by Van ©2016
		Chapter 8

Frankie hurried to catch up to the mysterious woman-in-purple, then padded along at her side.  The woman was dressed with exquisite taste.  Her dress, jewelry, and accessories looked expensive, but weren't gaudy or overstated.  Frankie, on the other hand, was naked, as usual, and while she was mostly recovered from her recent run on the beach, she was in need of a shower.  She wasn't a funky mess, but next to the fresh-as-a-daisy, smiling, gorgeous women-in-purple, she felt... inadequate... and naked.

"What's your name?" Frankie asked after several seconds.

"Is that important?" the woman purred.

"Only if you don't mind answering to 'Hey You' all the time," Frankie muttered.

"Fair enough," the woman chuckled.  "You may call me Jane."

"Because it's your name?" Frankie growled.

"Because I'll answer to it," Jane responded.

"Oh," Frankie said.  "Okay."

They'd taken a turn away from the hallway Frankie took for her escorted runs.  She glanced back over her shoulder and found that following several paces behind were a pair of the women in black boots, catsuits, and pistol belts.  They were just like the secret agent types who had rescued her from the science-dweebs, and Frankie suspected they were there to chase her down if she tried to make a run for it.  A pity, because Frankie was just about to sprint away from "Jane," find her way to the beach, and swim for Miami―not that she knew which heading to take, could swim the unknown tens or hundreds of miles required to reach Miami, or even knew that Miami was her most logical destination.  Anyway, her fiendishly clever and heroic Swim-to-Miami escape plan was thwarted.

The journey continued in silence with Jane smiling and the twin watchdogs trailing along behind.  They passed through a wide doorway into the sunlight and began crossing an open bridge leading to the tall, central tower Frankie had noticed when returning from her beach runs.  Its upper stories were white, but as they drew near, Frankie noticed algae and moss growing on the shadier parts of the tower, under the balconies and along the undersides of the sky-bridges leading to and from the other towers.

And then, they were inside the central tower.  It was more of the same: Modern, expensive, and decorated with exquisite taste.  They passed burnished steel doors of various sizes and junctions with other corridors.  They also passed women of every hair and skin color, all dressed in bikinis and/or sarongs, and either strolling along the corridors or entering and leaving the various rooms.  Most were carrying tablet computers, binders, and/or paper files.  Frankie surmised she was in the business section of the complex.  Also, La Roque International had a very relaxed dress code... appropriate for the locale, but very relaxed.

Frankie stared in amazement when they passed a cute brunette with her hair bobbed in a stylish pageboy.  She was dressed in a bikini top and a sarong, like all the others, but her wrists and neck were locked in a steel, uh, pillory-thingie.  Frankie didn't know what the device was called, but in essence it was a collar, a pair of cuffs, and two rigid bars that held her hands about a foot on either side of her smiling face.  She was clutching several papers in her left hand and a steaming coffee cup in her right.  Frankie instantly flashed on Maggie Gyllenhaal in Secretary, which was probably the intent of whoever had perpetrated this... homage.  Frankie turned her head to watch as the Maggie-wannabe passed, then shook her head.

Later, as they crossed a junction they encountered a line of six naked women being led by a bikini and sarong wearing handler.  The six were bound in elaborate leather body-harnesses and armbinders of identical design, but in six different pastel colors.  Their mouths were sealed with strips of tape that matched their leather bonds, and they were mincing along on their tiptoes, either by choice or in obedience to orders.  Their harnesses incorporated collars, and light steel chains linked them neck-to-neck in a classic coffle, with the chain of the lead captive in the hand of their smiling handler.

Frankie skidded to a halt.  "Jane?"

Jane stopped, turned, and smiled.  "Yes?"

Frankie pointed to the departing coffle.  The line had just finished mincing across the junction, behind Frankie and Jane and in front of the twins-in-black.  "What the hell?"

Still smiling, Jane shrugged.  "The models?  Probably something to do with the leather division of Petra La Roque's fashion empire."  She turned and resumed walking.

Frankie watched the dimpled buttocks of the last of the naked captives disappear from view, then scampered to catch up to Jane.  "You promised me answers," she huffed.

"Patience, Ms. Dekker," Jane purred.  They came to a large elevator and Jane pressed the top button.

A melodic chime sounded, the elevator doors opened, and Jane and Frankie entered the car and rode the elevator up several stories.  Their black-clad escorts remained behind.  Finally, another melodic chime sounded, the doors opened, and they found themselves in a large foyer.  There was a bank of windows looking out over the jungle and sea, a large counter, and a set of sofas and easy chairs.  Frankie suspected the counter was usually manned by a receptionist, but Frankie and her mysterious escort were alone.

Jane stepped to what was obviously a large door, entered a code in a cypher-pad, then placed her palm against the screen above the buttons.  The screen flashed green and the door slid open.  Beyond was a cavernous, sparsely decorated office several times the size of Frankie's apartment in the other tower.  It had a tall, domed ceiling, three different expanses of windows facing in three different directions, several conversation areas with Modern sofas and chairs, and a giant desk with a glass top and stainless steel legs.  Behind the desk was a throne-like chair upholstered in white leather, and―

Frankie froze in place and stared in shock and awe.  "What the..."

Off to one side was a large alcove, and standing in that alcove, a few feet apart, were Petra La Roque (Frankie recognized her from magazine photos) and Edith Stanton.  Both were as naked as Frankie and were up on their toes with their arms raised.  Their wrists were secured in wide, padded leather and steel cuffs and the cuffs, in turn, were attached to taut, vertical steel chains that traveled up to steel-lined holes in the ceiling.  The captives' ankles were locked in steel cuffs and their mouths sealed by wide, single strips of white tape.  Their lips stood out in three-dimensional relief.  Their deeply tanned and freckled skins glistened with sweat, respectively, and strands of their short blond and long red hair were plastered to their sweat-beaded foreheads, respectively.  Several overhead spotlights were focused on their stretched bodies, and Frankie surmised that at least some of the spotlights were heat lamps.  The air around Frankie and, she assumed, the rest of the huge office was quite comfortable.  Petra and Edith were quite literally basking in their own little private zone of artificial tropical noon.

Edith stared at Frankie with tired, resigned green eyes.

Petra's blue peepers, however, were defiant... sort of.

Jane gestured towards the closest conversation grouping.  "Please, let's make ourselves comfortable."

Frankie continued staring at the helpless captives.  "Comfortable?" she whispered under her breath.

Jane sat in an easy chair, crossed her legs, and picked up a small tablet computer.  "Don't worry, Ms. Dekker," she purred.  "Sisters La Roque and Stanton have only been up on their toes for..."  She glanced at the tablet's glowing screen.  "A little more than an hour.  If it makes you feel better..."  She tapped the screen a few times, a series of clicks sounded as the chains suspending the prisoners played out a few links, and Petra and Edith were off their toes with their feet flat on the carpeted floor.  At the same time, most of the spotlights faded and finally winked out.

Frankie continued to stare.  "I... What's going on?  Wait a minute.  'Sisters?'  Are you people nuns or something?"

"No," Jane chuckled, "we definitely fall into the 'or something' category."  She gestured, again.  "Please, sit."

Frankie padded over and settled into the chair next to Jane.  They both retained excellent views of Petra and Edith's stretched forms.

"Now," Jane continued, "I represent an entity often referred to as the Sisterhood.  We are an international organization dedicated to social progress."

"Social progress in the form of kidnapping, nudity, bondage, and forced orgasms?" Frankie muttered.

"Not exactly," Jane chuckled.  "There are many different, one might say, 'chapters' of the Sisterhood.  The recreational leanings of this particular chapter tend towards bondage, but our shared, overarching, unified goal is social progress."

Frankie frowned.  "What's that got to do with―"

"You involved yourself in the affairs of a recreational spa sanctioned by the Sisterhood," Jane interrupted.

Frankie looked towards Edith.  "Dr. Stanton's Quaking Aspens?"

"The same," Jane confirmed.  "Quaking Aspens is a minor enterprise, but it is a Sisterhood affiliate.  You had no right to intrude on Judge Bowden's vacation."

"But I didn't know it was a vacation," Frankie huffed.  "It looked like she'd been kidnapped."

Jane gazed at Edith.  "And if a certain Sister had implemented improved security measures, as she'd been ordered, you never would have been able to enter Quaking Aspens and reach that mistaken conclusion.  You wouldn't have known the judge was ever there."

"The public have a right to know," Frankie muttered.

"The public also has a right to privacy," Jane countered.  "The Sisterhood values freedom of the press, Ms. Dekker.  Sensationalism?  Not so much."

Frankie blushed.  "I never wrote the story.  I never even finished figuring out the story, so don't call me sensational."

"Fair enough," Jane smiled.  "Your published work is solidly professional.  In any case, we had an obligation to protect the judge and her reputation... and to punish Dr. Stanton's misfeasance, of course."

"Of course," Frankie sighed.  "Wait... is Judge Bowden a member of your Sisterhood?"

"Let's leave the judge out of this, shall we?"  Jane nodded towards Edith.  "Anyway, I want you to understand why Dr. Stanton is being disciplined."

Frankie shifted her gaze to Petra.  "And the blonde?"

Jane's smile broadened.  "I know you recognize Petra La Roque," she purred.  "Senior Sister La Roque should have been the one to discipline Sister Stanton, and she did, but she shouldn't have transported you to Damosel Island.  She had her reasons, but for failing to share those reasons with her superiors beforehand, she is also being punished."

Frankie frowned.  "Reasons?"

Jane began tapping and swiping the tablet's screen.  "Coffee or tea?"

"Excuse me?"

"Before we discuss Sister La Roque's reasons, would you like coffee, or tea?"

"Oh," Frankie sighed.  Her eyes were on Petra and Edith's naked, helpless, glistening forms.  "Uh... coffee."

"Coffee it is," Jane purred, tapped the screen one final time, then placed the tablet on a nearby side table.

In less than a minute a side door opened and one of the black-clad secret agent types pushed a serving cart into the office and towards Jane and Frankie.  The catsuited and booted beauty was a Latina, with a svelte, athletic body and her features were attractive―not classically beautiful, but attractive―but as she grew closer, Frankie revised her assessment to very attractive.  The Latina smiled and nodded to Jane, poured coffee, presented steaming cups and saucers to Frankie and Jane, then lifted a small plastic shipping container from the cart's lower shelf and sauntered towards Petra and Edith.

Jane took a careful sip of coffee and watched as the Latina popped the latches of the container and reached inside.  Frankie caught a flash of chrome, but then the black-clad agent was in the way.  She was doing something to Edith, something to her waist... then the Latina pulled a second steel something from the container, stepped in front of Petra, and Frankie's eyes popped wide.  She nearly spilled her coffee, but managed to maintain control of the clattering cup and saucer without making a mess.

Edith was now wearing a chastity belt!  It was chrome steel, more like a pair of shining steel panties than something that could even remotely be described as Medieval.  It encircled Edith's waist, tight enough to dimple her skin, dove between her legs and cupped her pussy, and had an oval-shaped opening in the front panel that allowed a good portion of her dark-red pubic bush to peek through.

The Latina completed fitting a second, apparently identical belt to Petra, closed the packing case and tucked it under her arm, then departed the office the way she came.

"Marvela is one of mine," Jane explained as she sipped her coffee.

Frankie was staring at the steel belts locked through the tan and freckled crotches of Petra and Edith.  Petra's pubic hair was dark-blond, of course, but otherwise the design, fit, and appearance of the belts was the same.  "Marvela?" Frankie inquired, then tore her eyes from the belts and focused on Jane.  "The Latina?"

"The same," Jane purred.  "She's one of my best agents, not one of Petra's security consultants."

Frankie nodded, absently, and turned back to the prisoners.  "Why the belts?"

Jane smiled, placed her cup and saucer on the side table and picked up the tablet computer.  "It would be rude not to serve refreshments to everyone," she purred as she tapped and swiped the screen.  She lifted her smiling gaze to the captive blond and redhead, tapped the screen a final time, then set the tablet back on the table and retrieved her coffee.  "This is very good," she sighed as she took a sip.

Meanwhile, tiny red LED's set in a small cluster directly beneath the pubic hair windows on both Petra's and Edith's belts had begun twinkling.  At the same time, the naked, stretched, and tape-gagged prisoners flinched―then began shivering and weakly tugging on their bonds.

"V-vibrators?" Frankie gasped.

"Very sophisticated vibrators," Jane confirmed.

Frankie's heart was hammering, and she had to keep a firm grip on her cup and saucer to keep them from clattering.  I don't know why I should care what they do to Stanton and La Roque, she thought, but that looks... mean... I suppose.  It also looked like it would be fun, under different circumstances.  Frankie swallowed a gulp of coffee and tried to maintain a nonchalant air.

"Anyway," Jane continued.  "Sister Stanton reported your intrusion and detention to the Sisterhood's higher authorities, as required, but Senior Sister La Roque took it upon herself to escalate matters well beyond the realm of normal operations."

Edith and Petra continued shivering and squirming and the LED's continued sparkling.  Frankie very much doubted that Edith and Petra's reactions were caused by embarrassment and chagrin with respect to their mishandling of the kidnapping of Frankie Dekker.

"It turns out Senior Sister La Roque had already made plans to recruit Sister Stanton as the resident director of the third venue of her Damosel Island resort complex," Jane explained, "so when she sent a team of her security types to 'invite' you to Damosel Island, Dr. Stanton was encouraged to tag along."

"Third venue?" Frankie asked.  She was still staring at Edith and Petra, but was closely following Jane's words.

"In addition to the 'Native Village' and 'Pirate Queen's Castle,' Petra is in the advanced planning stage of a venue vaguely based on The Island of Doctor Moreau."  Jane refilled her cup from the carafe on the cart, then did the same for Frankie.  "Unsettling experiments to produce human/animal hybrids, involuntary commitment of innocent female patients for dubious reasons, fun with unnecessary surgery... the usual shenanigans."  She sipped her coffee.  "There will even be an evil petting zoo."

Frankie shifted her now horrified gaze back to Jane.  "W-what?"

"Oh, please, Ms. Dekker," Jane chuckled.  "None of it will be real.  It will all be role-playing and pretend, like the other venues."  She took a final sip of coffee, then set her cup and saucer on the side table.  "I can see why Petra would consider Edith the perfect candidate for the job of Evil Doctor.  She invented much the same role for herself at Quaking Aspens."

Frankie nodded as she gazed to Edith and Petra―then abruptly turned back to Jane.  "Wait, 'evil petting zoo?'  What the hell is an evil petting zoo?"

"Unimportant, Ms. Dekker," Jane chuckled.  "Maybe you'll find occasion to visit the place in the future and will learn firsthand.  Anyway, it was also Petra's intention to offer you a job."

Frankie frowned as she sipped the last of her coffee, then plunked the cup and saucer on the side table next to Jane's.  "Yeah, a job as an involuntary guinea-pig for the science-dweebs," she huffed.

"Oh, no," Jane said with a grin.  "That was just a fortuitous circumstance.  Doctors O'Hara and Hyde-Goode needed a test subject, Petra needed time to make her arrangements, so you were available."

"Fortuitious," Frankie huffed.  "I don't think you know the actual meaning of the word."

"Fortuitious for the doctors," Jane clarified.  "Petra's intention was to offer you employment somewhere in her empire in exchange for your silence on the Quaking Aspens affair.  There was also the possibility of your recruitment and employment by a higher echelon of the Sisterhood, and that's what I would like to discuss with you now."

"The Sisterhood," Frankie huffed.

Jane nodded.  "You wouldn't be the first journalist to join the ranks of the Sisterhood.  Far from it.  There are also teams of scholars―historians, sociologists, political scientists, and journalists―who conduct ongoing research and help develop plans for the senior levels of the organization."

"You're offering me a job," Frankie said skeptically, "after being kidnapped, twice, and then machine-boinked by a pair of deranged scientists?"

"In a word, yes," Jane confirmed.  "There is an alternative.  We're approaching the edge of the window of maximum optimal effectiveness, but there are drugs available that, in essence, wipe a person's short-term memory.  Together with hypnosis and a little window dressing, you could wake up in a hospital―not Quaking Aspens, of course―to discover that you'd been the victim of a highly plausible accident and were suffering from a very minor concussion and mild amnesia.  Or..."

"Yes?" Frankie muttered.

"You could enter a Sisterhood recruitment program," Jane continued, "undergo training, evaluation, and advanced education―all with a lucrative salary and full benefits, of course―and someday, depending on your performance and potential, find placement with one of our research or action teams."

"How do you know I won't say yes," Frankie said carefully, "then disappear at the first opportunity?"

Jane smiled.  "You've seen a little of our agents in action, Ms. Dekker.  I assure you, they're only the tip of a very large iceberg."  Jane's smile broadened.  "Besides, all that secret, hidden knowledge...  The story of the century!  Intriguing, no?  How can you resist?"

Frankie sighed.  Intriguing?  A secret sorority of rich and powerful women influencing world history?  Hell yes!  "It's a lot to think about," she stated carefully.

"You have until either Senior Sister La Roque or Sister Stanton experience orgasm," Jane purred.

Frankie gazed at the Sisters in question.  Both were sweating, again, and continued shivering in their inescapable bonds.  Also, the LED's continued twinkling.

"Don't worry," Jane said quietly.  "The program controlling those belts incorporates Doctors O'Hara and Hyde-Goode's latest research, and is set at total frustration.  You'll have plenty of time to consider my offer."

Frankie felt like the proverbial dog that had caught the car.  That is, chasing the car had been fun―being an investigative reporter was all she'd ever wanted to be―chasing the Big Story was her life―but now, she'd caught the damn car!  Or more correctly, the car had caught her.  And the car turned out to be an empire of cars, and they wanted to teach her how to drive.  No, they wanted to teach her to be a mechanic?  No...  Frankie was getting wrapped up in the metaphor... which, she supposed, was better than being wrapped up in Annika von Luger's tight, inescapable ropes.

If only I could get away and conduct an investigation from outside this Sisterhood, Frankie thought with a sigh.  The thing was, not only was escape as unlikely as ever, but if the Sisterhood was anywhere near as powerful and its tentacles as far reaching as Jane was hinting, she probably wouldn't get very far before she was kidnapped again, and what would happen then?

Across the office, Petra and Edith continued enjoying their "refreshments," as Jane had put it.  Frankie and Jane got coffee, Edith and Petra got vibrating belts programmed for total frustration.  Coffee was better... probably.

Frankie shifted her gaze to Jane... then back to the naked, bound, gagged, writhing, and sweating blonde and redhead.  The bondage thing... she mused.  Frankie had never been into that sort of thing, but... dare she even think it?  With the right playmates, under the right circumstances... she could see herself getting into it... maybe.  Frankie heaved a sigh.  Who am I kidding?  It's all been fun.  Once she realized none of her kidnappers were actual sadists, that they didn't intend to do her physical harm, and that they thought it was fun...  Honor demanded she resist, and escape, and at least try and act outraged and reluctant.  But still...

Frankie heaved another sigh.  She'd already more-or-less decided to accept the job.  How could she not?  But why be rude?  She glanced at the cart and noticed a small plate of cookies next to the coffee carafe, leaned forward, picked up the plate, and offered it to Jane.

Jane smiled, selected a Madeleine, and took a delicate bite.

Frankie selected a chocolate-topped caramel shortbread cookie, returned the plate to the cart, then took a bite of her own and returned to watching the incredibly wealthy, naked, and helpless blonde who had seen fit to toy with her fate, and the Evil Doctor who had kidnapped her and set all of this in motion, as they continued to not cum.

"More coffee?" Jane offered.

Frankie took another bite of her excellent cookie before answering.  "Maybe in a while."

Several cookies and another round of coffee later, Frankie formally accepted Jane's job offer.  After that, things happened very quickly.

Frankie looked back as they exited Petra's office.  The blond billionaire and redheaded doctor were still naked, tape-gagged, sweating like crazy, tugging on their inescapable bonds, and not cumming.  Frankie actually felt sorry for them―NOT!

Jane led Frankie back to her apartment/cell in the other tower.  Two of the catsuit-wearing agents were waiting.  One was Asian, probably Japanese, and the other was yet another blond, Viking shieldmaiden.  She was like a younger version of Annika, only she wasn't Annika.

Also waiting in the apartment, neatly arranged on the bed, was something totally unexpected: clothes!  Specifically, a white, long-sleeve, cotton blouse―a gray, tropical weight skirt and matching jacket (a business suit)―and nude-colored stockings, garter-belt, and push-up bra.  There were no panties, but there was a slightly smaller version of the plastic packing case like the one that had held the steel chastity (vibrator) belts Marvela had locked on Petra and Edith.  Finally, black, high-heeled pumps with ankle straps were side-by-side on the carpet at the foot of the bed.

The Japanese agent popped the latches of the packing case and produced a belt, as Frankie had feared; however, while the design of the belt was similar to the steel belts used back at the office, this one was pinkish-tan, with a matte finish.

Frankie turned to Jane.  "W-why the belt?" she demanded.

"A routine precaution," Jane explained with a reassuring smile, "in case you get cold feet.  This particular belt has pleasure and punishment modes, and is constructed entirely of an advanced plastic resin with ceramic-like properties.  It's as strong as steel, but can pass through the average security screening undetected."

"I already said yes," Frankie huffed, staring at the belt in question.

Jane's smile continued.  "You'll learn that the Sisterhood takes no chances, especially during the training and indoctrination process.  Also, as a recruit, you're already under Sisterhood discipline.  Place your hands atop your head and spread your legs."

Frankie frowned, which was only natural, but did follow Jane's orders.  She stared into the distance as the agents fit the belt around her waist, through her crotch, and various flanges closed and locked with authoritative clicks.  The plastic was smooth and cool, and the belt might as well have been custom made.  For all Frankie knew it was custom made.  Petra La Roque probably had a bustling bondage workshop with the latest 3D printer technology turning out anything needed to satisfy her perverse imagination.

"Please, continue dressing," Jane suggested (ordered).

"I think I remember how," Frankie huffed.  She did, and soon the stockings, garter-belt, and bra were in place, followed by the blouse, skirt, and jacket.  She stepped into the pumps and the blond agent knelt at her feet and secured the ankle straps.  It turned out the "straps" were leather-covered steel, and closed with locking tabs, rather than buckles.

"Let me guess," Frankie sighed, "the shoes come with optional hobble chains."

Jane nodded.  "They can also be locked together."

Frankie rolled her eyes, then gasped, "Hey!"

The agents had pulled her hands behind her back and locked what felt like steel handcuffs around her wrists.

Frankie stared daggers at the still smiling Jane.  "Another routine precaution?" she muttered.

Jane's answer was to turn and stroll towards the door.  "This way, Recruit Dekker," she ordered.

Frankie heaved a sigh and followed her recruiter.  The agents followed Frankie.

Wherever they were going, it was a long walk and included two elevator rides, one down and one up.  Frankie found her new shoes to be quite comfortable.  The heels were high, but she owned similar pumps―without locking ankle cuffs, of course.  The sensation of wearing clothes was surprisingly unsettling after her recent days of total nudity (not counting various restraints), but she soon got used to it.  It's like riding a bicycle, she mused.  The plastic belt girding her loins was also comfortable... for now.

Finally, a steel door slid open and Frankie found they'd arrived at what was unmistakably a helipad at the bottom of a deep valley.  Mountain peaks covered in green loomed on all sides and a waterfall fell into a small pool off to the left, but the main feature was a round concrete pad bearing a giant "H," and waiting atop that "H" was...  Frankie wasn't sure what to call the thing.  It was an aircraft, that much was clear, but it had an ultramodern, military look, all odd shapes at odd angles, like a stealth fighter.  Some of its surfaces appeared to be designed for lift or control, and there were four large, ducted fans, rather than the rotor or rotors of a conventional helicopter.  It was unmarked, with a mottled, bluish-gray color and what Frankie could only call an oily appearance.  It glistened, but didn't exactly shine.

Frankie gazed at the peculiar aircraft, then turned to Jane.  "You guys aren't space aliens, right?  That thing isn't going to take me up to your mothership, is it?"

"No, Recruit Dekker," Jane chuckled.  "That is an Action Directorate 'Apsara' quadcopter, a joint development of Boeing, the Airbus Group, and Salamandras Aerospace, although the first two partners aren't fully aware of their participation."  Her smile broadened.  "We find its stealth characteristics quite useful, allowing us to drop in on places like Damosel Island with little advance notice."

"Does the Air Force know you have that thing?" Frankie asked.

"The United States Air Force?" Jane chuckled.  "In a word, no.  But then, we don't know about the very similar aircraft they're testing at Area 51, either."

"Well," Frankie sighed, "it looks like a remarkable piece of technology, but―hey!  Mrrrpfh."

Jane had turned Frankie towards her, pulled her into a tight embrace, and was kissing her lips!

Eyes wide, Frankie had no choice but to endure this... outrage?  She decided that was a little harsh.  Being kissed by Jane―or whatever her real name might be―was hardly an outrage... not even with tongue.

Finally, the kiss ended.  For a while, Frankie thought one of the secret agent types had activated her belt on its lowest setting, but she decided the tingle between her legs was her natural reaction to Jane's soft lips, warm tongue, and heavenly scent.

"Goodbye, Recruit Dekker," Jane purred.  "Study hard, learn your lessons, and maybe someday we'll have an opportunity to work together."  And with that, Jane spun on her heels and strolled towards the door leading into the side of the mountain and ultimately back to Petra La Roque's estate.

Frankie opened her mouth to bid Jane goodbye―"Mrrpfh?"―but the Japanese agent had plastered a strip of some sort of tape over her mouth.  And only a second later, the blonde pulled a black spandex hood over Frankie's head and secured its Velcro closure around her neck.  "Mrrrfh!"

"Quiet, Recruit Dekker!" one of the agents ordered.  The hood allowed Frankie to breathe without difficulty, but was a highly effective blindfold.  She couldn't tell which agent was speaking or which was hustling her up the folding steps of the Apsara and into a comfortable seat.  Nor could she tell which agent was tightening straps across her ankles, knees, lap, below and above her breasts, or her shoulders.  "Recruits speak when spoken to and obey all orders," the agent continued.  "Remember that."

And then, Frankie heard the whine of the quadcopter's turbines winding up, accompanied by what she took to be the surprisingly quiet swoosh of the ducted fans.  The door closed with a thud, followed by an authoritative click, there was a pause... and the Apsara lifted into the air, rising vertically to clear the mountains surrounding the helipad.

And thus it was that Frankie Dekker left Damosel Island and began her new career as an operative and member of the Sisterhood.