Justin can't help grinning, watching Monty's body jerk and sway from their bonds, the utter mess they're making of the bench and the floor in front of them, the sounds they're making as they struggle, trapped by the predicament they had begged for. It's so perfect, utterly arousing, and he palms his own cock with his other hand through his fine slacks, just watching them.
"You needy little slut," he coos, watching as their body goes slack, their bent legs shaking with the effort to not tug hard on their piercings. "I knew you wouldn't be able to hold out. That's part of what I love so much about playing with you. Think about how it's going to feel when I finally fuck into you, how hard and how desperately you're going to come around my cock. I'm not going to let up, you know. You need your holes stuffed, and I'm going to take my time about it too.
"But," he adds, with mock severity, "since you couldn't obey, I think we need to make a few adjustments, don't we?"
He steps forward and unhooks the rings of the chains from the sharp heels of Monty's shoes, offering a brief relief as they try to let down and close their legs. Then he strums against the chains of their still-stretched piercings and decorations in the now very swollen flesh swaying and slapping against their own welted skin, adding even more heightened sensitivity, letting them try to prevent him from reaching by pressing their thighs together, their legs splayed open on the ground, heels slipping in the pool of their squirted release. The chains between their legs jingle musically, even muted by their own flesh, while the weights tugging on the lips of their pussy hang down and rattle against the bench as their full weight hangs from their bound hands, held back by being tucked into their garters, but loose enough now to tangle, metal links warmed by their own body heat and the blood pulsing under their abused skin.
"I wanted you on your hands and knees," he reminds Monty, but he doesn't have any expectation of their being able to comply. Instead, he reaches up to lengthen the chain around their hands, lowering them down. They sit splayed on the edge of the bench, whimpering against the soreness of their whipped-red skin, their legs shifting constantly searching for a comfortable, painless position and never quite finding it.
Monty's head is in the perfect position now, right at Justin's waist, level with the bulge of his cock.
"Are you tired of having me in your mouth, little one?" He teases. "After all these weeks?"
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"You needy little slut," he coos, watching as their body goes slack, their bent legs shaking with the effort to not tug hard on their piercings. "I knew you wouldn't be able to hold out. That's part of what I love so much about playing with you. Think about how it's going to feel when I finally fuck into you, how hard and how desperately you're going to come around my cock. I'm not going to let up, you know. You need your holes stuffed, and I'm going to take my time about it too.
"But," he adds, with mock severity, "since you couldn't obey, I think we need to make a few adjustments, don't we?"
He steps forward and unhooks the rings of the chains from the sharp heels of Monty's shoes, offering a brief relief as they try to let down and close their legs. Then he strums against the chains of their still-stretched piercings and decorations in the now very swollen flesh swaying and slapping against their own welted skin, adding even more heightened sensitivity, letting them try to prevent him from reaching by pressing their thighs together, their legs splayed open on the ground, heels slipping in the pool of their squirted release. The chains between their legs jingle musically, even muted by their own flesh, while the weights tugging on the lips of their pussy hang down and rattle against the bench as their full weight hangs from their bound hands, held back by being tucked into their garters, but loose enough now to tangle, metal links warmed by their own body heat and the blood pulsing under their abused skin.
"I wanted you on your hands and knees," he reminds Monty, but he doesn't have any expectation of their being able to comply. Instead, he reaches up to lengthen the chain around their hands, lowering them down. They sit splayed on the edge of the bench, whimpering against the soreness of their whipped-red skin, their legs shifting constantly searching for a comfortable, painless position and never quite finding it.
Monty's head is in the perfect position now, right at Justin's waist, level with the bulge of his cock.
"Are you tired of having me in your mouth, little one?" He teases. "After all these weeks?"