I spent the rest of the day anticipating my upcoming meeting with that damned swimmer. Between classes, I took time to chat with a few people sitting near me in the lecture hall, trying to reassure myself and take my mind off things.
No, the guys around me weren’t particularly attractive — in fact, I didn’t look at them as potential partners at all. On that front, nothing had changed. They seemed ordinary to me. And, reassuringly enough, several female students did catch my eye.
So, in short, I still had some heterosexuality left in me, I guess?
Yeah, I know, it’s getting ridiculous.
But I needed to reassure myself with all that. I was still attracted to girls; sucking a guy off (and twice, at that) hadn’t completely turned me upside down. I had simply… tried something. And I’d liked it, yes. And part of me even wanted to go further.
But strangely, it wasn’t so much a question of sexuality as it was of bodies. I found my roommates’ bodies — and maybe a bit of their attitude too — appealing. Their laid-back way of interacting with me, of taking up space… maybe even their voices.
Maybe their cocks?
At the last break, I walked over to a vending machine to grab the final coffee of the day.
Each one of my roommates had managed to tap into some curiosity that must have been sleeping inside me for a long time now. The question was: why them, and not other guys? No matter how much I looked at the students around me, not one of them had the same effect on me.
Did I have a weakness for a particular type? No — the three of them were very different, each with a strong personality of his own. Maybe it was the context, then?
I sipped from my cup little by little, continuing to think. I’d only moved in less than a week ago, the weekend was already fast approaching, and I felt like I’d lived more intensely in these few days than in an entire month of my previous life. It’s fair to say that sharing an apartment with those three dudes was pretty eventful — a far cry from the quiet life I’d had at my parents’ place.
And those three guys seemed to lead very active lives, which were clearly rubbing off on me.
Once the last lecture ended, I packed up my things and headed straight to the swimming pool in the 5th arrondissement where Julien and I were supposed to meet. He had probably already started training; I could already picture myself joining him in the pool, unable to talk to him, having to hold back everything I wanted to say. In short, it was shaping up to be complicated to have a conversation before the session ended.
And I was right.
Julien was clearly warmed up now, chaining lap after lap at a steady pace in the pool — miles beyond my shaky beginner’s level, still struggling with my breathing. Watching him, you’d think he was a marine mammal, perfectly built for the water, never slowing before finishing his hundred meters.
A little admiring, I followed the swimmer for a few minutes, trapped in my slightly-too-tight red swimsuit, my eyes lost in the blue of the chlorinated water and the few blond strands slipping out from under his cap.
The smile he gave me when he noticed me, catching his breath between two crawl laps…
I have to admit, it made my heart squeeze.
Damn.
It’s automatic. That guy definitely has an effect on me.
I joined him in the water; the coolness wrapped around me, almost absorbing me until it felt like it was part of my own body. The blond jock came straight toward me and I felt his right hand settle on my shoulder, warm and reassuring.
“Hey, how was your day?”
I sneezed — maybe the temperature change.
“Not on me, please,” he laughed.
“Sorry.”
“I’m the one who’s supposed to be splashing you with my fluids.”
He added that in his playful tone, and I didn’t know what to say except smile stupidly.
Our shared swim session started then. He quickly took control, guiding me through: breathing control, my postures, my pace too — all of it with his natural charisma and those confident, slightly invasive movements of his.
This time, he was even more tactile than before, completely uninhibited about it. At one point, as we stopped between two 100-meter sets, feet on the edge, breathing hard, I felt him deliberately move closer in front of me, his hips very near my bent knee.
“I noticed you’re not exhaling enough underwater. You lose too much time with your head out — you’re supposed to just inhale, not do both.”
And I felt it.
His erection, firm and long, resting against my bare knee — at first lightly, then starting to move back and forth.
It lasted barely a minute.
A hundred meters later, he did it again.
“Okay, that’s better. It’s starting to come,” he said, a wink accompanying the encouragement.
“I still struggle to… remember to exhale underwater every time. Not used to it.”
His hard length pressed against my knee again. More insistently this time. As if that’s where it belonged.
“I know it feels weird at first, but you’ll get used to it,” he said, his tone both reassuring and teasing. “You’ve already improved since last time.”
“Thanks.”
He moved even closer, his eyes a little distant, as if waiting for something.
His erection slid up along my leg. A little more and it might have pushed right through his swim briefs.
“You want it, don’t you?” he muttered, sounding almost absorbed in something. “Slut.”
At that moment, something took hold of me — I felt incredibly weak. Weak because of him. And my left hand came down onto him, pinning him against my knee. I couldn’t fully cover him, but I already had a good grip around him.
“So… do you still think it’s a bad idea?”
I didn’t say a word.
He was absolutely right.
At that moment, the messages I’d sent that morning didn’t make any sense anymore. None of the doubts did either. I wanted all of this — and much more. Worse, I was made for it.
My hand started moving back and forth, the fabric adding even more friction around his hot, rock-hard cock.
“That’s what I thought,” he said with a slight smile, more focused now. “Keep going, slut.”
Damn.
Why did it feel so strange in my stomach when he called me names like that?
“Admit it — you can’t wait to have it in your mouth, right? You want it again, don’t you?”
I couldn’t form a single word. All I could do was nod, a desperate look on my face. I wanted his cock!
We headed to the lockers together, the space emptying out but not empty—echoes of slamming doors, a few guys toweling off at the far benches. Risk hung heavy, my cock twitching at the thought of eyes on us, unprotected exposure in this jock den.
« Come in. » Again, he chose a large cubicle so we could share it to change clothes.
He quickly removed his swim suit, kicking it aside, his half-hard cock flopping out heavy and low, balls swinging shaved and full beneath. That uncut skin, loose and inviting, already half-hard from the swim or the tease—he didn't care. I averted my eyes, fumbling with my own trunks, but he stepped close, voice dropping to a bro-grunt.
« On your knees, Steph. Suck my cock like last night. Training time. »
My heart slammed, face flushing hot :
« Julien, wait... I wanted to tell you to stop, really, after Greg—»
He cut me off with a laugh, hand grabbing my chin, forcing my gaze down to his thickening dick, foreskin peeling back slightly as it swelled :
« Bullshit, » he mocked, thumb brushing my lip like he owned it. « Look at you, denying it but your eyes are glued. I see that crave, you want this cock back in your mouth, don't lie to me, slut. »
His words hit raw but he was right; my cock hardened in my trunks, the first-time rush mixing with panic, but the addiction won, that male heat pulling me under.
Without another word.
Yes, I submitted, knees hitting the cold tile with a thud. The floor felt dirty.
His heavy balls were all shiny from the water, his cock jutting half-hard at five inches, thickening as blood rushed in slowly, the head peeking glossy from the foreskin.
He waited, arms crossed over his pecs, that playful jock smirk daring me to bolt or submit. The locker room hummed—footsteps nearby, a cough from the showers (but no one close).
No more protests; the urge overrode everything.
This time, I wanted to taste his balls, so I started by licking his sack, eager to feel how heavy they were. The skin was so smooth and warm, it was kinda like licking a nice candy, tasting salt and of course a bit of chlorine, musky too. It was a great mix honestly.
He grunted low, thighs tensing as I licked upward, dragging my tongue along the veiny shaft, feeling it pulse harder under my touch. The foreskin slid easy, my lips brushing the ridge, then I opened wide, sucking the head in with a wet slurp.
Five inches pushed deep, raw, filling my mouth with that familiar fleshy weight, my hand sliding up to caress his abs.
Fuck.
They are hard as rock.
Like flexing under my fingers, ridges like carved stone.
« Fuck yeah, » Julien mumbled, voice casual but edged with satisfaction, one hand tangling in my hair, not pushing yet. « Knew you were made for this. Suck that cock like the slut you are… be at my service, bro. Every practice, on your knees for this dick. »
I started to bob harder on his rod, tongue swirling the underside, precum beading salty on my taste buds. I gagged lightly the first few times I got past 5 inches, but pushed deeper, lips stretching around his girth, balls getting closer to my chin.
The locker room doors kept creaking open somewhere distant, voices murmuring.
Julien didn't flinch, just thrust shallow, grunting approval :
« Deeper, fag. Show me how bad you need it. Show me how you learned from yesterday. »
I nodded and hollowed my cheeks, sucking harder, hand kneading those low-hanging balls, rolling them gentle as his shaft swelled thicker, veins popping against my tongue. I remember him talking about using my hands more, so I did my best to massage his jewels as I was sucking him hard, my jaw already sore.
He was rock-hard now, around eight inches of swimmer meat owning my mouth, dripping precum in my mouth at a steady pace.
God that sensation of him feeding me his precum… it felt so slutty to swallow it.
And his slit kept feeding me more. For a couple of minutes it was leaking and leaking, like a tap someone forgot to turn off, fat drops of salty precum being dropped on my tongue.
Sweat started to fall on his abs under my palm, his free hand stroking my cheek almost affectionate, but his eyes were locked on mine with a cocky and teasing gaze :
« Such a good cock-sucker. »
His grunts grew deeper, hips bucking light, fucking my face slow, no care for the risk. I pulled off for air, strings of spit connecting my lips to his glistening cockhead, but he tugged me back, voice rough.
« Don't stop now. »
Obeying, I dove in again
Julien's breaths hitched, abs clenching under my hand, promising more jets soon, thick and hot, maybe on my face like last time ?
His hand tightened in my hair, yanking me forward hard, and suddenly he grabbed both sides of my head, fingers digging into my scalp like vices.
« Time to fuck this face proper, slut, » he growled, voice low and urgent, hips snapping forward without warning.
His cock slammed right into the entrance of my throat, the fat helmet punching against the tight ring at the back of my mouth, pain exploding like a bruise.
I gagged hard, eyes watering, but he didn't stop !
Thrust after thrust, raw and brutal, his shaved balls were swinging near my chin like a punching ball.
The locker room was now filled with the sounds of my slutyness: my choked gurgles, his grunts, the slick slide of his nine-inch dick reaming my face. Exhibitionism burned hot; what if someone turned the corner, saw this swimmer bro man-handling the shy nerd, unprotected cock owning my throat in the open? My own dick leaked hard in my trunks, the first-time thrill twisting pain into something filthy and addictive. Julien facefucked me relentless, each slam deeper, his abs flexing against my forehead as he buried himself balls-deep, holding there until black spots danced in my vision.
Spit was actually bubbling from my lips, dripping down my chin onto the tile, my throat burning from the abuse.
It hurt.
That helmet was battering my gag spot over and over, but fuck, the way he controlled me, using my mouth like a tight hole.
It was both humiliating to gag on a cock and thrilling, like finally confessing that submissive side, making me push back for more despite the ache.
When he yanked his cock out sudden, I coughed, chest heaving, but he slapped the wet head against my cheek, smearing spit.
“Hold up, bro—wanna try something.”
Shit…What now?
“Focus your mind away, like on the wall or some shit. No gagging this time; I'm going in your throat deep okay?” His eyes locked on mine, playful but demanding, that jock confidence daring me to obey.
Panic spiked inside me, heart hammering—throat fucking?
I'd nearly puked last time, those gags humiliating, not my thing at all.
What if I hurled all over his balls in the middle of the lockers?
But his grip on my head tightened, cock pressing back against my lips, insistent. I nodded shaky, trying to breathe steady, redirecting my thoughts to the cold bench, anything but the invading meat.
“Open wide,” he ordered, and I did, mouth stretching as he fed his cock in slow, the head nudging my throat entrance, tight and unyielding. I swallowed hard, suppressing the reflex, but it pressed tighter, that ring clenching against the intrusion.
He pushed gradual, inch by inch, my throat bulging around the girth, choking pressure building. Gagged a few times—fuck, the urge rose fierce, but I fought it, eyes squeezing shut, fists clenched on his thighs.
Julien groaned low:
“That's it, take it,” forcing past the ring with a pop, his helmet sliding into my esophagus.
I have a cock in my throat!
It felt surreal.
I choked, airway squeezing his shaft like a vice, tears streaming, but he held me there, balls mashed to my chin, eight inches buried total.
The sensation overwhelmed: full, violated, his pubes tickling my nose, musky chlorine scent filling my lungs when he let me breathe shallow. He pulled back slight, then thrust harder, moaning deep as he fucked my throat proper, broad strokes slamming home.
“Fuck, your neck's gripping me tight.” Each plunge stretched me wider, pain mixing with the urgent rush.
His breaths ragged, cock swelling thicker in my gullet:
“Shit, close—keep it in girl”.
This was bad. He wanted me to swallow his load?
That was too far!
I mean, having jizz shooting in my mouth? I wasn't ready for that.
He pinned my head, hips bucking wild. Then, he stopped moving sudden, cock lodged deep over my tongue, pulsing hard.
And the first shot came:
“Fuck! Take it slut!”
That jet was so powerful, super warm and thick, blasting right into my throat with a strong, bitter taste overwhelming my senses. The strength surprised me, like a power hose, filling my mouth quick. I gagged instant, reflex kicking in fierce, choking on the flood as another rope erupted, coating my tongue, spilling past my lips around his shaft.
My eyes widened in shock.
I was clearly not ready for that!
Cum dribbled down my chin, mixing with spit, the taste was so weird, raw and potent, clinging to my palate.
Julien grunted frustrated, pulling out his pulsing cock as I retched, more jets painting my tongue and lips, sometimes a cumshot would even land over my face, spurts were reaching some unexpected heights!
“Fuck, swallow it, don't spill my load.”
But I couldn't, mouth overflowing, coughing up globs of his thick white load, strings dripping onto his balls and the tile. The rest of his cumshorts landed on my face, marking it again. Almost got some in my eyes again.
He jerked the base of his dick rough, milking the last drops onto me, even rubbing his cock on my cheeks, sighing annoyed but satisfied, his cock softening slick in his fist.
I wiped my mouth, gasping, face a mess again: an aching throat, the bitter aftertaste lingering, my teary eyes were blurry.
Julien’s voice was suddenly low and bitter:
“OK slut, this was our last time.”
“What?” I asked, a bit lost. “Why?”
“Because I don’t think you’re ready to service me properly.” Once again, he grabbed my chin. “If you want to taste it again, we’ll have to make some rules. Not sure you can handle it.”
Fuck, what did he meant exactly?
I wanted this so bad now.
“I’ll do anything. Please.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I want to improve.”
“I don’t believe you. I need you to do something for me if you want to taste that cock again.”
Things had taken such a weird and dangerous turn now. Julien clearly had a plan in his head, like a twisted game, or even blackmail. I could only expect the worse.
Julien had barely closed the door when I was already on my knees, in the middle of the living room, still wearing my shoes, mouth slightly open, ready to wait for my orders.
My… what?
This guy was going to make me do something so humiliating.
But I wanted it. More than that, I needed it — and that need scared me.
I was really standing at the edge of a cliff, and Julien — and his juicy cock — might just push me over for good.
He shut the door and took his time.
Yeah.
That bastard really took his time, dropping his bag in his room while humming a little tune. Once he’d gotten rid of his jacket and shoes, he came back into the living room where I was still waiting and walked up to me.
Fuck, he was so intimidating like that, seen from below. It made his experienced swimmer’s build stand out even more, and that smug little smile of his finished the job, making the sight overwhelming.
I listened to him like an employee being given orders by his boss at work, tense and eager:
“Well, let’s see if you’re a capable slut.”
I nodded, anxious.
“Girls who blow me? I can have those whenever I want. Why should I let my roommate do it, huh?”
“I…”
“You’ll have to be better. That means taking me deeper, for starters. That’s what your throat’s for. Sure, I’ve got a fat one, but Big G and Curvy are even bigger so that means nothing. Pretty sure you can go further. You’ll have to make an effort.”
I nodded again, remembering the discomfort I’d felt in the pool when he’d pushed too far.
“Next, you’ll have to learn to swallow. As funny as it is to mess up your face and paint that face white, finishing in your mouth is the best way, got it? Most girls don’t like it, but I thought gays like you were crazy about it — so why didn’t you swallow earlier?”
Shit…
I knew that would come back up. I didn’t dare answer, but fear twisted in my stomach. How could I ever say no next time, under those conditions? I didn’t want to disappoint him, didn’t want to break this “contract” we seemed to be making.
“Finally, there’s consistency. Once you’re my cocksucker, you answer whenever I feel like it and come take care of me. You understand that?”
Another nod.
“Even at night. Late. Or in the morning before I leave, if I need it, okay?”
I swallowed hard, the pressure still rising.
“Good. I think you get what all this involves.”
I was so close to his package, barely hidden by his cream-colored shorts, that if anyone had walked into the living room just then, they’d have thought I was seconds away from going down on Julien — and perfectly ready for it.
Inside, I prayed no one would come in, but the bastard dragged the moment out, like some ritual announcing major upheavals in my life. Fuck, Greg or Adrien could come home at any moment!
“If you’re okay with all that, then you’re officially my new cumslut. You’re not Stéphane anymore — you’re my personal cock-sucker whenever I want. Got it, historian? Answer me.”
“Yes!”
“Say you’re my personal sucker.”
“I…”
He was taking this fantasy so far, and I was letting myself be pulled along without much resistance.
“Go on. Say it.”
A week earlier, I was straight!
“I’m your personal cock-sucker.”
“Louder!”
And now…
“I’M YOUR PERSONAL COCK-SUCKER!”
“Good.”
With his right hand, in one last solemn, humiliating gesture, he tilted my chin up toward him, then gently patted my cheek with his warm palm.
“Congrats, you’re officially my new personal cumslut.”
END OF THE FIRST PART OF
HOW I BECAME MY ROOMMATES’ SLUT
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