The Story of Amna

Amna strolled through the mall, her black abaya flowing behind her as she looked in every window, marveling at the clothes non Muslim women are able to wear. She glanced eagerly from one window to the next, a beautifully sequined dress in one display, a form fitting low cut dress in another. She stood in awe of how beautiful each mannequin looked and imagined how each dress would look on her. She thought to herself how similar her proportions were to the plastic models, just a little bigger in the hips and bust, but otherwise these dresses would be a fine fit.

She stood there silently, her hands running over her hips and tummy, trying so hard to imagine what the fabric would feel like against her curves. Determining what reflections the sequins would pick up as she moved and how much of her chest would be exposed with such a low neck. Her husband would disown her, she thought. Her family would think she's crazy. But, since she came to the US with her husband and mother in law three years ago after fleeing the fighting in Syria, she's been surrounded by other girls her age in clothes such as these.

As she continued to stare into the window more thoughts filled her head, the stories told to her by her college friends of hook ups and drunken sexual antics. She had only been going for a year, but she made friends quick, with her warm personality and glowing smile. She preferred the more western girls to other middle eastern women, they were just more fun to be around, they didn't take anything too serious.

"Can I help you" a nearby lady asked.

Shocked out of her own thoughts, Amna struggled to form words to make a reply, completely lost in her own thoughts and oblivious to the noise and traffic of the mall.

"Um.. no... I'm fine. I'm just looking." She said in a soft voice with a hint of British accent.

"Well you're welcome to come in and try one of the dresses on, if you want," the lady said.

Looking in the direction of the voice Amna realized it was a sales lady from inside the store. Amna's face blushed and her breathing quickened as she wondered how long she had been standing there.

"Thank you, but I have to go," Amna said embarrassingly but politely.

"Oh, ok. Come back anytime," the sales lady said, as Amna walked away quickly.

As she walked through the mall, smiling at the absurdity of the situation, she imagined what the lady could have been thinking. How one person could go from being almost completely covered in fabric to wearing practically nothing but a few threads. Then she really thought about it, how pushed up her ample breasts would be, how the stretchy fabric would cling to her curves. Would Wearing such a dress cause her husband to ravage her in bed or call her a whore. Even better, she thought, would be to walk into a seedy bar in such a skintight dress, with heels and her long black hair unleashed from her hijab and bathe in the attention she might get from its patrons.

Her religion strictly forbids showing cleavage and other body parts, women are supposed to go unseen or blend into the background completely. But Amna wanted to stand out and be seen. She wanted to show off her young slender body that she works so hard to keep fit. Amna thought again of wearing a revealing dress at a fancy dinner party, gliding across the floor in her black heels, talking to every guest. Slipping into the bedroom where her husband would meet her, bend her over the bed as he pulls the dress up and...

Amna paused in her thought, realizing where she was and how flushed her face was. She shook it off, but the feelings were still there. The noise from the mall filled her head as she saw a sign for the bathroom. She quickly walked in and to the sink where she splashed some cool water on her face. It's not helping, she needs another remedy. Amna walked into an empty stall and pulled up her abaya, the fabric came together in a large roll. She held the yards of fabric in one hand and pulled it up to her tummy. She sat on the toilet seat, panties exposed. Normally she wears jeans or leggings under her abaya, but today was a warm sunny day, fitting for such an outfit.

She rubbed the outside of her panties, keeping an eye on the crack in the door incase someone speaks in. Her rubbing began as rhythmic and gentle but quickly turned more aggressive with each moment. Her body was growing impatient and hungered a release. Amna obliged, as she tried desperately to keep her breathing quiet, by pulling aside her lacey prison to find her waiting cliterous. Rubbing it in circles with two fingers her body melted in the stall. She knew she was damp from the daydreams, but she had no idea how much, now her wetness covered her right hand. Her fingers glistened as she worked, rubbing her swollen clit until her legs started quivering. Her whole body was preparing for a well deserved release.

She thought of the seedy bar and a handsome man hitting on her, she thought of the dinner party and her husband bending her over. Soon they mixed and her husband was walking her out of the bar and to the car, she got in the backseat and unzipped her dress. Now he got in the back, but it wasn't him, it was a stranger. The thought of having another man other than her husband made her heart flutter and she let out a loud moan which echoed off the metal walls. Her eyes popped open for a second as she realized how loud she was being, but she was undeterred. Amna's fingers worked feverishly as she slipped back into fantasy.

The stranger took off his shirt and unzipped his pants, Amna could almost smell his cologne and feel the hair on his chest. She looked into his eyes as he pushed into her, losing her breath in the process. Back in the stall, Amna's feet were planted firmly on the door, her body writhing for its grand release, but she wouldn't let go, her hand covered in her own fluids, she thought back to the stranger and his body pressed against hers, his strong hands on her body and his cock diving deep into her. She let out another moan, this time muffled by her free hand and her body started to quiver. Her sneakers squeaked on the metal stall and her body finally got its reward. She convulsed a few times as she finished, leaving the stranger in her mind to finish on another day.

Amna opened her eyes and gathered herself, putting her panties back on straight. As she stood up, her abaya fell down and she brushed the wrinkles out of it. She gathered herself as best she could and opened the door. She never bothered to check for other people in the restroom when she came in, she was too determined to finish what she started. But, she thinks she was subtle enough not to be noticed. As she walks out and to the sink Amna stops in her tracks briefly as she notices another woman down at the other end of the long line of sinks. The woman smiles at her in the mirror, Amna smiles back and continues on to wash her hands. She notices her reflection in the large mirror and adjusts any loose hairs and smudged makeup. She looks over to the other woman and wonders what she heard or saw.

She grabbed a few paper towels and headed for the exit While drying her hands. The other woman, now adding gloss to her lips in the mirror, smiled again as Amna walked by and out into the noise of the mall. Amna worried that the woman heard her moans, and quickly walked away. After a short distance Amna turned back to see the woman standing at the exit of the bathroom staring at her. Amna felt embarrassed by her gaze, and made sure to break away from the woman's eyeline.

She walked back the way she came, passing the window of dresses and left through an exit as she thought "maybe some day I'll get one of those."