Alex hated how his parents always used him as a prop for their political views, but the kid was still too young to do anything about it. Today he had been dragged along to a protest outside of a new mosque that had just opened up in his small midwestern town. The crowd was full of angry small town folk chanting about how they need to kick the terrorists out of their town. Tired of the screaming, Alex snuck away from the crowd to hide out in a nearby alleyway and scroll TikTok on his phone. He was about to open up the app when he noticed a dark skinned bearded man approaching him, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it as he leaned up against the wall.
“You seem a bit young to be at a protest like this,” he said, exhaling a puff of smoke towards the boy.
“Yeah,” Alex murmured, putting his phone away. “My parents always drag me along to these things. I hate it.”
“So I take it you don’t believe the same things they do?”
“No way. I wish I could change their minds somehow, but they’d never listen to me. I’m just a stupid kid to them.”
“Hmm, I have an idea…” the man said as he stroked his beard. “I’ll be right back.”
The man walked into the mosque and quickly came back out with a bundled up piece of black cloth. He stared at the boy nervously before asking, “What would your parents think if you joined our congregation? Converted to Islam?”
“Oh man, they’d be pissed, but maybe they’d finally listen to me.”
“Oh, after your conversion, I’m sure at least your father would hear you out. Welcome to the faith, boy.”
The man chucked the cloth at the kid, surprising him as he struggled to catch it.
“What am I- hello?” Alex looked around, finding no one. “Weird. He must’ve gone back inside. What does he want me to do with this?” He said, holding the cloth up curiously. Suddenly, the cloth began to come to life. It slithered around the young boy, dissolving his clothes as it covered him completely.
“What?! Help! Somebody help me!” The boy screamed in panic to no response. The yells of the protesters were too loud for anyone to hear him. In a matter of seconds, he was covered in a silky black burqa, leaving only a slit for his eyes. He stared down at his silly new outfit, the flowing dress being far too big for his childish frame. Little did he know that wouldn’t be the case for long.
He suddenly felt paralyzed as his body was wracked with a surge of energy. He watched in shock as the ground grew further from him, his growing legs pushing him up to an imposing height of 5’9. He felt even taller than his mother! He groaned as he felt the rest of his body changing under the accursed burqa, growling longer and older by the second. The shifts and cracks of his maturing frame quietly echoed off the alley walls along with his panicked groaning. The garment lifted just off the ground as his spine cracked, extending with a few pops and curving in like a mature woman’s. His hips exploded outwards, so much so that he could see his new curves forming beneath the cloth. He turned to watch his butt expanding at the same time, swelling and softening as the silky garment began to hug his new asset. He began to squirm as his things grew thick and creamy, squeezing his prepubescent boyhood uncomfortably.
Another sudden surge of pleasure brought the boy to his knees as his crotch began to heat up. He began to moan in a deepening voice as he felt his penis beginning to retract into his abdomen. He was actually thankful he couldn’t see what was happening down there, but he knew it was wrong. He watched his crotch in horror as the cloth became completely flat between his legs. With another burst of unknown pleasure, he screamed in a fully female voice as his boyhood was swallowed between a tight pair of lips between his legs. He fell to his knees, quivering in ecstasy as a dampness began to grow in his new sex. He rubbed a feminine hand between his legs, shocked at how sensitive the weird fold between his legs was. He squirmed again as a black thong formed beneath the cloth, tightening around his new pussy and riding up his swollen ass cheeks.
The changing boy rolled onto his back as he felt more spasms coming from his chest. His breathing grew deep and alluring as he felt a pressure growing beneath his increasingly sensitive nipples. He watched in terror as two massive mounds of flesh pushed their way out from beneath the burqa. They grew and grew, jiggling more with each exhausted breath. He brought his delicate hands up to his new chest and moaned as he cupped his new breasts, disgusted with how good it all felt. He didn’t want to be a woman, let alone a muslim one, but the feelings coursing through his mind were intoxicating. He moaned again as a matching silky black bra tickled his protruding nipples, pushing his breasts up and clipping itself behind his back.
“Mom…Dad…help me, please!” He screamed, noticing that his mature new voice was beginning to take on a middle eastern accent. He looked at his arms in horror as his skin began to darken, becoming a smooth, beautiful shade of brown. He then felt his face beginning to tingle as its structure began to shift. He winced as his skull grew sharper, leaving him with a feminine chin and cheekbones. His nose grew soft and petite as his lips thickened, dark lipstick applying itself as he licked them with an alluring tongue. He grabbed his head in shock as he even felt his mouth muscles changing, adapting to a life of speaking an entirely different language. His eyes finally began to widen as they grew sultry and feminie, taking on a gorgeous shade of violet as his native language shifted into Arabic.
He wanted to cry as he felt his memories beginning to alter. He felt his hair growing longer beneath his headpiece as memories of growing up in a small American town began to feel like a daydream. He couldn’t remember what his favorite movies and games were anymore, only that he liked whatever American movies got imported when she…he was just a child in a desert tribal town. His friends from school began to feel imaginary, like a fantasy to cope with the violence of growing up in the middle east. He couldn’t even remember how old he was…he was only 12, right? No, she…he was 29, and had just come to America last year. Finally, he remembered always having to hide his beautiful body beneath a burqa for modesty, especially once he’d hit puberty and all the men in the village began to try and court him. He remembered learning to be completely submissive to the men to avoid any punishment until they were in private. He remembered his first love and…husband. Poor Alex threw his head back in ecstasy and horror as a wave of memories flooded in, remembering nights of passionate sex mixed with abuse and control. He remembered fleeing his home country to come to America with his…her brother to start a new life. She remembered being called a terrorist everywhere she went, but she also knew it was a better life than back home. She was Aaila, the most beautiful girl in her village, and she was willing to do anything to keep her life in America.
The new woman moaned as her sexuality came flooding back to her. She quivered in ecstasy as years of orgasms were felt in seconds. She felt ashamed of herself indulging feminine pleasure as her faith taught her to repress it all, but she couldn’t deny how good it all felt. She laid there, rubbing herself through her burqa and appreciating how beautiful she knew she was beneath this outfit. To her surprise, a white man holding a protest sign had stumbled into the alley looking for something. She stared at him as he dropped his sign, clearly in shock at the sight of her sprawled out on the ground. He said something nervously, something about his son, but Aaila’s English wasn’t as good as it could be. She just stared at him through her veil, smirking at the bulge growing in his pants. She began to run her hands up and down herself, teasing the confused man, before another bearded man stepped out of the mosque into the alley. The other man quickly turned and ran back to the protest group, looking back at the woman lustfully.
“Sister?! What are you doing out here?” The bearded man asked in Arabic.
“Oh, brother, I was just thinking about trying to talk to some of the protesters. Maybe they’d be willing to listen to a girl like me?” She said in perfect Arabic.
“Haha, you have a very unique idea of ‘talking’ to them, don’t you?”
Aaila stood up and shook her burqa out, unsticking the cloth from her sweaty body and hiding her curves.
“These silly Americans always seem to listen to beautiful people,” she said with a smirk. “One day they’ll see what we muslim women are hiding underneath these clothes.”
“I’m sure they will. But first, they’ll have to accept our faith, Aaila. I’m sure you’ll convince quite a few people to join our congregation. These men would never want to send you away.” The man smiled, admiring how beautiful his new sister had turned out. He knew he’d given the former boy a life filled with more hardship, but he also knew that the rewards of his new life as Aaila would be infinitely more satisfying.
