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My New Rubber Life

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Moun Lisa Kaspersky took care of her alcohol and gambling-addicted mother, and when she died, Mouse tried to die too. Her uncaring father picked her up from the hospital and brought her to Izza and Dora's twin aunties. They were strange and possible just in the right way to give Mouna a new lease on life. All the women on her side of the family were strange and not suited for an ordinary life, which Mouna's mother proved when she had to stop her undercover work and take care of a child.

Romance / Erotica
Dee Vee Iante
Age Rating:

The Twins

I hung my hands from a trapeze while my twin aunties, Izza and Dora, tightened my new support and protection corset. Dad dumped me a week after Mum’s wake with Mum’s so-called twisted sisters. I was still a bit numb and was quite happy that Izza and Dora firmly laced me into my corset. But, I did not understand why they put me into a pink full-body latex catsuit. I don’t like pink.

I know that my aunties are not religious, but they always wear clothing as if they were. It was not quite Goth or like a nun, and it was always rubber. Even when they came to the funeral and wake, they were in full-length gowns and fully covered, even their mouth and noses.

As I felt my spine straighten and my ribs compressing, I absently wondered what would happen to me now. Dad had a new wife and a proper family, as he called it, so I doubt I would see him much.

Izza and Dora eased me to the ground, and I sat while Izza adjusted my shoulder bracing. Dora continued working my waist, which was becoming painful. Mum never had the time or strength to adjust my medical corset, so I guess I slacked off. I mean, it didn’t really matter. It was a sheer misfortune that dad found me before I bled out. Well, the sisters wore corsets, and they made up for my inattentiveness now. They were good, giving me time to adjust whenever they tightened any part. I was relaxing and comforting, feeling the firm embrace of my corset.

Even before dad left when I was born, mum took to the red in the morning, so dad constantly reminded her. Dad was a high achiever, and mum seemed never enough for him. She never dressed right, never sat right, never cooked right, and when she bore a damaged girl, she could not even be a mother right. Dad left just after my premature birth. I saw him maybe five times since, the last when he picked me up from the hospital and bought me to the twisted sisters. He said they could deal with me. If killing my mum did not do it, surviving my cutting, then having dad bum me probably has firmed up my depression.

I did not mind my quirky aunties. Right now, they were ping-ponging something, so I tuned in, “They should never have let it go - this far with her spine and posture, I know. But it is not too late - to make her into a lady, but what about - our clients and business? She will have to fit in around our - busy schedule, yes, but then she needs some - way to blend in, especially when we have a group session. But then, she needs to be – kept busy and distracted from things. How about – she takes over as a maid for our guest rooms. She is perfect and – when the weekend comes – she can help as a - drink maid. She had so many leg-breaks and - her legs need padding. How about – a couple of sets of thermal tights. Yes, brilliant, and she will – not look like a skeleton.”

Izza tired off my corset with a sharp tug, which robbed me of my breath. I felt the familiar pain of my full-body corset’s embrace running all the way up my spine to C5. It was a while since anyone laced me so properly, which hurt, but that was good. At least I felt something. I looked at the pile of folded fleecy tights and understood. Four pair? Okay.

I did have skeletal legs like those you see from third world counties from starving children. I was always thin, but I hardly ate since I had to care for my mum the past few years. I hid my legs under several leggings and Mum’s jeans, but this was much better.

Yes, I was flat and straight like a plank just like Mum and the aunties. But the aunties had a bowed torso which made them look like great ladies with their shoulders back and head held high. I was like an underdeveloped prepubescent anorexic child with sclerosis, and my head was always down. Well, not with this corset anyway.

They handed me a black short-legged romper with a hood and gloved sleeves. I put it on and pulled it up so that it kept my tights from webbing. I hated that. It was nice and firm, covered the top of the corset, and added another layer over my hands. I felt the scars underneath, but the pressure made it less painful. Too bad. They helped me into a white long-sleeved blouse then a classical black latex maids dress.

Oh, not the sexy kind, but the one that went to the knees and had inbuilt petticoats looking out just under the white-edged hem. I never can tell them apart, but one pulled down the blouse under the maid’s dress, and the other came back with a bonnet, wedged black ankle boots, white ruffled socks, and an apron.

Once dressed, they stood me in front of a mirror and spoke, “Yes, that is quite nice, and – chaste. No one can mistake her – from one of our hostesses. Perhaps we should – ask her what she thinks?” Well, that caught me off guard. I never get asked anything, just told what to do. Aside, I never look at myself if I can help it! There is enough ugliness in the world already. I just shrugged.

The aunties fussed around a bit, including on my white bonnet, then sent me to the main house to the kitchen to present myself to Cook. Cook also told me what to do, sit, eat and enjoy.

The porridge with nuts, raisins, and fresh fruit was okay, and Cook was nice. She offered me a small dessert, but I could not eat much. Looking at my waist, she said I should come as often as I liked, but I was too fat already. Cook was really nice, so I tried to curtsey like a maid but stumbled; I am so embarrassing. Cook told me where to find the maid’s supply storage on the second and third levels and told me to check the themed suites.

I had to climb the stairs slowly, feeling myself heating up. It was slow going with the corset’s firmness, and the thermal tights made it very warn under the latex catsuit. Halfway up the flight of stairs, I had to catch my breath and rest.

I looked around the vast hall with a table on the side, a large table with many, many chairs, and an overlong sideboard. The hall opened all the way to the led glass domed top. On the second, third, and fourth levels, a balcony ran in a circle with many doors every so often, each different. I was not used to heeled boots, and my calves hurt when I reached the second floor. I found the maid’s cupboard and had to sit a moment.

Everyone kept insisting that I would not start to deal with the pain of mum’s death until I cried. How could I admit that I was relieved that mum was dead? So many years of watching her wasting away, no one caring about us, wore me down. Dad did the easy thing and just ignored me.

Was I sad about my mother’s death? I mourned the loss of my mother for many years before she died, watching her waste away. I cried all the tears I had for her when I had to collect her from somewhere, clean her up, change her nappies, and clean the vomit from the living room where she watched TV. I think it hardened me to pain, and then I started body cutting.

I carved HATE into my left arm and FEAR into my right arm. I had DEAD on my left thigh, and on my right calf, I carved HOPE but extended it to HOPELESSNESS. That took me a while, and once I passed out by the second S. It was a while ago, and I forgot it. It was always hidden under whatever clothing I could find. Now the aunties knew and probably found out about all the other stuff. So, they dressed me to protect me in their style of clothing. I guess I was okay with that.

Sitting did not cool me down much, and falling to the black dog would debilitate me for hours, and I will find a sharp object even if the aunties hid all sharps, except in the kitchen. I needed something to do, and the aunties gave me something which would distract me from death and dying.

I stood and plodded to the first door, with purple and black Gothic style designs. The bedroom was in black and purple, with a large black wood bed and gargoyle corners. It had two ornately carved bedside tables. I checked the one closest and found sealed plastic bags with sex toys for men. The second draw had leather restraints, masks, and other such. The other side had much the same in purple and pink for women.

The wardrobe stored manacles, straight jackets, plugs, restraints, gags, various whips and crops, ropes and chains, harnesses, masks, hoods, dentistry mouth spreaders, a feather duster, penis lock, and chastity belts, and several items I would have to look up. No sharps of any kind.

The luxury ensuite was also gothic with a metal footed bathtub, pull chain shower, pewter toilet, and sink with matching fixtures. The slightly distorting mirror with colored crystals matched the door surrounds. The towels were purple and black, and the lights were electric but still behaved like candles. The floors were bluestone, bare with a few mats in the bathroom with several rugs strewn about in the bedroom. A matching rug hung on the wall. I needed to rest and sat on the ornately carved gargoyle-headed chair.

All those years of looking after my mother, ensuring that mortgage and utilities were paid as soon as the money came in on the account, and before mum could use her debit card for booze and gambling, became a full-time job. Even though I didn’t have a license, I had to pick her up from the casino and drive the car. Eventually, I could not leave her even to go shopping. I was once a runner, but not I was unfit, had no friends, and had no life. The aunties have given me more attention today than my parents in years.

I stood and walked to the next suite with a handpainted picture of Beauty and the Beast on the door. It was a whimsical bedroom with a feral touch of leather. The girly baby blue bed with leather covers, and on the one side, the chest of draws was baby blue and the other a deep brown. The stone bathtub with a waterfall was unique. The specialty items in the wardrobe hinted at pony and dog play-training and also had cow and pig outfits and others.

I also had to sit down and rest again and noticed that my bony bum hurt less sitting in the ruffled pettipants shorts. Yes, sure, the corset robbed me of my breath, and the high heels were still a bother, but the real issue was that I just did not see the reason to go on. Well, I had one reason. I promised Cook that I would, so that was enough to keep me going for now.

I worked my way through every room. Where needed, I replaced towels, straightened bedcovers, and did what any ordinary hotel maid would do. Each room was in a unique style, and that kept it interesting. I sat, took in the theme, and had a breather when I finished a room. It was dark by the time I finished the last room, Bollywood. I was tired and ready to sleep.

I went down to Cook, who scolded me for not coming down more often to eat, which I did not mind. An ear full was better than invisibility. She made me promise to visit her regularly and eat tomorrow, and well, I promised.

Then I went out and across to my bedroom, sat, and took it in. It was pink and suitable for a young girl with three interconnected hearts for ceiling and wall lights. The bedside table did not have toys like the other bedrooms, and the wardrobe was full of girly wear in rubber, of course. The full-sized bed was like a cot with sides, but I fell asleep in the oval pod or egg chair.

Aunty Izzi and Dora woke me and spoke, “You are tired - and that is good, but we want you - safe and sound during the night. We will help you - into this onesie for the night - and help you out of it tomorrow morning. We like helping you.”

They helped me undress the maid’s outfit, but I kept the base layer suit and dressed the rubber nightgown over. I went to the bathroom and unzipped the latex catsuit between my legs to use the bidet. I unsealed an electric toothbrush to brush my teeth. I showered in the catsuit removing the hood and opening the neck. The water tickled as it trickled in, filling the catsuit, making it easy to remove. It was sort of fun.

When I returned, Izza helped me into a new pink latex catsuit then Dora had me dress into a pink thermal catsuit with feet, gloves, and hood. Izza helped me onto the trapeze, and Dora closed my corset. Izza went to loosen it for the night, but I shrugged it off. They had me put on another two pink thermal catsuits with feet, hood, and mittens before helping me into a new pink sleep onesie.

This one was different! The legs were like the other, but the top was also without arms, although my arms fit into internal sleeves. When the hood was on, covering my head and face but with holes for breathing, I was the world’s first pink mummy. This thought amused me.

Izza started speaking, “We had this made - for you, my dear Mouna Lisa - to stop you from thrashing about at night. For a - young person - you have brittle bones. We all do in the Serdubois family. It is called - Osteogenesis Imperfecta. It is mild - but we have to live with it.

Izzy and Dora wrapped me into my pink duvet, then each gave me an icky kiss on my y forehead then wished me good night. I was not used to anyone touching me, especially not on my face. They drew up the bedsides and wished me a good night and sleep tight. Well, yes, I would be tight, but would I sleep.

MUM! It was three when I was startled awake with my dead mother’s face staring at me accusatorily. I called the police, who came with an ambulance after four. The coroner said she died between one and three, but I remember looking at the wall clock at two. I fell asleep and was not there when she needed me. When I was waiting for the police and ambulance, I continued caregiving my thigh from hope to hopelessness. Then I opened my wist artery avoiding my tendons, but my timing was shit...

MUM! I woke, my heart racing trying to get out of my armchair. I still saw her face, not like in the pictures but as I found her...

MUM! I felt hot and bothered, and I needed to feel pain by how the twins had me sleep; it was impossible. I needed to focus on physical pain rather than on my conscience. My slit wrists itched like mad, as did my thigh with hopelessness on it. If I had the use of my fingernails, I could open the scabbing, and this would hurt nicely. Focusing on that and unable to do anything, I fell asleep.

MUM! I woke with my mother’s wide-open dead eyes staring at me. It was not a charitable thought, but just as then, I screamed at her, reminded her of the bitch she was for never caring about me. I refocused on my real pains and wondered if I slit my thigh arteries would I bleed out quicker?

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