Parings: Mo Washington 𝓍 black!femreader
Warnings: 18+ ONLY • heavy breeding kink • creampie obsession • g!p Mo (thick, veiny, endless loads) • womb-filling cum play • multiple creampies • raw, unprotected fucking • pregnancy talk (filthy and romantic) • size difference (tall masc vs thick fem) • body worship (your big tits & fatter ass) • deep southern dirty talk • proposal mid-fuck • overstimulation • squirting • aftercare that turns into round two, three, four • pure nasty love that drips.
Context: Mo surprises you on Valentine’s night by wrapping her naked body in nothing but red satin ribbon, turning herself into the ultimate gift while the bedroom glows with candles and rose petals.
🏷️ Divider from: @dollywons
🏷️: @pinkwright @slutsareteacherstoo @quintessencewrites @prettymrswright @axailslink @inmyheadimobsessed @kissvamps @riris-heart @riotpanther @shuriwifey @newctrll @letitiaismywright20 @atheliasgarden @onyxstones-world @darkskinchristiandiorpostergirl @mrsudakuwilliams99 @saprrhod2823 @rheas-ripley @doms-fav @ihearttish @ronweasleyslut @charayy @lyfeofbilly @shurislvr @shuririsecretl0v3r @shuriszn @tishsrealwife @slutsareteacherstoo @shuriandririswifey @journeyzworld @shurismainbxtch @shurisbathwater @amplifiedmoan @naomis-daydream @blkgworlamplified
Song insert 🎧: Nobody - Keith Sweat
The city lights blurred past the passenger window as you drove home, heart hammering against your ribs like it wanted out. The paper bags in the back seat rustled with every turn—Mo’s favorite cologne, that limited-edition watch she’d been eyeing, a stack of custom-engraved dog tags with your initials on one side and hers on the other, and a bottle of that top-shelf bourbon she only drank when she was feeling extra southern. You’d spent the whole afternoon hunting them down, smiling like a fool the entire time because tonight was supposed to be perfect. She’d texted you earlier, voice note low and drawled: “When ya pull up, baby, just lemme know. Don’t come in the house hollerin’. I got sumthin’ for ya.” You’d laughed it off, figuring she was setting up some candles or whatever. Mo was always extra on Valentine’s, but you had no idea how extra she was about to get.
Your outfit was a weapon. The deep red satin slip dress clung to every thick curve like it was painted on—thin straps barely holding up the weight of your heavy, full breasts, the neckline plunging so low the inner curves of your tits spilled out with every breath. The hem stopped high on your thighs, teasing the swell of your ass every time you shifted in the driver’s seat. Underneath? That skinny black lace thong she loved—the one that disappeared between your fat cheeks and framed your pussy like a gift. Your makeup was sultry: glossy lips the color of fresh blood, smoky eyes that made you look like sin, lashes so long they cast shadows on your cheeks. Hair freshly pressed and falling in soft waves down your back. You looked like dessert. You felt like it too.
You pulled into the driveway of the quiet little house you shared on the edge of the city, killed the engine, and fired off a quick text: Pulling up now, baby. Her reply came instantly: Door’s open. Bedroom. Lights off till ya get in here.
The front door was unlocked. You stepped inside and the scent hit you first—vanilla candles, her cologne, and something sweeter underneath. The living room was dim, just the glow from the kitchen nightlight spilling in. Rose petals—deep crimson—made a crooked path down the hallway toward the bedroom door, which was cracked open. Your pulse kicked up. You toed off your heels, left the gift bags by the couch, and padded down the hall, the satin of your dress whispering against your thighs.
You pushed the door open.
The bedroom was transformed. Candles everywhere—tall ones on the dresser, short ones on the nightstands, their flames dancing across the walls and turning everything golden and red. More rose petals scattered across the king-sized bed, the sheets already turned down. Gift boxes wrapped in black paper with red bows sat on the bench at the foot of the bed. But the real present was in the middle of it all.
She stood there tall and slender, six-foot-three of pure lean muscle wrapped up like the filthiest Valentine’s gift you’d ever seen. Completely naked except for the red satin ribbon. It started at her throat, crisscrossed over her small, firm pecs, looped around her narrow waist, and tied into a perfect bow right above the thick, heavy cock that hung between her thighs—already half-hard, the veiny shaft twitching as it filled out under your stare. The ribbon continued down her long legs, ending in little bows at her ankles. Her small curly afro was freshly picked out, soft coils catching the candlelight. No makeup, no feminine shit—just her, raw and masc and devastating. Dark skin glowing, that deep southern jaw set in a lazy smirk, gold tooth flashing when she smiled.
“Surprise, shuga,” she drawled, voice like warm molasses poured over gravel. “Been waitin’ on ya all evenin’. Look at ya… comin’ in here lookin’ like red velvet cake. Them big pretty titties sittin’ up high, that ass swayin’ like it know what it do to me. Come on ova here, baby. Unwrap ya gift.”
You crossed the room on shaky legs, the heat between your thighs already slick and throbbing. Up close she smelled like her cologne and pure want. You reached out, fingers tracing the ribbon over her chest, feeling the rapid thud of her heart underneath. She caught your wrist, brought your hand down to the bow at her waist.
“Start there,” she murmured. “Slow. I want ya to take ya time.”
You tugged the end of the ribbon and it unraveled in a silky whisper, sliding off her body like water. The moment it fell away her cock sprang free—fully hard now, thick as your wrist, long enough to make your mouth water, the dark head already glistening with a bead of precum. You dropped to your knees without thinking, lips parting.
Mo’s hand slid into your hair, gentle but firm. “Nah, not yet, darlin’. I got other plans tonight. Been thinkin’ ’bout this for months. You been talkin’ ’bout wantin’ a baby… wantin’ to be a mama so bad it make my chest hurt. Tonight I’m gon’ give it to ya. Gon’ fill this pretty pussy up till it’s drippin’ with me. Gon’ put my baby right where it belong.”
She pulled you up, spun you around, and pressed you back against the bed. The satin of your dress rode up as she hiked it to your waist, exposing the tiny thong. Her fingers hooked into the lace and ripped it clean off in one sharp tug. You gasped, thighs falling open on instinct. Mo dropped to her knees between them, hands spreading your thick thighs wider, thumbs digging into the soft flesh.
“Goddamn, look at this fat pussy,” she groaned, accent thickening. “All shiny and ready for me. Them big lips poutin’ like they beggin’. I’m gon’ eat this first, baby. Make ya cum on my tongue so ya nice and open when I slide in.”
Her mouth was on you before you could breathe—hot, wet, relentless. She sucked your clit into her mouth like it was candy, tongue flicking fast and hard while two long fingers pushed inside you, curling against that spot that made your back arch off the bed. You grabbed the sheets, moaning loud, hips rolling against her face. She ate you like a starving woman—loud, messy, groaning into your cunt every time you clenched around her fingers. When you came the first time it hit like a wave, thighs shaking, pussy gushing onto her tongue. She licked you through it, then kept going, adding a third finger, stretching you open.
Only when you were trembling and babbling did she pull back, lips shiny, chin wet. She stood, cock bobbing heavy between her legs, and climbed onto the bed with you. She flipped you onto your stomach, pulled your hips up so your ass was high in the air, that fat, juicy ass she loved so much spread wide for her.
“Arch that back, shuga. Let me see that pretty hole winkin’.”
You did, face pressed to the pillow, ass presented like an offering. Mo rubbed the fat head of her cock through your soaked folds, coating it in your cream, then notched it at your entrance.
“Tell me ya want it,” she rasped. “Tell me ya want me to breed this pussy.”
“I want it,” you moaned. “Please, Mo—give me your baby.”
She pushed in slow—inch after thick inch—stretching you wide, the burn so good it made your eyes roll back. When she bottomed out, hips flush against your ass, she stayed there, grinding deep, letting you feel every vein, every pulse.
“Fuuuck, baby… this pussy grippin’ me like it already know what’s comin’. So tight. So wet. I’m gon’ fuck ya till ya pregnant, ya hear me? Gon’ pump so much nut in ya ya gon’ be leakin’ for days.”
She started moving—long, deep strokes that made your ass clap back against her hips, the wet slap of skin filling the room. One hand gripped your waist, the other reached around to rub your clit in tight circles. You came again, harder, walls fluttering around her cock, milking her. Mo cursed low, pace picking up, fucking you through it.
She flipped you onto your back, hooked your thick thighs over her shoulders, folded you in half. The new angle had her cock bullying your cervix with every thrust, the head kissing your womb like it was trying to knock on the door.
“Look at me, baby,” she growled. “Look at me while I put this baby in ya.”
Your eyes locked on hers—dark, intense, full of love and lust. She fucked you harder, sweat dripping down her chest, curls bouncing with every snap of her hips. The ring box was on the nightstand; she grabbed it mid-thrust, popped it open with one hand, and slid the simple gold band with the fat diamond onto your finger without missing a stroke.
“Marry me, shuga,” she panted, voice wrecked. “Be my wife. Be the mama to my babies. Say yes while I’m fuckin’ this load into ya.”
She roared, hips stuttering, and came—hot, thick ropes of cum flooding your womb, so much it leaked out around her cock. She didn’t pull out. She kept grinding, fucking her cum deeper, making sure it took.
She eased out slow, watching her cum drip from your puffy pussy, then flipped you again—onto your side this time. She slid back in from behind, spooning you, one arm wrapped around your waist, hand splayed over your lower belly like she was already protecting what she’d just put there.
“Round two, baby,” she whispered against your ear, accent thick and sweet. “I got more for ya. Gon’ keep this pussy full all night.”
She fucked you lazy and deep like that—slow rolls of her hips, cock dragging against every sensitive spot. Her free hand played with your tits, pinching your nipples, squeezing the heavy flesh. You came again, softer this time, clenching around her until she spilled another load, even thicker than the first.
She pulled out only long enough to flip you onto your back again, climb between your legs, and slide home. This time she went slow—kissing you deep, tongue fucking your mouth while her cock fucked your pussy. She whispered filthy promises against your lips: how she was gonna keep you pregnant, how she was gonna fuck you every night till the baby came, how she loved your body, your heart, your everything.
You lost count of the orgasms. Lost count of how many times she filled you. By the time the candles burned low you were a mess—cum leaking down your thighs, belly slightly bloated from how full she’d made you, lips swollen, mascara streaked. Mo was still hard, still inside you, rocking gentle now, kissing every inch of your face.
“I love ya, baby,” she murmured, southern drawl soft and reverent. “Love ya more than anythin’. This ain’t just tonight. This forever. You gon’ be my wife. Gon’ carry my babies. Gon’ be the best damn mama in the world.”
You tangled your fingers in her curls, pulled her down for a kiss that tasted like forever and fresh cum.
She smiled against your mouth, hips giving one last deep thrust.
“Happy Valentine’s, future Mrs. Washington. Now… round four?”
And Mo was nowhere near finished breeding her future wife.
The bedroom air was thick with sex and candle smoke, every exhale carrying the mingled scent of vanilla wax, her cologne, and the raw, musky proof of how many times she’d already filled you. Your body was a live wire—skin flushed and slick, heavy breasts heaving with each ragged breath, thick thighs trembling where they draped over Mo’s narrow hips. She had you folded beneath her now, legs hooked high over her shoulders so your ass lifted off the mattress, pussy presented open and dripping like an offering she couldn’t stop claiming. Her long, lean frame loomed above you, small curly afro damp at the temples, dark skin gleaming with sweat that caught the flickering light and made her look carved from obsidian and desire.
She was still buried to the hilt inside you—thick cock throbbing against your walls, every shallow grind of her hips dragging the ridged head right over that swollen, greedy spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. You’d already come so many times the pleasure had blurred into one long, rolling wave; your pussy kept fluttering around her in helpless little spasms, milking her even when you thought you had nothing left to give. Cum from her earlier loads leaked out around the base of her shaft with every slow withdrawal, only to be shoved right back in when she rolled forward again—deep, deliberate, possessive.
Mo’s gold tooth flashed when she grinned down at you, voice that deep, syrup-slow southern drawl rumbling through her chest and straight into your core.
“Look at ya, shuga… all fucked out and still takin’ me so good. This pretty pussy just suckin’ me right back in every time I try to pull out. You really want this baby bad, don’t ya? Want me to keep pumpin’ ya full till it sticks.”
You could only whimper, nails digging into the lean muscles of her back, trying to pull her closer, deeper. Words had long since dissolved into needy sounds—her name, pleas, broken little “yesyesyes”es that spilled out every time she bottomed out and ground her pelvis against your clit.
She slowed her thrusts even more—torturously slow now—long, dragging strokes that let you feel every thick vein sliding against your fluttering walls. One big hand slid from your hip to your lower belly, palm spreading wide over the soft curve there like she was already cradling what she’d planted.
“I been thinkin’ ’bout this for a long time, baby,” she murmured, eyes locked on yours, dark and molten. “Ain’t just about puttin’ my seed in ya tonight—though Lord knows I’m gon’ do that till the sun come up. I want all of it. You in my bed every night. You carryin’ my babies. You wearin’ my last name. I want forever, shuga. Not just Valentine’s. Not just one load. All the days after.”
Your heart stuttered—hard—right as she sank in extra deep and held there, hips circled in a slow, filthy grind that pressed the fat head of her cock flush against your cervix like she was knocking for entry. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, not from pain, but from the overwhelming sweetness wrapped in all this filth.
She leaned down, lips brushing yours in a kiss that started soft—almost reverent—then turned hungry, tongue sliding deep while her cock stayed buried, pulsing inside you. When she pulled back just enough to speak, her voice cracked the tiniest bit.
“I love you more than I know what to do with sometimes. You make a woman wanna do right. Wanna build somethin’ real.” Her free hand reached blindly toward the nightstand, fingers closing around the small velvet box she’d left there earlier. She didn’t even look away from your face as she popped it open one-handed, the soft click loud in the quiet between your shared breaths.
The ring caught the candlelight—simple yellow gold band, thick enough to feel substantial, a single fat princess-cut diamond sitting proud in the center, flanked by two smaller ones on either side. Classic. Masculine edge to it. Exactly her style, and somehow still perfect for you.
Mo held it between her thumb and forefinger, right above where your bodies were still joined, her cock twitching inside you like even it was impatient.
“Marry me, baby,” she rasped, southern accent so thick it wrapped around the words like smoke. “Be my wife. Let me wake up to you every mornin’. Let me put more babies in this belly. Let me love on you till we old and gray and still fuckin’ like we twenty-one. Say yes while I’m balls-deep in this sweet pussy, ’cause I ain’t pullin’ out till you do.”
Your lips parted on a broken moan as she gave one slow, punishing roll of her hips—enough to make your back arch and your walls clamp down hard.
The word barely left your mouth before she surged forward, kissing you fierce and messy, swallowing every sound while her hand caught yours. She slid the ring onto your finger in one smooth motion—perfect fit, cool metal warming instantly against your overheated skin. The second it settled into place she groaned low in her throat, hips snapping forward hard, burying herself to the root again.
“That’s my girl,” she growled against your lips. “My fiancée. My future wife. My baby mama.”
She didn’t give you time to adjust to the weight of the ring or the weight of the words. She started fucking you again—harder now, faster, every thrust punctuated by the wet slap of her hips meeting your ass, the obscene squelch of her cock churning her previous loads inside you. One hand stayed splayed on your belly, thumb stroking over the spot right above where her dick was bullying your cervix; the other pinned your wrist to the mattress so she could watch the diamond flash with every bounce of your body.
“Feel that?” she panted, voice wrecked. “That’s me claimin’ every inch of ya. Gon’ keep fuckin’ this load deeper… gon’ make sure it take… gon’ watch this belly grow with my baby while you wear my ring.”
You were crying now—happy tears, overwhelmed tears—legs shaking where they hooked over her shoulders, pussy clenching so tight she hissed through her teeth. The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter until it snapped—your orgasm crashing through you like a storm, walls spasming wildly, milking her so hard her rhythm faltered.
“Fuck—there it is—squeeze me just like that, shuga—milk it all out—”
She came with a guttural sound that vibrated through both of you—hot, thick spurts flooding your womb again, so much it pushed out around her shaft and dripped down your ass to soak the sheets. She kept thrusting through it—short, deep punches—working every drop as deep as it would go, grinding her pelvis against your oversensitive clit until you were whimpering, twitching, coming again in weak, fluttering waves.
When the aftershocks finally eased she didn’t pull out. She lowered your legs carefully, draped her long body over yours, still sheathed inside you to the base. Her forehead pressed to yours, breaths mingling, her curls tickling your cheek.
“You said yes,” she whispered, almost like she couldn’t believe it. Fingers traced the new ring on your hand, thumb rubbing over the diamond. “You really said yes.”
You lifted your hand, admiring how the candlelight danced across the stones, then cupped her face and pulled her down for a slow, lingering kiss.
“I meant it,” you breathed. “Every word. I want all of it—wife, mama, forever. All of you.”
Mo’s smile was soft, rare, the kind she only gave when no one else was looking. She kissed your palm, then your wrist, then the ring itself like it was sacred.
“Good. ’Cause I ain’t done yet.” Her hips gave a lazy roll, cock still hard, still leaking inside you. “Got at least two more rounds in me before I let ya rest. Gotta make sure my fiancée get every drop tonight.”
You laughed—breathless, blissed-out—wrapping your legs around her waist to keep her right where she was.
“Happy Valentine’s, fiancé.”
She grinned against your neck, already starting to move again—slow, deep, promising.
“Happy Valentine’s, Mrs. Washington-to-be.”
The candles burned lower.
The ring sparkled brighter.
And Mo fucked you slow and sweet into the early hours—sealing every promise with another load, another kiss, another whispered “I love you” until the world outside ceased to exist.
And the baby she was determined to give you.
