Sex in C Major

"Suck it."

The slave's lips were torn and swollen. Bruised. They wouldn't close.

"Suck. It."

It forced them. Wrapped them around the base. Felt blood trickle down its throat.

Sucked.

And drowned in the flood of cum. Swallowed, desperate, and choked. Felt it spill. Thick and hot, like glue around its lips.

Tinged pink. It couldn't see the colour, but it knew. The pain in its mouth said it would be tinged pink.

It was released, and slumped to the floor. Reeling for breath. Dizzy. Lost.

And yet not.

Master.

"What are you?"

It coughed. "Y-yours."

"What do you want?"

"You."

"And?"

"Nothing. Just you."

"You want any drugs?"

"No, Sir."

"You want more dick?"

"Only yours, Sir."

"You want mine again?"

Yes.

God, but it did. It hadn't been fucked in hours. Days. The sun had risen and fallen again and again in the little room. And it was empty. The warm seed spilled down its front was too little, too late. It ached for more. Ached for release. Ached for anything.

"Do you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Go."

"S-Sir?"

"Your cage. It's late. Go."

It dropped its head, and began to shuffle on its knees towards the master bedroom. Filthy. Used. Stinking.

But forgiven. 45

To Stefan's surprise, the next morning carried on like nothing had ever happened.

He was let out of his cage. Allowed to wash unsupervised. Made to help Yannis make some pizza dough-although he was laughed at for calling it that-and bent over the counter just after eleven to be almost clinically fucked.

It was normal.

Sunday was normal, too. And Monday, and Tuesday-

He didn't even lose his clothes, which he'd expected as a minimum. He was allowed to have a lot of soup and milkshakes rather than solid food until his tongue healed, and wasn't made to suck cock too often. He was even allowed, when that first evening had him shaking with want, to climb into his master's lap in the middle of the news and ride that thick, familiar cock until he came on it and it alone.

He didn't want to question it, but he did, eventually, perhaps four days after his punishment had ended. Yannis just laughed at him, and said that was the nature of it.

"You can't punish someone, have them accept their punishment, then keep punishing them."

It sounded logical enough, but...Stefan supposed he hadn't imagined it really worked like that. People didn't work like that. People got mad and stayed mad. Bore grudges.

Only...not here. Apparently.

As spring stretched out, Stefan settled back into the routine, and found it gradually expanding around him. He became something of a house help to Yannis, following him around at weekends and doing chores. Yannis worked on his transition paperwork with him too, something that had Daz simply shrugging and retreating to do other things.

And the sex-

The sex was always to music, Stefan was finding. Be it headphones he was made to wear, or a disc in the stereo, or a live performance-in some way, there was always music, and usually that damned "Symphony in C Major" that he was coming to both loathe and love.

He barely needed to touch his own cock anymore.

And as the stinging on his tongue became a memory, and the final silver-white marks on his skin faded from his breakdown in the flat, Stefan...settled.

The house was his world.

And part of him knew that function was more than being locked in a house and having his every move dictated to him...

But a larger part simply called it better than before, and didn't care.

****

Stefan didn't move when Daz unhooked the chain from the mantelpiece. He stayed still, peaceably awaiting his orders, when the collar was removed from his neck.

But he finally looked up, puzzled, when his jeans and a pair of boxers were dropped onto the carpet in front of him.

"Sir?"

"Put them on," Daz said. "We're going out."

"Oh. To Jack's, Sir?"

"No. Out."

Stefan fumbled into the clothes, uncertain. He preferred it when he was accessible, and his master could simply drag him across the floor, open his legs, and enter him, without the nuisance of fabric in the way. Like an object. Always ready. Always available. So the heavy weight of the denim felt alien, and the rub of cotton over his cock strange and oddly unpleasant. When he was given socks and told to put on his shoes, his feet felt clumsy and wrong in their trainers. "Where are we going?"

"Town."

Early summer had arrived. And Stefan didn't know what day it was-aside from a weekday, as Yannis had gone to classes that morning-but it was busy. He wasn't given a jacket, and he didn't need one. Daz's hair burned almost a deep blue in the bright sunlight. And Stefan's skin, by contrast, almost glowed, it was so pale.