Stefan blinked hazily at the ceiling when rough tissue, like cheap toilet paper, was rubbed against his cunt and over his c**k, scraping the sensitive skin.
“What—?”
His brain kicked into gear. The sticky carpet under his naked back. The music room. Yannis sitting at the piano, making notes in that damned folder…
“Sir?” he whispered.
Daz chuckled.
“How many?”
His training worked before his mind. “Twelve, Sir.”
“So what do you owe me?”
“Twelve, Sir.”
“Very good. Do you get to come again before you’ve repaid your debt?”
“Only if you say I can, Sir.”
A tongue rubbed, hot and wet, over his c**k, and Stefan sobbed. It hurt. Oh God, it hurt. His cunt ached. He could still feel the shudder of the toy in his thighs.
Eleven songs had played on the laptop, and he had come an exhausted te
