The Chaser

Jordan was a timid, anxious, and mildly awkward 25-year-old man, who, unlike the rest of his peers, had the privilege of living alone in his 2-story town home in Eros City. Like New York, Dubai, London, and even Tokyo, it was one of the largest metropolitan areas in the world, with its main commerce centering around arguably the biggest human innate desire and interest: sex.

In Eros City, not only is prostitution legalized and respected as a job of value much like a doctor or lawyer, but it's even a way of life. The only catch is, due to laws and regularities, the usual sexual perversions such as public nudity, public sex, or anything that crosses the line as too blatantly offensive and inappropriate are not to be allowed, since there is a small population of children. It's a bit like Las Vegas. Sure, it's a city like any other, children attend school there and babies are born every few minutes in local hospitals, but some common sense should be used in understanding that once you go through certain doors and clubs, it's not for the eyes of the innocent.

Jordan found himself living a comfortable life in the city as an IT software engineer for a famous porn website. The site centered on both straight and gay porn, but he mostly found himself focusing most of his work towards the male-to-male section...

Having access to most of the site accessibility for his work allowed him permission to view every single video the site held, either free to view, locked for purchase, or soon to be streaming. And boy, did Jordan use that power to his advantage. Many cum-filled-wasted nights were had, which often left him feeling low on energy whenever he showed up to work or even when he worked from home. Energy drinks were his lifesaver.

But it also made him highly depressed. He didn't just want to stroke his life away to a screen day after day; he wanted the real thing. He'd been on only a few dates ever in his life, all with women, but none of them ever went anywhere. Jordan had no game, no flirting skills, no sex appeal (at least to him), and, worst of all (to him), he was a virgin. His lack of experience and touch deprivation made him quite lonely.

So he decided to search the internet for local escorts in the area, in order to finally get a taste of what he'd been craving: male contact. After filtering through several men of all sorts of shapes and sizes, he came across one that caught his attention. A 6'2, sleek, slender, but toned and muscular guy with dark brown, short, curly hair. His eyes were bluish-gray, but narrow and arched like a mischievous fox, as did his eyebrows. His profile picture stared straight into Jordan's soul. He looked charming yet intimidating. But that stirred something within the timid virgin.

Jordan reviewed his bio and was even more attracted as he read on:

Name: Chase Turner

Age: 27

Height: 6'2

Eye color: Gray

Weight: 186 lbs

Orientation: Pansexual

Position: Top

Zodiac: Scorpio

Interests: martial arts, kickboxing, gymnastics, soccer, basketball, wrestling, boxing, parkour, dancing, skiing, rock climbing, skateboarding, surfing, skydiving, science, art, literature, history studies, cooking, health & nutrition, yoga

And the list went on. Jordan was overwhelmed and amazed by this man's versatility.

"He is the most interesting man in the world," Jordan muttered to himself jokingly in his worst Jonathan Goldsmith impression.

But seriously, what didn't this guy do? Mr. Turner posted many pictures of him travelling across the world, dining in some of the finest restaurants, resorts, chilling on the most serene of beaches, hiking in the great, luscious terrains of Europe, Africa, and Asia, and even some heart-warming humanitarian and animal activism pics of his volunteer work. There were ones of him fencing, striking a guy right in his chest, the next one of him pinning men down (some twice his size) in the hottest of wrestling positions, others of him showcasing his incredible strength and balance on gymnastic floor mats, and plenty of ones showing his abs and bulging veins.

Mr. Turner then included what his main specialty was, and from the reviews, Jordan found it intriguing. Chase specialized in just what his name implied: he lives for 'the chase.' His repeating clients and new ones alike have a particular fetish of playing an elaborate game of hide-and-go-seek or tag across the entire metro, with one (the client) playing the role of the 'prey' and he as the 'chaser.' The words 'prey' and 'chaser' got Jordan's blood pumping. Mr. Turner, upon catching his prey, would then do whatever he wished with them, with 'whatever' being a number of things...

But he doesn't just like to catch them early on and too easily from the start. He likes to play with his prey a bit. You might see him standing there already an entire block across from you, with a devilish smirk, eyes locked on you like a hawk, while you cower and run like a pathetic bitch in the opposite direction. You can run and try to hide, he'll always catch you eventually. His methods of reaching you are always a step ahead, and his advanced parkour skills and heightened athleticism make him hard to outrun. But that was the excitement in it all. His clients aren't trying to win, they're trying to get caught.

Being sold on it, Jordan sent him some texts, and the next day, Mr. Turner agreed to meet at Jordan's place for lunch to discuss a few rules before they began their afternoon-long session, which, as Chase entailed, could last the entire evening.

When he met Chase at the door, Jordan was speechless and quivered like a squirrel. The man was strikingly handsome in just a gym sweater and soccer pants and sneakers. He fit the role of what he'd seen many porn sites and forums categories as 'scallies' or soccer-type of men who fit the role. And those eyes, those penetrative eyes stared right through his soul and sent a shiver down Jordan's entire body.

"Hello, Jordan?" Chase asked in a smooth British accent.

"Y-Yeah," Jordan responded. "Hi."

"Hello there," Chase smiled, sensing Jordan's clear nervousness. "I'm Chase. Nice to meet you."

Turner extended his hand for him to shake, and as Jordan grabbed it, he could feel the man's strong grip, encapsulated by the tree-like veins and beautifully long piano fingers.

"Please, come in," Jordan invited him.

The two sat down and ate the lunch Jordan prepared for them both. Well, he didn't actually prepare it; it was just takeout from a local sushi restaurant, but it was of great quality and by no means cheap. The two men broke the ice from there on.

"So, Jordan, what interests you about me, and what plans do you have for the both of us this afternoon?" Chase asked, spinning and twiddling his chopsticks in his hand.

Jordan swallowed down a spicy tuna, anxiously wiping his mouth before looking the man in the eyes again to answer his question. God, that look. That face. Those eyes.

"I, uh..." Jordan started but couldn't muster anything. "I think-

"I'm hot?" Chase smiled, flicking up a single eyebrow. He was such a charmer. He wasn't wrong, of course.

"Well, yeah," Jordan said. "You're like so freakin' hot, man. Geez."

Chase chuckled. "I'm flattered. I did used to model some years ago."

"Yeah, I bet."

"Got to travel all over the world and meet all sorts of wonderful people. I love to travel."

"I could tell from your profile," Jordan sat still bedazzled by Chase's sharp jawline and eyes.

"But what really drew you to my profile, hm?" Chase began to pry further.

Jordan's heart fluttered, his cheeks blushed.

"I saw that your main specialty was... playing tag?" Jordan asked.

"Oh, that amongst other things, but you are correct," Chase smirked. "Is that something that interests you, Jordan?"

Jordan loved it when he said his name like that. In that accent, while he looked at him in that devilish way.

"Uh-huh," Jordan said hypnotized. "I mean, yes. Yes, it does."

"Hmm," Chase grinned. "Good. I find it just as intriguing and stimulating of a hobby as most of my clients do. A predator chasing its prey, in a classic game of cat and mouse. Nothing quite like it. It's exhilarating, the rush, the adrenaline, the fear of wondering where your pursuer is at every second, in every corner..."

Hearing him talk about it made Jordan's pants stiffen. Thankfully, he thought, Chase couldn't notice under the table.

"Do you always catch your clients?" Jordan asked.

Chase leaned forward with his intimidating glare. "Every time," he answered.

How Jordan's dick was fully erect underneath his pants. He loved his confidence, his cockiness. It was driving him wild.

"I like to let them know at first that they have the upper hand," Chase continued. "Sometimes I let them think they'll get away, give them some time to make a run for it, and before they know it, they've got my hand around their throat, and the other tucked beneath their pants grabbing their ballsack."

"Oh," Jordan uttered, almost like a groan.

"Other times I'll grab them by my legs, crushing them with my thighs, or if I'm hanging from a tree, swoop down and lift them off their feet, choking them like a boa constrictor. Some of my clients like a good squeeze."

Chase winked as he said it, taking a bite of his sushi roll.

"Damn, you must be really strong to do that."

"Mmm-hmm," Chase said, chewing and swallowing his food. Even watching him eat was sexy, Jordan thought.

"Could you lift me, do you think?"

"Do I 'think'?" Chase said followed by a taunting laugh. "I once tossed a guy over on the wrestling mat one time after he tried to rush me from behind when I wasn't looking. Grappled and threw him all the way over to the opposite side of the mat. He was twice your size and weight. I'm sure it won't be a problem." He gave a wink, causing Jordan to blush.

The thought of that image excited Jordan all the more. Being dominated was one of his fantasies he never got to experience yet with another man. He'd been bullied and pushed around in school growing up, but even when he got home and felt weak and pathetic, he would always later find himself having wet dreams or pleasuring himself to his jock aggressors repeatedly.

"So, Jordan," Chase started, putting down his chopsticks. "When will you be ready?"

Jordan was ready whenever. "Uh, whenever you want, I guess?" he answered.

Chase chuckled. "Good... 'cause

I'm

ready."

The way he said it made Jordan's heart spike even more.

Jordan stood in the middle of the city, heart pounding, eyes locked on the phone in his hand. The timer on the screen blinked steadily, counting down the minutes until the game would begin. Pedestrians moved around him, the hum of Eros City's life swirling in the background, but Jordan felt completely alone. The anticipation was suffocating.

What was I thinking?

he wondered, trying to steady his breath. Chase had been so casual about it all, so confident. The things he said--how he'd grab him, choke him, catch him. Jordan's throat tightened.

Was he for real? Would it actually go down like that?

He couldn't tell if his fear was making him sick or if it was something else.

He looked around, scanning the buildings, the alleyways, the sidewalks. Anywhere Chase might be. Waiting. Watching.

Was he out there already?

The timer continued to tick down, the seconds feeling like hours.

---

Meanwhile, Chase remained in Jordan's apartment, utterly unbothered. He sat back at the table, lazily finishing his sushi, chewing slowly as he stared at the wall, looking almost bored. The edge of his mouth curled into a faint smirk, amusement flickering behind those fox-like eyes.

He had given Jordan a head start, sure, but there was no rush. Jordan wasn't going anywhere he couldn't find him. Chase stretched his arms above his head, letting out a quiet groan of satisfaction as his muscles tensed and relaxed. He cracked his neck, slow and deliberate, feeling the tension roll away. He knew Jordan was out there, panicking, probably sweating through his clothes by now. The thought made him smile.

Chase stood, rolling his shoulders. His body moved with fluidity, power restrained beneath the surface. He checked his watch.

Almost time

.

Taking his time, he strolled over to the sink, washing his hands, drying them with a slow, deliberate motion. He took one last bite of sushi, letting the flavor linger on his tongue, savoring the moment. He was in control. Always in control.

Let him run.

The fun was in catching him.

With a deep breath, Chase stretched again, his shirt pulling tight against his chest. He flexed his fingers, rotating his wrists, loosening up his joints. The anticipation was there, sure, but not in the same way Jordan felt it. For Chase, this was methodical. Calculated. A game.

The chase is always the best part

, he thought, his lips curling into a wider grin.

---

Jordan checked the timer again. Two minutes left. His heart rate spiked. His mind raced through everything Chase had said.

He wouldn't really choke me, would he?

Jordan's thoughts spiraled. He imagined Chase's strong hands, those thick fingers wrapping around his throat. The way he'd so casually described squeezing his clients until they could barely breathe. Jordan's breath quickened just thinking about it.

Could I really handle this?

He looked around the busy street again, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Where would he hide? Where could he run? It all seemed so open, so vulnerable. His legs felt like lead, stuck in place, and he could barely think straight with the timer ticking down in his hand. He felt like prey already.

One minute left

.

Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He wiped his palms on his jeans, trying to calm himself, but his pulse was thudding in his ears.

This is insane.

He couldn't see Chase yet, but that didn't make him feel safe. In fact, it made it worse.

Thirty seconds

.

Jordan's breath hitched. He glanced at the timer again, his mouth dry, stomach in knots.

Was Chase really going to do all the things he said? Or was it all talk?

The streets blurred together, his mind racing. His body was frozen with a mix of dread and--though he hated to admit it--something else. Something darker. Something primal.

---

Back at the apartment, Chase took one last look around, finally grabbing his jacket and slipping it on. He glanced at his watch, eyes darkening with the thrill of the hunt.

Ten seconds.

Chase cracked his knuckles, his body coiled and ready, his gaze sharpening. He could almost feel Jordan's panic in the air. He loved that feeling--knowing the other man was out there, nervous, afraid, but deep down, craving it.

The final seconds ticked away.

Three

.

Chase adjusted his collar, walking to the door, calm and collected.

Two

.

He smirked, feeling the rush build inside him.

One

.

The timer hit zero.

The game had begun.

Jordan felt the chill before he saw anything. It crawled up the back of his neck like icy fingers, a sensation that prickled his skin, making his breath catch in his throat. He wasn't sure if it was fear or excitement--or some perverse, twisted blend of the two. His heart pounded so loudly in his chest that it drowned out the noise of the city around him. He scanned the area, eyes darting from one corner to another. There was no sign of Chase.

Was he really out here?

Jordan swallowed hard, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans again, though it did nothing to calm the nervous energy surging through his body. He could feel something lingering just out of sight. A presence. But every time he turned, nothing was there. He shook his head, trying to focus, trying to think logically, but logic was in short supply.

A car honked nearby, making Jordan flinch. He glanced to his left--was that a shadow slipping into the alley? He squinted, his pulse racing.

Was that him?

It couldn't have been. It was too quick, just a flicker of movement. He was probably just imagining things. His nerves were getting the best of him. Jordan took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. But the unsettling sensation remained.

Is he watching me?

The thought looped in his mind, gnawing at him. He hadn't seen Chase yet, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Chase had already seen him. It was as if the city itself was playing tricks on him, the crowded streets and towering buildings closing in, suffocating him.

Jordan forced himself to move, taking a few tentative steps forward. His eyes darted to every dark corner, every shadowed alleyway. The feeling of being hunted, of being prey, grew heavier with every step. His legs felt weak, his mouth dry. He stopped at a crosswalk, looking over his shoulder. The crowd around him blurred into a meaningless haze, his focus narrowing to the sensation creeping over his skin. Was someone following him?

He forced himself to keep walking, though his movements felt mechanical, almost robotic. His mind was racing, replaying Chase's words--how he would catch him, wrap his hand around his throat, make him submit. The image flashed through Jordan's mind, vivid and terrifying, yet strangely intoxicating. His breath hitched at the thought, his body reacting before his mind could even process what was happening.

Was Chase serious?

Could he really be out there, waiting for the perfect moment to strike?

Jordan shook his head, trying to dispel the thought, but the uncertainty only made things worse. Every step felt heavier, the tension building inside him like a coiled spring. He moved through the city like a ghost, unnoticed by the people around him, yet hyper-aware of every sound, every flicker of movement.

He turned a corner, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest. There, across the street, was a figure. Tall. Lean. Strong. Jordan froze, his breath catching in his throat. It had to be Chase. The man was standing still, arms casually crossed, head tilted slightly to one side. The distance made it hard to see clearly, but Jordan could feel that familiar presence--the one that had been looming over him since the game began.

The man's eyes locked on him, and Jordan's stomach flipped.

Was it him?

His brain screamed at him to run, but his body refused to move. The man didn't budge. Didn't blink. Just stood there, watching him with an intensity that made Jordan's skin crawl. The seconds stretched out, thick with tension.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, the figure smiled.

Jordan's heart lurched.

It's him.

He was sure of it now. The smile was predatory, dark, full of promises Jordan wasn't sure he was ready for. A chill ran down his spine, and suddenly, his legs were moving before his brain caught up. He turned sharply, weaving through the crowd, not caring who he bumped into. His breath came in short, panicked bursts, adrenaline surging through his veins. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat, the pressure mounting with every step.

As he moved through the busy street, he stole a glance over his shoulder. The figure was gone. Vanished. Jordan stopped dead in his tracks, his chest heaving. He whipped his head around, scanning the area.

Where did he go?

For a moment, everything was still. The sounds of the city faded into the background, drowned out by the pounding in his ears. Jordan strained his eyes, trying to spot Chase in the crowd, but there was nothing. No sign of him. The uncertainty gnawed at him, the tension so thick it was suffocating.

Is he playing with me?

Suddenly, Jordan felt a presence behind him--close. Too close. His breath hitched, his body stiffening. He didn't dare turn around. He could feel the heat of someone's breath on the back of his neck, the air charged with a palpable tension. His stomach twisted into knots, his mind screaming for him to move, but he was frozen, paralyzed by the fear and anticipation coursing through him.