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