Ben is Bitten by the Big Apple

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Ben, Robert and Ian previously appeared in “Ben is Kept Under Control”.

It was late in the afternoon on a cold and wet Sunday in Toronto in October 1974 and I’d spent a dreary day doing backed-up laundry and cleaning my apartment when the phone rang. When I heard the voice on the line my mood instantly changed for the better.

It was Robert calling from London; a leather top who was the subject of my regular jerk-off sessions ever since I’d met him earlier in the year. He’d stayed on my mind and in my dreams because I was a twenty- four-year old submissive boy who got off on being dominated by older men, especially one who was tall, dark and handsome with a well-muscled body and a big cock.

We’d met when he’d stayed with my friend Carlo, who knew him from playing around together in the “Swinging London” of the Nineteen-Sixties. When Carlo heard Robert would be visiting for a couple of weeks, he promised to find him a submissive boy to use while in town.

Carlo and I had been an item earlier that winter, so he thought of me, aware of Robert’s preference for tall, thin, dark haired, smooth young men. I was brown haired and blue-eyed, with a skinny 160 pounds on a six-foot tall frame, very little body hair other than around my groin, a plump fuckable bum and an average sized dick that was no rival to Robert’s real big one.

Robert had liked me well enough that he spent a couple of weekends tying me up, spanking and caning me, letting me suck his dick and drink his piss and fucking me again and again. I’d jerked off so many times thinking about him since then that I could hardly believe what he was telling me.

He and his partner Ian planned to celebrate their fifteenth anniversary as a couple with a holiday in New York City in early November and the hotel room they’d booked was big enough for three; so he wanted me to get off work and join them for a long weekend. When I didn’t answer for a moment, since this was coming completely out of the blue and my mind was reeling, he mistook the reason for my hesitation.

“This was my idea, Ben, but don’t worry, Ian’s OK with you being around. You’re the kind of submissive boy we both love playing with, plus you won’t be the only one. We’ll be doing a lot more than just sight-seeing while we’re in New York.”

All I had to do was get there and then they’d be picking up the tab, which meant I’d be their rent boy for the weekend. But what the heck; I’d let older men pick up the cheque at restaurants before and paid them back with sex. This time, other than the cost of a bus ticket, I was getting a free vacation in the Big Apple! I could swallow my pride as easily as their dicks if it got me a trip to New York!

Even though I wasn’t sure how enthusiastic Ian might be about the idea, I agreed immediately and promised to be there on the first Friday in November.

First thing Monday morning, I asked for the time off from my boss and went to the bus station on my lunch hour to look up ticket prices and schedules, When I called them back that night. Robert gave the name of their hotel on Washington Square and then Ian came on the line. He told me to pack lightly; just a pair of leather pants and a leather shirt, a couple jockstraps and a toothbrush. That and the clothes on my back would be all I’d need, since I was going to naked most of the time anyway!

Four p.m. on the first Thursday in November, I boarded the Greyhound to New York City, scheduled to arrive at six am the next morning at Port Authority Bus Terminal on Eighth Avenue. I got some sleep after we crossed the border at Buffalo, but after being woken up at the Albany bus station I stayed awake for the rest of the night, aware of the hard-on in my jeans caused by thoughts of the upcoming weekend.

The bus was on time at Port Authority and I stepped, eager to enjoy my first day in the Big Apple. I’d told the guys that I wanted to do some sight-seeing before getting to their hotel at midday, which was fine by them since they were enjoying the luxury of sleeping-in late on their vacation.

Before doing anything else, I had to find a bathroom, since I hated bus toilets and as I crossed the concourse looking for one, I caught sight of my first real-life New York leather man! He was a slim, brown-eyed guy in his late thirties, about my height, with a dark curly bead and full head of black hair, wearing black leather pants, a denim shirt with a black leather tie, engineer boots and a leather biker jacket.

All that was exciting enough but my eyes focused in on the impressive bulge in the front of his pants. My stare must have been so obvious that when I looked up into his face, he stopped talking to the guy he was with and winked at me, making me blush at being caught out.

Looking quickly away, I concentrated on the matter at hand and headed straight for the washrooms. I spent a few successful minutes in a stall before going over to the sink to wash my hands. Feeling grungy from sitting on an over-heated kaçak iddaa bus for twelve hours, I pulled off my t-shirt and threw some soapy water at my chest and under my arms. As I stood drying myself on the roller towel, I realised that the same leather man I’d cruised a few minutes ago, was standing at a urinal, leering at me with a big, half-hard dick in his hand.

This was crazy; it was six-thirty in the morning, I’d been in New York City for all of fifteen minutes and already some random guy was waving his dick at me! But it looked like a very nice dick and he was exactly my kind of hot older man and there was no one else around at that moment. I didn’t put my shirt back on as I turned towards him with a questioning look. He nodded at me and walked over to an empty stall without bothering to tuck his dick away; he was asking for a blow job and I was so sexed-up that I was going to give him one.

But suddenly. out of the corner of my eye I saw a security guard heading in our direction and I panicked. At Robert’s insistence, I was in my regular outfit for going out to the bars; worn Levi 501’s, tight white t-shirt, black leather biker jacket and boots. It was OK for late nights in gay town, but under the cold fluorescent light of a bus station bathroom I knew I must look like nothing less than a gay hustler on the game.

Did this hot leather man really want a blow job or was he a decoy in one of the police department’s daily fag-catching set-ups? Like most gay men in those days I knew all about the so-called “Vice squads” or “Morality Bureaus” in very big city police department that regularly entrapped homosexuals and the NYPD’s reputation as the nation’s leader in that dirty business.

I turned away immediately, picked up my backpack, pulled my shirt and jacket back on and ran out of the bathroom and out of the Terminal, without looking back.

By the time I was standing on the corner of Eighth Avenue and 42nd Street, I’d calmed down and got over my panic. Now that my heart had stopped thumping and my breathing had got back to normal, I pulled out the Manhattan street map I’d bought in Toronto and began to follow the route I’d drawn on it, which led from the Bus Terminal to the guys’ hotel on Washington Square.

The first part of the route took me along 42nd Street towards Broadway. The nineteen-seventies were the height (or depth!) of the sex industry’s grip on Times Square, and as I walked along I was amazed by the number of girls (and a few boys) looking out for johns even at that time in the morning and the numerous bookshops and dirty movie houses, lining both sides of the street, all open twenty-four hours a day.

Being a horny gay boy who got off on all this sleaziness, I wandered into one of the stores in order to find magazines featuring the kind of gay bondage pix that weren’t allowed across the border to Canada in those days. I had to go to the back of the store to find them hiding behind racks of vibrators and lace panties, mostly shrink-wrapped to prevent guys like me from browsing rather than buying.

But searching diligently through the shelves, I was able to find an unwrapped copy of “California Bondage Boys Volume 3”, just my cup of tea! When the clerk’s attention was taken up with ringing up a big pile of magazines for some scummy looking straight guy, I began to thumb through it.

It was full of black and white photos of blond surfer type dudes in handcuffs and ropes, all pretty amateurish by modern standards, but these were the days before internet porn and I’d never seen anything like it other than my own personal Polaroids; I was spellbound.

In fact, I was concentrating so hard (!) that I didn’t realise the leather man from the bus station was even near me until he whispered in my ear. Already nervous about being caught with a bondage magazine in my hand, I jumped out of my skin with shock and stared at him with my mouth wide open. He grinned and he repeated himself in a thick New York accent.

“Hey kid, why’d you run away? One minute I think I’m getting a BJ from a good-looking boy and the next minute he runs off like he seen a ghost. Now I find him with his head stuck in a bondage mag and a wet spot in the front of his jeans. So, how’s about that blow job you promised, kid?”

I didn’t think taking a step or two towards a bathroom stall counted as a “promise” to give him a blow job, but at least my mind was at ease about him being an undercover cop; even I knew that arresting me in a Times Square sex shop would get him laughed out of court!

“Sorry sir, but I saw a security guard walking towards us, and I panicked. This is my first time in New York, and I don’t want any trouble.”

“Yea, well, that’s OK, I figured you musta got spooked. This’ll work out better anyway, the booths here make a nice quiet spot for an early morning suck job and you can take your time. But, just so’s we’re clear, I’m not paying for this; I don’t pay no hustlers, OK?”

After I assured kaçak bahis him this was a freebee, we squeezed into the booth and I fell to my knees while he unbuttoned himself. He pulled down his jeans and shorts and sat with his bum cheeks right at the front edge of the little bench seat. Then he put two quarters in the movie player and stared at the tiny black and white screen that flickered behind my head as I leant forward to start on him.

Taking the hint from how he was sitting, I began by licking him from taint to scrotum, earning me quiet moans of appreciation; then I spent time caring for his balls, licking and taking each of them into my mouth, before finally concentrating on his circumcised cock. Surrounded with a bush of thick, curly black hair, it wasn’t very thick, but it was a good length and had a big crown.

I swallowed a long trail of precum that hung from it, then kissed the head and licked the underside before swallowing the whole thing down to the root, gagged on it and drew back to start all over again.

As I knelt at his feet, I started to worry that I’d cum by accident; after all this was sexy as hell and I hadn’t masturbated for days in readiness for this weekend. I clasped my hands behind my back to stop from touching myself, but as it happened, I didn’t have to control myself for too long. Soon he began wriggling around on the seat and groaning loudly; figuring his climax was near, I sped up my sucking and got rewarded with a burst of semen down my throat.

Shuddering with excitement, he pushed my head away when I tried to lick his dick clean, though he was quick to apologize when he saw how disappointed I looked.

“Sorry man, but once I’ve cum, my dick is so fucking sensitive I can’t stand having anything or anyone touch it. But that don’t mean I didn’t love the way you got me off. The innocent-looking boy at Port Authority turned out to be a top-grade cock sucker! Who’d have guessed?

“Hey, like I said, I don’t pay for sex, but how about me treating you to a real New York style breakfast. If you’re just off the bus, you must be starving, and it’s fun to stare at sexy young fags while I’m drinking my coffee in the morning. Come on stud, there’s a great little place around the corner.”

I followed him down the street to a hole-in-the-wall Greek diner on 40th Street where I ate a big bacon and egg breakfast while he finished off a bagel and sipped his coffee, while subjecting me to a polite but relentless third degree. He found out my name, that I was from England and lived in Toronto, that my interest in kink extended way beyond bondage photos and that I was in town to spend the weekend with not one but two hot leather masters.

I nattered on, spilling the beans about my BDSM experiences back in England and Toronto, and admitting to a schoolboy-type crush on Robert, the English Sergeant-Major, while learning nothing about him other than that his name was Lenny, that he lived in a loft in Chelsea somewhere and he’d been up early to see a friend off at the Port Authority when we’d cruised each other.

Eventually the place filled up with busy New Yorkers on their way to work, so he paid the bill, gave me a hug and handed me a card with his name, address and phone number.

“Nice meeting you, Benny boy. You and your friends should have a real sexy time in the Big Apple. I host an all-night party every Saturday at my place and there’s always room for new faces. From what you tell me, this Sergeant-Major of yours and his friend should fit right in and if they let you off the leash, there’ll be plenty of horn dogs sniffing round a cute young cum dump like you. I guarantee all three of youse’ll have a great time. Make sure you get ’em to call me.”

I shook my head in wonder as I watched him hurry off around the corner onto Eighth; I’d got off a bus at six in the morning and had already sucked a cock, been treated to breakfast, told a stranger my life story and got an invite to an orgy! As visitors soon tire of hearing New Yorkers exclaim, “Only in New York!”

Meanwhile, it was still only eight a.m. and I had four more hours to fill before I was due at the guys’ hotel. Following my pencilled-in route on the street map, I started my walking tour of Mid and Lower Manhattan. I gawped at the junkies in Bryant Park, gazed at the Public Library Building, window shopped at Macy’s, stared up at the Empire State Building and took the escalator to the top to watch the ant-people below, then meandered like a typical tourist down lower Fifth Avenue, getting in the way of impatient New Yorkers, arriving at the guys’ hotel precisely at noon.

I walked up to the desk clerk, an elderly, slightly effeminate gentleman who looked as if everything he’d seen in a long career had left him rightly cynical about hotels and their guests. When I asked him the room number for Mr. Robert Mason and Mr. Ian Stewart, he took one long look at the way I was dressed and came to the same conclusion about my occupation as Lenny. illegal bahis

“Yes, son, when the gentlemen came back from breakfast, they warned me there’d be another young man calling on them this morning. I haven’t seen you around here before, son, you just started working the Village?”

I could feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment at being taken for a hustler once again and tried to keep my voice steady while explaining that I was a friend of Mr. Mason’s from Toronto and I’d be staying with the gentlemen for the weekend.

“Well, whatever you say, son, but do me a favour when you get up there, please? You seem like a nice clean boy, not like those trash hustlers they got out of the classified ads in the Village Voice. Warn them I’m leaving at five o’clock today and the weekend manager won’t appreciate a string of hustlers going up and down in the elevators, frightening our nice ladies from Connecticut.

“If you’re here for the entire weekend, maybe that means they’ll cool it with the working boys. Let’s hope so. Now move right along son and get your pretty little ass out of my lobby. They’re up in 401.”

That was humiliating, but he was right. I wasn’t that different from the escorts in the classified ads; they were paid cash and I was getting room and board. As I rode up in the elevator, I wondered about the other guys. Ian and Robert had only been in town since Tuesday and had already hired a couple of hustlers. I’d better be sure to please them, or I’d be back on that bus before I knew it!

The clerk must have called up to them, since Robert was waiting at their door when I stepped off the elevator. He greeted me and led me into an impressive looking suite, consisting of a large sitting room furnished with side and coffee tables, armchairs and a couch, along with an adjoining bedroom and bathroom. They were treating themselves well on their anniversary vacation.

He gave me a welcoming hug and introduced me to Ian, who didn’t bother getting up and just nodded coolly at me from the couch. He was wearing a big bath robe, but I could see enough to tell that that his tall, thin, wiry body was in marked contrast to Robert’s bulked-up gym body. But like his lover, he was clean shaven with short brown hair and brown eyes. I smiled nervously at him while Robert remarked on the same thing that Larry and the desk clerk had noticed.

“Well, that rent boy outfit certainly shows off your assets. Those jeans are so tight, I can tell by your dick that you’re happy to be here! Got yourself lots of attention on your way here, I’ll bet.”

I blushed but kept quiet, not wanting to admit to sucking off a total stranger within half an hour of my arrival. To change the subject, I told them the desk clerk’s warning about hustlers, which didn’t faze Robert at all. Apparently, that particular manager had been hostile when they’d checked in on Tuesday evening.

“The pissy cunt didn’t want to have this king bed suite, which we’d already booked and paid for. Fuck him, it’s five years since the Stonewall riots happened around the corner from here and he can’t get over the fact that gay couples exist!”

Ian interrupted him to explain and to offer what I saw as a veiled threat.

“The guys we hired were real losers; one was a doped-up gay-for-pay straight boy with some crazy idea that we were going to suck him off and the other one’s hole looked like he’d waddled straight here from a fisting party. Hiring rent boys is always a hit and miss business, but Robert tells me you’re going to be worth it. I hope he’s right.”

I got his message loud and clear; shape up or I’d be out on my ear and back on the bus! At that point, Robert interrupted to say that he was going out for a walk, so we could get to know each other. He said he’d be back in about an hour, then gave me an order as he reached the door.

“Remember how things were back in Toronto? You’re naked the whole time you’re in this room with us, OK?”

While I hurriedly took my clothes off, the main reason for my coming to New York disappeaed out of sight without a backward glance, leaving me in the hands of a virtual stranger. Once I was naked, I tried to make a good impression by standing still, crossing my wrists behind my back and staring down at the floor in silence.

I could feel Ian staring at me for what seemed like ages, until eventually I heard him tell me to pick up my backpack and bring it over to him. I knelt down in front of the couch where he was sitting and handed it to him, only for him turn it upside down and spill the contents on the carpet between us.

My wallet, passport, house keys and the street map all came tumbling out, along with the few items of clothing I’d been told to pack.

“All this stuff, other than the clothes, gets locked away until Monday. You won’t be needing any of it and in case you hadn’t realised it yet, you won’t be having any say in what happens this weekend. No decisions, big or small.”

Looking down, his eyes caught sight of Lenny’s card which had fluttered out of the bag and was lying on the carpet by my feet. He picked it up, looked at it and naturally enough asked me who the fuck this guy was!

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