You nearly have a heart attack when you come home and find your roommate naked on your loveseat.

For a moment, you fear that your worst nightmare has come true. You’ve always been afraid that one day you’ll come home early, just like today, and find him… otherwise engaged with a woman.

Your heart sinks, but only briefly. Your eyes clear, dispelling the image of the worst-case scenario from your sight. What you see half-convinces you that you are dreaming.

Your roommate has his legs in the air. He is fingering his tight pink hole. He is moaning like a cheap little whore to himself, chewing on his lower lip and whining as he greedily shoves his fingers up his ass.

You can scarcely believe it. This is the same guy who is so deeply in the closet that he tells you he’s straight even when he takes you out on dates. Even when he gets irrationally annoyed whenever you hang out with your other guy friends.

Now, that same allegedly-straight boy is in front of you. Exposing himself. Debasing himself.

"What’s going on?" you ask him, but you fail to get a coherent response in turn.

His voice is lower than you remember. Dumber, too. His eyes are vacant and dull—as if the light of intelligence has fled them entirely. He giggles a lot and mumbles. You can tell he is struggling to put words together.

Somehow, you manage to put the story together. He woke up with an itch in his ass, one that got worse and worse throughout the day. It started just outside his hole, disappearing briefly whenever he scratched it only to reassert itself soon thereafter, deeper inside.

He explains that the feeling in his ass makes it so difficult to think. He says that his thoughts feel like they’re wading through molasses. He says his mind is both so empty, and yet stuffed full of cotton candy at the same time.

He tells you that he’s been thinking of cock all day. Cock and cum. Not his own, no. Yours. He asks you to fuck him. He says the itch is so deep inside he can’t reach it with his fingers. He begs you to fuck, in his words, his "eager little asspussy."

You’ve been rock hard the moment you realized he had his legs in the air and his fingers in his ass, of course, but his words make your cock surge in your pants. You hesitate, for a moment. A testament to the strength of your friendship. "I thought you were straight," you ask.

He whines. He tells you it doesn’t matter. That he just wants you to fuck him.

When he notices your continued reluctance, he says the words that break down your inhibitions: "I’ll be your slutty faggot whore if that’s what you want me to be. Just split me open with your big fat cock, please!"

You are quite powerless to resist. You strip off your shirt and whip off your belt. You slide your pants down your legs, step out of them, and toss them aside. You pull your underwear down, the waistband catching on the head of the steel rod that was your cock before allowing it to spring free.

Your cock slaps against your stomach, leaving a small splatter of pre-cum just under your navel. You lean over him on the loveseat, grabbing your cock to line it up with his quivering, desperate little fuckhole.

You’re not a cruel man. He begged so sweetly. Who are you to deny him what he wants? Besides, it’s not like you can stop now even if you want to.

You indulge him. You sink your cock into his hole. He moans, back arching off the loveseat. You can scarcely remember whether you prefer to top or bottom as his ass grips your rod. The only thing you can think of is how good it feels as he squeezes around your length.

As your hips come to rest against his you notice that it seems he needs a really good and thorough pounding. Of course, you oblige.

It feels so good you can scarcely control yourself. You look down and watch your cock sliding in and out of his sloppy hole. It feels so good you can feel your own brain-melting with every thrust.

You lose yourself in the pleasure until you don’t mind the way that the haze around your thoughts thickens. Every movement of your hips, every moan that his hole elicits from you, every quiet grunt, serves only to accelerate the degeneration of your own mind.

Every slap of your hips against his rattles your brain in your skull. You can practically feel it turning to mush, churned around in your head with every thrust.

You can stop at any moment, but you don’t. A part of you is concerned as you feel your intelligence slipping. You can feel it dripping down your spine, leaking out of your skull, being rendered into thick cum churning in your balls.

It feels good. So good. Despite the alarm you feel in the depths of your soul, the pleasure is simply too much to give up.

You hit your breaking point before long. You can’t hold back. The tension coiling in your groin is released all at once. The floodgates crash open. You pull out and blast your load all over your roommate, painting his stomach, chest, and face white with your nut—and the dregs of your intelligence that rush out of you with it.

All your hopes, dreams, intelligence, and ambitions shoot out of the tip of your cock. They’re lost forever, but that’s okay. You don’t know any better. Not anymore.

Besides, you’re so horny you scarcely notice. You fall to your hands and knees, spreading your legs and pushing your ass into the air. The itch that your roommate described earlier, you can feel it too. It’s bad. It’s deep. Every fiber of your being screams that you need to get it scratched.

Fortunately for you, you don’t have to suffer it for long. The door to your apartment bursts open and a big man with a wolfish grin and a delicious musk walks in. He chuckles at the sight of you and your roommate, desperately shoving your fingers in your respective holes.

"Fresh bitches for the pack," says the man, hoisting you and your roommate on his broad shoulders. "Gotta say. That Pink Fairy never fails to impress."