This story is based on a highly fictionalised version of Ben Bronx. It includes messy situations with sneakers and clothes, humiliation between adult men and fictional adult content. If you object to any of this then read no further. Any resemblance to persons past or present is purely coincidental (apart from Ben).

Ben and I go way back - to me he's always been my 'little bro'. This story started out with me coming up with a paragraph to try to embarass him. Turns out he wasn't overly uncomfortable so I pushed it further and before I knew it I had a trilogy of stories starring Ben! I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I have writing them. Ben's been a fantastic sport in allowing this project to go ahead - love ya little bro!

The Adventures of Ben Bronx: Illegal Entry

"Damn, my phone is almost out of juice," cursed Reece, glaring at his phone as if trying to charge it through will power alone.

Of course, that couldn't work, mused Ben, he wasn't called Will. He smirked at his internalised joke. He was almost drunk enough to have said it out loud.


He stared out the window of the taxi. He liked going out with Reece, who was outgoing and did all the heavy lifting of a social occasion. Ben often wondered about his own contribution to the friendship but usually ended up reminding himself that he had taken Reece under his wing at work when he started. That was far from an altruistic motive though; Reece was cute and wore hot trainers. It was as simple as that.

Even if he was gay, there was no way he'd ever get a look in, Ben surmised, but he was happy to bask in Reece’s sunlight from time to time.

"That bar is right on the edge of phone mast areas,” Reece groused. “The phone constantly switching between masks causes a drain. We need a new bar, Benji!"

Ben internally grimaced at the unnecessary bastardisation of his name. If it had been anyone else apart from Reece, he would have got quite annoyed. Internally. Reece was absolutely correct on the first part of his statement, Ben thought, but on the second part, no, a new bar was not required. He was not going to have to learn the customs and ways of another establishment. He was not going to wait for them to learn that no, he did not want ice in his cola but yes, he most definitely wanted a slice of lemon.

Not that the soft fizzy drink was the reason he was drunk. No, that would be because of the rum that Reece convinced him to add. It had taught him two important lessons. First, when you don’t normally drink alcohol, even a small amount makes you very drunk, and second, it appeared he couldn’t say no to Reece.

"And there it goes!" Reece said rather mournfully as he watched his phone power off. "I'll guess I'll just have to entertain myself as this is you!"

Ben felt a stirring down below. He wasn't quite sure if it was the thought of Reece banging one off in the back of the taxi or the faint implication that Reece would ‘entertain’ entertaining himself with Ben. It was a moot point that would need to be resolved with a long wank later as this was indeed his house. The taxi slowed outside his door.

"Been fun, Ben. We'll do it again soon!" Reece said cheerily. He reached over and squeezed Ben's leg. Ben gulped at the unexpected touch; Reece definitely got touchy feely after a beer or two.

"Yeh," responded Ben before offering a ten-pound note to Reece towards his share of the journey.

"Oh! I'm worth more than that, surely?" purred Reece with a playful hurt look.

Ben was sorely tempted to empty his entire wallet into Reece’s lap there and then, and even ask if he took credit cards, but instead he responded with “Haha, yeh!” before swinging his legs around out of the taxi to hide his raging erection.

The taxi quickly departed and Ben gave it a quick wave, causing his polo shirt to ride up, revealing a bright pair of Ethika boxers. They were his only concession to colour in his entire outfit.

Too late, he realised he really should have invited Reece in for a coffee. Ooo, he could have charged his phone—that would have been a perfect 'in'. He briefly considered if he would be a top or bottom before dismissing it on the grounds he'd never find out. This train terminates here, all change, all change . . .

"Right then, back to the routine," Ben muttered to himself.

For anyone else this would have been a bad thing. Not for Ben though, this was his sanctuary. He reached for his jacket pocket to grab his house keys.

It was at that precise moment, with his hand grasping nothing but air, that it became apparent that he was not wearing his jacket. He felt a cold shiver down his spine; he had left it in the taxi!

He pulled out his phone and panicked as he saw the charge at 2%. Damn those masts! He quickly phoned Reece.

"Come on, pick up!" he said in an annoyed tone, but one that was entirely directed at himself. The call switched to voicemail. He quickly hung up, requiring time to construct a suitable message, which couldn't be done on the spur of the moment.

Suddenly, and with a dash of despair, he remembered that Reece's phone was off. He tutted and started to dial another friend who he had left a spare set of keys with just for such situations as these. The phone switched to 'connecting' before proudly displaying a 'Powering Down' graphic.

He tutted. Now he would have to walk the mile to his friend's house to pick up the keys. That wasn’t the only thing that troubled him, though. The only other time he had misplaced his keys his friend had made him pay an embarrassing forfeit in exchange for the keys.

Holding the dangling keys in one hand, he had gently but firmly pushed Ben to his knees, then fished out his own throbbing cock, not even bothering to pull down his sweatpants any further. Ben had stared at the twitching monster in front of him and realised he had little choice, it seemed. So, he had gotten to work.

It wasn’t long after, as his friend thrusted forcefully forward, Ben became aware that his 'forfeit' might almost be over. Either Ben was exceptionally talented at sucking cock or his friend particularly enjoyed face fucking him, neither of which seemed likely, he thought.

Soon, his friend shouted “Fuck yeah,” abruptly withdrew from Ben's mouth, and proceeded to hose Ben down with what seemed like gallons of cum. When he finally finished, Ben’s face and hair were plastered, as was his black Hollister polo shirt.

Opening the eye that wasn't completely covered in cum, Ben quickly confirmed he was a mess. His friend was nonchalantly wiping his dripping penis on Ben's sleeve, making it a whole lot worse.

He had taken the shortcut home for the walk of shame. There was a farmer's field directly between their houses and while he did not like trespassing, needs must—he definitely didn't want anyone else seeing him like that. Especially his next-door neighbours. They were a gay couple and one of them always looked at him in a way that made Ben uncomfortable. It was like, if left alone with Ben, he would devour him. He was cute, conceded Ben, but wore slides with socks just a little too often for his liking. And by ‘a little too often’ he meant 'at all'.

And here he was, once again risking a repeat of all that by having to get his spare set of keys from his friend. He was almost at his house when he suddenly remembered his parting comment from the last time: "I hope you have learnt your lesson, Ben, because maybe next time I'll keep you here all night and you will serve me in any way I want!"

In hindsight it was probably a mistake to have returned the keys to him the next day . . .

He knocked on the door and waited patiently. When there was no answer, he stepped back and noticed there were no lights on. He glanced at his Apple watch which confirmed his initial thoughts; his friend was never in bed at this time.

Ben was about to knock again when he remembered that his friend had mentioned something about a holiday the last time they’d talked. He frowned, debating whether no-one being home was lucky or unlucky. He decided on the former. The latter probably involved a lot of nakedness on his part and no-one wanted to see that. Most of all him.

He pondered what to do next. Had he left a window open at home, perhaps? Maybe the bathroom one to let the humidity out? He decided maybe he had and that he was going to take the shortcut across the field. He was absolutely desperate to get the ironing done and back on schedule. The early spring air was also getting a little chilly without a jacket.

The field had been unploughed when he had left in the afternoon, so he figured he should be fine even though it was pitch black with only the light of his street on the far side to guide him. He jumped up onto the wall, his long legs and arms making short work of the task. He briefly admired his very expensive and prized Yeezys before jumping down the other side.

There was a large splot as he landed, his Yeezys instantly being swallowed by the freshly ploughed field. The surprise caught him off balance and as he lurched forward in an attempt to stay upright, his foot came loose from his trainer. His white sock planted squarely into the mud and he fell sideways, yanking his other foot free. It slapped into the mud too but did nothing to arrest the fall. The next thing he knew, he was on his knees, with his hands planted in the deep mud, completely covering his Apple watch.

Ben sighed. "This is sub-optimal!" he said out loud to no-one in particular. He pushed himself back to his feet and wiped his hands and arms on the top half of his black jeans. It now matched the half below the knee which was covered in mud. He wiggled his toes, feeling the mud swish around. Normally he'd love this but it was neither the time nor the place.

He looked around but couldn't find any evidence of his Yeezys. They had been thoroughly swallowed up by the mud and obscured in the darkness. He had planned to have a wank over them later but that was now off the agenda.

New plan. Get into his house, return with a shovel and light and find his Yeezys. Then do the ironing. He nodded to himself and strode out across the field.

It wasn't until he reached the street lights that he could fully see the mess he was in. His jeans were caked and he feared his socks would never be white again. He sighed before checking if the coast was clear. It was. Happy (within the normal bounds of what happy meant to Ben), he dived across the road to the back alley that ran behind the identical row of newly built terrace houses.

The dark passageway was where the bins were left. His house was towards the middle of the row, and he realised he should have counted how many spaces in it actually was while at the front, but his mind was still very much clouded by alcohol; his thoughts distracted by his lost Yeezys. He spotted the bin with his house number painted in large white letters outside a gate and proceeded through.

The garden was just plain grass from front to back and he couldn't help but feel that he should have done something with it. Still, he was in good company as neither of his direct neighbours had. In fact, only The Beswicks at the end plot had done anything. In Ben’s mind theirs was an ostentatious affair, but to be fair, he found grass a bit ostentatious for all its bright greenness.

His spirits lifted as he noted the window to the downstairs toilet was open. He was stuck between congratulating himself for doing so or giving himself a stern telling off for leaving his home unsecured.

He pulled himself up and tried to climb in. His tall frame, an impressive six foot four, was a help getting up, but not in. He felt his belt buckle jamming against the window frame and, deciding it was most definitely stopping his entry, popped it open. A moment later he flung his belt across the garden. He giggled briefly before stopping himself; he was definitely thinking the double whiskey at the end of the evening was a mistake. But Reece had suggested it and he wasn’t going to say no to Reece. Had he been trying to make him drunk? Ben wondered for a moment and then dismissed it on the grounds of ‘why?’. He stumbled back a little and laughed again at the belt which looked a bit like a snake lying on the grass.

Once again, he made to crawl through the narrow gap of the window, pleased that without the belt buckle it was a little less tight. It was still tight, though, and he found himself a little bit stuck. He breathed in deeply, scooted his upper body in a bit and managed to grab the sink for leverage. With some effort and butt clenching he suddenly launched forward.

The window grabbed his jeans as he fell into the downstairs toilet, and his forward momentum easily peeled his pants off his legs and, more shockingly to him, took his boxers along with them. He landed on the floor naked from the waist down. It was the most unceremonious of entrances.

He wasn’t panicking though. The important thing was that he was finally inside his house. He could get dressed again, grab his spare keys, and go back out and rescue his Yeezys. Result! He even allowed himself a little fist pump, although vowing never to do it again.

Then he heard a noise outside the toilet, which was weird; he lived alone. Ben opened the door only to receive a pepper spray to his eyes and then something which felt like a frying pan to his head.

*  *  *

When Ben came to, he found himself tied to a chair. His eyes were initially drawn to his continued lack of clothing on his bottom half and the horror that he was—for unknown reasons—fully erect. His focus then shifted to the Nike slides beyond his misbehaving member in his hazy field of vision. Ugh—slides! It was bad enough that someone had evidently broken into his house, but wearing slides was adding insult to injury. He traced up the legs they belonged to, and noting the tenting of loose cotton boxers, he was horrified to find his neighbour not only sitting opposite him, but staring at his cock with a lecherous grin on his face.

"Hello, Ben,” his slide-wearing neighbour said. “Why are you illegally entering my home, naked and, incidentally, while my boyfriend is away?"

Ben gulped, then tried to explain the situation as quickly as possible, partly out of panic and partly due to the unsettling way his neighbour appeared to address Ben's penis rather than his face.

"I see,” his neighbour said when Ben finished explaining. “Hmmm, well, I guess it could be explained by that team of inspectors who came down this afternoon to check the rear path. They pulled all the bins together, and I guess it is possible they put them back wrong . . ."

Well, there you go then, thought Ben, a perfectly reasonable mistake to make.

“But that wouldn't explain you being naked, would it?" his neighbour pointed out.

Ben had to concede that would be a difficult situation to explain.

"Okay, you have a couple of choices as I see it,” his neighbour replied. “I could call the police and have them arrest you and parade you out in the street as they load you into their car. Or I could just throw you out the front door . . ."

In an instant, Ben's blood drained from his face. Anything but that! More options, please, he thought.

As if he had read Ben’s mind, his neighbour gave him a mischievous grin and offered another option: "Or you can stay here until your friend returns."

Relieved, Ben then pointed out the obvious. "Um, well, thanks but I don't have any clothes?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. It's lonely here without my boyfriend and I need to relax. And guess what—fate delivers me the perfect sex toy!"

Ben was about to protest at the use of the word 'perfect' but was distracted by his neighbour dropping his shorts, revealing a huge erect penis. "Open up, would you?"

"Oh, um, yeh, sorry, of cou—" Ben started but soon found his throat was full of man meat.

"As I was saying,” his neighbour went on, “not a problem! You won't be needing clothes while you're here."

"Ohhg," Ben gargled through a mouthful of penis, horrified much more at the enforced nakedness than having to swallow his neighbour's cock. These events would certainly make small talk at the front door more difficult, as if it wasn't excruciating enough.

"Shh now. I need to make sure you're properly fed," his neighbour said as he continued to bang away at Ben's face. "I'm going to fill you right up on your little stay . . ." he added with a wicked smile.

Ben tried to say something else but it was useless. No longer able to swallow, drool seeped out of his mouth and spilled down his chin. He resigned himself to the fact that unless Reece found his jacket and keys, he was going to have to spend at least the next two nights being nothing more than a series of fuck holes for his neighbour across the field.

He shut his eyes and dreamt of ironing.

The Adventures of Ben Bronx: Illegal Entry by sneaked666
Edited by sz1415sneakers

Ben Bronx will return next month in The Adventures of Ben Bronx: Night Shift

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