"Throw it, mate!" She called; her grin wide and excited as her slender legs kicked at the gorgeous blue ocean to keep her up. The sun's wondrous heat exploded onto the Earth with as much affection as a smooth brush stroke on a canvas, painting its beauty onto the luscious land of Charlotte's home and the inexplicable humid sand blanketing around the pair of fun loving friends with a sparkle of enjoyment which reflected through their playful eyes. It was still early morning, but nothing felt more tranquil than having breakfast with the sea and sun as well as her favourite person in the world. She almost forgot the entire mess of yesterday.

Approving of her request, France threw the Frisbee with great might over to the athletic lover for her to receive. Quickly it appeared before her, letting her reach out fastly with speedy reflexes and successfully grip the piece of colourful plastic. Her smile was one that could rival the suns as she played. Francis could only note how childish yet beautiful she turned when she had no care in the world. Although he much loved her dark side, this was the woman he fell in love with and this was the woman he wanted for his own. The shimmering ocean did well to highlight the tanned skin of hers that exposed genially outside of her reasonably graceful bikini, only adding a delicacy which made him want to just eat her up like a French dessert. Could a country ever be more amazing? If he ever lost her to Russia, he'd be worse than devastated; he'd be distraughted to the point where... he just didn't want to think about it. At the moment, she was safe and that was how he was going to keep it no matter what. By her side, and in his arms for all of eternity.

It didn't take long for a bright idea to bestow upon the jocund dame. She knew that this wasn't going to be too ideal for the Frenchman, but that wasn't going to stop her from doing what she loved.

"Hey, Francis! Fancy catchin' some waves with me?" She laughed brightly. There was no need to ask him; she knew he had no sense of balance on the board no matter how many times she tried teaching him. He instantly pulled a face which basically meant 'not a chance in hell', so shrugging her shoulders, the Aussie ran out of the balmy water and over to her villa's garage.

As his gaze followed the woman over the sublime waves, France just couldn't stop his heart beating at the wondrous sight that bestowed before him over the luscious horizon; she was so beautiful… With each trick and swerve she done on that large champagne coloured board just further impressed him no matter how many years he had seen her do them. Charlotte was an expert at surfing and had won countless competitions from across Australia but she never gloated or surfed just for winning. The one thing that was important to her and she cared deeply though her soul was the fact that surfing was her hobby and enjoyment and was treated as such. Each time she had the chance she would glide effortlessly through the tube of a melodious wave, gleaming with delight sprawled across her glorious features.

France exited the waters and slouched over the sand peacefully, still watching closely at the laughing gal through all her mind blowing skills with a sinister smile extended across his tanning phizog. As soon as she was free from the movement of the elaborate ocean, she turned to his frame and waved hysterically, making sure he saw her in order to wave back, but much more comfortable. This is what it was about when being her best friend; not being overly obsessed with sex. They may not have seen it, but he had many other uses than bringing so much pleasure to the world. Charlotte spent a lot of her time in the ocean, but it didn't bother him; he was just glad she was enjoying herself to such an extent.


A few hours later, she finally decided to head back and join him.

"Ah, such a beautiful day!" She exclaimed and collapsed down beside him onto the lovely lukewarm sand. Her hair sprawled out messily and her limbs followed its example, but the smile that was basking on her lips just made the childish nature of the fun loving girl shine out cutely. As quickly as she settled down, she sprang back up like a springboard and grabbed France's hands eagerly with a strangely determined spark glinting through her wide fallow orbs.

"I've decided something, Francis!" She bubbly cried out.

"Oh? What will zat be?" He laughed slightly. She had said before that taking care of him while he flirted was a hassle, but did she ever realize just how much attention she needed when she was hyper?

"I've decided that… I'm going to throw a party for the Nations! Especially for the Europeans and Asians; I don't get to see them all enough."

"A party? Who will you invite?" It didn't seem bad enough. After all, she had been so stressed lately so perhaps seeing old friends – without getting too drunk this time – would have been a good idea.

"Well: you obviously are first on my list, America and the other one-"

"Canada."

"Oh that's his name? England, Scotland, Poland, Germany, cute Italy and bad mouth Italy-"

"Romano."

"Yeah, that one: Austria, Switzerland, Greece, China, Japan, Korea… and…Wow, I haven't seen the awesome Prussia in decades! And the gorgeous Spain too!" Suddenly, she was brought back to memories of the times she used to flirt with the BBT and hang out with them, causing her to start her non-stop babbling for a chuckling France.

"It sounds like it will be a great party… But I can't 'elp but notice zat you didn't list any woman."

"Oh? I didn't? That's odd… Well, I like Belarus; she keeps Russia away but she doesn't like me. Also… huh… Oh! Lichtenstein! But, convincing Switzerland to let her come will be really hard. And, even though I doubt she'd come, I'll invite New Zealand. Taiwan's a cutie, but after our little… incident… I don't think she'd want ta see me. Hungary is definitely invited, and so is Ukraine!"

"When will you 'ave zis party anyway?"

"As soon as pos'! Maybe next week so they can all leave in time. 'Specially the Nordics."

"You are practically inviting zee world! Per'aps you should zink a little more about it before you plan zis party."

"Inviting the world! That's a wonderful idea, Francis!"

"I zink you misunderstood me…"

"So le' me think… I'll need: Party food – You can cook! Music, booze – that's important – decorations… I have another idea! I'll invite America over; 'e'll be sure ta throw somethin' awesome!" Completely taken into her own world, France was left trying to get her attention, but failing miserably. Usually, he'd just grab her behind and she'd shut up long enough for him to get a word in but, due to his own stupid rules, he couldn't at this moment in time. Why did he say those things yesterday? He wanted to break the rules so badly, but it had become more of a matter of pride rather than teaching her a lesson. Oh well, what can he do? Instead of trying, France found himself shaking his head light-heartedly and lying back down on the pleasant beach and working more on his alluring tan. God help him if he burnt himself…

Not too long later, her sudden vivacious ranting came to a close, giving the poor male a final peace and a chance to have a normal conversation with her. Of course, as any gentleman, he listened to everything she had said, but he didn't really register it all. All he knew was that she was going to throw a party, designed by America, food by him, alcohol from Germany, and something about some games… Seven minutes in heaven? If it was the same one he had played all those times before, then he'd hope to get a certain cork hat wearer trapped in a diminutive closet with him. Oh, in that sort of game, his rule will not apply, but the rules of the game. They will certainly be a set of rules he'd obey whole-heartedly.

"I'm gonna do the preparations now!" She shouted, picking herself up in seconds and sprinting home.


"Dude, that's a totally cool idea!" Shouted a fellow deafening country from down the phone.

"I know! So will ya help? Come on, Alfred; ya throw the best parties ever!"

"Well, that is true, but you know I have a lot to do-"

"Don't lie, mate. Since when do ya do any work?"

"Hey! These fast food restaurants aren't gonna build themselves you know!"

"… Seriously, when do ya see fast food joints being built? They just… appear. But, never mind that! Ple~ase? I'll barbie some hamburgers for ya. Please, Al, my awesome hero?" She begged with knowledge of just how to convince him to do as she pleased. It was apparent, but the sly fox knew just how to wrap unsuspecting countries around her little finger.

"Alright, fine… I'll leave in a few days so I'll be there next week. Is that okay?" He sighed defeated.

"Ta', hero!" Charlotte was beaming with delight as the phone was pressed back down onto the stand, signalling to the seated Frenchman on the settee that she had finally gotten around America. The happiness of today was very welcoming after such a hassling day yesterday; one which the bubbly woman hoped would last just a little longer.

"Your 'awesome 'ero' is coming zen?" France sarcastically contemplated as she headed over to the settee. Instead of sitting beside him however, the whimsical woman bounced onto it and sprawled herself across, lazily resting her feet on the lengthy lap of her companion.

"Yep!" She grinned stupidly. Like this, France couldn't help but stare from her feet and up her tanned, silken legs. Without even realising it, he found himself stroking her shins with a smooth, rhythmic glide of his entire hand, feeling just how preciously creamy her limbs were and painting a picture with his fingertips as he done so.

"Francis…" She soothed, "What are you doing?" The last thing she needed was for him to start caressing her if he wasn't going to break his godforsaken promise. Still he continued, but in a way that told the girl that he was going to stop. Each time his hand travelled slowly up, then steadily down, Charlotte was left with shivers signalling through her spine, making her arms fill with goose-bumps. Finally, but unwillingly, he brought his skilful palms over her feet, progressively massaging them. She wasn't at all ticklish on her feet, so France was able to use his best techniques on her to make her relax. Judging by how she had tilted her head back so splendidly, the Frenchman accepted that she was enjoying his hands, as usual, and doing her best just to unwind into his careful movements. Her feet were so beautiful and undeviating… they really matched her gorgeous body so much. All he wanted to do was kiss her slender skin and caress her all over; massaging her was only the beginning. If he could no longer stop himself, then his pride of a promise was going to fall down the drain, leaving the Aussie at the finishing line, claiming her victory. How would she learn her lesson if he doesn't even follow through with it? He knew she wanted him badly, but did she realize just how much she turned him on too? He thought up such a terrible plan… He could have thought of something else that wouldn't have left them both sexless. Unfortunately, it was in the spur of the moment. All he wanted from her were those simple words.

Continuing with his talented hands, he pushed and rubbed her sensationally, trying all he could not to turn it into sexually, tracing along every line she possessed and working around the best points to relieve any stress or tension. Every dip in her diminutive arch, every flawless part of her perfect feet, every scar of her heel… wait, a scar? Earning a whine from Charlotte as he stopped, Francis picked up her right foot and examined the peculiar area. What he noticed both shocked and worried him.

"Jarlotte, what is zis?" He asked, timidly tracing his thumb over the strangely large dip where her right heel should have been. There were small scars circling the dent, like something had ripped out this part of her foot. How had he never noticed this before?

"Oh, that? It's noting, mate. I just 'ad a small encounter with a Cookiecutter a few months ago, that's all." She explained like it was nothing, but France had to just stare blankly at her; wasn't that some sort of cooking utility? Taking a glance at his curious features, Charlotte took a wild guess at what he was thinking.

"A Cookiecutter is a bloody pesky shark. 'Bout so big," She indicated with her hands, making the same size as probably a rugby ball, "They don't usually bite, but this one 'ad a temper on 'im. I guess he didn't like being whacked by my surfboard." Shaking the blank look off of his face, France brought his hand up and chuckled slightly.

"You ought to be more careful, Jarlotte." He leant towards her from his position at her feet, easily reaching to her head with his own. He took her chin into his fingers and watched as her face burnt rose red, smirking at how cute she was, "I don't ever want to see you 'urt."

She was gorgeous, staring up at him with her round shimmering eyes, her messy fallow curls, her sexy slim figure, her open plump lips… Well, he said that he wouldn't have sex with her, but he didn't say…

Swiftly he placed his head down, giving up on resisting and finally kissed her. Only a tiny peck, but still he felt the spark between their lips alight, shocking her but not letting her go against him. He was teasing her. Massaging her, lying so close to her, kissing her, so talented, just why wouldn't he sleep with her? He mentioned something about making love rather than just sex; is that what he wanted her to realize? What was the difference…? Why couldn't he just show her the difference instead? Either way, sex or love-making, she'd still become satisfied if it was with Francis. He lowered his head again, kissing her over and over until all he could do was stare adoringly into her eyes. …Maybe it wasn't about her. Is that what Francis was trying to tell her? She hated it when the men she slept with were so selfish and didn't… think about… her feelings… What about Francis's feelings? All she ever thought about was getting pleasure from him now; what about what France wanted? How could she have been so horrible to not think about her partner? Without lifting again this time, their lips collided into a light, loving kiss, not budging away from each other at all.

He got carried away. Now what was he going to do? The taste of his sweet Charlotte was too addicting, too strong for him to battle against. It was becoming increasingly difficult to stop. Their make-out session wasn't at all heated, but if they even try to turn it around into his personal favourite French kiss, there was no way he could turn back. She was semi-naked under him. She was stunning and so amazing. All he wanted to do was tell her how much he loved her; why couldn't he, though? There was something stopping him and he had no idea what. Charlotte changed her position to place her hands onto his back, holding him kindly and unlocking their lips.

"Ta' Francis… We should stop now, or you'll regret it later." She whispered benevolent. Stop? Charlotte is the one stopping him? That was bizarre! After all that had happened, after how much she begged for him yesterday, she was stopping him? He couldn't help but feel slightly upset at her sudden change, but was somewhat pleased to know that she was thinking about what he had told her. Perhaps it wouldn't take too long after all. She stood up from the sofa and made her was out to the porch, smiling back blithely. It didn't take too long for the initial shock to wear away, but the confusion remained in the wine lover; why did she thank him?

As soon as she exited the front door, Charlotte grasped heavily onto where her heart drummed. It was beating so fast it hurt her. Was she falling ill? The last thing she wanted was for France to get worried about her if she fainted in front of him! She quickly stepped down a stair and sat on it, not letting go of her rapid heart for a moment. It hurt… Her stomach felt queasy. Maybe she was becoming ill. Hopefully it would pass before her party, or she may have to cancel, sending Alfred here for no reason. Alfred… It had been so long since he had come over. After all that had happened… No, she wouldn't think about it; it's in the past now. Still, she had high hopes that it wouldn't be awkward for him. That's right, he had to talk to France when he helped her shopping; they spoke when she was getting ready and left before she went to France… What did they talk about? Whatever it was, France wasn't fazed during their date, so it must have been alright. Just thinking about their conspicuous date was making her accelerating heart beat even harder. Why was she reacting like this? She needed a drink…


That night was astonishing. The high moon shone its glory over the Earth with a gleaming smile, caressing its love with every part of its desire in a caring embrace as the whistling, carefree breeze played vivaciously with the captivating sumptuous jungle leaves as the nocturnal animals sung. The gaudy atmosphere was brilliant under the flamboyant stars who welcomed the citizens of his pulchritudinous friend's country into a warming bedtime story for this opulent time. There was only one thing that could have made this night even better for France: Having the ostentatious girl of his dreams held in his arms as he lied on the settee, drinking his favourable wine. It may have overwhelmed him when she stopped them from going any further, but now that he had re-composed himself, France found that he wanted a little company just to clutch onto as they watched enticing late night movies.

He waited for her, but she said she needed to do something and hadn't been seen since. So, in hope to keep his patience, he stared around her living room, taking in the amazing decorations and interior she had collected over her years. Like her personality, her home was always modern. He lied on the polar white settee with two matching designer seats on either side, circling a small retro black and white coffee table and a single mint green square rug underneath. Completing the circle was a flat screen television hung flawlessly on the wall before the settee. She only had a small, one floor house, but it was cosy, and the living room was placed in such a way were it did not over-fill with furniture and people could still move around inside, as well as mesmeric decor which brought the perfect colour to entice the living space. The colour focus was mainly on mint green: colourful decorative pillows, paintings which shone with the exquisite shade, a feature wall of the same surrounded by the polar white she partnered with the green, but there was one colour which stood out completely above all of the room: a transparent vase on the coffee table holding the most elegant Golden Wattle flowers he had ever seen. Her national flower and representing her most beautiful feature of all; the golden shine of her fallow eyes. On the two black shelves lining along next to the TV were tens of trophies and medals, all of which were from sporting competitions, glimmering bronzes, silvers and golds, each of which were polished and beauteous.

His patience was soon fulfilled as he heard the luscious voice of the ravishing Charlotte from the doorframe.

"Bonsour, Francis." She lulled with a hint of frolicsomeness.

"Bonsour, mon cherié-!" He was left wide eyed as soon as he turned to face her. There she was… leaning against the plain doorframe with all of her desirable body, wearing nothing but the infatuating Babylon he had once found, along with a sexy black laced thong just translucent enough to cover her flower, but so thin it was almost pointless to call underwear. Each of her glorious curves was on an emphasised display and completely faultless as the cotton swayed with every diminutive movement she made. She was so stunning, so captivating, so enthralling… but that wasn't what caused France to spit out his wine. No… it was the delicate felt above her head… in the large, sexual shape of two alluring cat ears.

"I was just looking for something when I came across these! Do you remember when ya bought them for me, trying almost anything to get me to wear them for ya?" Yes… He remembered in crystal just how badly he wanted to see her dressed up erotically with cat ears. Of all times, she decided that NOW she would fulfil his wishes. So cunning yet so evil. She left the comfort of the frame and glided towards him, each little sway with her hip hypnotising him into an unfairly dirty mind. As she reached him, she huddled down onto the settee and ran a heedful finger along his arm. All France could do was listen to his senses begging for him to touch her no matter how hard he tried listening to his brain to not fall for it. The tender finger ghastly travelled to and fro from his shoulder to his elbow, so suggestively… and her breasts, so close, pressing deeply into his chest… So close that he could even feel her erect nipples teasing him through their shared fabric. He tried forgetting his sense of touch, but his sight betrayed him too; only from her elongated legs, up to her slender stomach, over those wanting breasts to her bright, gleaming eyes and finally to the kinky black ears on her glimmering hair, then repeating the stare in the opposite direction in order to start again. Why did she have to be so damn sexy? He could even smell a strong rosy perfume scenting amazingly from her, mixing astonishingly with her normal, beautiful oceanic aroma. What would those mixes smell like if her sweat was also added? No, he couldn't waver! But yet, his own hearing peaked to listen closely to her uneven breathing draining out the TV… He wanted to make her melodiously mewl for him. The only sense that couldn't comprehend to her was his taste. It was terrible how much he wanted to lick her all over, take in every single different concupiscent sensation she had over that irresistible goddess-like body she was miracle-d with. He swallowed hard. If he lost concentration for one minute, one second, his promise was going down the drain; everything in his blood told him to caress her and touch her in every way possible, and to make her his no matter how long it took.

"Well, Francis, I give up. I've really tried so hard to work out the difference between sex and making love… But I just can't!" She purred, feigning innocence for him yet still giving him a voluptuous look.

"Oh, mon dieu… I stand at what I said, Jarlotte. You cannot tease me like zis!" Although this is what he exclaimed, Charlotte could easily see his discomfort of the forming heat between them; he was breaking quickly. No matter how hard he tried covering it, his growing arousal was obvious to the inwardly smirking girl. Leaning close to his ear, she breathed gently into his cannel with a careful growl emitting from her throat.

"I'm not trying to tease you… I just want to ask you a favour…" With a whisper, all of the Frenchman's walls suddenly collided down.

"Can't ya just show me instead?"

"What… What are you asking me?" He very steadily got out of his throat. There was no more focus in his dazed mind; all he could think about was everything he could do to her: to touch, to feel, to taste, to lick, to smell, to bite, to grind, to pound, to grab, to rub, to moan-! All he needed was those simple words… All he wanted was for her to say them. Those gentle few words…

"I'm asking… Make love ta me, Francis."

Those were the gentle words.

That was all he needed. No longer controlling his senses, France instantly threw her off to his side so she lied sexily onto the settee. Without any hesitation his drooling lips crashed onto her passionate own and brought his body on top of hers. The sudden movement caught her by surprise, but it didn't take long for her to adjust to his arms pinning her tightly down in an insane embrace. Success! Never breaking away, Francis stuck his tongue over her wanting cavity, but she was feeling more playful than she had intended, keeping her lips together in a forming smirk. It was going to take more than that for her to do what he wanted. He was the one who made her wait. Her playfulness only turned him on even more. Not bothering to fight, he removed his lips and threw them over her neck, biting down on her pressure point harshly, earning a yelp from her. France listened to the noises escaping her throat, growling himself at just how cat-like she had become.

"I can't take it, ma ange! J'ai besoin de toisi mal!" He screamed drastically. How could she manage to do this to him?

"Puisme prendre…" She purred back. She didn't speak fluent French, but she could understand what he wanted just by his tonne. God, his language sent such arousing chills through her body; she couldn't get enough of the risqué Frenchman!

"Je l'aime quandvous parlez français!" France looked up and stared at her, almost hypnotised with her, as she finished speaking his national language. It was the first time he had heard her say she loved something, even better in French. Calming himself enough to find his senses again, he changed his position to kiss her again, opening her mouth beforehand and pressing his forehead onto hers.

"Si c'est ce quevous aimez, alorsje vaisobéir,mabelle fleur." He pressed his wanting mouth firmly onto hers and slithered his tongue through, this time without any defence. She felt his slick, large muscle slide into her orifice skilfully, roaming around dominating her entire area, trying to taste every part of her. Still mischievous, Charlotte didn't fight to gain dominance, but instead locked his tongue into her mouth and began sucking it as if it were his member, slightly biting on him and making him heave with deep breaths through his nose. He didn't resist, but the sudden contact as he started massaging her waist made her groan huskily into the French kiss, vibrating his own pink length inside her. Her hands gripped tightly onto his shirt as he worked his tips around her slim stomach, making her own chest heave with anticipation. She let go of his tongue and he kissed her once again.

"Tu es belle," He breathed, kissing down her neck with each word, "Tu es merveilleuse, tu es tout ce que jeveux, ma chérie!" Every word of his French drove her crazy, even though she could barely understand what he was saying. Continuing from her neck, he left a trail of butterfly kisses down towards her chest. As he hit the Babylon, he gripped the loose black ribbon at the front with his teeth and pulled it apart, untying her feverish bosom. Just as he was going to begin his devoted attention onto her rosy buds, France was pushed off strangely by the dainty dame.

"Wait, France," Unlike the usual Charlotte, she was blushing about sex. In an even more rarity, she was embarrassed about something, covering her chest droopily and diverting her gaze from his.

"Is… Something wrong?" He questioned. Although his arousal was telling him to continue, he forced himself to wait patiently for her to answer.

"Is it okay if… I try something new?" Even though Charlotte had a lot of experience in the past, there was always one thing that she would shy away from. Slowly, she faced back to him, matching his alluring gaze with her bashful one, "I want to make you feel as good as you make me."

Without a word from the Frenchman, the Aussie pressed herself against him, making him sit back before her. With exhilarating pecks along his stubble, feeling as it pricked her skin, her hands expertly fondled with the buttons of his shirt and untucked it from his trousers before gliding it down his heated arms, not once unlocking her gaze from his gorgeous blue eyes. She started kissing over his chest and stomach like he had done to her, this time without licking or biting, until she reached down to the bulge in his uncomfortable clothing.

"I… haven't done this before, so please bare with me." She admitted sheepishly, "I want to share this first time with you." France astounded by her claim. Her first time to do what? Whatever it was, he was glad that she wanted to share it with him. Charlotte unbuckled his belt and ripped it off, then unzipped him and brought his standing member into the open. He hissed slightly at her touch, but didn't let her hear him. Before she began, she slipped her Babylon off and threw it aside.

"Can you lay back a little bit more, please?" She timidly ordered him. It was embarrassing how scared she sounded. It was as if she had never had sex before! Still she carried on as he obeyed her silently.

"If you are uncomfortable, zen please don't force yourself." Francis smiled, still not understanding her actions.

"I'm fine." Quickly gazing over the half-naked hunk, she dropped down and rested her breasts onto his thighs, indicating just what she was planning. She massaged herself for a moment, moving gently so her nipples tickled the base of Francis's member, and then gradually moved down onto him, pushing his throbbing length into her cleavage.

"Ah, Jarlotte! … Zat feels incredible!" He threw his head over the arm of the sofa and sighed approvingly. The words of praise made her feel better and so she pushed her body up and down in hope for a rhythm. It didn't take long before she had found a steady beat to move. Francis growled intimately at her pace, but her inexperience in this category showed; as good as it did feel, she was loose.

"Jarlotte… Try pressing them together…" He tried teaching her. Confused, she pushed her breasts closer, but only slightly. France tilted his head back up and smiled down to her.

"Zat's better, but try it like zis." He clamped his sweaty palms caringly onto her hands and forced them together onto himself, keeping her rhythm unfazed as her boobs sucked his length into their goddess like softness, clutching him close. When she had gotten used to the new pressure, he removed his hands and let her continue.

"How does it feel?" Charlotte soothed, slowly gaining confidence.

"Extraordinaire…" He seethed through. She looked down at her seizing breasts and noticed his tip edging just out of her, begging for attention. Charlotte obeyed to its demands, lowering her mouth as low as she could and started sucking it. Judging by the sudden jerk from her sex partner, it was something that made him feel even better than before.

"Mon dieu, Jarlotte! Se sent si bon!" Guessing that what he said was a compliment, Charlotte continued doing her tit-fuck until he felt him pulsing through her breasts. The sudden pulsation caused her to moan onto his member; it felt like his heart was hammering into her chest!

"Jarlotte, Je vais-!" With a split-second warning, she lowered herself as far as she could without the removal of her boobs and let him cum into her watering mouth. She let him go and faced him, with an epicurean smirk while she savoured and swallowed his seed, letting only a drop fall down her chin and over her reddened breasts. France reached out for her, stroking through her untidy locks and tugging at the base of her cat ears. Just to see his reaction, Charlotte purred for him. To Francis, the simple noise twisted him around to his kinky side, gradually leaning towards her while stroking her just as he would of a cat. In return, she continued purring. Even if it sounded fake, the purrs were her result from the touches he made to her sensitive scalp. She loved his touch so much…

"Francis… I want you to put it in me." She mewled, setting herself nearer to his lap. France stopped petting her and smirked gleefully.

"Oh? Is zat so, mon chaton?" Suddenly re-energised, Charlotte found herself being thrown back and twisted so her back faced him, "A pet should listen to zeir masters, no?" The ambiguous grin inched wider on his features, growing wider with each inch he moved closer to her ear.

"Put your 'ands on zee arm of zee sofa…" He ordered salacious. Growing aroused at the sudden domination, Charlotte followed his orders and placed her hands onto the arm, crouching herself onto all fours. Francis eyed over her sexual frame for a moment before holding her hips and grinding himself against her. The smell of her sweat coupling with the arousing growls started sending him over the edge; with a racing mind he started humping her, grabbing her ambrosial hips with one hand as the other traced the curve of her heavenly back.

"Ah, don't tease me!" She screeched as his length pressed against her butt. The movement of his hip alone was driving her mind crazy, but the taste of his tempting cum still resting in her mouth was almost like an aphrodisiac pumping her heart full-pelt only for the congenial blonde beauty. Like he had said, there was something different about this time around rather than their normal sex sessions and, whatever it was, she loved it. After a few more pumps on her delectable skin, France finally took his sheer weight off of her and grabbed himself, removing the little fabric of her thong and positioning his shaft into her entrance.

"Êtes-vous prêt, mon cher?" He fluently questioned. She couldn't understand him, but feeling only the tip of him inside her wasn't enough. She moved her own hip back, sheathing him slightly more and telling him to go. Complying her wishes he forced himself in. The thrilling screams she threw at him rang pleasurably through his ears; he was hitting the top of her! Instantly their pace began, rapidly slapping each other with sweaty bodies and groans as all their senses focused solemnly on one another. Charlotte could feel his nails digging through her hips as the metal of his trousers' zip bounced onto her clit with every thrust; France could feel the vibrations of each of her moans coarse through her body spectacularly. High on pleasure, France could barely keep his body prompt up anymore and fell onto her ostentatious back, curving himself in perfect fit and embracing her stomach. Not once did they give up their swift movement. As he rested his forehead against her shoulder, she could directly smell his cologne mixed with his musk; his scent was so addictive. She wanted to taste him excruciatingly. Lifting her head enough to carelessly throw her dishevelled hair at him, she breathed deeply and suppressed her moans just enough to talk.

"Francis!" She whined. She didn't understand why she wanted this, but there was one thing that the gem-eyed male had that she needed, "Francis! Kiss me!"

Surprised at her request, but not at all complaining, Francis lifted her upper body with his own, not letting his embrace waver. Quickly she turned her head just enough for him to reach her perked lips. The height difference and speed of their hips colliding caused him to miss at first and hit her nose, but the second attempt crashed their wanting features together. He tried getting her to open her mouth again, but as before she refused. There was no way he was waiting for her again. He forced himself harder onto her, getting her to open both mouth and eyes before she could even register it. Taking the opportunity, France forced his second length into her and dominated her. She had once tried fighting against him, but he was just too strong for her; too addictive. She would do anything for him; she only wanted him to do anything for her.

"Ah, Jarlotte, tu es tellement incroyable!" He spoke into the kiss. Ignoring his words, Charlotte used a hand to clamp onto his cheek and deepened it; she needed him. There was something so wonderful about his kisses, whether it is his talent or the strange electric spark which seemed to initiate during it, and she wanted to taste it all. Every last drop of his wine, every last texture of his French cuisine. Why did she feel so different when with France than when she was with any other guy? Suddenly she was twisted around on his cock, reaching her French lover wholly with one leg thrown over his shoulder. His face was twisted with passion. Swiftly he lowered their bodies again so that they lied on the dampened settee, slowing their movements, but deepening with each pump into her body. There was nothing that could describe the butterflies fluttering in her stomach, or anything which could explain her need to embrace his lanky body, but her actions helped calm her nerves down enough to try and comply what they wanted her to do. She kissed him over and over, clutching his shoulders in order to place herself into a better angle for him; she felt her body take him into a heated blanket and tightly hug him, letting her notice just how beautiful fit they were. The butterflies worked up a fury, followed by the elastic knot ready to break at any moment.

"Jarlotte… Dis mon nomDis mon nom!" She couldn't understand. Everything he had said to her… How much could she understand of it? Charlotte just continued kissing him recklessly, oblivious to his request.

"Say my name!" He growled quickly, earning her attention.

"Fr-Francis!" She exclaimed, "Francis… Francis… Francis!" He fell off the edge and was followed only seconds after. Clutching the settee arm as his muscles became rigid; he released himself into her as her perfect flower clung onto him in return until both of their bodies relaxed enough for him to collapse into her arms.

They lied together in harmony as both nations caught their breath again, resting their hearts as well as they could. Francis kept his ear placed carefully where her love muscle drummed, examining the musical beat with his own. They matched. He smiled lovingly and picked his chest up off of her and stared longingly into her dazzling orbs. The golden shine he adored so much was only for him as she returned the glance with just as much affection.

"Oh, Jarlotte…" This was the moment. They had made love; he could feel her emotions in their embrace and, for France, it was now or never, "Tu es tellement belle," He picked off her delicate hand from his body and kissed it, "Tu es merveilleuse," He pecked at her wrist and moved up a little more, "Tu es intelligent," He kissed her elbow, "Tu es gentil," Her shoulder, "Tu es tout pour moi…" Her neck. Finally he graced his lips along her own, only pecking them sweetly before carefully gazing into her sparkling eyes, "…J'taime."


:3 Chapter 4... O_O Only two more chapters before I've caught up to the story! Fudge! I better get to writing again!

-xlilslayerx-