Fatima Amir, a South African Muslim woman lives on the outskirts of Johannesburg in a small town called Duncanville. She was raised in a staunch Musli... home and was an only c***d to Yunus and Ayesha Amir. Fatima wore the Islamic hijab which consisted of a long cloak, and her hair was always covered with a headscarf. This was the Muslim dress for women, and was considered a sign of a good upbringing.Fatima, was considered to be a disgrace to the community in which she grew up, because she was. I managed to find some innocuous questions about her background, what kinds of jobs she had held before becoming a domme, and the like. After about ten minutes on these questions, I was very relieved to see from the clock on my laptop that the hour we had set aside for the interview had transpired."Thank you very much for the time. I appreciate your candor and willingness to share this information with me. I believe we have one more interview scheduled for after my final observation, correct?". Too exhausted and out of breathe to say one word, we both fell off to sleep without so much is one word having passed our lips.THE MORNING AFTER The next morning I came downstairs, while he was still asleep upstairs in my bed. I was so full of shame I felt like bursting. Who could I turned to, who could I tell? How could I explain what had made me let my son fuck me? How could I ever admit to anyone the pleasure and satisfaction I took from being my son’s lover? I went into the kitchen to. .. '. Startled I tried to roll to the other side of the bed only to have Bruce grab my feet and snatch off one of my tennis shoes. As I raised up to retrieve it Daniel mounted the bed on his knees and took hold of my shoulders. I tried to struggle free but could not. It then that I tried to slip out my coat and make a run for the door only to have Charlie tackle me and drag me back to the bed. The three of them managed to get my clothes off of me, no matter how hard I fought with them they knew.