Fuckwulf
By JF Harker
Copyright 2012 Dominant Other Press
Smashwords Edition
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters depicted are at least 18 years of age. All sexual activities are between consenting adults.
Bryce was so lost in thought when he got off the bus, so distracted by the disastrous date he'd just been on, that he didn't notice the pack following him until it was almost too late. The date hadn't gone well, and his mind kept drifting back to the events of the evening, trying to figure out just where everything had gone wrong. Cynthia was a co-worker, and their days spent together in the office were filled with a definite sexual tension and constant stream of flirtation. She'd lean over his desk and press her breast against his arm, he'd pepper their conversation with thick innuendo and place a firm hand on her hip or shoulder. After months of workplace teasing, the pair had decided to break their mutual "don't date people from work" rules and have a few drinks together.
Things were different on the date. What should have been more casual than their workplace dynamic had proved itself more formal. Bryce's banter had felt forced and stilted, he'd grown more formal, he'd kept his hands largely to himself. Cynthia had felt left down, the expectations created by his bawdy behavior at work going unmet - there he was fun, on the date he'd just seemed nervous, and that was a major turn-off. Bryce understood, really he did -- he hated dating. He'd never been any good at it; having grown up in a house without a positive male role-model left him without a real clue as to just what was expected of him. His mother had raised him to respect women, and a politically correct sexual morality had been reinforced by what he'd seen on television during his formative years -- but in practice, the sorts of women who found themselves attracted to his rugged natural charm expected something more from him. Something more dominant, more aggressive, more forceful than what he'd been taught.
Invariably they found themselves disappointed when his normal fun-loving and flirty demeanor changed the moment the situation became something more "official". The only satisfying sexual relationships he'd had were quick and brutal near-anonymous spur-of-the-moment hook-ups that didn't give him the time to over-think and let his trained social patterns establish themselves. At the same time, he'd been conditioned to believe that random sex was insufficient. He knew he was supposed to want more, but the kind of girls who would respond positively to the genteel and formal courting behaviors his mother had left him with were the sort he was utterly uninterested in. He liked wild girls. Dirty girls.
He just wished he could be freer with them. Cynthia was a bit of a wild girl, sexually free, liberated in attitude, hungry for the rough and tumble sort of man's man that Bryce was at work -- but his politeness on their date came across as a form of timidity. Their time together was pleasant but tepid, and she elected not to invite him back to her place for coffee. In her eyes Bryce had made it clear that he was uninterested in a torrid sexual fling, and they both parted ways feeling disappointed.
He noticed the group shadowing him as he walked from streetlight to streetlight. He didn't see them, exactly, or hear them at first. It was the sort of undefined sense that long-term residents of bad neighborhoods develop when they're being followed, a sort of prickling on the back of his neck accompanied by the sinking of his stomach. He glanced around casually as he reached the next streetlight, spotting three men behind him, sure that there were more he hadn't noticed. Bryce was a big man, capable of handing himself, but he was well aware that he couldn't handle an entire gang. He quickened his pace slightly, hoping they wouldn't notice and decide to rush him before he could get to the 7-11 three blocks away.
The rapid footfalls behind him told him that they'd figured out his gambit, and he took off at a flat run, his feet pounding the pavement. He was fast for a man as broad in the shoulder as he was, and always had been; sometimes when he ran it felt more like flying. Cars and streetlights whizzed by, and he could see the bright lights of the convenience store in the distance. If he could just make it there he knew that they'd disperse, unwilling to follow him into a building with witnesses and security cameras.
Two figures darted out of the darkness ahead of him, and Bryce dashed to the side, recognizing too late that they'd driven him into a dead-end alleyway. His running footfalls slowed to a stop and he turned, heart thundering in his chest, to see a group of five gathered in the mouth of the alley. By the light of the full moon above he could see that they were a few years younger than he was -- in their early twenties -- and broadly built, with muscular frames. Their postures were aggressive and threatening, though none seemed armed. They advanced slowly, their feral grins becoming slowly visible in the dark. With dismay he noted that even the smallest among them was larger than he.
"I don't want any trouble," he warned them, balling his fists.
One of them laughed, a cruel and throaty sound. "Look at this tough motherfucker right here."
"Get the fuck out of my way," Bryce snarled, a sudden anger emboldening him.
"What a hard-ass," one of them added in a surprisingly feminine voice. "Who wants the first piece?"
"Dibs," one of them called, stepping forward. The rest hung back, nudging one another and making snide comments.
Bryce sized up his opponent. He was tall, broadly built like the others in his gang, but a bit younger - more brash seeming and about Bryce's own size. There was something else, too - some sort of odd charisma about the man, some strength that felt at once familiar and strange, but definitely appealing. For the first time in his life, Bryce felt himself attracted to another man.
"What do you want?" he asked, watching the other man approach.
"I'm going to make you my bitch," came the reply. "Here's the deal, pup. You get past me, my buddies will let you go. I take you down, though, I'm a break me off a piece of that sweet ass."
"You fucker," Bryce snarled. "Don't have much of a choice, do I?"
As his opponent drew closer he seemed to wince. "Fuck, get a load of his musk," he called back over his shoulder. "He's definitely--"
Bryce launched himself as soon as the man's attention was diverted, crashing bodily into him, knocking him to the floor.
The others in the alley seemed to think this was hilarious, laughing uproariously.
"Protect ya tail, Cole," one of them called.
Bryce moved to shoulder his way through the crowd, only to feel a strong hand grip him by the ankle and yank him off his feet. He fell face-first onto the cold wet asphalt, barely catching himself on his palms, feeling pain lance up his forearms. A weight landed on his back, driving him flat, and cold hands wrapped themselves under his chin and on his neck, pulling his spine back into an arc.
"Gonna get all up in them guts, pup!" the one called Cole snarled into his ear.
"Not if I fuck you first," Bryce responded, bucking back and knocking the younger man off. The words had just come out on their own, but he was startled to realize that he meant them. He hadn't been engaged in a physical conflict in years, since he was a kid -- adult life had taught him to be responsible, pacifistic, polite -- but now his heart was pumping adrenaline-flooded blood through his body and all he wanted to do was bear this bastard down and have his way with him.
Cole rose to his feet, a strange smile quirking across his lips, taking his jacket off and throwing it to the side. "Now you get it, man. Fuck or be fucked."
"Shit, Cole, you're waking the wolf," one of the others in the group behind Bryce chuckled.
"You want my ass?" Cole challenged, beckoning towards Bryce. His eyes had taken on an odd sheen, and Bryce could almost feel them drawing him in. "Come and try and take it, fucker."