Devastation Pt. 03

Sabirah knew also that her clinical work, the legitimate side of her business, was little more than a front for her other all-consuming hobbies in the BDSM and Fetish world. It was a money-making business for sure. It made lots of money. And yet all proceeds were ploughed back into the Clinic at its sub-ground levels. The 'private' facilities of the main business, along with the glossy city fundraisers made up the entire finance solution of Sabirah's sadistic pursuits. Sabirah, really, could only thank god for the legitimate side to her business. After all, it was through this that her path had crossed with Petra. Part of Petra's suffering, and Stefani's, could be directly attributed to the proceeds of donation supplied by Petra's company. More importantly, more profoundly though, it had been due to Petra's feedback to her Company, on the merits of Dr. Sabirah Najwa and her research program that a substantial donation had been made. In effect, and ironically, Petra had been a massive part in securing funding for her own suffering, and the suffering of her only daughter, Stefani. That fact, that basic, cruel fact, had never escaped Sabirah. That fact had made her smile. Made her smile and fed the sadism inside her. The bubbling, intensifying sadism that gripped her and drove her on.

The sound of the wind rushing through leafless tree branches signaled the onset of winter. The definite chill in the air nothing like the one that had existed in the spine-cores of mother and daughter since their inception into the clinic, all that time ago, however long ago that was. Inside the Clinic, or more importantly, inside the sub-levels, the non-public levels, it didn't matter what season it was outside. A constant climate, and constant temperature was maintained by the technology. To the incarcerated, seasons, wind, trees, rain, snow were such a distant grey memory that the normal world didn't really exist any more except in distant, tortured memories. Mostly flashback memories. Mostly fleeting, split-second flashback that were there, and then gone.

Down three levels, and along a long, dead-straight corridor to another lift and down a further level there was just one more room. This was Sabirah's ultimate torture-chamber into which the lift opened directly. Down under the English countryside -- this deep -- it was cold. Especially at this time of year. With climate control, the temperature had been brought up a little. Only a little though. It was still cold enough to be a meat-storage facility. If truth be told, it was little more than a meat-storage facility. The thing about this room is that is was apart from the main rooms. Secluded even from the secluded. It was soundproofed, and despair-proof like all the other rooms in that hellhole. But this was different. Oh so different. There was a palpable, thick, all-consuming air of utter despair in that room. That atmosphere, that 'darkness' had a personality of its own. It existed whether there was an occupant in the room or not. The chill down the spine of anyone entering that room would cause them to gasp, at the very least. The room, with a ceiling height of barely just over three-meters was five-meters by five-meters in floor space. And yet this room was 'single occupancy only.' This room was where the unfortunate victim, whoever that may be, would probably, at some time or other, at least once, think that they wouldn't be leaving there alive. And they would not have the benefit of another occupant, suffering in the same way as themselves. They would never, ever, have felt so alone and desolate. There was nothing to remind them of the outside. Obviously no windows. Obviously no sound. No odor, not anything to remind them that there was a normal world outside. All that existed was that immediate area of the room. That relatively small five-by-five meters and with the ceiling just three-meters above. And just that occlusive, all-consuming, chill-inducing thick air.

Lighting could be adjusted to suit. It could be bright, startlingly bright. Or, it could be subdued to an almost sickly, deathly level. A level suited to the storage of 'meat.' At this time, the lighting was eerily low, with a red glow that almost pulsated. It was like a slow heartbeat. At its brightest, the redness applied that strange, color-spotlight to the unfortunate victim in the dead center of the room. At its dimmest, it rendered the figure an eerie silhouette with a ghostly red glow surrounding it.

The bondaged position was simple. It was a hark back to that original base 'squat.' The agonizing squat that rendered the victim helpless. Ballet-booted feet fixed around twenty-inches apart. Secured to the slightly raised platform rigidly. The rigid hydraulically adjustable rod coming down from the ceiling and screwed into the steel nipple built into the crown of the tight latex hood. The rod adjusted, lengthened, to force a bending of the knees, which formed the squat. Back arched, knees bent, the central force of the rod, right down the core-center on the victim. The rod, likewise, preventing an easing of the squat. Rather, holding it rigid, but at the same time forcing the victim to take all of the strain. All of the spine hurting, leg straining agony.

The latex hood was slightly different in that it was double-skinned, and the lamination between skins had been inflated to create a vacuum and a tight compress to the face and head. This lamination creating a cushion, or a layer of air, about half-an-inch thick, which served to enlarge, bizarrely, the features of the wearer. This vacuum also creating a seal to the ears and the nose, and whilst the mouth and eyes were left exposed, they could as easily be closed off in varied ways by means of additions and enhancements to the hood. A double-tube disappeared in through the nasal cavity of the hood. One tube was to assist breathing if necessary, and the other to feed nutrients into the stomach, as and when required. The addition of the feeding tube alone was an indication that the stay here would be considerable, at least. Indefinite, at most.

There were 'sounds,' of sorts, coming from the bondaged form. Mostly the sounds were little grunts. Stuttering little grunts that formed part of the breathing process. Just natural sounds, really, of distress and anxiety. Even these sounds didn't come easily, the reason being simple. The tongue had been pulled from the mouth, and stretched to its limit and secured with one of those rigid wires to the electro-motor system that finalized all bondage. In this instance, the tongue had been modified in three places along its length. It would be too simple to call these modifications 'piercings.' They were more than that. The piercing had been applied with a special instrument that not only applied a piercing, but which took a complete hole of flesh out of the tongue and then lined this hole with a 'grommet.' Each grommet, a different size. The back hole was the biggest, about a centimetre, the next hole in the middle of the tongue towards the tip, about half-a-centimeter and the third, a-quarter-of-a-centimeter and nearest the tongue-tip. The holes all placed just off-center of the tongue so that the line looked a little crooked. It would have been nice to have kept this line of steel-walled holes perfectly straight, but impossible, since the very center-line of the tongue carried a nerve and a vein which if damaged would cause the victim some paralysis and even to bleed to death. Death, at least this early on, was not an option.

The hook attached to the tongue had been clipped in to the hole nearest the tip. Mostly this meant that all drool then dripped through the other two holes and to the floor beneath. These piercings hadn't been done on this night. They had been completed a considerable time ago so that the tongue-flesh itself had healed and sealed around the steel grommets making them permanent, and irreversible.

The all-sealing cat-suit was ultra-shiny black latex. It covered the flesh in its entirety. Even the heavy pregnancy. That is, the latex was shrink-wrapped to most of the flesh. A latexed-wrapped, pregnant lump was a bizarre, bizarre sight. That, and the squat, provided the invisible voyeur the most intense insight into female-on-female cruelty. There were exposed bits of course. The altered nipples, now looped and stretched from breasts that were producing milk due to the pregnancy. Already large breasts were fuller now, heavier, and this was plain to see even in their latex shrink-wrapping. From the tips of the nipples, the occasional drip of liquid. Not quite pure milk. Like a clear, pre-milk. Nature taking its course, where it was allowed to. It becoming more clear now, more understandable now, those sounds of distress and anxiety. This position, most unnatural even for a normal, healthy fit woman. For one in advanced stages of pregnancy, the physical and mental turmoil must have been complete. Utter devastation.

It wasn't a devastation that had an immediate end, though. Or an end at all. From between her legs, her enlarged slug-like labia had been stretched. Painfully stretched. Not simply tugged out and down. But similarly pierced with grommets and then stretched down to their limit, like the tongue, but towards the floor. Little wires attached and clipped to micro-motored pulley systems and pulled down. Making the labia appear like 'flaps' then, and the wires disappearing into the floor sufficiently wide apart to allow the sexuality to be 'opened' wide. The inner-labia treated much the same. Grommeted, clipped, and then pulled out. That more delicate flesh, those pink, wet, dripping inner-labia were more pliable, more elastic than the cajoled, altered outer ones and so they stretched more, and longer. This provided the illusion, or maybe not such an illusion, that the very insides of the feminine flesh were being tugged and pulled inside out. Four high-tensile steel wires clipped to very feminine, very private woman-flesh, in turn attached to the pulley system and maximized. EXCEPT, there were five wires. The fifth wire from the clitoris. The extended, fattened, thick, long clitoris had been likewise grommeted and tugged, then PULLED to stretch that little bit of flesh to it's limit. All those wires had simply 'tugged' their respective bits when applied. That had caused a 'gasp' from the poor victim. But once the whirring and humming of the electric motors had stopped, that tug had become an absolute stretch, and with sensors, simply stopping the pull before the bits were pulled right off.

"GGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPHHHHHHHHHH!"

The scream had been incredulous. Not a fully formed scream due to the grommeted, stretched tongue. But a dripping soul-searching scream with ribbons of drool pouring through the holes in the tongue-flesh and stretching to the floor of the slightly raised platform.

That scream, though, paled into insignificance when compared to the one that filled the room as her anus had been invaded, then stretched by the inflatable. In its normal deflated state, it had slipped up inside her with ease, and nestled nicely up against the colon.

Bizarrely, the anal addition gave the impression that she was 'sitting' on it due to her semi-squat and the fact that the rigid tube disappeared into the floor as a fixture. Even in her heavily pregnant state, the lubricated rubber tubing had slid up inside easily. Her altered, enhanced rectum chewing and sucking hungrily as it made its way up into her deeper insides. It was common for pregnant women to be more highly sexed than usual during pregnancy. So it can only be imagined that, with nature taking its course, plus the fucking maddening, insanity-inducing throbs that were always, WOULD always, be there, the torture would be as intense as it would ever be, despite the physical nature of the bondaged and grommeted extremities.

That scream, when that anal tube had been inflated, was 'inhuman.' Yes, inhuman is a good word to describe that. It had been Victoria watching from the control room. Miss Victoria. And she had never heard anything like that before. Her eyebrows raised and she was forced to re-cross her legs, clench her thighs as that scream had come through the audio feed. The anal tube thickening and elongating inside the most intimate of femininity, stretching her insides and altering positions and stresses that were already under duress from an advanced pregnancy. The head of the tube expanding against the colon the most. Fattening, and stretching, and pressing into the delicate colonial flesh.

"EEEEEEEGGGGGGGGGGGLLLLLLLLLLGGGMMMMMPPPPPPPPPP!"

It was a drenched scream due to the drool flinging out, or dripping through the holes in her tongue. Victoria liked that. She liked the sound of high-heels entering the room, too. Very precise well-practiced steps in ultra-high-heels. Expert, confident steps. And then, a deliciously dressed Stefani coming into view via the video feed. Not a latex cat-suit now, but a leather one. Supple black leather that fitted her developing-frame like a second-skin. No feature-disguising hood, either. Her head, free of any hood. Just her face, heavily made-up and her red hair in the trademark, high, tight ponytail. The eruption of red hair from her crown adding an odd splash of 'warmth' to this deathly cold room. Actually, the trademark ponytail wasn't her trademark at all. It was Petra's, her mother's. That was her trademark.

Stefani circled the bondaged form like a predatorial cat. She had suffered terribly, terribly until recently. There was a distance in her eyes, a chilling expression on her face that was enhanced by the makeup that told of awful things having gone on in the past. She blamed her mother. In the first instance, she had blamed her mother for those awful terrible things that she had had to endure. Oh god, how she had wanted her mother to suffer ten-times more than she had. But then Victoria had come along. Miss Victoria. And it was Miss Victoria who had put it all into perspective for her. It was Miss Victoria who had taught Stefani to make sense of it all, and focus her priorities in other directions.

And so, it was a pregnant, tortured Dr. Sabirah Najwa who trembled, as much as her bondage would allow, as Stefani circled her. The deliciously enhanced clinical psychologist in a depths of despair and torture the likes of which she had wished for her victims. Her full, Arabic lips puffing out, and trying to form words, which proved an impossibility due to her tongue stretching. Actually, without the stretching, her tongue had ceased to be able to function properly due to the holes. Her tongue was now more a 'tool' than a functioning organ.

"So bitch.... what more can we do with you?"

Stefani's voiced hissed into Sabirah's ear. In the control room, Petra was draped across Victoria's lap and she was kissing her owner's mouth deeply. A well-practiced, super-sealed, wet, slippery, swirling, endless kiss. The audio-and-video feed from the room feeding deep, deep addictive desires in both women. Miss Victoria coolly, calmly absorbing the kiss, encouraging, always encouraging Petra. And every so often, just brushing a fingertip across her nipples or her clitoris. Petra mewling and cooing, as those intense throbs inside her were fed by Victoria, her mewlings and cooing, ones of real gratitude, as well as addictive lust. She was indeed like a tamed and faithful pet that needed to be petted.

Sabirah's tone of anxiety and despair rising the closer Stefani got to her. Not able to answer. But she knew, she knew she was finished. At least finished in the form she had known for so long. Her all-time best friend and most trusted confidante, Miss Victoria, had betrayed her. Taken everything from her. That night, the night it had all come to an end, was but a grey, distant memory now. Like the grey distant memories of Petra and Stefani of their old, normal lives. Normal lives now gone forever. That night, just a casual smile on Victoria's face as she had sunk the hypodermic needle into Sabirah's hip. Sabirah knowing, even before the drug had taken effect, that it was over for her. Just one word forming on her delicious lips,

"Why?"

Then, her slowly sinking into oblivion, eventually waking up to the horror of her own devices. Her suffering just beginning. And it was just the beginning. Despair, anxiety, distress, and suffering way beyond even those she had inflicted on Petra and Stefani awaited her. Miss Victoria, a softer center, but with imagination that didn't really belong in this world. She had simply answered Sabirah that night,

"Because I can......."

Her reply trailing off as Sabirah had fallen unconscious.

Stefani circled again, then came back to Sabirah's side. Sabirah's huge eyes, bulging, darting side-to-side. Stefani reaching out, caressing the pregnancy. Caressing it very gently and yet, that gentle caress causing Sabirah to mewl. It was only a mewling that she could manage. But it was meant to be a cry, a sob of utter distress as the young girl tormented her.

"Ten months pregnant and counting... maybe another month and I'll suggest to Miss Victoria it's time to have your babies.... MAYBE."

Her voice hissed. Absolutely drenched with venom. And a hint in that venom of the pure -- undiluted -- Hell the birth of three, overdue offspring would be. Sabirah wailed as much as her stretched, altered tongue would allow. Then Petra's voice, crystal clear and digital, cutting through Sabirah's mewlings over the audio system.

"Let her cum, honey. Let her cum a nice big one...."

The voice trailing off as little giggles are heard, and as Petra resumes the deep, passionate kissing of her new owner. Her tone to her daughter, one that told that they had been reunited. Reunited in more ways than one. Stefani reaching for the clitoris stretched between Dr. Sabirah Najwa's legs, then just tapping the tip very lightly. Sabirah's tone altering, as the hyper-intense mega-orgasm rushes through her. Stefani, watching, studying, already with aspirations towards becoming a career sadist.

"MMMNNGGGNNGGNGNGNGNNGNNGNNGNNGNNGNNNG

MMMMNNNNNGNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

NNNNNNGGGGGMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

NNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!"

DRIP

DRIP

DRIP

DRIP

THROB

THROB

THROB

THROB

Above ground, the dawn was breaking. Clear skies and a chill wind. All of the windows and doors in the grand old building had been boarded up. The place looked deserted. It was meant to look like that. Normal clinic operations now closed. Dr. Sabirah Najwa's had gone overseas to work. At least that was the 'official' line. None of the sounds from below ground, way, way down below ground, leaked out.

***THE END***

© 2009 drkfetyshnyghts

Contact the Author (drkfetyshnyghts) if you would like one or more of these characters to return in another story.