Dar vs. The Bear Clan Brothers

Note: This is the fifth match in the Dar series and references, but does not necessarily build on or directly involve, his battle with The Red Hawk Chief. You may want to read that one before reading this one.

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King’s peak loomed in the distance, a majestic purple and gray shadow against the afternoon sky. Many cities and towns dotted its lower slopes and the foothills that rose around its base; one of them was Dar’s destination. The compact, muscular brute plodded slowly along through the ancient sea of trees around the mountain, grumbling whenever the bright sun pierced the canopy and struck his unprepared eyes. The path he walked, Dar was convinced it was a path and not a road, was merely a wide section of relatively flat dirt that snaked through the wooded hills. To his left was a steep slope up, covered in scraggly bushes and tree roots, while to his right was a more gradual descent to a small creek. The floor of the valley was nearly completely covered in vegetation clambering for the patches of precious sunlight. Because they had remained unchanged since his departure from Tenningford, Dar had grown weary of these features and scenes, with the exception of the creek, which was a relatively new and welcome sight. This was made worse by the fact that Dar spent most of his time scanning the leaf-covered hills for motion. He was still on the fringes of Red Hawk territory, and though he should be a free dwarf, Dar placed little trust in the honor of orcs; He expected an ambush at any moment. Considering his large hands and man-crushing arms, he believed the impending ambush to be of the distant and pointed variety.

As Dar rounded the coming bend, a wooden structure came into view deeper in the valley, and farther along his path. He stopped. The structure appeared to be a shoddy hut constructed of rocks and wooden logs, nestled on the edge of the path and partly into the hill. Dar discerned that it had been constructed with minimal resources and even less planning, with no concern for the use of the path itself. He felt suspicious, but he figured he could handle whoever, or whatever, built it should it become a problem. After only a brief moment of inspection, Dar continued on.

Within minutes, the grumbling brute made his way down the barely perceptible incline towards the hut. The lack of care or activity prompted Dar to doubt that it was occupied at all. Almost in response to his thoughts, a bald man sporting a short but grizzled beard pushed aside the dirty sheet that served as the hut’s door and stepped out. “Well aren’t you a big dwarf?” He chided, sauntering closer and toward Dar’s right like a bully sizing up his victim. The man was clearly built for bullying; he stood slightly over six feet tall and was equipped with a pot belly and bulging muscles much like that of a bear. Dar thought the image fitting, for the bear tooth that dangled from a leather strap around the man’s neck and the tattooed image of a bear paw on his left pec indicated his allegiance to the Bear Clan of King’s Peak. The tattered leather boots and gauntlets that adorned the ends of his limbs and the bear fur loincloth between his legs only confirmed his origin.

A second man followed, smaller than the first but leaner and with visible abdominals. “Damn!” He snapped. He bore the same tattoo and garb as the larger man, though the smaller one had short, shaggy hair as opposed to a smooth head. “Why you walking alone, dwarf? Did you eat all your tribesman?” He said in a falsely sympathetic tone before laughing at his own joke.

“These woods are pretty dangerous, dwarf.” The larger man said, smirking at his friend. “There’s orcs, and bandits, and bears.”

“Aye ain’t afraid ah none ah dat.” Dar grunted.

“Not afraid of bears? Heh. You don’t even have a weapon. What are you going to do, kill them with your bare hands?”

“Yup.” Dar said confidently. “Hug ‘em, beat ‘em at dere own game.” He mimed a bearhug, locking his forearms and flexing his powerful upper body. The orcish leather of his gauntlets creaked like a noose and his tan, tattooed skin bulged as if it were barely able to contain the rippling muscles and pulsing veins just beneath its surface. The smaller of the Bear Clan pair was obviously impressed, as his eyes remain fixed on Dar’s tree-trunk-thick arms and boulder-like pecs even after the traveler’s mock hold had finished.

The large thug chuckled, somewhat annoyed. “Bearhug a bear? Really? Heh. And just who do you think you are?”

“Dar Ronko, da king ah beasts.”

“Ah, right.” The big man was a bit surprised by the size of Dar’s ego. “Well Mr. Beast, bears or not, you still have to pay if you want to pass through here.” He threw his hand out toward Dar’s right, pointing out a small, obviously unofficial sign tacked to the tree. On the wooden board were the words “PAY TOLL.” Dar, however, paid little attention to the sign; he was more interested in the long wooden shape attached to the back of the thug’s belt that swayed in and out of view when the thug moved. A handle, Dar surmised. He wasn’t particularly surprised that they were armed, the only question that remained was with what. The handle was crude, and Dar hoped they were just clubs. It would make things easier.

The smaller man’s eyes had wandered down to Dar’s thick, vascular legs and the provocative shadows and shapes beneath the hard leather plates of the dwarf’s kilt. “He doesn’t have any money, Brent.”

“What?” Brent asked. Dar just smirked.

“Look at him! He’s barely wearing a kilt. This dwarf is practically naked.” The two barbarians quietly contemplated their situation. The dwarven brute just stood, piercing them with his green, feral eyes. A killing usually followed the inability to pay, but neither man really wanted to initiate it. They were armed, and together, but the fiery-haired dwarf was clearly a different league of man. He had three times the muscle of a typical man packed into a single, bulging form and seemed to take great pride knowing it. The dwarf was fearless, arrogant, and cocky. He had never known defeat, they could see, and he had never known submission. Suddenly, Brent had a sinister idea.

“Well,” The bald thug said. “We do accept other forms of payment, don’t we Wieland?” Brent leaned back slightly and slid his thumbs into his belt, framing his crotch with his thick and scarred fingers. Catching his buddy’s innuendo, Weiland smiled.

“Well why didn’ ya say so?” Dar interrupted, looking quite amused. “Why don ya jus’ git on yer knees an’ aye’ll give ya da honah ah suckin’ da king’s cock.” Dar reached beneath his kilt and wrapped his fingers around his manhood. Just the mere suggestion of the two thugs beaten and reluctantly servicing him like a copper-piece whore made the dwarf’s dick begin to swell and throb with every thump of his powerful heart. “If yer good, aye’ll even cum in yer mouf.” He said, and tilted his head back with an insulting smile.

Brent pursed his lips and shook his head. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” He nodded to himself for a second before reaching back and drawing his weapon: a crude, chipped handaxe. “How’s about I take your dick and shove it down your throat so you can cum in your own fucking mouth, eh?!”

The dwarf shrugged his massive shoulders uncaringly, but still wore a mischievous grin. “Lotsa ban’its ‘ave taken ma dick, nun could ‘andle it. Doze bloodstone guys couldn’ do it, an dere’s jus two o’ you.” He crossed his arms, cocked his head, and waited for the inevitable response. With his bulging, blue-banded biceps, wide and chiseled torso, and shoulders that seemed to be connected directly to his head, Dar looked as indestructible as his confidence.

Weiland had finally had enough. Spurred by his companion, he drew his own axe and growled. “Then I guess once we butcher your cocky ass and sell you back to Tenningford as dwarf steaks, they’ll figure out they’ve got worse things to worry about than those Bloodstone bitches.” He locked eyes with Brent and nodded his head with determination. “Come on, let’s butcher ourselves a cow.”

The dwarven brute spread his stance, bent his knees, hunched his back and held his hands in front, ready to grab, block and strike. He wasn’t afraid of their weapons. In fact, his animalistic snarl and hulking body made it clear to the thugs that he would meet their attacks head-on. Tired of the traveler’s attitude, Brent was the first to make his move. The bear-man advanced, growling and swinging his axe through the air. The attacks were superficial, mostly only powered by his arm, but they were attacks nonetheless. Dar back up in hops, dropping his arms and tilting his body to avoid the strikes.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dar spotted Weiland slinking around towards his back, attempting to flank him. He maneuvered himself quickly, placing Weiland at his left and Brent at his right. The barbarian brothers paused, sizing Dar up as they planned their next move. With his back toward the slope, Dar could do little. The axes, crude and small, still made it difficult for him to approach his opponents, especially considering their taller stature and longer reach. As much as he hated weapons, he needed something to even the field.

He became aware of something rough brushing against the back of his boot. He glanced down, and found an old, moss-covered log laying at the foot of a tree. It was nearly a foot thick, and four feet long with a ragged break on one end. It certainly wasn’t ideal, but Dar soon found it remarkably comfortable in his leather-clad hands. The barbarians looked uneasy, suddenly finding their opponent armed with a visually impressive club. Dar grinned at their hesitation and leapt at Weiland with a grunt, swinging the hefty log haphazardly forward. The athletic brawler leapt back, instinctively holding his axe in front of him to block despite the maneuver’s futility.

Brent lunged to protect his brother, eager to dig his axe into the dwarf’s wide, muscular back, but the crunch of leaves and his own manly grunt betrayed his attack, and Dar responded. Swinging with all his might, Dar spun himself around, slamming the bark-covered club directly into Brent’s right side between his ribs and pelvis.

“GURK!” Brent gurgled, barely audible above the thump. The impact threw his powerful form over the edge of the slope, and he fell. He tumbled down into the valley like a child’s toy, but with more yelps of pain and profanity. With the stronger of his opponents temporarily subdued, Dar turned to Weiland. “Aye kine’ah loik dis ting...” He said, adjusting his grip. The leather of his gauntlets creaked, and he could feel its power coursing into him like static as he squeezed the wood.

“We’ll shove it up your ass when we put your carcass on display, then.” Weiland snapped. Seeing Brent stir at the bottom of the hill, he felt a surge of bravery. He remembered the bear he and Brent killed as their rite of passage, and thought Dar no different. He roared and jumped, cleaving the air, dodging in leaps and slicing at Dar’s chest. Dar ducked and blocked, but the log’s weight made it too slow; the blunted axe head bit into the back of his forearm and tore a jagged wound. He swore in his native tongue and put all of his prodigious strength into a single swipe to push back his attacker.

“THOCK!” Echoed a sound through the forest. Dar snarled at Weiland, who appeared unharmed, but extremely bewildered. Suddenly, Dar came to the realization that his opponent was also unarmed. He rotated the log, and found Weiland’s axe embedded in it. He tore it free with little effort, sending chunks and splinters of rotted wood into the air. He took a moment to admire it, then glanced at his wound. It had spread apart roughly an inch and a half and revealed the layer’s of the dwarf’s flesh. He could see the thin layer of fat and his reddish-grey muscles, which had only been nicked. The ragged edges stung from the cool breeze that drifted through the valley, but it otherwise seemed superficial. It did, however, stain his vascular arms with blood.

Dar locked eyes with Weiland, who grew increasingly terrified. Without warning, Dar chucked the weapon into the valley, and both watched as it disappeared into the bushes near the stream, far from the battle. Before Weiland could surmise Dar’s plan, Brent stumbled back onto the road, anger burning in his eyes and rage pulsing through his rounded but bulging muscles. “Ya think that was funny?!” He bellowed. “You’re gonna drown in your own goddamn blood, you short little bitch! Nobody fucks with the Bear Clan Brothers and lives!” Brent threw all of his hate into his axe, hacking with both hands. Dar gripped his log on either end and easily intercepted the assault. Strike after strike met its end embedded in the wood, each swing more ferocious and manic than the last. It was only a matter of time before the weaker combatant faltered. The log, Dar’s faithful improvised weapon, splintered into pieces, caught between the unyielding strength of the two massive men, with all but the largest piece tumbling from Dar’s hands.

Before Brent and Dar had fully realized what had happened, Weiland leaped opportunistically into the fray, wrapping his lean and scarred arms around Dar’s legs. Each of the dwarf’s thighs was as thick as his own waist, and the sheer weight and low center of mass made it much more difficult to topple Tenningford’s champion than he expected. Weiland threw himself ineffectively from one side to the other, only managing to wobble the dwarf, before the sudden impact of dry wood to the back of his head drove him to the ground. Dar slammed what remained of the log into the small thug’s skull, palming it as he would drive a nail with a rock. After the third strike, the wood splintered completely and covered Weiland’s twitching and seizing body with mulch.

Brent roared, and swung again at the dwarf, who twisted out of the way as best he could. The blade grazed past Dar’s fire-red goatee, a mere inch away from his trunk-like neck and the pulsing arteries inside. Dar staggered away from Brent, startled by the nearly fatal strike, and hunkered down in a wrestler’s stance. The bearish thug, his morale stimulated by the near-victory, gripped his axe’s handle tightly, causing his muscles to swell. His face, chest and shoulders were flush and pink, and veins pulsed in his forehead. He stalked murderously forward as Dar backed up, keeping a safe distance.

“You gonna be alright, brother?” Brent grumbled to Weiland.

“Yeah.” Weiland responded groggily. “Just get ‘em.” He continued to lay in the dirt, waiting for his senses to come back from wherever they were.

Brent hacked at the short, musclebound bull, cleaving nothing but air. Dar slid away with every swing, staying barely outside Brent’s reach. The Bear Clan thug soon grew furious at the childish game of keep-away, and took a massive step forward as he made a wide swing, putting the strength of his entire bestial body behind the chipped and ragged blade. Dar suddenly reversed his tactic, and slid inward, halting his opponent’s swing with a loud grunt and taking hold of the axe. Brent roared in anger and struggled against Dar’s strength, trying to force the blade down for the kill. Brent could smell the animal musk of men fighting for their lives, and could feel the dwarf’s hot breath on his pecs. His head filled with the desire to feel the northman’s hot blood on his pecs, as well, and this murderous desire fueled his power. Both men grunted and strained, swelling their mountainous biceps and barrel chests, turning in circles as each tried to out-muscle and out-maneuver the other. Though he trembled with effort, Brent was easily denied his victory. His grip, however, was too tight for Dar’s thick, leatherbound fingers to pry, and so Dar decided to try a different trick.

As the two warriors glared into each others’ eyes, Dar thrust his knee deep into the warm, sweaty loins of his opponent. His kneecap struck the bottom of Brent’s heavy balls, whipping them up and back down for a second impact. The axe fell into Dar’s meaty grip while Brent silently fell to his knees, gritting his teeth and turning a deep red. He pushed through the haze of a pain so intense only a man can feel it and found himself staring at the blazing red trail of hair and tangle of veins of his opponent’s abs. Brent’s eyes climbed the bulges and crevices that swelled and shifted with every confident motion of the mountains dwarf. They ended their journey at Dar’s square and chiseled skull, framed with the fire of his sunlit hair, and bearing a murderous grin. His impossible physique, glistening with sweat in the beams of broken light, gave Dar a nearly divine quality. For a moment, Brent wondered if Dar really was the King of Beasts, an avatar of the primal creator god.

When Dar’s blue-inked arm rose, clutching Brent’s own axe, the bear clan warrior’s thoughts broke. He dove to his left with every ounce of strength he could muster, despite the agony and nausea he felt from his groin. He did not make it far, and he did not rise fast enough. He heard the swoosh of the weapon cleaving the air, and his heart stopped. He felt nothing. Suddenly, the distant bushes at the top of the hill rustled. Brent twisted his neck, staring up at Dar once again, this time in bewilderment. Dar grinned even more sadistically despite no longer holding the axe. Brent realized, in his confused, pained fog, that Dar threw the weapon away. After being overpowered several times by the dwarf, Brent was more disturbed than relieved.

Dar’s gloved hands lowered slowly and fingered his belt. “Now...” Dar mused. “Abowt dat toll...” Brent could do nothing but watch in shock as Dar unfastened his kilt and tossed it to the side without a care. As with Dar’s muscles and ego, the champion’s manhood was the biggest Brent had ever seen. It was roughly as thick as a man’s forearm and almost as long, and was so hefty it dangled downward, unable to support its own weight. His bull balls were equally impressive. Of all the men who had trash-talked about sucking dick, Dar was the first to strip down and make good his threats.

“Wha’s wrong? Neva seen ah man b’fore?” Dar chided. He stared down at the powerhouse that lay beneath him, clutching his own genitals. “Take ah goo’ look. Ain’t anotha aroun’ loik me.” He began to flex his muscles to awe the inferior man, ignoring the sting of his wound. His fingers ran along the curves and veins of his body, groping and squeezing every bulge and peak. He slapped and pounded his body to showcase its solidity, and repeatedly pumped his pecs and biceps to swell them even further. It became obvious to Brent, due to Dar’s thickening and pulsing cock, that Dar enjoyed the show he was putting on. What terrified the thug the most was that he could feel his own dick shifting and tingling as it filled with blood. Though the cowardly part of him wanted to accept its place at Dar’s feet, to call him “sir” and feel his power, Brent’s arousal reignited his desire to fight. For every fantasy of submission that crept into his mind, he found the reverse to be even more intoxicating. He wanted to see the muscular behemoth at his feet, beaten and begging. He felt driven to feel the rippled, sweat-slicked musculature against his body, struggling against the bear clan’s might before breaking. More than anything, he needed to hear Dar’s gruff and gravelly voice sheepishly calling him “sir.”

Brent suddenly spotted Weiland through his haze of fantasy, charging at the dwarf from behind, though his advantage was short lived. Dar quickly spun about and hunkered down, ready to intercept. Weiland  immediately kicked up a cloud of dirt as he skid to a stop. Staring at the broad back merely feet before him, Brent saw his chance. He quietly rose up, still on his knees as to not scuff about, and threw himself at Dar. When his hefty weight slammed into the dwarf with a wet thud, he wrapped his left hand around Dar’s left bicep and his right arm over his shoulder. Before the northman could react, his elbow hooked under Dar’s chin. With a bull-like grunt, he jerked the dwarf toward him and shifted his weight, unbalancing Dar and locking him in a choke. Dar’s leather-clad fingers immediately gripped and clawed Brent’s bicep and forearm, trying to ease the sudden pressure.

“Grab the axe!” Brent shouted to his brother. “Up there!” He nodded toward the hill, in the general direction Dar threw his weapon. As his little brother scampered up the hill, Brent poured all of his considerable strength into his arms, crushing the dwarf’s meaty neck between the crook of his elbow and his club-like forearm. Brent’s fantasies already began to come true. Dar’s hot, slick back rubbed and thrashed against Brent’s belly. The dwarf struggled against his bear clan power, but it was only a matter of time before he broke. Soon his will to fight would be as strangled as he and he would beg for servitude under fear of death. “I’m gonna break you, dwarf!” Brent roared, climbing to his feet. “No one beats the Bear Clan! Beg for air! Beg for my cock! You’re gonna beg for me to-” His threats ended abruptly as Dar lurched forward and, with every muscle in his back and legs pulled tight, lifted Brent up. To the thug’s horror, he found himself hoisted onto the dwarf’s wide shoulders. He dangled there only briefly, his boots wiggling in the air and his mind racing for a means to avoid what was about to happen. He found nothing usable, and in less than a second he fell over the dwarf’s head and slammed into the dirt.

Seeing the bear clan brawler on his back once again pushed Dar into a frenzy. He growled and threw himself on Brent, intent on reducing the man to rubble. The thug was not without his wits, however, and met Dar’s assault with a growl of his own. The two men wrestled against each other with their hands and arms locked tight. Brent gritted his teeth and strained with all his might, but the naked muscleman began to prove to be too much. Dar took hold of his victim’s wrists and restrained his arms, pressing them into the dirt above Brent’s bald head. Brent thrashed and swore, but Dar merely threw a leg over his gut, sat down just below the bear man’s chest, and grinned.

Easily forced to the earth with no hope of escape and with the fire-framed grin of the cocky dwarf blotting out the sun, Brent began to panic. The mere weight of Dar’s herculean frame made breathing a struggle; had he been any less of a man, it would have been impossible. With his lungs burning from the pressure building up inside with every pained breath, Brent considered submitting to the dwarf. His wide eyes found their way down beneath the murderous grin, beneath the heroic torso, to the monstrous dick that lay between his swollen pecs. It felt heavy against his heart, and seeped pre-cum like a viper dripping venom. Dar thrust his pelvis, masturbating himself with Brent’s meaty chest, while the terrified thug could do nothing but watch. “Yea... Ya loik dat?” He laughed. “Aye knew you wuz a cock-pig from da minute aye saw ya. But ya don’ deserve it. You been bad, an bad boiz...” Dar released Brent’s hands, only to raise his own fist high in the air. “Go to sleep.”

The dwarven champion’s fist struck Brent’s face like a hammer, throwing his head to the side and spraying his spit into the air. Dar struck again and again, first his left, then his right. Brent was destroyed before he could even mount a defense. He groaned after the third punch, and his arms dropped to the earth, only occasionally twitching or reaching for nothing in particular. Weiland, seeing his brother at the dwarf’s mercy, gave up his search for the axe, and charged wildly at Dar. Though he ran at full speed, clomping with his heavy fur boots, the brutal crack of Brent’s skull being crushed provided more than enough noise to give him the advantage.

Weiland went for the kill, a move that had so far won him several fights. He jumped into the air just as he reached Dar, with the intent of throwing his legs around the dwarf’s thick neck. Unfortunately, Dar reflexively stood, and Weiland’s legs wrapped themselves around his barrel chest instead. Not to waste an advantage, he drilled his fists into Dar’s face just the same. He avenged every punch for his brother while Dar, disoriented by the flurry of strikes, struggled to find his footing. Dar’s massive hands groped Weiland’s abs, pushing and clawing him in a blind attempt to throw him off, but Weiland held strong. He continued striking the dwarf’s skull from different directions, hoping every time that the next strike would be the one that drops the champ. Frustrated, and with his frustration growing with every hit, Dar snarled and made a single, overwhelming shove. When Weiland felt his legs begin to slip, his heart skipped a beat. “Fuck, fuck!” he cried.

In one motion, Dar lifted Weiland into the air by his waist, then threw him to the road like a sack of grain. Weiland heaved as the air rushed out of him. He felt like his ribs had broken. He laid, sprawled in the dirt with his arms and legs out, choking and gasping. Dar shook his head furiously to clear his sight of the colorful spots, then sneered. “Think yer some big man, eh, bitch? Think ya got balls?” The heel of Dar’s boot quickly buried itself into Weiland’s crotch with a savage stomp. Dar leaned forward with a feral glint in his eyes, while Weiland curled with pain, overwhelmed by the sensation that his nuts had been kicked up into his chest. He put more and more of his considerable weight on Weiland’s manhood while his own dangled between his legs, making the thug’s own pride seem inadequate.

“Hey...” called Brent’s groggy voice. “Hey!” He called again, sounding more composed. The brute stammered to his feet. “Hey, you fucker!” He stomped towards Dar. Happy for another chance to flex his muscle, Dar removed his boot from Weiland’s manhood and turned towards Brent. The bearish man reached out, and the two once again locked arms like bulls fighting for the right to mate. He was taller, but Brent found the dwarf to be immovable. His vascular arms were as solid as rock, and his footing was equally so. Hoping to catch an advantage, Brent slid his arm out of the lock and delivered a sudden and vicious uppercut to Dar’s jaw. The dwarf grunted in pain, but returned the favor. With Brent rearing back for another swing, Dar slid closer, taking hold of Brent’s arm. With a quick shove to the bandit’s shoulder and a lift of his knee, Dar toppled Brent onto his back and mounted his conquest once again. “Yer really hungry fer mah dick, aren’t ya?” Dar chided in between his heavy breaths. “You ain’t good enough of ah fighta ta suck me off. But tell ya what. Af’er aye put ya ta sleep, aye’ll leave some of mah juice on yer pecs ta remembah me by.”

A pair of lean, sweat-slicked arms slid under Dar’s armpits and behind his neck, cutting Dar’s threats short. With all his might, Weiland pulled Dar up and off of his brother, who quickly began to scramble to his feet. “You again?” Dar snarled. “Aye ain’t in’rested in you, ya twink! Ya think you can hold me?! You don’ even rate ya fuckin- OOF!” Brent’s gauntleted fist plowed into Dar’s cheek. He savagely plunged his meaty hands into Dar’s gut, face, and neck without delay or hesitation, punch after punch. Dar tried to wrestle free, but every strike stunned or disoriented him, making even Weiland’s grip a challenge.

“Hold him still, brother!” Brent roared. Dar’s torso felt like an oak tree, but the thug could see he was dealing damage. Every blow softened Dar’s body. Every blow brought the freakishly muscled brute one step closer to defeat. Watching Dar struggle and feeling the muscles tense and flex to block his strikes made Brent feel powerful. To see the dwarf’s dick swing limply with each twist, to see and hear it gently slap against the cocky champ’s thighs with every punch was enough to make him forget all about the toll. He wanted something more.

Suddenly, Dar forced his arms down, nearly snapping Weiland’s own. He shoulder-checked his captor, causing the small thug to fall to the ground, and then, with a primal roar, he charged at Brent. Brent’s quickly reacted to meet Dar’s charge, and hooked his arm around the dwarf’s neck. He was not, however, prepared to be lifted from the ground and carried. He tightened the choke, but had no time to finish the job; his unprotected back slammed against the rough bark of a nearby tree. Dar’s own considerable bulk and inertia were not far behind. Dar crushed the thug against the tree with an echoing boom, squeezing the air from his lungs and nearly causing him to black out. Brent fell to his hands and knees, wheezing. “Aye’ve ‘ad it wiff you assholes!” Dar roared. He raised his fist and rammed the orcish gauntlet into the base of Brent’s neck. The chubby thug jolted, then fell still on the ground, only occasionally gasping and snorting.

Veins bulging and pulsing with anger, Dar turned to Weiland, who had already climbed to his feet. “Awright, it’s time you assholes paid.” Dar glanced down at his wound which was now seeping more blood, agitated by the previous grappling. “Now, you were gonna kill me, an aye don’ loik dat. So aye moight jus’ kill you an yer dumbass brotha, ‘ere. But, my sack ere’s really gettin’ full,” He took his balls in hand to illustrate his point. “An aye moight just let you go fer a nice, good suck.”

“Yeah,” Weiland said, nodding. “I’ll have your balls... after we butcher you and sell your meat back to Tenningford.”

Dar smiled arrogantly. “Meat? Meat?! Ya want meat?! Look at me! Come on! You want some meat, come get it!” Dar placed one foot on Brent’s back, lifted his arms, and flexed his biceps. He strained to make every strand of muscle bulge, engorging his already impressive physique with blood and making him even more imposing. Weiland, against his better judgment, cautiously approached. He circled slowly, trying to find the best angle of attack. Weiland contemplated trying to jump and leg choke Dar a second time, but he saw that Dar’s shoulders sloped up to the base of his skull; the brute had very little neck to grab. Still, even with Dar’s biceps being bigger than Weiland’s head, he managed to keep a grip on Dar’s chest for longer than he expected. Weiland was certain that if he could get his legs around the bull’s throat, he could hold his grip longer than the muscleman could hold his breath. It worked on Brent, anyway.

“Hurry da fuck up!” Dar bellowed. “You gonna come foight me or are ya gonna run?” He glared at Weiland, his foot still resting between Brent’s shoulderblades, awaiting a response. He could see the fear in Weiland’s eyes as he skulked forward, hands out, like an animal skirting its natural predator. In a desperate attempt to gain the upper hand, Weiland lunged at Dar. The dwarf was ready for him, and wrapped his deadly paws around Weiland’s arms, but the thug was too agile and slipped away. “You mothafucka!” Dar gritted his teeth and stomped towards Weiland, intent on ending the fight. “Cum back ‘ere an foight me loik ah man! Aye’m gonna break yer fuckin’ neck, ya cowerd!” He made a strangling motion with his hands, and with his vascular arms, illustrated the ease with which he would do so.

With the mountain of muscle rapidly approaching to end his life, Weiland did the only thing he could think to do; he ran. The bandit quickly turned around and ran towards the hill, scanning the weeds for any glimpse of the axe hidden there. He launched himself up the slope as high as he could, and climbed on his hands and dirty knees. “Oh no ya don’t, fucker!” Dar called after him. Weiland scrambled up the roots and rocks in a panic, with the thunderous footfalls of Tenningford’s hero closing in. He soon felt a painfully strong hand grab his ankle and yank him from his handholds.

“No!” Weiland shouted. “Get off me, you freak!” He cried out, and kicked at his attacker. His furry boot struck Dar squarely in the chest, but the thickness of the dwarf’s body rendered his attacks pointless.

Dar slammed his fist into Weiland’s gut, who immediately felt as if his stomach had exploded. “Shut da fuck up! Aye’m gettin’ bored ah you boys!” He shouted and pummeled the young barbarian again and again, crippling his body. “You think yer some big man, takin’ by force. Then ah real man cums along, an’ you star’ rollin’ in da dirt ta get away from me. Aye’m more of ah man den you an dat sack o’ shit ova dere combined!” After a few moments, Dar stopped his frenzy, and allowed Weiland to slide down the hill, paralyzed with pain. He came to rest at Dar’s feet, clutching his gut and gazing, wide-eyed and fearful, at his attacker. Deeming Weiland defeated, Dar took his cock in hand, and began stroking himself slowly, up and down the full length of his intimidating manhood. He glanced over at Brent, who still lay sleeping at the base of the tree.

Spotting his chance through watery eyes, Weiland delivered a bear-fur gauntlet directly into Dar’s right testicle. “AUGH! You. Little. BITCH!” Dar shouted, and struck the side of Weiland’s skull like a cruel master disciplining his unruly pet. What the thug lacked in power, he made up for in blind courage. He swung again, this time taking the apple-sized nut in his palm and squeezing as hard as he could. Dar roared in agony.

“Alright!” Dar quickly snatched Weiland’s throat, causing the bandit to choke and lose his grip. With one hand and murderous intent, the dwarf lifted his human opponent off the ground before tossing him like a useless log. Weiland didn’t have the opportunity to recover from his landing before the colossal shadow of the dwarf appeared over him. “You want mah balls dat bad? Fuckin’ take ‘em.” The hulking champ descended on his much-smaller victim and placed his weight at the top of Weiland’s chest, nearly on his neck. Dar’s massive thighs flanked his victim’s skull, and his calves pinned Weiland’s arms at the bicep. Smiling from the rush of victory, Dar allowed his red-haired ballsack to drop onto Weiland’s face.

The proud man grimaced in disgust, but found he could not turn his head away; the hot, sweaty thighs of the superior barbarian were too tightly pressed against his skull. He couldn’t even open his mouth to scream. Even his sight was hindered, thanks to the vein-webbed cock laying on his right eye and forehead. Dar smiled and watched Weiland’s face contort, holding his breath to avoid snorting the dwarf’s cock sweat. He waited, occasionally reaching down to rub his cock or play with his pecs in front of his captive audience while his new toy flailed wildly. Finally, when Weiland’s dignity became less important than freeing himself, he inhaled and allowed the dwarf’s musk into his nose; but nothing came. The massive balls covered his nose and mouth, draping over his cheeks like a leather bag containing a pair of large oranges, and the sweat formed a seal that allowed no air. The skin of Dar’s nuts pressed against Weiland’s nose, blocking his breathing.

When he realized what was happening, Weiland began to thrash violently. His fingers pawed at Dar’s legs, reaching in vain for the manhood between them. His body bucked and kicked, scraping the grass from the road and folding his pelt loincloth up. With his own swelling dick exposed by his struggles and his attacker on the verge of laughter, Weiland desperately reached out to his brother. He silently begged for Brent to wake up, to save him. He didn’t want the bear clan brothers to end like this, choking on the balls of a man who bested them. Every one of Brent’s coughs made Weiland’s heart leap. Brent began to stir, but he wasn’t recovering fast enough.

Soon Weiland’s lungs began to scream for air. His face turned purple, and he began to whimper. Dar ignored his pleas. Instead, the dwarf reached back, ripped off the thug’s loincloth, and began to use it as an improvised bandage. He carefully wrapped it around his axe wound, but frequently stopped to check on Weiland’s air supply. He finished his first aid just in time to feel the thug’s struggles weaken. Weiland sucked violently at Dar’s balls, and his eyes were glazed and bloodshot. Dar leaned down and sneered at Weiland. “Aye’d normah’ly be jizzin’ on yer face bai now, but aye promised yer buddy’s pecs a present. Dis is all da reward yer gonna get.” With Dar’s final words, Weiland blacked out.

Mercifully, the dwarf stood soon after, giving Weiland the chance to breathe. Dar took a moment and appraised the situation, wondering how such a tiny man could have thought he could beat him. When he caught sight of the bandit’s penis and the cooling pool of cum on his abs, he chuckled. “Everyone wants ah piece o’ me.” He mused. Dar was actually somewhat impressed. Despite being a lesser man, Weiland’s seed had shot straight up onto his chest, soaking his necklace’s leather strap. “Not bad, little man. Keep it up an you moight be ah fourth of da man aye am. But dis...” He said, removing the beartooth necklace from his conquest and placing it around his own neck, “Dis belongs ta me. Spoils an’ victors an’ all dat...”

With his trophy secured, Dar strutted across the road to deliver his present to Brent, who now groaned and slowly groped his surroundings. He stood over the man, cock in hand, ready to deliver the finish his lust had been waiting for since he saw the pair, but a thought halted him. He remembered Weiland’s surprising distance, and became curious. He gazed down at the furry tent between Brent’s legs. After a moment of consideration, he decided the dull pain in his crotch could wait a moment and knelt down. “Lets see how much of ah man you are...” Dar said as he tossed the pelt up over Brent’s belt. The bear was more befitting of his clan’s name than his brother, carrying one of the largest dicks Dar had ever seen on a human. It was, however, limp and soft. His curiosity unsatisfied, Dar took hold of Brent’s cock and began to masturbate him slowly. He knelt down between Brent’s legs and held he and his opponent’s cocks side by side, stroking them both to get a true comparison.

“What the fuck are you doin’?!” Brent growled as he slowly realized what was happening. Disturbed, he groggily crawled away, kicking Dar in the chest and shoulders to deter his pursuit.

The dwarf, however, was undaunted. “Oh no ya don’t!” He barked, giving chase. Brent’s awkward crawling was too slow, and Dar managed to overtake him and clamber on top. Brent quickly found himself in a familiar but terrifying position: staring up at the muscled brute that sat on his chest. Only this time, he noticed something different.

Beneath the brute’s twisted grin, between his armor-like pecs, was a bear tooth. Brent immediately knew whose it was. “You fuckin’ bastard! Get the fuck off me!” He shouted. He bucked like a scared bronco, dislodging his attacker enough to twist around and get to his knees. He only managed a push-up position before over three hundred pounds of what felt like rock landed on his back and bounced his chest against the ground. Brent hauled himself up once again like the workhorse he was, but Dar had no intention of being carried anywhere. Instead, he wrapped his huge arms around Brent’s body, locking his hands in front of the thug’s heart, and squeezed until his biceps threatened to burst. “Aaaagh!” Brent howled in pain. He tightened his pecs and clawed at Dar’s forearms, but he could only slow the rush of air from his lungs.

Brent fought for his life, thrashing and struggling, but nothing seemed to help. He waved blindly behind him, hoping to grab a head of dwarven hair, but his fingers found only the warm summer air. His eyes, however, soon spied Weiland, stripped and lifeless across the road. “Weiland!” Brent choked. “Weiland, wake up!”

“He ain’t gonna ‘elp you, cock-pig.” Dar rumbled. “Aye fuckin’ smothered ‘im wiff ma balls. He’s done. Aye wuz too much fer ‘im, an aye’m too much fer you. Ya feel dat?” He illustrated his point with a sudden jerk of his arms, further crushing Brent. “Dat’s da strength of ah bigger man. Aye’m gonna crush you, loik aye crushed every man b‘fore you. Loik aye’ll crush every man afta you.” Brent’s gloved hands groped and squeezed Dar’s legs and ass with increasing desperation. His endurance finally ran out, and his defenses failed. Dar’s deadly grip emptied the last of Brent’s air, leaving him gasping and wheezing like a fish out of water. He began to crawl. He didn’t know where, nor did he know what he would do when he got there; his panic had overcome nearly all other thoughts. He could feel nothing beyond the agony of Dar’s squeeze, the taste of air on his tongue, and the hot, wet cock pressed against his back. After several feet, his body lost the strength to crawl any longer, and he fell limp in the dirt. His vision darkened and blurred, and within seconds, the bear clan barbarian suffocated in the grip of the dwarven constrictor.

With the forest suddenly silent, Dar slowly slid his arms out from under Brent. The many false starts had made his balls red and swollen to near-bursting, and he could wait no longer. The bear clan had their chance to prove they were stronger, and it was time for Dar to give them the loser’s prize. He hoisted Brent over his shoulder, then crossed the road and took Weiland’s smaller body in his arm. He hauled the unconscious thugs to their camp, and slumped them against the tree, side by side. A quick search of their camp uncovered rope and a bit of the pigment the criminals used for the sign, and Dar set about his plan. Still naked and barely able to keep his hands off himself, he tied the brothers to the tree by their torsos. Once they were secured, he claimed Brent’s necklace and loincloth as his own, leaving the brothers only their gauntlets and boots.

With both muscular thugs bound and defeated, Dar stood before them and decided it was time to prove himself the alpha male. He wrapped his leatherbound fingers around his dick and began to rub it back and forth. Just the mere act of gently stroking the hood of his foot-long serpent filled him with pleasure. He savored it slowly at first, but such civility did not last long. Within minutes he was roaring and bellowing like a bull, pounding his meat with both hands in the middle of the road. He lost himself in his primal throws, until at last he let loose a moan that echoed through the valley and shot a geyser of white, hot cum into the air. A massive load of dwarven juice splattered Brent’s face in a mask of milky white before running down to his chest in small rivulets. The hero sprayed cum like a barnyard animal, distributing the humiliating facial between the faces of the two thugs, until finally the last of his emissions sputtered out onto the bear paw inked on Brent’s hulking chest.

Dar surveyed the damages after catching his breath. “Woo!” He laughed. “More than enough fer da both o’ ya.” He watched the two men sleep off the fight while the last bits of his seed dribbled out into the earth. When his cock was finally done, Dar put on Brent’s necklace and loincloth, then wrapped the orcish armor over it. With a quick jerk he tore the “PAY TOLL” sign from above the brothers’ heads, wrote on the other side with the pigment, and placed it in Brent’s lap, propped up by the thug’s flaccid dick. The dwarf had a long road ahead of him, and so, with a happy heart and a swollen ego, Dar continued forward. Only in the tavern of King’s Peak, days later, did Dar hear talk of a pair of naked bandits found hostile but restrained, covered in the dried cum of ten men, with a sign in their laps that bore two simple words: “TOLL PAID.”