Tears ran down the Pakistani forty-two-year-old Asma's face, and her body still shuddered from the aftershocks of the final massive orgasm that had left her defeated in the sexfight against the Pakistani newcomer brought to Oz by her husband as a second Muslim wife. She looked up from her prone position on the floor to see the nude body of the twenty-two-year-old Rahmi Syed standing, legs apart straddling her, ready to deliver her victory piss shower.
With her win, Rahmi had replaced Asma as the main wife of the fifty-two-year-old Afsar and relegated Asma to little better than a housekeeper. To Asma, it was like a slow-motion scene from a movie with every detail emphasised as the 5 ft 7 Pakistani reached down, took Asma's left hand and roughly removed the wedding ring which she placed on her left-hand third finger. Asma's eyes took in every detail; the attractive gloating face, the 33B tits, slightly smaller but firmer than her 34Bs, the same one inch long but thicker, erect nipples. All of these were covered with streaks of ejaculate that had squirted from Asma over Rahmi during her final losing orgasm.
As Rahmi parted the long lips of her shaved, bristle length landing strip slit she flaunted its still aroused and swollen, slowly pulsing clit that still stood proud of its hood. A droplet of ejaculate formed on its tip. Gravity won out and it dropped onto Asma's body, followed by the first droplets of her piss.
Rahmi had arrived from Pakistan that morning and Asma had woken almost orgasmic in anticipation. After twelve years of no sex except for her recent fucking of her eighteen-year-old son, for the past ten days since her seduction of Afsar, she had been fed cock in every way possible by her husband. And not just any cock. Although only 9 inches in length its circumference was nearly that of a champagne bottle.
But that wasn't the real reason for her state of bliss. Today the twenty-two-year-old Rahmi Syed was arriving from Pakistan on an Etihad flight. The paperwork said her niece was on the plane. Niece, that was a joke. Corrupt paperwork back home had changed a future second bride for Afsar into her niece. She acknowledged that a Muslim man could have four wives and that Afsar had not fucked her for years before the last couple of weeks, but it would still be a kick in the teeth to have to be cook and housekeeper for the new twenty-two-year-old fuck toy of her husband. Since her newly rekindled sex life with Afsar, she knew he wanted to see Asma sexfight and beat this Rahmi and deny her his cock. She reached across to suck her sleeping husband's cock.
Two and a half hours later she was in the car travelling to Tullamarine airport sitting on a still throbbing arse as Afsar, awoken by her cock sucking, felt like anal for breakfast. Twenty-five minutes later they were waiting at Arrivals holding a sign with Rahmi's name on it. Passengers exited, each potential candidate ignoring the sign to be greeted by friends or relatives. Then success. The sign was acknowledged, and the trolley headed towards Afsar and her
Surprise. It was no wide-eyed, plainly dressed woman from a small country village, but someone who would not look out of place in the affluent F6 or F7 sectors of Islamabad. She was as tall as Asma, probably more attractive facially, slimmer with slightly smaller tits, and was dressed in skintight jeans and a pink, tight, off the shoulder, midriff-bearing crop top. At least she was wearing runners not high slut heels like me, thought Asma.
Introductions were made and Asma took a step closer to the new arrival, extending one stocking clad leg that ended in her five-inch slut platform shoe. She knew the action would stretch her board tight black skirt and reveal the outline of the garter belt holding up her stockings. It was a French-made brand, Maison Lejaby, and was special in that the extra short straps enabled the accompanying stockings to be longer than standard. Specially made to match the short straps they reached level with the bottom of her cunt and meant miniskirts and, at a stretch, some micro-minis could be worn with the stockings. She had recently discovered Afsar was a lingerie freak and it was in fact this that had initiated their recent sex. "Match that bitch," she thought.
If she expected a reaction, she got it. But it was not what she expected as Rahmi reached down to open one of her suitcases and pull out a pair of six-inch-high stilettos. As she bent to buckle the ankle strap, necessary with such long thin heels, she presented Afsar and Asma with her back bent over and the top of her black thong above the waist of the jeans fully visible. "So good to feel a woman again," she sighed. Then as if noticing Asma's pose she reached out and squeezed and shook her belly, smiled sweetly, and said, "I hear it's hard to keep the flab off as you age, but don't give up, keep trying and I am sure you can bring it under control or choose clothes that hide it."
Asma seethed but had no response with Rahmi's exposed taut midriff on display and mentally added another thing she would do to humiliate her in their sexfight. She could hardly wait for the contest later that day. Rahmi continued, "And I hear that it's just as hard to initiate sex drive as you get older. What are you, in your late forties?"
"Forty-two," hissed Asma, but Rahmi ignored her and spoke directly to Afsar sliding her hand through his arm. "So this is whom I am replacing, is it?" Turning back to Asma she said in a condescending voice, "Be careful with those suitcases. Make sure they don't fall off the trolley."
Once they got inside the house a fuming Asma faced the new arrival and ripped off her blouse to display her tits of which only the bottom quarter was covered by her bra. Her exposed nipples quivered. Rahmi laughed and responded by ripping off her pink crop top and aggressively facing Asma. No bra for her, yet her pert tits did not droop. She sized up the older Pakistani woman standing before her. Both had eye-catching faces. Asma's was longer with high prominent cheekbones, a hawk-like nose and green eyes topped with a short, feathered hairstyle that flattered her age. Rahmi's face was rounder, more Iranian, blue-eyed and surrounded with cascading long thick permed hair. Rahmi was slightly slimmer, her hip bones more prominent against her flat belly than Asma's rounder, curved stomach. Asma's full, 34B mounds were hanging out of the supporting quarter cup while the pert 33Bs of Rahmi stood straight and pointed challengingly at the older woman.
Rahmi's gaze never left Asma's eyes as she stood close to her. She enjoyed the fact that Asma kept staring at her firmer, younger tits. She knew they were in incredible shape even though they were natural, and she loved flaunting them, especially like now in front of the woman she would be sexfighting. Rahmi parted her red lips and a sexually inviting look came across her face. Her hands quietly and seductively came up to her breasts and she began to fondle them slowly. She was attempting to stimulate Asma and arouse her, but more importantly, she was sexually challenging her as only a woman could do. With the tactile stimulation, Rahmi's nipples stiffened, and the areolae appeared to widen and spread across the front of her breasts. She smiled, knowing that although her nipples were slightly shorter than Asma's they were far thicker, and that they responded instantly to her touch. Cupping the underside of each breast with her hands she moved slowly forward. Her nipples stood fully erect, and her breasts tingled with the anticipation of contact with Asma's tits.
Suddenly Asma could stand it no longer. Everything boiled over. She slammed Rahmi back against the wall and grabbed at her skin-tight jeans, pulling and breaking the zipper, then ripping them down to just above knee level. With her free hand, she grabbed the landing strip through the minuscule black thong, tugged hard and, as Rahmi screamed, raked her nails along the lips of her rival's labia. Rahmi retaliated immediately and reached down and grabbed the firm cheeks of Asma's arse, ripped her skirt and thrust one leg between her rival's legs and felt the wetness of Asma's cunt on her bare thigh. With her fingers clawed ser nails raked Asma's tits delighting in the sound of her screams. Entwined, they pulled hair, tried to scratch, crushed tit against tit, hissed and spat at each other.
"Ugly Bitch."
