The Cottage sub-level two

 

Stefani had adopted the position that nature had intended, as much as she could. But alas only in as much as her bondage and her captors would allow. Had it been an ideal position she would have been squatted and she would have been evacuating her bowels and her bladder for all she was worth. If that had been the case then she would also have been grunting, and most likely squawking her relief for all that it was worth as well, after the devastating pain that she had been put through over an immeasurable amount of time. The fact was that she was squatting with her severely arched feet strained against the hobble chain between her ankles as wide as they would go. That was not very wide at all. Just the eighteen inches of the chain and that didn't allow enough of a spread of the legs belonging to the statuesque, and quite Amazonian woman. If truth be known she needed that spread of the legs - more than that eighteen inches. She needed more, she just needed more to spread her weight and her mass a little better. At least if she had been able to do that it might have relieved what she was going through. But the eighteen inches just wasn't enough to stop the tenuous teetering that the high heeled boots created. With that tenuous teetering also the creak of that skin tight pink latex that gave this mature, professional woman a bizarre schoolgirl look. Her face highlighted with pink eye shadow and pink blusher and then thickly coloured pink lips were stretched and strained and it looked like she wanted to cry out more. She was making sounds but it was like it wasn't the sounds that she wanted to make. It looked like she wanted to bellow and bellow like she had at the earlier stages. Just flare her nostrils and blow her lips like a bull before bellowing. She had thought that she was at the height of the torture in those early stages but the fact was that she wasn't. She had had no idea. Nature hadn't been allowed to take its course. Her bowels and her bladder should have been allowed to evacuate under normal circumstances but that hadn't been the case. That hadn't been the case at all.

 

"What do you think Petra and Stefani from your story Devastation would think of you now hmm? What do you think they would think of the woman that caused them so much angst and distress? I would imagine Petra especially would like to see the authoress of her own distress and that of her daughter, would be pretty pleased to see the architect of all that misery have the tables turned on her - don't you think hmm?"

 

"There is no god here, just ME. I want to read you something. An excerpt from your story Devastation. I want you to listen. Listen what you put the mother and daughter victims through and then tell me that you don't deserve something similar, or worse for yourself and Chloe...."

 

Rachel spoke and she produced a piece of printed A4 paper.

 

"There wasn't a big delay between Petra being brought in, and her daughter joining her. The sliding vacuum door that created the seal of the windowless room had been left open so that Petra could hear the shuffling sounds coming down the long corridor. One could almost see Mom's head, cock to the side, listening... even recognizing the sounds of her approaching offspring. It seemed never ending. The shuffle... the metallic heels on the tiled floor of a seemingly endless corridor... at first just the feint sound then slowly, slowly getting louder and louder as Stefani was brought to the same room Mom was in.

 

Stefani was the mirror image of Petra. The all sealing latex cat-suits. The hood. The erupting pony tail with just the slightest difference in the shade of redness to the hair. The organically shaped rubber neck corset. Closer looks revealed the subtle differences. Slightly shorter than her Mom even in her own tightly laced ballet boots. Slightly less large and defined shrink wrapped breasts. A slightly less mature, roll to the hips and overall figure. Kind of gangly, bambi like in short bursts. Almost an adolescent vision within a nightmare scenario. Her wrists were secured to the rings in the upper hips of her latex suit and so, her vulnerability was highlighted more. The chain between her ankles was even shorter than the one between her mother's ankles. This gave an immediate impression that she was currently suffering more than her mother. Her 'bad bits' protruded also. It seemed they were even more enlarged even more engorged than her mother's although this could simply because of her altogether, slighter build. As she came through the door, slowly step by step, the pure light from the room bounced off her reddened, enhanced extremities and caught the drip drip from between the legs beautifully as they fell to the floor.

It was Petra who made the first sound,

"MAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH BBBBBBBABYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY."

From Devastation by drkfetyshnyghts © 2009."

 

"Can you see where this is going now cunt? Can you understand the need I feel to make you and your girl suffer too? Devastation will be like a walk in the park, I promise you."

 

Rachel Fellows was circling Stefani. She was circling her slowly and it seemed that the smell and the aroma of the supple, black leather cat suit that she wore, filled the air. That smell was mingling and interlacing with the clip clop of her stiletto heeled boots that she also wore. High enough to create that strut, and that strut sufficient enough to be an arrogant one. There was that other smell as well. The murky, dingy smell and the smell of bleach. And for some reason there was yet another smell as well - the smell of Stefani. It was a smell of the mixture of latex, and something else. Like the smell of despair and anxiety that was as immeasurable as the amount of pain that she was in. It was clear to see where the Nurse got her skill set from. It was plain to see that she had been taught by the Mistress, as it were.

 

Rachel circled Stefani a few more times, enjoying the sight of this woman that she was going to enjoy breaking into little small pieces before the rebuild could begin. That was Rachel's 'thing' she liked to create blank canvases and then construct works of art from them. The trouble was that she liked to create the blank canvases from mature, stable and successful women. She liked those because they had more to lose and because they understood what was happening to them at any given time. That of course and the fact that she enjoyed the deconstruction process. She enjoyed destroying a woman and everything that she once was. She enjoyed taking things from her - most precious things so that she could destroy those as well. She liked doing that before she got to actually destroying the woman herself fully and totally. Just like she was going to enjoy showing Stefani the results of her Nurse's efforts on Chloe. She had certainly started the destruction process of Stefani but she wouldn't finish the job until the woman and her offspring were reunited. That was something that she was looking forward to with wetness between her legs. That was going to be some reunite.

 

"Move to the centre of the room. Down to the centre grate."

 

It wasn't a question that invited debate or a response other than obedience. It was as though this leather clad women 'expected' obedience. Not even that she demanded it - but that she expected it without it being demanded. It was like as though this woman very rarely, if ever had to 'demand' she simply got obedience. At least that was the air that surrounded the woman - that was the aura of the woman. And if one were to see her operate in this round slope floored room, it would be just a thing one would get. This wasn't a woman who had to beat someone senseless in order to get obedience - she simply got obedience as a natural course of things. This was like a woman who wasn't at all disturbed by what she did as a hobby. This was a woman confident in what she did. For those that came into contact with her there was this air of a depressive 'loss' of everything in their life. That they might as well be obedient because there was nothing else. That they probably would not get any relief from the continuous incessant torture but that being obedient at least gave them hope. It was like a hope that told them, if they did as required when required and how required then that meant that Rachel Fellows was happy - and if she was happy there was hope. I guess 'happy' was a bit of a wrong description to apply to Rachel. She was 'content'. Yes she was content with what she did to other women and she didn't suffer with a thing called conscience. Her conscience was clear because in her mind the women that she worked on - the women that she created works of art out of were there because they deserved to be there. Because they thoroughly deserved to be there. And besides that, if they didn't deserve to be there, it was just tough shit. Shit happens. As for Rachel Fellows having a conscience. What conscience?

 

"Mmmmmmm nnnnnnnnuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhgggggggggggggg."

 

Stefani was beginning to understand now - some of the things that she had written about. Words had failed her sometimes and she had never quite managed to nail some of those harrowing tortures she had thought of in her sleep - or rather some of those visions that visited her whilst she was sleeping at night. Every night. And now she was convinced that she was going to die. She could feel the swelling in her latexed belly - the fact that she had been transformed into this pink latexed, pigtailed schoolgirl vision, a mature woman poured into this outfit and was suffering like this was just a bizarre, weird twist. Even in the dank of that room, the contrast of the pink latex and the black, sheer tights, and the pink boots was something else entirely. Like something out of one of those bizarre surreal films. The sight of that and then the black cat suited Rachel - her hair in a high tight pony tail that gently swished across her shiny leather back as she circled Stefani was something out of a weird, glossy, erotic horror film.

 

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh mmmmmmmnnnnggg ggg g g g g g g g g g ."

 

Stefani's face was a mask of twisted agony. Everything seemed to be against her - the high heels, the slope of the room - the urine and the warm oil that she was being made to retain against her body's wishes. And she could feel her stretched, modified ass as well - but somehow that didn't seem to matter. Somehow that was the least of her problems. She thought as she made her way to that central grating that if she was going to die here, the least this fucking bitch could do would be to make it quick. But something inside her told her that it would not be quick - if it was going to happen at all. But then she thought of Chloe again and all of a sudden she didn't want to die any more. She wanted to see her. She wanted to see Chloe and be with her. But thinking of her just set of other pain signals inside her mind. The pain of knowing that her only daughter was somewhere and going through her own set of horrors. Of course, not even in the warped weird mind of Stefani's sleeping mind could she imagine exactly what Chloe had gone through, even at this point. It didn't pay for the central victim to know too much too soon. Rachel would not want to tip the mother over the edge - not too soon anyway. Oh she would tip her over the edge, just not yet.