Apparently, they did not. All the other nations were sufficiently distracted by the one among them who stepped forward.
“I think I will have a turn now, if you do not mind?” questioned Russia in his ever childish voice. England only had a moment to consider that deceiving tone before he was shoved forward into the man’s arms. At first, however, Russia was not rough and easily caught England, turning him around so they were face to face.
“You look afraid, Arthur.” His name came out accented. He hated it. “Do not worry; I can learn to be gentle.” With a childlike smirk, Russia lifted England and set him down on the carpeted floor. England didn’t even lift a finger, only gazing blankly up at the tan ceiling as he was handled. Some of the nations shuffled around to get a better look. England was grateful for the more delicate care, but the weight that settled on his legs was anything but careful. He groggily lifted his head and looked down his body.
Russia was sitting on his legs, as if nothing in the world was amiss. With a groan, England began to struggle and squirm—the pressure on his knees and thighs was becoming unbearable.
“Ah ah ah.” Sing-songed Russia, as if speaking to a young child, “I knew you’d try to escape, so this is why I sat on you! It will make things much easier.” With that, Russia quickly fell forward, slamming his large hands on each side of England’s head. The blonde stopped struggling, and whimpered.
“There, that’s better. If you just listen to me, everything will go smoothly.” Russia cooed, lifting his right hand and softly stroking one of England’s brows. The whimpers only increased, as England could not even open his legs for relief. He shut his eyes, furrowing his bros and crinkling his nose; if Russia was going to have him, he wasn’t going to enjoy it.
A sharp yank—an unfamiliar sensation—forced England’s eyes to snap open. Russia, with a much more malicious expression, loomed over him.
“Why are you closing your pretty eyes? There’s no need for that.” He gave the blonde a sickeningly sweet smile before reaching up and—from what England could see and feel—tugging on an eyebrow.
“Ahh! Nooo…please, it hurts!” England cried as Russia, every fourth or fifth stroke, would yank on his sensitive brow. The sensation was not pleasant, but England’s cock definitely wasn’t getting any softer. Russia, out of nowhere, reached down and kneaded him.
“Comrades, I think he is getting close.” England heard Russia’s voice, but his mind did not make anything of the words. After several yanks and rough strokes, he was far gone to the world around him. Later, England would look back and not even remember what he was saw at that moment, but only a heard a childish giggle, and then felt the most intense amount of pain and pleasure he’d ever experienced.
Apparently he had screamed quite loud, because when he came back to himself he found the shocked and surprised face of the other nations around him, along with Russia directly above him, hands poised about a foot away from his face. There was silence at first, and England felt a light touch as Russia’s hands moved out of his line of vision. “He is still hard…” the nation on top of him murmured, glancing to the other occupants of the room. England barely heard it, the sound of his own panting loud in his ears.
France’s voice was the first to break through. “Mes amis, perhaps we should stop here…our dear Angleterre has been through quite a lot…” he suggested, glancing around the crowd. None of the others spoke up, but the Frenchman caught a flash of something in Japan’s eyes. The Asian nation said nothing, however, as China shoved his way through the crowd, South Korea on his heels.
“No, France, you were the one who started this; we are certainly not stopping now just because you decide to chicken out, aru.” Behind him, South Korea nodded vigorously. He looked oddly eager, France noted.
“But he is not enjoying this anymore—I think that is obvious. He is in pain.” France persisted, stepping protectively in front of England, his brows furrowing in concern. China, also, did not back down.
Accidents Happen (4a/?)
“I think I will have a turn now, if you do not mind?” questioned Russia in his ever childish voice. England only had a moment to consider that deceiving tone before he was shoved forward into the man’s arms. At first, however, Russia was not rough and easily caught England, turning him around so they were face to face.
“You look afraid, Arthur.” His name came out accented. He hated it. “Do not worry; I can learn to be gentle.” With a childlike smirk, Russia lifted England and set him down on the carpeted floor. England didn’t even lift a finger, only gazing blankly up at the tan ceiling as he was handled. Some of the nations shuffled around to get a better look. England was grateful for the more delicate care, but the weight that settled on his legs was anything but careful. He groggily lifted his head and looked down his body.
Russia was sitting on his legs, as if nothing in the world was amiss. With a groan, England began to struggle and squirm—the pressure on his knees and thighs was becoming unbearable.
“Ah ah ah.” Sing-songed Russia, as if speaking to a young child, “I knew you’d try to escape, so this is why I sat on you! It will make things much easier.” With that, Russia quickly fell forward, slamming his large hands on each side of England’s head. The blonde stopped struggling, and whimpered.
“There, that’s better. If you just listen to me, everything will go smoothly.” Russia cooed, lifting his right hand and softly stroking one of England’s brows. The whimpers only increased, as England could not even open his legs for relief. He shut his eyes, furrowing his bros and crinkling his nose; if Russia was going to have him, he wasn’t going to enjoy it.
A sharp yank—an unfamiliar sensation—forced England’s eyes to snap open. Russia, with a much more malicious expression, loomed over him.
“Why are you closing your pretty eyes? There’s no need for that.” He gave the blonde a sickeningly sweet smile before reaching up and—from what England could see and feel—tugging on an eyebrow.
“Ahh! Nooo…please, it hurts!” England cried as Russia, every fourth or fifth stroke, would yank on his sensitive brow. The sensation was not pleasant, but England’s cock definitely wasn’t getting any softer. Russia, out of nowhere, reached down and kneaded him.
“Comrades, I think he is getting close.” England heard Russia’s voice, but his mind did not make anything of the words. After several yanks and rough strokes, he was far gone to the world around him. Later, England would look back and not even remember what he was saw at that moment, but only a heard a childish giggle, and then felt the most intense amount of pain and pleasure he’d ever experienced.
Apparently he had screamed quite loud, because when he came back to himself he found the shocked and surprised face of the other nations around him, along with Russia directly above him, hands poised about a foot away from his face. There was silence at first, and England felt a light touch as Russia’s hands moved out of his line of vision. “He is still hard…” the nation on top of him murmured, glancing to the other occupants of the room. England barely heard it, the sound of his own panting loud in his ears.
France’s voice was the first to break through. “Mes amis, perhaps we should stop here…our dear Angleterre has been through quite a lot…” he suggested, glancing around the crowd. None of the others spoke up, but the Frenchman caught a flash of something in Japan’s eyes. The Asian nation said nothing, however, as China shoved his way through the crowd, South Korea on his heels.
“No, France, you were the one who started this; we are certainly not stopping now just because you decide to chicken out, aru.” Behind him, South Korea nodded vigorously. He looked oddly eager, France noted.
“But he is not enjoying this anymore—I think that is obvious. He is in pain.” France persisted, stepping protectively in front of England, his brows furrowing in concern. China, also, did not back down.