Advantages of a Flatmate Who Never Wears Underwear
My flatmate Lockie never wears underwear around the flat. No boxers, no briefs, nothing. Just loose grey joggers that hang low on his hips and do absolutely nothing to hide the thick outline of his cock swinging free every time he moves. Six of us live here in this crumbling student house near campus; me, Lockie, and four other guys who are usually either at lectures, gaming, or passed out in their rooms. The place is chaos. Thin walls, shared bathroom, one washing machine that everyone fights over. But Lockie walks through it all like he owns the air. Shirtless half the time, joggers slung so low you can see the deep V of his hips and the dark trail of hair disappearing under the waistband. And that cock. Heavy. Thick even when soft. Bouncing against his thigh when he crosses the living room to grab a drink from the fridge. I catch myself staring every single time.
Lockie knows. He’s not stupid. 21, built from years of rugby before he quit, broad shoulders, thick pecs, arms that flex without trying. Messy blond hair, sharp jaw, and a grin that says he’s already won whatever game you’re playing before you realise there’s a game. He started doing it on purpose about a month into the lease.
Walking past my open bedroom door in nothing but those joggers, cock shifting visibly with every step. Pausing in the hallway to stretch, arms overhead, fabric pulling tight across his bulge. Once he caught me looking and just smirked. “If you wanna stare, mate, at least buy me a pint first.”
I laughed it off. Went back to my laptop. Jerked off in the shower ten minutes later thinking about the way that cock looked when he turned sideways. Thick head outlined perfectly against the fabric. I told myself it was a one-time thing. Just a hot flatmate. Nothing more.
It wasn’t.
The house is never completely empty, but late at night it gets close. The other four guys either crash early or head out to the bar. Lockie stays up. Always. Studying, gaming, scrolling on his phone. Shirtless. Joggers low. Cock shifting every time he adjusts position on the couch. I started timing my trips to the kitchen. Late-night water runs. Pretending I needed a snack. He’d look up. Smirk. Spread his legs a little wider. Let me see the full outline. The way the head pushed against the fabric. The way it thickened when he knew I was looking.
One night the washing machine was free. 1 a.m. Everyone else asleep. I was loading my clothes when Lockie walked in. Shirtless. Joggers slung dangerously low. No underwear as always. Cock already half hard, thick shaft curving slightly to the left, head outlined clearly through the thin cotton. He leaned against the doorway. Watched me.
“You’re up late,” he said. Voice low. Rough from the night.
“So are you.”
He pushed off the frame. Stepped inside. Closed the door behind him. The click of the latch sounded loud in the quiet house. He walked over slowly and stopped right behind me. Close enough I could feel the heat rolling off his body. His cock brushed the back of my thigh through my shorts. Already harder. Thicker.
“You’ve been staring at my bulge for weeks, Blake.” His breath was warm against my ear, voice low and rough like he’d been holding it in for too long.
I swallowed hard and turned towards him. Tried to play it off. “I ain’t staring at nothing, mate.”
Lockie laughed once, short and dark. Didn’t move back. Just stayed pressed close enough that I could feel the heat coming off his body. “Bullshit. Every time we talk your eyes drop straight to my crotch. Like you’re waiting for it to jump out and say hello.”
My gaze flicked down before I could stop it. The head of his cock was pushing hard against the thin grey fabric now, thick and flushed, the outline so clear I could see the ridge of the crown trying to escape the waistband. A small wet spot had started forming right at the tip.
Lockie noticed.
“Little fucker,” he murmured, almost amused. “Look at you now. Still looking down.”
I forced my eyes back up to his face, cheeks burning. “Then why don’t you start wearing some underwear if you don’t want me staring?”
He tilted his head. That slow, filthy grin spreading wider. “What if I want you to stare?” His voice dropped lower. “But… closer.”
Before I could answer he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of the joggers and shoved them down in one smooth motion. The fabric pooled at his ankles. His cock sprang free—thick, veiny, rock-hard, curving up toward his abs. The pink head was glossy with precum, slit already weeping. Heavy balls hung below, drawn tight. The whole thing bobbed once from the sudden freedom, then settled, pointing right at me like an accusation.
I stared. Couldn’t look away. Mouth dry. Cock throbbing in my own shorts.
Lockie wrapped one hand around the base, gave himself a slow stroke. Precum beaded at the tip and slid down the shaft in a thin, shiny line. “If you wanna stare…” he said quietly, “maybe you should do something about it.”
My brain short-circuited for a second. Then I heard myself ask, voice hoarse, “What do you want me to do?”
He stepped half a pace closer. The head of his cock brushed my stomach through my shirt. Hot. Wet. “Get on your knees, Blake. Open your mouth. And find out.”
I dropped. No hesitation. Knees hit the cold floor. Face level with that thick shaft.
I leaned in.
Tongue flicked out first. Tasted the salty bead of precum right from the tip. Lockie hissed through his teeth. His hand came to the back of my head to guide me deeper.
I opened wider. Took the head past my lips. Tongue swirling around the ridge. He groaned low. Hips rocked forward a fraction. I sank down slowly. Lips stretching. Throat relaxing. Took half his length before I had to breathe through my nose. Spit already pooling. I bobbed once. Twice. Then deeper. Nose brushing his trimmed pubes. Throat full. He pulsed on my tongue.
“Fuck,” he breathed. Fingers tightening in my hair. “Just like that. Take it all.”
I did. Relaxed my throat completely. Pushed forward until my nose was buried and my lips kissed the base. He held me there a second. Groaned deep. Then started guiding me. Slow face-fucks. In and out.
Wet gluck gluck gluck filling the laundry room. Spit ran down my chin in thick strands. Dropped onto my shirt. His balls tapped my chin with every thrust.
I moaned around him. Hand slipping down to palm myself through my shorts. Cock aching. Leaking. Lockie noticed. Growled low. “Don’t touch yourself. This is about me right now.”
I whined. Pulled off just enough to gasp. “Please…”
He shoved back in. Deeper. “Please what?”
“Please let me cum,” I mumbled around his cock. Voice wrecked.
He laughed softly. Thrust harder. “You’ll cum when I say. Right now you’re gonna swallow every drop I give you.”
I nodded frantically. Took him deeper. Throat working. Sucking hard. Tongue flat under the shaft. He sped up. Hips snapping. Hand fisting my hair. Balls tightening against my chin.
“Fuck—gonna cum—take it—fuck—”
He buried himself to the root. Groaned long and low. Cock pulsed. First thick spurt hit the back of my throat. Hot. Salty. I swallowed fast. Kept swallowing as rope after rope flooded my mouth. He held me there. Grinding slowly. Milking himself on my tongue. I gulped it all down. Didn’t spill a drop.
When he finally pulled out his cock was still half hard. Shiny with spit and traces of cum. He looked down at me. Thumb swiped across my swollen bottom lip. “Yeah, boy.”
I panted. Face wet. Throat raw. Cock still throbbing in my shorts.
Lockie reached down. Pulled me to my feet. His hand slid down. Palmed my cock through the fabric.
Squeezed. “Your turn next laundry night?”
I nodded. Voice wrecked. “Yeah.”
He grinned. Tugged his joggers back up. Cock still thick against his thigh. “See you then, mate.”
He walked out. Left the door cracked.
I stood there shaking. Tasted his cum on my tongue. Felt my own cock throb untouched. Knew I’d be jerking off to this for days.
So yeah. Advantages of a flatmate who never wears underwear? He walks around with that thick cock swinging free. Corners me in the laundry room when the house is asleep. Fucks my throat until I’m choking on his load. Then bends me over the washing machine and breeds my hole while the spin cycle covers the sounds. I cum untouched every time. He fills me deep. Watches his thick cum leak down my thighs into my shorts. Then walks away smirking.
The house stays quiet. The other guys never suspect.
And Lockie keeps “forgetting” underwear.
Every single night.
I don’t want him to remember.
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