USUK Literal 5c/?
anonymous
August 4 2011, 02:27:23 UTC
He sighed, and in the time it took him to blink, Wales was on the other side of the bed, helping Northern Ireland to scoot to the other side to rest where he wouldn’t be in the way of anyone else’s fucking.
“Fatty,” Wales grunted as he tugged on Northern Ireland’s arms.
“Wimp,” Northern Ireland grunted, and lay limp to make himself heavier.
Once Northern Ireland was safely dragged to the other side of the bed, Wales climbed up on the vacant space and sat before America. “So d’you feel too close to the edge or is it safe to take that off?” he said, gesturing to the cockring.
America took a deep breath, “I think I need a minute and I’ll be good,” he said, and leaned back.
Wales nodded and remained where he sat, “That’s fine,” and he began to pull off his shirt, twisting it off his head and smoothing the hairs back down before shimmying out of his pants and underwear.
Wales’ freckles disappeared on his shoulders and reappeared nowhere else on him, unless you counted a few stragglers dotting near his knees. He was chubbier than Northern Ireland and shorter than England. As he leaned against the headboard, his legs lay open comfortably.
As America relaxed and his cock began to ache again, Wales rolled one of his shoulders that apparently had a kink in it. His naked skin flexed and slacked, he rubbed the shoulder in gentle circles that soon slid lower until he was circling a hardening nipple. America thought he heard a small gasp as one of Wales’ thin fingers brushed it.
Before America knew it, Wales’ hand was trailing down the small white chest to his hips and Wales’ other hand had somehow got a hold of the bottle of lube. Wales bent his knobby knees, laid back, and began to circle his entrance with a slick finger. Tugging and pulling at the edges of the small hole, the soft little gasp America had heard when Wales touched a nipple was now audible and frequent.
The nation let out a low moan as he pushed the first finger inside himself.
America moaned as he watched. Wales smeared the lube over his entrance, his finger twisting and pulling and soon joined by a second. He scissored and for brief little moments, America could see his tight, wet insides.
Wales’ hips bucked up at the third finger. America’s cock twitched watching him.
“You’re an evil bastard,” he groaned.
Wales smiled. “I love the moment of realization. I really do.”
Somewhere in the background, a distinctly English voice said, “You know, I keep telling people that but no one believes me,” and was followed by, “shut up, Iggy.”
“Fatty,” Wales grunted as he tugged on Northern Ireland’s arms.
“Wimp,” Northern Ireland grunted, and lay limp to make himself heavier.
Once Northern Ireland was safely dragged to the other side of the bed, Wales climbed up on the vacant space and sat before America. “So d’you feel too close to the edge or is it safe to take that off?” he said, gesturing to the cockring.
America took a deep breath, “I think I need a minute and I’ll be good,” he said, and leaned back.
Wales nodded and remained where he sat, “That’s fine,” and he began to pull off his shirt, twisting it off his head and smoothing the hairs back down before shimmying out of his pants and underwear.
Wales’ freckles disappeared on his shoulders and reappeared nowhere else on him, unless you counted a few stragglers dotting near his knees. He was chubbier than Northern Ireland and shorter than England. As he leaned against the headboard, his legs lay open comfortably.
As America relaxed and his cock began to ache again, Wales rolled one of his shoulders that apparently had a kink in it. His naked skin flexed and slacked, he rubbed the shoulder in gentle circles that soon slid lower until he was circling a hardening nipple. America thought he heard a small gasp as one of Wales’ thin fingers brushed it.
Before America knew it, Wales’ hand was trailing down the small white chest to his hips and Wales’ other hand had somehow got a hold of the bottle of lube. Wales bent his knobby knees, laid back, and began to circle his entrance with a slick finger. Tugging and pulling at the edges of the small hole, the soft little gasp America had heard when Wales touched a nipple was now audible and frequent.
The nation let out a low moan as he pushed the first finger inside himself.
America moaned as he watched. Wales smeared the lube over his entrance, his finger twisting and pulling and soon joined by a second. He scissored and for brief little moments, America could see his tight, wet insides.
Wales’ hips bucked up at the third finger. America’s cock twitched watching him.
“You’re an evil bastard,” he groaned.
Wales smiled. “I love the moment of realization. I really do.”
Somewhere in the background, a distinctly English voice said, “You know, I keep telling people that but no one believes me,” and was followed by, “shut up, Iggy.”
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