s*x in C Major

Chapter 4-2

The phone said it was half past twelve before the house fell quiet again.

This faceless partner seemed to have been out when Stefan had arrived—he’d returned around half nine, and there’d been a lot of loud chatter in some other language. The partner was a boyfriend, his voice choppier and more animated than Daz’s, and at one point he had been right outside the door. Stefan had stayed so still and quiet, his muscles had felt sore by the time the guy had gone away again.

Still, locked in the spare room let Stefan learn a few things. Daz was bilingual, switching from English to…otherish, whatever it was, and back again within seconds. He laughed a lot. His boyfriend was called Ian or something similar, but Stefan didn’t hear Ian speak any English, so that might not be right. They had a cat. Daz made lunch for wherever Ian was going this afternoon.

And wherever he was going, it would be a while.

Because when the front door closed at half past twelve, the phone buzzed once on the mattress.

Just you and me now. Last chance to think twice.

Stefan swallowed, and put the phone on the windowsill. Out of reach. He lay down on the bed, uncertain of how Daz would want him, and eventually turned on his front to hide his breasts. Loose, they felt horrible and strange; pinned under his own ribs, bracketed by his folded arms, they felt more normal. More okay. Where Daz could neither see nor touch them.

Even if it left his lower half helpless. Stefan wouldn’t be able to reach out from here. If Daz held him down in this position, Stefan would be able to do exactly nothing. Daz could finger him, f**k him, fill him—do anything, and Stefan would have to take it.

His mouth went dry at the thought. His d**k swelled.

Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

He was already sweating. The room was cold, but Stefan was almost slick with it. His stomach was in knots. He felt impossibly tight—he wouldn’t be able to take fingers, never mind the heavy c**k he’d held through Daz’s jogging bottoms. His fingers were shaking under his chest.

He was scared.

And yet as the footsteps stopped outside the bedroom door, and the lock slowly turned over, there was an unmistakeable heat building under his skin. An emptiness inside. A yearning.

The door opened.

And closed again.

Stefan, eyes screwed shut, could sense Daz’s presence in the room more than he could hear it. He could feel someone watching—but he still jumped when a hand landed on the back of his knee and ran, heavy and hard, up his leg to his arse. The cheek was squeezed. Hard enough to bruise. It made Stefan clench his thighs, and he couldn’t stop the whimper when the other cheek was subject to the same grip.

“Quiet.”

Stefan bit his lip. Both hands were on him now, squeezing his thighs and waist in painful clumps. He lay still as possible, relaxing when he was released only to clench up again with every new squeeze. It was like a strange massage, pleasurable and painful all at once.

Then he was rolled over.

His breasts shifted, and Stefan whimpered again at the unpleasant sensation. A sharp tap glanced off his cheek, then three fingers were shoved into his mouth, so deep that he gagged.

“Suck on them, if your mouth wants something to do.”

The voice was deep and hard again.

Stefan felt dizzy as he began to suck, rubbing his tongue over rough calluses and delicate fingerprints. He whimpered again as one of the squeezes was applied to a breast, and his head was shoved back into the mattress until he gagged again.

And yet, the next squeeze was applied to the skin over his ribs. And the next to his armpit. His breasts were avoided, and Stefan felt a rush of gratitude and desire that was nothing to do with the fingers in his mouth or the hand examining his body.

So he whined when the fingers were pulled away from his lips.

“Please—”

The slap was harder this time, from the dry hand. The wet one began to toy with his c**k, slippery and hot.

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll choke you on my c**k until you’re sick. Got it?”

Stefan bit his lips together, and nodded.

“Better. You can whine and cry all you want, but you don’t talk. I don’t buy toys to talk to them.”

Stefan’s d**k jumped at ‘buy’, and was pinched between finger and thumb until tears sprang to his eyes.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

The room spun as Stefan was turned onto his front again. His legs were spread, and the mattress dipped under a weight. Hands came down, heavy, on both arse cheeks, and they were spread. The sound of spitting was loud in the quiet room, and the hot liquid trickling down his cleft made humiliation burn hot on Stefan’s face.

“Tight. You scared?”

Stefan nodded.

“You should be. Ever taken a d**k before?”

Stefan shook his head—then cried out at a sharp punch of pain that rocketed up his spine as a wet finger was thrust into his cunt and twisted, crooked and uncomfortable.

“f**k me, that’s tight…what about the other way in?”

Stefan gasped as the finger was ripped out as fast as it had gone in, then whimpered and clenched down as it was forced into his arse. It stung, and he pushed back against it, trying both to get it out and to get more. It was too thin, too hard, too cold—he wanted more and less, he wanted—

Something popped, and the finger was removed. Something cold and wet slithered down his arse. The hand began to smooth it over his skin—and then the fingers were back, slick and slippery, working at him both brutally and gently, forcing him open but not hurting…

Stefan opened his mouth to plead, and the other hand came down on his lower back. With weight behind it. He was pressed down into the mattress, pinned in place, and a single finger slid under him, and grazed at the base of his c**k.

It was like an electric shock.

Stefan fisted both hands into the sheet at the bolt that shot up his back. He tried to thrust down, but couldn’t. He tried to rub himself on the sheet, but couldn’t. The weight on his back was too heavy. He whimpered breathlessly, trying to ask without speaking, and felt knees push his own further apart.

“You can come whenever you want—” The fingers buried inside him flexed and began to massage him from the inside, as a thumb brushed up under his c**k and began to rub it. “—but when you do, it’ll be my turn, and I won’t stand for any more of this whimpering and wriggling. Understood?”

Stefan nodded—and cried out as the thumb pushed hard against his c**k. The hand cupping him, fingers and thumb inside, began to massage in a hard, clenching grip. The stretch felt painful, but the thumb so good, and the press and flex of fingers inside him, God, someone was inside him…

In a moment, Stefan was reduced to nothing but sensation. The pressure inside. The burning in his veins. The stretch of muscles he’d never known he had. He was naked, pinned under a stranger, and a sheath for rough fingers. Used. A toy. A thing.

It was too much, too soon. The room was lurching. Daz’s voice was very far away. And when Stefan came, it was sobbing. He came crying, clenching down on the hand spreading him open even as he tried to scramble away, fingers clawing at the sheets—

A hand fisted in his hair, and another around his hip.

“My turn.”

“Please!”

A weight dropped down on his back. Breath was in his ear. And something hot and slick, far bigger than fingers, was pressed to his arse.

Stefan’s breath caught.

Oh God. It was—too big. Far too big. He’d never—he’d tear. He’d be ripped apart if Daz f****d him just like that. Stefan couldn’t do this. Couldn’t—

“My turn,” the voice rumbled again.

Teeth scraped Stefan’s ear, and fingers wrapped around both of his biceps, forcing his arms flat to the mattress.

“You got off on two fingers and a thumb. Bit of lube and a massage all it takes for you?”

The breath rushed back in.

And Stefan suddenly wanted to do it.

“It’s—it’s not enough, please, f**k me, please, please—”

The head pressed closer and Stefan yelled at the pressure, then cried as it was withdrawn and the shaft slid under him inside, rubbing against him but not inside.

“No, f**k me, please—”

Fingers were forced in his mouth again.

“Suck them.”

Stefan squirmed; his head was forced flat to the mattress, jaw caught between finger and thumb, the other three holding his tongue down inside his mouth.

“Suck them, and shut up.”

Stefan whimpered as the c**k began to slide against him again. He could feel it—the skin, the veins, the pulse inside—but he wanted it where those fingers had been, wanted to feel it moving inside of him, wanted it to hurt and feel good all at once, wanted to clench down around it to keep it there, wanted to imagine what he must look like, covered in spit and lube and split open around that hard d**k—

But he couldn’t. He could only suckle on the fingers in his mouth, and whimper as that c**k rubbed against him, as the jeans his master still wore rubbed at his naked legs and hurt them, as the air was driven out of his lungs with every thrust. He could only lie, spread open and helpless, and take it. He was a body, a doll, a thing for his master’s pleasure, nothing more—

The weight was raised off Stefan, and he was turned roughly onto his back. The grunt above him was so deep, the air seemed to reverberate around it. Something hot splashed over Stefan’s belly and chest, and the fingers in his mouth pressed a little deeper before they were removed and the weight disappeared entirely.

“Look at me.”

Stefan opened his eyes.

Daz was standing by the bed, already buttoning his jeans. He looked calm, almost cold, and Stefan suddenly felt vulnerable.

“Get that c*m off your skin.”

Stefan blinked, then glanced down himself. His d**k was swollen and red, still wet. c*m was dripping down his stomach and hips. His skin was dark, bruised patches decorating him like paint. His lips felt swollen, his mouth torn. Inside, he felt hollow and scraped.

“Now!”

Stefan brought shaking fingers down and began to wipe at his skin.

“Clean it.”

It tasted bitter. Tart. Vaguely unpleasant.

“I—I don’t like it.”

“Best learn to, then. You’ve got ten minutes. When I get back in here, you’re going to be clean and ready to have your arse opened up as well. Understood?”

“Y-yes, Sir.”

Daz dropped a hand and slowly stroked Stefan’s sore, abused shaft.

Then he smirked.

“Nice little torture device you’ve got there,” he murmured.

Then he was gone.

And as the lock clunked into place, Stefan slowly ran his fingers through the mess on his belly, and sucked the evidence away.