By the time
Nurse Kim arrived to take Frankie to "Exam-1," the
captive-of-the-wheelchair had worked herself up into a serious
frenzy. Okay, she was bound head to foot with white rope,
strapped to the chair, and tape-gagged, so "frenzy" might not
have been the best description of her pointless and
well-restrained struggles, but it was quite clear that she
wasn't happy—or it should have been clear. Dr. Stanton
continued tapping menu choices and scrolling through various
files on her iPad, ignoring Frankie completely. The doctor
did glance up every now and then, but it was to smile
and appreciate Frankie's flopping breasts in particular, rather
than the patient in general.
Anyway, Kim entered without knocking or speaking. Stanton
had no last minute instructions and Kim wheeled Frankie from the
Their destination was a room on the second floor. The
walls were painted an allegedly soothing shade of salmon-pink
and in the center of the room, under the collective glare of the
grid of spotlights overhead, was—"Mrrrk?"—a machine.
The thing was stainless steel—brushed panels, articulated arms
with gears and dangling straps, a curved vertical post, also
with dangling straps, and finally, a steel saddle with black
rubber padding. The straps were black nylon webbing with padding
and steel snap-buckles. Off to one side was a control
console with a tasteful logo embossed on the side. It read
"Salamandras Medical," and featured what appeared to be a
salamander coiled around a winged staff. And speaking of
the saddle—"Urrrk?"—prominent on its curved, padded surface were
a pair of black rubber ridges studded with stubby bristles and a
rounded cylinder—a phallus!
Needless to say, Frankie wanted nothing to do with the
thing. Granted, she was naked and tied up and strapped to
the wheelchair, but she knew that Kim had to get her out of the
chair and onto the saddle, and Frankie resolved to make that
task as difficult as possible. But just then, Nurse Clark
entered the room, making it two against one. Add the
force-multiplier of Frankie's bondage, and... She heaved a
gagged sigh, but was still resolved to fight.
And fight Frankie did!
However, Kim and Clark knew all the tricks, all the tactics a
bound and gagged patient might employ to prevent herself from
being hoisted onto the saddle, impaled on the short, stubby
phallus, and strapped in place. Frankie didn't make it
easy, but eventually she was, in fact, impaled and strapped to
the machine. Her legs were splayed to either side with her
ankles strapped to the ends of adjustable steel arms mounted on
either side of the saddle. Additional straps across her
thighs further anchored her in place. Her rope bonds
remained intact, with her back and box-tied arms against the
upright post and straps around her waist and upper arms and
torso, above and below her breasts, securing her to the post.
The phallus was slippery enough to penetrate her vagina without
discomfort. Also, it wasn't very long. The saddle's
bristle-studded ridges nestled against her slightly squashed
Next, Kim peeled the tape from Frankie's lips. This gave
the patient a chance to share her innermost feelings. "Let
me go, you mother-fu—rrrf!" Kim held Frankie's head
against the post while Clark thrust a rubber plug attached to a
rubber panel with dangling straps into her mouth. The gag
also had a pair of flexible hoses trailing away to either
side. Clark and Kim tightened the straps, pinning the back
of Frankie's head against what amounted to an adjustable
headrest and sealing her mouth and lower face behind a half-mask
of tightly stretched rubber. Frankie squirmed and
complained. "Mrrrpfh!" And she really
complained when Kim used a nose-clamp to seal her
Frankie was now more or less immobilized. It wasn't quite
as bad as drugged paralysis, a condition with which Frankie now
had recent, firsthand experience, but it was bad enough.
Also, she could only breathe through her mouth. She rolled
her eyes and stared daggers at Kim and Clark as they pasted
small sensors with trailing wires to her forehead, over her
heart, and to her inner thighs.
Kim stepped to the front with an iPad while Clark manned the
machine's control console. They began running a checklist.
"Initial auto-lube engaged," Kim intoned.
"Check," Clark responded.
"Adductor magnus and Gracilis twitch
"Stimulis routine on active frustration, level one."
"Level one." Clark threw a switch. "Check."
"Tracking routine on continuous mode."
"Five minute initial countdown."
"Five minutes," Clark responded. "Check."
Kim smiled. "Checklist complete."
Clark turned a key on the console. "The Salamandras
thirty-one hundred is prepped and locked." She pocketed
the key and joined Kim to smile at Frankie.
Frankie's response was to stare more daggers. She had a
"I understand the thirty-two hundred will have nipple
suckers," Kim purred.
Clark nodded. "I read the brochure. I wonder when
we'll get the upgrade."
"I only work here," Kim shrugged, then both nurses turned and
left the room.
Frankie heard a key turn in the lock, and she was alone...
bound, gagged, strapped to the machine... and waiting. The
only sound was the whistling of her breath in the gag-mask's
two minutes... three...
More for something to do than as a serious effort to free
herself, Frankie struggled. Her rope bonds and the
machine's padded straps remained in place... and so did she.
There was a metallic click, followed by a quiet hum, and
then... "Urrrk?" The ridges pressed against
Frankie's labia began to vibrate, as did the phallus. This
continued for about a minute... then two... and slowly, Frankie
realized the vibratory effect was intensifying, and arriving in
waves... and the frequency of the waves was slowly increasing.
Frankie's skin began to glow. Intellectually, she knew
that being too hot was better than being too cold, but right now
Frankie could do with a cool breeze, or maybe a cold shower.
And then—"Mrrrf!"—the phallus began to move! To be
precise, it began sliding up, into her vagina... and then
down... and then up, again. Like the waves of vibration,
the penetration was deliberate, even stately. At the same
time, Frankie felt a wet, squishy sensation inside her
pussy. Probably the 'initial auto-lube' on the
nurses' checklist, she realized. Apparently, the
phallus was oozing some sort of oil or gel. It was
disgusting... and slick.
The stimulation continued, as did the overall crescendo, and
Frankie's body began to react. Glowing became actual
sweating, and she began panting into her combination breathing
mask/gag. Her breasts began to heave, as much as the
straps binding her to the post would allow, and her nipples grew
rigid and erect.
Inexorably, the machine worked its magic. Frankie could
feel an orgasm coming—or cumming, as the case may be. It
was horrible being at the mercy of the "Salamandras 3100," to be
the plaything of mechanical and cybernetic technology. On
the other hand, Frankie reasoned, it beats the hell
out of being strapped in a straitjacket and left to rot in a
padded cell for hours... if not days.
The intensity and complexity of the vibrations continued to
build, and the phallus was becoming more and more enthusiastic
as it cycled up and down and in and out of her well-lubricated
Climax was eminent! The machine buzzed and pumped.
Frankie panted and squirmed. And then... and then...
"Mrrrf!" Frankie's complaint was well-muffled, but the
thought behind the complaint quite clear: Mother!
She'd been sooooo close. It was unfair, colossally
Frankie continued panting and her breasts continued
heaving. Eventually, she felt her body calming down...
relaxing... not cumming. It was unfair, and
The sweat on Frankie's helplessly restrained body dried.
Even her nipples decided to take a break, were no longer
throbbing and erect, as best she could tell. The gag/mask
straps pinning her head to the post didn't let her actually look
at them. Her pussy was still somewhat squishy, and the
phallus was still there, inside her... but all was quiet in
And then—Click, hum—the vibrations returned! And
once again, at first they were barely perceptible... but the
intensity was building... definitely building.
Yes, without a doubt, it was starting all over again!
strolled down the second floor corridor. Exam-1 was just
ahead, and she knew exactly what she'd find when she
unlocked and opened the door. Hidden video-cameras
documented everything that happened in the chamber, and Stanton
had been following the action for the past three hours, both on
the monitor of the desktop computer in her office and the iPad
mini in her lab coat pocket. She paused to unlock the
door, composed herself as she pocketed her keys, then opened the
Patient "F" was bound in rope and strapped to the Salamandras
3100, exactly as Kim and Clark had left her. Well, not exactly
as they'd left her. Still smiling, Stanton walked a slow
circle around Frankie and the machine.
Frankie was panting through her gag/mask, her breasts heaving,
and her skin was flushed and dripping with sweat. Strands
of her tousled hair were plastered to her forehead.
Clearly, she was in a state of sexual frustration—in the sense
that the surface of the sun might be described as
"toasty." She stared at Stanton with tired, desperate eyes
as the doctor strolled across her rather limited field of
view... then focused on the theoretical horizon when Stanton
passed behind the machine. When Stanton came back into
Frankie's view she was standing at the machine's control
console, inserting a key. Frankie watched as she turned
the key, threw several switches, then turned and withdrew the
key, once again.
Stanton strolled to Frankie's front, her smile unchanged.
"That concludes the first phase of your evaluation," she
purred. "There will be a one hour pause for you to
hydrate. There's a drip-line built into your oral plug
that will deliver a liter of electrolyte solution, 'sports
drink,' if you will. After that, phase two will
automatically commence. It will be more of the same, but
this time with the frustration threshold removed." She
spun on her heel and gracefully, elegantly, strolled to the door
and made her exit.
Frankie wanted to be strong, defiant, angry... but
enough was enough. The machine was going to finally make
her cum? That was good... maybe.
Frankie became aware of a wetness in her mouth.
Apparently, the gag was delivering some sort of fluid,
as promised. It was... lemon-lime? Maybe.
Frankie was relieved to find she could swallow, despite the
rubber plugging her mouth.
The hydration continued... as did Frankie's wait for the
commencement of "phase two."
Phase two was
glorious! It started out the same as phase one...
and then... it didn't stop! That is, the machine
buzzed and pumped and diddled Frankie like crazy! And
It didn't stop! After a glorious multiple orgasm,
there was a brief pause... no more that five or six minutes...
and then the machine buzzed and pumped and diddled Frankie like
Lather, rinse, repeat!
By the time Kim and Clark came to collect her, Frankie was a
mess—a sweaty, frazzled, overly-satisfied, and slightly sore
mess. The nurses released the straps, extracted her from
the Salamandras 3100, and deposited her in the wheelchair.
Actually, they sort of poured her into the chair.
Frankie didn't resist. Nor did she resist as they strapped
her to the chair, wheeled her down the hall to a washroom,
transferred her to a stainless steel stool, gently rinsed her
off, and dried her with fluffy towels. This time, Kim was
the one that blow-dried, combed, and brushed Frankie's hair.
Once again strapped to the chair and being wheeled down the
hallway, it was only then that Frankie realized she wasn't
gagged. She licked her lips, opened her mouth... then
closed it again. She couldn't think of anything to say...
and she was tired... so very tired.
They rode the elevator... up... Frankie didn't bother to keep
track of the buttons being pushed or the numbers flashing on the
panel. She could barely keep her eyes open. Finally,
the doors opened and Clark wheeled her from the elevator and out
onto a floor that was different from the rest.
The walls were paneled with richly grained wood and the ceiling
was complicated, a series of timber joists and beams at various
angles. They passed a bank of windows and Frankie beheld a
very picturesque vista of the surrounding mountains, as well as
the peaked roofs of the neighboring buildings of the Quaking
Aspens compound. Frankie surmised she was on the top floor
of the main building, and from the angle and quality of the
light it was very close to sundown.
Their destination was a very pleasant dining room. More
windows provided another view of the mountains, there was a
table with a white tablecloth and two place settings, and seated
before one setting was Dr. Stanton. On her plate were
mixed vegetables, seasoned rice, and a fillet of fish, possibly
"Excellent," Stanton purred, pausing to sip white wine from a
stemmed glass. "I hope you don't mind that I've started
eating. I have a teleconference scheduled to discuss your
evaluation and want to go over the results one last time."
Meanwhile, Clarke had wheeled Frankie and her chair in front of
the second place setting. Frankie stared at Stanton with a
sullen expression. "Look," she sighed, "let me go and I
won't..." Frankie's eyes widened. Clark had lifted
the stainless steel cover from the plate in front of Frankie—and
her empty stomach growled. The food on the plate was more
or less identical to Stanton's meal: veggies, rice, and
fish. Conspicuous in its absence was any form of kibble or
pet food. "I, uh..." Frankie's mouth was watering.
Clarke settled into a chair at Frankie's side, leaned close and
loaded a fork with a bite of fish, then lifted it to Frankie's
"Enjoy your dinner," Stanton purred.
Frankie chewed and swallowed the bite of fish. "Okay," she
muttered. Outrage, threats of retribution, appeals to
morality, possibly a little begging—all of that could
wait. The fish, and it was blacked salmon, was
Clark fed Frankie, Stanton fed herself, and the meal
continued. It wasn't exactly companionable silence, but
Frankie was perfectly willing to keep her objections to being
kidnapped and mechanically diddled on hold. The salmon
really was delicious. Also, and it was a little creepy,
Stanton kept staring at Frankie's breasts... maybe.
Frankie wasn't really sure.
Stanton had a bit of a head start, but Frankie was hungry and
ate as quickly as Clark would allow. The salmon was good,
the rice was good, and the vegetables were good.
Everything was good-good-good. And then, everything was
gone. Both plates were empty and Stanton was patting her
lips with her napkin.
Frankie licked her lips and tried to decide what she should
say. Somehow, she had to convince Stanton that it was safe
to let her go. Somehow she had to—"Mrrrpfh!" Clarke
had left her chair, stepped behind the wheelchair, stuffed a
cloth of some kind into Frankie's mouth and was using a roll of
gauze tape to first cleave her mouth and then cover her lower
face, all the while being careful not to trap any of her
patient's tousled locks. It just went to show how out of
it Frankie was in her current state. She hadn't even
realized Clark was about to gag her... not that she could have
done anything to prevent it from happening.
"Her room is ready?" Stanton inquired, sipping the last of her
"Of course, doctor," Clark purred, then rolled Frankie and her
chair towards the dining room door.
"I'll be in my office," Stanton added.
"Yes, doctor," Clark replied, and they were across the
Frankie to the elevator and down to the second floor.
Box-tied, strapped to the chair, tape-gagged, her tummy full of
delicious blackened salmon, and above all, exhausted from her
hours riding the Salamandras 3100, Frankie just sat there as
they passed door after door. Frankie thought she might
have heard moaning noises (gagged mewling?) coming from one of
the rooms as they passed, but couldn't be sure. Up ahead
was an open door, and as they came even with the
threshold—"Urrk?"—Frankie's eyes popped wide, despite her
The room beyond was a typical private hospital room, not as big
or well appointed as the room Frankie had seen with Judge Bowden
tied to the bed, but nice, nonetheless. Closed drapes on
the far wall suggested a window, and on the adjustable hospital
bed was a naked woman. She was quite fit, with a
curvaceous body, and Frankie was pretty sure she was "J," the
brunette patient she'd seen being led on a rope leash soon after
her capture. She couldn't be absolutely sure because the
brunette's lower face was mummified under tight bands of medical
tape, much like Frankie's. Also, she was on her stomach on
the neatly made bed and was hogtied... very hogtied.
J's heels were resting in her hands and her wrists were lashed
to her ankles. Additional ropes bound her elbows together,
pinned her upper arms to her torso and yoked her shoulders,
bound her legs together at the thighs, and above and below her
knees. If J had been on the floor or some other hard
surface, Frankie was sure she'd be rocking on her tummy with her
breasts and thighs in the air. Kim was putting the
finishing touch on J's predicament, tightening and knotting a
taut rope that tied the captive's big toes together and linked
them to her rope-wrapped and folded ponytail. It lifted
J's chin, pulled her head back, and forced her to point her
Clark let Frankie stare at her fellow patient for a few seconds,
then wheeled her down the hall. She unlocked and opened
the next door, then wheeled Frankie into a hospital room more or
less identical to J's (with the exception that J wasn't hogtied
on the bed, of course). Once inside, Frankie could see
there was a small bathroom, little more than a deep alcove, and
with the same models of washbasin/drinking-fountain and
commode/bidet she'd used in the sub-basement.
Clarke released the straps keeping Frankie in the wheelchair,
lifted her to her feet, helped her to the bed, then helped her
to recline. Still box-tied and tape-gagged, Frankie
watched as Clarke used a length of rope to bind her ankles
Nurse Clark smiled down at Frankie's naked, bound, and gagged
form for a few seconds, then nodded towards the washroom
alcove. "Feel free to hop in there and use the facilities
during the night."
Frankie watched Clarke leave her room, locking the door behind
her. Thanks to her gag, using the washbasin/fountain
wouldn't be possible, but it was good to know she'd be able to
take a tinkle if she felt the need. Clarke's permission
wasn't relevant, as far as Frankie was concerned, but the fact
that Clarke hadn't tied her to the bed was
relevant. Hopping would be awkward and humiliating, but it
was an option. Frankie was grateful... or pissed off... or
The room was dark, the only light coming from a nightlight in
the bathroom, a second nightlight somewhere to the right of the
bed, and the last light of the daylight causing the margins of
the opaque drapes to glow.
This would be Frankie's best opportunity yet to escape from
Quaking Aspens. She resolved to find some way to wiggle
out of her rope bonds, somehow get out of the hospital room,
find something to wear, steal a car, etc., etc. But first,
she'd rest her eyes, just for a minute or two.
Frankie closed her eyes—and almost instantly was fast asleep.