My New Roommate - Part 5

When I woke up, the first thing I did was glance under the blanket. Not me—him. Damien was already up, standing near the dresser in just his

When I woke up, the first thing I did was glance under the blanket.

Not me—him.

Damien was already up, standing near the dresser in just his briefs. They were dark blue and damp. Not soaked, but… stained. A soft patch, subtle, but there. He was facing away from me, like I was still asleep.

And I knew.

I knew it happened last night. He came in his sleep. We came at the same time. I didn’t imagine that twitch in his body, that low muttered “I like it…”

But now? I needed more.

Because now I had questions. Like—was that his first wet dream since moving in? If so, why the fuck now? If not… where were all the other stained briefs?

Because I’d checked. I’d looked. Repeatedly. And they were always clean. Always. Like obsessively clean.

So what the fuck was I missing?

I pretended to keep sleeping.

I kept my breathing steady, face toward the wall, eyes barely cracked open. I watched him move—calm, silent, methodical.

He peeled the briefs off his body like he didn’t want to look at them. Like they were just routine. He folded them once, quick, and then—he crouched.

My pulse spiked.

He crouched near the corner of the room, next to the nightstand. I’d always thought it was solid, just a plain Ikea nightstand with one shallow drawer and four wooden legs.

But Damien reached beneath it.

Pressed something.

And a tiny panel slid open.

What the fuck?

It was built into the bottom. Like a false compartment.

And he stuffed the boxers in there. Quiet. Fast. Casual. Then slid the panel shut again like nothing happened.

My dick twitched.

He had a cum vault.

All this time, the clean underwear, the silence, the short showers… he was jerking off somehow, and hiding the evidence in a secret fuckin’ cubby under our furniture.

I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just memorized where it was.

A few minutes later, Damien pulled on a fresh pair of underwear, threw on jeans, grabbed his phone, and left for the gym.

I counted to sixty.

Then I threw off the blanket and jumped up.

The nightstand looked normal. Dumb, cheap. I knelt down, felt around the underside—until my fingers caught on something. A notch. A groove. I pushed and slid my thumb across it.

Click.

The panel shifted.

It opened like a drawer.

My heart nearly exploded.

Inside? A stack of briefs. Rolled up. Some crusted. Some damp. Some still… soft. Like he’d worn them just last night. And tucked underneath—a sock.

White. Worn. Stiff.

I picked it up.

It was still wet.

I swear to God, my dick pulsed so hard I thought I was gonna cum just standing there. This was proof. He did jerk off. A lot. He just never let me see it.

But how? When?

Did he do it before bed, under the blanket, while I slept?

Did he edge in the shower and hold it until the last second?

Did he do it while I was out of the house?

The idea of him—my silent, careful roommate—stroking his cock in this exact room, coming hard into a sock, then hiding it like some secret ritual… it made me dizzy.

I reached into the pile.

Pulled out another pair.

Gray briefs. The front was stiff, like dried cum crust had sealed the fabric into a shape. I brought it close. I don’t even know why.

I could smell him.

My cock throbbed.

I unzipped my jeans right there on the floor and shoved my hand down my briefs. I wasn’t thinking anymore. Just reacting. Jerking myself in fast, desperate strokes, gripping that pair of stained underwear in one hand like it was his skin, like it was him.

I imagined him moaning again. Dreaming. Or maybe not. Maybe pretending.

I imagined him fucking the sock.

Grinding into it in silence while I lay a few feet away.

I stroked harder, teeth clenched, one hand fisting my cock, the other gripping his dirty briefs like a trophy. The thought of how clean he pretended to be while hiding all this filth—it pushed me over the edge.

I came with a low grunt, thighs shaking, breath hissing through my teeth.

I stayed crouched there, panting, my cum soaking into my own briefs while his lay in my hand.

Sticky.

Proof.

Finally.

I tucked everything back the way it was. Every sock. Every pair. Every crusted trophy in its perfect little drawer. Just how I found them.

When Damien came home, I was lying on the bed, clean, casual, phone in hand.

He smiled at me.

I smiled back.

But in my head?

I was already planning the next step.

If he could come that secretly…

Then I had to go deeper.

Because next time?

I want to catch him mid-stroke.