Thank you to all who commented and waited. This isn't allot, and it's not very well betaed, but I hope it will tide you all over for the new year.
I love reading your comments, they really drive me to write like nothing else. I hope to be able to write and post some more in the future. I'll try and move this to ty profile on AO3, and I will let you know when I do.
Again, thank you all so much. Hope you enjoy it.
------
The Asset teeters on the edge of unconsciousness, air supply dwindling quick, but it can't bring itself to care about that. The sensation of Handler Rogers's cum seeping through the Asset's guts, absorbing into its flesh, has it in a trance.
The gagging comes out of nowhere and the Asset's stomach roils. Handler Rogers pulls it off, his cock sliding slick and slimy out of the Asset's throat and mouth to leave a thin string of saliva connecting them, his hands remaining steady and gentle in its hair.
The string beads up and breaks off on the Asset's chin as it coughs, sore all the way down the abused channel of its throat. “Tha-...thank you, sir…The Asset is...grateful to...serve, sir,” it says in-between heavy lung-fulls and further coughing.
Handler Rogers remains quiet for a time, eyes shut, occupied with his own deep breathing, but he puts the Asset's head down on his thigh to relax his fingers.
After a minute the Asset finally dares to cast a glance up at Handler Rogers just in time to see the slow fading of the deep blush that runs across his face and down all the way below his collarbones to the top of his still heaving chest. The murky unease in the Asset's stomach clears when it sees the result of its service to him.
“Thank you, sir,” the Asset repeats with a murmur.
The hands still resting on the Asset's head starts scratching and playing with its hair. Handler Rogers releases a deep sated groaning sound and says, “So good. So, so good for me, my-my...Asset. You were perfect. Good job.” His eyes blinks sleepily down on the Asset.
It pleased Handler Rogers! It did good! Handler Rogers used the Asset and now he is happy! It did good! He-
Another wave of pleasure rises without warning out of the stormy sea that is the pool of heat in the Asset's stomach, cresting high up its neck, all other senses white out in the face of that tidal wave. And then- it just- rises- higher and higher until it's as if the pleasure is spilling over, like- like-
Like a clogged up sink in a rat-hole apartment in Brooklyn- cleaning the blood off of bony pale knuckles in that sink when it used to work and-
Wet cloth dabbed at a split lip, tears barely held back in bright blue eyes.
“It's okay to cry if it hurts, you know.”
A split second of thundercloud anger, “'m not crying!”
“Sure you're not, punk.”
“Idiot.”
------
For a fraction of a second the Asset doesn’t know where it is. It is held by strong arms against a broad chest, heavily restrained. They're in an enclosed space moving at a steady, uniform velocity, possibly a transport holding cell. But why is it being held?
The asset opens its eyes to bare skin just in front of its nose. Warm skin, sticky with something smelling vaguely floral...the sunscreen!
The last thing the Asset remembers is the overwhelming pleasure. It twitches experimentally and its nether regions respond with an oversensitive tingling, like everything below the hips and above the knees has fallen asleep, except the opposite. The Asset's crotch is thrumming with restless energy.
“You with me, Asset?” Handler Rogers asks and the Asset startles just a bit, it almost forgot that it was being carried.
“Yes, sir,” it answers, mouth pressed against his bare collarbone.
“Good job, Asset. You- ah...you went out on me a bit there- but that's okay! You didn't do anything bad. I just felt like we've had enough sun for today, okay,” Handler Rogers reassures.
The elevator they're in stops and the doors open before the Asset can think of a response beyond “yes, sir.”
Handler Rogers doesn't reposition the Asset to carry it by the convenient spine strap when he walks back into the apartment. He doesn't put the Asset down in the hall either. Handler Rogers brings the Asset back to the bathroom where he deposits it gingerly, the tiles warm under its knees.
“Right, let's get you out of your gear and cleaned up,” Handler Rogers says.
While Handler Rogers works to remove the safety gear the Asset can't help reflect over how quickly it got accustomed to the new armbinders and how it needed to be plugged up to stop from dripping pre-come from the cock cage. The sense of completion at being filled there, and the not-quite-orgasm sensation that rushed through it, was all thanks to the safety gear. The Asset realizes this as Handler Rogers unhooks the leg restraints, accidentally brushing its sore balls.
The Asset shivers and Handler Rogers raises an eyebrow. “Anything gone cold or numb?”
“No, sir. Nothing cold...or numb,” it responds dutifully. Because now that the Asset is paying attention it notices how hot its body still is, partly due to the sun but also just keyed up and eager for more.
The spine restraint comes off next and then the gloves, freeing the Asset’s arms, its fingers just a bit stiff and heated but not painful or clammy in the slightest; Mr Stark really does manufacture some of the best equipment the Asset has ever used.
But now that it is almost completely divested of the safety gear the Asset can't help but shivers at the thought of being bare and exposed again even though Handler Rogers is the only one who will see it.
The growing lump of cold in its throat is almost enough to distract the Asset from noticing when Handler Rogers slowly removes the urethral plug, but the sweet sting of relief makes it moan and arch its back as the buildup of pre-come drains out of its tormented cock through the hole in the cage onto the tiled floor in a sizable puddle.
The urge to bend over and lick the mess off the ground strikes hard but all Handler Rogers says is, “Oh, you were quite backed up weren't you? That's okay, this won't stain so we can leave it for later. Right now I want to get you out of the gear so I can wash you up good and clean again.”
As soon as the cage is taken off the Asset grows erect in an instant. Just the bare stirring of air against it enough to drive it to the edge but no further.
The locking plug is taken out as well and set aside to be disinfected later. Everything is taken off, including the sturdy collar.
It shocks the Asset all over again to see the wonderfully shiny words ‘PROPERTY OF STEVEN GRANT ROGERS’ chrome plated on to the collar. It wore those words outside. Agent Wilson and probably the others had seen it with the collar on, they had seen it and known that the Asset belonged to Handler Rogers.
“I’ll just drop these off to be cleaned,” Handler Rogers bundles up everything and turns to leave the bathroom. “Start a bubble bath while I'm gone and get in. I'll be back in a minute or two.”
Handler Rogers leaves the bathroom. The Asset has a mission.
The first thing it does is hit the switch that will block the drain, and then it turns up the crane to let hot water fill the big jacuzzi.
In the cabinet next to the sink it finds a few options for different scents. Bath-bomb packets for 'Citrus Orange’, ‘Sweet Strawberry’, ‘Sleepy Lavender’ and 'Mild Vanilla’ stare the Asset in the face like a challenge.
Four against one. Which one to engage first? Who poses the greatest threat? Handler Rogers has not shown any predominant preference for any of the options in the time the Asset has been in his care. Each compound has been used before at previous bathing activities that involved excessive amounts of perfumed cleaning products, but none of them stand out with any higher frequency of use.
Orange, pineapple and other exotic fruits; perhaps Handler Rogers has a reference for vitamin-C today? Has Handler Rogers neglected his diet recently? The Asset shakes the thought away. No. He hasn't, the Asset would know since he feeds it the same things he eats.
The sound of Handler Rogers' returning footsteps breaks the Asset out of its cluttering head. It should have picked a scent already! It should be in the water waiting for Handler Rogers!
The door handle to the bathroom turns and the Asset fumbles for all four packets at the same time, whips around and sends a vanilla Bath-bomb capsule flying out of its open container with the motion.
At the same time Handler Rogers steps in and the white little shape shatters on the floor right in front of him, showering his bare feet in tiny chemical soap pellets.
“Wha- Asset?” is all Handler Rogers has time to say before the tiles comes crashing up against the Asset's knees and forehead.
“Asset!” He calls out. But everything the Asset can think about is how it failed him. It failed Handler Rogers. It failed the mission. It was too slow. It threw something at its handler. It made a mess.
“Asset?” Handler Rogers’ voice suddenly goes very distressed. “Asset, respond!”
It realizes that Handler Rogers already called the Asset and it failed to respond. “The Asset is- will submit to Handler Rogers’ judgement, sir.” it manages to catch itself before it can get itself into even more trouble.
“Mission failure, sir.” The words are like ash in its mouth. “The Asset failed to present at the finish position and to add the soap within the allotted time frame, sir. It was unable to make a selection, sir.”
That is no excuse. There is no excuse. There never was with previous handlers.
Except. Handler Rogers isn't like the others. He is so kind to the Asset. He always forgives it, no matter what it does.
And really. The Asset was only trying to figure out which kind of bubbles Handler Rogers would like the most.
The Asset shivers. That is a dangerous line of thought. It must never blame its handlers.
“Sir.” The Asset licks its lips and finally looks up at Handler Rogers. “The Asset was unable to make a selection because it did not know what Handler Rogers' preferences were.”
Handler Rogers is grinning, friendly and not at all dangerous. Handler Rogers could never be dangerous. He takes a step forward, ignoring the crunch under his feet, and then another until he right over the Asset. A hand gesture says c’mon up, and the Asset rises up on its knees. The hand rewards it with a soft stroke through the hair at the back of the neck.
The Asset doesn't need to hear Handler Rogers say it. It still gives a small sigh though when the “You're not going to be punished,” comes.
“You were just trying your best. And that's alright.” Handler Rogers pulls the Asset in to rest its cheek against his hip. “Let's get in the water. Just throw in bath-bomb, anyone of them will do.”
Fill: Asset Management 13
Thank you to all who commented and waited. This isn't allot, and it's not very well betaed, but I hope it will tide you all over for the new year.
I love reading your comments, they really drive me to write like nothing else. I hope to be able to write and post some more in the future. I'll try and move this to ty profile on AO3, and I will let you know when I do.
Again, thank you all so much. Hope you enjoy it.
------
The Asset teeters on the edge of unconsciousness, air supply dwindling quick, but it can't bring itself to care about that. The sensation of Handler Rogers's cum seeping through the Asset's guts, absorbing into its flesh, has it in a trance.
The gagging comes out of nowhere and the Asset's stomach roils. Handler Rogers pulls it off, his cock sliding slick and slimy out of the Asset's throat and mouth to leave a thin string of saliva connecting them, his hands remaining steady and gentle in its hair.
The string beads up and breaks off on the Asset's chin as it coughs, sore all the way down the abused channel of its throat. “Tha-...thank you, sir…The Asset is...grateful to...serve, sir,” it says in-between heavy lung-fulls and further coughing.
Handler Rogers remains quiet for a time, eyes shut, occupied with his own deep breathing, but he puts the Asset's head down on his thigh to relax his fingers.
After a minute the Asset finally dares to cast a glance up at Handler Rogers just in time to see the slow fading of the deep blush that runs across his face and down all the way below his collarbones to the top of his still heaving chest. The murky unease in the Asset's stomach clears when it sees the result of its service to him.
“Thank you, sir,” the Asset repeats with a murmur.
The hands still resting on the Asset's head starts scratching and playing with its hair. Handler Rogers releases a deep sated groaning sound and says, “So good. So, so good for me, my-my...Asset. You were perfect. Good job.” His eyes blinks sleepily down on the Asset.
It pleased Handler Rogers! It did good! Handler Rogers used the Asset and now he is happy! It did good! He-
Another wave of pleasure rises without warning out of the stormy sea that is the pool of heat in the Asset's stomach, cresting high up its neck, all other senses white out in the face of that tidal wave. And then- it just- rises- higher and higher until it's as if the pleasure is spilling over, like- like-
Like a clogged up sink in a rat-hole apartment in Brooklyn- cleaning the blood off of bony pale knuckles in that sink when it used to work and-
Wet cloth dabbed at a split lip, tears barely held back in bright blue eyes.
“It's okay to cry if it hurts, you know.”
A split second of thundercloud anger, “'m not crying!”
“Sure you're not, punk.”
“Idiot.”
------
For a fraction of a second the Asset doesn’t know where it is. It is held by strong arms against a broad chest, heavily restrained. They're in an enclosed space moving at a steady, uniform velocity, possibly a transport holding cell. But why is it being held?
The asset opens its eyes to bare skin just in front of its nose. Warm skin, sticky with something smelling vaguely floral...the sunscreen!
The last thing the Asset remembers is the overwhelming pleasure. It twitches experimentally and its nether regions respond with an oversensitive tingling, like everything below the hips and above the knees has fallen asleep, except the opposite. The Asset's crotch is thrumming with restless energy.
“You with me, Asset?” Handler Rogers asks and the Asset startles just a bit, it almost forgot that it was being carried.
“Yes, sir,” it answers, mouth pressed against his bare collarbone.
“Good job, Asset. You- ah...you went out on me a bit there- but that's okay! You didn't do anything bad. I just felt like we've had enough sun for today, okay,” Handler Rogers reassures.
The elevator they're in stops and the doors open before the Asset can think of a response beyond “yes, sir.”
Handler Rogers doesn't reposition the Asset to carry it by the convenient spine strap when he walks back into the apartment. He doesn't put the Asset down in the hall either. Handler Rogers brings the Asset back to the bathroom where he deposits it gingerly, the tiles warm under its knees.
“Right, let's get you out of your gear and cleaned up,” Handler Rogers says.
While Handler Rogers works to remove the safety gear the Asset can't help reflect over how quickly it got accustomed to the new armbinders and how it needed to be plugged up to stop from dripping pre-come from the cock cage. The sense of completion at being filled there, and the not-quite-orgasm sensation that rushed through it, was all thanks to the safety gear. The Asset realizes this as Handler Rogers unhooks the leg restraints, accidentally brushing its sore balls.
The Asset shivers and Handler Rogers raises an eyebrow. “Anything gone cold or numb?”
“No, sir. Nothing cold...or numb,” it responds dutifully. Because now that the Asset is paying attention it notices how hot its body still is, partly due to the sun but also just keyed up and eager for more.
The spine restraint comes off next and then the gloves, freeing the Asset’s arms, its fingers just a bit stiff and heated but not painful or clammy in the slightest; Mr Stark really does manufacture some of the best equipment the Asset has ever used.
But now that it is almost completely divested of the safety gear the Asset can't help but shivers at the thought of being bare and exposed again even though Handler Rogers is the only one who will see it.
The growing lump of cold in its throat is almost enough to distract the Asset from noticing when Handler Rogers slowly removes the urethral plug, but the sweet sting of relief makes it moan and arch its back as the buildup of pre-come drains out of its tormented cock through the hole in the cage onto the tiled floor in a sizable puddle.
The urge to bend over and lick the mess off the ground strikes hard but all Handler Rogers says is, “Oh, you were quite backed up weren't you? That's okay, this won't stain so we can leave it for later. Right now I want to get you out of the gear so I can wash you up good and clean again.”
As soon as the cage is taken off the Asset grows erect in an instant. Just the bare stirring of air against it enough to drive it to the edge but no further.
The locking plug is taken out as well and set aside to be disinfected later. Everything is taken off, including the sturdy collar.
It shocks the Asset all over again to see the wonderfully shiny words ‘PROPERTY OF STEVEN GRANT ROGERS’ chrome plated on to the collar. It wore those words outside. Agent Wilson and probably the others had seen it with the collar on, they had seen it and known that the Asset belonged to Handler Rogers.
“I’ll just drop these off to be cleaned,” Handler Rogers bundles up everything and turns to leave the bathroom. “Start a bubble bath while I'm gone and get in. I'll be back in a minute or two.”
Handler Rogers leaves the bathroom. The Asset has a mission.
The first thing it does is hit the switch that will block the drain, and then it turns up the crane to let hot water fill the big jacuzzi.
In the cabinet next to the sink it finds a few options for different scents. Bath-bomb packets for 'Citrus Orange’, ‘Sweet Strawberry’, ‘Sleepy Lavender’ and 'Mild Vanilla’ stare the Asset in the face like a challenge.
Four against one. Which one to engage first? Who poses the greatest threat? Handler Rogers has not shown any predominant preference for any of the options in the time the Asset has been in his care. Each compound has been used before at previous bathing activities that involved excessive amounts of perfumed cleaning products, but none of them stand out with any higher frequency of use.
Orange, pineapple and other exotic fruits; perhaps Handler Rogers has a reference for vitamin-C today? Has Handler Rogers neglected his diet recently? The Asset shakes the thought away. No. He hasn't, the Asset would know since he feeds it the same things he eats.
The sound of Handler Rogers' returning footsteps breaks the Asset out of its cluttering head. It should have picked a scent already! It should be in the water waiting for Handler Rogers!
The door handle to the bathroom turns and the Asset fumbles for all four packets at the same time, whips around and sends a vanilla Bath-bomb capsule flying out of its open container with the motion.
At the same time Handler Rogers steps in and the white little shape shatters on the floor right in front of him, showering his bare feet in tiny chemical soap pellets.
“Wha- Asset?” is all Handler Rogers has time to say before the tiles comes crashing up against the Asset's knees and forehead.
“Asset!” He calls out. But everything the Asset can think about is how it failed him. It failed Handler Rogers. It failed the mission. It was too slow. It threw something at its handler. It made a mess.
“Asset?” Handler Rogers’ voice suddenly goes very distressed. “Asset, respond!”
It realizes that Handler Rogers already called the Asset and it failed to respond. “The Asset is- will submit to Handler Rogers’ judgement, sir.” it manages to catch itself before it can get itself into even more trouble.
“I'm not-” Handler Rogers starts. “...Mission report, Asset.”
“Mission failure, sir.” The words are like ash in its mouth. “The Asset failed to present at the finish position and to add the soap within the allotted time frame, sir. It was unable to make a selection, sir.”
That is no excuse. There is no excuse. There never was with previous handlers.
Except. Handler Rogers isn't like the others. He is so kind to the Asset. He always forgives it, no matter what it does.
And really. The Asset was only trying to figure out which kind of bubbles Handler Rogers would like the most.
The Asset shivers. That is a dangerous line of thought. It must never blame its handlers.
“Sir.” The Asset licks its lips and finally looks up at Handler Rogers. “The Asset was unable to make a selection because it did not know what Handler Rogers' preferences were.”
Handler Rogers is grinning, friendly and not at all dangerous. Handler Rogers could never be dangerous. He takes a step forward, ignoring the crunch under his feet, and then another until he right over the Asset. A hand gesture says c’mon up, and the Asset rises up on its knees. The hand rewards it with a soft stroke through the hair at the back of the neck.
The Asset doesn't need to hear Handler Rogers say it. It still gives a small sigh though when the “You're not going to be punished,” comes.
“You were just trying your best. And that's alright.” Handler Rogers pulls the Asset in to rest its cheek against his hip. “Let's get in the water. Just throw in bath-bomb, anyone of them will do.”