The Benefits of Having Horny Straight Roommates | E4 (Patreon)

All characters in this story are over 18 years of age.

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We Like Saving Water in the Shower. And Having Fun While Doing It.

We had just finished training. All three of us. Sweaty, tired, but with that specific tension in our bodies that remains after strenuous exercise. We rushed into the apartment and each of us undressed without a hint of embarrassment, as always.

Mike was the first to say it, standing with a bottle of water in one hand and a towel slung over his shoulder:

"Hey, shower together? We'll save water."

He said it in his usual tone, half-joking, half-suggesting, but without any uncertainty. He knew it wasn't the first time. And that each of us knew exactly what it was really about.

Jackson just looked at me with that quiet half-smile of his. He ran his hand over his stomach as if to wipe something off it and added:

"Yeah, sure. We're just trying to save water."

I burst out laughing, but I didn't protest. There was no reason to.

The shower stall was large enough to fit the three of us. The water hit us in a warm stream, and steam began to gather immediately. The tiles became increasingly slippery, and our bodies became increasingly shiny. Drops ran down our shoulders, chests, and stomachs. Our skin smelled of sweat, shampoo, and pure tension.

I stood between them, Mike behind me, Jackson in front. I could feel their bodies, their presence, their breaths.

No words were spoken, but everything was clear. After a moment, I felt their cocks harden, pressing lightly against my thighs and buttocks. It wasn't intentional. It was physiological. A natural reaction to closeness, water, and nudity. None of us pretended it was an accident. In this arrangement, nothing was an accident.

The shower was just an excuse.

But a very, very pleasant one.

At first, everything looked innocent. Like normal washing. Jackson reached for the gel, spread it on his hands, and started with my chest. His movements were calm, precise, gliding over my skin with his characteristic control. He took his time. He moved his fingers across my chest, then lower, across my stomach, down to my hips, where his fingers lingered half a second too long. As if by accident. Or not.

Behind me, Mike took my back. His hands were bigger, more decisive. He massaged me as if he were still at the gym, thoroughly, firmly, without hesitation. Neck, shoulder blades, loins. When he touched my hips, he did so with force, as if to remind me that he was here too. Water dripped down our bodies, warming everything it was supposed to cool.

Their movements began to interlock. A well-coordinated choreography. One washed, the other watched. One touched, the other moved closer. Their cocks rubbed against me involuntarily, Jackson in front, Mike behind. I felt them on my thighs, buttocks, stomach. And I knew that none of us was going to stop it.

Mike leaned over, his mouth close to my ear, his voice quiet, rough with steam and tension:

"Look what you're doing to us."

At that moment, Jackson lifted my chin. Two fingers, wet, slippery, gentle. He looked into my eyes. Intensely. Calmly.

"And I have a feeling you’re about to be very busy."

Their hands were still on my body. Their cocks, hard, hot, alive, throbbing between us. This was no longer washing. It was entering a ritual we all knew and loved.

I wanted it. With all of me.

I slid down without a word. Slowly, deliberately, feeling my knees touch the wet tiles. The coolness under my skin contrasted with the warmth of their bodies and the steam that settled on my neck. The water ran down me, down them, as if connecting us into one shared organism. I lifted my head.

Mike and Jackson stood in front of me, close, their cocks hard, dripping with water, shiny and swollen. Warm streams poured down from above, blurring the boundaries between touch and temperature. I rested my hands on their thighs, wide, confident. I had them both in front of me and I knew that soon they would both be in my mouth.

I started with Mike. I grabbed him at the base and slid him deep into my mouth until his head touched my throat. My tongue worked in a rhythm I knew from dozens of mornings. The movements were smooth, decisive. Mike sighed quietly, put his hands on my head, didn't guide me, just was. Present. Giving himself fully to it.

Then I moved on to Jackson. Different. Slower, deeper, more sensual. I ran my tongue along the length of his cock before sliding it in. Jackson flinched slightly, his hand resting on the back of my neck. He was always more attentive, more quiet. But his body said it all.

I switched between them, once one, once the other. Mike, faster, heavier, more dynamic. Jackson, quieter, but more intense in his gaze, in his tension. Their moans mingled with the sound of water running down our bodies, bouncing off the walls of the stall like background music.

Mike muttered with amusement:

"You do it even better in the shower."

Jackson ran his hand down my back, slowly, almost tenderly. Their hips began to move, not aggressively, but instinctively. As if our bodies were playing something they knew by heart.

It was breathing together. In my mouth. In tension. In rhythm.

Their moans grew deeper. Quieter, as if each of them was focused only on what was happening in my mouth. The water was still flowing, enveloping our bodies, but all I could feel was the warmth of their skin, the tension of their muscles under my hands, and their hard, throbbing cocks in my mouth, one after the other. I had their taste on my tongue, their weight in my hands. We took our time. It wasn't a quick blowjob. It was a ritual.

Mike was the first to start trembling. I knew that moment, the slight twitch of his hips, his rapid breathing. I took him deeper. My throat opened on its own. He trembled. And then I felt a sudden, hot explosion in my mouth. The cum hit my tongue, thick, intense, flowing quickly with water. I didn't pull back. Everything was accepted. Mike moaned softly, pulling away with a slight bow of his legs.

Jackson stayed. He looked down at me with that focused gaze of his. His hand caressed my neck, and his cock throbbed against my lips. I grabbed it firmly, wrapped my lips around it, and gave myself only to him. Tongue, lips, slippery, calm movements. I could feel his tension growing with every second. When he came, he looked me in the eyes and didn't look away for a moment. The orgasm was quiet, deep. His cum flowed down my throat, hot and smooth. I swallowed it all. I felt his fingers tighten slightly on my neck, the last wave of tension before he shuddered and exhaled through his nose.

They both stood in front of me for a moment, relaxed, soft, slumped, water running down their chests, down my face, down my chest. I felt their cum mixing with the water, with my sweat, with everything that was between us. I closed my eyes. I smiled.

"Now it's your turn," Mike muttered, still with a hint of amusement in his voice.

I smiled and nodded, and they both knelt in front of me. Without a word. As if it had been agreed upon. Their hands reached for my cock at the same time, Jackson more gently, Mike more firmly, and for a moment they just held it, looking at each other with understanding. Then they started taking turns putting it in their mouths.

Mike did it intensely, as if he were back in the gym, with strong, rhythmic, confident movements. The sucking was deep, wet, with a slight sound that heated up the atmosphere even more. When Jackson took over, everything slowed down, his tongue moved lazily, his mouth opened wide, his throat took me deeper, but with an attentiveness that almost disarmed me.

I stood leaning against the wet wall, my hands dug into the tiles, my hips moving on their own, in time with their mouths, in rhythm with their breaths. I felt the water running down my chest, my stomach, their faces. I felt myself approaching the edge.

"Fuck..." I whispered, tilting my head back. "Don't stop."

And they didn't stop. Mike held me tight at the base, Jackson opened his throat and took me all in. And then it broke. The orgasm was powerful, coming from deep in my belly, from tension that had been building since the very first touch. They both took it. Mike swallowed the first portion, then moved away, leaving the rest to Jackson. He continued to the end, swallowing calmly, never taking his eyes off me.

The water continued to pour down from above, and they both slowly got up. Jackson wiped his mouth with his hand, collecting the last drops from under his lip with his thumb. He looked at me with that quiet half-smile of his and said only:

"Saving water can really be satisfying."

And he was right.

To the last drop.

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