Bear Virus: Chapter 5 - Bruce's Bar

The older businessman set off down the sidewalk, very confused about what had just happened. He’d been planning on meeting some colleagues at a popular wine bar he’d thought was at this location, but that seedy looking bar hadn’t been the sort of place an upper class fellow like him would be caught dead in. He was at the corner when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and found himself looking at the fellow who’d been drinking at the bar when he’d stepped inside for a moment. 

“There you are,” Bruce said, “Where do you think you’re going so fast? Come back and have a drink with us.”

The businessman brushed Bruce’s hand off his shoulder, and Bruce grabbed hold of his face and gave him a kiss--that was enough to quicken his heart, and without even really knowing why, he followed Bruce back to the bar, suddenly excited to check the place out. A few minutes later, Bruce was lying back on the pool table, ass up, while the businessman fucked his hole, tattoos spreading across his arms, his sharp business suit turning into a pair of filthy jeans, leather chaps, and a biker jacket, his old life as a business executive forgotten, replaced by new memories of life as a grungy outlaw biker pig named Fuzz.

He helped Bruce off the pool table, and he saw that he’d added a couple more years, and a few more pounds to his waistline, along with some tattoos of his own. Bruce and Fuzz hung out by the door, waiting for the rest of Fuzz’s gang to arrive, when three more businessmen wandered into the bar. They, too, had expected to find a high end wine bar. Instead, they found three hungry bears ready and waiting. Fuzz claimed one, throwing him down onto the floor, ripping open the back of his pants and driving his cock in good and rough. When the fellow screamed, Fuzz told him to shut the fuck up and take it like the little fuck pig he is--soon enough, the man was growing a fat gut, his ripped pants becoming a set of leather chaps, mind filling up with his new role as the biker gang’s official fuckpig, named Squealer.

Meanwhile, Mikey had dragged one of the men behind the bar, and they were busy making out, Mikey eventually directing the younger businessman to his ripe, unwashed pits, which the man happily started cleaning out. As he did, a bristly beard grew out of his clean shaven cheeks, and in a few moments it hung down to his waist. His suit was growing crispy with sweat and road grime, the sleeves crumbling away, leaving behind heavily tattooed arms and a filthy denim vest, and a pair of jeans with the crotch ripped out entirely. The newly minted biker came up for air, revealing a face now studded with metal. Licking his lips, he turned Mikey around and bent him over the bar, yanked down his pants, and dug into Mikey’s hairy ass, eating him out for a few minutes before standing up, and driving his metal studded cock into his hole, occasionally lifting up an arm to take a whiff of his own unwashed stink.

Finally, Bruce was getting fucked again, this time up against the wall by the third businessman. Bruce kept urginging him on, calling him a brute, a rough fucker, a mean son-of-a-bitch, and each time another insult left Bruce’s mouth, the man swelled larger, packing on more and more height, and more and more muscle until he was easily six and a half feet tall and nearly 300 pounds of beef, driving his massive cock harder and harder into Bruce’s ass. He came deep inside him and then stumbled back, feeling a little feverish, but the symptom’s passed quickly. The gang’s new enforcer lumbered over to where the rest of the gang had sat down at a table with a couple pitchers of beer brought over by the freshly fucked Mikey. Fuzz had grown larger and even hairier than before, Mikey looked to be a bit smellier and grungier, and Bruce found himself looking even fatter and older than before, now probably closer to forty, with a substantial number of tattoos dotting his arms as well.

The bar around them had shifted slightly, with more biker and trucker paraphernalia on the walls than before. “Fuck yeah, now this is my kinda place for fucking sure,” he said with a grin, sat back down at the bar and ordered another drink, confident that the gang of bikers would take care of initiating anyone else who came into the place. Sure enough, there were a steady stream of newcomers who were all turned by one of the other patrons of the bar. Leathermen smoking cigars found their way outside to a small patio, where they smoked and fucked happily in the late evening light. Several truckers collected around a couple of tables inside, toying with each other’s cocks under the table, a few perverts happy to just jack off and watch the action unfolding around them. It was around then that there was a commotion at the front of the bar, which drew Bruce over to it. The biker gang had pinned down someone who was hollering about being the owner of the bar, that he didn’t know what all of these sick fucks had done to it, but that he was going to be calling the police. Bruce muscled his way in before anyone else could get their paws on him, helped him up, pulled him close, and told him that he was sure they’d be able to work everything out, one way or another. Bruce asked him to show him to the office where they could have a chat about the new direction the bar was taking.

The owner, Sam was a fellow in his early thirties, slender and dressed like he’d made plenty of money for himself in the real estate business already. He didn’t really understand why he took this fat, old bear of a man up on his offer, when he knew in his head that he should just call the police and have all of these disgusting faggots thrown in jail. Looking around, he knew, somehow, that this wasn’t the wine bar he owned, not anymore. But he pushed through anyway, knowing that something had changed, even though he didn’t quite know what. As he walked, he felt a little dizzy, almost feverish, the harder he thought about it. He stumbled, slid into the wall, and Bruce helped him up, guiding him back behind the bar to the little administrative office there, where Sam unlocked the door. He aimed for the office chair, but Bruce landed in it first, told Sam to shut the door behind them, leaving him standing there with this big man in a rather enclosed space.

“So, you’re looking for a job. That’s what Mikey told me,” Bruce said to the man. “Not sure I have a position available at the moment.”

Sam looked at the big bear, confused for a moment. He was talking to him like he fucking owned the place, when he most certainly did not. “Listen here, I don’t know what’s going on here, but you need to get all of these fucking freaks out of my bar, this fucking instant.”

“I’ll tell you what’s going on here, I don’t know why anyone would want to hire a dirty, young, pig like you. Twenty one, no work experience, didn’t even graduate high school. What the fuck do you even do with your days, eh boy?” Bruce watched the virus already taking hold in the young man, changing him before his own eyes in accordance to his words. He shrank down and lost quite a few years off his face, his slim figure blowing out, packing on a hundred pounds in a matter of minutes, his clothes turning disheveled and ill fitting. He stammered, his previous confidence evaporating as he looked on at this confident, sexy daddy bear in front of him. No longer sure if it was the fever making him sweat, or his own thirst. “I...I just need a job, is all...”

“Heh, I know why you can knocking here,” Bruce said, “I’ve heard all about you from guys on the street, the fat little cumdump pig, who’ll take any cock offered to him. You wanna work here because you think you’ll be able to suck all the dick you want--isn’t that right? Get all that delicious cum you crave more than anything else pumped right into that fat belly of yours. Look at you, you’re drooling just thinking about it.”

It’s true, Sam was a pigslut. He spent his days and nights roaming the city, hitting on men, begging them for their loads. Bruce’s bar was well known as the piggiest spot in town, and so of course Sam wanted to work here. He’d never go without a full belly ever again. He fell to his knees in front of Bruce with a little snort, and said, “Fuck Sir, it’s fuckin’ true, I’m just a stupid fuckin’ pigslut, but I got the hottest mouth in this town, and I know all you fuckers are gonna wanna use me all night long. You don’t even have to fuckin’ pay me, I’ll just take your loads as fuckin’ payment, I don’t fuckin’ care.”

“Yeah? You like cum that much?” Bruce said, undoing the front of his dirty jeans, letting his cock pop out into the open. Sam gave a little snort and inched closer, only for Bruce to slap his bearded face. “You haven’t earned the right to suck me off yet, pig. I got some other loads for you that you’ll need to eat, if you want to work here, if you want to be our pig. You’re gonna have to be the dirtiest piggiest cumdump around.” Bruce stood up, turned around, and dropped his jeans to the floor, pointing his ass to Sam’s mouth. I got...at least seven loads up this ass of mine. You want them piggy? You wanna eat all this hot cum right out of my fat bear hole?”

“Oh fuck...Fuck! Fuck Sir, I’ll fuck eat it, fuck...” Sam said, grunting with excitement as he dug into Bruce’s ass, licking his crack and burying his tongue deep in his hole, feeling all that delicious cum drool out of Bruce’s loose ass and right into his mouth. Sam gripped his stubby little pig cock and stroked it off as fast as he could, shooting a big load all over the floor in front of him as the last of that delicious cum drooled into his beard. Bruce turned around, looked down, and saw the load all over the floor between his legs.

“You fuckin...pig, did you just shoot a load all over my fucking office, without fucking permission?”

“S-Sorry Sir, I got excited...Did...did I get the job?”

Bruce smiled. “Yeah pig, you got the job, with some conditions. One, you’re not getting paid, you’re not an employee, you’re more like an object, just a fucking cumdump to us, got it? Second, this shit won’t be happening anymore. Stand the fuck up.” Bruce pulled out a chastity cage from his desk drawer and secured it around Sam’s cock, who gave a little snort of disappointment. “Now strip--no fucking clothes for you, not anymore, not while you’re here. Just your cage and your collar, understand?” Bruce took the collar from his desk that had materialized there, and locked it around Sam’s neck too. “Lastly, I don’t give a fuck what your name was. Your name is Dump now. That’s how you’ll introduce yourself to everyone from now on. If I hear you using any other name, there will be hell to pay.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Good. Now come on.”

Bruce led the bar’s newest feature back to the main room, which had grown even fuller over the last half hour, as more men had been pulled into it’s orbit. Mikey was there slinging drinks, and Bruce got his attention. “Mikey, this here is Dump. He’s gonna be a new amenity here at the bar, a living cumdump, but I’m gonna need you to train him up, and help with his image.” Bruce turned to Dump, “Mikey’s gonna be your direct supervisor. You’re gonna live with him from now on, and obey everything out of his mouth, got it? He’s gonna start getting you some tattoos and piercings tomorrow, and I want Dump able to take your fist by the end of the month, understand?”

Mikey grinned, “Yeah, I fuckin’ understand, Boss. Alright Dump, get down and suck me off like a good pig, eh? Show me how much you appreciate our kindness.”

Dump did as ordered, and while Bruce watched, he saw the first few tattoos already materializing on his body, just from contact with Mikey’s strain of the virus, and his bartender’s perverted fantasies. He surveyed the rest of the bar--the rest of his bar, he should say--and smiled. It was good to be in charge, it was making him all horny again. He thought about fucking Dump’s hole, but decided against it--there were hotter guys than the pig who wanted a taste of Boss’s cock. It was shaping up to be a great night at The Glory Hole, and Bruce had a feeling it was only going to get better.