fuguestates | DOING SOMETHING UNHOLY

Monty trembles, their whole body responding to Justin, gravitating towards him. They can't help it; it's as if they can't see anything else in the entire room.

"Yes, sir," they whisper, eyes wide and already a little starry, a little unfocused. "You'll have no mercy for me, won't you?" They sound excited, almost expectant.

The head of the crop slices slowly along their sensitive folds, the black of the leather in sharp, delicious contrast to their pale, pink insides. Monty squirms against the bench, their jewelry decorating the most sensitive parts of them jingling in delight.

He nods along with Monty's question, still probing with the crop, pressing the flat of it against Monty's cunt, stroking against it with the fine dark leather. He can already see the beading wetness of their arousal gathering on the spread-wide folds of skin, and imagines he can hear the wet lewd sounds as Monty squirms underneath his attention and the crop. He slides it up deliberately to catch in the ring pierced through their clit, and then drags it further, along the sensitive length of their little cock.

He loved having them utterly vulnerable and subject to his whims like this. He'd never had a Companion quite like them before, even putting aside the uniqueness of their anatomy. Monty was so eager, so joyful in their submission, in their hunger and inclinations. It had taken some time to work through the initial barriers of shame and uncertainty, but Justin had worked hard to provide them with this safe space, with the needed boundaries and certainties, and Monty had absolutely blossomed under his care and attention.

"You'll be good for me like this, little one, won't you?" He murmurs. "You want me to really push you to your limits. In that case..." He pulls the crop away, brings it down hard on the edge of the bench, deliberately missing their body, a teasing threat, a gentle breeze against sensitive skin that so seldom was exposed like this.

"Count down for me. From one hundred. Every time you lose count, I'll add another five strikes to your total."

He pauses, waits for the order to sink in, watching Monty's face closely. "Your pussy is going to be so swollen and red," he says almost gleefully. "Think about how it'll feel for me to finally bury my cock inside you, after all these weeks. You want it to hurt, don't you, little one? All for the sake of pleasing me?"

Monty nods, closing their eyes briefly only to snap them open again with a delighted gasp when they hear the sound of the crop slap down against the bench right beside them. The sharp whistle of the leather as it cuts through the air...it's one of the most arousing sounds they've ever heard. Their wet cunt clenches instantly in response, tugging slightly against the piercings now holding it open. It is already starting to ache just a little, but Monty wouldn't have it any other way.

"I can't wait, sir," they breathe. "If it pleases you, I'd want you to whip my little pussy until I pass out. And I'd want you to fuck me even then. I know how you like it when I'm loose and easy, how nice I must feel taking your big cock inside of me without any resistance at all..."

Then, Monty bites their lip to swallow their own moan of excitement before they start to count.

"My perfect little doll," he coos, clearly pleased and excited, and then for a moment there are no other words, simply a fraught, delicate moment as Justin looks them over once again, taking in the beautiful picture they made, the apparent eagerness to please, the obvious trembling of excitement and arousal in their entire body.

The crop whistles again, a sharp whine, as he lands a strike right against the small exposed part of Monty's ass. Just as a warm-up.

"Count down for me," he reminds them, and then begins in earnest, working up to a pattern - a few gentler strikes to warm up, then a harder one right against their exposed pussy, in groupings of five, pausing for random intervals to increase the tension and anticipation.

Those four words are all Monty ever longs to hear. All they've ever wanted was to belong, to be possessed (My), to please another (Perfect), to be easily held (Little), and beautiful (Doll). With Justin, they have it all.

At first, the numbers come easily but with each clap of the crop against their most sensitive part, the damp core of them, they start to mess up. They stutter, the numbers criss-cross, and their hips jerk as they cry when their Patron whips them harder just like he had promised.

It's starting to really hurt, to burn, their exposed cunt completely swollen and pink, the piercings glistening with slick.

Fuck. Monty thinks they might actually cum from this -

His attention and awareness are so attuned to Monty's mood and physicality that he notices immediately the way their careful positioning slips, the quiver of movement, and he stops short of the the next strike. There is a frown on his face, but it is conspiratorial, a shared joke between the two of them in light of the current situation.

"Are you still with me, little one?" He murmurs, his tone outwardly curious and vaguely displeased, but his eyes avid and intent. "You've made five mistakes already, so that's at least twenty five more strikes."

"Please, sir, no more -!" They gasp, their voice a deep, needy moan of appreciation, giving away their true intentions: they're still hungry for it.

Shaky and reeling, Monty feels high off the attention, off the pain, their cheeks blotchy and stained with tears. Their skin burns, their cunt red with abuse, clenching pathetically around nothing. And still they beg. “Touch me, I need you, please - haven’t I been s-so good for you tonight?”

"Of course you have been, little one," he replies readily, as quick with praise and validation as with the pain he'd been dealing out for the past few minutes. Monty suffered so beautifully, so clearly drinking up the rough treatment, reveling in having Justin's full attention, in the heights they are being pushed to.

"But we've barely even gotten started, and you're already so close to coming like a desperate little whore. How are you going to last the rest of the night, hm? Are you sure you want me to fuck into you while you're so oversensitive? I'm not going to have any mercy on you, you know that."

He puts down the crop he had been swinging idly back and forth, and then turns to go back to the display of toys on the other side of the room, coming back with a soft suede flogger and a long paddle.

"Maybe we need to change things up a bit, hm? You can pick which one you prefer for the rest of your whipping."

Edited 2022-12-10 04:39 (UTC)

"But I feel so empty," they whine, hips squirming. They pull at the ropes binding their wrists, ignoring entirely how their hands are going just a little numb. Monty's imagining how it'll feel, anticipating it, the way it'll be such a tight fit, how Justin will have to really force his way in, pound through their small body. And how it'll be such delicious agony when they finally do cum -

But then, Justin turns back around and Monty nearly starts to drool at the sight of their Patron holding the new toy in hand. Within a heartbeat's time, it becomes clear they're more interested in the flogger, their gaze trailing down the soft tassels with reverence. They've been on the receiving end of them many, many times now. It's a clear favorite. Monty just loves the contradiction of it: how soft and supple (almost unassuming) it is when it's resting versus how sharp it stung when it hit.

"That one. Please."

His gaze sharpens very slightly, but he sets the paddle down on the other side of the bench next to the crop, just within reach and within sight, but mostly out of the way of what they were currently doing, an implicit tease and threat.

"Do you need something else inside you as well while I whip your needy little cunt, Monty?" He asks, raising one eyebrow, stepping in closer so he can trail the soft thongs of the whip along Monty's skin, a whisper of contact over the sensitive - and sensitized - swollen flesh, little pinpricks of sensation like a curtain jostling over Monty's spread wide pussy and then up over their little cock. It's nothing like the whipping that will result from Justin's expert handling of the little toy, but the intimation is there, a sampling and a taste of what was soon to come.

"That can very easily be arranged. Maybe a little plug for your ass? A vibrator for your pussy? But you said you didn't want me to let you come until I fuck you open on my cock."

"No, you. I just want you, sir -!" They're groaning and crying, their hips wriggling and tilting up, trying to rub against the feather-light touch of the new toy, its leather tassels supple and yet rough. But the way they’re bound makes it nearly impossible for them to get any real sense of satisfaction.

They’re helpless.

And they love that.

"Spoiled," he teases, and then pulls the flogger back, letting the strands sway back and forth with the slightest motion of his wrist so only the thinner ends brush against Monty's skin, like a series of little pinpricks, the lightest of stings.

"If you want my cock, you're going to have to earn it, little one," he chides, as if scolding an errant child. "You're doing well so far tonight, but I really wonder if you'll be able to hold out." He tilts his head, and then raises his arm, holding it still for a breath, leaving Monty utterly exposed and untouched, watching the way their flesh quivers and shakes.

"I wonder if I even want you to hold out," he adds, and then brings his hand down in a strike. It's hardly as dramatic as the crop, without the sharp, concentrated sting of the wide flat tip, just a myriad of sensations all at once, over a larger area of sensitive, swollen skin.

It's not the same as the crop: it's worse. And that's better. It hardly takes a few strikes until Monty's body seizes, tenses, their abused little pussy squirting aggressively as they cum from the constant overstimulation.

They're not expecting the agony of doing so however, and they whines sharply, their legs jerking and trying to close against that overwhelming tremble of feeling. "S-sorry, sir," they keen, "I couldn't - couldn't help myself -"

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?"

"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.

He laughs, sounding pleased and happy, and he lets Monty's tongue just touch against the cloth of his slacks, press against the hard hot length of his erection, before he pulls away, leaving their body swaying, bent over and hanging from their wrists.

"I know, little one," he murmurs affectionately. "You just want to please me, don't you? You're always ready for me to use any and all your holes however I want, my sweet, precious doll." He tousles Monty's hair gently, a light caress, and walks around to the other side of the bench, adjusting its positioning, tugging Monty's seated body back until they really are hanging by their wrists.

Then he reaches forward for Monty's hips, lifting their weight up bodily with the support of the chains they are already hanging from, and sliding his hands down along their legs,swinging them back so they are kneeling up on the bench.

"But I want your ass and your cunt today, understood? And you still have another twenty strikes to take before you get fucked."

He picks up the paddle, and walks around Monty, observing their positioning - their bent legs and the beautiful heeled shoes, the swollen lips of their pussy, the weights and chains hanging down from the piercings, the translucent elastic of their garters.

They preen at the compliments, hips pushing back immediately when they feel Justin's touch. Their body fits, as always, perfectly into his wide palms as if they had been tailored somehow - custom made - just for him.

Monty's never felt particularly lucky in their life. Except when it came to this.

Their waist tilts and their legs try to spread even wider, the chains and jewelry adoring the core of them swaying and clinking melodically as they move. With each breath they take, their small breasts rise and fall, dusky nipples hard and perky with arousal and anticipation.

They'd do anything to get fucked right this moment. They vaguely think of asking even for the handle of the paddle - but they bite their lip, knowing that if they were patient, if they obeyed they would deserve their Patron's cock at the end.

"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.

Each adjustment is done with grace, their limbs shifting instantly the moment paddle so much as grazed their skin. That is, until, they start to feel it pressing hard between their thighs, the wood digging nearly into their cunt. Monty can't help but cry out in reaction, their hips instantly grinding down. They're so aroused and feeling so horrendously empty that they briefly think about actually fucking onto the paddle again -

But then the first hit comes, then the second, and on the third one, Monty screams, their entire body jerking harshly. It hurt. A lot. Which only made Monty shudder even more intensely, overcome by a twisted combination of pleasure and agony. They couldn't get enough, eyes going starry and blank as they find themselves begging hoarsely for more, for harder.

He can tell Monty has sunk deep into subspace, their voice hoarse already with sobbing and begging. It was adorable and arousing at the same time, and he has to pause after ten strokes to unzip his pants to relieve the pressure, watching the way their body sways and shivers under the harsh treatment, each loud thwap of the paddle accompanied by the musical rattle of the chains and weights swinging together and Monty's broken cries of pleasure and pain, their genuine begging.

He forces himself to take his time, no matter how much he wants to toss the paddle away and bury himself inside Monty's desperate, straining heat. He can already imagine how it would feel, forcing his cock into the abused but eager flesh, hot and swollen with rough treatment and unaccustomed to use after the last few weeks of waiting for the piercings to heal. It's just as well that he had prepared for this, as a treat for both of them, that he would be more than physically able to satisfy their complementary wants and needs.

The final strike is downwards, the paddle perfectly centered, a sharp, stinging impact right between Monty's spread legs, laid across their very core, jostling all the beautiful chains. He sets it deliberately aside, and then steps forward, his hands ghosting over Monty's red asscheeks, and bends down to slide his tongue over the soaking wet inner folds of Monty's cunt, stretched and aching.

"My perfect little doll," he repeats, muffled against Monty's skin. "You're so hot and swollen and tight here. Do you even remember how to take me properly, little one? Can I bury my cock inside you like this, forcing my way into your dripping pussy? It'll hurt, won't it, Monty? Just the way you like it."

He tugs on the chains holding Monty's wrists, pulls away so he can slide the very tip of his cock along Monty'a stretched-open body, brushing it over their inner lips, listening to the damp squish of skin rubbing together, anticipating Monty's moans.

"Try and take me in, little one," he whispers, rolling his hips but not truly forcing his way in just yet, setting all the weights swaying, a subtle shifting pressure along the hard shaft of his cock. "Show me how much you want this. Want me."

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 -"

"Mm, I really should ease you in, shouldn't I?" He teases, his tone all solicitous consideration, but knowing full well that right now Monty was craving hard use. "It's been so long, after all. I need to take my time."

And correspondingly, draw out the pleasure and sensation and frustration for Monty.

He settles his hands on Monty's hips, forcing them still, and slides out, slotting his cock between Monty's spread thighs, slick already with their own release. He rubs, grinds deliberately against them, thrusting over and against the sensitive opening of Monty's cunt in glancing movements. Monty's legs are spread too far to hold Justin in place, but his cock is hard and stiff enough that it doesn't matter even as Monty's body leaks slickness over Justin's length in a deliberately cruel tease.

Then he reaches around, presses his palm against the head of his own cock, pressing it up against Monty's clit and rubbing against their piercing, aligned to Monty's dripping cock.

"You can come for me like this, can't you, little one? You must be so sensitive here. Let me feel you come before I bury myself inside your hungry pussy."

"Yes," they gasp, "I want to - so badly, so, so badly - oh -"

The pressure of Justin's hand and cockhead rubbing simultaneously up against their pierced clit is too much. After just a few circular swipes of their patron's thumb and a particularly emphatic flick of their forefinger against the ring (making it shift slightly), Monty shivers violently, feels that oh-so-familiar jolt of pressure and feeling in their navel rising up to bursting, making their eyes roll back into their skull, lashes lowered and slack -

They cum with a pitched whimper, just slightly after being commanded to do so, spine tensing in a pretty arch, their dick kicking as it coats itself with its own creamy spend and their pussy clenching like a vice around nothing as they squirt just once, wetting their already sweaty thighs and the plush bench beneath their knees.

Monty's chest heaves, their body shaking and slackening but still very much on edge.

Just as Monty starts to come, spilling all over themselves, Justin digs his fingers in for balance and pulls his own hips back, sliding into Monty's throbbing, dripping cunt with a loud, slick sound, burying himself deep inside them from behind, forcing his way in roughly. He barely hesitates before he is thrusting in a rhythm, yanking Monty back and forth on the bench and groaning with pleasure at the feeling of their body spasming around the thick, punishing length of his cock, pounding into them over and over, while he continues to rub deliberately at Monty's pierced clit and the dripping length of their little cock with his free hand.

"Hrnng!"

Monty grunts through their nose on reflex. Their body tightens instantly once Justin starts pushing in, forcing the man to use more force and strength to fully sheath himself. There's a moment, right as their Patron grinds the base of their dick against the abused lips of Monty's cunt that they nearly lose it.

But where's the fun in that?

It doesn't take long until Monty's panting and groaning with each thrust, the rhythm haphazard and uneven, Justin's cock a merciless piston fucking Monty open and deep. The combined stimulation of his hand still rubbing indiscriminate shapes against their clit - turning and moving the ring there constantly - is enough to knock Monty almost entirely comatose. They manage to stay conscious, just barely, hopeless and mindless, unable to even think about speaking, their tongue a dumb and useless muscle in their slack mouth, smeared with drool.

DOING SOMETHING UNHOLY

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