Disciplines, a novel - , Chapters 1

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Disciplines, a novel by RE Stinger �2024 Part 1 - Chapters 16-21

Chapter 16: Spring Break Begins

The boys awoke at around 9am. They were locked in an embrace and had been for hours. They decided that maybe their boners should wait this time. So they got up, brushed their teeth, showered together--with lots of kissing and fondling, and got dressed. It was Saturday: Shirley was off and Steve deliberately hadn't booked any patients. They were already in the kitchen. Breakfast was a casual affair here, much as it was at Dylan's house. But Shirley asked "Does anyone want anything in particular? I know I have a yen for waffles." The other three nodded and got up to help get it going. Waffles with fruit and yogurt or syrup were soon available.

They all sat back down; Dylan and Steve smiled at each other when they sat down slightly more carefully than Richard and Shirley. "No secrets here any more than at home," Dylan thought.

"Steve and I are going into Philly today. What do you boys have in mind?" Shirley said, almost choking at the ridiculousness of her question.

Ever polite and trying to be dignified, Dylan answered, "We thought we'd stay here and listen to music, and then head over to my house a few hours before dinner."

"How can anyone not love a kid like that?" Shirley thought.

Breakfast completed, everyone pitched in with clean-up. It took all of six minutes. Richard said, "We're going to head back downstairs." He hugged his parents, and then Steve and Shirley hugged Dylan.

"Oh, and thank you for connecting with the rabbi for us," Dylan said to Steve. "You can give my dad her number tonight. We're all kind of excited about it."

Steve hugged him again and said, "Enjoy" to both Dylan and his son.

The boys returned to Richard's lair. Before anything else, they naturally made out for fifteen minutes. Then Richard said, "I started collecting vinyl discs from used places in Philly and on-line. So much was never reissued and there have been wonderful recordings that I wanted to hear. A few weeks ago, before we, uh... met for real, I found a cache of recordings by this harpsichordist from the 1960s and '70s named Igor Kipnis. They were really cheap so I just grabbed them all. If they were bad, I thought I wouldn't need to keep them.

"Apparently, he was the king of his instrument for a long time. He even had a radio show, and wrote a lot of articles and reviews. His instruments are not what we're used to since the period-instrument revival, but he does some amazing things that you should hear. Let me put on the Bach that you're working on. Either the instrument or the recording is kind of boomy so I'll turn down the bass."

They listened. Since Dylan was only familiar with the "tasteful" early music recordings of the last few decades, the sound was strange at first. But the energy and commitment just leapt out of the speakers. Dylan knew the piece by heart. But on the first repeat, Dylan nearly fell off his seat: fearless embellishment of Bach's music, which everyone seemed so scared to do these days. It heightened the passion of the music and the electricity was palpable.

It was a revelation: so much phrasing and time-stretching [rubato], even before the repeat. And then, pow! After they got through the whole piece, they--especially Dylan--were out of breath. It was like sex for the ear. Dylan kissed Richard deeply. "Thank you. I never would have known." A quick on-line search revealed that the performer had been dead for over twenty years. "Damn, that's who I would have wanted to study with."

Dylan flipped through the other albums and found one with the Prelude and Fugue in A minor, Bach catalog no. [BWV] 894. He had learned the piece a few months ago, and really liked it. "Let's see what old Igor does with this." Same boomy sound, a light blue album cover with the photo of a big man and a huge red harpsichord with long, anachronistic pedals.

Dylan knew that during the early harpsichord revival, pedals were thought easier for changing registers. But so far it seemed pointless since Igor just set up what he wanted on upper and lower keyboards and left it that way, like players do now--and it was thought, did during the period--with hand stops. Anyway, the A-minor Prelude and Fugue were just as amazing. Most people didn't bother with instruments that had 16' registers but Igor really seemed to like it. According to the notes, this was typical of the largest German instruments of Bach's day by Hass, Harrass, and Mietke.

The phrasing, the humor, the fearless embellishment were the same. But just before the last cadence in the fugue, Kipnis did something that almost made Dylan fall out of his seat again: a huge, improvised chromatic cadenza. "This must be how they played in the 18th century," Dylan thought. "Richard," he said, "I have to borrow all these records. I think they might teach me more than anyone around now."

"Sure. We'll take them to your house when we go later," Richard said.

Dylan was so euphoric that he found he'd gotten terribly horny as well. He took his pants down and lay over Richard's lap. "Spank me," he said.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, that really got me going."

"But at breakfast, I could see you squirm a little from last night. I don't want to hurt you."

"I don't care. I need something intense.

So despite his doubts--and now also very stimulated, Richard started whacking Dylan's still-pink butt and it got pretty forceful. He wanted to use his hand only, but after ten minutes, Dylan asked, "Got a ruler?"

"Oh, come on, don't you think that's...?"

Dylan interrupted "Please!" So Richard found a hefty one in his desk drawer and accommodated him. Dylan kept pleading, "Harder, harder!"

Afterwards, they were both horny in the way only teenage boys can get and Dylan said, "I wanna fuck you"

Richard had only done it a few times and not all that enjoyably. But he said, "Okay."

Having been at the other end, Dylan knew what to do. They got fully undressed and Dylan said, "I want to kiss you and see your face." So Richard got on his back, hooking his legs over Dylan's shoulders, and Dylan lubed his dick and Richard's hole. "Tell me if I'm doing anything wrong, okay?"

"Yeah, sure I will."

Dylan first used his index finger to massage and relax Richard. Then he tried two fingers, which was a little tougher but eventually worked. "Can you guide me in?" asked Dylan. Why did he feel like an airplane pilot talking to the control tower?

Richard complied, putting the tip of his lover's dick in and then stopping to relax on it. Then he said, "Try going deeper." He relaxed on that too and it was okay. Dylan slowly continued to penetrate and Richard showed no signs of discomfort. So Dylan started slow thrusts, and Richard began to moan. "That's... Shit, that's good" Continuing, Dylan rubbed Richard's prostate at every thrust.

"Oh, my God!" they said nearly in unison. Even Richard's wonderful mouth and throat encompassed a different experience from this. Dylan couldn't think of words to describe this degree of pleasure. He couldn't decide whether this or being fucked was more incredible.

They were fucking and kissing deeply. Dylan took hold of Richard's penis and stroked it at the same speed as his thrusts. Richard gasped. They went slowly but then Dylan couldn't help speeding up. Both getting close after about eight minutes, Richard said, "Sorry, I'm gonna come..." and shot a propulsive load onto his neck and face. Dylan was so turned on that he shot a few seconds later. As Richard had done the day before, Dylan unhooked Richards legs but held them up so he could stay inside, and they kissed passionately.

When they stopped for a moment, Richard smiled and said, "Thank you, Igor!"

Mutuality would become the norm, though with spanking, the boys had specific preferences. Speaking of that, when the afterglow wore off, Dylan realized that his ass was pretty sore, even though it was a sexy "good sore."

"I guess this is how Jay feels. But dinner could be an experience," Dylan thought.

Richard went into the bathroom first, expelling Dylan's load, and then they showered together. It was cooler than Richard might have liked, and that made him concerned about Dylan's insistence on an overly hard spanking, however hot.

With the spanking, the music, Dylan's epiphany, and the sex, it was certainly time for lunch. They got dressed and Richard saw, with some distress, that Dylan was having a little trouble getting into his jeans. "Let me lend you some looser pants."

"Yeah? And how will it look when I get home wearing your pants?" asked Dylan.

After lunch, which consisted of toasted cheese-and-turkey sandwiches with cilantro hummus, they went back downstairs. Richard convinced Dylan to let him apply cold packs to his butt--obviously, his parents had a bunch, already wrapped in cloth sleeves--in an effort to minimize the discomfort and bring down the swelling of the ruler welts. He tried valiantly for half an hour. While it felt good, Dylan said, "Stop feeling guilty. We both know that this will take a day or two." Richard sighed. Dylan kept his pants lowered, sat on a pillow, and they hugged while watching the sweet, odd coming-out film Alex Strangelove. Then it was time to go.

Chapter 17: Dinner

The walk From Richard's house to Dylan's was less than ideal. Richard carried most of the records, and they walked slowly. Dylan's discomfort was greater than he'd imagined. Richard couldn't stop feeling guilty even though the hard ruler spanking wasn't his idea. They stopped whenever Dylan needed to and the walk took closer the forty minutes than twenty. They arrived at about 4:30.

Aaron kissed and hugged them both after which Dylan went slowly upstairs, saying, "I'll just be a minute." When he came back down in chinos, Aaron knew something was up.

Looking at Richard, who blushed uncomfortably, Aaron asked, "Did you boys get a little too rough?"

Richard, stammering, was saved by Dylan who told Aaron, "I was so excited by a recording Richard introduced me to that I insisted on getting the ruler hard. Richard was completely against it but I wouldn't take no for an answer. So my butt's kinda sore."

One of those patented Aaron smirks. "Jay will be amused. We know that one only too well. Richard, I'm glad you tried to be more sensible than my boy, even if it was useless. Dylan, I hope it was worth it."

Not missing a beat, Dylan affirmed that, "It definitely was, Dad."

Jay appeared. He was fortunate to have the day off because it was the season for endless Messiahs, most of which he'd turned down this year, owing to sheer boredom. He was about to start on an Indian dinner for six: green curry, basmati rice, mango chutney, raita, poori, and who knows what else.

Seeing his son's chinos, he just smiled knowingly. Dylan, embarrassed, immediately shouted, "I wanted it. It's not Richard's fault."

Jay chuckled. "You don't have to explain it to me, of all people. But I'm going to need help with some prep anyway so I'm glad you arrived early."

So everyone got to work. Having three sous-chefs definitely made things go a lot faster. In an hour, everything was prepped, and Jay started in earnest.

At that moment, Dylan asked Jay, "Dad, have you heard of Igor Kipnis?"

Jay stopped chopping and said, "He was the best harpsichordist of his day. How do you know about him?"

"Richard got a huge stack of used records with him, and the things he did really blew me away. I've never heard anything like it from the 'historically informed' players of the last thirty years."

"From what I understand, he never fit into the period-instrument community. Also, by then, his chops had started to deteriorate. You know, it's amazing how few of the 'early music' crowd are aware of their history."

"I heard phrasing, expressive time, and outrageous improvisation on the records we listened to that made me uninterested in later keyboard players. What happened?"

"Well, there have been some players who go at it on better instruments with real passion but I know what you mean. Kipnis was committed and inventive in ways we don't hear from the 'early music' orthodoxy that started with the Dutch and the English."

"I'm borrowing Richard's discs and want to go through them with the scores. I don't think I've ever been this excited by a keyboard player."

"Someone once told me about a concert he heard in New York at one of the big halls, I guess in the 1970s. Brandenburg 5 was on the program, and when the big cadenza in the first movement came, Kipnis surprised everyone near the end: instead of going to the cadence, he elided it to the later, crazy, chromatic cadenza. This guy said the audience went crazy, cheering and screaming. It was pandemonium. That's what Kipnis must have been like. Hell, that's what the 18th century was like. You're lucky Richard found those records. Very little was reissued."

"I can hardly wait. I've already learned so much from listening to two pieces."

Jay was beside himself with happiness at his son's excitement.

"Dylan?" It was Richard. "Can we go upstairs for a while?"

"Sure."

They went up his room and shut the door. "You know, I'm really a little worried that everyone will think I can't control myself."

Dylan understood but said, "I think they know it was all on me."

"Yeah, but maybe I should have refused, especially with everyone around today."

"Stop worrying." Dylan hugged Richard and they lay on Dylan's bed. Richard undid Dylan's belt and delicately slid Dylan's pants off without any undue friction. His ass really was in rough shape. Richard teared up a little; he kissed and licked the red welts tenderly as though that would make them recover faster. "I love this," said Dylan. "but it's still going to take a day or two." They lay on their sides, kissing and embracing for twenty minutes.

When they came back down, Richard's eyes were still a little red. Aaron and Jay noticed. They hugged Richard sweetly and Aaron whispered. "You love him, don't you?" Richard nodded. Aaron continued, "As I told him, just see what happens. Dylan's still getting to know himself. We'd love it to continue but neither of you needs heartache so young." They hugged even more affectionately.

Shirley and Steve arrived at about 6:30, bearing a nice red wine. "I'm Aaron and this is Jay. You didn't have to bring anything, but thanks so much." Everyone was a hugger so they proceeded accordingly.

"We've been so eager to meet you," Shirley enthused.

"Us too. And Steve, we want to thank you for talking to the rabbi on our behalf. Before I forget, may I have her contact information?"

"My pleasure," Steve said as he handed a piece of paper to Aaron, who quickly entered its contents into his phone and pocketed the piece of paper.

"I'll call her on Monday."

Jay interjected, "Dinner won't be for maybe half an hour, so let's go into the living room and talk. I'll just have to leave from time to time to stir things."

Aaron, never one to dissemble, started. "Our boys have gotten very close, and Dylan says that Richard has a private 'lair,' he called it, created out of the basement. We think that's a brilliant idea, and were wondering when you did it, if it was difficult, and if you could give us the names of some contractors. We'd love for Dylan to have that kind of privacy as well."

Steve replied, "Well it depends on the layout of your basement, the placement of fixtures, and a number of factors. Our house seemed ready for the work, which we had done about four years ago, and took about three months. I have the names of the people we used and I'll send them to your phone."

"Thanks so much, Steve. In the meantime, we should talk about how the boys can have some privacy without needing to be at your house all the time. Our problem is that our bedrooms are not very far from each other."

"Oh, please," Shirley piped up. "We adore Dylan and the affection he and our son have for each other makes his presence a joy. You know, parents frequently worry that relationships will distract their kids from their schoolwork, but here the opposite seems to be true. They inspire and motivate each other."

"We've seen that too," said Jay. "And thank you for being so welcoming to our son. But we'd like to see them sometime too, you know, and don't want them to feel embarrassed about being intimate, with the proximity of our bedrooms."

"I get what you mean," said Steve. "But why don't you have our contractors give you an assessment before getting too concerned. If it's as straightforward as it was for us, it may not be an issue. In any case, as Shirley said, Dylan already feels like family. We've never seen our son so happy."

"I think we'd better talk to the boys," Aaron replied.

"About what?" asked Dylan, as the boys entered the living room.

"We were talking about privacy," said Aaron, "and the fact that although Richard has a wonderful private space, you don't. Steve is sending me the names of his contractors, so we're going to figure out if we can have the same sort of thing built here."

Dylan smiled with delight.

"But even if it works out, it will take months. Dylan, Shirley and Steve said they love having you at their house, but so do we. Since we're only a few doors down, how do you feel about the privacy issue until we can get the work done--assuming we can?"

Dylan answered, "I'd be okay and have no problem with us hearing each other. You should ask Richard."

"I agree with Dylan. It might take a little getting used to, but this is feeling like a second home already. Besides, it's not as though there are any particular secrets," Richard said with remarkable candor. "We're all on the same page about certain things." Shirley, Aaron, and Jay smiled (Aaron almost smirked, but controlled himself); only Steve blushed a little but stopped when Jay and Dylan looked at him like comrades-in-arms.

Aaron concluded, "Then we'll get an estimate about creating a new space, and in the meantime, see how it goes." He and Jay looked at each other for a second, knowing that they might be the ones who had to tone it down when the boys were around.

Jay divined Aaron's thoughts, and whispered in his ear, "Or maybe not." They both smiled sweetly.

Jay returned to the kitchen, and seeing that things were done, said "Please set the table in the dining room, folks. I think dinner is about ready." He proceeded to spoon the various heavenly, aromatic dishes into silver serving bowls. When the table was set, everyone came in to carry the bowls into the dining room. They were intoxicated by the fragrances. Even Jay thought things had come out well.

Upon tasting the green curry with chicken, Shirley immediately asked Jay, "When can I come to study culinary arts with you? My God!"

Jay responded, "Whenever you like." The "oohs" and "aahs" continued throughout dinner, a little embarrassing but generally quite welcome to Jay. The wine served a good purpose, and the boys were permitted small amounts. It didn't hide any flavors and cleansed the palate of the oils in which the very spicy ingredients were dissolved. Jay felt that after this taste overload, dessert should be simple, so he'd made the traditional Indian rice pudding with raisins and cinnamon called kheer. That too was delicious.

While consuming it, Steve, who was sitting next to his son, noticed that Dylan had been struggling to find a comfortable position at various moments throughout dinner, and whispered to Richard, "Maybe you should have taken it a little easier."

Dylan, with his sharp hearing, replied to Steve, "As I've been saying for the last four hours, it was what I wanted and Richard kept trying to refuse."

That started a conversation. Shirley was the first to make a point. She said to her son, "Richard, while to the outside observer, it seems that the dom is in control, we all know that's not true. It's the sub who really controls the activities; but sometimes, a dom has to set his or her own limits when they sense that their partner wants to take things too far. If you knew Dylan was about to take it beyond where you wanted, it was your responsibility to stop and not go with it."

"But, Mom, then Dylan would have been disappointed, and I didn't want that."

"Nevertheless, it's what you should have done. Besides, a masterful refusal could have become part of the role-play. Remember that in the future."

"I'll try," said Richard, a little contrite.

Aaron said, "That's excellent advice, Shirley, and something I need to take into account myself," looking at Jay knowingly, and remembering their overly enthusiastic session on Monday. "But, Shirley, you should know that Dylan sometimes makes it very difficult to refuse, and Richard will have to learn to stand his ground."

"Hey, everybody, I'm in the room!" Dylan interjected, a little exasperated.

"Then you should pay attention, since we're talking about limits, safety, and what could even be hotter," Aaron admonished. "Think about it. Because you wanted to go too far, now you and Richard will have to delay any more fun for a while, which I'm sure you don't want to do."

"I guess," said Dylan, chastened by the disappointing realization.

"Good. That's settled," said Aaron.

"Seminar over?" asked Richard, and everyone cracked up in peals of laughter followed by hugs.

Dylan started to tear up. "So this is what family is?" And everyone within reach kissed and caressed him, tearing up themselves a little. After he'd wiped his eyes, Dylan said, "God, this is so embarrassing, but I really love you all."

They all adjourned to the living room where Dylan, his mind never quite distracted from the topic of music, sat on a cushion and played the Bach A-minor Prelude and Fugue, BWV 894. He knew it by heart and played it with passion, remembering some of the phrasing that had electrified him on the record he'd heard earlier. He completed it and everyone yelled their compliments.

"Wait, wait! I wanted to show you what Igor did near the end," Dylan shouted. He started a few measures before that and, as best he could remember, duplicated the amazing chromatic cadenza and played to the end again.

Jay exclaimed, "I never heard that. If that's what he did regularly, I can see why your interest in other keyboardists waned today. Wait 'til we get that harpsichord!"

Richard kissed Dylan passionately and whispered, "Let's go to your room," and to their parents, he said, "We're going upstairs for a while, if that's okay with everyone."

"Mazel tov," said his dad, "and remember what you mother said."

On the way up, Dylan quickly grabbed a couple of cold packs, hoping no one was looking. Everyone saw but no one said anything. When the boys were behind the door in Dylan's room, they all chuckled quietly.

Richard said, "My mom's right, you know. Now we'll have to wait a few days before we can have a hot spanking session."

Dylan countered, "At least I know my limits better now."

Richard gently took down Dylan's pants and started to apply the cold packs when Dylan stopped him, saying "wrap them in something first... I don't know, hand towels from the bathroom. They're icy and they stick, which hurts if you don't."

"I'll have to remember, but hopefully it won't be an issue for a while." Richard got the hand towels and held the packs against Dylan's beautiful, if overly whacked, ass.

"Nice," Dylan crooned.

"So let me get this right. From what you said, you made your dad punish you much harder than he wanted."

"Yeah, I thought I deserved it, and like I said, it was the only way I felt anyone cared. I was a little bossy and you saw my ass last Monday. Aaron really tried to get out of most of it, but I didn't let him, even though it hurt like hell--and not in a good way. But it did help me to learn that someone could love me."

Richard couldn't help himself and said, "You know I love you."

Dylan started weeping. It had hit him in a very vulnerable place, and he said, "I never thought anyone would love me like that. I love you too, so much." Holding the cold packs in place with one hand, Richard held Dylan tightly with the other; Dylan held to him with both hands as hard as he could.

After half an hour, they both felt rude to have left their parents, and went back downstairs. Very politely and calmly, Richard told them, "I love him, you know. I already told Aaron."

Dylan also tried announcing it evenly, but he couldn't help whimpering as he spoke.

Shirley said, "We know, and we'll support you in everything. Always remember to take care of each other in every respect."

"Thanks, Shirley," Aaron said.

Dylan sat back at the piano and played the Partita--a long piece--that he'd also committed to memory. He played with an assurance and an erudition amazing for anyone but miraculous for a teenager. It was note-perfect and phrased with a subtlety that belied his relative lack of experience. He added ornamentation that he'd never dared before.

When he finished, Jay stood up and applauded. "My God," he enthused, "you really don't hear playing like that anymore."

Everyone was so moved and proud that they could barely express it. "Thank Richard for opening my ears," Dylan said.

The evening was emotional and lovely for everyone. The boys stayed and Richard's parents went home, embracing everyone for five minutes before they left. Dylan still evinced his emotional lability, weeping on Aaron's chest with joy at finding his life, and with sadness for having had so much of it taken from him. He was stressed when he and Richard went back to his room, but Richard understood him and soothed his tears, making him feel as loved as he could. The inevitable sex was full of the same warmth and passion, in addition to its heat.

Chapter 18: Forward Motion

Richard and Dylan awoke on Sunday morning, renewed after the trials of the previous day. Dylan was beginning to believe that love was not denied him, and the boys made the most of it. While Dylan claimed that his butt was fine, Richard saw that the welts of yesterday, though improved, were still visible and, heeding his mother's caution, refused to go that route, no matter how much they both wanted it--and they really did. To compensate, they occupied nearly an hour with rough fucking, which they had never done before, always stopping just before coming so they could trade places. They fucked each other from behind and face-to-face, biting, rough kissing, and increasing the room's temperature. They traded off six times until they were so pent up that they each shot violent loads onto the other's faces. It felt amazing. But, oh, how Dylan wanted to feel the brush or belt on his ass!

They must have been vocal and somewhat audible through two closed doors while not realizing it, because they both got knowing smiles from Aaron and Jay at breakfast. "This will work," Aaron said, even as he picked up the phone to leave a message for the contactors. Surprisingly, one of them answered the phone on Easter, and said he'd be able to come for a look at the basement during the week following the upcoming one. Aaron made sure to tell them that they had been recommended by the Conrads, and that he wanted something similar, if possible.

Richard asked, "Were we very loud?"

Aaron and Jay smiled sweetly at the boys and said, "Not at all."

Then, Dylan texted his piano teacher and told her his plans for a recital at his school: a "three Bs" program. He had pretty much decided on the pieces: all difficult works that he'd had little difficulty learning over the past year: the Bach A-minor Prelude and Fugue, Beethoven's Sonata "Path�tique" in C minor, op. 13, two Brahms pieces--the Intermezzo, Op 117, no. 2 in B-flat minor and Capriccio, op 76, no. 5 in C-sharp minor, and of course, finishing with the Bach B-minor Overture/Partita. That someone who'd studied for such a short time had mastered and memorized these pieces made Dylan something of a prodigy, though it never occurred to him that there was anything odd about it. He wasn't especially interested in the Beethoven or Brahms, but he realized that he could apply the drama and rhythmic freedoms Kipnis had demonstrated to these works as well and felt more excited about them.

If they wanted an encore, Dylan would play the variations called The Harmonious Blacksmith from Handel's Suite no. 5 in E major, and he determined to confuse everyone not only by historically accurate, tasteless decoration of the repeats, but by inserting his own improvised variations at several points. He knew this would be his only piano recital. Next stop: harpsichord heaven. Jay would have to find him a harpsichordist who could give him the technical specifics he needed and coach him, though the latter not much since he knew where he wanted to go musically.

He sat down at the piano, not needing a cushion, and asked Jay "What do you think of this?" and proceeded to play the Brahms Capriccio, at once intense, serpentine, and bombastic, with all the fire and variety that belied his lack of interest in the piece. Jay suggested more obvious legato in the complex inner parts, and they worked on it until Jay seemed satisfied. It made sense: if you can't hear it, then the audience won't. Dylan realized that although the music was different from older repertoire, a lot of the same basics of expression applied. Richard simply listened in awe. Dylan went through the Intermezzo and was already on-board with its slinky sensuousness and the requisite intense, expressive use of time. Jay felt that there was nothing to criticize.

"Well, that crap is out of the way. I'll look at the Beethoven later." I want to go back upstairs for a while, take a shower, and then maybe get some new jeans. Coming, Richard?"

Richard didn't need to be asked twice. They were naked in the shower, soaping each other's ass cracks, and were rock-hard in no time. "Gee, I didn't know Brahms turned you on," said a smirking Richard ("I guess he picked that up from Aaron," Dylan couldn't help thinking).

Dylan, feigning annoyance, just said "Shut up and spread your ass cheeks." Dylan then stuck his tongue where Richard had pleasured him the other day. Richard moaned his approval. They continued this activity for a while, then rinsed and dried off, and ran into the bedroom, laughing lasciviously, and continued there.

Richard's ass was, if anything, more sensitive than Dylan's and Dylan soon had him practically screaming with pleasure as he licked his prostate, Then, he lubed them both up, and fucked Richard really deep and slow on his back. "Let's not come too fast," and Dylan moved Richard's hand off his rigid rod. It hadn't taken Dylan long to become a pro at this--a little like playing Brahms--and he drew the fuck out for almost a half hour. Then, speeding his thrusts but still holding Richard's hand away from his dick, he was delighted when Richard had a no-hands prostate orgasm. Dylan grabbed Richard's spurting dick and made it a massively pleasurable double orgasm for him while pumping his load into Richard's pulsing ass.

"Nice?" Dylan inquired.

Imitating Dylan's earlier mock annoyance, Richard said "What do you think?" Dylan lay on top of Richard for a long time and they kissed, sucked, and gently used their teeth on each other until they were both hard again, This time, the procedure was reversed, with Richard nearly bringing Dylan to orgasm with the sensual licking of his ass. When he was satisfied that he was in control, he fucked Dylan really slow and deep, each thrust an electric shock to Dylan's super-stimulated prostate. He didn't let Dylan touch his dick either: "Fair's fair," he said with a wicked smile. It went on for another twenty minutes. Dylan was quite literally begging Richard to let him come. "Only hands-free this time. Sorry," said Richard, smiling salaciously. In under five minutes, Dylan had done exactly that, leaking the first round of cum. Richard got himself into a position where he could then suck Dylan's dick while still fucking him, until Dylan screamed in what sounded almost like agony at the intensity of his full orgasm. He finished it with his hand, while Richard ploughed his ass to the root of his dick.

"Nice?" asked Richard, repeating Dylan's question sarcastically. Dylan just kissed his mouth ferociously. Then they lay together for an hour, exhausted. It was lunchtime.

Dylan said, "Hey, my ass feels okay, so maybe next time you can spank me?"

Richard looked at that glorious ass. The ruler marks had faded a lot, but Richard said, "We'll see." He was itching to spank Dylan as much as Dylan was eager to feel the sting that he'd missed for a whole day.

When they got downstairs again, Aaron had gone out for some air but Jay was there.

"Amazing how you can convince people you love a piece that you really don't like," said Dylan.

"Name of the game," Jay replied.

Jay had made an amazing tuna salad with dill and cilantro. Dylan went into the living room and took out one of Richard's records, blandly entitled Bach on the Harpsichord and Clavichord. It started with the Second English Suite in A minor. They had the score to follow it.

"Let's eat in here," Dylan shouted. The other two obliged, bringing a few plates and crusty French bread on which to spread the delectable tuna salad.

Dylan started the record. It has been recorded in 1964--sixty years earlier. Kipnis was using a different harpsichord: no 16' stop and probably modeled on something French, but sort of jangly. Kipnis' instruments missed the mark by one degree. But when he started playing, the trio could hardly eat. The energy, the contrasts, the... music knocked them over. The work had been recorded many times by "respectable" players with accurate gear, but after hearing the first movement, they all said, in unison, "Holy shit!"

They listened to the rest of the suite, rapt, and were exhausted by the end. Jay thought, a little uncomfortably, "What should I do with the early music slugs I have to work with now?" Dylan was hopping up and down in his seat with excitement but everyone was basically drained.

"Damn," Richard thought, "that was sex for the ear," echoing Dylan's thought of the day before."

Dylan couldn't wait. He put the score on the piano tried to play it like Igor. "Fuck, I'll explode before six months pass. The piano is for shit"

Jay knew how he felt: artistic urgency. "Listen, I'll call John and see if there's something he can deliver sooner."

While they were finishing lunch, Aaron reappeared. Jay grabbed him by the arm and dragged him upstairs. Though 38 rather than 16, he'd been turned on the way Dylan had yesterday. "Spank my ass and then fuck me 'til I scream," Jay insisted.

"This is sudden," thought Aaron but he was happy to oblige. He only wondered what the boys would think. They tried to keep it down at first, but it was futile. Not wanting to take too terribly long, Aaron yanked off Jay's pants, spreading him over his knee, whacked him hard about 100 times with the brush, whipped him with the belt and tawse over the edge of the bed, then fucked him roughly and pulled out so they could shoot their loads together, which landed on the pillows. Then they collapsed on each other, kissing and laughing.

"That went well," said Jay, his ass glowing red. "I'd want to go again, but we're not alone." They showered and dressed as quickly as they could, returning downstairs.

Dylan and Richard were waiting for them, arms folded exaggeratedly across their chests. The older couple reddened. "So how was it, Dads?" inquired Dylan, and they all broke into riotous laughter.

"Got any pro pointers?" asked Richard through tears of mirth. Richard realized that it wasn't the same at home. Sure, Mom and Dad were into this and 100% supportive, but they were, after all, a straight couple. Aaron and Jay were not only Dylan's dads, but they were Richard's gay brothers as well. They all knew they'd be fine even if the basement couldn't be renovated.

Dylan noticed that in one of Kipnis' collation records, Handel's Harmonious Blacksmith variations were included. He got the score, put the record on, and got the usual exciting phrasing, decorations, and improvised passages connecting sections. But this time, he said to himself. "I think I can do that; I might be able to go one better. It's straightforward enough." He felt confident and went to play it at the (damn) piano. He did come up with all kinds of good stuff, but the piece wasn't yet familiar enough for him to approach Igor's fluency or easy humor. "But I will," he thought.

Dylan considered getting those jeans but he remembered that it was a holiday, so he thought he'd just order some on-line.

It was early evening by this time.

"Wanna stay over again?" Dylan asked Richard.

"Definitely."

"Hey, horny Dads, Richard is staying again if that's okay."

"Fine with us, �ber-talented, horny son," Jay answered. "Oh, and dinner will be the rest of last night's fare. As usual, I made enough for an army. No one minds, I hope," which was followed by vigorous horizontal head-shaking. "Good," said Jay.

Dylan went to the piano and played the opening of the Path�tique Sonata. "Hey, Jay, I'm sure people have talked about this before, but the opening sounds like a French overture. I mean, that sound would still have been in everyone's ears and it's only Beethoven's opus 13."

Jay grinned broadly. "Oh yeah, it's been discussed."

"Then it kind of balances the Bach Partita at the end."

At this point, it was hard to tell who in the house wanted to hug Dylan more.

Following dinner, which had actually gotten more complex in flavor since its debut yesterday, and during which there was a lot of lively conversation about music, sex, and gay culture, everyone decided to watch a film. Aaron asked Richard to choose.

"I started introducing Dylan to pre-code films with queer, sexual, and other subtexts that were later censored by the Hayes office. What about Island of Lost Souls from 1932? That has some pretty wild stuff that got it banned in England even before the Hayes office was created in the US. It also has gay actor Charles Laughton."

"We have the restored version on BluRay," Aaron said.

Dylan discovered that it was a pretty unsettling film with some grisly moments and more openly suggestive and graphic stuff than he'd thought ever appeared in very old movies.

After that, everyone decided to make it an early night. Dylan and Jay went upstairs and Richard said he'd follow in a few minutes.

"Aaron, do you have a small ice chest?" Richard asked quietly.

Remembering the previous week, though not fondly, Aaron replied, "Yeah. Why do you ask?"

"Would it keep ice cubes frozen overnight?"

"I'm sure it would."

"Then can I get a bunch of ice cubes and the chest, please?"

"Sure, but would you mind telling me...?" He immediately reversed course: "Never mind. Not my business."

"Also do you have a Velcro strip that could be used in place of handcuffs?"

Even more curious and even more difficult to keep from asking about it, Aaron answered a hesitant, "...Yes. In our room."

"May I borrow it too, please."

"Uh... sure. I'm not exactly sure what you have in mind, but it is safe, right?"

"Absolutely. I wouldn't have thought of it otherwise." Richard smiled angelically.

They got the ice and the chest, and went upstairs quietly into Jay and Aaron's room. Noticing the oval hairbrush, Richard asked, "If you're not planning to use that immediately, might I borrow that as well?"

This time, Jay answered. "I think I know where this is going. I assume you'll follow your mom's advice..."

Richard interjected, cheerfully, "I actually don't think you know what I have in mind, and I will be following her advice to the letter. Oh, and I'd like two pillows and a life-size and accurately-shaped dildo, if you can spare them."

Richard had become even more interesting than before.

The nightstand light was still on in Dylan's room so Richard parked the various items outside. He noted that Dylan had already prepared for bed, so Richard entered the room quietly and got into bed next to him. They got turned on immediately, kissing and cuddling, eventually jacking each other off slowly and sensually. They both came vigorously, Dylan particularly so.

"Wait 'til tomorrow," thought Richard, evincing a naughty smile, his back to Dylan who was spooning him now and couldn't see the libidinous little look.

Dylan fell asleep at around 11:45. "Sweet dreams, lover," Richard said silently. He went and retrieved the items, moved the desk chair out quietly, and parked them against the wall under the desk; then he pushed the chair back in so the little ice chest, Velcro band, brush, dildo, and pillows were concealed.

Chapter 19: Making Up for Lost Time

The boys awoke at about 8am. After cuddling and fondling, Richard suggested that Dylan use the bathroom first, and that he'd join him in the shower momentarily. When Dylan was out the door, Richard quickly got out of bed and removed all the borrowed items from concealment. He placed the cooler on the floor next to the bed; the pillows, Velcro restraint, hairbrush, dildo, and his belt--removed from his jeans, and heavier than Dylan's--on the bed within easy reach. Then he joined Dylan in the bathroom as promised, brushed his teeth, and got into the shower with him.

It was, as had become customary, a sexy shower. They soaped each other, touching and massaging every part of each other's bodies, instantly getting hard. Richard knelt and soaped Dylan's crack, kissing and licking it, and making certain that Dylan's firm, round ass was finally unblemished. It was.

They rinsed off and dried each other. Richard left the room first, hurrying back to the bedroom and taking a seat at the edge of the bed: the traditional spanking spot. Dylan entered the room and, seeing the spanking tools, threw himself over Richard's lap. He did not see the Velcro restraint. Richard kissed his arms and hands, tenderly drawing them behind his back, still kissing them, and quickly restrained his slender wrists with the Velcro strip.

Dylan was surprised and aroused. "What's going on?" he asked.

"You'll see," Richard replied.

Richard first started smacking Dylan's delicious buttocks with his hand, gently at first, then more firmly. Dylan was thrilled, his stiff member expressing his appreciation. After about eighty swats, Richard picked up Aaron's hairbrush and started spanking Dylan with it. Dylan recognized the sensation and had an instant of panic. But Richard, knowing the weight of this implement, went easy. He smacked Dylan another seventy times. Only the final twenty strokes were harder, though still not as hard as Aaron had used the brush as punishment eleven days ago. Dylan was hard but thought he might prefer the more concentrated sting of Richard's own little hairbrush.

Dylan's ass was rosy when Richard kissed him deeply and stood up with him. Leaving the very stimulated Dylan for a moment standing by himself, hands immobilized behind his back, Richard retrieved the two pillows, stacking them in the spanking configuration Dylan knew only too well, another pillow for Dylan's head. He positioned the cooler on the floor close to where Dylan would be lying prone and propped. Meanwhile, he hid the dildo under the remaining head pillow.

It all seemed like d�j� vu to Dylan, and not necessarily in a comforting way. But he trusted Richard. Smiling lovingly, Richard put Dylan, his hands restrained, over the two pillows, highlighting his perfect, pink ass. Then, Dylan saw him pick up the belt, double it, and snap it three times, far more emphatically than Aaron had with his heavy belt a week ago Thursday. Aaron had snapped it lightly to avoid scaring or amusing Dylan. This time, the sound immediately made Dylan turn his head in its direction, and seeing a smiling Richard snapping a sizable black leather belt made him uneasy. He hoped Richard had listened to his mother.

He was unsettled even more when he saw the familiar cooler next to his extended legs, reminding him that it had been there before containing items to relieve intense pain from long punishment. Dylan was surprised when Richard opened the cooler to reveal about fifteen ice cubes. "Very curious," he thought.

Then the fun began. Dylan faced forward again, his head supported by his usual pillow. He heard the sound and then felt the sting of Richard's belt. It was stimulating but it did hurt a little. Richard looked at the red stripe created by the belt and made sure it was pale and wouldn't last long. He then proceeded to administer twelve more strokes down the surface of Dylan's butt so none of them fell on previous stripes.

Dylan felt his ass heating up. He was aroused but with a tiny bit of concern in the back of his mind. He was surprised again by the feeling of moist cold caressing his stripes, followed, after a moment, by Richard's warm tongue tracing its movement; he crooned with enjoyment. He next felt Richard tongue enter his ass crack and lick his prostate. Dylan gasped with intense pleasure, loudly this time.

The rimming didn't go on too long. After a few seconds' pause, he felt the sting of the belt again, a little harder, as Richard continued to work his way down Dylan's evenly striped butt cheeks. Dylan winced at the pleasure-pain contrast. Another thirteen strokes in all. Then the ice cubes rubbing and chilling his burning ass again. And then, Richard's tongue tracing their motion and ending up at his prostate, driving him crazy. Another repetition of this three-part process. Dylan's dick, between his stomach and the pillow stack, was rock-hard and deep purple. A fourth repetition of the process followed.

Dylan had taken fifty-two belt strokes, all of moderate strength, on his burning-cold ass and Richard's tongue was bringing him breathless pleasure. Then he felt Richard's lubed, wonderful dick at his opening. He relaxed his sphincter as Richard carefully entered him, wrapping his arms around Dylan's chest and stomach in a warm embrace, licking and playing with Dylan's sensitive right nipple. The kaleidoscope of sensations during the past half-hour made Dylan lightheaded. Richard slid in his cock to the root and slid it in and out slowly and sensually. It only went on for perhaps ten minutes as Dylan felt waves of electric sexual energy vibrate through him.

Richard then lifted Dylan into a kneeling posture and lay under him, his head in the normal place on his pillow. He gently lowered Dylan's asshole onto his stiff, lubed cock. Dylan moaned loudly at the sensation. Richard grasped Dylan's sides and moved him up and down on Richard's stiff penis, slapping his red butt each time he pulled Dylan in an upward direction. This continued for at least another ten minutes. Dylan felt himself getting closer: his clamping on Richard's cock made it apparent.

Richard removed his dick from Dylan's ass and bent back, grabbing his own ankles. Holding his legs up with his left arm, he pulled Dylan towards him with his right, guiding Dylan's throbbing member into his lubed ass. This was almost too intense for Dylan, but more was to come. After Dylan pushed his sensitive dick into Richard's hot, welcoming ass, Richard reached under his pillow and pulled out a dildo, in size and shape rather similar to his own penis. It was already lubricated, as was Dylan's ass, and with his right hand, Richard pushed it gently into Dylan's hole and moved it in sync with Dylan's thrusts. Dylan was now in sensory overload. He had never imagined pleasure of this magnitude. The double-fucking went on for fifteen minutes, Richard carefully observing and duplicating the speed and depth of Dylan's thrusts.

Dylan didn't even notice that he was screaming with pleasure the whole time, and when his prostate began to rock deeply, forcefully, and slow, Dylan experienced a climax that made an orchestral crescendo seem like a child's song. His swollen penis spurted long and convulsively into his lover's ass for what seemed like hours. Dylan collapsed onto Richard who quickly undid the Velcro strip on Dylan's wrists. Dylan was so overcome that he could do nothing but hold Richard tightly, his dick still hard in Richard's body, and felt tears dripping down his cheeks. When Dylan's exhausted dick finally slipped out, Richard lowered his legs, quickly jacked himself off, and the two held each other for an hour, Dylan's chest convulsing with his sobs of joy and disbelief.

They eventually rose and showered a second time, Dylan still clutching Richard continuously. Dylan didn't get his composure back until they'd dried off and dressed back in the bedroom. They continued to hug and kiss instinctively. Dylan was completely, uncharacteristically silent.

It was now 11:15am and the dildo was soaking in a sink full of sudsy water. Richard had replaced his belt through the loops of his jeans; the brush and Velcro strip lay on the desk and the extra pillows were centered on the bed. The boys headed downstairs, Richard carrying the ice chest. Dylan was noticeably more than usually clingy and affectionate.

"Thank you for the loan of those things," Richard said politely to Aaron, who had taken the day off, and Jay, who had no students until later, both seated, having English muffins and apple juice. He emptied the ice cubes into the sink and put the cooler back where Aaron had found it. "I'll bring the other things back to your room when you're there."

"Was everything useful?" asked Aaron with no particular tone of voice.

"Very much," replied Richard, Aaron observing what he thought was a little mischievous twinkle in his Richard's eyes.

Dylan continued his silence, still in a romantic daze, affectionately kissing and caressing Richard.

Jay was dying of curiosity. "What did you boys do up there? We didn't hear anything."

Remembering Dylan's nearly continuous moans and screams of pleasure, Richard replied, "That's a little surprising, but maybe it shows that a basement renovation might not be necessary. About what we did, we can give you details later if you really want them." Seeing Dylan in what appeared to be in a sexually induced trance, Jay wasn't entirely sure that he did want details.

The boys joined Aaron and Jay for a light breakfast similar to their own. When he sat down, Dylan noticed that the stripes on his ass stung slightly, but nothing that wouldn't disappear by the day's end. After breakfast, Dylan went to the piano and played the turbulent Brahms Capriccio, remembering and incorporating Jay's criticisms of yesterday. It was unsettingly perfect and was played with a vibrant passion making the three listeners incredulous that the performer was a 16-year-old kid who didn't even like Brahms--or so he claimed.

That Monday was already shaping up oddly; Aaron supposed the strangeness had begun with Richard's peculiar requests the night before. Aaron tried not to notice and called the rabbi. When someone answered, Aaron asked, "Is this Rabbi Greenberg?"

"Yes," she responded.

"My name is Aaron Weitz. Steve Conrad was in touch with you about our inquiries regarding our son."

"Oh yes, Mr. Weitz. Steve had a lot of details. Your son is adopted, I gather."

"Well, almost. It's in the works. Technically, we've been his foster dads for almost two years. It's unclear what his religious or cultural background was, but certainly not Jewish. To be even more a part of our lives, he felt that he would like to learn as much about our people as possible and have a bar-mitzvah. The problem with the latter part is that, traditionally, he's too old. But is there a way to still do it?"

Rabbi Greenberg thought for a while. "He's had no religious context at all?"

"No, he hasn't. I think Steve told you about his unfortunate past."

"Yes, he did. Well, if he has never been affiliated with any tradition, then it seems to me that this would be less a conversion than a fresh start. And I think in such an exceptional case, a bar-mitzvah would not be inappropriate."

"How would he study? He's also several years too old for Hebrew school but he is extremely bright and a very quick learner."

"I could teach him privately if that seems like it would work. He could come three times a week until I thought he was ready for bar-mitzvah. When were you all thinking about it happening?"

"I think he could make room in his schedule. Thank you for offering. We'll get back to you soon, rabbi."

"My pleasure," she said.

"So, Dylan, you probably heard me talk to Rabbi Ruth Greenberg just now. What do you think?"

Still a little in a romantic, sexual haze, Dylan replied, "I guess we'd meet for study after school. That would be fine."

Richard went upstairs to rinse off the dildo, which had been soaking in mild detergent for several hours. He checked to make sure it was spotless, dried it, and placed it on the desk with the other items. Coming back downstairs, he referred to the rabbi and said, "I'm glad my dad was able to help get this process started." Sensing that Dylan and his dads had some things to talk about, he continued, "But, you know, I think I should spend some time with him and my mom today. Dylan, will you come over after dinner?"

"Sure," said Dylan. They kissed deeply and embraced for ten minutes before Richard got out the door.

"Dylan, what's up?" Aaron asked. "You seem preoccupied or something. Richard apparently sensed it too."

"Dad, everything's moving so fast. I'm giving a recital, and that's the easy part. I'm getting embraced by a culture and a people when I thought, less than two weeks ago, that I had no one. I'll soon be adopted by dads who love me and whom I love. And my boyfriend of just a week is probably the love of my life. My head's spinning. I don't recognize myself anymore and it doesn't seem real. It's all so good that I have to wonder if I deserve it."

That emotional lability kicked in and he started to sob uncontrollably. Aaron knew what was happening. During his whole lifetime, Dylan had been made to feel worthless and unlovable, even acting out to fit that role. And in the space of ten days, his reality had flipped. Aaron hugged him affectionately. "You've always deserved what's finally happening. Most kids take it for granted. You've just been given a rare opportunity to observe from another perspective after being denied it unjustly for so long."

Dylan finally stopped crying. He knew that Aaron's answer was what he'd felt intellectually, but it was emotionally shattering. "Knowing that this is normal and feeling it are really different. I still have to work to accept it and not feel guilty for being given everything so suddenly."

"Sure, it's a lot, but it will become natural sooner than you can imagine. People are very adaptable."

"One more thing, Dad: about this morning." Aaron was steeling himself for some kind of unpleasant revelation and was cheerfully surprised when Dylan said, "I've known about sex for years. I mean, everyone talks about it. And jacking off was always fun. But sex with Richard is... unearthly. I can't find any other word for it. When you love someone this much, it's totally different. Today, Richard planned a whole thing that nearly made me explode. I didn't even know we were capable of that much pleasure, that much joy. Richard is a genius. How could he know me so well in such a short time? I'm having a hard time getting my mind around it."

"He adores you at least as much as you adore him. It's the greatest happiness to give pleasure to the person you love. It's really part of the same thing we were already discussing. I knew something was up when Richard came to Jay and me last night and asked for all those different things. Jay was actually a little scared and needed to make sure that Richard would always follow his mom's advice about restraint.

"I'm so happy for you. Love and sexual compatibility don't always go together and that can harm a relationship--unless the love overcomes the compatibility issue. We're lucky we have both. It's not that common. And to discover it so soon, as you and Richard have, is even more unusual. Life is smiling on you. Accept what you so deserve. I know it may be overpowering all at the same time but just go with it. We're all here to support you.

"And, by the way, when we said we didn't hear anything, we weren't being entirely truthful. We were already downstairs but we did hear a little of what we were afraid were cries of discomfort but soon realized were screams of pleasure. We couldn't have been more delighted. Richard will always be special to us."

Chapter 20: Panic, Pain & Pleasure

Richard arrived home at about 1:30. He'd been thinking nonstop about Dylan and began to organize what he knew about the boy he loved. It was not all cheerful. Assembling the information presented him with a picture of a very complex young man. Things that Dylan had said casually now came back to him--haunting and disturbing things. For all his astounding brilliance, Dylan's life until very recently had been pretty tragic. Richard had grown up in a normal, supportive environment that most middle-class kids don't even think about. Dylan, on the contrary, was just figuring out what life was, that love was not something "for other people," even that he could accept himself without the fear of abandonment.

That he'd made it through a childhood of hideous abuse at the hands of parents who would have preferred him dead was a miracle in itself. The scars left on his young psyche were almost too numerous to think about. And then, to end up in the foster care system, terrified of further abuse from his peers if his sexual orientation was discovered; creating a false, abrasive persona to survive; certainty he would be always be rejected, twice self-fulfilled. That Aaron and Jay had persevered despite how Dylan had presented himself was another miracle. Now that they had gotten through to him--so recently, it was clear that Dylan's emotional stability hung by a thread.

Richard clearly loved Dylan, but as more information about him was revealed, he wondered if he could adequately support and care for a lover who had been so badly wounded by life.

Being a Monday, his parents weren't home yet, and Richard continued to ruminate about all this for the next few hours until his mom walked through the door. By then, he was beginning to panic. Shirley saw it immediately and they sat down together to try making sense of what Richard should do.

Shirley was very perceptive, and she knew some details of Dylan's harrowing story, but it was only now that Richard told her, more explicitly, what he had discussed with Aaron that had brought them both to tears, and which Dylan had simply brushed off with a joke. Richard's mother had sensed the fragility of the talented young man at every meeting: his exaggerated emotional ups and downs, his passion, his avoidance of issues.

It was when Richard discussed today's lovemaking--for that is what it was, though not graphically, and more specifically its aftermath, that she realized Dylan bore injuries that might not heal quickly. For heaven's sake, he had just come to trust the two most loving fathers in the world a little over a week before, after a year and a half with them. Even the spanking, which for Aaron, Jay, Shirley, Steve, and Richard was an expression of healthy eroticism, seemed now perhaps bound up with Dylan's earlier feelings of worthlessness.

"Mom, what should I do? I love him and he's wonderful but I'm so worried. Everything that seems natural to me is new to him. He cries all the time, whether he's happy or sad, and it's sometimes hard to tell which. I can't abandon him but I'm scared."

Shirley hugged her son and said, "I don't know what to tell you. He's such a sensitive soul, maybe because he's been so maltreated--even by himself--that it's hard not to love him. Do you think we could meet with Aaron and Jay without Dylan knowing?"

"That sounds like it makes sense but also like a betrayal in a way. I want to be there for him and hate the idea of going behind his back."

"I know what you mean. But maybe meeting with his dads, or just Aaron, who he seems closer to, would help you figure out what to do."

"Maybe." Inevitably, Richard's eyes were now moist. "Dylan's coming over this evening. I left because I thought he and his dads needed to talk. They may be having a similar conversation to this one after they saw his state earlier," an astute supposition on Richard's part. "How can we arrange a meeting with Aaron?"

Shirley thought about it. "It's too late to get together today. Let me call him and try to plan something. Oh, no need to tell your father. I think one parent from each family is enough."

Shirley called Aaron, and said, "Can we meet: you, Richard and me? There are some things I think we need to figure out."

"Of course," said Aaron, with a hint of alarm in his voice. Even though Dylan was back in his room, Aaron said quietly, "I have the feeling it has to do with what my son and I were already talking about after Richard left."

"Richard said he thought as much. When can we meet? And also, even though I think it's important, Richard is afraid that Dylan might feel betrayed."

"I don't think so, actually. He's dealing with a lot. For him, 'coming out' means far more than his sexuality, and I think he'd want reinforcement for how deeply people care about him. This week, since he and Richard will be together so much, we'll have to find a time when they're apart. Tell Richard to plan things and I'll work from home that day so I can come over. Does your schedule allow for it?"

"I'll make sure it does."

Dylan came over after dinner, at about 7:30, as he and Richard had arranged. Dylan noticed that Shirley embraced him with more tenderness than before. So did Richard. He wondered what was up. Only after the boys descended into Richard's lair did it become clear. Richard kissed and held him with a closeness not unlike the way Dylan had gripped Richard after the incredible experience that morning. But Dylan sensed something different now.

Suddenly, as they hugged, Dylan could feel Richard's chest convulsing slightly and realized he was crying. He was confused and scared. He started to tear up himself. "You won't leave me?" he said. That made Richard cry outright.

He said, through his tears, "Never." His emotions had given him away, so he thought he may as well tell Dylan what was gnawing at him.

"Over the last week, I've seen you change so much. When we met that first time last Monday, you still seemed to have a slightly hard, easygoing edge. But as I get to know you better, you seem to become more vulnerable and fragile every day. Your crying, either with joy, pleasure, pain, or anything else, has a hair-trigger. I'm scared that I might not being handling it right. You know I love you and will be there for you no matter what. But please tell me the things I don't know."

"You're right. When I met you that day in the boys' room, it had barely been twenty-four hours since I started to understand myself, so the tough shell was still there. I rattled off a few things about what had happened just to get them out of the way, and I didn't want to scare you. That Monday felt like my first day. I had nothing but trauma until I was eleven and I never felt like I was worth shit. It's what Aaron and I spent the afternoon talking about.

"In the foster care system, I had no input from real life. The two foster families sent me back to be with other damaged kids because I scared them off. When Aaron and Jay wanted to take care of me. I was sure they were only doing it to get their merit badges and were going throw me out too. You already know that I was a monster to them for a year and a half. Then Aaron figured it out and broke through the shell.

"The only touch I knew was violent, and I got all mixed up thinking that meant the people who hurt me cared about me. My whole life has done a 180 turn in a few days. I couldn't understand why all this love was being thrown at me. I didn't even know what that was until a week ago. So I get emotional and I'm still pretty messed up."

"I have to ask about spanking. For me and your dads and my parents, it's erotic. But I'm worried that for you, there's more to it"

"I had the feeling you'd ask. Like I said, I didn't understand love apart from pain. I did shitty things to you to corner Jackson into spanking me so I'd feel like someone cared. When Aaron found out, he agreed to spank me hard over four days to show me that he did care, but his reluctance showed me that he cared for real.

"You know, I came twice during those spankings. The first time, the hairbrush made me hard. But the second time, before the last, mild spanking, I had figured out that care was connected to love, not unwanted pain, and I realized that spanking was sexy in a way that wasn't screwed up.

"I still have to get my feelings under control but I trust Aaron when he says people adapt. I've adapted to so much shit in my life that I know I can. So will you still stay with me while I do it?"

Dylan had presented it all cohesively and without overt sentiment, but Richard was crying again. All he could do was take Dylan in his arms, his more complete understanding making him feel even closer. "Can I tell my mom what you told me? She's also worried. We were even going to get together with Aaron but now it doesn't seem like we need to. God, I love you so much."

"And I thought I was the one who cried too much," said Dylan.

Dylan's complete version was the best thing that could happen. It made him realize that his past didn't make him unworthy of love. "Maybe I can finally relax," he thought.

Happily, none of this changed their physical feelings for each other. "Can we take our clothes off now?" Dylan asked, plainly. Richard started to laugh and couldn't stop for several minutes. Then, with so much affection and passion embracing them, they did.

"I've been thinking about this since right after Aaron and I talked: can I have the little brush? I really like its focused sting. It's way better than Aaron's monster paddling brush--even though I don't think Jay would agree."

"Well, that all depends, said Richard. "How bad have you been? I mean, I don't just spank anyone with it."

"Oh, I've been very bad. Hey, look what I did to you and your mom just now. I think I've earned that brush."

Richard went to his desk and got out the little stinger. Then, he sat down at his flat, armless desk chair for the punishment. Dylan climbed over his lap, his dick already swelling. Richard was careful to check for any residual marks from this morning and saw nothing of consequence. After all, he didn't want any more long delays between their hot sessions. Then he proceeded to give Dylan one of the best spankings he'd had so far. No warm-up, just a hot butt-blistering that went on for fifteen minutes, complete with scolding.

"This should teach you not to worry me like that and insult me by doubting my feelings for you."

He spanked Dylan very hard 'til his ass was deep red and really had blisters (yeah, he knew he might have to wait another day, but no one had school tomorrow), bringing Dylan to tears, both from his tear ducts and his prostate.

"I'm so sorry, sir," said Dylan, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands, "I'll never doubt you again." Then he splayed himself down on the bed, hard again already, and eager for the next activity.

Richard stayed in his chair for moment. "How bad do you want it?" he said, almost giggling at how much he sounded like a video clich�.

"You should fuck me rough for being sooo bad," Dylan replied, wiggling his irresistible, red butt.

Richard jumped on the bed, grabbed Dylan's thick, wavy hair with his left hand and lubed his dick and Dylan's hole with the right. "Okay, I'm going to teach you another lesson." No touching yourself or you'll be punished."

He pulled Dylan up so that he was on his knees, his head on a pillow and his ass in the air. After a careful entry, He grabbed both of Dylan's hands and held them behind his back to fulfill his promise. Richard fucked him fast and rough for ages, taking breaks when he felt close to the boil. When they finally came, the two of them were moaning loudly and shot huge loads, Dylan never touching himself, his hole pretty sore by the end. But it all felt just so good.

"I think you need to be punished again anyway so you learn to always do what I say. But I'm gonna make you sweat it out, thinking about it for a while," said Richard in his best dom voice.

"Yes, sir. Do what you think I need, sir. Thank you, sir." In about three minutes, Dylan, thinking about it as directed, was rock-hard--after coming twice. Richard waited another ten minutes before keeping his word. Dylan just breathed hard, his dick pulsating almost painfully.

"If you stay hard during the next spanking, you'll get double. If you shoot another load, I'll start over."

Richard hardly played fair and started to stroke Dylan's throbbing penis, but Dylan knew not to complain. Richard started whacking his red ass with the little stinger. It hurt a lot, but it was also amazing.

Richard spanked his round, red butt for ten minutes, and said, "I see you're still enjoying this" and continued even harder. At the 20-minute mark, Dylan moaned and came again.

"I guess we'll have to start all over, said Richard, who was savvy enough to add, "but think about it for ten minutes first." Leaving Dylan head-down and red ass up, Richard went upstairs and got some cold packs from the freezer. In five minutes, Dylan was hard yet again. His ass throbbed and he knew he wouldn't be doing a lot of sitting the next day, but he didn't care. This was smokin'!

Richard came back downstairs and waited until the ten minutes had passed. Then he said, looking at Dylan's throbbing boner, "I guess you really are incorrigible. But I'm still going to punish you one more time."

Richard added a footnote of received wisdom, "You know that punishments end with hard hand spankings. Your dad must have taught you."

"How did he know that?" Dylan wondered.

"So that's what I'm going to give you."

He started smacking Dylan's swelling ass very hard and kept it up for as long as his hand held out, maybe 150 whacks. Dylan was oozing precum but he didn't have another orgasm. "Lucky you didn't defile yourself again, boy" and roughly pushed Dylan down on the bed. Despite the swelling of Dylan's red ass, Richard remarked, "Seeing that you can't control yourself at all, I've decided that you don't deserve cold packs. Richard went to his bathroom and pulled out a small jar of cold cream. "This is all you're getting." He opened it and applied the slick lotion to Dylan's fiery butt, rubbing the tender flesh both gently--which made Dylan moan, and harder, alternating the rubbing with hard slaps--which made him wince.

Lotioning Dylan's burning ass made Richard hard again, so he applied the cold cream to Dylan's sore anus and his penis, and fucked him again. He pulled out harshly, and for good measure, he finished by jacking himself off in front of Dylan. As he was about to shoot, he pulled up Dylan's head by his hair, and slapping his face, drenched it with his cum. "Just making sure you got the message," he said mock-cruelly, then letting Dylan's head drop.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir," Dylan replied, his throbbing ass causing him to grimace.

Dylan was so turned on that he did shoot another load, his rigid cock having been rubbing on the bed during Richard's last fuck--a smaller load which felt just as intense.

"Okay, you defiant rascal. "Next time, it'll be the belt. You got that?" Richard said with as much threat as he could put in his voice.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I couldn't help it," said an exhausted but happy Dylan.

Richard licked his cum off Dylan's face. Although the lotioning had been erotic, Dylan's butt had now swollen considerably and did need a more effective remedy, Richard observed. He finally applied the cold packs to the tender, raw flesh. They lay on their sides, all kisses and caresses. In a few minutes, Richard replaced the tepid cold packs with fresh ones. It seemed to Dylan that they were really working.

It was about 11:00 but they slept. Dylan fell asleep thinking about the promised belt, his dick hard again. The next morning, Dylan checked his ass, expecting swelling and blisters. But all he saw were a few marks, after all that. New lesson: the little stinger hurts like hell but doesn't leave deep bruising like the ruler. Nice. He figured that the concentrated force and rigidity of the heavy ruler bruised the flesh beneath the skin when wielded too hard or long. Richard would have to find another stinger for traveling.

Chapter 21: Joys of Discipline

When they showered the next morning, Richard was also delighted to find Dylan's ass in excellent shape. "Can you get another little brush like that?" Dylan asked.

"I don't know where I got it. Maybe my mom knows. She used to buy all the stuff like that. It can't be too hard to find."

"Good, because you need one for my place too. It hurts like a bitch but it seems that no matter how hard or long you go, the pain and blisters disappear overnight. It's perfect."

"We'll get another one but I should remind you that the next thing you're getting is the belt. I keep my word." Of course, this nearly made Dylan come on Richard. Seeing how hard Dylan had suddenly gotten, he stroked Dylan's stiff dick for what must have been less than a minute, and Dylan did cream all over Richard's chest in the shower.

"Oh, you will remember the belt this time," Richard told him, grabbing his wet hair and smiling cruelly. They soaped and rinsed. Richard rimmed Dylan back to stiffness and then left the shower, Dylan not far behind him and massively tumescent.

After they dressed and went upstairs, they had a quick breakfast with Richard's mom; his father had already left. "Mom," Richard said, "Dylan explained everything in detail last night. Aaron and he already talked about the same things, as I thought, so we don't need to meet with him. Don't worry. Dylan sees it rightly as a work in progress. Oh, by the way," he said, holding up 'the little brush that could,' "where did we get this? I'd like another one."

"Those are pretty easy to find. I'll pick one up for you in town today."

"Exactly like this one?"

"Sure." The lightbulb went on above Shirley's head and she giggled a little. Dylan blushed.

Shirley left soon afterwards, kissing both the boys before driving to the train station.

"We're not going to have any secrets left," said Dylan. "At least Jay backed away from asking exactly what we did yesterday morning."

"Unless he ends up asking after all," added Richard, smiling. "What do you want to do today?"

"Well, I was thinking we'd at least end up back at my place. Maybe we should head over there now, since it will be empty for once."

"That's fine. Should I bring the little stinger?"

"You promised me the belt."

"Oh, yeah. And richly deserved, I might add, young man." They snickered and went downstairs where Richard got some things together to stay at Dylan's house.

It was rainy, so they took umbrellas for the walk. Arriving at the house, they ran upstairs so Richard could leave his change of clothes and toothbrush in Dylan's room. He remembered that he'd left some of the borrowed items on the dresser. Today, the big oval brush/paddle was gone but the dildo was still there, with a crimson ribbon tied at the base of the head, and a note that read "Our gift to you." The Velcro strip was also there, and the two extra pillows had been neatly stacked at the edge of the bed, the placement indicating the dads' approval and inviting their use.

"Yeah, forget about any more secrets," said Richard, adding, "they're like our own personal cheering section." Dylan laughed.

"Since they prepared things for us so considerately, it seems to me that it would be rude not to make use of them. And I did promise you the belt for worrying us. Then you brazenly enjoyed the punishment I meant as correction--several times. And you added to it by insolently ejaculating on me in the shower this morning, while I was warning you about your impending punishment."

"Could I get any harder?" Dylan thought. He was so horny now that there was already a wet spot at the front of his pants."

"And I can see quite clearly that previous punishments have had no effect, just from looking at the state of your jeans. It's tiresome for me but we will need to repeat the correction, starting from this moment. Perhaps you won't try to deceive me into thinking you've learned your lesson this time."

With that reprimand, Richard quickly and roughly stripped Dylan naked and pushed him over the pillows. Dylan's erection was throbbing excitedly and oozing abundantly. "Such impudence!" said Richard in an official tone. The sight of Dylan aroused and bending over the pillow stack to spotlight his thrilling ass, made Richard declare, "Your punishment will start in a different way today." He grabbed those succulent buttocks and immediately pushed his tongue between them for long enough that Dylan was nearly on the point of a prostate orgasm. Just as Richard noticed Dylan's prostate stiffening, he removed his tongue, and slapped Dylan's ass about twenty times.

"Well, I hope that has prepared you for what's coming, and has properly humbled you."

"It has, sir. Please believe that it has."

"I hope so," Richard replied, taking off his belt, doubling it, and snapping it three times. Just the sound precipitated a slight prostate-orgasmic drip from Dylan. "I will deliver fifty lashes to begin," Richard announced stiffly. He did just that. They were harder strokes than he had carefully applied yesterday morning, and they left Dylan's butt tingling and sore. He whipped Dylan slowly to make each stroke consequential. About 10% of the strokes were directed at his "sit spot" which they stung more powerfully. Dylan reacted to each stroke with a cry of pleasure, pain, and surprise.

After yesterday's experience with the little hairbrush, Richard realized that Dylan's limits only extended to implements that bruised below the skin's surface. The overly hard application of the rigid ruler had done that, but this belt did not, so he was able to lash Dylan's appetizing butt with abandon, knowing that the effects wouldn't last. Nevertheless, he knew the fifty strokes hurt.

"I'm sorry, sir. I really have learned my lesson. Please, no more!" Dylan begged, deeply into the role-play--even though it did hurt for real.

"I am not convinced," Richard stated, with authority. Stand up--and don't dare rub your backside or we'll start again. Bend over the chair from behind, placing your hands on its surface."

"This is new," Dylan thought, his boner dripping generously. He did as he was told with an expression of deep contrition, his head lowered. Bending over the chair in a less comfortable position felt more exposed, with his hard-on rubbing against the back of the chair.

"I will give you another fifty and I want you to count them: 'One, sir; two, sir, etc.' I trust you understand me," Richard demanded.

"Yes, sir," said Dylan, with a tone of resignation.

"If you miscount, I will inform you and the stroke will be repeated until the number is corrected. The errors will each be additionally punished after the initial discipline by five more strokes. Is that understood?" queried Richard sternly.

"Yes, sir," replied a slightly disconcerted but deeply excited Dylan.

The belting resumed. The counting, bringing each stroke into vivid focus, made it sting more, creating an additionally painful and stimulating experience; the already punished "sit spot" lashes hurt the most. Dylan counted correctly except for a few of the latter because the additional pain distracted him.

He shouted "Eleven, sir" when it was really the tenth stroke. Richard informed him that he was in error and repeated the stroke, but Dylan had lost his place.

"Twelve, sir," he cried.

"No," said Richard, repeating the stoke a second time.

"Nine, sir," Dylan estimated desperately.

"No," said Richard stoically, adding another lash.

Finally, Dylan cried, "Ten, sir," his voice breaking"

Richard said nothing, and continued the punishment. The same occurred at stroke thirty-nine, which Dylan miscounted as forty. This time, he took a deep breath and corrected it accurately on the first attempt, relieved.

When the initial belting was completed, Richard told him, "You are owed twenty more strokes for four errors." His "sit-spot" was already on fire, but half of the twenty were administered there anyway. Dylan's ass was throbbing, but so was his rigid dick. The color Dylan's butt had reached was a darker red, with blisters and welts in evidence by the end of the punishment.

Richard allowed him to stand but again warned that there would be consequences for impermissible rubbing. Dylan stood at attention, his dripping hardness somewhat anomalous in the situation. Richard replaced the belt through his jeans' loops and sat in the chair, beckoning Dylan over his lap. Dylan's penis was held between Richard's thighs and he steadied himself with both palms planted on the floor.

Richard went ahead with a stern hand spanking of a hundred slaps to finish the punishment. For Dylan, the entire experience was like a milder and sexually charged version of Aaron's punishment a week and a half before. After the spanking, which did leave his buttocks stinging and sore, he was ordered to stand in the corner for fifteen minutes with his hands clasped behind his head.

The authenticity of the whole procedure made his dick ready to shoot without further provocation. While standing in the corner of his room, it shuddered, pulsated, and quivered with so much sensitivity that he never got near fifteen minutes before spewing a handsome load against the wall.

Smiling broadly so that Dylan couldn't see, Richard stated in an official and irritated manner, "This corrective action has had no effect at all. None at all. We will have to keep trying, however, but not yet. You may lie over the pillows and think about your next punishment."

Dylan did as instructed. Then he heard Richard leave the room briefly and return. Dylan assumed he was going to get cold packs for his aching butt cheeks. He was incorrect in his assumption. Richard returned with wads of absorbent cotton, several of which he proceeded to moisten from a bottle of rubbing alcohol he had acquired from the bathroom. He also peeked into Aaron and Jay's room and noticed a jar of cold cream on the dresser, and thought they wouldn't mind if he borrowed it.

When Richard said, "I want you to think about your bad behavior, but I will soothe the areas that have been justly punished," Dylan felt relief until Richard added, "This may sting a bit." Then he felt the cool, wet wads rubbing over the entire area of his burning ass, which seemed fine for a few seconds, but soon contributed to the fire rather than dousing it.

Partly crying for real, Dylan implored, "No more, sir, please. I have truly learned my lesson." After waiting a few moments during which he savored Dylan's discomfort, Richard finally rinsed his red butt cheeks with cotton moistened in cold water, dried them with a towel, and rubbed cold cream on Dylan swelling welts.

Richard rewarded Dylan's remorse in the best way possible, licking his splendid sore ass all over, finally teasing his crack with his tongue for five minutes before letting it enter to stimulate his prostate. Dylan sobbed a little and moaned with pleasure at his reward. In a surprisingly short time, Dylan was hard again. Richard rimmed him for a long time, and Dylan's penis became continually harder, his sphincter more relaxed. Out of Dylan's view, Richard quickly undressed, and rubbed more lotion on Dylan's red ass, as much for his own excitement as for Dylan's relief. He massaged all of Dylan's sore backside with the cream and lubed his anus as well as his own stiff penis with it.

"This may teach you to control your impulses," said Richard, his own throbbing dick entering Dylan's alluring ass. "You may not touch yourself, and you certainly may not come unless I give you leave to do so," he said, tying Dylan's hands behind him with the Velcro strip. "If you come without my permission, you will receive another fifty lashes." Dylan realized that Richard was in earnest, and felt too sore to take another fifty, even from Richard. To increase the intensity of his own pleasure, Richard lubed up and inserted into his own anus the dildo that the boys had received as a gift; he suppressed a little gasp of pleasure when it had fully entered.

Richard was less unfair than on the previous day: he did not bias his instructions by stroking Dylan's rigid penis. But he did fuck Dylan as slowly and sensually as he could. Whenever he felt that Dylan might be close to a spontaneous climax, he would pull out and slap Dylan's aching ass hard five times, making him yelp at each whack. Even with the dildo bringing the proximity of his own orgasm nearer, he was able to keep this procedure going for over twenty minutes. By then, Dylan's penis and prostate were feeling as fiery as his ass cheeks.

Dylan was so painfully aroused and frustrated by the edge on which Richard had been keeping him for what seemed like hours, that he begged for Richard's permission to finish, hoping it would be granted; he couldn't hold out much longer and didn't think he could withstand fifty lashes more. After another ten minutes and real tears from Dylan, Richard said "Very well. I think you have earned some relief," and then rough-fucked his raw hole until they'd both achieved shattering orgasms, vocalizing their intense pleasure loudly.

Panting, Dylan turned around and said "Sir, I had no idea you were so strict or so cruel. I will watch my behavior in the future, sir." Richard removed his dildo, lifted Dylan into the sleeping position on the bed, and lay facing him. He did not undo Dylan's restraints. "I'm glad you understand my rules." He wrapped the breathless Dylan in his arms and kissed him deeply for a long time between bouts of licking his nipples and the rest of his body.

Dylan was in heaven and soon displayed his gratitude with another very stiff erection which Richard proceeded to suck, pausing to say "I will show you I can be magnanimous and not always cruel. I will reward your humility." Dylan was so excited by the whole improvised scenario that he had to control himself as electric sparks of joy slowly and rhythmically coursed up and down his hard shaft. He wanted it to go on for as long as possible. Richard helped: when Dylan's hardness increased, he removed his mouth and slapped Dylan's tender ass, as Dylan let out a little gasps. After a moment, Richard would resume.

Eventually, the spaces between the stops and restarts became shorter and, with a yell of sparkling pleasure, Dylan came down Richard's throat so vehemently that he saw stars and blacked out for an instant afterwards.

Richard toweled off the remaining lotion from Dylan's ass and freed his hands. He asked "How was that?" and they both laughed for minutes, embracing each other ardently.

Finally, Richard said "That was a pretty heavy session. How's your butt?"

"Yeah," thought Dylan. "How is my butt?" He reached around a little carefully, and it did hurt, especially the "sit spot," but it wasn't nearly as bruised or swollen as he'd imagined. He responded in character: "I can take hard punishment whenever I have to, sir."

He did have to soothe it one more time a few hours later, but it was fine by that evening, delighting both boys at the thought of subsequent, increasingly hot play. Still, after their second shower of the day, Dylan did decide on boxers and chinos.

Richard soaked the dildo in warm, sudsy water as he had on the previous morning, returned the jar of cold cream to the dads' room, and the two of them went downstairs. They had been going at it for four hours even though it was barely 2pm. They had a late lunch. Apparently anticipating their arrival, Jay had made a really lovely salad with various greens, peeled, diced cucumbers, quartered heirloom tomatoes, herbs, French cheeses, and turkey breast. all marinated in olive oil and sherry vinegar. They added delicious crusty French bread and had a meal that really satisfied them after their draining labors.

For the next few hours, Dylan continued going through the Kipnis records. One intrigued him: French Baroque Music for Harpsichord on Epic, also reissued by Columbia in a three-disc set with Italian and Spanish discs. Dylan knew some of this repertoire from Jay. He wasn't thrilled by French music because it all seemed mannered and lacking in immediacy. The most prominent piece on the French disc was Rameau's Suite in E minor. Jay had a small score of all the Rameau keyboard works, so Dylan pulled it out. He and Richard sat down (Dylan rather carefully) to listen, score in hand.

As usual, Kipnis' Rameau nearly blew their heads off. It was real music-making to which people would have listened actively: time as expression, slinky sexiness of phrasing, humor, emotional commitment. Then came the repeat. Dylan remembered a vague statement that French music was not embellished except for localized ornaments. Well, apparently either Igor hadn't got the memo or it was bullshit, because he embellished Rameau even more than Bach. They could hardly follow the score, and found themselves cackling like idiots at each successive astounding riff. Repeats often became improvised variations more than merely decorated. As before, they were exhausted by the time they got to the end.

That was the moment when Dylan removed his pants and Richard brought down the lotion and rubbed it on Dylan's hot butt cheeks lovingly. Unsurprisingly, doing so made Richard hard instantly, but its intensity surprised him. Dylan was not surprised a moment later, however, by the feeling of his shirt being lifted, followed by Richard's hot semen spurting onto his lower back in generous quantities. Richard. He wiped off the remnants of the lotion from Dylan's sexy ass and his own dick, getting hard again, but not following up. Then, he helped Dylan back into his boxers and chinos, and ran upstairs to replace the jar on Aaron's and Jay's dresser.

About an hour later, after Dylan's reflections about the music, Jay came home from teaching. Dylan didn't even greet him but jumped in with, "Where does the idea that French music isn't supposed to be freely embellished come from?" Jay rolled his eyes, both at Dylan's fervor and the ridiculousness of musicians (mostly "early music" types) who believed that nonsense and had consequently de-sensualized French music.

"No one said it! In an introductory remark to an edition, Fran�ois Couperin tells the reader not to add decorations because he has already written them. My stupid colleagues don't ever seem to get the context. Couperin wrote that warning for people who bought the prints, mostly amateurs whom he didn't trust to know what they were doing. He was coming from the opposite perspective as modern players. Now, people are slaves to the printed page but then, they tended to do what they felt like, even if it created havoc. 'Le bon go�t'--good taste--was what he intended. That meant understanding the structure and harmony before adding what you wanted. Scholars have explored this for years, but musicians can't seem to get it into their fat heads. Why do you ask--as if I didn't know?"

"You gotta hear this."

Dylan put on the Allemande and its repeats for Jay. "And again, Igor got it right in 1964. Music as music," said Jay, with a sigh.

Jay couldn't help noticing Dylan's altered attire. "Overdoing it again, boys?" he asked.

"I don't think so. This is just temporary." He only blushed a little; this was Jay, after all. "Richard's staying over if that's cool."

"You don't even have to ask. Italian for dinner okay?"

"More than okay." Dylan never figured out how Jay could make a perfect eggplant parmigiana so fast.

"So did you notice our little gifts?"

Without thinking, Richard responded enthusiastically, "We did more than notice," turning beet red the instant he shut his mouth. Dylan started laughing.

"Happy to help. Aaron and I tend to go for more extreme toys. TMI?"

"Nope," the boys said together.

When Aaron walked through the door, there was a varied repetition. Seeing the chinos, he said, "I thought you were going to take it easy."

"Oh, come on, Dad. We're fine. This is just temporary." And in an attempt to make Aaron feel a little embarrassed--which he didn't, Dylan added, "And it was really hot."

Aaron's reply was banality itself. "Glad to hear it. I hope you made use of our little presents."

"We sure did," said Richard, feeling his pants bulge slightly at the recollection," and blushing again.

Aaron, not missing a beat, smiled at Richard and said, "Glad to call happy thoughts to... mind." Richard blushed a third time.

The boys looked at each other with the same thought: "We're never going to win this one, are we?"

It was then that Richard needed to tell Aaron that the proposed meeting was no longer necessary. "My mom and I were really worried about Dylan yesterday, but Dylan explained everything as only he can, and you and he had already talked about the things that concerned us. It's all fine and we'll take things as they come. I told Dylan how much this meant to me and how I felt. I think I corrected our misapprehensions."

Aaron replied, "I'm sure you did. I'm so happy that your mom's mind and yours can be more at ease now." He just had to add, "And it looks like you corrected Dylan as well, I am assuming more than once. He can be stubborn, you know."

Richard tried valiantly to keep himself from blushing a fourth time in as many minutes, but it was useless. A slightly mischievous smile just appeared on his reddening face.

Richard reminded himself to call home and tell his mom that he was staying with Dylan. It was hardly news. She did say, however, with a grin Richard couldn't see, "I got three more of those brushes today."

"Why three?"

"I thought you might need an extra... you know, in case you break one." She smirked. "And the third one is for me." Now it was Richard who was grinning very widely indeed.

He also remembered that the dildo had been soaking in suds for over three hours. He excused himself, ran upstairs, rinsed and dried it, inspected it, finally returning it to the desk.

Dinner appeared in about an hour. As usual, it was a casually presented tour-de-force. Like Dylan, Richard couldn't figure out how Jay came up with eggplant parmigiana of such quality so quickly. Likewise, he was in awe of Dylan's mature musical gifts at their shared age of sixteen. He mused that maybe spankees have special abilities.

Aaron chose the viewing material tonight. He played the first four episodes of the British series Heartstopper, about high school kids dealing with their queer sexualities. Brilliantly and artistically written and directed, it also had the advantage of queer actors playing characters who shared their own brands of queerness. Touching, cheering, warm, heart-breaking in spots. When they had finished, Dylan said, "Really beautiful, but Richard and I are 16, and we don't see ourselves reflected much at all." It was true. Vanilla was everyone's flavor, non-threatening and cuddly. At least it made people less fearful and misinformed about queer people. The irony is that the subset of folks--even straight ones--like the boys and their parents, was enormous; they also represented love and eroticism, if more inventively, but were still continually presented as "twisted." All four guys did feel a bit frustrated.

It was nearly 11:00 and Jay had a music history course to teach at 9am. The boys had risen early, so they all decided to go to bed. They all hugged and kissed and went to their respective rooms.

While Dylan was ready for another session, Richard asked, "Is it okay if we're more low-key tonight? We got up early and went pretty heavy today. Also, I need to go home tomorrow and get further into calculus and physics"--which he had started on his own a year early, "and you have to practice. So tomorrow evening?"

Dylan was disappointed but saw the rationality of the decision. He got undressed and lay face-down on the bed, some marks remaining on his voluptuous bottom. Hard to resist, Richard declared, "I said 'low-key,' not 'nothing'." A nice, long, stinging over-the-knee hand spanking followed, accompanied by deep kisses between the hard whacks, and a few rounds of satisfying sucking and fucking. "Low-key but that'll do," thought Dylan, his butt tingling. They slept tangled up in each other.