Making My Friends Lose No Nut November

My dick’s got its own fucking schedule. Seriously. Like, before coffee, before I even remember my own damn name some mornings, my hand’s already migrating south, seeking that familiar heat. It’s pathetic. It’s glorious. It’s a goddamn biological imperative.

Me and my group of friends made a bet: everyone who survives No Nut November will get $500 from each one. Seemed easy, just 30 days without touching myself and I win easy money.

Day one of this stupid bet? Yeah, I forgot. Totally fucking blanked. Woke up, rolled over in my own sweat-stiffened sheets – laundry day is a myth in this dorm – and boom. Morning wood demanding attention like a screaming toddler.

Sunlight sliced through the gap in my shitty blinds, hitting dust motes dancing in the air. The faint, ever-present aroma of stale pizza crusts and old gym socks hung heavy. My brain was mush. My body, however, was wide awake and insistent. Fuck the bet. Fuck Ryan and his smug superiority. This needed handling. Now. I kicked off the thin sheet tangled around my legs, leaving me bare on the rumpled mattress. Cool air hit my skin, raising goosebumps everywhere except where it mattered. My cock stood thick and heavy against my stomach, already flushed dark, the tip slick with pre-cum. Just looking at it sent a jolt straight to my balls.

My fingers were rough, calloused from weights, but they knew the drill. I wrapped my hand around the shaft, base to tip, a tight, familiar pressure. A low groan ripped from my throat before I could choke it back. Fuck, yes. That first contact, the electric shock of skin on hypersensitive skin. I squeezed, a slow pump dragging the skin taut. My hips bucked involuntarily off the mattress, seeking friction. My thumb swiped over the slick head, spreading the wetness, making it glisten. The sound of my own breathing filled the cramped room, harsh and ragged already. Christ, it had been less than twelve hours since my last wank and my body acted like it was fucking starving.

I sped up. Short, sharp strokes, twisting my wrist slightly on the upswing. My balls tightened, drawing up close. My free hand groped blindly at the sheets, fisting the fabric as heat coiled low in my belly, a knot tightening, building. Images flickered behind my closed eyelids – fleeting, dirty fragments: Nico’s smirk, Tyler’s dark eyes looking up through his lashes, Mason’s thick, tanned shoulders slick with sweat after a workout. My rhythm faltered, hips jerking erratically. The scent of my own arousal, sharp and musky, filled my nose. Almost there. Almost… Fuck. FUCK. I arched off the bed, a strangled cry tearing loose as I came. Thick, white ropes shot across my stomach, hot and sticky, splattering my skin. Pulse hammering in my ears, vision blurring at the edges, I rode it out, pumping myself through the shuddering aftershocks. Bliss. Pure, dumb, sticky oblivion.

I collapsed back onto the damp mattress, chest heaving, sweat cooling on my skin. Idiot. Fucking idiot. The bet. Day one. Dead before breakfast.

Then my smartwatch vibrated on my wrist. Not a message vibration. The specific, judgmental buzz that meant my heart rate had spiked into the cardio zone. Shit. Double shit. I scrambled to grab my phone, still panting, wiping cum off my stomach with the corner of the sheet – which just smeared it. The screen lit up.

Group Chat: The Pent-Up Posse (Ryan named it, the asshole)

Ryan: 8:07 AM: Heart rate alert for Evan. 165 BPM sustained for 4 minutes. Care to explain? Cold shower malfunction?

Mason: 8:07 AM: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NO FUCKING WAY. MORNING GLORY? YOU SERIOUSLY COULDN’T MAKE IT PAST SUNRISE?

Tyler: 8:08 AM: Oh…

Nico: 8:08 AM: 😈 Knew it. Bet you were thinking of someone specific, Evan. Who got the honor? 😉

Leo: 8:09 AM: Damn dude! Already? That’s kinda impressive in a tragic way. What’d you even jerk it to? The pizza box?

Mason: 8:09 AM: Chronic. Fucking. Case. I told you guys. Dude’s got a sprained wrist from overuse.

Heat flooded my face, hotter than the orgasm. Humiliation warred with the fading buzz. Fuck them. Fuck Ryan’s clinical precision, Mason’s roaring laugh, Nico’s suggestive eyebrow waggle (even through text), Tyler’s quiet disappointment, Leo’s bewildered fascination. My thumbs flew over the screen.

Evan: 8:10 AM: Shut the fuck up, Mason. Place was drafty. Had a cramp. Needed to get the blood flowing elsewhere. Technicality.

Ryan: 8:10 AM: Not a technicality. Rule 1: No intentional stimulation resulting in orgasm. You’re out, Evan. Effective immediately.

Evan: 8:11 AM: Fine. Whatever. Enjoy your chastity belts, losers. See how long YOU last.

Nico: 8:11 AM: Oh, I plan to last a very long time, darling. Especially now that you’re just… watching. 😘

Leo: 8:12 AM: Wait… so Evan’s just… out? What does he do now?

Ryan: 8:12 AM: He observes. He uses the watch. He does not participate. And most importantly… he doesn’t interfere.

Mason: 8:13 AM: Yeah, keep your cum-stained hands to yourself, Hornball.

I threw my phone onto the pile of dirty clothes beside the bed. It landed with a soft thud. Fuck them. All of them. Especially Ryan, sitting pretty like some granite-jawed monk. And Nico, the fucking tease. Tyler’s quiet ‘Oh…’ echoed in my head, sparking something unexpected – a twist in my gut that wasn’t just embarrassment. He sounded… almost intrigued?

I stared at the sticky mess drying on my stomach and the faint, condemning notification still glowing on my watch face. Out. Day one. A new kind of frustration, cold and sharp, replaced the post-orgasm lethargy. Fine. If I couldn’t win this stupid fucking bet? I wouldn’t just watch. Watching was boring. I’d make damn sure none of them won either. Especially not fucking Ryan. Or Tyler. Or Nico. Or Mason. Or Leo. Especially not any of them. My lips curled into a grin that felt more like a snarl. Game fucking on. If I’m not gonna win, I’ll make sure no one does. Starting right fucking now.

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Will be alternating between this one and a new series :)