‘Hello love, I hope you’re happy and well-how old is your baby and what is baby’s name?’ and he walked around the counter to see-then Zaid beamed exultantly; the tiny little baby, he looked no more than a month old, was clearly Somali and contrasted triumphantly with his white mother, the baby had smooth dark brown skin, only a degree or two lighter than Zaid and big brown eyes and he already had thick curly black hair. She recognised the Somali joy her baby provoked; though it embarrassed her and caused her to blush their delight that she, a pretty white teen had bred a Somali baby fanned the flames of her sexuality. She was however, intensely sorry to have caused her christian family and her church such discomfort and sadness, so trying to avoid betraying this confusion of feeling, she pretended to look at the magazines on the wall, ‘he is four weeks old-he’s called Yusuf’.

Smiling at the baby, while Zaid would never dream of taking another Muslim guy’s woman, he was envious that it hadn’t been him who had fucked and impregnated this tall, magnificent, delicious redhead.

Then he realized what she had said; Yusuf-perfect, a Muslim name, but his intelligent, searching eyes fixed upon the gold Christian cross around her neck. Then Zaid stretched to look at her delectably shaped bottom flaunted by a short, clinging skirt and he thought it the most delightful he had ever seen. She looked at him and self-consciously fingered her cross necklace understanding Zaid’s unspoken question. Though she assumed that the shopkeeper was probably married too, old enough to be her father and though one married Somali guy had already used and then dispensed with her, if the shopkeeper wanted to have her, she feared that wouldn’t be able to deny him anything.

She decided that she had to chat to him however; she needed Somali friends, her baby boy was always going to spark interest in them and contrary to her family’s pleading she had surrendered to the father’s requirement that she raise their son as a Somali Muslim.

And despite her misgivings, she had an overwhelming craving for a commanding and subjugating Muslim man.

Zaid wondered if her bush between her legs was copper coloured too.

‘I am Zaid’ and gave her his hand, she shook it. ‘Your beautiful son is Somali? His daddy is from our community?’

The mother blushed at Zaid’s directness though her embarrassment was mixed with an awakening sexual arousal that this handsome Somali was creating in her. Should she tell him that she had been a willing christian slut for a married Muslim Somali man older than her father? She was uncertain what to say to him, and saved by Judy who came back into the shop, without her knickers presumably as instructed. ‘Look Judy at this handsome little chap’ and then to the young mother, ‘I wish to be friendly always and so wish to be with you, if you ever need help or advice, or need anything, especially if you are new to the area, Zaid is here for you-you are a single mum?’

No Somali would allow his wife to display herself in this way.

Zaid’s eyes probed the young mother for an answer to his questions. She knew he wondered and guessed about Yusuf’s father.

Then Judy bent over for a closer look at the tiny, beautiful black baby, and envying how his mother had become a mother told her ‘Your baby is beautiful-I wish I had a baby like him!’, then, seeing her bottom stuck out in the air Zaid caught a momentary glimpse of his knicker-less assistant’s cunt as her crumpled, scrunched-up skirt was pulled up; pink, beautiful lips spread in need of cock; he had to mount her, Zaid had an intense urge to have her.