Disclaimer: This story includes coarse language and themes that may not be comfortable for all readers, so please proceed with discretion. Additionally, this is not a romance story. As the title "Alpha's Dirty Secret" suggests, it’s a raw story of submission, being used, and straight-to-gay/bi confusion, focusing on dominance, power, and filth rather than love or emotional connection.
Summary: Alpha's Dirty Secret follows straight roommates and best friends, Cole and Mikey. Cole is a muscular jock, obsessed with the gym and full of alpha energy. Mikey, on the other hand, is softer around the edges - dad bod, only hits the gym when Cole drags him, and way less intense. They both have girlfriends, but live very different lives under the same roof.
Cole fucks his girl loud and rough, no shame, beds shaking. Mikey hears it all and it only reminds him how plain and boring his own sex life is. This is the story of Mikey's slow transformation into his roommate’s submissive little secret.
Living with Cole is like living next to a furnace that never turned off. He is heat, muscle, noise, and cocky dominance in human form. Thirty-four. Filipino. Gym-built and loud about it. We’ve been best friends since college, roommates for the past year. It works. I am thirty-one. Mikey. Nerdy, glasses, average build, still hanging on to my girlfriend of two years by doing just enough to not get dumped.
Cole? He doesn't worry about that shit. He doesn't really have. His girlfriend Maya practically throws herself at him. Half the time he comes home, he looks like he’s just fucked her in the car. Hair messed, sweaty body and lips smirking. The dude was sex without trying. Everything about him screamed alpha; how he sat, how he laughed, how he left his gym stuff strewn across the living room like someone else would pick it up.
And yeah. I picked it up.
He had this way of tossing his shirt at me after a lift, like, "You got this, right?" and I’d catch it like a fucking reflex. It became a thing. I did the laundry. I never questioned it. I mean, we were boys. Bros. Best friends.
____
The shift happened so quietly I almost didn’t catch it. It started with scent. That’s the part I can’t shake.
The first day was just like any other. Cole came home from the gym, drenched in sweat with t-shirt plastered to his chest, glistening under the collarbone. He peeled it off without a second thought and tossed it my way.
“Throw that in the wash, bro. I gotta rinse quick before heading to Maya’s. She’s been begging me to come over all day.”
I caught the shirt mid-air. It was soaked and still hot. I balled it up and headed to the washer without thinking, but the smell lingered on my fingers. His scent.. Warm skin, testosterone and full of sweat.
I told myself it was nothing, it was just laundry. I threw it in the washer, went back to the couch, and tried to forget the way my stomach had fluttered. Probably dehydration. Or low blood sugar.
____
The next day, it got worse.
He came home again from the gym, post-leg day. Tank top darkened at the chest, armpits practically dripping. I was sitting on the floor scrolling my phone when he walked in, kicked off his sneakers, and dropped a pair of balled-up socks right in front of me.
“Be a bro and run those too?”
I nodded. Said yeah. Watched him stride toward the kitchen, thighs stretching the hell out of his gym shorts. I picked up his socks. They were warm. One of them was slightly stiff at the heel. And then...I brought one close. Just to see. My nose brushed the fabric.
Fuck.
It was instant. Like a hit of something forbidden. I jerked back, face flushing. What the fuck was that? It didn’t smell good in the traditional sense. It was strong and intimate. Like being too close to someone right after sex. I shook it off, tossed the socks into the machine, wiped my hands on my jeans like I was trying to scrub the thought away.
But that night, the smell lingered. In bed, next to my girlfriend, her head on my shoulder, I kept thinking about Cole's socks; his scent. His calves flexing as he walked across the apartment. The way his shirt clung to his back, soaked through.
I jerked off after she fell asleep. And I hated that I wasn’t thinking about her.
____
Day three, the underwear appeared.
He’d left a whole pile by the couch. Shirt, shorts, dirty socks, worn underwear; all bunched together like he’d peeled them off mid-stride. I picked them up automatically, but as I carried the bundle to the laundry room, something slid loose.
His underwear hit the floor. Black trunks. They were damp and faintly warm. I reached down to grab them and I saw a stain; dead center, right in the pouch. It was pale and stiff.
My throat closed.
Cole had been with Maya last night. I’d heard them. Hell, they were fucking so loud that I had to turn the TV up. He’d come out of his room sweaty, barely showered. And now... this. There was dried cum in his underwear, despite him fucking his girlfriend all night.
I stood there thinking. For a full ten seconds, I didn’t move.
Then...fuck me...his scent hit me. I didn’t even mean to. It was like instinct took over. I raised them closer and breathed it in deep. It smelled like a man's scent; dirty, funky and fucking strong. The scent hit the back of my throat like a punch. My cock stirred as I gulped, throat tight.
I panicked, threw the underwear into the washer, backed up like it had burned me.
But later that night, after my girlfriend texted me goodnight... I came back. I opened the washer, reached in, and pulled out Cole's underwear. They were cold by then, but the scent was still clinging to the fabric. I brought them to my face. Pressed the pouch against my nose.
And I just sat there. Breathing him in. Letting it soak into me. Inhaling his musk. I didn’t touch myself. I didn’t cum. I just stayed like that crouched on the floor in the dark, holding his boxers, wondering what the hell was happening to me.
Then I heard it. A rough voice from behind me. “Breathe it in, bitch.”
“I’ve been leaving those cum stains for you.”
His voice was calm. Sure. “You have my permission.”
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even look at him. I just sat there, heart pounding. He didn’t wait for a reaction. Just turned and walked away, like it was no big deal.
I stayed there for a long time, stunned, unsure. But eventually, I brought the underwear back to my face. Slower this time, knowing I wasn’t hiding anymore.
And I let myself keep breathing him in. I just sat on the floor in the dark laundry room, face buried in my straight roommate’s cum-stained underwear, trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with me.
____
Day four it all cracked.
Cole came home late from Maya’s, wearing sweats. He yanked them off mid-living room, scratched his abs, and looked over at me.
“She’s on her period. You believe that shit?”
I laughed nervously.
He peeled off his underwear, bundled it in one hand, and tossed it at me with a grin. “Guess this one needs a cleaning. Do your thing, laundry boy.”
He wasn't joking or teasing. It felt like his daily gift; something filthy and casual, like tossing scraps to a pet that knew its place. And I took it. No words, just a quiet nod, like this was normal now.
I caught it. My fingers curled around the pouch: warm and moist. Fuck. I couldn’t even look him in the eye. He stretched his arms behind his head and let out a groan, chest flexing under the light. Then he turned and disappeared into his room, slapping the door shut behind him.
I stood there, Cole's underwear in my hand, and I swear my whole body pulsed. There was a smear across the pouch. Faint. But there. I pressed it to my nose. The scent was so fresh it almost made me dizzy: musky, tangy, pure fucking Cole. I didn't know what an Alpha smelled like, but if I had to guess, it'd be like this.
This time I didn’t stop. I took them to my room, locked the door, and lay on my back with his underwear over my face. I jerked off in slow, shaking strokes. Every time I breathed in, it felt like my brain short- circuited. I imagined crawling beneath him. Imagined his thick thighs on either side of my face.
His hand pushing my head down towards his cock. His voice calling me a boy.
I came hard silently; almost guiltily.
After, I stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours. My heart wouldn’t slow down. My skin buzzed. What the fuck was I becoming? I had a girlfriend. A real one. Sweet, funny, always showing up for me. But here I was, jerking off to the scent of my best friend’s balls. Licking his dried up cum stain like a bitch-boy.
The next morning, Cole walked around shirtless again. Like always. He made coffee, flexed without knowing it, sat on the counter while scrolling his phone. I watched the muscles ripple in his back, his damp shorts clinging to his ass, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the taste of him.
I wanted more.
And I had no fucking clue how to stop. I was officially addicted to my straight roommate’s scent.
________________
It had been four days since that first taste.
I’d gone from shamefully breathing in Cole's socks to full-on licking the front of his cum-stained underwear like it was a goddamn privilege. Every day since, something in me had shifted further. Not all at once, but bit by bit, like slipping down a slope I didn’t even know I was on.
And he still hadn’t said anything. Not a word since that night he gave me explicit permission to take in his scent. He already knew about the missing underwear. But after that, nothing changed. He didn’t tease, didn’t explain. He just kept handing me his clothes like it was routine now. Sweat-soaked, sometimes even sticky with cum. Like the best way to get them clean... was through my mouth.
That was the part that fucked with my head the most. Cole wasn’t dumb. The guy was cocky, maybe, and always walking around the apartment shirtless like he knew I was looking. But he wasn’t stupid. He knew what power he had. Knew how people looked at him. Especially people like me; guys who tried to act like we didn’t notice, even when our dicks were throbbing behind our gym shorts.
And yet... he still threw his sweaty boxers at me. Still peeled off his socks in the living room. Still walked around shirtless, scratching his abs while he drank straight from the jug of protein shake like some kind of porn ad.
I tried to act normal. I really did.
I went to work. I texted my girlfriend back. She sent me nudes two days ago; mirror selfies with her ass arched, lip biting, the caption "Wish you were here."
And I did wish I was there, or at least I told myself I did. But I didn’t jerk off to them. I barely opened the pictures. My cock didn’t get hard looking at girlfriend's ass. Because the only thing that made me hard lately… was him.
Cole. My best friend. My straight fucking roommate.
And every day, I wanted him more.
It had become a routine. I’d wait until he was out, usually at Maya’s... then slip into the laundry room. Sometimes his underwear was just hanging off the edge of the hamper. One time he left a pair draped over the bathroom door, like an invitation. I took them. Pressed them to my face. Sucked on the pouch.
I don’t even know why I couldn’t just grab them in front of him. He was giving them to me openly. It wasn’t like I was sneaking around anymore or doing something I wasn’t allowed to. But I still couldn’t face him. Couldn’t look him in the eye and take what he was offering. So I’d wait until he was gone... and like a bitch boy, I’d crawl right back, desperate for whatever he’d left behind.
I would edge my cock with the waistband of his underwear stretched over my nose and my mouth. The scent was always the same. Sweat, salt, cock. Musky in the way that short- circuited my brain. Sometimes stronger than usual..
And lately, it was all getting worse. Not just the physical part. The mental part too.
I’d start watching him more. The way his body moved in the kitchen. How his thighs flexed when he walked around in just his underwear. I started checking him out at the gym when we went together. I’d spot him on bench press and find my eyes locked on the line of sweat down his neck. His grunts. His breath. That wet patch down the middle of his tank.
I’d go home and jerk off to the thought of it. Not even to porn anymore or my girlfriend. Only thing that would make me hard was Cole. Just the memory of the way he wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt, flashing those abs. The way his pits looked dark and slick.
The way he looked after sex.
And that part? That part was fucked. Because the walls in our place weren’t thick.
Sometimes when Maya was over, I’d hear them. The bed thudding against the wall. Her voice breaking. “Cole… Cole… oh fuck…”
He was a fucking animal in there.
And I’d sit in my room, rock hard, hating myself. Imagining what he looked like on top of her. Pounding her. Owning her. All that power. All that control. Her moans were always loud, desperate. I could practically hear how deep he was inside her.
How good he was. I imagined him looking bored. Maybe annoyed. Like pussy didn’t really do it for him anymore.
And the thought crept in...
Did he even like it?
Or was he just doing what he was supposed to do?
Did it get him off?
What if he was sick of her and that’s why he was ejaculating in his underwear everyday.
What if all that frustration I saw in him lately; what if it wasn’t from her not putting out?
What if he needed something else?
Something rougher. Surer. Filthier.
What if it was me?
That idea kept spiraling in my head until it became real. Before leaving that afternoon, Cole called out to me from the front door. “Mikey... left a 'fresh' pair of underwear for you in the laundry. Gave you something special inside. Have fun taking it in.”
Then the door slammed.
He was enjoying this. The thought of his roommate staying home, doing his laundry, face buried in his scent every damn day. Maybe it turned him on. Maybe it made him feel proud knowing I couldn't resist what he left behind.
I went to the laundry room and saw his underwear. And on top of that....A used condom. Not in the trash. Not hidden. Just resting there, clear and full, the tied tip stuck to the pouch of his briefs.
I froze.
My throat closed. My skin burned.
I looked at it like it was radioactive.
He’d fucked her, and then...what? Peeled off the condom and laid it out on his own boxers for me as a gift?
Perhaps a trap to see how far I'd go? Like a challenge?
I swallowed. My knees felt weak.
It looked fresh. There was still Cole's semen inside. Thick, heavy, sticking to the latex. I could see the way it had flattened slightly at the base from where it had dried into the cotton.
I picked up the underwear. My hand shook. I held it under my nose, breathed in his scent once.
Then twice.
Then deeper.
And I hated how fast my cock got hard.
I opened the condom. I actually untied the knot at the base, careful, slow. My fingers trembled as the rubber peeled open, wet and sticky. The smell hit me right away. Strong. Not sweet like lube. Not like her. All him. Musky. Acidic. Raw. Overpowering in a way that made my stomach twist and my cock pulse.
I brought the wide end to my lips. Didn’t even realize I was holding my breath. My hands were shaking. This wasn’t like licking the dry stains on his underwear. This wasn’t some leftover ghost of him. This was him. His cum. Still thick. Still warm. Still wet. It felt like I was crossing a line I couldn’t come back from.
But I didn’t stop.
I tilted the condom, just a little. Let a drop hit my tongue.
Salty. Bitter. Deep.
My whole body jolted like it didn’t know what to do with the taste. It coated the back of my throat even though I hadn’t swallowed yet. I just let it sit there. Savoring it. Feeling the heat of it. Imagining it leaking fresh from his cock.
Imagining how hard he must’ve been when he filled it.. perhaps thinking about me. What kind of face he was making while ejaculating. What kind of grunt left his throat when he shot it all inside.
I tilted the condom again. Another slow ribbon of it slid out. I took it in. Swirled it in my mouth.
Ahh fuckk. It was disgusting. It was incredible.
I swallowed.
My heart raced from how much I enjoyed it. But I wasn’t done. I tipped the rest to my lips, and drank...slowly. Letting it coat my tongue. My cheeks. My throat. Like I wanted to memorize the weight of it.
Like I wanted him in me.
By the end of it, I was panting. My cock was leaking in my boxers. And there was nothing left in the condom. Just me, sitting there, swallowing the rim clean like it meant something. Like it proved something. Because this wasn’t curiosity anymore.
This was worship. This was the beginning of something I couldn’t undo.
────୨ৎ────
I had already slipped his underwear into the bottom of my hoodie pocket like a fucking thief. Went to my room. Locked the door. Sat on my bed with it in my hands and just stared.
He knew I was going to empty the condom down my throat. That was bait. He left it on purpose. To see if I’d actually do it. To see what kind of whore I’d become.
And I did break.
I held the underwear over my face. Breathed through it. Licked the pouch again and again. I didn’t even care that it was soaked with condom lube. I imagined it was fresh. I imagined he came right into them, then smirked and tossed them there for me.
You want it so bad? Go ahead. Take it.
I’d have crawled to him right then if he’d asked. Hell, if he’d left the condom in front of my bedroom door, I probably would’ve sucked it dry just to prove I deserved it.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking. Was he testing me? Was this him taking control? Was it finally happening?
I lay there in the dark, underwear over my face, humping my mattress like some pathetic teenager, my cock twitching in my boxers. I came dry. Just from the pressure and the scent.
I never turned the light on. Just laid there in my own sweat.
Hours passed.
The apartment was dead quiet. Until I heard the knock. Loud. Sharp. Jarring.
I sat up straight. My heart in my throat.
Another knock. Heavier this time. Then his voice. “Yo Mikey, you in there?”
I froze.
I still had the underwear in my hand.
“Mike.”
He sounded slurred. Not wasted, but buzzed. Low. Controlled. “You actually fucking did it, you fucking slut?”
My breath caught. My whole body clenched. I could hear him on the other side of the door. Close. Breathing heavy.
“I left the condom as a joke”
The knob rattled once.
“You drank the whole fucking thing?”
Silence.
Then a whisper, sharp and deep. “And you still are jerking off to my underwear scent”
I didn’t move. Couldn’t speak. He knew. He fucking knew.
Another bang
“I said open the door, bitchboy.”
And I swear.... My cock pulsed. Like I wanted it. Like part of me had been waiting for this all along. Like this was what I’d been building toward.
And that was the moment I realized...
I wasn’t just curious anymore.
I was his.
And he was coming for me.
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