“Show me.”
“What?”
“Show me how much you liked it.”
Blinking rapidly, I look down at myself. I’m wearing the same pants I wore on our date in Dallas, and a long-sleeve black button-down. The shirt is tucked in, but I’ve undone my pants to give my raging erection room to breathe. It’s poking out of my underwear, leaking pre-cum all over the bottom of my shirt.
“Come on, baby. Don’t be shy.”
I shiver at the low tone of his raspy voice. And then I tilt my phone screen down, showing him what he’s done to me.
Jesse whimpers. “God, just look at that. Fucking gorgeous, and so wet and messy. You’re going to have to explain that to the dry-cleaner, you know.
I close my eyes and let out a pained chuckle. He might be right. Although I’d probably toss the shirt before I did that. But hearing him admonish me for getting cum on my clothes is insanely sexy.
He knows it too.
“Take it all the way out,” he tells me. “I want to see just how messy you are.”
Slowly, and with trembling fingers, I switch the camera around and point it down at my lap. Jesse hums.
“So wet from just one little picture?Tsk.”
I huff a laugh. “That wasn’t just any picture, and you know it.”
He laughs. “Well, I’m glad you like it.”
“I don’t think that’s a strong enough word for it.”
“Now you have some idea of how I felt when I saw you smile into the camera for me. I knew you were thinking of me, just like I was thinking of you when I had that photo taken.”
I groan and prop my phone up on the dresser and sit across from it. It’s clear where this is going, and I’m here for it. I’m hard, and I miss him, and I want to feel close to him. I’ve jerkedoff while he was talking to me, telling me things he wanted to do to me. I want him to do that now while I can see him.
“Let me see you, Jesse.”
He bites his lip and grins like he was waiting for me to say just that. He moves around, setting his phone up to face his bed. Then he crawls onto the bed, wearing just a black button-down shirt and–
“Jesse.”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t act all innocent. What exactly are you wearing?”
“Just a shirt. And…” He slowly unbuttons his shirt as he talks, opening it to reveal red lace. “…some panties.”
“Panties,” I croak. My hand stalls mid-stroke.
“Do you like them?” He asks, looking almost legitimately sheepish.
“Let me see them closer,” I demand, smoothing pre-cum down my shaft. Jesse knee-walks to the edge of the bed, close enough that I can see him from nipple to thigh. “Goddamn, beautiful. You are…” I take a breath. “Fucking stunning.” He’s wearing a pair of blood-red lace boy shorts with a black waistband. The lace is doing nothing to contain his erection, the lace pushed out from his body.
“Turn around,” I beg. “Let me see the rest of you.”
He obliges, slowly turning around, and I nearly choke on my own spit. His delectable ass is cupped perfectly by the scalloped hem of the lace, and the fabric at the back is held together with strings that look like corset ties.
“Sweet Jesus, what are you doing to me, Jesse?”
Instead of answering, he slowly bends forward until he’s on his hands and knees, then lowers himself even more to put his face to the mattress. The corset strings are tied together at the base of his balls for easy access to his hole that he’s presenting to me with his back curved and pert ass sticking up like an offering.
