Unsurprisingly, there was a strange, more formal atmosphere between us the following day when we met. We had intended to have coffee first and discuss the plan of action, but Harry asked me to come straight to his office rather than our usual coffee shop.

At first, I thought it was because that unintended kiss had shaken him as much as it had shaken me. That he wanted to put some formality back into our relationship; to re-establish the tutor – student balance that had been so much eroded.

It surprised me how much I did not want that. I had spent much of the night awake, remembering how soft his lips had felt on mine, how warm his tall, strong body had felt so close to mine; how the smell of his masculinity had filled my nostrils.

For the first time in my life, my sexuality seemed to be awakening, and in a way so unfamiliar I had no idea how to handle it. Though Ian and I had made love many times, nothing in those pleasant but mechanical copulations had come close to eliciting the deep stirrings that were swirling around my inexperienced body.

The department was strangely deserted as I walked along the empty corridors towards Harry’s office. My footsteps echoed and my tentative knock on the solid wood door resonated down passageways which during the week would be thronging with students.

“Come!”

Harry was already at his desk with my papers spread all over its surface when I entered. He smiled broadly at me then gestured towards the chair opposite his.

“Have a seat Polly. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Even as we sat opposite each other at his desk, watching him poring over the charts and diagrams I had submitted to explain one of the more detailed and controversial aspects of my research, I could feel the raw sexuality Harry exuded. I had noticed it many times before but this time, it was much more intense.

That single, unsettling kiss the of previous day dominated my thoughts. It should not have happened; I was engaged, and he was married, his wife had been only yards away from us… But it had happened, and I was not sorry about it.

To my consternation, my body began to respond of its own accord; my chest went tight, my nipples hardened, and a damp patch was definitely growing between my skinny thighs.

“This is excellent work,” Harry looked up from the desk and deep into my eyes. “It’s very original, but I’m not sure this section is quite right.”

He pointed to a corner of the largest plan closest to where he sat, indicating that I should come round to his side of the desk and examine it more closely. I hesitated in case he should notice my inappropriate arousal, then stood slowly up and moved alongside his chair, waiting for the tell-tale sniff that would lead to severe embarrassment.

To my relief, there was no sign of it, but as I stood alongside his chair, feeling the warmth from his body once again and inhaling his strong, masculine scent, to my mind it became even worse.

I cursed myself for not wearing a bra to cover my increasing arousal; Harry could not possibly miss the pronounced pimples on my chest that stood out so clearly through my tight jumper. He could hardly have missed the faint aroma that I was convinced was emanating from beneath the skirt I had unwisely but habitually chosen.

I was almost trembling with discomfort and embarrassment as we talked about the statistical significance of the experimental results and the direction to take my research from there, when I felt the touch of his hand on the back of my calf.

It was so light, so apparently accidental that at first, I barely noticed.

Then it happened again. This time there was no doubt; his fingers were gently stroking the back of my knee.

I glanced down to see Harry’s arm hanging casually down the side of his chair. The conversation stopped completely. Then before my watching eyes, Harry’s fingers rose and began to stroke the back of my thigh again.

What should I do?

There was no question that a married supervisor should not be stroking the thigh of his engaged student. There was no question that I should have stopped him immediately and insisted our relationship remained professional; perhaps that I should even have reported his behaviour to the senior management.

The fact that none of these things even crossed my mind; that my main reaction was one of pleasure and increased arousal made what happened next both consensual and inevitable.

Meeting no resistance or objection, Harry’s fingers progressed slowly but inexorably in long, slow, strokes, up the back of my thigh, moving from left to right, the gentle pressure between my knees easing my legs open the tiniest fraction.

My chest was tight, my hands shaking but no thought of stopping him entered my mind.

Moments later, his fingertips had risen up the back of my thighs to the hem of my knickers and were toying with the elastic at the base of my buttocks. I shivered with pleasure but still said and did nothing.

Then in his boldest move yet, Harry’s fingers moved between my upper thighs and began to touch and fondle my vulva through its protective gusset.

The sensations that shot through my body made me shake. To my shame, resistance still never crossed my mind, I simply closed my eyes and revelled in the slow, smooth, gentle fingering that I was receiving.

However wrong it was, I could feel my body responding eagerly. Lubrication simply oozed from me, soaking through my knickers and onto his active hand. I grasped the edge of Harry’s desk to steady myself as tremors of pleasure rippled through my lower belly and down my trembling thighs.

My legs parted of their own accord, giving him freer access to my cotton covered slit. Seizing his chance; Harry’s fingers immediately slipped inside the tight elastic and began to toy with the complicated collection of flesh within.

The first, small orgasm followed swiftly after that; on my feet, fully dressed, leaning heavily on the edge of Harry’s desk. My legs were parted; his strong, dark hand deep inside my knickers.

From that moment on, I was putty in his hands. Slipping his fingers from my knickers, Harry rose to his feet and we began to kiss. My arms flew around his neck and I hung there, my lips fixed to his, tongues deep inside each other’s mouths as his hands made short work of my skirt and panties.

Bared from the waist down, the cool air in the room on my moist vulva made my nakedness even more exciting an arousing. I made to kiss him once more but with a momentum that literally swept me off my feet, Harry lifted me bodily from the floor and laid me across the pages of research we were supposed to be studying, completely exposed from the waist down.

Still reeling from my first orgasm, I looked up dewy eyed into his handsome black-skinned face as he quickly and efficiently dropped his trousers and pants to his knees.

Dimly aware that something long, thick and black had been released, I watched helplessly as he shuffled towards where I lay. I felt strong hands firmly parting my knees; I felt the heat of a powerful male body on my inner thighs; I felt something large and smooth being rubbed up and down my tingling slit.

I felt it parting my inner lips, stretching me. I felt a powerful, irresistible pressure…

According to the digital clock on his office wall, Harry’s long, thick, black cock entered my pale, skinny body for the first time at ten thirty-seven that Sunday morning. It is a moment I will remember for the rest of my life; the moment I finally understood what sex and desire really meant.

The moment I finally became a real woman.

There was no pain when he entered me, no clumsy experimentation, just pure physical sexual exhilaration.

All I knew or cared about was that my body was being filled almost to bursting by something huge, firm and, unlike in my defloration, very much desired. Sawing back and forth, allowing my body just enough time to adapt, he gradually worked the whole of his erection into my tight, desperately lubricating vagina.

There was a moment of stillness when he bottomed out inside me.

I lay on my back on the desk looking up into his handsome face, at his powerful chest and shoulders then down across my own flat skinny tummy to the place where our bodies were now joined, his dark pubic triangle grinding hard against my own.

“Are you okay Polly?” he whispered.

Was I okay? My belly felt as full as it had ever felt, my entrance was stretched tighter than it had ever been, even by Dave. My chest felt tight too and I could hear my heart thumping in my ears.

Was this what okay felt like? All I knew was that it felt good and I did not want it to stop.

I looked deep into his dark eyes, bit my lower lip hard, and nodded.

Harry returned the smile, then a look of determination crossed his face… and he began to fuck me.

My God did that man fuck me.

I will never forget the shock, amazement and sheer delight that racked my body as it was fucked properly for the first time. The man was and remains an expert.

Sex with Dave had been painful; sex with Ian was pleasant but unremarkable. Sex with Harry was nothing short of a revelation.

Starting very slowly, barely rocking back and forth deep within me, he slowly but surely tuned my stunned, inexperienced body into his. As the pace and length of his strokes gradually increased, so I felt myself opening for him. My legs spread wide of their own accord, my juices flowed more and more freely; my back arched spontaneously to make the angle of penetration both easier and more arousing.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

I could hear my own breathing becoming deeper and noisier as the slow thudding sounds from between my thighs grew louder, wetter and faster.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

“Mmmmmm!”

I sighed as the pleasure mounted.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

The thudding became faster, then became an earthy slapping sound as lubrication oozed from me. A deep and powerful aroma began to fill the room; the pungent, feral smell of two human bodies becoming one.

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

As my juices began to churn, so the sounds became wetter still and sharper in their tone. By now Harry’s thrusts had reached full depth, drawing back until only his head remained within me, then surging forward until his hips struck mine with a resounding collision of flesh, and his head drove my cervix high into my belly.

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

This was sex the like of which I had never dreamed of; raw, passionate and for me, unbelievably exhilarating; far beyond anything I had experienced before, either with Dave or my fiancé.

Slap-Slap! Slap-lap!

“MMMMM!”

Slap-Slap-Slap-Slap!

“MmmmoooohhhhmyyyGodddYeeSSSS!”

The first ever full-on vaginal orgasm of my life struck right there and then, the first time he took me, leaving me a stunned mass of female confusion and depositing a pool of slimy goo on the polished surface of his desk.

Slap-Slap-Slap-Slap!

“JeeeesusChhriiisst!”

The second followed close on its heels. I bit the fleshy part of my thumb hard to try and stifle the noise but was too far gone to keep quiet.

Slap-Slap-Slap-Slap! Slap-Slap-Slap-Slap!

“Ohhhmyyy Goddd!”

I have had many orgasms at his hands since then, but I will never forget that first amazing, climactic moment when everything suddenly made sense. The moment when, in full-on, uncontrolled orgasm, my eyes flew open wide, my body went into spasm, my mind turned to mush, and I finally understood what being a complete, sexual woman really meant.

Harry’s hands were on my legs now, holding me tightly, spreading my thighs yet wider and pulling my wide-open vulva towards his advancing cock with every powerful forward thrust of his hips.

‘SLAP-SLAP-SLAP-SLAP!”

“MMMMMMMMYYYEEESSSSS!”

Despite cumming helplessly yet again, I could feel Harry’s powerful black body becoming tense. A moment later, his rhythm began to break, and his strokes became erratic. Strange grunting noises escaped his lips too and I dimly realised he was beginning the short, sharp strokes that would bring him to his own climax.

“Are you safe?” he grunted between thrusts.

Naïve and still reeling from my orgasms I did not understand what he meant.

“I’m going to cum any second, Polly! Are you on the pill?”

Harry’s voice sounded desperate, but my orgasm-fuddled brain was still too slow to react.

“Oh fuuucckk! NnnggGGGHHHH!”

The sounds that escaped his lips as his own climax struck were more animal than human. The next thing I knew, the amazing appendage that had brought so much pleasure was being pulled unceremoniously from my spasming vagina. Moments later, something warm and sticky was being sprayed over my lower belly.

“NNNNGGHHH!”

I looked between my microscopic breasts and along my skinny tummy to see thick, cream-coloured goo surging from the end of Harry’s cock and onto my pale flesh. Rope after rope spurted from the tiny lips at its tip, matting my pubic hair, filling my tummy button completely then running down my sides and onto the shiny desktop.

I stared, part fascinated, part horrified at the first full-on male ejaculation I had ever seen. It seemed to last forever, Harry’s body twisting and contorting as the spasms struck and what seemed like oceans of thick, creamy fluid were sprayed over my naked belly.

Eventually the spurting slowed and stopped, and a form of calm came over us. I watched spellbound as Harry squeezed and milked the last few drops of semen from his cock and onto my pubic mound, then leaned over and kissed me lightly between my tiny boobs.

“That was close,” he laughed as he regained his balance and gasped for breath.

My chest heaving, I looked up at the man who had just provided such extraordinary and intense pleasure. The surge of emotion that filled my heart, chest and brain was unlike any I had felt before. Still trembling with the aftershocks of the first vaginal orgasm of my life, I was barely capable of conscious thought, let alone speech or movement.

“Here you go,” he smiled, handing me a fistful of tissues from a box on a nearby filing cabinet.

I must have looked puzzled because he grinned.

“To clean yourself up,” he added, nodding at the mess on my belly.

I raised myself unsteadily onto my elbows and surveyed the scene of the crime. It was indeed a mess; my belly, pubic hair and inner thighs glistened with a combination of my churned juices and Harry’s semen.

My hands were still shaking as I began to mop up the slimy goo while Harry pulled his underpants and trousers back up, hiding the long but now flaccid appendage that had so recently been inside me.

“Did you enjoy it?” he asked softly.

Unable to reply, I looked into his handsome face and tried not to cry with emotion.

“You’ve never done anything like this before, have you?” he asked, seeing my confusion.

“What... what do you mean?” I stammered as he took the dirty tissues from me and threw them into the waste bin.

“I mean, it felt as if you’d never had a quick, dirty, no-strings fuck before,” he stroked my hair and shoulders. “It almost looked like you’d never even had an orgasm before either?”

I was too embarrassed to confirm and too honest to deny either of his assertions.

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d go for it. I could tell you were interested – you were sending out all the signs, but I wasn’t sure you’d go all the way. You don’t seem the type,” he paused and grinned. “At least you didn’t!”

“What… what signs?” I stammered, amazed.

Harry looked at me knowingly.

“What signs, she asks?” he laughed. “I like it. Sweet and innocent even now. You’re a very special girl Polly.”

He helped me to my feet. My knees were still unstable as I clumsily pulled my clothes back on and tried to behave as if this had not been the major life-changing event I already knew it was.

“You are on the pill, aren’t you?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Ian and I... we use condoms,” I stammered.

“Well, if we’re going to make this a regular thing, you’d better take some precautions.”

The ease with which he spoke these words told even silly, naïve me that Harry had been in a similar position many times before; that I was by no means the first young student to have felt the full force of his considerable seductive powers or the pleasure of his equally considerable sexual prowess.

“I... I’ll get a prescription.”

I had mumbled the words before I realised their implication. Without thinking, I had just told Harry and indeed myself that not only did I not regret what had just happened, I already wanted it to happen again and was prepared to go to some lengths to make it possible.

But that didn’t mean I wasn’t feeling embarrassed and awkward. No-one in the world had made me feel like Harry had just made me feel. No-one in the world had made me cum as he had made me cum; no-one in the world had seen me so helpless, so exposed, so sexually vulnerable.

With my tummy still covered by a thin film of semen, my chest and face burning from my orgasms and my clothes hanging uncomfortably from my sweaty frame, I felt a desperate need to get away, to get clean and to try and understand what had just taken place.

“I… I need to go…” I stammered, clumsily collecting the papers that were still strewn across Harry’s desk and shoving them into my bag.

My hands were shaking too much to get them into the small space.

“You don’t have to,” Harry reassured me. “Here, let me help you.”

He took the bag from me and slipped the work sheets neatly inside. Then he smoothed down my clothes and kissed me on the lips again. I couldn’t look him in the eye but made no attempt to move away as his tongue entered my mouth.

Harry tasted salty from perspiration, but there was another, deeper flavour that was to become very familiar over the coming months; the taste of a powerful man who has just cum hard himself.

“I hope you don’t regret what we just did,” he asked when our lips finally parted.

“No!” I replied emphatically, then embarrassed by my eagerness added: “It was just… just a bit… of a surprise.”

“It was for me too,” he smiled again. “You were great Polly; you're a much better fuck than I expected. You enjoyed it more that you thought you would too, am I right?”

I blushed. No-one had ever complimented on my sexual performance before. As far as I knew, I had just laid back and let it happen, but his words seemed genuine.

“I mean it Polly. Okay, you’re not very experienced, but what you did naturally was amazing!”

I blushed again.

“Shall we… fuck again soon?” he asked pleadingly. “Would you like that?”

I paused, my head buzzing. Deep down I knew that anything I said there and then would come not from the head or even the heart, but from somewhere between my thighs.

I raised my head, looked into his deep dark eyes.

And nodded.

***

So, like many women before me, I had entered the office as one of Harry’s students and left as one of his conquests. I had entered thinking I knew what sex was like; I left knowing how wrong I had been.

It should never have happened once. I should have walked or even run away; I should have reported it to the University authorities. Perhaps I should have told my fiancé too.

But I did none of these things.

Instead a few days later, I came back for more. It was every bit as good as the first.

A few days after that, we fucked again. It was even better.

From then on, our tutorial sessions became much, much more intense and much more frequent.

I became and still am, a full and very willing member of Harry’s harem.

For the past year, our relationship has mostly involved snatching moments of extreme intimacy whenever opportunities arise. We have only twice gone to a hotel, the rest of our encounters being in his car, in my student flat, in the open air and of course, in his office many more times.

In between dates, he sends me messages telling me where to go, what to do, what to wear – or increasingly what not to wear - when I go out. I find this very arousing indeed.

Sometimes he sends me links to erotic stories before our dates, suggesting what he intends to do with me, getting me turned on even before we meet. The anticipation alone can make me shiver as my body prepares itself for the pleasure to come.

It is of course through these stories that I came across Jenny and her work.

To be honest, it was Harry’s idea that I got in touch with her and offered my own story, persuading me it would be far more intense to see my own sex life in print than simply reading about other people’s lives and fantasies and acting them out.

So far, he has been one hundred percent right; just telling my story to a stranger has been one of the most arousing experiences of my life so God alone knows how I will feel if and when it gets published.

The thought of thousands of unknown men and women reading about and being turned on by skinny, dowdy, flat-chested me being fucked silly by an older, stronger, deeply attractive black man makes me shiver with arousal and excitement.

And of course, until now, the details of my defloration have been kept secret even from Harry. I wonder how he will feel when he reads about what happened.

Since Harry first fucked me, my life has become thrilling, both physically and emotionally. I know it’s wrong to cheat on my fiancé, but it’s the most daring, exciting and sinful thing I have ever done, and I just can’t help myself.

Even the word ‘fuck’ is one I would never have used before, yet now it seems to describe what we do perfectly.

Deep down I have known from the beginning that he is only using me for sex. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only girl he’s fucking too, but he is amazing both in bed and out, and I can’t bring myself to end the relationship.

I tell myself that I am using him as much as he is using me, but it isn’t really true; I have fallen in love with him a little bit. Okay, I have fallen in love with him quite a lot, but I’m not naïve enough to believe he feels the same about me.

Deep down I know I will eventually get hurt, but he likes me and enjoys fucking me and that’s good enough for me now.

I can’t give all this excitement up just yet; the sex alone is reason enough to stay.

Sex with Harry is like nothing I have ever felt before, far better than with my fiancé and on a different planet from my painful, messy defloration. Sex with Harry is better than I had imagined sex ever could be, and as he teaches me more and more, it’s getting better all the time.

He has had me on my back, on my face, on my knees, on a chair, against the wall, even straddling him like a cowboy rides a horse. I can suck cock properly too, something I used to think disgusting, but which now brings me almost as much pleasure as Harry tells me it brings him.

He has even cum in my mouth; a thing I never thought I would ever allow let alone enjoy.

I love the way that, after we have been together, the soreness and tingling in my vulva and breasts can keep the memories fresh in my mind for days. And I love the little nips and tiny pinch marks he regularly leaves on my body, marking me secretly as his.

But there is much more to it than just being regularly fucked; Harry makes me feel as good emotionally as he does physically. Being wanted sexually by such an obviously attractive man makes me feel good about myself in ways I never understood before.

For the first time in my life, I feel attractive; maybe even sexy.

For the first time in my life I feel desirable and desired, wanted as well as wanting.

For the first time in my life, I feel like every woman deserves to feel. Special.

Being with Harry has quite literally, changed my life. After only a few weeks as his lover, I began to dress more sexily, to style my hair more carefully; to take a great deal more care over my make-up. These days I carry myself better too; wearing higher heels than ever before, holding my head higher too; moving with much more confidence and an increasing awareness of my own sexuality.

And the result? After two decades of being dull and invisible, for the first time in my life, men have started to notice that I exist. What’s more, some have even tried to chat me up; a few have even attempted to seduce me.

The effect on my self-esteem is beyond description; finally, I understand what being a real woman is all about.

But what about my fiancé Ian? That’s where I begin to feel bad again.

Although he and I are still engaged, there is no date fixed for a wedding and right now, I don’t want there to be. I still love him, and we still occasionally make love, but I am no longer the girl I was when he proposed, and I suspect I can never be the wife he needs.

I know all this will not endear me to Jenny’s many followers and readers. I know that in most people’s minds I am nothing but an unfaithful slut or cunt – more words I would never have used before Harry fucked me.

Most people would think a slut like me deserves a comeuppance and might well have one in the offing.

But I’m not hard, though I am selfish. I do have a conscience. When I’m alone, it does bother me that I am cheating on my fiancé and doing it so frequently. Ian has done nothing to deserve this.

It bothers me that sex with Harry is making me dissatisfied with the life I had previously desired so much and that I might hurt the man I still love, though desire less.

It even bothers me that I am taking Harry away from his wife and children, though in my defence, he seduced me, not the other way around. If Harry wasn’t fucking me, I’m sure it would be another girl on his desk, legs apart, knickers on the floor.

Even now I have no reason to believe I’m his only lover.

And of course, it bothers me that my whole future is up in the air and that I have no idea where I want it to land. But when I am with Harry, the sheer physical and emotional pleasure that being his lover brings is more than able to drive all such feelings from my mind and replace them with… something that can at times approach pure physical ecstasy.

I’m not sure where my life will go from here.

I have no illusions that Harry will leave his wife and children for me and when I’m thinking clearly, I wouldn’t want him to either. He is far too unfaithful to be a good prospect as a life partner, and I am not one of those dewy-eyed girls who believes she can change a man’s fundamental nature through love.

I know it will all eventually end, and most probably end badly. I know that someday he will dump me and move on to another conquest, and that I will then suffer the pain that Jenny’s readers will no doubt think I deserve.

When my PhD is finished, I will have to find a job and move out of student accommodation, so perhaps it will all reach a natural conclusion then anyway.

But there is at least another eighteen months of pleasure before that happens.

And Harry was right; now that I can see my own story in print, I can confidently say that confession has been good for my soul.

My body has other needs entirely!