Chapter 895: Just the Tip Torture

She peeled off one black leather glove slowly—deliberately—teeth catching the fingertip and tugging until it slid free with a soft

snap

.

The bare skin of her hand felt electric when it wrapped around my cock—hot, slightly trembling, fingers curling tight around the base. She gave one long, slow pull upward—milking a thick rope of pre-cum from the slit—then dragged me down hard, aligning the swollen head perfectly with her entrance.

"You might be right..." she murmured, voice cracking with her own barely-contained need.

Then she sank—just the tip.

The first inch breached her in a slow, torturous glide. Her pussy lips parted around the head with a wet

schlick

, clinging greedily to the corona as the tight ring of muscle fluttered against it. She stopped there—completely still—leaving only the head buried inside her, the rest of my cock exposed and throbbing in the cool air.

The itch was immediate, unbearable.

Her inner walls pulsed once—once—squeezing the tip like a velvet fist, then relaxed again. No deeper. No movement. Just that maddening, shallow pressure—enough to make my balls ache, enough to make every nerve scream for more, but nowhere near enough to satisfy.

Sarah leaned forward, palms braced on my chest, her bare tits brushing my skin, nipples dragging like hot points. Her face hovered inches above mine—breath ragged, lips swollen from earlier moans. "Feel that?" she whispered, voice wrecked and triumphant.

"Just the tip... stretching my tight little cunt... pulsing around you... But that’s all you get. No deep strokes. No pounding. No filling me up until I’m dripping your cum down my thighs. Just this... this teasing little itch deep inside you... making your cock throb so hard it hurts."

She clenched deliberately—her pussy walls rippling around the head in slow, rhythmic waves—milking just the tip without giving me another inch. Each squeeze sent a jolt straight to my core; pre-cum leaked steadily from the slit, mixing with her slick and dripping down my cock in warm rivulets.

I groaned—low, frustrated—hips jerking upward instinctively, trying to bury myself deeper. The cuffs bit into my wrists as the chain snapped taut, holding me back. "Fuck... Sarah... move..."

She laughed softly—cruel, breathless—then rocked her hips in tiny, torturous circles. The head shifted inside her—just enough to rub against her sensitive front wall, enough to make her whimper—but never deeper.

"Nope. Not yet. You said you wouldn’t beg... so prove it. Let’s see how long you can last with just the tip buried in my hot, wet pussy... feeling me squeeze... feeling me drip all over you... while I stay perfectly still."

Another deliberate clench—harder this time—her walls fluttering like a heartbeat around the corona. She moaned low, head falling back, cap slipping crookedly.

"God... you’re so thick even just the head feels like it’s splitting me... stretching my entrance... making me ache for the rest... but I can hold it. Can you?"

She reached down with her bare hand—fingers slick from our combined mess—and circled the base of my cock, squeezing rhythmically in time with her pussy’s pulses. Up and down—slow, teasing pumps that never pushed me deeper, only heightened the maddening friction at the tip.

"Feel that itch?" she taunted, echoing her earlier words. "Deep in your balls... that burning need to thrust... to fill me... to explode? That’s what you get for fucking Gabriela first... for walking in here reeking of her old cunt... now you suffer. Just the tip. Just the tease. Until you break... until you beg Officer Sarah to ride you raw... to milk every drop out of you with my nasty little holes."

Her hips rolled again—tiny figure-eights that made the head rub against her G-spot, drawing a high, needy whimper from her throat. Fresh cream gushed around the tip, running down my cock in warm streams, soaking my balls, dripping onto the sheets. She was close—dangerously close—just from the shallow penetration and her own filthy control—but she refused to give in.

I gritted my teeth, hips straining, cock throbbing so hard it felt like it might burst. "You’re... gonna break first..." I rasped, voice rough. "You’re dripping like a faucet... clenching around me like you’re starving... you can’t hold out..."

Sarah’s eyes flashed—dark, hungry. "Wanna bet?"

She clenched again—harder—her pussy walls rippling in a slow, deliberate wave that milked the head like a mouth.

Sarah lifted—just a fraction—letting the swollen head of my cock pop free from her pussy with a loud, wet

schlick

.

A thick string of her cream stretched between us, snapping and splattering across my cock before she immediately sank back down, taking only the tip again. Over and over—shallow, torturous dips that kept us both teetering on the razor’s edge.

Each time she rose, her inner walls clung desperately to the corona, reluctant to release; each time she dropped, that tight ring fluttered and squeezed, milking just enough to make my balls throb with denied agony.

My hips jerked uselessly against the cuffs, chain rattling hard. Pre-cum poured from the slit in steady, frustrated ropes, mixing with her slick until my entire groin was a glistening, slippery mess.

Sarah’s breathing was ragged now—her own control fraying at the seams—but her eyes gleamed with wicked triumph. She suddenly lifted completely off me, my cock slapping wetly back against my abs with a heavy

thud

. She stood on the bed, legs straddling my chest, cap still crooked, tits heaving, pussy lips swollen and shining.

"I will show it to Sister Marina..." she purred, voice low and filthy. "Your desperate need... how pathetic you look right now... cuffed, leaking, begging without words."

She reached for her phone on the nightstand—fingers trembling slightly as she swiped it open, hit record, and angled the camera down at me. The red light blinked on.

Through the AI Lens, I could see the screen clearly: my arms stretched high and chained, cock standing rigid and angry-red, glistening with her juices and my own pre-cum, balls drawn tight and shiny.

"Look at him, Marina," Sarah narrated to the camera, voice husky and mocking. "Your precious Jack... the one who fucked that old bitch Gabriela raw before coming here... now he’s my prisoner. Cuffed. Blindfolded. Cock dripping like a faucet just from the tip of my pussy. He thinks he can hold out... thinks he won’t beg. Let’s see how long that lasts."

She panned the camera slowly—lingering on my throbbing cock, the puddle of pre-cum on my stomach, the way my hips twitched helplessly every few seconds.

Then she climbed back over me—reverse this time—ass facing the camera, cheeks still flushed and slick from earlier grinding. She spread her knees wide, positioned herself above my cock, and slowly lowered.

"What about here?" she taunted, both to me and the recording. "Can you really hold back now?"

She guided the head to her asshole—still hot, still musky, still slightly slick from my tongue earlier. The tight ring kissed the tip... parted... and she sank just enough to take the head inside.

"Aaaaaah... fuck..." I groaned, the sound ripping from deep in my chest. "Your asshole... is burning hot..."

The heat was immediate, overwhelming—her rim clamping down like a molten vice around the corona, the silky inner walls fluttering wildly as they adjusted to the intrusion.

She stopped there—perfectly still—only the head buried in her ass, the rest of my cock exposed and throbbing in the cool air. The contrast was torture: the scorching grip of her asshole versus the denial of depth, the itch now ten times worse, radiating from my balls straight up my spine.