s*x in C Major

Chapter 7-1

Chapter 7

Nearly a week passed, in a haze of cheap weed and cheaper wine. Stefan didn’t want to think about what it meant, that he woke up from several wet dreams of strangers f*****g him while Daz stood and watched. He didn’t want to think about what it meant that he wanked nearly twice a day to fantasies of Daz taking him to bars and ordering him to let people screw him in the toilets.

He didn’t want to think at all.

The thing was, Stefan knew he was f****d up. He’d known that for years. But before he’d started to transition, he could keep the crazy quiet. He hadn’t wanted s*x before, because he’d been too disgusted with his own body to use it. He’d not dated, because the idea of being someone’s girlfriend had made him want to vomit. His fantasies had been so completely…well, made-up, that they hadn’t needed examining. Lots of people like videos of suspiciously well-hung actors pretending to rape famous porn stars—those kind of hit counts couldn’t be faked.

But nobody actually wanted to be the porn star in those videos.

Nobody actually wanted that. Nobody let strangers f**k them in spare rooms and felt good about it afterwards. Nobody dropped their trousers to jerk it to someone promising to have people round to rape them.

Except Stefan.

Because he was seriously f****d up, and no amount of weed or wine could erase that, but it could at least loosen him up enough to not ask himself too many questions, enjoy the climax, and pretend it hadn’t been achieved while digging his fingers into the bruises Daz had left behind.

And the worst of it was that Stefan didn’t even want to fix his insanity.

He was going to get hurt if he kept doing this. That guy he’d tried to hook up with before going and getting drunk with Daz? That guy could have been a psycho murderer. Daz could be an abuser. Stefan could end up chopped up in bins across the city if he didn’t stop this destructive chase after a s****l thrill, but—

But he couldn’t stop.

It was like this voice in the back of his head asked who the hell cared whenever things started to spiral out of control. Who cared? He didn’t have anyone anyway. He was just another waste of time on benefits, perpetually and permanently single, and seriously f****d in the head. It wasn’t like he could make anything worthwhile out of that anyway. And when it went right—when Daz had f****d him in the spare room, when he’d jerked off in that alley—it felt so good. So…so who cared that eventually, it was going to lead to something else entirely?

So when Daz called, almost a week after the phone s*x in the alley, Stefan didn’t even hesitate before reaching for the phone.

“Twelve noon. The Costa on Briggate. Be there.”

“A coffee shop?”

“Yeah. You want a reminder of where you sit, this is it. Come to the shop. I’ll be there having a drink with my partner. You don’t approach us, you don’t acknowledge us, you don’t even look our way. I’ll text you with more instructions later.”

“Will you punish me?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said you’d punish me for the other day.”

“You asking to be hurt, is that it?”

Stefan swallowed. “I want you,” he said honestly. “I want more.”

“Like?”

“Just…more.”

“Not good enough. If you want something, you have to spell it out.”

Stefan flushed hotly.

“Too embarrassed?”

“I—”

“I’ve had my fingers in your cunt and your lips bleeding because you’re so desperate to scream for my c**k. You really think you’ve any right to be embarrassed anymore?”

Stefan’s c**k twitched, and he took a ragged breath.

“Tell me.”

“I want—I want your cock.” He took another breath, then it flooded out. “I want you to shove it down my throat until I choke on it. I want you to hold my thighs open and force it in me, dry so it hurts and I’m bleeding and I’m begging you to stop but really I want more. I want—I want you to f**k me so hard that it aches for days and I can’t move without feeling you. I want you to lock me in the spare room again, and make me listen when you have s*x with your boyfriend, and it’s gentle and tender, and then when he’s asleep you come into the spare room and f**k me so deep that it hurts and I can’t do anything but lie there and take it—”

“Twelve noon. Sharp.”

The phone cut out, and Stefan sank down onto the mattress, heart beating a rapid tattoo in his chest. He didn’t know whether to feel humiliated or horny.

After a beat, Stefan undid his jeans and slowly began to stroke.