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ARTICLE VI: OPERATIONAL INTEGRATION & ASSET ACCESS
Section 6.7: The ‘Universal Access Provision’.
- Upon the formal ratification of this Merger and Acquisition agreement, the acquiring party (Stark Industries) hereby grants the merging entity (The User) unrestricted, unconditional, and immediate ‘Free Use rights’ to the principal representative of the subsidiary.
- This clause supersedes all previous social, professional, or temporal boundaries. Access may be exercised at any time, in any setting, without prior notice.
Tony didn’t read the fine print. Why would he? He was too busy drinking in the sight of you. A predatory, appreciative gleam in his eyes appeared as you slid the document across the mahogany desk. He signed it with a flourish and a nonchalant, devastating grin, his gaze never leaving your lips.
To him, it was just another win, another empire expanded. He had no idea he’d just become an asset.
The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the clinking of crystal. Tony was in his element, the centre of a glittering constellation of socialites and investors, looking every bit the untouchable titan. He caught your eye from across the room, offering that signature, cocky smirk that said he knew exactly how much wanted him. He had no fucking clue that you were about to collect on his debt.
As the orchestra swelled, you slipped through the crowd, weaving past a senator and a tech mogul until you reached him. Without a word of warning, you grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards a heavy velvet curtain that shielded a secluded alcove just off the main stage.
“Woah, hey, darling, the speech is in five minutes—” Tony started, his voice a playful lilt, but the words died in his throat as you pressed him back against the wall. Before he could process the sudden shift in intensity, your hands were moving with practiced, ruthless efficiency. You unbuttoned his designer slacks, the fabric sliding down his hips with a suddenness that made his breath hitch.
His eyes widened, the cocky billionaire persona fracturing into pure shock, “What are you—is this a new game? If it is, the time is a little… aggressive, don’t you think?” He tried to chuckle, to regain that effortless Stark swagger. But the sound was strangled as your hand slid inside, wrapping firmly around his cock.
Oh, lord, that was a painful dry tug.
“It’s not a game.” You whispered, leaning in so close that your lips brushed his ear. You took mild mercy on him, thumb rubbing the head to gather drops of precum, lathering it like makeshift lube onto him. Gosh, and he was already leaking at the sight of you? You’re going to have lots of fun with this one.
“It’s a contract. Section 6.7, remember?” Your voice was as sultry, dangerous velvet, as you continued, “Every merger, every acquisition, grants the partner unrestricted, immediate, and total physical access. No matter the venue. No matter the time.”
His eyes widened, the cocky glint momentarily replaced by a flash of genuine, panicked realisations. He looked down at your hand, which was already working him a rhythmic intensity, almost making his knees tremble beneath the fine fabric of his suit. “Wait! What? That-that was a sub clause! A technicality!” He hissed, his voice a frantic, hushed whisper, as he glanced toward the heavy velvet curtains separating him from the roaring crowd of socialites and investors.
“It’s a binding legal reality, Stark,” You purred, your grip tightening, your thumb grazing the sensitive tip of his cock that made his hips jerk involuntarily. “And you signed it with such a beautiful, hungry little smile.”
A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. He could hear the announcer calling his name, “Ladies and gentlemen, the man of the hour, Tony Stark!”
Tony’s breath hitched, a desperate, jagged sound he tried to mask as a cough. He gripped the edge of a side table, knuckles turning white as you increased the pace. Your hand moved with a ruthless, expert friction that pushed him dangerously close to his stupid orgasm. He was a man built on control, on being the smartest person, most composed person in the room. Yet here he was, being manhandled in the shadows, while his legacy waited for him under the spotlight.
“You’re… you’re fucking trouble,,” he gasps, his head lulling back as your thumb applied a punishing amount of pressure to his glans. His ego was screaming, fighting the urge to moan loudly enough for the front row to hear. But his body was a traitor, pulsing rhythmically against your palm.
“I’m just a person collecting what they’re owed,” You murmured, your voice vibrating right through his skin, as you hovered your lips over his bare neck. Not exactly kissing him, just enough for him to feel your presence.
Tony’s head thrashed back against the wall, his eyes rolling shut as he fought the strong urge to just thrust into your hand, while he spouts more frustrations. “You’re just a fucking—god’s sake, ah— you’re a nuisance!”
He could hear the muffled roar of the crowd through the curtains, the clinking of champagne flutes, and the announcer’s voice booming. He was cheerily talking grand about him, a futile attempt to keep the audience entertained during Tony’s rather late entrance.
“Don’t you dare lose it now, Stark,” you teased, your eyes glinting with a predatory satisfaction. You leaned in closer, breathing hot against his ear, watching his composure crumble. “If you cum right here, in the dark, while the world is watching your every move on those giant screens… well, the stain on those custom tailored trousers will be a very public testament to your lack of attention to detail.”
Barely any of your words made it into his muddled mind; he was teetering on the edge of a precipice, his entire body coiled with a desperate need to erupt. His grip on the side table, tightening even more, trying so damn hard to keep himself upright.
“You’re a sadistic little genius,” he managed to choke out, a desperate, breathless laugh escaping him, even as he felt the overwhelming pressure building in his groin.
“I’m just a businessperson, and business is booming,” you finished, your voice dropping to a low commanding hum. You didn’t slow down; instead you accelerated, your palm swirling around his cock at a relentless speed.
Tony let out a sound that was half groan, half whimper, his eyes snapping open to find yours. They were blown wide, dark with desperate, unbridled lust that he was fighting tooth and nail to suppress. He looked absolutely wrecked, the billionaire playboy replaced by a man on the brink of total, humiliating collapse.
“The lights…” he gasped, his chest heaving, as he tried to draw in enough air to stay conscious. “The damn lights, Y/N… if I… if I blow…”
“Then, you’ll just have to stand there and endure it,” you whispered, your eyes dancing with mischief as you gave him one final, sharp tug that sent a jolt of electricity through his entire frame, almost forcing a shout from his lungs. He clenched his jaw so hard that you could see the muscle leaping in his cheek. He was right there: on the razor’s edge of a messy, public catastrophe.
“I’ll—I’ll kill you,” he breathed, though there was no heat in the threat, only a desperate, trembling need. His hips gave a traitorous, involuntary twitch upwards, seeking the friction he was being denied the right to fully embrace.
“You’ll do no such thing,” you firmly commanded, while suddenly slowing your hand to an agonisingly slow, teasing crawl, just as he was about cum. You felt him shudder, a low, frustrated whine vibrating in his chest. “You’ll walk out there, you’ll give your little speech, you’ll charm the world, and you’ll keep that ache simmering in your gut. Think of it as a little extra motivation for your next acquisition.”
You gave him one final slow swirl of your thumb over his weeping tip, feeling the frantic pulse of his cock against your palm, silently begging. Tony let out a tiny whimper, his head lulled back against the wall, trying to stop his eyes rolling back. He was vibrating, a live wire of unadulterated tension, teetering on the dulling edge.
“Five seconds, Mr. Stark!” the stage manager called out from the other side of the curtain.
“Go,” you whispered, a wicked smirk playing on your lips as you finally released him. You pulled your hand away, leaving him cold and desperately unfulfilled. “Go be the hero. We’ll see if you can keep that billionaire swagger while you’re practically throbbing out of pleasure.”
He stood there for a moment, paralysed, his chest thieving as he desperately tried to pull his slacks back into place and smooth the fabric over himself. His face was flushed a frantic, feverish red that he would have to pray the stage lights would mask as mere ‘charismatic energy’. He looked at you, his eyes burning with a mixture of profound frustration and terrifyingly intense hunger, a silent promise that you were going to pay for this eventually.
“You’re playing a very dangerous game, Y/N,” he hissed, his voice still trembling as he straightened his blazer, trying to reclaim the armour of his ego. He took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing the billionaire playboy back into his skin, though the slight shake in his hands betrayed him. With a final, lingering look of heated desire, he turned and stepped through the curtains.