Part 1
It was a lazy Sunday evening, the kind where time seemed to drag like honey off a spoon. Rain drizzled against the flat windows as I lay on my bed scrolling aimlessly through Grindr. I wasn’t expecting much—maybe a cute torso, maybe a blank profile pic that’d ghost after one exchange. The usual.
But then I saw him.
My thumb froze mid-scroll. That face, that familiar smirk—my flatmate, Ethan.
Twenty-eight, tall, lean muscle, tousled dark blond hair, with the kind of jawline that looked carved by intention. He’d always walked around the flat like he owned the oxygen. I’d seen him in a towel more times than I cared to count, those deep V-lines teasing above a waistband, those piercing green eyes occasionally catching mine with a glint I couldn’t quite decode.
Until now.
His profile read:
“Vers top. No drama. Into control.”
That was it. No face pic, but I knew it was him. I could smell his scent just looking at the bio—leather, cedar, a hint of arrogance.
I smirked and typed:
Fancy seeing you here.
He replied instantly.
I want you naked under your duvet with your ass up, lube on the dresser, and your door unlocked.
My stomach flipped. Heat surged through my core; disbelief laced with desire. Was this really happening?
I didn’t even reply. I just obeyed.
Part 2
I stood for a moment in my bedroom, heart hammering in my chest. Was this real? Was I really about to offer myself up to Ethan—my flatmate, the man I’d fantasised about more times than I’d ever admit?
I caught sight of myself in the mirror. Flushed cheeks, lips parted, collarbone rising and falling with every shaky breath. I stripped quickly—t-shirt, trackies, briefs. My cock was already semi-hard, heavy against my thigh.
I pulled back the duvet and climbed under, positioning myself just as he ordered. Naked. On my stomach. Ass raised like an offering. I placed the lube on the dresser and reached over to unlock the door with trembling fingers.
Then I waited.
I swear I could hear every creak of the flat’s floorboards. The muffled sounds of the telly in the lounge cut out. A pause.
The door opened. Slowly.
I didn’t look back. I didn’t dare.
The air changed. That was the first thing I noticed—his presence flooded the room like a storm front, heavy and deliberate. His footsteps were calm, steady, and when they stopped just behind the bed, I could feel his gaze soaking into my skin.
There was a silence that lasted forever. Then:
“You listened.”
His voice was lower than usual, slower, darker. This wasn’t flatmate Ethan. This was Sir.
I didn’t speak.
I couldn’t.
“You look fucking edible like this,” he murmured. I heard the clink of his belt unbuckling, the soft sound of fabric falling.
He pulled the duvet away in one swift motion, exposing me to the cool air and his hotter gaze. Then his hand—rough, warm—ran over the curve of my ass, squeezing gently, like he was testing ripeness.
“You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you?” he asked, not waiting for an answer. His finger dipped between my cheeks, teasing my hole. “This pretty little cunt of yours has been begging me to fill it.”
I gasped as he smacked one cheek sharply. The sting bloomed, and my cock twitched beneath me.
“Colour?” he asked, voice still even.
“Green,” I whispered.
“Good boy.”
He climbed onto the bed behind me, and suddenly his body was pressed against mine. His cock, thick and hot, rested against my ass crack as his hand gripped my hair, pulling my head back gently. He kissed the side of my neck, slow and deliberate.
“You’re going to be quiet,” he murmured, “because your door’s open and I don’t care who hears, but I want you to know you’re mine. You’re my little fucktoy now, and I’m going to use you however I want.”
My whole body shuddered.
Then he reached for the lube.
I heard the cap flick open, then the wet, familiar sound of slick fingers spreading. One hand pushed my cheeks apart while the other began to circle my hole with purpose.
“You’ve done this before,” he said knowingly. “But not with me.”
“No, sir,” I breathed.
He pushed one finger in slowly, then another, scissoring me open with patience and cruel precision. I bit my lip to stifle a moan. He leaned in again, lips grazing my ear.
“Don’t hold back. I want to hear you. Let them all hear.”
Then his cock.
Thick. Unyielding. He pressed the head against my hole, rocking slowly, until I opened for him.
“Oh fuck—” I gasped, my eyes rolling back.
Ethan didn’t wait long. Once he’d breached me, he gave me just a moment to adjust before gripping my hips and slamming the rest of the way in.
I cried out into the pillow, the stretch perfect and brutal. He pulled back and rammed in again, hard.
“You’re going to take every inch,” he growled, “and you’re going to thank me for it.”
His rhythm was punishing. He pounded into me like he’d been waiting years for this moment. Each thrust shoved me forward on the bed. His hands roamed—my back, my shoulders, gripping my throat gently to control me.
“I see you, checking me out in the kitchen,” he whispered. “In the shower. In your fucking towel.”
I was moaning openly now, my voice raw, my cock leaking onto the sheets untouched.
“You think I didn’t notice the way you blush when I walk past?” he snapped. “I’ve wanted to ruin you for weeks, and now I’m going to breed this slutty hole and watch you thank me for it.”
“Please, sir—don’t stop—fuck—”
He flipped me suddenly, strong arms lifting me effortlessly onto my back. He pushed my legs up and apart, exposing my slick, used hole.
“Look at you,” he grinned. “You’re a fucking mess.”
And then he slid back in.
This position was deeper, more intense. His chest pressed against mine, our eyes locked. He spat in his hand and slapped my face with it—sharp, wet, filthy.
“You like that?” he growled.
“Yes, sir!”
He picked up speed, his body slamming into me, each thrust bringing us closer to the edge. I clawed at his back, gasping, begging.
“I’m going to fill this cunt,” he snarled. “And you’re going to come untouched while I do.”
“Please!”
He gripped my throat again—firm, not choking, just enough to make my eyes flutter—and with a guttural growl, he drove into me one last time and came.
Hot. Deep. Filling.
And that was it. The trigger.
I exploded between us, cum shooting across my stomach and chest, my body bucking under him as he stayed buried inside me.
We lay there panting, slick with sweat and cum and heat.
But he didn’t pull out.
“Don’t move,” he said, nipping my neck. “We’re not done. Not even close.”
Part 3
I must’ve drifted off with Ethan still inside me.
When I came to, it was dark. The only light in the room came from the streetlamp outside, painting soft golden stripes across the ceiling. My body ached in the best ways—my hole stretched and dripping, my chest sticky with cooling cum, my throat raw from moaning.
And he was still there.
Ethan was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching me with a half-smile. His hand was resting just above my hip, possessive, still grounding me.
“You fell asleep with my cock in you,” he murmured. “Cute.”
I flushed, opening my mouth to apologize, but he leaned down and kissed me. Slow. Deep. Tongue claiming. There was no hesitation, no teasing now—this was the kiss of a man who had used you, marked you, and was already thinking about the next round.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said. “This cunt’s mine now.”
He shifted, his body pressing against mine again. I felt him growing hard—already. As if the first round hadn’t been enough.
“You are still full of me?” he asked, hand sliding down to squeeze my ass. He pulled apart my cheeks and smirked at the slick trail that had begun to leak out. “Fuck. Good boy.”
He reached for the lube again but paused. “Actually, no. I want to use my spit this time. Raw. Sloppy.”
I gasped as he spit directly on my hole, warm and filthy. Then his fingers massaged it in, slipping back inside me easily, spreading his own cum and saliva around.
“You’re such a fucking mess,” he growled. “And you love it, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, already arching up toward him.
He didn’t waste time.
One quick thrust and he was back inside, the friction slick and hot, the stretch still achingly perfect. This time, he took his time. Long strokes. Slow grinding. His hands on my thighs, holding me wide open like he was inspecting his toy.
“God, you feel better than I ever imagined,” he said. “This tight, needy little hole—fuck.”
We were face to face again, his body pressing mine down into the mattress. The smell of sweat and sex hung in the air. Every sound was wet, obscene—his cock sliding in and out, the creak of the bed, the soft whimpering sounds I couldn’t stop making.
And he kept talking.
“Tomorrow, you’re not going to be able to sit, are you?” he said, chuckling darkly. “Gonna walk into the kitchen like nothing happened, but your hole will still be leaking me.”
He picked up the pace. His fingers pressed into my jaw, holding me still as he spit into my mouth and said, “Swallow it. That’s mine too.”
I obeyed without thinking.
“Good boy,” he murmured. “You’re gonna be such a good little flatmate slut for me, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir—fuck, yes—please—”
He pulled out suddenly, flipping me onto my stomach and yanking my hips up. Back to the original position. Face down, ass up.
“Let’s remind your body what this position means,” he growled. “Doors still unlocked. What if someone walked in and saw you like this?”
My hole clenched around nothing at the thought, and then he was back in me, fucking harder than before. His hips slapped against my cheeks, his breath ragged, the sound of it echoing off the walls.
I was incoherent, babbling into the sheets, clutching the duvet like it was the only thing keeping me from flying apart.
He leaned down and bit my shoulder. Hard. “You’re gonna take my load again. All of it.”
I nodded frantically. “Yes, sir—yes, please—”
And then he let go, slamming deep inside me and groaning as he filled me again.
He stayed buried for a moment, chest against my back, panting. When he finally pulled out, he collapsed beside me and wrapped an arm around my waist.
“I’m not done with you,” he said, nuzzling the back of my neck. “But we need to sleep.”
I didn’t answer. My body was too far gone. All I could do was exhale softly and let him hold me.
The Next Morning
I woke up to the feeling of fingers lazily stroking my cock under the sheets.
“Morning,” Ethan said, lips against my neck. “You’re hard again.”
“So are you,” I whispered, pressing back against him.
He chuckled. “Good. Because I need to fuck you in the shower before I leave.”
That’s exactly what happened.
He pulled me under the hot spray, pinned me against the tile, and fucked me with the water cascading down us. He didn’t even use lube this time. Just his spit and what remained of last night. His cum from two loads ago dripped down my thigh as he slid back in.
He held me there—one hand on my throat, the other gripping my waist—as he used me with lazy morning dominance. No rush. Just ownership.
“I want to be the first and last thing your hole feels every day,” he whispered, thrusting deep. “Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
And when he came again, he pulled out, wiped his cock on my cheek, and told me not to wash it off until he’d left.
Epilogue: Owned
The following week felt surreal.
Ethan didn’t just return to being “flatmate Ethan.” He took full ownership of what we’d started. Every glance across the kitchen now came with unspoken heat. Every brush past each other in the hallway was a promise.
He fucked me again two nights later—this time bent over the bathroom sink while my laundry spun behind us.
Then again on the couch while we “watched” a movie, his hand clamped tight over my mouth while our other flatmate sat on Zoom in the next room.
He set the rules quickly: I wasn’t allowed to touch myself unless he gave permission. I’d keep the lube in the top drawer of my nightstand, right where he could reach for it. My door was to remain unlocked when I was home.
We weren’t “dating.” We weren’t even pretending to be. But my body was his, and we both knew it.
And the part that surprised me most?
I loved it.
Every slap. Every spank. Every degrading whisper and possessive glance. I was living out the fantasy I didn’t know I’d needed, and it was right down the hall.
One night, after a long, slow fuck with my legs over his shoulders, he kissed my ankle and said:
“I saw you on Grindr again. Better change your headline.”
“What to?” I asked, breathless.
He grinned.
“Taken.”
