The Making of Saaliha
Copyright © 2019, Dave Potter
Inspired by Agne
Foreword by the author
This story is different to any other that I have ever written. I took it on as a challenge and I would be interested to find out how people think it has turned out.
Several weeks ago, I was contacted by a reader, Agne, who provided me with some feedback on some of my other tales. We got chatting electronically, and she started talking about her fantasies which, as it transpired, were not too distant from my own. Somewhere along the line, I agreed to write a tale based purely on her fantasies and ideas, to realise those things that she might struggle to get down in print herself. This story is the result. None of the fantasies or ideas in it are mine, I am merely the translator. Trying to write up someone else’s kink is a challenge but one that I have enjoyed. I hope you enjoy it too.
Be warned however, some of Agne’s fantasies are pretty dark indeed. Some people might find it too much.
And, one final notes, thanks to Cafterhomme for his excellent editing.
Foreword from the Inspirer
When I contacted Dave first I just wanted to tell him how much I enjoyed his writing and how much I appreciate it. I expected very little in return but I decided that I would mention that I would love to someday see him write a return of his purdah suit stories. It was a passing comment rooted in my kinks formed from reading Daves stories over the years. He has a way with words when it comes to rubber and no one writes those stories like him. I have had many fantasies while reading his stories, placing myself in those situations while reading. Imaging myself stuck in those suits or those veils. Maybe Dave sensed this, I don’t know.
But we started chatting back and forth and realized we shared a lot of common fetishes. To my surprise he told me he would like to write a story again using these suits. As the back and forth continued between us I had an incredibly exciting time talking about my long hidden fantasies. We worked out a basic story and a list of ideas and I thought that would be it. But low and behold Dave sends me the first piece of the story…I was blown away. There is something so thrilling and special about reading a story tailored to your specific kinks and ideas. Since then we have continued to work on the story and it has remained as thrilling and I believe this is a really great story that goes alongside many of Daves other great stories. It contains many of the kinks that Dave is known to write and then some. I am so thankful for the work Dave has done and the small bits I was able to contribute. Just once I was able to see myself represented in these stories. That is an amazing thing. I am thrilled that the TOTV readers will get to read this story. Please enjoy it.
Agne took a deep breath and looked out over the hall in front of her. The entire audience, several hundred of them, were on their feet clapping. She had worried so much about this beforehand, tossed and turned in her bed, petrified that they weren’t ready for what she had to say, that she would be met by stony silence… or worse. But no, it had been an astounding success! She had played the room and won and it was probably the proudest moment of her young life.
Probably. For there had been another. The day when she had graduated from UCL as a medical doctor. The thing that she had studied so hard for for so many years; not just the seven spent in the university, but all those before that, in school and college. That day she had made her parents proud and justified their belief in her. Today was similar, except that today she had made herself proud and justified her belief in herself. The MD had been for them; this was for her, a testament to her deeply-held beliefs. As the crowd slowly started sitting down again, she made a silent prayer to God, thanking Him for the strength He had given her. And as she did so, she looked down and smiled: she had deliberately worn the same dress on both occasions, the one that she loved so much. It was a gorgeous creation of forest green lace reaching down to her knees and exquisitely feminine. The choice could not have been more appropriate.
The speech for which she had now been applauded had been entitled ‘Changing attitudes towards women in the medical field in the Middle East’ and it was all about the subjects that she was most passionate about: medicine and feminism.
From an early age, Agne had become acutely aware that the world saw men and women differently and that the former were always more valued than the latter. Through her Christian faith and progressive political action, she had fought those misconceptions continually. But nowhere on earth was the divide more profound than in the Middle East where, because of the backward dictats of Islam, women were often seen more like chattel than independent souls with thoughts and opinions of their own. That is why, upon qualifying as a doctor, she had dedicated her life to trying to change that, to overthrowing that oppressive ideology. It all stemmed from her childhood, of course; her parents had shown great bravery and commitment in escaping another form of totalitarianism. After protesting against the monolithic Soviet government and helping her native country of Lithuania regain its independence, they had then left for a new life in the west, moving to London where, after once being respected intellectuals, they had to start from the bottom of the pile again in an unknown country. They were her role models, her heroes and so she wanted to emulate them.
That was why she had volunteered to come on this lecture tour sponsored by her old alumni. When Saudi Arabia began to liberalise by allowing women to drive cars and travel without males, the UCL had decided to sponsor a series of talks by experts in various fields with the aim of trying to introduce progressive feminism to the region via talks. And hers had been the medical one, filled with uplifting examples of inspirational Middle Eastern women from Syria, Lebanon, Egypt and much more. If those words she had spoken today and that applause she had generated resulted in but one liberated female amidst this sea of black cloth – so many present only showed their eyes to the world and a few not even that – then it would all be worth it. She touched the pendant around her neck, a gift from her sister and prayed again. “Lord, change their minds and their souls; set Your people free, Lord, set Your people free!”
“Miss Kubilus, please, we were very inspired by you! Can we have a photo together?” asked a couple of excited young girls, all swathed in black, their sparkling eyes peeping out between the cloth. Agne felt both sorry for them at having to wear such oppressive clothing, but also heartened: these were exactly the sort of people she wanted to reach out to; they would be the feminist future of Saudi Arabia. She smiled at the camera and then shook their velvety, gloved hands. “Would you like a coffee with us afterwards?” asked one of them.
“I’d be delighted!” she replied, pleased to be able to get to know some local women better.
And so, when the crowd had dispersed, she joined her new friends. There were the two whom she’d been photographed with, but also a couple more. These two wore even more oppressive clothing though, being one of that small minority of women who even covered their eyes. Agne peered at them and felt sad in her heart. She wondered how they could see at all, for the cloth was so thick that nothing could be seen at all of their eyes. “Why don’t you flip back your veils?” she asked them.
It was one of the other girls who answered: “Their husbands do not allow it. Indeed, they rarely allow them out of the house. They also forbid them to speak to strangers. They say that this is what Islam proscribes.”
Agne was shocked. She’d always thought of Islam as backward, oppressive and misogynistic, but this was taking things to a whole other level. “That’s awful!” she exclaimed.
“But they still want to talk to you but to do that we must find somewhere more private. Across the road is a restaurant with separate rooms so that families may dine together and women may unveil. Shall we go there?”
“Of course, yes,” replied Agne, eager to speak to these poor women.
They made their way out of the building and across the road, the two girls with free sight holding the hands and almost guiding the other two so that it took considerably longer than it usually would. Once inside the restaurant, the waiter showed them to a private room and then tea was brought. As the guest, it was explained that Agne should drink first and so she did, wincing at the extreme sweetness of the drink. Once she had drained her glass, she said, “Please, ladies, you may unveil now.” The two heavily-covered figures nodded and then the other girls leaned over and flipped back the veils of their covered sisters. When she saw what lay below, Agne gave a sharp gasp, for behind the cloth, instead of two smiling human faces, were two blank masks of shiny rubber, the one on the left in purple, on the right in black, with small holes at the nostrils, series of holes like those in a pepper-pot style over where the eyes should be and, at the mouth, a tiny hole just big enough for a straw to fit through. And, if that were not shocking enough, going through the shiny rubber, presumably into the flesh of the girls beneath, were numerous piercings: three golden rings at each nose, from which were hung golden chains that looped towards the ears, rather like Indian bridal jewellery which Agne had seen once at a Hindu friend’s wedding. And then, from these chains hung numerous golden pendants whilst, from the ring through the septum dangled a large ruby on the left-hand girl and a large sapphire on the right-hand one.
“What on earth…?” cried Agne, stunned by what she was witnessing.
“The two sisters wear full purdah suits, Miss Kubilus. Their husband insists on it. The suits keep them silenced and modest at all times.”
“That is terrible! Surely they must be freed somehow, somehow…” But even as she was speaking she began to notice something else; a drowsiness was overtaking her, she was struggling even to say the words on the tip of her tongue, indeed, she was struggling to even think.
“One of the girls leaned over, placed her gloved hand on Agne’s and said, “It will be alright, sister, it will all be alright. Allah has already blessed them with all the freedom they need, and soon He shall bless you too…”
Then the world went black.