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Peter tugs halfheartedly at his bindings, bent over at the waist against a rough wooden table with his hands tied straight out in front of him, bare feet shackled to splintered table legs. His limbs are so stretched and strained that he can barely move, the pain of his position alone causing his whole body to tremble.
“You remember what I told you, pet, before we started?” Tony’s voice is smooth and calm. He paces back and forth somewhere behind Peter, out of sight, stalking the room like a cat cornering its prey.
Peter licks his chapped lips and his voice is hoarse when he responds, “Yes, sir.”
“And what was it that I explicitly told you not to do?” A slight snarl has entered his voice. Peter can’t tell if he’s actually angry or not, has never been able to. Whenever he’s being punished, Tony gets this same intense look about him, the same raspy quality enters his speech when his composure slips and the monster bares his teeth. Whether it’s excitement or fury or a combination of both, the result is the same as far as Peter’s concerned.
“You told m-me – told me not to c-cum, s-sir.” Peter’s face twists in fear and he stifles a whimper with grit teeth. Tony hates it when he stutters. He can’t help it, but that hardly matters here. He already hurts all over, his punishment hasn’t even started yet, and he’s just added onto it. “Please.”
Tony’s footsteps come closer and a warm, calloused hand comes to gently rest on the center of his back. Peter startles and flinches hard into the table with a sudden thump. The touch follows and presses more firmly downward.
“I did, didn’t I?” Tony’s hand glides further down, his fingers playing along the bumps in his spine until they dip inexorably, casually between his asscheeks.
Peter’s breath hitches and his eyes fill with tears. “I didn’t mean to, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I-!”
“And what did you do, Peter?”
One finger prods at his hole, slips inside easily. The blood and cum still dripping out of him aids the entry, slick and starting to cool, but his bruised and torn insides burn at the intrusion.
“M-Mr. Stark –!”
“What.” Tony’s finger curls and Peter lets out a short scream as the nail scratches and scrapes until it catches on the inside of his rim. “Did you do?”
Peter drops his head onto the table’s surface and sobs, “I d-disobeyed you, sir. I came e-even though you t-told me n-not – not to.”
The single, curled finger unfolds and becomes three, stabbing into him so abruptly his whole body is shoved forward with the motion. He’s so on edge that the sudden motion causes him to choke on his next breath. Peter’s own hands have curled into tight, useless fists without him noticing.
Tony speaks clearly and calmly still, as if he doesn’t at this moment have half his hand shoved inside a teenage boy less than half his age. “You disobeyed me. You showed your master disrespect.” His fingers withdraw only to thrust back in sharply, a fresh jolt of pain. “I told you what would happen if you ever came without my permission. Remind me, pet.”
Peter remembers the words, but he still doesn’t understand. Tony had wanted him to come, he forced him to. It’s not fair. “You told me you’d m-make sure it was the last time, sir.”
“Correct.” Tony tucks his pinky in along with the other three fingers and Peter whimpers at the additional stretch. “Do you know what I’m going to do to you?”
Peter’s eyes close as Tony starts a slow rocking motion in and out. Specifically? No, he thinks wildly – hysterically – but he knows that would be considered too disrespectful to say out loud. “No, sir.” He says instead.
Tony flexes his fingers and pulls out. Adds his thumb, poised just inside his quivering hole. Peter bites his lip hard, the mild pain a meaningless distraction.
“Of course, you don’t.” The disdain in his voice shouldn’t hurt, but it does, it still does even after everything else. The dam breaks and Peter clenches his eyes shut against the flood of tears, but it’s useless – everything he does is useless.
Tony presses inside and Peter fights the urge to be sick. It just keeps getting worse and Peter can’t do this, please stop! But Tony, his master, he never stops. There’s no escape, he just has to take whatever he’s given.
Peter screams. He opens up around the widest part of Tony’s hand with the feeling of something tearing and a fresh gush of blood that trickles thickly down his legs. Tony makes a small noise as if he finds the sight mildly interesting and continues to push his entire hand into Peter’s warm, twitching insides. He ignores the sound of Peter’s weeping and coughing, and twists his fingers around experimentally.
“Please, stop!” Peter cries. “I can’t – !”
Tony tuts at him with false sympathy, knowing that Peter’s never taken anything larger than his master’s dick before this. “You’ll get used to it.” he says callously.
He spreads his fingers and Peter practically wails at the sensation. “Or not. I don’t really care either way.” His hand folds into a fist much too quickly, still enveloped in the tight, wet heat, and Tony leans over Peter, braces his other hand against the table. “This hole –” Peter grunts and gags as Tony punches forward with his full body weight. “Belongs to me. This slutty body –” He smooths his other hand over Peter’s shuddering back reverently, raising goosebumps in his wake. “Belongs to me!” he adds sharply and slaps the side of Peter’s ass with a loud crack, earning another cry from the boy.
“Your worthless mind is slow and it’ll take time to learn. I get it, whatever, you’ll get there eventually – or you’ll break and there won’t be enough of a brain left to fight anyway. Makes no difference to me.”
Tony slowly withdraws, his forearm covered in streaks of blood nearly to the elbow.
“But this…” he breathes, “I can make it obey me.” The slick of Peter’s blood, messy and bright, makes it easy for Tony to slide back in, further this time. He wiggles his fingers just to watch Peter, his toy, writhe in his binds. “Flesh that can be tied down, split open, and carved into the shape that I want. And soon, that’s all you’ll be.”
Tony pulls out completely, leaving Peter slightly gaping, empty, and raw. Tears drip down his face as Peter feels the cool air moving around inside him and he falls limp against the table, panting against the worn wood.
“I’m going to rip it out of you, by the way.” Tony’s voice rings throughout the room, echoes over and over again in Peter’s head. “Meat doesn’t feel pleasure and you never will again.”
Horror dawns, even before comprehension. Peter hears a light clanging and the sound of Tony shuffling around with something behind him, before he returns with the screech of what Peter thinks is a chair sliding right up behind him.
Something cold and hard brushes against his torn rim and Peter recoils as much as he’s able. He doesn’t know exactly what Tony’s planning to do to him, but he’s picturing knives and torture devices and he knows that Tony always follows through on his threats. Still, he can’t help but to beg. “I w-won’t do it again, sir, I s-swear! You don’t-don’t have to – !”
“Quiet, pet.”
Peter stops speaking immediately and tries to muffle his crying as much as he can for good measure. Anything to try to please Tony, to make him reconsider, even if he knows it’s ultimately pointless.
The ice cold object is smooth as it enters him, and much thinner than Tony’s hand. It’s uncomfortable, but not very painful yet and Peter’s confused. Then Tony starts to crank it open. Peter feels it widening inside him, strangely unyielding, and he moans in fear as it keeps going. It presses against his walls and opens him up even further, presenting his glistening guts for his master. A sudden gust of cool air has him realizing that Tony’s leaned in close and is blowing inside of him. Tony chuckles at his resulting shiver and spreads the tool as far as it will go. The edges dig into Peter’s puffy, bruised asshole and the temperature spreads a dull ache deep inside.
“Now for the fun part…”
Peter’s entire body tenses in response. Something else, another tool is sliding into his body, between the prongs that are holding him open. It brushes against his inner walls and Peter can feel that it’s something sharp when it does. He wants to scream, but he can’t move, doesn’t want to make Tony slip.
“Ah, there it is!”
A moment later, he doesn’t have a choice. Whatever it is has just torn into him, a claw, a knife, he doesn’t know. His shrieks fill the room as Tony digs around inside him and forcibly yanks something out. Whatever it is shoots a spark of pain unlike any Peter has ever known straight up his spine. His vision whites out for a moment until Tony slaps his ass again, sending a shockwave that seems to travel all the way up his intestines into his stomach. It takes him a moment to realize that both of the metal tools are gone and he’s empty again.
“Well, that should do it.” Tony says nonchalantly, “Without a prostate, you won’t be cumming ever again – with or without permission – at least not when you’re being fucked. Speaking of…”
Dazed, Peter distantly feels Tony’s pressed slacks against the back of his thighs.
“Time for a test run, don’t you think?”
Tony’s dick is hard and insistent as it spreads him open, the head popping inside with little resistance. “Oh, that’s right, it doesn’t matter what you think. All that matters is that your worthless, sloppy asshole takes whatever cock it’s given and pleasures any man who decides to fuck it.”
Peter has nothing left, his mind is empty except for the agony of his brutalized innards being violated once more. It doesn’t occur to him that this act, though nearly as violent and just as non-consensual, once brought him to orgasm. He doesn’t wonder yet if he’ll miss it or not, the fleeting pleasure his master would sometimes give him whether he wanted it or not. His body jerks up and down the table as Tony uses him like a cocksleeve, hands gripping his thin hips in a bruising hold and yanking him up and down his thick shaft. He’s a toy, a doll. He knows only pain, he’s breaking.
“You could’ve enjoyed this, pet, if you had just done what you were told. Fuck, maybe you like it anyway, you dumb slut.” Tony digs his nails in hard and fucks into Peter like a man possessed, clothed hips slapping against Peter’s bare asscheeks with a dull thwap each time they meet. Peter moans like he’s halfway to dead already, tears still trickling steadily from his face onto the surface of the table beneath him. His whole body hurts, wrists and ankles turning purple from both Peter’s previous struggling and now Tony’s violent movements and blatant disregard for the thing that he’s using.
“Do you like that, Peter? Does it feel good getting fucked like you deserve? Do the bloody shreds of what’s left of your sweet spot like it when I rub my dick inside?”
Tony grinds his cock viciously as deep in Peter’s pulverized guts as he can go and Peter screams in renewed misery. “Yeah, you do. Now you can milk my cock properly without any more useless distractions getting in the way. A cumdump doesn’t need to feel good to do its job. It just needs to stay warm and open. Maybe I should leave you like this, hook you up to an IV with some fluids to keep you alive, keep you bent over so I can fuck you whenever I want, huh? Does the thought of that make you wet, whore?”
Peter finally comes back to himself enough to hear what Tony is asking him. It doesn’t matter what he wants, but he can’t bring himself to agree. “No,” he mumbles through dry, cracked lips, “please, no.” Belatedly, he remembers, “Please, no, sir.”
“What’s that?” A particularly rough series of thrusts throws Peter’s small form across the table, his slick passage sliding up and down the rod that’s raping him, sometimes leaving him entirely before penetrating again in a single smooth movement. Peter’s hole squelches disgustingly as the blood and Tony’s precome are stirred into a froth by the man’s powerful movements and now rapid pace.
“I don’t like it, sir!” Peter shouts, trying desperately to hold onto something, fingers fumbling with the chains around his wrists.
Tony punches into his body, seemingly driven into a frenzy, impaling Peter over and over on his rock hard member. He grabs a fistful of Peter’s hair and pulls, forcefully arching his back and straining his arms against the restraints. “That’s why I fucking love it. Now take it, you fucking cock whore and tell me again!”
Peter can do nothing else but give in. “I don’t like it, sir!” His voice hitches on a sob and he finds that he can’t hold it back any longer, screaming and sniveling while Tony treats him like the worthless fucktoy he is.
“Tell me why you don't like it, pet?”
Tony’s cock burrows into him and Peter whines as it scrapes past the place inside where he knows Tony tore another hole in him, rubbing carelessly against raw nerve endings. “Because it hurts! It hurts!” he bawls.
“It hurts when I fuck you like this?” Tony asks, purposefully changing the angle on his next thrust so his cock plunges into the new chasm where Peter’s organ used to be. Peter’s eyes roll back into his head and he gasps wetly, nose stuffed and congested from his crying and spit dangling from his lips in strings.
When he doesn’t reply immediately, Tony does it again and again and tugs ruthlessly on Peter’s hair until he comes back to himself enough to answer. “Yes, it hurts! Please, sir!”
“Good,” Tony grunts, “because that’s all you deserve. You’re nothing but a piece of fuckmeat to be used, you understand? You deserve to be fucked in your bleeding fuckhole by anyone who wants to, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir!”
“And nobody cares if you cry or scream because all that matters is the pleasure your body can give to the real men in this world, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You say that, but I’m having trouble believing you, slut. This hole’s gotten loose. How am I supposed to cum when your sloppy guts don’t squeeze my cock like they’re supposed to?”
“Please…”
“Clench your slutty, used hole on my cock or I swear to God, I will find a way to make this worse for you, pet.”
Peter whimpers and gathers what little energy he has left to squeeze the muscles in his ass for all he’s worth. He rocks his hips in an attempt to distract Tony with the friction, wiggling around and massaging the cock inside him with his swollen walls. Tony groans and starts fucking him roughly again.
“Just like that, keep that fuckhole nice and tight for me. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Tony snarls and stills against him suddenly, pressed against Peter’s thighs and flooding his intestines with hot cum. Peter shudders at the sensation, somehow still able to feel it through everything else. Tony pumps his hips a little, milking himself with Peter’s innards for as long as he can. When the man pulls out, Peter can feel the mess inside him spilling out over his slack rim, can hear it dripping onto the hard floor between his feet.
“Just look at you,” Tony sneers. There’s another sharp crack as he hits Peter’s ass again, startling a hiss of pain from him. “Disgusting.” He swipes his fingers through the cooling mixture that’s still streaming steadily out of him, more red than white now, scoops some of it up and stuffs it back inside. Peter whines half-heartedly at the careless treatment. “Apologize for being a dirty cumbucket, pet.”
Peter shakes his head weakly. He feels gross and he can imagine the picture he makes, but it’s not his fault. It’s not.
Tony's voice hardens and he stills. Peter can feel his fingers tensing inside of him. “No? Thanks to your misbehavior, I had to punish you, and now I have to clean your filthy hole out.” Tony’s nails dig into Peter’s mutilated insides, unsympathetic and cruel. “Do you want another punishment? I'm sure I could think of something else of yours to remove. Your tongue?" Peter makes a small distressed noise at that and shakes his head again. Tony continues, "Your little cocklett, maybe? You have ten fingers for the taking, four useless limbs. There are just so many choices when you think about it."
He can’t take any more. It doesn’t matter how he feels, what he says. He gives in again. “I’m sorry! I'm sorry, sir!” Peter howls.
Another swat on his bruised ass. “Sorry for what, whore?”
“S-sorry for being a d-dirty cum-b-bucket, sir!”
“A disobedient, dirty cumbucket, but don’t worry – we’ll work on that.”