The Bear Trap – Part 10

By FirefighterSIR

Part 10: The Lion

The slave first sensed the change of season as he looked up from inside the cage, kept under the spreading blue oak just beyond the Captain’s cabin. A few red leaves shined in the early morning on the wild grapes that clambered up the pergola shading the doorway. The color was bright against the dusty grays and browns that dominated the Fall landscape of the Bear Trap Ranch.

The daily routine of hard work and hard training had been unrelenting for months since the slave had left his car and phone in a rented SUV in a parking lot in King City. The slave had been transformed from a gym-toned IT manager for a large international corporation into a bronzed, lean, muscled, bearded animal grunting under the labor load of the rough acreage of the ranch and the demands of the Captain.

Each day began at the pre-dawn light in the same way, kneeling before his naked Master, taking His piss, and cleaning the firefighter’s cock. Good days included an intense session of hard face fucking or ass rape in His bed, often until the sun was pouring in the big glass doors of the cabin. Only then would the slave be unshackled and allowed to conduct the many duties of the morning while the Captain also prepared for the day.

The slave had to make sure the ATV was fueled and ready, the tools sharp and loaded up for the day’s tasks that were detailed on a sheet of paper.

Depending on the workload of the day, the slave and the Captain would then begin a weights workout in the timber structure or head off on the trails to the first work detail of the day.

The slave had thrived under the work and training, not only was he in top shape, mirrored in the muscled body of the Captain who worked each day with the slave, but also in top mental shape. No longer was the slave’s mind burdened with the daily grind of corporate city life. Now the slave took in all of the trees, grasses and birds that Captain insisted on pointing out to the slave, even as they labored up some high ridge on the perimeter of the ranch.


That day, the detail had been to dig new holes for tiny oak saplings the Captain had carefully grown over the summer. Fall was approaching and with it the rain, so planting holes needed to be prepared. Just ahead, a California Thrasher had grabbed a lizard from a boulder as they dropped their load of tools in the dusty fire road. Both men were shirtless, sweat drenched and panting, but the Captain managed to launch into an impromptu lecture on the predatory birds that took residence in the pine grove growing on the ranch’s central hill. The Thrasher skewered the hapless reptile with it curved bill and flapped off long before the firefighter was finished talking.

They resumed work digging holes, dozens of them, with the slave wearing nothing more than the worn work boots and dirty carharts the slave had earned from his hard work. The day dragged on and the slave looked back often, sighting the roof of the cabin down in the canyon almost a mile away.

Ben could see that the day was waning much faster now that summer had passed. He shivered, afraid of being caught unawares on the lonely trails after dark. The Captain moved far ahead, looking for potential planting spots. The shadows lengthened and a chill began to creep up from the deep, blue-cloaked canyons.

The slave looked back nervously again and then towards the Captain who was now striding down the rocky path toward the slave. As he marched, he unzipped the dusty fly of his work pants. By the time he reached the slave, who had eagerly dropped to his knees in the dirt, his exposed cock was stiff and dripping.

As the Captain pushed his cock into the mouth of the slave, he let go a stream of hot piss from the erect rod, spattering the slave’s face and his own dirt-streaked abs. The slave slurped up the piss as quickly as he could, while trying the down the stiff cock. Ben was pushed back toward the ATV until his head was shoved against the racks, and the Captain pumped the slave’s face hard until the Dom firefighter stiffened.  He shot a load of cum, mixed with some piss into the slave’s throat.

He pulled out, allowing the slave time to eagerly lick up the last drops of hot cum.  The Captain jumped on the quad.

“Finish these holes and get back to camp,” he barked without even looking back. The slave scrambled to his feet and tried to protest.

“SS-Sir! It’s well after 6 pm! I – I will never make it back before … before dark!”

But it was too late! The man was gone in a cloud of dust and exhaust.  The slave watched the ATV bounce down the ridge until it was lost in the brush.

* * *

The night seemed to be trying to grab the slave’s ankles as he gathered the shovels on his bare shoulder.  He panted and looked around nervously.  The slave had spent many nights listening to the growl and cry of the wild beasts that lived unseen on the ranch.

Now the darkness was crawling up the trail while the sun’s rays lost their grip on the far mountaintops.

His skin prickled in the chill air and his nips swelled and hardened on his bare pecs. Rabbits skittered out of the way as the slave trotted down the trail, which shone pale against the dark fringe of brush. The slave hiked faster, stumbling on the loose gravel.  He came to a fork where several trails came together.  In the descending dark, he was not thinking clearly and chose the trail that seemed to head downhill, not able to see the tire tracks heading to the left and slightly uphill.  The slave dove down the trial, his eyes straining to see the track.  Suddenly, the trail dead-ended into the brush, marked by one of the many young oaks they had planted days before. Dead end.  The slave swung around, trying to get his bearing.  Coyotes were yammering in the brush in the distance.

He sidestepped around the tiny tree and started to head back up hill.  The coyotes continued to yip and yelp, more voices joining as a silver glow grew in the East.

“Don’t panic, dumbass,” Ben said to himself. “You just have to take the other trail. There’s nothing out here but coyotes. They can’t hurt you. They can’t hurt you.”

The slave panted as he made it back up to the fork and turned right to go uphill.

The glow was getting stronger but only seemed to make the darkness on the ranch blacker.

The coyotes were now holding a full-blown convention at the top of the canyon as a wind picked up the scent of dry sage and chaparral.  The slave started to curse the Captain.

“What did I do wrong? Why doesn’t he come back for me? What is he trying to do, get me eaten? Why doesn’t he come back here!?!!!? Damn cocky, no-good, fucking jerk ass! Damn it!” “Is this the right way? Why doesn’t He come back for me?” the slave questioned in his mind.

He stumbled again, sliding on the steep trail.  He dropped the tools as his ass hit the dirt.  The slave grunted and started to get up, but suddenly the coyote convention went silent.  As one, each animal had shut their mouths and the only sound was the slave’s own breathing and the wind in the brush.

The slave froze, the sweat going cold on his bare back.  His hair and beard prickled.

Then he heard it.

They say that when you hear this sound, something in the hills is about to die and the sound strikes the victim immobile. Others say it happens when the kill has been made and the beast calls its children to the feast.  Either way, most say it sounds like a woman’s choked scream.  High pitched and far reaching, the scream of the mountain lion makes even the most brave take notice.

The sound came from not far ahead and the slave could hear the dogs begin to bark in the canyon enclosure.

The scream sounded again, closer now, and the silver glow enveloping the sky overhead.

The wind picked up, blew at the slave’s back, and seemed to draw the rising moon’s silver light towards the slave across the ridges.

The slave was frozen with fear.

“Captain, where are you, S S Sir? Sir, help your slave, please SIR please come help me SIR please come please come now, SSIR please come back for me SIR.. please please please come please”  the slave began to beg under his breath.

The moon crested the ridge, the trail was flooded with bright moonlight, and it took the slave a moment to focus on what he saw.

Two eyes glowed red ahead of him. The mountain lion had a doe grasped in its jaws, one tawny paw pressed to the dead deer’s neck.

The beast’s tail was curled slightly and he sniffed the air, to determine the half naked muscle man’s threat level.  The slave’s sweaty grip intensified on the pick and shovel over his shoulder.

‘Please, please please … SIR please come back, please SIR, come back, please, please please …” He continued to breathe.

The lion stared at him a second longer in the silence of the trail. Then just as suddenly it was gone as a beam of light began to make its way up the ridge accompanied by the roar of the ATV.

* * *

Later that night the slave crawled willingly into the cage, a sort of barred sanctuary after a long session at the sadistic hands of his Master.  His tardiness in returning had been punished by 30 strokes of the whip and some intense gut punching while strung up by his muscled arms.

The slave was kept in the cage on nights when the slave was to be punished for some infraction of the goals and codes of conduct on the ranch.  Some nights, the slave grunted and struggled and howled as he was shoved bodily into the cage, fighting the injustice of it’s punishment and the long hard imprisonment that would result, shivering in the cold night, his muscles cramping.

But tonight, the slave was grateful for the safe confines of the cage and the tall fence surrounding the cabin at the Bear Trap Ranch.

End of Part 10

Metal would like to thank FirefighterSIR (aka The Captain) for this story — and for the original photographs.

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