BW:F Chapter 3

Nat locks herself in the bathroom on the jet, fumbling with her communicator.

“Tony,” she snaps.

“Um, kind of busy, Nat.”

He’s in space, helping Fury with his space station or something. Nat does not care about any of that right now.

“I need you to get Thor on the phone,” she says, pacing the cramped, but surprisingly luxurious space.

“Thor? Why?”

“I have an Asgardian problem,” she replied.

“Asgard’s a little out of cell range,” Tony replies tersely.

“I need to talk to him, Tony!”

“He’s a god. Have you tried praying?”

“Tony!” she bites out.

“Friday has a degree in theology. Help her out, Friday.” With that, Tony cuts the call off.

A reddish figure materializes in front of Natasha. Tony’s AI assistant is usually just a disembodied voice; this holographic representation must be new. She has the form of an improbably attractive woman with proportions similar to Nat’s. She’s vaguely see-through.

“Agent Romanov,” she says, sounding pleasant, as always. “How may I assist you?”

Nat grinds her teeth. She’s about to tell the hologram that she can’t, but something’s happening. Her eyes widen in outrage and she looks down. She’s getting hard. She’s never been less turned on in her life. Yes, Tony’s AI assistant is much sexier than she needs to be, and Nat has been trained to be comfortable with seducing men and women, but this makes no sense.

“You have to be kidding me,” she mutters, unsure what to do with her hands. “Stop it!”

It does not stop it, and as her cock swells, it starts to feel good. Rather than the painful constriction of her black suit, this is a nice pressure. Her knees wobble. It’s not like she didn’t know that penises felt good, she’d just never felt it for herself.

Now, even in jeans, the bulge is noticeable.

“Oh God,” she mutters.

“Agent Romanov?”

Nat ignores the hologram and struggles with her jeans. She frees her cock, as though being able to see it will somehow help. Fully hard, it isn’t quite five inches long.

“Asgardian magic,” she says bitterly. “How long is the flight?”

“Seven minutes of flight time remaining,” Friday replies serenely.

That’s not much. Enough time for this thing to go down?

“Go down,” Nat says, as though that will help. She’s talking to her penis. Loki. This is Loki’s fault.

“Would you like me to help you?” Friday asks.

“I don’t think you can. Unless you know how to get a message to Asgard. But thanks for offering,” Nat says with a smile that doesn’t have her heart in it.

“I have helped Mr. Stark with these situations on several occasions,” Friday says, an unmistakable note of pride in her voice.

Nat frowns. “You have?”

“Oh, yes. It was my original function.”

Nat looks up from her cock at the hologram. “Excuse me?”