Veiled PAGE




One of the three.

My wounds had healed well, and today I am supposed to be the third wife of Mahmud Saif ad-Din. I was beautiful now. My master had given me a tits enlargement. They injected my lips and a golden nose ring framed my new, bright red tattooed lips. From the nostrils over my tits to the labia, little gold bells hung everywhere. Every good Muslim would now turn away from me when he heard the bells. One and two dressed me.

Everything was white — first an ankle-length shirt with a high stand-up collar and a long arm. An incredibly elaborately folded hijab framed my face. A Niqaab decorated with pearls covered my face. Over it, I wore a heavy wedding abaya. That day I was a white ghost for the first and last time. They put golden chains on my arms and legs. So I could make only minimal steps. The arms were chained together at the elbows behind my back, so I could not stretch them out. Blindly stumbling they led me to the part of the mosque reserved for women. The Imam declared me the third woman of Mahmud Saif ad-Din. Then, with loud applause and embraces from the sisters, I was led into the wedding chambers to wait for my husband. After some time he entered. I lay down on the bed, and he climbed me. After he had emptied himself inside me, he stood up and left me without a word. It was only now that I was his third wife, 'Three' for short. One' and 'two' washed me, and we waited for our husband to appear again. The wedding lasted three days, in which I had to be available to my master around the clock. Then we travelled to Egypt, to his homeland.

Ali Meiser and Aleyna, Rabia, Samira:

" What a life!" I thought. "I have a fantastically well-endowed job, I' m master of two submissive women and my daughter is marrying Sheik's son, Rachid."

Just three months ago I was living with my daughter in a Hartz4 rental casern, with no perspective and no money. With effort and misery, we managed to send Petra now Samira to the High School. But now everything was entirely new and better. I'm running a massive project now. I am setting up free social stations in all our Madrasas and Mosques, to put the 'Tafel', the ASB, the Red Cross and all other aid organisations in the shade. Missions or the use of gas are strictly forbidden. Faizah Peterson, a very remarkable woman, developed the concept and is responsible for PR. She is our young, dynamic and modern model Muslimah, who we will soon be able to admire in almost every talk show. A Salafism with a pink Ribbon! What the AfD can do, we have been able to do for a long time and much better.

I was dreaming how the communist Sarah Wagenknecht, the AfD bitch Weidel, the AKK of the CDU and our Faizah are sitting opposite each other and commenting on the latest Nazi riots, accompanied by videos showing a non-active police force and a raging Nazi mob in best HD quality. The TV can also be fun! -till I was disturbed by Samira.

"Daddy, Samira to Daddy, are you there?" my sunshine annoyed me.

"What is it, princess?" I could always annoy her with it.

"Your 'princess' wants to take part in a peace demonstration, his Majesty," she said with a broad grin.

"His Majesty will wisely know how to prevent that. And now let me work, dear. And tell my wives to bring me a coffee!"

"Papa, please! We want to show the world that we are not these devils, as the media constantly spread it."

"In the evening the Kabirs and Peterson come with their wives to visit, Soraya also brings little Mahmud with her, so I can talk about it if you want to upset Rachid, okay?"

"Yes, that's nice. I'm especially looking forward to the little one. But I'm sure Rachid will be very angry that I want to go to a demo," she said. Allah blesses Rachid.

"You should slowly realise that if you want to be his wife, you have to stay out of public matters. Go and read the Qur'ân al-kerîm, that pleases Allah, me, and especially your future husband. She sighed:

"You're right. I'll take good care of the house as always, as a good Muslimah should, and stay away from the demos. I'll take care of your coffee, and then I'll read the holy book."

"Cheer up, princess, things are as they are now, just good for you!"

The visit:

In the evening we sat together after a good meal: The Sheik Ahmed Kabir, his son Rachid and Richard Peterson with his wife, Faizah.

Since we were planning the next offensive, she had to be there, even if she would have preferred to be with the women. She was allowed to entirely disguise herself to feel comfortable in the company of us men. She explained her new program and reported on her new contacts in politics and the press.

Then she said: "This life is a nightmare for me, constantly surrounded by strange men and having to show me off in public. Why can't I live like my sisters? Am I a worse Muslimah? May I please withdraw now?"

"Thank you sister, through your sacrifice you are doing our cause a great service, but now you have truly earned some rest in the circle of women. You may go now."

When she was gone, the Sheik said, "We still have to optimise our MC technique. We can't do without women like her. I will consult with the brothers. One notices that Faizah was a top BND agent in her concept; she points out risks that we didn't even recognise in the beginning. I am glad to know she is on our side.

Brother Ali, you've done an excellent job of getting our social stations up and running so quickly, you certainly deserve it. Now to you, Richard.

The influx of members in the CDU from Muslims is working quite well. You and Faizah are already new hope. I look forward to your election as NRW Minister President in three years.

With the women:

Finally, I was allowed to leave the men and enter the women's wing of the house. Completely quiet and loving I was embraced and greeted by the women. Immediately I relaxed. I read on my display:

"Welcome, dear sister, Faizah, sit with us and eat and drink something". Thankfully I took a seat, and after hours I finally got something to drink. These men can be so ruthless. First I had to serve them all evening, then I had to work on my concept with them for over an hour. And all that half-blind under thick veils, under which it can get pretty hot. But now I was under my own, only under the first, the light and airy Niqab veil. I enjoyed the silence, the food and the drinking. And of course this unique feeling of security in the company of believing Muslimahs. Unfortunately, an infrequent event for me, as I was always in the public eye as the wife of a leading politician.

I caught myself thinking that if my master took a second wife, I could still have that kind of company. Much too risky at the moment, perhaps at some point.