You stumble into the washroom, urgent because you've been holding it in for the past few minutes listening to some insufferable salesgirl talk about a product you're not even remotely interested in buying. Strangely, there's no one else in there, except for an occupied cubicle, but its not as if the presence of anyone really matters. You unzip your fly and feel relief wash over you as you finish taking a piss. As you button your jeans, you hear a soft moan, followed by a muffled stream of liquid hitting the floor. You frown, wondering if your imagination is playing tricks on you as you look around the washroom. There's no one here, except... You stare intently at the cubicle as you hear yet another moan. You mentally weigh the pros and cons of trying to find out who exactly is in the cubicle and decide that there shouldn't be any harm done if you wait for the person to come out and reveal himself. But wait - a more awesome idea strikes you - wouldn't getting into the cubicle beside the occupied one, climbing onto the toilet bowl and looking in be a quicker way to get to the bottom of what's happening? You silently congratulate your awesome self as you creep into the adjacent cubicle, shutting the door and toilet bowl cover gingerly, hoisting yourself onto the toilet bowl. Taking a deep breath, you lean over and look down, heartbeat quickening in anticipation of the sight that will greet you...

And your jaw literally hits the ground when you look into the occupied cubicle. Its Poland, fucking Poland, dressed in some white and pink frock that looks like - what's it called? - loretta, lonina no, lolita fashion that's so popular amongst Japan's youths. He's standing in a puddle which looks suspiciously like piss against the white tiled floor of the washroom, his skirt has a wet patch on it and he's moaning softly, trembling ever so slightly... You gulp, wondering if he's doing what you think he's doing and you feel your jeans get a little tighter because much as you hate him, you think that with his cheeks flushed and his parted lips that look so damn kissable, he's actually quite hot. Your knees shake a little as you climb off the toilet bowl, exiting the cubicle to wash your hands, pulling down your hoodie so it hides your crotch perfectly and you wait for Poland to come out, holding your breath without knowing it.

When Poland finally exits the cubicle, there's a small, satisfied smile on his face and something about his expression tells you that he's done this before. He doesn't notice your presence initially, slender hips jerking forward a little against the wet patch on his skirt and you feel your jeans getting tighter once again. He looks up slowly and his expression changes immediately from pleasure to shock, horror and finally, mortification.

"I-I can, like, explain!" Poland stammers, looking so embarrassed that if he could, he would dig a hole to hide in it just to hide away from you.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. Usually, when he meets you, he typically ignores you if he's in a bad mood or the two of you will engage in verbal jousting, exchanging insults. The sudden change of behaviour piques your curiosity and you look at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate.

"You see, like, it was an accident, I spilled some water, like, cola! By accident! So like, I needed to clean up!" he gesticulates wildly but you don't buy the excuse, because cola is brown-black-ish and the stain on his skirt is anything but.

You continue giving him the 'well, aren't you going to explain' look and he starts getting more flustered, cheeks reddening rapidly.

"Okay like, it wasn't cola, I broke a bottle of um, like, perfume!" he finishes lamely and you feel like laughing because its so painfully obvious that its a lie, given how the washroom doesn't remotely smell like any perfume.

Poland looks desperate now, his green eyes are flashing with something that looks like panic and fear and a strange feeling of triumph washes over you because you know that what you guessed he was doing is probably spot on. "I, um, I..." he begins, eyes fixed on the ground, avoiding your gaze.

You lick your lips and smirk. "Let me guess," you tip his chin up so that your crimson eyes look straight into his emerald ones. "You like wetting yourself in public, don't you?" you ask and his eyes widen in horror.

Poland shakes his head in denial but it is futile. You nod slowly, knowing you're on the right track. "Now can you explain why you're dressed as a female and you're using the male toilet?"

His eyes dart to his right, then to his left, trying to avoid your scrutiny so you decide to press him about it. "Since you're too embarrassed to say it, the awesome me shall answer for you. It's because you like cross-dressing and wetting yourself when you wear dresses, right?"

Poland looks as if he has just cracked into a billion pieces. You feel satisfied with yourself because of your self-proclaimed awesome deduction and find yourself faced with the contradictory feeling of 'what a kinky bastard' and 'oh fuck, man, that is so totally hot'. You cringe at the thought - after all, aren't you supposed to hate the... Quivering mess in front of you?

Poland is shaking, looking as if he's about to cry and the only thing you can do is to stare and him and gape like a goldfish. "Yes, I like it!" he glares at you, emerald eyes narrowed. "So what? Its not like I meant for you to discover it!" he mutters something vaguely incoherent about it usually being private play and lunges forward to hit you but you catch his arm before his fist connects with any part of your body.

"Woah, hold it right there," you look at him, genuinely interested in the little kink of his you've discovered. "So you're saying that it actually feels good?"

Poland hesitates for a moment. "Well, like, yeah. I mean, there's this amazing tingly feeling you get there when you need to go to the toilet? Then when you hold it in and like, it gets better and better and, like, it feels really good..." there's a dreamy, almost faraway look in his eyes and an awesome idea pops into your head.

"Hey Poland, do you have any fantasies which you need help in acting out?" you ask. After years of vanilla sex with the same few people, you're getting pretty bored and since the opportunity has presented itself... Even the thought of doing it with someone you're supposed to hate becomes a turn on. "I could help," you offer.

Poland looks at the ground in contemplation and after a while, a devilishly wicked grin spreads across his face. "Why not?"

You don't remember ever having a proper conversation - if verbal jousting even counts for conversation - with Poland and the thought of how the first one you've had with him played out makes you grin like an idiot. If he didn't tell you, you would've never thought that his fantasies were that wild. Not that it actually surprises you. Well, to begin with, hardly anything surprises you nowadays. He could've said he was into necrophilia and you wouldn't bat an eyelid. Okay maybe you would have, but you suppose it doesn't really matter as you wait for Poland in your car, tapping your fingers impatiently against the steering wheel.

The door opens and a blushing Poland, clad in a white and light blue lolita dress, climbs into the passenger seat. "Sorry I'm, like, late," he apologises as he fumbles with the seat belt. "Like, there was this-"

"I believe that your lateness should be punished," you cut him off.

His emerald eyes widen considerably and you catch his gaze, holding it for much longer than necessary and he looks down, acknowledging that the fantasy has begun. He chews on his lower lip as he shakes his head and you frown.

"Answer when you're spoken to," you say sharply as you start the engine.

"Y-yes," he stammers as you drive, turning into a deserted street.

You raise an eyebrow and with a smirk, you flip his skirt and reach for him, glad to find that indeed, he isn't wearing anything underneath. He's semi-erect already and he squeaks as you finger his tip, teasing the slit until your fingertips are coated with a familiar sort of sticky wetness. Doing your best to keep your eyes on the road, you bring your fingers up to Poland's lips. "Lick," you command and for a moment, he hesitates before touching his tongue to your fingers, lapping at them, cleaning your fingers of his essence. The feeling is so damn good, especially when he sucks at your middle finger that you feel yourself getting hard in your jeans.

Poland reaches for the clasp of your jeans and your eyes widen as he undoes the clasp, unzipping your jeans. He strokes you through your boxers, touch feathery light and you moan in pleasure.

"Poland," you hiss as he speeds up, stroking faster. "Stop it," you manage through gritted teeth as you try to concentrate on driving. His fingers are rubbing your leaking tip through the flimsy material of your boxers and he stops just as you're certain you're about to go over the edge.

You slam on the brakes, avoiding an accident in the nick of time and turn to look at him, eyes narrowed. "You will be punished for this," you growl through gritted teeth and for a moment, he smirks and you wonder if its some fucked up sort of personal triumph for him when it disappears as soon as you thought you saw it. Poland nods briefly and you start driving again, trying to ignore your erection as you reach the house you share with your brother, Germany and Austria. A tiny smile plays across your lips as Poland gets off the car and you hand him a paper bag.

He raises an eyebrow, confused but you don't bother explaining what's it for. When the both of you enter the house, you find Austria sitting at the dining table, eating cake and sipping tea, listening to Chopin.

Poland stiffens immediately. "Austria," he says tersely and the brunette blinks, confused by your unexpected appearance with an equally unexpected visitor.

"He's my guest," you explain and Austria nods as he heads into the kitchen. He brings out two cups and plates for the both of you and Poland stares at him, shocked.

"Please, sit," Austria gestures to the empty seats at the dining table. You take a seat and Poland doesn't follow until you nod. "Chopin's music is lovely, isn't it?" he addresses Poland and you suppress the urge to strangle the freeloading aristocrat for ignoring the awesome you, although you suppose he's being nice by inviting you to the tea party of sorts that he's having with himself.

Poland looks at you desperately, he needs to answer because somehow, ignoring Austria in this situation would seem awkward... And its precisely what you wanted. He crosses his legs underneath the table and you smile inwardly, knowing that indeed, he had come prepared to wet himself in the presence of an unsuspecting party. You shrug as you take a bite of the cake - it tastes good, as usual but you won't tell Austria that you think it does - and Poland heaves a sigh of relief.

"Yes, his music is, like, heavenly," he replies, trying to act as normal as you shift his teacup closer to him. He takes the hint and downs the entire cup and you refill it as he drinks again.

Austria watches this in alarm. He looks at Poland, look of genuine concern crossing his face. "Poland, ate you very thirsty?" he asks and Poland shakes his head. His cheeks are red though and you frown. Is it a product of embarrassment or is it a reaction to Austria's concern? The weird, agitated feeling inside you doesn't subside so you push it away as you watch Poland squeeze his legs tighter. He's doing his best not to grab at his crotch so he tries to take a bite of cake to distract himself, but it doesn't work. His hand reaches for himself and you grab his wrist, preventing it from going anywhere.

"Please, Prussia, I can't, like, hold out any more," Poland's green eyes are flashing with panic and you take a sip of tea. He wants to get away from the table, away from Austria, who's cutting himself a slice of cake, but you won't allow it, gripping his wrist tight underneath the table so that he can't escape. "Please," he repeats urgently.

You give a curt nod and he looks at you in horror. You reach for his hand and squeeze it in what you hope is a reassuring manner, mouthing isn't this what you wanted? He doesn't look like he's convinced but he's been holding it in for so long that he's now at his breaking point. When he relaxes his tense muscles, a look of pleasure crosses his face as he lets go, opening the floodgates and immediately, you upset both your cups of tea over his skirt in a painfully artificial looking accidental manner.

Austria's attention is diverted as he glares at you with a look that says he thinks you're beyond reproach. He leaves the table for the kitchen, probably in search of a tablecloth and you heave a sigh of relief as you turn to Poland, whose hips are jerking forward uncontrollably as he empties his bladder. The soft moans escaping him draws your attention to his lips and you feel an inexplicable urge to kiss them, but you restrain yourself as you hear the sound of footsteps approaching.

The look on Poland's face is clearly one of post orgasmic bliss as he leans against his chair, panting heavily. Austria returns and you try to distract him again, by snatching the tablecloth from him. "Aristocrats don't know how to clean up properly," you mutter and he's about to snap at you when Poland lets out a soft sigh, causing him to turn to look at the blonde.

"Poland," Austria asks gently. "Is something wrong?"

Poland looks up at him, cheeks turning pink. "N-no!" he replies and immediately cups his hands in front of his mouth, turning to you in fear because you haven't given him permission to speak.

"He's feeling a little... Wet," you answer on his behalf, thinly suppressing your laughter.

Austria glares at you again and rolls his violet eyes, not amused by your 'humour'. "Do you have anything to change into?" he asks and you nod, allowing Poland to speak.

"Yeah, like, I have stuff to change into," he mumbles as he grabs the paper bag and dashes for the bathroom even though he has no idea where it is.

"Bathroom's the third door on the left!" Austria calls out as he comes over to your side of the table. He's puzzled by the sheer amount of water on the carpet and is about to ask questions when you push him to the kitchen, asking him to get a mop to clean up while you change. He sighs in exasperation and agrees and you head to your room, grinning to yourself.

Who knew watching Poland lose control could feel so good? In the privacy of your room, you unzip your jeans, pulling down your underwear, freeing your erection. You stroke yourself, slowly, teasing the tip, spreading the wetness from your tip all over, rubbing your thumb against the underside and as you think of how Poland's hips jerked forward your hand movements get faster. You recall how his fingers felt on you and with a low grunt, you spill white over your fingers but you don't feel satisfied, you need to bury yourself into someone's tight heat... You clean yourself up, changing your clothes rapidly and when you leave your room, you're greeted by a very embarrassed looking Poland, dressed in a female sailor outfit, the kind worn by Japanese students. From the telltale blush on his cheeks, you know he has worn every single piece of clothing you put into the paper bag. You grin, brain telling your twitching cock that satisfaction would come very soon.

You leave the house, arm around Poland leaving a very annoyed Austria to clean up after you. You tell him you won't be home for dinner, so he can have Germany all to himself and he flushes so red that it puts the ripest tomatoes to shame. You usher Poland into your car and after you get in, you look at him properly and indeed, his hands are covering the tent underneath his short skirt.

"Put your hands aside," you say and with a pout, Poland does so.

His skirt barely manages to cover his crotch and you smirk as you start the car, driving. The colour of his cheeks tell you that indeed, he has put on every single piece of clothing you put into the paper bag and you can't help but grin to yourself as you think of it. Throughout the ride, Poland doesn't speak so you break the silence. "You enjoyed it just now, didn't you?"

The blonde doesn't answer and you smirk, knowing he did. You turn into the car park of a school he doesn't recognise and he follows as you go up the stairs and enter a classroom. You produce a tiny, bullet vibrator from your pocket and press it to his lips, which he takes into his mouth, licking and sucking at it. When it is fully lubricated, you lift his skirt, smirking as you stroke his panty covered ass. He's wearing white panties with a slit at the back, which you make use of by slipping the vibrator into him through it. At the front, two pink ribbons hold the fabric together as his semi erect cock strains against it. You slip your hand into his panties and smirk, finding the cock ring around his cock. "What an obedient little boy you are," you purr, smacking his ass lightly and he yelps.

You take your place at the teachers' table and crossing your legs, you motion for him to sit at one of the desks. He blushes and squirms in his seat, feeling his cock get harder as the vibrator hits his prostate before you even start operating it.

"Don't you dare come before I give you the permission to," you turn the vibrator on and his eyes widen. You wonder if his need to come or his need to piss will be stronger and fiddle with the controls, turning it off periodically and increasing the setting to the maximum one at random. After a while, he lets out a low moan and you raise an eyebrow.

"Please sir, I need to go to the bathroom..." he says in an almost whisper and you shake your head, turning the vibrator off completely.

A few minutes later, he repeats his request again, legs pressed tight together and you shake your head, denying him, turning the vibrator on again until this time, instead of begging to go to the restroom, he's begging to come instead. You walk over to him and tap on his shoulder.

"Stand up," you say and meekly, he obeys. "Lift your skirt," you order and he does so and you tug at the cord attached to the vibrator, pulling it out.

"S-sir!" he squeaks in protest and you slick up your fingers with lubricant, entering him and he cries out, arching up in pleasure as your fingers hit his sweet spot. You stretch him, scissoring rapidly, guiding him towards the open window. There are two boys playing ball at the basketball court downstairs and you smirk. You place your hands on his hips and you lift him effortlessly, placing him on the windowsill, thighs resting there, legs hanging out. He squeaks, clearly uncomfortable and is silenced when you nibble at his earlobe, letting a third finger enter him.

"Just hold on to the sides of the window and you'll be fine," you whisper in his ear and he moans, complying. You unzip your trousers, glad that you went commando and pour the rest of the lubricant on your cock, slicking it up completely as he whimpers from the loss of contact from your fingers. "I've got you, it'll be fine," you reassure him and he nods, knuckles turning white from gripping the sides of the window.

You sheath yourself fully in his tight, lubricated entrance and it feels so damn good that you're amazed that you haven't come straight away. Poland is squirming in your arms, begging you to move and you oblige, withdrawing fully only to enter him again, slowly, bit by bit, stopping just before you hit his prostate.

"Sir, please, please," Poland's voice is getting shriller as his hips buck forward uncontrollably, seeking more friction. He needs to climax, his bladder is begging him to come faster but he can't because of the sweet little cock ring around his erection and because you're taking forever to send him over the edge.

You lean forward to nip at his earlobe and you undo the two pink ribbons on his panties, freeing his cock. He moans as you stroke him, finger slowly entering his leaking slit, pressing against it as his back arches against you. Your fingers wrap themselves around his cock, ghosting over the underside to tease his balls through his panties and he screams your name in sheer ecstasy as your squeeze one gently, then return to rubbing your fingers against his tip again while thrusting hard and fast into him.

"You like the feeling of being watched, don't you?" you ask, panting heavily as your hand leaves his cock, pulling his top up to reveal his erect nipples that are begging to be touched. You press one down, teasing it while Poland writhes helplessly, clinging on to the side of the windows for dear life. "Oh yes, if you scream a little louder, they'll look up and see you," you smirk, referring to the two boys playing at the basketball court.

Poland bites his lip as your fingers return to his cock again, stroking his tip, thrusting faster, not really caring if you hit his prostate or not. When you squeeze his tip gently, he screams your name, climaxing over your fingers and you slam into him once more, spilling your seed within him. Your grip on his thigh slackens slightly and he squirms against you in sheer terror.

"Prussia, I can't, I need to..." he begins desperately, forgetting all about the fantasy.

"Go on," you nod, doing your best not to laugh.

"No, I can't, no, oh no, ahh..." he moans as you press against his stomach, exerting pressure against his bladder. A few droplets of piss have started leaking out of his cock, much to his horror. "No, Prussia, no, please, no," he begs and when you apply more pressure, he lets loose another spurt, moaning as he fights hard to control it, but it is useless. Within seconds, a steady stream of liquid is flowing from his cock, sound of piss hitting the ground ringing loud and clear as he empties bladder, breath hitching as your fingers ghost over his nipples.

When he's done, you vaguely hear the two boys asking one another if it was raining and you fight hard against the urge to answer that it was raining golden showers. Poland is whimpering in pleasure in your arms as you carry him and lay him on the teacher's desk. You've pulled out some time ago and you sit on a desk, admiring how his body looks spread out on the desk, legs spread so wantonly. "So," you smirk. "You up for another round?"

Poland sighs and shudders, hips still jerking forwards ever so slightly. "Not now," he says and your heart sinks. "Maybe tomorrow."

You nod and smile. You can definitely get used to this.

a/n: for the hetalia kink meme here - http : / / hetalia - kink . livejournal . com / 17942 . html ? thread = 60385046 # t60385046 review please?