hiii when you have time can you write for sub!gator and hes like whimpering how he’s a winner?? I love ur writing and I hope this made sense!! 💕
GAHHHH i love this and i love u <3
you’ve got him standing in front of the mirror, chest rising fast, fists clenched at his sides like he’s trying not to touch you—like he’s barely holding it together.
you’re on your knees between his legs, head tilted back, tongue out.
he twitches when you breathe over the head of his cock. it’s plum flushed, wet at the tip already—he’s dripping. you haven’t even done anything yet.
you don’t touch him. not yet.
just let a string of spit drip from your tongue to the tip. watch him shake when it lands. watch his hips buck forward just an inch like he couldn’t help it, like gravity pulled him into you.
“mm-mm.” you tap his thigh lightly. “not yet.”
you flatten your tongue and lick a slow stripe up the underside of his cock. then kiss the tip—sweet, like he’s good. like he’s earned it.
he moans. breathy and shaky. his cock jerks in the air, twitching again when you spit directly on it this time—hot and slick, dripping down over the head, down the shaft.
you smile, finally pushing your tits together. “okay, baby. now you can fuck ‘em.”
he stumbles forward a half step, like his knees are already weak. like he’s been waiting for you to say those exact words all week.
you guide him in slow, let the tip of his cock catch between your tits, already slick with your spit. he groans, hands flying to the dresser behind you, steadying himself like he’s in too deep already.
he starts thrusting, slow and shivery. your mouth is still open just above his cock, and when he pushes in deep enough, the swollen tip brushes your lips. you flick your tongue over it, quick and mean.
you do it again, softer this time. just a tease.
“shit—mama, fuck, i can’t—”
“you can,” you coo, voice thick with amusement. “you’re a winner, remember?”
“say it,” you tell him, sliding your hands up the backs of his thighs to keep him still. “say what i heard you mutterin’ to yourself earlier. go on.”
you glance up, catch his eyes flicking down—trying to look at your tits, your mouth, the mess he’s making of you. not the mirror.
you slap the side of his thigh. “eyes up.”
“again,” you whisper. “say it while you watch yourself.”
his voice cracks. “i’m… a w-winner.”
you tighten your arms around your tits, pushing them closer. slick and hot and tight around his cock, the tip dragging between them with every thrust, leaving your chest glistening.
“that’s right,” you breathe. “say it again, lizard. louder.”
he moans—deep, wrecked, desperate. “i’m a winner. i’m a winner, fuck—fuck—i’m gonna—”
“yeah, you are,” you purr. “you’re my winner. now make a mess of me and don’t you fuckin’ dare look away.”
he doesn’t. he can’t. his eyes are locked on the mirror, watching himself fall apart, watching the way your tits bounce with each frantic thrust, flinching at the way your tongue licks at the very tip of his cock right as he starts to cum.
he moans—loud, high, helpless—and spills between your tits, onto your chest, your chin, your lips. still trying to say it, the words breaking apart in his throat—
“i’m… i’m a—fuck—i’m a winner—baby, i—”
you smile. lick the taste of him from the corner of your mouth.
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
titsay
amandla