The hardest part of knowing Jim is doing this is being forced to interact with him normally. He considers bringing it up, every time the two of them spend any time together Dell wants to bring it up. Jim is blissfully unaware, and just as mildly inappropriate as ever, but now that Dell knows what he knows, Jim’s usual lingering touches and tendency to sit just a little too close feel like a cruel cocktease.
Over the days, he can’t help but check on Jim’s page, holding his breath waiting for a new video. Every night he turns in a little early and locks his bedroom door and checks his page, shaking with anticipation. Four nights in a row he’s disappointed, and the fleeting thought that maybe he caught Jim right at the edge of his decision to stop doing porn crosses his mind.
But then on the fifth night there’s a new video. Dell holds his breath as he watches three minutes of Jim grinding against his sybian, clad in nothing but a clean white jock strap that traps his cock in a neat little tent, his baseball socks and cleats. The bed is cleared of blankets so he has a full view of those clean socks and shoes as the front of Jim’s underpants turn wet the more he grinds his cock against the vibrating wedge.
He filmed this video sometime in the past few days. Right upstairs, in his room, probably while Dell was in the house with him. He did this just a few feet away. He might be doing it again right now.
So far, his videos have all been fairly standard, in the realm of pornography. Dell knows there is much worse in the way of content that he could be producing, but that old worry still niggles at the back of his mind like an insect: There’s no telling what Jim might do for these strangers. It isn’t as if he can just talk to Jim about his concerns, and even if he could, would the kid listen?
The best way to come to a conclusion, Dell decides, is to take action. And what better way to do that than to hide in plain sight? Though he’s got videos of his own, they’re blurry webcam affairs with a face that’s hidden above the cutoff point of his camera’s sight. Jim might recognize his room, but then again the videos are such poor quality he doubts it very sincerely--and even if he runs a risk of Jim finding out, it’s just a risk he’ll have to take.
Mustering up his courage, heart somersaulting against his throat, Dell goes to make a comment on Jim’s page. He decides to test his mettle, to see where his boundaries lie:
“Hey there sugar, why don’t you show Daddy that little body of yours in something pretty? I'd love something red and lacy.”
He hesitates a moment before sending the message and tells himself he’s doing this purely in the interests of protecting Jim. Dell needs to know where his boundaries lie, and in all honesty he doesn’t expect much to come from the request. Cross dressing just isn’t something he can see Jim doing, but dammit if it doesn’t get his cock hard.
After he’s left his comment, Dell checks in every day. At work it’s all he can think about, and at dinner it’s hard to look Jim in the face. He assumes it’ll take some time for Jim to order what he’s asked for, if he’ll take the request at all. Slowly he finds himself fantasizing about it, and each time Jim leaves the house, Dell wonders if he’d go out to buy those unmentionables. No. That would be too obvious. He’ll order them from someplace and have them shipped, maybe.
When another video is posted a few days later, Dell almost loses hope. It’s not his request, instead it’s just a one-minute preview for a video of Jim fucking a fleshlight, holding it still in his fists and gyrating his hips like he’s actually fucking someone. The thought of it makes Dell glow hot with jealousy, but he tries to put it out of his mind. Jim doesn’t have a boyfriend or a girlfriend- if he did, he would absolutely know about it! Unless he’s been keeping it hidden... he tries not to let his thoughts linger.
Disappointment wars in equal measure with relief inside Dell. So maybe there are some requests he just won’t take. It’s good to know that Jim has lines he won’t let people cross... even if part of him really wishes he would have gone for it. What he wouldn’t give to see Jim in a pair of panties...
A few days of awkward conversations and furious nights of masturbation pass before another video is posted - this time Jim jerking himself hard and pissing into a cup on someone’s request. Not Dell’s cup of tea personally - and he wagers not Jim’s either, but if so, he won’t judge - but he can’t help but feel jealousy bloom in his chest. He’s filled two other people’s requests, but decided lingerie crossed the line?
He catches himself taking for granted this great discovery and gives himself a good shake. He found the porn page for the object of his affection of five years now- ever since it first occurred to him that Jim was 18 and legally no longer a minor. He can’t start getting greedy now, he’s blessed to have found it at all. Blessed, if filthy. The shame has yet to leave him, but usually he can stamp it down under a thick and powerful layer of lust.
It’s not until the next week that Jim posts a video with the title “Red Lacy Panties” and when Dell sees it, he chokes on the water he was sipping as he checked Jim’s page - as was his nightly routine. He had several months worth of videos to click through after all, if there were no new ones posted. But this... it can’t be. He can’t possibly be so lucky.
His mouth goes dry as he watches Jim saunter onto camera in full baseball getup, cleats to baseball cap over expertly blurred face. He clicks on music, and all the blood in Dell’s body makes a mad dash to his cock as he recognizes the song. He heard Jim playing it faintly upstairs last night.
Swinging his hips to the music, Jim turns around to face away from the camera for a moment, fiddling with the buttons on his uniform shirt. He looks coyly back over his shoulder and slips the shirt open and slides it down so Dell can see the red, crimped straps of a bra. When Jim swings back around, swaying his hips in sensual circles, he drops the shirt altogether. His flat chest is covered by a little sheer red polka dot bra, with a bow perched between the twin flat cups.
Jim slides his hands down his chest, over the bra, down his flat chiseled belly, down his thighs, and then back up, cupping his crotch through his pants. He breathes out a moan, barely loud enough to be heard over the music, and pops the top button of his baseball pants. The string ties come apart in his long fingers and he turns to the side, bending over as he slowly slips the pants down to his knees, exposing not only a pair of matching sheer polka dot panties - barely containing his straining cock - but a matching garter belt.
The straps are clipped to a pair of white stockings, and as Jim slides the pants all the way down his legs and steps out of his cleats, Dell realizes those white socks he’d thought were his uniform socks had been sheer thigh-highs all along. He turns around, emphasizing how tight the panties are, how well they hug the flawless curve of his ass, and pulls them up so they slip between his cheeks. Turning back to face the camera, his cock has slipped out the side of the panties, standing hard and curved in the air-
And then the video ends. Dell was so stunned he didn’t even have time to touch himself. He scrambles down to the comments section to see Jim acknowledge him with a simple “For Daddy~”
His mouth goes dry and he mumbles wordlessly. There’s naught but a shred of shame keeping him from buying the damned thing, and it’s an eternity before he tears himself away from the computer so he’s not tempted further. Crashing onto the bed, he stares straight up at the ceiling and breathes out the fire in his lungs. Good golly, he cannot believe what he’s just seen. The vision of Jimbo’s hypnotic dancing is caught square in the trap of his mind.
“For Daddy . . .” he rumbles aloud, confirming those two words for his ears to hear. How he wishes it were Jim’s voice speaking them. Dell reaches for his trapped cock and closes his eyes. It doesn’t take long for him to come, not at all. Before he falls asleep, he closes the window, worried that Jim might come in and see his own page up on Dell’s computer. What a horrible thing that would be.
The next day Dell has taken off for medical reasons. He’s going to the doctor to have his back adjusted, and he’s usually sore and stiff for the rest of the day. The entire visit images of Jim in his precious polka dots dance through his mind to the mesmeric tune from the night before. It takes all of his willpower and then some to get him through the appointment. Luckily the pain in his back allayed his arousal to a great extent.
Once at home, he settles his keys in the bowl on the counter and heads back toward his room with a mind to watching Jim’s newest addition another time. Just as he’s passing the stairs to Jim’s room, a thought pops to life in his mind that perhaps might have been better left to linger as just a musing; but he stops and stands stock still in the hallway, peering back over his shoulder at the stairs leading to Jim’s doorway, sitting innocently closed. Jim won’t be home for hours. He’s got practice today, plus classes and it’s only one in the afternoon.
His shame should have stopped him right there, but he’s heading up for Jim’s door. A pang of guilt washes over him, accompanied by a thrilling race of his heartbeat as he cracks the portal ajar and peeks inside. Of course, none of his filming equipment is out and about for him to see, but just catching sight of that bed is enough to get his blood moving south. Dell closes the door and immediately goes to the dresser, opening drawers and turning over fresh socks and undies as he searches for his prize. He searches the piece of furniture top to bottom and finds nothing; but he doesn’t just give up. The older man makes his way to the closet and opens it quietly.
What isn’t a surprise is the state of the closet. Sports equipment, clothing, and all variety of things are strewn about the place in no real order. What is a surprise is that Jim has simply piles his sex toys in an old box, and there on top is Dell’s prize. The lacy unmentionables are just lying in a tiny bundle at the very top of the box. Bending slowly, Dell rifles through them and retrieves the bra and panties from the balled up tangle. Not bothering to close the closet door, he steps back the few feet to Jim’s bed and takes a seat.
He’s torn between what he wants and what he knows is right. A part of him worries that he’s becoming a monster in his own right. So bent on having what he most desires that he’s stooped to invading Jim’s privacy to meet his own ends; but then, wasn’t making the request in the first place a step over that boundary? Yet holding these items in hand settles his concerns in the background of his more primal urges.
Dell drapes the bra around his neck. The lace scratches gently at the stubble at the base of his neck as the cups settle over his broad shoulders. The panties he spreads between both hands, getting a good look at them. A slow smile later and he brings the crotch of those lacy knickers to his mouth and nose and he breathes in gently. They smell like Jim.
The fragrance is a cocktail of his cologne (of which Jim wears a generous amount) and his natural scent, which is a heady, musky thing. A man’s scent. Dell wonders if he had filmed shortly after returning home from practice, because the smell of sweat is strong. As he buries his nose in the garment, he frees up a hand to work at the fastenings of his pants so that he can take his cock in hand.
Jim could find out he’s doing this. Practice could be canceled. He could come home at any minute and find Dell nose-deep in his panties, jerking off the while. It’s thrilling to think. The idea deepens. If Jim came home, he’d confess everything to him, everything. He’d tell him just how horny his videos make him, just how jealous he’d been of all those other men’s requests. Just how much he loves him and wants to show him.
What if Jim felt the same? Elated by the thought, Dell’s heart quickens and he grips his cock in hand, moving spit-slick fingers over his girthy shaft. What if Jim wanted him? Dell would ask him to slip back into those sweet little panties. He’d help him clasp the bra around his dainty shoulders. He’d lay him down on the bed and fuck him like a woman, taking his time to appreciate every curve, every sinew and bend in Jim’s body. He’d call him ‘pretty’. No, he’d call him ‘beautiful’ and he’d slowly make his way down the breadth of his flat tummy with gentle kisses until, with clenched teeth, he dragged the hem of his panties down his supple legs and would watch as his cock sprang out, juicy and firm for him to lick and suck.
Back in reality, Dell eases back on the bed and splays Jim’s panties out across his face, the crotch lying even with his mouth and nose. God, he would remember this smell until the day he died. In hand, his cock is throbbing in time with his quickened heartbeat, and he imagines it’s Jim’s body wrapped snugly around him as he thrusts up into his palm.
Jim’s arms and legs would wrap around Dell’s body, holding him as close as possible. He’d trail kisses along Jim’s jaw and neck as they writhed feverishly against one another, each wet with the sweat of himself and the other. Whispering sweet things to Jim, he’d make love to him until he was hoarse, and when they’re both close, he’ll pull out and suck Jim until he comes, then jerk off on that lacy bra, his come spattering the red lace, making it filthy.
Dell comes in moments, catching most of his release in his palm so as not to make a mess on Jim’s bed. He retrieves a kerchief from his back pocket to clean himself up and as he sits up, stuffing himself back into his pants, reality sets in and he realizes what he’s done. Ashamed, he wastes no time lingering in Jim’s room. To the best of his ability, he wads the panties and bra up and settles them back in place before shutting everything up and rushing out of the room.
Mortified, he feels he couldn’t possibly sink lower than this, and if he can, he doesn’t want to see what lower is. There was a line somewhere and he’d crossed it by a good many miles. There was no getting back to the innocence that had once been in their relationship. To drown his sorrow, Dell took the whiskey down out of the kitchen cabinet and headed back to his room.
Meeting Jim’s eyes the next day is nearly impossible. He drank himself to sleep and didn’t see him until the next evening, and of course he comes home from practice drenched in sweat, his baseball uniform sticking to every curve of his body. Dell is sitting at the kitchen table picking at potato chips and Jim strips off his baseball shirt right in front of him, followed by peeling off his undershirt, while yammering about how practice went that evening; but Dell can barely hear him over the blood rushing in his ears. He holds his breath, the back of his mind hoping beyond all hope that he’d be wearing that bra underneath - no dice. Not surprising.
“How’d your back thingy go yesterday?” Jim asks innocuously, mopping at his sweaty neck and flushed face with the undershirt. His tight skin slithers over muscle and sinew as he breathes and shifts. “I didn’t see ya at all last night.”
“Went alright. Got back, sore as you please. Came straight home and fell into bed.” He smiles but he doesn’t meet Jim’s eyes. He doesn’t even look at him, he can’t. If he looks at him now he’ll lose his mind. He’s already wondering if the kid’s going to be filming tonight. No, not now. He can’t think of this now. “How was practice . . .?”
Jim snorts. “I was just tellin’ you about it two seconds ago. You feeling alright? All that re-adjustment got all your blood goin’ to your head or something? Come over to the couch, I’ll give ya a rub-down. You could probably use it to make sure everything settles right.”
Now is the moment when he could have made a smart decision, but he follows the instructions of the young man and heads for the couch after tossing a potato chip into his mouth. This is a dumb idea, but it’s too late, he’s within Jim’s reach, and he thinks it’ll soon be over. Maybe this will be the moment when he confesses all his wrong doings and gets his chops busted for ever thinking about Jim this way. He lays down with his face in the corner of the couch cushions, and he knows he’s blushing. He can feel it burning hot on his cheeks.
It would have been bad enough if Jim had just rubbed his back. Just having his hands on him at this point would be enough to make Dell lose his mind. But Jim doesn’t seem to think that’s enough torture- no. He climbs directly over Dell’s hips, straddling his bottom, and sits on the curve of his ass. His blood jolts south so quick he feels dizzy.
Jim knows he shouldn’t be doing this. It’s bad enough that he’s crushing on the old guy, but using his bad back as an excuse to feel him up? He’s lower than low. His cheeks burn hotly as he straddles Dell’s butt, and bites his lip when he feels how firm and muscled it is under his crotch. He has to fight the urge to grind his hips down, and starts doing math in his head to keep himself distracted from his arousal.
“This’d be better without your shirt on. Ya know... it’ll sink in better or whatever,” he says, his cheeks burning hot.
Dell swears he can feel Jim’s package through his jeans, heavy and warm. In a burst of memory he recalls his musk and fights mentally to put the thoughts behind him. To distract himself he goes through the periodic table as he fumbles clumsily with his shirt. When it’s off, it reveals his broad, chiseled back dappled with freckles across the breadth of his shoulders. He lays back down and buries his face in the couch once again.
When Jim touches him it’s like electricity on his skin. He breathes out a sigh, hoping any noises he makes will be brushed off as pained groans. Some of it, he won’t have to fake. There’s still a stiffness to his muscles that will flare to the younger man’s probing caresses. Yet in spite of the pain, he cannot believe this is happening. Dell feels like a teenager again, he’s so smitten with Jim. A flood of mental images makes him squirm, and he’s running out of periodic elements, fast.
Jim’s hands heat up, fast. He starts singing bible songs in his head to keep from getting aroused- there’s no way Dell wouldn’t feel it. This might be the only chance he has in a while to come to touch him like this, he can’t blow it with a stupid boner. He breathes evenly through his nose, carding his fingers through the light fuzz on Dell’s shoulder blades, and grinds the heels of his hands down either side of his spine and rolls his knuckles into the small of his back.
His hands are getting too sweaty, he’s sweating all over now. Leaning over, he pumps a handful of the pretty-smelling hand cream Dell leaves on the coffee table beside the couch, and slicks up his palms. This will hide it, Dell won’t know just how turned on he’s getting over the chance to touch him like this.
Now his hands glide over Dell’s muscles and he can really dig his fingers in, rubbing them deep into his sore and tired and stiff muscles, putting blissful, painful pressure on the knots in his shoulders. Every time Dell gives a groan of relief, Jim has to bite his lip to keep from echoing the noise.
Square roots and variables, things he’s learned in his Engineering studies, overlay the flood of thoughts whirling in his mind in an attempt to keep them at bay. He wants those hands to touch him where they shouldn’t. Yearns for Jim to lean his whole body against him and reach around to grope him. He gives a soft groan that’s got nothing to do with the pain in his back, and he thinks that surely Jim will catch on. He’ll know he’s getting off on this.
The pressure of the younger man on his backside has his cock sandwiched between his thighs and the couch, the hardening length dribbling precome into his nice clean boxers. It’s in vain that he’s tried to resist being turned on by this. Dell thinks, it’s too late for him. Jim’s going to find out how much he wants him. For now, at least, he won’t be able to see the insistent boner that’s aching to be touched.
“Ah, Jimbo . . . right there.” Dell whispers as Jim hits a knot, but he knows he’s not saying it to encourage the back rub. “That feels so damn good.”
Jim breathes out long and slow, his breath shaking a bit in his throat. Hearing Dell moan like that has him feeling light-headed with need. He almost curses under his breath, bruising his lip he bites it so hard.
It takes every shred of his self-control to stop himself from grinding against Dell’s ass. He can’t help breathing a little bit harder, but any man would feel flustered listening to Dell’s rumbling baritone. Dell is without a doubt the sexiest man Jim has ever known, and the thought of lubing up and actually fucking Dell in this position has him dizzy.
He focuses on the movements of his hands in a last-ditch effort to keep from getting totally hard. Maybe this was a bad idea, but even if he does get hard, he could probably laugh it off and blame it on weird blood flow because of these insanely tight pants. He licks his dry lips, his breath puffing out of his nose as he slides his hands up Dell’s back and grinds his fingertips in slow, even circles into his neck before slipping back down to massage his sides, and rotating his fists up his spine.
Jim’s uneven breathes do not go unnoticed. A spark of hope blossoms anew inside him, but is staunched quickly under his logical thinking. Of course Jim’s breathing is just a simple result of the force he’s exerting on Dell’s back. There’s nothing more to make of it. If it were anything more than that, he’d certainly feel something on his backside. He adjusts himself so that his arms are in a more comfortable position and relaxes as much as he physically can while stiff as a board in his jeans.
As those bony fists dig deep into his sore flesh, he writhes under the ministrations and moans breathily each time a knot or kink is nudged. Little tears form in the corners of his eyes, more a bodily reaction from the pain than anything else. Forcibly he’s keeping his hips still so as not to grind against the couch, but he’s having a hell of a time resisting; and imagining himself flipped on his back and thrusting up isn’t helping. Picturing Jim in nothing but his socks, riding him ragged, really isn’t helping.
Maybe he should tell him to stop, but then what would he do? Get up from the couch with a tent in his pants and disappear into his bedroom without a word? Desperation makes it seem like a good plan, but he’s reluctant, so he says nothing instead and subjects himself to be massaged into a drooling bliss.
Inspiration strikes Dell a few torturous minutes later, and he forces himself to go totally limp, and all it takes is one quiet little fake snore to have Jim chuckling and climbing off of him.
Jim can’t say he’s surprised he massaged the old man right to sleep. He grabs the throw blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over Dell’s upper body so he won’t get chilled, and quickly slips upstairs. The instant his bedroom door is closed, he collapses against it, wrestles his pants open, and jams a hand down into them. He bites his hand to keep from moaning out loud as he imagines riding Dell on that couch downstairs.
Once Jim is gone, Dell retreats to his bedroom and makes quick work of his pants and boots. He doesn’t even need to fantasize or look at porn to get off. The lingering arousal that he’s been left with is enough to get him off, and fast. For most of the day, he doesn’t leave the room but for a few times, and he doesn’t see much of Jim at all.
In fact, he doesn’t see much of him for the next couple of days. He ritually checks his page at least once a day, though sometimes he checks twice. There isn’t any new content at the moment, but Dell is perfectly happy watching the crossdressing video every night. He’s even figured out how to download the preview to his computer, just so he never loses it. But one evening, after he’s logged in, he sees he’s got a message.
It’s not unusual for him to get the odd message now and again, but he begins to worry before he’s even opened his inbox what might lie in wait. Icewater fills his veins as he spies the username attached to the message. Hey_Batter_Batter.
He expects the worst. Maybe it’s Jim figuring out who he is and sending a scathing message, saying he’s moving out and never wants to see Dell again, and that’s why he hasn’t really seen him over the last few days. His heart pounds in his chest and he almost deletes the message, but heat replaces the ice moments later as a flood of relief follows the subject of the message, which reads simply, “Hey papa bear.”
Relief is quickly destroyed by a crushing wave of desire and guilt in equal parts as he scans over the contents of the message.
"Heyyy, you requested panties and I wore them just for you, but you didn’t buy the vid. You looking for more big daddy? ;)"
He’s so overwhelmed with shame that he has to physically stop himself from going to purchase the video by prying his hand away from the mouse. For a long while he sits and stares at the message, reading it over and over. Worry has taken roost. He’d been so caught up in his initial arousal to the video that he hadn’t even considered the danger. Jim had taken the request. Where did his boundaries lie? Would he take worse requests and risk endangering himself?
Dell decides he needs a break from all of this, and vows not to check Jim’s page, at least for a couple of days. It’ll give him time to clear his head, to step back and take a breath. The incident a few days ago in Jim’s room had been too much for his conscience, and ever since it had worn heavily upon his shoulders. Whether Jim was aware of it or not, Dell felt like he’d hurt him somehow.
He’d crossed the line.