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Episode 6

"Randall, quit dragging your feet and come on. We're already late for our appointment!"

Randall's mother, Liz, said, as she checked the time on her phone. Next to her on the steps in front of the admissions building his dad, Blake, nodded.

"You really out to give the school a chance, son. Your mother and I had a great time here," he said, and smiled, as he reminisced about his school days. Randall was sick of it. All weekend he had been subjected to his parents' nostalgia, and their constant urging to attend their old legacy college, despite the fact that he had already gotten several better offers from much better colleges based on his athletic success on the soccer team in high school. However, he knew better than to fight with them over it--after all, it was still his choice. That didn't mean that he had to like doing it though, he thought, as he trudged up the steps after his parents and into the building.

As if Randall didn't have enough reasons to dislike the place already, the man who was waiting for them at the reception desk was certainly not the kind of person he would ever want to meet at college. Behind the desk, where most colleges like to have a young, attractive woman, there was instead an older man who looked like he had never even seen the inside of a college classroom, if he had even managed to graduate from high school. The man was heavily muscled, but not in the way someone who works out at the gym looks. Rather, he looked more like someone who had been performing manual labor for years. His face was brutish, with a heavy jaw and small squinty eyes. Even his nose looked like it had been broken in a few places. And as if he could have been made less attractive, he was covered from the neck down with tattoos, and his ears and face were pierced in numerous places. He looked more like a thug, or some construction worker, than a college student, or anyone who should be anywhere near a college, unless he was a janitor or something.

Randall's parents, however, didn't seem the least fazed by the receptionist, and walked right up to the counter. "Hi, we're the Wilson family? I believe we have an appointment to meet with Mr. Bixby."

The thug looked at her, and then at the appointment book in front of him. He squinted a bit, as though it was taking him a moment to figure out what she had said to him, and then said, "Yeah, I got yer name here. Let me see if he's in his office." He got up, and walked through a nearby door. After a moment, he reemerged, following a chubby man in a three piece suit.

"Ah, you must be the Wilson's," the man said, in a voice that made Randall feel a bit sick to his stomach. The man was obviously a fag, and when he looked at Randall and grinned like a complete pervert, he wanted to throw up even more. He hated fags, and he sure as hell wasn't going to sit in an office with one that was going to spend the whole time ogling him. But again, his parents didn't seem to notice anything, and walked over and shook his hand happily.

"Yes, I'm Blake, and this is my wife, Liz," Randall's dad said, and then waved Randall over, "and this is Randall, come over here. I hope we didn't keep you waiting."

"Oh don't worry about it. I was just catching up on some paper work. Now, you wanted to discuss Randall's financial aid package?"

"Yes, we just wanted to talk with you about your legacy program," Blake said, and Randall groaned.

"Oh, I'd be happy too, if you'd all like to step into my office for a chat," Mr. Bixby said, and ushered Blake and Liz in, but Randall held back.

"Uh...actually, why don't you guys chat business. I think I'd rather take some time to look around the campus for a little."

Blake started to say no, but then thought better of it. His son had been so difficult all weekend, but maybe he was finally taking an interest in the place. He shrugged, and said, "Why not? Why don't you come back in half an hour or so? I'm sure we'll be done by then."

"I'm sure it won't take that long," Mr. Bixby added, "But I'd love to hear some about your experiences at our college," he smiled, and closed the door behind them.

Randall flipped off the door, and then turned around, and found himself face to face with the receptionist from the desk, who gotten up and come around behind him while they were talking. When he didn't move, Randall just said, "You got a problem, buddy? Get out of my way."

"You sure do have a big mouth asshole," The thug growled, and added, "Didn't anyone ever teach ya tah respect yer elders?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Randall muttered and tried to push past him, but the thug just pushed him back a few feet, and grinned.

"You know, before you take a look at campus, I got something a lot cooler for ya tah look at," he said, and raised one of his arms and flexed his bicep.

Randall grimaced, "What, are you a fag too or something? I'm not about to let you suck my cock or anything, you fucking pig."

"No, really, look here, right here," the man said, and pointed towards his bicep, where there was a picture of a lion roaring with his mouth open, "See? When I flex, ya can see his mane ripple, but only if ya look real hard."

"I'm not going to stare at your bicep, you faggot," Randall said, but when he tried to walk away, he found that he couldn't, because his eyes were locked on the thug's arm. He did want to see the mane move, and he thought he could almost see it, but not quite. The thug beckoned him with his other hand, and Randall took a couple of steps closer. His head felt funny, and he knew that he should look away but he couldn't. When he got about a foot away, and squinted really hard, he did see it. The mane started moving like there was an invisible wind in it, and he muttered, "I...I do see it."

"Cool, huh? Why don't ya have a seat over here," the thug said, and motioned Randall over to a nearby chair in the waiting area, "I don't think I told ya my name, mate. The name's TJ. What's yours?"

"Uh...Randall," he said, as he took a seat. He was feeling pretty tired all of the sudden, but he couldn't stop staring at TJ's arms. Now that he had seen the mane move, it looked like all of the tattoos on his body were shifting and moving with him. The effect was very calming, and made Randall feel even more relaxed. It felt like he was sinking into the chair, and when he tried to get up, he found that he couldn't move more than an inch. Every part of him was simply too heavy.

"Well Randall, why don't ya tell me what yer problem is. Do ya like it here?"

"No..." Randall murmered, "My parents went here...they...they want me to...too." It was getting harder to speak, all he wanted to do was listen. It was nice listening to TJ. He had a good deep voice, and it was a little sexy too. In fact, he was really hot, Randall admitted to himself. The muscles on his arms were huge, and he could see a thick patch of hair under each armpit. He felt the urge to shove his face in there and start licking, and if he hadn't been so weighed down, he might not have been able to stop himself. In fact, it didn't matter what TJ wanted him to do--Randall just felt like he was supposed to serve him. He wanted to serve him--just obeying him would make Randall happier than he had ever been.

"Really? Well, maybe it could be good for ya. What do ya like tah do?"

"Play...soccer," Randall said, but it was barely a whisper.

"What?" TJ asked, and leaned in closer, "Sorry, I couldn't hear ya."

"Soccer. I do...soccer."

"Really? Ya did the whole soccer team? That's quite an accomplishment."

Randall shook his head slowly, "No...what? That's...I didn't..." he started, but faded off. It was too hard to think, and even harder to talk. He wanted TJ to talk so he wouldn't have to.

"Do ya like my tattoos Randall? Maybe ya'd like to look at some more," TJ said, and took off his tight wifebeater. More colors swirled in front of Randall's eyes, all of the patterns so vivid that he couldn't even differentiate the shapes, but it was incredibly beautiful. All of TJ was beautiful though. "Now, ya said that ya did the whole soccer team?"

Randall weakly shook his head, but he couldn't even talk. He just wanted to listen. That wasn't a problem, because TJ was perfectly happy to fill in the blanks for him.

"Sounds like yer a fuckin' slut, if ya ask me. I bet the whole team found out ya were a fag, and organized a gangbang just for ya. Remember? Ya were filled at both ends by all of the players so many times, ya lost count of how many loads ya took. By the end of the night, yer stomach was so bloated that ya wanted to puke, and ya couldn't even shut yer asshole. Man, I bet yer daddies were so proud of ya after that."

Strange thoughts were filling Randall's brain, and he found that he could vividly remember everything that TJ was describing, even taste all of the cum shot down his throat, and feel those hard throbbing cocks up his ass. That had been a hot night indeed. But daddies? He only had one dad, he thought. Randall saw TJ beginning to unbutton his jeans, and anticipation built up inside of him. He wanted to see more tattoos, but there was something else. He felt a desire to see TJ's cock, but not only that, he wanted to suck it. He wanted TJ to fuck him with it. Anything. He wanted TJ to do anything, and everything to him. God, he was just so horny. The only thing about him which wasn't weighed down was his cock, which was tenting out the front of his athletic shorts.

"Yeah, yer daddies," TJ continued, "They were real hot, struttin' in here, with ya followin' behind them on yer lead. I bet they set that orgy up for ya, didn't they? That was yer test, to see if ya were the slut ya'd claimed tah be when ya were chattin' them up online. Ya had tah submit tah all of yer teammates on the team, serve them. Yeah, ya didn't want tah at first. The first few cocks, ya fought, but then ya gave up. Ya knew ya wanted it, that ya needed it. Yeah, ya need cock, don't ya?"

Randall just nodded. TJ had his pants down, and wasn't even wearing any underwear. Forgetting all restraint, Randall fell forward and swallowed as much of the thick shaft as he could, but TJ pushed him off. "Please...please, I need it," Randall pleaded, but TJ just laughed. It was then that the door to Mr. Bixby's office opened, which surprised Randall enough to break his gaze away from TJ's tattoos. Immediately he felt his head clear up somewhat, but he did a double take when he saw the two men walking out of the office, with Mr. Bixby following them.

The first must have stood at least six and a half feet tall, if not more, and had to duck a little to get through the doorway. He was heavily muscled, even more so than TJ, and had quite a few tattoos running all over his body, not that they could be seen very easily through the thick forest of hair coating his body. Beyond that, he wasn't wearing much. He had on a leather vest and some leather chaps with some ragged jeans underneath that. Randall looked a bit harder at the man's face, and realized that if he took away the fu-man-chu and added on some hair, he was looking at his father, or at least the man who had once been his father.

Behind him, the second man was not quite as tall, probably only six foot, but much more massive, with muscles bursting in every direction, and a neck so thick than it looked like his head had simply been attached at the shoulders. He too was as furry as a beast, but had a thick bushy beard and a completely shaved head. After taking a deep drag on the cigar he was holding in his hand, and exhaling a thick cloud of smoke out his nose, he said, "Now what exactly is goin' on here?"

Randall immediately felt guilty, and he could hear the disappointment in Daddy Larry's voice. He didn't want to be a disappointment, but...well, he couldn't really remember what had happened. Every seemed to be foggy in his head. He couldn't even remember why he was here. However, TJ was quick enough to speak up for him. "I'm sorry sir, but he started hittin' on me, and well, one thing just led tah another I guess," he grinned sheepishly, and quickly pulled up his pants, and returned to the reception desk.

Blake turned to Mr. Bixby and sighed, "See? This is what I'm talkin' about. He has plenty of ambition, but no self-control. Back when I attended Bearman College, I know you were ranked as one of the top trainers in the country. Do you think you can help us out?"

Randall shook his head, and couldn't believe what he was hearing. What had happened to his parents? Quietly, he started heading towards the door, but Larry crossed the room in a few steps, grabbed the lead trailing on the floor, and pulled Randall back by the collar padlocked around his neck. "Where do you think you're goin', pup?"

"Nowhere sir, sorry sir," was all Randall could say, and followed his daddy back to where Blake and Bixby were standing. "You best keep a good eye on him," Larry said, "if you give him an inch, he'll try and take a mile."

"Well, I'll be sure to pair him up with some of our advanced students in the Masters program," Mr. Bixby said, "and as I discussed with you, given your legacy status, your pup is entitled to a full ride scholarship. In fact, it isn't too far into our semester now, if you'd like to enroll him for the fall."

The two bears looked at each other and nodded. "Well, take good care of him. And no modifications without our approval, got it?" Blake said, and Larry handed the lead to Mr. Bixby. Blake then crouched down in Randall's face, "Now listen, pup. If you want to be our dogslave, then I'm expecting a lot from you. If you don't graduate top of your class, then I got some friends I'll be happy to sell you to, and they are not nearly as kind to their dogs as I am, got it?" Randall nodded, and croaked a "Yes sir," and then went to Mr. Bixby's side.

"Don't either of you worry, he's in the best place he could be," Mr. Bixby said.

The two bears nodded, and then left, holding hands the whole way, confident that in a year's time they would have the perfect, obedient dog for their household, and would be the envy of all the couples in the neighborhood. When they had left, Mr. Bixby grinned at Randall, and then pulled him over to where TJ was sitting.

"Now," he said, "We had better get you started on your aptitude test, and I see no reason why we shouldn't start with the oral section," Mr. Bixby said, and pushed Randall to his knees in front of TJ, who had already unzipped his jeans and pulled out his semi-hard cock. Randall immediately swallowed as much of it as he could. He had a lot to learn if he was going to please his daddies.