DEVASTATION

“DEVASTATION”

Part 3 - The Breeding

by drkfetyshnyghts © 2009

FOREWORD

There really are no bounds to the cruelty that can be applied by one, or more women, onto another. And it remains a simple fact that, only women really KNOW which buttons to press. Which nerves to twist in order to maximize the suffering of their gender.

THE STORY SO FAR

The nightmare continues for Petra as her daughter is delivered to the Clinic by Sabirah's associate Selena. Totally unbeknown to Petra, her daughter has been suffering a similar fate BEFORE she does. The timelines are explored with a lot of focus on Stefani's journey. The Suffering was a nightmarish exploration of emotional and physical excesses.  The laser alterations now extended to Petra's and Stefani's anal rings making them part of their extended addicted sexualities.

The timelines eventually merge... Petra agreeing that she can never again be released into the 'normal world' and that she must suffer for her illness'. An illness that actually does not exist.  Agreeing also that neither can Stefani be released and that she too must suffer terribly. Being faced with their own death certificates and media reports of their funerals, kind of seals a nightmare future for Petra. Alters it from surreal to very real. Any possibility of escape, or release simply fading to nothing.

The inclusion of Petra's bio giving the reader some empathy with her..... Sympathy even. Thus ensuring a more intensive and disturbing read. We actually get to know Petra. Even admire her. But all to no avail as her journey into Hell continues at breakneck speed.

The eventual bringing together of Mother and daughter. Absolutely and totally bondaged in the same despair dripping subterranean room, and Petra forced to choose intense hyper-orgasms in return for Stefani's suffering of indescribable torture is deeply troubling, and yet compulsive reading. Needing to choose, having to choose the orgasms because her addiction dictates it. And those very choices time after time feeding her guilt and downfall even more.

At the end of Part 2, a trusted friend of Dr Sabirah Najwa is introduced. Victoria offers up a plan that would see Petra's suffering deepen and intensify yet more. If that were possible... But there is something about Victoria... just 'something' deeply unsettling about her. And so  here, in The Breeding, the story reaches a conclusion, although not an end.

ONE - Before It All Began 1.

It was very early in the day. Just after 6 am. A beautiful autumn morning. Crisp, cold and clear outside with the sun reflecting and refracting off the skyscrapers of Docklands.  Petra could see the super modern buildings from her own seventeenth floor office suite in the square mile just off Upper Thames Street and up towards Poultry. She had always marveled at the sight. Especially at this time of the morning. It seemed those buildings were made solely of glass. They weren’t of course. She knew that. Her own building, owned by the company she worked for was the same. Floor to ceiling glass you could see out of clearly despite the sunglasses type filter. And then anyone on the outside could see in, but only just.  From the outside what looked like a single sheet of reflective glass with minimum penetration, from pavement level right up the entire twenty one floors, seemingly held together with a web of tubular metalwork, that looked too spindly, too thin to be able to hold together so much glass. Not to mention keep out all the elements of the great British weather. That wasn’t the case. There were concrete foundations. Invisible steel beams and a construction that was clever. It just made the building appear the way it was.  Very clever. Very clean. Very modern. A totally weatherproofed, air-conditioned environment. An uncluttered vision that belied the technology and know how that went into holding it all together. A sure example if ever there was one, that things are not always as they seem.

Petra was more than a yummy mummy. She had risen against all odds. Risen beyond adversity to a place where there was mutual respect. Admiration. Even some fear amongst the City Elite. A woman who had arrived in London as a teenager, nothing more than a girl. She had then been given an opportunity and had grasped that opportunity with both hands. Taken the opportunity, rung its neck and then worked it to her own best advantage. The girl becoming a Woman.  It must be said, a pretty, startling, redheaded girl becoming an astute, stunningly attractive Woman of means.

Petra was semi silhouetted against the huge, east facing sheet of glass that was her office window. It was angled slightly downwards which meant she could see the pavement seventeen floors below. Glancing just to the left was the iconic 30 St Mary Axe, otherwise known as the Gherkin. That also, nothing more than a silhouette in the crisp morning light. Little sparkles of sunlight catching the edges of the angled glass plates that made up that particular building. Then across slightly to the right, further away the skyline was dominated by 1 Canada Square aka Canary Wharf, in Docklands, currently the UK’s tallest building. Also in the same super modern cluster the Citigroup building at 8 Canada Square. These buildings seemed somewhat surreal when viewed from inside another soundproofed, weather proofed building like Petra’s. Huge, silent shapes existing in the hustle and bustle of one of the world’s most cosmopolitan and cultural cities.

From a far view, say a helicopter hovering overhead, such an huge expanse of sheet glass would render Petra a solitary small object. Quite tiny. Like an insect even. But, if one were to zoom in closer, the semi-silhouette gave the ideal medium with which to display her overall beauty. At five feet ten inches without her much favored stilettos she was in fact almost Amazonian in stature. The arch of her feet in patent leather, hand made court shoes, for any woman, would be severe, uncomfortable even. Especially for a long day at work in which quite a lot of it would be spent on those same feet. But for Petra she seemed able with ease to carry the arch. Impossibly fantastically shaped long legs were sheathed in expensive, shimmering almost black nylon which served quite easily to accentuate the shapely taught calfs. The legs in their entirety were an almost endless taper of sublime perfection.

A pinstriped, fitted, jacketed power suit enhanced Petra even more. The jacket tight and holding her thirty eight D cups snugly inside.  The shimmering, shiny silk of a red blouse underneath just about, tantalizingly so, giving away the bulge of those breasts. Mature breasts that appeared to roll, and wave within their confines. The skirt, very tight to her hips and thighs and hemmed equally tight just above her knees. This skirt gave the impression that it should create a hobble, such was its tightness around the knees. But it didn’t. Somehow, the vision that was Petra, seemed to glide with ease on those spiked heels. And yet, at the same time, the shoes, the skirt, the jacket all worked in unison to enhance that femininity. Enhance the astute, confident manner that Petra always displayed. Create the strut, and shorten the long purposeful strides that would normally occur with such long, long legs. Most women would be jealous of the way she moved on those heels. The way she always seemed to carry it off. Ah well, Petra brought out jealousies for all sorts of reasons. She always had. Ever since she was a little girl. Even her sisters had been jealous of Petra. Just the way it had always been.

Petra paced, from side to side of the huge window. Her striking red hair, held, in a high tight pony tail, swung from side to side as she strutted. That flame redness had been dulled by the smoked glass of her building, but that added to the surreality of the vision that was Petra in this environment. She was talking on an iPhone. Her long, elegant fingers almost caressing it as she held it in front of her, with it on speakerphone. Even through that zoom into the building it was clear to see her full, smooth lips moving, and animated in what she was saying.

“Look, its quite simple. If my boss isn’t happy. Then neither am I.  In fact, I would go one further than that. If the boss isn’t happy, and I am not happy, then someone’s head has to roll.  That girl has to go. I gave her a chance and she fucked up again. Once again she’s fucked up.  Now do you want to fire her, or shall I?”

Petra’s tone was one of not being amused. It wasn’t a raised voice. But it was firm and confident. Her heels clicked the marble floor and seemed to make her words even more acute. When she used the F word, it seemed to literally pour from her deliciously full red lips. It was as though she ENJOYED saying that word.  Not that she would use it at any given opportunity, but that when she did find it a fitting way of getting her point across, she used it, and accentuated it to the expert best of her feminine ability. When she said ‘fuck’ or ‘fucked’, the word had purpose. It had meaning and it just dripped, casually and yet with venom from her gorgeous mouth. Usually, any listener, or onlooker’s eyes would be attracted to, and fixed to her lips as she said it. Such was its effect, such was Petra’s effect that as soon as the full word had slipped from her sensual mouth, their eyes would roll down, towards the floor and be accompanied by a flush, or a blush.  That always, but always amused Petra. She would smile inwardly... even occasionally openly at the reaction. More especially so if the person, or persons in close proximity she despised, or disliked. Petra could be a Bitch. No doubt about it. Super Bitch even.

“Get rid of her and find a replacement. And... oh yes, if the next one doesn’t work out, it will be your head on the chopping block. Do I make myself clear?”

She spoke to her PA like she meant it. She did mean it. Her position as PA and Executive Secretary to the CEO meant that she herself needed a PA. In this case a little blonde thing in her late twenties and taking the same ride up the ladder that Petra herself had taken. Petra wasn’t a bitch on a daily, permanent basis. Just when need dictated. Petra was actually likable. Very fanciable, even by other women, but especially so by men. Described as sex-on-legs amongst other things.  She quietly liked that tag. It amused her and didn’t offend her in the slightest. There was a slight pause as the girl on the other end of the line spoke to Petra. Then Petra snapped back.

“Good.”

She pressed the touch sensitive button on the iPhone to hang up the call and then sat behind her minimal desk. Swinging her chair round as though in thought. Looking out across a city that in a few hours would be in full swing.  She crossed her impossibly long legs, the rasp of nylon on nylon filling the still, quiet air of the empty office suite.  In those few hours, the place would be busy busy busy. She tilted back the chair, and just, ever so casually fingered the hem of the tight skirt that had ridden up a little, exposing something more of her nylon encased thighs.

In the silence, the dead silence another look crossed Petra’s face.  Just in an instant, and just for a split micro-second, she looked like a little girl. It wasn’t just that she looked younger in that instant.  It was that she looked troubled. Vulnerable even. A look of uncertainty came across her well made up face. A face that normally looked super confident. Happy even. Content.  This was one of those solitary moments. Just in the blink of an eye, some of the color drained away from her cheeks. This in turn made the contrast of her deep red lips an even more striking one.  The thing was that, even after that split second had passed by her face didn’t return to normal.  There was a deep, thoughtfulness, as well as a retention of some of the ‘trouble’.  She took a big, heaving sigh, during which her not inconsiderable chest expanded, then deflated inside her jacket.  Getting off the deep leather executive swivel chair she took off the jacket, hung it over the back of the chair. Brushed down her blouse. Her breasts rippled and rolled under the blouse. Delicious breasts. Full, heavy, fleshy. Picking up her bag she left the office and headed down a corridor to the ultra-modern rest rooms. High heels clicking with purpose.

Ultra modern super-duper glass palaces were springing up all round the City. Buildings that cost almost as much during the design stage as they did in their construction.  And then there were the executive rest rooms in Petra’s building. Petra’s building in the loosest sense of course. It belonged to the company she worked for, although she could pass for its owner any day. She practically ran the finance division herself and just ensured that her boss was kept informed on a daily basis. Even at weekends when necessary.

The rest rooms were spacious and where the rest of the building was very clean straight lines, cut glass and mirror like aluminum, the rest rooms deliberately returned to an air of homely opulence. Tall rooms that echoed the sounds of numerous pairs of stilettos attached to power dressed women during the day. But at night were eerily quiet, and yet even the slightest sound would bounce, and ricochet off the marble floors and around the mirrored wall even up along the intricately designed ceilings.  There were curves in these rest rooms. Still clean lines. Lines that flowed from the huge hand basins and seemed to blend in with the wall size mirrors behind them making the seams all but invisible. Even the mirrored walls were etched with intricate, swirly designs that kind of separated the row of hand basins into their own individual compartments.  They created that ‘homely’ feel. Whereas the office suites and visitor areas were unmistakably corporate in their design and identity.

Along the opposite wall to the wash basins down its whole length were the cubicles. Wider than usual cubicles and each furnished with its own padded chair, clothes hangers, as well as the toilet itself. More room equalling to more luxury. Each cubicle individually air conditioned. Each cubicle walled floor to ceiling. In effect each cubicle a room of its own.

At this time of the day, the raspy heavy breathing of Petra could be clearly heard coming from one of the cubicles. The door wasn’t closed completely and so the sound kind of poured out and into the main section of the restroom. It was a raspy throaty sound that was broken every so often with another sound. Just the barest hint of a whimper. It could have been mistaken for a sob.  But it wasn’t a sob. The raspiness of the breathing, the slight gurgle in the throat and then the whimper were too regular, too distinct, too controlled for it to be sounds of any form of distress.

Petra was kind of sitting on the toilet seat. That is sitting in the draped sense of the word. She was draped in an obscene fashion. Yes that is a appropriate description, obscene. The hinged seat cover itself was down and bared Petra’s complete weight. She wasn’t relieving herself in the toilet sense. She was leaning back against the wall. Her skirt had been hiked up and was being held high by the roll of her hips. She had raised her knees high, pulled them back and opened them wide. Knowing she had sublimely long shapely legs was one thing. Seeing them in the flesh, as it were, brought the fact home like a freight train. The silky, sheer nylon that sheathed them seemed to sparkle and shimmy in the even lighting. The delicate lace tops of the self supporting stockings clung to her very upper thighs denting the pale flesh slightly. She hated garter belts. They always spoilt the lines of skirts and that just was not acceptable. Her legs were so wide apart that she had wedged each of her knees and lower legs high on the side walls of the cubicle as an aid to keep them spread. She wasn’t quite, on her back. Just at a forty five degree angle and being held up by the back wall behind the toilet itself.  Her stiletto’d feet dangled both foot arches held perfectly, tippy toes pointing down towards the floor. It was as though she were trying her very best to be appealing to the eye of an invisible voyeur.

There was a distant look in her eyes. Not dissimilar to one of abandonment and she stroked down between her legs. Her tiny silk thong had been pulled to one side leaving her fleshy, meaty labia exposed. She was masturbating crudely.  Dragging her long manicured finger nails up the length of her slit. Bottom to top. Just parting the labia and dipping in a little. Her finger nails were painted and glossed the same color as her lips, as always. This deep red contrasted quite starkly with the slight reddening of the labia. The finger nails trawling through the increasing collection of juices which then overspilled the scoop of the nail and back into the valley of vaginal flesh. The tiny crotch of the thong, red silk to match the blouse was clearly saturated, and stained with her produce.

It was clear to see that she was producing copious amounts of juice. As she stroked herself, up then down, the trickles of juices were plain to see. Running down the slit and collecting in a slippery pool between her bottom cheeks on the toilet cover.  She expertly stroked with one finger and with another finger of the same hand she rubbed and pressed the hood of her clitoris which was just nestled out of sight, at first. The more she rubbed her clitoris, the more into view it came.  Like a little hard nub, a button that was coated, almost dripping with glistening juices.  She teased the clitoris out and circled it’s periphery as she stroked longer and deeper with her other finger.  Any onlooker would conclude that Petra was capable of acrobatics with those long slender fingers. Every so often, the little whimper, the little mewling sound came to the fore. Just as she held her breath. Like she was deliberately holding her breath to magnify the tiny spasms of pleasure she was giving herself.

Petra’s other hand was wrapped under one cheek of her fleshy bottom.  She had used this hand to pull the cheek apart from the other, exposing the rosebud of her rear hole. With the forefinger of that hand she was rimming the very edge of her bum hole. Round and round. Round and round. Very gently, very delicately. Just rimming her bum hole. Tickling it with her deep red nail. In doing this she was enhancing the little spasms to her vaginal area. Or more to the point enhancing the little bursts of pleasure to her clitoral area.

Quite obviously, this kind of activity was one that Petra indulged in on a regular basis. She was very experienced at it. Her positioning and the practiced way she used the finger of both hands in unison was almost an art form.  Her red, pure silk blouse was disheveled and partly open. Three or four buttons were undone and hanging out of one side was one of her thirty eight Ds in its entirety. The other was still covered in silk. Teasingly so. But what Petra was doing as she masturbated, was, that every so often she would bring the hand up from her bottom, and use the same finger that had been rimming her bum hole to circle and rub across the tip of her exposed nipple. The nipple was stiff. Thick. Rubbery. Hard. And it was this action that was causing her to whimper. It was that very action, as she brought her hand up, and fingered the nipple, that made that sob like sound emit from between her deep red lips. Not a sob at all but a cry of lust. Pure lust.

“mmmmm mmmmmm mmmmm mmmmmm mmmmmmm nnnnnnggggggg.”

For that invisible voyeur who might have been lucky enough to witness such a sight, there would have been a conflict of interest.  Does he, or she, watch what is going on between Petra’s fabulously long, disgustingly spread legs, or, does he or she watch, and study the look of increasing abandon that is playing around her face?  Its true to say that at times, people are not as attractive as at other times. For instance, when people get angry, or lose it for whatever reason, they lose their attractiveness. If ever there was a time when such an attractive, amazonian beauty as Petra should lose her attractiveness it was here, and now. But this wasn’t the case. The vision was quite obscene. Disgustingly so. And yet she lost none of her beauty. it could be said that she radiated it even more.  Her already full, sensuous lips had slightly swollen and become even more pouted with the lust she was feeding herself. Every so often the tip of her wet tongue would slide out into one corner, or the other of her delicious mouth. The sparkle in her eyes was intensified. Her huge eyes, wider, almost maddeningly staring into the space directly in front of her. The space occupied by that non existent voyeur. It was almost embarrassing for the voyeur to be intruding on the very intimate, private time of an impossibly stunning, mature woman in the throws of pleasuring herself.

The longer and more intensely that Petra pleasured herself, the messier she became between her legs. The whole of her vaginal region was saturated with thick slippery juices. The more vigorous her finger work became, these juices spilled over and coated the toilet seat and swirled there. It became an endless cascade. Slow but continuous until her buttock flesh slid and skidded some making her need to adjust herself continuously. Despite this continuous readjustment of herself, she made sure it didn’t destroy her rythm. The juices also coated her inner thighs making them as slippery as her sexuality, and the toilet seat. There was an associated, slushy, bubbling noise and the occasional expel of air from her vagina.  And the crotch of the disheveled, saturated thong twisted and became a thin string like piece of material, extremely slippery and useful only for being hooked by one of Petra’s free fingers and pulling sharply between her sex lips as she worked herself adding an extra welcome source of friction for her.

As Petra brought herself closer to orgasm, she rubbed directly over the tip of her clitoris. And also the finger rimming her bottom occasionally slipped inside and was feeding an increasing need for her bottom to suck on the finger. To chew it. The tightness this created intensified the feeling of the need to orgasm. That tightness was a slippery tightness. Almost a virginal tightness and a link to her glowing clitoris. Virginal tightness in the willing sense of the word.

Petra fed her own head with fantasies as she approached orgasm. In this particular one, a somewhat large black man was feeding his thick, long, brutal cock into her stretched mouth and she was sucking it hungrily. Using her tongue to wrap around the shaft, then tightening the wrap of her tongue as it slid up over the massive bell end ensuring she scooped up pre-cum and leaking from the monstrous cock.  As her own clitoris erupted into orgasm, so the black man erupted in Petra’s mouth. First just a high pressure jet of pre-cum in the back of her throat and then the main jet of thick, creamy, gluggy semen filling her mouth. Her swallowing, then the second mouth full. The swallow, then the third mouth full which she is unable to keep up with as it overspills her red lips and down her cleavage coating her mammaries. The one bared breast coated in a thick wave of cum, the other breasts still inside the red slik blouse saturated and stuck to the sensuous material. Its just at that time that Petra erupts in that toilet cubicle. A long long continuous wave of orgasm that seems to emanate from the very tip of her clitoris.

“mmmmmmgodddddddddd mmmmmmmmmmnnnngodddddddddddddd.”

Petra panting and mewling through what up until then is one of the most intense orgasms she has ever experienced. Her fingers working vigorously feeding the orgasm until it begins to subside. The flow of juices, thick and creamy at their height as she reaches the peak of intensity. Flooding the seat, flooding the valley between her bottom cheeks and her forefinger slipping in and out of her anus.

Petra comes down slowly. The come down is accompanied by a low, rumbling groan.

“noooooooo nooooooooo noooooooooo.”

She doesn’t recognize that deep seated nag in the pit of her stomach as guilt at this point. To her, its just a slight dread. Shame even. But not guilt, not yet. As she slips her dripping fingers into her delicious mouth and sucks them clean she unfolds herself, slides to her knees on the marble tiled floor of the cubicle and begins to lick at her own spilled juices on the toilet cover. The sight is almost wretched. This mature, high power woman reduced this way, by a need she can barely contain.  Her wet tongue, long and thick, dripping with its own saliva, sliding over the toilet cover and scooping up the juices and secretions her sexuality have produced. Her full, pouty lips sliding through the wetness also. There is an urgency to her actions. Like she doesn’t want to miss any. Like she doesn’t want to waste any. Or more like she doesn’t want to leave any trace of her DNA for any one else to find, for anyone else to discover. Or that ‘secret’ that terrible ‘flaw’ in her will be found out and exposed.  If that were to happen her world, as she knew it would be shattered. In a way, she felt, she would be finished.

Petra knew she was highly sexed. She didn’t know why. She just knew that she had to keep it in check. Under control. Keep it very much to herself. She could do that. She had been very successful at it. Every so often, she needed to relieve herself. And she did. She couldn’t help that. It was a need that built up inside her that she could do nothing about except relieve herself.  Occasionally, with carefully chosen partners she would indulge in full graphic and often seedy sex.  She couldn’t help it. She had to. She had considered therapy but that would mean confiding in someone. She couldn’t do that. She found it difficult if not impossible to trust anyone.  There wasn’t one single person that she could consider a friend. A true friend. In lots and lots of ways she was a loner. But her issues, her flaws were so well concealed that no-body but no-body ever penetrated her smooth and polished extrerior. As she cleaned up the cubicle, wiped down, readjusted herself. Reapplied her make up, checked herself in the huge mirrors she was back to professional, absolute power woman. Impeccable. Immaculate.

Just as she was leaving the rest room, so the early morning cleaners were beginning their day. She smiled and nodded curtly at one overweight negress as she passed in the corridor. Maybe it was her husband, or her son that Petra had just fantasized about. Who knows? In another hour or so her colleagues would start arriving. She took out her iPhone as she flopped back into her office chair, fingered the touch screen and speed dialed one number.

“Hi honey, its me.. yessssss, your personal wake up call...... You have a good day and I’ll catch up to you tonight once I’m done here.....ok......bye.”

She sat thoughtfully as she hung up the call to her daughter Stefani. The rasp of nylon against nylon distinct as she crossed her legs slowly. Another day beginning.

TWO - Petra & Victoria

Sabirah’s subterranean facilities had been designed, and built by her with a single premise in mind. That is that one day, she would find The One. Her ideal subject. The One who she would slowly, and deliberately dissect, molecule by molecule via intense, and complete utter inhumane torture and psychosis.

The world below her clinic, and below the facilities where she ran her research programs in itself was an intrinsic part of the terrible torture. A treatment so inhumane of another human being that words alone cannot describe it. It is impossible to overstate the cleverness involved in creating a world that simply drips with despair at every turn, and every level.  The ability to exclude the outside world in its entirety, a feat in itself. But at the same time to keep that outside world existing, in a faded grey inside the victim’s head, testament to Dr Sabirah Najwa’s skill and determination in inflicting the very worse, the very pit of torture and despair on the mind of the victim. The victim knowing that the normal world exists but getting to it, or any hope of getting to it so distant, so utterly hopeless that the misery just piles on top of misery.

A very simple and precise rule; once the mind is taken, the body will follow. Sabirah worked the mind and the body of her victims at the same time because she could. Because she knew how.  Keeping another woman JUST on the side of sane was a very fine balancing act. A balancing act that Sabirah was an expert at. She was a clinical psychologist, a consummate professional and yet committing the cardinal sin. Likened to a martial artist using her skills outside of competition, or training or tournament. She was a medical, clinical and psychological professional utterly abusing her skills for her own gain. That is the gratification, or at least in search of the gratification of her advanced sadism.

There was only one place beyond those bondage and torture rooms below Sabirah’s clinic. Well, another place plus one, but that is for a future chapter. For this one, one place beyond where the most absolute of tortures takes place. That place is the Storage Facility.  A further level below even the hell visited so far and yet even more secluded. Yet more detached from the outside world. A rubber world. Pod like cells of pure latex. In effect padded cells. That is windowless pods, padded with pure latex.  The stench of latex so strong that it is inescapable. An atmosphere dripping with pure latex. Each ‘pod’ no more than a human kennel. And yet not one that the occupant can leave and enter at will. Locked and sealed pods. Absolute exclusion from a normal existence. A latex vacuum seal. Sound proof. Air tight. Escape proof. Despair proof. That is, sealing the despair in with nothing leaking out. The latex a feed. A trigger that would forever be associated with the misery and torture of this place. And yet also associated with the warm comforting confines of the womb.  Mixed messages. Mixed signs. Confusing signs feeding the confusion washing around the head of the unfortunate one. Feeding also the addiction and sexuality of the unfortunate occupant.

By its very nature the Storage Facility is larger, more intense than actually required.  Designed for The One, and yet giving the impression that many such victims could be placed into issolative latex storage. Indeed, this section could house up to twenty unfortunate people. Not really a deception at all. Part of the creation of a place that can only be labeled Hell, and yet is so much further beyond hell. Nothing really for the occupants to do here. Prevented from doing anything of their own free will. Just existing. Breathing and existing in this latex place. The Storage Facility.

By the time the occupant reaches this area of Sabirah’s facility, she is far from the person she once was. Of course, Petra had ceased to be that a long long time before she reached here. The confident personality gone. The sparkle gone. The control gone. The power gone. Qualities taken away, and replaced with a shell. A hyper accentuated piece of femininity just about holding onto reality. Just about permitted to keep those memories of her former life inside her very diminished mind. Those memories feeding her despair. And her latex pod, her padded latex cell feeding an already established addiction for the latex she so adores. So needs.  Her double latex catsuit and hood, the padded latex walls, and floor and ceiling, so close to her and closing in all the time, making her feel like she is back in the womb. Back safe in the womb. But this place... this place so dripping with her own misery. He own despair dripping from the latex walls, and ceiling like a condensation, and soaking back into her to start the whole cycle, the whole process starting all over again.

It is in here, in Petra’s storage pod that she can just about curl up into the fetal position. Relatively free of the agonizing bondage. Only relatively free of course. Ankles remaining hobbled with short chain and the knees also hobbled to stop them from opening wider than the nine inches or so of the chain length. Or attempting to create any friction which would lead to a pleasure that she herself was creating.  That would be a no no. Petra being allowed to pleasure herself. Or accentuate the pleasure already being fed to her by those ever present throbs fed into the base of her clitoris.  Likewise, her wrists, just attached, clipped to the steel rings at her hips. If her wrists weren’t secured like this, she would slip her hands, and her log slender fingers between her legs, and pleasure herself this way.  It wouldn’t be that it was her fault. It would be a natural, absolute reaction to her deep seated, and established addiction. But such self pleasuring was not permitted. This maddening, this denial caused, was very much desired by Dr Sabirah Najwa. She liked this easy way of inflicting the basest of torment.

Turmoil in an already tortured mind. Deeper feminine turmoil and the knowledge that it was being caused, that it had been created by another woman.  And then, also, the highly inflated appendages remained inside both of Petra’s most intimate holes. The vaginal appendage stretching her inner walls to the maximum making her musculature tight, taught and with the occasional spasm making her wince, and twitch even in her partial sleeping state. It was only ever a partial sleeping state. Petra hadn’t slept properly since she arrived at the clinic. Even more so since she was taken down level by level.  The vaginal intrudence having grown in girth and length as it was inflated with a feed of compressed air, then nudging up against her cervix. Pressing into it ensuring the discomfort was permanent and a constant reminder of her deeper intimate femininity. The anal appendage fully inserted, then inflated, elongated, thickened inside her. Stretching her and nudging deep then deeper against her colon. A discomfort yes, but also a feed. A sexual feed to her clitoris. That nudge and spasm into her colon a most definite sexual feed into the base of her clitoris and those ever hungry ever present throbs.

Petra wasn’t gagged. Sabirah liked all of noises and sounds to escape that delicious mouth. Even in the womb like confines of the pod, she liked to hear the little gasps, and whimpers and mewling of her victim as she tried, always unsuccessfully to sleep and adapt to her ever changing state. Her mind in a constant absolute whirl. Her body the same. She would never absolutely totally adapt to her state, or her status. It was part of the torture. Part of the permanent turmoil created deliberately by the Sadist.  And besides all of that, Petra’s ‘bad red lips’ had to protrude and be exposed through the rubber hood. Deliciously exposed, free to communicate her distress to her captor. Or at least try to communicate it. Bizarre, such an attractive, educated woman who had previously been able with ease to communicate on all levels. Always choosing the right words. Always conveying the tone, the emotion. And yet here, the real communication coming from the empty pool like eyes. The lips, just another ‘bad’ bit of herself. Even in the rubber womb, the pod, such a vision did not escape Dr Sabirah Najwa. Such gratification for such a complex sadist.

So, Petra’s ability to curl up into the fetal position was hampered. Restricted by default. And yet, after saying that, seeing her curled up, pressed into the smooth rubber corner of the pod was an almost wretched sight. Heart rending. Rubberized head pressed into the corner and hobbled legs pulled up, almost doubled, and back arched concavely. Almost certainly the appendages inside her pressed right into her internal organs and her muscles clinging to them, chewing them, sucking on them as the throbs continuously reminded her of her ‘illness’. Of her addiction.  Elbows protruding back, since her wrists are secured to her hips. Head back. Long eyelashes fluttering in her partial sleeping state. Maybe dreams of her past life. Maybe dreams of that big black man feeding his thick, vein ridden cock into her mouth once again. Or nightmares of her new life. Chest expanding and contracting with her breathing. Lips parting, then closing. The deep red gloss visibly peeling apart as her mouth moves. Maybe uttering words of despair to herself. Her tongue, pink and wet just touching the corner of her mouth every few breaths or so.

Petra didn’t move as Victoria swung open the pod door. She remained in her semi-sleep state. Victoria didn’t want to startle what was already a wreck of a woman. A wreck shrink wrapped in latex and almost mindless except for her addictive needs and her latent dripping sexuality.  Victoria just opened the door and looked at Petra inside. In her folded, fetal state it was hard to comprehend exactly how tall Petra was. Even with her lower legs extended more by the the knee high, impossibly high heeled ballet boots, she seemed small, fragile. Her feet, her toes arched and pointed and kind of rigid. A further accentuation of her deliciously shapely legs. She was on her side, her extended sexuality and anal ring pouting back, exposed from the latex wrapped shape of her bottom cheeks and thighs. Even in this bizarre latex-light her sexuality dripped constantly. Victoria watched, very closely as that same sexuality twitched. Anal ring pushing out, then sucking back in. The same for Petra’s labia. Victoria cocking her head ever so slightly to one side, listening. Listening to Petra’s deep, slow, irregular breathing. In between breaths, the noises her sexuality was making. Wet noises, slippery noises. Seemingly breathing organs with a life of their own.

Victoria is a thirty eight year old cardio-thoracic surgeon and Sabirah’s most trusted, and longest standing friend. At one time they had been lovers. Very close lovers. Victoria had no mental health, or emotional issues what-so-ever for. In fact very much like Sabirah in her natural attraction to the fetish scene. An attraction born out of genuine interest, genuine desire to explore the darker regions as opposed to submitting to those darker regions. Very level headed. Very English. Very attractive, and yet attractive in an understated way. Now very happily married and with children, twins actually, of her own just about to enter the high school phase of their young lives.

In lots of ways, Victoria is more chilling than Sabirah. She exists and thrives in the absolute normal world. The hands she uses to feed and dress and look after her offspring are the same hands she uses, very skillfully in her fetishistic hobbies.  It was always possible, after a short period of time, with Sabirah, to feel that chill down the back of the spine, for some incomprehensible reason. Just something about her that told of a deeper self. A hidden self. But with Victoria. Nothing. Not the slightest inclination that this woman had hobbies and past-times beyond the normal. A woman, like Sabirah who was at the top of her profession and one of the best in her field. It was always possible with medical and psychological professionals to make excuses, and explain that they needed an escape, a release from their very high pressure daily lives. The thing about Victoria is that she never showed any signs of this pressure. At all. Cool and calm under all circumstances and with no exception. It was only after meeting Victoria, after discovering her interests outside of her profession that a chill could form in the core of the spine and then travel up then down, ensuring the hairs on the backs of necks were pricked and raised.

Victoria, dressed in skin tight leather pants and a tight waist coat that appeared two sizes too small to contain her 38dd breasts, stepped into the pod. Her stilettos sinking into the soft latex of the pod’s floor. Petra stirred a little but didn’t wake from her semi-sleeping state.  Victoria moved in close and then got down, perched on her own heels. On her haunches as she caressed a leather gloved hand up over the arch of Petra latexed hip. A very gentle smoothing caress. Victoria’s tongue ran out and across her own thin lips.

“Petra... Petra... wake up honey.”

Her voice was very low, very gentle again so not to cause Petra to startle.  Petra groaned. It was a long groan. Like a groan of demonstration. A groan very much of dread of being woken from this partial sleeping world, her only place of escape. Even then it was only partial escape. But a least some form of escape. A groan of exhaustion, a groan of utter distress that she was being brought back into her new real world. A world which, in the normal world, would be classed as a nightmare. For Petra this was a living nightmare.

“Petra... wake up sweetie, wake up.”

Petra slowly unfolding her fetal position. The groans becoming little whimpers and her state of mind thus that she immediately rolls over. Immediately makes herself available for the voice that’s waking her. In her mind, her tortured mind, she thinks maybe, just maybe she is going to be allowed to orgasm.  On the other hand, she could also be being woken to be taken to some other form of immense torture. Some other immense source of despair and anxiety. Her eyes flicker open. Long curled eyelashes thick with mascara. Very slowly, with more soft, throaty groans she focuses on a woman who is not Sabirah, or one of her helpers.  There is a moment of her being startled. Not recognizing this woman. Just a few seconds of confusion in her own mind. Her eyes open wide and a look, very animalistic, frightened, crosses her face.

“It’s ok Petra. It’s ok.  My name is Victoria. I’m taking you out of here.  Its all over honey. I’m going to make you better. You’re going to get well again.  As well as I can make you.”

Victoria’s hand just gently on Petra’s shoulder as though consoling her. Her voice is soft and sweet. Almost musical in it’s quality. It’s like a voice that is reassuring a frightened puppy. Or an abused pet.  Victoria’s voice is one that in the first instance has to calm and reassure a woman who is in the depths of emotional turmoil. Petra has mostly lost the skill of conversation so she can only whimper as she adjusts herself as much as the hobble chains and her clipped wrists allow. Victoria helps her into the sitting position. At the same time she lets her eyes casually roam over the latexed breast mounds, and the exposed, swollen, grape like nipples.

“It’s ok Petra. it’s all going to be ok.  I’m taking you out of here.  No more torture. No more cruelty for you. It’s all over Petra. All over.”

Always such a reassuring voice. Soft soothing and actually talking too Petra directly. A direct contact with someone seemingly from the real, normal world and someone wanting to communicate directly with her. Even help her. Immediately questions forming in Petra’s head. Is she dreaming? Is this some kind of cruel nightmare? It slowly dawning on her that neither is actually the case.  Her head tilts as she focuses on Victoria. Her full, luscious red lips so unused to forming words lately and now struggling to do so.

“O-over... a-all o-over?”

Like a very young child learning to talk the words coming slowly. Broken. Stuttered. Victoria’s leather covered hand moving up and caressing the rubberized cheeks of Petra.

“Yes.. thats right all over. I need to get you out of here so I can fix you up. Get you better. Oh we won’t be able to get you totally well. But instead of punishing your sexuality, and the way you are I want to make you proud of yourself again. Proud of what you are. And that is a beautiful woman but with problems. But we wont focus on the problems. Rather on your best points. Make you proud of what you are. Do you understand Petra. I’m going to take you out of this place. Back up into the normal world. Yes?”

All the time Victoria’s voice very low, soothing, calm and Petra visibly relaxing bodily. And yet her eyes, the windows to her soul so full of puzzlement. So full of questions. And at the same time so full of confusion and wretchedness. Victoria just caressing Petra’s face, and then down over her shoulders.

“M-my d-daughter... w-what about my d-daughter?”

Stefani had never left Petra’s mind. Never would. Mother love, even through this nightmare had always shone through.  Again Petra’s broken voice. Pitiful, an almost broken begging for her only daughter not to be forgotten.  Her question prompting tears to pour from both eyes and down her latex enhanced cheeks.

“Sssshhh ssssshhhh Petra. It’s ok. It’s ok I haven’t forgotten about Stefani.  She is going to help me with another project for a little while. But yes she will be leaving here eventually as well. It’s ok Petra. Trust me this nightmare is over for you, truly. And for Stefani very soon to”.

Victoria coaxing and soothing Petra all the time.  This time as she speaks she moves her leather covered fingers to Petra’s exposed nipples and just gently takes each between thumbs and forefingers and rolls them. Caresses the sides making Petra suck in air and her lips to hang, pouting.

“It’s all about your pleasure Petra and the pleasure you can give to others. If you are a good girl, there is no limit to the amount of orgasms you can experience. Your orgasms controlled by how much of a good girl you are. Wouldn’t you like that?  And Stefani joining you, later. How good would that be Petra? Hmmmm?”

Victoria’s thumbs then moving in unison, over the tips of the extended fat nipples, making Petra instantly orgasm where she sat,

“HHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGG

HHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGGGNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

MMMMMMMMMMMNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

NNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

Those waves of pure undiluted pleasure again. Ripple after ripple of intense orgasm racking through Petra. And yet this was different. An orgasm with hope attached. One with an end to the nightmare in sight.  Her juices pouring in waves from her enhanced, most private areas, slithering onto the black latex, and swirling between her thighs. And then Victoria just as easily bringing her down. Gently soothing her all the time.

“So, what do you think Petra. Can you be a good girl for me?”

Petra as the last waves of orgasm wash through then out of her, nodding her head. The chance to control her own orgasms. To be a good girl.

“Yessssss.Yessss please yes.”

The pureness of her pleading, begging tone one of absolute submission. Desperation even. This especially hitting home when Petra’s background was taken into consideration. Where she had come from. What she had lost. What had happened to her, to bring her to this place. To this state of mind and body.

Victoria spent two hours with Petra in the pod. Talking to her. Reassuring her. Stroking her. Treating her completely differently to what she had become used to. Talking to her like she were a human being as opposed to not being one. Albeit a retarded human being. It becoming clear that she could never return to her old life. Or her old status. Officially both her and Stefani were dead. That wouldn’t change. That she would remain ‘in service’ in some form or another was another clear point. That she would be taken out of this Hell-hole was also clear. That as long as she were a good girl, her sexuality would be rewarded was a point that sunk into Petra’s psyche and stayed there. Her sexuality, enhanced and as fucked-up as it was was foremost in her mind. The single biggest priority in her life. Like an animal using base instincts to survive she was plotting to be a very good girl. A very very good girl indeed.

“It’s all about making you proud again Petra. Showing off and enhancing your femininity. Giving others pleasure in the way you look. But not only in the way you look, but also you providing sexual pleasure to others. In whatever ways required. And you being proud of the way you look. That pride remaining as you pleasure other people. Head held high. Do you understand Petra?”

Petra listening to the words. Taking them all in. That one little piece of sanity left in her finally clicking on to the fact that once again she had a future. A ladder to climb. Her latexed head nodding. Understanding. Understanding that she had a sexual ladder to climb. Like a career in sexual pleasure. The sexual pleasure of others. Her own pleasure a perk of this career.

“Y-yes, yes I can’t thank you enough. Really I can’t....”

Her voice still broken, but her eyes showing a spark of hope in there.

“You can thank me by being a good girl Petra. That’s all I ask. No more. No less. I just want Petra to be a good girl. Do you think you can do that for me Petra?”

Victoria’s voice almost hypnotic in its quality. As she spoke she was unclipping Petra’s wrists. Freeing her from the bondage she had endured since she had come to this place. Not that she could really remember how, or when, or why she had come to this place. All she knew for sure is that she had suffered immeasurably and now, at last there was hope. Pure relief over her perfectly made up face as she was allowed to flex her freed wrists. The little creaking sounds the latex made, strangely making her smile. The first genuinely untroubled smile she had shown for a long long time. Not completely untroubled, but partially so and a definite improvement. Something of her old spark back in her eyes, and the color of her cheeks.

“Oh, yes, yes I can be a good girl. I can be whatever you want me to be, yes.”

Victoria smiling as she released first the ankle hobble chain to allow the feet to instantly splay, pointed toes pointing inwards. Then the knee chain. Her impossibly long, skin-tight latexed legs unfolding properly. Flexing. Opening. Her taking a little gasp as the friction of her movement plays in with the extended lips and clitoris of her sexuality. And the knowledge that she wouldn’t have to pay for that little bit of pleasure by suffering. The smile of Victoria. The knowing smile. Knowing she had just received that spasm of pleasure created by the friction of her free movement.

“It’s ok Petra. It’s ok to feel the pleasure.”

Petra moving again. Gasping again. Using her now free hands to feel and stroke over her own latex wrapping.

“C-can I keep the latex? Please? Please can i keep the latex?”

A genuine, almost dripping pleading in her request. As though having the latex taken off her would be worse than losing her daughter.  Victoria smiling at the same time as she is very casually, very gently helping Petra to her feet.

“Oh Petra. Of course you can keep the latex.  I have a complete wardrobe of latex for you. Just waiting for you.  And do you know something else Petra?...”

Her voice trails off slightly as Petra manages to unfold herself and then stand tippy-toe on the ballet boots. Understandably her delicious legs a little weak. But the weakness counteracted to a point by the fact that she could stand with her legs parted. And by the fact that she could take corrective steps to avoid the stumbling.

“..... most of your new wardrobe hides away your bad bits, We don’t need to keep those out now do we?  Those bits can just be a secret. Between you and I. And possibly between some of the people you must pleasure. How does that sound Petra?”

Petra rediscovering her long legs. And for the first time feeling the extreme arch in her feet. But not disliking that feel. Another gasp as the inflated appendages inside her move and nudge inside her. The heels further helping those things move and tease inside her. Her enhanced sexuality gripping those appendages, hungry not for them to be removed but for them to remain where they are. She took a few steps watched by a smiling, encouraging Victoria. Petra speaking. Speaking as she continues to move. Her steps becoming more confident all the time. Her in complete wonderment as a dark mist seems to rise from her.

“I can’t believe I am getting out of this place.  And a whole wardrobe of latex!  Oh my god! Yes thank you so much. So much.  My b-bad bits, covered? Please, yes. I don’t know how I can repay you...”

Her voice trailing off again. A hint of the old Petra in that rediscovered voice. But also a hint of the child in Petra.  So much to take in. A removal of the bondage. Being allowed movement. Standing up. Taking free steps. Stretching and relieving all those aches and pains the bondage and torture had caused. Feeling free pleasure that she could enhance herself which served to feed that hunger in her. That need. Now also an added need. To be very much a good girl for Victoria. Not let her down. Not disappoint her.  That was another thing being born out of Petra right at this time. A very deep intrinsic need to satisfy Victoria in everything required. A base need the same as the base needs of her sexuality. Being spoken to like a human being again.  All of this was overwhelming for Petra and tears freely flowed down her cheeks as inside her mind Victoria becomes something of a surrogate mother to her. Someone who is going to look after her from now on.

“It’s ok Petra. It’s ok. The thanks are you being a good girl.  And, before you ask, YES, you can keep the high heels. They suit you and I think you are going to become an expert at moving in them. Using them to enhance yourself more for certain people.  There are lots more pairs of high heels waiting with your new wardrobe Petra.”

Victoria speaks to Petra with a huge, genuine wide lipstick grin across her mouth. All the time she is watching Petra looking at her studying her facial expressions and reactions to what she is being told.  Even Victoria can’t help but look on in some awe at a woman who is five feet ten inches without heels. In eight inch ballet boots this height boosted to six feet six inches. Amazonian. And yet an Amazonian in service. Petra looking down at her feet. Her boots. Now taking a deliberate decision to take steps. Out of the pod onto the firmer surface of the deeper level flooring. At first gangly, unsure steps. The clicks of the heels giving away the insecurity of the footing. But this insecurity fading away with each step. Her latex shrink wrapping squeaking slightly as she moves. Her stature improving with every step. The natural concave arch returning to her back enhancing the thrust of her breasts. Her bad bits still exposed. But to a point she is used to these disgusting organs now. Especially now more so in the knowledge that she will be able to cover them up soon. Victoria watching closely as Petra comes out of her shell more and more. A shell created by Dr Sabirah Najwa.  And yet maybe, just maybe a shell that was required, in order to make Petra what she was here and now. A shell very much required to make Petra what Victoria now wanted her to be.  Petra just smiling, like a child, looking down at the tightly laced ballet boots, twisting one foot slightly to look. Then the other to look at that. Craning her neck slightly to try to see the pencil-thin heel. The arch so much adding to the length of already incredible legs.  Her then looking back up at Victoria, her full deliciously red lips just mouthing the words

“Thank You.”

Almost exactly one hour later, Victoria was driving away from the clinic with Petra sitting next to her in the passenger seat. It was the absolute dead of night. The very early hours of the morning. No sign of life anywhere.  Apart that is from a first floor window at the front of the main clinic building, Dr Sabirah Najwa watching, and smiling gently as the blacked out Mercedes made its way up the long drive and out onto the main road.

THREE - Sabirah & Stefani

With Petra away from the Clinic for an indeterminate amount of time, Sabirah was able to put definite and concerted effort into Stefani. An unhurried, intense focus on bringing the teenager to a new level.  A level several below those she had already visited.

Stefani had been just a tool for Sabirah.  A tool with which to magnify her mother’s suffering.  And this remained the case.  But the clinical psychologist was gaining something of a fondness for the young girl.  This was understandable given that she was so much like her mother. So similar in so many ways. From appearance, through to the little intimate sounds of distress that she made when under severe duress.

And so, far from being something that should be embraced by Stefani, Sabirah’s growing fondness for her was something that should emphasize and deepen the fear, and dread already implanted in her young head and body. Sabirah’s way, her only way of displaying such a growing fondness for an individual was to increase the Hell in which she existed. Stefani’s Hell was going to increase several fold in her mother’s absence.  It could be said, even suggested to Stefani that this increase in focus on her, was her mother’s fault. All Petra’s fault!

With what Sabirah had in mind, she could have opted for a simple, less tortuous bondage. Simple never did seem to do it for Sabirah though.  Simply applied bondage yes. Simply excruciating bondage yes.  Barely scraping by as death defying bondage yes. She quite liked the knowledge that her ‘girl’ would have to fight to stay alive. Not through the torture that was being inflicted but because of the bondage applied with deadly accuracy and ease.

Stefani’s ballet booted feet had been strapped tightly to the base of the adjustable platform, about twenty inches apart. She had then been lowered into a semi sitting position. I say the term ‘sitting position’ loosely.  There was no seat, as such. As she had been brought back into the position, her extended enhanced ass had been slipped over a thick, bulbous ended pole. And with her torso in the upright position, she had been fully impaled on that pole.  One didn’t need to be a medical professional to know, that had her full weight been applied to the impalation, then very serious internal injuries would have occurred, most probably death.

The only thing preventing such an outcome was that her arms had been brought behind her and bound at the wrists and elbows. The elbows so tightly that they touched causing yet another form of agony.  From the wrists then, the correct weight and strength of bungee cord which disappeared up into a pulley system hanging just below the ceiling. This minute elasticity, plus the flexibility of her shoulders were the sole suspending force, preventing her from going down fully on the anal impalation.  So, she had the extreme, obscene thickness of the thing inside her. She had the absolute stress put on her delicious calfs from the ballet boots, and the bend of her knees to her thighs. Her thighs in a continuous state of trembling.  Her torso at right angles to her thighs on a gravity defying basis with that resulting weight supported by her bondaged arms.  And so her arms had ‘just’ some give in them due to the bungee cord. This in turn meant that it took concerted and constant effort, and concentration on Stefani’s part to keep that balance. Keep that very delicate tippy-toe and anus splitting poise from turning into a sure death slide.

Absolute agony. Absolute torture. Delicious for Sabirah to watch.

Except it wasn’t ‘the’ torture. Although, saying that. Perhaps that is unfair to Dr Sabirah Najwa.  Her objects of attention in this instance were Stefani’s quite delicious, still developing and yet already heavy succulent breasts.  Her intentions were to ‘enhance’ and ‘decorate’ the breasts. Making them look even more delicious. Even more desirable. If that were possible!  It was simply that in doing so, some pain and discomfort would result. It was just the way it had to be.

Sabirah needed to be working on Stefani’s breasts at a comfortable height so she raised the platform slightly so that she could work in a natural, and standing position. When she didn’t need to stand, or when there was something particularly intricate she needed to do, she had a tall stool placed just so she could slide her own bottom onto it for comfort.

For pure amusement, apart from the ballet boots, Sabirah had got her assistants to dress Stefani back into the the schoolgirl outfit. Tight latex and accentuating all the right bits. Even though Stefani was too old to be in school uniform. It did kind of aid the appearance of vulnerability.  More so in that the latex tunic had been opened up fully, and her breasts scooped out into the open air. All exposed and easy to work on. The tunic’s tightness under the weight of the breasts used to keep the breasts high and relatively stable.

In a particularly cruel twist of humor, Sabirah also entered this torture room in full, exagerated school uniform. Very tight, very micro mini and showing off her deliciously mature curves to the fullest. The sight of such a mature, grown up woman squeezed into such an obviously designed school uniform made of latex was not just bizarre, but also extremely erotic.  Her legs sheathed in dark brown nylons, and yet long socks pulled over her knees and her feet arched into stiletto court shoes that sported six inch heels. Her thick, luscious hair pulled into tight pigtails that sprouted high, from either side of her head. A thin black tie that hung perfectly between mature lush breasts. Those breasts visible through a transparent latex blouse which added a sexy gloss to them.  Stuck on the blouse, just over the top of one breast a badge which read

‘PREFECT aka SCHOOL BULLY’

It was just another ‘touch’. An ironic touch that Sabirah liked to apply. The school bully with her victim absolutely and completely at her mercy. She liked that.  She smiled to herself as she whispered into Stefani’s ear.

“Were you ever bullied at school, hmmmm?  Or Mom? Do you think Mom was ever bullied at school, hmmmmm?”

She didn’t expect an answer. The questions were rhetorical. Stefani was in far too great an amount of distress to form an answer.  Trying her best to concentrate. Even the slightest movement causing her stretched rectum, her sphincter and her deeper femininity inside untold agony as she tried to maintain that delicate balance.

“Never mind. This isn’t school. Although, you are learning ALL the time, isn’t that right honey?”

Again a rhetorical question. As though Sabirah was talking to herself. Slightly mad. Maybe more than slightly so. Her cool, mad tone just about heard above the constant whimpering, and intermittent loud sobs and cries from between Stefani’s enhanced red lips as the toll on her body and mind progressed.

The sight of the School Prefect aka The School Bully, pulling on a pair of surgical latex gloves was not en encouraging one for the diminishing fortunes of Stefani.  Her face was already a mask of twisted duress, stress and extreme discomfort.  Her attractive, full and yet wrinkle free lips every so often blew outwards as she tried to self-regulate herself. She had to stop any more of her weight going down onto the impalation inside her. And also she had to prevent any more stress on her arms that remained in agony throughout. Baring the brunt of her stress were her thighs, and her calfs. And although the arch in her back was a natural one. The stress throughout, both mental and physical took its toll also on her spine. A very delicate balancing act indeed.

It was a plain matter of fact that Stefani couldn’t literally fill the room with piercing screams. That would take too much effort. Or rather too much effort would be spent resulting in too much movement. One could not afford to much uncontrolled desperate movement or the relatively minor pain and distress her breasts were suffering would pale into insignificance when compared to the unsurpassed and absolute pain that would result deep inside her rectal tube, and deeper insides.  Rather, the noise coming from the delicious lips of the teenager was like a continuous droning. A guttural moan that was sourced in the pit of her stomach and then made its way up and just slithered out of her mouth, sometimes accompanied by a trickle of drool.

“Mmmmmmaaaaaaaaannnnggggggggghhhhhhhhmnnnnnnnnnnnnn.”

Yes a quite indecipherable noise, not really an attempt at communication. But rather a clear attempt to prevent even a hint of that deeper pain that could result. It was as though she had learnt about that deeper pain. Had received a hint of it and was making a continuous concerted effort for that not to happen. Sabirah liked effort like that. She truly did. Every so often, the continuous droning moan was broken and a different sound would pour from the gorgeous mouth of Stefani. Like a high pitched, but ‘quiet’ squeal. Not loud and not strenuous enough to cause any movement, or for her to forget her priorities in sinking down on the appendage inside her back passage.  Just like a controlled, a very controlled scream. Almost a silent scream but not quite.

“Aaaaghh aaaaaaagh aaaaaaagh agghhhhhh.”

Just short bursts like that and then the continuous drone would begin all over again and remain at exact pitch until the next burst of ‘silent screams’. The communication of the pain and distress she was in came across in her facial expression more then the noise. Her pretty, attractive face twisted and distorted. Eyes screwed up then open wide. Eyes always pouring with tears.  Those full delicious lips stretched, then contorted. Perfect white teeth visible, and at the heights of her duress, her gums bared. Then her blowing out her lips trying to absorb it all. All the time aware what would happen if she lost it completely and in that awareness ensuring that she didn’t ‘lose it’.

Sabirah’s intention was to decorate Stefani’s breasts. Adorn them, as it were. As she proceeded to do just that, she didn’t work on one breast at a time, rather she worked a little on one, then the other. This way the pain was spread over a larger area. And an irregular area.  Even before Sabirah had begun she had pulled up the stool, right next to the droning moaning Stefani and had studied the breasts at close quarters.  Taking the weight of one breast, just kneading it lightly with her latexed fingers. Ever so lightly. Cupping under it. Feeling the weight. Feeling the delicious texture of the creamy flesh. Watching Stefani’s face as any form of touching, or weighting of either breast meant that the throbs deep inside the base of her nipples would be fed and enhanced. All adding to the reason for that continuous droning moan.

“Mmmmmmaaaaaaaaannnnggggggggghhhhhhhhmnnnnnnnnnnnnn.”

Sabirah checking out the other breast. Holding it up, leaning forward then cruelly flicking her fleshy wet tongue over the grotesquely enlarged nipple causing just a slight rise in volume of that droning moan.

“Mmmmmmm Stefani, as delicious if not more so than Mother.”

The school bully, Sabirah thinking aloud more than anything else as she lowered the breast carefully and then began the piercing process.

The piercing process was not a piercing in the ‘normal’ sense of the word. In that normal cliche’d sense of the world, a ring would be placed through the base of each nipple. Maybe a heavy ring, soldered into place and used for future training and torment. No need for training in this establishment as we know. Stefani was doing exceptionally well without training. She knew what she had to do, what she had to maintain in order not to suffer any more than was the intention. Oh how Sabirah hated that word ‘training’.

Stefani’s breast piercings took the shape of many, many piercings and insertion of studs. The first of these applied to the dead center of the engorged nipples. Thick pinned studs, applied with what amounted to a medical stud gun. The breast held from under delicately with one hand by Sabirah, fingers worked gently to the base of the nipples, one at a time then held, then the stud ‘shot’ into the nipple. The pin long, and the shooting process powerful enough to bury the gold tipped stud right up to its hilt.  And so, nipples enhanced and decorated with these studs.  The nipple ending with a stud down the length of its core. The stud pin was its core. It was in the application of these studs, and the numerous following studs that caused that break in Stefani’s moaning and droning.

“Aaaaghh aaaaaaagh aaaaaaagh agghhhhhh.”

Sabirah taking all that in. Leaning in close feeling the girl’s expelled breath on the side of her own face. Taking deep breaths smelling the breath that was expelled under duress. Almost tasting the soul of Petra’s daughter.

Smaller studs were used to circle the base of each nipple. Five studs in all, around the very base of each nipple. White gold studs, shot into the ultra-sensitive feminine nipple flesh at the point where the nipples ended and the aureolas began.  Sabirah not rushing. Working the girl slowly, very slowly very deliberately.  Alternating between one breast, then the other. The click of the stud gun piercing the continuous drone, and the other sounds that Stefani made

CLICK

Just one, quite loud, loaded CLICK as each stud was impaled. Each stud slightly shaped at it’s piercing end, to prevent it coming back out. Each stud sufficiently long in its stem length to ensure the resulting pain was deeply instilled into each breast.

Another row of traditional gold studs then, around the middle of the aureola areas. This time nine studs. With the completion of these circles, a very neat, distinct symmetrical pattern emerging. Decoration was the right word. The color draining more and more from Stefani’s face the further along this piercing process went.  The deep sharp individual points of pain with each stud being applied emerging into one and the area spreading.  Those deep sharp points of pain, and the larger spreading of that pain all serving to feed the constant throbs caused, and instilled by the process of enlarging her nipples. The ‘drip drip drip’ from between the girl’s legs forming a puddle. A crude slippery puddle.

A further circle then, this time white gold again, around the outer edge of the aureolas. twelve studs making up this circle. Sabirah just dabbing out pin-points of blood where they occurred with a medicated wipe.  Sabirah coolly calmly loading the stud gun magazine with the required studs between each circle. Working one breast then the other. Enjoying her work savoring the girl’s predicament and distress.

CLICK

CLICK

CLICK

CLICK

A final circle then, of traditional gold studs, about a centimeter outside the last white gold circle and into the delicate creamy flesh of Stefani’s breasts. Quite bizarrely this final circle had the effect of enlarging the aureola areas.  The overall decoration of the girl’s breasts seeming to please Sabirah greatly. Hyper enhancement.

“Good Girl. I am pleased with you, do you know that?”

Again not really a question she was expecting an answer to such was the stress and distress and pain that Stefani was dealing with. And, she was dealing with it. Maintaining the pose to perfection. The school bully’s victim. Totally at the mercy of the school bully. A little jittery at times. Her whole self trembling at other times. Sabirah dabbing the blood spots away before prepping the next stage of Stefani’s decorative enhancements.

FOUR - Victoria & Petra

There was one word, a practiced word that poured out of Petra’s perfectly glossed lips time after time.

“Immaculate... Immaculate.”

She had been invited by Victoria to look at herself in a full length mirror. There had been an audible gasp from Petra. And then her huge pools of eyes, eyes that had regained their old depth, and pool like qualities, had just fixed on herself. Scanning the length of herself from head, to toe and then back up again. That word dripping from her full, deep red lips. Sometimes audible. Other times just the silent word.

“Yes Petra, that’s right. Immaculate.  That’s a word I adore. That’s a word I like to attach to my girls.  I like my girls to be immaculate Petra.  You do want to be one of my girls Petra don’t you?”

There wasn’t a second’s hesitation in Petra’s response. At this point, this early engage with Victoria, and Petra’s deeper basic instinct to want out of Sabirah’s clinic alone ensured the response to the positive.  Not even Petra’s basic instinct could tell here and now that her addictions were being fed and nurtured more and more.  In many ways, Petra was being taken out of a frying pan and into the fire.

“Oh, y-yes, yes please.”

Her voice did reflect still, a melancholy and the turmoil of her time spent at the clinic. But even she could now see the tiniest light at the end of the long, narrow, claustrophobic tunnel. She didn’t know, or couldn’t work out, in her diminished mind what was beyond that little chink of light. But she was drawn to it. And Victoria was the key to that chink of light.

“And you know what you have to be, in order to be one of my girls Petra, yes?”

Petra’s eyes staying on the mirror, scanning herself and yet focussing on Victoria who was just behind her, with her hands on her shoulder, every time she spoke. It was like she was reluctant to pull the focus of her eyes away from herself but that, she had to. She had to focus on the woman who had taken her out of Sabirah’s hell-hole. She had to focus of Victoria.

“I h-have to be a Good Girl, and I have to be Immaculate.”

Her words didn’t come easy, at all. A slight retardation due to the treatment she had received over such an extended period of time. She was almost like a child learning to speak again. Every word considered. Odd words stuttered or hesitant. Except those three emphasized words. Good Girl. And Immaculate.  Victoria just gently squeezing Petra’s shoulders, like encouragement, and reward for her answer.

“That’s right Petra. You need to be a Good Girl and you need to be Immaculate.  And tell me Petra... what are your other thoughts when you look at yourself in the mirror? You immediate thoughts? You look at yourself, what do you see what do you think hmmmm?”

Petra’s deliciously long, volumous wet tongue sliding out and across the width of her mouth before she answers, just a hint of a smile across those same lips. Just a fleeting hint. But there none-the-less.

“I w-want to have sex with myself Miss Victoria.....”

Her answer trailing off again. Victoria’s own smile broad and distinct. Again the little squeeze of Petra’s shoulders. At some point between being taken from the clinic, and now, Petra having been instructed in how to address Victoria. Miss Victoria. A very unmistakable  line drawn in the status between the two. Miss Victoria the superior. Petra, the inferior being. In Petra’s tortured mind though, being allowed to address Victoria at all, was like a gift from God.  And, even in the slight retardation she was showing, a recall of her communicative and educated skills was like a breath of fresh air. A breath of life.

“That’s a good answer from a good girl Petra. But what else? What else is more important than you having sex with yourself hmmmmm?”

There’s a little shift of Petra’s extreme heels on the floor. Still for Petra a relief that she can move her extraordinary long legs, and feet, of her own free will. Relief that they were no longer held in rigid absolute bondage. Another little squeeze of her shoulders. But this time more of a caress. A caress that compliments the throbs that are always there within Petra.

“G-giving pleasure to other people. Whatever pleasure is, I must provide.”

The caress from Victoria this time more like a definitive caress, making Petra’s lips blow out, all full and droopy.

“That’s so right Petra. Those are important thing to remember Petra. Very important things. That you are a Good Girl. That you are always Immaculate and that you MUST provide Pleasure to others. Whatever required.”

Petra hearing the words. Nodding eagerly. Understanding completely. Her past life, as that successful City woman becoming lucid again, but knowing that she would never return to that way of life ever. That was the only thing about the future she was sure of.  She scanned herself again. This time more slowly, more hungrily as Victoria caressed and gently squeezed her shoulders. Rubbing and kneading with delicate expert finger tips.

What Petra wore was an outfit of latex and it was most definitely immaculate. But also it was most definitely uniform in its appearance. Its design, and implementation deliberately uniform. Somewhere between schoolgirl, college girl and office girl.  That Petra was a thirty five year old, mature mother gave added impact to the ‘uniform’.  Not so much a bizarre sight and appearance but rather, a highly polished, exceptionally erotic sight. And one that screamed out, just as much as Petra in Sabirah’s semi-squatted bondage positions, that she was being controlled in a complex, total way.

A perfect white latex blouse that was buttoned low on her throat. Most of her neck and throat were uncovered above the line of the collar. The blouse wasn’t totally transparent, but semi-transparent. It wasn’t skin tight. Just tight enough that between the wrinkles of latex caused by natural movement, the hint of flesh color could be seen. This was more apparently so over the breasts. The huge otherwise unbra’d bulges obvious and the extended, engorged poke through of her unnatural nipples very much to the fore. The darkness of the grape like nipples, and surrounding aureolas just about recognizable through the thinness of the latex. The caress of silky smooth, cool latex across those nipple tips an ever present feed to the ever present throbs. Every one of Petra movements, no matter how small, how insignificant emphasized those throbs, and fed the central throb deep in the base of her clitoris.  This latex, very much taking over where Sabirah’s double skinned bondage cat-suits left off. Except now her ‘bad bits’ were covered. Kept inside. Strangely, Petra felt grateful to Victoria for that. So very grateful.

Hanging from her neck, a perfect, thin black latex tie which rested and hung down between the bulges of her breasts and giving that impeccable immaculate appearance. Only just shaped into a long narrow diamond, the tip of which just tucked into the waistband of her skirt. It was this tie that emphasized the ‘uniform’ appearance.  Without the tie it would have been simply a white blouse and black skirt that apart from the latex aspect could have been worn in any professional environment.  With the addition of what appeared to be a regulation tie. The appearance became stricter. Regimented.

The waistband of Petra’s skirt fitted her trim waist like a second skin. It was a slightly higher waist than normal and her blouse was tucked, neatly, very neatly inside it but showed no sign of bulges, or wrinkles because of that. Immaculate. The skirt itself then flared out slightly from her hips and ended just, maybe an inch above her knees.  The skirt was loose and its design such that the latex gathered in almost completely symmetrical rolls around its circumference. It was the flare of the skirt, the way it gathered in those rolls that gave it the ‘schoolgirl’ like qualities. Not necessarily the way a mature mother of a teenage daughter would ‘choose’ to dress.  And yet, not a way such a stunningly attractive long legged woman like Petra would shy away from either. She had always, but ALWAYS enjoyed drawing attention to her legs. And this skirt did it. Emphasized those glorious, spectacular legs. Just by exposing the knees, and a hint of lower thigh, and then the swirl of the skirt with even the slightest movement or re-adjustment of her extreme heels to bring attention to the shapely, long tautness of her calfs. Her legs were enhanced, their effect maximized with ease. The muscles of the calfs tight and with the roundness gentle and fading into the shape of her slim ankles from the side. And yet that gradual, deliciously long extended taper from the ankles up the lower legs over her knees and disappearing under her skirt.  This outfit absolutely, without doubt, meant to have Petra inside it. Even if it did juvenilize her. Even if it were designed to have something of a regression effect on her appearance, and also her mind. It did all of that with interest, but it also was meant to have Petra inside of it.  It was just totally meant to have her inside it.

Sheathing her stunning legs was a sheer, a very sheer silky nylon that added a sheen to the flesh. It wasn’t such a high gloss sheen that the blouse latex brought to her torso and breast area. Nor the shiny gloss that emphasized her skirted lower half. The nylon was black, but a transparent black. Like a film of black that clung skin like to the flesh beneath it. The sheen was an understated one that drew some of the voyeur’s attention to the legs. Not all of the attention just some of it. But that bit of attention most definitely resulted in the appreciation of such remarkable legs.

Petra’s feet were arched into patented, shiny black stiletto court shoes. The heels a pencil thin seven inches. The fact that the shoes did not have platforms to relieve that heel height, meant that the arch of her feet and the bend of her toes inside the pointed toes of the shoes were maximized. A delicate teetering exercise and yet one that Petra seemed able with ease to perfect since she was not hobbled any more. Nor was she in any kind of tortuous distress. Her movements were like en enhanced, strutting ‘glide’. Legs forced into akimbo, and careful placing of her feet, due to her extraordinary height. Hips with a natural roll, and breasts with a natural, organic ride and movement underneath the latex blouse.

The throbs were still there. They were always there. But she absorbed those. Concentrated on them, and to some extent she was able to manipulate them herself. Petra would be distraught if ever those throbs were taken away from her. Not that they could be. Although, she was always aware after her stay with Sabirah, that those throbs could be used in terrible, terrible ways against her.  She was damaged goods.  Even she herself knew that and her deeper base instinct for survival told her, massaged her mind with the knowledge that she MUST be a Good Girl, an Immaculate girl for Victoria, at all times.

Petra’s hair, pulled high and tight into a pony tail. None of it shielding the striking features of her face. High cheekbones, deliciously pale complexion perfectly made up. Full deep red lips. And yet the stark flame red color of her hair creating yet another intense focus for that invisible voyeur yet again.

Invisible under the skirt were the latex pants. These were not bikini thongs but, full waisted panties. The waistband gripped tightly just below the slightly higher waist of the skirt so it remained invisible. Such a tight, perfect fit were these pants that there was no line visible. Even of the skirt had been skin tight to hips, bottom and thighs, no line would have been visible.  Also invisible, the re-enforced gusset of the pants. Re-enforced because this gusset housed inbuilt inflatables that were deeply buried inside both of Petra’s most private and intimate holes.  Such was the depth of these intrusions, and so tight the fit of the pants, a casual lifting of the skirt, and a peek, would not divulge that anything at all was impaling Petra.  Only a slightly closer look by someone knowing, a careful examination of Petra’s crotch area would reveal the slight indented circles of the two inflatables inside her.  Even the single nipple to which the air hose would be attached in order to inflate the appendages was cleverly concealed within the natural wrinkles and crevices within the latex crotch.  These appendages were another source of Petra’s gratitude.  She was able to squeeze and twist her musculature around these inflated rubber things in order to give herself little darting, fleeting moments of intense pleasure.  She was so so grateful to Victoria. So very grateful.  Oh she had to, very seriously had to be a Good Immaculate girl for Victoria. She just had to.

“Yes Miss Victoria. I do understand I really do.”

Petra just shifting on her heels slightly and a silent gasp as another pinpoint sharp split second of intense pleasure as she squeezes on those things inside her again. Victoria continuing the shoulder rub and massage with one hand whilst with the other, from behind her she produces a long black velvet box with gold hinges.

“I have something for you Petra.  I don’t give these lightly. I very rarely give them at all. I just give them to girls who I think will ‘excel’ at every task I give.  That’s another word for you to learn Petra. Excel.  Do you understand?”

Victoria talking, just gently as she lifts her other hand off Petra’s shoulder in order to open the box. Petra’s eyes opening wider all the time watching herself and Victoria in the mirror. Scanning herself, the whole vision and then focussing behind her as Victoria produces the box, and opens it. Huge eyes opening even wider as Victoria reaches up and around her neck to secure a tight, wide latex band. On the front of the band, indented in gold the words

“VICTORIA’S PET”

Petra taking a deep breath as she deciphers the words backward reflection in the mirror. An intense feeling of euphoria rushing through her. The feeling of being ‘special’ to Miss Victoria as the spoken words slide into her psyche.  A solitary tear running down an immaculately made up cheek. The tear riding over tear proof makeup and her tongue just flicking out and catching it as it tickles the corner of her deep red mouth on its journey down. The roll of her throat as she swallows the tear. The roll of her throat riding under the tightness of the latex collar that Victoria had placed and secured around her throat.

“I d-don’t know what to say Miss... I truly don’t.”

A soft, barely audible chuckle from Victoria as she ensures the collar is secured, with a click of the tiniest of gold padlocks making Petra press her lips together, roll them in as the feeling of permanence around her neck sinks in.

“Well, for a start Petra, you can remember that word. Excel. If you can Excel in everything you do for me. Then you remain my pet.  I mean you do want to be my pet Petra? And you do want to Excel for me... don’t you?”

Victoria rearranges Petra’s pony tail, stroking her shoulders lightly again as she does.

“Oh y-yes, yes Miss Victoria  yes I do. I want to excel... and I want to be your pet.”

A wide gratified smiles across Victoria thin lips. Followed by a light tapping of Petra bottom through the flared, rippled latex skirt.

“Good then... now you can cum.”

It wasn’t just a permission to come. It was an instruction for Petra to orgasm immediately. And she did. Where she stood. Stilettos planted as firmly as they could be she squeezed the appendages inside her and in doing so amplified the throbs to her clitoris. In doing that, her clitoris tip rubbed and swirled against the inside of her latex panties and in doing that created an immediate, intense orgasm. Her eyes narrowed and a low gutteral moan poured out of slightly parted, droopy lips.

“mmmmmmnnnnnnnngggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

It was the same sound all the way through. Only slight changes in facial expressions, and wideness of eyes were the tell tale signs that an orgasm was rushing through her at breakneck speed and intensity.  That, and the grinding of her high heels into the floor. And at the peak, the scraping of those same high heels into the floor as her feet parted then came back together then her knees bending ever so slightly for her to absorb the orgasm and then... then that one word

“STOP.”

Just the solitary clear spoken word by Victoria. Loud enough to pierce Petra’s euphoric, intense orgasm. Her eyes immediately clearing as she stopped herself orgasming instantly. That in itself an amazing feat of self control. But one she had to do. She had been taught to cum and stop on command. Also her mind had been conditioned to not cum unless she had permission. No permission, or instruction to do so, meant no orgasm. Permission meant immediate intense orgasm that had to be curtailed on the STOP instruction.

“Good Girl.”

Petra, panting. Cheeks flushed. Lips swollen as the orgasm subsides and fades inside her.

“T-thank you Miss Victoria.”

Another wide smile from Victoria as she fades from behind Petra in the mirror.

FOUR - Before It All Began 2,

Petra picked up the invitation envelope. Another invitation to another event.  If only she could sell these invitations second hand she would make a fortune.  Idly, quite nonchelently she thumbed open the invite and read it.

“DR SABIRAH NAJWA

INVITES THE EXECUTIVE SECRETARY OF THE CEO

TO A VERY SPECIAL FUND RAISER”

Blah blah blah.  Petra had heard that name. Dr Sabirah Najwa.  Some kind of psychologist, or ‘head doctor’. Or something like that. And by all accounts, a lesbian. Petra liked that - a girl’s girl.  She liked that name, Sabirah. Obviously middle eastern. Arabic.  The invitation was quality. It oozed quality.  One of the few Petra would accept.  Why not? She hadn’t been on free night out for ages and ages. She smiled to herself. Making a few definite decisions as she did so.  She would flirt outrageously with this Dr Sabirah Najwa. She hadn’t flirted with another girl for such a long time. Although she wasn’t lesbian, as far as she knew, she did get a bit of a buzz out of getting other women’s attentions. Petra could do that... get the attention of women, and men alike. She radiated something, like an air of ‘adventure’. Just something about her that gained and held attentions.  An edge. A daring and all emphasized in her personality, and her appearance. When Petra flirted, it didn’t go unnoticed.  She placed the RSVP to the invite into the envelope and ran her wet tongue tip across the flap before sealing it and placing it into the internal mail envelope.  That envelope would be en-route to Dr Sabirah Najwa within the hour.

In the week between sending off the RSVP and the event itself, Petra made it a mission, to set out to impress the good doctor. Everything, from choosing her outfit for effect, to getting into that ‘flirt zone’, Petra had covered all angles.  The day of the event came, and that ‘zone’ was entered by Petra.  I repeat, when Petra flirted, it didn’t go unnoticed. This particular flirt session would mark the beginning of the change of Petra’s life forever.

SIX - Sabirah & Stefani

The almost light mewling that was dripping from Stefani’s lips quite belied the discomfort she MUST have been in.  Her newly decorated breasts were hanging under her as she knelt with her legs parted as wide as they would physically go and secured rigid. She was then bent forward over a padded bar which pressed back into her lower abdomen and pelvis so that her bottom was thrust back.

She still wore the pseudo-school uniform but her breasts remained scooped out and they literally ‘swung’ under her. Even still in the stage of growing they had like a pendulous swing to them. Normally that swing, and their weight would have fed the throbs to her distended engorged nipples and this in turn would have been the control for the tap that was her sexual discharge between her legs.  Actually that was still very much the case. But with the added sensation of the pain of the piercings that Sabirah had lovingly applied, that throb, the throb that remained in the base of her nipples and fed, via that invisible string to her clitoris was also a constant source of pain for Stefani. One that confused her senses. The throbs equalled pleasure. The pain fed that pleasure.  Perhaps it was the confusion that was the cause of the mewling as opposed to the pain. Who knows?

“OOHHHHH OHHHHH OHHHHHH OHHHHHHH OHHHHHH.”

The pain amplified the the throbs. That much was sure. But why did she then still have the desire to orgasm so much? The pain in her pendulous, swinging breasts was awful. And yet the throbs seemed so much more intense. It made the leak of her discharge so much thicker. So much more slippery. Even as her arms were then brought up behind her, again secured at the wrist and touching at the elbows then hoisted high to keep them out of the way, she screamed. Oh yes she screamed the place down as that initial pain in her shoulders and elbows had been absorbed by the rest of her teenage self.

‘EEEEEGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAARRRRGGHHHHHHHHHHH.”

It had been a long time since any decipherable words had slipped from between her gorgeously full, smooth red lips. Sabirah did sometimes miss the signs of early dissent that Stefani had shown. The rebellion. The disbelief that she could be treated in this evil despicable way. Ah well, just a slight, a very slight downside to what she did to her victims. That the fight and will to rebel against what was happening to them was soon, very soon, ripped from them.  Stefani was already like a girl regressed. Withdrawn and in mental turmoil.

The point of this particular position of bondage was simple. To make available, and expose fully the distended anal ring for the extended attentions of the latexed gloved hands of Dr Sabirah Najwa.  Sabirah hadn’t rushed the application of the bondage. Quite the contrary. She had observed from her control room as two assistants had very slowly and very meticulously, immobilized the young girl, enjoying very much the various angles and visions presented as the platform on which was placed was turned, and tilted, and raised and lowered in order to make the application of the bondage much much easier. The final touch were the arms pulled back and up. Oh that scream had sent little tingles of pleasure into the base of Sabirah’s own clitoris.

‘EEEEEEGGGHHHHHHHHAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMMGGGGHHHHH.”

There was something about that less mature scream that Sabirah liked very much. She had liked it earlier when Stefani had cried and screamed for her mother. She didn’t do that any more. Another sad fact since Sabirah had liked that very much too.  But what could not be taken away was the almost adolescent tone at core of the scream. The pure tone of it.  A tone of naivity yes. But also a tone of disbelief that another, older woman could be making her suffer so much. That scream, the one that had erupted when her arms had been so bondaged was still pouring into the confines of this room even as “The School Bully” re-entered.

“Sssshhhhh sssshhhhhhhhhh just try to relax... ssssshhhhhhh.”

Sabirah very rarely used Stefani’s name. It was another psychological slant. A detachment and adding to the known result of the teenager feeling as though she had been abandoned in this place. This hell hole.  Eventually that scream did subside and morph into that almost ‘soft’ mewling. And so yes, the soft almost cooing mewling that did drip from Stefani’s mouth seemed quite out of place here.

Sabirah played with that mewling a little as she ran a gloved finger around the raised, distended anal ring. Just lightly. Very lightly and yet such was the hyper-sensitized nature of the extended ring, even the lightest touch caused the mewl to turn into a moan, and for the organic hole that was her bottom to dilate, push out and then suck back in. And beneath her a little pool of swirling juices collected.

“Hmmmm well, as delicious as your ‘ring’ looks, It does need some decoration also girl. Don’t you think? A little adornment? Some enhancement? Hmmmmmmm?  After all, you are becoming something of a showpiece. I may decide to ‘show’ you to selected audiences. Wouldn’t you like that? Hmmmmm?”

Sabirah’s tone was neutral and the string of questions all rhetorical.  On first contact one could think that this woman had lost her marbles. Well, in a way she had of course. But no, her madness wasn’t in the shape of losing her mind at all. She remained in full control of her faculties. Her little conversations, apparently with herself and in the form of rhetorical questions to her victims were simply yet another means by which she could inflict the most serious of psychological distress. Letting the victim know, subtly what was about to happen to her. What was going to happen to her in the immediate future.  When put in the form of a question, it gave a little chink of hope, a little chink of light to Stefani, that she could maybe disagree, reason with Sabirah, and be spared that particular torture.  Except that she couldn’t disagree, or argue her case. Her own mind had been so far retarded that reasoning, or even the ability to ‘beg’ was not there any more. It was just an acceptance that existed there now. Even if from the dimming grayness of her mind, a little spark of a memory of how she should reason and argue came back to her, all that would emit from her mouth was a dribbling drool. Another mewling sound accompanied by the overflow of drool. Nothing comprehensible. Her sanity remaining JUST. She just about held onto a sanity that allowed her full knowledge, full feeling, full emotions that came with everything that was happening to her.

The piercings to Stefani’s anal ring would be identical to those applied to her breasts. Identical in that, yes the flesh would be pierced. But unlike piercings to say the ears, nose, or navel areas in the normal outside world, there would be no ‘exit’ of the piercing. Long, thin tapered studs were used that pierced and embedded themselves deeply in the flesh. The end of the studs were slightly shaped so that they could not slip or pull back on themselves in order to slip out.  Thus the piercing remained permanent and part of the organ to which they were attached.

Sabirah played idly with the pushing, pulling, sucking ring before beginning the application of the studs via her stud gun. She quite enjoyed the intimate, and minute attention to the girl’s ring. Never forgetting that the ring, since its manipulation via her laser system, was also and actually an extension of her sexuality.  An added sexual organ. An added piece of very intimate, very sensitive girl flesh that she could use in order to manipulate Stefani’s mind, and body just a little more.  Sabirah enjoyed tickling, and pressing and rubbing the ring a little in order to get the different little tones from the girl’s delicious mouth. And that organic movement. The pushing out, the dilation and the sucking sounds the anus produced hungrily. Mmmmmmm yes she loved the little nuances of this girl. Even the aroma of pure sex that emanated from the girl’s sexuality. So true to say that Stefani had brought a new meaning to Sabirah’s sadism. Not diminishing it at all. Rather the contrary. Bringing it home like a freight train. Having mother and daughter exactly where and how she wanted them fed an even deeper sadism inside her.

There would be two ‘rings’ of studs applied to Stefani’s anal ring.  One around the circumference of the very crown of the ring. The highest point of the ring. The ring of studs applied perfectly. Each stud piercing deep into the already sensitized cajoled flesh. This ring of studs would be white gold. The second ring of studs applied around the outside of the base of the ring with the studs angled slightly so that the very tips of the buried stems of the long tapered studs almost, but not quite, exited the flesh inside the rectal tunnel. This ring of studs yellow gold. The pain when these studs were applied was magnified inside the rectal tunnel as her bottom dilated and pushed.

Before Sabirah could begin the piercing process though, she had to use a special instrument to ensure full and total exposure of the anal ring.  The instrument, in the shape of a tube with a slightly inflatable end, was inserted into Stefani’s bottom. Not deeply but just past the sphincter.  Sabirah knew when the sphincter had been passed because Stefani’s lips would blow out, and she would momentarily hold her breath as the sphincter was passed by the slightly wider, shaped end of the tube, and then snapped back closed over the narrower neck. She could then inflate the end. The inflation controlled with a little rubber hand bulb at the other end of the tube. The inflated area itself was just around the end of the circumference of the tube. just enough to enable it to be tugged backward, as though trying to pull it out of the hungry anus of the young girl.  It was the inflation itself that prevented the tube being pulled back out past the sphincter.  Rather it pulled against the inside edge of the sphincter, and then a further tug brought out the ring, quite grotesquely. Fully and completely exposed and easily worked on. The tube remained hanging from her bottom as Sabirah worked.

“AAAAAAAAEEEEEEEOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.”

The rise in tone from a mewling to a screaming was instant as the first ring of studs was applied. Sabirah worked slowly. Loading and reloading the stud gun. The needle sharp ends of the studs making that almost sickening little CLICKING sound as each was powered deep into the anal ring flesh.  Sabirah looked around Stefani’s raised hips, towards her head to see the stretched ribbon of drool reaching from the girl’s mouth to the platform under her. She thought it amusing that despite the screaming, howling activity from the mouth of Stefani, the thick ribbon of drool did not break.  She allowed herself a little chuckle as she continued to work, almost in unison, almost in a dancing beat, and in perfect time with the sounds of distress coming from the teenager.  The first row of suds into the very crown of the ring. The ring pulsating, dilating, trying to suck back against the inflated instrument inside her. but failing of course.

Sabirah stood up and back, to admire her handy work before beginning the application of the second ring of studs.  It couldn’t be denied that the ring of six raised studs added to the ‘look’ of the ring. Enhanced it even more, even if a little freakishly.  The second ring of studs would be a further enhancement. Both rings, like the breast adornments had a secondary reason for being in that they added, quite multiplied, the sexual sensitivity of Stefani.

“AAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMPPPPPPPHHHHHHHHH.”

Around the base of the raised anal ring, nine studs. Equally spaced. Equally angled. Each equally, soul destroyingly painful in its application. By the time the last of the nine studs had been powered into the deeply intimate, feminine flesh, the ring was in a continuous state of convulsion. Pushing, pulling, dilating and sucking on the tube as Petra’s mind tried to come to terms with what was happening down there. Of course, the mind never came to terms with it. That was just it. That was the point of the delicate teetering act of keeping her just on the edge of sanity. That was the very essence, the very base reason. That she experienced all of the pain, the emotion, the sexuality of it, and at the same time remained powerless - totally absolutely helpless to do anything about it. Just accept. She screamed and screamed as those piercings fed the throbs, right back into her clitoris. The pain feeding the throbs, amplifying them. The amplified throbs feeding the need, the hunger the desperation for her to orgasm. The orgasm always but always cruelly denied. 

It was interesting. A case for close study for Sabirah as Stefani was released from that particular bondage, in readiness for the next.  Sabirah observed from several angles from inside her control room, as Stefani was helped to her feet. The pained expression on her face quite obvious. Distress yes. But a distant distress. One that drained her pretty, still made up features. Made her appear gaunt, withdrawn, and yet her enhanced, decorated breasts still hanging out of the uniform tunic. And the latex peeled up over her buttocks and hips and the decorated pierced ring of her anus, protruding from between and holding her bottom cheeks slightly open. Bizarre and yet delicious as well. And even more bizarre with the tube hanging and waving like a tail from the hole itself. Bizarre yet more with the pout of her enhanced sexual lips, and clitoris, backward and as yet undecorated. But dripping always dripping.

But of more interest to Sabirah, how the effects of the distended organs and the piercing altered her gate and stance. A slight bow to the long gangly legs. More care in how she placed her extremely heeled feet. Probably subconscious efforts to adapt to the alterations of her most feminine flesh. Quite animalistic in the way she moved her weight from one of the ballet heels to the other. A closer study of the face. So full of abandonment. How Sabirah wished she could read, exactly, that mind. What, exactly, was going through it.  Oh she was experienced enough to know ‘roughly’ of the turmoil inside that young head. But as she zoomed in on the eyes, all tear dripping, and glazed, how she wished she could read EXACTLY what was going through her mind.  if she could do that, her sadism would be fed to the extremes.  Sabirah allowed Stefani to moved around for a little while, enjoying the view she presented before moving on to the next stage.

In order to work on the vaginal and clitoral areas of Stefani’s sexuality, she needed to be in a gynecological chair.  Knees wide apart and held thus in stirrups.  In the normal world such a chair exists. Of course it does. In the normal world she wouldn’t need to be secured. This wasn’t the normal world though this was Sabirah’s world. This was hell on earth.  This gynae chair had adaptations and additions. Yes the knees were wide apart, and high. Very crude. The knees hooked into the stirrups but the ballet booted ankles pulled down and secured to the floor via stainless steel wires clipped to rings in the ankles on the boots.  Her feet pulled down and secured so rigidly that her back almost arched off the soft leather padding of the chair.  But that was its design. It was designed to ensure the victim could not move. But more than that it was designed so that the pelvic region, and the crotch and all associated sexuality was thrust up and unhindered. So that it was readily accessible and so there was not a continuous need to spread the legs, peel back thighs and all of the rest of the inconveniences an advanced sadist like Sabirah just didn’t want to be bothered with.

A broad, sturdy thick latex strap held Stefani into the chair by being secured across her middle. No special care was taken not to dishevel the uniform. Sabirah quite liked that messed up look. It certainly emphasized Stefani’s distress and discomfort. Even more so as the exposed decorated breasts spilled out of the tunic and over the latex of the strap and just over flowed slightly with her semi seated position. That strap fought against the arch in her back and yet was required in order to keep her from lifting, or even attempting to lift herself out of the chair. Or release the pressure from the downward pulling and securing of her feet and lower legs.  The biggest pressure came with her arms being pulled out from the sides of the chair and then individually being pulled down and secured in the same manner as her feet, to eyes in the floor.  This bondage was rigid. Severe and her arms held dead straight and bent down only at the shoulders.

As she used her micro-motored marvels to tighten and finish off all the bondage, Sabirah could tell the great distress that Stefani was under. By the end of it, by the time all wires and straps had snapped and whirred into place the teenager was a panting, mewling wreck of a girl. Her breasts enhanced and decorated strangely, bizarrely made her look stunning. A glance between her legs, and down between her bottom cheeks, one could also see, totally exposed, totally enhanced and decorated, the extended, distended raised flesh of her anal ring. From the centre of that, the tube, with the inflated end still in place. From the as yet, undecorated area of her sexuality - her bulbous clitoris, and swollen raised labia that faded into the raised section of her anal ring, juices leaked, and dripped.  These juices were relentless in their flow. The throbs never stopping their work on the girl’s body and mind. Those throbs as much a part of Stefani’s priority as were the throbs of her mother’s, her priority.

The work on Stefani’s labia was slightly different. Slightly more complex and more deliciously obscene and cruel. A similar instrument, or tool inserted into the vaginal tunnel, the end inflated and then tugged back against the inside of the sexuality pulling it out, making it more available to be worked on. This caused somewhat more emotional turmoil in that it pulled back against the G spot. Pressed into it and so was a constant reminder, that was added to all the other constants in Stefani’s new world.

“EEEEEEEEGGGGGGGGTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHMMMMMGGGGGGGG.”

The teenager’s squealing, squawking bellow, rising from her mouth, bouncing off the ceilings, around the walls and finally back down to the floor. So lucid and clear and loud and desperate were the screams that one could practically follow their path around the room’s flat surfaces.

Sabirah had to carefully and very precisely peel back each labia. Opening it up. Peeling it back and folding it over itself so that the very pink, perma-moist inners of the sexuality were exposed.  This was a very precise procedure. Absolute micro accuracy was needed and special studs needed to be used. Long studs, that pierced the fatness of the labia, and then the extra fatness due to the fold back, and then the very delicate flesh that each labia was folded back onto, in the folds of flesh to the sides of the altered vaginal area.  A row of seven yellow gold studs driven through the fat sensitive flesh and in effect stapled to the flesh under.  The vagina in effect peeled open and all but turned inside out, then held open. Held so that the inner flesh, the very red flesh the very wet flesh was constantly open. Constantly exposed.  A row of seven studs down the length of each labia. The row spanning the whole length of the slit. The hole that was Stefani’s sexuality, or that made up part of her sexuality, all open, gaping and yet still producing the copious amounts of dripping wetness..  As the rows took shape, perfectly the whole design began to integrate with that of her anal ring and these organs, seemingly always with a life of their own began to take on the appearance of a work of art.  Bizarre art yes. Dripping art yes. Art that was ‘alive’ and pulsating, yes.

“AAAAGHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMGGGHHH.”

Inhuman cries as each stud was applied. Followed by the dab dabbing of Sabirah’s medicated wipes as each spot of blood was blotted and dried in readiness for the next stud to be applied.  The work of art eventually taking shape and with the clitoris the only undecorated piece of flesh left for Sabirah to spend the final amount of time on.

The clitoris, was treated much the same as the anal ring. Except it was smaller than that ring.  Just a circle of smaller studs around its base. Each stud piercing and invading the space usually kept sacred for the THROBS. Each needle sharp stud piercing and settling deep inside the epicenter of Stefani’s world. As the first of the studs had been applied, her eyes had bulged, and then her lips had stretched into a silent scream in a way that Sabirah hadn’t seen before. Like a soul searching silent scream. Tears squirting up from her eyes. Literally squirting up from her eyes as her throb space was invaded. The pain didn’t rob her of the throbs. They simply agitated the throbs. Changed the volume and intensity of the throbs. Mostly increased the volume and intensity. The throbs seeming louder in her mind and more intense inside her hyper-feminine clitoris.

“GGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPHPHHPHPHHHHHHHH.”

Sabirah worked slowly. Methodically. Clinically around the clitoris. Simply gripping it between thumb and forefinger before applying the stud. Dabbing the spot of blood then moving on to the next.

The final stud... for the very tip of the clitoris. The orgasm producing tip. The hyper-intensified clitoris tip, was more of a cap in that it covered the entire clitoris tip, and even was folded over slightly so that it fitted the circumference of the thick, long clitoris actually like a cap. A made to measure, clitoris cap.  The stem was very long. Very tapered and once shot into place would pierce way beyond the throb area. It sank into, through and way beyond that THROB center. That hyper center.  When Sabirah applied that stud the screaming, gut wrenching squeal made even Sabirah wince. Not so much at the pain that her victim was suffering but due to the damage the scream did on her own ear drums. Still, that was minor compared to the eye opening joy that the Sadist was experiencing at putting this young girl through a set of paces she could not in her worst nightmares think existed.

‘MMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGSSSSSSSHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGKKKKKKKKMMMMMMPPPPPHHHHHHHHH.”

The total wall of noise bouncing off every flat surface available and then holding its volume in the centre of he room. Sabirah, standing back, watching, wallowing in the young girl’s absolute Hell.

Another little piece of this work of art complete. The project on going.

SEVEN - Victoria & Petra

To an outsider, someone from the normal world, Petra should have been thanking her lucky stars for being taken from the Clinic by Victoria.  Oh, its true, she had been taken back up into the world. The outside, albeit in a pseudo-twilight sense, since she could not again be mingled into society as such. Neither would she ever move in the circles she once moved since officially she was dead. So, she wasn’t really ‘free’. She would never be free. Having been broken, and subjugated to sub level status, her mind was damaged. Irreversibly damaged. Those deep deep rooms under that clinic dripping with her despair. Filled with her screams. Her’s and Stefani’s. Screams that defied humanity. Her sexuality extended, expanded, manipulated. Her mind twisted. Fucked around with. And yet her sanity, just about in tact. I say just about because it was indeed a delicate teetering act. As delicate a teetering act actually as the wearing of the tortuous ballet heels that had become an ever present part of her life now. A finely balanced, expertly applied piece of never ending sadism. Sabirah gaining the desired results after years, and years of research, experience and practice. Petra didn’t stand a chance, she never did. Not even as much chance as that fly in the spider’s web.  Knowledge of Petra’s descent into hell, must surely encourage all to look at those around us in different ways.

Petra was chosen because of her success in the outside world. Because of her rampage through the professional world. The City world.  Sabirah could have easily scoured the seedier existences of prostitutes, drug addicts and porn stars for her likely subject. But that would have been too easy. It would have been too easy to ‘disappear’ a weekend hooker. Or a down and out drug addict who had next to nothing to lose anyway.  Oh no, Sabirah wanted her ‘One’ to be very special. Very special indeed.  She had to tick all the boxes not just in the looks department.  There were other boxes that had to be ticked. She had to be successful. She had to be arrogant. Confident.  She had to be content and happy in her life. Happy WITH life.  She had to have EVERYTHING to LOSE. With Petra all the boxes were ticked with interest. Each box ticked with a little extra.  Looks more than expected. Success more than expected. Arrogance in abundance. Confidence dripping from her.  And then there was the little added extra of Petra’s daughter Stefani. The mirror image.  Oh yes every box ticked deliciously.  Sabirah could only apply a little extra with Petra in order to reach the goals that had eluded her for so so long. She was indeed happy to apply that little extra.

So, by the time Victoria’s input into the plan, had been put into action, Petra was little more than a shell of her former self. Everything had been taken from her. Everything. She didn’t even control her own sexuality. Or her own mind. Her days, and nights consisted of nothing more than her constantly suffering in some way or other. Whether it was in physical, absolute bondage and torture, or, whether it was in some other form of torture such as a relentless mental and psychological distress that diminished her mind and ability to function on an ever decreasing scale. Or enforced, multi-orgasms. Addictive yes, but clouding the sanity that remained at the same time. There was what was being done to her. And what was being done to Stefani.  The effects on Petra, profound and disturbing. For Dr Sabirah Najwa, very gratifying.

Victoria’s plan had been a masterstroke. Let Petra think it was all over... and then take her right back in. The crushing despair several fold worse than that she had experienced so far.  Sabirah like that thought. Clenched her thighs at that thought.

And so, yes that little chink of light existed. The one where Victoria’s almost hypnotic voice  dripped into Petra’s psyche, and cajoled and coaxed her. Made her feel that there was hope for her. And for Stefani.  Of course she was going to be taken from the Clinic. Of course her mind would recover to a certain extent. And of bigger priority to Petra, of course her sexuality would be encouraged and developed to sublime levels. Hyper-Orgasms galore! Victoria didn’t lie.  All Petra had to do was be a good, good girl.  All she had to do was provide pleasures to others.  All she had to do was be Victoria’s good girl, and then she would never have to go back to that Hell Clinic again ever.  So yes, I suppose, she should have been grateful for that at least. I guess it’s like an abused animal really. The dog beaten on a daily basis is so grateful for even the smallest act of kindness towards it.  Petra, grateful on a sickening level, for being taken out of that hell-hole.  Kindness yes, but in microscopic amounts, in comparison to the volumes of hell she had been subjected to thus far. Disguised kindness. False kindness. Part of Sabirah’s plan. Part of Victoria’s plan. A pawn in a game.

It is true, the colossal global downturn in the economy, a fact of life. Boom, then bust. These very much the bust years. And yet, the march for equality in women’s pay, conditions, status and recognition marches on. The equilibrium farther reaching than the boardroom alone.  Successful women demanding facility and function to match that of their male colleagues. The up swing of Ladies Only Private Clubs a move against the tide of economic uncertainty. The wives of the super powerful, and super wealthy bankers and CEO’s paying thousands upon thousands of pounds per-year membership to these private clubs whilst their spouses very often go on to have nervous breakdowns, heart attacks, or lose their marbles completely, as well as their jobs.  Their downfall even more so had they known, in some cases what their better halves were up to during their Ladies Only nights away from home. More importantly though, the self made women, able to cope with pressure better than their male counterparts, able to multi-task with ease, and enjoying their success going on to form these little niche clubs, associations and institutes. Making them Ladies Only ventures so that they can indulge in the feminine equivalent of the obscene excesses that had always been confined to the, high ceilinged, wood paneled side rooms of exclusive male only private members clubs.

One such Ladies Only venture you would not see advertised in The Tatler, or Vogue, or Cosmopolitan. Nor would it be spotlighted or promoted in any public way. The Pink Velvet Bud Society. A select, closed group of wealthy and powerful ladies from the upper reaches of society. Founded by a lesbian city trader, now retired to organize full time the activities of the Society. Five figure annual membership fee and a closed circle so tight that its members may indulge in any activity, no matter how questionable, without fear of exposure or threat. Complete and utter secrecy and discretion the like of which, only women are capable of creating and maintaining. Each member only recorded and known under a pseudonym, or nick-name. All records, financial and where-else required to be kept, secured and secreted in an off-shore facility. Each member guaranteed to have attained only the highest status in London’s elite. The term VIP doesn’t begin to cover PVBS membership list. Celebrity. Royalty. “Ladies” in the grandest form. And yet something much looser in the moral sense.

There had been a gasp, then a refined round of applause as Victoria had brought Petra into the dining room. It was just an intimate little gathering of six members of the PVBS’s inner most circle. There were two wives of prominent politicians. Three very high profile business ladies, and one member of the outer royal family.  The ages ranged from between very early thirties to late fifties.  Fine dining evenings such as this were always a reason to bring on the finery. Very formally dressed and dripping with the most expensive jewelry.  Over the top yes probably, but it was an accepted, and very much enjoyed indulgence in excess.

The click of Petra’s heels were pin point and sharp as the applause died down. She was gleaming in shiny black latex. A skin tight micro mini dress that flared out ever so lightly from the roll of her hips and bottom. If truth be known, the hem of the dress barely covered the butt cheeks. It did, but really only just.  The front of the dress was extremely low cut and squeezed together the volume of Petra’s breasts and uplifted them affording a very obvious and very deep cleavage of bared flesh. The back was an equally deep, low cut V and the high tight, flame red hair of the pony tail that erupted from the crown of her head, then cascaded and swished across the pale bare flesh of her back.

Such was the tightness of the latex, and the fit, that the poke-through of Petra’s altered nipples was quite obvious. Quite startling. Even obscene. When taken into consideration with the overall and overtly sexual image that was Petra, the contrast of her, in this dining room, with all the finery, the formality and the high calibre dining guests, was stunning. Something like a jaw-dropping. She literally dripped sexuality from every nuance of herself.

Petra’s legs were encased in a transparent latex giving her a bizarre doll-like sheen. And it was just to below the knees that the ballet boots were tightly laced. The round of applause had been initially for the striking image that she presented. But there had been a second ripple of applause for the apparent ease with which she moved on the heels. Her long, shapely legs able to adapt, and adjust as required in order to keep her poise, together with an amount of elegance.  Her ‘training’ since being taken from the clinic by Victoria, focussed on her pride and stature. Unlike Sabirah, Victoria ‘trained’ her girls in deportment, and poise. The point of Petra’s training was to re-instill the pride that had been ripped away during her time with Sabirah. Victoria’s training worked on the logic that Petra should be proud of herself and show it, despite the somewhat lower status she now existed in. And despite the roll she was expected to fill. Petra a good girl. An immaculate girl.

“Bravo, Bravo. What a delightful ‘creature’. Well done Victoria. You have surpassed yourself yet again.”

It had been one of the political wives, Lady Grey (pseudonym, not real name) who had spoken first, through the dying applause. A not inconsiderably sized woman in her fifties who had deliberately poured her eyes over Petra from head to toe and then licked her pudgy, pinkened lips as she had reached out, just to finger-tip touch the latex of the dress hem,

“Mmmmmmmm why, oh why ‘rubber’? As delicious as it is, why ‘rubber’?”

The word rubber almost spat from her mouth like she was disgusted.  It was another of the women, Scarlett (psuedonym), an attractive younger woman in her thirties,  who replied whilst looking directly into Petra’s eyes.

“Latex is easier to clean Lady Grey. ‘Creatures’ like this tend to be very prevalent in their production of bodily fluids and juices. Very messy.  And latex is much more suitable.”

She answered whilst looking directly at Petra. Eyes piercing holding the stare.  She spoke in a way that she knew Petra understood. Petra’s deep red lips peeled apart as the words sank in. It was one thing she hadn’t had to contend with at the Clinic. Humiliation. Degradation from others. There it didn’t matter. Once she had got passed the initial breaking, then the degradation and humiliation didn’t matter any more. Here though, and now, it was a new experience. She was a public exhibition, and subject to the closest scrutiny by ladies that in her old life would have been considered to be equal.  She let her tongue run across her bottom lip as a familiar and deep throb emanated from the base of her latex-shrink-wrapped clitoris. Scarlett continued as Victoria had wrapped the pure white latex apron around Petra’s waist and tied it off at the back.

“And then of course, there’s what latex says about a girl. The signals it gives out. Latex drips sexuality almost as much, as the girl undoubtedly drips herself.  Some women were just ‘made’ to wear latex. And I think... no, I’m sure that we have one of those women right here, right now.”

The rest of the group had fallen dead silent listening to the younger woman speaking. Marveling at her insight into such matters. Their eyes flicking from Petra, to the speaker and then back again. Obviously most impressed with the Scarlett’s education regarding the merits and otherwise of latex and the creatures that wear it. Again Scarlett’s eyes drilled into Petra.  Petra stood, felt the apron being secured. Her first duty of this evening was to serve the sumptuous five course meal. Never had Petra waited on tables. Not even when she had first arrived in London all those years ago had she waited on tables. It was Victoria who spoke next.

“Scarlett is quite right Ladies, in every respect. When you look here, at my pet, you can see without a shadow of a doubt that she is here to serve in absolutely any way required and without exception. Latex sells this fact. Spells it out that the ‘creature’ is very much on a sub-level. That ‘it’ exists for one purpose. And one purpose alone. The gratification of others.  So as you Ladies enjoy your evening, just remember that please, and feel free to take advantage of what is on offer in any way you see fit. Permission to use is not required or sought.”

Victoria steps back as another ripple of applause echoes round the private dining room. Deep deep disturbances inside Petra’s head as she is spoken about, and discussed as though she weren’t a living, intelligent thing at all. The fact being, there was no need to converse with her at any level. By the very fact she was in this place at this time, spoke volumes about her understanding of why she were there. What more reason was there to include her in any conversation?

“The creature... the creature... looks familiar... YES YES, I know.... she looks like that City girl. The one that was killed, with her daughter. Is that her, is it?”

Victoria knew that at some point or other, Petra would be recognized. Even in her altered and shrink wrapped state, her striking features could never be disguised not really. But this was not a recognition in the street. Rather it was one within very much a tightly closed circle. The woman, Succubus, was another of the political wives. She sat back with a gratified smiles across her full lips.

“Correct Succubus! Correct indeed! I’m afraid reports of Petra Harding’s death were GREATLY exaggerated. Rather, she had been selected. Specially selected I might add for this very reason.  And here you see the results of the labour.”

There was yet another round of applause. A chill travelled Petra’s spine from top to bottom then back up as one of the as yet unheard voices spoke up.

“How the mighty have fallen!  And so... maybe we can look forward to the delights of the daughter at some point then Miss Victoria?”

It was Demoness who spoke. She spoke with a lipstick gashed smile, but she was not jesting in what she suggested. And there was more than a hint of menace in her slightly husky voice. Victoria waited for the ripples of laughter to die down before giving her most considered response.

“Hmmmmmm, well Demoness, creature’s daughter is currently being intensively trained to required standards.  But yes, absolutely at some point in the near future she will be available for one or more of your little get togethers.  Maybe mom and offspring together? The possibilities are endless not to mention mouth watering.”

Another, this time louder round of applause and hoots of

“Bravo Bravo”,

as the group take in the suggested possibilities, plus let a few of their own wash around their psyches. Petra stands mortified as a range of emotions wash through her. The stark, ice cold reminders of her past life, of her daughter Stefani making her swallow a whimper. Just the teeniest nibble of her bottom lip as she readies to serve the meal. Her pencil thin heels shifting on the floor. Just little swallows, little sobs that go unheard as Petra, grasps the reality, from deep inside that her trip to this point. Her trip through the hell-hole clinic, and to this place had been part of a bigger, intricate plan all the time.  That she had been selected. The knowledge of all of this sinks in then fades as another raft of deep throbs rush through her, at deeper feminine level.

Dinner progressed ultra smoothly. All five courses. Petra’s serving skill was to the highest possible standard. Surely a nod towards Victoria’s carrot and stick training methods. That is, if Petra is a good girl, then she gets lots and lots of her most addictive fix. The soul shaking, nerve end mashing, hyper orgasms.  Of course she would be a good girl, and learn how to serve correctly, and properly. Serving each course from the correct side. Serving wine also. The correct wine for the course being served. Clearing away before the next course is served and slashing her fleshy tongue across her deep red lips as fingers and hands often disappeared up inside her dress for a feel, and a grope. All the time Petra remaining professional and yet accommodating to the gropes.  It was whilst carefully placing the heavily creamed peach melba sweet in front of each guess that Demoness placed her own hand over Petra’s, kind of gently coaxing her to stay in the leaned over position as she whispered into her ear.

“You fired my daughter some months ago. Just a kid,fired from your typing pool.  It’s ok though. I just wanted you to know. Just wanted to let you know how small a world it is actually.  There you were, just those few months ago, at the height of your career and powers. Firing little girls because they had made some minor cock-up or other.  And now, well now here you are.  Its a strange old world isn’t it?  Once dinner is over... well, we’ll have a little get together, a little tete-a-tete, is that clear?”

The whisper would have gone totally unnoticed by the group who were in their own various modes of conversation in pairs or whatever. Demoness gently smoothed her hand over the back of Petra’s, then dropped it so that her fingers could languidly travel down the length of Petra’s latexed, upper thighs.

“Yes, yes Madam Demoness. Yes of course.”

The response from Petra polished, precise and in no way exposing the shivering wreck of nerves that the Demoness woman had turned her into. Of course she remembered firing the girl from the pool. It came back to her as lucidly, and freight train like, as could be. She pressed her deep red lips together, rolled them in as she completed the course and cleaned away. The girl had been an imbecile and totally incompetent.  Her replacement had worked out much much better. But then she would, or Petra’s own PA would have been in for the high jump. All that seemed an age ago now. A different life.

Fifteen minutes later Petra was draped over Demoness’s lap. Sitting languidly with her latex covered legs spread wide. One knee slightly raised. The tiny, tight dress rolled up over her hips exposing the fact the the transparent latex in fact made up crotch-less pantihose. Demoness was toying with the leach like slugs that were Petra’s labia. Every so often her fingers would dip right into the sex. Up past the first knuckles, then the second and up to the third. She would keep her finger buried there. Wriggling them inside the Petra, teasing her G spot. Petra cuddled in close to this woman. On the outside, Demoness, a pillar of society. Here though, dipping her fingers in. Whispering obscenities into Petra’s ear.

“Purrrrrrrrrrrr...... and what a delicious SLUT you are, mmmmmmmmm.”

Sliding her fingers out of the sex and then gently playing them around Petra’s full red lips. Petra’s tongue snaking out and searching for the juice dripping fingers. Demoness toying with her, making her move her head and follow the fingers and then smiling cruelly as she slid those same fingers into her own mouth enjoying the taste of the bitch who had fired her daughter.

One time out of three, the dipped fingers would end up in Petra’s own mouth. Demoness making sure she dipped the fingers in deep scooping up all of the juices in her long nails. making sure the shafts of her fingers were fully coated before offering them to Petra’s mouth. Petra’s lips trembling as her head followed the fingers, the lips then hungrily seazing on the fingers sucking them noisily making absolutely filthy obscene noises as her tongue and lips worked.  Petra’s throbs, being manipulated, and maximized during this time. Demoness obviously no stranger to such bizarre sights. The way she handled Petra’s femininity. Unshocked, and unphased by the sight and addictive behavior of Petra. From ultra professional, to ultra sex addict.

“Good girl... good girl. I just can’t wait to meet your lil-girl.. I truly cannot wait.”

Demoness whispering hoarsely just before sealing her own lips to Petra’s for the long, wet filthy kiss.  And it was a filthy kiss. The difference between Petra and a performing whore who could have been brought in from any number of escort agencies, was that Petra was fully immersed in the sexuality. The addiction and the feeling. The magic of the moment. She had lots of encouragement. Not least those throbs that had to be fed. Then there was the fact that she didn’t, couldn’t be sent back to the clinic. Back to Sabirah. At lastly there was her daughter Stefani. Just hoping upon hope that they would be reunited again.  Even if it were just for a short time. She wanted that so very much. So her whole being, her whole soul was in providing pleasure for these women. And not having them have any cause for complaint.

The evening progressed with aplomb. Petra being passed round the group and her being teased mercilessly with Victoria looking on, smiling.  Women wanting nice wet filthy kisses. Wanting to feel and touch the parts of Petra that had been altered, and parts that hadn’t. One or two of the group totally shocked at the sight. But enjoying touching, and feeling none-the-less. Each one of them, at one time or more, dipping their fingers inside her and playing with her G spot. All the time the wave building up inside Petra. Building up and yet just stopping short of the clitoris tip. Just stopping short of the all-erupting intensity that Petra craved so much.

Petra’s commitment could not be questioned or put to task. At one point, the rather large Lady Grey had Petra kneeling between her spread legs, and quite hungrily eating her out. Lady Grey shrieking with delight as Petra’s long searching, probing tongue slide and trawled between her own not inconsiderable sex lips, in order to scoop and consume the juices there. And then back down to trawl the flesh looking for the hard clitoris nub. The button. Once found then circling it with her tongue. pressing it and making Lady Grey squeal in delight.

“Youuuuu are one dirty dirty DIRTY girl.”

Lady Grey feigning shock horror but at the same time pulling Petra’s head in by the pony tail, tight to her crotch so she could be eaten deeper and harder.  Of course, all of this sexual activity doing everything to seal and deeply root Petra’s addiction. Her enjoying the servitude. Living for it. Craving it.  As opposed to a whore, who would be going through the motions. Faking it. Petra wasn’t faking it. In any way shape or form. Every groan, every moan was for real. Nothing fake. One look at her eyes and it was plain to see, no faking. Real, deep, desperate hunger. And need. Such a desperate hungry addictive need.

There was a Grande Finale, of sorts. Petra up on her all fours. On a modern sleek glass topped coffee table. Knees spread almost the width of the coffee table. Ankles the same width so that her lower ballet booted legs ran parallel to the table’s edge, toes pointed back severely. Back arch and dipped, the curve natural and with her leaning down, onto her elbows and lower arms. Her breasts heavy in the latex beneath her and the globes of those breasts almost touching the table top.  Her forehead touching one of her hands. The dress still peeled up over her ass exposing the latexed butt cheeks. Her ass high, and upturned. Her extended, distended asshole, and her enhanced sexual organs plain to see pouting back, Glistening gleaming. Dripping.

Demoness moved behind her, slowly. Like she was circling prey. Her own metal tipped stilettos clicking the floor. Her own full breasts moving, and rolling under a silky, clingy evening dress. In an almost gliding movement, slow, fingers barely touching Petra’s flesh, she reached between her butt cheeks, slid two fingers up the slick wetness of the pouting cunt, and then lightly gripped the organ that was Petra’s clitoris.  Thumb and forefinger at the base, then tugging lightly and pulling it back. Tugging it. Just stretching it a little. Letting it spring back into place, then tugging it once again.

“MMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmnnnnnnngggghhhhmmmppphhhhhh.”

Petra’s gasp, a shuddering affair. Some drool escaping her mouth and spilling to the glass table top into a perfect round pool as she felt the epicenter of her world being manipulated and massaged by Demoness’s finger. Her moan was as extended as her gasp. The rest of the Ladies looked on in awe as Demoness appeared to ‘milk’ the obscene clitoris. They had gathered round. One or two just watched Petra’s face. The expressions, the abandon in her eyes. Scarlett seemed to enjoy Petra’s face. Seemed to enjoy the expressions of hunger and utter abandon as the clitoris was tugged and allowed to slip, through its own juices, between the thumb and forefinger of Demoness.

It didn’t take long for Petra to begin dripping from her sexuality. The collection of juices running down from the anal ring, down over what looked like leaches but were in fact her labia and to her clitoris. Those juices collecting around the clitoris base feeding its incessant throb. The gurgling moans coming from the back of her throat as that throb intensified and then, the juices running along the shaft of the clitoris in little waves with each tug Demoness gave it. Those same juices collecting around the tip, then finding their route over the fingers tugging the clitoris and dripping to the table top directly below. The puddle then swirling and expanding as more, thicker drips of sexual fluid plopped into it’s dead center.

“Purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.......”

Demoness purring as she tugged and pulled and gently squeezed the clitoris. She knew the secret of that clitoris. She had to. The way she tugged it. Squeezed it. Milked it. Oh yes she knew alright. She pulled rubbed and stretched it glancing a finger tip over the tip but not enough to make Petra come. Tugged it again making it drip more. Letting juices run over her fingers and down her wrists. Every so often raising her wrists and licking the juices off. A first hand taste of the former city high flyer’s most intimate, most private of feminine juices. Then returning her hand, and her fingers to the clitoris. Dancing over it before letting it slip between the thumb and forefinger again.

“Mmmmmmmmmmngghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

Noisy swallows and lip smacking from Petra the more the clitoris manipulations went on. Lady Grey, and Succubus, along with another Lady, Blackeyes, going down to the genitalia end of Petra and taking a close close look at the seemingly independently alive sexual organs as they pulsated, and tried to suck at the fingers. The anal ring pushing out, sucking in. The vaginal areas of this mass of sexuality rolling and seeming to pulsate. And that oh so maddening ‘throb throb throb’ from the base of the clitoris.  And the constant, ‘drip drip drip’ of her juices. Demoness’s fingers dancing and pinching lightly. And tugging.

The little gathering enthralled gob-smacked at the sight and at the show and when Victoria, casually suggested that maybe Petra should be allowed to cum, there was a far more raucous round of applause and quite startling wolf-whistles from the group.  But did Petra cum. Oh yes she came and came and came.  Each wave of intensity peaking with a little squirt back from the area just below her clitoris. The multiple orgasms fading into the next one in line and each peaking at exactly the same nano-second that the musculature of the sexuality sucked in, then pushed out, projecting a stream of the thick slippery juice several feet way beyond the coffee table she was on all fours upon.

“MMMMMMNNNGGGGHHHHHHH

GGGGHHHHHHHHGGGHHHHHHH

MMMMMMMMMMMMGGGGGGNNNN

MMMMMMMMPPPPHHHHHHHHHHH.”

Petra shrieked, as Demoness pulled and tugged, but not as loudly as the group who were pretty nifty on their feet in avoiding getting splattered by Petra’s most intimate of fluids. Hoots of laughter, rounds of applause all but drowning out the desperate panting, and sobbing of Petra as she came and came and came. Squirting and squirting. As she squirted she moaned and groaned from the pit of her stomach. And then Demoness, lessening the intensity of her tugs and rubs. Bringing Petra down slowly. Very slowly. Making the orgasms less intense. Making the fade between them less and less apparent and yet leaning forward and gently, teasingly flicking the curled end of her tongue over the clitoris tip. The room falling silent, as the long guttural moans morphed into a heaving sob. Petra exhausted. Panting. Sucking in breath hard. Demoness coaxing, and milking every last bit of orgasm out of Petra, encouraging her and hen her husky, demonic voice whispering up

“Good good girl. Good good pet. I cant wait to meet your daughter. Mmmmm you fired my daughter. But I have something extra special in mind for yours.”

The taunting, timed perfectly to coincide with the onslaught of that guilt trip Petra always took after an orgasm. Deep deep guilt. Deep deep, soul grating guilt. She was still sobbing even as Victoria was taking a sizable cash payment for providing the evening entertainment.  Only the very casual, very gentle tap on her butt, was the cue to pull herself together in readiness to leave that place.

EIGHT - Sabirah & Stefani

Taking Stefani off and out of that gynae chair after the application of the decorative piercings was a revelation for Sabirah.  It was like watching someone learn to walk again.  Or watching someone learn to walk for the first time. The long gangly legs taking on the amazing shape of her mother’s own pins. If anything was certain, it was the fact that in the time she had been with Sabirah, Stefani’s legs had become toned, and stronger in definition. That was due to the physicality of her imprisonment really. A base need for them to be strong. Some of the bondage needed her legs, and mind to be strong, just to ensure she stayed alive.  And yet here those same long, long legs not knowing what to do with themselves. It was as though she didn’t know what to do with them without them being in bondage of some sort. The tippy toe stance of the ballet boots emphasizing the delicate teeter and with every placing of either foot, no matter how careful, and pre-judged, resulting in a renewed whimper pouring from Stefani’s delicious mouth.  The slight flare of the hips, seemed even more so.  The arch of her back even more so. The back thrust of her butt exaggerated, highlighting the buttock shape and fleshiness.

That could have been true. That she had spent so long in bondage, that she didn’t really know how to manage her own limbs, or more especially, her own glorious legs, without some form of restraint or other. It probably was true to an extent. But in this case it was the pain, and the discomfort of the piercings.  All of her sexuality, deeply pierced and decorated. The pain between her legs, and between her butt-cheeks was intense. So much so that it served to alter her overall shape. Served to change her entire stature and stance. She was forced almost into that obscene semi squat. Not able, or willing to close those legs, or place them in such a way to cause her intimacies any more discomfort than need be. Again that base instinct in her.  The stances and shapes she produced then proving gratifying visions for a sadist of Sabirah’s standing.  It didn’t matter which poise she produced. The pain was still there. The pain existing side by side with the throbs. And yet the intensity of the throbs increased twenty fold, or more.  Again the stance she was forced to change slightly every few seconds didn’t help the discomfort in her startlingly decorated breasts. The throbs in the inner base of her nipples also increased twenty fold, and those throbs feeding right through her system to the base of her clitoris.  The throbs and the pain and discomfort all existing together. All feeding Stefani’s mind and body. All feeding that epicenter - the very depth of the very core of her femininity, her clitoris.  And all of this producing the whimpers, and gasps and the drip drip drip of her constantly produced juices.

Sabirah could have watched Stefani in that state for hours. Just watching her moving freely, and dripping freely. The delicate little ‘clicks’ as the heels were place in the floor then replaced. And the gasps, and whimpers as she moved her weight from one leg to the other.  A deliciously cunt watering sight. But alas she needed to progress. Needed to work some more on the girl. Needed to deepen her suffering and servitude. Stefani, and Petra needed those throbs, needed the pleasure of hyper-orgasms. Sabirah needed the suffering to deepen.  Never standing still. Never reaching a level and holding it there. Always but always seeking to further it. Deepen it. Intensify it. She needed that. Needed that progress and that move forward. Always needed to know, and feel that her victim was on a downward journey. A downward spiral.  Always needed to know that her victim knew that the existence in hell would never lessen, or even level off and that it was always, but always an onward journey in the downward direction.

The deep heaving sobs were in part due to the bondage that had been applied. But not totally. They were also a result of the psychological turmoil. The reminder of the day, that she had been taken from the city apartment by Selena. The day that the woman had made her cum so easily, and so copiously that the ‘drip’ from her sexuality hadn’t abated since. However long ago that day was. She didn’t know. She had sobbed back then when her arms and legs had been doubled up, and secured like that. As though her lower limbs had been amputated.  It was as though her legs below her knees had been cut off. And as though her arms below her elbows had been cut off.  They hadn’t of course. Both legs and both arms simply bent, doubled up and very tightly, very expertly secured. Lower legs to corresponding thighs. Lower arms to upper arms.  Squeezed together then banded with a special machine. Similar to an industrial packaging machine.  Such a machine employed simply to ensure a tightness, and security that mere human hands could not achieve. Once this had been achieved, an otherwise naked, whimpering Stefani had been laid out carefully on a bench for the remainder of the shrink wrapping process.

Quite simply, she was coated in high gloss black latex. From neck down. Once the layer of latex had been applied, it really did look like she was without the lower parts of her limbs. And that just the ‘stumps’ moved independently. These limbs were not further imobalized. On the contrary it would be on these ‘stumps’ that she would eventually be able to move around. Not just on her knees, but also on her elbows. On all-fours like a dog.  The latex outfit, complete with paw like pads build in to where Stefani’s elbows and knees were. These pads increasing her height on all fours, and providing a cushion for her to be able to move around on. It was a revelation, to see Stefani learn to control four shortened limbs like this. Stumbling a little at first but then learning with every mis-step how to move around on her all fours. The latex clinging to all of her curves and crevices. A bizarre and yet highly erotic sight.

The only bits of her exposed through the latex, were the  globes of her pierced and studded breasts, which hung pendulous underneath her. The numerous studs catching the light, emphasizing the globes and drawing immediate stark attention to the massive, bloated nipples. Always behind those nipples, deep inside the nipple bases, was that throb. With the weight of her breast orbs on top of the throb, Stefani’s tongue would constantly swipe out across her lips.

Down between her legs and butt-cheeks, also exposed her raised, pierced and studded anal ring. This seemed to be always pushing out, and dilating against the throbs that were constantly there. And the wet, slippery wet redness, the pinkness of the flesh, together with the white and yellow gold of the studs was a blinding, almost alarming contrast to the high gloss black of the latex.  Further down, between the bottom part of her cheeks and her upper thighs, her vaginal sexuality thrust back exposed and pulsating as though with that life of its own. The chubby, enhanced labia pulled back, peeled open and studded so that the very inner labia were exposed to the fresh air. A permanent pool of slick, thick juice existing in amongst the folds of exposed pink flesh. The pool seeming to emanate from the dark, almost black tunnel of her cunt. With each gasp, the pool of juices moving, and bubbling.

And hanging there, as well, the glorious sight of the extended, engorged clitoris. Fat and long and capped with the clit-tip stud. That stud, piercing the very core of the clit-flesh, all the way down, way past the throb center. That stud ensuring that an amount of rigidity remained. That stud acting as a conductor to the throbs. Each throb resonating up the gold core and to the stud head outside the flesh. But never, never allowing the throb to massage, or caress the clit-tip in the way required to create the orgasm Stefani so much craved. The little circle of studs around its base, emphasizing the clitoris further. Making it stand out. Very red. Very wet, and always dripping against the shiny black of the latex. That circle of studs further feeding those deep throbs. Feeding them to a maddening level. To a level that induced madness. Or at the very least a teetering on the brink of sanity, and almost, very nearly into the tight inescapable grips of insanity.

When viewed as a whole, the sexuality of the girl alive, pulsating and so wet. Each wave of movement coinciding with the gasps, and the whimpers from her smooth deep red lips.  She whimpered a little more as the hood was pulled over her head.  But, maybe not so strangely there was a sigh, like one of gratification as the hood found the contours of her face and head and then clung to it. Attaching itself like the second skin it was.  Those gratified sighs reminiscent of those her mother dripped from red lips as her latex addiction was taking shape and forming.  Her red hair pulled through and providing that stark contrast again to the shiny latex. Pulled through and tied tightly into that erupting, cascading pony tail from the crown of the hood.  The eye holes in the hood, cleverly re-enforced, pressing into the sockets ensuring the eyes bulged outwards. Upper and lower lids peeled back a little. The look, the stare, permanent and fixed. Just the odd flicker of a blink, or the irregular dilation of the pupils gave away the vital life signs behind that stare. Oh, yes, those things plus the tears. Every so often a solitary tear would break loose and glide down the latexed cheek. Hmmmm yes a delicious sight to say the least.

Sabirah had enjoyed the sight of her assistants preparing Stefani. Getting her latexed up, and nicely installed onto her all-fours. God she loved the almost ‘innocent’ way she tentatively moved around on those ‘paws’ of her.  It was the ultimate kink. Such a young girl, animalised in this way. But Sabirah wanted to apply the finishing touches herself. She wanted to get down, all the way down so that her face could feel the hot breath of the girl as it gasped from between her deep red lips. The deep red lips that protruded from the blackness of the hood, like yet more living organisms of their own. Full rubbery lips, the mirror image of her mother’s. Just younger, smoother and with none of the tell-tale lines yet, of maturity.

“I’m going to leash you Stefani. A collar and a leash for my bitch. Is that ok, sweetie?”

It was bizarre the way Sabirah appeared to ask these questions. Rhetorical questions. Questions not requiring a reply. Not wanting a reply. Her way of inflicting a little more torment on one so helpless and powerless already.  Stefani far more focussed on the throbs, and the undulations of her sexuality as the throbs, and the piercings worked tirelessly on her mind and body.

“Mmmmmm yesssss, yes... c-collar and leash...mmmm yesssssss b-bitch.. bitch.”

She answered any way. Although it was a broken, stuttered mumbling and one that was accompanied by a bubbling dribble of drool from one corner of her mouth. A dribble that was just about lapped back by her wet, slippery tongue. That in turn was accompanied by a sloppy sucking back of the drool. Sabirah smiled, stroked the girl’s smooth, shiny, latex head.

“Awwwwwwww. I just knew you wouldn’t mind.”

Sabirah’s tone quite patronizing. Even taunting as the broad heavy duty latex collar was secured around Stefani’s neck. The collar tight, and constricting and with a straightening, deportment effect that, together with her all-fours movement, turned her into something of a bizarre, fetish Poodle. The long, straight hair, red erupting from the crown of the hood and cascading over her back. Her delicate, decorated intimacies, hanging under her in the form of her breasts and behind her in the form of her anal ring, and enhanced sexuality. Her movement slow, not cumbersome, being careful, and considered due to the hyper-sexuality she was feeling.

Sabirah walked with her ‘Poodle’... out of the room, and down the corridor outside. Just little creaks of latex. And gasps, and some moans from Stefani as she fought with her throbs and yet at the same time concentrating on keeping step with four half limbs instead of two full legs. This wasn’t a training exercise. Sabirah didn’t do training. This was just light relief, a time-out that she was going to enjoy whilst Petra was away.  Sabirah hadn’t orgasmed for such a long time. She needed one and would experience one, in just a short while.

When she did orgasm, Stefani was still ‘Poodled’ up and her long, thick and wet tongue was reamed up inside Sabirah’s bottom. She had slid the tongue in on instruction, and then felt her own tongue licking the inside walls of Sabirah’s anus. She swirled her tongue and scraped the tip down one wall then the other. Sabirah held a violet want to her own clitoris and applied little shock after little shock to the button like bud. She built it up slowly whilst at the same time riding her ass on the tongue. Built it up slowly, very slowly very expertly. All of that pent up sexuality ready to erupt after all these months of watching the development of mother and daughter.  Unlike mother and daughter’s orgasms, Sabirah’s were very controlled. Very intense yes. But not screaming, dribbling orgasms. Her breathing regulated, and controlled as she was always controlled. A very expertly applied milking of the orgasm from herself. Her focus entirely on the intensity riding through her. Using the violet wand, and Stefani’s tongue simply as tools to heighten her own pleasure. It was the same way that she always used others to gratify herself. The wand was charged and ready to go and would be used to the maximum. Stefani wasn’t a human being to her. She was just a source of pleasure and she too would be used to the maximum. Perhaps this answered the question as to why she had dehumanized the girl. Turned her into a Poodle. A latex Poodle Pooch whose tongue was deeply embedded in her ass and being used to gratify. She panted her multiple orgasm whilst flooding Stefani’s face. Stefani so sexed up within her own tortuous mind and body that she licked the ass deep. Then deeper again. Sabirah shuddered one orgasm into the next and Stefani let her mouth be flooded with Sabirah’s juices, and grunted and groaned with gratitude as she did so.

Half an hour later, Sabirah was walking her ‘poodle’ to the lift. She wanted to show her, the ‘ultimate torture chamber’. She didn’t have to show her. Didn’t need to show her. But she wanted to. Wanted her to be forewarned and therefore in deep deep states of distress before she even got there. This chamber hadn’t been used ever before. Stefani would be the first. And later when Petra was taken back in, she would experience it. Oh how Sabirah looked forward to working on Stefani. But even more so looking forward to when mommy came back in. Thinking she had escaped the Clinic for good only to be brought to an even more terrible place than she had been in before. Sabirah clenched her thighs as she walked Stefani to the lift.

NINE - The Clinic... Twelve Months Later

On the outside it was pitch black. The darkest part of the night. The very early hours of the morning, around two o’clock.  The grounds of the clinic were in absolute darkness. A very very careful eye into the blackness would have revealed the tops of trees, just, that were blowing in a moderate wind.  There no floodlights, nor sounds of guard dogs marauding.  In actual fact, the place looked deserted.

The clinic couldn’t be seen from the main road a couple of miles away. But even if it could be seen, in this part of the country, large stately type mansions were the norm.  Listed buildings, like the clinic’s main above ground structure were dotted all round the landscape. It was even common to have a listed building incorporated into modern extensions which had been knitted into the main structure to provide modern imposing accommodation. Most such buildings had been turned into country house hotels. Some were retained by families. Some families had occupied these grande homes for centuries. Their owners having equally grande titles. This was a part of the country where the sting of the credit crunch of 2009 barely raised an eyebrow. Outbuildings converted into air conditioned housing for classic car collections. And not so ‘classic’ but equally as exotic car collections.

The Clinic was more secluded than most. Sabirah had chosen this particular property in the main for its seclusive properties. Most importantly, the house and the various outbuilding were right in the middle of extensive wooded grounds. The nearest neighbors were five miles away. The nearest road over two miles away. The inside didn’t matter so much since the clinical psychologist knew, that apart from retaining and restoring the listed features of the main building, in accordance with the purchase contract, there would be extensive works carried out inside.  Sabirah knew, even as ‘daddy’ was putting his signature to legal documents for the purchase of the property, that a lot of the work, most of the work in fact, would be carried out at subterranean levels.

Sabirah knew also that her clinical work, the legitimate side of her business was little more than a front for her other all-consuming hobbies in the BDSM and Fetish world. It was a money making business for sure. It made lots of money. And yet all proceeds were ploughed back into the Clinic at its sub-ground levels.  The ‘private’ facilities of the main business, along with the glossy city fundraisers made up the entire finance solution of Sabirah’s sadistic pursuits. Sabirah, really, could only thank god for the legitimate side to her business. After all it was through this that her path had crossed with Petra. Part of Petra’s suffering, and Stefani’s could be directly attributed to the proceeds of donation supplied by Petra’s company.  More importantly, more profoundly though, it had been due to Petra’s feedback to her Company, on the merits of Dr Sabirah Najwa and her research program that a substantial donation had been made. In effect, and ironically, Petra had been a massive part in securing funding for her own suffering. And the suffering of her only daughter Stefani. That fact, that basic, cruel fact, had never escaped Sabirah. That fact had made her smile. Made her smile and fed the sadism inside her. The bubbling, intensifying sadism that gripped her and drove her on.

The sound of the wind rushing through leafless tree branches signaled the onset of winter. The definite chill in the air nothing like the one that had existed in the spine cores of mother and daughter since their inception into the clinic, all that time ago, However long ago that was.  Inside the Clinic, or more importantly, inside the sub-levels, the non-public levels, it didn’t matter what season it was outside. A constant climate, and constant temperature was maintained by the technology. To the incarcerated, seasons, wind, trees, rain, snow were such a distant grey memory that, the normal world didn’t really exist any more, except in distant, tortured memories. Mostly flashback memories. Mostly fleeting, split second flashback that were there, and then gone.

Down three levels, and along a long, dead-straight corridor to another lift and down a further level there was just one more room. This was Sabirah’s ultimate torture-chamber into which the lift opened directly. Down under the English countryside, this deep, it was cold. Especially at this time of year. With climate control the temperature had been brought up a little. Only a little though. It was still cold enough to be a meat storage facility.  If truth be told, it was little more than a meat storage facility. The thing about this room is that is was apart from the main rooms. Secluded even from the secluded. It was soundproofed, and despair proof like all the other rooms in that hell-hole.  But this was different. Oh so different. There was a palpable, thick, all consuming air of utter despair in that room. That atmosphere, that ‘darkness’ had a personality of its own. It existed whether there was an occupant in the room or not. The chill down the spine of anyone entering that room would cause them to gasp, at the very least. The room, with a ceiling height of barely just over three meters was five meters by five meters in floor space. And yet this room was ‘single occupancy’ only. This room was where the unfortunate victim, whoever that may be, would probably, at some time or other, at least once, think that they wouldn’t be leaving there alive. And they would not have the benefit of another occupant, suffering in the same way as themselves. They would never, ever have felt so alone and desolate. There was nothing to remind them of the outside. Obviously no windows. Obviously no sound. No odour, not anything to remind them that there was a normal world outside. All that existed was that immediate area of the room. That relatively small five by five meters and with the ceiling just three meters above. And just that occlusive, all consuming, chill inducing thick air.

Lighting could be adjusted to suit. It could be bright, startlingly bright. Or, it could be subdued to an almost sickly, deathly level. A level suited to the storage of ‘meat’.  At this time, the lighting was eerily low, with a red glow that almost pulsated. It was like a slow heartbeat. At its brightest, the redness applied that strange color spotlight to the unfortunate victim in the dead centre of the room. At its dimmest it rendered the figure an eery, silhouette with a ghostly red glow surrounding it.

The bondaged position was simple. It was a hark back, to that original base ‘squat’. The agonizing squat that rendered the victim helpless.  Ballet booted feet fixed around twenty inches apart. Secured to the slightly raised platform rigidly.  The rigid hydraulically adjustable rod coming down from the ceiling and screwed into the steel nipple built into the crown of the tight latex hood. The rod adjusted, lengthened to force a bending of the knees which formed the squat. Back arched, knees bent. The central force of the rod, right down the core center on the victim. The rod likewise preventing an easing of the squat. Rather holding it rigid, but at the same time forcing the victim to take all of the strain. All of the spine hurting, leg straining agony.

The latex hood was slightly different in that it was double skinned, and the lamination between skins had been inflated to create a vacuum and a tight compress to the face and head. This lamination creating a cushion or a layer of air about half-an-inch thick which which served to enlarge, bizarrely, the features of the wearer. This vacuum also creating a seal to the ears, and the nose and whilst the mouth and eyes were left exposed, they could as easily be closed off in varied ways by means of additions and enhancements to the hood. A double tube disappeared in through the nasal cavity of the hood. One tube was to assist breathing if necessary, and the other to feed nutrients into the stomach, as and when required. The addition of the feeding tube alone was an indication that the stay here would be considerable at least. Indefinite at most.

There were ‘sounds’, of sorts coming from the bondaged form. Mostly the sounds were little grunts. Stuttering little grunts that formed part of the breathing process. Just natural sounds really, of distress and anxiety.  Even these sounds didn’t come easily. The reason being simple.  The tongue had been pulled from the mouth, and stretched to its limit and secured with one of those rigid wires to the electro-motor system that finalized all bondage. In this instance, the tongue had been modified in three places along its length. It would be to simple to call these modifications ‘piercings’. They were more than that. The piercing had been applied with a special instrument that not only applied a piercing, but which took a complete hole of flesh out of the tongue and then lined this hole with a ‘grommet’. Each grommet a different size. The back hole was the biggest about a centimeter the next hole in the middle of the tongue towards the tip about half a centimeter and the third a quarter of a centimeter and nearest the tongue tip.  The holes all placed just off center of the tongue so that the line looked a little crooked. It would have been nice to have kept this line of steel walled holes perfectly straight, but impossible since the very center line of the tongue carried a nerve and a vein which if damaged would cause the victim some paralysis and even, to bleed to death.  Death at least this early on was not an option.

The hook attached to the tongue had been clipped in to the hole nearest the tip. Mostly this meant that all drool then dripped through the other two holes and to the floor beneath. These piercings hadn’t been done on this night. They had been completed a considerable time ago so that the tongue flesh itself had healed and sealed around the steel grommets making them permanent, and irreversible.

The all sealing catsuit was ultra shiny black latex. It covered the flesh it its entirety. Even the heavy pregnancy. That is, the latex was shrink wrapped to most of the flesh. A latexed wrapped, pregnant lump was a bizarre, bizarre sight. That and the squat, provided the invisible voyeur the most intense insight into female on female cruelty.  There were exposed bits of course. The altered nipples, now looped and stretched from breasts that were producing milk due to the pregnancy. Already large breasts were fuller now, heavier and this was plain to see even in their latex shrink wrapping.  From the tips of the nipples, the occasional drip of liquid. Not quite pure milk. Like a clear, pre-milk. Nature taking its course where it was allowed to.  It becoming more clear now more understandable now, those sounds of distress, and anxiety.  This position, most unnatural even for a normal, healthy fit woman. For one in advanced stages of pregnancy, the physical and mental turmoil must have been complete. Utter devastation.

It wasn’t a devastation that had an immediate end though. Or an end all all. From between her legs, her enlarged slug like labia had been stretched. Painfully stretched. Not simply tugged out and down. But similarly pierced with grommets and then stretched down to their limit, like the tongue, but towards the floor. Little wires attached and clipped to micro-motored pulley systems and pulled down. Making the labia appear like ‘flaps’ then and the wires disappearing into the floor sufficiently wide apart to allow the sexuality to be ‘opened’ wide.  The inner labia treated much the same. Grommeted, clipped and then pulled out. That more delicate flesh, those pink, wet dripping inner labia were more pliable, more elastic than the cajoled altered outer ones and so they stretched more, and longer. This provided the illusion, or maybe not such an illusion that the very insides of the feminine flesh were being tugged and pulled inside out.  Four high tensile steel wires clipped to very feminine, very private woman flesh, in turn attached to the pulley system and maximized.  EXCEPT, there were five wires. The fifth wire from the clitoris. The extended, fattened, thick, long clitoris had been likewise grommeted and tugged, then PULLED to stretch that little bit of flesh to is limit.  All those wires had simply ‘tugged’ their respective bits when applied. That had caused a ‘gasp’ from the poor victim. But once the whirring and humming of the electric motors had stopped, that tug had become an absolute stretch and with sensors, simply stopping the pull before the bits were pulled right off.

“GGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPHHHHHHHHHH”.

The scream had been incredulous. Not a fully formed scream due to the grommeted, stretched tongue. But a dripping soul searching scream with ribbons of drool pouring through the holes in the tongue flesh and stretching to the floor of the slightly raised platform.

That scream though paled into insignificance when compared to the one that filled the room as her anus had been invaded, then stretched by the inflatable. In its normal deflated state it had slipped up inside her with ease, and nestled nicely up against the colon.

Bizarrely, the anal addition gave the impression that she were ‘sitting’ on it due to her semi squat and the fact that the rigid tube disappeared into the floor as a fixture. Even in her heavily pregnant state, the lubricated rubber tubing had slid up inside easily. Her altered, enhanced rectum chewing and sucking hungrily as it made its way up into her deeper insides. It was common for pregnant women to be more highly sexed than usual during pregnancy. So it can only be imagined that with nature taking its course, plus the fucking, maddening, insanity inducing throbs that were always, WOULD always be there,  the torture would be as intense as it would ever be despite the physical nature of the bondaged and grommeted extremities.

That scream when that anal tube had been inflated was ‘inhuman’. Yes inhuman is a good word to describe that. It had been Victoria watching from the control room. Miss Victoria. And she had never heard anything like that before. Her eye brows raised and she was forced to re-cross her legs, clench her thighs as that scream had come through the audio feed. The anal tube thickening, and elongating inside the most intimate of femininity. Stretching her insides, and altering positions and stresses that were already under duress from an advanced pregnancy. The head of the tube expanding against the colon the most. Fattening, and stretching and pressing into the delicate colonial flesh.

“EEEEEEEGGGGGGGGGGGLLLLLLLLLLGGGMMMMMPPPPPPPPPP.”

It was a drenched scream due to the drool flinging out, or dripping through the holes in her tongue. Victoria liked that.  She liked the sound of high heels entering the room to. Very precise well practiced steps in ultra high heels. Expert, confident steps. And then a deliciously dressed Stefani coming into view via the video feed. Not a latex cat suit now. But a leather one. Supple black leather that fitted her developing frame like a second skin. No feature disguising hood either. Her head free of any hood. Just her face heavily made up and her red hair in the trade mark, high tight pony tail. The eruption of red hair from her crown adding an odd splash of ‘warmth’ to this deathly cold room. Actually, the trademark pony tale wasn’t her trademark at all. it was Petra’s her mother’s. That was her trademark.

Stefani circled the bondaged form like a predatorial cat. She had suffered terribly, terribly until recently.  There was a distance in her eyes, a chilling expression on her face that was enhanced by the makeup, that told of awful things having gone on in the past.  She blamed her mother. In the first instance she had blamed her mother for those awful terrible things that she had had to endure. Oh god how she had wanted her mother to suffer ten times more than she had. But then Victoria had come along. Miss Victoria. And it was Miss Victoria that had put it all into perspective for her. It was Miss Victoria who had taught Stefani to make sense of it all, and focus her priorities in other directions.

And so, it was a pregnant, tortured Dr Sabirah Najwa who trembled as much as her bondage would allow as Stefani circled her. The deliciously enhanced clinical psychologist in a depths of despair and torture the likes of which she had wished for her victims. Her full, arabic lips puffing out, and trying to form words which proved an impossibility due to her tongue stretching. Actually, without the stretching, her tongue had ceased to be able to function properly due to the holes. Her tongue was more a ‘tool’ than a functioning organ.

“So bitch.... what more can we do with you?”

Stefani’s voiced hissed into Sabirah’s ear. In the control room, Petra was draped across Victoria’s lap and she was kissing her owner’s mouth deeply. A well practiced, super sealed, wet slippery kiss. The audio and video feed from the room feeding deep deep addictive desires in both women. Miss Victoria coolly calmly absorbing the kiss, encouraging, always encouraging Petra. And every so often just brushing a finger tip across her nipples, or her clitoris. Petra mewling, and cooing as those intense throbs inside her were fed by Victoria. Her mewlings and cooing ones of gratitude as well as addictive lust. She was indeed like a pet that needed to be petted.

Sabirah’s tone of anxiety and despair rising the closer Stefani got to her. Not able to answer. But she knew, she knew she was finished. At least finished in the form she had known for so long. Her all time best friend and most trusted confidante Miss Victoria had betrayed her. Taken everything from her.  That night, the night it had all come to an end was but a grey distant memory now. Like the grey distant memories of Petra and Stefani of their old, normal lives. Normal lives now gone forever. That night, just a casual smile on Victoria’s face as she had sunk the hypodermic needle into Sabirah’s hip. Sabirah knowing even before the drug had taken effect, that it was over for her. just one word forming on her delicious lips,

“Why?”

Then her slowly sinking into oblivion. Eventually waking up to the horror of her own devices. Her suffering just beginning. And it was just the beginning. Despair, anxiety,  diistress and suffering way beyond even she had inflicted on Petra and Stefani awaited her. Miss Victoria, a softer centre but with imagination that didn’t really belong in this world. She had simply answered Sabirah that night

“Because I can.......”

Her reply trailing off as Sabirah had fallen unconscious.

Stefani circled again, then came back to Sabirah’s side. Sabirah’s huge eyes, bulging, darting side to side. Stefani reaching out, caressing the pregancy. Caressing it very gently and yet that gentle caress causing Sabirah to mewl. It was only a mewling that she could manage. But it was meant to be a cry, a sob of utter distress as the young girl tormented her.

“Ten months pregnant and counting... maybe another month and I’ll suggest to Miss Victoria its time to have your babies.... MAYBE.”

Her voice hissed. Absolutely drenched with venom. And a hint in that venom of the pure undiluted hell the birth of three, overdue offspring would be. Sabirah wailed as much as her stretched, altered tongue would allow. Then Petra’s voice, crystal clear and digital, cutting through Sabirah’s mewlings over the audio system.

“Let her cum honey. Let her cum a nice big one....”

The voice trailing off as little giggles are heard and as Petra resumes the deep passionate kissing of her new owner. Her tone to her daughter one that told that they had been reunited. Reunited in more ways than one. Stefani reaching for the clitoris stretched between Dr Sabirah Najwa’s legs, then just tapping the tip very lightly. Sabirah’s tone altering as the hyper-intense mega orgasm rushes through her. Stefani, watching, studying, already with aspirations towards becoming a career sadist.

“MMMNNGGGNNGGNGNGNGNNGNNGNNGNNGNNGNNNG

MMMMNNNNNGNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

NNNNNNGGGGGMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

NNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG.”

DRIP

DRIP

DRIP

DRIP

THROB

THROB

THROB

THROB

Above ground, the dawn was breaking. Clear skies and a chill wind.  All of the windows, and doors in the grande old building had been boarded up. The place looked deserted. it was meant to look like that.  Normal clinic operations now closed. Dr Sabirah Najwa’s had gone overseas to work.  At least that was the official line.  None of the sounds from below ground, way way down below ground leaked out.

***THE END***

© 2009 drkfetyshnyghts

Contact the Author (drkfetyshnyghts) if you would like one or more of these characters to return in another story.