Date: Sat, 7 Jan 2006 03:59:20 -0600
From: spasm2 <spasm2@mailandnews.com>
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.