Novus Lupus

Content Warnings: Nonconsensual and very unpleasant BDSM, Dystopia, Alternate History, Concentration Camps and other Nazi-esque stuff.



Notes: Written for the Captain America Kink Meme, Prompt can be found here:  http://capkink.livejournal.com/1973.html?thread=2281397#t2281397



This piece is not attempting to argue that all fans of D/s are psychotic totalitarians and nor is it attempting to obliterate the distinction between nonconsensual BDSM and SSC BDSM. It simply is an attempt to give the requester the fic they asked for; a fic where the Avengers are rebelling against a dystopia where engaging in BDSM and participating in a rigid Dom/sub hierarchy is enforced by the State (something which even fans of consensual BDSM can agree is monstrously evil). The author is quite aware that not all kinky activities need to involve role-rigid D/s, that not all people that practice D/s are role-rigid, and that not all people that call themselves fans of D/s have the same view of what constitutes D/s.



This fic is not attacking anyone's kinks. It is a work of fiction which deconstructs the attitudes of a relatively extreme subset of BDSMers. It is not intended to be a realistic portrayal of the real-world BDSM scene, speaking generally.

Novus Lupus

ACT 1

Part 1

The large man sat on the concrete floor of the cell with a book in his hands. He kept tilting the pages so that the pale sliver of moonlight could illuminate the text.



The Ordered States of North America was born out of growing realization that the Enlightenment foundations of the United States of America were flawed and hubristic ideals that ridiculously mischaracterized human nature.



In brief, the Enlightenment project was based on the proposition that man, apart from all other known life forms, was the rational animal. As possessors of reason, we were separated from all other beings and the laws that applied to them could not apply to us. We had to use our reason to comprehend nature and our human condition, to reshape our world into something hospitable to our own interests, and to comprehend morality.



These tasks were necessary for each individual human being. According to the Enlightenment perspective, all of us were equally human and thus equally possessors of reason. The proper social order, therefore, had to be based on universal principles which left us to come to our own conclusions; the only limit upon this was the equal right of others to do so. Thus, the concept of individual rights and the equal freedom principle were born. Both are referenced in the Declaration of Independence.



As the man kept reading, his breathing subtly grew less stable, as if he were slightly shivering. Keep steady, soldier, he thought to himself as he turned the page.



The Ordered States of North America exists due to the failure of this philosophical perspective. The meta-anthropology of the Enlightenment committed two critical errors; denial of the basic fact that we are just another kind of animal with no significant differences from other species within the animal kingdom, and denial of the fact that human beings by nature are not born equal.



Any observer of human nature, from the prison yard to the schoolyard to the fraternity to the military, can point out humanity's obvious propensity to form dominance hierarchies. This trait exists in human beings just like it exists in pack animals. And the natural reinforcement mechanism of this hierarchy is sexuality.



Anyone that has looked at any pornography can clearly see that. Sexual dominance and submission is, to paraphrase the counter-Enlightenment titan Fichte, the outer manifestation of a deep inner truth.



And thus, the Ordered States of North America was born as a proclamation of the proper way to order society according to human nature. Man is merely Novus Lupus; the new wolf. Law is the decree of the superior, to be obeyed by the inferior. The State is the instrument of the innately Dominant, to lead the rebellious and the confused back to their anointed path of submission. And it is on the battlefield of lust that our true natures reveal themselves. Kill or be killed. Greatness or groveling. Predator or prey. Alpha or omega.



There is no third option.



The realization weighed more heavily on his conscience than the icy steel collar weighed around his neck.



I've failed.



He threw the book away with the same disgusted scowl on his face he had when he hurled a copy of Mein Kampf across the library.



All he did was pick up a pen the lady officer dropped. He didn't know they called it the "reflex test" until after he returned the pen with a courteous nod and a "ma'am."



The waning wedge of moonlight made a diagonal slash across his torso. He remembered the military... the orders. Having to obey without question. Having that instinctual deference hammered into his consciousness. A necessary evil, he thought bitterly. A small amount of obedience and hierarchy to stop the Nazis from instituting even more... like an innoculation.



He took a breath before letting his mind form the next conclusion.



The Nazis won.



No. I swore I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees. I'm Captain America.



His inner monologue kept repeating that over and over.



He lost track of the outside world until he heard the foreboding clang of the cell's bars being opened. A dusty, muted daylight crept in through a window the size of a shoebox. The harsh clomping of jackbooted feet against concrete filled the small space.

"Welcome to Resocialization Camp, pretty boy," sneered a leering guard.

Part 2

"Master Stark?" Pepper asked as her knuckles delicately tapped the glass door.



Tony peered up from beneath his bench. His face was smeared with grease and ash.



"Pepper," he replied and ushered the strawberry-blond inside. He kept his gaze fixed on her, as protocol demanded. He wished she made eye contact back.



"Are you alright, Sir?" She asked as she surveyed the random wreckage strewn about the lab.



"This isn't the worst explosion I've set off down here," he replied in his typical rapid pace.



"But you're bleeding!" she exclaimed. "Master," she added quickly.



Tony's face remained stony in spite of the trickle of blood dripping from his cheek. C'mon Pepper, you know you're adorable when you're fussing over me... look at me, don't be scared, I'm not gonna tie you over the bench and rape you in the ass and I know you're telling yourself you should want that but c'mon, part of you doesn't want that? I'll triple your salary if you don't want that.

"I'm fine, slave Potts." I'd be finer if I didn't have to call you that.



Butterfingers handed Tony a bandage.



Pepper's PDA beeped. JARVIS simultaneously chimed.



"Sir..."

"Oh my god... Master.."



Tony picked something off the floor and placed it back on his desk. He made sure only he could see it.

"Yes? Just one of you please my damn ears are still ringing from the blast."



Pepper began speaking immediately. "You've been assigned!"



"Ms. Potts received the same news as I did, Sir. A new submissive shall be placed under your authority in the near future. Shall I get to work on crafting a collar?"



"In a while. You're dismissed, slave Potts."



Pepper bowed and quickly backed away. She then darted up the stairs.



She's going off to cry, isn't she? Yeah, she's going off to cry. She's always dreamed she'd be my slave (join the club) and not just my slave-assistant.



Tony's gaze fell on the object he picked up before. It was a picture of Pepper before she was collared. Well she got sorta-lucky with Happy and its not like she got any worse at the admin stuff afterward. But after she was collared he noticed a change in her demeanor, as if she became ashamed of being good at her job. Maybe I should get JARVIS to track what Happy and Pepper get up to or something. Either I save her from an abusive dom or I get to watch something better than the usual crap on TV. Win-win.



If Happy's abusing her, I'm kicking him out of a plane.

Part 3

A caucasian woman with extremely puffy bleach-blond hair and scarlet lipstick, clad in a black leather corset that highlighted her breasts in a manner reminiscent of the prow of a ship, smiled on the screen.

"Welcome to the Six-O-Clock news, I'm Mistress Angelique Boudreaux." Her smile immediately became a condescending scowl before she continued, "the unworthy slime currently licking my boots is slave Bertram Boyle."



A small, strangled whine emerged from beneath Mistress Angelique's desk.

"Thank you for this privilege Mistress."



"Later tonight, we cut to a live feed from the Portland Resocialization Camp, where children displaying anarchic, switchable tendencies are rehabilitated into responsible citizens by compassionate State re-education."



A picture of a female Drill Sergeant spitting in the face of a young hispanic girl with a mohawk was displayed in the upper right corner of the screen.



"Also, scientists at Los Alamos National Laboratories have recently completed a landmark study of those that go against nature and reject D/s. These dangerous anarchists all crave reciprocal, peer relationships during their youth."



The screen showed a man in a labcoat speaking. "These unfortunate individuals must have been either Dominant but treated as inferiors when children and thus resented the paradigm, or are submissives in denial of their own nature. Rest assured all our subjects will be successfully re-educated. Those that cannot be shall be humanely euthanized."



The camera cut back to Mistress Angelique. Her face had returned to a smile. "But our top story tonight; Stark Industries CEO Master Tony Stark has been assigned a new submissive! The OSDA issued the press release to wild fanfare and speculation about who the lucky sub would be."



Mistress Angelique looked away from the camera and down below the desk.

"Not as lucky as you, you faggot. I can't see my reflection in those boots! Worthless incompetent. Over the desk, Punishment Position Two."



For the first time that news broadcast, the face of slave Bertram Boyle appeared. His entire head and face seemed to be constructed out of oily bulbous protrusions, his skin was greasy and his hair resembled tendrils. The man's eyes were a green so washed out, they may as well have been gray. He bent over the desk and awaited the first crack of his Mistress's riding crop.

Part 4

They thought using a Military Dominant would work. They thought that by appealing to those honed instincts of obedience and identification with the group, they could break him.



The Mil-Dom called him "Soldier." I'm not your soldier. Not for you and not for your cause. Steve refused to do a single pushup.



Now, the hot desert air moved against Steve's naked skin. His wrists and ankles were bound to the triangular frame.

"Ten lashes, Soldier. It'll be easier for you if you learn your place."



Steve stood silently and awaited the lash. I won't call that son of a bitch 'Sir.' I'd sooner take another beating.



The sounds of strangled cries and cracking whips reached a room on one of the higher levels of the camp's buildings.

"Rogers is resisting, Commandant," said the Doctor. "The military drills have shown no effect. Perhaps a good course of action would be to send him to me for a good physical exam." The Doctor began to smile; yellowed teeth lay between his thin lips. "I've just requisitioned a one-gallon enema bag."



The Commandant looked over her shoulder at her fellow Dominant. Her cheek-length dark brown hair and nearly-black eyes contrasted against her near-albino complexion. "Maybe the solitary training is the problem. Military instincts are exacerbated by insociation; we could take him out of solitary and put him back in general population."



"It's too late," came a reply from a younger man in uniform. "Sir... Ma'am," he quickly added as he averted the gaze of the Dominants. "OSDA has assigned him already, Sir, Ma'am."



The Commandant looked at her subordinate. "Dismissed." After the subordinate left the room, she looked again at the Doctor; "we have only forty-eight hours to tame him. Worst case scenario is that his assigned Dominant has a bit more work to do. If he can't be made submissive, he'll be killed."



Back at the frame, Steve was released from his bonds and fell on the ground. Each intake of breath was ragged and torn. The sticky warmth of congealing blood clung to his back. Every single synapse in his body felt like it was being attacked by a swarm of white-hot razor blades.



The Mil-Dom thrust the toe of his boot beneath Steve's lips.

"Want the pain to end, pretty boy? Listen to that voice in yer head, scum.... the one telling you that you want this... that your only worth is in taking orders from your betters. Show some respect... lick the boot and tell me how much you love being a bitch."



Steve looked into the eyes of the man standing above him. He looked into those anger-filled eyes with an ice-cold gaze of defiance, a gaze untouched by any fear. Respect. You don't know the meaning of the word.

"No," he replied in the steadiest tone he could muster.

Part 5

"The hack worked perfectly, Sir. The OSDA's mainframe, designed by Stark Industries, apparently contained a convenient backdoor accessible only to myself. How coincidental," JARVIS intoned via Tony's earpiece.



Tony paced around backstage. Press conferences are always just cheap theatre for the damn gossip merchants to sell more crap... play the role and get it over with then go back home and get to work. He removed a flask-shaped bottle of vodka from the pocket of his leather jacket and took a swig. I hate this hat, these boots are so shiny you could pick me up on radar from Brazil, I need another drink.. Tony took another gulp.

"Pepper out of town?"



"Indeed Sir. Ms. Potts is currently attending our offices in Chicago and shall be there for in between three days to a week."



"So I got forty-eight hours to pull this off, fantastic. Delay her flights if necessary."



"Certainly, Sir. The pre-conference show has commenced. It would be wise to put your most intimidating Dom-face on. Would you prefer I arrange to have your vodka seasoned with a liberal amount of vinegar so as to help you get in a sufficiently disgruntled mood?"



"Shut up JARVIS."



The throng of reporters, some collared and some not, looked at the screen with a mix of feigned interest and barely-concealed annoyance.



"Master Tony Stark!" began the pre-recorded declaration. "A true American hero!"



Various slides began to flash across the screen. They were typically of pictures of Tony holding a bevy of submissives of both genders on spiked leather leashes.



"A man who's powerful mind is matched only by the power of his hand! A man who has had Hollywood A-listers paying to give him pedicures! After leaving the weapons business, Stark Industries has revolutionized the way we live countless times. Technological dominance in every field! Ladies and Gentlemen, Dominants and submissives, I give you Master Tony Stark!"



The audience sat in silence as they observed the leather-clad figure emerge from Stage Right. Stark's lips were contorted into a sneer one would expect from an animal with blood dripping from its teeth. The inventor's eyes were masked from any contact by impenetrable mirror-shades.



"Thank you all for coming," he began in a voice laced with condescension. "My property will arrive shortly. Rest assured my new property will learn the value of obedience and humility. Any questions?"



Dead silence.



No one questions a Dom, jeez why can't I enjoy this damn press conference?!? Gimme something to work with people! Hey, tabloid chick, want me to take my jacket off so the readers can jerk off over me? Guaranteed sales.



"That will be all," he said as he quickly strode off the stage. Never any fun, dammit.



"Marvelous performance Sir, I'm sure the Academy will have the statuette delivered to your lab. Speaking of deliveries, Captain Rogers is vacuum-sealed and waiting in your living room. Shall I commence the protocol for the Avengers Initiative?"



Tony barged through each clashing set of double-doors until the soles of his boots began to grind against asphalt.

"Of course, we've been planning this thing for ages and it would make no sense if we stopped now, go for it."

Part 6

After hours of muffled sounds of metal doors slamming and engines roaring, Captain America finally heard nothing but his own breathing.

Keep calm, soldier. Typical torture technique, they're trying to intimidate you and let you drive yourself mad with fear. Don't let them.



His field of vision remained black. He felt nothing but the compression of thick sheets of rubber around his body. He couldn't move his mouth but there were holes for his nostrils to breathe through.

Inhale, exhale... air smells clean and sterile. Indoors then, probably. Inhale, exhale...



Each breath he took felt like relief; don't think about that, soldier.. it's over now. Those years with Asthma had some use; the breath control wasn't as effective as they wished.



A muffled noise. A click. Footsteps. He kept his face stony as he awaited his captor.



Stark entered the living room, tore off the jacket and threw it on the sofa. He wore only his boots, leather jeans, leather gloves and a black tank top.

"Okay, one cryovac to order. JARVIS, do you have the records of the resocialization?"



"Indeed Sir," JARVIS replied as Tony looked at the human form entrapped between thick black rubber sheets hanging from hooks in the roof.

"Whilst it was only a week," JARVIS continued, "our new arrival certainly has been introduced to this society's customs with considerable vigor. Shall I list?"



"No, I'll ask him," Tony said as he moved to open the air intake valve, "is the lower vacuum compartment separate from the head compartment?"



"Yes, they followed your instructions."



Tony pulled the air intake valve free. The space above the figure's shoulders began to inflate. The distinct outline of the figure's head disappeared.



"If you think I'm going to be your slave, you're sorely mistaken!" Steve boomed.



"Sorry, can't hear you beneath the rubber," Tony lied casually. "Just let me get the sheet off, Captain."



Steve fell silent in shock. Assignments are random, there's no way they could know me. Unless they're high up in the government and rigged the system.



Tony picked up a knife and carefully sliced around the top sheet. A flap fell away and he looked into the icy glare of Captain America himself.

"Hey Cap," he said casually, "welcome to Malibu."



"Where's the other one?" Steve sternly replied.



"Greetings Captain Rogers," JARVIS replied. "Don't mind me, I'm not a person."



"You sound like one," Steve said with a raised eyebrow.



"That's JARVIS, he's an AI that runs the house," Tony said quickly. "Oh wait, you don't know what an AI is, think a machine with a name and that's all you really need to know. So, talk to me."



Steve kept his glare on Tony.



Tony sighed, "relax, I'm not here to hurt you. Yeah I know, you have all the reason to think I am considering you woke up only a week ago and were shipped off to S&M Concentration Camp, but hear me out. Wanna drink?"



Steve remained silent for a second before replying. "I've been zipped up in this thing for over three hours. I'd sooner go to the bathroom, so who are you?"



"Tony Stark."



"You mean..."



"Don't mention him," Tony quickly cut him off, "yeah, that's how I knew about you. When I heard they were defrosting you I had JARVIS hack the OSDA mainframe so you'd be assigned to me."



"Let me out, please."



"Only if you promise not to try and escape."



"Only if you promise not to torture me."



"Sold," Tony quickly replied as he opened the lower compartment's air intake valve and began unzipping the large flat bag.



Steve wasted no time in stepping out. He faltered as he regained his stance on the floor. He didn't care about his body being naked.



"Well, someone's hot," Tony replied with a smirk on his face. He then raised his eyebrow when he noted the bandages on Steve's back.

"Shit, you must suck at making friends. So, drink?"



Steve silently stared at Tony.



"What? I'm used to plying hot naked people with alcohol."



"That's probably what most concerns Captain Rogers, Sir."



Tony sighed. "JARVIS, could you get a bathrobe sent down here?"



A green light next to a wall compartment flashed. Tony strode over to it, opened the compartment, and removed the white terry bathrobe from inside. He then moved back to Steve and presented it to the taller man.



"Thank you," Steve replied as he slid the robe onto his body.

Part 7

Steve sat on the couch with a glass of iced water. He looked out the windows towards the Pacific Ocean. His neck now lay uncollared.



Tony sat in a nearby chair with a scotch on the rocks. "You probably don't want to do the post-Resocialization-Camp victim routine so don't feel like you have to tell me anything. Want me to give you the basic rundown?"



"I read a primer," Steve replied. "The Novus Lupus movement..."



"Yeah, those guys," Tony continued, "a small number of people with a lot of money, friends in Washington and sick fetishes can really do a lot of damage. Yeah, you wanna get into lactoklismaphilia, fine, but don't go around calling it a universal law of nature and putting everyone that disagrees with you into a gulag."



"Lacto...what?"



"Milk enemas."



Steve fell silent.



"What, not into milk enemas?"



Steve looked at Tony with wide eyes.



Tony smirked, "just kidding. Anyway, you probably saw enough at the Resoc Camp to realize what kind of world you woke up in."



Steve took a breath and another sip. He drained the glass. "Yes." His gaze focused on the horizon. "How many, Tony?"



"How many what?"



"People. Killed."



"Worse than Hitler. His death camps only got up to eleven million. Knowing the administration they're shooting for Stalin-level. We're at twenty-three million now, only two-million more to go."



Steve swallowed. He remembered the stench of the Nazi Death Camps... mud, excrement, but even worse was the omnipresent linger of burning human flesh. He felt the water begin to slide around his stomach with unsettling instability. His breathing got faster and his face contorted into an expression of utter disbelief.



"Yeah I know, real terrible," Tony continued in an indifferent, staccato burst before taking another gulp, "but I wanna do something about it."



Steve looked at Tony with a resolute glance. "Go on."



"Usual sob story, never liked the D/s thing and seeing my mom's safeword get ignored put me off big time. Pretended to be a Dom to avoid being killed.. easy enough, just buy the gear and act like a douchebag and have a good press agent. Found some other people that weren't happy with the regime, so we decided to work on something."



"And you want me to be a part of it?"



"Well not from the start, you're kind of a last minute addition but yeah, the opportunity couldn't be missed." Tony then drained his glass, got up and walked over to the liquor bottles.



Rebellion against the government, Cap thought as he remembered those Germans that resisted Hitler, from Bonhoffer to von Stauffenberg. I swore to protect the Constitution of the United States. Not to defend any State that dominated this land. He nodded at Tony.

"Count me in."



"Excellent, now I won't have to kill you. Anyway, question, got any idea why you aren't into D/s or were you still disoriented from being unfrozen?"



He isn't slurring his syllables yet... Cap thought as he mulled over the question.

"I don't think I've ever thought about it before now," Steve replied. "In my time we didn't discuss these things.. even.."



Tony smirked as he watched a blush creep over Steve's cheeks.

"What, didn't they have sex during the Depression era?"



"We just didn't talk about it... I'm sorry Tony, I can't answer that question."



Tony drained his glass again. "Got it. Anyway, you're probably hungry. Anything you like to eat?" Please don't say apple pie.

Part 8

Steve laid on his side on the bed. The lash marks still hurt. He could barely manage half a slice of apple pie at dinner.



Twenty three million..



He stared almost unblinkingly at the wall. "JARVIS... how do I turn off the light? Can't see a light switch."



"Vocal Command, Captain. Shall turn them off now."



The room went black. He laid there, his pillow wedged between his arm and his head.

Twenty three million souls to avenge. Killed for not having the right tastes in bed.



Each breath he took brought keen awareness of the lines crossing his back; red-hot pulses followed the trackmarks. He didn't remember the Death Camp smell at the Resoc Camp... maybe they ship them somewhere else before they kill them... maybe they don't burn the bodies.. his breathing began to accelerate.



"Captain Rogers, I notice your heart rate has jumped. Perhaps a relaxant might assist you in getting to sleep?"



Steve looked around with wide-eyed shock. "How did you know?"



"I am equipped with advanced sensors, Sir. Mister Stark's health isn't the most stable and thus I routinely monitor him. I also am observing you on account of any complications that may arise from your recent incarceration."



"Oh, right. I'm okay, JARVIS. I'll sleep."



"Certainly Sir. Apologies for startling you."



He remembered the faces from the Nazi camps. He wished he didn't. The solitary confinement probably saved me from a lot.



He took another breath and ignored the pain. He exhaled in a slow, controlled manner, letting his lips feel every whisp of air.

Part 9

"How are you going to get my shield?" Steve asked. He sat on a stool on the other side of the bench in Tony's lab.



"Already working on it," Stark replied quickly as he accepted a wrench from Butterfingers. He began disassembling a device in front of him.



Steve watched the confident fingers deconstruct the device almost effortlessly. Wow... that's genuine talent he thought. But he couldn't let that distract him.

"Care to explain how you're working on it?"



"Friend on the inside. He suggested that you didn't grovel because of Vibranium poisoning so he's requisitioning your equipment for further study."



"Study? Where?"



Tony pointed to himself. "Take a guess, handsome. I'm the smartest guy they got, and Howard built your equipment so its Starktech property." When the name of his father crossed his lips, his tone became laced with bitterness.



JARVIS beeped. "Our first guest has arrived, Mister Stark. Garage entrance has been opened."



Steve felt a slight blush creep up his face. I'm still in nothing but a bathrobe and Tony's taking guests...



The blond man heard the sound of a motorcycle; not the angry rough growling of the one he remembered but rather a precise, refined noise that seemed to oscillate between a roar and a purr. When the vehicle entered the garage, Steve's eyes widened as his gaze traveled along the relentlessly streamlined surfaces of the vehicle. Curves flowed into harsh angles; the bike was principally black and chrome with some royal purple panels. The figure atop it was clad in black and purple racing gear with an inverted chevron crossing the chest and back. When the figure's face became visible after the helmet was removed, Steve saw a blond-haired, young man with a mischievous grin and a stainless steel collar around the neck.



Tony walked over to his guest. "Did you get the shield?"



The new man simply nodded and walked towards Steve with a smirk on his face.

"Man, its Captain America himself!" He began confidently as he extended his hand, "Clint Barton. Pleasure."



Steve slowly extended his own hand, Tony could at least give me some real clothes he thought, and shook firmly.

"Call me Steve."



Tony moved up behind Barton, "where's his shield? And his costume? It isn't like I have a problem with Captain America only wearing a bathrobe but we need more firepower to carry this plan off."



Clint raised and waved his hand dismissively, "relax, Starkster. It's being delivered and should be here within an hour. No one's gonna suspect you after the media hear the cover-story."



"What cover story?" Steve asked with a raised eyebrow.



JARVIS chimed, "the current version is that a number of terrorists including a rogue government agent, specifically Mister Barton, and also Mister Stark's defiant slave Steve Rogers, break into Starktech and steal certain valuable weapons systems."



Tony nodded and continued, "I can't fund this if I blow up the business. Revolutions aren't cheap so I'm gonna have to keep my identity secret. Having you here," he pointed to Steve, "gives the terrorists an insider with opportunity and motive, making the breakin more plausible."



Clint smirked, "so, how's my new bow coming along?"



Tony arrogantly strode over to a wall panel and pressed a button. The panel revolved; attached to the other side was a collapsible composite bow, a quiver of arrows, a bottle of 1998 Dom Perignon and two champagne flutes.

"Presented for your approval," he grinned smugly as the glass slid away and Clint moved forward, "the Hawkeye Mark Three. Celebration included free of charge."



Tony then glanced across at Steve. "JARVIS, we'll need another flute!" he called out.

Part 10

An hour later, Steve strode around his upstairs bedroom and slid into his old costume. He took a deep breath as he felt the material begin to encapsulate his body, not with the almost sticky compression of the rubber but rather a feeling of reinforcement. His stride became more confident after he slid the familiar red boots on. As he slid the winged hood over his head he felt that sensation of reinforcement become something he knew his childhood Church would condemn as "pride." He looked in the mirror; Captain America... the embodiment of a now-rejected, but still heroic and noble ideal.



A few seconds later he walked down the stairs. He heard Clint and Tony rambling to each other, a new champagne bottle popping open, and laughter. He turned around and faced both men.



Clint now had no collar around his neck, except for the mandarin collar of his jacket. He looked at Cap with a raised eyebrow for about half a second. Then he burst out into hysterical laughter.

"Oh fuck! It really did have wings on the head!! Man, that's just fucking hysterical!!!"



Steve paused for a second and took a breath. The military instincts wanted him to grab Clint by the neck and demand more respect.. No... I didn't fight for that.

"This design represents years of fine art school, Barton," he began steadily.



Clint kept laughing.



Tony looked at Steve wryly. "Cap, its the future. Well for you it is, and everyone wears fetish gear in the future." He took another swig of Dom Perignon and stood up; he was still clad in the same leathers-and-tank-top from yesterday. He picked up a full flute and handed it to Steve.

"Is your shield still operational?"



Steve nodded and tentatively accepted the flute. Already had one glass...



"We can get you a new costume if you like. Maybe Clint won't laugh as much if you get an update."



Clint's laughter had began to subside as he took a sip from his flute. "Can't make promises, Steve," he continued with a wink and a smirk.



"I'll... think about it, Tony," he replied as he looked down at the star on his expansive chest. You're being sentimental, soldier. He slid the hood off his head and sat down on the couch.



Tony drained his glass in one final long gulp. Then he turned to Clint.

"Think she knows?"



Clint scoffed and shook his head. "Bitch is too full of herself. Thinks her 'natural power' makes her irresistible to me or something. She probably thinks I'll be back in a week with a bunch of roses in my hand and a dildo in my ass begging for her forgiveness."



Steve had a puzzled look on his face.



"Oh wait, you're still new," Clint said to the elder blond, "Natasha, my now ex-mistress. Psycho bitch. Great hair, tits and ass but that's about it."



Steve nodded. "So you were assigned to her?"



Clint's tone didn't change but he looked away as he spoke, "yeah, and it was either obey her or go directly to gulag, don't pass go, do collect two hundred lashes."



Steve looked at Tony again. "Are we going to get onto the plan or are we going to just sit around drinking all the time?"



"I pick the second option," Clint replied with a grin.



"Relax, Steve," Tony smoothly responded, "everything is under control. As long as I can keep Pepper in the dark, we'll get the team assembled and go from there."

Part 11

Ohshitohshitohshit Tony thought as he watched the feed on his living room television. He could practically hear the "Jaws" theme playing in his head as the familiar Strawberry-Blond head of slave Pepper Potts moved ever closer toward the front door of his Malibu mansion.



"Ms. Potts is projected to arrive in two minutes, Mister Stark. Agent Barton is hiding himself and his possessions in the laboratory. Captain Rogers is...."



"That's it!" Tony instantly exclaimed. "Hey, Steve, get down here right now! Don't get dressed! JARVIS, get the sawhorse up here!"



"Yes Mister Stark. T-minus one minute and twenty seven seconds." The wall cabinet beeped. Tony opened it and dragged the padded sawhorse out into the living room.



Steve strode down the stairs quickly. "What is it, Tony?"



Alright, this is totally worth the panic the inventor immediately thought as he caught sight of Steve Rogers clad in only a snug jockstrap. The morning light rolled through the window like an ocean wave and crashed against each muscle that built Rogers' body. Score!

"Perfect! Alright, get over here" he rapidly said as he walked over to the larger man and began tugging at his arm.



"T-Minus fifty-three seconds, Mister Stark."



Steve followed as he was led over to the sawhorse.

"What's that?"



"It's on loan from a friend," Tony quickly replied. "Across the sides or front-to-back? Yeah, front-to-back, easier on your back," he immediately continued and pushed Steve toward the padded bench.

"Lay across the top, grip the front legs."



Steve paused and looked suspiciously at Tony.



"Look," Tony hurriedly continued as he made a frustrated sigh, "just putting on a show for Pepper. Keeping her distracted. JARVIS, get some basic equipment set up!"



Several wall panels flipped over, revealing a fearsome array of whips, straps (some with split ends), paddles with holes drilled in them, canes and a whole variety of other things Steve couldn't immediately identify. His eyes immediately went wide.



"I promise I'll go easy on you. Really!" Tony's tone became filled with panic-laced sincerity.



Can't be worse than Resoc Camp Steve thought begrudgingly as he lay lengthways over the sawhorse. The padding felt smooth and soft as his fingers gripped the front legs with bone white knuckles.



"Twenty seconds, Sir."



Ohshitohshitohshit.... on the bright side, can't think of a better ass to spank he thought as he took another glance at the milky-white bubble-shaped glutes framed by the straps of the jock.



"Fifteen seconds," JARVIS chimed.



Fifteen seconds later, Pepper Potts opened Tony Stark's front door, only to have her ears assaulted with the sound of sickening cracks.



"Yeah, you fucking scum, lying there and taking it like the obedient little bitch you're destined to be, pathetic submissive cocksucking maggot..." Tony looked over to the door and his tone of voice instantly changed from a hateful gravel to his typical energetic cadence, "oh, hey Pepper!"



Ms. Potts felt half her blood supply rush to her cheeks. She covered her mouth with her hand as she observed the scene before her. Tony had been spanking the ass of an extraordinarily well-built white male; the man's head was covered in a black leather hood and the man's ass glowed a pinkish red. Tony held a wide brown razor strop in his hand.



"Master Stark! I'm sorry! Sorry for interrupting you when training your slave! I'm..."



"Nothing to apologize for, slave Potts."



"Has everything been okay?" she asked with her usual wide-eyed concern.



"Haven't lost an eye or a limb and I haven't contracted any contagious illnesses so yeah I think I'm alright."



A few more loud snaps rang out in the room as Tony brought down the tough leather on Steve's ass. "You like it don't you? Being punished? Bet you're dripping precum in your jockstrap now you worthless whore."



"I'll leave and put the papers on your lab table.."



"NO!!!" Tony yelled in a panic; almost jumping toward Pepper. He then took a breath and paused, "just give them to me here. Oh.. yeah, I'm hungry. Could you go to Carl's Jr and get me a cheeseburger? The double bacon cheeseburger... and the teriyaki turkey burger... but hold the tomato. Can't stand raw tomato."



Pepper paused for a second; her breathing sped up as she held the folder tightly. But her grip then slackened and she placed the folder on the sidetable next to the front door.

"Yes Sir. Will be back with that. And if you need anything..."



"I'll call. Thank you slave Potts."



Pepper quickly left and closed the door behind her.



Tony immediately dropped the razor strop and ran over to Steve.

"I'm sorry... I'm so fucking sorry Steve," he said quickly as he pulled the hood off the blond man's head. "I had to keep her in the dark and she knew I got assigned and bondage takes longer to rig so I had to spank you and it was easier than the shit you've been through. I'll get you anything I want for dinner, even more apple pie."



Rogers stood up and looked the inventor squarely in the eye.

"Calm down, Tony. I'm fine... compared to the lashes, that was nothing. I could tell you weren't using much force anyway."



Tony backed away slightly from the Super-Soldier before taking a breath. "Yeah. Good thing about your butt being so pale is that it goes red easy; makes things look harsher than they are. The multiple layers of the strop means it makes a lot of noise relative to the force used so the bark is often worse than the bite. Least with Pepper out we've bought ourselves some time... I'll get JARVIS working on sending her and Happy on a long vacation or something."



Tony's eyes remained downcast.



Steve placed his own hand on the shorter man's shoulder. "Don't worry, Tony... you did what you had to do. I won't hold it against you."

Part 12

Tony breathed a sigh of relief as he lay back on the bed. His hand reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the bottle of scotch standing there conveniently. He drew the bottle to his lips, opened the cap and took a swig.



"Ms. Potts and Mr. Hogan boarded the flight two hours ago, Mister Stark. Assuming all goes to plan, they shall be on their vacation for three weeks."



"Out of my hair, good. Notify me if Happy gets too stay-in-the-kitchen-naked-and-on-your-knees with her. Lights out JARVIS."



The lights in Tony Stark's bedroom faded.



Down the hall, Clint Barton lay on his bed, still clad in his black-and-purple motorcycle leathers. I could get used to this. Far better than the floor or a cage, he thought to himself with a slight clench of his jaw.



The archer stood up and walked over to the mirror; beneath his jacket was a leather vest with the same black base and purple inverted chevron on his chest. He looked away from the mirror before removing the jacket.



His downcast eyes easily glimpsed his arms; the limbs were constructed from tough and wiry musculature resembling spun steel cabling. That wasn't what bothered him; as he looked closer he saw the marks on his skin. They looked like enlarged pores, hundreds upon hundreds of them... he remembered screaming into the gag as the cold steel slipped under his skin...

Keep cool, Barton. The bitch won't get you back. Worst comes to worst, you always got the cyanide.



Back in Tony's room, the inventor's form stirred atop the mattress. His closed eyes fluttered about as the familiar images replayed themselves.



The bomb. The surgery. "Build the missile, Stark, or every detail about those trips to Amsterdam gets sent to the OSNA government...." The scrambling around the filthy cave. Hammering together scraps of torn-apart devices... "Don't try our patience... we know what you like is a capital crime." The explosions. The bodies. The dust. The heat.



End of Act 1