My New Roommate - Part 2

Okay, I might have a problem.

I’m still trying to convince myself this is about curiosity. Just curiosity. Like, I’m not obsessed with Damien, I’m just... invested in the mystery. I just want to know how someone like him survives without jerking off. That’s all.

It’s been weeks and I’ve found nothing. No porn. No stains. No sounds at night. His shower sessions are short. His underwear stays clean. His hands never disappear under the blanket. It’s like he’s in a state of constant restraint and I’m the one losing my fucking mind over it.

But today? Today I got lucky.

He left his phone.

It was sitting on his bed. Just there. Unlocked, even. I don’t know if he was in a rush or just careless. He went out to class, left it behind. The second I heard the front door shut, I snatched it up like it was a loaded gun and I was ready to fire.

My heart was pounding. Like, hard. Hands shaking. I knew it was wrong but I didn’t care.

I needed to know.

I sat on his bed, opened the Photos app first. Scrolled. Lots of selfies. Pics of random shit—concerts, friends, a few dumb memes. Nothing sexy. No skin. No dick pics. I checked the recently deleted folder. Empty. This guy covers his tracks too well.

Then I saw it.

A folder named "Recordings (Myself)" tucked inside another folder titled “Auditions.”

That was it.

That had to be it.

I was already half-hard by the time I tapped it. My brain filled in the blanks—videos of Damien alone, shirtless, jerking off into the camera. Maybe grunting quietly, flexing his abs, stroking his thick cock. Maybe it was something he sent someone. Or something he kept just for himself. For… later.

My fingers were sweating as I opened the first video.

The thumbnail showed him shirtless, sitting on the edge of his bed. Fuck yes. I could feel my cock swell instantly in my shorts.

I hit play.

The screen lit up. There he was. Shirtless. Lean. Beautiful.

He adjusted the camera.

Smiled a little.

Then he grabbed his guitar.

And started singing.

...

Singing.

Just singing.

This fucking angelic little acoustic cover of some sad indie song, with his voice all soft and serious. Eyes closed, strumming gently. And I just sat there with my dick half-hard and the dumbest look on my face.

The folder was full of them. Just him. Playing music. Shirtless sometimes. Audition tapes or something.

Not a single moan. Not a single stroke. Not even close.

I dropped the phone on his bed like it burned me.

“Fuck,” I muttered.

I felt like an idiot. An idiot with a boner.

I sat there for a second, staring at the wall, letting the humiliation sink in. I should’ve just laughed it off. Should’ve gone and jerked off in the bathroom and moved on. But no. That night, something in me snapped.

Because that was the night I couldn’t take it anymore.

We went to bed like normal. No talking. Lights off. Damien turned away from me, back facing my side of the room. I could see the slope of his shoulder, the line of his spine under the thin fabric of his shirt. Calm. Silent.

Meanwhile, my brain wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

I kept replaying the video in my head. Not because of the music. Not because it was hot. But because it was him. Because even when I found something private, something personal, it was still clean. Still untouchable.

And maybe I wanted to touch it.

I rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. I didn’t mean to start touching myself. I just… let my hand slide down my stomach, under the blanket. I told myself I wouldn’t go further. Just a little pressure. Just to calm down.

But then I remembered his voice. His chest. The way his fingers moved over the strings. The way he never fucking jerks off and sleeps like he’s made of stone. I thought about how full his balls must be. How backed up. How heavy his cock must feel.

I started rubbing slow circles through my shorts. Barely breathing.

I knew I shouldn’t. He was right there. But that only made it worse.

I slid my hand into my underwear and grabbed my cock, already leaking. I started stroking. Quiet. Slow. Just imagining him asleep beside me. Or maybe awake. Maybe listening.

I bit my lip and squeezed tighter. I thought about him standing in the shower, water dripping down his chest, not touching himself. I imagined him edging silently, denying himself on purpose. Like a tease. Like a freak.

I moaned.

I didn’t mean to.

Just a soft, broken one—like a whisper, but it escaped. And I didn’t stop.

I kept going, faster now. The tension in my gut was unbearable. I wanted to cum. Needed it. I felt the pressure building. The sweat on my skin. My toes curling under the blanket.

And then I came. Hard.

I gasped as I shot into my briefs, biting the inside of my wrist to stay quiet. My whole body shook. My mind blurred.

And then it hit me.

Silence.

He didn’t move. No rustle. No shift in the mattress.

Did he hear me?

My heart thumped louder than before. I lay there in my sticky mess, wide-eyed, staring at the ceiling like it would give me answers.

Maybe he was asleep.

Or maybe not.

And that’s when I knew.

I needed to set a trap.

I was gonna catch him. One way or another.

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This was the winner story! Hope you liked it.