by Van ©2015
		Chapter 8

Frankie's prediction of a long, uncomfortable night was less correct than it might have been.  Being strapped face-to-face, boob-to-boob, tummy-to-tummy, etc.-to-etc. with Jaybird was no picnic, but Frankie was tired and managed to drift off, repeatedly; but she awoke whenever they rolled from one side to the other to change positions.  Sometimes Frankie would roll over Jaybird, and sometimes Jaybird would roll over Frankie.  It was never clear whether the changes were instigated by Jaybird or just happened.  Anyway, they happened... and Frankie slept... rolled over... and slept, many times.

And then, it was morning.

Frankie came awake to find Nurse Kim opening the drapes, revealing a pale dawn sky and dark mountains.  The sun was above the theoretical horizon, but not yet above the peaks.

"Good morning, ladies," Kim purred as she lowered the left side rail of the bed, then began releasing the red straps and buckles binding Frankie's and Jaybird's body-harnesses together.  Soon, the intimate, involuntary snuggling was over and the sweat was drying on Frankie's breasts, tummy, thighs, and everywhere else her skin had been in direct contact with her fellow patient.  She heaved a sigh and watched as Kim lifted Jaybird off the bed and into a waiting wheelchair, then buckled her in at the ankles, lap, and chest.  "You get to sleep in, Feisty," Kim said, then raised the side rail back into position and wheeled Jaybird out the door.

Frankie lifted her head and locked eyes with Jaybird, who was looking back over her shoulder as Kim wheeled her away.  Bye! Frankie thought, wishing her lips weren't sealed by a broad strip of medical tape.  Thank you!

And then, the door was closed and locked and Frankie was alone.  She heaved another sigh, closed her eyes, and had no difficulty whatsoever drifting back to sleep.

Frankie was mincing down the hallway at the end of a rope leash in Nurse Clarke's hand.  She had, indeed, slept in, possibly a couple of hours.  Then, Clark appeared, helped her relieve herself in the bathroom alcove, and fed her another oatmeal breakfast.

Oh-by-the-way, Clark had also changed Frankie's bondage.  Ever the supremely competent patient handler, Clark had removed Frankie's harness and applied her new bonds in stages, allowing no opportunity for effective resistance.  Frankie hadn't exactly cooperated, but she was learning to choose her battles carefully.  If a true opportunity for escape presented itself, she'd be ready, and if she pretended to be submissive, it might lull the staff of Quaking Aspens into making a mistake.  At least, that was Frankie's cunning plan.

Frankie's new bonds were rope, the same ubiquitous white rope she'd seen used for all the rope bondage perpetrated by Kim and Clark.  Specifically, Frankie's arms were folded behind her back and her crossed wrists lashed against her spine in a tight, stringent, elaborate box-tie.  Multiple strands of rope yoked her shoulders and pinned her upper-arms against her torso, passing above and below her breasts.  And with a separate piece of rope, her ankles were hobbled about eight inches apart.  This shortened Frankie's steps, of course, and made heroic kung-fu swing-kicks impossible—not that she knew how to do heroic kung-fu swing-kicks.  Finally, Frankie's mouth was plugged by a two-inch ball-gag.  Both the gag's sphere and strap were black.

One final detail: before leaving the room, Clark had brushed and combed Frankie's hair.  Gone was the tangled mess left by her brown tresses being allowed to air-dry.  There was no mirror available, but Clark assured her that she looked spectacular.  Whatever, Frankie thought, doing her best gagged Grumpy-Cat imitation.

Anyway... Frankie was mincing down the hallway at the end of a rope leash in Nurse Clarke's hand.  A quick elevator ride brought them to the top floor, then Clark led Frankie into what was clearly a gym.  It had exercise machines much like those in the larger gym down below, but without any visible restraints.  Frankie did notice steel rings and pad-eyes at various locations on each of the machines, but there were no dangling straps or leather cuffs.  Also, while the gym decor below was decidedly clinical, this gym was outright luxurious.  There was thick carpeting underfoot, rich wood paneling, exposed rafters, and a window-wall with yet another mountain vista.  This is Stanton's gym, Frankie surmised.

Clark led Frankie across the space, through an open doorway, and into a tiled chamber.  It was a shower and bath, and again, compared to similar spaces down below, it was luxuriously appointed and anything but clinical.  The tiles were a mix of ceramic and colored glass, all in rich earth-tones, and the plumbing fixtures were bronze with a brushed finish.  There was a large shower alcove next to a wooden door carved with the image of a stand of quaking aspens.  Clarke untied Frankie's rope leash, took her by the arm, and led her to the wooden door.  She then smiled, put her hand on the door's wooden handle, and pulled it open.

Frankie was engulfed by a wall of humid, very hot air, and then—"Mrrrpfh!"—Clark placed her hand against the small of Frankie's back, pushed her across the threshold, and closed the door behind.  Clark remained on the other side.

A thick, hot cloud of mist hung in the air, but Frankie could tell she was in another tiled space.  Also, she was not alone.

"Have a seat, Patient F," a familiar voice suggested.

It was Dr. Stanton and someone else.  Then, the fog cleared and Frankie could see both Stanton and Red, her fellow patient with the freckles, boobs, and ginger hair.  Both doctor and patient were naked and snuggling together near a corner.  Red was bound with white rope in an identical manner to Frankie—box-tie and hobble—and gagged with an identical black-on-black ball-gag.

Frankie realized she was in a steam room.  The tiles were earth-tone, like in the outer bathroom, but lighter in color, favoring desert shades of tan, rust, and gray.  A tiled bench wrapped around all four walls.  The air was hot, very hot.  It wasn't as hot as a sauna, but the humidity was 100% and Frankie was already starting to sweat.

Stanton had Red in a tight embrace, one leg between her fellow redhead's hobbled legs and an arm around her waist.  Red's sad, desperate eyes locked with Frankie's.  The ginger captive was squirming and her rather spectacular breasts heaved and flopped as she struggled.  Both women were shining with sweat.  The resulting lubrication might be complicating Stanton's efforts to keep her patient under control, but she appeared to be managing.  And why was Red struggling, other than on general principles?  Now that Frankie noticed, Stanton was sliding the buzzing shaft of a torpedo-style vibrator between Red's legs and across her flushed, glistening labia, and by all appearances, she'd been doing so for some time.

"I said, have a seat," Stanton reminded Frankie.  She was still smiling her infuriating, sinister, gloating smile.

"Mrrrrf!"

The whining, soprano, rubber-muffled remark was from Red.  Either she was rendering an invitation of her own or was complaining about Stanton's vibrator.  Frankie guessed the later as she settled her naked rump onto the tiled bench opposite Stanton and Red.

"I'll be with you in a minute," Stanton purred.

Frankie watched as Stanton eased the tip of the torpedo between Red's labia and nudged her clitoris.  In response, Red squealed through her gag and went rigid in her bonds and Stanton's embrace—then resumed struggling.  Frankie remembered hearing somewhere that it was impossible to tell from their expression or body language if a person was being tortured or was in the middle of an orgasm.  Supposedly, agony looked exactly the same as ecstasy.  She'd always thought that was utter nonsense.  Now, as Frankie watched Red wiggle and writhe, fighting her bondage and Stanton's grip on her sweaty body, she wasn't so sure.

Finally, Red shivered and stopped struggling.  Her breasts continued heaving as she panted through flaring nostrils.

Okay, that was an orgasm, Frankie decided.

Apparently, Stanton had reached the same conclusion.  She turned off the vibrator and set it on the bench, next to what appeared to be a smartphone in a waterproof case.  She then gave Red a hug, followed by a peck on her sweaty forehead, then smiled at Frankie, picked up the phone, pressed its screen, and set it back down.  "Nice deep breaths, Patient K," Stanton purred into Red's ear, then gave it a delicate kiss.

Frankie gave her bonds a quick test, more from nervousness that anything else.  Both Red and Stanton were hot.  That is, they were dripping with the aforementioned sweat—as was Frankie, now that she thought about it—and their fair, freckled complexions were more red than usual.  Stanton has breasts, Frankie noted.  This was hardly a surprise, but they were nice breasts, and naked and sweaty, the doctor was undeniably hot, as in attractive, as in hubba-hubba.  And as for Red.  Truth be told, her breasts weren't huge, but they were full and round and firm looking, and their proportions perfectly matched the rest of her curvaceous physique.  Both the doctor and her patient were redheads and easy on the eyes... and were hot.

Just then, the steam room door opened, allowing hot air to escape, another fog cloud to form, and Nurse Kim to enter.  "You called, Doctor?"

"Please take Patient K to Hydrotherapy," Stanton ordered.  "She appears to be overheated."

"Yes, Doctor," Kim answered, then crossed the room and lifted Red to her hobbled feet.

Red resumed struggling and forced a truly heartbreaking whine past her gag—"Nrrrrr!"—but Kim had a firm grip on her damp, ginger hair and resistance was impossible.  Poor, pathetic, post-orgasmic Red was dragged from the steam room, the door closed, and Frankie and Stanton were alone.

Stanton smiled at Frankie.  Frankie stared back at Stanton.  The pattern of freckles on Stanton's curvaceous, athletic body suggested either nude sunbathing or the use of a tanning bed.  While Red's freckles were more pronounced here and less pronounced there, Stanton's collection was evenly distributed.  Also, the doctor had very nice breasts—not that Frankie was a breast aficionado, of course, but she recognized a good pair of bazooms when she saw them... and she was... seeing them, that is.  They were... shiny.  But then, so were Frankie's boobs.  Both of their bodies were glistening with sweat.

Frankie also noted that Stanton was a natural redhead, but not a true ginger like Red.  Stanton's long tresses and her short-and-curlies were darker, auburn or russet.  Anyway, as was the case with Red, the drapes matched the carpet.

And then, smiling her usual gloating, sinister smile, Stanton gracefully rose to her feet, picked up her phone and the torpedo vibrator, crossed the steam room, and sat next to Frankie.

Frankie considered edging away, but bound and hobbled as she was, a footrace to evade Stanton's embrace was impossible, assuming that was what the doctor had in mind.  And it turned out, that was what she had in mind.  "Nrrrpfh!"  Frankie squirmed and kicked, but now Stanton's sweaty, freckled arms were around Frankie's sweaty bound body, her breasts were pressed against Frankie's bound arms and back, and one of the doctor's sweaty, freckled legs was between Frankie's sweaty, non-freckled legs, trapping her on the bench and preventing her from fully closing her legs.

"You have great breasts, Patient F," Stanton purred, her mouth an inch from Frankie's right ear.  "They aren't especially big, barely a handful."  She confirmed her assessment by reaching around Frankie's body from behind, hugging her even closer, and gently squeezing both breasts.

"Mmmf!"  Frankie shuddered in Stanton's embrace, then squirmed as the doctor eased her grip and began toying with Frankie's nipples, both of them.  "Nrrrrf."

"Volume-wise," Stanton continued, "you're on a par with Patient J, Patient T just edges you out, and as for Patient K..."  Stanton continued gently teasing Frankie's nipples, and Frankie continued squirming.  "Patient K's volumetric endowment outperforms us all."

A shiver rippled up Frankie's spine and her nipples were tingling.  "Nrrrrr."

"I believe it's the shape," Stanton sighed, "although I can't really put by finger on it."  She paused to gently press Frankie's right nipple into her right breast with her right index finger, then slowly released the pressure and resumed her gentle, caressing massage.  "A pity I won't have time to conduct a thorough biometric analysis."

Frankie wiggled and squirmed, but couldn't escape Stanton's embrace.  Suddenly, her eyes widened.  Wait!  'Won't have time?'  Why not?  She didn't particularly want to participate in a "biometric analysis," whatever it might entail, but... 'Won't have time?'

"In a few days, you'll be taking a trip," Stanton continued.  "Your ultimate destination is still a matter of debate, but I want to reassure you that you'll come to no harm."

Frankie continued squirming.  'Ultimate destination?'  'No harm?'  She knew Stanton was trying to reassure her, but it wasn't working.

Stanton kissed the side of Frankie's neck.  "You've caused quite a stir in my branch of... a certain organization to which I belong.  Your... penetration, so to speak, of my establishment is an embarrassment, both to me, personally, and potentially to my clients."

'Clients?'  Frankie tried to act casual, but Stanton was talking, in fact, she was babbling, spilling the proverbial beans.  This was good, in that Frankie might actually learn something, but also bad, as it implied that Stanton was unconcerned Frankie would ever be able to write about what she was hearing.

"We all agree that reporters cannot be allowed to stick their noses—no matter how pretty—into our business."  Stanton continued caressing Frankie's nipples and breasts.  "If a client wants to indulge her submissive side, or treat a friend or significant other to a few days or weeks of restrained relaxation, it's none of your business, Ms. Dekker."  Stanton's hands widened the scope of their wandering, sliding across Frankie's stomach and hips.  "And if a certain Superior Court Judge wants to have a certain elective medical procedure performed—like the piercing of her nipples—done with a little drama, that's certainly none of your business."

That's what all this is about? Frankie thought.  Judge Bowden and the others are playing kinky games?  Quaking Aspens is a private whoopee club, Stanton is the madam, and the nurses are her staff?

"Yes, the judge is entitled to her privacy," Stanton purred.  "And lucky for her, she knows nothing about your ill-mannered intrusion.  She doesn't even know you're here, Ms. Dekker."  Stanton's right hand slid lower and caressed Frankie's labia, and Frankie shivered in response.  "So... while you might not be an ethical or practical problem for Her Honor, you are for me.  A problem, that is.  And that goes for my superiors, as well.  Hence, you'll remain my patient until a decision is made about your final disposition."

Frankie couldn't help but flinch in Stanton's embrace.  'Final disposition?'

"There, there," Stanton chuckled, then kissed Frankie's neck, again.  "I told you... no harm."  She reached to the side, picked up the torpedo-vibrator, and clicked it on.  She then used the missile-like tip of the buzzing cylinder to tease Frankie's right nipple.  "In fact, there's no reason why the next few days shouldn't be... pleasurable.  Don't you agree?"

"Mrrrpfh."  Frankie shivered and squirmed.  Stanton continued teasing her nipples and breasts, and there was nothing Frankie could do to stop it.  And then, the vibrator was gliding in a sinuous manner down her body towards her crotch, and with Stanton's leg between hers, there was nothing Frankie could do to stop that, either.

"Now," Stanton purred, "just relax and—"

Suddenly, the steam room door opened, another cloud of hot, humid fog formed, someone entered, and the door closed.  The cloud dissipated, and Frankie found herself staring at a naked, very athletic and curvaceous woman.  Her skin was richly tanned, her physique both curvaceous and athletic, her hair blond and cropped short, her eyes blue, and her features suggested Northern European ancestry.  She was in her late 30's or early 40's but was both attractive and, as Frankie had already noted, athletic.  Needless to say, she was not Patient Blondie.  She was a complete stranger—a naked, stunning, very fit, and blond stranger.

	Guest starring Alexandra Rietz as Annika von Luger, high ranking security operative of... a certain very powerful global organization.
		▲ Mid 40's ▲ 5' 7" (1.69 m) ▲ Blond hair ▲ Blue eyes

"Dr. Stanton," the stranger said, "I'm pleased to report that the Executive Action Committee of the North American chapter have reached their decision."

Frankie noted that the blonde spoke with a slight accent, possibly German or Swedish.

"So soon?" Stanton asked.  She was obviously nervous (and unsuccessfully doing her best to hide it).  She clicked off the vibrator and set it on the bench.

Frankie noticed the blonde was carrying something in her left hand—two somethings, in fact.  Both were milky-white plastic.  One appeared to be a pair of flex-cuffs, the disposable handcuffs the police use to restrain prisoners.  The other Frankie recognized as a ball-gag, but it was unlike the conventional rubber and leather damsel-silencer Frankie herself was wearing.  It was more-or-less a cable-tie incorporating a mouth plug of clear, pliable vinyl with a hard plastic core.  The overall diameter of the ball was about two inches.

"Uh, welcome to Quaking Aspens, Ms. von Luger," Stanton continued.  A rather forced smile on her freckled, shining face, she reached to the side for her phone; but before she could do more than close her fingers around it, the blond—"Ms.von Luger"—crossed the steam room and plucked it from her hand.

"Don't worry about alerting your staff," von Luger said.  "They're already quite aware of my team's presence."

"Y-your team?" Stanton stammered.

von Luger ignored Stanton's question and turned her smile to Frankie.  "And this would be Ms. Francine Dekker, of course."

German, Frankie decided.  She's definitely German.

"Yes," Stanton confirmed.  Her eyes were on the flex-cuffs and ball-gag still in von Luger's left hand.  "W-what is the committee's decision?"  She withdrew her leg from between Frankie's legs and released her embrace.  Doctor and patient were now side-by-side on the tiled bench.

"Doctor Edith Stanton," von Luger said, "pursuant to the disciplinary covenants of the Sisterhood, I place you under arrest."

"What?" Stanton demanded.  "What are the charges?  Hey!  No!"

von Luger had lifted Stanton to her feet, spun her around, pulled her hands behind her back, and was tightening the flex-cuffs around her wrists.

"No!  Mrrrf!"  The ball-gag was in Stanton's mouth and von Luger was tightening the strap under her tousled red hair.  "Nrrrrrrf!  Urf!"

von Luger plopped her prisoner back down on the bench next to Frankie, then sat down, herself.  Stanton was now sandwiched between her brunette patient and blond captor.

Frankie was impressed.  von Luger's handling of the doctor had been quick and professional.  Frankie suspected the German was highly trained.  She's some sort of cop or secret agent, she decided.

"The charge is gross incompetence in the operation of a Sisterhood-sanctioned commercial activity," von Luger stated, "specifically, ignoring promulgated security guidelines and allowing your facility to be compromised."

"Nrrr!" Stanton complained.

"Don't worry," von Luger chuckled.  "You'll get your day in court."  She shifted her smile to Frankie.  "And as for you, Ms. Dekker, you're an unusual case.  In fact you're the first non-member of the Sisterhood I've ever been asked to apprehend."

Frankie blinked in surprise, both at this sudden turn of events and that some secret organization—apparently called "the Sisterhood"—was taking her into custody!  She glanced at Stanton.  Or have I been a prisoner of this 'Sisterhood' all along?

Meanwhile, Stanton was testing her flex-cuff bonds.  Her hands were behind her back, of course, but it was obvious what she was doing.

"Do you know the weakness of plastic ties, doctor?" von Luger asked, smiling at Stanton.

The ball-gag filled Stanton's mouth and the strap was tight enough to make her freckled cheeks bulge, so she limited her response to a shake of her head.

"Typical flex-cuffs," von Luger lectured, "as well as cable-ties in general, have a common weakness: the locking tab.  It's just a small piece of molded plastic, and there are techniques one can use to concentrate all of one's strength against that tab, causing it to snap.  The cuffs you are wearing, however, have steel locking tabs, and are much more difficult to defeat.  Also, if you continue to struggle you will mark your wrists, and that would be a shame.  Stop that nonsense immediately."

Stanton stopped struggling, but it was clear that she was not happy.  Frankie was also quite sure that the doctor was afraid, and that made Frankie afraid.

"Now then," von Luger purred, picking up the torpedo vibrator and clicking it on.  "Now that the situation is well in hand..."  She embraced Stanton in the same manner the doctor had embraced first Red and then Frankie, and eased a strong, tan leg between the doctor's pale, lightly freckled legs.  Stanton wasn't hobbled, but she made no effort to kick or squirm free.  "My team will need a few minutes to complete their arrangements," von Luger purred, "so why don't we indulge ourselves?"

Frankie watched as von Luger began doing to Stanton what Stanton had been doing to her—that is, tease her breasts and nipples with the vibrator while caressing her stomach and thighs with her free hand.  Stanton squirmed and shivered in response, just as Frankie had squirmed and shivered.

Frankie's head felt like it was going to explode!  Jaybird, Red, Blondie, and Her Honor are 'clients' of some sort?  There's this mysterious 'Sisterhood' organization in charge?  Stanton is 'arrested?'  And I'm still a prisoner?  What the hell is going on??