Stress Fucking my Roommate Ch. 05

God, I was such a slut and I loved it.

I was eighteen, what the fuck did you want from me? Goddamn breeze hits me the wrong way and I'm hard enough to drive nails. My sexual preference was *often* and *harder*.

Thank fuck I didn't have to learn the effete value of a water bottle in the shower the hard way. Though, let me fucking tell you, that was a game changer. Learned what a half-assed cleanup felt like and I don't think I consider myself hygienic without a quick sphincter super soaker.

Opened me up, too. Pump a day's built up self hatred out those pores in the gym and it still won't be enough. Scrub your worthless hide within an inch of your life and you're about there. Hose down you intermittent fasting-ass guts with an empty shampoo bottle to get used and you're close as you'll get.

Starving myself into a freshman negative fifteen was fucking part of the whole bullshit *being clever* plan. Futz with the system to go hungry for less money than these ignorant sheep because you're *sooo smart*. Go for bang for your buck, exploit the cafeteria buffets, and steal as much as possible into the couple random tupperwares you've somehow ended up with. Then my dumbass metabolism is eating into what bulk I could pack onto my lanky bullshit thirteen meal swipes and not enough a week.

My highschool mass was down to my hipbones by the second semester. Call me a fucking virgin, but I didn't see lean mass and rippling muscle when I saw my reflection. Real life photoshopping shoulders and an adonis belt on a kicked dog like me was like stringing a chandelier in an outhouse. Just a goddamn waste.

Nobody had ever even considered fucking me because I had abs and arms. Look, I went to a small school where there weren't a lot of girls. And both of the pretty ones had been in committed relationships the whole time, anyway. Waist to shoulder divided by dick length wasn't even in the cocksucking calculations when I was screwing my roommate any chance I got.

Which, ever since, was usually around midnight. We had a lot going on so, shit out of luck if I wanted to screw the day away, the fucking happened late at night. If only to fuck up our sleep schedules even more by trading blissful unconsciousness for cock.

Bullshit all day; even more bullshit to follow; gym until I was too tired to panic; shower like I'll never be clean again; hop on cock.

No, for real. I wouldn't call it free-use, but walk back in from the showers and, would you guess what's waiting for me? My roommate on his bed by the door, stark ass naked, lit in soft tones by his laptop screen, slow stroking his hardon.

It was a toss up between porn, school shit, and random scrolling. He'd set it aside, and I'd either be riding his rod to side glances of blond co-ed threesomes or a page of freshman comp notes.

Wordless, just like we'd started, we damn well continued. Couple of pumps from that huge Costco lotion that'd been promoted to easy access on the corner of his desk, and straddle my sexually accessible roommate.

Look, we've covered this. Especially now I knew how it worked and an empty shampoo bottle spritzer aperitif in the shower had me ready to go. Walk in on your roommate laid out and saluting? Hop on and bottom out.

Yes, it's unromantic and even less creative. I was very recently a no-hope virgin and butt stuff was the one thing I'd abruptly wrapped my ass around. But fuck it. Literally. Laugh, dammit.

We were screwing, and that usually happened by me just fucking getting on my roommate and riding him until he splooged in my butthole. He was always so incredibly hard I felt like I should be taking notes. Like, if I flicked his steel rod of an erection like tuning fork, what note would I get?

"Just use me,"

"I... um... was going to say the same... thing..."

Okay. No follow up questions. There's so many more things to unpack while I'm holding onto the dorm room's textured ceiling to leverage my gyrating p-spot onto my roommate, why not just take things literally and focus on cumming?

I might've been bigger, but holy hell was he more intense. Hadn't been the first go around, but I had just discovered my prostate, I was bucking on that soft boy's meat like I had somewhere to be. My cock was thwacking on his chest every gyration with a meaty slap.

We were new at this so he came quicky. Pinned under me, he moaned and writhed performatively and I fucking loved it. As soon as he convulsed the first pump of jizz up my ass, I grabbed my cock and started cranking hard to his orgasm into me. Gripping his body hard with my straddled legs and harder around his jumping, twitching member, I came to his climax. Blasting cum all over his face, neck, and chest in thick ropes.

Fuck if I could cum like I was glazing rolls by the dozen back then. Like, I don't know how I managed to stay hydrated, let alone conscious. Some kind of switch flipped the first time I experienced how fucking, like, *fully* my roommate jizzed. Like how my quick, quiet, easy clean up wank sessions had been a goddamn travesty.

"Hold on, let me get you a jizz rag," I oh-so-romantically ended our copulations.

"Oh, yeah, thanks, man..."

I had all these, like, cooling, superabsorbent, sweat towels from high school. Soak up sweat, wipe down weight benches, clean up whatever, toe them like a do-rag. All the guys on my basketball team in high school had them and universally called them *jizz rags*. I had not used them to mop up jizz until they were sponging up all sorts of fucking fluids in that dorm room.

And then, because fuck if the whole situation was so fucked backwards, sideways, and please do me again like that? I just left my roommate to wipe off my spunk and went to my own bed.

Goddamn I was a piece of shit.