[Part 7] Be My Anchor, Be My Moor (US/UK) [7/8]
anonymous
April 21 2011, 05:54:32 UTC
England blinked at him, arousal slowing his thoughts and confusing him over the abrupt change in subject. America sighed and forced his jaw open with the hand holding the rope, guiding his cock into that mouth with the other. England choked at the sudden intrusion, and America backed away for a moment, giving him a second to gasp for breath before guiding it back insistently.
This time, England’s lips were as wide as he could make them, leaning forward against the ropes at his wrists as it slid inside. He sucked on it hard and rubbed his tongue along the bottom, and America gave in, gripping both hands in his hair and fucking his mouth, fully aware of how much England could take and giving him more, ignoring the gag reflex just as much as England was. He stared up at America through dark eyelashes, giving up the little control he had left of the situation and moaning shamelessly around the cock in his mouth.
“Arth- Arthur,” America moaned, nails scratching England’s scalp. England sealed his lips around what was in his mouth and was ready when America came down his throat, swallowing greedily and sucking for more, hands fighting the ropes to milk the parts not in reach of his tongue. America read his thoughts, though, as one of the hands in England’s hair came back to pump himself through the rest of his orgasm.
When he was done, America pulled his limp cock from that mouth reluctantly, sinking down to sit on England’s legs, the rope wound around them gathered and spread by England’s movements. He rested his head on England’s shoulder, and he longed to wrap his arms around him and hold him tight, to never let him go again. America was too busy being momentarily delirious to notice England’s resigned nuzzling into the side of his head. After a long while of heavy breathing and idle exploration, America sighed and pushed away from England, leaning to the side to fumble off one of the wrist ties, letting the rope fall behind the bed as he switched sides to take off the other one.
He righted himself on England’s lap, helping England when he found him fumbling blindly at the knot against his throat. When that rope fell away, he took England’s forearms in hand gently, inspecting the red rope burns slashed around his wrists in jagged lines, and frowned.
“Really, now, Alfred, don’t blame yourself,” England scolded him softly, leaning forward quickly to kiss the corner of America’s mouth tenderly. “It’s not like…” He cleared his throat as America raised one of his arms to kiss along the rashes on the inside of his wrist, eyes smiling at him over his fingers. “It’s not like I didn’t like it,” he finished, looking down at the empty air between their stomachs, suddenly aware of how sticky he felt from the sweat and come on his stomach and the corners of his mouth, and how his legs were still tied together, albeit not very well by now.
This time, England’s lips were as wide as he could make them, leaning forward against the ropes at his wrists as it slid inside. He sucked on it hard and rubbed his tongue along the bottom, and America gave in, gripping both hands in his hair and fucking his mouth, fully aware of how much England could take and giving him more, ignoring the gag reflex just as much as England was. He stared up at America through dark eyelashes, giving up the little control he had left of the situation and moaning shamelessly around the cock in his mouth.
“Arth- Arthur,” America moaned, nails scratching England’s scalp. England sealed his lips around what was in his mouth and was ready when America came down his throat, swallowing greedily and sucking for more, hands fighting the ropes to milk the parts not in reach of his tongue. America read his thoughts, though, as one of the hands in England’s hair came back to pump himself through the rest of his orgasm.
When he was done, America pulled his limp cock from that mouth reluctantly, sinking down to sit on England’s legs, the rope wound around them gathered and spread by England’s movements. He rested his head on England’s shoulder, and he longed to wrap his arms around him and hold him tight, to never let him go again. America was too busy being momentarily delirious to notice England’s resigned nuzzling into the side of his head. After a long while of heavy breathing and idle exploration, America sighed and pushed away from England, leaning to the side to fumble off one of the wrist ties, letting the rope fall behind the bed as he switched sides to take off the other one.
He righted himself on England’s lap, helping England when he found him fumbling blindly at the knot against his throat. When that rope fell away, he took England’s forearms in hand gently, inspecting the red rope burns slashed around his wrists in jagged lines, and frowned.
“Really, now, Alfred, don’t blame yourself,” England scolded him softly, leaning forward quickly to kiss the corner of America’s mouth tenderly. “It’s not like…” He cleared his throat as America raised one of his arms to kiss along the rashes on the inside of his wrist, eyes smiling at him over his fingers. “It’s not like I didn’t like it,” he finished, looking down at the empty air between their stomachs, suddenly aware of how sticky he felt from the sweat and come on his stomach and the corners of his mouth, and how his legs were still tied together, albeit not very well by now.
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