"I - I can't," they gasp, their body twitching and twisting, trying desperately to get a sense of balance and comfort, though they know full well they won't find it. Not now, not tonight. The images conjured up by everything Justin is saying only makes Monty more frustrated, more pathetically needy. Had they not been held up by the restraints around their wrists, they would have easily fallen to the ground and crawled to Justin, frantic to touch him, to appease him, to have him.

The metal between their legs is damp and glistening, shining with their own release, dripping with it. The piercings themselves are starting to ache, oversensitive and throbbing. Their little clit is so swollen and red too, causing the ring sitting through it to arch up and out.

(Monty desperately wants to be touched there, wants the edge to be taken off just a little, to have something warm and thick and hard to rub against -)

But then their head is guided down to their Patron's hips, and then lower. In fact, if Monty leaned forward just a little more, the tip of their nose would press right up against the tent in Justin's slacks.

"Never," they breathe their reply, lashes lowering, mouth falling open automatically, their little tongue sliding out, eager for a taste.