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 Part2
From Chapter 13:
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.
Chapter 14:
"There's nothing to cry about boy." The voice was now all brisk and business-like, as if the previous twenty minutes had never happened. "There are tissues in the box on the desk. Clean yourself up and dry your eyes. When you've done that you can get dressed and go."
Dan was barely holding himself together. He had just got naked and hard and then jerked-off in front of the man who used to be his hero. He didn't recognise himself. Who was he? And that wasn't the only thing he didn't understand. He was completely thrown by the total change in the man's attitude and tone, becoming suddenly all brisk and detached. Did he really have no idea of the ordeal he had just put Dan through? Or did he know full well and just not care? He had got his thrill and that was all that mattered. In a daze, trying not to think and determinedly not looking at the teacher, Dan wiped himself and then dressed. It was as if he had switched to automatic pilot so he was surprised when the man's voice stopped him, just as he was about to leave the room.
"You'll be pleased to know, Reed, that you have acquitted yourself very well and secured your place on the team -- for now at least."
Dan turned round with a look of disbelief on his face. How could the man possibly imagine that he would ever play soccer for him again?
"Practice after school tomorrow. Don't be late. Oh, and you can plan to have more of our one-to-one updates, like today, every couple of weeks. It's vital that I continue to monitor your, your physical development."
Dan reached for the door handle, afraid that if he stayed in the room any longer he would definitely be sick. Just as he opened the door the voice came for the final time.
"Of course, Reed, and I'm sure I don't really need to say this, not a word to anybody. Other people wouldn't understand you see, so this is our secret. And of course, there is the small matter of the photograph. You do understand, don't you Daniel?"
The blood drained from Dan's face and his mouth was drier than the Sahara. He nodded and fled down the corridor and out of the school through the main front doors. So he hadn't imagined a photo being taken, and that meant there was proof of what he had just done. He was overcome by a wave of dizziness and nausea. He staggered over to a nearby tree and puked. Then he sank down onto the grass with his back against the tree, dropped his face onto his bent knees and wept, wept tears of anger, frustration and fear. Mostly fear.
When he thought about it later, Dan could remember nothing of the journey home. He did remember being horrified to find M there, ready for their regular work-out session, as if everything was perfectly normal, and it not being until after dinner that he managed to find the courage to send him away. He remembered being totally convinced that their friendship was over, because who would want to be friends with a pervert who enjoyed jerking-off in front of his teacher? And he remembered thinking that, with soccer gone and M gone, what else was there to live for?
He remembered waking the next morning feeling full to bursting point with a boiling, red anger -- anger that he had simply gone to bed and slept as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened; anger that he had allowed something very out of the ordinary to happen without doing anything to stop it; and anger that his body had totally betrayed him and encouraged him to enjoy it.
He remembered going to school that day and how hard it was to avoid his parents before leaving the house and how much harder it was to keep out of M's way, knowing that he'd have no choice but to explain what had happened in Mr. Roberts' office and how much M would then hate and despise him. The thought of not having M as a friend was bad enough (they'd been through all this before over the gay thing so he knew exactly how unbearable it would be), but the prospect of being hated as well was too much to bear.
Throughout that horrible day a battle raged inside Dan's head and body, a battle between shame and anger -- shame at what he had done, anger that he had allowed himself to do it. It never occurred to him to be angry at Mr. Roberts because, Dan reasoned, the teacher had simply seen the perverted teenage boy that had been hiding inside him and had used Dan's love of soccer to encourage that pervert into the open. So it made sense that Dan was also angry with soccer for providing the weakness that had allowed the pervert out.
By the time he arrived home, having successfully avoided M again (although it had been touch and go, especially in English Literature when he had been lucky to find an empty single seat by the window) and determinedly skipped soccer practice, the anger had reached boiling point. He threw his back-pack to the floor and literally attacked his room. In a frenzied fifteen minutes of uncontrolled rage he systematically destroyed his world. Every treasured poster of hero-worshipped players and favourite teams was ripped from the walls and torn to shreds; proudly-displayed shields and trophies were swept from shelves and hurled into a corner; photos, medals and certificates -- the best of the best -- followed suit.
As the last item of much-loved memorabilia hit the floor, Dan's tornado of emotions finally blew itself out. Somehow he managed to find the strength to throw off his shoes before collapsing into bed. Sleep engulfed him. But it was a troubled sleep that was punctuated by agitated whimpering, spells of accelerated breathing and flailing limbs. When he groped into wakefulness the following morning he was exhausted, feeling as if he'd had every ounce of energy wrung out of him.
The next three days passed in a thick mist which clung to him like dank seaweed. Later, when M told him about being screamed at and attacked on Thursday morning he was genuinely surprised and horrified. When his parents explained that he had been reduced to a mono-syllabic hermit, refusing to eat, speak or leave his room, he had no memories to confirm what they said. What he did reluctantly remember was those few periods of wakefulness when images of himself in Mr. Roberts' room reared up to torment him. He saw what had happened and loathed himself. He had stripped naked and his dick had hardened and he had jerked-off while his teacher watched and he had put up no resistance. What sort of sicko did that make him? He saw those images and shrank from that hateful boy -- Dan Reed, the pervert.
Months later, and once Dan was comfortable in his new `normal', he was able to look back and see this convoluted thought process for the illogical nonsense that it really was. At the time though it was a different story because the boy was living a completely different reality.
It was into that distorted reality that Milo stepped that Saturday evening, wishing that his suspicions about what had happened in Mr. Roberts' office were wrong but, at the same time, hoping against hope that they weren't. And over-riding both of these conflicting feelings was the hope that it would still be possible to rescue Dan from the aftermath of whatever had happened to so comprehensively devastate his friend. Walking over to the bed, this time not bothering to step carefully through the chaos, Milo was conscious of just how much was at stake. He knew he ought to be scared of the risks involved, but he wasn't. No risk was too great if it meant getting D back. That was all that mattered.
Milo looked down on the dishevelled and crumpled bed where Dan lay curled up like a shell and facing into the wall. He looked (and smelt) as if he hadn't showered or changed clothes for days (he hadn't). But more than that he looked so small and vulnerable. Milo pulled his phone from his pocket and composed and sent a brief text before switching to silent. He then stripped down to his T-shirt and jockey shorts and climbed under the covers with Dan. Shuffling over he spooned in behind the shell of a boy, placed an arm around his chest and pulled his friend towards him. Together they slept.
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