Content warning: there are SKIPPABLE heavy fetish scenes in this story, which I will clearly mark so that readers can enjoy the parts they like and avoid the parts they don't – they look like the following:

///SKIP///

///CONTINUE///

Look, we all did stupid shit during the Covid lockdown. Some of us bought sourdough starter kits, some of us took up needlepoint, and some of us sucked a dick nonstop for three days straight. No judgments, right?

"Sucked" might not be the right word. Holstered? Warmed? Enshrined? Maybe they haven't nailed down a simple, elegant word yet for "strapped my head to my roommate's crotch for 76 hours to win a bet" – who knows.

But it started the way most really stupid bets start – with an empty bottle of whiskey.

"Yeah, but Trish always sugar-coated everything. It was sweet but so infuriating when I just wanted a straight answer." Dolan was draped over the beet-red armchair in the back corner of the living room. His thick leg was slung over one of the cushy arm rests, so I could nearly see the hair on his balls through the hem of his shorts.

Everything about him was thick. Thick and squat. He was a broad and dark-maned little manlet, with an easy grin and the same dull glasses that I assumed every web developer was required to obtain before they could be hired.

We'd fucked before. Probably two months after Trish moved out and I moved in. That was the first nail in the friendship coffin of me and my former college bestie – but San Francisco is expensive and she was moving back home, anyway!

I shifted up from my sprawled position on the chaise. "She was always sugary, right?? I mean lots of sisters were, but she always had to be the sweetest treat in the whole house and everybody had to know it."

Whiskey always brought out the bitter bitch in me. My tousled, cinnamon hair spilled across my forehead and over the hefty cleavage twisted up in my black cami top.

"Prob why all the guys liked her…" Dolan's head was lolled back at an extreme angle over the other arm of the chair. He was a lightweight for such a beefcake. It was cute.

"Ffpptt…" I sputtered, partly in dismissal and partly to get the hair off my lips. "She was such a PRUDE, though! You were the first guy she let anywhere near her precious little starfish, and who do you think had to talk her into that?" The pink-nailed finger I pointed at my own face was meant to provide a clue.

Dolan laughed, his plush belly bouncing abruptly beneath his hands. "She used to talk shit about you, y'know – said you blew all the frat guys for hours at parties."

"ONE party and it was ONE guy!" I threw myself forward hard enough to end up scraping my knees on the carpet, and caught myself against the big, dark coffee table where our drained cups languished.

"But it was hours, though?" He rolled his head toward me with one eye open, and a drunken, teasing twinkle in his look. He liked to play "how slutty was Theresa" whenever the conversation came back around to my college days. Mostly because he was never the hookup type, so he got to live vicariously through some of the stories.

And picture me doing the things in them, too.

"Like two… or three? I mean we were just laying there watching movies while everyone else played beer pong, not like it was some porn-a-thon." What can I say, I liked attention back then and I knew how to get it from the people I wanted it from.

"Didn't your mouth get tired?" He grunted and repositioned himself to face me in a contortion that didn't look overly natural or comfortable. Both of us had whiskey burps, and were bound to be hungover the following Sunday.

"Not really – you can suck dick all day if you're not like working it," I sneered. It was fun being the experienced one despite the fact that he was like seven years older than me.

"All day?" His bushy brows lifted doubtfully. I nodded with slowly closed eyes, like some kind of cock-sage imparting the wisdom of my people to a non-believing outsider.

"I'd pay so much money," he laughed. "Like, that's sugar daddy material right there." His dark curls swished against the fabric of the chair as he shook his head, feeling a little dizzy.

"Yeah? Wanna pay my rent and I'll just blow you all day?" My mouth often runs without consulting my brain – especially when it comes to sex, and ESPECIALLY especially when I'm drunk.

Another guffaw, and his head rolled back to me. "If you sucked my cock for a whole day I'd pay your rent for a whole month!"

"You're fucking on, then!" I was pressed against the coffee table, tits squashed flat on the surface while I extended a pinky he could never reach from that distance.

He seemed dazed by my enthusiasm, and the volume of my voice – almost like I'd smacked him in the head with it. Then I could see the drunken wheels turning, wondering if I was serious or not.

"Reese, you're not gonna-"

"Don't you fucking puss out! Nut up or shut up, right??"

He always loved saying that when I tried to back out of our silly dares and bets elsewhere – but those were always football scores or stealing shit or flashing strangers in empty parking lots. Now the tables were turned.

"D… deal," he grinned uncertainly, pointing his pinky at mine.

We were too drunk to figure out any kind of terms the same night, and I think he partly hoped I'd forget or change my mind by morning. But I was getting the much better end of the deal – one extra-long blowjob for a few thousand dollars was no contest, in my mind.

I figured 24 hours would make it official, and we both had work Monday morning – even if that only meant sitting at computers in our respective corners of the apartment. So at 8am on Sunday, Dolan slept through a very hungover roommate crawling beneath his sheets and lifting his cock from his boxers.

Even soft it was girthy, and darker than the rest of his olive-toned body. It had that warm musk to it that all sleepy crotches do during morning sex. I took a few final cock-free breaths and slipped it along my tongue, savoring the familiar, chalky flavor as I settled between his legs.

He was pretty zonked, and only shuffled a bit as I started the timer on my phone. Then I dozed back off as well. A startled knee jerk woke me an hour later when he tried to turn over and found a whole extra person in his bed.

"Reese??"

"Mmfmm," I blinked up at him, pubes tickling my lip as I wished him good morning.

"You're not serious," he smirked hazily. I nodded. No man in his right mind would turn this down. Even if it would be expensive.

"How am I gonna…" he was still trying to shift onto his side, so I made it easier by rolling onto mine with him. His semi-hard cock remained fitted firmly between my lips, and he straightened his top leg along my torso with his knee against my tits. "You're crazy, you know," he muttered gruffly, and chuckled as he dozed off again.

The sun was breaching the barrier of Dolan's blackout curtains when I came to, and the puffy head of a rigid cock was pushing against the ring of my throat. I didn't suppose I had to keep my nose buried to his pelvis all day, but it was easier to breathe and relax my jaw around a soft cock than a hard one.

I started working my neck and tongue a little, using all the drool that had been building up while my body tried unsuccessfully to break down whatever I'd been "eating" for the past few hours. Dolan's legs rubbed together, and his hips moved a little in his sleep.

His cock wasn't any kind of record breaker, but it was long enough to fill my mouth and then some. I made little "glurk" and gurgling noises beneath his sheets, feeling spit run down my cheek and into my ear while his shaft throbbed. After a few minutes I heard him groan faintly.

"Uhh… fuck…" his hips flexed, and his body stiffened. My neck hairs bristled as a thick rope of cum hit my tonsils, and I started swallowing as a second and third followed. I thought he'd drift off again as he started to soften, but instead he loosely tugged the sheets aside and craned his neck down at me.

"That rocked," he grinned groggily. "How do we uh, get some coffee?"

Getting out of bed was the hard part, all awkward limbs and lost balance. Being half-drunk didn't help. But once I was on the floor, hands and knees supporting me along the carpet, it was easy enough to back down the hallway ahead of him.

He could not stop laughing, and threatening to record the whole thing. I think the look I gave him made it clear that would violate the terms we'd never actually set.

He'd already ditched the boxers, and stood drumming his fingers on the kitchen counter while the machine brewed him a cup. The aroma was torturous bliss. I wanted a cup too, so badly, but didn't imagine he'd want to pour hot coffee all over his dick. Instead, I puppy-eyed him while he took the first rejuvenating sip of his, smacking his lips contentedly and looking down.

"You can stop any time – these new mocha pods are reeeaally good," his eyes were playful. Mine became determined. I was still in my cami and sleep shorts, and reached up to adjust my left tit before it slipped out from my low-slung collar.

"It's like that, then…" He knew how competitive I could be. So he shrugged dramatically, and motioned toward the living room so that I'd start backing toward the couch.

The turning around was proving to be a process, and I almost lost my lip-grip on his shaft as he flopped down into the cushions. I managed to drop forward with him, but the unruly nest on my head dropped forward too.

"You good?"

"Mmggff."

He clicked the TV on while I worked a couple of hair ties from my wrist and circled them around my fingers. That was when I realized how hard it was to create a functional ponytail while kneeling and bent forward at the waist, drooling on somebody's balls.

"Here, I got it." He unspooled the ties from my fingers and fiddled with them for a moment, but I couldn't see much more than his bush and belly hair. I felt him artlessly whirling my locks around and stretching the ties over them, flinching periodically as he yanked them into place.

When he was done, I patted a wandering hand around and found two actually pretty well-executed pigtails sprouting from the top of my head.

"Not bad, huh?" He sounded pleased with himself. I felt snot leak from my nose.

My phone was still in my pocket, and after 20 minutes of staring at a pudgy, fuzzy navel, I pulled it out and tried using it side-eyed. If I closed my left one, I could make out the screen pretty well with my right one, and didn't have to just listen to sports announcers while Dolan sipped his mug.

I was scratching my tit, watching a video about coral reefs when his dick started getting hard again. I tried peeking up at him, and even though I couldn't see his face it seemed like he abruptly moved his head to look somewhere else.

His knees were braced somewhat stiffly around my ribs as I rested my arms on his lap, and I thought he might be feeling awkward or guilty. I knew how to fix that.

Continuing to flick my thumb through an endless reel of entertaining brain-rot, I subtly rolled my neck and lips up and down his shaft. My chin and his balls and the leathery cushions of the couch were all slick with drool, and a bubbly squelching sound seemed to drown out everything else in the room.

He shifted and cleared his throat, pretending to focus on the football replays from earlier in the week. His heel started tapping lightly beside my knee. I rocked my head forward once when his cock throbbed, gulping it into my throat for a moment before returning to regular slurps.

"Unh- hah!" His abrupt laugh blew his cover completely. He wasn't reluctantly letting me carry on, he was living for this.

I sneered wetly and gulped him down again, relishing the sudden jerk of his knee beneath my arm. But I continued coolly scrolling my phone, as if this was my regular Sunday routine. I knew he was riding the edge when he struggled to set his mug down calmly and grip the back of the couch.

"Mhh… hohh… mgh…" he tried to peak quietly, protecting some sense of manly nonchalance while I throated him to the hilt and felt his pubes crunch into my nostrils.

"Mmf-ohh… ffuuuccckkk," his hips bucked, and he was spurting fat ribbons down my neck again. Two loads in just a few hours. At this rate his balls would look like raisins by the next morning.

His legs spasmed intermittently while he emptied his sack into my stomach, and panted lightly through a cascade of endorphins. His nut was thick, and a little tangy – what I could taste of it pouring over the back of my tongue.

He was quiet for a few minutes, then haltingly piped up. "Uh, Reese… I'll pay for like, half your rent or whatever, but… I gotta piss…"

///SKIP DOWN TO AVOID PISS///

No way. He was not getting out of this on a technicality. I should have thought this through before I crawled into his bed, but it was too late at that point.

I'd swallowed piss before.

My neck craned as far to the side as I could manage without releasing his member, and I side-eyed up at him to say, "gghhd."

He blinked down at me, heart still settling in his chest. "What?"

"Gghhd," I made a beckoning motion with one hand toward myself.

"But you… it'll get every…" he looked around at the couch and the floor.

I groaned raggedly around his softening shaft, and wiggled my fingers toward the end table where I kept our grocery list. He caught my meaning after a moment and handed me the notepad with the pen tied to it.

Scribbling momentarily, I turned the pad toward him to show that it said "bathroom." He looked from the pad, to me, and shook his head again.

"Crazy," another easy grin. But he let me tuck the notepad into my waistband before backing me toward the toilet in his bedroom. When we got there, he looked at the tub, trying to figure how we'd get in there.

Luckily, we're both pretty small – and stout as he is, he managed to grab me around the waist and lift me over the porcelain lip with relative ease. Then I waited.

He might have been nervous, or just plugged up from the recent cum load, but it took a minute before I felt a forceful, acrid stream batter my throat and back up into my sinuses.

"RGHKK," I strained, but stayed socketed to his crotch while an overflow of steamy yellow piss torrented from the sides of my mouth. It was a lot to swallow quickly, but I did my best. He pressed a hand to the cold tiled wall while relief washed over him, and tilted his head back in disbelief.

A poorly-timed swallow caused me to cough hard, spraying piss from my nose onto his balls and thighs, and he reflexively tried to pull away. But I grabbed his legs and didn't let go until the final few amber spurts flexed against my uvula.

"Jesus… you're gonna earn more than a month at this point," he chuckled shakily, and looked me over. My cami was a warm, wet mop, and my cleavage was glistening with whiskey-piss.

"Here," he offered, and slipped the straps from my shoulders. There was no pulling it off over my head without ending the bet, so he started shimmying it toward my waist instead. I lifted my knees one at a time so he could tug it over my feet, then let it drop in a soggy pile at the back of the tub.

"Hmgh…kff! Hmghhh," I thanked him, and he lifted me back out of the tub to grab a towel.

///CONTINUE HERE///

Bladder appeased and bet preserved, he got a text from Cory wanting to "soldier it up for a bit." I find bro-talk endlessly entertaining, even if the actual activities are mind-meltingly dull.

He jokingly asked if I was down for some Call of Duty, and I responded by trying to find his asshole with my finger. Obviously I wouldn't have a say, so we cleared some space in front of his bedroom TV and dropped a couple of pillows on the floor for my knees.

It was kind of cute actually, creating a little suck-nest for me down there, and curling up between his legs while he leaned back in his computer chair. Once his headset went on and Cory logged in, it's like I wasn't even there.

My tits were getting cold, so I tugged a blanket from his bed and wrapped it around myself while scrolling on my phone some more. But the cozy atmosphere made my eyelids heavy, and before long I was dozing in his lap, suckling like a newborn.

Surprisingly, it wasn't all the trash talk and laughter that stirred me awake, but a loud growl from Dolan's stomach. The furry beast rumbled against my forehead, and my own tummy gurgled in reply. All I'd had since the previous night's burrito was whatever came from my roommate's dick. And all he'd had was coffee.

I looked at my phone and scribbled on my notepad, waving it up at him. "Dinner time?" It was after 7 already. He glanced over and lifted his headset for a moment.

"Shit, yeah probably." He and Cory bid each other a bromantic goodbye, and we maneuvered our way back to the kitchen. A frozen pizza called his name from the misty shelves, but there was no way for me to get in on that action. My tummy squealed pathetically again as the aroma of melty cheese wafted from the oven.

"You're gonna starve, Reese," he frowned down at me while sitting on a kitchen counter barstool. I furrowed my brow. There was no denying how heavy and tired I felt. My mind turned over a few times, and then I whipped out the notepad again.

"Protein shake," I penned somewhat excitedly.

"What like, around my dick?"

I nodded enthusiastically. He chuckled, and we weaved around to the fridge to pull out one of the little chocolate flavored cartons I usually slurped down after the gym.

"Bottoms-up, I guess?" He shuffled forward so that his cock was angled straight down into my mouth and I could open it a bit around his shaft. Careful not to spill outside my lips, he streamed the thick beverage along his meat, and I tried to drink it down without choking.

It was heavenly. Like some kind of perverse baby bird situation. And I immediately started feeling better.

"Damn, you were starving," he grinned, tossing the empty bottle into the trash. He'd gotten hard again, feeding me while I enveloped his cock for like the 12th straight hour since that morning. It was clear he wanted to fuck my face, but the timer for his pizza dinged, and hunger won out over horniness.

He ate on the couch, dropping crumbs on my head and occasionally apologizing, going hard then soft then hard again while he watched some YouTube podcast about AI programs. We were both too busted up from the previous night's hangover to have another late night, and around 10 he asked if I wanted to call it.

I was weirdly jealous as he brushed his teeth before bed. My mouth tasted like cock and chocolate and stray pubes. But I could brush on Monday, and all the degrading mess would be worth it for a month of free rent.

He leaned forward at the sink to spit, and pressed my head to the cabinets while he did, stirring his cock back to life. I let out a wet gluck as his half-mast tried to enter my throat, and the sound sent a shiver up his spine.

When he leaned back I looked up at him with some gag-water in my eyes.

"Um… just a quick one before bed?"

Cheeky fucker. I rolled my eyes playfully – how would I stop him, anyway? He got the message. With my back still pressed to the cabinets, and my tits dripping with a single smear of spilled toothpaste, he took hold of my pigtails.

Something about wearing my face on his groin all day seemed to change the way he thought about me. Usually when we fucked he was cautious and considerate, probably wanting to avoid making the roommate situation awkward afterward. But this time, he was clearly out for his own enjoyment.

He worked his hips all the way forward, plugging my throat hole and relishing the way it flexed around his tip. Then he started humping my head against the sink in deep hard strokes.

"Gurkh, glurkh, hrmkk, hurlgh, hurgh…" I shut my eyes against the repetitive crush of thick crotch hair into my face, and tried to breathe between plunges when I could. Then he tightened his grip.

///SKIP DOWN TO AVOID PUKE///

I blinked up at him for a split second just as he rammed his shaft forcefully down my throat, prompting an ugly belch and a small stream of bile to spill from my lips.

"Oh fuck," he breathed, and rammed my face again. I burped and felt hot liquid between my cleavage – then he really went to town. The cabinets clacked and creaked behind me as he pounded me against them, and I grabbed his legs to keep steady.

"*BLURKH, GLURKH, HURLBH, BLURGHH!" I tasted the milky protein shake as half of it pumped back up my throat and spurted from my cheeks. It splattered his thighs and swung from his balls, joining the toothpaste and bile on my tits and lap.

I could have been pissed about the sudden, unexpected defilement – but the unexpectedness is what made it so hot. A pink-nailed hand crept down into my sleep shorts, and I swirled it over my clit while Dolan ruined my face.

///CONTINUE HERE///

He grunted loudly and hammered away for another minute or so, then jammed me to the base of his cock, spasming right on the edge of bliss.

"UNNGGHHFUCKKKK," he groaned, and a hard shot of cum fired right down my neck. I strained, blowing clear snot into his bush, but clung to him while he climaxed. He rutted there for some moments, draining his balls completely while I started to get lightheaded, then he finally retreated a bit. It was just enough to let me breathe, and for him to see the aftermath of his little romp.

"Hah- shit, sorry…" He was panting, and craning around for a towel from the wall. The notepad was soaked, so I just shook my head in a way that said "boys, sheesh," as he tried to dry us both off. I had to ditch my wet shorts, so I was down to just the elastic hair ties around my pigtails.

Crawling into bed that night, I was almost sad that our little experiment-bet was nearly over. I still had to sleep against his sweaty balls all night, but by the time his work alarm went off, we'd be back to our regular, unexciting lives. Or at least as regular as you can be, after something like that.

I woke up several times during the night, whenever he tried to shift onto his sides, or his cock started getting stiff. The two loads I swallowed between snoozes actually helped with the light grumbles of my tummy, even though his balls were struggling to keep up with all the activity.

When his alarm went off at 7, I was trying to breathe around one of those full-bladder erections that can't be helped by orgasm. We took care of that in the bathroom and hung out by the coffee machine until my 24-hour timer was just about up.

"Well, shit. Guess you earned yourself a complimentary stay at Chez Dolan for the next month," he sipped his mug mirthfully. I must have looked like a drowned rat with my tangled hair and crusty face.

"Mmbbffmm?" I mused. He looked puzzled. I repeated myself to no avail. Finally I gestured to his phone and he handed it down so I could type out a note.

"Double or nothing?"

"Ha!" He cackled abruptly. "How you gonna work from down there? Besides, you barely made it through one day. Let's just leave the fantasies in fantasy land."

I never liked being told I couldn't do something. Call it a character flaw.

More typing on his phone: "I'll call in sick, I can miss a few day's pay if rent's already covered," followed by a winking emoji.

The throb of his cock answered before he did. But ultimately, how was he going to say no? What guy on the planet hasn't dreamed of a hot slut laying under his desk all day, slurping his meat while he blows loads down her throat?

And that's more or less what happened. My boss believed my story about a stomach virus and me not being able to even keep down a protein shake the night before. And Dolan's coworkers hardly noticed the occasional stiffening of his shoulders while I deepthroated him during his video calls.

The third day was his idea. I think he was just trying to triple-or-nothing his way out of paying any of it. But my pettiness is not a trait to be trifled with. And neither is my sluttiness when it comes to impressing doubtful men.

I may have been dizzy and malnourished by the time we woke up Wednesday morning, but the victory tasted almost as sweet as my first cup of fresh, hot coffee since Saturday. It took another two days to completely get the taste of sweaty cock out of my mouth, and I had to soak for a few hours to get the crusty feeling of cum off my belly and thighs.

But I found myself craving his cummy treats again not even a whole week later. And I shouldn't have been surprised that it turned into a bit of a new weekend tradition, starting with me crawling coyly beneath his sheets every Sunday morning.