Through the Bedroom Door

I was rooming in this boarding house at the time. When I originally moved in there was a reasonable mix of the sexes but for some reason or other whenever someone moved on it always turned out that they were replaced by another woman. After a few months I was the only male in the place. It didn't bother me and it didn't seem to bother any of the women, bar one.

There was this woman staying at the boarding house. She was one of the last women to move in. I'll call her Fatima, even though that isn't her name. She was of unknown age and unknown race, but her cultural background was very much evident. The unknowns were due to the cultural background. She wore a burka and appeared to believe everything she'd ever heard about loose Western morals.

With light brown eyes and a sweet voice she could have projected a nice image and become friends with the other women at the boarding house, but it was not to be. It was obvious from the start that I, a male, was not to be trusted and she always headed elsewhere if she was in one of the common rooms and I walked in. But the other women?

Fatima let them know what she thought of them and their morals. They didn't dress the way she did so their clothing was totally unacceptable. She didn't come right out and say so but she left the distinct impression that the other women were tarts and sluts of the worst type. She suspected that they were non-virgin (which was probably right) and I think she assumed that they got raped daily as a matter of course, but what else could they expect dressed the way they were?

Several of the girls tried to talk her around to a different point of view but she wasn't interested. Any arguments put forth were dismissed, with Fatima kindly explaining that it was a cultural issue and they wouldn't be able to understand. They'd been raised in a morally bankrupt culture so it was only to be expected that they'd dress that way. However she did understand that as the women were dressed to attract men they would just naturally have sex with any man who approached them. Why, even girls of her culture knew that if you deliberately teased a man you would be expected to have sex if the man wanted to.

As you can expect, this attitude didn't go down too well with the other women, and they tended not to talk to Fatima, letting her go her own way.

That was the situation when I arrived home in the middle of the afternoon one day. I expected the place to be deserted and was surprised when I walked into the kitchen to find Fatima sitting there. True to form she gave a little squeak and shot through. I shrugged, had a cup of coffee, and headed down the hall towards my room.

I thought I saw a glimpse of movement down the hall but looking closer I couldn't see anyone. Perhaps a door had been swinging in the wind. As I was passing Fatima's room I saw her door was slightly open, which was a first. Through the gap I could see Fatima's black-clad shape standing in front of her dressing table.

The next thing I saw was Fatima bend down, pick up the hem of her burka, and whisk it right off, the whole thing vanishing in one quick practised move. That was only the first shock. The big shock was the outfit she was wearing under it. It's what's known as skin.

No top, with shorts or skirt. No jeans or jumper. No bra. No panties. Just one hundred percent skin, and she wore it beautifully. I had always assumed that Fatima would be dark complexioned, a brunette. Instead I found myself looking at a fair young woman, ash-blonde, with silky white skin. (Come to think of it, the burka would help explain the white skin. No sun had ever tanned that hide.) I still wasn't sure what nationality she was but I could tell she was about twenty and quite lovely.

I was about to pass on when thoughts that Fatima had expressed regarding her culture sprang to mind. It seemed to me that I should follow up on these observations. I pushed open the door and walked in, closing the door firmly behind me.

Fatima spun around to face me, giving a horrified gasp. She also gave me a full frontal for a few moments before she hastily tried to cover herself with her hands.

"How dare you burst in here," she yelled at me. "Get out, at once!"

"Just accepting your invitation," I said blandly, hands spread in a what else do you expect gesture.

"Invitation? What invitation? I didn't say a word to you."

"Well, no, but standing naked in front of an open door? I know how to interpret that sort of thing. You want some male attention. I've decided you look fine, dressed like that, and I'm going to be quite happy to give you the attention you deserve."

"I had no idea the door wasn't closed properly. I don't want you here. Get out."

Nagging little points were gathering in my mind. Maybe I was crazy but they all seemed to be adding up in one direction. The movement I thought I'd seen; it could easily have been Fatima opening the door slightly and checking where I was. The timing of the strip show; just at the right moment for me to have seen the open door and be looking inside. The killer was her nudity. Somehow I couldn't really see Fatima walking down the street naked apart from the burka. Going commando left too many chances of something going wrong and exposing more than she wanted.

"It seems to me, Fatima, that you deliberately exposed yourself. Now as far as I can tell, according to your cultural background, or at least the way you explain it, if you deliberately tease me and I decide I want to have sex with you, then you don't really get a choice in the matter."

"That's not how it works. That's only for Western girls. It doesn't apply to me."

"I'm afraid it does," I said, smiling happily. "Ah, put your hands behind your back, please. I want to see just what I'll be getting."

"I'll scream. The others will come running. Then you'll be in trouble."

"I don't think there's anyone here but us." (Which she probably knew when she pulled this little stunt.) "If, perchance, there is, what do you think they'll do, giving the way you've offended everyone. Do you think they'll chase me away or will they stay and watch, giving me tips on things to do to you?"

From the look on her face she was laying the odds on the stay and watch.

"I believe I asked you to put your hands behind your back. You haven't done so yet."

"I'm not going to, either."

"What was that cultural tit-bit you were giving Marie the other day? Something about how if she was disobedient to a man of your culture he'd have the right to beat her? Ah, are you being disobedient?"

"You wouldn't!"

"Only way to find out is to continue disobeying and if it turns out I would then it would be a bit late to change your mind, now wouldn't it? Move them."

Face flushed, Fatima moved her hands behind her back. She was a fine figure of a woman. Her breast stood proud with no sag, gleaming white with pretty pink tips. Surprisingly, she was also clean-shaven, which I totally hadn't expected. Her pussy was nicely shaped, all her curves just naturally leading a man's eyes there, leaving his hands itching to follow.

I moved to sit on her bed, standing her in front of me, the dressing table behind her reflecting her pert little bottom. I started stroking her skin.

She tried to move back but I just gave a small growl and she stood still, letting me examine her body. Maybe explore is a better description. I ran my hands over her breasts, rubbing them, pinching her nipples lightly. I didn't, I noticed, have to tease them erect. They were puckered and pointing long before I laid a finger on her.

Hands down her sides and behind her, cupping her bottom and squeezing her cheeks. Around to her front, fingertips lightly brushing against her mons, then slipping my hands between her legs and down at the same time. She gave a little gasp when I didn't touch her mound. Of disappointment?

I stroked her inside thighs, moving down. Stroking in an upwards direction, pausing before I touched her mound, looking up at her and winking. Then a hand cupped her, seeing her eyes widen with shock, noting her breasts heaving as her breathing deepened.

Rubbing her pussy, feeling the heat growing, sensing her lips swelling, flushing, opening. Finally fingers dipping inside her while she twisted about, rubbing herself against my hand. Fingers exploring, delving deeper, touching forbidden places. Fatima gave a muffled cry when I stoked too close to her clitoris, the new sensations agitating her, arousing her.

She was wet and wanting and I was quite willing to let her have her way with me.

I moved her back away from the bed for a moment while I stood up. It was the work of seconds to drop my trousers and whip off my top. I was now as naked as she was and her eyes were on my erection and a rather worried look was on her face.

I sat back on the bed and lifted her up onto my lap. She looked a trifle shocked at how easily I picked her up and put her down. I managed to turn her around so she was effectively kneeling on the bed while straddling me, my erection rearing up between her legs, pressing its length along her cleft.

"Look in the mirror," I told her, indicating the dressing table. "You can see my erection reflected there, pressing against your pussy. Now lift yourself up and move my erection so it's pressing against your pussy. You'll be able to lower yourself onto me and you can watch it happening in the mirror."

She looked at me in the mirror, refusal in her eyes. I smiled and lifted a cupped hand and lightly patted it against her bottom. She got the hint.

Swallowing nervously she eased herself upwards, one hand going down to hold my cock. I could feel my cock dragging against her pussy. In the mirror I could see her positioning me, her eyes watching what she was doing. Then she gave a tentative downwards press and her pussy stretched and engulfed the head of my cock.

I could feel her hot wetness enclosing me and I waited. She gave a little shudder and pressed down a little more. I now had confirmation that she was a virgin. I could feel her hymen pressing against her. She was starting hard at my cock in the mirror, biting her lip while she did so. She knew damn well what the next bit of pressure was going to do. She closed her eyes and pressed. She gave a little cry and her hymen yielded and my cock was now pressing into her passage.

She paused again, eyes opening, looking at her pussy in the mirror and my cock disappearing into it. Oddly enough she looked pleased with herself and then she was pressing harder, pushing herself right down onto me. Victory was definitely hers. She was seated on me, my cock firmly embedded within her.

She sat there, looking smug. It was almost a pity to burst her bubble. I could feel her passage wrapped around my shaft, holding me tight, but that was all she was doing.

"Well, done," I told her. "Ah, do you know what to do now?"

Her face went blank. I don't think she'd ever considered what happened after this point. I don't think she had really believed that things would reach this point.

I twisted my feet up onto the bed, rolling over and taking her under me. Now she was on all fours with me behind her, cock still firmly in place.

"Watch the mirror and move with me. You'll get the hang of it."

Keeping one eye on the mirror I saw her eyes go wide as I pulled out. When I stopped and pushed slowly back into place her eyelids lowered, giving her a slumberous look while she considered what it felt like to have me take her. Again the withdrawal and easy return and an 'oh my god' look on her face.

It took a few more strokes and a gentle reminder that she was supposed to be moving with me before she actually did so. Tentatively at first then, finding out that it felt good, with a lot more enthusiasm. I was still taking it nice and slow at this point but with her added input I started to pick up the pace.

From this point on it was all pleasure as far as I was concerned. It had been fun getting to this point but now my cock was plunging happily into a tight wet pussy that was responding with enthusiasm, Fatima bouncing her bottom up and down in an unpractised but delightful manner.

From the sounds Fatima was making she was all in favour of having to surrender to a man's wants and needs. She was all, "Oh, oh, oh," and "Yes, yes, yes," mixed in with something that sounded like, "I've been wicked. Teach me a lesson."

I was doing my best to teach her something that was for sure. I drove in harder and faster, time seeming to be flying past, while her excitement and arousal seemed to have no bounds. (Mine wasn't doing too badly, either.) Eventually her vocal offerings trailed off to a continuous, "Ah, ah, ah," with each 'ah' seeming to be riding up the scales. Taking this to mean that she was ripe for finishing I put a little extra zip into my happy thrusting.

She climaxed with a scream that would have brought the other denizens of the house running if they'd been home. Thank the good lord they weren't. If I was ever in a similar situation with this girl I'd have to gag her before the end.

I stayed and let her snuggle next to me for a short while and then graciously excused myself so she could have a shower and tidy herself up.

I found myself with a bit of a conundrum. While I was damn certain that she'd set the stage for what had happened, did this mean that she'd expect me to perform every time she decided to show a bit of flesh? I mean, was she going to stop wearing the burka on the assumption that I wouldn't be able to restrain myself. And if she did, would she expect strange men to make passes and feel that she was obligated to succumb?