The Orchid Operation
Copyright© 2025 by Rose Garden
Chapter 12: Tighten Up
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 12: Tighten Up - Hidden on the planet exists a facility that specializes in rehabilitating forgotten, worthless members of society into something more useful for their betters. A young woman finds herself a prisoner of this facility, faced with daily torment at the hands of six violent sadists who want nothing more than to watch her squirm and scream for their delight. This story is a never ending buffet for hardcore bdsm lovers of all appetites.
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including ft NonConsensual Slavery BiSexual Fiction Vignettes Science Fiction BDSM DomSub Humiliation Rough Sadistic Torture Polygamy/Polyamory Infantilization Caution Violence
Screams follow me everywhere. I don’t think I’ll ever be rid of them. Cries for mercy. Screeches of agony. Hateful threats. Violence, despair, destruction—the Oasis is Hell and I must be dead.
My holding cell is in the floor. A metal grate covers my roof, allowing the guards who drag bleeding subjects by their ankles to drown me in carnage. They must be doing it on purpose. One of them pissed on me when I asked for water. I was so desperate at the time that I nearly opened my mouth anyway. I should have. I’m so thirsty. So hungry. So weak.
Even though I’m a small girl, my cell is still cramped. The space is so small that I don’t have enough room to curl up on the ground to sleep. I rest in an awkward corner, huddled in a tight ball with my head between my knees. The height of the cells are controllable, so the guards made the ceilings just a few inches too short for me. That way, I can’t stand up without a crick in my neck and I can’t stretch my legs.
I don’t know how long has passed since Raven had me carted off. I don’t know if I’ve actually gotten any sleep, or if I just imagined it. The cell is dark. The guards walk around with special glasses so they can see us, but we can’t see them. Wherever I am, it’s far more secure than any other facility in the institute, I think. Most of the subjects I’ve heard them drag in are violent. They kick and scream for their freedom, promising death to all who touch them. They must think I’m violent, too. I nearly bit that man’s cock off, didn’t I? All because Raven told me to.
How am I supposed to do this? How am I expected to live like this? Permanently obedient? Perfectly poised? I’m still human, after all. I can’t just stumble into the role of a picturesque orchid right out of the gate. If it was so easy, I doubt I would have ever been made an orchid to begin with.
They’re taunting me. It’s safe to assume at this point that these people don’t love me. Back on the boat, when I was bathed and clothed for the first time in years, I found myself willing to do just about anything to make my saviors happy. But now? Why me? Why them? Why any of this? I grab a handful of my empty belly. My skin is cold to the touch. I don’t feel flesh. Only meat.
The iron door opens and voices drift inside. I’ve stopped bracing myself for the sounds of conflict. I don’t flinch when the figures traipse over my grate. I’m especially still when my cage begins to lift. I understand what’s happening, but I don’t react. I don’t register. Like I’m asleep with my eyes open. I sit on the floor of my cubicle until the walls turn from four and a half feet to only one. Strong hands grab me by the arms and fling me forward. My ankle catches on the cell’s ledge and I hit the ground hard. Tingles of pain follow me to my feet. Softer hands take me this time, but their grip is tight. As tight as steel. Fingernails dig into my skin. Someone shouts in my ear. My knees give out. More hands grab me. I’m hoisted into the air—into someone’s arms. They hold me like I’m a rescued child. My body sits limp against their chest. They’re calm. They don’t breathe a word. I lay my head on my protector’s shoulder and I let my eyes fall closed. The warmth of their skin lulls me to sleep long enough to clear my thoughts. But not long enough to be free of my torment.
Ice cold water strikes me in the face. I startle, screaming, and scramble upright. My clothes are gone, leaving only blood and grime to dress me. An impatiently tapping foot strikes the ground. I follow the leg up to meet my mother’s gaze. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, and she wears a firm grimace.
“Well?” She snaps. “I asked you a question!”
My mouth hangs open like a gaping fish. I shake my head, throwing murky droplets across the room. Some land on her pantyhose and stain the fabric.
Mom’s jaw tightens. Before I can muster up enough strength to utter a word, she grabs a fistful of my knotted hair and throws me forward. My chin scrapes the jutting cobblestone ground, leaving behind a streak of fresh blood.
“Listen when I am speaking to you!”
“I’m sorry!” I scream, hot tears pouring down my cheeks.
Mom buries her shoe deep into my side, knocking the breath from my lungs. I double over and wail, curling up into a tight ball. I wish I was a centipede. Or a roly-poly. Something that could hide. Something that could flee.
“Easy now.” Dad approaches from behind. He grabs Mom’s shoulder and whispers something into her ear. She scoffs and crosses her arms again.
“I’m sorry,” I blubber, quieter this time, when Dad kneels to face me.
He tuts his tongue and shakes his head. “You better dry those tears this instant, young lady. You are in very big trouble.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat one last time. I wipe the tears from my cheeks, ignoring how badly the dirt on my hands makes my eyes burn.
“If you aren’t going to answer your mother when she speaks to you, then you don’t need to be talking at all.”
“I didn’t hear her! I didn’t know—”
“Quiet!” Mom snaps.
Dad turns up to meet her gaze. His jaw tightens so hard that Mom purses her lips and takes a step back.
“Your second official day and you’ve already pissed off half of your owners,” Dad says, shaking his head. He rifles around in his jacket pocket, then produces a large, shiny red ball gag.
I shudder, my lips quivering with oncoming tears. But then Dad flashes me the same look he just gave Mom, and I fall into obedient silence.
“Open,” he snaps.
My lips part, and Dad shoves the gag inside. My teeth ease onto the tough rubber surface as Dad tightens the strap behind my head. It isn’t long before a tendril of drool seeps out from my lip and trickles down to my bare lap. My filthy pussy drinks the offering. The saliva seeps between the cracks of my petals like a falling dewdrop.
Dad gives the gag a little tug, then smiles softly when he’s sure I can’t spit it out. I blink back at him, groaning when he steps away. My jaw already hurts.
My parents drag me up on shaky legs. I nearly tumble back down, overcome by the weight of my own head. All the blood in my body keeps rushing from one side to the next, making my senses topsy-turvy. Mom grumbles when I hit the wall to steady myself, but Dad shushes her.
“She’ll be fine,” he says to Mom, watching me with a stern gaze as he speaks. “She knows better than to fall, doesn’t she? Because every time she falls, we’ll break one of her fucking toes.”
A whimper rises up my throat, and my grime-scorched eyes bud with new tears. Dad grins. I scramble to recenter myself, pushing past my hunger pains and dizziness. I don’t care if my wounds can be healed. I’ve never broken a bone before, I don’t think, and I’m not keen on starting today.
My feet seem more focused than my head is. I tumble forward, walking like a baby using its legs for the first time. My skull is too big for my skeleton, and the haze threatens to swallow me whole. If every day is going to be like this, I don’t know how much longer I will last.
“Attagirl,” Dad says once I stop shaking.
He takes the lead. The hallway looks like a cross between a warehouse and a medieval dungeon. The stench of blood and piss clings to the cold stones. The screams still follow me, even though we are only accompanied by guards. They pay us no mind. They walk in straight lines back and forth across the space. They wield guns and wear armor, just like the ones outside the wall. I can’t help but wonder what sort of subjects are trapped here. Are they really dangerous enough to deserve this kind of security, or are they just desperate for a taste of freedom, like I am?
Mom stands close to my backside. She sneers every time my head dips down too far. The pointed toes of her boots nip at my heels whenever I step too slowly. I have to chew on the rubber ball to keep from huffing at her. I just know her fingers are twitching to strike me. I wish I could remember what it was like living with her before the cage. Was she always this angry? Or did something happen?
We’re barred from entering most of the corridors. They’re reserved for the subjects trapped in the Oasis. There’s a different system for them. They don’t have masters and mistresses like the others. They have instructors: men and women called strictly “Sir” and “Ma’am,” respectively. They’re adept torturers—demons with the ability to rip open a subject’s soul and squeeze every bit of life from their flesh until their dying breath is all they have left to string them along day by day. I’ve seen subjects crawl around without skin on their limbs. Some are missing facial features. Others have their orifices all sewn up like a fucked-up voodoo doll. The punishments are temporary. They are returned to their old lives once their schooling is complete. But there are a rare few, like the woman from yesterday, who are doomed to stay forever. I hold my chin high, remembering what Raven said about me. That I had the same pleading eyes as that filthy whore. It wasn’t a tease; it was a warning. If I’m not careful, I might end up back in that cage in the ground for good. Maybe one day it could be me, stripped naked and raped with a cactus. My pussy lips prickle at the horrible thought.
“All the way in the bowels,” Mom grumbles as we approach a heavy door. Two guards stand on either side. Neither acknowledge us.
Dad shrugs, then flashes the guards an ID card from his pocket. “You know the rules, Cat. Things have changed for us. We’re no longer welcome.”
Mom mumbles something incoherent under her breath as she shoves me into the room. My feet stumble onto stained tile floors. The air is thick and heavy with the scent of charred meat. I gag, choking on the ball in my mouth. The room itself is large, but mostly empty. It looks like an industrial kitchen that had been long-abandoned until today. Cobwebs coat the walls and ceiling in thick veils, covering everything but the massive utensils that hang above the butcher block counters. Some are standard kitchen knives and forks, while others look like they were taken from a tool shed. Surgical lamps shine down on the middle of the room, illuminating the only spot on the floor that is almost clean. Judging by the wheel tracks that carve through the dirt and the bloodstains on the tile, I know something is missing. A table, maybe.
My muscles clench when Dad comes to a stop just outside the glow of the light. My instincts tell me to walk forward, but he grabs me by the wrist and holds me close.
“Your equipment will be here soon,” he says, then plants a dry kiss on my forehead. I must taste like sweat and terror, because he instantly purses his lips as if to be clean of my flavor.
A door hidden in the shadows of the room opens. A loud, rumbling noise echoes off the walls as three guards cart in a massive device. Mom and Dad exchange matching grins as they step out of the men’s way.
“Here we are,” Dad says, patting me on the hip. “We pulled some strings and reserved it specially for you. Do you know what this is?”
I shake my head, though I do faintly recognize the odd metal frame. It’s gym equipment, I know that much.
“It’s a lat pull-down machine,” Dad says. He squeezes my arms and chuckles quietly. “Not something a dainty thing like you should ever be using if you want to keep up your figure. But for today, it will suffice.”
Mom examines the machine once the guards settle it in place. It faces the surgical lights, standing just outside their shine. Mom’s fingers graze the metal and leather details. She flicks the harsh restraints and nods.
“This is new,” she says. She nods again, sharper this time. “That means Lana and I are still on good terms.”
Dad lets out a sigh of relief. “Let’s hope so. After the bullshit Raven pulled yesterday, I’d be surprised if she ever lets us back in here again.”
“You just need to know what Lana wants, that’s all.” Mom points to a tiny green light across the room, set up to face the workout machine. “Today, I’m guessing she wants to watch.”
I gnaw deeper into the ball when more guards come inside. One carries a big black box, while two others wheel in a large metal table with a linen covering its contents. When they set the table beneath the spotlights and lock the wheels in place, all but two guards excuse themselves to make room for staff members, clad in rubber aprons, rubber gloves, and surgical masks. They throw me a passing glance before heading toward the counters to prepare. I refuse to take my eyes off them, petrified by the assortment of blades, drills, saws, and forceps they’re setting out.
I’m too distracted to notice that Mom has taken the box and snapped it open, though I can still hear its metal hinge in the back of my head. I don’t realize what’s happened until Dad spins me and bends me over. I yelp, throwing out my hands to brace myself onto the machine’s seat to keep from falling.
It’s then that two things become known to me. For starters, the “seat” is nothing more than a cushioned leather ring with a massive, gaping hole in it. And second, inside that hole stands a massive staff of silicone balls. Each one is as big as a pool ball, and they stand spaced out about an inch apart on a thick metal dowel. I whimper. There are only four balls on the staff, but with their size, they measure as tall as my forearm.
Dad tells me to relax as a freezing sensation spreads across my ass. Globs of icy lubricant slip between my crack. Dad works the gel around my hole, teasing my opening to get me to loosen up.
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