I Taste My Housemate's Juices
Dylan, my new roommate, had seemed nice enough when we first met. I had advertised for a housemate since my boyfriend couldn't share an apartment with his long commute. He was a partier, no doubt about it, but he seemed like a good guy so far.
We would hang out together, me with my boyfriend and Dylan with his girlfriend, and sometimes all three of us would get together to drink and play cards. One night, my boyfriend was driving Dylan's girlfriend back home as a safe measure since we're both gay. So Dylan and I were left alone in the living room.
I finish preparing for bed and lay down on my mattress, feeling my body tingle.
Oh girl...
I forget about my laundry. Actually, I have to do it before tomorrow – I'm working all day and night and have a music festival in Vegas coming up. It needs to be done now.
I leave my room and stroll towards the laundry closet, conveniently situated between the two bedrooms. Though, it's not the most attractive part of the apartment, it makes swapping clothes quick and easy.
Dylan's door creaks open from behind me, revealing his chest and the outline of his trunks. He covers up and I get a peek of those delicious abs.
"Oh crap." He chuckles at my reaction. "Had to settle one off. Can't sleep without a release."
His eyes are on me. A little nervous, but also amused and curious.
"Y-yeah. Totally get it," I say, feigning a distracted tone.
He must be perfectly fit due to an unhealthy diet of pizza and pasta. I focus on his well-defined chest and notice his V line. I'm a powder keg compared to his completeness.
Finally, he closes the door.
"Night Ry-ry," he calls out. That's what my boyfriend calls me. I hear his voice, watch his bedroom door close behind him, and glance at his pile of laundry. There's his boxers...
I can't take it anymore. No, no, no, this isn't crossing the line. I can look.
I lean down and inspect the blue boxers. The cum is surely still there, vivid and present, like a reminder of his sexuality and the vibrancy of his life.
The smell hits me. It smells like him... only more intense, with a hint of manly musk.
I groan at the memory of his cum laced body rubbing against mine while he gazes at me with the look of a content lover.
With my heart racing, I move my nose towards the boxers on the stack of laundry.
It reeks of my not-so-secret guilt. All of the shameful thoughts I've hidden away cam back to haunt me.
I stick my tongue out and lick a glob of the cum. I can't help it.
I lift my shirt and snap on my boxers – my heart racing, adrenaline flowing.
I can't stop. Confused thoughts cloud my mind.
It wasn't wrong, but...
... It's wrong. My mind has no choice but to follow my heart.
I turn and grab the boxers with one hand. I sit back on my bed and rub my dick with them. My hips involuntarily grind against the rubber fabric.
As my heart pounds on my chest, my jaw tenses and I lean over to lick the remnants of Dylan's cum from his boxers. Twenty-four hours ago, I would have never imagined myself at this moment.
Finally sating my secret desire, I drop the boxers on the floor. I close my eyes and drift to sleep, ignoring the guilt tormenting me.
No matter how hard I try to resist, Dylan's scent and the feel of his cum later that day pull me back in. I mouth the fabric in slow, deliberate movements, savoring each bit of him. My chest heaves as my dick throbs in my hands. There's no going back now.
I wrap the boxer shorts around my boner before sighing in content.
I can't do anything but feel. I lay back, grab a pillow, and embrace my flesh. My heart spasms, my mind drifts, yet my body only craves more.
I can't sleep, can't rest. This is me.
The need for more rages on.
A few final desperate strides remain until I reach my final destination. I thrust myself into Dylan's boxers and wrap them around my cock even tighter.
The sensations echo - overwhelming...
... dangerous.
I stand, grip the glob of cum in my hand, and stroke it over my shaft.
Then, as Dylan's cum turns from liquid to spasms, the boxers tremble on me and ease off.
I gasp after my climax, listening to his faint breathing over the pulsing in my ears.
I hear my boyfriend, back in my room, ready to sleep.
I wrap the boxers up and put them in the laundry, trying to shake the temptation, even though I'm not really trying.
There's no mistaking it – I'm in love with his smell. The taste of his hormones swell in me.
I jerk my head back to see that Dylan's room's light had turned off. The door remained shut. I refocus my attention on masturbating.
The taste of his cum still lingered in my mouth. His masculine liquid coated every inch of my mouth.
I pictured how his biceps would've bulged while he was jerking off, his head arched back as he relished his orgasm, splattering onto his outdated boxers.
His abs would've tensed, highlighting the V-shape beneath them.
Jesus Christ...
Jesus Christ!
I contort my face as I cum silently into his boxers, increasing the size of the dried stains on the front.
I wipe my penis dry with his boxers and carefully place them on top of his laundry pile, attempting to fold them to ensure they appear the same.
I yank up my trousers and activate the washing machine, then rush back to my room and close the door.
This wasn't infidelity, right?
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