Nick and Emily
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.
This is a fetish/erotic story for a mature audience. If you are a minor or this offends you, please move on.
This tale is a loose sequel of the series of Velatur Family Tales written by Shmabahamoha. It should be noted that this story was written before Shmabahamoha wrote The Prodigal Daughter which also deals with the fate of Emily but in a quite different manner. I have delayed publishing my story until Shmabahamoha wrote her Emily-based tale. Be aware that The Prodigal Daughter is Velatur canon, this is not. All the Velatur tales are available here:
It should also be noted that another of Shmabahamoha’s stories, Why Am I in White? inspired this tale. In that story the country of Föza is introduced.
Anno Gentis XXVII (AG 27)
Tom Velatur looked on with pride and satisfaction. It was the fourteenth birthday of his youngest daughter Louisa, the age at which, in his family, a girl is decreed to have become a woman. There she stood before him, for the first time in her life wearing a full niqab veil and then a burqa in green, the colour that she herself had chosen to be her own special hue. It was the culmination of a long and glorious process towards female modesty within the Velatur family that had begun, almost by accident, a full quarter of a century before when his beloved wife Bella had jokingly donned a white bedsheet to prevent her beauty from distracting him. That beauty had, of course, faded slightly with the years, but his wife was still there, completely covered in a glorious yellow burqa, the original and most fervent convert to veiling in the family; a woman who both excited and inspired him to this day. Standing next to Bella, her husband Charles accompanying her, was his eldest daughter, Clara, clad in a beautiful purple burqa, their two young children by her skirts and a third waiting to pop out of her concealed belly. And next to them his eldest son Matt accompanied by his wife Amy, clad in a gorgeous blue burqa, an outsider who had willingly embraced the tradition of feminine modesty that he had initiated and was now also about to give birth to a child. All of them had embraced the veil, so too was Louisa today.
Then a dark cloud crossed his mind. For one daughter was absent today. One daughter had resisted all their efforts to veil her and increase her modesty. One daughter had railed against the burqa and criticised her mother and sisters for embracing it. One daughter did not fit in.
What could he do about Emily? He so wanted her to embrace the lifestyle that the other Velatur females had adopted, to experience the joy of modesty and submission to her husband. But she was headstrong and stubborn and his wife had made him promise never to force their daughters into the veil. So it was that Emily loosely draped a scarf over her head at family functions and pouted, sullen-faced at the veiled beauties around her.
What on earth could be done about Emily?
To take his mind away from things he scanned the rest of the party present there today. His sons and family friends, several who were people they had met through the veil, people like Clara’s husband Charles who had seen his veiled females and approached him, wishing to know more about them and their lifestyle. People like Nick Mason.
Nick sat in the pub with Tom and took another sip of his pint. He had enjoyed today’s coming-of-age ceremony. He enjoyed anything to do with veiled women and he could not believe how fortunate he had been in coming across the Velaturs. For years he had been a regular on certain sites on the internet – Tales of the Veils primarily – where he could indulge in his fantasy of having a veiled and restricted wife at his side. But that was all it ever would be: a fantasy. And then, one day just by chance, he had been at the seaside enjoying an ice cream on the front when he had noticed a man some ten-fifteen years older than himself, guiding a heavily veiled woman in yellow. His experience on veiling sites had caused him to gasp: she was wearing a real-life Afghani burqa! The media talks a lot about the burqa and burqa bans, but in reality they are extremely rare outside of Afghanistan and parts of Pakistan and India. He had never seen one before and yet there, only yards from him, was a woman covered in a finely-embroidered example of the garment. Curiosity got the better of him and so he moved closer, only to be more shocked when he saw that the man was white. That man saw him looking, they greeted one another and, well, a friendship was born. A friendship forged by the love of the veil.
“It was a lovely day today,” he said, sipping his pint.
“Yes, beautiful. I am so proud of her…” Tom’s voice trailed away.
“…and yet, you are not happy. Am I right?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that, it’s just…”
“Yes, Emily. Why does she resist the veil so much? Why can she not become part of our family. If I saw her veiled and married like Clara and, in a few years, Louisa, then I could die a happy man. But she is so stubborn. She has met these feminists at college I suppose and…”
“Maybe you can.”
“See her veiled and married.”
“It is not possible. She hates the very idea. She…”
“Let me help you, old friend.”
“If you could, I would, but I promised never to force her into the veil… or marriage… and besides, in this country, if the law ever found out then…”
“Who said anything about forcing her? She can marry me of her own accord and then veil as I command!”
“You do not know her. Nick, you are double her age and she knows your love of the veil. She would never…”
“Trust me, Tom, trust me. Let me play this my way and you can retire a contended man.”
A week later Nick Mason was invited to dinner with the Velatur’s. All the girls were veiled modestly, all that is except Emily, whose loose scarf missed most of her hair.
“And so, dear Emily,” Tom asked as they were relaxing in the sitting room, “what are you going to do with yourself now?”
“Why should you care? I’m not some mute and faceless ghost. That’s how you like women to be, isn’t it?”
“I will not deny that I believe veiling suits some women but others, those who are not naturally modest, no, it is not for them. Besides, I wish for a conversation and, at the moment, who else is there for me to talk to?”
Tom and his sons had popped out for a game of cricket but Nick had hurt his knee so cried off. And all the other occupants of the room were either infants or securely gagged.
“Well, I was meant to be going to university but my grades aren’t quite good enough. I could still get in but I would have to pay a high fee; money that dad says he hasn’t got after having to pay all the expenses for Louisa’s adult costume. I mean, what kind of a father puts a daughter’s dress over an education?”
“I would say a poor father, though please don’t tell him I said that. So, money is stopping you from attending university. What do you wish to read?”
“Politics specialising in Women Studies.”
“Hmmm, I could see how that might not inspire your father. However, an education is important. One may be educated in other ways too, such as travel…”
“Oh, I should love to travel, but again, the money.”
“Indeed, I shall have a word.
Two months later Emily left home to attend university. To her astonishment and delight, her father’s friend whom she had previously dismissed as a misogynistic bore, had stumped up the fees as thanks for the love and friendship the Velaturs had shown to him. From an enemy, he had become a friend and she would message him every week to let him know of her progress. He, on the other hand, was far away. His company had posted him to some foreign country where he was in charge of a very lucrative contract. And, when the holidays came, he suggested that she join him there so as to fulfil her other dream, that of travelling. A choice between the great unexplored world and a house full of mute, veiled ghosts, well… there was no choice at all.
Anno Gentis XXVIII (AG 28)
When she arrived in the airport terminal at Föza, Emily Velatur learned the meaning of the words ‘culture shock’. This was a different world yet one aspect was totally familiar to her: all the women wore veils. It was like her father’s wet dream she thought with disgust.
It annoyed her that she had travelled to such a place; all her life she had tried to escape the veil, not come to it. She regretted not reading up on her destination before coming, but she had trusted Nick Mason who, after all, had proved his trustworthiness a thousand times over. And besides, travel was travel. It was somewhere different. A new experience.
Nick was waiting for her. He gave her a hug and then showed her out to a taxi which took them both to a swish hotel in the international district. Once there, he took her up to a suite of rooms and then explained the situation.
“The problem is Emily, that the Fözans are a rather conservative and pious people who, like your father, place a huge importance on female modesty. Now, I know that is not your thing and you and I shall doubtless never see eye to eye on the matter, but it is an invaluable thing for you to witness as part of your Women Studies degree as this is what feminists have always fought against. However, to truly explore and experience Föza, there are certain laws to navigate. Fözan law stipulates a certain minimum dress code for women in all areas beyond the international district and it is strictly enforced. Furthermore, for a woman to travel there, she must be accompanied by her protector. Now, we can stay here for the duration of your trip: there are some lovely restaurants and shopping malls, but I thought you might wish to see a little of the ‘real’ Föza. But, to do that, you will need to wear the outfit that is in the wardrobe over there. You will also need to sign this document here stating that you accept me as your protector. However, I do not wish to force you into anything, particularly knowing your opinion on the veil and so I’ll let you have a think about it this evening and then come around tomorrow after breakfast with a maid who can then help you with the dressing if you decide to follow that route.”
That evening Emily mulled it over in her mind. On the one hand she did not want to give in to that which she had resisted for so many years. She’d looked at the outfit in the wardrobe and saw that it included a burqa, gloves and all the other stupid things that her sisters and mother wore. She’d also looked at the protector document – how misogynistic the very concept was! – but it was all in Fözan, a language written in squiggles that she could not decipher. The alternative though was a month spent in a luxury hotel, bored out of her mind, having travelled halfway around the world only to see nothing of the culture that now hosted her. And besides, Nick was right: this could help with her studies. Thus, it was that, when morning came, after breakfast, she signed the document and then waited for Nick and the maid to arrive.
When Nick arrived he smiled when she told him her decision. “I think you have decided wisely, my dear,” he said, patting her shoulder. “It would be a shame to miss such a cultural opportunity as this.” He patted her on the shoulder and then added with a frown, “But now the part you’re not looking forward to.”
Fözan dress turned out to be somewhat different to that which her sisters and mother wore despite the external appearances being more or less the same. First up came a most unexpected item: an adult nappy. She looked confusedly at the veiled maid (for Tom had left the room due to her nudity) but the woman could not speak English. The next item however, explained it: a full body stocking in stretchy material with holes only at the nape (through which she climbed into the strange garment) and the eyes. There were no holes at the nostrils because the material was breathable whilst at the mouth she later learnt that this suit prevented eating and drinking but allowed her to suck water through the material. The reason for the nappies was now clear: wearing it there was no way she could use the bathroom.
Next came a bra and panties in plain black like the bodystocking and then a singlet, also in black, to which garters were attached and similar straps on the ends of the sleeves. To these were fastened stockings and black cotton gloves. Already she was feeling heavily covered yet on top of these were a loose t-shirt and shorts and another pair of long gloves, this time of slippery black satin. Then came a baggy black shirt and a pair of baggy trousers and, on top of those, an ankle-length skirt. Thus, encumbered by a mass of material, her underwear was deemed complete.
Now came her outer garments. An underscarf covered her stocking-covered hair and then a proper headscarf such as she was all too familiar with from home. After then a thin veil was draped over her face which gave everything a slight grey sheen and, after that, the garment that she had sworn never to embrace: a niqab. She hesitated before putting it on but realised what the alternative would be and so let the maid move it up to her face and tie it behind her head. She now looked like her sisters did in the home yet, unlike them, she wore extra layers beneath those veils.
Whilst these clothes were deemed satisfactory for inside the house, Emily was still in the international zone and so, to venture into Föza proper, she had to don even more layers. There was an additional headscarf, beautifully embroidered in pink – not exactly her favourite colour as it was so girly and feminine, but a welcome change from the plain black – and then an abayah with matching embroidery. After these items came pink gloves and socks, soft-soled pink slippers and finally an Afghani burqa also in pink. Weighed down by all those layers, having voluntarily accepted the clothes that she had always sworn to resist, she could start exploring Föza.
The three weeks that followed that initial dressing were a mixture of joy and frustration for Emily. The joy came from the places that Nick showed her; beautiful rocky gorges, ancient towns, crystal-clear bays and pristine beaches, fascinating local markets and stunning wildlife.
The frustration came from the clothing. Covered in four layers or more, she found it hard to use her hands effectively, the dexterity reduced to almost naught, whilst the veils and burqa grille dimmed her sight, rendering her almost blind after sundown. Her hearing was also muffled and when she spoke, which was rarely, people struggled to hear her. The many layers got in her way and the heat they generated was excessive. When they returned home at the close of each trip, she was drenched.
The veils also frustrated her in another way. Nick introduced her to lots of Fözans and she had conversations with several more liberally-inclined Fözan men, but speaking to women was nigh on impossible. Most seemed to wear a gag under their veils like her mother and sisters and, since they only spoke and wrote Fözan, notes was not an option. A few communicated simple concepts using a basic form of sign language but some could not even do that. Nick explained that the more pious women had their arms restrained and some even wore blinding suits under their veils. To see sisters living in such an oppressed manner in such an overtly misogynistic society angered Emily and she decided to write her dissertation on the plight of the Fözan female.
The night before she was due to leave, Nick held a party at her villa and invited many Fözan friends. Emily was suitably covered of course, but as this was a more intimate gathering, many of the more liberal local women were not gagged and so could speak with her. Their conversations were fascinating and they had lots of questions about life in the west. One thing confused Emily however, and that was how all of them referred to her as ‘Nikoleta’ and not ‘Emily’. She even corrected one lady who simply laughed and replied, “I know dear, it was hard for me to get used to the change afterwards.”
When they had all left and she was alone with Nick she asked him about it. To her surprise, he did not laugh it off but instead, with a deadly serious face, replied, “But your name is Nikoleta now.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“According to Fözan law, a wife must erase her own identity and adopt a name that is a derivative of her husband’s.”
“But I am not married!”
“But you are married, dear wife. You are married to me!”
“Since when? We haven’t had a wedding, we…”
“You signed the paperwork when you arrived.”
“But that was for…” Her words trailed off and she realised. “You tricked me,” she said weakly.
“It is for your own good,” he replied.
After that day, Emily Velatur became Nikoleta Mason, the veiled wife of Nick. She was angry with him and cried for days but eventually realised that it did not good. When she confronted him, he just produced some spiel about making her pure and modest like her mother and sisters whom she had shamed. He then mentioned that her dress code would get stricter, starting with a gag. She resisted of course, but all that meant was that she could never leave the house and, in the end, fearing she would go crazy, she acceded.
It was the same with the marriage bed. Nick never forced himself on her and instead said that, even though in Fözan law a wife must provide her husband with sex when he asks, if she wanted them to stay celibate, so be it. But covered in mounds of cloth all day and getting slowly sexually frustrated (at night she now wore mittens to stop her playing with herself), only allowed to see one man and feeling unnaturally horny all the time (she didn’t know about the strong aphrodisiacs in all the meals), one night she wrote a note to her husband asking to share his bed. And when he stripped her and entered her, he was gentle and considerate and she enjoyed it more than anything she could remember. Just to experience some skin-to-skin contact and see the world first-hand for a change was a joyful wonder, and so the congress became nightly.
But each time that she got accustomed to things, he would notch up the dressing a bit. Mittens that rendered her hands useless when they left the house, a cord between her slippers, cords fastening her hands to her sides. More and more her life narrowed and she was unable to prevent it.
Something else she was unable to prevent was what so happens when a husband and wife enjoy congress together nightly. Within a couple of months she fell pregnant and then, nine months later, their son, Harry was born. She felt as proud as punch when she dangled him on her knee, but with her birth came a terrifying new addition to her life. Now she was expected to wear, as a base layer to her clothing, a full rubber suit with holes only at her crotch, rectum, nipples, nose and eyes. She was now further sealed-off from the world and much hotter too. Even more difficult though was the fact that, over the eyes, were opaque lenses, enabling her to enjoy light and dark but nothing more. Now, as well as silent and hidden, she was effectively blind. “This will help atone for your past immodesty,” was all that Nick said.
Anno Gentis XXXI (AG 31)
Nikoleta felt someone lift her up and put her in her chair. Then she felt the familiar vibrations of being wheeled along. For the past three days or so – she was unsure of time lengths these days – her husband had ordered her encased in the most pious costume of all, with her arms bound behind her back, wrist to elbow, in a single sleeve and her legs folded up, the ankles lashed against the hips and encased in rubber sleeves. All she could do was wiggle a little and open or close her thighs. Over the three years since their ‘marriage’ he had slowly but surely made sure that her outfits got stricter and stricter until she was now almost permanently encased in some rubber suit with limited vision and other senses. Just lately though, he had started to go even further, using the binders so that she could not even stand, and replacing the pinholes in her suites with opaque lenses that let the light in (so that her sight did not deteriorate) but did not allow her to actually see anything. Just lately he had regularly trussed her up in this manner, as an atonement for some sin or another or just to increase her personal piety, but never for this long.
Then they stopped and she felt her clothes being removed. The binders unlaced and her limbs flexed and stretched. That she expected. Now though, her maid went further. All her clothing was removed and then the rubber suit itself. Eventually, she found herself lying there, pale and shivering, as naked as the day she was born. She was in the bathroom and the maid helped her into her bath where she was lovingly sponged and washed. Then, instead of replacing her old suit with a new one, only underwear, a pair of jeans and a T-shirt was prepared for her. What could it mean?
In the living room, Nick waited for his wife. His first wife. The woman he had introduced to the veil and pushed almost as far as anyone can go down the road of modesty and piety. His heart beat fast as he thought of the meeting that would soon be taking place.
He was going to tell her something. The last thing in the world that she would ever anticipate. He was going to tell her that, if she wanted, he would divorce her straightaway and pay for her passage back to her home. She had proven her piety and atoned for her past sins and she could now live unveiled as she had wanted to before.
That was the explanation he would give her, although, if he were to be entirely honest, it was not the strict truth. The fact is that Nick liked a challenge; he had enjoyed her resistance, breaking her, moulding her into something she did not wish to be. But now he had got as far as a man could with a wife… well, almost. Now she was beginning to bore him a bit. She accepted things these days. The challenge had gone.
Gone too was the youthful spark of her beauty. She was still a handsome lady but her looks were fading. Unlike those of his second wife who, unbeknownst to Nikoleta, he had married a month before. Like Nikoleta, she had not realised that she was marrying when she signed that paper and, like Nikoleta, she had spent the first two weeks of her marriage oblivious of the fact that the man showing her around and hosting her was her spouse. Today, she had learnt, and was now fully veiled in a proper Fözan costume for the first time. Nikolina was his new challenge; he didn’t need Nikoleta anymore.
But would she accept the chance at freedom? Part of her would; a chance to get back the life that she had lost, to finish her degree even. Indeed, there was even the added bonus of the fact that their son was waiting for her back home, for when since she had entered strict purdah, little Harry had been sent away to be brought up by his aunt and uncle, Charles and Clara. But, conversely, years had passed and he knew that the veiling and restriction can mould a mind as much as a body. Would she now fear life outside of the embrace of the rubber and cloth? Would she be afraid to speak, to see clearly, to hear, to live? Would she yearn for his protection?
He honestly did not know the answer.
But whatever the outcome, he had nothing to fear. If she did accept the divorce, she was gone from his life, far, far away. And if she didn’t, he could take that final step and encase her permanently in the rubber and the binders as some pious Fözans did with their wives.
And was he worried that she would talk after she had left? Not at all. If she did accept the divorce, he would introduce her to Nikolina and explain to her that, if she ever did say anything against him, his second wife would be the one permanently encased in rubber and binders. And that would matter to Nikoleta because, before her marriage, Nikolina had been known as Louisa Velatur, Nikoleta’s baby sister.