Please donate to keep this incomparable site alive. https://donate.nifty.org/
Disciplines, a novel by RE Stinger ?2024 Part 1 - Chapters 22-26
Chapter 22: Math, Music & Madness
When Dylan and Richard arose, Aaron and Jay had already left. Morning horniness led to more smacking, tonguing, and coming. They didn't spend more than an hour because they knew they had things to do, even during recess. So, after breakfast, Richard kissed Dylan passionately and, however reluctantly, headed home.
Upon arriving, Richard went to his calculus texts and solved several routine problems. He'd been working at honing his skills when something struck him. A theorem in use for a century somehow wasn't working. He applied it to at least twenty different equations, always with the same inaccurate result. Perplexed, he went to various books explaining the origin of the theorem with examples of how it functions.
In repeating all the examples, he continually found the same anomaly. "Why has no one noticed this before?" he wondered. The theorem was minor enough that it didn't even have a name, at least as far as Richard knew, but if he was right, the little glitch could have serious implications. Not trusting himself, Richard spent the next four hours doing calculations with every possible variation but always came up with the same anomaly. Then he started to analyze the theorem to uncover what the glitch was that no one seemed to notice.
He spent a lot of time on other equations, which were child's play for him, but he always returned to this problem. It consumed him and, as Spring recess was in effect, there was no one with whom he could discuss it. So he simply worked on it himself, using various computer models to find a correction.
Somehow, all this cerebral exercise also made him horny, and he jacked off, thinking about yesterday's long session with Dylan.
Dylan knew that the one piece he needed to learn properly was the Beethoven. He had studied it with his piano teacher and had easily memorized it, but now, it was a different piece in his mind. It had to be given sentence structure. He remembered that toward the end of his life, Beethoven had rather randomly assigned metronome markings to his music. His pupil Carl Czerny, when asked about them, said that they didn't really mean much because Beethoven's use of tempo was so flexible that it changed from bar to bar. Maybe that was an overstatement, but Dylan used the model of expressive tempo to think about notes and phrases never really given weight, at least since the invention of recording.
He began to treat everything like speech, adding rhetorical gestures to every phrase, removing the layers of triviality to which this old chestnut was now invariably treated, even by period "specialists" (perhaps even more by them). What began to emerge was a more urgent, dramatic reading.
It was thought that the title "Path??ique" was Beethoven's own, reflecting the emotional content he intended. Moreover, the sonata had been published in 1799 with the words "Pour le Clave??n ou Piano-Forte" on the title page: interesting that "harpsichord" was listed first and that the opening had French overture qualities. No one had ever taken it seriously; surely it was just to sell copies.
But, Dylan thought, "Dynamics are limited on the harpsichord, so why not think that the expressive use of time and note length were more crucial? Anyway, in 1799, the piano still had one foot in harpsichord land, also being dynamically more limited than in Beethoven's later pianos." Dylan believed he had inadvertently been taught exactly the right Beethoven sonata for his purposes. In three hours, it was coming together. He wanted to kiss Richard who had fortuitously started him down this road.
Jay had an early schedule that day, and came home at about 2:00. Unlike the previous day, Dylan let him relax, but when he seemed renewed, Dylan hit him with everything he had learned that day. Nearly open-mouthed, Jay thought, "All this from a kid?!" Dylan demonstrated phrases and undulating tempi to highlight the rippling emotions of the piece that were more daring, immediate, and... right than any performance he had ever heard.
Jay was amazed: this was no longer an old chestnut; it was alive, breathing and sweating. Dylan also said that he could imagine it on the harpsichord. The written dynamics would be interpreted as time and texture fluctuations, specific alterations of note lengths and stresses, dramatic pauses and accents created by previous brief silences--all the tools of older music. He'd be playing it on the piano this time, but would still apply those principles, as well as dynamics since they were available. "People have gotten so lazy," Dylan said.
Jay had spent his life with seasoned professionals, many of them as thoughtful and demanding of themselves as he was, but he'd never heard such a clear and impassioned analysis nor playing that proved it instantly--and from his son! He had no words. He could only kiss and hug Dylan, his head spinning.
The phone buzzed. It was Jay's chosen harpsichord builder telling him that another client had cancelled an order and his two-manual Flemish instrument would be three months earlier, if that would be all right. "That's great," said Jay. "Thanks, John!" He told Dylan at once; they were overjoyed. Dylan knew that he'd need to learn how to tune and regulate the instrument. Jay said he would get him together with some colleagues who could start him off, and there were websites he could check out as well.
Dylan breathlessly called Richard. "Can you come over? I made a breakthrough and I want to share it with you." Richard replied, "I'm working on something and can't stop yet. Can you come over?" Dylan asked Jay if it was okay that he went over to Richard's early. Jay knew how excited Dylan was and of course said it was fine. "I'll be right there," Dylan told Richard. After they disconnected, Richard texted his delighted mom that Dylan would be there for dinner.
Dylan grabbed some clothes--including loose ones--and was out the door. He got to Richard's house in fifteen minutes. Richard ran to answer the doorbell, and they hugged tightly. Then they said, in unison, "You're not going to believe this!" and both laughed. They each explained their new discoveries breathlessly and held each other again, this time kissing deeply. It's amazing that intellectual and artistic breakthroughs can be such a sexual turn-on, but they were both naked in seconds.
They showered together, each licking the other in every imaginable place. The math genius licked the artist until his dick was painfully hard, dripping profusely, and nearly at the point of climax. He stopped in time for the artist to do the same for him. Clean teens, if breathtakingly aroused ones. They dried off fast and ran into Richard's expansive lair.
Dylan picked up the stinger and flew over Richard's lap, almost injuring the latter's pulsing, vertical joystick. That was more than enough for Richard to admonish: "Here's a boy who needs discipline" and brought the little brush down hard and quickly, delivering a hundred strokes in a few minutes. Dylan couldn't hold back and spurted his seed violently by the end. That was a mere prelude. He never lost his hard-on at all. In a moment, he pumped lube into his right hand and stroked Richard's still vertical, super-stiff member and sat on it, his arms around his brilliant boyfriend.
They both moaned as waves of ecstasy engulfed them. Richard was so sensitive that in five minutes, he shot a huge load up Dylan's ass, Dylan shooting upwards onto Richard's face. When they had regained some composure, Richard said, in his best imperious voice, "Messy lad. We'll see what we can do about that." Dylan knew he was in for a sublime, punishing spanking of vast proportions. He was quite right.
Richard pulled him off his dick and placed him over the back of the chair. "I guess you are a boy who will need correction daily, if not more."
"If you say so, sir," Dylan replied.
"I do. I do say so, most emphatically," added Richard, picking up his belt and rubbing it slowly along Dylan's already-punished ass, then snapping it emphatically just once. Dylan was again hard as steel and dripping. "How many strokes do you think you deserve?" asked Richard, playing judge and executioner.
"As many as possible, sir," answered Dylan, meek and contrite.
"Very well. I will not tell you the total number of lashes you will receive, but you must count each one, adding 'thank you, sir; again, sir' after each. Incorrect counts will be repeated until they are accurate, and, as you have already experienced, any errors will be further punished. I believe the added punishment was five strokes yesterday. To keep you better concentrated, each error will be compensated with ten additional strokes today. Are you prepared?"
"Yes, sir," answered Dylan.
The exciting, painful punishment began. Richard applied the first stroke with vigor.
"One, thank you sir; again, sir," Dylan cried out.
"What was that? I didn't hear you," Richard declared and repeated the stroke even harder.
"One, thank you sir; again, sir!" Dylan shouted.
"That's better," said Richard. A second stroke followed, a third, a fourth.
At fifty-one, Dylan miscounted. "Fifty-two, thank you sir; again, sir!"
"Wrong!" shouted Richard, repeating the hard stoke.
Dylan calculated at lightning speed and cried, "Fifty-one, thank you sir; again, sir." Richard continued. Richard was intending at least seventy strokes in succession, but at sixty-five, Dylan, unable to control himself any longer, shot an almost unbearably pleasurable load, spewing his cum for over ten seconds.
"I knew you to be incorrigible but as I said, you will receive harsh treatment at least daily to remind you of your wickedness. I will administer the remaining fifteen lashes before your next punishment--the five you didn't receive now and ten for one error. In the meantime, it seems fair that I receive some compensation for my exertions. Stay in position." Richard rubbed Dylan's red ass and massaged his prostate with two fingers, Dylan's ass already slippery with lube. Richard then applied more and fucked Dylan again.
Knowing he must be a bit sensitive, Richard was gentle and even romantic. But Dylan was rock-hard in a moment, and said, "Sir, you know I deserve sterner treatment and I am ready to receive it, sir."
That was Richard's cue. "Very well: a rascal who is also a slave to his baser passions," said Richard. "Prepare for your just desserts."
Richard started fucking Dylan hard and fast, roughly, with hard slaps on Dylan's aching ass after every three thrusts. Dylan moaned, he gasped, he shouted. Richard felt his ass tighten and convulse, so he doubled the speed and energy of his thrusts. They both let out yells of feral proportion and came so hard that the room seemed to spin. Richard's chair was soaked, and his own load leaked copiously out of Dylan's ass. They barely got to the bed, and collapsed, breathing hard. "Aerobics," Richard panted. That struck them both as hilarious but laughing was painful as they gasped for air. When they'd caught their breath, they kissed fervently. Still short of air, Richard asked between gasps, "Ass?"
Dylan, also panting, answered, "sore, sexy, will be okay by tonight. Brought chinos."
It was almost 5:30 and Shirley would be home soon. They rested until they felt more energized, and showered, which was always a joy, no matter how much activity preceded or followed it. It was always tender, loving, and exploratory, as though they were doing it for the first time. They kissed, licked, and fondled every part of each other. At some point, Richard always seemed to end up at Dylan's magnificent ass, licking, tonguing, always with the same result: Dylan moaned, got hard in seconds, and usually came, no matter how many times he had recently done so. Today was no different as they spooged on each other vigorously and passionately while they kissed.
They dressed, Dylan wearing boxers and chinos, although he felt that he needed them less than yesterday. He knew there would be a remark from Shirley who they heard getting out things in preparation for dinner. They bounded upstairs. "I thought I'd do a stir-fry. It won't be like Jay's but... Dylan, do you remember what Jay does?" Shirley asked.
"Some of it," he replied. Shirley showed him what ingredients she had and Dylan made some selections. The boys did a lot of the prep work.
Shirley asked, at one point, "What did you do today?"
With the calculus discovery, the musical discovery, and the earth-shattering sex that those had prompted, the boys just looked at each other and laughed uproariously. Wiping his eyes, Richard, through his laughter, said, "Oh, not much, aside from discovering a new planet."
Shirley was a bit confused. The one thing she did notice was Dylan's chinos.
"I thought we talked about restraint, Richard."
"Oh, don't worry, Shirley," Dylan said before she could go on. "These are just a precaution. We've been very careful not to mess ourselves up. What really happened were breakthroughs in our own areas. I'll show everyone after dinner."
Richard continued, "And I can tell you now. Mom, you were a math major, so this will mean something to you. Come downstairs for a few minutes." They all went to Richard's space where his computer had been running a program he'd started several hours before Dylan arrived. "I'm doing advanced calculus, and stumbled upon a strange anomaly in this theorem," showing his mother.
"I'm familiar with that, she said. "What's the issue?"
"Look at this equation and plug it into the theorem." She took Richard's scientific calculator and did it. Her eyes nearly popped out. "See what I mean?" Richard asked. "It's off in the same way with any equation you plug in. I've been going at it all day. Now I have a computer program running to try and find what the error is in the theorem," Richard said. "Isn't it strange that no one seems to have noticed it before? I know it's a minor theorem, but come on!"
Shirley just looked at him and said, with gravity in her voice, "There's no such thing as a minor theorem. This could have real ramifications."
"Do you trust your teachers?" Shirley asked. Richard responded that he had little to do with them because he was miles ahead of any math taught at the school. In fact, taking calculus next year would just be a formality, as he was already a far more formidable mathematician than any of the admittedly excellent teachers could ever be.
"You should write an article for the American Mathematical Society," Shirley sensibly suggested. "I can help with the format. When you figure it out--and you will, you should contact them directly, making sure you've copyrighted your work and findings first. This is unbelievably important for your career. Wow!" She hugged her amazing son. The computer kept running.
The stir-fry, with tofu, lots of vegetables, both American and Asian, served over brown rice, was very successful. Steve was thrilled, but not surprised, when he was told about his son's findings: "We always knew you were a genius."
Richard was more enthusiastic about Dylan's revelation. "Dylan made some incredible interpretive musical advances today that seem more important than my little discovery. But I think his dads should be there when he plays the results. Jay knows already but hasn't heard it all, and I haven't heard any of it, but it's tremendous. Mom, will you call them and tell them we're all coming over?" Shirley did and Jay answered. He was thrilled that Dylan's ideas had coalesced enough to perform and invited them all to the house.
"Cool," said Dylan.
The dishes were loaded into the dishwasher and they piled into Shirley's car. In five minutes, they were at Dylan's house.
They took seats in the living room and Dylan gave them the same background that Jay had heard earlier, but with even more solidity and detail. Then Dylan played the "Path??ique," movement by movement, first in the usual way, and then with the interpretation he felt was closer to the intent. His traditional reading was already persuasive and concentrated, like any great artist, but after he played the first movement with the gestures he had absorbed, everyone in the room was breathless. Jay was in tears. They could hardly get through the whole sonata, and were beyond ordinary reactions by the end. "This must be why Beethoven was truly great," they all thought.
"People need to hear this," Jay said.
Dylan was satisfied that he was on the right track. He kissed Richard and said "Thank you for introducing me to Igor. He's what got this going."
Jay whipped up a delicious dessert in no time and they ate, all still in a state of awe--except Dylan, of course, who was already thinking about how to apply these concepts to other works.
Jay said that he would call Dylan's Music Department and schedule the concert. The faculty admired Dylan, even more since he'd recently stopped scaring them, and would certainly acquiesce to anything Jay Kellner told them.
Dylan still wanted to stay at Richard's place that night, so, as it was already 9:30, they piled into the car once more and returned there, leaving Jay and Aaron so moved that they wept, and regaining composure, dashed to the bedroom. They were moved, excited, and aroused.
"Wow, our son did this to us?" asked Aaron, getting out the spanking gear.
"Shut up and give it to me like you mean it," Jay shouted. Aaron was so excited that he reversed their usual order, hooking Jay's legs over his shoulders and fucking him hard for fifteen minutes, refusing to let Jay touch himself or come, and stopping whenever he felt he was also getting too close. Both ultra-hard, Aaron threw Jay over the pillows and whipped him with the heavy belt for ten minutes until Jay almost came, his ass nearly purple. Then they fucked again, face to face, Aaron having tied Jay's hands. When he got close to his climax, Aaron pulled them into position so he could suck Jay off at the same time and they would come together. They both uttered loud moans as they did so. Aaron untied Jay.
Holding each other, Aaron said, "And this was the kid who wouldn't even acknowledge us two weeks ago!"
Jay replied, "We always knew he was gifted, even if he wouldn't talk to us, but this!" They wanted to go another round but found they were just too emotionally drained. They showered and slept in each other's arms. They each found tears on their pillows when they awoke several times during the night.
Steve and Shirley were overwhelmed by what Richard and Dylan thought of as ordinary accomplishments. Of course, the boys didn't think that of each other, and it ignited a mutual joy that could only be expressed physically. They knew it only too well. Richard's computer program was still running so he shut down the monitor. Richard suggested that his parents go to bed.
Tonight, it was Dylan's turn to suggest that they keep it low-key: "I'm beat--and not in a good way," he said. "And getting this kind of praise scares me a little."
"Why's that?" asked Richard, a little incredulous.
"I never liked attention. You know, not long ago, I did everything to push people away. I did what I did, but it was for myself. This feels strange. I can't explain it exactly."
"It's only that the people who love you are so proud of you."
"Is it?" Dylan held Richard and they kissed and caressed each other. They didn't spank and Richard just sucked Dylan off while bringing himself to orgasm. It was sweet and satisfying, but Richard felt something was off.
When they awoke and showered together, it was much the same. They were affectionate but the usual overwhelming horniness and sexy fun were muted. Richard assumed that Dylan's mind was occupied after yesterday's revelations. Most of it returned over breakfast and they joked, laughed, and touched each other "inappropriately." They were on their way out when Richard said, "Let me check the computer," expecting to find nothing. Instead, he found that the program had generated the answer nine hours ago. "Holy shit!" Richard exclaimed. He took a moment to check it with a few equations, and it seemed right. He texted his mom simply: "Got it!"
Then they were on their way to Dylan's. Richard was thrilled but he was more concentrated on Dylan and his distance last night and in the shower today. Dylan realized that he had forgotten his key which he'd left in his jeans back at Richard's, and used the one well-hidden in a flower box behind the bushes to the left side of the door. After replacing it, they went to his room. There was another gift awaiting them. It was a Jokari paddle with a note: "For our geniuses. We like this and thought you'd like one, so we ordered it two days ago, Love, A&J."
"Your dads are really bonding with us. Did Aaron use one of these a couple of weeks ago?"
"Yeah, but only briefly."
"Did you like it?"
"I think it got me hard."
"So should we give it a try? It looks pretty mild."
"Sure."
Richard thought there was a hint of distraction in Dylan's voice, but he was sure that it would be disappear once they started playing. "It's time for your daily correction, however pointless it may be in discouraging your lewd behavior. Remove you shoes and socks." Dylan did as he was told. Richard slipped Dylan's shirt over his head and told him to bend over the back of the desk chair. Then he loosened Dylan's belt and slid his chinos and boxers down, dropping them to his feet. "You're a wicked fellow, so this seems apt." Richard made certain there were no remaining marks on Dylan's beautiful butt and started as he had the day before, though preceding it with a volley of hard hand slaps. Dylan's dick involuntarily stiffened. "How many strokes do you think might be effective, boy?"
"That's for you to say, sir," was Dylan's submissive reply, his eyes downcast.
"You're learning," said Richard. "Since each stroke will affect only one buttock, fifty really means that I should administer a hundred. As usual, you must count. This time, I will note the errors and simply add them as additional punishment at the end."
He started. The paddle was fairly light but it covered each buttock entirely, making it color consistently, with a loud report. "One, thank you sir; again, sir," said Dylan in the appropriate tone of a boy who knew that his correction was inevitable. "Two, thank you sir; again, sir." This continued, and Dylan had made two mistakes in the first fifty. Richard had scarcely noticed a pause after the fortieth stroke. Toward the last twenty, Dylan's ass was very red; the effect was cumulative. Richard saw how the Jokari paddle worked. He also heard, quite clearly this time, a pause and a catch in Dylan's voice and became concerned. He put down the paddle and lifted Dylan into a standing position, holding him under his arms.
There was semen dripping down the back of the chair, and when Richard turned Dylan around, there were copious tears coursing down his face. The role-play was over. "What happened? When did you come? What's wrong?" asked Richard, the words all falling out of his mouth in a jumble. Dylan just stood there sobbing. He pushed Richard away when he reached out to hold him. Truly alarmed, Richard shouted, his voice quivering and cracking, "Please tell me!" Dylan just pulled up his pants and dropped to the floor, still crying but not saying a word.
Richard didn't know Aaron's number at work, so he called the home number and left a message, which, in one of their first conversations, Dylan said would immediately be transferred to Aaron's cell voicemail. "Aaron, please come home now. Something's wrong with Dylan. Call me when you hear this."
A moment later, Richard's cellphone buzzed. "What happened?!" terror in Aaron's voice. Richard explained and Aaron said, "I'm already out the door. I'm calling Jay."
With difficulty, Richard lifted Dylan onto the bed where he got into an almost fetal position, facing away from Richard. Dylan was melting down, but Richard didn't stop trying." I love you. Please stay with me." That just made Dylan cry again.
Aaron and Jay pulled up in a cab within twenty minutes and raced upstairs. Aaron sat on the bed and said, as calmly as he could, "Dylan, it's me." To Richard's relief, Dylan responded.
He held Aaron and through free-flowing tears said, "You told me you loved me. Do you love me or just what I do?"
Aaron, now in tears himself--no one could expect otherwise--said, "I'd love you no matter what. How can you not know that?" He motioned for the other two to leave them.
"Dylan, why are you panicking?" Aaron asked, his voice shaking.
"When you said you loved me, I believed you. Then immediately afterwards, everyone started saying it, especially when they saw what I was doing. I don't want people to love me for what I do. I want to be loved for myself, and after yesterday, I don't know if I can trust anyone."
"Dylan, who you are and what you do are two different things. Remember, Jay and I loved you even before you'd talk to us. And Richard had only known you as a threat, but fell in love with you almost immediately when you finally showed yourself to him. You're confusing how proud of you we are with how we already felt. When you love someone so much, being proud of them is more intense because you feel their joy. Try to accept when others feel it for you."
They both broke down again and held each other tight. "But how can I tell? No one's ever loved me or been proud of me before," Dylan whimpered.
"The love comes first. Others will be proud of your accomplishments but that doesn't mean they love you. The two things are separate. You have to learn to distinguish them. And you have to start loving yourself. It's you who means everything to us. What you do, your gifts, have nothing to do with it. Do you get what I'm saying?"
"I have to think about it. This is all so new."
"Can I send Richard in? He's devastated. It's killing him.
"Not yet. I need to be by myself for a while."
"I understand. Should I stay with you though?"
"No, it's okay. I need some time. I love you, Dad.
"Oh, God, I can't even tell you how much I love you. I'll always be here," Aaron responded, tears overflowing again. They held each other and Aaron didn't leave the room. Dylan had exhausted himself and passed out in Aaron's arms. He awoke after an hour or so, and Aaron was lying beside him.
In Aaron and Jay's bedroom, Richard and Jay could hardly speak. Holding each other would start tears flowing; then they'd pace. They both loved Dylan beyond words, and were terrified.
"Did I do something?" asked Richard, guilt stabbing at his young heart.
"I don't see how," Jay answered.
"Maybe I was so wrapped up in yesterday's stuff that I didn't notice something I could have prevented? Will he tell me to go away? Will he hate me? I couldn't take that. I just..." He began to weep and was spinning out.
Jay grabbed him and held him tight. "Just wait until Aaron comes back."
Dylan, now calm, asked Aaron, "How many more of these... episodes, is that what they're called... will I have?"
"After such a long time in a dark place, I really can't say. The question is whether you'll have the emotional backup to recognize them. It's not even clear what will trigger these feelings of panic and worthlessness."
Aaron momentarily thought that maybe a therapist might help, but he immediately dismissed it, thinking, "Those people can't ever know Dylan like we do, and these days, they don't even listen; they just start writing prescriptions. And anyway, it was scarcely two generations ago that the American Psychiatric Association stopped calling gay people mentally ill. And a lot of shrinks left to protest the decision. Some are still renegades. No, fuck 'em! This is our boy, and he's strong. We'll all figure this out together."
"You can go get Richard now. And talk to Jay. I'm sorry."
"There's nothing to be sorry about. It's hard but you'll get through it. Trust yourself and trust those who truly love you." They kissed each other, Aaron's eyes moist again. Then, he went to his bedroom to find Richard and Jay.
"He was in total despair, thinking that people only loved him for his talents. After all those years of abuse and zero self-esteem, it's going to be a while before he's secure. He has to learn to trust himself and accept that people love him. Richard, go in."
Richard entered the room quietly and gently lay down next to Dylan.
"I'm sorry to keep freaking you out. I'll learn but it might be a while before I'm completely okay," Dylan said. He reached for Richard and they embraced tenderly. This time it was Richard who couldn't stop sobbing.
Dylan thought it was weird that, after a breakdown an hour go, he was now trying to comfort Richard. "It's okay. We knew there was a lot of stuff I could trip over. I do trust you. Please stay with me."
By force of will, Richard pulled himself together, though tears and panic were still in his voice when he asked, his heart breaking, "Did you really think I only loved what you did? I never even thought about it. I fell hard for you the first day you explained stuff to me in the boys' room. What happened earlier today? When did you come?"
"At stroke 40," said Dylan neutrally.
"And you didn't let me know?"
"I didn't want to disappoint you."
"What? Nothing would disappoint me. This is 100% mutual."
"Aaron must have told you. I was in a head space where I thought people only wanted me for what I could do."
Richard started crying again. "How long... how long have you been...?" He couldn't go on. He was hurt more than he could say.
"I started to freak out last night after the sonata. It was fine before that.
"Please, Dylan," Richard said between sobs. "Please don't think anything like that ever again. You're so important to me. Oh God, you took 40 more strokes without enjoying them. That means I was just hurting you. I can't stand it.
"What we do together isn't, like, an activity. It's us showing each other love and trust, and should always be... well, like all the other times. I feel stupid. I thought something was off last night but just put it out of my mind. Don't ever hold anything back from me."
"You know I'm a work in progress. I think it's going well if you balance it against sixteen and a half terrible years. I'm going as fast as I can. If it's too much and you need to go for your own sanity, I'd be heartbroken, but I'd understand."
"I said I'd never leave you and I meant it. You're the most important person in my life. But tell me stuff when you feel it coming on, okay?"
"I'll try but it doesn't work like that. If you see something that doesn't fit, like you said you did last night, tell me before I start to go too far inside myself."
"I will if I possibly can. Thank God for Aaron."
They spent the rest of the afternoon in each other's embrace. They dozed in and out. At about 5:00, Richard awoke. He was on his left side and Dylan was spooning him. It felt blissful but Richard began to weep seriously. Dylan was asleep so he didn't feel Richard's chest shudder nor hear his sobs. Gently, Richard removed Dylan's arms, put on his shoes, and left the room. He went downstairs and headed for the door. Aaron and Jay stopped him and asked, "Everything okay?"
Richard replied, tears in his voice, "No. No, it's not. I have to go home now. I need some time."
Aaron, hiding his alarm, asked, "You're not leaving us?"
Richard paused for a few agonizing seconds and simply repeated, "I need some time"--the same words Dylan had used.
He walked out the door and went home, weeping the entire way; he felt embarrassed but couldn't help himself.
Aaron and Jay were panic-stricken. Dylan was improving but today he'd had an episode that traumatized the boy he loved. He was asleep so that bought them a little time. They couldn't think of anything except to call Shirley's cellphone and tell her what had happened before her son arrived.
Shirley was on the train, so the reception wasn't great. "Shirley, it's Aaron. Look, Dylan had an episode today where he freaked out, afraid people only loved his talent and not him. He pushed Richard away. They made up after I calmed Dylan down, but although they spent the afternoon in each other's arms, Richard was traumatized by the experience. I mean, it was the second time in, what, four days, so it's more than understandable. While Dylan was asleep--he still is, Richard left, and told us he needed time. We can understand how hard it's been on him, especially at his age. But we're terrified he's not going to feel comfortable being with Dylan again, and Dylan doesn't even know that Richard left. I don't know how Dylan will take it. Richard's on his way home now, and we wanted to give you a heads-up."
Shirley, also terrified, replied, "Oh, God. I don't know what to advise Richard. All I can do is listen and give him what I think are the best answers I have. I hope he doesn't end this either, and that he can find a way to cope with Dylan going through what must be an agonizing process. They obviously love each other so much and seem made for each other, that it would be a sha..." The connection died at that instant. At least the information had been shared. Aaron and Jay held each other, and knew they'd have to talk to Dylan when he awoke.
Chapter 23: Tears & Triumphs
Shirley got home moments before Richard walked through the door. Knowing what had happened, his red eyes and tear-stained cheeks were not shocks but were indescribably painful for a mother see on her beloved son. They hugged at once, setting off another round of weeping from Richard.
"I know, I know. Aaron called me while I was on the train. He's as upset as you."
"I can't see Dylan for a while. I understand what he's going through but it really is too much for me to handle right now. I love him and don't want to hurt him, but I can't go through another episode like that. He literally pushed me away when he was in tears. I don't know where I stand. When he's rational, it's paradise, but I don't know if that's enough to get through these terrible, unpredictable episodes. I need time to figure it out."
"Then wait until school begins again on Monday. That's less than four days away. And it will give us the chance to hone your correspondence with the AMS. Oh, and you haven't yet shown me the correction you came up with in the theorem."
They went downstairs, and Shirley read the results. She was amazed that the glitch had been so simple but applied to countless equations over the years. As Richard said, you'd have thought someone might have noticed before now.
"It took hours for the computer program to track it down, maybe because it's such a minor error, however important the results. Crazy," said Richard.
"I'll take tomorrow off and we can work on getting an article published by the AMS. If they answer the first e-mail quickly enough, you can send a paper with the results before you go back to school. Why don't we get take-out tonight? Chinese, maybe?"
"That would be fine," Richard responded, always an aficionado of Chinese cuisine. "And you know the best place to order from."
Richard was beginning to recover from the earlier ordeal. Now that the math problem was solved and had become a question of correspondence, he would be more relaxed and able to get his thoughts about Dylan under control.
It was now 6:00. Dylan awoke and Richard had left. Dylan wasn't disturbed until he happened to touch Richard's pillow and found it moist. He knew instinctively what had happened and ran downstairs to confirm it with his dads. They provided the facts but were such a mess themselves that he didn't feel it was fair to burden them with more of his emotional baggage. "After all," he thought "I told Richard that if it was too much for him, I'd understand." That didn't stop him from crying in silence, or his dads seeing and rushing to hug him.
"It's okay. I've been abandoned before and I can deal with it," he said, mostly for their benefit. He wasn't sure he actually could deal with this particular separation. But he knew he didn't have a choice, and it was his own fault.
"Richard didn't abandon you. He was shell-shocked, and said he needed time. In a few days, you'll see him at school if he hasn't worked it out by then," said Aaron. The words were sensible but the tone betrayed how upset he was.
Amazingly calm, Dylan just replied, "I can work on music uninterrupted until then."
The reply made Aaron even more worried that his emotionally scarred son would withdraw, perhaps even from them. He said, "I know it will work out. And for now, you will always have us."
"I need you more than ever," said Dylan. It was even more deeply felt than Aaron and Jay heard. Dylan genuinely knew that his dads were indeed the people he could love and trust without hesitation. That was infinitely better than anything he'd had in his life before.
Dylan went back upstairs and realized that his ass was on fire. They had apparently misjudged the Jokari paddle, or at least, long, hard spanking with it. He peeled off his chinos and boxers, and saw in the mirror that his ass was very red and both cheeks had blisters the size and shape of the paddle that really burned. Dylan pulled up his pants and went back to the kitchen for the cooler and all four cold packs, bringing them to his room and lying face-down on his bed, pants down. "Shame I didn't get to enjoy most of it," he thought. Then he picked up his cellphone and took a photo of his ass. Looking at it gave him a hard-on and as continued looking, he rubbed his dick against the sheets until he came. Then he applied the cold packs.
Richard and Shirley had already composed the first brief e-mail to the AMS, describing the problem, giving examples of how the theorem malfunctioned, and offering an article that would detail the successful correction Richard had accomplished. It was Thursday evening, and, after re-reading and editing it five or six times, both mother and son were satisfied and pressed "Send." Steve was relieved that the traumas of the day hadn't wreaked more havoc on the household, though they all loved Dylan.
Chinese food was a perfect solution for tonight: comforting Chow Foon, well-prepared Kang Pao Tofu, and Chicken in Garlic Sauce, with various appetizers. After dinner, Richard watched The Invisible Man, another James Whale great: someone wrote that Whale considered it his favorite. Naturally, it got him thinking about Dylan, with whom he would have wanted to share it.
He felt troubled about having left the sleeping Dylan, without a word. He had no idea what was even going on over there. So he texted him: "just need some time to figure things out. never doubt i love you." Almost immediately, Dylan texted back: "i know. i get it. i love you too. btw..." and here Dylan added the photo of his Jokari paddle-blistered red ass. Richard replied: "shit! did i do that? dont remember blistering. sorry it turned traumatic but i gotta say its hot." Dylan immediately replied: "yeah we didnt know results of long, hard jokari paddling. shoulda asked jay. sorry i only enjoyed part of it but yeah its definitely hot!" That set Richard's mind at ease, and though it still didn't solve the problem, he couldn't help jacking off to the photo.
He decided to text Aaron: "what should i do? i love him but it's scary." Aaron replied in a text, saying: "you need time like you said. give it til school starts again. he'll be ok."
"This is going to be hard," thought Richard, smiling with the realization that he meant it in two ways. Dealing with Dylan's sudden episodes was terrible, though at least he had a pretty good idea of the signs; and if just looking at a photo of Dylan's paddled ass made him need to shoot his load, that complicated it even more.
Dylan finished this round of icing; there would be more since his butt was raw. He went downstairs to put the tepid cold packs back in the freezer for later use. It was a late dinnertime but he wasn't especially hungry. Despite the invariably seductive quality of Jay's cooking, he just nibbled. He cheered his dads up by telling them that at least Richard and he were still completely hot for each, relating the details of the photo. "Jay, the Jokari looks so light but apparently it can get pretty harsh. We didn't know that yesterday, but you should see my ass! What's the deal with it?"
"Oh, yeah, it looks pretty mild but it's like any other paddle. Because it's lighter, I think you're tempted to swing it faster and harder, but if you do that long enough, well you know. Every toy has specific characteristics that you have to learn, sometimes by trial and error--hopefully not too much error." Jay smirked and of course Aaron followed suit. It was good to dispel their worries, even for a while.
That made Dylan think, "If I can affect people, barely even trying, I have to figure myself out fast so I can just make them happy. It feels so good." He felt capable as he thought, "I can do this."
Chapter 24: Essay & Erotica
As she said, Shirley took Friday off to help her son get his discovery to light. They didn't have to wait long. Yesterday's e-mail had already received a reply from the AMS by mid-morning. They expressed astonishment at the disclosure, having tested it on several equations as Richard had, and were more than happy to publish an article with Richard's correction to the theorem.
Their next publication date would be this month so Richard could get it in. The copyright issue was very straightforward: the author held the copyright but AMS required getting permission to have an article appearing in their publication reprinted verbatim. Of course, Richard could publish it anywhere else he wanted by altering even a single word, with no need for permission.
He began to write the article, incorporating the entire process, including the computer calculations that led to the resulting correction. It didn't take long at all. Shirley went through it as editor and suggested a format similar to AMS journals they'd already looked at, so any editorial work on the AMS's part would be minimal. It was very simple to duplicate even the look of their publications. The article was short but, in its way, would be explosive among the mathematical fraternity.
They completed a version that they both liked by mid-afternoon. Just to be sure, Shirley e-mailed her lawyer to be certain the terms of copyright were typical and didn't handicap Richard in any way. Shirley's lawyer looked at it, and ten minutes later told her it was absolutely standard and there was nothing to be concerned about. They added Richard's own copyright imprint at the bottom of each page just for clarity, and sent it off. It would appear in their next journal.
With that done, Richard was relieved and went back to working with advanced calculus where he'd inadvertently made his discovery. After an hour, he opened a book on quantum theory. It was fascinating but he thought to himself "What's the big deal?" Like Dylan, Richard was so far beyond usual thinkers in his field that it was difficult to fathom.
Shirley was upstairs taking care of bills and other mundane tasks while Richard was just relaxing after his first contact with quantum theory when he got a text from Dylan: "told dads about photo. cheered them up. asked jay about jokari. weight deceptive, gotta learn how to use it."
Richard replied: "bet they liked photo story. re. j paddle i thought so & either careful or not bother. getting hard writing this. xx r"
Dylan answered: "if i wasnt a jerk and told you at str 40, coulda been hot. hard as rock too. xx d"
Richard: "i know i said i need time, but how the fk am I gonna stay away?"
Then his phone vibrated. Dylan, of course. "Look, I've been thinking. These episodes have gotten really old. If I can figure out weird musical shit in an hour, I can do this. We can't be away from each other without going crazy. Can you come over tomorrow? My butt's too sore for today anyhow."
Richard sighed, "I have no will power at all, so I'm going to take your word. I think I know what it looks and sounds like when you're going inside your head, so I can deal with it. Anything makes it worth being together. I'll see you tomorrow. I'll text you when. Fuck, I love you."
So it was now Dylan's job, he knew, to trust the people he loved because they were being honest. "Shouldn't be that hard," he thought, but he'd watch out for errant thoughts that didn't fit so he wouldn't end up hurting everyone and himself. Aaron was back so Dylan sat down (gingerly) with him and talked about his interactions with Richard just now and how they would both be on alert for signs of incoming craziness.
Aaron was relieved, and said, "Just remember to trust yourself and those who really care about you. We'll all look out for each other. The past is over. This is reality now."
They hugged. "No tears, even though I know you probably already started," said Dylan. "I was even getting that way, maybe from you. It's time for laughing and woops and cheers."
"I'll try," said Aaron, knowing that he'd gotten too sentimental over the past few years.
Dylan grinned. "Maybe tears of pleasure and pain during spanking though." They were back on track.
Dylan spent the evening reading Maurice which he'd started two weeks ago, on his stomach, pants down, icing his ass continuously. He wanted to be as ready as he could be for a hot time with Richard tomorrow. He was hard just thinking about it. By the time he went to sleep, his butt was feeling much better, and the remaining sting was really turning him on. He jacked off three times that night, thinking about the details of some recent sessions.
It was already Saturday. Spring recess was almost over. Dylan was still lying in bed when Richard texted him at 9am: "can i come over now. can't wait."
Dylan replied: "absolutely." The dads hadn't even gotten up yet. When Richard rang the doorbell twelve minutes later, panting slightly, having run most of the way, Dylan was already waiting downstairs. The look on both their faces was reminiscent of a person who'd been lost in the desert coming upon a plentiful water source.
They raced upstairs, slammed the door to Dylan's room, and ripped each other's clothes off in ten seconds, kissing and fondling. They headed into the bathroom and showered while licking, biting, slapping all over. Gasping, they came on each other in minutes, Richard's tongue greedily licking Dylan's prostate. They rinsed off and dried each other, never removing their tongues from each other's mouths.
The dads were awakened by the doorbell but when they heard the boys racing upstairs, they knew it wasn't for them. They faintly heard the rest because the boys made no attempt to control vocalizing their epic horniness. Aaron and Jay smiled and turned toward each other to hug and rub their bodies together. The storm had passed. Maybe there would be no more.
Richard picked Dylan up from the front, lifting him by his awesome butt, slipping a finger in between those stunning cheeks, with Dylan's legs wrapped around his waist, and carried him back to the bedroom, their mouths never out of contact. Richard grabbed the two ass pillows and positioned them at the edge of the bed. Kneeling, he examined every inch of the ass that wouldn't quit, and found it to be in good health, if a shade pink. The blisters had gone. He licked and sucked it with rapt fervor. He licked and sucked Dylan's balls sensually but firmly, now using his hands to rub and stroke that amazing butt. Dylan moaned. It had taken him all of five seconds to get hard when Richard began, despite having come five minutes earlier.
Dylan, still panting, asked, "What next?"
Richard replied, "Maybe try Jokari again, or brush?" Richard now had a three-brush collection, courtesy of Shirley, and had brought one for Dylan's room.
Dylan, thrilled, said, "Brush for sure. First time here."
"Maiden voyage, huh?" Richard said, putting Dylan over his knee, face pointed upward so he could kiss him throughout the first spanking. He'd already placed the little stinger on the bed and began spanking Dylan's round, sumptuous, beautiful backside rhythmically with it, starting moderately but soon whacking really hard. With the continuous deep kissing, and Richard's left index finger massaging Dylan's prostate, they were both in sexual overdrive and moaned loudly with glittering horny joy. The little brush was doing its job, each stinging smack eliciting another moan of thrilling pleasure from Dylan and even more precum oozing from both boys' throbbing members.
The first spanking went on for half an hour, the number of strokes hard to estimate. Dylan was writhing with pre-orgasmic shudders. Richard stopped before it went any further. Dylan's buttocks were red and bruised when they stopped. Richard replaced his finger with his tongue in Dylan's ass. Dylan gasped. After a few more minutes, Richard turned Dylan over, pulling his legs to wrap around his torso, hugging him tightly, and took Dylan's pulsing dick deep down his throat, his right index finger now massaging Dylan's prostate. He sucked slowly so this could go one for some time.
After several moments, Dylan gasped, "Stop!" and Richard withdrew his finger and his mouth, revealing a hint of semen at the tip of Dylan's stiff, glorious penis. They held each other until things calmed down and then resumed. This went on for another fifteen minutes at which point Dylan whispered in Richard's ear, "It's no use," and shot a violent load down Richard's throat. Richard could feel at least eight sizable pulsations, and Dylan moaned and rasped slightly, unable to catch his breath.
Richard only needed a few hand strokes on his own dick before he also came in copious spurts onto Dylan's chest and face. They fell back onto the bed, panting, sticky, and sweaty, Dylan's legs still wrapped around Richard. And it was only about 10:45am. There was a long way to go, their mouths and tongues kissing and sucking eagerly, only pausing for an instant to breathe. At the same moment, they said to each other, "Don't ever leave me again."
They held each other until 11:00 and were both hard as rocks and dripping. Then Richard said in his best commander's voice, "What should I do with you? Daily punishment hasn't worked."
Dylan wrapped his legs even tighter around Richard and said, "Sir, you can't give up. I need spankings at least daily or I'll even be worse. You didn't punish me yesterday and look what happened. I misbehaved at least four times, making a complete mess. I expect to be severely disciplined, sir. That seems the only way to keep my baser nature in check," Dylan insisted.
Richard sighed, "I know it's one of my duties but I know it will yield scant results with a rogue of your sort. I need to think about what might be effective for today's punishment." The role-play mode did not stop them from kissing, licking, and fondling before getting on with further discipline.
At length, they uncoupled. Richard wiped their sticky chests with a towel before bending Dylan over the punishment pillow stack. That very act caused Dylan and Richard to drip copious precum. Richard had searched his closet that morning for a heavier belt than he usually wore. He found one of tan leather at the back that had a nice feeling of weight, but which needed to be cinched tighter on his jeans to keep its weight from having the opposite of its intended effect. It was like a less threatening version of Aaron's famous belt.
It seemed that the spanking would have to wait a while because the sound of Richard removing the belt from its loops excited Dylan to the edge, and the subsequent sonorous snap pushed him over it, shooting his next load onto the pillows. They laughed and kissed, lying back down together.
Richard whispered, "Just wait 'til later, young man. I assure you that the consequences of such impertinence will make you rethink your behavior." Dylan took Richard's iron-stiff cock into his mouth and was rewarded with an abundant load in three minutes. Richard pulled out while coming so he could drench Dylan's face with his spunk.
The dads were already at breakfast when the boys started their activities. Sound carried enough that they smiled, knowing all was well. Obviously, neither boy could go a day without the other, and Dylan knew what he had to work on. Jay and Aaron kissed and embraced, especially relieved after Thursday's trauma, which they hoped would never get replayed. After another half hour or so, they heard a few more sounds that told them they probably should stay downstairs for a while rather than go back up.
Richard licked the cum off Dylan's face and got on top of his boyfriend, fondling and rubbing. Then they lay face to face. Richard squeezed and caressed Dylan's ass, getting hard minutes after shooting a load into and onto Dylan. "How's it feeling after the brush?"
Dylan answered, "Hot, in both ways." Dylan was hard again as well. So they resumed the spanking play.
Richard, in his role, said, "Maybe I should make you less comfortable for punishment. Bend over the chair. I will keep count silently this time, so the amount of discipline will keep you guessing."
Richard slipped his left arm under Dylan's stomach so he could fondle him, tweak his erogenous right nipple, and tease his hard dick while punishing his backside. He picked up the belt again, and, licking the back of Dylan's neck, lay the first stroke across Dylan's waiting butt. He increased the severity and applied another four. "How does that feel, boy?" Richard inquired.
"It hurts, sir. Again sir. I want to learn my lesson today." Five more strokes followed.
Richard took note that this belt, being heavier, had more inertia and once in motion, remained forceful, so he was a little careful. He thought, "Maybe I'll go back to the other one next time. I'd rather belt without restraining myself."
But, to his surprise and delight, Dylan demanded, "Harder. Harder, sir. It's what I need." Richard hornily obliged. The stripes left were a lot more vivid than with the previous belt. "Harder, sir," cried Dylan. After building up to it, Richard found that after twenty or more strokes, he was lashing Dylan without restraint. Dylan was wincing with the sting and moaning with the electric buzz going through his cock.
Richard took him to fifty lashes and then stopped. "I think that should teach you for tod..."
"More, sir," cried Dylan, interrupting. "I've been very bad and won't learn until you whip all the mischief out of me."
Richard had to think fast. "Restraint," he heard his mom say. He reached down, felt Dylan's burning ass, and thought it better to be safe. "No, young man. I think you should feel guilty about your behavior, That will be part of today's punishment." He whacked him hard just five more times and threw down the heavier belt.
Dylan looked up at him with glistening, moist eyes and a wicked smile. "You might be sorry. I can be very naughty."
Hearing that, Richard yanked Dylan over his lap on the chair, and administered ten minutes of hard hand spanking, after which Dylan was even groaning a little. "That should prove to you that I can judge your needs and won't brook disagreement or disrespect," Richard sternly admonished.
He grabbed the dildo from the desk and, quickly lubricating it, inserted it into Dylan hole, eliciting a gasp of surprise and pleasure. "Now, boy," he said, rubbing lube on Dylan's rigid boner, you will service me." Richard got on all fours in bed and Dylan entered him, carefully at first until Richard had relaxed, but then deeply. Richard reached back to hold the dildo in place and match its movements with Dylan's own. Dylan moaned passionately. He was determined to make this one last, so he went slow. Every millimeter of movement, matched by tingling pleasure in his prostate, was almost unbearable.
"Come on, pleasure me, boy. I did my job. This is yours," commanded Richard.
The imperious, martial tone in Richard's voice was a huge turn-on and images of himself tied up, his bare buttocks flogged and bleeding, flitted through Dylan's mind. "Yes, sir. As you say, sir." He fucked Richard as Richard's dildo fucked Dylan for twelve minutes. Dylan was in a paradise of pleasure, but soon after that, he said "Sir, I don't think I can hold out much longer."
Richard quickly yanked out the dildo and pushed Dylan's shuddering cock out of his ass, shouting "You will control yourself. I expect more from you."
Dylan was so taken aback that he was able to ease up before starting again, Richard replacing the dildo and paralleling Dylan's thrusts. They went for another twelve minutes before Dylan shouted, "Forgive me, sir, but I can't help it" as he spewed twelve almost painfully intense spurts of jism into Richard's tight hole, and Richard let loose with a similarly explosive orgasm.
Dylan collapsed on Richard's back, breathing fast, still inside Richard, the dildo still deeply inside him. "You're learning, young man," panted Richard. They remained like that, Dylan's arms wrapped around Richard for ten more minutes, until both their long-fucked holes started to burn and feel sore, as well as Dylan's ass cheeks.
Richard pulled out the dildo from a moaning Dylan and lay on his side, facing his partner in pleasure. Dylan, still out of breath, asked, "What'd you use on my ass?"
Richard replied, "Heavier belt. That okay?
"More than okay. Still hurts like fuck but I wanted more. Why did you stop?"
"I was listening to the advice we got."
"Screw that. If you can stand missing a day for me to recover after whipping my ass, we gotta do that again for longer. It was amazing."
Richard felt around Dylan's ass and it was already swollen with welts. "I'm not so sure. See how you feel later."
"While we were fucking, your military-style orders made me have super-hot fantasies about being tied to a post and flogged on my ass--you know, bleeding and everything. This was as close as I've gotten, aside from, you know, punishment punishment. But we'll talk about it later. I remember something! The first time I stayed at your house--was that nine days ago?--I had a dream just before I woke up like that fantasy but not exactly. In it, you were whipping me with Aaron's big belt and I had bleeding welts. It was a wet dream and I wiped my cum off your back while you were still asleep."
Richard was totally turned on but a little uneasy. Drawing the line, he said, "Okay, but you can forget about me ever deliberately breaking skin."
Richard looked at Dylan's ass. It was obvious that Dylan was still thinking about being flogged since his dick was semi-hard. But his ass made Richard reconsider. There were real welts and bruises. Though it wasn't at the same stage, he remembered what it looked like when they met on that Monday almost two weeks ago. Even though it was definitely exciting to see, he thought they'd better talk to Dylan's dads.
Chapter 25: Queries
It was about 1:00 when Richard and Dylan went downstairs.
"Lunch?" asked Jay, with a big smile.
"Can we talk to you and Aaron first?" Richard asked.
Aaron heard his name from the living room where he was reading, and called out, "About what?"
"Well, you know, a week ago when my mom gave us advice about restraint and that I should sometimes set the limits?
"Yeah. And?"
"How literally should we take that?"
"Why do you ask?" Aaron queried in return, concern creeping into his voice.
"Can we all be in the same room for this, Dads?" Dylan requested.
Aaron got up and they all sat at the kitchen table. "Okay," said Richard. "Let's be completely honest. We really need practical advice. How far do you guys go before you know any more would be overdoing it?"
Jay and Aaron looked at each other and smiled. "On a practical level, I'd say drawing blood is over the limit. But you and Dylan are so young that I'm not sure if that extreme limit is practical," Aaron replied with an air of grown-up sagacity.
"What does our age have to do with it?" Dylan asked, a little confrontation in his voice.
"Your skin is still maturing and more tender than it will be in a few years," was Aaron's answer.
"Okay, but how does that explain real punishments in, like, English and other schools until a few decades ago? And they used harsher tools far more severely. School paddling is still legal in the South--and even here on special occasions," Dylan smirked. "We're talking about boys who aren't even our age," Dylan added.
"First of all, you know I don't think it's right and could have health repercussions down the line. Secondly, as you said, it's a thing of the past in Britain and most civilized countries. And yes, you cornered Jackson into it--and me too, for that matter, but remember that no one had ever seen anything remotely like it at your school for a century. And finally, you're talking about actual punishment, not erotic play," said Aaron, with Dylan grinning wickedly.
"Okay, Dad. How far would you say is too far for us at 16 to 17?" Dylan finally asked.
"Obviously, breaking the skin is well over the line. And remember a week ago when you took it too far without even doing that and you were very uncomfortable for several days," Aaron said, and Jay nodded. "You have to be functional after playing. Can you be more detailed? We're all in this, so nothing will be new."
"Okay," Richard said, determined to be direct. "Last week, we discovered that using a heavy ruler hard for a long time--I don't remember, was it about 80 strokes?" he looked at Dylan who nodded--"was a bad idea. We think it meant that bruising too far under the skin would hurt for several days. So we haven't done it again, and will always call a halt before that point. Dylan gave him a look, and Richard confirmed, "Yes, we will!"
Richard continued, "But today, I used a heavier belt than the one I'd been using. I had learned that I could swing the lighter one without restraint and it didn't cause any lasting effects. But Dylan liked the heavier one I tried today--a lot." Dylan smiled and blushed a little. "Being heavier, it has more inertia to stay in motion, so I held back. Dylan kept urging me to go harder. In not long, I wasn't holding back, but I started to get concerned and stopped at fifty-five strokes. Dylan wanted more and I refused, even though he was really excited. It's different from the ruler accident. This time, I'd really be disappointing Dylan if I kept limiting the amount he wanted. What should I do?"
Aaron, unclear how to answer without being a hypocrite, asked Dylan "When I used my belt two weeks ago, was that fun?"
Dylan answered, "You know it wasn't and it hurt for days, which was tough. But that was punishment, even if I forced you into it. This is different. Richard's belt is somewhere between your belt and his lighter one, and we wouldn't be going at it for long periods every day." Richard looked noticeably skeptical at that last assertion.
"Okay. Richard, take off the belt and let me see," Aaron said, finally getting everyone to put their cards on the table. Richard took it off and handed it to Aaron who got up, doubled it, swung it a few times, and snapped it. Then he handed it back to Richard. "I see what you mean. This has weight. You really like this, Dylan?" The boy nodded. "So, you got fifty-five with this just now? How do you feel?"
"I'm wearing jeans and sitting." Dylan replied.
"That's not exactly an answer," Aaron said.
"All right, my ass is sore but it feels good at the same time," Dylan said, a bit churlishly. Jay had to stifle a knowing laugh.
"But you wanted more," Aaron said. "You don't want to cross the line into lasting pain. If you're so turned on, increase the number incrementally. At some point, you'll know when it's too much and back off. Does that sound reasonable?"
Richard had to say it: "Yeah, it does, but I'm not going to play innocent. It was scorchingly hot for both of us." Using the word "scorchingly" made Richard blush. "The thing is that Dylan has flogging fantasies so I'm a little scared that he'll push me to go over the limit. And I told him I'm never going to break skin." He turned to Dylan and said "And you'd better not look for another spanker, young man!" the tone of which gave Dylan an instant hard-on.
"Don't worry," Dylan replied. "Who could ever turn me on so fast anyway?" he thought.
Relieved, Aaron said, "At least one of you is being sensible. How about it, Dylan? Increasing by degrees? And not when you have school the next day. You remember what that was like, right?"
"Yeah, I guess," said Dylan, resigned. "Funny isn't it? That marathon spanking really helped me figure things out in so many ways." He hugged Aaron and then Jay, though the two musicians couldn't resist a mischievous smile at each other.
The boys went into the living room and Jay said quietly to Aaron, "You're like his spanker daddy image, and I'm like a big brother."
They snickered but Aaron said quietly, "Not what I ever intended."
Richard came back into the kitchen for a minute and softly said to Aaron and Jay, "I appreciate the thought behind the gift of the Jokari paddle. But I have to return it. I'll never use it again since it was what we were doing when Dylan has his breakdown a few days ago. It's too traumatic." They hugged him and he returned to his boyfriend.
"Richard's sensitive like you, babe," Jay observed. Then he called out, "Don't get too involved in anything, boys. Lunch is coming up soon."
Lunch consisted of melted gruy??e and smoked turkey with sliced heirloom tomatoes on oven-warmed focaccia bread.
After that, Aaron went over some new designs; Jay worked on some new repertoire in his studio; and Dylan played through the first half of his program, Richard enraptured. "Ending the half with the sensuous Brahms is brilliant," he said. "Did you get a timing for the first half?"
"Like 35 minutes. Not bad. I thought, if the thing's a hit and they want a second encore, I'd improvise. All the big keyboard players improvised at their concerts through the beginning of the 20th century."
"Why not make it part of the program? It's so sexy and people will hear you for yourself."
Dylan thought for a moment and said, "That sounds good. Maybe to open the second half? I'll ask Jay when he's free. Thanks, boyfriend!" Of course, that led to kissing and fondling and eventually going upstairs.
It was a little after 3pm and it was getting hot--at least the boys were. But first, Richard said the Dylan, "Let me see your ass."
"I told everyone it was fine."
"Let me see for myself."
Dylan lowered his jeans and briefs as sensually and alluringly as possible--which was pretty seductive, and showed his glorious glutes to Richard who proceeded to rub, caress, and lick them probably more than was necessary for an evaluation. "So, do I get the rest of my daily discipline, sir?" Dylan requested hopefully.
Of course, he knew that Richard would be aroused by just the tone of the question, which he certainly was. But being careful, Richard said, "I'm going to wait until bedtime to deliver your lashes, however richly they may be deserved."
Dylan was disappointed and a little annoyed but he loved Richard for his protectiveness. "How could I have spun out at someone like that the other day?" Dylan thought, chiding himself. "I literally pushed him away. What the fuck was wrong with me? What if I had really scared him off?!"
"Of course," Richard added, "that doesn't mean we can't do other things right now, the bulge at the front of his jeans wonderfully apparent. He sat in the desk chair. "Get that ass over here while your pants are still down."
Dylan slinked over Richard's lap, wiggled that seductive ass and, feeling Richard's obvious boner, said "Looks like someone's happy to see me." The remark earned him a volley of slaps. "Even happier now," said Dylan, red handprints partially obscuring the stripes from earlier.
"You want to see how happy I can get, insolent fellow?!" inquired Richard with mock indignation as he proceeded with a hard, five-minute, rapid hand spanking.
"Ooh, ooh, it hurts so much," continued Dylan in derisive mode, goading Richard to get on with it. Easily persuaded, he picked up his little brush and gave Dylan a long spanking that soon caused him to cease his mock derision. This one really hurt over this morning's belting, and Dylan's cock was very hard.
"Punishment for the impudent rascal," declared Richard, now lifting Dylan's head for a deep kiss. Though Dylan's ass was already getting raw, the kissing and spanking continued for another ten minutes, in addition to Richard's left index finger massaging his prostate, enhancing both of their hard-ons and eliciting moans from Dylan.
"I can't promise I'll be good unless you teach me a more profound lesson," said Dylan, in an arrogant manner. Richard slapped his ass again hard and stripped Dylan naked in an assertive way that Dylan found exciting. He then removed his own clothes, and threw Dylan over the pillow stack. Some lube and he was fucking Dylan hard and deep, alternately slapping and caressing that sore ass for good measure and kissing him passionately, Dylan turning his face upward to receive the kisses. With Dylan's ass now pretty raw, the slaps slowed Dylan's march toward orgasm a bit, allowing for a more leisurely, sensual fuck, though the kisses and thrusts sent charges through his prostate and dick.
"You're not coming until I say so," Richard whispered authoritatively in his left ear.
Dylan replied with a subdued "Yes, sir," between moans and waves of pleasure. After twelve minutes, Richard increased the speed and energy of his thrusts. He was not far from climax, so he grabbed Dylan's stiff dick with a lubed hand but didn't stroke it. As he got closer, so did Dylan who began to fuck Dylan's tight fist. Dylan came first, shooting a foot beyond the pillow stack, followed by Richard's powerful spurts up his ass.
As they lay panting and satisfied in an entwined embrace, Richard asked, "Low-key?"
Dylan just said, "Fuckin' hot!"
"Ass?" Richard asked.
Dylan thought for a second and said, "Raw, tingling, so sexy. You didn't even use the belt, and it hurts more than when we talked to my dads. But I wanna see how it feels after dinner. That was so simple," he said, reiterating, "and so fuckin' hot." He was getting hard again, so Richard wiped the lube off Dylan's dick, then slowly and sensually sucked him to the root until he came again, moaning loudly. Richard liked doing a good job.
Chapter 26: Libert?! Libert?!
The mail always came late on Saturday. When Jay lazily went to the mailbox, there was no way he expected a letter from the state approving their legal adoption of Dylan after their submission eight days before. Apparently, being in state care as the result of horrendous abuse, and then difficult to place, his history was well-known; the foster care facility had sent a supporting letter after Aaron called them; and, to be cynical, the state was delighted to have another potential expense off its hands. But Dylan was now officially Dylan Kellner-Weitz.
When the boys dressed and started downstairs, all wonderfully relaxed and warm, Aaron's and Jay's shouts were alarming to them as they descended. When they reached the bottom, the dads flew to embrace them both, waving the letter. Dylan could see that Aaron's face and shirt were wet with tears. Okay, so he hadn't yet modified his emotional reactions but this was certainly the moment for them. All he and Jay could manage to say to Dylan was "You're ours! We're yours!" He knew what the waving letter and their excitement was all about. Everyone hugged and kissed and screamed and cried.
Richard called Shirley and Steve and they were over in minutes to share this indescribable joy. For all Aaron had reassured Dylan that the dark past was gone, especially after his feelings of worthlessness had exploded a few days earlier, this clinched it for real. It was over at last. Dylan kissed everyone and they were all fountains of tears in no time. "Mazel tov! Mazel tov! Mazel tov!" cried the grown-ups.
To celebrate, Jewish people don't typically drink. They eat. As it happened, Jay had baked Hamantaschen on a whim yesterday. Filled with the traditional poppy seeds, or apricot, blueberry, cherry, strawberry, there were dozens of them. He made mint tea and opened bottles of seltzer. Although Purim had been three weeks earlier, this was liberation, saving Dylan from the creeping death of absent self-esteem.
Jay invited Shirley and Steve to stay for dinner. Mixing culinary metaphors, he'd make lasagna, always a dish that promised contentment. And they were all beyond contentment. All the couples kissed, none more than Dylan and Richard who did so as though it was the first time. Even Shirley and Steve were tearing up again, to say nothing of Jay and, obviously, Aaron. There were really no words for such a joyful occasion, so everyone just ate and embraced. The Hamantaschen were amazing, as might be expected. Jay requested preparation help with the lasagna. He got more than he could use.
True to form, Dylan asked everyone into the living room to hear the second half of his forthcoming concert. He had a feeling it might be a little long. He announced to Jay that he'd start with an extended improvisation. "It was Richard's idea," he said, "then the Brahms Capriccio and the Bach Partita." Everyone brought their Hamantaschen, tea, and seltzer with them; even Dylan put his on a little tray table next to the piano.
The improvisation today was a free fantasy, an adagio, and a fugue based on a fascinating, melodically disjunct subject. The fantasy was thrilling and full of harmonic surprises; the adagio tender and sensuous, but not like the Brahms in the first half of the program; and the fugue was always contrapuntally correct but simply wild, with episodes of free-flowing, power-driven passages that separated the more formal contrapuntal sections. As he would at the final pedal point of the Bach Prelude and Fugue, Dylan added a thoroughly ear-popping roller coaster of a cadenza.
Dylan had to shush them when his families cheered: "I want to get a timing." He then played the stormy Brahms Capriccio, adding to the complexity of the inner parts beyond what Jay had suggested a week earlier. The piece itself, and Dylan's pointed, rocking, fluid interpretation were emotionally exhausting in its under-four-minute length. The five listeners all just exhaled audibly.
The Bach was the longest piece on the program at over half an hour. Dylan bit right into it. The Ouverture was taken at a good clip, all the repeats embellished with runs, appoggiaturas, trills, passages. The dance movements went like the wind; Dylan disagreed with Igor and did not use notes in??ales for the gavotte. The gigue and echo made everyone hold their breath as Dylan extemporized paraphrases, not just embellishments, for the repeats, actually going farther than Igor. When it was over, his loved ones were a collective puddle. But all Dylan said was "Forty-four minutes. Is that too long for a second half?"
Everyone cracked up. Jay just yelled "So what's in the third half?!"
Steve said, "Dylan, you're going to need paramedics at the doors with oxygen masks in hand."
Dylan was pleased but just said, "You really need a harpsichord for this."
Richard kissed Dylan and whispered something in his ear. Dylan said, graciously, "Thanks for listening. This might work" to chuckles at his preposterous reserve. "But will you excuse us for a little while?" Dylan and Richard tried to make what they considered a dignified exit upstairs, but the unchecked giggles of happiness for them argued against the success of their decorous upstairs gait. They heard the titters and giggled themselves as they shut the bedroom door. Then the adults started assisting with Jay's preparations.
"My ass is still a little sore, though there was no problem sitting for all the noise I just made, but what do you want to do?"
Richard just answered by removing each article of Dylan's clothing and parallel ones of his own, followed by licking, stroking, kissing, and fondling the body parts they their removal had revealed. By the time Richard got to Dylan's briefs, the musician was buzzing and sparking like a loose electrical cable. Richard licked Dylan's balls, his perineum, his warm ass, his "sit-spot," his thighs. Completely undone, Dylan said, "You gotta spank me some at least!" Richard ran his fingers lightly over Dylan's red ass, creating goose flesh and then punctuating the gentle rubbing with a hard smack that made Dylan suck air. Maybe fifty times, maybe more. No one was counting. The sensitive light kissing of that hot butt afterwards was bliss for them both.
Dylan had been painfully hard since they started. They lay on their sides with Dylan's pulsating dick against Richard's shapely ass. Richard lubed Dylan's throbbing stiffness, and said, "Fuck me, Mr. Kellner-Weitz!" Dylan chuckled a little, but not enough to even slightly disgorge his erection. He entered Richard carefully but to the max. Richard moaned with the heat of Dylan's dick. Dylan went very slowly, basking in the sparkles from each tiny motion. Richard pushed back on Dylan's ample member, making him sigh.
They were performing a concert of ecstasy: all sighs, moans, yelps of pleasure. Dylan had to stop several times to forestall his orgasm. They fucked for 16 minutes--half the length of the Bach; for the last five minutes Dylan rubbed Richard's hardness with sensuality and purpose, Richard dictating the speed by his backward thrusts. They were in perfect sync when they came, orgasms engulfing them at once in deep spasms of perfect ecstasy. It began to rain outside; the thunder seemed like the heavens' lusty applause for justice and art and fulfilled desire. Dylan's butt stung, a good sting.
It was about 7:00 and the lasagna was already in the oven. No one could figure out how Jay did Italian dishes so fast and so well. The boys, locked in an embrace and sated for the moment, smelled the aroma. They showered and tried to keep their sounds of passion as quiet as they could since the bathroom was echoey. Given all the kissing, fondling, licking, sucking, tonguing, and coming that their showers invariably entailed, it was neither an easy nor especially successful task. As they exited the bathroom, that was demonstrated by the muted chuckling they heard coming from downstairs. It amused and annoyed Dylan, who called down, "Well, what are we supposed to do?!"
They dressed with much of the same kissing, licking, and fondling but walked down the stairs as demurely as they had ascended an hour before. No one could help themselves and gave them a round of applause--paralleling the skies' when they'd climaxed. Far from being embarrassed, the boys bowed appreciatively and were embraced by the adults when they had reached the bottom of the staircase.
[End of Part 1]