Pakistani Asma Nasir Ch. 06

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.

Perhaps there was some Iran blood in her from way back in the past as her skin was on the lighter side compared to many other Pakistanis. 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 gave her an aristocratic look. She had nicely shaped 34B tits, a slightly rounded belly and a womanly arse that was still quite firm. Moreover, like most women from the subcontinent she had a full mat of pubic hair though now it was shaved into a luxurious, black, thick triangle. Attractive for her age? Yes, but it did not matter with her husband's lack of interest in her.

It was good for the children. It gave them opportunities but not for her husband Afsar. Due to his age and being wedded to the old ways, he didn't want to change, didn't want to work. He sat back and accepted the Government fortnightly handout paid directly into his bank account and enjoyed his cheap government subsidised housing. He was a traditionalist. A woman's place was in the housekeeping it clean and feeding him. Each night after eating he left the house to go to the coffee and hookah shop where he and his male friends opinionated how western society was corrupting their children, taking away a father's authority and status.

And in sex, he 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 that of which 3 minutes was him undressing. 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. I bet the Vietnamese women get it every night, and probably also outside their marriages, she thought.

And she was so horny these days. Her Vietnamese university friend, Ai, at the low, ranked Victoria University where they both attended (or lose their Govt. benefits as a Govt ploy to reduce the published unemployment figures), had introduced her to lesbian sex, sexfighting and semi-nude beauty contests. Then she had had incredible sex with her 18-year-old son Fahad and his 11 inches. But he now had the hots for Ai's daughter Vy and was at school or her house when Afsar was absent from this house. Furthermore, a tiff had arisen between Ai and Asma as Ai blamed Asma for their loss in their first sexfight.

Asma looked at the computer. Her 52-year-old husband Afsar had left it switched on in his more than his usual hurry to meet his cronies at the coffee/hookah premises for their daily talkfest. Due to his age and being wedded to the old Pakistani ways, he still embraced and didn't want to change, didn't want to work. She knew it was "his" computer. It was not her place to look, just as it was not her place to question his decisions. He was the patriarch of their family. He was God. His spoken words were the family's commands. The Vietnamese women had changed their thinking after arriving as refugees. Would she? She shuddered at the thought but knew she had already taken some steps to do so. The family had arrived 4 years ago by the traditional route. They had saved their money, bought a flight to Indonesia, made contact with the people smugglers, destroyed their passports, paid the money for a seat on a fishing boat, been intercepted by the Australian navy and taken for processing at Christmas Island which was closer to Indonesia than Australia but gave them sanctuary and finally, processing for entry to Australia.

She imagined her tallish body not constrained and hidden by layers of traditional, voluminous, fully covering black clothing, but flaunted and displayed like the Vietnamese women she had seen at the Footscray market or driving their 4WDs. The thought offended most Pakistanis and both her deceased father and Afsar were extremely traditional Pakistani Muslims. The Vietnamese women wore extreme high heels, short, tight dresses that brazenly paraded not only their lower legs but their thighs as well. Instead of draped loosely in layers like hers, their garments were moulded to their skin, and if you looked carefully, you could see the outline of their thong disappearing into their arse crack or the shape and sometimes even the colours of their nipples. Not only the young ones like her daughters but women of a similar age or even 15 years older than her openly exhibited their bodies. This was unacceptable to Pakistani men.

She sat down at the computer and moved the mouse. A slideshow began of women dressed in the skimpiest, most revealing lingerie possible. Was this her husband's computer? The man who, as they originally came from the conservative tradition-bound northwest city of Peshawar, in the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province, demanded she wear full head-to-toe black burqa. Under her black burqa, she had to wear a long firaq which reached from her shoulders to mid-calf and baggy partug pants. At least her Vietnamese friend from Victoria University, Ai, had encouraged and persuaded her to dress as she did at Uni and when they went out together; tight short skirts or dresses, high heels, provocative lingerie hidden at her house so Asma could change there before attending University or going shopping. Her mind wandered, comparing her new lingerie to that on the screen before her.

Perhaps there was some Iran blood in her from way back in the past as her skin was on the lighter side compared to many other Pakistanis. 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 gave her an aristocratic look. She had nicely shaped 34 tits, a slightly rounded belly and a womanly arse that was still firm. Moreover, like most women from the subcontinent, she had a full mat of pubic hair but at Ai's suggestion, she had trimmed it to a small, year 2000 porn star triangle so it did not protrude from her minuscule thongs. Attractive for her age? Yes, but it did not matter with her husband's lack of interest in her.

She flicked through the images mentally noticing that what Ai had guided her to select and then Ai had purchased for her was sexier and more sensual than those images. She clicked on the hangout chat open in the taskbar and read the chat. It was Baheela from the hairdressing salon. "Hairdressing salon," she snorted to herself. "Part-time brothel is what it should be called," and the slut Baheela was the owner. She read on and smiled. Baheela was calling Afsar perverted, depraved and abnormal for wanting her to wear lingerie like that and that he was no longer welcome there even if he paid triple.

Was this her husband? The Afsar she knew 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 15 years since they had last fucked, if you could call the 5 minutes it took of which 3 minutes was him undressing. 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, and this proved it. I bet the Vietnamese women get it every night, and probably also outside their marriages, she thought.

She was no longer getting cock from her 18-year-old son Fahad whom she had noticed spying on her and masturbating and then seduced him like a Japanese JAV video stepmother. It was true he had a good 11 inches of cock and being a teenager could sometimes come 3 times in 3 hours. But the thrill of getting cock and fucking her son had diminished as she found him too emotionally immature and clingy and lacking in imagination. His cock in her hole missionary was the extent of his desire. Now he was obsessed by Ai's skinny 18-year-old daughter and she couldn't even get his 11 inches. She thought of her husband and mentally compared his cock to their sons. Not as long, being only 9 inches but its girth: her husband's meat was far, far thicker than her sons. It was considerably thicker than a beer can and had several lead pencil-thick veins standing out on the shaft which ended in a thick bulbous helmet far wider than the shaft. Pity he didn't want to use it on her. She wondered if the Pakistani 20-year-old they were sponsoring as a niece, but actually to be a second wife for Afsar would be able to take it fully.

That night Afsar was in a foul mood. Asma correctly guessed it was a result of Baheela's message and he retired early to his computer in the bedroom. She heard him slam the laptop lid, turn off the light and clamber into bed. She made her decision. A minute later with the bedroom door left open and the hall light left on illuminating her she shed her black floor-length chador and let it fall to the floor closer to the open door. Being indoors at home it had no detachable nose piece to cover her face and make disrobing more difficult while outdoors Afsar preferred her to wear full Burka.

She stepped closer to the open door and the hall light (changed by her from a dull 5 watt to 30 watts) was like a spotlight on her body. She did not know if Afsar was looking as she could not see him as the bed was in a dark non illuminated corner of the room. But she knew what he could see if he was watching. Her back would be visible with the luxurious tiny black thong buried deep in her arse crack. He would also be able to see the black garter belt selected for its unusual ultra-short straps attached to expensive exclusive long black stockings. This combination for example allowed the wearing to wear far shorter skirts with only the outline of strap and connector visible through the tight skirt material.

She "accidentally" dropped the Burka closer to the bed and gave a loud exclamation of "annoyance" before stepping to it noisily on the wooden floor in her 6-inch platform high heels hoping that the noise would gain her husband's attention. Facing the bed shrouded in darkness she reached down to gather the burka holding it at arm's length, so her body was presented front onto the bed. The tiny front of the thong, the lacy garter belt and her open quarter cup bra which reached to a spot about 2 inches below her nipples presented for her husband to see if he was awake.

Asma placed the Burka on the dresser and slid the flimsy thong over the garter belt straps and down to her ankles before stepping out of it. Her pubic bush was revealed in its glory. It was not the untamed mass of black hair Afsar had last seen 15 years before. It was still thick and luxurious but now trimmed into an early 2000s porn star triangle. She reached down and fingered her clit with her left hand while her right tweaked and pinched her nipples into full hardness.

She had done all she could. He was either asleep or he had seen her performance. Still wearing her quarter cup bra, garter belt, stockings and extreme platform shoes she climbed into bed beside her husband, hoping for something. But nothing did. Afsar's body lay like a log beside her and she bitterly fell asleep.

Ten minutes later Asma's eyes opened to see him kneeling between her legs at the knees that he had spread apart, completely and massively naked, his face twisted in a lewd grin. She let her eyes trail downward along his broad, hairy torso to the thick, hardened penis standing out from beneath the overhang of his round bulging stomach. Her eyes widened in hope, arousal and disbelief, while his smile of anticipation broadened and his hand slowly stroked the heavy uncircumcised foreskin back and forth, exposing the glistening, blood-inflated head. His hand could only reach halfway round his cock shaft which was thicker than a beer can while the mushroom-shaped head at its end was even wider.

"Well... how do you like it, slut? Make your mouth water?" he taunted. "I saw your performance. Think it'll fill that hungry little cunt of yours. Do you want it?"

Asma couldn't hide the excitement she felt at the sight of his huge, desire hardened organ; yet, at the same time, she couldn't help but gape at its length and massive thickness in awe, mentally comparing it to her sons and thinking that her son's despite its longer length it was almost childish beside it. Then, the sight of her own obscenely spread-open body wearing an open bra, garter belt, stockings and extreme platform shoes filled her with degrading shame as she knew he was right. She was a slut. She fucked women. She fucked her son and now she wanted Afsar's cock. She nodded her lowered head in acceptance and agreement.

Her wide, green eyes dropped once more, locking on the huge fleshy instrument he was still holding and stroking with his hand. Its thickness was terrorizing. My God, after all these years how could she take that up inside her stomach. It had been a struggle years before when they had fucked and apart from her thinner son's rod, she hadn't had any cock. It would tear her vagina apart. Her eyes took in every detail; the thick prominent blue veins that stood proud, the swollen full ball sack hanging down, the stretched wide-open eye that was going to shoot his cum into her.

"Overwhelmed, Asma?" Afsar chuckled. "Maybe you'd like to play with it for a while before I stuff it into that tight little cunt hole? No...?" he teased, withdrawing it and watching the distressed expression of fear from not being fucked mixed with the apprehension of tacking him contorting her face.

Unexpectedly, he dropped his heavyweight on her, forcing the breath from her body with a gasp, the hardness of his thick, pulsating cock crushing into the soft flesh of her loins, his hands squeezing her full, firm breasts exposed by and resting on the quarter cup bra so viciously that she cried out with the pain. Then his mouth was on hers, his tongue plunging deep into her throat in his mounting lust.

"I'm going to make you beg before I'm finished, slut, he hissed down into her face.

"You're going to plead with me to fuck you, ram my cock into that hot cunt of yours. Cry for me to bury it so fucking deep that you'll be able to taste it up in your throat."

Asma said nothing but the wetness oozing from her slit said it all. Suddenly, he was moving down her body, slipping down and down until his face was poised between her wide-spread thighs only inches above her trembling pussy. He placed his palms against the satiny inner flesh of her thighs, spreading them apart, making her more open to him. She moaned in anticipation, raising her head to stare down between her tits to see him poised between her widespread, rounded thighs. Nestled there with his hands placed strategically against the flesh of her thighs, Afsar stared at the waiting cunt with its shaved triangle of pubic hair above framed enticingly with the black lacy garter belt. Large glistening droplets moistened the tongue-like hanging inner lips that emerged from the wide vertical mouth of her pussy.

Asma watched as with deliberately slow and decisive manipulations he placed his thumbs precisely on the cringing fleshy lips of her cunt and spread them apart, flowering open the wet sex flesh to his sight. In growing and panting tension, Asma felt the hot wisps of his breathing tease her sensitive, cunt flesh, and she moaned shamefully. She was unable to stop trying to raise her hips so her cunt could make contact. Then relief came as she saw and felt the length of his long, hot tongue slip up into her wet, quivering cunt. Her body recoiled through reflex, jerking convulsively, and a loud whimper burst from her throat, while her buttocks lurched upwards in her effort to make total contact. Her stomach spasmed and churned in convulsive shock as she groaned when his tongue slithered in and out of her exposed pussy in a wild, animal-like frenzy.

"Ooohhhh... ooohhhhhhh... yeesss.... donnnnn't... stoppppp" Asma moaned incessantly in her debased arousal, her head beginning to thrash as she strained to hold it raised, gaping in disbelief after all these years at the swirling tongue between her obscenely spread thighs. She felt and watched as his tongue raced in a liquid torrent up into her dilated cunt.

"Oooohhhh... ooohhhh... my God. Yeeeesssss" Asma whimpered, while simultaneously, huge spasms of lewd excitement were sprouting to life inside her trembling body from his tonguing of her moist, palpitating pussy.

She felt Afsar's hands move caressingly up over her belly to explore first her garter belt and then her open bra before setting on the pulsing, firm flesh of her breasts, cupping and massaging them while his mouth and tongue sucked and thrust into the wet channel of her fuck tube with obscene wet sucking sounds that filled the room. His lips probed and explored until he found the erectly pulsing large tip of her clitoris. He heard her choking whimper of agonized pleasure when he engulfed the pulsating nub between his teeth and clutching it lightly, lashed his tongue over and around it in a series of ever-increasing circles, finally opening his mouth wider to send his tongue downward, back through the velvety moistened slit to the hot, throbbing opening of her cuntal passage.

Asma knew that she could hardly if at all, control herself any longer. She found herself flailing her head wantonly from side to side as he orally fucked her, lashing and sliding his long, hot lingual member deep up into her now openly clasping vagina, while she listened to her whimpering and mewling sounds as he relentlessly swirled and plunged his tongue into the velvet-like tunnel of her wildly, excited cunt. It came with a rush; her first orgasm ripped through her gyrating body.

Unexpectedly, he raised her long, tapered stocking clad legs high, slipping his arms beneath them so that they, with his shoulders, were wedged underneath her thighs, pressuring them further up until they draped over his broad shoulders, locked there, and he worked his hands beneath her quivering buttocks, pressing them to him with captive authority. Asma's cries of uncontrollable, involuntary pleasure filled the room as he burrowed his tongue deeply into the seething, fluid depths between her thighs. She floundered jerkily for him and he watched her hands as they clutched at his hair, trying to press him further and further into her now hotly demanding loins.

All control was gone, Asma knew as she relaxed fully, giving herself to the erotic enchantment of his beautifully obscene licking and sucking of her cunt. And then, abruptly, she felt his tongue flick from her vagina downward toward the puckered hole of her arse. She groaned out in rapture at the moist seething contact of his tongue with the sensitive, forbidden opening. He had never done this before and she closed her eyes and bit her lips in sensual enchantment.

"Oh... oh... ooohhh... ooohhhhhh," she choked ecstatically. "Oh... no... you shouldn't... you shouldn't...." she whimpered, even as she rolled her hips and tried to screw her possessively flexing rectal month back onto the hungrily probing tongue.

"Oohhh Allaaahhh I cumming agaaaiiinnnn" she screamed, dropping her head back and letting it toss from side to side, her buttocks jerking and writhing to the sensations his tongue was spiralling wildly through her whole being.

"Ooohhh, Ooohhhh yes... yesssss. Fuck me. Fuuuuck me." she cried out pleadingly; her aroused flesh quivering with passion beneath his tonguing of arse.