Indonesian Muslim Stripper

"You can look, gentlemen, but you definitely can't touch," Soraya Bintang said to herself, as she checked her reflection in the mirror, in a quiet corner of the boudoir. All around her, the other women of all hues who worked at the club bantered, as they got ready, and she dutifully ignored them. Tonight's show had to go perfectly, otherwise Soraya was going to have to find a different line of work. The competition was definitely fierce out here...

A raven-haired, bronze-skinned and curvy, pretty-faced young Southeast Asian woman stared back at her through somber eyes. Soraya closed her eyes hard, and braced herself for yet another night at Club Du Diable, one of the City of Montreal's most daring night clubs. To survive in this kind of cutthroat work environment, one had to do better than good. One had to be great...

"Miss Indonesia, wake the fuck up, go sleep somewhere else, this isn't your house," came an angry feminine voice, and Soraya's eyes snapped open. She looked at the source of the angry voice, none other than her fellow performer, and occasional nemesis, Patricia Jackson, A.K.A. Miss Noir. The six-foot-tall, curvy Jamaican gal with the stylish Afro and ginormous ass had a lot of animosity towards Soraya and seldom missed an opportunity to express it.

"Looks like someone is meditating," came another voice, and a tall, statuesque and scantily-clad, decidedly beautiful Middle-Eastern woman with raven hair, dark bronze skin and lively brown eyes stepped out of the shadows and stood beside Patricia. The Jamaican gal exchanged dap with the new arrival, and Soraya rolled her eyes, annoyed by this catty behavior.

There was a reason behind Patricia Jackson's hostility. Until Soraya Bintang came along, Patricia Jackson and her Arabian gal pal Nadia Aoun were the only non-White performers at the prestigious and high-priced Club Du Diable, and they were supremely popular with the lily-White clientele, many of whom had a craving for exotic women. Soraya came along, lovely, and decidedly exotic as a newcomer from Indonesia, and stole Patricia and Nadia's fan base...

"Shut up Patricia, and that goes for you too, Nadia," Soraya replied, and with that, she rose from her chair, ignoring the insults which the two jealous bitches hurled her way and headed for the stage. As Soraya made her way to the stage, her demeanor changed. It was quite subtle at first. From the set of her jaw, to her sexy strut, the deliberate way in which she thrust out her chest and moved her hips, it was as though she were a different woman.

"Ladies and gentlemen, mes dames et messieurs, please give it up for Asia Duvet," said the announcer, a chubby, bald-headed and tuxedoed Frenchman named Rupert Couture. He smiled at Soraya while she walked past him, and Asia Duvet glared at him, supremely confident, cool and sexy. Asia Duvet stood on center stage, with the limelight on her, and she knew that every man in the room, and a few of the women, couldn't take their eyes off of her.

"This is for those who've come for me," Asia Duvet said, licking her lips, and just like that, the bikini-clad young woman began her performance. Part stripper show, part burlesque, Asia Duvet knew how to work her body, using a combination of sexiness, attitude and sass to really rev up her audience. Tonight, these men and women, mostly White, the cream of the crop of Montreal society, didn't even know what they were in for.

Tumbling about, Asia Duvet continued to rock their world, until applause erupted way before the end of her performance. While a lot of the other young women performing at Club Du Diable liked to shake their asses like music video vixens on MTV, Asia Duvet went the extra mile to excite the men and women who came to the club. She'd performed with snakes, flaming arrows, and more. The combination of sex and danger was one that most could not resist.

"Bravo, encore!" The applause, screams and shouts were deafening, and Asia Duvet took a bow, and then walked off the stage with a grace and confidence that a queen couldn't have matched. Returning to the boudoir, Asia Duvet vanished, replaced by Soraya Bintang. Taking a cleansing shower, she got ready to leave. Changing into a long-sleeved red and Black T-shirt featuring deceased icon Biggie Smalls, blue jeans and boots, her long dark hair tucked under a Montreal Expos baseball cap, the young woman collected her pay and quietly slipped out of the club.

"Taxi, venez ici," Soraya hollered as she stood on the curb, and sure enough, a Taxi Champlain cab which happened to be driving by swiftly pulled up. The cab driver, a middle-aged Arab man with a thick mustache, which made him vaguely resemble fallen despot Saddam Hussein, smiled pleasantly at her. Get your head out of the paranoid zone, Soraya chastised herself, before returning the cab driver's smile.

"Bonsoir, mademoiselle, where to?" the cabbie asked, and Soraya told him the address, and they swiftly pulled away. Located not far from downtown Montreal, Club Du Diable enjoyed an elite clientele, one which was willing to pay big bucks to be entertained. Some of the female performers earned extra money by meeting with fans on the side, but Soraya had zero interest in doing that. It simply wasn't for her...

Montreal-Nord wasn't too far from downtown Montreal, but it was a world away. Populated mostly by Haitian immigrants, along with a sprinkling of Arabs and Asians, Montreal-Nord was known as the ghetto of Quebec. The kind of place where decent Montreal folks did not care to venture. There was a lot of diversity and culture there, sure, but there was also a lot of crime. Gangs, prostitution, drug trafficking, and more. It was also the place that Soraya Bintang called home.

"Merci beaucoup, Salaam, brother," Soraya said to the cab driver, handing him twenty five dollars before exiting the cab. Standing on Saint-Colette Boulevard, the young woman began the leisurely walk which would take her to her place. Soraya never cared to let cab drivers or any random male acquaintances know where she lived, not since she read about a serial killer who targeted young women while moonlighting as a cab driver. Living in the West has made me too paranoid, Soraya thought, shaking her head at her own fears and neuroses.

Soraya Bintang found herself thinking about her old life back in the City of Palembang, on the Sumatra Island of Indonesia. She remembered how simple life was back then. Well, as simple as life could be anywhere in this hardened world. Soraya came into the world thanks to fairly unique parenting. Indeed, that's part of the reason why Soraya came to Canada in the first place.

Soraya's father, Yusuf Bintang was an Indonesian Muslim craftsman who was doing some work for the Canadian Embassy in the City of Jakarta at the time he met her mother, Elisabeth Buisson, a French Canadian woman who was the niece of John Baker Buisson, then the Canadian Ambassador to Indonesia. The two of them fell in love, and against all odds, they got married and had Soraya and her brother Nasser. Twenty one years later, Soraya decided to leave Indonesia and explore her mother's homeland of Quebec, in distant Canada...

A dual citizen of Canada and Indonesia by birth, thanks to her mother Elisabeth Buisson's diplomatic ties, Soraya Bintang nevertheless felt like a fish out of water in the City of Montreal, Quebec. To the Quebecers, Soraya seemed like an exotic gal, and many of them asked her if she was anything from a Chinese newcomer to a Filipina worker or a Metis woman from the Prairies. Soraya always told them that she was biracial, half Indonesian and half White, and proudly Muslim.

For Soraya, feeling out of place was nothing out of the ordinary. In the City of Palembang, Sumatra, a region considered by many to be the Heartland of Indonesia, she was the recipient of stares everywhere she went, because of her biracial heritage. Oh, and the fact that Soraya was five-foot-eleven, curvaceous and fair of skin in a land of shorter, slenderer and darker-skinned people was also part of it.

Soraya learned early on that she couldn't please the world. To the Indonesian people, including her father Yusuf Bintang's family, she wasn't Indonesian enough, never mind that she spoke their language, proudly wore the Hijab, and embraced her native land with all of her might. Oh, and to the Whites that she met, including her mother's immediate relatives, Soraya was pretty and unique...and other, as in definitely not one of them. Determined to make her way into the world, Soraya decided to give Canada a shot...

Enrolling at the University of Montreal to study Business Administration, Soraya Bintang worked odd jobs to make ends meet. After answering what she thought was an ad for models, Soraya ended up working at Club Du Diable. Clearing five hundred dollars on a good night was nothing to sneeze at, especially since most of the other students she knew were making twelve bucks an hour working at Starbucks, Tim Horton's, Walmart and the like.

At the end of a long work day, Soraya was looking forward to a good night's sleep. Turning the key in her door hole, Soraya paused before stepping into her domicile. It was well after midnight, and she lived alone, so she was surprised to be hearing sounds from inside her apartment. Cautiously the young woman went in. Break-ins, robberies and the occasional rape and murder were all too common in Montreal-Nord. Soraya pulled out her switchblade...and braced herself for the worst. She got a greeting she would never forget.

"Surprise, Soraya, welcome home," came a deep male voice, and that's when the lights switched on, revealing what was definitely a sight for sore eyes. Soraya blinked and gasped, for before her stood a vision of masculine beauty. Six feet two inches tall, broad-shouldered and muscular, and wearing a White boxers which contrasted sharply against his smooth chocolate skin, Saul Augustin was wearing a bright smile...and little else.

"Saul, what are you doing here?" Soraya shouted, and she laughed and tossed the knife, then leapt into her boyfriend's arms. Saul pulled her close and the two of them embraced. Soraya grinned when she felt Saul's big strong hands roam all over her body, pausing to grope her thick derriere. My Haitian kekasih ( lover ) is most definitely a pantat manusia ( butt man ), the young Indonesian woman thought, wryly amused and kind of turned on.

"Oh come on, Soraya, you gave me a key, and besides, you didn't think I was going to forget our eight-month anniversary, did you?" Saul said, and the big and tall Haitian stud gently stroked Soraya's chin, then nodded in the direction of the kitchen. Following her lover's gaze, Soraya glanced at the kitchen and what she saw there amazed her. A sumptuous Haitian meal awaited, and it looked so damn good that she started to salivate before even smelling it or anything...

"You remembered, oh thank you, my sweet Saul," Soraya squealed, and Saul grinned, and then they kissed again. The sumptuous Haitian meal, consisting of White rice, brown bean sauce, goat meat, plantains and lemonade, was going to have to wait because, for the moment, Soraya and Saul were hungry for each other. They didn't even make it to the bedroom, and had to make do with the apartment's carpeted floor...

"Oh, my sweet Soraya, you can thank me in other ways," Saul said, as he laid Soraya on the floor, and the grinning young woman hastily slipped out of her clothes, revealing a curvy, sweet-smelling body. From the first moment Saul laid eyes on Soraya, he knew he had to have her. When a man meets a woman who's destined to play a key role in his life, down deep in his soul, he simply knows...

Saul, who plays varsity soccer for Concordia University, where he studies electrical engineering, happened to be visiting his cousin Yves when he spotted Soraya walking around the University of Montreal campus library. He got up as if in a trance and approached the curvy, Hijab-wearing Indonesian Muslim cutie. Much to Saul's surprise, Soraya was friendly and open, rather than reserved or standoffish and that's how it all began...

"Be thankful I let you eat my seperti wanita inti ( womanly core ), neg fou ( crazy man)," Soraya said, and she locked eyes with Saul, and spread her thighs, nodding almost imperceptibly. Saul, who could barely say a few phrases in the Indonesian tongue, grasped her meaning without needing a translator. He'd been licking Soraya's tits and fingering her wet, hairy mound when she looked at him, an urgent need written all over her face.

"Sesuai keinginan kamu, ( as you wish), bel fanm mwen ( my lovely woman)," Saul swiftly replied, mingling what little Indonesian he knew with his Haitian Creole mother tongue and Soraya licked her lips contentedly. She sighed happily as the Haitian stud pressed his full lips against her sex. Seconds later he slid his tongue into her vagina, and said tongue was followed by his nimble fingers. Closing her eyes, Soraya let go and enjoyed herself as Saul pleasured her like only he could...

"Jilat lubang pantatku, ( lick my ass hole)," Soraya murmured, as Saul put her on all fours, face down and big ass up. Saul grinned and smacked her ass, and to really shine him on, Soraya shook her butt at him, knowing it would drive him absolutely nuts. Spreading Soraya's ass cheeks wide open, Saul slid his tongue into her asshole, and just like that, he began eating her ass. Thankful that she'd showered prior to leaving work, Soraya relaxed and enjoyed as her lover devoured her asshole...

"Now that's what I'm talking about," Saul said, a little while later. Soraya, thankful after Saul gave her asshole a tongue bath, and she grabbed his long, hard member, and looked at it hungrily. Saul held his breath as Soraya knelt before him and began sucking his dick. In no time the young woman had him hard as a rock, and he barely rolled a condom on his fuck stick before Soraya pounced on him and straddled him, all but demanding to be fucked...

"Berikan aku tongkat Haiti itu, give me that Haitian stick," Soraya all but growled at Saul, and the young man looked at the wild, horny woman who straddled him. He felt her thighs, soft yet strong, grip him, and her nipples were erect, her lips trembling and her eyes filled with urgency. Grinning, Saul pinched Soraya's nipples, and then caressed her thick ass cheeks, then slapped them. His dick hardened, and with a swift move of his hips, Saul thrust into Soraya.

"Ride this dick," Saul said, and he rested his hands on Soraya's hips, watching the young woman bounce up and down on his dick as she rode him. Saul thrust into her, loving the way Soraya's pulsing hot pussy gripped his dick. The ultra-thin condom brand he favored let him feel everything, just the way he liked it. Passionately he fucked Soraya, and the young woman's screams and squeals mingled with his deep moans and manly grunts. For hours they went at it, until they lay on the carpet, exhausted and reeking of each other's juices.

"Thank you for making me feel alive, mon cheri," Soraya said to Saul, as she pressed her body against his. Saul pulled her into his arms and grinned, and then he rose, and led her to the bedroom. Gently Saul kissed Soraya on the forehead, and then pulled the covers over their sweaty, spent bodies. Soon Saul was fast asleep, but Soraya remained awake for a little while longer. Outside, it started to snow.

Soraya watched the snowflakes through the bedroom window. She loved the snow, which had fascinated her since she first came to live in Quebec. It never snowed in her birthplace of Palembang, Indonesia, where the weather was as tropical as it was on Saul's home, the beautiful island of Haiti. Soraya's life in La Belle Province wasn't perfect, but thanks to her beloved Saul, and her school, and the few friends she had, it was a good life. Good enough...