Sex in C Major
Chapter 41

Then, slowly, he put the plate aside.

Daz would kill him.

He pushed his hand into his boxers, and the other-balled into a fist against his mouth.

Daz would murder him if he found out. He'd say Stefan didn't deserve pleasure after stealing it from Daz. He'd say Stefan only deserved pain for this. Daz would beat him. Or lock him down and use him like a doll, not even feed him or give him water until Stefan was drunk with fatigue and nausea. Or maybe Daz would lock him down and then rent him out? Or film his slavery and put it online, for millions to see?

Stefan's fingers closed around his dick, and he began to fuck his hand. Frantic. He was gasping for breath. The sweat was beading on his temples.

His owner wouldn't want to own such a selfish slave. He would have Stefan corrected. Teach him not to touch himself. He would torture Stefan with his own cock-bring him to the edge of orgasm and then let him go. Again and again and again, until Stefan was mad with the need to replace completion. And then Master would put Stefan's cock in a clamp, cold and painful, then turn him over and fuck him so the clamp tore at his dick and hurt him, only hurt him, while Master filled him again and again and again-

Stefan came rutting against the counter and his own hand, crying with the sudden shock of release. His entire body shuddered. His cock burned, already swelling again with need. It wasn't enough. He clawed at the cuff on his leg and sobbed it wasn't enough.

The phone began to ring.

Frozen, Stefan simply stared at it, lying innocently on the mattress. And ringing.

His special phone. From Daz.

Oh God, he knew. He had to know. How could he possibly call now, right now? Had-did the cuff-God, did it monitor Stefan's pulse or something? Had Daz been watching him, waiting for him to fail?

He was going to be punished.

And yet, Stefan scrabbled for the phone anyway. He could do it. He could take his punishment, accept it, and then afterwards, he could be relieved. And then he would call. He would call from then on, every time he needed it, and if—if that made him his owner's slave, then...then so be it.

"Sir?"

To himself, Stefan sounded breathless and recently fucked. But Daz made no comment.

"Where are you?"

"At home, Sir."

"Meet me at the train station. Half an hour. Wear something sexy. What's your safeword?"

"Checkmate. Sir."

"Remember it."

The call cut out as suddenly as it had begun, and Stefan swallowed. Something sexy. He didn't have anything sexy. The closest he had to sexy was a tight pair of black jeans. How sexy did sexy have to be?

He showered hastily, turning the options over in his mind, then steeled himself and wriggled into the jeans. He didn't have any shoes but his trainers, but he did have an old leather jacket. And if he wore no top or bra, and left the zip just far enough down that Daz would realise it...

That was sexy, right?

It was also feminine. A girl was in the mirror. With dyke-short hair and a pair of men's trainers, but a girl all the same.

"Sir said sexy," Stefan told himself in a shaky whisper. "Sir said sexy."

And it was sexy. Even if it did make him feel so disjointed.

Half an hour wasn't long enough to walk to the train station, so Stefan scrounged for bus tickets in the bin at the end of the road until he found a discarded day rider, and hopped on the first one into the city centre. He zipped his jacket all the way up at the bus driver's stare, and huddled in it by the window until they reached Call Lane, before getting off and walking the rest of the way.

Even so, he barely made it. And Daz, waiting by the ticket barriers, was looking impatient.

"I'm sorry," Stefan blurted out, the minute he got within range. "The bus was late."

"I suppose it's fine."

To Stefan's surprise, a hand slid over his arse and he was kissed in a proprietary manner, hauled up against Daz's body for it before being let go and a ticket handed over.

"Let's go." The ticket was an open return to Sheffield.

"Why Sheffield?"

"I buy you a ticket and a luxury hotel room, and you're asking questions?"

"Sorry, Sir."

Daz was playing an aggressive role-Stefan was kissed again on the platform, pressed up to the wall and thoroughly explored, then steered onto the train by a hand in his back pocket. Daz blocked him into the window seat, only to lean over and palm his thigh, nosing at Stefan's neck.