…And somehow... his brilliant plans were foiled again!
England sat grumpily with his arms crossed, in the center of an iron-bar holding cell many feet beneath Germany's home.
He was so CLOSE this time to getting the strategy of the Axis Powers. Well, if anything about this predicament... they fed him nicely enough when imprisoning him on the occasion... before he would manage to dig his way out with his trusty silver spoon. The Italians loved to cook for guests — even if the guests were really prisoners of war.
And speaking of, said Italian nation pranced merrily down the cellar steps with a tray full of steaming food and a jug of cheap beer, followed soon after by the big lug Germany who glared a little at England's disinterested expression, as if to say— "You had better appreciate what he is doing for you, asshole."
With what he thought was a gentlemen-like nod, England received the items through the bars from Italy. The shorter nation started babbling on and on about how it was a lovely day outside and all he wanted to do was take a nice, long siesta underneath the fruit tree out back and how Germany should most definitely join him... which brought on a curious bit of blushing high in the other's cheeks. England wasn't completely taken back — after the talk he had with Italy a while ago about the "relationship" he was in with Germany — many of the other nations had too caught on. Whether or not it was a physical relationship seemed less likely. The two of them didn't seem like the... perverted sort, thankfully...
...as they disappeared up the stairs, England's stomach lurched after a few deep drinks from the jug. His head spun violently. Something... something..
When England came back to his senses (extremely woozy senses but they were senses all the same) he discovered that he was feeling… really, really good. The remaining headache from passing out was a little icky and the spinning was annoying but it had gone down and overall this was— ...what on THE QUEEN'S GOOD EARTH were they wearing?.!.?
Coming down the same cellar steps from an hour ago, his captors reappeared, dressed in open, white-collared shirts and skin-tight black leather pants. Around Germany's neck, a spiked dog collar attached to a thick leash. Encasing Italy's lean legs were thigh-high, laced high-heel boots that clicked sharply with each stride forward. They both wore low military hats on their heads and carried with them what looked like riding crops for stallions.
Even more outrageous than the outfits themselves was how they walked in these clothes.. as if these were everyday attire for them.
Hanging over Germany's shoulder — much like a sack of potatoes — was an equally woozy and handcuffed Prussia, shivering a little without his uniform coat or even an undershirt.
Germany unlocked the cell and set Prussia down near England who started to speak up drowsily, a broken record asking what the bloody hell was going on, and scooting away from everyone while doing this. Too slow to get away, England found himself gagged by the blue-eyed nation with a tan handkerchief from his own pocket, and with his wrists now neatly tied behind him with rope.
"I hope I didn't put too much aphrodisiac in your drink." Italy said, casting a sympathetic and oddly wary look on him. "It only needed to be a tiny bit to work." When he turned from him to approach Prussia, now fully conscious and pissed off on top of it, the white-blond nation began swearing loudly in garbled German. Rolling his bright blue eyes, Germany snatched Prussia up by the handcuffs, forcefully gagging and shackling him to the nearest wall until garnet red eyes settled for narrowing contemptuously at everything around him.
Italy touched Germany's bicep gently, asking with eager brown eyes, "Doitsu, will you let me have this one?"
When Germany glanced down at him, a genuine smile peeked his normally ill-humored visage. He gave a one-arm shrug that prompted Italy's face to brighten up. Prussia winced at the brief pain in his raised arms when the brown-haired nation twisted him and the shackles attached around, facing Prussia's chest to the cell wall, a pale cheek flush to the cool rock.
"You have been naughty," Italy scolded aloud, with a kind tone as he began undoing the belt buckle of Prussia's indigo trousers. He shoved them down to his knees to exposed his naked bottom, running his butter-smooth, gloved hands over unmarked flesh. "Now you have to be punished." With a small flick of his riding crop in his right hand, Italy spanked the left buttock in front of him, watching gleefully as it swelled beautifully.
He continued, spanking harder, seeming to relish how the blood rushed to the skin to form heart-shaped bruises from the impression on his riding crop.
"Are you going to behave now?" Taking the pointed silence as a yes, Italy returned Prussia to his original position facing him. Garnet red eyes were slightly moistened and sullen and plainly befuddled by the current circumstances. Ungagging him, Italy clutched the scarlet cloth in his own hands, and for a moment, glanced at Prussia's engorged cock.
"...You liked it?" Italy giggled. "I'm glad."
He slipped the black suspenders from his thin shoulders and unbuttoned his leather fly, exposing his own throbbing, reddening cock as he crouched, sitting heavily in Prussia's lap.
"Remember when you called me 'cute' and asked me out on a date, Gilbert...?" At the sudden, warm contact of aroused flesh, the white-blond nation breathed out a quiet gasp. "...I'm going to make you feel good. Just like we were on a date," Italy told him matter-of-factly, smiling — as if this was a normal conversation and a normal situation to be in.
From the opposite end of the cell, they heard the crack of slapping from the other crop and muffled, high-pitched whimpers. Taking this encouragement, Italy began rubbing himself and rolling his hips sensually against the shackled Prussia. As the tightandTOOTOOclose friction increased unbearably, he felt Prussia's hips gain rhythm by thrusting back beneath him with wild frenzy. Italy threw his head back, touched his neck absently, and let out a shaky, satisfied laugh by their ministrations. Before his victim could release himself to pleasure, or himself for that matter, he took the scarlet cloth he had coiled up in his hands absently to wrap around the very tip of Prussia's trembling cock until it stilled somewhat.
"No... it's not time for that yet." Italy glanced at the other two nations, getting a glimpse of Germany's semi-flaccid penis being tucked back into his pants, England's angry welts on his bottom, and the spots of semen clinging to his neck. A little disappointed to see that his lover did not use the same heart-shaped impression on his riding crop, Italy sighed knowingly, zipping himself carefully with a hand not on Prussia. "Did you let him come, Doitsu?"
"Bring him here and hold him up."
Obeying with a mild questioning look, Germany gruffly dragged England to his quivering feet and held his sagging form, but waiting patiently as Italy carefully positioned them to stand right in front of Prussia on the cell wall. As if reading his lover's mind, Germany then smirked and addressed the white-blond nation, "Now take him in your mouth."
With the flat of his crop, he dangled England's penis towards his lips.
"And try not to bite."
Without further budging, Prussia opened his mouth to suck on the pre-cum shine from it, earning a moan from above him.
Kneeling behind a withering England, Italy spread his buttocks with his gloved hands, moving in and searching along with his tongue for an almost-invisible hole. When he discovered it, delighted, he pushed inside with a low hum, sweeping the tip of his tongue in and out with each clench. England's overloaded body twitched for each agonizing movement of Italy's tongue, forcing himself deeper into Prussia's receiving and fuckinghot throat.
Rocking forward one last time, England rasped his full-blown orgasm through his gag, nearly crying out his relief, emptying his fluids.
He felt hands undo his gag and withdraw, no longer holding his exhausted body up, and allowing him to slump to the concrete and for his hands to find purchase in the very same ground. For Prussia, his shackles removed but handcuffs left, the skin exposed on his wrists once hung above him now drooping in his lap and turning a nasty hue of purple.
"Now you two kiss…" The order softly spoken, barely a murmur. But the firm slap from Italy's riding crop on England's bare, reddened buttocks was unmistakable. "Dai… it will be fun…"
England met Prussia's lewd and steady gaze with a humiliated blush, and he crawled over slowly.
Italy stood aside, making a pleased noise with his closed, upturned lips as both blond nations leaned into each other; their mouths roamed clumsily, sloppily; Prussia got a gripful of hair more golden than his own between his black, satin-feel gloves, and with his other, toyed with England's nipples. Italy kept his eyes trained on the succulent scene in front of him, his erection growing unbearably tighter in his trousers, and uttered a surprised noise when a calloused hand snuck around his waist to shoot down and squeeze his slick erection.
When Germany's broad chest settled against his back, Italy's smile widened and he whispered something lovingly into the taller's ear, feeling those familiar fingers that worshipped every bit of him stroke him purposely. When England gurgled audibly and lustfully into Prussia's open mouth, wrapping his arms around him, Germany's fingers jerked attentively.
"Ve…Ludwig…" Italy asked with an airy laugh, running the very tip of his leather riding crop along Germany's jawline, "Should we let them finish?"
To respond, the blue-eyed nation silently slipped away from him and separated the kissing nations, thrusting a now wide-eyed England painfully onto his back.
Germany scooted him closer and draped his pantless legs over his shoulders, feeling along carelessly for that puckered hole half dried with Italy's saliva. Emerald eyes squeezed shut with effort as a finger forced its way in, stretching the warm space, and then as it disappeared… the slim, hard handle of Germany's own crop returning to penetrate him. As it thrust itself deeper into him, England abandoned himself to the screams threatening to bubble over from his chest out his throat.
The sensation of being vigorously anal penetrated with a foreign object didn't hurt as much as it was... strangely wonderful. England's back arched in and then flat to the concrete of the prison cell, the screams fading into ragged, dry sobbing as he came again.
He heard a low growl of "Schlampe…" from above him.
From their left, Italy had undone the handcuffs of an unmoved Prussia with a cheerful expression — as the white-blond nation bowed his head forward — Italy went around him to plant a stiletto on the middle of his back as he examined the colorful, distorted shapes of hearts on his back end with pride.
"Enough for one night, si?"
At the statement from his lover, Germany grunted agreeably, going to the other end of the cell and tossing the heavily panting and ravished prisoners their uniforms back. Italy caught a glimpse of England's infamous silver prison spoon in his back pocket and revealed nothing as he returned, fingers fiddling with Germany's dog collar leash.
When England discovered his spoon where he had left it all along an hour later, a half maniacal and half ecstatic laugh escaped him.
Prussia just stared across the way at him, disturbed.
"Ve…" Italy crooned into Germany's kissable ear, snuggling up beside him on the sheets as the other calmly rolled his black, leather gloves from his lover's hands, planting little kisses along his smaller palm as they laid together that evening in the cottage, blissfully sore and lasciviously satiated. "Did you have fun tonight?"
Germany pressed his lips to Italy's wrinkled fingertips, and then to his smiling lips, whispering between exchanged and longed-for kisses, "…I could get use to it, I guess. If I am with you."
"Call me by my name, Ludwig…"
"Feliciano…" The blond nation murmured against him, like a holy mantra, "Feli…Feli…"
"Ich liebe dich…"
ALL THE HOMEWORK I HAVEN'T DONE WHEN I HAVE BEEN WRITING SMUT. o.O I AM IN SO MUCH TROUBLE. HETALIA KINK MEME... YOU BETTER LOVE ME FOR THIS. AND REVIEWERS... I'LL LOVE YOU FOREVER IF YOU TELL ME I DIDN'T PHAIL. THERE WAS A LITTLE OOC BUT THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING A FOURSOME, ALRIGHT? WITH DOMINATRIX CHARACTERS. BTW... HETALIA ISN'T MINE. YEE~AH.
PICTURE OF OUTFITS WANTED FOR REQUEST REFERENCE IS AVAILABLE IN THE BOTTOM OF MY BIO!
Si: Italian for "Yes."
Dai: Italian for "Come on."
Schlampe: German for "Slut."
Ti amo: Italian for "I love you."
Ich liebe dich: German for "I love you."