Sex in C Major

"You can't ever trust me if I'm never in a position to prove that I won't fuck up again."

The finger-fuck paused.

For a long moment, his master said nothing. And Stefan hardly dared to breathe.

Then the fingers were pulled sharply free.

The slap stung, and Stefan yelped.

"Swear at me again," his master said calmly, "and I'll tie you to the bed and double-plug you until Yannis gets home."

"Y-yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir."

The fingers resumed.

But his master said nothing.

In fact, he never mentioned it again.

Two weeks later, Daz simply stripped Stefan naked in the shower, scrubbed him, put him in a chastity belt with a strange lock and a new thigh cuff, and told him to get on his knees on the bath mat.

"Yannis will leave money in the kitchen for food," he said flatly. "We're leaving tonight."

Stefan swallowed.

"Yes, Sir."

"Now say goodbye."

Stefan opened his mouth, and said it without words.

And then they were gone.

****

The first morning was the hardest.

Stefan woke at six, when Constantinople jumped up on the bed and started meowing loudly-to be fed. And from six until eight, he was too preoccupied with the fear that the belt wouldn't work to really notice anything else.

But it did work.

At eight o'clock exactly, the lock released, and he dropped it in the bathroom to use the toilet and wash. He slid it back into place at twenty-two minutes past, and lay perfectly still on the bed for the next eight minutes until it tightened, like a strange blood pressure cuff, and the lock beeped twice.

He tested it, and bit his lip when he found that there was no way he would be able to remove it, short of bolt cutters or a welding torch.

And then-only then, with the uncertainty removed did the silence of the house sweep around him.

He was alone.

Alone.

He hadn't been so truly alone since running away, and he didn't like it. At all.

The house was suddenly huge, and he felt jittery, like Daz would enter any room at any minute and demand to know what he was doing.

And what was he doing?

He couldn't so much as glance at the piano, because if he did, his dick swelled and the arousal was maddening in the confines of the belt. He didn't want to sit on his usual rug for the same reason. He daren't touch the kitchen, because what if he forgot where things belonged or broke something, and the TV, when he switched it on, was tuned to a porn channel that he had to switch off within seconds.

Cleaning worked for a while. He changed the sheets in both the master and spare bedrooms, and scrubbed down the bathroom. He cleaned the kitchen counters, too, and even mopped the floor. The vacuum cleaner scared off the cat, and then he spent an hour coaxing it back inside with treats, hoping it would warm to him and let him cuddle it.

And then the first day leaked away, punctured only by the release again of the belt at eight o'clock in the evening-and then Stefan went to bed early, only to wake at six again for the same reasons, and stare blankly at the empty kitchen ten minutes later and wonder what to do.

Boredom felt-alien.

He hadn't been bored in so long, because he had either been used, or was about to be. He'd not been bored since the flat. And his solution in the flat would get him thrown out here. If Daz thought he'd been drunk or high, then Stefan would lose everything. And Daz had said the tracker monitored his heartbeat, but...since when had Daz been completely honest about the tricks he could pull?

So what was Stefan supposed to do?

He didn't dare, on the second day, to go out. It would be tempting fate, he felt. If he went out, feeling so lost and unsure, would his feet take him to Harehills? He still had the keys. Would he go via Roundhay Road? He still knew Dean's haunts. Would he stop at the Tesco with the slack security guard? He still felt the itch of too long sober, sometimes.

So he didn't go.

He stood, for a long time, and stared at the door, but he didn't open it.

Instead, to his own surprise, he took to the garden.

Yannis had been making him help replant some flowers by the fence, and put up a trellis for some climbing thing with blue flowers. And Stefan let the second day pass by trimming the small patch of lawn that remained, and pruning the dying flowers to make room for the new ones. Constantinople came to watch, lying on the patio and basking in the heat, and when the sun reached its highest point, Stefan sprawled out beside him and managed to successfully stroke the cat that was as indifferent as Yannis.