|by Van ©2015|
|OUR STORY CONTINUES|
Frankie decided to keep her feelings to herself. She wasn't sure what else Annika could do to her if she pissed her off further, but prudence seemed to be the best course. Naked, her wrists and elbows bound behind her back and a veritable harness of rope yoking her shoulders, pinning her upper arms to her sides, her lower arms to her waist, and her wrist bonds to her waist via her crotch, Frankie did not want to provoke her bikini-clad handler.
Truth be told, Frankie suspected Annika was simply indulging herself, that Frankie's short lived "rebellion" back at the beach was an excuse for the blonde to have a little fun... or what she considered fun, anyway.
They trudged down the jungle trail. The canopy had quickly closed overhead and now they were in a world of green shadows. A little dappled sunlight reached the sand under their bare feet, but only a little. Ferns and fern-like plants and bushes carpeted the understory to either side, as did hanging masses of flowering vines. Visibility was surprisingly good, not that Frankie had a lot of experience (or any experience) with tropical jungles. She found she could see quite a distance into the greenery before the foliage closed in completely.
There was a flash of royal-blue and gold overhead, accompanied by the sound of beating wings, and a pair of parrots glided from the branches and flew away. Cawing noises in the distance suggested there were more birds in the area. Then, with a loud zing, what Frankie took to be a hummingbird crossed the trail at head height. I wonder what else lives around here? she wondered. Probably scorpions, centipedes, spiders the size of my head, and ants, lots of ants. Her bikini-clad handler's hand was still gripping her hair. Add to that cannibals and pirates, Frankie amended her list, unless Annika was making it up... which she probably was.
Thus far, the journey into the primordial green wilderness had only been about two hundred yards, and up ahead Frankie could see a clearing and... a pile of ruins? Actually, as they drew closer, Frankie decided the "ruins" were equal parts dilapidated Meso-American temple, military fortifications, and modern habitat. Sloping walls of textured concrete blocks in various patterns, textures, and natural colors, window-walls and glass doors, balconies with plantings of the same ferns and vines found in the surrounding jungle―the place had a Frank Lloyd Wright look to it, as if the famous architect had been commissioned to design a jungle lair for a stereotypical Bond villain.
Frankie lifted her chin as far as Annika's gripping hand would allow, looked up, and found that camouflage netting was rigged to cover the entire clearing. She very much suspected the place was invisible from the air.
"This way, Miss Dekker," Annika purred, guiding their steps toward a glass door. She maintained her firm grip on Frankie's hair.
"Ow!" Frankie complained. "I'm coming. Don't be such a bitch." As they approached the door, the glass panel automatically swished to the side. It was quite thick and slightly tinted.
"This entire complex is hurricane proof," Annika explained. "Storm shutters roll down to protect all the windows from windblown debris and all openings can be sealed against storm surge."
"Fascinating," Frankie drawled.
They were standing in a large room tastefully furnished and decorated in a Modern, minimalist style that complimented the Modern architecture and the tropical setting. Effie padded into the living room or great-room or whatever they called the place. She'd changed into short-shorts and a sleeveless blouse, her feet were bare, and her long, brown hair was loose about her shoulders. "Oh, brilliant!" she gushed, then called back over her shoulder. "Andi, come see what Annika has done to Frankie!"
"What?" Andi's voice demanded.
"Come see!" Effie reiterated.
Meanwhile, Annika had dragged Frankie more or less to the middle of the room and finally released her hair.
Andi appeared at Effie's side. "If you call me to come see every time Annika does something to Frankie, none of us will get anything done." The redhead was dressed in a similar fashion as Effie, but her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was wearing a cook's apron.
"But I wanted you to see," Effie sighed. "She's so deliciously helpless like that."
"Bite me," Frankie glowered.
This caused the doctors to share a giggling fit while Annika led Frankie past the redhead and brunette and into a large kitchen and dining area. Something appetizing―chicken, Frankie realized―was sizzling on a grill under a large hood. Andi stepped into the kitchen and began painting the chicken pieces with a mixture of spices. Obviously, she was the cook. The apron had been a dead giveaway.
Meanwhile, Annika led Frankie to a low table surrounded by cushions. Effie was close behind. "Sit," Annika ordered, pointing at one of the cushions. Frankie stared daggers for a few seconds, then gracefully (okay, awkwardly) knelt and settled her rope-cleaved rump atop the cushion.
Effie smiled down at Frankie for several seconds, then snapped her fingers. "Oh!"
Frankie watched as Effie scampered to the kitchen, filled a tall glass, first with ice cubes, and then with water, then hurried back to the table. She held the glass to Frankie's lips and the prisoner drank... slowly... in careful sips. Frankie didn't want brain-freeze to go along with the bite of Annika's ropes. Finally, having quenched her thirst with half the contents of the glass, she muttered "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Effie beamed as she set the glass on the table.
Annika had strolled to a built-in cabinet and returned with something steel and shiny in her right hand. She knelt beside Frankie, pulled the captive's feet together, and clicked a pair of tiny cuffs around her big toes, binding them side by side.
Frankie gazed down at her fettered toes. Her new restraints were nothing like the one-piece thumb-cuffs of her previous experience. These captured each toe in a tiny, well-rounded cuff and were joined by some sort of compound ball-and-socket joint. They were comfortable―more comfortable than her rope bonds, anyway―but that would probably change if she tried to stand and make a hopping escape. She lifted her gaze to her smiling blond handler. Bitch.
"Jerk chicken?" Annika asked. She was looking towards the kitchen. The fan in the hood over the stove top grill was blowing, but a delicious, spicy aroma was still managing to fill the air.
Effie nodded. "One of the Caribbazons drops by now and then to give us cooking lessons," she explained. "Andi signed up for classes on the Island bulletin board."
Frankie's stomach growled. Jerk chicken sounds pretty good, she thought.
"You may feed her," Annika said, resting her right hand atop Frankie's head, "but be careful she doesn't bite your hand."
"Stop it!" Frankie huffed as she jerked her head from under Annika's hand.
Effie knelt at Frankie's side and smiled. "You won't bite me, will you?"
Frankie stared at the smiling Brit for several seconds before answering. "No, but you have to tell me what's going on around here."
"Oh, we will," Effie giggled, then leaned in and planted a kiss on Frankie's startled lips. "We'll explain right after we eat."
Frankie was blushing. She had no idea why, but she was blushing. "Okay, then," she muttered.
"Almost ready!" Andi called from the kitchen.
"I'll set the table," Effie said as she scrambled to her feet.
"I'll make sure Miss Dekker doesn't escape," Annika purred.
Frankie turned her head, lifted her chin, and stared daggers at the smiling amazon. "You I will bite," she muttered.
|Welcome to Damosel Island
Apparently, Andi was a good cook. No, Frankie decided. Credit where credit's due. Andi is a good cook. The Jerk chicken had been delicious, as was the accompanying rice and black beans (with coconut milk), the grilled pineapple slices, and the cold beer. Effie and Andi sat on either side of Frankie and made sure she was well fed. Annika sat opposite, enjoying the giggling attention the doctors were showering on their "guinea pig." Frankie sent a steady stream of visual daggers in the smirking, gloating blonde's direction, but accepted the attention (and food) from Andi and Effie with as much good grace as she could muster while glowering at Annika.
Finally, the last of the superb meal was consumed, Andi blushed and accepted the diners' sincere compliments, Effie cleared the table, and Annika continued smiling at Frankie. Effie finished loading the dishwasher and rejoined the table and a period of awkward silence ensued. Andi smiled at Frankie. Annika smiled and sipped her beer. Effie smiled and stared at Frankie's breasts.
"Perfect, aren't they?" Effie sighed.
"They're certainly pleasant to behold," Andi agreed.
"It's not the size or any particular feature," Effie said, "they're a saddle point of multivariate deliciousness."
Frankie squirmed in her bonds, stared into the distance, and blushed. More time passed... and finally... she decided she'd had enough. "You promised me answers," she muttered.
Effie's eyes were still on Frankie's breasts. "I suppose we could perform precise measurements, but there may not be an empirical explanation as to why your breasts are so perfect."
Frankie rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Not my breasts," she huffed. "What is this place? Who are you people? What's going on? Answers."
"I'll handle the first question," Annika purred. "I assume you've heard of Petra La Roque?"
Frankie frowned. "Uh, I'm not big on high fashion, but yes, I've heard of Petra La Roque."
"Are you aware of Petra's, shall we say, hobby interests?"
Frankie shook her head. Andi and Effie smiled and suppressed giggles.
"Damosel Island is Petra's private domain," Annika continued, "and a few years ago she decided to develop it into her own private Disneyworld."
"Or Jurassic Park," Effie giggled.
"When Pirates of the Caribbean breaks down," Andi quoted, "the pirates don't eat the tourists."
"But on Damosel Island," Effie continued, "when the Native Village breaks down, the Caribbazons do eat the tourists."
"Meaning boink them senseless," Annika chuckled, "not slow-roast them." She then focused first on Andi, and then Effie. "Would you ladies like your mouths' taped shut, or will you let me speak?"
Andi and Effie exchanged another giggling fit, then simultaneously pantomimed zipping their respective lips closed.
Frankie almost smiled. Her captors were an entertaining bunch, but they were her captors. "Hobby interests?" she inquired.
"Petra La Roque enjoys binding and gagging beautiful women," Annika explained, "and Damosel Island is her private resort dedicated to all aspects of the damsel in distress."
Frankie's frown remained. "Private resort?"
"The 'Pirate Queen's Castle' was the first venue to come on line," Annika said, "followed by the 'Native Village,' the home of the 'Caribbazon Tribe.'" Annika's smile broadened. "The Caribbazons are mostly female, of course, but there are a few men."
"And Petra La Roque ties them up?" Frankie asked.
Annika, Andi, and Effie laughed. Actually, Annika laughed and the two doctors giggled, or rather, continued giggling.
"The Caribbazon warriors are the ones doing the tying." Annika explained. Petra's guests visit the village to shop for native artifacts, enjoy seafood feasts, the usual tourist activities; and some are, shall we say, invited to stay."
"I hear they almost have 'Rex' ready for use," Andi said.
"When has Rex not been 'almost' ready for use?" Annika chuckled. She emphasized "almost" with air quotes.
"Rex is a full-size, robot Tyrannosaurus rex," Effie explained.
"Actually," Andi said, "Rex is a robotic vehicle. He has a pilot."
"There must be a roll of tape around here somewhere," Annika said quietly.
Instantly, the doctors repeated their zip-mouth gesture, then giggled yet again.
Frankie almost smiled, again, then reminded herself she was a naked and bound prisoner.
"The Caribbazons sacrifice captured tourists to Rex as part of their big weekend feast," Annika explained, "or they will if the engineers ever work the glitches out of the mechanics and finish debugging the control software."
"There are still lots of sacrifices," Effie said.
Andi nodded. "Tide-stakes, quicksand pits, shark feedings off the cliff, the spider cave―there are lots of options."
"All of it is playacting, of course," Annika added. "The bondage is real, but the peril is pretend."
"That's it?" Frankie demanded. "I've been kidnapped and dragged off to Petra La Roque's demented version of Disneyland?"
"Well, in a nutshell, yes," Annika chuckled. "But that's not why you're here."
"We need test subjects," Andi said with a smile.
"To help us with our research," Effie beamed.
Annika nodded at the two doctors. "These two are scientists, specialists in the field of neural science and the relevant technology. Petra has commissioned them to conduct research. You'll be assisting."
Frankie blinked in surprise. "W-what kind of research?"
"We need involuntary test subjects, you see," Andi said.
"Voluntary, and especially enthusiastic, test subjects complicate the analysis of the results," Effie added.
"What kind of research?" Frankie reiterated.
"We can compensate for the subjects' attitudes, to some extent," Andi said.
Effie nodded, "but at some point we need reluctant subjects to act as a control."
"And our program has reached that point," Andi said with a smile.
"So Petra decided we can play with you," Effie said, "seeing as how you need to be held prisoner, anyway."
"It's a matter of convenience, really," Andi said, "and―"
"Hey!" Frankie shouted. "What. Kind. Of. Research."
Andi and Effie exchanged another bout of giggles, then Andi cleared her throat. "Ahem. Ms. La Roque has commissioned us to develop a machine or machines―"
"And the relevant software," Effie interrupted.
Andi smiled, indulgently. "A machine or machines... to induce orgasms in a female subject, on demand."
Effie nodded. "Or to indefinitely frustrate orgasms in a female subject."
Frankie stared from face to face to face in abject horror. "No," she gasped.
"Petra calls it The Orgasmatron Project," Annika explained.
|Welcome to Damosel Island
The revelation of Frankie's supposed fate more or less put an end to the civilized portion of the evening. Frankie went into a frenzy of struggling and impolite comments. Most of her intemperate remarks and anatomically questionable suggestions were directed to Annika, but the giggling scientists didn't escape unscathed. However, Andi and Effie appeared to be entertained rather than offended, and Annika ignored Frankie's tirade entirely―right up to the point she put a stop to it by thrusting a ball-gag into Frankie's mouth, secured the buckle under her hair, then hoisted the naked, bound, and now gagged "test subject" onto her shoulder in a fireman's carry.
Andi and Effie bid Frankie goodnight and Annika carried the squirming, mewling, very unhappy prisoner through the lair―how else could Frankie characterize the place but as a "lair"―down a long hallway, and to a nondescript steel door. Annika opened the door, carried Frankie across the threshold, and deposited her on a fabric-covered mattress.
Frankie continued wiggling and trying to kick, but couldn't prevent Annika from locking some sort of steel collar around her neck. Nor could she prevent Annika from untying her rope bonds, unlocking and removing her toe-cuffs, or unbuckling her ball-gag and plucking the ball from her mouth. Belatedly, it occurred to Frankie she wanted her bonds removed, but by then it was all over but the shouting.
"Mrrrrpfh―Let me go, you bitch!"
Annika was standing in the open door with the coiled rope, ball-gag, and toe-cuffs in her left hand. "Manners, Miss Dekker," the grinning blonde chuckled. "Goodnight."
"Hey, wait!" Frankie shouted, but it was too late. The door closed, what sounded like a very solid bolt slid home, and Frankie was alone. "I... We need to talk! Hey!" No answer. Apparently, no matter how much Frankie wanted to discuss not participating in human trials of boinking technology, it wasn't going to happen. Frankie heaved a sigh and looked around.
She was in a concrete cell. The mattress was actually a platform bed, and it was the only furnishing. It was covered with a fleece-like fabric, there was a pillow, but no sheets or blanket. The floor was carpeted or perhaps thinly padded with heavy-duty rubber stamped with a hexagonal grid, apparently for traction. Everything―walls, rubber-clad floor, and bed―were boring shades of gray.
There was more. To one side was an alcove with a washbasin, commode, and shower. Frankie padded over and found the washbasin and commode were controlled by motion sensors. Also, the commode had a side pedal that activated a bidet function. The shower had a small touch-screen control panel, but when she pressed the "on" button, a message appeared in glowing letters. "NEXT AUTHORIZED USE: MORNING."
Frankie heaved another sigh, then went to the cell door. It was a featureless plane of steel. No keyhole, no cypher-pad, nothing. The door was a lost cause.
The ceiling was hexagonal, like the floor padding, but on a larger scale. Most of the fist-sized hexagons glowed with a cool, blue-white light. but a few regularly spaced grid-covered openings were probably for ventilation. Reflective glass or plastic globes were tucked in all four corners, and Frankie assumed they concealed surveillance cameras. Either that or they were fakes, meant to make her think she was being watched 24/7. Frankie's money was on them being real. Petra La Roque wouldn't skimp on such things. The cameras were probably full-color and high-definition, with infrared and low-light capability.
Finally, one wall had a large window of dark, reflective glass. Frankie stared at the glass, wondering if Annika and/or one or both of the dweeb scientists were watching from the other side, but then the "window" began to glow and a text message appeared.
LIGHTS OUT IN FIVE MINUTES.
SUBJECT WILL SLEEP UNTIL AWAKENED.
SUBJECT WILL OBEY ALL ORDERS.
DISOBEDIENCE WILL BE PUNISHED.
Well, Frankie thought. That's a little rude... and ominous. So, would Frankie be a good little "subject?" In a pig's eye! Frankie was getting out of this place. She had no idea how, but Frankie Dekker wasn't going to be anybody's guinea pig.
Frankie examined the collar Annika had locked around her neck. It was something like a half-inch thick and an inch wide, all of its edges were well-rounded, and it was polished smooth, inside and out. It was heavy, but not too heavy, and was a close fit, but not too close. It had a ring with a swivel-joint of some sort on the the front and the seam in the back at the nape of her neck was razor thin. And Frankie had no idea why Annika had decided she needed to wear the damn thing. Was it to humiliate her? Maybe. For future use, to tether her in place when required. Possibly. For now, Frankie decided it was just Annika being a prize bitch.
Frankie curled up on her side and closed her eyes. There was no point in rebellion, not with respect to the sleep order, anyway. But tomorrow would be another day.
Eventually, the five minutes elapsed and the overhead lights faded to a soft, blue-green glow, but this went unnoticed. Despite her anxiety and simmering resentment, Frankie was already asleep.
|Welcome to Damosel Island
Edith ran through the jungle. She was naked, except for a pair of sandals laced to her feet by leather thongs crisscrossing her shins and calves to just below her knees. Her wrists were crossed behind her back and bound with more leather thongs, what felt like several feet of ribbon-thin leather thongs. Her bonds were secured by a knot or complex hitch that was well beyond the reach of her fluttering fingers. Her red hair was pulled back and plaited in a French braid secured with six inches of very thin leather thongs neatly wrapped around the end. A rough-spun cloth, something like burlap, only softer, was stuffed in her mouth and secured by a cleave-gag of even more leather thongs.
Petra's handlers had roused her from her spartan, concrete cell, fed her a breakfast of oatmeal and coffee, then applied her bonds and dragged her through what she was coming to realize was Petra La Roque's palatial, modern, tropical vacation home. As they passed various window-walls, the angle of the sunlight shining on the tropical garden venues confirmed that it was early morning. They paused at a doorway and Edith's handlers dropped a cloth hood over her head and tightened its drawstring around her neck. The close-fitting hood was of fabric similar to the cloth stuffed in her mouth, and while it was an effective blindfold, it wasn't totally opaque. Edith heard the door open... and the involuntary journey continued.
Edith was outdoors. Dappled shade played across her eyes, filtered by the cloth of the hood. Sandy soil was underfoot, as far as she could tell. The air was hot and humid and she soon began to sweat. Tropical birds cawed and hooted in the distance and on all sides.
Jungle, Edith realized. I'm in a jungle.
Her handlers gripped her arms as they trudged along. Step followed step and minute followed minute. Edith supposed she ought to be trying to keep track of direction and distance... somehow... but there were many twists and turns and it was difficult, to say the least.
Finally, Edith was dragged to a halt, fingers fumbled with the drawstring, and the hood was pulled from her head. Her overheated, freckled face glistened with sweat as she blinked at her surroundings. It was, indeed, jungle, tropical jungle. Green canopy overhead, ferns, vines... jungle.
Edith's handlers turned and walked away, back the way they'd come. Edith turned as well―and found Petra La Roque smiling at her. The tan, forty- or fifty-something blonde was dressed for the jungle: boots, cargo shorts, t-shirt or tank top, short sleeve blouse with several large pockets, and a broad-brim hat, all in shades of olive or leaf-green. She was dressed as a hunter, but being Petra La Roque, the ensemble was the height of expensive taste, practical and chic. Oh-by-the-way, she was cradling a rifle of some sort in the crook of her left arm.
"I'm in a sporting mood," Petra said, a sinister smile on her face. She indicated the rifle with an elegant gesture. "This fires low-velocity tranquilizer darts," she explained. "Nasty little things. They sting like a wasp, and their 'venom' will paralyze a damsel-size target in a matter of seconds."
Edith stared at the rifle, then lifted her gaze to Petra's beautiful, evil face.
"I think a one hour head start should be sufficient," Petra purred, then tapped the tiny screen of her Apple Watch. Her smile returned to Edith. "If you successfully evade me until sunset, I'll let you relax for two full days. If not... I have all sorts of fun games we can play."
Edith stared at her captor... soon to be her hunter. It's a nightmare, she thought. I'm supposed to escape into the jungle... bound, gagged, and naked?
Still smiling, Petra indicated her watch. "Tick tock."
Edith could read the digital display. "59:02" ... "59:01" ... "59:00" ... "58:59" ...
Gag aside, there was no reasoning with Petra La Roque. The mega-rich bitch would have her fun, and Edith was her plaything. Edith turned and sprinted away down the trail. She had no idea where she was going, but she had to try.
|Welcome to Damosel Island
Frankie's morning arrived in the form of brightening overhead lights, a melodious chime repeating a simple melody, and a message on the display screen she had mistaken for an observation window.
GOOD MORNING! ☺ RISE AND SHINE!
SUBJECT WILL SHOWER AND USE THE
SANITARY FACILITIES IMMEDIATELY.
As Frankie glowered at the screen, "TEN MINUTES" flashed for several seconds... changed to "10:00:00," then began counting down. "09:59:59" ... "09:59:58" ... "09:59:57" ... etc.
General rebelliousness aside, Frankie needed to empty her bladder and a shower sounded like a good idea. She stretched, climbed to her feet, stumbled to the bathroom alcove, splashed water on her face, then cupped her hands and drank from the washbasin. She then used the commode (including the bidet function) and took a hot shower. There was a dispenser labeled "SOAP/SHAMPOO" under the control panel, so Frankie used a dab of the greenish gel provided to soap and scrub her body and clean her hair. The resulting suds had a vaguely floral scent, and soon her skin was squeaky clean and her hair a somewhat tangled, sopping wet mass, but also clean.
The shower stopped without Frankie touching the controls, then a warm, dry breeze began blowing from tiny nozzles on all sides of the shower. This was a unique experience, a full-body blow-dryer, but her skin went from wet to damp to more-or-less dry in a surprisingly short time. Frankie's hair was another matter. She used her fingers to comb through the wet mass and remove the worst of the tangles, but when the blowers automatically stopped, all she'd achieved was a damp and semi-tousled bird's nest. What she needed was an actual brush and comb set, but her fingers would have to do. She continued trying to straighten her hair as best she could, with some success.
The countdown on the screen reached zero, the message disappeared, and as if on cue the door unlocked and opened.
Annika stood in the doorway. She was wearing brown jungle boots, dark-tan cargo shorts, a jungle-green tank top, and no bra. "Good morning, Miss Dekker," the blond amazon said with a friendly (sinister, gloating) smile. "I see you've been a good girl and are ready for the day. Sehr gut."
Naked, not counting the steel collar locked around her neck, Frankie stood with her hands on her hips and glowered at her handler. "Look, we need to talk. And can the 'test subject' and 'Project Orgasmatron' bullshit. What the hell am I doing here? I'm an investigative reporter and was following a legitimate story. That Stanton bitch kidnapped me, but what's your excuse? Petra La Roque is running a secret rescue service? Some rescue. I demand to be released, immediately! As in now!"
"Are you quite finished?" Annika chuckled.
"I'm only getting started," Frankie growled. "If you don't―Ahhh!"
Her eyes wide, Frankie's hands flew to the collar. The damn thing had shocked her! It hadn't exactly been painful, but it had certainly gotten her attention.
Meanwhile, the same evil smile curling her lips, Annika was tapping the tiny screen of her Apple Watch. "The next shock will be quite a bit stronger," she purred. "Why you have been brought to Damosel Island will be fully explained when my employer decides the time is right. Your current status as the test subject of Doctors O'Hara and Hyde-Goode is, shall we say, a temporary, fortuitous arrangement. I must ask you to be patient."
"Patient," Frankie huffed.
"Patient... and obedient." Annika's index finger was poised over the Apple Watch screen. "Turn around and cross your wrists behind your back."
Her hands still on the collar, Frankie stared at the watch... then turned and followed her handler's order. Not surprisingly, Annika stepped forward and used a length of braided nylon cord to bind Frankie's wrists.
"The scientists have some sort of preliminary test scheduled for this morning," Annika said pleasantly as she tied the final knot.
"Test? What sort of―Mrrrfh!" A ball-gag was in Frankie's mouth and Annika was buckling the strap under her damp, tousled hair.
"I'm afraid breakfast will be quite late," Annika purred, "rather more in the form of brunch."
"Nrrrf!" Ow! Annika had grabbed a generous handful of Frankie's hair and was dragging her from the cell.
At least the role of the stupid collar is now clear, Frankie fumed as she stumbled at Annika's side. The utilitarian corridor led deep into the structure. There were no windows or skylights, but Frankie had the feeling she might be underground, being led down a gently sloping tunnel. It was a long journey, and they passed door after steel door, came to a T-shaped intersection, made a right turn, and continued on to yet another steel door.
Annika opened the door and led Frankie across the threshold. The captive got a good look at what was waiting within and skidded to a halt. Her eyes popped wide and she screamed through her gag! "Nrrrr!"
"Be a brave little guinea pig," Annika chuckled, and dragged Frankie forward.
|Welcome to Damosel Island
|◄||Chapter 1||☻||Chapter 3||►|