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?"