Pledge of Allegiance 3/8
anonymous
April 1 2011, 05:27:23 UTC
England strained against America’s hold. “Knock it off, git!” he snapped. “What has gotten into you?!”
America’s reply was a sucking noise he made against England’s neck. England squirmed again, but America’s arm was like steel, locked solidly into place. His other hand had settled between England’s legs. He cupped him through the fabric, then gripped tightly.
“Ufff,” England gasped, arching himself in shock to America’s touch. “You stupid wanker …”
America smirked. Well, if he was going to be called a wanker anyway, he may as well live up to the title. He started to stroke England through the cloth. England tensed again, trying in vain to pull away. “Hah,” he heard England pant. Then, only a few strokes in, he started to feel England hardening in his hand. Able to get a better grip, America quickened his pace. He felt a rush of satisfaction from England’s physical response. The Brit may have said to stop, but clearly his body betrayed him. It desired more. It was loyal to him. Allegiant, perhaps. Surely he could make the rest of him as well …
America suddenly stopped. He removed his hand and pulled away the arm that had kept England in place. England jumped away from him, then turned back around. “Idiot!” he scolded, trying to hide his difficulty breathing. “Touching me like that! You’re a bloody pervert!”
“What does that say about you then, if you got a boner from it?”
England’s face was already tinted pink, but it flushed deeper at America’s words. “Don’t speak so vulgarly, idiot …”
England wanted to scold America more. He didn’t know why he was acting so strange that day. First America was talking to himself at the UN, then saying England should pledge allegiance to him, stalking him back to the hotel, and now such lewd behavior. What had possessed him to behave in such a way? England wondered. He was going to open his mouth to further vent his agitation, but America’s forceful grip cut him off.
England choked in shock as his body was lifted and then tossed on the bed. He was flung onto his stomach, but he quickly rolled onto to his back to face America.
“Bollocks!” he cursed. “What the hell are you doing?!”
America climbed onto the foot of the bed. “You know,” he started with a laugh. “ … I let you go a minute ago to see if you’d leave or kick my ass or something. But you moved … like … one step.”
“So …” England tried to ignore the perspiration on his forehead. “S-so what?”
“So you couldn’t have had too much of a problem with it.”
“I did so!” he protested.
“Then why do you still have this?” America had crawled over to England on the bed. He cupped England’s length again, running his hand down slowly to emphasize that it was still very erect.
“It-it’s involuntary!” said England, frustration in his voice. “I-I can’t heeeeEEEELP ..!” England’s rose higher and cracked. He couldn’t even finish his sentence as he gasped for breath. America had begun stroking him feverishly through the fabric.
America couldn’t help but laugh at the sound. “Ha ha! Was that weird noise involuntary too?” he asked.
“Sh-shut up,” England barely managed to get out in between gasps.
America stopped stroking. He needed both his hands to unfasten the button on England’s pants. As he started to unzip, he looked to England’s face. He was waiting for England to tell him to stop. To reject his advances. To betray his lust. But England remained silent.
“Heh,” America muttered smugly to himself. England wanted this after all. He wanted him, AMERICA. He wanted to be loyal, obedient, and patriotic -- or so America thought. The thought of his allegiance was a huge turn on.
America’s reply was a sucking noise he made against England’s neck. England squirmed again, but America’s arm was like steel, locked solidly into place. His other hand had settled between England’s legs. He cupped him through the fabric, then gripped tightly.
“Ufff,” England gasped, arching himself in shock to America’s touch. “You stupid wanker …”
America smirked. Well, if he was going to be called a wanker anyway, he may as well live up to the title. He started to stroke England through the cloth. England tensed again, trying in vain to pull away. “Hah,” he heard England pant. Then, only a few strokes in, he started to feel England hardening in his hand. Able to get a better grip, America quickened his pace. He felt a rush of satisfaction from England’s physical response. The Brit may have said to stop, but clearly his body betrayed him. It desired more. It was loyal to him. Allegiant, perhaps. Surely he could make the rest of him as well …
America suddenly stopped. He removed his hand and pulled away the arm that had kept England in place. England jumped away from him, then turned back around. “Idiot!” he scolded, trying to hide his difficulty breathing. “Touching me like that! You’re a bloody pervert!”
“What does that say about you then, if you got a boner from it?”
England’s face was already tinted pink, but it flushed deeper at America’s words. “Don’t speak so vulgarly, idiot …”
England wanted to scold America more. He didn’t know why he was acting so strange that day. First America was talking to himself at the UN, then saying England should pledge allegiance to him, stalking him back to the hotel, and now such lewd behavior. What had possessed him to behave in such a way? England wondered. He was going to open his mouth to further vent his agitation, but America’s forceful grip cut him off.
England choked in shock as his body was lifted and then tossed on the bed. He was flung onto his stomach, but he quickly rolled onto to his back to face America.
“Bollocks!” he cursed. “What the hell are you doing?!”
America climbed onto the foot of the bed. “You know,” he started with a laugh. “ … I let you go a minute ago to see if you’d leave or kick my ass or something. But you moved … like … one step.”
“So …” England tried to ignore the perspiration on his forehead. “S-so what?”
“So you couldn’t have had too much of a problem with it.”
“I did so!” he protested.
“Then why do you still have this?” America had crawled over to England on the bed. He cupped England’s length again, running his hand down slowly to emphasize that it was still very erect.
“It-it’s involuntary!” said England, frustration in his voice. “I-I can’t heeeeEEEELP ..!” England’s rose higher and cracked. He couldn’t even finish his sentence as he gasped for breath. America had begun stroking him feverishly through the fabric.
America couldn’t help but laugh at the sound. “Ha ha! Was that weird noise involuntary too?” he asked.
“Sh-shut up,” England barely managed to get out in between gasps.
America stopped stroking. He needed both his hands to unfasten the button on England’s pants. As he started to unzip, he looked to England’s face. He was waiting for England to tell him to stop. To reject his advances. To betray his lust. But England remained silent.
“Heh,” America muttered smugly to himself. England wanted this after all. He wanted him, AMERICA. He wanted to be loyal, obedient, and patriotic -- or so America thought. The thought of his allegiance was a huge turn on.
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