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England knew sheltering in strange caves was a bad idea, even in a downpour as heavy as this one, even when you’re lost in the forest. But of course America insisted, said that if they kept traipsing around the woods in a monsoon that something was going to happen.
He spun tales of twisted ankles and England having to carry him out of the woods, all by his bloody self, which at the end of the spiel England felt that he would almost prefer. But it would be from him knocking America unconscious, not from any twisted ankle. So at last he had agreed just to spare himself the aggravation, and they just traipsed in like they had every right.
It was late in the night, after America was done grousing about not having any food and England was done berating him for bringing a pile of comics in his pack instead of anything useful. They were nations, it wasn’t like they were going to starve as long as their economies were going good. But in just the reverse situation if they were stuck out here for too long it’d start having an adverse effect on the government.
So England’s laying on the stony ground, seething and damp and uncomfortable, and then he feels something wrap around his ankle and yank, hard. He yelps, but America just snores and rolls over and by that time it’s too late. The same things that have wrapped around his ankle are swarming all over him, and they’re tentacles, and before he can yell for help there’s one forcing his way between his lips and into his mouth.
It’s slippery and secreting a sweetish scented goo, and England gags around it as it pushes in deep. He tries biting down, savaging the tentacle with his teeth, and in response it pulses and grows thicker and forces his jaw open until it pops painfully. He can’t make any noise like this except muffled moans, yelps, and groans.
Thinner tentacles are tugging at his clothes, smearing the sticky saliva-ish substance all over them, until one gets the bright idea of sliding under his shirt and pushing it up that way. The cold hits his bare skin and raises gooseflesh, making him groan. A second, louder moan is wrung out of him as a tentacle latches on to his nipple with an odd slit like mouth. It sucks, tugging slightly, and it sends a sickening thrill through his body.
England’s fighting, yanking his arms and legs against the tentacles that have wrapped around them to hold them down. They’re finding their way into his pants now, yanking at them but not really having a concept of how to undo belts very well. They settle for just tearing the fabric down the seams and dropping the scraps of fabric to the ground.
That leaves only his underwear. England’s pleading with the tentacles mentally, moans and whimpers spilling from his over-stretched mouth as his boxers are tugged down around his knees to expose his half-hard dick.
A medium-sized tentacle coils around his dick and ripples. He bucks up in the grip of the rubbery appendages, shrieking into the sweet tasting tentacle in his mouth. Something must be wrong with him, or with the monster, because where the filament is wrapped around his dick a sweet, prickling fire is spreading. His brain is fogging, the screams of No, stop, please turning into Oh, God yes! The tentacles at his nipples are toying with him again, alternating sucking and pulling and yes.
The tentacle in his mouth is retreating somewhat, causing his gasped pleas for more, anything, just fuck him to become more articulate. As articulate as you can get when you’re being mercilessly played with by a monster, anyway. Now the thickest of the slippery appendages is pushing at his ass, and God forgive him, he’s pushing back into it. He feels like he’s burning all over, and it’s disgusting and wonderful all at once.
The thickest tentacle presses in, stretching him painfully wide, and it’s almost too thick and too much. Even with the goo it’s secreting as lubricant it hurts. Tears prick at the corner of England’s eyes, and his fingers spasm open and shut and the tentacle pushes father in past his ring. It’s not like being fucked by a person, the tentacle is so much thicker at the base and it tapers to a tip that squirms around.
Then it finds a spot in him that makes him buck his hips and scream, the sound spilling past his mouth in a cracked garble. The tentacle is relentless, and along with its friends pulling at his dick and rubbing his nipples all at once it’s not long at all before he’s spilling cum all over his stomach. The tentacles lower him slowly to the ground, almost lovingly, caressing his cheek before retreating back into the recesses of the cave.
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In his own half of the cave, America gasps quietly as he comes all over his hand. Not quite as asleep as England thought, he’s still not going to bring it up in the morning. There are somethings you just leave the fuck alone, and being raped by a tentacle monster is one of them.