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Derek wasn’t sure about this. He had been having fantasies about getting buggered, but now that he was in a situation where he felt he might really make it happen, he was less sure.
Mandra was a good looking man all right; short and stocky but solid, strong and hairy. And Asian, which was the clincher in Derek’s book. Well, he was almost bound to be Asian, because they were in west London, where most people were Indian, Pakistani and so on. A white guy like Derek stuck out like a sore thumb, and that was how he liked it. He wanted to feel watched. He liked being the object of scrutiny and perhaps lust. You couldn’t tell, because even in a room full of people when he felt like half of the men were thinking about having him, you couldn’t tell, because they spoke in their own Languages, not English.
Mandra was a teacher at a local school and he spoke good English. Derek was a fellow teacher and had got to know his rather exotic colleague and been invited to gatherings in Southall, gatherings where the air was full of the aroma of Indian spices, because someone was always cooking. Perhaps, he thought, that was why many of the men had big bellies.
That suited him fine, though. The porn he watched featured Indian “uncles”, who tended to be one-track-minded ordinary men, not muscled young studs but dirty old fuckers who would fuck their nieces and, in their absence, the nephews.
Derek loved the thought of the sweat and the kind of depravity as these fat guys thrust their fat cocks into young arseholes. You could keep the staged, unreal movies with their pretty boys and their suave seducers; what Derek wanted was the real man experience, and he had seen it often enough on the net; now he wanted to experience it for himself.
Today he was at a mainly male gathering to watch a cricket match. The Indian guys were all into cricket and so was he, so he felt quite comfortable. It was a small terraced house and it was packed with Indian men. They squeezed past him in the corridor, they leaned against him when he sat watching the match on TV, and they leaned over him when he bent into the fridge to get a beer.
Eventually he went into the small back garden to get some air. Mandra followed him out and they stood together behind a tall bush, looking at the goldfish pond.
“I know, you know,” Mandra said.
“What?” Mandra touched his arm.
“I know you are attracted to men. It’s okay,” he added as he felt Derek stiffen in self defence.
“I just want you to know that I find you very attractive too. Very.” At that last word he touched Derek’s cock, gaziantep escort an innocent glancing touch that nevertheless sent a shock of excitement through the Englishman.
“But it can’t be me to fulfill your fantasy.”
“What fantasy?” Derek asked weakly.
“To be with an Indian man,” Mandra continued. “I’ve seen you in there. Some of them fancy you and you’re fascinated. Am I right?”
“Okay,” Derek admitted. “It’s something I’d like to do some time. But it’s not a big deal.”
“You don’t want to… today?” Mandra asked with a slight smile.
“With who?” Derek croaked, his power of speech sabotaged by excitement.
“Well,” Mandra began, clearing his own throat, “There are at least three guys who would like to.”
“Does it matter?” Mandra asked, knowingly. Derek had to admit to himself that it really didn’t. He wasn’t looking for a relationship, just a breathtakingly thrilling sexual encounter.
“Wait here a minute,” Mandra said, and disappeared back inside.
Five minutes later he was back.
“Mehta,” he said. “He lives next door. Go round the back and he’ll let you in.”
Derek had a momentary panic at the thought of being set up in this way. Mandra seemed to sense it and said, “Don’t worry, he’s a good man. I won’t say nothing will happen to you, but nothing you don’t want.”
“Go,” Mandra said urgently. “I have engineered a chance for you.”
Derek went out the back gate and into the next house, looking at Mandra for confirmation as he walked. Mehta was in the kitchen and the back door was open, so Derek walked in and Mehta casually led him upstairs.
In a dark bedroom, Mehta undressed Derek quietly and skillfully, stroking and admiring him as he did so., then told him to lie down on the futon, a low-slung, wooden-framed bed with a firm mattress. He left the room briefly and returned with a tall man with a bushy moustache.
“Hi,” said the man. “I’m Ashraf. I’m sorry I can’t stay long today. Maybe another time.”
Ashraf dropped his trousers and pulled his shirt off over his head. His firm brown body was hairless apart from a few in the pit of his chest and at the top of his thighs. His uncut penis stood at attention and Ashraf loomed above Derek as he began to masturbate. Derek though for a moment how ludicrous it looked, a man with his trousers around his ankles, jacking off above him, but then he relaxed a little and began to enjoy the sight and what it might have in store for him. Then Ashraf knelt beside him and the wanking because more personal, more real. Derek could smell the man’s crotch and the vibrations of his action filled him with excitement. His own cock, which had been semi-erect partly through fear was now hard and willing.
Ashraf straightened his back and then fell forward as a jet of spunk leapt from his cock and landed on Derek’s chest. Ashraf adjusted his position to deliver the rest of his load into Derek’s pubic hair, on his cock and balls. Derek thought for a second that he might come too, but it passed and he lay like happy jelly on the futon while his first suitor reorganized his clothing and left.
Again, Mehta left the room for a few seconds and when he returned, after a muffled conversation, he had a box of tissues from which he took a handful and wiped off his friend’s spunk , leaving Derek damp and cool in his middle section.
Behind Mehta was a Sikh whom Derek had noticed at the party. He wore a blue turban and what looked like a knee-length dress. Derek was fascinated, and almost gasped with trepidation when Mehta left the room and closed the door, leaving him with this strange apparition. In spite of the dress, the man was overwhelmingly male, as his long grey beard attested.
He knelt above Derek’s face and squatted so his balls, naked under the garment, flopped onto Derek’s face in the darkness. The smell of the man’s body was intoxicating: a clean, masculine aroma, as if he had been expecting this and had prepared himself. The man adjusted his position so his balls lifted from Derek’s chin and he poked his penis at Derek’s mouth. Derek opened obligingly and took the hard Indian cock into his mouth.
“Do you like my cock?” the man asked with a mellifluous, fruity tone. Derek couldn’t answer because the cock was in his mouth, but he put his hands up inside the robe and stroked the man’s hairy flanks and then his balls.
The man shuffled above him and said, “I think you want to worship my ass.”
With that he squatted anew, his wicked crack over Derek’s face. He was right, too. Derek did want to worship his arse. He licked it eagerly, droolingly and the man moved smoothly above him, apparently used to this and able to move in such a way as to give both giver and receiver the best angles and the greatest thrills Derek was flooded with desire for this man and the others in the house who had had or were about to have their way with him. He reached down and felt his erection, bigger and harder than he had ever known, and had to stop himself from coming, realizing that there was more to come.
Suddenly the Sikh knelt up and daylight flooded into the silk-lined cave where Derek’s face had been living in beautiful, abject submission.
“I come in your mouth,” the man said, jerking himself furiously and quickly launching his load, which Derek received eagerly, opening his mouth and sucking the man’s penis as his semen gushed in.
And with that the sikh was gone and all Derek had was the taste of his spunk and the fabulous smell of his arse.
Mehta came in and said “You okay?”
Derek looked up at him and gave a helpless smile.
Next up was Tahir, a tall, strong man with a furry body and shapely muscled arms and legs. Derek braced himself because he thought he was about to be fucked. Tahir lifted him into the air, flipped him over and planted him on the bed on his knees. The he proceeded to lick Derek’s arsehole, as if wanting to devour him. The way he did it was so animalistic, Derek could feel the roughness of the man’s tongue against his tender, unaccustomed skin in that place where no one had licked him before. Again the urge to come gripped Derek and again he fought it, because although he had been promised three men and this was the third, Mehta was still there. He stood in a corner, watching and feeling himself through his trousers.
When Tahir had rimmed Derek to the point of insanity, he crouched behind him and Derek heard his breath accelerate and the rustling sounds of masturbation before a spurting flood of semen hit his crack and rolled in an unbelievably exciting slide down over his browneye and into the channels of his crotch. Tahir wiped his cock on Derek’s buttocks and left the room.
That left Derek and his host, Mehta, who quickly undressed to reveal a short, squat body with a big belly and a sizeable erection sheltering beneath it.
Still kneeling, Derek watched as Mehta moved around the room to position himself behind the expectant, obedient white man. Mehta massaged Tahir’s semen into Derek’s crack and used the natural lubricant to slide a finger right into his arse.
Then with a confident, proprietorial flourish, Mehta thrust his cock in there and filled Derek’s cavity with hot Indian meat. He plunged deep into Derek’s private property and announced himself as the new owner, his balls slapping at Derek’s craven arse.
Mehta fucked Derek like a wolf, brisk and rough and determined and holding nothing back. It took him mere seconds to come, squeezing his spunk out and into this endlessly accommodating English anus. He poured semen in and then quickly withdrew and dribbled the remains in Derek’s valley.
“Next time just you and me,” Mehta whispered. “I will do all those things and more. You are my personal project and I fuck you until you come.”
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