In The Tutor's Spare Room

It was the light that woke me up. The crack of light as the door opened. I had just dozed off in Mr Bradley's spare room, spending the night because it was late and I had drunk too much to drive home. After all, what harm could it do? He was a man and i was a 20-year-old student. Also a man. Can't two men spend a night together under the same roof without causing some sort of scandal?

What I hadn't bargained for was becoming attracted to Berry, as he liked to be called. He had invited me to do some preparatory work on a book I was studying in his English class, and I wanted to do well in the exams, so I accepted all the help I could get.

And we really had worked, reading, and discussing and learning, he in an armchair and I on the settee. He was black and overweight: a big pile of dark mystery to my younger, smaller and, I hadn't realised until that night, less masculine self. I had stolen glances at his package while he was looking things up, and yes, I had been a bit turned on, but I was straight, and it was just curiosity. When he invited me to stay over, there was no undercurrent of sexual intent in his eyes or voice.

But now, as he entered the room, it was clear that my moment had arrived: I was about to have a sexual episode with this man, and every shred of masculinity floated out of me. I lay there like a submissive woman, waiting for him to do something.

He was not naked, but wearing pyjamas, like the respectable, bookish educator he was. But beneath that thin layer of cotton was a body full of sexual mischief and I was going to submit to it.

Berry sat on the bed, on the far side, where I had left room, as if for a partner. Suddenly I didn't want to call him Berry. It would be more exciting being seduced by someone called Mr Bradley. It sounded more inappropriate, more wrong, and that was what I wanted. He took off his pyjama top and slid under the duvet, on his back with his arms spread. I turned over as if just changing positions in my sleep and lay with my head on his chest. He put a hand on my head and stroked my cheek.

"Hello young man," he said quietly.

"Hello Mr Bradley," I replied, and kissed his chest. There was a ittle clump of hair in the middle and i found myself compelled to rest my face in it, enjoying this manifestation of his masculinity.

Suddenly he pushed me onto my back and lay on top of me, kissing me eagerly. I kissed him back and was surprised to find I liked it, having his big, strong tongue in my mouth, roaming and finding places that he could tell excited me. Without realising I was doing it, I slid my hand down his chest and into his pyjamas. There I found my first erect penis, and it was his: big, black Mr Bradley's big, black cock. It was unspeakably exciting and i held it with wonder.

"Suck me," he whispered, and I physically shivered with the thrill of touching him and of being commanded to commit this incredible breach of what I had thought of up to that point as my sexual nature.

"Suck me," indeed. Who did he think I was? Just because he was big, black Mr Bradley, a 40-something man-next-door, he expected me to give him a blowjob?

I unbuttoned his pyjama bottoms and slipped them down and off, my cheek brushing against his tightly curled pubic hair and his hairy thighs as I did it.

In a nanosecond I was back up there, straining in the dark to see his solid, dark, wicked member. I could smell his skin, the savoury aroma of his crotch. I took his knob in my mouth and he put a hand on my head. Then these words slipped out of my mouth: "I want to lick your arse."

I couldn't believe I had said this. It's the most abject surrender a man can make, the ultimate declaration that another man can do and demand absolutely anything.

Even as I was thinking this, my ego fighting my lust, he turned onto his knees, muttering, "No one's ever asked to do that before."

"Tell me what you want me to do," I said, almost trembling.

"I want you to lick my arse," he said. "You want to, and I want you to. Put your tongue in there now."

This was what I wanted: to be ordered to do such a sexy, dirty, submisssive thing. I put my face into Mr Bradley's crack and I smelled his arse. It was a nice smell, a smell from my youth when I would sniff my own fingers, young and ignorant and experimenting. I had never done this to anyone before, but I Iicked his arse eagerly, gratefully, loving what I was doing. I took the opportunity to feel his balls and his long, thick cock, and that strangely tight pubic hair. I love pubic hair. It really tells you you're doing the good stuff.

I went into a sort of trance with my face in this man's crack. My cock was straining with the extra blood my lust was pumping into it, but now I wanted the ultimate.

"Now you can fuck me," I whispered.

"Can't hear you," he replied, teasing.

"Please fuck me," I said more loudly.

"Get on your knees," my masterful top said firmly. "And wait while I get some cream."

I knelt with my arse in the air, a crazed, newly homosexual man who had invited anothr man to invade him and was waiting or the moment of truth.

He smeared some lube in my crack, poked a finger into my hole and pushed it right up to his knuckle. There was nothing i wouldn't let this man do.

He spread some lube on his cock - I could feel but not see this - and then he mounted me and we were two animals playing in the wrong hole. I felt the sublime sensation of a large blunt instrument in my anus, but it wasn't just the bulk and the hardness; what thrilled me was that on the end of this implement was a man. His balls flapped against me and his hands pawed me as he looked for ways to hold on and get more purchase. It dawned on me that there isn't much room in an arsehole, and although it may not have been designed for this, the very unsuitabiity was part of the thrill. The initial push to get through the ring made it feel like being violated, even if I was 100% in favour of what was happening.

Mr Bradley fucked me quickly and without finesse. He was being taken for a ride by his cock, which had a mind of its own, and soon it was drilling me like an automatic machine, but proudly, warmly, humanly, just a penis fill of gristle and blood. And spunk.

In a matter of seconds, Mr Bradley was shaking and grinding as his cum powered from his balls, up through his cock and into my depths. I knelt there and absorbed the feeling, my surprised brain taking it all in and storing it, to be replayed over and over in thrilling detail. The first time I was fucked by a man. My first load of semen.

Then I became aware that Mr Bradley's cock was shrinking and it slipped out and he lay on his back, looking dazed.

"Did you enjoy that?" he asked.

"That was amazing," i said. "My first time."

"Me too," he replied. "I thought it's what you wanted."

"Never thought about it before," I lied. "But you're so beautiful and masculine and sexy."

"You were looking at me," he continued. "You kept looking at my crotch and it just turned me on. Honestly, I have never even touched a guy before. But you made it feel like it does with a woman."

"That's what i wanted," I said. "To be like a woman, seduced by a man. And it's extra exciting because you're my tutor, so it's kind of wrong. And you're older. And you're black. I loved being fucked by a black man."

"Why does it make a difference?" he asked.

"I don't know. It just feels wrong. And that makes it more exciting."

I didn't really know how to explain to him. I felt uncomfortable talking about it, but I decided to try.

"Maybe it's something to do with the age-old, completely unnecessary struggle for dominance between the races. Maybe. But I also want to have sex with Indian men. Cocky, big-bellied brown guys with a chip on their shoulder and a need to prove themselves by dominating white men."

Mr Bradley grunted his assent, so I carried on.

"I have never had sex with a Chinese or Japanese man, but I want to. I like fat men. I Iike hairy men. But most of all I like sucking black cock and now I know I love being fucked by a black man. Well, I like being fucked by Mr Bradley."

"Lie on your back," he said firmly. "I'll fuck you like a woman. Put your legs in the air."

I did as I was told and he lay between my legs and kissed me again.

"My soppy little white person," he said affectionately, and before I could reply, he had thrust his cock back into me. I wrapped my legs around him and let myself be transported to a blissful world of benign dominance and submission. He pumped me as if he owned me. He held me by the ankles and stared into my eyes and I could see he was deep in thought, weighing up what I had said. Was he enjoying this more because I was white? Maybe he was racist in that respect but had never realised it before.

I had been convinced it had been his idea all along to get me into his house and seduce me, and when i was looking at his cock and balls bobbling beneath his trousers, I thought he was trying to tempt me. And when he had mounted me doggy-style, I assumed it was his favourite position, not just the one he thought was how gay anal was done.

I had loved being buggered in that way. It was extra naughty on top of all the other naughty elements like his colour and our teacher-student relationship.

My Bradley leaned down and kissed me, then whispered, "You want some more black man's spunk inside you?"

"Any time," I said, and he immediately launched his creamy jelly into me again.

Eventually we moved into his bedroom, which was bigger and better, and Mr Bradley and I had sex all night long. He took out a camera on a little tripod and filmed me on my knees, sucking his cock, licking his arse and being fucked. I wanked into his crack and he wanked into my mouth. At one point we went into the bathroom and he pissed on me as I knelt in the shower. I opened my mouth and drank his urine. It was Saturday morning when we both fell into a blissful sleep. When I awoke in the late afternoon I found him lying between my legs, penetrating me again.