This is the second part of the story of Dan Reed and Milo de Beer -- D'n'M. As before, it includes scenes of sex between teenage boys. However, sex is not the main driver of this story and often there is none at all.
All the characters and events in the story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, either living or dead, is entirely unintentional.
The story is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any way without the express permission of the author who can be contacted at pjalexander1753@gmail.com
D'n'M Part 2
From Chapter 12:
And at the back of his mind was the picture of his mum, in the kitchen, barely able to stand, glass and bottle in hand, obviously more than half way drunk. But at the front and centre of his mind was another picture, one of his best friend who he loved more than anyone else on the planet, suffering like a wounded animal and he, Milo, might just have the means to make him better again.
He opened the door.
Chapter 13:
Dan Reed had lived for fourteen and a half years. He had always been happy, although it had never occurred to him to think much about it. He had two parents who were still together -- a rarity among his crowd of friends - who he loved and who loved him. He had an older brother, Tom, who he idolised and he had an almost-brother in Milo who he couldn't imagine life without. All of these things he had and was grateful for, and yet, at that moment, he still felt as if he wanted to die. In fact, as far as he was concerned, any sort of life worth living was already over. It had ended just a few days before when he walked into Mr. Roberts' office at school, supposedly to update the teacher on the early successes of his new strength and fitness regime, but, in reality, to become the latest victim in a dark world of degradation and abuse involving young and vulnerable athletes. In short, kids exactly like Dan. Not that the boy, curled up and sobbing on his bed, could either see or appreciate the bigger picture. All he could see, no matter how desperately he tried to erase it from behind his eyelids, was the disgusting and humiliating image of himself as he allowed himself to be pressurised into providing the once-revered adult with the `performance' he demanded. Yes, he really did want to die.
Dan hadn't gone exactly willingly to the appointment, but who deliberately defies a direct instruction from a teacher, especially one as scary as Mr. Roberts could be? To be fair, Dan hadn't always thought of the man in that way. Truth to tell, he had been majorly grateful to him because he was the one who had identified and then nurtured Dan's talent for soccer. It was Mr. Roberts who had encouraged the boy to attend the try outs when he was just twelve years old and who had found a place for him in the squad and who, later, had given him a regular (if not always a starting) place on the team.
It wasn't an exaggeration to say that Dan loved soccer. It was his passion. He watched the game, he studied the game, he played the game, he dreamt the game. His bedroom was floor-to-ceiling soccer posters, soccer photos, soccer trophies. He had no doubt that he would grow up to be a professional soccer player, with a guaranteed place in the national team, maybe even as captain. Yes, Dan Reed loved soccer. So, to the young and impressionable boy, Mr. Roberts had been something of a hero.
But all that had all been blown out of the water just a few short months before when Dan, desperate to find a way of impressing the lusted-after-from-afar Beth Harper (Beth Harper of the amazingly mobile chest), had decided that the development of bigger, stronger muscles was the way to attract the girl's attention. On the back of that decision Dan had approached Mr. Roberts for advice on how to go about improving his physicality (never mentioning the delicious Miss Harper but rather on the pretext of becoming a better soccer player). That request for advice had resulted in a first, and slightly weird, encounter in the teacher's office, weird because of some unexpected touching - either inappropriate and definitely unwelcome or accidental and totally meaningless -- he'd spent hours trying to decide on which it was. There had also been some belittling observations about what lay inside Dan's underwear which had only added to the sense of discomfort and weirdness. And at the end of that first meeting, Mr. Rogers had made it clear he expected regular updates regarding Dan's physical development, hence the second and most recent meeting, at the end of school on Tuesday.
That meeting had been creepy virtually from the start. Dan had been instructed to strip down to his compression shorts and had then had no choice but to stand, virtually naked, as he was looked over like a boy captive in an ancient slave market. But that hadn't been the worst of it, oh no, not by a long way. What happened next was so far beyond the scope of a rather naïve and sensitive boy's understanding of the world, beyond anything he had ever imagined, that he hadn't, at first, been able to believe that it was actually happening to him. But it definitely had happened, which was why he was lying, for the third consecutive day (not that he was keeping count) on his crumpled bed, in a room which he had turned into a passable facsimile of a bomb site, feeling that his life was over.
What was that famous phrase? Oh yes, `Going from hero to zero', that was it. Well, as far as Dan was concerned, it took Mr. Roberts about two minutes to go from hero to so far below zero that there weren't enough numbers in the world to calculate it. It was when Mr. Roberts unapologetically discarded any pretence of having a genuine interest in Dan's health and fitness that the boy realised that he was 100% ensnared in a trap that had been carefully set up for him to walk into. He had never been so scared.
"To keep your place in the squad." "Put on a little performance." Those were the words that were ricocheting around inside Dan's head. He had had no words of his own with which to respond. He had had no words for anything. He had needed to concentrate on stopping himself from collapsing in a sobbing heap.
There was a pause during which Dan's heart-rate increased and sweat broke out on his forehead. Collapse seemed inevitable and imminent.
"I'm right, aren't I, Daniel, you do want to keep your place on the team."
"Er, yes sir. I hope so, sir." The words croaked out of Dan's mouth.
"And you know what you need to do to guarantee it?"
"I ... I'm not sure that I do, sir." He could barely get the words out, but, perhaps, if he could be convincingly innocent and unknowing, Mr. Roberts might decide he had chosen badly and give up.
"Oh, I think you do, Daniel. I think you know exactly what you need to do." The underlying malice in the voice was overlaid with a veneer of encouragement and kindness. But it was a very thin veneer.
"I'm not sure that I can, sir. Do what you want, I mean." He couldn't keep the fear out of his voice.
"Oh, you mustn't be nervous, Daniel. You mustn't think you won't be good enough. I think you're going to be excellent."
Dan was like a rabbit caught in the cross-hairs of a high-velocity rifle, incapable of movement or sensible thought. He stood, near-naked, miserable, silent.
"I know you're going to enjoy it boy." The voice was more insistent now. "I know we both will. So everyone wins. Perfect!"
Dan remained silent.
"I realise this must all seem rather unusual, strange even. But, once you get started, it will all become perfectly natural. Believe me."
Dan's silence continued.
"Come on now. This is getting tedious, and I'm not very good at tedium. I get frustrated and, believe me, my frustration would not be good, not for either of us." There was no hiding the man's accelerating journey towards the end of his tether.
"Daniel!" he shouted. Dan jumped. "We both know that you understand exactly what to do, so, if you genuinely want to stay on the team and if you have any appreciation of what's good for you, you'll get on and do it. Now!"
This totally naked threat removed every remaining shred of Dan's resistance. Of course he wanted to keep his place on the team. Soccer was the centre of his life and the prospect of losing that was unbearable, more unbearable, even, than the horror of what was being demanded of him now. For the first time in several minutes he managed to get his brain and his mouth to co-operate.
"What, exactly, do you want me to do Mr. Roberts. Sir?"
"That's better. That's what I want to hear -- that you've finally come to your senses. So, what do I want you to do? I'll tell you what, let's keep it simple to start with, shall we? Why don't you put one of your fingers in that lovely mouth of yours and get it nice and wet? That shouldn't be too unpleasant for you."
And it wasn't. To naïve and unworldly Dan, it seemed an entirely strange thing to do, but if it made the teacher happy, and if things didn't get any worse, well, he felt he would be able to cope with such a simple, if strange, request. He put a finger in his mouth and sucked it.
"Is it wet?" Dan nodded.
"Very wet?"
He nodded again.
"Good. Now take it out of your mouth and drag it down your chin. Like this."
Dan saw that Mr. Roberts was demonstrating what he expected him to do. He copied.
"And down your neck."
Both Dan's and the teacher's fingers continued their journey.
"Across your chest."
On they went, with the man's hand now hidden under his loose T-shirt.
"And now rub it in a circle round your left nipple."
Dan did.
"Oh yes. Very good. Now do the same again on the other side." The voice had taken on a slightly dreamy quality.
Dan did as he was told and stimulated his other nipple. He was surprised to realise that both of the small, pale brown areas of skin, usually completely flat and ignored on his chest, were now hard, erect and very sensitive. Who knew?
"Good. Very good. I can see you're beginning to enjoy it. I told you you would."
At first, Dan didn't understand what the teacher meant by that remark, but it became horribly clear with the next instruction.
"Keep using that hand on your very suckable nipples - yes, that's right - and take your other one down to that promising bulge in your shorts."
Dan had been so caught up with the warm sensations rippling across his chest that he hadn't realised what had been simultaneously going on below his waistline. Now, though, as fingers made contact with dick, he became aware of just how hard his teenage boyhood had become. He was appalled, and both hands immediately sprang away from his body as if they'd been electrocuted. How could it? How could his body betray him like this? How could it enjoy being treated like a piece of meat?
"Oh no boy. Don't stop now. Things are just beginning to warm up."
Dan turned a pained face towards the man he used to look up to so admiringly and shook his head. Mr. Roberts hadn't moved from his chair but Dan noticed that one of his hands had disappeared below the level of the desk top. It didn't require an Einstein to work out where it was.
"I said `Don't stop'. If you know what's good for you, that is." This was said with real menace.
Dan was genuinely in shock but, while his head continued to shake, his hands returned to his traitorous body. While one continued the figure-of-eight journey around his nipples, the other splayed out across his humiliatingly stiff rod.
"Just run your fingers up and down it. That's it. But not too firmly, we don't want you to finish too quickly, do we?"
Finish was all Dan did want to do, not in the way the teacher meant the word but in the way that would mean this horrific experience was over and he could get out of that room. But that didn't look likely to happen any time soon.
"Feels good, eh? Like you could fuck the world? Like you could blow gallons of cum?"
Dan tried to block out the words but he couldn't. And what was worse, way worse, was that the man was right, it did feel good. He didn't know about the fucking but it definitely felt as if he had huge amounts of cum just waiting to be released from his balls. As that idea flashed across his mind he felt a growing damp patch under his fingers. Shit! Pre-cum. Mr. Roberts noticed it too.
"Excellent. Excellent. It looks like you've done a very good job of warming-up and it's now time for the main event, and time to see just what sort of equipment we're working with. Move the waist band of those very sexy shorts so it's hooked under your balls." The man's excitement was obvious from his voice.
If you've ever seen or read Rudyard Kipling's story `The Jungle Book', you'll know the scene where the snake, Ka, attempts to mesmerise Mowgli before killing him. At that moment, Dan was Mowgli and Mr. Rogers was the snake. Unfortunately for the boy, unlike in the story, there was no rescue on its way. He was lost. He shut his eyes and tried to close his mind to the horror of the room. Disgustingly, Mr. Roberts voice came seering through Dan's defences.
"Oh, uncut. I hadn't been expecting that. Very nice. Very nice indeed. Right, Daniel, it's time to show me that you're really worth a place on my team."
The idea of being on Mr. Roberts' team had never seemed more unappealing. What he was doing disgusted him and he couldn't believe that any of the other guys had ever allowed themselves to be reduced to this level of degradation, simply to play soccer. It must just be him. He was the pervert. He was the one who had been hyper-excited by watching his brother jerk-off. He was the one who put a finger up his butt in order to produce a better cum. He was the one who regularly jerked-off with is best friend. Yes, he was the pervert, and Mr. Roberts knew it and that was why he was standing there dribbling pre-cum and harder than granite.
"Wrap your hand around it in whatever way you usually do, and move your other hand down to your balls."
Dan obeyed.
"Now stroke."
He did.
"And turn to face me so I have the perfect view when you score."
As he turned Dan heard the unmistakable sound of a photo being taken, but when he looked at Mr. Roberts, both the man's hands were hidden from sight. All Dan could see was the familiar up and down motion known to all boys once they have crossed the threshold into puberty.
"Now, in your own good time, give yourself the best cum you can imagine. Cum like you've never cum before. Shoot that cum further than you've ever shot before."
Dan's hand mirrored that of the teacher, quickly attaining maximum speed and generating the familiar waves of warmth throughout his body. Now he was unaware of the room, of the teacher, of the whole, humiliating situation. Now he was simply caught up in the moment of approaching release.
But there was still the voice, and the voice became more and more insistent; more and more deranged. "Cum! Cum! Cum! Aaaaagh!!"
How far Mr. Roberts' cum travelled out of his hidden dick Dan would never know and, even less, ever care. His own teenage boy juice erupted out of his dick in three distinct shots. As he rapidly descended from his orgasmic high he looked down to see a white line stretching across the office floor towards the teacher's desk. It was only at that moment of awful realisation of what he had just done that Dan became aware of the tears sliding silently down his face.
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