Her finger kept circling, that gentle, taunting pressure just below my navel.
Every rotation sent a shockwave through my system, a sickening cocktail of razor-sharp pleasure and deep, structural pain. My cock stood untouched, throbbing, and dripping a steady, painful bead of precum onto my stomach.
Each drop felt like a needle being pushed through the slit.
I couldn't move. I could only breathe ragged and open-mouthed, my body became a live wire of conflicting sensations.
"Such a beautiful, broken thing," she murmured, her eyes drinking in my helpless thrashing.
Her hand left my lower belly, and the absence of that specific torture was its own kind of agony. I whimpered.
In that same instant, her fingers closed around me.
I cried out a punched-out sound. It wasn't the warm, loving grip of a lover. It was clinical, and possessive.
Her palm was cool, her fingers strong as they formed a ring at the base of my shaft, squeezing just enough to make the already impossible pressure spike. "Let's see how your body reacts to a more… direct approach."
She began to stroke.
Slow, at first.
A long, dragging pull from root to tip, her thumb smearing the painful precum over the swollen head.
The friction was exquisite, the pleasure was real, it was a bright, hot line of fire that raced up my spine. But it was immediately followed, a microsecond later, by the clenching, burning agony deep in my groin, the sensation of something trying to tear its way out through a passage that had sealed itself shut.
It feels good. It hurts. It feels good. It hurts.
The dichotomy shattered me.
My hips bucked off the bed, trying to fuck her fist, chasing the bright thread of pleasure even as the dark wave of pain threatened to drown me. Then, she adjusted her grip, tightening it, setting a ruthless, rhythmic pace.
"There it is," she cooed, watching my face contort.
"Your body wants to. It's screaming to… But it can't. The pathway is gone, Juan. All that's left is the need."
Her strokes became faster, more efficient. The wet, slick sounds filled the room, obscene counterpoints to my choked gasps.
The pressure built, a familiar, desperate climb towards climax. My balls drew up tight, a fierce, aching pull.
My stomach muscles clenched like stone. The world blurred at the edges of my vision, narrowing to the feeling of her hand, the building storm inside me.
'I'm going to cum. I'm going to… This time, it has to—'
She stopped.
Her hand went completely still around my shaft, right as I was teetering on the very peak. The sensation was like being flung off a cliff and then frozen in mid-air.
A ragged, broken scream tore from my throat. My body convulsed, hips pistoning into her stationary grip, my cock pulsing violently, trying to erupt.
But nothing came out. Just a wave of pure, undiluted agony that whited out my vision. I felt a spasm, a deep, internal clenching that had no release. A dry, painful shudder that racked me from head to toe.
She loosened her grip, stroking once, twice, gently, as I sobbed for air. "A denial," she whispered. "The first of many."