Sex in C Major

He whimpered as he clenched. He could feel them both. Hot. Throbbing. Hard. Demanding. They had forced their way in. He was stretched impossibly around them, like he would tear at any moment.

And then his master's hands travelled up to cup his breasts, and pluck the abused nipples from Yannis'. Yannis' hands gripped his waist again, and

Stefan gasped as he was dragged free. He could feel them both sliding out of him in wet rushes-only to sink back inside when he was pushed back down. And again. And again. And he could do nothing. He felt torn open. Weak. A fold of fabric between them, to be stained with their pleasure and nothing else.

Instead, he collapsed.

He sank forward onto Yannis' shoulder. His body jerked with every thrust-and there was no stillness. No pause. They fucked almost in turn, working him loose, driving him open. Nails scratched at his skin. Teeth drove down into his neck. Fingers bit and pinched at every part of him, until he was nothing but a dizzying rush of sensation. He drifted, imprisoned yet released. He was theirs. Nothing but theirs. A body for them to fill.

He breathed.

He breathed when the heat grew too much. Deep. Slow. And he breathed again when everything was ripped away, and he was emptied in an explosion of pleasure that paralysed him. Stuttering. Shallow.

And then he breathed again.

Breathed.

Just-

In. And out. And in again.

Over and over and over.

Until when he finally felt his own heartbeat, his own skin, his fingers and toes, the world had changed around him. Soft cotton. Darkness. Warmth. Cool metal beyond his hands. Music, somewhere very far away.

The soft gnaw of a metal cuff around his thigh, and a collar on his neck.

The slave curled his fingers into the bars of his cage, settled deeper into the duvet, and slept. 36

Stefan didn't remember waking at all, until the wardrobe was opened and the morning sun streamed in.

"Up,” Daz said, unlocking the cage door. "Yannis is taking you to the doctor's at nine."

Stefan-still feeling relaxed and contented from the night before-merely nodded.

"Yes, Sir."

Daz gestured at the bedroom door, but when Stefan crawled out of the cage, he tugged down his master's jogging bottoms and took Daz's cock in his mouth instead. He sucked with a single-minded devotion, his mind still hazy from its holiday away from his body the night before in their arms, and he found himself almost drifting again at the smell and sound of an act so simple, so submissive, so selfless.

For the first time, he swallowed all of his owner's seed, and earned a hand combing gently through his still-too-short hair.

"Very good."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Get washed and dressed."

The house was quiet. Stefan was left alone to shower, though clothes had been laid out on the bed for him when he returned, and a tube of antiseptic cream. He took it downstairs with him, and was made to remove his T-shirt and allowed his owner to smooth the stinging cream into his bloodied nipple.

"If you try and leave Yannis' sight today," he was told in a stern voice, "then I will turn the spare room into a cell just for you, and you'll never leave the house again. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir. I won't run, Sir."

Why would he run now? He still felt so calm, so contented, and after the hysteria of his escape, after the terrifying empty boundlessness of being away from his master the last time...

"You have a long way to go before you're allowed to go unsupervised," his master said coldly, and stepped back. "Put your shirt on. You're going straight to the surgery with Yannis, and then straight back here again. No detours. No asking for detours. Even if they issue a prescription, you will be brought back here and one of us will go and fill it. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

Stefan was handcuffed to the oven to wait for Yannis, and listened to Daz cleaning upstairs. His heart had squeezed up, tight and painful, at Daz's distrust. But Stefan could hardly blame him. He'd run off from them, without a word, and when they had caught up to him, had been stoned, drunk, covered in scratches and bloody scabs, and with knives and glass all over his flat.

He wouldn't trust him either.

Yannis came back from his run early, and disappeared upstairs to get showered without even glancing into the kitchen. When he came back down, his hair was ruffled and damp, and his glasses crooked on his nose. He looked oddly young, softened around the severe edges a little, and undid the cuffs without so much as a word of warning.