Wrong Apartment

By Touchstone published October 28, 2017
Ben stumbles into the wrong apartment on his birthday.

Ben gasped with surprise as the door closed behind him, taking stock of the darkened entrance hall of the apartment he had just entered. As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he noticed that the general layout of the place was remarkably similar to his own, even though the decorations and furniture clearly weren’t his own. A neighbour’s place, perhaps? Judging by the familiar view out past the balcony, he was at least on the right floor. As he wondered how he had managed to enter the wrong room, he looked down at his hand to see that there was a key there he did not remember, similar to the one that would have unlocked his own door.

“How did I…?” his voice trailed off as he realised that his other hand had reached for the door behind him, only to bolt it shut. Wondering idly why he had just done that, he took a few steps further, even leaving the keys in the ceramic bowl on the kitchen counter where they had always gone. ‘Always?’ he paused, wondering how the place seemed so familiar despite his conscious memory telling him he had never set foot in here before.

Before he could make sense of what was happening, however, he noticed the thin beam of light coming from across the corridor beyond the living room. Hazily recognizing that it would be coming from the master bedroom, he took another step forward, wondering why if there was someone home, they hadn’t said a word about his intrusion yet.

‘I should go… before they call the cops…’ he thought to himself. And yet despite that affirmation he took another step forward, only to pause again when he felt something underneath his shoe.

It was a white shirt, casually discarded on the floor. Stepping over it so as not to dirty it further, he then noticed a pair of black trousers lying ahead… a pair of socks… an undershirt… all trailing towards the bedroom the he found himself dazedly staggering towards.

‘Am I drunk? I only had one drink…’ he mused to himself, starting to feel strangely lightheaded. Noticing the warmth of the room, he slowly loosened his tie, dropping it on the floor as he entered the living room proper. It didn’t seem enough, however, and as his eyes were drawn toward the various pictures on the wall to try and make sense of whose apartment he had stumbled into, his fingers were already starting to undo the buttons of his own shirt.

The pictures on the wall seemed to all be professionally taken, black-and-white pictures of men. As it seemed to be a different person in each one, it was difficult to tell which one was the owner of the apartment. By the time Ben was halfway through the living room, he started to notice a common element in all the pictures. Against a completely black background, they all appeared to be kneeling with vacant, almost blissful smiles on their faces. Some appeared to be in their late twenties just like him, some older, although the common link appeared to be their attire- most, if not all of them were wearing leather - harnesses, collars, boots, even underwear. Ben grimaced slightly at the realization. Although he had nothing against gay people himself, these definitely weren’t images he would normally enjoy staring at.

And yet…

He paused in front of one of the pictures, having casually kicked off his shoes and peeled off his socks. In contrast to the other pictures so far, the man who was the focus of this one had a hood on, revealing only his eyes and his mouth, a leather harness accentuating his smooth, muscled chest. A thick chain hung around his neck, secured in place by a gold padlock. And even though he wore what looked like a leather jockstrap, the sizeable bulge in them coupled with the look of sheer anticipation in those green eyes told him that whoever the photographer was, this man was more than a little happy to see him. ‘Strange…’ Ben thought to himself. ‘He looks more than a bit familiar…’ Although with the hood obscuring most of his features, trying to puzzle out who it was was an altogether fruitless endeavour.

He unbuckled his belt and let his work pants fall to the floor, coincidentally beside the pair that were not his own. ‘What am I doing? Why am I stripping down to my underwear in someone else’s apartment?’ It felt equally strange that even his internal voice seemed to lack any semblance of alarm as he stepped over the undershirt that was slightly too big to be his own.

Distantly, he became aware of the fact that somewhere along the line, he had become slightly aroused, although he didn’t think to look down with the slightly ajar door to the bedroom ahead slowly becoming his main focus. ‘Maybe it was the girl who almost went home with me…’ he tried to justify his own arousal, even though he strangely could not recall her face. He frowned slightly, however, as he remembered that she had ultimately changed her mind before they had even left the bar, saying that he had been ‘too distracted’ and seemed strangely preoccupied with something else. ‘That bitch…’ he cursed inwardly, ‘So much for that birthday blowjob…’

It was strange how he’d nearly forgotten that he was turning 26 at midnight, how he’d left the bar with a sense of urgency, like there was someplace important he had to be before the clock struck twelve. He glanced down at his watch. 11.45. There was still time left. ‘But for what?’ Despite having owned the watched for 5 years, something about it didn’t feel quite right, and so he took it off and set it down on the coffee table he was passing. He vacantly recollected that it had been a gift from his ex-girlfriend who had left him six months ago. Frowning again as he recalled how much women weren’t to be trusted, he made a mental note to get rid of it and maybe buy himself a new one tomorrow. It was his birthday after all.

He stopped again as he felt his bare foot step on something else.

Looking down, he noticed that it was a jockstrap, of all things. Likely once white, the cloth pouch was slightly stained and yellowed, something that appalled him as he wondered how someone who owned such a nice place could neglect such a basic thing as hygiene. Not quite knowing why, however, he found himself squatting down, his focus still on the innocent piece of underwear as he felt himself becoming strangely more lightheaded than he had been when he had first set foot in this place. It was like his hand was moving of its own accord, the way he picked it up and tentatively ran his fingers through the fabric. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it was even a bit moist in certain areas, although whether it was sweat or something else…

‘Only one way to find out…’ he could hear his own voice whisper as he slowly brought the underwear up to his own face.

‘What am I doing? This is wrong! This is… this is…’ the questioning voice in his head seemed to weaken the closer the jockstrap became, his nose already picking up a musky, strangely familiar odor from it despite not being anywhere close yet.

In a moment of distraction, he glanced up only to realize that he was squatting in front of a full length mirror. The sight of his own reflection made him pause. The face was his own, although his usually short brown hair had been shaved… when had he done that? And even though he’d usually kept some semblance of a beard to balance out his boyish face, somewhere along the line he had shaved that too. In fact, as his eyes trailed over the rest of his body, his chest, his arms and legs… even the slight treasure trail that had once been peeking up past his underwear… all gone.

‘Daddy likes his boys smooth… maybe one day when you’re older and allowed to have a boy of your own… you’ll be granted the privilege of growing it back.’

He continued to stare, mouth agape at his own reflection, unable to recall when he had heard those words before or who had uttered them. Having grown up without a father, he couldn’t even remember if he’d ever used the word ‘Daddy’ before. “Daddy…” he found himself muttering to no one in particular, just as his eyes took note of what he was wearing. Around his neck was a thick metal chain, just like in the last picture he had passed, secured with a gold padlock. His chest and abs were more defined than he remembered, framed by a tight leather harness that matched the black leather jockstrap containing his semi. Had he really worn all this to work… to dinner with his friends… even at the bar? His eyebrows furrowed with confusion - he would have gone to the toilet at least two or three times today. How had he not seen what he was wearing? How had he not felt it? It was almost as though seeing himself in the mirror now was what had brought these things into existence. These same things that had made him scowl and frown at the pictures now made him transfixed. He looked ridiculous. He looked disgusting. He looked lie…

“A boy…” he found himself whispering. Yes, that was the word he was looking for. All those men, just like him, looking so vacant, content with what they were wearing like they had finally grasped something within themselves that had eluded them their entire adult lives.

‘But I’m straight… this is wrong… this is…’

Somewhere along the way his hand had resumed its course, his eyes widening with surprise as he felt himself clasp the pouch over his nose and mouth.

‘No! What am I doing? I can’t-


Betraying him just as easily as his hand had, he found his lungs inhaling directly from the dirty underwear, his chest expanding, his nostrils flaring as though his life depended on it. Sweat. Pre. Perhaps even a little bit of piss. The combination made his head swim, his eyelids fluttering as he found himself melting into a kneeling position with a soft groan. It was odd how those strangely exotic scents didn’t make him recoil. He could have sworn that he had felt his own cock twitch at the aroma that had flooded his nose so utterly. As bizarre as the whole situation seemed, it did not seem to deter him from taking a second, deep, breath…


“Oooh…” He came out feeling even more woozy than before. He wondered how long the jockstrap had gone unwashed for. Days, perhaps? Weeks?


It was hard not to admire, regardless. This was definitely the stench of a powerful Man. The smell of a hard day’s work from someone who rightly commanded respect, love and devotion.

“Daddy…” he sighed as he finally let the underwear drop to the floor, his eyes glassy and unfocused as he beheld his reflection once more. It was almost as though ‘Ben’ wasn’t home anymore, and the boy that remained was basking in the sense of purpose that inhaling from that jockstrap had bestowed upon him.

He crawled towards the door rather than getting back up, opening it to find the owner of the apartment waiting for him.

Sitting on a black leather armchair beside his bed, the man was likely in his mid-forties. Tall and barrel-chested, he was only wearing a pair of leather pants that did little to contain a more than sizeable bulge. He looked almost regal. A king upon his throne. His stern face was offset by a pair of remarkably kind blue eyes, his handsome features accentuated by a well groomed white-blonde beard. He was smoking a cigar, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke as his deep, smooth voice intoned, “Happy birthday, Benny.”

Ben would have normally hated being called that. But instead of saying so, he merely smiled and replied, “Thank you, sir.”

The man smiled, undoing the front of his pants and fishing out a thick, mouth-watering cock that had Ben swooning in the doorway. “Come closer, son. It’s time for your birthday present.”

A beckoning finger felt like it was tugging on an invisible cord, pulling him closer. Still trapped in that dreamlike haze he crawled forward obediently, not stopping until he was on his knees at this God of a man’s feet. His heart was pounding, the smell of cigar smoke seeming to finally tip his contained erection into full hardness.

“Happy birthday, son,” the man wished him again with nothing but affection and pride in his voice. He took hold of one of Ben’s hands, turned it upwards and placed something small, cool and metallic in it.

It was a key. Although he barely recognized what it was for, once again his body seemed to be way ahead of him. He felt himself insert the key into the padlock at his neck, twisting it once and unlocking it. All at once he felt the chain slip and clatter down onto the carpet.

It was like a switch had been flicked. His eyes widened as memories came rushing back. It had started with that fateful encounter months ago, after his ex had left him. His confidence shattered, he remembered one of a few failed attempts to bring a girl home, how they’d argued in the hallway before she had stormed off. He had just happened to be there.

‘Don’t worry, son. Plenty of fish in the sea. Besides, she doesn’t look like your type.’

It had caught him off guard back then, for a man he only knew by name and in passing to make such a comment. It hadn’t stopped him from taking up the offer for a friendly drink in his neighbour’s apartment, however. He’d even casually ignored the almost unsettling pictures the first time. And when Owen had revealed that he was a therapist specialising in hypnosis, he hadn’t even thought twice before agreeing to be ‘helped’ get over his breakup.

And the ‘help’ kept coming and coming, with Ben returning to same apartment almost every night. Over and over the almost nurturing man had stretched the limits of his conscious mind, taking the opportunity to instill new values and desires that easily took root. Ben remembered being told that he was ‘special’, and that although Owen had openly disclosed having a fondness for hypnotising ‘straight’ young men into bed with him or in front of his camera, there was something inherently trusting in Ben’s eyes that had made Owen want more. And so it was only fitting that Owen had taken his time with him, carefully molding and sculpting various parts of his identity and memories to his liking. And although Ben had spent plenty of time in the ensuing months in Owen’s company, two things had remained true. One, that Ben would revert to his usual self whenever he left Owen’s apartment, with only the chain around his neck reinforcing the hypnotic triggers whenever he returned. And two, despite Owen carefully teaching him the pleasures of serving other men, never once had Ben been fucked, nor had he ever tasted the man’s cum.

It had started out as some semblance of preserving his professed ‘straightness’, but he eventually remembered feeling frustrated about it. Rejected, even in time. He recalled times where Owen would bring other men home, and made him watch as he inevitably introduced them to the joys of sucking cock and getting fucked. He remembered the smiles on their faces. How they’d enter the apartment as men but leave transformed into boys, thirsty for more cock. One of those men had even been one of his close friends who’d made the mistake of confronting Owen one night for Ben’s strange behaviour. The last Ben had heard of him was that he had his own daddy now, one who would keep a possessive arm around his waist at one of the seedy bars across town that Owen had introduced to him.

He felt his cock leak pre as the memories continued to return. Falling asleep in Owen’s arms. Being introduced to each and every inch of the man’s sweaty, hairy body. Breathing deep of his armpits and his crotch. The excitement he had felt when he was allowed to suck the man’s cock, even though he was continually denied a chance to taste his cum. Even the feeling of it being pumped straight onto his face or his back after being fucked had been enough to make him cum. He remembered begging for it. That newfound part of him seeming to know that everything would be so much better if Owen would just…

‘You’re special, son… unlike all those boys… you are going to be completely and utterly mine. Be a good boy and let daddy finish his work with you… one day, when you’re all trained up… daddy is going to cum down your throat and wash all those unnecessary parts of you clean… You can be…’

“Reborn,” Ben finished the sentence, finally back in the present. A degree of focus came back to his eyes as he stared up, defiantly at the older man. “Owen, you made me…”

“My boy? Not quite yet. But almost. Settle down, son.”

Just as he was about to rise to his feet, the man exhaled another thick cloud of cigar smoke directly into his face, stubbing it out in the ashtray beside him while Ben sputtered and coughed. Despite a conscious effort to focus, Ben’s cock throbbed anyway, the room feeling like it was spinning as his eyes started to water. “You won’t need that chain to remind you of who you belong to after tonight…” Owne promised, gently reaching down to stroke his chin. “Once you taste Daddy’s cum, there’s no going back. You will belong to me… mind, body and soul. So open up, son…” the man whispered, parting his lips with his fingers. “Open up for Daddy…”

Finding himself powerless to resist, Ben felt his face being guided towards the man’s crotch, his eyes widening as he took in the sight and smell of that dick up close. Frightened for his life, or at least, his identity, he found himself remembering how it had felt and tasted the first time, how scared and lost he had been…

As Owen’s cock made its way past his lips, suddenly something seemed to change. His eyelids drooped once more as the taste caused a sudden warmth to spread throughout his body, culminating in another wanton throb inside his jockstrap.

“Shhh… that’s it, son… you’re coming home… back onto Daddy’s cock… back to Daddy… Mmm…”

He felt it fill his throat, the man taking hold of his head with both hands before guiding it up and down. Something inside him seemed to take over, his lips hungrily latching on and suckling audibly over Owen’s grunts of approval. Even as the man let go of his head so he could light another cigar, Ben found himself trapped in that rhythm, powerless to do anything but keep sucking, keep bobbing his head up and down as the man’s approval slowly became everything to him. The lessons he had endured while entranced time and time again spurred him on now rather than made him hesitate. Slurping. Licking. Panting. Groaning. Ben continued to slobber effortlessly over that thick daddy dick, so focused on it that he didn’t even notice how each throb within the confines of his throat was mirrored by his own treacherous dick.

“Daddy…” he sighed contentedly, nuzzling against the man’s cock before he partook in the man’s sweaty balls, suckling on them loudly while his eyes remained devotedly looking upwards for more of the older man’s approval.

“That’s right son… Daddy. Daddy’s here for you… feel how much cum there is inside those balls… Daddy’s been saving it especially for you, son… you’ll never have to go back to being boring old Ben from now on…”

Overjoyed to hear those words, Ben resumed deepthroating Owen’s magnificent cock. So consumed was he with pleasing his daddy that everything else ceased to matter. Even time escaped him as his head continued to bob up and down, completely oblivious to how many cigars Owen managed to smoke through while he willingly continued to skullfuck himself out of existence. All for Him. All for his Daddy.

“Get ready… son…. Nghhhh!” Owen pushed his head down, firing a few spurts of cum down Ben’s throat before lifting it up, only so Ben could finally tase what he had been unknowingly craving for so long. “Mmm…” Ben hummed pleasantly as Owen’s cock slipped out past his lips, somehow still managing to coat his forehead and cheeks with the last few spurts of hot manseed.

“Good boy…” he heard Owen coo softly as his thick fingers smeared all that cum into his skin, all while the man’s foot was pressing down on Ben’s tortured bulge. “Now… CUM!”

Ben nearly cried out, shuddering as he collapsed headfirst into Owen’s spent crotch. His vision almost whited out as he spilled his own load inside his underwear. His entire body spent and exhausted, he continued to pant and groan, inhaling the scent of Owen’s crotch with a tired smile on his face.

“Happy birthday, Benny. How did you like your birthday blowjob?”

Benny finally looked up at the man. No trace of resistance left in those wide, unblinking eyes as he happily sighed, “I loved it, Daddy. Thank you so much.”

Smiling at his response, Owen beckoned him to stand before he stood up behind him. Unbuckling the leather cup in the boy’s jock, he proceeded to bring it up to Benny’s dazed face. “Lick it clean, boy…” Owen commanded, smiling proudly as Benny did so without reservation, the boy even taking hold of it himself as he lapped it clean. While the boy was preoccupied with his task, Owen took something out of his pocket, fastening it to Benny’s neck.

“Happy birthday again, son…” Owen smiled, seeing the sheer joy on the younger man’s face once he glanced into a nearby mirror and saw that he had just been collared.

“Thank you da- mfffff…” Silenced by Owen’s tongue inside his cum-filled mouth, Benny finally allowed himself to melt into his warm embrace. He was finally home.

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