by Van ©2015
		Chapter 2

Frankie prided herself on her ability to keep her cool in moments of stress.  She'd talked her way out of more than one sticky situation by running a bluff or simply asserting her winning personality.  That was all well and good, but at the moment she was naked, gagged, and strapped to a wheelchair.  Her usual bluster or charm were both more or less unavailable.

The redhead in the lab coat gracefully strolled behind the desk, sat in its throne-like chair, and smiled.  It was a very pretty smile, gracing a very pretty face—okay, a strikingly beautiful face.  However, given Frankie's current situation, the smile might also be described as being at least a little gloating... and sinister.  The redhead gazed at Frankie with her gorgeous green eyes and Frankie gazed back.

Seconds ticked by.

Finally, the redhead pulled Frankie's ID holder from her lab coat pocket.  "Ms. Francis Dekker," she read, "freelance reporter and writer."  She dropped the holder on her desk.  "I'd say it was a pleasure to meet you, but truth be told, your sudden and uninvited appearance has caused a bit of a kerfuffle."

'A kerfuffle,' how quaint, Frankie thought.  She realized her hands were balled into tight fists and willed herself to relax.  The same thing happened whenever Frankie visited her dentist.  The dentist in question was very nice and had gentle hands, but Frankie always found it impossible to keep her cool when someone was messing with her teeth.  Back at the non-dental present, being naked, strapped to the chair, and gagged were not helping her sense of poise.

"I'm Doctor Stanton, by the way," the redhead continued.  "It might be said that I don't owe you an introduction, as you neglected to extend me the same courtesy, but I've found it never hurts to be polite.  If you agree to join in civilized conversation, we can dispense with the gag.  Nod if you agree."

Frankie nodded.  Every prisoner has the right to escape and scream her head off if it seems like it might do some good, but way up in the mountains and in the office of "Doctor Stanton," histrionics would be as futile as continuing to tug on the straps binding her to the wheelchair.

"Good," Dr. Stanton replied, then gracefully left her chair and strolled around her desk.  "In the right circumstances, screaming can be quite entertaining, but in general I find it tiresome, even annoying."  She peeled the tape from Frankie's lower face and lips.  The strip stretched Frankie's skin as it surrendered its adhesive grip.  Stanton then plucked what turned out to be a ball of medium density foam from Frankie's mouth.  It was about the size of a baseball and was a hideous salmon-pink in color.  Frankie thought it might be a child's Nerf ball.  Stanton placed the slimy sphere on her desk, folded the used strip of tape and placed it next to the ball, then resumed her seat.

Frankie worked her jaw and licked her lips.  "I tried introducing myself," she said.  "I called and asked for an interview and was refused."

"Of course you were refused," Stanton chuckled.  "This is a private sanatorium.  Our patients' privacy is sacrosanct."

Frankie opened her mouth to demand to be told what was happening to Judge Bowden, then decided to play her cards close to the chest.  And speaking of her chest, Dr. Stanton was smiling at Frankie's breasts, her naked breasts.  Frankie decided to play her Flirtatious Charm card.  "My eyes are up here," she purred.

"I'm sorry," Dr, Stanton chuckled.  "I was admiring your breasts.  They have a pleasant shape, and the ratio of nipple-to-areola-to-breast is equally appealing."  Her smiling green eyes traveled up and down Frankie's upper body.  "You keep yourself in very good shape, Ms. Dekker, and have excellent bone structure.  Tell me, do you practice any form of yoga?  I've found my patients respond better to my therapeutic methods if they have good flexibility."

Frankie tugged on her wrist straps, again.  "I'm not your patient, doctor," she huffed.  "Let me go right now, or—"

Frankie was interrupted by a melodious ringtone.

Dr. Stanton smiled.   "Hold that thought," she said as she lifted the handset of her desk's telephone console and placed it to her ear.  "Dr. Stanton."

Frankie frowned as the doctor listened to whoever was on the line.

"Excellent," Stanton said, her eyes locked with Frankie's.  "You know what to do.  Yes, goodbye."  She hung up the phone, still smiling.  "My associates have located your car.  You don't have to worry about it being buried in the next snowstorm and not being discovered until late Spring or early Summer.  It's being relocated to a safe location far from Quaking Aspens as we speak.  And I'd like to thank you for activating your phone before Nurse Clark invited you to this meeting.  It's made it much easier to examine your phone records." 

Frankie tried to keep the worry from her face.  What the hell have I stumbled into? she wondered.

"My friends are also going over your apartment, especially your computers," Stanton continued.  "If they need any passwords I'll let you know.  My staff can be quite persuasive."

Frankie's heart was racing, but she thought she was succeeding in hiding her nervousness—most of it, anyway.  Some degree of nervousness (if not abject terror) was to be expected.

"Look," Frankie growled, "this is all a big misunderstanding.  Pull my car around, give me my clothes, and we'll call it even.  I promise not to have you prosecuted for false imprisonment and kidnapping.  No harm, no foul."

Dr. Stanton smiled at Frankie for a few seconds, then pressed a button on her telephone console.  "I have a counter offer," she purred.  "I promise not to have you prosecuted for breaking and entering, theft, and impersonating a medical professional.  Also, I agree to voluntarily commit you to Quaking Aspens for psychiatric evaluation while we sort things out."

Frankie's stomach dropped.  "W-what?  No!"

"You can sign the paperwork later," Stanton continued.

Frankie was still staring in disbelief.  "I-I-I agree to no such thing!" she finally managed to stammer.  "Let me go this instant, or—"

Just then the office door opened and the Asian nurse Frankie had seen tying Judge Bowden to her bed entered the office.  "Doctor?" she said, ignoring Frankie.

"Full protocol, Nurse Kim," Dr. Stanton stated.  "We'll put her in BB-1 for the evening, and probably for the next day or two as well."

"Yes, doctor," the nurse said, smiling at Frankie for the first time.

"No!" Frankie reiterated, looking from the smiling doctor to the smiling nurse.  "Cut the crap and let me go!  Uh, people know I'm here!  If you don't—Mrrrrf!"

The nurse had stepped behind the wheelchair, deftly pinned the back of Frankie's head against her uniform-clad midriff with one hand, and thrust a ball-gag into Frankie's mouth with the other.  And now she was tightening the gag's strap and securing the buckle at the nape of Frankie's neck, under her hair.

"Mrrrpfh!"  Frankie tugged on her bonds and struggled for all she was worth.  The wheelchair's straps were as unrelenting as ever, and the ball-gag was in to stay.  "N'rrmpf!"

"Just a moment," Dr. Stanton said, rising from her chair.  She walked around the desk, smiled down at Frankie, reached out and cupped her wheelchair-bound "patient's" breasts with both hands, and gently squeezed.

"Nrrrrm!"

Stanton released Frankie's breasts and returned to her desk.  "Firm.  Just as I suspected."

"Will there be anything else, doctor?" Nurse Kim inquired.

"Not at the moment," Stanton answered.

Nurse Kim released the wheel-locks on Frankie's wheelchair, spun her around, and wheeled her from the office.

All the while, Frankie tugged on her bonds, squirmed, struggled, tossed her gagged head, and made her displeasure at this turn of events abundantly clear.  "Mrrrpfh!"

Frankie continued squirming and complaining as Nurse Kim wheeled her down the hallway.  "Mrrrpfh!"  Her strenuous struggles were ignored as they passed door after door, made a right turn, and continued down a second hallway.  Frankie shook her head to clear her tousled hair from her ball-bagged face, forced one last angry, frustrated protest past her gag—"Mrrrm!"—then stopped fighting her inescapable bonds.

Nurse Kim continued pushing Frankie and her chair.  As they approached an elevator, Frankie blinked in surprise.  A second nurse and a naked patient had rounded the corner ahead and were approaching.  Frankie frowned and growled through her gag.  "Nrrrr."  The second nurse was the Black woman who had jabbed her with a needle outside Judge Bowden's room.  As for the patient...  Frankie blinked in surprise.

The patient—Frankie assumed she was a patient—was a brunette, about Frankie's age, and was, indeed, naked.  She was also quite attractive, with a fit, athletic body, killer curves, and a beautiful face.  That was evident even though the lower half of the face in question was covered by tight multiple strips of white medical tape.  Her brown eyes stared at Frankie with... curiosity?  She didn't seem at all alarmed to encounter another bound, gagged, and naked female in the care of a Quaking Aspens nurse.  And the female patient was bound—very much bound—with yard after tight yard of white rope.

Her arms were behind her back and she was tied at the wrists and elbows.  Tight, horizontal bands of rope pinned her arms to her upper body above and below her breasts.  More rope encircled her waist and pinned her lower arms against her spine.  Diagonal ropes yoked her shoulders, crisscrossed her arms and torso, and dove through her crotch to encircle her upper thighs.  In addition, a pair of horizontal ropes passed directly over her breasts, pinching her nipples, bisecting the fleshy globes, and imparting a significant bulge to both.  All of the patient's rope bonds were one interconnected web, designed to completely immobilize her upper body.  Obviously, the effort had been successful.

Also, a collar of milky, translucent plastic was around the patient's neck.  It reminded Frankie of the patient ID bracelets used by hospitals in that she could see writing and a bar-code; however, it had a stainless steel ring dangling from the front and was substantial enough to act as an actual collar.  This was evidenced by the length of rope linking the ring to the Black nurse's hand and acting as a leash.

"Nurse Kim," the Black said to Frankie's handler.

"Nurse Clark," Kim responded.

Both nurses gazed at Frankie, as did the patient on the leash.  Frankie shook the hair from her face, again, and glowered at the smiling nurses.

"Full protocol," Kim said, "and I'm to put her in BB-1 for the night."

Nurse Clark nodded.  "Don't take any chances.  Obviously, she's a fighter."

Nurse Kim's smile broadened.  "I like fighters."

Nurse Clark chuckled.  "You mean you like breaking fighters," she purred.

Kim gazed at Clark's patient.  "Where are you taking J?"

"Red and Blondie are occupying the running and stationary bike machines, respectively, so I'm taking J for walkies," Clark answered.  "Later, hydrotherapy."

All three were watching J's reaction—Kim, Clark, and Frankie.  There was now fear in the brunette's big brown eyes.

Whatever this 'hydrotherapy' thing is, Frankie decided, it can't be good.

"Doc likes this one's boobs," Kim remarked, nodding at Frankie.

Clark gazed at the boobs in question, then shrugged.  "What's not to like?"  She took in the slack of J's leash and walked away.  "Later."

"Later," Kim agreed, then pushed the button to summon the elevator.

J followed in nurse Clarke's wake.  She had no choice.

Frankie gazed at her fellow patient's bondage.  They certainly know how to tie somebody up, she thought, then heaved a gagged sigh.

A melodic chime sounded, the elevator door slid open, and Kim pushed Frankie into the car.

The elevator was quite large, which, in Frankie's experience, was not at all unusual in a medical setting.  It could easily hold a hospital bed, gurney, or a wheelchair, plus several standing passengers.  The four walls and the ceiling were stainless steel and the floor was clad in textured vinyl.  Frankie assumed that was for easy cleanup of messy bodily fluids... like the drool oozing from her plugged mouth and dribbling down her chin and onto her breasts—the same breasts Dr. Stanton found to be so "pleasant."

Nurse Kim pressed the bottom button on the elevator's interior panel, a button labeled "B."  The doors closed and the car dropped.  There was a quiet ping as they passed each floor..."2"... "1"... and finally reached "B."  The car stopped, the doors opened, and Frankie beheld a dim hallway.  Actually, the lighting was adequate, dim only in comparison to the bright corridors of the sanatorium's upper floors.  The walls were painted a truly depressing shade of institutional gray.  Jackie waited for Nurse Kim to push her forward.  Instead, Kim inserted a key in a lock on the button panel, gave it a turn, then pressed "B," again.  The doors closed and the elevator dropped an additional floor.

A secret basement under the basement?  Frankie blinked in surprise.  That's... ominous.

The car stopped, there was another chime, the doors opened, and this time Kim did push Frankie and her wheelchair from the elevator.

Frankie found herself in a hallway with more dim lighting and gray painted walls.  They passed more of the same doors as upstairs, but somehow, to Frankie, they seemed less medical and more penal in nature.  The door locks were more substantial and all the door hinges were heavy duty and on the hallway side of the doors.

Kim paused at a door, turned a key in the lock, opened the door, and wheeled Frankie across the threshold.

The space beyond was better lit than the corridor, and Frankie beheld a padded examining table, a sink, a steel cabinet, and, of all things, a large clothing rack on wheels.  Hanging from the rack were several coats of some sort.  All were of natural canvas with dangling belts and straps of woven cotton or brown leather.  Some coats were plain and some trimmed with more of the brown leather.  At first, Frankie wasn't sure what she was looking at, but then her eyes popped wide as the truth had dawned.

Straitjackets!  The rack held a large collection of various garments designed to restrain their wearers!

"Mrrrk?"  Frankie squirmed in her chair and tugged on her bonds.

While Frankie was reacting to the jackets, Kim had wheeled over a stainless steel cart of some sort.  It had a pair of small steel gas cylinders strapped to its side and a sloping panel with a set of controls.  There was also a vertical steel rod with a hook at the top.  A long length of clear vinyl tubing stretched up from the control panel and was coiled around the hook, and dangling from the end was a clear plastic breathing mask with an elastic band.

Frankie repeated her gagged question—"Mrrrk?"—while Kim lifted the mask and tubing from the hook, threw a switch on the cart's control panel, then stretched the mask's band and placed the mask over Frankie's nose and gagged mouth.  The prisoner-of-the-chair tried to give Kim a moving target, but she was no match for the smiling nurse.  Soon, the mask was in place and held there by the tight band.  Frankie continued struggling and tossing her head, but mask was on to stay.

Nurse Kim went to the rack and started sliding the jackets on the rail, checking the labels and apparently making a selection.

Frankie held her breath and tugged on her bonds... and held her breath... and held her breath... and...  "Hrrrrr!"   Her face flushed, Frankie had no choice but to exhale and take a deep breath.  Strangely, she could smell or taste nothing unusual.  There was no odd odor or metallic tang on her tongue.  Her throat wasn't suddenly dry, her head wasn't spinning, and her vision remained normal.  Either Kim hadn't turned on whatever gas the cart was designed to dispense, or—

Frankie's eyes closed and she slumped forward in the wheelchair.

Kim continued smiling and sliding the jackets, one by one, deciding which was best for her snoopy patient.

Frankie stretched sleepily and opened her eyes.  To be precise, she tried to stretch sleepily, but found she couldn't.  She did succeed in opening her eyes.

Frankie lifted her head, shook her tousled hair from her face as best she could, and looked around.

She was in a padded room.  The floor, walls, and ceiling were completely covered in some sort of rubber or latex fabric held in place by padded, recessed studs or buttons.  It was all off-white in color and had a somewhat slick and slippery finish—at least that was true of the floor, which was more-or-less one huge, wall-to-wall rubber mattress.

"Mrrrf."

Some sort of tape was plastered to Frankie's lower face, sealing her lips, but this time there was nothing stuffed in her mouth.  Also...

On the plus side, Frankie was no longer naked—not completely naked, anyway.  On the negative side, she was wearing a straitjacket.  Considering what Frankie could remember of her recent past, this was hardly surprising or unexpected, but it was an unusual straitjacket, like nothing Frankie had seen before, much less worn.

Her arms were crossed in front, under her breasts, and secured behind her back in the traditional self-hug.  The jacket's fabric was natural canvas, also traditional, but it was tailored to her body, not a one-size-fits-most baggy mass.  Its many straps were brown leather, and all the free ends Frankie could see were tucked into slots in the canvas and neatly out of sight.  The details of the buckles securing the straps were hidden under brown leather flaps with locking steel tabs.

And speaking of straps, they pinned Frankie's upper arms against her sides, pinned her forearms to her tummy, and dove between her legs to anchor the bottom hem of the jacket around her upper thighs.  Her crotch was free, so to speak, and so were her breasts.  To be precise, the fleshy globes poked through leather-trimmed circular openings in the jacket.

Frankie gazed down at her breasts.  I suppose they're on display for Doc Stanton's benefit, she fumed.

The straitjacket was snug, hugging Frankie's torso as closely as her own arms.  Obviously Nurse Kim had made sure the thing was skintight, no doubt enjoying buckling each and every strap as tightly as possible.

Completing her ensemble, Frankie's ankles were buckled in wide, padded cuffs separated by an eight-inch hobbling strap.  The padding was natural canvas, the cuffs and strap the same brown leather as the jacket, and the buckles covered by the same kind of locking flaps.

A few seconds of enthusiastic twisting, squirming, and hobbled kicking confirmed for Frankie that she was as helpless as ever.  The jacket's straps creaked a little in response to her most athletic struggles, but that was it.  She managed to cross her legs and heave herself up to a sitting position, blew an errant strand of hair from her face with a huff through her flaring nostrils, and gave the room a closer examination.

The space was about ten by ten with a tall ceiling, something like twelve or fifteen feet.  There was a single lighting fixture recessed into the overhead padding, a can covered by a metal grid.  Why pad the damn ceiling? Frankie wondered.  The floor's a mattress, not a trampoline.  A rectangular outline in the center of one wall was probably the door, confirmed by a small peephole recessed in the padding.  Also of note: In all four corners, up where the walls met the ceiling, Frankie could see a tiny video camera.  Each had an LED glowing bright red, probably indicating that they were on.

Frankie struggled to her feet, carefully padded to one of the corners, and glared up at the tiny lens.  There was no response.  She hadn't really expected one.

Next, Frankie circumnavigated the entire room, nearly tripping on her hobble only once.  The padding underfoot and on the walls was uniform, with no tears, creases, or worn spots.  There was no way to know for sure, but she suspected the material was quite thick.  She assumed it was rubber or latex for ease of cleaning.  There were no stains and the only odor in the room was a very slight scent of latex, that and her own sweat.

The room was hot.  Frankie supposed that was a good thing.  Better too hot than too cold, she reasoned.

Anyway... here she was.

Frankie minced to the center of the room, eased herself down onto her naked butt, then flopped onto her side.  She was a little sweaty, somewhat thirsty, and could eat—but all she could do was wait for room service—that and worry.

Frankie heaved a tape-gagged sigh.  I am so screwed, she thought, then closed her eyes.