The Orchid Operation
Copyright© 2025 by Rose Garden
Chapter 8: The Rose Bud
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 8: The Rose Bud - 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 girl 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 is a collection of short stories, each containing new and erotic delights. These stories can be read in any particular order
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
“There’s our girl,” Dad says, wrapping his hands around my hips with a smile. Mom is close behind, carrying a dress bag over her shoulders.
I’m in the middle of a stretching exercise a nurse made me take part in. After my groggy, post-therapy sleep left all my muscles super achy, I’ve been dragged in circles across a gym floor to work my body back to its juvenile elasticity. At least, that’s what the nurses told me. They also made me brush my own teeth for the first time since my kidnapping, because I can’t keep letting Reconstruction do it. Apparently, I’m not very good at it.
Dad’s fingers dig into the fat of my thigh. “Did you have a productive therapy session yesterday?”
I shrug. “I don’t remember a lot of it.”
“Well, we’ll make sure today is extra memorable, then.” He plants a light peck on the crown of my head, then ushers me toward the exit. His hands keep scooting further back until they’re on my lower butt. My holes quake, wondering what his fingers would feel like inside of me.
“Where are we going?” I ask, following Dad through the medical halls.
“We need to get you cleaned up, for starters,” he says. Reconstruction usually keeps my hair and skin clean, but I wasn’t allowed to go there last night. No one told me why, no matter how often I asked.
We step into a public shower room, where inside subjects are chained to the wall or hung off the ceiling in cages while white-uniformed guards hose them down until they screech. When two guards step forward to take me, Mom shakes her head and waves them away.
I don’t have to be chained up because I’m a good girl. Dad positions me beneath a large shower head and strips my old cotton clothes. I cringe as the water drenches me, trickling in places that I don’t remember water ever being before. Mom and Dad work together in silence, their eyes glazed over with a studious concern. Today must be important. I hesitate to ask why, but with Mom tugging at my scalp as she lathers my hair and Dad scraping my skin red and raw with an exfoliating stone, I’m too busy groaning in pain to speak. They’re so enthralled in their work, in fact, that I find myself a little disappointed when neither of them are even a little tempted to toy with my hardened nipples or trembling clit.
I’m given a small respite while Mom conditions my hair and Dad shaves me as smooth as a baby. I have to be still while he traces my pussy with the razor. He’s careful to knick each black hair down to the root.
“What are you cleaning me for, Daddy?” I ask as Dad climbs up my stomach to shave down all the invisible hairs between my breasts.
“It’s important for little girls to have some sort of extracurricular activity,” He says without taking his eyes off of his work. “I have a friend who works for the rose branch of the institute. We’re going to see him today to test if you can attend a weekly seminar.”
“What kind of seminar?”
Dad’s eyes glance up to meet my curious gaze. He smiles, his lip piercings glinting against the light, then he presses his lips to the freshly shaved skin between my tits. When he moves to shave down my arms, my shoulders droop with disappointment.
“Patience, girl,” Mom says, rinsing my hair again.
I sigh, but still bring myself to say, “Yes, ma’am.”
She towels me off while Dad packs his shaving tools. I’m carted out of the showers with a hand towel to cover me and taken to a small medical exam room. I frown, not wishing to see Doctor Brockhoist, but Dad tells me we’re just there to use the table. I plop my dripping ass onto the paper surface and lean back when Mom instructs. Her hands trace a line across my breasts, and her sharpened nails pinch my nipple.
“Roses are maids,” Mom explains. She sets up a small makeup bag beside me while Dad takes one of my feet and begins grinding off all its dead skin. I swallow a giggle and force myself not to kick him in the face by accident.
“Like a cleaning lady?” I ask.
She nods. “But they’re also so much more. Maids are expected to cook, clean, and service their owners in all that they are asked to do. Maids need to be masters of seduction, yet also retain enough focus to get their jobs done. They aren’t lilies, so they can’t get by with servicing their master or mistresses’ bodies all day. If even a speck of dust is left behind when the sun goes down, a maid has failed and must face due punishment.”
“I don’t know how good I am at cleaning,” I mumble.
Dad nods. He digs into the arch of my foot until I can’t help but squirm. “That’s what the training is for. But don’t worry, you’re an orchid, remember? You don’t have to be a picture-perfect maid. We just want to use their training grounds to teach you about humility and service. That’s our duty as your parents.”
“And that’s why you’re making me look nice?” I ask. I flinch when Mom plucks my eyebrows.
“Correct,” Mom says. She plucks and plucks until I cry, then she plucks even more. She takes her time with each hair, licking her lips when I whimper in pain.
Dad finishes with my last foot, then holds it in the air while he watches Mom dress my skin in a cold white cream. He presses his lips to my toes, his eyes glazed over and awestruck.
“Not too much makeup, Cat,” he says quietly. “Michael will want to know she’s young.”
Mom nods. “Just to make her a little doe-eyed. Her skin is clear enough that I can skip foundation, and her lashes are too thick for anymore mascara.”
“Am I pretty?” I ask. Mom shushes me as she puts a light gloss on my lips.
Dad kisses my foot again. “You’re absolutely beautiful.”
“Michael will think so,” Mom says. “She looks a lot like Lauren.”
He nods. “What happened to her, by the way?”
“He sold her,” Mom says. “Apparently she went through a troubled phase, so he sent her to our behaviorist branch. I don’t know if she ever made it out.”
Dad’s lips purse. “Shame. She had good tits.”
“Bigger than hers,” Mom says, motioning to me.
“Play with your nipples, Emma,” Dad says, nudging my leg. “Make sure they’re nice and hard for Michael.”
I nod and squeeze the sensitive buds between my knuckles. I squeak when my fingers pinch too hard. The sensations send a tingle down to my pussy lips, so I twist them even tighter.
Dad licks his lips. “Attagirl. Keep at it while your mom takes care of your hair.”
He sits me up with my fingers hooked to my tits. Behind me, Mom takes extra special care to blow dry my hair and trim its ends. The loose hairs tickle my backside. I giggle, keenly aware that Dad is watching me with a bulge in his pants. My legs widen ever so slightly so that he can see inside my sticky, wet girlhood. I want to feel his cock inside of me so badly, but he keeps being a tease.
It isn’t long after than before I’m being dragged to my feet and dressed in silk slippers. The shoes have no soles; they are more like ballet shoes, but their purpose is to keep my feet clean, not to keep them from getting hurt.
“We want this to be convincing,” Dad says, unzipping the dress bag. “So we need you to look the part.”
While Mom ties my hair up in two high pigtails, Dad helps me dress in a pair of short, white lacy bloomers and a matching lacy training bra. A puffy black dress made for a toddler fluffs over my bloomers and sits on my arms with big puffball sleeves. Ruffles, ribbons, and lace adorn the getup, all tied together with white thigh-high stockings and a big white bow that clips to my hair.
When I’m taken to the shuttle station, I catch a glimpse of myself in a hazy metal door. I look like a babydoll with pouty lips and a schoolgirl silhouette. My big, droopy eyes sell the look, alongside my dress that’s entirely too short. It lengthens my legs while making me look even younger than I already do. Standing beside Mom and Dad, I look like I’m too young to know my alphabet.
Inside the shuttle, Dad makes me sit blindfolded while he bounces me on his knee. The bone digs into my clit in a familiar scene, and I wrap my arms around his neck to bury myself in the sensations.
“Why can’t I see?” I ask. I can feel bright, warm sunlight pouring out the windows and covering my skin. I soak it in like a flower and grind against Dad’s leg until my body vibrates.
“If this fails, you need to remain ignorant regarding our facility’s layout,” Mom says. She holds me by the nape of my neck, guiding my body up and down its trajectory toward pleasure. “The lotuses and the roses are kept far apart, and we don’t want you seeing all that lies between just yet.”
“Have patience, sweet girl,” Dad says, bouncing his knee higher until I squeal. “You’ll see it soon.”
“Okay,” I say, resting my forehead against his shoulder. He pats me on the back and chuckles. I think he’s mouthing something to Mom, but I can’t make out more than the slight pops and clicks of their lips.
The shuttle comes to a slow halt on an exterior platform. I only know that because the sun feels warmer when we step outside. Cobblestone greets my feet through the veil of silk, and I follow behind Dad, holding his hand tightly.
Over a threshold, through heavy-sounding doors, I’m thrust into a wall of cold. Soft piano music wafts through the vanilla-scented room, and the air feels clean. Cool tiles stand beneath my feet and bite at my skin as Dad drags me along. I can hear distant chatter from giggling girls and boys. When Mom removes my blindfold, the voices disappear above me.
I’m standing in the middle of a luxurious foyer, ripped straight out of a fairy tale. It’s a mansion of elegance, with polished wooden detailing and two large curved stairs to greet us. In the doorway across the room stands a man in a finely tailored three-piece suit. His hair is withered and white, swept to the side where he wears a golden monocle. He clutches a pocket watch in white-gloved hands, then peers up at Dad and frowns.
“Two minutes late, Winters,” he says, closing his watch with a snap and settling it back inside his coat pocket.
“We needed to make sure she was in pristine condition for Headmaster Michael,” Dad says.
The man frowns, then turns to me. He arches a brow and re-situates his monocle with surprise. “She certainly looks the part. Hmph. Let’s just see if she can play it. Follow me.”
Mom holds me by the small of my back and leads me across the floor after the main in the waistcoat. The giggles return, and I look up at the railing to see a small gaggle of young women and men dressed in maid uniforms and wearing chains around their necks. They whisper into each other’s ears, then snicker down at me from above.
“The roses are a pompous breed,” Mom whispers to me. “I’d advise you not to pick up their habits.”
I nod. I have little to be arrogant about, anyway.
The uptight man takes us into a large kitchen, which is wrapped in checkerboard tiles and beautiful wooden cabinets. A collection of cleaning equipment is ready on the giant countertop island. Some of it is already in use, as a woman inside uses the handle of the mop to masterate before an audience of two scowling men.
“Her hips are too tight,” the older man says, shaking his head. “If this were a real exam, she would have failed.”
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.