Ben Touches Down

This is a story about control. Thanks for reading, let me know what you think. -CJ :) http://cjwritesfilth.blogspot.com

********************** Ben Touches Down ********************** Ben Hixon, Fuck Yeah! That's what people yell when I touched the field. At least I assume they do, it's hard to hear over the noise. But I'm pretty much the biggest thing to come out of Kehrens in the last decade, maybe even the last century. I'm not being a prick, just realistic. The ladies want me, the guys want to be me and the fags want to ride me too. I see the looks. They want the dick. So you'd think my biggest problem would be figuring out what slot of the hole roulette I'd feel like ending in for the night. But that's not the way things work. My one limitation is Mr. Bremond. His daughter Chelsea is the love of my life, or so I've been told since age 5. She's hot, don't get me wrong, but she's into the waiting for marriage bullshit. She even got us rings to promise to wait. It's not that I don't love her, I do. But it should be my choice, it's not. We've always been the town studs; dad fucked half the ladies who weren't smart enough to know better. It's why we always had home cooked meals and clean clothes after my mom split for a strip club in Dallas. We had a wave of mom try-outs before the town got wise to the fact that my dad couldn't keep it in his pants. No Hixon man can. No Hixon man should. My brothers had had their local samplers before they went off to play for college teams. But this is my story, fuck them. One thing our men have never been good at is making money. My dad's worked for Mr. Bremond since I was in diapers. He fixes things around his house, keeps the lawn, restores furniture, plumbing, etc... He's pretty much the main source of income for the Hixon clan. So when Leonard Bremond decides he's going to cock-block me by hitching me up to his only daughter, that's what he gets to do. My dad's never had to warn me about what would happen if I let Chelsea down, he hasn't had to. We know who pays the bills. But it doesn't stop me from taking in the looks and compliments and extra tips in the jar at the coffee shop I work at just off the freeway. I don't like coffee. I don't drink coffee. Most 16 year olds in my town don't drink it either, but I make a damn good cup. I learn fast and I work hard. We're right off the main highway between the big cities so there's always a steady stream of hot visitors coming in for coffee and sticking around, tipping heavy for the eye candy. On nights when I work alone it can be hard to keep the line moving. They pretend to ask dumb questions like "Where exactly am I? What's it like living in a shit town like this? Do you feel trapped here?" Shit like that. And fuck no I don't feel trapped here. They make small talk, drool when I squat down or bend over to fix their drinks or get something out of the low fridge. It's all harmless and with my cock being caged up by Chelsea it never goes anywhere. I usually pocket fifty bucks in tips on a good night, more if I wear my football jersey under my apron. Tuesday nights are slow at Coffee Call, hardly anyone is on their way up to the metroplex except for business travelers and the occasional drifter who scraped up enough spare change to get a caffeine fix and a few hours of air conditioning until we have to push them along. Last Tuesday night was especially dead, no hot girls to fantasize about plowing. I'd come straight from practice and the only clean thing in my bag was a blue compression shirt with our high school mascot, a red kangaroo, over the right nipple. I found a fresh black jockstrap at the back of my locker and some blue basketball shorts. It's not exactly the Coffee Call uniform, but my boss isn't in on weeknights and no one complains. It did make it easier to move around and get things done without the khakis and blue scratchy t-shirt with the yellow coffee cup on the front. The one customer we had wasn't all that bad looking for an older guy. He had a laptop set up directly across from where I was working near the window. He looked like someone's really in-shape dad, maybe mid-30s, probably successful at whatever he did. He seemed really intent on whatever he was working on. He ran his right hand over his short, spikey brown hair as he talked on the phone and leaned back, exposing a well-toned set of abs under his tight blue polo shirt. He paced for a few minutes during one call, showing a hot, bubbled ass in tight khakis. He'd caught me staring once or twice; I didn't have much else to do. He smiled, blushed a little and then we both averted our eyes. It's not that I'm in to dudes. I don't swing that way. I'm just a natural flirter and somewhere inside me needs to know that I get way more than I give in attraction. The more times I looked up, he was looking back. It's a weird game, the staring down guys do. He's supposed to turn his eyes first. I'm the straight one, the underage one. He's supposed to be ashamed for getting caught, then pretend he was looking past me or at something close to me or just lost in thought. He did that the first time, but every time after that, he stared longer, until finally we just locked eyes while he gave orders to someone on his phone. Finally he got off the phone, adjusted a pricey silver watch, grabbed his cup and made his way over to the counter. His khakis had a nice rub along the crotch extending down his right leg. He was filling it out at the moment. Weird, but it stoked my assurance that I was an object of his desire. I could work that for a good tip, something I needed on a slow, Tuesday night. "Can I get one more refill?" he said, sliding his empty mug over to me. "Yeah, but we're closing soon," I took his cup and filled it up, we kept our eyes locked. He looked down, momentarily, to open his wallet. I'd won that game, but not fairly. "Oh um," he slid out two bills. One was a hundred, the other a dollar. "I'd tip you the hundred, but uh... I usually save that for bigger service than coffee refills," he smirked and put the dollar in my cup. "What do you want for the other bill?" I said without a hint of joking. I swaggered back towards him and set the cup down, then slipped off my apron. I put my hands against the counter and pushed back to stretch my chest and show off my hard work. "Gotta clean up soon." "Oh, so there's a menu?" he asked with faked arrogance then looked around for witnesses like perverts always do. I went around the counter and walked past him then was hit with a moment of panic. What was I doing? But it was a perfect storm. A stranger willing to pay and in an empty place. Chelsea would never find out and my cock was aching to finally do something. I locked the door, flipping the sign to "closed." No one would come in this late at night, but it showed the man I wasn't playing around. I walked past him; he was a few inches taller as I walked past him and reached behind him to flip off the main lights. I brought my arm back and he leaned into me and sniffed. "What the fuck dude?" I reared back and glared at him in the dim lights from the kitchen. But he didn't shy away. "You don't usually do this, do you?" he asked. "I'm not a.... a gay," I said, feeling a small sense of customer service in not using a bad term for what he was and maybe thought I was. "That makes it hotter," he put a hand on my stomach. My tight compression shirt showed every etching of my abs, more prominent with my sudden heavier breathing. He kept his hand there, rising and falling at the way my breathing reacted to his touch. "You're nervous," he sounded a bit excited. "No, just... what do you feel like doing?" I shrugged him off and heard my coach's voice in my head telling me to get it under control. I don't think he would have meant my excitement. Stranger leaned in to me, lowered his head and brushed his nose against my neck as his arms went around me; one rubbed at my stomach while the other went around to the small of my back. I felt weak as he pushed there firmly and my head fell back. "Maybe we shouldn't start out here with all these windows. Is there a back place?" "What? Oh, uh yeah there's the office," I raised my head again and looked around to get my bearings. I had the awful realization that my cock was sticking straight out against my shorts. The jock was a little loose on me so it did nothing to reign in the boy. I looked around hazily, no one out in the parking lot. I don't know why, but I grabbed his hand, feeling suddenly small and turned to pull him back towards the office. His fingers interlaced with mine, it felt safe but in a horribly wrong way. He followed me back to the office. I turned and he had on a dopey grin and a full bulge in his khakis. "What?" I asked rudely. "Nothing, I didn't think this morning when I left my house that I'd get to suck off a beautiful guy at a truckstop." He admitted, a hand covering his grin. "This is not a truckstop. This happens to be the finest coffee house in Central Texas... It just happens to be next to a truckstop." I said, regaining my arrogant flirty chatter with the change in location. "Right, sorry," he said with a wink, "And a very fine coffee house it is." I closed the door to the office and turned to find him leaning back against my boss' desk, rubbing the outline of a cock that looked a little bigger than mine. "So how does this work. Do I dance or something?" "If you like," he joked, his goofy, creepy smile returning. "Or you can just come over here and let me show you how it works." He reached out for me, arms spread a few feet apart like I was going to hand him a cake. I walked towards him, seeing him in the brighter lights of the office. He had blue eyes that matched my own, a healthy five o'clock shadow and a hint of sweat marks in his pits. He leaned towards me and put his nose to my shoulder, inhaling deeply and then smiling up at me. "I love these shirts, you certainly have the body to pull it off," he put a finger into the left sleeve and pulled at the spandex that hugged my proud bicep. He put his nose in there and inhaled again, this time rubbing his other hand against his crotch. "Sorry dude," I said, wondering how it must smell. "I showered after practice, but didn't have any deodorant before I came to work. Five hours of funk going on in there. But not like I expected a freak to go sniffing around there." "It's perfect. Just how a boy should smell." He pulled the sleeve back and over to my shoulder and then leaned in and licked at my funky pit. He pulled my sleeve back down and sucked at the sweat he'd worked up through the fabric, then moved over to my nipples. He bit them through the shirt and sucked them to full pointiness. "Woah dude, you're kind of freaky. You really like this stuff?" "Fuck yeah," he winked up at me, "Fucking hot." "You're one freaky fag dude," I shook my head and shot out bravado to cover how good it felt. "For the right boy I am and you're definitely the right boy," he said and dropped to his knees, kissing down my stomach. He rubbed my cock through my shorts and then reached up the leg to feel the straps of my jock. "I'm not a boy," I cocked my head at him, "I'm a man and you're the fag on the floor." I felt anger building inside me. Maybe it was at myself for getting in to this and trying to cover the shivers he was sending through me. But I directed it at him. This fag kneeling in front of me worshiping a body he dreamed about. That thought only turned me on more. "Yes sir. I'll be all the fag you can handle, sir." He bent over and kissed at my ankle, took my shoe in his hand and brought it up to his face. He put his nose down there where my ankle met my tennis shoes. I didn't have any socks on and he put his nose right down there and sniffed again. He was really into this. I wondered if he'd shoot a load if I farted. I laughed at that. He kissed back up my leg, tracing a tongue along sensitive spots. This wasn't what I expected. All this build up and I really wanted my cock sucked now. I pictured his soft, pink lips wrapped around it while he stared up at me. I thought of what it must feel like. I'd seen tons of porn, who hasn't, but I was ready to use this fucker. "Suck my cock fag," I barked from an unfamiliar place. He stopped, smiled up at me and said, "I thought you'd never ask." "I didn't ask," I said, feeling a sudden surge of authority. "Yes sir," he sat back on his heels, surprised by my sudden change in direction. "You don't seem so nervous anymore." "Wasn't nervous, just creeped out. It's not normal to offer money to blow a guy." I looked down at him. He didn't have a trace of shame, but seemed to get more turned on as I talked to him like that. He unzipped his pants and pulled down a fruity pair of boxer briefs, white but with a big silver Armani band around the waist. The biggest cock I'd ever seen flopped out when he pushed his pants and underwear down. It was one of those thick uncut juicy monsters you only see in freaky porn or on a black guy. It was hard but not entirely. It spilled out over his nuts and hung down in an arc up and to the left. Even his cock couldn't grow straight. "Woah that's a fucking meatwad," I said. "You like it?" he asked with a hint of shock. "Nah, fag, but with that you could be plowing some grade A pussy. Why do you need to squat down on a dirty floor and suck a dude?" I asked. I pictured him having a regular dick or maybe oddly shaped, but this was porn quality. It was totally wasted as I wasn't going near it, but I imagined he probably had a line of creepy queers wanting a tap at that. "We like what we like... and I like this," he said and reached forward to grab my cock. He slid my shorts down and eyed my jock appreciatively. He put a hand under my balls and patted them lightly, weighing them in his palm. "Oh that's very nice." "Thanks, the ladies like it," I lied. Although they would if Chelsea and the purity police didn't have it locked up. "I'm sure they do," he said with more than a hint of skepticism. "I said I'm not a fag! If you're going to be like that, we can call this off." I said and reached down for my shorts. "No, please. I don't doubt you're spreading seed all over the bread basket. Please let me suck your cock, please sir," he started begging which was even creepier. "Fine, but I'm not a fag. I just need the money," I protested a little too much and maybe more to myself, but whatever. His smile returned and he slid my shorts down then picked up my feet one at a time to take them off. I started to peel off my shirt, helping him get me naked, but he put a hand on mine. "No, please sir, it's a hot look." He begged and quickly took his hand off of my wrist. I shrugged and backed up against the desk as he followed me on his knees, meatwad swinging between his thighs. He brushed his lips across my stomach and then bent his head and pulled at the waistband of my jock with his teeth. He slid it down to my ankles and was hit in the eye by my cock. He didn't seem to mind, but got his head all the way down to the floor with my jock in his teeth. I raised my feet to help him slide them off over my tennis shoes. "It's beautiful," he said as he got back up and looked it over, sniffing the head and shaft of course. He even put his face up under my nuts and tickled behind them with the tip of his nose. His scratchy chin scraped against my nuts. His nose continued to work backwards and was soon joined by his tongue. "Woah dude, you don't sniff or lick around down there. That's an out hole. That's fucking gross, fag," I felt a sudden repulsion that was quickly replaced by a sense of Fuck Yeah I can even get a guy to lick my funky parts. It's a weird feeling. "I thought the customer was always right," he mumbled as he went to work on my balls. He sucked them into his mouth one at a time, working each one with his tongue and fag sucking muscles. "Oh that's good right there," I said, feeling my cock start to drizzle precum. I looked down to see the teardrop of Ben-seed form at the tip and start to drip down onto his shirt collar. A bit of it got his chin and he came out from my undercarriage to look up as the next drop formed. "Fuck that's beautiful," he squealed and licked at his chin then used his finger to collect the drop from his shirt. He sucked on it and smiled up at me, finally ending with a "Thank you sir." He got back up on his knees and dove onto the tip, sucking out the precum that had been building up. I arched my chest and threw my head back as he began to expertly work my pole. This was a man who had studied hard and took pride in his work, you gotta respect that. "Fuck yeah, take that pole fagslut," I started spewing filth to widen the gap between our statuses. He pulled off my cock and looked up at me. "You really like that word, don't you?" he smirked. "It's your title, own it. You wanted this domination shit," I eyed him commandingly. "Pull my hair, use my mouth," he whined and dove back onto my cock. I grabbed a fistful of his pricey looking haircut and used it to hold him in place while I pushed my cock into his mouth. I didn't know how far to go so I went a little slowly, but he pulled against my hand to push my cock deeper past his lips. He buried his nose in my pubes and started to choke and sputter on it. I pulled his head off. "No, no. I can take it. I'll get used to it, use me, please," he whined and I let go of his hair, shocked at how far he was taking this. He gagged more but I didn't have to hold him, it was more for show. "Fuck that feels... fuck," I started to buck my hips against his face, bruising his chin with my nuts slamming against his stubble. He worked past his gag reflex and soon I felt the tip of my cock massaged by his throat muscles. "Awww fuck," I spat and cocked my head to the side as he stared up at me with eager blue eyes. I wasn't going to last long at this rate and I didn't much care as it felt just that good. I slammed my cock into his throat a few more times and then warned that I was about to cum. He moaned muffled cries around my cock and looked up at me with hopeful eyes. I grabbed his hair again and started to speed up, feeling the cum work its way up my shaft. "Awww fuck! Fuck! FUCK!," That was my word on my lips as I felt cum start to shoot out of me and down his throat. He swallowed eagerly around it which only intensified the feeling. I felt weak as my stomach started to jerk and I fell back against the desk. He kept his mouth on me and lifted up as I slid back against the desk and banged my elbow. "Ahhhh fuccckkkk!" I yelled in pain and ecstasy, "Fuck yeah fag, take that man juice." I laid back and he kept right on bobbing his head, milking every drop he could get. He lived for this shit. Below that, he was furiously jerking the meatwad between his thighs. It had grown an extra inch since I last looked down at it. It was arced out and up towards my shoe as he massaged the knob furiously. It distracted me for a moment until I felt him milking my cock past the point of enjoyment. "Hey hey, ease up fucker!" He wasn't paying attention to me but kept right on bobbing along as he sucked. I lifted a shoe up and kicked lightly at his wrist as I warned him again that I was done. He gave no response but had his eyes closed and was furiously working his throat on my tip. "Ow fucker! Get your fag mouth off of me!" I tried to pull his head off by the hair and finally had to kick him in the nuts. He gave a yelp but it did the trick. He looked up at me and then opened his mouth wide as I slipped out of his tight throat. He threw his head back and started to shoot his fag juice all over my shoes and ankles. "Woah! I jumped back when I noticed, but he just shot farther. This was one persistent little queer. He coated my shoe with thick gobs of white. "Awww nasty! What the fuck dude?" "Oh, sir, I, I'm sorry sir," he sat back on his heels recovering his breath as another thick glob appeared at the tip of his slimy sausage. "Christ! Clean that shit up dude, these are new shoes!" I looked around the desk for a box of tissue. Before I could find it, I felt his warm tongue licking my leg clean and then working down towards my shoe. He swallowed all of his nasty juice but left a sticky coat on my skin. I could almost smell it and wrinkled my nose in disgust. "That's fucking gross, dude," spilled out of my mouth but my cock was still hard and getting harder at the thought of the things this queer wouldn't do to make me happy. "You really are nasty. You really get off on this stuff?" I raised an eyebrow down at him. "Yes... I don't know... It feels right with a guy like you. I lose control..." he seemed kinda sad. "I'll pay you now... thank you." "Aww don't get all hurt on me. I'm just surprised... never met someone like you." He thanked me, again and kissed my cock as I pulled up my jock and shorts and checked the floor for any weird spots. I fixed the papers and things on the desk that I'd knocked over and checked the clock. Shit, I had to be home soon. My dad doesn't care much as everyone in town knows me and there's not much trouble to get in to, but I had early practice tomorrow. We cleaned things up and he slipped the hundred bucks into my jock. I wasn't sure where I'd spend it without getting asked where it came from, maybe even accused of stealing... But it felt good to have the bill there in my pouch. It rubbed against my mouth-cleaned soft cock. I felt kind of proud of it. "Can I call you? What's your cell number?" he started as I walked him towards the door. "Ahh no, I'm not a... gay dude. I told you that. I'm certainly not looking for a relationship with a dude. Plus I don't have a cell, everyone I know lives within five blocks of me. Who'd I call?" I laughed at that. "Oh no, I just meant so I could schedule some more paid visits with you. You're certainly worth more than a hundred... maybe I could call next time I'm coming through to see if you're working." He tried to frame it like business. "Still, I don't have a cell." "Well um hmm Hey! Wait here a minute." He darted out before I could protest and I sighed, leaning back against the counter as he scurried across the parking lot to the truckstop. He came back with a bubble packaged phone, one of those pay by the minute ones. He tore the packaging open and punched some things into his laptop and within a few minutes he had the phone buzzing as he called it from his cell. "And uhh, can I have your name... sir?" he asked, "So I can save it in here." "Sure," I gave up, "It's Ben, Ben fucking Hixon." "Maybe Ben can be fucking me next time," he joked. "I'd certainly pay a lot more to have that." "Uh... thanks," I said and took the phone as he handed it to me. I didn't ask his name. I didn't care to know and he didn't seem to like me being nice to him. "Thank you... sir," he said and collected his things. "Oh and use the phone all you want, it's pretty cheap and linked to my credit card so it'll refill anytime the minutes get too low. I put my number in there if you ever need anything." "I don't need anything." "Well if you do, I'm only a few hours away. I'd sure love to service you anytime the need hits you. I could do a lot more with that cock and pay for it... if you'd let me." He leaned towards me to kiss my cheek as he threw his leather work bag over his shoulder. I backed up and put my hands up to protest. He backed away and nodded. "Thanks again... Ben... thanks." He waved and turned to head out the door. I locked up and piled into the old beat up truck my dad lets me use when he doesn't need it. I got home and put away my school stuff and packed my bag with workout gear for the next day. I took a long, hot shower to get the fag seed off my leg and then put on a pair of flannel boxers and crawled under the tiger blanket that covered my bed. I stared around with the bedside lamp on. We have a tiny house near the entrance to Bremond estate that my dad maintains. I'm sure Chelsea was fast asleep by now. Sometimes when I got home early from work I'd call her on her cell and we'd talk each other to sleep. I'd listen to all the frivolous things her day included. Sometimes I'd jerk off quietly listening to her. She didn't talk about dirty stuff, of course, but she'd talk about something she'd heard at church or in bible study or in her cheerleading squad and I'd wank along, breathing away from the receiver, balancing the old phone on my shoulder as I jerked. Sometimes she'd notice. She'd hear the bed squeak or my breathing or sometimes that smack sound that happens when your fist hits against your nuts. She'd ask what I was doing and I'd make something up like moving furniture or walking up the steps. Since she wasn't a teenage boy, she rarely connected the sounds to furious jerk off sessions. Boys know these things. But she'd be asleep by now. I stared around my room. Things looked different now that I'd had my cock in someone's throat. My room is small but packed with trophies, ribbons, booster posters. There must have been a hundred kangaroos in the room, including the several stuffed kangaroo animals the booster club got for us before homecoming each year. The one I slept with belonged to my oldest brother. When I was five, he was first string quarterback for the Kehrens Kangaroos and went all state that year. We didn't get to go on the bus with the team to Dallas to see him play, but he brought home a bag of kangaroo crap people had gotten him to with him luck. On top was a foot tall soft brown kangaroo that one of the girls had sewn a Kehrens High School t-shirt for. I woke up the next morning with him sleeping as usual on the bottom bunk and he'd put the kangaroo in my arms. I'd never slept without it since then. I gave it a hug, turned off the lamp and finally ended a long and crazy day. The next week went by slowly. The fag hadn't tried to contact me on the phone except for a text on Monday that said, "You can text on the phone too. I'll leave you alone unless you need anything." I texted back, "I'm good." And that was that. I was starting to get annoyed by Friday. Why wasn't he chasing me? He'd seemed so crazy into things that night. He'd even got me a fucking phone. So why the fuck wasn't he all over my jock? Maybe that's what was bothering me. I don't like not being pursued. I'm the one he's supposed to chase. Finally on Saturday I texted him: "What's up fag?" He wrote back: "Not much. Missing that cock. I need to service it soon if you're still available and need cash." Ah here we go: "Whatever, I'm free but finding a place wouldn't be easy." "Well I can take care of that if you don't mind a little car ride." "K, I can get away a few hours tonight if u can." "Walk behind the church. I'll be waiting at 7 when is dark." Woah. He was serious. I wrote back that I'd be there. I ransacked the closet to find something to wear. What do you wear for prostitution? It was pretty cold out tonight. I pulled on a nice pair of boxers that Chelsea had given me last Valentine's Day as a joke. They were black with red hearts. I put on a blue patterned western shirt tucked into tight cowboy jeans and a belt with a big buckle my dad had won at a riding competition twenty years ago. I put on my nice pair of boots and my Texas Rangers baseball cap. This was high fashion in our town. I paced around for a good hour thinking maybe I should chicken out. What if we got caught? The church was on the far edge of town right before the speed limit goes back up to 70. But still, what if we got pulled over with me in his car or what if someone recognized me riding around with a stranger. I'm pretty sure my dad would've used his belt on me for sure. I didn't know if this was such a good job, but I walked one block and then another. I got all the way near the church, a few minutes late. He could wait though, that was his problem. I paced around the block once, no cars drove past. Finally I worked up the nerve and bolted across Howard street towards the church. I stalked through the shadows back around to the back alley where a black BMW sat patiently. I stepped out in front of it. The windows were heavily tinted. I wasn't sure anyone was in there, but then the lights flashed briefly. "I'm glad you came," fag said as he rolled down the passenger side window as I walked up to the door. "Adorable little cowboy." The locks clicked and I got into the passenger side, reassured by the heavily tinted black windows. He looked over at me, illuminated by the blue lights of the dashboard. "You ready?" he asked with a smile. I nodded. "I thought we'd start with two hundred for the night. Is that ok?" he continued. I nodded. "We'll see what you're willing to do to get more."

Thanks for reading, let me know what you think. -CJ :) http://cjwritesfilth.blogspot.com