fuguestates | DOING SOMETHING UNHOLY

It wasn't very often - almost never - that Justin Baruch felt unsure. He'd always prided himself on knowing exactly what to do, what to say, in almost any given situation. It was part of what made him so successful in most axes of his life. In fairness, he mostly came by that confidence honestly. He'd worked hard for his success and continued to work hard to maintain it, never fully resting on his laurels, seeking out every possible opportunity to improve, to learn, and to reflect.

But in his more introspective moments he had to admit that there were certainly ways he deliberately played into his strengths, bringing all his many resources to bear to arrange things just so to maintain his own self-image, as well as ways in which he ruthlessly cut out any potential for uncertainty or failure.

A case in point: he'd always approached the Patron-Companion system with very specific goals and types in mind, leaning on the clearly outlined boundaries and agreements of explicitly laid out contracts - just another kind of business dealing, a mutual fulfilling of obligations - to avoid ever over-investing emotionally in another human being, with all the flaws and foibles and frictions that came along with that.

Until Monty.

Perhaps it was simply an inevitable outcome of the way they'd met. Of Monty not being a career Companion, with that ingrained understanding of the transactional nature of the relationship. Justin was very much the type to easily break hearts, but he'd arranged so much of his life to avoid the possibility as much as possible, always alert for the blurring of carefully laid borderlines, for the hints of becoming too attached, and disengaging as gently as possible at the first hint of a warning sign.

Even now in this case, he was self-aware enough to know that he wasn't looking for, or expecting any kind of physical or sexual fidelity. He actively enjoyed their current arrangements, the freedom of choice inherent in a mutual no strings attached backed by the contract, and absolutely relished the way Monty responded to being given so many opportunities to truly revel and bask in their sexuality, to being able to facilitate that for them - even being vital to those experiences for them. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his presence was wanted - needed - that Monty appreciated how Justin made these experiences safe and enjoyable for them.

So what exactly was he finding so disquieting about the fact that Monty had yet to seek him out again after the party last weekend? Monty generally could barely go a day without wanting Justin's touch or his cock or some other tangible outlet for their appetites and eagerness to please. This wasn't even the first time he'd arranged something similar for Monty, who so clearly enjoyed being used as a whore for as many eager participants as Justin trusted and could request the presence of.

He'd always been cautious in the wake of such scenes, providing chaste and affectionate aftercare with his usual and habitual care and consideration - for Monty's physical limits, if nothing else - leaving it up to his Companion to initiate contact again once they felt recovered sufficiently, but it had never really been needed; Monty generally picked up where they'd left off with barely a gap to recover, something that had briefly worried him the first few times they'd tried this, before Monty (and Monty's caseworker) had impressed on him that it was entirely by choice, that Monty loved being used by him while still sore and aching, crying and pleading for more, clenching around the ghosts of a dozen or more cocks, rocking back and forth on Justin's dick while holding a hand to their stomach as if they could still feel the roiling of as many loads of cum as they'd greedily demanded over the course of each of those nights, despite the physical impossibility.

But it had been a few days now since the last time, and Monty had yet to approach him again, leaving Justin to go to work uncharacteristically alone. For a brief, disquieting moment, he regrets the leeway he's allowed in their contract, before he shakes his head and reaches for logic and reason.

If Monty wanted to end their association, they had every right to do so. And Justin had been through just that many times before, with over a dozen former Companions.

It would be fine. He'd be fine.

So why did it feel, for the first time, like he'd be losing something he couldn't even begin to replace?

It's only been a few days but Monty has been thinking about this little surprise for quite some time. It was something they were always curious about but never had the confidence to try before: exploring their feminine presentation to the extreme. Although they were raised as a girl for much of their life (forced to suppress everything else that made them appear otherwise), they had severely disliked the experience overall. It felt so contrived, so restrictive at the time. It hade made them feel like a stranger in their own skin.

But, ever since meeting Justin, Monty's felt differently about that. They've felt differently about...a lot of things.

They started planning this...reveal in earnest a few days ago, securing the right clothes, makeup, and accessories and decor all in secret, which was exceedingly difficult to do considering how much time they spent in the constant periphery of their Patron. They shared everything with him, every moment and every though. It was only natural at this point in their relationship (and Monty enjoyed doing so). It would be impossible to manage a surprise of this caliber without arousing suspicion (or worse, spoiling the surprise early) had things remained the same between them. So, Monty took it upon themselves to adjust, forcing themselves to be more reserved, secretive even, not even allowing their mood to be particularly mercurial (as it usually was wont to be) day to day.

A hot, writhing temptation transformed into a cold, stone wall.

This lasted for days.

What they didn't anticipate is Justin's reaction so far. He's been...distant. Or distracted. Almost upset (perhaps hurt? Certainly not...) but Monty was too far along in their plans to back down now.

Plus, it would all be worth it, they tell themselves, as they watch their Patron's towncar pull back into the long driveway that evening before they turn back to the mirror to place finish tying the silk ribbon in their hair (that now flowed down in waves to their chest due to the expensive extensions they had had done earlier this morning). The bat their long lashes, dusted with fine glitter, at their own reflection.

They - no, she's perfect.

By the time Justin walks in, he'll see Monty and the entire bedroom completely transformed. The entire palette has been altered to pale neutrals: from the lamps to the hooks on the wall, down to the sheets on the bed and the rug on the floor. And then there's Monty, kneeling on the bed wearing nothing but tiny thong and a pink, sheer babydoll set that settles right under the curve of their small breasts, exposing them completely. A dainty diamond necklace sits right in the hollow of their throat, rising and falling as they take a deep breath in.

"Welcome home."

The work day had gone smoothly, and uneventfully. He wasn't ever lonely when he was working, and if he really wanted some kind of purely physical outlet there were all kinds of options available, ranging from the free-use options the company kept on hand (of course) to potentially borrowing another Companion with a relevant clause in their contract.

But he was self-aware enough to know that he didn't want just that.

For now, at least, he wanted Monty, specifically, whatever that meant, and trying to cover that up by seeking out an impersonal release as a poor substitute wasn't going to help.

Especially not if Monty was considering dissolving their contract.

He does his best to shake off the odd melancholy during the drive home from work. After all, if Monty was dissatisfied with their relationship, it was well within their rights to invoke any of the standard no-fault cessation clauses within the contract to terminate the contract before it reached term. They were rote, boilerplate clauses that were included as a matter of course in Patron-Companion contracts - in fact, removing them was very much frowned upon and would often trigger an exhaustive audit - and Justin had never had an issue with them before.

Of course, he'd never had cause to terminate a contract early before either, and he and Monty had already been together for over three years now, far longer than the majority of his previous contracts.

The elevator door opens into the quiet elegant solitude of the common living area, and his feet automatically take him towards the suite of rooms that had been set aside for Monty, this time not bothering with his usual courteous knock. One of options he usually offered Companions was a stipend to organize their personal space however they liked (with a corresponding decrease in direct compensation of course), and since in the past he usually spent time with them in the playroom or common areas rather than within their own personal spaces (as a kind of professional courtesy and acknowledgement of boundaries, unless they had explicitly declined them in the contract), he didn't usually pay much attention to what they did, simply authorizing the deductions from the stipend automatically.

It takes a moment for him to register all the changes, to connect them to the recent spate of charges he'd been asked to sign off (nothing individually exorbitant, but curious in aggregate), and then his eyes fall to Monty, utterly transformed and waiting for him in welcome in their completely refurnished room.

Well.

Never let it be said that Justin Baruch didn't know how to appreciate a gift.

"It's good to be home," he replies, low and warm, and he walks forward, reaches out to run his fingers through Monty's newly long hair, cupping their cheek, a more domestic kind of feeling settling down throughout his body.

"How was your day, sweetheart?" He asks, feeling out the situation. "Did you miss me?" A beat, and then, more genuinely than he expected, "I missed you, you know."

They perk up, cheeks pink instantly. The bed dips to one side as their Patron eases onto it and Monty has to resist immediately grabbing at him, desperate once more to feel the heat of his body, the comforting bulk of him.

"I missed you too," they respond, their voice pitched purposefully soft and light. "So, so much." Their slender fingers, perfectly manicured in slick pink and cream acrylic, glide over Justin's arm. "I thought you might like all of this. It's the first time I've...ever really...wanted to be like this. For anyone." Their lashes lower. "I've always been unsure of myself, of my presentations, but ever since I became your Companion...I'm not so scared anymore."

Between their legs, they're already throbbing. It's been too many days now that they've purposefully made it so that they weren't touched, weren't fucked and their body was so, so hungry.

"I wanted to thank you, somehow. It's almost the anniversary of when we signed our contract after all..."

He has to smile, wider and wider, as Monty's words spill out, as the vague creeping doubts of the past few days get swept away in a flash, as he reads the eagerness and anticipation and genuine happiness in their face and voice. It's beyond the best scenario he could ever have imagined.

"I do, sweetheart," he murmurs, letting them slide closer, hearing the way their breath catches, the want and heat in their eyes and voice. He can read all their physical reactions now, barely needed to even see them to know to a precise degree exactly how much he could push them for their mutual pleasure. "Of course I do. How could I not enjoy seeing you like this, all dressed up and so beautiful for me? My perfect little doll." He knows how much that phrase means to Monty.

He wraps an arm around Monty, tugs them close against him, the positioning almost chaste compared to their usual, even though his hand rests against the bare curve of Monty's breasts, peeking out over the insubstantial material of their flirty lingerie. With a graceful gesture, he cups Monty's breast, massaging it thoughtfully, squeezing and rolling it in his large hand.

"And you're right," he says, in a thoughtful tone. "Our anniversary is coming up, isn't it? It's been almost three whole years."

Scooping Monty's entire body up as though they barely weighed anything, he settles them between his legs, his two hands gripping tight on their thighs and forcing them apart, the thong providing absolutely no coverage at all, the weight and bulk of his body holding them still against him, keeping them from moving or touching themself.

"Let's play a little game, sweetheart," he coos in their ear, breath stirring the newly long strands of hair. "After all, we should do something really special for that date, shouldn't we? I think I want to see exactly how good you're willing to be for me like this." His hands tug Monty open just a little more, exposing their pussy to the air, visible in the new full-length mirror across from them.

Monty liked to pretend. They always had. It was a way to reconcile any real discomfort, confusion, and pain they had while trying to make sense of their life in their own skin. It's this habit that made being a Companion such a suitable role for them. They liked to put on a disguise, a different face, and play out the lines of a different story. They liked to push the limits of these beautiful fictions, knowing that at the end of the day, they'll still be left with themselves anyway. The dramas they'd dream up were always kept secret since they've never felt comfortable enough to share the details of these guilty daydreams (where they could be villain, seductress, victim, slut, virgin, and hero all at once).

Until they found their place beside Justin Baruch, who seemed to want nothing more than to encourage these narratives, eager to both direct and participate in them.

Monty's never felt so accepted, so seen. So safe. So wanted.

Their perfectly glossed lips part in a gasp when their Patron grabs them, his fingers rough as they fondle their breasts, causing the dusky nipples to perk up and stiffen. The sound of his voice against their skin makes them shudder with delight as they're spread open, their little cunt already damp and hot when it's put on display. "I can be good," they reply, even though their hands struggle to move, wanting nothing more than to touch the swollen lips of their sex, to penetrate into the wet core of themself and show their Patron exactly how tight and willing and ready they are for him. "Tell me what to do."

"The thing is, I don't know if I can trust you, sweetheart," he replies, playfully teasing, a slight frown of thought visible on his face as he rests his chin against Monty's bare shoulder, watching them squirm against his firm, solid grip, watches them tense and clench as they struggle and find no give. It's so clear they're enjoying this, how hungry they are for everything on offer, and his mind skips forward to all the delicious scenarios he could play with, now that they'd offered this to him.

"Even though I know you want to be good for me, you're also a hungry little slut," he says, his tone warmly contemptuous, lips pressed against Monty's ear. "And I want to make sure everything is absolutely perfect for our anniversary. So I don't think I can take any chances.

"I'm going to have to lock you up, sweetheart. And you'll need all kinds of special preparation first."

It's been only a few days, but Monty's already impatient.

The chastity belt is custom made and intricate with all manner of latches and screwheads where other extraneous parts could be attached. It was surprisingly light too and fitted snugly around the sharp jut of Monty's little hips so that they weren't burdened (too much) with it as they moved about the day. It had two hinges that were locked in place (the key was, of course, in Justin's hand only), making it impossible to even slip a finger in past the edges for any sort of relief (and Monty certainly has tried).

They ache. Throbbing.

They squirm a little more in their seat at the restaurant as the waiter comes by to show them the vintage on the wine. As it's poured, splashing wet and luxuriously against the rim of their fine glasses, Monty bites their lip, feeling themselves get damper between their thigh.

He smiles with all his usual casually good-natured charm, hands clasped just under his chin as he watches Monty squirm with avid interest. They look lovely and outwardly demure - a charming sheath dress, their hair done up in lovely waves, elegant and elaborate heels with ribbons laced in a pattern that disappeared beneath the trailing hem of their gown. It was all very proper outwardly; even their manicure was seemingly perfect - save for the wavy cracks and imperfections at the very edges, clear evidence of their futile struggles against the metal latches of the chastity belt he'd had them locked into ever since that day he'd come home from work to find them waiting for him, an absolute vision of feminine loveliness.

Only Justin could see and truly understand all the frustration and desperation mounting behind those pleading blue eyes, the flush of thwarted, prolonged arousal behind the delicately applied make-up, the quaver in Monty's quiet soft voice in answer to his innocuous questions.

Justin was a very patient man when it suited him. After all, their anniversary was tomorrow, and he had every intention of enjoying what had been put on offer to him.

Everything that had been put on offer to him.

For the past few days, he'd been sweet and attentive and warm, but with a deliberate edge to their every interaction, heightened by the reminder of the beautiful chastity belt tucked under Monty's girlish frills and layers. He'd added an additional attachment to their breasts, fastening an elegantly curved metal brassiere around their chest, fitted perfectly to prevent them from teasing even their own sensitive nipples. At night, he sometimes kept them tied up, arms pulled out and away from where they'd constantly wander if left unsupervised, creeping back to their core in the vain, desperate hope that this time, they'd manage to wring some relief from the aching emptiness, their clit and pussy and asshole all locked away behind the perfectly fitted metal of enforced chastity. Some nights he left them free to try, walking in the next morning to their tears of frustration, the embers of hope in their eyes, their mouth already slack and wet with hunger for his cock, only to be led to the bathroom to be gently bathed and cleaned before getting ready for the day, cold water streaming past the expertly crafted metal grates to rinse them clean, not even allowing them a moment's respite from the belt and the growing ache of gnawing emptiness with them that would only be filled, eventually, with Justin's cock. Their outfits had gotten more and more feminine and elaborate - custom-fitted corsets and silken blouses, long skirts and matching jewelry - as Justin squired them about town with chaste chivalry. All culminating in this, the night before the official date of their anniversary, a fancy dinner out with Monty dressed to the absolute nines, the two of them drawing eyes as a couple from just about everyone.

"Shall I order for you, sweetheart?" He suggests, smile bright and white and knowing.

They startle out of their daze at the sound of Justin's voice, as if it were a spool of golden thread unfurled before them in the dark. Their cheeks are flushed pink and warm, their pupils wide and eager.

"Yes, dear, I'd like that very much," they reply, their voice pitched a little higher than usual, its tone soft and placating and inexorably warm. They stumble a little over the endearment, one that they never used before for their Patron in earnest. It had always just felt so excessively affectionate, implying an intimacy that was beyond the stipulations of their contract. And anything that fell outside of that scope was always too uncertain, too messy and too easily misunderstood. They're sure that must be the reason why saying it now still makes them feel so...strange, their heartbeat starting to pound.

Their fingers curl in their lap, scrunching the thin silk of their dress.

"I appreciate how hard you've tried to be good for me this week," he says with a knowing smirk, folding his menu and putting it aside, offering Monty his complete and undivided attention, his gaze taking in all of them as they squirm in the seat across from him. He'd been deliberate in avoiding those sanctioned adults-only areas where Patron-Companions were able to freely indulge in public play and exhibitionism, and had been scrupulously hands off in all things, offering just enough to tease and set Monty's mind to spinning before deliberately backing off. He had a very particular mood he wanted to set, and that required a bit of sacrifice and a lot of denial.

"I know how difficult it is for you to follow the rules I set sometimes."

There was a reason he hadn't left any of it up to chance for Monty, after all, utterly denying Monty and locking them in chastity, forcing them to really feel the enforced denial, not even able to take the edge off by teasing themself, no matter how much they wanted to.

The waiter returns to take their orders, and Justin shifts the conversation back to other topics, talking about their activities of the past few days, the things they'd gone out to see together, complimenting Monty warmly on their clothes and how they had looked, hanging off Justin's arm as they went from place to place. Only his eyes betray anything more than a commonplace conversation between partners, between spouses, hot and anticipatory, watching Monty's every trembling movement with a deep-seated amusement as they eat their way through the carefully plated courses of food. Monty's portions, in particular, had been chosen very deliberately by Justin for specific effects.

After all, just because a place wasn't already in a sanctioned zone didn't mean they wouldn't be amenable to...lending a hand.

"Shall we go dancing, sweetheart?" He suggests, wiping his mouth with the napkin, and setting it aside for the last bit of wine in his glass, smiling across the table at Monty, who looked even more flushed with arousal than might be expected considering their current state. "Or should we maybe call it an early night?"

Edited 2023-05-02 18:26 (UTC)

They shift and bite the plush of their bottom lip. "I think you like it when I misbehave, though," they suggest softly, smiling, before returning to the meal. They listen demurely as their Patron reminisces.

And Monty's mind wanders. They think: is this what it's like to actually be with Justin Baruch? The handholding (that wasn't tight and proprietary), the pushing back of the hair behind their ear as he leans forward to kiss their cheek, the way he says "sweetheart" like that? Is this the man everyone else sees at parties, at work, at the coffee shop? Gentle, charming, thoughtful, and comically indecisive about which side dishes might pair best with his steak so he just orders all of them? Is this what he's like when he's feeling nervous about someone, when he's hoping to fall in love?

"I want to dance," they say, hopefully, realizing that they didn't want this moment to end yet (possibly ever). Their hand is small and delicate in Justin's larger palm as they're lead out to the floor in front of the live band.

He's more than happy to oblige, sweeping Monty into his arms and expertly serving as a lead as they both step and twirl their way around the dance floor in time to the music, gentle pressure and firm confidence guiding both of them without pause or hindrance. Monty is tall but lithe and slender, and he does so enjoy the way they press against him as their dress swirls about their legs, very much aware of what was hidden beneath the soft material.

For a little bit, Monty loses themselves in that fantasy, imagining that they were this other person, this woman who had somehow managed to charm the infamous Mr. Baruch, who had no need of a bulleted list and signatures and seals of approval to capture a man's attention, his lust, his love.

They try not to think any farther than that.

Instead, they focus on the way their bodies move together and how it's just too reminiscent of the way they move in so many...other positions. Every time their hips rub against each other, it's so obvious how the chastity belt gets in the way.

"Justin," Monty says, relishing in the way their Patron's name feels in their mouth, rolling off the surface of their tongue, a small luxury afforded to them in their current scene, "I think you should take me home now."

He doesn't bother to hide the cheerful lust in his expression as he looks down at Monty, enfolded in his arms in the middle of a step, gazing back up at him pleadingly. "Are you sure, sweetheart?" He teases, pretending to be reluctant. "You don't want another dance first?" But even as he speaks he is stepping back slightly, their hands still clasped, ready to escort them off the floor and out to the waiting car.

Their fingers squeeze around Justin's as they shake their head, eagerly led back out the door and into the night.

The car ride back is a blur.

Immediately after the two of them step back into the house, the lights in the foyer still turned off and their shadows cast long behind him by the moonlight streaming through the window (it's so horribly romantic, they think errantly -), Monty claws at their patron as they're suddenly struck with a deep, rumbling hunger. Their fingers dig and pull, wrinkling the expensive material of Justin's shirt and nearly tearing one of the pearl buttons completely off. Punch-drunk and dizzy, Monty wondered why it felt like it was getting harder and harder to breathe. Their fine brow furrows, confused at their own strange state. Their skin feels almost too hot to the touch now, their clothing too restrictive and tight, as if a fever were gripping them, making their tongue and hands loose and careless.

"I really like it," they confess, voice husky and trembling with a strangely genuine vulnerability, "when you call me sweetheart."

Monty bites their lip, their thighs pressing together, desperate to create any sort of friction or pressure against their hot, throbbing core. But the chastity belt is nevertheless a cold, hard, persistent denial.

He practically smells the moment the aphrodisiacs he'd asked the restaurant to include with the meal kick in, so he is prepared for Monty's sudden desperation. He easily catches hold of their frantic hands and holds them up out of the way, letting them press against his larger, more solid body, aching and writhing for more, yet still utterly denied. "Is that so?" He asks, sounding sweetly delighted - he was very good at this, but it was always gratifying to get things right - and then scoops them up into his arms in a bridal carry as he heads for the playroom.

Things are already shifted around, a large four-poster bed pulled out into the center, a few large mirrors positioned strategically around the room, a few furnishings softening the more utilitarian aspects of this room where all kinds of filthy activities took place. They would play with some of them over the next few days, but he wanted Monty in the right mindset first, as proper thanks for this extraordinary gift of their femininity and trust.

"You've been so lovely for me these past few days," he murmurs, gazing down at them, taking their full weight with no issue, giving them an opportunity to look around the playroom before he deposits them down on the bed.

"Anything else you really like, sweetheart? It's almost time for your reward, I think."

The room looks transformed and they take notice, turning their face left and right, their cheeks a cute splotchy pink. But they say nothing yet, merely pauses to gaze at their own reflection in one of the many mirrors. Their eyes are hooded and slightly blank, dazed, and it takes them more than a moment to conjure the words to respond.

"I like when you take me out on dates like this," they bite their bottom lip, chewing at it adorably. "I like when you pull out my chair for me and hold my hand and treat me like..." they stop here suddenly, swallows. No, now's not the time.

On the bed, their legs are splayed loosely, carelessly, and their hands come dancing up their waist to cup their breasts, squeezing them idly, feeling how they seem to be heavier now for some reason.

"I feel...strange," they breathe with a girlish little giggle.

He watches the way Monty fidgets on the bed, the way they touch themselves and shiver under his gaze, the fascination as they watch themselves in the mirrors now surrounding them.

"Should I get you out of that dress first, sweetheart?" He asks. "Though perhaps you'd enjoy making a bit of a mess."

They giggle. "You know me so well, sir," they purr, before laying down on their back, allowing their dress to hike up their thighs even more.

"Do your tits feel a bit full and heavy, sweetheart?" He asks solicitously, his gaze drawn to the shiny metal of the chastity belt revealed by the way Monty is hiking up their skirt on the bed. "I asked the restaurant to add a little something, to make our weekend together really special."

He pauses, smirks very slightly. "Well, at least two little somethings."

They nod in response, holding and squeezing the swell of their breasts in their own hands, feeling for the change. "You did this for me, sir?" they whisper, adoring and reverent as they pinch and roll a stiffening nipple between their fingers, heart beating faster and faster when they think they might be feeling a bead of wetness.

"Of course, sweetheart," he murmurs, smiling down at them as he reaches for the compartment within easy reach, filled with toys already selected and prepared for their time together. "You're my little doll, aren't you? I have to make sure you're prepared for me, absolutely perfect in every possible way."

He takes out a pair of nipple clamps, holds them up before their eyes. "Let's start with these, shall we?" He doesn't wait for assent, takes it as given, tugs the dress down, revealing Monty's bare skin beneath the elegant fabric. With a grin, he reaches out, wrapping his hand around Monty's right breast, fastens and tightens the metal over Monty's nipple, already swollen and peaked from their own stimulation. "I don't want you leaking before you're ready," he murmurs, running his thumb over the sensitive tip, catching the little drop of liquid, squeezed painfully out by the toy. He glances between his thumb and Monty's eyes, before he cups their cheek and runs his damp thumb over the seam of their perfectly painted lips.

They nod eagerly again. "Your favorite little toy. Just waiting for you to play with every day, right?"

The clamps are tight and painful, making Monty start to squirm with delight, their breasts feeling even more sore now. "I feel like I'm going to burst," they gasp, utterly aroused by the very thought as the flick their pink little tongue out to taste themselves on their Patron's finger, watching him pull it away damp and smeared and shiny with lip gloss -

Monty can't help it then, leaning forward and fulling wrapping their lips around Justin's thumb again, sucking it clean.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head," he murmurs affectionately, laughing at the way Monty tentatively tastes themselves, tastes their own milk, produced from their own breasts, something else he was sure they had never experienced before falling into his hands. He's a little surprised when they lean forward almost ravenously, sucking on Justin's thumb with every evidence of enjoyment.

"You like the way you taste, sweetheart?" He teases, letting his hand go slack and watching them fellate him desperately, clearly trying to distract from the long neglected throbbing emptiness between their legs, in both their holes. "I'll be sure to drink you up later when you're ripe and ready."

He pulls away then, and bends to remove more toys - cuffs and ties and a curious looking device, a shaped glass cup with a tube attached - placing them on the bed. The room is so brightly lit, allowing him to see truly everything.

"Should I let you keep your pretty dress on, sweetheart? You're going to make such a mess." He could well afford it, and the dress was very cleverly designed; he wanted Monty to have everything they wanted to truly fulfill this fantasy of theirs.

DOING SOMETHING UNHOLY

a gift worth unwrapping

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