Shame

Shame

by Dave Potter

Exclusively for the ‘Tales of the Veils’ website

 

When she married Kassim al-Mansur many people told her that she was making a mistake. Yes, he was handsome and rich, but he was an Arab, from the Emirate of Hajjah and well, we all know what Arabs are like with their women don’t we? Yes, they start off nice and considerate and gentlemanly, but as soon as you’re married then the wife becomes more like a servant, forced to cover up with the veil, stay indoors, just for cooking, cleaning and producing kids, nothing more.

But Charlotte knew they were wrong and Kassim proved it. They had been married for five years now and he was still the kind, considerate, loving and modern man that he had been when they’d first met in the office of Fieldman Associates where she worked. They’d bought a house together and transformed it into a home and loved every minute of each other’s company. Even her parents had come round eventually and now he was welcome at every family gathering.

Even so, the day when she stepped off the plane into the burning Hajjah heat, Charlotte al-Mansur did feel a tingle in her body, a question at the back of her mind as to whether he would be the same man there with his family and people as he had been in London.

But again she need not have worried. True their were a few concessions to the local culture, but not many. She had to wear an embroidered black abayah which covered her body from the neck down in loose black material and when out a matching headscarf was wrapped around her head to keep the religious police at bay, but that was all. Instead they lived in their new house in Hajjah City much as they had lived in London, both working as executives and enjoying equality within the walls of their home.

There was only one thing that was a little strange and that was when they went to visit Kassim’s brother Yunas. Kassim’s parents were dead and his other relatives lived far away but Yunas lived in the family home in the centre of Hajjah City. He was the older brother and so had taken over the family business whilst Kassim had gone overseas to study and then settled in London, taking a banking job in the City. Yunas was everything that Kassim was not; he was traditional and he was religious, sporting a large bushy beard and always wearing the traditional thawb and keffiyah. He would often berate Kassim for his lax and immoral Western ways and shunned Charlotte’s company as much as possible since she was not a Muslim, Kassim being adamant that she did not have to convert unless she really wanted to. Nonetheless, family is family, particularly in a place like Hajjah and so it was not long before they paid a visit to Yunas’ home.

The first time that Charlotte saw Tahira, Yunas’ wife, she gasped with surprise. After a week in the country she was well-used to seeing veiled women in the streets and shopping centres but Tahira took things much further. She stood in the foyer of the house like a featureless black cone, a mountain of cloth with not a bit of humanity on show. Whereas usually Hajjahi women showed their eyes and their hands, Tahira showed nothing. From her head hung a kind of cape, (which she knew from her walks around the shops was called a khimar), which reached down to her knees and the only break in its surface was an oval where the face should be and that was covered by another blank black layer underneath. At her knees the folds of a plain black abayah showed, covering her feet and brushing the floor. She stood their in silence, only bowing slightly as Yunas introduced her and then led the way into the female quarters whilst the two brothers retired to those designated for the men.

shame1

Once in the luxurious female-only sitting room, Charlotte had expected her to strip off her cape and veil as the other local women did when there were no males present, but to her surprise she merely sat down on a chair and gestured for Charlotte to do likewise. Charlotte did so and then launched into a prepared spiel about how nice it was to meet her at long last after hearing so much about her and despite their difference in origin, she hoped she could accept her as a sister and friend. To her surprise though, Tahira did not reply at all, but instead her khimar was lifted two hands clad in silken mittens, slipped out, one holding a notepad and the other a pen. Then she wrote, in English, a note which she passed to her sister-in-law.

It is nice to meet you to. I would love to talk but I cannot since I obey strict purdah. However, I am happy if you talk to me and I reply in notes like this. But first, would you like a drink?

This shocked Charlotte considerably, especially since she did not even know what purdah was, but she knew that it is best to always respect local customs so she agreed and said she would accept a drink. At that Tahira rang a small bell which was stood on the table and a maid, as veiled as she was, appeared. She wrote a note, passed it to the maid who nodded and disappeared. A minute later she returned with a large glass of orange juice. “Aren’t you having one as well?” asked Charlotte somewhat surprised, but Tahira merely shook her head. Charlotte took the orange juice and then instigated a polite conversation with Tahira about the two brothers that they were married to and how nice Hajjah was which lasted for an hour or so before there was a knock on the door and she heard Kassim’s voice telling her that it was time to leave so she bid her sister-in-law goodbye, kissed her on her veiled cheek and then left.

That night she asked her husband what purdah was and he replied that it was a mode of living whereby women keep themselves out of the public sphere and devote themselves instead to family and the home. He said that it was popular in very religious households to which she’d replied, “Like Yunas’” to which Kassim had said, “Now, yes.” Puzzled she’d asked him to explain more and he’d replied that whilst Yunas was very religious now, he hadn’t always been that way and that when he’d married Tahira ten years before, neither of them had been particularly religious and she had not even worn a veil. Lying in bed that night, Charlotte wondered what on earth would make a liberal woman choose to follow such a strict lifestyle whereby she stayed silent and heavily-veiled even within the confines of her own house and she vowed to ask her next time they visited.

She did not have to wait long, for the next morning Kassim had announced that during their six-month placement in Hajjah before returning to their jobs and life in London, he had arranged to eat at Yunas’ house every Thursday evening so that he may get to know his brother again having found him ‘much changed’ during the visit the previous evening. Charlotte, her thoughts on what Kassim had said about Tahira and purdah in bed the previous evening had agreed that it was a good idea since he should be close with his family and also getting to know Tahira better would help her interact with and understand Hajjahi culture better and so it was set.

That Thursday Charlotte was again shown into the female quarters by a silent and heavily-veiled Tahira who sat in the same chair and gestured for Charlotte to sit by her. The maid then appeared bringing a fine Arabian feast of humus, goat’s cheese, tahini, lamb, pitta bread, olives, aubergine dip and many more delicacies. Charlotte tucked in immediately and commented to Tahira on how good it was but whilst her sister-in-law nodded enthusiastically, she did not partake in any of the food herself. I have already dined she wrote on a note so Charlotte left it at that.

After the meal was finished, Charlotte decided to ask Tahira all about purdah life she asked many questions such as ‘How often do you leave the house?’ ‘When do you unveil?’ and what not and Tahira answered them all. The answers that she provided however, were most shocking. It transpired that since adopting purdah, Tahira had never once left the confines of the hosue and rarely the female quarters. Furthermore, she was always veiled, even in bed and her silence was due to the fact that her religion decreed that the female voice is awrah and thus a temptation and so should be kept quiet. Indeed, most aspects of purdah seemed to be about awrah and causing temptation to men. Skin was awrah, unveiled eyes were awrah, ungloved hands, even long strides. This was all very strange and sounded extremely trying and so Charlotte was about to ask why she had decided upon such a strict mode of living when there was a call from the men’s room that it was time to leave so she replaced her headscarf, bade goodbye and went out to her husband.

That night in bed she and Kassim again talked about their experience. Kassim said that he could not understand what had happened to his brother. He had assumed that he’d been made crazy by some extreme bout of religiosity yet when prayer time came he had not bothered to make salat. Kassim had questioned him but he had been reticent on the subject so he hadn’t pushed the matter but ‘he seems very angry about something’ was the impression that Kassim had got. Charlotte then went on to talk about Tahira, about how incredibly strict and restricted her life was and her puzzlement at why any woman would choose to live in such a fashion and together they fell asleep with many questions in their heads.

The following Thursday the same routine was followed with Charlotte being shown to the female quarters and then dining on exquisite local food whilst Tahira had merely sat and watched through her veils. Once finished, they’d again engaged in their strange form of conversation – one way spoken, the other written – and Charlotte had asked her sister-in-law the question that had been running through her head for a week: “Why did you choose to change from a liberal life to a purdah life?”

Tahira did not answer immediately. Instead she bowed her head as if thinking and then wrote a short and simple note.

Shame.

“Shame?! What do you mean? I don’t understand?”

But Tahira had not replied; she merely sat there with her head bowed. “Can’t you tell me?” asked Charlotte and Tahira had slowly shook her head and then buried her veiled face into her sister-in-law’s bosom and started shaking uncontrollably as if crying. Shocked, Charlotte simply put her arm around her and then stroked her head saying softly, “It’s alright, it’s alright…”

That night in bed she told Kassim what had happened. “I think she’s unhappy,” she said her head nuzzling into his shoulder.

“I think you’re probably right,” he replied. “I found out a little more from Yunas today. He didn’t go into details but it seems that five years ago she did something very bad and that’s what he’s still angry about.”

The next week it was the same old routine; female quarters, a fine meal but Tahira neither eating nor drinking. However, after Charlotte had finished and the maid removed the plates, Tahira’s hand had snaked out from under her khimar and handed Charlotte a sheet of paper filled with writing. Surprised, she took it and started to read:

After much consideration I have decided to tell you why I live today as I do. You were so kind to me last week and you are family after all so it is only right that you should know although my husband would be angry if he knew I am telling you this and I feel great shame to be putting these words down on paper.

We married ten years ago after meeting at university and we were very happy. We loved each other very much and both our families approved. After moving here I had two children, Mohammed and Hassan who are now both away at boarding school in Riyadh. As a mother I miss and love them very much but at the same time I am glad that they are away from this shamed and unhappy house. Anyway, we lived here together and when Yunas’ father died we took over the house. Things were good I suppose but Yunas objected to me working saying that it wasn’t fit for a good Hajjahi girl particularly a mother so, like a dutiful wife, I stayed at home. But he was absent all the time, at work, parties after work and business trips and I confess I began to grow bored and lose interest in him. Even so, it was not problem until the day that Osama arrived. Osama was our new chauffeur and handyman, he was Lebanese and extremely handsome. Everyday whilst Yunas was out at work I would watch Osama working in the garden, cleaning the car and the like and, I am sorry to say, I fell madly in love, not a deep true love but raw passion and lust. He soon noticed the fire in my eyes and as I was still a young and attractive woman, he returned my glances until one thing led to another and we ended up in bed enjoying raw, lust-fuelled sex, more animal than human. I had never before felt such feeling and whilst I knew then as I know now that it was Shaitan who was behind them, I was addicted like someone on drugs and so we carried on, everyday, for six months. Everyone knew, the staff, neighbours but not Yunas. But then, one day at work, he overheard some underlings of his whispering about it whilst he was in a cubicle in the toilets. He rushed straight home in a rage, confronted me and I confessed all, begging for him to forgive me. I thought he would hit me, beat me to death even but instead, even though rage surged through his veins, he never raised his hand and instead merely sent Osama packing and refused to speak to me. Overcome with remorse and shame, I begged him to forgive me but he just stayed silent. Then, a week later, he took me to my room and explained that I would be living in the strictest of purdah from now on to prevent any chance of evil doing again, to give me time to realise the full extent of the hurt and shame I have caused him and the chance to endure what he had endured and seek Allah’s forgiveness for my many sins. And since that day I have lived so, silent, hidden and alone. I hate it but it is my lot, the burden that I have given myself to carry. And that, dear Charlotte, is my story.

After that confession Charlotte stayed clear of the topic of purdah and Tahira’s shame but as each week passed her curiosity grew. Why did her sister-in-law never speak, eat or drink in her presence; why veil in bed? What did she wear under that khimar, abayah and veil. Charlotte checked up on the internet about purdah lifestyles and whilst she read about some pretty extreme situations where women gagged themselves to prevent speech or had their arms and ankles chained. Did Tahira live in such a manner? She longed to find out more and so a month or so later, she tentatively asked.

“Tahira, I am sorry if this is a personal question but what do you wear exactly under your veils? I’ve been researching purdah on the internet and I’ve read about women who gag and the like. Do you have to gag?

Tahira sat still for a while and then wrote. Yes, I wear a gag.

Charlotte was amazed and she imagined having her mouth filled at all times. It was not a pleasant thought.

“What kind of gag do you wear? And how many layers of veiling?”

Again Tahira sat still for a while as if considering her answer carefully and then she wrote: My purdah is not like that of other women.

“What do you mean? I don’t understand.”

My purdah is not just about awrah and modesty. It also reminds me of my shame.

“Tahira, I’m sorry but you’re speaking in riddles. If this is too personal then…”

Tahira put her finger to her mouth in a gesture of quiet and then got up. She took Charlotte’s hand in her own gloved hand and led her across the room and down the corridor to the bathroom. Then they both entered together and Tahira locked the door behind her. Then, slowly and carefully she removed her gloves, stockings, khimar and abayah. Charlotte gasped at what she saw. But she gasped even louder when Tahira unwound her headscarf and removed her faceveil.

shame2

Stood before her was the silhouette a shapely young woman entirely enclosed in shiny black rubber! There were no openings anywhere save at the nose where there were two holes for the nostrils and at the eyes were there were two small tear-shaped tinted lenses. The rest of the suit, the hands, the legs, the leg, the crotch, the back, everything was entirely smooth and seamless save at one place: her crotch. Tahira was sealed inside latex but around her waist she wore a sturdy stainless steel chastity belt locked with a small padlock! “What on earth…?” exclaimed Charlotte. Tahira guided her hands to her latex body. It was smooth and warm. Charlotte marvelled, feeling the mounds of her trapped breasts and then diving down into a tiny waist that Charlotte thought you would normally need a corset to achieve. Tahira clasped her relative to her and hugged her tight as if pleased that she had finally revealed her secret to someone. Charlotte hugged her back but her mind burned with questions. Then she heard Kassim shouting and Tahira stood up and gestured that she needed to redress. Quickly she helped her sister-in-law transform herself back into a black fabric cone and they flushed the toilet and left the bathroom.

“What took you?” asked Kassim.

“When a lady’s got to go, you have to wait!” she replied with a smile.

Over the week that followed her mind raced around with thoughts of her sister-in-law in that black rubber suit. Why did Yunas insist she dressed in such a fashion? Why was she wearing a chastity belt? How did she get in and out every night? What about the toilet? And eating and drinking? How hot was it underneath all that? What was it like living in a rubber suit? She was desperate to find out more and the days dragged slowly until Thursday came around again.

As soon as she had entered the female quarters, Charlotte sat with Tahira and broached the subject. “What you showed me last week; I can’t believe it! I have so many questions? Why do you wear that? What is it like?

One at a time please.

“Ok, why?”

Yunas insists. It makes me anonymous and erases my personality. A non-woman is better than a sinful woman.

“That’s awful! It’s sick! But please, what about eating? How do you eat and drink in that?”

I can’t.

“But you have to eat and drink… you’d die…”

I don’t die.

“Obviously not, but… but… what about the toilet then? You looked sealed in; how do you use the toilet?”

I don’t.

“Come on now, you have to! We all have to!”

Wearing this, no.

“Ok then, so how do you remove it? It looked totally sealed to me yet if you can’t eat, drink or go to the toilet in it then you must be able to get out somehow!”

I can’t remove it, only Yunas can. There is a seal at the back which can be melted and that hides a zip. Only he can free me.

“So does he do that every night then?”

No, I am only removed from the suit once a week. I wear it Saturday to Friday. On Saturday nights I wear a different suit. It is similar but it has openings for my mouth, my bottom and at my crotch. That is how I manage to fulfil my wifely duties to him. The rest of the time I am sealed in here with the chastity belt over the top to prevent me caressing myself.

“But how do you…? I don’t get it!”

Please Charlotte, don’t ask me anymore questions; I can’t answer them!

“But no, I need to know… this suit…”

It is the suit of my shame, that is all you need to know. I am shameful so I must endure it; it reminds me of my shame.

Charlotte went home that night with more questions in her head than answers. It didn’t make any sense; there was something that Tahira was not telling her and yet she couldn’t figure out what. That night she lay awake thinking about it but no answers came.

The following day she went into work alone for Kassim had to go on a trip to Riyadh to do with a contract their bank had signed with a Saudi partner. “Don’t worry love,” he’d said, “I’ll be back by nine tonight. It’s a short flight and the business shouldn’t take long; it’s just putting pen to paper, that’s all.”

But at nine that night he hadn’t returned, nor at ten or eleven or twelve. That’s when she’d called the police. Twenty minutes later they came round with news of the plane crash. 59 people killed, no survivors.

As Kassim was a Muslim, the funeral was held the next day. There were some mourners from the bank, some of the family from Riyadh and Yunas there but no Tahira. Charlotte had hoped she’d come along but then remembered that she never left the house. ‘Stupid purdah!’ she thought, hating her late husband’s brother for how he forced his wife to live.

That brother came up to her. “You’ll come with me!” he said, taking her arm.

“No, no, I’m alright, thanks.”

“But I’m all the family you have here. Under Hajjahi custom you must be under the protection of your closest male relative!”

Under the protection who forces his wife to live as an anonymous black rubber doll? I think not! “No, thank you all the same, but I am British, not Hajjahi!” she said, freeing herself from his grasp.

She returned to the house and sat amongst the possessions of their happy married life. A life that was over, obliterated in seconds due to an engine failure. She would have to start again from scratch, but not here in Hajjah City. No, she was going back to London where her friends and family could support her. She packed her bag and booked a taxi to the airport.

At passport control, the official took her document and looked at it carefully. “Where is your husband Mrs. Al-Mansur?” he asked in accented English.

“He is not here,” she replied.

“But this document states that you are married and under your husband’s protection,” he said, pointing at the Hujjahi visa. She remembered now; Hujjahi customs were really strict and when applying for the visa she’d had to say that she would be travelling as the spouse of a Hujjahi citizen otherwise it would never have been granted.

“He is dead, sir. The plane crash yesterday; my husband Kassim al-Mansur was one of the fifty-nine who died. You can check the list; I am returning home to my family.”

The official nodded and made a phonecall. He spoke rapidly in Arabic for quite some time and then put the phone down. “It is true what you say, they have verified his death. I am sorry for your loss, Mrs. Al-Mansur.”

“Thank you, so can I pass through now?”

“Oh no Madam, that is not possible. Under Hujjahi law it is not possible for a woman to travel alone. She must be accompanied by her husband…”

“But mine is dead!”

“Yes, I know that and I am sorry, but then the duty falls to the nearest male relative. Do you have a son?”

“I have no children.”

“Is your late husband’s father still alive?”

“No, he is dead.”

“Then what about a brother?”

“Yes, he has a brother but I can’t see what this has to do with me. Can I pass through now?”

“No, I am sorry, but you may not. You are now the responsibility of the late Mr. al-Mansur’s brother. You may not travel without him or leave the country without his permission.”

“But I am a British citizen!”

“Yes, but you are in Hujjah and to enter Hujjah you were granted a Hujjahi visa which clearly stated that whilst here you would remain indefinitely under the care of your nearest mahram male. Normally I would have to charge you for attempting to travel alone, a charge that is generally punished with imprisonment, but as you are grieving and foreign, I shall see that you do not suffer unnecessarily. However, the police are on their way to escort you to your brother-in-law.

Charlotte’s entry into Yunas al-Mansur’s house that time was very different to all the others. Before she had been a guest, under the protection of Kassim. Now she was accompanied by two policemen, a criminal and at the mercy of her rather strange and stern relative. He nodded curtly at the police as they dropped her off and then ordered her into the female sitting room before following in himself and shutting the door behind him.

“So, you have come to me after all, sister!”

“Yes, I know, it is a mistake. They say I need your permission to return to England so…”

“Silence! I know that; I am better acquainted with Hujjahi Law and customs than you. You are under my care now and you are my responsibility. In Hujjah it is customary for a brother to take care of his deceased sibling’s wife by marrying her himself if it is possible. I am allowed four wives under our religion and I have only one so it is possible and therefore I shall do my duty to him, you and Allah.”

“But I don’t want to marry you, Yunas; I just want to go home!”

“What you want is immaterial! My brother has allowed you to follow your wants – going around unveiled, talking to strange men, working out of the home and so many more sins – for far too long. Under Hujjahi Law all that is needed is the permission of your guardian, which is me. So, like it or not, you shall be my wife, or indeed, possibly already are, for I signed the documents with the mullah straight after the funeral and so they are probably processed and registered by now.”

“But… no! No! You can’t do this!”

“I can and I have Charlotte and you shall learn some manners! I have been thinking of a second wife for some time now and Allah has placed you in my path! I have redeemed one sinful female so why not another?”

“Redeemed? More like enslaved!”

“Silence! I shall not allow it! You are my wife and you shall accept it and as my wife, living under my roof, you shall live under my laws which are also the laws of Allah almighty. And on the treatment of wives, He is most clear: ‘And if you fear that you cannot act equitably towards orphans, then marry such women as seem good to you, two and three and four; but if you fear that you will not do justice (between them), then (marry) only one or what your right hands possess.’ So, if I have two wives it is absolutely clear than I must treat them the same which, considering your sinful past, is only right.”

“What? You intend to turn me into some anonymous rubber doll as well? A suit of shame? No! Never! Never will you do that to me!”

But even as she was saying the words, she felt the damp pad close over her mouth and she went dizzy before falling to the floor and her world went black.

When she awoke, Charlotte was hanging from the ceiling on a chain. She immediately noticed a difference. Her entire body was covered in something tight, something very tight. In front of her was Yunas and behind him, in a corner, was the blank rubberised form of the unveiled Tahira.

“Ah, you have awoken!” Yunas exclaimed. “are you wondering what has been done to you so far? Very little actually. You are being dressed in your inner skin. Latex covers you from neck to toe. Well, most of you.”

He moved to one side to reveal a full-length mirror. It was true; transparent latex leggings and a transparent latex vest covered her whilst over her arms were transparent latex gloves attached to a transparent latex collar that finished just below her chin Apart from her head, the only parts free to the air were holes at her crotch and anus.

But it was her head that shocked her the most. All her hair had been shorn and then shaved so that she was as bald and smooth as an egg. “What have you done?” she asked.

“I have become your transformation into a modest, purdah wife, living in a state of shame,” he replied. Now for the next item!”

He approached her head with an item that made her flinch in fear. It was a transparent latex hood that would cover her head entirely. He fitted it over her and immediately her world changed. Her hearing became dimmer and her sight was covered with a latex screen. At her nostrils there were two pipes several centimetres longer which he worked inside her nasal passages causing her air to smell of rubber. This was nothing though, compared to what was done at her mouth. The mouthpart was moulded so it would envelope her teeth and tongue, but it had an opening in the rear of her mouth so she could still swallow and breathe through her mouth. She was now completely trapped in latex and her whole body was heating up whilst her breathing was harder. However, when she saw what was coming next she knew that that latter sensation would only be getting worse.

It was a rubber under-bust corset. It would’ve been transparent if it was as thin as the rest, but with this thickness she couldn’t see through it. She felt the steel bones inside, and opened her mouth, as if she already anticipated the breathing struggle. Doing so she drooled a bit since the latex filled her mouth for a while now and spit had been building all the time, which had not escaped through the opening at the back of her throat to the outside. She felt a bit ashamed about it as if she was a small baby unable to control even her simplest bodily functions.

Yunas positioned the corset around her stomach and then began lacing it up. As he pulled on the laces and her stomach was squeezed tight, she soon forgot about the shame of the drooling, because she had to concentrate on being able to breathe. Once the corset was laced tight and her breasts were heaving up and down, Yunas tied it off, and her mouth open to gasp for breath she drooled all over her chest, but now she no longer cared for she feared just how bad this Suit of Shame might actually get.

Her new husband then approached with three plugs. “These are for your holes, the source of so much sin!” he declared gleefully, his eyes wild like those of a madman. The first was shaped rather like a large male penis and was fitted into her mouth before being fastened behind her head with a strap. It was large and filled the cavity completely but had a hole running down the middle so that she could still breath and drink and a valve on the outside. So, this was how Tahira had been gagged! Then he took the second plug which found to her dismay he was intending to fit it into her vagina! She squirmed and screamed into her gag, but he held her tight and slid it in. It was well-lubricated and slid in quite easily but then to her shock Yunas then started to pump the small attached bulb and it slowly expanded inside her, making her feel full and violated. After four pumps it was unbearably full but then he  gave another which caused quite unpleasant painful sensations. Next though, it got worse. He released her arms from the chain above her head and forced her over to a desk which he bent her over and then the third plug was forced into her anus. This was thin at one end but got wider before thinning suddenly into a trunk rather like the shape of a Christmas tree. Although well-lubed, inserting this – into a place where she had never had anything inserted before – was really painful and although her husband was slow and gentle, Charlotte found herself groaning into her gag. Eventually though, it popped in and the natural reflexes of her sphincter squeezed around the trunk, sealing it into place. Then though he started pumping that plug as well and as it grew inside her the pain grew with the stretching. Like the vaginal plug, this was pumped five times and then she was ordered to stand. In the mirror she saw herself, completely covered in latex but with three bulbs handing down from her mouth, vagina and anus. These however, were removed by her husband. ‘What on earth was all this about?’ she thought.

As if reading her mind, Yunas carried her back to the ceiling chain, affixed her wrists to it again and then started talking. “You may be wondering what this is all about; don’t worry, it shall soon become clear. Whilst you were knocked out I undertook a full enema on you so you are spotlessly clean in there. You also had a catheter fitted. Now you are almost ready but this is thirsty work so we shall have a drink!”

He left the room and Tahira came up to her. She couldn’t reach the chains and besides, they were locked and Yunas had the key so she merely hugged her co-wife dearly, knowing full well the shameful fate that Charlotte was still partially ignorant of. She was still hugging when Yunas reappeared but he didn’t seem to mind. He had a trolley with him containing a medical bag full of water, about five litres in all which he then attached to her mouth valve and ordered her to drink. Sweating inside the latex sauna suit, Charlotte drank gladly whilst Yunas ignored her and started messing around at her crotch. Soon she had had enough, but still the water flowed and she couldn’t stop it easily. She began to feel bloated but Yunas didn’t remove it. She groaned into her gag and Yunas stood up, looked at it and said, “You must drink the lot; it is for your own good!” Tahira, who was now back in her corner, nodded fervently so Charlotte began sucking again. Meanwhile, as she sucked, she checked out what Yunas was doing in the mirror. He had fitted a pipe from her catheter that went between her legs to somewhere behind her and he was now fiddling around with a second, narrower pipe which led up from behind her to a belt around her corseted waist, then to a collar around her neck where it lay dangling. She sucked and sucked but the water went down slowly and she felt so bloated that she would explode but Yunas simply stood and waited and to shorten the ordeal, she sucked all the more until finally the last drops drained out and he removed the pipe and then fitted in its place the pipe that led up from her nether regions.

That done, he then disappeared and came back with an item that Charlotte was in no doubt about. It was a black rubber suit identical to Tahira’s which would enclose her from the world totally. He carefully fitted it around her feet and then worked it up her legs, smoothing it and making sure it was perfect, before then working it over her hips and up to her breasts. Then he released one arm at a time and fitted it over them before re-chaining them and finally fitting it over her head and zipping it up at the back. Immediately her hearing lessened even more, her breathing became more strained and her sight dimmed due to the tinted tear-drop lenses. She felt heat at her back as he sealed in the zip and then stood back to admire his handiwork.

By now she was streaming with sweat, struggling to breathe but her biggest problem was her bladder. All the water she had drunk had made her desperate to pee but she knew that she could not in this suit as she was sealed from the world.

Yunas smiled at her, again reading her thoughts and said, “Need the toilet do you my second shame wife? Well, it’s not surprising after all that water that you drank. Well, mostly water although you may have noticed an aftertaste for diluted in it were all the vitamins and minerals that you’ll need to survive until next Monday which is when you’ll be let out. You see Monday is your night since it is the day on which we wed. On Monday’s you’ll wear a different suit so that I can be a good husband to you, but until then and after then, this suit of shame shall be your home from this day forth until Allah calls you. I just hope by then He will have forgiven your sins. But now, the final item!”

The stainless steel chastity belt was brought forward and fitted around her waist. It was extremely tight, tighter even than the corset underneath which gave her, like Tahira, such an incredible silhouette. As he guided it between her legs and locked it shut around her waist, the additional pressure down below caused her to let go of her bladder and pee gushed forth. However, instead of running onto the floor it merely flowed through the catheter that her husband had fitted, then through the tube between her legs and finally into her arse, which caused her to breathe faster making groaning sounds into her gag. Her arse filled more and more, it felt like a litre of liquid in there and as she finished peeing, the pressure in her bum was so high that it hurt a little, but what could she do about it, for there was nowhere for it to go?!

She was released from her chains and she fell to the floor. Tahira ran over to her and helped her up, hugging her dearly and nuzzling her rubber face against that of her new co-wife. Then she took her hand and stood her in front of the mirror. On view were two identical creatures; blank, anonymous, shiny rubber dolls with tear-drop lenses for eyes and severe chastity belts around their waists. Charlotte could not take it in; the hell that her life had become in the space of less than a week. She stumbled into Tahira’s arms and her co-wife supported her out of that terrible room and into the familiar female sitting room which was now tinted in darker duller shades.

They sat on the sofa together and clung to each other for dear life, seconds, minutes, who knows how long. Charlotte never wanted to move from the embrace of her fellow rubber doll of shame but as she sat there she felt the pressure in her bladder grown and grow whilst her arse was still full of pee from the last time.

Eventually, when she could hardly bear it any longer, then she sat up, grabbed the notepad and pen from the table and wrote, Tahira, I’m full down below. What do I do?

Her co-wife nodded, bent down and wrote one word on the notepad which she then held up before Charlotte’s eyes.

Suck.

Desperate to relieve the pain and pressure, Charlotte sucked. At first nothing happened but then she felt the pressure lighten a little. Then, to her horror warm pee from her arse started flooding into her mouth. She looked at her co-wife, her with her tear-drop lenses seeming to reflect her sadness. So that was how Tahira stayed alive inside her suit; she recycled her own waste! It went from her bladder into her bum like an enema, then into her mouth before filtering back down to her bladder again, keeping her alive but little more. And that was to be her lot in life now, as a anonymous pee-drinking mindless, purdah doll sucking on her own waste in silence all day every day. Tears filling her eyes she slowly gulped the warm pee down.

Yes indeed, now she knew the meaning of shame.

 

Copyright © 2012, Dave Potter

 

I have written a loose sequel to this story titled The Conference.

 

 

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