She blinded me with Science!
Doctor Andromeda O'Hara
tapped the touchscreen one final time, placing the OP system on
standby. All diagnostic routines were complete, the
program controlling the next experimental protocol was loaded,
and all was in readiness. Andi took a step back... and a
shiver of anticipation rippled through her crotch and up her
That morning, Andi had taken her usual shower upon rising.
After carefully drying and arranging her hair, she selected her
best blouse and skirt from her closet and took special care with
her makeup. Finally, she donned a neatly pressed, sky-blue
lab coat, stepped into a pair of high-heeled pumps, then headed
for the control room. She made a side trip to grab a cup
of coffee, but was too nervous to eat breakfast.
And while Andi prepared for her day―her very special
day―Petra's security personnel had made their
preparations for the next experimental run. And Andi was
very much aware of the actions of the two, three, or however
many strong, athletic, highly trained, and probably bikini-clad
women Petra had detailed to the task. It had done nothing
to ease Andi's continuing nervousness.
It had been nearly a month since the Action Directorate
she-ninjas had descended on the island and interrupted Andi and
Effie's research. Their interrogations had been...
unpleasant... not counting the orgasms coaxed from their
helpless, naked bodies, orgasms fiendishly intended to disrupt
their supposed resistance to answering their interrogators'
questions. Afterwards, once they were cleared of all
wrongdoing, they'd hoped to be able to perform the remaining
protocols and complete Frankie Dekker's data file, but "Jane,"
the representative of the Great Mothers, had absconded with the
beautiful, delightfully feisty brunette, leaving them in the
lurch. They didn't know the complete details, but Petra
made it clear they were going to have to continue their research
without Frankie Dekker.
Luckily, the two sessions they'd completed with Frankie before
the intervention had provided valuable data.
And then, Petra summoned Andi to her office to discuss the
future. Effie had remained back at the lab, hard at work
analyzing the numbers and unaware of Andi's temporary
absence. Handcuffs, a ball-gag, and a spandex
hood/blindfold had been a part of the summons, but once Andi was
in Petra's office, the bikini-clad security amazons had removed
her restraints. Petra had explained that she wanted the
Orgasmatron Project to continue, had apologized for the
disruption (much to Andi's amazement), and suggested that now
was the time for Andi to implement the extra-special set of
experiments she'd been secretly planning for the last several
Andi had professed ignorance of any secret plans, of course, but
that ended when Petra smiled, pressed a virtual button on a
touchscreen, and the contents of Andi's personal and encrypted
folder labeled "OP-E" appeared on the office's many ridiculously
huge, high definition screens in crisp, unencrypted
Anyway, Andi was dismissed and returned to Effie and the
lab. Again, the gratuitous use of the handcuffs, ball-gag,
and hood was involved. A week passed... and today was the
Andi primped her hair in the reflective surface of one of the
momentarily idle computer screens, heaved a sigh and prepared
herself, then strolled to the door into the OP chamber and
started down the stairs.
Effie was waiting, and waiting was her only option.
Petra's amazons had seen to that. The little Brit was
naked and semi-reclined on the chamber's chair/armature, barely
able to squirm thanks to the many nylon straps dimpling the
flesh of her ankles, wrists, and shoulders, as well as virtually
everything in between. The straps that would pin her head
against the headrest weren't yet in place, but her lips were
sealed by a wide strip of white Elastoplast tape.
Another thrill rippled through Andi's crotch as she descended
the stairs and strolled towards her helpless colleague.
Effie squirmed, tugged on her inescapable bonds, and continued
mewling through her tape-gag. Andi feared her mask of
professional detachment might be slipping―but mainly she was
concerned she might start dampening her panties.
She's sooooo beautiful, Andi thought, gazing into Effie's
wide, questioning eyes. She gave her friend and fellow
scientist a reassuring smile, then reached out, cupped Effie's
right breast, and gave it a gentle squeeze. She knew Effie
would find the boob compression not what one would call
reassuring, but she couldn't help herself. Why? (1)
the firm, pink globe with its erect nipple framed by the
tan-lines of the Brit's absent bikini-top was irresistibly
enticing; (2) poor, frightened, confused Effie desperately
needed any form of reassurance, however dubious; and (3)
Andi was only human.
Andi released Effie's breast, then carefully peeled the tape
from the helpless Brit's lips.
Effie licked her lips and continued gazing at her colleague's
smiling face. "Andi?" she said finally, in a near
whisper. "W-what's happening?"
Andi gently combed her fingers through Effie's tousled
hair. "Isn't it obvious, darling? We agreed we need
another reluctant and involuntary subject to complete this phase
of the project."
Effie swallowed nervously. "But... me?" She
tugged on her bonds. "I don't want to!"
A wave of delicious wickedness―Andi didn't know what else to
call it―washed through Andi's pussy and up her spine.
"That's why they call it 'reluctant and involuntary,' darling."
"But..." Effie tugged on her bonds, again. "I-I-I'm
needed in the control room!"
Her lips curled in one of her signature, saucy smiles, Andi
reached down and began toying with Effie's right nipple.
"Silly goose, Sally can make any adjustments I'm too busy to
handle. In fact, she could run the entire session on her
own, remotely, from SIAS." She released the nipple, then
began attaching the required sensors to Effie's naked, helpless,
"Please, Andi," Effie begged, "I'm afraid."
Andi had finished with the sensor pads and was readying the oral
breath monitoring appliance (gag). She paused to smile at
her colleague and guinea-pig. "I know you are, darling,"
she sighed, "but the system can't possibly cause you any harm,
physical or psychological. You know that. You helped
me design it that way."
Effie shivered in her bonds. "I know, but... Please,
Andi." Her eyes widened as the gag approached her
mouth. "No! Andi! Mrrrrpfh!"
"I'll make it up to you, tonight," Andi promised as she secured
the gag and forehead straps, pinning Effie's head in place and
completing the final preparations. "I've asked Petra's
kitchen to deliver a lobster dinner. Won't that be
great?" She leaned close and kissed the tip of Effie's
button nose... then her right nipple... and then her left,
giving the erect nubbin of flesh a playful tug with her teeth in
the process. She then turned and strolled towards the
"Mmmmmf!" It was more a pathetic whine than a scream on
Effie's part. She squirmed and fought her inescapable
bonds with all her strength as she watched her traitorous
colleague climb the stairs and enter the control room. The
lights in rhe chamber dimmed, the full-spectrum light show of
the overhead array of active/passive sensor and electromagnetic
emission modules began, and Stimulatory Module #1 left its
cubicle and rolled on its treads along the track embedded in the
floor and towards Effie's splayed legs and prominently exposed
At least three sessions were required for a complete workup of a
test subject, two with Module #1 and the third with Module #2,
the module they never got to use on Frankie―and depending on the
results, more sessions might be required to refine the
data. So, with one day on and one day off, that was five
days! Maybe more!
She's not going keep me naked and in restraints all that time,
is she? Effie thought as the module closed the final
distance and its proximal surface began to reconfigure,
preparing to penetrate and mold itself to what Effie still
thought of as her "naughty bits." What will we do at
night? Is she going to make me sleep in her bed, tied up
and naked? That's what we often do with our test
subjects, to keep them safe. Also―"Mrrrrk!"
The module was in place and the session was underway.
Up in the control room, Andi monitored the progress of the data
run (and was finding it very difficult to refrain from
playing with herself).
|Welcome to Damosel Island
Everybody was kung fu fighting!
Somewhere on the steppes of
Annika von Luger and Zhi Yin bowed to the referee, bowed to each
other, then dropped into fighting stance. This was a
formal sparring bout with established rules designed to prevent
debilitating injuries, but there was still a danger one or both
of the combatants might require treatment in the Action
Directorate base's excellent and fully equipped infirmary before
the day was done. Annika and Yin's advanced training
greatly lessened that risk, of course.
The referee was one of the base instructors, an expert in all
modes of armed and unarmed combat. She was dressed in a
special version of the field uniform of the Action Directorate:
boots and a skintight, spandex catsuit; however in her case, the
catsuit was crimson, as was the hood and mask covering her head
and leaving only a narrow slit over her eyes. The red
color designated her status as referee, as did the red sash
around her waist and the coils of red cord tucked in the sash.
The combatants were naked, with their skins lightly oiled.
Both had all-over tans, although, thanks to her recent
assignment on Damosel Island, Annika's skin was somewhat darker,
almost bronze. That said, it was clear that Yin was no
stranger to the sun. Her raven-black hair was pulled back
in a tight ponytail and secured with a short length of red cord
that had been tied by the referee. Both combatants had
been thoroughly and intimately inspected beforehand. The
use of "surprises" was an element of Action Directorate
training, but hidden weapons were not allowed under this
They were in the base's main training arena, a circular stadium
with a sand floor and bleacher-style seating on all sides.
There were spectators, as the base had been buzzing with word of
the bout for days. Some of the people lounging in the
stands were in catsuits, black or otherwise, and some were in
civies. Wagering was involved. Annika was taller and
heavier than her opponent, but Zhi Yin's prowess was
legendary. The general consensus was that either agent
could win, but they both had their partisans in the stands.
Combat began slowly. That is, the referee gave the signal,
took a step back... and nothing happened... not for at least a
full minute. This was expected. There were no sign
of impatience on the part of the referee, nor were there
catcalls from the spectators. The combatants were sizing
each other up, waiting for the tensing of muscles or slight
shifting of weight that would signal an attack.
And then, it happened.
In a flurry of kicks, punches, and spins, Annika and Yin came
together. The exchange took about fifteen seconds, a very
long time for such things, and the action was almost too fast
for the audience to follow, especially from the stands.
Fists or open hands were met by blocking palms, as were pointing
feet or heels.
And then, it was over.
Both opponents were breathing a little heavier, but the oil
glistening on their skin made it difficult to tell it they'd
started sweating. There was another interlude of two
living statues in fighting stance sizing each other up, more
waiting for the audience.
And then, the second pass happened. It was as silent and
inconclusive as the first. The slap of blocked blows and
parried kicks was the only sound. As the dangerous dance
progressed, Yin's swinging, swaying ponytail was the only visual
distraction, other than the shining bodies of the two superb
Pause, attack , pause, attack, pause, attack...
The match clock was deliberately placed so that it couldn't be
read by the combatants in the arena. The spectators knew
that nearly half an hour had passed since the start of the bout,
and so did the referee, thanks to the timepiece built into her
left wrist bracer, but the opponents had to rely on their
internal clocks. Timing was an important element of
unarmed combat, both the timing of offensive and defensive moves
and the progression of time in the world at large. An
agent needed to be aware. Some tactical situations
required a combatant to take risks and force a conclusion.
Other times, like the current bout, caution was required,
especially when two such talented and experienced agents were
Pause, attack, pause, attack, pause, attack...
By this time, it was abundantly clear that both combatants were
dripping with sweat, and their strength was waning.
Inexperienced spectators, those with only a few months of
training, might have missed the signs―not with respect to the
sweating, panting, and heaving breasts, but with respect to the
ever so slight slowing of the blows exchanged, or the
diminishing force and marginal loss of precision of the strikes
There had been throws and take-downs, so sand adhered to various
parts of the opponents' limbs and bodies. The copious
sweat had caused runnels in some of the sandy patches, Annika's
hair was a damp mass of dark blond curls, and errant strands had
escaped Yin's ponytail and were plastered to her shining
face. Annika and Yin were messes, badly in need of a trip
to the showers and/or the hot and cold plunging pools. No
points had been scored by either opponent, thus far.
Pause, attack, pause, attack, pause, attack...
The clock was approaching the one hour mark, the designated
maximum limit of combat under this protocol. Still no
Suddenly, just as the clock reached the hour mark, the sand all
around the periphery of the arena exploded as something like
twenty female figures in camouflaged catsuits erupted from
spider-holes! This was totally unexpected by Annika, Yin,
and the spectators. Gasps, followed by cheers and applause
greeted the ambush.
The attackers were a score of intermediate agents-in-training,
all between eighteen and twenty. Their instructors agreed
that it would be an excellent challenge for their students to
plan and execute the capture of two such experienced agents as
the legendary Annika von Luger and Zhi Yin. The mission
targets weren't informed of the exercise, of course, so it would
be training for them as well.
Lassos flew and were dodged or batted aside. Students
attacked, and were sent flying by the former opponents, now
fighting back-to-back. More lassos flew, with the same
result. More students attacked, also with the same
result. And then, the inevitable happened. A lasso
succeeded in pinning Yin's arms to her sides. Another
lasso tightened around Annika's ankles and she crashed to the
The students pounced while the spectators cheered. Soon,
both senior agents were gagged with wads of cloth and folded
scarves and bound hand and foot.
Not a word had been spoken, not by Annika and Yin, and not by
their attackers. What was the point? Empty threats
were a waste of precious breath.
There was a final cheer as the students carried their prizes
from the arena, then the crowd dispersed. Annika and Yin's
bound and gagged forms were taken first to the bathhouse, where
they were deluged with warm water to remove the sand of the
arena, then to a small building off to one side.
The building was well known to all students and agents of the
Action Directorate. Its nickname was "the fun-house," but
in point of fact, it was an array of torture chambers. The
various classrooms and labs were equipped to teach both the art
of conducting and resisting interrogation.
Annika and Yin remained bound from head to toe and well-gagged,
and now they were stood upright and pressed together
face-to-face, boob-to-boob, tummy-to-tummy, and thigh-to
thigh. The students compensated for their prisoners'
difference in height by placing Yin's bare feet on a low
stool. Next, rope tightened around the two captives, a
great deal of rope, all of it applied with the consummate skill
expected of a class of Action Directorate student-agents.
The web of rope was elaborate and well-hitched, enforcing
complete body-to-body intimacy.
Next, Annika and Yin's gags were removed and their faces pressed
close and their lips together. The captives cooperated, in
that they each turned their heads slightly to the right, but
really, they had no choice. Bandages tightened around
their heads, enforcing the involuntary kiss, foam earplugs were
compacted and placed in their ears, and the wrapping
continued. Slits to either side were left to ensure the
prisoners could breathe, but the wrapping continued until almost
all of both heads disappeared under tight, mummifying layers of
A leather body-sack was next. It encased the prisoners and
numerous straps buckled tight from their ankles to their necks,
reinforcing the rope-enforced togetherness. Taking
overkill into the realm of the ludicrous, the bound,
kiss-gagged, and leather encased prisoners were placed inside a
vertical cage, a form-fitting, gibbet-cage of iron bands just
big enough to hold both captives. Padlocks clicked closed,
the crank of a windlass turned, and the cage and its
ridiculously overly-restrained occupants were lowered into a
circular, well-like pit... and lowered... and lowered.
Finally, the windlass was secured with a padlock, the two halves
of a hatch of heavy steel closed around the chain, sealing the
opening, bolts were thrown, and more padlocks clicked closed.
The "Pit of Woe" was designed to soften up prisoners, prior to
the use of more active interrogation techniques. All of
Annika and Yin's student-captors had recently experienced the
helpless terror of languishing in the pit, and by unanimous vote
had agreed that it was a good place to store their captives
until their instructors gave them further orders.
Annika and Yin squirmed in their inescapable bonds. They
found it was possible to open their mouths enough to exchange
saliva and tongues, but that was about all they could do.
Time passed... and the endless kiss continued.
Thus it was that Agent Annika von Luger met her new partner...
and Agent Zhi Yin met her new partner. The Action
Directorate Mothers agreed that the blonde and raven-haired
beauties would make an excellent team. With additional
advanced training, they would become one of several Special
Action Pairs, assigned to troubleshooting any of the especially
difficult situations that had been known to plague the
Sisterhood from time to time.
More time passed, more than enough for Annika and Yin to recover
their strength from their hour in the arena. How long
would they be left in the pit? That was not for them to
know, but the Mothers were big believers in the use of "bonding
experiences" as part of their agents' training.
|Welcome to Damosel Island
The doctor will see you now.
little blonde was Dutch, with a trim, athletic figure, full
breasts, a flat tummy, smooth skin, and a very beautiful
face. She'd only been on Damosel Island a short time, so
while she did have a healthy tan, she also had distinct
tan-lines that outlined the shape of the string bikini she
usually wore while swimming or sunbathing. By all
appearances, she was little more than a girl―albeit a clearly
post adolescent, very shapely, very pretty girl―but her actual
age was 22.
One minor detail: she was naked, flat on her back, and strapped
to a wheeled, stainless steel table with her arms at her sides
and her bare feet a few inches apart. She squirmed and
fought the thick, wide, brown leather straps that cuffed her
wrists and ankles and pinned her to the table across her shins,
thighs, hips and forearms, waist, and above her heaving
breasts. She would have complained (in Dutch, French,
German, and/or English), but a large ball of rubber foam was
stuffed in her mouth and her lower face tightly covered by a
wide strip of some sort of white medical tape.
Her blue eyes darted from side to side as she was wheeled down a
dark corridor, from pool of light to pool of light as she passed
under hanging fixtures with rust-stained, cobweb covered,
industrial style shades and single, somewhat dimly glowing
The blonde and her cart were being pushed by a woman in a
jade-green surgical gown, white surgical cap, and white surgical
mask, with latex-gloved hands. Her eyes were green, and a
little of her pulled-back hair was visible, enough to make it
clear that she was a redhead.
"Mrrrrpfh!" The blonde squirmed and mewled through her gag
as the ominous journey continued.
The redhead didn't react in any way, but merely continued
pushing the cart. The struggling, naked, bound and gagged
blonde might as well have been 105 pounds of luggage or some
other innocuous cargo.
The blonde looked down her strapped-down, naked body and could
see that they were approaching a curtain of vertical strips of
translucent plastic glowing with an eerie light. The
redhead pushed the cart through the strips, and they entered a
large room with walls draped with hanging sheets of the same
heavy plastic. The redhead pushed the cart to the center
of the room, under a bank of bright spotlights, and locked the
The blonde lifted her tape-gagged head and continued examining
her surroundings. The spotlights were bright, but she
could see stainless steel cabinets and racks of what were
probably medical monitors and/or equipment against the plastic
drapes on all sides. Off to one side she could also see a
tall, narrow, upright cage of gleaming, stainless steel bars,
and standing inside the cage―
"MRRRRF!" The blonde screamed through her gag and fought
the straps with all her strength.
Inside the cage, lit from above and clearly visible, was what
the blonde could only describe as a catwoman! She had a
very human, very feminine shape, with full breasts, narrow
waist, and flaring hips, but she was completely covered with
fur! That is, she had a short fur coat in various shades
of gray and white in a tiger stripe pattern. Her eyes were
yellow, with vertical pupils, and her pointed, twitching ears
were very... catlike. Also, she had a long, furry tail
that swayed behind her back.
Also, the cat/human hybrid was bound and gagged. A
ball-gag was strapped in her mouth, and her sharp, prominent
canines were clearly visible against the gag's translucent, red
latex mouth-plug. Her shoulders were rolled back, making
her breasts quite prominent, and her arms and hands (paws?) were
encased behind her back in a single-sleeve armbinder of black
One final detail: The bare nipples of the catwoman's furry
but otherwise very human breasts were pierced by steel rings,
and the rings were joined by a light, drooping steel chain.
The anthropomorphic, feline captive fought her bonds and mewled
(or meowed) through her gag.
The surgically masked redhead gave the blonde's right shoulder a
reassuring pat with a latex-gloved hand. "There, there,"
she said. "Try and remain calm. I assure you, the
procedure is more-or-less painless. A few injections to
stimulate hair growth, a little light surgery to rearrange your
ears and attach your tail, and I'll have you in the
post-operative zoo in no time."
"MRRRR!" This did nothing to calm the struggling blonde.
Just then, the plastic strip curtain parted and Petra La Roque
entered the surgical suite. She was wearing sandals, a
string bikini in metallic gold, a long, nearly transparent robe
embroidered with gold thread in a swirling pattern that evoked
ocean waves, and a hundred-thousand dollars worth of elegant,
understated gold jewelry. Smiling her most sinister smile,
she strolled to the table and placed her right hand on the
blonde's right breast, gave it a gentle squeeze, then directed
her smile to the redhead. "You weren't going to start
without me, were you?"
The redhead rolled her eyes. "Seeing as how you didn't see
fit to tell you were coming, yes."
Petra locked eyes with the panting, squirming blonde. "I
was tied up in a conference call with the Great Mothers," she
"Tied up?" the redhead inquired, then pulled down her mask,
revealing the beautiful, freckled face of Edith Stanton.
"Metaphorically," Petra chuckled, giving the blonde's breast
another squeeze. "How are you doing, Hanne?
Terrifying, isn't it?"
Hanne, the blonde, continued squirming and mewling.
"Quite the little actress, isn't she?" Petra purred.
Suddenly, Hanne stopped struggling and glared at the
smiling, gloating Petra.
"Sorry to break your concentration, darling," Petra chuckled.
"So, the Great Mothers have forgiven you?" Edith asked.
Petra's smile faded, and she released her gentle grip on Hanne's
breast. Being on top was very much the norm for Petra La
Roque, but even she appreciated the occasional infrequent and very
temporary visit to the bottom. Besides... the Great
Mothers were the Great Mothers. "I've retained my position
as Disciplinarian for North America," she finally answered, "but
with a year's probationary oversight by a committee of Great
"I see," Edith purred, her lips curled in a coy smile.
"Don't get cheeky, Dr. Stanton," Petra huffed. "You may be
the new senior executive in charge of developing my newest
venue, but it's still my island. As I
recall, you never did get a chance to visit the dungeons under
the Pirate Queen's Castle. I can easily arrange
for an extended tour."
Edith's smile faded. "Yes, Mistress. Sorry,
"Don't get all cowering minion on me, Edith," Petra
purred. "You know I expect my executives to walk the
tightrope between confidante and sycophant. That makes it
all the more fun when I decide to punish them."
Edith's smile returned (carefully). "Of course, Mistress."
"Anyway, the mysterious but benign machinations of the Great
Mothers are above your pay-grade." She nodded towards the
cage. "The new body-suit is quite realistic. How is
the test going?"
"So far, so good," Edith responded. "Cathy is in day three
of continuous wear. I dunked her in the ocean, rinsed her
off, and the suit was by all appearances unaffected. I'll
peel her out of the thing tomorrow and examine her skin for any
signs of irritation."
"From head to toe, no doubt," Petra purred, gazing at the
faux-feline in the cage.
Dr. Stanton didn't bother confirming Petra's assertion. Of
course she'd examine Cathy's entire body from head to toe,
with the delicious little brunette up on her toes in a standing
"So, what's in store for Hanne?" Petra inquired.
"To be absolutely honest," Edith sighed, "I'm undecided.
Your R&D people have sent me doggie and monkey prototype
suits for testing, but neither is suitable for Hanne's pretty
"What about the 'Gill-Girl' suit?" Petra asked.
Edith shrugged. "There's not much to test. It's just
a realistically fish-like, full-length wetsuit with gloves,
booties, a full-head mask, and well-hidden zippers.
Besides, the aquarium cage isn't ready."
"I see," Petra said, smiling down at Hanne. "So, this is
just an acting exercise?"
"She thinks so," Edith answered, "but as long as I have her
naked and helpless, I thought I'd take the occasion to pierce
Hanne's blue eyes popped wide and she tugged on her wrist
"Don't get shirty with me, young lady," Edith
purred. "You checked and initialed the nipple box
on your transfer application." She lifted her gaze to
Petra. "That reminds me. My special breast
compression and nipple-lifting armatures arrived from Quaking
Aspens, but there's still no sign of my nurses."
"Your nurses arrived at the same time as your collection of
custom-made toys," Petra answered, "but all new employees
assigned to Damosel Island must undergo a regimen of
indoctrination and evaluation."
"Of course," Edith sighed, rolling her eyes. "So... are
you going to waste more of my time, or can I get back to
"No, by all means, proceed," Petra chuckled. "I have a
teleconference with my London, Paris, and Milan offices in less
than an hour, anyway." She then reached down and cupped
both of Hanne's breasts. "Send me a text when her nipples
have healed," she purred.
"Your wish is my command," Edith muttered, "O Senior Sister and
Mistress of Damosel Island."
Petra chuckled, released Hanne's breasts, and turned to stroll
towards the curtain.
"Let me know when you think of a name for this place," Edith
said as her employer and patron of her fabulous new playground
departed. "The design team has taken to calling it 'Doctor
Stanton's Clinic of Horror,' but that sounds too much like a
late night horror film anthology on basic cable."
"That it does," Petra laughed. "Perhaps we should hold a
contest," she added as she parted the curtain and disappeared.
Edith turned back to her victim and/or subordinate
employee. "That might work," she chuckled. "Winner
gets free piercings and a month as the human/animal hybrid of
Hanne didn't answer, what with her effective gag. She
continued tugging on her wrist cuffs and staring at the
surgically masked doctor with wide, blue eyes.
"Now, let's see about those nipples, shall we?" Edith purred,
then turned and strolled towards one of the stainless steel
|Welcome to Damosel Island
Frankie had long since
decided that attending the Sisterhood's "Academy" was like being
simultaneously at a military boot camp and back at university,
at least at her level of instruction.
The students wore uniforms, in the form of plain gray skirts and
tank-tops, with matching tights and sweaters or jackets if the
weather turned cool. For footwear, they wore gray running
shoes for running (appropriately enough), but in classes and
walking around the campus, they usually went barefoot. The
proctors―who were either senior students or junior instructors,
that wasn't entirely clear―explained that it was a good idea to
have tough feet, and warned that eventually the "newbies" would
be required to dispense with shoes altogether and would do their
required running on the track barefoot.
In addition to fitness, grooming was important. There were
classes in haircare, cosmetics, poise and deportment, the entire
panoply of girlie-girl nonsense Frankie detested. She
liked looking good, and already knew how to present an
attractive appearance, but she had to admit the beauty school
faculty had already taught her a few new tricks.
There were also classes in unarmed combat, firearms, and
improvised weapons, such as clubs and broomsticks. Some of
Frankie's fellow students breezed through the instruction and
moved on to advanced classes, but for Frankie and most of her
classmates, self defense had always been hit or miss, pun
intended. In school, meaning before the Academy, when she
was young, Frankie had never been a fighter. She'd been an
athlete, but hadn't received formal training in fisticuffs,
karate, etc. Frankie was discovering that learning to take
care of herself was... empowering. She realized that was
something of a cliché, but there it was.
And speaking of her fellow students, Frankie's classmates were
from every race and continent, like the "natives" and "pirates"
of Damosel Island. They also varied in age from teenagers
to older than Frankie by... a few years?
In terms of academics, there were classes, seminars, and
symposiums in... everything. Some of them Frankie was
required to attend, some she was encouraged to attend, and some
she attended on her own, even if she had to sneak into the
lecture hall and hide in the back rows. It was all
fascinating. Frankie thought she had a handle on world
history, but she was learning the Sisterhood not only had been
around for a very long time, but had influenced world
events to a completely unsuspected degree. Granted, there
had always been female monarchs and leaders, but the fact that
some very famous women of history, like Elizabeth the
First and Lady Nancy Astor, had secretly been members of the
Sisterhood was a revelation. Who knew?
The school's facilities were amazing. Clearly, part of it
was an old castle, with massive towers and high curtain
walls. The stone fortress had been dubbed "Hogwarts" by
the students, as in "I have a ten o'clock class in the North
Tower of Hogwarts." Other parts of the school were more
modern, a mix of architectural styles thrown together in a
compact campus surrounded by forest, hills, and distant
mountains. Geographically, none of the Frankie's student
peers knew exactly where they were. They assumed that at
some point in their studies they would be enlightened.
Frankie considered her teachers to be friends and mentors, as
well as instructors. They were helping her chart a path
through the required curriculum, rather than making her learn
rote lessons, and she could tell they had plans for her
future. It was exhilarating.
At the moment, her required classes for the day were over and
Frankie was on her way back to her dorm, her tablet computer
swinging in the messenger bag slung from her right
shoulder. A single tablet was all any of the students
needed for their studies, as the Sisterhood had digitized
virtually every book ever written and the school's Expert
Learning System, a matrix of programs named "Sally," made it
very easy to navigate the library's virtual stacks.
Frankie passed a line of six students in boots and camouflaged
catsuits, burdened with heavy packs and heading into the
forest. Tactical training was also a part of the
curriculum, in the form of nature hikes (which actually were
nature classes, taught by natural scientists) as well as
survival techniques and escape and evasion exercises.
Frankie wasn't looking forward to that part of her studies, but
she'd cross that bridge (and cower and starve in the wilderness)
when she came to it. She entered the dorm and started
climbing the stairs to her room in the attic.
For recreation, the campus had concerts, various clubs, like
chess and Dungeons & Dragons, as well as swimming and other
water sports, football (soccer), baseball, cricket, field
hockey, etc. Birthday suit was the school's official
sports uniform. It was all very Ancient Greek. And
then there was the school's other recreational
Just as Frankie reached for the doorknob of her
room―"Mrrrpfh!"―she was grabbed from behind and a hand clamped
over her mouth! Not again! Frankie thought as a
ball-gag was popped in her mouth and buckled tight, a hood
dropped over her head, and its Velcro closure secured around her
It turned out that kidnapping and diddling random students was
the Academy's version of Quiddich. That is, seizing,
binding, gagging, stripping naked, and repeatedly boinking (not
necessarily in that order) members of the student body was a
regular occurrence, on a not-to-interfere-with-classwork
basis. It was unclear whether the practice was formal
instruction, and Frankie hadn't yet reached that part of the
curriculum, or an organized, extracurricular student activity,
or both. In any case, it was known to happen, it had
already happened to Frankie on three previous, very memorable
occasions, and now it was happening again!
Multiple unseen hands relieved Frankie of her panties, skirt,
sweater, and tank-top, and rope began tightening around her
body. She struggled and fought, using all her strength and
all the newly acquired martial arts tricks in her repertoire,
but soon, Frankie was helpless. Specifically, her wrists
were tied together in front, her arms lifted and folded back
behind her head, and a harness of rope tied to lash her upper
arms together and to her forearms. Her wrists were
now against the nape of her neck and anchored there by bands of
rope crisscrossing her upper torso and passing above and below
her breasts. As an added precaution (meaning an act of
unnecessary bitchiness), Frankie's thumbs, fingers, and hands
were lashed together with thin cord. Also, her legs were
bound together from her ankles to her upper thighs.
Finally, her big toes were tied together with more cord. Bitches!
Frankie fumed as she squirmed in her captors' implacable grip.
Next, Frankie was carried... someplace. That was as
specific as she could get. It was a long journey, during
which she continued to squirm and mewl through her gag and
hood. It was always the same, and always different.
Eventually, Frankie would be released and would make her way
back to her dorm room to find her messenger bag hanging from its
accustomed hook, her tablet on her desk, and her clothes neatly
folded on the foot of her bed. But first, she'd be taken
to a secluded spot and repeatedly caressed, kissed, and licked
to orgasm. A thrill of dread rippled through her crotch as
she was carried along. Yes, it was dread. It
certainly wasn't arousal and/or anticipation. Frankie had
to maintain her honor as a damsel-in-distress. It was
Finally, inevitably, the journey ended. Frankie was
plopped down on what felt like a bed, her legs and toes were
untied, her legs pulled apart, and ropes tightened around her
ankles, once again. Another rope was added at the junction
of the rope harness behind her back, between her shoulder blades
and the nape of her neck, the ropes were pulled taut, and she
was flat on her back in a "Y"-shaped semi spread-eagle.
Frankie wiggled and squirmed, waiting for the inevitable to
begin. And waited... And waited...
Her kidnappers seemed to have abandoned her. Well...
that's a first, Frankie mused. She explored her
bonds as best she could, but with her fingers expertly bound
with cord, all she could do was confirm her total helplessness.
Seconds passed... and turned into a minute... then two.
Suddenly―"Mrrrk?"―a hand cupped Frankie's left breast and gave
it a gentle squeeze. Frankie recovered from her initial
surprise and resumed her pointless struggling. Very
funny, she fumed. The hand toyed with her left
nipple, teasing it until it was fully erect. It didn't
take much. Then, the owner of the hand (Frankie assumed)
sat on the edge of the bed.
"Good evening, Ms. Dekker," a sexy, alto voice purred.
Frankie recognized the voice... maybe.
Fingers released the Velcro closure and pulled the hood from
Frankie's head. She blinked in the sudden light, and the
identity of owner of the voice was confirmed. Jane?
It was the gorgeous brunette who had rescued Frankie from
Damosel Island and recruited her into the Sisterhood.
Jane―and Frankie still suspected that wasn't her real name―was
dressed in a stylish business suit of dark slate with a
royal-blue silk blouse. Her brown curls were loose about
her shoulders. And her smile...
A thrill rippled through Frankie's body. Jane was
beautiful, gorgeous, stunning, radiant... see also alluring.
Still smiling her beautiful, gorgeous, stunning, etc. smile,
Jane leaned close, loosened Frankie's ball-gag, plucked the
sphere from her mouth, and left the gag dangling from its strap
around her neck. "Are you enjoying your studies at the
Academy?" she inquired.
Frankie looked around before answering. She was in a
bedroom. It was large and well-furnished, in an expensive
but generic way, but without any personal touches like framed
photos, nicknacks, or souvenirs. Frankie surmised she was
in a VIP guest room. It was just a guess, of course, but
she knew "Jane" was a high-ranking Sister. She must be
here for some sort of visit. Frankie licked her lips
and finally answered. "Yes."
There was a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket on the
nightstand. Jane filled a single crystal flute, gently
lifted the back of Frankie's head, and held the flute so she
The bubbly was delicious, and much better than the taste of
ball-gag. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Jane set the flute on the nightstand,
stood, and walked towards what turned out to be a walk-in
closet. She disappeared from Frankie's view, but her voice
carried back into the bedroom.
"The faculty is impressed with your performance, thus far," Jane
said. "I think by this time you realize that most of the
Academy's curriculum is tailored to the needs and talents of
each individual student. Some of our Junior Sisters
require basic education, and some, such as yourself, already
have bachelor degrees and can study at the graduate level.
Almost all of you require physical and practical training, of
"Like self-defense and survival," Frankie suggested.
"Exactly," Jane confirmed. "We have specialized campuses
for advanced studies in spy-craft and covert action, for those
that demonstrate the propensity. It's still too early to
tell where your studies will lead, Ms. Dekker, but the current
consensus is that after a period as a member of the staff of one
of the Senior Sisterhood's many committees, you'll probably
return to your career as an investigative reporter, only now
with the guidance and resources of the Sisterhood at your
"At my disposal?" Frankie said skeptically.
'I'm sure the Sisterhood will have assignments for you from time
to time," Jane said as she strolled back into the bedroom, "but
by and large your life will be your own... eventually... once
Frankie was too stunned to answer. She was too stunned to
fully process Jane's words. But it wasn't in reaction to
the news about her probable future.
Jane had removed both her business suit and her underwear.
In point of fact, she was beautifully, gloriously
naked. See also nude, bare, uncovered, starkers, and in
the buff. And the unclothed Jane fulfilled the promise of
the clothed Jane in every way. Her body was in perfect
proportion, her breasts full and generous, without being overly
large, her tummy flat and well-sculpted, her waist wasp-thin and
her hips and thighs shapely and well-toned. In fact, all
of Jane was well-toned and athletic, but without the physicality
of an amazon like Annika von Luger. Jane was a dancer, an
acrobat, a graceful elf. Frankie was... impressed (and a
little wet between the legs).
"W-what are you gonna... I mean, why are you..." Frankie
blushed and squirmed in her bonds. Talk about your
Jane chuckled as she padded to the bed and gracefully sat next
to Frankie's pinioned form. "The Great Mothers keep me
busy," she purred, "but from time to time I manage to find time
to visit the Academy and meet with the faculty, speak to a class
or two, or deliver a lecture to a select audience.
Besides..." She reached out and used her fingers to gently
comb a few errant strands of Frankie's hair away from her
face. "You're a very beautiful woman, Ms. Dekker."
Her hand moved to Frankie's right breast, gave it a gentle
squeeze... then her fingertips trailed down Frankie's taut
tummy―eliciting a delicate shudder from the helpless
student―through the luxurious curls of her pubic bush, and
gently stroked Frankie's flushed, glistening labia. "I
don't mind in the least taking a few hours out of my schedule to
teach a seminar in the arts of erotic pleasure."
The massage of Frankie's labia continued, as did her squirming
and shivering. "H-how am I supposed to take notes all tied
up like this?" she demanded.
Jane's response was an appreciative grin and three kisses: the
first to Frankie's right nipple... the second to her left
nipple... and the third to Frankie's smiling lips. "If I
do my job correctly," Jane purred, "you won't need to
Smiling her most seductive smile (not that any seduction was
needed, of course) Jane climbed onto the bed on her hands and
knees, settled onto her stomach with her face positioned near
her student's pussy, and Frankie's education at the Sisterhood
|Welcome to Damosel Island
|& the story