Abbie’s Afghani Adventure
by Dave Potter
Version for “Tales of the Veils” website.
Not for reproduction on other websites or in any other publishing format without author’s permission.
It all began on the first year of the first term of the penultimate year of high school. The girls of the new Year 12 at St. Hilda’s School for Girls were called into the main assembly hall for the traditional start of year address and the headmistress announced that there would be a new student joining them that year, Shukria Barakzai. At this point the new girl stepped forward. She had long black hair and an almost-perfect face with an elegant bone structure. She smiled becomingly and said, in slightly-accented English, “I am happy to be able to study with you all here at St. Hilda’s.”
Shukria was placed in the second form and so before long she met with Abbie Letchworth. With her perfect skin, sapphire-blue eyes and long blonde hair, Abbie had long been unofficially recognised as the most beautiful girl in the year and lots of boys sought a date with her. The two girls were placed together in a science class during the first week and by the end of the lesson they had become firm friends. They shared common interests in haircare and beauty products as well as intellects that could be turned to more complicated matters. More than that though, Abbie was open-minded and had a curiosity for the unknown. That evening when Shukria invited her to her room to talk about lipstick and try out some dresses, she was fascinated to learn all about her new friend’s background in her home country of Afghanistan.
“Life is very different there but I love it,” Shukria told her. “The scenery is so beautiful and the food is amazing; the dates and olives are so fresh! But as women we must wear the burqa which is a bit weird for those people not used to it.” When she showed her new friend a photo of her and her mother and sisters all wearing burqas, Abbie was shocked. She had expected to see all black veils with a slit for the eyes such as serious Muslim girls in Britain wear but instead she saw a row of figures clad in colourful, satin-like cloth with a grille over the eyes that revealed nothing of the person underneath. “I wonder what it is like to wear something like that?” she said.
“Wonder no longer,” replied Shukria. “I have one here!”
The Afghani girl went into a cupboard and took out a folded garment of sky blue satin. She carefully fitted it onto Abbie, the skull cup sitting on the English girl’s head and then the material cascading down all around her body. Inside it, Abbie had mixed feelings. She liked the smooth caress of the material against her skin but the limited vision through the grille bothered her somewhat. She got up, walked around a bit and then sat down. “Keep it on while we talk,” suggested Shukria and so she did and after a few minutes she almost forgot she had it on except for the fact that she was heating up inside and a damp patch in front of her mouth had developed.
After that first meeting, the friendship between the girls only deepened. Every evening either Shukria would go to Abbie’s room or vice versa. Nor too did they always return after lights out. Instead they would snuggle together for warmth in the narrow bed, their bodies moulded to one another, Abbie feeling Shukria’s comforting breath on her cheek.
And before long even that progressed. One night when she entered her bed, Abbie was shocked to discover that Shukria was only wearing her underwear and, as the night progressed, that disappeared too. Her Afghani friend kissed her on the lips and the kiss was returned. Soon their tongues were exploring each other’s mouths and their fingers their bodies. “I wish I had such large, firm boobs as you,” whispered Abbie who had always been conscious of her small breasts. “You are perfect as you are,” replied Shukria.
“And I wish this could last forever,” added Abbie.
“Me too,” her friend replied.
When she went home for the Christmas break, Abbie found that she missed her new friend terribly and it was just as bad for Easter. Still, at least there would be the summer, for Shukria had suggested she come and stay for the holidays in their home in Kandahar. However, before she had chance to put the idea to her family, her father, a city banker, announced that he had arranged work experience for her for the entire holidays at Price Waterhouse Coopers. Devastated that the entire summer would be spent in an office, she protested, but he stood firm stating that it would be good for her career.
Coming off the phone in tears, she sought solace in her friend.
“Don’t worry,” said Shukria, smiling and stroking her golden locks. “You can still come with me to Kandahar.”
“By using a little deception,” she replied with a grin and a wink.
On the final day of school, all the girls said goodbye to each other with hugs and kisses, promising to keep in touch over the summer. Shukria’s father – who was somehow connected with the Afghani government – came in an embassy car to meet his daughter who wore a red burqa when she walked out of the buildings to get into it. After hugging her burqa-clad friend, Abbie then went back into her room, collected her bags and then walked across the town to the railway station. Then she took the first train into London but instead of taking the tube to her connecting train from Liverpool Street, she instead booked into a cheap hotel near to Kings Cross. Once there, she opened up her sports bag, took out the black burqa that Shukria had given her and carefully fitted it over her head. In an instant, the English schoolgirl had disappeared and, in her place, an anonymous Muslim woman. Of course, her hands still revealed her race, so she then fitted the pair of black, satin-like gloves that Shukria had also given to her, onto her hands. Completely covered, she then left the hotel, taking the back entrance so as not to pass the reception desk.
Then she walked to the Kings Cross Underground station where she bought a travelcard using cash. She then descended into the depths of the earth where she caught a train to South Kensington. Travelling on the train, she was sure that many people were looking at her – after all, this was a place where there had been suicide bombers – but covered so completely, she felt safe from their gazes. Nonetheless, she was not sure that she would like to wear a burqa for a long time. Walking along the road, she found that she had no peripheral vision and her hearing was muffled so that, at junctions, she felt vulnerable. Plus, ascending and descending stairs and escalators, she had to remember to lift up her skirts somewhat. No, it was cumbersome, hot, the blurred vision annoying and somehow, she felt like she was experiencing life second-hand.
Emerging at South Kensington, she again had a walk, this time through the streets to the Afghani Embassy. Even though it was not long and the weather mild, she found that by the time she got to the door, she was overheated and streaming with sweat.
At the door she pressed the intercom and, as instructed, stated that she had come to see Hamid Barakzai, Shukria’s father. The door opened and she walked inside and was directed to an office.
Waiting in there was Shukria’s dad and a burqa-clad figure who must have been her friend as she rushed over to her and hugged her through her veils.
“Well done in getting here, Miss Letchworth,” said Hamid. “I feel bad about deceiving your father in this way but my darling Shukria was so insistent. Here is a passport for you to travel to Afghanistan on. No one will be any the wiser although I cannot imagine your father’s anger when he discovers you are not a Price Waterhouse Cooper’s!”
“Thank you, sir, you are very kind,” said Abbie, taking the passport. It was in the name of Abida Gailani, a 17-year old Afghani citizen.
“We will get going now,” said Hamid. “There is a car waiting.” And so the two veiled females followed him out to a BMW that was parked up outside. The ladies were shown into the back and he got in the front. Shukria laid her veiled head against her friend’s shoulder and stroked her through the cloth and, despite how weird all this was, Abbie felt happy. What an adventure!
She had expected to taken to Heathrow or even Gatwick but instead the car headed north to a small airfield named Cranfield where a private jet was waiting with the Afghani coat of arms on the fin. Immigration was a lot less strict here. Hamid handed the passports over. My daughter and her maid,” he said briskly. The official nodded and without asking either girl to unveil they were waved through. They climbed onto the plane and within minutes were taxiing for take-off.
It was dark when they landed at an even smaller private airfield near to Kandahar. A 4×4 was waiting for them and, again without formalities, they were ushered into the back. Abbie would have liked to have seen something of the country but outside it was pitch-black and the windows were heavily-tinted as well. So it was that she saw nothing until they pulled up in a courtyard and were directed, still wearing their burqas, down some corridors to a small living room where they could remove their garments and hungrily devour a bowl of soup each. “Welcome to my home!” said Shukria, her face glowing with happiness. Abbie hugged her, before a burqa-clad servant told her that she had a bath waiting. Happily she sunk into the warm water and then, half an hour later, she rose and was directed to a bedroom where she happily sunk into the sheets and fell into a deep sleep.
In the morning Abbie awoke. She reached across the king-sized bed, half-hoping to find her darling Shukria there but she was alone. She stretched herself under the silken covers and her hand strayed to her private parts. Thinking of her girlfriend always excited her for some reason. However, this was not all. The memory of her journey yesterday, wearing an all-encompassing burqa in the streets of London, also caused her to feel aroused. She could not explain why but the feeling of being so covered in luxuriant material, so hidden from the world, really did excite her. Indeed, she was so excited that she never noticed the door opening and a pair of veiled figures walk in.
“Good morning, Abbie, I am Malalai, Shukria’s mother.”
Abbie stopped her activities with a start and sat up.
“N-n-nice to meet you,” she said, blushing.
“Now, I am afraid that my daughter probably did not explain to you fully how we live our lives here. It is very different from England.”
“Do you mean the burqa?”
“Yes I do, but more than that. Women here in Kandahar live in full purdah and so you, as our guest, must do the same. This will be strange for you but I am sure you will get used to it soon.”
“Malalai, I wish to experience local customs and cultures while I am here so I am happy to fit in.”
“That is excellent, Abbie, you truly are a lovely girl! My daughter has chosen well. Madina here will be your maid and she shall prepare you for your life here.”
The other figure, clad in an orange burqa, said nothing but bowed and went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Abbie got up and started to make her way to the bathroom when Malalai said, “Please be warned, Abbie, some of our ways here may seem strange to you and that will start in the shower. Do not be alarmed; just accept everything that Madina does without complaint.”
Confused the English girl walked on.
Inside the shower, Abbie stripped. She then walked to the water. Madina had by this time taken off her burqa to reveal a young teenaged girl, perhaps only fifteen years old, wearing a white, one-piece swimsuit. What was shocking though was that her mouth was jacked open by a large ball-gag. ‘At least that explains why she didn’t speak before,’ thought Abbie. Madina took her wrists, guided them up and then, to her surprise, fastened them into a pair of cuffs hanging from the ceiling. Standing there in the warm water, Abbie was completely helpless!
Madina gave a thumbs up to indicate nothing was wrong, before then taking out a sponge and some soap and liberally washing her charge all over. She was an expert and the feel of her hands and the sponge caressing her breasts, bottom and private parts – where Madina lingered and was most thorough – was heavenly and arousing although, chained as she was, she could do nothing to relieve the tension. Once she was soaped, she was then rinsed thoroughly and the shower turned off but, to her surprise, she was not unchained. Then Madina got out some shaving foam and a razor and, before she realised what was happening, was shaving Abbie’s intimate areas. She was meticulous and careless and her further caresses caused improper womanly juices to flow from Abbie’s slit. Once done and dried came more: waxing strips. Her legs, intimate areas and underarms were all waxed. It was painful as she ripped off the strips, and frustrating too since Abbie longed to touch the now-smooth areas yet chained as she was it was impossible.
Waxed and shaved, then came another surprise: Madina left the room and returned with Malalai and a pair of adult nappies! Malalai came over to the helpless girl and scanned the work of Madina through her burqa grille. “Excellent work, you look like a true Afghani girl now,” she said.
As she was talking, the maid had started to fit the nappies around her waist. “What are these for?” asked Abbie.
“The outfits that we wear cannot be removed easily,” explained Malalai, “therefore we wear nappies to prevent accidents. I always wear them, as too does Shukria.”
Over the nappies came a pair of rubber pants fastened with elastic bands that bit into her waist and upper thighs. Then a pair of shoulder-length satin gloves. To put these on, her wrists were unlocked. Finally, came the burqa, this time in red with beautiful embroidery, but unlike the one that she had worn to travel the day before, this burqa was completely enclosed! What this meant is that she had to enter the garment through a long slits in the back that could be zipped up and locked so that it could only be reopened from outside. Her feet fitted through two holes that contained integrated socks in the bottom which meant that steps of only a few centimetres could be taken and no leg would be revealed. There were also two small slits with zips and locks on them at the sides near to where her hands were. “The slits may only be opened from the outside,” explained Malalai. “All the women except the servants here wear such burqas. They protect our modesty completely since no one may lift up a skirt or open a flap to reveal an alluring body. Please, come with me for breakfast.”
And wondering how on earth she could eat breakfast locked in this garment, Abbie followed her host as the satin-like material billowed out around her and caressed her skin with every tiny step.
The eating question was soon answered. Waiting in a dining room was Shukria who was wearing a purple burqa with some exquisite embroidery. The difference between masters and servants was obvious in the quality of the burqas they were wearing. Her girlfriend got up and shuffled over to her, pressing her burqa-clad body against that of her English guest and holding hands through the slippery material.
They sat down at the table along with Malalai and then breakfast was served, a kind of fruit smoothie sucked up through a straw which was threaded through one of the holes in the burqa grille. Once that was finished came some tea, similarly consumed and then they retired to a luxurious sitting room with couches and embroidered cushions to relax and talk. Malalai welcomed Abbie properly and explained all about why they wore burqas and the concept of purdah which meant women living secluded and hidden from men as their culture and religion dictated. Then she said something which greatly surprised Abbie:
“I am so glad that you could come here this summer, for it would have been sad for Shukria never to have seen you again.”
“But what about next year at school?”
“Shukria will not be returning to St. Hilda’s as she is getting married and will move in with her husband. Did she not tell you?”
“No, not at all.”
“It is so lovely that she will have her best friend here to help her share all the marital preparations and even the big day.”
“Shukria! Why did you never tell me of this?”
“I don’t know, it just never came up. We were so happy at school and…”
Her voice drifted off and so too did Abbie’s thoughts. They had been so happy at school and the thought of never sharing her bed again with Shukria really saddened Abbie. And, as if reading her thoughts, Shukria then said, “Mother, may I ask a favour?”
“Go ahead, darling.”
“”Since we have so little time together, can Abbie and I share my bed and can she receive the same marital preparations as I as a present from me?”
“Of course she can.”
They talked for the rest of the morning and then, after another liquidised meal – this time lentil soup – they went outside to the garden, a courtyard filled with flowering plants which Abbie could see through the burqa grille. It was lovely to sit on the bench, her head on Shukria’s shoulder, listening to the birds sing overhead. The only problem was that, having had two liquidised meals now as well as several drinks, she was now feeling uncomfortably bloated and, despite her wishing to avoid it, she released a long pee into her nappies. So it was that during the rest of the afternoon and dinner she had to sit there with a damp bottom and pee splashing about in her pants.
Finally, after dinner, Madina arrived and took her to the bathroom. There she was divested of her burqa, chained up in the shower and her pee-sodden pants and nappy removed. She was cleaned thoroughly again, towelled dry and then covered with talcum powder before a new set of nappies, pants and gloves were produced and then another fully-enclosed burqa, this time in light white cotton. Then she was shown to Shukria’s bedroom where her arm slits were opened just enough for her to poke her gloved hands through. The two girls then spent a happy few hours chatting, and playing on computer games until Malalai came in around nine and declared, “Time to sleep, my darlings.” Then, to Abbie’s surprise, Madina followed with two pairs of gloves. Unlike normal gloves though, these were padded like those of a boxer and to wear them, one had to bunch ones hands into fists. They were fitted over each hand and locked shut. The girls lay down in the bed and Madina drew a blanket over them before Malalai kissed each one on their veiled forehead through her burqa and left, Madina switching the light off as she did so.
There in the dark, Abbie snuggled up to Shukria. “What’s with the gloves?” she whispered.
“They’re to stop us pleasuring ourselves or each other.”
“They know us too well,” giggled Abbie.
Alas though, the gloves worked, for even though they snuggled close, the combination of the padded gloves and the thick nappies meant that Abbie’s raging desire had no outlet for release.
For the next couple of weeks, Abbie immersed herself completely into the Afghani purdah lifestyle of her friend and loved it. Every few days they would go on trips out, perhaps to a local beauty spot where they could sit and see the sights through their burqa grilles, or to the bazaar in Kandahar where they perused for wares and souvenirs to take back home to England. These trips were not easy since purdah decreed they wear gags outside of the house – although these gags had a hole through the middle that facilitated drinking – something which took some getting used to. Firstly, it was the idea of having something lodged in one’s mouth and initially Abbie gagged several times and struggled. Difficult too were the aching jaws when it was removed and the deciphering of the various signals that Malalai and Shukria made to her with their gloved hands. But as with all else, she got used to it and, after a few trips, it seemed almost natural to don a gag before leaving the house.
Abbie really enjoyed the feel of the satin-like material caressing her naked, smooth skin all day long. Perhaps it was this, perhaps it was the presence of Shukria, or perhaps it was the inability to obtain any sexual release, but she now found herself sexually stimulated and excited almost permanently. This bothered her and she mentioned it to Shukria who giggled, admitted that she was the same and said that Afghani food also utilises lot of aphrodisiacs so that wives are always ready to service their spouses. This idea of a woman being so subservient to a man, as if her sole duty in life was to pleasure a husband bothered her feminist sensibilities and she mentioned it to Shukria, but to her surprise, her girlfriend did not agree and said that she was “crazy” and had been affected by the “Western disease”. She was about to ask what she meant by this when Shukria continued, “But don’t worry as this afternoon, you’ll be finding out more about Afghani marriage preparations as I have an appointment and you are coming with me!”
And sure enough, after lunch, their burqas were opened, large inflatable gags fitted, and they were bundled into the back of Hamid’s 4×4 and driven into the city, stopping outside, of all places, a clinic. There they were guided into a consulting room where an Indian-looking male doctor was sitting. He stood up, shook Hamid’s hand and gestured for the girls to sit. “Welcome Shukria and congratulations on your upcoming wedding,” he said in English, bowing to Abbie.
“That is not Shukria but Abida,” said Hamid, laughing. Abbie wondered why he used the Afghani name on her passport – after all, there was no secrecy now – but she guessed he just wanted her to fit in.
“It matters not,” said the doctor with a smile. “Well, we are all ready for the procedure, no? But I believe you may wish to see the implants first, no?” He then put on a pair of latex gloves and brought out a pair of transparent globules, each larger than his hand. “These are called saline implants which means they are filled with a sterile saline solution, like salt water. The solution is held within an elastomer silicone shell. If they leak, no problem. You have opted for 800cc. Large, but a good choice I think. I will be performing an inframmammary incision with submammary placement. Would you like to feel the weight?”
At first Abbie had not clicked as to what was being discussed, but then she realised: Shukria was having breast implants so that her body would be more pleasing to her new spouse! How disgustingly sexist!
Shukria had nodded at the doctor’s question and so Hamid had unzipped her arm holes and then fitted latex gloves over her satin ones. Her girlfriend weighed the implants carefully.
“Heavy, eh?” said the doctor.
“Would you also like to feel them, Miss Abida?” he asked.
Although the thought of implants to please a spouse appalled her, Abbie’s curiosity was even greater, so she too nodded. Her arm slits were unzipped, latex gloves fitted and she too got to feel the implants. My, they were heavy. The thought of should monstrosities inserted in her body was too much! Well, at least only Shukria was going through with that particular ordeal, poor girl! She handed them back and then took one of the cups of tea that the doctor proffered each girl.
And within seconds of her first sips through the straw, drowsiness overcame her.
She came around lying in bed. Shukria was next to her asleep and, for once, they were not wearing burqas. Straightaway the pain and the weight on her chest confirmed her worst fears. She lifted her head and saw two huge orbs covered in bandages.
“I do not understand why you are upset, Abbie darling,” said Shukria, kissing her repeatedly and stroking her body. “I did it as a favour. I was having implants and you said that you wanted bigger boobs so I thought I’d surprise you.”
“Well, you succeeded in that!”
“And they do look good! You’re even sexier now than before! You’re ravishing!”
“Well, I’m glad you think that.”
“Your husband will too.”
“Unlike you, I’m not planning to marry soon.”
Shukria smiled and climbed on top of her. “Well, husband or not, you still have your special girlfriend…”
Abbie found her enormous new breasts difficult to get used to. They bounced about all over the place even after they’d bought new bras to contain them and the weight was disconcerting. Plus, they were hyper-sensitive, particular around the nipples and, their one brief play session in the clinic excepted, she had no opportunity to relieve that tension.
However, there was much else to think about as the preparations for Shukria’s wedding were now in full flow and Abbie was being included in all of them. Not a day went by without them leaving the house for some reason or another, be it earrings, flowers, catering or the dress.
The dress had been a special experience. They’d gone to the finest dressmaker’s in town and both girls had had their burqas removed and been measured intimately. “But why me?” Abbie had asked, as the assistant was fastening a tape measure around her now bulging bosom.
“I need a bridesmaid, don’t I?” replied Shukria.
But strangely, whilst several wedding dresses were brought out and discussed, there was no sight of a single bridesmaid’s outfit.
Also curious was the fact that she was now referred to as Abida more and more, not just outside the house, but also indoors, particularly when she was gagged which seemed to be happening more often. At first it was just that the gags were not removed when they returned from shopping, but after three weeks, Madina started to fit them after her morning shower. When she finally managed to ask about this, she was told that it was to help Shukria prepare for married life as her fiancé was very strict and expected his women to be silent.
Again the blatant sexism horrified Abbie.
It was the day before the wedding ceremony when things reached another level. Rather than being taken out of the house in the car, the two girls were taken down the corridors into the male part of the house and into a large room that they had hitherto not visited. There in the centre of the room were two chairs. Ceremonially the girls were stripped of their clothes and their gags removed and then guided to the chairs. They sat down on them and then straps were fastened around their ankles, wrists and necks. “What the hell is going on?” Abbie whispered to her friend.
“Don’t worry; it’s the last of the wedding preparations,” said Shukria, “and I told them that I wanted you to receive everything that I do as a present from me.”
“But is this a present I shall enjoy or will it be like these?” she asked, motioning with her eyes down to her enormous heaving bosom.
“Oh, I think you shall like this present very much indeed, as too shall I,” replied Shukria mysteriously.
Their gags were then replaced and blindfolds put over their eyes and in dreadful anticipation, Abbie waited.
She did not wait for long. Someone approached and put a wet cloth over her nose. It numbed it. Then she felt a needle being pushed through first one side and then the other. She was being pierced. Her septum was next and she felt jewellery being hung there. The gag was removed and the numbing agent put on her tongue which was pulled out gently and also pierced and a barbell fitted through it. Once done the gag was refitted. Abbie soon found out why.
Her nipples were next. The unseen piercer caressed and fondled them until they grew erect and then numbed them and thrust a needle through each one. Abbie felt rings being fitted and soldered shut and chains hung between both breasts and also her nose.
Then the piercer moved down below. Her most sensitive nubbin was played with and engorged, then numbed and then similarly ringed. More chains were added, linking it to the breasts.
After this the restraints were unlocked but hands held her wrists firmly. She was led over to a table where she was made to bend over and something inserted… oh my God, inserted… there! Yes, a thin, rubbery plug into her bottom hole! She struggled but to no avail. Whoever was pushing it, struggled to get it past her sphincter muscles but then they gave way and the tool slid in before they closed back around it, sealing it inside her.
She was then stood up and someone started playing around her womanly slit! What on earth! The fingers caressed her expertly and her improper juices began to flow. She was getting hotter and hotter and… what!
A metal ball was slipped inside and then something fitted around her.
Something like a pair of metal underpants!
And finally the blindfold and gag were removed.
The vision before her was breath-taking: A blonde Valkyrie with enormous breast, pierced and adorned in gold, chains linking her intimate areas, an object of desire. She gazed across at her girlfriend who was an Oriental version of the same vision. Shukria came over to her, the little bells in their clit rings jingling and hugged her. “You look incredible!” she said. “I love you so much, Abbie!”
Abbie though, was still in shock. She did look incredible, that was true, but did she really like the direction in which all of this seemed to be headed?
“Tonight, as a pre-marital treat, I shall let you girls sleep without your bedtime burqas together,” announced Malalai.
They woke early on the wedding morning, in each other’s arms but burning with desire as the golden chastity belts with their names engraved upon them had prevented any release of tension.
They were showered as usual and the nappies and pants fitted. Then Shukria’s wedding dress came out. It was gorgeous, a kind of combination between a white western dress with a white crinoline and puffy sleeves and a burqa with tear-drop eyeholes, all embellished with embroidery and pearls. The servant was about to fit it to Shukria when she stopped her and said, “No, please, let Abida wear it first so that she can feel the quality.”
“No, I don’t…” started Abbie, but already Madina had fitted the large white wedding gag and was inflating it to its full size and so she had to give in. The crinoline and gown were smoothed over her, the corset around her middle laced fiercely until her breasts surged up and down, then her hands fitted into the padded gloves covered with rhinestones which rendered them useless. And then came the veils, one, two, three, four, blinding her completely, turning her into a vision of bridal purity.
She stood there, blinded and helpless in another girl’s wedding dress and then realised. That niggling feeling of uncertainty that had been growing for weeks finally began to overwhelm her like a tidal wave. She tried to struggle but in that outfit it was useless. Then the gasmask clamped over her veils took over and a fogginess filled her mind. She fell to the floor.
Her veils were lifted and a voice came through the white fog. It was Hamid.
“Do not blame Shukria. It was my fault. Here it is a tradition that when a man marries, he marries both the wife and her best friend at the same time, that way they have harmony between co-wives. But Shukria’s fiancé, Ghulam, whom she has been promised to since birth, had a strange request: he had always had a fascination with blonde girls. He wished to marry an Oriental and a blonde. So we sent her to England to find one and she returned with you.
Your wedding is has just taken place. You are now Abida, Ghulam’s second wife. Abbie is dead. She was reported missing over three weeks’ ago. The last she was heard of, she checked into a seedy hotel in Kings Cross. It is feared she is lost to the London underworld. Shukria is sad that she had to deceive you and that at first her friendship was false, but she has grown to genuinely love you, as have we all, and she longs to keep the closeness that you enjoyed. She worries that you will never forgive her. Please do; you are Abida and that is your fate. I feel Abida was always happier than Abbie anyway. Embrace Abida and forget your past. The drugs are wearing off now and in a couple of hours you shall be led to your marital bedchamber. Just like last night, my daughter wishes to share her bed with you; the only difference is that tonight there will be one other present.
Before you do though, the doctor has one final pre-marital procedure to perform. Shukria has already had it done and it is your turn now. As we said before, Ghulam is a strict man who likes his womenfolk to be silent. And so, to save you wearing gags all the time, you’re undergoing this tiny operation, just a snip and your power of speech will be gone.”
Two hours later, after the doctor had finished his tiny task and Madina had beautified her half-drugged charge, Abida, second wife of Ghulam, stood before the mirror. Staring back at her was a big-breasted, exquisitely made-up, pierced and chained sex goddess, an invitation to lust. Inside her heart boiled in anger at what had been taken from her by those she trusted the most. But seeing that vision in the mirror, she knew that it was irreversible. She blinked her enchanting blue eyes and turned towards the door, her bells and chains jingling and clinking as she went, the ball in her love cavern twitching with excitement.
She would go to her husband and her lover fulfil her role.
She would live henceforth both silent and unseen until the day she died, totally controlled by her husband and his family.
As she walked towards the bedroom, Abbie did not know if she was terrified or excited by this prospect.