"There we are," he murmurs, sounding satisfied and admiring, clearly absorbed in the beautiful picture Monty makes. "So lovely for me. Maybe I'll even take it easy on you, since you look so perfect like this. I wonder how many times I can make you come on my dick, when I'm finally fucking into you. How much your sweet little cunt is going to clench around me as you cry and moan like the needy little whore you are."

He taps their shoulders, their thighs, their ass, adjusting their positioning, forcing their head lower, their legs a little wider still on the bench, the weights swaying with how difficult it is to maintain balance.

"Twenty," he reminds Monty, as he slides the thin edge of the paddle between the hanging lips of their labia, dragged down and open by the hanging weights and rings. He digs it in deliberately, dragging it along the wet folds of skin, circling over Monty's vagina, and twisting it in a clear, unsubtle tease of penetration. "I won't make you count this time, but you have to thank me for each hit, understood?"

He doesn't wait for a reply, simply yanks the paddle out and smacks Monty's right asscheek, and then the left, without a pause. The third strike is aimed between Monty's legs, a lighter stroke, against the already swollen mound of their stretched pussy, hot and tight, throbbing with blood.