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Devastation

By: KoAoIroUmi



© Copyright DrkFetyshNyghts, 2009

translated by DeepBlueSea



Devastation by Clitoritcus



Oh, there's another one, god, I hope I didn't moan aloud.

"Mrs. Nelson the doctor will see you now. Right in this room, now please get undressed and then you can put this gown on. You know the opening goes in back, right. After you're ready you may sit on the table, I'm sure she'll be right in."

I did as instructed and once lying on the table I looked up and smiled yet again at Gloria's little joke on the ceiling. To be honest it is relaxing now; although the first time you see the picture of the man with the camera looking down at you is a little unnerving. I heard the door open and my GYN walked in.

"OK Judy tell me about this so called problem you have, you say you are cumming all day long. Oh dear this is terrible you orgasm all the time and here I can hardly get off with a vibrator."

"Gloria you're my doctor I was hoping at least you'd take me seriously all my friends are having great fun at my expense."

"No, no you're right Judy I'm sorry but you have to understand I have woman in here all day long just begging me to teach them how to have a climax. In fact, I seem to remember you sitting on that very table pleading with me to help you have an orgasm. So when did you ahem, problem start."

"You know you're right I didn't think I would ever cum and you did help, but I'm telling you now it's not funny, do you know I had five orgasms out in your waiting room. Do you have any idea how hard it is to sit there like a proper lady when there are thunderbolts going off in your vagina?"

Although I knew she still was not taking me seriously, she started going through my history and taking all the tests they always take at the doctor's office. When she asked when all this started I mentioned it was shortly after returning from my vacation in Central America.

"Maybe you had so much sex down there you broke the turn off switch on your cummer. OK, I'm sorry no more jokes it's just too easy. Seriously now, did you have much sex on your trip?"

"Well, yes I did meet a man at my hotel, oh god Gloria he was fantastic. We did it all the time and all over the countryside. He was from there and knew all the great places to visit. One time we went to this waterfall, he did me on a rock behind the falling water, and just as he was ready to cum he pushed us over the falls. We both climaxed as we screamed all the way down to the pools below us."

"Judy did you have unprotected sex with this man?"

"Ah, not at first but after I got to know him it just seemed silly and really Gloria don't you think its better when you can feel his junk shoot inside you?"

"I wouldn't know Judy I don't have unprotected sex, not even with my husband. I'm sorry I've seen too much horror sitting right where you are to risk myself just for that special feeling. Wait a minute you're having an orgasm right now aren't you?"

"Are you kidding, I've had three or four at least since I told you about Roberto."



In the end, she told me she had not seen anything like me but she would know more after the results of my tests came back. She said she'd call me when had any news then told me to go home and try not to worry. Go home she said, where else could I go, I haven't been back to work since all this started. You can just imagine me sitting at my desk with my face all flushed and moaning every five minutes. I certainly couldn't go to the grocery store or anywhere else, that has people. So yes, I went home alone, just me, and my orgasms.

The next day I was down in the laundry room praying no one would come in as I kept cumming as I did my wash. When I got back upstairs, there was a message on my machine from the doctor's nurse. She tersely said for me to come in right away. Of course, this worried me, the doctors never want you to come in right away to tell you good news. I took a shower got dressed, came a few more times, and drove downtown. 

"Thanks for coming Judy, have a seat. The results of your tests were certainly surprising and truth be told I didn't know what to make of them. Still after a few phone calls, I think I now know what is wrong with you. You have been infected by a prion called Clitoritcus and as you can tell by the root of the word, it invades the body and attaches itself to the base of the clitoris. So far, this prion has only turned up in a few places in Central America. Your Latino lover was probably the host and as soon as our little friend found no clit to attach to he went looking for someone else, escaping the host through his ejaculation. There is no doubt in my mind he had no idea he had this thing inside. I have to say as a warning to you yet again, if you had practiced safe sex this little fucker would have ended up in the bottom of a condom instead of the bottom of your clit."

Of course, my question was how we rid myself of this little monster. When I saw the serious look on her face, I knew there was no good news.

"I'm sorry Judy as of yet there is no known cure."

"You mean I will have to go through life like this?"

"No honey, I mean you will not live long enough for this to be a bother. This prion is related to the one that causes Mad Cow. Prions are hypothesized to infect and propagate by refolding abnormally into a host, and then it is able to convert normal molecules of the protein into abnormal structured forms. In layman terms, I'm saying this tiny protein for that is what it is made of, is converting surrounding tissue and adding it to its host, or your clitoris. Right now, all that is happening to you due to the extra sensitivity it is causing are the current symptoms i.e. increased orgasms, but as it grows, it begins to take needed tissue from different parts of your body until you basically turn into a giant clit."

"Are you saying death by orgasm?"

"Well I wouldn't put it that way, you know what, you're right, death by orgasm."  

That all happened two weeks ago and I've been going steadily downhill since. My clitoris is now enormous and growing daily, yet I still am having orgasms constantly. They are now so intense I usually swoon and often pass out after having one. I have now accepted my fate for what else can I do. To tell the truth I have always loved to cum and if I have to die, I mean, can you tell me a better way. All I have left is the writing of my memoirs made more difficult by all the climaxes. I have a working title of "She Came, she saw, she Came Again. 



Devastation Pt. 01



Part 1 - A Perfect Life No More

© 2009 by drkfetyshnyghts

Dr. Sabirah Najwa

My name is Sabirah Najwa. I'm a 49-year old clinical and behavioral psychologist resident in London, though Arabic in origin. In Arabic, Sabirah means "patient" and Najwa means "confidential talk, secret conversation."

I am a lesbian Sadist. And also a Fetishist. I must add I am neither a Sadist nor a Fetishist in the common misconceptions of those words. I will say only, at this point, that normal clichéd conventions of BDSM and Fetishism bore me. They don't interest me. They never have and never will. I choose a very different path to very different and totally devastating ends.

Forward by Dr. Sabirah Najwa

If I were to 'label' this story, or indeed any of my written works, first and foremost, it would be 'Fantasy.' Psycho-Sexual, Psycho-Fetish are also labels that could apply, since deeper feminine issues are explored. Always fiction of course, despite the level of realism applied and levels of inspiration gained from real life -- sometimes verging on the taboo. Always exploring the edges of limits. Peering over the edges into the darkness where others are afraid to venture. Some less open-minded individuals could apply the label 'Horror' to my stories; certainly 'Perverse,' since, for my 'victims,' usually there is only a one-way trip down into a vortex that is really bottomless.

Come.... be immersed in "My" world....

ONE - Petra

It's probably only once in a Sadist's lifetime that her ideal 'subject' will come along. That is, if she's lucky; once where all the boxes are ticked. Everything comes together into a perfect 'package': the age of the subject, her physical attributes, her domestic situation, her career status and circumstances, her character and personality; the strengths, the weaknesses and the traits. Every single box ticked. Everything right, so that the hairs on the back of the Sadist's neck stand upright, erect.

_________________________________

I met Petra by pure chance for the first time at a corporate fund-raising function. She was the PA of a Chief Executive of a City finance group. I was representing my own private clinic attempting to raise funds into research of the extremities of human behavior. Quite ironic, really, given how things were to develop.

Obviously certain boxes were ticked immediately. Striking, stunning looks and vital statistics I was to later find out were a height of 5'10" and curves measuring 38d-25-35. Long, thick, luscious hair a shade darker than flame-red and huge pools of hazel eyes with naturally thick, curled lashes. Her lips, full and delicately shaped and with a natural pout. Her complexion, pale, slightly freckled across her nose and under her eyes. With the addition of impossibly long legs, tapered and shaped in all the right places, Petra caught my eye immediately.

Then there was her sense of style and dress, which quite simply flattered her elegance to the extreme. Featuring designer dresses and suits that enhanced her best attributes. Indeed not a lady of the shy, retiring type. A woman who knows how good she looks, and enjoys that. One who knows her best attributes and how to subtly draw attention to them. And yet also not overtly sexual either. Better described as subtle, mature, and matching her thirty-five years to perfection. I am usually quite good at guessing ages of other women and indeed correctly guessed Petra's age as early thirties.

Petra, before even a word had been exchanged between us, had captured my attention to the fullest. There was a natural grace to her. The way she moved. The way she carried herself. I liked that. I liked that very much. More than that though, there was a confidence. A self-assurance. A self-gratification that suggested that Petra was pleased, and content with the life she had. I especially liked that.

Also, there was more than a hint of arrogance. From a distance it was difficult to finger the source of the arrogance. Just in her stance. The way she appeared to talk to others. The way she looked at others in her presence. Petra was a delight to study from a distance. Any woman capable of such overt arrogance had also to be highly intelligent. Intelligence in a woman, for me, is very desirable. An intelligent woman is a woman who would understand what she was going through. Understand and 'feel' the journey she is taken on, maximizing the effect. Maximizing her suffering.

There were more boxes to be ticked once the inevitable introduction had been made. Petra's first words to me tripped from her immaculately glossed lips effortlessly.

"Oh.... so you are the 'head doctor'? I'm SOOO pleased to meet you."

With those words came a massive, wide lipstick smile. Her accent very English. Very educated. Very sophisticated. As I've said, intelligent. Very delicious. Her chosen words, and tone quite, and purposely so, derisive, dismissive even. Falling short of 'rude' and yet barely doing so. Instead settling on patronizing and with her infectious smile and big eyes lingering, it was as though it was the effect she had intended, and desired. And an effect that she was well-practiced at. Well used to obtaining. A thrill down my own spine. Had I found my 'ideal' subject?

"Pleased to meet you too, Petra, truly."

My own accent, perfectly measured English and yet with a slightly less than thick Arabic accent. The tone, an octave lower, slightly broken, almost, but not quite, husky. My smile, very sincere. Very real and completely, expertly camouflaging my deep and meaningful thoughts about this woman. I like women content with their life. I like women who are confident, and arrogant. Confidence, Arrogance and Contentment. A delicious combination. Like that of Beauty, Intelligence and Aloofness. All of the ingredients of a perfect subject. Indeed, in the flesh and up close, Petra was a vision to behold. She certainly deserved further investigation.

I waited for the crowd to diminish, having already succeeded in securing a sizeable donation from Petra's bosses. Buying Petra a drink, suggesting we move to the quiet tables at the back of the bar, much more relaxing. Much easier to talk. All the time studying her. The way she moved. The way she carried herself. All of particular interest to me in my pursuits. Sliding into the quiet tables set out in little semicircular booths at the back of the bar. Breaking the ice, directly and with no prejudice.

"Ok Petra, I have to come clean, I am a lesbian, but I promise I am not hitting on you, ok?"

I smile wide. Even allow a little chuckle. And Petra breaks out in a quite raucous laughter that melts any new-meeting tension.

"Oh.... so, you're not hitting on me then. I'm disappointed, really I am."

She keeps a dead straight face for all of two seconds before her stunningly attractive features break into a wide, wide grin. Another display of her intelligence. And some sense of humor.

"It's ok, really, Sabirah, I have quite a few lesbians in my circle of friends. I prefer female company to male anyway. No worries. Really, I mean that."

I nod, all the time checking out this delicious woman. The purring in my throat audible only to me.

"Well maybe I should say, not hitting on you 'yet'."

Another laugh, another re-cross of the legs required by both of us. Once my initial interest is grabbed, I like to check out women in greater detail. Petra really is a stunning woman. In all respects. If a woman spends time on her appearance , it always stands up to close scrutiny. Her lips, perfect, and she ensures they are always made up thus. Careful lining. Careful color. Careful gloss. The same with the eyes. Absolute attention to the detail. The minutest of detail from brush stroke direction, to thickness of mascara applied. Looking as good as Petra did didn't happen straight out of bed. Her makeup was applied with a relaxed, yet practiced expertise and highlighted the best features of her face. Her lips and her eyes, and her delicately high cheekbones. Her nails, manicured perfectly, and matching her lips.

Her style of dress, impeccable. The fitted pants suit in the most expensive of silks just oozing a class and education of style and elegance. The jacket perfectly fitted over her flared hips and the silk top underneath, just a tease of sexiness. The pants, silk, wide. They flowed elegantly when she walked. Her high heels more or less covered by the hems of these pants and created an almost effortless 'glide' when she walked. Very tall on her own merits but it was obvious she favored the higher heels. It didn't take that much imagination to see that Petra had the longest of legs under those silky pants. Pity I couldn't see those legs on this first occasion. But I had quite enough to be getting on with. Another secret purrrr to myself.

Her hair, pulled back tight, quite severely from her face... that striking flame-red plume and secured back in a high, tight ponytail. Barely a loose, wayward hair to be seen. So neat, so perfect. She looked the consummate professional, and was. This had been a business meeting and she had been representing her company so her power-dressing was appropriate. Effective and seemingly effortless.

"So tell me a bit about yourself, Petra. Have you been with the company long? You seem to have the measure of things."

I make casual chitchat with wide sincere smiles, totally off the cuff.

"Hmmmm, well actually, yes. I moved to London about nine-years ago and got a break with the company. I've been so lucky. They were so understanding, even when my daughter came along. My daughter is 18 now but in the early years, the company provided childcare. Everything, the works. Even now I can get her looked after if I need to. I feel my life is right about now. Just about perfect. A place for everything, everything in its place."

I smile, nod as she speaks, taking it all in, watching her mouth as she talks. Such a delicious mouth. There is no greater pleasure for a woman of my 'interests' than to hear another woman speak of her happiness. How content with life she is. Just those basic things telling me already that this woman is so happy with her life. Just the reflection in her voice, so obvious that she wouldn't want to lose all that. And at the same time obvious that she would be destroyed, and devastated if she did lose, even a little of it. Thank her lucky stars even though she doesn't have anything to thank them for.

"Oh... so you have a daughter? How old is she?"

I chitchat as I sip my wine, and watch as Petra sips her own. So content with life. She has a daughter! I barely can contain the excitement in my voice, having to clear my throat before I speak.

"Yes, yes I do. Stefani is eighteen, just. She really is the most beautiful thing in my world. I couldn't ever imagine anything taking the place of the importance she holds in my life..."

Her voice drenched with love and adoration for her daughter. I liked that attachment. That pure mother love.

"Awwww that is so sweet. So cute... She must be heading for those dreaded exams, as well as all the other things teenage girls go through?"

My voice in no way patronizing - just oozing sincerity and a genuine well-practiced curiosity.

"Oh yes, tell me about it. Terrible teens. But I just love having her around. So vibrant and full of life. Everything to look forward to."

The adoration in her voice almost sickly sweet.

"Dad isn't around then, I take it?"

Petra nearly chokes mid-gulp of her chilled Chardonnay.

"Oooooh nooooooo, no dad. I have to say that Stefani was a 'mistake.' A one-night stand that shouldn't really have happened. But I wouldn't be without her now. Not for anything. But her dad has never been on the scene, ever. Doesn't even know she exists. Didn't even know I was pregnant... just the way I like it..."

For the first time, a slight hint of emotion in her voice. I just lean forward tap her lightly on her knee.

"Its quite ok sweetie, I understand completely. We all need 'something' in our lives, but a man definitely isn't one of those things..."

She regains her composure very quickly. Almost instantly, and smiles.

"I'm sorry. I get a little touchy where Stefani is concerned. A lot of people draw conclusions about me because I am a single mother. And because I had her when I was so young myself. It doesn't get to me like it used to though. So it's cool. Besides I have been so lucky. fallen on my feet, as it were. I have my own house in the country that is bought and paid for. Mostly from bonuses paid by my company. I have exclusive use of a company penthouse when in London so.... I just feel so content, so complete. I don't know... it's hard to find the right words sometimes."

Her voice trails off. Has regained some of its aloof, even arrogant self-gratified edge. All the time I am making mental notes. This woman definitely deserved more of my time. I looked at her jewelry. Mostly gold, all expensive and dripping from all the right bits of her person.

"Well.... you don't need to worry about me drawing wrong conclusions. I take people as I find them. Or how they want to be found. I don't judge and I don't draw conclusions only fact. I do know that Stefani is extremely lucky to have such an intelligent, beautiful mother as you. And that you have absolutely her own best interests at heart always. It's a joy to meet you, really it is."

Again infectious smiles exchanged between us. Her smile is glowing with self-pride as she becomes relaxed, and not so guarded in my presence.

"Anyway.... enough about me... what about you, Sabirah. What's your story?"

Petra has a way of 'flirting' that wouldn't be obvious to everyone. Just a way of using her eyes and her facial expressions. They linger longer that normal. Her eyes pierce deeper than normal. And always with a slight curl of her wide mouth into an 'almost there' smile. Petra, a woman used to playing games; getting her own way. Using her femininity, even sexuality, in subtle ways to get it.

"Hmmmm well. Not much to tell. I moved to London 20-years ago. Daddy was an oil-rich Arab. He put me through college and then set me up in my own practice when I got here. I expanded in a short space of time and now have the clinic. It's a private clinic and that, in turn, funds a lot of the research we do."

Petra listening intently always sipping on the wine. Nodding seeming deeply interested.

"Oh wow.... so what is the research all about?"

I sip casually coming to the end of my wine.

"Mainly mental health issues. Although we are running a program now studying human behaviors. But all linked to mental health. Or, to be precise, extremities of human behavior... and the darker sides to mental health. All a little deep, but very good for the profile of the clinic. I am also personally studying hypnotism, and something called auto-suggestion in association with hypnotism."

If Petra faked the interest, she did it well. Very well.

"Wow.... I'm impressed. You'll have to show me around some day. I would be very interested. Do you know, I'm due a three-month leave period which I can take any time I like. Maybe I should put that on my 'to do' list?"

Her self-invite was doing no harm whatsoever. And yet more information pouring from her. I liked Petra more and more with each passing minute.

"Oh... a three-month leave. How lucky are you? Did you plan on doing anything special? I mean, don't get me wrong, I am happy to show you around the clinic of course but I can't imagine a gorgeously hot thing like you wouldn't have immense plans?"

Petra finishes up her wine with an exaggerated smack of her lips.

"I hadn't 'planned' anything at all .I did want to go traveling and could. Organizing care for Stefani whilst I was away would be easy. Not that she needs that much looking after at sixteen. But... like I said nothing planned. It's why I have so much vacation time owed. I never actually plan to do anything so it all just mounts up."

My mind was beginning to work overtime. A plan. But certain wheels had to be put into motion. Petra, every time she opened her mouth, moved a muscle, flicked her hair, or flirted with me with those huge pool-like eyes, was becoming more and more perfect. However, it was time to bring this initial chat to a close. I had my own checks to initiate. A little more groundwork to complete.

"Well, look... why don't you book the time off work and you can come to stay with me as my guest at the clinic for a few days. Just a suggestion. You can take a good look round. Give all good reports back to the bosses as to how their money is being spent, hahahaha......but seriously, in the meantime, I have to go. I'm already late for an appointment, so captivating have you been. And I mean that, really."

Petra takes the opportunity to flirt with her eyes again. And I seemingly play back.

"Awwwwwww well... if you MUST go....but yes, that sounds like a plan. I like plans. Why don't we take each others cell phone numbers, and meet again soon and we can discuss further?"

"That sounds like a plan too, Petra, yeah! We can do a drink or something, less formal than today, maybe in a week or so?"

We agree, exchange numbers and I give Petra a hug as I leave. It doesn't escape me that she hugs me back close, pressing her substantial breasts into me and extending her deep red lips into a pout as she air-kisses each of my cheeks. Another of her flirty characteristics. I let her leave ahead of me. I want to see the pure elegance of walk as she glides out. She doesn't disappoint.

TWO - Seeds Planted

I ran a few checks on Petra. She was who she said she was. No alarm bells ringing. Impeccable credit records, served obviously by her perfect life. A lucky woman in many respects. And yet, due to her looks, her life, her luck, life was closer to dealing her a devastating hand. A cruel, cruel blow. Lucky, perfect Petra was soon to become poor, poor Petra.

I received a text message from Petra the day following that first meeting.

"Sabirah, it was so good talking to you last night. I'm looking forward to our less formal drink in a few days... Petra xxx"

I smiled as I read it. Three little kisses at the end. Almost juvenile in their inclusion in the message. Except I knew that in Petra's case, it was her little way of continuing the flirt with my lesbianism. I'm not the world's greatest 'texter.' In fact, I do it more under duress than as a normal way of life. In Petra's case though, I made an exception.

"Petra. Yes, me too. Be sure to dress to impress. I'd love to see those yummy long legs of yours... :) Sabirah xxx PS - not coming on to you of course :)"

Petra liked games, I gleamed that much from her. This was a game I liked. A game which served a higher purpose. A game which would draw her closer to me. A few days later another text.

"How does Friday evening sound? The new wine bar just off Canary Wharf 7pm? Legs and killer heels, just for you :) Petra xxx"

Just that simple text told me so much about her. "Legs and killer heels." She knew, appreciated the appeal of her legs. And of heels that accentuated them more. I liked her more and more. Poor, poor Petra!

"That sounds divine Petra. I can't wait to see you, you tease :) Sabirah xxx"

Just a play along, with her flirt. Even a little encouraging it. Teasing it. Coaxing it. It all helps the process. I could almost 'taste' Petra already. I clenched my thighs. The second meeting was set. I couldn't wait. Wheels were in motion.

_____________________________________

If the tiniest thought had crossed my mind that Petra might not 'make the effort' on our second meeting. It was quickly dispelled. Not just quickly dispelled but absolutely and without question. This was a woman who knew how to look her best in work suits. For an early evening meeting however, with a friend in a stylish city wine bar, she excelled. More than excelled. But she knew that.




Devastation Pt. 01



Petra wore a shimmering gold dress made mostly of silk, with sequins. But around the low cut front it was edged with delicate gold lace that framed the uplift of her heavy, succulent breasts to perfection, making her orbs partly obscured, and yet teasingly not. The flesh could be seen to move and roll through the silk, through the lace edging and also the bare flesh above the dress material. The dress also had a low cut back that plummeted down in a gradual 'V' from her shoulders and the narrowest point ending up just above her tailbone. Delightfully tantalizing. A perfect back, with a natural spinal curve. The dress, a cross between a cocktail and party dress, was short. Above mid thighs but delicate gold tassels hung in a fringe all the way round them hem. These tassels swirled and danced in time to whatever movement she was performing at the time. And which gave teasing little glimpses of upper leg. A totally astounding sight were Petra's legs and deliciously extended by her shoes. Legs so long, so perfectly shaped and tapered and enhanced more with those 'killer heels.' Calves well-shaped, taught from the high heels. Gold court shoes, with stilettos of at least five-and-half inches. Absolute killer heels that at the same time, contrasted and blended in with the sheer, silky dark brown hose that sheathed the seemingly endless legs. My secret purr resonated in my throat when I saw her.

When she entered the bar I was already there. I intended that. I wanted to see her entrance. I had a feeling that this woman liked to make entrances and I was so right. A woman who could turn heads, absolutely with no problem whatsoever.

Her make up was just perfect. Even to the eye shadow with gold glitters matching her dress. Striking, almost trademark deep red lips, lined hard for effect. Not smooth gloss though. Slightly textured, glittery lipstick which just went with her overall dress, totally. And her striking red hair. Looser than the first time we met. Looser, that is, around the back and sides and yet some of the hair gathered from high at the back of her head and banded into a little, high ponytail. This added to her grace and elegance. Even to her height. Drawing attention to it, highlighting it.

As she walked in, looking around for me. Heads just turned towards her, taking her in. She was used to this. Liked it. Practically wallowed in such adoration. I didn't let her see me at first. Just dodging behind a pillar so I could watch her move. Watch her smile at the men who poured their eyes over her. At their women who seethed through gritted teeth at her. Some of those women would be in total glee at what would be in eventual store for Petra. If they knew. Or maybe not! She loved it. Knew how to dress. Knew how to make the best of her best attributes. Knew how to impress. Indeed I was impressed. I eventually waved through to her and she saw me. A beaming smile across her wide, full-lipped mouth.

"Petra..... my god, you look totally out there, girl. I am impressed."

Exaggerating my Arabic accent a little. Moving in for a hug and, true to form, she presses herself right into me, crushing her breasts and hugging, then kissing my cheeks, just to the side, but very close to my mouth so that I can feel, and all but taste her hot breath. I feel my own breath quicken. Taken away. But I keep it in check. Regulate it again. Respond to her tease with a wry smile.

"Why thank you Sabirah. It's so good to see you again, really it is. And you are looking better every time I see you."

The same smile. I am dressed a little more conservatively having come direct from a business meeting. Fitted suit, jacket, blouse, hose and heels. My own five feet six inches only moderately boosted with four inch heels.

"Awwwww Petra, you're too kind..... why don't we get a booth down here. We can talk."

I point and Petra is only too happy to lead the way knowing that my eyes are all over her from behind as she walks. Heels forcing something of a strut, her bottom slip-sliding and moving inside the silk of the dress. The back view of her amazingly long legs as spectacular as the front and side views. We order a bottle of white on ice and slide into the plush velvet seating.

"Mmmmmm so Petra, what have you been up to? And have you thought any more about that three month vacation period?"

I see no point in delaying the important questions. Petra checks her makeup in a little mirror. At the same time she is nodding slightly, acknowledging what I am saying to her and what I am asking her.

"Oh absolutely I have. I'm doing another week and a bit. Do a little hand-over to my stand in.... and well, the world's my oyster, as it were."

She smiles that infectious, gorgeous, still flirty smile and we spend the next half-hour exchanging pleasantries. All the time I am watching her, studying her. I can't help that. Not only am I lesbian with a penchant for statuesque women, but I am also a psychological professional, with an interest in what makes people tick. It's the deeper aspect of what makes people tick that appeals to a particular side of my lesbianism. I let her lead the conversation. Knowing that she wants to.

"Sooooo tell me, about this Hypno stuff you're into then. I'm fascinated truly. I always said that I could never be hypnotized. I'm too self-centered, too self-obsessed. If I am honest, I never believed that anyone could actually, truly be 'hypnotized.' No offense like."

She grins, believing her own words. I just take a sip of wine, nod, showing that I hear what she's saying.

"Nahhhhhh Petra, it's the self-obsessed, self-centered ones that make the best subjects. Trust me, I know. But hey, I applaud you for your honesty and no offense taken really."

She giggles kind of mischievously. I know she's just teasing me. Kind of refreshing, even endearing in a mature woman. Obviously one who only really lets her hair down away from the office. That's good, I respect her professionalism.

"Look, I'll show you. I won't put you right 'under' here. But I can partially trance you. Just sub-trance you. You'll feel relaxed, chilled but aware of everything. Then I'll take you out of it as quickly as I put you into it. Up for it? Hmmmmm?"

I look directly at Petra. See her smile fade slightly. But still a fascination, almost too strong to resist. My direct prodding at what really is an inherent fear of being taken out of her comfort zone, obvious, glaring.

"Awwwwwww I don't know... sounds a little freaky to me...."

"Ok, it doesn't matter. No harm done. Just wanted to show you that you could actually be tranced."

I don't force the issue at all. I don't need to. I know I don't. We sip a few more mouthfuls in silence and then Petra speaks again.

"Ok.... what do I have to do?... and not all the way under right?"

I take a long slow sip of the wine. Don't answer straight away as I sense the anticipation in her voice. Let it linger. Let it dwell. I slowly finger a large ring on my middle finger of my right hand.

"You don't have to do anything, Petra. Just watch my ring here. Focus on it and focus on my voice. Block everything else out. Just focus on the ring and my voice. Nothing else... ok? Just totally relax. Chill. Focus."

I look at her, and her at me for a split second before she looks down at my ring.

"W-well, ok then..."

The ring is a clear cut crystal. A large stone that reflects and retracts light in all directions and in all colors. It isn't a 'magic ring.' Just a point of focus. Something to hold the focus whilst my voice filters in.

"Just relax. Look at the ring. See only that and hear just my voice..."

My voice changes from the 'friendly lesbian' to a more professional, slightly sterner voice. But softly so. Not forcing itself. Just gently filtering in with stronger more direct undertones.

"You'll feel slightly sleepy but your eyes won't close. Just relax. Listen watch the ring. Listen to my voice. Watch and listen. Watch and listen. Watch listen. Listen watch......"

I'm right, so right, and can see the signs as she sinks into a void, halfway between reality and another place. It's not hard. It never is with women who have Petra's outgoing, confident personality. In truth, most of her sort, want control taken from them to differing degrees. I continue to hold her gaze. Watch her eyes focusing on the ring.

"Ok Petra, you are there... no dramas... no pain... just there in that good place, yes? You feel good right? Chilled. Relaxed. Good, yes?

My voice almost like liquid silk and it pours into her psyche.

"Mmmmmm yeah, I do feel good actually, yes."

She smiles a little dreamily. But still acutely aware. She feels 'good' because that is what I have 'suggested' she feels. She's sub-trance and very vulnerable to manipulation.

I lean forward, gently at my hips, keeping my own legs crossed, and place one hand on Petra's uppermost thigh. My first touch of her spectacular legs, Then, so very gently I bend one finger and use the nail to 'scritch' against the sheer nylon.

Scritch Scritch Scritch.

"Mmmmm that's good Petra. Really good. Now can you feel that scritch scritch scritch sound? Hmmmmm can you? And can you feel it... ever so gentle scritching... soooo gentle?"

I'm watching her face all the time. I recognize the part trance in her. No one else would. People in the wine bar, just walking by, taking no notice. Nothing strange going on. Just two grown women having a deep conversation. Could be lesbian. Who cares in this part of the city? No one cares.

"Okkkk.... whenever you feel that scritch Petra, you'll automatically sink into this part-trance. Do you understand?"

She still has that dreamy smile on her face. Not a care or concern in the world.

"Mmmmmmmm yes ok...... scritch scritch scritch."

"Yesssss that's right. Scritch scritch scritch.......The scritch can be through stockings, hose, skirt, pants, or bare flesh. But it will always be a scritch on your leg. Maybe your thigh. Your knee. Your calf. Always a scritch scritch scritch. Do you understand, Petra?"

My voice low, calming, soothing. Hypnotic.

"It can either put you into a trance or take you out if you are already there. Ok?"

I scritch once more before removing my fingers and hand from her leg.

"Yeah, yeah I got that......"

"Good girl. The next time you feel that scritch you will wake up but remember everything as though it's normal. Ok, Petra?"

She smiles wide and nods again. She fully understands and now the trigger to trance is fully planted in her head.

I sit back again now, totally confident, totally knowing that Petra is one-hundred-percent focused on what I am saying. The gentle hum and buzz of the bar around us had faded to grey for her.

In her psyche. I have used my quite vast and deep experience to render her susceptible in next to no time. Quickly, precisely.

"I have an idea, Petra, a suggestion. I thought, maybe it would be a good idea for you to take part in my program. My program on human behaviors. I think you could benefit from this, Petra. What do you think hmmmmm?"

Petra lets the words filter in but is nodding in agreement even before I have finished speaking.

"Uhhhhh yesssss, yes if you think that would be a good idea, then, then so do I, Sabirah."

I smile encouragingly at her as I reach into my leather bag, taking out a document.

"Yes, well, I do think it's a good idea, Petra. You will need to sign this consent form. It simply puts you into our care for the time of your inclusion in our program. Any trials or research is strictly governed. Just details, really. Quite boring legal stuff, Petra. It's not like anything ever goes 'wrong.' This is just a safeguard, for you and for us. You wouldn't have any objection to signing the consent, Petra, no?"

"Oh, no, no of course not, Sabirah. I'm all too aware of ticking the boxes and keeping the right paperwork."

I smile as I slip the form in front of her and lay a pen across the top of it. She's saying all the things she would in her normal day-to-day life, except with added incentive of the planted seeds. Responding to autosuggestions.

"Good girl. You just sign on the dotted line then, sweetie, and I'll fix us up with some more wine."

I give her a little 'wink,' which serves to massage her mind a little more. I nod to a passing tender, for another bottle of wine. Petra leans forward at her waist. Her breasts heaving under the lace edging of the dress, threatening to spill out as she picks up the pen and scrawls a well practiced signature across the dotted line. I look directly at the shifting breasts, and the nylon sheathed crossed legs, and the shifting silk dress with the tassels falling away to show more of her upper legs. My silent purr tickling my throat.

"You really are a delicious woman, Petra, aren't you?"

Without a seconds thought and agreeing immediately with my 'suggestion.'

"Hmmmm yes, I am."

I smile.

"That's right, you are. Tell me, Petra, what do you think are your best attributes? Tell me what you like about yourself. What other people like about you."

She thinks. Pushes her lips out with her tongue and then answers precisely.

"My legs, breasts, my bottom.... my hair, eyes, lips.....I like them, everybody likes them."

She shrugs as she hears herself reeling off her best attributes. And she giggles as well, holding up one hand to her mouth in an almost adolescent way.

"I'm sorry that sounds awful, but it's true. Really it is."

"Noooo Petra, not at all. I agree with you. Totally. Those and probably more we may find out at some point."

She shifts on her seat, totally at ease now, totally relaxed, totally in the good place, re-crossing her legs, shifting her torso inside the silk dress slightly, and a wide smile on her gorgeous mouth. This part of the conversation seeming to gratify her, please her greatly. Something that I take careful mental notes on as I take the consent form and slip it back into a folder and back into my bag.

"You won't discuss your plans or intentions for your period of vacation with anyone. Is that clear, Petra?"

She looks quite casual, quite calm, even with my direct, sterner voice.

"Ok, yes, sure..."

"When you leave work on your last day, just go straight back to your apartment and wait. A car will pick you up."

She's nodding, agreeing, taking it all in, as her throat rolls with another swallow of wine.

"You won't need to pick up or meet Stefani. I will take care of that, ok, Petra?"

Again the casual nod, a complete agreement. Complete trust. The seeds in her growing and growing.

"Also, you won't need to pack any bags, or change of clothes. Just wait as you are and the car will pick you up. OK?"

Careful to get confirmation she understands. That my suggestions are registering. Once she has acknowledged and agreed, these suggestions are firmly in her head and will be adhered to.

"Good girl....."

I lean forward again, and just gently scritch one nail against the nylon sheathed calf of her casually bouncing leg.

"You'll come back down now, and out of trance. But everything will be normal and you'll remember absolutely everything we've discussed. You won't be concerned about anything and you will be quite looking forward to your vacation period....."

There's an almost imperceptible blink of her huge, gorgeous eyes and Petra is back with me. Fully aware. I lean back, smiling.

"You know what, Petra, I think you are going to be an ideal subject for my programme. Maybe we'll all learn something."

My smile is wide, sincere. My tone, back to that friendly, off-duty tone.

"Oh god, you know, Sabirah.... me too. I'm quite excited, really I am."

Absolute sincerity in her voice. I liked that. We spend the rest of the evening small-talking. Girls talk. A chance for me to find out more and more about this woman. Her penchant for high heels for instance. And indications that she is a quite highly sexed individual and how she has worked hard over the years to disguise that. Hide it due to her public, high-profile life. I liked that too. Her almost dripping shame at this admission palpable and failing to make her look into my eyes. I simply nod sympathetically. Understandingly and she looks partly relieved she has got that off her not-inconsiderable chest. Mental notes and more mental notes.

We hug closely at the end of the evening. Now a bond between us and her flirt quite natural to me. An accepted part of her character.

"We'll talk soon, Petra......"

She turns back, waves, and is gone. The click click of her heels seeming amplified.

THREE - The Clinic and Stage One

With the trigger and suggestions installed into Petra, I didn't need to do any close follow up on arrangements from her side. And wheels had already been placed in motion from my side. Over the next week or so, I exchanged a few text messages with Petra. Feeding her and encouraging her. Nurturing her. As usual her messages were flirty. I smiled as I read them. Flirted back, deliberately. Deliberate in a clinical sense, that is.

On the day of Petra's arrival at the clinic, I met her myself on the steps. My personal driver, a tall lithe platinum blonde, by the name of Esther, had picked her up and whisked her into the country. Petra's ability to stun with her 'vision' didn't diminish, even with her 'ordinary' work clothes. She arrived in just what she wore to work that day. A tight-skirted suit. The skirt, black, almost pencil in design practically hobbling her just above the knees. Sheer black nylon encasing her delicious legs and the stiletto court shoes patent, shiny and black. A stylish silky top under her black jacket and her hair, striking, almost metallic-red, in the late afternoon sunlight. The hair, quite blinding and yet tied up high and tight in her trademark work-style ponytail. The ponytail sourced high on her head and seeming to erupt from her crown. The tail itself, swinging across her back as she walked. Her makeup perfect, slightly overdone in the vein of city workers who, quite frankly, were usually just that, 'vain.'

"Petra.... welcome to my humble abode."

Not that it was actually where I chose to 'live.' But it was a good welcoming line. Petra had established quite a few 'trademarks' for herself it seemed, over the years. Her perfect look. The gliding striding strut when she walked, even in tight skirts, Her high, tight ponytail. Her emphasized lips, and eyes. And then her 'hug.' Her flirting, almost obscene, hug, in which she presses her torso in, squeezes her breasts into whoever she is hugging. On this occasion, me. Trademark of a perfect women in a perfect life. Comfortable with herself. Confident with herself and within herself.

"Mmmmmmm it's good to be here. God, this place is so impressive...."

She broke away from the hug, referring to the huge secluded building in acres and acres of its own grounds. Some wooded and some with extensive lawns. The central part of the building led into a huge old stately house but it was at the rear that building works had converted and extended the building into what it was today.

"Why thank you Petra... come now, lets get you inside. Its chilly out here."

I walked her into the clinic arm-in-arm, chatting to her like we were old established friends. A few faces appeared at the office admin windows above the entrance, curious to see who the new inclusion into the program was. Those faces appearing then disappearing. Others taking their place then fading back out of sight. Petra smiled in her own infectious way at the ones she saw, or caught sight of. There were no smiles back though. Just long studious looks at her. I took her in. Talking to her all the time. 

"As usual you look fabulous, sweetie."

She liked compliments, lapped them up. She smiled puckering her lips and blowing a kiss in thanks. I took her out to the rear of the building on ground level and then to a lift marked "Authorized Personnel Only."




Devastation Pt. 01



"The research program takes place in the sub-level of the building, away from the main clinic. It's quite important that it's separated from everyday life."

She nods, understanding totally what I'm saying as we enter the lift. The doors slide closed and it begins its descent.

"Of course, yes I understand. My god, I feel a little nervous all of a sudden."

She tries to shrug it off with a soft laugh and a giggle. Not very convincing though as I move in close to Petra, nodding sympathetically.

SCRITCH SCRITCH SCRITCH

My fingernail scraping her upper thigh lightly, through the tightness of her skirt and then a split second. A nanosecond even where her eyes glaze and she slips into that partial trance. I recognize it immediately. She needs to feel good in these very early stages. That is of utmost importance.

"There.... is that better, Petra? Just relax. Although it is good to feel apprehensive. That's a desired feeling, Petra, do you understand? Apprehension is good... very good."

Another seed firmly planted. My tone of voice changed. The hypnotic voice back again, working in conjunction with the scritches, and the autosuggestions. Her face has changed. The apprehension across such a beautiful face almost painted on like a mask. She nods, nibbles her bottom lip slightly as the lift descends into the uppermost floor of the sub levels.

"Y-yes, yes I understand yes...."

The lift opens out into a reception area. First impressions would be that the reception area is like that in an up-market boutique hotel. Plush, very expensively furnished and rather than a reception desk, a normal low level desk with flat screen pc monitors sunk in and tilted at a viewable angle. Another striking thing, for any newcomers is the lack of sound coming from the upper floors. Or from the outside. The lack of any sound at all. The vacuum effect is such that others visitors have experienced 'popped ears' on the way down in the lift. There was no immediate evidence that it had occurred in Petra though.

Behind the reception desk an attractive, petite girl, in her early-twenties. She is dressed in a pseudo-medical-come-nurse uniform. But her face is made up, and striking in attention to detail, just as Petra's always is. She smiles at me.

"Good evening, Miss Najwa. It's so good to see you again."

Her tone and manner are perfectly, even overly polite. I nod and smile at her as she flicks her eyes across and looks Petra up and down very slowly, very deliberately. The smile fading.

"Alyson.... this is Petra. Our latest volunteer. She will be staying with us for a little while."

The introduction very short. Very curt. My friendly manner and tone fading now. The detachment and professionalism now taking its place. Alyson doesn't even acknowledge Petra directly.

"She looks perfect, Miss Najwa. Absolutely perfect."

Again that almost insipid politeness, born out of a total respect for me. And the non-acknowledgment of Petra. It won't have escaped Petra. She will have been used to being introduced to people at the highest level. Here though, practically a complete brush-off by some sort of receptionist-nurse. And the casual remarks about her as though she weren't even present. Oh, yes that would not have escaped Petra. It will have sunk into her psyche, very delicately and rested there. Just to the side of the apprehension I had planted earlier.

"I'm sure she will be just that Alyson......Shall we get Petra signed in now?"

It was my little prompt to Alyson to get her little clipboard with the signing in sheet for all visitors. She got it out, placed a pen across it and barely looking at Petra spoke,

"Print name, date of birth and sign..... do you think you could do that for me, sweetie?"

I laughed inwardly. Alyson thought everyone with long legs and large breasts was a bimbo. Her tone was curt, patronizing. Petra would eat her alive in the intelligence stakes but I didn't intervene. Just watched, listened. Enjoyed. The apprehension, quite palpable now, over Petra's face.

"U-uhhh yes, yes I think I can manage that."

Alyson a little taken aback at the educated, obvious smartness that came from the "volunteer's" mouth. I laugh, secretly inwardly again as Petra signs in with Alyson looking on all open-mouthed. With her all signed in I led Petra round and into a long corridor. The plushness of the reception fades into a stark clinical white. White walls, ceilings and floors with bright strip-lights down the centre. Doors either side at regular intervals. We stop at one door, on the right, labeled "ISO 1" and I swipe my keycard, the door clicking, then sliding open.

Inside the room is bare. Brilliant white, tiled floor. No windows. Just strip-lighting in the centre of the ceiling. A solitary low stool in the middle of the room and a fitted toilet in one corner. Not closed into a cubicle, just open in one corner and diagonally placed facing the centre of the room. And an empty plastic container placed next to the stool. Not unlike a packing box for ring binders. The lid standing inside it on its short edge. The walls of the room bare, whitewashed, almost blindingly so. The door slides and closes as we enter. The electronic lock emitting a little 'click' and 'buzz' as it reseals.

"Well Petra, this is the first stop on your little journey. I know, I really do know, it's not much but you will be in here for quite some time. The object is that you are taken out of your comfort zone. Out of your normal world... are you with me so far?"

Petra steps in looks around, just puzzlement over her face as she takes it in but then nods that she understands.

"Uhmm yessss, yes really, it's fine. I'll survive. I'm a survivor."

Her attempt at dismissive humor falls a little flat. My expression remains straight, curt even. And my tone even more so.

"Good girl. Now... we also have to take all of your personal belongings from you. Your bag, watch, jewelry, cell phone, purse.... everything. It's ok, it will be all in our safe, locked up securely. It's just a requirement of the program that all things from the outside world are stripped back and taken away. It makes observation more precise. Obviously this applies to all volunteers. Still with me?"

The requirements all filtering in and taking the shape of autosuggestions to Petra in her semi-trance state. This part of the research had always been so difficult, with previous subjects, until we introduced the semi-trance. There had always been resistance and in some cases, we had lost a couple of subjects who had freaked out completely as the requirements unfolded. No such result with Petra. I watch as she computes the words and then responds.

"Uhhhh yes... it seems to be pretty clear to me. I just didn't realize this was all so deep."

I continue to talk.

"That's what I like to hear, honey. And oh yes, this is a really quite scientific study. Very detailed. Very searching........So why don't we start here? Just throw your bag into the container there. And your jewelry. Watch, rings.. etc etc."

Even as I speak, Petra begins to remove items and place them in the container. Bit by bit her jewelry coming off until it is all placed in the container with her bag, cell phone and watch. Every so often the apprehension across her face stark. I like to watch that. It interests me. Petra without her accouterments was like a thoroughbred race horse without its tack. Such a simple thing, and yet, to someone like Petra, so disturbing.

"Now, you will be in here for quite some time. But before we move you to the next stage you will need to be naked. It's part of the stripping-back process but there is no pressure immediately. Why don't you just remove your skirt, jacket and top for now? You can keep on your hose, heels and panties. Just for now. Later we can get you naked before we move on. Is that ok, Petra?"

My voice all the time encouraging, yet more detached now. And with a professional edge to make progress. Me knowing that the semi-trance state, and my suggestions all being computed by Petra and yet in no way diluting her apprehension. This time she doesn't say anything just nods and begins removing the garments I have suggested. First her jacket, the delicious orbs of her breasts clearly defined through the thin silk as they press outwards against it. Then her skirt. For the first time, the full length of those stunning legs displayed and accentuated with her heels. She wore expensive lace top stockings that were self-supporting and clung to her fleshy upper thighs right at the top, almost where the inner thigh met her crotch area. A tiny and I mean tiny thong pulled up tight between her legs and bottom cheeks, the tiny triangle covering her most intimate area. Then her top and the full glory of her thirty-eight D cup breasts. Perfectly formed. Perfectly pert and with dark speckled areolas with quite wide diameter button-like nipples in the centre. Quite casually I lick my lips as Petra folds and places the items in the container. Her stance, a well practiced confident stance. But here she was at her most vulnerable so far and the apprehension dripped from her face. Her face had flushed a little to. An acute embarrassment at her slow, dripping away of control. Petra being taken skillfully out of her comfort zone.

"There Petra... we're all girls here together so don't be too concerned."

I step back look at her. My own lips almost trembling with the excitement of finding such a 'perfect subject.'

"There's a toilet in the corner, if the call of nature should get the better of you, and a stool for you to sit on. I know, I know, not at all comfortable. But hopefully you will understand the need for the starkness of it all. The absolute need for the very basics only to be retained..."

My voice trails off as I take in the view again. She has taken a few steps still in her high heels, stockings and thong. Even in this environment she moves with a dignified grace and allure. The apprehension on her face belies the naturally arrogant steps and moves in her high heels.

"Ohhh I'll be alright Sabirah.... j-just a bit of a shock to the system that's all, really."

"Well that's understandable... so I am going to leave you for a while now. There are other preparations to make and you need to settle. Zone-in as it were..."

I smile, but recoil from a hug she tries to give me by holding a hand up, as though holding her away. Keeping her at a distance.

"Ahhh Petra, no... not here. This is professional and not personal or emotional in any way. Ok? We wouldn't want anyone to think that we were closer than we should be now would we?"

She feels stupid. I can see it over her face and she stands rubbing her arm with one hand, a hip jutting to one side. Long, long legs tapered and akimbo slightly.

"N-no, no of course not. I'm sorry."

I smile at her, tilt my head sympathetically and with that I leave her, alone, the door sliding then clicking locked. The period of isolation beginning.

_______________________________________

The thing about the effects of isolation is that they creep in on the isolated and then settle in delicate folds on the psyche. At first, these folds, or layers have air between them and it feels a little cozy. All warm and bearable. At first it's just the loss of the sense of time that becomes all too apparent. Then it's the silence. The silence except that is the, for the beating of the heart. And in Petra's case the click of her heels as she 'stalks' around the room. That silence... nothing out, nothing in, is palpable, quite deafening. Deafening silence is always the worse kind. Her pacing of the room becoming more of a lazy, hip-rolling strut as she slowly begins to forget about her posture and stance. No one to impress or show off in front of in here. 

Then the mind just slowly begins to play tricks and ask questions. 'Have they forgotten me?' 'Has something happened and everyone left?' 'Who is EVERYONE anyway?' It's just a matter of time before Petra tries the door. Of course she does. It's locked. The hypnotic inducement of apprehension doesn't help. Neither does her state of almost complete undress. Stockings. High heels that enforce an almost swaggering arrogant strut, and lazy breast roll when she is on her feet, and when on the deliberately low stool, force her knees so high that her long, long legs are almost folded, and awkward. It's the reason she can't sit for long. Or walk for long. One of those rare times she would gladly enjoy a cigarette, if she had any. She didn't have any.

After the mind questions, the exhaustion. It's mental exhaustion more than anything. Trying to work out how long she has been there. How long she might be there. The complete lack of any home comforts. Or any comforts at all. All designed to slowly subdue her. It works every time. Physical exhaustion also plays a part in that she cannot get comfortable. There is nothing for her to get comfortable on or with. Comfort just isn't on the menu in any form.

At one point I watch her, go to the toilet, thumbing the thong down to just above her knees and sitting on the bare toilet bowl. No seat or cover just the bare open bowl. She sits with her stockinged knees clamped together, stiletto'd feet splayed, feet turned toes pointing in to each other. There isn't any toilet paper. She lets herself drip dry and then pulls up the thong tight between her legs and bottom cheeks. I'm pleased to see she's smooth between the legs. Hairless. Yes I liked that.

Of course there are cameras, tiny ones watching her every move. Recording her every facial expression. Every little mumble that tumbles from those gorgeous lips as time goes on and on. The isolation continuing. Petra trying to cope with it but finding it increasingly difficult. No day or night. Light or dark. Everything the same. Same light. Same temperature. Same silence. Same loneliness.

I watch her succulent breasts, heavy, mature roll and sway as she moves around the room. She really is the complete package. The "One" I have been waiting for for so many years of my life as a sadist. Her long plume of ponytailed hair swinging across her bare back, just about caressing her tailbone as it swings across. Her movements becoming less confident, more unsure as a nervousness invades her. A terrible ,terrible jangling of her nerves as they begin to become shot. It's written across her face of course. Strikingly so. I recognize the signs and lick my lips.

By the time I enter the room again almost thirty-six hours have passed. She doesn't know that of course. There's just a grateful, absolute look of gratitude as I slip back inside.She approaches me to give me a hug. I know it isn't one of her trademark, flirty hugs she wants to give me but rather just a relieved, joyous hug for just seeing a familiar face. Any face. I hold my hand up with the flat palm towards her to stop her.

"No Petra. Remember what I said. This is professional and nothing else.I just came to take the rest of your things. Its time to leave this room now.... take your shoes, stockings and panties off now Petra and put them in the container.. ok"

She looks visibly, almost hurt at the rejection, and the ice coldness of my voice. And the reminder of her position as a 'volunteer.' She just nods, exhaling a sigh as she slips off her shoes with each opposite foot. Then peels down each stocking, folding each several times round one of her hands before placing them in the container. Then placing the shoes in. Then thumbing the thong down and lifting each foot as she steps out of it leaving herself totally naked. A renewed blush, and a dabbing at the corner of her mouth with the tip of her tongue. Slightly distended labia clearly exposed and just peeling apart slightly as she moves her legs and feet.

I watch her every move. Make sure she 'feels' me watching her every move.

"There, all set Petra. I know it feels a little strange for you. But well. Just try to settle try to relax and everything will be fine."

I lead Petra out of the isolation room "ISO 1." The corridor is empty and it's silent. Everything on this level is silent.

"It must be a little strange for you walking without heels on Petra? I mean, you adore heels don't you?"

She smiles, her breasts swaying in front of her.

"Oh yes, I do. I really do adore high heels. But then this experience is completely strange to me. Out of my comfort zone is a slight understatement."

I just lead her gently by the elbow towards the further end of the corridor.

"Oh well, you know, you won't be out of high heels for long, trust me, Petra. Get this next stage over with, and see where it goes. You'll be in high heels again before you know it."

I smile and so does she. Hope in her eyes. And then a spark, as though she remembered something.

"O-oh... did you meet up with Stefani?.... You said you would..... g-god, I forgot all about that."

Like an awful shock crossing her face. For a split second, delicious , awful despair. My response is considered. Precise and calculated.

"Its ok, Petra..... Stefani is fine. There was a bit of a drama, but, well, everything is fine. And she is fine. No need for you to worry at all........"

My voice trails off. Petra looks to me, for more information. A bit of a drama? But none is forthcoming and that is something else that settles uneasily in her psyche. We pass a few more doors with various labels on them, eventually stopping at the one named "RIG 1" and go inside.

FOUR - Stage Two and Restraint

The word 'bondage' would never be used. At least not this early stage. That word would imply sexual deviance and would detract from the micro-path Petra would be taken down. The initial 'restraint' for Petra is simple in its design and yet acutely effective in its application. Her sub-trance state, along with her time in preparation, and isolation meant that Petra was very receptive to the idea of mild 'restraint.'

"The point is, Petra, as I have said, that you are taken out of the normal world and its everyday machinations. Your mind needs to be clear and you don't need, or want to be concerned with what to do with your hands, legs or feet. This mild restraint helps that process. If your limbs are gently disabled, then you don't need to worry about what to do with them...."

Petra simply stood nodding. Still very lucid and understanding and yet the period of isolation together with the semi-hypnotic state had ensured her relative docility. Her usual, very confident persona had been just slightly curtailed and wound back in. Subdued. Her susceptibility to suggestion was amplified now. In these early days, of the utmost importance. Eventually, she would be taken out of trance. But not yet. The time wasn't anywhere near for that, yet.

"Oh completely, yes I understand. I signed up for this so whatever it takes, I guess is fine...."

I could tell, still at least slightly that Stefani was on her mind. Another creeping effect of the last thirty-six hours was dryness of the mouth resulting in continuous sips of water. That and a continuous movement of the lips. In Petra's case, and for me, a joy to watch. Her lips so full and mouth so deliciously wide.

"Of course Petra... this is a completely confidential research program. Results are not made public. Nor any details about it. And besides, if you feel uncomfortable at any time we can stop. The restraint can be modified, altered or whatever. It's there just as an aid and not to make you feel uncomfortable in any way."

My manner with Petra remained cool, calm, professional. Very doctorly. Very bedside manner, which serves as a comfort to her. Albeit a distant comfort.

"Oh.... really its fine. I'm totally fascinated. You certainly sold it to me that night in the bar. Extremities of human behavior, hypnosis the works.... wow."

Keeping a brave face was second nature to Petra. She did it, but it was becoming less convincing. Not to her, but anyone around her. Anyone who knew her. Me. Petra smacking her lips together between sips of water. Captivating to watch. But also that subdued, reigned in personality. Almost a hobbled personality.




Devastation Pt. 01



"And, the same applies to the nakedness. It's about removing everything from your normal life. I guess you could call it 'stripping you bare'. It applies to the physicality, as well as the mentality. I didn't want you to think I wanted you naked just so I could feast my eyes on you. Although Petra I have to admit you are very beautiful, very gorgeous. I could eat you up for sure."

This time I deliberately purr so she can hear me.I laugh softly, head tilted to one side negating any doubts she could have as much as possible in the circumstances.Petra laughs too. Already fully knowing of my lesbianism, but also having that knowledge negated by my dismissal of any thoughts of coming on to her. Petra's laugh still infectious even if a little more subdued than normal laugh. The flirting not there any more either. That has been wound in too. She wants to hug me. Maybe cry a little. She knows she can't do the former and the latter she wouldn't allow herself to do, Still plenty of fight left under those folds of issolative despair yet.

"ohhhhh no.. it's fine really. I'm proud of my body. I work hard to keep it in this shape. And besides we are all girls together. I'm only too happy to be part of this program, honestly."

Again that brave face. I nod in agreement. Again so calm, so reassuring. All the time silently, expertly assessing Petra.

"Mmmmm I know all these things, Petra. I know also that we can all benefit from your inclusion in this program.... for sure..."

My voice trails off as Petra's mouth fights with a dry tongue and even drier lips. She takes another sip of water and I watch her throat as it rolls and swallows.

This room is identical to the first. Almost, and at first sight. Clinical bright white. White walls, white ceiling, white floor. This time though, the floor slightly sloped from all four walls into the centre. In the centre of the floor a black enamel drain cover. No windows in the room. No sound from the outside. Neither could any sound escape the room. Bright, high-powered strip light in the centre of the ceiling provides a constant light. This room very much identical to the isolation room. Except with added equipment and functionality. Most of this added functionality hidden from view and very much existing on a need-to-know basis. Subjects brought to this room didn't need to know 'everything'.

In the dead-centre of the room the restraint rig. Very simple in its appearance.In no way intended to frighten the subject. Quite to the contrary. For ease of use and application this rig begins in the vertical position. Once the subject is secured, the whole stainless steel structure can then be tilted, or turned to any angle.

The naked Petra is secured with her knees eighteen inches apart. The knees are secured via wide, strong, velcro straps. Then the ankles, exactly the same -- eighteen-inches apart but with the feet overhanging the padding. Arms raised and parted either side of the head. and secured at the wrists, eighteen-inches apart. Elbows, again, the same eighteen-inches apart. Everything precise, everything parallel. A bar at her hips just presses her backside back a little. Just gently so when the rig is tilted forward, her bottom will be raised slightly. Her breasts hang forward and slide between two parallel bars. Again, when the rig is tilted forward, her breasts will hang under her... Mature, and heavy. Very exposed. Like the privacies between her legs, I make light of as the 'restraint' is completed.

"Hey Petra, I am verrrry impressed with the smoothness down there. Hairless from the neck down. I like that very much....."

I laugh softly, Just flirting a little, chilling her more and more. She laughs to.... her breasts jiggling between the bars of the rig. Her response equally jovial. Her mind already adapting to the restriction. No overtly sexual comments or insinuations. Just little intimate jokey comments that any women could share. She swallows quite noisily.

"Ohhhhhh I'm so glad you approve...........Oh God, I'm so freaking pleased that Stefani can't see me now."

I laugh with her again. She says it light heartedly but I know that such a thought will be heavy on her mind. Her laugh is forced somewhat and tinged with that apprehension. Not the sexual kind. It's how the process always begins. Just the start.

"Awwwwww well that's not going to happen. Stefani is happy where she is and you are happy to be assisting us here. I just know you are..... So don't be thinking of things like that ok?I'm going to tilt you forward Petra. You'll feel some motion. Just go with it ok. You're in safe hands.... ok?"

"uhmmmm y-yes, yes ok... I'm fine really.... j-just do what you have to do."

She adjusts her gorgeous lips as I move to the side of the room, and pick up a small wireless remote control unit. Staying in Petra's line of sight is deliberate at this point. Firstly she will be always and further reassured being able to see me. Also... even at this very early stage she will have the sense that she is in the hands of the 'lady in the white coat' I press one button on the remote and she tilts forward very slowly.

"Your weight will move off your knees Petra. The bar at your hips will take some of it. But in any case your weight will be better distributed. Much better suited to a longer period......"

Petra gasps slightly at the first motion. But nods as she is tilted so that the floor comes into her field of view. The whole volume of her breast orbs slide down between the bars, and are left hanging below her. The bar pressing into her hips, just gently coaxing her rear to jut into the air and back a bit. With this jutting, and leg spread her sexuality becomes viewable and exposed.I tilt her until she is just below the 45-degrees.Just a little too much for her to look ahead. And just enough that she can only drop her eyes to look at the floor. Everything so precise.

I move in front of her. If she could look up she would see all of me. As it is, all she sees are my feet arched into black, patent stiletto pumps. And, the almost opaque blackness of the nylon sheathing my feet, ankles and lower legs. Quite a stark contrast to the absolute high-intensity whiteness of the rest of the room. I slowly circle her then, moving out of her field of view.

"Well Petra, that's you more or less all set..... do you feel comfortable?"

I let my voice drip into her ears from behind. I am experienced enough to know that by now she will be very conscious, very knowing of her position. Her vulnerability even if this 'restraint' is of the extremely mild though secure kind. The semi-trance will be feeding her apprehension and this shows on her face. Apprehensive, yes, of course! I even hear her dry swallow and the smacking of her lips together before she answers in a low barely audible tone.

"Y-yes....yes this feels ok. A little strange.. but ok......"

Again my voice dripping out, thickly Arabic in accent,

"Goooooood.... now let me just check these restraints and we're all done...."

Still out of her field of view but ever so gently running my fingers up and down one arm very lightly.... stopping at the wrist, then the elbow. Verrrry gently and smiling as I watch her loose, free-to-move fingers curl then stretch open again at the lightness of my touch. Moving to the other side. Checking the other arm.

"Mmmmmm these are just perfect...."

Her fingers curling again as I move to the other end. Running my fingers over one foot, to her ankle, checking the velcro fastening. Then slowly dragging the same fingers up her lower leg, over the calf and to the velcro restraint just above her knee. Whilst I do that, and the other leg taking a long, long lingering look at her delicately pouting sex lips... protruding back between her thighs. Not making any comment, but knowing Petra will be able to "feel' my eyes running over her.I allow myself a little smile of satisfaction as when checking the last restraint, just above the knee of her other leg, I rest my finger tips lightly on the flesh of her lower thigh, and feel a definite shudder, a little twitch of flesh that seems to run the entire length of her legs and spine. And the toes, of both feet, curling up. And yet still nothing overtly sexual from me. Not even hint of sexuality. Spoken or unspoken. Anything she feels, or senses coming from her own mind. Completely, totally from her own mind.

"Well that's just about perfect Petra....."

I move back in front of her, crouch down onto my own heels so I can talk directly into her face. She's flushed up slightly, part of that due to her position. But part also due to a vulnerability she now feels.

"You'll be monitored constantly so don't worry. All of your vital signs, obs etc., etc. are monitored from within this room. So there is absolutely no need for you to worry at all, ok?"

I smile as I look directly into her eyes. Ever so gently I stroke one cheek as I speak. Reassure her constantly. There is some humility in her eyes at this point. The trance is still working, except serving to magnify all of her natural emotions. More profound. She doesn't say anything, she just nods. Presses those luscious full lips together. Rolls them in before nodding again, a slight twitchy smile stretching her lips slightly.

"That's right ... no need to worry about anything here Petra... all girls together here...... I know a little undignified, maybe. But then no worse that those ghastly smear tests we have to go through every year."

Everything I say making complete sense. Appealing to Petra's logic, and intelligence and the susceptibility to suggestion that is now established. Another little squeeze of the jaw and chin as I stand up, and move behind her again. This time talking to her out of view.

"This is likely to be quite a long session Petra. Quite intense even. Unfortunately there can't be a toilet break. I mean you have taken in some water. But that's ok, whenever you need to relieve yourself... just let it go. It will drain away under you, no worries...... Is that ok, Petra?..."

As I finish talking, I am back in front of her, again crouching on my own heels. Again looking directly into her eyes. A soft smile across my lips.

"Uhhhh god.. I didn't even think of that... b-but yes, yes if you think that's ok..... it's fine."

The subdued, agreeable tone. One of a slow, approaching realization. Again an underlying humility creeping in. I stand back. Look at the vision that is Petra. A little shiver through my own insides. Again that secret purring in my throat. Barely able to believe my own luck. I keep my voice neutral, professional.

"Ok then. May the research begin! I'm going to leave you now for a while Petra.You will feel alone. You will feel isolated but rest assured that you are being monitored and watched. We'll talk again soon.. ok? Just try to relax. Try to focus ok?"

"Y-yes... yes ok....."

All the time reassuring her, getting her responses. Again her sweet voice with a hint of bemusement trails off as my high heels recede, and out of the room. The door sliding closed, sealing.

Silence. Dead silence except for her own heartbeat. Her own pulse. Her own thoughts. Isolation with restraint. Relentless isolation continues, this time she is restrained.

___________________________________

I can monitor Petra (or any subject) from a myriad of hidden cameras. These cameras are absolutely unknown to Petra. Absolutely hidden to any visitor, or onlooker. I always insist on a close-up of my subject's face. Close up, screen filling. Every blink. Every twitch of the nostril. Every nuance, of every emotion she will feel, relayed to me in vivid high definition. And all recorded on hard disk servers for any future use. As well, many and varying camera angles infinitely adjustable according to application and requirement. The digital age ensures that keeping such vivid recordings is a relative breeze.

This particular room at my Facility looks very simple. Whitewashed, windowless and just the simple restraint rig in the centre, above the drain in the gently sloped floor. It doesn't just secretly hide cameras. The technology also hidden is state of the art, and far reaching. The rig looks simply roughly placed. Wheeled in and left. In actual fact its positioning is very precise. Minutely fixed. Micro adjusted. Also, the restrained subject, looks quite casually, if securely positioned. But in fact ultra-precise also. The rig and restraint points very accurately, minutely designed to hold the subject, in this case Petra, in a very specific position for a very specific reason. The reasoning behind such micro-accuracy only becomes apparent with further explanation.

The floor, walls and ceilings contain many laser-emitting diodes. Not science fiction. Science fact. Each diode miniscule in size and practically invisible to the naked eye. This invisibility aided by the overall bright whiteness of the room. Each diode slightly recessed into whichever surface it is housed to protect it. Each diode comparable in size to a pinpoint. The lasers these diodes produce developed, and refined over many years. Perfected, and re-perfected. Each diode infinitely adjustable in miniscule amounts according to its application. So many diodes, for so many applications and so many reasons. Very rarely would many of these diodes be in use at any one time.

It is beyond the scope, or need of this story to go into the deeper science behind laser diodes. Just a little information though.Of the number of types of diodes in existence, we chose the Double Heterostructure type.

The advantage of a DH laser is that the region where free electrons and holes exist simultaneously—the active region—is confined to the thin middle layer. This means that many more of the electron-hole pairs can contribute to amplification—not so many are left out in the poorly amplifying periphery. In addition, light is reflected from the hetero-junction; hence, the light is confined to the region where the amplification takes place. These DH-type lasers proved much more suitable for our applications. And proved further more adaptable with greater tolerances to what we wanted to achieve.

I digress. The laser diodes, in my Facility have been infinitely developed, and yet further refined. I hasten to add, NOT into deeply penetrating tissue destroying implements of torture. But rather, deeply penetrating, tissue sensitizing, tissue enhancing, tissue teasing, tissues manipulating, invisible beams of creeping addiction. The beams move and stimulate the tissue as opposed to destroying it. Nerve endings are gently coaxed to stand on end, erect and exposed. The 'torture', in the main is a slow sexual stimulation, one with devastating psychological effects. A deeply instilled Hell that is inescapable. The sort of torture and hell, that I, as a sadist, enjoy inflicting on a long-term basis.

In Petra's case just three of the diodes, housed in the floor, would be used over an extended period of time. One each for her nipples and areolas. Once for her genitalia region, concentrating expressly on her clitoris. Three in total. Petra would be totally unaware of these lasers. Blissfully unaware. Absolutely completely ignorant of their existence. These lasers intimately gradual in their effect. The nipple laser for example would track, and trace the areolas puffing them up slightly. And the shaft of each nipple gently erecting them. Thickening them. Elongating them. The lasers would NEVER caress the very tips of the nipples. This would cause orgasm and this wasn't the point of this particular exercise. Rather the opposite in denying the orgasm.

Over time, the lasers sensitize each nipple to the extreme ensuring the fullest erection and instilling the deepest of 'throbs' into the nipple base. The 'throb' would instill itself so gradually in the pit base of the nipple that it would at first be imperceptible. So gradual would this process be. So very slow and with such teeny increasing increments that the resulting breakdown would happen without realization. Remember, Petra is taking part in a research program. Nothing sexual. A bit of a laugh for her. A bit of an adventure, even if a little more involved than she had at first thought.

The laser on her clitoris would be concentrated on the area around the clitoris shaft and again NEVER caressing the cum-inducing tip. The tip of the clitoris, like the tip of nipples, in women is capable of producing intensely focused orgasms. With expert, laser manipulation intense, absolute orgasms result. Unlike anything produced via normal sexual activity. The tissue becomes hyper-sensitized and after extended periods, this becomes irreversible. The objective in this early instant is to create the desire, the need, the desperation for orgasm. The control of the orgasm, or not, is not with Petra. Nor would it ever be. Petra would actually never be the same person again, ever.

____________________________________

From her position on the rig, to the stark whiteness of the room, the miniscule shafts of concentrated light are all but invisible. Very occasionally a spec of dust will flit through the lights and spark like a tiny shooting star. Whenever I see this fed through to my monitors, I smile to myself. A shooting star indeed.

At first, Petra looks comfortable. Dare I say, content even. The first time probably for many years that she didn't have to 'think' about anything. Taken out of her fast city lifestyle. Still color in her cheeks. Her full, deep red lips catch the overhead strip lighting and bounce the light back. Her earlier tiny excursions with humility have faded. I re-assured her. Relaxed her. She's adapted to the restraint. Got used to it even. Undignified of course. But this is all hush-hush. Her high profile position with her company. The mere fact that she is a single mother. Of course she wouldn't be shouting from the rooftops about this little adventure.

All the time, the three laser beams, pre-programmed, track and trace the little movements the rig allows. Never relenting, working the areolas, and teasing the hood of her clitoris. Eventually the clitoris hood would be persuaded to peel back, bringing the clitoris out of its hidey hole. But this would be so gradual, so slow. Petra would never imagine she was being manipulated when the throbs eventually became obvious to her. Of course, by that time she would have lost even more sense of time. And more than some sense of logic. The slow creeping disorientation, kind of taking the place of her normal, lucid persona.

That would be a long time away. First, the problem of her pressurized bladder. Her dignity not wanting her to relieve herself. She would hold that for as long as she could. Until she couldn't hold it any longer in fact. I study the full-face screen. I know what she is going through. God she wants to pee! The odd bite of her lip. Narrowing of her gorgeous eyes. A blow out of her lips. A swallow. The way her throat moves. Rolls as she swallows. Oooohhh so desperate to pee.

Close up views of her nipples. Just slowly being caressed by the beams. And her clitoris. Not yet unpeeled from the hood. But a slight show of wetness on her labia. She wouldn't be aware of that yet, despite the six hours or so that have passed.

Of course. The silence and isolation will have had yet more effect on her. It's six hours since she saw me. And before that she was alone in the waiting room, for a further thirty-six hours before I reappeared. During this time, stripped of her personal belongings, then her clothing. All in the cause of research of course! It's time I went to see Petra. To talk to her, help her along a little in the process.

She seemed a little startled, at first to see me crouched in front of her. Her eyes had been closed but she wasn't asleep. Her vital signs would have told me if she were asleep.Her eyes were closed, as though she were concentrating. Rising to this strange challenge. I like my subjects to rise to the challenge. Yes, she looked a little tired. A little drained. Normal signs. Her eyes sprung open, and there was me. Then that infectious smile of hers. Genuinely pleased to see me. Relieved even.




Devastation Pt. 01



"How are you baring up Petra?"

My voice soft and soothing. My smile genuine. Only I know what she is beginning to go through. Only I know that even as I maintain eye contact with her, the laser beams are working her most delicate, and intimate flesh. Petra lets out a tiny groan.

"Mmmmmmm I'm dying to go for a pee. Can't I just go to the toilet quickly.... and come back?"

Her full lips more than a little dry. Her tongue also. Not making speaking that easy. Obviously feeling the indignity letting go of her bladder contents would mean. Her intelligence and dignity getting the better of her of course. What I liked was that it was a genuine, quite softly spoken 'request'. As opposed to an 'announcement' that that's what she was wanting to do. A respect for her commitment to the program. A respect for me, as controller of the program. Controller of her.

"Ohhhhhhhhh Petra, honey... if we let you do that, we'll have to start all over. Such a waste of valuable time don't you agree?"

I just cup her chin lightly, look directly into her eyes as I talk. Ever so slightly nodding my head to her..... a strange thing, knowing that as my head almost imperceptibly nods, so does hers, agreeing.

"Uhhhhh y-yes, yes I guess so......I'm sorry. Its just I'll feel so dirty, doing it here."

Her voice trails off, accepting that if she is to urinate, it will be from the position she is in.Her head still nodding in that tiny way.

"Just let it go here Petra. You'll feel a lot more comfortable. And be able to rise to this challenge a lot easier... don't you think sweetie?"

Again my sincere, bedside manner smile. Very proficient. Very professional. Never disagreeing with her own assessment of herself should she pee there and then. Again my ever so slightly nodding head coaxing her to do the same. To agree.

"Mmmmmmm ok......"

The tone of voice obviously giving away her slight discomfort at this level of intimate exposure. But the sub-trance state helping her through that a great deal. Had she been anywhere near aware of what was in store for her, she wouldn't have signed the consent form. She most certainly would not have given up even a day of her three-month vacation in this way. In fact, I think it safe to say she wouldn't have come within a mile of my good self. So it was good that she didn't know. Or have any inclination at all.

"OK Petra, honey, let it go. I promise I won't look. Do it now and you'll feel much more comfortable ok?"

My smile doesn't diminish. Neither does my ever-so-slight grip on her chin. Holding her head up and holding her gaze looking right into her eyes. The first trickle of urine hits the drain cover. A few initial squirts, and then a constant gush as Petra evacuates the contents of her bladder. The swirl and gurgle as the pee drains away. All the time I am looking into her eyes. She looks away, and then back to my eyes a number of times through the gush of urine. I know she is feeling the humility. It's not just in her eyes but in the almost hang-dog sulky expression on her face. Across those delicious lips. It's as though she believes she is 'above' this indignity. But she won't give up. She signed up for the challenge and once it's over, it's over. She thinks. 

"There... it wasn't that bad was it?"

I speak as I stand and make towards the back of Petra. The gush has ebbed to a trickle and I know that as her bladder emptied, she will have become just slightly aware of the little irritation around her clitoral area. I say 'irritation' because she won't have associated, nor would she, just yet, with any form of sexual arousal. The 'throb' won't be there yet. Not quite. And the clitoris hood won't be peeled all the way back just yet. Even when the throb begins, she won't be aware of it straight away. And now I am watching her finish her pee. She knows I am watching. She closes her eyes, nibbles on her bottom lip as the trickle becomes a drip.

"Hmmmm Petra... you're looking a little red down there. Nothing to worry about. It's not uncommon. I'll keep an eye on it sweetie....."

My words, verrrry professional filtering in. Instilling now, the knowledge of her reddening sexuality. Focusing her mind on it. With her mind, all but empty of the more mundane, everyday things, focusing on this area of 'irritation' would be an aid to the constant incessant work of the laser beams. Already the fleshy clitoris hood part peeled back, the deeper red bareness of the clitoris itself, just beginning to poke through. Peel out all red and slippery.

"Ohhhhhh y-yes... yes I do feel a little strange down there. Uhhhh, I will be ok, won't I? I mean, there's nothing to worry about?"

I'm back now, crouching on my own high heels. Petra's chin cupped gently again, raising her head so she's looking at me.

"I promise, you'll be fine. Absolutely fine. This does happen occasionally. But it passes, usually. You're in good hands, I promise...."

My smile settling her. Her indignity settling back also. I let her head go forward again. Her red hair cascaded around her face and hanging long.I shift on my heels slightly, tilt my head to one side and peer under her, to her hanging breasts. She can see me. She knows I am looking. She is watching me. Knowing I am looking at her breasts. Her eyes peeling open wider as I let out an extended slightly puzzled sigh.

"Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm...... ok....."

"W-what is it... e-everything is ok isn't it?"

I don't answer straight away. Just concentrate my focus on her hanging breasts. Eventually, still looking I answer.

"Welllllll, there is a little puffiness of the areolas.... and thickening of the nipples....... but... it's ok. Once again, occasionally we do come across this. Admittedly it's not often. But it has happened. And with you, it's happened. We'll deal with it Petra, not problem really, no problem."

Bringing my head back up, smiling, looking her straight in the eye. There's concern in her eyes now, a worry over her stunningly attractive face. Her mind's focus now on her reddened clitoral area, and her nipples. I know now her mind wouldn't be able to think about anything else. Over the course of many hours, she had been taken out of the normal world and denied any contact with it. No sense of time. No sense of a view of the outside world and her mind slowly receding back, becoming increasingly unable to think logically.

"I a-am, going to be ok, aren't I?"

Almost a childlike vulnerability to her voice. Genuine concern. Faint worry lines across the tops of her brows.

"I told you Petra. You will be fine. This reaction whilst unusual, is not unknown. It can be dealt with. You're in my care and I will take care of you."

I watch her swallow, and nod again, reassured by my calm, almost soothing words. Listening to me now. Hanging on to my words. Petra was becoming focused now. I liked that. Anothersign of progress on a long, long journey. A single delicious focus. Pinpoint focus.

"I will need to change your positioning slightly Petra. Given these slight irritations. You'll be just a tad less comfortable than you have been. But over a period of time, it should reverse the effects on your nipples, and your clitoris..."

I introduced the word 'clitoris' deliberately and directly for the first time at this point, focusing Petra, knowing that just a single seed of guilt will have been planted. A distant thought in her head that somehow, it was her fault that this 'reaction' had occurred. The delightful sight for the first time of her face flushing up, slightly embarrassed about this 'unexpected' development.I smile, but not in a triumphant way. Tilting my head slightly, the tiniest hint of similarity in the way a mother might cast her eyes over her sickly child. Petra, already thinking that her abnormal sexual appetite was to blame for this. Yet another source of worry.

"Ohhhhhh it's ok Petra, I know you're a little embarrassed. There's no need to be. I'm a professional remember. And above all, we're all girls together. Let's get you readjusted. The sooner we can reverse this the better, ok honey?"

My genuine, professional, sincere smile again. The blush across Petra's face from the neck up, fading slightly.

"Y-yes... please yes let's do that."

FIVE - Creeping Addiction

I speak to Petra softly as I work. Working quickly, efficiently.

"I'm going to have to change these velcro restraints Petra. More for safety than anything. Once I change your position you'll be under a little more physical strain and so the velcro won't be sufficient. I'm going to change the velcro for, stronger, leather buckled straps ok sweetie?"

My same voice: calm, soothing as though I'm prescribing paracetamol or something. Petra's head nodding taking it all in. Now she knows I am helping her over an unexpected, and difficult period. I change each strap, one at a time, ensuring each now is buckled more tightly than the velcro could be. All the time I am speaking to Petra.

"I do have to add two straps Petra. To your upper thighs. These will help once you've been repositioned on this rig... is that ok?"

I watch intently for her response. Her mind is wandering now, more than slightly worried. But she nods anyway.

"Y-yes, yes of course... whatever you think..."

I smile as I wrap one leather strap around the very top of her upper thigh and pull it tight, buckling it. Denting the soft thigh flesh. Then the other. The activity around her thighs, very near her new focus help maintain that focus. My fingers tips just dragging slowly around the thigh flesh and then down as I finish up. Another delightful slight as I see her thigh flesh twitch, every so slightly sending ripples across and down the pale white flesh.

"I usually ask a couple of questions around this time Petra, just observational questions. Just as an indication of the state of your mind.... is that ok sweetie?"

She just nods as I see her limbs, and sense her mind adjusting to the increased tightness of the replaced restraints.

"Do you know how long you have been here?"

Her voice is dry, almost expressionless in its tone, in response to each question. I can see her desperately trying to think before she answers.

"Uhhhh... I'm sorry, I have no idea....."

"That's ok.... its very normal to lose complete track of time. Do you know what day of the week it is?"

"Uhmmmmm, I came in on Tuesday... no, Wednesday.... or was it.... Thursday.... uhhhhh god... I don't know. I really don't know. I'm sorry."

An incredulity in her voice that she can't remember. But the isolation, the restraint, the overall gentle denial of basic human rights were taking their toll. And now, the enforced focus on the developments of her intimacies.

"Petra, really.. it's fine. This is not abnormal. It's part of the process of separating you from your normal world. These are completely expected responses. In fact I would be slightly concerned if you responded in any other way. So relax."

My Arabic-drenched voice only raising slightly an octave as I counter her alarm. And then back to normal. Neutral in tone. Matter of fact in content.

"OK, now you'll feel some movement as the rig is adjusted. Don't resist the way it pulls you. Just go with it. Relax and you'll adapt to the new position more easily... ok honey?"

I move round to the front of Petra to look for a direct response. As it happens just in time to see her tongue swipe, slightly dryly across her lips side-to-side. Although I don't show it, I am quite taken aback at the length, volume and width of her tongue. The first time my attention has been drawn to it. Inwardly I smile as I pick up the restraint rig's remote control unit.

There's a distant whirring sound. Like humming of motors. But it's very distant. More noticeable is the gasp, and slight increase in Petra's breathing as she is re-adjusted.

"It's ok, Petra, I'm here; just relax."

Deliberately I stay out of sight, watching as the rig tilts and moves and changes its general shape. Her arms straightened at the elbows and brought down slightly, then back, forcing the shoulders back. Not too much to cause pain. Just that gasp. And to ensure the breasts are thrust to their maximum volume through the bars, taughtening the flesh and tightening the already puffed areolas and nipples.

Her knees slightly bent, the lower legs brought slightly back and raised. At the same time, opened wider, spread at the knees and ankles. Not eighteen inches any longer, but thirty inches. The spread just enough of a strain, without any pain. Spread to expose her genitalia a little more. A complete joy to me when I watch her labia peeling open as her legs are spread. The bar at her hips pressing in a little more. And the introduction of a new bar. Right at the small of her back, forcing a dip, enhancing the upward thrust of her bottom, and the backward pout of her sexuality. Accentuating the "S" shape.

"Uhhhhhhhhh godddddd....."

The long sigh of exclamation loud... filling the room.

"Yes.. I know Petra it feels a little awkward. You'll get used to that though. Just try not to fight it and you'll be fine."

Petra swallows, her tongue fighting with her dry lips as she nods....

"Y-yes.. ok, ok."

I stand back, in front of her, admire my handy work. Such is the intricacy and accuracy of the rig and laser diodes, that their points of focus have not moved at all. The lasers throughout the adjustment track and caress the clitoral hood and the nipples. An incessant, constant gentle working of a woman's most sensitive and intimate flesh.

A wry smile on my face as I pull on a pair of surgical latex gloves that I have retrieved from my white coat pocket.

I'm going to apply some medicated moisturizer to the affected areas Petra. With that, and the air circulating more freely, they should settle... ok honey?"

I watch her visibly swallow some of that indignity again. But maintain my smile. There's also the tone in her voice. Almost apologetic that she is inconveniencing me. A sure sign that she is baring some guilt now. That's a good sign. She sighs, keeps looking down at the floor from her newly adjusted position.

"Yessssss, yes, I'm sorry.... for this."

"Ssssssshhhh Petra... it's ok, really it's ok."

At no point do I tell her it's not her fault. I let her apologize. Let her feeling of being a burden deepen and work on her mind.

The moisturizer doesn't have any affect on the laser beams. It won't have any affect good or bad at all. Its application is just in essence, a ploy to, for the first time, physically manipulate Petra's intimacies. NEVER stroking the very tips of her nipples. NEVER stroking the very tip of the clitoris. Just squeezing the puffed areolas and nipples slightly and applying a gentle twist, ensuring the slippery moisturizer rides through my latexed thumb and forefinger. I watch her gasping at the sensation. Knowing it's sexual, but completely acting against that. Professional at all times. Then down to her clitoris. Massaging the moisturizer into the clitoral hood and against the sides of the clitoris shaft that can be seen. Never the tip. Tips of nipples and clitorises are so orgasmic. The areas and sides surrounding the tips simply feed a need. Feed the mind. Feed the most base need. Petra gasps, swallows and blushes again.

"Awwwwww sensitive Petra?"

She nods, but her bottom lip is quivering slightly. And she is blushing this time deeply.

"I know... it's ok.... we'll have you sorted out in no time... just relax now, Petra."

Standing removing the gloves. Peeling them off. Running my eyes over Petra. Her position is no longer gently held. It's a very unnatural one. Although not extreme. For a start, she is off the floor. She cannot feel solid floor under her. Just the tight leather straps holding her. Her femininity enhanced and yet a measure of her natural grace and elegance taken away from her. She's aware of that. But she has the new focus now. And a troubled face as I discard the latex gloves.

"I have to leave you again for a little while Petra. We have this little hurdle, this little problem that we have to get over. But you understand that. You'll be fine. I'll come back in a little while and we'll check progress. Give the moisturizer and the air a little time to circulate around you. I'm sure it won't be too long before we can lessen the strain on the restraints."

I've moved around to her front, crouching again on my high heels. Cupping her chin lifting it. Her eyes reluctant to look into mine and there's a little quiver of her deliciously glossed bottom lip.

"Awww. I know honey, this isn't what you were expecting. Well me neither. But we'll get over it... ok?"

My smile drawing her eyes to mine. Definitely a woman now being drawn out, plucked out of her comfort zone. Teased and coaxed out of her perfect, and contented life. Such intelligence in those eyes. But that was good. I so like intelligence in my subjects. That way, she feels every nuance of every microscopic fibre of what is happening to her. A gentle squeeze on the chin as I let her head forward again and stand up.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts Petra. Try not to dwell too hard, sweetheart."

She nods and I know she will in fact dwell very much. Huge eyes looking a little teary and yet none have spilled. Too early for that. My high heels click the floor, the echo loud as I exit, the sliding door sealing back into place again once I am out.

I know now that the intensity of the existing laser will have been microscopically increased as per the program. And another two beams introduced. The newly introduced lasers, one each scanning, and working up and down the length of Petra's labia. These will have the gradual effect of puffing up the flesh and sensitizing it. Whilst this is happening, the existing lasers will continue to peel back her clitoral hood, drawing out the clitoris. By the time the clitoris pops out it will be a very deep red/purple color and very swollen. Very sensitive and yet still untouched at the very, very tip.

Her areolas will have been puffed up and sensitized to almost catastrophic levels. The nipples themselves will have been coaxed, and drawn into teat-like sizes. Again very filled, very stretched, heavy. And that deep red/purple color. Almost 'angry' and yet necessary to feed the very basic need that will be growing inside of her.

But once again I digress. Long before the above state is reached, there will be that 'throb'. And there will be a constant production and dripping of sexual discharge. Love juice as men often call it. Peasants!

At first she won't even be sure that she can feel a throb, so distant will it be.Three 'throbs' in all. One each for the nipples. And one for the clitoris.It's difficult to describe these throbs... even for an expert like me. The throbs emanate from the centers of the nipples and clitoris. But from deep at the very core of the base of each nipple and clitoris and traveling up towards the tip but fading short of the tip. Petra desperate for each throb to reach the tip but it never does. Not without the tips being caressed. These sensations are very alien to Petra. She has never experienced this ever. Or anything like it despite her relatively high sexual appetite and experience.

Each throb is continuous. Un-abating. And causes a deep, deep irritation, like a deeply focused itch that just cannot be scratched. Cannot be sated. That itch becomes pure sexual need. Pure desperation. By their very nature, the throbs create a sexual need. A basic, core need. Even a greed. An addiction. During an orgasm, these throbs are intensified and fed through the clitoris tip. All orgasms when controlled in this way are clitoral-focused. Pinpoint focus on the very tip of the clitoris. The resulting orgasm is a hyper-sensitized 'explosion' of undiluted pleasure.

____________________________________




Devastation Pt. 02



Part 2 - The Suffering

© 2009 by drkfetyshnyghts

Foreword

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 e-mail 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 in which to go ... 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 eighteen-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. 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. Admittedly, 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 daughters' 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. Selena'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 medium 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, it's 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 arm's 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. It's 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 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 barstool, 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 neckband of the hood expertly with one hand, at the same time 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 breathe. 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 breathe. Allowed her to gratefully breathe, bending forward, holding one ear almost next to the girl's 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 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 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 through 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. It's 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 nonetheless, 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 fingertip runs 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. Whether 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.




Devastation Pt. 02



"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 than 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 Selena 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 to, 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 enforcedly received at the fingers, and thumb, of her captor.

Selena, standing up slowly and back, taking a look at her work. A naked, immobilized, 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 intact. 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 pore and every orifice of the helpless teenager.

"I have to go get something from my car. You won't 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, that's what they would think -- 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-existent 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 breathe. 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 bag 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' were all-but-guaranteed just by being placed there. Housed in the subbasement 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, with 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 who 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 hypersensitivity fed by those constant, tortuous throbs.

".....Oh God, those throbs!....'

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 through 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 excruciating 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 tailbone, and on 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 focused 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 wristbands, 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 cat suit, 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 were 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 forty-nine-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 too well. Sooooo... I suggest instead of trying to rehabilitate 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."




Devastation Pt. 02



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 nonetheless 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... that's 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 now, 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 nonentities. Nonentities, 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 she, nor Stefani, would exist anymore. 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 funerals' 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-won't suffer, too... 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 demeanor of her mouth, lip-glossed 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. It's just a simple fact that she is not really any different from 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 eyeholes 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 fingertip 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, too, 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 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 breathe 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 breathe anymore. When, eventually she was allowed to breathe, 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 too 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 from 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 required 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 eighteen-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.




Devastation Pt. 02



"I DON'T WANT TO HEAR LANGUAGE LIKE THAT, STEFANI... DO YOU UNDERSTAND? BAD LANGUAGE LIKE THAT UPSETS ME. I DON'T 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 DON'T 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 daughter (of six) 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-too-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 envies of immense proportions from her own sisters. Often the envy 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 sister's 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. He had 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. Envy leaking from every pore. In many ways, a return to the envies 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 envies? 'Fuck Them All'... was a favored saying of Petra. The word 'fuck' literally dripping from a lipstick-enhanced snarl.

Basically, Petra's likeability 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 godforsaken 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.

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 focusing 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 tiptoes 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 telltale 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 were 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 strained. 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 were really sufficient to ensure that Petra couldn't expel it. But added 'security' was 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 air line 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?"




Devastation Pt. 02



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 preparatory 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 unknowingly 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. It's 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 programmed 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 hypersensitive 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 hypersensitive 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 lipsticked 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, 'everyday' 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 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 collarless neck of the cat-suit. 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 eyeholes, but 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 ponytail... but left to erupt and banded at the roots, and for three or 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 an 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.... let's 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.

It was the way she moved on the extreme heels. So fluently. So expertly. 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. 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. It's 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 blasé 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 reappearance 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, catlike 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 mouthless 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 sufferings 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, that's 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 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 and squirting tears. Sabirah looking deep, deep into those eyes. Into her soul. Soaking up her suffering. A sadist almost wallowing in her victim's 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.




Devastation Pt. 03



Part 3 - The Breeding

FOREWORD

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

THE STORY SO FAR

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

The timelines eventually merge... Petra agreeing that she can never again be released into the 'normal world' and that she must suffer for her illness.' An illness that actually does not exist. Agreeing also that neither she nor Stefani can ever be released and that she too, must suffer terribly. Being faced with their own death certificates and media reports of their funerals seals a nightmare-future for Petra. Alters it from surreal to very real. Any possibility of escape, or release, simply fading to nothing.

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

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

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

ONE - Before It All Began 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"mmmmm mmmmmm mmmmm mmmmmm mmmmmmm nnnnnnggggggg"

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




Devastation Pt. 03



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

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

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

"mmmmmmgodddddddddd mmmmmmmmmmnnnngodddddddddddddd..."

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

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

"noooooooo nooooooooo noooooooooo."

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

Petra knew she was highly sexed. She didn't know why. She just knew that she had to keep it in check. Under control. Keep it very much to herself. She could do that. She had been very successful at it. Every so often, she needed to relieve herself. And she did. She couldn't help that. It was a need that built up inside her that she could do nothing about except relieve herself. Occasionally, with carefully chosen partners she would indulge in full graphic and often seedy sex. She couldn't help it. She had to. She had considered therapy, but that would mean confiding in someone. She couldn't do that. She found it difficult, if not impossible, to trust anyone. There wasn't one single person that she could consider a friend, a true friend. In lots and lots of ways, she was a loner. But her issues, her flaws, were so well concealed that nobody but nobody ever penetrated her smooth and polished exterior. As she cleaned up the cubicle, wiped down, readjusted herself, reapplied her makeup, checked herself in the huge mirrors, she was back to a professional, absolute power-woman. Impeccable. Immaculate.

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

"Hi honey, it's me.. yessssss, your personal wake up call...... You have a good day and I'll catch up to you tonight once I'm done here.....ok......bye."

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

TWO - Petra & Victoria

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Petra... Petra... wake up, honey."

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




Devastation Pt. 03



"Petra... wake up, sweetie, wake up."

Petra slowly unfolding from her fetal position, the groans becoming little whimpers, and her state-of-mind thus that she immediately rolls over. Immediately makes herself available for the voice that's waking her. In her mind, her tortured mind, she thinks maybe, just maybe, she is going to be allowed to orgasm. On the other hand, she could also be being woken to be taken to some other form of immense torture. Some other immense source of despair and anxiety. Her eyes flicker open. Long, curled eyelashes thick with mascara. Very slowly, with more soft, throaty groans, she focuses on a woman who is not Sabirah nor one of her helpers. There is a moment of her being startled. Not recognizing this woman. Just a few seconds of confusion in her own mind. Her eyes open wide, and a look, very animalistic, frightened, crosses her face.

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

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

"It's ok, Petra. It's all going to be ok. I'm taking you out of here. No more torture. No more cruelty for you. It's all over, Petra. All over."

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

"O-over... a-all o-over?"

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

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

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

"M-my d-daughter... w-what about my d-daughter?"

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

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

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

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

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

"HHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGG

HHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGGGNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

MMMMMMMMMMMNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

NNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

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

"So, what do you think, Petra? Can you be a good girl for me?"

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

"Yessssss.Yessss, please, yes."

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

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

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

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

"Y-yes, yes, I can't thank you enough. Really I can't...."

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

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

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

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

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

"It's ok, Petra. It's ok to feel the pleasure."

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

"C-can I keep the latex? Please? Please, can I keep the latex?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank You."

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

THREE - Sabirah & Stefani

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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