Chapter 9: Monash University and Two Women

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 Gundu’s incestuous, sexual journey, will be found by reading the entire series.

I stood at the reception desk of the Modern Asian Business and Politics department and stared openly at the woman behind the glass. Her name badge read Aiko. I knew exactly who she was. She was a former Japanese Adult Video actress who had transitioned into administrative work at the university. Her past was obvious. She wore a tight white blouse unbuttoned low enough to display massive silicone breasts. The implants were unusual for a Japanese woman. They were USA porn star Silicone, perfectly round and unnaturally stiff, not the common Japanese fat implant. They sat high on her chest like two hard plastic bowls pushing against the thin fabric. Still, they were very good to look at, and she preened and twisted to allow that.

Otherwise, she was typing on her keyboard and ignoring me completely. I leaned forward and rested my elbows on the polished counter. I looked directly down her blouse.

“You look stressed, Aiko,” I said, keeping my voice low and suggestive. “I have a private office back in the city. We could take an hour this afternoon. I could help you relax and show you how a real man treats a woman with your specific talents.”

Aiko stopped typing. She looked up at me with dead, flat eyes. There was absolutely no interest in her expression. She had spent years faking orgasms for cameras in Tokyo, and my offer meant nothing to her.

“I am not interested,” she said flatly. Her voice carried a heavy Japanese accent. “Keep your office to yourself.”

She reached under the desk and pulled out a thick manila folder. She slid it across the glass counter and pushed it toward my chest.

“Here are the documents,” Aiko said. “This is the student visa and the Australian passport for the Vietnamese woman. George Manly signed them this morning. Take them and make sure she turns up for her preliminary grading next week.”

I picked up the folder and tapped it against the counter. Getting Hoa her passport was the primary goal, but I had other business here today: my sexual needs.

“I need to see the Indian P.A.,” I said. “Tell Bipasha I am here.”

Aiko went back to typing. She didn’t even bother to look up at me this time. “Bipasha is busy,” Aiko replied. “She is in a private meeting with an important client, and she left strict orders not to be disturbed by anyone. She certainly does not have time for you today.”

I stood there for a moment and considered pushing the issue. Aiko stopped typing again and glared at me. “Take your papers and leave,” she ordered. “You have what you came for. Get out of my reception area before I call security.”

I turned away from the desk and walked, trying unsuccessfully to maintain my dignity toward the lift lobby. I pressed the call button and watched the lift dedicated to George’s 15th-floor empire zoom up. I had Hoa’s documents secured, but being dismissed by a fake-titted receptionist and denied access to Bipasha irritated me. The lift doors slid open, and I stepped inside.

I pressed the ground floor button and rode the lift down in silence. The folder with Hoa’s passport felt heavy under my arm. I walked out of the brutalist concrete building and headed straight for the main student union complex. As a former Monash University undergraduate, I remembered the pineapple-glazed donuts I ate every day between lectures and wondered if the vast canteen still sold them.

The canteen was packed with students hunched over laptops and cheap coffee. I found the bakery section and saw the familiar yellow glaze shining under the fluorescent lights. I bought two of them and found a quiet table near the back windows. The donuts were exactly as I remembered. The sticky-sweet glaze was gooey when I bit into the soft dough. I finished both of them quickly, wished I had bought three, then sat back in the plastic chair. I was sucking the sticky yellow artificial pineapple off my fingers when I felt a light tap on my shoulder.

I turned around and looked up. It was the Muslim woman, Siti. She stood next to my table, looking extremely anxious. She wore a long, dark skirt that reached her ankles, and a plain white blouse buttoned all the way up to her neck. A tight black hijab covered her hair completely and framed her thin face. She had light brown skin and large dark eyes that darted around the crowded canteen as if talking to me was illegal. She was probably worried that Japanese bitch had spies everywhere.

She was thin and narrow at the hips, and her posture pushed her chest forward, but didn’thing to turn her into a centrefold model. Her breasts were still small, firm 30A mounds that pressed clearly against the white cotton of her blouse. She was not wearing a bra, so the outline of her tiny dark nipples was visible through the fabric. I knew from our previous encounter that she wore absolutely no underwear beneath the long skirt. She was completely bare and shaved under the modest clothing.

“Greg,” she whispered. She kept her hands clasped tightly in front of her stomach. “I need to speak.”

I pulled out the plastic chair opposite me and nodded. Siti sat down quickly keeping her knees pressed tightly together under the table.

“I saw you at the reception desk on the fifteenth floor,” Siti said quietly. “I waited until you got into the lift and then I followed you down here.”

She unclasped her hands and rested them on the sticky plastic table, reached into her pocket and pulled out a small blank piece of paper and a blue pen, and slid them across the table toward me.

“Write down what you dreamt about last night,” Siti instructed. Her dark eyes were completely serious.

I stared at the blank paper. I could have written down anything to get rid of her. I could have made up some bullshit about work or money or driving a car, but I was still pissed off about being dismissed by the Japanese receptionist and denied access to Bipasha. I wanted to get back to being Greg, the one who set, not followed the agenda. I decided to shock the Muslim woman and see her face flush red and watch her run away from the table in embarrassment.

I picked up the pen and wrote the absolute truth. I wrote down exactly what I had dreamt about, describing bending her over a desk, pulling her skirt up over her hips, and hammering my cock deep into her bare cunt from behind while she gripped the edge of the wood. Using the filthiest words I could think of, I detailed the way her arse cheeks slapped against my thighs and the wet sounds she made while I fucked her doggystyle.

I pushed the paper back across the table and sat back and waited for the reaction.

Siti picked up the paper. She read my crude description of our aggressive sex. To my disappointment, here was no embarrassed blushing, and she didn’t look away or act shocked. She just took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and a calm smile spread across her face as she reached into her dark shoulder bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She placed it on the table and slid it over to me.

“Read it,” Siti said softly.

I unfolded the paper. Fuck me. It was almost identical to what I had written. Of course, the handwriting was different, neat and feminine, but the words described the exact same dream. It described her bent over the desk, feeling my cock driving into her from behind, the exact position, the same time length of the doggystyle fuck. My mind raced trying to process how the hell she had documented my dream before I even wrote it down.

I stared at the paper. My mind raced trying to process how she had documented my own sex dream before I even wrote it down. Before I could speak, Siti leaned closer across the sticky plastic table.”We fucked on the astral plane last night,” she whispered. Her dark eyes were intense and completely serious. “I visited you while your physical body slept. Our bond allowed me to find your mind and feel your cock. That is why I knew exactly what you dreamt. We were actually together.”

She reached out and placed her hand over mine. “The astral connection is strong, but I need to feel your physical body again,” Siti said. She leant forward and her tits pressed against her white cotton blouse. “I want it for real tonight. I want you to fuck me properly and fill me with your seed.”

I looked at her pleading face and the tight outline of her nipples through the fabric. I didn’t care about the astral plane, her Sufi magic tricks or how she guessed. She was offering her tight, wet cunt to me with absolutely no strings attached. That was the important thing.

“Tonight,” I agreed readily. I turned my hand over and squeezed her fingers. “Give me the address.” I was too experienced to give her my phone number.

I picked her up and took her to a small Malay restaurant in Clayton just after eight o’clock. She had dressed in her normal conservative clothing. That night she wore a tight black hijab, a high-necked white blouse, and a long dark skirt that reached all the way to her ankles. She kept her eyes cast down at the table and barely spoke. She looked exactly like a typical, modest Muslim international student.

I paid the bill, and we drove the short distance to her flat in the suburbs. Inside, she pointed down the short hallway toward the bathroom and told me to make myself comfortable while she went into her bedroom.

I went into the bathroom and washed my hands. I looked in the mirror above the sink and thought about her crazy astral plane theories. I didn’t care what she believed as long as she opened her legs. I unzipped my trousers and checked my cock. I was already half hard just thinking about what was waiting underneath that modest skirt.

I walked out of the bathroom and pushed open the door to her bedroom and my jaw dropped to the floor. Siti had completely transformed. She was standing in the centre of the room, wearing a dark crimson burqa that covered her head and face completely. A small mesh slit across the eyes was the only opening, but the religious covering stopped at her neck. From the collarbone down, she was completely naked except for a dark crimson tight garter belt strapped around her narrow waist. The straps hung down to hold up sheer stockings that clung tightly to her long legs.

On her feet, she wore matching dark crimson six-inch stiletto heels. The extreme height of the shoes forced her to stand with her legs spread slightly apart to keep her balance. The heels pushed her round arse up and arched her lower back. Siti’s small, firm breasts with their tiny dark nipples were completely exposed to my eyes. Her bare, shaved cunt was fully displayed right in front of me, slick and glistening under the bedroom lights, while her face remained entirely hidden behind the dark crimson veil.

I smiled, completely satisfied. Today’s trip to Monash University had been a massive success, and I wasn’t referring to picking up the documents. Yes, I had secured the Australian passport for Hoa, but I had a guaranteed fuck in front of me.

I stared at the faceless woman standing in front of me. The dark crimson burqa erased her identity completely, but the matching lingerie and six-inch heels turned her body into pure, undeniable meat to be taken. My mind immediately started comparing her to the other women I had broken and fucked recently.

Siti’s shaved, glistening slit was fully displayed, the hanging inner lips swollen with arousal. It reminded me instantly of Lan bent over the filing cabinet in the office, her micro-mini skirt hiked up to her waist, a tight, wet cunt that was just as bare. Remembering the exact feeling of gripping Lan’s narrow hips and driving my cock deep into her from behind, doggystyle had my tool quivering. Lan’s inner walls were incredibly tight, leaking copious amounts of sex juice down her trembling thighs while she wailed for more.

Siti was built similarly, thin and narrow-hipped, but the extreme height of her crimson heels arched her back far more aggressively than Lan ever managed, pushing her round arse up like a perfect target.

My eyes moved up to Siti’s small, firm 30A breasts. The tiny dark nipples were hard and exposed to the cold air of the bedroom. They were completely different from Duong’s. When I fucked Duong missionary style after the nightclub, her tits were small but torpedo-shaped, with swollen, puffy nipples that took up a third of the flesh. Duong had bucked her hips awkwardly under me, her shaved slit leaking all over my balls while she loudly praised me as God’s gift to women. Siti wasn’t awkward. Even balancing on those massive spikes, she stood perfectly still, waiting for my command, her small breasts rising and falling with her rapid breathing.

But it was the wetness between her legs that brought Houa back to my mind. When I had laid the Hmong girl on her back across the bed, her plump thighs spread instinctively, exposing a sex cavern so wet and responsive it practically begged to be used. I remembered plunging my tongue deep into Houa’s slit, sucking her swelling clit while her thighs thrashed around my head. Houa had whimpered about how no boy from her culture would ever give her that pleasure.

Siti was doing the exact same thing right now, but in reverse. She had taken the ultimate symbol of her culture’s modesty, the burqa, and turned it into a fetish mask. She was offering me a completely anonymous, shaved hole to use however I wanted.

I didn’t need to suck her clit as I did with Houa, and I didn’t need to listen to her praise me like Duong. I just needed to step forward, grip her waist right above the crimson garter belt, and hammer my cock into her wet, hanging lips until she forgot everything except the feeling of being my personal, faceless whore.

I didn’t waste time talking to the faceless woman in the crimson lingerie. I gripped her narrow waist right above the garter belt and pushed her backwards onto the bed. She fell back onto the mattress with her legs spread wide, the six-inch heels pointing toward the ceiling.

Holding my hard cock, I climbed on top of her. I expected her to be fragile and that I would jackhammer her thin body into the mattress and unload my sperm into her within a few minutes. I lined up my cock against her wet, hanging lips and drove it in deep.

Siti gasped loudly behind the mesh veil of the burqa. I pulled back and slammed my hips forward again, setting a brutal, machine-like pace. Her inner walls were incredibly tight and slick with her own juices. Within two minutes, her narrow hips started bucking wildly, and with her small tits jerking with every thrust, she wailed as her first orgasm ripped through her body. Her cunt spasmed tightly around my shaft and I felt a familiar pressure building in my groin. I prepared to unload deep inside her.