Sex in C Major

"I've no intentions of hurting you tonight," Daz said softly, "but if you mess me around, I will. Understood?"

Stefan swallowed, and clenched his arse.

"Yes, Sir."

"Better."

Stefan let his hands be tied tighter, then his upper arms were taken in a strong grip.

"Walk."

He was steered into the living room. The texture of the rugs under his feet was rough and strange. The dizzy spin as he was sharply turned, losing all sense of direction, sent a spike of worry through his system-and then he was brought down, in a rush of air and imbalance, onto Daz's leg.

The sofa. He heard its leather fabric squish and crinkle under Daz. The cotton of the jogging bottoms was warm and soft under Stefan's bare legs and arse, and the sofa arm cool against his back and arms. His shoulder barely rested on it; his head hung in the air over the end, awkward.

Vulnerable.

Bent backwards over the arm, seated in Daz's lap, he was exposed.

And with a chill, Stefan realised Yannis had come into the room earlier.

"Sir-"

He tried to close his legs. Daz's hand stopped him, pushing his thighs apart and settling, a hot fist, not an inch from Stefan's dick.

"Sir, please..."

"Quiet."

"But-"

A finger and thumb gripped Stefan's cock on either side and squeezed warningly. It wasn't quite a pinch-but Stefan cringed in pain, and clenched his jaw anyway.

"I said: quiet."

Stefan shivered. The grip slowly released.

And then a bass boomed.

Stefan instantly recognised the sound. The timbre. The pitch. The deep vibration of raw power in the floor, shuddering up the sofa and into his skin like a living thing. A long C. A growl. A roused dragon-elegance and danger; beautiful but brutal. Stefan's breath caught as the note died away-then reeled in anew as the notes swung up as high as a double bass could manage, before they came crashing down in a roar.

He didn't know the piece. He couldn't anticipate the swells and the rushes. The crescendo roared when Stefan expected peace; a staccato stammered what might have been a trill for a violin piece, but might have simply been ill-skill on the part of the player.

And Daz's hand was hot between Stefan's thighs.

As the music began to dance, into something too flighty and lively to belong to Stefan's classical cello experiences, the heel of Daz's palm began to graze over Stefan's cock. The shivers from the double bass were immediately wreathed in something more urgent-but when Stefan tried to wriggle further into Daz's lap, his cock was pinched again until he stilled with a whimper.

And after another crashing crescendo...fingers.

They rubbed at either side of the shaft and over the head in short, wet swipes. Rapid. A blur of hot motion, slowing when the music did, digging and torturing when the notes clustered and fought for room in time. Stefan found himself thrusting up into them, trying desperately to fuck himself on Daz's hand-then tried to still and squeeze himself shut when he felt the arousal pooling too low, too wet, and beginning to leak.

Only for Daz to push two fingers forcefully inside, and begin to gather Stefan's own natural lubricant on his fingers.

Stefan gasped, trying to speak but failing, as now-slick fingers began to smooth over his dick, hips, thighs, cunt, arse. The music was getting faster, and so were Daz's fingers. Stefan couldn't think. The music was vibrating into his bones. The fingers pulling on his dick were hot and wet. The touch was rough. Hard. Tight. Fast. Stefan began to thrust again and yet he throbbed. He wanted more. He could feel hardness under his leg. Could feel Daz's dick through cotton.

"Please "

Daz moved.

Stefan yelled as he was dislodged. He was tossed to the floor-then dragged back by the hair, shoulders pinned to the sofa cushions. Hands gripped his head so hard it hurt. The head of Daz's cock, leaking and hard, was pressed to his lips. Pushed. Smeared against his teeth and then Stefan opened his mouth, and his breath was stolen.

He choked.

Coughed.

Cotton, sharp and unpleasant. Sex. Sweat. Pain in his jaw from the stretch. He gagged on the head as it was thrust too deep. Coughed when his first breath caught in his throat. Tears dampened the blindfold.

Then he relaxed.

Breathed, deep through his nose. Let his jaw sag. Allowed the intrusion. Kept his throat open as that impossibly hard dick grazed it. Began to anticipate the thrusts, and follow them.

The hands released, one fisting in his hair and the other disappearing. Stefan fought to keep the rhythm.

Slowly, the music thundering in his ears over even his own pulse, he adjusted. Closed his lips around that silken shaft. Felt the pulse hammering inside; touched his tongue to the vein underneath, and stroked it like a lover. Clenching his throat gently against the head, he felt more than heard the groan of

His master.