as Nurse Kim first unwound the bands of slightly sticky tape
mummifying her lower face, then plucked the cloth stuffing from
her mouth. Kim then went to the foot of the bed and untied
Frankie's ankles. The drapes were open and Frankie could
see a breathtaking vista of the snow covered mountains.
The position of the rising sun confirmed that it was
morning. Still only half awake, Frankie was led to the
bathroom alcove. She was encouraged to empty her
bladder—that is, she was plunked down on the commode/bidet.
Frankie's mouth was rather dry from the gag stuffing and she
hoped the washbasin/drinking fountain was next on the
itinerary. It was. Once the bowl was flushed and her
nether region rinsed by the bidet function, Kim helped her to
the washbasin and Frankie drank from the stream of cool, clean
water triggered by the foot pedal.
Finally awake and ready to face the day, Frankie was also ready
to assert her authority as an investigative journalist.
"Look," she said, glowering at Kim, "you're going to be in a lot
of trouble if you don't—Mrrrf!"
It was another ball-gag, this one with a steel ring protruding
from the front of its mouth-plugging red rubber ball.
Frankie stomped her bare feet and continued
complaining—"Nrrrrrm!"—as Kim buckled the ball-gag's strap at
the nape of her neck, under her hair. Next, Kim took a
grip on Frankie's tousled locks and led her to a stretch of bare
wall opposite the door. Frankie had time to focus on a
steel clip dangling from a ring set in the wall, and then—Click!—all
she could stare at was the wall and the clip. It
now linked the ring in Frankie's gag to the ring in the
wall. She wasn't quite up on her toes, but her chin was
raised, her boobs touched the cool wall, and her ability to do
anything other that simply stand there was severely limited.
"I'm afraid you're last in line for Breakfast," Nurse Kim purred
as she checked the knots of Frankie's box-tie, "but Nurse Clark
will be along... eventually."
"Mrrrpfh'mrrn'pfff!" In addition to her gagged tirade,
Frankie considered trying to kick Kim where it would do the most
good, but her position was unfavorable and Kim seemed to have
already stepped back. And then, Frankie heard the door
open, close, and a key turn in the lock. Too late, she
thought, heaving a gagged sigh. Maybe next time.
All Frankie could do was stand there. Her rope box-tie was
as inescapable as ever... and she was going nowhere. Time
passed as seconds became minutes. The service in this
place sucks, Frankie decided.
Most of an
hour passed before Frankie heard the door being unlocked and
opened, and true to Kim's word, it was Clarke, pushing a
stainless steel cart with several dirty bowls, spoons and covers
on its second shelf and a single covered bowl and spoon on the
top shelf. Frankie could see none of this at first, of
course, but confirmed it all after Clark first tied her ankles
together, then released the ball-to-the-wall clip and "helped"
her hop to the bed. So much for kicking somebody,
Frankie fumed as Clark unbuckled and removed her gag.
The bowl contained oatmeal with raisins and cream. It
might have left the kitchen nice and hot, but by this time it
was barely above room temperature. Frankie glared at Clark
as the grinning nurse delivered spoon after spoon of the warm
mass to her pouting mouth. Truth be told, it wasn't bad,
as oatmeal went. It had been sprinkled with a little brown
sugar. Frankie decided to wait until she'd emptied the
bowl to try convincing Nurse Clark that she was her best chance
to avoid spending the next few decades in prison if, and only
if, she helped Frankie escape from Quaking Aspens.
"You're new to the daily routine," Clarke said as she delivered
the last spoonful to Frankie's mouth, "so I'll explain the rules
this one time."
Frankie chewed or masticated or did whatever it is you do with
soggy oatmeal, and listened.
"You will speak only when spoken to," Clark continued. "No
threats or begging or whining. If Doctor Stanton asks you
a question, you will answer. If a nurse gives you an
order, you will obey. If not..." Her smile turned
sinister. "We have established behavioral modification
methods that are quite effective."
Frankie swallowed the last of her oatmeal and pondered a
response as Clarke returned the spoon and now empty bowl to the
cart. Then, Kim breezed into the room with a tinkling mass
of black leather, dangling straps, and steel buckles.
"Doc wants this one out of those ropes," Kim explained to Clark.
"She is due for a change-up," Clark nodded.
Frankie stared at the leather jumble. "What's that?" she
demanded. "What are you gonna—Mrrrmpfh!"
Acting in concert and with practiced precision, Kim and Clark
proceeded to force a rounded rubber plug into Frankie's mouth
and secure the first of many attached leather straps designed to
keep the plug in place. A wide panel of soft leather soon
covered Frankie's lower face as tightly as a hand-gag and narrow
straps crisscrossed under her chin, traveled across her
forehead, passed to either side of her nose, and anchored what
was effectively a head-harness behind her head. As the
straps were tightened and buckled, the nurses had gathered
Frankie's hair into a ponytail and passed it through a gap in
the straps. It cascaded down her back, held away from her
gagged and angry face.
Next, Kim and Clark forced Frankie to the floor and replaced her
rope box-tie with a single-sleeve armbinder. As always,
Frankie's handlers knew what they were doing, and while her
struggles were energetic and sincere, they did little to impede
progress. All too soon, the ropes were gone and Frankie's
arms were behind her back, her hands were palm-to-palm, her
elbows almost touched, and her arms were tightly sheathed from
finger tips to just below her armpits. The sleeve closed
first by means of a double row of grommets and a long, thin
lace, then with narrow straps encircling Frankie's wrists and
her upper arms just above her elbows. A pair of straps
yoked her shoulders, crisscrossed over her chest, dove under her
armpits, and buckled to the top of the sleeve. Finally, a
single horizontal strap passed through tabs in the top of the
sleeve, passed around Frankie's torso, just under her breasts,
and buckled in the back. A steel ring dangled from the
fingertip end of the sleeve, but was unattached to anything...
for the moment.
Clark untied Frankie's ankles, the nurses helped her to her
feet, and Frankie took that as her cue to throw a tantrum.
"Mrrrpfh!" She mewled through her gag, twisted her body
and fought the armbinder and its straps, and tried her best to
kick Kim between her white stocking-clad legs.
"That will be enough of that, young lady," Clark scolded.
She embraced Frankie from behind and held her steady as Kim
tightened a leather strap around her thighs, binding them
together. She finished by using a double-ended clip to
join the back of the strap to the armbinder's terminal
ring. This enforced an erect posture, effectively hobbled
Frankie's steps, and put an end to any more kicking.
However, that wasn't the end of the issue.
"You were told to be obedient," Clark said quietly, still
embracing Frankie from behind. Her smiling lips were only
an inch from Frankie's left ear.
"Sometimes patient management requires a firm hand," Kim purred,
reached up and cupped Frankie's breasts, then began massaging
her nipples between her forefingers and thumbs.
"Nrrrm!" Frankie tried squirming out of Clark's embrace,
but it was impossible. The thigh strap confirmed its
effectiveness in limiting all resistance from the waist down to
the shuffling of her bare feet. "Mfff!"
Kim's smile was now truly evil, and Frankie's nipples were fully
erect. Kim reached into her pocket and—"NRRRF!"—a clamp of
some sort closed on Frankie's left nipple! Frankie
shivered and moaned through her gag, then screamed,
again—"MRRRK!"—when her right nipple met a similar fate.
The nurses released their patient and took a step back, and
Frankie continued shivering and squirming in her bonds.
The clips were stainless steel alligator clamps with light,
two-inch chains with terminal rings attached. The rings
and chains danced as Frankie continued to struggle.
Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow...
Frankie continued rolling her shoulders and struggling, then
gave up. The chains swayed as she panted through her
flaring nostrils and her breasts heaved. The bite of the
clamps had gone from bee-sting... to never-ending pinch... and
was settling towards sunburn. The damn things hurt!
She glared at Kim, continued panting through her gag, and
Meanwhile, Clarke had knotted the end of a rope through the ring
in the front of Frankie's plastic-covered steel collar, her
"Patient ID" collar.
"Be a good girl and I'll take them off when we get to the Day
Room," Kim chuckled. "Be a really good girl and
I'll warn you before I do it."
Frankie didn't know whether to throw a tizzy fit or simply stare
daggers. She was still undecided when Clark gave her rope
leash a tug and stepped off. Soon, they'd left Frankie's
room and were strolling down the hall. Actually, Frankie
was mincing. The thigh strap was hobbling her steps.
Kim brought up the rear.
The Day Room
turned out to be a large open space with several groupings of
comfortable easy chairs, sofas, loveseats, coffee tables, card
tables, and straight chairs. All were Institutional Modern
in style, upholstered in earth-tone fabrics or constructed of
laminated wood. The floor was tiled in more of the
ubiquitous linoleum. A wall of windows admitted brilliant
morning light and a breathtaking view of the mountains.
Frankie's eyes widened as she minced into the room. Three
naked women were present, and they were all bound and gagged!
First was "J," Frankie's brunette next door neighbor she had
seen hogtied on her bed the previous evening. J's arms
were behind her back and her legs together, and a series of
horizontal and vertical rope hitches bound her body from her
shoulders to her big toes, rendering her completely
helpless. Her bonds were a unified whole, cinched between
her limbs and body where possible, and pulled tight enough to
dimple her firm, tan flesh. Frankie assumed her wrists
were lashed together, but J was sitting in a plush easy chair
and her back and arms were buried in the cushions. Also,
she was lashed in place by additional rope. Finally, her
lower face was covered by a single taut, wide strip of medical
tape. The outline of the prisoner/patient's lips was
clearly visible in three dimensions, and she stared back at
Frankie with very pretty and unmistakably inquisitive brown
eyes. Her wavy brown tresses were loose about her
shoulders, framing her tape-gagged face.
Next to J was a redhead, a flaming redhead, what some
people call a "ginger." She had freckles, a lot of
freckles, on her face, shoulders, and the tops of her full
breasts, but most of her smooth, firm, peach-pink skin was
freckle-free. The redhead herself, however, was anything but
free. She was tied to a straight-back chair with yard upon
yard of rope. Her wrists were lashed to the chair on
either side, even with the chair's seat, her legs together, and
a symmetrical web of rope bands bound her in place from ankles
to shoulders. The ropes were hitched between her limbs and
the chair at regular intervals, and like J's bonds, dimpled her
flesh. Also like J, she was gagged, but not with
tape. A large wad of cotton gauze was stuffed in her mouth
and multiple tight layers of thin cotton bandage cleaved her
coral lips and white teeth and kept it there. She stared
at Frankie with gorgeous green eyes and also seemed
curious. Oh-by-the-way, a quick glance on Frankie's part
at the patch of ginger curls between her legs confirmed that the
captive was a natural redhead, not that there was ever any
The third captive was a blonde. She was wearing a natural
canvas straitjacket that forced her to hug herself in the
traditional manner. The jacket wasn't as tight fitting as
the canvas and leather little number Frankie had worn earlier,
but looked to be just as inescapable. Secondary straps
encircled her upper arms, pinning them against her sides, and
another strap pinned her crossed arms against her waist.
Finally, the blonde's jacket had a crotch strap, rather than the
thigh-straps of Frankie's jacket. The tight strap was
narrow enough to cleave the prisoner's pussy, but wide enough to
hide about a third of her dark-blond, neatly trimmed pubic
thatch. Her legs were bound together with one continuous
hitch of rope from her thighs to her ankles, cinched every few
inches, and she was comfortably reclined at one end of a
sofa. A rope passing through the ring in her patient's ID
collar, cinched through her leg bonds, and hitched around the
sofa held her in place. A ball-gag plugged her mouth, its
strap buckled tight enough to make her cheeks bulge.
Clarke plunked Frankie down on the opposite end of the same sofa
as the blonde, and she watched (they all watched) as Kim
knelt and buckled a narrow strap around her ankles, a second
strap around her feet, and a third strap around her big
toes. All three straps were linked, forming a... foot
harness? Frankie had no idea what to call the
thing. In any case, it certainly rendered her feet
useless, just as the rope Clark was using to bind her to the
sofa would keep her in her seat.
"This may sting a little," Kim said quietly.
What's she talking about? Frankie wondered, and then—Ow,
ow, ow!—Kim's meaning became abundantly
clear. The nipple-clips hurt worse coming off than they
had going on! Frankie glared at Kim with watering eyes as
the nurse pocketed the clips.
And with that, both nurses favored Frankie and the others with a
gloating smile, turned, and left the Day Room.
Frankie watched the Sinister Nightingales depart, then regarded
her fellow captives. Well... this is awkward, she
thought squirming in her bonds. And just as she was
examining J, the redhead, and the blonde, they were
examining her. Frankie felt a blush color her
cheeks. Of course, her cheeks were probably already
flushed by the pressure of the gag's mouth panel, but she was
embarrassed by her fellow captives' attention, nonetheless.
To Frankie, three things were certain:
(1) Her fellow "patients" bonds might all be different,
but the nurses had been just as professional in their
application as they'd been with Frankie. All of them were
totally helpless. They could free neither themselves nor
their fellow patients. None present were pretending
to be prisoners.
(2) J, the redhead, and the blonde were all lookers.
That is, they were beautiful, gorgeous, athletic, curvaceous,
and very pleasing to the eyes, even naked and in bondage.
Frankie considered herself attractive. Okay, she was
equally beautiful, gorgeous, etc. Probably. But it
was clear that Dr. Stanton had accumulated quite a harem for
herself, a harem of which Frankie was, apparently, the newest
(3) Something exceedingly strange was going on at Quaking
Aspens, and Frankie was no closer to figuring out what it might
be than ever... or how she was going to escape to write a story
Frankie's initial embarrassment passed, but she still felt very
much the newcomer. A pity they couldn't compare notes or
share their stories, but gagged conversation was impossible...
not to mention ridiculous. I wonder if they know Morse
code, Frankie wondered. We could blink our
eyes... only I don't know Morse code.
J really was pretty. So were the redhead, and the
blonde. They were all beautiful, in fact, something even
their gags couldn't disguise. They also had great bodies,
good muscle tone, narrow waists, flat tummies, etc. J's
breasts were about the same size as Frankie's, while the
redhead's were bigger and fuller. As for the blonde, she
had breasts, but they were under the straitjacket (and trying to
get out), but didn't appear to be all that huge.
More time passed.
It was a little strange, but none of Frankie's fellow patients
seemed to be particularly freaked out by the situation. Of
course, Frankie wasn't freaked out either... at the
moment. Had they been prisoners as long as Frankie?
Longer? Frankie heaved a frustrated sigh and tested her
bonds, just for something to do.
Then, they heard the tap of approaching heels on the linoleum,
turned their gagged heads in unison, meerkat fashion, and
watched Dr. Stanton and the two nurses enter the Day Room.
Both Kim and Clark were pushing empty wheelchairs.
"Good morning, ladies," Stanton said as she drew near. She
was wearing yet another stylish and very flattering dress, a
crisp white lab coat, and her red hair was loose about her
shoulders, also as usual. She focused her lightly freckled
smile on Nurse Clark. "Were introductions made?" she
"No, doctor," Clarke answered, also smiling.
"Then allow me," Stanton purred, then smiled at Frankie.
"Patient F, allow me to introduce Patients J, K, and T, although
I believe my staff refer to them as 'Jaybird,' 'Red,' and
'Blondie,' respectively. Ladies, Patient F."
The two brunette and the red-haired and blond captives gazed at
one another, then focused on Stanton.
The doctor had pulled an iPad mini from her lab coat pocket and
was consulting the screen. "Let's see now... This morning
Patient J is scheduled for fellation therapy. She'll be
assisted by..." Stanton smiled at Frankie. "Patient
Clark nodded and turned to Kim. "You take Jaybird and I'll
Great, Frankie fumed, now my name is 'Feisty.'
Kim wheeled her chair close to Frankie and began untying the
rope keeping her on the sofa while Clarke positioned her wheel
chair beside "Jaybird" and started releasing the ropes binding
her to the easy chair, but leaving the ropes binding her limbs
and body intact.
"When you're finished," Stanton continued, "take Red and Blondie
for their daily exercise."
"Yes, doctor," the nurses responded. Ropes continued
sliding and slithering in their expert hands as they readied
their patients for departure.
As Frankie focused on her fellow brunette, she had a vague and
unsettling idea what "fellation therapy" might entail, but
absolutely no idea how she might be equipped to "assist" in the
process; however, from the expression on Jaybird's tape-gagged
face, she knew exactly it meant, and she wasn't happy.
panting through her gag. It was the aftermath of her
vigorous attempts to prevent Kim and Clark from installing her
on and in yet another of Stanton's twisted
machines. They were in another second story room, painted
salmon-pink like Exam-1, the nearby room with the insidious
vibrating saddle that had repeatedly rung Frankie's chimes...
Was it really only yesterday? Frankie wondered.
Anyway, the current machine had no saddle, but it did have a
phallus, a double-ended phallus.
Frankie was more-or-less sitting upright in midair with her legs
splayed to either side in something close to a full split.
Numerous straps enforced this position, binding her against the
padding of a stainless steel armature in the shape of an upside
down "T." Her crotch was completely unsupported, but the
straps more than made up for this deficiency. She wasn't
going to fall. She wasn't going to do anything but squirm.
Jaybird was decidedly lower, kneeling between Frankie's splayed
legs with her head even with and about a foot from Frankie's
crotch. She was still bound in the same ropes from
shoulders to toes, but in addition she was now strapped to a
second padded armature. Jaybird's position was more or
less a hogtie, but balanced upright on her knees. Like
Frankie, the straps gave her more than adequate support.
Neither captive was what they would call comfortable, but for
the moment, their bonds and postures weren't issues.
The aforementioned double-ended phallus, however, was an
issue. It was mounted to the top of a steel post between
Frankie's crotch and Jaybird's face. One end of the
phallus was inside Frankie's pussy, and the other end was in
Jaybird's mouth! It was held there by a leather strap
buckled at the nape of Jaybird's neck, under her hair.
Kim was off to one side, standing before a console of buttons
and LED lights atop a pedestal similar to the one that had
controlled the operation of the Salamandras-3100, and on the
pedestal's front panel were two small logos. The first was
the salamander and winged staff Frankie had seen before.
The second was a shield-shaped coat of arms with the letters "H"
and "G" prominent. Engraved text read "S/HOG BST-4/DDD,"
all of which Frankie found quite fascinating, of course, but not
"I'll put Red to work on the treadmill," Clark announced as she
strolled to the chamber door. "When you're done here,
would you put Blondie on the stationary bike?"
"Sure," Kim answered. She was pushing buttons and throwing
switches on the console.
Clark favored the brunette patients with her gloating smile for
a few seconds, then was gone.
"Now, Jaybird," Kim said as she threw a final switch and turned
a key in a lock on the console, "according to your treatment
record, you've participated in fellation therapy twice before,
but only in the 'assisting' capacity. This will be your
first active session, so..." She withdrew the key from the
console, dropped it in her uniform pocket, then smiled at
Frankie. "For Patient Feisty's benefit..." She left
the console, stood close to Frankie and Jaybird, then leaned
close and nudged one of a pair of small, circular pads with
trailing wires she'd pasted to either side of Jaybird's left
nipple. Jaybird's right breast and upper thighs sported
similar pads, and their wires trailed to the base of the control
console. "These are electrical contacts," she lectured,
then tapped the base of the half of the phallus plugging and
emerging from Jaybird's mouth. "And there's a pressure
sensor inside this little beauty to gauge the enthusiasm of
Jaybird's sucking efforts. Should she slack off at some
point, the pads will deliver encouragement."
Frankie's blue eyes were locked with Jaybird's sad brown
eyes. Damn, Frankie thought. Poor
Next, Kim tapped a pair of red and green LED bulbs atop the
phallus' central mount. "The lights will reinforce the
feedback," Kim purred. "Red means try harder, and green
confirms that she's in the zone. Also, the phallus moves,
meaning both ends move, sliding in your mouth,
Jaybird, and in your pussy, Feisty, respectively. And by
the way, Feisty, there are copper studs in your half of the
arrangement, wired into the same circuit as the lights and
Jaybird's motivational pads. I've set the controls so that
when and if the circuit closes, you'll be motivated to
find a way to provide Jaybird with additional feedback
Frankie and Jaybird watched, as best they could, as Kim strolled
to the door. She paused in the threshold with her hand on
the doorknob. "By the way, Feisty, your end of the phallus
also vibrates. Five minute countdown," she added, nodding
towards the console, then closed the door.
The captives of the machine heard a key turn in the door lock,
and they were alone. They locked eyes, again.
Poor Jaybird and Feisty, Frankie thought,
amending her earlier assessment.