Sex in C Major
Chapter 46

When he emerged, Daz was smirking at him.

"Nice attempt."

"You you surprised me."

"I'm always more reactive in the mornings."

Stefan wiped at his face, then yelped in surprise when he was dragged higher.

"Sit."

Stefan blinked, and straddled Daz's chest as indicated.

"Hold onto the headboard."

"Sir?"

"Are you questioning me?"

"Um, no, Sir."

He gripped the headboard in both hands-then whimpered as he was dragged higher, and a hot mouth began to suck on his dick.

"Oh!"

It wasn't being eaten out. It wasn't an exploration of his skin and folds. It was a blowjob, and nothing else. Daz's lips were hot and tight around his short length, and sucking. Just sucking. No licking or petting, no rubbing or worrying. He simply sucked.

"Oh God-fuck! Fuck!"

Stefan cried as the pressure increased. His hands were white on the headboard. Daz's fingers were spreading his arse-cheeks. His blood was on fire. And when Daz let go, and cold air whirled around Stefan's wet dick-

"No! Please!"

He reached down. He touched. His finger and thumb gripped the sides of his cock-

And Stefan was flung.

The hotel room spun, and he landed on the mattress with a yell, a hand clamping down over his mouth and a heavy weight pinning him to the bed. The world was two blue eyes, and a shaking want in Stefan's veins. His master was displeased.

"You touched yourself."

Stefan closed his eyes-and his skin pinched and brutally twisted. They flew open again.

"You'd been doing so well."

Stefan spread his legs under his master's weight, and rolled his hips up.

"Oh, you'll get that. And it won't be pretty. But not here. I think if you can't remember the rule about touching yourself yet, then you need reminding. And supervision."

Supervision?

He was let go. Shoved off the bed entirely.

"Shower. We're leaving."

"Sir?"

"Shower!"

Stefan jumped for the bathroom. He had only just turned the water on when his master joined him, dropping Stefan's seized clothes in the sink and wrenching the temperature around to cold. "We're going home," his master said coolly, gripping Stefan's chin between finger and thumb. "And I'm going to keep you there until you've mastered the art of not touching yourself."

Stefan swallowed.

"Because you lied to me."

His stomach dropped. He felt the colour drain from his face.

And his master smirked. Oh God, that look.

"You touched yourself the morning I called."

He knew. He knew, he knew, he knew, he knew.

"I could hear it in your voice. And then you lied to me."

"I'm sorry, Sir."

Stefan heard his own voice as if from very far away.

"Oh, you will be. Now, clean yourself, dry yourself, and get dressed. You have five minutes."

The grip on his chin disappeared. Stefan dropped his gaze and began to scrub.

"And don't forget your clamps."

Stefan closed his eyes, an ache of disgust and desire throbbing all at once in both nipples, and scrubbed all the harder. 17

"Do I want to know?"

The voice pierced Stefan's haze slowly.

"Training," he heard the reply.

"Funny, I've never had a training course like that."

"At uni? I should hope not."

A hand dragged through Stefan's hair, foreign and unknown, and then someone sat down on the sofa. He heard a quick kiss exchanged, and the sounds of two bodies settling. They were cuddling.

"So? Why the slave on our rug?"

Stefan's skin burned with shame at the casual comment.

He had been laid naked on the rug, face-down so the rough fabric burned his tits and dick. A ball gag had been shoved between his teeth, and a blindfold wrapped around his eyes. But the worst of it wasn't that.

It was that the rug had been placed over the coffee table.

So Stefan's upper body was chained to the coffee table. His arse was exposed, bent over and ready to be fucked. And his knees were locked into a spreader bar, so he was always open and waiting.

He didn't know how long it had been.

"Hasn't learned not to masturbate."

"And that is a lesson because...?"

"Can't touch itself like that."

"Mm, true."

Stefan wriggled his shoulders, the conversation making him aware of the ache in his arms. They had been cuffed together, the forearms parallel to each other against his back.

"It's listening."

"Eavesdropping."

"Maybe you should teach it not to listen to other people's conversations."

Stefan whimpered as the sofa creaked.

"How does it safeword like that?"

"Makes both hands into fists."

Stefan fluttered his hands, and they were stroked by a single finger. He tried to clutch it, desperate to be grounded and replace his feet, metaphorically speaking, but it was removed.