Taste of Revenge [7/?]
anonymous
June 11 2009, 05:03:54 UTC
“Not that he doesn’t deserve it”, Francis mumbled “Right, America?”
Ivan uncovered his mouth, but Alfred didn’t even try to answer. He couldn’t waste time, not when every second of air was precious. Francis smiled at him, disdain clear in his blue eyes, shaking his head.
Arthur’s hand was still between his legs, his fingers running over Alfred’s pants. He had a distant memory of choosing not to change into his denims because- why was that anyway? He could feel the shame and fear in the pit of his stomach, because Arthur was pinching and pulling the fabric and he could feel his touch and wanted to cross his legs but it was impossible, and this-
-this was it, wasn't it? This was the punishment they had planned for him. He heard the sound of the scissors and blushed, because they wouldn’t even bother to undress him. They’d just uncover the hole they planned to use.
“Hand me the tape”, Arthur said, and Alfred tried to glare at him. Why, he wanted to ask, why are you doing this to me? But then Ivan pushed him forward, almost making him sit, and his skin touched the floor, it was cold, and it was- weird. He wasn’t supposed to be feeling this, the cold tiles on his bare butt. His face was burning.
Ivan grabbed his wrists, pulling is arms to his back. He held him like that so Francis could wrap the tape around his wrists, then let him fall on his back again.
It was uncomfortable, lying over his bound hands, but Alfred didn’t have the time to think about it. Ludwig held his ankle and forced him to bend his leg. Ivan’s hand covered his mouth again.
“I’m so sorry,” Arthur said, quietly “But we can’t let you free. We don’t want you doing anything with your hands or your feet”
Alfred was whimpering. They tied up his legs like that, bended knees and the tape going around his thighs, and then Ivan raised his hand again.
“I think that’s enough”, Arthur said.
“Really? Because I can keep it up forever,” Ivan answered. He petted Alfred’s golden hair lightly; playfully “I love the sounds he makes.”
“He’ll make many more, don’t worry about it.”
“As for me”, Romano said “I want to hear him scream.”
Romano. Right, he was there. Alfred tried to think, tried to remember who else was on the room. He couldn't quite recall. His world now was Ivan’s hand, Arthur’s touch and voice, the cold disdain in Francis' eyes.
Arthur took a few seconds to admire his handwork. He took the scissor and cut a little more of Alfred’s pants. Then he smiled. He touched the exposed skin, circling Alfred’s anus with light, cold fingers.
“How cute,” he said.
“Fuck you...” Alfred’s voice was raspy. As soon as the words had left his mouth he froze, expecting Ivan’s smothering touch, but the Russian giggled and caressed his hair again:
“Almost right, America”.
He touched his lips, forcing him to close his mouth. This let him free to breathe through his nose, and Alfred couldn't help feeling grateful for the small mercy.
“Now, America, pay attention,” Arthur raised the scissor right before his eyes “Are you seeing this?”
It was so close Alfred had to cross his eyes. He tried to answer, but couldn't emit a sound. Arthur looked at Ivan, and gave a slight nod. Ivan kept his hand on his mouth, but gave him space enough to shake his head in a very emphatic affirmative.
“I’ll need your mouth”, Arthur said then “If you bite me, this is going in your cock. I mean inside it. Do you understand?”
ARTIST!ANON IS IMPRESSED!!
anonymous
June 11 2009, 05:27:22 UTC
oh author!anon, you wrote this alot more deeper than I did! I'm glad you asked if you could do this cause it's totally what my comic lacked. I should uh ... stop getting distracted and draw the next page haha
Author!anon here
anonymous
June 11 2009, 19:41:46 UTC
I´m so glad you enjoyed it, especially because there's no way in hell I could make it as hot as your art. I look at it while I write to get the dialogues and the inspiration, and I don´t think it´s possible to match all the emotion and intensity and hottness of everything. =)
So... please give us the next page! *kills the distraction*
Re: Taste of Revenge [7/?]
anonymous
June 15 2009, 22:42:20 UTC
I actually started crying, authornon. (why is this anon such an emotional twit? who knows) Just -- fuck -- Alfred, he is such a hero and god this all and hnnghhh ; ______;
Taste of Revenge [8/?]
anonymous
June 20 2009, 03:31:51 UTC
Thank you so much for your comments, guys! It’s really important to me to know what you’re thinking. This is harder than I thought - I blame artist!anon and her uber mad skillz. ***
“You can do the honors,” Francis said “Don’t go easy on him.”
“I’m not going easy on him. Look, he’s already glaring at me.”
“Ah, America, always so combative,” Russia says in his sing-song voice, letting go of his mouth. Alfred didn't have the time to say a word before Arthur grabbed his hair and lifted his head, forcing a finger between his lips:
“I should teach you how to use your mouth,” he said “Open wide.”
His zipper was already open, Alfred could see that, and he wondered when the British had the time to open it. Not that it mattered. He could see the other man’s impressive member, hard and erect, and he had only the time to take a deep breath before Arthur pushed his cock inside his mouth.
Easy. Simple and clean and straight to the point. Alfred had... not thought about it, not exactly, but maybe, during all those long tedious meetings, maybe the thought had crossed his mind, that Arthur would maybe be interested in one day, maybe they could...
But not like this. Never like this.
“You’re drooling so much”, Arthur said, casual, just an off-hand comment. Alfred didn't answer - he couldn't speak with a full mouth, he thought, feeling a sudden desperate need to laugh. It wouldn't be polite. Arthur didn't taste like anything and it was almost like licking his own arm, if he didn't think that it was Arthur’s cock feeling his mouth, Arthur’s curly golden hair under his nose. He wanted to scream, trying to keep his teeth away from Arthur’s skin, he wanted to throw up - and that was exactly what was going to happen if Arthur didn't put that thing away.
But then Arthur pulled back, and Alfred took one trembling relieved breath, saliva running down his chin.
“Please,” he whispered. Please, please...
“Begging from mercy already, America? You know that trick isn't going to work.”
Trick. That trick. As if Alfred were a child making huge puppy eyes trying to get more dessert. As if he were threatening to stomp his feet and hold his breath until Arthur give him a gift. As if he were sulking and pleading for Arthur not to leave him again.
That trick.
“You'll regret this, you bastard...”
“Not as much as I’ll enjoy it.” Arthur answered, green eyes narrowing. He rested his hands on Alfred’s knees and looked up at Ivan “You can let him go. I got him.”
Alfred couldn't see, but he sensed when Ivan got up and went away. He couldn't contemplate this because now Arthur was spreading his legs, keeling on the floor.
“Arthur...”
Arthur spread him a little more, than a little more, until there was nothing left to imagination, until Alfred was open and available and his hole was full on display.
“Arthur, I swear if you-”
His cock touched Alfred’s entrance, slightly. Then there was a brief pause when the world stood still and then-
Then Alfred screamed. Loud, very loud, his voice echoing from the roof and the walls, fuck, fuck it hurts, while Arthur entered him inch by painful inch, no pause, no care, no nothing. All that saliva wasn't helping any and Alfred screamed and screamed this fucking hurts and kept screaming and he almost couldn't hear Arthur’s voice:
“What, America? What are you going to do?”
“You bastard!”
“Yes,” Arthur answered “And now everyone can watch you squirm as I fuck you.”
Alfred was squirming. He was squirming and arching his back and cussing and feeling Arthur’s every harsh thrust, in, out, in, out, fast and increasingly easy because now there was blood too to lube his way. In and out. And he was saying:
“You must be feeling now, aren't you, how dip in the shithole you got us all into.”
Taste of Revenge [9/?]
anonymous
June 20 2009, 03:34:06 UTC
He bended over and now his face was right above Alfred's, and Alfred had a panoramic view of his open mouth, his bright eyes, his face contorted in pleasure.
He turned so he wouldn't see Arthur panting because he had done- something, because some spasm of his had tightened his hole or whatever, why was Arthur enjoying this, he had punished Alfred before and it was never like this and he was never this fucking glad about it and Arthur came closer to his face and he closed his eyes to pretend he was anywhere but here, and then-
Arthur kissed him.
His eyes shot open. Arthur kissed his fact, soft and tender like he did when Alfred was a child, once, twice, and then he kissed his lips.
Alfred closed his eyes again. He felt Arthur’s tongue over his lips, and he opened his mouth because, because. Arthur's tongue was exploring his mouth and for a fleeting second he thought maybe, just maybe, during all those boring meeting Arthur was also thinking maybe they could...
Arthur was whispering:
“America... look what you did to yourself...”
“Arthur,” he said, but maybe he hadn't, maybe it had just been a small intake of breath, a whisper, a moan. He could still feel Arthur’s cock filling him so completely he thought he would burst, he could still feel rays of pain starting from his anus running up his body, could feel the blood drying on his thigh, but now Arthur was kissing his lips.
Arthur was kissing his lips.
“You were strong,” he said, his voice almost inaudible “When I first saw you, you could hold a bull with your own hands, and look at you now...”
His lips reached Alfred’s forehead, then his face again, then his neck. He kissed and licked and between each touch he said:
“You can’t even break free from a tape... pathetic, America, you are pathetic...”
“Arthur... please...”
Please shut up, or he’ll cry, he thinks, he’ll cry if Arthur doesn't shut the fuck up.
Arthur didn't.
“You were strong. What did you told me, America? What was that again? You used to be so-”
Oh God.
“Please,” Alfred says, “please, please don’t say that to me, Arthur, please.”
Arthur’s eyes were cold, unmoved:
“What should I say then, America? That you screwed us over? Screwed me over? That you single handedly destroyed everything it took us so damm long to build? Should I explain how utterly pathetic you are?
“I... t-the banks, we're...”
“Yes, yes, your emergency measures, right. Do you think this will solve everything? Do you think it will happen overnight?”
“No... I don’t...”
“You'll-” He thrust his cook deeper than before and the pain was even sharper, in, out. “have to-” in “do” out “better than this!”
He froze, eyes closing, and Alfred felt the warm liquid feeling his insides, overflowing and spilling down his cleft. Then Arthur pulled away, making a soft pop sound that made Alfred’s cheeks burn in shame. Arthur sat over his heels, a satiated expression on his face.
He buttoned up his suit.
Alfred closed his eyes.
At least it was over. Over. Over. At least it was over. He was still laying over his bound hands, legs obscenely spread for the nations of the words, wide open in front of his friends, he was bleeding and Arthur’s cum was running down his butt, but at least it was over.
He opened his eyes when Arthur suddenly pulled him by his hair. There was a black pen in his hands.
“W-what are you doing?”
“This is your punishment,” Arthur said. Still holding him by his hair, he wrote on his forehead, slow and carefully. Alfred could feel the straight lines, a curve here and there, but he couldn't guess the letters. He'd have to go back to the hotel with this, whatever it was, on display, and - but no, Arthur was always so concerned with reputation and all that stuff, he’d let him wash his face before going out on the streets.
The hotel. How would he go back, with his clothes torn in such an embarrassing place, and-
It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, it doesn't fucking matter. He’d go back bleeding and dripping sperm on the streets if he had to. Just thinking about his room, about locking the door and hiding under the covers made him dizzy with relief. He waited for Arthur to cut the tape.
Re: Taste of Revenge [9/?]
anonymous
June 21 2009, 01:49:55 UTC
Anon is far, far too hard on herself. There were some spelling errors that had more to do with your choice of words.
Anyway, this is wonderful! In a completely heartbreaking way, of course. Just seeing America like this breaks my heart. Not enough for me to not want more, but it's depressing none the less. Just seeing America have such strong hopes, only for them to come crashing down hurts. Just like it's supposed to.
Taste of Revenge [10/?]
anonymous
July 2 2009, 19:25:33 UTC
Skip this one if you don’t like references to 11/9. Just saying. Don’t ask me what I’m doing, I don’t even know anymore. Oh, and thanks so much to everyone who commented, it means a lot to me. I hope there isn’t many mistakes this time…
“I can't get up.”
He didn't want to say please. Not again.
“A- Arthur? I can’t-”
Arthur still wasn't looking at him:
“France? Would you like to be next?”
And then for a second Alfred’s breath stalled and he couldn't make it start again. He hadn't- hadn't seen this coming, not this. He’d thought his humiliation would be punishment enough, he never thought Arthur would- that somebody else would- this wasn't right, this wasn't right-
“Sure,” Francis said, smiling. Alfred tried to get up, supporting his weight on his bound arms:
“W-what? No, Francis, w- wait-”
“Oh, too late,” the Frenchman answered in a sing-song voice, smiling all the time and it’s was a little like Ivan, that happy smile that didn't quite match the situation. He knelt between Alfred’s legs, and Alfred tried to brace himself because, really, there was no way to stop this, was there? He almost whimpered in anticipation, but he caught himself and tried to be more- more heroic than this, but-
-but then Francis’ cock was inside him, pushing even faster than Arthur had, even more careless. Now there was some lube, if you count Arthur’s cum, but it still hurt like hell and all thoughts of stoicism faded away. Alfred screamed.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Francis said “Hurts, does it?”
“Yes! You’re hurting me, please, stop-”
“Good,” Francis said.
Alfred moaned, feeling him getting even deeper, and he didn't know it was possible, how big is this guy anyway, how could it hurt so much? Francis was going to tear him apart. Alfred could feel nothing but the pain, pain and more pain. He heard his own voice as if it were someone else's, far away, too broken to be his own:
“This isn't fair. It isn't fair... I helped you, all of you, I was always-”
“You helped? When was that, my dear?”
“The- the two wars-”
“Wars,” Francis said. He thrust into him, making Alfred whimper again “I’m sorry, cher but you are so tight. Let’s talk about wars. How many did you fight in the last ten years, America? Or did you lost the count?”
Alfred couldn't think. It was there, the answers, it was there somewhere, but he couldn't find it, every thrust inside him making it harder to think.
“No answer?”
“I did- I needed to- defend-”
Francis laughed. It was loud and ugly and so out of place, this laugh, that Alfred felt it like a punch in the guts.
“Defend, yes,” Francis said, traces of smile still in his voice “I know. The two towers, right? The most- how did you call it? The most coward and chocking attack in the whole story of the whole world, right? The word’s at risk, nobody’s safe anymore. You know, America, when I heard that, I thought you meant the terrorists. Now I know you meant yourself.”
“You- you supported me! All of you, you supported me...”
He remembered this, among the fragments that were those memories, he was half-crazy with pain, but this he could remember, offers of support and friendship and Arthur’s arms around him-
Arthur-
“He won't help you now,” Francis said, and Alfred hadn't realized he was calling out loud, he didn't know what he was saying anymore. Another thrust made him shriek again:
“Please, Francis- please, you're hurting me...”
“You want me to stop.”
It wasn't a question, but Alfred answered anyway:
“Yes, please, stop!”
“Very well.” he stopped moving, but his cock remained inside Alfred, and for a second the whole world was still “I’ll give you a chance. I’ll ask you four simple questions. If you give me the right answer, I’ll stop. How about that?”
Taste of Revenge [11/?]
anonymous
July 2 2009, 19:28:09 UTC
It was a trap, it had to be, but Alfred coudn't help feeling a small shimmer of hope.
“First question,” Francis said “How many people died in the two towers attack?”
“I-”
“Yes, you do. You probably know their names. How many?”
“Three- thousand,” he said “Three thousand, two hundred and thirty four.”
“Very good,” Francis smiled “One month later you invaded Afghanistan. How many did you kill?”
Alfred closed his eyes. He could still see Francis's smile.
“How many, Alfred?”
“I- I’m not sure-”
“No? Not even an estimative? An approximation? A wild guess?”
Alfred sobbed. Francis bended over him, his mouth right over Alfred's lips, and Alfred could smell the wine in his breath:
“On Iraq. How many American losses?”
Alfred turned his face. Francis held him by his chin, forcing Alfred to face him again. Alfred tried to scream, but the only sound that came was a muffled whimper:
“You were with me in Afghanistan... all of you were, from the start...”
“How many losses, America?”
“I don't know! Thirty thousand, I guess, maybe more...”
“How many from Iraq?”
He was squeezing his chin, it would probably leave a mark, but- not that it mattered now. Nothing mattered now. Francis held him for one more second, than let go:
“Too bad, America You failed the test.”
“I’m sorry...”
“Yes, I bet you do” and then he smiled again, his happy sensual smile, the one Alfred knew “But what am I doing, my dear, discussing politics while I should be savoring this moment. And you’re making such lovely sounds down here”
Lovely? Since when screams and moans were lovely? When had that happened? But then Francis held the tear in his pants and pulled, making it even larger, and Alfred only understood when Francis laughed:
“What’s this? You shave? My, my...”
Alfred’s own cock was exposed - hard and erect and Alfred couldn't explain it, he wasn't enjoying this, he wasn't - and Alfred could feel his face burning. He tried to ignore it, he had no reason to feel ashamed, not here, not now, but the humiliation was enough to almost suffocate him. Francis tsked:
“So flawless. America.”
“S-shut up...”
“Looks like we’ve made a mistake here. This is not punishment at all. You’re really enjoying yourself, aren't you?”
“I hate you...”
“And you know what? I think there’re better uses for your mouth. Italy- come here, get America to suck you off.”
Oh God. Oh God... The shame over his erection almost lost the sting. That’s how it was going to be, all of them. Every single one of them. His friends. Alfred didn't even know how many people were in the room.
Feliciano came, walking slowly, hesitant. He knelt by his side:
“America...” his voice sounded frail, almost like an apology. He unzipped his pants and - Alfred didn't know what to think, because he was hard, yes, but he didn't seem to be enjoying it. Feliciano touched his face carefully, turning Alfred’s head to himself.
“Open you mouth, please...”
He placed the tip of his cock on Alfred’s lips, and it was- if only he could pretend this was something else, that it wasn’t his penis about to enter his mouth - but still, his fingers touched Alfred’s hair almost like a caress, and Alfred didn’t even know he wanted kindness so bad until now.
“Italy, I-”
I’m sorry, he wanted to say, I’m so, so sorry. But Feliciano’s cock entered his mouth slowly. Alfred was shaking, the feeling was as weird and foreign as it had been the first time, but it was still better than what Arthur had done.
“That doesn't hurt, does it?” he said gently. Alfred could feel gratitude welling up because no, it didn't hurt, not like this. Feliciano gave him time to get used to it, to control his gag reflex, keeping his fingers in Alfred's hair.
“Use your tongue,” said Feliciano then “Can you do this for me?”
Alfred tried, slowly, unsure. He run his tongue over Feliciano's skin, and it was hard because Francis' thrusts didn't let him establish any kind of pace and that was important, right? And every thrust jerked his body and he had to be extra careful with his teeth, Arthur’s threat still very alive in his mind. Still, Feliciano closed his eyes and moaned, so he probably was doing something right.
Re: Taste of Revenge [11/?]
anonymous
July 3 2009, 02:17:13 UTC
Christ, some of this makes me want to cry, anon. You're doing great! Not only are you adding onto the hotness of the comic, but you're going with the original fill! Remember, the OP (who is not me, by the way) requested that everyone be shown to be raging hypocrites. And poor Alfred, he's just confused and alone and in pain. ;_; You, my good anon, rock.
Ivan uncovered his mouth, but Alfred didn’t even try to answer. He couldn’t waste time, not when every second of air was precious. Francis smiled at him, disdain clear in his blue eyes, shaking his head.
Arthur’s hand was still between his legs, his fingers running over Alfred’s pants. He had a distant memory of choosing not to change into his denims because- why was that anyway? He could feel the shame and fear in the pit of his stomach, because Arthur was pinching and pulling the fabric and he could feel his touch and wanted to cross his legs but it was impossible, and this-
-this was it, wasn't it? This was the punishment they had planned for him. He heard the sound of the scissors and blushed, because they wouldn’t even bother to undress him. They’d just uncover the hole they planned to use.
“Hand me the tape”, Arthur said, and Alfred tried to glare at him. Why, he wanted to ask, why are you doing this to me? But then Ivan pushed him forward, almost making him sit, and his skin touched the floor, it was cold, and it was- weird. He wasn’t supposed to be feeling this, the cold tiles on his bare butt. His face was burning.
Ivan grabbed his wrists, pulling is arms to his back. He held him like that so Francis could wrap the tape around his wrists, then let him fall on his back again.
It was uncomfortable, lying over his bound hands, but Alfred didn’t have the time to think about it. Ludwig held his ankle and forced him to bend his leg. Ivan’s hand covered his mouth again.
“I’m so sorry,” Arthur said, quietly “But we can’t let you free. We don’t want you doing anything with your hands or your feet”
Alfred was whimpering. They tied up his legs like that, bended knees and the tape going around his thighs, and then Ivan raised his hand again.
“I think that’s enough”, Arthur said.
“Really? Because I can keep it up forever,” Ivan answered. He petted Alfred’s golden hair lightly; playfully “I love the sounds he makes.”
“He’ll make many more, don’t worry about it.”
“As for me”, Romano said “I want to hear him scream.”
Romano. Right, he was there. Alfred tried to think, tried to remember who else was on the room. He couldn't quite recall. His world now was Ivan’s hand, Arthur’s touch and voice, the cold disdain in Francis' eyes.
Arthur took a few seconds to admire his handwork. He took the scissor and cut a little more of Alfred’s pants. Then he smiled. He touched the exposed skin, circling Alfred’s anus with light, cold fingers.
“How cute,” he said.
“Fuck you...” Alfred’s voice was raspy. As soon as the words had left his mouth he froze, expecting Ivan’s smothering touch, but the Russian giggled and caressed his hair again:
“Almost right, America”.
He touched his lips, forcing him to close his mouth. This let him free to breathe through his nose, and Alfred couldn't help feeling grateful for the small mercy.
“Now, America, pay attention,” Arthur raised the scissor right before his eyes “Are you seeing this?”
It was so close Alfred had to cross his eyes. He tried to answer, but couldn't emit a sound. Arthur looked at Ivan, and gave a slight nod. Ivan kept his hand on his mouth, but gave him space enough to shake his head in a very emphatic affirmative.
“I’ll need your mouth”, Arthur said then “If you bite me, this is going in your cock. I mean inside it. Do you understand?”
Alfred nodded again. Ivan laughed:
“You scared him. I can feel his lips trembling.”
Arthur gave him the ghost of a smile:
“All right, he’s ready. Who goes first?”
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So... please give us the next page! *kills the distraction*
Reply
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Normally I hate Arthur on top!
But this...this is just...
I think I just orgasmed.
reCaptcha: kidnap mocks
Alfred you should just shut your mouth and take it already!
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Just -- fuck -- Alfred, he is such a hero and god this all and hnnghhh
; ______;
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TAKE IT AMERICA.
:DDDDDD
*drool*
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***
“You can do the honors,” Francis said “Don’t go easy on him.”
“I’m not going easy on him. Look, he’s already glaring at me.”
“Ah, America, always so combative,” Russia says in his sing-song voice, letting go of his mouth. Alfred didn't have the time to say a word before Arthur grabbed his hair and lifted his head, forcing a finger between his lips:
“I should teach you how to use your mouth,” he said “Open wide.”
His zipper was already open, Alfred could see that, and he wondered when the British had the time to open it. Not that it mattered. He could see the other man’s impressive member, hard and erect, and he had only the time to take a deep breath before Arthur pushed his cock inside his mouth.
Easy. Simple and clean and straight to the point. Alfred had... not thought about it, not exactly, but maybe, during all those long tedious meetings, maybe the thought had crossed his mind, that Arthur would maybe be interested in one day, maybe they could...
But not like this. Never like this.
“You’re drooling so much”, Arthur said, casual, just an off-hand comment. Alfred didn't answer - he couldn't speak with a full mouth, he thought, feeling a sudden desperate need to laugh. It wouldn't be polite. Arthur didn't taste like anything and it was almost like licking his own arm, if he didn't think that it was Arthur’s cock feeling his mouth, Arthur’s curly golden hair under his nose. He wanted to scream, trying to keep his teeth away from Arthur’s skin, he wanted to throw up - and that was exactly what was going to happen if Arthur didn't put that thing away.
But then Arthur pulled back, and Alfred took one trembling relieved breath, saliva running down his chin.
“Please,” he whispered. Please, please...
“Begging from mercy already, America? You know that trick isn't going to work.”
Trick. That trick. As if Alfred were a child making huge puppy eyes trying to get more dessert. As if he were threatening to stomp his feet and hold his breath until Arthur give him a gift. As if he were sulking and pleading for Arthur not to leave him again.
That trick.
“You'll regret this, you bastard...”
“Not as much as I’ll enjoy it.” Arthur answered, green eyes narrowing. He rested his hands on Alfred’s knees and looked up at Ivan “You can let him go. I got him.”
Alfred couldn't see, but he sensed when Ivan got up and went away. He couldn't contemplate this because now Arthur was spreading his legs, keeling on the floor.
“Arthur...”
Arthur spread him a little more, than a little more, until there was nothing left to imagination, until Alfred was open and available and his hole was full on display.
“Arthur, I swear if you-”
His cock touched Alfred’s entrance, slightly. Then there was a brief pause when the world stood still and then-
Then Alfred screamed. Loud, very loud, his voice echoing from the roof and the walls, fuck, fuck it hurts, while Arthur entered him inch by painful inch, no pause, no care, no nothing. All that saliva wasn't helping any and Alfred screamed and screamed this fucking hurts and kept screaming and he almost couldn't hear Arthur’s voice:
“What, America? What are you going to do?”
“You bastard!”
“Yes,” Arthur answered “And now everyone can watch you squirm as I fuck you.”
Alfred was squirming. He was squirming and arching his back and cussing and feeling Arthur’s every harsh thrust, in, out, in, out, fast and increasingly easy because now there was blood too to lube his way. In and out. And he was saying:
“You must be feeling now, aren't you, how dip in the shithole you got us all into.”
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He turned so he wouldn't see Arthur panting because he had done- something, because some spasm of his had tightened his hole or whatever, why was Arthur enjoying this, he had punished Alfred before and it was never like this and he was never this fucking glad about it and Arthur came closer to his face and he closed his eyes to pretend he was anywhere but here, and then-
Arthur kissed him.
His eyes shot open. Arthur kissed his fact, soft and tender like he did when Alfred was a child, once, twice, and then he kissed his lips.
Alfred closed his eyes again. He felt Arthur’s tongue over his lips, and he opened his mouth because, because. Arthur's tongue was exploring his mouth and for a fleeting second he thought maybe, just maybe, during all those boring meeting Arthur was also thinking maybe they could...
Arthur was whispering:
“America... look what you did to yourself...”
“Arthur,” he said, but maybe he hadn't, maybe it had just been a small intake of breath, a whisper, a moan. He could still feel Arthur’s cock filling him so completely he thought he would burst, he could still feel rays of pain starting from his anus running up his body, could feel the blood drying on his thigh, but now Arthur was kissing his lips.
Arthur was kissing his lips.
“You were strong,” he said, his voice almost inaudible “When I first saw you, you could hold a bull with your own hands, and look at you now...”
His lips reached Alfred’s forehead, then his face again, then his neck. He kissed and licked and between each touch he said:
“You can’t even break free from a tape... pathetic, America, you are pathetic...”
“Arthur... please...”
Please shut up, or he’ll cry, he thinks, he’ll cry if Arthur doesn't shut the fuck up.
Arthur didn't.
“You were strong. What did you told me, America? What was that again? You used to be so-”
Oh God.
“Please,” Alfred says, “please, please don’t say that to me, Arthur, please.”
Arthur’s eyes were cold, unmoved:
“What should I say then, America? That you screwed us over? Screwed me over? That you single handedly destroyed everything it took us so damm long to build? Should I explain how utterly pathetic you are?
“I... t-the banks, we're...”
“Yes, yes, your emergency measures, right. Do you think this will solve everything? Do you think it will happen overnight?”
“No... I don’t...”
“You'll-” He thrust his cook deeper than before and the pain was even sharper, in, out. “have to-” in “do” out “better than this!”
He froze, eyes closing, and Alfred felt the warm liquid feeling his insides, overflowing and spilling down his cleft. Then Arthur pulled away, making a soft pop sound that made Alfred’s cheeks burn in shame. Arthur sat over his heels, a satiated expression on his face.
He buttoned up his suit.
Alfred closed his eyes.
At least it was over. Over. Over. At least it was over. He was still laying over his bound hands, legs obscenely spread for the nations of the words, wide open in front of his friends, he was bleeding and Arthur’s cum was running down his butt, but at least it was over.
He opened his eyes when Arthur suddenly pulled him by his hair. There was a black pen in his hands.
“W-what are you doing?”
“This is your punishment,” Arthur said. Still holding him by his hair, he wrote on his forehead, slow and carefully. Alfred could feel the straight lines, a curve here and there, but he couldn't guess the letters. He'd have to go back to the hotel with this, whatever it was, on display, and - but no, Arthur was always so concerned with reputation and all that stuff, he’d let him wash his face before going out on the streets.
The hotel. How would he go back, with his clothes torn in such an embarrassing place, and-
It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, it doesn't fucking matter. He’d go back bleeding and dripping sperm on the streets if he had to. Just thinking about his room, about locking the door and hiding under the covers made him dizzy with relief. He waited for Arthur to cut the tape.
Arthur wasn't even looking at him.
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Anyway, this is wonderful! In a completely heartbreaking way, of course. Just seeing America like this breaks my heart. Not enough for me to not want more, but it's depressing none the less. Just seeing America have such strong hopes, only for them to come crashing down hurts. Just like it's supposed to.
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this is your fault anon ; ___;
I love this fic so much
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Just the thought of all the countries sitting their and watching while England...
fapfapfap
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“I can't get up.”
He didn't want to say please. Not again.
“A- Arthur? I can’t-”
Arthur still wasn't looking at him:
“France? Would you like to be next?”
And then for a second Alfred’s breath stalled and he couldn't make it start again. He hadn't- hadn't seen this coming, not this. He’d thought his humiliation would be punishment enough, he never thought Arthur would- that somebody else would- this wasn't right, this wasn't right-
“Sure,” Francis said, smiling. Alfred tried to get up, supporting his weight on his bound arms:
“W-what? No, Francis, w- wait-”
“Oh, too late,” the Frenchman answered in a sing-song voice, smiling all the time and it’s was a little like Ivan, that happy smile that didn't quite match the situation. He knelt between Alfred’s legs, and Alfred tried to brace himself because, really, there was no way to stop this, was there? He almost whimpered in anticipation, but he caught himself and tried to be more- more heroic than this, but-
-but then Francis’ cock was inside him, pushing even faster than Arthur had, even more careless. Now there was some lube, if you count Arthur’s cum, but it still hurt like hell and all thoughts of stoicism faded away. Alfred screamed.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Francis said “Hurts, does it?”
“Yes! You’re hurting me, please, stop-”
“Good,” Francis said.
Alfred moaned, feeling him getting even deeper, and he didn't know it was possible, how big is this guy anyway, how could it hurt so much? Francis was going to tear him apart. Alfred could feel nothing but the pain, pain and more pain. He heard his own voice as if it were someone else's, far away, too broken to be his own:
“This isn't fair. It isn't fair... I helped you, all of you, I was always-”
“You helped? When was that, my dear?”
“The- the two wars-”
“Wars,” Francis said. He thrust into him, making Alfred whimper again “I’m sorry, cher but you are so tight. Let’s talk about wars. How many did you fight in the last ten years, America? Or did you lost the count?”
Alfred couldn't think. It was there, the answers, it was there somewhere, but he couldn't find it, every thrust inside him making it harder to think.
“No answer?”
“I did- I needed to- defend-”
Francis laughed. It was loud and ugly and so out of place, this laugh, that Alfred felt it like a punch in the guts.
“Defend, yes,” Francis said, traces of smile still in his voice “I know. The two towers, right? The most- how did you call it? The most coward and chocking attack in the whole story of the whole world, right? The word’s at risk, nobody’s safe anymore. You know, America, when I heard that, I thought you meant the terrorists. Now I know you meant yourself.”
“You- you supported me! All of you, you supported me...”
He remembered this, among the fragments that were those memories, he was half-crazy with pain, but this he could remember, offers of support and friendship and Arthur’s arms around him-
Arthur-
“He won't help you now,” Francis said, and Alfred hadn't realized he was calling out loud, he didn't know what he was saying anymore. Another thrust made him shriek again:
“Please, Francis- please, you're hurting me...”
“You want me to stop.”
It wasn't a question, but Alfred answered anyway:
“Yes, please, stop!”
“Very well.” he stopped moving, but his cock remained inside Alfred, and for a second the whole world was still “I’ll give you a chance. I’ll ask you four simple questions. If you give me the right answer, I’ll stop. How about that?”
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“First question,” Francis said “How many people died in the two towers attack?”
“I-”
“Yes, you do. You probably know their names. How many?”
“Three- thousand,” he said “Three thousand, two hundred and thirty four.”
“Very good,” Francis smiled “One month later you invaded Afghanistan. How many did you kill?”
Alfred closed his eyes. He could still see Francis's smile.
“How many, Alfred?”
“I- I’m not sure-”
“No? Not even an estimative? An approximation? A wild guess?”
Alfred sobbed. Francis bended over him, his mouth right over Alfred's lips, and Alfred could smell the wine in his breath:
“On Iraq. How many American losses?”
Alfred turned his face. Francis held him by his chin, forcing Alfred to face him again. Alfred tried to scream, but the only sound that came was a muffled whimper:
“You were with me in Afghanistan... all of you were, from the start...”
“How many losses, America?”
“I don't know! Thirty thousand, I guess, maybe more...”
“How many from Iraq?”
He was squeezing his chin, it would probably leave a mark, but- not that it mattered now. Nothing mattered now. Francis held him for one more second, than let go:
“Too bad, America You failed the test.”
“I’m sorry...”
“Yes, I bet you do” and then he smiled again, his happy sensual smile, the one Alfred knew “But what am I doing, my dear, discussing politics while I should be savoring this moment. And you’re making such lovely sounds down here”
Lovely? Since when screams and moans were lovely? When had that happened? But then Francis held the tear in his pants and pulled, making it even larger, and Alfred only understood when Francis laughed:
“What’s this? You shave? My, my...”
Alfred’s own cock was exposed - hard and erect and Alfred couldn't explain it, he wasn't enjoying this, he wasn't - and Alfred could feel his face burning. He tried to ignore it, he had no reason to feel ashamed, not here, not now, but the humiliation was enough to almost suffocate him. Francis tsked:
“So flawless. America.”
“S-shut up...”
“Looks like we’ve made a mistake here. This is not punishment at all. You’re really enjoying yourself, aren't you?”
“I hate you...”
“And you know what? I think there’re better uses for your mouth. Italy- come here, get America to suck you off.”
Oh God. Oh God... The shame over his erection almost lost the sting. That’s how it was going to be, all of them. Every single one of them. His friends. Alfred didn't even know how many people were in the room.
Feliciano came, walking slowly, hesitant. He knelt by his side:
“America...” his voice sounded frail, almost like an apology. He unzipped his pants and - Alfred didn't know what to think, because he was hard, yes, but he didn't seem to be enjoying it. Feliciano touched his face carefully, turning Alfred’s head to himself.
“Open you mouth, please...”
He placed the tip of his cock on Alfred’s lips, and it was- if only he could pretend this was something else, that it wasn’t his penis about to enter his mouth - but still, his fingers touched Alfred’s hair almost like a caress, and Alfred didn’t even know he wanted kindness so bad until now.
“Italy, I-”
I’m sorry, he wanted to say, I’m so, so sorry. But Feliciano’s cock entered his mouth slowly. Alfred was shaking, the feeling was as weird and foreign as it had been the first time, but it was still better than what Arthur had done.
“That doesn't hurt, does it?” he said gently. Alfred could feel gratitude welling up because no, it didn't hurt, not like this. Feliciano gave him time to get used to it, to control his gag reflex, keeping his fingers in Alfred's hair.
“Use your tongue,” said Feliciano then “Can you do this for me?”
Alfred tried, slowly, unsure. He run his tongue over Feliciano's skin, and it was hard because Francis' thrusts didn't let him establish any kind of pace and that was important, right? And every thrust jerked his body and he had to be extra careful with his teeth, Arthur’s threat still very alive in his mind. Still, Feliciano closed his eyes and moaned, so he probably was doing something right.
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