Chapter 6: A New Vince
The leather of the barber’s chair was cool and smooth against Ben’s back, a stark contrast to the burning heat flooding his system. Troy loomed over him, one hand tangled in his short blond hair, the other braced against the headrest. "That's it," Troy murmured, his voice a low, rough thing that vibrated right through Ben’s skull. "Just take it. You're so good at this. Such a perfect mouth for me."
Ben’s world had narrowed to the salt-and-skin taste of Troy, the overwhelming stretch of his jaw, the thick, insistent pressure at the back of his throat that made his eyes water. He focused on breathing through his nose, on relaxing, on letting Troy use him. Every time he gagged, Troy would just groan, low and appreciative, and push deeper. "Look at you. My pretty boy. You love this, don't you? You love being my cocksleeve."
A strange, electric thrill shot from Ben’s throat straight to his groin. His own cock, exposed and ignored as all of Ben's focus lasered onto Troy's cock, twitched. Troy’s thumb, calloused and rough, found one of Ben’s nipples, pinching and rolling it with expert touch. The sensation was a lightning bolt, a sharp, bright pain that instantly morphed into a wave of pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable. He moaned around the cock in his mouth, the vibration earning him another filthy compliment.
"That's it, make noise for me. Let me know how much you need it."
The dual assault was too much. The relentless friction in his throat, the expert torture on his nipple, the degrading, affirming words—they coalesced into a tight coil at the base of his spine. His body seized, back arching off the leather as a ragged, choked cry was torn from him. He came, hard, pulsing onto his newly sculpted abs, the pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain, his vision spotting at the edges.
Troy watched it happen, his dark eyes blazing with a possessive fire. Seeing Ben unravel so completely, so messily, was the final push. He swore, a sharp, guttural word, and his hips stuttered forward one last, deep time. Ben felt the hot, sudden flood hit his throat and he swallowed instinctively, greedily, until Troy was pulling out, spent and breathing heavily.
For a moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breaths in the opulent room. Troy stood, looking down at himself, then at Ben, a look of raw satisfaction on his face. Ben, still dazed, didn't need to be told. He turned and cleaned Troy with his tongue, the act feeling less like a command and more like a natural, necessary conclusion.
Troy tucked himself away, tying up his shorts. "I'm gonna go settle the bill. Get yourself together." He lent down and kissed Ben deeply, appreciatively and then tossed a clean towel onto Ben's chest and left the room.
In the car, the silence was different. Any previous tension was gone, replaced by a heavy, buzzing calm. Ben stared out the window at the passing streetlights, feeling the new softness of his groomed skin under his clothes. He felt… settled. The shame and confusion that had choked him after the scene at Vince’s house had been scoured away, replaced by a clear, startling truth. This was him. The obedience, the craving for approval, the way his body responded to Troy’s control—it wasn’t a flaw to be hidden. It was the core of him. Troy’s treatment, harsh then tender, degrading then affirming, had carved away everything false. He felt more himself than he ever had. More confident. More real.
He was so deep in the thought, the memory of his tongue being buried deep Vince's ass now just a hazy prelude to this, that he barely registered they’d stopped. He looked out the window. It was Vince’s house.
Ben gave Troy a quizzical look. Troy just smiled, a slow, knowing thing, and killed the engine. "Come on."
Inside, the vibe was weirdly normal. Vince was on the couch, playing a video game. He glanced over his shoulder. "Hey, man." He nodded at Ben. "Ben." There was no hostility, just a casual acknowledgment. Ben stood awkwardly by the door, completely lost.
Troy clapped his hands together softly. "Look, I know we've text about this, but about before. I was an asshole. I'm sorry." The apology was basic, delivered with zero fanfare. "But I'm gonna make up for it. Got a little surprise."
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Vince paused his game, his brow furrowed. Ben just watched, utterly confused.
Troy opened the door and ushered in a slender Black man. He was dressed in smart, dark trousers and a crisp button-down, glasses perched on his nose, looking like he’d just come from a library. But his posture was pure, unshakable confidence. This was Darius.
"Everyone, this is Darius," Troy announced, his smile widening.
Darius’s eyes, sharp and intelligent behind his glasses, scanned the room and landed on Vince. He looked him up and down with the appraising eye of a collector finding a prized piece. Vince, a thick-set Italian guy their age, seemed to shrink under the gaze. His curly black hair was damp, like he’d just showered. His tight black vest showed off meaty muscles built from home workouts, not a fancy gym. And Ben suddenly noticed the tight cotton shorts he was wearing, which did nothing to hide a decent bulge and a fat, muscular ass that strained against the fabric.
Darius smiled, a slow, deeply pleased expression. "Very nice."
Troy clapped Vince on the shoulder. "Vince, this is Darius. He's your new… let's call him your curator. And you're his pussyboy."
Vince’s eyes widened, but the protest Ben expected never came. Instead, a faint blush crept up his neck. "Uh… hey," Vince managed.
"Roll us some joints, V," Troy said, it wasn't a question.
And in a shocking change of personality from the delinquent bum from before, Vince just nodded, got up, and happily started pulling out weed and papers from a box on the coffee table. Ben, needing to be equally as useful, moved to the kitchen and sorted out drinks for everyone, his hands moving on autopilot.
When he returned with the beers, Troy pointed to the floor by his feet. Ben sat without hesitation, the cool hardwood familiar and right. Troy's hand came to rest on his shoulder, Ben's arm draping over Troy's knee. He saw Darius, now settled in an armchair, simply point to the space in front of him. Vince, joints neatly lined up on the table, immediately went and sat there, looking up at Darius with a mix of nerves and excitement.
Troy and Darius lit up, the sweet, skunky scent of weed quickly filling the room. They chatted casually about music, about a guy at work they both disliked, the conversation utterly normal except for the two guys sitting at their feet. Occasionally, Troy would hold his joint down for Ben to take a puff. Darius did the same for Vince. The hierarchy was clear, calm, and accepted.
After a comfortable silence, Troy took a long drag and exhaled slowly. "Alright, man. I want to see you work."
Darius nodded. He reached down and grabbed Vince's jaw, turning his face up. His touch wasn't harsh, but it was unquestionably in control. "Does my pussyboy keep himself ready?" he asked, his voice calm and melodic.
Vince nodded, his eyes wide. "Yes."
"Good."
What happened next unfolded with a quiet, intense focus. Darius guided Vince to kneel up on the couch, almost exactly as he had for Ben. Once in position, has lower back arched down as far as possible to make his ass pop, Vince slowly pulled the cotton shorts down just enough for the waistband to sit under his cheeks. Then, without ceremony, Darius bent and put his mouth to work.
Ben watched, mesmerized. Troy’s hand came to rest on his head, fingers stroking through his short hair. On the couch, Vince was quickly coming apart. Muffled whimpers escaped him, his hands clenching and unclenching in the carpet. His hips started to push back, seeking more, his whole body trembling. He was devolving into a jabbering, desperate mess, all under the precise, relentless attention of Darius's tongue.
Darius worked with a surgeon’s precision, his tongue a flat, wet point that traced slow, deliberate circles around Vince’s clenched rim. The sound was a soft, slick lapping, intimate and obscene in the quiet room. He then pressed the stiffened tip directly against the centre, a persistent, drilling pressure that made Vince gasp and push back against his face.
“Look at that technique,” Troy murmured, his hand still stroking Ben’s hair. “That’s an artist right there.” Darius switched tactics, his lips closing over the pucker to suck lightly, pulling the sensitive flesh into a warm, wet seal before releasing it with a soft, popping sound. He alternated between broad, flat licks that made Vince shudder and sharp, focused flicks that had him crying out, his body trembling on the edge of surrender.
Seeing Vince so completely unravelled, so thoroughly owned, ignited a fierce, competitive need in Ben. He needed to prove his own worth, his own obedience. As Troy sprang his hardening cock free, Ben didn’t wait for a command. He leaned forward and took him deep, swallowing the length in one smooth, practiced motion that drew a sharp, gratified groan from Troy.
Vince’s breathing became ragged, hitching sobs. “I’m— I’m gonna—” he choked out, his body bowing tight as a wire. Darius didn’t let up, his tongue working faster, a relentless, wet assault on the nerve-packed ring of muscle. With a broken shout that was half-sob, half-triumph, Vince came, his release streaking the couch cushions as his body convulsed under the sheer force of an orgasm wrought solely from that expert mouth.
The sight and sound of Vince’s climax was the final trigger for Troy. His fingers tightened in Ben’s hair, holding him firm as his hips bucked forward. “Take it,” he growled, his voice thick and strained. Ben felt the hot, sudden pulse hit the back of his throat and he swallowed eagerly, determined not to waste a drop, wanting Troy to feel his perfect, willing emptiness.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their heavy, spent breaths and the faint, wet sound of Ben cleaning Troy with a final, devoted swipe of his tongue. Slowly, the world righted itself. Troy tucked himself away. Darius produced a handkerchief, wiping his mouth with fastidious care before helping a boneless Vince back into his shorts.
They resettled, the atmosphere shifting into something softer, post-coital. Darius settled onto the couch and pulled Vince into the crook of his arm, the smaller, slighter man easily cradling the larger, muscle-bound one. It was a strange tableau, but Vince nuzzled into Darius’s neck with a contented sigh, both perfectly happy in their roles.
Troy stretched, a satisfied cat. “Alright, we’re out. This was good.”
“It was,” Darius agreed, his sharp eyes glinting. “I’d hoped to see you work, though. I’ve heard stories.”
“Another time,” Troy said with a lazy wave. “My pussy needs rest after the slamming it received last night.” He and Darius shared a look, a silent, respectful acknowledgment between two masters of their craft. “You’re a fucking virtuoso.”
“And you, a force of nature,” Darius replied.
Back in the car, the city lights blurred past. After several blocks of quiet, Troy glanced over. “This silence okay?” he asked, his tone uncharacteristically considerate. “I’m not used to a lot of chat. Usually prefer my own company.”
Ben looked at him, the streetlights washing over Troy’s sharp profile. “I like it,” he said, and meant it. “Prefers it.”
Troy gave a single, slow nod. A few minutes later, he suddenly turned the wheel, pulling the car off the main road and into a dark, vacant lot dominated by the skeletal frame of a half-built apartment complex. “Guy I know runs this site. Shut down for two weeks.” He killed the engine. “Come on.”
He led Ben through a gap in the construction fencing, their footsteps crunching on gravel. The unfinished building was a cavern of raw concrete and echoing space, smelling of dust and wet cement. Troy guided him into a room on the ground floor, open to the night air where windows would eventually be. “No one to hear you here,” Troy said, his voice echoing slightly.
He turned Ben to face a cold, concrete wall, his hands firm on his hips. He was surprisingly thoughtful, spitting onto his fingers before working them into Ben with a slow, careful twist. The preparation was methodical, adding lube from a packet in his pocket, stretching him open with two, then three fingers, the wet sounds loud in the empty space.
“Please, Troy,” Ben begged, his voice already wrecked, pushing back against the intrusion. “I don’t need rest. I need your cock. Just fuck me. Please.”
Toy lined himself up, the thick head pressing against Ben’s entrance. He pushed in with a slow, inexorable pressure that stole Ben’s breath, filling him completely. He held there for a moment, letting Ben adjust, before pulling out and sliding back in with a slightly faster, deeper stroke.
That was all the patience he had. The slow, measured pace shattered, building rapidly into a punishing, relentless rhythm. Each thrust slammed Ben against the wall, the rough concrete scraping his palms. Then Troy's hands found Ben's nipples and he pulled and twisted them fiercely. Ben cried out, loud, uninhibited shouts that echoed through the empty floors—guttural moans, choked pleas for more, wordless screams of pure, animal pleasure. He was loud, so loud, and he didn't care, because the only thing that existed was Troy splitting him open on his cock, claiming him in the dark, unfinished shell of a building, making him whole.
The drive home was a blur of spent nerves and humming silence, the car filled with the scent of their sweat and the cool night air rushing through the open windows. Ben leaned his head against the glass, his body a map of pleasant aches, the memory of the concrete wall rough against his palms. He felt hollowed out and remade, the echoes of his own shouts still ringing in his bones.
They stumbled into the quiet house, the familiar hum of the refrigerator the only greeting. A single sheet of paper, propped against a fruit bowl on the kitchen island, caught the light. Ben picked it up, his voice still a little raw as he read it aloud. "‘Got a last-minute deal, dinner and a hotel downtown. See you tomorrow.’" He looked up from the note.
Troy was already staring at him, his dark eyes gleaming with a predatory, unmistakable hunger. The quiet of the empty house seemed to amplify his presence, his energy shifting from post-coital calm to focused intent in a heartbeat.
"Set us up in the living room tonight, pussyboy," Troy ordered, his voice low and commanding.
Ben scrambled into motion, his obedience a reflex that thrilled him. He dragged the beer cooler in from the bedroom, the bottles clinking softly. He fetched the wooden box from Troy's night stand, its lid revealing two dozen neatly rolled joints. He grabbed a large bottle of clear lubricant from the drawer below. He gathered an armful of clean towels from the linen cupboard, his heart pounding a steady, eager rhythm.
In the living room, he worked quickly. He turned the electric fire on, its artificial logs glowing orange and pushing a wave of dry heat into the space. He drew the heavy curtains, shutting out the world, and switched off the main overhead light, leaving only a single brass lamp burning in the corner. Then, without hesitation, he stripped off his clothes, folding them neatly on a chair before kneeling on the thick rug, his hands resting on his thick thighs, waiting.
Troy walked in naked, and Ben’s breath caught. His cock, already a formidable sight, was now adorned with a series of three black silicone rings. They constricted the base and shaft, making the veins stand out in stark relief and the head appear even more swollen and dark, a brutal and beautiful piece of engineering. "Like what you see?" Troy murmured, a smirk playing on his lips as he settled into the large armchair, his enhanced cock lying heavy against his thigh.
"Yeah," Ben breathed, his own body responding instantly.
About thirty minutes later, the scene was set. A porn video played silently on the television screen, a loop of devoted boys servicing their masters with a single-minded focus that Ben understood completely. The room was hazy with weed smoke. Troy held a joint between his fingers, taking a long drag before occasionally leaning forward to press it to Ben's lips, allowing him a controlled share of the haze.
Ben was on all fours on the rug, facing the TV, his back arched. Troy, slouched in the armchair, had one foot planted firmly on the floor between Ben's legs. The other was at Ben's crack, his big toe, slick with lube, was working slowly in and out of Ben's ass. It wasn't about penetration, but about possession, a filthy, intimate claim that made Ben groan and push back against the unexpected pressure.
"Look at that, pussyboy," Troy said, his voice rough from the smoke. "You're sucking on my toe like it's my cock. You're that desperate for it." The wet, squelching sound of the movement was obscenely loud in the quiet room, a counterpoint to Ben's soft, continuous moans.
Troy took another drag, holding the smoke in his lungs as he watched Ben's body tremble. He exhaled slowly. "Now. I want that mouth. The loudest, wettest, sloppiest, slimiest blowjob you've ever given. Don't swallow a drop. I want to see it. Coat me."
Ben needed no further instruction. He shuffled forward on his knees, his focus narrowing to the monstrous, ring-bound cock in front of him. He took Troy deep, bypassing any gentle preliminaries, and let his gag reflex take over. He worked his throat, pulling back until just the head was in his mouth, then diving down again, deliberately letting saliva pool and spill.
It was a mess. Thick, clear strings of spit webbed between his lips and Troy's shaft, dripping onto his own hairy chest and the towel beneath them. Ben's hands, and Troy's cock and groin, swimming in the thick soup of saliva and precum. The sounds were guttural and wet, choked gags and sloppy, rhythmic slurps. Ben loved it. He loved the loss of control, the purely animalistic act of it, the way Troy’s hand fisted in his hair not to guide him, but to hold him in place as he was used.
"Fuck, yes. Just made of messy, perfect holes," Troy grunted, his hips lifting slightly to meet Ben's efforts. "Look at the fucking glaze on you. That's all you, pussyboy. Your slobber." He fed Ben the joint again, the hit of smoke mingling with the overwhelming sensory deprivation of the act.
After what felt like both an eternity and a single, perfect moment, Troy pulled him off by the hair. "My turn. Get up here. Ride it."
Ben climbed onto the chair, straddling Troy's lap. The position was new, granting him a terrifying and exhilarating sliver of control. He reached behind himself, guiding Troy's slick, ringed cock to his entrance. He sank down slowly, the stretch a familiar, burning ache that was somehow entirely different from being pressed against a wall or into a mattress.
He was doing it. He was taking him, setting the pace, his own powerful thighs doing the work. The angle was deeper, hitting places inside him that made his vision blur. He braced his hands on Troy's shoulders, looking down into his dark, intense eyes as he moved, up and down, a slow, grinding rhythm that was all about feeling every impossible inch. As Troy started to work Ben's nipples, he asked, "How's that, pussyboy?"
"It's... I..." Ben gasped, his voice wrecked, unable to find words. "Yes. Fuck. Yes."
"Everything is like that with me, pussyboy" Troy said, his hands settling on Ben's hips, not to take over, but to feel the muscles work. "Now show me what you're for." And Ben did, riding him with a desperate, rising intensity, the filthy sounds of porn groaning and squelching on the screen opposite them, the house entirely theirs.