The Orchid Operation
Copyright© 2025 by Rose Garden
Chapter 13: Coming Home
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 13: Coming Home - 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
I don’t sleep much. Every few moments, my eyes fly open when a subject—probably bloodied and mutilated—is dragged past my door. After Mom left in a huff, the doctor hooked my arm up to an IV, then locked the door behind him with the guards on his heels. One guard stayed behind. He stands on the other side of the door.
My cell is dark, and my restraints are tight. The numbing cream has worn off, so I only have the slow ache of my holes to keep me company. I flex my muscles every few breaths, trying to figure out how much of me they managed to piece back together. I think I have two holes again, but I’m not sure. No matter how hard I try to focus on where my pains are coming from, I can’t get past the punch in my stomach. The memory of that horrible machine pumping my guts still haunts me. It almost feels like one of those anal beads is still inside me, nestled somewhere in my belly like an iron ball pinning me down. I expect to see a bulge in my stomach when I glance down at my naked body, but only my jutting ribs and hip bones greet me. My stomach churns, gnawing its ravenous teeth like it’s trying to eat my throat. The IV ran out a while ago. I’m desperate for a drink of water. I tried to ask the guard once, but he pointed his gun through the door’s porthole and warned me to “shut my fucking mouth.”
I’ve dozed a few times since then. At least, I think so. I can still see the cell on the backs of my eyelids, almost as if I’m dreaming about it. But I know I’m not. I’m probably just sleeping with my eyes open. I don’t trust the guard outside. If he sees I’m asleep and decides to come in, I’d be helpless to stop him from ravaging my body. He smells like sweat and cigarette smoke. I’d rather be back in the butchery than feel that pig’s cock inside me.
One of my dozes hits an abrupt end at the sound of more shouting. But it’s not from a dying subject. I recognize one of the voices. Rich, sultry, and vintage. My heart skips a beat, praying my mistress has come to rescue me.
“I don’t give a rap!” Minerva shouts. Her echoing voice gradually grows louder. “You can’t keep her here!”
“Ze blyad iz needed here,” another woman says. Her accent is thick. There’s a part of my brain that knows where it’s from, but I can’t recall. “She vill have nakazaniye.”
“She will not!” Minerva snaps. Her voice stalls, like she’s stopped moving. “She received punishment yesterday!”
“Nakazaniye yesterday vas failure. Failure means nakazaniye. Simple. You should know zis, Minerva.”
“She is not one of your toys,” Minerva says with a huff. “Raven crossed a line. He takes ownership of that. It was never meant to go this far.”
“Raven...” The woman tuts her tongue. “Because of hiz distraction, ze best blyad in my Oasis die.”
“That wasn’t his fault. Your failure of an instructor left her in the hot sun for days, I was told. No food, no water, and no shade. She was covered in insect bites and sunburns, then she was raped with plants for what, six hours? A momentary lapse in focus isn’t what killed her. Greed is.”
“Instructor’s chlen vas nearly chopped off.”
“Raven gave our subject a bad order, okay? You know him. You know how he gets when his authority is challenged.”
“He iz a liability, Minerva.”
Minerva huffs. “Aren’t we all?”
The footsteps continue, heading straight for my cell door. But they come to a sudden halt right as the iron frame rattles.
“Wait,” the woman begins. “Let ze blyad stay. Girl iz young. Supple. Guards like her. I vill pay a good price.”
Minerva scoffs. “She is not for sale, Svetlana. Even if Doctor Wentzler would ever be willing to give her up, that’s not a conversation I have the authority to have with you.”
“You are ze girl’z mistress, no?”
“And Raven is her master. We have dual ownership of her. It takes both of us to make a decision. Not even her parents have the authority to sell her. Now step aside and let me in. She’s been cooped up long enough.”
I assume Svetlana is holding her ground because the door doesn’t budge.
“I want to see zat blyad tortured. Raped. Such z tiny ting. Fragile. Weak. I want to strike a deal.”
Minerva sucks in a breath so loud that I can feel my own lungs flatten. With a pained tone, she says, “Talk to the doctor if you won’t talk to Raven. But you aren’t getting her right now. She belongs to me. You can’t hold her hostage.”
“Sayz who?”
“How does the board feel about that little escapee you had last week? He’s your second one this month, isn’t he? Then one of your subjects dies in broad daylight? I bet they didn’t like that. You’re losing control of this facility, Svetlana. They know it, I know it, and you know it.”
Svetlana scoffs, chuckling quietly. “So?”
“They don’t respect you.”
“Zey don’t respect Wentzler, either.”
“But they respect me. And they respect Raven. And I’m sure they’d be very interested to find out that you’re holding our subject hostage—the very same subject who was kidnapped by your armed escapee.”
“Ze same?”
“He could have ruined everything for us. He shot Catherine, you know. Did the board even hear about that bit?”
Svetlana pauses. She draws a long, careful breath. I watch the window of the door, my body trembling beneath my blanket of goosebumps. The guard turns to his left, then nods sharply.
One by one, the locks pop open. The door’s rusted hinges squeal, echoing up and down the hallway as Minerva bursts inside.
“My stars!” She exclaims, barely taking a moment to look me over before she starts fumbling with my restraints. “Look at what they’ve done to you, poor girl.”
I open my mouth to speak, but my voice is so dry that I can only hack and wheeze.
Minerva pats my back as she sits me up. “Easy there, sweet thing. We’ll get you some water in a second. Put this on.”
She hands me a nearly see-through robe made of sheer violet fabric. It doesn’t do much to warm me, but it covers me enough so that I’m not totally humiliated when I’m guided out into the hall. I’m still embarrassed, though. I’m absolutely filthy, and I’m staining Minerva’s white blouse. Still, she refuses to let me go. I’m draped across her side, using her as a living crutch as I hobble down the hallway.
We pass an older woman with thick mahogany curls. She snarls when our gazes lock, and puffs out a cigarette-smoky breath in my face.
“I vant ze girl back,” Svetlana says. Her face matches her voice so well that it startles me.
Minerva’s grip on me tightens. Her pace slows for two steps, then quickens. I struggle to keep up, my mind reeling. It’s just now occurring to me that this isn’t a dream. She really came to rescue me. She really loves me.
I clutch the robe tighter when we breeze past a gaggle of guards. They surround a man lying on the ground, trembling, naked, and holding his hands over his head. Two guards kick him in the ribs, and he vomits blood.
Minerva keeps me close until we are ushered out a side door. Mid-afternoon sunlight pours over me like a scalding blanket. I stumble back into a guard’s chest and whimper. To shield my eyes, I let the robe go. It flies open, catching the eye of several more men just a few feet away.
Minerva stalls, holding my robe shut for me. I think she whispers something into my ear, but it’s so quiet that I can’t tell what she says. She leads me slowly, shuffling toward a golf cart just across the stamped-down grass. Minerva and the driver exchange nods when she settles me onto the seat. She keeps her hand on my forehead, resting me against her shoulder, and the cart eases forward.
I let my eyes fall, my body settling against the plush leather seat. Minerva pets my matted hair, shushing my sniffling breaths. My tears fall silently. Minerva doesn’t seem to mind. Her chin rests on my forehead and her arm is draped over my shoulders. I’m safe in her embrace. For now. I don’t think about what she might have planned for me. That doesn’t seem to matter anymore.
The drive continues in silence. Distant wails and moans fill the gaps between my long breaths, but they’re so far away I don’t care about them. I think I’m growing used to the sound of agony. It feels almost strange to not hear it around every corner. There’s something oddly calming about the symphony. It melts together with the sound of the breeze cutting past my ears. I let the tune lull me to sleep, using my mistress as a warm pillow.
When the cart comes to a slow halt, Minerva sucks in a breath that tickles my hair. She lulls me from my halfway slumber, jostling my shoulder.
“We’re here,” she whispers sweetly.
I groan and crack my eyes open.
We sit on the edge of the forest, where the sun basks down on a patch of luscious grass. At the end of the gravel path stands a building that looks to be a cross between a clinic and a school. It’s much smaller than the Oasis; even smaller than the Rose Academy. Red brick and light green trimmings coat the exterior. The windows are glass, but some have slender iron bars protecting them. Faux balconies and empty flower boxes give the structure an almost “quaint” look. There’s minimal landscaping and a blank sign hanging by the front double doors with an iron orchid stamped into it.
“This is where you’ll be staying,” Minerva says as she brings me up the path. “Home. For now.”
“It’s pretty,” I say. I gawk at the four floors that stretch overhead.
Minerva nods. “You’re a very lucky girl. You get to live here by yourself.”
“No guards?” I ask.
“We don’t have the funding quite yet. But there isn’t much damage a small thing like you can do. We will have safety measures in place for your flesh’s protection, don’t worry.”
My flesh...
My stomach knots up. I swallow and push the sensation back down.
Minerva stalls by the front doors. Her ID card sits flat against her palm, ready to tap against the handle. But she turns to me and smiles sadly.
“Svetlana was right about one thing,” she begins. She traces a line down my face, then cups my chin. “Disobedience needs to be punished. No matter what happens, that’s just how the system works.”
I swallow again. When the knot in my stomach grows tighter, I don’t fight it.
“I’m sorry...” I whisper. Tears sting my eyes.
Minerva softly shakes her head. “I know, my dear. Behave today, and I’ll make your punishment light, okay?”
I nod. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Good girl.”
She unlocks the door and allows me across the threshold first. A gust of cold air grazes past my skin. I shudder, gripping my arms. Minerva rests her hand against the small of my back as the doors fall shut behind us.
The inside of the building looks like a vintage lobby. Pale violet walls with a shiny checkerboard floor surround me. Clean, plush furniture scatters the space. The air smells of vanilla and feels sterile against my body.
“Show me your breasts, girl,” Minerva says. She steps into my line of sight, still holding onto my hips.
I peel the robe open. My nipples have hardened slightly beneath the gust of the AC vent. Still, they aren’t hard enough, so Minerva gives them each a little pinch until I squirm. She pulls two silver clamps from inside her bra. A short chain connects them, tinkling as Minerva holds them to my eyes.
“Don’t take these off,” she warns. “They’ll hurt at first, but the pain will soothe. Just accept it.”
I nod. “Yes, Mistress.”
“What excellent manners. You’re very obedient today.”
I try to hide a whimper rising up my throat. “I don’t want to go back.”
Minerva smiles sadly. She sets her focus on my breasts while she says, “Be a perfect little orchid for me and you might never have to see that place again.”
“That woman seemed to really like me.”
Minerva’s hand trembles. She holds one clamp open, hovering just above my anticipating nipples. She goes to speak, but struggles with her breath before giving up and plastering on a smile.
“Hold still,” she whispers. Her voice is so quiet that I almost don’t hear her.
The first clamp bites down gently, but when Minerva moves her hand away, an ache soon follows. I bite my lip and fight the urge to whimper. Minerva’s gaze jumps up to meet mine before she clamps the other nipple. A quiet moan escapes me. Minerva drapes the chain across my sternum. The cold metal gnaws at my skin, weighing down the clamps until my nipples are pointed to the floor.
“Do they feel secure?” Minerva asks.
I nod. The slight motion jiggles my breasts enough to irritate the clamps. I moan again. Heat floods my cheeks.
“Do they feel good?”
“I think so.”
The pain is low enough that it isn’t agonizing. The rubber caps over the clamps’ teeth has my nerves pinched just right, filling my chest with tingles that I can’t escape.
Minerva holds her lips to my ear and whispers, “Say thank you.”
“Thank you, Mistress,” I whisper back.
My lips stay parted open as Minerva moves her mouth to meet mine. I’m still covered in sweat, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She bites my lower lip and peels it away from my teeth. Her hands tighten around my hips. Her fingers squeeze slightly, then pull back.
Minerva chuckles. She tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and asks, “Want me to give you the grand tour?”
I nod again. “Yes, Mistress.”
“It’s a shame the place is so empty. Other orchids running around would really brighten things up, don’t you think? Just picture it.”
“I won’t be locked in a room?” I ask.
“Oh, heavens, no! That does horrible things to a subject’s brain. Every door in this building that doesn’t have an ID lock is accessible to those living here. Only one dorm is unlocked at the moment, though. We don’t need more right now.”
“I’ll have my own bed?”
“How about your own room? And your own shower. Though we have clinic baths for specific session requirements. But outside of your daily sessions and Replication appointments, you’ll be able to bathe as you wish.”
I glance down at my grime-covered skin. “Can I bathe today?”
“Absolutely, my dear. I could help if you’d like.”
I nod. “Could you? I haven’t washed myself in years, I think.”
She flashes me a wink. “I’ll teach you, don’t fret.”
“Thank you, Mistress.”
She kisses me on the forehead and takes me by the hand.
She leads me into a large kitchen, similar to the kitchen in the Rose Academy. A breakfast nook sits tucked beside a large paneled window. A massive kitchen island stands beneath soft lighting. I shudder, still seeing that woman’s eviscerated body on the backs of my eyelids.
“Soon you’ll be taught how to cook for yourself,” Minerva says. “You have free rein of the kitchen until we get the budget for a chef, but you should be careful. Doctor Brockhoist will be giving you daily weigh-ins and checkups. You need to follow his every dietary instruction. Okay?”
I nod. “You want me petite, right?”
“That’s right. Just for now. I’ve always preferred a slightly more mature look myself. Maybe if you’re still here when you’re eighteen, we’ll talk to Wentzler about making you into a proper young woman.”
“Like plastic surgery?”
“More like extending puberty. We’ve done it before. But you don’t need to worry about that. Right now, you’re as perfect as can be.”
Perfect.
I give the kitchen one final glance as I’m led back down the winding halls. I like the idea of making my own meals. I’ve been denied so many meals these past few days that I think I’m starting to eat myself from the inside out. My stomach growls. I almost ask Minerva if I can eat something now, but she’s already leading me into another room.
“Class rooms, session rooms, play rooms, clinic rooms, and disciplinary rooms are sequestered to the West Wing. No one goes in there without a key. But that leaves everywhere else for you to roam. There are lounges, studies, the kitchen, the yard, and, of course, your dorm.”
“Yard?” I ask.
She nods towards the windows that line the hallway. Outside sits a large, grassy courtyard, walled-in by ivy-covered brick. The wall isn’t too high, but high enough that I probably can’t climb it. Scattered lawn decorations, furniture, and flower boxes fill the space like something out of a catalogue. My heart skips a beat.
“I’ll be able to go outside?”
“As long as you’re careful. And if you clean yourself after. Remember, you need to be presentable for your sessions. The yard is a privilege. If you misbehave, you will lose that privilege. Understand?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
It’s impossible for me to hide the excitement in my tone. I haven’t been able to feel the grass beneath my toes since long before I was caged. And being dragged out alongside my torturer for the day doesn’t count.
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