You have to come quickly

She grips you with purpose, her hand slick with spit as she works you with deep, relentless thrusts.

Up, down, up, down.

The motion is almost brutal, her fingers tightening around you with each stroke.

"I’ll give you 10 seconds to finish," she says, her voice low and commanding. "10."

The countdown begins before you can even process it.

{if game:dick_size>1}

On the way up, she twists her wrist just enough to tease your glans, sending a jolt through you. Then, the descent—debilitating. She pulls your foreskin taut, her fingers sliding all the way down to the base, pressing against your pubis so far it even gives your balls a gentle tug. The grip is tight, so possessive.

{elseif game:dick_size=1}

She focuses her attention on the head of your cock, her thumb and index finger working in precise, teasing circles.

{endif}

"9."

Her strokes sync with the countdown. You realize, with a jolt, that you only have eight thrusts left before you’re expected to come.

"8."

You understand the emergency, you begin moving your hips, almost by instinct, meeting her rhythm. The wet, obscene sounds of her hand working you fill the tiny bathroom, the musky scent of arousal thick in the air.

"7."

She leans in closer, her breath hot against your ear.

"6."

She doubles her pace. The sudden change throws you off, your hips stuttering as you try to match her.

"5."

You find the rhythm again, your body moving in time with hers.

"4."

Your breathing grows ragged, deeper. The tension coils tighter in your gut.

"3."

Your cock throbs, the pressure building to an unbearable peak. A deep, electric sensation surges through you, racing toward release.

"2." Her voice is a threat, a promise. "You better be ready."

Your knees buckle. She steadies you, her grip unyielding.

"1."

"Come." The word is a command as she peels your cock one last time and holds you right there, right at the edge.

You thrust your hips, but it’s useless. Her hand stays glued to the base of your cock. You’re fucking the air, chasing a release she won’t let you claim. Then, she pulls down the top of her blouse, exposing the swell of her breasts, and presses your head against her skin. The warmth, the scent, the intimacy—it sends you over.

You come hard, painting the wall in thick, messy strokes.

A moment of brain fog later, before you can even process what’s happened, she’s already opening a small package. With practiced ease, she rolls a fresh condom over your still-hard cock.

She tells you to clean up your art while she goes to fetch your pants.

You’re confused. And somehow, you’re still hard.