|by Van ©2015|
|OUR STORY CONCLUDES
Frankie had a lot to think about. She was a prisoner of the Sisterhood. Stanton was a prisoner of the Sisterhood. But what was the Sisterhood? Yes, Frankie had a lot to think about, but she was starved for information.
Also, the steam room was hot. If Frankie thought she could get away with it, she would stand, hobble to the door, and try her best to make an exit to the cool, not-so-humid great beyond. The problem, of course, was "Ms. von Luger," the mysterious blond Sisterhood operative who was currently diddling Dr. Stanton with her own torpedo vibrator, the vibrator the doctor, herself, had used to diddle Red, tease Frankie's nipples, and was probably about to diddle Frankie with when von Luger arrived and placed her under arrest. Anyway, the Teutonic amazon would probably take exception to Frankie wandering off. Frankie watched as Stanton squirmed, von Luger diddled, and all three of them sweated.
Finally, inevitably, Stanton shivered, mewled through her gag, and then went rigid in von Luger's embrace. Frankie's immediate diagnosis of the Doctor's condition was acute orgasm. Apparently, von Luger concurred as she turned off the vibrator, set it aside, then kissed the side of Stanton's cheek.
Stanton panted through her gag, her shining breasts heaving as she stared at von Luger.
Talk about being hoist with your own petard, Frankie mused.
"What a pretty shade of pink," von Luger purred. Her blue eyes were on Stanton's labia.
Frankie had to agree. Stanton's pussy was flushed, and it was a pretty shade of pink. All of Stanton was pink, but with a hint of peach, no doubt thanks to her red hair and freckles.
"Well, enough of this Versicherungsbetrug," von Luger chuckled, then stood, taking Stanton with her. She took Stanton's phone in her left hand, a firm grip on Stanton's of left arm with her right, and led the doctor towards the door.
Frankie glanced at the vibrator still on the bench, then turned and found von Luger smiling at her.
"I don't believe you'll be able to use that on your own," von Luger stated, "and bound as you are, you might not be able to open this door after we leave. I suggest you come with us."
Frankie stared daggers at the smiling blond. She'd traded captivity at the hands of a red-haired doctor for that of the blond, but von Luger's dominant manner and gloating smile were just as infuriating as Stanton's (and just as beautiful). And Frankie was still just as helpless. Stanton was quite obviously scared, but Frankie's initial shock at their change of circumstances had faded and she was mad (and scared). Frankie hauled herself to her feet and hobbled across the steam room.
von Luger opened the door and held it for her prisoners. Stanton and Frankie crossed the threshold and their captor followed, closing the door behind her.
"Kneel," von Luger ordered, "and cross your legs."
Frankie watched as Stanton knelt on the tiles, then settled her weight back on her crossed her ankles. Then Frankie noticed that von Luger's smile was focused on her.
"Well?" the blond asked, still smiling.
Frankie rolled her eyes and knelt next to her former captor. She didn't bother crossing her ankles. Her hobble would make scrambling to her feet in a pathetic, slow-motion bolt for freedom difficult enough.
Meanwhile, Frankie's new captor had strolled to a pile of dark clothing. Both prisoners watched as von Luger pulled on a pair of very French cut black panties and a skintight, longsleeve turtleneck top, also in black, followed by a pair of black cargo pants. Next, she donned a shoulder holster with a pistol of some sort, both in black, of course, then wool socks and a pair of black combat boots. Fully dressed, she was the very picture of a covert agent on a clandestine operation, which, apparently, she was.
Both Frankie and Stanton were shivering, just a little. The sweat on their nude bodies was drying, and goosebumps had sprouted on their shining skins. von Luger, however, seemed to be unaffected by her time in the steam room, other than the slight shine on her smiling, beautiful face.
"And now, ladies," von Luger said with an elegant gesture towards the open doorway leading to the gym, "you will lead the way to the elevator."
Neither Frankie nor Stanton were pictures of grace as they awkwardly climbed to their feet and followed von Luger's order.
To Frankie's surprise, von Luger not only had the required key, but knew the button-pushing sequence required to send the elevator car to Quaking Aspen's hidden sub-basement. Soon, with Stanton by her side, Frankie was mincing down the dim corridor, passing gray steel door after gray steel door. von Luger had pulled a telescoping riding crop from a pants pocket and was using it to guide their steps with gentle (and humiliating) taps on their rumps.
Frankie wondered whether or not she ought to at least try and escape... if you could call waiting for von Luger to be distracted, hobbling away at "lightening speed " to hide someplace, then somehow wiggling out of her bonds. A ridiculous plan with an astronomically improbable chance of success? Yes. Anyway, the issue became moot when they turned another corner and up ahead Frankie beheld three more female secret agent types, all clad in black.
The first was Chinese, the second African, and the third Indian, or possibly Malaysian. All three radiated beauty and competence. They were in front of an open steel door, but this particular door was thicker and heavier than the others. In fact, it looked like something between a bank vault and a watertight hatch on an old battleship. It closed by means of multiple bolts interconnected by a series of lever arms radiating from a central wheel.
"All secure?" von Luger asked, and the three newcomers nodded. Obviously, they were von Luger's subordinates, her aforementioned "team." Frankie didn't like they way they were leering at her, but strangers gazing at her bound, nude body was a minor entry on the growing list of things she could do nothing about. The trio were also leering at Stanton, but Frankie didn't care about that. They moved aside to let von Luger, Stanton, and Frankie enter the space beyond—and Frankie's eyes popped wide in surprise and alarm.
The interior of the room was completely clad with shiny stainless steel, walls, ceiling, and floor. Overhead, recessed can-fixtures covered by metal grills provided light, and a row of six-inch steel rings dangled from heavy mounts, and dangling from the rings...
The gagged objection was from Stanton, who was even more wide-eyed and alarmed than Frankie.
Dangling from the rings were, from left to right, Nurses Clark and Kim and Patients Jaybird, Red, and Blondie! All five were naked, as naked as Frankie or Stanton, and they were hogtied—very hogtied! That is, their ankles were lashed to their wrists and additional bands of rope bound their thighs and lower legs together, pinned their arms to their sides, encircled their waists and passed between their legs, and yoked their shoulders. They were hanging stomach down with torsos, tummies, and thighs more-or-less horizontal, suspended by several ropes converging on one of five rings. Also, their fingers and hands were mummified in white tape, their mouths plugged with two-inch ball-gags, their hair bound with rope and tied back to their other bonds and the suspending ropes, and their big toes lashed together with thin cord and also tied to the other ropes. They couldn't lower their heads or do more than squirm and wiggle. Their helplessness was near total.
von Luger walked around and between the suspended nurses and patients, visually inspecting their bonds, squeezing the occasional breast, stroking the occasional thigh, and testing the tightness of the occasional crotch-rope.
"Good job, ladies," von Luger said, apparently addressing her team. They smiled in response. "The Judge?"
"Already in the garage," one of the team answered.
"I wanted to give you an opportunity to say goodbye, Doctor," von Luger said to Stanton. Her right hand was gently squeezing Red's left breast and her left hand patting Jaybird's right butt-cheek. "And for these ladies to say goodbye to you." She took a few steps to the side so all present could see her smiling face. "I have news. Quaking Aspens will be closing down for a few days. There has been a change of management and the new medical director and nursing staff have not yet arrived. In the meantime, these three ladies—" von Luger indicated her three subordinates. "—will act as caretakers. I'm afraid that at first they'll be busy supervising the installation of additional security measures, so they'll have limited time for patient care." von Luger's smile turned even more sinister. "For a while, at least, I'm afraid you ladies will simply have to... hang out."
This elicited snorts of disgust and rolling eyes from von Luger's subordinates, but the five hogtied, suspended captives stared at von Luger with horror, then shifted their gagged-gazes to Stanton, as best they could. Jaybird and Red mewled through their gags. Clark, Kim, and Blondie were more stoic.
"I'm afraid Doctor Stanton can't help you," von Luger said. "Now... I promise you, Quaking Aspens will reopen, with a new doctor, at least three new nurses, and now with five resident patients."
This time all five hanging captives mewled through their gags. They were ignored.
von Luger led Stanton and Frankie from the room, and they watched as one of von Luger's subordinates closed the heavy portal on the five suspended, struggling, mewling prisoners within, then turned the wheel, engaging the bolts. She then snapped a high-security padlock through a heavy-duty hasp to secure the wheel.
Frankie was horrified that the five prisoners on the other side of the door were being abandoned. von Luger was being a real bitch! She suspected Stanton agreed, but the doctor's main reaction seemed to be stunned shock.
"You should see your faces," von Luger chuckled. Her subordinates were equally amused. "My ladies will only leave them hanging like smoked hams until sundown, then will put them to bed, upstairs. If they behave themselves, they'll be just fine." She smiled at Stanton. "As for the new management... that's not really our concern. The new doctor will deal with her patients as she see fit—within Sisterhood guidelines, of course."
Frankie and Stanton exchanged a gagged look. Stanton was still stunned, but Frankie was relieved on the five hanging prisoners behalf... sort of... maybe. So, Clark and Kim are demoted to patient, Frankie thought. Isn't that a shame... not!
Meanwhile, von Luger had strolled away. Her three subordinates "suggested" Stanton and Frankie follow by means of business-like slaps on their rumps, and they all followed the blond amazon down the hallway.
As they turned the corner, Frankie looked back at the heavy steel portal sealing the five supremely helpless patients in their steel cell and shuddered in sympathy.
They rode the elevator up to the ground floor, made their way through the main building, then down an enclosed causeway towards an outbuilding. Through the glass wall of the causeway Frankie could see a row of vehicle-size doors. She surmised the outbuilding was the main garage.
Oh by the way, the causeway was unheated and the air was cold, and from her goosebumps and erect nipples it was obvious that Stanton was also cold. Frankie was certainly cold. They passed into the outbuilding and things were slightly better. There was at least some heat. Also, it was a garage. There were several parked cars, but the captives were led towards a black SUV. In fact, it was an SUV limousine.
Next to the SUV, two more of von Luger's black-clad subordinates waited on either side of a wheelchair, and seated in the wheelchair was Judge Bowden. She was naked, but for a full-length body-harness. Her hands were at her sides, encased in leather mitts, and black leather straps pinned her arms to her sides, yoked her shoulders, and continued down her body to her ankles. Her Honor was completely helpless. She was also gagged with a head-caging harness that anchored a black rubber ball in her mouth. Her dark curls were pulled back in a loose ponytail, and she stared at the approaching party with wide, brown eyes.
The two new minions were both brunettes and European in appearance. One had long, loose brown curls, a tan complexion, and brown eyes, and the other had straight hair cropped short in a pageboy, fair skin, and blue eyes.
The brunette with the pageboy spoke. "Silverberry Manor is sending an automobile to retrieve the judge."
Frankie noted that the woman had a French accent, but it was no more pronounced that von Luger's. This 'Sisterhood' is a regular United Nations of gorgeous kidnappers, Frankie thought.
Her smile never wavering, von Luger bowed towards the judge. "I'm sorry, Your Honor, but you're going to have to spend the rest of your vacation as a guest of Mistress Saunders."
The judge squirmed in her bonds and shook her head. Clearly, Bowden wasn't happy; but, in Frankie's opinion, she was more disappointed than upset. She certainly wasn't panicked or afraid. Curiouser and curiouser. I guess she really is some sort of 'client.' Frankie found herself staring at Bowden's nipples, or rather, the round, over-sized band-aids covering her nipples. Under the bandages Frankie could see the shapes of what were probably a pair of studded posts. Apparently, Her Honor had gone through with her "elective surgery."
"Dress the judge in something a little warmer," von Luger ordered. "We wouldn't want her to catch cold while she waits for her ride."
With easy, even casual competence, two of the minions unrolled what amounted to a mummy-style sleeping bag, slid it up Bowden's body—lifting her as required—then zipped its full-length zipper up to her chin. The bag was close-fitting, lined with synthetic fleece pile, and with a cotton or cotton-blend exterior. There were also a number of integrated horizontal and lateral leather straps, and as the minions tightened and buckled the straps, the bag became even more close-fitting. In fact, the straps constituted a second body-harness. Her Honor was now completely helpless—times two.
Meanwhile, a pair of minions had removed Stanton's flex-cuffs and were outfitting her with a set of mitts and body-harness identical to Judge Bowden's "underwear." The doctor seemed resigned to her fate, offering no resistance. A second mummy-bag/body-harness was next, and soon Stanton was doubly harnessed and bag-encased from neck to toes. Finally, a minion removed her plastic ball-gag, but it was immediately replaced by a black, head-harness ball-gag identical to Bowden's.
Obviously, Frankie was next. One of the minions, the Chinese woman, was embracing Stanton from the side, making sure she didn't fall on her face. That left von Luger and four subordinates to deal with Frankie, and Bowden and Stanton would get to watch.
The Indian minion stepped behind Frankie and began untying her box-tie while the African knelt and removed her hobble. They also removed her plastic-covered steel "patient's ID collar." Frankie didn't know how it was accomplished, but there was a click and the collar was opened and pulled away.
Ball-gagged but otherwise free, Frankie rubbed her wrists, glaring at von Luger and her subordinates. Frankie might, emphasis on might, have been able to take one of the minions in a fair fight. Okay, she admitted to herself, probably not. Her kidnappers—her current crop of kidnappers—probably knew all sorts of martial arts and would clean her clock in nothing flat. In any case, Frankie was surrounded by four minions, plus von Luger. To coin a phrase, resistance was futile.
Frankie heaved a gagged sigh and "allowed" herself to be dressed in a third pair of mitts, body-harness, and mummy-bag/harness. She considered making some pithy remark as her ball-gag was unbuckled and removed, but couldn't think of anything appropriately clever. A third head-harness ball-gag was buckled in place, and the issue was moot. Now, Frankie found herself standing next to Stanton and the Chinese minion with the Indian minion making sure she, Frankie, didn't lose her balance and do a face-plant on the garage floor.
von Luger bowed to Judge Bowden. "Until we meet again, Your Honor," she said, then gestured towards the SUV limo.
The minions lifted Stanton and Frankie's bundled forms, carried them to the limo, and deposited them in the back. Stanton got the right forward-facing window seat and Frankie the left forward-facing window seat. They were buckled in place with the usual shoulder and lap belts. In addition, straps tightened around their ankles, making kicking impossible. The back of the limo was quite spacious. The windows were darkly tinted, as was the glass partition between the passenger and driver's seat.
von Luger climbed into the back, settled herself in the backwards-facing seat and tightened her shoulder and lap belt. Her ankles remained free, of course, and she crossed her legs and smiled at Stanton and Frankie.
The partition rolled down and Frankie could see their driver was to be the French minion with the pageboy. She smiled at von Luger as she settled a chauffer's cap atop her head. "Are we ready, Madame?" she inquired.
"We are," von Luger confirmed.
Their driver/minion tapped the brim of her cap, the partition rolled up, and the engine purred to life. The appropriate garage door opened, and they were off. Frankie squirmed in her bonds. The windows were tinted but she could still see. They backed from the garage, the driver did a Y-turn, and they descended the driveway.
As they made the final switchback and approached Quaking Aspen's front gate, the gate rolled open and an antique car turned off the highway onto the driveway. Frankie thought it might be a Rolls Royce, a really big, really old Rolls Royce, and on the driver's door was a tasteful sign that read: "Silverberry Manor." She surmised that Judge Bowden's ride had arrived.
And then, they were on the highway and speeding away from Quaking Aspens.
Frankie turned and looked at her former captor and now fellow abductee. Stanton was staring straight ahead, the classic thousand yard stare. Clearly, she was still dealing with what had happened... was happening... whatever it was. Frankie shifted her gaze to von Luger, and found her current kidnapper smiling at her.
"It's only a couple of hours to the airport," von Luger said.
Frankie carefully suppressed her reaction. Airport?
"I suggest you relax and enjoy the scenery. These mountains cannot match my beloved Chiemgauer Alpen, but they have their charm."
Frankie sighed and followed von Luger's advice. This area was pretty... if you're into big piles of rock and snow. The air was clear, the sun bright, and the road more-or-less dry. They passed the occasional car or truck. Frankie's heart skipped a beat when they passed a state police cruiser, but the limo's windows were tinted and there was no reason the cops would be interested in an SUV sedately driving at or just below the posted speed limit. She heaved another gagged sigh.
The journey continued.
The SUV and its passengers descended onto a wide valley between two lines of peaks running more-or-less north to south. Their airport destination was a rural, commercial/private affair with a scatter of modest hangers and a small control tower. A row of typical private aircraft were parked to one side, probably owned by local farmers and ranchers. There was also a crop dusting business with a biplane painted cherry red with international orange accent stripes parked in front of a small hanger with signs and decorative stripes in the same colors.
The SUV's ultimate destination, however, was a somewhat larger hanger some distance from the others. As they pulled up to the side door a tanker truck was pulling away. Waiting to greet them was yet another black-clad minion—at least Frankie assumed she was a minion. She was in von Luger's uniform-of-the-day, anyway, and her stance and beauty radiated the same athletic grace and competence as the others. She had ginger hair, cropped boyishly short, an abundance of freckles, and green eyes. Frankie noticed all that when the SUV rolled to a stop, the back window rolled down, and the ginger made her report.
"Fully fueled and ready to depart at your convenience," the ginger told von Luger with a slight Irish accent. What? No Brazilians, Russians, Aussies, or Eskimos? Frankie thought sarcastically. Obviously, either the Sisterhood's recruiters put a premium on ethnic diversity, or it was a truly global organization. Increasingly, Frankie's money was on the later. She still had very little to go on, but was beginning to suspect she'd stumbled onto something really big. She just hoped she'd get a chance to write a story about it... and keep on living.
A vehicle door rolled open, the SUV rolled into the hanger and more minions unbuckled and lifted Frankie and Stanton from the back. Frankie found herself staring at a private jet, a big private jet. It was smaller than your typical short-hop commercial airliner, but bigger than a Lear jet. It was also somewhat exotic, with two engines slung under sweptback wings, a V-shaped tail, and a shark-like nose. It was painted a gleaming gunmetal-gray with blue accent stripes, but other than the required registration number (N-blah-blah-blah), it was unmarked. That thing is von Luger's ride? Frankie was impressed... and beginning to feel very unimportant (and afraid).
Frankie and Stanton were plunked into wheelchairs and rolled towards a loading platform. von Luger joined them, a motor hummed, and the platform rose to the level of the aircraft's open door. The prisoners were then rolled inside, unbuckled from their chairs, and transferred to large, overstuffed, airline passenger chairs.
Frankie looked around the cabin. She'd never been in a private jet before. She'd never even flown first class. Her surroundings were plush and swanky, with a bar to one side and the seats arranged in groups of two or three, instead of in rows. There was also a desk or worktable with a pair of facing chairs and a computer workstation. Passengers could chat with their neighbors in the conversation groups, get work done at the desk, or, as was the case with Frankie and Stanton, relax in helpless bondage. And speaking of bondage, they were belted into their chairs at both shoulders, as well as their waists, thighs, and ankles.
This final, triple layer of restraints was fitted by the aircraft's flight attendant. She was wearing a rather retro-style uniform: sensible heels, dove-gray stocking, white blouse and gloves, sky-blue skirt and coat, and a matching, pillbox-style hat with a sweeping, wing-like accent. Pinned to her blouse was a gold pin in the shape of a rook or castle chess piece with a single wing. A second, similar gold pin adorned her hat. She was a cute little thing, and Jackie meant "little" quite literally, estimating her height be something like five feet, maybe five-one. She had straight brown hair cropped in a Lulu bob, big, sparkling brown eyes, and a very pleasant, dimpled smile.
von Luger buckled herself in a seat next to Frankie. Stanton's seat was a few yards distant. The tiny stewardess closed and secured the cabin door and the aircraft's engines whirred to life. As far as Frankie could tell, the two captives, von Luger, the stewardess, and whoever was doing the flying were the only souls on board.
The aircraft rolled from the hanger and onto the runway... then continued to taxi. There was a turn, a pause... then the engines roared, Frankie was pressed back in her seat, the nose lifted, and they were in the air.
They climbed for some time, something like ten minutes. Then, a melodic chime sounded and Frankie noticed the subtle signs discretely positioned around the cabin had changed from "FASTEN SEATBELTS" to "UNFASTEN SEATBELTS." Both von Luger and the stewardess took advantage of this permission and unbuckled their belts. von Luger remained in her seat, but the stewardess stepped behind the bar.
I suppose Stanton and I should feel free to wander around the cabin, Frankie thought. There was a problem, of course—several problems if you considered their body-harnesses, mummy-bag encasements, and multiple seat belts separately.
von Luger leaned close and began unbuckling Frankie's head-harness ball-gag. Frankie's flinched at the unexpected contact, then held her head still, even turning it slightly in cooperation. The last buckle released, von Luger eased the rubber ball from Frankie's mouth, and Frankie licked her lips and worked her jaws.
Meanwhile, the stewardess had carried a small tray to von Luger's chair and was clamping it into brackets on the side of one armrest. It was a specialized affair that incorporated a well containing ice and an open bottle of champagne. There were also two smaller wells that held crystal flutes.
Frankie watched as von Luger filled one of the flutes, then took a sip. "Excellent," she sighed, then smiled at the stewardess. "Thank you."
The stewardess smiled and nodded, then strolled to the rear of the cabin.
Frankie watched the uniformed pixie depart, then turned back to find von Luger holding the flute for her to drink—and she did. Excellent, indeed! Frankie thought. There's nothing like a little after-gag champagne to moisten the tonsils.
"Ms. Dekker," von Luger said as she refilled the flute, "I have an important question for you, and I ask you to answer truthfully."
Frankie glowered at her captor. She'd like nothing better than to tell the Teutonic tart to perform certain anatomically questionable activities, but that might make her less inclined to continue sharing the champagne and Frankie was still thirsty. She nodded instead.
"Very well." von Luger took a sip, then held the flute to Frankie's lips and let her empty its contents. "Why did you follow Judge Bowden to Quaking Aspens?"
Frankie paused before answering. Might as well tell the truth, she decided. "Uh, no special reason. Amanda Bowden is on my list."
Frankie shrugged, something her bonds did let her do, after a fashion. "I have a list of potentially interesting people," she explained, "people to keep an eye on, people who might turn into stories."
"You have reason to believe the judge is corrupt?" von Luger demanded, "that she was influenced by criminals or business interests? Is that why she is interesting?"
"No, not really," Frankie answered. "Everyone knows Bowden's a straight arrow. She just seems... noteworthy. I heard about her supposed disappearance, so I looked into it."
von Luger nodded. "It would seem that you have good instincts, a nose for news, as the saying goes. Well this time, you have dangled a small hook and caught yourself a very big fish."
Frankie made no reply.
"This confirms what my technical experts discovered on your various computers, devices, and cloud accounts," von Luger continued. "Their compliments on your security measures, by the way. It took them nearly half an hour to break your encryption."
"Glad I presented a challenge," Frankie drawled. "Now, answer a question for me. Where are you taking me, and what the hell is this 'Sisterhood' you keep babbling about?"
"I'm afraid that's two questions, Ms. Dekker," von Luger chuckled, "and I will answer neither, not at this time, anyway."
Frankie opened her mouth to say more, then noticed a commotion at Stanton's seat. The flight attendant was forcing foam earplugs into the doctor's ears, and that was followed by a black leather blindfold that she tightened over Stanton's eyes and buckled behind her head. Next, she tugged a black, form-fitting, spandex hood over Stanton's gagged, blindfolded, and ear-plugged head.
No champagne for the doc, Frankie thought, then her eyes popped wide. The stewardess had pulled a small syringe from her jacket pocket and removed the plastic cover from the needle. She then pinned Stanton's head against the seat's headrest, lifted the hood away from the side of her neck, and plunged the needle into her neck muscles.
"Nrrrr!" The gagged complaint was from Stanton, of course. Frankie continued to stare.
The syringe was one of those auto-injectors, the kind sometimes used by diabetics to inject insulin. It was pressurized or spring loaded. In any case, the deed was soon done, the hood was back in place, and the stewardess was walking towards Frankie and von Luger. The smile on her pixie face was adorable (and sinister).
"Uh, surely you can tell me something," Frankie said. Her eyes were on the stewardess, but her words were for von Luger. "Mrrrpfh!"
Unfortunately, von Luger's answer was to begin the process of restoring Frankie's harness-gag. The ball was already in her mouth—"Mmmmf!"—von Luger was holding her head steady, and the stewardess was buckling the many straps. Frankie squirmed and struggled, but could do nothing meaningful to impede the process. From the corner of one eye Frankie noticed that Stanton had stopped moving. Apparently, the injection had put her to sleep. "Nnnn!" Now, the stewardess was shoving earplugs in Frankie's ears, and then was readying a second blindfold. The last thing Frankie saw before the black leather covered her eyes was von Luger's smiling face. A spandex hood followed, then, Frankie's head was pinned to the headrest and the side of her neck bared. "Nrrrrpfh!" She knew what was coming. There was a prick, a warm sensation, then the hood was pulled down.
What the hell is this Sisterhood? Frankie wondered as her head began to swim. Multicolored flashes, like tiny fireworks, sparkled across the darkness before her blindfolded and hooded face. Who are they? And what do they want with me?
Those were Frankie's final coherent thoughts before she lapsed into unconsciousness.
The airplane continued on its journey, and sometime later the stewardess served von Luger, the pilot, the copilot, and herself a delicious inflight meal. They had a choice of Chicken Scaloppine with Saffron Cream Sauce or Veal Chop Saltimbocca.
||Chapter 9 & the story entire
|The Saga of Frankie Dekker will continue in...|
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