Maskistan – Amanra

Maskistan – Amanra

by Querthe

maskistan_amanra

The door of the class opened silently and a light grey ghost entered in the crowded room. Close to twenty girls, or better young women because they were all in the legal age, slowly turned their veiled heads in order to see the new arrived.

The colour of the long burka indicated it was one of the janitors. Slowly, advancing with mincing steps due to the thick plastic hobble skirt hidden beneath the burka, she arrived at the side of the desk of Miss Ashfra, the teacher.

With her white latex gloved fingers, which appeared from small slits on the sides of the dark blue encompassing garment, Miss Ashfra grabbed a plastic pen and an LCD touchscreen notepad that was on the desk and wrote something, giving it to the janitor. The black gloves that emerged from the slightly longer slits of the plastic garment than those of the teacher’s burka, let the girls recognise the grey figure as Mrs Naafira, the woman who worked on the ground floor, near the infirmary. She wrote something back, then bowed and retracted her gloved hands inside the burka, starting to move between the desks, directed to the far corner of the room.

With her optic pen and using big, bold red letters, Miss Ashfra wrote a name on the enormous LCD screen, created in order to avoid the powder of the chalk and also to let the various girls follow and record on their portable hard disks the lesson due to their inability to use the hands. The message read ‘Amanra. Go with her.’

The girl, seated at the second desk from the right in the second last row, nodded as much as her uniform let her, then stood up and bowed slightly to the janitor, who answered to the silent bow with one of her own and indicated with a slow movement of her arm hidden under the burka to follow her.

Again Amanra nodded, wondering how the janitor could see, her plastic garment not having a hole or anything else to let her see, or breathe, for what she could guess. Only occasionally during the five years Amanra had been in the school, had she seen more than a hint of black shiny boots with medium heels under the vinyl burka, but that was all.

Her garment was not one of the most comfortable to wear, being the uniform of the most exclusive private school in the Maskistan capital, but at least it was rubber and apart from the navy blue burka and some items such as the corset that were three to four millimetres with steel stays inside, was no more than half a millimetre thick. Also hers was equipped with a grilled area over her eyes and nose to let enough air enter and be filtered by the hidden filters before going into her restricted lungs.

While thinking this, she exited the room and slowly followed the woman. She, as the janitor, had to shuffle along the silent corridors of the building that was occupied only by girls and women, so no men were there and so no voice or sound was produced.

All girls in the school had to veil really heavily, but only those in their last year, and only after they had reached legal age, had to use the rubber garments in order to be more secure and sterile than normal. The effect on the external aspect was quite unnoticeable between the girls wearing the silk burkas used for the first four years and the latex one, due to the special treatment on the surface. That for Amanra was really good, because she could also wear the uniform outside of school, with her friends and also in the family as the rubber is really easy to clean and sterilise. Also the fact that she liked to be corseted at all times in order to maintain her wasp-like waist that, with training, she had reduced to a mere thirteen inches, was really appreciated by her father and brothers, because she was always breathless and without enough air to cry or answer if someone did or expressed something she didn’t agree with.

For the last five years she had worn the corset. Under the burka her arms were restrained and useless for all day and sometimes also all night, her skin not seeing the light or the air more than twice a week and only then while she took a quick shower. She was happy. In some ways she knew her body was well protected, was sterile and pure, the best she, as a Maskistan girl, could hope for.

Yes, she wore also surgical masks and gloves and other things to cover her body when not in the uniform, but that, also if restrictive and not at all simple to bear, was her preferred garment, and avoided using it only if doing chores in the house of if her mother was cleaning it.

While going slowly along the corridors with the janitor, the girl thought to what she wanted to do after she left school. She had wonderful grades, so she had the possibility of entering university and studying to become a doctor and then a specialist in women’s health. Women in Maskistan were more than cared for, but their fragile health was not fully helped by the various ways used to seclude them from the dirty world such as wearing masks, gloves, latex, rubber, plastic, the use of rebreathing and sterilised bags, recovery and recycle of sterilised fluids, all in order to avoid external contamination. Everything was helpful, but girls and women had still illnesses, and she wanted to find the best way to cure them.

The two veiled women stopped in front of the infirmary. Mrs Naafira extracted her plastic gloved right hand and knocked the door that, after a couple of seconds, opened automatically by sliding sideways. The same hand indicated to Amanra to enter.

Nodding slightly she entered, sure that the door would close on her back after she had done so.

Inside everything was white or light blue and light green, shiny and clean.

Much too clean.

Terrifically clean.

She loved this room.

On the other side of the room, standing behind the three beds that were at that time empty, was the head nurse, who was also the medic of the school, Miss Mohsen.

No one had ever seen her. When Amanra was in her first year at the school, the girls of the last year were able to write down some information about her.

No one had heard her voice. She was always silent, surely perfectly gagged.

No one had touched her hands. She was always heavily gloved in black latex gloves.

No one had looked into her eyes. Her white burka covered her completely. No eyeholes, nothing, just like the janitor’s dress. But for her, there was no possibility to see her feet. No one had had the luck.

Amanra frowned, watching that formless figure turn and look in her direction. It was not the correct expression, but she was sure she was looking at her.

An LCD screen flashed on her right, on the wall opposite at the bed. Big black letters started to appear, as if someone was typing on a keyboard.

‘Welcome, dear Amanra. I’m Miss Mohsen, the nurse. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I need your help. You understand what I write?’ she read, nodding that she understood.

The words disappeared. Other letters, typed quite slowly, appeared.

‘Good. I have already asked permission from your father, and he gave agreement. On the desk you will find the print of the mail I sent to him and his answer. He agreed with my request, leaving to you the final agreement or refusal.’

Again the girl nodded, curious.

‘My assistant, Miss Diab, has a problem at home, not a big problem, but she cannot come to work for three, maybe four days. I need an assistant and so I thought that, as per your personal information says you want to be a nurse or a medic, you may be suitable. What I ask you is if you want to be my assistant for these four days. This means the rest of the week?’

Amanra was stunned.

‘Before answering, think that you will have to be here practically all day, because my job is from the first minute a student enters the school until the last teacher leaves it. More or less ten hours a day. You are excused from homework and study and you can choose to stay here also at night or go home and return here each morning at least one hour before the start of the lessons, to let you be cleaned and sterilised adequately.’

The girl thought a little then nodded.

If you agree, as I see you do, please come here and read my mail and the answer of your father. If you still agree after seeing the minimal dress requirement, please nod again’.

Amanra moved slowly, the thick and tight vinyl hobble skirt under the burka preventing her taking steps longer than four or five inches at time, then took her time to read the mail, because the mesh in front of the dark tinted goggled eyes removed much of her vision, but she was so happy about the dress code she felt clearly a small wetness at her crotch.

She nodded again as much as she could due to the neck corset she was wearing.

‘Good!’ said a new word on the screen. ‘Now, I think the best thing is to start immediately. To remove your school uniform and get you into a nurse’s one.’

The heavy black rubber gloves of the nurse exited from the slit in her white latex burka and with some difficulty she grabbed the bottom edge of the girls uniform and lifted it, freeing the girl from the outer layer of seclusion. It was still attached to her head due to the snap fastener on top of the head, all around the full hood was acting as a muting and half deafening mask.

With some effort the veil was detached and folded, laid on one of the beds, then also the hood was unzipped and removed, revealing the tinted goggles, the plastic neck corset, the black corset with shoulderstraps, along with the smoke grey quite translucid full catsuit she was wearing, complete with mitten type gloves, the feet sealed inside pre-moulded forms to accommodate the high heels of the uniform.

Amanra’s arms were restrained and her hands useless, because not only they were sealed inside the tight mittens, but also the arms were folded on her back, the wrists linked together and resting between the shoulder blades, brushing the back of her neck in an apparently painful back-prayer position. Straps made of transparent plastic were holding the wrists and elbows together in line with the spine, pushing out the perfectly formed breasts.

The nurse stopped and put again her gloves inside the burka then other words appeared on the screen.

‘Oh, I see you opted for the less easy way to bind the arms. The uniform at least requires a wrist to elbow link, horizontal on the back, but you went to the next step.’

Amanra nodded, proud that she could bear that position all day, every day. She started to exercise years ago, already during primary school. In the beginning just a few minutes a day, then more and more, so by her second year at school she went every day, from morning until bedtime, with useless and really restrained arms. It was difficult because the spine was more rigid and also the corset was more restricting, but the posture and the final result were fantastic, as were the flattering comments of her family and friends, because she kept her arms restrained in the same way when not at school, and she started some months ago to also try to sleep with her arms restrained in the same way. She had still to work on it, but she could cope to do it twice a week.

The corset was tight and long, brushing her hips and giving her some trouble every time she wanted to sit a little more comfortably, digging in her flesh, but she was also proud of it and also of her other corset, the one she used sometimes during the evening when going out with her friends. It was so long and heavy, covering her from neck to ankles, that only her father was able to lift it and tighten it around her body.

The nurse removed the long vinyl hobble skirt, folding it and placing it near the burka. She then freed the girl arms, removed the corset and indicated she could finish undressing by herself in the room next door.

‘The room is totally sterile, you can be naked. When you’re ready push the green button you will find near the desk and I will give you access to the sealing layer of your uniform.’

With her neck free Amanra’s nod was much clearer. She was already missing the tight embrace of the plastic, and moved to the other room, where she removed all her garments and stood for a second in her bare skin, running her fingers over her torso, frowning at the strange sensation of excessive freedom.

She pressed the green button and a drawer on the desk opened, showing a sealed bag with a heavy garment inside.

Amanra broke the bag’s seal and unfolded the garment. It was a pair of Capri pants made in a heavy grade yellowish rubber with hoses and a big bag attached.

She understood immediately and put on the pants, paying attention to the catheters in order to fit them properly in her front and rear passages. Inside the bag she also found a small air pump that attached to the two small non-return valves on the crotch that enlarged the catheters enough to fill her and prevent them being accidently extracted, or, and that was the real scope, something could leak.

The bag, capable of holding five litres, was attached to the inside of the left thigh with straps. Already small trickles of light yellow liquid were filling it, while the pipe attached to her rear passage was dangling free like a latex tail, making Amanra blush.

A small screen over the desk flashed, attracting her attention.

‘If the underwear is fitted correctly please push the green button again.’

The girl did, and another drawer opened. Inside it was another sealed bag. The garment inside was a complete covering transparent vinyl catsuit, with gloves, feet with individual toes and a hood with only holes for the nostrils and the mouth. There was not a zipper or closure, only a strip of white paper that she recognised as covering for the glue used to seal the garment. After she had put on the suit she had to remove the paper strip from the long slit on the front of the suit, thus enclosing herself in a perfectly sealed garment.

She sniffed the garment, inhaling the subtle scent of the plastic, touching the two millimetre thickness and imaging her body in its tight embrace.

Quick as she could she put it on, noting that the slit was done in order to let the bag and the hoses move outside, sealing the Capri pants inside the suit, but not the bag and the hoses. She was really proud of herself when she finished and she removed the strip and glued herself totally inside the suit. She was trapped, and she liked it. She liked the feeling of the thin layer of plastic that brushed against her lashes each time she blinked, impeding their closure if not done slowly, and she liked also the self moulding ear plugs attached to the hood and at that moment deeply embedded inside her ears, deafening her as no other plugs had before, also the small hole in front of her lips, with a diameter no bigger than a straw.

Another message flashed onto the screen.

‘The last thing you have to put on before exiting is a surgical mask. You will find one in the last drawer. I will complete your nurse uniform outside. I have it all prepared.’

When Amanra picked up the mask, she discovered that it was folded around a pair of nose plugs of a model she knew was one of the best performing models on the market. She fitted them inside her nostrils, her breath going in and out with difficulty, but perfectly pure and sterile. With her eyes closed she tightly tied the surgical mask over her nose and exited the room. She was quite blinded by the light, her eyes not accustomed to normal light after so many years using the tinted goggles.

Miss Mohsen was waiting for her, a perfection in shiny white latex.

Amanra felt a twitch of pleasure on her most private part.

“I will be as you?” she said, her voice muffled by the mask.

The nurse did not react as she was not able to hear her. Not realising that point, Amanra repeated the question, shouting quite loudly.

The nurse seemed to understand something was happening, so she used the keyboard pieces attached to her thighs to type something that appeared on the screen as the other times.

‘If you spoke at me, I can’t hear you, only see you. Please use the electronic tablet you will find in the first drawer of the desk.

The girl did as she was told. It was a notepad. She wrote her question and showed it to the nurse.

She nodded and wrote ‘Yes, apart the final colour’, the words appearing on the screen, then indicated with her gloved hand to Amanra to sit on a bed.

With some effort due to her restricted hands the nurse laced her feet and legs into a pair of tight high black heavy latex ballet boots without any heel. Amanra remembered something about a nurse uniform; she knew that the heels were to keep contamination to the minimum by restricting contact with the floor of the infirmary to the least possible amount, thus the reason to be en Pointe and with no heels. Orthopaedic steel stays inside the boots supported the ankles and the feet, while more pliable ones were all around the boots and on the knees, helped the nurses to stay on their feet all day, sitting quite prohibited to them because the boots did not permit them to sit easily for more than a few seconds before the pressure of the stays forced their legs straight again. Amanra tried to move around, and after some minutes understood that the best way to remain upright was to continuously shift her weight from one foot to the other in a continuous movement that was quite like a hypnotic dance.

The nurse typed something with her gloved hands on the two half keyboards attached to the outside of her thighs hidden under the burka. The words appeared on the screen as the other times.

‘Wonderful. You manage the heels really well. Are you sure it’s the first time you are dressed as a nurse?’ Amanra nodded. ‘Good, really good.’ flashed on the screen.

Soon a tight corset, reducing her waist down to a point that she felt like fainting, was crushing her torso. Amanra was feeling really excited and lightheaded, but she was not sure if it was from the corset or the joy. After all, the corset was only fractions of an inch tighter than the one she normally wore.

‘Can we go on with the face part?’ Amanra nodded again, smiling under the mask.

From the box where also the boots had been stored the nurse picked up an item that looked quite heavy and cumbersome. It bore slight resemblance to an iron mask, or better, to a black latex and steel ovoid with neck attachment. Before fitting it over Amanra face she put it down and wrote again.

‘This will totally cover your face. No eyes, nose, mouth visible, nothing. All your head will be enclosed in a dark, rubberised and chromed item that acts as a LCD visor, earphones and gag.’

After removing the surgical mask and nostril filters Amanra nodded and let the woman fit the item, then close it over her face and neck.

The mask automatically pumped the internal inflatable layer up so that it fitted exactly over Amanra’s face. A long tube entered the mouth hole and went down her throat until the end sat in her stomach.

After a few seconds the area of her vocal chords was filled with inflated rubber from the tube, so she was utterly gagged, leaving her no way to even whisper or mumble. If she remembered correctly the working of the gag, any sound escaping the tight gag would in any case be cancelled by a special program that was functioning as the noise suppressor system in some earphones already on the market. Same for the ears, they could only hear if there was an emergency, decided by internal processors that were also analysing the information from the cameras mounted around the infirmery and elsewhere in the school and were transmitting wireless to the two small visors that were covering her eyes. She could see only what the cameras covered, and only in the strange way the CPU inside her mask decided.

Clicking sounds were sealing her fate for the next days.

Amanra was already sure she was going to remain in the school all week so she did not have to be removed every day from the uniform and be refitted in it the next day. She wanted to experience to the maximum her week as a nurse. She was not ready for the total lack of sensations she sensed when the mask was totally closed around her head and neck.

No sound, nothing. Her heartbeat erased by the active plugs that were connected with an inductive system to the plugs inside the plastic catsuit.

No light, nothing. The darkness was absolute. Similar to what she guessed was the nothingness before the start of time.

No voice.

No air. She tried to breathe, but no air arrived. She tried again, still nothing. She began to panic. Finally air arrived, fresh, quite humid and welcomed. She breathed deeply, closing her eyes while the rush from the fear decreased.

Crackling sounds arrived to her ears and at the same moment images arrived to her eyes. She was looking at herself and at Miss Mohsen from the angle of the room near the entrance.

“I’m looking using the video cameras existing in the room!” she gasped, while moving her hands and her head, trying to understand how to cope with the strange vision.

The nurse checked the connections and closed the mask a little tighter, just a subtle increase in pressure over her already crushed face. With her strange keyboard the nurse wrote.

‘Please lift both hands if you can see me and if you can hear the sound I am sending you now.’ appeared on the left visor. At the same time a deep beeping sound arrived to both her ears. She lifted her hands and the sound stopped due to a button being pressed on the nurse’s keyboard.

‘Good. Now some explanations before I finish your dressing. As you can imagine, you are seeing only what the cameras will send to you, and the angle will change following your position, so you will sometimes be disturbed by a sudden change of perspective, but I think you will get used to it in a short time. You will hear only what I want you to hear and, considering your experience, and the privacy of the other students and teachers, you will be deaf for the time you spend here. At the times when I need you to assist me you will hear a beeping sound. Your air is not coming from outside, but from a bottle of compressed air mounted on the back of your corset. The bottle will last for four hours, at which time you have to return here to have it recharged. During the night, if you decide to sleep here in the infirmary as I do, you will be connected to bigger reservoirs that have a capacity of several days. Everything clear up to now?’

The girl moved both hands up as before.

‘Good. Now I need to fit you with the rubber hobble skirt that will also fix the pipe dangling on your back and then you will be covered with the light green latex burka and you will be fully dressed.’

Amanra waited until the nurse had finished putting the first heavy latex garments around her legs. The skirt was tighter than the school uniform one, and she found only shuffling as a strange worm was possible when walking.

The burka was full of surprises.

She noted it had a small opening at the back of the garment for entry, but otherwise it was just a sack with two small slits for the hands and two small holes for the toes of her boots to poke through. She stepped inside, adjusting her heelless shoes inside the holes, then Miss Mohsen lifted the heavy garment until the holes stretched and rested on the ankles. She was engulfed in the hot and heavy latex, and using the cameras in the room, she watched as the nurse used some small straps inside the garment to hold the rear pipe and also the long and tiny pipe running from the bottom of the urine bag, along with small pipe that led to the bottom of the air tank to allow it to be refilled. All the three were positioned on the bottom part of her back, small holes not at all visible when she moved. Miss Mohsen then sealed her inside the burka with glue, closing the gap that has been her entrance at the back. There were no holes, for vision or breathing, she was totally enclosed, but at the same time she could see herself from the camera.

Elbow length gloves of blue latex were fitted over her already gloved hands, one pair after another, until three pairs of them covered her hands and fingers, making them quite useless.

‘Now that we are ready, we have only to wait.’ wrote Miss Mohsen. ‘But if you wish, you can wander inside the school. The screen over your eyes will automatically connect with the nearest camera, so you will not be blind. Only if required, as I have already explained, you have to return as quickly as you can to the infirmary.”

Amanra nodded, beginning her wait, shifting her weight from a foot to another, until she felt stable enough to move around, then she started to walk from a point to another of the infirmary, checking the supplies and where to find the various things. It was only after a couple of hours that she was sure to remember more or less where the pieces of equipment were, so she headed to the door, stopping to turn to the nurse and nodding.

‘Yes, you can. But remember, you have less than two hours before you need to return here to renew your oxygen supply.’ Some seconds passed before a counter indicating one hour and forty minutes appeared in the upper left corner of her eyes. ‘Ok, now you can see what is your life expectance…’

Before Miss Mohsen had finished speaking Amanra had opened and exited the infirmary, stopping after some seconds in order to digest the sudden change in perspective. She was seeing herself in the corridor from the camera on the opposite side.

The girls were still in the classes, so in the school corridors there were only the janitors and herself.

She had to move slowly because of the hobble skirt, and because the changing perspective every few minutes was quite strange. Time passed and the oxygen reserve went down so Amanra decided to go back to the infirmary, where the nurse, after greeting her, she refilled the bottle, giving Amanra a further four hours of life from the metal container. She decided to stay for a while resting her feet on a high stool she saw there. When she indicated with her head she wanted to leave again, Miss Mohsen let her have a full recharge of the air tank.

The school hours were over, the girls already having left for home, but the activities continued, so she encountered some girls of other classes. They looked at her for a second and she waved her hands to Isha who had stopped to look at her, inclining her head as indicating she was not understanding who she was, then she stomped her feet, understanding and showing her joy. They strolled along the corridors for some time, then Isha left when her father picked her up, so Amanra returned to the infirmary and stood there until it was time to close.

‘How has the first day been?’ wrote the nurse.

‘Good, but sorry if I say this, a little boring…’ Amanra wrote back.

‘I can imagine. Normally Miss Diab used to kill the time with crosswords and sudoku, but you…’

‘Can I study?’

‘Yes. But now, you had time to think. Are you going to stay here or go home?’

‘Stay here, thank you.’

‘Good. You can wander around still for some time then we have to prepare you for the night.’

‘We will have a bed or something similar?’

‘No.’ The nurse wrote. ‘We will be encased vertically inside a transparent plastic sandwich. There are more than one hidden inside the walls and plugged into special equipment that will give us air and extract our wastes, reprocess them and if possible reuse them.’

‘Reuse?’

‘Yes. But you will discover soon…’

Amanra was scared and excited at the same time, but she could only wait for the right time.

Thanks to Nye North for proofreading.

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