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Happens every time. One minute they go from looking like they stepped out of Magic Mike to looking like fucking Goofy from Saturday morning cartoons.
His fingers slip out of my pussy, and I grab his wrist with both hands.
“All right, hot shot,” I tell him. “I’ll play your game.”
I move his hand to my mouth, my lips wrapping around his fingers.
My tongue swirls around and between them as I clean myself off of him. An approving moan slips past his lips and into my ear as I do.
When I get all these bracelets—and I’m going to collect them all—I’m going to devour my prize. And I’m going to milk every last fucking drop of cum that he has and feel it slide down the back of my throat with a smile of fucking victory on my face.
Because if there’s one thing I like more than games and a thick cock, it’s winning. Winning comes with prizes. And I’m a slut for prizes and rewards.
Especially the big cock kind of prizes. Those are the fucking best.
“Just remember that you’re the one who said there were no limits,” I say with a grin.
I’m going to rock this fucker’s world like a hurricane.
By the time I’m done with him, he’s going to be a drooling wreck covered in foam on this club’s floor.
