Ben
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Ben free porn video
Ben
by Trainmaster
Synopsis: Behind the dresser was the entrance to a magical land beyond
Ben's wildest imagining. There, he experienced pleasures that stripped
away his inhibitions and made reality a nightmare. There, Ben found he
had place to go, a place called ... home.
It took all of Ben's strength to move the heavy dresser aside and he
panted as he sat on the bed recovering. He was learning; housecleaning
was hard work. Cindy would be relieved he was actually doing something
about her apartment, the place they shared. She thought all he did was
laze around lamenting that the job market really sucked.
It pissed Cindy off that Ben couldn't find a job and she made it no
secret that if he didn't start pulling his weight, he'd have to move out.
Ben felt that she was being unfair; after all, he was trying. He spent an
hour or so every day at Monster and CareerBuilder and Craigslist looking
for openings. His resume was ready; there just wasn't any work worth
going after.
So Cindy told him he could be the maid. "Look, Ben, if you want to stay,
you'll have to help around here. I can't work and support us, and still
have time to do the dishes and clean up. Maybe you should learn how to
vacuum and do the laundry. Hell, it might be a skill you could use for a
job."
Ben actually liked the idea. If he could get back on Cindy's good side,
maybe she'd start having sex with him again. He was horny and
disappointed at her frigid attitude. So he picked up the dishes off the
table every night and ran the dishwasher.
Cindy showed him where the scrubbing supplies were and pointed to the
ring of rusty brown in the toilet. She showed him how to change the bag
in the vacuum cleaner. She impatiently explained which of her garments
could be washed on regular and which needed gentle treatment.
Before she left for work, she gave him a list of things she expected him
to get done by the time she got home. He thought he'd do it all in the
morning; that gave him time to relax and maybe take a nap that afternoon
before she got off work.
The vacuum cleaner stood in the bedroom doorway. Ben had pushed it
thoroughly around the bed and used the crevice tool to fish dust-bunnies
out from underneath. All he needed was to get under the dresser's edges
and he figured moving it out of the way meant he wouldn't have to do that
again for a long time.
Behind it was a small access hatch. He looked at it for a minute and then
stooped and pulled on the handle. The little door snapped open, as though
something pressed on it from inside the wall. It wouldn't latch when he
pushed back. Ben examined the hinges and decided they were shimmed too
tight.
He was surprised that he could see in about three feet -- he expected to
find the outside wall of the bedroom about six inches away. He waved his
hand around and didn't encounter anything solid. Tomorrow, he'd take the
vacuum inside and suck up the dust. No point in getting Cindy riled up.
Then maybe they could use it to store some of the extra stuff Cindy kept
in his side of the closet and piled in the spare room they shared as an
office. In the meantime, he figured he should find out how big the space
was.
He dug the emergency flashlight out of the kitchen drawer. It lit up and
he was glad the aging batteries still functioned. Back at the doorway, he
shined it around and was disappointed not to see anything in the beam
except more floor stretching as far as the flashlight would point.
Holding the flashlight ahead of him, Ben poked his head into the doorway
and then crawled the rest of the way in. There was nothing on either side
of him and the space continued farther than his first impression. He
brushed his hands on his jeans and crept forward.
About 10 feet in -- he guessed it was about 10 feet -- the flashlight
flickered and went out. Ben tapped it several times and it didn't come
on. "Figures," he thought to himself. "It's my fault I didn't replace the
batteries." It was totally dark, and the access entrance was only a speck
of light.
With his heart starting to pound, Ben crawled back the way he'd come.
Immediately, the flashlight popped on again. Ben stared at it in
exasperation, giving his night vision a good zapping. When he could see
again, he crawled back to the entrance and was relieved to find the sun
still shining in the bedroom.
Ben brushed dust off his knees and pondered the space he'd just exited.
Finally, with a shrug of his shoulders, he pushed the little door shut
... as shut as it would go. The sprung hinges fought him and he finally
gave up, letting it stand ajar with a sliver of black at the gap.
He rolled the vacuum across the smashed down section of carpet, lifting
the pile in an even pattern. "Good," he thought, pushing the heavy
dresser back in front to cover up the door. "That means I'm done here."
He glanced up at the time.
The clock had to be wrong -- he'd only been inside a few minutes. But it
said 1:30 p.m., and he knew he'd pushed the dresser aside at about 10:30
that morning. He shook his head. Where had three hours gone? It meant
he'd have to rush to finish the list and that meant no nap.
He did manage to have the day's chores done and the apartment presentable
when Cindy got home. She fried bacon and scrambled some eggs, and sat
back to watch television. When he made an advance, she rebuffed him.
"It's been a long day, Ben, and I'm bushed. Maybe this weekend, if the
other things get done."
"Well," he thought, "I'm tired, too. I worked all day here and she hasn't
said a word of praise." He surfed the Internet until Cindy decided to go
to bed and it was another chilly night.
In the morning, Cindy listed out the day's set of tasks. Ben
conscientiously got right to work. When he took a break, the dresser
caught his attention and that reminded him about the little door behind
it. He sat on the bed to catch his breath.
Ben wrestled the dresser aside and looked behind it. The little door was
still slightly ajar. He gave it a half-hearted shove with his foot but it
stayed ajar. He really wanted to go back inside, but duty called so he
pushed the dresser back and finished his chores.
Cindy grilled hamburgers on her George Foreman that evening and then
watched the news before going to bed. Again, she said nothing about his
labors, and again, he struck out with his attempt at affection.
The next day, Ben decided he would explore the doorway first and then do
his chores. Though he tested the batteries before he went in, as before,
the flashlight flickered and died after about 10 feet. This time Ben
crawled forward into the darkness, feeling his way across the rough
plywood floor.
Cobwebs tickled his neck and he repeatedly brushed them aside. His chest
felt like he was being squeezed. "The dust must be aggravating my
asthma," he thought.
Suddenly the flashlight came back on and Ben saw that he'd crawled in a
complete circle. There about 10 feet in front of him was the little
doorway. Brushing the cobwebs back again, he scrambled back into the
bedroom.
And came to a shocked halt. It wasn't his bedroom. It wasn't even the
apartment where he and Cindy lived. This room was larger, well-appointed,
with gossamer curtains and a bed so big he thought he'd get lost on it.
He was stunned.
The sky outside, a beautiful pink and orange sunset, was definitely not
what he'd left at the apartment. In dismay, Ben realized the whole day
had disappeared. So much for his relationship with Cindy. "Geez, this
can't possible get any worse." He repressed a shudder.
But it was worse. As he investigated the squeezing sensation around his
chest, he found that it was ... that it was a bra -- and it contained ...
uh, that's impossible ... a pair of pert breasts with big sensitive
nipples. They weren't large but they were definitely female.
And the cobwebs he'd been brushing away were strands of long blond hair
in a ponytail.
Ben stood up. His jeans were much tighter and ... and ... so very snug in
front around his crotch that he couldn't feel anything inside. As he
pressed his hand against himself, the graceful curve of his abdomen
continued past where he expected his male bulge.
Across from him there was a vanity stocked with make-up and women's
things. It was topped with a large ornate mirror. With more than just a
little apprehension, he looked at himself in the mirror. It confirmed the
dread he was feeling.
He was a woman; a pleasant looking young lady with no trace of Ben's
features or masculinity. She was about Cindy's age, mid-20s, only this
girl was thinner, and had a classic loveliness his girlfriend didn't, and
she oozed sex appeal. He touched his breasts and the girl in the mirror
touched hers, leaving no doubt they were the same person.
In disbelief, he sat on the bed. He noticed his jeans were actually
medium blue slacks made of some kind of quality fabric, not the sort of
apparel he'd have chosen, and not what he should have been crawling
around in. His new bra was covered with a satin shirt ... blouse, he
corrected himself.
"Ben," said a man's voice outside the room. "Honey, we don't want to be
late to the party. How much longer, sweetie?" Ben didn't have a clue what
to do. It didn't occur to him, in his panic, to go back into the little
doorway that gaped across the room.
"Just give me a few m-more minutes," he replied. His voice was light and
melodic, and had a husky mid-range timbre. He was surprised. For some
reason, he thought all women had high pitched voices like Cindy's.
The door opened. "Oh, honey, not again," the man said. "Honestly, Ben, I
wonder whether you'll ever see the first act of anything. The party's not
going to wait for us."
"Uh. Yeah. I'm ... just a little dizzy. I won't ... I don't want to
disappoint you. I'll hurry."
The man crossed the bedroom and kissed the top of Ben's head. He was in
his late 40s, maybe early 50s. "Honey, you'll never disappoint me. I love
you. I just think we'll have more fun if we don't need to apologize for
being late."
"S-sure." Ben answered. "I ... uh ..." The man stroked Ben's face
affectionately and left. Ben realized his cheek was soft and smooth, with
no trace of the lazy stubble he'd grown in Cindy's apartment. The man's
warm touch had been ... pleasant.
He looked at the cosmetics in alarm. He didn't know anything about
applying make-up. Gingerly, he sat in the little cushioned chair. He
touched a couple of bottles in apprehension and lifted a small one with
tan liquid inside.
Ben came to his senses and realized that he'd daydreamed a bit. Oh, damn,
was that man ever going to be pissed. He blinked -- and become conscious
that his make-up was done and delicately applied.
What's more, he'd changed out of the blouse and pants into a slip and
dress ... a low-cut dress that showed cleavage when he stared at himself
in the mirror. He could feel a different kind of bra, strapless with
stiff wires pressing his breasts upward, making them stick out. The
woman's hair fell softly around his bare shoulders.
Ben sighed, thankful that the body's auto-pilot had kicked in. He turned
and opened the bedroom door. "Oh, Ben, you're beautiful," said the man
outside, laying a shawl around Ben's shoulders.
"Funny name for a woman," Ben thought. He followed the man down the broad
stairs, appreciating that the house was huge, professionally decorated,
and obviously very expensive. Their car was classy and also expensive.
And so was the house they drove up to. "Edmund," smiled the woman who
answered the door, "it's wonderful that you could come." Now Ben knew his
escort's name, glad he hadn't been embarrassed for asking something his
body probably knew.
"Hello, Bernice," she said, holding out her hand delicately to Ben. He
dipped his head slightly in response as she lightly grasped his fingers.
So ... Ben was his nickname. Just as well; Bernice had a foreign, English
riding school sound to it.
The party was a whirlwind. Ben was rushed around on Edmund's arm,
introduced to so many others that he lost track of every name. It was
obvious that he was a trophy wife, kept in luxury to make the man feel
good. Ben guessed he was Edmund's answer to a mid-life crisis, probably
the cause of a messy divorce, judging from the large diamond wedding ring
on his left hand.
Everywhere, servants circulated with long-stemmed tulip glasses of
champagne. Edmund kept handing full ones to Ben and before he knew it, he
was drunker than he'd ever been on his ... on Cindy's ... side of the
little doorway. It took his full concentration to stay afloat on his
high-heeled shoes. He hadn't even noticed them before.
Finally, they were on their way home. Edmund happily described several
business deals he'd initiated or concluded at the party. Ben closed his
eyes and listened inanely, as the car jostled him from side to side on
the turns. His head spun from the champagne.
The rest of the evening was a blur. Somehow he misplaced the dress and
slip ... and the bra and panties ... and his inhibitions. He tried to
tell himself he should be upset about the man nuzzling him passionately.
But still, between the champagne and the things Edmund was doing, Ben
kept losing track of himself.
It all felt so wonderful. Those big nipples ... they were so stiff they
ached in pleasure as Edmund caressed them. Edmund's hands on other parts
of Ben's body ... ummm ... he'd never felt anything like this and it was
... unbelievable. He heard himself making little chirping squeals.
Little? He was screaming his head off in unrestrained pleasure.
When the climax came, Ben was slammed back in amazement. "Oh! My! God!"
His whole body was so tight he felt like a rubber band stretched beyond
its limit. He'd heard the term "played like a violin" and now he
understood what it meant. He was hot, every inch of skin was on fire and
he thought he must be glowing intensely.
"You okay?" wondered Edmund.
Ben heard himself say, as the auto-pilot kicked in again, "I love you,
Edmund Wilson. Oh, god, I love you."
Wilson? How did he know that?
Waking up in the absolute silence of the huge bedroom, Ben turned to the
clock on Edmund's side. It was 4:50. He lay quietly, listening to the
sound of nothing. No, not nothing; the sound of Edmund's steady
breathing; his own slow heartbeat; the little sigh the mattress made as
he moved.
"You awake?" whispered Edmund.
"Uh-huh."
"Ah, good," said the man, rolling over to place his hand on Ben's breast.
Within a few moments, Ben's heartbeat wasn't slow anymore; it pounded in
his neck, in his ears, against the tips of Edmund's fingers as the man
drove Ben back into ecstasy. It was the same wonderful feeling -- no, it
was better -- Ben wasn't drunk on champagne this time. Again, he found
himself squealing uncontrollably.
Sometime later, he vaguely felt Edmund's light kiss on his cheek. When
Ben woke up, he was alone and the room was brightly lit by rich morning
sunshine. He sat up suddenly. "Oh, my God. Cindy ..." If she knew what
he'd done that night there would be hell to pay. She wasn't going to
understand, probably wouldn't even listen to his ... excuse.
Jumping out of bed, Ben pulled on the panties he'd worn the night before,
noting in the back of his mind that the crotch was coated stiffly with
his vaginal juices. He'd seen Cindy's panties that way ... but not in a
long time. He ignored the bra and hastily donned the slacks. The buttons
on the blouse were backwards and it defied him, so he left it flapping
around his torso.
Ben opened the little doorway -- how'd it get shut, anyway? He hadn't
closed it. He crawled hurriedly back through the darkness, trying to keep
himself in a straight line as much as possible. His hand touched the
flashlight and he turned it on gratefully. "Umm ... wait a minute," he
whispered to himself. "Didn't I have this when I crawled into the big
bedroom?"
He was back in his T-shirt and dirty jeans. The tightness in his chest
was only his asthmatic reaction to the dust. He hoped he knew where his
inhaler was.
The sun was just going down as he pulled himself out of the hole and
stood up. Was Cindy ...? He listened carefully for sounds in other parts
of the apartment. Thankfully, there were none. Ben pushed the dresser
back in front of the little door.
Cindy was not happy with him. "I leave you home all day, Ben, and you
can't even do a few simple tasks. Where's your head anyway?" He
apologized but knew she had reason to be angry. She continued grousing as
she cooked macaroni and cheese, and tossed a light salad for them.
"Honestly, Ben, I'm ready to kick you out. Tomorrow you'd better get
something done around here."
He tried. Oh, he tried. He had one load of laundry folded, another in the
dryer, and the last one in the washing machine when the doorway finally
overwhelmed him. It was as though ... as though it called his name out
loud "Ben. Oh, Ben. Come here, Ben."
He startled himself out of his reverie when the flashlight blinked off.
He didn't remember moving the dresser. He reached up and touched his ...
breasts. Yes, and the ponytail, and he knew he was Bernice again.
Bernice, what a name. No wonder Edmund called him Ben.
But he wasn't her, he was him, or should have been. Where in the darkness
did the transformation overcome him -- and why didn't he feel it? Where
did the magic happen? If he wasn't Ben anymore, if he was Bernice, then
why didn't it feel strange?
It was dark outside the big bedroom. That, by itself, was just as weird.
He knew he'd only crawled for a few minutes, yet he went from mid-morning
on one side into late evening on the other. Ben shook off the momentary
confusion and discovered he was standing outside the bedroom, quietly
closing the door.
At the top of the landing, Ben gave in to the urge to explore the big
house. Edmund was down there somewhere and the part of him that was
Bernice made a deliberate choice. He didn't know the choice was made for
him, he couldn't have explained that anyway, until his hand grasped the
handrail and he stepped over the carpeted edge of the antebellum
stairway.
He cataloged himself as he went down the stairs. He wore a snug sweater,
light turquoise, which hugged his curves. His hips and legs were encased
in a pair of deep blue designer denims - they wouldn't let him think of
them as jeans. His feet were in a pair of open-toed ... he didn't know
what to call them, but they had elevated heels that made the backs of his
calves tight against the denim. Around his neck was a striking red-and-
turquoise silk scarf.
"You look terrific, honey," said Edmund, looking up as Ben walked into
the den. The big screen television (of course it would be big) was tuned
to an orchestra. The music rose and fell softly in the room's stillness.
"Thank you," Ben replied. He sat where Edmund was indicating, and the
deep soft cushion tipped him snuggly against his husband's side. Edmund
stroked his hair and then ran a finger lightly along his shoulder. There
was a touch of anticipation -- Ben was tense and had butterflies in his
stomach.
His mind whirled, seeking answers. Why was this so pleasant? Why was he
letting Edmund touch him? Why didn't it bother him as he thought it
should? Why had last night's lovemaking made him feel ... well, whole?
Why?
Then he surprised himself and kissed Edmund on the cheek. Was it the
auto-pilot again? When Edmund responded by turning and catching Ben's
lips full-on, he didn't pull away. So what if it was? He returned the
kiss, and held it for an eternity ... until both gasped for breath.
He whispered in Edmund's ear. "This music ... makes me feel frisky. So do
you, my sexy man."
Edmund clicked the power button on the remote and the television blinked
off. Ben took the hand being offered and let himself be pulled to his
feet. Abruptly, Edmund scooped him up, revealing strength hidden away in
a spring-coiled chest and powerful arms. Hidden behind such tenderness
that made Edmund all the more attractive.
There was really no reason to expect the evening's love session to be
different from the last, and yet ... and yet, it was a whole new
experience for Ben, totally fresh, totally unbelievable, extraordinary,
mind-blowing. "Oh! My! God!" he heard himself scream.
The sun through the curtains woke Ben up. He was physically exhausted and
still aglow from a second lovemaking session. He lay basking in the
warmth: warmth from the sun, and warmth from what Edmund had done to him.
Finally, he pulled himself out of bed. This time, he knew there were
fresh undergarments in the wardrobe. When he'd navigated his breasts into
the bra (auto-pilot again, he wondered?) and kicked the discarded panties
into the hamper, he opened the little door.
This was his guilty pleasure, his place of refuge. His real life was at
the other end of the dark tunnel. His job search waited there, his
household chores, Cindy, everything he knew ... all across the invisible
line. The line where he wasn't at the mercy of an auto-pilot instinct he
didn't understand and worried might desert him at the wrong time.
So Ben left the morning sunlight and crawled back to the evening, knowing
that his day's work was still undone. Knowing that whatever excuses he
offered wouldn't be good enough for Cindy. The flashlight blinked on when
his fingers encountered it.
As expected, Cindy was pissed. "God, Ben, this is so stupid. You're
testing my patience. If I need to do everything myself, I will ... but
not with you ..."
"Oh, please, Cindy," he begged. "You could make this a little easier. I
want it to get better -- getting a job and all. You could try to see it
from my side. A little fun in bed couldn't hurt. Could it? We'd both be
more relaxed."
She glared at him. Then she stomped off to the bedroom. Ben stayed up,
watching television as he folded the rest of the laundry. For some
reason, a program with an orchestra playing classical music attracted his
attention.
From the kitchen, the coffeemaker's soft trickle woke him up. Ben rolled
over and looked at the clock -- it was almost 6:30 and he was momentarily
confused. Where he expected to hear Edmund's soft breathing, he heard a
shower ... with a start he realized it was Cindy getting ready for work.
"Okay," she said, handing him a sheet of notebook paper as she picked up
her purse. "Here's the list. I'll give you another chance to redeem
yourself. But you know I'm losing my temper. You want sex? Well ... earn
it!"
Ben huffed and puffed all day, hissing to himself that life was
miserable, nursing a swollen knuckle he'd hammered while fixing a closet
shelf he'd accidentally knocked down.
He cleared everything off the kitchen counters and scrubbed the tile, and
then moved boxes of files from the office so he could vacuum there. By
the time he'd humped the boxes back in, he was wheezing again. His ribs
were sore; the muscles in his arms ached.
Still, he finished the last item on the list just as Cindy's car pulled
into her parking space. "Maybe there's hope for you after all," she said,
a little more sarcastically than he thought necessary. She had Chinese
take-out with her.
After the meal, despite his bone-weary exhaustion, Ben tried to snuggle.
Cindy rebuffed him. "Is that all you think about, Ben? Can't you see I
worked a whole day? God, I can't believe how selfish you are." The shows
she wanted to watch bored him to insensitivity, so he went to bed early.
In the middle of the night, Ben was wide awake. He surfed the Internet
for awhile and then tried to read, skipping uninterested between a couple
magazines, a historical novel, and the previous morning's newspaper. He
wanted to push the dresser aside, but with Cindy sleeping in the bedroom,
he was cut off.
Ben realized he was missing a piece of himself. He hadn't had sex that
day, or night, or whatever it was on the other side of the little door.
He hadn't felt loved. Cindy hadn't given him any reason to stay, and he
wanted ...
... he wanted -- and found it staggering to even think it -- wanted to go
home. This dinky apartment wasn't home. This lack of purpose wasn't home
and he doubted even finding the perfect job would make it so. The day-in-
and-day-out string of menial chores on the to do list wasn't home. Cindy
sure wasn't the right person to make a home with, not anymore.
But Ben knew where home was. He knew what he'd given up -- and it grew
into an ache of longing as he tried to focus on the words on the pages.
He knew where he was welcomed and his companionship sought. He knew where
he would find the things that Cindy denied him.
At breakfast, when she started berating him about what she wanted done
that day, Ben interrupted her. "Fuck off, Cindy. You're a lousy,
unsympathetic bitch. I don't care about your list and I'm done with your
crap. I'm moving out."
Without waiting for Cindy's answer, he marched down the hall and pushed
aside the dresser. There, there was his safe haven. There was home. He
pulled the little door closed behind him and was surprised when it didn't
resist. As it latched tight, he knew he wouldn't ever come back.
Copyright © 2009 by Trainmaster. All rights reserved.
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- 03.11.2022
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