Sex in C Major

"Really?"

"Yes," Yannis repeated. "I had a massive collection of hijabs. All the colours I could find. My father used to complain it was like having three daughters instead of one, there were so many around the house. I insisted on a new one every time there was a family occasion like a wedding. I loved them. I kept my favourites when I ran away."

Stefan twisted his feet around each other. The scarves. They were Yannis' scarves.

Then, like it was a dirty secret, he whispered: "Tattoos."

"What?"

"I like girly tattoos. Flowers and butterflies and things."

"Don't let Darian know, he'll drag you down the nearest studio," Yannis muttered.

Stefan cracked a tremulous smile.

"Seriously," Yannis said quietly. "Don't think about whether it makes you male or female to enjoy sex certain ways, because it doesn't. And Darian's not going to get rid of you for changing your body. He didn't get rid of me for changing mine -and at the time, he would have told you he was straight as an arrow and had no interest in men whatsoever."

"And...and he does now?"

"He loves me. He fucks you."

"But we're "

"And he's had cisgender male slaves before. Not that that matters."

Stefan swallowed. Yannis eyed him for a moment longer, before shouting Daz's name.

"What if I can't do this?" Stefan whispered, just as the living room door opened.

"Then it's like I said," Daz said calmly, dropping down on the arm of the sofa and ruffling Yannis' hair.

Yannis scowled and retreated to the piano stool in apparent retaliation.

"You checkmate. And it's over. But maybe if you try talking to us instead of bottling it all up and thinking you're sick or insufficient for liking the things you do, then maybe this can work out better. For all of us."

Stefan licked his lips.

"So," he whispered, "what now?"

"I'm going to scale back the sexual side of things, so you're less spooked. But I'm going to scale up the rest of it."

"W-what does that mean?" Stefan asked hesitantly.

"More rules. You've shown you can't be trusted on your own. So you won't be. You won't leave the house without permission and one of us with you. You won't be allowed clothes, keys, or a phone. If it takes tying you up for eight hours a day to trust you with your own welfare, then that's what I'll do."

Stefan bit his lip.

"You'll earn my trust back. Do that, and you'll get your privileges returned to you. Fuck me around, break my trust, and you'll lose them again. Yes?"

He'd be a prisoner. Trapped. Bound to them. Kept.

"Yes."

It slipped out without permission. And it felt...right.

"Strip."

Stefan swallowed, and got to his feet. He stripped with shaking hands. Exposing the blood-encrusted cuff. The scratched and swollen breasts. The bruises and gouges in his own skin.

Daz stared.

Yannis wordlessly got up and went upstairs to the bathroom. The cabinet banged.Daz said, "In that case you'll be cuffed as well. Upstairs. Bathroom. Now."

Stefan lowered his head, and handed over his control. His life. His everything.

He went.

And hoped they could do better with his life than he had. 34

For the first week, Stefan mostly healed, and adjusted.

The routine was gentle, but rigid. He slept in the cage in the wardrobe. It had been lined with pillows and a duvet, and was long enough to stretch out. But it was pitch-dark, and of course inescapable. And the times he was put in and let out again were non-negotiable...to the point where he had to crawl out one morning, face burning with humiliation, and admit that he'd wet the sheets

"Best put them in the wash then, hadn't you?" was Daz's dismissive reply.

He ate what and when he was told. The first time he tried to refuse a meal, he was starved for the following day. The only thing he had unlimited access to was water from the bathroom taps. He had been locked out of the kitchen, and the bathroom cabinet was padlocked to prevent him getting at the razors inside. When his shot was due at the end of the week, he was bent over the back of the sofa, and Yannis administered it with a disgusted expression.

Even his movements around the accessible parts of the house were restricted. He wore a collar, and heavy cuffs around his wrists and ankles whenever he was out of the cage. The collar was usually chained to either the mantelpiece in the living room or one of the iron bedposts in the master bedroom. If both of them left the house, he was put back in the cage.