Trapped By The Man-Bear

Darcy wanted to scream but somehow she couldn't find the breath. And then—

Of course. Now she understood what had happened. The plane must have crashed But where was she now? Darcy heaved up against the weight that was pressing down on top of her. It moved slightly. She heaved again and something came loose and it slipped away with a heavy thud.

There wasn't much light. It must have been night already and there was only moonlight filtering in from somewhere, but it was enough to show her what she had already suspected.

The weight that had been pressing down on top of her was the body of Mister Hendricks. She was glad that she couldn't see it clearly in the half light, but she could see enough. The twisted limbs, the white of his open eyes, the dark hole of his open mouth, his pants still down around his waist.

The body was sprawled out next to her, lying on the roof (though now it was sort of the floor) of the now upside-down fuselage of the plane. She tried to sit up, groaned in pain as she did. Out through the shattered glass of the cockpit window nothing was visible except a tangle of branches.

She rose unsteadily. As she did, the whole cockpit shifted uneasily. Just where did they crash? There was probably a lantern or a flashlight or a radio or something somewhere that might help but she had no idea where any of it was. Her best hope, she figured, was to simply get out of the wreckage and make her way back to civilization.

Darcy paused, a sudden thought striking her. Mister Hendricks was dead. For most of the last year he'd been her entire life, the full subject of her every waking thought and action. And now he was dead. She tried to figure out what she felt but somehow there didn't seem to be anything there. Grief? Sorrow? Worry?

No. Just a sort of vague emptiness and an urge to fill it by doing something—staying alive, for instance.

She tried to get the door open. It wouldn't budge. And there was no way she could get out through the cockpit windows. The mass of branches was impenetrable.

Darcy had started searching for something to break open one of the windows when she heard the low growling sound coming from the front of the fuselage, then a rustling of leaves, a sound like something heavy moving through underbrush.

Darcy moved quickly toward the back of the fuselage, crouching down behind a pile of tumbled-down wreckage. She could see the heavy branches beyond the shattered cockpit windows shifting. Something moving just outside—a massive shadow. A foul smell drifted into the fuselage, a smell like rotten meat mixed with excrement and something else. A nasty musky animal smell.

Another growl, closer, and a great shadow humped its way up, blocking the light at the cockpit windows. Was it a bear? No, Darcy thought. It was too big. But if it wasn't a bear, what else could it be?

As it pushed forward the whole plane shifted. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. The moonlight gleamed off of massive claws, huge teeth.

It was a bear, but larger than any bear she'd ever heard of. That huge claw, ripping away a piece of the cockpit window—it was larger than a dinner plate.

There was a sudden massive sound of tearing metal and the whole fuselage shifted. Darcy fell over onto her side. Trembling, she pulled herself up and looked toward the front of the plane. It took her a moment to realize that it simply wasn't there anymore.

The giant bear had simply torn it away. She could hear a sound like wreckage crashing and falling, growing softer with distance, then stopping suddenly, as if hitting the ground.

For the first time she wondered just where the plane had crashed. She'd naturally assumed that it had come to rest on the ground. Now it occurred to her that she might be wrong.

But there were more immediate concerns. The bear was now inside the plane, its huge bulk virtually filling the whole inverted fuselage from top to bottom. The whole fuselage shifted alarmingly as it moved.

It was sniffing around, searching.

It didn't take long to find what it was looking for—Mister Hendricks' fallen body. The bear nuzzled it, inspecting it for a few seconds, then casually picked it up in its huge jaws (Darcy could hear bones crunching as it bit down) and backed out of the plane.

The plane filled with moonlight as the bear withdrew. She could hear the sound of it moving away. Her heart was pounding. Now, she realized, now was the time. It would be busy with Mister Hendricks's body, at least for a while. It wouldn't bother about her while it was feeding.

Now was the time to go.

She got up and scrambled to the front of the plane and pulled herself out through the gap left by the bear.

She stepped out onto a thick tree branch and leaned out. As she did, she gasped, grabbing onto the branch and holding tight.

Now she finally realized where the plane had crashed.

It had come down in the upper branches of a tree and while she couldn't make out the ground in the darkness below, she could see that the branch on which she was balancing had at least a hundred feet of tangled limbs beneath it. And somewhere in the midst of those tangled limbs, somewhere below her, in the darkness, feeding on the body of her late boss, was the Bear.

But what else could she do? She didn't dare wait until morning. She had to try.

Darcy looked down. She still had on one of her pumps. Heaven only knew where the other one was. She kicked the remaining one off. Bare feet would make for tough going once she reached the ground (if she reached the ground) , but there wasn't much she could do about it now.

"Don't look down," she'd heard someone say – but how could you climb down without looking down? And the tree limbs were slick with mold and dew. She'd barely descended a dozen yards when her foot slipped, sending her scraping down the limb, grabbing desperately for anything, screaming in panic. At last she came to a hard stop, scraped and bloody, snagged in a mass of branches lower down.

And then she heard the Voice coming from below. The words were human but there was something about the voice that wasn't. It was harsh, the words strangely distorted, as if coming from a throat and a mouth that wasn't quite human.

"Stay where you are," it said, "I won't hurt you. I'll come for you soon."

Breathing fast, Darcy leaned forward, calling down into the darkness, "Who are you?"

"I am the one who tore open your flying house. I will come for you when I have fed. I won't hurt you. If you try to climb down, you'll fall. Stay where you are."

Darcy lay back against the hard trunk of the tree. I must be dreaming, she thought.

But no. She remembered her dreams too well. Dreams didn't have smells, didn't have tastes, didn't have pain in them unless they leaked in from the waking world. And this half-shadowed world was full of tastes and smells and especially pain.

Whatever it was, it wasn't a dream. Maybe she was going crazy. Giant talking bears and going crazy? That seemed just about right. After all, she had hit her head.

Then she heard the creaking rustling sound. Something big was moving through the branches, climbing toward her. If she was crazy and none of this was real, why was she so damned scared?

The sounds came closer and she could feel the branches around her shifting as something massive moved them.

Then one of those huge dinner-plate sized paws came looming up into view—and it grabbed onto a branch. Grabbed onto it not the way a bear's claw would, but holding it the way a human hand would, with a huge clawed thumb on one side and equally massive clawed fingers (or whatever you'd call them) on the other. Like the massive furry hand of some kind of giant.

It hauled itself up into view, grabbing on with its other huge man-like front paw. Coming close, the giant bear looked even bigger than when she'd seen it in the half-shadows of the fuselage. Though she couldn't see it all, it had to be at least twelve feet long. And closer now, its smell was worse.

It leaned in, staring at her with hard black eyes.

Then it spoke, but its voice wasn't the same as she'd heard before. This was more guttural, harder to understand, "I –onnnt –urrt ooo..."

Darcy shivered at the smell of the giant bear's breath, sickening with decay and the smell of blood. But more terrified still at the cold fact of a voice coming out of the gigantic nightmare shape.

The bear stared at her, sniffing the air around her.

Then the next impossible thing happened. It reared up on its hind legs, balancing on the thick limbs on either side of her. Darcy let out a squeal of terror, convinced that it was about to come crashing down on top of her.

But instead, Darcy heard a kind of strange wet crunching sound and the bear began to shrink in on itself, its body literally changing shape, torso contracting and changing shape, hind legs growing, forearms twisting around as the bear changed into something else.

When the change came to an end, what stood over her was something man-like but far from human. He stood erect, but over eight feet tall, his face more like a bear's than a man's, a jutting jaw lined with sharp teeth, black eyes and bear-like ears on the side of his head. His huge hands and feet were man-like but with huge claws and his whole body was covered with black fur. And Darcy couldn't help but notice that his size carried over to the huge man-like cock that dangled between his legs. Even limp it must have been a foot long.

Darcy sat crouched at the creature's feet, staring up at him, breathless.

Of course, she thought, it's just like that horror movie with Lon Chaney. The Wolf Man. Half man, half wolf. That's what this thing is. He can turn from a bear into a sort of half man, half bear. She wondered if he could change all the way into a human being or if this middle form was as far toward being human as he could go.

Suddenly, she was struck by how ridiculous this line of thought was. The Wolf Man? That was just a silly Hollywood movie. This was—what? Reality?

"Can you stand up?" the thing asked her. Yes, now he was speaking in that same voice that came up from the below.

"Yes sir..." she stopped. Did she really just call this monster sir?

"Yes."

He extended a huge clawed hand toward her.

"Climb onto my back and I'll carry you down."

She stared up at the huge beast.

"What are you going to do with me?"

"I am going to keep you."

"Keep me? I don't understand."

"This is my country. Your Flying House fell into my country. All of this land, this valley and all the mountains around it and the river below, all of this is Markhan's country. My country. I, I am Markhan. Everything in it and everything that comes into it belongs to me. I do with it what I will. I am of the race of the First Born and I have lived here a long time, from before the time of the Great Ice and the Great Fire. Many strangers have come into my country. For many hundreds of seasons there were only brown strangers but now also pale strangers like you. I have no use for the Man Strangers, except for meat. These I kill and they are my meat. The Woman Strangers, if they are fit, I keep them and I use them to breed my sons. You, I will keep."

Darcy sat frozen, trying to take in what the giant—the "man-bear"—the being who'd called himself Markhan had just said. It was as if she'd just fallen off the edge of the earth and into the middle of some bizarre fairy tale. Beauty and Beast? Yes, if the Beast was an ancient ferocious man-killer and impregnator of captive women with a foot-long cock.

And how did she fit into this fairy tale? What was she supposed to do?

She stared up toward the huge man-beast, his massive muscles visible beneath the thick black fur, his cock, the flesh dark and gnarled, the dangling balls huge. She looked higher, into the dark, merciless eyes staring down at her.

Then she scrambled up onto her knees, moving close to the giant. The musky animal odor filled her nostrils. The huge head of Markhan's dangling cock was just level with her head.

Trembling, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against the huge fist-sized head of his cock.

"Yes sir," she said.

She rose and reached her arms up. Markhan grabbed her under her arms with one huge clawed hand, swept her up, and flipped her onto his back.

Markhan's den was located high on the side of a sheer cliff that overlooked the valley. It had taken him most of the night and into the morning, running at full tilt to reach it. Darcy, exhausted, had almost fallen from his shoulders after a few hours, forcing him to carry her shoved under one huge arm.

Much later she woke to find herself in a huge cave, a space smelling of smoke and animal musk. It took her a moment, coming back to wakefulness, to realize all that had happened, to separate out dream from reality. The fact that she was lying completely naked on a bed of animal furs and that a huge man-bear was lying nearby, filling the air with the sound of his growly snores made it much easier to accept the reality of the current situation.

She rose, inspecting herself and was surprised to discover that she could find no traces of any injuries, not from the plane crash, nor from the fall down the side of the tree. She couldn't find a scratch nor feel so much as a bruise anywhere on her body.

Then she heard Markhan's deep voice coming from behind her.

"I healed you," he said.

She turned to face him.

"I don't understand."

"From when your flying house fell. You were hurt. I healed you. My kind has the power to do this. Do you need to piss?"

Darcy swallowed. So the man-beast is also a healer. File that information away. And she did need to relieve herself.

"Yes sir."

"Come."

Markhan led her far back into the cave, casually revealing its mysterious interior on the way to a bottomless crevasse located at the rear of the cavern that served as Markhan's latrine.

"What does this 'sir' mean? Why do you call me this?" he asked.

"It comes from "sire" I think. It means master."

Markhan accepted this without comment.

Darcy continued, "My name is—"

"You have no name," he interrupted, "Whatever names your fathers called you in the outside world, I throw these names away. Never speak them. Never think them again. Now you are without a name. When I have fucked you, when I put my seed in you, then I will know you and I will give you a name. "

"Yes sir," she answered, "When will it please you to fuck me?"

"I go out hunting this morning. Last night I fed the Great Bear. Today I must feed this—"

He drummed his chest with his fist.

"Both the First Born and the Great Bear must eat. Last night, the Great Bear ate. Today, the First Born eats. There is food here also for you. You eat too. When I return, I will fuck you and give you your name."

He left her some strips of dried meat. There was water in a spring farther back in the cave.

Darcy went to the broad mouth of the cave and watched as the huge dark figure rushed down the narrow cliff-side path leading down to the great virgin forest below.

Of course she could leave, but where would she go? Which way was civilization? Even if searchers managed to find the fallen plane—and given its location, stuck in the middle of a tree a hundred feet up in the air the chances of that happening were tiny—she had no idea where it was and nobody finding it would have any idea where she was.

Besides, Markhan had told her to stay and she now understood something quite clearly.

That empty feeling that she'd felt when Mister Hendricks had died—it was starting to fill up again. Maybe later that day when her new "sir" had fucked her with that terrifyingly huge cock and given her her new name...

She'd like to have a name. It was an odd feeling, she thought. Not having a name at all. Just being nobody at all.

After she'd eaten she tried to inspect herself in the still waters of a little spring-fed pool far back in the cave. She realized that she hadn't simply been stripped naked. Her make-up had been scrubbed away and her hair-pins had also all been plucked out. Her hair now hung down loose around her shoulders.

Her skin, for the first time in as long as she could remember, was pristine. No bruises, no belt marks, no signs of spanking or pinching or the thin crisscross marks of the cane. Pale, perfect, virgin territory.

Sprawled out on the soft furs toward the front of the cave, the girl with no name spread her legs, feeling the softness of the fur beneath her work its way up between her ass cheeks. She rolled over, feeling the fur brush against her tits and belly.

She wondered if Markhan would object if she played with herself while she waited for him to return. What would he say if he came back and found her doing it? What would she say?

Well, she thought, as her let her fingers creep back along the curve of her ass and down into the soft furrow of her moistening cunt, she could always say that she was preparing herself for him.

She wondered whether Markhan called it a cunt or a pussy or maybe had some different name that he'd expect her to use. Where had he learned to speak English? Did he read minds or had he learned it from other captives? Other "pale women" that he'd taken captive and used to "breed sons?" And what had become of those women and those sons, she wondered? What did he do with them when he was finished with them?

She suddenly realized that she had already started to stroke the lips of her cunt, that her fingers, almost working on their own, had parted those well-lubricated lips and were slipping inside. She pushed her ass up to meet the thrusting fingers.

It had been a long time since she'd masturbated on her own, though she'd often done it in front of Mister Hendricks, sometimes on the floor, sometimes on his desk, sometimes using her fingers or one of the collection of dildos that he owned (it had been strange, both degrading and exciting, to think about how many other cunts those dildos had been thrust up inside by other girls putting on similar sex shows for Mister Hendricks before they'd been passed on to her—certainly none of them had been new).

But her fingers remembered their ritual, even in this impossible place. Soon they were thrusting wetly into her clenching hole while her other hand was tweaking and twisting her erect nipple fiercely in time to her thrusts.

She brought herself to climax quickly the first time, lying on her belly, then rolling over onto her back and pulling one leg up and to the side, she took her time the second time around, tugging on her pale pubic fur, working at her clit, even fingering the puckered rosette of her asshole as she worked herself slowly to a second trembling orgasm. And all the time, she couldn't help but think about the man-beast's enormous cock. Huge when limp, how much larger, how much thicker would it be when erect? She couldn't possibly take the whole thing inside. She doubted any woman could and survive it.

But what would it be like, that huge cock spreading her, penetrating her? She slipped her fingers down, started to play with herself yet again.

As she did she sensed a shadow passing over her closed eyes. She opened them.

Markhan was staring down at her, watching her with his penetrating expressionless eyes. His thin dark lips parted slightly, showing rows of sharp white teeth.

Breathing fast, she reached down and pulled her legs wide, showing the damp, glistening lips of her open cunt.

"Sir..." she groaned.

Markhan bent low, grabbing her just below the breasts and sweeping her up into the air. He rolled over, seating himself against a wide heap of furs. He deposited her across his broad heaving chest. She clung there, holding onto his fur.

He grabbed her again, lifting her up to the level of his face. He inspected her closely, sniffing her. Then his huge tongue slipped out of his mouth. It wasn't like a human tongue, it was thick, almost coming to a point at the tip, and incredibly long.