I woke up earlier than I wanted to, the gray weekend light already leaking through the blinds. For a few seconds I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, hoping that the knot in my stomach would magically disappear.
It didn’t.
The “deal” with Julien came rushing back all at once. The pool. The living room. His voice. My own stupidly eager nods.
Yeah… no way I was falling back asleep after that.
I dragged myself out of bed, pulled on a T-shirt, and shuffled toward the kitchen, scratching the back of my neck. The apartment felt unusually alive for that hour. Julien’s bedroom door was already open, and from the kitchen came the unmistakable crackle of a pan heating up.
For half a second I froze in the hallway, irrationally worried it might be him.
It wasn’t.
Adrien stood at the stove, calmly cooking eggs like some sort of early-morning biologist ritual. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard me.
“Morning, Steph.”
“Hey… morning.”
His outfit was… minimal: red boxer briefs with a white waistband and seams, the kind that left very little to the imagination, especially when he shifted his weight to stir the eggs, I could perfectly see the outline of a giant dick right there. The bulge was honestly huge, maybe even bigger than the other roommates (and that was some next level challenge).
Even soft, his cock was almost reaching out from the top of his boxers, trying to escape between his belly and the waistband.
I immediately pretended to be extremely interested in the cupboard handles.
Normal. Be normal. It’s just your roommate making breakfast. People wear boxers at home. This is a normal, non-panic situation. We're just a bunch of dudes sharing a flat.
I cleared my throat and moved past him, grabbing a couple of slices of bread and some jam.
“You’re up early,” I said, aiming for casual.
“Lab work later,” Adrien replied. “Figured I’d eat something real first. Want eggs?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
I busied myself with the toaster, trying very hard not to overthink anything — not Adrien’s relaxed half-awake presence, not the open door of Julien’s room behind me, not the fact that my entire weekend suddenly felt like it came with… expectations.
The toaster popped. I may have jumped a little.
Adrien smirked faintly but didn’t comment:
“Rough week?”
“You could say that.”
I spread jam on the toast with way too much concentration, like it was a delicate scientific procedure. The smell of eggs and butter filled the kitchen, warm and domestic, which somehow made everything feel even weirder. Too normal for the chaos in my head.
“So… plans today?” Adrien asked.
“Uh… not sure yet.”
(Translation: trying not to get emotionally and physically blackmailed into anything by our resident Olympic swimmer.)
Adrien nodded, sliding the eggs onto a plate:
“Well, weekend’s young. We might do some Mario kart in the afternoon if you're wanna join this time."
I took my plate and leaned against the counter, chewing slowly, hoping the routine of breakfast would settle me down. But my eyes kept drifting, traitorously, toward the hallway… toward that open bedroom door… toward the possibility that Julien could walk out any second with that stupid confident grin.
Weekend just started, and I already felt like I was waiting for something to happen.
I was halfway through buttering my toast when Greg showed up.
You don’t really hear Greg arrive. You feel it. Like a fridge being moved. Or tectonic plates shifting.
I glanced up and there he was in the doorway, buzzcut barely qualifying as hair, dark-blue gym tank, gray shorts, that permanently grumpy morning face like the world personally offended him by existing before noon.
He stopped.
Looked at Adrien.
Looked at the frying pan.
Looked back at Adrien again.
Silence.
Adrien, in his red boxer briefs and nothing else except scientific confidence, was casually scraping what were… technically eggs… out of the pan. They were somewhere between scrambled and archaeological artifact.
Greg inhaled slowly.
“...No.”
Adrien didn’t even turn:
“Morning to you too.”
Greg pointed at the pan like a referee calling a foul:
“No. Start again.”
“They’re fine.”
“They’re not fine.”
“I’m eating them. It's ok bro.”
Greg stepped closer, squinting into the pan like he was inspecting a failed training session:
“You deserve better eggs than that.”
“I cooked them myself.”
“Exactly. Learn from your mistakes.”
Adrien plated them anyway and sat down, completely unbothered, already eating.
Greg sighed the sigh of a man who had seen too much disappointment for one lifetime, then turned and dropped heavily onto the bench beside me.
The bench creaked.
His knee — an absolutely unreasonable rugby-player knee — landed against mine. Bare skin. Warm. Immovable. Like someone parked a truck next to my leg.
I froze mid-toast-bite.
Greg watched Adrien chew the eggs with exaggerated calm.
Then he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear:
“Some people just settle. I don’t get it.”
Cool.
Cool cool cool.
It’s 8 a.m., I’m being emotionally evaluated via breakfast philosophy, and I’m trapped under Greg’s knee.
Normal weekend.
Greg suddenly turned his head toward me.
“You ever eat burnt eggs, Steph?”
My brain immediately short-circuited.
“Uh— I mean— sometimes? Like... depends? If I have've got more in the fridge I guess no.”
Great answer, Steph.
Greg nodded slowly, like I’d just confessed something meaningful.
“Yeah. Happens when you trust the wrong cook.”
I stared at him.
Was this about eggs?
Was this about life?
Was this somehow about Julien??
WHY DOES EVERYTHING SOUND LIKE A METAPHOR IN THIS FLAT?
Greg leaned forward, grabbed my plate without asking, and stole a corner of my toast.
“See, this is good. Not burnt. Acceptable standard.”
He ate it.
Just like that.
Adrien snorted from across the table:
“You literally told me to redo mine and now you’re stealing his.”
Greg shrugged, still chewing:
“I adapt.”
Then, like he couldn’t help himself, he reached over, stabbed Adrien’s eggs with Adrien’s own fork, and took a bite too.
We both watched him chew.
Pause.
Another chew.
“…Okay,” he admitted reluctantly. “They’re edible.”
Adrien lifted his chin in triumph:
“Wow. High praise.”
Greg shook his head, muttering:
“Still. Should aim higher. Add some pepper and basilic. You gotta' add some spice to it man, or it's going to be fucking vanilla.”
Greg seemed to relaly enjoy his food. Maybe we could talk about cooking some time in the future. That would be a goo way to get a bit closer to him since rugby was clearly a mystery for me.
And his knee pressed into mine again as he settled back, totally unaware that my entire nervous system had decided to focus on that fucker's knee. And he was even moving it slowly, rubbing his bone against mine.
I quietly took another bite of my toast, staring straight ahead, pretending everything was normal, while internally adding “survive breakfast with my sexy rugby roommate” to my growing list of daily challenges.
I tell you, living here was really turning into a full-time sport!
I shifted on the couch, my dick twitching, half-hard under the table, thinking about Greg accusing me of sucking off Julien secretly the other day. I kept picturing the way the beefy rugby guy was gazing at me, asking questions about my sexuality. Did he know anything about the contract I had just started with the cocky swimmer?
I was overthinking the situation, when something changed the morning for good:
My phone buzzed sharp on the wood, jolting me.
Julien's name flashed.
« Bedroom. Now. Morning service time, slut. »
Fuck…
Heat flooded my face.
Dude wasn't kidding.
No Hi/morning or even a what’s up. Just straight up to the point.
I glanced at Greg, who smirked faint, like he smelled my panic.
« Uh, gotta... talk with Julien. » I mumbled lame, shoving the last bite of toast down, Adrien barely looked up, but Greg's eyes narrowed a bit, tracking me as I bolted from the room, heart hammering up the stairs to Julien's door.
I knocked even though the door was wide open, and went in. Julien lounged in bed, sheets pulled to his waist, that muscular swimmer chest bare and ripped.
His eyes lit playful immediately:
« Close the door, bro. » He told me with a grumpy tone. « Pent up as fuck right now. The morning wood's killing me. »
I spotted it instant: the sheets tented high, his long uncut cock straining the fabric, a wet spot already darkening where precum leaked.
« Hey. » I whispered.
I kinda wanted him to greet me back, but my feet moved anyway, submissive pull too strong.
« So… How do we do this ? » I was standing right next to the bed but he didn’t seem to move.
« Under the covers, » he ordered flat, voice bro-like casual but edged with demand. « Suck this big dick out before I head to band practice. »
The way he was telling me what to do made my dick twitch hard in my pants. This was brand new but so exciting in a way. No man had ever given me orders like that (well, no woman either). The way he was expecting me to go down on him like that, on command, it felt so wrong but it made me go even more submissive for him.
He clearly knew what he was doing.
« Need my load drained quick to start the day right, OK slut ? »
No room for no; his hand patted the bed.
I hesitated a couple seconds, face flushing, then crawled on, lifting the sheet slow to reveal his feet and swimmer legs. The heat was thick under there, from his body warmth, musky scent of sleep-sweat and morning balls, chlorine faint from yesterday's swim. It was very dark too, my eyes were slowly adjusting to the outline of his thick thighs spread wide, that nine-inch beast standing rigid, with it’s uncut foreskin peeled back slightly, exposing the fat purple head glossy with his precum.
I also spotted his pair of shaved balls, almost shiny in the dim with the sweat.
Holy shit.
Why did they look even more tasty like that ?
I should feel disgusted, I don’t even like sweat ! But the fact that it was on his balls, how stinky it made them, and how impressive and smooth they were.
I reached out for his cock: my fingers quickly wrapped around the warm base, his skin was so soft around the hard pole. I started jerking it slowly, still a bit clueless, my thumbs sliding over the ridge, feeling it pulse in my grip. Precum oozed sticky from the slit, lubing my palm as I stroked up, foreskin gliding smooth.
Julien sighed above, sheets rustling as he shifted:
« Yeah, feel that skin, Stephane—jerk it good. » His voice muffled through the fabric, teasing, that jock confidence making me go weak.
I pumped firmer, hand twisting light, the wet schlick sound filling the humid space under the covers. His cock swelled thicker, head flaring, more pre dripping down the shaft onto my knuckles.
I closed the door but what if Greg or Adrien would knock or even enter in his room ?
I bet Julien would just say the truth casually like it’s no big deal being blown by your roommate.
But for me, this was so much riskier.
« Don't waste time, slut… gotta work with the band on that new track soon. »
He grabbed a fistful of my hair through the sheet, guiding my head down rough.
« Suck me off for real now. Deeper. »
There was no negotiation, his dominant tone was everything I needed to push a little further.
I obeyed instant, lips parting wide around the thick head, tongue flat to catch the salty drip. Sucked in slow, cheeks hollowing, the fleshy taste hitting my senses: chlorine-tinged, musky morning load and also sweat with a hint of musk.
Inch by inch, I took him, jaw stretching, bobbing up and down his big swimmer dick, spit pooling as I worked the veiny length.
I pushed further and further, my lips stretching tight around his thick uncut cock, the veiny shaft sliding deeper into my mouth with each bob.
« There u go. » He moaned, relaxed.
My jaw’s aching already, but fuck, I want more !
I wanted to prove I could take this swimmer's big dick like he demanded. I tilted my head, relaxing my throat as best I could, forcing another inch past my teeth. The fat head bumped my throat ring, and I gagged hard, choking wet, eyes watering instant.
I pulled back coughing, strings of spit connecting us for a second, before I dove right back in, insistent, sucking harder, trying to swallow him down.
I wish I didn’t have any gag reflex man. That would be so good to take it balls deep without feeling that annoying repulsion.
Yeah… I wanted to take him even deeper, I knew I would want that too. If a girl was throating me I would go wild (well, I don’t have a big dick like Julien’s but I guess I would love it). I was pretty bad at keeping his cockhead against my throat’s ring right now, and my technique (or rather the absence of technique) was not the best Julien could imagine.
Julien didn't say shit about my effort—just the faint tap-tap of his fingers on his phone above, notifications pinging soft through the mattress. He was texting someone, casual as fuck, ignoring my gags and the way I choked around his throbbing meat.
The stinky heat was slowly building under the cover, sweat slicking my skin, his musky ball scent thickening the air even more, making my head spin. I could barely see his shaved sack in the dim, just the outline of his muscular thighs flexing as I worked.
Humiliated rush hit me: me down here struggling like a desperate slut while he scrolled, probably texting messages (sexting even?), but it made my cock twitch harder.
Sometimes, we would grunt and encourage me:
« Fuck yeah, keep trying. » he muttered finally, voice distant.
His free hand shot down sudden, grabbing a fistful of my hair through the sheet. He yanked my head harsh, slamming my face down onto his cock, the thick length plunging deep, punching my throat ring brutal. I choked loud, throat convulsing around him, gag reflex firing wild as he held me there, nose buried in his pubes, balls smacking my chin.
My eyes were teary, my nose started to drip, but he couldn’t care less. I mean, yeah, he couldn’t see me, but he could have guessed that I was in trouble with my gestures and the wet sounds I made. He didn't let up completely, instead, he started bouncing my head rough, up and down his nine-inch dick, each plunge forcing more past the tight ring, stretching my esophagus raw:
« Good slut—massage my balls while you deepthroat this thick cock, » he ordered, voice gruff now, a dominant edge cutting through.
My fingers wrapped around the smooth, shaved skin, before kneading his balls carefully, feeling them tighten under my palm, full and hot.
« Okay, I’m gonna fuck that pretty face of yours slut. Keep it open for daddy. »
Again, my dick seemed to twitch hard when I heard him.
Fuck… What was he doing to me ?
Why was it so effective at turning me into a horny slut ?
He was right.
Maybe I was really a cock-sucker ?
He grunted deep each time he slammed in, cockhead hitting against my throat, the veiny shaft pulsing against my tongue.
A few times during the blowjob, when I would gag, pulling off gasping, throat burning, he would shove me back down quickly, leaving me barely ten seconds to recover ! The swimmer was so impatient (maybe he wanted this to be quicker, I don’t know), but I kinda wish he would let me more time to rest.
And after every pause, he seemed to facefuck me even harder, his hips bucking up to meet each thrust. I don’t know how long he used my mouth, but my jaw was getting really painful in the end.
I was thinking about stopping everything and finishing him with my hand, but something shifted around:
« Remember our contract, slut? You swallow that load—no mess on the sheets, or I'll make you lick it up. »
Shit. Yeah, I forgot about that.
Fear twisted with anticipation in my gut. It was thins or the humiliation of licking his fat load all over my painted face, so this seemed like a better deal.
Plus his cum didn’t taste that bad anyway. Weird yeah, but bad…
Absolutely not.
I moaned around his cock, vibration humming through him, the sound wet and desperate as I massaged his balls firmer, rolling them in my fingers. I was ready to take his warm cum in my mouth. Maybe I could spit it out later anyway, right ?
He grunted louder, thrusts turning erratic, cock swelling thicker in my stretched mouth.
That’s the sign he’s a bout to come. Now I knew.
I could prepare myself.
« Here it comes, take that load you thirsty slut. » Julien's voice strained, his hand clamping my head tight as the first jet erupted, thick and powerful, blasting very far. So far I actually felt it hit the back of my throat and triggering my gag reflex.
But I stayed down there, trying to suppress it quickly, and accept his cumblasts in my mouth.
And boy did where they fat.
The first load was already copious but his cock kept twitching and shooting more quickly ! Two, three… my mouth couldn’t hold very much more so I had to swallow. My mouth was almost full of his babies and it was my duty to avoid his load from spilling, right ?
Shit… I’m such a whore.
Yeah, I swallowed frantic. It was warm, bitter, with a rich flavor that had a hint of chlorine to it. Not a bad taste I must admit.
Almost… good ?
« Fuuuck ! » He grunted low.
A new wave of hot cum erupting, quickly overflowing the sides, dribbling down my chin sticky under the covers. I gulped it down the best I could, gagging on the volume, but kept sucking, tongue working the underside as more ropes pumped out, filling me full, some spilling past my lips onto his balls.
I just couldn’t keep up with the pace.
« Swallow it all, slut ! Come on. »
He held me there till he softened slight, cock twitching spent in my mouth, then pulled out slow, leaving me coughing, face a mess of spit and cum under the sheets.
« Not bad for morning service, cock-sucker. Hope you didn’t ruined the sheets. » His tone was almost menacing. « Clean up and get out before the guys wonder. »
His phone buzzed once more, pulling me back to reality.
I had just swallowed another man’s load.
Willingly…
And I loved it.
I wiped my mouth, the submissive ache lingering in my mind like a weird fantasy finally being over, wondering what the fuck came next with this contract bullshit hanging over me.
Fuck…
I could get used to the taste of his cum.
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