Fuleco and Karla Kick
by John FCCF Poseyabout 1 hour ago
•long read•hot intensityFuleco stretched his yellow-orange limbs under the warm Brazilian sun, the royal-blue soccer-ball shell on his head gleaming. The three-banded armadillo mascot had just finished a friendly exhibition match when he spotted her across the pitch: Karla Kick, the energetic anthropomorphic cat from the 2011 tournament. Her golden-orange fur caught the light, black-red-gold stripes marking her cheeks, oversized pointy ears perked, green eyes bright. She still wore her white “GERMANY 2011” jersey and black shorts, white socks pulled high over strong legs.
They were both eighteen, old enough, and the empty stadium after the crowd left left them alone with the smell of cut grass and leather.
“Hey, armadillo,” Karla said, walking over with that confident kick in her step. “Nice shell. Bet it makes you hard to catch.”
Fuleco grinned, pink tongue flashing. “You’re the one who runs circles around everyone. Want to see if you can outrun this?” He tugged at the waistband of his green shorts. The outline of his thick cock was already visible, swelling under the fabric.
Karla’s eyes dropped. She licked her small pink nose. “Show me.”
He shoved the shorts down. His cock sprang free—thick, ridged, the head already slick, the shaft a deep amber that matched his body. Heavy balls hung below. Karla stepped close, one paw sliding down his chest, over the white t-shirt, then wrapping around the shaft. She stroked slowly, feeling it pulse.
“Nice cock,” she murmured. She dropped to her knees on the grass. Her pink tongue came out and dragged a long, wet stripe from his balls all the way up the underside. Fuleco groaned, claws flexing. She opened her mouth and took the head between her lips, sucking wetly, tongue swirling. Inch by inch she pushed forward until her nose pressed against the base of his shell-rimmed head, throat working around him. She bobbed, saliva dripping down his shaft and onto her white jersey, black eyelashes fluttering as she looked up.
Fuleco’s paws settled on her ears, guiding her gently. “Fuck, that mouth…”
She pulled off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting her lips to his cock. “Your turn.” She stood, yanked her black shorts and panties down in one motion, and stepped out of them. Her pussy was already glistening—soft golden fur framing pink folds, a neat slit already parted and wet. She climbed onto the nearest bench, one leg up, presenting herself.
Fuleco knelt between her thighs. He buried his muzzle against her, tongue flat and broad, licking from her entrance up to her clit in long, greedy strokes. Karla’s claws dug into the wood. He sucked her clit between his lips, then pushed his tongue inside her, fucking her with it while one paw held her open. She tasted clean and musky. Her hips rolled against his face.
“Enough,” she panted. “I want that cock inside me.”
He stood, cock bobbing, and positioned himself between her spread legs. The head of his cock nudged her slick folds. He pushed in slowly—thick girth stretching her pussy open. Karla moaned loud as he sank to the hilt, balls resting against her ass. He started thrusting, deep and steady, the wet slap of his hips against hers filling the empty stands. Her legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his back above the green shorts still tangled at his ankles.
He changed angle, lifting one of her legs higher so he could drive deeper. The new position let him grind against her clit with every stroke. Karla’s jersey rode up, exposing her soft belly and the swell of her breasts under the fabric. Fuleco leaned down and mouthed one through the cloth, then shoved the jersey higher and sucked a nipple while he fucked her.
They switched again. He pulled out, flipped her onto all fours on the grass, and mounted her from behind. His cock slid back into her dripping pussy in one smooth thrust. He gripped her hips, the blue shell on his head bobbing as he pounded her hard. Karla’s tail curled high, ears flat with pleasure. She pushed back to meet every stroke, her pussy clenching and milking him.
“Harder,” she demanded. He obliged, hips snapping, the wet sound of cock in pussy loud and filthy. One paw reached under to rub her clit in tight circles. She came first, body shaking, a cry tearing from her throat as her pussy spasmed around him.
Fuleco didn’t stop. He kept thrusting through her orgasm, chasing his own. When he felt the pressure build in his balls he buried himself to the root and unloaded. Thick ropes of cum flooded her pussy—hot, heavy pulses that filled her until it leaked out around his shaft in creamy white rivulets. He stayed buried, grinding, pumping every last drop deep inside her. Creampie spilled down her thighs as he finally pulled free, his cock shiny and spent.
Karla rolled onto her back, legs still open, watching the cum drip from her well-fucked pussy. She scooped some onto a finger and licked it clean, then grinned up at him.
“Next time,” she said, voice rough, “you’re going to fuck my throat until I can’t talk, then put another load right back where this one is.”
Fuleco’s cock twitched, already half-hard again. He dropped beside her on the grass, one arm over her waist, the stadium lights flickering on above them.
They stayed there until the groundskeepers started calling. By then both of them were sticky, satisfied, and already planning the rematch.
They were both eighteen, old enough, and the empty stadium after the crowd left left them alone with the smell of cut grass and leather.
“Hey, armadillo,” Karla said, walking over with that confident kick in her step. “Nice shell. Bet it makes you hard to catch.”
Fuleco grinned, pink tongue flashing. “You’re the one who runs circles around everyone. Want to see if you can outrun this?” He tugged at the waistband of his green shorts. The outline of his thick cock was already visible, swelling under the fabric.
Karla’s eyes dropped. She licked her small pink nose. “Show me.”
He shoved the shorts down. His cock sprang free—thick, ridged, the head already slick, the shaft a deep amber that matched his body. Heavy balls hung below. Karla stepped close, one paw sliding down his chest, over the white t-shirt, then wrapping around the shaft. She stroked slowly, feeling it pulse.
“Nice cock,” she murmured. She dropped to her knees on the grass. Her pink tongue came out and dragged a long, wet stripe from his balls all the way up the underside. Fuleco groaned, claws flexing. She opened her mouth and took the head between her lips, sucking wetly, tongue swirling. Inch by inch she pushed forward until her nose pressed against the base of his shell-rimmed head, throat working around him. She bobbed, saliva dripping down his shaft and onto her white jersey, black eyelashes fluttering as she looked up.
Fuleco’s paws settled on her ears, guiding her gently. “Fuck, that mouth…”
She pulled off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting her lips to his cock. “Your turn.” She stood, yanked her black shorts and panties down in one motion, and stepped out of them. Her pussy was already glistening—soft golden fur framing pink folds, a neat slit already parted and wet. She climbed onto the nearest bench, one leg up, presenting herself.
Fuleco knelt between her thighs. He buried his muzzle against her, tongue flat and broad, licking from her entrance up to her clit in long, greedy strokes. Karla’s claws dug into the wood. He sucked her clit between his lips, then pushed his tongue inside her, fucking her with it while one paw held her open. She tasted clean and musky. Her hips rolled against his face.
“Enough,” she panted. “I want that cock inside me.”
He stood, cock bobbing, and positioned himself between her spread legs. The head of his cock nudged her slick folds. He pushed in slowly—thick girth stretching her pussy open. Karla moaned loud as he sank to the hilt, balls resting against her ass. He started thrusting, deep and steady, the wet slap of his hips against hers filling the empty stands. Her legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his back above the green shorts still tangled at his ankles.
He changed angle, lifting one of her legs higher so he could drive deeper. The new position let him grind against her clit with every stroke. Karla’s jersey rode up, exposing her soft belly and the swell of her breasts under the fabric. Fuleco leaned down and mouthed one through the cloth, then shoved the jersey higher and sucked a nipple while he fucked her.
They switched again. He pulled out, flipped her onto all fours on the grass, and mounted her from behind. His cock slid back into her dripping pussy in one smooth thrust. He gripped her hips, the blue shell on his head bobbing as he pounded her hard. Karla’s tail curled high, ears flat with pleasure. She pushed back to meet every stroke, her pussy clenching and milking him.
“Harder,” she demanded. He obliged, hips snapping, the wet sound of cock in pussy loud and filthy. One paw reached under to rub her clit in tight circles. She came first, body shaking, a cry tearing from her throat as her pussy spasmed around him.
Fuleco didn’t stop. He kept thrusting through her orgasm, chasing his own. When he felt the pressure build in his balls he buried himself to the root and unloaded. Thick ropes of cum flooded her pussy—hot, heavy pulses that filled her until it leaked out around his shaft in creamy white rivulets. He stayed buried, grinding, pumping every last drop deep inside her. Creampie spilled down her thighs as he finally pulled free, his cock shiny and spent.
Karla rolled onto her back, legs still open, watching the cum drip from her well-fucked pussy. She scooped some onto a finger and licked it clean, then grinned up at him.
“Next time,” she said, voice rough, “you’re going to fuck my throat until I can’t talk, then put another load right back where this one is.”
Fuleco’s cock twitched, already half-hard again. He dropped beside her on the grass, one arm over her waist, the stadium lights flickering on above them.
They stayed there until the groundskeepers started calling. By then both of them were sticky, satisfied, and already planning the rematch.