The Veiling of the Shrew

The Veiling of the Shrew

© Michelle 2006


Die Verschleierung der Widerspenstigen (This tale in German)

Version for “Tales of the Veils” website.
Not for reproduction on other websites or in any other publishing format.

It all started when I was bored one day and started wandering around the Internet.

No, actually it all started when I finished my course at college and couldn’t find a job which was why I was on the Internet in the first place. The only job I could find suitable for me was in an advertisement for a job in a hotel in Dubai which seemed right up my street but I didn’t want to go abroad and anyway even if they would allow a woman to be a trainee manager over there, the thought of all those black veils put me off. That night I mentioned it to my boyfriend after he got home from his job as a junior doctor and he laughed and said they don’t all wear the black veils there. I huffed and said how did he know and carried on with a speech on how woman’s rights were being suppressed over there by making them dress that way. As usual John’s eyes glazed over when I got in one of these moods and he ate quietly whilst pretending to listen to my rant.

The next day I carried on my job search but noticed the same job seemed to be in several places. Either that or there’s a lot of new hotels in Dubai. Anyway this reminded me of what John has said and I ended up looking at sites about Dubai, then at sites about what they wear there, then at sites describing the many types of veil and finally at sites saying what it was like wearing a veil. By now I was a little more intrigued by the subject. I still couldn’t imagine wearing one myself but perhaps I had been a bit hasty in condemning those who actually choose rather than being forced to do so.

Anyway this search led me to a small site called “Tales of the Veils”. This had a lot of the same details but also had a load of fictional stories which I was soon hooked on. I couldn’t imagine myself being the subject of these stories but imagining others in the situation was quite a turn on. And it seemed in quite a few of the stories there was an older lady telling younger ones to veil. Now telling lots of girls what to do, that’s a job I can do with relish !

Before I knew it, John arrived home to find me as randy as can be, but with no dinner made for him. I frantically knocked up a meal and laid it on the table, then sat down opposite him. He asked why I wasn’t eating so I told him I wasn’t hungry, at least not for food. He looked at me peculiarly but as soon as he was finished I dragged him off to bed to feed me with what I was hungry for at that particular time.

After lots of foreplay and a good screw, I lay on my back, grabbed his hand and placed his finger inside me to keep me coming. He isn’t very good at this but then what man is ? You would think that of all people a doctor would be able to know where to do it even if he wasn’t sure quite what to do, wouldn’t you ? Not a chance ! Apparently you have to choose to specialise in something like obstetrics or gynaecology before the embarrassing subject of how the clitoris works comes up.

Anyway as I lay there naked purring to myself, he lying on his side looking at me grinning, I muttered ‘Do you like girls in veils ?’ to which he replied ‘Rare, medium or well done ?’. I opened my eyes and looked at him quizzically and he explained he assumed I was talking about those black veils in the Middle East again and how he thought those wearing them there must come in three levels of cooking like a steak depending on how long they spent out of doors in the sun. I laughed so he then added that depending on whether they were sweating or covered in body oil to stop that, you could have them boiled, fried or roasted as well.

I giggled a bit longer but then told him not to be silly this time, did he like girls in veils. He thought about it for a minute then replied that he wouldn’t mind seeing me in a bridal veil. I was taken aback by that as I’d assumed he wasn’t interested in us actually getting married yet.

Indeed I’d assumed I wasn’t interested in getting married yet either !

‘Is that a proposal ?’ I tentatively asked whereupon he got out of bed and dragged me to the side of the bed. Then he went down on his knee and proposed. I felt all tingly inside again but of course accepted.

The next day was his day off, a quite rare occurrence actually, so we headed off to town and were soon choosing an engagement and wedding ring. It was official. We also passed a few bridal shops which he seemed enthusiastic to enter but I laughed and told him he wasn’t seeing me in my wedding gown before the big day. Not that we even had a big day organised yet anyway.

We grabbed a pizza on the way home and while he unpacked it I rushed upstairs and changed into my sexiest negligee set, well my only one actually, then reappeared trying to look and act as sexy as can be. He grinned but just placed the food on the table and sat down, assuming I would sit opposite. You should have seen the confused look on his face when I threw every cushion we had in a huge pile by the gas fire, then took his hand and led him to sit there. I then wafted back to the table, exaggerating my motions to make my robe swing out in the breeze before returning with a the whole pizza, a single fork and a wicked look in my eye. I knelt down before him, cut a piece of the pizza and offered it to his mouth.

John just sat there dumb-founded so I remarked ‘You have to open your mouth silly.’ which he did so I placed it inside his mouth, then with my other forefinger pushed his upper lip down onto the fork and withdrew it. He chewed the food and swallowed so I repeated it. This carried on for a while before he remarked ‘Aren’t you having any ?’ so I replied that I would eat what he left. He laughed that this was a risky strategy as he could easily eat the whole pizza to which I nodded and said it would get me thin enough for my wedding dress then. This caused a look of confusion so I explained that I was going to lose some weight before the wedding and deal with my waistline once and for all. So he asked what was wrong with my waistline to which I told him to put his hands round it and squeeze. He did so rather limply so I told him to do it properly which he sort of did. ‘There’ I remarked, ‘I want a waist like that’. He joked that that would need one of those corsets Victorian women wore so I grinned and nodded.

After taking the few mouthfuls of pizza he insisted I ate followed by a far better night in bed, he was on duty the next day so I got back on the Internet. Supposedly this was to look for a job but I was soon back on the veiling stories. That night I asked the question again in bed and he laughed and said he supposed I might look cool in one of those harem outfits but he didn’t think the black shrouds would do much for my figure.

So the next day I searched the shops and knocked up my interpretation of a harem outfit from items in the lingerie section of the local department store. Although I got a few gauze scarves, none of these seemed right for the face veil. This was proving to be the most problematic item, there obviously not being much of a call for them around here. I was about to give up and use the scarves when I noticed some really elaborate lace knickers that tied up with a bow at the back. I held them up to my face pretending to look at them closely but was sure they would fit. Okay it wasn’t quite what I was after but they weren’t used after all. I got home and prepared the food I had also bought, everything in bite sized pieces, got changed and opened some wine.

Unfortunately John was a bit late coming home as often, no usually, happens to junior doctors. He looked tired but that soon disappeared as his eyes alighted on me standing in the centre of the room with my head slightly bowed. He looked down me, then back up and almost drooled. Any doubts I had that this would work were dispelled there and then.

I fed him again, then led him to the bathroom, ran the shower and undressed him. Still dressed myself, I walked him into the shower, rather quickly soaking my attire but causing his penis to rise from the fairly erect position it had maintained most of the evening to the bursting out of itself position I was after. With my erect nipples clearly visible through my wet bra, I pulled down the sheer pyjama bottoms I had used for harem pants, offered my arms up to his shoulder and whispered ‘lift’.

He got the message, picked me up and slide me back down onto him. For once this meant our faces were almost level and as I was supported there with him inside me I kissed his lips through the improvised veil. I had assumed the veil would make this not very good and would soon get pushed out of the way.

Oh how wrong can you be !

The soaking wet layer of material didn’t stop us at all, in fact it seemed to make us more determined to keep the kiss going. Perhaps our tongues were wondering why it was they who were veiled but that didn’t seem to stop them forcing themselves into each other’s mouth as they tried to explore their new surroundings.

Meanwhile I had no worries on my lower support, this behaving as it should, rigid as a bone.

Eventually our mouths parted and John began lifting me up and down on him. I groaned with pleasure as he got it more right than he had ever done before. I came long before he did, and even when he did, he didn’t seem to go limp as quickly as normal. A few days earlier I would have said our sex life wasn’t that bad. Now I suddenly realised we hadn’t even started until this day.

With me still dripping water from my clothing he wrapped me in a huge towel, pulled on a bathrobe himself and carried me off to bed. I suggested he got another towel for my wet hair before I lay back so he went and got one and laid it over my head. ‘Now wrap it under my chin’ I suggested, unable to use my own hands as these were trapped inside the bigger towel. Of course I could have got them out but I didn’t want to. I found being wrapped up all helpless like this was simply wonderful and there was no way I was going to ruin it. He did as I suggested so I then told him to pull it up over my mouth. He pointed out my mouth was already covered, I having forgotten this myself it seemed so natural, but I told him to do so anyway.

He then giggled as he pulled the towel right up and then pulled the top of the towel across my forehead down until there was just a thin slit for my eyes. I just dissolved in a shudder of delight as my vision was reduced to his face surrounded in opaque white. All my periphery vision had gone and it felt wonderful. He lay down beside me and I wriggled a bit before he pulled me in tightly to his side. We talked for some time and later on he asked if I wanted to come out now but I shook my head. I never wanted to come out.

He said it was time to sleep as he had to get up early the next day but I wriggled in even closer and whispered we were sleeping like this tonight. He asked if I could breathe okay and I nodded, then asked him to close my eyes off fully. He told me not to be silly but I insisted so he did. My last sight that night was of his fingers pulling the towel over my eyes, the white haze turning to black as he did so. I lie there in his arms trying not to shake but struggling to do so as my body was still gently vibrating from the orgasm that began in the shower. It just seemed to be going on repeating itself forever and there was no way I wanted it to stop.

The next morning John got up with me still wrapped up though he restored my sight. He joked about leaving me there so I giggled and told him to wrap me up in the duvet as well. This he did, also giggling as he did so, then went off to shower and got changed for work. He gave me a kiss and went to leave when I coughed. He looked at me with a puzzled expression to which I remarked ‘I can still see.’

With a grin on his face, he gave me another kiss then it was vision off time again. The pulsing between my legs restarted as he did so and I was happy beyond belief. I heard the door shut then lay there wrapped up like a new born baby. Of course I could get out in seconds but I didn’t want to, the feeling of being trapped inside was so good. However without John’s arm holding it tight, it inevitably did gradually come loose and after an hour or so I had to give up and get out of bed.

Of course after a well needed pee, I was back on the Internet looking at both veiling and being wrapped up. It soon became quite obvious I wasn’t alone in having these sensations, there being loads of sites dedicated to supplying the items required to keep me more than adequately unable to move.

And unable to see.

And unable to hear.

And unable to speak.

And unable to feel.

And unable to just about do anything else you can think of.

Oh boy was I obviously not the first with such thoughts.

Some of the items looked rather harsh, being made of metal or suchlike. They didn’t offer any attractions. I might have liked the feeling of being cut-off and immobilised but I wanted to do it in some form of comfort. But the soft looking stuff almost had me wetting myself there and then. I poured over the pages and soon had a shortlist of items I would like to try. Well quite a long list in fact. However without a job, buying this lot was out of the question. As a doctor John was very well paid for his age but I think he wanted to invest his earnings in a house, not a prison for me.

So I stayed with the stuff I had already bought and bedtimes carried on being the highlight of both our days though the excitement of that day gradually faded.

However a year later I did find myself wearing a veil once more as I prepared to walk up the aisle for our wedding on the happiest day of my life. After the reception, John picked me up and carried me, still in my dress, to the bridal suite where he literally threw me through the air onto the bed then dived on in after me before I had landed. Unfortunately I landed with a crash as the corseted bodice of my gown tried but thankfully failed to break every rib in the lower half of my left hand ribcage. Unfortunately a quite well built male arriving seconds later did the same to the right side and I was left writhing in agony for some time.

Eventually though I regained my composure. John remarked that we’d better get me undressed, he having slipped out of his suit the moment he arrived, a job taking at least ten seconds. For me it was a lot more difficult as the corset would need untying, me declining my now trainee surgeon’s offer to scalpel it off. I walked to the bathroom and had a pee as best I could then returned to the bedroom where I picked up my veil, put it back on and started humming the bridal march again. John asked what I was doing and I joked that in the church it had looked like he wanted to screw me fully dressed there and then.

You don’t have to ask some people twice !

He lowered the blusher he had lifted many hours earlier back over my face, gently lifted me onto the bed and gave me the best screw I had had since the first day I wore the harem outfit in the shower. We rolled around on the bed like a pair of newlyweds, which of course we were, and with my poor dress still tightly clamped around my waist, it suffered almost as much as the pain it had caused my ribs earlier. Eventually we came to a halt and John suggested we’d better get me undressed but I simply got up, pulled on my veil one more time, went to the bathroom and returned with the pile of fluffy towels. He looked at me as though I had gone insane but then remembered what he had to do with them. Soon I was thoroughly wrapped up inside my own towelling cocoon once more and held tightly in his arms where once he reduced my vision from the white blur of the veil to the blacked out haze of the towel I slept soundly.

Of course the next morning, he for once didn’t have to head off for the hospital so I told him to use the belt from his trousers and the bathrobe to ensure I didn’t come undone, then to go and arrange some breakfast. He grinned and within an hour he was hand-feeding me as I had done him a year previously. Of course he had to open the towels enough to find my mouth and then lift my veil, but by pushing this into the sides of the towel I felt suitably restricted in sight, just about able to make out a fork heading for my mouth though with little idea of what was on it.

Then he asked me a question which surprised me – why had I stopped doing this a year ago if I liked it so much. I blushed and then plucked up the courage to tell him what I had found on the Internet and hoped he wouldn’t think bad of me. But he grinned and couldn’t understand why I felt embarrassed, after all I hadn’t gone and bought anything while we couldn’t afford it or anything.

He then suggested I’d better change as we should be off soon if we were to drive to Paris that day. I looked down disappointed, knowing full well that once you take your wedding dress off you rarely put it on again. He grinned and replied that he’d be happy for me to wear it in the car if I wished.

So two hours later we were on the ferry to Calais, me still in wedding dress and veil, he in jeans and T-shirt. Guess who didn’t get their photograph taken a million times. We also did the Titanic bow flying thing as best as one can on something as brutal as a cross-channel ferry before heading back down to the car where we had managed to park in one of the first positions to be unloaded.

With the French sun shining, we were soon heading to Paris with the roof down, the wind blowing my veil this way and that but me determined to keep it in place over my face, much to the amusement of other motorists. I’m sure we almost caused several near crashes as people stared across at me and clapped. We reached the hotel and got an immediate free upgrade to the best suite where a bottle of champagne awaited us. And a quick rush to the bathroom for a pee also revealed a large mound of fluffy white towels. I was going to be cocooned again whether hubby wanted to or not.

Of course the next morning, I did have to take off the dress at last, if only as I needed a bath, there being only so many times you can sponge yourself down. I then dressed in my normal clothes and we headed down to the hotel lobby. A group of women were standing around the concierge’s desk, all in eastern attire. I couldn’t help but look at each one and then I prodded John, discretely pointed and remarked ‘I want one of those’. He looked at me as though I had gone insane, not that he probably wasn’t already building up some doubts in that area. But I insisted and walked up to the person who was wearing what I recognised from the stories was called niqab. I tried English but she shook her head, then my rather poor French which got better results and she gave me the address of a shop to visit. Our window shopping trip to Galerie Lafayette had gone out the window, I had some real shopping to do.

A long trip across the city later, I found the place which looked somewhat dingy but had the right sort of stuff in the window. A knock on the door and an old woman appeared who opened it, beckoned me in, then shut poor John out just as the bridal places had back home. But he stood outside and a half hour later his transformed wife reappeared.

His mouth opened and closed again. But no sound came out which is odd since it was my mouth which was covered. He spluttered about whether I was happy walking around Paris dressed like that to which I nodded. He asked if I had lost my voice so I pulled him to one side and explained that the woman in the shop had told me I mustn’t talk to men when dressed like this though once I told her he was my husband she said that was okay provided nobody else could hear me.

Poor John. He had just spend two days escorting me around with me in a white wedding dress and veil and now he had to escort me round Paris with me in white Arabic robes and veils.


John looked embarrassed half the time but I loved it. Of course people were staring at me just as they had done with my wedding dress but now they couldn’t really tell what I looked like under it or anything. My breasts were tingling and my vagina gently throbbing, so much so in fact that with my arms totally lost under my shroud I could even give myself a quick rub, something of course that all young girls are taught never to do but for some reason young boys never seem to have been.

We wandered round the sights like this, even visiting the Eiffel tower, before making our way back to the hotel where I insisted we went to the hotel restaurant and he ate whilst I just sat there silent and not eating. The guilty look on his face had just grown and grown throughout the day as even if he had been able to tell people he hadn’t forced me to wear this they wouldn’t have believed him of course. But his French is so bad he couldn’t even try so instead he was stuck with playing the cruel uncaring husband, a role I insisted he carried on playing back in our room as I told him to take his pleasure of me as he wished.

He did hesitate, oh for all of three seconds, but as I guessed a day of walking round with me dressed like that had given him the hots as much as it had me and soon he had lifted the front of my robes and was thrusting himself into me like a lion, before eventually undressing me and using every inch of my body to assuage his lust.

And he didn’t do a bad job on mine I have to say. Though in the state I was in it would have been hard not to.

Once we settled down he posed a few questions about what it had been like inside the robes, asking if I felt oppressed or anything. I replied that some things were awkward and I wouldn’t want to wear it on my own but with him there I felt both protected by him and belonging to him, he being the only person around who even knew what I looked like.

Of course after such a good night, there were few objections the next day when I started getting dressed the same way after breakfast on the balcony. But he did seem a little shocked when I then handed him the tie from his bathrobe and a couple of pairs of my own knickers. He asked what they were for and I told him one was for my wrists and the other for my mouth, he to take his pick which was for which. He grinned but as intended the tie from the bathrobe did an excellent job of tying my arms behind my back whilst the knickers kept me nice and quiet for the rest of the day.

This meant I was reasonably helpless and he had to do many more things for me, yet the only way I could indicate for him to do so was a angled shake of my head towards the object in question. But as the day went on he learnt to anticipate things and I was soon able to glide round without constantly coming to a halt and waiting for him. Soon I took up the position I had since noticed other veiled women taking of walking several paces behind their husband. It obviously isn’t to show deference to him, it is just to give him a chance to open the door for them first.

By now John was gaining confidence with me shrouded like this and the next morning he took the lead and I found myself being dressed in my wedding dress, the corset tightened even tighter than it had been for the wedding and my arms then tied together behind my back with the train draped over them like a bustle. This time he used his own underwear to gag me which was a little off and rather painful as it was forced well in but I grinned as he did. The wedding veil followed with the blusher in place before my new robes completed me enveloping. I thought we were about to go when he went through my suitcase and found a pair of stilettos I had brought along in case we went out for a posh evening do.

In a taxi !

I looked at him aghast, not that he was either looking nor if he had been would he had seen much through my covering anyway, but it was obvious I was in for a day of very sore feet.

And we walked miles !

Unable to complain, indeed unable to do much except struggle to walk, I followed him for hours on end round most of the major museums and art galleries. Not able to hold a catalogue or one of the audio aids, and with most exhibits too far away to read the details below through my veiling, I was reduced to a mere spectator of my husband’s back.

And I loved it. The feeling of restriction I had started with the previous day was now becoming highly developed into one of helplessness. My vagina was pulsing almost continuously and the fact I was unable to use the loo all day only added to the pleasurable pain coursing through my body.

Back at the hotel my feet were killing me, as was my bladder. But ‘master’ as I had now jokingly started to think of him as told me to kneel down by the bath. He ran the bath and spent ages bathing whilst my back was used as a temporary table for this towel and my hands still tied behind my back had to hold the base of the glass of wine offered to them. He now had such confidence about how a veiled wife should be treated I was wondering if he had been reading those stories as well.

Having finished the wine, he got out of the bath, dried himself, pulled on a bathrobe, threw the towel over my head, told me to stay there, closed the door and turned off the light. He had got the room well steamed up and I was wriggling with discomfort on the floor. In fact the place I most wanted to go was literally feet from me but even if I did get there, I had no way of lifting my skirts and using the toilet so I determined it was best to remain where he had told me to stay in the hope he would allow me to do so on his return. I spent the time fantasising about which of the scenes in the stories was nearest my current plight and which one I most wanted to happen next.


When he returned he made a remark about me praying like a Muslim which had me giggling to myself so I made a big thing of kissing his feet as best as I could with his underwear in my mouth after which he picked me up and released me. Freed at last, I was on the toilet and peeing for all I was worth before he could even turn and leave. After a long soak in the bath I declared myself human again and returned to the bedroom naked, grabbed his cock in my hand and rubbed it until it was nice and firm. Then I lay back on the bed and let him do the rest as after what I had gone through that day I certainly deserved it.

Later on I got him to order some meals to be sent to our room. Then I gathered up the bathrobe ties and his belts and told him to tie me to the bed. He looked shocked but did as I said. The food arrived and on seeing a naked woman tied by all four limbs to the bed, the waiter couldn’t get out of the room quick enough which saved us his tip. I then said ‘Feed me master’ which was the first time I had actually said it though I had been thinking it all day. John looked even more shocked but with my mouth wide open like a day old chick, all he could do was laugh and fill it. Fortunately this was with food and drink though later on he did offer me his underwear from today which I declined.

He then screwed me again which was wonderful before realising there was nowhere for him to sleep with me spread-eagled across the only bed. He went to untie me but I purred about me needing to be ready for him in the morning so he grinned, threw a duvet over the whole of me and went to sleep on the sofa.

I awoke to find the duvet pulled off and a rampant English doctor practising sex therapy on me. Our honeymoon was getting better by the hour.

We actually visited the hotel restaurant for the first time to have breakfast. Although I pulled on my new robes over a skirt and top, John insisted I didn’t pull the veil over my face so I left it below my chin. This felt odd but far more noticeable was how self-conscious it made me feel. With my face hidden I was just a white mound moving around town but now people could see my face, I felt they were all staring at me and wondering why I was wearing such unusual clothes.

Of course this feeling was mostly caused by the fact that most of them were staring at me!

It was thus with some relief that at the end of breakfast, John allowed me to cover myself properly as I had now begun to think of it. I told him to gag me and tie me up but he replied ‘master expects you to behave properly without such aids.’ which made me grin but determined to do just that. We spent the whole day seeing the sights and despite several attempts, he didn’t manage to catch me out once, my mouth staying closed and the palms of my hands staying locked together in front of me.

Only late on when he pressed his hand into mine did they separate and we walked hand in shrouded hand along the Seine. He noticed the restaurant boats on the river and suggested we book for one tonight to which I replied I was hardly dressed for dinner.
‘I did mean we go back to the hotel first.’ he laughed but I was still unsure. I had got used to my head being covered, after all I had been in public for all my married life apart from perhaps an hour at the end of the reception. He made a joke about he hoped I wasn’t going religious on him but I told him it wasn’t that, I just really felt more secure in myself when veiled. ‘How about one of those headscarves I’ve seen Arab women wear ?’ he suggested and after a little thought I agreed. There were still plenty of shops open and it didn’t take long to find something suitable.

Back at the hotel I put on my black and gold evening gown which fortunately had a matching bolero jacket. I added the scarf and some gloves I also bought and looked in the mirror. It wasn’t like the robes but I supposed I was covered if I pulled the scarf across my face a bit. I asked him if he thought people might think it odd I was togged up like this but he grinned and pointed out the boats have an outdoor section they use in the daytime and he was sure if we said we were newlyweds and wanted a little privacy they wouldn’t mind. I laughed and pointed out that the chances of him saying all this in French and being understood was somewhat limited. His face fell as he realised I wouldn’t want to speak in public either. ‘Don’t worry’ I laughed, wrote out a note explaining our situation and told him to give it to them.

At the boat we did have a good time almost in private, but we were both half-frozen by the end. At the end of a perfect day a taxi took us back to the hotel where after a warm bath, John wrapped me up once more and cuddled me to sleep.

The next day I was back in the Arabian robes but again entrusted to remain silent and not use my hands when they weren’t appropriate. Not that Master set this condition, I had to when he said he wouldn’t tie me up again. Today we finally got to the big name shops for some window shopping though my view on what I was hoping to find had changed completely in the intervening months since we booked our honeymoon. But the shop assistants did seem to understand they weren’t to talk to me directly but work through my husband which was quite an interesting experience. They would suggest something to him, he would point it to me, I would nod or shake my head and he would then respond to them vocally. It would have been really romantic were it not for his appalling use of the French language. Oh well, I can’t have everything. However I did acquire some wonderful lingerie and a very red faced husband.

Back at the hotel, this reminded me I hadn’t worn my wedding night outfit yet so I changed into the basque, suspenders and stockings together with the stilettos for him as soon as I had showered. He gave a whistle of delight but then to my surprise threw the Arabian robe over my head, fitted the veil and walked me out of the hotel. Though he did make a remark about it making me practice walking smoothly so that nobody saw my ankles, not that I thought anybody had done so far, I was confused why he was doing this at first. Only once we had completed three quarters of the walk round the hotel did I realise this was him getting some sort of erotic foreplay. So I grinned to myself and walked straight past the hotel entrance and along the street again to a bar we had passed on the first lap. There I nodded for him to pull a chair out for me to sit on, I still trying not to use my own hands of course, then he sat opposite. He ordered a glass of wine but I shook my head, watching him trying to nonchalantly drink it whilst not showing the rest of the bar the discomfort in his briefs. After that I resisted the temptation to lead him elsewhere so followed him several paces back all the way back to our room where, still veiled and without use of my hands I think he still had a great time. I enjoyed it as well of course though once he removed my robe and veil I did finally have to use my mouth, though not to speak of course.

He had obviously been thinking about our situation a lot because once we were tired he had me use the bathroom then on my return had me step into a bathrobe using the sleeves as legs and pulled this up my front, then wrapped a towel over my head before fitting the second bathrobe to me in a more conventional manner. But just when I thought he had finished he picked me up and laid me on the bed face down, pulled my hands and legs backwards and started to feed the robe ties through the sleeve holes. To feel his fingers feeling all over me like that is usually quite sensuous. But to know he was binding me up as he did it was just wow !

With one tie going in my right leg’s sleeve, across my front between my breasts and then out of the left arm’s sleeve, and with the other going left leg to right arm, all he had to do was hold all the ends in his right hand and lift. Despite my vow of silence, I had to give a yelp as one of the ties started pressing deeply into the side of my breast, but with a little adjustment my wrists and ankles soon met behind my back and with a little assistance from my husband, disappeared Chinese empress style into the other sleeve.

I was totally trapped, my heart was beating like a drum, my breasts were hot and tingling and my skin was flush. So much for being readied for sleep, I was on the verge of another great orgasm again and with my fingers out of action there was only one person in the room who could satisfy those urges.

But he didn’t !

Instead he lay down beside me, pulled me in tight and promptly fell asleep. I would have thought that a hogtied woman desperate to be screwed silly would have most men drooling. I was so close yet so far away. Instead I began to sweat a bit as the feeling drained away, though as I hadn’t come my breasts and sexual organs remained swollen and quite painful for some time. This masked the numbness in my arms and legs for some time but gradually they took over as the primary cause of discomfort.

Being tied up my way with arms and legs stretched out hadn’t been a problem but this wasn’t the same at all. I did consider waking him and asking to be untied but eventually determined to suffer it until morning and see what my reward would be. I grabbed some rest as best as I could by lying on my front, then as dawn approached I slid down the bed like a caterpillar until my face was level with his groin. A little further work and he was wide awake and raring to go. I have to say that sleeping whilst hogtied isn’t something I’d recommend but being screwed in that situation is something else altogether. Unable to do anything myself, he had to place me in the position he wanted, lift the bathrobe out of the way and then enter me. But as a doctor he realised the missionary position would have led to several broken limbs so I was either on top or in some other position each time. One can never have too many orgasms but my frustration from the night before was well and truly dissipated.

He then proceeded to the bathroom, showered and got dressed, me still lying on the bed immobilised of course. But when he headed for the door I had to break my self-imposed silence by asking where he was going. I had expected him to say breakfast or something but instead he said he was going for a walk by the river. When asked if I was supposed to stay like this he grinned and nodded whereupon I asked what about when the room maid came to clean the room. ‘Good point’ he replied and went to his dirty laundry bag, removed the briefs he had worn the previous day and shoved them in my mouth. He remarked that that was better as now she could come in and clean the room up without me breaking my silence. I gave a long frustrated ‘oooo’ but he grinned and left. Unable to do anything about it all I could do was lie there and wait, hoping that the maid wouldn’t knock.

And in fact she didn’t knock. She came straight in. My dear sweet husband had put the card out to say it was okay to make up the room. I think at first she thought we had kindly piled all the dirty towels on the bed for her because she didn’t seem to notice me when she walked across the room and opened the curtains. But with a lot more light in the room, she certainly noticed me on turning round, letting out an initial shriek which turned to a giggle as she realised my plight. She pulled my improvised gag out of my mouth, then on realising what they were promptly dropped them on the floor with a look of disgust on her face.

‘Nouveaux mariés’ I said as soon as I could get some saliva back in my mouth, ‘Lune de miel.’

She held her hand to her mouth and giggled, then to my surprise picked a fresh flannel from her trolley and stuffed it back in my mouth, telling me my husband would expect to find me cleaned up as well as the room. She set to work on the bathroom, hanging up another bathrobe as well as fresh towels, then she fetched another maid and they lifted me onto the couch, made the bed, lifted me back onto it and put the duvet over me. I thought that would be it but the other maid screamed ‘Non, non, non’ and removed the duvet again. She opened the wardrobe door and after placing some spare pillows on the floor they placed me inside and shut the door.

Obviously my presence was messing up their nice clean tidy bedroom !

They went soon after and I suppose I must have dozed off somehow because I didn’t actually hear John reappear, only realising he was in the room when I heard some snoring outside. I bashed on the wardrobe door with my knees and he eventually woke and came to get me. After removing my gag and then supporting me over the toilet so I could have the most undignified but desperately required pee in my whole life, he carried me back to the bed where he remarked that he thought the maids had freed me and I’d gone for a walk. He had a good laugh when I told him what they had actually done and we decided they must see this sort of thing now and then so he should leave a tip for them the next morning for their efforts.

I asked if we were going out, this being a subtle way of suggesting he untie me, but he instead took all the stuff out of the rather large sports bag he had used to bring his stuff in and proceeded to try to stuff me in it ! Fortunately or unfortunately depending on what point of view you are taking in all this, I didn’t fit so he gave a disappointed huff and untied me instead. After a quick shower I put on a skirt and top with the Arabian robes on top and we headed out once more. I realised I was getting really hungry, having missed so many meals this holiday, but assumed I was stuck until we returned to our room. However in a park despite my veil I smelt a van selling burgers and beckoned for him to buy me one. He offered it to my face assuming I would lower the veil but instead I beckoned for him to kneel on the floor and pass it under the hem of my robe to my waiting hand. On standing up, it seemed everybody else was staring at him as though he was insane but I just giggled and ate my burger.

Fortunately I hadn’t worn the wedding veil as well or that would have got messed up by the cheese and ketchup oozing out as I bit it, but the veil I was wearing did end up a little stained. We went back to the hotel later on and I decided the best way to wash the veil was in the shower. With me still wearing it. Not surprisingly, somebody else thought this was a good idea as well and we spent a considerable time in there, my clothing getting heavier and heavier as it seemed to carry on absorbing water whilst he got lighter by about ten grams.

Eventually we finished and left all my clothing in a heap on the shower tray. I dried myself off and grabbed the new clean bathrobe before he could, then lay on the bed and fell asleep.

I woke the next morning, our last one of the holiday, to find breakfast in bed awaiting me. After this I went to use the bathroom, then returned and asked him what he wanted me to wear today. He replied that he thought I would want to wear the robes once more so I remarked I couldn’t wear them in that state to which he handed me a large carrier bag. Whilst I was asleep he had taken all my wet clothing to a local launderette and got it all properly clean and dry again. I gave him a big hug and then let him dress me as he wanted. Not unsurprisingly, I ended up attired in the Arabian robes with virtually everything else on underneath.

We left the hotel and walked for an hour without stopping into a rather dubious looking district. Unable to ask where we were going, I dutifully followed my husband until eventually we came to a shop. He entered and allowed me to follow him inside. I looked around and was amazed. Virtually every item I had earmarked on my original list from the Internet was here on display. Fortunately for John, the proprietor spoke English so I was shown into a small backroom where for the next few hours they both appeared with a variety of items. I either shook my head in which case they did take the object away or if I nodded, the owner of the shop left us alone for John to fit it to me. I hate to think what the final bill was but it must have been a lot.

However some items were definite improvements on our improvised attempts. A new gag allowed me to drink from a water bottle. In fact it forced me to as a small motor slowly pumped fluid into the back of my mouth behind the huge inflatable rubber ball. And down below the other problem was dealt with as my medical husband eventually managed to fit a catheter and bottle to me, the pee flowing out as soon as he had it right, some of it leaking onto his hand causing him to comment that he usually has a nurse to do such jobs. Oh my heart bled for him.

And so I was ready. What had been an hour’s walk here took many hours back as I struggled with almost vertical heels and a very tight underskirt underneath my own wedding dress restricting the movement of my upper legs. It was full length and so should have restricted the movement of my ankles and feet as well but me having rejected wearing metal ankle chains they had found a softer fabric binding which I could hardly then decline, could I ? These bindings ensured the hem of the underskirt was never stretched the whole walk back.

Higher up my arms were bound together behind my back with the elbows touching, the wrists tied together at the nape of my neck and the whole weight of my wedding dress train dangling on the ribbon over my little finger. My neck was held rigidly and tipped forward by a lace up thing they called a neck corset, my mouth was now properly gagged of course, my ears filled with some highly effective earplugs and a special mask fitted under my veil which just had two small holes to allow me to see a little straight in front of me but nothing up, down or to the sides. The wedding veil added a pleasing white haze top to this view of course.

And then by throwing the Arabian robes over the top of me, nobody would have guessed there was anything wrong at all. As I struggled back to the hotel, I wondered just how many other veiled women were far more restricted than one expected under their robes.

By the time we got back to the hotel, I was knackered. But John of course was raring to go and so I had to remember my marriage vows and offer him my body, not that he hadn’t taken quite a lot of it already in the shop of course. This was amazing. I had no choice on what he did, indeed little way of even influencing him in the slightest. Yet every little touch threw me into convulsions of pleasure as my still gently rumbling orgasm began to peak once more.

The next day we returned to England, me dressed the same way of course. This actually turned out to be a major advance in road safety if nothing else, other drivers still looking at me but not waving, tooting or giving thumbs-up signs as they drove alongside.

A year on, I am glad to tell you nothing has changed. John goes to work as usual and I stay at home. Often he leaves me tied up wherever he pleases with me having no idea when he will return of course thanks to the unusual hours of his job. Other times he’ll have me dressed up in some elaborate outfit, always fully veiled of course, and set me some almost unachievable though incredibly mundane task such as cleaning the kitchen floor with cotton buds held in my mouth because my arms are tied behind my back, counting exactly how many dried peas there are in a packet using just my nose and countless other such tasks. I’ll leave these to your imagination though you can probably rely on the fact that if you’ve thought of it we’ve done it.

I have to complete these tasks to gain my reward, else I risk a punishment. We did try him caning me but I really didn’t like that so instead it might be him making me stand absolutely still in a corner for a small offence or drinking the contents of my catheter bottle for something more serious. I realise that sounds disgusting and trust me it is but John assures me it is sterile so is at least a safe though severe punishment provided you don’t do it too often.

I have a variety of outfits, all covering me well, but not all are eastern by any means. One of my favourites is a Victorian style long black mourning gown with black bonnet and veil. This has a unbelievably severe corset which when tightened reduces my breathing to the merest gentle intake of air at the top of my lungs making any exertion rather inadvisable as I would quickly run out of oxygen and faint. Yet as it would be inappropriate for a lady in mourning to show a thin attractive waist, the outside of the corset is padded up to be larger than my waist would naturally be if I had never worn a corset in the first place.


However the possibility of me making any ill-advised exertion had been well dealt with. With numerous petticoats layered over each other, the first tied round my ankles working up to the last one at my waist, I am going nowhere fast. And of course when John gets home I am inaccessible to meet his needs in the usual manner and hence must use my hands which is why they aren’t gloved.

Another outfit we call the caterpillar. This is basically a typical unflattering quilted floral housecoat with a matching hood. Sounds totally un-sexy doesn’t it ? However by sewing several together to make it far far longer than I am tall and padding the inside with a deep layer of wadding which keeps me very warm and my legs pressed tightly together, once it is buttoned up and the sleeves, also extended in the same manner, tied in a nice bow behind my back, I am rendered incapable of normal movement. Instead I have to slide round arching my back up and down like a caterpillar does. Whenever he dresses me in this I can rely on the fact there is a large pile of his dirty underpants that need moving from the bedroom to the laundry basket downstairs with only my mouth available to hold them one at a time. By the time he returns I am of course desperate for something nicer in my mouth, even his penis. Well that’s his theory anyway but I don’t disappoint him.

I also have a growing collection of eastern attire, most of it rather more heavily veiled than my first one. John expects me to do all the housework in these which wouldn’t be too bad were it not for his penchant for dressing me up in the morning or even the night before without allowing me to use the toilet. Of course in such loose robes having a pee isn’t that much of a problem until you are fitted with one of the perks of John’s job – easy access to a supply of incontinence underwear. With the seal at the back and my wrists either tied together in front of me or some other method imposed to ensure there is no way I can undo or remove the medical garment I am stuck. Udually he removes it when he gets home but if he feels I haven’t done as I was asked to I can go several days without being changed. As you can imagine the item has performed it’s proper task by then and with the damp feeling on my crotch, the muddy feeling between the cheeks of my bottom and the smell passing up to my nose under my veiling I learn to be his good little girl and carry out his instructions properly in future. But what I really love is when he comes home, finds something I haven’t done right and marches me off to the toilet and sits me on it like a little girl until I’ve been. Still fully dressed, this is the one occasion I don’t mind the odd little smack on my bottom afterwards either as at least he then cleans me up straight away.

Of course this would normally be a bit hazardous but as a doctor he ensures I am coated in protective creams and so on. It’s still utterly unpleasant of course but not actually dangerous.


At other times he will decide there is nothing for me to do at all and he will dress me appropriately using another perk of his job.


You are probably asking if I am happy with all this ?

You bet I am !

I am being treated as a mixture of little girl and sex object and am loving every minute of it. Obviously it’s not everybody’s cup of tea but I used to be lucky if I had a brief orgasm once a week. Now I am unlucky if I don’t get that once an hour. Hell sometimes it almost lasts the whole hour !

I only wish I’d plucked up the courage to start us off a year earlier when I found those stories on the Internet. What a waste of a year that was. You think those stories aren’t for real ? Trust me, they’re tame by comparison with what we get up to.

I expect you’re asking why I am writing this ? Well it’s another of my easy tasks made difficult my master. Obviously it is normally him on the computer and me doing something useful by wrapping myself up on the floor and being his footstool. But he is away at a medical conference for five days and I have to type out my story before he returns. Sounds easy to achieve. He’ll be back in under an hour ! I’m stuck inside this huge quilted sleeping back with my right hand tied behind my back and wearing a mitten on the other which makes typing through the bag even more error-prone. I’m also tied to the computer chair with a special gag in my mouth which has a special hole in the middle which allows me to breathe, drink and even eat some cold slurpy porridge.

As you’ve probably guessed I’ll be getting a punishment for each mistake I haven’t corrected. So here goes – I wudnt wan 2 tink I dud al dis 4 nuting !

Who am I ? I asked John to just call me ‘The Tamed Shrew’ to others when they see me, fully veiled of course, so you’ll just have to know me by that name as well.


Back to the Adult Bazaar…


One thought on “The Veiling of the Shrew

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