The Rosewood Institute

by beltedone

  Kim said, “She likes it so much, she is crying, wanting more.”

  The Texan put on another condom and slowly eased his huge cock down the subject’s throat. When half of it was down his throat, he started to gag.

  The Texan said, “You’re going to have to breath when I pull out. You understand?”

  The subject blinked yes.

  The Texan slid a bit into the subject’s throat and pulled out.

  “She ain’t doing no sucking. This isn’t working.”

  “Her lips are paralyzed. Use her throat like a pussy.”

  And the Texan did.

  Seeing it up close was so much worse than being raped from behind. Watching the hairy groin of the big man going in and out. Feeling more and more of his shaft down his throat. Listening to his grunts and moans. Although the subject realized the fucking was making him hard as a rock. He was being raped while dressed as a woman, and it was turning him on. His own desires were embarrassing him in a new way.

  When the Texan had orgasmed and filled the condom so much so that the subject could feel the weight of the condomed cum on the back of his throat, he slowly, reluctantly pulled out and once again slumped on the subject’s back in a state of pure bliss.

  There were too many others to remember, and the subject blocked them out except for the drunken bachelorette party that stumbled in.

  There were five women, all in their twenties, stinking of beer and cheap whiskey from a nearby bar. One said, “Some Texan just told us there is a sweet male pussy here that needs tapping. Susie here is getting married and needs the practice. I’ll give you a grand for him for the hour if we can videocam it.”

  Kim just smiled and said, “Don’t worry. We will record the proceedings and burn you a DVD before you leave.” She pulled out a drawer on an old, battered dresser and said, “You will find what you need in here. We just don’t want you to permanently hurt her. She is on loan.”

  “Hurt her? We’re going to rip her a new one,” said the shorthaired blonde ringleader.

  They went over to the battered dresser, found the strapons and put them on. Being drunk, they laughed and giggled wearing the cocks.

  One said, “Now, I’m bigger than my boyfriend, Tommy.”

  Another said, “I know I’m bigger than Ralph. I can’t even feel his tiny weenie inside me.”

  Drinking hard liquor straight out of the bottle, they laughed while one woman put a strapon cock in the subject’s face. Running it back and forth over his lips and pushing it in and out of his mouth. The women thought this was extremely funny and laughed so hard, they stumbled and fell down.

  What happened next wasn’t as bad as the banter. It seemed the ringleader, Tonya, had practice in rear-ending men and was hell-bent to show the bachelorette how it was done.

  One said, “So you really fuck Charlie up the ass? He was such a player in high school. How the hell did you get him to be your butt boy?”

  Tonya said, “Yeah, he was a player, and I knew if I wanted to keep him and his income, I had to make sure he stayed mine.” At this point, she was slipping a strapon into the subject and pounding away at his sore ass, spanking him on the left and right cheeks as she rode him hard.

  “From the honeymoon, I started to get him into butt sex. You got to start small. Tease his rear with a lubed finger. Most men love that. They have super strong orgasms that way. From there, when his sphincter had learned to relax when I was back there, I started to push into him. If he protested, I’d just say that he orgasms harder when I tease him there. And he had to admit it was true.

  “Once I got a finger into his rear and he felt what it was like to have his prostate stroked, he was hooked. It wasn’t too long before I was convincing him that a strapon would feel even better.”

  Tonya had finished fucking the subject, moaning loud enough to startle passersby and let the bachelorette have a turn after instructing her on how to wear the strapon and insert it.

  The bachelorette awkwardly pumped a few times. She said, “I don’t get this. It does nothing for me.”

  Tonya said, “Give it time. I love fucking Charlie now. I get so close to orgasm by the strapon pounding against my pussy. Then, I just make Charlie lick me to finish me off. One time, my orgasm that way was so violent that I humped Charlie’s face and gave him a black eye.”

  The bachelorette said, “He told the guys at the shop he got that tripping in the dark.”

  Tonya chuckled, “Yeah, tripping into dark pussy.”

  The bachelorette was starting to learn how to move the strapon for the maximum pleasure. Her rhythm got very smooth and uniform. She was moaning at the top of her lungs, grasping the subject’s hips and pounding away at his rear hole. She seemed to delight in getting it deeper and deeper into the subject’s ass, making the plastic balls slap against his rear.

  She said, “I kind of understand now. It is kind of a power trip too, isn’t it? I can almost feel the power leaving this guy and entering me.”

  “Now you’re getting it. Once I got Charlie hooked on taking him up the rear, I casually mentioned that it didn’t make him gay, but some of his friends wouldn’t understand. Let alone his macho older brother. He nearly shit himself. I introduced shame into the equation, and he has been a very good little boy ever since.

  “I fuck him three times a week, and he is a good little kitten. A man who lets a woman do that to him is forever changed. He can’t go back to being a cocky bastard when the woman has the cock. When the woman drives it into his male pussy on a regular basis. When he walks funny the next day after a hard pounding. That pain is a constant reminder as to who rules, and it ain’t him. He will do anything I ask knowing that one word from me, and everyone will know his dirty, little secret. He does all the housework now without a peep of complaint. He looks so cute in an apron.

  “I’m planning on caging his tiny cock in at chastity device next month. See how cocky he is then when I control his orgasms. You control the cock, you control the guy.”

  “Wow, that is hot. I see a hard ass fucking in Frank’s future.”

  Tonya laughed and said, “I’ll buy you a good strapon as a wedding gift. You use it, girl, and it will change your life.”

  With that, they all raised their whiskey and beer bottles up high and said, “Strapons will change our lives.”

  Tonya spent the rest of the time teaching all the girls to fuck their men. She taught them rectum stimulation techniques. She showed them what works best on a man’s prostate. It was a regular femdom anatomy class on how to subjugate a man.

  He had dozens of women tease his rectum. He had dozens of fingers in his rear. The subject knew that the feelings he was experiencing were not all bad and that given the choice, he would knell to any of them. He understood something about his feelings that he knew on one level all the time.

  There were many more violations after that, but they all blurred in the subject’s mind. There were men and a few more women. He must have passed out, because the next thing he knew, he was on the floor, naked.

  Madame Lee came in. “You are free to go. All the customers were very satisfied.”

  “I’m going to call the police as soon as I get out of here.”

  “And tell them what? That you participated in a study to survey sexual practices in New York? You signed a document that you agreed to just that.”

  The subject stared in wonder at the clipboard he had signed. His initials were there, but the wording was completely different. It was not the document he had signed. They had tricked him again.

  “So it might be very embarrassing to you if you went to the police and told them you were raped in a massage pallor. Also, do you want your friends and relatives to know about this? We have digital recordings of the entire time. You looked like you were enjoying yourself. Your little flesh pocket squirted several times. I am sure your mother or father would be overjoyed to know what you are doing in New York.

  “One last thing. My landlord would like to speak to you
. Seems you look so pretty as a girl and you did so well tonight that she’d like to talk to you about a position.

  “And come back any time. Your next massage is free.” She snickered and was gone through a side door.

  The subject closed his eyes in despair. When he opened them, a beautiful woman was standing above him.

  She said, “You really are a pathetic little thing.”

  As he struggled onto his knees, staring at the black latex thigh-high boots, he had to agree. Dripping various and sundry fluids, stinking of sweat and cum, exhausted from his night of bondage and defilement, he would have agreed if she would let him speak, but she held a crop like she meant business, and he just hung his head and whimpered.

  “Disgusting little semi-male. Isn’t he, Wo Tun?” she said to her enormous, Asian henchman.

  “I am Lady Victoria, owner of the Rosewood Institute. I lease these rooms to Madame Lee. This is Wo Tun, my associate.”

  She walked over to the counter, picked up some papers in a manila folder, and sat down in a chair Wo Tun provided.

  “Hummm, you’re 25, college educated, an unemployed accountant living in a single-room apartment not far from here that is one step below a flophouse. You came from a small town in upstate New York. Mother and father still alive. Father owns a plumbing-supply store. Were fired from your last four jobs. You drink too much. Your liver enzymes are off the charts. You soon will be experiencing the early stages of either pancreatitis or cirrhotic liver disease. You’re killing yourself with booze. You’ve had several social diseases you picked up from prostitutes here in the city. At the moment, you are clean. You’re fortunate you haven’t picked up AIDS by now. You’re a lonely, sad, little man, aren’t you?”

  He was aghast. How could she know these things about me? The drinking, the whores. She has my whole life in a file. He stuttered, “How?”

  She immediately silenced him with a swat of the crop on his cheek that stung like crazy.

  “Silence, worm. If you must know, we took a blood sample while you were on the table. Some Internet research, a check of your credit rating, a little conjecture, and we have the entire life of a worm.”

  She smiled a cruel smile and said, “But you are in luck. I need a worm like you for my establishment. My clients like an occasional boy but are threatened by large, strong men. Penis envy if you will. In spite of your small size, you are well proportioned and very pretty as a woman. I am offering you a chance to work at my spa for the rich and bored. You will sign a yearlong contract. During that time, you will be in a 365-day, 24/7 psychodrama. If you please me and my guests, you will be handsomely rewarded when the year is up.

  “The work will be hard, sometimes humiliating, oft times sexual. But I can offer you a chance to change your life. Would you like to be something else, worm? You may speak, but speak wisely, it may be the last time in a long while.”

  “But, but what about my apartment? I can’t live here.”

  “My corporation will pay the rent on that nasty walk-up for a year, and yes, you will live here for the year. I have a nice space picked out for you.

  “If you survive the year, you could gross $50,000 tax free to do whatever you want with it. Make a new start or blow it all on a trip to the casinos in Atlantic City. It is up to you.

  “Make the decision, yes or no, worm. What have you got to lose? Are you happy? Do you plan to pathetically die of your alcoholism or live as a man?”

  He was so damn unhappy. The night had just been one more humiliation in a life of humiliations. He hung his head and said, “I’ll do it. You’re right. My life sucks.”

  “Then, sign this paper agreeing to participate in our study of sexual practices in New York.”

  He noticed that what she said at first about a psychodrama was different than what she just said about a study. It didn’t matter. He signed the clipboard, which was pulled away immediately.

  “Then, there is nothing left to say. Your new name is 9. You now have no other. Any use of another name will be punished. Wo Tun will fit you with an education hood and lead you to your quarters. We will meet again soon. I am curious as to how a man like you becomes a worm. Who knows, maybe we will de-worm you,” She snickered.

  The big man walked over to the shelf, picked up a latex hood and shoved it down over 9’s head. There were eyeholes, but they were closed.

  He heard Lady Victoria say, “You will be in isolation until we get you detoxed and fit.”

  With that, Wo Tun pulled 9’s hands behind his back and cuffed them. He felt something slide over his ears and then nothing. He could not see or hear or speak as the mouthpiece was closed off. He had just enough time to think that he had gotten himself into something bad when Wo Tun led him into an elevator, first down to a shower where he was hosed off and then down to the cells in the subbasement.

  He was thrown into a cell, landing on a lumpy mattress. The door was closed, and 9 began the most amazing experience of his life. The first two weeks were pure hell.

  CHAPTER FOUR -

  Institute Life

  It was another cruel, sunny March day in the big city. The wind blew through the buildings and made the 30-degree temperature seem like a wind chill of -10.

  Lady Victoria, in her daytime working outfit of a pair of $500 jeans and a blue silk blouse, strode into her well-appointed office, sat down behind her Louis XV desk, and used the intercom to call Wo Tun.

  When he appeared, he took a chair and waited while the boss, as he thought of her, read some mail, using a lethal-looking switchblade as a letter opener.

  She looked up from her reading and said, “How is the newest member of our happy troop doing?”

  The big man, a man of few words, grunted, “Not well. The first few days he just slept. Then, he bounced off the walls for a few days. He didn’t eat. He had the shits bad. Rolled up in a ball and trembled. You really think you can help this one? He seems more fucked up that our usual client.”

  “From what I know of the DTs, the booze should be almost out of his system. We’ll give him a few weeks to recover, then you can have him for conditioning. After that, I’ll do the first interview. If all goes well, we’ll get him a job around here. He’s an accountant. Maybe he can work on the books. God knows they are a mess. Looking over his file, I think we can fix what is wrong with him. He will make a lovely addition to our family of misfits.”

  * * * *

  For a week, the booze bled out of him. At regular intervals, the earpieces would recede, and he would hear two taps on the door. He learned quickly that that was the time to shuffle to the front door and wait for feeding. He was spoon fed noodles and vegetables and allowed to sip water from a jug. He had a chamber pot to use as his toilet (that he found after feeling around in his blindness), and he knew when to bring it to the locked door so a hatch could be opened, the pot taken from him, emptied, and returned. He would remain cuffed the entire time.

  In complete isolation, he had too much time to think. He thought about his angry father who gave up on him because he couldn’t do rough sports. He thought of his overprotective mother who dressed him younger than his age so she would have a young son forever. He thought about his football-star older brother that he could never live up to.

  With only his mind and the withdrawals, he was forced, for the first time, to confront his failed life. He couldn’t use booze to dampen the pain. It made him suicidal, and for a time, he decided to kill himself as soon as he had the chance.

  But a funny thing happened. After the second week, he woke up not feeling too bad. For the first time in years, his tongue didn’t feel like he had eaten road kill. His head was relatively clear, and he didn’t have to puke or shiver. His muscles didn’t ache. The euphoria at his new state didn’t last long.

  About an hour after the breakfast of eggs and veggies, the earpiece receded, and he heard, “Time to arise, maggot. You are healthy enough to exercise. You are puny and weak, but I will change that. Let me introduce myself. I am Wo Tun,
your tormentor. Before I came to this country, I was a sergeant in the North Korean army. My mission was to train assassins. I was very good at taking young, impressionable men and women and turning them into merciless killing machines for the glory of our beloved leader. I was well rewarded for my skills and lived quite well.

  “Why did I leave that workers’ paradise you may ask? A simple thing happened. I noticed that my recruits got smaller. Every year, the new recruits were an inch smaller than the last batch. I made the mistake of asking a superior why the recruits were getting smaller. I think I said, ‘The fish are smaller this year. Maybe we should throw them back and catch bigger ones.’

  “For that remark, I was stripped of my rank, returned to the barracks from my luxury apartment and beaten severely. I later learned that it was a state secret that our glorious leader was starving his people to the extent that they were getting shorter. His policies were literally creating a race of dwarves. Shocked by that, my faith in our glorious leader shattered, I escaped to the south then to America. Now, I assist Lady Victoria in turning scum like you into pleasure sex slaves. It is rewarding work.

  “Why am I telling you this you may wonder? Not to endear you to me. Not for idle chatter. I do not chatter. I tell you this so you will know I am capable of doing anything necessary to accomplish my goal. I will beat you, deny you water, deny you toilet facilities. There are cameras in each cell. Show the slightest sign of reluctance to obey me and I will delight in coming down here and beating you. Nod if you understand.

  9 nodded.

  “Good. Now, I electronically unlocked your handcuffs. Give me twenty perfect pushups now.”

  And so it began for 9. What he referred to in his mind as Hell 2.0. Hour after hour, day after day with only 10-minute lunch breaks, 9 was drilled by one of North Korea’s finest. His thin body turned from weak and skinny to muscular if still thin and lithe. He did pushups and stomach crunches until he dropped from exhaustion. Tun would ask for one more push up or one more stomach crunch. Always one more than he could do before. Still unable to see, he found the chin up bar high up on the wall of his cell and began going chin-ups until the sweat ran down his body in rivers.