Miranda

donor-tales:

Miranda was
Dutch. I met her in the summer on the train on the way to work. We somehow
started chatting, and when we reached the station 20 minutes later, she asked
if she could have my email. Flattered, I gave it to her.

That same
afternoon I got a message, written from an anonymous email account. She suggested to meet for drinks and more talks.

It happened
naturally, in a way that still makes me happy when I think about it. Over
drinks our talk quickly got flirty. She told me she was married, and that her
husband wouldn’t like it if he found out that she was having drinks with me. “He’s
very jealous. It suffocates me and I’m not sure if our marriage will last
forever.” That’s the last thing she said about it. A few minutes later we
kissed.

I took her
hand and lead her through some streets until we reached a derelict building, a
former factory. She giggled with excitement when I pushed the fence apart and
let us into the area, a place full of rubble, graffiti and overgrown walls. “I feel like
a little kid again”, Miranda whispered.

As soon as
I’d found a spot where no one could see us, I pulled Miranda in my arms. We
kissed again. Her hand opened my fly, my hand pulled her panties down. It all
felt so… Urgent. Needy. Wonderful. Miranda moaned when I roughly forced her
with her back to me, grabbed her hair, while guiding my erection into her
cheating pussy. There was no talk about condoms. Miranda’s voice was hoarse
with horniness. “Fuck me. Fuck me like a piece of meat.”

We both
didn’t last long. Miranda clamped her pussy around my cock, coating me with her
juices, and her ragged breath and shaky legs signalled her orgasm. I couldn’t
have controlled myself much longer either. My balls burned and loaded my cock, I
moaned with delight as I felt the aching, twitching sensation, and didn’t quite
think what I was doing until I realised that my sperm wasn’t being stopped by a
protective latex layer, as should have been the case, but landed deep inside Miranda’s sexy
body. Thick, creamy, hot jets of fertility splashed against her cervix.

Exhausted
and grinning, we stood normal again, my cum oozing down her sexy legs. She
giggled and put her hand between her thighs. “Wow, we were so horny, and I’m
not even on the pill”, she laughed. “I need to run to a pharmacy.”

Then her eyes got distant, strange, happy. “Or maybe I’ll just see what happens.”

Later that
night she wrote again. Just a kiss-emoji and Thanks
for the wonderful evening. I won’t write again, please understand – my husband, you know. 

She kept her word, my reply bounced, she had already deleted her account. I had no phone number, no last name. For a few more weeks I hoped to spot her on the train, but never did.

I honestly wonder if I have a child somewhere that I don’t know about.

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