by Dave Potter
Exclusively for the ‘Tales of the Veils’ website
(Editors note: This story has so many references to other TOTV stories that I suggest you read the entire story before start pursuing links.)
From: Modesty Man <email@example.com>
To: Bo_Emp <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Sent: Thursday, August 1, 2012 02:46 AM
Subject: Real-life veiled weekend
Reading the recent story on your website Tales of the Veils entitled Nurismawati in which one of your readers describe their real-life veiling experiences have prompted me to put pen to paper regarding mine. For many years now I have been a follower of your site and others dealing with veiling and a regular contributor to the Veiled Beauty Yahoo Group but had never engaged in any real-time veiling itself save for purchasing a burqa once off eBay. However, about six months ago I became involved in an internet friendship with a lady who signed herself off as InPurdahHeaven. We discussed our veiling fantasies and discovered that we had much in common and then, one day, I took the plunge and suggested we meet up. It transpired that we only lived some two hundred or so miles apart but whilst she was enthusiastic about meeting, she did not want to do it at either my home or hers. ‘I want you to meet the niqaabi, not the normal me,’ was her explanation. I suggested instead that we meet somewhere neutral and private and to my surprise, she agreed and a month later I found myself off to the Welsh mountains where she had booked us a cottage for the weekend, (she had insisted on booking it, not I).
I arrived at the cottage, a converted barn located in an old quarry in a particularly remote part of Snowdonia, at around seven on the Friday evening and to my pleasant surprise – for I half wondered if it were not all a hoax – found a car outside and the front door open. I walked in but there was no one there and although I shouted, no reply came. Then I noticed an envelope on the table with my internet nom de plume on the front. I opened it and found the following notes inside:
You and I are unrelated and thus non-mahram. Although I am not a Muslim, this weekend I feel that the strictest rules of purdah must apply. Therefore, at the moment, I cannot be in the same room as you. However, on the table is a contract of Nikkah-al-Far Temporary Marriage that I have drawn up. I have signed it already and if you sign it, then we shall be mahram until midnight on Sunday, the time stipulated by the contract. Although not legally binding, this is binding to me and I shall honour it. However, before you sign it, be aware of my conditions, they being as follows:
- Although husband and wife, you are not to see my form. I wish to follow the traditions of the Asir Province of Saudi Arabia where the husband never sees his wife’s face at all. For that reason, I shall always be veiled.
- Likewise, I believe that the female voice is awrah and so I am gagged. I am to remain gagged at all times although you may remove my gag, it is only for the purpose of kissing.
- Intercourse is allowed but I insist on the use of protection.
- All communication is to be through notes.
With love you ever-obedient temporary wife,
These conditions sounded reasonable, indeed beyond my wildest dreams, so I grabbed the contract, signed it and then shouted, “InPurdahHeaven, we are married now!” Immediately I heard a noise and a door to my left opened. In the frame stood a figure swathed all in black. It walked slowly over to me and knelt at my feet. I kissed it on the crown of its veiled head and then said, “Wife, you may rise. Let me see how you are dressed.”
She stood before me and I admired the view. All was black, matt black cotton, thick and elegant. She wore an abayah and a three piece niqaab. On her hands were stretchy cotton gloves with small flowers on the back. I took one in my hand and caressed it; it was incredibly beautiful and elegant. I knew then that no female hand should ever be seen without gloves. “These are to remain on at all times,” I told her. She nodded. Then I moved to her niqaab and lifted the first veil. Feeling the fabric I realised that it was quite thick and with it down she could see little. Flipping it back I looked at her with two layers on. I lifted the second layer. Underneath I could make out a pair of sweet blue eyes behind a gauze, separated in the middle by a nose string. Coming up close I kissed her on her veiled lips and then flipped the second veil down.
“Wife, it is indecent to go around with less than two veils but I appreciate that whilst in the house, three is too much. Do you understand me?”
“Good. Now I am pleased with your outfit as it fulfils many purdah requirements, but not all. As it is at present, you may succumb to temptation and lift your veils and also your gloved hands, which are a source of great temptation, are on show. Therefore I order you to wear this, with your first two layers sealed inside.”
I went into my bag and pulled out a heavy black khimar that I had bought the week before from Sunnah Clothing. “This is mandatory at all times.” I fitted it over her head and it fell down to her hips. I’ve always been a big fan of how khimars look which is why I bought one for this weekend, hoping to get InPurdahHeaven in one. I had succeeded and it looked exquisite.
“Now make me some tea and we shall discuss the coming weekend,” I commanded.
It took her a while to make the tea as with two veils down her sight was limited. I did not waste the time though, for I explored the house and entering the bedroom, looked through the wardrobe at what outfits she had. There were a lot of black items and, to my delight, an Afghan burqa. I knew I would enjoy seeing her in that later. Also I came across a beautiful set of white veils with a satin finish and some fine embroidery. That I knew would do for the evening. However, as for the next day, well… let me just say that I’d brought more than just a khimar…
When she returned I sat on the sofa and drank the tea. Her veils sealed in behind her khimar as they were, then she of course could not drink but I bade her to sit with me for I had some things to explain.
“Wife,” I said, “I don’t believe that InPurdahHeaven and ModestyMan are suitable titles for a married couple to call one another and, unlike many, I don’t like to use terms such as ‘Master’ or ‘Wife’. You are very special to me, the realisation of my dreams that a Western woman can choose to live in a pious and modest fashion without religious reasoning. Therefore, you need a name. Now, we are both fans of the Tales of the Veils website which has some marvellous tales on it and so I need you to tell me, which is your favourite?”
She took out a pad and scribbled something onto it. I took it up and read: Prove it all Night. “Well,” I said, “I see that we think very much alike for that is also my favourite and thus it makes things easier. In that story like you, Aminah willingly veils herself strictly in order to marry Tariq who, like me, believes firmly in the maintenance of modesty. Therefore, I think it only right that from henceforth, you shall be named Aminah and I shall be Tariq. Does that please you Aminah?”
It makes me very happy Tariq, she replied.
“Good, now so far our marriage has not been altogether romantic or special; like with the original Aminah and Tariq, practicalities got in the way. However, unlike them, we are now alone and in this remote spot will not be disturbed so I wish to explore our love further. But things need to be right. Go into the bedroom and change into the white bridal outfit and then return here when you’re ready.”
She nodded and left and returned ten minutes later looking at vision in white. What had formerly been black was now all in the most virginal of shades. I took her white gloved hands, gazed at her eyes faintly visible behind the white veil and then bade her sit on the floor with me. “I am not Muslim so do not regard music as sinful,” I said. “However, if you disagree…” She shook her head so I got up and turned the stereo on, putting on a CD of love ballads. Then I got out the backgammon board and said, “I do not wish to watch TV tonight as it distracts us from each other’s company so I suggest we play a game instead. You once told me that you love backgammon…” She nodded enthusiastically so I set up the board and we played. It was delight seeing her white gloved hand slip out from under her silken covers to throw the dice and move the pieces, often handling them poorly as they slipped on the smooth surface. I took that hand on several occasions and caressed it which she allowed before then withdrawing it from sight again.
We played three games, each getting more exciting and putting us – or at least me – in the mood for what a husband and wife can do together so at the end of the third game I took her by the hand and told her that I had a surprise for her. From my bag I took a large piece of white cloth which I draped over her head, thus blinding her. Then I took out the papers I had printed from the computer earlier and read our favourite story. Under her covers I could see her shifting as she got more excited and when it was over and Aminah embarked upon her heavily veiled married life with Tariq, I took my Aminah by the gloved hand and led her to the bedroom. Then, laying her carefully on the bed, I slowly and seductively removed her shoes and silk stockings, then her skirt and abayah. Her legs were now revealed but her upper half still covered. I rolled up her silken shirt and then unhooked her bra. Finally I slid down her panties. She had a fine figure did my Aminah and my member was straining at its prison so I freed it and then climbed on and entered her. The lovemaking was heavenly for me and I know Aminah enjoyed it too for her muffled gasps behind gag and veils gave that pleasure away. We repeated it several times and then spent, fell asleep in each others arms.
I was awoken in the morning by a vision I had only ever dreamt of. My member was being caressed, up and down, up and down so that it stood erect and eager. The caresser was a figure swathed all in black, a thick khimar sealing in two layers of veiling. I fixed my eyes on this vision as the pleasure grew more and more intense until I finally exploded into her beautiful cotton glove. Then she retired and when she re-emerged later, both gloves were clean, the old being replaced by the new.
She went downstairs and I freshened myself in the bathroom. When I descended I smelt the glorious smell of a full English breakfast cooking. I sat down at the table and my veiled spouse promptly served two glorious plates of sausage, bacon, beans, mushrooms, egg and fried bread. She lifted her veil to start when I stopped her. “Aminah, are you gagged?” I asked.
“Then are you proposing to remove your gag to eat?”
She nodded again.
“As your husband and master I shall not allow such immodesty. What if someone were to enter unexpectedly and hear you smacking your lips or burping?”
She took out her pad and wrote, But I am hungry, how am I to eat?
“Use this,” I commanded, handing her a small item. “It replaces your current gag. Change in the bathroom!”
She bowed and took the new gag with her gloved hand before disappearing upstairs. Whilst she was away I busied myself in the kitchen preparing her food. Some five minutes later she reappeared and I put a bowl in front of her with a straw. She got out her pad and wrote, What’s this?
“It is your breakfast. I liquidised it in the blender, bacon, sausages, mushrooms, the lot. The gag I provided you with has a hole through the middle. You can eat through that instead by putting the straw into the hole and sucking. Enjoy your breakfast darling, it’s delicious!”
How can I describe how hot that meal made me feel? There I was enjoying the fantastic cooked breakfast that she’d prepared for me whilst across the table a black shrouded form was slowly sucking up a brown mush from a bowl, bowing her head almost to the table in order to get it close enough to insert the straw in the gag. It was magical, and I was very soon rock hard down below, something that I do not think went unnoticed by my purdah wife for as soon as she had finished and sucked up the mug of tea that accompanied the breakfast mush, she got out her pad again and wrote I fear I have got some of my breakfast on my clothes. May I leave the table to go and change?
I looked at her black veils. They were spotless. However, it was obvious that she had some trick up her sleeve so I assented and she disappeared upstairs again.
Some twenty minutes later she reappeared and the sight that I beheld was breathtaking. Gone was my mound of black cloth Aminah and in her place an Afghan purdah wife clad in a stunning blue embroidered burqa with black satin gloves poking out from underneath the layers.
I nodded my approval and she took me by the hand and guided me to the sofa. I switched the TV on with the remote but she did not watch it and instead knelt on the floor facing me, or to be more exact, my crotch where my member was straining for release.
There was only rubbish on the TV and besides, with a veiled vision knelt in submission at my feet, how could I concentrate on anything else? So I switched it off and said, “Tell me what you are wearing Aminah?”
First of all black lace bra and panties. Then black stockings with suspenders. Then a full lycra catsuit. On my head I have an open-face balaclava hood. Then I wear a black Pakistani shalwar kameez. I have two pairs of gloves over my hands, the first cotton and the outer pair satin. They quite limit my hand movements. I also have thick black knee-length stockings over my legs which are held in place by garters. I then have an abayah Saudi-style which is embroidered and on my head a headscarf with a thin scarf covering my entire face including my mouth which is still gagged with the gag you gave me. Finally I have this burqa which restricts my sight considerably and is does not let any heat escape.
As she was writing all this I was getting hotter and hotter and she noticed it. The moment she had finished she undid my trousers and freed my member. “Service me Aminah!” I commanded and she took it in her hands and started rubbing the shaft with her gloved hands. Within seconds I had exploded all over those gloves for a second time that day and after she had wiped me clean with a towel and refastened my trousers, I picked her up, sat her on my knee and caressed her covered curvaceous form with my hands whilst she hugged me tightly, I covering the grille of her burqa with passionate kisses. Eventually, when we had both tired, she just lay in my arms and I put the telly on again, watching an episode of Bargain Hunt with my temporary wife by my side. When the credits rolled though, I decided that it was time to up the tempo again.
“Aminah, you know how yesterday we discussed how Prove it all Night was our favourite veiling tale?”
My burqa-clad wife nodded.
“Well, I think that we should continue to use it as inspiration for our marriage. Certainly, so far it has been a success hasn’t it?”
She nodded again and shook a little as if giggling.
“Good. Now I am worried that wearing all those veils and staying within the house as a good purdah wife must do, you are not getting the exercise that you need and so I have decided that we shall go for a little outing so that we – or at least I – can see some of this beautiful area of Wales. However, as you know, for a purdah woman to venture out of the house she must be accompanied by a mahram male – in your case me – and be suitably dressed and I am afraid that you are not suitable for the outside world at the moment. Please sit down!”
Obediently Aminah sat on a chair and I knelt before her and clipped a pair of ankle cuffs around her which were linked by a short chain. I then stood up, stood her up and got out a thin leather belt which I fitted around her waist and then lifted her burqa to reveal her silken-gloved hands and attached them with cuffs and straps to the belt. That done I let the burqa drop again and taking the printed copy of Prove it all Night, quoted, “A husband is responsible his wife behaves properly in public. Tying your wrists to your belt and your boots connected by a short chain you can’t make any unintentional indecent movements or gestures. The female mind is weak, especially when young and just married. I think we agree on that or I can show you some writings to support that you will benefit from these measures.”
I took photos of her wearing these new restraints which she elegantly displayed for the camera and then disappeared upstairs only to reappear with a folded piece of black cloth. Picking up the printed story I quoted again: “Your covering has been fine for going to school and considering your parents reluctance. And for house work, women only chatting and where your senses are needed in public a khimar with niqab allows precisely the needed functions to be uncovered quickly for the time needed. Remember when we’ve seen the rare sight of a woman ultimately covered in a thick black shroud with only an opening at the feet, we agreed that this is how a woman should be dressed if having to venture in public. We were both dreaming that it was you covered like that. It’s no longer a dream because I have one more present for you…” At these words I unfolded the black material and held it against my body. Then I resumed my monologue: “Tariq unfolds the black shroud and turns it until he holds it something like if it was a dress for himself. Aminah looks just seeing a piece of black thick cotton-like opaque material everywhere. No embroidery, ornaments or cut-outs. Then Tariq turns it to have the side against his body out, but it looks exactly the same. It’s two pieces of fabric cut identically to a size a little larger than a human form, and then sewn together along the entire edge except the bottom to form a sack.” I then approached my own little veiled Aminah, and draped the shroud over her, transforming her from a burqa-clad princess into a featureless cone of plain black material. “Although actually to be confined in a black shroud is scary, she has agreed with Tariq it’s the perfect veil, which she then must wear to be his perfect wife.”
Then, coming up to her I put my hand on her back and pushed her slowly towards the door.
Leading a blinded wife is an incredible experience. I cannot describe how vulnerable, how dependent on you she is but it is something that every man should do at least once in his life. I was gentle with Aminah who was obviously scared and excited at being so utterly helpless. I led her to the car, made her wait whilst I opened the door, then guided her into the vehicle, swinging both feet in at once due to the ankle chain and then strapped her in tightly. I then shut the door after her, went round to my side, got in, strapped myself in, started the car and slipped in a CD.
Springsteen’s Darkness on the Edge of Town of course.
We drove together through the mountains and whilst we did I quoted more of our favourite tales with sections connected to our own experience:
“At two minutes past two I stop in the yard of Shada’s home, which as expected is empty. While I consider if I should honk as usual the front door opens and a black form appears and steps just outside. Hakim follows locking the door. I immediately recognise the ankle long, overhead abaya that was part of my present. Covering its face opening is another of the items in my present, a long three layer niqab. Shada wears it with all layers down, which I guess is why she just passed the doorway on her own and is guided to the car by Hakim. When she has been guided to sit, Hakim notices his sister’s hands are not showing so buckles her seat belt before closing her door and entering the back seat. The abaya is like a cloak with slits that allows the hands to be hidden when not being used. Shada doesn’t as usual turn to look at me but looks at her lap, making me momentarily look in that direction to see that today she’s wearing plain black lace shoes on top of a pair of opaque black stockings, that was also in my present.”
As I quoted, Aminah sat there in the same position as Shada, equally covered and silent. The comparisons excited us both, particularly as we knew that in that story Shada was wearing a dildo. I noticed my purdah wife was breathing heavily and so I asked, “Are you dressed as Shada both inside as well as outside.” She nodded enthusiastically and I got rock hard down below.
The scenery outside was beautiful with wild mountains covered in purple heather. For a while I described what was outside to Aminah but then I realised that she wasn’t interested so I returned to quoting and our favourite story of all: “They have to drive for an hour to reach the border. Aminah virtually blind and mute Tariq might as well be driving alone. He concentrates on driving on the curved road through the mountains, but every moment the driving allows it his mind changes between his love and longing for Aminah and doubts about if this was the right way to have her.” This is accentuated by the fact that we too are now twisting and turning along mountain roads with Snowdon up ahead in the distance. Reality matches fantasy and I long to stop and ravish my silent shrouded spouse there and then but the traffic is too heavy. Then the track on the CD finishes and a new one starts, one that reminds me of another quote: “Often on these trips Rafa dreams of where the car is heading, if she could decide. In five minutes she would see the ocean and five minutes later walk on a cool beach with bare feet in the sand and water running over them every ten seconds. Or she would park in the mountains, get out in the shadow of a group of trees and eat a wonderful meal while chatting with friends. But she is allowed to go to a shopping mall completely isolated. That is it… They drive out into the night again. A little later the engine suddenly stops. The driver lets the car roll out to the side of the road. He tries starting a couple of times. Then he goes out and looks under the hood. Back in the car he turns the radio down saying “I’m sorry, but we have to wait for a tow to get us home.” One hour more or less doesn’t matter. Rafa doesn’t have any plans for the rest of the evening anyway. But today something happened in the night.”
And with those words I too pull off down an isolated wooded lane and when out of sight I then stop the car. I then get out, unfasten Aminah and help her out and start to guide her. She does not know where we are and I do not tell her, I just nudge her on the back continually to let her know that she must keep on walking.
The walk takes an age due to her fear and the ankle chain restricting her steps to tiny minces. The slope is steep and I guess she is sweating under all those layers but eventually we get to where I want and I tell her to stop and then quote again, now from A Rare Short Event: “They start walking a paved footpath. Modestly facing down that is all Aysha chooses to see. But her vision blurry and dark looking around wouldn’t told her that much more. All she knows about their whereabouts is what Aziz has told; that this is the neighbourhood where he grew up. Aysha keep facing down just trying to see if there are any obstacles on the ground right ahead and follow the hem of Yasmin’s abaya right in front of her. They walk uphill, and after a few minutes the path changes to gravel. Then it becomes steeper for some minutes, and just as it levels again they start walking in grass along a narrow track. It is late September and the grass and the track is completely dry not making the clothes wet, but climbing in the sun completely covered in many layers Aysha has become wet by sweat innermost. They still walk slightly uphill, but the slope is small. Then suddenly Yasmin stops, of course because Aziz has stopped in front of her, and his voice sounds “Welcome to Poppy Hill my darlings. We have met no one coming here, there is no one in sight, and the view is far and beautiful. Please unveil.” With these words, I slowly lift the shroud from her to reveal her beautiful burqa-clad form and let her drink in the magnificent view through the grille of her burqa. She stands there for several minutes and then takes out her notepad and writes, I feel like Zahra in Family Search after she has got married and they go on a trip to the mountains. Thank you so much Tariq.
With those words of love and devotion I could contain myself no more and so I took my veiled beauty in my arms and fell onto the grass with her. Her gloved hand sound out my crotch and started massaging what lay beneath. Slowly I removed my trousers and hers and, after fitting protection I was in her again, this time committing a grievous sin for any non-mahram could chance upon us and our lewd behaviour.
Once finished we sat and held hands, her embroidered head on my shoulder and then I refitted the shroud and guided her back to the car. We drove to Betws-y-Coed where I stopped at a café and bought two cokes, one with a straw which I then gave to her and she fed it – with much difficulty – under her shroud and burqa and then into the drinking hole of her gag. I watched with pleasure and then listened to her slurping as she drank whilst we drove back to our cottage in silence.
Back in the cottage I led her to the sofa and sat her down. Then I decided to enact another of my fantasies. “Darling,” I told her, “what we did out there was really sinful and lewd and was caused by excessive desire and a lack of control on both our parts. Therefore, I think we must atone somewhat and try to prevent any future mishaps. Therefore I shall change into male hijaab whilst you may reflect on your weakness and be prevented from any further such activities by embracing arm modesty for a few hours.”
And with those words I pulled off her shroud and then got a leather monoglove which I had secreted in a bag under the chair. I lifted her burqa, fitted the glove and then slowly laced it up. With each tug of the laces she let out a tiny muffled meow of pain but I continued regardless and the end result was incredibly elegant. “Does this new measure please you, Aminah?” I asked. She nodded, so I flipped down her burqa and replaced her shroud. She was now blind, muted, restrained, prevented from pleasuring herself and with reduced hearing. Leaving her in her dark cocoon of reflection, I went upstairs, divested myself of my dirty clothes and dressed in a baggy shirt and trousers that I had bought from our local Pakistani clothing shop. Then I returned downstairs to watch the TV, but spent more time gazing at my restrained and covered wife on the sofa opposite.
Finally, after two hours, I could bear the tension within my trousers no more, so I removed her shroud and unlaced the monoglove. I let her work some feeling back into her arms and then told her of what was to come next: “Aminah my love, as it is clear that you love the tales of Bo_Emp, then I feel sure you shall not disagree with what I am about to propose, although of course, as in veiling cultures the man’s rule is law, then you must accept anyway. Do you recall the story of Hamida living in the Pakistan of General Salami?”
The burqa-clad figure before me nodded eagerly.
“Good, then I shall read a chapter from that tale to you now to give you a taste of what is to come:
Our sleeping habits have to be changed a little as well. I have prepared the bed. You just go to the bathroom and make yourself ready for bed. When entering the bedroom you should wear the bodysuit and mask, nothing else.” Having to put on again the same slightly damp and sweaty bodysuit, Hamida decides only to remove her mask in the bathroom and unzip the suit just enough to relieve herself. Having washed her face and the mask she has to open her mouth wide to put the mask on again, making her realize from now on she will have to sleep gagged. She is to be gagged almost 24/7, only very rarely allowed to use her voice. She could just as well have her vocal chords cut to avoid always having her mouth filled and her jaws forced open, but maybe that isn’t possible because sounds such as smacking lips and burping still have to be blocked. Ready to leave the bathroom Hamida takes a look in the mirror to see that Ali’s new pleasure robot is ready.
She enters the bedroom seeing Ali dressed for bed in a long shirt instead of his usual pajamas. Seeing Hamida, Ali takes a prayer position on the floor pointing to have Hamida behind him. They usually skip the morning and night prayers, Hamida knows that the reason Ali follows General Salami is because of his honor and his view on women much more than piety. The prayer is only Ali reciting a few of the most known verses of the Quran for some three minutes. While praying Hamida has noticed some sort of pillow has been placed in the half of the bed where she usually sleeps. Ali turns to her saying “You are completely covered, but just seeing your limbs in full length and getting a hint of body curves is enough to make me want to be close to you. You have to wear a prayer gown for the prayers to be performed decently. On the other hand seeing your skin is only for special occasions therefore position yourself just as you are comfortably on your back in your half of the bed. The special pillow is to lift your neck and make your head rest above it on the mattress, making you rest more on the crown of your head and not the back of your head, where it would be uncomfortable with those straps and buckles of the mask.” Hamida lies down resting on the rather hard replacement for a pillow. It is true she is not resting on the straps and buckles of the mask, but to avoid that, her head is forced backwards into a rather uncomfortable position, where all that is in her field of vision is where the wall behind the bed meets the ceiling. While noticing this Ali leans over her and takes her arm. Although he moves it gently it’s not to caress her, but her arm is taken above her head until touching the bed end where it’s cuffed to stay in that position. The other arm follows. Then Ali lifts at her ankle. She moves her leg in the direction he guides it, which is fully stretched and out to the side. Then she senses a cuff, which stops the leg from moving much. The other leg is cuffed as well. Although it requires some force Hamida is about to lift her head to try to get a look of her own position in the bed. Instead Ali lifts her head, but not more than she sees the opposite wall for the few seconds he lifts. When she tries to lift the head again she can’t. Something solid, connected to the bed has been pushed into the triangle between the back of her head, the mattress and the hard pillow and is connected to the buckle on her lower mask strap. She can’t lift her head only turn it a little to either side.
Then Ali says “I’ll read for some minutes the writings of Mullah Nasruddin, to have them working in my mind while sleeping. In the nights to come you will strap yourself down as you now are, except for the arm closest to me. I’ll make love to you after turning the lights out. Let’s enjoy each other a little more than usual tonight. Goodnight.” Hamida is certain she makes a wonderful love object lying spread-eagled in a quite tight suit. She is restricted, unable to perform much more than the passive actions of a love doll, but she senses what Ali can do to her, and although he has changed much since they married he is still a good lover. Except from anticipating what Ali will feel like, she is able to watch seven of the boards constituting a small part of the ceiling, eight if she turns her head as well. Perhaps the worst day in Hamida’s life will soon be over. What makes this day worse than all those to come is just that she started out hoping that visiting Noor would make it a good day and better than the many before. Ali turns the lights out, ending the day. The life of Hamida, the blank-faced love doll and strictly covered office worker and housewife, always mute and often restricted, begins. As Hamida senses Ali on top of her she wishes the teachings of Mullah Nasruddin will work right from the beginning. Then she only has to wait nine months for things to get better.
Now my darling veiled wife, I think you know what is coming next. Go into the bathroom and put on the suit that you find there, then return to me here. For tonight shall be different to last night for tonight we shall endeavour to follow the teachings of Mullah Nasruddin but not, as Hamida and Ali, in order to conceive a child, but instead in order to heighten the spiritual experience of our love-making.”
Aminah disappeared into the bathroom and then re-emerged several minutes later as Hamida in the suit that I had left for her there. I could only stand and stare. There she was, an anonymous black figure clad in a thermal body suit that revealed most, but not all, of her curves and had a zip running up the front from the chin to between her legs. Not an inch of skin could be seen but far more exciting was the mask on her face, a blank, expressionless face of black plastic, with four tiny holes, two at the nostrils and one for each eye. It was obvious that she could hardly see in the outfit for the light was low and she was feeling around with her hands and looked unsteady, so I took hold of her, led her to the bed and then lay her down. Then came the bit I had been looking forward to: I guided one hand to one bedpost and then the second to another before doing the same with her feet. I stood back and admired the effect; she was like a starfish laid out for my pleasure. But we weren’t finished yet; I needed to replicate the full Hamida experience and so I took her head, tilted it back and packed a pillow under her neck and then fastened the head to the bed so that she could no longer lift it nor see me and instead had to stare at the wall and ceiling. She groaned into her gag and I took out my tool, now rock hard with excitement, slipped on a condom, unzipped her at the crotch and entered that heavenly cave. The experience was unbelievable! Hardly able to move she tried to reciprocate my thrusts but failed and was entirely passive as I pumped in and out of her, although from the constant groaning into her gag, I knew that she was enjoying it as much as I. It was a fantasy come true, a veiled pleasure robot spread-eagle for my enjoyment and as I worked I caressed her covered breasts and thighs before eventually exploding within her and collapsing on top of her.
I had no special wake-up call that morning for she was unable to move a muscle and so instead I stood up, surveyed the incredible scene before me and took some photos to record my pleasure doll for all eternity. My movements awakened her for she started to groan and squirm so I unzipped her crotch again and re-entered, the experience briefer this time but no less pleasurable. Then finally, when I had finished, I got up, went into the bathroom where I showered and dressed in my Pakistani clothing again and then re-entered the room where she was still lying like a beached starfish on the double bed. I reached over to the cuff that held her left arm and undid it telling her to wait until she heard me exit the room, then unfasten herself and freshen up, putting on her blue burqa again with the gloves and then meet me downstairs.
Some twenty minutes later she appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a vision in blue with exquisite black gloves sneaking out although somehow looking a little fatter – or more clothed? – than the day before. I pulled a chair back for her and seated her at the table.
“Well Aminah, what can I say? Last night was fantastic; our whole married life together has been fantastic, but alas all things must pass and our contract is now almost up.”
She nodded to show that she concurred with all my sentiments.
“I have cooked some bacon and eggs for breakfast and have eaten mine already. I, like you, have a long drive ahead of me today and so I must be going. You cannot eat without ungagging and lifting your burqa so I ask you wait until I have left until you enjoy the food I’ve prepared. And so my veiled purdah wife, I fear it is time to say goodbye.”
She nodded again, more slowly this time and then got up from the table, came to me and through her arms around me, nestling her embroidered face into my shoulder. We held each other like that for several minutes before she stepped back.
“It is wrong for me to be in the same room as a non-mahram lady and so I must do this outside. I walked to the door, opened it and stood on the step. “Aminah, I divorce you, I divorce you, I divorce you!” I pronounced slowly and clearly. As I said those words though, she lifted her burqa and revealed a sight which caused me to stop and stare, for there before me was a vision in a crimson velvet renaissance gown with a white headcovering and a face covered by a blank Moretta mask. As I stood there, mouth agape, the figure turned slowly, letting me drink in all of its beauty. Once the turn had been completed I knew that I now had one more thing to tell my ex-wife.
“It’s my turn to arrange our next meeting, and your suggestion of some days in Venice during the Carnival is excellent. Would you accept if I paid for you to take a trip there Lady Giulia?” The Moretta woman made an elegant bow to again stand motionless with her expressionless black mask facing me. We keep standing like this for several minutes with my mind in heaven by now being sure to meet with this wonderful woman again.
I slowly stepped backwards until reaching my car. I backed the car to turn towards the road in a way shortly fronting the door to see that the Moretta figure hadn’t moved before finally getting a last glimpse in the rear view mirror that stayed in my mind all way home.
I hope to be able to send you a new account in March.
To be continued…?
Copyright © 2012, Dave Potter
Bo_Emp has written a sequel to this tale: Masked Weekend