Note: Someone already knows who I am?? D: I must be getting bad at keeping myself anonymous on here, Lol But anyways, I’m not too sure about this, as I kept re-editing it and I’m still unhappy with it. Hopefully it meets your expectations? –hides–
Russia pulled America into the bedroom and pushed him to the bed. America sat on the edge of the mattress and gazed upward.
“Eager, huh?” A nervous smile blossomed across his face. “It has been a while…”
“Too long.”
Russia left the bedroom door open, adding to the thrill of experiencing sex as a different gender by giving a vague feeling of possibly getting caught, and stepped closer to America, her unbound breasts moving at the slightest movement. She placed her hands on the thick belt keeping her dress pants up, and threaded her fingers at the brass buckle. America seemed torn between keeping his eyes on her face to staring at her chest. The discovery of America having a boob fetish left her intrigued and Russia couldn’t help the smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. Uncurling her fingers from the belt, she trailed her fingertips up the smooth, rounded planes of her hips to her abdomen and finally reached up to cup each unbound globe of flesh.
“Have you always enjoyed the female breast?” Russia squeezed them for added emphasis. “Would you like to take a closer look?”
America blushed from his ears to his neck. “Do you have to…do that?”
“Do what?” Russia pressed them together.
“That!” America’s face burned.
Peeling her left hand from her left breast, she reached forward and grasped America’s right hand, pulled it away from his knee and pressed it to back to the breast. The teenager stared at his hand for a long moment, his hand limp and unmoving before something flashed through his gaze and the hand flexed, the fingers curling inward to squeeze the breast. America stared, utterly transfixed at how the globe of flesh looked and felt against his hand and squeezed again, missing the physical twitch on Russia’s face. It was just so…so soft and large… so very unlike the hardened, muscular planes of Russia’s male, barrel-chested self. Pressing his other hand to the opposite, neglected breast, he squeezed and played with them both, testing their size -spilling over his hands- and weight -not heavy, not light, but somewhere in-between- in his hands.
Russia let him play longer than she intended, as it somehow felt different with America touching her chest than when she did it. Another minute passed, and she finally decided she’d had enough of America’s incessant touching and squeezing of her mammary glands and reached up to the first button, tugging it free.
America froze, his hands pressed awkwardly to her chest before jerking them away in a sudden show of blundering bashfulness. Russia smirked at him, and plucked the next button free, enjoying the wide-eyed look of anticipation in America’s gaze, and slowly started on the remainder of the buttons, until the last one was tugged free. Her breasts now shown in their full glory, Russia let the shirt fall to the floor behind her.
America breathed and stared at Russia.
Russia stared back, un-amused.
“You act like you’ve never seen them before.”
“I’ve seen them!” America defended himself. “I just…don’t have much experience…”
Russia rolled her eyes, grabbed his hands and pressed them to each naked breast. America’s face blushed an even deeper red, something Russia wasn’t sure was healthy but appreciated the rare display all the same.
“They’re… so soft…” America admitted in a small, quiet voice.
Better Living With Alien Ray Guns (3a/?)
Russia pulled America into the bedroom and pushed him to the bed. America sat on the edge of the mattress and gazed upward.
“Eager, huh?” A nervous smile blossomed across his face. “It has been a while…”
“Too long.”
Russia left the bedroom door open, adding to the thrill of experiencing sex as a different gender by giving a vague feeling of possibly getting caught, and stepped closer to America, her unbound breasts moving at the slightest movement. She placed her hands on the thick belt keeping her dress pants up, and threaded her fingers at the brass buckle. America seemed torn between keeping his eyes on her face to staring at her chest. The discovery of America having a boob fetish left her intrigued and Russia couldn’t help the smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. Uncurling her fingers from the belt, she trailed her fingertips up the smooth, rounded planes of her hips to her abdomen and finally reached up to cup each unbound globe of flesh.
“Have you always enjoyed the female breast?” Russia squeezed them for added emphasis. “Would you like to take a closer look?”
America blushed from his ears to his neck. “Do you have to…do that?”
“Do what?” Russia pressed them together.
“That!” America’s face burned.
Peeling her left hand from her left breast, she reached forward and grasped America’s right hand, pulled it away from his knee and pressed it to back to the breast. The teenager stared at his hand for a long moment, his hand limp and unmoving before something flashed through his gaze and the hand flexed, the fingers curling inward to squeeze the breast. America stared, utterly transfixed at how the globe of flesh looked and felt against his hand and squeezed again, missing the physical twitch on Russia’s face. It was just so…so soft and large… so very unlike the hardened, muscular planes of Russia’s male, barrel-chested self. Pressing his other hand to the opposite, neglected breast, he squeezed and played with them both, testing their size -spilling over his hands- and weight -not heavy, not light, but somewhere in-between- in his hands.
Russia let him play longer than she intended, as it somehow felt different with America touching her chest than when she did it. Another minute passed, and she finally decided she’d had enough of America’s incessant touching and squeezing of her mammary glands and reached up to the first button, tugging it free.
America froze, his hands pressed awkwardly to her chest before jerking them away in a sudden show of blundering bashfulness. Russia smirked at him, and plucked the next button free, enjoying the wide-eyed look of anticipation in America’s gaze, and slowly started on the remainder of the buttons, until the last one was tugged free. Her breasts now shown in their full glory, Russia let the shirt fall to the floor behind her.
America breathed and stared at Russia.
Russia stared back, un-amused.
“You act like you’ve never seen them before.”
“I’ve seen them!” America defended himself. “I just…don’t have much experience…”
Russia rolled her eyes, grabbed his hands and pressed them to each naked breast. America’s face blushed an even deeper red, something Russia wasn’t sure was healthy but appreciated the rare display all the same.
“They’re… so soft…” America admitted in a small, quiet voice.