Titty Time!
It was a wonderful August day in the southeastern bowels of America. Russia sighed and looked at the Target in front of him. American capitalism was dreadful, but he simply had to get the best deals available in America's dreadful country.
America grinned and stepped out of his ridiculously flashy car, which was even painted an obnoxious shade of red. "Yo Russia, you like my totally sick ride? I painted it crimson, cause all the heroes in my TOTALLY FUCKING RAD movies have red cars." He pumped his fist in the air. "BOOYEAH!" he screamed loudly, disturbing the other poor Target-goers.
Belarus stepped out of the backseat of the car. "America, next time I ride in your car, which will hopefully be never, can you at least play some good music?" She scoffed. "I don't give a shit about Miley Cyrus, play some Seyorga or that American version of Chornii Bumer, what was it called?"
Russia leaned over and said, "hey lil momma lemme whisper in ya ear" then whispered in her ear, "The song is called Beemer, Benz or Bentley." His breath was hot on her ear and smelled vaguely like old blini.
Belarus replied, "Thank you, also marry me," and tried to smile sweetly. However, her smile came out as only an entirely terrifying grimace, due to countless years of not really smiling at all.
America stated at her smile longingly. Why did his sworn friend-rival have to have such... An attractive pair of sisters? He couldn't in good faith bang either of them. (or could he?) His life suuuuucked.
Speaking of sisteris/i, where was Ukraine? She had also been riding in the pretty fucking swagalicious car, rather quietly. Well, if you didn't count the rather distracting noise of her boobs jiggling loudly. America had almost swerved off the road. Ten times.
America, Russia, and Belarus all looked around the parking lot. Maybe she had already been out of the car? Maybe she was ALREADY HERE?
Ukraine squeezed herself out of the car window. She cried sadly, "America, you locked the door! I had to hotbox the car to get the window open, because pulling the little locky thing would have set off the alarm!"
America stared at her. "How do you know how to hotbox a car?" he asked with disbelief. How on earth was Ukraine ghetto enough to know how to steal cars? Holy fucking shit.
"I'm Ukrainian," she said rather proudly. If she had sunglasses, the sun would have glinted off of them dramatically, like she was in some Japanese anime animated by Studio DEEN. Cause that's just how Ukraine roll, bitch.
A few seconds later, she looked down at her shirt, which everyone was staring at. It had been completely ripped open by the stress of trying to fit her tits through a car window. "Oh," she said.
It was truly a good thing that they were at a Target, a store known for having all sorts of things, shirts and bras included.
All together, the foursome entered the superstore.
Around them, fluorescent lights flickered charmingly and salespeople smiled charmingly, dressed in red polo shirts and name tags with nice Anglo-Saxon names emblazoned upon them. Quiet tunes wafted down from hidden speakers, and tiny ceiling cameras documented their every move. The floors were squeaky clean, and the shelves were stocked with numerous unbranded products.
Target. Heaven. Were the two really that different, if at all?
Belarus quickly sped off to the kitchenware department, presumably to obtain a massive number of wickedly sharp knives. Knives that she would, without hesitation, use to CHOP OFF AMERICA'S MAN SAUSAGE if he tried to hit on her again. She had eyes only for her brother! Only for her brother!
She grabbed a knife from off of the display rack and started swinging it around wildly.
A loud screech was heard, and several Target employees ran over to the kitchenware aisle.
Meanwhile, Russia and Ukraine were wandering through the women's clothing aisle. Blouses and skirts met them at every turn.
Russia felt slightly uncomfortable, surrounded as he was by the lovely garments of ladies. Deep within his mind, there was an unconscious desire to take all of those beautiful frilly blouses, those delightfully ruffled camisoles, those majestic poodle skirts and wear each and every one.
He shook his head violently and unexpectedly at the unbidden and unwanted thought of tiny miniskirts, causing his sister no deal of distress. "Are you okay?" she asked with worriment. Was he having a fit? Did he suffer from tics? Oh god, what if he had epilepsy? Narcolepsy? Her sweet baby brother could die!
He put his hand on his neck, scarred as it was from countless years of forgettable battles. "I'm... Fine..." he replied, still feeling a bit shaky from the sudden attack of cross-dressing urges. "Hey, how about getting you some clothing? Ha ha ha ha ha," he laughed in an unconvincing attempt to deceive Ukraine into thinking that everything was just fine and dandy. Everything was peachy fucking keen. He was not a cross-dresser and he was standing in oh my god the lingerie aisle why did brassieres have to be so fucking adorable.
In his head, something pulled him towards the "maidenform" section, and his poor body followed suit. His hand found itself grabbing a light green bra, with underwire and small amounts of white lace lining the cups, off of the rack.
"Oh, what a cute color! Thank you, Russia!" cried Ukraine gratefully as she took the heavenly undergarment from his hands. "I wonder if it'll fit me...?" she pondered to herself, the pastel bra tantalizingly close, yet forever out of reach. "I think I'll go try it on!"
And with that, both brassiere and the woman holding it vanished into the fitting rooms. Russia sighed sadly. He would never see the bra again. Never again would he feel its softness on his skin. The sensation of actually wearing the fabled female undergarment was robbed from him forever.
Wait, what the everloving fuck was he thinking?
In the lingerie section of your friendly neighborhood Target, the personification of the Russian Federation slapped himself quite hard across the cheek.
Meanwhile, five store personnel had managed to calm Belarus down and separate her from the knife that she had previously been swinging around rather dangerously. It was certainly fortuitous that nobody else had been around, or else lawsuits and hospital stays could have occurred. And that would truly have been awful.
America snuck up from behind, like a ninja, or perhaps a stealthy pirate, (were ninjas or pirates in this year? Or was the new trend ninja pirates?) and slapped Belarus's ass, unintelligently. Her plush rump jiggled majestically against his hand. It was truly glorious.
Belarus, devoid of all knives, hissed angrily, "If you TOUCH my ass ever AGAIN, I will SHIT IN YOUR FUCKING HAND!" Her voice rose to a bat-like screech. A concerned mother pulled her four year old son away and covered his ears.
America popped a boner in his repulsively low-hanging jeans. Damn, he certainly did like women with sass. Unrelatedly, he also greatly enjoyed scat porn, because he was American. came from America, after all. The more you know.
He decided that he would check if she would actually make good in her ultimatum at a later time. However, since he was in the holy place known as Target; there were probably policies against shitting on people. What a shame.
In the dressing room, Ukraine sighed with unhappiness. Why, why, why were there never bras in her size? Certainly she was better-endowed than most, but she could usually find undergarments that fit her with relative ease in her native country! In addition, the American sizing system was bizarre and arbitrary. Each different company had different standards, to boot! It was such a pity that the cute green bra her sweet little brother had chosen out was ill-fitting; the cups cut into her breasts, causing them to spill out over the fabric uncomfortably. If only she could just... Call someone in to help her adjust the straps. Perhaps then the bra could be salvaged and made purchasable.
"Oh, Russ-" She stopped herself quickly. She was in a public place, after all, and she was pretty certain that Russia was not a regular name used by humans. She continued, "Ivashka! Could you help me with the bra? I cannot get it to adjust properly on my own!" Inwardly she chuckled. She was such a naughty girl. To any outsider, it would seem like she was inviting her delicious beau into the fitting room to have some sexalicious fun times. Which was entirely incorrect, of course, since she was merely platonically asking her younger brother to help her with her clothes! And she certainly did not have an incestuous crush on him! That was darling Belarus's schtick.
At the sound of his lovely elder sister's voice, Russia perked up. Perhaps he could touch the bra once more after all! Oh thank God in Heaven, he was the luckiest man in the world, to be able to gently fondle the soft bra of his elder sister. In a non incestuous way of course. Incest was Belarus's thing, after all.
Russia walked into the fitting area. A Target employee tried to stop him, waving her arms like a chicken and gibbering something along the lines of "this is the ladies' section, you have to go around the other way to try on clothes do you even HAVE clothes with you?!"
He stopped her complaints by simultaneously crying in a high pitched voice, "I'M A PRETTY LADY" and shoving her into a clothes rack. He then, in a pretty and ladylike fashion, swung the magically unlocked dressing room door open and laid his eyes solely upon Ukraine's delightfully adorable spring green brassiere. How soft it looked. Although it objectively looked good on her, it would certainly look much better on HIM.
Ukraine noticed her younger brother staring at her breasts and uncharacteristically giggled in a girlish manner. Well, if this was the way it was going to go, she certainly wasn't going to complain. Silently, she thought to herself, "I'm sorry for being such a bewitching older sister..." and then put her dainty hand on Russia's shoulder.
"Oh, Russia, my bra is having some trouble," she said mock-innocently, then continued as she bit her lip gently, "Please, could you help me?"
She was such a naughty girl. Seducing her brother! Ohohoho! France would blush!
Russia's eyes lit up like those of a cat in the headlights of a black BMW. Had she just... Given him an invitation to take off her bra? Oh yes! Now, it could finally be reunited with its rightful wearer. The joy! The ecstasy! Tears of pure liquid happiness dripped down his face as his terrifyingly large cock hardened from the imminent reality of WEARING a bra.
Ukraine's mind wandered to questions of what the fuck was wrong with her, but these anti-incestuous thoughts were quickly dispelled by the glorious sight of Russia's one hundred percent unkosher pork sword straining against the fabric of his slacks. It was truly something to marvel at.
Russia reached out and slowly, carefully adjusted the straps of Ukraine's bra, allowing her breasts to push against the silky soft fabric until she managed to fill out the cups quite nicely and much more comfortably. With curiosity, he tugged at the band with two fingers, then let go.
Ukraine shrieked loudly with surprise and pain, her large nipples hardening visibly through the fabric. Several Target employees relocated themselves from the kitchenware department, where they had successfully detained a vicious and foul-mouthed young lady, to the central fitting area, where there seemed to be another "incident".
Today was a special and exciting day at Target! There were two "incidents", instead of just one! Exciting! Fun! A minor custodian grumbled quietly that he had better "get a fucking raise from this bullshit or so help me god I am OUT".
Belarus and America had already purchased everything that they needed: knives, hamburger buns, Fire and Ice condoms, more knives, a home enema kit, a taser, even more fucking knives, and some chewing gum. The daring duo sat boredly in the built-in Starbucks café area.
"How long does it usually take Ukraine to get bras?" asked America, trying to make small talk, but failing.
"Oh, usually about three hours," replied Belarus. She was still upset about having not been able to purchase any knives, and not being allowed within fifty feet of the kitchenware aisle. In the distance, a feminine scream could be heard.
America sighed. He had bought so many knives to impress Belarus that he hadn't been able to buy anything else but a package of hamburger buns. And although Target was truly Heaven on Earth, it was no fun being there unless you could actually buy stuff. And he was totally fucking out of cash. Credit cards were for the weak.
A long silence followed, filled only with the sounds of fifty or so red-shirted Target employees running towards the changing rooms.
"So, you down to fuck?" Belarus said, looking at the Starbucks menu. America could not meet her gaze.
"Sure."
Russia smiled mirthfully. It was finally time to step up and be the big man. In his head he was the star. It was him.
The bra, in all its vibrantly verdant glory, was the perfect size for him. The band was just stretchy enough to endure his girthy frame, while still tight enough to let him feel like the pretty woman he wanted to emulate in every way. The pretty woman that he knew he truly was, in his heart of hearts that often fell out of his body.
He still wanted to have a cock though. He had made a deal with the devil for that cock. And a stick of gum. Blueberry gum.
"Can I...?" he whispered gently, his pancakey breath noxiously wafting towards her ear. It was positively... TEEEEENDER.
Ukraine blushed like a fair maiden from a vintage book of children's fairy tales and placed his large and hairy hand in her smooth and delicate one, guiding it to her excessively large breast.
When she had been younger and more foolish, an old shaman had opened a portal to a hellish dimension and a tiny bottle had fallen through. She drank the milk inside, ignorant of its corrupted nature. Succubus milk proved extremely potent on young nations.
Ukraine shook her head. Now was not the time to go into a detailed flashback to her adolescence. No... It was TITTY TIME!
As Russia gently and lovingly peeled the bra off of her massive chest, Ukraine absentmindedly slid her hand downwards, into the back of her younger brother's pants. Her dainty and ladylike fingers slid through rank layers of matted Russian ass forest. It was entirely erotic in every way. To stroke her brother's butt hair, here, in the Target, was perhaps the greatest ecstasy that anyone would ever know. The delicious contrast between the smoothness of her well-manicured fingers (manicures were what she liked to consider to be her sole luxury) and the luscious roughness of Russia's expansive swaths of tangled, unshorn booty fur gave Ukraine a slight case of the vapors. Her head swam with pleasure as she explored Russia's meaty, fuzzy rump. The feel of his dried butt sweat on his asscheek curls was positively... Ah! Orgasmic.
Russia, as he gently fondled Ukraine's bra, felt the not-quite-unwelcome, per se, intrusion of her slender fingers exploring his ass crack. Her hands parted great curtains of matted, crusty hiney hair. So his sister was into ass play. He could dig that.
PSYCHE
THE STORY NEVER FINISHED
BECAUSE THE AUTHOR WAS TOO BUSY GETTING laid
THE END