I'm the anon who offered above and was just finishing my story today when I saw someone had filled it. I thought for a moment about just stopping and not posting, but since multiple fills are allowed on here, I figured you wouldn't mind another take that was also England/Poland that has a little history mixed in with the sex. I hope you don't hate it.
--
There was a lot more to Poland than most people assumed: for one thing, his arse was nothing at all like advertised. England could attest to that. Beneath baggy military trousers or the seat of a well-tailored suit, it looked tight, small, perhaps a little on the too small side. Nice, yes, but unremarkable, especially as Poland was a little on the slim side.
In a pair of lacy knickers, however, it was a completely different matter.
Poland’s lithe body shuddered as he straddled the long fluffy pillow on England's bed. The skimpy, sheer pink undergarment pulled low and taut across his cheeks, exposing the Slavic Nation's curves-yes, England thought as he slid his fingers beneath the elastic riding low on Poland's backside, _curves. Males, after all, came in a variety of shapes, and his lover's shape had a narrow waist, slightly rounded hips, and a rear that managed to be soft without being decadent; feminine, yet not female, right down to the beauty mark on the left cheek.
"No," Poland said as England tugged the garment down.
"Mh, delectable."
"_No_," Poland rolled away as England trailed his tongue across the diamond-shaped mole. "You promised. We agreed. None of that stuff until later." He flipped onto his back and spread his legs, and England gulped at the sight of his arousal swelling beneath the thin fabric. “You totally don’t get to play until you show what a restrained gentleman you can be.”
“Later.” England swallowed, attempting to quiet the parts of him that didn’t give a fig’s end about being gentlemanly. “Erm. Quite. Sorry, darling. D-do carry on.”
Poland rolled his eyes and splayed his toes against England’s knee. “Off the bed, pervert. If you can, like, show some patience, you’ll get what you want.”
“Oh, very well,” England sighed, and making a great show of it, slumped into a chair at Poland’s desk. “But you best make a spectacle of yourself, then.”
Poland just smirked before lowering himself back onto the body pillow that occupied the right side of his double bed whenever England was away for the night-which was far too often, England thought as his lover thrust his hips into its softness. Far too often.
“Mhh,” Poland grunted, rocking against the cushion. His curvy arse lifted, then spread, stretching the slip of cloth that covered it.
“Mhh,” England agreed, and his right hand slipped into his tweed trousers.
During the Great War-the second one, though Lord knew, the first had made him just as desperate-Poland had fled his house and his people at the last possible moment to take refuge in England’s borders, along with a surprising number of his armed forces. At first, England had thought of them as nothing more than an annoyance at best, and a hindrance at worst; after all, what did they say about Poles and light fixtures? Well, after those same Poles had helped his lads shoot down more Luftwaffe than Goering and Hitler could count together, he hadn’t looked so foolish at all. In fact, if England had anything to say on the matter, Poland had looked downright dishy in his flight suit.
He also looked damned good in the nightgown he’d worn the night he pounced into England’s bed. It was silvery green, rather like the tide at night, and it matched his eyes. God, but something about those green eyes and that long blond hair made him a sentimental fool.
“Wanna fuck?” Poland had whispered as he rubbed their cocks together.
And had it been anyone else, including that pervert France or that idiot America, England would have laughed and dismissed them from his sight. But because it had been Poland-brave, beautiful and cunning Poland- he had smiled, rolled the Nation under him, and done just that.
It was supposed to have been a fling, something to get them through the Blitz, through the dark days when Europe looked like it was going to be ground out under Hitler’s jackboot, through the terror and tedium of every day. When the war had ended, it had become so much of a habit that leaving one another was unthinkable. Naturally, America had thought they were joking and Lithuania had thought it just another of Poland’s silly fancies.
They and everyone else had stopped shaking their heads decades ago.
And really, England thought, if the silly buggers had the view of Poland’s arse he had, they would have realized it before the Cold War.
“Hurry,” he panted. This earned him a sidelong glance from his lover and oh, those lovely green eyes were just made to peer out from beneath unkempt hair.
“Oh, what are you looking so smug about?”
“Hmmm,” Poland murmured, moistening his lips, making them perfectly kissable.
England’s cock twitched painfully. Smirking, his lover lowered himself back onto the pillow. His hips and ass quivered as he rocked against its folds.
England huffed a sigh. “Mh. Not that I don’t know. You rather enjoy tormenting me, don’t you?”
Poland batted his eyes. “Please! You so like being tormented! Mn. But don’t worry. I’ll be merciful-maybe.”
_Oh. Gritting his teeth, England forced himself to slow and lengthen his strokes. “Well, even so, I’m not about to exert myself before you do, so if you think otherwise…”
Poland smirked and tugged his panties up over the mole.
England nearly came. He knew he would have, too, if it hadn’t been for his iron-clad English resolve…well, and the fact that making Poland come first would mean a night on top of him, but probably his iron-clad English resolve mostly. “Oh, you little minx,” he hissed.
“OK, OK. I’ll be nice.” Poland shimmied around and that glorious ass disappeared from view. It was replaced, however, by the Slavic Nation’s flushed face, and his upper body, which was just as curvaceous and firm as his rear. His chest was shiny with sweat, his pale pink nipples hardened into burrs.
“Oh God,” England whispered as his lover ground himself against the cushion, eyes and head rolled back in pleasure. If watching that delicious arse had been hard, this was ten times worse. Everything about Poland was wanton, from the way he bucked his hips against the cushion to the little gasps that came from his painted lips (God, painted!). And when he rose up just enough to show off the tuft of blond hair peeking from his panty line, England knew he had lost. Every muscle from his shoulders to his toes tightened as his seed erupted, completely ruining his trousers. As his vision lightened, England saw his lover arch one more time into the cushion and throw his head back. His cry only made England come harder, and all was bliss and softness.
As England’s reverie eased off, he was conscious of Poland standing in front of him. As he blinked the excited tears away, his lover slid from the bed and sauntered toward him.
Pink 3/3 with some notes
anonymous
January 15 2011, 22:15:05 UTC
“Hnph. You know as well as I that you hardly played fair. “ England wiped his brow on the back of his sleeve. There was no sense at all in worrying about the suit now; it would need a thorough washing if it was to be recovered at all.
“Well, _duh. We’ve been together how long and you’re just getting that now?” Poland chuckled and caught both of England’s hands, which he brought to his hips. “OK, OK. You can totally unwrap me if that’ll make you feel better.”
England knew that the lacy underthings hadn’t exactly come cheap, just as he knew that he wanted to see Poland wear them for the next several years at least. So he tugged his lover’s panties down as carefully as he could, breath hitching as Poland’s wet cock sprung free of the lace at last. When the underthings dropped to his feet, Poland unceremoniously kicked them across the room and eased himself down onto England’s lap.
“I should totally not let you since you lost, but I really, really want your cock right now,” Poland said as he twitched his ass against England’s soft member. At the touch, however, it did not remain so.
“Mh, of course, love.” England said as he laced his arms around that slim waist and pulled Poland closer. “Spoilt little brat though you are.”
Poland laughed and kissed him.
--
Notes: It really is true that Polish pilots flew in the Royal Air Force, especially during the Battle of Britain, one of the most pivotal conflicts of World War II in which the RAF, which was much smaller and had less fire power than the Luftwaffe, defeated Germany (the fact that the RAF's older model planes were more agile also helped, however). A lot of people think that Poland capitulated easily during the war but this wasn't so; it had a government in exile that was very active and, from what I understand, had one of the largest armies in the West European theaters despite being occupied territory. In other words, I wanted to write Poland as being cute and silly but not at all bubble-headed here.
First of all I can't believed I was lucky enough to get not one fill but two in the same night!
This was lovely author!anon. I thought it was so, very sexy, and I adore your fierce and smart Poland, just so yummy! You write him and England as such a cute couple too. Plus you filled my history kink without me even asking.
--
There was a lot more to Poland than most people assumed: for one thing, his arse was nothing at all like advertised. England could attest to that. Beneath baggy military trousers or the seat of a well-tailored suit, it looked tight, small, perhaps a little on the too small side. Nice, yes, but unremarkable, especially as Poland was a little on the slim side.
In a pair of lacy knickers, however, it was a completely different matter.
Poland’s lithe body shuddered as he straddled the long fluffy pillow on England's bed. The skimpy, sheer pink undergarment pulled low and taut across his cheeks, exposing the Slavic Nation's curves-yes, England thought as he slid his fingers beneath the elastic riding low on Poland's backside, _curves. Males, after all, came in a variety of shapes, and his lover's shape had a narrow waist, slightly rounded hips, and a rear that managed to be soft without being decadent; feminine, yet not female, right down to the beauty mark on the left cheek.
"No," Poland said as England tugged the garment down.
"Mh, delectable."
"_No_," Poland rolled away as England trailed his tongue across the diamond-shaped mole. "You promised. We agreed. None of that stuff until later." He flipped onto his back and spread his legs, and England gulped at the sight of his arousal swelling beneath the thin fabric. “You totally don’t get to play until you show what a restrained gentleman you can be.”
“Later.” England swallowed, attempting to quiet the parts of him that didn’t give a fig’s end about being gentlemanly. “Erm. Quite. Sorry, darling. D-do carry on.”
Poland rolled his eyes and splayed his toes against England’s knee. “Off the bed, pervert. If you can, like, show some patience, you’ll get what you want.”
“Oh, very well,” England sighed, and making a great show of it, slumped into a chair at Poland’s desk. “But you best make a spectacle of yourself, then.”
Poland just smirked before lowering himself back onto the body pillow that occupied the right side of his double bed whenever England was away for the night-which was far too often, England thought as his lover thrust his hips into its softness. Far too often.
“Mhh,” Poland grunted, rocking against the cushion. His curvy arse lifted, then spread, stretching the slip of cloth that covered it.
“Mhh,” England agreed, and his right hand slipped into his tweed trousers.
During the Great War-the second one, though Lord knew, the first had made him just as desperate-Poland had fled his house and his people at the last possible moment to take refuge in England’s borders, along with a surprising number of his armed forces. At first, England had thought of them as nothing more than an annoyance at best, and a hindrance at worst; after all, what did they say about Poles and light fixtures? Well, after those same Poles had helped his lads shoot down more Luftwaffe than Goering and Hitler could count together, he hadn’t looked so foolish at all. In fact, if England had anything to say on the matter, Poland had looked downright dishy in his flight suit.
He also looked damned good in the nightgown he’d worn the night he pounced into England’s bed. It was silvery green, rather like the tide at night, and it matched his eyes. God, but something about those green eyes and that long blond hair made him a sentimental fool.
“Wanna fuck?” Poland had whispered as he rubbed their cocks together.
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It was supposed to have been a fling, something to get them through the Blitz, through the dark days when Europe looked like it was going to be ground out under Hitler’s jackboot, through the terror and tedium of every day. When the war had ended, it had become so much of a habit that leaving one another was unthinkable. Naturally, America had thought they were joking and Lithuania had thought it just another of Poland’s silly fancies.
They and everyone else had stopped shaking their heads decades ago.
And really, England thought, if the silly buggers had the view of Poland’s arse he had, they would have realized it before the Cold War.
“Hurry,” he panted. This earned him a sidelong glance from his lover and oh, those lovely green eyes were just made to peer out from beneath unkempt hair.
“Oh, what are you looking so smug about?”
“Hmmm,” Poland murmured, moistening his lips, making them perfectly kissable.
England’s cock twitched painfully. Smirking, his lover lowered himself back onto the pillow. His hips and ass quivered as he rocked against its folds.
England huffed a sigh. “Mh. Not that I don’t know. You rather enjoy tormenting me, don’t you?”
Poland batted his eyes. “Please! You so like being tormented! Mn. But don’t worry. I’ll be merciful-maybe.”
_Oh. Gritting his teeth, England forced himself to slow and lengthen his strokes. “Well, even so, I’m not about to exert myself before you do, so if you think otherwise…”
Poland smirked and tugged his panties up over the mole.
England nearly came. He knew he would have, too, if it hadn’t been for his iron-clad English resolve…well, and the fact that making Poland come first would mean a night on top of him, but probably his iron-clad English resolve mostly. “Oh, you little minx,” he hissed.
“OK, OK. I’ll be nice.” Poland shimmied around and that glorious ass disappeared from view. It was replaced, however, by the Slavic Nation’s flushed face, and his upper body, which was just as curvaceous and firm as his rear. His chest was shiny with sweat, his pale pink nipples hardened into burrs.
“Oh God,” England whispered as his lover ground himself against the cushion, eyes and head rolled back in pleasure. If watching that delicious arse had been hard, this was ten times worse. Everything about Poland was wanton, from the way he bucked his hips against the cushion to the little gasps that came from his painted lips (God, painted!). And when he rose up just enough to show off the tuft of blond hair peeking from his panty line, England knew he had lost. Every muscle from his shoulders to his toes tightened as his seed erupted, completely ruining his trousers. As his vision lightened, England saw his lover arch one more time into the cushion and throw his head back. His cry only made England come harder, and all was bliss and softness.
As England’s reverie eased off, he was conscious of Poland standing in front of him. As he blinked the excited tears away, his lover slid from the bed and sauntered toward him.
“Looks like you lost,” Poland drawled.
Reply
“Well, _duh. We’ve been together how long and you’re just getting that now?” Poland chuckled and caught both of England’s hands, which he brought to his hips. “OK, OK. You can totally unwrap me if that’ll make you feel better.”
England knew that the lacy underthings hadn’t exactly come cheap, just as he knew that he wanted to see Poland wear them for the next several years at least. So he tugged his lover’s panties down as carefully as he could, breath hitching as Poland’s wet cock sprung free of the lace at last. When the underthings dropped to his feet, Poland unceremoniously kicked them across the room and eased himself down onto England’s lap.
“I should totally not let you since you lost, but I really, really want your cock right now,” Poland said as he twitched his ass against England’s soft member. At the touch, however, it did not remain so.
“Mh, of course, love.” England said as he laced his arms around that slim waist and pulled Poland closer. “Spoilt little brat though you are.”
Poland laughed and kissed him.
--
Notes: It really is true that Polish pilots flew in the Royal Air Force, especially during the Battle of Britain, one of the most pivotal conflicts of World War II in which the RAF, which was much smaller and had less fire power than the Luftwaffe, defeated Germany (the fact that the RAF's older model planes were more agile also helped, however). A lot of people think that Poland capitulated easily during the war but this wasn't so; it had a government in exile that was very active and, from what I understand, had one of the largest armies in the West European theaters despite being occupied territory. In other words, I wanted to write Poland as being cute and silly but not at all bubble-headed here.
Reply
This was lovely author!anon. I thought it was so, very sexy, and I adore your fierce and smart Poland, just so yummy! You write him and England as such a cute couple too. Plus you filled my history kink without me even asking.
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