*(Thanks for everyone who’s enjoyed the stories written so far! My mental health hasn’t been great at the moment but I’m happy to channel some positivity and helping people through these stories! More parts to come soon!)*
Weeks have passed. My first experience having gay sex still protrude my consciousness and I’m still aching for more cock, more experiences and being more submissive than ever before. It taught me that having sex with a man isn’t just something I like. I needed it. My flatmates had returned from the extended holiday period. I lived with 5 others, all studying a variety of courses with little overlap. We were all a little different, but we got on, and that’s the most important thing.
I’m still haunted by the thought of being caught having sex with another man. Did my flatmate hear it? Did he hear me? Did he hear me getting fucked? Moaning? Did he hear me wanting to suck cock, get fucked? Did he hear me acting slutty?
These questions ring around me head. His room was next door to mine. And I know the walls are thin. Like really thin. If he’s talking to someone in his room, I can here it. Which means only one thing. He could hear me…