Sex in C Major

Wanted.

And he had things he didn't want. Things he couldn't be asked for.

Like

"True."

"Wrong."

"Wha-"

"It was hanging, not drowning. Sorry. But you look like you can't take one more minute."

"Please. P-please, I need "

"My turn."

"Please "

And then hands were pulling. His pyjama bottoms were jerked down. His briefs followed. The dressing gown was pulled fully open. Weight settled. Bare skin. A leaking dick pressed against his desperate entrance. "Please please "

Lips against his ear.

"Now I'm going to say ten statements. About you. And you're going to tell me, truthfully, without thinking about it, if I'm right."

"Y-yes, yes, yes Sir..."

"Number one. You enjoy it by the front door..."

Stefan sobbed as the head was pushed slowly, achingly slowly, inside.

"Yes."

"...But you don't think you should like it."

Stefan closed his eyes.

"I shouldn't. It makes-"

"Yes or no answers will do fine."

The cock pushed further. Stefan felt his own body open up around it, like lips for a blowjob. He clenched, but his spread legs wouldn't allow for much. It wasn't enough. It wasn't-

"Move. Please, Sir, move, fuck me, fuck me"

"Number two. You enjoy being used."

Stefan's chest hitched. "Yes."

Slowly too slowly, too shallow, too gentle-Daz withdrew and began to thrust. Began to fuck in idle strokes. And Stefan sobbed, wanting more, harder, faster.

"Number three. You feel good after you've had sex, but only if it's rough and degrading and you play a submissive role."

The words slithered over his ears, filthy and wrong and true.

"Yes."

"Number four. You don't like this, because it's not hard and punishing enough."

Stefan whimpered as the pace slowed even more, until his body barely moved with Daz's thrusts, and whispered his agreement.

"Number five, you think this is all wrong, but you enjoy every minute of it."

"Yes."

"Number six, you're still tearing yourself up inside over whether it's okay to like having your tits chewed and your cunt fucked, and whether it makes you any less of a man."

The tears got worse. Stefan could barely feel the fuck over the raw, hot, breaking feeling in his chest.

"Number seven, you keep denying yourself the things you want because you're worried that other people will think you're sick."

"Not others. I am "

"Number eight. You're so hung up on whether it's socially acceptable to be a transgender man who likes getting fucked that you only relax when it happens, and punish yourself for it afterwards."

"I-I don't-"

"Number nine. You want to be able to let go and let it all happen, but you're scared of what it makes you if you do."

"P-ple-"

Lips brushed his ear. Hands gripped his hips.

"Number ten. You want. To be. Owned."

Stefan's breath froze.

He wanted it.

Every last thing was true. He wanted to be this. Wanted to be what Daz was offering. Wanted all of it. But couldn't. Because if he did-because if he was...

"Yes."

The cock was pulled out. For a moment, there was dizzy emptiness. Hot hands on empty hips. A sense of floating, barely anchored, cold and alone and about to spin apart and dissolve.

The thrust back inside was powerful. The bed rocked. The headboard banged painfully against his head. And then he was being fucked, pounded, ripped. A living Fleshlight. A sheath for his master's cock.

And Stefan loved it. Loved every last, wrong, pathetic minute of it. And cried, sobbing like a child, when the heat flooded him, and it all came to an end.

Because it had to end.

And it had to end now. 30

Stefan had to leave.

He couldn't be this. Couldn't be a cock slut. Couldn't be a sex slave with holes made for his master's dick. Couldn't serve and crawl on the floor and be fucked in the mud. Couldn't be passed around to other men and most of all, could not, should not, would not, enjoy it. Men did not enjoy this. Men could not enjoy this. Stefan could not enjoy this.

It had to stop.

It all had to stop.

He faked it long enough for Daz to release him from the bed and let him shower. He cried under the roar of the water, hearing Daz in the kitchen downstairs and knowing it would be the last time. That it had to be the last time. He couldn't come back here. He would have to get rid of the special phone, so he'd lose Daz's number and all temptation to call and ask for more. He should never have come back that second time. He should have gone back to bars and dating sites. Should never have played with fire like this.