The Daddy Bear Files

Owen's Experience

The rusty sign above the bar read "The Leather Den," its neon lights flickering erratically. From the outside, it looked like just another old building on a dimly lit street, but inside, it was a haven for men seeking an escape from the societal norm. Owen had heard whispers about the place and, now freshly 21, he'd mustered the courage to step through its doors.

The thick scent of leather, sweat, and something deeper, more primal, greeted him. As he stepped further in, he noticed dim lights casting a crimson hue over the entire place, revealing men in various states of undress, most of them wearing leather harnesses, chaps, and little else. Owen felt a sudden surge of warmth, his cheeks reddening.

*"This is...different,"* he mused internally, feeling out of place in his button-up shirt and jeans. He took a seat at the bar, fidgeting with nervous energy. Around him, the atmosphere was thick with masculinity, the bass-heavy music only adding to the sensual ambiance.

Looking around, Owen's thoughts raced. *"They're so... confident, so sure of themselves,"* he pondered, observing the muscular men laughing, drinking, and flirting. A group nearby caught his attention: a trio of burly men, their leather jackets creaking as they leaned in to share secrets and jokes.

The barman, a rugged-looking man with a full beard and piercing eyes, approached Owen. "First time here?" he asked, a knowing smirk on his lips. Owen nodded, swallowing hard. "Give me something strong," he stammered.

As he waited for his drink, Owen's attention shifted to two men dancing close by. Their movements were slow, deliberate, and dripping with intention. He felt a strange combination of envy and desire. *"Is that what I want? To be held like that, to be... claimed?"* he thought.

Suddenly, the restroom door banged open. Out stepped a colossus of a man, shirtless, his dark fur-like chest hair glistening under the dim bar lights. Brock "The Mountain" McLaine. The chatter in the bar seemed to mute, the music fading into the background, as all eyes gravitated towards him. Every step he took radiated power and confidence.

Owen's eyes widened. He had heard of Brock, of course, but seeing him in person was an entirely different experience. As if sensing Owen's gaze, Brock looked up, and their eyes locked. Time seemed to slow, the noise of the bar fading into oblivion. The intensity in Brock's eyes was captivating, making Owen feel exposed, vulnerable, yet irresistibly drawn in.

Brock started walking towards him, each step deliberate and commanding. Owen felt his pulse quicken, a jumble of emotions swirling within. "Hey, Red," Brock rumbled, his deep voice sending shivers down Owen's spine. "First time at a place like this?"

Owen tried to find his voice, but words eluded him. He simply nodded, his green eyes locked onto Brock's.

Brock chuckled, a rich, warm sound that made Owen's insides melt. "Don't be nervous. Everyone's got to start somewhere." He reached out, his large hand gently cupping Owen's chin, tilting it up to meet his gaze. "Stick with me, and you'll be just fine."

Owen swallowed, finally finding his voice. "I—I think I'd like that," he replied, his voice shaky but sincere.

Brock's smile was predatory yet protective. "Good," he murmured, pulling Owen closer. "Because I have a feeling we're going to get along just fine."

And in that grungy bar, amidst the scent of leather and masculinity, a new chapter began for Owen "Red" Gallagher and Brock "The Mountain" McLaine.