Date: Sat, 7 Jan 2006 03:59:20 -0600 From: spasm2 Subject: Pauls Pants chapter 7 I slept like a baby that night, still wearing Paul's purple mesh briefs, and dreaming the blameless dreams of the truly sated. When I woke the next morning I couldn't quite believe what we had done the day before, the photos were only going to show half the story. As with many of our sessions, what happened after I put the camera to one side was as significant as the images that you can see. I was quite content with this situation, I had never thought of myself as a pornographer, even then I was more turned on by the gradual discovery of a person's sex (hence, I suppose my fascination with underwear), than with the `whip your cocks out and wank `til you come' style of imagery. Paul, I think, inclined more to the latter, but was happy for me to take the lead, as long as he got a come shot in there somewhere. Ours was a happy creative partnership from that point of view. Paul's final exams cast a long shadow over the rest of that school year; he was no scholar, although he could ably demonstrate, to me at least, that he was very good with his hands. Having done my exams the year before, and despite doing very little work, passing most of them, I was able to help him to prepare. Paul, on the other hand was more interested in exploring and developing his sexual skills, and a part of this was done in my company. He made it abundantly clear that we were never going to have penetrative sex; "that," he said dismissively, "was for poofters." Apart from that stricture, he was up for anything. His latest obsession was for sex in risky places, nearly being caught by a neighbour one time had obviously given him an idea and he began pouncing on me and dragging me away on some new adventure. A couple of these were particularly memorable; on one occasion I was working on the school summer concert, and a rehearsal was dragging wearily on below me on the stage. I was shut out of the way in the control room at the back of the balcony, sitting on a stool at the lighting board, waiting for something, anything, to happen. I only became aware that there was somebody else in the control room when I saw a slight movement reflected in the glass of the window. Even as I noticed this motion, a hand touched my shoulder, making me jump, "Don't turn around," came Paul's voice quietly out the gloom behind me, and I relaxed, giving my attention back to the stage. A moment or two later, I became aware that he was standing close behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body on my bare arms, it took a little longer for me to work out that this was in some way unusual, and, without looking round I stretched an arm out behind me and immediately encountered a bare leg. Paul obligingly shifted round to make my exploration easier, as my hand travelled slowly up his leg, his thigh and then found his balls trapped in some silky briefs, needless to say, he was very erect, the material tenting away from his body. Pausing only to re-acquaint myself with his cock, and to enjoy the feeling of its hardness as it strained to escape from its confinement, I moved on up, past the waistband and on to his bare chest. So far the only item of clothing I had felt was his rather minimalist briefs, and I swivelled round on the stool to discover, in the faint blue glow of the working lights, that all he was wearing was a small pair of bulging black cotton pants. I was very turned on by this unexpected, but very welcome visitation, and was also extremely mystified; "How on earth did you get up here like that without anybody noticing?" I questioned. "Easy," he replied, "I came up here while everyone was at lunch, and popped open the fire escape door, then, when I could see that there was nothing happening much happening on stage, I went round, stripped off outside the door, waited for a noisy moment and slipped in." "How long did you have to wait?" I asked. "Not long," he said grinning, "maybe five, ten minutes." "Let me get this straight," I said, "you stood outside on the fire escape for ten minutes, wearing only a pair of pants, which, incidentally I seem to recognise as mine! When at any moment someone could have walked round the corner and seen you, you must be out of your mind." "Yup," he said cheerfully, "and I was rock hard too, remembering that first time I had been up on the fire escape." Without a great deal more ceremony, I stood up, and shoving my hand up the leg hole of his/my pants (this could get confusing), I grabbed hold of his cock and propelled him purposefully back across the room, to that very table against which I had seen him leaning all those years before. This time, I did what I would have liked to have done then, and pushed him back onto the table so that he was lying there in a jumble of old plans and discarded bits of lighting colour. Firmly, I began to move my fist up and down his erection, and he settled himself back more comfortably and wiggled his bottom in pleasure. Keeping the rhythm going on his prick, I bent over and flicked my tongue over his erect nipples, getting an appreciative moan for my efforts. I continued my tonguing for a while, and then gradually voyaged down his now gently sweating chest pausing at the belly button and then continuing on until I reached the fine tuft of hair that was beginning to develop just above the waistband of his pants. Teasing at this with my teeth, for a second or two, I used my wanking hand to bring his cock out of his pants and up to my lips. Kissing and licking the tip, which was already red and hot, the foreskin pulled right back, I could sense that he was well on the way. He was so turned on that he had completely forgotten about me, and I was standing there, bent over him, my legs wide apart and a raging stiffy in my jeans. A stiffy that I had to put a helping hand to, even as I was gobbling at his cock. I decided that it was about time to bring things to a conclusion, and pulled his pants right off, flinging them across the room in the direction of the fire escape. Taking him in hand once more, with my mouth and tongue I gave his balls some serious attention, keeping up a steady and firm pressure on his slippery penis at the same time. As on many previous occasions, I started to vary the pace and regularity of my strokes, gradually building up my speed until the first drops of pre-cum splashed out. Taking that as my cue, I plunged down over his dick, and took as much of his length deep into my mouth as I could, before pulling back and concentrating on the glans. I repeated that manoeuvre a few times, feeling the heat building up and the shaft of his cock expanding in my mouth as I felt him getting close to shooting his load. Suddenly his body stiffened and he forced his cock hard into my mouth, his come spraying over my tongue in a salty flood. At that moment, to my total horror and confusion, I heard someone try to open the door of the control room. Thankfully I had dropped the catch on the Yale lock when I shut the door behind me, so unless they had the key we were safe enough. A second later, I heard someone thump on the door, "are you awake in there? We've been shouting at you for ages, the sound op's left the act 2 tapes on the table, and we need to run through them." "Just coming," I shouted, untruthfully, and rather indistinctly, as Paul jumped up off the table, and stood there, little blobs of come dripping off the end of his still erect dick onto the cement floor. I motioned for him to hide in the corner, where there was a large grey metal cupboard, into which we locked away all the things that were either consumable, or nickable. At that time, the doors stood open, leaving a niche where a thin person could hide. As Paul concealed himself, I grabbed the tape reels off the table and went to open the door. Our stage manager was standing there, a look of impatience on his spotty face, "What kept you, doze off in the dark?" he said, rudely. "Yeah, something like that," I said, "I'll try to stay awake for the rest of the afternoon. Now, was that all?" "Not quite," he said, "I need some gaffer tape." To my absolute horror, he walked over to the cupboard, even in the gloom I could see Paul's toes under the door, and as he knelt down, he held on to the door to steady himself, and pulled it round, revealing Paul in all his naked glory, a look of mingled terror and excitement on his face. Happily, as our stage manager rose to his feet, a roll of black gaffer tape in his hand, he pushed the door wide open again, although I noticed that his hand came very close to brushing Paul's body as he did so. As the stage manager made his way out of the room, I couldn't help noticing a couple more potential traps; the first was a not very tidy pile of clothes in the corner, by the fire escape door, not very obvious in the shadows, thankfully. The other, just outside of the shaft of light pouring in through the door was a pair of very obvious black cotton pants, hanging from the shelving where they were caught up after I flung them across the room. I closed the door behind him, and grabbed the pants, handing them to Paul, as he emerged shaking with silent laughter. "Don't you ever do that to me again," I said sternly, as he pulled them on. His cock was only semi-hard, a condition that I had rarely seen it in, even so, it still filled out the pants quite prettily. "You'd better get your kit on before anybody else tries to get in, and I'd better get back to the rehearsal, you can let yourself out the way you came in." With that I turned back to the lighting desk and sat myself back down, watching very little happening out of the window, and turning up the volume on the show relay speaker. I could hear Paul shuffling about in the room behind me, and assumed that he was dressing, my attention was diverted as I heard my name being shouted from the stage, I waved, and followed the instructions that I was being given. At that very same moment, a hand appeared in my flies, not from behind, but from below, Paul had silently crawled round the room, and was under the table on which the lighting desk sat. The top of the table was level with the window, so even if you stood on the balcony and peered in, you couldn't see anything. This is probably just as well, as, looking down, I could see that Paul was still only wearing the cotton pants, as he reached up and unzipped my flies. Rather awkwardly, from his vantage point under the table, he undid my waist button, and pulled impatiently at my jeans until I shifted my butt enough to allow him to pull them down. Outside the window things were progressing a little, although my concentration was wavering as I felt Paul expertly caressing my crotch. I had stiffened up the minute I saw him sprawling nearly naked at my feet, his own cock stiff yet again. I had a moment of horror, as I saw the balcony outside the window filling up with giggling schoolgirls. The local girls school had agreed to supply some female singers, and in the interest of maintaining segregation they had been shipped up into the balcony to watch the part of the rehearsal that they had no part in. They turned and looked curiously at me, sitting at the lighting desk, waving and giggling. I smiled back, especially as Paul had by now extracted my cock from my pants, and was sucking enthusiastically on it, whilst at the same time gently stroking at his own erection. How I got through the rehearsal I don't really know, I think my expression must have been rather strained, and I was hugely relieved when the girls were all summoned to the stage, as Paul continued to blow me with all his newly gained enthusiasm and expertise. My orgasm, when it came, was strong enough for me to fall off the stool and join Paul in a heap on the floor, smiling, he anointed me with my sperm, and moved my hand onto his erection, giving me a quizzical look. I gave him a gentle stroke, and said, "No, not now, or they'll be sending out search parties for me again." "When?" he said sulkily. "Surprise me," I said foolishly, which made him grin wickedly. "I think I just might," he said, and crawled out from under the table. I made sure he was fully dressed before I pulled my Jeans back up and let him out of the fire escape. I didn't have to wait very long before he carried out his plan; in the old Victorian part of my school, at the t-junction between two corridors was the small office used by his head of year, a stout and fearsome woman whose appearance suggested lesbian even if she wasn't actually so. She and Paul had carried on a small war ever since he started there, and now he was seizing the opportunity to get his own back. A couple of days later I was wandering down the corridor, on my way to the library, when a hissed; "Hey, over here," drew my attention to the office, the door of which was open just a crack. Although the office walls were mostly glass, up to above head height was frosted, making it impossible to see in, although every sound could be heard from outside. A factor that made her frequent use of the strap or the slipper as a means of discipline more public and humiliating than you might have thought. I made my way over to the office, which was unlit, and cautiously pushed open the door. I had already realised that I had been summoned by Paul, and wondered what he was up to. When I entered the office I hastily slammed the door behind me in case any passer by saw the sight he presented to me. You will have guessed by now that he was not over-dressed; in fact he was wearing a t-shirt, pulled up under his arms, and a pair of baggy white cotton y-fronts, of classic school model. Also, he was bent over the desk, butt facing the door, legs apart and hands by his side, in a position that he must have assumed on many occasions before, when he was being punished. My cock sprang into life in my jeans as I contemplated this vision, especially when I noticed that he was holding the strap loosely in one hand. I took it from him, and swished it in the air a couple of times, before saying; "Hmm, you have been a naughty boy." His buttocks tensed, as I paused. Now, I must take time out here, and point out that I am not into S&M, in my professional life I've had many dealings with that particular fraternity, and I can see what it does for them, it just doesn't float my boat, different strokes for different folks as the saying goes. So, the sight of Paul straddling the table, butt tense with anticipation, pushed all sorts of buttons, punishing him just wasn't one of them. I held the moment as long as I could, then, very very gently; I ran the corner of the strap over his cotton-covered cheeks. Nearly making him jump out of his skin, and I followed this up with a caress, before kneeling down and kissing his butt. Going with the flow, I slowly moved my hand up his leg, from his ankle, until I reached the warm haven of his crotch. I cupped his balls for a moment before I slid my hand further and gripped his cock through the soft material. Paul relaxed, and subsided flatter onto the desktop, bringing his arms up and gripping the far edge of the desk. I slipped my hand up through the leg hole, and, pulling his pants out of the way I freed his cock. Leaning my face against his butt cheek I began to masturbate him; gripping firmly, I started with slow and regular strokes, running my fist from base to tip and paying special attention to the tip. I wasn't going to hang about here; the risk of discovery was about as great as sucking him off on the upper deck of a double decker London bus, an idea that I am very grateful he never thought of. As I was steadily working away, I was dimly aware of the sounds of chatter and clattering feet as pupils made their way to and from classrooms, I started to giggle silently, jiggling Paul's cheeks as my shoulders heaved. "What is it?" he asked drowsily. "I feel as though I'm milking a cow," I answered, when I could speak without laughing. "Oh, hah, bloody hah," he replied peevishly, and clamped his legs together, trapping my hand in position on his dick. He stood up, turning towards me, and forcing me to let go, his cock sprang up and flipped into my face as he leaned back against the desk. "Come on," he ordered, and hooking his hand into the waistband of my jeans, he took me round to the other side of the desk. Sitting in the old fashioned swivel chair he put his legs up on the desk, and gripping his cock resumed the constant slow stroking that I had started. I walked round the back of the chair, and leaning over, I put my hand over his and we wanked together for a while. I didn't feel that things were moving along quite as quickly as they should, so lifting one of his legs out of the way, I knelt down in front of him, pushing his hand out of the way I fed his cock into my mouth, he moved his legs up and wrapped them round my neck, sliding further down in the chair as I gobbled hungrily on his erection. I could feel his cock getting hotter and bigger between my lips, and, moving my head back, I took hold of it with both hands. Clasping it really firmly, I massaged its slippery length until it became obvious that he wasn't far off coming. "What do you want?" I asked, "d'you want me to take it, or do you want to do something else?" "What were you thinking of?" he asked, looking puzzled. "I'll show you," I answered, and went back to the matter in hand. I started to pick up the speed, and took his knob back into my mouth to give his glans some more attention, when I could taste the pre-cum I took it out, and gave it the speed treatment, as soon I saw him start to tremble I spun him round in the chair, and pulling the nearest desk drawer open, I directed the jet of come into it, all over the exercise books and school reports that were contained within (I never said I was a good boy, did I?). Paul collapsed back in the chair, his red tipped cock still flopping out of his pants, and a smug look on his face. "Wow, that was worth it," he said, "I think I owe you one." "Yeah, I think you do," I agreed, "how did you get in here, by the way?" "Climbed in through the window," he said, indicating another of the tiny windows that seem to feature in my life. "Couldn't manage to keep your trousers on this time either," I smiled, "You'd better put your clothes back on, and we can get out of here." Paul meekly tucked himself back into his pants, and pulled his jeans back on, slipping his shoes back on without bothering with his socks, he gathered up the rest of his stuff, and bent down to look through the keyhole. "The coast's clear," he said, and we slipped out of the room into the empty corridor, pulling the door shut behind us. "Thanks for that," he said, and gave my crotch a friendly squeeze, "you won't regret it. Tell you what; shall we do another photo session? Just for fun? And I'll go along with anything you ask; nun on a bike, stripping vicar, you name it." "You're on," I said, hugging him, "I'll call you when I've thought of something. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go and have a wank," Paul looked stricken, "I forgot all about you, what a dick! Come on, I'll blow you in the library." "Don't worry about it," I said, "I'll take double helpings next time, trust me." "If you're sure," he said, "I'll make it up to you next time. See you then." "Yeah, see you," I echoed, and we went our separate ways, my groin aching with my unspilled sperm. I was left with the curious problem of what to use for our next scenario, I would have to give it some thought.