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.