Sex in C Major

This cock-yes, this cock, he knew. He sank onto it, relaxing his aching jaw around the intrusion, and set immediately about the rhythm he knew his master liked best. He felt off-balance, raised up on his knees, and began to push his whole body into it, stroking the shaft with his tongue every time he pulled off, pausing at the head to massage it, before sinking smoothly back down and sucking at the entire shaft. And then, again. And again.

Yet-

His master didn't touch him. Didn't speak. As Stefan worked at the hard cock in his mouth, jaw actively hurting now, he felt the silence crowding in to suffocate him. Felt the eyes of three men on him. He sucked harder, worked faster, desperate for a response, any response, a word of kindness or approval, something to say his master was pleased-

The chain pulled. He was dragged off his master's dick and another was rubbed against his cheek. Leaking. He wriggled. Clenched his jaw. No. He hadn't satisfied his master, hadn't-

Fingers gripped his jaw. Hard, narrow ones. His chain was jerked, hauled high, until he choked. His jaw sagged, instinctively gulping at air, and knees locked either side of his head. Fingers held his jaw open. Forced his teeth down. He screamed then choked as that monstrous cock was forced past his lips.

"My turn."

The knees digging into his cheekbones held him fast. The fingers forcing his jaw wide hurt. And the cock-that cock-

It fucked his face in brutal thrusts. He coughed and choked. Air was wet, raking through his nose in desperate pants. He could feel cum and spit, slippery on his chin. Taste two men in his mouth. Feel the derision. Feel their amusement as he drowned on their pleasure. He couldn't move. Couldn't close his mouth. Couldn't even suck-the thrusts were blows, hard and punching. They drove against his throat in punishing strokes. Forced him to take it too deep. Forced his face and neck open until he could only hold his breath and cry. Fingers cruelly stroking his cheek. Voices laughing above his head. The jacket holding him pinned, and the tiles cold and angry against his aching, wet arousal.

"Bet it can't swallow."

That was the warning. And it was followed by a pressure against his throat. A cock forced so deep he could barely breathe. And a rush a punching explosion of wetness in his throat. He cried and choked, his stomach turned, as his nose was pressed to the very root of the cock that pinned him, and he was forced to take it. He couldn't even swallow-it spilled, either down his neck or forward, sliding in ropes over his tongue and collecting at his lips. And when finally-finally-the cock was pulled free, it spilled down his chin and splattered onto the tiles.

"Go on."

Stefan sobbed as he was shoved forward, crashing into the tiles. His face was pressed onto the soiled tiles. Smeared. The smell of sex was everywhere. Everything. It was in his hair and on his face, staining his nose and mouth, clogging his throat. He was coated in it.

The jacket was hauled up. He hung in it, crying, and was dropped onto the table. Turned on his side. One leg was hooked up, knee to his chest, and the chain looped around it to keep it there.

"Messy."

Stefan kept his eyes closed and whined desperately as slick fingers began to probe at him. Both front and back. He gasped when he was breached, then began to cry again as he was forced to open around three fingers too fast. He shuddered, unsure. Clenched, but released again at the pain in resisting. Cried in dizzy lust and fear as he was fucked on hands. And whose, he didn't know. Another pair took his head, pressing it down against the table until it hurt, and fingers were shoved to the back of his throat until he gagged, again and again. They were everywhere. Just fingers and hands everywhere. Pulling at his flesh; probing at him. Fucking him and holding him in place. Pinching and slapping. Pulling. Bruising. Strangers, all of them he couldn't feel his master's from the others. Couldn't feel anything but-

"A hundred, Jack? That it can come from hands alone."

The fingers in his cunt began to thrust. Roll. Massage him from the inside like a dick. He sobbed, coughing around the hand in his mouth. It wasn't enough. It teased and taunted. His cock was hard and desperate, but the hands were too thin, too shallow. They opened up, but they didn't tear. They fucked, but didn't fuck. It would never be enough, never-never-never-

"Look at it trying to fuck me back."

The voice was amused. Cold.

A hand skirted close to his dick, and Stefan begged. He couldn't even hear himself, but he knew it was begging. It had to be begging.