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.
It was a few days after Asma’s daughter’s sex performance with the Monash University created robotic donkey for the audience at the combined Universities sex clubs dinner. A show Asma was unaware had occurred and can be read in Chapter 2.
Accompanied by her new Asian University classmate Asma was at the Highpoint shopping centre. The 2 looked through the racks of dresses; Ai knowingly, and Asma incredulous that females could wear such provocative clothing. It was not acceptable or permitted back home in her Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province to even look on the internet at such things. The 46-year-old North Vietnamese Ai held them to her body and asked Asma’s thoughts or instructed Asma to hold them as she stood back and looked. She finally selected 3, took them to the shop assistant to show and then went to the change cubicle. She looked back over her shoulder at her new friend, the 4 years younger 42-year-old Pakistani refugee Asma.
“Come on, I need your help and guidance.”
Asma, completely shocked, froze at the thought, but with Ai’s insistent pleading eventually plucked up her courage, overcome her reservations, and joined her, pulling the curtain closed behind her. In the cubicle, Ai had already started shimmying out of her black tight micro dress.
To Asma’s dismay, she found she was unable to take her eyes off her new friend’s nearly naked size 6 body. Ai was standing in front of the mirror in her black thong; a thong identical to what Asma had on beneath her loose body length clothing. A gold 4-inch chain with a diamond pendant hung from her belly button. With unnerving fascination, Asma realized her eyes were lingering over the sleek smooth hollows and curves poised so unselfconsciously before her. Did her thong cling to her the way Ai’s did? How strange, Asma mused, that I never really noticed before how beautiful Ai is, I just saw a slutty exhibitionist dressing inappropriately for her age. Her eyes resting on her friend’s smallish but pert tits. They jutted forward proudly, wide-set and smooth, tapering to a point, yet firm and solid.
Like her breasts, the rest of Ai’s body was delicate and slender, but not thin. With each movement the svelte muscles rippled sleekly under her velvety skin, causing an ever-changing pattern of light and shadow over her sinuous body. Suddenly Asma realized that she was wondering what it must feel like to have her hands on that beautiful body, to feel it writhing helplessly in a wild abandoned passion beneath them. Asma quickly erased the taboo subject from her mind, but still could not take her eyes away from the sight before her.
“I don’t want any thong line,” Ai said thoughtfully, “so just to be sure.”
As though she were alone in the room, the Vietnamese hooked her thumbs in the elastic waistband of the thong and drew it swiftly down over her shapely legs, unaware that Asma was holding her breath unable to tear her eyes away from another 4-inch chain. This one was attached to her longest left pussy lip. Asma’s eye Ai straightened up again with slightly parted legs, fully exposing the thin cavern of cuntal flesh peeking through the bejewelled long light brown crinkled hanging inner lips beneath her shaved pubic mound.
Asma was unable to trust her breathing again until Ai had turned away. What was wrong with her? she thought in rising panic. Ever since she had attended University and met Ai her Muslim beliefs were being questioned. She no longer thought it wrong for a woman to attend University, her best friend dressed in a way that 25 years ago living in Pakistan would have had her stoned in a small village. She walked arm in arm with that woman in public. True it was in that Asian friendly way not as lesbians but now she was ogling Ai’s body and immoral thoughts of sex had flashed into her mind.
Then Ai bent over to pick up her thong and once again Asma felt her panic rise inside as Ai, without thinking, presented her smooth, naked, taut arse in all its beauty. Ai finally shimmied into the dress she wanted to try on, and before too long Asma’s ordeal was over. Asma was relieved, although she noticed that little of the seductive nature of her friend’s body was concealed by the skin-tight, close-fitting, thin material of the very short, backless nightclub dress.
Two more changes followed and each time despite her best intentions Asma could not take her eyes off the naked body of the Vietnamese. She noticed new things, the longish thick erect nipples, the swollen areolae, the slight curve of her belly, the absence of any tan line. All the time she had to appear nonchalant as Ai questioned her to which dress looked best. Finally, Ai decided and Asma relaxed.
There was a knock outside the cubicle and the shop assistant voice could be heard. “I’ve got the other 2 you selected,” she said,
Ai pulled the curtain open and accepted another 2 dresses. Asma thought, “Now I will have to face this again,” torn between knowing it was wrong yet wanting to see Ai naked. Ai held a glimmering mini lurex black nightclub dress. “I think it should fit you, Asma. Put it on.”
Asma shuddered; her stomach churned. It was impossible. It was wrong, and another woman would be seeing her undress, but somehow, encouraged by Ai and convinced no one else would see, she found herself reluctantly, shyly and hesitantly divesting her clothes and standing in her bra and thong with her crossed arms covering her breasts and belly as Ai handed her what seemed to Asma to be a scrap of material. She shut her eyes raised her arms and eased into the dress. She opened her eyes and looked at the mirror. The dress looked like it was sprayed on and her legs seemed to go on forever as the hem was only 4 inches below the lowest part of her slit.
“It’s perfect. It suits your body so well. If you weren’t my friend I would be jealous,” Ai exclaimed, her happiness at how Asma obvious and sincere. “Try the other one, but I can’t see how it could be better than this one.”
Slightly more confidently, and if truth be told, with more enthusiasm and less guilt Asma exchanged the black dress for a crimson one and turned to the mirror. Ai was right. The black outfit was better. She said to herself it made her look like a haraami (slut), but she had to admit that Ai had made her look like a high-class haraami, not the cheap GashtI (whore) that Samreen looked like parading around the Uni like a cheap Jism pharosh (prostitute). The black dress, well, it made her look like Ai.
They proceeded to the counter where Ai purchased 2 of the 3 she had tried on and said to the assistant, “And don’t forget the red lurex number.”
What. Asma reeled in shock. What was Ai doing? She tried to intercede, but the dresses were in the boutique shop’s named bag, Ai had paid and ushered the protesting Asma out the door.
At Ai’s house, Asma’s head reeled. She knew that Ai appeared to have no money worries, but the 2-story house was new and expensive, and the furniture and fittings were extravagant. Ai was not just well off, she was very wealthy, and her only friend was Asma who was at the other end of the money stakes. Yet she knew Ai’s friendship was genuine. How could it be? Back in Pakistan, this could never happen.
As they sat drinking Vietnamese Cà phê sữa đá, the sweet, iced coffee with condensed milk Ai said, “I have to go to a wedding this Saturday and I said I would be bringing you. I hope you want to go and experience a Vietnamese wedding. And you could wear your new dress.”
Seeing the horror on Asma’s face she quickly continued, “Of course, you can wear what you like if that is too much. The important thing to me is that we go together. That’s what I want. Vietnamese women judge others by their clothes, jewellery and who they are with, but what they think doesn’t bother me. You are my friend and I know the real Asma even if they judge you badly.”
Tears welled up in Asma’s eyes as what Ai had just said sunk in. This was a real friendship and needed repaying. “Ai, of course, I will go with you. I will tell my husband I am needed at a University conference and I will be wearing my new dress.”
Suddenly a tearful Ai was hugging her, and the two women clung to each other. Asma turned her head. Ai leaned close, and Asma almost pulled back. But Ai’s dark eyes were melting and warm, pleading, her sensual lips slightly parted. She moved her head even closer until her lips met Asma’s. Their mouths curved together and did not come apart. It was a slow, emotional kiss, and Ai seemed in no hurry to end it. Asma was restrained because of her upbringing and inexperience so she didn’t venture anything but was thrilled when she felt the tip of Ai’s tongue slip between her teeth. She met it with her own, and soon they were kissing more heatedly, their hands rising to each other’s face, caressing. Finally, they had to stop. Asma’s eyes were shining. Ai stared deep into them, saying nothing before leading her upstairs to her bedroom.
Ai, without speaking, took Asma’s shoulders and turned her around. Slowly, after taking off her burqa she began to unbutton her long inner covering blouse, unfastening the five small buttons before tossing it onto the floor beside the bed. She began kissing Asma’s back, the nape of her neck, her shoulder blades, while her fingers unclasped Asma’s bra. Ai unbuttoned her semitransparent blouse before she disrobed the rest of Asma’s clothing from her stiff body. Asma quivered as Ai’s hands roamed over her flesh as this was against everything Pakistani women believed in. They had to be modest, chaste, and never reveal their bodies to anyone else except their husband. But she was allowing it. She would be dammed.
“Look Asma,” Ai said tenderly. “It’s time you face up to the fact that your hot little pussy needs attention just like mine, and unless we do something about it, you’re never going to experience what you should.”
With those words slid her hands lightly down over Asma’s involuntarily contracting stomach and eased them between her thighs before she could think to clamp them together. Ai worked her middle finger until she was able to slip it into Asma’s pussy slit. A slit soaking wet and slippery with her free-flowing sex juices, and then wiggled it in further until she was able to sink the tip of it about two inches up into her gasping friend’s cunt.
At the same time, foreign sensations were whipping out of control through Asma’s quivering nerves. Her belly was seething with desire as she enjoyed the first contact of Ai’s fingering her anxiously waiting, vaginal flesh. It was wrong, of course, it was wrong. “Lesbianism,” it was called, but right now Asma didn’t care. The confused Pakistani’s thoughts were not helped any by the way Ai was rolling her fingers over Asma’s already swollen nipples, causing her 34C tits to heave rapidly in rising anticipation of what she was hoping was going to occur.
Looking down Ai could see tiny drops of moisture seeping from Asma’s rapidly swelling pussy lips, a faint tantalizing musky odour blending with that coming from her soaking slit. Her finger went deeper, and her thumb stroked the bulging clit of the Pakistani, then burrowed a little deeper… and then, oh God, total success. The first rippling of sensation shot up through Asma’s pulsing loins and over her shivering belly from the fingering Ai was expertly delivering to her cuntal flesh. Then it happened, the sheer perversion of what was happening turned her around inside so that she began to start cumming.
Her fingers continued to explore the still moist pit of Asma’s wet slit, making contact with every nook and cranny of the sensitive organ. With an expert touch, her thumb smoothed around the Pakistani’s clitoris while her fingers slipped further and further into her welcoming twat.
Asma knew that she was now among the lowest of the low. Her eyes tightly shut, trying to stifle the effect of the caresses, telling herself that the quicker she cooperated the sooner it would be over. Ai’s voice was whispering in her ears… “Relax… Relax…” But it did no good. She was no lesbian. Ai’s fingers were now fully inside of her, plunging up higher and Asma tried to squeeze her thighs together to prevent her from going further. But Ai wedged her entire body in between her legs, pressing her firm tits up against Asma’s full mounds as she did so.
The thumb toying with her clit and the steady rhythm with which Ai was now plunging 3 fingers inside her aching cunt was taking its effect. What was Ai turning her into? A whore. Ai lay her on the bed and went to work. Despite the look of worry on Asma’s face, she could feel the wetness and involuntary clasping of her cunt muscles. Ai gently pried her legs further apart. “Oh darling,” she whispered, “Let me do what I must. Let me make you cum.”
Asma allowed her legs to remain parted. She was so ashamed she didn’t know what to do. She was utterly naked, more vulnerable than she had ever been before. She knew that Ai was staring right into her cunt, and was wanting to make her cum, and that thought was making her lose control despite the fact she had been told all her life that it was vile, dirty. A woman shouldn’t feel pleasure. Sex was merely to give the husband children, preferably male. Anything else was against the beliefs that had been drummed into back home. She was trapped like some schoolgirl who had made the mistake of getting into a passing motorist’s car. She cried out in shame and horror as Ai’s lips touched the tender inside of her love channel.
Ai worked harder and harder, To Asma, it was disgusting, unbelievable, and yet, oh, God, she had to have it go on, it was getting better and better; this woman’s hand at her cunt and clit, torturing her with unwanted lust. Her hips jerked up and around and she lewdly spread her legs wider, forcing Ai’s hand deeper into her juice oozing pussy. She had to make it go on and on and on.
“OH, OH OH!” she began to scream, writhing about on the bed,
“Oooooooooooohhh,” she gave another jerk and slipped down off the bed, sending Ai sprawling in front of her. But Ai did not waste a moment. In a flash, she was back on her knees in front of Asma’s widespread legs. Now they were on the soft lambskin rug that covered the polished boards.
“Aaaaahh… oooohhh aaaaaallh!” Asma cried as she writhed, controlled by the touch of the insistent hand. It was beautiful bliss, at last, she was at the breaking point, no longer aware of anything around her. It went on and on, a sweet climax that choked her with its intensity.
A voice sounded in her head… a scream… and dimly she was aware that it was her voice, her cry of sexual release.
“Aaaahhh,” Asma gasped as Ai’s tongue and nose slid wetly up the tender flesh of her inner thigh, before bypassing the now throbbing clit in her slit and nuzzling into her mat of pubic hair. Ai slowly drove her to indescribable heights of wild frustrated passion as she gently, teasingly moved her face over the hungry cunt flesh beneath. Asma could not keep her sex from grinding upward, trying to impale herself on that thrusting, exploring tongue, then suddenly Ai’s long tongue snaked out and buried itself deep up into her seething sex cavern.
“Aaaaaggghhh,” Asma cried out involuntarily as her back arched upward and her head fell back under the stimulus of the expert assault. All Ai’s attention centred on what was below the matted pubic triangle spread before her, and she began to lick in earnest now, her wetly flicking tongue worming relentlessly into the heated cunt, each thrust bringing a deep low moan from Asma on the bed under her.
Lick and lick and lick again.
Asma prayed that it would never end and that this sensual pleasure would go on and on forever and ever. Each hot burning swipe of the merciless tongue seemed to last an eternity, making her aware of every inch that it slid over her convulsing pussy. She could feel it start far down at her anus, then lick slowly up between her legs to the sensitive bulb of her palpitating clit. It felt as if each touch of Ai’s tongue was charged with electricity whose strength was more than her overloaded nerves could stand.
Asma could sense that she was nearing another orgasm. She had to be. There had to be eventual release from these relentless sensations that Ai was giving her pussy, or she knew she would go mad. But where was it, where was the needed climax? Desperately she drew her legs up high off the floor, holding her knees back tight against her flattened breasts with her straining hands so that her wide spread pussy was offered up as a sacrifice to the mouth and tongue above her.
Yes, yes, that would do it, Asma thought to herself as Ai drove her searching tongue ever deeper into her hungering slit. Yes, she was going to cum soon now, she could feel the fragile bubble growing deep up inside her already spasming belly, Yes, just another few seconds…
“Ai, oh Ai, I’m cummmiiiiing, Ungh, unngh UNGHHHHH, Ooooooooooooh God Ai, you made me cuuuuuuuuummm.”
Ai guided her back onto the bed and her tongue again shot out and moved teasingly inside the seething cauldron of need that was between Asma’s trembling thighs. The excited Asma demandingly thrust her loins forward, trying to lure the pink spear deeper up into her cunt, but the experienced Ai withdrew a moment before once again shooting her tongue out, this time to flick teasingly at Asma’s swollen, pulsating clitoris.
“Oooooohhhh, God, aahhhhhh,” Asma moaned, unable to keep silent. Her breath rushed from her lungs with a hiss as Ai began to run her tongue hotly up and down the full length of her pussy slit, teasing it then striking into the wet opening before it, like a miniature, relentlessly writhing snake. Ai suddenly deserted the wet pussy and waited a moment before lashing out with her stabbing tongue hard against Asma’s throbbing erect clit. Once more the thrashing Asma shrieked out in wild abandon, unable to control herself. The darting, jabbing tongue ran in tiny little circles around the painfully pulsing bud of sexual pleasure, and then to her delight, Ai began to suck at it, circling her lips around it in firm suction while giving it sharp little nips with her teeth.
Then she again went back to sliding her tongue into Asma’s cunt, ravishing, licking, driving it far up into her open pleading slit. Tongue… tongue… moving, arousing everywhere, raining greater pleasure into her fuck channel. Squirming and moaning in response to her burning cunt, Asma groaned and cried out as sensations of ecstasy spasmodically twitched her tense, quivering body. She began to pant, with no control over her breathing, opening her legs as wide as possible and thrusting her love juice oozing slit forward to get the maximum contact with Ai’s tongue. Ai was also gasping from exertion, but never let her tongue lose contact with the cuntal wetness before it, her nose buried deep into the warm moist depths. It was the final trigger needed to set off Asma’s explosion, finally releasing the intolerable pressure deep up inside her softly convulsing belly.
“Ooooohhhh… Ooooohhhh… God. Ai! I’m going to… cuuuummmmm… aaahhhh Agaaaiiiinnnnnnnnnnnn.”
The next Asma knew was that they were entwined together on the bed and that she had scooped up Ai’s’ pert, hard little breasts in her hands and lowered her mouth to the long, thin nipples. Asma took one into her mouth, sucking it gently, then harder.
“Ohhnnnn!” Ai moaned softly.
Although inexperienced she began making love to Ai’s tits and nipples, squeezing and sucking them, nipping and tonguing the ripe, bulging nipples, gradually learning what turned Ai on until Ai was moaning almost continuously.
“Oh god… it feels so good!” she groaned to Asma who was curling her tongue around one wet, stiff bud, teasing it with her teeth. “Ohhh… Asma, please!”
Ai began to squirm. Now Asma slid down her squirming body, kissing her smooth midriff, caressing her narrow waist, her swelling hips, kissing the warm skin of her inner thighs, bringing soft, excited whimpers from Ai. The Vietnamese’s pussy was puckered and very wet. Asma ran the tip of her tongue up and down the glossy brown edges of Ai’s cunt lips.
“Ahh!” Ai gasped sharply, digging her fingers into her thighs, her pelvis shuddering excitedly.
Asma started slowly, making love to Ai, not just fucking her. Continuing to learn as she went, she licked and tongue-explored the wet pink cleft of Ai’s slit for a long time, patiently avoiding Ai’s clit, stroking the woman’s tight butt with her fingers, slowly building the intensity, until Ai was quivering uncontrollably, and almost begging for relief.
“Oh! Ohhnnn… oh Asma… unh! Oh… please! Oh Asma, please!”
By the time Asma touched Ai’s clit with the tip of her tongue, she was primed to explode, and it took only a few strokes for her to come quickly.
“Unghh! Ohnng! Auuggnhhh! Mmmnnggeee!” she cried out, arching her back, pumping spastically with her hips, cumming violently. Her lovely body undulated through several spasms of ecstasy, and Asma decided since she had come so quickly and easily, not to stop now. As soon as Ai’s spasms waned, and her breathing grew easier, Asma began tonguing her pussy again, and gave tiny love-sucks to her clit, until a fresh, clenching orgasm shook her.
“Ohhnggn! Oh god! Oh… shit oh Asma… unhhh! Oh God, ahhnnieeee!” she moaned, cumming again, grabbing her small breasts and twisting them mercilessly in her hands as her body shook with bliss.
The fact she had made Ai cum twice amazed her, but she realized that Ai was in a sexual trance, and she couldn’t resist the temptation to try to make her friend cum even more. She changed position with her mouth to Ai’s breasts, and her hand back between the Vietnamese’s yawning thighs. Her mouth swallowed one thick hard nipple, while she slipped two fingers up into the sopping-wet trench of Ai’s pussy, scissoring Ai’s clit between them as they sank in deep. She began fucking and sucking Ai more vigorously now, and somehow a slight, violent twitch from the Vietnamese alerted her. She had felt the same thing herself just before.
Could it be? Now she let her fingers inside Ai’s tight, slippery pussy search the inner walls, until she felt Ai twitch again, her cunt muscles in a spasm. Yes! she thought. God, Ai, you’re going to come so hard. She rubbed the G spot inside Ai’s pussy, for that was what she had unknowingly found, with the tip of one finger. Ai’s body stiffened, and then all the breath seemed to leave her as she erupted in a fierce string of orgasms. The spasms wrenched her body so wildly that her tit slipped out of Asma’s mouth. A tiny, helpless mewling sound came from deep in her throat as wave after wave of rapture struck her. She had several orgasms in a row, though they all seemed to blend into one, and Asma could not believe what was happening or tell where the cums she had caused began or ended.
Ai’s bed shook and banged against the wall, but both women were caught in the grip of sexual gluttony, and they continued pumping and thrusting furiously until both exploded in a firestorm of orgasms. It was an exhausting, exultant, and depraved climax to their evening of fucking, and both could barely lift a finger as the waves of ecstasy subsided.
They disentangled their bodies, still stunned by the shock of it, and Ai bent to kiss Asma’s pussy tenderly, before embracing her face to face, hugging her tightly, murmuring in her ear.
“I wanted you so badly,” she murmured. “So badly. But it was worth the wait.”
“Oh god… Ai, I never knew it could be like this,” Asma began to cry softly again. “I didn’t know it could be like this,” she sobbed.
Ai kissed her, a deep, emotional kiss. Asma stopped crying.
“I’m embarrassed,” she said. “I didn’t mean to cry. I guess I thought I would never feel like this, especially with my husband’s lack of interest in me.”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“Mmmmm, I don’t want to, either” replied Asma.
“Can you sleep here?”
“If I stay, we won’t get much sleep.”
“I won’t let you,” Ai grinned, rolling Asma onto her back again. “I can’t get enough.”
“Oh… Ai,” Asma said softly, her eyes swirling again with desire. “How can I be feeling this way?”
Asma did stay, and they did end up fucking throughout the night. They slept, dozed, awoke, made love, slept again, made love again. By morning Ai had had many orgasms, and Asma even a few more.
Four days later it was Friday night. The wedding was at the Happy Receptions in Ascot Vale. It had originally been a movie cinema and so had 2 levels, with the upstairs higher price seating area having been converted into a complete second floor. This meant that 2 different weddings could be hosted simultaneously. To Asma, there was more female flesh on display than inside the rooms in Lahore’s notorious red light, brothel district, Heeramandi.
Asma was poured into the micro black lycra nightclub dress that Ai had purchased for her and she had changed into at ai’s house. Her body strained to break the tight material which constrained her full tits and clung to her belly. Her body shape and face were similar to Pakistan’s first female prime minister, Benazir Bhutto. Her extreme high heels belonged to Ai’s eldest daughter. She was bedecked in Ai’s jewellery and clasped a genuine LV bag of Ai’s. Asma clung close to Ai and looked around. If she was truthful with herself, she felt did not look out of place at this gathering. Her eyes were round and wide open as she took in the Vietnamese women in the old foyer brazenly flaunting flesh, no matter their age.
Personally, over the years I have observed that of all the Asian races, Vietnamese women placed greater emphasis on sensuality, femininity and being proud of being judged as a better woman. Even factory workers or women sewing at home on low piece rates were fashion proud and would not even go to the supermarket without wearing full makeup, painted nails, high heels and modern clothes. There was no place for fake jewellery: it had to be the real thing and big and expensive. They thought nothing of spending to look good. Thus, an invitation to a wedding was a chance to show off to other women, and most would be wearing revealing halter necks or translucent tops and dresses with the most exaggerated slits that the other Asian ‘normal housewife’ would be too embarrassed to wear in public.
Older women did everything to maintain their sexuality, before reluctantly finally accepting and dressing as a respected elder in a velvet, deep maroon coloured, looser fitting. traditional Ao Dai. The normal Ao Dai is it is a long, very tight, split, silk tunic dress worn over semitransparent, usually white, voluminous trousers. The split almost always reached above the waist. To be a Vietnamese woman meant defending your sexuality and doing anything to avoid losing face to another woman.
They lined up and waited for their traditional individual photo with the bride, Chau, and groom, Duy: a copy which would be later sent to them, nowadays emailed. Ai handed over a red envelope which then had her name written on it; a good way to ensure that there was a big money gift inside. Entering the lower floor reception room, Asma countered the tables. 100, each with ten chairs, so 1000 guests. Some of the guests must have been someone who lived in the same street as a distant relative and had been met once, she thought.
She experienced her first Vietnamese wedding. As Ai had predicted, two of the dishes on the set menu were Abalone soup and Roast Quail. To Asma, one tasted like rubber and the other was dried skin on bones. The third ‘compulsory’ dish, Lobster, she didn’t mind. As she ate her way through the ten courses, she was able to enjoy the other things that were inevitable at a Vietnamese wedding. The three large screen TVs played the wedding video, although most of it had been recorded the day before with many retakes to capture the “spontaneity” of the occasion.
True to tradition, the bride Chau left the wedding table regularly to change outfits and return. A traditional, though sexed-up, Ao Dai was replaced by a western wedding dress complete with lace gloves that extended along her forearms, then by two different slut type nightclub dresses. Finally, the happy couple with Chau tottering on her extreme high heels visited each table to say thanks for coming and for the red envelope.
A man approached and spoke in Vietnamese to Ai. She turned to Asma. “Get up and come with me, we are both in the Best Outfit Contest.’
Despite Asma’s protests she couldn’t do this, couldn’t parade in front of an audience Ai chivvied her along and soon she was standing in the lobby beside Ai along with 28 happy Vietnamese women and clutching a dinner plate with number 12 written with a thick sharpie on it. Ai explained she had to enter the dance floor, make two circuits of it and then stand with the others. All too soon it was her turn and Ai half pushed her out of the lobby. She walked stiffly her eyes to the floor but managed her first circuit of the dance floor. Surprised by the applause she managed her second circuit more confidently. But as she stood with those who had preceded her, she noted how Ai and the others revelled in their chance to parade before the guests.
As the 30 women stood in the group waiting to hear their fate Ai whispered to her that 8 of the 30 would be in the final. The man who had spoken to Ai called out numbers and suddenly Ai was gripping Asma telling her they were both in the final 6. She would have to do it again. As the 8 women grouped in the lobby Asma was astounded to see them shimmering out of their dresses.
“I can’t do it Ai,” she wailed.
“Of course you can. You are beautiful and it is an honour to be in the final 6. Don’t let the Vietnamese here say you chickened out.”
She continued her encouragement and reluctantly Asma slowly took off her skin-hugging cocktail dress. The cold air immediately stiffened her nipples as Ai had decided that a bra under her dress would ruin the look and when they had dressed and had produced a replacement. An L shaped device of stiffened material adhered to the skin under her tits and provided a shelf like support for them to rest on. She crossed her arms to cover her naked globes, but a glance showed 4 of the women had a similar bra replacement; the other 3 favoured a total transparent or peek a boo bra.
She watched the woman preceding her leave the lobby her eyes taking in the thong wedged in her arse crack and her suspender belt and stockings. She heard the cheers that greeted her and then it was her turn. Forced on by the knowledge that she couldn’t embarrass her friend by pulling out she entered the bright lights of the dance floor. Music blared out and it was her 2 minutes of fame. She moved jerkily then something cracked. It was her reserve and she gyrated to the music with her hips moving lewdly and provocatively. She vaguely heard the crowd’s cheering, but she was in a world of her own. All too soon it finished, and she went to the waiting group and stood watching Ai and the remaining contestants.
Again, there was the announcement in Vietnamese. She and Ai had not made the final 3 placegetters. Returning from the lobby dressed but still fuelled by the adrenaline rush she had just experienced Ai explained that the first 2 could not be separated, so there would be a posedown. To Asma’s disbelief, the 2 two stripped completely. Ai explained the younger, about 19, worked in a takeaway food shop while the other in her 40s was a top eye surgeon. She wasn’t an eye surgeon now, Asma thought as she performed a pole dancer in a seedy club would be proud of, only to be replaced by a similar performance by the young kitchen hand who did enough to claim victory.
driving home enquired if Asma had enjoyed the wedding and praised Asma constantly. Suddenly she said, “I was so proud of you, and you looked so great. You should be dressing like that at Uni too.”
To Asma’s surprise her answer blurted out, “But what would I buy, how would I buy, where would I Keep these so Asfar doesn’t know?”
Ai laughed. “For someone who is so clever at University and the best achiever of all the Government-assisted University students you are so dumb. Of course, I would help you choose and buy them for you, and you would store them at my house, you silly person.”