Chapter 4: Rule Breaker
Vince’s breathing had become a ragged, desperate thing, his knuckles white where they gripped the couch. Ben could feel the tension coiling through his friend’s body, the muscles in his back and ass clenched tight as a drum. He was close. Remembering his own revelation in the dark, Ben slowly brought his hands around Vince’s hips, his fingers finding the flat, tight nubs of his nipples.
He pinched, rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers with a firm, precise pressure.
The effect was instantaneous and violent. A jolt, like a live wire had been touched to his spine, seized Vince’s entire frame. His back arched violently, his head thrown back as a strangled, guttural cry was torn from his throat. It was the final connection, the circuit completing, sending a surge of pure sensation from his ass to his nipples to his cock in one blinding feedback loop. He came in great, pulsing spurts over the towel Ben had told him to put down first, his body shaking and tensing at the same time, a violent paradox of release and rigidity. The noises he made were barely human—a series of choked sobs and primal groans that seemed to come from a place deeper than his body. It wasn't just an ejaculation; it was a full-body, spiritual, physical, emotional demolition.
Ben kept a steadying hand on the small of his back as Vince shuddered through the aftershocks, his breathing a ragged, wet sound. It took a while for the tremors to subside, for Vince to slowly collapse forward, boneless and spent, onto the couch cushions. He lay there, dazed, for a long minute before eventually pulling up his boxers and pants with clumsy, uncoordinated movements. He collapsed back onto the sofa, reached for the rolling tray with a trembling hand, and began to assemble another joint. He looked at Ben, his eyes wide with a kind of stunned reverence, like he’d just turned water into wine.
"See," Ben said, his voice quiet and calm.
The house was too quiet later that night. Lying in his own bed, the empty twin in the opposite corner from him felt like an accusation. Troy was with the girl. The thought was a dull, persistent ache behind his sternum. He rolled onto his back, staring at the pristine white ceiling. The loneliness was a physical weight, but underneath it, something else was stirring.
He thought about Vince’s shattered expression, the raw, unbidden sounds of pleasure. He thought about the control in Troy’s voice, the way his own body responded like a well-tuned instrument. He was good at this. Just from today's evidence, in a sexual way, he had a talent for giving people what they didn't even know they needed. But looking back, it was the same reason he was always the good son, the obedient employee, the rule-follower. He knew how to read a room, how to anticipate a need, how to make himself useful. It was all the same skill, just… applied differently now.
So why didn't he turn that onto himself?
The thought was new, a fragile bud unfurling in the dark. He’d always seen his obedience as something for others. What if it was for him, too?
Sadly, he laughed to himself, his tongue wouldn't reach that far. But the need was there, a hollow, yearning emptiness left by Troy's absence. He got out of bed, the floorboards cool under his feet, and grabbed the bottle of lube from his gym bag, the one he’d bought for the douche.
He lay back on his bed, the faded comforter rough against his bare skin. He squeezed a generous amount of cool gel onto his fingers and reached down. He started with one, just the tip, pressing slowly against the tight resistance. He breathed out, relaxing, and his body yielded, swallowing the first digit to the knuckle. It was a familiar fullness, but different now. This was his hand, his rhythm. He wasn't being prepared for someone else; he was exploring for himself.
He worked slowly, incrementally, adding a second finger when the stretch felt comfortable, then a third. He didn't rush. He curved his fingers, searching, experimenting with pressure and angle, a student of his own anatomy. His other hand lay flat on his stomach, not touching his cock, which lay hard and leaking against his belly. He focused entirely on the deep, internal building of pressure, the subtle friction against a spot that made his thighs tremble.
He was three fingers deep, moving in a slow, patient rhythm, when the tension broke. It crested without warning, a warm, rolling wave that started deep inside and radiated outwards. His back arched off the bed, a silent, breathless gasp catching in his throat as he came, his release spilling over his hand and stomach in thick, helpless pulses, his cock untouched.
He lay there for a long time, panting in the dark, the profound stillness of the house now feeling peaceful instead of lonely. He finally got up, cleaned himself with a damp cloth from the bathroom, and pulled on his softest pyjamas. Slipping back into bed, he fell almost instantly into a deep, untroubled, and perfectly happy sleep.
The next day at work, a new layer of ease settled over him. He found himself laughing genuinely with a regular about their terrible squat form, his advice coming out not as nervous suggestions but as confident, easy corrections. He was more conscious of the space his body occupied, of the way his simple presence seemed to calm the frantic energy of the gym floor. It was a quiet understanding that his particular gift for attention was a kind of strength, one that had nothing to do with the weight on a bar.
There had been no word from Troy. Leo wasn’t on the schedule. Even Vince had been silent. He spent his workout on the cardio floor, giving his muscles a rest, his mind pleasantly adrift. He felt the weight of a gaze from a guy on the adjacent treadmill, a lingering, appreciative look that was mirrored later by another member stretching near the water cooler. The old Ben would have immediately sought to please, to offer a smile or open a conversation. But something, a sharp, possessive hook in his gut, made him hold back. What would Troy think of him, whoring himself out everywhere after just one night apart?
Once he’d cycled home through the cooling evening air, he saw the message from Vince. "Only just surfaced. FUUUUUUUCK!" Ben chuckled, the sound loud in the empty house. He typed back, "I know. And I haven't even had a seconds yet 😞" "No word from Troy?" Vince asked. "Nothing". "Then come over" Vince sent, followed by a wicked grin emoji.
Ben considered it, the phone warm in his palm. What if Troy did turn up tonight, expecting to find him waiting, ready and obedient? The thought sent a thrill of fear and anticipation through him. But what if he didn’t? What if all Ben did was sit in this silent room, waiting for a summons that never came, when he could be across town, feeling that power again as Vince came apart under his tongue? Fuck it.
"I'm going to the cinema with the folks, but I can swing by about 9?"
"I'll be prepared" Vince texted back.
At 9:05 PM, Ben arrived at Vince’s. The smell of stale weed and nervous energy hit him in the hallway. Vince was pacing, already stoned, his movements jerky and agitated. "Hey, man, sorry, I’m just… fucking horny for it again," he blurted out, running a hand through his hair. "It’s better than any drug, and I’ve had most of them." Ben got it, he truly did, but a part of him ached, wishing it was his own ass being served, being taken apart with that same worshipful intensity.
Vince noticed the shadow crossing Ben’s face. "Hey," he said, softer. "I can… I can eat your ass if that’s more fair? Tit for tat, you know?"
Ben shook his head, the refusal immediate and absolute. "No. It doesn’t feel right. That’s… that’s Troy's." He took the proffered joint from Vince’s trembling fingers and took a few long, steadying puffs, holding the smoke until his lungs burned. He exhaled slowly, the decision solidifying, giving Vince a mischievous grin. "Assume the position."
They fell into an almost-familiar rhythm. Vince bent over the back of the couch, jeans around his knees, and Ben settled on the low coffee table behind him. The room was quiet except for Vince’s escalating breaths and the wet, intimate sounds of Ben’s work. He lost himself in the mechanics of it, the practiced motions, the building tension in Vince’s thighs.
Thirty minutes later, the back door crashed open with a splintering bang.
A hand grabbed the back of Ben’s t-shirt and yanked him backwards with brutal force. He flew off the coffee table, toppling over it and landing in a heap on the floor, his head spinning. Vince shrieked, scrambling to pull up his pants, his face a mask of sheer terror.
Troy stood in the middle of the room, his chest heaving, his dark eyes burning with a cold, murderous fire. "You think I'm stupid?" he snarled, his voice low and venomous. He gestured with his phone. "I have your location shared, you dumb fuck. I always have."
"It's not what you think!" Vince stammered, his voice shrill.
"Shut your mouth," Troy shot back, not even looking at him. His gaze was locked on Ben, who was slowly pushing himself up from the floor. "I saw you. I saw you letting HIM into MY pussy." The words were a snarl, dripping with a possessive rage Ben had never seen before.
"There's no letting!" Ben finally found his voice, standing up. "I was just… I was eating his ass, Troy. That's it. Nothing else."
The clarification seemed to make Troy even angrier. "Get in the car. Now." He pointed a rigid finger toward the door. "Don't speak. Don't even fucking look at me. Move."
Ben moved. He walked out of Vince’s house without a backward glance, the humid night air doing nothing to cool the heat of his shame and confusion. He slid into the passenger seat of Troy’s beat-up sedan, the vinyl sticky against his skin. He waited, his heart hammering against his ribs.
When Troy finally joined him, slamming the driver's door so hard the whole car shook, the silence was suffocating. "It wasn't what you thought," Ben started, his voice quiet but steady. "I wasn't… receiving. I was giving. It's different."
Troy turned the key, the engine roaring to life. He didn't look at Ben. "You broke the rules."
A cold clarity washed over Ben. "What rules?" he asked, the question hanging in the tense, airless space between them. "You never told me any rules."
The words hung in the stagnant car air, sharp and undeniable. Troy’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles bleaching white against the dark leather. He didn’t look at Ben, his profile a hard line of fury in the dim dashboard light.
He took a long, steadying breath, the kind that sounded like it hurt. “This,” he finally said, the word gritted out between his teeth. “This is exactly why I don’t get into relationships. Crossed wires. Mess. Hassle.”
Ben took his own calming breath, the practiced kind he used at the gym when spotting someone lifting too heavy. He thought about his ability to anticipate people’s needs, to read the subtle shifts in tension. This wasn’t about rules written down; it was about territory, unspoken and fiercely guarded.
With a quiet click, Ben unbuckled his seat belt. The confined space of the car made the movement awkward, but he just managed to twist himself on the seat, pivoting on his hips until his hips were to the door and his ass was facing Troy. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and briefs, pulling them down to his knees in one firm motion. “Look,” Ben said, his voice steady. “Nothing.”
Troy looked sideways, his body still rigid with anger, the engine off and going nowhere. His gaze dropped to the exposed skin, to the cleft presented so openly. Almost without wanting to, as if pulled by a force separate from his will, Troy’s hand came out. His fingers, rough and warm, brushed against Ben’s skin, tracing the line, feeling for any trace of moisture, any evidence of another’s claim. They came away dry. Clean. “FUCK!” Troy shouted, the word exploding in the small space, his hand slapping back onto the steering wheel.
Ben stayed still, patient, giving him time to feel and process the storm of his own feelings. He slowly pulled his clothes back up but remained turned in his seat, watching Troy’s profile. “What happened?” Ben asked softly. “You didn’t call.”
Troy was silent for a while, the only sound their ragged breathing. “She was awful,” he finally muttered, staring straight ahead through the windshield. “Loud and condescending all night, like she was doing me a favor. And in bed?” He barked a bitter laugh. “Zero interest. Just lay there like a dead fish.”
The anger bubbled up in him again, fresh and hot. “And all I could fucking think about was… you… you cunt. Or more specifically, YOUR cunt.” He ran a hand over his face. “I was so pissed about a wasted and ruined night, and I thought you’d just be… I should have text you. I shouldn’t have stormed in like that. Fuck.”
Ben gave him a moment, letting the raw admission settle. A small, understanding smile touched his lips. “I thought it was kind of heroic,” he said, the grin spreading. “Bursting in there to save me from being raped by the evil man.”
Troy couldn’t help it; a short, surprised grin cracked through his scowl. “Fuck off. And fuck you.”
“Take me home and you’re welcome to,” Ben responded, the sass in his voice a new, bold flavor.
“Ok, princess, wind it in. You’re still my bitch.” Troy reached over, his hand cupping Ben’s jaw, turning his head towards him. He gave him a small, but firm slap on the cheek, the sting a bright, familiar punctuation that made Ben blush and his stomach flutter. Troy pulled Ben’s face forward and claimed his mouth in a hard, possessive kiss, then released him just as abruptly. He turned the key, the engine roaring to life, and pulled away from the curb with a squeal of tires, roaring off into the night to get his bitch back home.
The car ride home was a silent, charged thing, the hum of the engine and the rush of streetlights the only conversation. Troy’s knuckles were still white on the wheel, but the rigid set of his shoulders had softened just a fraction. He didn’t look at Ben, but his right hand left the gearshift and came to rest, heavy and warm, on Ben’s thigh, fingers digging possessively into the dense muscle. Ben let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, the tension in the car shifting from explosive to intensely focused.
Inside their room, the door clicked shut, sealing them in. Troy wordlessly shucked off his jacket, his movements efficient and deliberate. Ben stood by his bed, waiting, the adrenaline from the confrontation at Vince’s now a low, humming current under his skin. Troy turned, his dark eyes sweeping over Ben, and pointed to the floor in front of the armchair. “Strip. Then get down there.”
An hour later, the scene was set in the dim room. Troy sat naked in the worn armchair, his spit soaked cock lolling on his thigh, a lit joint smouldering between his fingers and a half-finished bottle of beer resting on the floor beside him. His left foot was firmly wedged into Ben’s mouth, the arch pressing down on Ben’s tongue, stretching his lips. Ben was laid out sideways on the floor on his back, his head tilted toward Troy, his body completely exposed. With his other foot, Troy occasionally tapped Ben’s balls, a light, rhythmic punishment that made Ben flinch and then relax into the strange sensation.
“Rule one,” Troy said, his voice calm and absolute, taking a slow drag from the joint. “You belong to me. If you want to do anything with anyone else, you ask my permission first.” He exhaled a plume of smoke. “Is there anyone else?”
Ben mumbled around the foot in his mouth, the sounds incoherent.
Troy removed his foot, his toes glistening with saliva. “What was that?”
“One,” Ben said, his voice rough. “Leo. At the gym. I sucked his dick in the shower. Once.”
Troy grunted, a sound of acknowledgment, and slid his foot back into Ben’s waiting mouth. Ben’s eyes fluttered closed in delight, his tongue working instinctively. “Anyone else interested?” Troy asked, taking a swig of beer.
Ben started speaking again, the words garbled and nonsensical around the foot.
Troy laughed, a genuine, surprised sound. “Stop that,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips.
“What?” Ben asked, coyly, after Troy pulled his foot out again.
“Being fucking cute,” Troy said, but he couldn’t hide his own smile. He tapped Ben’s balls again with his other foot, a little harder this time.
Ben described the lingering looks at the gym, the unspoken interest he felt radiating from other guys now. “Just interest. Nothing direct.”
Troy nodded, his expression turning shrewd. “They can smell that pussy. My pussy.” He took a final pull from the joint before stubbing it out. “I have an idea, but for another time. Rule two.” He sighed, as if the words were physically difficult. “I’ll… communicate more. I get that’s what fucked this up.”
“Rule three,” he continued, his voice hardening again. “Stop telling people about us. This isn’t anyone else’s business. Vince knows. Anyone else?”
Ben shook his head, the movement making Troy’s foot shift in his mouth.
“Okay,” Troy said, his tone considering. “I might be able to deal with that one. I have a buddy who needs a good hole like yours.” He paused, a curious glint in his eye. “Is Vince’s hole good?”
Ben waited for Troy to remove his foot. “It’s the only one I’ve tried,” he said. “But I liked it well enough.”
Troy smirked. “No way it’s as good as yours. But I’ll send him round. He needs a new dealer, too, so…” He looked down at Ben. “That’s it. Unless you have any rules?” He clearly didn’t expect a reply.
“Could you ask my permission,” Ben said, his voice quiet but clear, “if you want to be with someone else?” He met Troy’s gaze. “I felt discarded. When that girl took priority.”
Troy stared at him, his face a mask of conflict, looking like he was going to refuse outright. “Fuck. Okay,” he finally conceded, the words gritty. “But you better have a good reason if you say no.”
“I always have a good reason to say no,” Ben said, and in one fluid motion, he rolled over onto his knees on the carpet, bending forward until his ass was high in the air, his own hands pulling his cheeks apart to offer himself completely.
“You’re a fucking cunt,” Troy breathed, the words full of awe and hunger as he dove forward from the chair, his tongue already out, prepared to spear deep into Ben’s hole.
His tongue was a brand, searing and possessive, and Ben melted into the carpet, every nerve ending singing. This was different from before, less about worship and more about reclamation, a furious, deep-cleaning that left Ben breathless and trembling. Troy’s hands gripped his hips hard enough to bruise, holding him in place as he devoured him, the sounds wet and animalistic in the quiet room.
When Troy finally pulled back, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his breathing ragged. “Mine,” he grunted, a single, final word that settled deep in Ben’s bones. He stood, his shadow falling over Ben. “Bed. Now.”
Later, Ben lay in the dark, listening to the steady rhythm of Troy’s snoring from the other side of the room. The space between his legs felt tender, used, and profoundly his. His phone glowed on the nightstand. Vince had texted, a string of anxious messages. "Holy shit is everything ok?" "He looked like he was gonna murder someone." "Ben?"
Ben typed back, his thumbs moving slowly in the blue light. "Everything's fine. Don't worry, really. It'll all work out 😏" He added the sly grin, a secret nod to Troy’s plan to send his buddy round, a strange thrill running through him at the thought of orchestrating that kind of pleasure for someone else, even Vince.
He put the phone down and stared at the ceiling, trying to untangle the knot of his own feelings. Why did he like this? The names, the possession, the sheer intensity of being someone's sole focus, even in anger. Did he actually enjoy the degradation, or was it just that he loved, craved, the proof that he could please someone so completely? It should feel confusing, wrong even, but lying here, sore and spent, it just felt… right. Troy was a force of nature, unpredictable and fierce, but he wasn't a monster. He hadn't hit him, not really, not in a scary way. He’d listened when Ben stated his own rule. He was in charge, yes, but the boundaries were now clear, and that clarity was like a drug. Ben drifted off to sleep, a contented smile on his face.
He woke late, the room bright with morning sun. 9:03 AM. Troy’s bed was empty, neatly made. A folded piece of paper lay on Ben’s own pillow. He picked it up. The handwriting was a messy scrawl. I kissed you goodbye while you were asleep you lazy cunt. See you tonight. Next to the words, drawn in heavy black pen, was a large, perfectly shaded circle. A hole.
Ben’s stomach did a little flip. He scrambled out of bed, his routine a frantic blur. He managed to get to the gym only ten minutes late, the first time he could ever remember being late for anything. “Look who decided to join us!” the manager called out, grinning. “Nightclub finally wear you out, Ben?” Another trainer laughed, “Who was she?” The jokes were light, friendly, and Ben just shrugged with a sheepish smile, the real reason a warm, secret weight in his chest.
On his way to the staff room, he saw Leo by the free weights, his lean muscles flexing under a tight tank top. Ben walked over, his pulse quickening. “Hey, Leo.”
“Ben, what’s up?” Leo said, wiping his neck with a towel.
“Listen, about the other day…” Ben started, lowering his voice. “I’m, uh… I’m on restraints. By my… master.” The word felt foreign but right on his tongue.
Leo’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. He looked Ben up and down, then slowly held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Okay. Wow. Right. I’d have a tight leash on that mouth if it were mine, too.” He gave a small, respectful nod. “Let me know if things change, bud.”
Back home that evening, the atmosphere was unnervingly normal. Troy was already at the table, picking at a piece of chicken. He nodded at Ben as he sat down, offering a non-committal, “Hey.” Carol and Juan exchanged a look of quiet surprise. “It’s nice to have you both here,” Juan said. “We were thinking of a movie later, or maybe a board game? If you boys are free.”
Troy didn’t even let them finish. “Nah. Ben and I have some bonding time planned.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood, jerking his head toward the stairs. “C’mon.”
In their room, and in the absence of a lock, Troy slid the wooden desk chair under the doorknob. Then he turned to Ben, his intense gaze softening in a way that made Ben’s breath catch. Slowly, he reached for the hem of Ben’s t-shirt. “Lift your arms,” he murmured, his voice low.
Ben complied, and Troy peeled the shirt off him, his hands following to smooth over Ben’s broad, hairy shoulders. He leaned in, pressing his lips to the juncture of Ben’s neck and shoulder, a soft, lingering kiss that made Ben shiver. He undid Ben’s jeans, kneeling to pull them and his briefs down his thick thighs, his hands stroking the skin as he went. It was tender, attentive, and it confused Ben more than any command or insult ever had. He felt seen, cherished.
Troy stood and quickly shed his own clothes, moving close behind Ben so their bodies almost touched. He leaned in, his breath hot against Ben’s ear. “I’m going to fuck you tonight.” The words were a whisper, a promise. Then he reached over and turned on the stereo, and a wall of aggressive, pounding music filled the room. He raised his voice over the din, the tenderness gone, replaced by a raw, thrilling command. “AND I AM GONNA MAKE YOU SCREAM, BITCH.”
A thick, warm drop of precum welled from the tip of Ben’s cock and slid down his thigh.