Sex in C Major

He was pushed against the side of the bath, and his hair pulled. A rough cloth scrubbed at his lips, then was forced inside. It tasted bitter, and Stefan coughed on the spearmint taste. Mouthwash. It was smeared over his tongue and scraped around his teeth. Pulled free. Doused in more. And returned. His mouth was scrubbed like a dirty plate, as though Daz could rip Dean out of Stefan's history. It hurt. Stefan could taste the tang of blood and the sting of mouthwash in an opened wound. But he hung limp in his master's grip, and let the pink-tinged froth pour down his chin and into the bath every time the cloth was removed.

This this was alright.

Would he be scrubbed like this all over? Would his cunt and arse be cleaned the same way? Stefan had seen those films-the torture of a brush, a shoe or toilet brush, forced into unfaithful pets and their screaming gagged by hands and cocks. Would he be ripped open on alcohol-soaked brushes and then made to service his owner? Or was the punishment that he wouldn't be used at all, but torn open and left empty?

But when the cloth was ripped out for the last time, Stefan was turned over, back to the bath, and his head pressed down on the lip. His neck was left exposed; fingers caught at his teeth and pulled his jaw open.

"Mouth open."

Stefan opened it wide. It hurt. The angle of his neck made breathing hurt, and his bound hands left him resting heavily on his haunches.

Then he was told to stay.

And his master left the room.

Went downstairs.

Started to clatter things in the kitchen.

Stefan waited, not daring to move. What if there was a camera? Or Daz simply knew. He had a gift for simply knowing, and if Stefan disobeyed now, the punishment would be worse. And there was something else coming.

There had to be something else. Just scrubbing his mouth out-

So Stefan waited. Stayed leaning awkwardly over the bath, mouth open and neck exposed, staring at the ceiling. At the bright bulb burning his eyes. Waiting.

It might have been minutes-might have been hours before he heard the boots again. Kitchen tiles. Hall. Stairs. The landing creaked.

Stefan closed his eyes when Daz came back into the bathroom.

His jaw was gripped in one hand. Bruisingly hard. The skin crushed to bone. The jaw dragged down, opening his mouth so wide it hurt.

Something pressed down.

And Stefan screamed.

Burning.

Burning.

Red-hot metal forced his tongue to the floor of his mouth. He screamed and thrashed, only to burn the sides of his mouth as well. Blood. Burning. He could smell it. Flesh. His own flesh. On fire, burning, cooking-

He howled when the metal was removed. Sobbed when he was turned over. Retched, and vomited again when the burn of acid opened up the pain anew.

Then hung, blindly crying, in his master's hands. When one fisted in his hair, pulling his head back, and the other forced that awful cloth back into his mouth.

"You won't be sucking anybody off for a while now," his master said calmly.

Stefan cried and struggled as the cloth scraped over the burn.

"Be grateful you didn't open your legs for him."

He was shaking. His tongue hurt. His mouth ached. His teeth felt too large and loose in his mouth. Oh God, why burning? A beating would have been better. Being loaned to half the street would have been better. But burning. The pain was inescapable, even when the cloth was finally removed and Stefan was pushed away from the bath.

"Bedroom."

He slumped, sobbing, on the tiles, but was only kicked. His knees ached as he shuffled towards the bedroom, his master looming over him-and there, he was pressed backwards over the bed again, and Daz's belt forced into his mouth. It scraped over his damaged tongue; he felt the skin split, and cringed as the metallic stench of blood filled his nose.

"I told you," Daz said calmly as he tied the belt behind Stefan's head, leaving him gagged and his tongue trapped under the rough, sharp edge of frayed leather, "that you wouldn't want me to punish you."

Stefan closed his eyes to cry. He opened them again when Daz squeezed his chin, and caused the leather to rub anew.

"I told you, didn't I? That you only fucked people I told you to fuck. And I said nothing about getting on your knees for your drug dealer. I don't like drugs. I don't like people who deal them. And I don't like those people fucking your face so you can have a hit."

Stefan cringed at the cruel words.