Shazia

I've always had a thing for older men. If I were to practice some Poundland psychotherapy here I would suggest it's because my biological father, my mother's wasteman of a husband, was simply absent. I mean he was physically present until I was about 7 and then he just fucked off. I never did know why he left or where he went, it wasn't really talked about, at least not by us.

I do know that our family was talked about though: "Poor Mrs Begum trying to bring up that child by herself without a man to control her" that sort of thing. I wasn't supposed to hear the comments but frankly it was difficult not to. I also knew that Mum struggled with the bills and often went without to make sure I had school uniform and food on the table.

I first became properly aware when I was at Uni, I had such a crush on my tutor Mr Smithson. Mr S was tall, dark and brooding, probably early 40s, and more than once during tutorial he had to ask me whether I had heard what he was saying. Of course I hadn't. I had drifted off into my world where he was seducing me with his deep eyes and I would undress for him and he would fall in love with my slim brown body and then whisk me off to a luxury hotel for a weekend of debauchery.

But sadly until I was 22 my entire love life had been lived inside my head. Although Mum was still introducing me to nice boys with good prospects I was not interested. I am fairly sure she thought I preferred girls and I was getting more than a little worried when the aunties would get together to discuss what sounded like a full-on intervention in order to get me married off.

Then I met Patrick. I had started work for a local charity in Leicester, my job was to interview homeless people, do a quick assessment of what they needed - other than a home of course - and then refer them to a caseworker. I did like the work and although I had only been there for three months I had already decided I wanted to be a caseworker.

Patrick was the Director, he had been there for about 20 years and was nearing 50. He was helpful and friendly, always direct and to the point and he knew so much about what services were available and what to say to access those services for our clients. He was also popular in the office and the subject of much gossip amongst the women in the team. One of them even described in quite explicit detail exactly what she planned to do to various bits of his anatomy to the extent that I had to excuse myself and head to the bathrooms to calm down.

As I said Patrick was nearly 50 so he was over twice my age; he was also white and I am south asian, of bengali heritage; he was christian and I am a not very observant Muslim, although I do still wear my abaya and hijab for work; he was also, if the gossip was true, newly divorced, and I was so single it was not funny. I had never even kissed a boy.

But he used to make me so hot and bothered, especially the way he used to look at me over the top of his glasses when he thought I could not see him. At first I told myself it was just another of my fanciful crushes, and then, after I had caught him looking at me and he had looked away guiltily, I thought that he was just fetishising me, as if I was someone exotic to him, my headscarf and modest clothing made me unapproachable and therefore attractive. At least that's how my fevered brain was thinking.

Except, of course, I was right. I am sure you already know what happened. He started to take an interest in me at work, he asked me out to lunch one day, we talked easily but I could sense how interested he was when I explained that I did not have a boyfriend and had never had one but I did not see the red flag. I was excited by how interested he was in me and after all the older men I had thought about and lusted over Patrick was the only one who understood me, at least that's how I saw it.

One thing led to another of course, we had lunch again and then again and then he asked me to meet him for a coffee one weekend, which was a big step of course. I was unchaperoned and meeting an older man in public so I was nervous and he sensed that so he suggested we go somewhere quieter, which turned out to be his flat which was conveniently just around the corner from the coffee shop. Which was when he touched me for the first time. I mean we had shaken hands once before when I had started work but when he placed his hand gently on my back when we got to his front door I felt a tingle run all through me.

Over the next hour he touched me again, firstly he put his hand on mine when I was telling him about growing up as a young muslim woman in a single parent household and then when he sat next to me to show me photographs of his travels in an album and his arm was pressed against mine. I'm sure you will be thinking how innocent this all is but this was the first time I had been alone like this with a man and I really did not know what I was supposed to do. It seemed so natural for him to be sitting so close to me and he seemed so oblivious to how he was making me feel.

But he wasn't at all, as I found out when he leaned in and kissed me. My first real kiss with a man. I knew the basics, I had seen enough romantic films to know I was supposed to open my mouth and that we would use tongues but I was unprepared for how hot I would feel, and how wet I would get as I began to ache between my legs. Then he kissed my neck and below my ears and I felt this urge and I panicked, I wasn't ready to lose my virginity like this, it was completely against my conditioning. That then led to me feeling guilty. I felt I had led him on, I could see the bulge in his trousers and I knew I had done that so I instinctively reached out and my hand rested on his swollen cock and he gasped.

Not quite knowing what to do next I waited, he was still kissing me and I was kissing him back although with less urgency now as I was beginning to feel uncomfortable as I knew I wasn't going to sleep with him. And yes I do know there would be no sleeping involved.

Then his hips began to move and I felt him pushing himself against my hand and almost automatically my fingers grasped the shape of his cock inside his trousers and the next thing I knew his hands were at his belt and undoing his trousers and before I knew it I had his cock in my hand. My first cock. It was hot and heavy and thick and my hand could barely reach all the way around. I pulled back on it gently and felt it grow harder in my hand and he was muttering. It was something crass like "Oh Shazia, that's so good" but honestly I was too focused on what I was doing to hear him properly. I was worried that if I did not make him cum then he might rape me and then I would lose my job and I could become pregnant and I would be ruined. All these things were running around inside my head as I stroked him.

But, to my immense relief, he just lay back on the sofa pulling his trousers and shorts down so that his cock was unrestrained and he was breathing heavily. I listened to him and responded to his wishes as he asked me to do it harder or faster or not so tight or to slow down a little and his breathing became faster until suddenly he tensed and his cock twitched and spurts of hot sticky cum shot out all over my hand.

He was very good about it and after a few seconds when he had his breath back he reached over and passed me a box of tissues and I cleaned him and myself before I got up and went into his bathroom to wash my hands. I sat on the toilet for a few minutes thinking 'wow I had made a man cum' and how horny that had made me feel but I was also worried now that he wouldn't want to see me again, or that he would want to see me again but that he would want to fuck me. To say I was conflicted would be an understatement. I flushed the toilet and washed my hands and straightened my hijab as a few strands of my long black hair had come loose. I practiced my smile in the mirror and then left the bathroom.

He had straightened himself up and done up his trousers and was sitting there looking through the photos as if nothing had happened. Don't get me wrong he wasn't completely insensitive, he did ask me if I was OK and I smiled and said "oh yes, that was so hot" and immediately regretted it but he just smiled and let it pass.

Over the next few months we met up again and again and I became quite the expert at handjobs and eventually I had to start bringing a clean hijab with me as he liked to cum on my headscarf. Then, of course, he asked me to kiss it.

I was surprised at my reaction as, because I had expected him to ask at some point, I had practiced a whole range of different ways of saying no, but when it came to it my head went straight down and my tongue touched his tip and I opened my mouth and I became his 'hijabi cocksucker.' This too continued for some months and I began to learn what he liked and how doing different things with my lips or my tongue or my whole mouth when he tried to deep throat caused different responses from him. I learned that I liked the taste of his cum when I swallowed for the first time. I even came myself a few times when I was pleasing him.

But that was our relationship. I was his little hijabi cocksucker, he would say that he respected me too much to want to take my virginity but I suspected that he was scared that as soon as we fucked then our relationship would change and that instead of being his toy I would think of myself as his girlfriend or suchlike.

But I was getting tired of being used. I was getting tired of going home frustrated because my needs had not been met. I was tired of going home and having to frig myself to sleep in silence so I did not wake my Mum.

And of course he was my boss and although work never did get weird because we kept away from each other the comments from the other women were difficult for me. The other women just put it down to me being a good muslim girl who was embarrassed by their joking so eventually I just became more and more isolated, and unhappy.

Then one Saturday I got home from Patrick's after having sucked him dry. My panties were soaked and I had a cum stained hijab in my bag which I would need to get into the wash without my mother seeing it or smelling the distinctive smell of cum. All I wanted to do was to get into the shower and bring myself some relief but sitting at the kitchen table with my mother was a tall man, he was dark like us and dressed in an expensive looking silk kurta, his beard was perfectly groomed, he dripped gold and his piercing dark eyes were strangely familiar.

My mother started when I came in, I don't think she had been expecting me quite so early.

"Shazia, you're home" she announced unnecessarily. The man stood as I entered, he was beautiful, he was literally tall, dark and handsome, his black hair was swept back with long streaks of silver running through it. "This is your Uncle Farrukh, he has some news for us" and she sat down looking quite deflated. I don't think she had worked out how to introduce him to me and that was how it came out.

Of course in my current state I just wanted to change my clothes, clean up and relax but now I was face to face with this magnificent man and all I could do was say "Oh, hi" and I stood there and stared at him. I did not know I even had an Uncle Farrukh let alone one who was such a hunk. I know that is childish language but it is such a good description of him.

After a few embarrassed seconds he spoke first "Ah Sudipta, you did not tell me I had such a beautiful niece" and then to me "You are Shazia, It is most lovely to meet you" and he pressed his right hand to his heart in greeting. His voice was so deep and sonorous I almost came on the spot but I recovered soon enough to answer.

"It is nice to meet you too, please forgive my surprise" and I continued to stand there waiting for someone to tell me what on earth was going on.

"Farrukh is your father's older brother, he has some bad news about your father, he is only visiting for a week" my mother dried up not knowing how else to continue.

"Yes it is most distressing" the deep voice said, not sounding at all distressed "My brother Sajid, your father, is now dead. He was killed by some scoundrels who wanted to rob him. They have been caught and dealt with." I understood exactly what he meant by that so did not question him. I stood there wondering how I should feel. I kind of felt sad that someone was dead, in fact probably quite a few people, but I felt nothing about the fact that he was my father. I was still lusting after the bearer of the news which confused matters a bit.

He continued "You and your mother now own his estate. He was very wealthy and had much land and property. I have come to explain how I will be managing it for you." So lots of news to digest.

I had a hot uncle.

My father's name was Sajid.

He was dead.

He was rich.

Now my mother and I were rich too.

So I sat down "Wow, that's sad" I said to my uncle "I am so sorry for your loss" before I realised what I was saying. It was my father who was dead, it was my loss too.

He reached down and took some papers from his case which he placed in front of my mother. "I must return to my hotel now. Sudipta I will speak to you again tomorrow. Shazia, I trust we will meet again before I leave." and he was gone. There was just his smell of masculinity and aftershave that lingered after him.

I sat down opposite my mother and looked at her. She just shrugged and said "Yes, I didn't know either" before she got up and went to her room. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to go after her and comfort her in case she was upset at hearing of the death of her husband even if she had thought she was long divorced. But I couldn't. I knew I still smelled of Patrick's cum so I headed for the shower.

The next few days were a bit of blur. My mother had several telephone calls with lawyers and found out that no he never did divorce her and that we now owned eight houses including three in the UK, a factory and quite a lot of land. My mother met again with Farrukh and a lawyer and signed some papers and I just looked at him, slowly undressing him with my eyes, imagining his broad chest with dark hair covering it and running down his back, his tight abs and his long dark strong legs. I imagined his cock, long, hard and brown and how I would take that in my mouth before I gave all of myself to him. I spent that night fingering myself hard, twisting my nipples tightly between my fingertips imagining myself with Patrick's cock in my mouth and Farrukh's between my legs.

But then Thursday came and he was flying home on Saturday. I had come home from work earlier than usual as I had been doing all week. Mum was in her usual place at the kitchen table. There was a large brown envelope in front of her. "Shazia I want you to take this to Farrukh's hotel. He is staying in London. I'm sorry but it needs to be done tomorrow." I looked at the envelope, it was only Claridges. Of course it was. Even up here in Leicester I had heard of Claridges.

I freshened up and changed my clothes and sat down with my Mum to book the train ticket "Go First Class" she said "It will be safer for you. I think we can afford it now." I looked at her questioningly. She had tears in her eyes but a smile on her face. "It's not just the property, look." She handed over her 'phone and showed me her online banking. I had never seen so much money. "I will transfer you a share later today but tomorrow I need to meet with a man Farrukh has arranged. He will explain how to make all this money safe and how to invest it."

I was more than a little shocked. I could learn to drive now and even buy a car. I rang Patrick and told him I needed the next day off as I had to go to London to see my uncle for business. I could tell he was disappointed, he was getting used to Friday lunchtimes in his office with my lips wrapped around his cock as he took 'phone calls and worked at his desk. I apologised and told him I would make up for it on Saturday when I would be fully covered and all in black and be as modest and demure as he liked while I stroked and sucked his cock. My first foray into phone sex, it turned out, as I described how i would make it up to him as my middle finger slipped easily into me.

The journey was so easy. It's amazing what a little money can do. A minicab to the station, a first class seat into London with a nice meal included in the price and then a black cab to Selfridges where I could waste some time before meeting Farrukh at the hotel at 3. Selfridges was huge. I wandered around slowly following the little groups of young hijabis as they walked around as if they owned the place. I watched what they bought and what they wore, and what they carried and what they liked but did not buy. I spent more money on a cup of coffee and a pastry than I would usually spend on dinner and I sat in Dolly's looking at my phone trying to work out if all those numbers meant that I was a millionaire.

I soon found myself standing in this huge hotel lobby with its checkerboard floor and ornate mirrors and decor clutching the brown envelope to my chest. I heard him before I saw him. "Shazia, my dear, how lovely" he boomed out from across the hall. His voice filling the space. My heart fluttered, he was in faded jeans and a white shirt, the top three buttons were open and I could see his silvery chest hair. "Come, I'll have some tea sent up" and he led me through the lobby to the lift which took us up to the third floor.

He stood so close to me in the lift I could smell how clean he was, his aftershave was subtle and woody, his shirt accentuated his toned physique.

His room was amazing, with a fancy old table, pale blue furniture and a grand piano by the window. I looked around astounded realising that this was just the living room. He picked up the 'phone "Yes, thank you, afternoon tea."

The tea arrived, with sandwiches, and pastries, and dainty cakes and who knows what else. Enough to feed 6 rather than just us 2.

He looked me up and down "Mmmm You do look so lovely but don't look so nervous, I don't bite. Do you have the papers?" I handed him the envelope and he opened it. "Good, you do understand how wealthy you and your mother are now, don't you? You need to make sure that you have good advice. I have given your mother the name of some financial advisers and I would suggest you listen to them. You don't always have to do what they suggest but it might be a good idea at first to follow their recommendations. They are very good at what they do."

He stopped "Shazia, are you listening"

"I'm sorry Uncle, I'm a bit fazed by all this, and a bit angry that your brother made us suffer for so long" I replied "I am listening and I do understand, Mum is meeting them today and I will do the same next week."

He looked at me intently, then paused before speaking "I do know what you really want, my dear. It is not to talk about money. I have seen how you look at me. Have you ever been with a man?"

I was shocked, not just at the impudence but also at how he had read me so easily.

"It is OK, please do not be offended. You are a young woman and you have needs and I know that I look good and tempt many women. Do not be ashamed, it is quite natural."

So I replied, I could not meet his eyes at this moment so looking down I spoke "No, I am still a virgin."

"Shall we do something about that" he replied as he stood and took my hand and walked me through the suite and into the bedroom, which had this huge bed in the middle of it. He let go of my hand and reached around me and untied my abaya which he slid off my shoulders and it fell to the floor. He kissed me gently as he undid my blouse, button by button and then eased that off my shoulders to also fall onto the floor. His fingernails raked my belly as he undid the button on my jeans and he undid the zip, the pressure of his fingers on my mound making my legs turn completely to jelly.