Warnings: All consensual, but roleplayed as noncon. D/s, mild bondage, a riding crop. And lots of swearing and a couple ethnic slurs for Germans, but nothing too offensive I think.
lol what better way to kick off my first year of college than porn? First fic fill, first smutfic ever. The guys next door were throwing a party so I started writing. I hope you like it! --
America blinked from across the table. “You want what?”
“You heard me. Don’t make me say it again.” England’s face burned.
“Because, like, I’m not a--”
“I know you’re not!”
“And also-- I mean-- Like-- Uh--”
“Use your words.”
Silence. America twiddled his fork.
“Git. I don’t want him. I want you.”
“Okay, great, but then why--?”
“Because you dressed as him would be.... interesting.”
America grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Interesting?”
“No--!” He stopped. “Yes.”
“Well,” said America, “it’s kinda weird, but sure!” He grinned again. “You’re kind of a kinky bastard, y’know th--”
Re: Little Suggestions [2/???]
anonymous
September 7 2010, 00:44:43 UTC
Two weeks later, England was coming back from a long day at work. Long, but productive-- a good day, which left him more satisfied than tired. He unlocked the door, carefully set his briefcase down, hung up his jacket, and wondered why all the drapes were closed. It had been a sunny day, but from the looks of his parlor you couldn’t tell. Rather unsettling. England knew hadn’t closed them. And he hadn’t had a housekeeper in years. So the only person who could have done it was--
Oh.
A pair of strong arms grabbed him from behind. One hand pressed him against their owner’s broad chest. The other grabbed his jaw.
Oh.
“Mr. Jones. What do you have to say for yourself?” murmured a low, accented voice.
“That’s not the best German accent I’ve heard, but I suppose it will have to do,” England sighed.
There was a long, tense pause.
The British man chuckled.
“C’mon!” America huffed, reverting to his normal voice. “I spent two weeks building tension! And you broke it! Now we’ll have to start all over!” Making sure his partner never saw him, the taller man shoved him back out the door, yelling, “And my German accent sounds just fine! It’s very authentic!”
The door slammed closed.
England began again.
He was coming home from work. It was a long, but productive day. He got his key out. Opened the door. Righted his briefcase, which had fallen over. Started walking to the kitchen, braced himself--
Nothing happened. Uneasy, he opened the fridge and got some milk out. (No sense preparing tea if he was going to get jumped.) He poured the milk and wheeled around. No one.
America must have gone home. The poor boy isn’t that patient, he thought, sitting at his kitchen table. Truthfully, the boy’s accent wasn’t so bad. More Hollywood than Berlin, but what can someone do against that?
England decided he wasn’t thirsty, and rinsed his milk down the drain. Fucking kid. Getting him all worked up over nothing. He rubbed his temples as he walked into the hallway, heading for the stairs.
“I hope you’re not planning on going anywhere, Mr. Jones.” -- captcha; nalimpli quaritity. I think it's making shit up.
Re: Little Suggestions [3/???]
anonymous
September 7 2010, 00:45:51 UTC
Before he could run, England was slammed against the wall, foreign hands clenched around his wrists and a sharp knee digging into his back. He struggled, but his assailant was too strong-- soon, both his wrists were clenched in one strong hand, while the other pressed his face into the wall. “You should have known you couldn’t escape me,” said the attacker, his voice calm and even and very German-sounding as he put a pair of handcuffs around his victim’s wrists.
“What the hell--”
“Head back,” barked America. He pulled on England’s head backwards by his hair, and with a fluid motion tied a blindfold on him. Then he grabbed the smaller man’s hair again, pulled him close to his chest and turned him 90 degrees. “March.”
“Fucking--” England kicked America’s shins, making him relax his grip for a second and step back. Unfortunately, he tripped before he could, and was quickly pinned to the ground by a booted foot.
“That attitude,” said America, stuffing a piece of cloth into his mouth, “will get you nowhere with me.” England gagged. America chuckled, throwing the now-helpless man over his shoulder.
England couldn’t tell where he was being taken or how long he was carried. Every noise was met with a clipped “Quiet.” Eventually, he gave up. Disorienting him-- not a bad touch. The blindfold was nice, too, but the handcuffs chafed a bit. (Then again, handcuffs weren’t supposed to be comfortable.)
Suddenly, he was shoved onto a hard, stiff chair, his wrists forced behind the straight back, trapping him. The cloth in his mouth was replaced by two leather-clad fingers, pressing down on his tongue. “Now,” said America, slowly and softly, his breath brushing England’s face. “I will read the charges against you. You will not speak until I have finished. Do you understand?”
England nodded, gagging slightly.
“Good.” The intruding fingers slipped away, the blindfold was untied, and America stepped back, letting England have a good, long look. The British man caught his breath. His captors tall, black boots shone in the dim light. A black leather belt accented his damnably slim waist, and an iron cross glittered on his neck, leading England’s gaze up to his face. The normally unruly golden hair was immaculately slicked back (even that one stubborn lock) and covered by a peaked cap. His jacket and jodhpurs were pressed, every line was crisp, and the silver cord on his collar and shoulder boards gleamed. Fuck. The Brit felt his pants get a bit tighter. His captor’s face was shadowed by the brim of his cap, but his eyes sparked with disgust as he wiped England’s saliva from his hand. Soon, he smirked, noticing England’s intense gaze. The smaller man looked away and sneered. “First, you entered the country illegally.” America picked up a riding crop and spun it in his hands, stalking up to England’s chair. “Then, you impersonated a German civilian-- Foolish mistake. You’re a weak, stupid man, nothing German about you-- and attempted to acquire information regarding our troop movements from our information centers.” The tip of the riding crop went under England’s chin and pressed up. America bent over him. “Will you confess?”
England grinned. “It was more than an attempt. Fucking krauts. I wonder how many spies the Queen has in your ranks-- ah!” The riding crop snapped across his face. He turned his head away and hissed while America gave him an icy glare.
“Your ego will not save you here, nor will it save your pitiful country. The only thing you have power over is your confession. Start talking”-- the leather tip stroked across England’s lips, which parted just slightly-- “and your life may be spared.”
Re: Little Suggestions [4/???]
anonymous
September 7 2010, 00:48:20 UTC
The Brit licked his lips, causing the riding crop to retreat. “Go to hell. I’d never betray my country.” Cliche, but effective.
America straightened up and surveyed his prisoner. “It is a shame you will never see it again.” Something caught his eye, and his gaze wandered downwards. England crossed his legs. “Oh? What is this?”
America used his whip to poke the concealing thigh. England bit his lip as he let it fall away, leaving the bulge in his pants in full view.
America arched his eyebrows. “Perhaps I have a better idea.” He walked around to the back of the chair. “I have told no one of your capture. The only people who know you are here are--” gloved hands rested on England’s shoulders-- “The two of us.”
England’s breathing deepened. He tried to shrug the hands away, to no avail.
“I could set you free if--”
“You’d have to kill me first. Do it. Quickly. I’d rather die than humiliate myself in front of the likes of you,” England spat.
“Hm, I could do that,” America almost purred.
England bit his tongue as one of those hands ran down his chest.
“But don’t forget-- I am the one in power here,” the stronger man whispered, “and I have decided I will have you no matter what. There is only one question now.”
That hand slid down to the panting man’s aching, confined cock and gently brushed his fingertips across it.
“F-fuck.”
“Will I take pictures?” asked America, the first hand stroking his erection through his pants, the other loosening England’s tie. “And where will those pictures go?” The second hand rose to England’s mouth, the thumb caressing his bottom lip. “To your superiors? To your family To your lover?”
America grabbed his prisoner’s crotch. England groaned parting his legs even more and slumping in his chair. The thumb at his mouth stopped. “Kiss.”
England did so. At first, he simply pressed his lips against it, but then he nipped at the leather, licked it, enveloped the digit with his lips--
--America pulled it away and wiped it on his hostage’s cheek. “Slut,” he said, his smirk almost audible. England shivered.
The taller man unlocked his handcuffs and shoved him onto the floor, where the groaning, flushed man sprawled, lacking the arm strength to push himself upright.
“You haven’t won,” England panted.
“Haven’t I?” America said, walking back to where England’s head lay, softly kicking it with the side of his boot.
England stared at it. The riding crop hovered next to his temple.
“Lick.”
Slowly, haltingly, the prone man pressed his lips to America’s toe. He kissed it. The leather tip bobbed next to his cheek. He daintily licked the side. The whip stung him again, then teased his cheek.
Taking a long, rattling breath, England opened his mouth and tongued from one side of the toe to the other. His arms began to function again, and he caressed America’s heel, pulling himself closer while he worshipped the black material with his tongue a second time. The already clean hide gleamed and shimmered like a calm pond at midnight. There was a slight chemical tinge to the taste, but it was mostly rich and leathery and delicious. He frenched the boot and pulled away with a lewd smack, a string of saliva stretching from the toe to his tongue. England’s hands embraced America’s leg, clung to his shin, as he leaned forward and licked it again.
-- never knew I had a boot-licking fetish but there you go
Re: Little Suggestions [4/???]
anonymous
September 7 2010, 01:00:27 UTC
adsfkajf; afawe so hot
God, I just happened to have perfect timing and notice you fill this; I never even saw this request, but omg, this is hitting all my kinks. God, I love this meme sometimes! So awesome, anon. <3
But why is he calling him "Mr. Jones" instead of "Mr. Kirkland"?
Re: Little Suggestions [4/???]
anonymous
September 7 2010, 01:04:09 UTC
Ah, I forgot because of the hotness, but America kicking England's ass right out of the house to start the scene over was hilarious and kind of strangely in-character. <3 And it's kind of awesome that he included nice little touches like waiting a couple of weeks, "ambushing him from a different location after they started over, and making sure he was disoriented. Very hot and considerate. :D
Re: Little Suggestions [4/???]
anonymous
September 7 2010, 01:27:33 UTC
Ahaha, I was 90% sure it was a brain fart like I normally make, but you never know how weirdly kinky things are going to get when England's involved! ;D Don't worry about it too much. <3
Re: Little Suggestions [4/???]
anonymous
September 7 2010, 01:10:20 UTC
Just lost the last three pages and all my edits. "OTL Save frequently, kids!
-- America kicked him away, hissing “That’s enough.” England whimpered. “What a whore. Getting so excited over such a small thing.” He rubbed his eye and tried to smooth his hair. God, he probably looked like a wreck. But it was hardly his fault-- it was so damn hot in that room. The Englishman glanced up at his face, which was flushed, but not as much as his own. America placed his hat on a nearby shelf and smoothed his hair. Their eyes met, and America glared down at him. He barked something, but the man on the floor wasn’t listening. A pause. “I said, on your knees,” repeated the taller man, his voice fiercer this time, metal clinking against metal as he undid his belt.
England struggled to sit, shaking his head, trying to clear his arousal from his thoughts. “I won’t,” he murmured, “not for you.”
“You don’t have a choice.” America grabbed his shoulders and pulled him upright, then thumbed across his swollen, flushed lips. “It would be a shame to waste that pretty mouth. Now.” He guided England’s hand to his fly. Unbutton. Then suck.”
After a few seconds of the smaller man’s fumbling, America slapped his hands away and did the job himself. Instead of falling to the ground, his tall boots and the stiffness of the wool kept his jodhpurs mostly in place. His red cock peeked out from the surrounding grey-green wool, lifting his jacket the slightest bit. He was already half-hard, flushed just a bit. England stroked the side and looked back up at his partner, who narrowed his eyes. He glared back, and took his member into his mouth.
“Ah--” gasped America. If England could have smirked around the quickly-hardening rod in his mouth, he would have. Instead, he settled for licking up the shaft, then back down, then swirling his tongue around the tip, tasting its salty precum, then sucking and nipping and lapping all along the length in that passionate, intense way which always drived the stronger man wild.
The target of all this affection ran his hand through his hair, and quickly fixed and smoothed it down again. He regained his composure (or appeared to do so) and stared down at him sternly, clutching England’s hair, forcing his cock deeper into his hot, wet mouth. Instead of gagging, the British man groaned along the length.
America was saying something in a husky tone, but it didn’t matter-- no, it was all background noise, easily overwhelmed by the obscene noises he made with his tongue and the pounding of his heart. The whip was lifting his shirt, tickling his back. His foe was so hard, so thick in his mouth, so hot. It was too much. Without thinking, he grabbed his crotch, groping for his zipper-- god, he needed to do something to relieve the throbbing, the desire--
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” America clenched England’s jaw and forced him away, the kneeling man’s cum-frosted lips still parted. “Who told you,” said the standing man, slowly and evenly, “that you could touch yourself?
“I--” gasped England, “I--”
America slapped him hard across the face.
The sound seemed to echo around the room.
England stared at the carpet in shock and gingerly touched his cheek.
America panicked. He dropped his accent, whispering, “England? England are you okay-- oh crap-- I just got carried away-- do you want to stop? I can get-- Oh! Uh, light? Red light?”
The British man shook his head. “Green.”
America sighed in relief.
“Punish me,” England breathed.
“Huh?”
“Punish me for my insolence.” England met his partners eyes and smirked. “You fucking kraut.”
Re: Little Suggestions [6/???]
anonymous
September 7 2010, 01:19:54 UTC
numbering FAIL! XD Previous part should be 5.
-- He sraightened up and slicked his hair, quickly beginning to fall, back into place.
Then, he sneered and stood over his victim. “Don’t pretend your desires matter here,” he said, his voice soft and even, German accented once more.
England whimpered and shrunk away. That didn’t stop America. He yanked England upright by his collar so that their faces almost touched, his arms coiled around his back. The British man savored the feel of the seething, hot breath on his face. A bit of hair still brushed America’s forehead. “I should have known. You’re no better than a prostitute. A selfish, filthy whore. It’s time I treat you like one.”
“Fuck you,” said England, and spat in his face.
The previously calm face contorted in disgust.
America threw England against the ground and pinned him there, riding crop pressed against his throat and knee driving into his stomach.
He started with his captive’s tie. Then he attacked his shirt buttons, barely fumbling despite his fervor, yanking and contorting his target’s body, almost ripping the garment off before throwing it into the darkness. His shoes got a similar treatment, as did his trousers, which came off along with his underwear. England gasped as his throbbing cock hit the air. America didn’t seem to notice. Nor did he care when his gloved hands, pinching his nipples and forcing his thighs apart, made him moan and pant louder than ever. The dominating man looked at the spread before him and nodded curtly. He released his grip.
“Hands and knees!”
America punctuated it with a crack of his riding crop. England complied. America followed with a strike to his rear, making the nude man shudder and cry out. “Do you like this?” sneered his attacker, hitting again. “Do you like this, you worthless slut?”
England shook as the crop came down a third time, but stayed silent.
“Answer me!”
“No-- Ah!” Smack.
A gloved hand closed around his member. “I-- ah-- I hate it!” Smack.
His shaft twitched. “Liar,” breathed America. “Tell the truth or I’ll leave you like this.” Smack.
“I--” cried England, “I like it!” Smack. America let go of him. “I--” Smack. “I-- I hate you!” Smack. “I--I love it!”
America chuckled. “You love it... who?” Smack.
The moaning man yelled, “I love it-- you disgusting bastard! I wish you were dead!”
America set the riding crop down and held the other man’s jaw. “Amazing. You still have a fighting spirit.” He grinned. “You won’t once my cum is leaking out of you.”
England trembled, and his arms gave out.
The taller man stood to his full height and rested one foot on England’s back. Out of the corner of his eye, the prone man saw him smooth his hair once more, a neutral look on his face-- barely glancing, that bastard-- and take a small bottle out of his left breast pocket. America walked behind him, out of sight. England didn’t have the energy to move his head. It took everything he had just to keep his ass in the air, and even there his legs were shaking. A gloved hand grasped a cheek and stabilized him, but nothing else was happening. What the hell was he doing back there? God, he’d better hurry up, this was in humane--
“A-aah! Fuck!”
In an instant, two bare, lubricated fingers were deep inside him. It hurt-- it hurt so much, but-- Not deep enough. England pushed his ass against them with all the strength he had left, but America pulled his fingers out. “So eager,” said America. “Hold still. And shut up.”
England did his best and bit his lip. America chuckled. “Good boy.”
Re: Little Suggestions [6/???]
anonymous
September 7 2010, 01:23:26 UTC
I was planning to post it all tonight, but my computer eating it kinda put a wrench in that and I'm waaay to tired to keep writing tonight. Oh well! I'll do my best to have the rest up by the end of the week.
Re: Little Suggestions [6/???]
anonymous
September 7 2010, 01:43:36 UTC
God, that sucks so hard, anon. ;_; Fucking technology, eh?
Poor America is trying so hard to keep his hair tamed; I can't believe he even got Nantucket slicked down, honestly. That's dedication to your scene. <3
Oh, and it's kind of nice to see a top doing a quick check like that, although his panic is ever-so-slightly funny to me for some reason. He's such a sweetheart and a good top/dom, and that combination amuses me in fiction, even though it's true more often than not in real life.
Unf, what an awesome use of America's strength there: England whimpered and shrunk away. That didn’t stop America. He yanked England upright by his collar so that their faces almost touched, his arms coiled around his back. *A*
Okay, yeah, this is the fun kind of non-con scene. Jesus, and those gloves staying on is just awesome. Especially when he's manhandling him, like holding him by the jaw, spreading his thighs, and so on. So hot, seriously. :D
And I'm unbelievably sorry your computer ate the rest, but I have to admit, that is such an awesome line to end on. (But go to sleeeeeeep! ♥)
Re: Little Suggestions [6/???]
anonymous
September 7 2010, 02:45:08 UTC
Shiiiiit. Unf. SO HOT.
Whew. Ok, words. (That just hit all of my kinks so hardcore, I can barely talk.) So:
“Git. I don’t want him. I want you.”
Nice to see them communicating, for once!
“That’s not the best German accent I’ve heard, but I suppose it will have to do,” England sighed.
Because of course, he wouldn't just go with it xD
The riding crop snapped across his face.
Guh. Just, guh.
“Go to hell. I’d never betray my country.” Cliche, but effective.
I love how we his mental voice stays the same, even in a situation like this one. So England!
America panicked. He dropped his accent, whispering, “England? England are you okay-- oh crap-- I just got carried away-- do you want to stop? I can get-- Oh! Uh, light? Red light?”
I'm so glad you included this! Because oh man, that's totally happened to me (I mean, uh, not like, while pretending to be Germany, but you know what I mean). If America's never done anything like this, it would be really hard to maintain! ...on the other hand, hot that he got too carried away to notice xD.
England trembled, and his arms gave out.
I'm right there with ya, man.
So yeah, great fill! The only bad thing about the kink meme is that when you find something this awesome, you can't go and immediately read everything else the author has ever written.
Father, criound. Captcha wants there to be daddy kink?
US/UK - US dresses up (Roleplays?) Germany and Dominates UK. Slicked back hair, uniform, leather gloves. (riding crop?)
Warnings: All consensual, but roleplayed as noncon. D/s, mild bondage, a riding crop. And lots of swearing and a couple ethnic slurs for Germans, but nothing too offensive I think.
lol what better way to kick off my first year of college than porn? First fic fill, first smutfic ever. The guys next door were throwing a party so I started writing. I hope you like it!
--
America blinked from across the table. “You want what?”
“You heard me. Don’t make me say it again.” England’s face burned.
“Because, like, I’m not a--”
“I know you’re not!”
“And also-- I mean-- Like-- Uh--”
“Use your words.”
Silence. America twiddled his fork.
“Git. I don’t want him. I want you.”
“Okay, great, but then why--?”
“Because you dressed as him would be.... interesting.”
America grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Interesting?”
“No--!” He stopped. “Yes.”
“Well,” said America, “it’s kinda weird, but sure!” He grinned again. “You’re kind of a kinky bastard, y’know th--”
He was silenced by a firm kiss.
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Oh.
A pair of strong arms grabbed him from behind. One hand pressed him against their owner’s broad chest. The other grabbed his jaw.
Oh.
“Mr. Jones. What do you have to say for yourself?” murmured a low, accented voice.
“That’s not the best German accent I’ve heard, but I suppose it will have to do,” England sighed.
There was a long, tense pause.
The British man chuckled.
“C’mon!” America huffed, reverting to his normal voice. “I spent two weeks building tension! And you broke it! Now we’ll have to start all over!” Making sure his partner never saw him, the taller man shoved him back out the door, yelling, “And my German accent sounds just fine! It’s very authentic!”
The door slammed closed.
England began again.
He was coming home from work. It was a long, but productive day. He got his key out. Opened the door. Righted his briefcase, which had fallen over. Started walking to the kitchen, braced himself--
Nothing happened. Uneasy, he opened the fridge and got some milk out. (No sense preparing tea if he was going to get jumped.) He poured the milk and wheeled around. No one.
America must have gone home. The poor boy isn’t that patient, he thought, sitting at his kitchen table. Truthfully, the boy’s accent wasn’t so bad. More Hollywood than Berlin, but what can someone do against that?
England decided he wasn’t thirsty, and rinsed his milk down the drain. Fucking kid. Getting him all worked up over nothing. He rubbed his temples as he walked into the hallway, heading for the stairs.
“I hope you’re not planning on going anywhere, Mr. Jones.”
--
captcha; nalimpli quaritity. I think it's making shit up.
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“What the hell--”
“Head back,” barked America. He pulled on England’s head backwards by his hair, and with a fluid motion tied a blindfold on him. Then he grabbed the smaller man’s hair again, pulled him close to his chest and turned him 90 degrees. “March.”
“Fucking--” England kicked America’s shins, making him relax his grip for a second and step back. Unfortunately, he tripped before he could, and was quickly pinned to the ground by a booted foot.
“That attitude,” said America, stuffing a piece of cloth into his mouth, “will get you nowhere with me.” England gagged. America chuckled, throwing the now-helpless man over his shoulder.
England couldn’t tell where he was being taken or how long he was carried. Every noise was met with a clipped “Quiet.” Eventually, he gave up. Disorienting him-- not a bad touch. The blindfold was nice, too, but the handcuffs chafed a bit. (Then again, handcuffs weren’t supposed to be comfortable.)
Suddenly, he was shoved onto a hard, stiff chair, his wrists forced behind the straight back, trapping him. The cloth in his mouth was replaced by two leather-clad fingers, pressing down on his tongue. “Now,” said America, slowly and softly, his breath brushing England’s face. “I will read the charges against you. You will not speak until I have finished. Do you understand?”
England nodded, gagging slightly.
“Good.” The intruding fingers slipped away, the blindfold was untied, and America stepped back, letting England have a good, long look. The British man caught his breath. His captors tall, black boots shone in the dim light. A black leather belt accented his damnably slim waist, and an iron cross glittered on his neck, leading England’s gaze up to his face. The normally unruly golden hair was immaculately slicked back (even that one stubborn lock) and covered by a peaked cap. His jacket and jodhpurs were pressed, every line was crisp, and the silver cord on his collar and shoulder boards gleamed. Fuck. The Brit felt his pants get a bit tighter. His captor’s face was shadowed by the brim of his cap, but his eyes sparked with disgust as he wiped England’s saliva from his hand. Soon, he smirked, noticing England’s intense gaze. The smaller man looked away and sneered.
“First, you entered the country illegally.” America picked up a riding crop and spun it in his hands, stalking up to England’s chair. “Then, you impersonated a German civilian-- Foolish mistake. You’re a weak, stupid man, nothing German about you-- and attempted to acquire information regarding our troop movements from our information centers.” The tip of the riding crop went under England’s chin and pressed up. America bent over him. “Will you confess?”
England grinned. “It was more than an attempt. Fucking krauts. I wonder how many spies the Queen has in your ranks-- ah!” The riding crop snapped across his face. He turned his head away and hissed while America gave him an icy glare.
“Your ego will not save you here, nor will it save your pitiful country. The only thing you have power over is your confession. Start talking”-- the leather tip stroked across England’s lips, which parted just slightly-- “and your life may be spared.”
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America straightened up and surveyed his prisoner. “It is a shame you will never see it again.” Something caught his eye, and his gaze wandered downwards. England crossed his legs. “Oh? What is this?”
America used his whip to poke the concealing thigh. England bit his lip as he let it fall away, leaving the bulge in his pants in full view.
America arched his eyebrows. “Perhaps I have a better idea.” He walked around to the back of the chair. “I have told no one of your capture. The only people who know you are here are--” gloved hands rested on England’s shoulders-- “The two of us.”
England’s breathing deepened. He tried to shrug the hands away, to no avail.
“I could set you free if--”
“You’d have to kill me first. Do it. Quickly. I’d rather die than humiliate myself in front of the likes of you,” England spat.
“Hm, I could do that,” America almost purred.
England bit his tongue as one of those hands ran down his chest.
“But don’t forget-- I am the one in power here,” the stronger man whispered, “and I have decided I will have you no matter what. There is only one question now.”
That hand slid down to the panting man’s aching, confined cock and gently brushed his fingertips across it.
“F-fuck.”
“Will I take pictures?” asked America, the first hand stroking his erection through his pants, the other loosening England’s tie. “And where will those pictures go?” The second hand rose to England’s mouth, the thumb caressing his bottom lip. “To your superiors? To your family To your lover?”
America grabbed his prisoner’s crotch. England groaned parting his legs even more and slumping in his chair. The thumb at his mouth stopped. “Kiss.”
England did so. At first, he simply pressed his lips against it, but then he nipped at the leather, licked it, enveloped the digit with his lips--
--America pulled it away and wiped it on his hostage’s cheek. “Slut,” he said, his smirk almost audible. England shivered.
The taller man unlocked his handcuffs and shoved him onto the floor, where the groaning, flushed man sprawled, lacking the arm strength to push himself upright.
“You haven’t won,” England panted.
“Haven’t I?” America said, walking back to where England’s head lay, softly kicking it with the side of his boot.
England stared at it. The riding crop hovered next to his temple.
“Lick.”
Slowly, haltingly, the prone man pressed his lips to America’s toe. He kissed it. The leather tip bobbed next to his cheek. He daintily licked the side. The whip stung him again, then teased his cheek.
Taking a long, rattling breath, England opened his mouth and tongued from one side of the toe to the other. His arms began to function again, and he caressed America’s heel, pulling himself closer while he worshipped the black material with his tongue a second time. The already clean hide gleamed and shimmered like a calm pond at midnight. There was a slight chemical tinge to the taste, but it was mostly rich and leathery and delicious. He frenched the boot and pulled away with a lewd smack, a string of saliva stretching from the toe to his tongue. England’s hands embraced America’s leg, clung to his shin, as he leaned forward and licked it again.
--
never knew I had a boot-licking fetish but there you go
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God, I just happened to have perfect timing and notice you fill this; I never even saw this request, but omg, this is hitting all my kinks. God, I love this meme sometimes! So awesome, anon. <3
But why is he calling him "Mr. Jones" instead of "Mr. Kirkland"?
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It's because I make stupid typos, that's why. "OTL
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America kicked him away, hissing “That’s enough.” England whimpered. “What a whore. Getting so excited over such a small thing.” He rubbed his eye and tried to smooth his hair. God, he probably looked like a wreck. But it was hardly his fault-- it was so damn hot in that room. The Englishman glanced up at his face, which was flushed, but not as much as his own. America placed his hat on a nearby shelf and smoothed his hair. Their eyes met, and America glared down at him. He barked something, but the man on the floor wasn’t listening. A pause. “I said, on your knees,” repeated the taller man, his voice fiercer this time, metal clinking against metal as he undid his belt.
England struggled to sit, shaking his head, trying to clear his arousal from his thoughts. “I won’t,” he murmured, “not for you.”
“You don’t have a choice.” America grabbed his shoulders and pulled him upright, then thumbed across his swollen, flushed lips. “It would be a shame to waste that pretty mouth. Now.” He guided England’s hand to his fly. Unbutton. Then suck.”
After a few seconds of the smaller man’s fumbling, America slapped his hands away and did the job himself. Instead of falling to the ground, his tall boots and the stiffness of the wool kept his jodhpurs mostly in place. His red cock peeked out from the surrounding grey-green wool, lifting his jacket the slightest bit. He was already half-hard, flushed just a bit. England stroked the side and looked back up at his partner, who narrowed his eyes. He glared back, and took his member into his mouth.
“Ah--” gasped America. If England could have smirked around the quickly-hardening rod in his mouth, he would have. Instead, he settled for licking up the shaft, then back down, then swirling his tongue around the tip, tasting its salty precum, then sucking and nipping and lapping all along the length in that passionate, intense way which always drived the stronger man wild.
The target of all this affection ran his hand through his hair, and quickly fixed and smoothed it down again. He regained his composure (or appeared to do so) and stared down at him sternly, clutching England’s hair, forcing his cock deeper into his hot, wet mouth. Instead of gagging, the British man groaned along the length.
America was saying something in a husky tone, but it didn’t matter-- no, it was all background noise, easily overwhelmed by the obscene noises he made with his tongue and the pounding of his heart. The whip was lifting his shirt, tickling his back. His foe was so hard, so thick in his mouth, so hot. It was too much. Without thinking, he grabbed his crotch, groping for his zipper-- god, he needed to do something to relieve the throbbing, the desire--
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” America clenched England’s jaw and forced him away, the kneeling man’s cum-frosted lips still parted. “Who told you,” said the standing man, slowly and evenly, “that you could touch yourself?
“I--” gasped England, “I--”
America slapped him hard across the face.
The sound seemed to echo around the room.
England stared at the carpet in shock and gingerly touched his cheek.
America panicked. He dropped his accent, whispering, “England? England are you okay-- oh crap-- I just got carried away-- do you want to stop? I can get-- Oh! Uh, light? Red light?”
The British man shook his head. “Green.”
America sighed in relief.
“Punish me,” England breathed.
“Huh?”
“Punish me for my insolence.” England met his partners eyes and smirked. “You fucking kraut.”
The previously panicked man blinked. “Uh-- Oh!”
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He sraightened up and slicked his hair, quickly beginning to fall, back into place.
Then, he sneered and stood over his victim. “Don’t pretend your desires matter here,” he said, his voice soft and even, German accented once more.
England whimpered and shrunk away. That didn’t stop America. He yanked England upright by his collar so that their faces almost touched, his arms coiled around his back. The British man savored the feel of the seething, hot breath on his face. A bit of hair still brushed America’s forehead. “I should have known. You’re no better than a prostitute. A selfish, filthy whore. It’s time I treat you like one.”
“Fuck you,” said England, and spat in his face.
The previously calm face contorted in disgust.
America threw England against the ground and pinned him there, riding crop pressed against his throat and knee driving into his stomach.
He started with his captive’s tie. Then he attacked his shirt buttons, barely fumbling despite his fervor, yanking and contorting his target’s body, almost ripping the garment off before throwing it into the darkness. His shoes got a similar treatment, as did his trousers, which came off along with his underwear. England gasped as his throbbing cock hit the air. America didn’t seem to notice. Nor did he care when his gloved hands, pinching his nipples and forcing his thighs apart, made him moan and pant louder than ever. The dominating man looked at the spread before him and nodded curtly. He released his grip.
“Hands and knees!”
America punctuated it with a crack of his riding crop. England complied. America followed with a strike to his rear, making the nude man shudder and cry out. “Do you like this?” sneered his attacker, hitting again. “Do you like this, you worthless slut?”
England shook as the crop came down a third time, but stayed silent.
“Answer me!”
“No-- Ah!” Smack.
A gloved hand closed around his member. “I-- ah-- I hate it!” Smack.
His shaft twitched. “Liar,” breathed America. “Tell the truth or I’ll leave you like this.” Smack.
“I--” cried England, “I like it!” Smack. America let go of him. “I--” Smack. “I-- I hate you!” Smack. “I--I love it!”
America chuckled. “You love it... who?” Smack.
The moaning man yelled, “I love it-- you disgusting bastard! I wish you were dead!”
America set the riding crop down and held the other man’s jaw. “Amazing. You still have a fighting spirit.” He grinned. “You won’t once my cum is leaking out of you.”
England trembled, and his arms gave out.
The taller man stood to his full height and rested one foot on England’s back. Out of the corner of his eye, the prone man saw him smooth his hair once more, a neutral look on his face-- barely glancing, that bastard-- and take a small bottle out of his left breast pocket. America walked behind him, out of sight. England didn’t have the energy to move his head. It took everything he had just to keep his ass in the air, and even there his legs were shaking. A gloved hand grasped a cheek and stabilized him, but nothing else was happening. What the hell was he doing back there? God, he’d better hurry up, this was in humane--
“A-aah! Fuck!”
In an instant, two bare, lubricated fingers were deep inside him. It hurt-- it hurt so much, but-- Not deep enough. England pushed his ass against them with all the strength he had left, but America pulled his fingers out. “So eager,” said America. “Hold still. And shut up.”
England did his best and bit his lip. America chuckled. “Good boy.”
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Captcha: sterin superexpensive
what?
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Poor America is trying so hard to keep his hair tamed; I can't believe he even got Nantucket slicked down, honestly. That's dedication to your scene. <3
Oh, and it's kind of nice to see a top doing a quick check like that, although his panic is ever-so-slightly funny to me for some reason. He's such a sweetheart and a good top/dom, and that combination amuses me in fiction, even though it's true more often than not in real life.
Unf, what an awesome use of America's strength there: England whimpered and shrunk away. That didn’t stop America. He yanked England upright by his collar so that their faces almost touched, his arms coiled around his back. *A*
Okay, yeah, this is the fun kind of non-con scene. Jesus, and those gloves staying on is just awesome. Especially when he's manhandling him, like holding him by the jaw, spreading his thighs, and so on. So hot, seriously. :D
And I'm unbelievably sorry your computer ate the rest, but I have to admit, that is such an awesome line to end on. (But go to sleeeeeeep! ♥)
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Whew. Ok, words. (That just hit all of my kinks so hardcore, I can barely talk.) So:
“Git. I don’t want him. I want you.”
Nice to see them communicating, for once!
“That’s not the best German accent I’ve heard, but I suppose it will have to do,” England sighed.
Because of course, he wouldn't just go with it xD
The riding crop snapped across his face.
Guh. Just, guh.
“Go to hell. I’d never betray my country.” Cliche, but effective.
I love how we his mental voice stays the same, even in a situation like this one. So England!
America panicked. He dropped his accent, whispering, “England? England are you okay-- oh crap-- I just got carried away-- do you want to stop? I can get-- Oh! Uh, light? Red light?”
I'm so glad you included this! Because oh man, that's totally happened to me (I mean, uh, not like, while pretending to be Germany, but you know what I mean). If America's never done anything like this, it would be really hard to maintain! ...on the other hand, hot that he got too carried away to notice xD.
England trembled, and his arms gave out.
I'm right there with ya, man.
So yeah, great fill! The only bad thing about the kink meme is that when you find something this awesome, you can't go and immediately read everything else the author has ever written.
Father, criound. Captcha wants there to be daddy kink?
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THIS IS SOOO HOOT!!!! I can barely write right now.... and I'm blushing like mad!
I'm so sorry about your computer, but will wait impatiently here for you ^^ *hugs*
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