Not Your Type
Another beautiful day being sexy.
You used to hide this body under baggy hoodies and sweats like you were ashamed of it, like it wasn’t hiding a fucking masterpiece underneath. You slouched in your chair, gamed for hours, snacked without without a care, but all that's changed thanks to my assistance. I’ve felt you from the inside: the taut stomach under that soft hoodie, the thick thighs twitching when you lose a round, the monster cock that lies half-hard even when you’re not thinking about anything.
And you weren’t even the one originally wanted.
I wanted Mateo. I still do.
The way he smiled when he was tired. The way he fidgets when he's anxious. The dorky jokes. The cutesy outfits he puts together that turn me on. The fucking way he moaned when he used to kiss me, back when I thought we were real. Before he ghosted me. Before he forgot I ever existed. I was his first, he belongs to me!
He won’t ignore me now.
Not when I’ve got this body. Not when I’ve made you better. Confident. Primal. Dangerous.
He thinks you finally grew a backbone. That you're flirting. That you're finally seeing him.
But baby… Connor’s not home anymore.
[A few months earlier]
You were deep in a match, hoodie clinging to your back, headset glued to your ears, a late night grind. Dim room. Your dorm reeked of stale energy drinks and sweat. Mateo was out, and you were alone. At least, that’s what you thought.
I was already in the system. After a fatal electrical accident, I had merged with the city's power, hiding in flickers. I scoured the network until I had landed at his dorm. I had been here for weeks, observing you both. I knew your schedule, your patterns. All I needed was for you to lower your guard. And tonight, you did.
The moment your screen glitched, you groaned in frustration, sat back in your chair, and muttered something. That was my cue.
I surged.
Electricity bit through your keyboard—just a spark at first, nothing obvious. You began to twitch. Then came the heat. Slow, creeping warmth that started at your finger tips and crawled up your arms like liquid fire.
You rubbed your hands. Shrugged it off. “What the fuck…”
Then it spiked.
Your whole body lit up from the inside like you’d swallowed a sun. Sweat broke over your forehead. You gasped. Struggled to rip off your headset, your hoodie. Tugged your shirt over your head with shaking hands, chest rising fast, skin flushed red and burning. Your cock and balls clung in your gray sweats.
“So hot… what the fuck is—nnnh—”
Your legs kicked under the desk as I poured in through the current, flooding your spine. The room spun. You collapsed forward, panting against the desk, hips shifting against the chair as your cock stiffened without permission.
I was seeping in now, taking hold of your nerves. I wanted you to feel every inch of me. To know you were being taken. Claimed.
You tried to fight—eyes fluttering, lips trembling, sweat dripping down your chest and pooling on the desk. You stood, staggered to the mirror, face pale and wet with panic.
“Help… this—this isn’t right—” you whimpered.
Your reflection then smirked back at you.
That was me.
I rolled your neck, cracked your shoulders. Spread your arms wide and admired the body you never appreciated. “Damn,” I muttered, testing your voice, letting it drip with satisfaction. “You’re hotter than I thought.”
You screamed inside. I felt it. Your thoughts, still thrashing somewhere deep down, begging me to stop.
But your cock was leaking now, your skin flushed, your knees weak. You wanted to resist, but your body—my body—was already betraying you.
And when I flexed in the mirror—just a little, just enough to make your abs pop—you moaned.
Not from you. From me. Using your mouth.
You dropped to your knees, dizzy, sweat-soaked, shaking.
“Good boy,” I whispered. “Just relax.”
But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Your body was boiling—inside and out. It wasn’t just heat, it was feverish. Blistering. Maddening. Like your blood was lava and your skin was too tight to hold it in. You gritted your teeth, tried to crawl to the window, chest heaving like you’d just run a marathon. But your arms gave out. You slumped to the floor.
Sweat dripped off your chiseled jaw. Your hoodie and shirt were somewhere across the room. All you had left were your soaked gray sweats, clinging low to your hips. They did nothing to hide the thick, leaking outline pulsing beneath.
“Fuck, this body…” I groaned, rolling your hips slowly, luxuriating in the way your cock throbbed from the friction. “You’ve been wasting it. Hiding it under all that fabric like a little coward. You didn’t even know what you had.”
Inside, you screamed. Begged. Fought for control.
Outside, I grinned. Ran your slick fingers across your flushed chest, then down your stomach. I tugged at the waistband, let your shaft pop free—angry, red, twitching.
“Look at this,” I breathed, admiring the sheer weight of you. “How the hell did you keep this monster hidden for so long?”
Your hips jolted. You tried to stop me, I know you did, but your nerves were mine now. I could feel how much you hated this. Loved it. How badly your body needed to come just to cool off.
“Let me help you,” I cooed, wrapping a fist around your cock and stroking slow. “Let me show you how it feels when someone uses you right.”
You cried out—high, broken, trembling—as your back arched off the floor. Your cock spirted the first bits of precum across your abs, slick and hot like the rest of you. Your thighs trembled, flexed, clenched.
And I just kept going. Watching you melt.
“I’ll get to him soon,” I murmured, eyes unfocused, imagining Mateo beneath me. Blushing. Gasping my name. Moaning like he used to. “I’ve waited too long for this…”
Your—my hand—slid faster now, slick and practiced. Your other hand gripped your thigh, nails digging into muscle.
“Ohh fuck,” I groaned. “Mateo has no idea what’s coming.”
I stroked harder, more insistent now, faster. Your toes curled and your head fell back with a guttural moan you didn’t recognize as your own. You felt the volcanic manhood chubbing up. I paused abruptly.
“Damn, you’re close already?” I teased. “Pathetic. I know we can last longer than that”
Your cock throbbed violently in my hand, leaking in thick pulses. You were on fire—like your orgasm had nowhere to go, building, swelling, trapping you in the moment. Your mouth opened, trying to scream, but only a hot, broken whimper slipped out. I continued to edge your cock again and again for another 10 minutes. Your energy slowly fading, barely squirming from exhaustion. "Had enough, boy? Just relax, and it will be over soon"
I straddled one of your pillows from the bed, with sweat rolling down your flushed chest, and rode the fuck out of it into climax—forcing your hips to buck, your core to clench, your cock to spasm.
Then it hit.
The orgasm exploded out of you like your body had snapped. Your vision went white. Your limbs locked and jerked uncontrollably as I wrenched it from you—long, forceful ropes splashing into what was your pillow.
One shot. Two. Three.
You twitched. Shuddered. Moaned again—louder, messier, shameless. Your legs kicked beneath me. Your body slumped forward. You came like a beast in heat, and it didn’t stop. You were still pulsing in my grip, more sweat spilling down your abs, mixing with cum.
Breathing ragged. Cock twitching. Chest streaked and flushed, still rising and falling like you were overheating.
I chuckled darkly and leaned back up, licking your lips slow.
“You felt that too, didn’t you?”
Inside, you sobbed.
“You should thank me,” I whispered, rolling your spent, still-hard shaft between sticky fingers. “That was the best you’ve ever had. It was fun while it lasted”
Just like that, Connor began to fade, leaving his body under new hands.
I stood, admiring my wrecked reflection in the mirror—abs glazed and trembling, neck flushed red, pupils blown wide.
“Get cleaned up,” I murmured with a smile. “Mateo will be home soon.”
The air still reeked of sex. Sweat. Testosterone. Need.
I stood in front of the mirror, still slick from my first orgasm—my chest pink and glowing, your abs streaked with drying cum. Your cock, thick and flushed, gave a final twitch before I tucked it away. God, this thing was heavy. I couldn’t wait to see how Mateo would react the first time it presses against him.
I wiped myself down with the inside of the tossed hoodie—lazy, careless. Didn’t even bother to throw it in the laundry. Let the scent linger.
Then I pulled open a drawer and picked out a snug heather-gray tee—one the old Connor never wore, probably because it clung too tight to that cut torso. I eased it over my head, watching the fabric stretch across your pecs and mold to your stomach like it was painted on.
Next: jeans. Dark blue, slim fit, just a little worn at the thighs. I pulled them up slowly, hiking them over your ass and tugging them into place. "Damn", I turned sideways and gave that ass a quick squeeze. The denim clung just right—enough curve to grab attention, enough muscle to make mouths water.
“You should’ve been dressing like this all along,” I muttered, running a hand over your thigh. “But don’t worry, baby, I’ll fix that too.”
Then came the knock.
Three short taps, the familiar rhythm of someone who doesn’t feel the need to knock at all.
Mateo.
My heart kicked. This body still hadn’t cooled down, and its pulse surged again like it was ready for round two.
I tossed the cum-soaked hoodie into the closet, ruffled your hair just the right amount to look effortless, and opened the door.
There he was: Mateo.
Backlit by the hallway light, cheeks a little flushed from the walk, hair tousled, his gym bag slung over one shoulder. That familiar black tank top clung to his arms, the ones I used to dream about wrapped around me.
His eyes skimmed over me—and paused.
“…Whoa.”
I smiled—your smile, but sharper. Hungrier.
“Hey,” I said, voice low and easy, sounding almost foreign to the old Connor. “You just get back?”
Mateo blinked, a little thrown off. His eyes traveled from my chest to my arms, then down to my waist. He was noticing the difference.
“Uh… yeah. You, uh—” He cleared his throat. “You change clothes?”
I stepped aside and let him in, brushing past him just enough for his body to graze against mine. I felt him stiffen, caught the flicker of his blush.
“Wanted to look good for you,” I murmured. I gave him a once-over, eyes lingering. “You like it?”
He blinked, caught off guard. “You look… good.”
“Just good?” I stepped closer, letting the smirk carry more heat than it had any right to. “I was hoping for hot as fuck.”
His brow furrowed, but he didn’t move away. “Are you… okay? You look… different.”
I shut the door behind him. Let it click.
“I feel different,” I said. “Better. More me.”
He dropped his bag on his bed, still looking at me sideways. “You’re not usually like this.”
“You’ve never seen the real me,” I said, stepping closer. “But I think you’re going to like him. I know I do.”
I could feel this body heating again, just under the surface. My cock already swelling in my jeans, begging for another round—and Mateo hadn’t even touched it yet.
Mateo laughed nervously, unsure of how to respond. I didn’t give him the chance. I closed the space between us with two long strides, pressed my hand flat against his chest.
“Missed you.”
His body tensed under my touch. “Connor…?”
“I’ve been thinking,” I murmured, letting my fingers trail down his chest, slow, feather-light, “about how long we’ve danced around this. All the late night chats. All the times you walked around in nothing but booty shorts thinking I didn’t notice.”
He laughed again, a nervous little huff. “I—what?”
“You always wanted me to make a move.” I stepped even closer. “And I’m done pretending I don’t want you.”
My fingers slide under the hem of his shirt. “Take this off.”
“What?”
“I want to see you.”
Mateo hesitated, his eyes searching mine—but my gaze was unwavering, magnetic. He exhaled shakily and peeled the tank over his head, revealing golden skin, slender waist, just a hint of tremble.
I bit my lip and hummed, openly devouring the view. “Perfect. I always knew you like to stay smooth.”
My fingers slid down to the waistband of his pants. “These too.”
He shivered.
“Connor, this is… a lot.”
“I know,” I said, and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “But I’m not asking again.”
That tone—commanding, low, like something feral wrapped in this familiar voice he's come to know—did something to him. His breath hitched, and slowly, he unfastened his pants. Slid them down. Then his underwear.
Mateo stood completely naked now, flushed and slightly trembling. The one you've been craving for, completely exposed.
I took my time, eyes crawling over every inch of him with open hunger.
“Fuck, you’re pretty.”
He shifted nervously. “What has gotten into you? Are you… okay?”
My head tilted, letting a grin tug at the corner of my mouth. “Who knows? I'm better than I’ve ever been.”
My hand wrapped around his cock without warning.
He gasped loudly, but didn’t move. Didn’t stop me.
My fingers moved slow, firm, confident. I leaned in, lips grazing his cheek, his jaw. “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you? What it would be like to be stroked by me. Touched by me. Owned by me.”
Mateo let out a soft whimper. “C-Connor…”
But I wasn’t done.
I shoved him gently onto his bed, climbed over him without removing a single piece of clothing.
Fully clothed. Fully in control. Connor's body still untouched.
He was naked. Leaking. Breathless. Squirming under me. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this" I hissed.
Mateo was starting to notice now.
His flushed face shifted—confusion threading into the pleasure. “This isn’t… you’re not Connor.”
I smirked, leaning in until our lips were barely touching. “Took you long enough.”
He blinked, stunned. “Then who the hell—”
“How can you forget your first? I’m the one who’s been watching you for months. Who followed your socials, tracked your classes, read every text you sent to Connor like I was nothing to you.”
Mateo swallowed hard.
“You… took him?!”
“Cool it, baby, I know you had fun with me. I just was not your type. I watch you ogling ol' Connor boy here.” I leaned down, pressing my knee between his legs again. “Don't act like you aren't enjoying this too. Look how hard you are.”
Mateo trembled, “Is he still… alive?”
“Connor was spent faster than this raging fuckstick.”
I paused—let him look into these eyes and see how little of Connor remained behind them. Let him accept reality.
Then I whispered: “Please, let me make you feel good. I’ve waited so long.”
Mateo didn’t speak.
He didn’t need to.
His hand slid around your back. Pulling me in.
Giving in.
These briefs clung like a second skin. Dark blue, damp at the tip. You were huge. Thick. And Mateo’s eyes were locked on it like he was hypnotized.
His breath hitched.
His lips parted, like instinct took over before thought could catch up. I grinded my hips forward just a little, enough to let the heat of it press against his cheek.
Mateo exhaled shakily, his skin flushed, his fingers twitching at his sides.
He was already hooked—and I hadn’t even taken anything off yet.
I cupped the back of his head, not rough, but firm. Steady. Like he needed direction. Like he wanted it.
And I gave it to him.
Slowly, I guided his face forward. The weight of you met his mouth through the fabric—slick, throbbing, too much for cotton to hide. He shivered when it dragged across his lips. "Suck this like a good boy"
Mateo slowly peeled off my briefs, My fat cock sprung free, slapping Mateo in the face, leaving a train of wet pre painted on his cheeks and lips.
Mateo gasped as I pulled out, a wet strand of precum stretching from his lips to your cock. His eyes were dazed, jaw slack, chest heaving. He looked wrecked already, exactly how I love him.
I stared down at him. At the mess I’d made. At the gorgeous boy who used to hungrily eye Connor without reciprocation. Just this sight got my shaft at full mast, leaking and craving for more.
“Fuck, look at you,” I said, voice low, dark with hunger. “Slobbering all over your roommate’s cock. You didn’t even hesitate.”
Mateo blinked slowly, his lips red and shiny, his throat working to swallow what was left behind. He looked confused—like the pleasure was finally catching up to the realization that this was not right.
But I wasn’t about to let that slow me down. "Eyes on me. Only I get to fuck you."
I grabbed him by the jaw, fingers digging into his flushed cheeks. “You know how long I waited for this? Listening through the wall while you moaned his name when he wasn't around. You have no idea how crazy that made me.”
He shuddered, and I smirked.
“Bet you thought Connor was just some shut-in loser. You never imagined he had a cock like this.”
I slapped it against his lips again—wet, heavy, thick—and watched his eyes twitch with heat.
“But now? You’re not just imagining it. You’re tasting the real thing.”
Mateo whimpered as I dragged the tip across his lips, smearing precum along the seam of his mouth. He looked hypnotized. Desperate.
I shoved it back in. Deeper this time. No warning.
His throat spasmed around my cock. His hands gripped my thighs for balance, for anything—but I didn’t let up. I rocked my hips forward, feeding him inch after inch until his nose was buried against your skin and he was choking on your cock.
“Take it,” I snarled. “You wanted Connor? This is what he is now.”
He gagged, coughed—but didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. And I didn’t stop until I felt his throat flutter, until he moaned around you like he was addicted.
I felt my stolen cock throb with stolen pleasure. I pulled out at last with a wet pop. Mateo collapsed back, eyes glassy, mouth hanging open, drool slicking his chin.
I didn’t wait.
I shoved him back onto the bed and climbed over him, my fat cock slapping against his bare thigh. His skin trembled under mine.
“You like this body now, don’t you?” I growled, grinding against him. “This is the Connor he didn't want you to see. Too quiet. Too covered up. No more Mr. Respectful.”
Mateo was breathless. Eyes wide. But his legs opened wide. Welcoming.
“Attaboy,” I whispered, pressing against his hole. “You belong to me. I won't let anyone else have you.”
I leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth, then bit it hard enough to leave a mark.
“Only I get to do that.”
Mateo stared at me, like he was still trying to fight it.
But his body already knew the answer.
Mateo didn’t say a word.
His legs stayed parted beneath me, bare and trembling, his breath ragged as he stared up—lips swollen, throat raw from taking every inch I gave him.
God, he looked so good like this. Open. Wrecked. Mine.
I reached between us and ran two fingers through the slick that had smeared down his crack—leftover spit and precum dripping from his hole. He twitched when I brushed it, already oversensitive, already clenching around nothing.
I leaned over him, close enough to taste his panting. “You’re ready, baby. Loosened up so good for me. All that gagging? That was just the appetizer.”
Mateo's eyes fluttered, and I could feel the last bit of resistance in him starting to die out. Still confused. Still a little afraid.
But wanting it.
Needing it.
My cock—Connor’s cock—rubbed against his entrance, hot and soaked and thick. I could feel how tight he was. How warm.
And best of all?
My nerves set ablaze as I pushed my cockhead against that perfect ring of muscle and started to press in.
Mateo gasped.
“F-fuck—Connor, wait—” He quickly covered his mouth, like what he said was wrong.
I growled against the back of my throat, pinning his wrists above his head. “That's right, baby. It's me, your roommate, Connor. ”
He arched under me, trembling as my cock started to sink in, inch by inch—stretching him wide, making his thighs jerk and his toes curl.
“You feel that?” I whispered, teeth clenched. “That’s not some shy pathetic virgin fucking you. That’s me. The one who watched. The one who waited.”
His body tried to resist—tight, gripping, so damn hot. But I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t.
“I imagined this so many times,” I groaned, forcing another inch inside. “I missed this so much. Your moans. Your tight little ass. That sweet, flushed face when you get fucked just right. And now—now it’s real. Oh baby, it's real.”
Mateo’s back arched hard as I bottomed out.
Every inch buried inside him. Raw. Heavy. Possessive.
He let out a broken, high-pitched whimper—desperate for release. Ruined.
Mateo was mine.
I pulled out halfway—slow, teasing—and then slammed back in hard enough to make Mateo cry out.
He clawed at the sheets. “Nnh—ah, f-fuck—”
“You feel that, pretty boy?” I hissed. “That’s what you’ve been missing. That’s what you get for teasing me all those months. You should’ve known I was watching all along.”
Another thrust—harder.
He jolted under me, sweat clinging to his chest, hair sticking to his forehead. His cock throbbed untouched between us, already pooling across his stomach.
I fucked him deep. Ruthless. Relentless. Every thrust staking a claim.
Connor's cock.
My stolen strength.
My fantasy.
And Mateo?
He took it.
He let me.
Even as the tears welled in his eyes and his voice cracked on every moan, he wrapped his legs tighter around my waist and gave himself over completely.
It’s almost funny, how easily everything fell into place.
You used to hide this body under threadbare hoodies and baggy sweats, like you were doing the world a favor. Now? It’s worshipped. Admired. Used.
I’m stretched out on a lounger at the pool, one leg lazily draped over the side, basking in the heat like I own the sun itself. The black stringer clings to your body, wet from a quick dip, showing off every contour of the chest you spent years pretending didn’t exist. The camo briefs ride high and tight, swollen with the weight of ownership.
Mine now. All of it.
And Mateo? He’s right where he belongs—kneeling at the edge of my chair, his cheek nuzzled up against the heavy outline of my cock, his fingers curled gently around my thigh like he’s afraid I’ll hurt him if he lets go. He’s not stroking, not licking. Just waiting. Breathing it in. His personal altar.
Good boy.
The campus stares when I walk by. Mateo whimpers when I touch him, shifting slightly, lips brushing the shape of me through the briefs like he’s starving for it.
I glance down, lift a brow.
He looks up at me, eyes glazed and warm.
“Please,” he murmurs.
I smirk, resting a hand casually on his head. “Did I say you could move?”
He freezes, mouth parted, breath quick. My cock twitches under the fabric.
“No,” he whispers.
“Then stay there.”
And he does. Because this isn’t just my body anymore.
It’s my life.
And everything Connor could have ever wanted?
I’m living it for him.
Better.
Harder.
And with Mateo’s mouth exactly where it belongs. ——————————————————————————————————
Good evening, my wet dreamers —
First off, thank you so much for your patience with this story. It’s been about a year and a half since the last update, and I can’t say enough how much it means that some of you still stuck around, re-read, commented, or just lurked quietly in the background. Seriously — thank you.
A lot happened during that time. I graduated from university, hit a bit of writer’s block, and also suffered a concussion that made focusing (and writing) a lot harder than I’d like to admit. Recovery’s been slow, but I’m finally getting back into my rhythm — one scene, one sentence, one smutty moment at a time.
To help me get there, I’ve been using AI tools to assist with brainstorming and structure. But make no mistake — the ideas, the tone, the tension, the heat — all of that still comes from my perverted mind. The AI just helps me untangle what’s already tangled up in my head and fill in the blanks.
Finishing this story meant a lot to me, and your patience made it possible. Every reblog, comment, and message reminded me that people still cared — and that’s honestly what kept me going.
There will be more stories. They’ll take time (concussions don’t rush), but trust me — I’ve got plenty more smut, desire, and downright sinful ideas simmering. Consider this your little warning... or promise. 😈🔥
Thank you again for sticking with me — and for craving the kind of stories I love to tell. It feels good to be back… and I’m just getting warmed up. 😉
— Dream Monarch
