Never Have I Ever: Submitted to my Enemy

Thump thump thump thump.

I glanced at the ceiling as my best friend and his boyfriend went to town on each other, their bed hitting the wall in a frantic pattern.

“Come on,” I muttered and snapped my textbook closed.

This was round two in an hour.

Normally, I would put in my earbuds and crank some tunes on my phone, but I was in a foul mood and wanted to be able to study in silence.

Beck, whose room was right above mine in the shared house we lived in off campus, might be my best friend, but my goodwill toward him was precarious at the moment.

He and Finn, one of our other roommates, had been hooking up since the beginning of the year.

Beck having a boyfriend was perfectly fine, but he’d lied to me for weeks about everything. That shit wasn’t okay. He might not have been ready to come out, but the constant lies had taken a toll on our friendship.

We were better now, but things would never be the same, and I was having a hard time coming to terms with that.

For three years, ever since freshman year, we’d been partners in crime. The perpetually single guys, always up for a party or some extracurricular fun.

Then Beck had fallen in love, and now he only had time for me when we happened to be in the same room in our shared house or in the one class we had together this semester.

I got it. Finn was his boyfriend and his priority, and it was obvious to anyone with eyes they were made for each other.

But that didn’t mean I didn’t wish Beck still had time for me. He’d even cut our gym time, switching his daily workouts to when Finn had class.

We used to hit the gym at least three times a week together, but now he went when I was in class, and I’d lost not only my spotter but also my motivator.

Beck was a former elite hockey player, and I’d played varsity soccer. We were evenly matched strength and stamina-wise, even though he was bulkier and broader than me, and having him to compete against as we hit the cardio machines and weights had helped make the gym fun.

Beck enjoyed working out, but I didn’t. I only did it because it was a habit from my soccer days, and it kept my body toned and tight. Competing with others brought out my inner fire, which was why I loved team sports. Going to the gym by myself? Boring. Without a buddy, I’d been slacking, and I was having a hell of a time getting back into the routine of it.

I grit my teeth in frustration as a strangled cry filtered through the ceiling, followed by the murmur of voices as the thumping picked up.

Now that they’d gone public with their relationship, they fucked like crazed bunnies and seemed to forget the three other people in the house.

A loud shout, followed by a string of curse words, rang out from above. Finn was done. Hopefully, Beck would hurry the fuck up and come too.

With my phone in my hand and my headphones securely over my ears, I flopped onto my bed. Spotify was a lifesaver, and I went straight for my “Tunes to Drown Out My Roommates’ Banging” playlist. Yes, I liked to give my lists weird names. Artists could see the names of the playlists their songs were added to, and I liked imagining their reactions to my more creative names. The music started, the low bass and heavy beat replacing the sex symphony above, and I sank against my pillow. Finally, some mental peace.

After scrolling through Insta and TikTok, I still didn’t feel any better.

Listening to my roommates bone was annoying, but it also left me with a stiffy.

It wasn’t that I was attracted to either of them, not anymore at least. I’d had a bit of a thing for Beck when we’d first met, but I wasn’t into pretty boy jocks with big hearts and easy smiles.

Not that I had any desire to act on it, but my taste in men was incredibly specific. I liked them rough around the edges. The classic bad-boy vibe.

No one in my house fit that bill. Beck was a jock, and Finn had that shy, adorkable nerd thing going on.

Nope, my roommates didn’t turn me on. It was the live porn show they’d treated me to that reminded me of how amazing having my prostate pounded could be.

“Ugh.” I shook that thought out of my head and glared at my phone.

Nope, not going there.

Not ever again.

Trrrr trrrr trrrr.

The vibrations of my burner phone against the wood of my bedside table rang out in the lull between songs.

I tossed my main phone onto the bed, grabbed the burner, and swiped up to check my notifications.

Sara: hi! I had a great time the other week

Sara: up for a repeat?

Snorting, I quickly typed out my answer.

Ben: can’t. really busy for the next while

The three dots appeared, but I blocked her number and put the phone on the bed.

I’d met her on Kinksters, an app I used when I wanted to indulge in my more extreme interests. We’d messaged for a few days, set some rules and boundaries, then met up. Five minutes into our meeting, I’d known she was a liar and had zero experience with the things on our list. She was the typical FinDomme, or financial Domme, who’d decided to try her hand at in-person encounters.

I didn’t get the whole FinDomme thing, but to each their own. Letting some random chick have complete control over my money and lavishing her with gifts and cash in exchange was about the least sexy thing I could think of.

Sara had gone on a rant, demeaning me and saying all sorts of filthy things, which was usually my jam. Then she’d tossed in the caveat that she wouldn’t be doing anything unless I dug out my wallet and gave her my debit card and PIN.

Nope. Not happening.

It didn’t matter that her tits were perfect or how much I’d wanted to feel her long curtain of dark hair falling over me. Money was off the table, and I’d faked an emergency and walked away.

Maybe it was the fact that I knew how it felt to both be well off and poor that made me clutch my purse strings extra tight.

Had I unmatched her? Shit. I couldn’t remember.

I went to the hidden folder on my phone and opened the app. I needed to stop giving the chicks I met on Kinksters my phone number, even if it was a burner one.

The one downside of Kinksters was that it didn’t support high-res photos or videos longer than ten seconds. Sexting was easier off the app, but my list of blocked numbers was getting ridiculous.

Without opening our message thread, I deleted the conversation, then blocked her profile. She could still show up in my matches if I didn’t. I was all about the clean break. Burning bridges and all that jazz.

Thudthudthudthud.

“Jesus Christ.” I tossed my burner phone aside and sat up. The light fixture shook, sending shimmers of light over the walls.

I stood, stomped over to the door, and threw it open, prepared to storm upstairs and remind them they weren’t the only ones in the house.

“They’re enthusiastic tonight,” Matt said as he paused at his door, his keys in one hand and a bunch of textbooks in the other.

“That’s one way to put it.” I reeled in my anger. “This has been going on for an hour.”

“At least someone in the house is getting some.” He shot me a commiserating smile and unlocked his door. “Want to play some Fortnite on the big TV?”

“Make it COD, and I’m in.”

“Got some shit to work out?” Matt leaned against the door jamb and studied me.

He must have picked up on how I preferred to play COD when I was angry about something.

“You could say that.”

“Give me forty to shower and make a quick call?”

I nodded, gritting my teeth as the banging in my ceiling seemed to hit a crescendo.

Another shout rang out, then a string of the dirty talk Finn loved to spew. Matt laughed and headed into his room. I turned on my heel and stomped back into mine, gently closing my door and not slamming it like I wanted.

The ceiling was blessedly still, and muffled voices came through the vent. They were speaking low enough I couldn’t hear the words, which was perfect.

Rather than pick up my textbook, I flopped back down onto my bed and grabbed my burner phone.

I was still hard under my jeans, and I didn’t want to go play video games with Matt with a stiffy. I could do a quick jerk, but I was worked up, and the only way to get out of my head was to let someone else take control.

I tapped the app and went to the search options. Scanning the list, I clicked on my go-to choice: JOI, or jerk-off instructions.

Kinksters really did have something for everyone, and the lists and sub-lists you could search to find matches was impressive. My favorites were the sexting ones, especially finding someone who wanted to take control and get me off in real time.

You have matches!

The message, which dissolved into a cheesy flame GIF, flashed across my screen.

When the flames subsided, a list of profiles was left in its wake.

My mouth went dry as I stared at the profile pic of the first one.

I’d forgotten to click female in the search options, and my first match was a guy.

His pic was the typical headless, shirtless one, but his body was ridiculous. Bulging muscles, a trim waist with a defined Adonis belt, and an honest-to-goodness eight-pack stared back at me. Add in two full sleeves, side and chest pieces, and gray sweatpants slung so low a hint of trimmed black pubes stuck out from the top of them, and this guy was hot.

And the bulge.

God damn, he was packing. The sweats were thin enough that the ridge of his flared head showed as it hung against his thigh. Without a point of reference for size, it was hard to tell how big he was, but my guess was at least seven inches.

I glanced at the rest of his info out of habit. MrWrong was twenty-four, a Scorpio, and his mini bio was only a single line.

“The right guy when you want some no-strings-attached fun.”

Not particularly original, but it told me all I needed to know. He wasn’t looking for anything serious, which meant he wouldn’t want to exchange any personal details.

My finger hovered over his profile, ready to swipe left. I wasn’t on here to hook up with guys. I’d sworn that shit off years ago.

But had I forgotten to check female, or had I done it subconsciously?

Things had shifted for me in the past few weeks. Maybe it was being exposed to the constant background noise of my male roommates getting it on, or seeing them snuggled up together and making moon eyes at each other in the common areas that had caused it.

Before, I’d made sure I only watched porn with women in it. Didn’t matter how many dicks, as long as at least one woman was involved. That left gangbangs, orgies, and MFM threesomes.

Occasionally, I’d watch MMF threesomes, usually while drunk and when my inhibitions were low, and I’d recently discovered the world of animated gay porn. In my fucked-up brain, that didn’t count as gay because they weren’t actual people. Drawings were drawings, no matter how many dicks were involved or where they went.

Most of what I’d watched the past few weeks was either bi, where I conveniently ignored the girl and skipped to the parts where the guys fucked each other, or animated.

Maybe I needed to get off with a guy in real time to get over my sudden obsession with dick. Then I could go back to my regular porn and maybe pick up a chick.

A wave of anger washed over me as Elissa’s image flashed in my mind. The one girl I had thought could be the real deal, the only girl I’d considered dating in four years had played me like a fiddle.

I slammed my finger onto my phone screen and swiped right. “Fuck it.”

MrWrong was online, and I wanted to get off.

The screen shimmered as it connected our profiles, allowing me access to more than his avatar and mini bio. Bypassing the longer bio, I clicked on his photos folder.

Nudes weren’t allowed as avatars, but were allowed in folders.

Holy shit. I widened my eyes and swiped through his pics. Whoever this guy was, he was gorgeous. His tats were incredible, mostly black and white with hints of pastel colors. The sleeves seemed to be single pieces, abstract and mesmerizing, and his side and chest art was a mishmash of images.

My mouth watered as I trailed my eyes down his eight-pack and over that sexy-as-fuck Adonis belt. He had the geolocation off, the same as I did, so I had no idea where he was, only that he was within the town’s boundaries.

MrWrong: hey

FunTimes: hey

MrWrong: like what you see?

FunTimes: what do you mean?

MrWrong: my pics

FunTimes: someone is full of themselves

MrWrong: you saying you weren’t looking at my pics?

FunTimes: I didn’t say that

He sent a smirking emoji

MrWrong: you want to chat, or do you want to get right to it?

I hesitated. Usually, I got right to it, but this was new territory for me. I had to make sure I didn’t know the guy. The last thing I needed was for MrWrong and all his tattooed glory to turn up in one of my classes. Although I would’ve remembered if I’d seen someone walking around campus with that kind of ink.

Maybe he was a townie? That would be the best-case scenario. Close enough to sext with, but zero chance of ever seeing him in real life.

My pics were all the same, nudes and seminudes with no faces. The issue was that I had two tattoos on my stomach, right in front of my left hip. Those made me identifiable. I’d edited them out of my folder pics, but if he wanted to do live pictures or vids, he’d see them.

FunTimes: basic chat

MrWrong: you got it

MrWrong: me = 24, student, scorpio, bossy as fuck

Student? Fuck. My stomach clenched. I’d hoped he had no connection to the school, but at his age, he was most likely a grad student. Whatever. It wasn’t like I was going to show him my face.

FunTimes: me = 21, student, gemini, likes ’em bossy as fuck

MrWrong: anything else you need to know, or are you gonna let me get you off?

FunTimes: someone’s anxious

MrWrong: let’s just say you weren’t the only one perusing pics

FunTimes: yeah?

MrWrong: yeah

MrWrong: I like the one of you on the beach

That was the one photo in my folder that didn’t contain any nudity. Beck had taken that snap for me when we’d gone to the beach last summer.

FunTimes: I like the pic of you in the woods

It was his tamest pic, him in hiking shorts, boots, and no shirt on some trail.

MrWrong: you hike?

FunTimes: not really. You like the beach?

MrWrong: not really

He didn’t say anything more. I bit my lip. With under thirty minutes until I had to meet Matt downstairs, I should get this show on the road.

FunTimes: how do you want to do this?

MrWrong: If you’re asking me that, should you really be on here?

I sent an eye roll emoji

FunTimes: I meant text or voice?

One thing about Kinksters was that it allowed voice calls. The connection was crap, and the voices sounded tinny and a bit distorted. I wasn’t sure if that was because of the platform’s limitations or by design because it made identifying people by their voices difficult.

MrWrong: I prefer voice, but text works

FunTimes: let’s switch to voice

My headphones connected to my burner phone, and the little phone icon at the bottom of the chat lit up, replacing the text box.

I tapped it, fighting back a wave of nerves as the reality of the situation hit. I was about to sext with a guy, over voice.

“Hello.”

The low purr sent a rush of warmth through me. How he managed to sound not only sexy but also normal on the system was beyond me, but I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Jerking off to a human voice was infinitely easier than to a robot one.

“Hi.”

“Where are you?” he asked, his voice sliding into my ear like warm honey.

“My room.” I cleared my throat. “Where are you?”

“My room.” He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “I’m lying on my bed. Are you?”

“Yeah.” Shit, why was my voice husky? We’d barely started.

“Are you wearing a shirt?”

“Yeah.”

“Take it off.”

The tone of his voice changed, going dark, primal even, and a ripple of desire shot through me. I sat up and tugged off my shirt.

“It’s off.”

“What about pants?”

“Jeans.”

“Undo them for me, but don’t take them off.”

“Done,” I said when I’d pulled them open.

“Boxers or briefs?”

“Boxer briefs.”

“Cut or uncut?”

“Cut.”

“Long hair or buzzed?”

“Longish.”

“Any trigger words?”

I blinked in surprise. I’d only been asked that a few times. He knew what he was doing. “No. Just don’t use female words for my junk. I’m not into that.”

“Noted.”

“What about you?” I asked breathlessly.

“Sweats, commando, longish, and cut. No trigger words for me. You want to stick to jerking, or are you willing to touch other parts of yourself for me?”

“Um, other parts. No ass play.”

“Noted.” His dark, honey-rich voice soothed the last of my nerves. “Stoplight method work for you?”

“Yeah.”

Wow. This guy was good. Usually, I was the one who had to bring up safe words, and only one other person, an experienced Dominatrix who had a thing for college guys, had asked about my physical boundaries. What was this guy’s story?

“Anything else you want me to know before we start?”

“No.”

“Then buckle up and prepare for the ride of your life.”

A rush of anticipation shot through me. This was what I’d needed. To let someone else take control so I could get out of my head for a bit.

“I’m ready.”