My College Roommate Set Up a Masturbation Station — Chapter 2

Everyone is 18.

Chapter 2: Game Day

“Straight up gooner bros,” I said, laughing. I got up, and bent over to look for a towel. He slapped my ass, making me stand up and tighten my butt cheeks.

I looked at him, laughing. “Do that again.”

—[]—

He did. Twice. We ended up back in the chairs, the machine back on low, this time taking turns. Bret showed me how to ride the edge, how to find the sweet spot where pleasure hovers right on the line without spilling over. He cued up a ridiculous series of videos: one was a girl whispering in ASMR, another was a janky phone recording from inside a locker room where some random guys went to town on a hole. Everything made sense when we watched it together. We weren’t just using the toy, we were syncing up, learning how to ride waves side-by-side.

At one point, the battery died on the toy. I remember feeling so disappointed, but the edging made it sort of a kink. Like the toy was denying us.

Bret asked if I wanted a break. I nodded, thinking he meant a snack or something. Instead, he slid off the toy, and knelt down in front of me.

“Gotta give the machine a breather while it recharges,” he joked.

He didn’t say much else. Just leaned in, like he was inspecting a teammate’s injury. Except his mouth was the treatment. I was still rock hard and throbbing, but sort of scared about whatever the fuck he was thinking. He leaned forward and took me into his mouth.

I tensed at first, frozen by the sheer newness of it. But he didn’t rush. He took it slow, like I was part of the experiment. Every move felt deliberate, practiced. Not affectionate, but... focused.

When he backed off, my whole body was numb. I was still hard, still pulsing, and suddenly, I wanted to understand why he did that. So I asked.

"Goon bros take care of bros, bro," he said, making me chuckle. "Gotta keep each other warm."

Each other? I wasn't sure what he meant by that, until what he did next.

He stood, and gestured for me to swap places with him.

—[]—

I copied what I remembered, my movements a little clumsy at first. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. He gasped, half-laughed, and rested his hand on the back of my neck like he was giving me a thumbs-up. His fingers pressed lightly into my skin, a silent encouragement that made me feel like I was doing something right. I could feel him twitch in my mouth, and the sounds he made told me I was doing a good job. It was weirdly empowering, knowing I could make him react like that.

We kept switching, trading places again and again, until our heads felt foggy and everything was warm and twitchy. Each time we swapped, it felt like we were leveling up, getting better at this strange new game.

Eventually we were doing 69 on his bed.

Bret whispered instructions, guiding me with a mix of patience and teasing.

“Ease up a little,” he’d say, or “Try using your tongue more, like this.”

I followed his lead, mimicking his moves, and the way he responded made it clear I was getting the hang of it. It was harder because his dick was enormous, while mine could more comfortably fit into his mouth. It wasn’t just about the physical sensation; it was about the rhythm, the bro bonding, the way we were syncing up without even trying.

I finished without even realizing I was over the edge, like I came by accident. With no warning, I started squirting into his mouth. I felt him throb in my mouth, and a second later he was emptying his balls into me as well. It felt like we’d played a full double-overtime game and came out tied. We were sweaty, breathless, and totally dialed in. My body was tingling all over, my mind hazy but hyper-aware of every little detail: the way his chest rose and fell as he caught his breath, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, the way he grinned at me like we’d just pulled off some kind of epic prank. It was pure ecstasy to get my dick sucked while porn played in the background, and it didn't even bother me to pleasure him in the same way. I liked making him as happy as he was making me.

The next time it happened, it was almost natural. Bret’s hand tightened on the back of my neck, and I felt him tense up, his breath freezing. Before I could pull away, he came in my mouth, warm and sudden, a strong taste and smell. I froze for a second, then swallowed instinctively, surprised by how natural it felt. When I looked up, he was grinning, his eyes half closed, satisfied.

“Your turn,” he said, like he was melting into the bed.

I didn’t hesitate. I leaned over him, letting my dick stuff into his throat, and started pounding. When I came, I didn't even warn him. He didn’t flinch, just braced and swallowed like it was completely normal.

After a minute of conversation about sports, we glanced up at the porn, and got hard again. It was like our bodies were on autopilot, tuned to the same frequency. Bret smirked, his hand already drifting toward me, and I didn’t stop him. We were at it again, sucking each other’s dicks, the rhythm familiar now but still exciting. His mouth was warm velvet, his tongue teasing in ways that made my legs shake. He was so weirdly good at this. I returned the favor, trying out new moves I’d picked up from him, and the way he groaned told me I was getting better.

Then, out of nowhere, his fingers brushed against my ass. I froze for a second, unsure, but he didn’t push. Just waited, his eyes meeting mine, like he was asking permission without saying a word. I nodded, and he grinned, his finger circling slowly before pressing in. It was strange at first, unexpected, but the way it heightened everything else was undeniable. My hips bucked involuntarily, and he laughed around my cock. His careful massaging of my ass and taint helped me relax.

The combination of his mouth on me and his finger inside me quickly sent me spiraling, my body tightening up and relaxing in unpredictable cycles. When I came, it was almost violent, my vision blurring as I gasped his name, muffled by his cock still in my mouth. He didn’t pull away, just kept going until I was twitching and oversensitive.

Then it was my turn again. He swung his leg over me, his body hovering above my face, and I could feel the heat radiating off him. He pressed in, the tip of his cock brushing against my lips before sliding deep into my throat.

It was overwhelming, just like before, but this time I knew what to expect. His hands gripped the sides of my head, holding me steady as he started to move. I momentarily questioned why I was doing this, but after the amazing orgasm he had just given me, I would have let him do whatever the fuck he wanted.

The rhythm was slow at first, almost gentle, but it didn’t stay that way for long. He picked up speed, his hips rocking forward with more force, and I could feel every inch of him stretching my throat. My hands instinctively grabbed his thighs, trying to ground myself as he took control. The sensation was intense, honestly a bit too much, but I didn’t want him to stop. There was something about the way he dominated the moment that made it simply fun.

“Fuck, yeah,” he muttered. I could feel him twitching inside me, his cock pulsing as he edged closer to release. When he came, it was warm and thick, and I swallowed instinctively, my body reacting on autopilot. He didn’t pull away, just stayed there for a moment.

When he finally slid out, I gasped for air, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. Bret collapsed onto the bed beside me, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Damn,” he said, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “You’re actually getting good at that.”

I laughed, still feeling the lingering trail of his jizz in my throat, and shook my head. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly giving me a choice,” I joked, my voice hoarse.

We didn’t talk much about it afterward.

“Tomorrow,” he said, collapsing onto his mattress, “is game day. But tonight… this was team-building.”

I laughed, already thinking about another round.

"Dinner break?"

He nodded, and I opened my phone for doordash.

We didn’t even bother putting our boxers back on, just hanging out naked until the food arrived.

—[]—

The next day, we woke up late, still a little sore, and completely dehydrated. Game Day tailgate was in full swing outside, but neither of us moved. Not yet. Bret stretched and scratched himself lazily, then rolled over to check the toy.

"Battery's good," he said. "Milker Olympics, round one?"

He didn’t need to ask twice.

We set it up like a real event. Water bottles, protein bars, tissues. Porn playlist queued. The machine in the center like a throne. We made a dumb little scoreboard on our whiteboard: edging time, number of near-spills, best reactions, even "most creative cum location."

It was like a sleepover with your best friend if your best friend was trying to teach your body how to live, through silicone.

Bret went first. He put on a pair of aviator sunglasses, leaned back, and said, "Cue the ASMR." I hit play on a soft-spoken British voice describing impossible acts, and watched him twitch his legs like he was short-circuiting. He edged for almost eight minutes before tapping out, shaking his head like he just came off a rollercoaster.

I beat him by two, going for a full ten minutes on the same video before I had to tap out.

The rounds went on like that. We got better at controlling ourselves. Sometimes we watched each other, sometimes we sat side by side, both locked in. The toy got passed back and forth like a torch, the porn got weirder, and by the third round we were both so wound up we couldn't even sit still.

At one point Bret said, "No hands, let's go full Jedi mode. Just hips."

It worked. Way too well. We both got dangerously close, and had to pause for cold water and laughing fits.

"We need a halftime," I said, holding my chest.

He nodded, breathless, flopped onto his bed, and reached for the remote. He turned on ESPN but neither of us watched it. We were still hard and unable to focus on anything else. We didn’t speak. We just moved. Back to the toy. No headphones this time. Just the sound of breathing, squelching, and the quiet rhythm of two guys testing the limits of their own bodies.

Eventually, we positioned the toy at the edge of the desk and used it together again. Bret adjusted it like a pit crew mechanic, then lined up beside me.

"Final round," he whispered into my ear, his breath making me tingle. "Synced finish."

I nodded. The moment we both entered, the stroker started. It pulled at us, slid along us, squeezed us together in waves that matched our uneven breaths. Our legs were pressed together. Our hips matched. We moaned like zombies. Bret reached out, grabbed my hand, and we just held it, barely aware of anything else.

We came at about the same time, and I felt him pulse against me. It was messy, loud, and ridiculous, just like I was getting used to. And, I think it was maybe the best moment of college so far.

We slumped down into our chairs, legs still tangled.

Bret looked at me, sweaty and smiling. "Straight-up gold medal performance, bro."

I nodded. "Team USA, baby."

We high-fived. Then lay there for a long time.

Game Day? Sure, but we never left the room.