Starker - Young Master Tony and Mistreated Servant Peter
(English isn't my mother tongue)
Howard bought a personal servant for his only heir.
A wonderful occasion that he only bargained for a mere handful of gold coins.
The boy was a clumsy, scrawny bastard, three years younger than his son. He had no father, he had no mother, and his guardians were only too happy to get rid of a mouth to feed when Master Stark knocked at their cabin.
He had been offered other chained servants free of charge as a token of appreciation for his mere presence near the horrid dump they called home, but really, Howard hated the prospect of rats swarming into his home and besmirching his possessions with their nasty paws. The young Peter was more than enough. And so, he retired with the miserable brat.
Howard took only a minute of his time to introduce the servant to his son - there wasn't much of a story about him that would require more time.
Peter, the brat, was only ten years old when he first attempted to smile at the young master.
Peter, the brat, was only ten years old when the young master broke his nose with his knuckles.
This was the way his greeting went.
Tears and blood.
The only remark that young master Anthony Stark received was the following: "Son. Don't get your hands dirty with your things. Don't ever do it. Use whatever you can, instead. Your cane, your leather belt, the rifle grip of your firearm. You can even order our brave hounds to chew on his meager ankle flesh. But don't tarnish your Stark hands."
Thus, Peter washed the blood from his face, and Anthony washed the blood from his hands.
The missions assigned to the servant were numerous. Too numerous for his juvenile shoulders, but the choice was not a luxury that belonged to him. This way, Peter found himself in charge of the entire mansion and whoever entered the premises.
Laundry, meals, dusting, reception, gardens, mails delivery... and more. Much, much more. There was always more. No breaks, never. Never for him.
Laundry, meals, dusting, reception, gardens, mails delivery... and more. Much, much more. There was always more. No breaks, never. Never for him.
The slightest mistake would easily lead him to count the purple dark marks on his hairless legs at night when Peter could fantasize about death in his room - Master Howard was merciful enough to grant him a personal space. The rat couldn't wander free under his roof when the moon was high amidst the clouds, it was a really a disgusting thought.
Peter's purpose in life was his daily service to the Starks. It was the well-being of his owners, his respectable masters to whom he owed absolutely everything. Oh, those were words so deeply engraved in his soul. His mission. His only duty.
But, more than anything else, the young boy had to devote himself to the young master.
While Howard was an adult surrounded by ladies and personal assistants, Anthony had no such privilege. The heir was most of the time a lonely teenager when his professors were not at home teaching him lessons carefully assigned by his father. He had no friends, and he had no hobbies of his own (Peter would argue otherwise, Anthony definitely had an interest in inflicting horrors-...)
Somehow Peter was just the toy that Anthony was free to play with and do with as he pleased.
A young master and his servant. That was their story.
They went through adolescence together, one in wealth and abundance, the other in misery and suffering.
Years in which Anthony was raised to follow in his father's noble footsteps while Peter remained silent and pretty.
It was not uncommon for the young master to use his servant to relieve his anxiety. At one point, he would not even use an excuse to rain down a storm of blows on Peter's body. He would do it because Peter existed, and his screams were beautiful. He would do it because Peter was his to play with. His.
Beating Peter was probably the Starks' heir's favorite activity. And since he was always so devilishly seduced by the idea of using his hands, he acquired a pair of leather gloves just for these occasions - there was nothing like the mark of his fingers on that marble skin.
Marks on his skin, more marks on his skin - it was driving Tony crazy.
He wanted more, naturally. He wanted to have a taste of the forbidden fruit.
The first bite.
Masters usually never ventured into the servant's room, people like them had no business in a rat hole as inviting as a public latrine. However, one night Anthony broke this tacit rule. He entered, uninvited. And he closed the door behind him.
Peter, the brat, was only thirteen when it happened.
More blood.
Tony pressed a kiss to his forehead while he was still hovering over his servant, his mind foggy and his muscles shaking. "It wasn't that bad, huh? Don't tell my dad. He would..."
The young master swallowed, fear in his eyes.
"He wouldn't understand."
Peter never reported the incident. He never did. Just as he could never again find peace in his room now that this resting place had been defiled - the illusion of security had been burned to the ground.
Silence was imposed on him anyway. No choice, no voice.
Anthony Stark, a flower in bloom, was discovering his growing body along with his desires, and imposed them all to the one who could not emit any opposition.
Then, true to the carnal reputation of the Starks, the young master became a ladies' man. He used his legendary charm to make his name heard until it hung on the lips of every damsel in the region, he made them come to his mansion, to his room. Peter would clean the sheets, lady after lady. He would keep his eyes closed when ladies became men, never questioning it, never evoking it.
The years became past and they both turned into young men living under the same roof.
Peter, always caring for his masters, as docile as ever, and Tony, always cruel, as creative as ever when it came to seeing his servant cry.
On Anthony Stark's eighteenth birthday, Howard introduced him to Christine Everhart, a beautiful young lady from a wealthy neighboring family whose father owned a diamond mine in India. The heir was instantly bewitched by the beautiful blonde locks, but Howard deemed it unnecessary to point out that the marriage had already been negotiated long before his son had the chance to discover her name.
Everyone complied with the head of the family's wishes anyway. Peter first.
With the arrival of Miss Christine came the arrival of her personal waitress, Michelle Jones. The change was sudden, but the Starks' servant did as he always did: he got used to it and did his best to stay in the good graces of his three masters, even if his duties were now lightened by MJ's strangely friendly presence (it was harder to adapt to it, the idea was absurd).
Miss Everhart felt no need to wear a glove to discipline him, although she preferred to use hunger and humiliation to touch him more deeply.
Most of the time, Howard was amazed by her mischievous mind. He watched her with a half-filled glass in hand and would sometimes offer his personal cane if she was ever in the mood to employ violence.
Anthony would remain silent when that occurred. He would watch.
Peter, the brat, was fifteen years old when he kissed someone he liked for the first time.
Michelle made him feel safe, which was a perfectly unknown and dangerous feeling. However, he didn't push it away. As long as they hid their relationship, everything would be fine.
After Anthony Stark and Christine Everhart's wedding, the days when the young master had to leave for work increased and eventually became the norm. When Tony would return home, there was always - always - a moment where he'd join Peter in his tiny room. Bad habits never die.
Peter, the brat, was only seventeen years old when his master hit him so hard he thought he would die.
Two days later, when he finally woke up, Anthony brought him breakfast in bed. No apology, no smile, but a breakfast placed in his lap.
The eggs were burnt, but Tony had made the omelet himself.
It was disgusting. Peter ate the whole thing.
And as soon as the servant was back on his feet, he fled with Michelle, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the blows would eventually end him. He fled the mansion, without any bags, in the darkness of the night, and something strange happened.
He hadn't expected to find his wanted notice on every signpost, on every wall, on every window in the city. Anthony Edward Stark was offering a million coins of gold for his capture.
Tony Stark spent months mourning the loss of his beloved lover.
They had been about to get married, to unite forever and eternally when Peter passed away, one night, because a mere thug had decided so.
His precious Peter died in his arms, wincing in pain and crying desperately for help - for Tony's help.
And, oh, that made Superior angry. Infuriated. Enraged.
Inconsolable.
So he began to invade the neighboring universes to seek for another Peter. But they were all so different. Some did not have his face. Others were older or younger. There were the girls, the Peters with and those without powers, those who already had a Tony...
There were so many of them. None were perfectly his Peter. But... They're easing his pain.
Eventually, he started a collection made of Peters. He would hunt them down, capture them, and bring them back to his Earth to introduce them to their new universe and their new life.
Superior cherished them all, and took special care in spoiling, pampering, and observing them. Oh, he loved watching them in their glass cages. Each had their own space, their own room with everything they could wish and dream for as long as they asked for it nicely.
Peter from Earth 014 was a 25 year old waiter with no powers. He didn't smile much, but had incredible manners. Tony granted him many outings in the penthouse outside his room since he was one of his more obedient boys, and 014 would cook for his owner and serve him, loyal to his previous life. Too bad this angel was heterosexual - it only made some nights at the tower harder to go through as he shared Superior's heat in bed.
Peter 744 was actually Penny. Tony had made an exception for this little one, and had chosen a girl. His motivation? Mainly the prospect of playing with her generous and plump boobs and stimulating her little clit until she squirms and cries, because that was the sweetest torture he relished inflicting. Except from this, a touch of femininity in his collection was very welcomed. Penny was paradoxically kinda tomboy, yet Tony appreciated to make her try on multi-million dollar dresses, adorned with gold and emerald, just for the sake of the sight. A princess was a princess.
There was also red-haired Peter, number 361. This adorable seventeen-year-old version of his lover had huge dark eyes along with freckles staining his young face. Like many other Peters, this one was an orphan. However, he was not from New York. He was French (he barely knew 2 english words), and had grown up unfairly in a horrible reformatory, oppressed by the guardians of this absurd place and bullies of his age. Tony had grown fond on the boy just by hearing his compulsive stuttering, and his boundless shyness. of course, then, he had taken him under his wing without hesitation to offer him the life of a prince, to show him how superior he was to any other human.
The total opposite of number 361 was Peter 900. The first thing that piqued Superior's curiosity with this young man was the magnificent blue eyes. The only blue-eyed Peter he's ever found. Of course, he kept him. 900 was absolutely ungrateful and vehement, a real pest who struggled and fulminated morning and evening against his new universe as if he had the slightest chance to escape from it - from his owner. Tony always had fun watching him try, and he used that brat as an example to tame others when it came to sanctioning his intolerable behavior. But it was good to have some affront. And it was always a good rodeo ride in bed.
And others and more... So many of them, dozens of all kinds and personalities. Tony prized them all. They were a great and precious treasure to him, his cherished trophies and possessions.
They all had a collar sealed around their neck, as an unquestionable witness of their submission to Superior.
Whore, Slut, Owned, Slave, Bitch, Fuck Toy, Baby Boy, Cum Dump, Kitten, and many others.
They were not mistreated. Never. They just had to know their place, and stay docilely in their glass prison.
But still... none of them were his Peter.
No, his Peter was dead because he let this tragedy occur. He had been too indulgent, and something horrible happened to his baby; he had let him be Spider-Man, he had let him risk his life every day because Peter loved saving worthless citizens.
Oh, he would never make the same mistake again. Not twice.
He met an 8 year old Peter Parker.
A street rat, sick, abandoned, and condemned to the cruelty of his universe.
He was like his Peter.
As sweet, kind, and innocent as Peter. Tony bought him a cheesburger which the little sweetheart devoured greedily, rambling about legos. And that was it. Superior brought him back home, and gave him a white collar different from the others, made of diamonds, worthy of this tiny angel too precious for this world.
Goddess.
Tony was immortal. He would wait, while Peter grew up under his strict and loving (brainwashing) upbringing. Then he would administer Extremis to him at 21, as his Peter should have, to see him become his equal.
Tony *mentally celebrating*: Damn, Pete, I'm so sorry. (He's not)
Peter *crying*: Am I a bad omega?
Tony: Absolutely not. You're perfect. He was a bad alpha. You know what they say: if Alpha wets your eyes more than your panties, then Alpha isn't the good one.
