This can be read and enjoyed as a stand-alone story, but deeper character depth and the effects of the plots, rivalries, twists and turns of Asma's sexual journey will be found by reading the entire series.
It was the night following her 3peat with Afsar; her first fuck with him for 15 years and the night she had taken his monster cock in her cunt, mouth and arse, draining him 3 times in the process. Afsar had mentioned that tonight would be the Annual meeting of his Pakistani Refugees in Australia Group. It had originally started at the Coffee/hookah shop where he met daily with his Pakistani middle-aged cronies and with Government funding had evolved into something larger. Normally she would have claimed University work and not attended but after last night's bonding fucking she felt she should attend.
Dressed in full Burqa with only her eyes visible she and Afsar approached the club premises. Due to the Government's search for ethnic votes by funding for minority groups the Pakistani refugees had managed to obtain a peppercorn rent 100-year lease on an old, disused suburban movie theatre and it had been converted into its present use. A win win situation. Spend some taxpayers dollars and make an ethnic new arrival group happy and shore up their votes for the next election.
In the poorly lit street, Asma took one of her husband's hands and ran in over her upper thigh. She heard his gasp and her other hand reached for his groin feeling the instant growth in his cock as he felt the garter belt attached to her stockings. A 9 inch lump of meat, which was small compared to the big black cock she had seen on the net, but not even those could match its Champagne bottle circumference or the amount of seed his balls could hold. Now his hand moved to her tit where he traced the shape of a hard nipple as she wore a quarter cupped bra, and it was accessible through the Burqa material. She extended a leg and raised her floor-length buqa to reveal her high slut-heels.
Afsar had expected it to be a normal annual meeting. Some formalities, a thank you and then a vote to re-elect him unopposed as President. But he had walked into an ambush: a coup he had no idea was planned. Member after member spoke, their wives and daughter sitting beside them dressed not in a burqa or even a full-length chador or abaya. Yes, they wore a hijab on their head and shoulders, but they also wore Western-style clothing. It was an orchestrated attack on Afsar saying he was too much of a traditionalist and had not changed in the new country and unless a change occurred the club was dead and finished.
Afsar slumped beside Asma, defeated. It was his club. He was the man. He had not expected this, was unprepared and as each speaker finished his shoulders and head dropped lower and he held his head in his hands. It was his turn to speak but he did nothing. The moderator was about to close the session and call for a vote when Asma stepped forward. Immediately there was uproar with members calling on the moderator to forbid her speaking as she was a woman. Asma shouted them down saying they wanted to remove tradition, well here was a chance. Allow a woman who was attending university, (though she omitted the fact that it was a third-rate university where unemployed ethnic groups were "directed" to lower the unemployment figures), to speak. Eventually, Afsar's opponents, convinced they had the numbers and nothing she could say would change that, magnanimously allowed her to speak.
"You accuse my husband of being too bound up in traditions, yet nothing could be further from the truth."
She was interrupted by the crowd. "Look at you. You are wearing the full Burqa,' and similar comments.
"Yes, I am wearing the Burqa, but this is how my husband demands I dress all the time. At home and outdoors." She ripped off her Burqa and stood before the crowd of 250. "Look and judge." Asma walked to the seated audience tottering on her slut 7-inch black platform heeled shoes. Her legs were encased in black stockings, far higher than normal stockings and attached by a very short strapped black garter belt that would allow even a mini skirt to be worn. A matching minuscule thong and quarter cup bra that fully exposed her nipples completed her ensemble.
She pointed at various women. "Asali, what do you wear under your Western dress? What about you, Memona? Shaima, you wear a mini here tonight. Show your lingerie. Is there any woman who can match how my husband wants me to dress?"
There was silence until Daumaa stood up. She was 18 and the daughter of Hamza who had been one of Afsar's fiercest critics and she walked down to stand beside Asma. She was a little shorter than Ama's 5 ft 7, younger and more attractive and when she removed her body fitting cocktail dress her white thong and sheer bra revealed a taut body with pert 32B tits.
"I guess this proves what you are doing is nothing special, and just in case you have doubts, Mum come down here."
Her mother Jinari was the same age as Asma, but there the similarity ended. She was short at 5 ft 1, a study 135 pounds with a 40DD 38 44 body encased in a navy-blue mid-calf length tight dress and blazer with a white blouse. She removed her blazer and blouse to reveal a Japanese JAV porn style elaborate lace bra and wriggled out of the skirt displaying that she wore no panties just a huge patch of cunt hair. Close up Asma could see panty lines which showed she had removed her panties while her daughter was taking centre stage. But that detail was too far away for the crowd to see. She looked at Asma, pointed at her tits then removed her Japanese bra. Her huge melons flopped out and she flaunted them to the crowd. But that was only the teaser. In the centre of her 4-inch areolae were 2-inch teats. Nipples would not be the word to describe them. These were teats and slightly smaller replicas of those of a milking cow.
Asma was beaten. Daumaa and her mother Jinari had called her bluff in front of the crowd and won. But then Daumaa couldn't help herself. "Sometimes the old traditions have their use. Just like Rudi Giuliani called up the old ways for Trump, let my mother and me show that Asma is a fake, all talk and no substance. My mother and I will sexfight her to prove that."
