littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog

[littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog]

can we please get an update on the emphasis on ‘stepfather’ series pleaseee? maybe peter will be bribed to keep his silence for a three some with both derek and stiles? or just stiles. like maybe throughout the entirety of the stay with peter stiles is being fucked by both hales while john remains oblivious?

The next part is in the works. Hopefully people like it! Lol!

[littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog]

Goldilocks and the Three Hales

Explicit | 10,036 words | Werewolves in Heat/Bottom!Stiles | archive of our own

Summary: During a thunderstorm, Stiles' jeep runs out of gas on the empty interstate. Desperate to find somebody to help, he wanders into the woods towards the sight of chimney smoke billowing up from the dense woods. Instead of finding help, Stiles finds Derek, Peter, and Markoff Hale--the last surviving family members of the Hale pack, who just want to have some fun with their new virgin pack pet.

In retrospect, Stiles should have stopped for gas when he last had the chance to do so. He knew that. However, his eagerness to get back to the city had snuffed out rationality on account of exhaustion. Having been on the road for a good thirteen hours, Stiles had wanted nothing more than to get back home and slink into the comfort of his own bed. But of course, the failure to stop and fill up the tank had decided to come back and bite him in the ass—much to Stiles’ aggravation.

The engine to Stiles’ jeep spontaneously cut out, forcing Stiles to pull over into the shoulder lane of the stormy highway that he was travelling along. Once the vehicle completely drew to a finishing clunky halt, Stiles sucked in a heavy breath—slamming his fist down onto the steering wheel with the exhale. He technically only had himself to blame for not stopping to get gas, but it wasn’t fair. He just wanted to get back home. He just wanted to get some sleep. Did the gods above really have to curse him?

Stiles took a moment to collect his temper and took the key out of the jeep’s ignition, leaving the headlights on to illuminate the darkened road ahead. He stepped outside of his jeep into the windy rain of the lonely night, rubbing at his upper arms to help warm himself. He was fucked—so fucking fucked. Stiles kicked at the loose gravel of the shoulder lane and looked down both directions of the empty highway, but nobody was coming. There were no passing cars, no distant aura from city lights, and no road-signs to detail how many miles away Stiles was from his hometown. It was just bare, dark emptiness.

It was already two-thirty in the morning and Stiles knew that he was at least forty miles away from Beacon Hills. He kept looking down both directions of the highway, hoping that he’d be able to flag down somebody for help, but the luck continued to run dry. Stiles fished his phone out of his back pocket, but of course—two bars, then one bar, then no service at all. He couldn’t get out any calls, couldn’t get out any texts, and most definitely couldn’t get himself onto the internet.

Stiles was just about to slide back into his jeep, but saw a stack of chimney smoke billowing up from somewhere inside of the dense woodlands that lined the side of the highway. As the son of Beacon Hills’ sheriff, Stiles knew what an awful idea it was to run into the woods in the middle of the night, during a thunderstorm, with no cellular service, with the hopes of finding people to ask for help. Hell, people didn’t even need to have a family member in law enforcement to know that it was probably a bad idea.  Anybody who watched any horror movie ever probably knew better.

But the rain was pouring down in thick sheets, challenging the preexisting leak in the jeep’s old roof. Stiles couldn’t just stick around on the side of the highway for the rest of the night, especially with no cell reception. His father would worry his head off. Stiles needed help. He needed gas to get back on track. And by the smoke in the distance, there was at least one house nearby. A house meant people and people meant help. Unless they were murderers, but Stiles figured that he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

Stiles switched off the headlights of his jeep to conserve the battery life and then shuffled down the muddy embankment off the side of the hallway that leveled into a grassy field. By then, his clothes were already soaked and the rain didn’t appear as though it was going to let up anytime soon. But there wasn’t anything that he could do about it. Stiles trekked through the grassy field, occasionally sliding around on muddy patches, until he made his way into the dense woodlands.

Maybe the strangers in the woods would be sweet and welcoming. Stiles wondered. Maybe the chimney smoke wasn’t coming from a house at all. Maybe it was a hotel or lodge or something with a room to rent for the night. Stiles didn’t have signal, but he had a wallet full of cash. He could pay if need be. And as Stiles made his way through the trees, stepping over branches, dodging slippery slopes, and chasing the smell of fireplace smoke, he fantasized about a warm wooded hotel with fireplaces and room service, warm soup, fresh blankets, and a hot shower waiting for him.

Stiles eventually came to a patchy clearing amongst the surrounding woods with a rickety old house situated in the middle. It looked otherwise abandoned except for the chimney smoke that piped up into the rainy sky. It was an old wooden house, somewhat charred looking. Some of the windows had been shattered, the front porch awning was splintered and half collapsed, and what had probably once been a very nice front lawn was overgrown with dead brush and leafless trees.

The decrepit condition of the house should have been a sign to turn back and just sleep in the leaky jeep, but Stiles tried his best to keep things in a positive light. He was so exhausted and soaked wet with rain, he couldn’t let himself slip down into worrying about things. The fact that nobody seemed to live in the house was irksome—but only because it meant that there was nobody to help and certainly no working phone. But on the positive end of the spectrum, the house looked to have a solid looking roof, which provided shelter from the rain. And of course, the fireplace…Stiles felt his knees tremble with excitement.

Stiles cautiously stepped up onto the front porch and knocked on the door. He waited for a moment, knocked again, and waited some more—but still to no answer. The chimney was still most definitely working, but it didn’t appear as though anybody was actually home. Stiles went to knock for the third time, but a huge gust of wind blew through the area, knocking him slightly off balance, rattling the shoddy awning above, and blowing open the front door.

“Well, if the wind did it.” Stiles thought to himself, poking his head into the darkened house. He was half-scared that some killer would pull him into the house and string his body up onto some rusty hooks, but the reality of the situation was thankfully nothing close to that. He stepped inside, wading around in the dark. There were no lights, but tons of old looking furniture. Most of it was torn and tattered, and some of it looked slightly charred as though there had previously been a house fire.

Stiles crept his way into the house. He tried to keep his footsteps as quiet as he could make them, but couldn’t do much about the squelch of rainwater that squeezed out of his shoes with every step. He called out to the dead air, asking if anybody was home, but received no answers. So he kept walking around, until he made his way into what seemed to be the living room. It was filled with books and had some fluffy old couches with only a moderate amount of rips. But the best part was the flickering fireplace, which had been the cause for the smoke that drew Stiles to the house in the first place.

Eager to get warm, Stiles settled down on the floor directly in front of the fireplace. He kicked off his soaked shoes and took off his jacket, rolling up the sleeves to his flannel. He pulled his knees up to rest against his chest, holding them in place whilst he stared into the fire—letting his body absorb the fire’s warmth and letting his mind do its best to forget about his rainy predicament. Meanwhile, Stiles let his mind run through what he planned to say to the homeowners of the house he had technically broken into…that was, if anybody actually owned the house.

It didn’t take long until Stiles could barely even keep his eyes open. They burned with exhaustion and felt heavy, fluttering closed for long periods of time until a loud gust of wind outside shocked Stiles back to consciousness. Stiles remained in front of the fireplace, but swayed around—unable to keep his balance due to the waning alertness. And then suddenly, Stiles fell over and crashed down onto the floorboards, groaning out with discomfort and shock, finally deciding that it wasn’t safe to fall asleep sitting upright with no support.

Stiles stood up and stretched, curling his toes against the wooden floorboards. He was completely dry, thanks to the fireplace. The uncomfortable hell of having squishy wet socks was no longer an issue. As for his phone, there was still no signal. Although, that didn’t come as a surprise, nor could Stiles really bring himself to care. He was way too tired to worry about being lost in the middle of the woods with no reception. The only thing that Stiles legitimately cared about was the fact that it was almost four o’clock in the morning.

He groaned, rubbing at his eyes. Stiles toppled back onto one of the available couches. It was late—and therefore early. Stiles wanted nothing more to drift off into safe slumber, despite the fact that he couldn’t guarantee his safety. Though, the fact that it was nearly four-in-the-morning helped Stiles push himself to the conclusion that the owners of the house were probably non-existent or gone for the weekend. He figured that he could get a couple hours of sleep and just book it back to where his jeep was parked on the highway before getting caught for trespassing.

+

Stiles was jolted out of his sleep about an hour later to the sound of heavy footsteps creaking along the wooden floor. By the time his eyes fluttered open, he was met with three large figures looming over where he remained curled up on the couch. At first, it was hard to see what the three figures actually looked like, due to the fact that it was still dark outside and the figures were heavily backlit by the roaring fireplace. And for a moment, briefly disillusioned by sleep-blurred vision, Stiles swore he saw the eyes of the three figures glow.

“Well, would you look at that, boys?” The middle figure cooed with an enthusiastic, fatherly tone. “Our little intruder roused out of his slumber.”

“He still looks tired.” The third man with the piercing blue eyes and smarmy demeanor noted. “And he smells like stale rainwater.”

Stiles cautiously fixed his positioning, sitting up from where he had been previously laid out. He pressed his back tightly against the backing of the couch—staring inquisitively at the three strangers, trying his best to see if he could recognize anybody. Maybe his father had tracked his phone location and sent a few deputies into the woods to rescue him. But eventually, it became abundantly clear that Stiles didn’t recognize any of the strangers.

He didn’t necessarily feel scared, nor did he feel threatened. If anything, Stiles felt moderately unnerved by how clean and modelesque the three strangers looked. None of them looked as though they lived in some rundown, fire-damaged house in the middle of the woods. Maybe he just had poor, somewhat insulting preconceived ideas about what woodsy folks looked like. Or maybe he was still dreaming. Maybe his jeep had slid off the road during the thunderstorm and he was actually lying unconscious in some fiery wreck.

But if he was dreaming, was it actually that bad? Stiles couldn’t exactly convince himself otherwise. So as long as the hot strangers didn’t murder him, the whole experience was bordering on a fantasy he used to frequent in high school when he started questioning his sexuality and diving into the wonderful world of pornography. Stiles liked to think that most humbly bisexual men liked to fantasize sometimes about waking up to three hot men hovering over them.

The first stranger, the one to the far left, seemed to be the youngest of the three—probably somewhere in his mid-twenties. And if anything, he seemed to be the one most annoyed about having a complete stranger in his house. He had shadow black hair and dark stubble which really made the man’s jaw and cheekbones pop, as well as it made his perpetual scowl that much more menacing. But luckily for him, the man’s bright green eyes and broad chest seemed to soften his outward ruggedness

The middle man seemed to be the eldest, in his late-forties, with rousing hot-dad vibes radiating off of his muscular physique. Wrinkles stretched at the corners of his blue eyes and on his forehead. He also had black hair, but it was perfectly quaffed, slightly graying at the sides, and a tad bit longer. Stiles noticed that the middle stranger looked significantly less pouty and broody than the first man, but despite that, the middle one definitely commanded the surrounding space with a naturally authoritative presence.

And the last one, the man standing to the right of the other two, was actually close in age to the man in the middle. Age lines settled in particular places on his otherwise unblemished face. He had a colder and more formal demeanor than the others—detailed by the man’s wrinkle-free clothes, well shaped goatee, and combed back hair. His shifty blue eyes and unmoving smirk looked dangerous, but Stiles wasn’t necessarily scared. He was only somewhat wary, because the man stared at him like he was a juicy steak at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

“What’s your name, boy?” The middle one questioned, crossing his arms. As his biceps involuntarily flexed, Stiles involuntarily gulped.

“S—Stiles.” Stiles muttered slowly, trading his gaze between each of the three, before settling his glance back to the one who asked the question. “It’s Stiles.”

“What the hell kind of name is that?” The left man sneered, squinting his eyes inquisitively.

The middle man whipped his hand around and slapped the broody one on the back of the head with a barked growl. “Derek—! Don’t insult our guest. I raised you with better manners than that.”

Derek sunk his head down into his shoulders with a growl, obviously embarrassed. He rubbed at his head and took a seat down on the couch beside where Stiles remained. Stiles wanted to laugh, but he tried his best to stop himself. There was just something so hilarious about a big, strong bearded man getting reprimanded by his father for not having good manners.

“Sorry—” Derek grumbled, eyeing up his father.

“Please forgive Derek’s poor manners. My son ought to know better than to insult humans.” The middle man explained, somewhat still disgruntled. “My name is Markoff, but you can call me ‘Mark’. And this—is my younger brother, Peter.” Mark gestured over to the other man with the shifty blue eyes.

Stiles eased into the cushion of the couch. He still didn’t know exactly what these three strangers wanted or why they were being so nice to him, considering the fact that he broken into their house. Although, Stiles had good arguments queued up inside of his head about how the wind was the one who opened the door in the first place and how dangerous it is to leave fireplaces unattended. Nonetheless, Stiles was ready for whatever happened—or, at least that’s what he told himself.

“So—do you guys all live here?” Stiles broke the awkward silence, glancing over to where Derek refused to stop looking at him. “How is it living all the way out here in the woods? Is it all—y’know, woodsy and stuff?”

Peter rolled his eyes, unimpressed with Stiles’ conversational skills. “Tell me, Stiles—what exactly did you hope to accomplish breaking into the house of werewolves?”

“Uh—werewolves?” Stiles chuckled nervously, studying the faces of the three to pick up on social cues, but none of them seemed to be laughing. They seemed dead serious. As if werewolves legitimately existed in the realm of reality. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

Derek thumbed at the corner of Stiles’ lips, dipping into the warmth of the boy’s mouth, but Stiles quickly bat the man’s hand away from his face—blushing slightly at the unexpected touch. Stiles didn’t really know if he was supposed to be upset, or embarrassed, or freaked out, or turned on. After all, Derek, Mark, and Peter were all strangers, and very weird in their own special kind of mysterious beefcake woodsmen way. But Stiles felt heat stir inside of his stomach at Derek’s touch, despite how miniscule it was.

“Derek has a thing for humans, we all do.” Mark commented, shifting his stance. “You have to understand—we rarely cross our paths with humans way out here in the woods. So, when we have one drop into our laps so willingly, we find it hard to maintain our composure.”

“And to have one actually break into our house and soak his scent into our furniture, our floorboards, our territory—” Peter went on.

“—during the Autumn Mating Market.” Derek continued.

“Exactly.” Peter finished.

Stiles scoffed in confusion. “What are you guys talking about? What is the ‘Autumn Mating Market’?”

Peter huffed out, clearly exasperated by the whole situation. Stiles’ limited knowledge when it came to the world of wolves was irksome, at best. He took a seat on the couch to Stiles’ direct right, officially taking up the rest of available room on the piece of furniture. Stiles just sat there in the middle, sandwiched in-between two werewolves, with Mark refusing to budge from where he was standing in front of the human. Stiles was essentially boxed in.

“Are you sure you want this one, Mark? He doesn’t seem to be the most intelligent of humans.” Peter said, clicking his tongue disappointedly.

“Actually—I’m really fucking smart, jerk-off.” Stiles bit back, turning his body towards Peter’s. “It’s not my fault that you three weirdos are talking all vague and cryptic and using terms that I’ve never heard before.”

Peter ground his teeth, debating on how he wanted to proceed with the conversation. He was somewhat irked by the human’s blatant disrespect for werewolves, but couldn’t deny that the human’s boldness was intriguing. Most humans took their subservient place to wolves without bothering to question circumstance. And they very rarely bit back with confident defense. So Peter just crossed his arms and looked over to Mark to lead the way, surprised to find a smirk on Mark’s face.

“He’s got an attitude.” Derek noted, looking towards his father. “I like that, even if you guys don’t. Please, come on—let me have him for just a couple hours. I can have him bent over this couch and mellowed out in twenty minutes flat, I promise.”

Stiles felt heat creep onto his face, reddening his fair skin. He looked over to Derek and then over to Mark, mouth gaping open with surprise at what he had just heard. He briefly questioned the integrity of his own ears, but it was clear that he had heard correctly. Stiles gulped—looking through the three strangers’ facial expressions, shifting around where he sat. None of the three looked as though they were about to bust out with laughter and a reveal that everything was just a big joke. They were serious.

“Stiles, let me explain something to you.” Mark started. “You’ve trespassed on our property during one of the most interesting times of our werewolf cycle—the Autumn Mating Market. It’s an annual production. At the beginning of autumn, werewolves hit their heating period—”.

“—and unfortunately, we all lost our own personal mates years ago in a tragic accident.” Peter interrupted, joining his brother in explanation.

Mark nodded, acknowledging Peter’s further explanation. “As a result, we usually come here together during the mating market to relieve each other of the rather nagging burn of desire that plagues us through the month.”

“I don’t—I don’t understand what that has to do with me?” Stiles said, crossing his arms over his lap, trying as best as he could not to let the three men notice that he was getting hard in his pants. But he lied, because he knew exactly how the whole “mating market” thing could involve him.

“He’s getting hard in his jeans.” Derek announced with a snorted chuckle, letting his eyes flare bright blue.

“Stiles, you don’t have to be ashamed of what you’re feeling.” Mark cooed, reaching forward to trail his fingers down the side of the boy’s freckled face. “It’s perfectly normal.”

Stiles felt extremely hot. His skin flushed damp with hot sweat, slowly but surely soaking into the taut fabric of his t-shirt. All the while, Stiles felt the crotch of his pants grow tighter as his cock thickened. He could feel himself twitch rapidly underneath the coarseness of his pants, and despite the fact that the three werewolves apparently knew how they were affecting his body; Stiles tried his best to hide himself—using his hands to push down harder onto where he was throbbing.

“Rutting with my son and brother is a mediocre way to cool the heat of the annual mating market, but as nature would have it, the season would be so much more tolerable after being able to mate with a willing stranger—” Mark started to pace around with his arms behind his back, noticing the anticipatory energy that started to radiate off of Derek and Peter. “—especially a human with one of the most delicious scents I’ve ever had the pleasure to take in.”

“You’re starting to sweat.” Derek said, grabbing at the hem of Stiles’ t-shirt. “Here—let me help you with this. You’ll feel better.”

Derek stood up from where he was sitting on the couch and walked around to stand in front of the human. He knelt down slightly and hooked his fingers underneath the hem of Stiles’ shirt, tugging it up and over the boy’s head, before setting it down on the floor. And then suddenly, the scent of arousal and intrigue slapped him across the face, pulling a throaty growl out of his body. The human was delectable—a special treat.

Stiles sat there—somewhat frozen in the situation. He kept his hands on his crotch, despite the fact that everybody in the room could see the large bulge that was visibly thumping up into his palms. He had never been shirtless in front of other guys in such a way. In the locker rooms after lacrosse practice? Sure. At the public pool during parties? Definitely. But in the privacy of a stranger’s home, surrounded by strangers, circling him and looking down on him like he was something to eat? Never before. And the feeling that the situation settled deep within Stiles’ gut was something unlike anything he had ever felt before.

For a moment, Stiles’ glance caught Derek’s. Time seemed to slow and the world around them blurred out. And whilst Stiles found himself almost instantaneously lost inside the unnatural glow of blue of Derek’s eyes, Derek slowly leaned inward and pressed his lips against the skin of Stiles’ neck. A whimpered moan unintentionally escaped Stiles’ lips, his body tensed, and his eyes fluttered shut. He couldn’t believe what was happening.

“I’ve—never.” Stiles moaned, pressing his fingers into the muscle of Derek’s clothed torso.

“Our wonderful toy is a virgin.” Mark announced, delighted—pulling both Derek and Peter’s undivided attention.

“How did you know that?” Stiles caught his breath, rubbing at where Derek’s beard had already started to scratch a beard burn into the skin of his neck. He was slightly offended by the accusation, despite it being true.

“As beta werewolves, my son and younger brother can do all sorts of things, but they can’t smell a virgin from a pack cum-sponge even if they sniffed their noses off.” Mark laughed. “But as an alpha werewolf, I can smell things that would even shock god, herself.”

Stiles nodded slowly, somewhat entranced by Mark’s words. The complexities of werewolves still didn’t make that much sense, and werewolves actually being something more than figments of folklore hadn’t completely seeped into Stiles’ brain as being reality. All Stiles knew was that he liked when Derek touched him. He liked the attention that he was getting from the three strangers. And he liked the faint sense of danger that buried itself deep inside of his gut.

Stiles moved his hands from where they had been poorly attempting to hide his erection from the three, watching closely as they reacted. He spread his thighs open, stretching out his legs, and letting his bulge shift around where it remained locked within the confines of his pants. It was a not-so-subtle way to display his own eagerness to continue with whatever weird mating games the strangers wanted to play. And by the visible desire painted on each of their individual faces, Stiles was clearly doing something right.

Derek knelt down one knee onto the cushion of the couch and cupped his hands underneath Stiles’ jaw, tilting the boy’s head upward before taking the human’s lips in for a kiss. Stiles’ body shivered and broke out in goosebumps, as did Derek’s. Stiles hadn’t been touched ever in his entire history. Meanwhile, Derek hadn’t had the touch of somebody other than his father and uncle in more than five years. It felt like something new to the both of them and it became easy to melt into one another’s heat and taste, growing more fierce and passionate with their kiss as the minutes passed.

Whilst Derek and Stiles moaned into each other’s mouths—kissing, sucking, and playfully tugging at one another’s bottom lips when they pulled back for the occasionally draw of breath, Peter knelt down to the ground at the boy’s spread thighs. He leaned in and took one of the boy’s hardened pink nipples into his mouth. Peter nibbled and sucked enthusiastically at Stiles’ nipples, alternating between which one got to be in his mouth. He also rubbed at them with the pads of his fingertips, making sure that there was always enough stimulation to please the boy.

Mark watched his two betas touch and kiss at the human, pleased from where he remained on the sidelines for the time being. There was something insanely hot about watching the betas passionately tear the human apart. Stiles was red with lustful anguish as he writhed around in the cushion of the couch—unable to fathom of the amount of pleasured strain that was being placed upon his body. But Mark could smell everything. He could smell the boy’s pre-cum leak profusely into the crotch of his boxers. He could smell the boy’s arousal stir around in the air like perfume. And he could smell just a hint of doubt and worry cook around inside of Stiles’ head whilst he wondered as to whether or not he was doing the right thing.

Eventually, Peter shifted his focus away from Stiles’ nipples to where the boy was painfully hard. He unbuttoned Stiles’ jeans and shucked them down Stiles’ hairy thighs, removing them with the tight boxers that Stiles had been wearing underneath. Immediately, Stiles’ cock sprung upwards—throbbing rapidly, unfathomably hot to the touch, and already ready to bust. Peter barely got his lips around the leaking head of Stiles’ cock before the boy came with a shout.

“Oh—my—god.” Stiles grunted, pulling away from where he had been wrestling his tongue against Derek’s, just to watch as his cock spewed thick jets of cum against Peter’s unsuspecting face.

“You virgins and your hair-triggers...” Peter growled, taking Stiles’ sensitive cock into the warmth of his mouth.

Peter laid kisses alongside the throbbing shaft of Stiles’ cock, analyzing the length. Surprisingly, the boy was a hung eight inches hard, cut, with a nice girth, and full balls—filled with the precious seed of a soon to be ruined virgin. Peter lapped up the cum that had drooled down Stiles’ length, humming to the taste. He then hollowed out his cheeks and set a cum-hungry rhythm, immediately taking Stiles’ cock down to the hilt—choking out slightly.

“I’m sorry, it’s not my fault.” Stiles sucked in a deep breath, feeling Peter’s hot mouth encase itself around his cock. “I’ve just never—this is all something new.”

“Don’t feel embarrassed, Stiles.” Mark defended softly. “My dear brother seems to forget how easy he was to tear apart in the beginning.”

Peter growled in response to his older brother’s snide comment, but refused to retract most of his own attention from pleasuring Stiles. He could feel the boy’s energy spark and vibrate. The taste of eagerness tasted delicious. Peter kept up his solid pace and swallowed down the human with enthusiastic and sloppy gulps. He would occasionally pull his mouth off from where it was wrapped around Stiles, giving the boy a few firm strokes, just to change things up.

But Peter especially loved being able to look up to watch Stiles’ half-lidded golden eyes sparkle with tears of bliss. This was the first time getting his cock sucked, and it brought Peter immense joy to know that he was the one getting his paws on his human. First dibs meant everything when it came down to the annual mating market. It was just something that he would be able to rub into Derek and Mark’s faces for the years to come.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Derek asked, tugging away from Stiles’ lips. “Peter’s really good with his mouth. Don’t listen to him when he chalks up his skill to natural talent. He’s a goddamn liar. He practices with closeted frat boys from the local university.”

“There’s nothing wrong with some practice, nephew.” Peter smacked his lips, lapping up the pre-cum that had slicked his mouth. “Perhaps I’ll let you show the human what your mouth can do.”

Derek was barely able to hide his excitement, quickly switching places with his uncle. He knelt down to his knees—slotting himself in-between Stiles’ open thighs. He sized up the boy’s cock, leaning forward to start with tentative swipes with the heat of his tongue. The taste of his uncle and the taste of the human’s pre-cum immediately assaulted Derek’s senses, making his own cock begin to leak into where he was hard in the tightness of his pants.

Whilst not as calculated and trained with sucking cock as Peter was, Derek had his own techniques. He took Stiles’ girth into the warmth of his firm grasp, stroking it for an extended period of time, whilst only wrapping his lips around the fat head of his Stiles’ dick. He swirled his tongue around Stiles’, whipping the tip of his tongue into the leaking slit of the boy’s cock. Stiles tasted amazing. It was no wonder as to why Peter had been so immersed within the experience.

Stiles carded his hands through Derek’s hair, unable to take his eyes away from where his cock stretched the werewolf’s mouth open. It amazed Stiles to see that even whilst getting a cock stuffed down his throat, Derek sported the angriest looking face—thick eyebrows furrowed. But it was clear that Derek wasn’t angry. All of the sounds that he made—the whimpers, the gasps, the groans—they were sounds of pleasure, contentment, and satisfaction. That was just how Derek’s face looked and damn, Stiles couldn’t deny how attracted he was to Derek’s perpetual look of broodiness.

Mark rounded the couch, kneeling down next to where Derek was knelt down. He analyzed his boy’s work, making sure that Derek was doing his best and not slacking on the job. “That’s good, Derek. Can you feel Stiles’ body react to the pleasure you’re giving him? Can you taste that arousal?”

Derek mumbled in confirmation, continuing to abuse the head of Stiles’ cock with his tongue. But all at once, he felt the calloused guidance of his father’s hand squeeze gently on the back of his neck—slowly, but surely pushing him down. It forced Derek to take more of Stiles’ length down his throat. The human stretched his throat nicely. The burn was noticeable immediately, but not unbearable. If anything, it enticed Derek to add more movement to his performance, which was much to Stiles’ enjoyment.

“Oh fuck, Derek.” Stiles moaned. “Keep doing that—like that. Don’t stop, please.”

“Take him in all the way, Derek—” Mark instructed brightly, shoving the back of Derek’s head slightly more. “—to the root, son.”

Derek choked the moment he felt Stiles’ cock hit the back of his throat, eyes burning with tears. He wanted to pull back to draw in a clean breath, but also wanted to stay down to continue blowing Stiles. His father, however, didn’t really give him a choice in the matter. Mark kept his hands firmly placed on the back of Derek’s head, holding him in position—keeping Derek’s throat occupied. The only things that Derek could really do was cough out, slurp, and prepare himself for what he could feel Stiles’ body tighten up to do.

Stiles came for the second time, hands flailing out to grab into the couch cushions. His hips reacted involuntarily, thrusting upward into the cavernous heat of Derek’s mouth. Derek seemed perfectly content with the surge of new cum flooding into his mouth, because the only sounds that came from his body were throaty growls. Stiles felt Derek’s throat work around him, swallowing down everything, until his cock was only pumping out finishing drops of cum.

When Mark finally released his hold on Derek’s head, Derek popped up—clearing his throat. He smacked his lips, licking at them, and then looked up amorously into the boy’s golden eyes which were wet with tears just like his own. Derek sniffled with a slight chuckle on this tongue, rubbing away the ache that had settled into his jaw. He looked up to where his father stood beside him, as it waiting to receive a reward or punishment from a teacher.

“Sorry, Peter—” Stiles breathed out with a smirk tugging on his lips. “—your nephew’s got you beat.”

Peter scoffed with a half-baked laugh, leaning forward into Stiles’ face—listening to the immediate uptick in the boy’s heartbeat. “That pretty little mouth of yours sure does know how to push my buttons. How about we see what I can do about fixing that, human.”

Derek and Peter simultaneously gripped their hands onto each of Stiles’ shoulders, yanking him up from where he had been resting on the couch. Stiles yelped at the quick movement. He was somewhat unsure as to where the situation was heading, though he felt as though he had a pretty good idea in his head. The werewolf nephew and uncle duo spun Stiles around and knelt him down on the floorboards in front of the couch, and then took their own seats—side-by-side—where Stiles had once been.

“Now, be the good pack bitch that I know you can be and take our cocks out.” Peter instructed, palming at where the crotch of his jeans were raised obscenely with a bulge.

“They were both so nice for you. It’s time to put what you’ve learned to good use.” Mark planted his hands down on either of Stiles’ shoulders, firmly squeezing at them as if he were some kind of encouragement booster. He rubbed confidence into the boy, pushing out any concern or tension that he may have had. “It’s only fair, Stiles.”

Derek reached out and cradled the back of Stiles’ head, pulling the boy down to where his cock was still locked up underneath his jeans. Stiles took the initiative and began to slowly mouth at where Derek’s bulge was the most prominent through the fabric. Stiles drooled and dragged the pad of his tongue along the rigid material of the heavy denim—chasing the smell of musk. Stiles was also able to feel the heat of Derek’s cock radiating outward. It was so powerful and so comforting that Stiles lost hold of some minutes, entranced with mouthing at Derek’s bulge until there was a visible wet spot from saliva there.

“Take it out.” Derek said softly, combing his fingers gently through Stiles’ messy hair.

Stiles complied, fiddling anxiously with the top button and zipper of Derek’s jeans. Nerves fluttered around inside of his stomach. He was nervous, but also excited. He had technically already had his mouth of Derek’s bulge, and fuck—it was huge. Stiles didn’t know what he was going to do when he finally had the man’s cock plunged down his throat. But when he finally undid Derek’s pants and pulled them down the man’s hairy thighs, Stiles lost his timid composure.

Just as soon as Derek’s freed cock sprung up—nine inches long, thick as a can of beer, and leaking profusely with anticipatory pre-cum—Stiles found himself wrapping his lips around Derek’s cockhead. Stiles didn’t really know what washed over him—the surge of confidence seemed to hit him like a ton of bricks. He was there, knelt down on the hard floors, feverishly sucking at a stranger’s cock. No questions about condoms. No hesitation. It just happened.

Stiles felt a darkened, untapped corner of his brain snap. All went black. Electricity crackled inside the liquid gold of his hazel eyes. Suddenly, all Stiles wanted was cock. He wanted it in and around him. He wanted load after load down his throat, on his skin, dripping out of his ass. He wanted to be used in the worst of ways by the three strangers and whoever else wanted a turn with him. This was what he wanted from now on. This was how he wanted to spend his time—his life. He wanted to burn away his years under the thrusts and dominance of men, of cock, of sex, and of cum. Everything else that mattered in his life just seemed to flutter away like a rather unmemorable dream.

Derek watched as more and more of his length slipped past the boy’s plump lips and into his salivating mouth. Stiles just took it all without thinking—like some starved kid at a buffet. Derek could barely believe what was happening. Just a few moments prior, Stiles was timid and uncertain as to what to do and how to handle other people touching him. But then without warning, it was easy to see that Stiles’ morals had taken a backseat. Derek could see the fire inside of Stiles’ otherwise glassy, blank eyes. It was clear that Stiles’ mind had been warped and overpowered by lust, dulling anything else that the poor boy could ever hope to think about.

“Oh, he’s fucking done this before...fucking lying cumslut.” Peter growled, pulling Stiles away from Derek and into his own lap. “Get my cock out and suck me off since you’re so good at it.”

“God, yes.” Stiles mumbled, hurriedly undoing Peter’s pants. And unsurprisingly, the uncle and nephew duo followed similar personal preferences when it came down to whether or not they wore underwear.

Stiles reached into the opened crotch of Peter’s jeans, instantaneously wrapping his grasp around where he could feel the older man’s heat pulse against his palm. He took Peter out of his jeans, grinning ear-to-ear upon seeing that Peter was just as massive and just as thick as Derek. The only noticeable differences between the two boiled down to presentation, because Peter was a lot more trimmed up when it came to body hair. But Stiles hadn’t found issue with Derek’s untamed curls, on account of the masculine scent of musk and sweat.

Without further instruction or demand, Stiles opened his mouth as wide as he could manage to accommodate Peter’s thickness, much like what he had done with Derek. Stiles slicked up the shaft with his tongue, giving the man a few firm strokes with his hands, before fully taking Peter into the warmth of his throat. Stiles worked quick and unapologetically messy, slurping up any of Peter’s potent pre-cum that leaked out from his overstretched lips. And with one of his free hands, fondled Peter’s heavy balls—applying a generous amount of comfortable pressure, which made Peter writhe around in the seat of the couch.

“I think your big bad alpha nose is broken, Mark.” Peter breathed heavily, fighting with himself to finish speaking his thoughts instead of losing them to Stiles’ wicked tongue. “You smelled a virgin, but there’s no way this human hasn’t done this before.”

“What do you think is burning in the fireplace, Peter?” Mark questioned boldly.

All three of the werewolves looked over towards where the fireplace had refused to dim. And whilst Mark looked towards its flames with a smile on his face, Derek and Peter were unequivocally confused as to what their alpha was talking about. It looked like a completely normal fire, flickering away brightly inside of the charred brickwork. Visibly, there was nothing off about it. And as far as scents went, it smelled like simple wood—termite touched, with some notes of char and old ash.

Peter cried out, throwing his head back in pleasure, clasping his hands at the sides of Stiles’ head. Meanwhile, Derek rolled his eyes at the dramatic moan, still looking towards his father for an explanation about the fire. There didn’t seem to be anything immediately different about any of the other fires that had been burned there before. And if his father was testing him on something that werewolves were supposed to know, Derek was about to fail.

“It just looks—normal.” Derek explained with a shrug.

Mark snapped his fingers and Stiles pulled away from Peter’s cock, shifting back over to take Derek into his mouth. It was smooth. Stiles moved robotically, fluidly, like he knew exactly what everybody was thinking and what everybody wanted from him. He moved like he had practiced for this scenario throughout his entire life, graduating with honors from cocksucking academy. But the snap of Mark’s fingers was a hint, obviously. Derek just still couldn’t figure it out.

Mark closed his eyes with a defeated sigh. “It’s Priapus Gingersnap.”

“That’s one of the rarest materials to come by. How on God’s Earth did you find such an abundant supply of it? And enough to draw in a human virgin? Did you sell your lycan soul for this?” Peter snickered, peering over to the fireplace.

“It’s off brand. I crafted it for a particularly lonely mating market. Rabbit bones, alligator tongues, and the hair plucked from a trusted and noble authority figure.” Mark snorted, unbuckling his own belt.

“Fuck—you had to find a pure authority figure.” Derek commented, still relishing in Stiles’ mouth. “There are no pure authority figures in this world, dad. All of them are power-hungry barbarians.”

“This one—” Mark gestured down towards where Stiles remained on his knees, swallowing down Derek’s cock with ravenous enthusiasm. “—is the son a nearby city’s sheriff. I plucked some hair off the old man and who would have known his own virgin son would come through our woods, drawn to our fire.”

Derek’s muscles tensed, involuntarily thrusting up into Stiles’ mouth, shooting his load. Despite the abruptness, Stiles didn’t miss a beat. He swallowed down the thick surges of cum that Derek supplied as they pulsated out, letting his throat gulp down everything. He cleaned Derek’s cock until it was shiny and free of cum, then pulled away with a satisfied hum and smack of his lips—freezing in place where he remained on his knees.

Stiles froze with a blank expression locked onto his sweaty, flushed out face. His eyes still sparkled brightly with gold, but there was otherwise no thought left inside the boy’s head for the time being. Derek found it confusing at first, but then realized what he had read up on Priapus Gingersnap before during his high school days, and it became clear that Stiles wasn’t frozen, he was just waiting—placed on pause, awaiting the next order or desire like some kind of computerized sex toy.

“I think I’d like to see our cockslut’s dripping hole.” Peter suggested wickedly, watching as Stiles immediately stood up from where he had been.

Stiles walked over to an arm-chair that was situated in the corner of the living room, next to the mantle of the fireplace. Peter and the two other werewolves watched as Stiles hopped into the chair with a plump bounce and then hooked each of his legs onto each of the chair’s arms—forcing his thighs to be obscenely spread. Stiles slouched down slightly, letting his puckered entrance come into fire’s light, showing off for the three horny werewolves that drooled all over themselves with delight.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” Mark asked, tugging out his cock through the unzipped crotch of his jeans. He stroked himself as the three wolves drew closer to where Stiles was spread out on the chair.

“But—how? I know a little bit about this gingersnap. It can’t draw in unwilling participants.” Derek noted, slightly befuddled.

“You’re exactly right, son.”

“So, he—”

“—was just a cock-warmer waiting for an opportunity to jump at.” Mark cooed, trailing his fingers down one of Stiles’ legs. “And how generous are we for giving this to our human pet?”

Peter laughed. “Very.”

“Now, Stiles—” Mark started, turning his attention back to where the human was blanking staring at him. “—what do we say when we want something?”

“Please—” Stiles’ throat tightened as he gulped. “Please, daddy. Please fuck me.”

“Atta boy.”

Mark slotted himself in-between Stiles’ legs, pressing the head of his leaking cock into where Stiles was flushed hot and puckered up, untouched and twitching with an eagerness to be filled with another’s man’s girth and heat. As he eased himself into the human’s overwhelming heat, Stiles panted out like a dog—huffing out and drooling all over his own bare chest, unable to fathom the feeling of finally being stretched open by something other than his own fingers.

As the alpha werewolf, Mark had control. Derek and Peter knew as much, so they both waited around on the sidelines with their own cocks still raging hard and desperate to get inside of Stiles’ slutty heat. Mark, however, didn’t waste his time. The speed and severity of his thrusts was unlike anything another human would ever be able to replicate. If Stiles were to set back on his merry way—to live a normal life back in Beacon Hills, to get married, to raise a family, to work tirelessly at some cookie-cutter career—it was certain that Stiles would exhaust himself and waste away trying to find somebody to fill him as well as Mark and his betas did.

Stiles’ body was savagely thrashed around underneath Mark’s dominating thrusts. Mark was rough, but passionate. He cooed filthy nothings into the boy’s ear whilst he kept up his rhythm, willing the boy to moan out desperate pleas of “daddy, fuck me harder”, “make me your bitch”, “fuck me full”, “don’t stop”. Most of the pleas were of Stiles’ own internal soundboard, but Mark hit the switches—repeatedly, over and over again, until the words were breathless and hoarse. The only thing Mark truly pushed harder for was Stiles’ frequent and babbled use of the word ‘daddy’ which dripped off of Stiles’ lips and waged unearthly fire through Mark’s veins.

“I feel so full.” Stiles sighed contently, rubbing at where his stomach rhythmically bulged out with Mark’s insertion.

“Give our pet something to chew on.” Mark said, combing his own sweaty hair out from where it had fallen into his eyes due to the wildness of his thrusts.

Derek and Peter positioned themselves on either side of the arm chair where Stiles was spread open underneath Mark’s vicious hammering. With Stiles slouched down, he was at the perfect angle to handle a couple cocks in his hands and in his mouth. And with a snap of Mark’s instructive fingers, Stiles immediately jolted alive with newfound energy, switching over into some kind of preprogrammed motion. He took Derek and Peter into each of his empty hands, applying firm pressure and fluid stroked movements.

For a while, the two betas happily took advantage of Stiles’ warm, receptive grasp. They started to leisurely thrust their cocks into Stiles’ hands, howling up towards the splintered wood ceiling of the living room. Meanwhile, Stiles happily jerked both of them off, grinning like some doped-out slut—switching his gaze back and forth between where Derek and Peter stood on opposite sides of him. He ran the pad of his thumbs across the leaking slits of their fat cockheads, tingling with anticipation as to when he’d get to have them in his mouth.

“So big—so hot.” Stiles chirped with a bright smile and wide eyes.

“Go ahead, son. Let them fuck that beautiful mouth of yours.” Mark murmured softly, grinding deep into Stiles’ overworked heat.

Stiles let his head fall back against the backing of the arm chair, letting his mouth fall slack-jawed. Derek was the first one to make the move and take the human. He clasped his hands at the sides of Stiles’ head and pulled the boy closer, shoving his meaty cock right into where Stiles was open and drooling with hunger at the simple thought of a cock slipping down his throat. And as soon as the weight of Derek’s cock hit Stiles’ tongue, the boy came for the third time.

Mark chuckled to himself, punching a series of particularly harder thrusts into the human’s lithe frame, working the boy through his orgasm. Stiles’ body convulsed hard, but even as his body writhed and flailed, he never let Derek’s cock slip out from between his abused lips. He kept sucking, unable to stop himself from swallowing around Derek’s girth, even as he felt his own body shake uncontrollably and his own thick rod blast another one of his loads onto his lean stomach.

When Stiles’ orgasm died down, Mark slipped himself out of the boy’s hole—still hard, still loaded, but determined to give Stiles a reward for taking an alpha’s cock so well, thus far. He knelt down in-between where Stiles’ legs were still spread open and hooked on the chair’s arms He pressed his mouth against where he had just removed his cock, slipping his tongue inside of Stiles’ gushing warmth—alongside a few of his own trigger-happy fingers.

With Derek and Peter frivolously trading Stiles’ mouth back and forth between the two of themselves, Mark worked his fingers and tongue into Stiles’ hole. He plunged his digits inwards, hooking them slightly, and circling around until Stiles screamed out around whichever beta was lodged down his throat. But the moment Mark got his fingers on the right stop, he refused to let up. He continued to circle his fingers around, pressing deeply, with precision and intent—repeatedly, drinking in all of the screams that Stiles let out.

Stiles’ body reacted in such beautiful ways to Mark’s fingers. His muscles tightened and released. His breath quickened, drawing in loud breaths whenever Derek or Peter traded him to the other. Mark was so precise and so brutal, keeping the point of his fingers directly plunged against Stiles’ prostate—rubbing in that spot over and over and over again that Stiles’ body seemed as though it started to malfunction. One of the boy’s eyes began to twitch, some of his toes twitched, a pink blush spread across his sweaty chest, and his cock started to pulsate as though he was shooting a load—but he wasn’t.

A dry orgasm ripped Stiles’ body apart without remorse—causing him to momentarily break out from under the effects of the Priapus Gingersnap. His stopped sucking where his mouth was wrapped around Peter’s girth, letting the werewolf slip out of his mouth with a gush of saliva and pre-cum, down to splat against his chin and chest. Stiles screamed out towards the ceiling, immediately falling into a hysterical display of crying and laughing, seemingly unable for his brain to correctly identify the kind of pleasure that rocked through his body. All the while, Stiles’ hard cock pulsed violently, completely untouched, producing no spray of cum. His balls hadn’t had enough time to produce anything, but his body pushed him through the motions.

Mark pulled his fingers from where they had been pressed against Stiles’ prostate, letting the boy float down from his orgasm. He slapped and rubbed at the boy’s hole with his fingers in a repetitive and soothing motion. And eventually, once the boy’s mixture of delirious laughs and cries dulled down into complete silence, Mark watched the fireplace’s charm take the boy back into its competent grasp. He watched Stiles catch his breath and lick his lips, readying himself for further instruction.

“Derek, I think we’re overdue for some father-son bonding time, don’t you think?” Mark asked, winking over to where Derek was standing with his wet dick in his hand. “Do you remember that one time we took that closeted, blond, jock-type lacrosse player out behind the dumpsters of that gaybar in the city?”

“Yeah—he came out to his parents the next day.” Derek laughed. “He said something about not being able to keep hiding how much he wanted cock stuffed up his ass anymore. What was his name again? Johnny? Jeremiah? Jacks—?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Mark interrupted. “But let’s give Stiles what we gave that jock.”

Mark stood up from where he was knelt down at Stiles’ hole and laid back atop the solid wood coffee table that was placed in the middle of the couch and the fireplace. His cock was still jut out from his open pants—speared up towards the roof of the room. He snapped his fingers again and watched as life revitalized Stiles’ exhausted body. The boy stood up from the arm-chair and straddled over Mark and where he was laid out on the coffee table—hovering his hole directly above Mark’s cock.

“I don’t think one cock did the job, did it, Stiles?” Mark asked, reaching up to pinch at Stiles’ spit-slicked nipples.

“Daddy, please.” Stiles groaned, reaching back with his hands to spread open his ass checks. He let his clenched hole rub over Mark’s throbbing cockhead. “I need more than one. I need two. Please, I need you and Derek inside me—fuck me at the same time.”

Mark gripped his hands at both sides of Stiles’ hips and slowly eased the boy down onto his cock. He leaned the boy forward, so that Stiles was laid flat against Mark’s chest—face nuzzled up to Mark’s stubbled jaw. It allowed for Derek to take his positioning, crouching down behind Stiles and slowly pushing inside the boy. Mark held his composure, despite nearly losing himself to the warm tightness of Stiles’ ass. But just as soon as he felt his son’s huge cock nudge against his own—confirming that they were both deep inside of the human, all bets were off.

Derek and Mark fucked their cocks inside of Stiles’ hole, adjusting their rhythm enough so that one of them fucked inward whilst the other pulled out. It provided a delicious kind of friction that not only set Derek and Mark’s bodies on fire, but Stiles’ as well. As the three of them rocked into one another, Peter walked around and played his own part—shoving his cock into Stiles’ empty mouth, just to make sure that there wasn’t one hole of the boy that felt left out. They all worked together in tandem, fast and hard—setting an unforgivable pace that shook the human’s bones.

Stiles remained sandwiched between the two Hales, never once letting Peter drop out of his mouth. His mind fluttered around with feelings of bliss and fear of one day not being able to enjoy such an overload of stimulation. But he hung on, letting the three wolves take his body and do with it what they pleased. Much to Stiles’ pleasure, every touch, every whispered word, every spurt of hot cum, every kiss, and every taste of cock that pressed itself onto Stiles’ tongue, filled Stiles’ body with the upmost feeling of love and satisfaction.

“Oh fuck, dad—” Derek breathed, his thrusts stuttered rapidly. “—I’m gonna, jesus, dad. I’m gonna—”

“Me too, son.” Mark groaned.

And at once, Derek and Mark shoved everything that they had to give into Stiles’ body—feeling their balls draw up tight and their thick cocks throb rapidly where they were bound together within the heat of a human. Shortly thereafter, Peter felt his own orgasm approach. He pulled out from Stiles’ mouth and jerked himself off roughly, stroking his cock whilst he stared down into the tearfully wet eyes of the newest Hale pack pet. His cock spewed hotly and heavily, jetting out ropes of white cum in rhythmic bursts—painting over the boy’s debauched face, coating his upturned nose, his delicate freckles, his precious lips, and the heavy lashes that fluttered down closed to hide the boy’s golden eyes.

Stiles remained seated atop Mark’s body, speared open by two huge werewolf cocks. A flood of Hale family cum ravished his inner walls, burning white hot into where he was bright pink, overworked, and stretched out. But all that Stiles could do was mindlessly hump his hardened cock against where it was pressed flat against Mark’s body, bringing himself to a feeble orgasm—spurting out tiny drops of white cum into the fabric of Mark’s sweaty shirt. It was all the cum that Stiles’ body was able to produce, having been so thoroughly used.

“Oh, Stiles—our dear, new pack pet.” Mark whispered, soothingly rubbing his hands down Stiles’ bare back, kissing softly against the cum-speckled skin of the boy’s face. “Whatever are you going to do now?”

Stiles mumbled groggily, slipping quickly into a safe passage of sleep—coddled and squeezed between a loving father and son. “I’mmugh, stay—ing.”

+

Helicopters and search teams swept through cities. It didn’t matter, though. They could search for as long and as hard as they pleased. Their efforts would prove nothing but unsuccessful in regards to locating the missing Stilinski boy. Sure, missing persons fliers decorated the boy’s hometown of Beacon Hills—but they didn’t turn up anything. All of the hotline tips that were called in to be collected lead nowhere helpful. The only thing that had been found was the boy’s leaky blue jeep, parked haphazardly on the side of a rather vacant, washed out highway.

The boy’s father, the pure and noble authority figure of the Beacon Hills Police Department, tried his best to find his missing son, but poor ol’ Jonathan Stilinski came up short every time. For months and months, John led the charge for searches—exhausting his efforts and power as the sheriff to facilitate thorough combs through surrounding wooded areas, lakes, and grassy patches. But nothing—just like all the other attempts, all roads seemed to lead to nothing.

Although, there had been one particular search that had lasted late into the early morning hours, after search and rescue volunteers had retired back to their homes to escape a coming thunderstorm, John continued to trek through a dense line of woods, avoiding muddy patches, tripping over thick branches, and nearly slipping down slippery slopes. Exhausted and delirious with sleep deprivation, for just a moment, John could have sworn he had heard his son calling out to him—“Daddy, daddy, oh god, please!”

But John waved it away as being a figment of his month’s long exhaustive search without much sleep, heading off to search in another direction…Unfortunately, never finding his way to the broken old house with the billowing chimney smoke, where his son cried out—not in agony, not in fear, not in pain, but in orgasmic, heart-stopping pleasure.

[littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog]

The Motel Roundabout

Explicit | 12,139 words | Slutty!Stiles | archive of our own

[Part 9 of the “Unrated Scenes that were Cut from the Show” series: Motel California s03ep06]

Summary: The Beacon Hills High cross-country track team stops at a disgusting old motel for the night, Stiles decides that he wants to have some dirty, messy fun with his friends.

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.”

“Jackson?”

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

“Peter?”

“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.

“What?”

“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.”

[littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog]

His Brother, The Lover

Explicit | 4,099 words | Derek is Scott’s brother | archive of our own

Summary: Stiles meets Scott's older brother for the first time, who just so happens to be a scruffy, shaggy-haired, perpetually grumpy pornstar that ends up peaking Stiles' interest....

“Harris is fucking with my G.P.A, Scott.” Stiles argued, shifting impatiently as he stood behind Scott on the front-porch of the McCall residence, waiting for Scott to hurry up and open the door. “And I’m not going to stand for it.”

Scott scoffed, opening the front door. “What are you planning to do about it, though?”

“I’ll write a letter to the mayor and tell them that one of the jerk-off teachers at Beacon Hills High is trying to screw up my grades right before graduation.” Stiles explained, following Scott into the foyer of the house. “And they’ll have to believe me, because my dad’s the sheriff.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’ll work out—”

The two momentarily settled into the living room — dropping the weight of their backpacks down onto the carpeted ground. Scott dove onto the couch and immediately started to surf through the channels for something entertaining to watch as a way to de-stress from the exhausting day at school. All the while, Stiles barreled upstairs to the bathroom before he pissed himself.

Stiles made it upstairs and made his way towards the guest bathroom, but then noticed that one of the guest bedroom doors was shut — with a bright light beaming out into the hallway from underneath the door. Not only that, but the shadow of somebody walking around and the sound of somebody rustling through dresser drawers was enough to make Stiles’ ears perk up.

There was somebody else in the house….which, wouldn’t have really been a big deal if it had been one of the days of the week that either of Scott’s parents had off from work. But it wasn’t — Melissa and Mr. McCall were both supposed to be off at their respected jobs until six o’clock, which meant that somebody else was rummaging through a bedroom’s dresser.

Stiles timidly gripped his hand around the doorknob to the bedroom, despite the fact that all of his father’s lessons about running away from danger knocked around inside of his head. He turned the doorknob as quietly as he could, pushing open the door just enough to peer inside and snap a picture of the trespasser with his memory so that a description could be given to the police department later.

But what Stiles didn’t expect was to see a totally ripped, totally fresh out of the shower, totally naked man putting on a fresh pair of boxers. It took Stiles by surprise at knocked the air right out of his lungs, making him accidentally yelp out the words: “holy shit” —and unintentionally alerting the intruder to the fact that he was being watched.

“What the fuck?!” The intruder angrily called out, beaming his dangerous gaze at Stiles.

Stiles jolted back — shutting the bedroom’s door with a loud bang. He raced back downstairs, crying out for Scott to call the police. Once he made it downstairs, Scott was already up and off the couch, completely confused and worried as to why his friend was freaking the hell out instead of using the bathroom like he was supposed to.

“What happened?!” Scott questioned worriedly.

“Th — there’s — a naked burglar in the bedroom.” Stiles breathed heavily, trying to catch his breath. “He saw me and now he’s about to come down here and kill us.”

The heavy patter of frantic feet stomping down the upstairs hallway and the staircase caught Stiles and Scott’s attention. Frozen in fear, the two watched anxiously as the intruder made his way down the stairs to the bottom landing — still only wearing a pair of tight plaid boxers, but obviously angry and laced with the visible desire to commit murder.

“What the fuck, Scott?” The intruder boomed, stepping closer to the two frightened high school seniors. He shoved the palms of his hands against Scott’s chest, pushing him back. “Tell your pervert of a friend to keep his eyes out of my shit.”

“Wait—you know him?” Stiles questioned, turning his attention away from the intruder’s rock-hard abs to Scott’s distressed face.

“Unfortunately…” Scott admitted, rubbing at his chest. “He’s my older brother.”

“That’s Derek?!” Stiles’ eyes widened in shock, momentarily glancing back to Derek and then back to Scott. “He doesn’t look like a lawyer.”

“I’m not a fucking lawyer.” Derek corrected, glaring at Stiles once more before turning his attention back to his little brother. “You’ve been telling people that I’m a lawyer?”

Scott crossed his arms defiantly, unwilling to further comment on the situation out of anger and embarrassment. His brother couldn’t just pop up into his life again, shove him around, and then demand answers. But what was worse was that Derek wasn’t the only one waiting around for an explanation. Stiles was also waiting.

“No, he’s not a lawyer.” Scott mumbled.

“Then—what do you do?” Stiles turned his attention to Derek yet again, hellbent on keeping his eyes situated on Derek’s instead of all of the very wet and very nice nakedness.

Derek scoffed. “I fuck people for a living…on camera.”

A brief moment of silence fell upon the three. Scott was annoyed, Stiles was completely about to implode, and Derek seemed to be perpetually done with existing around other living creatures. Nobody really seemed to want to be the first person to follow up with conversation after Derek’s reveal. Despite the fact that Scott had already known—it was still embarrassing.

“What are you even doing here, Derek?” Scott started. “I thought you were all happy down in LA.”

“I got evicted from my apartment, so I’m staying here until I score another place.” Derek explained shortly. “Now, stay out of my room, be quiet, and tell your bambi-eyed twinkish friend that this is our house—not his!”

Derek stomped right back upstairs and into what was apparently his old bedroom prior to moving out. He was a completely different person compared to what Stiles had always imagined Scott’s older brother to be like. Stiles had always pictured Derek being some sort of charming, upstanding lawyer with a picture-perfect life, a wife, some children, and a nice house.

In actuality, Derek was a tough-looking scruffy dude with shaggy black hair, piercing shadowed eyes, lean muscles, and an attitude that was so explosive that it could probably set houses on fire. Not to mention the fact that he was a pornstar somewhere on the internet….Derek was everything parents warned their young about.

And yet, Stiles couldn’t fight the appeal of Derek’s dangerous charm. Derek was basically a walking wet dream. Stiles couldn’t get the scorching visual of Derek’s body out of his head…plus, the image of those tight boxers slipping up and over the round curvature of Derek’s ass was forever seared into the back of his brain. Stiles wouldn’t forget, even if he tried.

+

That night, Stiles found himself locked up in his own bedroom—door locked, lights low, and laptop front and center. As an avid porn-watcher, Stiles couldn’t believe that he had never managed to stumble upon Derek. But now that he knew, Stiles knew that he had to find him around somewhere. He needed to see a scene, or five, or maybe a couple dozen….however many Derek had filmed.

Stiles scoured through the internet, carefully scrolling through some of the professional studio websites that he frequented. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find anything conclusive. The hunt quickly began to seem like a tireless effort. Perhaps Derek had lied just to be funny. Maybe he wasn’t actually a pornstar. Maybe he really was a lawyer. Maybe Stiles was wasting all of his available masturbation time searching for something that wasn’t even a real thing.

And if he wasn’t going to be able to find confirmation of Derek being a pornstar somewhere on a reputable site, Stiles figured that there was no use in wasting the available private time he had set aside for himself. Porn was still something to enjoy. And if Stiles was lucky enough, he figured that he’d be able to find some obscure video somewhere on PornHub with at least one performer that resembled Derek in some way.

After scrolling through pages and pages of semi-interesting thumbnails and titles, Stiles eventually landed on something that both looked and sounded interesting. The motion thumbnails barely showed anything—besides a few zoomed in snippets of bodies slamming up against one another inside of some polished up dorm room set.

The title was enticing….

“Wolf Timbershaft NAILS a Tight Twink College Boy”

Stiles clicked on the video and settled back against his headboard, resting his laptop to the side of his legs. As the video started to play, Stiles eagerly pulled his cock out of his boxers—giving himself a few solid strokes, letting the establishing shots play out. All good pornos set the stage and whatever adventure Stiles had just clicked on was certainly taking it’s precious time.

Eventually, some lean-muscled blond guy with a tight shirt and even tighter jeans dramatically groaned out and tossed a crumbled piece of paper off of his desk. Homework trouble, obviously. Stiles could relate. The blond dude muttered some poorly acted complaints about how hard college was and then the dorm room’s door received a few knocks.

Stiles perked up — excited to finally get into watching some kind of interesting action. He watched as the blond dude on the screen opened up the door to reveal Mr. Wolf Timbershaft in all of his dominant glory…which, much to Stiles’ bewildered shock, just so happened to be Derek….Scott’s brother…the overbearingly gruff and perpetually angry dude that Stiles had accidentally snuck a peak at back at the McCall house.

It was like the gods above…or the devils below…had fought to reward Stiles with what he had already spent half an hour searching for. Stiles hadn’t been able to find Derek’s porno career with what he had personally felt to be a good investigative session. And then all of a sudden, a scene of Derek’s managed to drop right down into Stiles’ lap.

Immediately, Stiles found himself unable to do anything other than pour all of his attention into watching Derek fiercely maneuver himself through the scene. It was amazing….beyond amazing. Whatever re-uploaded video Stiles had managed to stumble upon definitely wasn’t Derek’s first game. He knew exactly how to take control, work over his scene partner, what kinds of dirty talk sounded the hottest when sprinkled throughout the scene….it was all perfect, calculated, hot as fuck….

Stiles didn’t even last until the mid-point of the video before he ended up coating his stomach and knuckles with his load. What he would give to get just a taste of Derek. It was bad, sure. Stiles knew that he probably shouldn’t lust after his best friend’s older brother. It was definitely breaking some kind of “bro-code” by even thinking about it…but Stiles couldn’t help himself. The fantasy was just too much.

+

The next day, Stiles drove over to Scott’s house with legitimate intention to ask if he could borrow a extra pair of lacrosse gloves from the upcoming big game. Seeing as how it was only five o’clock and Scott didn’t have to clock in at the Animal Clinic until six-thirty, Stiles had no reason not to think that Scott would be home and available to answer the front door.

But much to Stiles’ surprise, Derek was the one who answered the door. Apparently, Scott had been called into work an hour early, allowing for certain dominoes to topple themselves over into creating a situation that Stiles didn’t even know how to properly navigate his way through. He didn’t even know how or where to start.

“What?” Derek barked, leaning against the threshold of the front door.

“I—uh, I was just—” Stiles babbled nervously, unable to stop himself from raking his eyes down Derek’s body, right down to the bulge at the crotch of his jeans.

“Spit it out!” Derek growled, spiking up the volume in his voice. “Jesus Christ, why does my brother pick up the weirdest fucking people to associate himself with?”

“I was looking for Scott.” Stiles said, finding his footing in the unsteady conversation. “We have a game—a lacrosse game on Saturday night—and I really need to see if he has a spare pair of gloves.”

Derek settled his uninterested gaze on Stiles. He rolled his eyes and huffed out a frustrated exhale of breath, reluctantly shifting where he stood to allow Stiles to step into the interior of the house. Derek figured that if Stiles just hurried himself up and found Scott’s spare pair of gloves, then he would be out of Derek’s business for the rest of the week. And that’s really all Derek wanted.

Stiles made his way up to Scott’s bedroom. He carefully searched through the places where he knew Scott usually kept his sports equipment. Meanwhile, Derek watched from the hallway—peering into the room to watch and make sure that Stiles wasn’t about to make a huge ass mess that Derek would get blamed by Scott for later.

“I’m just—I know he has them somewhere.” Stiles explained nervously, stumbling around the expanse of Scott’s room whilst innocently looking over to where Derek stood. “I’m not like, trying to steal anything or something like that.”

“I didn’t say you were.” Derek confirmed dryly. “Now hurry up.”

Stiles nodded, crashing down to the carpeted floor in a mad dash to scan under Scott’s bed. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome, and as much as he wanted to stick around and oogle Derek’s hot body, he didn’t actually want to get dragged downstairs and thrown outside on his ass. Derek didn’t seem like he was in the mood to wait around.

The moment Stiles dropped down onto all fours, Derek felt a twinge of interest spark inside of his body. He raised in eyebrow, analyzing the way Stiles’ back muscles flexed and moved underneath the loose flannel shirt that the boy had on. But Derek’s eyes kept falling down to look at Stiles’ ass—which was practically falling out of the boy’s sagged pants.

“Fucking cute.” Derek noted sarcastically, walking over to stand where Stiles remained on the ground.

“Uh — what?” Stiles questioned, halting his little search, looking up to where Derek was towering above him — all dark, and muscular, calm and casual.

“You think stumbling your way into my house with some bullshit excuse about needing gloves is the way to get what you want?”

Stiles looked around the room in confusion, unsure as to what Derek was trying to say. Sure, he stumbled around — but that was only because he was naturally clumsy and totally freaked out about being in the presence of his best friend’s pornstar brother. But yes, he actually was looking for gloves that he actually did need…so he didn’t understand what Derek was going on about.

“I’m not lying.” Stiles argued, crawling up to rest on his knees. “Call Scott if you don’t believe me. We have a game on Saturday and he knows that I lost my gloves somewhere last week.”

“Yeah, I believe it.” Derek crossed his arms, scoffing at what he believed to be a flimsy excuse. “And that’s why you came around here when Scotty was at work, right? Cause you knew I’d be here. And you’d be here. And you’d get to put on your little show.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Stiles cried out. “What show? I didn’t know Scott went to work early!”

Derek let a subtle grin tug at the corner of his pressed lips, beaming down to where Stiles remained on his knees. The boy’s bright eyes and flushed cheeks were captivating, but all Derek really wanted to do was see what a nice, hot load looked like dripping off the boy’s button nose and blurring all of the dark moles that were splayed across Stiles’ face.

“And then you just accidentally forget to wear a belt, let your pants slip down just a little, and make sure that I can see everything when you bend over.” Derek asserts. “I might fuck people for a living in all kinds of dumbass scenarios, but that shit doesn’t fly in real life.”

“Look, I — I think you’ve got me all wrong, Derek.” Stiles said, standing up from where he had been knelt down. “I didn’t come here…I’m not trying to…I barely know you, dude.”

“So, you didn’t see me getting dressed yesterday and then immediately run home to search the internet for some of my scenes so you could jerk off and think about me?” Derek quickly questioned.

“Yeah, but like—No! It wasn’t like that—”

“I get it.” Derek revealed. “You just needed to get it out of your system.”

“Yeah, honestly…that was it.”

“Well, did you do it?”

Stiles shifted around. “What—did I do what?”

“Get everything out of your system?” Derek leaned forward. “Or is that why you’re here? Because you need some help?”

The gravity seemed to shift in the room. It felt heavy. Stiles found himself drawn deep into the shadows of Derek’s sharp eyes. Everything that Derek was saying was so overwhelming. Some of it was true, but the other half was a complete misreading of the situation. And either Derek was too dumb to realize it, or he just didn’t care, because he had already made up his mind as to what he wanted.

“Are you suggesting—” Stiles started.

“ —that you get up on Scotty’s bed and pull down those pants?” Derek’s voice was calmed and smooth. He watched as his words poured right into Stiles’ head. “Yeah, I’ll give you a ride….if you keep up the whole ‘innocent virgin’ act. I like that.”

Stiles’ eyelashes fluttered in disbelief. He looked over to Scott’s bed and then over to where the bedroom door was still open. It was a now-or-never kind of situation. All of the ingredients seemed to fall together into a perfect opportunity. Scott was at work. Scott’s parents were at work. Stiles had nowhere else that he was supposed to be.

It was now or never….

Stiles swallowed down his nerves and walked over to the edge of Scott’s bed — shooting inquisitive looks over to where Derek remained, as if to mentally ask questions about whether or not he was setting the moment up correctly. But Derek just watched. So Stiles lifted himself up onto the mattress, getting onto his hands and knees—feet down towards the bottom edge of the bed and his head pointed to the headboard.

Derek watched as Stiles set himself up into position, offering no words as Stiles looked back for further instruction. Instead, he flicked his head upward —eyeing down to where Stiles’ jeans were slipped halfway down the curve of the boy’s ass. Unsurprisingly, Stiles took the nonverbal cue—letting his upper body crash down into the blankets of Scott’s bed, whilst he reached back with both of his hands and tugged down his pants and boxers.

Once the roundness of Stiles’ ass was out in the open, Derek clicked his tongue in smug satisfaction. He reached down to his own pants and quickly undid them, pulling out his hardening cock. And as Stiles remained laid down against the soft mattress of his Scott’s mattress, Derek stepped closer to the tight piece of ass he couldn’t wait to tear into.

With a rough slap, Derek palmed down onto Stiles’ ass—squeezing away the momentary sting of the spank. Derek then situated himself behind where Stiles was bent forward, spitting down onto his fingers, and then softly prodding them into where Stiles was untouched, flushed hot, and undeniably tight. It was a prize to explore and Derek was more than happy to take it.

“Have you ever been here like this before?” Derek questioned softly, sinking a couple of his fingers into Stiles’ receptive warmth. “Don’t tell me Scotty got you first.”

“Gross — no.” Stiles groaned, mouthing at the blankets beneath him. “Scott’s my friend….current Biology lab partner…lacrosse co-captain…that’s it.”

“Good.” Derek breathed down against the back of Stiles’ neck. “Then you’ll have to figure out a way to look Scott in the face knowing you’ve fucked his older bro.”

By the time Derek was satisfied with the amount of finger-fucking he had done to Stiles’ hole, the boy was a blubbering mess — soaking the bedsheets underneath their bodies with slobber from Stiles’ perpetually open mouth and from all of the precum that Stiles couldn’t help but let leak down.

Stiles couldn’t help himself. The feeling was so incredible, so overwhelming…he could feel Derek reach deep inside of his body. Derek’s fingers were reaching in, prodding and massaging places that not even Stiles himself had had the opportunity to touch. It was like he could feel Derek’s precision and heat flood into his body and wrap itself around his bones, his heart, and his mind.

“I think I’m ready.” Stiles murmured.

“I can feel that.” Derek smirked, watching how easily his wet fingers slid into the puckered tightness of Stiles’ ass. “Now get undressed, take everything off, and get on your back —legs up, spread and open—and keep that bashful expression of confused puppy wonder on that pretty face of yours.”

Stiles hopped off of the bed and kicked off his pants and boxers, not even bothering to watch them fly across the room and knock over a couple of Scott’s elementary school baseball trophies. He tugged off his flannel and did away with his undershirt, and then hopped back onto the bed—getting into the exact positioning that Derek had instructed him to get into.

Derek finished undressing himself and then slotted himself in-between Stiles’ spread legs, pulling the boy’s ass closer to the side edge of the mattress. He let the fat head of his cock bat itself teasingly against Stiles’ fingered hole. And when he saw Stiles’ body shiver and quake with anticipation, Derek dove inward into Stiles’ welcoming heat —melting into the slick slide of his bare cock as it squeezed itself into Stiles’ virginity.

Time dealt the cards — it dictated the speed and the brutality. Things started slowly, but quickened with haste. Stiles just seemed to eager take everything that Derek delivered. Derek could actually feel the boy’s hunger for more. Stiles didn’t want it soft. He didn’t want it slow or sensual or any of the things that virgins typically kept themselves on the fence waiting for.

Stiles wanted everything and then some.

“Right there—fuck—keep hitting it right there!” Stiles groaned, holding the sides of his own head. Almost as if he were trying to keep all of his overwhelming emotions from spilling out. “Jesus holy fucking motherfucking Christ. You feel so fucking good.”

Derek pretzeled Stiles, keeping the boy’s lithe body pressed together tight and locked under his strength. He powered onward—drilling harder and harder into the receptive tightness of Stiles’ body. All the while, Stiles screamed out in explosive pleasure, loud enough to rattle the windows and surrounding furniture inside of the bedroom.

“Where do you want it?” Derek breathlessly asked. “I’m gonna cum. Where do you want this?”

“Everywhere.”

Derek pulled out of Stiles’ hole, grabbing a firm hold of his throbbing cock. He stroked himself quickly, desperately clawing towards a release. And as he stared down at his own cock, watching the way that its weight shadowed over the sweaty expanse of Stiles’ beautiful body, Derek orgasmed—wildly spurting heavy pumps of sticky cum down to gloss atop Stiles.

Stiles kept his legs spread open, watching the way that Derek’s load slung around and rained down onto him. He felt each spurt strike against his body. The initial surprise of wet and sticky heat pouring onto him was satisfying and comforting. And all that Stiles could really do was stare up into the blaze of Derek’s eyes whilst his own orgasm washed over him like a tide of pleasure.

Stiles’ body convulsed. He hurriedly stroked at his cock, groaning and shouting out as he watched his own cock follow Derek’s lead. It was hot…so unbelievably hot. When it was all said and done, Stiles just stared down at his body— breathlessly examining the obscene amount of cum that pooled into the slight ridges of his abs and his navel.

“I—uh,” Stiles started, loosely sliding his fingers through the collective amount of cum that started to cool on his skin. “—I’m still going to need to find those gloves.”

[littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog]

Malpractice

Explicit | 4,542 words | hypnotism/non-con | archive of our own

Summary: Derek Hale is a defense attorney with a shady reputation and mind control abilities. Stiles Stilinski is a prosecutor at the same courthouse and ends up under the control of Derek for lewd purposes.

The courthouse was where law and fairness was supposed to join together in holy matrimony. Unfortunately, that’s not the way things worked in Beacon Hills. Well….it worked sometimes, just not whenever the infamous criminal defense attorney, Derek Hale, was working over a courtroom. That’s just the way things worked….not that anybody was quite powerful enough to call out the shady workings behind Derek’s work.

See, Derek didn’t always know that he could push thoughts into the heads of people around him. A telepath, a master of hypnotic induction, a thought-pusher, and mind controller…they were all essentially the same thing. But the point of the matter is that Derek found out he could control people’s minds early on in his academic career—accidentally pushing his professors into giving him passing grades, pushing cashiers to casually forget to ask him to pay for what he bought, pushing strangers into giving up their valuables…etcetera.

Derek was powerful. Over the years, he had mastered his power, using it for things that some would consider to be reckless and downright disgraceful. And yet, Derek enjoyed having the world around him in the palm of his hand. It helped him get through the days. It helped him get through law school. It helped make him wealthy. It helped make him bigger than anything and anyone in the world.

As far as the Beacon Hills Courthouse was concerned, Derek Hale held the notorious reputation for never losing a single case in his entire history of practicing law. Of course, nobody knew that he was a mind-controller. And before anybody could even dare to draw up that kind of conclusion, Derek was ready and willing to scramble up somebody’s mind—erase memories and replace them with something else.

It was easy.

But for those that remained lucky enough to not fall directly into Derek’s immoral path of lobotomizing random strangers, Derek was known around the courthouse as a talented defense attorney with a knack for the law. He was known to be slick, cunning, sharp, well pieced together, and a force to be reckoned with. Nobody wanted to challenge him.

Now, Stiles Stilinski was a bright-eyed prosecutor, with a good score of court successes under his belt. He was incredibly skilled when it came to maneuvering himself around the courtroom—dancing his way through cross-examinations and winning over jury pools like he could do it in his sleep. He was a natural talent—a real attorney, with real skill, who believed in doing the right thing, fighting for justice, for peace, for liberty, the whole shebang.

And yes…Stiles had heard all the horror stories about the big bad wolf, Mister Derek Hale, the defense attorney from Hell. And no…Stiles wasn’t intimidated. He had come across tons of tricky combatants in his days as a prosecutor. He wasn’t going to let the spotless track record of some random attorney scare him away from doing his job.

But like so many others before his time, Stiles was completely unaware that Derek Hale wasn’t some normal, run of the mill, casual defense attorney. He was much more than that. He was a real…real threat. A supernatural entity with immense power…and no, some happy-go-lucky prosecutor with a promising future wasn’t anywhere close to a challenge for Derek.

Derek was going to have some fun.

+

The preliminary trial was about to begin. Stiles settled into his corner of the room, patiently waiting behind his podium, eyeballing the surrounding court guests, officials, and the judge—all of which were waiting for Derek’s arrival. Stiles couldn’t actually believe that the big, scary defense attorney with a perfect track record was nowhere to be found. But in Stiles’ mind, he considered it a good sign of being able to knock Derek down a peg.

And with only a few minutes left on the clock before the case would be called before the judge for review, Stiles just shook his head in disbelief. Tardiness was an insult to the law, an insult to the court, and an unforgivable insult to the presiding judge. He couldn’t wait to see how Derek was going to explain his unprofessional performance to the judge.

“I apologize.” Derek called out, sauntering into the courtroom to stand at his podium. “Forgive my tardiness, your honor. The traffic was a living nightmare.”

“The traffic was a living nightmare? Of course, it was.” The judged spoke slowly. “We can all understand the trouble. All is forgiven, Mr. Hale.”

Stiles eyed the “celebrity attorney” in bewilderment. What? He just blamed traffic for his tardiness and the judge let it fly without any sort of warning? Sure, Derek was as charming and as physically attractive as he had heard around the rumor mill. He was tall, dark, broody, and smooth—obviously light on his feet, confidently smug, and clearly beloved by the biased ass judge who didn’t even care that Derek strode into the courtroom late.

Unbelievable.

Derek settled behind his podium and rattled noisily through a stack of papers, to which nobody dared to shush him or comment on the amount of noise that he was making. Before he had even walked into the courtroom, he had infiltrated everybody minds—everybody except for the newest toy of the bunch—Mr. Stiles‘do-gooder’ Stilinski. Everybody else was tucked away in an inescapable haze of low brain function for the time being.

The gavel banged down atop the judge’s desk, capturing the room’s foggy attention. Derek watched as Stiles opened up with his introductory statement, carefully analyzing the man. There was so much enthusiasm and fire inside Stiles. Derek shadowed himself into Stiles’ mind for just a moment, taking a peek around.

“Your honor, this court joins together to discuss the case of Mr. Hale’s client—Jackson Whittemore—a man who has been charged with committing heinous crimes.” Stiles began passionately. “On January 28th, 2016, Mr. Whittemore drove to the grocery store what was located at the corner of his current home address, and as our witness’ testimony will explain—”

“—that we can’t take anything the prosecution’s witness says as being trustworthy, your honor.” Derek interrupts, leaving Stiles to quickly fumble over his words into silence. “I’ve brought the court Mr. Stilinski’s witness’ medical records, which you will find to be quite interesting, as they show that multiple psychiatrists have noted this witness is a compulsive liar.”

Derek held up a blank piece of paper, showing it to the surrounding courtroom audience, before walking it up to the judge’s bench. Clearly, it was a blank piece of paper, but it didn’t matter, because Derek quickly pierced into the judge’s mind to make him see medical records. In fact, he made everybody in the room see the medical records…except, for Stiles.

“Your honor—” Stiles exclaimed, slightly confused as to what kind of game Derek was playing.

“The evidence brought forth by the defense is damning, Mr. Stilinski.” The judge revealed. “And considering the fact that you have only brought us this one untrustworthy witness, there is no other choice but to motion forward for a trial.”

The judge banged the gavel down atop the wooden bench, setting forth a date for the official trial, before dismissing the room. Stiles remained behind his podium, utterly dumbfounded as he watched the entire room clear out. He was lost for words. What kind of foul joke was at play? That was just a plain, completely blank piece of paper. He felt as though he was losing his mind.

Though….not quite.

Stiles shook some clarity into his foggy brain and quickly cleaned up his podium, packing up his suitcase and grabbing his thermos of morning coffee before racing out of the empty room to interrogate Derek. He was determined to figure out what the hell was happening. The last thing that he was about to do was lay down and let Derek get away with whatever brand of malpractice he was playing around with.

“Could I borrow a moment of your time, Mr. Hale?” Stiles shouted smugly, running up to stand directly behind Derek’s imposing form.

Derek smirked to himself before even bothering to turn around. Now, it was time for him to have some fun with the fresh-faced prosecutor, who had no idea what the fuck was going on in the world around him. And after peaking into Stiles’ inner thoughts, his memories, his desires, his aspirations—Derek saw it all. He was able to tell that Stiles had never had a mind-reader poking around inside of his delicate, intelligent brain before….but he was practically destined to like it.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Stilinski.” Derek offered, turning around to face Stiles.

“Yeah, sure.” Stiles scoffed. “Do you mind telling me what kind of shit you’re trying to get away with here? Passing off a blank piece of paper as medical records to help your case? Getting the judge to play along with your blatant malpractice? I’ll have your fucking ass out of his city and rotting in some dank prison cell.”

“You’ve spilled your coffee.” Derek stated calmly. “You should be polite and apologize, and then clean up the mess that you’ve spilled all over my shoes, don’t you think?”

A feeling of fuzziness quickly clouded Stiles’ mind, momentarily freezing him in his train of thought. He stopped talking, staring deeply into the bright green of Derek’s eyes, whilst his brain twisted and bent to the gentle push of a demand from Derek’s hypnotic power. And then suddenly, Stiles’ hand unclasped its grip on his thermos of coffee, causing it to fall. It clattered loudly against the hallway’s marble flooring, splattering hot liquid across the sleek surface and onto Derek’s shoes.

“Jesus…Christ.” Stiles mumbled foggily, instantaneously hit with a wave of apologetic concern. He set down his briefcase and then reached into his pocket, pulling out a clean handkerchief, before kneeling down before Derek’s coffee-splattered shoes. “I apologize, Mr. Hale. I don’t know what happened. I can be so clumsy sometimes.”

“Don’t beat yourself up too much about it, Mr. Stilinski.” Derek cooed, watching Stiles work himself into a sweat as he furiously buffed and shined the dirty leather shoes. “You like being a bit submissive and you’re quite talented with your hands.” He spoke, implanting new characteristics into Stiles’ thoughts for later.

“I do.” Stiles mumbled. “I am.”

“My shoes look as good as new…now, what was it that you were saying again when you confronted me?” Derek questioned sarcastically. “Oh, you were praising my vigor, my confidence, and my enthusiasm during the preliminary.”

“Oh yeah. That was it.” Stiles agreed, standing up. He tucked his soiled handkerchief back into his pocket. “Your talent in the court is unlike anything that I’ve ever seen, Mr. Hale. I appreciated being able to bask in the shine of your brightness. And the way that you got my witness thrown out? It was absolutely genius on your part.”

Derek chuckled to himself, studying the blank look masked over Stiles’ hazel eyes and the look of controlled contentment across the young prosecutor’s face. He reached out towards Stiles’ face and pressed the pad of his thumb against the corner of the other man’s lips, wiping away the bead of drool that had accumulated there. It wasn’t too noticeable, but it was just a tiny effect of Derek’s influence.

“You seem like an enthusiastic young attorney.” Derek noted, thumbing across the plush stretch of Stiles’ bowed lips. The boy didn’t even appear to notice. “I would be delighted to watch you work through a mock-trial of what you’ll present during the real thing…in private, perhaps?”

“Anything…” Stiles responded loosely.

“Music to my ears.” Derek noted.

Derek took a moment to do some flip work inside of Stiles’ mind, blanketing most of what had just transpired—restoring Stiles back to his fired up personality. Although, Derek made sure not to erase anything, just hide things. Stiles would go on with the rest of his day like normal, thinking that he had stormed out of the courtroom and successfully ripped Derek a new one for the stunt he pulled with the piece of paper.

“—so fucking think about that, you insufferable asswipe!” Stiles sneered, snapping back to his original train of thought, before Derek mashed around with his mind.

+

A couple days later, Derek showed up on Stiles’ doorstep during the afternoon—completely unannounced. He knocked politely, waited, and smiled wickedly when Stiles actually opened up the door with a sour scowl spread across his face. Derek didn’t expect anything less, however. He was prepared.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Stiles interrogated. “And can you hurry up with whatever dumb explanation you’re about to give me? I’m supposed to be down at the courthouse in thirty minutes to meet with a client.”

“You were going to give me a performance—a mock trial.” Derek explained, watching as Stiles face dropped blank as the implanted memories came forward inside of Stiles’ mind.

“Oh, yeah.” Stiles acknowledged, gesturing for Derek to step inside. “Come inside, Derek.”

Derek stepped inside Stiles’ house, taking in the relaxed interior design of the comfortable bachelor pad. As he walked around the house and took in the sight of each room, Stiles followed behind like an expectant zombie—as if waiting for another thought and demand to be queued up inside of his thought processes. But really, Derek was just trying to find the perfect place to fool around.

Upon entering the dining room, Derek smirked to himself, glancing down to the sturdy wood of the large dining room table. There was more than enough space to do some things. Trouble was right around the corner, but so was pleasure and so was entertainment.  And seeing as how Stiles had thirty full minutes of nothing to do before having to get down to the courthouse, there was time.

Derek walked up to the side of the wooden table and looked down upon the set table decorations, pausing for a moment, and then deciding that Stiles would clean up the mess later anyways. He slammed down one of his arms onto the table and slid it across the surface—pushing off all of the decorative placements, silverware sets, plates, and the large vase of fresh flowers that had been centered in the middle of the table.

Despite the loud crash and the new mess that was piled up on the hardwood floors, Stiles didn’t react. He just stood expectantly at the entryway to the dining room—all dressed up in his expensive, professional suit and tie, which was of course used to make a good impression on clients and fellow acquaintances at the courthouse.

Derek hopped up onto the table and sat down comfortably. He scanned Stiles’ body up and down and then decided to actually get into the action. Derek clapped his hands, pulling Stiles’ undivided attention, and then told him that he was in the courtroom, before the judge and jury, making his case against the defendant.  

Stiles immediately jumped into action, straightening his posture and dipping into his calmer, sterner voice. He passionately began to plead his case against the defendant, actually arguing and making valid points to an invisible judge and jury, as he paced back and forth across the dining room—completely unaware that he was under the hypnotic spell of a rival attorney.

“Mr. Whittemore walked into that grocery store with the intent to harm others.” Stiles argued seriously, blankly staring past where Derek sat patiently and at a judge that wasn’t there. “Nobody would bring a gun into a grocery store, a place where families and innocent civilians are shopping, if they didn’t plan on doing something horrendous. This is an incredibly simple case, it’s cut and dry, there’s—”

“Good, keep going—” Derek interjected, watching as Stiles continued with his spiel, yet remained receptive to Derek’s commands. “—but come take my dick out of my pants and suck me off….just remember, you’re still making your case.”

Stiles continued to speak about the case, talking sternly to an imaginary jury about how there’s nothing accidental about shooting an innocent civilian in a grocery store, whilst following Derek’s exact command. He dropped to his knees, settling himself in-between Derek’s spread thighs, and unpacked the man’s thick cock—not missing a beat in his imaginary case.

“You have talented hands, remember?” Derek pushed, watching the way that Stiles wrapped his hands around Derek’s unfathomable thickness, doing his best to stroke the beast of a cock for all that it was worth.

“The proof is here in black and white, it’s everything that you need to make a decision—” Stiles enunciated mindlessly, unable and unwilling to break away from where he continued to softly stroke his hands up and down Derek’s throbbing cock.

“Take my cock into your mouth…” Derek ordered. “…don’t let the jury sway away from the point you’re trying to make.”

Stiles surged downward, eagerly swallowing down a large portion of Derek’s cock with relative ease. He found a rhythm quickly, bobbing up and down, and letting the immoral defense attorney thrust deep into his sensitive throat. The sounds of gags and choked coughs filled the space, whilst Stiles continued on his boring courtroom preaching every time that he pulled off of Derek’s length for a breath of fresh air.

Derek watched in amused silence. There was something so funny and ridiculously hot about how Stiles would gag and choke and pull up for air, mouth red and stretched and wet with spit and pre-cum, only to immediately breathlessly talk about morals, about the law, about justice, and putting away a dangerous threat to society. And Stiles didn’t even quit—he just kept going, running his mouth, fucking his mouth, even though his voice started to run hoarse and ragged.

Eventually, the whole courtroom soundbites from Stiles got old and boring and obnoxious, so Derek cut it off. He let the boy suck in cock in regular silence, taking in the not-so-innocent sounds of lewd slurps and coughs. Stiles made some pretty noises when he was all fucked out of control. The polished prosecutor was sloppy and desperate when a big cock got waved in front of his face.

Derek delighted in his power—instructing Stiles to do all kinds of things. He ordered Stiles to take his cock to the hilt and repeat the action again and again, laughing hysterically as he watched Stiles try to successfully do as he was told. Stiles managed for a while, taking Derek to the hilt. And Derek liked it. He watched as Stiles’ face turned bright red and splotchy with tears, with bulging veins on his face, and a deep bruised bulge in his throat whenever he had the cock in his mouth.

But then Stiles passed out and Derek rolled his eyes, lounging back atop the table until Stiles found his way back to consciousness. And to his surprise, as soon as Stiles woke up, he immediately went straight back to deepthroating Derek’s dick—slow and steady, yet perfectly executed. In fact, it seemed as though the boy was actually learning and adjusting and developing some kind of extra stamina and tolerance to the whole thing.

“Get sloppy.” Derek instructed, watching the thought infiltrate Stiles’ mind.

Derek pulled his phone out of his pocket and started to browse the internet for something more entertaining. He started to pay little attention to the change in Stiles’ blowjob performance style following the new order. Stiles was making all kinds of loud, lewd sounds, which were sure to upset the neighbors. But Stiles really did get sloppy—his strokes got wilder, he spat down on Derek’s thick cock, sucked passionately at Derek’s balls, and moaned like a straight up whore.

And then Derek realized that Stiles was about to be late for his appointment across town at the courthouse. Derek alerted Stiles to the news, watching panic spread across the boy’s messy face, even whilst he continued to work his mouth on and around Derek’s throbbing cock. But eventually, Derek instructed Stiles to freeze in place and stick out his tongue—before Derek finally unloaded across Stiles’ face.

Before Derek let Stiles go about the rest of his day, he once again reworked pieces of Stiles’ memory—making him actively ignore the memories of getting down on his knees to serve Derek like some common cocksucker. But Derek also instructed Stiles to leave the house and head down to the courthouse with the fresh load of cum splattered messily across his face and that he could only leave his car to walk inside the building once he cleaned his face up by scooping the spent load into his mouth and swallowing.

+

A few months later, the actual trial commenced.

“I hope you’re not expecting to pull any kind of shady ass ‘blank-paper’ tricks this time around.” Stiles snickered, stepping over to the prosecutor’s table, whilst glaring down Derek. “This is a new judge, buddy. He’s not on your payroll.”

Derek shrugged as if in agreement with Stiles’ words, unbothered by the nonthreatening nonsense that spewed from his mouth. He sure wasn’t talking all that shit when he was choking himself breathless on a fat cock. It almost made Derek laugh…but it was all good. The trial was only beginning.

The trial went on strong for the first fifty minutes and a simple recess with nothing out of the sorts. Derek didn’t push any thoughts or sway any of the revelations. He let things play out normally. But when it was time for Stiles to jump into his closing statements for the jury, Derek let loose with the outlandish “fun and games”, putting into motion something that he had thought up only a few minutes prior.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury and of this great court,” Stiles boldly started. “We’re heard the facts, we’ve seen the evidence, we’ve heard from the defendant himself regarding what went down on that cold January night—”

“Keep going on with the trial, think nothing out of ordinary about what you see.” Derek interjected, interrupting Stiles’ speech. “Now, Stiles—show the court the tight little ass of yours.”

Stiles continued to speak to the jury and the judge as he continued to deliver his closing statements, although this time, they weren’t invisible and none of this was happening in his dining room. And whilst Stiles, the jury, the judge, and the court audience continued on as if nothing was out of the norm, Stiles also started to follow Derek’s secondary direction.

He continued to speak, completely unconcerned. As far as Stiles could comprehend, everything was normal. But Stiles rounded the prosecutor’s table and unbuckled his belt, dropping his pants and boxers down to his ankles—kicking them off and out of the way. He bent over the solid wooden edge of the table and stuck his ass out to the judge, continuing to address the jury as he reached back with his hands and spread the plump globes of his ass open to reveal his tight entrance.

“Get on top of your prosecutor’s table and sit, lay back, spread your legs, and finger yourself.” Derek instructed calmly, still pretending to listen attentively to the tired, repetitive law bullshit that Stiles continued on about.

But Stiles followed in direction and hopped up onto the table and did as he was told. He started to finger himself, slowly at first, but faster when Derek demanded it so. All the while, he pled for the jury to keep their own families in mind and think about how awful they’d feel if somebody let the murderer of one of their loved ones walk free—mixed up with the occasional, involuntary moan that Stiles let slip when his fingers prodded against his prostate.

Derek rid himself of his own pants and unbuttoned his shirt, leaving the suit coat, leather shoes, and socks on his body. He walked across the room to where Stiles was unable to stop fingering himself atop the table and ordered everybody to continue on with the proceedings. All the while, Derek climbed up onto the prosecutor’s desk and laid himself out, instructing Stiles to climb on top of him and passionately begin to fuck himself on his cock for the audience.

“You’re going to be loud—unapologetically loud. You’re going to fuck yourself on my cock like it’s all you’ve ever wanted to do.”  Derek whispered into Stiles’ ear.

Stiles did as he was told.  

He rode the hell out of Derek like it was the last he was going to be able to do before keeling over dead. Stiles took every inch of Derek’s thick cock with hungry enthusiasm, desperate to fill his guts with the monstrous length and girth of the same hellish defense attorney that everybody had warned him about. Of course, that logic wasn’t accessible inside of Stiles’ mind. His mind was clouded and twisted and bent into something made of only pure lust and submissive desire.

Meanwhile, the standard court proceedings went on around Derek and his fucktoy as if nothing was out of sorts. Which, was basically the case, considering the fact that Derek had infiltrated the minds of everybody in the room, willing them all into believe that it was totally normal to watch the case’s prosecutor get railed by the defense attorney. None of them would honestly remember it anyways.

The jury was released to their chamber to cast their decision of ‘guilty’ or ‘not guilty’, whilst Stiles and Derek continued to perform uninterrupted for the rest of the court. Without anything to do but wait for the jury to reconvene, the entire court just watched with blank, emotionless expressions as Derek fucked up into Stiles’ ass.

Stiles bounced around, but eventually become unresponsive to Derek’s further demands. It was fatigue. Stiles’ mind had become so overloaded and cluttered with hidden-away memories and instructed demands, that his brain just stopped being able to function under Derek’s immediate control. Fortunately for Derek, Stiles’ mind was locked on the last command that he had been given—which had been to ride him and ride him and keep going until everything was done and over.

Stiles did as he was told—screaming and moaning out into the empty void, surrounded by his peers, strangers, his superiors, and jurors. And as the jurors returned to their box with the final verdict to the case that Stiles had wanted so badly to win, Derek and Stiles found their orgasms together in one collective shout of ecstasy.  

“Not guilty.” One of the jurors announced.

Stiles breathed heavily, sloppily pulling himself off of Derek’s cock—feeling the flood of hot cum rush out of his abused hole and sputter messily against the back of his thighs and legs. He chuckled to himself, stumbling forward to stand in the middle of the courtroom —before the judge, the jurors, and the defense attorney—utterly delirious, swaying around with an unbalanced stance.

“I won.” Stiles remarked breathlessly…and then collapsed down to the carpeted ground in a pool of Derek’s cum, half-naked and covered in a perverted mess…for a much needed nap.

[littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog]

Ready, Set, Focus

Explicit | 2,913 words | Power Dynamics | archive of our own

Summary: Scott doesn't have any grasp on how to control his newfound werewolf urges, including anger and lust. Derek offers up himself as a helpful solution.

Scott peddled hard, shoving his feet down against the resistance of his bike pedals whilst he veered through the dirt road of the Beacon Hills Preserve. His ferocious emotion boiled over—hot and heavy—fueling his motivation and unyielding anger as he continued alongside the road to the soot-covered bones of Derek’s old house.

Derek’s persistent interference into his life was grating. Scott just wanted to be a normal person, in a normal town, with a normal girlfriend. He wanted to forget about getting turned into a werewolf. Just a couple weeks ago, werewolves were a myth. But now, everything was fucked…and Derek was hellbent on sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Derek was hellbent on being the lasting reminder of what Scott wanted to ignore…and Scott was finished with it—he was finished with Derek.

“Derek!” Scott roared, hopping off of his bike. He tossed the metal down onto the wild weeds of Derek’s poor excuse for what some people would attempt to call a front lawn. “I know you’re in there! Step outside! You’re starting to piss me off even more!”

“Get pissed.” Derek mocked dryly from where the sun threw heavy shadows down onto the rickety porch of his ruined house. “It’ll help to prove my point.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you’re trying to prove.” Scott responded. “I want you to get the fuck out of my life and stay the fuck out of my life…for the rest of my life!”

Derek jumped off of the wooden porch and swaggered over to where Scott was angrily standing—fists balled up in an empty, childish display of weak anger. It made Derek want to roll his eyes and wave the entire situation away. But he couldn’t. It was more than clear that Scott needed some sturdy foundation for being a werewolf. And Scott’s lack of self-control and lack of logical thought was dangerous.

“Your temper—it’s going to get somebody killed.” Derek announced smugly, pointing his finger into the meat of Scott’s chest. “It could get your friends killed, it could get your little girlfriend killed, and it could get you killed.”

“Really—? Because I just want to let it get you killed.” Scott sneered, leaping forward into Derek’s sturdy frame.

Scott’s eyes flared bright beta yellow, his fangs and claws elongated, the hair on the sides of his face thickened, and he roared out—knocking Derek down into the dirt and dead grass. He clawed violently into the fabric of Derek’s shirt, ripping it into shreds, whilst trying to dig the sharpness of his claws into Derek’s chest.

Derek shifted, getting his legs underneath where the front of Scott’s body was pressed against his own, and then kicked the unskilled beta off of his muscle. He watched as Scott flew through the air—bashing into the thick wood of a tree with a pained cry. And as Scott picked himself up from the ground, even angrier than before, Derek calmly recollected himself, stood up, and dusted his torn clothes off.

“You’re out of control. You’re feral. You’re unpolished, unskilled, outmatched, and ignorant to what I’m supposed to teach you.” Derek clicked his tongue unsympathetically. “You need to channel your anger into something that can handle it—something that can drain you and send you on your way with a levelheaded mind.

Scott charged at Derek yet again, reaching out with his claws. However, Derek quickly dodged the attack and spun around—kicking harshly against Scott’s backside and watching the outraged beta collapse momentarily against the ground. Derek reached down and grabbed a fist full of Scott’s sweater fabric, hoisting the boy up into the air, and then dragging him into the shadowed husk of the Hale house.

Derek dropped Scott onto the dust-covered floorboards of the house’s charred foyer, clapping away the dirt from his own hands as he let Scott simmer. He beamed down towards the beta, focusing in on how Scott’s heartbeat refused to come down, how Scott’s pores continued to ooze out wrath, and how Scott blatantly continued to fight against words of advice.

“I’m – supposed – to – meet – Allison – tonight.” Scott growled, piercing his yellow gaze up into Derek’s blue. “

Derek scoffed. “And that’s your problem.”

“Allison isn’t a problem. You’re the problem!” Scott retorted.

Derek hovered over where Scott remained hunched over on the floor, nudging the boy’s rips with the bluntness of his leather boot, just enough to flip Scott over onto his back. He stared down at Scott’s heaving chest and glowing eyes. He analyzed the lines of anger that prominently creased on the skin of Scott’s sweat-beaded forehead. Derek was amazed at how unwilling to listen and learn Scott was.

“It’s hormones, dumbass.” Derek said, kneeling down so that one of his knees rested in-between Scott’s spread thighs. “You don’t think with your head, you think with your dick….and it’s going to keep fucking up your life until you learn how to separate the two.”

Scott roared out again, this time, kicking Derek away from his body. Derek flew into the air and smashed into the wooden door frame that had seemingly retained enough structural integrity through the fire; because Derek’s heavy body didn’t into shatter it into sawdust. Instead, Derek’s back hit against the solid wood—momentarily stunning him.

Derek shook the stars out of his dazed head, prepared to counter with another attack. But then, Scott lunged forward and pressed himself up against Derek’s body—pinning the two of them back against the wooden door frame. Derek waited for a moment to see what Scott was going to do or what he was going to say, but surprisingly blanketed the entire situation when Scott ultimately decided to dive in for an animalistic kiss—which nicked at Derek’s bottom lip.

As surprising as the kiss was, it wasn’t one-sided. Derek quickly figured that if this was going to get Scott to listen and drain his anger into something—a vessel—that would be able to absorb it and file it away elsewhere—it was fair game. So Derek bit back, harshly licking into Scott’s mouth, gnashing their teeth together, swallowing down each other’s moans and growls.

“You’re listening—” Derek breathed, digging his claws into the plump meat of Scott’s jean-clad ass.

“Shut up.” Scott said, with a rolled growl tunneled inside of his throat.

Scott grabbed onto Derek’s shoulder, using them as leverage, then flipped the bigger wolf around. He shoved Derek forward into the wooden door frame and wall that they had already been pressed up against, but made sure that they were no longer face-to-face. Scott ran his nose and lips against the side of Derek’s neck —breathing in the scent of musk and power, and then thrust his bulging crotch against Derek’s thick ass.

“That’s right.” Derek urged. “Nice and slow. Don’t rush. Center yourself, focus on control, don’t get overwhelmed.”

Scott seemed to whimper, reaching his hands down and around the front of Derek’s waist, quickly unfastening the button and zipper to Derek’s tight jeans. Whilst he continued to nose at Derek’s neck, Scott tugged down Derek’s pants —far enough down so that Derek’s bare ass could properly thump itself out of the pressed confines that it had been stuffed into.

“Get them wet.” Scott said, bringing his fingers around to the front of Derek’s face, letting Derek’s draw some of them into the wetness of his warm mouth.

Derek sucked and finessed Scott’s fingers, moving slow and bobbing his head around in controlled motions—almost as if he were giving somebody sensual head. Scott’s claws eventually retracted and Derek felt the beta’s wet digits slide out from where they had been settled between his pressed lips, only to make a reappearance at Derek’s bare hole.

Scott immediately tried to shove in a couple fingers where Derek was still resistant and not yet worked over, prompting Derek to click his tongue in disapproval. It made Scott growl out in frustration, which only made Derek respond negatively for a second time, this time with words.

“Control, Scott. Center yourself on patience. Find it.” Derek explained, grinding his ass back against Scott’s slick fingers. “Start with one, your index finger, take your time…fuck me slow, fuck me loose, then fuck into me with more.”

Scott huffed, but followed direction. He eased his slicked up index finger into Derek’s tightness, making sure to control his speed and fight back against the desire to ravage Derek’s hole with more and more. But as time passed, Scott worked his way up to using three fingers, fucking them slowly in-and-out of Derek’s body, listening carefully to the trembling exhales of breath that poured out of Derek’s mouth.

“Curve them.” Derek instructed, gently rocking backwards into Scott’s fingers.

Scott did as he was told and curved his fingers, reaching forth into Derek’s prostate. At first, Scott didn’t think his curved fingers were doing anything, but then he felt Derek’s heartbeat flutter from deep inside. He touched something. So he did it again and again. He pressed deeper, yet retained his slowed movement, dragging moans out of Derek’s mouth which grew increasingly louder over time.

And then Scott felt Derek’s entire body flutter around his fingers. Scott was overpowered by the incredibly sudden smell of arousal, and desire, and desperation. The potent smell of cum flooded the air. He continued his pace, continuing to curve his fingers into Derek’s ass, and watched Derek’s orgasm spew out against the soot-darkened wall.

When Scott felt as though enough time had passed between Derek’s orgasm and the older wolf’s breathing returning to normal, Scott tugged his fingers out of Derek’s hole and reached around to grip at Derek’s jaw —spinning the man back around for the second time. He stared deeply into Derek’s eyes, noting in teary gleam that sparkled alongside the bright beta blue, and then smiled.

“Drop down.” Scott ordered. “Take out my cock.”

Derek sunk down to his knees. He hooked his fingers onto the beta’s loose jeans, lifting up Scott’s shirt just enough so that he could see the tanned abs and lines of lean muscle that dipped below the waistband of the washed denim. Slowly, he pressed his mouth to the dusting of soft hair that trailed down from Scott’s navel to his jeans, lapping his tongue against the salty-sweat of Scott’s stomach.

Eventually, Derek undid Scott’s jeans like he was instructed to do so. He tugged them and Scott’s boxers down the beta’s hairy legs, letting them rest untouched at his ankles. Scott wasn’t big, he wasn’t small. He was average in length and girth, but the slight curvature to Scott’s cock was undeniably unique. Derek wanted to know what that would feel like pressed deep inside of him.

As Scott’s fingers slipped into Derek’s hair, Derek took Scott into his mouth. He let the heavy head of the beta’s cock initially rest against the pad of his warm tongue for a moment, and then took more of the length inside of his mouth. Derek took Scott right down to the hilt, gagging slightly, but allowed himself to pull back and forth gently enough to find a pleasurable rhythm. And Scott seemed undeniably responsive to it.

Scott tried to increase the pace by tugging harshly at Derek’s hair, which only prompted Derek to pull back and glare up into Scott’s eyes—carefully reminding him that everything that was happening was less about pleasure and more about learning how to find control and contentment when barraged with overwhelming surges of emotion. And although the slow pace annoyed Scott, a warm mouth on his cock was still a warm mouth—regardless of speed.

Derek pulled off of Scott’s cock with a lewd pop, wiping his forearm across his own mouth to clear up some of the saliva and pre-cum that had drooled down the corners of his lips. Scott groaned at the loss of stimulation, but Derek didn’t care much. He wrapped his fist around Scott’s throbbing cock, slowly stroking at the length, preparing himself for the final part of the lesson and a completed absorption of all the anger and animosity that Scott had been carrying inside of his body.

“I’m going to ride you.” Derek explained, pulling Scott down to the ground — laying him flat against the hardwood floors. “You’re going to want to take control, to dominate me, to pound all of your energy into my body, use me, and bend me to your power…but you’re going to control yourself and let me ride you.”

Scott just nodded and stared up expectantly to where Derek stood up and completely undressed himself. And then, Derek stepped above Scott’s body, turning to face away from Scott, and slowly lowered himself down onto Scott’s spit-slicked cock. Derek slowly took in every inch of Scott’s length, feeling the curvature press tightly against his inner walls in a way that he hadn’t even experienced with somebody else before.

As Derek started to bounce himself up and down on Scott’s cock, finding a steady rhythm, Scott’s palms flew to grip at the sides of Derek’s waist. His claws dug slightly into the delicate skin of Derek’s body. It just felt so good…he needed to grab onto something…he needed to control Derek, take him, and use him….it was an impulsive feeling that surged through Scott’s body, making it hard to formulate thoughts and actions.

“I said, ‘control’.” Derek alerted, prying away Scott’s hands. “Restrain yourself and give yourself over to what this feels like.”

“I—I can’t.” Scott grit through his teeth, fighting back against the urge to snap his hips upwards into Derek’s body. He watched his cock spear into Derek’s body, watched the wobble of Derek’s thick ass, and wanted nothing more than to see it wobble harder and bruise with faster thrusts.

“You can, you will.” Derek reassured. “Focus on control, focus on restraint, I’ll take care of you. I’ll drain you.”

Derek rolled his neck and shoulders —stretching out his tension. He continued to bounce around on Scott’s hardened cock, feeling the way that it carved deep into his body. He could actually feel the head of Scott’s cock strike against his prostate, which fired shots of static throughout his body. It was a pained pleasure, something that Derek quickly found himself addicted to taking. He didn’t want to stop…and he really didn’t have to, because the longer that he could ride Scott, he more control he could gift the beta.

And whilst Scott remained laid out, palms quivering against where he tried to keep them planted against the wood floors as he fought back against the urge to take Derek for himself, Derek quickened the rhythm —hungry with lust. He started to slam himself down harder onto Scott, letting the beta spear deeper into his body. Derek could hear the meat of his ass violently bash down onto Scott’s hairy thighs and he could hear the squelch of Scott’s drooling cock fucking in and out of his hole.

“Derek—” Scott gasped, watching the way that Derek’s ass swallowed up every inch of his cock. “Derek….”

“Focus!” Derek shouted, breathlessly staring down to the way his own hardened cock bounced around and spewed out another powerful load whilst he worked himself around Scott. “Let everything flow into me. Drain into me. Fuck into me. Breed me, Scott.”

With a grunted howl from both betas, Derek slammed down onto Scott’s cock —cementing himself in the position, grinding down, clenching around Scott’s length, and refusing to let up. The pressure was intense. Derek could feel Scott’s load pump into his body like a slush of hot lava, coating his insides and drowning his prostate with an inescapable surge of precious heat.

Derek felt Scott’s body convulse underneath his weight. He zeroed in on the heavy patter of Scott’s delighted heartbeat and continued to allow the beta to pump out every last drop of feral anger and foolish desire into his body. He wanted to make sure that Scott released everything that he had to give.

It wasn’t a quick process, either. Scott continued to spew heavily into Derek’s ass without any signs of slowing down the flow. Scott’s orgasm was so plentiful, so much that Derek eventually felt the excess seed ooze out around where he remained clenched down around the beta’s hardened cock. He could feel Scott’s brew make a mess of where they remained together on the ground —all over Scott’s hairy thighs and all over the back of Derek’s thick ass.

“That was good.” Derek commented, standing up from where he was seated down on Scott’s cock. “You did well.”

Derek composed himself, spinning around to face towards Scott’s direction. He could still feel his hole fluttering around where Scott’s cock had been lodged and found strange comfort in the slick ooze of beta cum that leaked down the back of his thighs to pool around his feet. He stared down to Scott, smirking to himself slightly as he observed the mess. Scott looked like a drenched rat —coated heavily in sweat and a flood of his own cum.

“Can I stick around?” Scott asked, sitting up from the ground—tucking his knees up to chest.

“Aren’t you going to be late for your little date with Allison?”

“Yeah—” Scott acknowledged, seemingly unconcerned. “—but I want you to teach me some more. I don’t think I got all my anger out.”

[littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog]

The Great Grindr Incident

Explicit | 2,347 words | Accidentally sexting | archive of our own

Summary: It's late at night & Stiles wants to find somebody on Grindr to jerk off with. Unbeknownst to him, Stiles accidentally finds himself sexting with Derek.

The Grindr community in Beacon Hills was one of the most dismally disappointing things that Stiles had ever had the misfortune of involving himself with. It was practically dead air for the majority of the time, with an occasional appearance from an out-of-town hottie. But even that was a rarity.

And yet, despite the inability to actually receive any pleasure from being on Grindr, Stiles consistently decided against actually deleting the app. It wasn’t really much…but it was something. And considering the fact that he was apparently plagued with being perpetually single, Grindr was something to fall back on during lonely nights of horny boredom.

Stiles tossed around underneath the heat of his blankets, tirelessly attempting to grab some sleep. But despite the fact that Stiles had just spent the last several hours cramming for a psychology exam, his hard cock definitely didn’t appear to understand that bed-time meant bed-time….regardless, Stiles knew that he wasn’t going to catch any “Z’s” until he blew a load or two.

Porn was the go-to kind of deal, but the bright orange Grindr logo caught Stiles’ attention when he unlocked his phone. Sure, the locals were boring as hell…they were all cases of ‘been there, done that’. But trading pictures and jerking off with some random dude on Grindr was so much quicker than searching for a good porno to beat off to —there was no buffering, not fast-forwarding, it was right to the point.

Stiles opened the app and casually thumbed through at his phone’s screen to scroll through the grid of horny randoms. As expected, everything looked to be exactly the way Stiles had left it several months ago. Same old, same old. But just as Stiles was about to ditch the hookup apps and seek out some good porn, his attention snagged on a new profile under the username: ‘Fangbanger35′.

Not surprisingly, the hot newbie followed the unspoken rule of Grindr—advertise with anything except your face. Assets sell faster….and Stiles was pretty much sold. The stranger’s profile picture wasn’t a face-pic, although it did share a glimpse of a sharp and stubble-covered jawline. Not to mention a tanned broad chest, buff biceps, and ripped abs—framed seductively with black, leather suspender straps.

Fangbanger35 was the whole package….and oddly familiar.

There was something inherently familiar about the Grindr newbie that Stiles couldn’t really put his finger on. The jawline was particularly catching. He could have swore that he had seen this person around somewhere in Beacon Hills? A fellow undergrad at Beacon Hills University, perhaps? A professor? Maybe a stranger from the supermarket? Or somebody else that Stiles had crossed paths with?

Stiles chewed on his bottom lip and read through the stranger’s stats. So…he was 6 feet tall, 205 pounds of pure muscle by the looks of his profile pic, and a top. Good…good. Stiles almost drooled, scrolling downward to check out the written information section of the profile whilst hoping that Mr. Fangbanger35 wasn’t some sort of arrogant asshole dude who thought way too highly of himself.

But all the profile description read was: “I bite.”

The aching hardness under Stiles’ covers was an unmistakable indicator that it was time to actually make a move or just retire to some lame pornos. So Stiles opened up the messages and typed out something quick, yet notable. Direct, yet not too overbearing. Enticing, yet not extremely gross and potentially off-putting….it was the best that Stiles could do….

Plaiddandy: “Hi, wanna trade pics and jerk off together?”

Stiles cringed, tossing his phone onto his covers and scraping his hands down his face in embarrassed agony. What. The fuck. Was that? That wasn’t sexy. It wasn’t interesting. It definitely wasn’t enticing. For fucks sake. Mr. Fangbanger35 over there was probably some sort of sex god, as far as his looks were concerned. He could probably get it anywhere, anytime. Why would he concern himself with responding to such a lame introductory preposition?

To Stiles’ surprise, his phone chimed with a response from the newbie stud. Stiles was somewhat scared to see what outlandishly rude comment was tossed back in his face. He picked up his phone with one hand and held his other hand across his face —only allowing himself to peer at the phone’s screen through the allotted space between his spread fingers.

Fangbanger35: “You don’t have a face pic.”

Stiles squinted in confusion, sitting up in his bed—readying himself to shoot back a response.

Plaiddandy: “You don’t have one posted either.”

Like, sure…Stiles didn’t have a face-pic posted on his profile. It wasn’t like he was ashamed or anything. He wasn’t. And he definitely wasn’t in the closet. But Beacon Hills was a hub for inescapable creepiness — in more ways than one. So back when Stiles had downloaded Grindr for the first time, he had elected to just hide his face until he could establish some sort of bearings with whoever he decided to sext with in the late hours of horniness.

Fangbanger35: “That’s fine. It’ll be more fun if we keep up the anonymity.”

Fangbanger35: “I’ll start. You follow.”

It didn’t take long before the first picture was delivered. Stiles eagerly opened up the picture to see what kind of sexting standard had been set, just to get an overall feel for the pacing of the late-night game. But apparently, Mister Fangbanger liked to start things off slow and relatively safe, compared to the other kinds of guys to be found on Grindr. It was practically prudish.

The first picture was just the beefcake stranger sitting in what looked to be a desk chair, in a reasonably lit room, with his face out of frame —of course. The only thing that Stiles could see was the way that the man’s large hand was pulling up the hem of a black v-neck shirt, high enough to teasingly display the chiseled abs underneath.

Stiles stared in awe for a moment. He had originally intended for the whole Grindr deal to be lewd and dirty and blatantly rushed….but there was something so inherently enticing and arousing about his new sexting partner that Stiles was down to take things slow, even though his body was practically starving for quick and cheap stimulation.

To return the favor, Stiles straightened up his posture and snapped a picture —mimicking the same position that was presented in the picture that was delivered to him. And whilst Stiles didn’t have the same kind of “muscle magazine abs” or big tough, beefy pectorals….he had what he had…and what he had was more than enough to drive people crazy with lust.

Stiles upped the ante by showing more than just his abs and treasure trail. He pulled his shirt up and over his head, snapping a picture of his bare chest with his free hand stretched obscenely across one of his pecs, fingers pinching just slightly at one of his pink nipples. With the flash on, his fair skin shined bright amidst the darkness of his bedroom that appeared to surround his body.

Plaiddandy: “I’m sensitive here.”

Plaiddandy: “I’ve considered getting one of them pierced to up the sensitivity.”

Fangbanger35: “You shouldn’t.”

Fangbanger35: “They look hot the way they are right now.”

Fangbanger35: “I like what I see.”

Fangbanger35: “Can you tell?”

The next picture Stiles received was one of his sext-buddy’s crotch, with an unmistakable bulge pressed down sideways and completely erect under the stretchy fabric of grey sweatpants. The sight alone was enough to knock the wind out of Stiles’ body, leaving him desperate to catch his breath and recollect himself in time to respond in a responsible manner.

Plaiddandy: “Holy shit, bro.”

Plaiddandy: “Do you have to wear sweatpants 24/7? Cause I don’t see how you can manage fitting that into normal things like jeans and shit.”

Fangbanger35: “I manage.”

Stiles hurriedly shucked off his blankets and hooked the elastic waistband of his plaid boxers underneath his balls, letting his flushed cock spear up towards the ceiling of his bedroom. He snapped a handful of pictures with his phone, making sure he varied up the angle with each click, making sure to highlight the beaded drops of pre-cum at his cockhead and the strong girth of his shaft, before sending forth the plethora of pictures.

Plaiddandy: “This is all because of you, dude.”

Plaiddandy: “I could bust right now. I fucking swear.”

Fangbanger35: “Ha.”

Fangbanger35: “I like the eagerness.”

Fangbanger35: “Don’t cum yet, tho.”

Fangbanger responded with a few dick picks of his own, with the caption “It’s only fair you get to see me”. And Stiles was lost….actually gone. Completely fried….full-on short circuit…blue screen of death. Fangbanger was a god, or some kind of hot sex demon. Either way, it didn’t really matter, because Stiles was fucking sure of it.

The dick pics were beautiful and vivid enough to elicit an involuntarily submissive response from Stiles. His mouth dropped open almost immediately upon seeing the pictures. The hot newbie Grindr stud was hung like a stallion. It had to be at least ten inches, possibly even bigger, but Stiles didn’t even know how to actually comprehend a living, breathing human being packing that kind of jaw-shattering damage.

At least…not in real life…maybe in porn.

Plaiddandy: “Fuck.”

Fangbanger35: “I bet you have a nice ass.”

Fangbanger35: “Wanna show it off for me?”

Stiles shuffled around atop his bed, stripping off his boxers. He brainstormed for a moment to figure out how he wanted to showcase his other assets, before deciding on a few choice positions that were sure to spin his sext-recipient’s head around and around in lustful bliss.

In one shot, he propped his camera up against the headboard of his bed and set it on a timer, before spinning around and angling the plumpness of his ass towards the lens. In another shot, he stood up for it—letting the camera capture a full body picture that he cleverly cropped to hide his face. And for the third picture, he kept it full body, but made a show of bending forward completely so that the picture ended up being a full display of his round ass, toned legs, and flexible nature.

Plaiddandy: “I think these might work for you.”

Fangbanger35: “I think you’d be able to take a few inches into that tight ass of yours.”

Fangbanger35: “You’d have work cut out for you.”

Plaiddandy: “I’m pretty receptive.”

Plaiddandy: “I play nice with strangers.”

The sexting continued for another large portion of time —stretching well past forty-five minutes. It was filled to the brim with plenty of dirty talk and tons more picture swapping. Nothing halted and nothing slowed, the Grindr session just grew dirtier and dirtier—so much so that Stiles could actually feel his poor phone overheating into the palm of his hand.

But eventually…too much was too much. Stiles really, really needed to cum. He had been patient and he had held himself back, edging himself near the point of no return, only to pull himself back on account of how reluctant he was to be the first one to cum. It had become somewhat of a challenge regarding endurance and brainpower…and unfortunately for Stiles, he was no match for his sext-partner.

Stiles messily scrambled to set up his phone on video-recording mode just as he started to flood the lean ridges of his abs with pearly white heat. He started the video just in time to catch the biggest spurt of cum, which flew past his camera and splattered stickily against his upturned nose and upper lip. As he continued to stroke himself rapidly with one hand and record his orgasm with his other, Stiles breathed heavily and tirelessly—lapping up the residual cum that began to drool into his mouth.

Once he finished, he rest back against his pillows and allowed himself to catch a solid breath, before sending the video forward into Fangbanger35′s direction. And then he waited for a couple minutes, growing increasingly worried as the minutes passed that his lewd partner wouldn’t return the favor….but then a video clip got sent his way and Stiles opened it up with quick desperation.

The video was unbelievably hot —powerful enough to shoot a shit ton of reinvigorated interest into Stiles’ already spent cock. He watched with bated breath and wide eyes as the camera beamed down from above where Fangbanger fucked his massive length into the firm grip of his own sloppy hand. Stiles watched and helplessly moaned out as he watched Fangbanger’s hips stop thrusting and his cock throb out pump after pump after pump of thick cum, that all splattered down messily onto what seemed to be a cement floor.

But just as Stiles expected the video to cut off, it didn’t. It continued for a few more seconds —picking up Fangbanger’s heavy breathing as he came down from his orgasmic high, which was hot in its own right. But then the camera jolted around in a blur, rising up to focus on Fangbanger35′s face….and…..

No fucking way. No fucking way in hell. This wasn’t real. No way…..no way.

Stiles was mortified to see Derek Hale’s face pop up into the camera’s focus —all flushed and sweaty. He watched and listened to Derek’s exhausted voice croak out breathless swears and satisfied chuckles. He watched Derek smile….like, legitimately smile —a tilted grin, all tired and worn out and totally sexed out of his mind.

Things clicked into place. The familiar jaw-line? It was Derek’s. The pumped up muscles? Those were Derek’s. The username; ‘Fangbanger35′? Of - fucking - course. Derek was a thirty-five year old werewolf. Of course….of course. How did Stiles not see that? How did he not know? How did he allow this to happen? How was he supposed to face Derek again during pack meetings?

“That was….fucking amazing.” Derek breathed, bringing Stiles’ attention back to the video clip. “My name’s Derek, by the way….what’s yours?”

[littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog]

Roadside Stranger

Explicit | 2.346 words | exhibitionism | archive of our own

Summary: Stiles runs away from Beacon Hills to be rebellious, but runs into a hot stranger on the side of the road that gives him something he won't ever forget.

Stiles was going to be that teenager…yeah, that teenager—the kind of teenager who decided to run away from home because his father was being an insufferable, power-hungry dictator—who only ever wanted to dish out punishment. And yeah….whatever. Stiles’ father was the city sheriff, so he was technically supposed to be a hardass. But nonetheless, Stiles hated how his father didn’t know how to switch off the “dickish cop” routine.

It was fine…Beacon Hills was a boring town anyways. It was small and dreary. Nothing fun or exciting ever happened. Stiles had always fantasized about leaving his hometown to explore the rest of the country. Although, he hadn’t anticipated the fact that the chance would arrive on the back of running away from home. Nonetheless, Stiles was particularly upset by it. He relished in his own decision.

Stiles had been making his way alongside the desolate highway out of Beacon Hills for a handful of hours. It was the middle of the afternoon and the sun was doing its best to ruin Stiles’ rebellious adventure. It blazed down without mercy, turning Stiles into a sweltering mess of sweat. It also didn’t help that Stiles had to lug around his backpack, which was filled with all the essentials of survival—spare clothes, toiletries, water, and a couple packs of dry ramen.

Eventually, Stiles decided that it was time for a small break. He stopped in the middle of the dry brush that overgrew alongside the shoulder lane of the freeway. Stiles stared up to the cruelness of the sun—swiping his bare forearm across the beaded sweat that drenched his flushed face. Perhaps it had been a poor decision on his part to run away from home during the summer months. He probably should have waited until the winter.

“You got a light?” An unknown voice broke Stiles’ stuffy silence.

Stiles spun around and involuntarily let out a whimpered moan at the sight of the intimidating stranger. And for a moment, time seemed to stop. The sunlight momentarily chilled and a windy breeze blew through the emptiness of Stiles’ intoxicated mind. Despite the simple question that had been asked, Stiles was too entranced by the sight of the man before him.

The stranger was wickedly handsome. He was tall and muscular, with messy dark hair, bright eyes, a sculpted beard, and an utterly chaotic sense of fashion. The stranger was wearing a tight black tank top that showcased his biceps, ripped blue jeans, and black leather boots. He looked like some sort of underground rocker dude who loved getting himself into trouble…and Stiles couldn’t will himself away from being immediately interested.

“I—I don’t smoke.” Stiles responded, scratching through his sweaty hair.

“That’s not what I asked you.” Derek snarled, crossing his big arms.

“Well, use context clues, buddy.” Stiles scoffed bitterly. “If I don’t smoke, I’m probably not carrying around a lighter.”

The stranger squinted his eyes inquisitively, stepping closer to the lonesome little runaway. “What’s your name? And what the hell are you doing wandering around out here? You lost or something?”

Stiles gripped tightly at the straps of his backpack, easing the pressure off of his shoulders. “If you really care to know…my name is Stiles and I ran away from home.”

“I did that once when I was younger.” The stranger revealed. “I got myself into a lot of trouble…is that what you’re looking for?”

“Yeah, you look like the kind of person to get into trouble.” Stiles acknowledged dryly. “And no, I’m not trying sour my own personal adventure with whatever inconvenience you bring with you, Mr. Trouble.”

Stiles gave the stranger a definitive nod and then spun around to continue walking towards the direction that he had been traveling for the past few hours. But then the stranger grabbed onto his wrist —stopping him in his tracks. What the hell was up with this stranger? The creepiness was undoubtedly close to overshadowing the man’s erotic handsomeness…or, at least that was what Stiles told himself.

“Actually, the name’s Derek—” Derek clarified. “—and you look like the kind of person that’ll enjoy the kind of trouble I’ve got to give.”

Derek closed the distance between his own body and where Stiles stood expectantly in the dry brush. He brought the pad of his thumb up to where some sweat had beaded itself on Stiles’ upper lip —slowly wiping away the moisture. As he did it, Derek stared amorously into the little runaway’s amber eyes, noting the flush of his pink lips, and smiling to himself when he heard the boy’s breath hitch.

“Is this your idea of a ‘come-on’, stranger danger?” Stiles questioned, boldly. “Thumbing away my sweat?”

Derek snickered, humored by Stiles’ unwavering sarcasm. The aura of rebellious energy that dripped off the boy’s body was refreshing and enticing. It was no wonder that Stiles was a runaway. After only knowing him for not more than a few minutes, Derek was certain the boy had probably turned his hometown upside down with obnoxious antics and disregard for law.

“What’s the point of wearing a shirt if you’ve already sweat through it?” Derek asked, tugging at the center fabric of Stiles’ shirt. “Take it off.”

Stiles looked around cautiously, eyeballing the expanse of the empty freeway and the surrounding fields of brush. It was instinctive—a piece of his brain that warned against making mistakes. He wanted to make sure that there wasn’t anybody else around to watch him undress. But then he realized that he was already undressing for a complete and total stranger from the side of the road. What did it actually matter? His morals had already slipped down the drain.

Stiles let his backpack slide off of his shoulders and bat down onto the dirt ground. He curled his fingers underneath the hem of the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up and over his head, tossing it down onto his backpack. He felt exposed, having never undressed for somebody else. And yet, the heat of the summer sun and the heat of Derek’s lustful eyes blanketed his naked torso.

Derek crawled his fingers delicately along the stretch of Stiles’ naked skin. He thumbed at Stiles’ sensitive nipples, pinching and tugging at them until they were hard and flushed. Derek tickled his fingers through the soft hair that trailed down from the boy’s navel to his abdomen, but disappeared under the waistband of Stiles’ pants.

It was an enticing preview.

“Take these off.” Derek ordered, tugging at the belt loops of Stiles’ pants.

Stiles bit down on his lip and followed the instructions, hurriedly scrambling to unfasten his belt. As he undid his belt and pants, shucking them down to rest at his ankles, Stiles tried his best to maintain his balance. Although, despite the effort, he wobbled around like the clumsy virgin he actually was. Derek, however, didn’t seem bothered—he just watched.

There was something tragically dark and brutal inside of Derek’s eyes. Stiles felt himself become quickly addicted to whatever dominant power it was. Even as he fumbled messily with undressing himself, Stiles was reluctant to tear his gaze away from Derek’s. He was lost. He wanted to please Derek. He wanted to be something good and worthwhile, despite not having known Derek for more than a couple minutes.

“What—are you not going to return the favor?” Stiles asked, glancing down to where he stood in his boxers, whilst Derek remained dressed.

Derek gripped his hands on both sides of Stiles’ hips, pulling the runaway’s responsive body inward to press against his own. He kept Stiles close, staring down to where their clothed erections pressed tightly against one another. It was simplistic stimulation, but regardless, it felt amazing. It sent an unforgiving shiver through both of the two’s bodies.

The sudden movement and unexpected pressure was more than enough to pull a whimpered moan out of Stiles’ mouth. It was the first time his cock had touched anything else other than his own hand. And even though Derek’s dick was still very much constrained by the jeans he was wearing, it was still very much noticeable. Stiles could feel Derek’s pulsating heat pressed up against his own.

“You feel that—?” Derek asked with a gruff rasp to his voice. “—now, how do you think we’re going to fit it all in that tight virgin ass of yours?”

Stiles exhaled, grinding his erection into Derek’s. He didn’t actually have an answer to the question. He really didn’t know how the fuck he was supposed to take Derek’s dick…if that’s where things were heading. At least, that’s obviously where Derek thought things were going. But Stiles was lost for words. Stiles knew that calling things off was a viable decision to make, but with his cock pressed up against Derek’s, he was scatterbrained.

Derek was big.

He was way bigger than any of the various things that Stiles had experimented with through his lonely little virgin years. Fingers, the fat rubber handle to a cooking utensil, certain waxy phallic vegetables….nothing really seemed as though it would be able to compare to what Stiles was able to feel rubbing up against him. It was intimidating, but not so much that Stiles felt inclined to back down.

“Oh—oh god.” Stiles breathed. His body jolted and he fell forward into Derek’s body, melting into the feeling of his own cock spurting rapidly against Derek’s clothed hardness.

“Fucking virgins…” Derek scoffed, clearly miffed. He shoved Stiles backwards and stared down at the runaway’s still erect cock. “ Don’t worry. I bet I can fuck a few more loads out of you.”

“Sorry…I didn’t mean—” Stiles stuttered.

“Don’t apologize.” Derek rudely cut off. “Get on your knees and take my cock out. I want to wear that pretty little mouth out for a while.”

Stiles dropped down to his knees with a slack-jawed expression of amazement painted across his face. He stared up from under the shadow of his eyelashes at the marvelous bulge that twitched powerfully in Derek’s pants. A pang of nervousness stung the depths of Stiles’ stomach as he quickly undid the front of Derek’s pants, instinctively inhaling a deep breath of surprise as he watched the stranger from the side of the road’s giant cock jut out freely.

Derek cradled the sides of Stiles’ head with his hands and wasted no time. He pushed his heavy cock past the plumpness of Stiles’ nervously bitten lips, slipping deep into the boy’s warm mouth. He growled out like an animal, tossing his head back, and gripping his fingers harshly into the runaway’s messy silky hair.

As a virgin, Stiles didn’t really have any skill when it came down to giving proper head. Sure, he had seen way more than his fair share of porn, but performing the real thing was different. He was lost —unsure as to what he was supposed to do with the placement of his tongue, with his teeth, and with his hands. So for the first couple minutes, Stiles just remained knelt down on the spiky, dry roadside brush —with his mouth opened wide, letting the savagery of the hung stranger take his mouth.

Eventually, Stiles realized that he couldn’t hold himself back from shooting his load for the second time in a matter of minutes. His body seized and his eyes rolled into the back of his head whilst he felt his cock bust out another load from where he remained on his knees —spraying messily across the leather of the stranger’s boots.

Derek laughed, thrusting his cock as deep as he could into the boy’s throat—eliciting the sound of a panicked gag—before he withdrew his wet cock out from between the runaway’s reddened lips. He crudely thumbed around with the precum that dripped lewdly from Stiles’ lips, fighting back the urge to just shove himself back inside the boy’s mouth and continuing to face-fuck him to completion.

“Get on your back.” Derek ordered hurriedly, gesturing for Stiles to quickly maneuver himself into a new position for the taking.

Stiles did as he was told. He shuffled around and laid down, letting his back press roughly against the muddy ground. Stiles kicked off his pants and boxers, which had started to restrict his flexibility. All the while, Derek shucked down his own pants and eagerly knelt down to settle in-between the runaway’s spread legs.

It didn’t take long before Derek pressed his spit-slicked cock into the tightness of Stiles’ virginity, starting the pace off slow and careful. But as Stiles grew more cock-hungry and anxious, Derek elected to give the runaway something that he’d remember for the rest of his life…and Stiles was more than pleased with the act.

Derek pounded brutally into Stiles’ hole. He fucked the boy without ease and without much care for what vicious sounds exploded out into the vacant wilderness around them. Derek made certain work of shoving every thick inch that he had to offer into Stiles’ body, pulling out quickly, before fucking himself back into the warm and welcoming tightness.

Stiles went mad. He cried out and screamed for more, scratching desperately into the meat of Derek’s muscular shoulders and arms. He kicked his legs up into the air—watching absentmindedly at the way that his red shoes flopped around like a flag of surrender under the strength of a stranger’s unforgiving pace. Stiles swore that he could feel the stranger’s incredible length spear so deep into his body that it prodded against his soul.

But as quick and as roughly as the whole roadside hookup had begun, everything ended. Derek cried out—losing his punishing rhythm as he felt himself destroy the abused inner walls of the runaway beneath him. At the same time, Stiles came for the third time—even harder than he had for the past couple times. It was done. It was over. But every taste, every smell, every feeling, was forever seared into the memories of the two.

[littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog]

An Omega in Alpha’s Clothing

Explicit | 1,910 words | bottom!derek + alpha!Stiles | archive of our own

Summary: The summer internships for alphas at Stilinski Multinational begin, but an Omega named Derek tries to sneak himself into the program, despite not being an alpha. The head boss in change takes notice.

“Welcome to your first day here in the fiery pit of Stilinski Multinational, interns.” Stiles announced, standing arrogantly before a room that was filled to the brim with fifteen bright-faced new summer interns.

Stilinski Multinational specialized in the development of products for the grand werewolf community of the country. The company tasked itself with designing and manufacturing a litany of werewolf products —everything from heat-suppressant medication for blossoming omegas to alcohol that could get even the most powerful alpha drunk off their own ass.

“Consider yourselves extremely lucky. Out of the hundreds and hundreds of internship applicants, you were the lucky fifteen that made the cut.” Stiles chuckled. “There were betas and omegas clamoring for these spots, but they weren’t alphas like the bunch of you.”

Stiles continued through the orientation speech, proudly boasting about the success of his company and how grateful the new alpha interns ought to be for a shot to work at one of the most influential and powerful companies to ever mark the face of the Earth. He drank in the crowd’s applause that followed each of his comments.

Once the speech reached its finish, Stiles led the interns into one last applause. He watched the interns briskly gather up their belongings and file themselves out of the conference room so that they could settle into the cubicles for the rest of the summer. None of them looked particularly enthralled, but none of them looked as though they were ready to run for the exit.

However, as the hoard of fresh alphas walked out of the room, Stiles found himself particularly captivated by one of the interns. There was a man —bearded, with bright green eyes, styled black hair, and a muscular physique that seemed to bulge enticingly through the formal business attire that he was wearing. There was something different about him; something that had captivated Stiles’ attention during the orientation.

Stiles retired to his office and eagerly started to look through the stack of intern applications that had been accepted for the summer internship. He flipped through each of them, casually glancing at the tiny portrait photograph of each applicant that was paper-clipped to the top corner of their application. And eventually, Stiles got to the application for the man who had caught his attention.

Derek Hale. Thirty-three years old. Born in Beacon Hills, California. Alpha….

Everything appeared to checkout. However, Stiles wasn’t quite so sure. There was something about Derek that was different—something that clearly hadn’t been noticed by the company’s panel of application attendants, who had been in-charge of conducting interviews and vetting processes. So, Stiles had his assistant fetch Derek from wherever his summer cubicle was located.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Derek asked, timidly stepping half of his body into the expanse of Stiles’ luxurious office.

“Absolutely.” Stiles called out, motioning with his hand for Derek to spill fully into the office. “Please, shut the door behind you and take a seat.”

Stiles watched closely as Derek followed the directions that had been laid out. He watched how Derek closed the door quietly and then took a seat in one of the two chairs that were placed in front of Stiles’ large office desk for guests. Stiles also took notice at the way that Derek shifted around in the chair and didn’t cross his legs, the way Derek’s eyes glistened bright with water, and how Derek seemed unwilling to speak without being spoken to first.

“First, let me just welcome you to Stilinski Multinational.” Stiles opened, standing up from his chair. He straightened his tie and then walked around to the front of his desk — directly in front of where Derek was seated. “You caught my attention in crowd during orientation…do you have any idea as to why that might be the case, Mr. Hale?”

“No.” Derek responded quickly, seemingly evasive on the subject.

Stiles grabbed Derek’s internship application file from atop the desk, waving it innocently in the air. He cleared his throat. “It says here that you graduated from Beacon Hills University…you’re thirty-three years old…born and raised here in our beautiful city of Beacon Hills…but then we get down to your werewolf status.”

“Alpha?”

“Exactly.” Stiles replied, setting Derek’s application back down. “Except, you’re not an alpha, are you?”

“I am!” Derek defended boldly.

Stiles crossed his arms. “See, I’m an alpha. The people who work in my company are alphas. The interns that were selected from the hundreds and hundreds of applications that we received are all alphas. I know an alpha when I see one…and you, Derek…are not an alpha.”

“You…can’t tell the difference.”

“Alphas are different. We walk different, talk different, express ourselves different. But more notably, we smell different. We smell like power and precision and certainty.” Stiles explained. “But do you want to know what you smell like? Like desperation, uncertainty, submissiveness, and that gorgeous brand of omega slick that I can smell soaking deep into the fabric of the chair you’re sitting on.”

Derek shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wringing his hands nervously. “I didn’t want to lie…I just wanted to see what it was like to work here—under an alpha.”

“Now, I hope you don’t expect me to just let you stick around—muddying up the air with your pungently sweet omega scent. Alphas are chosen for internships here at my company because alphas are imbued with natural leadership instincts.” Stiles leaned forward. “What does an omega have to offer?”

“I can work just as hard.” Derek explained, rubbing his sweaty palms against the meat of his own thighs—staring up into the searing red of Stiles’ alpha eyes.

“Don’t set yourself up for failure, Mr. Hale.” Stiles scoffed. “An alpha’s talents are unmatched by wolves of lower statues. But that’s not to say that omegas have no uses whatsoever. What are your qualifications? What can you provide to this company?”

The two remained relatively still for a moment, letting the contrasting hues of their werewolf eyes stay connected. And then Derek lurched forward, grappling his fingers onto the sturdy brushed-silver buckle of Stiles’ belt. He unfastened it as quickly as he could, eventually going as far as to tug Stiles’ pants down far enough so that the rigid hardness of his alpha cock was unmistakably visible.

“I can please you.” Derek said, stroking a tight grip around Stiles’ bare cock. “Alphas don’t lay with other alphas, but omegas are not bound to any such rule.”

“Remind me again as to the reason why omegas aren’t restricted from pleasuring alphas.” Stiles suggested, slipping his fingers into the strands of Derek’s soft hair. And as Derek eagerly took the alpha’s length into his mouth, Stiles groaned out. “Ah, now I remember…”

The blowjob was squeeze from the fruit of a sinful heaven. Derek’s lips were soft and his tongue was wicked. Derek took the cock right down to the hilt without an issue. After all, omegas weren’t known for having active gag-reflexes…and Derek was no exception. In fact, he messily slobbered down on Stiles’ massive cock, working his mouth down around every inch, whilst using his hands to stroke and squeeze at the alpha’s shaft.

Regardless of how good it felt, a blowjob wasn’t what Stiles really had in mind when he called Derek into his office. A mouth was nice, sure. Derek’s mouth, in particular, was more than nice. However, Derek was an omega. By nature, he was a living, breathing receptacle for an alpha dick—and had one of the nicest asses to show for it.

“You have a wicked tongue, Hale.” Stiles complemented, tugging Derek off of his cock by the strands of his hair. “But I’m interested in what you have going on below the belt.”

Stiles quickly hoisted Derek up into his arms with a loud grunt, spinning the two of them around, and then laying Derek down atop the corner-edge of his desk. He shucked down Derek’s trousers and boxers, instinctively sucking in the heavy scent of arousal. Stiles felt his skin flush hot and his cock twitch expectantly.

Derek groaned out —spreading his hairy thighs and kicking his legs up into the air. His tanned skin was covered in a sheen of sweat and his eyes refused to dull away from the piercing icy flare of an omega’s blue. As Stiles readied himself, Derek reached down with his hand to prod around at his own hole — shoving two of his fingers into where he was dripping wet.

Stiles grasped one of his hands around his hard cock, prodding it teasingly against Derek’s slick hole. He thrust forward quickly, feeding his dominance into the tight heat of Derek’s inner walls. Stiles could feel Derek’s body completely submit under his touch. It was in his nature.

The desk underneath Derek’s body rattled loudly whilst Stiles pounded into him. Stiles found the level of Derek’s slutty willingness to be extremely enticing. He watched Derek’s broad chest heave with rapid breaths. Stiles took great pleasure in all of the whimpers and moans that he was able to squeeze out of Derek’s body.

Derek kept his body limp under Stiles’ thrusts —entirely addicted to the feeling of Stiles’ large cock carving itself deep into his body. Each and every time that Stiles rammed his large alpha cock into his prostate, Derek felt a bolt of static fizzle its way throughout his body. He watched as his own hardened cock wobbled around in the air and oozed copious amounts of sticky pre-cum, which leaked down his thick shaft.

The squelch of Derek’s wetness seemed to amp up Stiles’ performance. It encouraged him. It pushed him into a rougher and quicker pace, which devastated Derek’s body and mind. But it didn’t matter, because the only thing Stiles genuinely cared about was unloading the fullness of his balls into the depths of the hot omega hole under him.

“Now, you can do better than that, omega.” Stiles huffed, grabbing onto the meat of Derek’s spread thighs.

Derek clenched down onto Stiles’ cock, giving his alpha boss a much tighter sleeve to continue fucking into. Whilst Stiles let out a delighted groan, Derek wildly stroked at his own cock —eagerly chasing an orgasm. Sure, as an omega, he was supposed to put the pleasure of the alpha before his own, but the feeling of Stiles’ cock getting slammed into his prostate was too much.

At once, Derek’s eyes fluttered shut and his steady breathing faltered. He gripped his fist tighter around his erect cock and stroked himself to completion, feeling hot splatters of cum patter down onto the sweat-drenched heat of his bare torso. All the while, Stiles took the abrupt orgasm as initiative to thrust faster.

Stiles roared, flashing his eyes bright red. He stared down to where his cock pounded in and out of Derek’s wet hole, taking great pleasure in the feeling of his girth squeeze into warm tightness. It didn’t take Stiles long before he felt himself orgasm—spilling his alpha cum lewdly into the body of his newest intern. Even as he orgasmed, Stiles’ rhythm refused to falter. It remained controlled and brutal.

“Precious omega—” Stiles breathed, ending his thrusts. He dragged his thumb though the sticky mess of Derek’s release that had settled into the ridges of the omega’s abs. “I have a feeling you’ll gain a great of deal of experience from this internship.”

[littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog]

Never Have I Ever...

Explicit | 2,493 words | blowjobs | archive of our own

Summary: Apparently Derek has never sucked a dick before....so Stiles offers himself up to get Derek up to speed.

“Come on, Derek.” Stiles whined, crashing down onto the couch in-between Scott and Isaac. “If everybody else is going to play, you can’t just sit on the sidelines and read some boring old book.”

Everybody in the loft was seated patiently around the coffee table, readying themselves for an innocently fun game of “Never Have I Ever”. On the couch—Stiles, Scott, and Isaac kicked back and snapped open their bottles of beer. Jackson and Danny sat next to one another on the floor at the edge of the coffee table. And Boyd sat comfortably on an available cushioned chair.

However, Derek was sitting by himself across the room at his desk with a book….like some stiff prude. It was the end of a particularly tough week. Unwinding with some alcohol and stupid drinking games was obviously the best way to recuperate. And as somebody who basically worked the hardest, Derek needed the fun more than anybody else.

“I don’t want to play some dumb game.” Derek responded coldly, eyeing the rest of his pack lounged about in the living space.

“When’s the last time you even played a game?” Isaac snorted, prompting everybody else to join in with their own scoffed laughs and jeers about how Derek was boring and needed to live his life like somebody who wasn’t made out of stone.

Derek huffed loudly and clasped his book shut. He walked over to where the rest of the pack was waiting, taking his own seat down upon the cold ground across from where Jackson and Danny were huddled together. To get himself comfortable, Derek brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and resting his chin against the top of his knees —embittered and expectant.

“Well, okay then.” Stiles announced, tossing Derek one of the unopened bottles of beer from the pack. “Who wants to start us off?”

Danny raised his hand, garnering attention from everybody else. “Okay—never have I ever….gotten anything less than a ‘B’ on an assignment in school.”

“Oh…fucking nerd.” Stiles scoffed, taking a swig of his beer alongside Scott, Isaac, Jackson, and Boyd. And yet, everybody was surprised to see that Derek hadn’t taken a drink.

“Wait, you never got anything less than a ‘B’ on an assignment?” Jackson questioned Derek.

“No.” Derek admitted. Not even his seemingly cold exterior could hide the fact that he was clearly proud of his academic achievements.

“Okay, my turn.” Scott piped up, standing up from the couch in a dramatic fashion. “Never have I ever…broken off the front bumper of my car after jumping a curb.”

The only person who actually had to take a drink was Stiles, considering the fact that he had broken off the front bumper of his shoddy Jeep more times than he could count. And yet, he growled in moderate frustration at being the only semi-reckless driver out of the bunch. But that was the best part about the game…getting to call somebody out for embarrassing things that they have done.

As Scott reclaimed his seat on the couch, Stiles grinned dangerously. He set his beer bottle down onto the wooden coffee table, then stood up and crackled his knuckles. “Never have I ever….accidentally let one rip while fucking somebody.”

“I told you that in confidence!” Scott shouted, sarcastically angry. He gladly took another sip of his beer, looking around at the amused faces of his peers—the ones who hadn’t embarrassed themselves in the bedroom.

“Never have I ever….eaten sushi.” Isaac announced, taking his turn.

“What the fuck? Yes, you have!” Boyd interjected. “I made you California Rolls like two nights ago.”

“Those were California Rolls?” Isaac questioned, utterly bewildered. “But they were flat…and crumbly…and tasted vaguely like potato chips.”

Everybody else, with the exception of Isaac, confusedly took sips of their beers. They only refocused their attention to the game when they realized that it was finally Derek’s turn to play. And everybody was interested to get to know more about great broody alpha werewolf of Beacon Hills. What kind of person was he really?

“Never have I ever….” Derek started, void of enthusiasm. “—liked the color yellow.”

Stiles groaned. “That’s fucking boring. Pick something else.”

“Nobody gives a fuck if you find it boring, Stiles.” Derek sneered. “That was my turn. Move onto somebody else.”

“Boring! Boring! Boring!” Stiles chanted rhythmically, waving his beer around in the air, allowing for the game to move onto Boyd.

The game carried on the same way as it started, with everybody growing increasingly more hyped about the questions—except for Derek, who continued to be a stick in the mud. But then Stiles decided that the game was sticking too much to innocent cleanliness, whereas drinking games always got more interesting when they got dirtier.

“Okay, okay, my turn again.” Stiles called out, opening his forth beer. “Never have I ever…not sucked dick before.”

Everybody around the coffee table took their sip of beer, with Stiles leading the charge—chugging down half of his bottle without much care. Meanwhile, Derek remained on the floor looking awkward and somewhat out-of-place, without having taken a sip of his beer. And immediately, everybody’s attention was captured.

“Derek, you didn’t take your sip.” Jackson noted.

“Why would I take a sip?” Derek questioned. “I’ve never sucked dick.”

Stiles snorted, setting down his half-empty bottle of beer. “Wait, what the fuck? You’ve never sucked somebody off before? How is that possible?”

Derek shrugged. “It just never happened.”

“Well, that’s a shame.” Stiles confirmed, shaking his head. “You look like you have the perfect mouth for it.”

Stiles laughed, prompting everybody else to join in with their stifled chuckles. Everybody was in disbelief. It just seemed so odd considering how hot Derek looked. How was it possible that throughout his years of hotness, he never got propositioned to suck a dick. Never asked? Never dared? And especially as a werewolf….Stiles figured they gave better blowjobs because of superhuman stamina.

“He’s blushing.” Isaac noted, pointing over to where Derek was still sitting down on the cement floor.

“Wow, he actually is.” Scott joined in.

Derek shifted around on the ground, somewhat embarrassed that he was the alpha, yet the most inexperienced in regards to sex when it came to his pack. And then Derek realized that it found it momentarily difficult to look at his pack members now knowing that each of them have sucked dick. The crude visual seemed to infiltrate his mind.

Stiles stood up from the couch —grabbing onto his beer again. He casually walked over so that he could stand beside where Derek remained sitting. As he looked over the rest of the pack members, he clicked his tongue disapprovingly, gazing down to where he could see blushed embarrassment on Derek’s face.

“Now, we shouldn’t laugh at Derek…” Stiles started. “We’re a pack. We help our own.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Boyd agreed solidly.

“So, I’ve decided that I’ll bravely take one for the team, guys.” Stiles announced, reaching down with his free hand to tap on Derek’s shoulder. “I’ve decided to let Derek suck my dick.”

The pack quickly filled the loft with laughs, “ooh’s”, cheers, and the sound of their bottles clinking together in support of Stiles’ “bravery”. At the same time, Derek gulped nervously—staring around at the rest of the pack, unsure as to what kind of game Stiles was trying to play.

“What the hell are you trying to do?” Derek questioned angrily, staring up to where Stiles stood beside him, setting down his own bottle.

“I’m being a good pack member and supporting the alpha.” Stiles explained, unzipping his pants. “We can’t just let you be the lone and inexperienced wolf in our little group of fun.”

Derek continued to look around to the faces of his betas and human pack members, trying to gain some sort of insight into the “prank” Stiles was playing. This definitely wasn’t how the game was supposed to be played, right? And they weren’t being serious, right? Stiles wasn’t actually being serious….no way.

But then Stiles shoved his undone pants and boxers downward—giving his length an enticing swing in the air, in the direction of Derek’s face. The rest of the pack laughed, again, seemingly unfazed by Stiles electing to show everybody his dick. And then more questions filled Derek’s befuddled brain. Did Stiles do this a lot? Why was everybody so calm? Was this still a prank?

“What—what’s happening?” Derek asked, unable to break his own gaze away from Stiles’ monumental size. How had he been hiding away a solid eight inches this whole time?

“Now, look….it can be intimidating your first go, but it’ll get easier. Trust me.” Stiles said. “Just be gentle and enthusiastic….that’s all you really need to do. I’m not too picky. I usually like it fast and sloppy, but I’ll let you go slow since this is your first time doing it.”

This was a really elaborate prank…and Stiles really went all in when it came down to pulling one over on somebody. Derek almost wanted to laugh out nervously, pretending as though he wasn’t dumb enough to actually fall for Stiles’ trick. But as he looked around, Derek only saw expectant expressions on the faces of his betas—watching and patiently waiting for something more.

“It’s okay, I’ll lead.” Stiles announced soothingly, reaching around to cup the back of Derek’s head—pulling the alpha forward into his leaking length. “You can start out slow…just the head, if you want. Just remember: no teeth and no fangs.”

And then Derek’s face was front-and-center with Stiles’ intimidating arousal. His nose bumped against the head of Stiles’ cock, accidentally making some of the boy’s pre-cum drip onto his skin. Derek couldn’t actually believe this was happening. There was still a piece of Derek’s soul that told him this was a prank and that Stiles would shove him away with a laugh if he actually tried to wrap his lips around the human’s cock….

But Derek didn’t even have to do that, because Stiles eventually took his own length into the grasp of his hand. He brushed the head of his cock delicately against the plumpness of Derek’s bottom lip, prodding at the lip just enough to entice Derek to open up his mouth. And almost instinctively, Derek followed the direction—opening his mouth and letting Stiles slowly press inside.

At first, Derek froze—partly because he didn’t really know what he was supposed to do and partly because the taste of Stiles’ arousal and pre-cum was intoxicating. But then, it was almost like somebody else hopped into the driver’s seat, guiding Derek’s motor function and thoughts and desires and letting him present Stiles with something he never thought he’d get.

Stiles took another sip of his beer before handing the bottle off to Boyd, choosing to focus everything that he had on Derek’s delivery and performance. Derek was doing incredibly well without much instruction. He kept it slow, yet precise. Derek’s mouth was wet and warm and seemingly hungry for more of what Stiles had to offer. Just the tip wasn’t enough.

Derek quickly adjusted to the strange movement and the feeling of Stiles inside of his mouth. He worked up to taking most of Stiles’ hardened length, refusing to back from the opportunity. He became so completely lost in the feeling of sucking Stiles off that he completely forgot the fact that he was technically performing for an audience. The rest of the pack, however, watched attentively.

“You’re good at this.” Stiles groaned, tugging harder on Derek’s hair. “And eager….I didn’t even go this fast my first time, but you’ve already got most of my dick down your throat.”

Derek hummed responsively, swiveling his head with each downward motion. He kept his tongue strong and sure, lapping around Stiles’ cockhead without hesitation. He happily swallowed down the sappy pre-cum that oozed onto the pad of his tongue, letting a satisfied purr rustle deep in his chest when he heard Stiles moan pleased sounds above.

Stiles tugged off his own shirt, tossing it over to the spot on the couch where he had been sitting before electing to fuck Derek’s mouth. He clasped one of his hands on the back of Derek’s head, utterly surprised by the lack of resistance from Derek. Stiles then watched himself slide completely down Derek’s throat, right to the hilt, until Derek’s nose was shoved firmly into the light dusting of hair on Stiles’ crotch.

“Holy fuck.” Stiles mumbled, holding Derek’s head in place. He groaned loudly, keeping himself lodged down Derek’s throat, until he felt as though the werewolf would surely pass out from lack of oxygen.

The instant Stiles withdrew from Derek’s mouth, the werewolf drew in a deep breath of fresh air and coughed out. Derek ripped off his own shirt in an effort to rival the amount of Stiles’ nakedness, feeling the hot air quickly encase itself around his flushed body. He also stuck out his tongue, staring passionately up into the roar of fire contained within the hazel of Stiles’ eyes—groaning enthusiastically as Stiles took the opportunity to slap his wet length teasingly against Derek’s tongue.

“Come on, keep at it.” Stiles urged. “Chase that load.”

Derek did as he was told. He took Stiles back into his mouth, adopting a rhythm that was much more passionate and frantic. Meanwhile, Derek allowed for the cheers and dirty words of encouragement from his pack audience to guide him further. Despite being utterly lost in the sensation and taste of Stiles’ arousal fucking into his throat, there was a piece of Derek’s mind that feared disappointing not only Stiles, but his pack.

Whilst Stiles continued to strike the back of his throat repeatedly, stinging tears swelled up at the corners of Derek’s eyes. And then the white hot load from Stiles’ balls blasted heavily into Derek’s mouth—spiking against the back of his throat and coating across the spread of his tongue. Without thought or direction, Derek swallowed everything that Stiles pumped into him —humming loudly out into the space of the loft.

At the same time, Derek’s body seized up. His muscles flexed and tightened. His eyelids flickered shut and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. As Stiles’ load continued to shoot down his throat with rhythmic bursts, Derek felt his own untouched cock spew into the crotch of his pants —making a mess of his jeans and even going as far as to seep through the fabric of the denim to drip onto the cement floor of the loft.

Stiles sucked in a deep breath and chuckled with disbelief, wiping his bare forearm across the sweat that had beaded on his forehead. “I told you that you had the perfect mouth for giving blowjobs.”

[littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog]

okay this has nothing to do w fanfics but THAT BAKERY TREATS ART IS SO CUTE OMG I LIVE

Omg thanks!!!!

[littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog]

The Little Werewolf Smut Oven: NOW OPEN

The Bakery Home Page

Menu: (will be updated with available ships)

Place an Order: (ask box: comment, questions, ideas for fics?)

Occasionally, I’ll be posting my smutty Teen Wolf fics here on this page, as well as uploading them to my Archive of our Own. I originally used another blog for drabbles (which, weren’t really drabbles because they were basically full-length fics), but that one got flagged during the purge. Plus, I used porny gifsets for inspiration. Now, I guess I’m going to have to seek out inspiration elsewhere. But alas, I’ll still try to write some nice fics whenever I get the chance.

- Cole

[littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog]

The Little Werewolf Smut Oven: NOW OPEN

The Bakery Home Page

Menu: (will be updated with available ships)

Place an Order: (ask box: comment, questions, ideas for fics?)

Occasionally, I’ll be posting my smutty Teen Wolf fics here on this page, as well as uploading them to my Archive of our Own. I originally used another blog for drabbles (which, weren’t really drabbles because they were basically full-length fics), but that one got flagged during the purge. Plus, I used porny gifsets for inspiration. Now, I guess I’m going to have to seek out inspiration elsewhere. But alas, I’ll still try to write some nice fics whenever I get the chance.

- Cole

[littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog]

NOW OPEN: The Little Werewolf Smut Oven

It wasn’t too long ago that I started up a drabble blog. Unfortunately, the “Great Tumblr Purge of Demember 2018″ decided to swoop in and screw everything up. Now, it feels half-empty because my drabbles can’t be posted alongside porny gifsets. As a result, I decided to build another drabble blog. But this time…I spent more time designing what it looks like. I put more creativity into it. And now it’s beautiful!

Enter the world of delicious fics @littlewerewolfsmutoven! I’ll post fics on this tumblr and then post them to my archive of our own. Gifs won’t be apart of the experience this time…boo. But anyways, I want the drabble blog to be something fun and entertaining, somewhat. You guys can send in comments and fic prompts. I’ll try to take inspiration and write a bunch of different things. All hot and smutty. Although, I have to warn you guys..I procrastinate a lot. Fic writing it hard.

-Cole

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[littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog]

The Deal a Demon Makes

Explicit | 3,724 words | demon!derek | archive of our own

Stiles definitely had some serious regrets about being the one to so valiantly volunteer to take on all of the holiday shopping, whilst his father stayed busy working a graveyard shift down at the Beacon Hills Police Department. Usually, Stiles’ father did all the shopping. That was his thing. But this year, Stiles wanted to tackle an early New Years resolution of responsibility….and boy, it came back to bite him in the ass.

The Black Friday holiday rush was definitely not some sort of funny midnight joke. Holiday shopper survivors didn’t exaggerate when they said that people actually turned themselves into demons for a good deal —even for seemingly pointless holiday presents like a 10-pack of shampoo bottles, or electric can-openers, or backpacks. It was a living, breathing, screaming nightmare.

Stiles was lucky enough to make it out of the store in one piece, with only a few scrapes and bruises to show for it. He hurriedly rushed through the crowded sidewalk traffic, tossing out near-meaningless apologies whenever he accidentally bumped into somebody. All he really wanted to do was get back to his car and take a breather, not having to worry about some crazed fellow shopper stalking him down to take his purchased goodies.

The downtown district of Beacon Hills had been so crowded that Stiles ended up having to park about six blocks away from the store that he had planned to doing the shopping at. And whilst the walk hadn’t seemed so brutal the first time around, the walk back was doing its best to kill—Stiles was more than certain. And after surviving the large crowds of vicious people, getting run into by no fewer than five different baby strollers, and nearly maced by an old lady, Stiles was not about to let a victory walk do him in.

Stiles dove into one of the alleyways that broke up the towering wall of back-to-back department stores and restaurants. The sidewalks were almost as hectic as the inside of some of the stores, so Stiles was perplexed as to why he was the only one smart enough to take a shortcut and hop over to another—less crowded—street, in an effort to get back to where he parked.

The alleyway was a little bit creepy, most because it was night. But it was an alleyway….they weren’t supposed to be cozy. They were supposed to be creepy. Plus, Stiles couldn’t really complain on account of the fact that the alley was helping him get to his car faster. But nonetheless, Stiles couldn’t shake the fact that he had basically stepped into a completely different dimension.

The temperature of the alley was colder than the already super-cold November night, but that was because there wasn’t anybody around anymore. There wasn’t any crowded body heat to uncomfortably smolder in. The smells of the alleyway were also surprisingly more foul than the stench of hundreds and hundreds of sweaty people packed together into a department store, which was a smell Stiles figured he wouldn’t ever be able to forget.

But regardless of the coldness and the smell, Stiles was just happy to get away from the overwhelming noise. He could finally hear himself think again. The only sounded that Stiles could actually hear from outside of the darkened alley was the faint blast of Christmas music and the stinging chirp of donation bucket bell-ringers.

Peace on Earth, at last…..

Stiles made it to the midpoint of crossing through the alleyway, utterly lost to his own thoughts, until those thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a stranger calling out to him. A raspy voice caught Stiles’ attention, momentarily frightening him, and causing him to accidentally drop a few of the large shopping bags that he had been carrying around from store-to-store. But as the fell down to the watery alleyway ground, Stiles breathed in a moment of relief to allow the hinges of his fingers to take back good circulation.

“Hey, can you help me out?” The raspy voice questioned.

Stiles looked around to find the owner of the voice. At first, he couldn’t figure out where the voice was coming from because it was dark and the voice had bounced around the surrounding cement walls, making it seem as though the person speaking was calling out from somewhere else. But eventually, Stiles was able to locate the mysterious owner to the disembodied voice—much to his outraged dismay.

“Oh—god.” Stiles mumbled, utterly shocked at what he saw.

A couple feet away from where Stiles stood, there was some grimy-looking stack of naked muscle—casually sitting down atop the cement steps of a back entrance to one of the main street storefronts, underneath a dim, flickering fluorescent light—nonchalantly jerking himself off. Once more, the man seemed totally unfazed by the brutal cold weather and the look of confused shock on Stiles’ face.

Stiles’ head whipped around from side-to-side as he desperately looked around for somebody to explain the situation to him and confirm to him that he was, in fact, not hallucinating or dreaming. There really was a man sitting down on a couple of steps, completely naked, stroking himself under the moonlight. Sure, it was totally normal…totally not random…totally not even more proof that Black Friday really was some sort of day of the devil.

“Did you get everything on your shopping list?” The man asked, refusing to stop with the slow strokes of his own dick.

Stiles was baffled. He stared down to the stranger’s dick in disoriented dazzle, unable to pry his eyes away from the thickness and girth and the gentle gleam of precum that sparkled under the bright moonlight. It was just so….surprising. It had taken Stiles by genuine surprise. No, he hadn’t elected to cut through the alleyway with the intentions of bumping into some lewd man from the shadows.

“Uh, what was that?” Stiles questioned back, unwittingly licking his lips as he shifted his gaze away from the man’s sharp face, ruggedly jacked body, and tree-stump thick dick. “I was—uh, somewhere else for a moment there.”

“I said: ‘did you get everything on your shopping list’?” The man repeatedly, adding what seemed to be more warmth and charm to the rasp of his voice.

“Actually, I got pretty much everything that was on the list my father gave me.” Stiles explained. “I just couldn’t find this one thing I wanted to get for him—and oh my god, why am I even telling you any of this?!”

The man looked up at Stiles from under the shadows of his own lashes, seductively illuminated by the dim light above. He continued to stroke his cock—fearlessly, slow, and pleasurable. Even better, he liked the way that the little holiday shopper presented before him was unable to advert his eyes. The man could see the boy struggle and uncomfortably shift around.

“What—?” The stranger asked. “Have you never seen a cock before?”

“Not in an alleyway before…” Stiles muttered, scratching anxiously at the back of his head. “Listen, I need to leave. I have places to be. I still need to figure out what else I’m supposed to get for my dad.”

“How about…I make a deal with you.” The stranger propositioned. “If you help me out, I’ll help you out.”

Stiles squinted down into the man’s dark eyes, inquisitively. “What do you mean? How can you possibly help me? The store was sold out of the one thing that my father’s been drooling over for the past year.”

“Yeah, yeah—I know.” The man argued away. “The fifty-eight piece drill-buzzer deluxe in stainless steel.”

“How the fuck did you—”

“I have my ways.” The man asserted coldly, keeping up the languid strokes of his hard cock. “Now, what do you think about the deal I made you? I always make good on my promises…and you just have to give me a little something in return.”

There was something undeniably abnormal about the man. Stiles, however, couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It was like there was some kind of unspeakable dark force, a charmingly dangerous magnetism that tugged at Stiles’ body—drawing him closer to the stranger, closer into the field of temptation, and closer to whatever deal had gotten pushed in his direction.

“I’m not sure about this.” Stiles said, continuously looking directions of the alleyway to see if anybody else had opted to take their own shortcut.

“Then be on your way.” The man flicked his eyes towards the exit of the alleyway. “I’ll find somebody else to help with their holiday problems, just out of the kindness of my heart.”

“No—!” Stiles interrupted frantically, biting his tongue in surprise at his own eagerness. “I’ll make the deal…just—what exactly do you want me to do? You haven’t exactly been clear on that.”

The man laughed, wagging around the hefty weight of his leaking cock. “I think I’ve been clear enough.”

Stiles took a deep breath, taking a moment to gaze up into the serenity of the night sky. It was so delicate — innocently looking down upon him, always there to blanket him in safety and strength. But now….oh, now he was going to force the heavens above to look down upon perverted and lustfully lewd acts? And with a complete and total stranger?

Questions presented themselves. Was Stiles really going to let some random stranger clasp and tug at his body? Was Stiles going to touch the stranger — wrap his hands around where the stranger was hard and leaking? Was Stiles actually going to stain the alleyway with whatever unforgivable noises and juices he’d be unable to keep to himself?

No, he shouldn’t…and yet, Stiles felt no sense of hesitation. He dropped the remainder of the shopping bags that he hadn’t first dropped after being spooked by the shadowed alley-man. As he stepped closer to where the stranger remained on the cement steps, Stiles felt his muscles momentarily tense up with nerves—uncertain as to what he was truly getting himself into. But the gleaming smile of the stranger’s white teeth entranced him back into motivated courageousness.

Stiles positioned himself in-between the stranger’s open thighs, lustfully enthralled by the muscular hairiness of the man’s tantalizing body. He carefully lowered himself down to his knees until they were pressed down against the rugged asphalt of the alleyway. The stagnant puddles of rainwater immediately started to soak into the baggy denim of Stiles’ jeans, but he barely reacted to the coldness. He was already too far gone—unable to look away from the stranger’s massive, surging cock.

“Wrap your hands around it.” The man encouraged, shifting his hips and settling his hands behind his head. “You can start things off slow, I don’t mind.”

Stiles tentatively reached out with his hands, softly clasping both of them around the stranger’s substantial girth—only to immediately pull back both of his hands in surprise. It was hot…in the literal sense, right down to the touch. It was like running your hands alongside the exterior of a car, after letting the car sit around in the violence of the summer sun for a handful of hours. It burned…kind of hurt…but the heat was somehow addictive. Stiles felt so cold and he wanted to feel more of that warmth.

“It’s—hot.” Stiles noted. “—like embers.”

“I run hot.” The man confirmed smugly, nudging his hips upward to garner Stiles’ attention for the second time. “Now get back to what you were getting ready to do.”

Stiles wrapped his hands around the stranger’s cock again, this time allowing himself time to comfortably settle into the feeling of handling such an odd display of impossible, supernatural heat. Stiles could feel the palms of his hands tickle and become feverish, but refused to let that coerce him into backing down from the deal. Instead, he fought through the hesitation and started to move his hands.

The handjob started slow and stayed that way, at the request of the shadowed stranger. Stiles languidly moved his hands up and down, actively keeping both of his hands engaged around the stranger’s length. And despite doublefisting what he could fit into his hands, there was still a lot of the stranger’s shaft left exposed and out of capable grasp. If the man wanted the entire length of his cock jerked off, he’d need an extra set of hands to help out.

Nonetheless, Stiles didn’t complain. He found something engaging about tackling such an immoral challenge in the darkened alley as stranger passed by —ignorant to the inappropriate exploits that were carried out. And as the stranger occasionally commented on the handjob with smug applause or corrective critique, Stiles listened carefully to adapt to the ever-changing desire of the beast above. 

The repeated movement proved hypnotic to Stiles. He found himself practically entranced at the sight of his own hands working themselves around a monstrous cock. The heat of the cock, the way the foreskin stretched with each careful tug, the pulsing veins of the shaft that pulsed explicitly under his palm…everything was so mesmerizing. But Stiles found himself especially caught up with watching precum glint at the leaking slit of the stranger’s cockhead.

As he watched, unknowingly lapping at the chapped bottom lip of his own mouth in anticipation, Stiles could have sworn he watched steam flutter away from the small drop of liquid. It was a hallucination, obviously…at least, that’s how Stiles’ mind attempted to rationalize and explain the abnormal display. Or maybe it wasn’t abnormal. Maybe it was just body heat reacting with the cold air.

Stiles thumbed across the precum that had pearled up at the stranger’s cock, feeling an unmistakable sting of heat pierce the skin of his thumb. It really was boiling hot—more than hot enough to produce steam. And yet, what should have been a feeling of genuine surprise inside of Stiles’ brain was immediately replaced with hungry desperation. The stranger ran hot…yeah, yeah…hotter than humanly possible….but what did he taste like?

Without thinking, Stiles popped the stickiness of his thumb into his mouth. He groaned out in arousal, closing his eyes to savor the sharpness of such a brutal sweetness. He could feel the heat of the liquid seep into the blood and course through his body, warming him from the inside out. If addiction was a flavor, Stiles had found it. Or better yet, it had found him.

Stiles surged forward, taking the head of the stranger’s cock into his mouth. He didn’t take the length down his throat, but rather, elected to suckle passionately at the flow of precum that drooled onto the expectant spread of his tongue. He couldn’t get enough of the stranger’s taste. It was sweet, mixed with the offensive musk of man. He wanted more. His body desired more.

“I didn’t say you could put your mouth on me yet.” The stranger reprimanded, tugging at the softness of the boy’s hair. “If this is how you respond to the taste of precum, you won’t be able handle what I plan to finish our deal with.”

“Please—I need more.” Stiles begged, staring up into the dark shadows of the stranger’s eyes. “I’ll make this feel good. If you cum, it’s okay — I’ll let you go again. You can take me again. We can make more deals. I just need more.”

“So….breakable.” The stranger commented calmly. He his hand down the side of Stiles’ noble face, swirling the pads of his fingertips in zigzags along the beauty marks on the boy’s pale skin. “Go ahead—feed your new addiction.”

Stiles didn’t wait for the stranger to change his mind. He dove right back down onto the man’s hefty cock, this time take actual length into the warmth of his mouth. He was voracious. Though, unable to take all of the stranger’s length into his throat, Stiles made sure to take as much as he could manage—which was at least eight inches by his own estimate. And for what he was able to take down his throat, the stranger didn’t seem disappointed.

The feeling of the stranger’s cock sliding down Stiles’ throat was unlike anything he had ever experienced in his life. He had given men blowjobs before —some rougher, some softer—but the stranger was in a league of his own. It felt weird, but not bad…just different. It wasn’t explainable. Stiles likened the feeling to what it might feel like to get a white-hot rod of iron speared down your throat….in a completely painless, inescapably erotic kind of way.

Stiles slurped and gagged, keeping up an acceptable rhythm to the movement of his head and the strokes of his fist. He continued to fist the stranger’s cock in one of his hands, figuring that it would bring upon an orgasm quicker. That’s honestly all that Stiles wanted. That was the only thing on Stiles’ mind. It’s what he desired more than anything else in the world — in that moment. He wanted the stranger to cum down his throat. He wanted to feel that boiling warmth inside…deeper than what he could only get with a simple blowjob.

“Come on, rest your throat for me.” The stranger instructed, tugging once again at Stiles’ hair. “We need to finalize this deal of ours, don’t we?”

Stiles reluctantly stopped sucking the stranger’s cock. He looked up to the stranger with a grand expression of dismayed annoyance, mixed with an obvious pout. The boy’s face was flushed and sweaty was exhaustion. His button nose was equally as red, but from the cold air of the night. Meanwhile, Stiles’ lips were puffy and wet—slicked beautifully with saliva and precum and eagerness to get back to work.

“Why can’t this be how we finalize our deal?” Stiles questioned seriously, leaning forward to take the stranger back into his mouth.

“Because — that’s not how this works.” The stranger asserted, pushing Stiles away from his cock again. “But don’t be dismayed. Your mouth has fulfilled it’s duty.”

Stiles’ face stuck up with confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s give your knees a break from cutting into the asphalt.” The stranger said. “Now, undress yourself from the waist down and come sit here—I want you to ride the slick you’ve left on my cock.”

Stiles stood up from where he had been knelt down on the jagged ground, wobbling slightly at the sudden circulation that proceeded to run through his extended legs. At the stranger’s direction, Stiles hurriedly undid his pants and shuffled out of them, carelessly setting them down onto the wet ground to soak, before doing the same with his boxers.

The stranger slapped teasingly at his spread thighs, crudely depicting where Stiles was supposed to take his obedient seat. Stiles loyally followed the directions. He straddled the grimy stranger — making it so that their positioning allowed the both of them to face one another. But before taking a full seat, Stiles allowed himself to momentarily hover, feeling the inferno heat of the stranger’s leaking cockhead casually prod against his hole.

Stiles eased himself down onto the spit-slicked length with greed. The paranormal heat of the stranger’s cock felt even more concentrated in this way. As more and more of the troublesome length stretched open Stiles’ tight hole, it burned away any thoughts, questions, and hesitance that had briefly clouded Stiles’ mind. The only thing that Stiles could think about was riding the cock that filled him so extensively. 

The speed and rhythm of the ride was unapologetically quick and rushed. Stiles didn’t care and it really didn’t seem to bother the shadowed stranger either. The aggressive sounds of their bodies slapping against each other bounced around the walls of the alley and most likely echoed out into the populated city streets, but Stiles didn’t care. His brain was far too clouded to even think about that.

As Stiles bounced around in the lap of the stranger, the two found each other’s lips in a gluttonous attempt to find even more ways to stimulate themselves. Stiles moaned and groaned and whimpered and plead filthy nothings into the stranger’s mouth, licking inside of the man’s heat—gnashing their teeth together, biting at one another’s lips, and fueling their continued hookup with an extra garnish of passion.

Abruptly, a thunderbolt of pleasure rocked Stiles’ exhausted body from the inside. He screamed out hysterically, feeling the surge of sweltering liquid erupt into his body. As he babbled out breathless cries, Stiles splayed one of his own hands across his stomach, crying out in orgasmic disbelief as he felt the distended overflow of cum impregnate deep inside of his body. He could feel the unyielding throbbing pulsations of the stranger’s immeasurable length through the slosh of his cum-filled stomach.

“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” The stranger chuckled, snapping his fingers.

There was a sudden flash of bright light and smoke and then the stranger was gone — as if erased from existence. Stiles found himself completely dressed and all alone in the middle of the empty alleyway, shivering uncontrollably from post-orgasmic anguish and still incredibly bloated —filled to the brim with the cum from some random man he had just fucked in the alley.

In his hand, there was a simple black shopping bag with sparkling tissue paper. Stiles held up the bag to see what was inside, surprised to find that it was the exact gift he had been unable to successfully purchase for his father during the Black Friday rush in the stores. Stiles reached down to the straps of the shopping bag and lifted up the gift-tag to see if there was a name available…and much to Stiles’ surprise, the gift-tag read:

“Pleasure doing business with you, Stiles.”

-Derek, your local Deal-Demon.

Stiles’ body seized and he involuntarily clutched at the handles of the shopping bad, feeling his own hardened cock spew out into the crotch of his dirty jeans. As he stood there in the middle of the alleyway, riding out his own orgasm, unable to do anything about it, he looked around in bewilderment—feeling the warm slosh of demon cum pour out of his overworked hole.

[littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog]

A Real Wolf Show-Pony

Explicit | 2,914 words | camboy!derek | archive of our own

Derek Hale had always been something akin to an enigma. There were a lot of things that remained secret about him, his life, his interests, his emotions. Sure, the pack knew certain things....Derek was a werewolf, an alpha, a total cauldron of broody brew. But that was just about it.

For Stiles, there had always been a couple questions about Derek that just always seemed to be off-limits — 1. what was Derek’s sexual orientation and 2. how in hell did Derek afford one of the nicest penthouse lofts in the city, despite seemingly having no legitimate occupation? They were good questions, but remained locked away and unanswered in the back of Stiles’ mind...

Until the universe decided to work some of its magic.

Stiles was in his bedroom, cooped up at his desk, boxers around his ankles — cruising the internet for something to entice him enough to masturbate. Now, he had only ventured onto one of those shoddy cam-guy websites a few times, but a craving came around, so Stiles decided that he’d give it a go. There really wasn’t anything to lose and if he ended up finding it intolerable, there was always dozens and dozens other free-porn sites.

As he was scrolling through the “LIVE” cam-guys, Stiles casually scrolled through the available thumbnails, waiting for something to catch his eyes. At first, nothing was doing the job. Everything looked boring...but then Stiles saw one thumbnail with Derek. Fucking. Hale—lounging around on a chair, shirtless, and stroking his cock.

Suddenly, the stupid cam-guy website got a whole hell of a lot more interesting.

Stiles clicked his way into the chat that coincided with the cam-guy’s thumbnail, surprised to find that it wasn’t some sort of virus bait. It was real. He was watching Derek—in real time—stroking his cock for a chatroom of about five-hundred other individuals. And Stiles throbbed at the visual—a full on spurt of airborne precum shot out and splattered against the screen of his laptop.  

This...was way too good to enjoy by his lonesome. Stiles wanted to get somebody else in the action. It was the perfect opportunity to get down into some kind of fun. Derek was one of the hottest dudes in Beacon Hills. Nobody could disagree. Everybody probably wanted to fuck him. If the situation presented itself, Stiles wouldn’t turn it down...and neither would any of the other pack-members.

Stiles stood up from his desk chair and grabbed his laptop, kicking off the pair of boxers that had been at his ankles, and then eagerly rushed out of his bedroom to the living room so that he could get his housemate into the action. Derek jerking himself off for an audience on the internet was way too good to just let slip away with having some fun first.  

“Scotty, you have to fucking see this!” Stiles shouted, crashing down onto the couch right beside where Scott was sitting.

“Well, I can’t see anything because you jizzed up the screen.” Scott commented, gesturing to the spurt of precum that had blurred the live-stream of the cam-guy performer.

“Oh—” Stiles deflated, swiping the pre-cum away from his laptop screen with his thumb, before quickly popping his thumb into his mouth. “Okay, now look. Are you seeing this too? Or am I fucking tripping out?”

“Holy shit, dude!” Scott laughed. “Is this real — like, Derek’s actually doing this right now?”

Stiles laughed. “Yeah, he’s a cam-dude. And look, he’s got five-hundred perverts clocked in to watch him bust a nut.”

“And we’re two of the perverts!” Scott clapped his hands together and then shucked down his pants, tugging out his cock.

“Oh, fuck yeah.” Stiles cheered giddily.

The two housemates settled themselves in the couch, stuffing the laptop into the allotted space between the both of them so that they both could see what Derek was doing and what the chatroom was saying. Neither of them wasted much time at getting their own hands at their dicks, either. The visual and the overall reality of the situation was too damn hot.

Derek remained in the same position that Stiles had found him in — sitting in a desk chair, jerking his dick. He occasionally laughed and quickly answered some of the one-off comments that poured into the chat. Most of the comments were compliments and directions: “ur hot af, bro!”, “lemme drain your balls!”, “flex your arms!”, “show us your pits!”....it was a firestorm of sex and seeing Derek so comfortable and chilled out about the whole thing was somewhat weird.

“I didn’t think he’d pack something that big.” Scott commented, stroking his dick.

Stiles snickered, thumbing at the head of his own cock. “You’re lame. Of course he was hung. Have you never paid attention to the way he walks?”

“I thought his pants were just too tight.”

“Yeah, that too...but like, that dick must get all squeezed and stuck in all kinds of uncomfortable positions when he’s trying to walk or run or stand around.”

Stiles and Scott continued to pleasure themselves, but neither of them were concerned with pulling themselves towards an orgasm. Instead, they took things slow and casual—laughing and cracking jokes whilst they kept special attention to Derek’s display of entertainment on the laptop screen. It was fun...kind of interesting....a definite topic for discussion.

It was incredibly strange watching Derek act so differently than expected. The man was a total walking bucket of broodiness just from day-to-day...but on the chatroom sex-cam, he was playful and bright and soft. There was an aura of casualness that seemed to radiate off of him. To watch Derek just sit back, all stretched-out, shirtless, hardened cock pulled out of a pair of track-pants—smiling and following all of the quick directions that got typed into the chat.

“Man, when you do think he’s gonna show his ass?” Stiles asked, overly dramatic and slightly frustrated.

“I don’t know — he’s been asked like twenty times by some of these other dudes.” Scott noted. “But it doesn’t look like he’s budging on the request.”

“So....what—?” Stiles scoffed. “He’s Dick-Tease Derek?”

Scott chuckled. “Ask him, dude.”

Stiles threw his hands up in surrender, laughing slightly as he picked the laptop up from the couch and set it back down into his lap. Anonymous guests in the cam-chat got a singular free message to type to a performer, whilst premium guests got unlimited questions to ask. Stiles wasn’t the “pay” kind of guy when it came to porn, especially not cam-shows. So he figured he’d use up his free comment for something important.

[ScrumptiousStyle]: “Hey, dick-tease. Nice dick, but I’m an ass guy. When are you gonna bend over and show us that thick ass?”

“Dude, what the fuck?!” Scott shouted, slapping his hand against Stiles’ shoulder. “He’s not gonna show us anything if you talk to him like that.”

“No — look.” Stiles alerted, pointing towards the influx of chat messages. Derek had responded, relatively quickly, providing some sort of help.

[DhaleBH]: “@ scrumptiousstyle, I don’t show that to just anybody. You gotta shell out the private room fee for that. $150. You wanna see this ass? Pay to play.”

“Fucker...” Stiles muttered, setting his laptop back down. “Is this how he pays for that loft? By ripping off poor horny college dudes with exorbitant ass-shot prices?”

“We should get a discount.”

Scott stood up from where he was sitting on the couch, wandering across the room to where his backpack was slouched down against the wooden television stand. He picked it up and rummaged through the contents for a moment, until he successfully fished his wallet out from the collection of crumbled papers and textbooks.

“Wait—are you actually gonna pay for this?” Stiles called out to Scott, looking down once more at the listed price for a private chat room, and then back up to Scott’s wallet. “This is basically robbery.”

“You wanna see Derek’s ass, right?” Scott asked, tossing his wallet across the room—striking Stiles square in the chest. “Well, he’s never gonna spread it for us outside of this chat, so come on. Pony up half the fee, we’ll watch Derek twerk for us, we’ll bust some loads, and it’ll be worth every penny.”

Scott was technically speaking the truth. Derek was such a prude when it came down to real life...there was no way in Hell that he’d ever show off his ass. Derek always hid it away inside of those tight jeans he wore, which were so tight that his ass barely got to even bounce around with movement and gravity.

Once the two were both settled back down onto the couch, Stiles pulled the laptop back into his control. He pulled up the payment window that was available inside of the chat, quickly entering in Scott’s debit card information, before submitting the finalized payment. When it was all said and done, Stiles laughed to himself, handing his roomie back the wallet and card.

It didn’t take long before Derek decided to react to the hefty payment. The public chat grayed out — kicking all of the other users out of the chatroom, effectively shifting everything into a private stream for Stiles and Scott’s pleasure. Meanwhile, Derek seemed to prepare himself for the show. He sat up straight in his desk chair and then started clacking away at his keyboard, typing out something.

[DhaleBH]: “You really must wanna see what I’ve got.”

[Scrumptiousstyle]: “Yeah....for $150 dollars, you better put that shit on display! That was some of our rent money.”

[DhaleBH]: “our??? Oh, so you’re watching w/ some friends?”

[Scrumptiousstyle]: “Just me and my roommate, two horny dudes, jerking off to you, dude...so are you gonna give us our money’s worth or not?”

Derek snickered, thumbing at his lip. He was somewhat impressed and visibly aroused by the demanding nature of the two charitable viewers. But instead of typing out something snarky in return, he got on with the show. He stood up from the desk chair that he had been sitting down in, giving the camera a particularly lewd shot of his dripping cock—which was still jutting out from above the waistband of his track pants.

He shoved the desk chair out of the way and maneuvered his camera around, pointing it in the direction of his bed. He needed more room to showcase what his private viewers had paid for. And surely, to the viewers’ satisfaction, Derek hopped up onto his mattress with a soft bounce—his back faced towards the camera, muscles sharp and flexed, with his clothed ass in frame.

Derek started to swivel his hips around, bending forward, arching his back, and letting the globes of his ass wobble with quick movement. Stiles and Scott started back with stroking their own cocks, attentive and receptive. Both of them watched the cam-show performance play out before them—mentally spun around with near disbelief. Derek was so comfortable with putting on his show for what he assumed to be total strangers.

Eventually, Derek looked back over his shoulder into the camera—flashing his anonymous viewers a quick smile—before he hooked the tips of his fingers into the waistband of his track pants and slowly pulled them downward. Stiles and Scott’s jaw dropped and their tongues practically hung out, sloppy with salivation, like hungry dogs.

Stiles and Scott traded handjobs, reaching over to clasp one of their hands around each other’s dicks. It added to the moment. Both of them wanted to suck as much pleasure as they could from watching the slutty display. Not to mention the fact that the feeling of somebody else’s hand felt way better. They had experimented together before, but it was a rarity. But considering the fact that they had just paid $150 dollars to watch Derek....it was a special kind of occasion.

“Hey, wait—I just thought of something.” Scott interrupted, tugging his hand away from Stiles’ leaking cock.

“Ah, come on dude.” Stiles complained, reluctantly bringing his own hand back to his cock. “I was getting into the moment.

Scott grabbed the laptop and started clacking away on the keyboard. Stiles lazily watched, more focused on what he could still see from Derek’s show. All the while, Scott pulled up some kind of sketchy looking program. Upon further investigation, Stiles was able to see that it was a screen-capture recorder, capable of recording what was was being displayed on the laptop.

“I’m gonna record it.” Scott said, booting up the program. “Then we can replay Derek show us his ass whenever we want.”

“Best money we’ve ever spent!” Stiles cheered, meeting Scott’s hand for a victorious high-five. “Now, get your hand back on my dick.”

Derek pressed forward into the camera, making it so that only the sharpness of his nose and plushness of his mouth were in frame. He made a grand show of sticking a couple of his fingers into the wetness of his mouth, slowly sinking them deeper into the darkness. He sucked on them passionately and lewdly, keeping it as pornographic as he could possibly manage.

And when they were sufficiently slicked up with his spit, Derek flopped backwards onto his mattress — kicking off his track-pants. He laid down onto his back and hoisted up his hairy legs, spreading them gently. Knowing that he had his audience members’ attention, Derek reached down with his spit-slicked fingers until they were in-between his legs, cupped underneath his balls, and right at his puckered entrance.

“Holy shit.” Scott breathed. “Is he actually about to finger himself for us?”

“He fucking better.” Stiles anticipated, gluing his eyes even harder to the laptop’s display.

Sure enough, the two roomies watched as Derek slowly slid two of his fingers into his hole. Derek kept it slow, but deep. He reached way deep into himself, pressing the tips of his fingers into his prostate with each insertion. Stiles and Scott swore that they could actually see sparks flash in Derek’s eyes whenever he pressed into himself....but the two could only imagine how tight he was.

Derek fingerfucked himself good and hard, picking up with pace without apology. His abs flexed intense with each jab and his very hard, very prominent erection stood proudly towards the ceiling — twitching and dripping each time that he fucked his fingers into his ass.

Meanwhile, a sheen of sweat began to glow on Derek’s overworked body. All of his body hair began to mat down with sweat onto the tanned skin of his body. But Derek refused to slow down the precision of his fingers. He continued to fuck up into himself, shouting out slurs and shouts of pleasure into the camera. His legs and feet shook violently and uncontrollably, reacting to the amount of delicious erotic juice that pumped through his veins.

“Do you think he’s about to shoot his load?” Scott asked, squeezing a tad bit harder at Stiles’ leaking cock.

“Yeah — look at his toes. They’re curling. His legs are shaking. His chest is heaving.” Stiles breathed. “And I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”

Stiles’ body tightened and his breath quivered, caught under the gracious hold of his best friend. He felt himself explode into Scott’s firm grasp, feeling the ooze of his warm cum ooze over his cockhead and down Scott’s knuckles. Scott didn’t let up on his stroke, he continued to move his hand, pushing Stiles past his point of over-stimulation until there were screams.

But it was fun.

“Derek’s gonna bust.” Scott acknowledged, popping some of the fingers that had been washed over with Stiles’ cum into his mouth. “Hurry up and finish me off. I wanna cum with him.”

Stiles scooped up some of his spent cum and clasped his newly sticky hand around Scott’s prominent girth, pumping up the speed and tightness. As they both kept their attention on Derek’s writhing mass of sweaty muscle, Stiles felt Scott’s body heat surge into the palm of his cum-covered hand. He kept stroking, thumbing over Scott’s cock-slit, and using his inactive hand to cup underneath Scott’s balls to his asshole.

Scott came with an explosive shout—as did Derek. Stiles felt Scott throb into the grasp of his hand, but he elected to watch Derek finger his way through his own orgasm. Whilst he watched whiteness splatter all over Derek’s cut abs, he felt Scott spill over his own knuckles. And yet, Stiles couldn’t tear his eyes away from where Derek’s fat cock throbbed and the sight of Derek’s fingers shoved into the tightness of his ass.

The two watched as Derek sat up from where he had been laid on his back. He stared in the direction of the camera in a simple daze. Spent cum slowly drooled down his washboard abs, catching in the trail of black hair that stretched from Derek’s navel to his crotch. Derek sat there for a moment, catching his breath, and coming down from his orgasm...and then he winked.

Stiles and Scott watched as Derek winked directly into the camera. As they rested against the backing of the couch, they watched Derek reach forward and shut off the livestream, without giving as much as a final “thank you” for the private payment. But instead of scoffing out, Stiles and Scott just snickered to themselves—staring down to where they were both covered in their own cum.

“Dude—” Scott groaned. “—you owe me seventy-five dollars.”