Precious Jewel

Precious Jewel

by Dave Potter

Exclusively for the ‘Tales of the Veils’ website

Have you seen the Jewel? Why is it that the people love it while it is simply a piece of stone? It is because it is not so easy to see it, nor can you touch it except by paying an exorbitant price. Similar is the case of the woman – it is forbidden for a man to see her or touch her, in order that he does not dishonour her. She is like an untouched (pure) jewel, which is affected by the least touch.


The clock strikes eleven and I move my eyes across from my Master who is talking to his uncle to those figures sat beside him. There are two of them, both draped in black, not a human feature discernible on either. Thick black silk abayahs cover their bodies and each has a khimar draped over their heads. Most striking though are the spaces where the faces should be, for there it is simply black, a veil of black silk erasing all traces of personality and individuality. You know that they are women because no man would ever dress in such a fashion, but that is all you know, for these two veiled figures neither move or speak. Nor to does my Master address. It is as if they are not there yet for me, they occupy every thought in my body.

Well, one of them does. Sat there, they are identical, as alike as a pair of twins, yet I know that beneath those layers sit two very different women. The one on the left is stunningly beautiful, with long blonde hair, perfectly-formed legs and ample breasts. Her lips are like rosebuds and her skin the colour of fine china. She is a veritable goddess. She however, does not interest me, my mind only flickers over her on its way to the silent sister sat by her side. For that other veiled beauty is my Precious Jewel.

My little Jewel, my little Precious Jewel. That is what I call her although she isn’t really mine of course.

She came here when she was sixteen although the marriage had been arranged long before that, soon after she was born I think. She came so demure, so innocent, so unaware of everything that she was missing out on. So accepting of her fate. “As God wills,” she would say.

She was pretty, incredibly so. She had long, dark hair, a slim, almost girlish figure, (although that has filled out a bit now), doe-like trusting eyes and the most beautiful smile in the world. She knew what her life was to be like even before he told her. “It is as God wills.” She said, smiling that incredible smile.

My master is a good man. He is fair and he is religious. He has strict rules but he keeps by them. You know where you are with him. He would never hurt someone willingly. That is why he broke with tradition with me. For centuries the al-Faud’s have employed eunuchs, young men mutilated in early boyhood, to watch over their carefully hidden harems. With me however, it stopped. “This is the twentieth century! We have no need for such barbaric practices now,” he said. So instead of having my genitals sliced off and then burying me in the sand up to my neck as used to be the practice, I instead was fitted at fourteen with a heavy-duty steel belt which prevented me from achieving erection and made it necessary for me to sit like a woman when using the toilet. “You will serve my household for a full twenty years,” he said as he locked it, “and then I shall give you this key and enough money for you never to need to worry again. Those who look after Mohammed al-Faud get looked after themselves by their master.”

That was ten years ago. Six years ago she arrived.

As well as being a fair man, my master is also a man who knows himself, his strengths and weaknesses. Like the Prophet before him, he has wrestled with the problem: he loves women dearly, all women, so how can he stay true to his wives and how can he make sure that he treats those wives equally? Inspired by the Prophet who loved the company of women also, he found solutions that are pleasing in the eyes of God.

In answer to the second question; he treats his wives equally by only having one. Well, one true wife that is. He knows that if it were otherwise he would always favour one over the other, consciously or not. So the only solution is to restrict himself to one.

But what of the first question? How can a lover of all women stay true to just one? The answer of course, was simple and provided by our faith. Yes, he has marriage only one true wife, one companion for life, but at the same time, from the age of eighteen, al-Faud has constantly taken on a series of Nikāḥ al-Mut‘ah (temporary marriage) wives. He knew after deep self-examination, that he would never be able to stay interested in a single woman for his whole life, so instead he takes them on for short-term periods – usually three years – loves them with a great passion, and then leaves them, well-paid, to continue their lives in a holy fashion. The only problem with such arrangements are that they are far from ideal when one considers producing heirs, for children need a mother to be there all their lives, a pure and good woman, eternally devoted to the father. And that is where my Precious Jewel comes in.

When they married she was dressed in thick, beautiful white embroidered veils with silken gloves. Not an inch of her could be seen and although my master brushed her veils with his hand, at no time did he endeavour to look at the jewel encased within. Nor has he done since and nor too did she try to gaze upon her spouse, for she later told me that beneath those heavy veils, three thick layers of them, she was blind and although she could, at any point, have surreptitiously lifted just one of those veils to catch a blurred glimpse of her new life partner, she knew that such an act would be against his wishes and so she desisted. As I said before, she is a precious jewel both in mind as well as body.


That day I did not see her either, even though I was present at the ceremony and the festivities afterwards when she sat like a regal princess amidst her female relatives. Nor too did I have anything to do with her that night, for she was still in the care of her mother then. Only the following morning did I see her as she was led, draped in a thick black all-encompassing abayah, into her chamber. Then was the moment that she entered into my care and it was I who unveiled her after the most momentous night in a woman’s life.


Of course, over the years she has told me what it was like, that night of nights. She was led, unseeing, to her husband’s bedchamber by her mother and eldest sister and there disrobed of her many sumptuous layers, never to don those beautiful garments again for white is the colour of virginity and a virgin is what she would no longer be. Then she was lain on the grand bed with its pristine white sheets and cuffs of pure gold attached to her ankles and wrists, which were then secured to the posts at each corner. She told me jokingly, that she felt like a fish, stranded on a beach after an ocean storm, unable to do anything but wait, flap a little but nothing else. In my mind’s eye though, she must have looked more like an angel in glorious array, waiting for her Lord to enter the room.

But fish or angel, her Lord would neither see nor hear her. Her beloved mother inserted a large gag into her mouth that kept her jaw stretched wide open and caused her to breath through her nostrils only. Then came the sheets, layer of silk after layer of silk, three in all, each beautifully embroidered by her sisters. One after another they were carefully draped and tucked in at the sides, with only a hole at the vaginal area to provide contact with the world. Then, locked in a silent dream-world of white haze, she waited, and after a while he came. He did not speak to her and she of course could communicate no more than a few near-silent groans, but she always says that she believes he was pleased with the experience, for afterwards he uttered a single prayer of praise to the Almighty before leaving the room as she remained motionless and silent beneath those no longer pristine sheets.


But to return to my tale, my Precious Jewel, yes indeed, my Precious Jewel. Well, his Precious Jewel really, but as I said before, he has neither spoken nor seen her. I do both daily yet I have never enjoyed intimate relations with her. Not of that nature anyway. He enjoys intimate relations of course, she has borne him two children after all. It is the yin and the yang. What I have, he has not and what he has, I have not. And yet he willed it so. How strange are the ways of men and yet in al-Faud’s case, how wise, for his strategy worked. He is true to his wife, never bores of her, remains faithful to her and has never taken another so she is always treated fairly, yet at the same time, through his Nikāḥ al-Mut‘ah wives he satisfies his immense longing for all the women in the world.

When she arrived into my care, I sent the servant who had guided her out of the room and removed the black drapes from her body. There I beheld the most precious sight of my entire life, nervous, slight marks where the golden cords had held her, hesitant. I took the large pear gag from her mouth and she flexed her aching jaw. “Thank you,” she whispered, almost noiselessly. “I am Bilal,” I told her. “I will service all your needs from now on. Come, there is a bath waiting for you.”

We went into the bath chamber and as she sat on the marble step, I soaped her smooth, flawless body, marvelling for the first time of many at the perfection of God’s creation. Then I led her into the water itself and after she had finished I shaved her as the custom demands. Then I led her to her bed chamber and dressed her for the day.

I had lain out the clothes the night before. What she wore then was what she wears everyday. First came the underwear, black silk panties and bra. Then long black silk opera gloves and stockings that were held up by suspenders attached to the panties. Then black silk baggy shalwar trousers and a baggy black silk kameez to match.



Then came her head. Her beautiful long jet-black hair was plaited and wound onto the top of her head and a smaller, kinder gag inserted in her mouth. Then a silken hood with two small meshes for the eyes eased over her, making her entirely covered and anonymous, before the black silk abayah, three silk sittars (full veils) covering the face and blinding her, and then the khimar, reaching down to her knees and covering her gloved hands. Finally she sat and I fitted her black slippers and then took her gloved hands and drew the drawstrings of the abayah’s hand openings round her wrists before then fitting padded silken mittens. There she sat, silent, hidden, unable to see her help herself. That is how al-Faud demanded she must be whenever leaving her chambers and that is how she has stayed, never once complaining, instead only thankful that she is cared for so well.

I led her down the corridors to the main sitting room where her husband was waiting. There she sat at his feet as she does everyday. It was then that he pronounced all the details of her life and she nodded in acquiescence of each and every one. “My dearest wife, my only true wife, I wish that you live in the strictest of purdah so that you may remain pure and good and that our children also will be beacon’s of purity and goodness. Everyday I desire your presence and you shall dress as you have today and sit at my feet, enjoying a taste of married life. I have dressed you in black because it is modest, not boastful and drawing attention to you. A veiled woman can still cause fitna by dressed in bright colours but you my love, will never be a cause of such evil. When we have enjoyed some time together, you may return to your chambers where you may spend your time as you please before we meet again at night. I require your presence every night, but like last night, we shall only ever make contact in that most sacred of ways. I have stipulated a code of dress for you which Bilal is aware of. It may seem unduly hard but please, don it for me as I feel it is the best way to preserve our eternal happiness. These rules are the only ones that I shall ever lay upon you my love, and I hope that Allah in His wisdom will grant us many years of happiness and many sons to further our joy.

I have talked to you awhile about my Precious Jewel yet I know so many of you must be wondering about his Nikāḥ al-Mut‘ah wives as well, for what part do they have to play in his life? Well, that is simple; for the few years that they are with him, (normally three is the most before he tires of them), and they act as companions both in the bed and outside. On that day when he explained her future lifestyle his current one was sat there, veiled as my Precious Jewel was although not as strictly. They are always there with him in the mornings along with my Precious Jewel, but then in the afternoons he generally retires with them and they read or play together in readiness for the exertions of the night.

They are beautiful. All his Nikāḥ al-Mut‘ah have always been beautiful, and after their service with him most go on to good marriages or careers overseas. All are sensuous, all are well-versed in the arts of love, but none can equal the perfection of my Precious Jewel. If only al-Faud knew what a gemstone he had hidden in his house! Once a year, on my birthday, I am allowed to copulate with the current one whom he ceremoniously divorces for the night and I marry. It is the most divine present from the most caring of masters, but to tell the truth, although I enjoy these experiences in a base, animal fashion, (for they release the built-up tension of months), I am always glad to return to my Precious Jewel. Upon my retirement, al-Faud has told me that I may take his current one, if she is willing, as my own wife and truth be told, it is not a bad deal for her, for she shall be no virgin and I shall be a rich man and a virtual stranger to women. I do not know, choosing any woman other than her would be hard although they do tempt me with their long legs, firm breasts and sensuous ways. Perhaps I should do as he does and keep my future wife hidden and unknown to me? My parents have found a girl whom they wish me to wed and as I have never seen her and she is both submissive and pious then this too could be a possibility. I could imagine that she is my Precious Jewel as we copulate at night! That is an enticing prospect indeed!

But to return to my Jewel. Everyday, after she is dismissed by her Lord and Master, I lead her back to her chambers. She has five rooms that are all hers. One is her bath chamber, the second her bedchamber and the other three are for relaxation. One looks out over beautiful gardens through delicately latticed windows whilst the second has a fountain in the centre and the third is filled with flowers and caged songbirds. Once in her rooms I divest her of her many layers and then, when naked, she dresses. It may sound strange here, her life so much like an Orientalist fantasy, but the clothes she wears at home are often Western and revealing. She wears tight jeans imported from Italy, swimsuits, shorts or dresses. The fact is, in her chambers no one ever enters save for me and so she can wear what she likes for I can never be aroused even though my members strains painfully all day long. It is in those chambers that I live, sleeping on a mattress in the songbird room. There we talk all day, play games, hold each other, sometimes like children, sometimes like adults. She has needs too, like all women and I satisfy them all save one and even that I can do indirectly with my tongue or fingers. She however, can never reciprocate and if it were not for pious reasons, then that would torment her.

But after a day spent together, frollicking, bickering, playing, making music, then comes time for the night. As the sun sets she eats her evening meal and then bathes before being dressed in the attire that al-Faud has, in his wisdom, decreed mandatory. Her body is towelled and powdered and then the fearsome bedchamber suit is produced from the cupboard. It’s made of black latex and covers her from toe to neck, my Jewel being sealed within it by a zip running up her back. The she smiles before the heavy-duty inflatable gag with a thick breathing tube is inserted into her mouth and pumped up to full capacity. Thus silenced, I take her hands, fit latex mittens that are inflated so that her hands are reduced to useless balls on the end of her arms. These arms she wraps around me and after a moment of intimacy, she removes them and I kiss her on the cheek before producing the final item, a full latex hood that covers her head entirely and leaves her both blind and deaf. Then, I fasten the hood to the bodysuit with a metal locking collar and after that,  using the same pump that I used for her hands, I inflate the hood until her head too becomes a black sphere deposited on top of an exquisite female form. I take a cloth and rub that form all over, causing the latex to shine and reflect the room around me before standing back and admiring the figure before me. It is strange, inhuman with its blank, ball head, yet undeniably arousing and my member strains in its prison. The only access now that the zip is locked away under the collar is at the crotch, a short zip for entry to her special place below. Dressed such, I throw an abayah over her so that this alien form does not surprise, arouse or frighten the other staff and then lead her over to his chamber where she sits and waits until he enters with his Nikāḥ al-Mut‘ah for the night with whom he shall play and frollick before depositing his seed in the place where it should be deposited, the special place of his only wife.


And so it is that tonight, as every night, you find me waiting, with only the sleeping songbirds for company. A few metres away he plays with his Nikāḥ al-Mut‘ah whilst my Precious Jewel lies unseen by their side. Perhaps she will lie there all night, perhaps he will send her back after they have enjoyed relations. Whatever the case, although I am alone now, I shall not be for long, for it is merely hours before that black shape will return to this room, I divest her of her shrouds and latex skin and we will lie side by side on her silken sheets watching the sun rise outside through the delicate wooden latticing.


Copyright © 2011, Dave Potter


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