I Am Twenty-Two

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Twenty-five hours day schedule. Meaning that each scheduled day is moved one hour into the next solar day.

Each day, the resting time of 8 hours, moves one hour.

A different version of working shifts. Instead of switching every few days for the day shift, then the evening and the night shift (for 8 hours working shifts) you simply roll on with 17 hours of work and 8 hours of rest. One day at a time, one hour at a time, you move your working shift.

Perfect for those who work non-stop, 365 days a year.

Like myself.

My name is Twenty-Two. I’m a rubber slave for my masters. They don’t really have a name. I couldn’t say it anyways, since I’m totally mute and deaf unless they want me to hear something, generally an order, a directive, or for other reasons.

That has been my life for four years now. Eight hours of sleep then 17 hours of work. It takes a few weeks to get the beat, but the body adapts.

I have been fully encased in multiple layers of rubber and some very resistant mesh, all fused together, making it impossible to take off my suit without ruining it, which in itself, would be quite a feat.

But why would I take it off? It protects me against pretty much anything, and I don’t have to worry about what I would wear the next day. A quick wipe and it’s done.

There are 14 of us in the mansion, taking care of the masters, the guests, and the whole property itself: three stories, 12 rooms, a huge land, stables and stuff. 

One butler, one cook, one assistant cook, 4 maids, 4 gardners, 2 stable hands, and one maintenance worker.

All females. All sealed in rubber.

All enjoying it.

Right now, it’s time for my rest period. After writing this journal, I will be heading for the sleeping room. Being on 26 hours days, also means that not all sleep at the same time. I never know in advance what my bed will be. I can choose from what is left, unless of course, I misbehaved and are treated accordingly.

No bed is classic. Forget about the soft, satiny rich beds you see in movies. Rubber slaves are treated to different beds.

There are, of course, a classic for the kinky enthusiast: the vacbed. Sandwiched between two layers of rubber, sucked together by the force of the vacuum*. My favorite. (* technically, by the force of the atmospheric pressure, but lets not get too nerdy, shall we?)

Then there’s the strap bed, where whoever is on it, is maintained firmly in place with leather straps at ankles, knees, thighs, hips, waist, chest, neck and forehead, while the arms are held to the side at the wrists, forearm, and upper arm.

There’s no escape possible. As if it was an option. 

Or a desire.

There’s the inflation bed where you are sandwiched between two layers of heavy rubber, duly inflated, pinning you down. Wonderful experience.

Of course, there’s the cage bed, because, well, you sleep in a cage. You lay on your back, or on your stomach, your choice, and you can wiggle a little, but that’s it. Forget about flipping on the other side. The space in the cage is too thin for that. Wonderful experience, tho.

The chain bed. Similar to the strap bed, but with a lot more wiggling room.

And finally, the bodybag bed where you are tightly encased in a rubber body bag, arms in a built-in armbinder. Cuddling feeling guaranteed. To make sure you don’t roll off of it, you are put into a padded crate. Neat and comfy.

Then there’s the punishment beds, for those who, well, did bad.

The beam bed. A narrow wooden beam, barely padded. You are strapped on, face down, legs tightly cinched together, with your arms in the tightest of armbinder. There’s a strap about every 4cm. Those are not weak leather straps. No. They are nylon ratchet straps, tightened until you can almost hear your bones snap. The mistresses are tightening them. A severe head harness is put on and the head yanked backward, linked to the elbows.

You always have the feeling that you’re going to fall down, on one side or the other of that narrow 12cm beam. Dreadful.

If I’m not mistaken, Twenty-four is going to test it tonight. Well, she dropped a full guest wine glass onto a Mistress’ dress.

There’s the stretching bed. I don’t think a description is worthy here. But in any case, spread eagled, arms and legs stretched outward until no movement is possible.

The slanted bed. Spread eagled on a large board, which is slanted forward about 45 degrees. You’re not suspended, you’re not standing, you’re always in-between.

And the inverted bed. It’s like the strap bed, but instead of laying on your back, you’re suspending upside down.

How do I know all of them? Well, I’m not proud to say that, in my first year, I did, ahem… test all of them.

So, what bed am I aiming for today? Oh, for this rest session, I’ve been rewarded for my good behavior. I get the reward bed. A sensory deprivation pod.

It’s an egg shape pod, the lower half filled with saline water that makes you float. All lights are off and, as a bonus, I get to listen to my favorite music through my embedded earphones. Eight hours of total weightless sensation and music.

Best. Feeling. Ever.

Well, it’s time for me to go, now.

Another time. Maby

Kinky dreams.

Twenty-Two.

© Pete / monsterp63, November 2019

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