African Prince's 14.5 Inch BBC Impregnates Wife on Vacation

The dust of the afternoon drive still clung to Keisha's ankles when she stepped onto the lodge veranda and saw him.

She was twenty-eight, a commercial litigator who spent her weeks in glass conference rooms, and this Kenyan safari was the vacation she and her husband had promised each other for two years. Wesley, thirty-one, stood at her shoulder in a linen shirt gone soft with heat, one hand resting at the small of her back the way he always did when he wanted her to know he was paying attention. They were successful, private, and, until this hour, careful. Then Prince Reid came out of the main tent, and careful left her body like a held breath.

He was thirty-two, tall in a way that made the canvas seem low, and the pale linen of his trousers did a poor job of manners. Keisha's eyes dropped and stuck. The cock outlined against his thigh was enormous, long enough to tent the fabric halfway to his knee, thick enough that the head of it printed a blunt, heavy shape she could not mistake for anything else. Fourteen and a half inches, she would hear him say later, calm as a man discussing acreage. In the moment she only knew her mouth had gone dry and her pussy had gone wet, a sudden slick pulse that soaked the thin cotton of her panties before she could cross her legs.

Wesley's thumb moved once against her spine. "You're staring."

"I can't help it." She didn't look away. "Wesley. That's—God. Look at the size of him."

Reid had already seen them. He crossed the red earth without hurry, cedar and sun coming off his skin, and when he stopped in front of her the ridge in his trousers shifted with the step. He took her hand, bowed over it, and gave his name in a low voice that settled under her ribs. Reid. Business in Nairobi, family land beyond it, a week he had decided was his own. His eyes traveled her sundress, the line of her throat, the way her nipples had tightened against the cloth, and then met Wesley's without flinching.

"Your wife is looking at my cock," he said. Not crude for the sake of it. Accurate.

Wesley's answer came steady. "She is. And I like watching her want it."

Heat climbed Keisha's chest. Reid's mouth curved, not quite a smile. "Then we should be plain with each other. I don't hide what I carry, and I don't take a woman who hasn't asked. If the two of you want me to have her, say it while the light is still good. I'll hear a no as clearly as a yes."

Keisha heard her own voice before she had finished deciding to use it. "Yes. I want you to have me." She turned to her husband, searching his face, and found hunger there instead of doubt. "If you want that too."

"I want to watch him stretch you," Wesley said. "I want to hear you take all of it. That's my yes."

Reid's gaze dropped, brief and unashamed, to the heavy line of his own cock, then back to her mouth. "Then we understand each other." A guide called names for the evening vehicles. None of them moved toward the line. The agreement sat between them, warm and explicit, and Keisha's thighs pressed together around a need she no longer intended to hide.

That night the lodge set a private table under a thorn tree strung with small lamps, and Reid did not waste the quiet. He sat across from Keisha in a chair that still looked too small for him, Wesley at her side, the three of them clear-eyed over grilled fish and cold water. No one reached for wine. Reid wanted them sharp, and Keisha wanted to remember every word.

"You have a body made for breeding," he said, watching her fork pause halfway to her mouth. "Wide hips. Soft belly. A cunt I can already tell is going to fight me and then give." He said it the way other men discussed the weather, and Wesley's breath caught beside her. "I'm going to stretch you open on my cock until your pussy learns the shape of fourteen and a half inches. Then I'm going to push into your womb and fill you until you're dripping my seed for days. I intend to impregnate you, Keisha. Not play at it. Breed you. Leave you pregnant with what I put in you while your husband watches me do it."

Her thighs clamped under the table. She was soaked again, aching, the plan he had just spoken pulsing behind her clit. Wesley's hand found her knee and squeezed, and when she looked at him his pupils were wide, his own arousal obvious against his pants. "Say what you're feeling," he murmured. "Don't tidy it."

"I want that," she said, and her voice shook. "I want him to stretch me. I want to feel him that deep. Wesley, I want him to come inside me and breed me. I want you to see it."

Reid leaned back, satisfied and still hungry. "Not tonight. Tonight you sit with it. Tomorrow you tell me again if you still mean it."

She barely slept. She lay awake replaying the weight of that outline against linen, the calm way he had named her womb, the heat in Wesley's hand. By morning the want had not cooled. It had settled, deliberate, into her bones.

The next evening the lodge sent them out under a fat moon. At a rise above the plain the guide stepped away with his spotlight and left them the view, and the three of them stayed in the rear of the vehicle with a blanket across their laps that hid nothing from each other. Grass whispered in the wind. Somewhere far off a lion coughed, and then the dark belonged to them again. Reid's hand rested on Keisha's bare thigh, high enough that his fingers brushed the damp edge of her panties, and he spoke as if the whole savanna had narrowed to her body.

"I'm going to bend you over and fuck you until you scream," he said, quiet, precise. "Then I'll put you on your back, pin your legs, and drive every inch into your cervix. You'll beg. I want to hear you beg me to impregnate you while your husband watches your belly take it." His fingertip circled, not quite entering, just reminding her how empty she was. "Are you fertile right now?"

"Yes." The word broke out of her. She had tracked it. She had told Wesley that morning, flushed and shameless, that her body was ready. "I'm right in the middle of it. If you come in me, it could take."

Wesley's hand covered hers on the blanket. "I want it to take," he said. "I want to watch him breed my wife. That's what this vacation is now. Say it to him, Keisha. Ask him."

She turned toward Reid, moon on his cheekbone, the massive shape of his cock a shadow against his thigh even in the dim, and the last of her restraint went. "Please," she said. "Please take me completely. Stretch my pussy. Fuck my womb. Impregnate me while my husband watches. I want your cock. I want your cum. I want you to breed me. I'm asking. I'm begging. Please."

Reid's fingers pressed once, firm, over the wet cotton, and then withdrew. "Then tonight," he said. "In your tent. All of me. All of you. No more waiting."

Wesley's yes was a rough sound of pure want. Keisha sat shaking with it, the moon huge above the grass, her fertile body already answering a cock she had not yet touched.

The tent was all canvas and lamplight, rugs underfoot, the netting zipped against the night. Wesley took the chair at the foot of the bed without being asked, close enough to see everything, his hands open on his knees. Reid stood in the gold light and looked at Keisha until she felt stripped already.

"Come here."

She went. He undressed her without rush, sundress over her head, bra unhooked, panties drawn down her legs so slowly she whimpered. Then he worshipped her. His mouth on her throat. His palms learning the weight of her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until they stood stiff and aching. He kissed down her stomach, bit gently at the crest of her hip, and sank to his knees to lick her soaked pussy in long, filthy strokes that made her grab his shoulders and rock. "Sweet," he said against her clit. "And dripping for me already. You'll need every bit of that."

When he stood, she saw all of him. He had shed his clothes while she was shaking, and his cock hung heavy before it rose, dark and veined, the head broad, the shaft so long she had to recalculate what her body could hold. Fourteen and a half inches of thick, rigid flesh, curving slightly upward, the weight of his balls full beneath. Her mouth watered. Her cunt clenched on nothing.

"On your knees," Reid said. "Show your husband how hungry you are."

Keisha dropped. The rug bit her knees. She wrapped both hands around him and still had inches left, and when she opened her mouth and took the head, her jaw stretched at once. She slobbered on him, spit slicking her chin, tongue working the underside while she fought to swallow more. She got the head and a few thick inches past her lips and gagged, eyes watering, and pushed again because she wanted it, because Wesley was watching her struggle and breathing like the sight undid him.

"That's it," Reid murmured, one hand in her hair, not forcing, guiding. "Slobber on it. You don't have to take it all down your throat. Your cunt will. But I want you messy. I want you desperate."

She moaned around him, drool stringing from her lip to his shaft, and sucked until her jaw ached and her pussy pulsed in time with it. Spit shone on her chin. Her hands worked what her mouth could not reach, and still the length of him made her feel small and starving. Wesley's voice came rough from the chair. "God, Keisha. Look at you trying." She looked up at Reid with wet eyes and took him again, sloppy and eager, until he pulled her off with a wet sound.

He hauled her up, bent her over the bed, and lined that enormous cock up with her soaked entrance. Then he pushed.

The stretch stole her air. The head alone forced her open, a burning, glorious pressure that made her cry out, and then more, and more, inch after relentless inch sinking into her soaked pussy while her fingers clawed the sheets. "Oh—oh God—Reid—it's so big—" He didn't stop. He seated himself deep, deeper than anything she had ever taken, the head nudging her cervix with a blunt shock that flashed white behind her eyes, and then he drew back and pounded.

Deep doggy. Hard. The slap of his hips against her ass filled the tent, and every stroke drove that impossible length into her until she was screaming, not from pain she wanted to end but from pleasure so sharp it had nowhere to go. "Yes—yes—fuck me—harder—Wesley, look at him, look how he's stretching me—"

"I see you," Wesley said, reverent and wrecked. "Take it. Take all of him."

Reid's hands gripped her hips and he fucked her through one orgasm and into another, her pussy gushing around him, the wet sounds obscene, her fertile body clenching as if it already knew what he meant to do. She screamed his name into the sheets. She screamed her husband's. She pushed back to meet him and felt herself opened wider than she had thought possible, stuffed full, dripping down her thighs.

He pulled out, flipped her onto her back, and pinned her legs up and open, knees toward her shoulders, everything exposed. Wesley had a perfect view. Reid braced over her and drove back in, every inch, the full fourteen and a half sinking until his balls pressed her ass and the head of his cock kissed her cervix and then pushed, insistent, against the gate of her womb.

"Beg," he said, voice gone dark. "Tell me what you want while I fuck it into you."

"Impregnate me." She was already coming, the words tearing out of her between cries. "Please—please breed me—flood my womb—I want your baby, I want you to put it in me, come in my fertile pussy, fill me up, Reid, please, impregnate me, I need it, Wesley wants it, I want it—oh God, right there, you're in my cervix, don't stop—"

He didn't. He pinned her and drove, deep and relentless, until his rhythm broke. The first thick rope of cum hit her womb in a hot pulse she felt, and then another, and another, flooding her while she orgasmed again, sobbing his name, her pussy milking him, her legs shaking in his grip. He kept coming, heavy spurts painting her inside, so much that she felt it welling around his shaft even while he stayed buried.

"Take it," he growled. "Take every drop. This is how I breed you."

She begged through it, explicit and wrecked. "Yes, impregnate me, come in me, breed my womb, give me your baby, please, please," until the last pulse shuddered out of him and the tent rang with their breathing.

Reid did not pull out. He eased them onto their sides on the wide bed, still buried to the hilt, the thick length of him plugging her full so nothing spilled. Her back rested against his chest. Wesley stayed in the chair a moment longer, drinking in the sight of them joined, then came to the edge of the mattress and sat where he could see her face.

Reid's big hand spread over her lower belly, warm and gentle now, rubbing slow circles while his cock twitched inside her and kept his cum sealed deep. The lamps made a small gold pool. Outside, insects stitched the dark. Keisha's breathing slowed. Her pussy fluttered weakly around him, oversensitive, and every flutter kept his seed exactly where he had put it.

"I can feel it," he said, quiet against her hair. "My seed taking root. Your body is holding what I gave you. You're going to swell with it. I put a baby in you tonight."

She covered his hand with hers and believed him. The soreness was already settling into a deep, owned ache, and under it a strange calm. "I can feel you still in me," she whispered. "All of you. Don't move yet."

"I won't." He kissed the place behind her ear. "I'll stay until you sleep if you want. Your womb should keep every drop."

Wesley brushed her hair back and kissed her temple. His eyes were bright, no regret in them, only the afterglow of having watched exactly what he had asked to see. "You were beautiful," he said, barely sound. "Both of you. I loved watching him breed you." He didn't ask her to explain it. He didn't need to. His fingers rested lightly on her knee, steady.

They stayed like that while the lamps burned lower. Reid's cock remained a heavy, claiming weight inside her. His palm never left her belly. No one reached for words after that. The night outside the canvas went soft with distance, and the three of them let the silence arrive on its own.

Weeks later the apartment was dim in the late afternoon, city noise thinned by glass. Keisha stood in the bedroom in a soft shirt that no longer fell quite straight, the doctor's confirmation folded on the dresser beside the test she had taken twice. Her hand rested on the faint new curve low on her belly, the place that had been flat on the veranda in Kenya and was no longer. She caressed it with her fingertips, slow and satisfied, knowing whose massive cock had stretched her open on that vacation and flooded her until she took. Wesley stood in the doorway and did not speak. She met his eyes, smiled once, small and sure, and looked down at her hand on the swell.

Neither of them broke the hush. The room held still. She closed her eyes, breathed in, and the silence stayed.