Misc. Erotica Few erotic (non porn) stories from other sites.

[Blue Bull]

Asma's Eyes Are Opened

(Mu$lim Housewife Makes Some Discoveries.)

By: crimfolk

With the special assistance of a reader.

Asma froze where she sat. She had come into the cubicle in the quiet for a moment before she began her afternoon shift. All had been silence and calm for a minute and then that had been shattered by their arrival.

The outside door had crashed open and through her cubicle door she had heard them come in.

"You can't wait can you? You gorgeous big fucking bastard." The words broke off and were followed by a high-pitched giggle. It sounded like a white woman - the sort that unkind people called chavs. Her harsh 'estuary accent' seeming to bounce off the walls.

Asma heard another cubicle door open and the rustle of clothing. She felt frozen, riveted to the spot. Unsure of what to do.

"You know what I need don't ya? I need that fucking big Black cock. You going to give me it you horny bastard?"

There was more rustling and another noise or two followed by the creak of pressure against a cubicle wall. Then a pause and then the noise repeated again and again and again...

Asma was mortified, horrified by what was happening so near-by. She just wanted to get out of there. She finished up and adjusted her clothing but as she picked it up she heard her bag clink against the porcelain of the toilet bowl.

She froze as the noises from the other cubicle halted.

"I heard somefink - there's someone out there. Who is it?"

Asma tried to control her breathing, tried to keep as quiet as she possibly could. She was so embarrassed, so horrified. These two were behaving like animals. It was terrible. She could not bear to be caught by them.

"Oh fuck it," the female voice resumed, "I couldn't give a fuck anyway. You gonna wait all day or you gonna fuck me."

There was a low deep laugh and then the noises started again. The creak of the cubicle wall, the gasps of the woman, the noises of frantic vigorous sex.

Asma could not believe it. A few minutes ago everything had been so calm. Now she was trapped here having to listen to these two beasts, these two rutting animals. She felt humiliated and frightened that they would catch her. She should have just left as quickly as possible as soon as they had come in. Now it seemed too late - if they caught her they would think she had been spying on them or worse...

"Oh fucking hell you're good. You big fucking Black stud. Fuck me - c'mon, fuck me harder."

Asma tried to wipe away the images flashing into her brain. It wasn't hard to visualise them. She had lived in this city long enough since Afsar and brought her over from Hyderabad. She had not wanted to come but her husband had family over here, a place in their business concern waiting for him. Back home everything had been so familiar. Here there were so many different types of people and cultures.

She had heard enough to know that two of them were meeting in that cubicle over there. She could imagine what the woman liked that - what Afsar would call a 'Kuffar whore.' Fake blonde hair, provocative make-up, painted nails, clothing that showed off her body. She saw so many of them here.

"C'mon you big Black bastard - show me what I'm missing. Show me how much better you are than my husband." Her voice was strident, loud, you could hear the excitement in every word.

Asma felt another wave of almost panic go through her. She had hoped that they were just an over-excited couple but this was so much worse. The woman was committing adultery. That was unthinkable, unacceptable. It went against everything she had ever been taught. A wife had to be loyal to her husband, had to stand by him whatever his faults and failings. If that was not true then didn't everything start to collapse?

There was a deep voice across in the other cubicle. The walls between them deadened it so that she couldn't make out the individual words. That must have been the man. The response from his slut was louder and much more audible.

"I don't care what he thinks, he's fucking useless. It's because of him I'm here. You should fucking advertise you gorgeous big stud. Special services for neglected wives! Now stop talking and fuck me."

There was a muffled response and then the sex sounds came louder and faster.

"Yes, Yes, that's it, YES!!!" The woman sounded ecstatic, fuelled on adrenaline and excitement.

Asma struggled to control the thoughts in her head. Her shame and embarrassment at being there. Her outrage at what the man and the woman were doing in so public a place. Her resentment and... She didn't want to acknowledge it but she knew it was there. The realisation that she had never quite felt what that white slut over there was feeling right now. Her husband was a decent man, an honourable man, the proud and dutiful father of their children. However, he was not an exciting man.

She felt guilt at even thinking such things. It was disgraceful, outrageous, it should be literally unthinkable!!!

There was a grunt and another squeal of delight from the other cubicle. The noises of sex ceased and there was some rustling.

"Oh fuck yeah - that's just what I needed." There was a cheeky giggle. "Look what a mess you made you horny Black fucker. It's already dripping out of me. I'd better get cleaned up or even that thick-as-shit old twat might figure out what's going on!" The two laughed together and the other door opened

Asma suddenly realised her danger. She sat down again and picked her feet up off the floor while, oh so gently, easing the lock open while holding the door shut.

The voices were clearer now - only the thin wood of her own cubicle's door between her and them.

"See, I told you. All the doors are showing vacant. There was no-one here." The man's voice was a gorgeous rich baritone and for a moment she thought she recognised it.

"Shame - she missed out," the woman laughed stridently again. "Who knows she might have joined us. Found out what getting fucked is really all about. Cieron is at his meeting on Friday so we'll have a bit more time if you want."

Asma couldn't help it. In the moment before she had vigorously suppressed it her mind had an instant to dwell on what the white woman had said. She felt it - the momentary thrill that seemed to send the blood pumping through her veins. That little reminder that for all that she was a good '. and a good wife that was not all that she was. She was also a woman and yes that sometimes meant she could have sexual thoughts and desires and needs. She felt shame and guilt.

"...oh I know what you'd like. I've seen you lookin' at 'er. You'd like to make it a United Nations of fucking wouldn't you. Go for the full set. One Black, one White and one Asian. Sure you could handle us both?"

"Got any doubts?" The man's tones left Asma herself in no doubt that he was confident of his ability to meet any sexual challenge. But she wasn't really thinking about that. She was trying to understand what the woman had been saying.

"Nah, I know what you're like. Besides, she'd probably faint as soon as she saw that big fucking cock of yours. Have you seen what she wears? You can tell she's a frigid bitch. Probably never had a real fuck in her life."

The man laughed again. "Surprise you to know she's got three kids? So someone laid some fucking pipe at some point. Anyway, go easy on her. She wears that kit 'cos of her religion."

"So you wouldn't want to see her out of it? You haven't been thinking about fucking that tight little ass ever since she got the job here? C'mon now, Tony I know you."

Asma heard a slight slapping sound followed by a feminine giggle. She was in shock. Every sentance seemed to bring new revelations, startling and potentially life-changing.

"Don't see it happening but that sweet little Indian bitch ever gives me the nod then I'll happily fuck her like she ain't never been fucked before. Call it instinct but I'm knowing she got a sweet little body under them damned dbangs. Now don't look at me like that - no need to be jealous. You know there's a whole lot of me to go around. Now go check the door - make sure no-one's watching.

The sound of the door rang through the room. There was a sudden silence. Asma let her feet back down to the floor and then very slowly opened the cubicle door. The staff toilets were empty. She breathed out and then went across to the wash hand basin. She splashed some water onto her face and looked into the mirror. She saw her light-brown complexion and the little lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She also saw something else. She saw the fear in her eyes and the way her mouth was held tightly shut. How she wished that she had never heard that conversation.

She was not the only Asian person working at the store of course. However, she knew the other Asian women working there and she was the only one with three children. That couple had been talking about her. She looked again at her reflection as it stared back. She was 42 years old and while the years had been kind to her she did not expect to suddenly be the object of such attention. She had three children almost all grown up. It was ridiculous. Worse, it was sinful.

She hadn't recognised the female voice. She thought it was probably a customer - but obviously one well used to coming back here to fornicate. How disgraceful.

Asma was in no doubt as to how the woman knew to come back here because she had no trouble recognising the male voice. That use of a 'Tony' had just confirmed it.

He had been on the panel interviewing her for the job and he was the manager of the fresh produce department. Not her direct superior but they often met in the cause of a day's work at the supermarket.

Tony Turner was of Jamaican descent, a tall well-built dark-skinned man in his late thirties. Perhaps five years younger than her and yet...

Asma felt that tingle rushing through her blood-stream again. Like a jolt of adrenaline. The idea that a man like him would look at her in such a way. It was ridiculous. She looked again into the mirror. No, that was not correct. Afsar had always said she was beautiful. She felt a stab of guilt even thinking about her husband while having such thoughts. However, she recognised that the person looking back at her from the mirror was an attractive if maturing South Asian woman. It was not ridiculous that a man, even a man like Tony, would find her attractive, would want to...

She again stubbornly crushed that thought. Such things were wrong even to think about. It was a betrayal of Afsar and of her family and of everything that she held sacred.

She tried to think back through the months she had been working at the supermarket, tried to remember how Tony had looked at her. She had never noticed anything. Had she been blind or, the thought struck her hard, perhaps she was being foolish. Perhaps they had not been talking about her, perhaps they had been talking about someone else after all.

She felt it like a blow in her stomach. The crushing weight of disappointment and almost despair. It was crazy. Even had it been so she could never have done anything about it. She could never have... So why did it suddenly seem to matter so much that he SHOULD have been talking about her.

She felt confused, bewildered by all the feelings and emotions running through her. Suddenly felt shame that she also seemed so ill-equipped to deal with something like this. She was a mature woman, a mother of two grown-up daughters, how could she suddenly be thrown into such confusion.

Concentration and work. They were the answer. She suddenly realised how long she had been here - she would be late for her shift. It was as well she was on re-provisioning rather than the check-out. She checked her dress and then hurried out onto the floor.

"Hi Asma." That was her direct boss, Ellie, a very nice person.

"I'm sorry I am late Ellie - I, um..."

Ellie was looking at her with a concerned expression. "Are you OK? You look like you've had a shock. Do you need to take five minutes?"

Asma mustered up a smile. "No, no, I'm well. I'm ready to work. Should I start with the milk as usual?"

Ellie nodded and then watched Asma go to work. Her colleague was normally so quiet and placid. It had been a shock to see her apparently so worked up. Well, if Asma needed to talk then she hoped that she knew that she could come to her.

***

Asma Hashmihad been born into a Hyderabadi family. Her family had been loving but strict. Her life as a young woman had been planned out and organised for her from an early age. Her father has been a college teacher and had very much believed in educating all of his children, not just the boys. She had not gone to college but very few of the girls in her class had. That was just not the way of things then. At the age of eighteen her family had organised a match for her from a family that they knew well.

She had met Afsar twice before her wedding. She knew that her family meant the best for her and that they would not have forced her to marry him. However, she also knew what was expected of her. In truth she had been lucky. Afsar was a kind and generous man and she had grown to love him. He had done his best to provide for her and, in time, for their son and two daughters. He had been a caring and thoughtful father. She really could have very few complaints. She knew others who had been much less fortunate - married to old men as part of a business deal for instance. Afsar was a good man and she was lucky to have him.

Soon after their marriage Afsar's family had sent him to London to help manage a branch of their family business there. It had been something of a shock leaving home and coming to so foreign a place but at least she had good English. Others sent over to marry were not so fortunate. It meant her life was not restricted to her family circle though for the first few years it had made little difference.

Afsar knew his duty. He had to work in the family business and he had to father a son. He had achieved the latter but only after the birth of two daughters. It meant Asma had been pregnant for most of their first five years of marriage and then had been busy raising three small children. It had come as a relief that once young Ashraf had been born her husband had seemed to lose interest in sex. Her husband was a good man, a religious man, he understood that copulation was to produce children. He was ten years her senior and slightly-built, his love-making had always been hesitant, restrained, almost dutiful. His duty done he did not trouble Asma with such things.

She had not been unhappy about that. Afsar had gone to work and had become manager of the whole British end of the family firm. Asma had raised her two beautiful daughters, Rubina and Samreen. Ashraf had grown into a handsome young man, slightly-built like his father but with the sensitive deep brown eyes of his mother. She loved them all very much and she missed them very much.

Ashraf had done very well at college and now was at a very fine University on a scholarship. Rubina was a good girl despite her tendencies towards independence. Perhaps she and her husband had not been strict enough with their eldest daughter. Anyway Rubina had done very well and now had started a job in the City. Samreen had been more dutiful and happy to accept the very good marriage that Afsar had been able to make for her.

They had been lucky there.

Their charmed existence as the family of a prosperous businessman had barely survived the children moving out by six months.

Asma still did not quite understand what had happened. Money had been lost, a LOT of money, and it had apparently been the responsibility of her husband. The security officer had come to their house! Afsar had been taken away for two days and questioned!!

She had felt confused, bewildered, had not known what to tell any of her friends or her children. It had been very apparent from the security officer's attitude that they had regarded her husband as either a fool or a thief. When they let him go it was clear that they had decided he was the former.

The huge loss had broken the firm or at least its British side. Afsar's family had been furious. He had not only lost his job; none of them had communicated with him since the truth had come out. It was as if he was dead to them.

Her husband had been proud of his job, his position in the Hyderabadi community in London. Making such a catastrophic mistake had brought him great shame. It was worse that their community was not large and soon everyone had seemed to know about it. She knew that many did not believe Afsar was entirely innocent. They had said that no-one could be so stupid as to make such mistakes.

Their children were so lucky. Rubina's husband had been loyal to her though he had broken off contact with Afsar. The other two were well along the path to making their own way in England. Had the collapse happened ten years earlier then...

She had to thank God for sparing them that. Now she and Afsar were left isolated and relying on what savings they had been left by the legal problems. Afsar had been so proud of his business acumen and skill. Now it was clear much of his success had been courtesy of his family's assistance. Now the only job he could get was at a corner shop run by a man he had used to laugh about!

It was not enough. Asma had soon realised that to avoid disaster she would have to work too. Her husband had not been happy about it and she had wanted to accord to his wishes. However, his wishes did not put food on the table or keep a roof over their heads. His wishes did not prevent them from shaming their son and daughters. Afsar had made investments but as part of his family's firm - something to do with taxes? Now the returns were being kept by the family as the first, small, part of paying off the losses he had caused.

Which is how Asma had found herself at the supermarket being interviewed by Tony Turner...

***

Asma had always been told that the West was decadent. What else would one expect of those who had not heard or did not heed the words of the Prophet? That was as obvious as the sky being blue!

It was something else to actually hear it and see it. She had known that such things happened in drinking dens and sordid night-clubs. Asma, of course, had never gone near to such places and she did not watch lewd Western films or television. So for years she had been able to isolate herself from such goings on.

Now, her eyes and ears had been opened by Tony Turner and his 'Kuffar whore.' Only a couple of days after that startling experience a woman come to the supermarket. She was a logistical organiser who Asma had seen several times before, who Asma had spoken to. She was very attractive for an English woman, had seemed very nice and well-spoken and had wore a wedding ring on her finger.

This time she had come in and soon she had been talking to Tony. Then he had led her into the back-rooms.

Asma found that she could not help it. When they had gone she could not get the image out of her mind. Of Tony and the woman going back there and... She dared not put her thoughts into words. The two of them back there like Tony and the other woman two days earlier.

How could a woman do such a thing? What about her husband, perhaps her children? How could she betray them like that? Even for a non-believer to behave so was disgraceful, alarming, enough to turn Asma's nice orderly world all topsy-turvy. It made her feel something deep in her soul.

"Asma... Asma... Asma - are you alright honey? You look like you've seen a ghost. Aren't you feeling well?"

It was Ellie - her supervisor. Ellie was a very good person, she had made Asma's transition into working here so much easier. Now she was looking at Asma with evident concern.

"I - I think I'm alright." Again the images of Tony and the woman surged into her head, unbidden and unwanted. Asma felt herself sway a little.

Contd.....