Sex in C Major

He had to do better.

They wanted him. They wanted to keep him. And Stefan wanted it too, he knew that now. So he had to dobetter.

When the bottle next came, he whispered for his master, and apologised to Yannis. He drank it all, despite the growing pressure in his bladder, and thanked Yannis for bringing it. And opened his mouth to allow the leather to graze his abused tongue.

Then waited.

Heard voices downstairs.

The sun moved ever downwards in the sky. Stefan didn't know what day it was. Didn't care. Could only think of the desperation need to piss, the pain in his mouth, and the need-need-to submit to his master. Owner. Carer. Dominant.

Carer.

Daz cared. Yannis cared. And Stefan had thrown it away out of fear, instead of talking to them.

The room was growing dim when the door opened.

Daz.

He dropped a bottle of water on the bed, and leaned over. Stefan bowed his head to allow the strap to be removed, whimpering at the drag on the scabs, but made no other sound.

Silence.

Then: "Do you have something to say to me?"

"I'm sorry," Stefan whispered.

"For what?"

"Servicing someone else."

"Servicing?"

"I did it to get the drugs. Not because I liked him."

"You want to blow him again?"

"No. Never."

"Couldn't you have paid some other way?"

"I didn't have any money."

"You still have any of those drugs?"

"No."

"You want more?"

"No."

"What do you want?"

"To apologise. To do whatever you want me to do that will m-let you forgive me."

"You want me to forgive you?"

"Yes. Sir."

"Should I?"

"After I've been punished properly, Sir."

"You think you need more punishment?"

A trap.

Stefan knew it was a trap. If he asked for more, he'd get it. And he'd go mad, locked in this little room in pain without his master's touch. But if he said no, Daz would ask why he thought a burned tongue could forgive what he'd done.

"I think you need to erase him from my mouth. Sir."

"You want your face fucked?"

No. It would hurt. It would be humiliating. And Stefan was so desperate to piss that he would surely wet the bed if he was used now. But...

"No," he whispered. "I'll bleed. And it'll hurt. And I'll feel it for days. So-so I'll forget him. What he felt like and tasted like, because it'll just be you."

Daz smirked.

Then unzipped his jeans. Drew out his soft cock.

"Can I may I use the bathroom first, Sir?"

"Why?"

"I-I need to...go."

"No. You don't leave this room until I'm convinced you've learned your lesson. And I'm not yet."

Stefan's face burned.

"Sir, please!"

"Demands like that say you haven't," Daz said. He tucked himself away. Zipped up. And picked up the bottle. "Drink."

Stefan begged, fisting shaking hands on the mattress. He'd piss the bed. There was no way he could wait for hours until the next visit, not after another drink, no way-

"Drink."

He obeyed. Sucked on the bottle. Spilled. Had his cheek patted, and the leather strap forced back in.

"Maybe next time, eh?"

As the bolt slid across the door, Stefan's muscles gave way. The flood of hot liquid that ran down his thighs made his face burn even hotter with mortification, and he sobbed silently around the strap.

Bowed his head into the stench and mess.

And waited.

***

It was dark when the bolt slid back.

The strap was ripped free. Hands opened his jaw. Water, cool and vile, spilled down his throat. The chain snapped free, and he was dragged onto the floor.

"Strip the sheets."

The smell of the soiled bed was horrible and clinging, hanging on his skin like clothes. His hands were still bound, leaving him no choice. Stefan struggled, with numb tongue and bloody lips, to peel the sheets over the mattress corners and pull them free. Bundle them up at the end.

His collar was caught. Pulled. And

Skin.

Stefan could have cried at the soft touch of skin, and the familiar, soothing smell as his master's hard cock was pressed against his mouth. He opened around it without a moment's hesitation, swallowing to the root. His tongue ached. His jaw trembled. But he relaxed. Soothed. Calmed.

His mouth was too bruised and exhausted from the strap to suck, but it didn't matter. It wasn't a blowjob. It was a face fuck. Stefan's head was gripped hard between his master's hands, and his mouth and throat punishingly fucked. His tongue exploded in agony. He choked like it was the first time. Spilled. Coughed and drowned, and hung in his master's grip, neck aching, body unable to support him. Used. Just a hole, another hole, something to be fucked and soiled and discarded-

He cried when he was forced down onto the shaft, until his lips brushed the root and the head pressed against his throat. Gagged. His stomach rolled, and he forced it down. Tried to breathe. The wet rake of air past the invader was obscene and loud over the thundering of his heart.