by beltedone
THE ROSEWOOD INSTITUTE:
A BDSM Love Story
By
beltedone
Dedication
To my muse …
CHAPTER ONE
- The Institute4
CHAPTER TWO
- 6 in Hell
CHAPTER THREE
- 9 and the Honey Trap
CHAPTER FOUR
- Institute Life
CHAPTER FIVE
- The Ladies Luncheon
CHAPTER SIX
-
Dinner with a Side Order of Crocodiles
CHAPTER SEVEN
- Ponies at Play
CHAPTER EIGHT
- Payback
CHAPTER NINE
- Arabian Nights
CHAPTER TEN
- Even Mice Have Teeth
CHAPTER ELEVEN
- Babies in Love
CHAPTER TWELVE
- Cooking for an Orgy
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- Cops Gone Wild
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
-
Sometimes Good Guys Lose
FINAL CHAPTER
- Sergi’s Return
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE:
The Institute
It was highly unusual for Phyllis Mingold, a short, thin, aggressive, bottle-blond in a last-year’s Liz Claibourne business suit, to show a property at midnight, but it was a lousy real estate market in New York, and she needed the commission. At 45, divorced with a serious shoe fetish and two bratty teenage daughters, she needed every commission she could get. So, she waited, shivering on the street on a cold October night in front of the near-dark office for a silver BMW. She was usually the driver. The buyer had insisted on driving. Phyllis surmised she was dealing with a serious control freak and feared a wild ride. In Manhattan, arrogant control freaks were the norm.
The car arrived on time, and Phyllis found herself speeding down Broadway with a driver who knew how to use the performance machine to the best advantage. She negotiated the streets like a formula-one driver near the race finish. Glancing over, the woman, Victoria (no last name was given), was an enigma.
She was beautiful in a dark, severe way. Phyllis guessed she must have been 6 foot tall and near model thin but muscular, probably 30 to 34. Phyllis was used to guessing people’s wealth by their clothes, and with this one, she had hit the jackpot. Everything was top drawer from the black Prada stilettos to the Versace black leather duster. A mannish gold Rolex, worth about twenty real estate commissions, was on her wrist and was the only jewelry besides a solid gold chain around her neck that came down low enough to accentuate her luscious cleavage displayed by the black silk blouse that shone in the streetlights.
Phyllis, a fashionista, knew and loved the wonderful feel of expensive silk on her skin.
The client wore the reddest of red lipstick, and being she was dressed all in black, one’s eyes were drawn to those full, luscious lips.
Phyllis caught herself staring. Those lips held such promise.
Not gay, Phyllis, nevertheless, could feel the raw sexuality that the woman exuded. She was like a panther—pure animal and raw, yet at the same time elegant and subtle. Her sensual, piercing green eyes appraised everything and gave back nothing.
There was little small talk. Phyllis was usually good at softening up a client by chatting with them about the weather, kids, or current events. This one was on a mission, and only the mission mattered.
After some hairpin twists and turns taken a bit too fast, they were soon in the Village before a boarded-up, brick building.
As they got out of the car, Phyllis said, “Are you sure this building will meet your needs? It’s huge—50,000 sq. feet seems like a lot of space for a doctor’s office. Didn’t you say you wanted to start a psychiatric practice? This is not a great part of the Village. More like Hell’s Kitchen. It is awfully dark. There are no working streetlights. Will clients come here?”
Phyllis was amazed at the words she had just uttered. She had never in her life tried to discourage a customer from buying a property, even if the property was condemned or a crack house. The words were so foreign to her lips that she thought someone else had uttered them.
Victoria replied, “I’m looking for a certain type of structure. This might be just what I need, depending on the lower levels. I have seen the architectural drawings on file with the city and there are several sub-basements that would be perfect for storage. And yes, my clients will come. I am sure of that.”
Phyllis thought that psychiatrists don’t usually have a lot to store but kept the thought to herself as she got out of the car and scanned the street for bums or muggers. A city girl quickly gets street smarts, and the area looked clear. She used a small Maglite from her purse to find the deadbolt on the front door and opened a lock that hadn’t been turned in a long time. She pushed the creaky door open, and both women were assaulted by the smells inside. Obviously, street people had been using the property as a home. The urine and feces smells were overwhelming.
Phyllis found a light switch covered in cobwebs, and miracle of miracles, a few bulbs actually worked. The air was so thick with dust that it was displayed in the poor lighting.
The building was a filthy warehouse with cardboard boxes everywhere that the homeless used to sleep in. There were discarded whiskey bottles and other garbage everywhere. They heard scurrying and could only surmise at the rats and other infestations. Phyllis, uncharacteristically, put a handkerchief up to her mouth as to not breathe in the foul fumes.
Victoria didn’t seem bothered by the sights or smells and just stood in place, internally contemplating how the space would look after the remodeling.
Phyllis had been right. Victoria was 6 foot tall and walked with a model’s grace like she could command a runway or a boardroom.
She looked over the property, making sure to tour the sub-basements, commenting that they would do nicely. She was very interested in many solid, brick stalls. The creaky freight elevator that took them into the bowels of the building looked to be unsafe. Water actually leaked down on them from above as they descended.
Phyllis thought the structure was a huge money pit. It would cost millions to renovate. She was glad to be back in the comforting, soft leather seat of the Beemer heading back to the office.
Victoria bought the property that night for the asking price with no haggling.
Phyllis’ commission would be over $100,000 for one night’s work, although she’d have to go to her doctor and get her shots updated after breathing the air in that plague breeding ground, then she’d treat herself to a new pair of Louis Vuitton boots. Five thousand dollars wasn’t too much to spend when the leather caresses the body like a second skin.
Victoria signed the papers, telling Phyllis that she’d wire the full amount to the office the next day (no need for a lender), she said, “The property will be perfect for what I have in mind. I’ll invite you to come and visit when I am done renovating. You will be amazed. Tonight, the Rosewood Institute is born.”
To Phyllis, Victoria’s smile was like that of a vampire in an old movie.
CHAPTER TWO -
6 in Hell
“Wasn’t last night amazing?”
“The very best. And exactly what we needed. I have to tell you, it made a difference in you know… You were an animal last night. You own me for the blouse your ripped.”
He laughed at the last comment, sitting in the boutique coffee bar in a posh section of Manhattan, thinking about the renewed vigor they displayed in their lovemaking after the show.
He was Max—a corporate raider, known for the brutal efficiency with which he destroyed and sold off the assets of the struggling corporations he
acquired, handsome in a matinee-idol way with the square jaw and fine, firm pecs, although on the thin side from long-distance running.
She was a hard-driving corporate attorney—a bit thin, too, but a hard body from hours in the gym every day. She had never lost a case. One could tell by her predatory eyes and thin, bloodless lips that she never would. She would do anything to win.
They were a matched, married pair in their business Armani and Versace, drinking their lattes from bone china cups. No Styrofoam for this pair who enjoyed the pleasures their wealth provided.
They were just about to reminisce some more when Roger, a fellow raider at Max’s firm, stopped by with his coffee and sat down. “So what did you two do this weekend?”
“We were just discussing this new club we went to in the Village. You ever been to the Rosewood Institute on 41st? Amazing.”
“Isn’t that one of those SM places? I didn’t know you were into that kind of kink. With all the nasty diseases out there, I wouldn’t think you’d be exchanging fluids at a place like that.”
“You have no idea what this place is like. It is not the sex; it is the stimulation and the rich variety of the play. No one gets naked at the shows, but everyone has a very good time.”
“Sex without sex? Sounds like my second marriage.”
“Listen, they find these beautiful, young women. I don’t know where, maybe they are runaways. Maybe they are bought and they strip them naked and throw them in these soundproof prisons in the basement of the brownstone.”
“Wait a minute. Last time I looked, imprisonment was a crime.”
Eve smiled her evilest smile and said, “Lady Victoria, the owner, explained to me that they get the girls to sign a personal-services contract as actors in an ongoing psychodrama. It is all very legal.
“So, they are kept in these cells for weeks with music blaring at weird times to mess up their sleep schedules. After about a week of that and the other stuff, they are seasoned and ready.”
“Other stuff?”
“Their hands are bound behind their back the whole time. They are blindfolded. They learn to come to an opening in the glass door twice a day when they hear two taps on the door. Then, they are spoon fed. Imagine if your only human contact was a tap and the only touch you felt was a metal spoon on your lips. They have to depend on their captors for everything. Every movement of theirs is controlled in that environment. They poop and pee in a chamber pot they must drag to the door once a day to be emptied. Their jailors don’t speak a word to them, and they are gagged so they can’t speak.”
“Wow. Now, it does sound like my second marriage. So, they season the girls. So what?”
“So, you go to the club—this beautiful brownstone in a rehabbed section of the Village, knock on the door, go in, say hi to the lady and walk to the private VIP room in the back. There are brown leather couches and an open bar for the guests. There were three other couples there already. All bankers, lawyers, investment types, no riffraff.
“In the middle of the room is a round coffee table with something under a sheet that has to be a girl or boy. They don’t really care.
“Lady V comes into the room, smiles that evil smile of hers, wearing the blood-red lipstick and the black latex Dom gear, walks over to the table and says, ‘Now that we are all here, we can begin.’
“She lifts the sheet, and there is this gorgeous, young woman cuffed to the table. Typical California girl, a little large. Lots of curves, healthy body from surfing or skiing, you know the type. She has a leather hood thing on that covers the sides of her head to block out sound and keep her mouth immobilized.”
“She is hot. I got to tell you, I’d fuck her in a minute if Eve wasn’t there.”
“You do and I’ll have your ass on a St. Andrew’s cross and whip you raw.”
“Promises, promises. Anyway, Lady V says, ‘It is a simple game. You will be given peacock feathers. You can see that 6 here is open for business.’”
“6?”
“That’s part of the dehumanizing process. The subjects are assigned numbers and lose their names.
“Her legs were pulled apart and secured, and a V section of the round table was cut out. Her pussy was completely exposed. What made it more exposed were the surgical clamps that opened her vagina and exposed her clitty.”
“The game is to see who can get her to orgasm the quickest.”
“I could see the girl’s eyes. She was terrified.”
“Lady V said, ‘Now, she can’t hear us, but she knows what is coming. See strapped to her stomach the black box? It is a motion-activated switch with a powerful battery. See the wiring going down to the surgical device that keeps her clitoris exposed? If you look closely, you will see a metal prong on each side of the device that barely touches her clitoris.
“‘When she orgasms, she will get a shock directly to her sensitive clitty. The first one will be only a second. The second one, two seconds and so on. Each time the shock will be stronger. Of course, each time she is shocked, her clitty will be more sore, so the next shock will be worse. I told her that after so many shocks, it will short out her nerve bundle, and she will never orgasm again. This is not true, but it gives her incentive to not cum.’
“So, for two hours, we teased her clitty with the feathers from three feet away. She tried so hard to resist at first. I bet she went ten or fifteen minutes before Eve over here got her to have this amazing orgasm.
“She screamed and grunted as she was shocked. Then, it was my turn. I teased that clitty for all I was worth, but couldn’t get her to cum for twenty minutes. I lightly touched her most sensitive parts, stroking up and down. I teased around the edges and worked to the center then went up and down. I did this over and over again until she had an orgasm and was shocked. She screamed harder this time.”
Eve said, “You don’t know how to tease a woman properly. You never have. You need training.”
Max glared at Eve and said, “Then, it was Bob’s turn. You see, the table was on a swivel like a giant lazy susan, so we just rolled it around to the next contestant. For two hours, we forced orgasms out of the slut, and her screams got louder and longer. At the end, she was quietly crying, tears streaming down her face, accepting her fate as our play toy. She was beyond pain in some kind of subspace place, covered in sweat, her hair matted.
“Eve had the lowest times. She was amazing. What she could do with a feather. I almost wished I was a woman.”
“I have thought of it. You’d make a lovely woman.”
“What is fascinating is what happens to the girls when the club is done with them. Their personal-services contract is sold to a client of the club, and they become the property of that person.”
“Slavery is also illegal. I don’t have to be a brilliant lawyer like Eve to know that.”
“Well, there are incentives for them to behave. They are fitted with permanent stainless steel collars with their number on them. The collars are remote controlled. One can set the distance that the slave is allowed to roam from the remote, and this feature is an electronic leash. It seems slavery has gone high tech. If the subject gets out of line, a press of a button on a remote makes the collar contract around the subject’s neck. Death is seconds away. I don’t know how they do it, but Lady V says that the collar deaths are undetectable. No police snooping around. They key the remote to your thumbprint, so there is never any tampering. So, you see, compliance is mandatory. Before the collars are fitted, each slave gets a demonstration of how efficiently the collars kills, using a banana to demonstrate. Scares the hell out of the slave. Scared me.
“Some households use the girls as nannies, maids or cooks. Other girls are kept naked and used strictly for sex. The girls are trained to pleasure both men and women. When the owners tire of them, they can be sold to brothels for profit.”
“Wow. That is hot. I think I’ll skip work and head for that escort service over on 52nd. I think I could take on three girls today.”
“Enj
oy, tell them Max sent you, and you’ll get the Max discount.”
“Or tell then Eve sent you, and you’ll get a better discount and an extra girl.”
Max smiled at Eve and said, “By the way, I have a surprise for you at home. They should be delivering a girl from the Institute today. You said you wanted someone to help with the housework.”
“Oh, honey, you are the best. I may keep you, although that comment about you becoming a woman is intriguing.”
CHAPTER THREE:
9 and the Honey Trap
Urban Definition: Honey Trap - A visually appealing woman used to lure in men (mainly celebrity men) for kidnapping.
It started so mundane. Walking through the Village on a bitterly cold March day to his one-room walk-up from a long stretch of bar hopping after another disastrous job interview, he saw a very enticing sign on the side of the brick brownstone building. The small sign said, “Free Oriental Massage – Happy Ending N/C.” In a cold, hard city like New York, he could use all the attention he could get, and the thought of some beautiful Asian lady in a tight silk dress touching him like he wanted to be touched was irresistible. His luck was about to change.
He felt as good as four shots of bourbon and three beers usually made him. It helped him forget his sucky life and all the disappointments. It helped him forget that a college degree was his only achievement in a life marked by failure. And the voices in his head reminded him of his failures, so he drank to make the accusing voices go away. He was a borderline alcoholic and was already feeling the pains of his disease.