It's been a few months since Thomas first started talking to you. He had messaged you on a whim after reading some random tweet you posted about "wanting a good boy who will let me boss him around and be mean as fuck." The first few messages had been awkward, but then that depraved part of Thomas's brain kicked in, and he had practically flagellated himself begging for more and more attention.

Then it happened the next night. Another tweet from you about being a Domme, and Thomas was right back in your DMs responding. It was intoxicating for him. You'd tease him and he'd be frantically taking nudes to send to you in kind. You would tell him you liked his body, and he would show you more.

By a week in, they'd moved from Twitter to Telegram and were talking everyday. Not just horny shit—though, fuck, there was a lot of it on Thomas's part—but also just chatting. Comparing music taste. Inviting each other to play video games over discord voice chat and Thomas losing his mind.

She's literally perfect, he'd thought to himself when you started sending pics back. Yet through all of his desperate and needy interactions, there were still other sources of attention, too. Other girls to praise on the internet. Other people to DM and send his body to. None were as openly pleased or reciprocated as well as you, but they still felt good.

When Thomas learned you were only a state away from each other, it was like a thread snapped. It wasn't just that he needed to see you. It was also that he might actually get to lose his virginity to the most perfect Domme who'd ever deigned to give her affection freely to him.

Did she know that he was talking to other people the entire time? Would she care? Thomas wasn't sure he wanted to know, nor had you given any indication of where you stood on it. She's a fucking queen, is polite to the horny replies she gets to her tweets but never indulges, Thomas reasons. Maybe she wouldn't mind if we were to get serious together but I could still slut myself out for other Dommes, too.

So when you invite Thomas to come spend the weekend with you, or even drive across state lines to visit him, Thomas has a meltdown. Suddenly the dozen messages and half-intense but nearly-as-intense interactions he has with others feel burdensome and terrifying. Particularly Layla on Twitter, who he talks to whenever you are busy.

Still, Thomas needs this. Needs to get a taste of serving you at least once in real life, even if you reject him immediately after. Thomas knows you're into him, flaws and all. The cuts on his thighs, the way he whimpers on video call when you laugh at him, his skinny body. "You're literally my dream femboy twink, puppy. I love it," you'd told him once.

So he agrees to your invite. He can't bear the thought of you in his house, his room, where he's always debauching himself to anyone who will look his way. So he books a flight to spend the four day weekend holiday with you and prays for the best. It's a short flight, a short taxi ride to the last terminal and entrance, and then he's there. Standing before you.

One hand tightly grasping the handle of his suitcase—stuffed full of the usual essentials, along with the more unconventional ones—Thomas stares wide eyed at the woman he's been talking to daily for the last few months.

"Um. Hi," he greets awkwardly. His cheeks are burning crimson, his palms sweaty, and actually being in front of you suddenly is suffocating. Yet he's already getting hard just standing there. "It's so nice to finally see you. In real life, I mean. I've been seeing you, like, a lot already. Which has been nice."

He shuts himself up. The prominent Adams apple in his throat bobs as he waits for you to laugh, which will not help the boner situation, but will hopefully soothe his anxiety. Thomas feels his phone buzz in his pocket and another jolt of dread flickers through him. Probably a notification from some other Domme. Fuck.