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.