He Pressed The Summon Button

Russia hit the elevator button, glancing around to make sure no one else would enter. His tie choked him, and his shirt constrained his movements after that grueling meeting. All he craved was to flop onto the slightly stiff bed and hold a cold beer in his hand. What could be better after such a heavy office session? That obnoxious German prick had humiliated him in front of everyone. “Damn foreigners,” Russia scoffed as he retreated to the back wall of the elevator. As the doors began to close… “Wait up, I need down too!” someone yelled in an unmistakable accent. “Just what I needed, the scum,” Russia muttered under his breath. But he pressed the button again. The doors crept back open. A tall Aryan-looking countryman with a briefcase stepped inside. “Danke,” he nodded. The instant the Nazi entered, it seemed time slowed deliberately to further irritate already on-edge Russia. The doors shut at an infuriatingly slow pace but Germany didn’t bat an eye, instead scrutinizing his rival and smiling pleasantly. Ebanutiy freak, flashed through Russia’s mind. But he had to keep his composure, or their next business meeting would surely end in a brawl. Three. Son of Hitler. Two. Jerkass in fucktard glasses. One. Fuckin'…! The elevator jolted to a halt, the bright lights suddenly dimming to an eerie glow that made it look like a scene from a horror movie. Germany peered up nervously while Russia braced himself against the walls, one hand inadvertently landing on something soft and surprisingly pleasant. “Huh?” Russia realized in the dim light that he was groping his enemy’s face. He jerked his hand back, understanding it was just an instinctive reaction. But in the next moment, something snapped in his head. A coincidence, he thought to himself. But perhaps not a coincidence at all… “Entschuldigung,” Germany hastily apologized. This could be the perfect opportunity to show that arrogant German who really deserves to lead the department, and who’s just a small fry. “You say something?” Russia grimaced. Germany turned to face the countryman guiltily. “Sorry.” “Not sorry.” Germany’s eyes popped out comically behind his rectangular glasses. “What?..” He muttered timidly, not understanding such a discourtesy at all. …but a stern Russian fist was already flying at his face. The punch burned on Germany’s cheek. He grabbed his stinging face, relieved it wasn’t an eye. A pure Nazi anger welled up inside him. Not only had Russia constantly interrupted his briefing during the meeting, now he had completely lost it! Der Arschlecker! Germany pivoted sharply… and driving his knee right into Russia’s balls. He hadn’t exactly intended to hit there, but the blow was supremely effective: it doubled the countryman over, folding him in half as he gasped out a pained wheeze and slumped against the wall. “FUCK! Ty ebanyy pidor! I’ll kill you, fascist khuyesos!” “And who’s the khuyesos?!” Germany spat back, the Russian curse fell from the his lips on fresh, foreign tones. The German grabbed Russia by the collar and yanked him forward roughly before slamming him back against the wall hard enough to crack his skull on the metal. The force of it popped open the top buttons of his shirt, exposing sharp collarbones. With a perverse desire for this Russian to “walk down the street like a whore,” Germany tore at his shirt even harder, nearly baring his entire upper torso. Immediately noticeable was the tattoo just below his collarbones. “My Life…” …My Rules, Germany finished the phrase in his thoughts. A pleasant surprise indeed. The gay slogan emblazoned on his enemy’s collarbone combined with his brazen behavior left little doubt in Germany’s mind. Russia was a closeted homosexual. Well, it’s time to show you what you really are. Germany seized Russia by the shoulders and shoved him down hard, forcing him to either fall or sit, but the important thing was that he was now at eye level with his crotch. Despite trying to act tough, Russia proved to be quite weak. After slamming his head against the wall again, Germany looked down at his dazed form. How many inches you packing in those pants? The elevator transformed into a site of sexual assault. No shirt. No pants. Russia stripped naked. Well, almost. He still wore socks. Holey ones. “Real men don’t take off their socks during sex. Even gay guys,” Germany remarked wryly as he eyed Russia’s flaccid member. He decided to stroke it for him, moving his fingers with aristocratic grace over the limp shaft as the lights flickered. It seemed like Russia was starting to regain consciousness. In a daze, he swung his arms clumsily, trying to grab Germany but lacking coordination. Unable to endure Russia’s futile struggles, Germany grabbed his recently removed tie and bound the countryman’s wrists with it. Russia continued thrashing about, kicking his legs and hips in a useless attempt to stand up. “You…” “Halt die Fotze!” Germany spat out, not letting Russia get a word in. He took off his shoes and socks, shoving the latter into Russia’s mouth. “You had something to say, dirty Russian?” Russia gagged around the damp socks stuffed into his mouth as he glared up at the countryman. Germany pressed Russia’s yielding body to the floor of the elevator with his weight, admiring such a pitiful sight. At the same time, he felt Russia’s movements below him stirring up a special sensation within him. This sensation painfully resonated in Germany’s lower abdomen as if trying to burst through his seemingly classic pants from the inside. Unable to resist, Germany delicately and impatiently unbuttoned his fly, feeling a sense of freedom that only men could understand. He lowered his pants just enough for Russia to catch a glimpse of his bare cock. “Chafing,” Germany answered Russia’s unspoken question, which was evident in his eyes before Russia quickly turned away in an attempt to save at least part of himself from being violated by the sight. Germany smirked at Russia’s feeble efforts and grabbed a fistful of hair on the back of his head. Harshly, his hand gripped the countryman’s chin as he spoke in broken English with a thick German accent. “Don’t. Dare. Look away. From me.” His other hand wrapped around his hard cock, stroking it vigorously. Unable to control his lust any longer, Germany roughly pushed his hips forward until the tip of his dick was smearing precum across Russia’s cheeks. “Look at what you do to me, you fucking grub.” Prying his mouth open with his fingers, he shoved his thick shaft inside past Russia’s lips and started thrusting shallowly into his throat. The German brute reached around to grab two handfuls of his ass and spread his cheeks apart. One finger probed at his tight hole before pushing inside aggressively. He started massaging Russia’s prostate firmly as he continued fucking his face relentlessly. Three. Fuck, I can’t… Two. Enough, I’m gonna throw up. Three. You tied my hands too loosely. The elevator shook violently. The lights went out completely. Russia felt the tie fall from his wrists to the floor, freeing his hands just as Germany’s cock stopped violating his mouth. “We…” As if he had been unleashed from chains, the elevator suddenly jerked downwards while simultaneously tossing the countrymen upwards slightly. The abrupt stop after their sudden drop made Germany howl like the one possessed. Because. He. Fuck! Shit, it couldn’t be! It hurts. Verdammte Scheisse! Arsch! Fotze… Germany realized that Russia’s cock was buried deep in his asshole. Due to the shaking, Germany was thrown backwards. His hole conveniently became a target for the erect member. Germany immediately tried to stand up instinctively, but Russia’s hands, which suddenly gained strength, pushed him back down onto the cock, causing even more pain than before. The dick was still not deep inside him yet, but that didn’t matter much when you’re an anal virgin. Germany cursed. Germany screamed. Germany wailed, “Fuck you!” “This is your fate, asshole,” Russia remarked sarcastically without a trace of a smile on his face. Meanwhile, the elevator repairmen fixed the lift. Open doors. Boss and remaining late-night subordinates gather curiously peering inside. Because one rarely sees such a sight elsewhere. From that day forward, neither Germany nor Russia ever showed up at the office again. And now among their former colleagues, a story circulated, beginning with the words: “Once upon a time, Germany and Russia were in an elevator.”