Sex in C Major

And then the pain grew too much, and he sagged in his bonds. Gasping. Reeling. Blinded by sweat and suffering. A hand was holding his breast so hard it bruised. A tongue was rasping over his nipple. When the second bite sank in, it worried at the wound, and Stefan began to cry. Great hitching sobs that pulled and yanked at broken flesh with every movement. That pressed against the hands that hurt him, and made it worse.

That chased the emptiness away.

That made his body heavy and whole.

That grounded.

Centred.

Sick. Sick-sick-sick-sick-

He wanted this. Oh God, but he wanted it. The pain, the blood, the heat. The imprint of his master's teeth and hand. The ache. The feeling it for days, weeks, months. To see it. See his-

Ownership.

God, see his slavery on his own skin.

And then it was gone. The weight was gone. And Stefan sobbed, begging for more.

"Your minute's up."

"Please, please, I want-I need-"

"If you want more, you have to ask another question, and guess if I'm telling the truth. And no more cheat questions that you already know the answers to."

Stefan blinked the sweat out of his eyes. His chest was heaving. His tit hurt in a sharp, stabbing pain that was grounding and glorious.

"Would you ever beat me?"

Daz hummed.

"Perhaps. If you wanted me to, I certainly could. But I prefer other forms of punishment. And you don't seem the type to respond as well to a simple beating as a bit of physical torture."

Stefan tried to breathe. He still couldn't see, the assault on his chest making him dizzy. He had to guess. He couldn't think straight enough to gauge Daz's response, his face, any of it.

He guessed.

"True."

A hand slid over his ankle. Warm. Solid.

"What do you want?"

"You."

"How?"

"Fuck me. Somehow. Anyhow."

"You only have a minute."

"You could fuck me lo-❞

"No. One minute. That's the rule."

"But-"

"Keep arguing and you won't get a prize at all."

Stefan swallowed, tugging against the chains. His breast hurt with every movement. He was aching again, hollow inside. He nee-no, he wanted, he wanted this, and that knowledge was a shard of horror and self-disgust in his ribs. He wanted to be humiliated. Wanted to be fucked until he was bleeding. Wanted his master's teeth to tear at his breasts, and to be choked on his cock.

"Running out of time..."

"Chain my feet. Make it so I can't move."

The hand on his ankle tightened. Dragged. His legs were pulled flat. Metal clinked. The cuffs were heavy and tight, rubbing on the bone, and then they were jerked tight to the footboard. Stefan whimpered as his spine was stretched out. As his ribs strained. And-like his hands-each ankle was taken to a bedpost.

Spread-eagled.

He closed his eyes and whimpered at the stretch and strain of his limbs. He tried to bend his knees. Tried to curl his arms inwards. And failed dismally. A hand groped obscenely at his groin, making him shudder and his dick swell, and then a heavy metal collar, so wide that it covered his entire neck, was sliding around his throat. It forced his head up. Still. Like a neck brace, and then that, too, was chained to the headboard. Loose enough to breathe and look down. Too tight to

move

He stretched. Wriggled. Fought.

And nothing gave.

And when he opened his eyes, his master was sitting on the footboard again, with a hand down his trousers. Pumping.

"Sir-"

"Next question."

"How many more?"

"This is the eighth."

Stefan stared at the bulge in Daz's trousers, and the slow, obvious, obscene movements of his fist.

"Let me "

"Eighth question."

"Are you straight?"

Daz-paused.

Stefan did, too. He didn't know where it had come from. It had just-

But...was he? He was...he was fucking a-a woman. Really. He was. Breasts and cunt and wobbly thighs. He had a boyfriend, but he didn't sleep with Yannis. And he was screwing a woman. So-

"No. How could I be?"

Stefan's gaze dropped to his body again. Bruised and bloody. Bite-marked. And female. Undeniably female.

"I have sucked too much cock to be straight, and screwed too much cunt to be gay."

The crude phraseology made Stefan shiver-though with what, he wasn't sure.

"True."

It had to be. It had to be. If-if Daz was straight, then-

"What do you want?"

Stefan released his breath like he'd been punched in the stomach. He looked female. But he was he was owned by a bisexual man. So he...he could be. He could be...a man. He didn't have to remain like this for Daz.