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.
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The Pakistani refugee Asma lay on her bed in her working-class, western suburb, rented Government house in Melbourne, idly playing with her clit. Her conscious mind hardly registered the pleasure this action was sending through her body. Her mind was elsewhere. Three days earlier she had noticed that the Vietnamese woman Ai, her closest friend at Victoria University, looked sad and somewhat down. Finally, her persistent questioning paid off and Ai reluctantly explained she and her eldest daughter were to have a doubles sexfight contest, but her daughter now could not participate. That meant that Ai's reputation would be trashed for pulling out and apart from the shame of avoiding a fight she would have difficulty in obtaining future betting contests.
Asma's question was, "What is a sexfight?"
When Ai explained she immediately offered her services to replace Ai's daughter Tranh. Being a minority North Vietnamese arrival with few Vietnamese friends in Australia, as the defeated refugees from the South still hated their Northern cousins even though the war had ended nearly 50 years before, Ai had no options and accepted the offer. Asma would be having her first sexfight in four days time on Saturday night.
Thinking of Ai made her think of their lovemaking which had begun a couple of weeks ago and, if anything since then, had intensified. Her fingers quickened when she switched on her phone and replayed a video that the petite 46-year-old Vietnamese had sent to her of the two of them joined by a flexible double dildo entwined in 69, then cutting into Asma using a strap on her lover. She searched her phone for the images of herself at a Vietnamese wedding Ai had taken her to. There she had, along with the other finalists, discarded her micro lurex nightdress to parade topless in her thong and heels at the beauty contest final. She noticed there was a missed message from Victoria University. Asma opened it and read how she had topped the first-semester Business Studies results.
In the last three months, her life had changed. She had morphed like a caterpillar does into a butterfly. No longer bound by tradition and her burqa, she attended University (albeit as a Government assisted entrant at Victoria's least prestigious university so that unemployment numbers would be lower) in modern sexy clothes Ai had bought for her and kept at her house. Even at home, she wore a thong and open bra beneath her shapeless chador, and Ai was teaching her to drive. A woman driving a car. Unheard of in her hometown northwest city of Peshawar, in the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province.
The family had arrived in Australia 4 years ago by the traditional route. They had saved their money, bought a flight to Indonesia, contacted the people smugglers, destroyed their passports and paid the money for a seat on a fishing boat. After 2 days the boat been intercepted by the Australian navy and her family along with the others on the boat was taken for processing at Christmas Island which was closer to Indonesia than Australia but gave them Australian sanctuary and finally, processing for entry to Australia.
There was only one thing missing in her new life: cock. Her 52-year-old husband was 6 years older than her and was a traditionalist. A wife was for producing children, and once she was pregnant nothing further happened under the sheets until another child was needed. It was now 12 years since they had last fucked, if you could call the 5 minutes it took of which 3 minutes was him undressing fucking. A short missionary union till he came with no thought of her needs. His real pleasure had been the whores he visited regularly back home, and many of her friends had told her he was a frequent visitor of the hairdresser and massage shops here. Though it was long ago she still remembered the thick cock he wielded.
She was a tall 5ft 7, had a longer face than many of the Indians over the border which was highlighted with dark, memorising eyes and prominent eyebrows. Her nose was sharp and hooked gave her an aristocratic look. She had nicely shaped, full, slightly hanging 34C tits, a rounded belly and a womanly arse that was still firm. Many said she reminded them of Pakistan's first female president, Benazir Bhutto. Moreover, like most women from the subcontinent she had a full mat of pubic hair. Attractive for her age? Yes, but it did not matter with her husband's lack of interest in her.
She thought longingly of his cock. It was longer than most at 9 inches, but nothing when compared to the black cocks she had seen on the net. But its girth: her husband's meat was far, far thicker than those black cocks. It was considerably wider than a beer can and had several lead pencil-thick veins standing out on the shaft which ended in a thick bulbous helmet far broader than the shaft. Pity he didn't want to use it on her. The lack of cock and the fact he was bringing out a second wife, ostensibly as her niece, were the only downsides to her life, along with the fact her youngest daughter now shunned her preferring a depraved life with her Sudanese university friends. She wondered if the Pakistani 18-year-old woman she was sponsoring as a niece, but actually to be a second wife for Afsar, would be able to take it fully as she had in the distant past.
Asma was changing for bed when she heard movement in the corridor. Samreen, her youngest daughter, was living away from home at the University hostel and her husband Afsar was with his cronies at the coffee hookah shop. It had to be her 18-year-old son Fahad. Unbeknown to him she had seen him fist his cock and cum 3 days before in the bathroom. She had masturbated thinking of it. She listened intently and heard heavy breathing in the corridor. Instead of putting on her nightgown she lay on the bed and spread her legs and played with her clit and tits like a stepmother in a Japanese JAV video. Her breathing quickened before degenerating into moans as she came for the unseen watcher outside the partly open door. She smiled as she heard footsteps rush to the bathroom and the door slam.
The next morning at breakfast she noticed Fahad's nervousness and worried appearance, but she acted normally, and he slowly relaxed. That evening as he studied, she knocked on the door and entered his bedroom. His frantic movements showed he had been flogging his cock watching porn. She sat beside her thin-bodied, nerdish looking, bespectacled 18-year-old son and said, "We need to talk, my son. I don't know how to say this."
