Chapter 7: The Orchid Operation

RAVEN, Status: MASTER. Log 007. SUBJECT 0601, Today is Subject 0601’s first official electrotherapy session. This will be the first of many therapy sessions that will occur every seven days during the entire duration of her time at the LILEE Facility. The goal of this practice is a slow buildup toward perfecting the Orchid Operation. Subject 0601 will be asked a series of questions regarding her imprisonment as well as her submissive tendencies during today’s session. Her responses will determine the intensity of her treatment.

> I opened my eyes groggily to a similar golden shine that awoke me before. My body was weak, and my holes were still extremely sore. I recognized the warmth and softness of the incubation chamber I sat in, as its cloud-like pillows hugged my figure as if it was molded to me. A colorful bunch of streamer-like monitor wires still draped my naked body like a threadbare dress. But as I cringed, feeling every pinch and pull of the buried needles and sticky pads that decorated me, I realized that the chastity belt used to plug my holes was gone. They felt cleaner, too, as if someone had scraped out all the old cum that stuffed me full.

“Here she is,” a voice I didn’t recognize hummed. The penlight in my eyes clicked off, and a face I did not recognize smiled back at me. He was an older man with short, snowy hair and tired eyes. He wore a white lab coat and a stethoscope around his neck, though there was hardly any use for it, given the electrodes pasted across my chest and clamped onto my fingers.

Behind the man, Raven rose to his feet. He presented himself as expressionless, but anyone who looked into his eyes could tell he was still angry after what happened with Rocky. I wondered if that was who this new guy was supposed to be: my replacement doctor.

Beside us, Minerva caught my eye as she handed the new doctor a popsicle stick-like object. He whispered his thanks, then turned to me and said, “Open up, dear.”

Too tired to put up a fight, I cracked open my jaw, feeling my dry lips split and crack. My mouth felt oddly moist and clean, as if someone had brushed my teeth in my sleep. The man instructed me to create a wider entrance twice before he was finally satisfied, where he pinned my tongue beneath the stick and examined my throat so closely that I could smell spearmint on his breath.

“I suppose she didn’t take you fully down her throat,” the man said to Raven.

Raven shook his head. “She’s too inexperienced for that. I fear it might be a while before she can properly provide oral pleasure.”

“A wise choice. Her throat is incredibly small. While it might make for a more enjoyable experience for you, keeping your member inside of her esophagus for more than a minute or two would likely kill her.” The man pulled away, allowing my jaw to rest, then gave Minerva back the stick to throw away. Before she could turn to leave, he flashed her a wink and said, “That means nothing for you, my angel. She looks to have a strong, flexible tongue.”

Minerva feigned bashfulness and fanned herself off with a chuckle.

“And her pregnancy status?” Raven asked, almost impatiently.

The doctor glanced down between my spread legs, where I felt a strange wriggling deep inside of me. I hissed as he tugged on a wire that had been threaded through my girlhood and into my uterus. It came out with a harsh popping noise and carried a small string of blood. I cried out in pain but was too weak to shove the men away as they crowded around to inspect the cord.

“She has an unsuitable womb for childbirth,” the doctor announced proudly. He smiled at me, as if I had done good work, and discarded the wire in a biohazard bin. He gave me a hearty pat on my inner thigh and said, “Congratulations, dear. Your owners can use that darling little hole of yours as much as they desire. You should be honored to finally be turned into a proper slave.”

Beside him, Raven appeared sullen but did not voice his disappointment. I wondered if he was still fantasizing about turning me into a breeding slave. I swallowed vomit at the thought. The horrible fantasy he whispered into my ears as I lapped up the cum from his cock still played over and over again in my head. It haunted my comatose brain and forced the strangest dreams onto me.

The doctor suddenly rubbed his gloved hands together and rose from his chair. To Raven and Minerva, he said, “One of you will have to go and fetch a gurney. The removal of this many sensors is strenuous on the body. The subject might lose consciousness, especially given her size.”

“No need,” Raven said. He dragged his hands down my hair, which had grown loose in its braid. “I’ll carry her, if I must.”

He was testing me, no doubt. Maybe he was itching to see if I’d try to make a break for it again. I wasn’t cuffed in the chamber, but that was by no means an invitation to escape. All three of them could have easily taken me down on their own. Maybe I could take down the old guy if I had a weapon. But Raven would have me pinned to the floor before I could even formulate a plan.

“He’s grown extremely connected to her,” Minerva explained to the doctor. Her merlot-colored lips curled into a grin. “She must be something magical in bed.”

Raven chuckled, still holding my gaze. “Oh, she is.”

The last time I was unhooked from the many machines around me, it was a quick and violent process involving far less grace than Raven and the doctor were showing. They were careful not to pull my hair or scar my skin. There were still scabs from where the previous needles—each barbed to stay in place—had been yanked out in my desperate escape attempt. Come to find out, those barbs were retractable when removed correctly and slipped free from my skin with ease.

The doctor only ended up being half-right in the end. True, the procedure of unhooking me was exhausting, but only because of the men’s soft grazes against my skin and their occasional whispers of reassurance when I’d whimper in fear. I felt as if I was being lulled back to sleep, which was made all the worse when Raven scooped me in his thick, muscular arms and pinned me close to his warm chest. I was so small against his body that I could have easily crawled inside of him and had enough room to get comfortable. I must have felt as light as a feather to him. He didn’t strain at all as he followed the others out into the hall. The rhythm of his heartbeat, paired with the hypnotic image of the medical wing’s lights passing by overhead, dragged me in and out of consciousness until I woke with a start to the sound of a heavy iron door rolling shut.

I found that I had been dragged into a dingy padded cell, fitted with a steel table that sat beneath a surgical light. I swallowed a sob as Raven draped me across the cold, unforgiving metal and forced myself to remain still when Minerva swooped in to strap down my wrists, ankles, and chest. There was a table to my right covered in equipment and recording tools, along with an odd machine that sprouted many long, black wires that I did not recognize. To my left was nothing but a black door and a large mirror that wrapped the angled corner. No doubt it worked two ways, hiding another room behind the padded wall.

“Let’s get a good look at your peepers, my dear.” The doctor seemed to make a habit of narrating his thoughts, as older people often do. He squinted his light brown eyes at me as he flashed the penlight back into my face. When I wriggled away from the glare, he held my head against the table and pulled my eyelids open with his thumb. “You have a lovely eye color. Quite bold. You’re going to make the most beautiful slave. Before you both begin your sessions with her,” he suddenly announced, addressing the others with a booming tone, “make sure you check the dilation of her pupils, as well as her heart rate and blood pressure. The slightest error in her health could cause severe damage.”

“Is there any way to monitor her during the procedure?” Minerva asked.

The doctor shook his head. “No. The effects are too powerful and will damage our equipment. I suggest you both go old school and measure her vitals with a hands-on approach.”

Emphasizing his point, the doctor removed the stethoscope from around his neck and pressed its freezing metal head to my bare breast. I shuddered and tried not to look at him as he studied the rise and fall of my chest. While he counted my heartbeats, Minerva and Raven got to work reattaching me to more machines—well, rather, just one, actually. It was the strange, large box covered in buttons and knobs and wires that stood beside me. On each wire’s end was an electrode about half the size of my palm.

With Raven on my left and Minerva on my right, they covered my body in mere seconds before the doctor barely had time to write down his findings. Each electrode had a metal plate that pressed into my skin, framed by a highly adhesive substance, so that it stayed in place on my skin despite my squirming. Two were placed on my temples, two more on the backs of my hands, two on my inner calves, two on my thighs, two on my inner forearms, two on my hips, two on my ribs, and finally, two sat perfectly centered on my hardened, perky nipples. It wasn’t until the doctor turned the box on—when its lights blinked back at me in different colors, and a high-pitched whine echoed in the room—that I realized the pasties weren’t there to monitor my vitals like the ones before were.