Smokey and the blond
Smokey and the blond
By Strega
He ran into her on his morning circuit of the campground. As was his habit he carried a shovel, which he'd already used to smother two improperly extinguished fires.
"You're Smokey, aren't you? The real Smokey."
Smokey looked her over. She hardly came up to his armpit, five foot four at most, long blond hair tied back with a scrunchie. Jeans, hiking shoes...and a more than ample rack that strained her T-shirt to the breaking point. Young, athletic, pretty...and human. Of all of those, he only qualified for "young." In fact he was younger than she was, for bears mature faster than men. He stood seven feet tall, bulky of body, brown of fur and blunt of muzzle. He weighed five hundred pounds with an empty stomach, and wore just a ranger hat and blue jeans with a "Smokey" belt buckle.
Smokey smiled. "There's only one." He knew she was interested in more than talk. His fleshy nose twitched as he sniffed; he could smell the beginnings of arousal. Sometimes they came to his campground simply because he was here; word got around about the talking bear who liked human ladies.
Her T-shirt had a pair of lips and the word "Slut" on the back. Also a good sign.
She looked him up and down, hands on her hips. "I hear you eat people. Swallow them whole and cough up the clothes later."
He nodded. This, too, was common knowledge. "Fire bugs, poachers, people like that. Once there was a guy who jumped out of the plane he highjacked. Bad luck for him, he parachuted right into my mouth. 'Chutes turn out to be hard to digest."
That was a lie. He hadn't swallowed the parachute, but had chewed through the cords after eating the man. He had enough trouble with shoes and clothing trying to make their way through his guts without pressing his luck.
But it made her giggle, and that was the point of the operation. "Could you swallow someone and then throw them back up alive?"
Not the first time he'd gotten that question, either. He shook his head. "It wouldn't be safe," he growled. "What if they got stuck? Swallowing them down I can guide the way they go in, but once they are curled up in my stomach, I'm not sure I could get them uncurled. Then they'd only get out the way the bad guys do, after being digested."
A cute little frown, but she asked the next question. "What if you only swallowed part of them?"
"Well, are we talking headfirst or feet first? Feet first would be much safer." He started walking, gesturing with the shovel as he spoke. His other arm was around her shoulders. "And the person would be able to see it all." It was only a hundred yards to his cabin. By the time the lock snicked behind them,the crotch of his pants was uncomfortably tight.
The cabin had three rooms if you counted the closet. The other two were his public office and less public bedroom, with its king-sized bed. By the time they got to that, their clothes formed a comet-trail behind them and his foot-long tongue had tasted her back and breasts. Her hand was on his sheath, hard and tight around his erection.
There were two cameras hidden in the room, both now running. He failed to mention this, of course. The footage would never make it to the Internet, but once or twice a woman had second thoughts after sleeping with him and made accusations. Both cases were dropped as soon as the judge saw the film. Plus, some of his female ranger friends liked to watch, sometimes while acting out what they saw on the screen.
He'd tasted her all over, now. She flushed in interesting places and sweated despite the cool air. As his cock unsheathed she stroked and licked; there were several reasons he gravitated towards older ladies. One was that a woman who'd had a kid or three had a better chance of accepting his girth. A mouth was another story, though, and her lips parted to accept his tip at the same moment his muzzle slid over her toes.
Teeth scraped his delicate skin. There was no avoiding it, given his thickness. She persevered, sucking and rubbing with both hands. Her heels, well-slicked with saliva, slipped into his jaws, and he too strove to keep his teeth from digging in. His were sharper, of course.
His tongue curled around her ankles, helping pull them into his mouth. He waited until she'd pulled off to take a breath before swallowing, as the first gulp often startled them. Sure enough, the sudden contraction of muscles around her feet made her gasp. She looked back over her shoulder to see her calves disappearing into his muzzle. Once again his long tongue emerged to wet down her knees. A coating of saliva wasn't strictly necessary -- he swallowed dry and even clothed people, after all -- but it made things much more comfortable for her.
She couldn't take her eyes off his advancing jaws. She did not know that this was the hardest part. Swallowing someone when they lay belly to belly, feetfirst, required uncomfortable straining and arching on his part. Her legs bent the wrong way; had her back been to him the knees would fold right, but then she would have to arch backward to keep sucking. Not that she was sucking now, but they often liked to watch.
His tongue was creeping up her inner thigh, his muzzle not far behind. Slowly he swallowed her down, kneading her skin with his gullet, almost a massage. Periodically he paused to take a breath, sucking in air around the blockage in his throat.
When he was serious about eating he went much faster. He could have taken her in one lunge, followed by a single heavy gulp. Instead his muzzle worked its way gradually up her thighs. His jaws gaped wide for her rump, and finally his tongue reached up and slid into her.
Her head went back and she gasped. Smokey's tongue was long and powerful, suited to licking bugs out of crevices or honey from a hive. It licked up her sweetness just as eagerly, and made her whimper with each taste. Her legs extended straight down his throat now, toes just outside his stomach; it was as much as he could swallow without starting to digest her feet. With his cheeks wrapped around her ass she was able to bend at the waist, though, and so he could finally move his neck. He lowered his muzzle a fraction to remind her that he needed attention too. His cock bumped into her cheek, and she turned her head and yawned.
She was enthusiastic, and Smokey was getting there too. With each thrust of his tongue she squirmed, whimpered, and tried to swallow his cock. She was actually trying to deep throat him, which only one woman -- a harmless looking grandmother, of all things -- had ever managed. The squeezing, stroking, sucking, the hand rubbing his balls, was still enough. Muscles began to tremble in his thighs, muscles meant to force a male bear to the limit in his mate at the moment of orgasm. He did his best to help her to the same point, sliding his tongue in and then withdrawing it to lap the stiff bud above the entrance.
And still he finished first. Smokey groaned as the fur on his flanks twitched. His feet kicked, claws digging at the bedclothes. The local seamstress stitched them up on almost a weekly basis, occasionally after being there to see them torn.
One huge hand-paw clutched at her shoulder as he ejaculated, but she needed no encouragement. Watery bear semen spurted into her mouth and she gulped it down. Only a few drops ran down her chin, mixing with the saliva. When he expelled the thickest part of it in one last shuddering spasm her cheeks bulged, but still she did not let it escape. She pulled off, looked back over her shoulder with a smile, and swallowed the viscid mass. Then, as though she'd needed that to climax herself, she came.
She clenched around his tongue, and Smokey rubbed her back as she shivered. More fluid dripped out onto his tongue as he withdrew than it had carried in; he licked it up as she shuddered and moaned. Eventually she reached down and rubbed his cheeks where they bulged around her ass.
A woman's hips are the widest part of her body. With his jaws stretched around those a single gulp would send her sliding to her doom. She could not resist the pull of his swallowing muscles, both powerful and well-practiced. For lack of a better term he was a mutant: by rights a bear should not be so smart, nor should one be able to talk or swallow a human. Nor, in fact, should a bear be as well hung as he was, according to the zoologists he'd met.
Smokey was all these things...but he was also selective in his meals. He'd only eaten one woman after sex, a female ranger he caught selling drugs in the campground. That encounter had started like this one but had ended with the ranger, her belly full of his seed, herself curled up in his stomach. He'd coughed up her ranger hat and shirt the next day. To earn a trip down Smokey's gullet you had to do something pretty bad, or at least piss him off.
The blond hadn't, and he gripped her beneath the arms and pulled her back out. Naked ass, legs and finally feet reappeared, glistening with saliva. She burped cutely as her belly got used to the better part of a cup of grizzly spooge.
"That was fun," she said as they spooned up together on the big bed. She ran her hand down her thigh, marveling at the lack of friction. "Your spit really slicks things down for swallowing, doesn't it?"
"That's what it is for," he growled, and gave her back a lick.
"I wonder how slippery it really is," she said with a sly look, and to that there was only one answer. Shortly thereafter, her pussy well-licked, she straddled him and lowered herself. A good quantity of drool had been transferred to the ponderous shaft disappearing into her as well, but even so she was fearsomely tight.
"Are you sure about this?" Smokey growled, and shot a surreptitious look at one of the cameras. She just whimpered, guided his hands to her hips, and began to bounce.
Smokey watched her spit herself like a roast and smiled. He hadn't even needed to get out the lube for this one.