And so began the life of Saaliha, the purdah-living third wife of Nasser Udeen Bukhari. Each day was similar and no day was easy. Every other morning, she would be woken and removed from her pitch-black, infernally hot sleeping-sack and prepared by her maid. Then came her public time. This was usually spent in and around the house with her co-wives. Sometimes they merely sat in silence exchanging notes in the female quarters. On occasions, other purdah-living women would visit, but these were rare.
Quite often, when he was working from home (or not working at all), their husband would decree that they should *enjoy* some time in the garden. Agne dreaded those days. Wearing her purdah suit and veils and some sort of arm restraint, she would be led by her leash into to the scorching Saudi sunshine where she, along with Shazna and Abdia would accompany Nasser Udeen Bukhari as he relaxed. This usually involved him wearing only shorts or a thong, lying on a sunlounger or going for a dip in the outside pool when things got too hot. They were allowed no such relief of course; instead they had to sit there, chained to their chairs, and heat-up. It was unbearable, like being in a sauna that one is not allowed to leave. Many times she, or one of her co-wives, would pass out from the heat. If that happened, she would be carried inside, given a long drink and then taken back to begin the ordeal all over again. During these times, Nasser Udeen Bukhari always seemed to be smiling and if the old Agne had been there, she would have sworn that he was enjoying his spouses’ discomfort.
Following the public mornings, there was lunch. Their husband always took a short siesta then and so, often, one wife would be chosen to accompany him. This was rather enjoyable as it meant lying in an air-conditioned room wearing only the rubber purdah suit. However, there was a downside. Naturally, Nasser Udeen Bukhari usually required some sort of sexual release (generally oral), but, upon waking, he often desired his chosen wife to divest him of another liquid, this time far more revolting. The first time – about a week into her marriage – when he placed his flaccid tool into her jacked-open mouth and a stream of warm pee started to flow, Agne rebelled and tried to pull back. She earned a day without sight for that, a punishment that she knew to be just, but even so, drinking human urine did not come easily to her. However, she eventually mastered her revulsion and, although she always hated the experience perhaps more than any other that she was subjected to and found it profoundly humiliating, she did enjoy the rewards it brought in its wake.
After lunch, if not servicing her husband, it was relaxation and arm training. After several weeks, her arms managed to achieve the difficult reverse prayer configuration, securing them palm-to-palm, elbow-to-elbow, behind her neck, the tips of her fingers brushing her collar. Agne had to admit that this did look elegant in a weird, BDSM kind of way, and Nasser Udeen Bukhari really liked it. He said that, during their sessions of sexual congress, he found that the monoglove got in the way occasionally and spoilt his view of her “womanly peach.” The reverse prayer configuration held the arms immobile but also out of the way, and so it became de rigueur everytime she joined her spouse in the marital bed.
The highlight of her day, the thing that she longed for continually, came after the relaxation period, providing that she had accrued enough rewards. This was, of course, her one marital condition: a period of exercise.
Nasser Udeen Bukhari had installed a gym in his home for the use of his wives and himself. Quite when he ever used it, Agne was unsure, perhaps never, but then a wife should not judge her husband’s actions. She used it whenever she had saved up a reward by servicing him sexually, and he told her in bed that he really liked the fact that she did as it made her rubberised body more alluring and thus pleasing to him. This made her heart leap with joy and her unseen eyes smile with delight.
Of course, exercising for a purdah-living woman, is not like that of an infidel whore such as she had once been. It is a risky business since should an unrelated male enter the gym by chance, then they could see her alluring rubberised form and fitna would be the result. Thankfully, her husband made every effort to guard against this eventuality, although all gym sessions were strictly timed.
To attend gym, always alone of course, Agne was stripped of everything save for her purdah suit. Her gag was taken out to facilitate breathing and even her corset was removed – a real blessing since it squeezed her painfully and to take it off felt like total freedom – since the shortness of breath it caused could be dangerous. Following this, came her gym outfit, known colloquially as a burkini. This came in four parts, all in her colour: green. The first was a vest with sports bra incorporated, something definitely necessary with her new, spherical, 80F breasts. Then came a pair of baggy tracksuit trousers, elasticated at the waist and ankles and incorporating socks, and after them the top, which was loose and long, reaching to the hips and elasticated at the wrists but incorporating mittens. Then came a cap which would have held her hair in place if she had any before the final item was fitted, a hijab that went over her head like a tube, leaving her face free.
Previously, in the decadent west, she had seen burkinis in YouTube videos and whilst they looked much like hers, there were two crucial differences. Firstly, for some unfathomable reason (well, her mind was female and thus easily confused), her outfit had been made, not from sportswear material, but instead shiny latex and, secondly, whilst the hijab did leave her rubberised face open in the respect that it could be viewed, the opening was covered with a slightly smoked piece of transparent latex with several tiny holes near the nasal and mouth areas to facilitate breathing. Dressed thus, she could exercise.
Agne liked to jog on the treadmill, or try the rowing machine. Both were possible, but in her new attire, things were far tougher than when she had been exercising in the decadent west. Firstly, covered by so much rubber and latex, she heated up quickly. The thick purdah suit also did not let her flex her limbs as much as she would have liked to. And then, if those two encumbrances were not enough, the face covering would steam up within seconds due to her breathing not being able to escape through the tiny holes fast enough. She spent most of her time exercising blind, a steamy whiteness before her eyes, whilst the covering sucked in against her rubberised face and then blew out like a balloon with every laboured breath. Often this made her dizzy and unable to keep exercising as vigorously as she’d have liked, but she understood that a purdah-living woman must take every precaution and, evidently, her husband had decided this face-covering was a wise one.
But the gym sessions were not her only exercise, for if she symbolically swallowed water by drinking Nasser Udeen Bukhari’s pee, then she was allowed to immerse herself in it by enjoying a swimming session, and it was these treats that she loved more than anything.
Her outfit for swimming was the same as that for the gym except that the swimming hijab did not have a face-covering as it could be a danger in the water. However, since the swimming pool was in the garden – albeit a garden surrounded by a high wall – this activity presented an almost greater risk of being seen and thus tempting a man, and so over the burkini, another latex layer was worn. This was baggy and loose and looked somewhat like an Afghani burqa except that it had separate sleeves for the arms and legs, incorporating yet another layer of socks and mittens and elasticated at the wrists and ankles. It sat on the top of the head with a cap and over the face was a grille with numerous holes in it to allow breathing. There were also small holes in the entire garment so that it did not hold water like a balloon and weigh her down dangerously, although the side effect of this was that when she exited the pool, all the holes spurted water for several seconds afterwards, like a hundred tiny fountains. Wearing the garment, swimming was possible, but it was extremely difficult as all that latex and rubber weighed her down and restricted her movements. Still, she persisted, and when she was totally exhausted and panting, she would lie on her back and float in the water looking up at the burning sun giving thanks to her husband for allowing her such a freedom.
Such were her days except for those terrible occasions when Nasser Udeen Bukhari was forced to go away on business. All three wives dreaded this, for, in his wisdom, he had decreed that when he was away, to increase their spiritual purity, they must spend most of their waking hours in a purification suit. This fearsome contraption was something that Agne learned to dread and when her nameless maid produced it, she would retreat and cower.
Like her exercise wear, it was made out of latex, this time in black. It came in two parts. The first covered her body. She stepped into it like a sleeping bag (her arms securely in a monoglove first, of course) and then it was fastened with a strap around her neck. Baggy and loose, it did not restrict her particularly. Then came the second part, also like a bag, this time going over her head and fastened around the collar. Once on, it blinded her as there was no exit save for a tube for breathing. Then, however, an electric pump was brought out and both parts were inflated to the maximum so that they squeezed her all over and her head became a featureless ball. When fully pumped up, the pump was detached and she was carried over to her bed and left there. In such an outfit, unable to move, see or hear, she ceased to exist and merely drifted through time and space. Her husband said that it enhanced contemplation of Allah but Agne did not find this. Instead, all it seemed to do was enhance that eternal ache that was the bane of her life.
The ache in her womanly parts.
It was with her all the time. Her wedding night, particularly the second coupling, had provided her with a pleasure so intense, so extraordinary, that she yearned for it continually. But, of course, her husband now denied that to her. Until she proved herself worthy, she would receive no stimulation there. He regularly used her other holes, and that was pleasurable in a fashion, but it was a pale imitation of the ecstasy that she had felt when his rod had penetrated her love channel.
And without his penetration, it was impossible. She dared not touch herself for fear of the awesome punishment it would entail, but even if she did, modified as it had been, it was clear that her womanly hole would not provide pleasure through caresses or stroking. It needed penetration now; it was forever out of reach.
But as she floated in that netherworld, deprived of all her senses, she found herself thinking of nothing else and, as she did, it seemed as if her brain were slowly dissolving and her sanity was slipping away.
And thus was the life of Saaliha, wife of Nasser Udeen Bukhari. Or at least, thus it was until she was afforded a very special treat.
Until she was given permission to leave the house.