edges your cock.

Mr. Garrett's thumb continues to tease your clitty tip, moving in slow, torturous circles as he watches your reactions. His other hand reaches up to pinch your nipple, rolling it gently between his thumb and forefinger.

You moan, unable to resist the pleasure he's giving you. His eyes bore into yours, searching for any signs of resistance. You know you need to give him something to keep him satisfied and to keep the game going. "Tell me, Harl," he whispers, his voice low and demanding. "What does Tyson whisper to you in the dark?" His hand is getting you to a quick edge.

You let out a shaky breath, your body responding to his touch despite your fear. "He...he tells me how much he loves me," you lie, your voice breathy. His eyes narrow slightly, and you know he's not buying it.

"I'm not interested in his sweet nothings," he says, his thumb pressing harder against your tiny cock. You bite your lip, trying to hold back a gasp. "Tell me something useful, or I'll make you scream in a way you won't enjoy." His hand moves down, his fingers tracing the line of your ass before sliding inside you, testing your willingness, as two fingers slowly push in.

You are tense, trying to focus on the conversation despite the intrusion. "He...he's been worried about an operation," you murmur, hoping to throw him off the scent. "Something big, something that could change everything."

Mr. Garrett's eyes light up, and his hand stills for a moment before he starts to rub your prostate gently. "Go on," he says, his voice eager. You moan, the sensation overwhelming. "What kind of operation?"

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