The Semester
Jake swears he’s straight. Samuel doesn’t care about labels. When the econ notes give way to wrestling on a twin mattress, both of them realize this isn’t a game anymore.
NSFW 18+ | For Mature Readers Only
📸 Jake O’Donell (@jake_od on X)
For the Semester
Jake:
The dorm was trashed. Red Bull cans under the desk, ramen bowls stacked like we were building a tower out of bad decisions, laundry mounded in the corner. The ancient air conditioner rattled.
It was past midnight. Campus was quiet. We were nineteen and stupid with caffeine and boredom, my back ached from being bent over econ notes, and the longer we stared at them the more a different kind of focus took over…
One shove turned into another, then we were laughing and swearing and wrestling on my sad twin mattress.
Somewhere in the tangle something tipped. My pulse climbed into my throat. His weight settled across my hips. My body went hot everywhere we touched.
I was straight. At least, I always thought so. In the small town I grew up in…there never seemed to be another option. These college boys were a whole other breed from what I was used to back home in small town south Georgia.
Being pinned down by Samuel’s giant thighs that could probably split me in two should scare me, but as my eyes met his, dark brown and full of hunger, something low in me ached to be filled.
His cropped black hair was just long enough to stick out in different directions and make him look a little feral. His body on mine radiated warmth and the smell of a thick man who ran hot, but had excellent taste in deodorant and cologne. I hated how much I loved it.
Curly black chest hair was damp and stuck to his skin. His form fitting white tank was see through in a couple extra soaked places. A small drop of sweat fell from where the thick round peaks of his chest met.
Something long dormant within me stirred. Despite my better judgement, I knew I would submit to him if given the chance.
What the fuck was wrong with me.
“Get off me, asshole,” I said, and my voice tried to sound mean, but the pulse building in my cock said otherwise.
Samuel:
He said the words like he meant them, but the crack in his voice and that little grin gave him away. My thighs wrapped around his smaller frame, holding him in place easily. He had dirty blonde hair, a slim yet surprisingly fit build, for a nerd. He smelled like cheap cologne and clean warm skin. The type of guy who could barely sweat even if he tried.
I’m the type of guy who has to wear prescription deodorant, and gets embarrassed of pit stains on hot days walking from class to class around campus. So, that was one thing about him that I was a little jealous of.
I wasn’t gay. Wasn’t straight either. I didn’t care for labels. What I did care for was tight pussy. Or bussy, whatever, who cares.
Honestly, girl or guy, ass was the way to go. The last girl I was with took so much persuading before she let me slip in. And then complained the whole time. I had to stuff her mouth with my sock so I could get off without her distracting me.
Luckily, she seemed to like it.
A twink with no other option might be a relief.
Jake pinned under me looking up with a mix of uncertainty and want got me hard as a anvil. It was the look of a man who hasn’t yet felt the cock in his ass he was so obviously built for. I knew how to sniff that look out like a shark smelling blood in the water. Tight untouched ass was my drug of choice
“Make me,” I said.
I caught his wrists and pressed them to the wall, easy and solid. He barely pushed back. My thighs locked around his hips. I wanted him to feel the hold. His pulse beat through his wrists under my fingers. He blinked up at me.
In his eyes there was not fear. There was a door opening.
Jake:
“What are we doing,” I asked, and it came out hoarse, almost a gasp. He loosened his grip just enough.
My hands slid down his chest on instinct. Fuck, his huge hairy pecs felt amazing. I trailed down, felt his waist under my palms, hard from hours at the campus gym, heat burning through the thin cotton of his shirt.
I should have pushed him off.
I pulled him closer instead.
Then he kissed me. Or maybe I kissed him, I wasn’t sure anymore. It was not sweet. It was messy. Fast. Greedy. His mouth crashed against mine, over and over, like he had been waiting too long.
My body answered before my brain could catch up. As I kissed him back, it felt like breathing for the first time in weeks.
Samuel:
The second his mouth parted for me I knew how the rest of the night would go.
I dragged my shirt off, and yanked his over his head. Skin on skin, hot, slick with my sweat. He made a sound he did not mean to make. I swallowed it and chased the next one.
I ripped off his shorts and… tightie whities?
Of course he wore tightie whities.
Jake:
He spit in his palm, then his fingers pressed against me.
The first slide of his finger inside my hole punched a curse out of me.
He was not gentle, not really, he was practical, thick fingers pushing and stretching and working me open until it burned and then began to blur into something that made my hips tilt up for more.
“Easy,” I said. My body was a traitor, arching into his hand anyway. I hated how good it felt. I wanted it more than I wanted to be smart.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, low. It was not soft, but it was clear.
I shook my head, and the knot in my chest loosened. “Fuck…no, take me.”
He smiled. And he did.
Samuel:
I couldn’t help but smile. He was already begging for it.
Oh, this was gonna be the best roomie situation ever.
I licked my palm slow, and slick my spit on my dick. I lined up my tip with his hole, he moaned like I’d already slid inside.
Then I pushed in.
The heat of him knocked a growl out of me. Tight and slick and fighting me but trying to take me, inch by inch. He hissed, and his hands crushed into my sides like he needed something to hold on to.
I built a rhythm slow…
…and then faster, watching his face break open, listening to the bed groan under us like it might not survive.
His hips came up and met me. Damn, he was taking it like a champ.
What a good boy.
He was moaning now, loud. Each sound was a little victory. Each sound told me exactly how to hurt him right and make him thank me for it.
Halfway through I pulled out. He gasped like I stole something from him. I smiled at the way his hole clenched, slick and wanting.
“Turn over,” I said. “Bend over the bed.”
He moved without arguing. Even reached a hand back on each cheek, and spread himself for me.
Perfect.
😏 This is where it gets filthy.
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