The Other Side 1c
anonymous
October 17 2010, 02:19:36 UTC
Russia's laughter drew closer, until he came partly into view, still mostly dressed and brandishing his faucet pipe. England swallowed, quickly returning to full rock hardness at the sight. Was Russia going to beat him? That seemed to be going a bit too far, maybe he should sto-
England's train of thought derailed into the ocean when the end of the pipe was shoved into America. Who groaned and thrashed, but... didn't quite seem to be not liking it... France's hand tightened around England, thumb caressing the tip, and he gave a groan of his own. England reached into France's lap to return the favor. They pumped each other in unison as they watched America being violated.
Then Russia jerked the pipe out and tossed it aside, reaching down to flip America onto his back. He removed the rest of his clothing before practically collapsing atop him, and America welcomed him almost hungrily. Pressed together, they kissed, and it could only be described as a war between mouths, biting and fighting for dominance. England stroked France a little harder, biting back a whine when America wrapped his legs around Russia and Russia pounded into him.
“Fucking... bastard...” America snarled, after one particularly harsh thrust made his head slam into the floor.
“Pizda,” Russia said.
“Sweet mercy,” England said, stroking harder, moaning when France did the same.
And then... oh god... America came, and he screamed so fucking loud he probably woke up whoever was on the other side of the hotel. Where Russia was supposed to be.
But Russia was not ready. Oh no. He simply thrust harder, snapping out rapid angry-sounding Russian. And abruptly, Russia was gone, kicked away and across the room by America. England swallowed hard at the display of sheer brute strength. America got to his feet and stalked out of view. They heard the sound of a slap. Another, harder. And another. England's grip tightened and France yelped.
More tantalizing sounds of abuse. Smacks, bodies hitting furniture, furniture hitting bodies. The watching pair strained desperately to see something. Mercifully, Russia came stumbling back into view. His ass was considerably redder than it had been. And America stepped closer, now wearing only- “Mon dieu!”-his black gloves. He grabbed Russia by the hair, both of them snarling heated insults at each other. And America picked Russia up, slamming him against the wall, lifting one leg and shoving into him. Russia threw his head back, into the wall, orgasming with a low cry. England could have sworn he saw a crack in the wall where the nation's head had struck.
Russia pushed America away, reaching for his pipe. They disappeared from view again. England stroked with a frenzied pace, pumping his hips into France's hand. So close...
Good lord, the pair on the other side weren't done yet? There were more violent noises and crashes and sounds they couldn't even hazard a guess as to the origin, and then a loud scream as America came again, and they had missed it, but soon England himself was overtaken by orgasm and he cried out. He felt France spasm, felt sticky warmth coat his hand, and France was moaning, too. Loudly.
And silence fell on the other side of the wall.
England flopped forward, resting against the wall, body still trembling as he fought for breath.
Nobody said anything, on either side. After a while, shuffling of bodies getting dressed, footsteps, the door slammed shut. The bed creaked as the remaining person lay down.
England and France exchanged a look. They finally backed away from the hole in the wall, returning to their own bed. They lay still, hoping for the sound of somebody returning to the room next door. They perked up in excitement when the door opened and shut again, but sagged in disappointment when it wasn't an angry Russian voice that spoke up.
“What the hell did you do to our room this time?” Canada demanded.
Oh well. England soon fell into an exhausted sleep.
England's train of thought derailed into the ocean when the end of the pipe was shoved into America. Who groaned and thrashed, but... didn't quite seem to be not liking it... France's hand tightened around England, thumb caressing the tip, and he gave a groan of his own. England reached into France's lap to return the favor. They pumped each other in unison as they watched America being violated.
Then Russia jerked the pipe out and tossed it aside, reaching down to flip America onto his back. He removed the rest of his clothing before practically collapsing atop him, and America welcomed him almost hungrily. Pressed together, they kissed, and it could only be described as a war between mouths, biting and fighting for dominance. England stroked France a little harder, biting back a whine when America wrapped his legs around Russia and Russia pounded into him.
“Fucking... bastard...” America snarled, after one particularly harsh thrust made his head slam into the floor.
“Pizda,” Russia said.
“Sweet mercy,” England said, stroking harder, moaning when France did the same.
And then... oh god... America came, and he screamed so fucking loud he probably woke up whoever was on the other side of the hotel. Where Russia was supposed to be.
But Russia was not ready. Oh no. He simply thrust harder, snapping out rapid angry-sounding Russian. And abruptly, Russia was gone, kicked away and across the room by America. England swallowed hard at the display of sheer brute strength. America got to his feet and stalked out of view. They heard the sound of a slap. Another, harder. And another. England's grip tightened and France yelped.
More tantalizing sounds of abuse. Smacks, bodies hitting furniture, furniture hitting bodies. The watching pair strained desperately to see something. Mercifully, Russia came stumbling back into view. His ass was considerably redder than it had been. And America stepped closer, now wearing only- “Mon dieu!”-his black gloves. He grabbed Russia by the hair, both of them snarling heated insults at each other. And America picked Russia up, slamming him against the wall, lifting one leg and shoving into him. Russia threw his head back, into the wall, orgasming with a low cry. England could have sworn he saw a crack in the wall where the nation's head had struck.
Russia pushed America away, reaching for his pipe. They disappeared from view again. England stroked with a frenzied pace, pumping his hips into France's hand. So close...
Good lord, the pair on the other side weren't done yet? There were more violent noises and crashes and sounds they couldn't even hazard a guess as to the origin, and then a loud scream as America came again, and they had missed it, but soon England himself was overtaken by orgasm and he cried out. He felt France spasm, felt sticky warmth coat his hand, and France was moaning, too. Loudly.
And silence fell on the other side of the wall.
England flopped forward, resting against the wall, body still trembling as he fought for breath.
Nobody said anything, on either side. After a while, shuffling of bodies getting dressed, footsteps, the door slammed shut. The bed creaked as the remaining person lay down.
England and France exchanged a look. They finally backed away from the hole in the wall, returning to their own bed. They lay still, hoping for the sound of somebody returning to the room next door. They perked up in excitement when the door opened and shut again, but sagged in disappointment when it wasn't an angry Russian voice that spoke up.
“What the hell did you do to our room this time?” Canada demanded.
Oh well. England soon fell into an exhausted sleep.
oOoOoOo
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