They squirm, unable to look away, entranced by every word coming out of their Patron's mouth. Every filthy scene flashes in their mind's eye and they struggle against their bonds, so eager to begin, to feel everything that was promised.

"Oh," they sigh, "it'll feel so good, won't it, sir? I'll be so swollen, so tight for you. You'll have to fuck me like it's my first time, push so hard into me..." Monty stops, biting their lip as if to savor the invisible flavor of this soon-to-be-realized fantasy. "I'll be able to feel all of you. It'll be so much. But you won't stop, will you, sir? Not even if I pass out from it all, not even if I beg you."

Their thighs tense with anticipation, already damp with a sheen of sweat and their own wetness which continues to slip out of their desperate cunt.

"Please, sir," they gasp, lips damp with themselves still. "Keep it on. I'll...I'll cum too soon if you let me out." Monty's cheek are rosy with arousal and their expression is drunk with unfiltered need. They love this sort of game, where their Patron pushes them, wrings them dry - and then asks for more. Monty's never felt so satisfied with anyone else.