Date: Thu, 22 May 2008 12:48:15 +0000
From: justin scott <scott_justin51@hotmail.com>
Subject: Teenyboy Waiter's Bulging Briefs - part 1

TEENBOY WAITER'S BULGING BRIEFS - 1

By JUSTIN SHORTS (scott_justin51@hotmail.com)

I had been combining a business trip in France with a short break, and I
had a few more days to spend before returning for a conference in London.
I had hired a car and was taking time to explore some of the smaller
Normandy towns, seeking out small hotels and eating wherever I could in
family-run restaurants.

What I am about to write about happened some ten years ago, but I remember
the details as if they happened yesterday.  I can even remember that it was
a Wednesday evening that I met him, and that I had a Eurostar booking for
the following Sunday evening.  They would prove to be some of the most
extraordinary days of my life.

I had booked a room in a hotel near Rouen for a couple of nights, and on
the first evening I decided to eat in a promising little auberge in a side
street not far from my hotel.  It was one of those places where the menu
was only decided on the day, and you went with whatever they had freshly
bought in and prepared.  It was difficult to go wrong.  The place was
pretty quiet, and I was shown by the patron to a quiet table in a fairly
dark corner.  I looked through the hand-written menu, and he took my order.
As I waited with my wine for the first course, through the doorway leading
into the small kitchen I had my first sight of the young waiter who was
going to serve me.  A distinct family resemblance revealed that this was
indeed the son of the owner, a boy of what, sixteen?  Seventeen at most.

I was taken at once with him.  He was a lovely boy, with very short black
hair, a flawless smooth skin, and soft full lips.  Very pretty indeed.  A
most welcome discovery in this corner of provincial France, especially as I
had not been on the look- out for any diversions in that direction.  I also
liked the way he was dressed, not in some formal waiter's get-up, but in a
fresh white open-necked shirt and jet black trousers.  A perfect package!

He was glancing over in my direction, just to see who was out there I
suppose, as he waited for the first course to be ready to bring out.  I
caught his eye, and made a point of smiling -- not leering, I assure you
-- an encouraging, friendly smile that I was happy for him to interpret
as he wanted.  I was delighted to see it elicited a slightly confused
glance away, and a definite blush.  First points to me.

A few moments later he was at my table, serving me with soup.  'Merci
bien', I said softly.  And he responded at once in English.  'Please enjoy,
monsieur'.  I smiled very warmly then, and met his gaze.  Another deep
blush.  As he returned to the kitchen I looked at the tight apple buttocks,
and beneath the thin fabric of the black trousers I could make out quite
distinctly the line of his high-cut briefs, and I found it difficult to
think about my soup then, excellent as it was.

He had already ticked several boxes.  Young, fresh, a hint of shyness,
curious, as sexy as fuck, and with good signs so far as dress code went.
Dress code?  Well, I have always found the simplicity of a white shirt and
black trousers -- almost schoolboy- like of course -- quite
irresistible, and then additionally to have the suggestion that something
very enticing might be nestling beneath, confined in tightly-fitting
briefs, perhaps cupping a bulging package of delicious young cock and
spunk-filled balls, well...  And finally, he had the distinct advantage of
being French -- an exotic touch!  Hot young cock.  Fresh teenboy spunk.
I suddenly realised that I wanted to sample some of that very much indeed.

After the soup came the meat course, a piece of pork tenderloin, remarkably
phallic in shape as it happens.  I leapt on the ambiguities of that as soon
as he put it in front of me.  'Well, what a surprise!' I said, and laughed,
pointing at the pork with my fork.  There was no one nearby, so I could
tease him safely.  'I've never eaten a pig's cock before'.

'Pardon. What is cock?  Le coq is the chicken, yes?'  He looked innocently
at me, and perhaps he really didn't know the word.

'Not quite.  It's a bit difficult to explain here, just now, but, well, I
have a cock, and so do you, and I'm sort of looking at yours now', and in a
stagey, exaggerated fashion I fixed my eyes between his legs.

He laughed at once.  'Oh, yes, I see, cock.  Yes I have cock'.

'Yes, I'm sure you have a nice big one.'  This was outrageous, but frankly
I thought that if it went no further than a bit of coarse banter, then no
harm was done.

'Yes, mine is big I think.'  And he turned and headed off again, leaving me
bemused and wondering where we'd got to.

I managed to concentrate enough to enjoy the main course, which was
actually very good.  There was quite a wait then before he came back to
find out what I wanted for dessert -- usually a bit of a disappointment
in these places.  I prepared to settle for the inevitable sorbet.  But I
noticed immediately that there was a change in him.  As he stood before me,
I noted that the lowest button of his shirt was undone, the one just above
the waist of the black trousers, and that he had actually slightly pulled
the shirt open so that I had a clear view of his flat tummy through.  It
was surprisingly sensual.  But that was not all.  As he stood, and I made a
pretence of choosing from the list which he had given me, he stood with one
hand resting gently on his hip, his back to the only other customers who
were remotely close to us, and with one finger was pointing downwards
towards his crutch.  And it seemed fuller and firmer than before.

'Can I tempt you with anything?' he asked, as if the line had been
rehearsed.

'You certainly can' I answered without a moment's pause.  'Perhaps you
could show me something that you've got which is nice and warm'.

He giggled, and played the game.  Except it was no game.  'I think I show
you now' he said, his finger still pointing.  'I will give you a big
piece'.

This was too much!  At that I said, 'you know, I think I won't have any of
these things written on the list, but what I would like you to do is show
me some of your town.  What time do you finish your work?'  It was
nine-thirty by now.

'I will be free in two hours time.  I meet you outside the Hotel de Ville.'

I paid my bill, and realised that I did not know his name, so I asked.
'Gilles', he said.  I gave him my name.

I wondered whether he would decide to come after all, but would back off
when I was out of sight.  A little bit of harmless banter was one thing,
but he must have realised that he might be letting himself in for something
in a different league altogether.  I went back to my hotel and showered
again -- my second that evening -- and put on fresh underwear and
changed my rather heavy trousers for much thinner white jeans.  They were
cut in such a way that my bulge was emphasised, especially when I sat down,
as they tended to push my cock and balls forwards even when I was soft.  I
wondered if he would notice.  I rather hoped that he would not bother
changing, as that casual uniform had been so incredibly horny on him.  I
prayed that I would get the opportunity to gently stroke his firm young bum
through the thin black trousers, and make out the ridge of those briefs
which I had seen pressing through.

The two hours passed, somehow.  I was early at the Hotel de Ville, and
wandered up and down the street which was virtually deserted at 11.30 at
night.  Then I saw a figure approaching, and it was Gilles.  It was a warm
mid-summer night, and I could make out his white open-neck shirt from quite
a distance.  I was relieved to see that he had not changed his clothes.

'Hi'.

'Hello Gilles.  Do you want to walk, or talk, or how about coming to my
hotel room?'  Only one thing could be in his mind if he went for the final
choice.

He smiled, his shy but knowing smile, his pretty boy smile.  'Hotel,
please'.

Me managed to slip in through the front door without anyone seeing us, I
think, and were upstairs in a few moments.  I used the key-card and the
door opened and we were inside.

No time to waste, I thought.  'May I kiss you?  I know French people kiss
more than English, but that's not quite what I meant.  I would very much
like to kiss you properly.  Have you kissed a man like that before?'

'No, I have not.  And yes, I would like to kiss'.  I closed up to him, and
took him gently in my arms, and I noticed that he tipped his head back
slightly and closed his eyes as our mouths came together.  Those full,
sweet lips met mine and it was like nectar as I pressed into him.  It was a
lovely moment, sensual without being erotic.

'That is very nice.  Thank you', I said.  'You are a very handsome boy,
Gilles.  Dangerously handsome!  Do you know what I mean?'

'Yes, I think so'.

'How old are you, Gilles?'

'I was seventeen last month'.  My heart raced.

'I think you suggested in the restaurant that you had a big piece of
something nice and warm which I might like'.

'I think so, yes'.

'So is it OK if I sample it now?'

'Yes'.  Nothing more.  He simply stood and waited.  I sat down on the hotel
chair in front of him, and placed my hands on his legs, enjoying the warmth
of him through the thin trousers.  I pulled him closer, and his crotch
approached my face.  This was getting unbearable.  I noticed that he had
re-fastened that button of his shirt, so I thought that might be a good
place to start.  'Would you unfasten your shirt for me, where it was open
before?'

At once his left hand came round to the front of his shirt and swiftly the
button was undone.

'And another one'.  He undid a second, and then without my asking a third.
The smooth beauty of his flawless, hairless stomach was revealed, brown
from sunbathing.  And then another button, and he was fully undone, and
between the small brown nipples a thin gold chain hung, supporting a small
medal.  'My patron saint', he said, 'who keeps me safe'.  He giggled.

'Yes, you are quite safe with me Gilles'.  I reached up and gently stroked
the firm chest, and brushed the nipples, and then I pulled him forward into
me so that I could kiss his nakedness.  The warmth of this teenboy was like
an electric charge to me.

I released him again, so that he moved back a few inches, and I looked at
the dangerous beauty of the enticing mound in front of my eyes, the crutch
of his trousers, fastened with a zipfly, containing priceless treasure.  I
moved into him so that I could scent his youth, and sure enough there was
the delicate odour of the gently bulging cock packet, the promise of
boyjuice sweetly wafting through the wonderful prison of his briefs.  I was
desperate to see them.

I raised my right hand and gently pressed it to his crutch, meeting the
tender resistance of a warm bulge, which shifted deliciously under my
touch.  I cupped the mound, and stroked lightly, feeling Gilles's bulge
moving under my caress.  I began to make out the shape of him, the firm
young cock lying slightly to the left, and below the fatness of his healthy
balls.  I worked his cock a bit, wanting to feel him grow beneath my
fingers, and then pressed and massaged the fat ballsac.

I stood then, and pulled him to me and hugged him.  His shirt had slipped
from his shoulders, and it fell off him, so that his smooth naked chest
pressed close to me.  He lifted his neck, an invitation if one were needed
to kiss the softness of his throat, and I nuzzled him gently.  He sighed,
and I slipped my hand back down to his crutch, found the zip and teased it
slowly downwards, though leaving the catch to his trousers fastened.  I
slid my fingers into the now gaping fly, and then my hand, and I was over
the front of the silky mound of his briefs.  They felt sensational, warm
from his lovely bulge, but also incredibly soft and sensual.  I just love
boys in sexy briefs, and continental boys are so much more imaginative than
we English in this regard.  Whereas most English teenagers settle for the
ubiquitous Calvin Kleins, I have found that stores in Italy, Spain and
France as well are much more likely to have nylon briefs, or silk, or shiny
lycra readily available.  And ten or so years ago, there was a particular
fashion amongst boys and young men on the continent for nylon when here it
was only possible to get them through mail order firms like Kiniki.  As I
stroked Gilles's healthy young cockmound through his briefs, I knew just by
touch that I had struck gold -- he was wearing nylon!  The soft slippery
texture of the fabric was unmistakeable, and the way it hugged his hard
young cock so incredibly erotic.  I stroked him more insistently, sliding
the briefs against his shaft and then dipped down further to feel the
smoothness of the nylon bag of his balls.  He murmured as I massaged, and
there was a danger that I would forget myself and masturbate him too
quickly.  Much as I would have loved him to fill his briefs with his creamy
jizz, I desperately wanted to get a closer view of his bulging briefs
first.

I brought my hand back out from his fly, and now I unfastened the catch.
The black trousers loosened and dropped, and he stepped out of them, having
first pulled off his trainers.  I looked down, and nearly gasped when I saw
the pair of tight, brilliant white briefs, hardly able to contain the
roaring hard-on that pushed them out at the front.  I stood back to admire
the sight of this beautiful smooth boy, dressed just in bulging nylon
briefs and white sports socks.  He looked at me, smiling, rested a hand
lightly on his hip, and with the other began to stroke his bulge teasingly,
licking his lips enticingly as he did so.  Maybe he wasn't quite such a
novice at this as I had at first supposed!

I quickly pulled my own shirt off, and then began to unfasten my jeans.  He
looked down to watch as I slowly lowered the zip, parted the flaps, and
then began to shuck the jeans.  I was pretty confident, now that I had seen
his choice of briefs, that he would not be disappointed in what I had
chosen to wear. A moment later, I was standing in front of him in a
sky-blue brief of see-thru nylon mesh.  I always travel with several pairs
in case of such an emergency!  And I knew that from where he was standing,
my hard cock would be showing through very obviously, as well as the dark
tangle of my hair.  Not only that, there was already a damp patch of precum
seeping through the pale blue, and as I looked fixedly at Gilles's own
juicy young bulge I could make out the faintest hints of dampness.

It was time for action, and now that I knew we had a nylon-on-nylon scene,
I was determined that we should start by a little bulge play, so I reached
out my hand, took his, and pulled him to me.  I gently pushed my packet
towards his, and it was like a surge of energy when we made contact.

He was still unsure, tense, but the feeling of being close, and so horny,
was already washing over him as I gently placed my hands on the hard mounds
of his bum in the shiny nylon, pulling him closer, forcing our bulges
together. He moaned ever-so quietly, as I gradually worked his butt,
forcing a teasing, rubbing motion between us.  Glancing down, I could see
that his cock was now rock solid, bulging, straining in the material, and
the damp mark had spread from a tiny mark, to a juicy patch as he leaked
into the nylon briefs. Mmm - I had to taste that honey; quickly I dropped
down to my knees, keeping my hands on his arse, until the straining mound
of his white pants was in front of me. There was the unmistakeable musky
smell of fresh precum in my face, as I leant forward to bury my nose
against the nylon, enjoy the aroma, and then reaching out with my tongue,
taste that tang. My lips parted a little, as I licked and nibbled along the
length of his bulge. I ravelled from the thick knob end, wet and sticky,
all the way to the tight sac of his balls encased in the fabric, with their
own aroma, slightly sweaty and manly.

Without moving off, I glanced up - Gilles was loving the feeling of his
hard pole being worshipped - his head back, eyes closed, lips slightly
parted. I reached for the thickness of his meat in the underwear, working
it harder now - I wanted all the precum, soaking the nylon, knowing that
soon I would release the hard young cock, and my lips would spread around
the thickness, tasting the fresh juice and working it as lube down the
shaft. My other hand was rubbing his thighs, slim, but muscled and covered
in fine hairs. Instinctively his legs parted wider, giving me access,
giving me permission to take him to even greater heights. He moaned,
muttering words which my limited knowledge of French could not understand,
apart from the international meaning of lust. His cock was like steel, now
bursting out of the confines of the waistband of his briefs, the soaked
material now transparent and clinging round the thick meat.

I leant back on my knees, admiring the sight of this handsome young lad, in
ecstasy, so sexy in the nylon underwear - and then, leant forward to taste
his cock head, framed by the waist of his briefs and pinned against him by
the tightness. 'Aaah', Gilles sighed, as my tongue worked the plum-head,
covered in sticky juice, gently easing the foreskin back, ready for my lips
to work around the knob. Working my thumbs into the sides of his pants,
gently I eased them down, his thick, young cock standing to attention, like
a flagpole, as I tucked the nylon fabric behind his balls. So sexy, it
looked so sexy, as I grasped the shaft, and my mouth engulfed the exposed
head. 'Aaah' - louder this time; he had been teased enough, now he needed
relief, and with a reflex thrust he forced his cock in, deeper, as a flood
of honey spread down my throat. Oh yes, I loved that - and my own cock,
which I now realised was still painfully tight in the mesh of my own
underwear, throbbed. I gulped - it had been many years since I had cum
without even touching it, but it felt I was in danger of that now. I was
intoxicated by the taste of his teen juice, and that smell of his manhood
and sex.

Cupping his balls in the palm of one hand, I tightened my lips around his
shaft. He had started a rhythm, thrusting deep into my warm inviting
throat, moaning louder - unmistakeably close. Quickly, I knew that I had to
choose; to let him rush to his climax, in the knowledge that he would be
ready for more in minutes, or to slow down, change gear, and work him to an
even bigger pinnacle!  But in fact, I decided at once, because my own
hunger for him meant that I had to let him cum.  In my own way I was now as
impatient as he was for his pleasure.  As he surged towards orgasm, the
thought of that approaching wash of teencum was just too much.  I wanted to
see it, to taste it, to witness the shuddering ecstasy of the boy and the
bolts of creamy spunk which were about to pump from his glistening
cockhead.

I released his trembling cock from my mouth, and stared greedily at the
exposed knob, still working it with my free hand.  Even now Gilles
responded to my gentle wanking movements, moaning as I gave him a final few
moments of tingling pleasure by working the foreskin back and forwards over
the shiny mushroom of his knob, willing him to shoot his flood of boyspunk.
My other hand was still supporting him under his balls.  His bag was quite
tight now, but the balls were fat and big, and I gently massaged them,
urging the creamy reservoir to break its banks.  I loved the feel of the
silky skin there, and I could make out each of the luscious plums moving
within the confinement of his sac.

'Come on Gilles', I whispered.  'Time for this waiter to deliver his next
meal.  I think that this tender piece of meat needs to be smothered in a
hot and creamy sauce'.

I glanced upwards, and saw that he was looking down at what I was doing to
him, entranced by my worship at the altar of his cock.  I paid full
attention once more to his cockhead, which I frisked eagerly, and then
suddenly he put both of his hands on my head and pushed himself into me, so
that his thrusting hard prick pressed into my face.  I decided against
sucking him off, and instead prepared to be engulfed in the flood of his
orgasm.  I only had seconds to wait.  With a loud groaning gasp, he arched
his back, continued to rest his hands on my head, and the first pulses of
spunk spurted from the slit of his knob, and I was drenched in the warmth
of the French boy's thick white cum.  I opened my mouth wide so that some
of the delicious nectar splattered over my tongue, and I lapped it up
eagerly.  On he went, the creamy fountain of teenspunk covering my face.

Then it subsided, and as the thick ropes of cum clung to my face he pulled
back slightly, and then immediately crouched down on the hotel room floor
with me.  I leant back against the bed, and he pushed his hand between my
legs which I gratefully opened wide for him, and he stroked my aching
hard-on through my pulsing mesh briefs.  The soft nylon was already wet
with my precum, and it only needed a few encouraging touches from Gilles
for me to reach boiling point.  He rubbed and pressed my cock which tingled
in its nylon sheath, and that was it.  'Gilles, I'm going to cum right now.
Keep doing that, and watch me fill my briefs'.

And fill them I did!  My spunk pounded desperately from my over-ready cock,
and I could feel the tight nylon briefs sagging with the weight of the cum
flood.  The intensity of the orgasm was incredible, and being wanked like
this by the young French boy was just so hot.  He did not seem to mind
getting my cum on his hand as it oozed through the nylon mesh, and in fact
his response was to press harder, smearing the spunk over the front of my
briefs as he forced more of it through.  My cockhead felt just incredible,
tingling with the bliss of orgasm but now delighting in being stroked by
this cute teenager.  The last few drops of jizz oozed from my tip.

We lay like that for a few minutes, enjoying the bliss of detumescence.
Once our cocks had softened, but were still enjoyably big, I somehow got to
my feet without spilling too much spunk and got to the bathroom to fetch
towels, and we wiped ourselves down.  Actually, I had to do most of the
wiping, as Gilles's cum was still glistening over my face -- it seemed a
shame to remove it.  The sight of this beautiful boy, relaxed now and
comfortable in the satisfaction of post-orgasm, was very pleasing.
Eventually he pulled his sexy white nylon briefs back on and tucked in his
still swollen pouch, and I put on a fresh pair of silk boxers.  Before he
left, we closed together for another long kiss, and we spent another few
minutes just feeling each other up all over again.  I could not get enough
of the feel of this lovely boy's bulge, warm and still juicy in the bikini
briefs, and he seemed to enjoy exploring my package as it pressed through
the silk of my white boxers.

'Can we meet tomorrow, do you think?' I asked, fully expecting a diplomatic
rejection.

Gilles smiled.  'Sure thing.  It is my free afternoon.  We go somewhere
maybe?  I know nice places, Quiet places, in the woods'.

'Sounds good to me!'  We arranged to meet in the car park behind the hotel,
where the hired car was, at about 3 p.m. the following day.  And then, with
a final affectionate kiss, he slipped away.  It took me an age to calm down
and get to bed, as I replayed the events of the last hour or so.  I could
hardly believe what had happened.  I had come to this little provincial
backwater without any expectations of anything more than a good meal and a
quiet hotel.  To have had an incredibly hot session with a dark-haired
teenage French boy, a boy moreover who had incredibly good taste in
underwear, and more than that who liked to play around in his briefs, was
just a dream come true.  Had the magic ended there, that would have been
enough.  But I had the promise of more to come.  And I had put myself into
Gilles's hands.  He was going to take me somewhere into the countryside,
somewhere quiet, he had promised.  I tried hard to sleep, but it was
difficult.


Encouraging comments always welcome!  If you want to write a story with me
about lads in briefs or shorts, bulge play, or nylon fun, suggest some
outlines and get in touch at scott_justin51@hotmail.com