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.

 

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.