixed the scent from Bert’s beard with his own, kissing and nibbling on the Bear’s lips as he did so. Looking up at the small window in the cab Mark decided to close it. He told Bert it was because the rain was coming in, but he also did it because he wanted to minimize sound as much as possible. He blew out the candle and turned on an overhead light. It was much brighter than the candle and made both of the men wince. Mark adjusted it to its lowest setting which was not much brighter than the candle had been. It was a lot safer than a burning flame in an enclosed, unventilated area.
Once Bert was secure, he took out a ball gag and said, "Open wide, Daddy." Bert complied willingly and eagerly. The gag had a hole drilled through its middle to allow for breathing through the mouth and something else Bert would not suspect, until it was too late. Once Bert was secure, Mark took the lube out of his backpack and began to rub it all over his cock. Mark wasn’t as big as Bert, but he had nothing to be ashamed of. He was well above average in size, though his cock was a bit skinny. He then spread the lube over Bert’s cock and pumped him a couple of times which brought appreciative moans from the trussed up bear.
Mark then began working lube into Bert’s hole. He began with two fingers and it seemed that Bert was quite comfortable with this. Obviously, Bert was not kidding when he said he liked it both ways. Two fingers wide was plenty for Mark and this pleased him because it meant he could enter Bert now if he so chose. Mark began rubbing Bert’s hole with the head of his cock. Mark growled softly as he did so, playing with his own nipples, looking into Bert’s eyes with that hunger that made Bert’s cock twitch in anticipation. Mark wanted his first, perhaps first of many, to be very excited before he committed the act he’d planned for so long. Bert was not an active player in this fantasy come to life. Bert was to be acted upon, Mark was in control. Mark teased Bert’s hole for long, delicious minutes and then, when he was ready and painfully erect, he plunged the entire length into the Bear. Both men moaned in pleasure, Mark had found Bert’s prostate and it had caused the Bear to shoot out a small jet of pre-cum.
Bert breathed heavily through the hole in the ball gag as Mark rubbed the clear fluid Bert just shot from his cock into Bert’s thick chest fur, tweaking Bert’s nipples as he began to slowly push in and withdraw his long skinny cock.
Mark reached down for his back pack. He took the funnel out of the pack and pushed it into the hole in the ball gag. Bert gave Mark a, ‘What the fuck?" look and Mark grinned.
"It will all be very clear soon. I want you to catch all the fluid when I give it to you," Mark said.
Bert shrugged and gave a 'whatever' grunt, guessing Mark would come or piss in the funnel.
Outside, the wind howled in protest and rain beat the side of the cab harder for a moment and then returned to the normal hard rain as quickly as it had changed.
Mark stopped his thrusting and reached into the bag and pulled out the razor sharp knife. He opened it and Bert’s blue eyes went wide. He began to protest and Mark shushed him.
"Be easy there, big fella’," Mark said softly and he lowered the knife’s blade to Bert’s chest. He gently ran the tip of the blade down between Bert’s pectorals and then over, circling first the right nipple and then over to the left. Despite the fear on Bert’s face, his erection remained. Bert’s breathing had become short and shallow Mark knew it was part fear, but also part excitement. The threat of mortal danger heightened desire in some, and perhaps Bert was one of those. Mark moved the blade down and caressed Bert’s cock and then balls with the flat of the knife.
Mark was almost ready to reveal his plan, not with words but with actions, to the one whom he and fate had chosen.
Mark put the blade in his mouth, like a pirate climbing the rigging in an old movie, and began to fuck Bert hard, grunting and swearing around the blade as he did so. When Mark grew near to his orgasm he stopped with his hard cock still inside of Bert. It was story time; time to tell Bert what he’d been waiting to tell for four long years. He took the blade from his mouth and, with the dull side, caressed Bert’s bearded face.
"Four years ago I was attacked outside my home on a night much like this. The man knocked me to the ground, I hit my head and when I awoke I discovered I had been raped. But don’t feel sorry for me, Bert, because that night changed me. Because of what happened, I became stronger and now, I’m a hunter. No one in this town knows what happened to me and I never asked about my attacker. To everyone, except me and now you, the event never happened. My attacker died the night he raped me, but I didn’t know that until a year ago, when I found his skeletal remains in the forest." Mark's voice was a bit distant and there was a strange gleam in his hazel eyes.
"You see, he attacked me and when he had finished raping me, he ran into the forest. Unfortunately for him, it looks like he stumbled down a steep incline and fell on a rather sharp branch. When I found him, the branch was wedged between his ribs and went through his back. It was a stake through the heart, just like in the vampire movies. There he lay, in his rotting fatigues, his waterproof back pack not far from where he fell. I found his diary and after reading it, there was no mistake that he’d been the one that raped me, the last entry was early on the night of my attack and the week up to that point detailed how he had stalked me from a distance." Mark laughed ruefully. "Funny, I never knew I was being stalked, but I suppose you and the other truckers around here never knew I was stalking you either, did you?"
Bert shook his head slowly, never taking his eyes from Mark.
"I never knew he was stalking me because he was very well trained by the military. He was in some sort of special unit, like Special Forces, but not. I found his medals in his backpack; he was a hero, but he was also crazy. I found many references to this in his diary. He had many demons haunting his twisted mind. Good ol’ George, that was his name, George Watt, had plans for me that he never got to execute. He wanted someone, and decided I was that someone, to be with him forever. George was crazy, but his idea could have worked had he not had his accident. Now, four years later, I want to do to you what George did to me, without the need for rape. You willingly chose me tonight and invited me into your home and into your body. I want you," Mark groaned, "to be with me forever, Bert." Mark’s last words were strained and a bit deeper than his usual voice.
Mark put the blade back in his mouth, pirate style, and began humping Bert again, his tempo was fast and desperate, and this time Bert felt Mark’s cock expand inside of his ass. Bert’s ass became very full as he was being fucked and though he felt the kid was a bit off his rocker and the situation was probably dangerous, he couldn’t help but feel turned on too.
Mark grunted huskily around the knife, "Almost there, almost time." Mark was sweating profusely, dripping warm drops all over Bert’s hairy belly, chest and face. Some of the drops found their way into the funnel and Bert tasted the salty, musky sweat.
Mark groaned and shuddered as he shot his load, the sudden surge caused a chain reaction in the over primed Bert and he shot his load all over his chest and into his beard.
Mark growled in ecstasy and while Bert’s eyes were closed in intense orgasm, while he shot the first and second of four thick, heavy loads into his own beard and body fur, Mark took the knife from his mouth, raised his left arm and severed the artery at that wrist. He threw the knife to the floor which didn’t seem to distract the Bear from his orgasm. Blood dripped down his arm onto Bert’s chest, mixing with Bert’s come, as Mark put the pumping wound over the funnel in Bert’s mouth. With his right hand, he held Bert’s head still, feeding him his blood.
Bert gurgled and the blood bubbled in the funnel, but some of it he swallowed as he had no choice.
"Now we will be together forever; part of me will always be in you." Mark said. He was still hard and still inside of Bert. He slowly began pushing in and pulling out of Bert again. "You will be mine and I will be yours."
Mark put the wound to his mouth and licked. Already, the flow had begun to lessen. Mark removed the funnel and tossed it to the floor. He removed his wrist from his mouth and showed it to Bert; the wound had all but healed. He lay atop Bert, chest to chest, licking Bert’s come out of his beard and whispered. "And now, the real fun begins, my love." Lighting flashed outside immediately followed by booming thunder.
Mark was fucking Bert slowly, deeply and at first Bert didn’t notice the dark black fur that began to grow on Mark’s chest and arms. Mark’s eyes took on a yellowish tint and a feral cast and he said.
"You see, good ol’ George escaped from the loony bin and when he did, he found his way to Canada. Out there in the woods, somewhere in the far north, he discovered a small pack of WereWolves. He studied and stalked them from a distance. He surprised one alone in the forest one evening; a pretty neat trick, but it can be done, especially for a man who had lived through Viet Nam." Mark winced; the change wasn’t as painful as it had been a few years ago, but he still felt some discomfort and brief shooting pains as bones lengthened and muscle stretched. He continued his tale.
"His diary describes how he shot the Wolf’s head off and then, drank his blood and ate it’s heart to gain the transformation. Ol’ George figured it would up his chances of survival against a government he was sure was tracking him. He believed black ops agents were hunting him to put computer chips in his brain so they could send him back on secret missions as some sort of computer controlled zombie. After he changed, George became even more paranoid and of course, more dangerous." Mark’s human teeth were being covered now by new, sharp canines as they grew out of the gums in front of the other set.
Mark growled in pleasure as his knot began to expand in Bert’s ass. Bert felt some discomfort as it began to grow inside of him from a normal sized dick to something the size of a softball and it wasn’t stopping. Mark’s black fur was growing thicker and covering his wiry form. Muscle was building on him; lean powerful muscle, but not bulk. Mark’s body was strong, indeed, but not in an overdeveloped way. Marks ears became pointed and began moving up on his head, soft black fur quickly covered them; his muzzle had begun to form as his nose began to change.
He fixed Bert with his almost glowing yellow eyes and growled, "George was going to be my alpha; I want you to fill his role. You are stronger and larger than he was, you will be mighty and powerful among wolves. You will be a true alpha to lead a pack and I will be your mate." Marks teeth finished growing. He removed the ball gag and pushed his lengthening tongue into Bert’s open mouth. As he did this his muzzle finished it’s changes. Marks knot inflated to its full size, about as large as an average grapefruit and he was humping furiously. Bert cried out in discomfort at the huge knot inflating within his bowels, his cries were muffled by Mark’s probing tongue. Mark’s tail grew from the base of his spine. His feet began to lengthen, the large toe on each foot moving up to become a dewclaw as the foot narrowed and lengthened. His four remaining toes pushed out the human toenails and became clawed and padded.
Throughout this transformation, Mark sucked and nibbled and licked in and around Bert’s mouth and beard and Bert returned the attention with eager growls and equal passion. Bert was enjoying his changed partner. Just about the time Mark’s fur and tail had grown to full length; Mark achieved his second orgasm and shot an initial load. He howled as he began to leak his werewolf sperm into Bert’s ass. This orgasm would be different from his human orgasm; this would last longer, about twenty minutes or so, and it would not be the climax and drop off like a roller coaster. No, this was a canine orgasm and it was like a car slowly coasting down a hill. It had a peak and a long, leisurely drop off as the semen seeped out of his balls and into Bert. There was no rush, the pair would be locked together until Mark’s balls and prostate had finished their job of delivering the fluid that would, months from now, change Bert into Mark’s alpha Wolf.
While Mark slowly, gently humped Bert, massaging his prostate with his huge knot, he began to untie his Daddy. He removed the ropes and rubbed the ankles and wrists with his pawed hands. He gently licked at the rope burns, healing them with his saliva. He moved Bert’s big hairy legs around his narrow Wolf waist and Bert rubbed the back of his calves in Mark’s dense black fur. Bert began scratching Marks broad muscular chest and moved up to his neck. Mark whimpered in a satisfied way and licked and Bert’s chest, burying his nose in his sweaty arm pits, only to lick them clean.
Mark lay on Bert covering him with his furry body. Bert ran his fingers through the thick back fur of his partner. Mark nuzzled Bert’s beard and slowly the knot began to deflate as his balls gave up their seed. He looked into Bert’s blue eyes; Bert seemed sleepy and content enough. The two fell asleep - the werewolf and his new alpha.
Bert awoke with Mark on top of him and still inside, though his penis had completely deflated and the knot was gone. Mark had changed back into his human shape and Bert noticed that Mark now had a short beard on his neck and cheeks of the same color that met his bushy goatee. Bert had slept maybe a total of thirty minutes. He’d looked at the digital clock on the wall just after Mark had drifted off and before he had allowed sleep to claim him. It was 4:15 am and the storm had settled down to just howling wind and pelting rain. The thunder was in the far distance and no lightening lit the cab.
"It’s time ta wake this lil’ Wolf puppy up!" Bert thought. Bert had a surprise for him; he’d be Mark’s alpha alright, but Mark had no idea what he was getting himself into.
Bert was hard, horny and ready to go for round two, but this time it would be on his terms! The pup had his way and that was all fun and good, but now it was time for daddy to drive!
Bert hugged Mark tight and rolled over on top. Mark awoke, as he was being rolled and his cock slipped out of Bert’s ass. Bert worked quickly, holding Marks upper body down with his mass and while the werewolf was still groggy and drained from the change, Bert tied him down with his own ropes.
Mark was laying tied, spread eagle before he could make much of a fuss.
"These ropes won’t hold me, you know that don’t you?" Mark said teasingly.
"I kinda figur’d that," Bert said with a grunt as he tied the last knot, "but I’m yer alpha now, ain’t I?" Bert said with a wide grin. Bert’s accent had slipped into an unquestionably thicker southern drawl and Mark guessed that this was probably the accent Bert had grown up using.
Mark paused with a somewhat astonished look on his face. He realized that Bert was now fully aware of his dominant position over him and all that it meant, a position Mark himself had just turned over to the burly trucker. He had thought it might take some time for that dominance to assert itself in Bert, but apparently not.
"I said," and with that Bert grabbed the werewolf’s nipples and gave them a rough twist, "I’m yer alpha, ain’t I?" The last was asked with a deep growl in Bert’s voice.
"Yes, my pack leader, you’re my alpha," Mark said and he looked away in respect and submission. If he’d still had his tail, it would be tucked between his legs, covering his balls. Bert released his vice grip on the werewolf’s nipples.
"So, if I tell you yer not gonna break them ropes, you won’t, will ya?" Bert asked gloatingly, but it was not a question.
"No, my pack leader, I will not," Mark said.
"Good! I got a surprise for you, pup! I knew you were a werewolf all along. I seen yer kind on more than one occasion. Yer a youn’ ‘n’ an’ it’s only been a few years since you were changed. Ya don’t have an alpha… I guess that’s why ya didn’t know. Yer alpha woulda taught you all sorts a stuff. I think ya had this itch in ya… this yearnin’ ta find a mate. If you’d waited a few years longer, you woulda been the alpha an’ been lookin’ ta make pups outta men, yer attraction woulda shifted ta younger or submissive men, but what ya needed tonight, what ya need now is a strong alpha daddy, don’t ya son?" Bert asked in his low husky voice.
"Yes, my pack leader," Mark said.
"Let’s get somethin’ straight here an’ now… we ain’t a pack. Two don’t make a pack. I un’erstan’ you wanna show me respect an’ all, but what you ’ll call me is, ‘Pa, Papa or Daddy’, you got that?" Bert asked, and it was more like a command.
"Yes, Papa," Mark said and his tone was full of love and respect, he glanced shyly into Bert’s chocolate brown eyes and Bert grinned. "Something is very odd here," Mark thought.
Bert turned and padded into the front of the cab. He rummaged around and retrieved what he was looking for. Mark heard him messing with something, heard the click of some sort of cutting device and then he saw a flicker as Bert lit a huge cigar. It was as big around as a ‘C’ cell flashlight and about nine inches to a foot long. Bert returned to the bedside and Mark was surprised to see Bert had begun to grow fur all over his huge frame. Fangs had begun to grow in, over his human incisors. A full second set of teeth was growing over the first, just as had happened with Mark, and he noticed Bert’s nose was becoming black and changing shape. Mark never dreamed the metamorphosis could begin so soon or, perhaps, Bert was already a werewolf. Perhaps that’s why he was so dominant so quickly.
"I been aroun’ for a long time son; lot longer ‘n you been alive," Bert growled around his cigar and fixed Mark with his smoldering brown eyes. Bert’s cock was at full mast and it seemed to be growing much larger than it had been earlier. He stroked it as he continued. "I ain’t never seen the need to have a pup, but I thought I might give it a try. Hell, tonight, I woulda fucked a Bengal tiger if I had the offer!" Bert’s voice was growing deeper and had a rougher edge to it.
He was growing in size too, he was beginning to stoop so that he wouldn’t hit the low seven foot ceiling. Thick brown fur had covered his husky frame almost completely. When Mark changed he still felt a little pain, but Bert didn’t seem to feel any; in fact, the change seemed to be giving him pleasure as his hairy chest barreled out further, his arms grew to twice their size and his legs became huge pillars of muscle. Bert was almost twice as thick as he was as a human, as if two of him stood back to front. Bert puffed on his cigar and took it out of his mouth with a hand that was quickly becoming a pawed hand, much as Mark’s had been. It was still human in function, but was padded and clawed with fur. Mark knew Bert could become a full Wolf as he could. When Mark became a full Wolf, he was a Wolf of unusual size, but for Bert’s apparent size, he’d be huge, much larger than Mark. He knelt over Mark and put his growing muzzle over Mark’s mouth and forced his cigar smoke into Mark’s lungs; his tongue followed, snaking its way down Mark’s throat.
Bert broke the kiss, put the cigar back in his growing maw and got the lube. There was something different about Bert’s change; perhaps it was that he was an older werewolf. Bert slathered generous amounts of the lube on his huge cock. Bert had become a good fourteen inches long and he was almost as big around as a beer can. Mark looked at the monster cock and was glad that his werewolf body could heal quickly. Mark saw a wide spot in the middle of Bert’s growing cock and thought that his knot would be monstrously large, the size of a cantaloupe, perhaps. Bert chuckled as he noticed the look of apprehension on Mark’s face.
He puffed on his cigar and then sent a pungent cloud of smoke from his changing nose into Mark’s face.
"Yer th’ one who wanted a big dicked alpha; well, you got one now, boy!" Bert laughed and put the top of the container of lube in Mark’s ass. He gave it a good squeeze. Bert rubbed a clawed finger around in the hole and then put the head of his huge cock against Mark’s anus.
"Push out like yer gonna take a dump," Bert said and Mark dutifully complied, the gel lube began oozing out of his hole. Bert got the head in, pushing some of the lube back into the hole, and Mark howled in pain. As Bert began pushing into Mark his changes were almost complete and Mark finally realized something, Bert’s ears were round, his muzzle was longer; his body was far more robust than Mark’s ever could be. Bert wasn’t a werewolf… Bert was a werebear! …A wereGrizzly to be precise. Mark instinctively began to change as he felt threatened by the unknown.
"Don’t you go changin’ pup! If I hadda take yer Wolf cock as a man, yer gonna take my big Bear cock as a man! You hear me, boy?" Bert growled around his cigar as he pushed into Mark. He was about half way in and Mark’s eyes had begun to change to their Wolfish yellow.
"Yes, daddy." Mark grunted and forced his transformation back. His insides were on fire. He hadn’t had anything inside of him since George raped him and certainly, George was not nearly as huge as this great beast. Bert had gained his full size, the huge cigar in his muzzle looked like a normal sized cigar in a man’s mouth. Bert had pulled his knees up so that they were under Mark’s arm pits to minimize his size in the now small cab. Bert was almost in the fetal position as he fucked Mark. Bert almost completely blotted out Mark’s view of anything else in the sleeper. Mark estimated Bert at around eight to ten feet tall and he was at least half as broad.
With a deep grunt, Bert pushed himself all the way to his huge lemon sized balls into Mark. He was completely inside of him and Mark felt like a hand puppet with as much as was inside of him.
"Now, we’re gonna relax for a bit, let you get used to havin’ me in ya afore I start thrustin’," Bert said and took a deep drag on his cigar. He fed the smoke to Mark.
"I like these big ol’ fat cigars when I’m fuckin’ as a Bear. D’ you like ‘em?" Bert asked.
"I really don’t like cigars, but I will take whatever you give me… Daddy," Mark said.
Bert chuckled, "Well, that’s good ‘cause I don’t see as you have much choice," and with that he wiggled his hips, causing Mark to grunt from the sensations inside of his ass.
It was 4:50 am when Bert slowly began to pull out of Mark and just as slowly to push back in. Bert was going to take it slow and easy. Bert was going to savor his first time fucking a werewolf. Bert had fucked around with a couple of other species of werebeasts; he remembered a wereBoar nick named ‘Hawg’ of course. He had made Hawg squeal with delight for three days. The guy was a total bottom, though only for certain males, and loved to be force-fucked by Bert. But this was the first time Bert had been with a werewolf. Usually, they were far too clannish to experiment with other phenotypes. Mark braced himself against the huge Werebear, as much as he could; dodging cigar ash on occasion as Bert began to move faster. Bert was like a big diesel train engine, slowly picking up speed as it pulled the cars down the track. He pushed in and pulled out and with each long stroke; the speed grew ever so slightly faster. Mark’s cock was completely rigid and oozing clear fluid onto his hairy chest and belly. Bert was grunting like the beast he was, he wasn’t saying much and Mark knew it was because the animal was taking pleasure in this mating between two species.
Mark realized that, had he been more experienced he would have picked up on the fact that the scent of the Bear came from Bert, not the bearskin he kept in the cab. If Mark had had an alpha, a mentor, he would probably have learned how to spot other werecreatures; but Mark was young and inexperienced. As it turned out, it was fortunate that he had found such an indulgent member of another phenotype. Certainly, Mark had never imagined other phenotypes existed and even if he had imagined it, he wouldn’t have considered having sex with anyone but another werewolf. Bert was quickly changing his opinions.
Outside, the driving rain continued, the wind battered the semi, but neither of the occupants cared.
Mark was covered in sweat now, matting the hair on his body and Bert kept pumping in and out. Bert was in a steady rhythm, staring into Mark’s hazel eyes, puffing smoke out of the side of his muzzle and nose. Bert removed the cigar, putting it in an ashtray by the bed. He began to lick the sweat and pre-cum from Mark’s chest, out of his arm pits and then he bent almost in half and sucked on Mark’s cock, taking it into his long toothy maw; Bert never lost his rhythm while doing this and continued his slow pistoning. Bert was bringing Mark to the edge of orgasm and so he took his mouth from the werewolf’s cock and continued to pump his hips. He pressed his muzzle against Mark’s opened mouth and forced his wide Bear tongue into his mouth, then down his throat. Bert released Mark from the kiss and licked his face.
The werebear moaned deeply and shivered with pleasure, he was getting close and knew he couldn’t hold back much longer. He retrieved the cigar, clamping it between his sharp teeth and then his rhythm sped up. His growls became louder and more savage. Bert’s heady Bear musk filled the sleeper mixed with the pungent cigar smoke. Bert moved in closer so that his body almost covered the tied man. Mark buried his face in the WereBear’s chest, taking deep lung filling breaths of his scent through his nostrils. Mark loved the Bear’s scent; he had never been so connected, so entwined, with another. As Bert went over the edge, roaring around his cigar. Mark cried out too, howling into Bert’s furry chest; both came together as one. Bert threw his head back in the ultimate pleasure; he shot and kept shooting and with each orgasmic spasm the pleasure washed anew through his huge, furry frame. Vaguely, he realized that his partner was clamping his internal muscles around Bert’s huge rod and growled in pleasure as the man did so.
Bert’s orgasm began to subside, leaving the warm pleasurable glow coursing through his changed body, each nerve tingled with it. This was the release Bert had needed. Bert needed sex as a man, but he needed to release as a beast before he could feel completely satisfied. He looked down and Mark was covered in his own cum. Slowly, Bert pulled his softening cock from the werewolf’s ass. Bert’s cigar was down to a small stub, so he ground it out in the ashtray after a final, long drag which he held for at least a minute. The werebear finally exhaled at the ceiling and then bent his head down to clean the rich Wolf cum from Mark’s cock, belly and chest. Bert’s large, soft, warm Bear tongue made short work of the task. Soon, Bert was licking the remnants of Mark’s seed out of his bushy goatee and short beard.
When he was done, Bert kissed the Wolf pup again and when they separated, Bert began to remove the restraints and as Mark had done for Bert, so Bert now licked the rope burned ankles and wrists, healing them as he did so.
Still in bear shape, Bert growled out, "Gotta catch sum shut eye," and with that, he lay atop Mark, pinning him beneath his bulk. Mark wouldn’t have protested even if he felt like it, this was his alpha and it didn’t matter that he wasn’t a werewolf. The warmth from the fur clad body was better than any blanket and the sound snoring and strong heartbeat comforted Mark as it masked all other sounds. Mark looked at the clock, it was 5:45 am; soon, the werewolf drifted into sleep and for the first time in four years had pleasant dreams. Dreams filled with romping in the woods and howling joyfully beneath the moon.
Later, in the morning, 6:30 am by the digital clock, Mark was awake. He awoke because the truck was moving. Mark lay naked in Bert’s bunk and he could tell by the light that was streaming into the sleeper, that the storm had passed and it was a going to be a bright sunny day. He quickly pulled on clothes and by the time he was dressed Bert was on the road. He climbed into the cab and sat in the passenger’s seat. Bert was dressed in what he’d worn the night before, his beard looked somewhat bushier than it had when Bert had returned from the restaurant. Mark assumed it had grown much in the same way his own short beard had grown due to the transformation.
"Help yerself to sum coffee," Bert said and pointed to a thermos.
Mark did just that and after a couple of sips he asked, jovially, "So, am I being kidnapped?"
Bert laughed a deep, rich laugh. "Y’could say that. I’ve gotta get this load d’livered on time or I’m in big trouble. All’s I gotta do is get to Portland an’ drop it off, so I ain’t really worried, but I like t’ have a bit of a cushion," Bert said and took a swig from his mug.
"You didn’t get much sleep," Mark said.
"Didn’t need much! When I sleep as a bear, I get back much more energy an’ heal faster. The fuckin’ helped me sleep like a log, too. Two or so hours is more like five or six, but you should know that," Bert said.
"Well, I’ve never really noticed… I sleep as long as I like," Mark said, "after all, it’s not like I have to be up at a certain time or meet any particular deadline, most of the time."
Bert chuckled ruefully, "Must be nice! You artist… sleep ‘til noon… an’ party all night with big ol’ truckers." He flashed Mark a grin.
"Well, most artists aren’t as lucky as I am, I suppose. Most have a day job too," Mark said.
"Well, we’re at my day job so, I guess it’s ‘Take Your Cub…’ he smiled at Mark and his pale blue eyes were full of mirth, ‘or Pup… To Work Day’ for me," Bert said.
"I’ve got lots of questions," Mark said, "I’d like to see if you can answer some of them."
"Well fire away, son, we got time!" Bert said.
The two talked for a long time on the trip and Bert filled in gaps as he could. Certain things about their phenotypes were specific and Bert didn’t have answers, but most of the experience they both shared was the same or similar enough that Mark was able to learn for the first time as if he had an elder werewolf to teach him. Bert advised him not to seek out a pack, as they would more than likely reject him and some packs were actively hostile to outsiders because the alpha pair sometimes saw the newcomer as a threat to their leadership. It was the way of the werewolf; if you were not a part of the pack, it was hard to get into one and though some packs tolerated ‘lone Wolves’ they didn’t much care for them hanging around. Rarely, a pack would take in a stranger, but he or she always started at the bottom and that was not an enviable place in a pack of werewolves.
Bert said that it was possible that Mark might meet another ‘loner’ someday, and perhaps they might be happy together; perhaps starting their own pack. Mark said he preferred to have Bert as his alpha and Bert agreed to fill the role, but told Mark he hadn’t planned on being a pup’s daddy. He pointed out that someday Mark would more than likely feel the call of his own kind and need another werewolf. Bert said that Wolves are social animals; Bears are solitary and at best Bears gathered into loose communities usually of not more than a dozen or so, mostly pairs living communally.
Bert explained that their respective phenotypes affected the human personality when they were changed and as time went on their attitudes and mannerisms became more like the beast’s, though it was never severe enough that it was beyond the scope of human behavior. Bearmen were more solitary; Wolfmen became more clannish or family oriented. He guessed that wereDeer might be more like a herd, though he’d never met any.
The conversation meandered across many topics and Mark learned that Bert was far deeper than might have been suspected by his easy going, ‘good ol’ boy’ manner. Bert was, in a word, wise; well read and at the same time street-smart. Mark couldn’t imagine that there were many situations where Bert would be at a loss as to what to do.
Bert delivered his load before lunch, right on schedule, and he took Mark to one of his favorite all you can eat places. Bears like good buffets and the two proceeded to stuff themselves. Mark, of course, went a little heavier on the meat. Afterward, they headed for Bert’s place for a relaxing evening of conversation, beer and of course, more sex. Mark decided, the beard he had would stay, but he wanted his goatee to be bushier and a bit longer, just because he liked the look.
The day after Mark and Bert arrived in Portland, Big Red showed up at noon at Bert’s place on his Harley. Red was moving in, something Bert had scheduled vacation time for so he could help. The truck with his stuff would be coming in the next couple of days. Mark would be very welcomed extra help. Mark could tell Red had changed considerably. His limp wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been, in fact, Red walked without his usual cane and didn’t wince when he walked up stairs. Red’s already furry body had become much more so and Mark noticed his teeth seemed brand new and somewhat sharp. Bert began to explain, but Mark new from Red’s scent what had happened; Red was a WereBear now. Bert had made love to Red without protection a few months ago. It was what Red had wanted; it was then that Red had decided to retire.
Bert told Red what had happened with Mark and all Red had said was, "He’ll keep me company while you’re on the road."
There was new vigor in Red’s frame, a tiredness that had been lifted to be replaced by a sexual hunger which was evidenced by the lustful leer he gave Mark while appraising his wiry form.
While looking hungrily at Mark, Red said to Bert, "Yep, this young pup will keep me very busy."
Six months after Red moved in, there was a studio out back for Mark built by the three. Mark decided to renovate his old place. He hired an architect who had a crew working on it the next spring. Mark spent his time between the two places, but mostly stayed at Bert’s. Mark’s agent loved the new work he was producing; just as dark as it ever was, but Mark was also painting other things now, things of a more congenial nature which sold to another eager audience. A painting of two werebears and a werewolf making love hung in the bedroom over the king sized bed the three men used.
Red had his own hobbies and had his own workshop. Sturdy wood furniture and delicate carved pieces came from his shop.
He and Mark got on very well together and though he didn’t have the same years of experience that Bert had, Red had seen much of the world and had a way of seeing to the heart of a person or a problem which Mark found amazing. Mark bought a Harley and the two would take short camping trips into the mountains while Bert was on a run. Bert always had a warm welcome when he walked in the door and it seemed he was more satisfied having two partners to come home to, as it seemed he needed less sex on the road. He jokingly complained, shortly before going back to work, that the only way he was going to get any rest was to get back on the road. Occasionally, Mark would accompany him on a run and occasionally Red would get the itch for the road and go with him, but most of the time Bert was alone. He loved his bedmates, but he needed to be alone too.
Life was good for Mark, he was still a lone Wolf, but he wasn’t lonely.
Disclaimer: The author is fully aware that the town of Clifton does exist in the State of Oregon, United States of America; in fact, the author is aware that there are two such towns named Clifton in the State of Oregon. The author has placed, for your reading pleasure, a completely fictional town named ‘Clifton’ in his universe which may Bear a remote resemblance to the actual towns in Oregon named Clifton. If this has occurred it is stated here that such resemblance is completely unintentional. The author is also aware that the town of Portland exists and the same fictional latitude given to Clifton applies to Portland. All characters and businesses presented in this story are fictional. No animals or therianthrops were harmed in the creation of this story (especially the cute furry ones with round ears, fangs and stubby tales). Thank you.
Copyright © 2000-2004 - Bjorn Torson
Any and all re-use prohibited without explicit permission.