Chapter Twenty: Sanctuary in the Attic
======================================

:Author: Gospodin

.. meta::
   :shs-title: The Enslavement of Marie
   :shs-author: Gospodin
   :shs-part: 20
   :shs-keywords: Ff, latex, mc, bd

Author's Note
-------------

    This was another inspired chapter by our heroine, Marie. I have
    decided to leave it unchanged and in the first person.

    -- Gospodin

I have not been up here for ages. Right after my auntie's death I had
superficially rummaged through the whole house but although I had
inherited everything I still felt reluctant to go through the boxes with
faded black and white photos, yellowish letters written by hand and with
old type writers. It still felt like sneaking through the privacy of
another person. So I more or less had forgotten about the attic. Only
when wind or rain or some animal I could not identify made a creaking
sound somewhere far above or deep below me I wondered if there was not
some ghost or spirit who now inhabited the house together with me.

But now my curiosity had been triggered by Dr. Rosenstock. What kind of
secrets did my aunt have that he did not want to reveal? And had he
learned about them as her Doctor? Or in what other function? I tried to
imagine diseases someone might keep secret even after one's death.
Venereal diseases? She had never been shy about body functions so I
ruled that out. She had apparently been married happily with my uncle
who had died young, and she had never been married again.  She hardly
spoke about him, and I rarely asked because of the visible pain it gave
her. She reminded me of Queen Victoria who mourned about his beloved
Albert even decades after his death.

Funny to think of her in this Victorian house, I thought as I climbed up
the steep wooden ladder up to the attic. The key screeched in the hole,
and then I pushed the trap door up and let it fall onto the attic floor.
Clouds of dust rose and danced in the sunbeams falling through the
crevices in the roof. The broken tiles made me think about the repairs I
urgently needed to get done as soon I'd find the money. But I discarded
the thought and approached the old large wardrobe which looked as if it
had been standing against the chimney wall since the days of Methusalem.

The key looked like forged by an old fashioned locksmith. Involuntarily
I touched my necklace and realized that I had hardly thought of it in
the last days. Curious. As if it had already become a part of me. The
wardrobe doors opened with resistance, reluctantly. An odor of dusty
fabric enwrapped me.  There was cotton, denim, silk, and, no doubt about
it, a definite element of old leather. It made me think of the
comfortable red armchair in the Doctor's cabinet or of the old
convertible Mercedes which still stood in the garage unused when I had
first visited my aunt. I had no idea what had become of it but remember
hiding and crouching in the narrow spot behind the driver's seat for
hours when I had first learned about the accident of my parents. Slowly,
gradually, the scent of the old leather had soothed me.

The long clothes rail was packed, the robes sorted by color. On the far
left was a wedding dress. I carefully took it out. A complicated
structure of laces and veils, long to the floor, with a crinoline but,
strange enough, no sleeves.  A sleeveless dress back in the 30ies or
40ies? But the dress had no arm openings either! I was intrigued. I
examined it more carefully and looked into the back opening. The dress
had a high collar, was plain on the front and criss-cross-laced at the
back down from the small of the waist up to the neck.  Impossible to get
into it alone, I realized. But then those were probably times where
people had still maids. I felt dizzy.

Gently but firmly the maid leads my left arm into an inner sleeve which
is sewn to the inside of the dress. I have to twist my arm and realize
that the sheath will bend it slightly backward in a way that my palm
will rest on my buttock once the laces are closed. The elbows will make
my waist look much wider than I really am. I frown but the maid who
seems to read my mind hushes me with a smile.

"We will tie you really tight, Miss, and you will look nearly as slim as
you always do!"

I allow her to lead my right arm into the matching sleeve. My arms now
touch the white corset reinforced with thin steel rods every two inches
that is wrapped all around my torso. Only my breasts are covered by a
stretchy material which feels nice but which I have never before seen or
felt.

"Your future father in law brought it back from a business trip to
Malaysia, Miss. He is convicted that it will make its way. It is the
same material they use for car tires, just thinner. Juice from the
caoutchouc tree, if I understood right, Miss."

It is thinner than paper and white, nearly transparent. Somehow it makes
me feel more naked than if by breasts are bare. But now the upper part
of the dress covers it all, the corset, the wrapped breasts, my arms.
The maid holds her word and ties me in. Tight. I watch her and my own
silhouette in the mirror as the dress gains shape. I can only breathe
now in short, shallow gasps. Once she is done the maid turns me round to
allow me a look on my back. The gap is closed! I feel proud. My husband
will have the prettiest bride of the decade.  The maid hooks fake arms
into the shoulders of my dress, with opera gloves which reach far up
over the elbow. Nobody will realize my confinement as brides don't shake
hands on wedding days. The fake arms are slightly bent and sewn with a
few invisible stitches to my crinoline. A tiny lace handbag hangs around
my right wrist.

"But the ring! How will Albert...?"

The maid smiles. "It will hurt, Miss, but you will be very proud once
you wear it! And don't worry! The other guests won't realize as you will
be very well veiled."

That does not quite answer my question but I let it pass. She turns me
an leans my forehead torso against the pillar in the middle of the room.
Everybody has evaded my questions about the meaning of the row of rings
embedded into the pillar from the floor up to the ceiling. "You will
learn about them in good time", or "Ask again once Albert has wed you",
was all I ever heard. Now I see them inches away, and this finally is my
wedding day. And my 16th birthday.  Very indecently, I feel my crotch
get warm. I am excited. And thankful that my arm sheaths saves me from
any temptation. I am still a virgin. For a few more hours. My excitement
grows. But Albert will not be able to make love to me while I still wear
this underskirt, I realize, as the maid laces it tight. She is in the
height of my knees now, and my thighs touch tightly. She works herself
down to my ankles, and the length of my stride is reduced to inches.
The ankle boots raise my natural frame by more than 4 inches, and only
now the crinoline hiding my constricting undergarment hangs free down to
the floor. The crinoline is buckled close in the small of my back,
adding pressure to my lower arms. Another skirt is hung over it. And a
third one. The weight of the skirts now becomes very sensible.

"Here is a present from your Groom, Miss. I was told to present it to
you here and now! Do you want it?"

"If I want it, Betty? Oh, how stupid you are! Of course I want my
wedding present!"

"Are you sure, Miss? And you don't want to know first what it is? As it
is.. If I dare to say... a bit unusual, Miss. They have a tradition of
special hats in this household, but in this case..."

She holds up a flat hat with a stiff wide flap, six inches at least in
all direction, and a thick white veil hanging down at all sides too,
like a curtain. I am going to look like a mysterious queen, and I love
it at first sight. So this is why I had to cut off all my beautiful
blond curls, the pride of my childhood days? She lifted the veil and now
I discovered the layer underneath.

"As you wish, Miss!"

She opens the laces in the back of the leather hood, sheathes my head
into it, finds the eye and nose openings, pulls it tight over my face
and starts lacing it. There is no mouth opening.

"How am I going to say 'I do', Betty?" I ask, my speech a bit hampered
by the tight leather embrace around my jaws and chin. But I realize that
although a bit muffled I can make myself hears.

The hood covers the bridge of my nose. Betty approaches my face with a
thick needle and apologizes.

"I hate to hurt you, Miss. But as you said yourself -- about the ring,
you know? And how Master Albert can attach it to you with your hands
down there?"

My hands grasp my tender buttock flesh as I realize what she is going to
do. I embrace myself against the shock but the sharp pain as the needle
transpierces my septum with one swift movement makes me cry out. The
maid soothes me and rubs the wound with some pain relieving and blood
stopping ointment. A small silver bar is threaded through the hole. The
touch of the metal is cold. At the end Betty hooks in a small, elegant
chain which now dangles right under the tip of my nose.

As the pain diminishes I start to feel proud again. I feel like the
proud queen of an African tribe showing off the wealth of her family
with her body jewelry.

The maid takes me under the fake arm and slowly, as my stride is
limited, leads me out of the dressing room.

I woke up, still dizzy, but with the strange persuasion that something
was wrong. I never have been married?! An early sunbeam tickled my nose.
My nose? A terrible suspicion comes to my mind. I take a closer look at
the reflection above me. Although I already know it I have to touch it
with my finger. A ring is lying on my upper lip. With a small chain it
is linked to a bar that runs right through my septum. I can undo the
small chain on one side and take the ring off, but the bar is in my nose
for good. The eyeholes forged to its ends are bigger than the hole in my
septum. I hook the chain back to that eyehole and look at the ring in my
hand. There is an engraving at the inside:

    **Albert * Emily * July 21st, 1936**

My aunt Emily was born on July 21st, 1920.

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