by Dave Potter
Exclusively for the ‘Tales of the Veils’ website
Lesen Sie eine deutche Version dieser Geschichte: Die Gesellschafterin
This story is set in the same world as my earlier tale, Rebecca. In short, it is a contemporary Britain where veiling is mandatory. Quite how such a world came about, I haven’t worked out yet, but it was not always so. About thirty years or so ago the Veiling Laws came into force for all girls. The culture described is very much Christian but with dress that we would probably describe as ‘Muslim’.
“Well Miss Etherington, I am pleased to say that I find you suitable for the position!”
Behind her thick half-niqaab Emily smiled broadly. It must have shown in her eyes for her new employer, the Hon. Simon Baxfield MP, said, “Well, I’m glad that’s pleased you, and I’m sure that my wife will be glad to hear that she will be having a new friend. Anyhow, you start two weeks from now on the Monday at 9:00am sharp, but before that you must go to the outfitters to be fitted with your new costume. The outfitter that I use is Craddocks; they are to be found on the Westgate in York. If you are working in the shop on the weekdays, then I suggest you go down on Saturday morning early, as it will take a while. Shall I inform them to expect you then?”
“Yes sir,” replied Emily, her head bowed demurely.
On the bus home she couldn’t believe it. She’d been stuck in her dead-end job in a camera shop for three years now and no matter how hard she’d tried, all those qualifications that she’d earned with such hard work just hadn’t seemed to matter; no one wanted her; most wanted a man instead. So it was that at 22 she was still living at home, with little money to spend and few prospects in life. Then she’d seen the advert in the Knaresborough Advertiser:
COMPANION REQUIRED FOR A LADY
The Hon. Simon Baxfield MP requires a companion for his new lady wife, Mrs. Baxfield. Candidate must be modest, intelligent and be prepared to live with Mrs. Baxfield at Brodsworth Hall. Generous salary; costume, food and lodging provided. Only unmarried females aged between 20 and 30 with a college certificate or higher need apply.
Live in a stately home as a companion to a lady? She had no experience in this field, but she fitted all the entry requirements, so why not give it a go? Not that she ever expected to get an interview. Not that she ever expected to actually pass the interview! But here she was, a staggering £42,000 p/a better off, and with no rent, clothing and food costs, why it could all go straight into the bank! All that remained to be seen was whether she would get on with Mrs. Baxfield her new companion in life. After all, what kind of woman marries an MP…?
H. Craddock & Sons Outfitters was classy. Emily felt quite out of place in her M&S khimar and half niqaab. The burqas, abayahs and other items in the window were expertly crafted using the finest cloths. So, she was to wear clothing befitting a lady then! With a deep breath she walked in through the door.
“May I help you, miss?”
“Yes, I have an appointment I think… I’m the new companion for Mrs. Baxfield; the Hon. Mr. Baxfield has…”
“Indeed, I know all about it. This way Miss… Etherington if I remember correctly…? I am Edward Craddock, the proprietor, son of Henry Craddock who founded this shop over sixty years ago. Come this way please.”
The proprietor led her through into a back room where an assistant dressed in a high-quality black khimar and niqaab with nose-string was stood waiting.
“Miss Staples, this is Miss Etherington. Please measure her and explain the situation to her and then call me when you’ve finished.”
“Certainly Mr. Craddock,” replied Miss Staples with a curtsey.
As soon as the gentleman had left the room and locked the door behind him, Emily began to strip, removing her gloves, khimar and skirt. When down to her underwear, Miss Staples got out her tape measure and began to measure every inch meticulously. As she did so, she explained to Emily a little about the outfits that she would soon be wearing.
“We’ll be making eight outfits for you initially miss, one for every day of the week I suppose, plus an outdoor outfit as well. What you came in today, is that the sort of stuff you normally wear?”
“More or less, yes. Why?”
“Well only that these will be a lot stricter. Mr. Baxfield’s a Conservative MP see, his father was one of them that originally voted in the Veiling Laws so naturally his wife is extremely modest.”
“I expected that; I don’t really mind burqas and the like, it’s just I find them irritating on occasions.”
“I know what you mean. Mrs. Baxfield always wears a burqa though, ‘cept when travelling of course, and you’ll be doing the same. The ones we’ve got planned for you are lovely, really nice material and that, although not as grand as hers. After all, it wouldn’t do for the servant to outshine the mistress now, would it?”
“Of course not, but please, tell me, do you know Mrs. Baxfield at all?”
“Course I do, she’s been coming here for her outfits ever since she got engaged to Mr. Baxfield. She was Miss Cooper then; it was all quite a surprise when they announced they were getting hitched…”
“Cos she’s so young and him, well… half of us wondered if he was gay, so single for so long and all. But then out of the blue he marries her. They met at some golf event organised by her father – he’s a businessman – love at first sight or so she says.”
“What’s she like then?”
“Well lovely enough I reckon, although I don’t know her that well. After all, as soon as she married she began observing voice modesty and full covering and so we can’t chat as we did before the wedding. But no, she’s a sweet girl, pretty too with cornflower eyes and strawberry blonde hair – not that you or anyone else save for Mr. Baxfield will ever see her now, of course.”
“Which is only correct, but please tell me, she observes voice modesty?”
“Aye, all the time.”
“So how am I meant to converse with her then, as a companion?”
“I dunno, maybe she won’t with you, maybe through notes. Probably the latter since the outfits you’re getting are fitted for voice modesty too…”
Voice modesty! Mr. Baxfield hadn’t mentioned that in the interview, although now that she thought about it, she was hardly surprised, considering his status and political affiliations. However, it would take some getting used to, but there again, at over 40K a year, well, it would probably be worth it.
“That’s me done now, Miss Etherington. We’ll have the outfits made up and sent to Mr. Baxfield for when you start. All in all, there’ll be seven burqas incorporating voice modesty and under them seven dresses that compliment. There’ll be matching gloves and an outdoor veil and boots of course and nightwear too and… let me think… yes, that’s it. Oh no, there’s the corsets as well; Mrs. Baxfield always wears corsets and so will you. Any questions, miss?”
Questions? Corsets! Voice modesty! Of course she had questions!
“None at all, Miss Staples. I shall dress myself and then you can ring for Mr. Craddock…”
Emily walked boldly up the long gravel drive to Brodsworth Hall and rapped on the servant’s entrance. She was wearing her M&S khimar and half niqaab again as these were the best clothes that she had, but in deference to her new employer’s values, she had fitted a thin gauze veil underneath the half niqaab which gave her sight a haze, and in her mouth was a ball gag. This was the first time that she’d ever gagged herself and to be honest, it was an absolute nuisance. Throughout the bus journey there she’d longed to remove it and flex her now-aching jaws, but she new that sooner or later she had to get used to being muted and so she might as well start sooner.
The door was opened by a maid dressed in a black abayah with white ruband. Emily took out her pre-prepared note from her handbag and handed it to the maid. I am Miss Etherington, the new companion for Mrs. Baxfield.
The maid nodded and gestured for her to come inside. She led her through some corridors and then up some stairs to the part of the house where the Baxfields evidently lived. Emily couldn’t believe how grand and opulent the rooms were, furnished in excellent – and expensive – taste. To think that she, the humble daughter of a miner, would be living here! She followed the maid down a long gallery and then up another flight of stairs before going into a room on her left. As soon as they were both in, the maid locked the door behind them and whispered, “I am allowed to speak with you, but only in whispers and only when there are no present who might be tempted by my alluring female voice. You however, being of a higher station than me, may not speak to me or any of the servants. Your outfit for the day is laid out on the bed there. I am sure that you can work out how it goes on, but before I leave you, I must tell you that the Master has stipulated a waist size of no more than 25 inches to begin with. When you’re dressed, please ring that bell there and Maggie – your personal maid – will come and attend you, and also check that your waist is satisfactory. Goodbye Miss Etherington.”
The maid curtseyed and Emily curtseyed back and as soon as the key clicked in the lock, began to undress. She stripped herself of her clothes and then removed the irksome ball gag, flexing her jaw with relief. The difference it made to be able to see without a veil-induced haze was remarkable and being able to breathe clean air again, well! However, one look at the clothing lain out on the bed told her that the relief would be short-lived.
First up came the stockings, black and made of the finest quality and very thick. Emily carefully drew them up over her legs with a feeling of luxury, enjoying the feel of the material on her skin. Then came the underwear, normal bra but to her surprise, instead of pants, a strange metal contraption. Immediately she knew what it was even though she’d never worn or even seen one before: a chastity belt! She took it in her hands and looked it over. It was heavy and a first it shocked her; why should she be forced to wear something such as that? But then when she thought about it, the belt pleased her. She would be dishonest if she were to have said that the thought that her employer might try and take advantage of her whilst she was living under his roof. Yes, he was respectable and married, but one hears such terrible stories on the news or in the women’s magazines. Was this not the ultimate proof that he had her interests, her protection, at heart? She fitted the device around her and ratcheted the strap till it was tight. The metal felt cold against her skin and she shuddered, but that involuntary reaction was not solely due to the temperature. Somehow this device excited her. Yes, she was a good girl who did not indulge in such abominable vices as extra-marital sex and pleasuring herself, but she still had urges and feelings and the fact that her private regions were now totally inaccessible gave her a warm, moist feeling down below. Then came the shift, plain white cotton that fell to her knees, and over that, an item that she viewed with some trepidation: the corset. It was made of the finest white silk and was obviously expertly made. It was obviously a serious garment too, for the boning was strong and close. She fitted it around her, did up the busk and then started to pull. It was not easy having to lace oneself, but she did her best and when it felt tight enough she tied the laces off. Lying on the bed beside the clothes was a tape measure, evidently so that she could check that her waist was meeting the mandatory 25 inches. She placed it around her and was annoyed to discover that she still had an inch and a half to go. She untied the laces and started to pull again. The going was much tougher now and she was becoming short of breath and red in the face, but eventually she reached the required dimensions and tied off the laces, panting furiously, her breasts heaving up and down with each laboured breath.
Wearing the corset, she soon discovered that things were a lot more difficult. She could not bend and had to sit upright, as straight as a bolt. She realised the true purpose of the corset. It was not, as she had previously thought, to create a waist so alluring so as to entice men sexually, but instead to ensure that a pious veiled lady maintains the correct posture. This was confirmed when she viewed the next item; a mini, matching version of the corset to be fitted around her neck. This caused her to hold her head high; again posture was evidently paramount in the Baxfield household.
After the posture collar came a pair of thick black gloves and then the boots, again well-made in black leather and with imposing heels of 4 inches. Emily was unused to high heels, particularly when wearing a corset and posture collar as well and she felt extremely unsteady as she practiced walking around the room.
Once she felt confident she returned to the bed and picked up the next item: the dress, a well-tailored affair in forest green silk with embroidery down the front and on the skirt. The dress fitted tightly over the corset before widening for her hips, then carrying straight down in a loose yet restricting skirt. Inside it was lined with leather that meant that it had no give in it and strides of only a foot or so were possible. She picked up the thin leather belt and tightened it around her compressed waist, noting that the buckle had the Baxfield coat of arms on it, as if she were now owned by them, which, in a sense, she perhaps was.
By now Emily was feeling quite restricted, but it was the final item was the one that she knew would restrict her the most. She picked up the heavy, beautiful, embroidered burqa in forest green to match the dress and turned it inside out. As she’d expected it incorporated a hood which she gingerly fitted over her head, arranging her hair in a ponytail so that it did not get in the way, and then letting the large protrusion at the front fit into her mouth, silencing her completely. This is how she’d expected the burqa to be ever since the sales assistant at Craddock’s had told her that she’d be observing voice modesty, but what had surprised her was the somewhat phallic shape of the gag. She’d expected a ball and the long rod of hard rubber was somewhat disconcerting. At the same time though, it excited her; perversely whilst her private regions were being denied what they were intended for, her mouth was being forced to accept it, (or at least an imitation). Although she knew that such thoughts were sinful, Emily couldn’t help having them and she instinctively rubbed down below. The chastity belt however, permitted no feeling whatsoever.
The hood fitted she tightened the strap around the neck and then turned to look at herself in the room’s full-length mirror. Through the two small eye meshes she saw a strange creature before her; an exquisite female body, made all the more alluring by the corset and heels, yet inhuman with a blank green face, just two small meshes where the eyes should be. “I’m like an expensively dressed robot, designed to titillate but not satisfy,” she thought to herself, before flipping the burqa down. Now her sight dimmed further, but she could make out the outline; a well-dressed lady of distinction and modesty. What she could not believe was that somewhere under all those clothes was Emily Etherington.
She rang the bell on the wall and after a few minutes a maid answered, dressed identically to the one she had met previously. The maid curtseyed and then flipped the burqa up. She then took a tape measure out from under her robes and proceeded to measure Emily’s waist. Once satisfied that it satisfied Mr. Baxfield’s requirements, she leant over to her new mistress and whispered, “Perfect! I’m so pleased that you were able to achieve it first time because 25 inches is quite hard, it took me several attempts and assistance, and besides, it means that the future reductions will be less strenuous for you. Anyway, I forgot, my name is Maggie and I’m to be your lady’s maid. I’ve never done something like that before; I’ve been helping in the kitchen up to now, but I hope we get on. I’m the only person here allowed to see you in your nightclothes and talk to you I think… well, whisper at least, but that’s how these people live anyway isn’t it? Do you wish me to take you down to the master and mistress, Miss Etherington?”
Emily shook her head and took up a pad and pencil that had been lying on the bed beside the clothes, and scribbled a note:
Maggie, thanks for being so friendly, call me Emmie, all my friends do. It is nice to be able to hear a female voice even if only quietly, although I appreciate that it isn’t proper to speak in the presence of men. I will go in a second but first, please tell me, will I have to reduce my waist further?
“Oh yes Miss… Emmie, (I shouldn’t call you that by rights, we are meant to keep a distance between us, but if you don’t mind then it can be our little secret). But about the waist, yes. 25 inches is mandatory for all the women here, but as you are higher than a servant you shall be following a regime similar to the mistress’. Her waist is about 20 inches I’ve heard, so I suppose that’s what you’ll have to aim for eventually, although the only instructions that I’ve had is to reduce you by half an inch every month, but since we’ve started so well now we can reduce quicker early on cos later it gets really hard and even a quarter inch is difficult. But thanks for being so friendly and shall we go now, and don’t worry about the clothes, I’ll make sure that you don’t fall. Oh no! Wait a minute, I almost forgot, hold out your hands please.”
She did as asked and Maggie took two bracelets with a chain attached to each one and fitted them around her wrists and then attached the chains to her belt. She could still use her hands freely but only so long as they did not stray a foot from her waist!
“Master says that these are mandatory for all ladies; Mistress wears them as well although hers are pure gold. Now, shall we go Emmie?”
Emily nodded but her heart was beating fast. Manacled wrists and five more inches at the waist!! How difficult would that be to live with? However, as soon as she started to move she realised that she had to focus on matters closer to hand. Moving in her new attire was a totally new and overwhelming experience. The hood and burqa gave her limited, hazy vision that was straight ahead only, no peripheral sight at all, whilst her high heels, corset and posture collar conspired to ensure that she could not look down and see the floor that she was about to walk across. Still, Maggie held her hand and she felt safer as she tottered down the corridor and then slowly down the grand staircase and into the reception room.
There were two figures in the room. The first, stood up, Emily recognised. It was of course Simon Baxfield MP, her new employer. The second, sat regally on a chair beside her husband and hidden under and exquisite burqa of purple silk, was her new mistress, Mrs. Baxfield.
Mr. Baxfield turned to greet her and Emily bowed her head in respect, unable to complete a fitting curtsey due to her dress restrictions. “Ah, Miss Etherington, so glad to see and I must say, your dress is certainly an improvement from the interview. Are you finding it comfortable?”
Emily nodded, not entirely truthfully.
“Good, now Miss Etherington, here is my wife, Mrs. Connie Baxfield. Connie, you may greet your new companion.”
The purple burqa rose gracefully from the chair and walked over to Emily. She then rubbed her veiled cheek against that of her new companion.
“Like yourself, my wife is veiled and muted at all times as all ladies should be,” explained Simon Baxfield. “She has just demonstrated the common greeting between two ladies of higher standing in this household and I expect you to do the same. As for the servants, such a greeting is inappropriate: They must curtsey to you, you merely nod. Are you fine with that?”
“Good, now that is the greeting for women, as for men, if they are servants, you turn away so that they may not be tempted by your veiled form, but if they are gentlemen, then you must fall to the floor in supplication, face down so that it may not prove a source of temptation.”
Emily immediately knelt down, (with some difficulty due to her restraints), and put her face to the floor.
“Good, now you should stay like that until the gentleman has left or given permission to do otherwise. Now, as such a position is not comfortable to you, I shall not talk for long, needless to say, welcome to our household and I hope that Connie and yourself form a warm and loving friendship. Your daily task is to be with her, chatting through the medium of notes, walking or accompanying her into town. At all times you must dress as you are now, save for when you leave the grounds of this estate. Then you must wear an outdoor veil. When you two are alone, your maid may flip back your burqa, but the hood may never be removed, not even when in your room. Only when you go to the bathroom to change into your night attire may that be taken off and you may only leave the bathroom when your nightclothes have been put on. Finally, on Sundays, being a holy day, you will observe arm modesty as a special commitment to the Holy Trinity. So, welcome once again Miss Etherington and I trust that your time here will be a pleasant one.”
Emily heard the sound and felt the vibrations of his footsteps leaving the room and the door closing behind him. Then she felt Maggie’s hand on her shoulder and she tried to rise, her costume requiring some assistance from her maid. Then she walked across to her new companion who gestured for her to follow her to a large sofa at the far end of the room. Once they had reached it, Maggie flipped back Mrs. Baxfield’s burqa to reveal a stunning dress of embroidered material showcasing a magnificent figure with a miniscule waist. The maid then did the same for Emily and they both sat down. Then Maggie bought them pads and pencils before curtseying and retiring to another room. Eagerly they begun to get to know one another.
Hello Mrs. Baxfield, it’s an honour to be your companion.
Pls, call me Coni ive been w8ing 4 so long 4 a frend so im so hapi now
Call me Emi & pls tell me about yourself!
I was Coni Cooper be4 I was married & I cum from york I was a normal grl really bt then I met simon & my life changed 4eva
Did u not wear full veil b4?
No, nor voice modesty
Is it hard?
At 1st yes, but now its normal 4 me
How old r u?
I am 17 & ive bin married 2 simon 4 1 yr now twas v lonely but now ive a frend
U married v young
And so it went on. That day Emily got to know Connie and vice versa. She was shocked by the story of how such a young and liberal girl had willingly married such an old and conservative man, and suspected that his money had a part to play. To give up so much freedom for marriage, well, it was shocking yet at the same time, it unerringly made her feel excited down below. To be so controlled in every aspect of your life, silenced, hidden, totally submissive: in one way it sounded like hell yet in another it was almost heavenly. She almost forgot that she herself was now being forced to live in the same restricted manner and she did not even have the consolations of companionship and untold wealth to justify it.
And so they spent the whole day, the only interruptions being for meals when Maggie and another servant called Zoe who was Connie’s personal maid came in to feed them. Within their gags there was a small hole through which tubes were fitted and the two ladies were fed a mulched up version of the master’s meals; shepherd’s pie for lunch and some kind of curry for dinner. The only other change was when she needed the toilet. Then Maggie led her out to the bathroom where she unzipped her tight skirt, waited for her mistress to do what she had to do, cleaned her and then zipped the skirt back up.
And that was it. The whole day silent and covered. It was a new experience for Emily and one that she was not sure that she could get used to easily.
When evening came Emily was led to her bedroom by Maggie who unchained her hands as soon as she had locked the door behind them. Emily then went into the en suite bathroom where the steaming bath was already prepared and slowly undressed herself, finding the relief enormous in taking off all those layers and loosening the bonds around her neck and waist. Then, when total naked save for her chastity belt, she lowered her sweat-covered body into the soothing water and let it take all her aches and pains away.
After some twenty minutes or so of relaxation, Emily felt guilty about keeping her maid waiting, so she raised herself out of the water, towelled her body dry and then turned to face the new challenge of the special ‘nightwear’ that Mr. Baxfield had mentioned, and which she suspected to be restrictive. It was all lain out on a table by the sink and was, as expected, conservative in the extreme.
First up was a full lycra cat suit, all in black, that covered her from toe to neck. That fitted, there was then her night stays, in black and shorter and lighter than the days ones and with a note attached saying 26 inches. “Not too bad,” she murmured to herself and started to lace them up. After a day in longer stays at 25 inches, she soon got down to the required size and found it quite reasonable although she would have preferred to do without of course. Still, she knew from Femininity classes at school that serious waist reductions require 24 hour corseting, otherwise what is achieved in the day is entirely lost at night. Then came her main nightgown itself. Once again it was all in black but when she first picked it up she was unsure how to wear it. Then she noticed a zipped opening at the bottom and realised that it was like a kind of sack of thick material and so she put it over her head and let it fall. The garment however, did not fall completely, for at the top it incorporated a hood with elastic around the neck. She grabbed the garment from inside and wrenched it down and her head squeezed into the hood. Immediately her sight disappeared and she realised with a tinge of disappointment that the hood was made of thicker material than the rest of the nightgown, and it did not have any eyeholes. So, she was to sleep blinded! Another cross to bear in the name of modesty! Whilst there were no eyeholes, there was one at the mouth which puzzled Emily a little. She fumbled around on the table and then found the answer; there was a ball gag there which she fitted into her mouth and then strapped over the head, buckling it at the back. Finally dressed, she shuffled in the direction of the door and knocked on it.
She heard the door open and then Maggie’s voice at her ear. “A good effort Emmie, but not quite done yet. There are sleeves for the arms!”
Emily felt about and sure enough, there were sleeves which she fitted her arms into. At the ends were incorporated mittens that made her hands useless, and to ensure that things remained that way her maid then fitted three sturdy metal bands, one around each wrist and the other around the neck. She then led her charge to the bed, lay her down and then zipped up the bottom of the sack before adding a padlock with a click. Now there was definitely no way to escape; she was a prisoner within her own clothing until morning!
Maggie drew the blanket over her and then whispered “Goodnight Emmie, sleep safe and covered,” before walking away and locking the door behind her with a click leaving Emily fettered and alone in the pitch black.
That night Emily could not sleep. She soon got hot in her clothing and tossed and turned until her blanket fell off. That eased things a little but did not solve the problem completely. The stays around her middle bit in and prevented sleep whilst, most disconcertingly, her new status and position in life excited her down below. She longed to commit the sinful act of touching herself, but her hands covered in the thick mittens and the chastity belt meant that when she tried she felt absolutely nothing. In frustration she lay there panting, unaware of the time; was it ten, eleven, twelve or even one? She was in her own world, her cocoon of black, and that excited her.
Eventually however, fatigue did begin to take over and she felt herself dropping off when…
It was a soft sound, so soft as to be almost imperceptible, but she was sure that it had happened. A slight click, the click of the lock! She lay stock still, her heart pounding. Was there someone in the room? She could hear nothing through the material and over the sound of her own laboured breaths, but she was sure that there was. Was that breathing she could detect faintly? She couldn’t be sure and yet… Yes! She was sure there was someone else in the room, intuition perhaps, but she knew it! But who? Was it the Master, or one of the male servants perhaps? Who had the key to her room? She lay in silence and then she heard it again… Click!… Whoever it was had left. Someone had definitely been in her room, watching her as she slept trussed up like a Christmas package. But who? And why?
Emily did not sleep until five that morning. Not that she knew the time of course.
The next day was spent much like the previous. Emily was dressed in a blue burqa and sat with her new companion on the settee for the majority of the time, communicating through notes. There were only two differences, the first being mid morning when Connie suggested they go for a walk around the grounds and the second when Mr. Baxfield came to join them after lunch with his valet, Spencer. As soon as the men entered, both females immediately knelt on the floors, faces downwards, but Baxfield told them to rise and gave them permission to sit on the settee whilst he talked to them about life in the Baxfield family. However, after about quarter of an hour he announced, “Excuse me ladies, but the site of two such alluring ladies sat before me is so tempting, that my mind is diverting itself to sinful thoughts. Spencer, the outdoor burqas please!” Spencer then left and reappeared a moment later carrying two bundles of black cloth. The first Mr. Baxfield proceeded to fit over Connie. It was a black shroud that covered everything, leaving her a mountain of cloth. Next came Emily’s turn. Once it was on she was completely blinded and, due to the thickness of the material, her hearing was also affected. It heated up soon too. Emily wondered why she had to wear such a thing indoors, but afterwards, when the men had left and a maid removed the shroud, Connie had explained that quite often the sight of his veiled wife distracted the MP and so he demanded she be covered absolutely so that he could concentrate upon important matters.
By this time however, due to the lack of sleep the night before, Emily was feeling tired. She wanted to tell her new friend about what had happened but was scared to mention it, for what if the intruder had been Simon Baxfield? Surely, it would break Connie’s heart! So instead she simply leant on Connie’s shoulder, which her companion obviously liked for she started stroking her new veiled friend and within minutes she had dozed off. When she awoke, Connie too was asleep, in the same position, in each other’s arms.
That evening Emily was alert inside her night-time bondage, but she heard no sound and eventually drifted off to sleep, gaining some much needed rest before Maggie awoke her in the morning.
On Wednesdays I always go shopping.
That is what Connie wrote to Emily when they first met in the drawing room that morning, and that is why the two maids then appeared with the thick shrouds from the previous day which Emily then learnt were the standard attire for leaving the house.
Emily had never worn a blinding veil before save for the day previously and then she hadn’t moved in it. It was quite an unnerving experience. Firstly, she was left standing in the middle of the room for a significant length of time before she felt a hand on her shoulder and she started to walk slowly towards the car, her maid’s hand guiding her in which direction to take. It was strange being so completely in the power of another and she was glad when her head was pushed down and the seatbelt strapped around her.
They were in the car for around half an hour. She knew this because the driver had a CD on and altogether eight songs played before they arrived. It was nice travelling so completely veiled. Despite the restrictions of the seatbelts she and Connie managed to lean against each other and although she had no sight, that warmth and togetherness made her feel loved and not alone.
When they arrived she was unstrapped and guided out. She waited for a while and then she felt a hand touch her on the back and slowly they were guided towards their destination. Emily recalled whenever she had been shopping and seen ladies and their companions being guided by their maids or husbands and realised that was how she must appear now; regal, rich and unapproachable.
After some time she was seated and her outdoor veil removed. Emily found herself in the back of a shop, with Connie sat opposite her. Beside them was a female assistant. Connie wrote a note which she handed to the assistant who curtseyed and withdrew. She then returned with a boxes and the first she opened and showed to Emily’s mistress. Connie shook her head at this first box, and at the second also when that was presented, but at the third she nodded and the assistant removed the contents. It was a necklace in gold with rubies set in at intervals. Emily thought it looked both beautiful and expensive and as the assistant showed it to Connie, she too was evidently pleased for she nodded several times and then took out her wallet and wrote out a cheque for the item. That done, both women were promptly reveiled and escorted out of the shop.
After some time, Emily felt them being escorted into another premises. Even through her thick veils she could smell coffee and hear the clattering of crockery and cutlery and so she realised that it must be a restaurant. Sure enough, when she was seated and her outdoor veil removed, she found herself in the women’s section of Betty’s, the most exclusive tearoom in all of Harrogate. A menu was brought specially prepared for modest ladies with all foods liquidised. Emily chose a bowl of portion of carrot soup and a coffee and the waitress departed. Then Connie got out her writing pad and scribbled a message which she handed to her maid. The maid gave it to Emily and she read it:
Thanx so much 4 bein a gt frend 2 me i was so lonely b4 & now ive got the best frend eva this is 2 show u i mean it
And to her surprise, when Emily lifted her eyes up from the note, she saw her mistress’ maid handing her the necklace that she had just bought in the other shop. Overwhelmed at being given with such an expensive present, Emily shook her head fervently, but Connie just nodded hers, so she accepted, leant over and rubbed her veiled face against her mistress’. Never in her life had she been so blessed, she truly had found the perfect job!
The meal in Betty’s was exquisite and on the ride back the two ladies snuggled up in the back of the car, and indeed for the remainder of the day in the Ladies Room. As soon as they returned and her burqa flipped back, Maggie fastened the necklace around her and Connie clapped her gloved hands for it complimented her dress and figure well. Then they leant against each other and listened to a recital of classical music on the radio, Emily feeling warm, safe and wanted.
Indeed, so happy had she been that day that it was only when it came to bedtime that she remembered about her intruder before and started to worry as to whether he might return or not. She prepared herself as usual and minced blinded to her bed where Maggie tucked her in. Then she waited, but no sound and she realised that it had probably all been a dream, caused by her over-excited female mind on that eventful first night, and thus relaxed she started to relax. Emily was drifting away, in that half-world between wakefulness and sleep when…
It was that sound again! The sound of the lock! Immediately she was wide awake. She lay there stock still in the pitch-black, the thick material against her skin, causing her face to heat up, her breathing deafeningly loud…
Yet she knew someone was there. He was there! But who was he! She waited.
It was the sound of a floorboard, soft yet sure. Someone was there, standing over her. Fear took over: she screamed.
This click was louder. It was closer. It was a different click. It was the click of a cassette player. Then came a hiss. Then came the voice:
“Emily, do not fear, I will not harm you. I could never harm you; you are too beautiful for that. Instead I stand here and admire you. I will not touch you, and certainly never harm you. I cannot harm you, you are well protected. I could never harm one that I love.”
The tape stopped. The voice was inhuman. Emily recognised it immediately. It was computer-generated. That famous scientist who is disabled and cannot talk naturally has that voice. Certain women, who do not observe full voice modesty yet still wish not to cause temptation use computers like that to make their voices sound unappealing. It is also useful if you do not want to be recognised.
But whose was that strange, inhuman voice?
Mr. Baxfield surely. He alone had access to all the house and knew about her bondage. Yet he was so respectful and had gone to such lengths to ensure that she was protected. Why would he have done that if he wanted to be with her? No, if he wanted her he could have her, whenever and however. But if not him, who? A servant perhaps? Or another, unknown male lurking in the house…
She lay stock still, petrified yet strangely aroused by the presence standing over her. Then whoever it was bent down and kissed her hood on the forehead. She shuddered, half from fear and half from delight. She heard footsteps and a click. He was gone.
She knew that he would not return. She could safely sleep now.
The next day Emily could think of nothing else save her night-time visitor. She longed to tell Connie but knew that she could not, for immediately it would sow doubts into her mistress’ mind about either her husband or the sanity of her new friend. And so instead, as they sat in the garden in their burqas in a special ladies’ box, (a small cubicle of semi-transparent cloth like a mosquito net that helped to maintain their modesty and separation from the world), leaning against one another whilst listening to the birds sing and smelling the sweet fragrance of the summer flowers, her mind reeled as to who it might be. The master? Surely not, he seemed happily married and a consummate gentleman. Maybe a male servant then? But which one? The butler, or possibly the master’s valet? The latter was particularly handsome, could it be him? Emily imagined him standing over her bed at night… would he not wish to go one step further, to remove her gag and kiss her lips… She was feeling hot now and her hand longed to touch where it should not, and indeed, if there had been no chastity belt there, it would have done so.
Perhaps though it was not the valet or the butler, or even the master? Could it instead be an intruder, entering the house unbeknownst to all the occupants? Someone who had caught a glimpse of her eyes in the town once and fallen madly in love with her; someone who had tracked her down and risked life and limb to see her, a dark, dashing stranger on a black stallion, a fugitive from the law and society, who was going to snatch her away to lead a life of daring… These thoughts, coupled with her tight stays caused her breasts to heave up and down passionately. Now she no longer dreaded the night, instead she longed for it!
That night though, no one came, nor the next, nor the one after that, and instead her mysterious admirer began to drift into the background. Days began to acquire a heavily veiled and restricted monotony, though this was far from unwelcome to Emily who was beginning to love being squeezed and draped daily, to spend her hours chatting through notes or cuddled up with Connie who she liked as much as the Connie seemed to like her. Through their written conversations they were getting to know one another well and it was becoming clear that Connie was a warm-hearted girl who had given up a great amount of freedom to be with the man she loved. Emily admired such devotion and passion and was surprised to find such commitment in one so young, for most girls Connie’s age were more interested in clothes and eye makeup than anything serious. So it was that the days passed happily for Emily and life was becoming an easy yet restricted routine.
That was however, until Sunday came around. As the master had said, special clothes were required for attending church and attendance was, of course, mandatory. The dressing started with different undergarments. These, apparently, could not be fitted independently, so she first donned an outfit in the bathroom called a zentai which was a full lycra suit covering even her face, (save for the mouth where there was a hole into which she popped her bedtime gag), all in black. Thus concealed, she left ready to meet her maid who was waiting with her church attire. Instead of her usual stays, Maggie produced an item unlike anything that Emily had ever seen before. It was a corset, but much longer than her normal one, reaching from the neck to the hips and most startling of all, there were no armholes. Maggie brought it up to her and instructed Emily to cross her arms behind her back, high up so that they did not affect the waist size, which she duly did. Then the corset was fitted over the arms, fastened at the front and then the lacing commenced at the rear. The lacing compressed the folded arms and then attacked the waist as normal. Wearing such a thing, Emily was now completely helpless, which of course, is the point to arm modesty and it was fitting she thought, that she observe such a strict dress code today in honour of the Lord, it being the day that He had decreed for worship.
That done, the outer garments were fitted, firstly a lose abayah and then the church burqa which was most astonishing indeed. Unlike her usual burqas, this one had no face grille, and instead where the face should be, a large embroidered cross was stitched, signifying to all the religiosity of the wearer. More astonishing though, was the fact that this burqa contained hoops, some three feet in diameter, so that the whole thing stood away from her body like one of the crinoline dresses of the Victorian Age. “It’s so nothing whatsoever of your body shape is revealed, making it even more able to stop men from being tempted by your form,” Maggie whispered into her ear as she was fitting the burqa. Like all the other burqas, this too had an inbuilt hood, but again there were differences here. For starters, this hood, like the burqa outside it, permitted no sight whatsoever and instead of a eye grilles, a large silver embroidered cross dominated the face, and secondly this time Maggie removed her gag before the hood was fitted and the hood itself had a flap at the mouth, so that for a rare moment she felt breeze on her lips whilst dressing, although of course, she knew better than to speak. Then a new gag was fitted over the hood, but this was different to all the others as it was a ring gag with a central plug that could be removed. Then all of that was covered by another piece of material, again bearing crosses. “It is for the Holy Sacrament,” Maggie whispered to her. “You will be led up to the altar where you kneel and the vicar himself will remove the central part of the gag and feed you with the host and the blood of Our Saviour. After each you must say ‘Amen’. Do you understand, Emmie?” Emily nodded and then let her maid lead her out of the room, downstairs and then away to church.
Attending church in such attire was a wholly different experience for Emily. Of course, she couldn’t partake in any of the hymns, but the corset assured posture so there was no fidgeting on the pew and with nothing else to do, she found herself concentrating on the readings and the sermons far more than usual. Then at the end she was led up to the altar where she knelt and waited. After a short time she felt her outer burqa being lifted, and then the material covering the gag, before the middle section of the gag was unscrewed and slid out. Then she heard the words, “The body of Christ,” before feeling a fragment of wafer being pushed through hole in the gag. “Amen,” she replied, almost a whisper. It felt unnatural being able to speak, and she realised that that was the only word that she’d said since coming to Brodsworth, for even alone in the bath she had not spoken for there was no one to hear her and she had quite fallen out of the habit!
She then felt a hand on her forehead tilting it back and the cloth covering her gag lifted again. “The blood of Christ,” intoned the vicar and she felt the smallest trickle of wine drip into her dry mouth. “Amen,” she replied, again amazed at the unreal sound of her own voice that only a week ago had been so familiar to her.
Then though, the hand was gone and she felt the central part of the gag being screwed back in and the material covering it dropped back down. Then her maid draped her burqa back over her and guided her back into her pew where she knelt to pray. And Emily’s prayers that day were powerful, for never before had she found the Holy Communion so intense. She prayed for herself, for her family and for her new employers. Most of all though, she prayed that her admirer would return that night…
But when night came, it did not seem as if her prayers would be answered. Dressed in her bedtime bondage, she waited and waited, but no one came. She was about to drift off to sleep when she heard it, that familiar, terrifying yet electrifying sound.
The footsteps came up to her bed. Then she heard the other familiar sound, the other click, the click of the tape player. Then she heard it again, that mysterious robotic voice.
“Emily my love, how are you on this Sabbath Eve? I have waited so long to revisit you and gaze upon your heavenly form. I should love to come closer, to bend over you and touch that form. Would you mind if I did that, for if you do mind, I shall not?”
Emily breathed deeply and shook her head.
Click. “Thank you.”
She waited, for what seemed like an age but was only a second or two and then she felt it, a hand softly stroking her hooded head. It stroked her crown and it stroked her cheek. She longed for it to move further down but it stayed on the head, softly stroking her, lovingly, caringly. Then it withdrew.
Click. “Thank you so much for that my darling, but please, I have another request to make. I should love to kiss your lips, but I fear that you shall shout out if I do. If I remove your gag Emily Etherington, will you promise to keep silent?”
Emily nodded vigorously, squirming in her night-time bondage. This was beyond her wildest dreams, being kissed by her mystery lover whilst she lay helpless and blinded. Again she waited for what seemed like an age, the anticipation growing and growing, and then she felt that hand again, softly stroking her face and then, reaching behind her head and unbuckling her gag. The gag was removed and she felt the breeze on her lips. She longed to groan with longing and delight, but she had made a promise, so instead she responded in the only way that she could, by arching forward so that she could meet those lips a millisecond or so sooner.
Then, as she arched, those lips met her, soft and passionate. They kissed lightly lip to lip and then passion overwhelmed both parties and they kissed deeper and deeper, their tongues exploring one another, their saliva exchanging. Down below, behind her chastity belt, Emily exploded and she involuntarily let out a small groan of exultation. Immediately the lips left hers and the gag returned. She waited in the silence of the room and heard it again, click, and then that robotic voice.
“I shall return my love, I shall return as often as I can. Goodnight.”
The footsteps patted away and then she heard the soft click of the door and all she was left with was the sweet taste of his mouth and the memories of the most intensely beautiful experience of her entire life.
After that the days passed in one erotic, heavenly daze for Emily Etherington at Brodsworth Hall. By day she was restrained, covered and squeezed in such a manner that it excited her far more than she could have ever felt naked, whilst at night she lay blinded, gagged and immobilised, waiting for her mystery admirer. She never knew when he would come; sometimes it was for several nights in succession, once he did not appear for an entire week, but when he did she always entered heaven. Always he took the lead. He did not remove her gag every time. Sometimes he would just stand and watch, she listening intently to his breathing, whilst on other occasions he would lean over her and stroke her entire body softly with his hand, caressing from her crown to her toes through the layers, causing her heart to pound with delight. And occasionally, oh so occasionally, he would remove the gag and kiss, thrusting his tongue deep into hers. Not once though, did he ever give any indication as to who he might be. The recorded voice now never varied. All that she heard now was the same message, after each visit, click, and then “Goodnight my love, until next time, sweet dreams.” And then that was it, she was left alone in the dark.
By day she wondered as to his identity. Through their nocturnal kissing she had learnt that he was clean-shaven and took good care of his personal hygiene for his breath was always fresh, as if he had just gargled mouthwash before joining her. He also understood how to pleasure a woman, for he knew exactly where to touch her to elicit the right responses. That ruled out the butler, as he was bearded and the master too, but it did not rule out Spencer, and she now increasingly believed that it was Spencer who was her nocturnal sweetheart. Consequently, she tried to see as much of him as she could during the day, but it was difficult, for he only ever appeared with the master and when they did, Emily was required to bow with her face to the floor in supplication, and indeed, whenever the two did appear, it was common for the outdoor burqas to be called for as the men found the sight of the two ladies too alluring. That of course backed up her suspicion that he was in love with her, but did not help her in her desire to gaze at his face.
Her emotions were also excited by her relationship with Connie which was now very close indeed. Even though they had never seen nor spoke to each other, the two ladies snuggled up closely on the settee or in the garden everyday and Emily found that she was beginning to fantasise about lying with her mistress as well as her mystery admirer. This was not helped by Connie herself, who was constantly writing notes about sexual and intimate matters to her friend. She would ask as to whether Emily had ever had a boyfriend and what kind of men she liked. She asked if Emily had ever imagined being with a man and had talked about her hopes and fears of sex before she’d married Simon Baxfield, although, being a proper lady, she never once mentioned what went on in her bedchamber. Their relationship being so close, and Emily being so aroused all the time, she told her friend that whilst she had never had a boyfriend, there had been a girl at school whom she’d been very good friends with and that once they had lain on a bed together and explored each other in an innocent manner, to which Connie had asked what it had been like and Emily had had to admit that she’d rather enjoyed it even though it was sinful and that she had been very upset when the girl’s parents had married her off to an accountant from Derby as soon as she’d turned eighteen and that now the girl was a mother of two. Connie had then asked where they’d touched each other and through the thickness of all their veils she’d shown her as well as she could and Connie had done the same back and it had all been very arousing. It had got Emily thinking to as to what Connie might look like if all her layers had been stripped and she remembered the words of the sales assistant at Craddocks’ who described Mrs. Baxfield as ‘a sweet girl, pretty with cornflower eyes and strawberry blonde hair’, and she’d imagined such a girl, dressed in a school uniform as Joanne Longmore had been all those years ago, lying by her on the bed.
And things were even more exacerbated by her clothing. As the weeks rolled by her corset got tighter and tighter and with each reduction, she felt a heightening of her excitement. She loved being squeezed round the middle as if by a lover who was so devoted to her that he couldn’t let go. She loved too the veils encasing her, particularly the heavy church veils that turned her into an anonymous, holy object, incapable of doing the slightest thing for herself, her only contact with the outside world being through the sacrament of Holy Communion. She longed for Sundays when the use of her arms and her eyes were denied her and her burqa billowed out around her like a crinoline.
Ever since they had begun to explore each other’s sensualities as well, Emily had found that Connie’s gifts to her, were becoming not only more frequent, but also more risqué and erotic. She bought her shoes with heels so high that she could only totter about in them, and jewellery for her head that weighed down over her hood. A fashion started amongst the wealthy women of the land for rings that went through the nose and the ear and also through the hood as well, with a connecting chain outside the hood adorned with jewels that glittered and jangled before the face all day long, and Connie bought Emily several as well as having several herself, all heavy and sumptuous, and they gazed at each others’ hooded forms, the chains and jewels glistening in front of their faces.
Those however, were the milder items. More arousing were the intimate items that Connie bought for her in the shops in town. Like when they went into a jewellery store and her burqa was flung back and her dress undone and a blind piercer famous for working with modest women pierced her nipples and inserted gold rings so that they were continually aroused whenever Emily rubbed them with her gloved hands. Or worse than that, the rod of ivory that Connie told her all women had and inserted in their bottoms to make their lives “more interesting”. And it certainly worked, for all day long she felt it in their, like a lover’s tool, caressing her and reminding of her what she so longed for, and was denied, in her other hole.
Most of all though, she longed to tell someone, anyone, about her visitor. As her conversations and relationship with Connie got more and more intimate she ummed and arred over whether to tell her. Finally, one day, after her corset had been tightened an extra inch and the two girls were lying in the garden playing with each others’ nose chains, she decided to go for it.
C ive something 2 tel u
Some1 visit me @ nite
I don’t know. It’s a man. He sez he luvs me
Duz he say who he is
No but he kisses me & caresses me
Yes but I want 2 no who he is
But who can it be pls not my hsbd
No hes cleanshaven I think maybe spencer
I don’t know but I think it is
Ill find out
That night her lover did not come. Emily wondered if Connie had said anything to her husband. Had she made a mistake? Would the master send his valet away now? Or would he just stop coming? ‘Please please, don’t stop him from coming!’ she thought to herself.
In the morning after dressing, she went down as usual to the Ladies’ Room to see Connie. Her friend was sat on the settee resplendent in a burqa of deep red with gold embroidery. They rubbed faces and Connie wrote her a note.
I told S last nite hes coming to talk to u in a min
Sure enough, after but a minute had passed, Baxfield entered, followed by Spencer. Immediately Emily threw herself to the floor but Baxfield commanded her to rise and reseat herself on the settee.
“Miss Etherington, I have a question to put to you and you must answer it with a simple yes or no. Do you understand?”
Emily nodded, wondering what it might be.
“I have received a proposal of marriage for you from my valet, Spencer here. It transpires that he has fallen in love with you and asked me, as your employer and master, if you are on the marriage market. I replied to him that whilst under contract you may not be married unless you promise to stay within this household as Mrs. Baxfield’s companion after you have tied the knot for a period of no less than ten years and possibly more. Therefore, the question I put to you is this: Will you, Miss Etherington, marry Edward Spencer taking into account the conditions that I have just outlined.”
This was too good to be true, not only was her lover prepared to marry her, but her employer was also in accordance. She could marry and stay at Brodsworth Hall with Connie. She glanced across at her shrouded and silenced companion who held out a gloved hand and clinched her hand. Then she nodded enthusiastically.
“It is a done deal then,” said Baxfield with a smile. “You shall marry as soon as…”
Then however, Connie got up and handed her husband a note. He read it and smiled.
“Miss Etherington, my wife would also like to add a condition. She says that a bride should always look her best and that as she views you as a sister, she would be honoured if you would wear her wedding burqa.”
Before he could even ask the question formally, Emily turned to Connie and rubbed faces, tears of joy flowing beneath her hood. Emily however, got out her pad and quickly scribbled another note.
“U must lace to 18” was all that it said.
The wedding was set for a month after that engagement. Emily received no more nocturnal visits and instead spent all her time training her waist, lacing to fainting so that she could fit into Connie’s glorious wedding burqa. Train however, she did and on the great day she donned it, feeling light-headed and her tight stays were eventually tied off. Blinded and with the weight of the ten foot long train dragging behind her she walked down the aisle at Brodsworth parish church and was wedded to Edward Spencer. Then followed the reception through which she sat blinded and silent before being led upstairs by Maggie for her wedding night.
She was bathed and did her make-up and hair before the wedding burqa was refitted. Then she was led to the bed where she sat and waited. After what seemed like an age, that oh so familiar click was heard and footsteps came towards the bed. Then the outer veil was thrown back and her hood unfastened and unlaced before being carefully taken off. Her eyes adjusted to the light but when she could see clearly, she gave a short gasp, for the sight before her was not what she had expected. Instead of Edward Spencer undressing her, there was Simon Baxfield and stood behind him were both Spencer and a veiled figure in white which Emily knew to be Connie.
“Mrs. Spencer, I know that my presence here will be a great shock to you, but unfortunately it is necessary, for I… no, we, have something to say to you which we could never have said previously. We have a tale to tell and it is only right that you know it.
Unfortunately for me, I was born to be different from other men in my inclinations towards a life partner. Whilst it is normal and holy for a man to seek company with a woman, I have always preferred my fellow man. For years I have lived like this and kept it secret, although many perhaps guessed. However, almost two years ago, it got out. Someone saw me embracing my boyfriend and threatened to publish it. I paid them off, but rumours leaked out and it became clear that unless I did something to quash them, I would lose my seat in the Commons at the next election and with it, Brodsworth Hall for I need my MP’s income to pay the mortgage left to me by my alcoholic father. So it was that I searched for a suitable girl, in vain it seemed, for which girl is suitable for a man who abhors the company of the fairer sex and prefers that of his own? Then fate placed someone in my way, a pretty teenaged lady named Connie Cooper whose father was a member of the same golf club as I. One day at a club party I chanced to leave the bar and head across the green for a smoke of my cigar in solitude, for the revelry had given me a headache, when I heard noises in the trees. Thinking it was a damsel in distress I rushed to assist, but to my horror found Connie Cooper engaged in same-sex intercourse with one Mrs. Rutland, the young and dashing wife of another club member. Both begged for me not to ruin them by telling their masters and so I promised to do so but on one condition, that Connie wed me. Connie here, not caring much which man she marry, since she cares only for her own sex, quickly assented, on the grounds that I never force her into intercourse, an act that I little wanted anyhow.
So it was that we wed and all our reputations were saved and indeed enhanced, for we both agreed that it would be best if Connie live according to the strictest standards of modesty, I desiring this because it would fit in with my political reputation and she because she had long fantasised about being restrained and enclosed all day long. And thus it was that we lived, I continuing with my male lover and she living the life in bondage that she so longed for.
There was however, but one fault, and that being that my wife wanted a companion, a lover for herself, someone to share her life with. But how to find one? We advertised but all the candidates either did not take her fancy or did not share her inclinations. That was however, until you came along. A quick background check with a private detective revealed rumours of a Sapphic liaison between you and a girl named Joanne Longmore, now a Mrs. Mountford, and your visage, which we viewed on the government database, pleased my wife. So it was that you were hired and, as you know better than anyone, a close bond soon developed between Connie and yourself. That is when she started to visit you at night, caress and kiss you, making you believe that you had a male admirer, but as you should have guessed, no male could have touched the female body with such knowledge as she touched yours. Then we waited, for you to tell her and when you did, our plot was complete.
We are all truly sorry for deceiving you Emily, but the fact remains that you are now Mrs. Spencer. If you ever desire congress with your husband, my gay lover, then you may have it but only through a sheet with Connie holding your hand. That way, if you have maternal desires, then they can be fulfilled and you need have no worries as to money either, for my Will divides my estate equally between you three in the event of my demise. However, your marriage to Edward will be in name only, and your true spouse will be Connie here, who will share your bed at night and live veiled and restrained with you by day. We shall leave now but Connie, who is blinded and silenced at present shall remain. She waits for her lover to unveil her. Goodnight, Emily.”
And so Baxfield and Spencer silently withdrew, the door clicking into place behind them. Emily was so shocked by what she’d heard, that her lover of all those months had been a female, that she was now wed to one of her own sex. Inside her anger boiled at being deceived, but when she looked at the shrouded figure before her, something else boiled far more powerfully. Slowly, she walked over to the burqa-clad figure and guided her to the bed. Then carefully and lovingly, as only a woman can do, she removed the burqa and unlocked the hood. As she removed it, she revealed a young lady with strawberry blonde hair and wide, happy cornflower blue eyes who was far more beautiful than she had ever imagined. The girl smiled at her and their lips moved together and Emily knew that her tale would definitely be one of happily ever after…
Copyright © 2010, Dave Potter