Date: Sat, 29 Aug 2020 00:03:28 +0100
From: AP Webb <pjalexander1753@gmail.com>
Subject: D'n'M Part 3 Chapter 11

Part 3 of the story of D'n'M, just like Parts 1 and 2, includes sex between
teenage boys, some of it non-consensual.  As before, it is the characters
themselves and how they react to events that are key to whatever success
the story achieves.

All the characters and events in the story are fictitious.  Any resemblance
to real people, either living or dead, is entirely unintentional.

The story is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any way without the
express permission of the author who can be contacted at:

pjalexander1753@gmail.com

PJ

D'n'M Part 3

From Chapter 10:

And it could have been so different.  If only he'd allowed himself to ride
the wave of his new-found fame as a cum stallion.  All he'd had to do was
go with the flow, rub one out with the other guys and his status within the
group would have been assured for the rest of his time in high school.  So
he would have got a boner -- pretty difficult to jerk off without one, as
all the other guys had been demonstrating, and that didn't mean that they
were all gay, did it?; so he would have been seen blatantly scoping out a
whole bunch of naked guys, just like they would all have been scoping out
him and each other, and that didn't mean that they were all gay, did it?;
so he would have been seen enjoying jerking-off with other guys, just like
they would have been enjoying jerking-off with him, and that didn't mean
that they were all gay, did it?  Crap!  Crap!  Crap!  He'd got it all so
wrong.  At that moment, as he arrived home, he could not believe he'd ever
be able to salvage anything from the wreckage.

And there was still Zephan to face.

**********

Chapter 11:

Relief!  Zephan's car wasn't there, which meant he wasn't there either, but
Milo's mum was, almost as if she'd been lying in wait in the kitchen,
intent on attack as soon as he got home.

"Where have you been until this time?  How dare you not come straight home
without letting me know in advance?"

"What?"  Milo wasn't expecting an immediate, all-out attack.  After the
events of an hour ago he certainly wasn't in any fit state to survive one.
"It's Wednesday -- swimming practice, like always."  His tone could not
have been more dismissive.  Bad move.

"Don't take that tone with me, young man.  You're not too old to be
grounded for the rest of the month."

Danger alert.  He decided it would make sense to take a less aggressive
approach.  "Mum, it's the tournament at the weekend, you know it is, and I
need all the practice I can get if I'm going to get an individual slot."

"Swimming!  Is that all you can think about?  Don't you ever consider
anything or anyone but your own selfish wants?"  She could have given the
Spanish Inquisition some pointers.  And where was all this anger coming
from?  Why was she so pissed off?  Then he caught sight of the half empty
bottle almost but not quite hidden on the counter top.  Questions answered.

"You should have come straight home so you could spend time with your
cousin."

"But he's not here.  His car's gone."

"Yes, because, as he said, he got tired of waiting for you."

Tired of waiting for him?  That didn't sound good.

"So where is he now?"  Intelligence-gathering.  Knowledge is power.

"He's gone for a drive round with Kate.  She's going to give him a tour of
the town.  At least one of my children knows how to be a good host."

Zephan and Kate.  Kate and Zephan.  After what they'd said about each other
before that didn't sound like a very natural combination.  He didn't like
the sound of that at all.

"Look, he didn't need to be here until the end of the week, I didn't ask
him here, I don't want to share a room with him.  He's a jerk.  If he's
hanging out with Kate that's more than fine with me.  They're welcome to
each other."

Having delivered this counter-attacking salvo Milo turned and left the
kitchen and made his way upstairs.  Behind him his mum shouted various
incoherent threats about different punishment options and getting no
dinner.  He couldn't get inside his room with the door closed fast enough.
He threw himself down on the mattress and covered his eyes with his arm.
What a crap day.

He was startled awake over an hour later when his bedroom door burst open
to reveal Kate standing in the doorway.  He was confused on two fronts,
firstly because he had been suddenly awakened from a pretty deep sleep, and
secondly because there was a wide grin on his sister's face.  She didn't do
grins, at least, not meant for him.  There had to be something going on
and, whatever it was, it was bound to be bad news for Milo.  He leaned up
on his elbows and tried to shake his head into greater wakefulness while he
waited for whatever insult or vindictive comment she'd have for him today.
He didn't have to wait long.

"Well Swimboy, what an interesting time I've just had riding round town
with the macho cousin.  He had quite a lot to say about you -- stuff I'd
only suspected before.  Useful.  Very useful.  See you at dinner -- if you
dare risk it."

And she was gone, across the hallway to her own room, leaving him equal
parts mystified and worried.  What could Zephan have said about him?  Well,
he knew what he could have said so perhaps a better question to ask was
what would he have said?  Surely nothing about yesterday's rubbish
blow-job, nor the one Milo had given him last year, an admission about
either of those had the potential to incriminate him just as much as it
would Milo.  What else was there?  He needed to find out.  If there was
going to be fall-out from whatever it was Zephan had told his sister then
he, Milo, needed to be prepared to switch to damage-limitation mode.

Dinner was early -- Milo never did find out why -- and it was once again
uncomfortable, but for different reasons from the day before.  Then it had
been because the three teenagers had remained virtually mute, leaving Grace
de Beer to do all the talking.  Today Zephan and Kate acted like they were
the best friends ever, describing their journey round the town and keeping
up an almost non-stop commentary about all the, apparently, fascinating
places they'd visited.  It was so obviously a performance, so clearly fake,
that Milo wanted to either throw up or scream at them to cut the crap, but
he did neither.  Instead he sat and watched as his mother's smile beamed at
Kate as she was praised for being such a very good hostess.  Eugh!!  But at
least neither Zephan nor Kate made any revelatory announcements or
embarrassing accusations about him.  Milo could breathe easier -- for now.

After dinner the `youngsters' were left to clear away once again while
Grace de Beer disappeared on yet another fictitious errand and, once again,
it ended up with Milo being left alone in the kitchen while the other two
went off, this time to watch t.v. together.  Even though he took as long as
he could to load the dishwasher and tidy up, when he finished it was still
way too early to think about going to bed but at the same time he didn't
want to go to his room and then get trapped there by Zephan following him
up with who knew what unspeakable purpose in mind.  That left the garage as
the one remaining place-of-safety option, which was fine with Milo as he
could always find something there to keep him occupied if he needed to lie
low for a while.

He fired off a quick text to D consisting of a smiley face and a thumbs up
emoji then made his way through to the garage and crossed straight to the
far back corner.  There, tucked in behind Kate's old bike which she hadn't
ridden for years and a rack of skateboards and scooters in various stages
of dismantlement (having been repeatedly plundered for spare parts), Milo
reached for a half-hidden, dusty and apparently-neglected, lidded plastic
box.  And, yes, it was virtually hidden and, yes, it was dusty but, oh no,
it definitely wasn't neglected.  This was his secret treasure box, the
place that, ever since he was about seven years old, he'd used to hide the
things that were either particularly precious to him or that he wanted to
keep away from prying eyes and acquisitive fingers.  Sharpened stones, dead
butterflies, lengths of string, fishing line, foreign coins, birds' eggs,
swaps cards, marbles - all these items and more had marked the passage of
his childhood, constantly being revised and re-organised as seasons changed
and interests ebbed and flowed.  Mostly those keepsakes were things of the
past, variously discarded or superseded, leaving just the most precious and
treasured items which crystalised the most important events and memories of
his life so far.

Once he became a teenager, and certainly when puberty set in, Milo more or
less lost interest in the box and its contents.  They seemed very childish
and no longer had much relevance in his new world of widening horizons.
True, there were times when Memory Lane beckoned, usually on wet days when
there was nothing much to do, and he was drawn back to the box and the more
innocent interests and pass-times that it represented, but this happened
less and less often, that is until about a year before when he suddenly had
something new that very definitely needed to be kept secret.

Just before he went back to university at the end of that dreadful time
with Dan and Mr. Roberts, Tom sent Milo a text suggesting they meet up at
the neighbourhood skate park.  He wasn't to bring D.  After the
mind-bending bathroom blow-job Tom had given him, Milo's long-time crush on
D's brother became less a crush and more a total annihilation so, of
course, he'd meet him on top of an active volcano if that's what Tom
wanted.  But the proposed meeting point was just the local skate park and
the two boys met up there the following day.

"So I just wanted to say goodbye before I leave tomorrow," Tom announced
after they'd high-fived and bro-hugged in greeting.

"But you know I'll be coming to see you off in the morning, you'll be able
to do that then."  Milo was puzzled.

"True, but there's something I want to give you and something I want to say
that's better done without anyone else hanging around to see or hear."

Milo's puzzlement ratcheted up a couple of notches.  "Yeah?"

"Yeah," repeated Tom, who then went on to tell Milo what a great kid he was
(that had the boy floating several inches off the ground) and what a great
job he'd done of supporting Dan through the Roberts abuse crisis (that
added more inches) and that he knew he could go back to university
confidently relying on Milo to continue with that support because Milo and
Dan were such amazing friends (he was probably about twelve inches in the
air by now).  Then he told Milo that he'd really enjoyed the b-j in the
bathroom (this brought some other inches into the equation) and that he
hoped they'd have the opportunity for a repeat performance next time he was
home (that almost had the purple head of the `other' inches nodding in
agreement).  But then Tom's tone changed and things started going downhill,
causing all the inches -- both real and imaginary - to suffer a sudden
decrease.

 "I'm worried for you, M," said Tom.

"Worried?  Why?"  Milo genuinely didn't understand.  If anyone needed
worrying about it was D, not him.

"Being gay is not easy, not even with all the changes there have been in
the last few years.  There are still people out there who hate `gays and
homos and queers and faggots'.  I'm worried you'll say or do something
that's gonna get you in trouble, or even worse.  I've seen what can happen
to perfectly nice guys who get targeted by some of the brain-dead retards
who walk our streets.  You've gotta be careful, M.  I'd hate to see you end
up in the hospital, or the cemetery."  The last three words were said very
quietly but Milo was still able to hear them.  Tom clearly meant every word
of his little speech and, equally clearly, he was deeply affected by it.
Milo could see moisture collecting in the corners of the older boy's eyes.

"I'll be careful.  I promise."  And he meant it.  Much of what Tom had just
said echoed some of the darker thoughts he, himself, had had in recent
months.  He knew he was gay and, basically, didn't have a problem with it.
It was what it was.  But he knew the sorts of people Tom was warning him
about, had seen them at school and heard about them on social media.  And
Milo wasn't an idiot.  He well knew that he had to keep his sexuality
well-hidden until he had the strength and knowledge to deal with the
challenges he'd undoubtedly face when he finally decided to come out
further than simply to D, and now Tom.  But it was good to know that Tom
had his back.

"It's good to know you've got my back."

"Believe it.  And don't forget, I'm always at the end of the phone or a
text or a FaceTime call if you need me."

"SuperTom to the rescue, eh?"  Milo couldn't have been more thrilled if
he'd tried.

"Too right.  But now I gotta get home to finish my packing.  I don't want
to be late leaving in the morning."  Tom made to go.

"You said you had something to give me."  It was a good job one of them had
a half-way decent memory.

"Oh, yeah.  It's a good job one of us has a half-way decent memory."  Tom
rummaged in his back pack and pulled out a large, white envelope.  "Here,"
he said, offering the package to Milo.  "Don't look inside till you're home
and alone, okay?"

"Okay.  But what's so secret that you can't show me now?"

"You'll see when you get home.  Now, I'm going.  See you in the morning and
then next time I'm home."  He pulled Milo into a tight hug.  "Take care and
keep safe brother."  He could not have said another word that would have
been more meaningful or impactful.  As he set off out of the park Milo's
eyes followed him, full of tears.  Brother -- wow!

As soon as he got home Milo went up to his room, relieved not to have been
intercepted en route.  With the door closed he tore open the envelope and
immediately burst into a huge smile.  And that is how he came to have an
ageing and crusty copy of a gay porno magazine in his treasure box and that
was why he had become a regular visitor to the garage every time his mother
had renewed the parental controls on his computer and until he'd worked out
a way around them.

And today, after the day he'd had, the comfort and reassurance of this
well-used and abused porno mag was exactly what Milo needed.  He settled
down on an old wooden apple crate and began to flick through the familiar
pages.  The photos of jocks in jocks and the bums of beach bums began to
have the inevitable effect, and by the time he turned to his favourite
section - the special pull-out (he never had) featuring bodies on building
sites -- his dick demanded that he stand up, unfasten his shorts and drop
his briefs to his knees.  It wasn't long before he was breathing heavily
and his legs were tensing ready to shoot the first of four solid volleys of
cum arching into the air.  All so familiar and just like it had been in the
weeks and months after Tom had first given the mag to him, except, unlike
with the younger Milo, his fifteen-year old boy juice didn't fall directly
onto the well-muscled, overall-clad teenage roofer being sucked-off by the
hairy site foreman, adding to their historic crustiness, but flew straight
over them and hit the wall of the garage several feet away.  Crap, he had
needed that.

"Very impressive, fag-boy.  Who'd have thought you could shoot so far?"

Milo spun around, completely taken by surprise to hear a voice and then
totally outraged to see that it belonged to his cousin who was standing
just inside the slightly open door, silently clapping his hands together.
Crap!  How did he know Milo was there?  Why hadn't he heard the door
opening?  How could his day get any worse?  It took him a few seconds to
get his brain and mouth to co-operate.  Zephan continued the silent
applause.

"You scared the crap out of me, Zephan.  Get out and leave me alone."

"Oh, I don't think so, fag-boy."

"Stop calling me that."

"What, are you ashamed of what you are -- fag-boy?"

"I'm not a fag."

"So explain the grubby magazine there on the floor.  Bit of a giveaway if
you ask me, fag-boy.  Besides, your sister told me, and she should know."
By now a malicious smile had taken up residence on his face.

Kate!  What did she know?  How could she know?  And why would she tell
Zephan?  At least the answer to the last question was obvious -- it was
because she was a royal bitch and would say anything to make his life
miserable.  Suddenly he'd had enough of this horrendous situation.  He
needed to get away from Zephan, away from his sister and mother and out of
the house.  That's when he realised he was still virtually naked from the
waist down with his lifeless dick dripping the last of his load onto the
open magazine.  How much more ridiculous, how much more pathetic, could he
become?  He began to pull up his underwear.

"No need to bother with that, fag-boy.  What you and me are about to do to
is gonna have you desperate to drop another load so you might as well stay
exactly as you are, except down on your knees."  As he was saying this
Zephan moved away from the door and walked across the garage towards Milo.

"We're not gonna do anything and I'm leaving."

"I said get on your knees.  You owe me a decent blow-job after that dismal
effort last night."

The malicious smile had become a twisted grin, part of a mask of determined
intent.  There was no way out for Milo.  Quite apart from the fact that he
was effectively hobbled by the shorts round his ankles and the underwear
round his knees, even if he had been able to make any sort of movement
towards the door, Zephan's height and reach would have quickly brought him
to a stop. The blood drained from Milo's face and his stomach went in the
same direction.  He'd known Zephan's visit was going to be difficult but it
was rapidly becoming so much worse than he had dared to imagine.

His cousin's intimidating presence was less than two feet away from him.
"Did you think you could hide in here forever fag-boy?"

Milo's earlier thought that he and Zephan could both get pleasure from
hooking up was obviously a total non-starter (as he'd always known, deep
down, that it had been).

"It's no use trying to fight it.  Remember how much you enjoyed it last
year at my place."

Milo felt as if he might throw up.  He looked round for a bowl or bucket,
just in case.  Then he felt a stinging pain on the side of his head.

"Don't turn away from me when I'm talking to you.  Have some respect
... faggot!"

Bile rose up into Milo's mouth.  He struggled to swallow it back down.  His
face burned.

Zephan closed the short gap between them, put both his large hands (he
wasn't his team's power forward by accident) on Milo's shoulders and forced
the smaller, younger boy to his knees.  He wasted no time in opening his
shorts.  Milo registered the fact that Zephan was free-balling, his very
hard dick now out in the open and seemingly scanning the space with its
single eye.

"In your mouth."

Milo made a show of clamping his lips shut.  Big mistake.  A hard slap to
the other side of his face made his mouth open in shock.  Zephan's long,
fat, purple-headed dick was thrust into his mouth and filled it.

"Now suck.  And make it good."

Milo tried to move his head backwards, away from the invader but as soon as
Zephan realised what was about to happen, he grabbed Milo by the hair, held
his head still and shoved his dick in as far as it would go.  The tip
forced its way to the back of Milo's mouth and into his throat. He was
totally unprepared for this assault.  He violently gagged.  He couldn't
breathe.  He literally thought he was going to die.  His upper body
desperately tried to retreat from this hideous attack.  Tears formed in his
eyes.  Spit flooded his mouth.  Then, for just half a second, the missile
left his throat and, in that half second, Milo was able to snatch the
quickest of breaths before the assault was repeated, again, then again and
again.

"That's right, faggot, take it, take it all."

Milo might as well have been a rag doll for all the resistance he was able
to put up.  He had no idea how long this torture went on.  When he thought
about it in the days that followed he wondered if he'd actually come close
to losing consciousness.  He thought he could recall Zephan moaning and
saying he was close, and not long after that he definitely remembered
hearing, "Get ready to take it fag.  I'm gonna cum!"

That was the moment that all hell broke loose.  The door flew open and
there was a scream as Milo's mother and sister exploded into the garage.
The scream was immediately followed by about three seconds of complete and
eerie silence before chaos erupted again.  The whole scene was so surreal
that Milo almost laughed out loud.  But it's hard to laugh with a mouthful
of pulsating dick.

**********

Thanks to all those who have taken the time and trouble to write to tell
me how they feel about this story.  As ever I am very grateful for all
feedback and promise to respond.

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