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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2009. Please
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The Donor
by Slim n' Dusty (slimndusty@yahoo.co.uk)
***
Sometime in the future: Leanne was desperate for a baby
at a time when sperm was becoming rare and expensive.
Just as she is about to give up, a perverted stranger
arrives in her neighbourhood, but this would require
some careful planning. (MF, nc, v, bd, tor, sn, nec)
***
Leanne wasn't fortunate with men.
She could never find the right guy. Some of her past
boyfriends were nice, but they just didn't want to
commit on her level. Leanne had given up on men, but
she did want a baby.
When pressed, some past boyfriends were open about the
issue but told her that they never wanted children,
some said they didn't want the responsibility, some
said they couldn't afford a child, some even said the
world was overpopulated already. Some of them even
broke up with her over it.
That didn't stop Leanne from wanting a baby.
During a moment of desperation, she phoned a clinic to
see if she could find a sperm donor, but owing to a new
law about donors losing their rights to anonymity,
finding a donor was becoming difficult. Pride made her
hang up before she pursued it any further. She was
plain, but she certainly wasn't ugly. There must be a
guy out there somewhere, she thought.
She could feel that her body-clock wasn't going to slow
down because of this problem...
* *
Leanne first noticed the stranger on the night he moved
into the flat opposite. Shrouded in darkness, she lay
back on a recliner outside on her private patio,
enjoying the excellent view she had of the new
occupant's flat. She reached for her binoculars on the
table beside her, mentally noting any dishy details of
the new arrival. He appeared to be on his own. A single
guy. She became curious about him in her own subtle
way.
Over the weeks, Leanne became familiar with his
routines. His work shift pattern especially. During
weekdays, she was more confident in knowing when he
would come home. That was when she would sneak into his
flat and look at his collection of books. The first
entry she made was a forced one, well more of a jiggle
on his sliding door. Even though her disturbance was
kept to a minimum, she was worried that it would be
discovered. But no alarm was raised.
His book collection was what freaked her out. It was
bizarre. She thought she knew it all. Through him, she
discovered taboos. Taboos. Taboos about sex that she
didn't even know existed - and she thought she was
clued up. There were books on bestiality, copraphilia,
loads and loads of extreme porn mag's. He definitely
doesn't have a girlfriend, she thought. No woman could
share a book collection as screwed up as this. They'd
run a mile.
Repulsed, she stayed away from the stranger's flat a
long while after that. She didn't want to be found by
him in his own flat and end up beaten and trussed and
repeatedly sodomised by this guy who could quite easily
be some fucked up piece of cheese. Bondage was her
limit; bummy sex, scat, was just not her thing. She
momentarily shrugged off any curiosity she had towards
this new arrival...
* *
It was late on a Saturday night when, bored, she
glanced up from her sofa while watching the tv and saw
Hamish again. He had candlelight in his flat. Mmmm, a
little unusual.
Curious, she switched off the tv, turned out the lights
of her flat and sneaked out onto the patio. Her
binoculars zooming in, focusing on his lounge room.
Hamish wore a black leather vest, a studded dog's
collar, a black leather pouch concealed his genitals.
Mmmm, something kinky. This could be a laugh, she
thought.
He disappeared from his lounge room. She waited,
settling herself in the recliner. He suddenly
reappeared from his bedroom, moving quickly,
erratically, looking exasperated. He lifted cushions
off his sofa, threw them back down.
What was he looking for?
He was muttering to himself, punching the air. He
disappeared again.
Leanne suddenly knew what was missing. Was it his body
language that reminded her? She remembered his first
name taken from his handcuffs...
It was about her third or fourth break-in when she
found them, she had just returned his underground
magazine, "Graveyard Sex Review", when she picked up a
pair of silver handcuffs. This was no imitation
bullshit, mind you, this was the real deal, so she took
them. On returning back to her flat, she examined them.
The name 'Hamish' had been etched on both cuffs.
Remembering this, Leanne snuck back inside her flat and
picked them up. She'd found them next to a catheter and
a pack of collection condoms. What were these going to
be used for? She returned to the patio.
Through her binoculars, she watched Hamish. He glanced
up quickly, appearing startled by a noise near the
entrance to his flat. He walked over to the front door
and could be seen talking to a figure in the doorway.
The figure entered. A call-girl!
Leanne watched the edgy negotiation, an exchange of
cash for a moment of unimaginative, carnal release.
He directed her briefly before she moved inside. He
closed the door. She undressed slowly. Her time was his
money.
The call-girl moved over to Hamish, both of them walked
out of sight. Did they go into the bedroom? Leanne
looked but couldn't see anything. Her curiosity began
to flare up. Where were they? What were they up to?
Leanne fought the desire to sneak over and enter his
flat in the usual way - climbing up two floors and
slipping over the balcony to perv. Instead, she waited.
Still no sight of them. Just candlelight flickering in
the living room. The call-girl's jacket still lay on
the sofa.
Leanne lost her fight. Grabbing his belongings, she
slipped off her balcony and crossed the courtyard
before shimmying up the stack of flats opposite. In a
dark corner of his second floor balcony she waited,
quietly regaining her breath. Her ears tuned in to the
sound of any possible lovemaking.
A moment passed before she heard footsteps. The call-
girl re-entered his living room. She hastily grabbed
her leather jacket and left quickly.
Leanne watched the door shut...
* *
She waited a while. Why did the woman leave so quickly?
Using a duplicate key, she opened the sliding door
silently and was about to enter when she saw Hamish. He
had a noose tight around his neck and was hanging from
his ceiling - a hunk in a state of heightened arousal
gone wrong.
The call-girl hadn't been strong enough to help him and
fled the scene. Hamish's arms were gripping the rope as
he struggled to keep his windpipe open long enough to
gasp, but Leanne could see that he was weakening. The
gasping came less and less.
She approached while Hamish's back was to her, quietly
observing his struggle. Leanne knelt before he knew she
was there, grabbing his right thigh she spun him
around. She caught a blurred glimpse of his large,
swaying balls. His penis was erect, and sheathed,
abandoned by the sex worker. Realising he wasn't alone,
he kicked out at her. Her shoulder buckled from the
sudden, desperate force. Recovering, she gripped his
legs to stop him from thrashing about, using all her
weight she pulled him tightly downwards.
Hamish could no longer kick outwards. The strain on his
neck was now cutting off blood to his brain. Leanne
noticed that the sounds of gasping stopped as he tried
to reach behind and grip the rope with eyes and veins
bulging. He let go of the rope and began to twitch
violently. His hips rocking back and forth, humping as
if he was sliding in and out of the hottest pussy of
all his dreams.
Leanne watched his head turn puce as he continued to
thrust his sheathed cock into thin air. She watched his
large, shapely balls tighten and lift before the tip of
the condom shuddered from the force of his spurting
cum.
She eased her hold on him and stood up before tightly
gripping the base of his sheathed cock. Carefully, she
let it slide downwards, allowing his natural
lubrication to remove it for her...
* *
Back on her patio Leanne sat in her recliner, facing
Hamish's candlelit flat. She gazed across the
courtyard, through the gap between the curtains that
she had drawn earlier. The faint silhouette of Hamish's
hanging corpse could be made out from her position.
Leanne quickly reached inside her top and retrieved the
collection condom from between her warm breasts. With
care, she dipped the blunt tip of the syringe into the
condom and pulled the stop gently back. She moved the
tip through thoroughly to suck all of his fresh semen
into the vacuum of the syringe. Raising her legs up,
she opened a compact mirror opposite and spread
herself.
As she parted her legs, she watched two thick strands
of expectant goo bridge the warm gap made between her
soft, delicate cuntlips. She re-introduced her clitoral
vibrator whilst slowly guiding the catheter into her
vagina, deep enough so that the tube would be within
easy reach of her cervix. The sound of her humming
vibrator continued while Leanne slowly depressed the
plunger. She watched the milky train of guided semen
move slowly through the clear tube until it disappeared
obediently into her waiting sex.
Leanne let Hamish's cum pool just before her cervix.
Feeling the plunger reach the stop, she switched the
small, chrome vibrator to the highest setting whilst
replaying a dark, powerful and perverted fantasy
inspired by the books that she had taken from Hamish's
flat. A fantasy involving her with his dessicated
corpse. The fantasy, combined with the small vibrator
on her clit, made her pussy begin to throb its way to
orgasm.
Leanne was overcome by powerful orgasms, knowing that
with each throb and pulse her cervix was dipping down
into her vagina. Its moist, knotty flesh plunging, like
the thick, powerful tongue of a ravenous demoness -
savouring the dead man's semen, lapping up his pooled
remains and forcing him deeper and deeper into her
fertile body.
That night she slept well and dreamed of giving birth
to a beautiful, healthy baby girl...
* *
Leanne liked to visit Hamish on weekends. Wheeling the
pram past the various assortment of crumbling
headstones, she would lift Winter, her baby girl, and
carry her to his headstone where she would sit and rest
for a while. Sometimes, Winter would sleep and Leanne
would be left to her thoughts. Sometimes, Winter would
cry in a certain way, and Leanne would breast feed her.
Watching Winter suckle on her large nipple, she would
watch her daughter gaze up with blue eyes. Leanne knew
where she got those blue eyes. Seated on his slab, she
felt the cold enter through her jeans and panties.
While she let her baby draw out the fresh, warm milk,
she imagined the state of him beneath her feet. At
least a year had gone by. She wondered if there was any
skin left on his lips, if his eye sockets were deep,
cold hollows by now. The dark thoughts made her heart
pound and her thick vulva swell, it pressed tightly
against her freshly-chilled panties. Their coolness
momentarily soothed the heat of her aroused sex.
After returning home, she would put Winter to sleep.
She would undress in her bedroom and put on her
flannellette pyjamas. Dozing into sleep, her thoughts
would wander back to the cemetery, her hand would reach
under her belly and she would slowly, gently rub her
clit and caress her soft folds. Sometimes she liked to
tease herself and imagine giving herself to a
gravedigger in exchange for Hamish's partly-decayed
head - exhumed fresh from its grave and placed on her
dresser. She would turn him to face her to stare
eternally at her aroused, writhing, naked body.
She would roll over, her head dizzy and light,
intoxicated by the perverse nature of her mind. She
imagined his dry, paper-thin skin, gradually peeling
away to reveal the aesthetic, intimate curvature of his
skull, just for her viewing pleasure. Enough details of
his putrid condition would encourage a slow, persistent
release of a thick, warm goo deep inside, where it
would reach her entrance and liberally coat the tender
lips of her aroused sex. She liked to masturbate then.
With one hand, she would rub her clit, tug and squeeze
the thick, doughy texture of her swollen vulva, while
fingering her butt in shallow ways.
With him there, she imagined revealing all her secrets
and dark desires. She would whisper to him that she had
taken legal advice and had requisitioned more of his
semen before he was pushed into the soil, and that it's
now sitting in a bank - her deep frozen asset -
exclusively for her use only - just in case she wanted
another beautiful baby girl at a time of her own
choosing...
END
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 62