Country Mouse by Amy Lane

and the one getting his cock sucked into that wonderful vacuum and the one who got to whistle the crop along Owen’s backside while plying the dildo in his asshole. Just the thought made him tremble again, but he thought that maybe, this time, if he wasn’t going to be inside that tight body, he could make it last, not come until he was deep inside Owen’s throat, until Owen was so crazy that all he’d have to do was bend over and Owen would fuck him raw.
    And to that end . . .
    “Here, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.” He pulled his thumb out of Owen’s mouth and dropped his hand to his cock again. He didn’t bother to stroke this time because he was so aroused. He rubbed his thumb back through his pre-cum, trying not to groan, then brought it up to Owen’s lips and spread it there.  When he was done, he went back and got some more while watching as Owen, eyes locked on his, licked it off slowly, savoring, and making the need that already had him in its claws grip just that much tighter.
    “First,” he whispered when he could no longer watch Owen lick the cum off his lips without coming, “I’m going to take some of this”—he grabbed the lube—“and I’m going to do myself nice and slick. Are you watching me, mate? I’m reaching back and stretching my arsehole for you, right?”
    “You fucker,” Owen choked, not even partially kidding.
    “That make you hot? Knowing what I’m doing?”
    “I’m going to fuck you until you scream.”
    Malcolm looked at him tauntingly. “Your hands aren’t tied, Owen. There’s no safeword. You think you’re going to crack, you grab me and you fuck me. I’m all stretched for you, you don’t have to go slow. You’re all gloved up, and you just have to save your cum for when you’re in my arse, you hear me?”
    “You’d better spank me good, Malcolm.” Malcolm actually moaned from the sound of his name in Owen’s hot, cum-covered mouth. “You’d better do a bang-up job of it, because when I’m good and ready, I’m going to grab you, and I’m going to bend you over the bed, and I’m going to—”
    “Do you want me to gag you?” he asked, eyes closed. “Because if you don’t stop promising me things, I’m going to come right here, all over the bed.”
    “You started it.” Owen buried his face into the comforter and shuddered. “God, Malcolm. God. I’m fucking begging you, man . . . God, please, please just spank me dammit. Just smack my ass, just . . .”
    “That’s it,” Malcolm whispered in his ear, tracing the shell of it with his tongue. “That’s what I wanted to hear from you from the moment I saw you. I wanted to hear my name in your mouth, and I wanted to hear you beg.”
    “ Please! ” Owen howled, and Malcolm couldn’t have waited any longer if he’d wanted to.
    He gathered the crop, breathed calmly, because there was just no way he could get too carried away right now, despite the arousal and the playfulness and the recklessness of them both. But it was a battle, and the first touch of the crop was nothing more than a teasing slide feathering along Owen’s crack down to where his legs started, then underneath the curves of the muscles. As if he had to measure distance, but distance was an odd concept with Owen.  Something kept blindsiding Malcolm, blurring his vision, breaking down whatever barriers he might have put in the way. He tapped Owen’s arse with the tip of the crop, landing a perfect blow—a sharp, precise sting—and Owen jumped a little. No more painful than a palm, just more concentrated. He placed an exact copy of that hit on the other arse cheek, then stroked again, making him feel the soft leather. “How’s that for a start?”
    “Just . . . a start.” Owen’s voice strained as if he was fighting his own control. Or maybe he was surprised at the sensation.
    Malcolm decided that as long as Owen was snarky, he was happy, and he landed two blows close together, making Owen jump. “As long as you