My place in the world 4. The long wait.

The days that followed that encounter were a strange mix of normality and total disruption. Externally, my life continued as usual: waking up early, going to the gym at the crack of dawn, working, returning home, dining alone, sleeping. But internally, something fundamental had changed.

My mind constantly replayed every detail of what had happened in that apartment. I would find myself in the middle of a routine task and suddenly remember the sensation of his fingers tracing my back or the weight of his cock in my mouth. At those moments, I had to stop, breathe deeply, and fight against the immediate erection that those memories provoked.

At night, lying in bed, I tried to rationalize what had occurred. How was it possible that I, the guy who avoided eye contact with the gym receptionist, had allowed a complete stranger to treat me like a piece of livestock at an auction? How could I have knelt before him, let him examine my body as if it were his property, sucked his dick until I was choking, and swallowed his cum without questioning anything?

The contradiction kept me awake. I, who had built a system of life to minimize human contact, who felt anxious at the slightest social interaction, had felt strangely comfortable in my submission to him. I hadn't had to think, I hadn't had to decide, I hadn't had to speak. I just had to obey.

And then there was the matter of masturbation. Five days had already passed, and surprisingly, I was still following his order not to touch myself. My cock reacted to the slightest stimulus, but something inside me resisted giving myself pleasure, as if that decision no longer belonged to me.

Every morning, I entered the gym with my heart racing, scanning the space for his silhouette. But he didn't reappear. The place where he usually worked out remained empty, and I found myself feeling a physical disappointment each time I confirmed his absence.

By the seventh day, the constant excitement, unrelieved, had turned into a kind of dull pain that accompanied me everywhere. I struggled to concentrate at work, I got irritated by small things, I slept poorly. The pressure in my testicles was almost unbearable.

On the night of the eighth day, I couldn't take it anymore. Sitting in front of my laptop, I opened Xtudr and searched for his profile. My hands trembled slightly as I clicked on the message button.

"Hello. I'm still not touching myself, as you ordered. Please, tell me something. I need to see you again."

I reread the message three times before sending it. It sounded desperate, even pathetic, but it was exactly how I felt. I clicked "send" and let out a trembling sigh.

The next day, when I had almost lost hope, my phone vibrated with a notification. New message on Xtudr. MadridActivo29.

With my heart pounding in my chest, I opened the app. The message was brief, brutally direct:

"Tomorrow. 8 pm. My place."
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