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Post by Germany on Oct 13, 2010 0:45:33 GMT -5
“IVAN...! I WON'T DO IT! YOU CAN GO TO HELL!” Lithuania’s indignant, angry shouts echoed throughout the house. Damn, that Baltic has a set of lungs on him! A comical shock overcame Germany’s face; Lithuania was actually telling Russia off? Russia?! He really had lost his mind, completely, utterly, and irreversibly. What, it’s not bad enough you pissed me off, now you’re going for your ex master? The very one who used to play Beat the Baltic on an almost daily basis? The one who used to play all those headgames with you? That proved it: Lithuania was a suicidal masochist who wanted to die a horrible, gruesome death. Period. It was the only explanation for why someone as weak, pathetic, and intelligent as him would deliberately defy and provoke two of the world’s strongest countries, neither of which were known for their patience and mercy. His nerves settled now that he knew the two were still close by and definitely not running off together, he wondered what his Russian love had commanded Toris to do. Something humiliating and painful, he hoped. Heavy footsteps drew his attention to the door to the far right of the fireplace. That was definitely not some scrawny, womanly little Baltic. A happy little smile blossomed on his face as he walked over to the back of the couch, and, crossing his arms, threw them lazily over the top of it before sinking almost to his knees and relying on the furniture to support all of his weight. His chin dropped down to rest solidly on his wrist. Eyes that were still watery and irritated watched the door eagerly for the handsome stallion that was about to emerge. Sure enough, Russia burst out a few moments later. “Да, товарищ? I just had to show Toris part of his punishment.” Ludwig’s smile broadened, his heart giving an excited little flutter. “I love it when you speak Russian,” he purred, licking his upper lip seductively and fixing his lover with a hungry look. “Tell me, what does tuhvareesh* mean?” It was so weird. Out of the mouth of any else, Russian was annoying and profane: the undecipherable language of the enemy that was only useful in those instances on the battlefield where it quickly differentiated friend from foe. But when Ivan spoke it, well, then it was the language of sex itself. He saw equal attraction and desire burning madly in those gorgeous violet eyes, and it was too much. At that moment Hitler, Stalin, the war, and especially Toris didn’t exist. It was just him and Ivan. Alone. Unrestrained. Unwatched. Unable to hold back any longer, he leapt to his feet with a speed any mortal man would envy, swerved around the couch, and charged the enemy general. He all but launched himself over the last few feet and struck Ivan with the force of a small rocket, wrapping his arms around his back and pulling him forward into a tight embrace. “Speak more!” he said, then proceeded to make that impossible by engulfing the other man’s mouth in a rough kiss. The kiss turned bloody. Ludwig’s heart pumped faster, his rapidly-warming body beginning to rage with anticipation and pleasure. This was so fitting, so perfect: two powerful enemies sharing a forbidden moment of passion — it didn’t get any sexier than that. And he knew the effect the flavor, feel, sight, and smell of blood would have upon his lover, how it would make his violent heart sing with delight, rev his libido up past the point where it could be contained. Hell, it had the same effect on him: while gushing torrents of scarlet were a terrible thing to see on anyone who wasn’t a true enemy, minor bleeding was just incredibly kinky on a well-toned, hot male body. It heightened the sensual pleasure and enjoyment of any romantic act. He brought a hand up to stroke the side of the other country’s head, right above his ear. The sandy-gray-blonde hair felt smooth and wet beneath his skin; he took locks of it up gently in his fingers and played with them. He couldn’t wait to get started in on some naughty fun. Hot, steamy fantasies involving blood, vodka, handcuffs, knives, one violet-eyed Russian prisoner, and way, way too much bare skin played out through his mind, each image kinkier and more carnal than the last. He was going to make Ivan squeal in sinful pleasure, show him how fun roleplay could be. His free hand slithered down Ivan’s back and around to his front… A nearby door creaked open. Ludwig was instantly annoyed. He stopped what he was doing at once and jerked his head in the appropriate direction, fully prepared to beat the living daylights out of Toris for crashing in like the boorish country he was and ruining a private, intimate moment. His annoyance turned swiftly to amusement: it was Toris alright, but he was clad head-to-toe in a traditional black-and-white maid’s outfit — skirt, apron, tights and all. With his messy brown hair down and the contour of the dress giving the appearance of an hourglass waist, he looked more like a woman than he ever had before. A very unhappy woman by the looks of his trembling shoulders and clenched fists. “I'm sorry…” the lesser nation apologized with an utter lack of sincerity, his voice on the verge of a growl, not even bothering to look up from the floor, “that I threw your drink at you. Please forgive me...Sir.” Normally such disrespect would have spurred Ludwig to violent action. But the sight of what he knew to be a male standing there indignantly in a maid’s dress, totally humiliated and emasculated, stripped of whatever faint traces of masculinity he might once have had ( if he had ever had any apart from his flat-chestedness ), was a wonderful rage suppressant. Instead of attacking the Baltic he broke into a roaring laughter. For several seconds, that was all he was able to do. It was a good, hearty laugh: the best he had had in ages, if not ever. It rumbled deep within his chest and caused him to stoop over slightly, his balance affected. “Oh, it’s perfect, Ivan!” he finally managed once he was able to catch his breath, tears welling in his eyes as he continued to stare at Toris. It took him another few seconds to fight off the straggling chuckles and recompose himself. Then, shooting the new maid a wicked little smile, he reached back into the inner folds of his trenchcoat and pulled out a pair of sturdy handcuffs. They were military-grade — the best available. He made a show of playing with them, holding them out for Lithuania to see. “Come on now, Vanya,” he said with a hint of a purr, his blue eyes flashing with sadism as they stared straight at Toris, “What do you say we make our bitch, our bitch?” ______________________________________________ *tuhvareesh = The way Ludwig pronounces товарищ ( comrade ).
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Post by Russia on Oct 14, 2010 4:36:21 GMT -5
Upon being back in Russia’s presence, Ludwig’s mood seemed to brighten right up. It was cute how much the other nation had missed him, even though he had not been gone for very long at all. He returned his former enemy’s joyful smile with one of his own, eyes still excitedly fixed on the blood that was decorating Ludwig’s upper lip.
“I love it when you speak Russian,”
Back before they had been on such intimate terms, Russia somehow doubted that Germany would have found his language appealing at all. Before they had realized how almost supernaturally right they were for each other, the rival general had always been offended by the angry shouts and curses of Russia and his people. And before what he liked to call “the enlightenment” hearing the sound of German spoken had been enough to awaken his own most violent and bloodthirsty urges. Concerning Ludwig’s people, it still had that effect on him to a degree. With his lover though, he was all too intrigued by the strange sounding enemy language. He laughed at Germany’s awkward accent while trying to pronounce the word товарищ.
“It means comrade. We use the phrase a lot in recent years. It gives a sort of equality I think to the people.”
Quicker than Ivan would have thought possible, Ludwig was charging him head on and throwing himself into the surprised Russian. The impact nearly knocked him down and he grabbed onto Ludwig automatically for support. His Nazi lover requested that he speak more of his native tongue, and then pulled him into a kiss so that Russia had no way of following through with the request. The metallic taste of blood found its way into the passionate kiss, only serving to add to the ecstasy of the moment. This was what love was all about, raw passion and blood. The romance between two former enemies had to be the most exciting of all.
Lost in the moment, his mind swimming with images of violence, Russia almost didn’t notice the German start to play with his hair. He squeezed the other man into a just about bone crushing embrace, starting to not pay attention to how much strength he was using on his new lover. Not that Germany would mind, being the powerful nation that he was. He was more than capable of holding his own in a strength match with Russia. It was one of things that the domineering Russian loved most about him. He was gorgeous and powerful, what more could he ask for? And the sexy Nazi uniforms he wore just made him all the more appealing. The German’s hand started to wander, and before Ivan knew it, he was being grabbed in a way that-had Ludwig not been a lover- would have resulted in Russia breaking every bone in the man’s face, in addition to his wrist and grabby hand. But luckily for “Ludya,” he had won the affections of the tall Russian, who was not at all upset by his partners sudden urge to grab. We would have returned the favor, if the door hadn’t swung open right then, announcing Toris’ arrival.
Russia had to admit, Toris looked amazing in the maid’s outfit. Looking at the upset little Baltic, he had a hard time believing that the other could possibly be male. He made such a good woman! And a pretty one at that; had he not had the sudden burning desire for Ludwig, he might have been even more interested in the fragile looking little nation. Toris appeared far from happy wearing Ivan’s little present however, and he looked even more displeased with the apology he gave Ludwig. It was all perfectly amusing to Ivan, who gave the Baltic nation a pleased look before turning his sights back on Ludwig, who was having at laugh at Lithuania’s expense.
“Oh, it’s perfect, Ivan!”
“He offended you and broke my nice glass, so he has to pay the price.” The Russian’s purple eyes widened with glee at the sight of the handcuffs Ludwig withdrew. How thoughtful of the German to bring handcuffs along for Russia to use on him. He had some down in his cellar of course, but now he wouldn’t need to run out in the rain and get them.
“Come on now, Vanya, what do you say we make our bitch, our bitch?”
Giving the German a nod of agreement, he focused on what would be their new target for sadism. “Come on Toryshka. Since you found your way back to my house, you can keep us entertained tonight.” Leaving Ludwig’s side temporarily, Ivan grabbed onto the naughty maid’s arm and pulled him back towards the waiting German. Forcing the ashamed Baltic up in front of Ludwig, he reached his arm around Lithuania’s waist and grabbed onto the smaller man’s wrists, holding them together with one hand for Ludwig to snap the cuffs on. He ran his other hand absently through Toris’ hair while he eagerly awaited the sadistic fun that would come next.
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Post by Lithuania on Oct 15, 2010 9:32:47 GMT -5
Toris all but jumped in fright as Germany erupted into fits of laughter. The fierce scarlet which coloured his cheeks deepened a shade as he mentally tried to block out the sound of the other nation's derisive mirth. He shot a pained glance at Ivan, before fixing his gaze to the floor again, unwilling to look at the two men in each other's arms.
He didn't look up again until he heard the unmistakable clink of metal, and his head snapped up apprehensively. His eyes went wide as saucers as he stared at the handcuffs which dangled from Ludwig's fingers, and he wrapped his arms about himself tighter, shaking his head vehemently.
“What do you say we make our bitch, our bitch?”
“No!” Toris tried to exclaim, but the sound died in his throat, hoarse and strangled. His face was a perfect mixture of fear and horrified anger. If there was one thing in the world that the Lithuanian hated, it was being cuffed or restrained. It made him panic wildly, made him feel like a trapped animal and the thought caused a wave of nausea to come crashing over him. He might have stood absolutely no chance against either nation anyway, but somehow the prospect of being handcuffed made the situation so much more hideously hopeless. His large green eyes darted wildly between Ivan, who seemed quietly, maliciously gleeful and Ludwig, who was openly, sadistically delighted and he tried to back away as the Russian approached him, but he found that his feet were rooted to the spot.
“Come on Toryshka...” The brunette physically winced at Ivan's use of his old pet name. The fond familiarity of it made his chest tighten. “Since you found your way back to my house, you can keep us entertained tonight.”
Seized by the arm, he tried to dig his heels into the floor, but his stockinged feet slipped on the wooden surface and it took no effort at all on the Russian's part to haul him across the room. He turned his flushed face up towards Ludwig as he was dragged, his expression managing to convey both desperate pleading and hot indignation all at once. He struggled weakly against Ivan's grip, his skirts crumpling against the taller man's immoveable bulk as he tried and failed to prevent him from getting a hold of his wrists.
“No...” he mumbled, tugging on the grip around his wrists. “Please don't d...” His voice died in his throat as a tiny helpless whine, as Ivan ran one hand through his hair. The unexpected gesture sent unwelcome shivers down the back of his neck and Toris visibly squirmed, automatically and involuntarily leaning into the touch. He had long ago stopping being able to fully emotionally distinguish between love and fear; with Ivan, the boundaries had blurred so much and his body reacted obediently with a confused little moan even as his mind froze in complete horror. He closed his eyes for a moment in quiet despair and, in that same instant, felt the damning sensation of cold steel encircling his thin wrists.
Trapped between the two men, he looked up at Ludwig wildly, panic rising in this throat. “I'm sorry..!” he tried again, and this time there was no defiance in his tone, nothing but a desperate sincerity. He clutched his bound wrists to his chest, his bottom lip quivering and silent tear splotting the fabric of his dress. The brunette was mercifully unaware of just how impossibly fragile and shamefully feminine he looked. “Deutschland...sir...” he began breathlessly, a swimming, cold panic rising in his chest at the sensation of the steel restraints about his wrists and the dread of what might be coming next. He struggled like a caught animal, looking up at the German with green, tear soaked eyes, his cheeks still flushed with acute humiliation. He closed his eyes again and wished with all his heart that he was anywhere but here; all he wanted was to run and run until he couldn't go any further and curl up somewhere and try come to terms with the fact that Ivan no longer wanted him. A short hour ago, his main worry had been the simple matter of Ivan's safety, and now he found himself in a dress, forced between the two illicit and sadistic lovers, with his face bruising and his heart breaking. And not for the first time in his life, but certainly with the most vehemence, he found himself wondering how the Hell things had taken such a spectacular turn for the bizarre and sickening.
“You've already taken everything I have...” he told the German, his voice hitching with the force of repressed sobs. “Land, resources, my government, everything...and now Ivan...now you have him too...” He tried to bury his face in his cuffed hands, clumsily, and if there was a point he was trying to make, then it was lost in a fresh flood of tears.
And God help him, he just wanted Ivan to keep petting his hair, to wrap his huge arms around him and tell him that the whole thing was just some huge mistake, and to carry him upstairs, dress and handcuffs and all if that's what he wanted; it wouldn't matter as long as he was his again. But when he peered through his fingers, it was Ludwig's sharp blue eyes that met tearful green and he shook his head in quiet despair.
“Actually, you know what?” he whispered sadly, his voice barely audible as he sniffled. The weak, trembling tone in his voice was completely at odds with the next words which he blurted out. “You're both completely insane and you can both go to Hell.”
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Post by Germany on Nov 15, 2010 7:04:01 GMT -5
The cruel smile on Ludwig’s face broadened at Ivan’s remark about Lithuania keeping them entertained. So true. If the troublesome little country was going to be here, why shouldn’t they take advantage of the situation? He’d been fantasizing doing things to Toris for a while now, and at last everything had fallen together in such the perfect way for him to live out those fantasies guilt-free. If Toris didn’t like it, that was too bad. It served him right for sneaking out like that; for following him, disobeying direct orders, and developing one hell of an attitude.
Russia left his side to retrieve the naughty male maid.
Wisely, Toris made no effort to move: he just stood there, the embodiment of dumbfounded horror. He made a comical little noise as he was grabbed: it reminded Ludwig somewhat of the mewl of a kitten, only hoarser…perhaps the mewl of a kitten choking on a frog? Hilariously, he tried to plant his feet firmly on the floor and keep Russia from budging him, but of course that went nowhere. His stockings slid freely over the smooth wood, and even when they reached the carpeted area the slight friction was not even close to what would be needed to stop a powerhouse country like Russia from pulling him forward as though he weighed no more than a paper cutout.
When they were within arm’s reach of Ludwig the fiesty brunette began flailing around wildly like a songbird freshly caught in a net — or perhaps a little girl throwing a tissy fit — trying to stop Ivan from grabbing his hands and holding them still.
He failed.
Miserably.
“No...Please don't d... ” All he could do was whimper and plead as larger hand closed around both of his wrists. It looked like he might be struggling, but the shaky movements of his arms and hands were so weak and utterly restrained by Ivan that it was hard to be sure.
Ludwig laughed in his face and clicked the cuffs open with the turn of a small key. This was going to be fun!
Then he saw something which killed the laughter in his throat and made him do a double-take. What the hell? Toris was actually leaning into Ivan, his Ivan, as though they were lovers: as though, even now, he found the other nation’s touch comforting.
And that soft moan!
Are you enjoying that?!
Ludwig snorted, his lip curling up dangerously. “You really are one messed-up little country.” This was followed up by the satisfying click of handcuffs snapping firmly into place around pale flesh.
The Baltic looked up at him with desperate, pleading eyes. His entire face was flush with panic and hurt, his soft skin moist with tears. He looked so delicate standing there in that maid dress, trembling against strong hands and merciless metal, as though he were a card-house and the slightest touch would bring him crashing down on every level. Still struggling vainly, he began apologizing to Ludwig, his meek little voice devoid of all defiance.
The rush of agitation Germany had felt mere moments earlier upon seeing Toris snuggle his Vanya began to fade. The scowl disappeared from his mouth and was replaced with a subtle, playfully wicked smirk.
He’s crying. How cute. Under most circumstances Ludwig thought crying was anything but cute, but in this particular situation it sent another one of those sinful shivers of pleasure down his spine. It made him want to hurt Toris more; to lash out and draw blood just to elicit feminine cries of pain, to increase the intensity and sincerity of those pathetic little apologies and pleas.
Vanya would love it as much as him, would become just as excited. Yes, he decided, tonight they would bond in blood and the humility of their slave. It was probably for the best that it had worked out this way, actually: as much as Ludwig loved a good bondage and roleplay session to work up the heat, he had been wondering a little at how he was going to get his overly dominant lover to wear the handcuffs and play the role of Russian POW. Being extremely dominant himself, no way in hell he wanted to be a German POW. He’d been loathing the idea of possibly having to compromise by taking turns or something of that nature, but mentally bracing himself for it.
But now that Toris was here, that wasn’t as much of an issue. Just envisioning timid, meek, mother-hen Lithuania even trying to dominate anything or anyone — let alone succeeding — could send Germany to the floor with laughter. The Baltic couldn’t even dominate other Baltics, which, in Ludwig’s book, was as pathetic as a nation could possibly get. It was even more hilarious than the Polish idea of an army.
His heart swelled with pride and pumped faster with anticipation as, amidst sobs, Toris pointed out all that he had already taken from him. “...and now Ivan...now you have him too...” The Lithuanian put his face in his hands like a schoolgirl who’d just had her boyfriend stolen away and began to cry uncontrollably.
Ludwig licked his upper lip and drew him closer, and even though his actions were outwardly sadistic, a cool spark of sympathy nonetheless shone from those intense blue eyes. “The world belongs to the strong.” he said slowly, deliberately, “I would think…” His hand joined Ivan’s in stroking brunette locks. “that you would be used to losing things by now.”
Part of him was tempted to tell him that he’d never had Ivan in the first place; that he’d just been deceiving himself all along. To rub it into his wounds like stinging salt.
But no.
That would be far too cruel.
He’d already broken Toris’s heart; he had no desire to break his soul as well. They had been friends once. Or almost friends. Or something approaching that. Didn’t mean he owed the weaker nation any favors, but that counted for something.
His petting got rougher as he tried to decide just how he and his one-and-only should play this out now that their Lithuanian prisoner had been cuffed and was awaiting ‘punishment’. Frosty blue irises connected with green. Hmn…
The possibilities!
As he was running them over in his mind, each scenario kinkier, more sadistic, more pleasure-enhancing, and less Toris-friendly than the last, a weak, trembling voice that was almost lost in sniffling told him and dear Vanya that they were both insane and could both go to Hell.
Ludwig laughed again. “She’s — I mean, he’s — so cute when he’s angry!” He shoved himself into the frail body dressed in skirts and stockings and pressed it firmly against Ivan as he grabbed the Russian around the shoulders. Forcefully, he drew his lover into a passionate embrace that locked Toris tightly between them in a three-body sandwich. Maneuvering around the brunette head which otherwise blocked his path, he found Ivan’s lips and staked German claim on them.
Mhm.
He shut his eyes contentedly and allowed himself to sink deeper into the kiss, to enjoy the love and beauty of the moment. One hand flew up to stroke soft, still-damp tumbleweed-blonde hair. With luck he had run it over the blood of one of Ivan’s foes. That would be all shades of sexy.
The moment was short-lived; his body began to lust uncontrollably for Ivan’s and he was forced to pull out of the kiss and address this issue. “Now, what should we do with our naughty little Lithuanian prisoner?” A thin smile that foreshadowed impending Toris humility crossed his face as he stared straight into Russia’s gorgeous violet eyes, momentarily ignoring the small Baltic nation he was pinning against his lover’s body, “He needs to pay for his insolence and disobedience. And whatever the hell he just did to Regensburg a few minutes ago with the vodka.”
Hopefully that little stint with the vodka hadn’t translated. But if it had…he shoved the thought from his mind. What was in store for Toris would likely be punishment enough from the Baltic’s point-of-view, whether or not he had done lasting harm to one of his cities.
Ludwig’s right hand fell away from gently caressing Ivan’s face and settled on Toris’s thigh. His fingers clawed at the skirt until he had crumpled one edge up enough to get his hand under and run it smoothly over warm flesh.
“Do you have the proper equipment, Vanya?” he said in a low, thoroughly pleased voice, “Any whips? Chains? Knives? Rope?”
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Post by Russia on Nov 18, 2010 22:58:12 GMT -5
The metallic click of the handcuffs sent a shiver of excitement through the tall, violet-eyed nation. He stopped stroking their Lithuanian prisoner and instead focused on his German comrade’s amused expression as he listened to Toris’ pathetic pleas. The naughty little Baltic was surely realizing the error of his ways, now that he knew punishment was in store for him.
“You've already taken everything I have...”
Russia couldn’t help but feel that Lithuania deserved to have Germany take so much from him. He had been so passive about the German occupation of his lands at first, what could he possibly have been expecting? The fact that he had been so quick to not take action or even attempt to stop the Germans from seizing his land was just as good as an act of treachery as far as Ivan was concerned. And of course Toris was right, Germany did have the somewhat blood-thirsty Russian’s affections. Toris himself really was just the ex now. Nonetheless, he twined his hand into the dismayed little Baltic’s hair again and resumed petting him as though he were some fond pet.
“The world belongs to the strong.”
He couldn’t agree more with Ludwig at those words. The world really did belong to the strong, namely himself. Or at least, it would soon enough. After the war maybe he could go on to force the rest of the world to realize Soviet supremacy. He would perhaps show the world that his government was the government to follow; the only one that made sense in the long run. After the other nations saw how great communism was, and how strong it had made Russia himself, surely capitalism would fall out of fashion. Then he could unite the world in a red embrace. And of course, after the war Ludwig was sure to agree with his ideals. He would convince him somehow. They were lovers now after all, why wouldn’t Germany listen to Ivan’s sound logic?
“Actually, you know what? You're both completely insane and you can both go to Hell.”
Again he stopped petting his former servant, hand resting on the other nation’s brown hair. Toris just didn’t know when to go silent it seemed. How many times had Ivan been told to go to hell now? It was starting to become so common that it almost had ceased to be upsetting in any way. The same could be said for the attack against his sanity. He wasn’t in the least bit crazy, why did everybody insist otherwise? Russia grabbed onto the disobedient nation’s hair again, this time tightening his fingers around a handful of the soft locks and pulling on them instead of stroking.
“She’s — I mean, he’s — so cute when he’s angry!”
Ivan gave a nod of agreement. He found the Baltic’s pathetic attempts at defiance more amusing than anything. As Germany made to trap Toris between them with his hug, Ivan slid his arms around the brunette’s chest, reaching around to Germany’s back and pulling Ludwig even closer. He was all too willing to accept the German’s affectionate kiss and passionately returned it with one of his own, one of his arms falling away from Ludwig’s back and wrapping around the much closer and easier to hold onto Lithuanian.
Ludwig was so much more affectionate than he would have ever guessed. It was enough to make Russia almost ashamed that he had been only wanting to violently maim and conquer the German nation before their faithful meeting in Stalingrad. At a time like this, he was glad that the Germans had proven to be such powerful foes. He would have never had the chance to properly bond with his new-found lover if he had defeated him and annexed his land already; which is what Ivan had been hoping to do quickly at the start of the war.
All too soon the kiss was broken and Ivan was left staring contentedly at his lover. Being the tallest of the threesome, he had no trouble at all looking at Ludwig from over Lithuania’s smaller shoulder.
“Now, what should we do with our naughty little Lithuanian prisoner? He needs to pay for his insolence and disobedience. And whatever the hell he just did to Regensburg a few minutes ago with the vodka.”
A serene smile played across the crazed Russian’s soft features as he wrapped his other arm around Toris as well, no longer holding onto Ludwig as he considered the question. What should be done with the disobedient glass-breaking servant? On a normal day, Ivan would have been quick to jump straight to the “whip Toris within an inch of his life” option, but he was in such a good mood that it took him a moment to remember that he even had a leather bull whip in the cellar. Ludwig was the main thing on his mind right now, and he was a bit sad that the German suddenly stopped caressing his face.
“Do you have the proper equipment, Vanya? Any whips? Chains? Knives? Rope?”
Being the sadist that he was, Russia had all of those things and then more. He was an expert and finding ways to make everyday items into painful tools as well. His cellar was full of all sorts of things he and Germany could use to punish Toris with should they so desire. “Да. I have all those and more, товарищ.” One of his hands slide down the naughty Lithuanian and found Germany’s hand. Resting his over top his lover’s he joined in on the petting.
After a moment of petting, Russia released Toris completely and backed away from his two house guests. “I’ll get the whip.” He noted excitedly to Ludwig. Turning, he ran out of the room, making a beeline straight for the front door. In his excitement, he forgot he had locked it earlier and nearly broke the doorknob trying to turn it. Unlocking the door quickly, the crazed nation raced out past his rain-soaked garden and to the cellar, nearly tripping down the cellar stairs and into the dank storage area.
After a bit of rummaging to find the leather bullwhip, Russia hurried back to the room where Ludwig and Toris were waiting. He hoped they had not started any fun without him. He had been fairly fast in retrieving his favorite punishment device. Now even more wet than before from being out in the rain again again, he raised the whip and approached them with a wild and ecstatic look on his pale features. “I think that before we play, Toris should kiss and make up to you, Ludwig. He was such a naughty servant after all. It’s only fair.” ______________________
((Okay, I went all out for crack, Toris torment, and utter nonesense here. I was a bit rushed though, since I am on my parent's computer, so please ignore any silly mistakes with coding and such you might find.))
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Post by Lithuania on Nov 19, 2010 20:43:18 GMT -5
Ludwig's hand in his hair caused Toris to tense up, sending unwanted shivers down the back of his neck. And when Ivan joined in, it was almost too much to bear. The gesture, some twisted parody of affection, made him feel tiny, made him long for the time when Russia had petted him like that with genuine feeling and not simply distracted amusement. It stung too, because he could also remember a fairly recent time when he'd found Ludwig's authoritative presence comforting, in a strange sort of way. The tall German had managed to make him feel as close to safe as he could recall in recent times. But not now.
Russia's fist tightened in his hair and he let out a whimper just as the German began to mock him again.
“She’s — I mean, he’s — so cute when he’s angry!”
Toris scowled fiercely and opened his mouth to protest indignantly at his blatantly-deliberate use of the feminine pronoun, but all that came out was a muffled “mmph!” as he was shoved backwards against Ivan's broad frame and the two lovers met in a passionate kiss. Squashed between both of them, he squeezed his eyes closed and tried to block it out, feeling as though he might throw up at any moment. He could feel them both getting excited, breathing quickening and passion deepening. Something was digging into his hip and he really hoped that it was just Ludwig's pistol.
And then it became so much worse as Ivan wrapped one broad arm around his slight frame, and he choked down a little sob in his throat. If Russia didn't want him, then why not just let him be? Why keep flaunting these sick little reminders of what he'd lost? It was too much.
Mercifully, the two ill-matched lovers broke apart, but Lithuania's hurt and disgust was rapidly replaced with fear again as Ludwig spoke contemplatively, a cruel little smile playing about his features.
“Now, what should we do with our naughty little Lithuanian prisoner? He needs to pay for his insolence and disobedience. And whatever the hell he just did to Regensburg a few minutes ago with the vodka.”
It was all Toris could do to hold back his tears, but then Ivan wrapped his other arm around him and it was all too much for the heartbroken little brunette. He let his head rest against Russia's burly forearm, burying his cheek in the fabric of his coat as though it might afford him some kind of protection as quiet, icy tears streaked his face.
But almost as soon as he did, his head jerked up again with a sharp gasp as Ludwig's hand crept up under his skirt and over his stockings and his eyes went wide and disbelieving. He struggled wildly and ineffectively, trying to shove the skirt back down with his cuffed hands without much success. A dark, deep, furious blush spread across his cheeks and he tried to back away against Ivan, but found himself horribly trapped.
“Do you have the proper equipment, Vanya? Any whips? Chains? Knives? Rope?”
Lithuania tensed in the blonde's bear-hug of a grip, a flash of unrestrained panic crossing his face because he knew all too well that Ivan had all of those things and more. His skin already painted a perfect picture of his former lover's more sadistic tastes, his back little more than a canvas of scar tissue. Russia's hand joined Germany's on his thigh and another involuntary moan passed his lips at the familiar touch, even as he squeezed his eyes closed and let salt water drip down the front of his dress, shaking with suppressed sobs.
And then, abruptly, Ivan let go of him with a cheerful announcement that he would fetch the whip and Toris turned his head in a desperate attempt to catch the other man's eye before he left the room.
“Ivan no...please...” he began, shoulders shaking so hard that it made the cuffs on his wrists rattle softly. “Ivan!” he called again, desperately. But the violet eyed man had already bounded out of the room and Lithuania was left alone with Germany.
His wide green eyes met cold blue once again and he wrenched himself backwards, almost tripping over in the process, in an effort to shake off the other man's wandering hand.
“Pervert!” he spat defensively, tugging again at the hem of his skirt with his bound hands. Instantly, he regretted the accusation and winced to himself. The prospect of Russia's whip made him feel physically sick and he looked at the German with wide, horrified eyes. “Wait...no...I didn't meant that...I...” He closed his eyes and fought the urge to drop to the floor and curl up in a ball.
“Don't you understand him at all, Ludwig?” he demanded desperately. “This isn't just some bit of kinky fun. Once he gets going, he doesn't know when to stop...he doesn't know...it's always too far...” Toris bit down on his bottom lip in an effort to contain his own hysteria and choked in a gasp of air against the swimming panic that was engulfing him. He shook his head over and over again, his eyes growing wider and and wider as he mumbled some unintelligible cross between a plea and an apology under his breath.
He was about to try some desperate reasoning with Ludwig who was still (despite being unprecedentedly batshit mental) the more reasonable of the two, when Ivan returned with surprising speed, rain soaked and manic and clutching his favourite whip. Toris' eyes alighted on it with a sickeningly familiar horror.
“I think that before we play, Toris should kiss and make up to you, Ludwig. He was such a naughty servant after all. It’s only fair.”
“Kiss and...?”
Numb with disbelief, the Lithuanian continued to stare at the whip, his green eyes flitting over the coils of leather which had torn his back to shreds on so many occasions. He looked back to Ludwig and was suddenly very, very tempted to respond to Ivan's suggestion by spitting in the German's face. But he knew from such painful experience that, in the end, there was never any option but to do what Ivan wanted. His gaze darted from one nation to the other, his breathing hard and fast as he weighed up his options. In the end, he decided that anything which might postpone the inevitable for a few more moments was preferable.
Reaching up shakily, he strained on his tiptoes and looped his wrists over Ludwig's head, so that his arms were around the other man's neck. His bottom lip trembling, he leaned in close to him, fighting the urge to pull away and burst into tears again. It struck him that the only man he'd ever kissed in his life...properly kissed...had been Ivan. He had always been so very self conscious, so virginal and chaste and pure and hesitant, before Ivan got a hold of him and crept under his skin, both figuratively and literally. Ivan had twisted all his confused, shy emotions into desperate, obedient, tortured adoration. And now it was Ivan who was tossing him aside. A sudden spark of recklessness spurred him on. After all, what did he have left to lose? Toris knew that, with very little effort, he could be exactly what Germany wanted. Submissive, obedient, and cute in a dress. He knew that it would only be a matter of time before the insane romance between the two warring parties turned sour, that there was no way that two nations with such brutally domineering personalities and opposing ideologies would last past the initial infatuation and lust. But Germany was the marginally saner of the two, and Toris would put his money on him being the first one to come to the pragmatic conclusion that the whole affair was doomed.
There was very little doubt about it. When this whole car crash of a romance hit the wall, as it inevitably would, it would be Ludwig who broke Vanya's heart. And the idea of Ivan getting hurt still upset Toris, but damn it all to Hell if the bastard didn't deserve it.
It's your funeral, Vanya...
“I'm sorry, sir,” he breathed with as much compliant sincerity as he could muster, and his smaller frame was pressing insistently against the German's chest now. “I was...bad. Forgive me?”
He pressed his cold, tear-stained lips against Ludwig's bloodied mouth softly. And then, because he knew that Ivan was watching, and because he was going to take a beating anyway, and because the bloody-minded part of him knew how possessive the Russian was of his loved ones, and because something inside him had snapped, Toris parted his lips a little and pressed himself against the taller man and let the tip of his tongue flicker against Ludwig's bottom lip. Because if he could make childish, irrational Ivan feel a fraction of what Toris had felt when he stumbled on the two of them, it would be worth every extra lash.
From the corner of his eye, he shot Russia a split-second glance, before disentangling himself from the embrace and looking up at the blue-eyed blonde solemnly, a flash of desperation in his eyes.
“Please forgive me,” he whispered again, with as much sincerity as he could muster. “I know you want to hurt me...that you get off on it...” Without realising it, he'd adopted that meek, gentle voice that he'd so often used when trying to calm Ivan down. He cast another fearful glance at Russia and his whip, “J..just please be..." he swallowed hard as he looked back to Ludwig. "...sensible."
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Post by Germany on Nov 25, 2010 1:38:23 GMT -5
A/N: This post really pushes the PG-13 rating,: I don't think it's quite graphic enough to be considered "R", but it definitely deals with some very adult themes. ^^
Please forgive the slightly-rushed ending: I wanted to get this up before Thanksgiving.
__________________________________________ Ludwig’s wolfish grin deepened at his Russian lover’s confirmation that he had whips, chains, knives, rope, and more. And there was that word again! That lust-inducing word that meant “comrade”, товарищ. Well, okay, it wasn’t too lust-inducing on its own, but when Ivan said it in that sexy voice of his it stirred a forbidden desire within Ludwig. I wonder what their word for “lover” is? He would have to ask. At the moment, however, he was slightly more interested in just what more Ivan had in the bondage/torture equipment area. Whips, chains, handcuffs, and knives were the best it got…weren’t they? Unless Ivan planned on introducing him to some new instruments of kink. The Nazi’s heart swelled with pride: he had definitely made the right choice when it came to lovers. Whatever differences they may have in people, language, government, religion, and culture, he and Russia truly were two of a kind to be thinking so similarly. Leave it to Russia to have just the items they’d need for an evening of sadistic intimate bliss. Still tenderly stroking Toris’s thigh, a fresh, hot excitement rushed through him when he felt Ivan’s hand come to rest atop his and mimic his every move. At that moment, even Toris gave up his charade of not enjoying the attention he was receiving: he stopped trying to push his skirts back down and surrendered a low, happy little moan. That’s it, Ludwig thought, temporarily shifting his eyes from Ivan to the sanity-challenged brunette trembling with suppressed pleasure in the Russian’s embrace, you’re showing your true colors now, little Baltic. Toris’s face was streaked with cold tears. Ludwig couldn’t wait to tie him up and hover over him with a knife; couldn’t wait to see those doe-like green eyes widen with fear… All at once Ivan released Toris and raced out of the room with a curt announcement that he was going to get a whip. It’s about time. Ludwig was sure he would go insane if he had to wait any longer — these urges were getting harder to resist. Toris wasted a few breaths calling after his imagined lover before wrenching backwards with such a flare that he almost fell over on his ass in his attempt to get away from Germany. “Pervert!” he spat, trying again to push his skirt down. Smiling wickedly, Ludwig released him. Let Toris have his ten seconds of freedom; what did it matter? Things had already progressed too far, and now nothing on earth could save the brunette from his impending fate. “Wait...no...I didn't meant that...I...” Toris amended hastily, shutting his eyes as though blocking out the image of Ludwig would somehow lessen the backlash of his earlier accusation. “Yes you did,” Ludwig said point-blankly, “But that’s alright, because you’ll be paying for it soon enough.” “Don't you understand him at all, Ludwig? This isn't just some bit of kinky fun. Once he gets going, he doesn't know when to stop...he doesn't know...it's always too far...” Toris was on the verge of full-blown hysteria. He kept shaking his head, choking for breath, and suppressing sobs, the red indignance from earlier all but faded from his tear-stained cheeks in wake of a chill, color-draining panic. He attempted to say more, but his vocalizations turned into quiet, incomprehensible mumbling. Ludwig remained silent. Toris was starting to look pretty hot himself, all trembling and scared-to-death in a maid’s dress. He wasn’t as good-looking as Ivan, of course; he was too skinny, too scrawny, too short, too small, too brunette, too lacking in musculature, and too gender-androgynous. However, he did have a certain charm about him, one that stemmed from his helplessness and submissive, humble, mouse-like nature. Russia must have been trying to set a world-record because he was back in almost the blink of an eye, insane, wild delight dancing in his face and eyes as he raised a wicked-looking bullwhip. “I think that before we play, Toris should kiss and make up to you, Ludwig. He was such a naughty servant after all. It’s only fair.”Ludwig shot an excited, appreciative glance to Ivan before turning his sights back on Toris. What a wonderful idea, and a great way to kick off this session! “It is.” he agreed, his voice strong and foreboding. He watched the Baltic closely. Would the Lithuanian do as he was told, or would he pull another episode of defiance, like he had with the vodka? For a few suspenseful moments, Toris’s wide, fearful eyes settled on the whip. He was all but hyperventilating — no doubt imagining it flying across his bare back and chest with merciless, stinging severity. Of course, he liked pain, but that one last shred of sanity that somehow managed to cling to the back of his mind must have been holding him back, because he honestly had to think about whether it would be better to be flogged by Ivan for defiance or do as he was told and maybe — by his way of thinking, at least — avoid a flogging altogether, or at least receive a milder dose of pain. Finally he turned to face Ludwig, and the German tensed up automatically, fully prepared to attack at a moment’s notice should an attitude be forthcoming. Thankfully, Toris seemed to want to behave this time. He rose on his tiptoes, and Ludwig let him loop his arms around his neck; stood statue-still as he leaned in closer, until their faces were only centimeters apart. On the verge of fresh tears, his lower lip quivering even more than his body, he finally managed that apology. “I'm sorry, sir,” he breathed in a subdued, pleading, cute little voice that made Ludwig want to squeeze him until he squeaked, “I was...bad. Forgive me?”Then his lips were against Ludwig’s: soft, wet, and bloody. The German discovered instantly that Toris didn’t kiss the same way Ivan did. A kiss from Ivan was fierce, strong, and all-encompassing — a man’s kiss. Toris’s kiss, by contrast, was light, gentle, and airy with a slightly teasing quality about it — far more feminine. Despite his undying love for Ivan, Ludwig thoroughly enjoyed it. He shut his eyes and let the repentant maid do as he pleased with his mouth, another flash-flood of excitement taking his body as he felt the other man’s tongue play gently across his lip. It was over too soon. Toris pulled away, unwinding his arms from around his neck and taking a few steps back. Ludwig slid his tongue over his lips, savoring the taste of the kiss and even, to a lesser extent, his own blood. “Please forgive me. I know you want to hurt me...that you get off on it…”Toris didn’t realize it, but the cute, meek little voice he kept using whenever he pleaded only intensified Ludwig’s desire to hurt him; to make him squirm, squeak, and moan in pain and pleasure as little rivers of blood flowed down his ashen, sweat-laced flesh… Toris was right: he did get off inflicting pain, especially under these circumstances. A thin, hungry smile spread over his face as he studied the trembling, desperate little nation before him, his mind racing at warp-speed down increasingly jaded paths. So funny — the frightened little Baltic looked at Russia’s whip before pleading with him to be sensible. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said, his eyes half-lidded, his voice anything but reassuring, “Vanya and I won’t get too carried away: you’ll be no fun if you’re in too much pain, or unconscious.” He lunged forward and grabbed the brunette roughly by the shoulders, digging his fingers deeply into his flesh. “You’ve been bad? You want forgiveness?” He pulled Toris up close to him, so close that their faces were again separated by mere centimeters of space. Cold, intense blue eyes that flashed with excitement locked with green. His breath came more rapidly now, his heartbeat quickening. God, they hadn’t even started in on the main feature yet, and already this was so fun! “I don’t think you’ve earned it yet.” His lips twisted into a cruel smile. He shot a knowing, playful glance at Ivan. “Let’s make him earn it!”The hands clutching Toris’s shoulders released their hold and shot under his arms where they established a death-grip. Ludwig lifted the Lithuanian off the floor by a few inches and marched towards the nearest wall with fast, powerful strides. Reaching it, he slammed his victim up against it. “You’ve been a naughty boy,” he told him in a low, dangerously suggestive voice, “Time for a whipping.”Quite suddenly he drew his hands back and let the other nation drop. His eyes traveled to his Russian love and the wicked leather bullwhip he held at the ready, and he hurriedly backed up several paces until he was standing beside, rather than in front of, him. As much as he loved a good roleplay and kink session, he had no wish to join the Baltic in his ‘punishment’. “There’s no point in resisting, Lithuania,” he called, “You might as well give us what we want, because we’re going to get it anway.” He shot a quick, marginally pleading look to Ivan, his face softening ever so slightly as he gazed into those maniacal violet eyes. “Don’t go too hard on him: remember, he’s not me. He’ll break.”
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Post by Russia on Nov 26, 2010 5:41:37 GMT -5
His newfound German lover confirmed that it was only fair that Toris kiss and make up for his awful romance-ruining behavior earlier. Russia eyed Toris expectantly, running his hand along the whip almost lovingly. If the smaller nation decided to pull another attitude, then he was all ready to start right in on the lashings. He usually preferred to make Toris remove his shirt first before starting in with this kind of punishment; it made the lashes that much more painful in his experience. Even with Lithuania still fully clad however, Ivan was certain he could put the other man in a world of pain. He had a strong arm after all, and it took so little to hurt a small country like Lithuania.
The Lithuanian in question seemed to come to the sensible conclusion that to do anything but bow to Ivan’s wishes was insane. He must have remembered all the times in the past when his little acts of defiance had gotten him a sound beating. It was a good feeling for Ivan- to know that all the hard lessons he had taught Toris over the years had been well learned and remembered. His former servant knew his place, even now that he technically no longer belonged to Russia. Eyes fixed to the two other nations, Ivan watched as Toris threw his arms over Germany’s neck, and leaned in close, finally apologizing. Good boy.
Toris began the kissing part of his apology, and a feeling of jealousy gripped Ivan as he observed. He was not sure why he was starting to get so upset at first; he had been the one to suggest this little make up after all. Something was just really wrong here. Toris was both too willing and too passionate with the kiss, and Germany appeared to enjoy it way too much for Ivan’s comfort. He had told them to “kiss and make up,” not “kiss and make out.” Germany was his lover, not Toris’. Annoyed violet eyes narrowed slightly at Toris as the other glanced his way. Watching the two break apart and Ludwig lick his lips in satisfaction, Russia felt the urge to whip intensify. His hand tightened on the leather weapon to the point of being painful.
Outwardly, Russia kept his cheery expression, as though he had not been bothered at all. Inwardly however he was already fantasizing whipping the hell out of his former servant. He barely registered that the Baltic was once again apologizing to Ludwig, in a soothing sort of tone that was so intimate sounding to Ivan that it made his blood boil with rage. Had Ludwig not been in the way, he would have lashed out already.
“I know you want to hurt me...that you get off on it...”
Toris continued to speak only to Ludwig in an infuriatingly gentle voice. Russia moved towards the two of them slowly. Even if Ludwig had not been not the delightfully fun nation that he was, Ivan knew for certain that he personally would get off on bringing the seductive servant to tears.
“Oh, don’t worry, Vanya and I won’t get too carried away: you’ll be no fun if you’re in too much pain, or unconscious.”
Russia observed with wild excitment as Ludwig grabbed the wicked Baltic nation roughly and dug his fingernails into the man’s pale flesh. Right then, he would have thoroughly enjoyed to see Ludwig break Lithuania’s shoulders on the spot. Or maybe pull his hands away from the brunette’s arms and place them on his throat instead.
“You’ve been bad? You want forgiveness? I don’t think you’ve earned it yet. Let’s make him earn it!”
He knew Toris had not earned any form of forgiveness yet. Not after the nasty bit he had pulled with the kiss. And if he wanted to earn forgiveness from Ivan, he was going to have to do a hell of a lot of pleading. Then again, Ivan was not feeling particularly forgiving tonight, so even pleading would probably do little to dull his lust for blood.
He agreed wholeheartedly that Toris had been a naughty boy and needed a proper whipping. Just watching Ludwig slam the other nation against the wall was such a turn-on. Images of himself slamming Ludwig into a wall quickly found a way into his warped mind. The action itself was just so sexy, be it a lover you were shoving, or a naughty servant. Perhaps when they were done with Lithuania he would grab Ludwig and smash him against a wall just for the kinky fun. It would not be the other way around of course, after all, Russia fancied himself the dominant partner in their relationship. Even if he did not vocally share these views with Ludwig.
“Don’t go too hard on him: remember, he’s not me. He’ll break.”
The sadistic Russian nation had been so caught up with his less than child friendly ideas about kinky fun with Ludwig, that he had not even realized he had been staring at the German until the other had spoken up. Oh yes, Lithuania was going to be broken for sure. Nothing Ludwig could tell him would make Ivan want to go easy on the green-eyed servant nation. Not after the kiss; which the delusional Russian saw as an attempt to steal Germany away from him. The truth was, Toris must have wanted Russia to be alone. When they had been together, he had made sure to leave first chance he got, and now that Ivan had Ludwig, he wanted to ruin that as well.
Unable to refrain any more, Ivan lashed out with the bullwhip at his former servant- the whip making a delightful cracking sound as it swished through the air.
“I’ll go as hard on him as he deserves, my Ludya. I don’t want to be gentle. Not when he needs punished so desperately.” He smiled at the German as he paused his lashing. “I’ll try to keep him conscious. Thirty lashes sound reasonable to you too?” He gave Ludwig a quick kiss on the cheek before moving away from him and towards their whipping boy.
Grabbing the other country by the hair, he yanked him close. “I’m going to make you squeal for that little display, Litva.” he whispered into the Baltic’s ear softly. Turning Lithuania around so his back was facing him and Ludwig, he slammed the naughty nation into the wall, his hand catching on the back of the maid outfit and tearing it open a bit, exposing part of the other nation’s marked up back.
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Post by Lithuania on Nov 26, 2010 8:16:29 GMT -5
AN: Epic violence and monster-length post ahoy!
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When Ludwig grabbed him by the shoulders, Toris let out a tiny little gasp, somehow not quite believing the German's statement that they wouldn't get carried away. Where Ivan was concerned, things always degenerated into complete insanity and the sensitive little Baltic hadn't missed the way those violet eyes had narrowed for a split second.
“I don’t think you’ve earned it yet.”
The statement came as no surprise, but Toris squeezed his eyes closed tearfully nonetheless. Frozen with a sick kind of fear, he barely put up any resistance as Ludwig hauled him off the ground and slammed him into the nearest wall. He groaned dazedly and blinked a few times at the other man, and in a moment of clarity, he swallowed hard fought the sudden and overwhelming urge to throw up on Ludwig's shoes. He'd done that to Ivan before, out of fear once, and it had only made things so very much worse.
“You’ve been a naughty boy...”
“Please...don't...” he whispered, shrinking back in Ludwig's grasp and he found himself praying to God that the German got off more on roleplay, rather than all-out torture. Not that it mattered either way, when Ivan was the one holding the whip.
“Time for a whipping.”
As the taller nation unceremoniously dropped him to his feet again, Toris leaned against the wall for support, his legs threatening to give way. But when Ludwig cautioned Ivan against taking things too far, his bowed head shot up in surprise and he looked at the German with a shocked, wide-eyed gratitude.
That slight hope was short lived.
A split second later, Ivan's whip cracked through the air and everything exploded in tiny sparks of pain. His chest took the brunt of the blow, the dress doing little to cushion the blow, and the tip of the bullwhip flicked up and bit at his neck, drawing a thin little line of blood. He grit his teeth and whimpered and clutched his handcuffed wrists to his chest, where an angry welt was no doubt forming under the starched black fabric. Shivering, biting his lip and letting silent tears spill, he barely registered what Ivan was saying to his lover, until the Russian mentioned something about thirty lashes and Toris let out a loud sob.
The next thing he knew, Ivan had him by the hair, his breath hot against his ear and sending unwanted shivers down his spine.
“I’m going to make you squeal for that little display, Litva.”
In that instant, Toris vehemently regretted trying to make Ivan jealous, vehemently decided that he was an idiot and that no, it had not been worth it at all. He let out a whimper which was instantly muffled as the taller man turned him around and slammed him face-first into the wall. Groaning dazedly, he had the presence of mind to stay still, despite an overwhelming urge to attempt to escape as his dress was torn and the cold air of the living room hit his already-scarred back.
He pressed his tear-streaked cheek to the cold wall, catching Ludwig's cool gaze for a split second before choking out a sob and squeezing his eyes closed, bracing himself. And then it came, the first swing and Lithuania hissed and choked as he felt his skin split and a white-hot pain flare across his back. Since his hands were cuffed and he couldn't support himself, he braced his knees against the wall in an attempt to remain upright.
The second blow landed between his shoulder blades and forced a howl from his lips as his knees buckled and he had to claw at the wall clumsily with bound hands to keep from losing balance. By the third lash, he was sobbing in earnest, shaking violently and losing his fragile grip on what stoicism he had left.
The lashes came with a viciousness that Toris had only experienced from Ivan on a few memorable occasions. From the force and anger behind his strikes, Lithuania had a vague, incoherent idea that Ivan might actually want him dead. Before long, the brunette was on his knees, and his sobs had degenerated into hoarse screaming. His whole back was on fire and it felt as though Ivan was lashing him hard enough to cut through to the bone. He wanted desperately to curl up into himself, but he couldn't do anything except lie in the growing pool of blood around him and scream uselessly, his legs buckled awkwardly underneath him and his hair clinging to his face and obscuring his blurring vision.
He was semi-coherent and delirious with pain, half-aware that he was shouting in Russian to Ivan, begging, pleading, throwing accusations and apologies in the same breath, telling him that he loved him, that he hated him, that he was so very, very sorry and a hundred and one other hysterical things that didn't matter because nobody was listening. A particularly hard blow caught him on the back of the neck and he cried out as hard as he could, his voice breaking halfway through, his throat hoarse and torn and unable to sustain his screams. He'd lost count of the lashes, lost count of anything except the blinding pain and the ever-growing slippery, slick puddle of blood that was soaking through his dress and turning his white apron a gory crimson.
He stopped pleading, stopped screaming, his shouts fading to helpless, utterly agonised whimpers his eyes rolling back in his head as the final few blows rained down, racking his thin frame. There was a pause and he clumsily buried his face in his forearms and braced himself for the next onslaught, his breathing ragged and pained.
But another blow didn't come, and he sobbed softly, unable to move, unable to do much of anything save raise his head the tiniest fraction.
“I'm sorry,” he mumbled, his voice tiny and faint. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...” He repeated the two words over and over again, like a broken little mantra, his vision swimming in and out of focus. The whole room stank of freshly spilled blood and he could feel his stomach contracting. Clumsily, in one agonised motion, he managed to prop himself onto his elbows just in time to throw up, clear bile from an empty stomach. Choking and retching, he continued to apologise all the more desperately.
God...why was there so much blood? Was there usually this much? Ivan always made sure it hurt...but was there always this much blood? He stopped his stream of incoherent apologies long enough to ponder this question, feeling dizzier by the moment. His head was swimming with a strange mixture of nausea and distress and confusion, and he felt as though he could escape and go free-falling into unconsciousness, if only the searing pain in his back didn't keep dragging him back and forcing him awake again.
“S'a lot of blood...” he slurred, swallowing down the urge to be sick again. He half collapsed back to the floor again, letting his cheek rest on his forearms. He couldn't see Ivan, but he looked up at Ludwig fearfully through half-closed eyes and tear-matted eyelashes.
“Sorry...” he insisted again quietly, because somewhere in the back of his head, through all the pain and the dizziness, he had a vague idea that this word was extremely important. Pain, injury and blood loss had a numbing effect on his ability to think clearly, dulling even his fear of the two men, pulling the focus of his attention away from anything other than how much it hurt. He was aware that he was still crying, that his face was silently streaming with salt water, although he no longer had the energy to sob. He'd bitten into his lower lip too, at some point, without realising it, and a trail of blood and saliva ran down his chin.
It struck him, vaguely and incoherently, that Ivan would never, ever do something so awful to Ludwig, that the Russian probably was capable of reining in his sadism, and that he simply had not ever considered Toris to be worth the effort of a little self-restraint. And Toris, silly, silly little Toris, had suffered through every game, every single beating and mistreatment and honestly believed that his devotion was all that Ivan would need to eventually come around, to eventually stop and see sense and realise how much the brunette really cared. But it wasn't Toris' devotion that Ivan had needed. It was just someone else. Someone stronger and better, someone he considered an equal. The Lithuanian could only imagine what a horrific, pitiable sight he must have been, lying there in a torn dress, an ashen faced, shivering mess of tears and blood and snot and gaping wounds. He blinked at Ludwig through tears and thought of all the times in the past that Ivan had reduced him to a bloody, crying mess, and how it really had all been for nothing.
His voice was tiny, shrill and broken as he spoke again, his breathing fast and shallow. “The world belongs...to the strong...” he echoed Ludwig's earlier statement in a half-whispered, miserable little daze, more to himself than the other two men in the room. He coughed, and whimpered at the excruciating pain that the action caused him. He looked up at the tall, blue eyed nation, his own expression lost and forlorn and pained and helpless and pleading all at once.
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Post by Germany on Dec 1, 2010 4:24:47 GMT -5
The whip cracked through the air, striking Toris in the chest and drawing the first fine, red line on his neck.
Ludwig watched with hungry, wild eyes as the terrified little nation pulled his cuffed wrists up to his chest and trembled from head to foot, tears gushing down his cheeks.
This was what it was all about!
Fear!
Respect!
Total, utter domination over another, and the deeply satisfying feeling that went with authority and power being recognized. It drove him wild with lust and euphoria, brought out the deepest, darkest, most hidden aspects of his personality, the stuff that usually stayed buried under a heavy blanket of sanity, self-discipline, and socially conditioned ideals of civilized and appropriate behavior.
“I’ll go as hard on him as he deserves, my Ludya. I don’t want to be gentle. Not when he needs punished so desperately.”
Yes, Ivan! Make him bleed! Make him beg! Ludwig silently cheered, and in that moment — in that one crucial, vital moment — he completely forgot Toris’s warning, and every incidence in the past involving Ivan that had clued him into the fact that his newfound lover was far more violent and sadistic than he was, with different definitions of cruelty and justice. For a moment, it was just him, Ivan, and a bit of kinky fun with a prisoner, and the world was fun and right.
“I’ll try to keep him conscious. Thirty lashes sound reasonable to you too?”
Thirty lashes? Ludwig’s eyes widened in a way that was barely perceivable, and he gave his sadistic love partner a look which indicated that he wasn’t entirely sure about that.
He was on the cusp of saying “Not really” and recommending a smaller number when a smiling, happy Ivan came up and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before turning to close in on a horrified, sobbing Toris. Alright then.
If they were light lashings, perhaps thirty would not be so bad. Never in his life had he personally whipped someone with a bullwhip, or even bore witness to a whipping, but Ivan was familiar with tearing the hell out of people’s backs — or at least Toris’s — and he would know what he was doing. The two dominant nations in the room would both get off on it, and Toris did need to pay for his misbehavior, so there was no need to have second thoughts.
He watched as the Russian grabbed the Lithuanian by the hair and whispered something into the other man’s ear; he was very quiet and Ludwig didn’t catch the vast majority of it, but he swore he heard the word “squeal” somewhere in there. Then Toris was being slammed chest-first into the wall and getting the back of his dress ripped open. The little Baltic caught his eye for a brief moment before turning his head back towards the wall and bracing himself for pain.
That look…such horror and desperation.
Ludwig felt a sudden jolt of compassion, but quickly quelled it.
Why are you giving me that look? You’re a closet masochist.
Yes, Toris would enjoy this as well, and his horrified look of desperation was all an act put on to heighten passion and pleasure. He would be getting something out of this too — they all would.
The whipping started in, full-force and brutal.
Right at first, watching the other nation’s punishment was everything Ludwig hoped it would be. Exciting. Fun. Satisfying. The howling cries of pain; the delicious, crisp crack of the whip through the air; the way the blood sprayed, ran, and decorated the brunette’s body and dress; how he sank to his knees trembling, crying, pleading, and struggling under Ivan’s might…all of that triggered pleasure, both mentally and physically.
However, after the sixth lash — yes, he was counting them — Ludwig’s bloodlust was satiated, and after the tenth something began to fundamentally shift. The blows raining down on Toris were too powerful, too severe; it was as if Ivan were extremely pissed-off and literally trying to whip his former servant to death. The little Baltic was on the floor on his hands and knees in a pool of bright scarlet, pleading and shouting at his ex master hysterically in Russian in between choked, labored sobs, his words strained and ineffectual, his breaths the rasping, ragged embodiment of suffering.
Poor little thing was in so much agony…
The pleasure Ludwig had been experiencing melted away. This wasn’t fun anymore.
…fourteen, fifteen… they kept coming.
A flood of memories and emotions connected to Toris flashed through his mind faster than the whip: his first encounter with the androgynous nation when he thought he was female, seizing him from his home — and then promptly losing him to Ivan, Toris dazed and on the floor of Ivan’s kitchen in a pool of blood, a brutal fight with Ivan and reclaiming an injured Toris as his prize after he’d won, bandaging his new servant up and laying eyes on his grotesquely-marked back, lying about Poland, the smaller nation’s usually polite and timid nature, the kiss they’d shared only minutes ago….
They’d almost been friends once. Earlier Ludwig had convinced himself that he no longer cared — that Toris deserved everything he received from this point onward for getting so defiant and clinging with die-hard tenacity to the ridiculous fantasies he’d constructed about himself and Ludwig’s lover.
But now he realized that that couldn’t be possibly true. He didn’t like to see anyone suffer to these levels — even wartime enemies — but seeing Toris in this much pain and misery was starting to have a severely distressing psychological effect on him, more so than it should if his past with the other nation counted for nothing and he truly felt that justice was being served.
As his concern grew, his expression began to change.
“Please forgive me,” Toris whispered into his consciousness, desperate and scared, "He doesn’t know when to stop…it’s always too far...”
Ludwig’s stomach churned, and a black, sinking feeling overcame him as he began to entertain the very real possibility that perhaps Toris really wasn’t a masochist after all, and merely had some other mental problem which caused him to fall in love with his tormentor. Or, if he was a masochist, the pain he was enduring now was certainly too great for him to be deriving any kind of enjoyment out of it.
The twentieth lash caught Toris somewhere on the back of the neck, causing him to let out a heart-rending, terrible cry that cut out in the middle.
Enough!
Ludwig couldn’t stand it anymore. A fresh rush of adrenalin shot through him and he charged Ivan, catching his wrist as he raised it for the next lash and holding it in an iron grip that incorporated almost enough strength to break bone. He swung around in front of his lover and forced what he hoped was a wicked, lust-inducing smile. “That’s too much!” he said excitedly, trying his damndest to rekindle the raw, animal passion he’d been feeling several whip-lashes ago and fan it into a roaring, all-consuming flame, “Forget Toris: I have to have you NOW!” He began smothering his sadistic lover in a storm of wild, furious kisses, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, all the while keeping a vicelike grip on the whip-holding wrist and remaining mindful of its status.
In the background he could hear Lithuania sobbing the same two-worded apology over and over again in a weak, hoarse voice that turned to choking and retching. He stole a glance over in his direction and saw him laying with his arm on his cheek in an ever-growing pool of blood, his hair slick with blood, tears, and mucus and sticking to his ashen face, his half-lidded green eyes burning with agony. He mumbled something incoherent about blood and being sorry that faded into quiet whimpering.
Ivan, you really went too far, Ludwig thought, but he decided right then and there that he wasn’t going to vocally express this sentiment to the violent, somewhat unhinged Russia. It would be far better to simply shift Ivan’s attention and energies to safer and more mutually enjoyable outlets.
“Looks like I’ve caught a Russian prisoner.” he said in a voice that would have been cold and threatening had it not also been laced with hints of seduction and lust, “I’m going to torture and humiliate you before sending you to the worst concentration camp in Poland.” Reaching behind the other nation’s back, his left hand grabbed at the whip. It was slick with blood and it took him a few tries, but he finally managed to catch it, hold on to it, and arch it over Ivan’s head so that it was between them.
“Dirty communist,” He gave a snort for show, but the lack of hatred and true ill-will in his tone was startling — he was almost purring. “You’re going to suffer.” Finally relinquishing his grip on Ivan’s hand, he turned to start for Toris. “Just as soon as I get my handcuffs.”
Hopefully this distraction would be enough to save Toris from incurring any further pain.
And, he had to admit, he was jumping at the chance to put Ivan in some handcuffs.
He could only pray the other nation didn’t have different ideas.
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Post by Russia on Dec 2, 2010 5:44:20 GMT -5
There were few things in life as satisfying to Ivan as dealing out punishment to those who deserved it. To be able to cause physical pain to those who dared go against his will or upset him. Though he had never even dreamed that he was a cruel nation at all, the eagerness with which he raised the whip to Lithuania said otherwise. With his lust for some sort of insane revenge, he failed to notice how terrified the other nation appeared; how utterly helpless. All he was focused on was whipping that smaller frame until he felt that Toris had properly paid for his wickedness. Or until his arm got tired, whichever came first. The former was much more likely, since he was a decently strong individual and capable of continuously whipping or beating someone for quite some time without getting tired.
The howl of pain he got from the second lash of the whip just fueled his sadistic fire and brought another smile to his lips. He speed up his lashings, wild with excitement from the cries and whimpers that the naughty servant nation was making. No doubt he was regretting that far-too-loving kiss on Ivan’s lover, and how he had schemed to steal Germany away from him. The crazed Russian put more strength into the blows, letting his anger slip into them as he repeatedly raised the bloodied whip and brought it down again with a crack. This brought incoherent cries of Russian from Toris, who no longer seemed to know what he was saying. Ivan thought he was pleading, but he seemed to be throwing in all kinds of random nonsensical things as well. His mind was far from listening to the pleas, and instead he focused only on the snap of the whip and the increasing gore decorating the injured brunette in front of him.
Lost in his thoughts of how Toris had tried to steal his lover away, he forgot even which number of lashes he was on. Fourteen maybe? He couldn’t remember and decided that he really did not care at this point. After Toris had abandoned him to go stay with Germany, he had been so lonely, then he and Ludwig had started to realize their feelings for one another and all that went away. It had taken them so long to get this far in their relationship, and to think that Toris wanted to ruin that was infuriating. That he would steal Ludwig away if he could and run off, leaving Russia with nobody but his pipe for company yet again. As it was, Ludwig did not get to visit often because of their bosses’ stupid war, so he had to cherish the precious, small amounts of time they did have together; time he couldn’t help but feel Toris had gotten in the way of with his acts of defiance.
Raising his arm for another lash with the bullwhip, Ivan was startled to suddenly have Ludwig catch his wrist with enough strength to send jolts of pain through it. It felt like his lover was trying to powderize his wrist bone and he barely refrained from lashing out at Ludwig to get him to release his sore arm. He focused instead on the German’s handsome features as he swung in front of him, blocking off some of the view of the injured Baltic.
“That’s too much!”
Too much? It couldn’t have been thirty lashes yet, could it? And they had agreed- or more importantly, Ivan had agreed- that thirsty lashes was what Toris was to receive. Ludwig couldn‘t possible have been having second thoughts about the punishment. Ivan liked to think his lover got off on watching the violent act just as much as he did inflicting it.
“But Germany, I was having f…” His words were cut off by the rest of what Ludwig had to say. He didn’t really want to forget Toris though, he wanted to hurt him some more. His lover did not wait for him to bring up his own feelings on the matter, and Ivan found himself being roughly smothered in kisses before he knew what was happening. The pain in his lower lip, combined with the coppery taste of blood alerted him to the fact that Ludwig had gotten off on that little act of discipline a bit too much. He heard Toris start to apologize over and over again, but could not quite focus on the smaller nation with Ludwig in his way.
There was a mention of a lot of blood, and Ivan eagerly looked over Ludwig’s shoulder to get a better glimpse of Lithuania’s pitiful state. The slender little Baltic looked a mess now, he couldn’t wait to see how pitiful and apologetic he would be after the rest of the lashes. Ivan still owed him twenty something, right? He didn't catch what Lithuania said afterwards, not with his lover distracting him so much.
“Ludya I have to…”
“Looks like I’ve caught a Russian prisoner.”
The fair-haired Russian blinked in surprise. Ludwig must have completely forgotten that they had a Lithuanian to deal with. Either that, or he just no longer cared. Maybe the lashes had been too boring for him to watch. He should have just said so, Ivan would have let him have the whip and take a few turns.
“I’m going to torture and humiliate you before sending you to the worst concentration camp in Poland.”
A Russian prisoner? He processed the whole thing, realizing that Ludwig wanted to do some twisted war role play. But wait…something was very wrong with this… He put up no resistance as the German reached around him and grabbed onto the bloody whip.
“Dirty communist, you’re going to suffer. Just as soon as I get my handcuffs.”
His rough lover released his wrist finally, and Ivan lowered it, rubbing it with his other hand to help dull the throbbing pain that lingered. Then it hit him as to what was so wrong with this whole thing. Since when was he going to be the one in handcuffs? As much as he loved his “Ludya,” he was not about to let himself be dominated and put into a humiliating role play position. He had no problems with kinky things like whips and handcuffs, but he would rather not be the one wearing them. Russia was all for dishing it out, but he was not about to submit to anyone else, lover or not.
“I think you’re confused as to who is going to be tortured and humiliated, my German love.” No longer concerned with Toris’ punishment anymore, Ivan focused his attention on Ludwig as he made to retrieve the handcuffs from Lithuania. He cracked the whip through the air, not actually hitting anything, but enjoying the sound it made. “Don’t forget whose house you're in. I think I’ve caught myself a Nazi prisoner.”
If Ludwig wanted to play, he could go for that. So long as Ivan was in the position of dominance. The sadistic, playful light was re-kindled in his eyes as he looked to Ludwig’s unguarded back. To Hell with whipping Toris into shape, he had a lover to play with. An unsuspecting lover. Wild eyed and full of glee, Russia silently raised the whip and quickly lashed out at Germany with it. There was a loud crack as the leather whip caught the German on the ass. Despite the strength behind the blow, Ivan meant no malice with by it; just kinky fun. That had been what Ludwig was after, right? And Germany himself had insisted on playing this game, he just needed to realize who was in charge here. __________________________ ((I had permission from Ludwig's player to go ahead and let the whip hit him. It just seemed more fitting that way. XD Teaches him to turn his back on a cracky, playful, Russia.))
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Post by Lithuania on Dec 2, 2010 20:01:08 GMT -5
Toris groaned into his forearm, vaguely aware that some exchange was taking place between the two blatantly incompatible lovers. He was just so very grateful that the attention had been diverted away from himself long enough for him to catch a breath and focus on choking down the urge to be sick again.
His head was light and spinning, his awareness of his surroundings utterly impaired, but he could swear that he heard Germany...blessed, wonderful Germany, who he could have quite happily married there and then at that moment, just because he'd stopped Ivan from hitting him...say something about a Russian prisoner of war and handcuffs. And through the swimming pain and the urge to pass out, something told the Lithuanian that this forbidden love affair might take a sour turn. He'd never known Ivan to play the submissive role to anybody in his life. That was why their relationship had worked so well, because Toris had been willing to make that sacrifice.
But then, maybe it would be different. God, as much as the thought sickened him, he desperately hoped they'd just go and find a room somewhere and leave him out of their sick games. Although he had no idea how he was possibly going to get out of Ivan's house in such a state. He was fairly certain he couldn't even crawl, let alone stand. But then, the Russian had left him to crawl his way out of the basement on more than one occasion, and in some fairly dreadful states.
He heard footsteps, the sound of heavy boots in a wet puddle and he moaned desperately again, because they were coming towards him.
“I'm sorry,” he said again, barely coherent and vaguely conscious of someone looming over him. He blinked at the sight of the boots. Not Ivan's. He had too much past experience of the sight of Ivan's boots. He let out a whimper and forced his head up as far as his limited strength allowed. He wondered if Ludwig had afforded him some genuine act of mercy by stopping Ivan, or if he was simply just too turned on to wait any longer before taking his lover.
The sensation of the other nation tugging on the cold, bloody steel around his wrists made him choke out another pained sob. “Please...” he whispered desperately, his lips cracked and crimson smeared, the pain across his ruined back too much to bear. “Please...can't you just...knock me out..?”
The sensation of the metal restraints being released shocked Toris, but he made no effort to move his arms, simply staring at his bruised wrists as they swam in and out of focus while Ludwig retrieved the handcuffs.
And then Ivan was speaking again...something about Nazis and prisoners and there was that hideous sound of the whip slicing through the air and Toris, now free of his restraints, instinctively tried to push himself away, rolling slightly onto his side. The movement evoked a loud, agonised howl from the seriously injured nation, but mercifully, no blow came.
He opened his eyes and wondered if Ivan had missed, if he was readying himself for another crack, but to his utter astonishment, realised that the strike had been aimed at Ludwig. Specifically, Ludwig's ass.
And if things had been bad before, he realised, they were probably about to go straight to Hell now.
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Post by Germany on Dec 9, 2010 21:09:19 GMT -5
Up close, Toris looked even worse. Every one of his twenty lashes showed: his back and the back of his arms and neck were ripped and torn with vicious lacerations. Blood was everywhere: trickling down his skin, staining the fabric of his torn dress, pooling heavily on the floor and mixing with some clear-ish fluid that looked gross and which Ludwig did not want to think about, decorating the walls in tiny spraying flecks. Still laying on his stomach, his face nestled in his forearm, the Lithuanian whipping boy apologized yet again when Ludwig approached. It was unnecessary — Ludwig had heard him the first fifty times, and as far as he was concerned he had been punished more than enough for his insolence and defiance — but the two softly-spoken words invoked a wave of fresh guilt nonetheless. The sad whimper that followed, accompanied by the hesitant rising of a curious, bloodied face, only made it worse. Ludwig pushed his feelings aside, kept his expression stern. His Baltic servant had gotten more than he had deserved, yes, and yes, he felt sorry for him — part of him wanted to patch him up and take him somewhere to rest now that his hellish punishment was over — but time alone with Ivan in a private setting was so rare and precious during this war that he couldn’t afford to squander any moment of it, even for the sake of helping a friend. Of which Toris was not, but still…he could and would survive without his help. Drawing a key from one of his outer pockets, he knelt down and a began undoing the handcuffs, eliciting a cry of pain from Toris. “Please...Please...can't you just...knock me out..?” Knock Toris out. That would be the merciful thing to do, and would only take a second. Yeah, he could do that. Ludwig was about to reply ‘ Give me a moment’ when Ivan spoke. “I think you’re confused as to who is going to be tortured and humiliated, my German love.” This was followed immediately by the sound of the whip cracking through the air, and Ludwig’s heart went into overdrive. A frightening smile appeared on his face. Ivan would soon see just how wrong he was! The cuffs clicked open. Ludwig eagerly took them off of Toris’s wrists, exposing ugly bruises on pallid, slick skin. “Don’t forget whose house you're in. I think I’ve caught myself a Nazi prisoner.”Ludwig was just starting to get up — he didn’t even have time to fully process the words before a sharp, biting pain struck terror into his buttocks. He jumped up with a short howl and whirled towards the source. There was Ivan, all smiles and maniacal glee, holding the bullwhip. The image barely had time to register before Ludwig was throwing the heavy handcuffs at him like a weapon. “Not this Nazi!” he exclaimed passionately, a wild, frenzied hunger flashing in his eyes as he charged his Russian love like a freight train and dove into him full-force, chest striking chest, tackling him to the ground. “We might be in your house, but I’m the one conquering it!”His chest hurt, but he didn’t care. He straddled Ivan with extra dominance; one hand went for the enemy general’s whip while the other made to clamp the Russian’s other arm to the floor. It was difficult, as Ivan kept moving and struggling against him, but he was not about to let someone else get the best of him, lover or no. The harder Ivan fought against him, the harder he fought back. “Stalingrad is as good as mine,” his hand closed around the base of the whip, and he gave it a hearty yank. “It’s all over for you. Surrender.” His tone was almost authentic for a roleplay — perhaps he was still a bit furious over having been hit so hard with the whip. He didn’t mind inflicting pain in these kink games, but far be it for him to receive it. That was beneath his dignity, and infinitely less fun. No, there could be no confusion as to who was the dominant partner here. If Russia imagined that partner to be him, then he had another thing coming. Germany would just have to prove that he was more dominant. And what screamed ‘dominance’ better than a thunderous, commanding voice? “SUBMIT TO ME NOW!”______________________________________________
A/N: As always, thanks to Ivan for the permission to auto-hit and do a bit of puppeting.
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Post by Russia on Dec 11, 2010 0:55:31 GMT -5
Ivan gave a wild smile as his target shrieked in pain. It was Ludwig’s own fault really. He had been the one to turn his back on his former foe. It was true they were lovers now, but that by no means meant that Russia was so tame and lovesick that he would never dream of inflicting pain on the blue-eyed Aryan. Pain and love went hand in hand as far as he was concerned. Hurting a lover just made the relationship all the more exciting.
The Russian’s wild glee was short lived as a pair of steel handcuffs were flung at him, catching him in the face. The sharp pain did nothing to chase his maniacal grin away, but he did spend a moment to reach up and run a hand along his bruised cheek.
“Not this Nazi!”
He had barely moved his hand away from his face before Ludwig went hurtling into him, forcing the air out of his lungs and bringing him toppling to the ground. Russia was completely dazed for a moment or two, trying to register what exactly had just happened. He had not been expecting his German lover to be so quick to throw himself on him like that. The feeling of someone looming over top of him, combined with Ludwig’s comment on conquering his house, made the large nation immediately start struggling to free himself. No way was he going to just lie there and let Germany even think he was the dominant partner. No matter how sore his chest was, or how out of breath he was feeling, Ivan was still determined to throw the Nazi off and prove how wrong the other’s statement really was.
“Stalingrad is as good as mine.”
Germany was trying to hold his arms down now and Ivan tried all the harder to keep his iron grip on the leather whip. For such a smaller nation, the German had a lot of strength. Russia had known he was strong, if nothing else, from the times he had fought with him at the start of the war. Still, he had not expected him to be this strong. The whip nearly slid from his hand as Ludwig gave a particularly rough yank. Luckily, Russia managed to keep it in his grasp, but he was now holding it so tightly that the leather bit into his flesh.
“It’s all over for you. Surrender.”
The kinky role play was starting to become a little too believable, and the blonde Soviet had to push aside the slight urge to draw a pistol on his lover. He wouldn’t of course. Not when they were just playing after all. But the urge was there all the same, and had they not been lovers, he would have for sure shot Ludwig by now. Briefly he wondered how they had gotten to this. Hadn’t they been torturing a Baltic not long ago? If Ludwig had not interrupted that, Ivan would have been content to continue with punishing Toris instead. He put up less of a fight and was a much more submissive target. Digging his nails into one of Ludwig’s hands that was trying to push his wrist to the floor, he tried to look over to where Toris had been left laying, wanting to make sure the Baltic had not escaped while his feisty German was pulling an attitude.
“SUBMIT TO ME NOW!”
Ludwig’s far too loud voice drew Ivan’s attention back to the problem at hand, a feeling of defiance and anger clouding his mind. “Нет!“ Drawing his strength, he kicked upwards with everything he had in an attempt to throw Ludwig off. Once he had freed himself from the German’s straddling, he wearily got to his feet.
Breathing heavily from the combination of the struggling and having the air knocked out of his lungs earlier, he eyed his lover over carefully. The other needed to understand that he was the less dominant of the two. If he could not get the German to realize this, he had a sinking feeling that their wonderful relationship would not last. Russia was never, ever the submissive partner. Never. He did not want to change that, so he would just have to change Germany. “Нет, Ludya.” He repeatedly softly, in between breaths. He started for the handcuffs that had landed on the floor a few paces from where he had been hit with them. “On your knees, German prisoner. You obviously don’t understand your place yet.” Sudden, pleasant images of Ludwig stripped down and in handcuffs filtered through the overly dominant Russian’s mind, and he aimed to make that dream a reality by all means necessary. His lover would have no choice but to submit. Once he had the other man in chains though, they should probably take it to the other room. This room was not at all private enough for his liking, especially with Toris laying about. He was not sure if the small brunette had lost consciousness, but in any case, naughty fun would be awkward with someone else there. ____________________________ ((Short post is short. Thank you for allowing me to go ahead and throw you off Ludwig. It made writing this a bit easier for sure. ^^))
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Post by Lithuania on Dec 11, 2010 9:53:29 GMT -5
Toris could have predicted this. He could have predicted this from the moment he'd walked in and found the two mismatched nations with their lips crushed against one another. He had a good enough idea about Germany's character, had found enough of his books and magazines while cleaning, hadn't missed the often-predatory way he looked at the Baltic sometimes. He knew enough of Ludwig's character to guess that there was no way the Nazi would take anything lying down.
And Ivan...well, he knew his Vanya better than the Russian knew himself. He knew every little kink of his, every little sadistic tendency, every moment in his history that had made him the way he was. And while Germany would never submit, because he was strong willed and because he didn't want to, Russia simply could never, because a very cruel world had made him what he was, for better or worse.
The two of them, together were a train crash. And even from his half-open eyes and semi-coherent state, Toris could see that the last vestiges of the roleplay they were holding on to would rapidly take a sinister turn. Had circumstances been different and had his cheek had not been firmly resting in a sticky puddle of his own blood, then he might have facepalmed.
“It’s all over for you. Surrender.”
Please God don't let Ivan get his gun out...
“SUBMIT TO ME NOW!”
“Нет!...On your knees....”
Toris had a rather unwelcome flashback to all of the times Ivan had given him that particular order, and tried to ignore the still-present feeling of loss and longing that those memories evoked, his recollections a confused and horrible mix of pain and submission and love and need and want and fear. He shifted slightly, and the movement made him want to cry out loud. Biting his lip, he squeezed his eyes closed tightly and tried to hold his breath, terrified of drawing attention to himself. The worst case scenario here was that the two of them would give up on trying to dominate one another and turn their attentions back to him. Or that Ludwig would get angry and storm out and leave him alone with his angry and frustrated ex-lover.
Or that they'd both just give up on their game altogether and skip straight to shagging. Christ, he really hoped he lost consciousness before that happened.
He opened one eye and noticed that Ivan had managed to shake Ludwig off. The Russian was on his feet, on his way to retrieve the handcuffs, but mercifully,that soft smile and those flashing violet eyes seemed to be fixed soley on this German lover. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Toris stayed as quiet and still as a mouse and said a silent prayer to God that they would forget he was there.
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