You slowly wake up, the steady <i>whap whap whap </i> of helicopter blades stirring you from a rather pleasant dream of finally bitch-slapping your idiot landlord. 

Then you get the question into your head: 'Why do I hear helicopter blades?'

"Good," an older man sitting in a black leather seat says emotionlessly, "you're awake."

"Where am I?" the question comes slowly to you, as if your thoughts are wading through thick mud.

"On a helicopter, dumbass." His tone is cold. "Over the Pacific Ocean, heading towards Regis, the private island belonging to the Carrier family."

"Why?" you ask.

The man shrugs. "I'm at as much of a loss as you, madam. However, considering that the latest decree from the current family head was that Mistresses Caroline, Cassandra, and Catherine had to share one attendant, I suppose that you are someone all three of them agree on."

"Attendant?" you repeat dumbly.

The man laughs. "Oh, just a combination between a secretary, butler, and concubine. You are taking longer to shake off the tranquilizers than anyone I've ever retrieved."

You bolt up, instantly alert. You remember that you had heard a noise outside your apartment, and when you went out to investigate you were attacked by a man with a tranquilizer pistol. "You-"

He puts his hands up. "I didn't shoot you. I carried you into the helicopter, and I will drop you off at the manor."

"People will wonder where I am, " you threaten.

The man shakes his head. "The men at Research will have made sure that you have no close family or friends, and the Finance department will have paid off anyone else who might care. The Carriers never get caught for a reason."

You are caught in shock. You simply do not know how to respond. Before you can even fully take this all in, the man roughly shoves you out of the helicopter. 

You scream, expecting a terrible fall, but it was only a short drop. You're bruised and dirty, but otherwise okay. You look up, and the helicopter is already far out of reach, and you're fenced in. The only way to progress is into the manor you were told about before. 

The place is stunning. It toes the line between classic style and modern sensibility, and has four obvious stories. You go to knock on the door, but it opens at your approach. 

The cozy living room is surprising, but not nearly as much as the three women who occupy it. By the news stories, you expected them to be a terrible trio of stuck-up stick figures, but they were beyond great-looking people. 

The first of the three sisters you notice simply because of the noise- she is running on a treadmill on its highest setting, a 15 pound dumbell in each hand. She's very tall, a veritable statuesque stunner, an amazon in her own right- judging by your own height, you peg hers around 6'3". Her B-cup breasts don't get much movement in, thanks to what has to be some super-design sports bra, but as that's all she has on top, you get an eyeful of her flat, toned stomach- with "girl abs", as some would put it. Despite the fact that you must have been staring at her for ten minutes, she still doesn't even glance in your direction, her icy blue eyes focused on the heart rate monitor on the treadmill. You just barely notice her brown pixie-cut hair and the fact that both of her ears are pierced with simple ruby studs.

Second to catch your attention is the raven-haired sister, who is poring over sheet music and tentatively testing each note on a Squier Stratocaster in her lap. Her violet eyes meet yours for a second, and she gives you a wink before returning to the music. She lazily pulls her shoulder-length hair out of her face, which gives you a look at her left forearm and the tattoo (of a python wrapped sinuously around an orchid the same color as her eyes) etched into it. She accidentally drops the sheet music, exposing her Rammstein T-shirt (over C-cup breasts) to your view. Even though her lounging has taken over an entire recliner, she still manages to look tiny. You vaguely guess that she's 5'1".

The third and final sister to catch your eye is pretending to read a small volume of a manga you don't recognize, but you can see the tiny glances she's making in your direction. Her amber eyes and firey red hair compete for attention on her face, which make it easy to miss her little button nose, from which a pair of high-fashion glasses hang. Of course, you can't fool yourself into believing that you don't notice the utterly massive DDs gracing her chest, stretching the shirt's image of the Nintendo logo to near its breaking point. While her presence in the room is tiny, considering her scrunched position on a couch that could fit the complete cast of your average sitcom, she herself is just barely shorter than you at 5'8".

It's the redhead who finally addresses you, brushing her waist-length waves away from her face. "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow. Not that I mind . . ."

Little Miss Guitar snorts. "Yeah, right. Now you have to practice restraint. You know Candace's rule- we're not allowed to make any sexual demands until tomorrow."

The redhead pouts. "12:01 counts as tomorrow. That's only three hours away."

The brunette acknowledges your existence and sets down her dumbbells on the handrails. "You're shaven, right? I don't like feeling any hair on me that isn't from your head- and even then."

You begin blushing like mad, but before you can respond, Guitar Girl comes to your rescue. "Hey, we have to share one person. We gave Cassie what she wanted by picking up a girl, you were the one who said we needed to get one who you didn't have to lean down too far to make out with, I say she can be a little laid back. That includes having a bit of carpet."

You clear your throat, catching their attention before they can argue further. "I can't even tell who's who."

The redhead steps back in slight shock. "I'm sorry, you're right! Um, okay, I'm Cassandra, the one with the guitar is Catherine, and the one on the treadmill is Caroline. And we're the Carrier sisters!"

Caroline blinks. "Yeah, and because this private island is its own country, we make the laws here. So don't piss us off, because the closest thing we have to prison is Cathy's bondage kink."

Catherine goes red. "Sh-shut up! I don't have a-"

"Anyway, " Cassandra continues, "because Candace is off running the company, we won't ask for you to do the boring secretary stuff- although I may ask you to wear a costume that looks like a secretary's outfit. Mostly, you'll follow us around, bring us food when we're too lazy to go to the kitchen, and be ready to have sex on demand."

"Now, before you go asking the obvious question, " Catherine butts in, "we're half-sisters that were born on the same day. Dad knew how to party, if the security tapes are anything to go by."

Caroline abruptly shut off the treadmill and leapt off of it with a gymnast's strength and an acrobat's balance. "Time for bed." With that, she opened a small section of wall you hadn't noticed was a door, revealing a long staircase. "Come," she apparently speaks to you as if you were a dog.

At the top of the staircase is a long triple hallway. Caroline heads left, Catherine heads right, and Cassandra just keeps walking. "Now remember, " Catherine calls, "until midnight, if one of us asks for sex, you still have a right to say no. After midnight, you're fair game. Get some sleep."

"But where-" your question is cut off by a swivel chair appearing under you. It extends slightly, making itself a somewhat comfortable chair-bed. You decide to take Catherine's advice- after all, you don't know how long it will be until your next opportunity to. Just as you decide this, a golden dust swirls around you, making sleep come easily. 

---------

When you wake up,  it obviously isn't much later. You wonder first why the carpet has been replaced by thick standing ropes, then why the hallways seem taller and longer.

You scream at realizing you've been shrunk.

You need help. This is a decision that comes without hesitation. The question of the hour is who to turn to.