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The Motel Roundabout

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Stiles fiddled around with the handle of the motel room door, bashing his body’s weight up against the old splintering wood a mere couple times before he was able to successfully bust through the rust-coated hinges. It was clear that old rundown motels off the side of otherwise empty highways didn’t prioritize safety for the occasional resident.

But it didn’t necessarily matter. The Beacon Hills High cross-country team was only sticking around until the morning before getting back onto the road. Nonetheless, Stiles knew that it was more than enough time to score some fun. Being able to turn an entire motel into one’s own personal playground of naughty opportunities wasn’t a chance to let slip away.

“Well, it seems like somebody at least tried to cover up the smell of mildew with some cheap air-fresheners.” Scott grimaced, setting his overnight bag down to the ground. “And I don’t even really want to know what kind of grossness has happened in this room.”

“How about we add some of our grossness to the collection?” Stiles joked, grabbing suggestively at the crotch of Scott’s jeans with an eager squeeze.

“Is that really where your mind goes to?” Scott questioned.

 “Almost always.” Stiles laughed, taking a moment to survey the tiny motel room. “I mean, doesn’t it get you just a little bit hard thinking about all of the hot shit that might have gone down in here?”

“I doubt anything good happened here.” Scott replied, eyeing the semi-stained carpet and the tattered furniture.

“That’s fine.” Stiles breathed. “There’s just something about this place that makes me want to do bad things—dirty, loud, and unforgettable bad things.”

Scott walked over to the threshold of the door and poked his head out into the night air, looking down both sides of the outdoor walkway just to make sure that nobody was walking past. He then shut the door and walked over to the bed—sitting down atop the dusty comforter. He took off his backpack and pulled out one of his notebooks, intent of finding the list of suspects for the ritualistic sacrifices that were happening around town. And after flipping through several pages, he found the one that he wanted.

“If we’re going to spend a whole night here with nothing to do, we might as well go through our list of suspects for who’s responsible for the sacrifices.” Scott explained, thumbing at the notebook paper.

Stiles groaned out in boredom. “That’s work. Not even the fun kind of work. Like, actual…legitimate…boring work that pulls time away from what kinds of non-boring work we could get ourselves into behind Finstock’s back.”

“We’re stuck in a motel in the middle of nowhere.” Scott said. “There’s nothing else to do.”

“Well—can I at least suck your cock while you go through the list of suspects?” Stiles asked, walking over and plopping down to his knees in-between Scott’s spread thighs.

“So, you consider detective work too much work, but sucking somebody off isn’t?” Scott asked, half amused his friend’s boldness.

Stiles took a moment, as if to honestly ponder, and then nodded his head in agreement. “For your information, sucking dick is more like a hobby. Investigation is technically another hobby of mine, but I’m not necessarily in the mood for it.” Stiles paused. “Plus, don’t act like you’re not totally up for getting your dick sucked.”

Scott scoffed and set aside his notebook. He unzipped his pants, reached inside, and pulled out his cock through the opening in his boxers and jeans. Meanwhile, Stiles hummed in anticipation and wasted no time whatsoever with taking Scott’s hardness into the delicate warmth of his mouth. He didn’t want to waste any time getting Scotty off, because Scott was only one of the potential guys to fuck around with at the motel.

There had to be time for everybody.

“Okay—okay.” Scott groaned happily, picking his notebook back up. With one hand gripped onto the notebook list, he pressed his other palm onto the top of Stiles’ head to help guide the rhythm. “The first person on our list of suspects is Mr. Harris.”

Stiles grunted with frustration, momentarily pulling off of Scott’s dick. “Hmmm, I’d give him a two-out-of-ten.” He slurred, messily licking at his lips.

“What do you mean, ‘two-out-of-ten’? As in a scale of how guilty you think he is?” Scott asked.

“What? No! As in how willing I would be to fuck him.” Stiles explained, leaning back down to continue blowing Scott. “He’s a fucking asshole, so he doesn’t get to try out my asshole. That’s the way it works.”

Scott chuckled. “How about Deaton?”

“I’d give him a hard six.” Stiles said. “The whole ‘Obi-Wan’ thing he usually has going on kind of turns me on.”


“Oh…he’s a nine.” Stiles acknowledged. “He’d get a ten, if he weren’t such a fucking dick.”


“We’ve fucked before. Trust me, he’s a nine. In more ways than one.”

“Derek, then?”

“Ten-out-of-ten.” Stiles confirmed, boldly. “No question.”

Stiles snorted and then craned downward again to take Scott back into his mouth. Rapidly, he bobbed up and down—taking Scott as deep as he could into his throat. Scott’s thick, curved cock hit Stiles in the back of the throat in just the right way, making him grunt and choke out beautifully pornographic sounds into the motel room. Stiles loved it and loved it even more considering how short-circuited Scott became the longer he had his cock stuffed down somebody’s throat.

Scott tried his best to stay focused on the sacrifices and who could possibly be responsible. His trembling hand gripped harder and harder onto the notebook, bending it slightly out of shape. Scott tried to keep his sentences structured and arguments solid whilst he recounted some of the crime scenes and analyzed potential theories as to why things were happening, but the strong swipes of Stiles’ tongue kept making his lose his train of thought.

With a wheezed gasp from Scott, Stiles chirped with success as Scott’s load splattered thick and heavily into his mouth—smearing wickedly across his tongue. Stiles swallowed down everything that Scott had to give, continuing to suck at the sensitive overworked head of Scott’s cockhead for a handful of extra seconds until Scott finally had to cry out and push back against Stiles’ shoulders to stop the overstimulation.

“That—that was good.” Scott said, stuffing his spent cock back into the confines of his jeans.

“Damn right.” Stiles replied, standing up from where he was knelt down. He casually wiped at the corners of his lips with the pad of his thumb. “I’m the best that there is when it comes to sucking cock. Don’t you forget that, Scotty.”

“What are you going to do now?” Scott asked.

“First, I’m going to go grab something to eat out of the vending machine I saw near the check-in office.” Stiles said. “And then, I guess I’ll just see what other kind of shenanigans I can get up to with our classmates.”


Stiles eagerly barreled downstairs to the ground-level of the motel with the first intentions set primarily on getting something sugary to knock out the taste of Scott’s expired load. As he made his way towards the front office, he dug around in the back pocket of his pants for a couple dollars, but then stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Boyd standing in front of the vending machine. And suddenly, Stiles’ mind was completely off of getting food and onto finding out a way to get onto Boyd.

“Hungry?” Stiles asked suggestively, stepping up beside Boyd. He playfully nudged their shoulders together as the two of them stared into their own reflections on the glass of the vending machine.

“Don’t think I can’t smell that cum on your breath.” Boyd said, crossing his arms. “You’re not down here for some old, expired food from this machine. You’re down here for something else.”

Stiles clicked his tongue, unapologetically. He maneuvered himself around and slotted himself in-between the vending machine’s face and where Boyd was standing. All the while, Boyd just watched and took note of Stiles’ provocative nature. He breathed in the aroma of confidence that practically oozed off of his fellow teammate’s body, as though he bathed in it on the daily. Admittedly, it was enticing.

“So, uh—” Stiles started, flirtatiously fiddling around with the taut fabric of Boyd’s shirt. “Scott told me about what he saw back at the abandoned bank when Derek rescued you.” 

“He’s got a wild imagination.”

Stiles snickered, trailing his fingers delicately down the clothed muscle of Boyd’s broad chest and sculpted abdomen. “Ah, yeah…sure. So he was lying about Derek’s cum-filled ass hanging off of your fat cock? It doesn’t sound too far out of the realm of possibility.”

“Oh, it doesn’t?” Boyd questioned smugly, leaning his face closer to Stiles’.

“No, not really.” Stiles answered. “And if you’re up for the challenge, I want you to give me what you gave Derek.”

“Are you sure you can handle that?” Boyd asked, bringing his hand up to caress the side of Stiles’ jawline. “Look, Derek’s an alpha and even he had trouble taking the brute force of a beta werewolf’s thrust game.”

“Dude, it’s insulting that you would underestimate what a human can take.” Stiles argued playfully. “I took Derek and his thick-dicked uncle once. At the same time. One took my mouth. The other took my ass. And I’m still standing here, willfully waiting to have you take me for a little test drive.”

“I guess I’ll just have to put you to the test and see if all that big talk comes with a good bite.” Boyd said, nudging his own pelvis forward to crash suggestively into where Stiles where most certainly already hard.

Stiles took the motion as an invitation and surged forward, catching Boyd’s lips in a smoldering kiss. The two let their tongues swirl around together with reckless passion and a pure need for more stimulation. Meanwhile, their hands pawed at one another’s bodies in lewd exploration. Boyd clasped his hands at the sides of Stiles’ hips, pushing up under the fabric of Stiles’ shirt so that he could properly feel the warmth of his classmate’s skin.

Boyd was pleasantly surprised to find the kind of muscle definition that he did under Stiles’ shirt. For a seemingly scrawny guy who spent most of his time warming the benches of lacrosse games back at school, Stiles was fairly lean. Boyd especially liked the small treasure trail of soft hair that led up from where Stiles’ pants rested at his waistline and up his abdomen. Even better were the undeniably sensitive nipples that Boyd found himself nearly mindlessly pinching and tugging without end.

Damn.” Stiles groaned, halting the kiss. “I could cum right now…just with you doing that.”

“Fuck that.” Boyd said, bringing his thumb up to press against the bottom of Stiles’ wet lips. “What happened to all of that big bad talk you were just spitting a couple minutes ago before I decided to let you have a taste? Don’t tell me you’ve got a sensitive trigger.”

Stiles laughed. “I said that I ‘could’….not that I’m actually about to ruin all the fun. Don’t worry. You’ve still gotta show me what you’re packing under the hood.”

Boyd smirked, unbuckling his belt. “Now that’s about all the work I’m gonna do for you. Get on your knees and show me what else that mouth can do, besides talk a ton of shit.”

Stiles didn’t waste time. He dropped down to his knees and quickly got his hands on the button and zipper of Boyd’s jeans, making quick work for the situation. And before Stiles even had the time to think, Boyd’s thick cock fell out of the confines—already completely hard, yet struggling to hold up under its own phenomenally sinful weight. Stiles nearly passed out at the sight alone. There was a part of his soul that questioned if he really was ready to tackle what he was about to do, but Stiles refused to cloud his mind with doubt.

“You—you fucked Derek with this?” Stiles asked, gripping his fist around Boyd’s length. His fingers were just barely able to wrap completely around the girth. “—And he was still able to walk around afterwards? Are you fucking joking?”

Boyd carded his hands through Stiles’ hair. “He’s a werewolf. He heals. But you’re human, so while you’re down there sucking my cock, maybe try to think of an appropriate excuse to explain to Coach why you’re running with a limp during the cross-country competition.”

Stiles scoffed at the insinuation that he didn’t know how to handle a big dick. He wrapped his other hand around Boyd’s cock, seeing as how it was most definitely a two-hander kind of situation. Nonetheless, Stiles was more than delighted at the task before him. And whilst he remained knelt down before Derek’s beta, knees digging almost painfully into the motel’s shoddy cement path, Stiles stared up to catch Boyd’s brown eyes sparkling yellow.

With a lustful smile on his lips, Stiles leaned inward and started to take Boyd down into his mouth. He started first with a handful of seemingly timid tonguing at the leaking cockhead, and then refused to disappoint Boyd’s obvious anticipation any longer. Inch by inch, Stiles worked his throat around Boyd’s girth, taking everything that the beta had to offer, until his nose was pressed solidly into the soft hair at the hilt of Boyd’s dick.  

Tears immediately stung Stiles’ eyes. Before he could even continue on, Stiles had to take a moment to adjust to the feeling of Boyd stuffed deep in his throat. He didn’t even need to take a look in the mirror to know that his throat was lewdly bulged out. The impressed smirk on Boyd’s face was already more than enough proof.

After a brief adjustment period, Stiles began moving—slowly pulling his mouth off and back onto Boyd’s length. He refused to close his eyes or even wipe away the tears that were beginning to pour down his cheeks. Instead, he continued to stare right up into the beautifully bright yellow of Boyd’s eyes. It made things much more intimate and admittedly made Stiles’ own cock twitch where it remained crudely stuffed in the tightness of his boxers and pants.

Boyd placed both of his hands on the sides of Stiles’ head, making sure that the confident pace that Stiles had already elected to set didn’t lull or tire out. Stiles looked amazing on his knees with a big cock stuffed down his throat—lips spread open as far as they could manage and eyes glossy with tears. Boyd liked to watch the way that his cock speared in and out of Stiles’ wet mouth, watching the way that drool trailed out and slobbered down onto the cement below where the both of them remained. He loved the muffled grunts and whimpers that uncontrollably echoed deep in Stiles’ abused throat. And the fierce look of determination that sparked wildly in Stiles’ amber eyes was almost dangerous.

“Fuck—did that werewolf bite make your dick bigger or something, because this is—this is—!” Stiles grumbled messily, pulling off of Boyd’s cock. He coughed, letting the smoothness of the werewolf’s precum ease the dull burn that radiated deep in his throat.

“Come on.” Boyd snickered, patting at the side of Stiles’ cheek with the palm of his hand. “I haven’t even fucked you stupid yet and you’ve already lost the ability to form a sentence.”

“You’re—big.” Stiles managed, continuing to stroke Boyd.

“Yeah.” Boyd said, bringing Stiles’ mouth back onto his dripping cock. “I know.”

The pace kicked up without warning as Boyd became greedier with the warmth of Stiles’ mouth. Boyd kept his hands on the sides of Stiles’ face, making sure that the boy’s head remained stationary. And as Stiles found himself locked in place, unable to move, and completely lost to the power of Boyd’s direction, Boyd began to fuck rapidly into Stiles’ throat.

The sounds of wet slurps and gags from Stiles’ throat became rhythmic and certainly louder as Boyd refused to dial back the near brutal pace. In fact, Boyd could smell arousal practically boiling within Stiles’ blood. He could feel Stiles’ skin get hotter. He could feel the human’s body shaking with uncontrollable desire. It was almost as if getting a cock rammed down his throat made Stiles hornier and hornier by the minute.

Boyd reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone, quickly turning on the recording function of his camera. He aimed the camera down to where he had Stiles in-between his legs, making sure to get solid footage of the way that his cock spearing into Stiles’ throat and the way that his heavy balls slapped violently against Stiles’ chin. The tear-filled eyes, the blushed cheeks, the sweat-covered forehead, the choked off gags, and the hungry desire in Stiles’ amber eyes—Boyd got it all on camera. And Stiles performed like he was born to get fucked on tape.

Eventually, Boyd pulled out of Stiles’ throat and then bat his heavy, spit-slicked cock against where Stiles’ lips were reddened and puffy from the onslaught of Boyd’s rhythm. Stiles, however, took the moment of freedom to catch his breath and wipe up the corners of his lips to make himself less of a mess. He chin was practically covered in a slick of werewolf precum and salvia. And whilst all that could be wiped away with the sleeve of his hoodie, Stiles found it impossible to wipe away with achiness that had settled in the bone of his jaw.

“Come on now…” Stiles managed out a small laugh, completely out of breath. “Don’t tell me you’re out of stream already, Vernon.”

Boyd smiled and hooked his hands underneath Stiles’ arms, using the positioning as leverage to hoist Stiles up to stand on his own two feet. He took Stiles’ messy mouth in for another kiss, licking into Stiles’ worn mouth with enthusiasm. Stiles nearly melted into the softness of Boyd’s lips and the passionate swipes of the werewolf’s tongue.

“Goddamn.” Boyd said, pulling away. “My dick tastes good on your mouth.”

Boyd pecked against Stiles’ lips one more time to take one last taste of what he had just done to Stiles’ throat. He then grabbed onto Stiles’ clothes and hurriedly spun him around, shoving him forward into the vending machine. It was really out of common courtesy, because Stiles would most definitely need something semi-sturdy to brace himself on for what was about to be delivered to him. Stiles would be more than grateful in the end.

Slowly, Boyd hooked his fingers into the waistband of Stiles’ pants and boxers, easing them down to reveal Stiles’ backside. He made sure to keep things slow and unhurried for the moment. Boyd watched with a wide grin as the stiffer fabric of Stiles’ pants slowly curved over the roundness of Stiles’ ass. Boyd whistled out in satisfaction, giving the fair skin and particularly harsh slap with the open palm of his hand—watching the redness of the slap mark slowly fade away.

Stiles impatiently pushed his ass backwards into Boyd’s hardness, looking back over his shoulder at where Boyd was standing. Admittedly, there was just a twinge of nervousness nestled deep inside his stomach, considering how much of an honest challenge it had been to take all of Boyd down his throat. And yet, nothing was too much of a challenge when it came down to getting fucked. Stiles wasn’t about to complain. In fact, his own desire was much more of an abundantly overwhelming feeling compared to nervousness. It coursed powerfully and potently through his veins.

“I hope you weren’t planning on wrapping up.” Stiles called out, bracing himself for Boyd’s intrusion. “I meant it when I said I wanted what you gave Derek. I still want your load dripping out of my ass once we’re done and you go back up to your room for the night.”

Boyd didn’t respond. He just laughed and spat down onto his fingers, reaching down to prod teasingly at Stiles’ puckered entrance. He wanted to give Stiles a moment to collect his strength and brace himself. Boyd knew that even Stiles’ special brand of unwavering confidence would be shaken to the core at the feeling of a huge cock rammed into his inner walls. And before Stiles even got the chance to stay a word, Boyd slowly pressed the head of his cock inward.

Stiles groaned out into the darkness of the night, tightly gripping his hands at the edges of the vending machine. He kept his breathing steady and pressed his sweaty forehead into the cold glass of the machine, letting his body become quickly overwhelmed with the feeling of Boyd pressing deeper into his ass. He could feel Boyd’s intense werewolf heat instantaneously spread throughout his body, making his knees momentarily weaken.

Simultaneously, Boyd threw his head back and tightly shut his eyes. He let himself become engulfed in the unbelievable feeling of his cock sliding deeper and deeper into the available blazing heat of Stiles’ inner core. He had always wondered what it would be like to fuck Stiles—the obnoxiously loud, unyieldingly determined little freckled-faced human with a tight ass, cock-sucking lips, and dangerously innocent bright eyes.  Boyd already got a taste of what it was like to fuck the boy’s throat. He was certain that Stiles’ ass was even a grander prize.

“So you’ve fucked Derek and his uncle?” Boyd asked. He nuzzled his mouth against the back of Stiles’ neck, taking time to kiss passionately against the hot skin whilst he edged in the rest of his cock into Stiles. “And you sure as hell raced down here to fuck me with the smell of Scott’s load still on the tip of your tongue. Are you always this horny?”

“Basically, yeah.” Stiles answered breathlessly, grinding back into where he was speared open on Boyd’s thick cock. “But I have to say, there’s something I just can’t put my finger on about this damn motel. There’s something about it that has had me worked up since we pulled into the lot on the bus.”

“Is that really your excuse for your own damn need to bang out a couple orgasms?” Boyd questioned, thrusting hard into Stiles. “’The motel made me do it’?”

“Don’t tell me you can’t feel something.”

“I can feel your heartbeat throbbing against the head of my cock and I can feel you clenching down around me to keep me from pulling out.” Boyd said, continuing his thrusts. “But let me tell you something…I’m sure none of that shit has anything to do with this motel.”

Boyd huffed out, firmly grasping at the sides of Stiles’ hips. He could feel the tips of his fingers pressing deep bruises into the soft skin of Stiles’ body whilst he worked on picking up the pace of his thrusts. It wasn’t long before he was thrusting as hard as he could manage without completely tapping into his werewolf strength. Even without some extra juice, Stiles was mewling like a bitch in heat.

Stiles was hardly able to retain some form of composure as Boyd drilled into his ass. His body pitched forward with each and every thrust, knocking his lithe body into the glass and metal of the vending machine. The sounds of skin slapping against skin sounded extremely loud on account of the far that the surrounding area was entirely silent. If anybody was outside of their motel room, they would surely get an earful of something lewd, but Stiles didn’t care.

Meanwhile, Boyd watched attentively as his cock pounded in and out of Stiles’ tight hole. He was amazed at how well Stiles’ body swallowed him up without much resistance. The thickness of Stiles’ plump ass wobbled and bounced violently with each thrust and even more so each and every time Boyd decided that Stiles deserved another firm spank. Boyd also found himself mesmerized by the beautiful way that their contrasting skin tones crashed together in lust under the harsh fluorescent light of the motel’s parking lot.

“Keep going—oh god, keep fucking me.” Stiles grunted, throwing his ass back to meet Boyd’s incoming thrusts.

Boyd could barely contain his smile before he let out an unbelievably ferocious roar, leaving Stiles momentarily deafened. Without warning, Boyd turned up the heat and started to pound into Stiles’ human frame with reckless abandon. Stiles asked for it and Boyd was more than happy to deliver. Restraint was thrown entirely to the wind and Boyd squeezed out as much of his werewolf strength that he could manage.

Stiles’ mouth dropped open in an attempt to scream out in surprise, but the only sound that managed to leave his body was a barely audible dry squeal. His fingers gripped at the sides of the vending machine in a desperate attempt to brace himself, but it was hardly helpful. Even the heavy machine rocked around with the forceful hammering of the beta werewolf from behind.

Boyd watched gleefully as he hammered into Stiles’ body. He let go from where he was holding onto Stiles’ hips, figuring that there was no real point in even trying to keep Stiles sturdy. The human was already speared open on a fat cock, taking everything that he was getting, and flailing around like a cum-hungry ragdoll.

Stiles did his best to take everything that Boyd continued to deliver—mentally exhausting himself in order to keep from passing out from exertion. The pounding was ruthless, nearly beyond anything that any of Stiles’ other hookups had ever given him. Each thrust pitched his body forward, occasionally knocking his forehead into the glass of the vending machine. Stiles wanted to respond. He wanted to scream, groan, and moan, but the only sounds he could make were submissive chirps.

With a particularly sharp inhale of breath, Boyd’s rhythm faltered dramatically. As Boyd’s body shook involuntarily, he punched the length of his cock into Stiles’ body one last time with a finishing thrust. The force behind Boyd’s concluded momentum was enough to send Stiles’ debauched body into the glass of the vending machine. The glass cracked slightly, finally succumbing to the pressure of having two sex-crazed bodies humping against its surface.  

Stiles breathlessly groaned out a weak, ‘oh god’, as he felt Boyd’s cum devastate his inner walls with a flood of hot werewolf cum. It poured into him with heavy surges, searing directly against Stiles’ thoroughly abused prostate. Every inch of his human body convulsed uncontrollably whilst Boyd’s heavy load began to ooze messily out of his plugged hole—leaking down the back of his thighs and his legs. He was utterly ruined and in desperate need of a bath.

Just then, Boyd wrapped his hand around Stiles’ waist and grabbed hold of where Stiles was hard and throbbing. As he started to stroke Stiles’ cock, Boyd refused to pull out from where he was still stuffed inside of Stiles’ hole—continuing to unload weakening spurts of hot cum. Boyd knew that he couldn’t just fuck Stiles full of cum and leave him out in the middle of a parking lot without at least jerking him off.

It took barely a couple of minutes of stimulation before Stiles cried out and felt his own cock erupt in Boyd’s capable grasp. His body convulsed again, this time because of his own orgasm. The only thing that he could do was press his forehead back against the semi-cracked glass of the vending machine and stare down to where Boyd’s hand remained around his dick and where his newly spent load was dripping down the dark metal of the machine in front of him.

“Satisfied?” Boyd asked smugly, finally pulling out of Stiles’ hole and watching what seemed to be gallons of his cum immediately pour out from where Stiles was pink and splattered up with a werewolf’s load.

“If I say ‘no’, will you give me another round?” Stiles breathed, slightly chuckling.

“I’m heading back to my room to try for some sleep.” Boyd said, landing a powerful slap against Stiles’ ass cheeks. “And if you don’t want to underperform at the cross-country competition tomorrow, you’d try for it to.”

Stiles shrugged, turning around to make-out with Boyd for a closing moment. “I’ve still got enough time to get fucked out of a couple more orgasms.”

As Boyd headed back up to his room for the night, Stiles took a moment to collect his frazzled thoughts. He leaned back against the well-used vending machine under the dim lighting of the motel’s parking lot. Stiles bent down and pulled his pants back up from where they were puddled at his ankles, tugging them up and over where he was still wet and coated with Boyd’s profuse cum. He was soiled mess, but it felt like a badge of slutty honor.


Stiles casually walked back upstairs and into the motel room that he shared with Scott, chewing down on a chocolate bar that he has righteously claimed from the selection of vending machine goodies downstairs. He had worked up an immense appetite from his time at Boyd’s mercy and since there were no restaurants around, candy was an obvious choice for dinner.

Scott was laid out on his stomach on the bedsheets of the motel room bed, reading through his notebook and chewing mindlessly on the eraser of his pencil. It was somewhat interesting to know that Scott had been upstairs doing boring homework the whole time Stiles had been downstairs getting fucked three ways from Sunday. The least he could have done was tune into the sound with his werewolf ears and show some support by jerking off.

“Woah, I thought you were just going downstairs for something to eat.” Scott piped up, turning his attention to where Stiles stood at the door.

“I did.” Stiles said, waving around his half-eaten chocolate bar. “I also bumped into Boyd and got him to fuck me. And holy shit, I can’t believe I’m fucking alive. He practically split me in half. I’m going to be leaking his cum for a month.”

Jesus.” Scott breathed, seemingly repulsed at the thought.

“Oh, come on.” Stiles scoffed, chomping down on the last bit of his candy. “It’s basically your fault. You were the one who had to go and let it slip that Derek got his ass railed by Boyd. It was too enticing of a visual to keep me from not trying it out for myself.”

“Was it everything you wanted?”

Stiles reached back and squeezed at where a giant wet spot had formed on the back of his pants from Boyd’s spent load. “Well….Boyd kinda fucked me through a damn vending machine.”

“And that’s….good?”

“Damn right.” Stiles confirmed proudly. “But I’m not about to let the rest of the night go to waste.”

Stiles didn’t bother hanging around to wait for Scott to respond. More than likely, Scott would have questioned Stiles’ intentions for what he had planned for the rest of the stay in the sleazy motel of sin. But even Stiles couldn’t really say for sure. The rest of the night was completely up to fate, so as long as it involved some sort of combination of sex, cock, cum, and sweat. So Stiles wiped himself down to get rid of Boyd’s excess cum and then put his tattered clothes back on, stepping back outside.   


Stiles paced around the corridor outside of his motel room, mentally scanning through the list of potential fucks that he could get into some more late-night naughty business with. Unfortunately, there weren’t a lot of fellow cross-country classmates that he was throbbing with anticipation to fuck around with. Most of them were complete strangers who liked to pretend that they were “straight”, and despite that being kind of a turn-on, Stiles was in the mood to move down the line of Derek’s betas.

Aching for new stimulation, Stiles quickly made his way a couple doors down to where he knew Isaac was put up for the night. As he rapidly knocked on the door, his mind wandered back to the memory of that time back in the locker room with Danny, Derek, Isaac, and a very reluctant Scotty. Stiles had taken Isaac then, but only for a brief moment in a double penetration stunt that had left Stiles sore for days afterwards. Stiles wanted to explore Isaac in a one-on-one kind of way.

Isaac opened the motel room door with an inquisitive look spread across his face. “Are you looking for something?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Stiles said, eyeing the way that Isaac’s blue eyes dazzled in the shitty fluorescent of the motel’s lights. “I’m kind of looking for a nice fuck and your dick happened to come to mind.”

“Are you offering to put out?” Isaac questioned.

“What?” Stiles gasped sarcastically, shuffling past Isaac into the seclusion of the motel room. “What kind of guy do you think that I am?”

It didn’t take long for sparks to fly. In fact, they didn’t much fly. But rather, jet off into the confines of the motel room—burning streaks of passion into the filthy wallpaper that soured the walls. Stiles leapt forward, shoving Isaac back against the closed door. Their mouths found each other’s quickly, without preparation and without calculated thought. That was the best kind of way to go about things. The wildness was hotter.

“You fucking reek of Boyd.” Isaac noted in-between breaths. “What the hell did you let him do to you?”

Stiles snickered, biting marks into Isaac’s neck. “He hosed me down.”

Isaac clumsily led Stiles over to the edge of the room’s available bed, shoving him backwards to topple onto the mattress. He made quick work of ridding the human of his pants and boxers, which were noticeably dingy from whatever disastrously sticky mess Stiles had gotten himself into with Boyd. Isaac didn’t really need any of the intricate details, because the smell of Stiles’ arousal was powerful enough to blow the roof off of the motel.

Boyd had his turn. Now Isaac wanted his.

As the pants and boxers were carelessly tossed down to the ground, Isaac watched the slutty way in which Stiles’ hairy thighs and toned legs fell open. The sight alone was enough to entice Isaac’s beta senses. His mouth fell open and salivated with desire. Isaac could very easily see where Stiles was still leaking profusely with what Boyd had unapologetically deposited. It made him momentarily pause to ponder as to whether or not Stiles would be able to take more. But for a human, Stiles was strong and way more than willing than others. Not only that, Stiles still looked incredibly tight and flushed pink—ready for more.

Isaac took his positioning down at the bottom edge of the bed, slotted in-between where Stiles’ legs were spread open. And before Stiles could even think to spark up more conversation, Isaac dove downward and speared his tongue into where the human was flushed hot with anticipation and still dripping lewdly with another beta’s hot load. He thrashed his tongue inside of Stiles, humming in satisfaction to the sound of moans that whimpered out of Stiles’ mouth in response.

Stiles moaned, groaned, and bit back snickered laughs of mindless disbelief whilst he writhed around atop the scratchy motel bedspread. He reached down between his spread legs and hooked his slender fingers into the soft curls of Isaac’s blond hair—establishing a firm grip of guidance. It wasn’t as though Isaac didn’t already know what to do, but Stiles couldn’t bear to just lie back. He tugged at Isaac’s hair like he was pulling on reins, encouraging the beta to keep his rhythm and voracity.

Technically, Isaac was the third fuck of the night and it was obvious that the beta was putting in the effort to be a more than memorable fuck. Scott had been the timid one, kept on the fence about what he really wanted and what he wanted to do. Boyd had been much more confident, right to the point, and unafraid to leave a lasting mark of what he conquered. And then there was Isaac…and well, the night was still young and it was obvious that Isaac wanted to take advantage of that.

Isaac ferociously growled out, rattling the motel room with sound as he unintentionally wolfed out. He pulled away from Stiles’ hole and looked up into the human’s smoldering hazel eyes, shooting a fanged grin in Stiles’ immediate direction. Meanwhile, Stiles grazed his fingers from where they had been locked onto Isaac’s hair, down Isaac’s face, letting his hand softly cradle the beta’s face, which had become overgrown with wolfed-out facial hair.

Stiles shushed Isaac with a loving coo to his voice, thumbing at Isaac’s fanged mouth. “Keep it down, wolfie. You’re gonna make Scotty dash in here thinking I’m getting mauled by some wild animal.”

“Shut up.” Isaac snorted. “He’s probably jerking himself dry to the pretty sounds you make when my tongue hits your hole.”

“Maybe—” Stiles replied, securing one of his hands back to Isaac’s hair. “—so get back to making me make them.”

Stiles was lost to twenty more minutes of bliss. The blaze of Isaac’s tongue working itself inside of his body with vicious lashes was some of the best stimulation Stiles had ever felt. His limbs tingled with energy and there was a pit of heat radiating deep inside his gut—right where he wanted to feel Isaac’s cock spear deep into him.

It was obvious that Isaac could continue on with the rimjob into the unforeseeable future. Isaac clearly loved the taste of Stiles overworked body, especially when it was mixed with Boyd’s flavor. And it was clear that Isaac loved training up his unmistakable skill with eating somebody out. But Stiles wanted so much more. Isaac’s tongue could only reach so far, and despite how amazing it felt to bend to the mercy of the beta’s wicked tongue, Stiles was left wanting something to touch him deeper. He wanted Isaac to touch him where Boyd had done so—so efficiently, so passionately, and so unforgivingly.

“Come on, Blondie.” Stiles joked, tugging Isaac back up to look at him. “You’ve won a shot at the big prize of the night.”

Isaac slapped the open palms of his hands onto the meat of Stiles’ thighs, playfully. He popped up from where he had been knelt down and crawled onto the mattress, letting himself settle atop Stiles’ splayed naked body. Their mouths connected fantastically whilst they hungrily chased each other’s tastes, allowing their tongues to momentarily play as they let their energy buffer for the lewd acts ahead.

Stiles’ fingers hooked underneath the hem of Isaac’s t-shirt, pulling it up and over the wolfed-out beta’s head and tossing it down to the dingy carpet of the room. The two kissed again—once, twice, and for a third time, before Isaac lifted himself up from where he was laid atop Stiles’ body. Isaac swung around, kicking his feet off the edge of the mattress, and then removed his pants and boxers until his hard cock was free to dribble precum down his shaft instead of pooling messily in the crotch of his boxers.

Isaac eagerly positioned himself in-between Stiles’ legs—slightly canting the human’s lower half up. He spat down onto a couple of his fingers and then reached down, pressing them into Stiles’ gushing wet heat. It wasn’t like Stiles needed to be stretched out. He had already gotten that fill from Boyd downstairs in the parking lot and from Isaac’s lengthy tongue job. The boy was incredibly wet with Isaac’s saliva. But that was all beyond the point. Isaac wanted to play. He wasn’t impatient. He wanted to chisel away Stiles’ sanity bit-by-bit, fucking as many orgasms out of Stiles’ body that he could manage. 

Stiles melted into the languid pumps of Isaac’s digits. They were long and piercing, but just as skilled as the beta’s tongue. Isaac was fearless in his plan to take Stiles apart. With the plan set into motion, Stiles was under his power and unable to do anything other than cry out and writhe around in a desperate attempt to escape the looming threat of an orgasm.

But Isaac gave chase with his precision, madly pushing Stiles towards an inevitable orgasm. Isaac hooked his intruding fingers with each pump, making sure that they were curved enough to press directly into Stiles’ abused prostate. He watched sparks shimmer in the teary brightness of Stiles’ eyes—pupils dilated with overworked bliss. The sight of Stiles unraveling under his touch added fuel to Isaac’s encouragement. So he kept at it, just as strong and proud as he had been during the rimjob.

As Isaac’s fingers repeatedly pumped their way into the bundled pleasure center of Stiles’ body, Stiles tried his best to keep control, but it quickly proved to be an unwinnable fight. He writhed and cried out, flailing around whilst desperately gripping his own hands into the mattress comforter and onto wherever Stiles could reach on Isaac’s body. But the fingerfucking continued and it wasn’t like Stiles wanted it to stop. It felt so good and the stimulation was so overwhelming, it filled Stiles’ brain with static.

“Isaac, don’t fucking—stop…fuc-king dammit!” Stiles babbled out frantically—body tensing up with shock as he felt Isaac’s finger push him over the edge.

Stiles convulsed with a particularly harsh orgasm, shouting out and spraying hot cum over the somewhat ridged depth of his sweaty stomach. His toes twitched involuntarily, his teeth shivered, and his eyes slammed shut. His heartbeat thumped violently in his head. All the while, Isaac’s fingers refused to stop their intrusive rhythm—pumping to the beat of the throbbing release that was dragged out of Stiles’ worn body.

Isaac breezed down and took Stiles’ lips in for a crushing kiss, swallowing down the human’s feeble and unintelligible pleas of pleasure. Isaac ravished the boy’s flushed skin—starting first with Stiles’ reddened lips, then down to suck against where he could feel Stiles’ heat pulse and pump rapidly in his neck, only to finally move down to his heaving chest. Isaac nibbled gently at Stiles’ nipples, tugging at them just enough to elicit tiny mewling gasps in response. But when he began to slowly withdraw his fingers from where they remained inserted inside Stiles’ heat, Stiles cried out angrily.

“Hey—what the fuck?” Stiles questioned, grabbing onto Isaac’s wrist to keep him still. “Don’t stop. Keep going. Do it again.”

In an instant, Isaac complied. He jolted his slicked fingers back into Stiles’ heat for the second time—punching a surprised, bellowed huff of breath out of Stiles’ breathless lungs. Stiles groaned out at the returned stimulation. He tossed his head backwards into the cushion of the mattress, refusing to relinquish his firm grasp on Isaac’s wrist, using his own wavering strength to guide the beta’s fingers into himself.

Stiles fucked himself hard with Isaac’s long fingers, staring directly into the beta’s yellow glowing eyes. There weren’t any words spoken between the two, just noises—grunts and moans. And yet, both of the two were speaking all kinds of dirty talk to one another inside of their own heads, lips occasionally quivering and pursing with intensity. Their concentration on one another refused to waver.

It didn’t take long for Stiles to cum again, much to Isaac’s delight. He snickered to himself as he felt Stiles’ exhausted body tighten and clench down around his fingers. Isaac watched Stiles’ erect cock spurt out more cum in thick globs, which blasting into the air and landed back down onto where the human’s previous load had already settled. Isaac felt compelled to slip his fingers through the sticky pearlescent coat of cum that was splattered across Stiles’ freckled stomach and chest, but he fought back against the urge in exchange for another round inside Stiles’ hole.

 “Again—let’s go again.” Isaac muttered, panting like a wolf in heat.

Isaac tugged his hand out of Stiles’ instructive grasp, taking the power and direction back into his own. He shoved his fingers back into Stiles’ hole, chasing his hope of making Stiles cum for the third time in their combined session of sin. He pressed his fingers in harder and quicker—unapologetically setting a much more brutal pace than before. Isaac practically went mad with his desire, rapidly plunging his fingers into Stiles’ body—surging his fingertips into the boy’s prostate.

“D-d-don’t stop.” Stiles whined—voice pitchy from the vibrations of Isaac’s fingering. “Put—some of th-that werewolf juice—into it, Lahey.”

Isaac snapped his fangs together—jaw clenched in a powerful display of his own werewolf might. He quickly withdrew his two fingers from where they were rubbing against Stiles’ prostate and then swiped them through the sticky mess that was pooled atop Stiles’ torso. And before Stiles could complain about the lack of fingers inside of his ass, Isaac plunged his cum-slicked fingers back to where they had been, using the extra lubrication to move even quicker.

The squelch of the fingerfucking assault filled the space of the stuffy motel room. Mixed with the aggressive demands from Stiles and the subtle growls that rattled inside of Isaac’s throat, there was no doubt that Scott and Boyd were well aware of what explicit acts were happening. Whether or not they were both hard and jerking themselves off to the sound, remained a mystery. But regardless, it didn’t slow Isaac and Stiles. They went out there like they were starved, not bothering to care if they were being observed by an audience through thin walls. 

When Stiles came for the third time by Isaac’s hand, he nearly passed out. His mind momentarily short-circuited and his vision fluttered into blurriness. For a moment, Stiles felt lost—completely beyond himself. Outside of his mind. He could feel his body react as it twisted and contorted around in ecstasy. He could hear himself scream out. He could feel his hands and the bluntness of his fingernails reach out and claw into the meat of Isaac’s shoulders. It was almost as if he were floating above himself, watching his body spasm with another punishing orgasm.

Isaac fucked Stiles through his orgasm, twirling his fingers around into Stiles’ devastated prostate. He kept moving his fingers around—drawing them out and then plunging them back into the boy’s sticky heat. Isaac did it again and again, working through the same motions, refusing to stop until Stiles’ cock was finished spurting out its third load. When Stiles’ body finally stopped involuntarily convulsing, Isaac withdrew his fingers, and then quickly filled the boy’s empty guts with his throbbing cock.

 “Fucking, god—yes!” Stiles wailed, hands still gripped tightly into Isaac’s shoulders.

Isaac hoisted Stiles up from where he was laid out atop the bed, bringing him into the strength of his capable arms. With his large cock still speared into the human’s body, Isaac used his strength to pull Stiles off and on of his dick—feeling Stiles attempt to clench down around him with each movement. But the human was a ragdoll—limp and drained beyond belief, practically drooling in mindless bliss as Isaac jerked his weakened body around. It felt amazing. Stiles took him so well without much resistance. Isaac likened the skill to Stiles’ inherent sluttiness, as opposed to all of the prep that helped open him up.

Stiles hung off of Isaac’s fat cock. He swung his legs around Isaac’s slender waist and clasped his arms around the backside of Isaac’s neck, doing what he could to keep himself sturdy. But it didn’t do much good. Isaac fucked far too furiously. Stiles could barely catch his breath, let alone keep himself from getting jerked around like he was some lifeless, plastic sex doll. And yet, Stiles loved it. He panted and groaned into Isaac’s ear, urging the beta to move faster and fuck harder.

Isaac’s fingers had felt amazing, but Isaac’s cock felt otherworldly. Stiles couldn’t get enough. He clenched down on Isaac’s shaft—almost instinctively, but mainly because he didn’t want it to end. Stiles didn’t want to feel empty again. He didn’t want to go back to his motel room and go to sleep like he was supposed to do…not when he could keep riding and sucking and letting his friends touch him in all kinds of obscene places.

“Take it.” Isaac purred into the nape of Stiles’ neck, kissing at the sweaty skin. “Oh god—take all of it, Sti.”

At once, Isaac creamed Stiles—blowing his huge load into the boy’s overworked hole. The heavy flow of thick seed quickly filled Stiles to the brim, eventually sputtering out from where Stiles’ rim clenched down around Isaac’s pulsating cock. The hot cum dripped down from where the human and beta remained connected, splattering down against the motel’s already stained carpet. And for a moment they just froze in place—Stiles cradled in Isaac’s strong arms, surrounded by heat, and a hose of hot cum gushing down to the ground.

Eventually, Isaac dropped Stiles back down onto the mattress. He pulled his spent cock out of Stiles’ wet hole, snickering to himself at the sound and unmistakable outpour of fresh cum that oozed out onto the bedspread. Patting Stiles triumphantly on the shoulder, Isaac took a seat next to Stiles on the edge of the bed. They sat there for a moment in silence—just basking in what they had just done, coming down from their highs, allowing themselves to catch their breaths.

“I’m going to pass the fuck out on the track tomorrow during the competition.” Stiles started, easing himself up from the messy bedspread. “But hey—maybe I’ll knock the competition unconscious with the smell of all this cum.”

“Just load up on coffee or something.” Isaac ran his hands through his own sweat-matted hair. “Do you want some kind of enticement? Want me to promise you another fuck if you don’t totally embarrass our school?”

Stiles laughed, grabbing a clean towel from the bathroom. He rubbed the crusty, over-washed towel against his body—scooping up as much loose cum as he could manage. “If we win, we celebrate with a fuck. If we lose, we cheer ourselves up with a fuck. It’s a win-win.”

Isaac leaned back on his hands, casually watching Stiles clean himself up as best he could manage. Stiles wiped down the cum that had pooled on his own torso from all of the orgasms that had gotten fingerfucked out of him. When that was done, he wiped down the backs of his hairy thighs and ass, where Isaac’s deposit continued to ooze out in thick rivulets. It was a shitty cleaning job, but Stiles wasn’t making it a perfect clean up. He planned to take a shower once he got back to his room, but he needed to get dried enough to slip back on his clothes.

“Well, I’m gonna hit the sack.” Isaac said, standing up from the bed. He pulled Stiles in for another kiss and then slapped his ass tenderly with a snort. “—and fuck, give that hole a rest, dude.”


It was time for bed. That was the plan. It was late—way, way too late to get some genuine restful sleep in time for the morning cross-country competition. But getting some sleep would be better than getting no sleep whatsoever. And yet, the moment Stiles stepped foot outside of Isaac’s motel room, he felt his energy suddenly replenished. It was as if drowsiness and exhaustion no longer existed within the universe.

Stiles felt worked up, in fact. He felt hot underneath his skin. There was a stirring buzz deep inside of his stomach, a twitch of interest tugging at the foreskin of his cock, achiness inside of his bones, wetness at the rim of puckered cum-soaked hole, and an unstoppable tingle at the tip of his salivating tongue. Stiles swore that he could feel something pulsing around him from the motel, injecting itself directly into his body. It was like some kind of power, an influence—maybe? But whatever it was, it made Stiles hungry for more of what he had gotten from Scott, Boyd, and Isaac.

Outside of his shared room with Scott, Stiles reached for the doorknob—pulling his own hand back before he could decide to open it. He sighed, swiveling around to beam out to the night sky and the parking lot below. He ran his hands through his messy hair and bit at his fingernails, caught up in deliberation as to whether or not he should get his ass to sleep or get his ass into somebody else’s motel room for just a couple minutes, an hour at most.

Maybe just a cock….maybe two. Stiles rationalized with himself, pacing around in the chill air of the night. He eventually made up his decision, though it wasn’t a difficult one to make. He still needed more. He felt satisfied from what he had gotten from the other werewolves, but he wanted more, and he’d get himself more. So he marched down to the motel room at the end of the outdoor hallway—giving a few simple knocks at the door.

Danny opened up the door, somewhat surprised to see Stiles standing there so patiently. The first thing that Stiles noticed was that Danny was completely naked. His tanned skin glowed under the intense rays of the moonlight. Not only that, but Danny wasn’t just naked, he was hard as a rock—with messy hair and shiny lips. Danny didn’t appear to be torn from slumber. If anything, he looked bright and aware, despite the late hour of the night.

“Hey.” Danny said.

“Hey—did you know I was coming over or something?” Stiles asked charmingly, nodding down to where he could see Danny’s cock jutting out towards him.

Danny snickered, leaning against the threshold of the motel room door. “It’s late as hell, dude. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“I mean—shouldn’t you be asleep? You’re competing tomorrow too.”

“I’m the fastest one on our team. Don’t worry; I’ve got this shit covered—”

“Hey—he was busy sucking my fucking cock, you dickwad!” A disgruntled, immediately recognizable voice called out from somewhere else inside of the dimly lit motel room. “How about you go slob on your butt-buddy McCall’s knob, Stilinski?”

Danny rolled his eyes, ducking his head in shame. Although, it was obvious that he wasn’t genuinely annoyed or embarrassed. After all, the fiery arrogance of Jackson Whittemore was part of his preppy jock charm. Still—Jackson’s interjection was the perfect opportunity to shift things towards what Stiles was cruising to find. So instead of heading back to his own room for the night, he clicked his tongue and shoved past where Danny was standing—tapping Danny supportively on the shoulder.

Stiles came to stand in front of the motel bed, where Jackson was propped back against the bed’s headboard with this arms strongly planted behind his head. He was just as naked as Danny, but the ridges of his abs were even more defined than they normally were—heavily shadowed from the room’s surrounding dimness. Meanwhile, Jackson’s dick was standing at attention—thick and cut, occasionally twitching towards where it remained pointed towards the ceiling.

Of course, it wasn’t surprising that Danny and Jackson were up so late, taking advantage of sharing the same motel room for the night. Stiles had caught the two best friends fucking themselves brainless many times in the locker room showers after lacrosse games whenever Beacon Hills High scored the win, but he had never gotten to join in on their collective celebratory fun because Jackson was a greedy asshole who liked to show off, but didn’t typically like to share.

“I’ve already slobbed on Scott’s knob tonight. Let me slob on yours.” Stiles said, gesturing down to Jackson’s cock. He turned back towards where Danny was standing by the front door and then gestured over to him, as well. “—and yours too, Danny-boy.”

Jackson’s thick eyebrows furrowed in surprised confusion. He straightened his posture, pressing his back straight against the headboard, and then crossed his arms. “Why the hell would I let you anywhere near my cock?”

 “Come on, Jacks.” Danny shut the motel room and walked over towards the bed, dipping the mattress down as he settled himself on it—next to where Jackson was sitting. “He’s good at it.”

“He’s sucked you off before?” Jackson questioned—somewhat frustrated, yet somewhat aroused at the mental image that it presented. “When did this happen?”

 “Yeah, he’s sucked me off. I fucked his ass, too.” Danny admitted proudly, looking over to where Stiles was grinning ear-to-ear as though he had just been given the biggest compliment. “He basically fucked four of us at the same time—Me, Scott, Isaac, and this dude named ‘Derek’….I could’ve sworn I told you this before.”

Jackson’s eyes widened with surprise, but quickly settled with a glimmer of interest. He looked up and down where Stiles stood at the foot of the bed, picking up the heavy scent of cum that was soaked into the boy’s skin from the previous escapades that he had gotten himself earlier in the night. Fine—maybe cocksucking was Stiles’ gift. He talked a lot, way more than what was tolerable according to Jackson. So maybe getting some cocks shoved down his throat would be a way to put Stiles to good use.

“You’re lucky I’m horny, Stilinski.” Jackson commented, putting his hands back to where they had been previously placed behind his head in a relaxed manner. Danny followed suit. “I don’t just let anybody suck my cock, so be thankful I’m a generous person.”

“—and curious.” Danny added. “—he totally wants to take that pretty mouth of yours for a spin.”

A tint of blush blew across Jackson’s freckled face for a moment as he looked over to Danny, but Danny just shot back a quick smile—seemingly impressed with himself for being able to embarrass Jackson. Eventually, Jackson looked back over to where Stiles was standing around expectantly. He wrapped his own hand around his throbbing cock and enticingly waved it around, showing off his girth in order to fish around for a good reaction from Stiles.

Stiles tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it away. He ran his fingers down his torso, through the hair of his treasure trail, feeling the distinct stickiness that had remained from all of the cum that Isaac had fingerfucked out of him. Whilst Jackson and Danny watched from where they laid on the bed, Stiles undid his pants. He shucked them down to the ground, along with his boxers—already hard and dripping fat pearls of pre-cum.

The mattress dipped slightly at the bottom edge when Stiles knelt down onto it and crawled on top, tiger-crawling his way up to where he could actually get his mouth properly leveled with Jackson and Danny’s hardened cocks. He took Danny into one of his hand’s first, leaning forward to take the eager goalie into the drooling heat of his mouth. But he was almost instantly interrupted by Jackson, who sipped his fingers into Stiles’ soft hair, and tugged him away from Danny.

“Hey, I’m the generous one, Stilinski.” Jackson said, tugging Stiles’ mouth down towards his cock. “Show me you appreciate it first.”

Stiles sighed, laughing to himself about how eager Jackson really was, all while trying to maintain his rough and tough arrogant exterior. He wrapped his fingers around Jackson’s cock, letting the beta’s heat scorch and pulsate rapidly against the palm of his hand. Stiles gave Jackson a few strokes, thumbing gently at the leaking slit of the jock’s dick. Stiles clearly had the power in the situation, despite whatever Jackson wanted to believe. And deep down, it was clear that Jackson knew he was at Stiles’ mercy for the moment.

“Okay, Jacks…before I get started, I gotta ask you something. It’s serious, I swear.” Stiles said, giving Jackson a few more languid strokes.


“Are you sure you need me to get you off—?” Stiles drew his thumb into his mouth, savoring the saltiness of Jackson’s pre-cum. “—cause, I mean—the whole ‘cocky jock-itude’ you’re batting around with seems like it’s kinda doing a good enough job for you already.”

“Oh, go back to your own room and fuck yourself, Sti—mmhrumf.” Jackson groaned, losing his train of thought to the feeling of Stiles deciding to take the fat head of Jackson’s cock into his mouth.

Jackson eased into the feeling of Stiles’ tongue wrapping around his cock. He slipped his fingers into the human’s hair, carefully guiding Stiles’ movement. Although, he applied barely any instructive pressure, allowing for Stiles to take his own liberties in regards to the speed and technique. It didn’t necessarily bother Jackson, because Stiles obviously knew what he was doing. He was undoubtedly skilled, much to his surprise. Jackson hadn’t truly believed Danny when he vouched for his cocksucking talents. 

Stiles smirked the best that he could whilst he started to suck Jackson off, satisfied with himself for being able to literally stop Jackson mid-threat with a simple swipe of the tongue. He kept the weight of Jackson’s cock in his mouth, enthusiastically lapping around the beta’s throbbing shaft and leaking head. He kept the bobbing motion to a minimum, occasionally deepthroating Jackson’s dick and holding it inside of his throat for a moment. Stiles hummed with snorted laughter every time he did it, finding the sound of Jackson quickly sucking in a breath of air to be funny.

Occasionally, Stiles his mouth off of Jackson’s cock, spitting down onto the shaft and giving it a few strokes to vary up the sensation. As he jerked Jackson’s slicked up cock, Stiles bent down even further to devote some time and attention to the stud’s balls. The response from Jackson was a resounding moan and demand for more. Naturally, Stiles obliged—drawing immense pleasure from Jackson’s own satisfaction.

Stiles pulled his mouth away from where they were sucking at Jackson’s balls, smiling up to where Jackson was red in the face, completely entranced by the feeling of getting his cock sucked. Stiles then turned his attention back over to where he had originally tried to focus his attention, taking the head of Danny’s cock into his mouth. All the while, Stiles kept both of his hands around each of the two’s sizable girths, making sure that neither of the two were ever left without some kind of stimulation.

“See, I told you he was good at this.” Danny slurred, looking over to where Jackson sat beside him. “I think he’s a natural.”

“Either that or he’s practiced a shitload.” Jackson suggested. “Which one is it, Stilinski?

“Both.” Stiles mumbled, momentarily pulling off of Danny’s dick.

“Yeah, I fucking bet.” Jackson pinched at his own nipples, easily slipping under the feeling of Stiles’ hand gripped firmly around his dick. “I bet McCall’s taken that mouth for a few lessons, huh? After lacrosse practice, maybe? All those times you couldn’t get in with Danny and me, Scott let you fool around with his cock, huh?”

Stiles laughed, pulling off of Danny for the second time. “You’ve got it so wrong, dude.”

“How’s that?”

“Scott’s a puppy.” Stiles admitted, switching his focus back over to Jackson’s cock. “He’s basically still getting used to the fact that I’ll suck cock and ride dick all day long if I’m in the mood for it. And he’s definitely still getting used to letting his best friend suck him off.”

“That’s a shame.” Jackson scoffed, gripping the back of Stiles’ head. This time, he was determined to control Stiles’ cocksucking. “He still hasn’t learned to take advantage of the shit that drops into his lap—literally.”

Jackson shoved Stiles down onto his cock, shoving in as much of his length as he could manage until he heard the human choke with a wet gargle. He pulled Stiles off for a moment, letting Stiles catch his breath, but then took the boy back down with swiftness. He set the pace quicker, drinking in the delicious sounds of Stiles’ throat struggling to take such a length down his throat. But the heat of Stiles’ throat was addictive, Jackson could barely contain himself.

“Don’t fucking break him, Jacks.” Danny cried out, tugging Stiles into his lap. “—I still want my turn.”

“Fucking fine, but don’t fuck out all of his energy. I’m going to be pissed if he ends up passing out or some shit before he gets to make me blow.”

Danny was even rougher and his cock was bigger than Jackson’s, but by only an inch and a half. He clasped one of his hands on the back of Stiles’ neck, bringing the boy over to where his shiny, spit-slicked cock stood prominently—waiting for a nice throat to close around it. Danny leveled Stiles’ precious lips above the head of his cock and then thrust his hips upward, taking Stiles by surprise. But Stiles adjusted just as quickly as he could manage, swallowing down Danny’s length.

“That’s right—take that cock.” Danny cooed. “Come on, you’ve down this before. Don’t bitch out on us now, dude. We’ve both got some nice loads to feed you, but only if you work for it.”

Stiles cooed in acknowledgement around where Danny was stuffed down his throat. He kicked up the energy and started to furiously bob his head up and down off of Danny’s cock—gagging and coughing, sometimes chuffing out a delirious, snorted laugh before he was hooked back down. Tears stung his eyes and poured down his flushed cheeks, but none of that deterred Stiles from continuing on. Danny tasted great, so did Jackson. And both of them had big loads to spurt—Stiles was sure of it.

Losing track of time became something easy to do. Jackson and Danny passed Stiles’ mouth between the two of them for what felt like hours and hours, despite the fact that it was only a good twenty minutes or so. Stiles’ voice was scratchy and hoarse whenever he spoke and answered the dirty questions that were asked of him. He never once let his enthusiasm waver. Stiles’ mouth stayed wet and sloppy, actually dripping with saliva and pre-cum. Meanwhile, Stiles’ cupid-bowed lips were red and plump from all of the abuse.

It was obvious that Jackson was going to be the one to cum first. He couldn’t really hide it. Even as Stiles was getting his throat dominated by Danny’s massive length, Stiles took immediate notice to how antsy Jackson had become. He could hear Jackson’s breathing kick up and become just a tad bit raspier than it had been for the previous thirty minutes. Not only that, but Jackson’s body hair was standing up on edge, his skin broke out in a muggy sweat, and he was desperately trying to hide his elongated wolf claws underneath the blankets—out of Danny’s field of vision.  

 “I—I’m gonna—fuck, bring your mouth over here, Stilinski.” Jackson managed, pawing helplessly at Stiles’ sweaty hair.

Stiles pulled himself off from where he was deepthroating Danny with a lewd pop, following Jackson’s wailed demands. He held his mouth open and let the weight of Jackson’s bare cock rest at the tip of his tongue. At the same time, Jackson took his own cock into his hand and hurriedly jerked himself off—huffing and puffing, staring down to where Stiles was patiently waiting in his lap to swallow his load.

With a shout, Jackson blew his load—spewing hot onto Stiles’ tongue, surging thick pulses of seed. Some of the spurts were so powerful that they overshot Stiles’ open mouth and creamed the boy’s upper lip and nose. Jackson just watched in bewilderment, unable to pull his eyes away from where his unyielding load quickly filled Stiles’ mouth, nearly overflowing. But then as Jackson’s orgasm waned, Stiles closed his mouth and gulped down everything that Jackson had given.

“Fuck yeah.” Jackson groaned, combing his hand through Stiles’ hair. “Swallow everything.”

“Come here, Stiles—you still have a load to take.” Danny said, pulling Stiles back over to his cock.

Danny cupped both of his hands at the sides of Stiles’ head, shoving his fat cock back down Stiles’ throat. Without mercy, Danny began to skullfuck the boy—even going as far as to add his own thrusts into the movement. Each time that he pulled Stiles down onto his cock, Danny stuffed it down to the hilt—letting the boy’s cum-covered button nose root itself in the soft curls of hair at Danny’s crotch. He repeatedly pulled Stiles off and on of his dick, never once letting his rhythm falter—not even letting Stiles guess as to when the load was coming.

Without warning, Stiles felt heat blast harshly against the back of his throat. His mouth sputtered around where his lips were wrapped around Danny’s girth. And as Danny held his head in place, Stiles worked his throat and swallowed down the pumps of fresh cum that shot down his throat as they arrived in rhythmic bursts—happily humming at the taste and heat that oozed heavily down his tired throat.

Even when Danny finished blowing his load, Stiles kept the goalie cock inside of his mouth, sucking down the still-erect rod. Stiles suckled at the sensitive head of Danny’s cock, grinding his own hardness down into the mattress that he was laid down on. Stiles kept his eyes closed and let himself get lost to the feeling of Danny inside of his mouth—chasing the waning taste of cum and wrapping his tongue around Danny’s heat.

Stiles eventually ground his dick harder into the mattress below—once, twice, three times more, slowly and mindlessly, until he felt a powerful shock pierce through his own exhausted body. He blew his own load, feeling it spurt wildly underneath where his stomach and crotch were pressed down into the shitty mattress bedspread. He pulled his mouth off of Danny’s dick and let his face fall into Danny’s inner thigh—panting out against the boy’s skin as he let his orgasm wash over him completely. 

“Well, shit.” Jackson said, wiping sweat away from his upper brow. “Did you really have to jizz-up our bed, Stilinski?”

“Oh fuck off.” Stiles said breathless, void of any real energy.

After a few minute of collecting his energy and tiredly bickering with Jackson, Stiles finally sat up from where he was laid out. He leaned forward and took a particularly sloppy kiss from Danny, then turned to Jackson and punched him in the shoulder—thanking the both of them for giving his throat a much needed work out. He scooted off the edge of the bed and clothed his bottom half, but decided to use his shirt as a rag to wipe down his spent cum that had stained across the bed.

“So how about that, fucker?” Stiles jeered jokingly, thrusting his hips in the air in Jackson’s direction. “Maybe now you’ll let me join you two in the showers after lacrosse wins.”

Jackson scoffed, thumbing at where a tiny smile began to tug at the corner of his lips. “Don’t get your hopes up, cocksucker…we’ll see.”


When Stiles finally returned to his own room, he slammed his weight into the door—forcing the rusted hinges to actually move. The door flew open and Stiles fell down to the ground with a loud groan of discomfort. Once he reclaimed a standing position, he shut the door and looked over to where Scott was sitting in his bed—obviously naked, with the bedsheets pulled over where he was hard, in order to retain some modesty.

“Whatcha doing in here, Scotty?” Stiles asked, already knowing the answer. He bit down on his bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the laugh that started to tickle his throat.

Scott looked mortified, babbling and stuttering over his own words. “I was just—you were—holy fuck, I heard everything. You didn’t stop. You just kept going.”

“I figured you might have been listening.” Stiles snorted, shrugging his shoulders as he made his way to the bathroom to run himself a bath. “Don’t blame me, though. I’m pretty sure the motel made me do it.”