Copyright Oggbashan June 2004
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
This story is not intended to represent any particular Muslim practices. It is for entertainment, not education.
* * * * * *
My elder sister and I were born in the United Kingdom. So was our mother. Our father was not. He came from a rural area of Pakistan before immigration rules were tightened so that a marriage was no longer enough to obtain the right to live here.
My father is a fair man, and a good father, but...
He is too easily influenced by men he thinks are better educated than he is. He believes that women's roles are set by the Koran and the imams and cannot change. He doesn't understand that his daughter has aspirations far beyond those of women in a Pakistani village.
As the only son, my father expects me to support his definition of women's roles and to help him enforce the discipline he thinks is essential. My sister is not so sure that she sees me as superior and in charge of her honour. She thinks she is responsible for her own honour. I am inclined to agree with her so I am torn between my duty to my father and my love of my sister.
What I didn't expect was that my sister would be concerned about my honour and that she saw a role for herself as protector of her brother. If I had known, I would have been shocked. I was sufficiently traditional that I saw no need for my sister to look after her brother in that sense.
My father has a weak right arm as a result of an accident in the clothing factory he now owns. That weak right arm put me in an awkward role with my sister. If my father thought she deserved beating, I had to do it. I hated it. Every time I put my big sister over my knee and slapped her clothed backside it was unpleasant for both of us. The punishment was more in the humiliation than the actual slapping, which was loud but not effective. Once Serena became a teenager I would pretend to slap her behind a closed door. Actually I would slap a piece of furniture covered by a cloth. She was taller than I was until I reached eighteen. Now she is the same height, but taller if she wears heels.
Serena was always in trouble, torn between Western values and our father's simple belief in tradition. When she had been at school, her uniform had been the shalwar kameez – a tunic and trousers – topped by a hijab, a scarf worn round her head to completely cover her hair. Father thought that was going too far. He wanted her to wear the jilbab which covered all of her except her hands and face. If he thought she had been even slightly immodest and his standards were high, he would insist she wore the all-enveloping burqa outside the house, with only a slit to see through.
At home in her room Serena would wear western dress, always topped by the hijab, which looked odd above a miniskirt or shorts. Father never saw her like that. If he knocked at her door she would cover her provocative finery with the jilbab. She could have worn anything or nothing under it and father would never know. When she went to visit her friends the jilbab concealed her party dress or undress.
Now Serena was twenty-five and engaged, old for our customs, but father had allowed her some choice and wanted her to finish her degree and get settled in a career before marrying. She left the house to go to work in her jilbab. I knew, but father didn't, that she stopped at a friend's house just before the station and stripped off the jilbab to appear in a suit, without even a hijab. On the way home she reversed the process and a demure Serena would reappear on our doorstep.
Except for going to and from work I was expected to escort Serena wherever she wanted to go. It was not proper for her, even in a burqa, to be on the streets alone. It was a nuisance for both of us, but I love my sister and would escort her even to and from places that father would object to. Serena appreciated my tact, and repaid the favour by taking me to houses where I could meet my fiancée without my father or her parents knowing. Ayesha, my fiancée, had very tolerant parents, but they insisted on the proprieties for my father's sake. He would have been horrified if he thought I was to marry an immodest girl. By his standards, Ayesha was very immodest, but, if he had known, so was Serena. He was upset enough that Ayesha was slightly taller than his son.
One of these visits about a month before the wedding was disastrous for me and very humiliating. Serena and I were visiting my old schoolfriend Angee. Angee wasn't his name. His initials were N.G. and his nickname was Angee. We were supposed to be visiting one of Angee's sisters who was Serena's friend. Ayesha would also happen to be visiting and we would get an opportunity to talk together. Angee's older brother was Serena's fiancé but he would not be there. That would have been improper!
Angee's parents had only recently moved to a much larger house. They wanted to set up separate flats in it for Angee and his brother when the married. The house came with an outdoor heated swimming pool. The parents had arranged strict timetables for its use by the women and men.
When Serena and I arrived, Ayesha hadn't. Angee suggested that we use the swimming pool while I waited. I protested that I hadn't got swimming trunks. He brushed my objection aside.
"No one will see, Ahmed," he said. "I always swim naked, so should you. I'll join you shortly."
I didn't like the idea, but I complied. I stripped off my clothes and dived in. It was wonderful. I had never experienced swimming naked before. I scarcely noticed when ten minutes later Angee said he had to make a phone call, nor when he came back to tell me that he was running his parents to the station because the taxi couldn't come in time. They and my parents were going to Bradford for a wedding. My parents had left last night. I continued swimming.
I lay on my back in the water and thought of Ayesha. My tool reacted and stood up out of the water like a flagpole. I swam on my back watching it part the water. I was proud of it. I swam several lengths with it prominent before turning over and swimming several fast lengths. I liked my body. I hoped Ayesha would like it too. She had never seen it. I had never seen hers and wouldn't until our wedding night. As I climbed out of the water I was still thinking of Ayesha as I followed my prick to the long padded bench where I had left the towel Angee had given me. I dried myself before wrapping the towel around my waist. I lay down on the bench in the sun and closed my eyes.
I vaguely heard a slither of cloth over cloth and then I was attacked. I opened my eyes as a black rump thumped over my face. There was a rustle of clothing as many hands grabbed my body and limbs. I fought back but was overcome by too many hands that tied my wrists to my sides and my ankles and knees together. I felt that I had been bound with pantyhose around my waist and the bench and around my legs in several places.
The rump lifted slightly from its suffocating position on my face and slid down to my chest. A familiar hand grasped the loose material of her jilbab and uncovered my face. I looked up between it and another black robe behind my head to see Ayesha's face framed by the hood of her jilbab glaring down at me. Her breasts were heaving attractively, pressed against the jilbab that was tightened around her body by the strain as she straddled me. In her right hand was a pair of lacy panties.
"Open your mouth, Ahmed," Ayesha ordered.
I shook my head. She sighed resignedly.
"If you don't, I will squeeze your nose until you do," She added. Her slender fingers of her left hand reached towards me. I opened my mouth. She stuffed it full of panties. The black robe behind my head passed a black silk hijab to Ayesha. She tied around my head concealing all except my nose and eyes and tightened it over my mouth. Ayesha climbed off me. I looked around. Apart from Ayesha, all Angee's sisters were standing around me. I looked back to see Serena with a wicked smile on her face. She spoke.
"Ahmed," my sister said, "you have thought a lot about my honour. You should have thought about your own. Is it honourable to display yourself naked, with your thoughts so obvious, in a swimming pool that is overlooked by your friend's sisters' bedroom?"
This was obviously a rhetorical question. I couldn't answer anyway, gagged with panties and a hijab. Ayesha's scent filled my nostrils, exciting me inappropriately.
"I will leave you to your fiancée Ayesha and your friend's sisters to avenge the insult done to them. I will punish you later for your offence against our family's honour." Serena walked away, out of my sight. She took all my clothes with her.
"Now, fiancée Ahmed, you are wearing my hijab and eating my panties. Look after them. I will want them back but for now they are a sign that I own you. As for the insult, I want a better view before I decide whether I am insulted."
To my horror she pulled the towel away from my hips. My erection sprang into view to gasps from the assembled women.
"Nice," Ayesha said casually, "Now friends, if you have seen enough, leave me to punish my fiancée, please."
Angee's sisters left us alone. Angee sat sideways on my chest.
"Well, Ahmed, I am not displeased with what you have to offer. It seems large enough..."
Her fingers touched my erection briefly. I flinched as far as my bonds would let me.
"...it seems pleased to see me and it appears to be in working order. Of course there is only one way to find out."
Ayesha swung her legs up. She moved her backside up until my face was beneath it. She hid my head under folds of her black draperies pushed between her legs. Her fingers wrapped the towel around my erection and began to squeeze it. Soon I was gasping for breath under her muffling layers as her fingers brought me close to climax. She stopped and shuffled her ass to cover me more effectively before starting her gentle stroking again. This time I couldn't hold back. As I came into the towel my head arched deep into her swathed crack. Her ass cheeks pressed back before she swung her full weight on to my face. She held that position for a few seconds before climbing off.
Ayesha wiped my limp tool before walking across to the poolside shower. She rinsed off the towel.
"What a shame that you dropped your towel into the pool," She said as she hung it over the shower tap. She came back to me.
"Was that a punishment?" She didn't let me answer. "No. I didn't think it was. The next thing will be. You are going to escort your sister and I back to your house but no one will see you."
My eyes opened wide. What did Ayesha mean?
"You are going to walk through the streets wearing a burqa. That is your punishment from me and Angee's sisters. When you get back home you will have to face Serena's wrath as well."
I shook my head vigorously.
"It is no use protesting. You have no choice. Serena has taken your clothes away. It is a burqa or you will be nude. If you walked naked through the streets, apart from probably being arrested, that would be another insult to Serena and I. You are in enough trouble already, aren't you?"
What could I do? I nodded.
"Good. Now to get you ready."
Ayesha clapped her hands. Angee's sisters rushed to her bearing various black garments. I was untied from the bench and stood up. My arms and legs were still tied. Ayesha unfastened my ankles. I could take very small steps. They threw a jilbab over my bound body and forced the burqa on top. The headband of the burqa clamped over the hijab and felt as if it was cutting into my forehead. Ayesha pulled hard at the burqa until I could just see through the grid. Not only was I smothered in the clothes but the perfume told me that these were Ayesha's clothes. I was surrounded by her essence, as if enveloped by her.
She and Serena grasped my bound arms and led me through the house to the front door. Serena was carrying a sports bag full of my clothes.
Serena stopped in the doorway and turned to Angee's sisters.
"Remember to tell Angee that Ahmed had to take me home because I wasn't feeling well and that Ahmed apologises? Got that?"
I was vaguely aware of a couple of nods as the front door opened. I was dragged out, nearly tripping over the step.
I felt naked in the open air. Under the flowing draperies I was naked. I was hot under the layers of black cloth but my prick seemed exposed as the jilbab stroked it to another erection. I tried to peer down but the burqa wouldn't let me see if my erection was obvious.
It was only a few hundred yards to our house but it felt interminable. Everyone seemed to be looking at me. If only they had known what was hidden under the burqa...
Serena let us into our house and they dragged me upstairs to her bedroom. There they stripped the burqa and jilbab from me. Ayesha examined both garments closely.
"Good," she said, "He hasn't damaged them."
She turned to me.
"You have been honoured, Ahmed. This is my second best jilbab and burqa. They don't get much use, but they are expensive. Not every fiancé gets inside his fiancée's clothes before the wedding. Not that you expected to get inside them so literally. Enjoy them?"
I shook my head.
"No? You may not enjoy the next part either. The parade was for Angee's sisters and I. Serena still has to punish you."
They pushed me face down on the bed. Ayesha sat at the head of the bed, propped on a pile of pillows. She lifted my gagged and hooded head to her lap.
"No," she announced, "That won't do."
She climbed off the bed and shed her jilbab and hijab. Underneath she was wearing a short flared denim skirt and a white blouse. She put herself back against the pillows and pulled my head to her. My nose came to rest against her naked black-haired bush. I opened my eyes wide. This part of Ayesha I had never seen. I savoured her natural perfume.
I shouted into my gag as Serena's hand smacked my naked ass hard. My nose thumped into Ayesha. Her hands pulled me closer as Serena continued to slap my backside harder and harder. Before she finished tears were running down my face to mingle with Ayesha's excited warmth. Eventually Serena pulled me on to my back. My ass jumped as its abused skin hit the bed.
Ayesha unwound the hijab from my face and pulled the sodden panties from my mouth. My head was in her lap; her blouse covered breasts above me. I licked my lips and moistened my mouth.
"What was that for, Serena?" I asked.
"For all the spankings you gave me when I was young," she replied.
"I know. You only did them because father insisted, and you only pretended to spank me when I was older. If you hadn't, I would have used a slipper or hairbrush. You should be grateful that I only used my hand."
Ayesha's hand covered my mouth.
"Don't argue with your sister, Ahmed. She had to punish you for offending the family honour. Now that we are English, women have equal rights. So have men. Equal rights to be humiliated and punished. I hope you have learned a lesson today. I don't want to have to spank you too often when we are married. I will if I have to."
Ayesha's hand was replaced by her lips. I didn't notice that Serena had left the room.
Later Serena returned, after Ayesha had left me, gagged again with her panties and hijab. As Serena released my pantyhose bonds she said:
"I approve of your fiancee, Ahmed. She is woman enough for my brother. She left her hijab and panties so that you will be reminded of today – and her. I'll keep them in my room so that father won't suspect that Ayesha is immodest. Just ask when you want them."
"I will Serena, thank you."
"For what? For beating and humiliating my brother?"
"No. For clearing me from guilt for beating and humiliating you. Now you have had your revenge I can forget what father made me do. Can you forgive me?"
Serena hugged me tight. I should spank her for that. It is very immodest of her to hug her naked brother. I won't, of course. She and Ayesha might spank me again.
Sleeping with Ayesha's hijab and panties beside my pillow is nice but I can't wait until I get married and we can both get naked. Now how could I manage for us to swim naked together...?