Fiction
Story by: Patrick Califia
January 1, 2022
There was a sleuth of bears at my gym, and in this realm of brawny, heavy-lifting, cigar-scented, graceful men, he was the king. I didn’t know his name, so I thought of him as Ursus. His head was shaved, but the rest of his body supported a pelt that I desperately wanted under my cheek while I hibernated winter away. His fur was a ruddy brown that gave off a scent of clean sweat and testosterone. I knew this because I had stolen one of his T-shirts out of his locker and taken it home to my den. Once in my own bed, I had tucked my pillow into his shirt so I could fall asleep with his pheromones dancing on my nose and tongue.
In this world of giants, I was a nobody. I had never seen any of the big men speak to other patrons of the gym. Many of us were handsome, well-proportioned men, but bears (as far as I knew) preferred other bears. The fact that I felt invisible among them led me to make the mistake of believing I actually was unseen. So I was resolved to go into the locker room and see if I could not filch an even more personal item. I would have gone to my knees for his jock, but he was probably wearing that as he hoisted impossible amounts of weight and sweat made his fur glisten.
A simple paperclip had given me access last time I raided his locker. But now there was a different sort of padlock, and I became absorbed in probing its innards, sweating myself as I tried to make it yield to my makeshift tool.
I was therefore not prepared to feel a large paw land on my shoulder. The pressure of a big man’s hand was rough and unexpected. I may have yelped. Before I could identify him, the man behind me hauled me to my feet and pinned me to the wall. It was Ursus, and all of his friends were behind him.
“So here’s the little thief,” one of them said, and spat on my boots.
“Caught you red-handed,” another sneered. “You’ll never work out here again.”
They were handling my arms, getting a grip on me so they could throw me out. I fought back as hard as I could but I was outnumbered. Ursus raised his hand and they put me back against the wall. “Did you steal my T-shirt?” he demanded. He put his hand under my chin and forced me to meet his gaze. He had big, handsome brown eyes with green highlights, and a beard that looked glossy and soft.
“Yes,” I gasped. “I took it.”
“I was kinda cold walking home,” he grumbled. That voice was deep and made me shiver. The palm of his hand caressed my cheek, which was confusing as hell. “Are you that broke? Can’t afford your own clothes?”
“Probably fit him like a dress,” one of the accomplices guffawed.
This insult made me struggle again. I was caught up in memories of being bullied at school. This was how it always started. I would be surrounded, helpless, and the fag-baiting would be relentless. It was apparently okay for other boys to call you a cocksucker and threaten to rape you as long as they didn’t unzip and take their own hard cocks out.
“You didn’t take my T-shirt so you could wear it, did you?” Ursus asked. His thumb traced the outlines of my cheekbones. He was being tender, but he was also being mean. The combination made my stomach quake and my cock thicken.
“No,” I said, then forced myself to be silent. I was afraid I would cry. He was stroking my chest now, rolling my nipples between his thumbs and index fingers. I was angry with him for touching me, but I was also aroused, and when he lifted his hands from my chest, my body arched and reached for him. But he was gone, an empty step between us.
“Let us rough him up for you,” one of the bears demanded.
“Come on, he’s a jerk, let’s just throw him out.”
Ursus gave me a fierce look. “I think this is a young man who has made a terrible mistake,” he said. “So I will give him a chance to atone. Where do you live?”
I gave him my address which was only a few blocks away.
The king of the bears took me by the elbow, twisted my arm behind my back, and made me walk on the tips of my toes. “’I’ll see you guys back at brunch,” he told his crew as he escorted me from the gym. Guys who were running, pedaling, lifting, or pulling on the weight machines stopped and stared at me. I never would be able to work out there again. I was glad I had not gotten beaten up in the locker room, but I had no idea what this brute of a man was going to do to me once we got to my apartment.
It was a long and uncomfortable walk. By the time we reached my address, my calves were in knots. I had blisters on the balls of my feet and was out of breath and completely miserable. But there was no reprieve. I had to unlock the door and admit my unwelcome guest.
“Give me that, Otter,” he said as I fumbled with lock and key. He got the door open and shoved me into the small living room. I felt ashamed of the way my lithe body immediately responded to being thrown around. But it was exciting to feel his strength focused on me. His big left hand wrapped around the nape of my neck and steered me to the bedroom. For some reason, I panicked and dug my heels into the rug. That was when he let go of my neck, swung his right arm behind my knees, and picked me up. I gasped, as if I had been carried to the top of a very tall building, and threw my arms around his neck.
“Close your eyes,” he said irritably and swung my body across the doorway. “Let go of me,” he said, and I went sailing through the air. He had thrown me onto my own bed. Thrown me! I took a shaky breath and wiped at my eyes. I was not crying.
“Move over,” he ordered and stretched out beside me. Soon he had me rolled onto my side and tucked into his body. One of his big, furry arms was under my head while the other was holding me against him. The masculine, delicious scent of him surrounded me like a blanket. “Let it out,” he said in my ear. His deep voice was full of tenderness and understanding. “Just let go. You’re wound way too tight.”
To my horror, I felt a sob battering me from the inside. It wanted out. It was forcing its way out. I shuddered and wept, a helpless vessel for my own sorrow, fear, and anger. I blubbered and wept until it felt like all emotion had left me. I was empty, light, and free. From behind me came a bandanna. It settled on my face, wiped my eyes, then wrapped itself around my nose. “Blow,” Ursus commanded, and I emptied my overflowing nose. Then the bandanna went away, tucked under one of my pillows.
“I see what you did with my T-shirt,” he whispered in my ear. “Why didn’t you just ask me for a souvenir?”
“I thought you would say no,” I replied. “You and your friends are so big and handsome and strong, and I’m just… a nobody.”
“You are Otter,” he said firmly and squeezed me. “You are handsome, too. But you know you did a bad thing. You stole from me and I have to punish you. You won’t forgive yourself for your crime until I spank you. Then we are going to start over, and you will ask for what you want. Is that fair?”
“I don’t want to be spanked,” I lied, squirming.
“Stop that,” he said sharply and shook me. One of his hands went to my fly. He unzipped, extracted, and handled me. I was hard in his grip. I got even more firm. The tip of my cock leaked and he rubbed the fluid all over my head, so I would know that he could read my body. “This is not the cock of a boy who doesn’t want to be spanked,” he observed. “Did you just tell a fib?”
I confessed.
“Strip,” he told me, as he stood up to begin taking off his own clothes. Soon he was seated on the bed, leaning against the dark and glossy wood of my headboard. I was bare, shivering in an invisible breeze.
“Lay across my lap,” he said. I went to him. I was afraid to look at his cock but I did it anyway. It was no disappointment. His cock stretched out along one thigh and looked eager. He cocked one of his legs a bit higher than the other, lifting my ass into the air. Then he began spreading oil on my cheeks, rubbing the big muscles there, making the skin pliant. One of his fingers grazed my hole teasing it, then slowly entered, lubricating the channel.
Then he came out, and the spanking began.
Considering the power of his muscles and the size of his palm, he could have broken me immediately. Instead, it was a judicious and considered series of blows. I do not mean to imply that it did not hurt. There was the pain of concussion that drove me into his thighs, and then there was the pain of being told what I had done wrong, and being forced to reply to an interrogation worthy of a Jesuit priest. It was confession and atonement.
“I’m going to spank the shame and the sneakiness right out of you, Otter,” he promised. And somewhere along the path of endurance and humiliation and surrender, he achieved that goal. I was purified by his instruction, changed by his effort and will.
“Now show me what you really want,” he said, as he shoved his fingers into me. My cock got hard, and he forced me into a rhythm of need, rocking my hips against his body. Our cocks rubbed together. Just as I was about to cum, he withdrew and rearranged our bodies. My face was jammed into his armpit, and I swear I was stoned on the aroma of his furry secret places. I licked my way from his armpit down to his nipple, and from there to his belly button.
“Do you deserve to suck my cock?” he asked. “Do you want it? Do you really want it?”
The coward I had been that morning would have done anything to confirm that I wanted to get my face fucked. Now, I was a different man, and I said, “Yes. I want it. And I deserve it. I was good. I took my spanking. Let me. Please let me.”
“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he replied and fed me his cock. He kept one fist wrapped around it and the other hand on the back of my head, guiding me up and down. My tongue wrapped around the head and then the shaft of his cock. The back of my throat seemed to vanish so that he could possess me entirely. I took his cock. I took it well and without complaint. And I serviced him without shame or hesitation.
Hissing, he told me I could not cum until he shot down my throat. I obeyed. The cage of his will surrounded me, and it was a safe place for me to rest. I did not have to know what was going to happen or fret about the future. He was paying attention to all of that and would tell me anything I needed to know. Soon I was too busy tasting the salt of his pleasure and feeding on his release to think about anything at all. My body obeyed his wish and I came in my own hand, shuddering as he took me for the first time.
The stashed bandanna came in handy to wipe up my cum. He was bent over the side of the bed, looking for something. I could hear the jangle of metal. He soon found what he wanted and came back up, holding a set of keys and a chain.
“You have no idea what it means to wear this,” he said, draping the cold metal links around my throat. I heard the tiny, cold sound of a padlock being squeezed shut. “But I can teach you what it means, after we have brunch with my crew. Get dressed, Otter. Find a black T-shirt and a tight pair of jeans. Put those boots on, too. No, I don’t want you to shower. This party is come as you are.”
Thinking of eggs benedict and how the hand of fate had touched my ass and parted my lips, I dressed as he specified and waited to be taken out of the bedroom by the chain locked around my throat. Ursus soon had his jeans and leather jacket on and pushed me toward my front door. Before we left my apartment, he brought me close, wrapped his hand around my face and kissed me. “You can keep the shirt, but you still have to pay for it,” he grinned, dragging me out into the sunlight.