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Kiku dances a hand down America's spine, lithe fingers bumping along the vertebra and drawing a beautifully sensual mantra of "Yeah. Oh. Oh, oh right there. Right, right-" from the American's muzzled lips. Muffled though it was America's perpetually loud voice fills the chamber, bounces off the dark red and grey walls and reverberates through his broad chest, marked plum and cherry by Kiku's passionate, possessive attentions.

Pulling at the soft foxtail responsible for much of Alfred's arousal, the Japanese man croons from above, "Have you been naughty?" A flick to the hard, flushed member, pre-cum leaking from the tip. "Daddy hasn't told you to get excited just yet."

At that America tenses further, a spark of resolve appearing in his. "I-I'm not," he tries, pulling his spine into something resembling something... in control.

Of which, (Kiku steps near the base of the tail) the American is not. Not, with his slim, tanned thighs spread out so beautifully. Not, with a trail of his own glimmering drool running a path from his swollen lips to his slack jaw. Not, oh, oh certainly not, with heavy-lidded, blue eyes looking up at Kiku, waiting to be praised, to be adored.

And then Kiku remembers where he'd found America during lunch, who he'd been with.

The entire scenario is a game, though they know it well, and so a sharp, sinister smirk curls Kiku's mouth, canines flashing.

“Maybe I should get you a collar so you don’t forget who you belong to.”

America fervently shakes his head, gone cloudy once more. however a moment later he pauses, seeming to reconsider.

But then Japan steps on the tail and the blond's gone again to pleasure.

He's near the edge. They both are.

"Oh- please?" America moans, chin dipped and twitching. "I'll be good. Oh god, I'll be so good. I promise!"

Japan leans close. "I believe you."