One minute he was balancing on his neighbors' window ledge, holding onto their roof with one hand while peering through the slit in their bedroom curtains and whacking off furiously with the other.
(And seriously, who could blame him? Hungary in lingerie. Hungary. In little lacy green and white panties and a matching bra with its straps tugged down, one of her round, creamy breasts unfortunately obscured by her useless husband's mouth, but the other heaving wonderfully with each gasp and groan that shuddered through her. The musician's pale, tight ass was waving ridiculously at the window and Hungary had already made an excellent start on mussing up his obsessively neat hair.)
And then the next thing Prussia knew, Hungary had hiked her bra back into place, stalked to the window and flung the curtains open, (heedless of the prat's protestations of modesty), and hauled Prussia through the window with a fist twisted yanking his hair.
So now he lay flat on his back in their bed (their stupid comfortable marriage that smelled like both of them so much it seemed like just one scent instead of two commingled) with his legs in the air, while Hungary casually pushed the long metal handle of her frying pan in and out of his aching ass. She wasn't even paying attention to him, her eyes closed as she moaned appreciatively at her pretentious fag of a husband licked and sucked dutifully between her legs, the fingers of her other hand curling in his stupid shiny hair.
The first time Hungary came, shuddering around her prick of a husband's long, elegant, dexterous fingers (pansy, faggy, pianist fingers, a real man had weapons calluses, goddamnit), while her own fingers were perfunctorily and roughly prying Prussia just open enough, she had announced very clearly that the first person with a penis who had an orgasm would be promptly kicked out.
Which, Prussia thought, his back arching impressively as the now-warm handle dragged across his sweet spot yet again, was really monumentally unfair. He was being fucked by the full strength of her Magyar blade-arm, while musicboy was just eating pussy.
And humming something by Hayden. Typical. Prussia grunted in annoyance at the way the tune made Hungary whimper and squirm and lose her rhythm pounding him.
Which wasn't to say that Prussia wouldn't love the chance to slide his tongue into that wet, beautiful cunt, and the smell alone was driving him slightly mad, let alone the taste, but given Hungary's considerable skill pegging him with pan (Ha! Prussia always knew her husband was a fucking faggot, she must have been practicing on him for centuries) Prussia considered himself at a distinct disadvantage.
Re: Hungary/Austria/Prussia, cunnlingus, pegging, gagging, HUNGARY IS ON TOP, is my point 1/2
Until, that is, Hungary threw her head back and screamed in pleasure, her second climax rolling through her, and she ordered her music freak to screw her properly while she was still twitching with aftershocks. The pianofag sighed happily as he sank inside her, his slender, effeminate hips snapping forward as he did his husbandly duties, and Prussia realized he now had a decent chance of outlasting his rival, getting the stuck-up noble exiled from his own damn bed, and finally getting the blisteringly hot one-on-one time with Hungary he deserved.
Think of disgusting things, he told himself firmly, as Hungary began working the panhandle in tandem with the freak's practically metronomic thrusts. It was like they were both fucking him, slick and rough and smooth at once -
Disgusting things. That time he and West both tried to be sick in the toilet at the same time after a really awful drinking binge and both missed. English food. American beer.
Oh, that did it.
Even when Hungary shuddered, wrapping her legs around her husband's hips and urging the useless lightweight to go harder, faster (Prussia would fuck her like she wanted, like she deserved, like a real man) and twisted the handle inside him, his orgasm remained a comfortable ways distant.
Finally pianoboy whimpered like the bitch he was and hid his stupid girly face in Hungary's strong shoulder, his hold body tensing and going limp with his release.
American beer, Prussia reminded himself sternly.
Hungary petted her husband's back for a minute or two while his breathing evened, then pinched his butt playfully and reminded him of the rules. He stole a kiss from her lips, earning a loud, red smack across his pansy ass, before slipping on his ridiculous, dainty aristocrat's robe and padding out of the room.
"My turn now?" Prussia asked hopefully. Hungary pulled out the frying pan handle with a slick sucking noise, leaving Prussia empty and twitching, grabbed his balls in one strong hand (once a warrior, always a warrior, if you were a true one) and squeezed.
"I didn't say you could talk," Hungary reminded him.
"Oh, right, sorry, forgot about that." He winked at her cheekily, earning another cruel clenching of her already tight grip, but then, Prussia had balls of steel. And goddamn but her hand felt terrible-unbearable-perfect.
Hungary bent backwards and twisted, fishing under the rumpled covers with her other hand until she held up her discarded lace panties, balled them up, and shoved them in Prussia's mouth. He breathed in deeply through the fabric, groaning at the thick, rich, salty taste of her. Then she climbed on top of him, already open and dripping wet from her own juices and her husband's spunk and rode him like the wild, free-spirited horsewoman she was.
He moaned and thrashed underneath her, wanton and slutty and absolutely in heaven as she took just exactly what she wanted. When she shouted, "Now, goddamnit, NOW!" and clutched his hip with sharp nails and sank her teeth into his shoulder, her breasts rubbing against his chest and her glorious cunt spasming unbelievably around him, he arched helplessly and came, just like Austria had, both of them mixing and vying inside her.
She rolled off of him and leaned against the headboard, licking her bloody fingernails clean.
"You know, Gil," she told him archly, "It's really easy to tell when someone is spying through, say, a crack in the curtains, or a keyhole, or a hinge in a screen cover," (Prussia grinned at the resulting litany of memories) "if the spy in question has bright red eyes."
Prussia spat out the lovely panties with only a small pang of regret.
"Well, you know. That's just one more reason I'm awesome."
Re: Hungary/Austria/Prussia, cunnlingus, pegging, gagging, HUNGARY IS ON TOP, is my point 1/2
Oh god. I love you, anon. Have my firstborn, have everything I have because I'll never have a firstborn. You win and are as awesome as Prussia. That was so, so hot. And awesome. ♥
Re: Hungary/Austria/Prussia, cunnlingus, pegging, gagging, HUNGARY IS ON TOP, is my point 1/2
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(Anonymous) 2009-03-05 01:33 pm (UTC)(link)Hungary/Austria/Prussia, cunnlingus, pegging, gagging, HUNGARY IS ON TOP, is my point 1/2
(Anonymous) 2009-03-20 10:59 pm (UTC)(link)One minute he was balancing on his neighbors' window ledge, holding onto their roof with one hand while peering through the slit in their bedroom curtains and whacking off furiously with the other.
(And seriously, who could blame him? Hungary in lingerie. Hungary. In little lacy green and white panties and a matching bra with its straps tugged down, one of her round, creamy breasts unfortunately obscured by her useless husband's mouth, but the other heaving wonderfully with each gasp and groan that shuddered through her. The musician's pale, tight ass was waving ridiculously at the window and Hungary had already made an excellent start on mussing up his obsessively neat hair.)
And then the next thing Prussia knew, Hungary had hiked her bra back into place, stalked to the window and flung the curtains open, (heedless of the prat's protestations of modesty), and hauled Prussia through the window with a fist twisted yanking his hair.
So now he lay flat on his back in their bed (their stupid comfortable marriage that smelled like both of them so much it seemed like just one scent instead of two commingled) with his legs in the air, while Hungary casually pushed the long metal handle of her frying pan in and out of his aching ass. She wasn't even paying attention to him, her eyes closed as she moaned appreciatively at her pretentious fag of a husband licked and sucked dutifully between her legs, the fingers of her other hand curling in his stupid shiny hair.
The first time Hungary came, shuddering around her prick of a husband's long, elegant, dexterous fingers (pansy, faggy, pianist fingers, a real man had weapons calluses, goddamnit), while her own fingers were perfunctorily and roughly prying Prussia just open enough, she had announced very clearly that the first person with a penis who had an orgasm would be promptly kicked out.
Which, Prussia thought, his back arching impressively as the now-warm handle dragged across his sweet spot yet again, was really monumentally unfair. He was being fucked by the full strength of her Magyar blade-arm, while musicboy was just eating pussy.
And humming something by Hayden. Typical. Prussia grunted in annoyance at the way the tune made Hungary whimper and squirm and lose her rhythm pounding him.
Which wasn't to say that Prussia wouldn't love the chance to slide his tongue into that wet, beautiful cunt, and the smell alone was driving him slightly mad, let alone the taste, but given Hungary's considerable skill pegging him with pan (Ha! Prussia always knew her husband was a fucking faggot, she must have been practicing on him for centuries) Prussia considered himself at a distinct disadvantage.
Re: Hungary/Austria/Prussia, cunnlingus, pegging, gagging, HUNGARY IS ON TOP, is my point 1/2
(Anonymous) 2009-03-20 11:02 pm (UTC)(link)Think of disgusting things, he told himself firmly, as Hungary began working the panhandle in tandem with the freak's practically metronomic thrusts. It was like they were both fucking him, slick and rough and smooth at once -
Disgusting things. That time he and West both tried to be sick in the toilet at the same time after a really awful drinking binge and both missed. English food. American beer.
Oh, that did it.
Even when Hungary shuddered, wrapping her legs around her husband's hips and urging the useless lightweight to go harder, faster (Prussia would fuck her like she wanted, like she deserved, like a real man) and twisted the handle inside him, his orgasm remained a comfortable ways distant.
Finally pianoboy whimpered like the bitch he was and hid his stupid girly face in Hungary's strong shoulder, his hold body tensing and going limp with his release.
American beer, Prussia reminded himself sternly.
Hungary petted her husband's back for a minute or two while his breathing evened, then pinched his butt playfully and reminded him of the rules. He stole a kiss from her lips, earning a loud, red smack across his pansy ass, before slipping on his ridiculous, dainty aristocrat's robe and padding out of the room.
"My turn now?" Prussia asked hopefully. Hungary pulled out the frying pan handle with a slick sucking noise, leaving Prussia empty and twitching, grabbed his balls in one strong hand (once a warrior, always a warrior, if you were a true one) and squeezed.
"I didn't say you could talk," Hungary reminded him.
"Oh, right, sorry, forgot about that." He winked at her cheekily, earning another cruel clenching of her already tight grip, but then, Prussia had balls of steel. And goddamn but her hand felt terrible-unbearable-perfect.
Hungary bent backwards and twisted, fishing under the rumpled covers with her other hand until she held up her discarded lace panties, balled them up, and shoved them in Prussia's mouth. He breathed in deeply through the fabric, groaning at the thick, rich, salty taste of her. Then she climbed on top of him, already open and dripping wet from her own juices and her husband's spunk and rode him like the wild, free-spirited horsewoman she was.
He moaned and thrashed underneath her, wanton and slutty and absolutely in heaven as she took just exactly what she wanted. When she shouted, "Now, goddamnit, NOW!" and clutched his hip with sharp nails and sank her teeth into his shoulder, her breasts rubbing against his chest and her glorious cunt spasming unbelievably around him, he arched helplessly and came, just like Austria had, both of them mixing and vying inside her.
She rolled off of him and leaned against the headboard, licking her bloody fingernails clean.
"You know, Gil," she told him archly, "It's really easy to tell when someone is spying through, say, a crack in the curtains, or a keyhole, or a hinge in a screen cover," (Prussia grinned at the resulting litany of memories) "if the spy in question has bright red eyes."
Prussia spat out the lovely panties with only a small pang of regret.
"Well, you know. That's just one more reason I'm awesome."
Re: Hungary/Austria/Prussia, cunnlingus, pegging, gagging, HUNGARY IS ON TOP, is my point 1/2
(Anonymous) 2009-03-20 11:58 pm (UTC)(link)That was pretty amazing, anon. I mean...wow.
*fans self*
no subject
(Anonymous) 2009-03-21 12:02 am (UTC)(link)author
(Anonymous) 2009-03-21 02:47 am (UTC)(link)ZOMGNOWAI!!! \o/
THANK YOUUU!!!
Re: Hungary/Austria/Prussia, cunnlingus, pegging, gagging, HUNGARY IS ON TOP, is my point 1/2
(Anonymous) 2009-03-21 01:39 am (UTC)(link)♥ Have an internets, writernon. That was ridiculously hot.
OP
(Anonymous) 2009-03-21 04:07 am (UTC)(link)Re: Hungary/Austria/Prussia, cunnlingus, pegging, gagging, HUNGARY IS ON TOP, is my point 1/2
(Anonymous) 2009-03-21 06:03 am (UTC)(link)The gagging with her panties was especially inspired, if I may say so. *applauds*