Date: Fri, 20 Jan 2017 13:36:24 +0000
From: Andy Brown <andybrown2000@outlook.com>
Subject: Tutoring Dylan - chapter 13

Tutoring Dylan - chapter 13


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***

From the end of chapter 12:

"Have you got his email address?" I asked.

"No," he replied.  "But Will might have."

"Okay.  Get it off Will, and then email him.  You might want to begin by
apologising to him.  It must have taken real guts for him to ask you out.
And I don't think you treated him particularly well," I said, trying to put
across my thoughts as nicely as I could.

Dylan sighed.  "Yeah.  You're right.  I've been a bit of a dick, haven't
I?"

"Just a little.  Now, I think it's time we headed up to bed."


***


I slowly came back to consciousness with the wonderful smell of my sweaty
teenage stud around me and the heat of his naked body lying over me.
Dylan's head was resting on my shoulder, his nose burrowed into my neck.
As he breathed out whilst he slept, the warmth of his breath trickled over
my chest, tickling my nipples.  The scent from his hair, slightly sweaty
from the August heat, gave of an amazing aroma of shampoo mixed with teen
boy.

The sheet had slipped off us during the night.  I looked down his body,
which was slumped on mine and I could see the smooth lines of his back,
rising up to the rounded pillows of his bum.  His skin was gleaming
slightly with sweat as the temperature began to climb.

I just lay there and drank it in, the scent, the warmth, and the sight of
this amazing boy, comfortable and relaxed with me in his nakedness.

Gently, I got out from underneath him, being careful not to wake him.  He
shuffled slightly, shifting his weight and grinding his midriff into the
mattress.

Pulling on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, I padded along the hallway to my
study.  Moving things around, and fetching some items from elsewhere in the
house, it was soon ready for this afternoon's fun.

Going back to the bedroom, I stripped off and laid down next to Dylan.  I
let him continue to sleep for a while before I could resist no longer and
started to gently run my fingers down his amazing body, feeling the
strength of the developing muscles in his back as I went.  His skin was
soft and tanned. His buttocks were like marble: strong, smooth, and
absolutely perfect in every way.  I continued to stroke my fingers down his
back and spine, feeling the nodules of bone and the tiny hairs prickle on
his skin as I stroked him.

I repeated my movements, Dylan squirming in his sleep as I did so.
Eventually, his shuffling caused him to turn over, presenting his morning
erection to me.

Lowering my head, I latched onto his cock and began sucking it.  Soon, I
felt his breathing quicken slightly and his weight shift as he started to
wake up.  Instinctively, he placed one of his hands on his chest.  He swept
his fingers over his nipples, and then rubbed downwards over his abdomen.

Continuing to suck him, I looked up to see his eyes begin to open.  Dylan
looked down and smiled, clearly pleased to be woken up this way.  He ran
his hand through my hair.

As he continued to wake up, I stroked his sides gently, whilst I continued
my ministrations on his dick.

"Oh Andy, I'm gonna..." he cried out, as his warm, creamy jizz spewed out
into my mouth.  I gobbled it down, hungrily.

Letting his softening shaft slip out of my mouth, I pulled myself up and
kissed the top of his head, burying my nose into his soft hair.  Grabbing
my shoulders, Dylan pulled me down into a long, erotic kiss.

Eventually, I pulled back and smiled at him. He leaned up again, kissed me
on the cheek and then whispered, "I'm hungry, can we have breakfast now?"

"But I've just eaten," I chuckled.


***


"What are we doing today?" Dylan asked as he wolfed down his second bowl of
cereal.

"Well we may have to go shopping later if you keep eating like that," I
replied.

"What?" he asked, in a fake shocked tone.  "I'm a growing boy.  And
besides, I'll burn it all off this afternoon at training."

"Yeah, I suppose you will."

"So what are we doing?"

"I thought we could go trampolining this morning.  There's a new centre
opened not far away.  Apparently they've got 150 interconnected
trampolines, as well as an obstacle course and other stuff."

"Whoah!  That sounds wicked!  Thanks, Andy."

"I hoped you might like the idea with you doing so much gymnastics."

"Oh yeah!  I've wanted to go to one of those places for ages, but they're
all a bit too far away from where we live."


***


It was another hot day, so we were both dressed in just shorts and
t-shirts.  As Dylan got his gymnastics kit together, I took care of packing
the rest of the things we'd need for the day.  It took us just over half an
hour to get to there - the traffic was pretty bad.

After I'd paid, we both took our trainers off and put on the special jump
socks we had to wear.  All set, we made our way out onto the trampolines.
It was surprisingly quiet in there to say it was the summer holidays, but
we weren't complaining!

I was a little nervous, at first, as we began jumping.  I hadn't been on a
trampoline since I was about ten, and even then it was just a small,
rickety thing in a friend's back garden.  Now, here I was in an enormous
room with 150 of them, all joined together.  It was mind-blowing!

I began slowly at first, only going a few inches into the air at a time.

"Come on Andy!" Dylan called over from the neighbouring trampoline.  "Put
some effort into it!"

Dylan had taken to it like a duck to water.  Already he was bouncing to
well above his own height, adding a few diving positions into the mix.

"I'll try," I replied.

Gradually, I began to bounce higher.  As I did so, my confidence grew.
Soon, I was bouncing up to waist height.

Dylan, however, was on another level.  He'd now begun to add somersaults
and back flips to his jumps, with the occasional twist or spin added for
good measure.  He began to gain an audience.

Whilst great fun, it was a strenuous workout, and I began to feel pretty
tired.

"I'm gonna stop now," I called over.

"Okay.  I will too," he replied.

We both stopped and made our way along the padded walkways to the side of
the arena.  I must admit, I was sweating far more than Dylan was.

"This is so awesome," Dylan said.  "We do a bit of trampolining sometimes
at diving practice.  But there I'm always being told what moves to do.
It's been fun making it up myself."

"Yeah," I panted in reply.  "It's been good."

We stood there quietly for a few minutes, recuperating from our excursions.
A man came and stood next to us.

"Excuse me," he said, his words directed at Dylan.  "I couldn't help notice
you jumping.  You're really good."

"Thanks," Dylan said, bashfully.

"I was wondering whether you'd considered doing this more regularly.  I'm
one of the coaches here."  He pointed to a 'British Trampolining' logo on
his t-shirt.  "I think you'd make an excellent addition to our training
squad."

"Thanks," Dylan said, "but I don't really have time.  I already do
gymnastics three times a week and then I've got diving practice twice a
week too."

"Ah, yes, I'm not surprised.  Seeing you on the trampoline, I thought you
must have some sort of gymnastic or acrobatic background.  Well, if you
change your mind, you know where we are."

"Okay, will do."

"Well, well, well," I said.  "You've made quite an impression this morning,
it seems.  But probably best not to stretch yourself too much.  Besides,
it'd mean I'd get to see even less of you."

Dylan smiled at me.

"There is one thing I found strange though," I continued.

"What's that?"

"Well, when you said you didn't have time.  Why didn't he invite me
instead?"

Dylan burst out laughing.  "Cos you were rubbish," he said, clutching his
sides.

I should have been angry at his impertinence, but what he'd said was true.
I was rubbish.  I laughed along with him.

It took us a few moments to regain our composure.

"Fancy trying something else out?" he asked.

"Yeah okay," I replied.  "What about the obstacle course?"

"Cool.  Yeah."

We left the trampoline arena and made our way to the obstacle course.  It
was huge; full of mini trampolines and a whole assortment of foam covered
obstacles.  There was no queue, so we could get straight on.

"Which of you is going first?" the instructor asked.

"He will," I replied, pushing Dylan in front of me.  He didn't seem
bothered.

Dylan set off like a boy possessed as he worked his way around the course.
Here he was, a true athlete in action.  He had that perfect balance of
speed and agility, though he did struggle slightly on the monkey bars: his
upper body strength still a weakness.  Despite that, he managed to produce
a really good time, only half a second off the leader board.

After congratulating Dylan on his amazing performance, I made my way to the
start line.  The whistle blew, and I was off: traversing across a
succession of horizontal logs; climbing a number of up-and-over walls;
navigating across one swinging platform and then another; flying down a zip
line; dodging through a sea of dangling punch bags; clambering from one
hanging swing to the next; scrabbling along a six-foot long box swinging
from the ceiling; stepping across a series of rings; swinging across the
monkey bars; then finally clambering up a cargo net to the finish line.
Early on, my muscles began to burn and my breathing became ragged.  It was
a relief to get to the end.

Unlike Dylan, I got nowhere near the leader board.  I didn't really care -
finishing was enough of an achievement for me.

Dylan, however, had other ideas.  He went again, this time smashing his
previous attempt by a full two seconds, and giving him ninth place on the
rankings.  Knowing how the course went had obviously helped him on his
second go.

"Are you going again?" he asked me.

"Nah.  I'm shattered."

"Oh, go on," he begged.  "Pleeeease."  He looked at me with his big, brown
eyes.  How could I refuse?

Unlike Dylan, knowing what was coming next didn't seem to work in my
favour.  I finished a good three seconds slower than my previous attempt.

"Never mind," he said, giving me a pat on the shoulder.  "I think I'll have
one last go."

For this final attempt, Dylan seemed to dig into every reserve of energy
and determination that he had.  At times, he was a blur.  He crossed the
finish line nearly five seconds faster than he'd done previously, earning
him third place on the board.

"That'll do," he said, after receiving a certificate from the instructor.
"Shall we try out the jumping runway next?"

"No, I think I've had enough," I replied.

Dylan looked disappointed.

"But you can do it if you want to," I said.  "I'll just watch."

Dylan perked up at that and was soon tearing down the runway and launching
himself into a giant airbag at the far end of it.  He ran through what
appeared to be a number of well rehearsed tumbles and vaults.  His first
couple were relatively simple - though far beyond anything I could manage.
But as time went on he began to add in a greater number of rotations and
twists.  I could see why he'd bagged a bronze medal at the regional
championships.  He was good.  And incredibly supple - I'd store that one
for later!

Eventually, Dylan wore himself out and made his way over to me.  He threw
his arms around me and gave me a big hug, his damp forehead forming a wet
patch around the collar of my t-shirt.

"Thanks Andy," he said.  "This morning's been awesome."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," I told him.  "Though I'm gonna have to work on
my stamina if we ever come here again."  We both laughed.


***


After changing out of our jump socks and putting our trainers back on, we
left the centre and made our way across the car park to Nando's.

The restaurant wasn't particularly busy so we were able to find a table out
of earshot from anyone else.  We soon worked out what we wanted.  I went up
to order, and after I'd done so, I brought back our drinks: a Fanta for
Dylan, and a Coke for me.

We slipped into an easy conversation; Dylan wanting to know more about what
I did at work, me asking him about how his diving was going.

A waiter came over, interrupting our conversation.

"Here you are," he said, cheerfully.  "The wing roulette - hope you enjoy
it!  And don't forget, you can top up your drinks any time you like."

"Thanks," I said, as he left us to it.

I looked down at the platter.  10 chicken wings, all looking
mouth-wateringly tempting.  But as the name suggested, there was a gamble
involved.  Some were seriously spicy, others a lot milder.

"I'll let you go first," I said to Dylan.

"Thanks."  He stared at the plate for a moment, presumably trying to figure
out which ones might be hottest.  Selecting one of the paler looking ones,
he brought it to his lips.  He took a bite and chewed it apprehensively.
Then he took another.

"How is it?" I asked.

"Really good," he spluttered, his mouth half full of meat.  "Not too spicy,
just a bit tingly."

I selected next.  Thinking Dylan may have been on to something, I too chose
one of the paler pieces.  Boy, was I wrong.  As soon as I bit into it, I
knew this was one of the hotter ones.  My mouth felt like it was on fire.
I took a big swig of coke.

"A bit hot, eh?" Dylan asked.

"Just a little," I replied.

We kept up the game until all ten pieces were demolished.  Both of us
picked another couple of fairly spicy ones, but nothing to match my first
selection.

Almost as if he'd been waiting for us to finish, the waiter swooped down to
take the platter away and came back moments later with our main course: a
whole flame-grilled spatchcock chicken, with sweet potato wedges, coleslaw,
salad, chargrilled veg and corn on the cob.  It looked like a veritable
feast!

Despite already devouring five wings each, the trampolining had caused us
both to work up an appetite.  Hungrily, we tucked into the meal in front of
us.  It was absolutely delicious; both of us commented so a number of times
as we ate.

Part way through, I went to refill our drinks.  Although the chicken wasn't
as spicy as some of the wings we'd eaten, it still had a kick to it, and
the ice-cold liquid was acting as a welcome relief.

As I came back to the table, Dylan had his phone out, a guilty look on his
face.

"What are you up to?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said, defensively.

"Not looking up porn, are you?" I joked.

"No... it's nothing like that."

"Then what is it?" I asked again.

"It's nothing," Dylan replied, sounding ever more defensive.

Before he could react, I grabbed the phone off him.  I looked at the
screen.  It was a text message - from Oscar.  'Come round to mine this
afternoon.  You know what I want.'

Dylan tried to grab the phone back, but I held it out of his reach.  I
typed out a quick reply.  'Sorry.  No can do.  Staying down south with my
uncle for a couple of weeks.'  I hit 'send' and gave it back to Dylan.

"That should keep him from bothering you for a while," I said, dipping a
potato wedge in some ketchup.


***


Soon, we'd both finished, leaving only a few bones and the gnawed sweetcorn
cobs behind.

"Wheeew," Dylan groaned.  "That was gooooood!"

"Yeah," I agreed, rubbing my stomach.  "Very tasty."

The waiter once more returned to collect our plates.

"Can I get you any desserts at all?" he asked.

"Not for me thanks," I replied.

"Can I have a mango gelado, please?" Dylan asked me.

"Sure, go on," I said.

"Okay.  I'll just go get that sorted," the waiter said, taking the
discarded pots away.

"I can't believe you're still hungry," I said to Dylan.

"Only a little," he replied.  "And anyway, you can't come out to eat and
not have pudding."

I chuckled.  If he keeps this up, the boy's gonna bankrupt me!


***


Pudding eaten, we were back in the car, on our way over to Dylan's
gymnastics training.

"Isn't it a bit early to be going to training?" he asked.

"Yeah.  But I thought we could stop off on the way and have a bit of a
walk.  How does that sound?"

"Hhhmmmm," Dylan sighed.  "Yeah, I suppose so."  He didn't sound convinced.

"And anyway, it'll burn off all that ice-cream you've just eaten!" I joked.

Dylan punched me lightly on the arm.

"Ow!" I said, in mock pain.  "I'll get you back for that."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Just you wait and see," I told him.  And believe me, I would.


***


We pulled up in a lay-by, just a few miles from the gymnastics centre.
Opening the boot, I pulled out two carrier bags, handing one to Dylan.

"Put these on," I instructed.

Dylan opened his bag to find a pair of walking boots - his own from home.

"Did you pack my entire wardrobe?" he asked.

"No," I replied.  "Just most of it." I chuckled to myself.  "Put them on
then.  Or do you want to get your trainers muddy?"

"Okay, okay," he said.  Slipping his trainers off, he pulled on a thick
pair of socks and then his walking boots.

We set off, and it was a good thing we were both wearing boots.  Although
it was hot and sunny, there had been a couple of sharp showers over the
past few days and the ground was boggy underfoot.

As we walked around the reservoir, everything seemed utterly tranquil.
Birds were singing, flowers were in bloom, and the sun shimmered on the
surface of the water.

"So you and Luke," I said, after we'd walked for a few minutes, "how are
things?"

"Still complicated," he replied.

"So no better then?"

"A bit, I suppose.  He lives nearly ten miles away, and there's no bus
straight from mine to his, so I've only seen him once over the holidays.
But we've been chatting online quite a bit.  I think he finds it easier
doing that rather than talking face-to-face."

"It's good that he's started talking to you," I said.

"Yeah, I guess.  He's still confused though, which makes things hard.  I
don't really get it.  I mean, I've known I was gay since I was ten,
probably.  But Luke, he's still not sure.  He's pretty much realised he
like's boys.  But he still won't admit he's gay.  And he says he's worried
about doing anything with another guy.  I've tried to be supportive, but I
just can't get why he won't just admit who he is."

"Hmmmm," I mused, weighing up what to say next.  I could see where Dylan
was coming from, but equally I could see things from Luke's perspective
too.  At 13 I wouldn't have admitted to being gay either.  Yes, at that age
I knew I liked boys rather than girls, but there's no way I'd have come out
like Dylan did.  But then again, Dylan had been okay when everyone found
out about him.  Why shouldn't it be any different for Luke?

"It's difficult," I told him.  "You've got to remember, you were very
lucky.  When everyone found out you were gay they were very supportive:
your parents, your friends, other kids at school.  But let's remember poor
Joe.  Everyone in your year thinks he's gay and he gets hell for it.  So
maybe Luke's worried that'll happen to him."

"But I'm not gonna tell anyone."

"Yes.  I know that.  But does Luke?  After all, he was the one who outed
you on Facebook, wasn't he?  Maybe he's worried that you'll do the same to
him."

"But I wouldn't," Dylan said, sounding a little upset.

"I know.  But it's not me you need to convince.  Why don't you go see him
sometime?  Have a good, long chat with him."

"Yeah," Dylan replied, "maybe."

We spent the rest of the walk pretty much in silence, just the odd comment
passing between us here and there.  It wasn't awkward at all.  In fact, it
was quite peaceful.


***


The walk ended up taking longer than I'd anticipated.  In the end, I'd had
to break the speed limit slightly to get us to the gymnastics centre on
time.  We arrived with two minutes to spare, barely giving Dylan enough
time to hurriedly get changed.

Just like yesterday, Dylan looked stunning in his training gear.  His top,
in particular, looked amazing on him, the spandex material hugging his
developing pecs and abs.  As he walked into the training area, I spotted
that a number of the girls - and one or two boys too - gave him admiring
glances.

"Okay everyone," a man - who I assumed to be the head coach - bellowed.
"Come and gather round."

Hastily, the gymnasts stopped what they were doing and made their way over
to him.  I couldn't hear what he was saying, but his arm signals suggested
he was splitting the youngsters into different groups and explaining which
coach they would be working with.

Dylan was put into a group with two other boys.  One seemed to be about the
same age as Dylan, though he was a little shorter and had spiky blonde
hair.  The other was a bit older, quite tall, with coffee coloured skin and
short, dark, curly hair.

A short, stocky, middle aged man came over to them.  After a few words, he
led them over to the rings where he spent several minutes talking to the
three of them.  I knew this was Dylan's worst discipline and feared that if
he had a bad session, then it might be a grumpy car journey back home.

I walked over, so I could be nearer where they were practising.

The older boy was up first, the coach helping him to strap some grips round
his hands.  The coach then hoisted him up, the boy grabbing hold of the
rings and exposing his hairy armpits.

"Okay, now pull yourself up," the coach instructed.

The boy did as he was told.  Gripping the rings, he pulled upwards, his
biceps working hard.  Soon his shoulders were level with the rings.  He
continued to pull, until the rings were by his hips.  His body was rigid,
his arms locked in place.  It was a very impressive sight.

"Okay, now down into the iron cross," the coach said.

The boy began to push the rings outwards, his arms remaining locked in
place.  He hung there, both arms extended straight out from the sides of
his body.

"One... two... three... and drop," came the command.

The boy let go of the grips and raised his arms as he descended.  Just
before landing, he bent his knees slightly.  It was textbook stuff.  I was
highly impressed and wouldn't be at all surprised if this lad made it to
the Olympics before long.

"Very good JJ," the coach said, giving him a pat on the back.  "Dylan,
Noah, I hope you were watching carefully.  That's how I want to see it
done."

Dylan and Noah both looked at each other nervously.

"Up you come Noah," said the coach.

After putting the grips on the blonde boy's hands, the coach hoisted him up
towards the rings.  Noah performed the same manoeuvres as his older
colleague.  Though whereas JJ had managed the moves fairly easily, the
younger lad was clearly straining to pull himself up and was visibly
shaking during the two holds.

"Not bad," the coach told him as he landed.  "Though you still need to work
on your upper arm strength.  You're shaking quite a bit up there.  You need
to be as rigid as JJ was."

"Yes Phil," Noah replied.  "I'll keep trying."

"Good boy.  Now your turn Dylan."

Dylan walked over, a determined look in his eyes.  I know he'd been doing
some weight training in the school gym.  I was hoping it would pay off.

Whilst Dylan was getting his hand grips attached, I took the opportunity to
check out Noah and JJ.  It was clear why the older boy was superior on this
apparatus.  Even stood around, his biceps were far bigger than Noah's.  He
also had good definition to his shoulders and his rounded pecs were almost
bursting out of his leotard.  JJ lifted his arm to scratch the back of his
neck.  As he did so, he again exposed his hairy armpit to my gaze.
Facially, he looked only 15 or 16, but he was quickly maturing to have the
body of a man.

Noah, by contrast, still had the look of a boy.  He was a few inches
shorter than Dylan, but his build was a bit stockier.  His skin was pale,
and he had a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks.  All in
all, he was very cute.

Finally ready, Dylan was lifted up by Phil and grabbed hold of the rings.

"And up," Phil instructed.

Dylan wrapped his fingers around the rings and pulled upwards.  The muscles
in his arms strained as he heaved himself up.  He grimaced, struggling to
do what had been required of him.  Eventually, he had the rings by his
hips.  His arms began to shake slightly.

"Try to hold it steady," the coach commanded.

Beads of sweat were already forming on Dylan's forehead.  He tightened his
grip on the rings and pulled them in closer to his sides.  Only the
faintest of wobbles remained.

"That's better.  Now into the iron cross."

Taking a deep breath, Dylan began to push the rings outwards.  He must have
pushed too far, his body making a Y shape instead of the required T.

"Get your arms level," Phil barked.

Dylan steeled himself, his biceps working overtime.  Little by little, he
managed to pull his body upwards until, at last, his arms were straight.

"Better," said Phil.

Dylan hung there.  He was wobbling badly, but he somehow managed to
maintain the correct shape.

"One... two... three... and drop," came the command.

Dylan looked relieved to be able to let go.  Like the other two boys before
him, he raised his arms as he fell and bent his knees just before landing.

"Better than last time, but like Noah, you've got to get your arms
stronger," Phil explained.

"Yes coach," Dylan panted.

The three boys did a few more routines, taking it in turn to use the
apparatus.  Each time, JJ was head and shoulders above the two younger
boys.

A whistle blew.  Phil looked at his clipboard and told the boys to make
their way over to the floor.  Just like with the rings, the coach spent
several minutes explaining what was required, then the boys took it in turn
to perform the routine.

From the beginning, it was clear that the two younger boys were far more
suited to this apparatus than to the rings.  Although JJ was still the best
on all four routines they practiced, the margin between himself and the
other two was vastly reduced.

The whistle blew again, and the three boys made their way to their third
piece of apparatus, the horizontal bar.  Like with the rings, there was a
gulf in class between JJ and the younger boys, although Dylan and Noah
seemed to find this apparatus slightly less strenuous than the rings.

The shrill whistle blew once again.

"Right guys," a voice boomed.  "Good work again today.  See you all on
Thursday."

The three boys thanked their coach and JJ headed off towards a couple of
the older girls.  Dylan and Noah chatted for a couple of minutes -
presumably sharing their thoughts on the training session - then Dylan came
over to me.

"Well done," I said.  "You did well out there."

"I was okay, I suppose," he replied.  "But I hate doing the rings first.
It always knackers me out.  Then I don't do so well on the other sets."

"Never mind," I said.  "You'll just have to keep working on your
weightlifting."

"Yeah, I suppose."


***


Dylan was fairly quiet on the way home.  As I'd suspected earlier, he was
probably feeling a bit down about his performance on the rings.  I decided
not to commiserate with him.  I somehow knew it wouldn't work.  Instead, I
decided to take his mind off it.

"That JJ's a bit tasty," I said.

"Yeah, he is," Dylan agreed, visibly lightening up.  "I've gone home and
had a wank thinking about him quite often after gym practice."

"I'm not surprised," I said.  "I think I would too."

"I've seen him getting changed a few times and he looks to have quite a
bulge down there.  We're both going to the nationals in November and I'm
hoping I'll get to share a room with him.  Though nothing'll probably
happen.  I'm pretty sure he's straight."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Didn't you see him hanging out with the girls afterwards?  They
practically drool all over him," he replied.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but some of them do the same with you," I
told him.

"No they don't," he said, sounding flustered.

"Well some of them were definitely ogling you when you went in this
afternoon.  So were a couple of the boys."

"Really?  Who?" he asked.

"Noah, actually.  And a younger lad, brown hair, down to his shoulders."

"Oh, that's probably Danny," Dylan told me.  "He's only nine.  I don't know
if he's gay or not.  I think he sort of looks up to me.  His favourite
apparatus is the vault too."

"A bit too young then?" I asked.

"Just a bit.  But Noah.  That's an interesting one.  Maybe I'll have to see
if he's up for a bit of fun some time."

"Well from the way he was looking at you, I think he'd be quite up for it,"
I told him.


***


Arriving back at my house, we had a drink and a snack.  Dylan went upstairs
to use the toilet.

"When you've finished," I told him, "I want you to go into the study and
put on the clothes I've laid out for you.  Then wait for me."

"Okay," he said, a bemused look on his face.

I waited until I heard the toilet flush and for Dylan to make his way into
the study before I set off upstairs.  Going into my bedroom, I stripped
off, leaving only my boxer-briefs on.  Opening the wardrobe doors, I pulled
out a shirt, some smart trousers, and a pair of dark socks.  I put them on.

Fully dressed now, I entered the study.  Dylan was stood there, looking
confused.  He was wearing his school uniform: black blazer, white shirt,
red checked tie, black trousers, grey socks.

As I opened the door, he looked over at me.  He smirked.

"Andy, does this mean we're gonna..."

"Excuse me, young man," I admonished him.  "That is no way to talk to a
teacher.  You can refer to me as Mr Brown.  Understand?"

"Yes sir," he replied, getting into the role.

"Now come over here boy," I said, pointing next to me.

He trudged over, standing a mere foot away from me.

"I understand you've been a naughty boy," I said.

"No sir," he replied.  "I haven't done anything wrong."

"Really?  Then how do you explain this mark on my arm?" I asked, rolling up
my sleeve to show him the evidence.

"I didn't mean to," he muttered.

"Well it really doesn't matter if you meant to or not," I snapped at him.
"The fact of the matter is that you did.  You've been a naughty boy.  And
do you know what happens to naughty boys?"

"No sir."

"They get punished.  Now take off your blazer, turn around and bend over
that desk."

Dylan gulped, but turned around and did as instructed.  I rubbed my hand
over his trouser clad bottom.

"You're not going to spank me, are you?" he asked.

"Oh, aren't I?" I said, standing to one side of him.  I pressed down on his
back with my left hand, the right continuing to stroke his arse.

Dylan pretended to struggle.  "You wouldn't dare!" he retorted.

"Are you going to say sorry?" I asked, quietly.

"You've got no chance!" he challenged back.  I was glad to see he was
playing his part well.

I continued to rub over his buttocks, working my hand down between his
legs.  I grabbed his crotch gently, making Dylan groan.  Even covered by
his school trousers, I could tell he was hard.  The thought of being
spanked was turning him on.

"Are you sure about that?" I asked.

"You'll never make me apologise!" he shouted loudly.

I squeezed more firmly, though not enough to really hurt him.

"Last chance..." I offered, letting go of his crotch.

"No!"

I slowly squeezed my right hand into his muscular buttocks before lifting
it up.  I brought it down quickly.  There was a crack as my hand made
contact, and an exhale of breath from Dylan from the impact.  He continued
to squirm.

"There's plenty more where that came from," I told him.  "Now, are you
going to apologise for attacking me?"

"No!" he replied loudly.

I lifted my hand again, this time bringing it down onto his other cheek.
Again, there was a resounding crack as I made contact, and another
exhalation of breath from Dylan.

"How about now?"

Dylan wriggled beneath me.  "You call that a smack?" he challenged.  "My
granny could hit harder than that!"

Smiling, I brought my hand down onto his right buttock... smack... then the
left... smack... right... smack... left... smack.

As I did so, Dylan began to groan.  After the final smack, I left my hand
resting on his arse, stroking and massaging the warm cheeks.

"Have you learnt your lesson yet?" I asked.

He shook his head.  Leaning over him, I picked up a wooden ruler.  Lifting
my arm, I quickly brought it back down.

"Yeaowww!" Dylan cried out.

I hit him several more times.  Each strike causing him to yelp with
increasing volume.

"Are you going to apologise for attacking me?"

"No way!" he shot back.  Despite his protestations, I could tell he was
enjoying it.

I fumbled underneath him, unbuckling his belt and undoing the button on his
trousers.  I unzipped his fly and then pulled his trousers down.  He was
still hard, I was pleased to see.

I continued to spank him, alternating between my hand and the ruler, half a
dozen of each.  His cries got louder as the punishment I was applying to
his buttocks continued.

"Please Mr Brown, no more!" he begged, after several quick fire strokes of
the ruler.

"Then apologise," I told him.  "That's the only way to make this stop."

"No.  I won't," he spluttered, shaking his head.

"Then you leave me no option," I replied, as I pulled down his underpants.

I looked down at his freshly uncovered soft, smooth arse.  I admired the
perfection, now red from the spanking I'd given it.  I couldn't resist and
bent down, bringing my lips down to kiss the warm skin of his smooth arse.
I just brushed my lips against his right cheek for a moment before standing
back up and delivering two sharp, fast slaps to those cheeks, bringing a
sharp groan from Dylan.  Leaning down again, I slowly brushed my lips
against his left cheek, making Dylan moan at the gentle contact on his now
sensitive skin.  Again, I stood up and delivered two sharp smacks, harder
this time.

"Urrrrggghhhh!" he groaned.

Picking up the ruler, I delivered several more blows to his glowing
buttocks, Dylan hissing and yelping as I did so.  I put the ruler down and
stood back, admiring my handiwork.  His arse was glowing like a light bulb,
red lines etched across it from where the ruler had struck.

I placed my finger at the top of his crack.  I felt Dylan tense up.
Slowly, I dragged the tip down the crevice, eliciting a deep, guttural moan
from him as it swept over his puckered hole.  He ground his hips into the
desk.

Smack.  My hand collided with his bottom, leaving behind a distinct
handprint.  Dylan sobbed.

"Ready to apologise?" I asked him.

"N... n... no," he blubbed.

Grabbing the back of his collar, I pulled him off the desk and turned him
round to face me.

I looked down at his erect penis.  "Someone enjoyed getting a good spanking
I see?"  I smiled at him.

"No," he said, teary eyed.  "My dick was being rubbed into the desk, that's
all."

I put both hands on his shoulders and pushed down.  He didn't put up much
of a fight, as he sank to his knees.  Reaching down, I grabbed hold of his
shirt.  Using both hands, I pulled the garment open, sending buttons flying
everywhere.  I yanked the tattered remains off him, leaving him in just his
tie and socks.

"Time to finish your punishment," I told him as I unzipped my fly.
Reaching into my underwear, I pulled out my hard cock.  It had been
straining to be released ever since I'd entered the study.

Dick in hand, I stepped forward.  The precum smothered head smacked against
his lips.

"Open up!" I commanded.  I pushed my rod deeply into his mouth and left it
there.  "No biting now though!"

Putting both hands onto Dylan's head, I pushed forward, shoving more of my
dick into his mouth.  As it hit Dylan's throat, he gagged slightly causing
my cock to pulse gently.  I let out a groan.

"God that's amazing," I said, before pulling back and pushing in again.

I pulled my cock out slightly, leaving just the head resting on Dylan's
tongue, my precum flowing out onto his taste buds.  He grabbed hold of his
hard boy-stick and started to wank it.  I began to rock my hips back and
forth, rubbing my leaking cock head across his tongue.  Dylan began to jerk
off faster.  At the same time, I quickened the pace of my thrusting into
his mouth.

The combined sensations soon became too much for Dylan to take, as he shot
his boy-batter across his own belly and groin.

"Yes!" I exclaimed watching the cum pulse out of his dick.

The sight of Dylan exploding brought me to the brink of climax.  I sped up
my thrusting, plunging in further each time.  I held off for as long as I
could, but eventually my orgasm hit.

"Orrrrggghhhhh," I cried as waves of pleasure coursed through my body.  I
felt my cock expand in his mouth, my spunk barrelling up it and out into
the warm, moist cavity.  Dylan swallowed my cream, bringing me ripples of
delight each time his throat contracted.

As the last of my cum dribbled out onto his tongue, I pulled out and looked
down at him.  "Told you I'd get you back."  He grimaced back at me, clearly
in pain but looking no less happy for it.

Putting my hands under his armpits, I helped him to his feet and then
pulled him in for a sensuous kiss.

"How was it?" I asked, as we eventually broke apart.  "I hope I wasn't too
hard on you."

"Are you kidding?" he replied.  "It was brilliant.  My arse is killing me,
but it was like... the best thing ever!"

I chuckled to myself.  He really was a special one.


***


Whilst I made a quick pasta bake, Dylan - at my suggestion - had gone for a
soak in the bath.  With dinner in the oven, I did a bit of tidying up,
including putting our clothes away.  As I picked up Dylan's ruined shirt,
my first thought was to throw it in the bin.  But as I lifted it up, I
could detect his scent on it.  Bringing it closer, I buried my nose in the
armpit.  Mmmmmmm.  It smelt of Dylan.  Boyish, yet manly.  Sweet, yet
sweaty.  Ditching my earlier thought, I decided to stash it in my wardrobe.
I was sure I'd find a use for it once Dylan had returned home.

By the time the oven bleeped, the house was looking a darn sight tidier.

"Dinner's ready," I called up to Dylan.

"Okay," he replied.  "I'm just getting out of the bath."

As I waited for him, I put the bowl of pasta on the table and whipped up a
quick salad.  Just as I was bringing it over, Dylan entered the kitchen.
Looking sexy as ever, he wore a yellow vest with blue and white striped
shorts.

"Come sit down," I told him.

Gingerly he walked over to the table and pulled out a chair.  Ever so
carefully, he lowered himself down, wincing as his bottom made contact with
the seat.

"Ow!" he gasped.

"Sorry," I said, sheepishly.  "I got a bit carried away back there."

"Don't worry.  It's feeling a bit better now I've had my bath.  I'm sure
I'll be fine by morning."

"Maybe I should put some cream on you before bed," I suggested.  Dylan
grinned.


***


Dinner over, we settled down in front of the TV.  We decided to see what
was happening in Rio.  Dylan was delighted when he saw that some gymnastics
was on.  It was the final of the men's horizontal bar.

As we watched, Dylan gave a running commentary, explaining the various
moves and pointing out any minor errors in the gymnasts' technique or
execution.  I occasionally pitched in, though mainly to give my thoughts on
which one of them was better looking.  On this we came to a split decision:
I opted for Nile Wilson, whereas Dylan preferred the American Sam Mikulak.
We both, however, agreed that Fabian Hambuechen was pretty hot too.

In the end we were delighted to see Nile claim an unexpected bronze medal.
Hambuechen came a well deserved, if not rather predictable, first.

"I wish I could perform like that," Dylan said as the medals were being
presented.

"Keep practising.  I'm sure one day you will," I reassured him.

Although it was still fairly early, it had been a tiring day, so we decided
to head up to bed.

"Are you still gonna rub my sore bottom?" he asked.

"Of course.  Can't have you trying to dive in the morning with a
smouldering arse, can we?  You might make the water in the pool boil!"

Dylan chuckled.

"And after we've done that," I continued.  "How about we suck each other
off?"

"Hell yeah," Dylan replied, enthusiastically.

Turning off the TV, we made our way upstairs.


***


End of chapter 13.  This chapter marks the halfway point of our story, but
we've still got 14 items to tick off from the list - so plenty more fun to
come.  As always, feedback is greatly appreciated -
andybrown2000@outlook.com