Page 40 of M.M. Scrooge
Pet names? Really? I both hate it and shamefully love it at once. I do as he says, parting my legs, mostly to speed this along. I’ve got to come soon. I’m desperate. My balls are heavy as lead.
“Go on, peanut. Remember what I taught you.”
Ash steps closer.
I tense. What the hell have they been getting up to? A thought strikes me. Apparently, I was never the right guy for Ash. Finances aside, the little vixen had some exploring to do, and I don’t think either of us would have been comfortable doing it together. Drake, annoying as he is, is probably good for him.
Ash touches me first, brushing his small hand over the flaming skin on my ass. Though his touch is gentle, I hiss. Can I really take a flogger? How much more until I split open?
“I’m going to hit you now.” The words sound oddly practical. “It’s easier if you breathe through it.”
“You should know.”
“No back talk. It’s not polite.” Ash makes his first strike.
Ouch. Fuck. I shouldn’t have egged him on.
Smack, smack, smack.
Fuck!
The flogger feels different. Worse. Less personal, less forgiving, more painful.
I groan an anguished sob, and Ash stops. He kneels behind me. I cringe, knowing he’s looking directly at my ass, but when he blows cool air over the fire that is my skin, I let out a sigh.
His hand cups my balls, rolls them, gives them a careful tug. I rock back without thinking, seeking more, seeking release. Ash is a kinder master than Drake. He fists my cock, and relief swells low in my belly. So good. Need that. Need more than that.
“You’re doing such a good job.” Somehow it’s easier to hear that coming from Ash than from Drake. Am I good? No. I’m not. But I could be. I want to be good. To be better. “Drop to your elbows for me.”
I don’t even think about it. I just sink. Chest low, ass high. It’s humiliating but also titillating. To be exposed like this.
Ash traces his fingers over my balls, up my perineum, and parts my cheeks to find my hole. I’m torn between moaning for more or flinching away. I do neither.
He teases the rim. “Do you ever bottom these days?”
“Not if I can help it.” Are they going to fuck me too? I don’t want that. Maybe I’ll use my word after all.
“That’s okay. Bottoming’s not for everyone. I was just curious. You never bottomed for me.”
“You never asked me to.”
“And I still won’t.”
I release a shaky breath. Thank fuck. Does Drake bottom for Ash? I’d like to see that.
Ash rises, leaving me alone. And I feel alone. I’m sure Drake is hovering, but I’d have to look over my shoulder to see them. Right now, the intricate swirls of gray carpeting hold my attention in a way that’s hypnotizing. It’s easier to look at the floor. I can’t predict what’s coming. I have no control. But I can untangle carpet fibers with my eyes as much as I want.
A hand lands heavily on my back. I startle. Too big and heavy to be Ash. Drake, then.
“Can you take another round?” Drake trails the strands of the flogger over the curves of my back.
I want to weep. My eyes water. I bob my head, nodding consent as my cock and ass throb in tandem.
“Max. Say, ‘Yes, sir,’ if you can take more. Use your safe word if you can’t.”
“Yes, sir.” The words come easier this time, though I have no idea why. Will they keep going until I’m forced to cry uncle? Am I doomed to fail? What am I even trying to win?
The flogger cracks against my skin. I wince. Drake hits harder than Ash. I could crawl away. What would happen if I crawled away? Would he follow?
