Re: Russia/Anyone Post Coital Cigarettes
anonymous
January 13 2011, 13:15:20 UTC
“I-I’m-ah!-sure that no one wi-will fuck you either, you sadistic pig.” No response was given to him, other than the harsh thrusting in of a third finger, this one completely dry. It hurt like a bitch, and he couldn’t help but let out a pained-sounding groan. Only one more thrust graced his sweet spot before the fingers were pulled from his body, causing him to whine and arch into the wall, grieving the lost fullness.
Then, he was dropped from his perch against the wall, falling and landing against it on his knees, gasping and feeling a definite ache in his neck. He heard the chuckle from above his head, the harsh sounds of Ivan’s breathing as he kneeled down beside Alfred, whispering into his ear. “If you want me, then you will have to ride me, cowboy.”
Alfred’s face flushed in a mixture of embarrassment and rage, and he turned and pushed Ivan to the ground. His nails dug into the skin on Ivan’s shoulders, leaving indents and cuts that bled under the pressure. “Do not call me a cowboy in that disgusting accent of yours,” he growled, pushing his own boxers down until one leg was free and the flimsy garment was still hanging around his left knee. One hand released Ivan’s shoulder to pull his cock free of his own pants and underwear, large and red and leaking. Alfred slid down Ivan’s body, leaving bites-not hickeys, mind you, but honest to god bite marks all along his torso and stomach, one even drawing the tiniest droplets of blood, which Alfred lapped up like a man dying of thirst. (Ivan would never admit it, but the act was honestly the most sensual and intimate thing he believed Alfred could have done at the time.)Alfred’s mouth-hot and wet and everything Ivan wanted then-descended on his cock, quickly, without mercy, because like hell was he going to take that thing in dry. His hair was grasped roughly while Ivan thrust into his mouth with wild abandon, paying no head to the choked noises Alfred made.
All Alfred thought then was thank god for strength, because for its power he was able to stop the vicious thrusts assaulting his throat-which he swore was now raw. The skin where Alfred’s hands had gripped would without a doubt leave bruises, which Alfred was proud of. The fact that he was leaving marks on Ivan’s body, drawing blood and pain made him feel more powerful in the situation, even though he was approximately ten seconds from taking a huge fucking cock up his ass.
He lifted himself over Ivan’s erection, wincing as it began to press in, because Ivan had done a really shitty job of prepping him. He figured he’d done it intentionally-stretching him only enough so that he wouldn’t bleed, but still not enough to make the initial penetration would in any way pleasurable (except for his more masochistic side, which only screamed for more for it to be inside him, deeper).
Ivan groaned at the sudden heat, and the tightness that he hadn’t quite expected. He had figured that he would be looser with his reputation for being one of the largest whores among the nations. It was a pleasant surprise though, the kind of surprise where he greedily grabbed at Alfred’s hips, lifting him up and then slamming him back down onto his dick, hips rising to meet the contact. Alfred gasped and damn near screamed, the pain he felt only increasing. He tried to keep his voice down, so the people in the outside hall wouldn’t hear him cry out in the pleasure/pain he felt deep inside him, but it was so difficult when it hurt so good.“Fuck, Russia,” he groaned, rolling his hips in time with Ivan’s punishing thrusts. His own neglected cock was weeping, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not when every thrust was hitting him right there and he was so close and god one more, one more please god just one more-
Never again 1/1d
anonymous
January 13 2011, 13:25:16 UTC
above part is supposed to be 1/1c MY CREYS
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When Ivan grabbed his balls, squeezing, stopping him from coming, he nearly cried.
“You are not finishing before me, дорогой,” he purred, squeezing even harder until Alfred cried out in frustration and pain as the warmth and pressure slowly began to fade away until it was hardly there at all. “And I still have quite a ways to go.”
“You fucking bastard,” Alfred gasped, feeling the hold on his balls finally lift when it was sure he was not about to come all over Ivan’s stomach. “You communist, alcoholic-fuck!” Another sharp thrust of Ivan’s hips was the only response from the smirking Russian beneath him, a smirk planted on that smug face and huge nose and-god, Alfred wanted to punch him.
The most joy Ivan had thus far acquired from this evening-other than the pleasure of dominating this American, so greedy for his cock it almost made his face hurt from smiling-was the look of absolute rage and frustration etched into his arrogant face. It truly was the cherry on top of a perfect evening.
Before Alfred could even object, Ivan sat up, pushed him onto the floor and rolled Alfred onto his stomach, pinning him down with his arms. Alfred whined at the loss of friction, at the loss of feeling and being full, and Ivan only chucked and rubbed small circles into the small of Alfred’s back in an uncharacteristically gentle movement. “Do you like it when I do this to you, Am-er-i-ka?” he asked, stressing his accent on his name, just because he knew Alfred hated it. “The feeling of being dominated, of being helpless against someone larger than you, someone stronger than you?”
He got no reply, other than the wanton wiggle of Alfred’s hips and the high-pitched whine of desire.
Then, he was dropped from his perch against the wall, falling and landing against it on his knees, gasping and feeling a definite ache in his neck. He heard the chuckle from above his head, the harsh sounds of Ivan’s breathing as he kneeled down beside Alfred, whispering into his ear. “If you want me, then you will have to ride me, cowboy.”
Alfred’s face flushed in a mixture of embarrassment and rage, and he turned and pushed Ivan to the ground. His nails dug into the skin on Ivan’s shoulders, leaving indents and cuts that bled under the pressure. “Do not call me a cowboy in that disgusting accent of yours,” he growled, pushing his own boxers down until one leg was free and the flimsy garment was still hanging around his left knee. One hand released Ivan’s shoulder to pull his cock free of his own pants and underwear, large and red and leaking. Alfred slid down Ivan’s body, leaving bites-not hickeys, mind you, but honest to god bite marks all along his torso and stomach, one even drawing the tiniest droplets of blood, which Alfred lapped up like a man dying of thirst. (Ivan would never admit it, but the act was honestly the most sensual and intimate thing he believed Alfred could have done at the time.)Alfred’s mouth-hot and wet and everything Ivan wanted then-descended on his cock, quickly, without mercy, because like hell was he going to take that thing in dry. His hair was grasped roughly while Ivan thrust into his mouth with wild abandon, paying no head to the choked noises Alfred made.
All Alfred thought then was thank god for strength, because for its power he was able to stop the vicious thrusts assaulting his throat-which he swore was now raw. The skin where Alfred’s hands had gripped would without a doubt leave bruises, which Alfred was proud of. The fact that he was leaving marks on Ivan’s body, drawing blood and pain made him feel more powerful in the situation, even though he was approximately ten seconds from taking a huge fucking cock up his ass.
He lifted himself over Ivan’s erection, wincing as it began to press in, because Ivan had done a really shitty job of prepping him. He figured he’d done it intentionally-stretching him only enough so that he wouldn’t bleed, but still not enough to make the initial penetration would in any way pleasurable (except for his more masochistic side, which only screamed for more for it to be inside him, deeper).
Ivan groaned at the sudden heat, and the tightness that he hadn’t quite expected. He had figured that he would be looser with his reputation for being one of the largest whores among the nations. It was a pleasant surprise though, the kind of surprise where he greedily grabbed at Alfred’s hips, lifting him up and then slamming him back down onto his dick, hips rising to meet the contact. Alfred gasped and damn near screamed, the pain he felt only increasing. He tried to keep his voice down, so the people in the outside hall wouldn’t hear him cry out in the pleasure/pain he felt deep inside him, but it was so difficult when it hurt so good.“Fuck, Russia,” he groaned, rolling his hips in time with Ivan’s punishing thrusts. His own neglected cock was weeping, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not when every thrust was hitting him right there and he was so close and god one more, one more please god just one more-
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---
When Ivan grabbed his balls, squeezing, stopping him from coming, he nearly cried.
“You are not finishing before me, дорогой,” he purred, squeezing even harder until Alfred cried out in frustration and pain as the warmth and pressure slowly began to fade away until it was hardly there at all. “And I still have quite a ways to go.”
“You fucking bastard,” Alfred gasped, feeling the hold on his balls finally lift when it was sure he was not about to come all over Ivan’s stomach. “You communist, alcoholic-fuck!” Another sharp thrust of Ivan’s hips was the only response from the smirking Russian beneath him, a smirk planted on that smug face and huge nose and-god, Alfred wanted to punch him.
The most joy Ivan had thus far acquired from this evening-other than the pleasure of dominating this American, so greedy for his cock it almost made his face hurt from smiling-was the look of absolute rage and frustration etched into his arrogant face. It truly was the cherry on top of a perfect evening.
Before Alfred could even object, Ivan sat up, pushed him onto the floor and rolled Alfred onto his stomach, pinning him down with his arms. Alfred whined at the loss of friction, at the loss of feeling and being full, and Ivan only chucked and rubbed small circles into the small of Alfred’s back in an uncharacteristically gentle movement. “Do you like it when I do this to you, Am-er-i-ka?” he asked, stressing his accent on his name, just because he knew Alfred hated it. “The feeling of being dominated, of being helpless against someone larger than you, someone stronger than you?”
He got no reply, other than the wanton wiggle of Alfred’s hips and the high-pitched whine of desire.
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