Plugged and Owned Ch. 01

Chapter 1

Jason gripped the steering wheel with one hand, the other resting lazily on the gearshift, fingers tapping against the console to the rhythm of the highway beneath his tires. The drive from Fort Benning had been long, quiet, and boring with the kind of thoughts he couldn't shake, no matter how loud the music or how open the road.

The trees were turning upstate. Orange and red bleeding into the sky. His kind of quiet. His kind of place. The kind where time slowed down, where the only sound was the wind combing through the branches and the occasional crackle of a dry leaf underfoot. No traffic. No talking. Just the hush of the woods settling into fall.

He shifted in the seat, long legs stiff from the drive, the weight of his thighs stretching the fabric of his camo pants. Nine and a half inches of thick, restless cock curled up under his waistband--half hard, again. The damn thing had been irritating him all day, making his balls ache, the damn thing had a mind of its own. Ever since puberty, once it was fully up, dropping a load was the only way. No reasoning with it, no talking it down. Just a single-minded drive like it had its own agenda,

"Fuck," he muttered, eyes flicking down to the glowing screen mounted on his dash.

He unlocked his phone. No notifications. Just the usual blank quiet. Maybe he'd check the app--see who was nearby. A quick blow job might take the edge off, make this ride a little smoother.

He didn't usually use that shit. Swore he wouldn't be that guy, scrolling for a hookup like it was takeout. But jerking off in his truck or rubbing one out in a cheap hotel bed just wasn't cutting it anymore. Not after months dry. Not after years of women who didn't want to suck his dick--just spend his money like it came easy. Women who never had time to help him pack a ruck or clean a rifle, but had plenty of time for brunch, shopping, bullshit. Women who moaned like porn stars but couldn't suck worth a damn. All show, no follow-through. He was tired of it. He wanted simple. Real devotion. Not some half-assed performance or transactional shit. Someone who knew what the fuck they were doing--who didn't treat his needs like a chore or a bargaining chip. Someone who showed up, no drama, no games. Just straight-up hunger and loyalty. The kind you feel in your gut. The kind that doesn't flinch when things get rough

He had a few good nights with men over the years mostly one-offs. A blow job in a supply closet. A wild weekend with another officer on leave. But nothing lasted. Gay culture? That whole scene? Not for him. Too loud. Too public. Too damn unserious.

Jason didn't want a boy. He wanted a man. A man who knew how to cook, clean, shut the fuck up, and suck him off until his legs went numb. A man who could be his wife at home, his partner in the yard, and his slut behind closed doors.

He pulled up the app again.

No profile pic. Just the blank gray silhouette and a basic bio:

New to the area. Just looking for something real. Rugged men only.

He kept it vague on purpose. Mid-ranking military couldn't be too careful.

His inbox had blown up anyway with the usual: twinks with lip gloss, guys in jockstraps bent over sinks, endless abs and pouty faces.

But one stood out.

Lamont.

Black. Bearded. Stocky and solid. No ass shot. No filters. Just a powerful-looking man leaning against a stack of lumber, arms crossed, biceps bulging, His shorts rode high enough to show thick thighs and calloused knees.

Jason had stared at that picture for a solid minute before messaging:

"You from around Fort Drum?"

They chatted a bit. Lamont's responses were short, grounded, confident. Not flirty just real. It made Jason's dick twitch instantly. There was something about the guy. Something controlled. Submissive, maybe. But not weak.

Then, just as Jason was getting into it Lamont signed off.

Gone.

No explanation. No goodbye.

Jason exhaled hard through his nose, jaw clenching. He tapped the screen, refreshing the app again. Nothing. Again.

Fuck.

He pushed his foot down on the gas. The sooner he got to his new place, the sooner he could shower, unpack, and maybe convince himself not to jerk off.

⸻

Lamont tossed his gym bag into the back seat of his old pickup and climbed in, sweat still clinging to his chest from his last set of squats. He was halfway through a water bottle and halfway out of his thoughts when his phone buzzed.

The app.

That guy had messaged again. No face. Just bold, confident words and a vibe that screamed alpha.

He liked that. A lot. There was no dancing around it, Lamont was a vet, a man's man, but under the right touch? He knew what he needed. He didn't want to play dom. Didn't want to chase. He wanted to serve. Submit. Worship.

And this guy had the tone. Quiet, firm, rugged. Sounded military. He could smell it through the screen.

They chatted, briefly, but Lamont noticed something off. The guy said he was "headed to Fort Drum," not already here. The distance on the app confirmed it--still a state or two away.

Lamont rolled his eyes, pulling into his driveway.

"If you're serious, you'll still be here later." He closed the app.

He had things to do.

The delivery of wood was coming that afternoon, and he needed to clear out the side of the property to lay the base for the coop. Winter was creeping in fast, and the hens he'd just picked up weren't going to build their own damn home. He loved it here--barefoot on his land, crisp air on his chest, sweat mixing with sawdust and dirt.

Later, after the delivery and a few hours of work, Lamont had headed to the gym. The Fort Drum facility was his favorite--clean, quiet, and packed with big military men.

And tonight, it paid off.

He saw one of his old hookups broad shouldered staff sergeant, married with two kids and a body built for war. They didn't say much. They didn't have to.

In the side room, the sergeant pulled his dick free fat, warm, pulsing with stress and Lamont dropped to his knees like it was instinct.

No teasing. No moaning. Just service.

Lamont swallowed the whole thing down, eyes watering, tongue pressed flat as the man growled and shoved deep. He fed Lamont every inch and came hard, holding his head down, whispering "good boy" before pulling back, tucking in, and walking out like nothing happened.

Lamont wiped his mouth, smiling faintly to himself.

He felt better now. Steady. Satisfied.

Nothing made Lamont happier than being on his knees--offering pleasure, serving men. Not for money, not for praise. Just for the feeling. The purpose. The calm that settled in his chest when he gave himself over completely. When someone took what they needed and left him empty, quiet, used in the best way. No shame.

By the time he got home, his legs were sore, his throat tingled, and the app Jason was the last thing on his mind.

⸻

Meanwhile, Jason stood shirtless in his new kitchen, frustrated, half-hard, and glaring down at his phone like it had betrayed him.

He opened the app one last time before bed.

Still no Lamont.

He closed it with a grunt, set his phone face-down on the counter, and stood there in the dark, cock straining against his waistband.

"I fucking hate jerking off."