Sex in C Major

Then the collar came out.

"Sir?"

It was a thin, metal collar. Far too big. It had bumps on the inside, and Stefan touched his neck apprehensively. If it were tightened, would they bruise?

"Not there. Here."

It was clasped not around his neck, but his thigh.

And then tightened.

Tightened.

Stefan gasped as the bumps dug into his skin. The band was cold and heavy, like a cuff. And when his jeans were tugged up over it, it burned like a dirty little secret that nobody else could see.

"It might help with the lost feeling," Daz said casually, squeezing Stefan's thigh through the denim.

Stefan shivered as the bumps dug in harder. "If not, we'll try something else. Now get out, I have to go to work."

Stefan blinked-then dropped his gaze.

"Yes, Sir. Thank you."

He was turfed out without quite the roughness of all the times before, but still with a brisk urgency that said he was a plaything and not a partner.

And yet as he began to walk home, Stefan felt the tight clench of the cuff around his thigh with every step. And despite the hollow feeling in his cunt, and the ache in his arse, and the burn of an abused nipple that felt so good and so awful at the same time-

The cuff felt like his master's hand, clenched tight around his leg, keeping him grounded.

Stefan walked home, over an hour alone through the cold with every step taking him further from his owner's home, and felt secure all the same. 15

The cuff worked.

Sort of.

Stefan went home and slept for hours after he was thrown out. And when he woke, that terrifying, lost feeling was gone, replaced by the weight around his thigh and the aching dig of the bumps into the muscle. It felt like his master's hand was on him, no matter where he was.

So he didn't feel so empty and thin anymore.

But he did feel-strange. Stranger, even.

When he went out to the Jobcentre the following day, he felt almost seedy. Dirty. Like he had a secret, and everyone knew it just by looking at him. There goes a girl who has an owner, he imagined them saying. There goes someone who has to open her legs on command, he imagined the whispers.

Yet at the same time, he felt-

Aroused.

He felt like Daz could see him. Felt like he could just appear at a moment's notice and fuck Stefan in public. Felt like he was collared, truly owned, and subject to Daz's whims anywhere he went, not just when the phone rang and the taxi pulled up outside the flat. The constant bite of the metal into his leg felt intense, scary, and wonderful all at once.

And it turned him on.

Which was now a problem. Given that he wasn't supposed to masturbate.

For the first couple of days, it was okay. He was on the ebb, due another shot in a few days, so his sex drive wasn't as high as usual. And the metal was as irritating as it was comforting, a rash bubbling up on his skin where it rubbed when he walked.

But as his skin got used to it, the irritation yielded and only left that constant pressure. And the morning after his next injection, Stefan woke sweating with a hand down his boxers already, the dream of Daz holding him down on a garage floor and fucking him like a machine fading away in the early morning light.

Frozen, Stefan felt the frustration building at the back of his mind as his dick throbbed and begged for more.

No.

No, he was he was going to be good. Daz had said he'd not like a punishment. And the reward, that handjob in the shower, had been amazing.

Stefan removed his hand, and took a long, cold shower.

But as the phone stayed stubbornly silent, and as the days stretched out, Stefan felt the pressure building. That hollow feeling was returning, and his dick-untouched and unhappy about it-began to swell at the merest friction from his jeans. He took to wearing nothing on his lower half in the flat, and having two freezing showers a day in the hope of waiting it out, just waiting, until Daz called.

But he didn't.

He didn't call, and a week after the cuff had been locked around his leg, Stefan couldn't even put on his boxers without the urge to touch himself flooding his senses, intense and crippling. The shower wasn't working anymore. He couldn't do this. He couldn't.

He gave in ten days after getting the cuff, and succumbed after bumping his leg against the kitchen counter and jarring the bruises where the metal lay. It had felt like a blow from his master's hand, and he simply stopped dead, eyes closed, and tried to breathe through the fire in his lungs.