“He throat fucks you while he eats you out by being on top in 69” he’s so aggressively hot AND FOR WHAT
And uhh thanks for that image. I need to take that to bed now. But also you’re absolutely right and you should write something about that in return for the horny you’ve caused! (Jk jk)
- santi anon
Don't You Dare [Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader]
Word Count: 3k
Warnings: Filthy filth, the use of the honorific "daddy", Dom/sub dynamics, name calling (sexy name calling), threats (but sexy threats), throat fucking and all the warnings that come from throat fucking. just 3k of smut.
Summary: Have your cake and eat it too?? Not on Santiago Garcia's watch.
There’s a famous behavioral study on delayed gratification called the Stanford Marshmallow Study. All about the ability to resist the treat of one marshmallow right now, for the promise of two marshmallows later. For those who were able to resist eating the marshmallow right away, they were later discovered to be, for the most part, stalwart individuals stacked with mental fortitude. That is Santi all the way. He can withstand, he can get up for a run at 6am today for a healthier heart tomorrow, he can push the single-marshmallow plate away from himself without a thought. Because to him: two is better than one. But to you? You’re more of a ‘now is better than later’ kind of girl. Maybe it’s that very mentality that Santi tries to fuck out of you on a regular basis; that dessert-before-dinner aura that his hard militaristic edges are determined to scrape. You let him do it regularly, bending you over his knee, stringing you up by his belt, pulling you back by your hair. You love the way he bends and breaks you and fucking edges you like an unruly lawn.
“Don’t you dare” Santiago warns you.
Santiago knows your body so well that he can read the pace of your rocking hips and the ever-crumpling expression on your face like a blaring warning sign that flashes, “I’m close. I’m close. I’m close.”
And what does he expect, really? The man has been edging you for what feels like fucking hours. Truly taking the name of the game to heart and escorting you to the precipice of your pleasure and back like he’s doing pacers at the overlook of the Grand fucking Canyon. And now he’s instructed you to ride him? Ride him while he’s seated on the couch? In the fucking angle he knows is a surefire cum-in-your-britches position? The hell was he expecting?
“Don’t you fucking dare, little girl. You can get yourself to the edge, but if you cum, you’re in trouble.”
You’re not listening. At all. Normally Santiago’s word is law to you, but your mind has taken a backseat to your body and all your body wants is to cum. And, fuck, he feels so fucking good like this, your clit is rubbing perfectly on him while you rock steadily on his cock. Your naked thighs on his naked thighs, nothing between you but heat and breath, sweat and slick. You’re taking it slow. You might be cock drunk, but you’re not stupid. Santiago knows what it looks like when you’re chasing your end and if he catches wind, he’s going to pull you off him and torture you for fuck-knows how long. You’re not galloping to an end; but racing there or not, even tiny measured steps will still take you over the edge of the canyon. Christ you want to leap, it’s all you want to do. The only thing tethering you to land is the solemn expression on Santi’s face. Fuck, he’s so pretty. Eyes a dark caution, woodenly curtained by an assessing stare. His teeth grit in a hiss when you push down on him slowly and, eyes locked with yours, he shakes his head with an admonition.
“Don’t do it baby. I will make you pay.”
He can tell. He can feel it, the way you puuuush down on him with a trembling effort, you’re sure he can register it in his warm palms that hold your backside. But you don’t care. And you can hardly control it anyway. It’s fucking biology and his attentions to you for the past torturous hours have your cunt absolutely throbbing around him. You know what his instructions are, but they’re a faint whisper compared to the blaring pulsing call for relief at the center of you.
And with a subdued “oh,” you eat the marshmallow. In one bite. And because you’re trying to hide your malfeasance, you swallow it whole. You don’t let your body betray you, when you take what’s yours, tamping down the pleasure and forcing yourself to have a half-hearted orgasm. Yes your toes curl and your abdomen shakes, but you’ve been flexing and shaking for the better part of an hour with Santi already. It can’t be that obvious to him what is happening.
You school your expression and bite your quivering lower lip, trying to disguise your long labored exhale, fighting against the need to slump against him and mouth at his warm neck. It’s a half-hearted o, a firework explosion that you close your eyes for. But it’s still powerful, the crack of it still vibrates through you, and you try not to break your steady pace on him, even as you fight against the sensitivity. Yes, it is “half”, but half of a ‘ton’ is still a fucking lot and in your fight against giving yourself away, you can stupidly feel your walls pulse and leak on his cock— making you slide hotter and easier on him than even before.
Santi isn’t stupid. In fact, he might be the most observant man you’ve ever met. There is only the slimmest of next to zero chance that he didn’t catch you. You pray he was fighting his own urge at the exact right moment, thoughts consumed with baseball stats or MMA rankings to keep his peak at bay. He’s so fucking good at staving off when he needs to.
There is no accusation in his eyes however, when you dare to meet them. They pull tight with question, with curiosity, he even tilts his head a bit, like a beagle. Cute fucker. You have to fight the urge to twist his thick greying curls in your fingers, to give him a dopey smile. But you can’t let him know how satiated you are. Instead you have to resume your crumpled expression and continue to rock on his cock like you didn’t just get the cum kicked out of you.
His mouth parts with confusion, “Did you just..?”
A question.
So he’s got doubts.
You shake your head as pitifully as you can. “No… no, just mmmm, just feels good.” You might actually pull this shit off because he nods. Santi fucking nods at you! And he’s tucking a lock behind your ear. Golden. Home stretch. Didn’t catch a thing!
And then-
He smiles.
Fuck.
It’s not a good smile. Fuck your half-blissed mind for telling you that you could get away with this shit. Fuck your stupid cum-hungry horny lizard-brain!
He twists your nipple between his fingers softly, affectionately as he holds your gaze. “Is that right? What a good, good, good girl.” He says it as soft as his fingers on your nipple. It’s derogatory. Santi rarely uses that voice with you. If he truly believed you were a good girl his voice would be deep, gritty, he’d throw a couple affectionate ‘slut’s into the genuine praise. This however... he only coos placating at you like that for two reasons; when you’re crying, and when he’s pissed. And you aren’t sobbing right now, but you can guess you will be pretty fucking soon.
You pull out your last line of defense, scratching your nails into his scalp and giving him a big wet kiss, rocking into him more deeply, more urgent and moaning into his hot lips, “feels so good, daddy.”
You don’t like that you had to pull out the big guns, but the name is your only line of defense. Santi can’t fucking resist the endearment and the way he moans against your lips makes the corner of your mouth curl up into a smile. Bingo.
You’ve gotten away with it. Or, at least you think you have. Until Santi is lifting your ass off of his cock and setting you sweetly on the couch next to him. He strokes your cheek lovingly with his thumb and gives you that up-to-no-good smile.
“My sweet girl. My beautiful. good. girl.”
Oh you’re in for it now. Each word is punctuated like a candy coated dart aimed right for your fucking jugular.
He kisses your cheek, the stubble of his chin scrapes you with a slow bone-chilling drag as you fully come to terms with how fucked you are. He pulls back, licks his bottom lip and shakes his head at you with that fucking smile. He leans in, causing you to subconsciously shrink back slightly into the corner of the couch. You’re not ready for the consequences of your own actions, you’re ready to nuzzle him, to take a nap after everything, but the way his arms come to cage you into the corner of the couch picks up your heart rate. Resting is the furthest thing from Santi’s mind. His cock is still slick, hard and threatening. His lips travel from your cheek to your ear and he sighs sweetly with a tickling brush of his lips, “what am I going to do with you?”
Not replying is probably your best move in this case, don’t give him any more fuel, just look as pathetic as possible and hope he shows mercy. You widen your eyes as big as you can and stick out your bottom lip, and when he pulls back to examine your face he instinctively flicks your plump lower lip with his thumb. He purses his lips and swallows intentionally, shifting back and away from you, freeing you of his thick limbed cage.
“Lay down. On your back. On the floor. Now.” He tilts his chin towards the ground, in case you forgot where it was. His mouth is set in a hard line and you don’t even attempt to push back or protest, to state your case. You’re a little more clear headed now after your weak orgasm and you sink down to the floor with as much silent subservience as you can project.
When you’re fully supine on the carpeted floor of your living room, Santi stands above you, feet on either side of your knees and strokes his dripping cock, squeezing the weeping uncut head in the circle of his thumb and forefinger. He bites his lower lip as he glares down at your pussy.
“We both know what you did, little girl. And now daddy’s gotta teach your pussy a lesson about taking things that don’t belong to her. Do you agree?”
You nod quickly. You’d be a fucking idiot to not agree with him right now, standing above you, one hand on his hip the other pulling on his hard cock. Fuck.
“Good. You also agree that that I need to teach your lying little mouth a fucking lesson too?”
Again, you nod.
Santi cocks his head at you and its so much more menacing than the last time he did it. He walks up your body in two steps, and when he gets to your head he turns around, feet on either side of your face, giving you a stunning view of the underside of him, still pulling on his cock, heavy balls descending as he lowers himself to kneel over your face. What the hell does he have planned?
Santi rests on his shins on either side of your head and dips his balls in to your mouth.
“Lick baby, that’s right.”
You take one of the soft sacs into your mouth and lick him gently, sucking on the skin. If this is the punishment, you’ll take it.
He caresses the bottom of your chin with his thumb, sill pulling on his cock with his other hand.
“Daddy is going to use your throat now, baby. Teach that lying little mouth a lesson.”
He raises up a bit, letting the sac pop out wetly from your slurping lips. You take in as much air as you can when you realize Santiago is about to fuck your throat.
He tilts his hips just right and teases your lips open with the tip of his cock before you open up wide like a good girl, allowing him to sink all the way down onto your face. His curved cock slides easily down your throat in this position and your hands come up to caress his plump ass cheeks when he’s fully seated. Fuck, that was a smooth glide down your throat for something so fucking thick. His balls rest wet and warm, soft and heavy on your nose and your tongue caresses his fat cock as he puuuushes your head into the carpet with his hips, getting himself as deep as he physically can. Your breath comes out of your nose in a whine and you swallow around him out of instinct, your body trying in vain to get his hardness of your airway by sucking him deeper down your throat.
“Aww good girl.” He coos. This time he means it. He slaps your pussy with an open palm. Your scream is muffled by the thick inches of him buried in your airway.
“Good girl, bad little pussy. Best thing I can do for her is leave her alone. Make her think about what she’s done. Don’t you agree, baby?”
He rocks his hips and fucks into your mouth and when he pulls out juuuust enough, you suck in as much air as you can before he’s pushing back into you. The squishing sound of his cock gliding into your throat is making you fucking feral and you, without thinking of course, tilt your hips in response. Santi slaps your wanton little pussy again. The sting of it doing fuck-all to alleviate your desire.
“Uh uh, bad girls don’t get to play. Isn’t that right, baby?” He pats your hollowed cheek as best he can. You give him your best nod considering the circumstances, attempting a little “mmmhmmm” of agreement around his thrusting cock.
“Knew you would, baby. Knew you woouuuld, fuck!” He pushes down as deep as he can once more. Your hot exhale from your nose is caught in his testicles and its so fucking hard to breathe around him, next to impossible, but the lack of oxygen is somewhat pleasant, just like the way he cuts off your heartbeat sometimes when he’s fucking you, getting his hands on your throat. And as if he can read your mind or something, his hand travels up your belly and sternum where he rests his palm on your throat and squeezes. What the fuck is he—? And then he shifts his hips a little and your eyes widen in realization. He’s fucking jerking himself off, using your throat.
His hand tightens, palm cupping the front of your neck and he, yep, he’s fucking squeezing his cock like this. He thrusts deeply into your mouth, knowing to pull back out every so often to give you a full fresh breath. You gasp frantically around his cock when he does so, spit stringing out, smacking your lips desperately in an attempt to get as much air into your lungs as you can before he’s back down your throat, fucking himself into your fucking neck as his balls suffocate your nose. Every chance you’re allowed to breath it’s the most pathetic sound imaginable. You’re fucking crying now, you cant help it, tears streaming out the sides of your eyes in a steady stream, the wetness matching the lower half of your face and all the gasping stringy spit you choke on each time you’re allowed to breathe. Tears cling to your lashes as spit clings and strings on his cock, your poor pussy is dripping somewhere far away and you can't help but think that all Santiago wants to do is melt you from solid to liquid.
Soon his thrusts get quicker, he gives you less air-breaks and you’re forced to get really fucking good at sucking in air when his hips rise up just enough, or you’re going to pass the fuck out.
He fucks his cock down your throat one last time, pulsing his seed straight down into your belly, bypassing anything that might have tasted his cum. His moan is like a fucking roar and he bites your inner thigh as he rides it out, bucking softly down your throat, the heaviness of his ass making your jaw sore with every push down. His hand is off your neck now and shit, you had no idea where his head was at for most of this throat fucking adventure, your whole world was ass and balls and cock, just the way he wanted it, but that bite mark on your thigh is proof enough now where he was at. Somewhere in your nethers, staring at your naughty little pussy. Probably enjoying how much she dripped and clenched with every lewd and brutal act he took upon your throat.
Santiago pulls out fully, finally, and you gasp like a drowning woman. He scoots back, your head between his knees and he bends over to give your swollen, spitty, gasping lips a sweet kiss.
“You took that so well, baby, didn’t tap out once. Fucking proud of you, cariño.”
All you can do is nod weakly against his giving lips, your breathing returning to normal.
“Mmmm you little shit, I still want to take you over my knee for lying to me like that.” He traces his fingertips lightly over your ribcage and the peaks of your nipples.
“Did you really think you could get away with that, baby?”
“I wasn’t,” you gasp “thinking.”
Santiago smiles down at you and smooths your sweaty hair from your brow. "Lets get you cleaned up, princesa."
He carries you to the bathroom and bathes you lovingly with bubbles, candles, the whole epsom-salty mess.
And afterwards, at dinner, he gives you shit for ordering dessert first.
"You're going to spoil your appetite."
"You don't believe that, Santiago."
"Oh really?"
"No. If you did, you wouldn't always ask for a bite."
Your assessment makes him pause, fork laden with strawberry and buttercream halfway to his mouth.
He smiles and laughs at you before taking a bite, "You little shit," he accuses, mouth full of frosting.
