The time I [F25] was bred by someone else’s boyfriend [M24] [MF]. Warning: long!

This is a few years ago now, but still a fond memory (read: memory I masturbate to). Let me set the scene: I was 25 at the time, in an open relationship with a woman, and using said openness to be as slutty as I could with as many men as possible. Not the greatest time in my life in terms of morality, and I would never be with someone who was in a relationship now (and haven’t for many years), but you live and learn and all that. I do regret the poor choices I made, although I don’t regret the things I learned from it. Onto the story.

For the curious among you, the visuals for the two players in this scene. Myself: 5’2, dark hair, green eyes, olive skin, mixed race (Arab and Caucasian, for those wondering) and what’s known as a Phat Ass White Girl (think big enough for people to ask me if it’s real). A man that I’ll call ‘Amadi’: 6’1, Nigerian, shaved head, broad-shouldered, big arms, sitting nicely at the point where he’s muscled but with a minor, comfy layer of squidge. The kind of body where you know he can bench press you—in fact, he had once before, when we were very drunk and being stupid—but he’s still comfortable to cuddle with.

We’re having drinks with a group of friends, and Amadi and I are using the cover of other people’s conversation to have a discussion in lowered tones about what’s going to happen when drinks end. This certainly isn’t the first time Amadi and I have needed to talk sexual logistics—in fact, we went home with each other the first time we met, and this will be our third rendezvous—but no one else knows this. It’s our dirty little secret, because Amadi has a girlfriend: a posh white girl who no one really has met properly, but who has been with him for 6 years. It’s the real deal for those two: her father and Amadi go fishing together at the weekend, and they all go for family holidays at their Portuguese villa. Still, that didn’t stop Amadi from telling me he wanted to tie me up and hear me scream the first time we met. But that’s a story for another time.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Amadi murmured.

I couldn’t help but smirk. “I’ll bet.”

“What are you doing after this?” he asked. “Going to see Kennington?”

Kennington was our nickname for my other fuckbuddy. I shook my head and said, mischievously, “I assumed I was going home with you.”

He laughed at that, and rubbed his face in a disbelieving kind of way. “You’re something else.” There’s a pause, and he adds, more seriously, “You know we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I know.” I bend my head over my drink and take a long pull at the straw, looking up at him all the while. He watches me hungrily until I straighten up and smile. “But we will anyway.”

I wasn’t wrong. We quickly agree to go back to his place and nothing more is said about it, especially as one of our friends is looking our way a little suspiciously. We join in with the group conversation, which has turned to politics. Amadi really knows his stuff and begins holding forth, which I found pretty sexy. Hidden under the table, I begin running my foot up and down his leg, and eventually slide my hand into his lap. To his credit, he doesn’t falter in the conversation once—even when I begin slowly rubbing his crotch, feeling his growing stiffness. When there’s a pause and someone else starts speaking, he quickly pushes my hand off, frowning and giving a little shake of his head. I settle back in my seat and take a sip of my drink, smiling like the cat who got the cream. No harm in waiting, after all.

The evening eventually wraps up, and we’re all about to head our separate ways—except there’s a *slight* obstacle in my path to Poundtown. My previously mentioned suspicious friend and her boyfriend live close to me, and the others—including Amadi—live on the other side of the city. As we’re all saying goodbye, Suspicious Friend says, “You’re coming back our way, right? Come back with us for a drink?”

I freeze. *Shit*. In my horny brain fog, I hadn’t thought this far ahead. Amadi’s standing next to me but, when I sneak a quick glance at him, his face is carefully blank. I’m on my own here. “Erm… actually, I’m going to head this way,” I manage to stutter, gesturing in exactly the opposite direction to where I live.

Suspicious Friend frowns. “Why?”

“Um…” The whole group is now watching this exchange. I’m struggling. “Well, I, er—I just want to walk through the park right now.”

Fucking feeble. Suspicious Friend looks completely confused, as does everyone else, and Amadi is suppressing a smile. Luckily, at that moment, Suspicious Friend’s face clears, and she gives me a knowing look.

“Oh, I get it—Kennington, right?”

“*Right*.” Thank God my whorish ways have handed me a Get Out of Jail Free card. There’s a lot of shit-eating grins and stupid comments and elbowing me after that, but they let us go. I’ve definitely struck gold with this excuse, as Amadi lives in the same direction as Kennington, and so it’s not strange when he, I and a couple of others say goodbye to Suspicious Friend and start walking together to catch the same train.

Amadi and I reach the station first and stop to wait for our friends to catch up so we can say goodbye before catching different Tube lines home. Suddenly, quickly, Amadi gives me the hardest smack on the arse with the flat of his palm. I shriek—more out of surprise than pain; I’m pretty well-padded down there—but it *does* sting. He leans over and whispers, “That was for distracting me earlier.” I’m still rubbing my sore arse and pouting when our friends come around the corner. We say our goodbyes, and—finally!—there’s only a 25-minute trip down the Yellow Brick Road (or, as it’s otherwise known, London’s Northern line) until I reach the Emerald City (otherwise known as getting my back blown out).

He has to sneak me into his house for the same reason we had to keep things hidden from our friends. His room is at the top of the house, where we can’t be heard. I settle down and make myself comfortable on his bed on my back, and he immediately joins me, kneeling in front of me and reaching to unbutton and slide off my jeans. We do get on well and can talk for hours, but it’s not the time for that. Still, I playfully ask, as he’s slipping my jeans off my ankles, “What are you taking those off for?”

“I just want you to be comfortable.”

“Is that so? How kind of you.” I sit up and begin unbuckling his jeans. “Let me return the favour.”

My pussy had already begun to tingle at the caressing, almost worshipful way he removed my clothes, and by the time we were undressed—he was naked; I had nothing but a white thong left on—I was a little wet. I knew the white looked good against my tan, and he stopped to admire. “Very nice,” Amadi said, slipping a hand inbetween my thighs to part them. When he saw what must have been the wet patch staining my crotch, he smirked. “Even nicer.”

We laid down then, me pressed up against him, and started to kiss. When my tongue slipped into his mouth, he gave a soft moan and pulled me on top of him. He was already hard. We made out for a while, with me grinding my pussy in the thong against his stiffness. The friction was absolutely delicious, and I was enjoying the slow build-up to the main event, letting my hands explore his broad chest and relishing being on top of him but feeling so delicate and feminine. I’m not exactly a waif and my arse isn’t the only thing with a bit of meat, but his largeness and the way he could throw me about with ease was such a turn-on.

He suddenly breaks away from the kiss to say breathily, “I’ve been thinking about doing this since we were last together.” Before I can even ask what ‘this’ is, he’s grabbed me by the hips and practically *lifted* me onto his face. I feel my clit swell with excitement as he pulls the thong to one side and I feel his hot breath on the lips of my cunt. He starts off slowly, teasing me with the tip of his tongue by running it along my slit, gently easing open my lips but deliberately avoiding my clit. My breath is coming fast now, and I can feel my wetness—I’m sure he can taste it too, because he gives a muffled kind of chuckle. The tight, tingling feeling is unbearable. I try to relieve the pressure by angling my clit into the path of his tongue, but he knew exactly what I was up to and kept flicking it away. Eventually, I start to wriggle in frustration: the sensation of his breath, the gentle brushing of his lips and tongue, is driving me crazy.

“Amadi, *please*. Please, Daddy.”

At that, he finally gives me what I want, slipping his flattened tongue onto my clit—just the way I like. I moan loudly, and hear him laugh again. He begins to slide his tongue up and down, keeping it flat so I can grind on it, occasionally swirling. Pleasure is radiating out to the rest of my pussy and down my legs, forcing my toes to curl. I have one hand gripping his head and the other clinging to the wall for dear life. One of his hands pulls my knickers out of his way, and the other is wandering: grabbing handfuls of my hips and arse, reaching up to roll my nipple between finger and thumb, and eventually slipping downwards to slowly rub and tug his stiff cock. When I realise that he’s touching himself, I get even more excited. A mixture of my cum and his saliva is coating the tops of my thighs. The last straw is when he slips from my clit and forces his tongue inside me, reaching up with his free hand to grip my hips and push me harder against his face, ramming himself deeper. I lost it at this and—to my eternal shame—actually squealed, letting out a breathless “oh, fuck!”.

My legs were beginning to get tired at this point, so I let him know and dismounted. “Let me eat your arsehole,” he said, with a mouth still wet from my juices.

Fine by me. I quickly took off my thong, flinging it with wild abandon across the room, and got down in front of him on my knees and elbows with my arse in the air. He didn’t hesitate to pull apart my cheeks and get to work. Don’t get me wrong—I do like getting rimmed as much as the next person, but this was definitely more his thing than mine. It did feel good, however, and I was happy to let him do it, letting out soft little whimpers and breathing hard to encourage him. I was definitely whimpering for real, though, when he reached down to play with my clit, circling it with his fingers, before sliding one and then another into my pussy. The combination of his tongue flicking and pushing at my arsehole and the feeling of his fingers filling me up was so good—I was gripping his bedcovers and pushing back on his tongue and hand, trying to open up my cheeks and pussy lips wider for him, moaning.

Eventually I pulled myself together enough to gasp out, “Hit me with your belt.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled away to fetch his belt from the floor—not without giving his fingers a final twist into my pussy, making me swear and squirm. The wait as he grabbed his belt and folded it in half was agony—I could hear the buckle tinkle, which made my pussy throb in anticipation. After a couple of painfully pleasurable moments waiting for impact—in which Amadi gently and teasingly ran a hand across my arse, just to see me flinch—the first stroke lashed across me, making me cry out louder than ever. The sting of it literally made the cum ooze from between the lips of my cunt. By this point I was wriggling around and practically waving my arse in the air as I waited for the next lash, panting, my pussy hot and throbbing and tingling. When the stroke finally came it was harder and sharper than the first, and I buried my shriek into the duvet. The smack of it echoed around the room. Amadi was breathing hard behind me, and from the occasional brush of his cock against my arse and thigh I knew he was excited to see me spread out and spanked.

The next pause seemed to last forever. I waited anxiously, pussy aching and wet, arse throbbing with pain, my face pushed into the covers. I was expecting the impact of his belt—what I didn’t expect was him suddenly grabbing my hips and slowly, deliciously pushing the length of his raw, throbbing cock into me. I felt the resistance at the entrance of my cunt as he forced the tip inside and past it; my head shot up and I hissed like an animal, out of surprise and pleasure, as he made that first thrust, gradually filling me up and stretching me out. The groan he let out was like nothing I’d heard from him before—primal, guttural, pure pleasure. This was the first time he’d been inside me—and it was without a condom. I couldn’t believe it. His fingers dug, almost painfully, into my hips as he gripped and held me in place. It was one of those raw, carnal moments that can’t be replicated, so we savoured the moment: me, helpless and spread out on all fours, gripping the bedcovers, his cock docked inside me so tightly that I could feel throbbing but couldn’t tell whether it was him or me.

Part of me didn’t want him to move; the other part wanted him to fuck my brains out. I couldn’t say anything, though—I was completely paralysed at the feeling of being filled by him, utterly dick-drunk. All I could do was press back against him, feeling him twitch inside me.

“Your pussy feels so fucking good,” he said through gritted teeth.

“*Daddy*,” was all I could say.

“You want this dick?”

“You know I do.”

“Then beg for it.”

With pleasure. “Please, Daddy. Please give it to me.”

That was all it took: he pulled his cock out and then again, slowly, pushed it in. I let out a moan this time, and kept moaning as he continued to thrust, slowly at first—to let me get used to it—and then deeper, harder, until I was taking all of his length. My cunt was tight around him, dragging and pulling at his cock on its way out. The dominance the position allowed him; the fact that he was fucking me from behind on our first time; the realisation that someone else’s serious, long-term boyfriend was fucking me, without a condom, so hard that my arse slapped against him and his swinging balls banged against my pussy with every thrust—all of it was so fucking sexy that I was honestly off my head with pleasure. At every thrust I was gasping out “Daddy” over and over; when he reached around to grab my throat, it came out strangled and hoarse. I could tell he loved it by the way he grunted each time he rammed his cock back into me.

In short, we fucked for about an hour, in all sorts of different positions—doggy; prone bone; missionary; my legs behind my head or slung over his shoulders. Say what you like about the man, but he had stamina, which is why I always enjoyed hooking up with him—he could last for hours, and I’d always be sore in the most delicious way for days afterwards. Every time he would get close to cumming, he would stop and eat me out or finger me for a while, keeping me warm while he cooled down. However, the part I always remember with fondness was the climax (literally and figuratively).

Amadi was sat up in the middle of the bed, with me straddling his lap. It sounds like a position where I should have had the control but, honestly, he was drilling me and I was loving it. He had one hand on my throat, the other pinning my hands behind me, and he was pounding me hard from below, using the tight grip he had on my neck for leverage. My arse and thighs were smacking against his and my tits were bouncing with the force of his thrusting. The way that his hard stomach and pelvis were smacking and grinding against my clit as he pounded my pussy and choked the air out of me felt amazing, and I began to feel my orgasm building. My legs started trembling as I strained both toward and away from it, and he must have seen it on my face—which was, as I discovered when I looked in the mirror afterwards, the picture of a well-fucked woman: hair a bird’s nest, mouth open, face red, eyes glazed. He murmured, “You like that? You going to cum soon?”

He had to loosen his grip on my throat before I could croak out, “Yes…”

In an instant, he was on his back and had dragged me with him, to sit on top of him. “Ride this dick. I want you to cum all over it.”

I certainly didn’t need telling twice. I began to furiously ride like my life depended on it, pinning him down by placing my hands on his chest, switching between bouncing on his dick and grinding against it. The grinding was what was going to get me there, however, so I switched my technique, opening my legs wider and pushing my hips flat against him so that there wasn’t any space between us; I opened up my pussy lips so that my clit was flush against his pelvis and began to rub, backwards and forwards, hard and fast. Amadi was grabbing my hips and helping me get my rhythm, thrusting hard from below. His face was so intent and absorbed as he watched me get closer and closer to cumming. It felt amazing but, frustratingly, I was teetering right on the edge and couldn’t quite get there. My legs were straining and shaking with the effort of pushing myself to orgasm, and pleasure pulsed through my body from my pussy in waves, but the finale was tantalisingly out of reach. Luckily, Amadi knew just what to do to get me there.

“Come on, baby. Cum on Daddy’s dick. Be a good little girl and cum for me. Cum for Daddy—Daddy’s good girl…”

He kept murmuring it over and over again, like a litany. Fucking Christ—10 more seconds of that and I would have absolutely exploded on his dick. However, just as I was about to tip over into orgasm, throwing back my head to fully enjoy the moment, he suddenly grabbed me by the hips and said urgently, “Get off!”

In my near-orgasmic state, I didn’t immediately grasp what was going on. “What?” I asked, confused, looking down at him and slowing down, almost to a stop. “Why?”

“Get *off!*” he repeated, almost hissing. His face was a picture: absolute panic.

Realisation dawned on me: he was going to cum very soon and didn’t want to do it inside me raw. Suddenly, I’d never wanted anything more in my life than for Amadi to pump me full of cum. My pussy throbbed like a heartbeat at the thought. I put my weight back onto his chest, pinning him down, and began to ride him again, fast and hard.

“What are you doing?!” he hissed, expression wavering between pleasure, pain and panic. “Get off!”

“But Daddy,” I said, voice somewhere between a plead and a taunt, “I want you to cum inside me.”

His eyes nearly rolled back in his head and he grabbed my hips to pull me closer, thrust even deeper, even as he said, in a strained whisper, “No…”

“Come on, Daddy.” I kept on grinding, hard and relentless, so close to my own orgasm now but holding out for him, panting and sweating and shaking, his cock so deep inside me that I could feel him knocking against my cervix as my pussy gripped him. He was pounding into me and grunting and swearing even as he shook his head and desperately struggled against his own orgasm, as if logic was screaming at him to really put a stop to things but he couldn’t help himself. It was one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen. I wanted nothing more than for him to explode inside me and fill me up. He was getting very close: I could feel his cock twitching, and decided to turn it up a notch and push him over the edge.

“This pussy is yours,” I told him breathlessly, digging my nails into his chest. “Please, Daddy—cum in this pussy—I’m your good little girl, I need you to cum in me—”

He groaned and gripped me hard, closing his eyes. He was obviously very, very close. I had a flash of inspiration.

“Breed me, Daddy,” I begged. “Please, cum inside me—shoot up this pussy— fucking breed me, Daddy, please—”

Amadi’s eyes shot open wide and he groaned, “Oh, God, Fatima… I—”

And with that, he exploded in my pussy, pumping a raw, hot load into me. I literally felt rope after rope of cum shoot up into me, his cock pulsing with every spurt. His body clenched and almost doubled up with the force of it, and a day or two afterward I found bruises on my hips and waist where he’d gripped me hard as he came. Watching and feeling his explosion tipped me over the edge: I let go into my own release, grinding my clit hard against him as I rode out the wave after wave of orgasm that rippled through me, digging my nails so hard into his chest that he told me afterwards I’d broken the skin. My cunt pulsed, draining Amadi of every last drop. My head went blank and my ears rang. It was honestly so intense that I had no idea I’d screamed my way through it until I came down from the high, shaking, to find my throat hoarse.

I collapsed on top of him, both of us drenched in sweat, panting like we’d run a marathon. Now that the ecstasy was ebbing away, everything in my body was screaming in pain—my legs, especially, were cramping horribly—but I was so exhausted I just couldn’t move. His arms went around me, and we cuddled as I felt him slowly going soft, inside me still. Eventually, it got too hot—that man was like a furnace—and I climbed off to lay beside him, his now-limp cock slipping out as I did so. His cum oozed out of me as he put out his arm and I moved to snuggle against him. I started to smile, and he caught me. He gently took my chin and turned my face up to his.

“Happy now that you’ve gotten your fill, you absolute lunatic?”

I snuggled closer. “Most definitely.”

He laughed. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

“You like it.”

“God help me—I really do.”

“I know what else you like.” I raised my head to look at him and raised my eyebrow. “Breeding really does it for you then, yeah?”

If his skin wasn’t so dark, he would have blushed. He laughed again, harder, and put his hand across his face in despair. “Apparently. I’m as crazy as you are.”

We spooned all that night, but unfortunately I had to sneak out early before his housemates woke up. He kissed me goodbye and paid for my cab home, waving me off. Neither of us had really cleaned up after our session. As I settled down for my hour’s journey home across London, I felt absolutely filthy—in the best way possible.

And, as I walked through my door, my phone buzzed. I’d received two texts. One was from Amadi: *Are you home okay?* *When can I see you again?* The other was from the reader’s favourite, Suspicious Friend: *You absolute slut—did you go home with Amadi last night?*

I grinned. I certainly had quite the story to tell her.

​

>Hey, everyone. Present-day, writing me here. First time writing erotica and posting on this sub, so constructive criticism welcome. Happy to write up and post more of my adventures if people are keen. Happy reading (and wanking!).

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/hhqn1q/the_time_i_f25_was_bred_by_someone_elses