Pakistani Asma Nasir

This can be read and enjoyed as a standalone story, but deeper character development and the effects of the plot, rivalries, twists, and turns of Asma and her family's sexual journey will be revealed by reading the entire series.

Asma awoke early on the morning of the big day. This was not the nightmare she had a month ago when she had dreamt of the day that the second wife for her Muslim husband, masquerading as Asma's niece, was arriving in Australia. (see Chp. 10).

That night in her dream, the nightmare-like battle against the new arrival had ended with tears running down Asma's face, and her body still shuddering from the aftershocks of a final massive orgasm. The end of a sexfight that had left her defeated by the Pakistani newcomer brought to Oz to sexfight Asma for the right to be the number one wife. She had 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 humiliating 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 had reached down, taken Asma's left hand, and roughly removed the wedding ring and then placed it on her left-hand third finger. Asma's eyes had taken in every detail; her attractive, gloating face, the 33B tits, slightly smaller but firmer than Asma's 34Bs, and with the same one-inch length, 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 had parted the long lips of her shaved, bristle-length landing strip slit, she flaunted her victory-aroused, swollen, slowly twitching clit, which stood proud of its hood. A droplet of ejaculate formed until gravity won out, and it dropped onto Asma's body, followed by the first flood of her piss from her widespread cunt.

That sexfight had been only a dream, no, make that a nightmare, but it wasn't reality. Today was. She was going to fuck the real Rahmi, after she arrived from Pakistan, senseless in front of her husband Afsar. Then she would make Rahmi watch Afsar fuck her before she squatted over the defeated bitch and made her vacuum Afsar's cum from her victorious cunt. Asma almost came thinking how after that she would open the bitch's mouth and golden shower her before letting her live in the garage until she slunk back to Pakistan. No, perhaps on second thoughts, she would keep the bitch here as a sex toy.

She felt slightly nervous as she and Afsar waited at arrivals. But then relief, no, make that total relief, flooded through her. The woman walking to the sign Afsar held was plain, overweight and dressed in a shapeless, loose-fitting shalwar kameez. In her nightmare from before, Rahmi was as tall as Asma, more attractive facially, slimmer with slightly smaller but round, firm tits, and was dressed in skintight jeans and a pink, tight, off-the-shoulder, midriff-bearing crop top.

Introductions to the real Rahmi were made, and Asma took a step closer to her, 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.

The result was completely opposite to her nightmare. In that nightmare, the dream Rahmi had reached out and squeezed and shaken Asma's 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." The real, flabby-bodied, plain-faced woman appeared shocked at how sensual and sexy Asma looked. She obviously had not seen anyone dressed that way back in Pakistan. Now the bitch knew how a real woman looked, and the journey to the house had Asma's smile grow larger as she discovered Rahmi had the personality of a dead fish.

At their apartment, Rahmi had gone to the spare room to change into something Western and had reappeared, after a rest, 2 hours later in a baggy, cheap, Chinese-made tracksuit. Asma had impatiently waited during those 2 hours until their sexfight where she would bedazzle her husband. However, she used the time to give Afsar long looks at the quarter cup bra that displayed her tits, nipples and areolae like meat on a butcher's rack, and her new thong and garter. She smiled as she saw the tent in his trousers grow and knew he must already regret the money he had paid to bring Rahmi to Australia. Well, he would get some of his money's worth from the exhibition of sexfighting Asma was going to give and his participation in her victory fuck.

For Asma, the two hours had taken too long to pass, but finally it was time. Confidently, she removed her tailored jacket, the expensive camisole and shimmied out of the board tight, mid-thigh length, black skirt. She paraded her lingerie-covered body before Afsar and, more importantly, Rahmi, before stripping completely.

Rahmi removed her pale blue tracksuit. She had nothing on underneath it. Her tits were bigger than Asma's but not firm. They hung and swung low like zulu woman in a 1960's National Geographic magazine photo. Her aureolea were huge and dark brown, and a semi-potbelly and a large, strong arse above thinnish legs completed the picture. That is, if you didn't include the very prominent cunt with 2 large, silver clit rings piercing her thick, sausage-sized cunt lips and a writhing Krait snake tattooed on her belly with its fang about to strike her clit, which was exposed by the wide opening in her sex gash. A black cobra that was coiled on her left thigh, poised to sink its fangs into her clit completed her body art.

Not intimidated, she faced Asma and opened her cunt, though that was unnecessary as her cunt lips were permanently widespread. The wet pink gash contrasted with her dark skin, and she pulled her cunt lips wider to show that her hood could not cover her large clit. She methodically removed her clit rings and the two heavy, silver dumbbells that pierced her broad, long nipples and stood ready for action.

Afsar yelled, "69" and the contest started. The two intertwined their bodies as they lay on their sides, each woman's head buried between the other's legs. Tongues extended and teased cunt lips apart, searching for their target: a clit that the winner would first make responsive and then dominate. Asma was astounded by the length and thickness of Rahmi's clit, which was bigger than hers or anyone she had sexfought, except for perhaps the Pakistani she had sexfought to save Afsar's position as leader of the Western suburb's Afghani refugees (chp 7).

Although surprised by Rahmi, Asma reached up and aroused the thick, hard nipples of her rival, and they grew even larger. Meanwhile, one of Rahmi's arms encircled Asma and explored her arse and cunt from behind.

Watching on, Afsar, after ten minutes, saw Asma's thigh muscles tremble and twitch involuntarily, obviously not under her control. Suddenly, her heels started drumming the floor, and a huge howl poured forth from her, matched by Rahmi's scream, as the intensity of Asma's orgasm caused her fingers to squeeze Rahmi's nipple.

Rahmi looked up. Her face was covered with the white mucous of Asma's cum, and she spat out some from her mouth before attacking the 46-year-old Asma again. Seven minutes later, Asma noisily came again, her body thrashing out of control, but her next was quicker. It only took another three minutes before she went rigid again and tried to draw her body away from Rahmi as she screamed, "I'mmmmmm cuuuuummiiiiing."

Almost as soon as the orgasm finished, she shook uncontrollably again as Rahmi had taken advantage of her body-shaking cum and had seized the opportunity when Asma was cumming to shift her position and finger fuck her both in the cunt and anus. Her long index finger was deep in Asma's shitter while her ring finger worked her cunt, and her thumb diddled her clit. Cum lay in the palm of her hand that was fingering her cunt and arse.

Rahmi continued her assault. The next thirty minutes passed with Rahmi in absolute control. The timing between Asma's orgasms remained short, but both her writhing and wailing intensity increased. However, more importantly, in a sexfight, the strength of her attacks on Rahmi had decreased into spasmodic, non-sustained efforts.

Rahmi looked at the clock on the wall." Another thirty minutes, bitch, if you don't have a heart attack first."

When the next orgasm thundered through Asma, Rahmi broke contact with her mouth on Asma's love box and seized Asma's already large, engorged, visibly throbbing and red raw clit and rapidly rubbed it between her fingertips. One orgasm rolled into another as Asma shook uncontrollably, and a continuous animal-like howl issued from her. For ten more minutes, Rahmi kept it up before Afsar called time, and the victor stood to admire her handiwork.

She looked down on the dazed Asma, who lay prostrate in a foetal position on the floor. Asma's eyes were opened wide, glazed, and distorted, uncontrollably rolling back so the whites could be seen. Her clit was still erect, and although untouched, was twitching and throbbing. Her thighs were covered with her dried and caked love juice, but were still jerking. Her belly heaved from the physical and sexual exertion she had endured, and her cunt was covered with both recent and dried cum. Her breathing came in short, laboured gasps. It was not a pretty sight to anyone except Rahmi.

And Rahmi hadn't cum once in their two-hour sexfight, which was to be decided by making the other cum more times. There was no need for Afsar to tally the number of cums he had recorded on a notepad.

Rahmi felt a different wetness in her loins and felt the uncontrolled dribbles of piss roll down her thighs. Her body was telling her what was to come. She turned to Afsar like a gladiator before the emperor in the Colosseum. "This is how a real woman should feel, proving she's better than another and making the other woman know it. If the time is up, I'm going to piss on this bitch and then use the strap on her," she declared to Afsar.

Rahmi rolled Asma into a 69 and wrapped her legs around Asma's head. Rahmi groaned, and the Krait snake tattooed on her belly rippled. Somewhere under the fat layer of her belly, her muscles went into action. Afsar suspected what was happening, but Asma's writhing and gagging confirmed it. The new wife was giving the first wife her version of the Vietnamese victory piss. No spraying over the face or body, just a full delivery straight down the throat.

Rahmi walked to the sofa, undid her travel bag, took out and attached a black, menacing dildo to a thick, strap-on harness to herself. She walked back towards the defeated Asma, the strap on fucking imaginary cunts with each step. She reached Asma, reached down and seized her hair, then dragged her to the sofa.

Draping Asma over the sofa arm piece, she slowly and relentlessly fucked the continually moaning, sobbing, semi orgasming Asma. Every so often, Rahmi reached with one hand to play with Asma's nipples or clit till she came again. Tiring, she spread Asma's legs wider so she could drive the weapon deeper and pound her inner cunt. Every time Asma tried to struggle up, her body betrayed her and she couldn't rise. Satisfied she had dominated Asma's cunt, Rahmi withdrew the wet and cum covered strap on, rearranged Asma and placed it at the entrance of Asma's exposed arsehole.

Rahmi pressed and wriggled the wide tip, wet from Asma's juices, into her backdoor entrance, but there it encountered resistance. Short-lived resistance, because Rahni shouted triumphantly as she drove with her hips and the dildo burst into Asma's arse, whose wailing reached the decibel levels of a rock concert.

When she came to, it was to see the newcomer parading in Asma's exclusive French-made, pure silk thong that Asma had worn prefight. The new number one wife was wiping the cum and love juice off her body with Asma's expensive clothing. Seeing Asma was conscious, she grabbed her by her hair and dragged her to the bedroom where Afsar waited.

Despite what had happened so far, Asma knew that what would happen in the bedroom would give her a tiny bit of satisfaction. The bitch was in for a surprise, and not a good one for her: Afsar's cock. It was a good length, 9 inches, not extreme porn star length, but longer than most men's. However, its girth was in the elite class as Afsar's meat was far, far thicker than most big black cocks. It was wider than a thin Asian beer can and had several lead-pencil-thick veins standing out on the shaft, which ended in a thick bulbous helmet broader than the shaft.

At some stage, when she was using the strap-on to fuck Asma, Rahmi had attached a Doc Jonson Bloom Intimate Body Pump nipple attachment and her already large nipples were swollen and pointing at Afsar. Leaving Asma on the floor, she changed to the pussy attachment and used the manual pump, causing her cunt lips to swell and open, highlighting her throbbing, large clit.

Rahmi knelt before Afsar and pulled his trousers down. His already hard cock sprang free, and her eyes widened, but not from fear. They hungrily devoured the quivering meat, and her tongue flicked out to make first contact. As Asma watched dumbfounded, Rahmi opened her mouth while Afsar held her head and inserted his cock head into her oval-shaped entrance. She locked her lips around Afsar's meat, eager to give him a blow job and gave a satisfied moan. She started sucking on his cock slowly, but soon was going wild on it, groaning and sucking like a nymphomaniac whore.

There was a muffled, dull thud as Afsar's prick hit the back of her throat. Make the bitch gag, Asma prayed. But Rahmi merely lowered her body and tilted her head and neck to create a passage for Afsar's fuck rod.

Afsar groaned and started to slowly drive all of his thick prick down her throat. He pulled out as if surprised she wasn't gagging. Rahmi was breathing hard, but it was obvious she had accepted all of it and enjoyed it. She opened her mouth wide and fastened her mouth on Afsar's cock and took it in one swift action fully down her throat. Then it really started. Afsar grabbed her head and held it still as he fucked her mouth, pumping his hips like a male stripper at a pre-wedding hen's night.

The only sounds were Afsar's grunts, the slapping noises of Rahmi's forehead hitting his belly, and his balls smacking her chin every time he bottomed out. Asma couldn't believe what she was seeing. For the first time, she was watching a woman effortlessly deep-throat a big cock. Afsar was ploughing Rahmi's mouth with the same intensity that Rahmi had ploughed the strap on into Asma's arse. But unlike Asma's receiving of the strap-on, she was enjoying it. Asma's eyes followed the moving outline on Rahmi's neck of his rod as it was embedded fully and withdrawn before descending again. Afsar groaned out, "Fuck. How can you do that?" Asma remembered that she gagged every time.

Afsar suddenly grabbed Rahmi's head, gave a huge thrust and held his cock down her throat, and it was obvious he was going to cum hard. WTF. He had never cum that quickly, even if Asma wanted to finish it early. Rahmi was cradling his huge, swaying, full ball sack, and she suddenly shifted her fingers to the base of his cock. Afsar's strained cry of "I'm going to cum," was cut short.

Rahmi had pressed a pressure point at the base of his cock and pulled her mouth free of the cum-aborted cock, and quickly arranged Asma on her back. She knelt and straddled Asma's face and then grabbed one of Asma's hands and fastened it on Afsar's cock and ordered Asma, "Put your ex-husband's cock in the better wife's cunt." Asma was too slow, so a slap encouraged her to place her husband's meat at the entrance of Rahmi's wet slit.

Afsar grunted with relief and hammered his cock into Rahmi as he took her doggystyle. Inches below Rahmi's pussy, Asma watched the moving tattooed snakes that were trying to sink their tattooed fangs into Rahmi's cunt. With tears in her eyes, she watched Afsar's rigid cunt stabber attack Rahmi's cunt and felt the sex juices drop and coat her face. An end to her ordeal finally came when Afsar raised his head to the heavens, howled like a wolf when it is a full moon, and unloaded into Rahmi. Except that there was no final relief, as after Afsar plopped out, Rahmi lowered her cunt to Asma's face and forced her to suck their combined cum from her pussy.

It was true that Afsar would fuck for a long time as he had done in the past with Asma. But it left him drained, unable to recover. Well, that was the truth up to that night, because in front of Asma, Rahmi's mouth brought life back into his fuck meat before satisfying him anally. Asma found her mattress outside the back door.

Every night for the next month at 8.00 pm, Rahmi sexfought and defeated Asma and then fucked the beaten 46-year-old in front of Afsar. Asma became used to the tireless thighs slapping against hers as the strap-on dildo was hammered into her cunt, arse or throat after her defeat. She became used to the hated Rahmi's hands reaching around her to play with her clit and nipples, arousing them until she screamed for the younger Pakistani to make her cum. Each night in front of Afsar, defeated, degraded and humiliated, she pleaded with Rahmi, "Make me cum. I need it. Pleeeease."

Then she would be made to watch Rahmi turn her attention to Afsar. Asma was made to hold Afsar's cock and then, dejectedly, reluctantly, place it in one of Rahmi's waiting holes. Then Afsar would fuck Rahmi with Asma's face inches from his tool as he thrust into the new number one wife. Every night, Asma witnessed at close hand their couplings, listened to Afsar's moans and groans as he fucked and came. Then her face was held against Rahmi's face to suck their combined cum from her quim. It would end with Asma being kicked outside the apartment to sleep alone on the garage floor. The next morning, her daily life as Rahmi's servant would begin again.

Asma rose from the tiled floor she had been cleaning, Pakistani servant style, with no mop. Instead, on her knees, she used a cloth and a basin of water to clean and polish the bare, hard surface. The doorbell rang, and she rose from her knees and opened it. Two policemen stood at the entrance.

"Mrs Nasir?" the older man in blue enquired, and she nodded yes. "I'm sorry to inform you, but your niece." He stopped and consulted the clipboard he held and then continued. "A, er, your niece, Miss Rahmi Syed, has had a car accident. The car she was driving left the road and impacted an electricity pole. Unfortunately, despite the early responder's best efforts, she failed to recover consciousness and passed away. You have my condolences."

It sank in. She was free. Her life was hers again. But what life? Afsar, having seen her regularly defeated and humiliated, had no time for her. Her big cocked Sudanese lover, Gubang, had found a Sudanese who spoke Dinka, and he looked away when they encountered each other at the university. Her confidence had been shattered by Rahmi, and with it went her sexfighting confidence. The ruby earring that displayed Asma's elite status, second only to the 10 Primes in the VUX3B sex club at Victoria University, had been ripped from her ear and replaced by the emerald of the Advanced who had defeated her in their sexfight. She had fallen down the rankings as quickly as she had risen, and she now faced challenges from lowly veteran-level members eager to replace their lowly sapphire with her emerald.