Bear Mountain Clan Brides: romantic bbw werebear menage

by Werebear Bundle

  Contents

  Part One - Bears

  PART ONE

  Bears

  A BRIDE for the BILLIONAIRE BEARS to SHARE

  Bear Mamma for the Alpha’s Line

  Ursula Maya

  Dedicated to my own

  very special bear

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  Ursula

  My big, soft breasts heaved and shook. The breath thickened in my throat as I looked between the three pairs of eyes, from one to the next, dark as molasses, glowing like molten gold. The heat of their breath was near and the scent was stifling. The heat of their need was urgent.

  I sat as instructed, on the heavy oak table in the glimmering candlelight. The rasp of Bernhard’s deep, growling voice vibrated in my chest.

  “Take off your panties.”

  Benjy said, “You’re beautiful.”

  I looked up shyly, “Not too chubby?”

  “Oh, no,” said Mischa.

  Berhnhard said, “Just the right kind of chubby.”

  My breath fluttered as I slipped my panties over my quivering thighs. The tree pairs of eyes lowered and glowed harder to watch as I slipped off the thin white cotton.

  “Raise your knees,” Mischa commanded, “and lean back.”

  I trembled and did as he demanded. I leant back on my elbows with my knees raised and my thighs wide apart. The cool air was unnervingly gentle on the heat of my swollen petals, the wetness of my exposed lips and the frantic zing of my trembling nub.

  Over the tops of my breasts as they rose and fell, Benjy’s eyes stayed hard on me as he approached. His head dipped between my thighs. I shook as his hot breath fanned between my thighs.

  Bernhard and Mischa drew close and leaned in to observe the fateful moment of truth. I braced myself for the first touch of his strong tongue, the thrill that it would spark and the catastrophe that it could ignite.

  My first time. The vibration added to the pounding throb beneath me and behind me. How long had I dreamed of this moment, wondered if it would ever come, thrilled at the thought and yet, deep down, dreaded it? The fear of being carried away, lost in the control of another.

  Unguarded, unprotected and completely at their mercy. At the mercy of a stranger, naturally. One whose name I hadn’t even registered. The thrill made my ample soft flesh tremble. Thoughts whirled in my head. Thoughts of the billionaire.

  Maybe propelled by a lack of sleep, I was freely associating him with the urgent movement. My flesh shook. The rocking and pounding made it hard to concentrate.

  A lurching rise in acceleration brought me back to the present. The world rushed down away from me and I felt that my chest would burst. Beneath me a swell of sensation gathered as the wet heat spread. My pulse rose uncontrollably and I gasped. Under my thin skirt, my thighs parted wider and they trembled.

  I hadn’t really caught a look at the face of the man at the start, and now I saw only his ear and the side of his strong neck as he took me up, higher and higher. He didn’t look round, but his hot scent and sweet, dark cologne stirred and inflamed me. The thick shaft was all my fate. My future, my life depended on it, and on how he used it. The rhythmic beating against my buttocks and my back shook the whole of my body.

  Higher still he took me, up and up, over ridges and peaks. Whatever he said was lost to me, the deafening roar of the rotor masked it, even though he shouted into a microphone and I pressed the big headphones tight to my ears. All I heard was roaring static and crackle.

  Licking my lips, my breath caught in my throat. It seemed too thick to breathe. My stomach dropped away like a stone and my eyebrows arched as my lips parted and I sighed, ‘Oh!’ A wave of elation sped through me and I shuddered. My heart thumped in my breast and my cheeks flushed.

  I bit the inside of my lip, my hands clasped and clawed and my toes curled as the relentless beat banged on and on, hard, firm, strong and steady. How different it all was from everything I had expected. Never did I think I would be shaken so much or so hard. From the inside and out. It was so raw, so urgent. So moving and so very real.

  The urge to reach down, to grasp between my thighs was almost overwhelming. It would have been so comforting, so reassuring to hold myself, to press and soothe the familiar warmth. To stroke, hold and massage until the climax and the release. To content myself in the soothing afterglow.

  His big hand came off the stick and I was transfixed by the tufts of black hair on the muscular tops of his fingers and the hair that curled out under the chunky metal precision of his gleaming metal. I almost missed the verdant, fertile valley, greener and more lush than any of its surroundings that he was pointing to. The helicopter lurched again and we plunged suddenly down into the steep, deep tear of the valley.

  In seconds we were down on the green floor of the valley and he had me step out, onto the wet grass. Then my skirt flapped around my bare legs in the wild wind as the rotor spun. The air around me swirled and wined as the rotor blades beat above my head. I ducked down low and the draught from above pressed hard on my back.

  I couldn’t see whether the pilot even looked down as he lifted the craft away and was gone. I was alone.

  Or so I thought.

  The valley floor was circular and almost flat. From the high, sloped sides all around, it must have been an extinct volcano. The slopes were green, but the only trees were at the edges of the valley floor.

  Maybe a quarter of a mile away, on the far side of the grassy meadow was the only building that I’d seen in the valley from the air. Long curves of glass swept in graceful arcs. No face appeared to be straight or flat. Every pane must have specially formed to fit in its own unique place. Not one piece would fit another building on earth.

  It shone with a radiance of pale blue, from the sky or from a tint in the glass, I couldn’t tell which. Being the only man made structure in sight, I had to guess that this was my destination. The home of my host and my subject. The cloud-high retreat of the elusive billionaire, Bernhard Grarr.

  I started across the wet grass but then, before I had gone a dozen steps, before the beckoning sheen of the glass building had grown any nearer or larger in my field of view, I stopped, frozen rigid to the spot.

  Ahead of me, and no more than ten feet away, I was watched. My movements were tracked by firm eyes and by the turned, attentive ears and the long, wet snout of a huge dark brown bear.

  The bear was still. I was transfixed, held to the spot. His dark shining eyes drilled deep into the core of me. Not knowing whether it was real or an illusion, I felt as though he searched me, probed me.

  In the quiet of the mountain breeze my nerves tensed up and my mouth dried. It seemed that he saw my fear, that he saw clear though me. His stare went directly to all of my weakness, all of my uncertainty. He seemed to see me raw, exposed. Naked.

  The shine in his dark stare was so intense, I believed for a moment that I recognized him, or perhaps that he recognized me, as ridiculous as that was. In what can’t have been more than a couple of fractions of a second, dozens of thoughts spun and raced though my mind.

  Huge, sleek and breathtakingly powerful, he was hardly a few bounds away. He could be on me in seconds or less. If I tried to run, if I turned and fled, ran as hard as I could, he would still catch me in no time.

  With his weight and his speed, he could have me easily. I would be on the floor, helpless. Defenseless. On top of
me, huge and strong with the hot animal scent of the hunter, he could open me up, do whatever he wanted with me.

  What could I do to stop him? How could I protect myself?

  His head lowered and eyes remained firm on me.

  Does it all end for me here, on sunlit, dewy grass, high in an isolated mountain valley?

  Through the tall grass, a tall, broad figure strode powerfully towards me. With a shock I wondered, was this really the man I’d spent all of last night with, whose picture I kept on the screen as I hunted for tidbits and snippets of fact and fantasy about him—mostly fantasy it turned out, facts were few and far-between—around the far-flung corners of the internet?

  His picture was cruelly, devilishly handsome. A strong face with broad, heavy cheekbones, powerful, brooding eyes and a cleft in the front of his hard, wide jaw. The thick sensuality of his lips had a faintly dimpled smile that was almost playful. His look at the camera was detached and faintly aloof.

  The larger-than life man in the flesh who now closed on me across the field like a predator, like an animal hunting prey, he was a whole different proposition. His eyes set shudders twanging through me.

  He paid no attention to the bear at all. He couldn’t have not seen it, it was huge. He passed no farther from the bear than the bear was from me. I raised my arm and was about to call to him, something idiotic like, ‘Look out! There’s an enormous bear just fifteen feet away from you!’

  Before I got to speak, his arm casually lifted. He hardly glanced at the bear, but the big furry head dipped low and the bear turned to pad away towards the woods.

  ‘I hope you had a pleasant flight,’ ‘That’s a lovely dress, but you must be chilly,’ and ‘Let me take your laptop case for you,’ were among many things that he could have said. ‘Hello, Ms Cuddles, it’s good of you to come,’ or even, ‘pleased to meet you,’ could have been nice greetings. ‘I do hope you weren’t frightened by the bear,’ was probably the minimum I would have hoped for.

  Then I could have responded, ‘Oh, no. Of course not.’ Maybe then the handsome billionaire would have seen through me. Realized that I was putting up a show. Perhaps even thought that I tried to impress him. He could have been charmed. That might have been nice.

  His greeting, delivered with a gruff force, was, “I don’t understand why Trudi didn’t come herself,” and then, “Why did she send a junior?”

  It should have been Trudi and not me, standing here looking like a tasty snack for Bruno over there. By now, I was bitterly regretting that I had agreed to step in. It was another great example of how a good deed never goes unpunished.

  He was turning towards the house before I had even begun to reply.

  “Excuse me but I am not a junior. I don’t even work at the Sentinel.”

  He carried on striding through the grass and turned his head only partly. Without breaking step he called over his shoulder, “Even worse. A freelance stringer.”

  “I came as a favor to Trudi.”

  He stopped. He spun around to look at me, put his hands on his hips and his long, hard stare was unsettling. Inside I shook. To my intense annoyance and in spite of myself, inside my panties I thrummed hot and damp.

  “Are you even a journalist at all, Ms Cuddles?”

  I stammered. Why should I feel the need to make a pretense, to justify myself at all to this ridiculous, arrogant man? Why would his sharp, chiseled cheekbones, his piercing, liquid brown eyes and his firm, jutting cleft entitle him to anything from me?

  “You aren’t are you. You’re an impostor.”

  “I am not an impostor! I came because Trudi is unwell and she was afraid that if she called to reschedule, that you wouldn’t give her another appointment. Because you are so important. Because your time is so precious that everyone else has to fit in around you.”

  “Oh,” an amused smile played across his lips, “A pretty side of you shows when you stamp your foot like that.”

  “Don’t play your macho, alpha billionaire games with me, Mr Grarr.”

  I wondered what had ever possessed me to take on this insane assignment. And how quickly I could complete the task and get out of here. Traveling up, I was caught up in the excitement of the helicopter ride.

  I hadn’t considered the fact that, until the helicopter returned for me, I would have no way to leave. I was in a sense a kind of a prisoner, trapped here on the whim of Mr Bernhard Bloody Grarr.

  Trudi was coming down with a cold, she said, and could I step in and get the interview from the enigmatic and reclusive billionaire in his mountain hideaway. I should have been suspicious for the start.

  Why would Trudi have been so eager to pass up this chance? Her Hot Property blog profiled the wealthiest and most gorgeous men in the public eye. Bernhard Grarr was cosmically wealthy and scorching hot, but mostly obscured from the public eye, or any other prying gaze, as I discovered while I researched him.

  How she got access to her first subjects remained something of a mystery but she tapped into a weakness of the wealthy. Many of them were incredibly vain, and even those who weren’t vain were insanely competitive, so however she got the first half dozen or so hunks of prime beefcake on board, now that she was established they would beat each other off with sticks to be her monthly feature.

  Trudi herself made no bones about why she started the series. “I love meeting rich men. Especially the ones who are devastatingly handsome,” she cooed over cocktails in some ridiculously swanky hotel bar.

  We had been friends from school, and when she was waiting for her subjects – they were invariably late, often by hours – I sometimes kept her company. I knew how excited she got. Having very briefly met a few of her subjects, it wasn’t hard to see why.

  That was what made it all the more baffling that she ‘got sick’ for this interview. Bernhard Grarr was not only the richest of her featured billionaires to date, he was way the most handsome. Yet, when the date for her interview with him came up, she started making noises about how it was bad timing or maybe he ‘wasn’t right’ for her blog or that it was too short notice.

  Over the two weeks leading up to the appointment, she rolled out a laundry list of first-rate reasons to not do it. At the very last minute she asked me if I could step in and do it for her, and like an idiot I said, ‘Of course.’

  As we got closer to the house, the sweeping curves and soft lines of glass and timber blended more and more perfectly into the landscape. The glass had a matt surface that made it appear to recede.

  The few solid structural planes were cut from timber and appeared to be weathered and unfinished. Some looked like raw bark and sprouted with moss and lichens. The whole thing, massive as it was, seemed to have grown organically from the hillside. The only parts that looked truly man-made were the high, arched, dark wooden double doors.

  Ivy and other creepers straggled around the doorway. Big black iron hinges and heavy black rings for handles made the entrance look like that of a medieval castle. Not a nice castle, either. More like Bluebeard’s or some black baron’s castle lair.

  Even more incongruous, when he turned a massive black iron key in the big black iron lock, it turned with a smooth, modern precision, and the door glided open like it weighed nothing. No creepy squeak at all.

  He ushered me into a wide atrium, lit from the glass skylight way above. The floor was mottled, unpolished stone, also probably local as it made such a perfect fit with the outside. At the far side was another set of double doors like the ones we’d through which we’d entered.

  From the center a wide glass staircase swept and wound upwards. The half dozen or so doors that I could see on this floor were simple, taller and wider than standard. They were plain, pale, natural wood. And shut.

  When he closed the big doors behind us, there was a small but distinct echoing clunk. My heart missed a beat as I waited in the middle of the flagstones. When he came up to me, I realized it was the closest we’d been. His scent made me aware of it. Dark, strong and primal,
it was more of a mountain forest essence than any of my study of this software billionaire prepared me for.