Soren Kraft
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Marc again woke slowly to the rich, inviting aroma of fresh coffee and warm buttery croissants drifting in from the kitchen. Sunlight poured across the bed in golden stripes, warming the sheets tangled around his waist. He stretched lazily, muscles pleasantly loose from the night before, and reached for his phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up. 9:07 AM. His eyes widened. “Shit. Frank, it is after nine. We are late. The pitch follow up... We need to get moving.” Frank’s deep chuck
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Wednesday morning’s dry run in the main conference room went smoother than any of them had dared to hope. The slides clicked forward without a single glitch, the numbers aligned perfectly, and every potential question from the client side had already been anticipated and answered in the backup deck. Frank stood at the front, leading the rehearsal with calm authority, but he kept pausing to invite input from the team. Emily jumped in on the logistics section with crisp precision. Chris clarified
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Tuesday hit the division like a freight train of deadlines. The pitch for Thursday’s big meeting with the premium car manufacturer loomed large, slides needed final tweaks, financial models required one last stress test, and stakeholder questions had to be anticipated down to the smallest detail. Yet something in the air had shifted. The new team spirit that had bloomed over the past weeks turned the usual pressure cooker into a focused, almost joyful machine. Chris and Frank huddled over the fa
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Sunday afternoon found Frank at his parents’ house on the outskirts of Munich, sleeves rolled up as he helped his father trim the overgrown hedges in the backyard garden. The older couple had invited him for lunch, and Frank had shown up with fresh flowers for his mother and a willingness to tackle the chores they could no longer manage easily. It felt good, this simple family time, something he had neglected for years while burying himself in work and runs. His phone buzzed in his pocket while
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Marc woke slowly, the scent of warm, buttery croissants and freshly brewed coffee drifting through the open bedroom door like an invitation. He stretched under the soft sheets, muscles pleasantly sore from the night of deep cuddling and emotional closeness. Sunlight poured across the bed, and when he turned his head, the view hit him like a spark straight to the chest. Frank stood in the doorway holding a wooden tray laden with fresh pastries, two steaming mugs, and a small bowl of fruit. H
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"...but can a leopard change its spots overnight?" love that 🫶🏼
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The office hummed with the usual Friday morning energy, but the air around the coffee machine felt heavier than usual. Marc stood between Josh and Emily, nursing a fresh cup as the three of them kept their voices low. Josh had been cracking a light joke about the latest client email chain, trying to coax a smile out of Marc after the rough week. Emily listened with her usual sharp focus, nodding along while stirring sugar into her own mug. Marc had kept his distance from Frank all morning,
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Wednesday evening arrived after another grueling day of pitch preparations, but the moment Marc laced up his running shoes in the park, the stress of the office melted into something sharper and far more pleasurable. The run started hard and fast. Frank set a punishing pace from the first stride, his muscular legs driving forward with that disciplined power Marc had come to crave. Their shoulders brushed repeatedly on the narrower stretches of the path, sending electric jolts through Marc's body
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Marc stayed wrapped in Frank’s arms for several long minutes, the steady thump of the older man’s heartbeat a soothing rhythm against his ear. The afternoon light filtered through the bedroom curtains, casting soft patterns across their still-damp skin. Frank’s fingers continued their slow, absentminded strokes along Marc’s spine, tracing the line of his lean back down to the curve of his ass. It felt surprisingly natural, this quiet closeness after the intensity of what they had just shared.
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interesting @drsawzall thanks for sharing!
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Sunday morning arrived with a crisp, golden light filtering through the trees of the Englischer Garten. Marc had barely slept, his body already buzzing from the memory of Friday's shower. The way Frank's large cock had thickened under the spray, the heated stare they had shared with no words spoken, the heavy silence that had followed them out of the locker room. Marc's cock had been painfully hard the entire walk home, and he had jerked off twice that night thinking about it. Now, as he stretch
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Marc woke up on Wednesday morning with a pleasant ache in his legs from the previous evening's run. The apartment in Schwabing was still half filled with unpacked boxes, but the view from the small balcony overlooking the quiet street already felt like home. He stretched in bed, feeling the familiar pull in his hamstrings and the low, persistent thrum of anticipation that had settled in his chest ever since that first run with Frank. Two weeks into the job and the pattern was already forming: lo
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Marc arrived at the Englischer Garten on Thursday evening with his running gear already on under a light hoodie. The late September air carried the first real bite of spring, crisp and clean, but his blood felt warm the moment he spotted Frank waiting near the Chinese Tower. The older man stood with his arms crossed, dressed in another set of tight black running clothes that left little to the imagination. The compression fabric stretched across his broad chest, outlining the firm swell of his p
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Marc Fischer stepped into the gleaming lobby of the F+ Munich office building and felt a rush of adrenaline hit him square in the chest. At twenty-five, fresh out of his master's program in business administration back in Cologne, he had just moved across the country for this exact moment. The firm specialized in high-stakes consulting for the biggest German car manufacturers, and Marc had crushed the assessment center. He was one of only three new hires selected from over two hundred applicants
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Fresh out of his master’s, openly gay Marc dives into a high-pressure Munich consultancy and straight into the orbit of his cold, closeted boss, Frank. When a “running group” becomes their private ritual, breathless runs, heated glances, and charged locker-room moments ignite a tension neither of them can outrun.
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Thanks 😃 Nothing planned for those two... so far
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Saturday morning arrived with a different kind of tension humming through the small Vienna gym. Patrick stepped inside at 6:30 exactly, the glass door shutting softly behind him. The place already felt transformed. The new air conditioning units hummed quietly along the back wall, cool air circulating evenly for the first time all week. He knew this was the final day of the install. Mike had mentioned it yesterday. Patrick changed in the locker room with a slow smile, pulling on his gym outfit.
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Friday morning the gym felt charged, like the air itself was holding its breath. Patrick keyed in at 6:30 on the dot, the quiet click of the glass door echoing in the empty space. His body still carried the memory of yesterday’s shower, Mike’s thick thighs clamped tight around his cock, the way the handyman had moaned openly while Patrick fingered him open under the hot spray. Patrick had jerked off three times last night, each time imagining sinking all the way inside that hairy, muscular body,
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Feature Story: Rough Strokes by the Golden Egg by Soren Kraft
Soren Kraft commented on Cia's blog entry in Gay Authors News
Aww thank you... I feel honored! 🫶🏼 -
Thursday morning the gym felt smaller, the air already warmer even before the sun rose over Vienna. Patrick stepped inside at 6:30, the glass door clicking shut behind him like a secret. His body was buzzing from the night before. He had replayed the shower scene in his head until he fell asleep, Mike’s thick, hairy cock sliding between his lips, the taste of his cum still faint on his tongue hours later. Patrick had come twice in his own bed just thinking about it, but the ache had only deepene
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Wednesday morning felt thicker somehow, the Vienna sky still dark when Patrick keyed into the gym at 6:30. The air already carried a faint trace of warmth from the previous day’s work on the new AC units, but the real heat was the one simmering under his skin. He had barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Mike’s rough hand wrapped around his cock, the dark hair on those thick forearms, the way Mike’s green eyes had gone glassy while he stroked him off. Patrick had jerked himself twic
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Tuesday morning arrived with the same crisp Vienna air and the same quiet hum of the empty gym. Patrick pushed through the glass door at 6:30 exactly, gym bag over one shoulder, already feeling the low thrum of anticipation in his chest. Yesterday had left him restless all evening. He had checked SPARKR three separate times after work, but the blank profile stayed silent. No reply to the SPARK, no message, nothing. Yet the green dot had been on until late. Patrick had jerked off in his apartment
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The Dawn of the Meeting
Soren Kraft commented on Soren Kraft's story chapter in The Dawn of the Meeting
Shame on you! 😘😅 -
Don't use my stories as an excuse not to exercise... 🤣
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In a quiet Vienna gym at dawn, Patrick’s perfect routine gets disrupted by a rough, irresistible handyman.
