Unveiling
A lot of people don't know the difference between a niqab and a burqa (and most acquainted with Muslim culture don't care either way). A niqab is just a face and head veil, usually worn with modest clothing. The burqa is a wide gown that starts from the top of the head and forms effectively a tent from there to the ground. The distinction is important for me as I wear a burqa not a niqab.
Also when I go out in public I am not wearing a stitch under my burqa.
Now I know that doesn't sound much, deep down we are all naked beneath our clothes, but the story of how I got there and what I did next goes a bit further than your average Muslim girl from a good home.
I was raised in London, in a house round the corner from our family's mosque. My dad always told me that I must wear the burqa while I was young, but the moment I turned eighteen he would respect my choice. Personally I couldn't wait to be rid of it, bundling layers of fabric over me to go outside, feeling ashamed of my own body, I hated the idea that this would be my life and was grateful my parents knew enough to know enforced religion was not authentic.
So throughout my youth I rebelled, wearing more Western clothes any time I could get away with it and when I first turned eighteen I felt a burst of freedom when I told my dad I would not be covered any more.
After then I would wear fairly modest clothes around my family, but whenever my college friends would invite me out for drinks I would pack the sluttiest outfit imaginable and change at their house before going out to flaunt my body.
The problem was I wasn't addicted to the feeling of being uncovered, I was addicted to the boundaries I had pushed.
I discovered this when I would wear the burqa to mosque even though I hadn't been wearing it during the day. I still wanted a connection with my community so I gave into peer pressure. The whole Khutbah all I could think of was all the people here that didn't know that last night I was out in London in a tight skimpy dress that was short enough to be a constant risk of exposing my thong. The thought of me as the slut among the pious got my mind racing and juices flowing even more than when I first stepped out of my friends house and felt the wind whip around my bare thighs.
I knew more than anything else I wanted to be exposed and have nobody know. The contradiction didn't make much sense but my mind was already swimming in the possibilities.
My initial plan was to use my Thursday evenings to go out with my friends from college, each time wearing skimpy and inappropriate outfits that would swim around my mind at Friday worship. But eventually there was a dead Thursday, nothing was happening and nobody wanted to go out so I was relegated to a quiet night in. I thought I could handle the frustration but the next morning as I looked at my plain black burqa I realised I couldn't bring myself to put it on, not without doing something drastic.
Usually under the burqa I wear a pair on sensible trousers and either a tank top or a jumper depending on the weather. As I thought about the day ahead of me, I decided instead on a lacy bra and a thong.
Although to anyone outside I looked like I was covered, the loose fabric highlighted my lack of underclothes every time it brushed against my naked skin, in the mirror I looked like a virtuous young lady, running my hands up and down my body I felt like a depraved whore. I never really planned on leaving the house this way but with the rush of pleasure each new step gave me I entered an erotic autopilot and didn't realise how far I had gone until my family and I approached the door to the mosque.
The effect was magnificent, I swam through my friends, talking to old family acquaintances and even the Imam, none of them aware I was being a little slut in plain sight. By the time I got home my tiny thong was drenched with my juices and I couldn't help but spend that night wrist deep in my own pussy.
It was a high no night out on the town could recreate, I had rediscovered religion amongst the religious, but my new god was depravity and they weren't even aware. I decided on something even more adventurous for the following week.
I spent the weekend sewing some subtle but rigid shoulder pads into my burqa. It didn't take long but the result was exactly what I was hoping for, when I pulled the burqa over my head, fed my arms through the sleeves and stood up straight, the fabric barely touched my body below the shoulder line. Without the fabric brushing against my skin I could lose myself in the fantasy of exposure. Even though it was midnight on a Sunday and I was saving it for Friday mosque, I immediately had to take my modifications for a test drive and I didn't see any reason to wear underwear.
My body was a sea of goosebumps as I opened my front door and looked out into the street. At first I started to put my shoes on, but then decided against it, thinking about how much better it would feel with bare feet on pavement, I stepped out of the front door, closing it behind me and shivering with joy and cold.
I hadn't planned where I was going to go and what I was going to do, I was just moving on instinct, navigating the world clothed for everyone but me. I began to walk towards the mosque, after all that was where I went if I was in my burqa. I quietly walked past two men having a conversation and it was everything I could do to keep myself from moaning with pleasure in the street. They didn't know it but I was streaking.
When I got to the mosque my libido was running wild. This was the end of my journey and I wanted to do something drastic. The road was empty and silent, giving my mind plenty of space to race with bad ideas.
After a couple of right wing nutjobs had put bacon on our door handles, the Imam had put our minds at ease by showing us the CCTV cameras he had installed overlooking the courtyard, I could even see the live stream of CCTV footage on a monitor in the reception area through a window. I saw my black formless body stood still outside the front door, swaying slightly with anticipation.
I fell in love with the CCTV for letting me indulge such an erotic out of body experience. I watched my quivering hands shakily reach for the hemline of my burqa, gathering the loose fabric into rolls in my palms as I lifted it higher and higher. My shins giving way to my thighs, my pussy peeking for a second with my hesitation before being revealed in all its glory. I kept moving the burqa upwards to make sure my whole naked body was in shot, quivering with delight when the burqa crested my ample breasts, my nipples so hard I could clearly make them out on the monitor through the window.
There I was, exposing my sexy body to my mosque, it took every ounce of restraint I had to keep me from going further and taking my burqa off completely, luckily enough a residual ounce of sense knocking around my brain told me if they check the footage I would still be anonymous. My pussy shivered with the thought that someone would check the CCTV and see my exposed flesh, one of the mosque staff, who would then chat to me every Friday unaware they had seen my tits and pussy.
Eventually, once I had swum in the fantasy long enough I released my burqa and walked home, my mind swimming with ideas for the future.
The following Friday was the most eagerly awaited Khutbah of my life, I had my specially modified burqa ready, but during the week I had decided to get a couple of additional things. Firstly I put on a dog collar I had bought at a pet store, the pet store had a machine that allowed you to engrave a personalised tag to go on the collar, so I was thrilled to look in the mirror and see a small golden bone hanging off my neck with the words "slutty bitch" clearly visible.
Once I had finished admiring my naked form accentuated by the black dog collar, I went and got my makeup bag, I was determined that under the burqa I needed the sluttiest look possible and began to thickly apply lipstick. I took a step back from the mirror, my mind racing at the dirty slut in front of me and the lipstick still in my hand. I lowered the lipstick to my chest, and had to clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle the moan of pleasure as I felt the it glide over my tits.
As I stood back and admired the big red "whore" I had branded myself, I heard my dad calling for me to hurry up and get ready. I pulled my burqa over my slutty body, took a deep breath and left my bedroom.
Once again I spent the day gliding through the faithful, pussy streaming at the thought that one layer of fabric was all that separated my desecrated body from the world. Everyone present didn't know I was in a dog collar with "whore" written across my chest, they didn't know that my pussy was streaming and while the Imam talked of proprietary and reverence, the only thing going through my mind was a borderline insatiable desire to plunge my hands deep in between my thighs and feel orgasm after orgasm rock my degraded body.
By the time I got home my mind was racing with ideas and alterations, after a considerable amount of time riding my dildo, I was on my sewing machine late into the night with my next plan.
After a day slaving over a sewing machine looked at my latest burqa, unassuming from the outside, and beamed with glee. My latest alteration was to sew padding into the sleeves, leaving my arms free to explore my body without anyone knowing, I had also sewed a keychain on so I could leave my house without wondering where my keys are. When I first tried it on I had some issues balancing it on my shoulders, so I added some straps turning my burqa into a strange mix of a hat, a backpack, a keyring and a changing screen.
I looked out the window to the bustling Saturday traffic and quivered with thoughts of what my perversion made inevitable. I was going to walk down a busy street, masturbating furiously, and nobody was going to know.
I waited in my room, building anticipation and willing myself forward. Pacing back and forth in front of my design. Suddenly my dad called up to my room, he was going to the shops with mum. This was the sign I was waiting for. The moment I heard the front door shut, I grabbed my burqa and my dildo and ran downstairs to prepare.
My second thoughts about this plan were drowned out in the experience of standing naked in the hallway staring at the front door. I pulled the burqa over my head and looked at myself in the hallway mirror. I studied my reflection for any indication or something untoward while I slowly slid my dildo inside my quivering pussy. I swayed a little but to the outside world I was just a devoted Muslim living her pious life.
I lifted up my burqa to get my hand to the door handle, giving the world a momentary flash of my pussy as the door opened. I then stepped outside and thought for a second about how I was going to close the door behind me, before erring on the safe side and closing it through my burqa.
My street is a residential street, but often used as a rat run to the nearby shopping centre, so plenty of cars but not enough foot traffic for my liking, still the shopping centre was only a ten minute walk away, maybe fifteen if you walk the whole way with a dildo jammed into your pussy.
Every step I took was ecstasy, feeling my dildo churn inside my pussy while people walking by had no idea a dirty little slut was masturbating in front of them. Every time I passed someone walking in the other direction I would look them dead in the eye as I plunged my dildo deeper and deeper inside of me.
Despite all this I decided to keep myself from orgasm until I got to the shopping centre. I was very close on a couple of occasions, but the glass monolith and it's promise of an Earth shattering orgasm motivated me to back off every time my pleasure began to rise to boiling point.
I stepped through the automatic doors into the air conditioned air that whipped around my naked body, almost collapsing in its overwhelming sensations. Now I had arrived I needed to select where I was going to finally finish myself off and I already knew where.
So much of my childhood was spent at this mall, I was familiar with every corner, but when I hung out with my friends I used to love the amusement arcade. That being said, having a burqa kept me from doing the more physical games and so as much as I love the amusements, to me it was also a monument to what my old covered life kept me from doing, and I figured I would look at the space very differently if it was the site of my greatest act of slutty defiance.
As the amusement arcade was on the first floor I walked towards the escalator, being very careful not to bump into anyone in the crowds, plunging the dildo in and out of me the whole time. As I got to the escalator something caught my eye and gave me a dirty idea, a bit out of my way were the stairs, which in keeping with the shopping centre's decor, were made of glass.
Now as my burqa was long, you would only see my pussy if you were directly under me on the stairs, but the idea that it was possible was more than enough for me to want nothing more than to take the risk. I veered off from the crowd and towards the stairs, my heart racing and my eyes scanning the shopping centre for anyone looking to use the bench underneath.
I began to climb the stairs, my legs shaking and my hand even slowing down with the dildo pounding I had been giving myself. Each step left me more exposed but I still wasn't gathering any attention. At halfway up the stairs I paused to have a look around, noone was close to being under the steps, the feeling of risk lessened and I needed to get it back. Slowly I lowered myself into a crouch with my legs wide apart, I even managed to shuffle the stuffed arms into place to make it look like I was tying my shoe. Now someone didn't have to be directly under me to see my hand furiously working a dildo into my pussy.
As there was still nobody beneath me I stayed crouched, losing myself to the rhythmic pleasure I was giving myself in public. With the loud noises of the shopping centre I allowed a moan to force Its way out of my mouth, the idea of holding off on my orgasm until I was in the amusement arcade lost to the overwhelming pleasure.
I finished having the most intense orgasm I had ever had and blinked. I had lost touch with everything but my pleasure. I looked down and exploded with fear to see an elderly gentleman and his wife sat in the bench underneath me. They didn't look like they had looked up but that didn't stop me running up the rest of the stairs, leaving behind a puddle of my juices as evidence of my perversion.
Once up the stairs my head cleared a little. I had just had an orgasm in the middle of a shopping centre with two people sat directly under me, one upwards glance away from seeing my pussy being pounded with a dildo. This was more than I could have dreamed, I could just go home. But I promised myself I would reinvent the amusement arcade in my mind and that's what I would do.
I made my way to the arcade and felt a pang in the pit of my stomach, it was packed. I had no idea what I wanted to do here, just that it needed to be the arcade. I began by walking around, scoping the place for a good place to bring myself to orgasm again. I could try the dance game which always had an audience, maybe one of the games you sit in a booth to play while I subtly lift my burqa up, or even the hurricane machine for ultimate risk.
In my aroused state I noticed and then couldn't take my eyes off a machine that had been at the arcade a long time, often overlooked for being both lame and constantly out of order. The Popstar Experience was a large photo booth where little girls could record themselves singing along to the best music the early 2000s could offer. Currently there was an "out of order" sign over the curtain that separated the singing area from the outside world, it was strange to think that the convention that you don't try a device that is out of order was going to be the only thing that prevented some hapless kid from walking in on my depravity.
I waited for a moment before ducking under the out of order sign, around the curtain and into the singing area. As I entered the room, a giant screen flashed the phrase "ready to be a star?" at me in big pink letters. Below which were words that made me tingle inside, "credits (0/99). The machine was closed because it was giving out free games and I was ready to take advantage of this special offer. I pressed the start button and the screen flashed up all the song options, I greedily hunted for any childhood song my parents had banned me from listening to and my eyes lit up at "The Bad Touch, Bloodhound Gang".
As I pressed start, the floating form of my burqa filled the screen, this was the prepare yourself moment, I was to do what needed to be ready then press the button to start recording the song. I looked at my larger than life doppelganger on the screen and thrilled at flashing her, a favour she returned and her pussy was as wet and hungry as mine. I glanced at the the curtain separating me from the outside world before following through on my worst idea yet.
My doppelganger continued to lift her buqa, exposing her tits, the word "whore" written in faded lipstick but still visible. Then she kept lifting her burqa, until her arms relaxed, dropping her garment to her side, her face like mine only driven wild with lust and depravity. I looked down to confirm I had stripped off, I was now naked, the booth doing the job that the burqa was previously doing, acting as a loose barrier between a horny slut and the outside world.
I pressed the start button and watched with delight at the small red circle appeared in the top right corner, showing I was now being recorded as bloodhound gang confirmed what I had discovered, I was nothing but a mammal, and this animal stood in the centre of the screen, as she furiously punished her pussy with a dildo.
The song was about four minutes long, but I think I filled the entire song with one orgasm crashing into the next, chaining them together so the whole experience was one extended tsunami of pleasure. As the song came to an end I collapsed onto the floor, a twitching pile of flesh, sweat and juices. I then saw my naked doppelganger still on the screen, a wry smile across her face as the DVD creation options came up.
I chose to skip the special effects section and go straight to the DVD cover. First it asked for a photograph to be plastered on the front of the box, I activated the timer and began my pose. I managed to find an area of the floor the camera would capture, sat down with my legs spread wide, leaning my back off the floor so when I spread my cheeks with my hands you got a clear view of my dripping pussy and ass. As I saw my doppelganger in such a degraded pose, I couldn't help but play with my clit a little, and as luck would have it a small arch of my juices squirted out just as the camera clicked the image.
I decided I had finally had a day out I could be proud of and put on my burqa to leave, looking around the booth for where my DVD would be produced. I searched every corner before coming to a horrifying conclusion, like a normal photo booth, the final product was dropped on the outside. Someone could see my cover, someone could already have made off with it. I ran out the door and straight into an arcade attendant who had been summoned by the out of order booth playing music.
"Sorry this booth is out of order" he announced with equal measure of frustration and disinterest. I mutely stared at him hoping to make it not worth his time to make an issue of this. "There's no point in using this anyway, your DVD is going to be stuck in the dispensing chute until the mechanic comes in to fix it next week."
____
My stomach fell through the floor. At some point next week a mechanic is going to see a DVD cover of me squirting on the booth floor. What then? Will he keep the DVD for himself or will he show his friends at the arcade? I just wanted a bit of risky fun and now I'm going to be a porn star for some guy I've never met.
While all this was racing through my head, I became aware I was standing silently in front of the attendant. I mumbled an apology and left, tears in my eyes that nobody could see beneath my veil.
...
Epilogue
...
I continued with my adventures, escalating and trying new things under my burqa. I have a few more stories in me if anyone's interested.
Eventually I went as far as pure imagination could manage and decided I needed to research, searching around on the internet for people with far more deviant ideas than my own, posting things that really got the juices flowing and my days out got riskier and riskier as a result.
One day I decided I wanted to go back to the arcade, it was the site of my favourite adventure so far and so I surfed the porn sites looking for the most exciting activities possible. Through a few choice key words I found a video entitled "Arcade Slut". I clicked on the link and saw the familiar face of my naked slutty doppelganger staring back at me. The mechanic hadn't just seen me naked, he had uploaded my video onto the internet.
My eyes widened in horror as I read the video description. The mechanic had found my DVD and shown it to all the staff at the arcade, asking if they recognised me. Apparently I had become a local legend as nobody knew how I was able to pull off my masturbation show without anyone seeing. Then after the description I felt my stomach plumet even further as I saw the view count, it had only been up a few weeks but it had been seen over ten thousand times.
I felt a weird mixture of horror and arousal, knowing this deviant slut had been seen by so many people. Maybe one day I'll show my face at the amusement arcade, meet all the staff and hope they recognise me. Then again as the only thing I will wear out of the house is my burqa, if I wanted to show my face I'll have to show everything else too.
*_*_*
Unveiling Ch. 02
After my sexual awakening, my life became one of contradictions. I gathered a wardrobe of identical looking burqas, but each one fulfilled a different kinky niche. I had some made of an imperceptibly finer material that showed off my body with the sun behind me, one that had Velcro panels that could be removed to expose my tits, ass and pussy, I even had one that had a single thread holding the whole thing together that could be pulled out or attached to an egg timer for a timed risk.
I looked at my cupboard and saw myself like a comic book character, picking which costume would best slay the villains of boredom and piety.
The other contradiction was that the more I indulged in my animalistic fantasies at the mosque, the more devout I looked. I was at every Khutbah, and also found myself attending other community events in order to try out whatever perverted idea I had just had.
Before long I had the reputation of a diligent and respectable young lady and was even put in charge of a young Muslim reading group that ran Tuesday night.
One such night I was overseeing the group, that night I had opted for the burqa that could fall apart on a timer. I never felt great doing erotic things in front of the young reading group but I figured I could make the walk home more interesting. At least that was the plan, I find my spontaneous adventures far more satisfying and that night an opportunity presented itself.
The Imam walked into the room looking more flustered than usual. He spent a good half hour fidgeting and looking at his phone before I was able to quietly ask him what was wrong.
"Nothing is wrong" he replied barely looking up from his phone. I gave him a look of disbelief so strong it somehow permeated the burqa and got through to him. "Fine, Allah is really testing me with this one. The Muslim council of London are holding their first meeting tonight to discuss the youth conference. I was invited to be a guest speaker as our mosque has the largest active youth group. But ironically I can't make it as I am here looking after the youth group." I gave a slight chuckle at the prospect ahead of me which the Imam clocked with a curious look.
"Maybe there is something else to be read into here. Every week I oversee the study group and every night I help you lock up afterwards. You know I'm competent. I think it would be fitting that in order to speak on youth issues, you have to trust a young person with the mosque." I replied. I was thinking to myself that this was a long shot, a reckless gambit, but to my surprise his face turned from scepticism to approval. He pried the keys to the outside doors and the electronic fob for the inside doors off his car keys, leaving instructions to post them through the letterbox at his house nearby, before rushing out.
I spent the rest of the study session staring into mid air, my mind swirling with ideas. Eventually the last student left and the holy sanctum was exclusively mine for desecration. The first thing I did was walk the grounds, double checking everyone had left, next I logged into the security cameras and turned off recording, finally, I went to the imam's office at the back to prepare.
I started by removing my Burqa, freeing my naked body from it's confines, running my hands up and down my body at the thought of my deviancy being on show where a man tries to spread his holy message. Next I took the keys and fob and dropped them out of the window.
My goosebumps had goosebumps at the thought of what was ahead of me. The internal doors of the mosque were one-way doors on a fob system, without a fob I could leave but I could not get back in. The moment I walked out of the Imam's office, the door would lock and I would have to walk through the mosque, out the front door and around to the side entrance to get to the back garden where I had thrown the keys, each door I walked though would provide another barrier between me and my clothes. Not only that but once I had the fob I would still have to walk back naked.
My breathing quickened as I opened the door, looking out into the dark corridor that would begin my naked tour of the mosque. I took one step clear of the office and let go, closing my eyes and freezing in place for the seeming eternity before I heard the door click closed behind me. I jiggled the door handle and confirmed I was not getting back in without a fob.
As I slowly walked the empty corridors of the mosque, I had to keep repeating to myself not to touch myself yet. I wanted to savour this, to swim in the risk I had exposed myself to and only at the height of the experience, bring myself crashing down with an orgasm. My rock hard nipples and dripping pussy a testament to the difficulty of my restraint.
The back offices of the mosque were not large, but I still moaned with delight every time another door locked behind me. It wasn't long before I was staring at the last lockable door, the one between the back room areas and the main prayer hall. I burst open the door and stood naked on the very stage that the imam would read prayers from while we all listened and prostrated towards mecca. My imagination ran away with the idea of the whole congregation staring at my naked body, their disgust and condemnation only fuelling my bodies pure animalistic list. My fingers were deep in my pussy before I knew it, but I held myself back, I decided keeping myself on a sizzle would be better.
I spent some time wandering the public areas of the mosque, reliving my Khutbah routine, thrilled that for once my outside appearance matched how I felt every Friday. Body and soul exposed. Although I had to admit I was also stalling a little, my next move was to walk through the reception area and into the front car park of the mosque, the one totally visible from the street.
Heart beating through my chest, I stepped into the reception. I could see where the darkened car park gave way to the streetlights beyond, the flakes of rain glinting in the lights before vanishing into the darkness beyond. I crouched behind the welcome desk as a car drove past, bringing me face to face with the CCTV monitors, not recording but still displaying my shivering naked body on-screen. I took a few deep breaths and stepped out of the front door.
The rain hit me like bullets from a machine gun, I could feel every inch of my shivering skin becoming wet and cold, my shaking form humbled by my lustful hubris in the face of nature. I began to run, across the unlit car park to the side entrance of the mosque, as I turned down the alleyway I heard a car pass by and wondered if the driver had got a good enough look at my bottom.
Once by the side entrance I was once again out of the public eye, I slowed my pace opting for a sultry walk, wiggling my hips for my imaginary audience. Hard concrete gave way to soft grass as I entered the garden, in the dark and wet it took me a while to find the keys but it wasn't long before I held them in my hand, staring at the physical manifestation of my adventure's halfway point.
Grasping the keys in my hands I slowly walked back to the car park and waited in the shadows for my moment, I was eager to get back to the prayer hall and pleasure my soaking degraded body. I walked across the car park and back into the mosque without incident.
As I approached the prayer hall I reflected on what I had done so far. I had firmly supplanted my view of the mosque, from the location of my repression to the site where I stamped my naked body on the religious community. The problem was it still didn't feel risky enough, yes I was in a place where people usually were but that wasn't the same, apart from the brief moment in the car park there was no chance of being seen. I walked slowly back towards the office, my mind racing with ideas.
I eventually settled on a course of action. I was going to do all the locking up activities like a diligent young lady, but I was going to do them naked like a craven whore. I made a list of everything I usually did to clean up and I resolved I wouldn't put my burqa back on until the list was completed.
By the time I had cleaned the study room, done the washing up and hoovered the mosque it had already gotten quite late and I was boiling with frustration. There was only one task left to do, take the bins to the roadside dumpsters. I grabbed the bags out of the bins and headed for the front door.
Once again I looked out over the car park, last time I was out there I was just sneaking around the side, but this time I needed to go to the dumpsters, these were kept on the far end next to the street. On top of that, the rain was now hammering down, I was going to be soaked in more ways than one.
My bare feet slowly lowered themselves on to the wet concrete. I couldn't crouch low with the bags so had to walk upright and confident out of the front doors. I immediately felt the rain covering my body in a shivering, shimmering layer of cold, my hair clung to my head and shoulders, I ventured forward.
My heart beat harder and faster as I got closer to the road, it was late but not so late as the guarantee my chores would be without an audience. I leaned around the gate and peeked out into the road. No sooner had my head cleared the gatepost, then a man sprinted past me, hood over his head, struggling to get out of the rain. He was three steps past me before he realised what he had just seen. I stood there frozen as he looked me up and down, before going back to running to get out of the rain.
I collapsed against the bins and started fingering myself right then and there. A man had seen me, he had seen all my flesh, observed my corrupted nature. And now I sat, surrounded by the other trash, discarded from the mosque and plunging my hand in and out of my pussy, screaming with orgasmic delight as the thunder rolled around me.
When I returned to the mosque, I was naked drenched and satisfied.
As I returned to my Burqa, my wet skin caused the fabric to cling to my body, defeating its purpose of being loose clothing. I looked at the egg timer mechanism wondering if I wanted to keep the adventure going or not, a hand between my legs confirming I was still eager for more.
I twisted the timer and heard the familiar clicking, in 20 minutes the timer would go off, winding in the thread holding together my Burqa and reducing my only covering to a pile of rags. 20 minutes would usually be more than enough time for me to make it home, but tonight I had to go a bit out of the way to drop the keys off at the imams house, meaning it would be close.
I left the mosque and walked at a moderate pace, my heartbeat quickening to match the ticking I could sometimes hear, the rain was now dying down but a fresh coat of water made the burqa especially clingy to my naked body. It wasn't long before I reached the imam's house, I quickly shoved the keys through the letterbox and turned to continue my journey. As I turned around the imam was stood behind me, just getting back from his meeting.
"Just the person I wanted to see!" he announced to my absolute dread. "That meeting was so great and I want to thank you for helping me so I could go."
I desperately hoped he would leave it at that, but he was clearly in the mood for a long conversation, something I didn't have time for. He began to give a blow by blow account of the meeting while I shuffled on my feet.
"...so then I pointed out that their keynote speaker for this supposed youth event was in his 50s. They asked me if I had any better ideas and suddenly I did. How would you like to deliver the keynote speech at the Muslim youth conference in a couple of weeks time?" Suddenly the time pressure was forgotten, he wanted me to get on a stage in front of an audience wearing my burqa, my perverted mind immediately went crazy with ideas. I heartily accepted, but this meant he had to go into more details and the talking continued.
Part way through his precise explanation of where the venue was I heard the sound I was dreading, the egg timer going off, winding in the thread as I felt my clothes begin to loosen.
"What's that sound?" He asked. It was all I could think of to start walking and yell over my shoulder.
"That's my phone, I need to be home now." I was clutching the fabric to my body, aware that the wet clinging of rainwater was probably the only reason I wasn't flashing the Imam right now. I practically sprinted round the corner and began walking home, every step loosening another part of my rapidly de-clinging and disintegrating outfit. To my annoyance the rain began to pick up again.
The rain got heavier and heavier as I walked and so did the fabric of my burqa, I was two streets from my house when the lower panel fell off my body and into a puddle. I willed myself to keep walking, knowing that the whole lower half of my body was now on display. It was only a few more steps before both sleeves fluttered to the ground, leaving me with a baggy tank top and a veil.
I turned the corner onto the road I live on and a car drove past, honking its horn in acknowledgement of my exposed pussy. I jumped with shock and in the commotion the top panel separated into three and fell, all that was left now was the veil covering my head. I bent over and pulled the sodden fabric off the ground, wrapping it around my body for a semblance of modesty. It barely covered my exposed breasts and even so it clung so tightly and my nipples were so hard there was no illusion of modesty. I began to run.
Two more cars passed and caught me effectively naked before I got to the entrance of my house. I whipped out my keys and barged through the front door, not caring whether my parents would see me or not. As luck would have it they were asleep. I immediately went to my room, to relieve my tension with the largest dildo in my collection, but also to plan for the day of the conference.
...
I stood at the train station looking at the arrivals board waiting for my train, filled with hope and trepidation. As usual I was wearing nothing under my burqa, but this burqa was the most advanced one to date, I had had weeks to prepare a whole day of unwholesome fun on the day of the conference and now I was facing my first step, genuinely proud of my ingenuity.
The central line train pulled into the station, and I slowly and carefully walked into it. I had to walk slowly as under my burqa I was wearing the highest heels I could find, to ensure my ass stuck out as much as possible, to compliment this I had also wrapped some rope tight around my breasts to ensure that they bulged forward as much as my ass stuck out backward, with an extra kick of sensitivity to boot. As I got onto the train I stood right in the middle of the area in front of the doors, I reached up and held on to the hand bars above my head.
The first adventure of the day was designed to get me ravenous with passion before I got there, I only had one train to take but it was a central line train from West London all the way to Stratford in the east. Not only was this a long journey, but when it goes through central London the train becomes packed with commuters, personal space becomes a memory. With my hands up, I was able to click into place two zip ties, one on each wrist around the bar, the sleeves on my burqa were now attached to the handhold bar.
The zip ties were held in place with threads attached to a motor. I spent forever on YouTube videos to figure out how to trigger a motor with the GPS on my smartphone but eventually it paid off. Until I reached Stratford, I was stuck on a soon to be packed train, with my arms above my head and my breasts and ass forced to stick out from my body. There was a way out in case of emergency, everything was attached to the burqa not me, so if I really needed to I could run away, but I would have to leave my burqa behind.
The journey started out quietly, with enough seats to accommodate everyone I was left to drink in the glances of the unknowing, dwelling on my strange decision to stand with no understanding of the perversion behind it, my mind swimming in what was to come. The train pulled into Shepherds Bush and I saw the queues of commuters waiting to get on the train, my body tingling at the prospect.
At Shepherds Bush it got crowded, but not packed. The standing room was full but people still managed to navigate around me and give me a bit of space. I eyed up the commuters surrounding me knowing that as we started pulling into more stations, not only would people be pressed against me, but the jostling for people to make way for those getting off would certainly lead to some interesting results.
The next stop was a small one, only a couple of people got on, but the space around me got tighter and one person brushed past my ass in a way that made me shiver with anticipation. The next station after that was an interchange, and I knew that meant we were about to become packed. As the train doors opened at Notting Hill Gate, the flood of people rammed in, bodies bumped and jostled me, I felt errant legs brushing against by ass, arms roughly barging my breasts. Once the rush had finished and the doors closed, there were three or four people pressed against my body, unaware they were taking part in my perverted sexual fantasy. I glanced around to get a look at my unwitting accomplices, a couple of suited men, a younger man in a shirt and jeans, and woman in a work blouse all found themselves groping and probing me as the train bumped its way deeper into London.
A couple of stations later there had been some turnaround, but I had noticed that every time during the bustle and movement, one of the suited businessmen tended to press closer to me. At first I thought my horny brain was playing tricks on me but as the train pulled into Oxford Circus and we momentarily had some space, I still felt both his legs against my ass. As the train once again loaded up with people and began to move, I felt a gasp of arousal slip out of my mouth as a hand grabbed my ass, stroking my curves in between occasional strong squeezes. The businessman had gone from accidental groper to an active molestor.
At the next station the shuffle ended with a short woman in a formal blouse standing on the other side of me, I mainly noticed that as she was too small to reach the hand holds, she was just stood next to me, head at breast height, no support, an accident waiting to happen. Meanwhile the businessman was getting more brave, his hands probing deeper between my cheeks, confident that the thick crowd made anything below shoulder height invisible. The train lurched to the right and for the first time I felt the short lady bury her face into my breasts, apologising profusely for the moment of bliss.
During the apologies, the businessman had eased off, but once he realised he was still safe from discovery, I felt his hands back on me. There was another sensation down there that at first I couldn't put my finger on, but it didn't take long for me to realise what was happening, the hem of my burqa was slowly rising upwards, the businessman was lifting up my dress. The train lurched again, worse this time, the chest high woman once again piling into my tied and punished tits, lightly motorboating them as her hands grasped for something to help her up. This did not slow down the businessman.
It was not long before I felt what had become inevitable, a bare hand on my bare bottom, probing deep, rubbing an errant finger around my asshole and then, drawn by it's moistness, venturing between my legs to rub my pussy. He relented a bit as we pulled into the next station, but nobody got off and even more people got on, the short lady in front of me now practically nestled between my breasts. As soon as the door was closed his hands began again, now actually starting to probe inside of me.
____
*_*_*
Unveiling Ch. 02
The train was loud which especially helped as I could moan to my heart's content and nobody would hear. The businessman now had a finger curled inside my pussy with his thumb rubbing my ass, there was another lurch and this time the lady in front instinctively threw her hands out, firmly grabbing my tied tits, I bit my lip to stop myself screaming as the businessman began to move faster and faster with his fingers, building towards a magnificent crescendo.
"We're now approaching Liverpool Street." The train announced and immediately the man stopped, he let my burqa fall back into place and when the doors opened he left. The short lady was able to get a seat and I was left standing on a sparse train, so close to release and now writhing with frustration.
The couple of stops between Liverpool Street and Stratford were the longest train journey of my life. I knew the moment I got off at Stratford I would need to find a toilet to finish myself off in or I would go insane. The train began to pull into Stratford and I waited, giving the occasional tug on my sleeves. They weren't budging.
I watched in horror as the doors closed, my burqa still attached to the bars. My mind was racing with what could have gone wrong and what could I do. Was I going to have to take the nuclear option and streak off the train? Or would I have to ask someone to cut me free, hoping they didn't ask to many questions in return. As the train began to pull away, I suddenly felt my sleeves loosen and my arms pulled themselves free.
Later when I looked back on this adventure I figured out what went wrong. The train was underground right up until it pulled into Stratford, causing a delay while the GPS connected with the satellite and figured out where I was. By the time it had connected and the app had sprung into life and freed me, the train was already off again.
I sat down and tried to surreptitiously rub my hands between my legs, but there were too many people around, so I had to settle for squirming with my legs together until the next stop.
I got off at Leyton, mind racing about what to do next. First I looked around and it became quickly apparent the station did not have a toilet I could go take care of myself in. The conference centre was not far from Leyton and I desperately needed to be as alone as possible, so I took a risk and climbed into a taxi waiting outside the station.
*Where to love?" The cheerful man asked, keeping his head straight forward but making eye contact through the rear mirror.
"Saint Magnus conference centre, it's on Bridgford Road" I responded, settling myself into the back seat in a way that bundled the fabric of my burqa on top of me, hopefully camouflaging the movement of my hands.
The trip was painfully frustrating as the taxi driver kept trying to make small talk and I could barely move my arms without it being noticable. It was not long until we were down the road from the conference centre and I decided to take matters into my own hands.
"Actually, my burqa is very disheveled, could we find a quiet side road for me to adjust myself?" I ask, my mind running wild.
"No problem love." The taxi driver replied with a grin, "but I will have to keep the meter running alright?" Money was the least of my concerns at that moment so I agreed and he ended up pulling into a small alley behind a row of shops. I began making a big show of adjusting my robes, hoping he would feel awkward enough to turn away using the commotion to run my hands up and down my body, tweaking my nipples and stroking my throbbing pussy begging for attention. My mind awash in the sensations, thinking ahead to the conference, I had a terrible idea that would not dislodge itself from my head.
"Taxi driver, how would you like to make some more money" I asked.
"As long as it's above board." He replied, quizzically cocking an eyebrow.
"What I want is simple. I want you to leave the meter running while you come back here and cum on my tits. I want to walk into the young muslim conference with your cum on me, under the burqa, and for nobody to know." I said, my heart beating a mile a minute at how truthful I had just been with a taxi driver I had never met before.
"Is this some kind of joke?" He asked. In answer I lifted up my burqa, showing off my tied up tits and wet pussy. My heart did backflips as I heard him get out of the front and into the back of the car with me.
By the time he was in the back of the car, his trousers and underwear were already down around his ankles, his hard cock looming over me as he began to stroke it. The thought of what I was doing and what was to come drove me wild and I was finally able to start fingering myself hard while he jerked his throbbing dick over me.
"Tell me when you're about to cum," I managed to gasp out before losing myself in my own pleasure. All the frustration from earlier exploded outwards as I brought myself to orgasm in front of the taxi driver, and the sight of him furiously wanking over me kept my hand plunging down below, I was on the verge of my second orgasm when I heard the words I was waiting for.
"I'm going to cum." He announced. In my stupor I was able to lift my burqa far out of the way and brought myself to orgasm again as I felt his warm cum splash on my tits and around my body.
While he caught his breath I grabbed his cock and wiped all the juices on the inside of my burqa, making sure every drop came with me for when I would be speaking about how proper Muslims should conduct themselves. He waited for me to finish straightening out my burqa before driving me to the conference.
"Here's my card love, let me know when you need a lift back." He suggested, handing me his card and opening the door for me. I mumbled a non-committal response as I staggered into the conference centre.
I needed to kill some time, building anticipation for the main event while swimming unknowing among the pious. The conference was busy and filled with stalls and youth groups all eager to get my attention, not knowing that the only things blessing my body beneath my burqa was the rope tied around my tits and the sticky cum of the taxi driver.
After a couple of hours swimming around the crowd I looked at the clock and saw it was 12:15. I was due to speak in half an hour and I knew that my plan required preparations. I barged and excused my way through the crowd to the women's toilets, found quiet stall and locked myself in so I could set up my burqa for stage two of my plan. Once I was in the toilets I stripped down and removed the rope from my tits, feeling a rush of sensation return to my poor punished boobies. I began to look at and prepare my burqa. In preparation for not having a bag, I had sewn the component parts of the next phase of my plan into the lining and it was now time to liberate them.
First was a homemade chastity belt, specifically designed to hold and keep some very specific sex toys inside me. In the front was slotted a noise activated dildo I had bought online, it had motors inside the shaft and a vibrating attachment for my clit, both set up to get more powerful the louder my surroundings. Next a small butt plug, I am not very experienced with anal play at the moment so I felt it would be foolish to get a large one. This was also noise activated. I groaned with delight as I forced my toys into me and buckled the belt tight against my body.
The plan was simple, every time I got a round of applause from my speech, the audience was going to be pleasuring me. I was going to take all these sensible and devout people and have them unknowingly fuck me. But I needed something extra to ensure I didn't deliberately hold back on my speech. Sewn along all the panels of the burqa were a series of electrodes, one by one I removed the coverings and stuck them to my body. One on each nipple, a couple on my thighs and buttocks, one just above where the dildo was digging into my clit. This was plugged into a baby monitor I had bought and altered for the task, designed to warn a parent if their baby was too quiet. I had altered it to send out an electric shock instead and had turned the sound sensitivity right down, meaning if there wasn't the loud sound of a round of applause for a minute, I would be shocked, all over my body, gradually getting stronger until there was a loud enough applause to reset the timer.
I put my burqa back over my prepared body and stood facing the door to the toilet. The hesitation grew to insufferable desire, I turned on the baby monitor and stepped out of the cubicle.
My mind was swimming as I made my way to the main conference Hall, the crowd milling around me while my body remained a prisoner of my past self. As I approached the hall the electrodes activated and I felt my body course with delight, however it was quickly ended when the applause from the current speaker turned off the electrodes, giving way to the deep vibrations in my sex holes.
I walked down the audience to my place at the side of the stage, patiently waiting for my turn to speak. The current speaker a bombastic head of a youth group that used rap and breakdancing to preach about Allah. He was pacing the stage and speaking loudly and proudly about the four or five young people in his Muslim Rap band but it was enough to solicit the occaisional round of applause and my pussy was certainly appreciative. After some time I looked at the clock and saw it was already 12:50. I was meant to start five minutes ago, and the rapper had just started a song.
The song was loud, I spend the entire experience gripping the sides of my chair as the dildo churned its way through the sea of vibrations. Parts of my burqa were sticking to my sweat as his song came to an end. I was ready to begin my speech when my Iman called to me from the side.
"Thank you for agreeing to this, I'm afraid that due to this delay we have decided to do Dhuhr first and then you will speak afterwards." My mind went blank, Dhuhr is afternoon prayers, it usually lasts about 20 minutes, but more importantly it is not a loud event.
I tried to make my way back to the toilet so I could turn off the electrodes but the gathered crowds were already slowly filtering out towards the designated prayer rooms, the loud conversations keeping a low buzz in my nethers and preventing my electrocution. By the time I got to the door, the call to prayer had started it was clear I would need to head straight to the women's prayer room and hope for the best.
I entered the silent prayer room and my stomach lept into my throat at the feeling of the electrodes starting up, my body was pulsing with electricity and I hadn't even gotten into prayer position yet. I knelt on my mat, surrounded by other women in burqas, doing whatever I could to control my heavy breathing and dirty mind and hoping nobody noticed my slutty high heels.
Each time I prostrated myself, my ass up in the air, my thighs quivering with the power flowing through them, my pussy and nipples on fire, I thought about the toys playing with my holes, wishing for some mechanical fault to turn them on.
When I straightened up from my last prayer, my body was on fire, I was breathing so heavily people must have thought I was talking to Allah directly. My body was so covered in sweat the burqa began to cling to me, threatening to show off my curves to the devout crowd. And as much as I wanted to pleasure myself, I had a speech to deliver and had to resolve myself that the crowd would deliver me the relief I craved.
I followed the crowd to the main conference room, more small talk among attendees keeping the event and my toys buzzing. As I entered the room, my imam was already on stage, giving the crowd a breakdown of everything I had done that year. I had to admit I had done loads, I had been so busy losing myself to mindless sexual pleasure that I didn't even realise I had become the most active Muslim youth organiser in London.
The round of applause as I took the stage was deafening and I barely made it up the steps, collapsing onto the lectern as soon as I could, legs shaking with the sea of vibrations ravaging my pussy and ass.
"Hello everyone," I greeted the crowd as they fell silent. "Before I start let's have a round of applause for my Iman for trusting and helping me with all the work you just heard about."
Another round of applause, I leaned away from the microphone to moan with delight.
"It brings me so much joy to be here..."
They didn't know the half of it.
"And I want to tell you about the journey I have been on since I turned 18..."
God I wished I could have been honest.
"My parents knew that religion should not be inherited, it should be adopted and celebrated. When I turned 18 I was given the option about whether I wanted to still attend mosque and wear my burqa, and honestly, at first I said no. I went to college in high street clothes and I did not attend Khutbah, but deep down something felt wrong..."
The electricity began to pulse through my body and a bit my lip, before struggling through the next bit of my speech.
"And that feeling grew and grew..."
I was struggling to keep my voice level with the shocks rocking my body.
"Because when there is an absence of devotion in your life you feel it wherever you go..."
My voice cracked, everyone thought it was that over overwhelming emotions rather than my body convulsing with electricity, gratefully the audience decided it would be right to applaud this sentiment and I got my first buzz of relief. The electricity had driven my body wild and I was so close to orgasm when the applause died down and I was once again at the mercy of the audience.
"One day I decided to start wearing my burqa again, and immediately I felt something in me click, it felt right. No it felt good."
The audience broke into a more thunderous applause at this sentiment and under the cover of turning away from the audience to take a sip out of my water bottle, I instead moaned myself to a quick but intense climax. I returned to the microphone with a more husky voice than before.
"Every time I turned up to help, with a burqa and a smile, I felt good. I felt satisfied with a devotion I had discovered on my own rather than one I had been given by my parents. So when you heard my list of achievements just now, I had genuinely lost track of how much I had done as all I could concentrate on is my new devotions. Of the feeling deep down..."
The electricity started again.
...
By the end of the speech I could not believe nobody had sussed something was not quite right. The constant back and forth between my body riddled with shocks and the deep vibrations rocked me to orgasm several times on stage. Luckily enough the amount of water I seemed to drink provided perfect cover for why I rushed to the toilet the moment my speech was finished.
Once I had disassembled my self-imposed predicament burqa, I staggered out of the toilets, exhausted but satisfied. I spent the next hour or so being passed from one important person to the next while they told me how great and full of emotion my speech was. I was even asked to join a delegation heading to parliament in the near future, oh the ideas that filled my head with that development.
After a while the conference centre staff were clearly getting impatient to get their hall back and we were ushered outside, where my imam offered me a lift to the station.
"Oh I wish you had said sooner, I just called the nice taxi driver who gave me a lift here." I responded.
Epilogue
I had a great time that day, I really gained the self confidence I felt I needed to do public speaking and to give myself several orgasms on stage. I had a bit more fun with the taxi driver on the way home, but afterwards I ripped up his card, I knew I wouldn't be able to resist using him again and again, and I didn't want to end up trapped or even worse, blackmailed, just because I am an insatiable whore.
I kept up my internet research, both in adding technology to my outfits and coming up with risky ideas. At the moment I am preparing for university, I don't know whether to go into costume design or technology, after all I'm worried that my flair for both only comes when I have a blind focus on creating devious scenarios for myself.
At the end of a long night reading up on how I would make a device that could film under my burqa and display it on a nearby screen, I eventually decided to call it a night and look at some porn before heading to bed. That night I browsed some forums and came across someone with a video upload, he said:
"So there was this nympho muslim girl in London. Half way through a ride she asks me to cum on her tits. Better still in the afternoon she called me up again to suck my cock. I couldn't believe it and of course nobody back at the exchange believed it either. But I recently round out the gaffer has been putting CCTV in our cars and didn't tell us. I brought up the day and loved seeing the looks on everyone's faces as the little whore hiked up her burqa, then the time she slotted her cock through the veil and face-fucked me without ever revealing her face. It took some convincing but the gaffer let me have a copy of the video. Enjoy."
Holy shit. It was me, my debauchery was caught on camera and now everyone on this forum was watching me suck off a stranger in an erotic haze. I looked at the video stats and it had over five thousand upvotes, and as it was a download, it could have been shared dozens of times more.
My first though was "why does this keep happening to me?" My next thought was "I wonder how many men have blown their load all over their keyboards with my naked body filling their screen?" My final thought was where my vibrator was as my second thought had gotten me in the mood to be violated.
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