Long, sinewy muscles like bands of flexible steel rippling beneath smooth skin tanned to a lustrous bronze lent power to each punch and kick with which Stephen assaulted the weighty kicking bag. Like the sharp crack of a whip, his limbs cut through the air and struck the bag in a flurry of blows, the force of his momentum carried beyond the points of impact. The bag swung wildly on its squeaking chains. Stephen pounded the bag with his fists and palms and sliced with the knife edges of his hands; he gouged it with his elbows and knees; he rammed it with his shoulders and hips; and he kicked it with his shins, the in-steps and balls of his feet, and his heels. He bounced sprightly on the balls of his feet and quickly improvised his moves to adapt to the bag's swings. His washboard abs rose and fell with his deep, rhythmic breathing. Occasionally he'd exhale sharply with a loud "Hhaa!" as he assaulted the bag, as though to say, "Take that!" Sweat streamed down his well-defined body; the short brown hairs on his head, forearms, lower legs, and the trail down his abs were dark and damp. His blue eyes were intensely focused on his target, barely blinking.

"God, you're beautiful!" proclaimed a rumbling baritone voice, somewhat husky with lust.

"So are you!" Stephen shouted as he jumped into the air, spun 180 degrees, and back-kicked the bag.

Don smiled cheek-to-cheek. Kneeling on the edge of the dense blue mat, his bulky, hairy thighs on top of hairy calves, his smooth, muscular glutes resting on his heels, he leaned forward and laid his large palms in front of his knees. His pectorals bulged out and the muscles of his arms flexed, pecs and arms hard and covered in an even coat of soft black fur. He licked his plump lips as his soft brown eyes followed Stephen's every move. "I love how your bulge and buns bounce up and down.... Stephen, how long are you going to go on? We've already had our workout."

"Not much longer, Don. I just got a lot of energy to burn off."

"There are other ways to burn off energy, Stephen. Better ways."

"Horny?" Stephen stopped beating the bag and hopped foot-to-foot. He grinned, knowing his bouncing bulge would drive Don mad with lust.

"Always. Stop teasing me already and fuck me." A bit troubled by his own petulance, Don added meekly, "Please."

"I guess a husband's duties never cease," Stephen said with mock resignation, sighing and shrugging his shoulders. "Come over here, my horny bear!"

Hands pressing into the firm mat like bear claws, Don crawled, eyes glued to Stephen's bouncing bulge. He was salivating, a tiny stream of drool falling from the edge of his mouth and into his well-groomed beard. Don pressed his snout against Stephen's crotch, breathing deeply of the heady scent, feeling the partially hard shaft coiled within the translucent pouch. He let out a long moan. A sweaty palm pushed his head back, keeping him at bay. His moan turned into a whine.

"Please, Stephen. Let me suck it. Please."

"You wanna suck my cock? Come on, open your mouth. You can do better than that. Open it wide! Stick your tongue out! That's it. Show me how badly you want my cock."

Don stretched his mouth open, forcing his large tongue out as far as he could. He panted heavily, drooling. He struggled against Stephen's outstretched arm that kept his head at a distance. Stephen's fingers curled into a fist, grabbing a fistful of Don's short black hair, almost dry now after resting for half an hour. "Whoa, bear! Down, boy! You'll get my cock when I'm ready," Stephen admonished.

Don whined through his open mouth, doing a fine impression of an unhappy Wookiee. His tongue lapped at the air, stretching vainly to bridge the distance. He could not speak. With each passing second, he became more an animal and less a man.

"Down, boy! If you're not a good bear, you won't get my cock. It's your choice."

Don stopped struggling and settled down to his haunches. He held his mouth open with his tongue out. He panted, but did not whine. He raised his eyes pleadingly up at Stephen.

"That's it. That's my good bear," Stephen said, releasing his grip. He pushed down his sweat-soaked jockstraps to his ankles, his trapped cock bounding outward and his round nuts dropping and swinging like twin wrecking balls. The foreskin rolled away as his cock grew to its full eight inches, slowly revealing a large pink mushroom head. It was a thick cock with a prominent ridge of the urethra on the underside. Don's panting became heavy and desperate. "Suck it good!" Stephen commanded.

Don's lips made a perfect O around Stephen's cock. The seal was tight, the suction strong. Don had no regard for decorum, no interest in sucking quietly, demurely. The sounds of his oral worship—of air being sucked in when the suction was stronger than the seal of his lips, of saliva splattering on the mat, of his lips smacking kisses around the shaft, of his plugged throat gagging, of his loud bestial panting and moans—filled the basement and echoed weakly off the walls.

"Oh, baby! That feels so good," Stephen commended, letting his head fall back.

"Mmmhh!" Don moaned gratefully.

"Keep it up, baby, if you want my load. It's coming soon."

Don's head bobbed wantonly on Stephen' cock, picking up speed.

"Fuck! Shit!" Stephen swore as he came. Don swallowed, his bearded cheeks caved in and undulating. Stephen held onto Don's head to support his twitching body, making no move to free his overly sensitive cock from Don's suckling mouth. He would not cut short his husband's pleasure.

Don knew when to stop before his sucking caused Stephen any real discomfort. He pulled his head back slowly, kissing the retreating mushroom head as it departed his mouth. Gazing up and smiling, Don said, "Thank you, Stephen. It was delicious."

"My pleasure! Now, get your ass in the shower."

They rushed up the two flight of stairs into the master bathroom. They rinsed the sweat off their bodies under a shower of hot, steamy water. Stephen guided Don to the far end of the tub, away from the water, and lathered the big man with soap until Don's body was covered with white foam.

"Remember the first time we took a shower together in this bathroom?" Stephen asked as he ran his hands across Don's lathered skin. "I told you I wanted to fuck your ass. Remember?"

"I do, Stephen. I said you could only fuck me in your dreams. I was such an idiot."

"Don't be hard on yourself, Don. You were straight, and had no idea how much you'd enjoy it."

"Straight? Right! I was stupid and scared and in denial."

Stephen turned Don around and bent him over. "Such a gorgeous ass you have, Don. By far my favorite." He gently rubbed the huge glutes and then slapped them both painfully, taking satisfaction in seeing the white buns jiggle like firm jello. Don cried out in pain. "Now, I seem to recall that I told you not to be hard on yourself, not even a minute ago." He gave Don's ass a couple more thwacks. "No one speaks of my husband like that. Not even you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry," Don whimpered fearfully. He didn't fear the blows on his ass; he enjoyed being spanked. He feared Stephen's quiet yet steely voice. There was real anger in his tone. It robbed the pleasure out of the spanking, leaving only sharp pain.

"Good," Stephen said softly. "Do you want to lather me up?"

"Absolutely!"

A little later they lay kissing on the bed, gently feeling each other up. Stephen's small but strong hand glided across Don's beefy muscles. The soft black fur that blanketed Don's skin moved like fields of grain waving in a strong breeze, swirling where Stephen's hand brushed in circles. The hair followed the contours of his flesh, coating it evenly and attractively, not in uneven patches. Stephen rolled onto his back and spread apart his knees, the soles of his feet touching. Don smiled, climbed aboard, and took his seat on Stephen's crotch, securing himself by wedging Stephen's rigid pole up his hairless bottom.

"Ride it gently, Don," Stephen instructed. "I want to talk with you."

"Ok, Stephen," Don moaned, slowly rocking.

"We're celebrating your 40th birthday next weekend. What do you want more than anything? If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?"

"I don't know, Stephen. Do you want a shopping list? I can't think of anything I need or want, but I can try to make a list if you want.... Aah, your cock feels so good!"

"It doesn't have to be a material thing. Just anything you want."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

"What if you don't like it, Stephen? I ... I tried to talk to you about it before, but...."

"I know, Don. I'm sorry I brushed it away, but I'm willing to talk about it now. Tell me what you want."

"Mmmhhh! Ohhh! God, Stephen, riding your cock slowly is driving me crazy. Can we talk after you come? I want to ride you hard!"

"No, Don. We'll talk now."

Don frowned and gasped, his round white buttocks gliding gradually up and down Stephen's shaft. "Ok, then. What I want, Stephen, is for you to be in complete control over me at all times. I want to be your wild bear, and you to be my tamer. I want to submit to you, relinquish everything to you. I love you so much, Stephen. And I know it's putting a huge burden on your shoulders to be completely responsible for another person, but I want so much to give you everything that I am and that I have."

Stephen held out his palm. Don nuzzled his face against the palm, his body still rocking. "That night I fucked you for the first time, you had said that you wanted to satisfy my every desire that you had the means to satisfy. Don, you've done an absolutely fabulous job of satisfying me. I'm afraid I haven't been so obliging. For that I'm sorry."

"Stephen, I didn't mean to imply that I wasn't satisfied. That's far from the truth. You've given me more joy and pleasure than I'd ever imagined possible."

"Don, how come you've never asked to see my drawings?"

"What? What does that have anything to do with this?'

"Plenty. My art supplies and my works are still wrapped up and in boxes and crates in the basement. All you've seen are my recent pencil sketches. Why haven't you asked to see my other works?"

"I didn't want to pry, Stephen. When you put those boxes and crates away, you looked so troubled. And you refused to let me help you move them. I figured something had happened in your past and I should respect your boundaries."

"That's what I suspected. You're always so considerate.... Ride me hard, Don. Make me come."

Don's ass was practically jumping, bouncing high and crashing down hard. The noise of his buns slapping against Stephen's hips and thighs was accompanied by the creaking of the wooden bed frame and the thumping of the posts against the floor. He threw his head back and roared, deep-chested and full of satisfaction. He pinched his own nipples as he bounced, amplifying the pleasure with a dose of pain. His heavy pink scrotum darkened to a purplish hue, banging against Stephen's lower abs. Don's extremely fat cock drummed against Stephen's taut belly. "Oh, yes! It's coming, Stephen," Don shouted as he felt Stephen trembling. Stephen reached up and pulled down on Don's shoulders. Don stopped riding and leaned down to kiss Stephen, who began to thrust his hips upward with incredible speed. Stephen drove his tongue into Don's mouth, fucking it, as he fucked Don's ass. Seconds before his orgasm hit, he pushed up on Don's shoulder, forcing the big man to rise up on his knees. Stephen raised his pelvis as high as he could, driving his cock into Don's ass, and simultaneously curled his back and neck, taking the large bulb of Don's cock between his lips. Feeling Stephen's cock pulse and shoot inside him, Don came, roaring, "Oh gaawwd! Stephen!"

Don rolled off and crashed onto his back, his elephantine thighs burning. Stephen curled up against Don's side, laying the side of his face on Don's brawny chest. Don wrapped his warm, furry arms around his young husband and kissed the top of Stephen's head, breathing deeply of the freshly washed locks of light brown hair. Don laughed, then said, "If that's not satisfaction, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Stephen chuckled. "It was satisfying, wasn't it?"

"It was, Stephen. I don't need every one of my desires fulfilled to be satisfied."

"Don't go throwing my own words back at me, Don. What if you hadn't let me fuck you that first time, hm? What if I never fucked you at all? Would you still be satisfied?"

"I ... I don't know ... I mean, I guess I would ... but—"

"But no, you wouldn't, Don. If we had been complacent in our sexual relationship, I would have continued to suck you off and ride your cock, and we would have been pretty happy with the arrangement. We would have shared some mutual pleasure, but not the intense love and satisfaction we share now. Hindsight been perfect, would you have no regrets if you hadn't taken a chance and offered your ass to me?"

"I would hate myself if I hadn't, Stephen."

"Thought so. I expressed a desire to fuck your ass, you fulfilled that desire, and our relationship grew stronger, more intimate. I should add that you fulfilled my desire the same night I expressed it. On the other hand, you expressed your desire to be dominated at all times by me several months ago, and I have yet to fulfill your desire. Sure, I've dominated you when we have sex, but that's only partially fulfilling your desire. It's not enough. And I'm sorry, Don, for that. I truly am. The guilt has been eating at me."

Don tightened his embrace, gently squeezing Stephen. "I don't want you to feel guilty, Stephen. Please don't cry," he said, feeling moisture gather on his chest from Stephen's eye.

"I'm alright, Don." Then with a deep breath to steel his resolve, Stephen sat up and firmly ordered, "Don, bring up my boxes and crates from the basement."

"Yes, sir!" Don acknowledged almost gleefully. He bounded down the stairs and came rushing back up a minute later with a large box. He bounded down and up the stairs three more times. Setting the last crate down on the bedroom floor, Don dropped to his knees and crawled over to Stephen. He smiled openly at Stephen, his white teeth bright against his flushed face. "That's the last one, sir."

"That's a good bear. Open them up and take a good look."

Stephen sat propped up against the headboard as Don opened up the boxes and crates and examined Stephen's artwork: a collection of pencil and charcoal sketches, watercolors, acrylic paintings, and a few graphic novels. Don's attention to each piece of art seemed overly long to Stephen, who sat nervously nibbling his lower lip. At long last Don closed the last graphic novel. He let out a long breath and scratched at his forehead. Stephen held his breath.

"Um, you definitely have a gift, Stephen."

"And?"

"And ... I ... um ... they're ... graphic!"

"Quite an understatement, Don. Do you really want to be dominated by a man who can imagine things like what you just saw?"

"They're intense, but they don't frighten me, Stephen."

"Don't mince words, Don. They depict scenes of violent, abusive sex. Do you want to be on the receiving end of that?"

"Well, no, not to that degree. But just because you can imagine and draw such things doesn't necessarily mean you'd ... do them."

"That's what I thought, Don. Imagination and art, detached from the day-to-day realities of my life. Until one day a man I went on a date with wanted to fuck me. I didn't really know him and I wasn't in the mood. He tried to rape me, Don. I was furious. When I was done with him, he was bruised and bleeding. His clothes hung from his body in tatters. I fucked him so hard he was sobbing, his hips just tossing about because the pain in his ass was too great. "

"He deserved it! If I had been there, I would've killed him!"

"Don't say such things, Don. You're not like that."

"I may be submissive, Stephen, but if someone tries to hurt you, there's nothing I wouldn't do to protect you."

"I know, Don, but I don't ever want to hear to you talk about killing anyone. Understood?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

Stephen eased the sting of his reprimand by tickling Don's bearded cheek, then said, "I was horrified by what I had done to that man, Don. And I don't mean beating him up; he had that coming to him. But by fucking him, I had turned the tables on him and raped him. It doesn't matter what he had done to me, or tried to do. I have to live with my own actions, not his. Realizing that I could act out the violence I had thought was isolated to my art ... well, it was traumatic. I mean I had never ever imagined myself doing anything like what I drew. The sex and violence in my drawings were cartoonish, and all the figures I drew were anonymous and exaggerated. They were never real people I knew, certainly never me! Anyway, that's when I packed up all these pieces and hid them in storage. Part of me wanted to destroy them, but it's hard for an artist to destroy his own art. After that I drew still lifes, landscapes, portraits, and did a couple of superhero comics, but I gave up on drawing sex. And what I drew, I either sold or gave away. To be honest, I had little emotional investment in those safe, mainstream pieces. Artistically, I was just going through the motions, just practicing my skills.... Now I draw you, my sexy bear! It's nice being able to mix sex and art once again, minus the violence."

Don smiled. Gazing up adoringly at Stephen, he said, "Well, not all the violence. I love the sketches where you're spanking my ass while you're fucking me."

'That's not really violence, silly bear! It's quite common for a top to spank the bottom's ass."

"If you say so, Stephen.... I still don't understand how your art relates to you dominating me. Did I miss something?"

"Don, the thought of having complete control over you makes me nervous. What if the power goes to my head? What if I.... I can't even say it, Don."

"What if you abuse me?"

"It could happen."

"I doubt it, Stephen. I trust you more than I trust myself. You'd probably take better care of me than anyone I know, including myself and my parents. I'm counting on it, actually. Yes, I want to serve you and obey you, but ultimately it's a selfish desire to be cared for."

Stephen chuckled. "When we first met, it was you caring for me. You gave me your bandage to compress my sprained ankle. You filtered water for me. You let me stay in your motel room. You paid for dinner at Ming's buffet. Then in Maine you made me crash in your tent during that storm instead of trying to rig up my hammock."

Don abased himself and kissed Stephen's right ankle, saying, "If you hadn't sprained your ankle, I would've never caught up with you at Maupin Field Shelter. You would've kept on hiking the AT like a wind raging up the trail, and I would've been days or weeks behind you, slow but steady. And I would've been happy, Stephen, because I wouldn't have known what I was missing out on. But knowing the happiness I have now with you, I am so extremely grateful that misfortune found you. Sometimes I think it must've been some divine intervention. Maybe God meant us to be together?"

"I know, Don. I've thought the same thing." With another chuckle, Stephen continued. "So you want to submit to me and serve me, and in so doing be cared for. Sort of like a benevolent master caring for his slave, or an owner caring for his beloved pet?"

"Exactly!"

"I don't have to take you outside and then scoop up your shit, do I?"

"No! I'm housebroken and trained in the use of the toilet."

"That's a relief!" Stephen laughed.

"So? Will you be my master and owner?"

"If that is what you desire more than anything, then consider it an early birthday present."

"Thank you! Thank you, sir!"

Don prostrated himself and planted grateful kisses on Stephen's feet. Despite the great demands imposed on them, Stephen's feet were meticulously clean and in good condition. The nails were never over-grown and splintered. The skin on the upper parts of the feet were silky smooth, and the soles toughened but not rough. Don slipped a couple of toes into his mouth, his thoughts adrift in a sea of humble wonderment. Just having such a beautiful person in his life was a wonder all on its own, practically a miracle, but it was a greater wonder to have a part of Stephen inside his body. He was tempted to indulge himself in this act of reverence, but he knew his role in the relationship, a role he himself had desired and requested. Don released Stephen's toes from his mouth and begged, "Please command me, sir!"

With his petition, Don had explicitly transferred authority over himself directly to Stephen, who felt a surge of empowerment electrify his entire being. It was exhilarating, intoxicating. He could command Don to do anything, and Don would obey. Stephen's heartbeat was a deafening bass drum roll. His cock swelled and rose vertically, a towering red mushroom that promised carnal bliss or agony. Stephen glared possessively at the massive form of the man lying worshipfully at his feet. Tall, beefy and solid, blanketed in soft black fur except the creamy white mounds of the derriere, endowed with a fat cock and large testicles, and of a good age, his slave's body was everything he found desirable in a man. He could fuck that beautiful bubble butt and make his slave sing in a tune of his choice. He could torture and humiliate Don. He could in fact do anything his heart desired. The thoughts whirled in his mind, spinning upon themselves, vulgarity escalating to the grotesque.

Then his blue eyes cleared and became calm. The grotesque thoughts continued to spawn, but Stephen found a calm place in the center of the cyclone of his thoughts. The winds of unreasoning lust raged around and against that calm center but could not disturb it.

"Stand tall and proud, Standing Bear," Stephen commanded, his voice soft and soothing yet firm.

Don bolted to his feet and stood at attention, erect and alert. His fat cock quivered and oozed.

"My beautiful bear standing so tall, so strong! I was tempted, Standing Bear, for a moment—a second or two perhaps, but it felt like minutes—to have my way with you, to use and abuse you, to revel in the power I have over you. But the temptation has lost its fangs. For you are Standing Bear and Donald Wright, my husband, and I love you more than any thing or person in the world. No amount of power could tempt me to jeopardize that love. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Don affirmed, tearing up. "And you are Raging Wind and Stephen Miller, my husband, my master and my owner, and I love you more than any thing or person in the world."

With his hands on Don's hips, Stephen guided his slave to kneel. They exchanged a smile and kissed. Though unintended and unplanned and unwitnessed, naked and utterly exposed to one another, Stephen and Don had just performed a ritual that would be for them more binding and meaningful than their wedding a couple of weeks earlier.

 

Krysm

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