The Driftwalker was a speck in the vastness of space, a cramped, cylindrical vessel slicing through the void toward a star system years away. Its living cabin was a claustrophobic box—ten feet by eight, with two bunks bolted to one wall, a fold-down table, and a single porthole revealing the endless black. For Alex and Ben, the only two souls aboard, it was home and battlefield.
Both men were in their prime—late twenties, bodies carved from years of brutal training. Alex’s blond hair was buzzed short, his jaw sharp and square, his blue eyes always glinting with a cocky edge. Ben’s dark curls hung just past his ears, his olive skin taut over muscles that matched Alex’s inch for inch. They were equals in every way that mattered—arrogant, loud, and fiercely masculine, the kind of men who’d arm-wrestle over the last beer and laugh about it after. Six months into the voyage, though, the tiny cabin had worn their friendship thin, fraying it into something jagged and tense.
Alex lounged on the lower bunk, stripped to his briefs, one leg dangling off the edge, his foot tapping an irritating rhythm against the floor. Ben stood by the table, wiping down a spill with a rag, his own briefs clinging to his thighs. The porthole cast a faint glow across his chest, highlighting the sweat beading there.
“Christ, Alex, can you stop that tapping?” Ben snapped, tossing the rag onto the table. “It’s been three hours.”
Alex smirked, not missing a beat with his foot. “What’s the matter, princess? Too delicate for a little noise?”
Ben’s jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists. “Call me that again, and I’ll knock your teeth out.”
Alex sat up, his grin widening. “Big words, Ben. You think you’ve got the balls to back them up?”
“More than you,” Ben shot back, stepping closer, his chest puffing out. “You’ve been acting like a caged dog all week.”
“Maybe I am,” Alex said, standing now, their faces inches apart. “Maybe I’m sick of this shit—sick of this ship, sick of you, sick of pretending we’re still buddies.”
Ben shoved him, hard enough to make Alex stumble back a step. “Then do something about it, tough guy.”
Alex’s eyes darkened, his smirk fading into something colder. “Oh, I will.”
Before Ben could react, Alex lunged, grabbing his wrists and twisting him around. They crashed against the bunk, grappling like animals—grunting, cursing. Sweat slicked their skin, making it hard to hold on, but Alex was relentless. He forced Ben down, face-first into the thin mattress, pinning his arms behind his back with one hand while his knee dug into Ben’s spine.
“Get off me, you bastard!” Ben roared, thrashing beneath him, his voice muffled by the pillow.
“Shut up,” Alex growled, his free hand yanking Ben’s briefs down to his knees in one swift motion. The fabric caught on Ben’s thighs, exposing his ass to the cool air of the cabin.
Ben froze, his breath hitching, a sick dread pooling in his gut. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“What do you think? Men are animals, Ben. One dominates, one submits. That’s nature. And tonight, I’m the man here.”
“No—Alex, don’t—” Ben’s words came out desperate, cracking with panic, but Alex ignored him, spitting into his hand and slicking his cock. It was already hard, pulsing with a need Ben couldn’t comprehend.
“You don’t get a say,” Alex said, pressing the tip against Ben’s entrance. “This is happening.”
Ben clenched, his body resisting, but Alex pushed forward, forcing his way in with a slow, deliberate thrust. The pain was immediate—sharp, burning, tearing through Ben like a knife. He gasped, a choked cry escaping his lips, his hands clawing at the mattress.
“Fuck, it hurts!” he shouted. “Stop, you asshole!”
“Take it,” Alex grunted, gripping Ben’s hips as he sank deeper. “You’re not the man anymore. I am.”
The shame hit Ben like a tidal wave—not just the penetration, though that was humiliating enough, another man’s cock inside him, splitting him open—but the realization of what it meant. He was being fucked, reduced to something less than Alex, less than equal. His pride, his masculinity, everything he’d built himself to be, crumbled under the weight of Alex’s body.
Then it got worse. As Alex began to move, his balls swung forward, slapping against Ben’s with a wet, meaty smack. The contact was visceral, a jolt of sensation that made Ben’s stomach lurch with disgust.
“Oh God, no,” Ben groaned, his voice trembling. “Your balls—they’re hitting mine.”
Alex laughed, with a harsh, triumphant sound that filled the cabin. “Yeah, you feel that? My nuts on yours. That’s the real shame, isn’t it? My balls slapping yours, proving who’s above who.”
Ben’s face burned, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The slap of their testicles was relentless—each thrust driving Alex’s heavy sack against his own, the skin colliding with a lewd, sticky sound. They were hot, sweaty, pressing together briefly before pulling apart, only to crash again with the next thrust.
“It’s fucking disgusting,” Ben choked out. “Your balls touching mine—it’s wrong.”
“Wrong?” Alex taunted, his pace quickening, the slaps growing louder, sharper. “It’s nature, Ben. My balls are bigger, heavier, and they’re on top. Yours are just there to take it, to get slapped around by mine.”
Ben’s mind reeled, the shame consuming him. He could feel every detail—the heat of Alex’s sack, the way their skin stuck together for a split second, the weight of Alex’s testicles dominating his own. It wasn’t just the penis, though that was bad enough; it was this—this filthy, intimate contact that stripped him bare, made him feel less than a man.
“Yours are so fucking heavy,” Ben muttered, his voice barely audible, drowned in disgrace. “They’re crushing mine.”
“Damn right they are,” Alex said, his hands tightening on Ben’s hips, his thrusts growing harder, deeper. “Big, full balls, owning yours. That’s how it works—one man’s nuts dominate, the other’s submit.”
“Shut up,” Ben whimpered, but the words sank in, each slap of their testicles a hammer blow to his pride. He could feel the difference—Alex’s sack overwhelming his, the sheer physicality of it proving Alex’s point. Men were animals, and Alex was the one on top.
“This is you now,” Alex growled, his breath hot against Ben’s neck. “For years, Ben. Every night, I’m gonna fuck you, and every time, you’re gonna feel my balls on yours—slapping them, sticking to them, reminding you I’m the man here.”
“No,” Ben pleaded, his voice breaking. “Not years—please, Alex, not like this.”
But Alex just smirked, his hips slamming forward, their balls smacking together with a loud, wet thud. “Too late. This is how it’s gonna be.”
The rhythm grew brutal, Alex’s cock pounding into Ben’s ass, their testicles colliding in a relentless, humiliating beat. Ben’s own hung useless beneath him, jostled by each impact, a constant reminder of his defeat. The shame was suffocating—every slap, every sticky press of Alex’s balls against his own, etched into his mind.
Finally, Alex groaned, his thrusts stuttering as he came, his cock pulsing deep inside Ben, flooding him with heat. Ben felt it, the wet warmth spreading, marking him.
“Fuck, that’s good,” Alex breathed, his voice thick with amusement. “Nothing like putting another man in his place.”
He pulled out slowly, his cock slipping free with a slick sound, leaving Ben raw and dripping. Ben collapsed onto the bunk, his body trembling, his face buried in the mattress. The shame clung to him like sweat—the penetration, yes, but more than that, the memory of their balls touching, sticking together.
Alex stood, wiping himself off with a rag. “Get used to it, Ben. This is night one. We’ve got years ahead, and my balls are gonna be on yours every damn time.”
Ben didn’t answer, his breath hitching, his pride shattered. He knew Alex meant it.
Six Months Later
The cabin hadn’t changed, but Ben had. The first time had set the tone, and now it was routine—every night, Alex would take him, always with that same cocky grin, always with that same brutal thrust. Tonight was no different.
Ben was on his knees this time, hands braced against the bunk, his briefs pooled around his ankles. Alex stood behind him, one hand on Ben’s shoulder, the other guiding his cock as he pushed in. His knees ached from the hard surface, his thighs trembled from holding the position, but he didn’t move—couldn’t move. Alex stood behind him, shirtless, his blond hair damp with sweat. One hand rested on Ben’s shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle with casual ownership, while the other guided his cock, pressing against Ben’s entrance with a slow, deliberate pressure that promised inevitability.
“Fuck, still tight,” Alex muttered, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. “Six months, and you’re still fighting it down there. Thought you’d give in by now.”
“Shut up,” Ben growled, his voice raw, scraped thin by months of swallowing his pride. There was no real venom in it anymore—just a tired echo of defiance, drowned by the resignation that had settled into his bones. He hated the sound of Alex’s voice, that smug lilt that coated every word, but he hated himself more for answering, for engaging, for still caring enough to respond.
“Look at you,” Alex said. “On your knees again. You used to stand toe-to-toe with me, Ben. Remember that? Now you’re just… this.”
Ben’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together as he stared at the bunk’s frayed mattress. “Don’t,” he said, the word barely audible, a plea more than a command. “Don’t talk.”
But Alex never listened. “Why not? It’s true. Six months ago, you were a man. Now you’re not. That’s what happens when you let another man fuck you night after night.”
“You think you’re still a man?” Alex continued, his voice low and taunting as he set a steady rhythm. “You’re not. A thing I use when I’m bored of this fucking ship.”
“Fuck you,” Ben spat, but the words were weak, brittle, crumbling under the weight of Alex’s hips driving into him. He could feel every inch of Alex’s cock.
Alex laughed, a harsh sound that echoed off the metal walls. “That’s all you’ve got? ‘Fuck you’? Come on, Ben, you used to have fire. Where’d it go? Did I fuck it out of you?”
Ben’s hands tightened on the bunk, his knuckles whitening as he fought to hold back the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes—not from pain, but from the humiliation that had become his constant companion. “You’re a bastard,” he muttered.
“Maybe,” Alex said, shrugging as he gripped Ben’s hips harder, pulling him back to meet each thrust. “But you’re the one taking it. You’re the one who bends over every time I tell you to. What does that make you?”
Ben didn’t answer. The truth was too heavy. He wasn’t a man anymore—not in the way he’d defined it, not in the way Alex still was. Alex was the one who stood tall, who took what he wanted. Ben was… less.
The rhythm grew faster, Alex’s breaths coming in short, sharp bursts as he chased his release. Ben braced himself, his body tensing with each impact, the wet heat of their sweat mingling in the stale air.
“Remember when we argued over the nav controls?” Alex said suddenly, his voice cutting through the haze of Ben’s thoughts. “You punched me, split my lip. I thought you were tough. Now look at you—ass up, taking my cock like it’s your job.”
Ben flinched, the memory stinging more than the thrusts. He’d been proud then, fierce, a man who’d never back down. Now that pride was gone, replaced by the weight of Alex’s body. “That was before,” he muttered, his voice thick with defeat. “Before you… did this.”
“Before I made you mine,” Alex corrected, his tone gleeful as he slammed in harder, the bunk creaking under the force. “And you let me, Ben. Every damn time, you let me.”
The accusation hung in the air, undeniable. Ben hadn’t fought that first night—not hard enough—and he hadn’t fought since. He’d let Alex take him, and now there was no going back.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Alex said, his pace slowing slightly, drawing it out. “What’s going on in that head of yours? Thinking about how you used to be my equal?”
Ben swallowed hard, his throat dry despite the sweat dripping down his face. “I’m thinking about how much I hate you,” he said, the words low and bitter. “How much I hate this.”
Alex’s grin widened, audible in his voice. “Good. Hate me all you want. Doesn’t change a thing. You’re still here, still taking it.”
“Fuck you,” Ben spat, but the words were weak, drowned by the sound of their testicles smacking together. The shame was a constant now, a weight he couldn’t shake—each contact a reminder that Alex was the one on top, the one who stayed a man while Ben was reduced to this.
Ben’s body rocked with each thrust, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his mind a storm of shame and despair. He hated Alex—but he hated himself more for letting it happen, for becoming this.
“You’re never getting out of this,” Alex said. “Years, Ben. Every night I want you, I’ll have you. And every time, you’ll feel it.”
“No,” Ben whispered, but the word was a lie, a feeble protest against a truth he couldn’t escape. He felt it—the shame, sinking deeper with each thrust, each moment he stayed on his knees.
Alex groaned, his rhythm faltering as he neared the edge. “Fuck, here it comes,” he muttered, and with one final thrust, he buried himself deep, his cock pulsing as he came, flooding Ben with cum. Ben felt it—the wet warmth spreading inside him—and the shame peaked.
Alex lingered for a moment. Then he pulled out with a slick, obscene sound, stepping back to admire his work. Ben stayed where he was, trembling, his briefs still tangled around his ankles, his ass raw and dripping. He didn’t move, didn’t speak—just knelt there.
“Clean yourself up,” Alex said, tossing a rag onto the floor beside him. “You’re a fucking mess.”
Ben nodded mutely, reaching for the rag with shaking hands. He wiped himself off. Alex stretched, his muscles rippling under the cabin’s harsh light, and grabbed a water pouch from the table, sipping it casually as if nothing had happened.
“Get some sleep,” Alex said, his tone brisk now, all business. “We’ve got maintenance tomorrow. Don’t fuck it up.”
Ben pulled his briefs up, the fabric clinging to his sweat-slick thighs, and climbed onto his bunk. He curled onto his side, his back to Alex, staring at the wall as the hum of the vents filled the silence. The shame didn’t fade—it never did.
Two Years Later
The years blurred together. Ben’s curls were longer now.
“Still hate this, huh?” Alex said, his voice casual, almost bored.
“Yes,” Ben hissed, his hands gripping the mattress. “Every fucking time.”
The slap came right on cue—Alex’s heavy sack against his own, sticking for a moment in the damp heat before pulling back. “Good,” Alex said, smirking. “Means it’s working. Keeping you in line.”
Ben’s throat tightened, the shame as fresh as that first night. “You’re an animal,” he muttered.
“Damn right,” Alex replied, his pace quickening, the slaps echoing. “And you’re the one taking it.”
Five Years Later
Half a decade in, and the dynamic was ironclad. Ben barely resisted anymore, his protests reduced to quiet grunts as Alex bent him over the table, the cabin’s only other surface.
“Your balls are sticking to mine,” Ben said, his voice flat, defeated. “It’s so fucking gross.”
Alex chuckled, grinding deeper. “Love hearing you say that. It’s what keeps me going out here.”
“Asshole,” Ben whispered, but he didn’t move, didn’t fight.
Only one of them was the man now, and it wasn’t Ben—not tonight, not ever again.
