BBC Futa vs Boyfriend: Who Impregnates His Girlfriend

Estelle was twenty-two, barefoot on the apartment rug in a thin white tank top and little cotton panties, the city light through the blinds striping her pale thighs. Henrik stood opposite her with his shirt already off, twenty-six, fair-haired, the nervous set of his mouth giving him away. Tamara closed the bedroom door behind her and came into the living room last, twenty-eight, dark-skinned, six feet in socks, her sports bra doing almost nothing to hide the heavy sway of her breasts or the thick, impossible ridge running down the left leg of her sweats.

They had agreed to this. Estelle had asked for it out loud, flushed and smiling, and Henrik had said yes because she wanted it and because he thought, until this moment, that wanting it together still meant he would be the one who stayed.

“Show me,” Estelle said. Her voice was small and eager. “Both of you. That’s the whole point.”

Henrik unbuttoned. His cock came out already half-hard, a solid eight inches when he wrapped his fist around it and stroked it up, pink and familiar, the one Estelle had taken for two years. He held it out like an offering.

Tamara hooked her thumbs in her waistband and shoved the sweats down. What fell out of them made the room change temperature. Fourteen and a half inches of black cock, already swelling, the shaft so thick her own long fingers couldn’t close around it, veins standing, the head a dark flared plum that slapped once against her thigh as it rose. Her balls hung heavy and full. She didn’t stroke it. She just let it thicken in the open air until it stood out from her hips like a third limb, the underside a smooth, ridged highway from root to slit.

Estelle’s mouth opened. She stepped closer, looking from one to the other, then put her small white hands on both of them at once. Henrik’s eight inches jumped in her left palm. Tamara’s filled her right and kept going, the head pushing past her wrist.

“Oh my God,” Estelle whispered. She set them side by side, bases together. Henrik’s cock looked like a toy against Tamara’s. The futa’s shaft reached past his head by more than half a foot, girth making his look slender, the color contrast brutal under the lamp. Estelle’s fingers couldn’t meet around Tamara. They met easily around Henrik.

Tamara’s voice was low. “You still think you’re putting a baby in her tonight, Henrik?”

He swallowed. Estelle was already leaking through her panties, the cotton dark at the crotch, and she hadn’t looked at his face in a full minute. She was staring at the way Tamara’s cock flexed, a slow pulse that lifted the whole length.

“I—we said we’d compare,” Henrik managed. “That was the deal.”

“We compared.” Tamara took Estelle’s wrist and guided that small hand up and down her shaft, showing him the distance, the oil of her skin, the way the head flared so wide it would stretch Estelle’s hole into a shiny ring. “She’s twenty-two and she wants to get bred. Look at her. She isn’t looking at you.”

Estelle made a sound that was almost a laugh and almost a moan. She went to her knees on the rug without being told, still holding both of them, and rubbed Tamara’s fat head across her cheek, her lips, the wet smear of precum painting her skin. Henrik’s cock bumped her other cheek and she didn’t turn toward it. She opened her mouth for Tamara instead, and even with her jaw stretched she only managed the first four inches, gagging, spit running, eyes watering, while the remaining ten-plus hung glistening and untouched against her throat and chest.

Henrik’s face went gray. He looked at his own eight inches, still hard from habit and humiliation, and at the way Estelle’s throat worked around something that made her look ruined already. He tucked himself away with shaking hands.

“I can’t,” he said. “I can’t watch this. I thought—I thought I’d still…”

Estelle pulled off Tamara with a wet gasp, a string of spit connecting her lip to that dark head. “Henrik. Baby. I’m sorry. I want hers. I want her to fill me. You saw it. You felt it. Please don’t hate me.”

He shook his head. He wouldn’t look at Tamara’s cock again. He grabbed his shirt off the couch, his keys, and he left. The apartment door shut softly. His footsteps faded down the hall. Estelle knelt there with Tamara’s fourteen-and-a-half inches resting on her face, and for a second the only sound was her breathing.

Then Tamara hauled her up by the underarms, kissed her messy mouth, and carried her to the couch.

Estelle’s tank top came off in one pull. Her breasts were small and high, pink nipples tight. Tamara’s sports bra followed. Her tits were full and dark, hanging heavy, and when she bent to suck Estelle’s nipple the huge cock dragged like a club over Estelle’s belly and the soaked crotch of her panties. Tamara ripped the cotton aside rather than taking them off. Estelle’s pussy was shaved, puffy, shining, the little hole already fluttering.

“You’re going to take all of it,” Tamara said against her breast. “Every inch. And I’m not pulling out. You understand? I’m putting a baby in this tight white cunt tonight.”

“Yes. Please. I want it. I want you to breed me. I want to feel you come in me until it leaks.” Estelle’s legs opened wide over the cushions. She grabbed Tamara’s shaft with both hands and dragged the head through her folds, smearing herself, gasping when that blunt helmet caught on her clit. “Fuck, you’re so big. Henrik never—God, I can feel how heavy you are.”

Tamara notched herself. The head alone stretched Estelle’s entrance into a pale, strained O. Estelle’s nails dug into Tamara’s shoulders. Tamara pushed. Slow, relentless, the fat crown popping inside with a wet sound, then the first thick inches feeding in, Estelle’s pussy clinging and shining around the dark shaft as it disappeared. Estelle’s mouth hung open. A high, broken noise came out of her. Tamara kept going. Halfway and Estelle was shaking, her belly showing a faint rise, her inner walls clutching in panicked little ripples that only sucked Tamara deeper. Tamara’s hips rolled. More. Estelle’s cervix kissed the advancing head and she cried out, legs locking around Tamara’s waist.

“That’s it. That’s the spot. I’m going to punch this against you until you take seed.” Tamara’s voice had gone rough. Sweat stood on her collarbones. She gave Estelle the rest in two long, grinding thrusts, until her dark balls pressed flush to Estelle’s ass and fourteen and a half inches of black cock were buried in a twenty-two-year-old white girl who was sobbing yes, yes, stuffed, so full she could feel it behind her navel.

They stayed locked like that while Estelle’s pussy fluttered and adjusted, a glossy ring of stretched pink around the root. Tamara’s thumbs spread Estelle’s labia so they could both see it. Estelle looked down, dazed, and touched the bulge in her own lower belly.

“Move,” she begged. “Please move. Breed me. I don’t care if it hurts. I want every drop.”

Tamara fucked her.

The first strokes were deep and slow, the whole obscene length dragging out until only the head stretched Estelle’s hole, then slamming home so the couch jumped and Estelle’s tits bounced. Wet slaps filled the apartment. Estelle’s juices ran down Tamara’s balls and onto the cushion. Tamara’s tempo built. She hooked Estelle’s knees over her elbows and folded her, driving down, using her like a sleeve, the fat shaft pistoning, shining, Estelle’s greedy cunt making filthy sucking sounds on every retreat. Estelle came the first time with a startled shout, clenching so hard Tamara snarled, and Tamara didn’t stop. She pounded her through it, the head battering Estelle’s cervix, and Estelle came again with her eyes rolling, a thin squirt hitting Tamara’s stomach.

“That’s two,” Tamara said. “You’re going to take my load on the next one. You ready to get pregnant, Estelle? You ready to walk around with my baby while your boyfriend thinks about what he saw?”

“Yes—fuck—yes, knock me up, fill me, I want it, I want your cum, I want to be full of you—” Estelle’s words broke into moans. Tamara’s rhythm turned brutal. The futa’s heavy tits swung with every thrust. Her cock looked obscene sliding in and out of that stretched white pussy, the contrast, the shine, the way Estelle’s hole clung and tried to follow it out. Tamara’s balls tightened. She planted a hand on Estelle’s lower belly, pressing down so Estelle could feel the shape of her moving inside, and she rammed in to the root and held.

The first jet was thick and hot enough that Estelle felt it as a pulse against her womb. Tamara groaned from her chest, hips jerking, pumping rope after rope of heavy cum straight against Estelle’s cervix. It kept coming. Estelle’s pussy overflowed almost at once, white seed bubbling out around the still-buried shaft, running in sheets down her ass, but Tamara kept grinding, kept flooding her, a long, shaking finish that left Estelle twitching and open-mouthed, her belly faintly rounded with it. Tamara didn’t pull out. She stayed seated to the hilt, cock throbbing, feeding more into her in lazy after-spurts while Estelle’s inner muscles milled and drank.

Estelle came a third time on the feeling of being packed, a weaker, fluttering orgasm that squeezed more cum out onto the couch. Tamara kissed her, slow now, and rocked just enough to stir the mess. Estelle’s hands stroked Tamara’s back, her ass, the place they were joined.

“Don’t pull out yet,” Estelle whispered. “I can feel it. So much. Stay in me. Let it take.”

Tamara stayed. She shifted them onto their sides on the wide couch without slipping free, Estelle’s thigh hooked over her hip, that massive black cock still plugging her, a slow leak soaking the fabric under them. Tamara’s fingers traced Estelle’s belly, the smear of their mixed wetness, the faint bulge. Estelle’s breathing evened by degrees. Tamara’s did too. The apartment was warm. The lamp hummed. Somewhere a neighbor’s television murmured through the wall and then went quiet.

Estelle’s eyes were half-lidded. She tucked her face against Tamara’s collarbone. Tamara’s palm rested over Estelle’s womb and did not move. The last little twitch of the cock inside her faded. Cum cooled on their thighs. The city light through the blinds did not change.

They lay still.

The room held them, and then there was nothing left to hear.