Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Ben stared, his brain stuttering as it tried to process the sheer scale of the bulge tenting Troy’s white briefs. Vince’s had been substantial, a solid handful. This was something else entirely. A thick, heavy curve that strained the cotton, promising a weight and girth that seemed almost limb-like in its exaggeration.
"Let's see if you're ready for this," Troy muttered, a dark, evil glint in his eye as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband.
He slowly peeled the briefs down. Ben’s breath hitched. It emerged like something being unveiled, pale and thick and heavy, a dramatic contrast to Troy’s tanned stomach. It was uncut, the head a dark, flushed plum emerging from a hood of skin, nestled in a thatch of tight, dark curls. The shaft was a long, weighty curve, veined and substantial, the skin loose and soft over the rigid core beneath. The smell hit Ben a moment later—a potent, musky, deeply masculine aroma, like clean sweat and skin and something uniquely, aggressively Troy.
A cold knot of anxiety tightened in Ben’s stomach. He’d expected one like Vince’s, not this… this monument. But the logic that always guided him quickly reasserted itself. Other people had done this. Troy had mentioned it enough times, how much he enjoyed it. It was a physical problem with a physical solution. He should be able to get some of it in.
"Don't do anything," Troy commanded, his voice low. "Just stay there."
Ben obeyed, his hands hanging at his sides. Troy stepped closer, the heat of his body radiating against Ben’s bare chest. He used the head of his cock, slick with pre-cum, to paint Ben’s lips, a slow, deliberate swipe that left a salty, tangy taste. He pushed it against Ben’s closed mouth, the pressure firm and insistent. Then, with a sharp, stinging motion, he slapped the heavy shaft against Ben’s cheek, once, twice, the impact a soft thud that made Ben’s eyes water.
"Open," Troy said.
Ben parted his lips.
"And if you displease me," Troy continued, his tone conversational, "you get slapped. Okay?"
Ben nodded, knowing his silence would be preferred.
The broad, smooth head pushed past his lips. It was warm and tasted strongly of musk and salt. Ben’s jaw immediately protested, stretching to an unfamiliar width. He focused on his breathing, on the techniques he’d learned just hours before. He relaxed his throat, willing his gag reflex to stay dormant as Troy began a slow, inexorable push forward.
It was a struggle. The thickness was overwhelming, filling his mouth completely, pressing his tongue flat. He could feel the prominent veins dragging against his inner cheeks. When the head bumped against the back of his throat, his body instinctively convulsed, a gag rising like a tide. He panicked, his jaw clamping down for a split second, his teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive shaft.
Troy froze. Then, with a slow, deliberate pull, he withdrew himself from Ben’s mouth.
The slap came hard and fast, a sharp crack that snapped Ben’s head to the side. White-hot pain bloomed across his cheekbone, and his eyes filled with involuntary tears, blurring his vision.
Troy grabbed his face in both hands, his grip firm, forcing Ben to look at him. Ben’s cheek burned, the sting a bright, focused pain.
"You did good," Troy said, his dark eyes searching Ben’s wet, stinging face. "But do better." Ben nodded in agreement.
Then Troy kissed him.
It wasn't gentle. It was a deep, sensual invasion, Troy’s tongue pushing into his mouth with the same dominance as his cock had. The taste of himself was on Ben’s lips, mixed with the salt of his own tears. And Ben loved it. He melted into it, his hands coming up to rest weakly on Troy’s bare hips. The sting on his cheek, the taste of Troy, the forceful possession of the kiss—it all coalesced into a single, shocking truth: this felt right. This was order. This was his purpose. The pain was just a part of the clarity, a sharp outline that defined his role.
When Troy broke the kiss, Ben was breathless, his lips swollen, tears still tracing clean lines through the sweat on his face.
"Again," Troy commanded, his voice rough.
Ben dropped to his knees without hesitation. This time, there was no fear, only a determined focus. He took Troy back into his mouth, past the initial stretch, past the point of gagging. When his throat sealed shut, he didn't fight it. He adjusted the angle of his head slightly, tilting it back, and somehow, miraculously, his throat opened. The massive head slid past the constriction and into a deeper, tighter channel.
He felt the entire length sink in, until his nose was buried in Troy’s dark pubic hair and the musky scent of him was all he could smell. He was full, completely and utterly filled.
A sharp, guttural groan ripped from Troy’s throat, a sound of pure, stunned pleasure. Ben felt Troy’s hands fist in his short hair, not guiding, just holding on. For a long, shocking moment, they were both frozen in mutual astonishment. Ben had done it. He had taken all of it.
Troy recovered first, his controlling exterior slamming back into place. He slowly pulled out, the drag against Ben’s throat a long, smooth friction. He looked down at Ben, whose lungs were heaving as he sucked in air, his face flushed and wet.
"Roll me another joint," Troy said, his voice even, betraying nothing of the shock they had both shared. He walked to the armchair and sat down, sprawling comfortably. "And get me another beer."
Ben nodded, getting to his feet on slightly shaky legs. His cheek still throbbed, his throat felt raw and used, and a profound, quiet excitement hummed through his entire body. Troy was staying. He was giving him more instructions. They were bonding.
This was going to be a long night. And Ben couldn't wait.
The cold bottle felt good in his hand, a solid anchor in the swirling room. He passed it to Troy, who took it without a word, his dark eyes tracking Ben’s every movement with a new, unnerving intensity. Ben then retrieved the weed and papers from under the mattress, his fingers feeling clumsy and thick.
He focused on the process he’d memorized from YouTube, the careful grind and the even roll. Troy just watched, sipping his beer, the silence stretching into something expectant. When the joint was perfectly formed, Ben brought it to him.
"Kneel," Troy said, his voice a low rumble. Ben dropped to his knees on the rough carpet, the position now feeling as natural as breathing. "Light it."
Ben fumbled with the lighter, his hands steadier than he expected. He drew in the smoke and the cough that followed was shallower, a brief sputter. A faint, warm fuzziness began to bloom behind his eyes, softening the edges of the room.
Troy took the joint from his fingers. He left Ben kneeling there, a supplicant in sweatpants, as he took a long, appreciative drag. He held the smoke out toward Ben’s face, the glowing tip a tiny orange eye. "Inhale. Don't exhale until I say."
Ben leaned forward, closing his lips around the paper. He drew the hot, herbal smoke deep into his lungs, holding it until they burned. Troy pulled the joint away, taking two quick, deep hits for himself while Ben’s vision started to sparkle at the edges. "Now," Troy finally said.
Ben exhaled a massive, billowing cloud, the tension in his chest releasing into a sudden, unexpected giggle. The sound was light and alien in the tense room. Everything felt slower, softer, and infinitely more interesting.
"That's a good sound," Troy murmured, his own voice slurred and heavy. "But your mouth needs to be busy." His gaze drifted meaningfully down to his own lap, where his cock lay thick and heavy against his thigh.
A warm, eager thrill shot through Ben’s hazy mind. The weed had muted his anxieties, leaving only the simple, pleasant certainty of purpose. He leaned forward with a newfound enthusiasm, his movements less hesitant, more fluid.
Troy hooked his right leg over Ben’s shoulder, his calf resting heavily against Ben's back. "My turn to drive," he slurred, a lazy, commanding grin on his face. He used the leverage of his leg to pull Ben’s head forward, then push it back, setting a slow, deep rhythm. "Yeah, just like that… fuck, your mouth is a perfect little hole for me."
The filthy praise, so different from his usual insults, washed over Ben. "You take this dick so pretty, Benny," Troy groaned, his hips beginning to meet the motion. "Such a good fucking mouth on you, bitch." Ben's groan vibrated along Troy's shaft. "Keep suckin' that dick good, slut."
Each crude, possessive word was a spark landing on tinder. Ben felt a familiar tightening in his sweatpants, his own cock stirring and then hardening rapidly against the rough fabric of his pants. The direct, sexual approval, combined with the relentless, controlling motion of Troy’s leg, was an intoxicating fuel. He moaned around the fullness in his mouth, the vibration earning a sharp, approving grunt from above.
He moaned around the fullness in his mouth, the vibration earning a sharp, approving grunt from above. Troy’s rhythm was a relentless, deep-sea pulse, each thrust burying his cock to the hilt in Ben’s throat. The world narrowed to this single, wet, choking point of connection, the ache in Ben’s jaw a distant echo beneath the roaring pleasure building in his own groin.
“Time to finish me off, Benny,” Troy slurred, his voice thick and spent. “I need sleep.”
He dropped his foot from Ben’s shoulder back to the floor with a soft thud. Shifting to the edge of the armchair, he placed a hand on either side of Ben’s face, his thumbs pressing into the still-tender skin of his cheekbones. He began to move Ben’s head onto his dick more rapidly, a steady, driving pace that wasn’t brutal, but was utterly demanding.
“Slobber for me, pretty Benny,” Troy murmured, his dark eyes heavy-lidded. “Make my dick real wet.”
Ben let go. All the thick saliva the throat-fucking had created, that he’d been desperately swallowing to keep from gagging, he now allowed to flow. It spilled from his lips in a continuous, slick stream, coating Troy’s shaft and dripping over his own chin. It slid down his neck, matting the hair on his muscular chest, and fell in thick drops onto the carpet between his knees.
Troy was close, his breathing becoming ragged, his control fraying. He found a specific rhythm with Ben’s head, a series of short, deep pushes that kept him balanced on a knife’s edge for a few exquisite moments. He looked down at Ben’s face, a ruined mess flushed red from effort, the pale mark from the slap still visible. Tears had carved paths through the sheen of spit, now drying in sticky tracks.
But beneath the mess, Troy saw it clearly: a profound peace and a quiet happiness that hadn’t been there before, a contentment that reached Ben’s clear blue eyes even as they watered.
With a guttural cry that was half-surprise, half-surrender, Troy released his load deep into Ben’s throat. He held Ben there, his hands firm, making him swallow every pulsing jet. The pleasure was so intense, so total, that Troy’s vision swam with black spots, his head lolling back against the chair as he nearly passed out.
He came to a few moments later, his senses returning slowly. Ben was still there, his mouth a warm, wet seal around Troy’s softening cock, waiting patiently for a command. The obedience was absolute.
Troy pulled Ben’s face up to his, the movement sluggish. He kissed him deeply, tasting the salt and the spent passion, a mirror of their first kiss but now layered with a shocking intimacy. He broke the kiss, his voice a raw whisper. “If you spill a drop next time, you’ll get another slap.”
Ben smiled at him then, a radiant, uncomplicated expression shining through the tears, snot, spit, and cum. It was the smile of a man who had finally found his place.
“Get yourself cleaned up and go to bed,” Troy mumbled, his energy utterly spent.
He staggered to his own bed and fell into it, his body sinking into the mattress. Within moments, the deep, even breaths of sleep filled the room. Ben remained on his knees for a while longer, listening to the sound, a strange and powerful protector of Troy’s peace.
The raw ache in his jaw and the tender throb on his cheek were not pains but proofs, physical affirmations of a successful night. He finally rose on stiff legs, his body feeling both thoroughly used and strangely new, and crept into the bathroom to clean up. Soon he was in his own bed, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep almost instantly.
Sunlight streamed through the window, landing on Ben’s face. He woke not with a jolt, but with a smooth, electric clarity. Every cell in his body felt energised, purposeful, and whole. The distant, rhythmic sound of Troy’s breathing from the other side of the room was a comforting metronome. He was still asleep.
Ben moved with a quiet, efficient grace, padding around the room in his cartoon-print pyjamas. He collected the empty beer bottles, wiped the ashtray clean, and brushed the faint, dried spots from the carpet. His eyes constantly drifted to Troy’s sleeping form, to the powerful line of his chest, to the way the sheet dipped low across his hips, barely covering the heavy curve of his ass and the thick outline of his soft cock. A wide, uncontrollable grin split Ben’s face. He had a new ability, a concrete skill that produced tangible, positive results. This would keep everyone happy.
He showered as quietly as possible, the warm water stinging the faint bruise on his cheekbone in a pleasant way. He dressed in his standard gym-office attire: khaki chinos and a pale blue polo shirt. He looked like he had pointed at a mannequin in the generic dad department and said, "That one." Letting Troy sleep, he headed downstairs.
The house was silent, his mother and Juan already at work. He drank a glass of water, wiped down the counters, and wandered to his mother's dressing table. He needed to cover the bruise. He found a tube labelled concealer and did his best to blend it into his skin. When he stepped back he couldn't see any make up and barely any bruise. He took out the bins, restocked the fridge with beers and sodas and poured himself a bowl of brightly coloured cereal. The sugary crunch was a simple, satisfying pleasure. He was scraping the last milky bits from the bowl when footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Troy walked into the kitchen, and Ben’s spoon froze halfway to his mouth. Dressed for telephone sales, he wore a smart, fitted white shirt that hugged his torso and tailored black pants that strained against the massive, unmistakable bulge between his legs. How had Ben never noticed that before? The black patent leather loafers with no socks looked effortlessly cool.
Troy didn’t say a word. He poured a coffee, leaning against the counter, his dark eyes fixed on Ben. Ben met his gaze and smiled back in an open, easy way, no trace of yesterday’s nerves.
"I'll be back at 10pm," Troy said, his voice clear and direct. He took a sip of coffee, his eyes never leaving Ben's. "Now you know what I need, get it ready."
He walked toward the front door, his steps confident. As he pulled it open, he called back over his shoulder without turning around.
"Oh, and make sure that pussy good, too."
The door clicked shut. Ben sat alone at the table, the smile slowly fading from his face, replaced by a knot of pure confusion. His pussy? He looked down at his bowl, then toward the empty doorway, utterly bewildered. His pussy? The word bounced around his empty skull, finding no purchase. He pulled out his phone, his thumbs moving with a purpose that bypassed his confusion. He opened his messages to Vince.
Hey, can I talk to you about something later today? Could I come by about 3.30?
The reply was almost instantaneous. As long as you bring that mouth.
Ben put the phone away. Problem identified, solution in motion. He pushed the bizarre comment and the lingering, phantom sensation of Troy’s weight on his tongue to the back of his mind. There was work to do.
The four-hour shift at the gym passed in a blur of mundane tasks. He filed membership forms, his neat printing filling in boxes for people seeking their own transformations. He helped relocate a stack of weight plates, the solid iron discs feeling lighter in his hands than they had last week. A new couple, bright-eyed and nervous, asked him about personal training packages, and he explained the options with a calm, easy authority that felt new.
He felt different. As he moved through the gym floor toward the locker room at two, he noticed the shift. It wasn’t overt, just a series of lingering glances from other guys, a held eye contact that lasted a beat too long. Their eyes seemed to track the breadth of his shoulders, the dense fur on his forearms, the powerful set of his thighs in his chinos. He didn't feel like a ghost anymore.
Changing into his workout gear, the atmosphere thickened. As he set up for a heavy bench press, a muscular guy with sleeve tattoos was suddenly at his side. "You need a spot?" he asked, his voice casual but his eyes intensely focused on Ben’s chest. Ben hadn't even had to look around.
Later, while he was racking his weights, another man, older, with a salt-and-pepper beard, approached. "Hey, man, that's an impressive set-up. What's your split?" He gestured to Ben’s entire body. "You've got a real classic physique. Thick. Solid."
Ben answered, his voice steady, a faint smile on his lips. The compliments were data points, confirming the change. He finished his last set just after three, his skin buzzing with endorphins and something else, a low hum of awareness.
The individual showers were tiled and steamy. He stood under the hot spray, the water sluicing over the dense hair on his chest and stomach. His hand, of its own volition, drifted down. He wrapped his fingers around his cock, which was already half-hard. This was unheard of for him, a spontaneous act of pleasure in a public, albeit private, stall.
He thought of Troy’s commanding voice, the slap, the deep, possessive kiss. He thought of the overwhelming fullness, the taste, the sounds of approval. He pictured Vince’s thick cock, the lesson, the success. His strokes became faster, more urgent. The pleasure built, a tight coil in his gut, so much more intense than it had ever been before. A groan tore from his throat, which he quickly covered with a sharp, forced cough as his release hit the tiled wall in thick stripes. He let the water wash it away, watching his cock deflate, feeling clean and utterly calm.
He cycled to Vince’s apartment, the cool air feeling good on his freshly showered skin. Vince opened the door, already smirking. "Well? Don't leave me hanging, dude. How'd it go with the stepbrother from hell?"
Ben walked in and told him everything. He described the sheer size of Troy, the slap, the throat-fucking, the way Troy had used his leg to control the pace, the filthy praise, the overwhelming finality of his orgasm. He left nothing out, his narration factual and detailed.
Vince listened, his eyes wide, occasionally muttering "no shit" or "fuck me." When Ben finished, Vince just shook his head in awe. "You're a fucking legend, Ben. Unreal." He grabbed a baggie from the counter. "So, you want more of this, I assume?"
Ben nodded. "But first, I need you to explain something. Troy said… before he left, he told me to 'make sure that pussy good.' What did he mean?"
Vince barked a loud laugh, then leaned forward, his expression turning conspiratorial. "Right. Okay. So, a guy's asshole. Sometimes it gets called a pussy. Especially if a guy's, you know, the one taking it." He launched into an explanation, crude and full of street-level knowledge. He talked about men, not just gay guys, but straight-up dudes who had learned a man's ass could feel better than a woman's. "They can really take a pounding, you know? No pregnancy scare, and they can go for hours. And I hear… I hear the guys who take it, they moan like whores. Something about a prostate gland up there? It's like a magic button."
Ben, ever practical, frowned. "But what about… poop?"
Vince waved a hand. "You douche, man. You clean it out. With a bottle of water and a little nozzle. It's not a big deal."
He looked at Ben, a sly, knowing smile spreading across his face. "So. You wanna have another trial practice? Like with the head? I could… show you the basics."
Ben considered it. The offer was logical, an extension of his previous education. But something in him had solidified. "Thank you, but no," he said, his voice calm and certain. "But I would like to suck your cock again." He met Vince's gaze, his blue eyes clear and direct. "And you can be more dominant, if you want."
Vince’s eyebrows shot up. "Hell yeah, I want." He didn't need to be asked twice. He shoved his track pants down, his thick cock already springing free, fully erect. "On your knees, then. And look at me while you do it."
Ben knelt on the coarse carpet, the position now as familiar as his own name. He waited for further instruction. Vince noted it and smiled at him, "Good little slut aren't you?" He leaned forward and plunged himself into Ben's mouth. Ben stayed there with his mouth open and willing until Vince settled, then his technique proved immediately more confident, more aggressive. He used his tongue in broad, flat strokes along the underside, his hand working the base in a tight, twisting motion.
"Fuck, Ben," Vince groaned, his hands resting around Ben's throat, not squeezing, but making themselves known. "Yeah, just like that. You've improved already. That cock must have taught you some things..."
Ben increased his pace, hollowing his cheeks, creating a firm, wet suction that made Vince’s thighs tremble. He remembered what Troy liked, the depth, the surrender. He took Vince deep, until his nose pressed into the coarse hair at the base, his throat relaxing open. He held it there, his eyes locked on Vince’s, watching the pleasure break across his face. Vince held onto his head, keeping Ben's gaze angled up so their eyes stayed locked, and fucked his face in short, slow thrusts, his cock staying buried deep. Vince kept expecting Ben to choke or gag, but nothing happened beyond his dick getting wetter and closer to orgasm.
Vince, overwhelmed by the skill and the sheer audacity of Ben’s gaze, didn't last long. "I'm gonna… shit, Ben, I'm gonna come!" he grunted, his back arching.
Ben didn't pull away. He stayed, swallowing every pulse, his eyes never leaving Vince’s until he was completely spent. He sat back on his heels, licking his lips clean.
Vince stared down at him, breathless, a look of pure reverence on his face. "Jesus Christ," he panted. He handed Ben the baggie of weed. "On the house. Seriously. Any time, man. Any time." Ben smiled and gave his thanks.
Ben stood, pocketed the weed, and cycled towards home. The late afternoon sun was warm on his back. He had the supplies. And now, he had the knowledge. He knew exactly what he needed to get ready for Troy.