Eric was a practiced hand. Each night after work, he sat on the couch for hours in nothing but socks and underwear and scrolled profiles on DateMaker. Any time a new match appeared in his inbox, the response was always the same: his standard opening line—Hey, hot stuff, you know you want this!—and a picture of his naked body with the head cropped out. He’d sent the same sentence so many times that his phone’s autocomplete had learned it, and all he had to do was tap the words on the screen. In a typical night, he’d send his dick pic to dozens of men and women, most of whom would never respond.
On the off chance that he did get a response, Eric immediately directed the conversation toward sex and was relentless in his pursuit of his quarry. The conversations usually ended with the match going silent, or more frequently blocking him, but that didn’t stop him from beating off with one hand and typing explicit things with the other. Every night, Eric continued his chase undeterred, widening his search radius and even installing an app to fool DateMaker’s location settings. Each new conversation filled him with the adrenaline of a new chase, and when he was inevitably blocked, he pouted.
“Idiot!” he yelled after the DateMaker logo replaced yet another profile pic, signaling that he’d been blocked yet again. “You have no idea what you’re missing out on. I’m clearly in the top 10% of guys when it comes to looks.”
Eric dragged his thumb across the screen to refresh the profiles, but they failed to appear. He tried again without success. He pulled his other hand out of his underwear and navigated back to his profile, but his picture—a headless shot of him flexing his biceps in a sleeveless shirt—was gone, and the DateMaker logo filled the circle instead.
“What the hell is going on?” he said, trying not to let his rising anxiety kill his boner. A moment later, his phone pinged with a new match notification. He settled back into his spot on the couch and opened the message from a user called PapaDave001.
Hi, DudemeisterEric717, my name is Dave and I’m a moderator here on DateMaker. We’ve noticed some questionable activity on your account, and we’ve suspended your access to the platform. We’re sure you didn’t mean any harm, but we do take our Community Standards seriously here at DateMaker. To get you back in good standing, we’ll need you to complete a few easy steps. Ready to get started?
Eric stopped fondling himself through his briefs and read the message again. Community Standards? His cock was already completely soft as he typed out a disappointed response.
Hey, thanks. Sure. What do I have to do?
The “someone is typing” dots appeared for a split second, and then a response appeared. Clearly, “Dave” was a chatbot.
Great, thanks! We’re looking forward to getting you back up and running on DateMaker pending verification of your account. In the meantime, sit back and chill out. We’ll be in touch once your account is reactivated.
Eric swiped to kill the app and pull up some porn, but his phone wouldn’t cooperate. No matter what he tried, the DateMaker landing page and the message from PapaDave001 wouldn’t clear from his screen. After hard resetting his phone had no effect, he went back to the chat.
Hey, what the fuck? Why can’t I access anything else on my phone?
Just like before, PapaDave001 responded almost immediately, but what he said didn’t mollify Eric at all.
We’ll be in touch once your account is reactivated.
With his phone hijacked by DateMaker and no way to fix it, Eric shut it off and resolved to try again tomorrow. Frustrated by both his account suspension and his interrupted jerk-off marathon, he left his phone on the sofa and went to bed.
The next day, Eric had an unexpected package waiting for him when he got home from work. The return address—DateMaker, LLC—stirred up all his frustrations from the previous night. His phone still didn’t work, and even his tech savvy friend couldn’t diagnose it. Hoping that there might be some answers in the package, Eric opened it, but instead of answers, there were a hundred new questions. Inside the package was a single pair of plain white underwear.
“What the fuck is this?” Eric said, pulling them out and tossing them aside. He examined the packing paper that filled the box, hoping to find some more information about the mysterious item, but when he found nothing, he went back to the garment itself. The fabric was smooth, almost cool to the touch, and while the waistband looked too narrow for comfort, it was extremely stretchy. It left a tingling sensation on his fingertips even after setting it back down, and as he changed out of his work clothes and prepared dinner, he couldn’t help coming back to the box and touching the fabric again and again.
With his phone out of commission and his nightly DateMaker chasing session off the table, Eric was bored and looking for things to do. He came back to the pair of underwear and felt the same pleasant tingling sensation as before. He had to know if they’d feel the same way stretched over his cock and ass.
When he slipped them on and pulled them up over his thighs, his cock immediately responded by getting rock hard. They looked small, but the fabric stretched to fit Eric perfectly, and he tugged at the waistband with a satisfying SNAP. With each step, the tingling grew more intense, and Eric barely made it to the sofa before his quivering knees buckled underneath him. He relaxed and felt overwhelming pleasure across his thighs, ass, and crotch, but when he went to pull the waistband down and free his rock-hard cock, he couldn’t get a hold of the fabric.
Each time he tried to hook his thumbs into the waistband, they slid across the smooth fabric instead. Eric tried to pull his cock out through the leg holes, but the hems were flush against his skin, trapping him inside the tight white briefs. Desperately, he grasped at his bulge through the fabric, but all he felt was the tingling inside the underwear. His brain didn’t even register the attempt to stimulate himself as a touch.
“Fuck,” he said as his sexual frustration left him sweaty and panting. “What’s going on?”
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