This is a short PWP written as a break from my longer writing projects. It's completely self indulging, and I claim no expertise of RL bondage play.

Thanks to Karenec for betaing, means a lot to me. As always, thank you 35nanou and BregoMellonNin for giving me invaluable feedback in my writing process.

I was at Alpha Con in Vienna this weekend with two fandom friends, and I got to hug Tyler, Dylan, Daniel and Ian! Let me tell you one thing if you've not met them yet: These actors are even hotter in RL, and so incredibly nice. It was a huge experience being amongst so many people that all had the same interest and squeed just as loud as me. It was highly inspiring.

Stiles has done some nasty shit in his life, let me tell you, but nothing's ever made him feel as vulnerable as he's doing right now. Anything can happen to him and there's no way for him to stop it; he's completely at Derek's mercy.

And it's doing things to him.

All he really knows, is that he's still at his master's house, something soft's under his back where Derek helped him climb up on some kind of table blindfolded. His legs are held in place with the spreader bar he's intimately familiar with and his wrists are locked in padded cuffs beside his ankles, making his bare ass stick up in the air.

Good thing he's been doing yoga on a regular basis.

At first he listens to the sounds Derek makes through the house, trying to find a clue about what's going on. His mind races-like it typically does for him when he's not helped to control it-and all kinds of ideas pop up.

Is this some kind of punishment? But that's hardly effective since he's no idea what he's done wrong.

At least today.

That he knows Derek knows of.

Anyway, if it isn't a punishment, is it meant to be a reward? But what has he done right, and what is really in it for him to lie on display like this? Derek's ignored Stiles since gagging him.

Eventually Stiles manages to settle his mind into the comfortable space where he thinks of no one or nothing, his whole body relaxing as much as he can in the set position.

A hand's placed on his kneecap, carefully cupping it, and he doesn't flinch. "I'm having some people over for a small gathering tonight," his master says, caressing Stiles' thigh up round the globe of his ass where he slaps Stiles' muscle - hard.

Stiles groans into his gag, wanting to arch into Derek's touch, but is completely immobilized.

"You'd do good to get into your zone, because this isn't your night," Derek says, finally explaining a little. He pushes his finger inside Stiles' hole, dry, making blood rush to the area, and his sensitivity heighten.

"This evening you're inconsequential, boy. Who you are and what you are is of no concern. The only thing that matters, is that you're mine to do with as I please, and tonight it pleases me to have you simply as a piece of decoration in my home. Like furniture. A thing."

Stiles almost groans in frustration at this, because if there's anything he likes, it's attention, especially from Derek. This is starting to sound like a punishment.

Derek hums as there's a sound Stiles is very familiar with, and soon he's got Derek's slippery fingers pushing inside his hole, instantly fucking him at a quick pace.

Stiles' cock swells up immediately-he loves how unrelenting Derek can be, and he grunts deep in his throat.

Derek chuckles and quickly switches out his fingers with a large, room temperature plug. "Did you think I'd let you come?"

Stiles whines as Derek slaps his ass again - hard.

"I don't feel like it. Yet."

His master grabs Stiles' straining cock and smack a cockring in place around his dick and balls. Stiles struggles to breathe slowly through his nose.

It hurts.

Oh no, it's the ring that prevents him from coming - no matter what. Derek loves that one. Stiles hates it. Stiles believes it's one of Derek's favorite leisure activities to test the cockring, to see how far he can push Stiles with it on.

Derek presses a ball into Stiles' hand. "Drop it," he says, and Stiles does. It falls to the floor, ringing as it rolls away. Derek grunts, satisfied, pressing it into Stiles' hand again. "You know what to do, and the consequences," he says.

Stiles does. He trusts Derek with his life, so he jerks his head in a tiny nod.

Derek slaps his ass again - hard, at the exact same spot as earlier. It stings in the very best way. "Perfect," he says.

Stiles can hear his master walk away, leaving him to his thoughts on what kind of party Derek's planned, who'll attend, but most importantly: how Stiles can get Derek to let him come before it's over. Stiles is hard as a rock; pre-come is probably dripping down to his chest.

All he knows is he'd better get in the zone, because tonight he's nobody.

Then the door bell starts ringing.

As promised, Stiles doesn't get any attention from the people who start mingling. There's a constant buzz of talking amongst the guests while they're sipping on what sounds like sizzling liquid. There must be some kind of food being served, because there's chewing and comments on something well-tasting.

But none of this involves Stiles, and he reaches his quiet place with ease, a skill learned from years of practice with striving to follow Derek's orders.

Stiles doesn't flinch when a small hand's placed on his leg.

"What's this, Mr. Hale?" a confident, female voice says. It's a little raspy and Stiles' mind floats towards the present with the image of someone attractive, though that's of no concern to him. He's his master's decoration, and his master's to do as master pleases.

"Oh well," Derek says, tone light, "it's just one of my possessions that I happened to have lying about."

There's a pause, and Stiles hears soft rustling beside him, like something's picked up and placed back down, but it doesn't fully reach his consciousness. The small hand's back on his leg, a light touch.

"You're welcome to try it," Derek says, in the way that tells Stiles he's smiling politely.

The female chuckles low, her hand retreating from Stiles' skin. Something's picked up and placed down beside him. "You mean he's like a party favor?"

"Yes, exactly!" Derek exclaims, "a party favor."

Stiles feels his face and chest flush, not in shame, but at this proof that he is indeed a thing tonight, owned as always by his master, body and soul.

And tonight Stiles is his master's gift to his guests.

He swallows hard, his cock swells once more.

"Ooh," comes a delighted breath from the female, "seems like he likes it!"

"Yes, of course he likes it," Derek says gruff, "because it pleases me," he adds with finality, and it says it all.

"How should I do this?" the female asks, her voice sounding like she's turning her head. Someone arranges something on the floor, and she says, delighted, "Thank you!"

There's some ruffling with fabrics and then Stiles' plug is removed carefully - obviously not by Derek's hand. The small hand grabs his hip and something room temperature presses slowly inside his open hole.

He groans deep in his throat.

"Oh!" the female breathes and Derek chuckles pleased.

The thing pushes in and out of Stiles in shallow movements, barely inside.

"Don't hold back on my account," Derek comments.

The small hands grab Stiles' hips and fills up his hole until hips meet hips. "Oh, he's good!" the female gasps between Stiles' thighs.

"You mean I'm good," Derek snaps.

She pushes in and out with smooth strokes. "Of course," she grunts.

There must be others coming to watch since several voices make small-talk around them, a buzz in Stiles' ears. Derek speaks, and Stiles can tell he's enjoying himself, and that sends thrills of pleasure through him. Nothing is better than his master having a good time.

He's empty, then he's full again, with something firm in body temperature this time. The underside of his cockhead is played with, a finger at the slit where his high-tuned nerve endings remember the way Derek sometimes teases him for what feels like hours before he gets to come. Stiles' toes curls.

Stiles' hole takes and takes and takes. And it all becomes a blur.

A tight, slippery ring of a hand jerks him, lets him go, then is back again. Stiles feels sweat forming on his forehead.

Steady background sounds from casually conversing voices float in and out. Music's in the air and there might be dancing feet. Time ceases to matter as his hole's used.

There's pauses, hands brushing over his flushed, hot skin.

He's slapped hard on his asscheeks, his thigh muscles squeezed, there's pinching of his nipples - it's sensory overload, and soon he's reaching that higher place where everything becomes one big bliss, his mind short-circuiting. And this is what he strives after. Floating amongst the clouds, free as a bird, no cares in the world - it's his haven.

As always, Derek knows how to get him there.

Fingers fists his hair, combing through it, and voices beside his head - everything in the same stream of impulses. His hole's fucked especially hard, and he notices the change somewhere at the back of his mind, someone that likes it rough-like him. His whole body's held in place by strong hands on his shoulders.

Derek's constantly nearby. No matter his consciousness level, Stiles is aware of his master at all times.

Always.

The deep voice-Stiles' compass-is conversing, perhaps discussing or explaining; it doesn't matter - it's no concern to Stiles what the words mean. But the tone - casual and light, might even be marred by pride, and it seeps through to Stiles; his master's tone always reaches him, wherever he is, makes Stiles feel the same as the tone.

His balls are tight up his body, his cock straining with blood. There's someone inside him now, fucking his hole just right, and if only the cockring would be snapped open, he'd come in a second. But the key to Stiles' pleasure is in his master's pocket.

"You're doing so good." Derek's voice is against his ear, more hands caressing his body. He must've made a steady stream of throaty grunts, because when he becomes aware of them and stops, his throat muscles thanking him.

The man using his hole at this point seems to climax because there's loud cursing and jerky movements that stop.

There's probing at his hole, searching around, and a thought pierces through his wall that he doesn't feel full of come. Nothing runs from his hole down between his cheeks as fingers plays with his opening.

A hoarse voice says, "Thank you."

"My pleasure," Derek says beside him, and then Stiles is dozing off in deep space as there's no more hands on his skin, and his hole is empty.

Murmuring near his ear. "You still with me?" Derek's beside him, hands on Stiles' body, prying his fist open and taking away the ball Stiles never needed to let go of.

The gag straps snaps off, his cheeks are dried, and a straw placed in his mouth. "Suck." So he does.

"Good boy," Derek praises, and it's like a physical caress to Stiles' soul.

Everything's quiet, except for fabric rustling as his master moves around him. He struggles to think but gives up. It's too difficult, and that says a lot of what his master's achieved tonight.

Derek scoops him up in his strong arms. Mm, firm chest. His master's in excellent condition, but even Stiles is a grown man, and his master grunts in effort as he takes all of Stiles' weight.

"Put me down," Stiles whispers, not wanting to be a burden. "I can walk if you untie me."

Derek jerks to a stop. "You going to ruin this lovely evening?"

Stiles wheezes as his lunges are smashed over Derek's shoulder in an awkward position. Uh-oh! "No, sir!" he rasps.

"You do best in remembering I make all the decisions around here, as you should very well know." Derek walks again, grunting as he climbs the steps.

"Yes, Sir," Stiles luckily remembers to add. "Sorry, Sir."

"I should think so!" Derek carefully lowers him on a mattress smelling of them both, pulls away the blindfold that's only covering one of Stiles' eyes by now.

Stiles blinks to the sudden light, but it's just the bedside lamp on in his master's otherwise dark bedroom. He can clearly see Derek's eyes though-they're his north, and his breath catches as he notices the dark glint in them.

Fuck! His master's obviously pleased with him. Eyelids hooded and focus intense on Stiles' body, Derek's a master (hah!) at pushing Stiles' buttons, but it might actually look like Stiles has a trick or two up his sleeve as well; because it seems like he's done well tonight.

Derek bends over Stiles' ankles where he opens the padded cuffs which holds Stiles' wrists. Stiles' arms falls down limp, his shoulder joints protesting at the action, but Derek kneads his sore muscles expertly.

Stiles groans long in pleasure, making Derek chuckle.

"You've pleased me tonight, boy." Derek's tone is soft, and Stiles gulps as he's sensing it's full of promises. Derek places Stiles' arms down and open the spreader bar still holding his ankles apart. Carefully his master straightens Stiles' legs, making his muscles scream in discomfort, but warm hands never let him go and know how to fix cramps. Has lots of experience with it.

His master works his magic and soon the pricking needles diminish, and pleasure takes over. Stiles' cock starts filling up in anticipation of what he dares to hope is to come. "Please," he mumbles, flings his arm over his face, covering in his elbow joint.

Derek hums, continuing to knead Stiles' thighs, thumbs up to where thighs meet groin, and Stiles' heart speeds up, arching into the touch.

"I wanted to take my time with you tonight, but I'm not feeling like waiting to take what's mine." Derek's voice is low, like a promise.

Stiles feels the mattress dip, and he lowers his arm to watch his master undress. He'll never get tired of looking at Derek. Hard muscles, perfectly sculpted after a life of careful exercising and healthy diet. His master not only takes care of Stiles, he's in full control of himself as well-of the whole world for all Stiles is concerned.

Derek looks up from under his lashes as he's down to his briefs, holds his thumbs hooked under the waistband while meeting Stiles' gaze, and smirks. Stiles wets his lips. "No, I'm not going to use your mouth tonight. I'm going to use your asshole. You belong to me, and your body is mine to use exactly how I want to." His master slowly pulls the fabric down his hips and his cock thumps against his abs, straining with blood and the foreskin halfway down the plump cockhead.

Stiles spreads his legs, watching his master's gaze go down to where his legs meet. He raises his knees.

Derek climbs up on the mattress between them, hand jerking himself slowly, making the full head hide and retreat in his circled fist. "You're so wet for me, boy," he says as his fingers go for Stiles' hole, pushing in in in.

Stiles gasps, arching his back, his master's fingers in his hole fucking him hard with determination. He grips the sheets at his sides, wanting his master to do as his master pleases. Nothing can be better.

"You take it," Derek says gruffly, slamming fingers in, might even leave bruises down there, and excitement flares in Stiles at the thought of waking up tomorrow with blue prints given him by his master. Proof that Derek's been there.

Stiles' cock is straining, up in the air, the bottom squeezed tight by the ring, still. He'd touch himself if he were without experience, but as it is, he's got years and years of it. Stiles' body is not his. His orgasms belong to his master, as everything else in his life-just the way they both want it.

Derek retreats his hand and reach for a pillow he pushes under Stiles' hips. His master is in full control of himself, doesn't jump right in, but takes his time to find his place between Stiles' legs, steering his cock inside the waiting hole, his eyes at Stiles' face the whole time.

It's so intense. He's had a long evening of use and bruise, sensory overload and reaching his high, but his master hasn't got his fill, so neither has Stiles then, no matter what. He gasps as Derek pushes all the way inside of him in one go, setting a firm, steady pace from the get go.

Derek's face has a tell that Stiles is not sure his master's aware of. To others Stiles knows that his master looks like he's an expert at hiding his feelings, but to Stiles, his master's an open book. Derek loves him; Stiles can easily tell, and there's no one else Derek's close with mentally and emotionally like with Stiles. They've been together for a long time and will continue to be so forever. And they both know it.

Derek rests his upper arms beside Stiles' neck, their faces level and gazes connected as his master snaps his hips relentlessly. Stiles has been so close to coming all evening-his cock's been hard for what feels like for forever-but Derek has excellent stamina of course, and can go endlessly in Stiles' eyes. Even if Derek'd say he can, Stiles is unable to come while the ring holds his cock and balls this tight. He's tried hundreds of times.

Sweat's dripping from his master's face down on Stiles'. He grabs Derek's asscheeks, watching his master's reaction and see his eyes darken even further. Then Derek leans down, capturing Stiles' lips and presses his tongue inside of Stiles' mouth, kissing like he fucks-with determination.

Stiles groans deep, his mouth being explored and his lips sucked on. Derek kisses his cheek, down to his ear, biting there and sucking on his neck, while his hips keep hammering. Pleasure rips through Stiles. His master knows all his hidden spots, both on his body and in his mind.

"Please!" he can't help the words from escaping, and Derek's hips jerks to a stop, gaze snaps to Stiles'. Stiles bites his lip hard in frustration, doesn't say a peep more.

And his master's gaze softens all of a sudden. Derek sits up on his knees, taking Stiles' hips with him, so he doesn't slip out of Stiles' hole. He rubs Stiles' stomach absently. "Yes, you'll come now."

Stiles breathes out. "Thank you, master."

Derek smiles indulgent, gaze going to Stiles' cock, and Stiles sees it's leaking over the hair on his lower stomach. Derek fingers the wetness, and press his fingers inside Stiles' lips. "Suck!"

Stiles groans at the taste, and then his master snaps the cockring off. "Come," he says, jerking his hips in shallow movements to the rhythm of his fingers fucking Stiles' mouth.

Stiles' whole body spasms to the core of his being as he climaxes so hard his vision whitens and he feels warm wetness fill his hole to the brink as his master gives Stiles his fluids.

He wakes up in his master's bed, stretching his stiff back, blinking at the bright morning sun. He's alone and his master's let him sleep in. His jaw cracks at his wide yawn, and he feels a smile spread on his face remembering yesterday.

"Mm hm." He snuggles into his master's good-smelling pillow. Doesn't notice Derek opening the bedroom door until he hears a cough, and spins his head, startled.

Derek grins at him, his gaze trailing leisurely over Stiles' naked form. "I've made us breakfast today," he states.

Stiles stares at him surprised, but his master doesn't comment on the rarity, so Stiles keeps his mouth shut about it.

Derek comes over to sit on the side of the mattress, placing his warm hand on Stiles' hip. "Here," he says, handing Stiles two paper sheets.

Master's printed out two pictures, clearly taken yesterday.

One before and one after.

Both of them showing Derek's dark mark on Stiles' white, left asscheek, high up in the air for everyone to see. His master's permanent print on him, showing everyone who Stiles belongs to, without a question in the world.

Stiles grins wide.

The End

Thank you for reading!