Sex in C Major

"Only one hole left. Suck it."

The slave clutched with shaking hands at its master's hips, and began to suck. 13

Stefan wasn't sure what had happened.

Daz hadn't done anything special, that day in his flat. So he'd fucked Stefan with toys and made him suck Daz's dick-so what? Stefan had done all of those things before, and never-never-

Never thought of himself as a slave. As a thing. As an it.

Never actually forgotten Daz's name. Never forgotten his own.

Nothing spectacular had even happened with it-he'd sucked Daz off, then Daz had made him crawl into the bathroom and finally unlocked the belt and fucked him with one of the dildos in the shower.

Then when Stefan had come under the cold spray, Daz had simply ruffled his wet hair and walked out of the flat like nothing had happened, taking his ownership and his toys with him.

And Stefan had sat under that spray for nearly an hour, trying and failing to wrap his mind around what had just happened.

He'd

Was that submission? Was that spacing out?

At the time, it had felt-amazing. Almost luxurious. There'd been no thought, no worries, no concerns. Just his body, being ripped apart and put back together again in Daz's hands. Stefan hadn't been a freak, a sicko, a tranny. He hadn't been fucked-up or wrong. He'd just been his body, his skin, and everything it felt in that hour.

But after-

The real world started creeping in around the edges afterwards. He'd allowed a man he still barely knew to tie him to a cage and force things inside him. He'd crawled on the floor for that man. He'd called him Sir and Master, and sucked his cock. He'd begged to be fucked with it, even as he'd been hurting. God, it had hurt, really hurt, and yet he'd cried for something more.

By the morning, the ache had translated into a hollow emptiness that made Stefan want to cry. His hips hurt and his thighs burned-but inside felt huge and blank, like something had been ripped out, and he wanted it to be filled again. He wanted the belt back. He wanted those awful dildos back, rubber over metal, even as the simple act of sitting up had made him shake apart in a cold sweat with those inside him.

But he wanted them back.

And Stefan didn't know how the hell Daz was doing this. He'd walked in and just taken over, and now Stefan wanted to cry when he wasn't full, even when he wasn't aroused. This had been about sex, about that itch that had been made uncontrollable by the hormones-how the hell was it becoming about Stefan's very sense of self?

Stefan was scared.

He tried to push it all away. It had to be just about sex. It was just acting out those fantasies, and getting off. That was all. It didn't it couldn't-mean anything.

So once he'd stopped shaking and had cleaned up, he scrounged around the flat for the last bits of cash he had, and went down to see Dean on Roundhay Road and buy some weed. He smoked it walking home, one spliff after the other like a chain-smoker, and ended up going into the off-licence at the end of the road for a couple of bottles of vodka.

He woke up, hungover and hurting, on the bathroom floor the next morning. And his cunt still felt huge and hollow.

That made Stefan feel sick all over again, and he threw up a mouthful of bile into the toilet. God, what man woke up thinking his cunt felt empty? What man woke up wanting to be fucked in it? This he couldn't be this. He couldn't! He'd been so sure, lost so damn much, to be Stefan and not-

This couldn't be real.

Dean was kind, though. "You look like shit," he said, when Stefan staggered back down to Roundhay Road that afternoon, wet through from the rain and not caring. "Here, I'll lay you some on. Pay me next week."

"I owe you," Stefan said seriously.

The other stuff was stronger, and took a little of the panic away, but not the feeling of being adrift and hollow. He felt thin, like a scrap of paper in a strong wind. Sitting in the window, and watching the rain smear the outside world a blurry grey, Stefan dragged on the spliff and found his free hand beginning to finger himself.

Only it wasn't right.

It wasn't Daz. Wasn't his master. It was just him. Stefan. Wanking. Like a girl.

He removed his hand, covered his face, and began to cry.

****

The money was gone. Dean wouldn't loan him anymore weed. And Stefan still felt like he'd been beaten into a thin sheet of brittle metal, and was ready to snap.