“I can’t.”
They’d made a cage. In the bottom of the wardrobe in the master bedroom. And Stefan wanted to be obedient, and it was so much better and closer than the spare bedroom, but—but—
He felt…clingy.
He wanted to be held. Even being left on the bed when Daz had gone to the bathroom had been a little scary, and part of Stefan wanted to pull himself together, and another part simply said that of course he was clingy. He’d been f****d raw, f****d until he bled, ripped apart in his master’s arms. And it was only his master that could put that all back together.
So he wanted the cage—
—another time.
Daz squatted down beside him on the carpet, frowning.
“You’ll do as you’re told.”
“I—I can’t. Please, Sir, I can’t. Let me sleep with you.”
“You think slaves get to soil their master’s
