"Can't make your brain stop whirring?"
His hazel-green eyes widen, and he seems almost dazed as he looks at the camera. "Exactly! So, um, I...gah, it's so dumb."
"Nothing is dumb if it actually helps, baby." I cock my head. "Did you try to take the edge off? Rub one out to make yourself sleepy?"
His pink tongue sneaks out to wet his gnawed-on lip. The sight of it takes me from half-mast to almost fully hard with zero effort, but I don't give in to the temptation to reach down and ease the sudden ache just yet.
"I..." he starts, then swallows. "I thought..."
Realization dawns on me. "Oh, would you like Daddy to help?"
We've fooled around a bit since we started dating, but it has obviously been limited by his schedule with Owen, and around my family commitments, too. So I amveryon board with this idea, if it's the path he'd like to go down.
"Please?" he asks plaintively.
How can I deny this sweet Boy anything?
"Just double checking that you're in bed? Door closed?" He nods, chewing on his lower lip again. "Good. Now, put the phone on your nightstand, okay? Prop it up and shuffle back so I can see all of you — yes, that's it. Perfect. I'm gonna do the same."
Setting my phone on my desk, I make sure to angle it so the camera can see most of my bed, but so I can still see the screen. Then, after snatching the lube from my drawer on my way back, Istretch out on top of my sheets and palm my cock over my boxer shorts. Justin moans, but he doesn’t reach for his own dick.
“Good boy for waiting without being told to,” I practically purr, and he nods, flashing me a bashful smile.
From this distance and the small size of the screen, I can’t see nearly enough detail of his features, but that’s okay. This is just a teaser for what we can do together. Besides, it’s not about me — it’s about helping him. I know he’s starting his new job tomorrow, and it’s Owen’s first day at school. I’m surprised he’s not more frazzled. But if helping him orgasm means that he will get the rush of sleepy neurochemicals, it’s a cross I’m happy to bear.
“Pull down your pjs, sweetheart, I wanna see you.”
He does as he’s told and his cock practically springs free. Even lying on his side, it strains towards the soft curve of his stomach, seemingly unaffected by gravity.
“Do you want to touch yourself, baby?” I ask him, absently rubbing over my own aching erection.
Biting his lip some more, he nods, and I’m pretty sure he’s blushing.
“I need words, sweetheart.”
“Yes,” he practically whimpers. “Yes, Daddy. Please.”
Oh, God, he’s perfect.
Releasing my own dick, I pop the cap on the bottle of lube, drizzling some into my palm. “Stroke yourself for me.”
He also seems to prefer using lube to jerk off, because he produces a bottle from just outside the camera’s view, pouring a bit into his own hand before recapping it and tossing it aside. Then his hand is on his cock, and he shuts his eyes as he starts to stroke. I mirror his actions, imagining his hand stroking me instead.
I wish I was there with him or that I at least had a bigger screen to take the show in properly. To see his long lashes fluttering on his cheeks, to hear his breathing shift into gentle pants, to see the mattress wobble with the increasing thrusts of his hips…
“Imagine that’s my hand, baby,” I instruct, my voice deeper and slightly raspier with lust. “Do you feel me slowly stroking you? Squeezing a little bit at the base and running my thumb over your slit when I get to the head?”
His lips part. I watch his chest rise and fall a little more rapidly as he nods and recreates my promised actions with his hand. “F-feels good, Daddy.”
Hearing him call me Daddy, especially during sex, iseverything. I have to tighten my hold on the base of my cock to fend off the near-orgasm his sweet, sexy words try to pull from me.
“Mmm,” I hum, knowing that I’d be pressing kisses to his neck and sucking hickeys into the skin if I was there with him, “do you feel me picking up the pace? Jerking you faster, twisting my wrist and rubbing the head of your perfect, leaking cock on every upstroke?”
“D-Daddy…” Even through the small screen, I can see his hips thrusting forward, picking up speed to match the faster shuttling of his fist.
In my own bed, I speed up my stroking, too. “That’s it, baby. Show me what feels good. Come for me. Let Daddy watch you fall apart.”
“Oh,ohhhh,” he whimpers, then bites down on his lip. It’s a shame that he’s silencing himself, but I understand that he has a sleeping kid sharing a wall with his room.
