Caught Him Wanking

We were already skilled panty-flashers, my friends and I, but up until now, we had only targeted certain staff members and it was really a case of us ‘innocently’ (ha!) exposing our crotches and daring them to say anything to us. On the few occasions they did, we’d play it innocent  with lots of “What do you mean?” Trying to goad a young nun or a monk into saying “I can see your crotches” was great sport. 

But now there were a few adolescent boys in the mix. So we targeted them. They, in turn ‘just happened’ to be sitting near us on the school field when we deployed our feminine wiles. But I learned something back then. A girl can get horny, but file it away for later. Boys didn’t seem able to do this. Once they were hard, they had to cum or it got seriously uncomfortable for them. My lovely friend Tig once explained the physiology of it to me….something about seminal vesicles,..can’t really remember. Anyway, she proved that blue balls really are a ‘thing’. 

So, I suppose it was inevitable that the boys would,  er….seek relief. Unfortunately for them, there was only one restroom designated as a ‘boys restroom’, and they couldn’t really pile into it after a lunchtime of staring at moist undies. Anyway, there were six of them and only two stalls in the restroom. 

Observation is key in situations like this and I noticed that one boy in particular peeled off from the group early and went to the gymnasium. Hmmm. Interesting. So, one day, I followed. Oh I knew he had found himself a corner to beat off, but I figured it wouldn’t be the locker room. For a start, there wasn’t one for the boys. They changed in the equipment store, and the two ancient wizened old hags of nuns who taught PE didn’t like boys there and made life as uncomfortable as possible for them. The equipment store was also where the two good sisters smoked their vile roll-ups too. No good hanging out for a wank there. 

The main floor? Hardly. I guess if you’re an adolescent guy, standing in the middle of a basketball court isn’t the ideal place to jack off.  As usual, the place was in semi darkness. The lower half of he windows was blacked out with black paper, lest someone might see our tits bouncing as we played netball in there, or climbed ropes. (Trying not to cum on the way down…and failing in my case.) 

I stood in the shadows listening intently for any sound that might indicate where he might be. A small grunt. That’s all it was. And I mean small. The sort of noise you can’t help but make, and then try to cut it off half way anyway. Top of the bleachers then? Very slowly, I edged my way up the concrete stairs to the very top row where I saw him, sitting down, his pants and boxers round his ankles, feet tucked underneath him leaning backwards and jerking himself. Not that I knew much back then, but it looked to me like he was getting close. He had that sort of intent, almost painful look about him that just made me think maybe he was almost there.

And that’s when I tripped over my own feet. He of course immediately stopped and looked panic-struck in my direction. Still, at that age, erections don’t easily vanish, and I felt awful. I just said “don’t stop. I…I’d love to watch.” I came and sat beside him and saw his hand slowly wrap itself around his dick.  To encourage him I said “Did you like looking at our panties?” He gave me a reply that has stuck with me over the years. “I wasn’t looking at your panties. I was looking down your sleeve. I love the way your boobs kind of disappear to nothing.’ My favoured panty flash position was sitting up, feet near my bum but spread, arms either on or around my knees. I wore shirts that were short-sleeved and also a size too big. Many of the classrooms were south-facing and superheated. You needed something to let the air flow, and anyway, I hardly ever bothered with a bra. In any other environment, being told your tits ‘…disappear to nothing’ would be a turn off, but up here, on the top row of the bleachers in the semi-darkness, it was a massive turn on for me. 

I undid a couple of buttons and opened my shirt. This was incredibly dangerous….for both of us. A boy and a girl alone? In semi darkness? Her with her shirt open? I suspect many of the nuns would have us exorcised! The devil was surely within us. All it took was one look. I suspect it was the first time he’d seen a girl’s boob. Suddenly spurts of semen erupted from him and splattered onto the concrete floor. It looked fantastic. He didn’t try to touch me, although I have no doubt I’d have let him, and I desperately wanted to wrap my fingers around his cock, but that would have scared him off, I knew. 

He zipped up rubbed his semen into the floor with his shoe and scuttled away. I buttoned my shirt. At least now if I was discovered I could always claim to be upset and needed some alone time. Even the two harridans who taught PE were suckers for “I’m so ashamed of myself, Sister. I have these awful thoughts…..I just needed to be alone and pray.” Their gimlet eyes would soften marginally and they’d offer to pray with us. The penance of being trapped between two elderly nuns, one on each side, stinking of coffee, bad cigarettes and a faint smell of stale piss was a small price to pay for what we’d really been doing. 

Even so, I remember how my nose had picked up and directed the scent of semen. Oh, but it’s hard to describe. Erotic, certainly. But there’s a harshness to the scent as well….a kind of….metally scent. Still, intensely horn-making for all that. 

Surprisingly, no, I didn’t. Not there, anyway. What I’d seen had made me wet as fuck though and I knew I would need to cum before the school day was done. So….restroom or classroom? And at that moment the bell rang. It always seemed to me that when the bells system was installed in Catholic schools, the bell company had said “Here’s what you need.” And the convent replied “No…we want a system five times louder!” Everyone jumped when the bells rang. I scuttled off to my next lesson Geography with Sister Marie-Claire. Today’s speciality the wheat growing belt of the United States of America and its impact on the world. (Yawn). 

And so, sitting at the back right of the class, on an old wooden seat and desk combination that was so old it actually had an inkwell in it, my right hand slipped between the wrap around of my kilt and onto my panties. Sister Marie-Claire did most of her ‘teaching’ by showing us movies on a tired old 16mm projector. We saw acres of waving golden wheat that had been harvested thirty years ago while my fingers inched their way under a leg hole and down to my throbbing clit. Naturally, I stared intently at the screen while not seeing a damned thing as deep between my legs, my orgasm built steadily. Apparently, my nose comes equipped with a ‘smell recorder’ and just before I climaxed I replayed the moment he spurted and the scent of total maleness that pervaded our space. The orgasm was one of those that requires coughing to cover it up. “Sorry sister….something went down the wrong way.” 

Right at the end of a glorious cum, I felt it. The sudden spread of wetness. Whether pee or squirt I neither knew nor cared. What I did know was that I’d probably need to wash my kilt tonight. They were clever, in an evil sort of way, these nuns. Woollen kilts don’t absorb moisture, being a natural material. They were long enough to reach just below our knees and heavy enough to not be affected by any wind short of a hurricane.  Oh, how I envied the girls at the state high school. Their short, flimsy skirts blew up so easily in even the slightest breeze that showed their panties off to perfection. Panties and  thongs in some cases. How daring! I didn’t like thongs, but I loved the exposure they brought. For me and my friends it was either panties or commando. 

I suppose my mum guessed things were moving along when I started to show and interest in panties that were almost transparent, or the briefest of briefs ones. Panties that barely covered anything, but covered just enough. Yes, I saw him again. A couple of times, actually. Never in school though. I dread to think what those Christian, forgiving, ‘Christ’s love in all that we do’ nuns would have done if they found us together….even if we were reading the Bible, let alone with my hand wrapped round his cock. (And on two occasions, my mouth.) 

In return, I taught him how to finger a girl….well….how I  like being fingered, anyway.  The thought of going all the way never occurred to either of us. Somehow we both knew that was never going to happen. After about a month of clandestine wanking/sucking off in the woods (which I now own) it just fizzled out naturally. 

Oh, one more thing. I did come to know his sister quite well though. She said “He’s a creepy little pervert. Always trying to see my tits….any chance he gets. Be careful, or he’ll be perving on you next. I bet he’ll be after my panties next.”  Maybe that’s where my dislike of slapping boys with this term ‘pervert’ stems from. A 60 year old man wanting to fuck a 9 year old? Now that’s a pervert. An adolescent boy who has just discovered girls wanting to see tits? Oh, please! Yes, maybe wanting to see his sister’s tits was pushing it, but then, do we not seek to see that which is close to us? I know if I had been his sister, I would have had a very different take on it. I’d have made it my life’s mission to flash him sufficiently to make him cum in his pants. It sounded to me like she resented anything and everything that gave him pleasure - not just sexually - literally anything. I decided to leave her with a thought that would eat away at her. “Hmm….well….you can stop him looking at your tits…..and for that matter you can hide your used panties…..but what if it’s you he thinks of when he masturbates. You can’t do anything about that, can you?” I watched my arrow hit home and inwardly smiled. No, she can’t do anything about that, but the impotence of that situation will chew her around for ages. Personally, I had no doubts as to who he thought about when he jacked off…..and whose panties he had in a plastic bag hidden away in his room. Maybe, if she knew…absolutely knew she wasn’t even on his radar, she’d have felt jealous…who knows? The lady doth protest too much, methinks. 

But she was missing the point. There it was again, you see. The absolute power inherent in the female form. Maybe part of the reason we fizzled out was the constant denigration of his older sister. She treated him like he was something she had stepped in, and I imagine life with her was a little grim for him. I sincerely hope he put her in her place sometime, somehow. 

Oh, one last thing. His was the cock where I noticed that there was a small ‘connection’ at the very tip. (Tig would no doubt know the correct term for it.) I was always scared I’d break it if I was too vigorous, but with him I learned the art of pressure and speed, the sensitivity of the glans, and what a perfectly timed, whispered “My cunt is so wet” would do. I think, with him, I also learned a far more important thing. 

He met Alison quite a few times and sometimes would talk about her when we were getting busy in the woods. I’d tease him asking him if he fancied her, and one time, as I was wanking him, I gave him panties from my bag that I’d taken offer earlier that afternoon. He smelled them and told me I smelled ‘Delicious’, but I said “Maybe they’re not mine. Maybe They’re my sister’s?” I don’t think I’ve seen anyone shoot so suddenly or quite as far. And yes, I did give him a couple of pairs of hers, and talk dirty to him about her while wanking him off. Did I feel jealous? Not at all. Yes, with him I learned that good sex is good sex, no matter what, or who the focus is. I realised I got real, tangible pleasure from his pleasure, a lesson I carry into practice today. 

Imagine you’ve been married for, oh, I don’t know….let’s say 30 years. In all that time, things must get a bit…er…’samey’…..and I would imagine both parties have seen other people who they find attractive. I, for example, am deeply in love with Emily, and yet there’s a new girl working at the village petrol station who damn near made me cum in my panties just by saying hello to me yesterday. A little role play, then? A little dirty talk about the person while masturbating your partner? I’ve ‘been’ other people for Emily and Dani (come to think of it) and they for me. Perhaps, when your relationship is that secure, that is indeed an expression of love?