Tony grabs a canapé with his free hand and glances around.
It’s a fairly standard sort of shindig, he supposes, plopping the bite-sized parcel in his mouth and chewing absently as he takes in the atmosphere. Well-off and influential people standing together as they chat about business or economics or the latest gossip, servers flitting around the expansive space with platters of finger foods or drinks, soft music just quiet enough to be a hum in the background without interrupting conversation, the usual expansive skyline of New York’s burrows giving atmosphere to the glass walls (tinted, of course, for privacy, lest the press take video from helicopters that are already flying outside Stark Tower for a brief glimpse of the famous guests), the whole shebang. Yeah, it’s the standard shindig, though Tony has a very selective guest list.
Well, ‘standard’ is probably not the word most people would use, considering the wives and husbands of these influential and powerful people are kneeling at their respective partner’s feet or being displayed as human art from illuminated portions of the room, Tony’s own partner included in the latter number, but whatever. Semantics are boring.
Honestly, it’s not like he’s pulling something like this off just for the personal gratification he gets from seeing his pet in the dead-centre of the room – the people in attendance are people he’s known for years upon years, people he trusts and who’ve signed a veritable mountain of non-disclosure agreements and confidentiality paperwork, and they’re all powerful in the political or business realm, not to mention loaded. Sure, the press is tracking that it’s a selective group of the world’s rich and wealthy and famous in order to champion for voluntary contributions for the Howard Stark Foundation, but nothing really more than that.
The HSF was actually Stephen’s idea, about a year or so into their relationship (after a really nasty fight, subsequent angry sex, and an hour-long conversation), and Pepper had been positively gleeful at the idea of setting it up. She hadn’t even complained good-naturedly about Tony creating more work for her or anything; instead, she’d grinned the most malicious smirk and drawled, ‘I’ll take it from here and send Stephen any inputs for your approval.’
Tony’s not entirely sure which part of the HSF would be most enraging to Howard if he was still kicking: the fact that half the entire official foundation is to help abused kids gain financial and personal independence if they want, or even having resources and places to go if they need to escape whether or not they want to take legal action; the fact that the other half is for women’s rights such as financial and personal independence from abusive spouses, lobbying for sexual education and sexual resources being federally mandatory, completely free birth control and pink tax-free feminine products for anyone who applies for it, abortion resources (including legal help in states where it’s borderline illegal); the fact that an unofficial side-project (supported by private and personal donation only) is for education and legal help for and within BDSM communities; or the fact that its board members solely contain people who had spurned or defied him in the past, like old business associates and women who he’d literally taken advantage of before being thrown out like trash, unable to mount a legal defence because Howard had been powerful and rich.
Probably a nice combination of all the above, if Tony’s perfectly honest, and Tony’s eyes flicker at the man who’d started it all, breath cleanly knocked out of him for the umpteenth time that evening at the sight.
Tony and Stephen switch pretty regularly, depending on mindsets and personal needs, but for something like this (networking and schmoozing, specifically), Tony’s more suited to playing Dom than Stephen is. As such, Stephen has been delegated to the centre of the room, the prime real estate in a fancy party of debauchery in order to show him off to all, and looks so damn beautiful that it genuinely should be illegal. He’s completely naked, save for the collar and stockings and garters and lacy black knickers, though his hard prick is peeking out of the waistband and leaking copiously onto skin and sheer, silky cloth. It puts all of that pale skin on display, leaving everyone free to admire the harsh press of rope that’s wrapped around his body, a deep navy that matches the mottled bruising on his thighs and arse from a good, thorough stropping the day prior. The ropes, done up with utmost care by Tony himself before the guests had arrived, decorate his body with sharp angles and looping wraps, yanking his arms back behind him and overextending his shoulders while the rest of him hangs elegantly from the ceiling in a graceful backwards arch. There’s subtle magic and machinery supporting his suspended body to make sure Stephen’s (mostly) comfortable, of course, so the effect is able to be appreciated for a longer period of time without Tony being forced to unhook him from the ceiling and untie him. Regardless, Stephen’s face, angular and alien and visibly tortured with desperate arousal, is flushed from the exertion and the humiliating pleasure of being looked at like this by strangers nevertheless, glistening with sweat under the soft lights that illuminate his long limbs and heaving torso.
A part of Tony is horribly jealous of the eyes firmly fixed on his lover, wanting nothing more than to snarl at the people here like a fucking animal and take Stephen away for Tony’s personal viewing pleasure only, but the larger part of him fucking loves the smug, dark satisfaction in his gut and prick that all of these people with fat pockets and even fatter political pull don’t have a chance in hell getting to touch or fuck Tony’s beautiful pet. Because that’s what Stephen is tonight: Tony’s slave, his property, his fucking bitch, and no matter how many people beg and plead and offer even bigger monetary contributions to the HSF (and they have, multiple times now), the only person who gets to touch and beat and fuck Stephen Strange is Tony himself.
Tony meanders around the room, keeping one eye on his lover through security cameras and the data from Stephen’s smart collar that Tony designed (all of which he’s accessing with Extremis), and schmoozes like a champ, ignoring his own hard prick that’s dampening his casual suit trousers. It’s tempting to pull it out and give it a few good tugs – it’s not like he would be out of place, after all, as there are quite a few people of all genders in various states of undress, including a few that are toying with or fucking their submissives to an appreciative audience, and Tony’s actually slept with a good majority of the people here anyway – but he ignores the urge, saving it for later.
Tony’s fifty-one now, and Extremis or not, he still has a steadily decreasing refractory period, which is an absolute pain with a fifteen-years-younger lover. If he got off now, he’d be able to schmooze even better due to a clearer head and would have enough time to recuperate before the high-dollar, munch-like party ends. It’s actually pretty solid, pun somewhat intended, and Tony smiles to himself, especially once he considers that quite a few donors would probably increase their contributions for a show. They’ve already asked.
Tony excuses himself from Megan and her submissive – who’s on his knees and eating her out with purposefully sloppy sounds as she calmly converses with Tony about the stock market despite the flush in her cheeks and the fact that she’s harshly forcing his face into her cunt and practically smothering him – and advances through the crowd towards Stephen. Those verdigris eyes are half-lidded with arousal but they’re staring straight at him, dark and intense, practically begging without words for relief.
Tony’s planning on obliging him that.
He stops in front of Stephen and simply stares at him for a long moment, taking in the strained limbs and the bruises and the indentations of his flesh from the ropes digging in, and then calls out almost pleasantly to the onlookers without taking his eyes off his, “I’m feeling pretty distracted at the moment, so I can’t be the perfect host for you all. I think I need to take care of that before I can give you the attention you deserve, don’t you think?” Stephen’s eyes go wide, and he’s so red now that Tony can’t help but bring his hand up to press the back of his fingers against the flush, feeling the heat of it radiating into his own skin. Tony absently takes in the calls and murmurs of excited approval, and adds with that same bland tone, “I’ll take suggestions for an additional donation.”
“A thousand for a good spanking on that bruised ass of his,” he hears someone call – he thinks it might be the Majority Leader of the House – and Tony grins wickedly as he drops his hands to his trousers, unbuttoning the flies and pulling out his rigid, damp prick, giving it a few harsh jerks to give Stephen a show of what he’s gonna get.
“You betcha,” Tony says, fighting to keep his voice steady and airy, and then harshly pulls at the sheer lace of Stephen’s knickers in order to deliver a hard slap to that delectably mottled arse as promised.
It cracks out loudly in the room, and he vaguely hears moaning and murmuring from various onlookers as Stephen cries out sharply, his entire body jolting in his suspended prison and his arse jiggling beautifully for all to see. Between all the bruises streaked along his skin from the previous nights’ riding crop, Stephen’s arse blooms with colour, so pretty and lovely and arousing beyond comprehension. The stares and heated conversation around him just feeds Tony’s dark, primal satisfaction, knowing that they’re watching this beautiful pet that Tony owns being taken apart by Tony’s hands, and oh it’s good, being watched like this. He’s always been an exhibitionist, and there’s no place better than in a private party and like-minded people (who’ve signed NDAs and confidentiality agreements to boot).
He massages the stinging flesh with a hum, and then asks Stephen quietly, “Tell me your safewords, baby.”
Stephen breathes out in a rush, “Nebraska to stop, drop the ball to stop, lights for a break.”
“Good pet,” Tony murmurs teasingly, and then grasps the rope that is attached to Stephen’s arms, the thick one suspending him to the ceiling, in order to control any movement, and lays it on Stephen like he’s never going to get another chance.
Stephen bucks and cries out and sobs as Tony spanks him, harder and harder and harder, along his arse and thighs, already so sensitive and painful from his strapping. His flesh is bright red now, clearly smarting, and Tony just keeps going, panting with the exertion of his forceful slaps and the attempt to keep Stephen from swinging despite the magic working to keep him stabilised, and his prick is dripping onto the floor beneath his feet, balls throbbing in tune with his racing heart. Fuck, Stephen looks so good like this, damp with sweat and flushed with heat despite the cool room, dangling helplessly from the ceiling and arched so beautifully, getting spanked mercilessly along already-sensitive skin until he’s literally weeping from it. Tears drip down his red face, neck straining against the tight collar, and Tony takes a moment to harshly massage the overheated skin of Stephen’s arse so he can use his other hand to fondle Stephen’s prick. Sure enough, it’s unbelievably hard, sticky and damp against his pretty little knickers, and Stephen actually sobs out, so loudly it echoes: “Please, Sir, please.”
Tony moans brokenly and hurriedly pulls his away from Stephen’s bruised, red arse so he can grasp the root of his prick, squeezing hard and gritting his teeth in order to stave off the need to come.
Stephen barely ever uses terms of respect like this, only when he’s really down, and Tony’s never enforced it when he’s in control because he wants to earn that pleasure instead of mandating it. In addition, he’s never, not once, heard Stephen say it with an audience (and this is certainly not their first foray into exhibitionism) – he has too much personal pride to do that in front of other people, even when he’s very blatantly in a submissive role.
To hear it now...
“Next?” he manages to call out, barely able to maintain the easy calm and trying to focus on requests instead of oh-God-Stephen-called-me-Sir-fuck-fuck-need-to-fuck-him-need-to-own-him. He dazedly hears and disregards certain suggestions and considers a few more, but then he hears a lilting, deeply amused, very familiar female voice call out, “I’ll donate a hundred grand to the Foundation if you fuck his throat and make him swallow every drop, and double it if he comes untouched.”
Tony very slowly turns his head to the smirking, ethereal redhead in the far corner of the room – who was invited (as per usual) but hastily declined (also as per usual) for “business reasons” – and replies in a rasp, “The lady has spoken and I shall oblige. Anyone wanna match?”
A fair few calls on that, totalling almost a million (nice), and he grins at Pepper before he manoeuvres his body to Stephen’s face and coos, “Open up baby, and be a good bitch for me, okay?”
Eyes glazed with aroused submission and visibly shaking with need, Stephen croaks out, “Yes Sir.”
Tony’s prick throbs, his own eyes fluttering before he is able to keep them open, and then he steps closer, one hand on his prick so he can guide it in past those full, sinful lips and thrust home.
He doesn’t bother going easy – Stephen loves to be choked and smothered, and gets off on being taken without mercy until he’s all but suffocating on prick – and Tony’s too damn close to even think about easing Stephen into it. He knows Stephen can take it, due to personal experience, so he pushes hard into that spasming throat, moaning thickly when Stephen’s throat flutters around him, pausing when his pelvis is pressed against Stephen’s face and forcing him to gag and choke, saliva dripping and foaming from his mouth in a steady stream. Tony’s hands reach until he’s twined fingers into that thick, black and white hair, pulling Stephen even closer, ever closer, groaning loudly at the feeling of that hot, wet throat spasms around him as his nose is pressed into Tony’s pubic hair. He knows Stephen can’t breathe like this, can feel through Extremis as Stephen’s vitals go haywire as he desperately tries to get oxygen despite the prick lodged down his throat, and fuck it’s so good, owning Stephen like this, knowing that Stephen is getting off on being owned like this.
He pulls out, just enough for Stephen to gasp in a wet, harsh breath, and then shoves in again, yanking Stephen onto his prick by his hair. His eyes flutter closed for a long moment, relishing in the sensations of damp, tight heat and protesting muscles, and then opens his eyes again, taking in Stephen’s beautiful, bruised, suspended body before he looks at Pepper in the far corner of the room and grins.
All bets are off after that, though he keeps one ear open for the drop of the ball Stephen. Tony begins thrusting into Stephen, over and over and over again, fucking into his throat in hard, deep rolls of his hips, barely giving Stephen the occasional breath. He can feel Stephen moaning weakly around him when his throat isn’t making the most obscene noises as it’s fucked, sloppily sucking and tonguing at Tony’s prick every time Tony pulls out, and it’s like a steady drip of need into every nerve of Tony’s body, slipping into all the cracks and lighting up every cell as if electrified. His balls are tight, aching and tingling with impending orgasm, and every time he feels them hit Stephen’s chin he groans at the sensation.
“You gonna come for me, baby?” he rasps, grinding into Stephen’s face painfully hard and tightening his grip in Stephen’s hair. He pulls out just enough for Stephen’s nasal passage to open up, just enough for Stephen to garble out a yes sir around Tony’s throbbing prick, and then he hammers back home, fucking into Stephen’s throat in short, merciless thrusts, so fucking close and desperate to empty his balls into that delicious throat, feed his bitch his come until he’s choking on it. “Good boy,” Tony praises breathlessly around his gasps and moans, “such a good little slut, taking it like the good little bitch you are. So desperate for it, aren’t you, for me to fuck you like a whore, that you’ll come without a single touch to that hard cock of yours. God, you’re so filthy Stephen, such a filthy little bitch, aren’t you? Take my fucking dick, you bitch, take it all the way down and choke on it, slut, take it—”
He hears a mangled, rough sound, sees the ropes suspending Stephen’s body jerk harshly, and Tony’s prick is positively vibrating as Stephen screams around him, wet eyes rolling into the back of his head and face purple from oxygen deprivation and the force of his orgasm, and Tony shouts out at the barrage of sensation. His balls throb and Tony rolls up to the balls of his feet as he jerks his hips wildly into Stephen’s spasming throat, come pulsing out of him in a torrent. “Swallow it, bitch, swallow every fucking drop for me, fucking take it you slut,” he croaks through the heaving breaths, and moans again when he feels Stephen’s throat open around him, that little trick Tony’s only experienced with very few lovers where liquid can just slide in, all the way down, taking it so fucking easily.
It feels like it takes forever for the pulses to stop, and he slips his prick from Stephen’s mouth when it crosses the line from good-sensitive to painful-sensitive. He smears the head of his wet, red prick against those swollen, bruised lips, checking with pleasure-dazed eyes that there’s no come on Stephen’s face to feed back inside, and is satisfied to find only thick saliva and sweat. He leans to the side a bit to look beneath Stephen’s body and grins a bit dopily at the come dripping down his stocking-covered thighs and soaking into the ropes restraining him, and then glances up at the onlookers to say cheekily, “Thank you all for contributions to the Foundation. Feel free to praise me on technique.”
He hears Stephen weakly groan with exasperation, despite the heavy satisfaction making his body limp in his suspension, and Tony simply swats him on the arse – he laughs breathlessly when Stephen jerks and makes a hoarse, strangled noise in his ravaged throat – before buttoning up his trousers with shaky hands and stretching languidly, showing off his suit-clad body in the most flattering of light.
Before he moves away, he crouches down to Stephen, wipes his face off with the handkerchief in his pocket, and then presses a thorough but gentle kiss against those swollen lips, pushing his tongue into his lover’s mouth and tasting his own flavour. Against his lips, Tony whispers, “Love you, baby.”
He feels Stephen smile as he replies in that same wrecked, destroyed rasp, “Love you too. Give Pepper a kiss for me.”
“Will do, baby, will do,” he replies, and heads away to do just that with a skip to his step.