Finally Fucking My Roommate 03: Different Strokes (Patreon)

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Chapter 3: Different Strokes

I was in my desk chair, swung away from the desk, t-shirt still on, sweats shoved down to mid-thigh, my lab report sitting open on the screen like either of us cared about hydrolysis rates. Patty knelt naked between my feet, facing me, fresh out of the showers, wet curls under my palm, water still drying on his shoulders. His fist wrapped around the base of my dick and he studied the head for a second like he was sizing up an opponent across the mat.

He took it in his mouth and gagged almost instantly. His lips barely stretched past the crown of my meat and I watched his jaw stretch like a snake trying to swallow an apple. He gagged and his whole back tensed up, his rippling muscles flaring, his lats making me momentarily jealous, his thick traps bunching up at his neck, the same musculature I had stared at while cumming inside him the other day. Even his butt cheeks tensed where he knelt on his heels. He pulled off coughing, eyes watering, a string of spit stretching from his bottom lip to my dick. He pulled back, spit hanging off his lip as he glared at my crotch like it had betrayed him. 

I thought he was going to quit, but I felt a rush, like a kid on Christmas, when he dropped right back down onto it.

His second try barely lasted a breath longer. He gagged again, coughed hard into his shoulder, shook his head, and came back for a third try. His grip at my base never loosened. He breathed loudly through his nose, jaw stretched around me, throat fighting him on every push, and he kept feeding himself my dick anyway.

I had seen that stubbornness before on the wrestling mat, a guy down six points in the third period who refused to get pinned. He attacked it hard, like he could win on conditioning alone.

And honestly, the mouth itself was clumsy, too much teeth, no rhythm yet. But watching him refuse to quit, grinding at it until it broke for him, that's what really turned me on about it.

I coached him crudely between his breaths, one hand still resting on my keyboard, the back of my mind unable to let go of the lab report that needed to get written. 

"Watch the teeth, bro." He scraped me again almost instantly and I sucked air through my own teeth. "Teeth," I reminded him curtly, and he adjusted, curling his lips over them. 

The next slide down came smoother, all wet heat and no cheese grater. 

"There you go. Slow down, it's not a race." 

I couldn't believe I was saying that to my buddy, but that's the gift I got that afternoon. He was bobbing too fast at times, trying to brute-force the pleasure into my body, spit running down my shaft and pooling on his fist where it gripped my base. He slowed obediently when I said to, dragging his mouth up the whole length, and held just the head on his tongue, squeezing the base of me to make it pulse in his mouth. He breathed hotly out his nose against my skin. 

When he got down farther than normal one time, I felt a shiver in my body. 

"Good boy," I grunted under my breath. 

He lifted a hand off my thigh and flipped me off without pulling his mouth off my dick, middle finger raised right beside his own stretched cheek, and I grinned down at the top of his wet curls.

I couldn't believe I was teaching my straight roommate how to suck my dick, and that he had basically asked for the lesson. He knelt there soaking up every correction I gave him, spit shining on his chin, and my hand sat in his wet curls. I felt like a tenured professor of hog.

He shifted his body, spreading his knees wider so his balls rested on the floor as his hard dick jutted into the air, and something clicked in him. He suddenly found a tense rhythm, channeling some inner porn star. Straight or not, we had all seen blowjobs performed online for many years, and it was like he finally realized what he had been trying to accomplish with me.

One palm stayed braced flat on my bare thigh for balance, and his other fist pumped everything his mouth couldn't cover, twisting at my base, soaked from the spit that kept running down my shaft onto his knuckles. It sounded filthy. Loud, sloppy, rhythmic smacking was the only sound in the room. My lab report just sat there glowing on the screen behind him while he worked at my dick like his life depended on it.

And he was rock hard. His dick stood straight up against his stomach, flushed dark, untouched, and every bob of his head made it bounce off his abs. A string of pre-cum stretched from his tip all the way down to the floor between his knees. He was dripping a puddle onto our floor just from having me in his mouth, and he hadn't put a hand on himself.

"You look good down there, dude," I said. "It's hot."

He hummed around my shaft and I felt the vibration buzz up into my gut. So he liked that.

"My roommate, teammate, drooling on my dick like you need it to live."

He groaned and sank down farther than he had managed all afternoon, and his grip tightened on my thigh hard enough that his knuckles whitened.

"That's it. Take the team mascot, bro. Honor the team." 

Grunt. Slurp. Slurp. Grunt.

"The whole team kisses it, you're the only one who gets to eat it."

He pulled off with a wet gasp, caught his breath against the side of my shaft, and said, "Keep talking," and dropped straight back down.

I finally pushed the keyboard away. My lab report could die. Both hands dropped into his damp curls and squeezed, full handfuls, fingers digging into his scalp, rubbing the round shape of his head while I kept running my mouth at him, telling him how wet his mouth felt, how good he was learning, every crude sentence pulling another hum and grunt out of him that I felt from my balls up. His hair had half dried into those soft loose curls, and I messed them up thoroughly, pushing them back off his forehead so I could watch his stretched lips slide on me, watch my own dick disappearing into my roommate's face.

My feet planted on the floor and my hips started lifting off the chair, small pushes at first, meeting his mouth on every descent, feeding him an extra inch of dick. And he took it. He would gag once, breathe sharply through his nose, and take it again.

The chair rolled back an inch on its wheels from all my squirming. Patty just crawled forward after it, balls dragging across the floor, palm still flat on my thigh, fist still pumping, mouth never leaving me for a second, like losing his seal on my dick was the only thing in the world he was worried about.

Without breaking pace he dropped his hand off my thigh and grabbed his own dick, forearm pumping between his spread knees, knuckles brushing the floor on every stroke. He groaned around my shaft the second he touched himself, and the groan buzzed up the whole length of me, from his fist at my base to the head sitting on his tongue. He kept both fists on the same rhythm, mine and his, and his mouth never lost its seal.

The humming stacked on top of all that wet heat, and the sight of my straight roommate jerking himself just because my dick was between his lips pushed me right to the edge.

"I'm gonna cum, dude," I warned him plainly, giving him his out.

He took the opposite. He pressed down farther instead of pulling off, lips sliding past where he had gagged all afternoon, and that greedy push finished me. I unloaded into my roommate's mouth with my fingers locked tightly in his curls, hips lifting off the chair, pulse after pulse hitting the back of his tongue. He swallowed the first of it, throat working audibly around me, and the load outran him fast. He choked, coughed around my shaft, and the rest spilled past his stretched lips and ran down his chin in a thick line, dripping off his jaw onto the floor between his knees. He stayed on it anyway, gulping what he could, breathing raggedly through his nose, taking my cum the same stubborn way he had taken everything else that afternoon, refusing to concede.

He kept his fist pumping at my base while I unloaded, milking the last of it out of me past the point where it almost hurt, and when the final pulse quit he let my dick slide out of his mouth and dropped his forehead against my bare thigh. His other arm never stopped. I felt his breath on me, hot and ragged against my skin, and his knuckles grazed the floor on every downstroke, his whole forearm flexing between his spread knees.

It only took him a few more strokes. He grunted into my leg, pressed his forehead harder into my thigh, and squirted across the floor between my feet, long ropes of it, one catching the top of my foot, another hitting my ankle, warm on my skin. His shoulders shook against the insides of my knees and he groaned into my quad until he had wrung himself completely dry.

We stayed like that for a minute. I sat slumped in the chair, sweats still bunched at mid-thigh, legs useless, chest heaving. He stayed kneeling in his own puddle, sitting back on his heels, chin shining with spit and the cum he hadn't eaten, his curls wrecked from my hands.

He reached over, grabbed a dirty shirt of mine off the floor, and wiped his face with it, chin first, mouth second, totally unbothered, like he was toweling off after practice. He balled it up when he finished and dropped it over the mess between his knees without even looking down at it.

He stood up off the floor, knees printed red from kneeling, and dug a pair of boxers out of his dresser. I dragged my sweats back up over my dick as it started to relax, and I swung the chair toward the desk.

"I'm doing that every night, by the way," he said, pulling the boxers up over his butt. "I don't care what that makes me."

He said it facing the dresser, not even turned toward me. He dug through the drawer for a shirt, water dripping again off his curls onto his thick traps, the boxers sticking to his damp skin. He didn't look back for my reaction. He didn't even pause his digging.

I had a joke locked and loaded, something about scheduling maintenance for the mascot, getting him on the official team calendar, but I held it back.

I watched him pull a shirt down over his body instead, his lats spreading as he raised his arms.

"Okay," I said. "Yeah. I mean. I won't say no to that."

Later that night, he stretched out in his bed, and I stretched out in mine, the gap between us dark except for our two phones glowing against our faces. We didn't talk. We just sent reels back and forth.

Patty: Watch this one

Me: You could just play it out loud

Patty: Watch it

I watched it. A goat rammed some poor guy off a dock into a lake. Two seconds later Patty's wheezing laugh carried across the dark room, and then mine joined it, and we lay there in our own beds cracking up at the same dumb video, like nothing in that room had changed. I fell asleep with my phone on my chest, smiling at the ceiling.