Vivienne Füller was on every magazine cover, on every gossip website, not by her brights or talents, but simply for two very clear reasons. The first, she was the beautifull daughter of a California Software industry, but a distant father that allowed her daughter to become raised by maids and buttlers. The second, she’s a bitch. She’s known to public tantrums, and for friends who simply can’t get anough of kissing her ass. That, if she had friends. People like her have entourages, not friends.
It was a late friday, and she was still there, in the shop of Celine Casalinni. Casalinni owned a style shop, a concept she pioneered in the United States, in which expensive and unique items are brought together, in a single luxurious place, for the selective buyer. The shop was most famous for the unique mannequins, an art form Casalinni perfected herself, as she claims to scultp them herself, using a process so secret, not even her co-workers know of ( as they’re brought from her secluded mansion to the shop by night, when the help is sleeping tight ), and then coat with the finest ceramic and japanese lacquer, bringing a life-likeness that scares most visitors, who claim they’re unconfortably alive; but also by cathering for the rich and famous. The very rich, and the very famous. And such was the case of Vivienne, that paraded around the shop, with a cloud of clerks following her and her entourage helping to make the life of the girls harder.
One unique cristal vase, worth 100.000 dollars, was saved by a clerk, while caressly tossed over the rich girl’s shoulder, requiring a jump that ended with a cut in her eyebrow from bashing her head against a pillar, to the general laughter of the entourage.
“Trash! Trash! Trash! Trash! It’s my birthday! I want something UNIQUE for myself!”, Vivienne screamed out in full lungs, much to Casalinni’s distress, while she watched from a balcony on the top floor. She knows her clientelle comes to a cost. Vivienne demanded that the shop was closed, exclusivelly for her. That required sending some faithfull and much loved clients home, to take this young snotty bitch. But it promised to be worthy, as she treats money like trash. But it seems, the girl also treats everyone and everything the same way. Regardless of her policy of leaving her unique clients to their unique quirks, this time this girl went over the limits. Casalinni walked to the staircase, and went down, to put an end to this.
“All this shit is horrible! Why don’t you at least have a nice hunky boy I can fuck? All these girls surrounding me are making me sick!”, she shouted, while one of the clerks refilled her glass of champagne, and her gay friends cheered screaming “You go Girl!!! Wooohooo!!!”.
“I think you’ve had quite enough, young lady!”, Casalinni said, showing almost as if walking out of the shadows, and signalling to dismiss her clerks, which they did, starting to repack and replace everything young Vivienne tossed around. The entourage made room for the iron-willed woman in her late thirties to walk in and face the young vixen.
“Sorry Granny, but I decide when I have had enought!”, she said, with fire of defiance in her eyes. The clerks were silent. You could hear a pin drop across the universe. This was her great mistake, for it also lit something in Casalinni’s eyes, a flame that doesn’t usually get lit in such circumstances. Casalinni smiled like a raven smiles to a maggot. But of course, Vivienne didn’t notice. “This shop is now closed for you, my dear. Please, collect your trash…” she said, pointing at the loud entourage, now silented by her presence, “… and leave my property.”
“Shove it!” Vivienne said, triumphantly tossing the rest of champaigne in her glass on Casalinni’s face. Her entourage, silented since Casalinni arrive, now cheered again in shouts of “You go Girl! Take it old fart!”, while the drops of champagne flowed down the face of steel, and a smirk opened in Casalinni’s lips, chilling the veins of all in the room. Vivienne left stomping the marble floor, with her entourage cheering and laughting, and telling how she showed the old ghoul her place.
That, was Vivienne’s final mistake.
.. .. ..
Vivienne was sneaking out the back door of LA’s hippest club, drunk and drugged, and throwing up on the floor. As usual, that’s how she ended most nights, throwing up alone in the gutters. That’s why being rich and famous means these days. She was so out of herself, that she didn’t see Casalinni on the corner, dressed in a skintight dress and gloves, made of some shiny material. The click of her boots echoed in the dark alley, having the pumping club music as background.
“Heeeeeloooooo, old fart! HAG!”, Vivienne giggled.
“Happy Birthday, I’m here to give you a gift. Never piss an artist. Take her!”, she said, turning and returning to her limo. Two dark figures came from the limo, and dragged the limp body to the car, opening the trunk, and gagging the girl, then placing her inside of a thick black rubber body bag. As the straps were tightened, and the bag zipped shut, the figures could hear a muddled “kinky….” come from the drunken girl. They closed the trunk, resumed their positions in the front seats, and the cat went on into the night. And Vivienne didn’t even notice, while being handled, gagged and bounc, that the dark figures had no face. Just, a shiny featureless darkness showing Vivienne her own reflection, regardless of how deep she gazed.
.. .. ..
Vivienne woke up, hungover ringing her head. She brushed her eyes, blinking and not recognizing where she was. The lights were too bright, the walls, too dark. But that was ok, she was used to it. Her dad would be pissed. Then, she noticed she was naked, which was also nothing new. At least she didn’t wake up with some weirdo in her bed like last month. Then, she went to caress her hair, and nothing was there, but a bald scalp. The shock awakened her faster than anything else would. She got up, and noticed she was in a sort of pit. Circular walls, made from cushioned black slimy rubber tiles. The smell was already getting to her nerves and making her sick. It was hard to walk, hard to move, and no doors. At least, no aparent doors. There seemed to be six openings, from which new air came in, and a glass ceiling, from which an extremelly bright light came in.
“HEY! SICKO! LET ME OUT!”
No reply. Nothing.
The shouting proved useless, despite how experienced she was at that. The kicking in the walls, just bruised her feet, and not enough to break, for they were cushioned and resistant. Hours of protest proved worth nothing, so, it was time to reason. First, she started reassuring herself that daddy would surelly feel she’s missing, and call the police. But then, she remembers how many times she disapeared for weeks, months, just for the spite of it, which made him take her disapearing less and less seriouslly. Not that he bothered much, as far as he is concerned, as long as the bills are paid, and money for new cars, toys and showering her entourage with champagne and crazy nights, he was left alone and didn’t have to do fatherly things. And she has always been fine with it, just like her mom. And after she did that pun of having the maids roll in her shit, or they would be fired, she guessed they wouldn’t be so sad for her disapearing again. But this time, things were serious, she was being kidnapped. At least daddy had how to pay the ransom.
The hours went on, and she got bored of being naked, bald and sober, and started trying to retrace the events of the previous night. She tried hard, she could remember the party, the drinks, the men, the drugs… and then everything got so blurry. She just remembers that stupid nightmare of the old hag, laughting and drinking champagne, and throwing on her face. And the faceless creatures. That was a bad dream, a terrible nightmare.
Hunger started taking hold of her, but nothing changed. Would they want to starve her to death, on this slippery hole? And it was impossible to keep track of time anymore, she had no idea how long she was out, and since she woke, nothing changes. Time is the sequence of events that happens around us, and nothing happened around Vivienne for quite a while. Before she noticed, she lost track of time, and only kept track of her body functions. She held on as long as she could, but eventually, had to let go. Then, the stench stopped bothering her, as her own pee was pooling on the corners, between the cushioned tiles.
“Shit, when I get my hands on whoever did this…”, she said to herself.
No one answered. The time went on, and she eventually got to sleep, regardless of the bright light. She didn’t sleep well… she feel hungry and cold.
.. .. ..
Vivienne woke up, dizzy from hunger and needing a cigarrete. She found the cell had changed. The stench of pee was gone, she felt clean, and in one side, a potty. Made from rubber, as everything else, inflatable, and despite her efforts, she couldn’t tear it. She wanted to go to the bathroom, so, why not? She sat on it, and let her pee flow, and noticed something across the room. Two metal bowls, coated in purple rubber, one with water, another, with food. She was now infuriated. She picked both bowls, and threw on the glass roof, with no visible result but a shower of fruit and water over her head. Someone got inside. Someone placed that potty on the floor. Someone placed the food. Someone was messing with the wrong girl.
Breaking the potty proved to be impossible, as it felt like kicking a ball that is bolted to the floor. She can’t break, she can’t take it out. She would just have to wait awake, and use those heavy dog bowls strike down whoever was sent to care for her. She would just pretend to be asleep and way. And Vivienne fell asleep.
.. .. ..
By the third day, Vivienne was already used to the strange potty, and gave up on eating the fruits. The water bowl proved to be too heavy to lift from the ground and use like she would use a glass or dish to drink the water from. When she tried, she lost balance, and most of the water spilled out. The border doesn’t let her place her lips on any edge, as it’s very curvy, and she ended up bathing herself on a second attempt. Another day went on of rage, sorrow and tears.
.. .. ..
Another night filled with nightmares and lust. Vivienne woke up, and took her hand to her wet pussy, and started to rub it herself. She needed some relief, she’s never been this long without sex, and regardless of where she is, they wouldn’t take that away from her. She rubbed herself, thinking of her boyfriend fucking her pussy, in white silky sheets, in the most expensive hotel in LA, while the deep scent of rubber still kept getting into her noistrils. It was hard not to let it bother her, or mix with her feelings, but its everpresent on this dungeon she’s trapped in. She moans, biting her lower lip and cupping her left breast with her free hand, pinching the nipple. If someone’s watching, she’s making sure to give quite a show. Maybe then, someone will come in, and she can hit them with the bowls. She kept playing, working her own body, untill she climaxed.
Panting and hungry, she went to drink some water, but this time, both bowls were solded to the rubber floor, so she couldn’t take them up yet. She screamed in anger, and punched the walls, getting down on all fours and bursting in tears. She didn’t know how much of this she could take, but she recomposed herself, and went to drink the water, cupping with her hand, and taking to her mouth, and still being able to drink with effort. The taste of rubber polish did feel horrible, but she was indeed thirsty. And it also started getting into the fruits as soon as she touched.
Watching the tapes, later that night, Madame Casalinni was quite pleased to see the girl reaching a breakdown. Just a few more days, just a few more days, she though to herself, caressing the bald rubbery head between her legs.
.. .. ..
Vivienne woke for her fifth awaken period since she was abducted ( since kidnappers usually show themselves, ask for ransom, and return the person they take, and talking about days no longer made any sense, as she couldn’t keep track of her time awake, nor of her time asleep ), seeing her hands enveloped in balls of shiny black rubber. She tried to bite on them, rip them, but they were too round, too big, too inflated and made of too thick rubber. Too big for her mouth to set teeth on, too snug to her skin and too thick for her to get her teeth to grab the straps and break them. She tried to grab them with her feet and pull her hands out, but spending so much time in a constantly lubbed rubber enviroment only makes her own skin just as slippery as rubber itself. Her hands, forced into the shape of a fist, inside the balls, holding on a grip that she can’t let go of. She started to cry, desperate about her face.
“IT WON’T WORK!!!!”, she screamed on top of her lungs. She walked around, trying to devise ways to avoid the impossible. Eventually, hunger took over, thirst took over, and anytime that happens, the animal takes over and between pride and survival, it will rule towards survival. And like the animal inside which took over Vivianne, and with tears running down her eyes, she got on all fours, and started licking the water out of the bowl, just like a cat or a dog would. She never felt this humiliated in her entired life. She sworn revenge to her faceless captors.
Madame Casalinni was most pleased, all was going on according to plan.
.. .. ..
More days went on, without any changes, just the change in Vivianne’s mind, more succeptible to drinking and eating on all fours. The mittens and the low height of the bowls, made sure that just kneeling wouldn’t make it possible. It’s either getting on all fours, or laying down completly, which proved to be quite messy. She would clean her mouth, rubbing the mittens against her lips, like a cat does, and would play with herself, using the sliperry rubber balls to rub against her clit. She was starting to learn to enjoy that. Not because she has a fetish, or woke up to unknown desires, but simply because she’s surrendered, and getting used to what she has. Like an animal, she wakes up when she feels rested, and sleeps when tired, eats when hungry and drinks when starving, and those last, on all fours. She started to climax and orgasm to the touch of rubber, simply because rubber brought her pleasure, surrounded her and was now part of her life. She doesn’t have the naked hand or sex toys anymore, and adjusted to pleasing herself like that. And far from becoming a turn-off or an impairement, her mind was making the adjustments in perception needed to make them factors to increase her sexual experience, her release. She was adjusting, like any person does, so that suffering for a long while becomes a normal part of line, something Madame Casalinni not only knew well, but counted on. After all, how else do people think she has such perfect dolls inside her shop?
That’s her artwork, the art of making humans into things, objectifying them into dolls, who wish nothing more than please her, serve her, in any way possible. Vivienne was only starting her process of convertion into her newest doll. But for the stubborn, evil tongued young woman, Madame reserved such a more fitting position. She would become one of her lovedolls, permanently sealed in tight rubber, always ready to please.
Madame Casalinni smiled to the trough, taking a glass of champagne from a tray on her left side, held by one of her rubber dolls, and drinks it slowlly, savoring the vivid images of the fire in this girl’s eyes, and how, day after day, it’s going away, as she breaks her spirit. Soon, she’ll be ready for the next stap, the second phase in her conversion process into rubberdoll. Madame smiled, placing the empty glass over a stack of news papers from over the country, in top of her wooden workbench. In one of them, the announcement of the rich business offering 35 million dollars for her daughter to be back, sided by the comments on the police dropping the case, after a month of searches with no leads, and the chief of police stating how futile he things this is, to spend so much police resources on a known brat who possibly is just drinking champaigne in some beach in Brazil, where she’s less well known, laughing at how the world spins on around her.
“_ KrisDoll, take these old papers away, and get my dinner ready, I shall introduce myself to our new doll candidate tomorrow at night”, she said.
“_ Yes Madame.”
“_ And KrisDoll, you and CandyDoll meet me on my bedroom tonight… I want to play with my dollies”
“_ Yes Madame!”, KrisDoll replied with excitement on her voice, and a huge smile under the reflective doll mask she wears, that gives her no face, no identity, nothing to relate to any humanity she lost long ago.
Madame looks once more to the screen, smiling to see Vivienne so agressivelly rubbing her wet pussy with such wanton desire using her rubber mittens. She will make a fine doll.
End of Part 1