Spycam Slutboy

Hey everyone. I apologize in advance because this is not your traditional type of story. It contains no sex and it’s an exploration on the themes of unwitting domination, voyeurism, and the like. It will not be for everyone, but if someone is looking to beat off with their mind, this one’s for you. Hope you like.

For starters, I confess I don’t really know if he’s a slut. But, I mean, does it really matter? He’s bulging on both sides of his jeans, he’s hot, and I’ve completely invaded his privacy. It no longer matters if he’s truly a slut or not: I’m pretty sure I’ve turned him into one.

I guess I should start at the beginning. His name is Spencer. Well, it’s not, but let’s go with that. He’s my roommate. I knew he was gay, it was pretty obvious. I’m less obvious, but I told him. He said, “Cool,” like I had just told him we have the same phone. Clearly I was not his type, and that makes sense. Spence is…Spence. I could try describing him, but I don’t think I’d do him justice. Still, let’s give it a shot, shall we? He’s about 5’8”. Maybe 130lbs? He’s got black hair and bright blue eyes. Not a model, exactly, but he has those gorgeous, carefree selfies on ig that just make you want to hate him. He was in track in high school, so nice toned legs and decent stomach. Not defined abs, but there’s not much fat to be found anywhere on him. He has a really big ass. Not fat, but meaty and delicious. You’d fuck him if you found him passed out on your couch, I guess is my point. Well, I would anyway, and I’m guessing you would too if you’re still here.

And the cock… Oh my god, the cock. Thick, juicy, uncut. He told me once after a few drinks that he hates how veiny it is. Maybe it’s knowing that he’s self-conscious about them makes me obsess over them. I’m not sure. They’re probably my favorite thing about his dick, except for the size of course. Haven’t measured obviously, but definitely 7-7.5”. He has #bigdickproblems, you could tell instantly. He compulsively wears skinnies, and he’s also compulsively tugging down on his shirt or hoodie so he can keep his crotch covered at all times. The bulge it makes is rather prominent, I’ll admit. Nice color on it too. That’s a very underrated thing. No one ever mentions the color of their cock on grindr, but I think they should. You ever see a guy who’s pasty white and his dick is all dark? Or a nice latino guy with a milky penis? Your dick should match the rest of you, I’m sorry. Anyway, his dick is as pale as the rest of him, and it always smells amazing. You know how when you work out and sweat and whatever, you smell like sweat? Spence always smells like sex. I don’t know how he does it, but his crotch always wafts the scent of sex, regardless if he’s just showered or just got back from a run. It’s intoxicating. If I ever got caught doing any of what I’m about to describe, it would’ve been temporary insanity for me, and that would’ve been Exhibit A.

Well, as you probably guessed, I’ve got it baaad for Spence. Fate saw fit for us to be roommates, and he saw to it we would be nothing more than that. To be fair, he’s a very shy person and I never really saw him date anyone. But he could’ve dated me? I was right there. It would’ve been so easy. But he kept our relationship strictly platonic, and forced me to…improvise, shall we say?

It started simply at first. We go to a really good school (not about to tell you which one, so don’t ask), so we had our own separate rooms and bathrooms, and a communal kitchen and living room area. So the most I ever got was him shirtless for .5 seconds as he closed the door. Annoying, but what can you do? So I would take to raiding his hamper whenever it was feasible. (How I know what his gear smells like, in case you were wondering.) Upper middle-class kid checking in here, so I never really had any experience with drugs, and thus I had no idea that the more you use a drug, the more accustomed to it your body gets, and then you need more and more. So before I knew it, that wasn’t enough. Next came the actual beating off into his clothes. That got to be tricky. Could only “use” each item once, and had to make sure laundry day was right around the corner.

When that got to be too much, believe it or not, I decided to try and call the whole thing quits. Seemed…unseemly, somehow. I tried going online and finding other things, bigger cocks, hotter jocks, etc. But it just wasn’t the same. I was used to Spence, and he was what I craved. Like, all the time. So on something of a whim, one day I went through his clothes. Not the ones in the hamper, but in his drawers as well. I was surprised but unbelievably thrilled to find that like all gay boys, he had a small collection of thotty underwear. I hadn’t seen him date (I’d know if he did), but maybe he still went for hookups with other guys? Or maybe he was ready just in case. Either way, he had a few really, really nice Aussiebums and 2(x)ist briefs that would make him look AMAZING. I’d never seen them in the hamper, so I know he didn’t use them much at all, but still, now there was at least hope.

…Or so I thought. After a month of the same old boring boxer-briefs in the hamper, I started getting a little impatient. It was time to move things along, and my spycam slutboy was not cooperating. I would need to move things along for him.

First thing I did was get “ready.” Most all of his sexy undies were relatively new purchases, as all but one were still available online. So I bought extra pairs, but in a smaller size. (Really, it was so obnoxious. He has this ridiculously tiny waist, and he’s buying M? Sure his dick is abnormally large but come on. It was all S or XS from then on.) I spent a whole day washing and drying them so they looked reasonably used, and the label faded enough that it was no longer clear exactly what size they were.

Next thing was to start controlling the circulation of his clothes a bit more. One pair at a time, his collection of boxer-briefs kept getting “lost.” I would basically wait until he put a load of laundry, sneak in before the load actually started, swipe a pair or two, toss them, and repeat as needed. I did this gradually of course, and never in a way that would draw any attention to me. Yeah, I’m a predator, but I’m a smart and harmless-looking one, ya know? He wasn’t poor, exactly, but I knew he wasn’t about to go spending money on underwear when he already had perfectly good pairs in the dorm. I can’t explain the elation and sense of victory I felt the first time I saw a pair of bright red briefs in the hamper. I must’ve cum three times on them that day. Yes, I broke my own rules, but I considered it worth the risk. He never found out anyway, so it was a wash, no pun intended.

I realized I could control the circulation more if I controlled how often laundry got done. He was a sharp guy, but pre-med is brutal and he was up to that delicious cock in schoolwork. I’m taking psych because a) the human mind fascinates me (see above re: me being a predator), and b) I don’t really need to kill myself in school to be alright financially. So when I noticed him struggling, I offered to help with the upkeep of the dorm a lot more. Cooking, cleaning, buying groceries. He was so grateful lol. If he only knew. But it was only after I had eased him into the abdication of household responsibilities that I offered to start doing our laundry together. He politely refused at first, of course. It was to be expected. What he probably didn’t expect is that I started using his clothes as well. Like, sneak a pair of socks for the day, grab his shirt and hop on the treadmill, and so on. You’d be surprised the things you overlook when you’re just living your life obliviously, trying to get by in school when someone is actively plotting against you. And that was ultimately a big part of the appeal. I was playing a game of chess with someone who had no idea it was happening, and the prize at the end was his sex. At any rate, he eventually took me up on my offer, and then we were in business.

I washed his clothes…not often. Not infrequently enough to be suspicious, of course, but it was laggy to the point where he probably had to wear things he wouldn’t normally. Oh, and I never washed his briefs. Slut. If he wanted those washed, he should do his own laundry.

Anyways. My lust and obsession for Spence only grew, of course. Now in my defense, I really, truly thought doing the aforementioned would satiate me. Only made things worse, naturally. Once I realized I could do all these little things and get away with them, I kept wanting to see what else I could do, how else I could turn Spence into the spycam slutboy he already was in my head. That led to his protein shakes.

I mean, he was already drinking protein shakes. Growing boy, running, etc. But I did eventually decide to start adding my own protein into the mix. Yes, it’s foul. Yes, I’m a monster. No, I don’t care. Smelling his briefs while beating off into his milk was…yeah. The head rush was indescribable. Like I said, never done drugs, but the way I felt reminded me of the way people described the experience. The only thing better was watching him drink it down, blissfully unaware that he was gonna jog around the track with my sperm bouncing up and down inside him. Unf.

But yes, even that soon grew too stale. But at that point I felt I had reasonably gone as far as I could. What else was left for me to do? I pondered this idea for several days over spring break. Not a huge fan of my family, and it was nice seeing my brothers or whatever, but my mind was completely engaged on what I was overlooking. Turns out, I was overlooking the 6 o’clock news.

Over dinner one night, my mother commented on how cruel people could be. While I snickered internally, I glanced at the TV and saw the day’s headline. Nanny arrested for abusing children. Footage captured on hidden nannycam.

Hidden nannycam… I love being alive in this era. My dad once talked about peeping toms and binoculars and such. Fuck that. I had technology on my side. Soon as we finished dinner, I went up to my laptop, opened an incognito browser, and started researching on amazon. A stuffed bear would be a little obvious. They had alarm clock ones, but I would need to find a way to get an alarm clock into his room. If he already had one, I could’ve either gotten a similar model or “accidentally” spilled water on his and replaced it or something, but no such luck. I found several small ones, but the placement would be crucial. Didn’t fancy the idea of removing it and installing it frequently. Regardless of the hassle, that was a sure recipe for disaster. Minimal movement was key.

I needed to know more of his overall habits, so I took a bit of a gamble. He came home one day and announced he was going for a run before doing homework. I waited a minute or so before knocking on his door. Luckily, he hadn’t started changing yet. I made up some bullshit about asking about our shopping list when my phone started ringing. Well, my alarm went off and I had set it to sound like my ringtone, but close enough, I suppose. I sighed theatrically and put my iPad down and said I’d just catch him later. I closed the door behind me and prayed. Luckily, he never caught on that I left it recording, and pointing in the direction of his closet. After he headed out, I surveyed the footage. Interestingly enough, his shyness extended to his dressing and undressing habits. I didn’t get to see much. He stayed in the closet and everything happened in there. Did get a really decent view of his ass bulging in those…I think that yellow, blue, and green camo pair were XS, but don’t quote me on that. Hard to keep track.

At any rate, I left the iPad there to confirm my findings. When he returned from his run, he did the exact same thing: changed in the closet, facing away from the room. Valuable information. With that in mind, I started looking into my options. I found quite a few small spycams. Most worked with wifi and could be controlled from your phone. I found a particularly promising model that had several buttons and screws to hide the camera. I remembered something: our closets have shelving units built in, and Spence has a stack of shirts in one that I’ve never seen him wear. The next time he was out of the dorm, I made my assessment. The middle shelf with the shirts was the perfect height to capture everything that went on in that closet, and since he had not moved those shirts at all in months I had no reason to believe he would now.

Satisfied, I made my purchase and waited impatiently. Thanks to prime, it was just a few days. The spycam was Chinese, so I had a sneaking suspicion someone in Beijing would be able to see everything I was about to. But if I’m being perfectly honest, the thought of that made me even harder, so I just went with it. The setup was a bit confusing, but I was eventually able to hook it all up. I installed the largest microSD card I could find and programmed it to record every time it detected movement. I put it into the pocket and snaked the camera through so it rested on the collar. I put the button over it, and it looked completely seamless. I was very proud of my handiwork, and I was ready to go.

The anticipation was killing me, but later that night I got more than I ever could’ve asked for. Spence came home and went straight into his room. He had just come from a run, and he looked suitably sweaty and sexy. He went into the closet, turned the light on, and stripped down. He took his shirt off and then his shorts and underwear in one fell swoop (damn), but I finally got to see it. It was indeed huge, even soft. That bouncing basket housed two really plump, full balls. His cock jutted out obscenely and was covered in a nice sheen of sweat, and it made the veins look all the more appetizing. Without any hesitation he then tugged a pair of tight black briefs on with red and white hearts on them, and for good measure gave his huge basket a quick caress before putting on some shorts and a shirt. The whole thing lasted maybe 30 seconds, but he was facing the spycam the whole time, and the HD image before me was… It was almost too much to bear. He wasn’t doing anything inherently sexual, of course. He was just getting dressed. But he had absolutely no idea I was watching, that I had planned and plotted and robbed him of his privacy. He was now truly a spycam slutboy, and I was harder than I’d ever been. As he headed out of the room, presumably to shower or something, I marveled at it. I had done it. It had worked. I had installed a spycam in Spence’s closet, and now I would be able to watch him dress and undress every day.

Well, more or less. The drawback of the HD spycam with the motion-detection feature is that it’s murder on battery life. Damn thing only lasted maybe eight hours. That wouldn’t do. So I bought the best, most expensive external battery pack I could find, and now I had about 2-3 days’ worth of recording time, which was more than enough. I saw him lift his legs on the dresser to get his socks on, I saw him absently squeeze his slutty cock while looking at something on his phone before putting anything on, I saw him in his most private moments. He no longer had any privacy, but he didn’t deserve any in my opinion. Slut.

I beat off at least three times a day for like month. I saved all the videos and stills onto my laptop, which I of course encrypted. I knew what I was doing was grossly illegal and there would be no talking my way out of it either with him, the school, my family, or the police. But it didn’t matter, I was too far down the spycam slutboy rabbithole to care. Rational thought disappeared the second I saw him absently squeeze that bulge, probably subconsciously.

But yes, even that was not enough. After that first month, I needed more, and the school year was almost up. We were friendly but formal, and I had no illusion that we would room together next year. I had to act fast. Over drinks one night he shared that he had always been a troubled sleeper who needed to take sleep aids often. Hmm. An opportunity, perhaps. I tried plying him with alcohol the following week. Turns out he comes from a long line of alcoholics, and had the tolerance to match. All that happened was him vomiting and curbing his intake from then on. Misfire.

I tried sneaking into his room dressed all in black just to see if I could get anything going then. He was painfully shy and never slept in less than a t-shirt and loose shorts. But no, as soon as I tried lifting the covers off he stirred, and I wasn’t about to get caught in the most compromising position of all. I tried swapping out his regular melatonin for the stronger doses, but that didn’t really yield any positive results either. He was such a light sleeper, holy shit. I had the epiphany one day while watching TV and a commercial for sleeping pills came on. The next day, I offered to ubereats us some fast food, which he gratefully accepted. I told him due to covid I would need to meet the courier outside, which he took as gospel thankfully. I met the driver outside and snuck into a maintenance closet, sure I hadn’t been spotted by anyone. I had purchased a pill grinder along with the sleeping aids, and had a fine blue dust which I slipped into his drink. I stirred it with my finger until there appeared to be nothing amiss, and joined him in our living room. I was rock-fucking-hard as I handed him everything, and when he took his first sip I just about nutted. He made a bit of a face, but like a good slut he drank the whole thing. I was leaking everywhere. I had successfully drugged my obsession, and nothing had ever felt this good before.

We kept watching TV, and about 40 minutes later he said he was tired and was gonna call it a night. I said goodbye and also retreated to my room, and waited patiently. Needed to confirm that the drugs had taken their full effect. I snuck into his room and slowly tried lifting the covers off him, but he groaned and stirred and I quickly dropped underneath the bed and waited. I tried this several other times with similar results. Eventually I just stormed out of there as quickly as possible, beyond upset and dejected. In my mind, it was a question of whether I would work up the balls to actually do it. It had honestly never occurred to me that I would work up the courage to cross this final line and it wouldn’t even work.

I kept pondering my options when my phone went off. My older brother had texted me some insipid TikTok video. It was insta-cringe, but it did give me an idea. Ross had been an insomniac since high school, and I knew he had the strong, prescription-strength sleep aids. We texted about idle shit for a while before I started dropping subtle hints that the end of the year was really stressing me out and affecting my mental health. And, I mean, it was, but not in the way I was presenting it, anyway.

Eventually we got to the point, and I asked if he wouldn’t mind sharing just a few of his pills with me. He hemmed and hawed of course, but since I wasn’t asking for the whole bottle he eventually relented, but told me to visit the health services on campus. And yeah, I probably do need a mental health professional, but not for the reasons he was thinking.

With my newfound ammo, I waited until the perfect opportunity. Spence had stayed up all weekend studying for his organic chemistry final, and when that was over he said he wanted to sleep for a month. I was only too happy to indulge him. I ground up two of my brother’s sleeping pills and in less than an hour, he was struggling to make it to bed. Now, I hate to disappoint you, but this won’t be one of THOSE stories. I am a predator, yes, but I’m a successful one because I’m patient and careful, not impulsive and reckless. Raping my spycam slutboy would be the ultimate thrill, but cost-benefit analysis? I’m not risking my entire future on one night of sex, even if it’s the climax of my ultimate victory over Spence.

So I waited another hour, and I crept into his room. He was very clearly out of it. I was tempted to at least blow him or get him to nut, but even that seemed too risky. I wasn’t sure if an orgasm would cut through his chemical-induced slumber, and I wasn’t willing to find out. Instead, I pulled the covers off him and tugged his shorts down. It wasn’t fun, and it wasn’t easy, but I eventually tugged them all the way off. I lifted his shirt past his nips, set my iPhone to 4K video, and just recorded. Every single available inch of his body was being recorded. He was wearing my favorite pair of briefs, a fire engine red pair that were frankly too small for his veiny, perfect dick, and the prominent bulge was captured perfectly. I got an additional surprise when he sort of groaned in his sleep and I noticed his soft (but by no means small) tube pulse. It happened again, and this time the twitch was more pronounced. He grunted and rolled over, so I sat on the other side of the bed and kept the show going. His dick was hardening, and throbbing as it did. It was beautiful, the most magnificent sight I had ever seen. Spence, my spycam slutboy, getting nice and hard for me after I drugged him, and my hands were completely clean (well, of *that* particular crime, anyway). It soon became clear that those tiny briefs could not possibly house that enormous tube of perfect, veiny flesh, and sure enough, one particularly strong throb sent my sextoy popping out and growing against his stomach. As it expanded, the foreskin, which had done an admirable and borderline heroic job to that point of covering his sensitive glans, finally peeled back, exposing his most private parts to my greedy eyes and camera.

It was hypnotic, watching his perfect dick twitch and throb while he slept. His dick apparently didn’t give him much of a break, the way he groaned and kept tossing and turning. I began to suspect that the real reason he was such a troubled sleeper is because his slutty dick demanded attention even when he was asleep. Eventually it deflated and I was back to recording his natural bulge. But sure enough, 90 minutes later the whole show started up again. (Bless you, REM sleep.) I recorded him bulging and throbbing and twitching four times that night, and to my utmost shock and delight, on the last one he actually ejaculated a bit. It really wasn’t much at all, but it happened seemingly just for me, and I zoomed in on the drooling sextoy before me. The image was obscene and a complete violation of Spencer as a person, and it was truly the perfect end. My spycam slutboy did me proud. I didn’t want to risk anything, so I removed the spycam, covered him up, and left. I paused at the door and heard his light snoring. I allowed myself a final moment of weakness.

“Thank you,” I said as I knelt down and very, very gently kissed his penis. He didn’t seem to notice or mind. I got up, took one last look, and couldn’t stop myself from letting him know once and for all what he was. “Slut.”

The next week, the semester ended and we went our separate ways. I never saw him in person again. But I didn’t need to: his entire sexual self was mine. It was comforting to know that no matter what he did, no matter where he went, he would always be my spycam slutboy.

The next year, my roommate was fat and ugly. Good. They say lightning never strikes the same place twice, don’t they? I had played a battle of wits and wills with the oblivious Spencer and won. No need to push my luck and try again with someone else. I had everything I needed. Oh, including the pair of tiny red briefs I recorded Spence in. He didn’t need them nearly as much as I did. Slut.

Thank you for reading. If you liked this and want to reach out, feel free to catch me at [email protected]. Just don’t ask if this was real, because since this is all grossly illegal my automatic answer will be no. ;)