He wasn’t allowed to touch his master’s c**k again for the rest of the day.
He was made to sit and watch the porn collection from beginning to end, aching and miserable in the belt—but Stefan determinedly fisted his hands into the rug and didn’t touch himself, despite the urge. He would be tested. And he would pass. He didn’t know why it was so important, but it was.
He was made to watch as his master had s*x with his boyfriend, slow and loving on the sofa, his master’s thrusts so gentle and idle that they made Stefan hurt with the need to touch them both. That old fantasy, of his master then turning to him and beating him, hurting him, f*****g him in dark and sordid ways to keep the vile acts away from this unsullied partner, rose up again, and Stefan could only whimper when his master’
