“I’ve been given the order to make a proper bear out of you for the client,” the satyr says decisively, “Or to use my client’s words, make you the ‘best fuckin’ bear in the world’. I guess there’s no delaying this, I got to get to work.”
He circles around you again, walking until he’s looking you in the eye again. “For tonight,” he starts, “your nickname is going to be Grizz, you will answer to it and refer to yourself as such.” He then reaches out and touches your throat, you feel a strange tingle at the contact. “What is your name?” he asks you. “They call me Grizz,” you reply in a voice deeper and far more gravelly that you possessed before.
The satyr snaps his fingers again and a full-length mirror materializes in front of you, showing you the full majesty of your bear body. He points at your face and you see your beard lengthen a little but also rise up on your cheeks, your hair also lengthens, giving you a wild, untamed look. The satyr then places an open palm over your right bicep, he removes it to reveal a black tribal bear-claw tattoo. He stands in front of you and tweaks your nipples, sending a thrill of pleasure through your body and leaving a silver ring in each, glinting among the dense forest of your chest hair.
“There, you look more like a proper bear, Grizz.” “I don’t just look like one,” you say without thinking, you’re horrified that you responded to “Grizz” and you referred to yourself as a bear. The satyr looks around the room, “Now to take care of a few other things.” He snaps his fingers once and you hear a low rumble from the garage. “I replaced your little care with a beat-up pickup truck and a hog. Don’t worry, the truck only looks old, it runs fine.” He snaps his fingers again and the rumble comes from upstairs, “Your wardrobe is done. Just what the client wanted; more flannel shirts, leather jackets, lots of jock straps, they’re your new underwear by the way, leather chaps, some jeans, and some more kinky things in leather and rubber. That should be everything.”
You finally manage to speak up, “Why are you doing this?” you growl. He looks at you once more with pity, “When you didn’t show up last night, my client became quite angry. He said that you should be punished for offending him. He’s not used to being denied. And I’m bound to make his fantasies come true, he’s using me to fulfill his sick dreams. One fantasy a night for four weeks, and last night was bear night. You didn’t show, so he sent me here to ensure you’d be ready for tonight.”