Pakistani Asma Nasir Ch 01

This sets the setting and introduces many of the characters. It can be read and enjoyed as a stand-alone story, but deeper character depth and the effects of the plots, twists and turns of Asma's sexual life will be found by reading the full series to come

Asma left the Sunni mosque in Melbourne's western suburbs. In the minority for Pakistani women she was wearing the full head-to-toe black burqa as she originally came from the northwest city of Peshawar, in the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province. Under her black burqa she wore a long firaq which reached from her shoulders to mid-calf and baggy partug pants. She was 42 years old, married to her husband, Afsar who was 10 years older, and blessed with 3 wonderful children.

Her eldest daughter, Rubina, was 22 and recently married. Certainly, an old age to be married back home, but a young age here in Australia where customs were different and late 20s was more common for a daughter. Her younger daughter, Samreen, was 20 and attending Victoria University studying Accounting. True, it was not Melbourne or Monash or even Latrobe University, but she had a career ahead of her. Something that would not have occurred back in Pakistan, and she thought how she and Samreen had needed to plead with her husband Afsar to allow their daughter to attend. It was against his beliefs for women to be educated, mix with males or dress in a modern style. Her youngest child, her son Ashraf was 18, in year 12 at school, academically gifted and certain to gain entry to the prestigious Melbourne University.

Asma daydreamed as she walked to the bus stop close to the mosque, imagining her tallish body not constrained and hidden by layers of traditional, voluminous clothing, but flaunted and displayed like the Vietnamese women she had seen at the Footscray market or driving their 4WDs. The thought would have offended her deceased father and now Asfar as both 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. She could never do that.

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. 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.

Life was so different to back home. The Vietnamese had changed after arriving as refugees. Would she? She shuddered at the thought. The family had arrived 4 years ago by the traditional route. They had saved their money, bought a flight to Indonesia, then contacted 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.

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 house keeping 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 opiniated how western society was corrupting their children, taking away a father's authority and status. They were continuing the endless discussion from hours, even days before as he was there for up to 10 hours each day. Why had he come in the first place if only to complain, Asma thought bitterly. Did he not remember the hardships and reasons they left?

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 that it took that of which 3 minutes were him undressing. Though it was long ago she still remembered the incredibly thick cock he possesed. 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 to the hairdresser and massage shops here. I bet the Vietnamese women get it every night, and probably also outside their marriages, she thought.

God she was frustrated and horny these days, but luckily she had her faith to support her. Although the other day when she was house cleaning her son Ashraf was showering and had left the door open. His body was muscular and lean, and he was fisting his cock before groaning and shooting a strand of semen to the wall. Since that time, she had been masturbating, sometimes reliving what she had seen before she managed to force it from her mind.

She smiled as she recalled her one recent change though. As part of a new Government initiative, she and other mature aged refugees including those from Iran, Afghanistan and the most recent wave, the Sudanese had been granted entry to the third-rate Victoria University. She had selected Accounting, the same as her daughter. Afsar was furious and threatened to refuse to let her attend. "It's not fitting for a woman to do this. You must be at home. That is your place," he had bellowed. But the offer had come with strings attached: declining the offer meant their government pension would be cut by a third. The thought of losing this free money was too much for Afsar and so she would be attending University.

Besides, she took comfort in the fact that her daughter was also in the same University and perhaps they would study together and become close again, Something in her daughter's attitude had changed since they had come to Melbourne and Samreen was now distant, abrupt and impersonal. It was almost as though she was hiding something, but Asma was conflicted. She was not used to intruding into her daughter's new life here in Australia. Things were different here and maybe Samreen's inner beliefs had changed from her contact with other students at school and University. Furthermore, she had appeared unhappy that her mother was now at the same University, but Asma was still convinced that she would find a way to bond with her daughter. Now she could spend time with her daughter away from home, as well as meeting other refugee women. Her new life was about to begin.

The next day she alighted from the bus at Victoria University. She was, as usual, wearing her burqa. First the new students attended a meeting in the Grand Hall where a speech was given by the Chancellor, a Romanian refugee from the 90s, Marija Poposky. They were seated alphabetically so that the roll could be marked. Next to Asma was a Vietnamese woman, Ai Ngo, as Asma's family name was Nasir. She was mid-forties, slightly older than Asma and dressed as though going to a nightclub, not University. Something that made Asma both uncomfortable and slightly jealous. However, both women talked excitedly about what was to come. Ai proved harder to get rid of than flies at an Aussie BBQ and chattered on and on. When they found they were doing the same subjects, Ai signed the two of them up for the same tutorials so they would know someone and not feel lost. Then, when she found Asma did not drive, she offered to drive her to and from University as they now had identical schedules. Reluctantly Asma said her husband would not allow it as Ai was not known to him and was not a Muslim, but Ai would not be deterred and said she would pick up Asma and set her down at the bus stop near Asma's house.

By the weeks end the two were getting along very well. There were no other students from Pakistan, and Asma had learnt that Ai came from Communist North Vietnam. Once her accent showed that, she was excluded from any group of the mature aged South Vietnamese students as they still carried grudges from the war and subsequent Northern Victory in the 1970s. Further discussion revealed that Ai had two daughters Yen 24, who was a hairdresser, and Lien 18 who like her son was studying year 12. When some of the other women had tried to bully Asma it was Ai who flew to her defence standing up for her and abusing the others.

The morning lecture finished and the two headed for the cafeteria. Back home University studies for a married woman would have been forcibly discouraged and across the border in Afghanistan the Taliban may have killed her, but Asma had discovered she enjoyed her studies and was in fact very good at them. She was helping Ai who was struggling and had even lost the guilt she first had of studying at University and associating with a non- Muslim who dressed as Ai did.

They entered the cafeteria and Asma was almost sick. She swayed and almost fainted before Ai supported her. She dry retched. There at a table was Samreen dressed not in her hijab and long modest outer dress over jeans and blouse that she had convinced her father to at least relax his standards to allow. She was without her hijab and wearing just the jeans that should be worn under her long lose outer garment, and a tight blouse and loose jacket. It was outrageous and what was even worse was that she was the only female at a table of male students.

Seeing Asma like this she needed to know what was happening. The boys got up and left and Asma rushed to her daughter and unleashed a torrent of words, describing how she was a Pakistani, how immoral were her dress and behaviour and actions. Samreen at first was shocked at her mother for such intrusion which left her speechless but then responded angrily defending what she was doing was normal for Australia, plus Asma didn't realise but she was still more conservatively dressed than most of the students here.

Ai listened and immediately understood the problem as she and many other immigrants had faced this problem. Ai tried to explain to Asma that it was Australia and, just as it was at first difficult for the Vietnamese, they had adapted and changed and even recognized that some of the changes like women driving were great. Logically Asma knew that there was some truth in this. They were now living in a new country. But she had 42 years of tradition force fed into her. It's not easy for anyone to just forget all their culture, especially the one so entrenched with religion, and adopt a new one. And especially a western based culture which was so despised back in Asma's homeland.

Reacting in a manner that was out of character for a Pakistani daughter Samreen finished by shouting, "I'll keep my hijab in here in my backpack, and if you try to stop me I will report you to the authorities. Minors have rights here in Australia," before stalking away. Asma stood there in shock before being brought back to reality by Ai. Ai hands touched her shoulders and asked Asma if she was alright? Then Ai informed her that yes here in Australia children had rights and government do-gooders would take delight in enforcing them against parents. So much for Samreen and her being at the same University and bonding, Asma thought.

Samreen lived for free in the University hostel, another benefit the Government provided to low income refugees. Therefore, they didn't get another chance to talk about it. Asma, after first being comforted by Ai at University and then in the car on their way home realised that Ai was right. Why it was only just a few weeks ago that she was arguing with Afsar in not adopting to the changing circumstances. God knows how much help she required from Afsar in taking care of house chores now there was no servant girl as there was in Lahore. One of the many things that Asma liked about Australia that how helpful husbands were in Australia. Both spouses would have jobs and at the same time would help each other with house chores and taking care of children.

The next day Asma's and Samreen paths crossed again at the University. Samreen was still dressed the same way as before. Both wanted to apologize. As they came closer, Asma, being the mother, immediately hugged her daughter and apologized and assured her that she had not slept all night. She now understood that Samreen must adjust to this new lifestyle, and even admitted that she herself may try to make an effort in adjusting to fit in. Slight tears and a smile came to Samreen's face, who also apologised for her behaviour and told her that it was all on the spur of the moment. There was hugging and laughter and both sat down at the cafeteria and ordered some coffee.

Asma, realising her mistake, repeated to her daughter that she would never stand in the way of her daughter's happiness and success and that she would completely support her decisions. After a brief silence Samreen spoke up, "Mom I know you love me, and I promise I won't abandon my religion and I will make sure to practice it,but I must change to fit into this new environment." Asma felt such relief. Then hesitantly Samreen spoke and told Asma that to fit in she should sometimes be wearing even more informal clothing and do things which are part of the University experience but she feared to say it as Asma would not like it. Asma was intrigued asked what dress or things she was talking about. Samreen not wanting to freak her out, lied, "Oh, just University things."

Samreen quickly moved on and half jokingly suggested that her mother should remove her burqa and get a makeover and assured she would look beautiful. Asma although shocked was quite intrigued by this thought, but of course shied away and refused saying that it was not suitable for a woman of her age, even if Samreem wasn't joking. Samreen then insisted, though still in a joking tone said, "Come on Mom, I am serious."

As they were speaking Ai appeared having heard most of the conversation interjected and said, "Don't you worry about your mother, she is in my good hands. I will take care of her." After saying this Ai smiled at Asma and hugged her, who far from flinching, responded willingly. Samreen wondered who was this strange Asian, probably Vietnamese, women, and why this slutty, expensively, dressed women was her mother's friend. Ai looked over Asma's shoulder and smiled knowingly. Her attitude changed to protective and she stared at Samreen as her tongue darted out like a snake to provocatively wet her lips. It was as though she knew Samreen's secret. There was no way she could know, but during the past year Samreen had become aware of the prevalence of sexfighting in the general Vietnamese culture, and how at the Uni private sex shows occurred where in the pits black dudes with 10 inch and bigger cocks would fuck women and that even in some extreme cases a few had become part of the BDSM scene for the masters of sex clubs.

She instantly knew her plan had been thwarted. Samreen had been in her first year of University and her life had changed when a mysterious email had told her, based on her entry psychological test to try out for the VUX3B club. She soon found that membership initiation to the club meant being bound to the large metal and wood cross and both eating and being fucked by big cocks, women and a sybian machine. The 3Xs. In return Samreen had no doubt this club and lifestyle would serve her ambitions. Through this closed circle she would make excellent contacts which would prove invaluable in the job market and that these contacts were the key to promotion, opportunities and money for the lifestyle she craved.

She changed from a sweet dutiful Muslim daughter. In fact, the club archivist had informed her that no other person had progressed in the club as rapidly as her. She glanced at the 3 diagonal dots running from left to right tattooed on her inner wrist and fingered the emerald stud in her ear. The dots signified she was a member of the VUX3B club, just as the 3 dots in a triangle identified a MUSP club member (Melbourne University sexual perversions). Each University had the 3 dots arranged in a way that distinguished that University. The emerald stud revealed her present rank in the club, Advanced, and these earing rankings were the same in every University. No matter which University, and they were competitive with their fiercely fought annual sex Olympics, all members benefited from the tattooed dots even when meeting a member of another University club. Fortunes were made and reputations saved by the recognition of the 3 tattoed dots.

The archivist had told her no one at Victoria University had first passed the initiation which gave either Trainee or Slave status, then progressed from Trainee to Regular to Veteran and finally during the end of year break obtain the emerald stud that said she had Advanced rank. All her contemporaries were still either trainee or regulars. After passing the tests as a Trainee a member progressed to Regular (Topaz), to Veteran (Sapphire), then Advanced (Emerald), then Elite (Ruby), and finally to one of 12 Primes in each club. The failed slaves were used as cannon fodder in the regular orgies or used in special projects with the chance to try again in a year's time.

But she wanted more. The next step was to be one of 50 Elites, then one of the 10 Primes with one being the Alpha Prime. Promotion to these classifications was by a sexual contest challenge finalised by an exchange of ear stud if successful. The alpha prime of VUX3B at present was a Romanian, Marija Popopski, who was also the chancellor of the University who had welcomed the freshman. Samreen had observed and felt there was a changing of the guard about to occur with the Sudanese led by Prime Beta, Makur, taking control of the club and Makur becoming Prime Alpha. She had allied herself with them and not only caught the eye of Makur but become her lover and protégé. Following Makur's instructions she had seduced Makur's daughter, Nyadol, into a lesbian relationship. Samreen was bi and she enjoyed playing this role.

Taken completely into Makur's confidence, she found the South Sudanese woman was a witch doctor. Laugh you may, but consider Haiti, where the former slaves have kept their traditional beliefs. There, rituals and natural, plant based drugs created by witch doctors produce such things as zombie states which medical knowledge says shouldn't occur. Samreen had found the unattractive heavily built, short haired, big arsed Sudanese had an insatiable sex drive and their fucks ended with the Sudanese woman craving more and Samreen semi conscious unable to continue. Yet Makur was pleased saying no one else could last as long or make her cum as strong.

Makur introduced Samreen to rituals such as eating foetuses she obtained from research departments at Melbourne University and the regular eating of her daughter during her period and having Samreen eat and drink concoctions she prepared naked under the full moon while Samreen ate her. Makur went along at first because she didn't want to lose Makur's patronage, but later she became a believer as she found her sex drive and endurance increase and both her nipples and clit become larger. Samreen had weighed everything up, considered all the pros and cons. She had made her choice. She was now totally committed to being part of Makur's New Order and be a major role player in ousting Marija's True Believers. Then the rewards would come.