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Champagne Lace and a Pretty Face

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Guilt wasn’t an emotion that Jensen was familiar with.


Sure, there were times he said or thought things that he would feel a little awful for conjuring up. And sure, there was the time he accidentally ran over his neighbor’s dog, but it wasn’t his fault that they had let the dog out of their front yard. Of course, he had felt terrible that he had accidentally killed the dog, especially in front of a group of neighborhood children.


But to say that he would feel guilty about anything he had said or done would not be the case at all.


Even now as he sat in his office chair in the new study of his apartment—that was still clustered with boxes from his move from Los Angeles, California to Austin, Texas—his eyes glued to the bright screen of his laptop, he couldn’t say he was guilty for looking. It was only natural to stare, to watch. It was only natural that he had become so aroused he had to remove his aching cock from the confines of his jeans and it was only natural that he stroked himself—nice and slow—as shaking breaths fell past his full lips.


It wasn’t a complete accident that Jensen had stumbled across the page a few months prior to his move—at least not entirely. He could not remember what he was searching for exactly, but one web link had led to another and he had soon found himself staring at a cotton candy pink page with white cursive lettering across the top which read BUBBLEGUM BITCH with an eighteen and older warning listed in small print located right under it. And underneath that, there was a box with a webcam and to the right of it was a chat log.


At the time, Jensen hadn’t bothered to read any of the chats in the log, because he had scrolled down to a video that was linked on the page. It was a sneak peek and although it was short—as sneak peeks tend to be—it had hooked Jensen instantaneously.


He needed more. He craved it like a junkie craves another needle, another hit.


Jensen would be slightly embarrassed if he had counted the money that he had spent on that web page, but it was all worth it to him in the end. Watching the boy on the other side of the webcam was worth every penny he had spent and then some.


On the screen in front of him, the boy he had grown to become familiar with over the past few months was currently lying on his side. With one hand, pale, slender fingers—painted a crème pink—fingered a champagne colored lace choker around his throat while the other hand slipped a finger underneath the matching champagne chiffon stockings on his thighs, teasing the soft, hairless skin there as he waited for a reply from Jensen.


  • BUBBLEGUM BITCH: Tell me what you want.


Jensen had been staring at that message for the past five minutes in complete silence. His fingers hadn’t even touched the keyboard because he just wanted to stare at the boy on the screen. There was more that he wanted—most of his wants so dirty and sinful that they could make the great Aphrodite blush—but he was trying to drag it out, to take his time. Jensen loved more than anything that what he was seeing was only for him, his own private show. He tried to forget that this boy had other clients, other audience members he devoted his time to, and Jensen wished the boy could just be his—just his alone to see like this.


It was a pipe dream—wishful thinking and Jensen knew this, but he found no qualms with his dark desires.


Deciding not to keep the boy waiting any longer, Jensen typed out a message to him.


  • ROSS: I want you to strip for me. Nice and slow.


An impish grin graced the boy’s glossed lips, distorting the heart shaped beauty mark near his lovely upturned nose that the boy had drawn on with black eyeliner.


After knowing the boy for only a few months, Jensen learned there were very few rules he had, but the most important one, is that he would never show his face. Jensen was God damn blessed that the boy even showed half of his face, from the bridge of his nose and down.


The boy had even disclosed to him once that Jensen was the only person to even see half of his face and that the only reason he had started doing that for Jensen was because he was his most faithful client, the one who not only tuned in the most, but who also paid a heftier sum to share a private video with him. If that didn’t stroke his dark desires, Jensen wasn’t sure what would.


Slowly—if not painfully so—the boy shifted until he was on his knees, his thighs spread far enough apart that Jensen could see the champagne colored lace panties that were nestled snuggly around the boy’s slender hips, his cock perfectly visible underneath the lace. The sight alone caused a pearl of pre-come to bead on the tip of his own cock as he continued to stroke himself slowly, watching the boy.


The boy slipped the chiffon top from his boney shoulders and as he allowed it to fall from his body, he revealed a pair of rosebud nipples and a slim but soft stomach that had a metal bar through his bellybutton, a small white diamond attached to the end of the ring.


The boy ran his hands down his sides and for a moment, Jensen wished it was his own—wished he could feel the softness of the boy’s porcelain skin beneath his own calloused hands—as he slipped one of his sylphlike fingers underneath the lace hem of the panties he wore. He leisurely pulled the garment down past his hips, displaying the perfect arch of his hipbones before he glided them completely off, carelessly tossing them to the side.


The boy then sat back on his bed and his legs were spread apart, the chiffon still clinging to his thighs. The sight before him caused Jensen’s teeth to catch on his bottom lip, silencing a hiss from deep within his chest.


Jensen did not have to give the boy on the screen any more directions as one of his hands disappeared up to his mouth and returned back in sight shining with saliva as he wrapped his slender fingers around his half erect cock.


Jensen watched with a sense of incredible arousal and heart-stopping awe as the boy stroked himself slowly. The boy rubbed until there was a pearl-sized bead of pre-come on the tip and he swiped his finger across the head, sticking his thumb in his mouth to suck his own come off his skin. Jensen would have come just from witnessing that, but he willed himself to wait—however difficult that would pan out to be.


With every stroke and swipe of his thumb against the head of his cock, the boy on the webcam was gradually falling apart and Jensen felt God damn blessed that he was able to witness what only he could describe as the eighth wonder of the world.


Breathy moans and high pitched whines came from the boy as his fingers worked quicker, each stroke more desperate than the last and his hips ground into the palm of his hand as he neared the edge of release. The boy bit his bottom lip until a lovely red hue took hold of the plush of his mouth. His other hand twisted in the bedsheets until his knuckles were so white they nearly disappeared against the paleness of the cotton.


Jensen had spent many months wishing—fantasizing—that it was him who pulled those delicious sounds from the boy’s throat, wished that he was the one who caused the boy to writhe against the bedsheets, wished that he was the one the boy clung to, wished that it was his name the boy would eventually cry out as he came, but witnessing all of this regardless of the fact that it was not himself who caused it was an opportunity he would never dismiss.


The boy tossed his head back, exposing the beautiful curve of his pale throat as his climax hit him, a gasping cry on his lips. His entire body seized, the muscles underneath his soft stomach flexed and his chest heaved. The boy’s thighs trembled from the aftermath of his orgasm and he took in a few deep, shaking breaths.


Jensen’s own release hit him moments after the boy’s was finished, white painting his hand and the hardwood floor of his new study.


There was a stillness in the expanse of time following both of their climaxes. Jensen watched the boy while the boy took his time recomposing himself. During the silence, he began to ponder what it would be like after engaging in sex with the boy. He wondered if the boy would snuggle up against his side and drift to sleep or if the boy would want to occupy the silence in some meaningless talk that Jensen would still listen to as if the boy was talking about something fascinating.  


The ding from the chat log pulled him from his thoughts.


  • BUBBLEGUM BITCH: Is there anything else I can do for you?


There were a million things Jensen could think of off of the top of his head—most of the being ideally wicked—but instead, he decided to ask the boy the same question he had been asking since they first began their nights of sin months prior.


  • ROSS: I would settle for your name.


A soft smile touched the boy’s lips, as though he couldn’t believe this strange man over the internet was truly interested in knowing anything personal about him or that this man hadn’t given up his pursuit in knowing his name.


There was a moment in which Jensen had thought the boy would finally give in after his months of prying, but that thought fell short.


  • BUBBLEGUM BITCH: Goodnight, Mr. Ross.


Even after the screen had gone black, Jensen still stared at the dark box where the boy had been moments before. His eyes slid over to the clock on his laptop, where the numbers stared angrily at him. Jensen’s eyes then turned his attention onto the boxes in the corner of his study. Although it was nearing three in the morning and he would need to start getting ready for his first day employed at the University of Texas at Austin in a few short hours, Jensen couldn’t bring himself to sleep.


It wasn’t beneficial for him to skip even just four hours of sleep—and he knew this quite well—but he knew that his mind would only keep him awake with the thoughts of the boy on the webcam. After he had recomposed himself, Jensen found himself unpacking the boxes in his study, hoping that the task would avert his thoughts from the boy.


Many of his thoughts were fears. He was afraid that perhaps the boy was not of legal age. That would definitely not be something he would expect of himself—he never wanted to be one of those educators. The ones who dreamed of bending a student over their desk or the ones who would linger a little too uncomfortably close to a female—or in his situation—a male student.


No. Jensen would never become one of those educators—but that was the least of his worries. His blissful ignorance convinced him that the boy on the webcam just had to be of legal age. Even if the boy turned out to be only eighteen, he was still legal—even if just freshly so.


These thoughts kept Jensen company until the watch on his wrist beeped, seven o’clock had officially arrived. He did not glance down at it as he turned the alarm off and made a quick decision that he would have just enough time to shower—to clean the dried come off of his hand that he had mistakenly forgotten about—and grab a quick bite to eat before his first class would convene at eight.