Bearded Gay Bear Fetish Gear

by Rusty

Copyright © 1999
Shawn D. Smith

I’m getting harder with each step I take. Yeah? You getting off on this? You just keep watching me, Grunt... My dick is aching in my pants, my swollen nuts roll back and forth with each step my boots make in the gravel. I’m looking him dead-on as I approach, but he’s still too scared to look directly back. He knows I’m the Boss, he instinctively bends with his shovel when I pass. He dutifully scoops up a load of construction debris and chucks it in the wheel-barrow because that’s what he’s paid to do. I liked the way he bent for that scoop. With that movement, it was like he’d bowed before me. Yup, you know who’s the pack-leader around here, doncha Pup?
I didn’t shut the door completely; I deliberately left it ajar. I know he hasn’t got the guts to step up and inside with me. But I know he wants to. It’s hot today, I can smell the sharp animal scent of other men when I step into the portable toilet. And I smell my own dick too when I skin it back. I aim my stiff meat just so; I want this piss to be loud. I know he’s less than ten feet away. I want him to hear it. I want him to think of me standing here holding my cock, I want him to see it in his mind.
With a grunt, I let go. I unintentionally cut a fart too at the same time, but I’m kinda glad.
Ya heard that Boy, didn’t ya? That’s my hairy ass talking to you... My whizz hits in halting spurts, I’m hard and jacking it all throughout. Taking my time. Giving it to him nice and slow. I cock my head and listen sharply. I don’t hear his shovel, I knew I wouldn’t. I know he’s frozen breathless out there, sucking every sound into his strained ears.

I’d spotted him right off. Had him pegged in the first minute as the kind of man who’d get on his knees for me. He wasn’t just hungry for work, I could tell he was hungry for me. A daily-labor van drops a dozen men off at my trailer every morning. The crew calls them “Grunts”. The seasoned men’s skills are too valuable to have them cleaning up behind themselves. Money’s best spent paying the Grunts half-wages to do that, or to stage materials. I come out of the trailer each morning, meet the Grunts, and put their asses to work. That’s the first order of the day.
I liked this one. He stood out from all the others. Big and strapping and nearly hairy as me; I almost laughed aloud first time I looked at him. HE REMINDED ME OF ME when I was a young buck half my age. Didn’t blame this dude, that’s how I got my start too. I wanted to work hard with sweaty, booted men with rough and dirty hands. Would do anything for it. Prayed they’d take me on full-time if I was good and eager enough. I was. He might be too, we’ll see.
So that first day I deliberately assigned him last. I turned to him right off and barked, “You listen up good, Boy, I ain’t gonna repeat it all again when I get down to you…” He watched every move I made, but he’s too afraid to look me square in the eyes. Too afraid to really show how hungry he is for me. I’d turn to him, and his gaze would dart slightly aside. He acted like he was listening hard, but when I’d trace his line of sight he wasn’t looking into me. He was studying the bristly gray whiskers on my chin, or the gray in my chops. Looking at the grizzled hairs that curled up and out of my shirt, or that ran down my neck and back, right down to my asshole.
Yeah punk, I’m a big, burly, hairy-ass bull fucker. I know you want it.
I raised my hand to point something out to the other men, and his eyes followed too. Looking at my hairy mitts, looking like he wanted to lick the tufts of fur on my knuckles. The sudden thought of that made my dick twitch. Poor guy, wants me pawing on him something awful.
I kept him at my side, putting all the other Grunts to work first. Led him on, trotting in my shadow. I intentionally let the fur on my forearms brush against his as we walked, just to drive him nuts. I deliberately stationed him at the farthest end of the site, coldly told him to get to work.
From the corner of my eye I caught him all throughout the morning. Just breaking, straining his neck trying to keep visual tabs on me. He was keeping me in his radar; sniffin’ up my ass, to put it bluntly. At the far end of the work-site he was like a little pup chained to his dog house at the back of the yard. He was silently yelping for Daddy. And I knew that Daddy was me.
By noon, Roscoe had noticed it too, that asshole. He’s my best friend, my fuck buddy, and my right hand man. We always sit together at lunch on the steps of my trailer. He leaned into me, jabbed my ribs with his elbow, and jerked his head towards ‘Grunt’ far off in the distance.
“Hooo-wee!” he howled. “Ya got’s yerself a live one, Russ!” Roscoe slapped his thigh and just roared with laughter. “Go git him! Go git him! Go git him!” he chanted, just like he was trotting me off a cliff.
“Just shut up!” I barked. “Just shut the fuck up, or I’ll pop ya!” I hadn’t even noticed I had jumped to my feet. I was pacing in circles, my fists clenched. That son-of-a-bitch! Roscoe reads me like a book, knows me better than I know myself sometimes, sees right through me. He knows that Grunt has got me going.
“Hey! Hey…” he said, gently tugging on my belt. “Don’t git your fur all tangled… Besides, he’s eye-ballin’ you again… Sit down. Act cool.”
I took a deep breath, calmed and sat. Roscoe put his arm around and patted my shoulder. “Let me give you just three simple words of advice…” He paused. “GO.” “GIT.” “HIM.” He bit into his sandwich and grinned; didn’t say another word the rest of lunch.
“Okay. Alright, alright,” I said getting up, “I think I need to piss or somethin’…”

Okay, back to where we were. I deliberately didn’t shake the last drops off it. I tugged the wet, puckered end shut and packed my stiff rod down my thigh. I stepped out of the john and zipped up after I got outside. Damn! My heart’s pounding and my hands are shaking! That pup’s got me unhinged. Adrenaline and testosterone are searing through me. See what you’re doin’ to me, Grunt? You got the old-man goin’ too, ya know…
I head right for him. Now I see it’s his hands that are trembling, far worse than than mine, and suddenly I feel in control again. He grips the shovel handle harder but it doesn’t help; the whole damn thing is shaking as I step right up to him.
“Uh, Hey…” he says, looking down in the dirt, shifting his weight back and forth. He studies the cement and sawdust on my boots, catching the bulge and piss stain on my jeans, my big belt buckle beneath my belly. Then his gaze shoots back down to the dirt.
Instead of thinking it for the umpteenth time, I said it forcefully and out loud: “DAMMIT, LOOK AT ME, BOY!” I folded my arms across my chest and waited.
It was a direct order and he complied. A flash of bright, clear blue shot up, cut through his long blonde bangs. He's got soft eyes, soft as the wooly blonde beard that frames his mug. He doesn’t dare to look away. I deliberately raised my hand to my face, slowly stroked the whiskers beneath my chin, smoothed my moustache, skritched my left chop. It’s driving him crazy, no doubt about it, he likes ‘em hairy.
Something rose up in him. He jammed his knuckle in his mouth, and bit it hard. Didn’t look away though. When he took it out, he drew a deep breath and said bravely, nervously, “Sir... Sir, I...”
I cut him short.
Don’t say it yet Baby… I told him; “I think it’s going to take you the rest of the day to finish that pile. In fact, it will take you longer. The other men will all cut out at four-thirty sharp. You will not get on the temp van when it comes. You will continue to work until five. You will then step into that toilet and strip. And you will wait for me.”
With a crunch of gravel, I turned one-eighty on my heel and headed away. I walked straight back into the heart of the site, my head clear and confident, my dick rock hard. I halted Roscoe dead in his tracks as he rushed up. I stabbed my index finger in his chest; “Shut up! Not one fucking word from you -- You got it?” He saluted, veered off, and stayed clear the rest of the afternoon.

It’s 4:55 p.m. I’ve been watching that Grunt from my trailer. I’ve enjoyed my usual end of day cigar while kicked back in my chair, squeezing my crotch and watching him through the window. It’s just him and me now. I wanna shove my dick in him. I want him to suck it. I want to cum. It’s show time.
I know he hears me walking up. I can hardly make the final steps. My dick is throbbing it’s so swollen, my balls are aching blue as I reach for the handle and fling the door open. He’s buck-ass naked right down to his toes, sitting on that crapper. His meat’s in his fist, Grunt’s rock hard and just waiting for Daddy to get off work. I stepped inside.
It’s hot in there, baked in the searing afternoon sun. The hair on his chest and belly is matted and curled. His tight, muscular frame and golden fur glistens with sweat. It runs down his sides from under his armpits and I can smell him too now, mixed in with the scent of piss and shit from a hundred men before him.
I unbutton my shirt from the bottom up. My big hairy belly sticks out like it should for a man my age. Right in his face, there’s just Grunt and Boss Man and not much room for anything else.
There’s nowhere to run, kid.
I kicked his legs apart, planting my boots wide. Pushy little fuck, I knocked his hand away when he tried to unzip me. Did that myself and hauled it out, tugged my balls out and down too. Flopped a pound of raw, smelly man-meat in his face. I stood towering over him, working my cock up stiff, slapping him in the face with it. I smeared it across his beard, jammed the end of it up his nostril and told him to sniff it. I don’t care if he likes meat dirty or not. I’m marking my territory, marking my property first. Then I’m gonna make him eat it.
I grabbed him by the whiskers, yanked him forward, and clamped his head hard against my hip. “Now clean me up!” I said. I held my dick and fed him just the brown, puckered end of my bone. I made him lick the hard, rubbery tip, made him strain to get his tongue up into my warm, moist tube.
I slapped him hard when he tried to swallow me. Knocked his head back and said very sternly; “I told you to clean it, not suck it, Dammit!” I rubbed my hose in his snout, peeled it back halfways, made him sniff my dirty meat again. Then I skinned it all the way back, and told him to start licking.
My purple cockhead swelled and glistened as he tounged in the cracks underneath, licked out the deep rut behind the head while I held it. I love the feeling of power I have over him. He’s so damn eager to please, he’ll eat whatever dirt I got to feed him. I pulled it away when he got too greedy. He licks my knuckles, with each lap he’s silently begging for more. He wants all of it shoved in him, but I won’t let him suck it. Not yet. I won’t let him have it all until I’m damn good and ready.
I climbed on top of the seat and turned my back to him. Bracing myself with one hand on the door-frame, I undid my belt with the other. “Go on, Grunt… You know what you need to do.”
Grunt pulled down my jeans and buried his snout up my hairy crack. When he starts sucking on my hot hole, I know there ain’t anything he won’t do to please Boss Man. When I feel his beard jammed up there, I wanna fuckin’ cum bad. I push my cock and balls back, tell him to go and slop it all up good and wet, to feed between my legs.
His tongue is everywhere; stabbing up my hole, lapping my nuts, swirling around my cock. I reach behind with one hand, spread my cheek for him, and bear down. My moist, pink insides open up for him, his hot tongue snakes up inside me. His hands run up my back, his knuckles latch into the fur, and he pulls my hairy bottom into his muzzle as hard as he can. Grunt can’t get enough of Boss’s hole.
I couldn’t hardly stand it, it felt so fuckin’ good! I spun around, towering over him. “Open up,” I say, as I pry his jaw open with my thumb. Those baby-blue’s look up to me. I press my throbbing cock into his mouth. His cheeks bulge as I shove it in. I’ve got a fat fucking bull-dick and we both know it. His lips stretch to take it all and he gags as I squat it down his gullet. My purple-brown skin bunches up in wrinkles against his moist pink lips, and I feel a crooked grin break out on my face. The further I jam it down into him, the more he gags and the harder he beats off. I got this cocksucker right where I want him.
I held him there, impaled and motionless on my meat until he was squirming for breath. I want him to feel its too much to handle, that he can’t take anymore, and when I’m sure of it, I pulled out suddenly. He gasped and said, “Awww, Jeezus, Boss...” but I just shoved it right back in. The only sound I want to hear is wet, sloppy sucking on my meat.
He takes me deep-throat, right down to the veiny root. My nuts are jammed against his chin whiskers. He milks my swollen knob with each gulp until I’m past the point of holding it in. I quickly pushed his head back, pinning it against the wall, locking him in place. With my other paw wrapped around my meat, I pressed the blunt end of it right on his lower lip. I wanna see it squirt into him, I wanna watch him eat my bitter spunk.
With a few quick jacks of my mitt, I blew. I’m cussing loud, barking; “Go on hole, EAT IT!!!” as I unloaded into him. Three thick, chunky days of backed-up scum shot out. He choked while it spurted in, gagged, then gulped for more. I used my cock to drive the last spurts deep into his gullet. Then he came violently too. I felt his cum, hot and wet, shooting high onto my ass, splatting on my thighs, running down my calves into my socks. A job well done!
I stepped carefully down off the seat. I dug in my jeans pocket for my handkerchief, wiped his slime off my butt and legs, then mopped his slop off my dick and outta my ass crack. I was feeling cold, cocky, full of attitude. I threw it in his face, told him he could keep it, use it to jerk off with whenever he wanted too. I looked him dead-on before heading out. “Ya got what ya fuckin’ wanted, Grunt. I don’t wanna see your stinkin’ face around here tomorrow.”
“You won’t, Sir,” he replied solemnly, looking down to the floor. I stepped outside. Before I even made it three steps away, that son-of-a-bitch broke out in uproarious laughter. “Hey Boss...” he said from inside the crapper, “Tomorrow’s Saturday... Uh, It’s the weekend, remember?”
That fucking smart-ass! I had half a mind to turn back around and piss right in his sassy mouth for having the NERVE to say that to me! But I stayed cool. All I could think of as I walked away -- I hope to God he’s got the guts to be on that van first thing Monday morning.I’m gett

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