Oh shit, it's him. Sören swallowed hard and pretended to act nonchalant, quickly averting his gaze from Anthony.
Anthony... the very hot British-expat psych nurse working on the trauma unit. He and Anthony were the same height, five-ten, and both had a lean, wiry build, but otherwise couldn't be more different if they tried. Sören was long-haired, bearded and tattooed, like a modern-day Viking, and Anthony had a short black undercut that was starting to show touches of silver, green eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, and a boyishly handsome clean-shaven face with a hint of stubble. The only "alternative" thing about Anthony's appearance was a tiny silver ring in each ear, he otherwise had no obvious ink or piercings. Anthony wore a small silver Star of David around his neck, and a little bit of chest hair peeked out from the V-neck scrub top. As Anthony came closer to use the coffee machine while Sören tried to focus on the display case of sandwiches and salads, Sören caught a subtle whiff of cologne, woodsy with a hint of citrus. That wasn't all that caught Sören's attention - those scrub pants hugged his ass just right.
For fuck's sake.
Sören's cheeks burned and he once again returned his eyes to the display case. After a moment of overthinking - this wasn't a restaurant, and everything was differing degrees of "just okay" - Sören went with the chicken Caesar wrap and a Southwest salad, bringing it to the counter. The minute Sören got done paying for his lunch and began walking towards the tables, Anthony walked into him, and hot coffee sloshed all over both of their scrub tops, and Sören's bowl of salad and boxed sandwich fell from his hands onto the floor.
"Oh shit, I'm sorry," Anthony said, hastily reaching for napkins by the coffee dispensers and handing Sören a wad. "I am so, so sorry. It's my fault, I -"
"It's all right," Sören said, dabbing at his shirt - thankfully he was wearing a black scrub top today, so any coffee stains that didn't come out in the wash wouldn't show much. Then he frowned at the floor - the salad had plastic wrap, but the sandwich container had come open in the crash and his sandwiches were on the break room floor, the contents spilling out of the tortillas.
"No, it's not." Anthony looked down at the ruined sandwich. His shoulders heaved with a sigh as he picked it up, put it back in the box, and said, "I'll buy you another."
"You don't have to. It was just an accident -"
"No, please." Their eyes met. "It's the right thing to do."
Sören wasn't going to argue with his logic. Having to get another sandwich was a minor inconvenience and probably the least annoying thing about his day so far, but he didn't want Anthony to beat himself up over it. "OK," Sören said with a nod; Anthony followed him back to the display case.
There was a reason why Sören wasn't going to insist that Anthony replace his sandwich, and it was because being in such close proximity to the handsome nurse was like a form of torture. Reminding himself that it was a really bad idea to have a crush on a co-worker - not that his libido would listen - Sören looked at the remaining sandwiches. He'd grabbed the last chicken Caesar wrap, and what remained was egg salad, tuna salad, and chicken bacon ranch. Sören hadn't been impressed with the egg salad or tuna salad, and the chicken bacon ranch was reasonably close to what he'd originally decided. He picked it up out of the display case, then he nervously glanced over at Anthony, his eyes landing on the Star of David pendant.
"Uh, is this OK?" Sören asked, making a gesture to Anthony's necklace, remembering Jews couldn't eat pork, not sure if that prohibition extended to enabling others to eat it.
"Yeah, it's for you, not for me," Anthony said with a smirk. "I appreciate the consideration, though."
Anthony paid for Sören's sandwich - this time Sören got a tray for both the sandwich and his salad - and then Sören followed him to the coffee machine and put the tray down, watching with his face on fire as Anthony fixed himself a fresh cup of coffee with hazelnut creamer. Anthony looked over his shoulder. "What do you want? Coffee's on me," he said with another smirk, even though the coffee was free.
"French vanilla, takk."
Anthony nodded, poured a cup of coffee, added a French vanilla creamer, and handed it back to Sören. Then he gestured to his usual table, where a few other nurses and techs were sitting. "Why don't you come join us?" he asked.
Sören bit his lower lip and admitted, "I have social anxiety in groups of people, and break is when I decompress."
"Ah, gotcha."
"But..." Sören didn't want to be rude, and Anthony seemed so nice. "You could sit with me, if you want?"
"Sure," Anthony said.
It was one thing to interact with his patients in a therapeutic setting, where he had a planned activity and some clear guidelines to follow. Navigating purely social situations had always been awkward for him, all the moreso for Anthony being so damned attractive. Sören sometimes didn't know how he managed to make the few friends he had, and here and now he felt as if a release valve had been switched on in his brain, emptying all words, body language and facial expressions. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not knowing how to break the ice. Anthony didn't really seem like he knew how, either, but that somehow made it worse.
After a too-long silence, Sören began to open up his salad bowl and sandwich box, and mixed the ingredients of his salad together before pouring dressing over it, then stirring it around some more to coat everything with the dressing. He paused, noticing Anthony just had coffee. Finally, words came back to him. "You're not eating?"
"I ate already," Anthony said. "My break started twenty minutes ago. I was just getting a coffee refill."
"Ah. OK." Sören forgot that the nurses and techs tended to stagger afternoon breaks so there was always someone on the unit. The unit. More words rolled back into his head. "How's... your day going?"
"Boring." Anthony gave a nervous little chuckle. "Which is good. Sometimes it gets a little too interesting on the unit."
"I bet." Sören made a face - in the two weeks he'd been working here, he'd been attacked on the youth unit twice already, and since the second time been advised to wear his hair up so it couldn't be weaponized against him in a physical altercation. While "man buns" were in fashion, Sören still felt that the hairstyle was a bit too girly for him, even though he realized it wouldn't clock him, he had passed and lived stealth for a few years now. But it would still be too much of a reminder of when he had been Sigrit and was expected to have "pretty" hair. So he lived dangerously, keeping his hair down until and unless he was required to put it back. "This is what we signed up for, I guess." Sören still couldn't bring himself to be angry at the kids from the youth unit who'd attacked him, knowing he had once been a troubled kid, albeit never violent.
Anthony nodded. "I wish we could do more to help, in the time people are here. Used to be back twenty years ago or so, if you went in hospital you'd be there about ten days to two weeks to get the ball rolling with meds and therapy. Now, people are here five, six days tops, there are no individual therapists, and the social worker just sets up appointments for a clinic on the outside but doesn't really help with coordinating transportation or assistance programs people might need. I like to tell myself in the short time people are here, our kindness and caring lets them know there are people who give a damn and want them to get better. In some cases we may be the first person in a long time, if ever, who tells them it's OK to cry, it's OK to self-soothe, it's OK to just be. But honestly I don't know if that's just copium on my part."
"...Copium?" Sören furrowed his brow.
"Oh. Sorry. Cope plus opium, like a false sense of hope, little lies you tell yourself to make things seem less futile."
"OK, thanks for explaining that." Sören couldn't resist a moment of levity, recalling the previous day in the supply room. "I would have otherwise assumed it was like Anal Jessica."
Anthony almost choked on his coffee, nodding and turning bright red, eyes dancing. "That's never going to stop being funny." He grinned.
Then Sören decided it would be rude to ignore Anthony's moment of candor, and he nodded and he said, "I feel that. I went into art therapy for much that same reason - and giving people a resource to express themselves." He decided to open up a little bit, even though he didn't want to disclose too much in the workplace, where he was supposed to be professional, and he definitely didn't want to disclose anything that might out him. So he kept it simple. "I was inpatient when I was nineteen, and we had art therapy and it's why I'm alive right now."
"Oh, wow." Anthony's eyes widened. "Well, you've... really done well for yourself."
"I have PTSD," Sören said. "Life is still an uphill battle most of the time, but I'm on meds and in therapy."
"Me too," Anthony said. "I've seen some shit."
Sören wasn't expecting that. He knew, of course, that wanting to help people in a similar situation was a powerful motivator for getting into this line of work, but he hadn't encountered too many other people who were willing to disclose that they, too, were a mental health client, not just a mental health worker.
Anthony tilted his head slightly. "I take it you make art outside of work."
Sören nodded. "I'm very passionate about it, but it doesn't pay the bills. I mean, don't get me wrong - this is something I'm passionate about too, it's not 'just a job', but... art is my lifeblood."
"You have an artsy vibe to you." Anthony gestured to the colorful long-sleeve tie-dye t-shirt Sören wore under his scrub top, where just the ends of his sleeve tattoos were visible, and then to the crystal point necklace Sören was wearing above the lanyard with his employee ID and door fob. "Is that... amethyst?"
Sören nodded again, smiling. "I rotate them out, it was rose quartz yesterday." He gave a nervous little laugh. "I don't think they have magic powers or anything - though if some of our patients do and they feel calmed by it, I guess that's fine - but I just... like... rocks. I collect rocks and crystals." He felt like an idiot saying it, it seemed like such a frivolous, spoiled-privileged thing to admit to, when so many of the people they treated were on assistance and could barely feed themselves, never mind buy luxury items like minerals, but Sören had grown up poor by Icelandic standards - his aunt and uncle, who raised him, were alcoholics and couldn't hold down a job - and he still lived frugally and it was one of the few ways he treated himself, was buying a shiny stone here and there.
"Ah, what's your favorite gemstone?" Anthony seemed genuinely curious.
"Labradorite. It flashes like the Northern Lights."
"Interesting. I don't think I've ever seen labradorite before."
"I have a labradorite pendant like this one." Sören played with the amethyst pendant. "I'll show you next time I wear it, and I can bring in one of my smaller labradorite pieces."
"Cool. I'd like that."
"What's your favorite gemstone?" Sören asked, leaning back in his chair.
"I like Baltic amber," Anthony said. "It almost glows in the sunlight, and it's a piece of time, being fossilized tree resin."
"Awesome." Sören was pleased with that answer. "I have some nice Baltic amber too. Actually... I was doing mixed media paintings for awhile, and I did a portrait of the goddess Freya where I added little nuggets of Baltic amber to make her Brisingamen necklace."
"Oh, wow!" Anthony's eyebrows went up. "I'd love to see that."
"It would be impractical to bring it in," Sören said - he didn't drive, so it wasn't like he could throw it in the back seat of a car, though he didn't want to get into the explanation of why he didn't drive, he was aware he probably sounded weird enough. "But I can take photos and show you."
"Yes, please." Then Anthony glanced up at the clock on the wall and frowned. "Shit, I have to head back."
"OK. Well... it was nice talking to you."
"It was my pleasure." Anthony got up and gave a polite little bow, hands folded together in front of him. "I'd like to get to know you better."
"Me too." Sören bit his lip, cheeks burning, even though he knew it was just professional. But he still couldn't help admiring the way Anthony's grin lit up his entire face... and those gorgeous green eyes. He knew it was stupid to get a crush on a co-worker, especially considering his track record with cis men had been less than stellar, but the butterflies in his stomach still danced on.
Sören quickly reminded himself he had someone closer in reach - someone more practical. Last night he'd had a good conversation with a prospective daddy dom on FetLife, a trans guy who was local. Despite meeting on a BDSM networking site, the conversation hadn't been about sex or kink, but they'd discussed music, books, and movies, hobbies and interests - Sören had mentioned making art, but hadn't disclosed being an art therapist, since it wouldn't be hard to track him down in meatspace, and he'd observed that both he and his possible-dom were cautious of their privacy until they knew where things were going, for safety's sake. Sören also hadn't mentioned collecting rocks, since that was usually too dorky for most people and he didn't want to "give the ick" over something so minor - he was surprised he'd mentioned it to Anthony, but this was his workplace, not someplace to cruise for hookups.
Sören recalled last night's discussion with a warm, glowy feeling - they were hitting it off, which was a good sign. So far, he really liked this guy, fairly anonymous as he still was. They'd given each other fake names to have something to call each other until they thought it was safe to exchange contact info and meet up; Sören was going by Jon, and his possible-dom gave him the name Dennis. They hadn't traded photos yet, since that was also an easy way to potentially get doxxed - they hadn't shared details of appearance either - but Sören was curious as to what "Dennis" looked like; he hadn't mentioned he picked "Jon" because he was told quite frequently he resembled Jon Snow from Game of Thrones, to the point where he was tired of hearing it.
Sören could still smell Anthony's cologne - it wasn't overpowering, but it lingered, and it was pleasant. It was... kind of sexy. Anthony, himself, was sexy, and while Sören wasn't hung up on looks - as an artist, he found all different types interesting and beautiful - he found himself hoping "Dennis" looked a bit like Anthony, or maybe was a proper silver fox, being older. Suddenly, Sören's mind's eye conjured up the deliciously forbidden mental image of Anthony wearing a leather chest harness, leather pants and leather fingerless gloves, taking Sören over his knee. "Someone's been a naughty boy," in that sultry, soft-spoken yet smooth, confident British baritone.
Jesus Fucking Christ, stop it, Sören chastised himself, his cunt twinging, clit stiffening.
Try as he might to keep that thought contained, it kept coming back, and by the time Sören's workday was done and he hit the restroom, his briefs had a wet spot and he hoped nobody could smell how aroused he was. Sören cursed himself as he took the bus home - he'd been a horny teenager and when he started T at nineteen it seemed to turboboost his libido and now, at twenty-seven, that showed no sign of slowing down. Dating and hookups had been fraught, as a gay trans man, even without the kind of trauma issues he had; sometimes he wished he could shut off his need for sex and companionship altogether, since it seemed more trouble than it was worth. But now that it seemed like someone potentially compatible was within reach, it also had the effect of making him even hornier, to the point where every movement and vibration of the bus on the way home was arousing him even more, bringing lustful thoughts to the forefront more frequently now that he didn't have to focus on work. He felt like he was in heat, and the minute he got in the door of his small over-the-garage apartment, he thought to himself, I need to fucking get off.
First, he needed to feed his tuxedo cat, Snúður, who greeted him at the door yowling like he hadn't been fed in days even though there was still soft food in his dish from this morning. Chuckling to himself, Sören went to his little kitchenette to get a can of fresh soft food and the bag of high-quality kibble, pouring out some of each. He checked Snúður's fountain to make sure it still had enough water, and rolled his eyes when Snúður walked away from the new food. Snúður followed him into the bathroom as he washed up and got changed into a t-shirt and pajama pants, and Sören paused here and there to give pettings and skritches. "I missed you too," Sören said in English, then lapsed into his native language as Snúður began nuzzling his hand, purring loudly. "Hver er góður drengur? Hver er besti strákurinn? Ert það þú? Þú ert svo gott barn. Svo sætt, fallegt lítið barn, ég elska þig svo mikið. Pabbi saknaði þín. Pabbi saknaði þín svo mikið. Ég elska þig, litli strákur."
Sören walked out to the main room, which doubled as a living room and a bedroom - the couch folded out - and rummaged in the ottoman for his stroker, designed for FTM guys with bottom growth, which he had and was quite proud of. But before he could get comfortable on the sofa and give himself some badly-needed relief, a thought came to him through the haze of his lust.
Now would be a good time to test the waters of kink with "Dennis". Any man could call himself a dom, but that didn't mean they were - or that they were the right kind of dom for what Sören craved. So before he got himself off, he reached for his laptop and opened up a chat window in FetLife. He was going to ask for permission.
You around? Sören typed.
He waited. Sören's usual hours were eight AM to four PM, except on Thursdays when he worked eleven AM to seven PM, and he knew most people weren't off work before five - it was only 4:40 so he didn't expect "Dennis" to be online yet. He knew that if he didn't give in until he had permission, he could be sitting there frustrated for hours. Even so, it was an experiment Sören was willing to try. He opened another tab and checked the news, then his notifications on deviantART. A few minutes later, he got a pop-up notification that "Dennis" had responded.
I'm at work but I'll be available in a couple hours. Is that OK?
Yeah. Sören considered whether or not he could wait two hours... and whether or not he should tell "Dennis" why he was poking. He decided to just go ahead. I'm horny and I want to fap, but I thought I should get Sir's permission first.
There was a long pause, and for a moment Sören worried he'd pushed the envelope too far and was about to get blocked, and had to remind himself they met on a kink site so "Dennis" probably wasn't creeped out. Even so, Sören shifted uncomfortably in his seat, heart beating a little faster, feeling like his entire life was hanging in the balance, somehow.
Finally "Dennis" shot back, Definitely wait until I'm available to... help. Does six-thirty work for you?
That might as well have been forever, as horny as Sören was, but he promised himself it was worth the wait. Yes.
There was another pause - shorter this time - and then simply, Good boy.
Sören almost came untouched. He bit his lip and made an involuntary strangled whimper, a frisson through his body. This was exactly what he wanted - he hadn't mentioned a praise kink when he'd messaged ScrubDaddy on FetLife, but somehow "Dennis" just knew.
As horny as Sören was, he obeyed. He passed the time continuing to check the news, reply to comments on deviantART, browse new art in his feed, and eventually he made himself supper, reheating last night's leftover chicken and rice. Predictably, Snúður begged, but the chicken was seasoned with things cats couldn't have, and Sören didn't like to give him too many scraps anyway. He did however relent and get a bag of treats from the cupboard and poured out two treats on the coffee table, where Snúður sat beside his plate and contentedly crunched them, then began to clean himself.
After he ate and loaded the dishwasher, Sören stretched out on the couch, zoning out to a Massive Attack playlist, waiting for 6:30 - not much longer. At 6:25 he sat up, woke up his laptop, opened up the FetLife chat window, and waited, stroking Snúður. "Inertia Creeps" came on right when "Dennis" joined the chat, and Sören smiled to himself.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: Hi Daddy.
ScrubDaddy: Why, hello there. Have you been a good boy, waiting?
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: Yes, Daddy, but I'm so horny, please don't make me wait much longer.
ScrubDaddy: Don't worry. You've been a good boy, so Daddy will let you come. Soon.
ScrubDaddy: ...I hope you don't mind that I spell it "come" instead of "cum". "Cum" irrationally annoys me for some reason.
Sören had a gigglefit, snorting - he found that adorable and hilarious.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: 🤣🤣🤣
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: Don't worry, my first language isn't English so "cum" always looks off to me.
ScrubDaddy: Oh! Where are you from?
Sören considered telling him, but a small voice of caution in the back of his mind told him to wait. Just because it seemed like they were compatible thus far, didn't mean that would last, and Sören didn't want to share too much identifying info just yet, in case things went pear-shaped. He bit his lip and thought.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: Around 😏
ScrubDaddy: Cheeky.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: I can be a bit sassy, especially if it means I get spankings. 🥹
ScrubDaddy: 😂
ScrubDaddy: Ahem. So... on that note... you said you're still horny.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: Extremely.
ScrubDaddy: I have a small request.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: OK?
ScrubDaddy: Show me.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: How? What do you mean? Do you want me to beg, or
ScrubDaddy: Well, making you beg for it might be fun, but what I meant was - are you OK with taking a picture of your junk and letting me see it? Or better yet, if you have a webcam, would you let me watch you play with yourself?
Sören's cunt throbbed urgently - he felt himself dripping at the thought of this guy watching while he masturbated. But once again, there was that voice of caution in the back of his mind.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: So long as you just see my downstairs. Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not showing my face until we're sure, because there are a lot of fucking whackos on the Internet and I don't want to end up hate crimed.
ScrubDaddy: Completely understood. All I was asking for was to see your lower half. Yes, I am very curious what you look like, but I get your reservations and I have them too.
ScrubDaddy: To be honest... now would be a good time to disclose this, so you go into this with your eyes open. It's not just me I have to protect here, but I have a kid. They're an adult now, but just barely - they're nineteen, and they live with me. I don't want any harm to come to them, nor do I want them to find out their parent is a freak 😂
Sören was a little taken aback by that confession - he knew ScrubDaddy was forty-four, as it was in his profile, and he realized that a gay trans man probably had a sexual history with at least one cis man, so there was a non-zero chance he would have encountered someone with kids, but he still hadn't been expecting it. Ordinarily, someone with one or more children would be a dealbreaker for him - Sören didn't think he was parent material, except to cats, but a nineteen-year-old didn't need to be raised by him. He was, however, just eight years older than ScrubDaddy's kid, and he wondered how the kid would take the age difference if and when they met. While his brain was still processing that information, ScrubDaddy sent off another reply.
ScrubDaddy: Also, my kid has never called me Dad or Daddy - I started transition when they were seven, but I felt it was better for the sake of stability to just let them call me their mother. They usually call me Mumdad. Just getting that out there because I don't want you to get the wrong idea or think I'm some kind of pervert.
ScrubDaddy: I mean, I am a pervert, just not the bad kind. 😅
Sören breathed a small sigh of relief - it hadn't immediately occurred to him that a parent wanting to be called Daddy during sex could be problematic, he was still wrapping his head around the fact that ScrubDaddy had a kid... but he found the self-awareness and candor a good sign.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: OK.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: I don't have any kids, just a cat.
ScrubDaddy: I love cats, I have two.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: Now you can have this kitty 😺
ScrubDaddy: Purrrrrrrrrrr.
ScrubDaddy: So you're OK with it being called a pussy, then? No judgment, just don't want to use words that you find uncomfortable.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: Pussy, cunt, clit, cock, dick, boypussy, whatever... just don't call it a bussy. THAT word irrationally annoys ME.
ScrubDaddy: 😂
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: 🤣
ScrubDaddy: I like you so far, just saying.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: I like you too. Um, I don't have a webcam unless I use my phone and it's got a low battery, I forgot to put it on the charger when I got in, and I don't know how to position my laptop to use its camera to just show my pussy and rub one out without you accidentally seeing my face, but I can take some pics and send them if that works?
ScrubDaddy: It does.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: OK, hang on for a sec
"I can't believe I'm fucking doing this," Sören said out loud to himself as he took down his pajama pants and briefs, and got a few close-up photos where his hard, swollen clit was standing at attention, jutting out like a small cock, and he was visibly wet, his dark curly pubic hair slick, his thick pussy lips creamy. He put down a towel on the couch, sat on it with his pants down, uploaded the photos, and waited.
There was another painfully long silence, and Sören wondered for a brief instant if the guy was turned off. But then, as he looked down, biting his lip, the chat window chimed.
ScrubDaddy: WOW
ScrubDaddy: That is some fucking HOT bottom growth you've got.
ScrubDaddy: Also, your clit ring is really hot too.
Sören never wanted bottom surgery, as it wouldn't look or behave like a penis and that would make him more dysphoric... and he was proud of his bottom growth. So proud that he'd gotten a horizontal clit hood piercing a couple of years ago, which not only looked sexy but also increased sensitivity, giving him more intense arousal and more intense orgasms. He smiled, pleased that "Dennis" liked it.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: Thank you, Sir.
ScrubDaddy: Do you have any other piercings?
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: I've got my nipples pierced, and my ears pierced.
The nipple piercings, too, had been a way to celebrate his transformation and increase sensitivity there. Sören felt another brief moment of concern - trans guys could be weird about anything chest-related, even after top surgery, and he hoped that "Dennis" wouldn't accuse him of being a "transtrender" for that, but instead...
ScrubDaddy: NICE.
ScrubDaddy: Mmmmm, you have an absolutely GORGEOUS t-dick, I'd love to suck on that.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: I'd love it if you did.
ScrubDaddy: You can start touching yourself now. I'd like you to think about me tying you up and teasing you, licking and nibbling all over your body... running my hands over you...
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: FUCK THAT'S HOT
ScrubDaddy: Working my way down to your cock, taking it in my mouth and sucking it slowly as I finger you, my eyes locked with yours, watching the way you writhe and pant and moan as I get you closer and closer.
Sören leaned back, took the stroker, fit it to his clit and started stroking himself furiously with that mental image in mind. He didn't know what "Dennis" looked like, "Dennis" hadn't even given a written physical description... and his brain unhelpfully supplied the mental image of Anthony, the psych nurse. His co-worker. Which unforutnately made it even hotter, a forbidden, kinky thrill. Sören squeezed and stroked his clit, juices flowing as he lost himself in Anthony's green eyes, picturing himself bound and helpless, under Anthony's control...
ScrubDaddy: I'm wanking off too, you've got me all worked up.
Sören almost climaxed, knowing "Dennis" was just as turned on. He leaned in to type a short response.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: Good.
Then Sören returned to pleasuring himself, edging, building the tension higher and higher, waiting for permission to come. Just as he felt like he was going to let go, "Dennis" finally pinged.
ScrubDaddy: Beg Daddy for your release.
Sören groaned with frustration, but that was also what he would have enjoyed if they were together in the flesh.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: Please, Daddy. Please let me come... please, I've been a good boy, Daddy...
ScrubDaddy: Mmmmmmmmm, you beg so sweetly.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: Please, Daddy. Please...
Sören waited - "Dennis" was clearly the one in control here - and he resumed edging himself, stroking more slowly to try to not come without permission, but that just made the sensations even more intense. His thighs were quivering, his breath in shaky gasps, trying desperately to hold back.
ScrubDaddy: Come for Daddy, boy.
Sören gave in, coming with a little sob of "Daddy," gushing as the contractions pulsed and relief washed over him. With a deep sigh, he let himself rest in bliss for a long moment, then he typed.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: Thank you, Daddy.
There was another pause, and "Dennis" responded.
ScrubDaddy: You're welcome. Shit, I squirted.
ScrubDaddy: Er. I didn't squirt shit, that wasn't me talking like Yoda.
Sören lost it, gigglesnorting, doubling over. Snúður gave a concerned yowl and stood on his hind legs, front paws on Sören's knee. Sören gave his poor worried cat some skritches and said, "It's OK," then he took the laptop, put it on his naked lap, and typed.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: 🤣🤣🤣
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: Too bad, I have a Yoda fetish.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: [A joke, that was]
ScrubDaddy: 😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣
ScrubDaddy: Enjoy that, did you?
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: Came hard, I did.
ScrubDaddy: Hrm. 😂
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: Use the Stroker, Luke
ScrubDaddy: 🤣🤣🤣
ScrubDaddy: I enjoyed myself immensely. So with that in mind... I have a bit of a proposition.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: OK?
ScrubDaddy: How do you feel about us chatting every day at 6:30, doing... this... where I give you a fantasy scenario and you wank off and wait to come until I tell you, and if we do this for the next week or so and it goes well, we can meet in person and see where this goes?
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: I like that, except I work until seven on Thursdays and usually don't get home until after 7:30, so if we can do later on Thursdays...
ScrubDaddy: In that case, how about 8:30 PM every night instead of 6:30? I think it would help to have a consistent time.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: That's good for me.
ScrubDaddy: Good. It'll be a little playground for us to explore and test drive what we're into. I think we'll be compatible but I'd like to be a bit more sure before I show you my face and give you my contact info. I'm kind of not kidding when I say in this day and age, we have to be really careful.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: Sounds like you have some experience with being stalked, yeah?
ScrubDaddy: I do. My ex-husband - my kid's father - made my life a living hell after we divorced, which is why I... well, I won't trauma dump on you now, but I've got some emotional scars. I've been in therapy and I take antidepressants and I like to think I'm pretty stable, but it's made me very protective of both me and my kid.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: Completely understood. I'm sorry you went through that. I've been through hell too, but maybe we just might find a little slice of heaven together.
ScrubDaddy: Here's hoping. I had fun tonight.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: Me too.
ScrubDaddy: One more request.
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: OK?
ScrubDaddy: Don't touch yourself without permission, for the next week. Save it for our sessions. Can you do that for Daddy?
Xx_SpiritOfFire_xX: I can. It'll be hard - hurr hurr - but I will obey.
ScrubDaddy: That's a good boy.
Once again, Sören almost climaxed untouched.
When the chat was finally over, Sören decided to take a shower, and as he scrubbed himself, he thought of what it would be like to have "Dennis". To finally have a partner. A Daddy. The thought thrilled him, but he was nervous too. It sounded like "Dennis" was rightfully skittish, and Sören was afraid of making any wrong moves and scaring him away. Sören, himself, was skittish - he'd learned from his uncle and a couple of ex-boyfriends how terrible some men could be, and he couldn't help wondering if this was too good to be true, if Prince Charming had a fatal flaw that he wouldn't uncover until he was in too deep.
Relax and just have fun, Sören told himself, leaning against the shower wall, letting the hot spray soothe tired muscles. Don't overthink things.
Time would tell, how this would all play out. Sören was afraid to fall, but he was ready to fly.