Devastation Pt. 03

In a particularly cruel twist of humor, Sabirah also entered this torture room in full, exaggerated school uniform. Very tight, very micro-mini and showing off her deliciously mature curves to the fullest. The sight of such a mature, grownup woman squeezed into such an obviously designed school uniform made of latex was not just bizarre, but also extremely erotic. Her legs sheathed in dark brown nylons, and yet long socks pulled over her knees, and her feet arched into stiletto court shoes that sported six-inch heels. Her thick, luscious hair pulled into tight pigtails that sprouted high, from either side of her head. A thin black tie that hung perfectly between mature lush breasts. Those breasts visible through a transparent latex blouse which added a sexy gloss to them. Stuck on the blouse, just over the top of one breast a badge which read

'PREFECT aka SCHOOL BULLY'

It was just another 'touch.' An ironic touch that Sabirah liked to apply. The school bully with her victim absolutely and completely at her mercy. She liked that. She smiled to herself as she whispered into Stefani's ear.

"Were you ever bullied at school, hmmmm? Or Mom? Do you think Mom was ever bullied at school, hmmmmm?"

She didn't expect an answer. The questions were rhetorical. Stefani was in far too great an amount of distress to form an answer. Trying her best to concentrate. Even the slightest movement causing her stretched rectum, her sphincter, and her deeper femininity inside, untold agony as she tried to maintain that delicate balance.

"Never mind. This isn't school. Although, you are learning ALL the time, isn't that right, honey?"

Again a rhetorical question, as though Sabirah was talking to herself. Slightly mad. Maybe more than slightly so. Her cool, mad tone just about heard above the constant whimpering, and intermittent loud sobs and cries from between Stefani's enhanced red lips as the toll on her body and mind progressed.

The sight of the Prefect aka School Bully pulling on a pair of surgical latex gloves was not an encouraging one for the diminishing fortunes of Stefani. Her face was already a mask of twisted duress, stress, and extreme discomfort. Her attractive, full and yet wrinkle-free lips every so often blew outwards as she tried to self-regulate herself. She had to stop anymore of her weight going down onto the impalation inside her. And also she had to prevent anymore stress on her arms that remained in agony throughout. Baring the brunt of her stress were her thighs and her calves. And although the arch in her back was a natural one, the stress throughout, both mental and physical, took its toll also on her spine. A very delicate balancing act indeed.

It was a plain matter of fact that Stefani couldn't literally fill the room with piercing screams. That would take too much effort. Or rather too much effort would be spent resulting in too much movement. One could not afford too much uncontrolled desperate movement or the relatively minor pain and distress her breasts were suffering would pale into insignificance when compared to the unsurpassed and absolute pain that would result deep inside her rectal tube and deeper insides. Rather, the noise coming from the delicious lips of the teenager was like a continuous droning. A guttural moan that was sourced in the pit of her stomach and then made its way up and just slithered out of her mouth, sometimes accompanied by a trickle of drool.

"Mmmmmmaaaaaaaaannnnggggggggghhhhhhhhmnnnnnnnnnnnnn..."

Yes, a quite indecipherable noise, not really an attempt at communication. But rather, a clear attempt to prevent even a hint of that deeper pain that could result. It was as though she had learnt about that deeper pain. Had received a hint of it and was making a continuous, concerted effort for that not to happen. Sabirah liked effort like that. She truly did. Every so often, the continuous droning moan was broken and a different sound would pour from the gorgeous mouth of Stefani. Like a high-pitched but 'quiet' squeal. Not loud and not strenuous enough to cause any movement, or for her to forget her priorities in sinking down on the appendage inside her back passage. Just like a controlled, a very controlled, scream. Almost a silent scream but not quite.

"Aaaaghh aaaaaaagh aaaaaaagh agghhhhhh..."

Just short bursts like that, and then the continuous drone would begin all over again, and remain at exact pitch until the next burst of 'silent screams.' The communication of the pain and distress she was in came across in her facial expression more then the noise. Her pretty, attractive face twisted and distorted. Eyes screwed up, then open wide. Eyes always pouring with tears. Those full, delicious lips stretched, then contorted. Perfect white teeth visible, and at the heights of her duress, her gums bared. Then her blowing out her lips trying to absorb it all. All the time aware what would happen if she 'lost it' completely and in that awareness, ensuring that she didn't 'lose it.'

Sabirah's intention was to decorate Stefani's breasts. Adorn them, as it were. As she proceeded to do just that, she didn't work on one breast at a time, rather she worked a little on one, then the other. This way the pain was spread over a larger area. And an irregular area. Even before Sabirah had begun, she had pulled up the stool right next to the droning moaning Stefani and had studied the breasts at close quarters. Taking the weight of one breast, just kneading it lightly with her latexed fingers. Ever so lightly. Cupping under it. Feeling the weight. Feeling the delicious texture of the creamy flesh. Watching Stefani's face as any form of touching, or weighting of either breast meant that the throbs deep inside the base of her nipples would be fed and enhanced. All adding to the reason for that continuous droning moan.

"Mmmmmmaaaaaaaaannnnggggggggghhhhhhhhmnnnnnnnnnnnnn..."

Sabirah checking out the other breast. Holding it up, leaning forward, then cruelly flicking her fleshy, wet tongue over the grotesquely enlarged nipple, causing just a slight rise in volume of that droning moan.

"Mmmmmmm, Stefani, as delicious, if not more so, than Mother."

The school bully, Sabirah thinking aloud more than anything else, as she lowered the breast carefully and then began the piercing process.

The piercing process was not a piercing in the 'normal' sense of the word. In that normal clichéd sense of the world, a ring would be placed through the base of each nipple. Maybe a heavy ring, soldered into place, and used for future training and torment. No need for training in this establishment, as we know. Stefani was doing exceptionally well without training. She knew what she had to do, what she had to maintain in order not to suffer any more than was the intention. Oh, how Sabirah hated that word 'training.'

Stefani's breast piercings took the shape of many, many piercings and insertion of studs. The first of these applied to the dead center of the engorged nipples. Thick-pinned studs, applied with what amounted to a medical stud gun. The breast held from under, delicately with one hand, by Sabirah, fingers worked gently to the base of the nipples, one at a time, then held, then the stud 'shot' into the nipple. The pin, long, and the shooting process, powerful enough to bury the gold-tipped stud right up to its hilt. And so, nipples enhanced and decorated with these studs. The nipple-ending with a stud down the length of its core. The stud-pin was its core. It was in the application of these studs, and the numerous following studs, that caused that break in Stefani's moaning and droning.

"Aaaaghh aaaaaaagh aaaaaaagh agghhhhhh..."

Sabirah taking all that in. Leaning in close feeling the girl's expelled breath on the side of her own face. Taking deep breaths, smelling the breath that was expelled under duress. Almost tasting the 'soul' of Petra's daughter.

Smaller studs were used to circle the base of each nipple. Five studs in all, around the very base of each nipple. White gold studs, shot into the ultra-sensitive feminine nipple-flesh at the point where the nipples ended and the areolas began. Sabirah not rushing. Working the girl slowly, very slowly, very deliberately. Alternating between one breast, then the other. The click of the stud gun piercing the continuous drone, and the other sounds that Stefani made

CLICK

Just one, quite loud, loaded CLICK as each stud was impaled. Each stud slightly shaped at it's piercing end, to prevent it coming back out. Each stud sufficiently long in its stem-length to ensure the resulting pain was deeply instilled into each breast.

Another row of traditional gold studs then, around the middle of the areola areas. This time nine studs. With the completion of these circles, a very neat, distinct, symmetrical pattern emerging. Decoration was the right word. The color draining more and more from Stefani's face the further along this piercing process went. The deep, sharp individual points of pain with each stud being applied emerging into one, and the area spreading. Those deep, sharp points of pain, and the larger spreading of that pain, all serving to feed the constant throbs caused, and instilled, by the process of enlarging her nipples. The 'drip drip drip' from between the girl's legs forming a puddle. A crude slippery puddle.

A further circle then, this time white gold again, around the outer edge of the areolas. twelve studs making up this circle. Sabirah just dabbing out pinpoints of blood where they occurred with a medicated wipe. Sabirah coolly calmly loading the stud-gun magazine with the required studs between each circle. Working one breast then the other. Enjoying her work savoring the girl's predicament and distress.

CLICK

CLICK

CLICK

CLICK

A final circle then, of traditional gold studs, about a centimeter outside the last white gold circle and into the delicate creamy flesh of Stefani's breasts. Quite bizarrely this final circle had the effect of enlarging the areola areas. The overall decoration of the girl's breasts seeming to please Sabirah greatly. Hyper-enhancement.

"Good Girl. I am pleased with you, do you know that?"

Again, not really a question she was expecting an answer to, such was the stress and distress and pain that Stefani was dealing with. And she was dealing with it. Maintaining the pose to perfection. The school bully's victim. Totally at the mercy of the school bully. A little jittery at times. Her whole self, trembling at other times. Sabirah dabbing the blood spots away before prepping the next stage of Stefani's decorative enhancements.

FOUR - Victoria & Petra

There was one word, a practiced word that poured out of Petra's perfectly glossed lips time after time.

"Immaculate... Immaculate."

She had been invited by Victoria to look at herself in a full-length mirror. There had been an audible gasp from Petra. And then her huge pools of eyes, eyes that had regained their old depth and pool-like qualities, had just fixed on herself. Scanning the length of herself from head to toe and then back up again. That word dripping from her full, deep-red lips. Sometimes audible. Other times just the silent word.

"Yes Petra, that's right. Immaculate. That's a word I adore. That's a word I like to attach to my girls. I like my girls to be immaculate, Petra. You do want to be one of my girls, Petra, don't you?"

There wasn't a second's hesitation in Petra's response at this point, this early engage with Victoria, and Petra's deeper basic instinct to want out of Sabirah's clinic alone ensured the response to the positive. Not even Petra's basic instinct could tell, here and now, that her addictions were being fed and nurtured more and more. In many ways, Petra was being taken out of a frying pan and put into the fire.

"Oh, y-yes, yes please."

Her voice did reflect still, a melancholy, and the turmoil of her time spent at the clinic. But even she could now see the tiniest light at the end of the long, narrow, claustrophobic tunnel. She didn't know, or couldn't work out, in her diminished mind, what was beyond that little chink of light. But she was drawn to it. And Victoria was the key to that chink of light.

"And you know what you have to be, in order to be one of my girls, Petra, yes?"

Petra's eyes staying on the mirror, scanning herself and yet focusing on Victoria, who was just behind her, with her hands on her shoulder, every time she spoke. It was like she was reluctant to pull the focus of her eyes away from herself but that, she had to. She had to focus on the woman who had taken her out of Sabirah's hellhole. She had to focus of Victoria.

"I h-have to be a Good Girl, and I have to be Immaculate."

Her words didn't come easy at all. A slight retardation due to the treatment she had received over such an extended period of time. She was almost like a child learning to speak again. Every word considered. Odd words stuttered or hesitant. Except those three emphasized words. Good Girl. And Immaculate. Victoria just gently squeezing Petra's shoulders like encouragement and reward for her answer.

"That's right, Petra. You need to be a Good Girl and you need to be Immaculate. And tell me, Petra... what are your other thoughts when you look at yourself in the mirror? You immediate thoughts? You look at yourself and what do you see, what do you think, hmmmm?"

Petra's deliciously long, voluminous, wet tongue sliding out and across the width of her mouth before she answers, just a hint of a smile across those same lips. Just a fleeting hint. But there nonetheless.

"I w-want to have sex with myself, Miss Victoria....."

Her answer trailing off again. Victoria's own smile, broad and distinct. Again the little squeeze of Petra's shoulders. At some point between being taken from the clinic and now, Petra having been instructed in how to address Victoria. 'Miss Victoria.' A very unmistakable line drawn in the status between the two. Miss Victoria the superior. Petra, the inferior being. In Petra's tortured mind though, being allowed to address Victoria at all was like a gift from God. And, even in the slight retardation she was showing, a recall of her communicative and educated skills was like a breath of fresh air. A breath of life.

"That's a good answer from a good girl, Petra. But what else? What else is more important than you having sex with yourself, hmmmmm?"

There's a little shift of Petra's extreme heels on the floor. Still for Petra a relief that she can move her extraordinary long legs and feet of her own free will. Relief that they were no longer held in rigid absolute bondage. Another little squeeze of her shoulders. But this time, more of a caress. A caress that compliments the throbs that are 'always there' within Petra.

"G-giving pleasure to other people. Whatever pleasure is, I must provide."

The caress from Victoria this time more like a definitive caress, making Petra's lips blow out, all full and droopy.

"That's so right, Petra. Those are important thing to remember, Petra. Very important things. That you are a Good Girl. That you are always Immaculate and that you MUST provide Pleasure to others. Whatever and whenever required."

Petra hearing the words. Nodding eagerly. Understanding completely. Her past life as that successful City woman becoming lucid again, but knowing that she would never return to that way of life, ever. That was the only thing about the future she was sure of. She scanned herself again. This time more slowly, more hungrily as Victoria caressed and gently squeezed her shoulders. Rubbing and kneading with delicate, expert fingertips.

What Petra wore was an outfit of latex and it was most definitely immaculate. But also it was most definitely uniform in its appearance. Its design, and implementation, deliberately uniform. Somewhere between schoolgirl, college girl, and office girl. That Petra was a thirty-five-year-old, mature mother gave added impact to the 'uniform.' Not so much a bizarre sight and appearance but rather, a highly polished, exceptionally erotic sight. And one that screamed out, just as much as Petra in Sabirah's semi-squatted bondage positions, that she was being controlled in a complex, total way.

A perfect white latex blouse that was buttoned low on her throat. Most of her neck and throat were uncovered above the line of the collar. The blouse wasn't totally transparent, but semi-transparent. It wasn't skin-tight. Just tight enough that between the wrinkles of latex caused by natural movement, the hint of flesh color could be seen. This was more apparently so over the breasts. The huge otherwise unbra'd bulges obvious, and the extended, engorged poke-through of her unnatural nipples very much to the fore. The darkness of the grape-like nipples, and surrounding areolas just about recognizable through the thinness of the latex. The caress of silky-smooth, cool latex across those nipple-tips, an ever-present feed to the ever-present throbs. Every one of Petra movements, no matter how small, how insignificant, emphasized those throbs, and fed the central throb deep in the base of her clitoris. This latex, very much taking over where Sabirah's double-skinned bondage cat-suits left off. Except now her 'bad bits' were covered. Kept inside. Strangely, Petra felt grateful to Victoria for that. So very grateful.

Hanging from her neck, a perfect, thin black latex tie which rested and hung down between the bulges of her breasts and giving that impeccable, immaculate appearance. Only just shaped into a long narrow diamond, the tip of which just tucked into the waistband of her skirt. It was this tie that emphasized the 'uniform' appearance. Without the tie it would have been simply a white blouse and black skirt that, apart from the latex aspect, could have been worn in any professional environment. With the addition of what appeared to be a regulation tie, the appearance became stricter. Regimented.

The waistband of Petra's skirt fitted her trim waist like a second skin. It was a slightly higher waist than normal and her blouse was tucked, neatly, very neatly, inside it but showed no sign of bulges, or wrinkles because of that. Immaculate. The skirt itself then flared out slightly from her hips and ended just maybe an inch above her knees. The skirt was loose, and its design such that the latex gathered in almost completely symmetrical rolls around its circumference. It was the flare of the skirt, the way it gathered in those rolls that gave it the 'schoolgirl'-like qualities. Not necessarily the way a mature mother of a teenage daughter would 'choose' to dress. And yet, not a way such a stunningly attractive, long-legged woman like Petra would shy away from either. She had always, but ALWAYS, enjoyed drawing attention to her legs. And this skirt did it. Emphasized those glorious, spectacular legs. Just by exposing the knees, and a hint of lower thigh, and then the swirl of the skirt with even the slightest movement or readjustment of her extreme heels to bring attention to the shapely, long tautness of her calves. Her legs were enhanced, their effect maximized with ease. The muscles of the calves tight, and with the roundness gentle, and fading into the shape of her slim ankles from the side. And yet that gradual, deliciously long, extended taper from the ankles up the lower legs over her knees and disappearing under her skirt. This outfit absolutely, without doubt, meant to have Petra inside it. Even if it did juvenilize her. Even if it were designed to have something of a regressive effect on her appearance, and also her mind. It did all of that with interest, but it also was meant to have Petra inside of it. It was just totally meant to have her inside it.

Sheathing her stunning legs was a sheer, a very sheer, silky nylon that added a sheen to the flesh. It wasn't such a high gloss sheen that the blouse latex brought to her torso and breast area. Nor the shiny gloss that emphasized her skirted lower half. The nylon was black, but a transparent black. Like a film of black that clung skin-like to the flesh beneath it. The sheen was an understated one that drew some of the voyeur's attention to the legs. Not all of the attention, just some of it. But that bit of attention most definitely resulted in the appreciation of such remarkable legs.