A Sissy's Unveiling

The powder blue abaya flapped in the humid wind as I made my way through the bustling streets of Manhattan, a covered girl walking elegantly, submissively, through the crowds of tourists and deranged homeless people that occasionally assault you, especially when you are a Muslim woman, and therefore an easy, fragile target.

Robed from head to toe, my hair covered by my hijab, I felt my abaya sticking to my naked skin, as the temperature rose outside, wearing no underwear, sweat dripping down my body in streaks, making the outline of my body more prominent to those who stared at me for more than a few seconds.

"I don't know how hijabi girls do that every day," I mumbled to myself, while trying to remove a piece of the robe that had been caught in my panty-free asscheeks. "I have to find an AC before everyone can see the outline of my caged dick."

I quickened my steps as much as my high heels would allow, my eyes darting around for any welcoming spot where I could take refuge from the sweltering heat.

To my relief, I found an air-conditioned bookstore somewhere near Union Square, which I hurriedly entered, greeted by a security guard, his facial features and crooked smile betraying his Somali heritage.

"Assulum alekum, sister," he confidently exclaimed as he held the door for me.

"Umm, hey, thank you," was the only response I could think of, uttered in the most feminine voice I could muster.

"It must be like a greenhouse in there today," he said with a chuckle. I found the comment insulting, something you'd never say to a hijabi, even though I wasn't one.

Straightening my garments with my hands, forcing them to unstick from my body, feeling forcefully aware of my tenuous disguise, I increased the pitch of my voice, responding, "haha, it's like torture."

"Can you please point me to the restroom," I said while avoiding eye-contact.

"Go straight and then to your left."

"Thank you."

The bookstore was huge and magnificent, a labyrinth of bookshelves that spanned from the ceiling to the floor and expanding in all directions. One could get lost in there. Under different circumstances I would have spent some time navigating through the racks, but not today.

Today I was on a mission.

I locked the door behind me as I entered the ladies' room, my heart pounding from the near-heatstroke I gave myself and from my close encounter with the security man, who, I was convinced, knew something was not quite right with me.

I made my way to the sink, lifting my abaya over my head to reveal my naked, sweaty body, an androgynous display of sissihood, visually feminine yet obviously a man, as betrayed by my pink caged dick, or clitty, as my subscribers call it online.

I was aroused by the sight of my body. I had always known that I was meant to be a woman, a submissive one at that. And here I was exploring that long-repressed desire and fantasy.

I grabbed tissue paper from the stall behind me, wetting it in cold water from the sink, and began wiping my sweat from my body, making sure to get the areas between by dick and asscheeks before they started to smell.

Absorbed in the task, feeling the relief of the cold against my overheated skin, I suddenly snapped back to reality as my phone buzzed in one of the concealed packets of my robe.

I grabbed it, seeing that I had received a message from user442, also known as Ahmed, my top contributor and most loyal fan. He insists on calling him Sir.

The message read: I hope you are enjoying your day, you little slut. It's time for your task, i need it in my inbox asap.

I replied: Sir, can we wait until the sundown? It's so hot and risky. There're too many people out.

I am not paying you to question me. I am paying you to do as you are told. Understand?

Understood, sir.

Good slut. Why are you in a bookstore? As per our agreement, Ahmed had unlimited access to me, barring physical contact, including a constant ping on my GPS location.

I almost passed out from the heat. Came here to cool down. I will leave now.

No. Stay there. Your task will take place in the bookstore.

Sir?

No more texting. I will send you some instructions. Get it done.

My task for today was to take a series of pictures and videos where I exposed myself in public. Ahmed would later take them and upload them into his page to be viewed by thousands of sissy-seeking men who would do anything to have a night with me as their Muslim slave.

I had to follow Ahmed's command because he knew too much about me and failing to do so could put my true identity in danger, which would be devastating.

But coercion wasn't the right word for what I was doing. I was bound by a contract of mutual understanding and a visceral desire to serve the dominant wishes of men, even at my own detriment. There was no question about it, I was perverted, but I derived intense sexual pleasure from being used (at least, in my imagination, for my sissihood was still virgin) and seen as a property of someone else. Being reduced to sexual exploitation was my fetish, and I could not escape it. Funny isn't it, how the muslim women of the east fight for the very opposite, to be free from the chains of masculine restraint. And, here I was, a man in the free west, craving to be treated like the very thing many hijabs are trying to escape.

After drying up, I covered myself again with the abaya and set out to scout for a spot for my mischief.

The shelves stretched seemingly into infinity, rows of books appearing with every turn, some sections of the store being busier than others.

I slowly made my way to the hard sciences section, which, unsurprisingly was almost empty; nobody goes to a bookstore nowadays to buy a textbook. I looked around for employees and scanned the ceiling for cameras.

No employees, but about half a dozen cameras pointing to different locations.

I eventually found a corner that seemed to be out of reach from the nearest camera, and quickly started plotting on how I would execute my plan.

My heart started to race, and I felt my dick swelling against my cage, the risk of being caught making me aroused and causing my balls to shrivel up inside of me.

I took out my phone, opened selfie mode, and placed it against the wall and the floor. I walked back a few steps, making sure that my whole body was visible. "Perfect."

I leaned down to press record, and stood back up, bending my body, teasingly lifting the abaya to expose my buttery smooth white skin, turning around to show my swollen ass, tightly highlighted against the fabric, lifting it to expose it, bending down rhythmically, slowly revealing my stretched asshole. I thought to myself that I would be perfect for a sissy harem.

My clitty had started to leak, and I kneeled to the camera for a better view, caressing the edges of the cage with my precum, collecting it in my fingers, feeling its stretchy stickiness. After I had gathered a few drops in my index finger, I proudly showed the camera and placed my finger in my mouth, licking it free of my precum, making sure to consumer every drop as more and more continued to leak from my aroused clitty.

Suddenly, the sound of hurried steps in the next aisle caused me to panic and I immediately jolted up, grabbing my phone and reaching for a book, pretending to skim it.

A young blonde lady appeared from the corner, meeting my apprehensive gaze, and asked, "Do you need any assistance miss?"

"No, thank you, just browsing," I replied with my forced high pitch, trying to control my labored breathing.

"Alright, let us know if you need help finding something," she replied as she turned back to leave.

"Will do."

I felt like I was going to faint at any moment from the fear. I had to get my tasks done and dash out of there as soon as possible.

I grabbed my phone and went through Ahmed's checklist: Erotic dance (check), show ass (check), lay on your back, and expose your clit, walk on all fours without the abaya, cum in a book and close it--then buy it. Record everything.

"You fucking pervert," I exclaimed, "how am I supposed to do all that without getting caught."

I ran to the corner of the shelf, made sure that the employee had really left and then placed my phone back against the wall, and then laying down on my back a few feet from the phone, with the abaya pulled up on my chest.

I started to spread my legs out, rubbing my boipussy in the same manner one would rub a clit, playing with myself just long enough to capture a video Ahmed could use.

After a few seconds, I removed my abaya, leaving only my hijab intact, and started walking on all fours along the length of the aisle, shaking in a mix of horny excitement and fear, the phone always recording my transgressions as I made sure to showcase my curves and locked dick in as a feminine manner as I could.

For my last task, I grabbed a random book from the shelf next to me, switched to the front-facing camera, and lifted my robe to expose my caged dick, placing the book below it. With my right hand, I started to rub the cage, further arousing my already-tormented dick, edging myself closer and closer to ejaculation, hard as it might be to do without full access to it, feeling my tiny balls, playing with them to increase my sensation. Soon enough, I orgasmed, cum dripping through the plastic cage onto the open book, staining the pages with sticky, perverted wetness.

Gasping from the relief, I closed the book, lowered the abaya, and leaned back to catch my breath. "I did it," I whispered, feeling my legs shaking.

Post-nut clarity had started to creep in, engulfing me with immense guilt, sexual fantasies having suddenly evaporated, feeling the urge to throw away my clothes and run back home.

But I couldn't do it. I was in full makeup, far from home, and with no change of clothes. Ahmed had anticipated this.

I took a deep breath, trying to reclaim my mind, and dashed for the register.

The same employee was there. Without speaking to her, I handed her the cum-filled book, praying that she wouldn't open it--or smell it. She scanned it; I handed her the cash, thanking me for the purchase, and dashed for the exit.

The security guard wasn't there, thankfully.

Outside, the sun had almost set, and I no longer felt the sexual desires that had driven me to the city. I felt an anger brewing within me, feeling angry at myself for failing to curb my sexual proclivities. Angry at myself for having willingly submitted part of my freedom to an internet stranger, whose only detail I knew was his name, and I was uncertain of that as well.

Sighing at my predicament, I took out my phone and shamefully sent him the videos I took. Then, I silenced it and put it back in my pocket.

Deep in me, I knew that there was no point protesting my situation. When the post-nut clarity wore off, as it always does, I would be back craving submission and obedience to masculine men, eager to show them my devotion.

Hungry and dehydrated, I decided to make my way to a burger joint a few blocks from the bookstore. The city had sprung to life. Everyone was out and about, relishing the evening reprieve from the blistering heat. I walked among the crowds, trying to get lost in them, become just another passerby, observing how they walked and behaved. I wondered how many sissies in disguise are in these crowds. Was I the only one? Some real hjabis who passed by me gave me friendly smiles, thinking I was one of them, and a handful of brown men checked me out, their dominant stares searing themselves in my eyes. When I noticed them, I instinctively bowed my head and smiled, surprising and terrifying myself.

To my disappointment, the burger joint was full, so I took my food to-go, walking back to the park, finding a lonely bench by the sidewalk where I sat and ate in silence.

I spent the next hour or so mindlessly observing the people as they went about their lives, but when I was about to get up and leave, a firm hand squeezed my shoulder.

"Jasmine--"

Shocked that someone recognized me in public, calling me by my online persona, I snapped to my feet.

He was tall, muscular, and brown. I pieced the pieces together.

"Ahmed?" I reluctantly asked. He had promised that he would never try to hunt me down in real life.

"Yes."

"But... you promised. I did as you told me."

"Relax. I'm here to talk to you."

"Have you been following me all day?"

"Let's talk. Sit down." His demeanor was direct yet soft, different from his commanding persona online.

Obediently, I sat down, and he followed.

"You look beautiful in this grey abaya."

"Thanks. It's supposed to be blue."

"Oh"

"Anyway, I decided to meet you in person because I have a proposition for you. I--"

Interrupting him, I said, "What I say and do online is a different story."

"I understand. But listen to my offer first and, you can feel free to reject it if it doesn't appeal to you."

"And if I reject it, you won't expose my identity?"

He ignored my question, saying, "I have been your biggest contributor for a long time, two years actually, and we have decided that you would be a perfect fit for the club."

"We? What club?"

"Oh, right, we, as in, my partners and Nadia."

"I don't understand."

"I will explain everything when you accept, but right now listen to me."

"Ok, I replied."

"It is obvious to us that you are not just another sissy. You have committed yourself into this lifestyle, or at least, trapped yourself into it, and your attempts to leave it behind have always been futile. So... we decided to offer you the chance to experience your fantasies in real life in return for luxuries you haven't even imagined before. You will be given the chance to fully submit, serve, and be dominated. As you always wanted. Not just with words--in reality."

"Ahme--sir, umm, I cannot go deeper in the rabbit hole than I already have. You know, admittedly, how much I love serving you, but the lust is fleeting, an addiction that I indulge from the privacy of the screen."

"And I will help you realize that it's what you truly desire."

"I am scared that I--"

"--that you would like it too much and would want to live your old life behind?" he interrupted.

"Well, that too, but also... I just--I just can't do it. I am sorry." I stood up and told him that I had to leave.

After I had taken a few steps, he said with a raised voice, "43 Willow Street, Brooklyn. Apartment 3A."

I paused in my tracks, a sense of impending doom began to consume me.

"What do you think your girlfriend and parents will say--and even your friends--Dimitri, for example--and your co-workers when we send them a few videos of your... alternative lifestyle."

My heart was pounding against my chest, knowing that this day would come sooner than later, as I had increasingly become riskier in my willingness to submit and expose myself to Ahmed. He was holding me by a leash. The consequences of my family finding out about this would be catastrophic. I could not even begin pondering life with their knowing about... me.

I walked back to him, slowly, obediently, and sat down next to him.

I looked at him in the eyes. "I accept your offer."