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Coercive Acts

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Knock knock.

"You fucking idiot!" I snapped as soon as America's front door opened. "Why the hell did you …! Oh. It's you, Lithuania."

Lithuania smiled nervously at me. "Y-yes. I take it you're looking for America?"

"Yes, sorry."

"It's all right. Come on in."

Lithuania stepped aside, letting me enter. I looked around at the foyer. Smug, showy yank had such a big house. What the hell did he need so much bloody space for? It was quite a waste, if I do say so myself.

"I need to speak with him," I said, still irritably glancing around at the vast amount of space his house consumed.

"O-okay," replied Lithuania, still a bit nervous. "Though he's … rather busy at the moment. He's, uh … cleaning out his storage."

My eyes shot back to him. "Eh? Is that some kind of metaphor?"

"Huh? Oh, goodness, no! He's … uh … literally cleaning out a storage room."

He started down the hallway, and I followed a few steps behind. I made sure to observe my surroundings as we made our way through the house. Greedy bastard did not need such a big, opulent place! It was rather frustrating.

"He does it every now and then," Lithuania continued. "He starts cleaning it but never finishes."

"Why's that? Is he that much of a lazy arse?"

"No, uh … he says it always reminds him of things past. It makes him act strangely but he doesn't talk too much about it."

"Heh," I scoffed. "He's so young. He hardly has a past."

Lithuania looked back at me, smiling sheepishly. "You make a good point." We neared a corner, and he suddenly stopped. "Um, actually, do you mind waiting here? I think I should tell him you're here before coming in." I didn't get time to answer, as Lithuania was already turning the corner, holding a finger up. "I'll be right back!" he called. "Just wait a moment, please!"

I heard his footsteps hurry down the hall. "Hmmph," I sighed, peering around the corner. Why wasn't I allowed to go farther? Just what was America hiding? Certainly it wasn't something I couldn't make myself privy to. I felt the MI16 in me swell, that natural desire to spy surfacing. Whatever America's business was, I was going to make it my own.

I made my way quietly down the hallway, keeping my footsteps light. I followed their voices to a back room. The door was halfway open. I peered in with just one eye, rounding the edge of the door just slightly enough to see though still remaining mostly out of sight.

"But why is he here?" I heard America say, mid-conversation.

"He said he needed to speak with you," Lithuania answered.

"I'm busy. Tell him to get the fuck out."

I bristled at his response. How dare he speak of me in such a manner! After I did so much for him! I raised that boy - fed him, clothed him, taught him language, sheltered him from brutal colonisation from other countries. Who did he think he was, telling me, of all people, to sod off?

"But - uh - he came all this way," said Lithuania. "Don't you think you should at least ask him what he wants?"

"No. He's just gonna bitch about something."

My brows furrowed angrily. That fucking twat. Assuming such negativity on my part. Even though it was true that day, that didn't make me any less annoyed.

"Why are you so harsh towards Mr. England?" asked Lithuania. "You're not normally so bitter."

Oh? Is that so …

America tossed whatever he was holding - looked like some old boot - into a heap of other rubbish. "I dunno. I guess the dust in here is getting to me."

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. I wanted to lean in more past the doorway, to get a better sense of the atmosphere, but I knew better. I didn't want to risk exposing my eavesdropping. I settled for listening carefully, hoping one of them would speak again so that I could hear any giving nuances in their voices.


Instead of being graced by a telling voice, my ears were assaulted by such a loud sound. I flinched, though forced myself to remain silent. When I looked back, I saw that bloody twat had tossed a large book to the floor, stirring up more dust.

"I'm totally throwing out this bitch," said America.

"Old English Dictionary?" Lithuania read off the title.

"Yeah. England gave it to me when I was a kid. But I don't need it anymore."

"You sure?" I could see Lithuania smiling nervously at him. "You still speak English, after all."

"American English," he said. "After my awesome Revolution, I was like 'screw this' and wrote my own version. Called the Webster's Dictionary. That's Amurican English."

I shuddered at the way he said 'American.' An offence to the Queen's English. He surely did not get that twang from me.

"You know how England spells words wrong?" America continued. "Like he throws in random u's in words like 'color' and 'favorite'? Or changes z's to s's and s's to c's and other dumb crap like that? I was like 'that's friggin' stupid, I'm rewriting this the right way.' And I did!"

The 'right' way? ! I nearly choked. My way is the right way! It's my language! That's why it's called English - after me, England. He can't just change it and say that's the new way of doing things. He probably just fucked up the spelling because he's an idiot, and then when corrected, played it off as the 'new' spelling to avoid looking stupid for misspelling. That sodding wanker!

"Wow, I never knew that about your language."

"I bet there's a lot of things you don't know about me and England." America had such a haughty, smug tone.

"You're right. You'll have to tell me about it some time," said Lithuania.

"Hmm, how about right now? Pop a squat, I'll tell you all about it."

"Umm - but Mr. England. He's been waiting down the hall for us."

"Eh, let him rot. He'll find the door eventually."

Heh. Oh, I found something much better than the door, America. I found an unsuspecting you, letting all your stupid ramblings not meant for my ears become privy to a very stealth me.

"It all started when I was young …" America began.

"I don't think we have time for a story," Lithuania interrupted. "Mr. England has already been waiting for several minutes. I told him I'd be right back - I don't want him to think I'm being rude …"

"Ha ha! Lithuania, I'm doing this because England is waiting. I love pissing him off. Don't you think that's funny?"

Heh. Joke's on you, America.


"Well, whatever, it's funny to me. Now be quiet and listen to my story." America sat down on a basketball and started rocking back and forth as he spoke. "It all started when I was young. Like I said. Anyway, I was so cute back then. I mean, I still am, but in a different way. Right now I'm cute like in a hunky way. Back then I was just adorable. You know, the kind of cute that just makes people goes 'aww!' and drives pedos nuts. That kind of cute."

"Right," Lithuania said tentatively, sitting down on an old, wooden chest.

"Everything was all well and good for a while. England was actually a pretty cool guy. He gave me food and stuff. I mean, it was pretty shitty food, but I was young and stupid and didn't know the difference."

"You do now?"

"Wha …? Of course I do! What a silly thing to say, Lithuania. Now back to the story! So there I was, being all cute and innocent and happy, right? Just chilling with my colonies, shooting the shit. Then, outta nowhere, England just started being a total dick to me. For no good reason! He just up and turns into a total douchenozzle, which totally pissed me off."

"For no reason …? That doesn't sound like Mr. England."

"Well, he was suddenly broke. Like dirt friggin' poor from some war. So he somehow got it in his head that he would tax the hell outta me and make me pay for it."

"Oh, actually, I am familiar with this part," said Lithuania. "Wasn't it a war for you?"

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"Yes, I remember. The French and Indian War. I mean, it was much more complicated than that, but he went to war with France. They were fighting over you."


God. I remember that. Kicked that frog's arse, but that is a different story. Certainly different than America's bastardised retelling of it.

"Be quiet, Lithuania. This is my story!"

"Oh, sorry, Mr. America! I didn't mean to upset you!"

"I'm not upset! It's all cool. Now where was I?" America paused, then continued. "Ah, I remember. England was hella broke and decided to tax me. He taxed almost everything that he sold to me, that dick. He wrung me dry! Me! Cute little America that could do no wrong!"

"That's rather cold, but I don't see how that's worth going to war over."

"Just listen to the rest, okay, Lithuania? Now even though he was squeezing every little penny he could outta me, that douche still didn't let me go back home with him to visit. I didn't have a voice in his country. I would look at him with my puppy dog eyes, cute as hell, and say 'Pwease Engwand, lemme go to Parwiament wif you!'"

What he was saying was infuriating. He was twisting the story. Bending it to his own cocky, American slant. But somehow, despite my frustration, a nostalgic jolt rushed over me. A rather splendid one. I adored the way he spoke like that. I loved it when he said my name like that. It was refreshing to hear again, after so many years.

"And ya know what his response was?" asked America.



I gasped silently. It was a flagrant lie! I never would have dreamed of speaking to him like that. Not only did I keep my sailor mouth clean around him, but I never even spoke to him harshly! I adored him too much back then. Today is a different story, of course, as I curse him all the time. But back then? I would never be vulgar or cruel to who I thought was an angel!

"Goodness!" was Lithuania's reply.

"Yeah, I know, right? So this goes on for, like, years. I tolerate it for a while but it gets worse and worse, just like his general dickishness. He started taxing my tea. So one day I got really pissed and was like 'You know what I think of your tea? Fuck your tea! I'll drink cat piss before sipping one more glass of that overtaxed shit!' And then I threw it into the ocean. While saying that."

"That's a lot to say at once while throwing things overboard."

"Totally. But I did, and England got seriously pissed off."

How could America tell Lithuania such lies? America had a defiant streak in him, no doubt, but he did not speak so vulgarly back then! It's only been in recent times that he's picked that nasty habit up. I suppose it makes him feel like an adult to use such naughty words.

"Then what happened?" asked Lithuania.

"England did the Intolerable Acts."

I saw the horror on Lithuania's face. "God! What was that?"

America was still rocking back and forth on the basketball. "It was like the meanest thing ever. Imagine all the assholeishness you can think of and roll it all together - that was the Intolerable Acts!"

I gritted my teeth. I did not call it the Intolerable Acts. I hate that term. I always called it its true name … the Coercive Acts.

"England just reamed me with stupid rules and even more taxes. I was paying out the ass and forced to jump through hoops for that jagoff. He even quartered me!"

The repulsion on Lithuania's face had diminished, but at the mention of quartering, it returned. "Dear God - I had no idea he was so cruel to you!"

America stopped rocking on the basketball. "I know. It hurt so much…" He actually looked solemn for a moment, but then he perked up and said, "Skittles?"

I hadn't noticed America take the candy out. He held out the bag toward Lithuania, who waved him off. "N-no thank you."

"Suit yourself," America replied, stuffing his face. "Hey, wow! They're chocolate flavoured!"

"Heh. Perhaps you should continue your story, Mr. America."

"Oh wait! These are M&M's. Now where was I …" His cheeks were puffy, stuffed with the candy. That disgusting glutton.

How sickening it was to listen to America's lies. He made it sound like some horrid, murderous scene where I literally quartered him - tying his limbs up, pulling them in opposite directions until he was ripped apart. God, no! I was rather upset with him at the time, but I could never do such a thing! Quartering was simply the term I used for letting my soldiers stay in his houses. A minor inconvenience, yes - but certainly no bloodbath! How dare that tosser lead Lithuania on so much.

"So he taxed and taxed and taxed," America continued, still stuffing his face with sweets. "All without ever letting me speak in his fancy schmancy Parliament. So one day was I like 'oh hell naw.' He'd taxed stamps too but that didn't stop me from writing him a letter. I whipped out a piece of paper and was like 'Dear England. FUCK OFF AND TAKE YOUR DAMN TEA WITH YOU. No love, America.' And that, Lithuania, was called the Declaration of Independence."

"Wow. Was it really so brief and profane?"

"Well, I guess I was paraphrasing. It was longer and maybe didn't have the f-bomb or the all caps. But the message was more or less the same!"

It was strange, but right then I felt a prick of pain in my chest as I listened. I detested that letter. His rejection of me, spelled out on parchment. My precious colony turning away from me, dumping me, wanting nothing to do me - it was a crushing blow I wasn't prepared to handle at the time.

"So when England got it," said America. "… he was all like 'FFFFFF' and then my awesome war of independence began!"

Lithuania seemed to be waiting for America to continue. But America was unusually quiet. "And then?" Lithuania urged.

"Oh, um …" America hesitated. "Well, the actual war itself is pretty hazy to me. I dunno why, since I kicked so much ass and all."

"Please try to remember. I'm very intrigued now."

"Oh, okay. Let's see… it went like this. There was this little boat. And it crossed the Delaware. Which is a state, but also like, a river, I guess. You could stand up on the tip of the bow with your leg up like 'hells yeah, I am crossing the Delaware' looking super badass and heroic. George Washington, who is totally cool, did that. Then there was a Christmas miracle!"

"Oh, this was on Christmas?" asked Lithuania.

"Yeah! Probably. After crossing the Delaware river - no, the entire state! Yeah, let's say that. So there we were in Delaware. No wait, New Jersey. So there we were in New Jersey, thinking about how awesome Christmas is. Though we were sad, because Santa wasn't gonna find us, because we were doing something totally cool. A surprise! We snuck up on England and his soldiers while they were sleeping. It was Christmas but that didn't stop us from creeping into their camp and ruining their happy holiday. And that's what inspired the American classic 'How The Grinch Stole Christmas.'"

"Umm. I'm confused, Mr. America. Is this the beginning of the war, middle, or end? I know it lasted several years, and I'd like to know more details …"

"Shut up, Lithuania. It's the whole thing because this is the only part I remember. Now listen to the rest!"

How could that bloody idiot forget his own history? He doesn't even have that much! He's but a fraction of the age of most counties. One would think he could keep straight the little time he's been alive! Oh, that boy … I didn't raise him in such a way …

"We snuck into the British camp," America continued. "With no Christmas presents, by the way, since they were very naughty that year. Then we opened fire, shooting everyone right in the head, because it's cool that way. They were screaming things like 'Noooo, England rules!' and 'Die, Yankee scum!' and 'Owww, my exploding head!' but we didn't care because it was for FREEDOM."

Oh, the inaccuracies! Dear God! If he was actually trying to describe the Battle of Trenton, his version was too bastardised to even try to explain. Is this what is written in his history books? If I was to ask an American child to recount the Battle of Trenton, is this the corruption of history they would regurgitate in response? Augh, no, they probably wouldn't. Because the more I thought on this, the more I realised that the average American kid doesn't even know what the Battle of Trenton is. Nor the other battles, for that matter. All they know is that there was a war between their country and mine, and that theirs won. The middle details are unimportant. No wonder America doesn't remember his own Revolution …

"After we shot like a million British guys, England did his Italy impression by waving a white flag," said America. He'd finished the M&M's and moved on to Twizzlers. Where does he get this rubbish? "He was all like 'America, I surrender! I surrender! You are clearly superior in every way! I recognise you as independent, as a country, and as super cool!'"

I was shaking. Literally trembling with rage as I listened to him. That was not what happened … no, not at all …

"I raised my Amurican flag, waved it, as fireworks shot all around. I dunno who shot them, but it was awesome. Oh, and I was on a horse - did I mention that part? - and my horse reared up and said 'neeeigh!' and I went up with it, looking super heroic and badass, against the backdrop of the fireworks, and thousands of proud American soldiers, and millions of dead British ones!"

"It sounds like a … interesting sight."

"Yeah, and England cried like a bitch."

My breath hitched, but no one heard. My presence was still hidden as I peered from the doorway. But I worried how much longer that would last. Soon I found myself breathing heavy. I didn't know why, it came so suddenly. It was like my lungs were constricting, making my breathing forced and erratic. Then I realised how much effort I was putting into holding back tears, and it made more sense.

I suppose what upset me wasn't so much what he had said - though that was infuriating in its own right - but what he hadn't said. The truth. I could have crushed him if I wanted. I was so much stronger than him. He was just a collection of loose colonies - and me? The mighty British Empire. One of the strongest nations in the entire world.

But I was distracted by so much at the time. I was so strong that I had multiple wars going on simultaneously. Such is the reality of so much colonisation. I thought it'd be easy to put him in his place. He just needed a little discipline, I thought. He was just going through a rebellious phase. He was at that age, after all. I thought I could just come over with a few troops, crush his little rebellion, and be on with it. Smack that disobedience right out of him. We'd make up, he'd grow out of it, and move on. Things would be the same again …

But no, I couldn't do it. I couldn't crush him. That day in the rain, I could have shot him. I could have destroyed him. I could have reclaimed him as mine, my property as the British Empire. But I didn't. When I looked into that face of his, there was no way. That's why I fell to my knees. And broke down.

How could America leave that out? That I could have defeated him if I wanted. I had the strength. It was only luck and my sympathy that led to his victory. Not his 'awesomeness.' It was painful that he omitted this. Or did he forget it? I hoped to God not. Please, no … because I remember it every day.

"That was quite a tale, Mr. America."

"I know. You liked it?"

"It was certainly interesting."

I was still trembling. Partly with rage, partly with something else I couldn't put my finger on. I reached up with my hand to feel under my eyes. It was the only way I could tell for sure if any tears had escaped. But my fingers didn't feel anything except dry skin.

"There's more to this story," said America.

"Oh? It sounded like you won."

"I totally did! I kicked England's ass. Shoved my boot right on up there so hard that he had to limp all the way home. And I rode off into the sunset with my cavalry, fireworks still going off somehow, waving the American flag, and living happily ever after while England cried and rubbed his sore ass."

"Then what is the rest of the story?"

I, too, wondered just what the hell America was going on about. There was certainly no American Revolutionary War 2. Unless he meant what I was afraid he meant. I trembled more. No, that was not something I wanted to recount, neither accurately nor inaccurately …

"The sequel, of course!" America pulled out of a box something from his pile of junk as he spoke. I peered harder to see that it was saltwater taffy. "The sequel is called 'The War of 1812: America Kicks England's Ass Again.' And then in the tagline, in smaller print it says, 'And Canada is There Too.'"

Speaking of such a brutal war as if it were a blockbuster movie. Bloody fool! I had to brace myself. The recounting of this war would be almost as painful as his Revolutionary one.

"So once upon a time," America began, "I was hanging out with France. England, being a dickhead, saw us together and was like 'Hey! Get away from France! I'm at war with him and I don't want you talking with him!' which seriously pissed me off. Because, hello! I was independent. England couldn't tell me who I could and couldn't hang out with! I do what I want!"

"He still tried bossing you around after you became independent from him?" asked Lithuania.

"Yeah. Pretty messed up, huh? So anyway, later on I was just sitting around and thought to myself, 'You know who's a pretty nice country? Canada. Yeah, I think I'll get myself a piece of that.'"

I heard Lithuania clear his throat uncomfortably. "I-I never heard about this …"

"Then listen up! I invaded Canada. Multiple times. I wanted his land, ya see, and since I was so awesomely powerful and he was such a weak little bitch I thought I could take all that I wanted. I wanted to move his border way up, so I invaded it, and tried to claim it for myself."

"Mr. America … maybe you shouldn't have done that …"

"Just listen to the story, okay! Anyway, England found out about my invading Canada's border and got all pissy. He came over and was like 'Hey, quit picking on your brother! Leave him alone!' To which I said, 'Friggin' make me you jerk, because you ain't my boss anymore! I DECLARE WAR! AGAIN!' And so … war was declared."

I pulled back from the door. I leaned up against the wall right outside of it. I needed something for leverage, and let my weight rest against it. I sighed, rubbing my forehead. I did not want to relive these memories. They were too painful.

I did something during that war that I'm not too proud of. At the time, I thought it was a splendid idea, as I was still so bitter from his Revolution. But now, looking back, it seemed so cruel.

I burned his capitol to the ground. Yes, I set Washington D.C. ablaze. I remember watching the flames devour his precious city, relishing it as revenge for what he'd done to me. He was so hurt by this, as having his capitol even captured, let alone razed, was not something a country like himself was used to. And the fact that it was me only made things so much more worse. We were both still so sore and bitter from the past war. Neither of us was over it.

And of course, of all the cities, it just had to be D.C. Our capitols are our hearts. The epicentre of our entirety that pumps life to every other state, province, territory, or whatever parts we may have.

And I burnt America's to the ground.

He rebuilt, of course. America recovers fast. But I left scars, I'm sure of it. And the pride I took at the time is long since vanished.

"Then what happened?" asked Lithuania.

"Well, I didn't get to seize Canada like I wanted. I would have gotten away with it too, if it wasn't for that meddling England."

"So … did you lose?"

America didn't reply for a moment. I peeked back around to see why. But he was just staring blankly, like he couldn't think of a reply. Then he shook himself, and reached for some of the saltwater taffy.

"Gahhh! This taffy is as hard as a rock!" he whined. "I guess because it's been sitting in here for like years and years."

"Did you lose-"

"No, of course I didn't lose! It was one of the best wars in my history. I even wrote a bitchin' song about it! You know, the one we always sing before football games."

"I'm … I'm still confused what happened with this one."

"It's real simple. England was being a total d-bag by bossing me around. I said HELLS NO and declared war. There was some battles, yada yada yada, I won again. In a glorious triumph that proved once again my awesome power! There were more fireworks, bombs bursting into air, that gave proof to the night, that my flag was still there."

"Oh. So that's it?"

"Yep. I lived happily ever after. Cool story, huh?"

My eyes were locked, narrowed, in America's direction. I glared down at him with a passionate fury. He was omitting something else again. How could he leave out such a vital part of the story? There's no way he forgot that. He must have been purposely excluding it. How dare him … how dare that bastard …

"England cried again, like 'wah wah wah, I'm such a pussy!' and I laughed in his face," America told Lithuania. "He always loses in wars to me because I'm just so awesome."

"Mr. England is very strong though," said Lithuania. "He used to be the British Empire and ruled much of the world."

"That's funny." There was actually a chuckle in America's words. "Because he doesn't rule much of anything now. He's just a tiny island that got his ass handed to him twice and now everyone knows how weak he - oh … crap."

"What?" asked Lithuania. "What's wrong with … oh."

I'd stepped through the doorway, letting my presence loom over them until they finally looked my way. I glared harshly at America. I let that awkward silence overcome us as I just bore into him with my eyes. I wanted him to see the fury in them. The rage of his hateful words reflected back onto him. I was glaring so intensely that even an idiot who couldn't read the atmosphere could feel it.

"Lithuania," I said, keeping my eyes locked on America's. "Go and make us some tea, would you? A whole kettle."

There was no reply at first. Then America's dumb, bewildered face regained its usual smug grace. "I don't have any tea, England. You of all people should know that."

"No, there's some in the cabinet above the sink," said Lithuania, apparently clueless to America's lies.

"What! Lithuania, shut up …"

"Heh," I said, walking closer to them. "Splendid."

"I-I'll be back shortly," said Lithuania as he hurried out the door.

I heard him leave the room. It was then just America and I.

"How could you forget the part …" I started, still keeping my gaze locked ahead, "… where I scorched your heart?"

"Pffft. You rhymed."

Damn it. I hadn't meant to do that. I meant to sound ominous. I wanted to seem threatening, and loom that power I used to have over his head. It worked with other countries, so why did it always fail with America?

"Answer my question!" I barked. "Why did you leave out what happened in 1814? !"

He returned my glare. "Because you're a fuckin' douche bag!"

I reached up and grabbed his chin in my hand. I squeezed hard, making his cheeks puff up. "I don't like how vulgar you've become lately," I snapped. "Your mouth used to be so innocent."

"Lemme go," he said, muffled.

He started to pull away, but I caught him off guard by digging my nails in. "I used to own this mouth, you know. And I don't appreciate how you've been using it."

He wrenched away with a grunt, then looked back at me as he rubbed his chin. "What are you talking about? !"

"It was once mine. All of you was. Did you forget that?"

He glanced away. I saw that he was looking at that old set of toy soldiers I made for him years ago. It made me pause. He kept it. He actually kept it. I wanted to relish that, but I was too angry with him at the time.

"I owned you," I continued. "Your entire body was my property. I could do whatever I wanted with you."

"No, you couldn't," said America.

"Didn't I?"

"No. You tried but I wouldn't stand for it." I hated that tone in his voice. Cocky and brash. "Why do you think I renamed your so-called Coercive Acts to the Intolerable Acts? Because you tried to force it on me, but I didn't allow it."

"You're a selfish little brat. I had every right to do those things." I placed my hand on his chest, palm spread. "Because you belonged to me."

I felt his muscles tense when I touched him. Even through his shirt I could feel them twitch uncomfortably.

"Every centimetre of this …" I dragged my fingers down as I spoke. "… was mine." My hand traced down his chest, over his stomach, past his navel …

"Tea's ready," said Lithuania as he entered.

I pulled my hand away nonchalantly. "Ah, splendid. Thank you."

Lithuania set the kettle down and looked at us nervously. "I-Is everything okay in here?"

"I was just telling America about all the inaccuracies of his so-called heroic tales," I said, forcing my tone to soften. "We were just discussing the Battle of Saratoga before you came. Weren't we, America?"

America wasn't sure how to answer. He just looked back at me, confused, then shrugged to Lithuania.

"Thank you for the tea, Lithuania." The tone of my voice hinted for him to leave. I wondered if he'd understand. It took a moment of awkward silence, but then he realised.

"Oh, uh, I guess I'll leave you two be then."

Smart bloke. "You can just leave the kettle here on your way out."

He obeyed and exited, but not before cutting me a nervous glance.

Once Lithuania had left, I kicked the basketball America had been sitting on earlier. It bounced off the wall with a pang and into one of the piles. "Look at all this junk! How flattering that you keep all your memories of me tossed into a heap of rubbish in a dusty backroom!"

"It's not all stuff from you! There's all kinds of things in here."

"I see that. Though I suppose I should just be happy you kept any at all …" I fished through one of boxes, looking over the contents. I tossed each thing I came across aside.

"Don't go through my stuff," said America.

"What's this?" I pulled out a metal shard with a ribbon wrapped around it. It looked like rubbish, but America's face lit up when he saw it. So that's why I tossed it across the room.

He dove after it. He fell to the floor, barely catching before it hit. After breathing a sigh of relief, he hugged it to his face. "Oh, thank God! It almost broke even more."

"You need to toss that rubbish in the bin."

"It's not trash! It's a piece from one of my favourite things in the world, the Liberty Bell!" He straightened the bow around it. "I tied a ribbon to it so I wouldn't accidentally throw it out."

"Heh. That's right. You broke one of your national symbols, didn't you? You're such a fuck-up."

"Shut up! It doesn't make it any less special!"

As I sorted through the box, I found something very interesting. I didn't let him see it as I came up behind him.

He was lying still on the floor. I approached from behind and wrapped the fabric around the top of his head. It was like a blindfold. "Guess what I found," I said.

He tried to pull my makeshift blindfold off. "Hey, I can't see!"

"Ah, ah. No peeking."

"A guessing game, huh? I'm way too pissed off at you to play right now."

I grabbed his wrists. "It'll be fun."

"What are you doing with my hands?"

"It's part of the game, of course."

My hands worked fast. I gathered up the fabric, twisting and knotting it expertly. As they continued their speedy, deft movements, the cloth fell from America's eyes. I needed the rest of the fabric.

"Close your eyes," I commanded.

But he didn't. He tried to look back at what I was doing behind him. I had started on one hand, then before I started on the other, I grabbed his head to twist it back forward. Then I wrenched his body into place.

"I said no looking!"

"I'm not in the mood for stupid games!"


I pulled back and admired my handiwork. Each of his wrists were tied with the fabric. Then I pulled up the heavy wooden chest and scooted the other end underneath. After the thud, America pulled against his cloth restraints.

"What the hell is this supposed to be?"

"I just like seeing you tied up like that." I smirked down at him. "I like seeing you as vulnerable as you used to be."

"Ha!" he scoffed, that smug bastard. "I'm still the strongest country there is! You know how easy it'd be to break this? I can snap metal chains in half - you think I can't rip some cloth?"

I couldn't answer him at first. I was too caught up in the glorious sight. America on the floor, arms pulled above his head, looking so … vulnerable. Mmm.

"I'm gonna break this off and then I'm kicking your ass outta my house," he said. He started to pull against the cloth restraints. The material strained and stretched taut.

"Go ahead," I said. "Rip that rubbish cloth."

"Huh?" America was such a stupid twat. It'd taken him that long to notice what was around him. "What the hell! This is my flag!"

I chuckled. Not just any American flag, but his original. The one with the thirteen stars in a circle. He'd been so proud when he made it. It was his banner of freedom. Which is why I had despised it, as it meant freedom from me.

"I can't rip this!" he cried.

"Of course you can. You're America - the strongest country in the world, right?" I said facetiously.

"I mean I can, but it's just wrong! I love this flag!"

America tried to slip his wrists out from where they were tied. Of course he had no such luck, as a former pirate like myself knows my way around a knot. I had to make them daily for years - I was an expert.

It was a perfect setup. A flag corner to each wrist. Then the banner, which I had tucked under the wooden chest. America could overturn the chest, of course, but the flag would rip first. Unless he wanted to shred his former national symbol, he was stuck.

"Damn it, England! Why did you do this to me? !"

I put my boot on his chest, watching his disgusted face judging me. I pushed him down completely flat on his back. I let my foot continue pressing there, holding him in an exhale. "I want to remind you about how you used to be." America couldn't answer; I'd taken the wind out of him. "… to be mine, that is."

I went to war to have that boy. Shed my own blood, sustained painful scars, plunged myself in debt. All for him to decide to turn around and leave me. Ungrateful brat.

"Do you know what quartering is?" I asked, though I was fully aware that the pressure of my boot on his chest prevented him from speaking. "It doesn't always mean what you implied to Lithuania. Sometimes it just means accommodating my soldiers in your home. Sweet little America can show his warm hospitality to my people, can't he?"

"No," he choked.

"That's right, no, you bastard. Because you refused even such a small sacrifice for me!"

I had to lift my boot. I could see his face tinting purple. When I did, his chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath.

"But look at you now. Tied up in a way that reminds me a little of the quartering that used to happen back in my home … in the Medieval Ages."

I dug through his heaps of rubbish, looking for something sharp. Damn did he have a lot of shit in that room. Perhaps I should call one of those Hoarder reality shows and have him featured. He'd need a professional to wade through all that rubbish.

Somehow I found what I was looking for. I pulled the bayonet from one of the boxes, running my hand over the length of the metal. I couldn't remember if it was the kind he used during that damnable Revolution of his or not, but it was close enough.

America's face actually lit up with excitement when he saw me wield the weapon. Fucking idiot. He was very fond of that thing. But he was not fond of nor expecting me to point it toward him.

His eyes become large, then he smirked smugly at me. "Look at you, trying to be all badass! Pffft. I don't think that thing works anymore, and even if it did you're way too big of a pussy to use it on me."

I stood over him, looking down. I had the bayonet drawn toward his face. "It doesn't need to work for the tip to be sharp."

"Quit screwing around. We both know you'd never hurt me!"

I let the sharp tip of the bayonet drop to his neck. I let it dig into his skin, tracing over his Adam's apple. That stupid git was actually smiling. He thought this was funny. He wasn't taking me seriously. Well, that stupid look on his face changed when I slashed the bayonet's tip from his neck to his torso.

I did it to rip his shirt, and the mission was deliciously accomplished. The fabric was split in two, exposing his bare chest. I moved the tip of bayonet to push each half of the shirt to the side so that I could see as much skin as possible. Once peeled back, I could admire it. Pale smooth skin, taut muscles clenched, pink nipples …

"ENGLAND!" America cried, interrupting my dirty thoughts. "You cut me, you douche!"

There was a streak of pink along where I had slashed. It looked like a long scratch at first glance, as it appeared to not have broken through all the layers of his skin, but once I peered closer I saw flecks of blood.

I tossed aside the bayonet. I didn't need it anymore. Instead I reached for the tea kettle, still steaming hot like Lithuania had left it. "Meh. It's just a flesh wound."

"It stings like a bitch though!"

I fanned the steam from the kettle to my face, smelling the fresh tea leaves and feeling how piping hot it still was. "I told you I didn't like you using your mouth for such language."

"Why not? You cuss all the time, hypocrite!"

I leaned down a wee bit, still gripping the tea kettle. "But I like to think of you as you used to be … innocent."

When I had found America, he was the picture of innocence. Pure, untouched land that had never been exposed to colonisation. He knew little beyond frolicking with animals, picking flowers, and doing so in that symbolic white frock.

Then somehow, unbeknownst to me, he lost that.

I tipped the tea kettle. The hot liquid poured out, dribbling over his chest. He squirmed, then tried to pull himself free by struggling against his restraints. Though as soon as he heard the tug of the flag's fabric, he slacked.

"Damn, that burns!" he exclaimed. "Why the hell did you pour that on me? !"

With my other hand, I cupped his chin like I had earlier. I loved the way his cheeks puffed out when held like that. "You did it again. I don't want to hear your pretty little mouth talk like that." He tried to respond, but I tightened my grip. "You know what I like to hear you say? My name like you used to. Say it for me, would you?"

I released his mouth. He had to catch his breath before saying, "No! Fuck off!"

There it was again. That dirty mouth. As punishment, I poured more of the tea from the kettle onto his chest. It trickled down, sliding over his muscles easily, as they were smooth from being tightly clenched. Steam rose from his body, and I let myself take in that hot water vapour.

I had to appreciate the sight. I had worried that America had let himself go. He'd been such a splendid country so naturally he'd had such a gorgeous body. Though with all those hamburgers he shoves down his gullet I'd grown concerned I'd find him mushy with fat once I had that shirt open. I was planning on shaming him for ruining what I'd known from his pre-Revolutionary days to be a magnificent physique. But to my pleasant surprise, he was well sculpted, with nice sized muscles held stiff and hard as he squirmed from the tea. What a splendid sight.

"Say 'Engwand," I commanded. "Or I'll do that again."

"No! You got that sh - stuff in my cut!"

Another douse of the hot tea was my reply. To be honest, I probably would have poured more even if he had said what I wanted. I just liked the look of that liquid trickling down his pectorals, curving with the grooves of his muscles, over - oh was that a six pack? Lovely …

"Quit doing that!" he griped.

"I find it amusing that you had tea in your house," I said with a smirk. "Years ago you tossed it overboard in protest. But I suppose you like it after all …"

"It-it's not mine! It's Lithuania's! I hate that stuff!"

"You know the Coercive Acts were because of that, right? I had to punish you for your little temper tantrum."

"I did it for the freedom!"

"Shhh … shut up." I gripped his jaw again, but this time I didn't hold it shut. I held it open as I forced the spout of the tea kettle inside his mouth. "Drink it."

"Mmmph!" America exclaimed. I didn't know what the hell he was trying to say, but the look on his face made it clear he wasn't too happy with me.

I inserted the entire spout in his mouth. He tried to pull away, but I held tightly, digging my nails in. I heard him make a gagging noise as he squirmed. I suppose he wasn't used to such length in his mouth, reaching down his throat … heh.

"I said drink it," I commanded again. I tipped the kettle up, forcing the tea down into his mouth. He sputtered as he choked. Again he tightened against the restraints, but stopped when he remembered his precious flag. He gagged harder, wheezing again, as he resisted so much. Most of the tea dribbled out the sides of his mouth. "Swallow it," I demanded, tipping the kettle directly upward. Another harsh choke. I feared he would vomit, but then he relaxed. He didn't have much choice if he wanted to breathe. His throat muscles slacked, allowing him to swallow. He sucked down the tea, letting me hear these delicious little gulping noises that reminded me of … well …

Bollocks. Right then, to my disappointment, we ran out of tea.

I pulled the spout out. He gasped for breath. He was still panting when he shot me a glare and exclaimed, "You're psycho! What is wrong with you? !"

"Heh. I just wanted to get revenge for the Boston Tea Party is all."

"I could have choked to death! Not cool, man!"

"It always hurt my feelings how much you rejected my tea," I told him. "Ever since that day I've fantasised about forcing it down your throat."

There was an awkward pause. " … you're getting off on this, aren't you?"

I shall be honest. I was. Call me a sick fuck if you wish, but seeing America choke on my tea, his throat quivering, liquid trickling out the sides of his mouth, straining out gulping noises, so helpless and vulnerable … how could I, his former coloniser, not be excited by such a smashing sight?

"You flatter yourself, America."

"I see you chubbing up, liar!"

My pants had tightened a wee bit. "Staring at me there, are you? Now who's the pervert?"

"YOU ARE, DUH! You're the one who's half way to a full - what the h-e-double hockey sticks are you doing? !"

I had squatted over him. I hadn't done anything else - yet - but the position was a shock to him. "You didn't swear … maybe you are indulging me after all …"

"Indulging what, you sicko?"

"I told you I liked you so much better innocent …"


"No, no. Not like that … just … innocence."

America could never understand how much I missed him being my colony. I wanted to own him forever. I had invested so much in him, that blank little slate. But he smashed the dream years ago. Though that doesn't mean I so easily forget it all.

I placed my fingers over the button on his trousers. He looked horrified. Absolutely stunned that I was considering this. His mouth simply agape as I unbuttoned, then started on the zipper, sliding it down.

It was when I gripped the top of his trousers and started to pull them down that he finally found his words. "Don't!" he finally said. "Knock it off!" His bum bucked up in protest as he squirmed, but that only made it easier to slide off the trousers. They caught at his ankles and I left them there. As long as they were out of the way, that's all I needed.

"Nice knickers," I said with a chuckle.

"Shut up!"

They were boxers, but awfully short. And tight. It didn't leave much to the imagination as it tightly cupped each curve of its contents. Not that I needed much imagination - I was pulling them down too.

"No, no, no!" America said in a panic. He pulled hard, trying to wrench himself away, but he remembered his flag and stopped. He had to settle for trying to cross his legs to prevent me from seeing.

But of course, I pried them apart. I had to see that delicious sight. I'd never actually had the privilege of seeing America completely naked before, which only made it even more thrilling.

Though I was disappointed to see he was still flaccid. Very flaccid. It's not as glorious of a sight in that limp state. That simply was not acceptable.

"Still soft, eh?" I said, not tearing my eyes away from between his legs.

"Of course I am! Only a pervert would get off to this sick setup!"

Oi. Call me a pervert then. Because just sliding that underwear off was enough to make my own cock twitch in anticipation.

"I can fix this."

He looked confused by what I meant at first, then his eyes became large when it dawned on him. "Don't even think about it!"

How cute. He thought he knew what I was going to do. "Oh?" I started with a patronising smile. "What are you expecting?"

"Uh …" He looked away as he hesitated. "Something perverted, I'm sure …"

I gripped him by the chin, forcing him to face me. Though this time I actually did it gently. Then I let my hand trace up, brushing his cheek. I pushed aside a stray stand of hair that had fallen out of place. "What do you want me to do?"

"Get off!"

"Oh, I'm getting off all right."

"Aw, crap, that's not what I meant …"

I scooted backward, away from his face. I had been hovering over him, squatting directly over but not actually letting any of my weight rest on him. As I pulled back, I let my palms slide down his chest, smearing the tea with them. I sat up a bit, then licked the tea off one of my fingers. "There's so many options …"

"Urggh … you hurt my cut …"

I ignored his complaint. "I could give you a good wanking. That'll get you hard in no time."

"Why do you want to get me hard at all? !"

"Because …" I reached my index finger close to the tip of his member, but still just a centimetre or two short of touching. I wanted to tease him. "I want to see you fully erect. Hard, firm, brimming with anticipation for my touch …"

"UGH!" he groaned. "You really are a pervert!"

"I'll make you one too," I replied with a smirk. "Would you like … me to suck you off?"

"No way in hell!"

"Heh. I'm quite good at it. It wouldn't take long at all. You'd be a minuteman again, if you catch my drift …"

The look on his face let me know he did. The minutemen were the names of the soldiers designated to fight me and my forces back in the Revolutionary War at a minute's notice. He apparently did not like me sullying the word. Oops, was that a wee bit blasphemous to American history? Heh … how cruel of me …

"Hmm, actually," I started, "You're not good enough for that. You don't deserve it."

"I don't deserve anything you're doing to me …" he grumbled.

"Oh, yes you do. In fact … you owe this to me. After all I did for you."

"You're still bringing up all that stuff from when I was a kid? Jeez, that was like a thousand years ago!"

Idiot. Didn't even know his own age.

"Have you forgotten everything I've done for you? I fed you, sheltered you, cared for you! I gave you so much!" Those toy soldiers were still nearby, dusty amongst the rubbish. I leaned over to grab one, then brandished it in his face. "Remember this? ! I nearly broke my arm making these things for you!"

He looked stunned. I suddenly got the feeling I wasn't supposed to see them. He must not have wanted me to know that he kept them.

"Why'd you keep them, hmm?" I asked mockingly. "You could have thrown them out. But you didn't."

"Umm!" was all he managed to get out.

With one quick puff I blew the dust off the soldier. "Do you like to be reminded of the days when you were my colony too?"

"No! Not at all! I meant to throw them out, I just never got around to it!"

I let my weight drop to my knees and hands, spread on each side of him. I was on all fours, straddling over him. He didn't like my new position, and started to squirm. But then he quickly realised that doing so only made his skin brush against me more, so he stopped and settled for just glaring back at me.

"I'm being serious! Get off of me!"

I leaned down and poked my tongue out. I looked up with a wicked look in my eyes before letting it touch his skin, just a little before his navel. I licked upwards, dragging my tongue, leaving a slick trail of saliva travelling up his chest.

Mmm. He tasted like the tea.

He clenched his muscles at my touch. I felt his whole body bristle as it swelled in a sharp inhale. He grunted - a quick "ah!" almost like it pained him.

I'd wanted to do that for so long. To have him lay before me, presented as mine like he used to be, to savour, to relish, to do with as I pleased …

"Uhh!" America grunted, interrupting my thoughts. My tongue had not ceased its movements. I licked, slowly and lustfully, up him. I loved the feel of his muscles quivering beneath my tongue, tightening with each wet lap. I reached one of his nipples and latched on. I sucked, with my mouth covering it completely in a seal of suction. It hardened in my mouth, and let my tongue playfully tickle it before pulling away. That had reminded me …

I looked down. Damn it!

"You're still soft," I mused out loud, disappointed.

"I told you, I'm not a pervert like - hey! What are you doing? !"

I ran my hand down his chest again. But it wasn't like before. This time, I scooped with my fingers and palm, trying to coat as much of the tea as possible. I pulled myself off of him, resuming squatting by his legs. The expression on his face seemed relieved. That is until I started rubbing the tea over the toy soldier.

"I've enjoyed tea for many, many years," I said. "Though I have to admit, I have no idea how well it works as lube. I suppose we're about to find out."

"Oh, hells no!" he exclaimed. Again, he tried to slide his wrists from the knots. But of course he failed.

With one arm, I pushed his thigh to make sure his legs were spread far enough apart. With the other, I gripped the toy soldier, slicked with tea. I brushed it against his entrance, watching it clench in the sensation. Momentarily, I considered preparing him. Fingering him … one, two, then maybe three if I fancied. But then he suddenly broke into a fit of swears. Fuck this, fuck that, fuck me, and all this other rubbish, with filthy American slang thrown in. I hated hearing speak like that. I had told him that before. As punishment, he lost any sympathetic preparation.

I just pushed it in with one quick thrust.

"Ah-AAH!" he cried out. His body jolted backward, trying to pull away from the inserted object. But I held it in. It was almost completely engulfed. Nearly every centimetre of the toy soldier was inside him. He squeezed his eyes shut, scrunching his face in pain. But I couldn't look at that for long. My attention was lower, where I could see only the little base of the toy, and that ring of muscle around it quivering in what I assumed to be pain.

Dear God. I actually was getting aroused by this. I really am a pervert, aren't I?

Of course I was. That's why I took my finger and pushed the toy the rest of the way in. I crammed it fully inside, my finger sliding in with it, still pushing to see how far I could make it go.

America bucked in protest, trying to squeeze his legs together. They were blocked by me, who was directly between them. He groaned painfully, a low noise I didn't even know he could produce. Then he resumed cursing me, flinging as many 'fucks' he could into his broken string of exclamations.

"Shut up," I snapped. I pulled my finger out. The toy was left inside.

It was entirely engulfed. "Get it out!" America cried. "Crap, it's gonna get stuck in there!"

"Oh, don't be an idiot. It won't get stuck." I slid my finger back in, hooking it as I prodded for the base. I felt it, but I couldn't quite grasp it. I wriggled more but it wasn't working like I thought it would. "… oh shit. I think it's stuck."

"I told you, duh!"

"Oh, shut up. I'll get it out." If I wanted to have any fun in there myself, I better …

With my index finger still inserted, I slide my thumb in. He was painfully stretched as I placed it across from my finger so that I could grasp the base of the toy. He moaned again as his entrance was pushed past its limit. With two fingers and the object inside, he was stretched unnaturally far. I pulled the toy out slowly, noticing that there was a little blood on it.

Heh. Virgin.

America heaved a huge sigh of relief when the toy was out of him. His muscles, which had been held steadily stiffened during the whole ordeal, slacked. But they tensed again immediately as I crammed the toy back in.

"Aw, fuck!"

I started pumping the toy in and out. I did it roughly, frenzied again. It made these noises that were probably disgusting, like a squelch squelch, but in the heat of the moment I found them arousing. My pace was fast and only sped up more when I heard him curse. Oh, how I hated that language from him.

As I worked the toy, I searched for his prostate. I watched his face closely and listened to his voice for any signs of pleasure. But his expression was tight and crinkled with pain as he gritted his teeth, and his voice was only pained grunts.

I kept aiming for slightly different spots as I thrust the toy in and out. It had to be somewhere. I wanted to make him hard.

But no matter how hard or where I thrust the toy, he remained flaccid. I just didn't understand it.

His loss though. Because even if he wasn't aroused by this, I certainly was. My pants felt uncomfortably tight with such a painfully hard erection. This sight was just too exciting. America, naked, taking that slightly phallic toy I made myself, his quivering entrance stretched to its max, being penetrated hard and fast by my efforts … shit. I'm one sick fuck.

The fact that it was the toy soldier I personally made with my own hands was especially exciting. It reminded me so much of how he was when he was little. Not that I'm a paedophile, but I loved that innocence. Back when he belonged to me. That feeling of nostalgia … so thrilling.

"Augh …" America groaned. "Please stop, God …"

I was still pumping the toy in and out. "Eh? Stop? But the view down here is so lovely …"

"Urrghh … please. It hurts so friggin' bad."

"Hmmm." I thought hard about this. "I will if you do something for me."


Still thrusting. "Say my say name like you used to."


I shoved especially hard when he said that. "What was that?"

"UHH!" he exclaimed with a grimace. "Okay, fine! Engwand!"

Oooh. Brilliant. I liked that. A lot. I was reminded again how hard I was, scraping myself on my zipper.

"Say more …"

"N-noooo …" he moaned, but was interrupted by another painful insertion. His face was contorted painfully, eyes squeezed tightly shut. "Fine! Engwand, pwease take the toy out! Pwease Engwand!"

I stopped. I pulled the toy completely out and then tossed it aside. But not for him. I had to quit - it wasn't optional. I had almost come in my pants at that moment. It was just too exciting.

After a few seconds I regained my composure. I couldn't believe I'd nearly orgasmed without any actual stimulation. Luckily I was able to stop it, or else I wouldn't have been able to continue with my … well, what was this, really? I suppose it was under the guise of punishment. A reclaiming of the land, the body, that was once mine. Yes, that sounded good. Much better than the fact that I was just insanely aroused by this and wanted release, yes?

It was a bloody close call, certainly too close to ignore. The sight of America being penetrated had made all the blood rush to my erection, which was swollen, firm, and begging to be taken out of my pants. I couldn't resist any longer and finally gave in. There was a rustling of clothes and an unzip, I kicked my boots off, then finally the cold air hit me as I tossed my trousers aside.

My hand instinctively reached for myself and started to stroke. It was so flushed full with blood, so sensitive, I couldn't concentrate on anything else. I'd stood up, but I had to squat and let some of my weight rest on America. My hand pressed against the top of his head as I leaned for leverage.

Oh, the look on his face. It was absolute disgust. He'd never seen me naked before. He stared, mouth agape, with furrowed eyes, unable to look away. For a moment I entertained the thought that he was mesmerised with lust. Then I looked down to see that he was still flaccid. Not even a twitch, not even "chubbing" or whatever American slang he used to describe a partial erection. Nothing.

I shuddered harshly as I felt myself starting to come again. I had to stop, holding my cock tightly enough to be painful, screaming internally no don't no don't as I didn't want to ruin everything because I couldn't control myself. The fact that America's head, meaning his mouth, was so close did not make it easier. I'd been lost in fantasises of both past with the toy soldier penetrating his arsehole, and future, where I planned to do oh so much more.

There were awkward seconds where I waited to calm myself down. They were awkward for me, certainly, but I'm positive they were even more awkward for America, who still wore that stupid bloody look of pure repulsion on his face.

"What's wrong, America?" I panted, curling my fingers into his hair.

It took him a moment to respond. " … I really didn't wanna see your junk. Or you jerking it, like, inches from my face."

"I hate …" My breath was still heavy. "… when you … talk like that."

His lip was curled up in disgust. "Talk like what?"

I'd found my balance. I didn't need to lean on him anymore. I let my hand trace down from his hair to his mouth. Where his lip was upturned in that expression of revulsion. I tried to smooth it down with my finger, trying to make him look less disgusted by my actions.

He pulled his face away to the side. "What are you doing?"

My hand followed. When I couldn't smooth away the lip curl, I slid my finger between his lips instead. His whole body stiffened, especially his arms which once again started to tug his restraints before stopping. I saw a harsh glare from his eyes as he made a quick, angry, "mmmph!" noise.

"Don't fucking bite me or I'll rip your flag into shreds," I threatened.

I had two fingers in soon, letting them roam around his mouth. I felt over his tongue, which was lashing wildly in protest, trying to push my fingers out. Heh. If only he knew how counterproductive that was, as the erotic rippling of a wet muscle like that was actually quite a turn on. I felt over his teeth - so fucking perfect that it was almost annoying. I know how much he and his country like to fun of the British 'bad teeth' stereotype. Bollocks, why did he have to have such beautiful, white, perfectly aligned teeth? Then again, there was a lot about him that was perfect. Well, physically. His mind though needed a lot of work.

His lips were twisted into a grimace around my fingers. Then I remembered it was the same hand I'd just been stroking myself with. I had to chuckle as I realised he was tasting me. There was sweat and precum on there, I was sure of it. No wonder his expression looked so disgusted.

I pulled my fingers out, covered in his saliva. I heard him give a quick suck and then spit to the ground.

"Ugh, that was fuckin' gross!"

"Don't talk like that!" I exclaimed as I roughly grabbed him by the chin again. I pulled him as I did, so that he was sitting up against the chest. He groaned, though it took me a minute to realise it was because his weight had rested on his sore arse. "I don't want to hear you curse!"

"Fuck fuck fuckity fuck!" he said with a sardonic smirk. "How do you like that, you fuckin' fuck … uh … fucky fuckface?"

Still gripping him by the chin, I slammed the back of his head into the chest. There was a loud thump, then he was dazed for a moment. I seized the opportunity to force his mouth back open. I cupped myself, bringing my length to his face.

His eyelids hung lazily halfway, but then sprung open at the sight of my cock in his face. He realised immediately my intent. "Oh, no! No way, England, you are not putting your nasty dick in my mouth!"

"Just lick it."

"No way in hell, man!"

I pulled his chin closer as I pushed my hips forward. The tip of my cock brushed against his lips, but he did not open them. I pushed more, moving it around a little, smearing it against his lips, but he kept them clamped firmly shut.

"All I ask is for you to lick it," I said.

He looked up with confused eyes. I could tell he wanted to ask why, why I didn't want him to suck me off. But he knew that if he opened his mouth to answer, I would push inside.

"1765. The year I passed the Stamp Act. You, in turn, firmly rejected it. Called it intolerable."

His expression looked even more baffled as I spoke. He wanted so badly to say something, I could see it in his eyes, but he dared not part those lips.

"You rejected something so small and trivial as a stamp solely because of me. Can you imagine how I felt? Even my stamps were snubbed, even they were 'tarnished' by me … you hated me that much."

"Nnnmpt!" he said angrily, like he was disagreeing with my interpretation of our history.

"So now that I have you so vulnerable, I would like a little revenge." I smirked down at him. "Pretend that's a stamp. Give it a lick, would you, love?"

"Nnnnnn!" he protested. I think he meant to say 'no' but it was difficult to tell, what with his mouth firmly closed and my cock pressed against it.

"I know stamps taste bitter. But you lick them anyway, because the job must be done. Do the same for me, hmm?"

He glared harshly, sideways at the floor. He wouldn't look at me. Again I pressed into his lips, trying to edge the tip between his lips, but they were tightened firmly.

I meant what I said about the job needing to be done. Because, bollocks, was I hard. One could only be so aroused with so little stimulation for a certain amount of time. I needed movement, action, friction, something. God, my erection was painfully hard at that point. Twice already I'd almost spontaneously come and I'd better be careful or another third scare would be imminent.

So with my other hand, I took my fingers and my thumb, and clamped down on his nose. I held it tight, squeezing it painfully.

I saw his chest move erratically as his lungs spasmed. With his mouth closed and his nose shut off, he couldn't breathe. He tried to wrench away, but I moved with him. Drained of oxygen, I was actually stronger than him. He was getting weak, dizzy, I could see reflected in his face.

Then he finally gave in. His mouth opened in a sudden burst of an inhale. Then he panted heavily, trying to recover the lost air. There was my opportunity.

I pushed the tip of my member in. But that's all. I stopped there, just the very tip. I meant what I said.

"Lick it."

"Or?" he asked, his sounding full.

"I'll cut your flag with the bayonet."

"Fuckin' bas-durd," he said, his words slurred by my cock.

"No … you know what I'll do?" I started as the idea came to mind. Oh, it was brilliant. "No, I changed my mind. I'll come on your flag."

"Whaaaaa!" he shrieked. The tone of his voice cracked, like his voice was hitching.

"That's right. Do what I say or I'll wank myself right over your flag. No, with the flag. I'll rub my dick with it and come all over it. I'll stain the star-spangled banner with my seed. It'll be the red, white, and blue with some extra white when I'll done with it. I'll turn the stars and stripes into my own personal wank rag." I smiled wickedly down at him. "What do you say?"

With each word I could see the fury rising inside him. I was really striking a nerve for the American. His patriotism bruised, he hesitated whilst he wrestled with the rage as the decision hung over his head.

As did my pressing cock.

"Well?" I urged.

He heaved a big sigh. That tosser made a big show of acting like I was monster, like this was the hardest thing he ever had to do. The expression on his face said it all. But then I saw his tongue poke out. He stuck it out, holding it rigidly and awkwardly as he squeezed his eyes shut. Then, daintily and hesitantly, he flicked it over the tip of my cock.

Oh God.

That sensation was so divine I nearly came again. I bit my lip, using the pain to chase away the approaching orgasm. "D-do it again," I said, trembling.

Another lick. It was as unsure as the first, but that didn't matter. It was still a wet, warm sensation over the most sensitive part of me, already engorged with extreme arousal.

He grunted as I saw him roll around saliva in his mouth. Then he spit to the floor again. He'd gotten the precum that had leaked out, which aroused me further.

"That's not enough," I said.

Another heavy sigh. With a resigned look of defeat, he let his mouth hang open, inviting me inside. He anticipated that I wanted a full blowjob.

How daft! I had a plan, you see. It's not to say that I wouldn't have loved to ravish his mouth with my cock. I'm sure it would have felt simply smashing to pump myself in and out of his throat, making him choke on my length, his throat muscles spasming and tightening around me. I'm sure it would because I'd fantasised about it. But I had a more clever idea. One that pertained to our particular situation. Or at least, our situation back in the 1700's.

I had to lean even closer to him to get the angle right. My cock brushed past his nose, eliciting a tiny noise of confusion from him. He didn't know what I was doing. But his mouth still hung open, so I cupped my testicles and pushed them inside.

He choked with shock. I knew he expected to take my dick instead. But I knew what I was doing. I started moving my hips. I dipped my balls in and out of his gaping mouth. He looked up at me, his eyes asking what the hell I was doing. Such pure confusion on his face.

"You've never heard of teabagging, America?"

His confused eyes sharply furrowed. He understood then.

"You tossed my tea, you tosser," I said. "Right in the bloody ocean. Consider this payback for all that lovely tea you wasted throwing a fit."

I had started to feel the sting of blue balls earlier, so the rhythmic movement in and out of his mouth felt soothing. Teabagging was something I'd never done before, so it was oddly appropriate that America should be the first for me to try it on. That git deserved it. I bobbed myself in his mouth, trying to roll over his tongue. But he did not reciprocate in the least. He simply held his mouth open for me to do everything. Lazy arse.

The sensation was unlike any I'd ever felt before. So unique and arousing. I leaned my weight on America as my legs felt wobbly. I shuddered in pleasure. The teabagging was supposed to be a symbolic gesture, punishment for the tea party, but I was lost in the carnal pleasure of it. More precum leaked from my pulsing member, rubbing against America's face. Two tiny squirts of pure ecstasy. One shot in America's eye and he shrieked. I pulled out.

"EEEWWW! God, you got jizz in my eye! It's even on my glasses! Grooooooooosssss!"

That pulled me out of my fantasy and back to reality.

"Oh, shut up."

"Ohhhhhh," he groaned. "That is so sick, dude." He squeezed the one eye shut, a tear gathering at the corner of it.

His childish behaviour was ruining my fantasy. Or was it? I did like him innocent, after all. I couldn't make up my mind …

I looked him over, drinking in the sight. America, still bound and restrained by his arms, chest wet and glistening with tea and sweat, hair dishevelled by my wandering hand, half his glasses splattered white with my spunk, his arsehole exposed and wet with tea and drops of blood, and his dick … damn. Still soft and drooping.

He flinched when my finger brushed against his lips again. I reached in and picked out a pube that had become entangled in his perfect teeth.

"Still not horny, America?" I asked.

"Fuck no!"

"Hmmm." I was smirking again. "I guess I haven't really done anything you've enjoyed. I've been too busy pleasing myself, I suppose."

"Why won't you just come and get it over with!"

"I almost did. Three times. But what would be the fun of cutting this time together short? After all … I haven't even gotten to the best part yet."

"Eh?" He looked confused. "What's that?"

I flashed a devious grin. "I think you know, America."

There was a long hesitation before he replied. It was like he was actually contemplating what I could have meant. Like he couldn't figure it out. But then his face changed as it slowly dawned on him. There it was again, that look of repulsion.

"Are you really gonna do that," he said rather than asked.

"Come now. All this has been leading up to it. You can't tell me you didn't expect it."

"I … I didn't."

Fucking idiot. How naïve can one be?

"I thought you'd draw the line somewhere," he said, refusing to meet my gaze.

Oi. That actually stung. I mean, it's not as if I don't have morals. There was a line. I just couldn't think of one. But it certainly did exist! After all, it wasn't like this was rape. He wanted this, I was sure of it. Because he could refuse if he really wanted to. He could rip that flag. I couldn't be wrong. There's no way. What's that saying? You can't rape the willing?

Then I remembered he was still flaccid as hell.

That couldn't be right. I was so sure he wanted it. Because I had a legitimate reason for doing this. I was reminding him of how he used to be mine. I wanted to reclaim that land and body that used to belong completely to me. It used to be in my hands metaphorically, and now it was in my hands physically. He pushed me away in the past, rejecting that setup we had. But he didn't push me away this time. Even though his choice was between doing so and tarnishing his cherished national symbol.

He didn't want me before, years ago, and I still firmly hold that that was a mistake. That whole bloody war was a mistake. We could have worked things out, talked out our problems. It's called diplomacy! He was just stubbornly wrong. He wanted me then and just didn't know it … and the same was true now.

This is what I believed.

I could show him how wrong he was. I could show him that it's a good thing to be with me. It doesn't matter if it's sharing trade agreements or bodily fluids. Working jointly would have been the best option. I'd prove it to him.

I lowered myself down. I let my hands run over his skin as I settled over his lap. He shuddered, but I don't think it was from pleasure. I inhaled deeply; the tea leaves were still the strongest odour in the room, thank God, as they masked the body odor and spunk smells.

I placed my hands on either side of his hips. There I settled into a straddling position over top of him. His eyes were glued to me, watching my every move intensely. The only sound was both of our breathing: erratic, unmatched rhythms.

My weight shifted to just one arm and I used the other to grip myself. My hand wrapped around the base of my cock as I leaned forward to put it in.

"Wait," said America.

I paused. My eyes flicked upward to his.

"D-don't do this."

Against the intense inclination of my cock, aching for stimulation and release, I remained frozen. "America … do you remember … back during the Revolution …"

"Oh, God, not this again …"

"Shut up, git, you were the one who brought it up earlier. And I ask about the truth, not that bullshit you spouted to Lithuania."

"What about it?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Not all of you wanted to leave me. There was a state that remained loyal." My lips twisted in a sadistic grin. "Do you remember which one I'm talking about?"

I could tell from the way his breathing picked up that he did. He panted, his eyes widening, as his memories flooded back.

"Florida," I answered for him.

"Nooooo," he whined. "Y-y-you are remembering it wrong. It-it was much more complicated than that! There, there were different political parties, and like, some were loyal and some supported s-separation, and it was scattered, like, like -"

"Shhhh," I hushed. "I'm fairly certain Florida was the only one truly loyal to me. But if you doubt, how about we test that theory?"

"Florida wants nothing to do with you!"

I glanced to Florida. Still flaccid. I wondered if he was telling the truth. Then I wiped that wretched thought from my head, because it was loyal back then. It could be loyal again now … right?

America couldn't be right about Florida. I'd heard his rubbish excuse of American history he'd said to Lithuania. If he got all that wrong, he certainly got Florida's loyalty wrong as well.


Well, I was going to find out. With one quick motion, I pushed myself inside. There was no preparation, no slowing to accommodate, nothing. I simply impaled him, with one swift thrust.

"Ah-AAAH!" he cried out. "F-fuck!"

His body responded as clearly as his mouth. Every muscle stiffened beneath me, clenching tightly in a sharp, pained inhale. His hands curled into balls, trying to grip at the floor but sliding instead. The muscles at his entrance tightened instinctively. That sodding idiot. Doing that only made it more painful for him, and more pleasurable for me …

Because damn was it tight. The way he resisted, internal muscles clenching and quivering, put an incredible amount of pressure on my cock. I actually gasped out loud. It was a sharp, embarrassing, almost choke-like sound. It took a moment for me to adjust, for my senses to return, after being sent reeling in pleasure. I didn't expect it to be so tight. I suppose he really was a virgin.

"Ohhhh, fuuuuuck …" America whined.

I pulled back, then slammed into him. "I told you not to talk like that!"

"UH-HHH!" he grunted, gritting his teeth.

He still hadn't relaxed. His arsehole was still tightly puckered, holding tight in pain, clamping down on my member. Dear God, the pressure! It was so tight, so hot that I paused to relish that glorious feeling. I let myself drink it in - the heat enveloping me, the trembling flesh engulfing, the intense pleasure that ran up my cock through my spine. Unnff.

Then I started a rhythm. A rapid, rough one. I pumped myself in and out of him, penetrating him deep.

I think I'd scared America from using actual English words anymore. He settled for noises. Gross, sloppy noises. Grunts and groans that reminded me of an animal. He'd go uh uh uh uh uh! timed with my thrusts, each one sounding pained. His eyes were squeezed shut, refusing to look at me.

I grunted some, too. It was involuntarily, as I was lost in the heat of moment. But mostly the noise that came from me was heavy breathing. I gave short, shallow breaths, also timed with each frenzied pump into him. It drowned out the nasty squelching sounds we made from penetration.

Then I heard America whimper. He squirmed underneath me, and I wondered exactly what he was feeling. Pain, pleasure, a mix of the two? I couldn't fathom the sensation. Faces often look similar for both possibilities. Part of me wanted to ask, but I couldn't articulate words at the time. I was too lost in pleasure, my mind far away.

As I thrust, his limp cock rocked back and forth with the motion. Fucking bollocks! Why wasn't he hard yet? It wasn't fair! I was doing everything right! What the bloody hell else was there? !

"Wh-where …" I panted, not slowing my rapid, forceful pace. "… i-is your …" More heavy breaths. "…pr-prostate?"

"Nnnnggghhh …" America moaned in response.

"Answer me! … Sh-show me!"

I think America was trying to imagine he was somewhere else. His expression looked lost, like he was mentally far away.

"Look at me!" I barked as I gave an especially hard thrust, trying to force his attention back to me. He winced and gasped loudly. "Tell me where!"

I wanted to get him hard so badly. I wanted to see his body respond to me. I wanted to see him aching for my touch. I wanted to see physical, tangible proof that he wanted me. I wanted to see Florida to be loyal to me again. I wanted to see any of him be loyal to me again. I wanted all this.

Not to mention I was just sure his erection would be a simply smashing sight.

I tried desperately to find his prostate. I probed around, hitting his inner walls from all sorts of angles. I listened to his voice for any giving gasps or cries of pleasure, watching his face for a contortion of bliss, tuned into his body for any reciprocation … but no. There was no change. He just continued to bear my efforts, gritting his teeth and holding his muscles tight, just waiting for me to finish.

Oh, fuck it all.

I grew tired of searching for his sweet spot. Wherever it was, he wasn't allowing himself to enjoy it, because I certainly hit it at some point. So I took a more direct approach. I sat up some for balance, then used a free hand to grasp his flaccid cock.

"Should've … done this from … the beginning," I said, still breathing erratically.

His own breathing quickened too. I heard it, loud and uneven. His eyes had finally opened when I grabbed him like that. He watched me intently as I started touching him there. I began stroking him, my hand slicked with sweat.

I saw him chew on his bottom lip. I think he was fighting back making more strange sounds, but I heard a muffled whimper from him anyway. No, it was more like a mewl. Desperate and raw.

Ah, there it was. I could see it. He was hardening in my hand.

I delighted in this. I didn't care if this was an involuntary reaction to stimulation, I'd accomplished my goal. My hand wanked harder in response. I grinned wickedly at the sight. America was getting hard in my hand. And after a few moments, it was very hard. He was as erect as me - his organ flushed and swollen, brimming for more stimulation in between my fingers. What a positively delicious sight.

I'd pulled out so that I could better concentrate on working him. My full attention was on his erect cock. I stroked furiously, gripping tight to increase the pressure. He was squirming again and making all kinds of noises. Frantic whimpers and groans.

"Florida's not loyal, eh?" I taunted.

His response was not what I expected. Because he suddenly came. I felt the hot liquid hit my hand as he cried out in a moan, "Nnn, AAHH!" he yelped. His muscles rolled as the wave crashed through his body. I watched the ripple effect in that tightly toned figure of his. My hand continued pumping, making sure to get out every splurt of come. It came out so strong and suddenly at first, then ebbed after a few seconds, squirting only a little bit sporadically. Then it was over, as I could feel all his muscles slack as he drooped. There was another low moan.

What a show. I couldn't have imagined a more delicious sight. I'd fantasised what it might be like to witness America orgasm, and finally I'd seen it. It did not fall short of my expectations.

He rested, still panting, with his eyelids hung shut. Oh, no. That wouldn't do. He needed to wake up.

"You got your loyalty all over my hand," I said to him. He watched as I held up my hand. His hot white spunk dripped down it.

He stared intently at it. "That's not loyalty. That's just jizz."


I'd like to think it was a physical manifestation of loyalty. And if it wasn't that, then it least it made a decent lube, as I started to stroke myself again. Goddamn he'd come a lot. It was plenty to make myself slick, easily allowing myself to slide my hand up and down my length. I couldn't help myself. My cock had been desperately neglected after I'd pulled out and given my full attention to America.

He watched me wank myself far more intently than I imagined he would. At first I delighted in this. I wondered if I'd unleashed something inside him, something just as horny and carnal as me. Then the corners of my twisted grin started to fall as I became more confused. He looked absolutely sickened as he stared. Stared right at my cock.

"What … what is it?" I panted as I stroked.

"Did you even look …" he murmured, finally looking away.

"Look … at … what …"

I glanced down to see my cock slicked with blood. I was surprised - though not surprised enough to stop stroking.

I looked down at America. A trickle of blood dribbled down from his entrance.

My eyes darted away, but then quickly back. I was drunk with lust at the time and even something like that wasn't going to throw me. I leaned in closer to him. With my free hand, I slowly traced up the line of blood with one finger. I wiped it, smearing it away, as I felt America tremble at the skin to skin sensation. Despite how slowly I did this, the furious pumping of my member with my other hand did not slow.

"Were you …" I started, breathing erratically, "… a virgin, America?"

He sunk into the wooden chest, pressing himself hard against it like he was trying to get away from me. "Um. That part of me is - was."

I heaved a breathy sigh. I tried to play it off as part of my strained breathing, but it came off sounding more dreamy than I meant. I let myself lean even closer, to the point that I was on top of him again. So close that I buried my face in his chest. Ah, the crisp scent of the tea. It was still there.

The tip of my dick pressed into his abdomen as I continued to stroke. My eyes closed and I was lost in fantasy again.

Something about being the first one to penetrate America was positively thrilling. It turned me on even more, as if I needed it. The land that was once mine was mine once more. I'd claimed it like I had a couple centuries ago. Though instead of putting my flag in it, I put my in cock.

I could feel America's chest going up and down as I let my head rest against it. Precum dribbled onto his stomach as I continued to move my hand.

Suddenly his voice interrupted my frenzied gasps. "England …" he started, sounding sombre for once.

"Ehh?" was all I could manage to get out.

"Did … did you do all this just because I lied …" His voice was shaky, clearly distorted by my weight and movements on top of him. "… to Lithuania? About my history?"

I wanted to tell him to shut up. I didn't want to get into such a deep conversation. Not whilst feverishly stroking my erect cock, poking his warm skin, so close to orgasm.

"Fffff …." I tried to start speaking, but I couldn't get any more out. My voice choked.

"Because if so …"

Oh, his talking was so distracting.

"… I just want …"

Pant pant pant pant pant. God, I was so close to coming.

"… you to know …"

His voice almost drowned out that rapid little slap slap slap noise of skin I made as I furiously wanked.

"… that I sure as fuck don't take it back."

My hand broke its rhythm, like a train derailing. "Wh - whaaa? !" I choked.

"You heard me!"

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you? !"

Could you believe I actually thought something profound would come out of his mouth! He'd been so serious, so subdued, like he meant something actually meaningful … then … bollocks, what an insufferable brat!

"I'm proud of my history!" he beamed. "Fuck yeah, America!"

"You … you're using that profanity just to …" I couldn't finish my sentence. It was too hard to breathe.

"Piss you off? Hells yeah I am." For the first time in quite a while, I saw a wicked grin on his face. "It doesn't matter what you do to me, England. No matter what intolerable things - acts - you force on me, I'll still stand for my freedom. I'll still believe in the American ways and justice and liberty and all that jazz for all."

I nipped his chest. I sunk my teeth in, trying to punish him for his words. "Shut the fuck up. I don't want to hear this whilst … whilst …"

"While you're about to come on my chest? Well, I don't care. You got to talk a lot during this, well now it's my turn."

"Sh … shut up … I-I'm too close … for this …"

"No! I want you to know this stuff!" he barked.

"You're gonna ruin it …" My arm trembled, getting sore from stroking for so long. "… w-with your stupid mouth …"

"I could have ripped this flag and pushed you off of me and kicked your limey ass like I did back in 1886!"

"S … seventeen eight-"

"But I didn't!" he interrupted. "You know why? ! Because I believe in this flag and everything it stands for!"

If I was an American I would have been offended by how much I was still getting off during all this. Here he was, proudly ranting and raving about national pride, and I was busy pleasuring myself, dribbling precum as his words just kept coming.

"Unnnffff …" was all I could muster as a reply.

"I didn't give in to you back in the Revolution and I didn't give into you now!" he said proudly.

"But … but you came …" I managed to retort.

The look of confidence was wiped from his face as he suddenly flustered. "W-well … maybe that's a little accurate too … because of Florida … back then … maybe … SHUT UP!"

I hadn't said anything. Not English words, anyway. Only desperate pants and gasps.

"Maybe I belonged to you for a while but you could never keep me," said America.

"Maybe you belonged to me for a while -" I paused to grunt, because God did this feel good,"- today."

America inhaled sharply, like he was going to say something, but then he couldn't find the words. Heh. Even in the throes of such heated thrust, I could outwit him.

I enjoyed the momentarily silence. I slid my tongue along the long cut I had inflicted earlier when I cut off his shirt with the bayonet.

He grimaced and squirmed under me. "Ah- ahh!" he cried out. "That stings!" I gave another long, wet lick along the line. His face changed again. This time, he looked angry. "D-don't forget that I'm the one who WON!"

I smirked as I licked. "Don't forget everything else."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

I couldn't form words anymore. Because at that moment, I could feel myself starting to reach orgasm. My hand worked over myself so fast, so frenzied, that it looked like it was just spasming over my cock. I arched myself, pressing my body closer into his. My muscles locked as I groaned out loud an ungodly, desperate sound.

As if clueless, America yelled at me, "Answer me, England!" That sodding idiot.

So I suddenly stood up. I grabbed that face of his again, right by the chin. Ah, that puffy cheek look. I never grew tired of it.

His eyes bugged out as he realised what I was doing. I saw his brow that had been knitted in frustration turn upward in disgust. With my hand that had never slowed, I brought my cock to his face.

It was perfect timing. I started to come on his face. My hand stroked furiously as I came the hardest I had in a good long while. It came out in ribbons, splurt after splurt, it was such a heavy orgasm. Pure ecstasy flushing through my desperate, heated erection. I cried out, strangling his name, but it just came out as a frantic moan, "Am-ah-AHHHhhhhhhh ….!" His face contorted into a cringe, repulsed by my actions. But I didn't care. I just kept coming. I kept stroking, milking myself of every trickle. I wanted every drop I had in me on his face. I rode it out as long as I could, my nerves raw and screaming with intense pleasure, gushing ecstasy all over that dumb expression on his face.

Finally my orgasm slowed. The last dribble dripped down from the tip of my dick. I panted heavily, having to lean against him for balance. My knees felt weak. I suddenly wanted to lie down. Because emptying myself onto him was absolutely draining.

And though my eyelids hung halfway closed, still reeling in pleasure, I had to look down to drink that sight in. White cum splattered America's face, dripping down his cheeks, painted his glasses. My breath heaved as I watched it trickle down, the smell of myself wafting to my nose, my essences still trailing in a thin thread from his cheek to the tip of my cock.

God. What a brilliant sight.

I pulled back, snapping the thread, and collapsed against the heavy wooden chest. I panted, trying to catch my breath, my face flushed pink, trembling in the lingering pleasure of such an intense orgasm. My eyes were glazed and unfocused. I let them hang lazily halfway as I came off the high.


It was cut short.

His squeal of disgust snapped me back to reality.


I cringed. He was still swearing. Had I not taught him anything?

"You just busted a nut on my face! Ugh, SICK!"

Oh shit.

"I can hardly see! You got jizz all over my glasses!"

Oh bollocks.

"Why are you just laying there? Get this crap off of me!"

Bloody fucking hell.

"Are you listening to me? ! Duh, England! You don't just give someone a facial and ignore them, damn it!"

What the fuck did I just do?

Suddenly the lust was gone. All the frantic, perverse urges that had driven me to do all this had been emptied onto to his face. The pressure was relieved. I had been blinded by heated lust, thinking with my dick instead of my head. Now that I'd had release, it no longer clouded my mind. I could think clearly again. The moment of clarity made reality come crashing down on me. And shit, I'd fucked up big time.

Because what now? America had to be untied. At least at some point. He couldn't stay like that forever. He certainly was going to have some kind of revenge. And, I hate to say it, but he's stronger than me. He very well may kick my arse. I'd certainly hear it verbally - it'd be a never ending angry tirade. He'd keep bringing it up. I'd never hear the end of it.

So what was I supposed to do?

I didn't know. But I figured it'd be better to put off the confrontation until after he calmed down some. You know, after his bum stopped being sore. At least until the cum on his face was dried and peeled off.

I put on my trousers. My hands were trembling as I fumbled with the zipper and button.

"What are you doing?" I heard him ask. "Don't you leave me here like this!"

I slid my boots on, then pulled the laces tight. I didn't know how to respond to him. I needed time. I'd think of something … I'm a smart chap … I could do it …

I hurried out the door and down the hall. I suppose America heard my footsteps because he called out to me, "England, please! Come back, dude! Seriously! COME BACK!"

But there was no way in hell that was going to happen. I needed to clear my mind, take a long, cold shower, and shake this off. Try to reconcile and rationalise what I just did. Even just process it. It was too much at once; I couldn't handle facing him then. Not with my seed still dripping off his, anyway.

I raced down the hallway, nearly taking out some rubbish poster he had hanging in it as I hurriedly brushed past it. I rounded the corner and found myself in the room from earlier. I kept going, knowing I wasn't too far from the front door.

Then I skidded to a stop. Lithuania was there, sitting in a chair, drinking from a teacup.

I knew I couldn't get past him without him seeing me. It was best, I figured, to just try my best to act casual and bid goodbye.

"Oh, L-Lithuania," I started. "Almost didn't see you there, sorry."

"O-oh! M-M-Mr. England," he stammered. I noticed his teacup nervously clinking repeatedly against the saucer. "Y-you're in h-here now."

"Yeah …" I didn't like the way he looked. Something about him was off. Bollocks, he was even trembling for God's sake. "Er, are you all right? You look pale."

"I-I'm fine."

"Ah, okay. It's just that you look …" I trailed off. "Well, never mind. Listen, uh … you might find an interesting sight in the storage room …"

Lithuania wouldn't look at me. He slurped his tea loudly, awkwardly.

"I-I can't explain it," I continued. "But you're America's housekeeper and he may need a little … umm … assistance and cleaning up."

He was still shaking, hunching awkwardly and rigidly over his tea. "U-uh huh."

"I'll be taking my leave now, but I'd appreciate some …" I searched for the right word. "… discreteness."

"Heh heh, yeah," he replied nervously. "B-being discrete is really important. S-speaking of which, w-would you mind closing the door next time you have … p-private business with America? Sound carries quite well in this big house."

Oh shit.

I think I traumatised the bloke.

"Oh, God …" I began. "I … I … I …"

"It's okay," Lithuania interrupted. "I'll admit I'm a little shaken by what I heard. Repulsed, to be honest. I'm physically nauseated. But …"

"… but what?"

"It still beats living with Russia."