Their fingers squeeze around Justin's as they shake their head, eagerly led back out the door and into the night.
The car ride back is a blur.
Immediately after the two of them step back into the house, the lights in the foyer still turned off and their shadows cast long behind him by the moonlight streaming through the window (it's so horribly romantic, they think errantly -), Monty claws at their patron as they're suddenly struck with a deep, rumbling hunger. Their fingers dig and pull, wrinkling the expensive material of Justin's shirt and nearly tearing one of the pearl buttons completely off. Punch-drunk and dizzy, Monty wondered why it felt like it was getting harder and harder to breathe. Their fine brow furrows, confused at their own strange state. Their skin feels almost too hot to the touch now, their clothing too restrictive and tight, as if a fever were gripping them, making their tongue and hands loose and careless.
"I really like it," they confess, voice husky and trembling with a strangely genuine vulnerability, "when you call me sweetheart."
Monty bites their lip, their thighs pressing together, desperate to create any sort of friction or pressure against their hot, throbbing core. But the chastity belt is nevertheless a cold, hard, persistent denial.
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The car ride back is a blur.
Immediately after the two of them step back into the house, the lights in the foyer still turned off and their shadows cast long behind him by the moonlight streaming through the window (it's so horribly romantic, they think errantly -), Monty claws at their patron as they're suddenly struck with a deep, rumbling hunger. Their fingers dig and pull, wrinkling the expensive material of Justin's shirt and nearly tearing one of the pearl buttons completely off. Punch-drunk and dizzy, Monty wondered why it felt like it was getting harder and harder to breathe. Their fine brow furrows, confused at their own strange state. Their skin feels almost too hot to the touch now, their clothing too restrictive and tight, as if a fever were gripping them, making their tongue and hands loose and careless.
"I really like it," they confess, voice husky and trembling with a strangely genuine vulnerability, "when you call me sweetheart."
Monty bites their lip, their thighs pressing together, desperate to create any sort of friction or pressure against their hot, throbbing core. But the chastity belt is nevertheless a cold, hard, persistent denial.