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/y/ acts out his Nazi kink and /pol/ gets "raped" (Yaoi shit.) (3)

1 .

/y/ finished putting the final touches on his uniform, stepped back, and smiled into the mirror. A man looked back at him, with slicked back blonde hair and darkly intense blue eyes on a lean frame--he looked the very picture of the Aryan ubermensch that Hitler with his failed Reich had dreamed of taking over the Earth with some day. /y/ though he liked the haughty, austere look that this replica (stolen from /fa/) gave him. It was very much different from his regular look, the skimpy remnants of which were crumpled on the floor to the left of him. Of course, he wasn't there just to admire himself in the mirror. It gave him a boner, sure, but that wasn't the only reason...

He had another board tied up in his bedroom after all, the only board-tan in the house who might have appreciated his Nazi fetishism. He couldn't disappoint.

/y/ adjusted his belt one more time and patted the riding crop at his side before striding out of his closet and into the bedroom, where /pol/ lay in drugged slumber, wrists bound to the bed railing. In his mind, /y/ thanked /d/ for her (its?) help and her suggestions in snagging this particularly troublesome man. Her secretions came in handy once in a while, although most of the other times they simply stunk and/or gummed up the other areas of the Not-Work-Safe space. The drug was fast-acting, but also quickly metabolized; even as /y/ waited half-hidden in the shadows, he could see /new/--no, /pol/, now, slowly wake up. It was nearly his time.

Just as /pol/ became aware enough to try and discern where he was exactly, /y/ stepped into his view, enjoying the sharp 'clop' of the shiny black boots on his floor. He tapped his gloved hand with his riding crop, thanking the multitudes of Hetalia threads that he'd already had for giving him a basic gist of German; although his knowledge was nothing in comparison to /int/, who scorned the whole idea of countries being personificable as nonsense(Which was hypocritical, coming from a being like her). /pol/ watched him with a wary eye, the way his reporter's hat sat askew on his head half covering his eyes looking rather cute and even dare-he-say 'uke-ish' on him.

"So..." /y/ began, with a cat's smile on his face. "Meine neugierige kleine Maus thinks he can spy on Our Grand Reich, eh?"

"JIDF!" /pol/ retorted immediately. /y/ paused, puzzled. Wait, what the fuck was the JIDF?

"Uh, what--"

"They've sent you here to torture me, haven't they? Pretending to be a Nazi, no less? I'm not giving up anything!"

/d/ hadn't warned him about this.

2 .

"If you're not some kike out to shut me down, what else could you be?" /pol/ gasped, his soft Southern drawl becoming more pronounced as he strained against his bonds. "Who sent you? The niggers? The liberals? Mudslimes, faggots, anti-whites, the corporations, Moot, Obama?"

/y/ was half amused, half offended at the level of vitrol this board had. He'd only ever seen it in a few boards before, like /b/, /co/ on a bad day, /r9k/ when its switch got flipped, ect. Nothing he couldn't fix with a little sex. The repressed ones were usually the gayest ones. He'd seen that already with /fit/.

"Nein. I'm only doing this for myself, you silly board."

/y/ used the switch to lift /pol/'s stubbled chin. The fire in his eyes turned /y/ on terribly badly. He could feel his erection straining in his tight pants. "You've been caught anyway, and a sneaky little journalist-Maus should be punished for trying to steal our secrets." /y/ stated, settling himself on the bed beside /pol/.

/pol/ looked confused. How could he not, when /y/ hadn't informed him about the roleplay in the first place, consent be damned? (Well, to be technical, it was more like rape, but you couldn't really -rape- the personification of a board. To do it in the true sense was damned near impossible, especially from another board.)

"What do you mea--mmmph!" It was now /pol/'s turn to be interrupted. /y/ grabbed his jaw and forced the foul-mouthed board to kiss him deeply. He fought both against the deliciously caffeine-bitter taste of /pol/'s tongue and his attempts to shut his mouth again, finally releasing the other board-tan for air. /pol/ gasped for breath as /y/ wiped his mouth with his sleeve with a victorious smirk. The smaller, thinner board began to struggle harder, frantically trying to work his way free. /y/ ignored him as he undid the other board-tan's red silken tie, sliding it out from under the cream-colored collar of his dress shirt.

"Are you trying to convert me to your side you fucking -faggot-? Let me go, now!" /pol/ growled. /y/ tsked, and in several quick movements gagged /pol/ with his own tie. The dark-haired board shook his head wildly, but was unable to dislodge it.

"You're not in any position to speak back, Mäuschen." he said, and moved his face closer until their noses nearly touched. With his right hand, /y/ skated his fingers down the hard planes of /pol/'s (still clothed, unfortunately!) stomach, coming to rest at the junction between his legs. A light squeeze told him he had found what he was looking for.

3 .

"Mmmmph!" /pol/ squeaked. His eyes went wide. "Mmm fmmph ghmmmph nhhmmm!" He attempted to elbow /y/, futilely trying to throw him off.

"I knew you wanted it." /y/ replied. He ran his gloved hands over his own body in a sensual way, feeling the texture of the various buttons and cords and insignias, the blood-red swastika patch, as he did. /y/ could feel /pol/'s eyes on him as he swayed. The blond board-tan finally nipped at the index finger of a dark glove, and pulled it off slowly, watching /pol/'s flushed face. Using the crop to lightly whack the other boards crotch broke the spell, and /pol/ began raging once more. For such slight, lanky board-tan, he was surprisingly strong. /y/ had to sit on his stomach just to keep him pinned down.

"Nnnnnmmmph! Nnn fft fnnkin ffnnkht." /pol/ commented, in what was clearly meant to be an attack on /y/'s character. /y/ slapped /pol/'s erection with the crop again, and he let out a muffled yelp.

"Sie genießen diese, my little journalist-mouse?" /y/ asked, sliding lower until he sat on /pol/'s legs. "The fun's only just begun." He popped the buttons off of the dark grey waistcoat that /pol/ was in the habit of wearing, and spread it aside. /pol/ looked more desperate than ever.

4 .

Holy fuck. Moar?
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