They start sobbing in earnest when they feel (finally, finally - ) the thick, wet head of their Patron's dick nudging in past the swelling, damp folds of their sex. It feels so painful, so good. The fit is incredibly tight, reminding Monty of the very first time they dared to try touching themselves, sliding just the tip of their middle finger inside of their virgin cunt, teasing it and feeling the dry burn of inexperience and young curiosity.

"Please," they croak, not sure at all what they're trying to beg for anymore, lost in a swirl of memory and the present. Their own cock, small and hard and dripping, continually twitches with effort, as if trying its best to behave, to hold back. But it's so sensitive - everything is so sensitive - like an exposed live wire.

Their body wriggles, squirms, and they shake their head pointlessly, feeling dizzy and euphoric. "Can't," they wheeze. "I can't, sir, I -"