("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ 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!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2009. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- 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 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 62