Damosel Island
Welcome to Damosel Island

by Van ©2016


Dramatis Personæ


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 spine.

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 months.

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 detail.

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 day.

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, squirming body.

"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 stairs.

"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 crotch.

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 Central Asia...

Lucy!Agents 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 protocol.

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 athletes.

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 sparring.

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 and parries.

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 points.

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 sand.

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 Vetwrap.

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.

The 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 bulbs.

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 wheels.

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 leather.

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 purred.

"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 Mothers."

"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, Mistress."

"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 spread-eagle.

"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 blond mane."

"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 her nipples."

Hanne's blue eyes popped wide and she tugged on her wrist cuffs.  "Mrrrk?"

"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 work?"

"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 their choice?"

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 equipment cabinets.

Welcome to Damosel Island

Academic Pursuits

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 activities.

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 neck.

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 dread.

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 could drink.

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 course."

"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 disposal."

"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 you graduate."

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 stupid questions.

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 take notes."

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 Academy continued.

Welcome to Damosel Island

& the story entire


Chapter 8 Send feedback to the author e-mail