The Benefits of Having Horny Straight Roommates - Part 5

All characters in this story are over 18 years of age.

Previous part here

If You Like Giving Blowjobs So Much, Maybe It’s Time You Tried Something Else.

It was an ordinary evening. The three of us were sitting in the living room, stretched out on the sofas, our muscles still slightly sore from training, the TV buzzing somewhere in the background, but no one was listening to it. The air was filled with the smell of sweat, shower gel, and that familiar atmosphere of relaxation that our evenings had. We were naked or almost naked, as was our custom, Jackson in his boxers, Mike without anything, and me in shorts.

Mike was sitting with his leg thrown over the back of the chair, a bottle of water in his hand, and suddenly he said, as if he were talking about the weather:

"You know... oral is awesome. But I think I want something... deeper."

He didn't look at me right away. He just said it into the space. No provocation. It sounded like a thought out loud. As if he had just noticed it himself.

We froze for a second. Jackson raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. I looked at Mike more closely. His face was calm, sincere, with a hint of curiosity instead of certainty.

I got up without a word.

"Come on," I said, turning toward the bedroom.

I didn't wait for an answer. I knew he would come. Mike was like that, he acted faster than he thought. When we crossed the threshold, I pointed to the bed. I didn't have to explain anything. He sat down first, then lay down on his stomach.

He spread his legs. Not provocatively. Just accessibly. Openly. Willingly.

I looked at him. He looked at me. No smiles. Just a slight seriousness in his gaze.

"Okay," I said calmly, sitting between his thighs. "Just relax."

And then Mike, the confident, tough jock, looked for the first time like he was really giving me control. Just... curious to see what would happen.

I knelt between his legs, but I didn't touch him right away. That was the most important difference. It wasn't about pace, it wasn't about getting him to anything quickly. I wanted him to feel that someone was close first. My hand rested on his thigh, heavy and calm. My fingers tightened slightly, as if checking the tension in his muscles.

Mike was breathing more slowly than I expected. He wasn't fidgeting. He wasn't joking around. He was lying spread out, his head resting on his bent arm, as if he didn't want to look, only to feel. This was new. And I think that's what turned him on the most.

I leaned in after a moment. First, my breath, warm, conscious, right next to his skin. I felt him flinch slightly. The first lick was soft, calm, more exploratory than sexual. My tongue just brushed against him, as if asking a question without expecting an answer yet.

Mike gasped sharply.

"Okay..." he snorted softly, incredulous. "I didn't expect that."

I didn't answer. I didn't speed up. Instead, I repeated the movement, a little more confidently, a little longer. My tongue worked slowly, consistently, without aggression. I wanted his body to have time to understand what was happening. So that there would be no shock, only a gradual surrender to the feeling.

His body began to respond on its own. His thighs tensed, his hips lifted slightly, as if seeking contact. His breathing changed, becoming shallower, more ragged. Mike laughed briefly, helplessly, like someone who doesn't know whether to laugh or moan.

"Fuck..." he muttered, more quietly now.

"This is... different."

I went deeper. Without hesitation. The rimming became more confident, more decisive, but still attentive. Mike's every reaction was a signal to me where to stay longer, where to slow down, when to let him breathe. He stopped commenting. He stopped laughing. He just... gave himself over to it.

Jackson sat in a chair against the wall. His body shifted slightly forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze focused and unmoving. There was no irony on his face. None of his usual half-smiles. There was attentiveness. And something that looked like... hunger.

My tongue slid between Mike's buttocks. I could feel his body responding more and more willingly. His hips rose slightly, his breath catching in his throat. And then, amid the tension, I heard Jackson's quiet voice.

"Okay... now I understand."

It sounded like he was talking to himself. Or to me. Or to something that had just been triggered in him.

I didn't look at him, but Mike muttered a low, incredulous sound, as if he didn't know whether to laugh or curse.

"Fuck... this is so good."

And Jackson added, louder, calmer:

"When you're done with him... I want some too."

It wasn't jealousy. There was no rivalry in it either. It was pure, raw desire. As if he had seen something he hadn't expected and didn't want to just watch. He wanted to try it. To feel it.

Mike was silent. He was lying on his stomach, his cheek nestled in the pillow, his arms relaxed at his sides. His body was calm, soft, as if every muscle had just exhaled.

That was my cue. It was time to move to Jackson.

Jackson was already getting up, pulling down his boxers. He lay down next to Mike, as if he knew exactly where to position himself. His body was different, more subtle in its tension, but still strong. He lay down calmly, rested his head on his forearm, raised his buttocks slightly, and spread his legs naturally. He looked at me over his shoulder with curiosity, uncertainty, and something that looked like quiet consent to everything.

I said nothing. I approached him and knelt between his legs. His skin was warmer than Mike's, smelled more neutral.

My hand rested on his hip. Smooth, attentive. The other moved along the inside of his thigh. I could feel him trembling slightly, with tension, with curiosity.

The first contact was almost imperceptible. Just a gentle touch of the tongue. One short movement, as if asking if he could. Jackson flinched, but didn't pull away. He was breathing deeply, his hands clenched in the sheet.

I went back there again. This time for longer. More carefully. My tongue moved slowly, sensitively, without pressure. I took my time. I wanted Jackson to feel every movement, every change of pace, every wave of pleasure that grew in him without warning.

His breathing changed. From deep and controlled to short, broken sighs. He made no sound, but his body said it all. His thighs spread wider. His hips lifted slightly, as if seeking contact. Every muscle was tense, not like Mike's, which was impulsive, violent. With Jackson, everything was more sensual.

I licked him slowly, methodically. My tongue circled, then dove deeper, then returned to the outside. I responded to his every movement, to the contraction of his abdominal muscles, to the tension in his neck, to the way his hands searched for something to grab onto.

Mike sat down in the chair next to us, now he was the spectator. He watched us with his easygoing half-smile.

"See," he said quietly. "He's getting into it too."

Jackson was silent. He lay quietly, his face nestled in his forearm, his breathing slowly evening out. He didn't have to say anything. Everything was clear, he liked it.

I took my time. I wasn't looking for a finale. It wasn't a moment for release. It was a moment for a change of dynamics. For discovery. For exploration. My tongue circled for a long time, tenderly, confidently, deeply. Jackson was breathing heavily, unevenly. His body rose and fell slowly, as if he still couldn't believe he could feel this. That he could like it.

And that I was doing it.

When I pulled away from his body, I did it calmly, with one last soft brush of my tongue. Jackson lay relaxed, his face resting on his shoulder, and Mike watched us from the side, no longer as a spectator, but as someone who understood exactly what had just happened.