DEVASTATION

“DEVASTATION”

Part 2 - The Suffering

 

© 2009 by drkfetyshnyghts

 

Forword

A  reader of Devastation Part 1 asked me, was this story a tragedy, or was it a horror? The question took me aback a little. I hadn't thought of it as either of those.  To me it was simply a study in (unrealistic and yet believable) extreme distress, extreme addiction and in extreme evil. Yes and extreme fetish. Basically a Fantasy.

 

To me, it was a story that had been washing around my mind for ages. One that I needed to get down in black and white before it faded. One that I needed to share. The story turned me on, and yet unsettled me at the same time. Writing parts of it unsettled me a great deal. I really am a single mother and so I guess I truly felt and lived in my mind what I was writing. Felt it to the core. Very powerful. So much of Petra, Sabirah and Stefani all rolled into me maybe.  In a split second of inspiration I decided to go with the flow. This is the result.

 

Please do email me your thoughts. If you haven't already, please read Devastation Pt 1 - A Normal Life No More, BEFORE you read this for background, buildup and a fuller, more lucid picture.

 

THE STORY SO FAR

Knowing it is just once in a lifetime that her ideal subject will come along, the sadistic, lesbian fetishist, Dr Sabirah Najwa grasps the opportunity with both hands when she meets the stunning City executive secretary, and single mother Petra.

Sabirah puts an elaborate, complex deception into motion in which Petra thinks she is taking part in a program on extremes of human behavior at the clinical psychologist’s private clinic. In reality her mind, body and sexuality are being manipulated and twisted beyond repair by Sabirah’s state-of-the-art technology.

This results in a guilt, shame and sexual addiction fest that reduces Petra to little more than a drooling, dribbling animal convinced she is sick and that it is all her own fault. The deception continues as Petra is incarcerated in the clinic’s “secure unit”. Separated from her beloved, striking, teenage daughter. Even the slightest chance of rehabilitation diminishing all the time. Petra’s state of mind in a rapid downward spiral of latex addiction, and intense sexual focus.

Part one ends with Petra, a different person. Having seen her daughter only through a one way glass partition, and convinced that she too, has the same ‘illness’ as herself. All her fault. All mom’s fault.  And with rehabilitation now out of the question, Petra has only one direction to go in... all with Sabirah’s help of course.... down and down further into the darkness.

__________________________________

ONE - Stefani

At precisely the same time that Dr Sabirah Najwa was greeting Petra on the front steps of her clinic, an associate of the clinical psychologist was meeting Petra’s stunning sixteen year old daughter Stefani, from the private college she attended.  There was nothing untoward about this. Stefani knew she was being picked up and kind of “semi-looked after” for a few days, whilst her mom was away.

What Stefani didn’t know, or couldn’t know, at that point was that her mother, the stunningly attractive city high-flyer was being led into the bowels of what amounted to a sanitarium from which she would never emerge.  At least, she would never emerge the same person.

Sabirah’s associate was forty year old Selena. A mother herself. Very smart, attractive. articulate and yet with hidden issues of her own. A former volunteer at the clinic. Although a volunteer who had enjoyed some form of success in rehabilitation. Her rehabilitation relied on the constant feed of Sabirah’s partial hypnosis.  I guess the best way to explain it, is that the hypnosis acted like the drugs would in someone with various personality disorders. Or psychosis.

Selena could almost be ‘the mother next door’.  Attractive but not in a stunning way. Her own five feet six inches considerably shorter than Petra’s five feet ten, and Stefani’s five feet nine. And yet a full, buxom cleavage that was both uplifted, and firm.  Even saying that, you could walk past Selena in the street without a second glance.  Unless that is you were particularly fond of high heels.  She wore them all the time. Dangerously high heels. Spiked heels. Boots or shoes. Night or day. Selena needed her high heels, the same way that we all ‘needed’ ‘something’. Oh yes, Selena had deep deep issues of her own. Her issues had been brought to the fore, been exposed, had been made her focus, in a broadly similar way to Petra’s issues.  Admitedly, Petra’s treatment by Sabirah had been way advanced in comparison. Outwardly, Selena was a well rounded, content individual.  Inside though... inside was where Sabirah’s work had been concentrated. Inside was where the focus had been concentrated and fine tuned.

________________________________

It was the last day of the summer term. Selena met Stefani outside the college gates.  She blended in with all the other moms perfectly. She even exchanged small talk with one or two of them, clearing her throat, and a hidden inner smile at comments passed of teenage girls and their troubles. Hormones all awry and delinquent boys seeming to becoming a bigger part of their particular daughter’s lives. One mother echoed Selena’s thoughts exactly.

“Well, what can you do? They have to grow up. They have to spread their wings. We can’t wrap them in cotton wool all their lives can we?”

There was a certain irony in what the woman was saying. A certain ‘acceptance’ that sooner or later the wicked ways of the world won over and their offspring would be swallowed up in debauchery and wickedness. Selena nodding thoughtfully at the woman’s comments before answering.

“Hmmmm, well I guess so. Gotta let them grow up and blossom I guess. All we can do is nurture, guide and advise on the way. Try to make sure the ‘right’ path is taken.”

Her voice trails off, the other woman nodding almost over-eagerly at what Selena was saying. Salena’s understanding and empathy well practiced and well displayed for the benefit of all the moms within earshot.

Selena spotted Stefani immediately. She had seen photographs and a college video of her. Neither mediums did the girl justice. She was striking. Impossibly pretty and an exact, although younger replica of her mother Petra. Despite Stefani’s blossoming maturity, her face was fresh, wide eyed with a naivety pouring out. Selena smiled, again inwardly, and wickedly to herself.

Selena already had one over on Stefani in that she knew in the crowd who she was looking for. Stefani just knew that ‘someone’ other than her mother was picking her up. She spotted Stefani and then moved towards her through the usual college gate throng. She touched her on the arm as Stefani stood wide eyed looking round for the person who was to meet her.

“Hi honey... I’m Selena. Your mom sent me to meet you.”

Selena’s voice was deliberately sickly sweet and with a wide wide smile that drew the young girl in. Stefani visibly relaxed and broke into a wide smile of her own. Her smile though was infectious. A pure smile of innocence. Bright white teeth and stretched, supple, fleshy lips.

“Hi Selena... this is really good of you. Mom does tend to wander off on a whim sometimes. But I’m used to that now.”

Her accent perfect, educated english. The private college tuition fees obviously paying off. Stefani moving in close to Selena to offer polite light kisses on either cheek. A trait inherited from her mother. Not the light almost ‘air-kisses’ but the moving in close, and then the slight pressing in so that breasts gently collide and then crush together throughout the whole motion. In Stefani’s case though, wholly innocent. Or apparently so. Selena’s nostrils flare, and there is the briefest of seconds where ‘something’ flashes in her eyes as she takes in the scent of naive innocence that practically drips from Stefani.  In her heels, Selena is much the same height as Stefani who is in regulation college uniform shoes and she can rest her jaw lightly on the girl’s shoulder, looking back behind her. Stefani sees neither the flaring of the nostrils nor that ‘flash’ in the eyes. No-one sees that. Or picks it up. If they did, a chilling of the spine would in all probability result.

“Mmmmmm ... wellll Stefani its a pleasure to meet you and I cannot get over how much like your mother you are.”

Selena breaks the hug and just holds the girl at arms length. Stefani does the eye-roll up so effectively. Like she has to do it a hundred times a day.

“Awwwwwww everybody... and I mean EVERYBODY says that.  I guess I should be grateful for that because mom sure is stunning. I mean everyone says she is and I happen to agree. Mom is hot... so I should be grateful.”

Stefani laughs. The full blown laugh even more infectious than her smile. The two share small talk on the way back to the car park.

“I just need to make sure you get home safe and sound. I can stay for a while if you like. Do some girl talk. Get some food. Then I can either stay over, or go home and check on you tomorrow.  We can just see how things pan out. How does that sound hun?”

Stefani nods agreeing with the almost-there, but-not-quite, plan that teens seem to live by in this day and age.

“Sure... I have nothing planned and am just taking it as it comes. Its the last day of term and all of the holidays to do...... just what I like.”

She speaks with that wide infectious smile again. Selena smiles back and they half walk, half almost skip to the car park like ‘old-new’ friends. As though they have known each other for a long long time. Like they have grown up together despite the age gap.  Selena has that talent. To endear herself to someone very quickly. To gain trust, and confidence. It was something she had to do. A seed planted in her head.

“How DO you walk in those heels?”

Stefani’s question almost incredulous in its tone.

“Ohhhhh honey... maybe you’ll get to learn this difficult skill in time...”

Her answer trails off as they reach the car in apparent fits of laughter.

________________________________

The thing about shock is that its effects on a person can be wide and varied. What dictates the effect more is the knowledge, or fear that accompanies the shock. The lack of knowledge about what is to follow the initial shock.

Selena had taken Stefani back to the City apartment she lived at when her mom worked in town. They had coffee, talked, and almost wiled away an hour or two. Selena had made sure that the girl was completely at ease with her. Completely nonchalant at her presence.  They had been discussing, in fine detail, makeup. Or in particular how best to enhance the lips. Selena had been telling the girl what she thought almost with a soft growl in her throat at the succulence and fullness the Stefani’s lips.

Stefani hadn’t noticed Selena go to her medium sized handbag and slip out something. She was just sitting on a kitchen bar-stool, yapping away as the older woman moved behind her. She didn’t even seem to move as the transparent latex hood was slipped over her head. There seemed to be an age between application and realization. The realization that there were no holes through which to breath through the latex.  Worse then.... a feeling of intense heat. Selena holding the hood in place with one hand, picking up a modern, powerful hairdryer just placed so on the kitchen top surface and switching on, directing the hot air onto the latex, softening it but at the same time shrinking it. Making it fit to all the contours of Stefani’s face, sealing her face to the inside of the hood.

She couldn’t breath and a realization that she could die slowly dawning on her strangely shiny face through the latex. A draining of her natural color. A widening of her eyes. But more than that... the shock. The terrible terrible shock paralyzing her to the stool. Making her arms go limp at her sides. Making her unable to offer any resistance. The heat from the drier sealing the latex to her face. Selena arranging the neck band of the hood expertly with one hand at the same time as directing the hot air, then securing the hood around the throat of the young girl via broad velcro straps. Finishing off the shrink wrapping with the drier, all the time Stefani’s eyes becoming less and less alive. Cheeks bulging as her natural instinct was to try to breath. Sucking in the latex to her own full lips. The lips distorting against the inside of the hood. Like a rude slightly obscene kiss. Parting then closing. Eyes widening, but slowly draining of their natural sparkle.

Selena knew, from experience how much time she had before the girl died. She worked in a chillingly calm manner. Letting Stefani see her through the film of latex. Letting her believe this older woman was just going to let her suffocate and die like this.  Then letting her see her pick up a small pair of kitchen scissors. All the time holding the girl steady, making sure she didn’t topple off the stool.  With one easy, swift almost silent movement she sliced the point of the scissors through the latex and between the girl’s lips. Not quite the full width of her mouth. Just enough for her to desperately suck in breath.  Selena allowed the girl to breath. Allowed her to gratefully breath, bending forward, holding one ear almost next to the girls latexed face so she could hear the hisses of breath being sucked in then let out. She waited for the hisses to become less and less urgent before she spoke.  The shock was all the bondage that Selena needed to ensure the girl stayed put.

“There are only two outcomes to this.  You live, or you die. Do I make myself clear?”

Selena’s tone wasn’t the same as she when she had been befriending the girl. Gaining her confidence. It was almost a venomous hiss into the latexed ear of the terrified girl. Stefani’s head just nodding, quickly, continuously.... her eyes strangely shiny from the thin film of latex covering them, wide, bulging.

“Good Girl... Now just stand up off the stool for a second... carefully... I’m holding you so you don’t fall.”

Selena worked with frightening precision as she moved in front of Stefani, in close, then wrapping her arms around her middle and sliding her forward off the stool. The strength of Stefani’s long legs almost betraying her and leaving her but accepting the older woman’s help, then standing with just the slightest of stumbles as Selena slid her hands down over the her skirted hip, down to the hem, hooking her finger under the hem and peeling it slowly up.  The hem of the regulation college skirt sliding up easily over her thighs and hips. The skirt staying put, gathered around her waist.

“I’m just going to pull your panties down... then you can sit back on the stool. Do you understand?”

Stefani still getting used to the idea that she might not die after all, nodding her head, still breathing deeply through the gash in the latex shrink wrapped around her face. Selena thumbing down the barely there thong. Peeling it away from the girl’s intimacies until it was  stretched between her knees, and then guiding her back up, sliding her back up onto the tall stool. All the time the hissing of Stefani’s breath the gash in the latex.

“Good Girl.  Now just spread your legs honey. Spread them nice and wide for me. It’s better you just do it... ok honey? I don’t want to kill you but I will.”

Stefani had no doubt that the woman meant what she was saying. it was in the tone of her voice. It was in her big staring eyes. Stefani could see even through the film of latex.. those eyes. Almost manic in their stare through to her.  A  stare matching the tone of voice. Stefani truly fearful for her life as she slowly sat and spread her legs wide. Her whole body now trembling. Limp arms quivering as her pale fleshed thighs spread wide.

Stefani wasn’t hairless down there.  Neither was she endowed with a thick mat of hair. Rather a thin spread of ‘fluffy’ down either side and just over the top of her slit. Chubby lips just visible. Just about folding back to reveal their inner pinkness.  She just sat, legs splayed, exposing herself, thong panties stretched between her knees as Selena calmly, coolly lubricated one forefinger and index finger with a clear substance from a jar in her bag. Even more coolly replacing the screw top back onto the jar and replacing it into her bag.

Selena liked this. Unlike Stefani’s mother who would have to be broken slowly and all within the massive deception of being made to believe she was somehow sick, ill or guilty - or a mixture of all three - the same wasn’t true of Stefani.  No slow creeping breaking for her. She had to be reduced very quickly, very precisely.  Its why Selena was chosen for this particular task. She was good at it. She preferred young girls. Not quite young enough to be innocent and yet still young enough to be naive.

She didn’t even say anything to the girl as she walked between her spread legs. She took a few split seconds out to study the petrified eyes staring out at her from the other side of the latex shrink wrapping.  There was a little shriek, muffled, but a shriek none the less as Selena’s two fingers slipped easily between Stefani’s sex lips.  There was just a cursory stroke of the outer lips... down then back up and then in one movement the glide of the fingers, past the first knuckle then the second and all the way up to the third. Stefani’s eyes wide, bulging. Again the desperate hisses of air as she tried to regulate her breathing without much success.  Selena manipulating her two fingers inside the girl. Turning them and then hooking backward, at the top of her slit until her fingertips were pressing out, from the inside. Selena stroking her delicate inner walls looking for something. looking for the G spot. Slow deliberate raking of her fingertips and nails down then back up. Pressing out from inside.  Only other women really know about these areas. Or how to find them. Only another, experienced woman can find it with the ease that Selena does.

She knows when she has found the G spot. She can tell by looking into Stefani’s eyes. There is just a miniscule change. A slight spark.... just at that time when the finger tip run over that G spot then she knows she’s found it and can rub it and rub it and rub it. She knows even more with the readjustment of Stefani’s breathing. Slow deep breaths. It doesn’t matter how frightened she is. Or how bizarre, or life threatened she feels. She cannot fight against the attentions to her G spot.  That becomes even more impossible as Selena brings her thumb into play. Gently stroking up around her clitoris. Her partly hooded clitoris situated in front of the G spot that she is stroking. Little light rubs of the tip of her thumb over the tip of the clitoris making Stefani sit bolt upright and groan from inside her latex hood.

“MMMMMMMMNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGG...”

A very exact, a very precise tone that Selena recognizes. One she always recognizes.

“Good Girl....  see honey I can be nice..... or I can be nasty...”

All the time caressing her G spot from the inside and rubbing her clitoris on the outside. Gently expertly. Stefani blowing, hissing.. her thighs spreading wider and wider, mostly against her will and yet a will that was subsiding due to the intense pleasure being forced on her by Selena.  Selena hissing, right up close to the girl’s face

“You’re going to cum girl. Wether you like it or not you are going to cum. Just go with it. Ride it out. Enjoy it. Enjoy it while you can.”

As she hisses she is increasing the pressure and intensity of the stroking. Pressing down on the now slippery self lubricating clitoris as she rubs it with her thumb and pressing and stroking her G spot harder from the inside. The orgasm approaching in inescapable waves as Stefani begins to tremble..... then an almighty shriek as she feels an intensity she has never felt before. Like all teenagers she thought she knew it all. Thought she had experienced all there was to experience in orgasms. She had no clue as wave after wave rushed through her making her developing sexuality squelch and slip all over the stool.

“MMMMNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGH

MMMMMMNNNNGGGGGGHHHHHH

MMMMMMMMNNNNGGGGGGGGGGG.”

Wave after wave and Selena’s stroking and pressing not diminishing, not letting up. Making wave after wave of cum more intense that the last.

“MMMMMMMNNNNNNGGGGGGGGHHHHH

MMMMMMMMNNNGGGGGGGGGGGG

NNNNNNNGGGGGMMMMMMMMMMMMM.”

Only eventually letting off a little. Letting the girl come down slowly. Very slowly letting the intense waves fade back slowly until she had to all but support the young girl on the stool.

“Goooood Girllllllllllll.”

Selena’s tone dripping with sexuality as she brings Stefani down.  Selena sliding her two fingers out of the young girl. Looking at them, letting Stefani see them dripping and saturated with her own juices before she idly wipes the fingers down one of the young girl’s thighs.

“Mmmmm most definitely you are your mother’s daughter darling.”

That almost huskily whispered statement accompanied by a wide grin as Salena takes out a cell-phone from her bag and speed dials one of her stored numbers.  In just a few seconds she is speaking into the phone.

“She’ll be all bagged up here in a couple of hours. Just come to the underground car park and buzz the penthouse to let me know you’re here. I’ll take the service lift down and see you there.......  Yeah yeah, everything is cool. Putty in my hands.... bye.....”

________________________________

The other thing about shock, or more importantly, a near death experience, is that you never get over it. Not really. Selena would have figured that in her pre-planning. Allowed for the fact that Stefani wouldn’t be capable of giving her any trouble as she completed her work at the apartment. Knowing that the young girl’s mind would be in turmoil. Incapable of logical thought. Even less capable of rational thought and impossible to, even in the murkiest depths of what she was experiencing right now, think of, let alone execute an escape plan.

“B-but.... w-why?  W-why me. W-what did I do?”

Stefani’s voice, stuttering, escaping through the sliced latex between hisses of breath. Selena listening, even enjoying the purest form of dread that was dripping from the young girl’s voice. Dread and uncertainty as to where this day was going to end for her. She could still die? Or worse.  How could anything be worse?  Little did Stefani know. Little did she realize that death would be a release.  Little did she know how sorry she would become for not choosing the death option. Little did she, could she, know that her life from this point would be.... a nightmare. A living nightmare. How COULD a teenager know that. or even comprehend it?

“Oh, this is nothing personal honey.  You have your mom to thank for this.  But I figure you’ll get to thank your mom in person at some point.  Don’t be too hard on her though. Even she didn’t ‘do’ anything wrong.  Petra, is Petra... and you are, well ‘you’.

Selena’s voice trails off as she continues her work.  Stefani’s arms, each bent at the elbows, doubled and brought together tightly, her wrists secured to corresponding upper arms just below the shoulders using heavier duty, broad latex straps. Such simple bondage applied leaves the arms useless. In effect, flailing stumps.  Comparable possibly to having the arms amputated at the elbows.  The same then, for her deliciously long legs. Stefani laid carefully, almost lovingly on the floor as one at a time her legs were bent at the knees, brought back up behind each thigh, tightly then secured, ankle to very upper thigh. The latex straps just brushing the delicate flesh where thighs meet crotch area.  Selena allowing herself a little smile... the slick wetness, still leaking a little from Stefani’s sex. The little quiverings of the girl’s flesh partly due to her fright and her fear but also partly due to the intense orgasm she had enforcibly received at the fingers, and thumb of her captor.

Selena standing up slowly and back. Taking a look at her work. A naked, imobalized and pretty helpless young girl at her stiletto’d feet.  Something quite adolescent, quite infant like in the way Stefani moves her ‘stumps’ of arms and legs. Rolling onto her side, the plumpness of her still developing, yet even now large breasts rolling with her. Selena clenching her thighs at the sight.  The latex hood still in tact. Clinging to, and secured to the pretty contours of her face and head.  The only slight imperfection in the vision, her long red hair now slightly matted and emerging from the back of the tight neck collar of the hood.  But another clench of the thighs, in the knowledge that Stefani would indeed be ‘perfected’ at some point in the future. For now the imperfection adding to that naivety that dripped from every pour, and every orifice of the helpless teenager.

“I have to go get something from my car. You wont go anywhere now... will you?”

Stefani shaking her head, agreeing that she wouldn’t be going anywhere. The dryness of her own joke didn’t escape Selena as she headed out of the door towards the service lift. Using the service lift lessened the chances of being seen by anyone else in the block of luxury apartments that Petra’s company owned.

An hour later Stefani had been secured into a loose, heavy duty latex body bag. The package resembled a bag of laundry. Indeed, if anyone were to see Selena plus bag on her way to the service lift on the way down to the waiting van, thats what they would think. A private laundry company. A discreet change of clothes for Selena to reflect that. A work suit - a boiler suit with the badge of a non-existant laundry company embroidered onto the breast pocket. OK OK the high heels stayed, but they wouldn’t be noticed in a passing, fleeting moment. Neither would the tiny tube emerging from the uppermost end of the bag either. The breathing tube, clenched gratefully between Stefani’s teeth and lips, and just emerging into the open air allowing her to continue to breath.  And the threat, the chilling threat just before the bag was sealed.

“Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.  Or I will make your death a slow, very slow, painful one.... understand?”

The threat, almost making Stefani lose control of her bladder but not quite. A nod of the eyes. A blink also of her latex covered eyes. She understood. Understood completely.

The buzzer sounded. The transport had arrived. Selena dragged the bag to the service lift. She didn’t see anyone. Didn’t pass anyone in the corridor or in the lift. She exchanged polite pleasantries with the two fearsome men in the blacked out van as the beg containing Stefani was lifted and bundled in.  The van was locked secured and left the building first. Selena stripped off the boiler suit. She hated it. Then left in her own car. mission accomplished!

________________________________

TWO - Petra.

That was then. A lot of water has passed under the bridge between then and now...

The secure unit was so detached, so secluded in its existence and in its relationship with the main clinic that the effects on ‘inmates’ was all but guaranteed just by being placed there. Housed in the sub-basement levels and deliberately dark and stark. Any form of contact from outside was a no-no. A deathly, insipid dread was always the first thing that crept up on Sabirah’s victims. That and the lack of any contact with anyone except Debra - the little old lady who ran the unit. And of course Sabirah herself during her infrequent visits.

In Petra’s case, she had all of that and some more. The clinical psychologist had made extra special provisions for Petra.  She was her special subject. She was The One. The former mother, the former city whiz-girl was already convinced that she was being held completely legally and above-board.  That she was all but a sexual offender that needed to be held in a secure unit for her own good. And for the good of others. She already thought she was so terribly sick because of her high sexuality and that the ‘illness’ had been passed on to her own daughter, her own offspring... How could a mother do that to her child? Did she deserve to be a mother at all? In her head, already a definite no to that question. That in itself had been a major contribution to her mental breakdown.  The guilt. The terrible terrible creeping all consuming guilt. And the shame. The paralyzing soul destroying shame.

But through all that... the awful, ‘obscene’ changes that had happened to her intimacies whilst at the gradual, creeping mercy of Sabirah’s state-of-the-art laser systems. Not tissue destroying laser beams. But tissue enhancing, tissue sensitizing beams that cajoled and massaged the molecules of Petra’s most sensitive feminine flesh into almost bare intense orgasm producing, nerve endings.  Enlarged... permanently dripping clitoris, all thick and quivering like it had a drooling, dribbling life of its own. Swollen, and filled, its membrane sack stretched to its limit.  Always quivering in that obscene way.

Thick, distended labia... all enlarged, extra sensitive, feeding the clitoris more. Perma-wet and slippery, its sensitivity causing it to produce its own thick juices constantly.  Feeding it with those throbs, and thrums. Permanent hyper-sensitivity fed by those constant tortuous throbs.

“.....Oh god, those throb!....’

if only they would make their way all the way to the tip of her clitoris. So she could orgasm. For an orgasm, the tip had to be touched. had to be pressed, caressed. But that wasn’t her call.  Just like her teat like nipples. Swollen, heavy and with throbs of their own emanating from the inner bases. Like itches that couldn’t be scratched. Deep deep itches. Mind numbing itches that never abate. Tugging at those invisible strings between nipples and clitoris. The tips of her nipples, and, or her clitoris had to be touched, caressed or pressed in order for her to orgasm. No contact with the tips, no orgasm. Just the throbs. The throbs that always, but always fell short of the mind numbing orgasms.

“.....Oh God those throbs.... please God those throbs!.....”

The always there, nagging, deep seated throbs that teased and denied orgasms all at the same time, constantly, all of the time. Making her focus, even through her guilt. Even through her shame. Through everything, making them, the throbs, the little constant tingles of pleasure the second most important feelings in her ever diminishing world.  Second only to the super-intense, absolute mega-nerve-shattering orgasms that she was sometimes, occasionally treated to.  It cannot have escaped her that, in all this... her daughter, her offspring had been demoted to third place in her list of priorities.  But... she was always there. Always. Her beloved daughter, the gorgeous, impossibly pretty Stefani who after one of the super-orgasms, nagged and nagged and fed the guilt deep deep inside her.

Petra knew that Stefani, was already housed, somewhere, somehow in the same establishment as herself. And that she was going her own form of hell. She had seen her through that one-way glass. Poor poor Stefani.  Sabirah had played an ace card with the latex mock-up of her old school uniform for Stefani to wear.  The turmoil in Petra’s head. The recognition of the uniform and harking back to the time when she had been caught, by another teacher, sucking the cock of her English teacher. That hadn’t been long after Petra had been introduced to her own G spot by her own sisters.  That, another story.  All now linked and servicing a deep seated guilt inside Petra.

_______________________________________

“So we agree, that rehabilitation for you, cannot happen. Whatever is wrong with you, has gone too far. You’re not the same person you were.  Quite frankly I think you are beyond any kind of help.... and this kind of narrows down the options somewhat...”

Sabirah spoke to Petra slowly. Deliberately slowly ensuring each word dripped into her psyche, and stayed there.  The former city executive was in a secured state. That was a way of life for her these days. Unable to move, barely a muscle and in excrutiating restraint that both exposed her, and continued to break her, just that little more with every passing minute.

She was in a seated position. On a low wooden stool but her stiletto’d, booted feet had been pulled back, right back, off the floor and each ankle secured to each corresponding thigh. Consequently her thighs were wide apart, knees pointing down floor-wards.  Her arms were behind her. This way her full weight was focused on her tail bone, and her intimacies which were pressed into the wooden seat of the stool. Far from subduing the constant throbs down there, this position contained and yet focussed them intensely, even more. With even the slightest muscle twitch came an even slighter friction. The friction caused an enhanced throb. Maybe coaxing it a little closer to the clitoris tip. But never quite all the way there. Always but always falling just a little short. A little short of that erupting volcano.

Her elbows had been secured, touching together rigidly forcing her shoulders right back not quite touching.  From the tight, inescapable wrist bands a length of bungee elastic pulling the wrists down behind her, and then secured to an eye in the floor. Just the tiniest of movement available, if it was really needed, or wanted, but always followed by an elasticized ‘snap’ back into position. The effort required not making it a desirable movement at all.

The deep red plume that was her hair had been plaited and intertwined also with some bungee cord. This cord, complete with plaited hair had been pulled directly upwards. It had been fixed into the hook of a pulley system and then pulled upwards until tight. Taught. Forcing Petra to sit on the stool bolt upright. Her neck stretched, still inside its organic-like, tight fitting neck corset. Shoulders back, and D cup, shrink wrapped breasts forced to thrust out in front of her. As though in themselves, begging for attention.

A bizarre sight. Even in such a gratuitously fucked-up position, an inner beauty, an inner radiance still exuded from the depleted, almost insane woman. She still wore the transparent latex under-suit. She still wore the all in one shiny black latex catsuit too. And still, her grotesquely enlarged, engorged nipples protruded, exposed.  And her clitoris, and labia, also exposed and in hard pressing contact with the wood of the stool.  The attached hood allowing her full, always deep red lips to protrude. Mostly trembling, deliciously so. The eyes, rimmed with distorting latex rims, bulging, open wide staring, stark.  On this occasion, her eyes partly inhibited by the films of latex secured via the velcro sealing point above, below and to either side of each eye.  Limited vision was better, marginally than if a completed blindfold were fitted. Her nose, invisible except for the two tiny holes in the rubber hood. Nostrils held open by little inserted nipples.  And then there was the two feeding tubes...redundant for this particular episode in Petra’s life, just dangling loosely, one from each nostril, the end of each resting on her permanently pouting top lip.

The sight of Petra was bizarre. Shocking even. But she was even more accentuated, even more enhanced in the dimly lit gloom, and starkness of the bare room.  The thick, firm latex neck corset-come-brace making it look all the more harsh. Just the stool she was ‘rested’ on.  A table a little way in front of her and a chair behind that table for Sabirah. Sometimes Sabirah sat, other times she stood and circled the girl. In sight. Out of sight. Round and back in front of her. She spent a lot of time studying Petra. Enjoying the sight of this former carefree woman now experiencing the kind of Hell that cannot even be imagined in someone’s worse nightmares.

“Y-yesssss, y-yesssss w-we a-agree.”

Petra’s full lips barely moved as she acknowledged that any form of rehabilitation was out of the question for her.  It was strange to hear such a well educated woman, so very used to speaking clearly and distinctly to other people on all levels, reduced to practically a dribbling, drooling ‘hiss’ like whispering.  Her tongue slipped out and swiped across the width of her mouth as another of those constant, deep throbs washed through the deeper of her intimacies.

“Good Girl.  So we have to decide a way ahead..”

The 49 year old clinical psychologist had got off her chair and was pacing the room side to side in full, if a little restricted view of Petra.  The clip-clop of her high heels on the bare tiled floor, created quite a sharp, distinct sound that cut through the hissing of breath through Petra’s nasal cavities.

“Actually letting you go... back into the ‘normal’ world is really not an option. I couldn’t do that. You need to understand that?”

Sabirah waited for an acknowledgment

“Y-yessss yes I understand...”

“Good Girl... So, I have to think of how best to use this situation. This predicament that we have here now.  I think... well, I know that we can come up with something that suits both myself, and you. How would you like that Petra?”

Again, Sabirah spoke slowly, very clearly so that she could be sure it was all sinking in to the mind in turmoil that was Petra’s.

“Mmmmmm y-yesss yesssss please.”

Sabirah liked the tones of gratitude that came from Petra quite regularly these days.

“Ok... well... You are already out of the circulation of the ‘normal’ population. And out of the minds of the people you used to be associated with.  I see no reason to change that. Indeed, I doubt that any of the people in your other life, before your ‘problems’ became evident would want to be associated with you now... what do you think? Do you think I am right Petra? Hmmmmm?”

A deep intake of breath by Petra, then a blow out of her famously gorgeous lips as she exhaled.

“Y-yessssss, y-yes y-you are right.  T-they wouldn’t want to know me.... t-they would be disgusted with me... totally...Y-you always know what is best for me.... y-you always know...”

There was just a desolate, acceptance and defeat in her voice. It dripped with melancholy and was followed by another hiss through her nostrils as the throbs continued from the base of her nipples and clitoris.

“That’s right Petra. I do know what’s best for you. I know all to well.  Sooooo... I suggest instead of trying to rehabilitating you, back into ‘normal’ society, with ‘normal’ people... we go in the other direction.... Instead of trying to ‘fix’ this sexual ‘illness’ you have... Instead of trying to ‘repair’ you... we ‘accept’ that you will never be the same again and that we simply make ‘use’ of you.... and your ‘illness’.... take you to a different level. Focus entirely on your ‘twisted’ ‘perverted’ ‘sexuality’.  Really, let you exist for no other reason...”

Sabirah deliberately emphasizing certain words so the helplessness, and enormity of Petra’s situation is highlighted. Petra sitting, secured painfully, listening, letting every word sink in. Every word resting on her psyche.  Always deliberately kept just on the side of sane so that she can understand everything that is happening. Everything that is happening to her and everything that is being explained to her. Would this mean she would get more pleasure.... more orgasms? Those fucking beautiful, nerve shattering orgasms? Would all she have to think about was those throbbings.... and those orgasms....?

“W-what about.... m-my d-daughter... Stefani...?”

Her question was kind of open ended. Another bolt of guilt had reminded her of her daughter. Oh god, yes her daughter!

“Well... if you agree that this is the way ahead... I see no reason why yourself and Stefani cannot be reunited at some point. Of course... she has issues as well. Very similar to yours so, our agreement must encompass Stefani as well. But most definitely I see you both being reunited some time in the future. In one form or another.”

For the first time in a long long time, the hint of a smile across Petra’s full, luscious lips, despite her bondage.  A shaky, non-confident smile, but a smile none-the-less as once again motherly love shone through. Sabirah saw no point in continuing with the “Sexual Offender SO-401’ tag and premise any longer. That had served its purpose. Events were moving on. Although, Sabirah wouldn’t allow the grip of guilt and shame to diminish or lessen. A major part of Sabirah’s sadistic makeup, was the psychological torture, linked with the physical.

“Well Petra... good... good girl. I take it from that smile that you approve of this direction?”

“Y-yessss yesssss... t-thank y-you so much... yesssssss.”

Genuine gratitude. Genuine humbleness that Sabirah liked. Liked a lot.

“Well.. thats good Petra, truly it is.  I have to say though that this other ‘direction’ would not be acceptable in the ‘normal’ world.  I mean, you are not ‘normal’ are you? But, more than that... your illness and... ‘sexual greed, and need’ would not be acceptable in the normal world either.  This other ‘direction’ we are going to travel in, involves you ‘suffering’ as well as some gratification of your sexuality.  The thing is that.... the ‘suffering’ you will experience wouldn’t be acceptable in the normal world either.  I mean.... you do agree, and accept that you deserve to ‘suffer’ don’t you Petra?”

Again the slow almost monotonous tone as Sabirah spelt out Petra’s future with well chosen, not too detailed words.  Petra’s tongue sliding across her lower lip as another throb tingles the inner depths of her clitoris.

“Y-yessss yes I s-should suffer... it’s only right that I suffer... y-you know w-what best for me yesssssss.”

Sabirah smiles right into Petra’s eyes. A wide, beaming smile. At the same time she just reaches forward, and caresses around the underside of Petra’s latexed, right breast. Ever so softly. Just gently denting the latex skin. Letting Petra feel a tenderness there.

“Yes Petra, yes I do know what is best for you. I always will.  But... we have to decide how best to take yourself, and Stefani out of permanent circulation. I mean, all officially of course.”

Sabirah lets the words sink in slowly as she returns to her table to a folder and removes two documents from it. Checks over the contents carefully before moving back towards and directly in front of Petra. She holds up the two pieces of A4 paper on a landscape format. Only one is visible since the other is behind it. Sabirah holds them up at eye level, about two feet or so from Petra’s eyes. She knows her eyesight is limited. She knows also that she will be able to make out the two words in an antique scroll font. In a kind of semi arch across the width of the page.

“DEATH CERTIFICATE”

It takes a couple of seconds for it to sink in. In that time Sabirah has slid the other document from behind the first.  That one also reads

“DEATH CERTIFICATE”

Petra hears herself suck in breath and whimper before Sabirah does. All the psychologist sees are Petra’s gorgeous lips parting. Words forming but not coming out. At least not in any audible form.  Not straight away anyway.  Then just a solitary word, muttered over and over and over.

“No... no... no... no... no... no... no... no... no...”

Sabirah moving in closer so the second line can be read. The second line in a straight type. Easier to read and yet a smaller font in bold letters. Under the words Death Certificate, on one document

Petra Harding

On the other document

Stefani Harding

The same word coming out of Petra’s hyperventilating mouth time after time after time

“No... no... no... no... no... no... no... no... no...”

Until Sabirah’s voice cuts through the monotony.

“Yes Petra. Yes... both yours and Stefani’s Death Certificates. They state ‘accidental death’ as the cause of death.  Once these have been issued, both you and Stefani will cease to exist.  Both of you will be nothing.  Any trace of you wiped out.  The story that accompanies these death certificates, is that you were both wiped out, in a car accident whilst traveling around South America.  Both bodies so badly burned so as to be unrecognizable. And yet the remains positively identified as those of yourself and Stefani via dental records.  Such a shame too. After being released from my care, you had apparently decided to travel with your daughter and it came to this awful.... horrible end...but not the end at all.... rather the beginning...”

Sabirah’s voice held the same tone throughout.. Every angle covered. Every eventuality allowed for. If Petra could have rocked in her horror on the stool she would have. The bondage didn’t allow for that though.  At least not without snapping her back into position courtesy of the bungee cords. Her lips still make the ‘no.. no..’ shapes but no sound coming out.

“On the plus side Petra... with the two of you officially ‘dead’... then absolutely any direction can be taken with you both.  What I mean to say is... that you agree you deserve to ‘suffer’... and so, well there will be no amount of suffering that can be out of bounds, or not acceptable because quite simply.... yourself and Stefani are non-entities. Non-entities without rights. Nothings that can be taken down so many roads of suffering.  I mean... you do still agree that you deserve to suffer don’t you?”

Sabirah returning the certificates to the folder as she speaks.  Allowing the little pause for Petra to gather what little thoughts she is capable of.

“Y-yesss yes... I need to suffer. Deserve to suffer... yessssss.”

Music to Sabirah’s ears. A sadist of the advanced, complex variety. Not a lover of senseless beatings. Rather a molester of the mind, and a controller of the body with some hideously imaginative tortures thrown in for good measure.

“Gooood Girl... and so... this is the road we must travel...”

Petra still trying to come to terms with what was being said. That neither her nor Stefani would exist any more.  No-one to say what was happening to her was wrong... or indeed right. Another soul drenching whimper and a sob.  Another nerve end tingling throb through the bases of her nipples and clitoris.  That was it, the focus on her sexuality. Her illness. Instead of trying to fight it. Harness it. Use it to its best advantages.  More and more convinced that Sabirah’s way was the right way.

“I’ll put this into motion immediately... and well, who knows maybe I can arrange  a suitably moving joint funeral for both you and Stefani...just to make it absolutely convincing to the outside world.”

Sabirah lets a little gurgle of laughter escape her throat as she reaches out and traces Petra’s both lips with her index finger. Lovely succulent soft lip flesh. And then down glancing over her nipple tips. First one then the other.  All at once the immediate hyper-intense orgasm rushing through Petra, making her rock this time... rock and then snap back into place thanks to the bungee cords.

“MMMMMMNNNNNGGNNNNNNGNGNNGNGNNNGN

MMMMMMNNNNNGGNNNNNNGNGNNGNGNNNGN

MMMMMMNNNNNGGNNNNNNGNGNNGNGNNNGN

MMMMMMNNNNNGGNNNNNNGNGNNGNGNNNGN

MMMMMMNNNNNGGNNNNNNGNGNNGNGNNNGN

MMMMMMNNNNNGGNNNNNNGNGNNGNGNNNGN.”

Wave after wave of intense, juice squirting orgasm, her lips in an extended pout as she sounds off her pleasure.  And then down again. Down and down into that paralyzing guilt and shame. Panting. Puffing blowing out her lips. Breathing deeply, latex enhanced breasts heaving and expanding with her breaths, falling as she exhales.

“B-but... Stefani... s-she w-wont suffer to... will she... just me... j-just me yes?”

Petra’s question, even in its tone alone, held only the most distant hope that her daughter would not suffer as well.  The demenour of her mouth, lipglossed, but sullen, all but said that any such hope was slim to say the least. Even that slim hope disappeared with Sabirah’s considered reply.

“Ohhhh well Petra... I’m afraid on this road... on this little journey we are going to go on together, Stefani will suffer as well. Its just a simple fact that she is not really any different to you... not simply just in looks, but also this ‘affliction’ you have. This illness that you have seemingly passed on to her.  There is no real other option for Stefani either. She must suffer also. I mean... that she must suffer dreadfully... the same as you will.”

Tears pour out of Petra eyes steaming up the inside of the latex covering the eye holes in the hood. She sobs in an almost grieving way. Even as she feels Sabirah’s fingers walking between her legs, feeling her distended, obscene labia before sliding up through her own slippery slime oozing from her sexuality, and up towards her clitoris where a single finger tip dances then presses onto the very tip making her orgasm again.  Even more intense than the last. The waves longer, deeper more hyper-intense making her quiver. Making her cunt squirt.

“MMMMMMNNNNNGGNNNNNNGNGNNGNGNNNGN

MMMMMMNNNNNGGNNNNNNGNGNNGNGNNNGN

MMMMMMNNNNNGGNNNNNNGNGNNGNGNNNGN

MMMMMMNNNNNGGNNNNNNGNGNNGNGNNNGN

MMMMMMNNNNNGGNNNNNNGNGNNGNGNNNGN.”

Sabirah’s voice caressing her mind also.

“But I figured with your new focus. Your new priorities, that, well, you wouldn’t be too bothered about Stefani suffering a little... was I right to figure that Petra, hmmmmm?”

Sabirah’s fingers dancing and playing the clitoris keeping Petra in fully hyper-intense orgasmic state, answering between clenched teeth

“Mmmmmm y-yessssss yes you were right of course..... mmmmmmm Stefani can suffer to yesssssss yesssssss....”

And the fingers ‘gone’ from the clitoris. the orgasm immediately and quickly subsiding to be replaced by that all consuming guilt. This time a deeper guilt at the apparent betrayal by herself of her only daughter.”

“Goooooood girlllllllllll.”

Petra’s heart rending sobs. Heaving. Quivering as she is held on the stool. Sabirah’s voice fading as she leaves the room. Leaves Petra wallowing in her guilt, and swimming in her own juices.

“Good Girl........”

_________________________________

THREE - Stefani.

Unlike Petra, Stefani was kind of born with a silver spoon in her mouth.  She had everything from conception on. She had the best of everything and wanted for nothing. Sabirah hadn’t really figured Petra’s daughter into the equation, other than as a casual tool to inflict more suffering on mommy.  Hormonally charged mini-adults weren’t normally the Doctor’s thing. That is, she hadn’t figured Stefani into the equation, until she had seen her. During her pre-checks and research on Petra, Sabirah had started to take more interest in Stefani. She looked delicious.  A little younger than one of her normal projects. But still everything to lose. Everything to take away. Stefani grew on Sabirah even though Petra was more established, more complete, and with so much more to lose. So much more to have taken away. Much much more essence to demolish. Much more for a sadist to feed on. And yet there was Stefani, very much a part of that feed.

Selecting Selena to ‘meet and greet’ the delicious college girl was the right decision. Selena was a woman with issues who wasn’t swayed by tears, or emotion. Stefani had to be taken out quickly and precisely. Sabirah knew that Selena was the one.  She knew also that Selena’s favored method was the hairdryer-shrink wrapped latex bag over the head and face.  She knew Stefani wouldn’t provide much trouble after that.  Indeed, wouldn’t provide any trouble at all.  She knew that by the time the girl had been transported to the clinic, she would already be in a subdued state of decline.

Transported in a latex body bag, with just a breathing tube clung perilously between quivering, frightened lips. Her mind in a complete whirl. Complete utter confusion. Disorientation. Turmoil. Still reeling from the enforced orgasm that Selena had so casually, easily enforced on her.  G Spot found, caressed, teased... and clitoris rubbed... gently rubbed and tapped and her struggle to breath through the latex gash in her mouth.  A shuddering, intense orgasm that had weakened her resolve more than a little.

In one way, Petra was lucky. I guess it depended which way one looked at it. She was taken out of the normal world slowly. Gradually. Broken down bit by bit... thus adapting bit by bit. Mind adapting, body adapting slowly... readjusting to her new surroundings. New environment. Her diminishing control ever diminishing.  Of course that was only one way of looking at it. The ultimate cruelty was undeniable, regardless of how quickly, or slowly it was applied.

Stefani didn’t have the ‘luxury’ of a slow, timed decline into Sabirah’s world. Hers was practically instant. It’s funny how the human mind, and body ‘knows’ that cataclysmic change is about to occur.  The basest survival instincts kick in. Even the most privileged person will dig deep, mentally and physically in order to survive. Stefani’s basest instinct had kicked in just seconds after that latex bag had been pulled over her head. At about the time when the hairdryer’s hot air had been directed at the hood, at her face.  When she felt  the latex tightening around her features. When she knew she couldn’t breath any more. When, eventually she was allowed to breath she had been so grateful... that she just didn’t want to die and would do anything she could in order to stay alive.  THAT, probably was the only flaw in base human nature. The willingness to sink to any level in order to survive. Had she known what was in store for her, maybe death at the hands of Selena would have been the better option. Well, most certainly it would have been better.

_____________________________________

Stefani had been taken straight down to the sub-sub levels of the clinic. No front steps meeting for her. There was no point. Stefani already knew she was in deep deep shit. It was pointless to tramp her through all the shallow stuff first. The van was taken around to the rear of the building and Stefani had been taken out and loaded into an external lift that only went in one direction. Down.

At about the time when her mother, Petra was a little way through her initial isolation period, Stefani was being secured to a rig several levels below her.  Not a gentle rig like mom would be secured to during the next phase of her breaking.  Stefani’s rig was stark, simple.  A single legged rig secured to a floor that sloped gently inwards from all four sides.  On top of that single, adjustable height leg was a platform, deeply padded with leather. It would be wrong to call this platform a bench. It was to short for that. Much too short for an average human length, although wide enough.

Stefani had been secured to this bench on her back. Her arms, and legs remained secured and doubled up.  The kind of semi-amputated bondage she had been placed in for the journey from home to ‘home’.  Her legs overshot the end of the bench such was its short length. As did her head at the other end. Broad, supple yet strong latex straps held her to the rig. One across her waist, the other across her shoulder just above her breasts. Very tight, very secure and with the height of the platform up to about the waist of an averaged height human being.

Her long, doubled up legs had also been spread wide. Extremely wide.... a bar-stop placed between her knees to stop them closing. Her knees then forced pointing down and secured to the floor with bungee cord. Her arms, forced out at right angles to her torso, and then forced down as far as they could physically go and secured again with the much favored bungee cord. This bungee cord was a very effective very deceptive, and yet simple piece of equipment. Depending on the grade and elasticity used, it afforded ‘some’ movement. But not a permanent movement. Or movement that allowed any ‘relief’.  The secured person could strain to move... but it require a lot of effort. At the end of that effort, once the effort had been released, the limbs were sprung back to the original position.

“TWANG!”

In Stefani’s case, the discomfort and effort was several fold since her arms and legs were doubled. Wrists secured to upper arms. Ankles to upper thighs. This was the kind of debilitating bondage that Stefani would have to get used to on a long term basis. She was arched... terribly arched backwards with only a certain proportion of her supported by the padded platform. The intention was to cause untold agonies, and it did. But the bondage held a bonus, a visual bonus in that Stefani resembled a work of art in that setting. A dark work of art but a work of art no less.

At the time when her mother, could have still, theoretically bailed out of the ‘volunteer’ program, Stefani’s fate had been sealed. On that rig, latex bag now cut from her head and face, the laser beams did their work on the sixteen year old.  They worked her slit first. Enlarging, fattening the labia. Both sides. Up then down. Continuously. Single beams working the entire length of her slit. Not slowly. Not a gradual treatment. A more swift, affair. Measured in relatively short hours.  She would have been aware of the change after minutes. And the throb shortly after that. Then the work of the lasers would have been continuous, unrelenting. Sensitizing the flesh, fattening it, enlarging it. The drip drip of produced juices beginning very quickly, and also unrelenting.

Stefani could do nothing except look up... at the darkness. Such was the lighting in these rooms, the ceiling was not visible in the gloom. She remained spotlighted, but seeing beyond that shroud of light was all but impossible.  Her sex twitched as she felt the first changes down there.  Her lips peeled apart and she moaned slightly as her labia swelled then rolled out.

“UHHHHHHHHHHHHH OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

As those particular beams did their work, so other beams relieved the girl of her fluffy downy coating of hair down there.  The hair visibly shriveled on a strand by strand basis, eventually leaving her smooth, hair free. That hair wouldn’t return, such was the finality of this particular laser treatment.  The slight redness from the hair removal would fade, leaving just smooth, glistening soft feminine flesh. Fresh juicy flesh.

Once the labia had been enlarged, worked and peeled back a further beam had been introduced in order to locate, then peel the clitoris from its hood.  Working it, unpeeling it and then enlarging it. Fattening it. Increasing its diameter... turning it into that wet quivering, hypersensitive organ. Not caressing the tip of the clitoris, just the base and the sides... leaving the very tip... the orgasm producing tip alone.... denying any much needed, much craved orgasm. It was during this part of the process that the slow, addictive madness would have begun to break her down proper.  In just a few hours Stefani was reduced to a mumbling, dripping thing with deep deep throbs, maddeningly originating from somewhere deep inside her most private, intimate areas.  Such was the speed of this state reached, Stefani’s resolve and fight wasn’t quite so diminished.

“UUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGG LET ME GO.... YOU FUCKING ANIMALS....”

Sabirah had smiled to herself at that outburst.  And had continued to smile as she had entered the room, and reached between the girl legs. Feeling the wetness. The slickness. The slipperiness. Then just gripping the enlarged, engorged clitoris between latexed thumb and forefinger and just ‘tugging’ very gently making Stefani gasp, and suck in air. Then the same finger and thumb tapping on the tip of the clitoris. The very tip. The epicenter of the swollen dripping hyper-organ bringing her to a massive, nerve tingling orgasm.

“UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHSHITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

GGGGGGGGGNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

GGGGGGGGNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

MMMMMMMMNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG.”

Sabirah flicking the clitoris tip time after time. In perfect unison with the waves of cum. Stefani’s eyes rolling up into their sockets as her young relatively adolescent mind tried to absorb these intense, pure, undiluted waves of pleasure that were being given to her. Then nothing... as Sabirah takes away her fingers leaving the girl panting, heaving. Her chest rising and falling as she remained secured, arched back over the padded rig.

“I DONT WANT TO HEAR LANGUAGE LIKE THAT STEFANI... DO YOU UNDERSTAND? BAD LANGUAGE LIKE THAT UPSETS ME.  I DONT LIKE BEING UPSET STEFANI DO YOU UNDERSTAND?  I’VE JUST BEEN VERY NICE TO YOU.. GIVING YOU PLEASURE... YOU SHOULD BE GRATEFUL FOR THAT... YOU DONT WANT ME TO BE UNKIND TO YOU.... DO YOU?....”

Stefani’s mind still in a deep deep turmoil at the orgasm. Understanding fully the pure pleasure of the orgasm despite the agonies of the bondage.

“MMMMM YESSSSSS I’M SORRY.... S-S-S-SORRYYYYYYYY.”

A genuine remorse in her tone. Sabirah liked that.

“GOOD GIRL.”

Somewhere else in the building, several floor above, Petra’s psyche was just beginning to be massaged and cajoled by the isolation. And the relieving of her personal effects, and over clothes.  At about the time when Petra was pacing the floor, in just her heels, and hose... her daughter, way below her was howling, and panting her way through the first Sabirah induced orgasm.  Very different timelines for mother and daughter. Both blissfully unaware that each other existed in such close proximity to each other at that point. Both blissfully unaware of what the future really, truly held for them.

Sabirah’s receding high heels. Then nothing. Stillness. Quiet. Just Stefani’s own panting, and groans to keep her company as the change in her continued and moved forward.

________________________________________

FOUR - Petra.

I guess, to fully appreciate where Petra was going, one would need to know something about where she had been. Where she came from. What she had achieved. What she had in life before meeting Sabirah. What she didn’t have. What she earned. What she was, what she became used to and what, exactly she had to lose.

There were almost certainly a few very early markers placed, which would later in life, lead Petra in a certain direction. She wasn’t born with a silver spoon in her mouth like her daughter. Far from it. She was the fifth (of six) daughter of Irish immigrants who moved to the British mainland during the early seventies. A hint there as to the origin of her flame red hair. Irish to the core. Her father worked in construction. Her mother, not a very nice piece of work at all, didn’t do very much... except encourage her offspring to use their bodies in order to earn money.  Petra didn’t suffer that particular fate. She had ‘escaped’ before she could be put ‘on the game’. Perhaps fate knew all to well that there was a very different future in store for her.

But before that, way before that she had been bullied on a constant basis by her older sisters for being the ‘prettiest one’. She was always the taller, leggier one. And unlike her older siblings, had stunning looks that just blossomed and blossomed with every year of age she gained. She, quite innocently, brought out jealousies of immense proportions from her own sisters. Often the jealousy was masked. Made to look like something else.  Such as the ‘help’ Petra received in dressing up. Introduction to intimate wear usually worn by adults. Stockings. Figure hugging corsets. High heels.  And the use of makeup.  Of course Petra loved all this. What teenager doesn’t love to dress up like her older sisters?  The intention of the elder two sisters all the time to make her look like a slut. It worked. it worked every time.

The later losing of her virginity, courtesy of one of her sisters boyfriends wasn’t a particularly pleasant affair.  Her sister, casually smoking a cigarette as her boyfriend cajoled Petra into the doggy position for the fullest of penetration. Then afterwards sliding his cock into her mouth for her to clean off for him. She would always remember that taste.  Always remember the sensation of the thick shaft of cock reaming her mouth open, and the foreskin peeling back to release trapped semen and her own juices into her mouth. And of that sliding, slippery swallow of those juices, and thick semen down her throat.  An experience that would never ever really leave her.

It never left her to the extent that she ‘liked’ it. She liked it to the extent that she had regular private sessions with her english lecturer, sucking his cock until he came into her mouth and until her knickers were a saturated mess. Little early experiences all working together, coming together to form that advanced sexuality that would later form the basis of her downfall.

Then there was the drunken night, Petra being persuaded, by the same two older sisters, to let them find her ‘mythical’ G spot. Plied with drink first... and then quite casually positioned so the two could slide their fingers into her.  Oh they found her G spot. They found it, and rubbed. Rubbed until she experienced her first orgasm. An intense, wet slippery affair that she would later be made to feel ultra-guilty for.  Another early experience that would stay right with her. That particular orgasm serving again to feed a deep latent sexual need in Petra.... or so it turned out.  So yes... early seeds sewn. An understanding possibly of how, or why Petra in later life would seek to conceal her sexuality. Even more, an understanding of exactly where her self-confessed high sexuality came from.

HOWEVER - She broke away from all that. Like an inner voice, an inner guardian whispering to her to get the fuck out of there. As far away as possible. Still in her teens, she just left home in the clothes she stood in, and all but penniless she made her way to London.

Almost immediately her fortunes changed. She was given a very junior position with the company she was to stay with right throughout. Petra had left school with no qualifications.  Rather she had left even falling short of the basic education. Barely able to read, or write if the truth be known. Exactly how she had managed to secure the position of ‘filing clerk’ is not really clear. What is clear is that the company, or more precisely her boss saw ‘something’ in her and having been given the opportunity she didn’t intend to squander it. This was her new life, her new start.

Petra didn’t rise particularly quickly through the ranks at first, but rise she did. Self learning skills required on the way. Into the typing pool. Then supervising in that same typing pool. Where she had to gain qualifications and certificates on professional levels she did just that. The move away from a dysfunctional, and in some ways abusive home life proved to be just the re-start she needed, and reveled in.

A slight hiccup in her progress then as she became pregnant with Stefani. That was the test. A stupid one-night fling at an office party resulting in her pregnancy.  The company stayed loyal to her. Supported her.  It could be said that it was during her pregnancy and after it that the meteoric rise occurred.  The boss didn’t want to lose her. Did absolutely everything to keep her. I guess he had kind of taken her under his wing.  She worked right up until full term. Took some maternity leave but then returned to work.  The offer of inbuilt child-care... and as much help as she wanted, or needed was snapped up by Petra. She rose further... as far up the administration ladder as it was possible to go. Out of the typing pool and through the ranks of Personal Assistants and Executive Secretaries. All the way up until she became the PA/ES to the company CEO himself. In the City Of London financial district this was no mean feat. Petra had risen against all the odds and she was beginning to get something of a reputation in the City.. It was at this time that the inevitable change in her began.

Petra was never unlikable. Quite to the contrary, she was infectious. It was just that as she became seen as ‘spoilt’ by some in the company, so attitudes changed towards her. But she was, really, quite untouchable... such had been her rise. Probably due to these attitude changes, she herself fended off this by becoming more aloof. More abrupt in her manner and personality. Apparent arrogance... even an alarming way of dismissing people she no longer wanted to speak to, or work with.  Part of the problem due to her inexperience at dealing with situations she found herself in.

The added issues for Petra, were her stunning, to-die-for looks. Men flocked around her in droves. Women, although smiling to her face, seethed between gritted teeth. Jealousy leaking from every pore.  In many ways a return to the jealousies she had suffered at home. Although now, unlike then, she was aware of it. And dealt with it in the only ways she really knew how. Any human being puts up defenses, and guards that are often misconceived by others. Far from becoming less aloof, less arrogant... the sometimes masked hostility she came across, fed the aloofness and the arrogance more and more.  She knew she hadn’t been born with a silver spoon in her mouth so...she had worked hard to get where she was... so why should she kowtow to the jealousies?  ‘Fuck Them All’... was a favored saying of Petra.  The word ‘fuck’ literally dripping from a lipstick enhanced snarl.

Basically, Petra’s like-ability had become limited by default.  At the time she met Dr Sabirah Najwa, she had everything. She had risen above all the obstacles. She was enjoying this life she had. She was content... one million percent with her life.  She was enjoying working and socializing in the highest of circles. She enjoyed a massive salary, very little of which she used or spent since her country house had been bought and paid for by massive bonuses that the company earned and of which she enjoyed a huge share.  She had exclusive use of a city penthouse during her time in London and Stefani had been enjoying the best in private education. Petra wanted for nothing.  She was the complete, content woman. Against all the odds. And she was enjoying it. Enjoying it to the fullest and by the time her future was being mapped out, somewhat out of her control, she didn’t give a flying fuck who was upset by her success, her position or her looks. In a way she was sticking a middle finger up to the lot of them. And, whoever chose to swivel on that middle finger, could do just that.

Maybe it was fate then that... a diabolical fate that brought Petra to the attentions of Dr Sabirah Najwa. Who knows?

________________________________

FIVE - Petra.

Petra had sobbed a lot over this recent time, and during this ‘change’ in her lifestyle. It had been a very natural, a very understandable reaction to her changing fortunes, and increased anxiety levels.  But this latest sobbing was different. Very different.  It was a pitiful, continuous sob that dripped into the heaviness of the dead, still air in this particular room. It wasn’t a loud sob. Or an ear piercing, screaming sob. Rather, it was a low sob, that originated in the very pit of her stomach and rose in gurgling sounds up through her throat and then just poured from between slightly parted, quivering, deep red lips and drenched into the dead, quiet, still air around her, thickening the atmosphere somewhat.

The change in sob could be explained with ease.  She was naked except for a pair of tightly laced, knee length ballet boots that forced her onto her very tip toes.  Part of the change could have been put down to those boots. Definitely a step up from the comparatively ‘normal’ six inched stilettos she had been wearing.  But no... the heart wrenching sob was because she had been taken out of what had become a comfort zone of double layered latex cat-suits. To be replaced only with the ballet boots.  Nothing else. Over this recent time, her time with Dr Sabirah Najwa, she had come to find comfort inside the latex. The only comfort she had found in a rapidly diminishing world that was fading to grey around her. The latex caressed her. Soothed her. Kept her warm almost like a womb. Those horrible bits, her teat like nipples, her labia and her god-forsaken clitoris had been kept out. Those were her bad bits. The good bits had been kept inside. Shrink wrapped tightly.  She had come to like the latex. She had come to need it. Need it badly.  Much like a junkie needs a fix from time to time.

Sabirah had said she would suffer.  And suffering she was.  Without the latex she was in a deep, deep pit of despair. Quite a heart wrenching sight. A woman in latex withdrawal. Any onlooker would be able to ‘feel’ that withdrawal, that insipid desperation and every pang of the withdrawal with every sucked in breath that Petra took.  There weren’t any onlookers though.  At the moment, just Petra, all alone with her muddled, confused, tortured thoughts.

Yes, naked except for the feet distorting ballet boots. But apart from that... the bondage. Yes the bondage. It was ok to use the word ‘bondage’ now. Because Petra had been moved on. Moved down several layers to where it was a single, simple focus on her depravity. Not fixing her. Not repairing her. Just focussing on her ‘illness’. Her ‘condition’. It was fine to use that word now - bondage. Almost an obscene depravity in itself. Bondage!

She was standing on her tip toes and had been bent forward at the waist so that her torso was at an almost exact right angle to her vertical, beautifully elongated legs. Just the slightest dip in her back. A dip then the slight rise back to her ass which thrust backwards. Pressed into her stomach, across her lower stomach and hips was a bare metal bar. This ensured the right angle was maintained. Quite bizarrely Sabirah had removed Petra’s hood and insisted that she renew her makeup, perfectly before continuing.  So despite the tell tale shadows of distress surrounding her huge eyes, Petra’s face was fully made up, quite exotically, quite perfectly so that her journey into the deeper reaches of despair could continue. Renewed, re-enhanced lips served only to highlight her plight since the quivering, trembling lip-flesh simply glistened every time a dripped sob emerged.

Petra’s arms had been pulled out. Outstretched from her sides. Pulled up level, outstretched, then stretched just a little more. Each secured in the leveled position via heavy, elasticized bungee cords to eyes in opposite walls of this room. Oh... I guess there would be ‘some’ movement. Some play in these cords. But very minimal. Very hard to achieve. And if movement was achieved, it would be almost instantaneously followed by that severe ‘snap’ back into the original position.

In this position, her heavy, mature D cup breasts hung, and swung under her. The full weight of her breasts pressing down behind her huge, teats of nipples adding another dimension to the permanently instilled throbs that pulsed from deep inside the nipple bases.

Her feet, and legs were secured together with latex strapping above the knees and at her ankles. The strapping holding her long, long legs together was very tight, and not yielding in any way. The broad strap above her knees pressed into her bare flesh, making the flesh itself bulge and ripple over slightly, above and below the strap.  The strap around her booted ankles, likewise very tight and in no way yielding to even the slightest muscle twitch.  Such muscle twitches made even more difficult, almost impossible actually, because further strapping attached to the ankle straps, secured Petra to the floor, both in front of her feet and behind her heels. The severe arch forced by the ballet boots was palpable to see. Enhanced agony!

Petra’s weight concentrated on those very tips of her toes.  And yet made absolutely more excruciating by the right angle of her torso. And the weight of her breasts under her.  And yet, another distortion to make her time in this room even less bearable... if that were possible.  Her hair. Her long, delicious flame red hair, super-braided into bungee cord, and once again pulled above her and back. High and tight, making another right angle, this time of her neck and head, forcing her to look directly ahead of her. Making the sinews in her throat taught and strain. Making the musculature in her perfectly made up face, distort and twitch.

In the dim, yet spotlighted atmosphere of the room, shadows were thrown across her face that seemed to enhance her distress.  Eyes super wide. Bulging.  Every so often, dribbles of drool escaping her deliciously full lips, running over her lower jaw, and stretching to the floor under her.  Such was the rigidity of the hair bungee cord... and Petra’s remaining strength, it was doubtful that any movement was possible in her head without a hugely concerted effort.  Even in a moment of absolute anguish, such as intense pain, the slightest movement would only be followed by that ‘snap’ back into position.

SNAP !!!

Given the reason for Petra being in this room, it would be understandable if she were effectively gagged.  This was not the case though.  This room was in the sub-sub bowels of the building. Even more secluded and deeper than the secure unit in which she had been housed previously. The room was completely sound proofed. Nothing leaking out. Nothing leaking in. In effect it was a gateway to Hell. Or a place deeper than Hell. And such was Sabirah’s sadism... she didn’t want to prevent her ‘special one’ from screaming. Far from that. She wanted to hear every gurgling, drooling, dribbling nuance of distress that she caused through the stunningly gorgeous mouth of Petra.

_________________________________

For the moment, Petra was alone. And it was relatively quiet except for the constant, pitiful sobbing.  With her legs secured together, her perma swollen labia, and grotesquely enlarged clitoris, quivering and dripping were exposed and thrust back between her rounded cheeks and her upper thighs. Both labia and clitoris visibly quivered and were thickly coated in juices that constantly, dripped...non-stop. Petra produced the juices, in waves almost in unison to those throbs. It wasn’t something she couldn’t get away from. Those throbs were part of her now. Just like the perma leaking, thick slippery juices.

For the first time, attention had been given to Petra’s rectum.  A thick, bulbous ended rubber appendage had been lubricated and then slipped into her. Yes... oh yes she had screamed when that bulbous end had slipped past her sphincter. The volume and pitch of the scream had been an eye-opener even for Sabirah. That scream had faded into heaving grunts as the appendage had been pushed all the way in, until the only thing that stopped it was Petra’s colon.  The pure girth of the thing’s shaft, and the hugeness of the bulbous end was really sufficient to ensure that Petra couldn’t expel it.  But added security were the two straps around the very upper parts of her thighs. Tight, non-elastic straps that simply clipped to two metal eyes at the appendage’s base holding it firmly, fully embedded inside her.

The inclusion of this invasion to Petra’s privacy saw her anal ring stretch and cling, and chew the huge rubber thing inside her. This whole thing was bad enough, but not the whole story. A compressed airline had been pulled down from the ceiling of the room and screwed into a nipple in the base of the rubber thing. A simple controller regulated the amount of air, and the amount of expansion of the bulb and shaft inside Petra.  A simple squeeze and the scream was instantaneous and earsplitting.  The scream was her only outlet. She couldn’t move in order to express her pain, and horror. All she could do was scream as the thing inside her back passage was inflated, a little at a time. Little small increments, renewing the spasms that tightened her musculature around the appendage.

“EEEEEEAAAAAAAGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDD.”

Tears squirting from her eyes. Face twisted. Eyes bulging. Between the little increments of inflation, Sabirah’s cool, calming voice.

“Ssssshhhh sssshhhhhhh honey this is just preparation. Preparation for some real suffering. Just a few more squeezes.. just a little bigger inside you and we’ll be all done for now. But do me a favor honey.... when you feel the pain again.. when you feel the thing inside you getting bigger, just push back with your bottom. Push your hole back from the inside... and out... ok honey can you do that for me... hmmmmmmmm?”

Sabirah bending forward a little, her ear right to Petra’s trembling mouth. Waiting for acknowledgment. Waiting for an understanding of what she had to do.

“Y-yesssssssssss... yessssssssssssssss.”

A thicker, elasticized ribbon of drool dripping to the floor under Petra’s face as she expelled the word twice. Eyes almost bursting.  Then that searing, deep, intimate pain again as the sound of compressed air being released into the appendage was heard.  Another deep, soul searching scream. A gritting of her teeth as the thing expanded inside her again. This time, through the scream and gritted teeth, she pushed back against the expansion... pushing her hole out, leaving the stretched rim of her anus exposed... and visibly twitching, visibly chewing the huge, expanded rubber shaft inside her.  Deep inside the bulbous end had stretched her insides even more. Pressing into her colon, causing a deeper even more intimate despair than she had suffered so far.

Sabirah knew... knew through vast experience how much she could inflate the appendage without causing a death resulting internal injury.  And it was purposely just short of this limit that she stopped. Then stood back to admire her handy work.  Deliciously obscene. A work of prepatory art.  She waited for Petra’s screaming to subside. Waited for her to adapt to the addition inside her. Waited and watched Petra’s intimacies in all their grotesque glory. In all their dripping, quivering wetness before moving round and talking to her.

“There... all set. I’m going to leave you for a little while now. You need to settle... get used to this room... the bondage. You ought to be more than a little concerned at what is going to happen to you in here. I said you would suffer. That was an understatement. The idea is that by the time I return, you will be a broken, nervous wreck... completely... before I actually begin work on you.”

Sabirah’s tone, the words she chose all deliberate. Very deliberate. She disconnected the air line, letting it recede back up into the blackness in the room beyond the spotlight. It was the pure, undiluted sadist inside Sabirah that made the taunting, and the psychological torture of Petra such an intrinsic part of the process.  Petra could only whimper, and suck in air between gritted teeth as Sabirah left the room and as the spasms in her anal muscles became less and less as her rectum adapted to its new occupant. Again she was left with her thoughts. And her increasingly intense fears.

____________________________________

This room, like most rooms in Sabirah’s establishment had hidden treasures. Hidden technologies.  State-of-the-art devices to help, assist and make easier the total, irreversible breaking of a woman. This particular room housed the laser technology that Petra had unbeknowingly been introduced to during the first part of her ‘volunteering’ stay at Sabirah’s clinic. The same technology that had worked, and rendered her intimacies into the grotesque enlarged ‘organs’ they were today. The same technology that had convinced Petra of her illness. Her condition. The condition, the illness that made her an unfit mother. The same condition, the same illness that was at least partly responsible for her degenerated state of mind.

Specially adapted, specially developed micro-laser beams that remained all but invisible, all but hidden as they did their work.  Their work wasn’t destructive though. Not in the physical sense. Not a tissue destroying beam of light.  Just a molecule adjusting, a nerve-end-enhancing beam of light that renders its target a quivering, exposed mass of intense dripping nerve endings. When directed at sexual organs... the result is cataclysmic as can be seen by the results to Petra, and once again irreversible.  Its not just what the lasers do to the tissue and surrounding areas. But also what results in the mind of the victim.  Those results, in the mind, like the physical ones, are irreversible. Full stop!

This time, three separate beams of light, all micro-directed, and programed to trace and track the very rim of Petra’s rectum.  Already stretched, and pushed out. Nicely exposed for the laser beams to do their job.  They would work and add another source of throbbing to an already insanity-inducing mix.  The difference in this case... it didn’t need to be an ever so slow, creeping change. That particular deception, the one where Petra is made to feel guilty and ill, and the one where she is made to think she has serious sexual issues, where she is made to feel like an unfit mother... a disgusting creature, has been used to full effect. The effects of that treatment would always remain. Both Petra and Stefani are now officially ‘dead’ which means that care in limits and authority involvement doesn’t need to be considered any longer. Just a deep deep focus, to bring Petra, and of course Stefani, to a place where, it was felt, they belonged.

This time the work would be faster, but no less precise and no less exact. The beams would work around the ring piece... altering the flesh’s makeup at molecule level, Swelling the ring, making it very prominent, and raised. The lasers continuing their work deliciously making the ring of her hole part of the hyper-sensitive feeder flesh. Feeding her clitoris with more throbs.  Always distant throbs... but also deep, penetrating throbs right into the base of the clitoris. From the ring, to the clitoris. Like from her nipples to the clitoris. That invisible string working all the time. All the time that invisible tug of her clitoris by the feeder throbs.  Like her labia and her clitoris, her raised hyper sensitive ring would continuously produce thick lubricating juices. Her anus becoming a very major part of her expanding sexuality.

No sooner had Sabirah left the room, sealing Petra inside, than the work on her rectum had begun. She had been aware of ‘something’ happening after only a short while. Less than an hour.  Within two hours she was screaming again.  Yet another pitch of scream previously not heard.  The throb around her stretched ring had already started, and had already linked in and was feeding her clitoris. But also, the ring flesh was rising, reddening and becoming tender, very tender. Even more so as the laser beams gently caressed and cajoled the flesh to rise more and more.

By the time Sabirah returned, Petra was in an advanced, and quite obscene state of distress. She couldn’t move and so her distress was magnified in her eyes. And in her entire quivering self.  The occasional overspill of drool from her lip-sticked mouth had increased to a constant, drool-fall. Her eyes were huge, huge pools of despair as the throb-factor had been increased.  When she screamed, she did it from the pit of her stomach. or more accurately from the pit of her soul.

“AAAHHHHHHHHHGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

She could feel her anus pulsating with each throb. Wet, slippery pulses as her raised distended ring chewed, and sucked at the rubber insert.  Indeed, there were sucking sounds clearly defined in between gut wrenching screams. Her ass was sucking hungrily on the appendage as her ring was being made more and more part of her sexuality.  The sight from behind her, quite an eye opener. Quite a sight indeed.  Her vaginal region, and her extended labia always quivered, always seemed to have a life of their own.  But now this ‘life’ was joined by her anus. It pulsating in and out. In and out and the swollen ring quivered and glistened, thickly coated with its own produce. It was Petra’s musculature pushing her ring out then sucking it back in as the throbs became more and more intense. Her reaction to her own deepening crisis.

_________________________________

Sabirah, in normal, every day mode had the capacity to chill a person to the bone. Just in her ‘ordinariness’.  To beg the question from anyone ‘in the know’... anyone with the slightest bit of knowledge about lesbianism, about fetishism and about sadism... “how could a woman... especially a woman with her professional status, be so out-and-out cruel to another woman?”  It was a fair question.  Anyone non-knowledgeable wouldn’t be able to place Dr Sabirah Najwa in such a place. At least not immediately anyway.  Only after some time in her presence does ‘something’ grate onto the very inner nerve endings... sending that chill deep into the core of the spine.

Sabirah, in her interests, her ‘hobbies’, worked very much on a ‘less is more’ ethic. Her sadism and fetish interests were a way of life for her. But only very occasionally... very rarely does she get into a ‘zone’ where the very core roots... the very base, very origins of cruelty are reached, and massaged.

When Sabirah came back into the room, she wasn’t at all recognizable as Dr Sabirah Najwa.  From head to toe, she was coated... completely coated in supple, tight fitting black leather.  The cat-suit enhanced her in a way that her ‘ordinary’ self could never do. It actually showed, that for a woman of forty nine, she was in, incredible shape.  The addition of laced up, knee length boots with extreme heels, boosted her as well. Enhanced the length, and shape of her legs. And increased her otherwise average height.  A tight belt cinched her waist, just gently digging into the top of the roll of her hips. And shaped, formed breast cups kept her mature breasts uplifted and separated with just the tiniest hint of poke through of her nipples.

Of immediate impact was the hood, zipped to the collar-less neck of the catsuit.  No mouth holes. Just two tiny nostril holes. Inside these, two tube nipples inserted just into the nostril to facilitate breathing. Sabirah was well practiced, very capable of regulating her breathing thus. There were eye holes, but these were covered with a deep red film that gave her a heart stopping appearance.  The devil incarnate. She could see clearly through this film. As though it were daylight. But it was impossible to see her eyes from the outside.  The leather hood fitted the contours of her face, but was thick enough to render her unidentifiable.  Ears pressed to the sides of her head, with just a cluster of pin holes so situated that her hearing wasn’t impaired.  Her hair was pulled through a re-enforced hole in the crown of the hood. Not pulled into pony tail... but left to erupt and banded at the roots, and for three of four inches above, and then let to ‘flower’ on all sides.  This ‘flower’ bobbed and bounced and swung in unison with her every movement.  Otherwise, her head was a completely smooth, completely tight fitted leather and unrecognizable package.  Sabirah in her entirety completely shrouded in leather. Even down to her hands... completely encased in finger hugging, very soft supple leather.

One could be forgiven, on first sight... on first reflection, for comparing this Sabirah with one of those psychopathic, deranged, perverse serial killers featured so heavily in horror films of the modern era. But ONLY in that, in her mode of dress she was absolutely unidentifiable, and so sealed into her outfit that there would never be any of her own DNA left at a scene of.... lets say.... a crime!  It was easy to place ‘this’ Sabirah in one of those flickering, shaky, taunting videos sent to police as they rushed against a diminishing clock, to find the victim before something unmentionable or indescribable happened to them.

Best not to dwell on such thoughts though.

It was the way she moved on the extreme heels. So fluently. So expert. It was how she moved, how she ‘wore’ this outfit that chilled even deeper.  This wasn’t a doctor... and clinical psychologist... a professional, respected woman at the very height of her career. This Sabirah was a prowling, predatorial sadist at the height of her sadistic powers. Confident that every angle was covered. Every eventuality taken care of.  Not a care in the world as to what was going on in the outside world at that precise time. Just one focus. One absolute priority. Petra. And the absolute best ways of inflicting the purest epicenter of suffering on this former, stunning woman. Innocent woman. Loving mother. Self made woman.

The metallic clip-clop of Sabirah heels cut through even the rawest, gurgling screams of Petra as the laser beams did their work and as the culmination of all those throbs fed into the base of her clitoris.  Sabirah carried an implement as well.  It couldn’t be called a ‘cane’.  But neither could it be called a ‘whip’.  It didn’t quite have the flexibility of a whip. Nor the length.  And yet, neither did it have the rigidity of a cane. But at the same time it was a little longer than a cane would be.  Sabirah had her ‘equipment’, always specially hand made, to order. Most often, made in another country and imported.  As a sadist, she knew, always knew, what was required to cause the maximum effect.  Its better we call this particular implement, just that, an ‘implement’.  A tapered high tensile steel core, not quite describable as ‘flexible’ and covered with delicate braids of thin, tightly woven leather.  At the extreme tip, this implement was wire thin, and yet very strong.  From that extreme end, the bare steel of the core peeked out... and there was what looked like a little, solid stainless steel ball attached to the very tip. The handle end very decorative, and yet designed in such a way that holding it, brandishing it was easy... and made to measure for Sabirah’s hands, and fingers.  She carried this implement with accomplished, almost blase ease. Another facet of this other Sabirah. Chilling, truly chilling.

It has already been said that Sabirah was not the type of sadist who uses senseless beatings as a method.  Such a statement could not be truer. Could not be more appropriate. With Sabirah, everything had a reason. Everything had a place.  A beating alone could not break a woman. A beating alone couldn’t even scratch the surface of the psyche that makes up a woman.  Sabirah hated the term ‘beating’ anyway. It conjured up images of overweight, sweating so-called Dominatrixes also known as ‘prostitutes’ in their dingy, back alley bed-sits with equally overweight businessmen over their knee receiving their ‘beatings’ on their way home to their non-understanding wives. Quite an obscene vision in the truest sense of the word.

Sabirah didn’t ‘beat’ her victims.  She simply used her ‘implement’ to further the suffering. Take it to a new level.  Using her implement wasn’t the means to the end. It was just a step along a very long path. A long journey. Sabirah didn’t break sweat using her implement. Its design, and her expertise ensured that.  Her use of the implement was all but effortless. Graceful and sublime given the absolute misery that could be inflicted with it. Almost surreal given its purpose.  The vision of Sabirah, sheathed in leather, and casually carrying her implement, would on its own, be sufficient to produce tears... and a deep deep fear.

________________________________

Petra was already screaming, and squirting tears. Her despair, and anxiety were already at the bottom of the pit.  If there was a bottom of the pit. Oh how she needed to be back inside her latex shroud.  She hadn’t realized how much she would miss that comfort until it wasn’t there any more. Now she missed it so badly. Its smell. Its caress.  But even through all that despair... that latex withdrawal, that intense throb in the base of her clitoris being fed from her nipples, her labia and now her swollen, raised anal ring... she was aware of the re-appearance of Sabirah. At least in her turmoil, she thought it could be Sabirah. Her heightened senses picking up the aroma of leather.  The metallic click of the heels as Sabirah circled her slowly, cat like in her shiny supple leather, breaking through her desperate intakes of breath as her entire, most intimate feminine areas pulsed and dripped. The bondage holding her perfectly in position. Perfectly, helplessly in position.

“So Petra... the suffering begins...”

Sabirah’s voice, not her voice at all.  An echoey computerized, robotic voice filling the whole room. Sabirah speaking into a tiny microphone built inside her mouth-less hood. The voice then wirelessly transmitted to the amplification system, and through the hidden speakers into the room.  And now, unlike previously, video cameras recording the proceedings from all angles and from all zoom levels. A coincidence that Sabirah was unidentifiable both the vision, and the voice.  Possibly a coincidence, but unlikely to be so. Every angle covered. Every eventuality taken care of given the level of cruelty and suffering that was to be inflicted from here on in.

“MMMMMMNNNNGGGHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

Petra’s noises, very organic, dripping in genuine emotion. Genuine misery. Very base in comparison to the computerized Sabirah. Sabirah circling, slowly, deliberately taking in the delicious sight that was once a career woman at the height of her powers.

“I’m going to hurt you Petra. I’m going to hurt you very badly.  You know you need to suffer. And I want you to suffer.  Those throbs that you feel all the time. Those beautiful, earth moving orgasms you are given from time to time have to be paid for Petra. Paid for in suffering....”

The voice filling the room, sinking in to Petra’s psyche despite what she was already suffering.  Still a base intelligence enough to question the implication that the throbs, the orgasms, the need and greed weren’t suffering at all... that they were privileges that had to be paid for with suffering.  Suffering being paid for by a deeper suffering. Petra finally coming to terms with the fact that she was in a lose-lose position. Yes those throbs were addictive, and the orgasms even more so, but they fed a far deeper self loathing, They fed the greed. The need. The guilt. The shame.

“... whilst you are ‘paying’, with suffering, just focus, concentrate on the throbs. The orgasms. Your sexuality.  After all, thats what this is all about isn’t it?  Your illness. Your condition. Just focus.... focus.... focus.”

The similarity to Sabirah’s computerized voice, its tone and content, to a psychotic maniac, wasn’t entirely coincidental either.  All very deliberate. All feeding the fear so deeply instilled in Petra that it remained irreversible.  Sabirah didn’t really expect an answer to her question. The question was rhetorical.

When the first slash of the implement landed across Petra’s two buttocks just above the raised newly throbbing ring of her rectum there was just a split second before there was any noise at all from Petra. A split second of absolute silence.  First there had been just the slightest ‘whoosh’ and a whistle as the implement arched through the dead air, then an almost whispering ‘slash’ as it not only contacted with the the flesh, but cut into it. The rest of her flesh rippling downwards, down the length of her taught, enhanced legs. Maximum force applied with the least effort. The end of the implement causing the most damage to the soft white flesh. The bare high tensile steel acting almost like a razor blade. Slicing it, scalpel like, but the ball bearing end then whipping down with greater force and opening up the gash a little wider, exposing inner nerve endings to the open air.  Then the silence. Then that split second of silence.... and then came the scream. A pitiful, continuous cry increasing in pitch the longer it went on. Increasing to a pitch, another new pitch.

“MMMMMMMMMGGHHHPPPHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

Petra sucked in air in the first instance but spat out thick ribbons of drool as she expelled that same air.  Sabirah didn’t speak at all. She simply stopped. Took a close almost stooping look at the instantly rising welt that was tipped at one end with the deep, widened gash.  Petra remembered Sabirah’s instruction to focus. She tried but it didn’t matter. Such was the intensity of the pain.  And where she tensed, expecting another gashing gnawing impact of pure pain... it didn’t come. Instead just the silence as her scream subsided, reduced to hisses of sucked in breaths. And then the clip clop of Sabirah’s heels as she resumed her circling of the woman.  The clip clop every so often stopping, punctuated as she stooped again to study Petra. Her face. Twisted in so much agony. Reddened with big bulging eyes squirting tears. Sabirah looking deep deep into those eyes. Into her soul. Soaking up her suffering. A sadist almost wallowing in her victims suffering.  A close look, at where the mouth would be in the hood, every so often, Sabirah’s tongue slipping out of her mouth, licking the inside of the leather hood, pressing out the leather. A sadist enjoying her work. Gaining some gratification from it. But never sated entirely.

The resumption of the clip clops. The almost too subtle squeak of the leather as she stood upright again, and resumed her long striding, stiletto enhanced prowl around the room. The second slash of hyper-pain came across both cheeks again. This time dead centre of her buttocks, and across her raised, pulsating anus ring.  The scream was louder this time. Like there was a knowledge now of just how intense the pain would be. And that it lived up to expectations. It was a scream because of the pain itself. But also of the dread, the hyper-anxiety of what was to come. And the question of how much more was to come. How much more could she take? An scream of accumulating despair and of the knowledge deep down that there was no escape from it. No truer the saying that ignorance is bliss.

Whooooooshhhhhhh whisssssssssstle ...... SLASHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

That rising, blood curdling scream again as the bloodless gash opened. Bloodless because of the cleanness, the scalpel like quality of the cut. The single, expertly applied gash. Like a hot knife through butter.  And a feint, almost not there sound of Sabirah sucking in air, gasping as she caused ‘the one’ the absolute maximum of misery and pain.

“MMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPHGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG.”

The actual open gashes measured just inches in comparison with the length of the entire welt from each single slash of the implement. Each welt rising angrily and contrasting alarmingly with the paleness of the previously perfect, flawless flesh of Petra’s hind quarters. Sabirah applied the slashes of her implement not from the same side, but alternate sides, although not regularly so.  This meant that the gash ends of each welt were spread between alternate buttocks and thighs.

The third slash landing just below the second, almost but not quite in the fold of flesh between the buttocks and the very upper thigh.  Much more fleshy here. More sensitive flesh for the bare steel and the stainless steel ball to sink into. Much more pain to feel.  The fourth slash was saved for that actual fold of flesh between buttocks and thighs.

“The sweet spot”.

A pain so intense. So absolute that it in turn fed the throbbing in the base of Petra’s clitoris.  In between strokes, the extended, distended sexuality quivering and where the implement caught each ‘organ’ the mark of the welt could be clearly seen.  These slashes were not a caress... the type of caress required to cause orgasm. Rather this contact with her enhanced sexuality, served also as an amplifier for the pain. If it were possible to make that pain worse... then this was the time at which it was done.

“MMMMMMPPPHHHGGGGGGGGGGFFFFGGGGGGGGGGGDDDDDD.”

Effortlessly, time after time Sabirah brought the implement down through the air, almost but never quite silently.  It wasn’t a systematic beating. It wasn’t a beating at all. It was a deliverance of suffering. Not equally timed between slashes. But not deliberately irregular either.  The pure poetry of a lesbian sadist going about her task. Her work. Her life. And of Petra, complete in her suffering. Complete in her most intense, most pure misery. Her heavy, teat ladened breasts underneath her, jiggling, rippling, swinging as each slash landed, and as the effects of each slash coursed and raced through the helpless... pitiful woman.

Between lashes, the throbs, and the pulsating sexuality. Drips and dribbles of thick lubricating discharge flying in various direction as the flesh was tortured.  Sabirah marveled at how the anus pushed out obscenely... still clinging to the massive, inflated appendage inside her. Pushed out, straining at the thigh straps holding it in place.  She marveled even more at the way the stretched anus, and the hyper-worked ring sucked, and chewed at the thick shaft inside her.

Petra... every so often forced her head, and arms to move against the bungee cords... but always this was followed by the immediate snap back of her limbs or head. The attempting of movement, of escape in this way was natural... but always, such an attempt served to amplify the agonies inflicted. Of course, her ballet-booted feet couldn’t move and her severely arched feet and taughtened leg muscles suffered terribly, in their own way. So many ways, in this Hell, of amplifying pain. Making misery worse, and worse yet again. And yet this, although was ‘absolute’ as far as Petra had suffered so far. It wasn’t absolute in infinite terms.  That journey to absolution to infinitum was a long long one. Actually a never ending one.

At the end of an indeterminate amount of time, Sabirah stopped her effortless application of suffering.  If Petra could have collapsed in a semi-conscious mess on the floor, she would have. The bondage didn’t allow for such a luxury though. She was held rigid in her agony. She had long since stopped screaming.  The screaming had stopped a little less than half way through the period. To be replaced simply by sharp intakes of breath every time the implement came into contact with her flesh. The pain didn’t lessen with each lash. Far from that. And far from the myth of BDSM... she didn’t ‘numb’ to the pain. She simply absorbed it. Each and every single lash, absorbed by her flesh and by her mind. She stopped screaming only as she sank into a ‘zone’... not quite compus-mentus but not quite not, either.

The area from just below her tail-bone, to the back of her knees, just above the ballet boots was criss crossed with angry, angry welts. Each welt tipped with a bloodless, deep gash. And those gashes in turn tipped with a wider, spread wound caused by the ball bearing tip. The whole area surrounding the welts, red, angry where the pain and fire had spread.  She quivered. Yes the whole of her quivered. Her sexuality still leaked. Still throbbed and still dripped. That didn’t go away it never went away.  Never would. The pain now another facet of her suffering. There was the guilt. The shame. And there were the throbs. The incessant throbs and those hyper-intense orgasms she increasingly craved.  And now the pain for which there was no description. No description or expletive that can do justice to such a huge, huge amount of intense pain all applied with one, seemingly leisurely stroke of an implement that was neither a cane, nor a whip.

Sabirah hadn’t chosen this particular area of flesh in order to fit in with the cliche of BDSM. Sabirah could work any area of flesh with the desired results.  Indeed, she would, in due course work on all areas of Petra, both obvious and not so obvious areas, internal as well as external. On this occasion she had chosen this rear flesh, simply because she adored the view of Petra that the bondage offered. And it did tie in with the necessary task of the work undertaken on her anal ring. Work now complete and irreversible.

The leather clad clinical psychologist had applied the last stroke and then quite leisurely, quite casually, had brought the implement up long ways, gently between Petra’s quivering labia, in order to scoop up some of the dripping juices. Dragging the length of the implement up through the length of Petra’s saturated, pulsating sexuality. Then she had brought the implement up, under her leathered nose holes in order to take a deep, deep inhale of breath. A deep whiff of Petra’s aroma. The aroma of juices released under the utmost of suffering. The aroma of a distressed, tortured woman. Fresh meat. If she could have tasted it, she would have. Again the imprint of Sabirah’s tongue through the leather as she inhaled deeply once more before placing the implement on the desk.

Sabirah’s last, most casual action before leaving Petra to wallow further in that room, was to reach beneath her, to one of her untouched, swollen teats. A little caress of the hanging breast and then a single stroke over the nipple’s tip sending Petra into an immediate, intense hyper orgasm.  Just a simple, single, casual stroke of the nipple tip was all it took. And a thirty second, screaming orgasm that drained the girl more....

“MMMMMMMMMMMMM.... GODDDDDDDDDDD YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

NNNGGGGGGHHHHHHH GGGGGGHHHHHHH SSSSSHHHHHHNNNGGGGGG

MMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPHHHHHHHHHHH NNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGG.”

Then nothing. No comforting. No sounds. Nothing. Just Petra’s panting, and whimpering. And a seething, unmerciful guilt as the throbs started again from deep.  All she had to cope with. Contend with.  And now, the intense pain... her rear end, her thighs seemingly on fire. Her thoughts. Her knowledge that she deserved and needed to suffer like this.

________________________________

SIX - Stefani & Petra.

Sabirah didn’t house a ‘training facility’ in the bowels of her respectable clinic. She wasn’t in the business of ‘training’ other women. She had no interest in making other women ‘bark’. Or ‘sit’ or beg.  The women unfortunate enough to to be taken to this inner sanctum weren’t ‘animals’.  At least not in that sense of the word.  Oh there had been a few women over the years... taken to sub-human level. Taken to a place beyond misery.  But it was a simple fact that women taken here, housed here, kept here, would suffer in ways beyond the imagination. That’s what Sabirah did. Inflict suffering. Wether it was in the form of immense pain, mental anguish or guilt. Or a combination of all three. Begging, barking, doing tricks, didn’t come into it. Sabirah was quite single minded in that respect. She most definitely wasn’t a sadist in the most common misconception of the word. She didn’t simply want her victim to suffer on one level. But ALL levels and to degrees that don’t exist in the ‘normal’ world. Indeed it was the plucking out of her victim(s) from that ‘normal’ world that formed the very basis of their suffering. It was quite simply another fact, that it was impossible for Sabirah’s ‘victim’ to suffer enough, in a quick-fix type situation. Quick fixes didn’t do it for Dr Sabirah Najwa. It had to be a sustained, prolonged and endless nightmare for the victim.  A life changing experience and an irreversible process. Hence the exotic, and extreme measures she went to in secreting her most advanced facilities in the sub-sub basement of her private and secluded clinic.

Dr Sabirah Najwa was, when all said and done, a lesbian.  She wasn’t a man hating lesbian. Far from it. But she did love other women in ways she could never love men. It would be impossible for Sabirah to have a ‘normal’ ‘loving’ relationship with another woman. Any woman attracted to her, or vice versa would suffer. Suffer terribly. Any attraction where it became clear that that was impossible, would simply be ended, whatever hurt caused to the other party.  This is why, in Sabirah’s own words, it is really only once in a sadist’s life time that an ideal ‘subject’ comes along. And when that happens, the opportunity must be grasped with open arms and embraced.

When that ideal subject does present itself. It isn’t a case of ‘training’ her. Or teaching her to do tricks, like begging, or barking, or sitting exposed.  It’s a case of careful preparation. Absolute attention to the most infinite detail. Tiny details taken care of... situations, and circumstances taken into consideration before the victim is ‘taken out’ of circulation.  And before that ‘throb’ is instilled. That throb, that ‘need’ is the epicenter of Sabirah’s method. It is not by pure chance that the victim is turned into a drooling, dribbling orgasm craving, orgasm starved sub-human with enhanced sexual and feminine organs.  That is a very deliberate, very precise part of the whole process. The very basis of the suffering.  Once the victim is turned into the ‘addict’. This almost pathetic, pitiful being... normal conventions of lesbianism, and of fetishism and BDSM fade to grey and become irrelevant.  Begging doesn’t matter. Pleading doesn’t matter.  Tricks don’t matter.  Oh all of these parameters and more ‘could’ take place and quite often do. They take place mostly because, again deliberately, Sabirah never lets anyone mentally break down altogether, or completely. There is always enough left... just enough, for them to realize and understand what is happening to them. But that begging, pleading and those ‘tricks’ don’t matter. Nor do they have any effect on outcome.  That path ahead for them is simple... and pure. So pure as to be organic. It is simply a path of immense suffering.... physical, and mental. Absolute relentless suffering with no let-ups. Once the path had been stepped upon... it becomes one-way. Usually down and for ‘the one’ usually into a bottomless pit, a vortex of darkness and despair.

So for Petra, her fate became her destiny when she first met Sabirah at that corporate fund raising event. Little did she know that her little flirts with the ‘head doctor’ were leading her through a one-way door.  Little did she know that it was her stunning looks initially and then her personal circumstances that she would eventually learn were the reason that she would suffer immeasurably. Or that the existence of her beautiful daughter Stefani would add to the mix. Become yet another tool with which to deepen her suffering.

________________________________

It wasn’t an accident that Sabirah’s clinically clean, subterranean facility dripped with a palpable dread, and doom. It was designed like that. Sabirah designed it like that. Just like she designed the very specific, nano-specifications of her laser technology.  The detachment from the real world. The seclusion... the vacuum created was intended. Absolutely it was  meant to be.  Quite simply... for anyone housed here... anyone unfortunate enough to be a ‘guest’ of Sabirah, the overwhelming feeling that their suffering would never end... or that there was no way out of there. No way back to the normal world.. had to be the most base of feelings here.  An acceptance of the suffering, along with an acceptance that there would be no way out... ever. Period!

This particular room was a stark, striking contrast to the others.  Rather than a deliberate, spotlight surrounded by and caressed by blackness, the whole room was in a very bright high-key white.  An almost blinding white.  Still clinically clean. Still existing in a vacuum that sucked out and kept out anything from the outside and yet... what was in remained in. Sealed in. The whole room was bathed in the most lucid, crystal clear of white light that bounced evenly off pure white surfaces.  Visibility in this room was not a problem. Indeed, it appeared that visibility in this room had been made a priority. Visibility and viewing, it appeared was not to be hampered in any way. Were it not for the present occupants of the room, the question could be begged as to why on earth there had to be such good visibility in a single room that measured no more than eight meters long by five wide.

White tiled ceiling, white tilled walls and white tiled floor made it difficult to see the seams in a room that was completely bathed in a balanced white light from ceiling length strip lighting that was fixed down its middle, and either side of the eight meter length. There were no shadows cast.  Just everything in crystal clear clarity. The only similarity between this room and other others was that the floor had to slope inwards and downwards, slightly, from the sides to a central drainage cover.  It made the cleansing very easy. And helped make proceedings in the room as fluid as possible.

The only real reference points in this room, if it were otherwise empty, were that secured to the opposite walls at either end of the eight meter length were sixty inch plasma flat screens.  These screens, with no visible wires, had been fixed quite high on the walls and slightly tilted downwards. Each screen easily visible from either end of the room.  The stark blackness of the currently inactive screens and surrounding black frames was indeed a high focal point. The only real chance to get a bearing and keep that bearing.  If anyone in here was a ‘guest’ or a ‘victim’ of Sabirah... these screens were the ONLY point of focus. The ONLY means of keeping a baring. Keeping a grip on reality. Even then, only if permitted.

Like the other rooms in Sabirah’s facility, this one contained almost invisible technology that made work here practically effortless for the user.  This was an extreme bondage room.  Bondage applied here could only be instigated, or ‘started’ by a human being. It could only be set up. The victim placed into position and then loosely secured in what would be roughly her eventual position.  The real, final position and absolute tightness of the bondage could never be completed, or finished by a human being. Even a strong determined one. Final bondage here was very much a micro-machined affair.

Bondage here was eventually polished off by the pressing of a single button and then the magic of micro circuitry and micro-motors kicked in.  Then everything tightened. Everything clicked into place. Those little motors whirred electronically, only just audible. A little creaking as things clicked and snapped and stretched into place.  Those electrical and micro mechanical noises were only really audible before the groans, and the screams of the victim overtook them in volume. Eventually the whole room was filled with that constant soul draining screaming that only diminished slightly as the body of the victim, and her mind, adapted.... absorbed as much as possible the excruciating bondage.  In this room, the noises from the victim never really, I mean never REALLY fell of at all. There was a constant noise, at whatever pitch and whatever volume.

The bondage itself was a torture. But it wasn’t THE torture.

In this room, suffering was taken very much to another level. In this room, where previously there would have been a shuffling of ballet booted feet as the victim was taken in side... there would be only a soul searching screech of sorts... but before that... an insipid dread on first view of the room and its contents. The pure simplicity of the room in itself, enough to cause that deeply instilled dread and fear to rise in a victim.  To the victim, that stark simplicity, as she would have discovered before was a reason to fear. Deeply fear what was going to happen here.

There were two identical rigs in this room. One for Mom. And one for her little girl Stefani. Her beloved daughter and mirror image.  Each rig was secured roughly two and a half meters in from the end walls making roughly three meters of space separating them in the center of the room. The occupants of the rigs faced each other towards the center of the room Each had a clear view of the plasma screen behind and above the opposite person on the opposite rig. Each had a clear unrestricted view of each other. Or had such a view as long as it was permitted. Permissions here weren’t always assured and weren’t always allowed by ways and means necessarily expected by the victim.

Mommy Petra had been taken in first.  Shuffled in, re-shrunk wrapped in her latex skins. The outer skin shiny, black. The wounds inflicted by Sabirah’s implement just healing and just being caressed by that inner, transparent latex skin. All over her rear end. Thighs. Buttocks. Caressed as they healed and with just a teasing ‘tingle’ remaining. In many ways, that teasing tingling sensation another facet, another source which fed those incessant throbs. The crotch of the latex skins opening extended slightly, and widened to allow the raised, hyper-sensitive ring of her anus to protrude obscenely.

Another bad bit exposed.

The ballet boots almost impossible to walk in. Designed to enhance and yet restrict at the same time. They produced that ‘shuffling’ unconfident walk that was deliberately shortened by the hobble chain between her ankles.  This chain prevented that all important friction from occurring with her labia, clitoris and anal enhancement. The shuffle enhanced the throbs. The hobble chain prevented the friction furthering the throbs. Simple. Delightfully maddening!  The rest of her nasty bad bits... well, they remain out too. All grotesque and dripping. Quivering masses of sexuality continually dripping the most slippery, deeply produced juices. If she was moving she dripped. If she stayed still she dripped. The drip was continuous, unbated during her waking and sleeping states. Her teat like nipples, hard, rubbery.... like black grapes. Ripe ones ready to burst. All nasty bits protruding, exposed from the smooth, perfectly smooth confines of her now much needed, much loved ‘womb’ of latex.

It was clear to see the decline in Petra.  She was still attractive. Very attractive. And yet something was missing. A spark in the eyes staring out from the latex holes of the hood. Her features... very latex wrapped and yet so tightly so that it was plain to see her cheeks were somewhat sunken, withdrawn. And her full, fleshy, sensuous lips had a droop. A sullen sulk about them and they protruded from the latex in the same way that her bad bits did which suggested, very casually that those gorgeous lips were also bad.

BAD RED LIPS.

Petra was allowed to shuffle into the room herself. Although she had uniformed female assistants either side of her in case her deliciously long legs gave way, or some other such incident occurred. The absolute agony of the arch in her feet apparent with every shortened step as her lips stretched into a grimace... and yet another throb saw the overspill of drool to the floor.  That together with overspill of ‘drool’ from her sexuality, and enhanced rectal ring, provided a very bizarre, almost alien sight. So far from the sophisticated, empowered City Woman. So far from that. So very far.

She was then guided by hands on either arm, backwards to sit on the padded small ‘seat’ of the rig.  Effortlessly as she lowered her full weight onto the seat, appendages slid up inside her. Not especially thick appendages, at least not in this first instance. And not especially long ones. Just thick and long enough to be absorbed by her enhanced rectum and vagina.  Just the quivering, blow out of her deep red glossed lips as she sat her full weight on these appendages. She seemed truly grateful for the penetration. So easily absorbed, and so hungry was she now on a permanent basis that she was left wanting more. Always wanting more and yet more again.  How sorry would she be that she wanted more.  More was a thing that was plentiful in this establishment.

For now, she was simply secured to the rig loosely.  Arms behind her. Wrists together and looped with thin high tensile wire.  Similar around her arms just above the elbows. Another wire pulled down from above... screwed into the nipple that protruded from the front of the crown of the smooth latex hood. Still that gorgeous mane of flame red hair erupted into a strict pony-tail from the very crown of the hood and cascaded down across her latex covered back. This redness creating a striking contrast in the otherwise high key room.

Petra was so used to being exposed, and was so addicted to her own enhanced sexuality now that she naturally allowed her legs to casually splay open exposing her dripping sex. Now an intrinsic part of her altered state.  Now, again loosely, wires looped over the arch of her feet and around her ankles. Those wires disappeared into the floor. Just securing her feet wide apart. The seat of the rig low enough, her heels extreme and high enough to ensure her weight was fully on the seat, fully on the appendages inside her, and that her latex knees were high. Her thighs sloping back towards her hips.  Wires looped around her knees, and faded from view in the brightness of the light of the room to either side of her.  Their weight creating a slight dip as the wires faded into this brightness.

Between her legs a clear flexi-tube has been slid up over her distended quivering clitoris and sucked up over its base and held their under its own vacuum.  Disturbingly, from the very tip of her clitoris, a micro thin wire emerged. She had simply grunted, then groaned as the needle thin wire had been fed deep into her clitoris.  The perfect alignment, the perfect symmetry of the wire down inside the dead center of the clear flexi-tube clinging to the outer base of Petra’s clitoris was chilling. Very disturbing.  It was both simple enough, and micro-accurate enough to tell that terrible terrible things could be done with them. Both wire and flexi-tube disappeared down between her wide spread legs and into the floor. Still those throbs emanated from deep within her clitoris... but now resonated along the needle thin wire inside her most private feminine parts. Utterly disturbing was the sight, through the flexi-tube of her clitoris, visibly quivering, like it was a live, living ‘creature’, or something. The drips from the tip simply running down and into the floor with the tube. And yet despite that live quivering of the clitoris, the central wire remaining taught, remaining still.

How Petra had screamed, and screamed and screamed again when Sabirah had, as if by magic, caused the end of the needle, the end inside the base of her clitoris to bend and ‘barb’ whilst inside her. Bend and barb in such a way as to prevent it slipping back out. The bend and barb pointing backwards so that it pulled back on itself piercing her inner flesh.  First the bend, then the bite back caused an absolute agony that grated through Petra. Pin sharp pain inflicted in the very depths of her femininity.

“EEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

A scream that saw her eyes bulge, and lips stretch.

Around her engorged grape like nipples, around the very bases of the nipples, suction cups had been slipped over. One to each nipple. Again clear flexi-tube allowing an unhindered view of each nipple sucked in then stretched slightly by the strength of the suck and moulded by the diameter of the tube. Once again, the thin wire, from the very tip of each nipple, and down the very centre of the flexi-tube. These particular tubes and wires went upwards disappearing in through the ceiling. Petra had simply groaned, and licked her lips like a nonchalant porn star as the needles at the end of the wires had been pushed very slowly into the very centre of the very tip of her nipples.  Each needle end, once again, had a micro-barb applied, that once inserted simply curled on itself, prevented it from slipping out of the nipple. Oh yes, that initial scream as the barb was applied. The shrill, screech.

“GGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

The barb gripping the very inner base of the nipple near those continuous throbs that emanated from them. These suction tubes and barbed wires never allowing, quite, the caress required, to produce the addictive, mind blowing orgasms.  Teasing the need, but never sating it.

This bondage appeared simple. Or rather it seemed simply applied.  But Petra was left like this. Quite loosely bound. Not under too much stress, not at this point. That is, any more stress than usual. The throbs still feeding her. Her hunger never sated all produced a stress of sorts which remained obvious.  But here, like this, in this state, her mind, albeit a diminished mind was able to function... was able to absorb her surroundings... take in her new environment.  And deep, deep down inside, fret terribly about what the immediate future held for her.  There was still enough of her old self left... deliberately so, to make this possible. Just enough for her to ‘know’ what was happening to her. What was going to happen to her in the future and, maybe question what fate had befallen her beautiful daughter. Every so often that heart rending pang of motherly love breaking through the chaos of her needs and greed before another ‘throb’ took that away again.

___________________________________

There wasn’t a big delay between Petra being brought in, and her daughter joining her. The  sliding vacuum door that created the seal of the windowless room had been left open so that Petra could hear the shuffling sounds coming down the long long corridor. One could almost see Mom’s head, cock to the side, listening... even recognizing the sounds of her approaching offspring. It seemed never ending. The shuffle... the metallic heels on the tiled floor of a seemingly endless corridor... at first just the feint sound then slowly, slowly getting louder and louder as Stefani was brought to the same room Mom was in.

Stefani was the mirror image of Petra. The all sealing latex cat-suits. The hood. The erupting pony tail with just the slightest difference in the shade of redness to the hair. The organically shaped rubber neck corset. Closer looks revealed the subtle differences.  Slightly shorter than her Mom even in her own tightly laced ballet boots.  Slightly less large and defined shrink wrapped breasts.  A slightly less mature, roll to the hips and overall figure.  Kind of gangly, bambi like in short bursts. Almost an adolescent vision within a nightmare scenario.  Her wrists were secured to the rings in the upper hips of her latex suit and so, her vulnerability was highlighted more.  The chain between her ankles was even shorter than the one between her mother’s ankles. This gave an immediate impression that she was currently suffering more than her mother.  Her ‘bad bits’ protruded also.  It seemed they were even more enlarged even more engorged than her mother’s although this could simply because of her altogether, slighter build. As she came through the door, slowly step by step, the pure light from the room bounced off her reddened, enhanced extremities and caught the drip drip from between the legs beautifully as they fell to the floor.

It was Petra who made the first sound,

“MAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH BBBBBBBABYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.”

The cry was from the soul as her eyes lifted to see her daughter.  For those few seconds, everything else faded from her priorities.  Pure mother love broke through the chaos and to the surface in a heart rending, almost animal like rendition. A pitiful, long drone of a cry that was similar to a mother losing a new born baby. Or who was seeing her daughter buried. It was like grief. Or something like grief.  At that precise moment it all became clear. Lucid.  So clear so lucid. The cold stark reality of what was happening.  Her eyes simply poured right over her daughter... the feelings through her like a hot knife through butter.

“MUMMMMMMMMM.. WHAT HAVE YOU D-DONE TO USSSSSS?  HOWWWW COULD YOU....LETTTTTT THISSSSS HAPPENNNNNNNN.”

Stefani’s voice was a broken stuttering sound. The words were clear. Crystal clear to Petra. Stefani was broken... and her tone was undeniably accusatory which fed a palpable guilt straight into the core of her mother’s being.  Petra couldn’t answer. She just watched, as the throbs slowly returned to the core of her clitoris, as her daughter was brought to the opposite rig. Just watched. Sobbing. Throbbing.

“MMMMMMNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGG GODDDDDDDD NOOOOOOOO.”

Another quite distressing, quite distressed sob as Petra watches her daughter slowly sink onto the two obscenely erect appendages protruding from the soft padding of the small seat. Her sixteen year old daughter being impaled. Helped to sit all the way down on these rubber appendages.  But not just that... also, Petra through her own throbs, her own twitches, and dribbling, watching as Stefani herself swipes her wet tongue across her lips, absorbing the thick, long things inside her. But also, absorbing her own throbs. Her own hunger. Stefani then, blowing out her own full red lips as though in gratification. Petra had never seen Stefani with lipstick on before. At least not the deep red, hyper-enhancing variety.  The shades reserved especially for girls with ‘bad lips’. Stefani had ‘bad red lips’ like mom. So bad, so very bad.

BAD RED LIPS !!!

Stefani’s own neck corset was removed and in its place, looped nooses of wires were slipped over and around her throat. Two nooses to be precise. The nooses were built into the centre of the high tensile wires. One slipped over her head, the wires and the nooses still loose, and trailing off diagonally to the corner and side of the room. The second noose also slid over her smooth latex head this time running off still dipping with the looseness to opposing corner and side. Two nooses ready to be tightened around the neck of the distraught young girl.  But not yet.  Her wrists released from the hips of her cat-suit and brought behind her. Identically to the arms of her mother. Wrists loosely secured. Elbows likewise. Always the entrails of wires disappearing into the high key whiteness of the sides or ends of the rooms. Into floors. Into walls.  Looped wires around her knees, just like mom. But instead of one set of wires around her ankles and feet that would anchor the ballet boots to the floor, there were two sets. Both sets when loose allowed some movement of the feet, even some lifting. Of course, eventual, final movement would not be possible. And the feet would be as though suspended off the floor... an yet still rigid tight

Petra mewled as she watched her daughter being immobilized. The mewling sound was new. It was like a distressed, confused sound of a mother not able to concentrate on one thing or another due to opposites.  The throbs. How she so wanted to concentrate and encourage those throbs. Or the plight of her beautiful daughter. Petra was becoming more and more damaged all the time.  THIS... this witnessing of her own daughter’s demise was as much part of Sabirah’s sadism as the excruciating bondage, and beating she had suffered. This was worse. Far worse.

In a control room, somewhere else, Sabirah watched the proceedings. Clenched her thighs as she watched Petra suffer. As she watched her despair. Her anxiety and her sexuality dripping from between her latexed legs.  Flicking her eyes across to the daughter. Sweet sixteen and her whole life in front of her. Except not the kind of life she had been expecting. Nor the kind of life that her mother would have wanted for her.  Sabirah clenched her thighs again, even allowed herself a rub of her leathered crotch before casually rubbing a finger tip over a touch sensitive button.

“MMMMMMNNNGGGGGGG NOOOOOOOOOOOOO GODDDDDD.”

Petra’s eyes lighting up. Stark wide. The pupils heavily dilated as the two appendages in her are inflated. Not fully. Just enough. Just enough to remind her. To let her know that two similar appendages are buried deep inside her daughter to.  Another soul destroying cry out as her inner walls expand absorbing the stretch.  Yet another cry as she looks directly in front of her at her daughter, herself distressed, hungrily licking her lips, at the moment blissfully unaware of what can happen inside her. And yet at the same time looking through tears at her mother wondering why she is crying out so.

___________________________________

A furthering of the suffering.  Taking it to new levels. Progressing it.  It’s what Sabirah loved. She liked to see progress. Even she hadn’t been lucky enough, before now, to have such ‘tools’ with which to create suffering.  A beautiful successful woman, plus her offspring, equally as beautiful. Equally as striking.  Oh, God, did Sabirah only too well know that there was much much more to Sadism than a whip, than a cane, than even her own ‘implement’.  The feminine mind. The feminine body. Deeper and deeper femininity all held hidden treasures and unexplored avenues for the determined, and committed sadist. And then there was that mother love. And that torment of the throbs versus her daughter. Petra’s living hell. Not even hell. Deeper than hell. Dr Sabirah Najwa ran her middle finger over another of her buttons.

“MMMMMMNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGG UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

Petra again. Feeling the movement of wires, and rig in unison.  Securing her just a little tighter.  Not to the maximum, not just yet.  Sabirah wanted Mom to see fully what was about to happen to her daughter without the duress of bondage, for now.  She suspected that given the levels of Hell capable in this particular room, the distress and mother love would break through even the addiction of the sexual throbs that Petra felt.  She didn’t want any sudden movements on the rig, where it was possible that she hurt herself. It was important that any hurt inflicted, was inflicted by her, and not by means of accident. No accidental suffering here. Just deliberate, palpable suffering. Petra’s arms behind her just a little tighter. Knees spread just a little more. A little less movement in her severely arched feet. Head held a little straighter, more upright so that she can only look in front of herself at her offspring. Another cry out

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHH GODDDDDDDDDDD........”

Sabirah feeding an enhanced throb into the base of the dripping clitoris just before she stands, brushing down her leather cat-suit and joins mother and daughter in the high key white room.

__________________________________

Stefani’s eyes are bulging as she watches her mother. Part puzzled at the cries, part trying to absorb her own throbs. There is no mouth-less hood this time. Sabirah made up, heavily so. Strikingly so. Her thick lush, deep black hair pulled back tight off her face and back into a tail. Her deep, huge pools of eyes enhanced with liner and mascara, and shadow. Full lips, very soft very luscious, the deepest shade of red possible and contrasting with the Arabic olive of her skin color.  Almost an emotionless expression on her face.  Seeing this Sabirah, in the flesh as it were, it was possible to see, and believe that she were capable of something way beyond a little ‘meanness’.  She carried a remote control with her, and her heels clicked the tiled floor with purpose. Accompanying the click of her heels the subtle creak of the leather of the cat suit as she moved, expertly on her high heeled, knee length boots.

“Ladies, I’m truly, truly happy that you could be here together today.  It has always been my intention to re-unite mother and daughter. And so here we are, re-united.”

Sabirah’s tone with just a hint of an invisible smile in it.  Stefani the first to whimper. A pure reaction to the entry of Sabirah. A visible shudder as the older woman walks around the back of her and then to the front so that she is standing in between her two victims and with ease able to just turn her head in either direction to look directly at either of them.

“W-whyyyy are you d-doing this t-toooo us.”

Stefani’s voice is quite slight, almost childlike in its quality and tone. Its followed by an ear splitting scream from the same mouth as Sabirah caresses the remote control making the two rubber appendages inside Stefani increase in girth and length.

“MMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

A simple look at her face told of the agony inside her most feminine, and her most private parts. Sabirah now talking, but more in the form of a narrative. She turned to Petra, talked to her but not in a conversational way.  She didn’t want a conversation, and said as much.

“It is pointless trying to converse with someone who in a few minutes will be unable to, well, converse.”

She caresses the remote again which is followed by another high pitched scream from the sixteen year old as the appendages inside her expand again, stretching her inner walls.

“UUUUGGHHHHHHHHH GODDDDDDDDDDD MOMMMMM H-HELP ME.”

The pleading no mother would want to hear ever. The pleading of her offspring for help. Help that she cannot give.  A deep, sobbing cry from Mom. The pity, the sorrow the guilt pouring from the drained expression on her face as she witnesses what was happening in full high key technicolor.

“PLEASE S-SABIRAH... PLEASE... DONT HURT HER ANY MORE.... H-HURT ME INSTEAD... PLEASE PLEASE.”

If ever a begging was real. If ever it was heartfelt and sincere, it was now. Sincerity poured from Petra as she begged to take the suffering instead of Stefani.  But, even at this point, if one were to look deep into those eyes, there was that need and hunger as yet another throb welled up, then faded just short of her clitoris tip.  Sabirah, didn’t even acknowledge the request. She simply spoke again.

“A question. A question for you Petra.  Tell me again remind me will you... what are your best attributes, hmmmm?”

Another caress of the remote, another enhanced throb of the clitoris to encourage the older of the two victims.

“MMMMMMMMMNNGGGGG ASSSS, LEGSSSSS, TITSSSSS, LIPSSSS... MMMMMMMMMMMM.”

Swallowing noisily the drool that collects between throbs, and then slashing her tongue across her full red lips. Sabirah watching. Just standing watching as Petra reels off what she considers her best attributes before inflicting a cruel jolt of guilt.

“Well you know I agree about all those things Petra.  And really just watching your tongue I think we could also add that to the list.  But, well, did you not think to place your own daughter at the top of your best attribute list. Is she not the best attribute you have ever had, hmmmm?”

The question was really again rhetorical. It didn’t require an answer.  She knew what she said would instill a deep psychological hurt in that came out in a blubbering guilt sodden sob.

‘YESSSSSS, YESSSSS WHAT WAS I THINKINGGGGGGGG GODDDDDDD?”

Stefani having absorbed the expansion inside her watching, listening. Witnessing her mother’s pure lust, listing her own attributes as her best ones.

“Oh I know what you were thinking. We don’t need to go there “mommy”. But anyway, now we have established that your daughter is not on your list of best attributes, your best assets I personally see no reason for her not to, ‘suffer’... or for you not to witness her suffering fully, before your own is moved forward.”

There was no glee in Sabirah’s voice. She spoke coolly calmly, matter-of-factly. Chillingly in fact. Petra not saying anything, just staring ahead, just able to see the expression change ever so slightly on Stefani’s face as another throb courses up from the core of her own enlarged, dripping clitoris. Petra now knowing that her daughter is more than sexually aware. Very aware.

“Besides, I digress. I want you both to see something before I continue working on Stefani.”

Sabirah caresses the remote again and both plasma screens flicker to life. Both in as crystal clear clarity as the room itself.  The color drains from both mother and daughter’s distressed faces as they take in what they are seeing.

The first images on the screens are stills. Newspaper front page headlines and stories. The London Evening Standard... “CITY WORKER AND DAUGHTER DIE IN SOUTH AMERICAN CAR CRASH.”  The free london papers carry similar headlines... The Metro... “TRAGEDY AS MOTHER AND DAUGHTER WIPED OUT IN HORROR SMASH.” TheLondonPaper... “CITY MOM AND ONLY DAUGHTER KILLED IN ROAD CARNAGE.”

Petra’s lips quiver as she watches over the top of Stefani’s head, the screen revealing it’s images. Stefani doing the same. Both screens showing identical images. All newspaper reports carrying full details plus photographs of both Petra and Stefani. A jolt of reality from what seems a distant, out of reach real world. Except that Petra knows more than Stefani. She saw the death certificates. Agreed that it was the direction to go in. She was in fact part of the massive deception and it was all her own fault. More guilt. More shame.

But still, this reality, reducing her to a low droning sob, much like that of her daughter as she herself realizes what she is reading and seeing. That the stories are in fact about herself and her mother. Each story tailed with full horrific details of the ‘accident’ in which both of them, named fully, have seemingly died. And how Mom had battled to save her daughter from the flames that eventually engulf them both. Quite an irony in there, that isn’t missed within the turmoil of hell that is Petra’s present existence. She had reportedly battled to save her daughter after that ‘car crash’. Just as she was pleading to save her from suffering once again here. Unable to save her in either case.

Those images stayed on the screen for some time before fading off. Full vivid. Neither mother nor daughter could take their eyes away from their respective screen.  The occasional sob, and sniffle broken only by the click of Sabirah’s heels as she paced from side to side of the room between mother and daughter.  Watching each of her victims take in the images, fully before moving on with another stroke of the remote control. Stefani screams as the things in side her expand a little more. Stretching her inner walls, making the membrane between anal and vaginal tubes thinner. The vaginal intrusion, lengthening and nudging and sliding up towards her cervix.

“MMMMMMNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGG.....”

Reports of her death, mixing with the sharp bursts of pain that accompany each little expansion of her intrusions inside her.  That fear of death again. Like when she had that latex bag sealed and shrunk over her head and was unable to breath. This was different though. Intimately painful.  Petra watching, some drool escaping, tipping over her bottom lip, as her daughter cries out. Sabirah waiting. Patiently waiting for the young girl to absorb the expansion, waiting for her cries to subside before she strokes the remote control again.

The newspaper images fade, slowly. Moving pictures take their place. This time, local news reports.  LONDON TONIGHT.  THE SOUTH EAST TODAY.  Digitally recorded live pictures covering Petra’s and Stefani’s funerals.  This time the stark shock of reality biting home to the core. Flashbacks to their former life as they recognize in Petra’s case, her boss, and former colleagues attending the service and then the grave side as mother and daughter are buried together in the same grave. Together forever. In Stefani’s case her college friends who think she has truly died making her cry bitterly as her impalements settle inside her. Petra just staring. Then letting out a sob which sees additional drool spill from the corner of her red lips. Bad lips.  The horror of what they were watching, the full realization, the full implications dawning on both mother and daughter almost at exactly the same time.  The horror adding to the sadism.

In the outside world they were gone. No-one would ever be looking for them. No-one would know ever what they were going through. Seeing the pictures had a treble effect. It brought memories back. Reminded each of their former lives.  It added to their present tortures and would to their future sufferings. And also the base knowledge that there would be no way out of this... unless via death.  Sabirah watching. watching closely as mother and daughter each, take a turn for the worse. Intermittent sobs, and cries from each rig. A darkness descending so black, so thick, so palpable that it didn’t so much ‘drip’ as ‘crawl, enveloping both mother and daughter.

_______________________________________

To describe Stefani’s scream would be difficult.  It wasn’t a ‘mature’ scream like her mother’s would be later. Rather it was was a very base, adolescent scream. It would be true to say that Stefani had been mature beyond her years both physically, and mentally. But somehow, when faced with life changing, life threatening, pure undiluted sadism, she had regressed somewhat. More or less back to childhood. Or much much earlier. Taken back to a time very early, even as early as when she was in the womb. That time when she absolutely needed her mother so badly.  And yet, here and now she knew her mother couldn’t help her. But she still had that feeling of helpless despair. Utter despair. It dripped even from her drool as she screamed, it dripped.

All of these things. All of these emotions and screeching desperation and fear came across in her scream as Sabirah stroked one button on the remote so that all of the bondage, all of the agonies, snapped and whirred into place. All within a few seconds. Everything tight, solid inescapable. All the formerly loose wires that had been dipped, and loose, now tight and taught. Solid and producing a weird web of wires that disappeared in various directions, up and down, backwards front wards and sideways leaving this poor, poor girl in the centre of the web. The fly in the spider’s web.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHGGGGHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO MOMMYYYYYYYYY PLEASSSSSEEEEE HELP MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.”

Stefani’s arms had been pulled up behind her so they protruded back level and held there by the wrist wire until the arms were at right angles to her back. The wrist wire disappeared back into the wall behind her.  Her elbows were pulled together in one

S N A P !!!

until they were touching. The intricacies of that wire, looped and then running down the center of her lower arms between her tightly looped wrists and back through the same hole in the wall behind.  At the same time, a stainless steep pole had come sliding out of the same wall, padded at the end but not sparing any agonies as it pushed under her raised arms and into the area just below where her shoulder blades almost touched forcing her into an extreme breast thrust situation.  Her back arched.

SNAP !!!

The wire from the crown of her hood snapped and whirred tightly, forcing the head up straight. Neck extended.  The two wires around her throat snapped tight, squeezing her neck, squeezing her throat and persuading her that even if she could move, even a muscle, it would be probably better if she didn’t.  The throat wires crinkled and dented the latex in such a way that any onlooker could see that her wind pipe was constricted, restricting her breathing. Her eyes bulged and mouth peeled open.

SNAP !!!

In the split seconds it took for the bondage to happen, for everything to tighten and click into place, the two appendages inside her also inflated and expanded more.  Not small increments this time. One, burst of expansion to the absolute limit before death occurring injuries would be caused. Total pain to the most intimate, most private, most feminine of internal flesh.  The drool, catapulted from Stefani’s mouth in big long ribbons. Petra looked on, in abject shock and horror as her daughter suffered immeasurably.

SNAP !!!

“MMMMMMMMMNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOO EEEEEEEEEEEOOOOAAARRHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

The wire around her knees whirred and snapped tight before spreading her knees wide. Then wider. Impossibly wide so that her thighs were parallel to her hips and pelvis. This forced her exposed enhanced intimacies both forward and down onto their respective intrusions. These wires also lifted her knees slightly so that her ballet booted feet came off the floor. The wires around her feet simultaneously snapped tight, both anchoring her dangling feet to the floor, and yet leaving them still suspended such was the complexity of the wire web. The second wire snapping tight, in a split second preventing any movement what so ever. These wires twanged off to the side walls, higher than parallel to allow for the lift in her knees and feet. Stefani’s only points of contact, on which her entire weight rested, was her tail bone, her sexuality and her enhanced swollen rectal ring onto the padded, but still firm area that was quite frankly too small to be called a seat. The fly in the spider’s web. Poor Poor Stefani.

SNAP !!!

Sabirah, now due to the web of wires to the sides and behind Stefani, had her own movements restricted to the area between mother and daughter.  Quite casually she moved, studying Stefani all the time. Letting the young girl’s torment slither into her. Sabirah pressed her lips together, rolled them in, purring to herself deep in her throat as she tested a couple of the wires. Nice and tight. Nice and Taught.  Tightness that was impossible to have been achieved by hands alone.  A tightness that was ‘machined’. A tightness that was so complete that ‘any’ movement was an impossibility.  It was possible to ‘think’ of movement. To want it. To be desperate for it. But achieving it, impossible.

The cruelty belied the way Sabirah then moved in front, just slightly to the side of the tormented, screaming girl and bent forward. The creaking of her supple soft leather lost in the sea of screaming agony. And then the stroking of Stefani’s latexed cheek. Just with the back of one of her forefingers. A tender, gentle stroking of the cheek even as the screams came out one after the other. Often in a single, seemingly endless deluge. So tender were the strokes. Strokes through the skin tight latex covering her cheeks. Her head held, motionless and yet so much noise coming from such a pretty mouth.

“Sssssshhhhhhhh little one... it’s only just begun... at least thats what I suspect.”

A simple sentence casually, softly spoken as Stefani stopped screaming, and panted for breath before another lengthy, shrill, adolescent scream.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHGGGGHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO MOMMYYYYYYYYY PLEASSSSSEEEEE HELP MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.”

Again that deep soul searching pleading for her mother to help her. Something that Petra couldn’t do. Something that she was desperate to do, even as the throbs raced through her. Her clitoris quivering inside the suction flexi-tube.

“S-sabirah... p-please d-dont hurt her anymore. Please.  Y-you can do anything to me. b-but please, please not her... please...”

Petra’s request was alarmingly clear, calm, and well thought out, despite her distress. One would suspect the result of the basic survivalist coming to the fore. Someone at the absolute end of her tether. Or someone who ‘thought’ she was at the end of her tether. making a final, final absolute pleading for her daughter to be saved from further misery.

Sabirah had long since lost that warmness towards Petra. The warmness and flirtatiousness that she had showed and indeed responded to in the early days. The prepatory days.  In reality there was no warmness, or closeness. Not in that way. The apparent warmness and closeness was simply a means to an end.  Now she looked at the mother differently. Not really like she was a human being at all. It was difficult to finger. That look. As though she were nothing, absolutely nothing, except a source of deep deep pleasure for Sabirah. Sabirah the sadist.  She moved slowly, cat like over to Petra. How expertly she moved on those extreme heels. A chilling expertise. Like her own chilling calm. Bending down to Mom, to whisper into her ear as Stefani screams again, and again and again.

“Like I couldn’t do anything to you anyway?  Like I couldn’t just torture your little one, and THEN torture you as well?  As though this is some sort of bargaining point for you? Do you really think that is the case?”

Sabirah didn’t really expect an answer. Didn’t even wait for one. Petra didn’t really think any of those listed questions could be answered to her positive. Or Stefani’s benefit. She just simply moved her head as little as she could side to side. Nibbled on her bottom lip gloss. And then it was her turn to scream, then scream again and again as her bondage was tightened.

SNAP !!!

Another couple of split seconds of sadistic poetry as the wires taughtened, tightened and as her body was pulled into excruciatingly unnatural positions.  Her feet anchored to the floor. No suspension there. But anchored tightly, heels and toes planted, as though ready for shipping.  Her knees spread the same as Stefani’s. Very wide, parallel also to her hips and pelvis.  A requirement obviously of Sabirah’s victims is that they should be flexible. And she had gained a bonus with mom and daughter.  The scream intensifying, if that were possible, as her arms were brought up behind her, again at right angles to her back. And her elbows snapped together, touching. The pole emerging and pushing into her back in order to maximize the breast thrust and spinal curve. The appendages inside her inflating in one go, and lengthening. Stretching her to the maximum possible just before death occurred. The head of the vaginal appendage up tight against her cervix.

SNAP !!!

“AAAAAAAHHHHHH GODDDDDDDDD NOOOO GODDDDDDDDDDD AAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAA HHHHHHHHHNNNNNNNNN NNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG.”

A desperate soul searching scream and yet one that was slightly more coherent than that of her daughter.  A more considered, educated scream. One that saw beyond the immediate pain. One that only slightly hinted of a deeper knowledge or suspicion of what the future held for her.  And a scream, that displayed, even in this time of utter distress, skills from her former life. Skills of negotiating pressure and anxiety. Her head snapped up suspended now totally unable to move. Only being possible to look ahead, at Stefani as she suffered then suffered some more.  Stefani still screaming, except slightly less so as the subtlety in her body, tried, and succeeded to some extent to absorb the acute position she was in. That scream never faded completely of course.

Sabirah waited. She waited patiently for Mom’s screams to subside. And they did subside but only really out of exhaustion rather than anything else.  Sabirah bent down, held her head to the thirty three year old woman’s quivering red lips.  That always amazed Sabirah. How a little gurgle of noise. A little whimpering bubbling cry came from the back of the throat or deeper, as the body... the internal bone structures and organs tried to re-adapt themselves to the torture.  Tried to move and reposition themselves into places they weren’t meant to be. Sabirah like that noise. She rubbed her leathered crotch and purred to herself before speaking into Petra’s ear.

“Remember the focus Petra. Remember the focus on your bad bits. The reason for moving on. Not trying to fix you. Not trying to repair you but focussing on you instead. Just pure pure focus on your ‘illness’... and Stefani’s illness. On your bad bits. Those disgusting, obscene bits.”

Sabirah’s voice almost a soothing caressing whisper into the ear. Stefani’s utter screams fading to grey in the background. Sabirah thumbing the remote control. This time, the suction in the nipple tubes, and the clitoral tube increased so as to intensify the throbbings that had never really left her even through her screams. Now her screams had subsided, the throbs were back with interest.  Stimulating the bases of her nipples and the base of her clitoris.  In addition, some resonation sent along the needle thin wire and right into the very inside of the base of the clitoris. The epicenter of Petra’s world.

“Mmmmmmmm yessssss, yessss the focus.. yessssssss.”

The change in her eyes startling. Oh the pain was still there. But also that added pleasure. that inescapable pleasure being fed from deep deep in her femininity. But the tearing, sheer anxiety too, as she opened her eyes wide, of her daughter, looking through her own tears, through her own absolute agonies as her mother was pleasured. That guilt produced a deep guttural groan of utter despair.

“Good girl Petra. Remember we also spoke about you having to suffer. Having to pay for the pleasure.  You remember that don’t you?”

“Y-yesssssss suffering yes I remember yessssss.”

“Good girl. Well, did you think that the suffering was just about pain, and addiction? Did you not think that I meant also that you would suffer a mental pain, a mental anguish that you would never... will never recover from?”

Petra didn’t answer this time her eyes said it all. Darting to the side at Sabirah and then back in front of herself at her daughter.

“Good girl I can see you understand me. And I want you to know Petra that the point of focus is you. It isn’t Stefani. It’s YOU. Stefani is nothing to me. If she suffers it’s just in order to make you suffer. Actually, Stefani is expendable. Very much so. if I thought that your suffering would be maximized by her death, then I could, and would kill her in the most inventive of ways, right in front of your eyes.”

Sabirah’s tone just a monotony sinking into Petra. Petra’s color draining again as she understood what Sabirah was saying. Her full luscious lips quivering with a pre-death grief as though she were actually living that very nightmare that Sabirah was describing.

“But Petra. That is not the way it will be. At least not right now because I think that your maximum suffering would then be very short lived. And I want your suffering to go on for a very very long time. Endless. Infinitum in fact.  As long as you are suffering indescribably, so Stefani will live.  I must add though, if you cease to be entertaining for me, I will simply discard the both of you, without a second thought. You will both be dead for real.”

Sabirah stands up at the precise time she strokes another button on the remote. Petra’s shrill, groaning, extended orgasm hits her immediately. Resonating through the nipple and clitoral wires and feeding into the very bases of the grotesquely enlarged organs. Her squelchy wet dripping vagina clinging and sucking onto the invasion inside her. And her anal ring doing the same.

“OHHHH GODDDDDDD YESSSSSSSS YESSSSSS YESSSSSSSSSS.”

An intense, absolute 30 second orgasm that is relayed through her stark staring eyes and her deeply quivering red lips. The tongue emerging, swiping her lips, Sucking back the drool and playing with that in her mouth before she swallows it. A seething absorption of the purest of deep feminine pleasure. Such an orgasm never achievable under normal circumstances. An enhanced orgasm that fed an addiction. AND THEN NOTHING!  Petra left panting. Groaning at the disappearance of that intense pleasure she needed so much. Even though her facial features were covered in second skin latex, the crude dirty look of a nasty girl shone through. Together with the exposed drooling, snarl that made up her delicious lips.

“Mmmmmm you liked that Petra. Such good good focus mmmmmmmm?”

Stefani continued to scream. Although it was in broken spurts now. Interspersed only by a groaning and a whimpering. Petra came down slowly.... and as usual that insipid, grating guilt even more palpable with her daughter directly in front of her and before the throbs returned to their naggingly addictive state.

“Mmmmmm yesssssss yessss thank you yessssssss.”

“Good girl.  Would you like another Petra? But a longer, even better one.”

Petra’s eyes widening and her mouth dribbling at the prospect of another of those glorious, beautiful orgasms.

“YESSSSSSSSSS YESSSSSSSSSS PLEASEEEEEEEEEEE.”

“Good girl.  But well you KNOW it has to be paid for in suffering don’t you? Like we discussed?”

“YESSSSSS SUFFERING YESSSSSSSSS.”

Petra in almost demented madness at the prospect of another orgasm and not in the slightest bit concerned that she might have to suffer for it.  Well she was wrong in her demented thinking. At least in one way. Oh she would suffer alright but not in the way she thought.

“Well that’s good Petra. I am going hurt Stefani very badly for your orgasm. Very badly do you understand?”

The confusion in Petra’s eyes immediate. The implication immediate also. The realization sinking in.

“It’s your choice Petra. Your orgasm followed by Stefani’s hurt. Or no orgasm and Stefani saved that particular torture. It’s a simple choice.. what is it to be, hmmmmm?”

The cruelty of the choice was almost as bad as the cruelty of the tortures inflicted here. Stefani sobbed and yet her own throbs had returned so her sobs were punctuated with gasps, and a rather dirty licking of her lips. Petra cried. She cried bitterly but she knew what she was going to say. There was no choice really, the pure addiction that had taken hold of her saw to that.

“O-ORGASMMMMMM, PLEASE ORGASMMMMM I N-NEED IT... ORGASM.”

For the first time Sabirah smiled. The resonation already building in the bases of Petra’s clitoris and nipples and building, building. The throbs making their way to the tips and to that all important, all vital eruption of orgasm.

When that orgasm finally hit, the shrill, gasping, breathy noises that came from Petra were... well they were inhuman really. There was no ‘thanks’ for the orgasm at least not in audible words. Just a shrill, shriek of a gasping noise that erupted from her mouth in the same way the orgasm erupted from the tip of her clitoris. The needle wire and the suction tube working in unison to make her orgasm time after time after time.  Petra was in never-land as she came and came. Couldn’t even see her own daughter watching through her own agonies as her mother was turned into a sexual monster. Her vagina and her anus gripping and sucking on the two monstrosities inside her. And even despite those monstrosities her juices squirting some from around the top edge just under the clitoral tube, and several feet from the rig splashing the floor at Sabirah’s feet. And further at the tightly suspended feet of her daughter.  Sabirah smiling, running a finger tip over one of her own leather covered nipples. Positioning herself just so. Just so she can flick her eyes across from mother to daughter and then back again.  Even in her screaming existence, Stefani stopping, holding her breath long enough to just watch and listen as her mother experiences a pleasure so intense, and so pure that some might swear it could not be of this world.  And then that screaming again. The scream piercing through Petra’s intense gasps, and guttural, obscene noises.

Petra orgasms for a full three minutes. But even then she comes down very slowly. Very very slowly the intense waves subsiding making her come down and down.  The reality though, that as that mega-tsunami of an orgasm fades away, so a palpable thick dirge of absolute guilt invades her.  A guilt as thick and all consuming as the orgasm was intense and addictive.  The orgasm fading and Petra’s panting, and drooling slowly giving way to a whimpering, a whining of despair as she looks across at her daughter, still suffering due to the extreme bondage she is in.  She isn’t screaming at the top of her voice any more. Just groaning, and sobbing. It seems her whole body hurts, and aches for release of all descriptions. Her own throbs washing through her at regular intervals.

Sabirah, has pulled down two of the clear flexi-tubes from above.  And she has pulled the needle wire core of these tubes out and is checking then re-checking them as Petra watches from the other side in a completely broken and miserable state.

“Time to pay up Petra.  I knowwwww you enjoyed that orgasm, and now... well... now it’s time to pay up.”

Again Sabirah’s voice was matter-of-fact. Very calm. Chillingly calm given what she was capable of.  Petra’s gurgle, and whimper, and drool of guilt emerge in bubbles from her mouth as she slashes her tongue across her lips.  Any sign of the immense dignity, and poise long since drained away from this stunning woman.

“Oh yes... Petra, you can watch also via the screen behind Stefani’s head. All very clever, all very state-of-the-art.”

Just a throw away comment really as Petra’s eyes flick up to the plasma screen above and behind her daughter’s rig.  The plasma gases warm up and flicker to life again.  The screen then showing very a very different image. In the place of the television and newspaper reports, the full screen, crystal clear live 3D MRI scan of Stefani.  Magnetic Resonance Imaging has been around since the early eighties. But leaps and bounds in technology had made live 3D views of patients internals possible. Almost a photographic quality, and live view which could take in the full length, or just specific points. In the medical field, obviously the benefits of such clarity was obvious in spotting early stages of various diseases and conditions.  In this particular field - the world of Dr Sabirah Najwa, the crystal clear clarity of her victim’s inner suffering could be seen, could be shown, zoomed in on and enhanced for the pleasure of Sabirah herself, or indeed, for the fullest blown infliction of despair on Petra as the screen showed Stefani, and what was happening ‘inside’ her at any given time.

The technology in this room, like in all other rooms was invisible of course. The 3D MRI image showed Stefani, in her bondaged state. Strained skeleton and repositioned and strained organs. Petra still whimpered, still gurgled in her dread. Even more so when Stefani gasped,

“MMMMOM WHY ARE Y-YOU LETTING H-HER DO THESE THINGS T-TO ME.... MOM FOR GODSSS SAKES.......”

Her gasping question fades off as another throb rides through her, and as another spasm of pain grips her. She sucks in air, expels it as Sabirah comes to her and as Petra sobs at her daughter’s faded question.  Sabirah doesn’t acknowledge the question. Or doesn’t even acknowledge the girl herself. Somehow that adds to the ultra-cruelty of what is happening.  Sabirah gently, almost too gently placing one of her leather gloved hands under Stefani’s latexed, right breast and lifts, just a little. Taking the weight, feeling the shrink wrapped, still developing flesh. Mature breasts for the age of the girl.  The exposed, engorged nipple quivering, almost baying for attention.  Sabirah uses her other hand, brings up her thumb and forefinger and just gently strokes and grips the sides of the thick, long teat before removing the hand under the breast. With no announcement, or any fuss, Sabirah sinks the needle end of the thin wire into the dead centre of the nipple. She just pushes it in. Down the very core of the nipple and into the very base, and some way beyond.

Petra sits... her lips quivering. Her eyes darting from the screen to Stefani, and then back again.  The guilt reaching its height and yet her own throbs still there in the background. She looks at the screen, and can clearly see the needle entering, then sliding deep into the nipple flesh. Stefani, gasping, and letting out a low guttural moan as she feels the needle sinking into her sensitive feminine flesh.

“UHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, NOOOOOOOOOO P-PLEASSSSSSSSE NOOOO.”

She ‘feels’ the needle entering, but that doesn’t really hurt, as such. Its just, once the needle has been pushed all the way it, as far is it needs to go, Sabirah caresses her remote control again. The button she strokes sends a special resonance through the wire, and, live on screen, Petra can see the end of the wire curl into a barb, beyond the base of her nipple. The barb curling and cutting into the inner flesh preventing the wire from slipping back out.  That bit hurt. It hurt like nothing the girl had ever experienced, or imagined. Petra just watched the live MRI feed on the plasma screen. Watched the needle curl into a barb and could only imagine the pain. She had felt it herself earlier.  Petra’s own cry out at the suffering of her daughter coincided with Stefani’s gut-wrenching scream as she felt the barb bite back behind the nipple base.

“MMMMMMMMAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH EEEEEEOOWWWWWWWWWWWWW.”

She couldn’t move, or avoid the pain, such was her bondage. Neither could she prevent, or suspend her gasping pain long enough to beg Sabirah not to take her other breast, and sink the other needle into the core of her teat. Petra watching, her, then the scream as Sabirah pushed the needle all the way in, before caressing that button again.

“MMMMMMMMAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH EEEEEEOOWWWWWWWWWWWWW.”

Again that blood curdling scream from Stefani as the needle tip barbed and bit back into her. Sabirah studying the girl’s face in its agony. Even tilting her head somewhat maniacally, as though studying her from different weird angles to get a different rush between her own legs.  Then turning to look at Petra. Mother love in its most distressed state. Sabirah running her own tongue over her own lips. A sure sign, the way in which she did this, that she was liking what she was seeing. Liked it very much. Mom, just staring, stark, eyes wide, absolute. Bulging as she was witnessing her own offspring’s suffering.  Sabirah talking over the various noises of despair and torture as she then slides the suction tubes over each nipple. Making sure the clear flexi-tubes suck right around the bases, touching the aureolas, and marveling herself at the complete perfect symmetry of the wire and tube. Perfect.

“You know about these wires and tubes Petra, don’t you?  I can give real good pleasure through them can’t I?  But I can also give real real torment. A pain that is indescribable by sending heat through the wires. All the way to that barb inside. Or electric shock. Whatever. The torture, is really... well, let me just say that from my point of view, it is ‘delicious’.”

Sabirah’s spoken words as tortuous as as the methods of physical torture that she used.

“Soooooo... a three minute orgasm, which is what you have just received, in return for a one minute electric shock through both nipple wires. How does that sound? Very fair I think. Three minutes in return for one minute.  You got a bargain.”

Sabirah’s voice just eerily matter-of-fact. The way she discussed the torture of the young girl. The discussion more with herself than anything because she didn’t really want an answer from the mother. She spoke for effect. Added effect. Petra simply sank a little deeper. Her mind diminishing a little more at right about the same time as those electric shock ripped through the wire, inside the nipples and to the barbs.  A slight change. A slight thickening of the image of the wire on the MRI pictures. Almost a ‘glow’ as electricity surged through them. Stefani’s expression, and her noises quite inhuman. Unable to move so all the expression, all of that deep penetrating hurt exploding from her mouth and squirting from her bulging eyes in the form of tears.

 “AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHGGGGGHHHH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO NNGGGGGGGG GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDD NOOOOOOOOOO.”

Again those childlike qualities from the young blossoming woman.  For a full minute the continuous electric feed torturing the hyper-sensitive inner nipple flesh.  Very acutely directed electric shocks. Pin point. Hyper-accurate. Petra’s own throbs, own hunger returning unavoidably so. The drip from her sexuality more like a continuous stream. The returning throbs themselves feeding the guilt that was at its most palpable, at its most soul destroying. Petra was entering a deep dark world.

________________________________

The torture of Stefani was relentless over an indeterminate amount of time.  The intense pleasure of Mom being paid for by the equally intense and abject pain of her offspring. Sabirah had worked calmly, efficiently. The way she worked caused hairs on backs of necks to raise and tingle.  Her ability to cause so much physical and mental distress was so accomplished, so polished, so complete that the question had to be asked as to how, or why such a successful woman, could be so cruel to others of her gender. The answer was simple, she was a sadist. A sadist of the hyper-advanced variety. A sadist who sought out, predatorily, her victims and ensured that both physically, and mentally, they never recovered from their bottomless pit of an ordeal. It was her ‘thing’. Her ‘buzz’ in life. A thing and a buzz that had become a way of life. Pure and simple. A way of life. Just like the change of the way of life for her victims.  An irreversible change in ways of life.

Sabirah had licked her lips as she pushed the needle wire into the tip of Stefani’s clitoris. Mother now in a highly charged, yet completely helpless state of distress and anxiety at the suffering of her only daughter. The needle tip sliding into the core of the clitoris and then passing its throbbing inner base with ease before that remote control was caressed by leathered gloves again.  The screaming, absolute deluge of noise coming from the girl’s mouth was instant as the wire curled into the barb and sank back preventing it sliding back out.

“MMMMMMMMAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH EEEEEEOOWWWWWWWWWWWWW.”

The scream followed by an immense and fixed bulging of the eyes. A stare into the space in front of herself. Not even a stare across at her mother. She couldn’t see that far. Her pain and distress were so focussed. So intense that she was wrapped in herself. Oh, she was aware that she was suffering because of her mother. And that her mother was experiencing pleasure at her expense. But that added to Stefani’s break down.  Her torture every bit as mental as her mother’s.  She had the added, terrible terrible pain deep inside her femininity.

Another three minute orgasm for Petra was paid for by a continuous two minute electric shock through Stefani’s clitoris. Again the glowing image of the inserted wire as the current  coursed through the girl.  Looking at the MRI image, which had been zoomed to her pelvic and sexual areas, it was clear to see the two embedded appendages inside her. The vaginal one, nestled up against, and nudging her cervix. The cervix itself showing up as an organic, white object.  The cervix itself, a source of the single most intimate, and most intense personal pain known to woman. The possibilities with the cervix were, well, completely endless. But Stefani didn’t know that. How could she. Or Petra. How could she possibly know what hidden treasures the cervix held.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHGGGGHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO MOMMYYYYYYYYY PLEASSSSSEEEEE HELP MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.”

Stefani’s scream and the attached begging for her mother to help her were shrill, animalistic noises that filled the room in it’s entirety.  Petra had by this time become a mumbling wreck of a thing, not used to the sheer, core intensity of her own hyper-orgasms. The guilt was still there, nagging even during the height of the orgasms and yet raged after that orgasm subsided. But the hunger soon returned. Every time she chose orgasm as opposed to relieving her daughter of any more suffering.  In fact being given the choice during the latter stages was canceling itself out. There was no other answer than the dribbling, begging pleading for yet another orgasm. Her mind and body being ripped apart from the inside out. A torture for mom that left no scars. At least no visible scars.  Even the internal torture to Stefani left no visible scars. Deliciously cruel and yet, traceless to the casual eye.

_______________________________________

Sabirah worked calmly throughout. Even as she applied the dental device to Stefani. Just a clamp really, that inserted into the girl’s mouth, and at the same time kept it open. Wide open. It was in fact a dental device. Adjustable for different mouths and mainly used for children who always but always remained reluctant to ‘open up’ in order to be dentally checked.  No such problem with Stefani. The clamp offered to her mouth and her mouth peeling open without request.  As before stated... Sabirah wasn’t in the business of running a ‘training establishment’. She didn’t ‘train’ her victims. She didn’t need to ‘train’ her victims.

The clamp inserted and screwed into place so that the whole thing attached to her back gums and teeth. The mouth of the pretty girl stretched and held open. Deep red lips kind of enhanced and stretched at the same time. Jaws prized and held so. Such a facial bondage didn’t allow such luxuries as the sucking back of drool back into her mouth. So the result was an almost continuous flow of thick, bubbly drool from the corners of the girls clamped mouth.

Sabirah didn’t communicate with Stefani at all. It made the whole process so much more chilling. She was just an object of Petra’s suffering. She had no need to make conversation with her. Or communicate at all.  Unless that is there was a need. In this case there was a need.  There was a need for the girl to slip out her tongue so that another clamp could be attached.  It wasn’t an encouraging, warm request. And absolutely not a conversation at all. Just a single word, hissed into the girl’s ear by Sabirah as she bent down near to her.

“TONGUE.”

Just the single word. Nothing else. Sabirah staying put right by Stefani’s ear. Stefani immediately, without delay, sliding out her tongue. All fleshy and dripping with her own drool. Sabirah impressed by it length and volume.

No training needed in this establishment!

Why would Sabirah need to ‘train’.  Training suggested that the trainee could prevent herself from suffering if she reached the required standard of training. That didn’t apply here - suffering was the reason - the inescapable reason that Sabirah’s subjects existed. Hence, no training required.  Victims eventually did what was required simply because there was nothing else they could do.  It was like an acceptance. Or a basic instinct of survival. What would Sabirah have done, had the girl not slipped out her tongue. Or worse, not understood that simple one word command?  Maybe the insipid fear of not knowing the outcome of such a refusal, the dread, pure undiluted anxiety of such an outcome made her comply without thought.

Training without being trained!

The clamp was made of of two hard rubber blocks. One slipped under the tongue the other over the top. The two blocks were fixed as one unit and were spring loaded. The spring closing the clamp down and around the tongue.  Little forward facing needles, pierced the tongue which provided the added security in that it could not slip off. Much the same as the barbs in the nipple and clitoral wires.  Except there were lots of them, in a row across the top, and under the tongue. Stefani had shrieked, first when the spring loaded blocks had compressed her tongue and then when the little popping sounds filled her head as the little barbs pierced and clung into the top and bottom of her tongue flesh.

“UUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPHHHHHHHH.”

It was just a drooled soaked, wide eyed shriek of panic really. First the compression then the piercing of a lot of tiny, sharp pointed needles.  These weren’t the source of the torture. They were just the means.  The clamp when fitted was slid a few centimeters in from the tip of Stefani’s tongue. Indeed those last few centimeters of wet pink tongue flesh were left protruding from the blackness of the clamp blocks, and it curled, twisted and dripped depending on Stefani’s levels of distress.  The clamp meant that she couldn’t retract her tongue back into her mouth.

But there was a beauty to this clamp. Clipped to the outer facing blocks was another length of the high tensile steel wire. Sabirah calmly fitted the clamp, sighing to herself at the sound of the ‘popping’ as those little needles pierced and clung to the protruding tongue. Then she ran one of her gloved hands up the length of the wire, until the end rose off the floor and she held it. Then the sound of her heels, clicking on the floor in amongst the sounds of distress and suffering as she made her way across to Petra. Just enough loose in the wire for her to clip the end into one steel ringlet, fixed in the front of Petra’s neck corset.  Such minute accuracy with the rig placement in this room. Such absolute total accuracy. That added a little weight to the wire, pulling the tongue further out of Stefani’s mouth. Neither mother nor daughter could move their respective heads. It was similar to securing the one end of wire to a solid object, ie Petra’s neck. The only thing that gave way to the pull, slightly was the Stefani’s tongue. The pull was just one way, out.

There was a further beauty to this tongue clamp and the attached wire.  In the middle of the length of wire between mom and daughter there was a miniscule micro-electric motor and gearing box attached. it was as though the wire passed through this micro-motor from Stefani to Petra and vice versa.  So when Sabirah caressed the remote control yet again. The shrieking hell was all one sided.  The slight dip, or slack in the wire was taken up, taught against the eye at Petra’s neck. The only possible give as the wire effectively shortened was in the tongue of the young girl.

“MMMMMPPPHHHHHHHHHH EEEEEEEEOWWWWWWWWWGGGRRRRHHH.”

Again a spitting drooling noise that emanated from a grotesquely distorted mouth. And now the tongue being pulled out... all the way out. It’s fuller length being exposed, all dripping and drooling. That few centimeters of tongue tip flailing and curling wildly as the rest of the thick, fleshy wet tongue was pulled from its owners mouth.

Petra held her breath as she watched her daughter suffering. She couldn’t escape the maddening throbs that, ever since these most recent hyper-orgasms, had seemed to be even more intense, and yet even seeming to come from deeper in her femininity. Petra held her breath, taking in her daughter’s suffering. Whilst absorbing the suffering and guilt of her own. Deep down inside there was a little voice telling her that she should do more, should do anything to save her little girl from suffering any more. But she  knew she couldn’t. Knew that her addiction was so instilled, so extensive, so part of her, that if ever an orgasm was offered, no matter what the price she would take it. Absolutely without a hesitation.  She needed that intense pleasure as much as she needed the caress of the latex she was wrapped in. But that knowledge didn’t help her guilt. That guilt that she was letting her daughter down in the worse, worse way possible, grated at another part of Petra’s deeper being. That guilt served as another step down the slippery slope.

The clamp wire was micro adjusted and then some more. Enough to pull the girl’s tongue out, just enough, just short of ripping it right out of her throat.  Stefani’s scream a quite bizarre affair both to hear and watch.  Hindered by the clamp keeping her mouth open, and also by the clamp pulling out her tongue... it wasn’t a scream really, at all.  It was drool drenched and it was shrill. But it was a shrill of pure, undiluted fear, and discomfort.  Possibly the cruelest twist to this was that, the clamp itself, the extraction of the tongue, was not the torture at all. It was merely an enhancement to the bondage. Petra received no pleasure for that. And even, deep within her own suffering, the hungry, needy, greedy Petra was galled at that. That her daughter had suffered a little more and with no pleasure given to her, her mother! An opportunity to experience that beautiful orgasm lost. Gone forever despite Stefani’s additional suffering. To Petra’s ever twisting mind that was so unfair. So unjust.

_____________________________

Sabirah saved the best until last. In true sadistic style it was the “Grande Finale”. Or maybe not ‘the’ Grande Finale, but most certainly one of the Finales that both Petra and Stefani would suffer along this particular path.

The MRI image on the screen was adjusted again. Brought in closer to the pelvic regions. The two appendages inside Stefani. Solidly inside her. Her anal tract and her vaginal tubes stretched to the maximum and yet, quivering, and sucking onto their respective intruders.  The blackness of the objects kind of enhanced the thickness of them, and the length also. But on adjusting the screen slightly via remote control, it became clear that the very tips of both intrusions were coated with a thin latex. But under that latex a shaped metallic plate covering the entire ‘bell end’ of the intrusions.  The very tip that nudged Stefani’s still developing cervix was some kind of metal.  The exact build could not be seen from the MRI... only that metal was involved.  Also down the shaft of the appendages, little metal plates running down the entire length of the shafts. Again under a thin skin of latex. Interchangeable latex, like condoms that are used then discarded.  Even in such an acute environment as this tortuous hell, there was such a thing as ‘safe sex’. Or ‘safe penetration’.  How ironically amusing! Sabirah adjusts the screen just so. Just so the clarity was as its best. Just so Mom could see the expanded, impaled innards of her daughter.

“Look Petra. A new view of your beloved daughter. The very essence of her femininity. Isn’t it beautiful?  Isn’t that just the most glorious sight?  Go on take a look Petra take a good long look. Then we’ll see if we cant persuade you to accept, another, even better orgasm. How does that sound Petra, hmmmm?”

Petra was mumbling nothings as another set of throbs resonated through her making her wish upon wish for another orgasm.  She looked through half closed eyes at her daughter, then up at the screen as Sabirah’s words filtered into her. Her lips drooled, and hung in a filthy pout. it was as though she couldn’t be bothered to suck back the drool into her mouth.

“Mmmmmmm y-yesssss s-sheeeee l-lookssss glorious... yessss glorious.”

It was a sex drenched voice. Her addiction taken that step further. She looked at the MRI images of her daughter. Clear. Crystal clear.

“Another orgasm Petra?  Hmmmmm a nice long, steady orgasm so you can wallow in it for some minutes. Hmmmm would you like that?

Stefani’s protruding, clamped stretched tongue was dripping with drool. Her eyes were wide. Every nuance of agony she was feeling was relayed through her eyes. They bulged, almost popped. But also the spark of the sixteen year old had been extinguished. In many ways. Many many ways Stefani would suffer a journey far far worse than her mother. Her mother had orgasms and suffering. Stefani had pain and suffering despite the cravings her own enlarged, sensitized sexuality produced. Her own orgasms would be less, maybe never, than her own mother would experience. The whole dynamics were changing. Mother love and daughter love was changing.  A resentment beginning to nag at the very base of the two women’s souls. A resentment for each other. A jealousy. Insipid jealousy. And yet, still that unconditional love. A love that never went away. A love that was magnified through duress. Through life changing experiences. Like the life changing experiences that mother and daughter were going through now.

“Mmmmmm yessssssss please... please oh god please.. yes another orgasm.....”

The first tell tale sign of severe, deep, direct current electric shock wasn’t in the noises Stefani made. At first she didn’t make any noise at all. It was just the ‘tensing’ of her already taught flesh under her latex skins that gave it away. A slight ripple rising from the pelvic area, and up her torso, making a wave through her breasts, and then up her neck and through to her face. Rubberized cheeks rippling.  Another wave of ripples beginning at her pelvis even before the facial ripples had died away. The second wave making its way up through the young girl even before any noise had come from her bondaged mouth.  First there was the catapulted ribbon of drool. Straight from the back of her throat and out. Right out towards her mother, then plop on the floor.  Then there was the ultra-bulge in her eyes. Almost her eyeballs popping out of their sockets, so exposed were they. Then came the noise.

“GGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHGGGHHHHGHGGGHGHHGHGHHGHGHGHGHHGHGHG.”

It wasn’t a noise she could shape with her mouth. Her mouth had been rendered useless by the clamps and the stretching of her tongue. The noise came from the pit of her stomach. Resonated up inside her throat and then expelled itself as the severe electric shocks wracked her deeper femininity.

The MRI showed the torture in all its glory. Muscle spasms, and glowing tip beneath the ultra thin latex covering the appendages in both her vagina and anus.  Shock after shock with no let up. Misplaced internal organs rippling, jerking. Stefani barely able to catch her breath. Then holding her breath as the current seared through her.  The vaginal intrusion, nudging her cervix and sending the shocks from it, through the cervix on its way upwards. The anal appendage sending shocks ripping through her bowels on their journey through the girl’s body. These weren’t minor shocks like those to the nipples and clitoris. These DC current shocks, left nothing untouched. Nothing un-wracked.

At about the time when the first shock was searing its way through Stefani’s torso, the first pangs of a deep, longer lasting orgasm was invading Petra. A different orgasm. Intense yes. But so so deep. Not so immediate. A build up and then a much longer lasting wave of pure undiluted pleasure that rippled her own latex.  It was during this orgasm that Petra squirted from just under her tubed and wired clitoris the most. Squirt after squirt of sexually charged, sexually produced juices. Thick slippery juices. And her expression, one of pure pure contentment mixed with the agony of the bondage as her sex and anus clung and sucked on to their own respective intrusions. The orgasm just melting her. She could see Stefani suffering. She cold hear her suffering. She had been splashed a little with the flying drool as the second of the shocks had ripped through her. But Petra didn’t care about that. Her focus was one, pure focus. The orgasm. The pure miracle of these intense orgasms that Sabirah was good enough to be allowing her.

Sabirah herself watched the proceedings with a relaxed ease. Her method of sadism was so complex and yet so easily applied. Her methods meant that she could ‘enjoy’ the spectacle and not be bogged down with the effort of it all.  Her eyes flicked from mom to daughter as she just prowled on her high heels between the two. Every so often bending, smelling the exhaling, desperate breath of either woman. Savoring the breath like it was tainted with the taste of fear, and self loathing in Petra’s case.  Oh this was one of Sabirah’s better days. She was on a roll.

For fifteen minutes Petra was allowed to orgasm. Four or five, long long, nagging, brain numbing orgasms as her daughter suffered shock after shock after shock. Petra was taken down from her high slowly. Another fifteen minutes during which the shocks still coursed through Stefani at full blast. Stefani suffered thirty minutes of shocks. Her still developing body wracked, exhausted. Her head, her face, her mouth and tongue all held rigid in the bondage. Her face a red, tear wracked twisted mess.

Then for Petra guilt. Then that unconditional love. That love that never dies, never fades breaking through. This time Petra’s sobs were inhumane, as she looked through her own mist of tears at the state of Stefani. Still twitching. Still rippling from the electric shocks still coursing through her. It was only when the ‘guilt’ was at its height. When it was at its most thickly palpable that the current was eventually switched off. By this time Petra was numbed with a guilt, and shame so deep it could be grief. Stefani was in a rigid state of limpness, due to her bondage.

_______________________________

The scene in that room, it could be said was one of emotional, and physical carnage. It was a mess. And yet, not a drop of blood spilled. The only fluids, either drool, or sexual discharge. In either case in plentiful supply. Easy I guess to overlook what mother and daughter had been through.  What they were going through.  Two shrink wrapped packages of enhanced femininity bondaged. And then tortured in ultra-cruel, hyper-intense ways.  Stefani was as limp as her rigid bonds allowed. Exhausted and yet still emitting sounds of deep distress. Every so often, a husky, broken noise came from her mouth, that sounded like,

“MMMMMMMMUMMMMMMMMMMMM.”

Of course it was hard to say this is what it was. With her tongue stretched. Pulled out to its maximum. And with her jaws prized open, it wasn’t possible for her to make her mouth form words, as such. Just noises. It would have made sense if she were calling for her mother. That would have been a base instinct that came from deep within her sixteen year old being.  Any form of maturity having been curtailed early. Probably when Selena had scared her half to death after that pick up from college.  Shock had that effect.  Severe shock, when applied in gratuitous amounts had the effect of making the sufferer recede. Regress back to beyond childhood. Make them long for the safety and security of the womb once again.  Stefani didn’t have that luxury. Of regression that is. Her body and mind state was constant. A never ending assault on her diminishing senses.

Petra, had been taken to a new level of sexuality. A deeper level. Not a higher level. A lower level. She had been ‘reduced’ to a level beyond ‘gutter’. A mother, desperate for her daughter and yet more desperate for the addictive throbs and all consuming orgasms. A dripping, perma-leaking ‘thing’ that existed in a diminishing mind. An ever diminishing mind. Her more mature statuesque body, and mind able to absorb, and comprehend what was happening to her. It was that ability for her to comprehend and Sabirah’s expertise in exactly keeping her on that ‘edge’ that made Petra’s journey, a long long, one way journey beyond Hell.  Whereas Petra’s journey would be infinite and never ending. Stefani’s was not so cut and dried.  She would exist, she would live only as long as she served to deepen her mother’s suffering.

Sabirah looked from mother to daughter and back again. Her facial expression, her own aloofness never giving away what she really felt. The woman clad in skin tight leather and extreme heels, made any guesses or assumption very difficult.

“Another orgasm Petra, sweetie.”

Petra was exhausted and yet unable to say no to the generous offer. She even knew that Stefani would suffer yet more for the orgasm.  But even through the pangs of guilt that constantly sliced through the throbs, between gritted drooling teeth she answered,

“MMMMM YESSSSSSSSS PLEASSSSSE YESSSSSSSSSSSSS.”

Her drooling, hissing answer had barely escaped her red lips and into the dead air of the room than the orgasm was riding through her. Another one, like the last one. Multiple orgasms of slow building, explosive erupting orgasm that made her shiver all the way through, and then spit ribbons of drool as she became unable to control her facial features, or what came out of her mouth.

“MMMMMGGGGGGGGODDDDDDYESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS..... FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKK YESSSSSSSSSGODYESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.”

Repeated time after time after time as she pulsed and spasmed in her bondage. The throbs seeming to erupt from her nipples first, then attach themselves to the throbs beginning to rise in her clitoris. When they erupted into actual orgasm, Petra’s eyes bulged and her tongue swiped. A filthy dirty snarl over her lips and showing through the thin latex covering her facial features.  Just a head and shoulders shot of her would label her ‘disgraceful’. But then any watcher of such an image wouldn’t know really what she was going through lower. or higher in her mind. Then she became ‘poor poor Petra’.

All pleasure for Petra. Big hyper-pleasure. But no torture for Stefani. Not just yet. Not until mummy came down from her orgasm. Not until she was approaching the gut wrenching, intense-absolute of grief ridden guilt.  When she was at that stage, then the torture of her daughter would begin again.  Petra treated to 30 minutes of pure orgasm. Each multiple orgasm blending into the next and into the last. The orgasms exhausting her, draining her, melting her mind. In normal circumstances such intensity would make a woman pass out. But such was Petra’s situation. Such was her conditioning that the deeper baser self that was now her, wouldn’t allow her to pass out.  Only after thirty minutes was she brought down again. Slowly.  Another fifteen minutes of bringing her down. Ever so slowly and at the same time letting that all important guilt begin to wrack up inside her. Thick, stomach churning guilt. The type, that couldn’t be described with any ease.  It was just easy for Sabirah to ‘see’ and to recognize in her victims eyes, and in the noises she made.

“Nice orgasm Petra? Nice feeling isn’t it. That beautiful pleasure.... so nice... and yet such a need to be paid for.....”

The spoke verbal reminder that Stefani was opposite witnessing everything through her own despair and pain. And with coming down of her mother from her seemingly endless orgasm, the knowledge, the recognition that she would now have to suffer. Probably suffer immeasurably. Such recognition altered the noises coming from her own deformed mouth and dripped with the drool off her tongue. Stefani was learning. Not being trained but ‘learning’. That learning always adding to her suffering.

“Watch the screen Petra. Watch the screen.”

Sabirah’s voice hissing into Petra’s ear. The two impalements deep inside Stefani, clear, and lucid from the live MRI scan. Stefani bracing herself for more of the shattering electric shocks.  It was clear to see her muscles tensing, into spasm even before any electric shock was applied.  EXCEPT... it wasn’t an electric shock. Petra’s eyes just gawked, wide open as she saw, from the shafts of both appendages inside her daughter, dozens, upon dozens of tiny needles erupting from the whole length of the shafts of both appendages and into the delicate, very intimate feminine flesh inside the girl. Not overlong needles. Just an inch or so. Maybe a little less. Each needle piercing the delicate inner flesh of Stefani causing a deep deep burning sensation.

There was a ripple of her latex as her body tried to absorb something unrecognizable inside her. But then there was the most maddening, sharp, burning hurt inside her most private places. Instead of relaxing the inner muscles, the pain caused her to tense and thus aid the piercing in dozens of places of her inner walls. Petra sobbing

“OHHHHHHH NOOOOOOOOO.... NOOOOOOOOOO STEFANI... HONEYYYYYYY NOOOOO MOMMY’S SORRY... SOOOOO SORRRRRYYYYYYYY.”

Her words only just audible. The soul destroying remorse palpable as it dripped from a constantly drooling mouth. Stefani’s shrill, noise reached new levels. Sabirah took this all in. Her eyes flicking form one to the other. Then a little massage of the remote control as the DC current was turned on again. This time, as well as from the tip of the appendages, through the tiny needles also and into the sensitive side walls of both her most private tubes.  What was free of Stefani’s face, which wasn’t much, was twisted and contorted into absolute agonies. Absolute horrors. The strain on her protruding, stretched tongue plain to see as the tip, simply curled up, defenseless and fetal like. Petra just staring at the screen, at all of those needles, erupting from the shafts and into the inner walls of her baby. Stefani had always been her baby despite her maturity. She was her only child and thus her baby.

There was no blood. The appendages absorbed the initial trickle. And such was the cleaness, the suddenness of the piercing inside her, there was no flow of blood. Just a pain. A fire as the messages reached her brain.

Pain Pain Pain.

Her ‘noises’ subhuman. Pitifully subhuman.

For one hour the electric shocks were applied to the girl. Those together with the constantly contorting, spasming muscles around the intrusions, tightening on the needles made the torture absolute. A complete, invasive torture that served only to reduce the girl even more.

Sabirah, watched. Studied. Took in mother’s suffering. Mother love. And offspring terror, and pain. She took it all in, absorbed it all into her own sadistic makeup. Even rubbed herself before moving to the young girl, looking into her eyes before massaging the remote control again. This time though no intense pain. Just pleasure as the clitoral wire and tube were manipulated, giving her an orgasm like she had never felt before. Pure orgasm. Thus setting the seeds of a different kind of addiction in the young girl, to that instilled in her mother.  So much pain and yet so much pleasure would forever be linked in the girls diminishing psyche. She dribbled and drooled through the orgasm, and squirted from the area just below the clitoral tube and wire. At the same time her vaginal and anal muscles gripped and sucked and chewed on the needled appendages inside her.

Petra watched her daughter come. At the same time she repeatedly slashed her tongue across her lips.

The screams, and the moans and groans went on, and on and on in that room.On and on and on.....

____________________________

EPILOGUE

Sabirah hadn’t been back to this particular wine bar since that delightful meeting with Petra all that time ago. She looked around now with a slight smile remembering that night and the stunning vision that was Petra.  That Petra didn’t exist any more. Here and now Sabirah was, once again, the impeccable, professional Dr Sabirah Najwa. This time siting opposite her was her most trusted, longest standing friend and confidante Victoria.

“Sabirah, I don’t think I ever saw you looking so well, and so content.  I take it, your ‘project’ is progressing according to plan?”

Sabirah laughed, re-crossed her legs and flicked imaginary dust off her skirt hem. She took a lengthy sip of the chilled white wine before answering.

“I didn’t think it was possible to bring another woman down to such levels... and hold her there existing in such a pure level of misery... I’m actually elated beyond words. I feel utter contentment inside. I really do.”

Victoria, a professional woman in her late thirties listened intently, smiling at her friend as she got what she was being told. The chilling, matter-of-fact way the destruction of another woman was being discussed was not lost in this setting.

“Hmmmmm yes, yes I can see that. But you know... your own pleasure, and her suffering can be even greater... quite easily.”

Victoria’s perfect english tone was slightly teasing. Slightly eyebrow raising. Sabirah smiling again... a slight puzzled, quizical look on her face for Victoria to tell her more. Victoria, teasingly again, making Sabirah wait. Taking a sip of her own wine, exagerating her own poise and importance.

“Do tell Victoria. Do tell?”

Both women laughing out loud before Victoria leans forward, and in hushed tones speaks.

“Give her a period of respite. Let her think her ordeal has ended. Give her to me for a few weeks whilst you work on her daughter some more.  Let Petra ‘get better’. Let her recover a little. Let her think it’s all behind her.... and then BANG.... bring her right back in. Whatever levels you have achieved now, will be trebled... or more. I guarantee you.”

Victoria finishes speaking and sits back, re-crossing her legs. Her tongue pushing out her lips, and a wry grin as she watches her words sink into Sabirah.  Ever so slowly a smile starts to dawn on Sabirah’s full sensuous lips and without further words on that particular subject, a silent agreement is made.

Victoria watches Sabirah go to the bar to get fresh drinks. Her eyes scan the entire length of the clinical psychologist.  She sucks her teeth, a very different smile crossing her lips. Something about that smile.  Something behind the smile and the way her eyes narrow, just slightly.

 

TO BE CONCLUDED IN PART 3

© drkfetyshnyghts 2009