She was standing at the edge of the clearing waiting for him to come in. She’d rubbed her fur against a tree and she was feeling groomed, pelt shining and smooth, free of burrs. She had gone to the river and brushed her head and ears under the water and shaken herself dry, the shaggy hair around her throat fluffing up. She felt beautiful. She was ready. She was waiting.
He came into the clearing hesitantly. At the sight of his smooth skin she immediately felt her vagina contract in anticipation. He looked so delicate. So vulnerable. So frail.
He sat down against a tree, as she had told him to. So peaceful. He was carrying a backpack which he put on the ground next to him. Just like she had told him to. He looked up, closed his eyes and let the sun shine on his smooth, hairless face. She wanted to touch him, now. There were still a few patches of hair where he hadn’t quite scratched himself enough. Nevermind. She would tell him to scrape his skin better next time.
She advanced slowly, ponderously, one paw into the clearing’s sunshine, then another. As she walked she rocked gently from side to side, enjoying the feeling of her heavy haunches, their momentum. She enjoyed her own buttock power. Each of her plantigrade steps brought her bulk closer to him, to the inevitable moment where she would have him. Powerless. Conquered.
She stayed on all fours when she got to him, and snorted once. No need to get up on her hind legs and show her strength. She was strength. There was nothing he could do anyway. Just submit.
He opened his eyes and she saw in them alarm, fear, and desire. He was a small bear – very young, in fact, she knew – and he would do whatever she asked. Out of fear, and desire. He hadn’t been much to look at when she’d met him, the mange already attacking his fur, leaving uneven, ugly patches exposed, and he was so thin. As soon as she had seen him she had known he was the one. He could give her what he wanted.
She’d made him scrape himself raw on the rock and trees. She’d made sure he stayed thin. She’d given him the human backpack, the one she’d kept all these years, in loving memory. She’d made him what he was now: a scrawny, bald, meek specimen, smooth enough to let her believe for a while that he was human. A defenseless man. A picknicker on holiday. Naked.
Her body was heavy next to him. She huffed, once, twice, aroused now. She felt her fur around her, the physical manifestation of her physical power, an aura made of bristle and of the smell or bark and earth and leaves; something emanating from her, swelling in strength.
She snuffled again, softly, closer to him this time. Her snort blew against his cheek. He didn’t move. He couldn’t move. She could rip his head off with one swipe of her paw, gash his intestines in one lazy move. She extended her claw towards him and he went rigid with fright. Maybe that young bear thinks I would do it, she thought. On a whim. Maybe I could. Her pussy was throbbing now. She barked. He shrank in fear.
She turned her paw palm up, the claws curles, and she let the back of her paw graze his chest. He was so smooth. So fragile. She traced a line down from his neck to his crotch. He was erect now, his smooth pink cock growing in the sunlight. He couldn’t help it. She let some saliva drop from her open mouth onto him, carelessly. She caressed him again. He moaned, slightly. She snuffled along his ribcage, the back of her paw caressing him all the while. She pushed him and made him turn on his front, the muscles of her arm finding no real resistance. She could do anything she wanted now – smash his skull, break his spine. She let out a low bark and licked his exposed buttocks. He was moaning now. She’d taught him to let out a high-pitched noise, not a growl, when he felt like this. He almost sounded like a human. She knew beneath him a great erection was building, the pale and smooth organ growing engorged and trapped underneath, between his body and the earth. He had to shuffle his buttocks a bit higher to accommodate the painful expansion of his member and she caught a glimpse of it, so smooth and pale she immediately wanted it in her. She stopped licking him, and he turned his head, and in his eyes she could see desire, absolute and yet constrained, constrained by her and what she had told him to do.
She barked twice and turned to present herself to him. Letting him take her, him so frail, her so powerful. Letting him dominate her. She had made him break his penis bone in several places, and he had done it for her, and as he penetrated her she could feel his cock softly bend and glide into her tight walls, like a human cock would. She buried her face into the backpack on the ground. If she closed her eyes and concentrated she could still smell him, smell the soft scent of the human she had met long ago, almost gone and replaced by the smell of bark and earth and grass and trees, but not quite. His smell was still there. The traces of his blood were faded and almost covered in dirt, but she could still see them, and smell them. The smell of his blood. She moaned.