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."