Plugged and Owned

Chapter Two

Jason's boots hit Fort Drum's pavement like they belonged there. He moved through the main building with quiet command--clean-shaven, pressed uniform, dark hair still damp from his early shower. He'd been in the Army long enough to read a unit's mood within five minutes, and this one? Soft. Recently back from deployment. Worn out.

He introduced himself, calm and to the point. Major Jason Hartley, 14 years in, three combat tours, good with his hands, and not here to babysit.

By mid-morning, he'd met his senior enlisted men. One of them stood out:

Staff Sergeant Mark Bennett.

Square jaw, hard eyes, thick build. The kind of man who didn't offer more than necessary--and Jason respected that. Mark nodded as they shook hands, grip firm. He held Jason's gaze for just a second longer than usual.

Jason filed that away.

But truth be told, the work itself was light. The inbox barely pinged. The schedule was mostly empty. Which meant Jason had too much time to think.

After lunch, he headed to the gym. The Fort Drum facility was better than expected--wide open, high ceilings, equipment in perfect order. Just how he liked it.

He went hard. Sweat poured. Blood rushed. Every inch of his long, lean frame flexed and swelled with effort. By the time he stripped off his shirt in the locker room, his pecs and abs were flushed and tight, cock still semi-hard just from the burn.

But nothing took the edge off.

He checked the app again. No Lamont.

He scrolled. Still nothing that pulled at him. Too polished. Too shallow. Too needy.

Jason needed something real.

Back at his rented house, he cracked open a beer and opened a service app instead. Created a carpenter profile, added a few shots of custom work from back home--benches, a fence, a chicken coop he once built for his sister's kids. Just something to keep his hands busy.

A few hours later, a new job posted. One photo caught his eye.

Lamont H. -- Chicken Coop Build.

Same man. Same thick arms, same rich brown skin, same solid body. Same presence. Jason stared at the listing for a long moment, then hit Accept. No message. No fare. Just quiet intention.

He didn't open the dating app again that week.

⸻

Lamont wiped the sweat from his forehead, shirt clinging to his back. He'd been trying to make this damn chicken coop work for two days and he was already over it.

He'd gotten the wood delivered. Measured. Cut. Tried to frame it out--but it was crooked. The floor wasn't level. He'd spent two hours fighting with a level and a laser before finally admitting defeat.

This wasn't going to happen--not the way he wanted it. Not before the cold set in.

He set his beer down and opened a service app. Found the listing tool. Typed a quick description. Attached a few photos.

"Need a coop built before winter. Frame is started. Pay up front. Send a message if you're serious."

It felt a little strange hiring another man to come build on his land. Lamont was proud, self-reliant. But he needed this done right.

That night, he left the porch light on and stripped out of his shirt, sitting on the steps barefoot, letting the cold settle into his skin. He opened the dating app. Still no message from the faceless man who'd gotten him half-hard in the middle of the week.

He'd nearly closed the app when headlights hit his driveway.

His stomach dropped. He already knew who it was.

⸻

Staff Sergeant Mark.

No warning. No message. Just pulled in like he owned the place, engine rumbling, door slamming shut.

Lamont stood quickly and stepped inside to grab a hoodie, but Mark was already walking up the path.

"Don't bother," Mark said, his voice like gravel soaked in whiskey. "You know what time it is."

Lamont swallowed and stepped back as the man entered, boots heavy on the floor.

"Strip," Mark ordered, shutting the door behind him.

Lamont hesitated only a moment before obeying. Hoodie first. Then sweatpants. Then briefs. Naked. Barefoot. Standing at attention, his soft cock small and shy between his legs--his hole already twitching.

Mark circled him like a wolf.

"Kneel."

Lamont dropped to his knees. Mark unbuckled his belt with one hand, never taking his eyes off the man below him.

"Start with my boots. Tongue. Heel to toe. I want 'em clean."

Lamont obeyed instantly, tongue running slow and reverent across the dirt-caked leather. He licked the creases, sucked at the sole, ran his lips over the laces. Mark watched with a cold smirk, arms crossed.

"You love this shit, don't you? Serving a real man. Like a good little bitch."

Lamont moaned against the boot, nodding.

"Say it."

"Yes, Staff Sergeant. I love serving you."

"Damn right you do."

Mark unzipped. His cock flopped out--thick and heavy, veins snaking along the shaft like raised wires. It hung low for a second, then started to rise, swelling with each beat of his pulse. The head was flushed dark, glossy with pre-cum already dripping down in a slow, slick line that clung before falling at his feet.

Lamont wasted no time licking it off the floor.

"Good fag, Now suck my cock. Use your whole fuckin' throat."

Lamont obeyed. Took him in deep, hands behind his back, jaw open wide. Mark groaned and grabbed the back of his head, holding him down, slow thrusts dragging across his tongue and down his throat.

"That's it. Good boy. Make it wet. You're just a fuckin' hole, ain't you?"

Lamont gagged but didn't stop. His eyes watering. Mark groaned louder.

"Always eger when I need to empty my balls.

On your knees.

Slurping on my dick like a good lil faggot."

He pulled out and shoved Lamont onto all fours.

"Get up on the couch. Arch that ass."

Lamont climbed up onto the couch, heart pounding, and positioned himself exactly the way Mark had trained him to. Chest low. Knees wide. His back dipped, his ass high, thighs flexed to spread him open as far as he could manage. The cold air kissed his hole, already twitching with need.

Then a hand--big, hot, rough--slid across his ass.

CRACK.

Mark Smacked it hard once, then pressed his thumb into the center of Lamont's hole.

"Already open," he muttered. "You been playin' with this for me?"

"Yes, Staff Sergeant."

"You such a good little slut."

You want Daddy to dig in your pussy?"

Mark asked, voice low and thick with want.

His hand gripped Lamont's waist, fingers digging into muscle, possessive and rough.

Lamont turned his head slightly, breath shaking.

"Yes"

he whispered.

Please!

Mark didn't wait. He stepped in closer, grabbed Lamont's cheeks in both hands, and spread him wide.

The heavy heat of his cock landed between them. No warning. lub. Just a thick, hard shaft pressing directly into Lamont's center--one slow, devastating push forward.

Take it. Take this dick. You know what you're for.

Lamont's mouth dropped open, and he exhaled hard as the blunt head stretched him wide. real wide--forcing him to take it. His hole pulsed, clenched, and then gave way as Mark pushed deeper.

Lamont screamed into the cushion, gripping the edge of the couch.

Mark didn't give him time to adjust.

He pounded him hard. Deep. Long thrusts, full strokes, all the way in and back out. His balls slapped against Lamont's ass, sweat flying off his brow.

Deep in Mark held him there, cock buried to the hilt, both hands holding him open.

"Fuck," Mark growled. "Still the best pussy I've ever been in. You feel that?"

Lamont nodded, voice ragged.

"please don't stop"

Lamont begged

Mark pulled out an inch, then shoved right back in, the sound wet and sloppy, the pressure making Lamont's toes curl.

"Dont worry girl, daddy's going to give you want you need."

Lamont moned and pushing back trying to keep mark deep in him.

"I own this fuckin' pussy. You hear me?"

"Yes, Staff Sergeant!"

"Say it."

"You own my pussy!"

"Damn right. Bitch!

Mark spit down onto Lamont's hole as he fucked, grabbing his waist, fucking him harder. Lamont's eyes rolled back. He moaned, drooled, shook as the rhythm went deep, slow, pounding pleasure.

Lamont's hole quivered on Mark's cock, the thick length buried so deep it felt like it had taken root inside him. His body responded instinctively--his breath hitching, fingers curled, as a tremor rolled up from the base of his spine.

His cock throbbed helplessly, untouched, leaking steadily, dribbling onto the couch with each twitch of his inner walls squeezing around Mark's cock.

"Fuck... Daddy, don't stop. PLEASE! Don't fuckin' stop."

Mark smiled, leaned in close, breath hot on Lamont's neck.

"You fuck better than my wife ever did.

I Should have married you.

This is all the pussy I need. All mine."

With a grunt, he slammed in deep, flooding Lamont's guts with thick, hot cum.

They stayed like that for a minute. Quiet. Heavy breathing.

Then Mark pulled out, slapped Lamont's ass, and tucked himself back in.

"Clean up. You're a mess."

He left like he came. No words. No affection. Just boots stomping back out to his truck.

Lamont lay there for a while, trembling, dripping, sore and satisfied.

⸻

Saturday morning came fast.

Lamont was sore but up early, throwing on a hoodie and sweats, brushing sawdust off the porch when the knock came.

He opened the door.

Jason.

Tall. Hard. Dressed in jeans and a tight thermal shirt, tool belt slung low. The curve of his dick was a thick line under the denim. His boots were worn. His scent--musk and pine and sweat--hit Lamont square in the chest.

Lamont froze.

Jason smiled politely. "Morning. You Lamont?"

"Yeah," he answered, quieter than intended.

Jason extended a hand. "Jason. I took your coop job."

Lamont shook it--swallowed, throat raw--and led him around the side of the house, heart pounding.

Jason walked behind him, quiet and watchful.

Lamont could feel his eyes on his ass. Or maybe he just hoped they were.

Either way, he didn't know it yet, but the man standing on his property was the same one from the app. The same one he'd been dreaming about.

And Jason?

The first thing Jason noticed was his build--solid, strong, broad across the shoulders with arms that looked like they could split wood, veins tight across forearms. And that ass... round, high, perfect in a way that had Jason's mouth dry before he even stepped inside.

The second thing he noticed? Lamont didn't quite know what to do with his hands.

He shifted from foot to foot when Jason spoke. Kept his arms folded across his chest sometimes, then dropped them a moment later, like he didn't want to seem closed off. And when Jason asked him something--something simple, like how long he'd lived there--Lamont answered quietly... but didn't look him in the eye.

Not for long.

"Lets take this one slow thought Jason"