Sex in C Major

The jangle of noise disturbed the aftershocks.

And with the suddenly cold air, a rush of shame.

He'd masturbated.

He wasn't allowed to masturbate.

Shaking, Stefan sank to his knees. The pleasure was gone, washed away by the shame. He'd disobeyed. He'd been too weak. He'd been left alone, trusted, and he'd not been able to keep his hands to himself.

Suddenly, the music in his blood was insects, crawling to get out. An anxious fear of having done wrong. Of displeasing his master.

Stefan crawled back to the door. Dragged his knees. Settled to wait by the painted wood.

He'd confess.

Because he'd been wrong. Daz would know. Of course he would know.

He'd always known before.

It was an age before Stefan heard keys in the front door. Constantinople meowed, and he heard Daz's deep voice murmur something to the cat before a bag hit the floor. Boots creaked on boards.

Then the scrape of a bolt shuddered against the living room door, and Stefan dropped his gaze

The door opened and he sensed, rather than saw or heard, his master pause.

"Good afternoon."

Stefan swallowed. "I have a confession to make, Sir."

"Do you?"

"Yes. Sir."

"What is it?"

"I-I masturbated against the piano while you were gone, Sir."

Silence.

It was a heavy thing, pressing down on Stefan's skin like it was trying to squash the music out. He waited, the carpet blurring in front of his eyes. The guilt hurt. And underneath it, a trickle of fear.

"Why?"

Stefan swallowed. His dry throat scratched.

"I was aroused, Sir."

"By what?"

"The the sofa smelled of us."

"Of us?"

"Last night. The sex."

"So you wanted more."

"Yes. Sir."

"You still want more?"

"Y-yes, Sir."

It was a trap, and Stefan knew it, but the honesty slipped out anyway, unleashed by his confession and the trouble he was bringing down on himself again, and so soon after running away.

"Obviously, you need a little retraining."

The memory of being fucked over that chest by both of them surged up, and Stefan's dick twitched.

"Yes, Sir."

"Reminding of your place."

"Yes, Sir."

Daz hummed.

Then, to Stefan's surprise, walked away. His socked feet left the carpet, and Stefan heard the bang of kitchen cupboards. He waited, clenching his fists on his thighs. Was was that it? Or was Daz going to do something else?

"Go and shower," Daz called. "You're filthy. Then come down and have lunch. I'll see about a training session later."

Stefan relaxed-

"Jack's working today."

then tensed again.

"Jack? Sir-"

"Problem?"

Stefan opened his mouth.

He wanted his master. He wanted that crowded, sweaty, messy sex from last night. He wanted the piano.

But when he poked at the feeling, there was something darker underneath.

He'd disobeyed. And Jack had been so rough, so dirty, so harsh-

Stefan swallowed.

Dry throat. Sweaty palms. And a rock-hard cock, already anticipating those brutal hands.

"No, Sir."

He crawled up the stairs, feeling his master's eyes on his naked arse, and knew he wouldn't be able to crawl by morning. 41

Nothing happened until the evening.

Stefan was left locked in the spare room and collared to one of the bedposts after lunch, but as darkness began to creep across the sky outside, Daz came upstairs and let him out. He was showered again and scrubbed, bent over against the tiles and humiliatingly deep-cleaned with the shower hose until he felt like he could piss clean water for days, then was rubbed down with a rough towel

"If they want you to come, you do it. But you don't touch yourself. And you don't ask to be touched," Daz said briskly. "Understood?"

"They?"

"Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You show me up tonight, I'll punish you properly. You want that?"

"No, Sir."

"Good. What do you say if you want it to stop?"

"Checkmate. Sir."

Stefan was handed clothes-loose cotton trousers, socks and a pair of shoes, then taken downstairs and a thin jacket zipped up over his bare breasts. He still felt strangely naked as they stepped out into the night, and shivered as he was led around the corner to a bus stop.

"We're we're not being picked up?"

"No. They'll be waiting for us."

"We could get a taxi."

"But we're not."

Daz offered no reason, and as the bus journey turned into two-one into the city centre and the second out to Guiseley-Stefan could only assume it was to heighten his nerves. He felt antsy, his heart hammering too hard and his palms sweating. His dick was oversensitive, the cotton ghosting over his skin in a distracting way, and he both wanted to be fucked immediately, and was apprehensive of exactly what was going to be done to him.