Tosser 1d/3
anonymous
February 24 2011, 19:49:55 UTC
A/N: Fucking character limit sorry for lame post's lameness...
Arthur stuffed his knuckles into his mouth, bit down to keep from whimpering. What?
The boy unbuttoned his pants and took down the zipper. His hand ventured into his pants, and he began stroking himself with quick flicks of his wrist. Just the tip of his cock was visible through the peephole of his open fly. Arthur licked his lips and wondered very much how that cock would taste. And fuck, had Alfred really just asked him to punish him? England bit back a groan. God how he’d wanted to paddle that tight little ass of Alfred’s, how he’d longed to fuck instead of being fucked the few times they’d tumbled haphazardly into bed.
America didn’t last long, pumping himself with hard intention, making short work of bringing himself to orgasm. England remained stubbornly quiet as thick ropes of cum shot upward into Alfred’s waiting palm, didn’t moan or sigh when the boy let out a strangled, “A-Arthur!” the catching of his voice on his name enough to make England’s thick erection twitch in his pants. All he could think was fuck. And then it happened; Alfred reached the end of the message mid-orgasm and cried out softly, “oh shit, Daddy! I-I’m sorry, I’ll remember, oh God…”
England was unable to stifle a gasp, though it was thankfully drowned out by America’s babbling as he drew out the last of his climax and slumped down against his desk.
Silence.
What could he do? Honestly, what?
Arthur thought on this for a moment, and found himself smirking.
Arthur stuffed his knuckles into his mouth, bit down to keep from whimpering. What?
The boy unbuttoned his pants and took down the zipper. His hand ventured into his pants, and he began stroking himself with quick flicks of his wrist. Just the tip of his cock was visible through the peephole of his open fly. Arthur licked his lips and wondered very much how that cock would taste. And fuck, had Alfred really just asked him to punish him? England bit back a groan. God how he’d wanted to paddle that tight little ass of Alfred’s, how he’d longed to fuck instead of being fucked the few times they’d tumbled haphazardly into bed.
America didn’t last long, pumping himself with hard intention, making short work of bringing himself to orgasm. England remained stubbornly quiet as thick ropes of cum shot upward into Alfred’s waiting palm, didn’t moan or sigh when the boy let out a strangled, “A-Arthur!” the catching of his voice on his name enough to make England’s thick erection twitch in his pants. All he could think was fuck. And then it happened; Alfred reached the end of the message mid-orgasm and cried out softly, “oh shit, Daddy! I-I’m sorry, I’ll remember, oh God…”
England was unable to stifle a gasp, though it was thankfully drowned out by America’s babbling as he drew out the last of his climax and slumped down against his desk.
Silence.
What could he do? Honestly, what?
Arthur thought on this for a moment, and found himself smirking.
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