Roommate, The (by Xyggurat)


By Xyggurat

'Don't fight him,' I told myself. 'You'll just lose.'

Hard wood dug into my back as my assailant held me against the door. His eyes bored into mine, fiercer by far than the sharp edges of the door frame. The irises were dark, almost black, in his pale face. He looked as if he had not shaved in several days. A droplet of sweat hung at the end of his Romanesque nose and, as he leaned over me, fell onto my bare chest. The remnants of my white shirt hung in tatters, framing my lithe physique. He looked like a man deprived food for days, and I was the roast waiting at the end of his torture.

I stilled my voice to calm. What was his name? James... Jack... no!

"Johnny. Hi. Uh—"

"Hi," he answered, inanely. "Cripes, you're still hot, even small."

I shifted slightly against the door, and Johnny ground his weight into me. I let out a hoarse breath. "What are you doing?" I wheezed.

"What am I doing? Funny answer there." He dragged me away from the door and threw me on the bed, his hundred and sixty pounds coming down on top of me. Johnny held me down, his hands locking mine against the bed. I cringed inwardly at the thought of where things would go from here.

"Do you even know who I am?"

"Sure, sure I do, Johnny." An edge of panic entered my voice. He was stronger than me, and I was trying to fight an erection even as I struggled to keep from infuriating him. "You were on the junior varsity squad."

He laughed. Hot breath assaulted my face. It was scented with the fierce chill of spearmint. "Not important enough to get the attention of the great Dane Jackson, water polo jock extraordinaire, was I?"

"Johnny, what—"

"Every day." He drew his words out as he stared into my eyes. "Every single fucking day, Dane. Of course, you knew how many girls wanted you. You were so well-aware of how many guys wanted to be you. But did you even notice the guys that wanted you? You know what it's like to love someone and know that they're out of your league? That nothing you can do will make them feel the same way?"

I sighed. Something crumpled inside of me. "Johnny, I'm not gay."

"You weren't. No, no one was straighter than Dane Jackson. But then you started shrinking. It was slow at first, an inch here or there, but that sort of stuff adds up. Probably thought no one noticed, because you were so damn good that you didn't have any real friends. You stopped looking like you after awhile, but I was watching." He diverted a hand from holding me down to tap his own temple. "I saw what happened to you, Dane. But I didn't get it. And then I saw your roommate."

His bulk on top of me was hard, with a toned musculature. I swore I could feel the individual muscles of his abdomen as they pressed against the faint six-pack that decorated my own. I knew I could feel his cock pulsing over mine. He was enjoying this. So, that was it. He had paid Phil to be able to act out his fantasy with me. He was as depraved as my roommate, but had been longer deprived.

"It's too much of a coincidence that you got smaller just when he started to get bigger. I think you made him grow. And that other guy I saw you at the gym with. You gave it to Jason, and Phil, and that bastard Trevor, but did you even think about me?"

Go fish. "Johnny, a relationship takes time. You never even talked to me."

He breathed out. The fever was still simmering in his eyes, but some of its original fire had dimmed. "You don't understand what it's like to be gay. How it is to see so many guys that are so damn perfect. To want to be with them, and know that they're never going to want you back. You don't know what it's like to be helpless, but I'm going to show you."

I had fire enough of my own to contest Johnny's, but all that escaped me was a sigh. Honesty sucks, sometimes. "You're wrong. I know what it's like to be gay. Feel my cock. It's swollen against your leg because you, Johnny Pearson, are making me hot. Because my roommate did something horrible to me. He's dominating me, and he's letting other guys do it. But do I even look like the Dane Jackson you wanted, Johnny? Am I built? Tall? Confident? He's taken all that away, and you're no better than he is if you force yourself on me this—"

He kissed me, harshly, on the mouth. His tongue forced its way around mine, not even giving me the chance to fight off the advance. I felt myself stiffen even more and damned my roommate in my mind for doing this to me. Some part of me was enjoying this invasion, and I wondered if I would ever be free from the damage Phil had done to me.

My former teammate came up for air and smiled. He could have had quite a few girls or guys begging after him, with that squared jaw and those finely-drawn features. His nose was bold and straight. His black hair seemed even shorter because it was matted down against his skull.

"No more excuses, no more talking," he whispered, husky voice breathless with his unrequited passion. "You're going to want me. Stay here," Johnny ordered. "If you run, I'll hurt you."

He stood up to his full five feet and nine inches, smiling at me with twisted benevolence. As he did, he tugged at the sweats I had been wearing, pulling them and the boxers underneath down in one fell swoop. Six inches of meat stood up, proud despite its shrunken state. Something in me wanted to laugh at the absurd, perverse situation. Wisely, I didn't. With practiced swiftness, he pulled his shirt off over his head.

I had never had time or desire to study the intricacies of Johnny's body. Even though he was not in season shape, he had a nice physique. He was slender, but his chest was well-pumped. Veins stood out from his slender arms, more so because of his recent exertions. There was a bit of coarse hair in the center of his chest, but not too much. A trail dotted his lower abs, which were not quite in firm relief. His cock was tearing at the insides of his grey boxer-briefs. It looked as big as mine.

He plunged a hand into his trousers and worked around, winking at me in what might have been an attempt at seduction. He raised his other arm slowly, bending it with agonizing slowness, as if he wanted the flex to last forever. Slowly but surely, a small but hard muscle expanded out of his arm. It reached a point of flexion and leapt to full attention, settling into a perfect split peak. He was no bodybuilder, but water polo had left him with some obvious strength and muscularity.

"This is what you like, isn't it?" He asked this as he lowered his flexed arm and withdrew his other hand from his sole article of clothing.

"You've practiced," I said, almost lightly.

He stared at me for a moment as he segued into a most muscular pose, clearly trying to discern whether I was making fun of him. As he tensed the muscles of his chest, they exploded into stern relief. He had done a good job of working his pectorals, I noted. "Every day in the mirror," he grunted.

"Good job," I offered, lamely.

"Not good enough," he answered. "Not good enough for varsity. If I'd been able to make it onto varsity, maybe... maybe we could've worked." He flexed his abs, sending his six-pack from muddled to clear. My cock leapt.

Before I knew what was happening, he bent forward and gave my cock a firm squeeze.

"You know what's coming next, lover," Johnny whispered.

If I didn't, my organ sure did. It required only the lightest brush of his hand's talents to bring me to a point of discomfort. My toes curled reflexively, and a hot rush traveled through my senses as blood shot to the point of contact. I knew the feeling too well. With an insistence that bordered on the zealously self-destructive, my balls began to tingle. They forced their load out into the stalk of my shaft.

I was shocked, however, as Johnny's hand tightened its grip around my dick, halting the orgasm in mid-progress. Well, kind of. A bit of jism shot from the purple head, lent speed and trajectory by Johnny's sudden squeeze. It hit him in the face with a splat I could have sworn was audible. His grip seemed to tense, to strengthen around my cock. I wondered if he had tightened it intentionally, or if he was already getting stronger. He held out until the end of my orgasm without letting any more escape, but as soon as he let go, hot sperm began to well up from the slit like a volcano oozing lava.

Through the haze of post-orgasmic bliss, I could see him smiling. "That's enough," he told me.

And he flexed again. The changes hit in the middle of his flexion, starting with a spasm that rocketed through his athletic body. As I had seen before, my cum shot through his body just moments after being absorbed into his skin, eating away at his sparse body fat as it made way for further changes. His abdominals flexed involuntarily, rising out of the surface of his stomach's skin.

But his biceps had already been decorated by a few veins. Now, they were pulsing, the natural split heads being emphasized by sudden, uncontrolled growth. I had gotten very accustomed to visual measurements, and his arm had swollen in moments from 13 to just shy of 14 inches.

The devil was in the details. His shoulders were slightly broader and more striated. Full-bellied traps rose up where there had been none, thickening the column of his neck. His Adam's apple was pushed into prominence. Where before his body had been straight and slim, his lats were pushing out to form the hint of a V-taper. I had some very brief thoughts about washing clothes on the serratus muscles pushed into visibility by his expanding back and the simultaneous reduction of his fat. Best—or worse—yet, the cock that had been straining at his boxer-briefs had managed to free itself, in a sense. The barest edge of its head was pushing beyond the waistband of his sole article of clothing. His boxer-briefs were made too tight by the swelling of his glutes. So he dropped them, and kicked them off with thicker, more toned legs.

"Am I hot enough yet for you?" He asked me, the seduction coming to his voice more easily now that it had dropped just a few notes.

The beat that it took me to nod was apparently too long for his ego to take. He fell on me eagerly. I could tell that he was heavier and stronger. As his naked cock met mine, more of my semen smeared upon his naked lower body.

Now I was sure I could feel his abs against me, because my left hand was all over them. The stink of his sweat was an orgasm to my senses, but my mind kept a cool detachment. I wasn't giving in mentally, even though my body was well beyond the edge. Johnny's burgeoning pecs swelled against my lips as he ground them against my face, and I could feel his cock feeding off my juices, already well beyond the size of my own.

My right hand found Johnny's biceps, and he obliged by pushing himself up and flexing one arm and then the other. His tennis ball-sized biceps easily forced my clenching hand open. I could feel and see the coils of veins beneath his sweaty skin, veins that were being pushed into further relief by his growth. Johnny's back widened, forming an ever-sharpening taper.

And as his growth began to slow, I came again. Spurt after spurt splattered against his chest, absorbing almost as quickly as I could make more. Didn't he deserve this? After all, I had ignored him. What? No. I steeled myself against Johnny's plight. I had enough plights of my own.

His biceps were mounding even larger. He uncurled his arms once and flexed again. They swelled past sixteen inches of baseball-sized steel. I was momentarily distracted from his increasing mass—and damn, he was practically crushing my legs. He must have weighed 190 easy, and how tall was he?—by the drumbeat of an eight-inch cock as it thwacked against his abdomen that appeared cut from steel. Each of the eight individual abdominals exploded in and out with every one of Johnny's panting breaths.

"How do you like me now, Dane? Am I good enough for you? Am I in your league?" He shouted at me, grinding his body against me, like he was trying to forge us into one mass of sweat and cum and muscle.


Sex left the building as something thudded against the room door.

Johnny fell away from me in shock, tumbling off the undersized twin bed and slamming to the floor with a loud thud.


Whatever it was, it pounded against the door with inhuman strength. The force of the impact rattled the plaster and left a bulge in the wood's interior side.

"Holy shit," I heard Johnny whisper from the floor.

The roar of rage that preceded the next *CRACK!* against the door was deep-throated and almost inhuman in its hunger. Added fury proved to be too much for the wooden barrier, which cracked inward with the force, gave way, and belatedly fell to meet the floor.

An immense figure was silhouetted by the lights of the common room outside. Its massive shoulders heaved beneath the black sleeveless t-shirt it wore.

"He's mine," the shape snarled.

It was Jason. •

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