From the Many Thrilling Adventures of Jodi McJoy!
		by Van ©2024
		Chapter 2

Jodi McJoy opened her green eyes.... and blinked.

"Mrrr—URK!"  Jodi instantly stopped blinking and her eyes popped to their maximum width!  She'd been shocked!  Specifically, her throat had been painfully electrocuted across her larynx!  Okay, it was more surprising than painful, but it had definitely gotten her attention!

Jodi resumed blinking as she realized the truth: she was wearing a shock-collar!

Also, she was naked... completely naked.  Also, her wrists, thumbs, and elbows were bound together behind her back.  Her knees, ankles and big toes were bound together as well, and from what she could see her bonds were all off-white translucent plasti-cuffs with the free ends snipped off!  Also, a taut strip of tape was plastered over her lips and mouth, covering most of her lower face!

Then... as Jodi continuing blinking... it all came back to her!  She'd been stripped and bound with plasti-cuffs back in her apartment as part of a combination home invasion and Amazon package delivery perpetrated by five hulking male Goons and a single She-Goon in Amazon uniform!  All that had changed was her gag, which was now a simple tape-gag (without stuffing) and not her former wrap-around-the-head-tape-gag (with foam stuffing)... that and the addition of the shock-collar.  Also, her location was different.

Jodi was lying atop a neatly made (meaning slightly rumpled) full-size bed in a small bedroom that wasn't her bedroom!  She sat up (rumpling the covers further) and looked around.  There was a closed normal-type door with a round doorknob, possibly the bedroom's entrance/exit, and a closed sliding door she suspected might lead to a closet or an attached bath.  All the furnishings were typical—bed, chair, chest of drawers, wardrobe, etc.—and sunlight was flooding through a large window and an open set of drapes.  The furniture all looked solid, hefty, and vaguely modern, sort of high-end-Ikea in Jodi's aesthetic opinion.  The color palette favored soothing earth-tones, there were no framed pictures on the walls or objets d'art on the available wooden surfaces, nor were there any lamps, standing, table-top, or hanging; but there were light fixtures recessed in the ceiling and covered by steel grills.

What the heck?  Jodi decided to stop blinking... and did.

She rolled to face the window, heaved herself up, and sat on the edge of the mattress with her bare feet (and plasti-cuffed big-toes) resting on the plush carpet.  She considered standing and hopping to the window for a better look outside, but decided it wasn't really necessary (and given her toe-tied status might be painfully challenging).  She could already see enough to tell she was many stories above street level and gazing at part of the New York skyline and a patch of Central Park!  Her generic-but-tasteful bedroom was high up in a decidedly posh building.  Mega-prime real estate!

Having nothing better to do and being unable to call for help without suffering a stinging shock that would be more irritating than painful, Jodi returned to evaluating her immediate surroundings.

The sliding door leading to the hypothetical closet or bathroom sported a flush-mounted barrel-key-style lock; however, the hinged door across the room that probably led to the rest of wherever-the-hell-she-was had no apparent lock whatsoever, not even a privacy lock on its round doorknob.  Also, every single sliding drawer or cabinet door on every single piece of furniture that she could see did have a lock, and like the sliding door were all barrel-key-style.  Finally, compact domes of silvered glass, each of which probably covered a video camera, were mounted up near the ceiling in the four corners.

It was obvious Jodi was incarcerated in an expensively appointed but well-secured prison cell; however, it was still a bad idea to hop around and punish her toes to confirm that the barrel-locks were all locked or to gaze out the window  Granted, objectively, the view of Central Park would probably be enjoyable.

Anyway... Jodi was a naked, bound, and gagged prisoner!

Suddenly, the non-sliding door with the doorknob opened and a smiling young woman with red hair and dressed in a black dress with a white lace collar and apron entered Jodi's luxurious dungeon! 

Jodi's nervous blinking resumed.

The newcomer was in her twenties (possibly a couple of years younger than Jodi herself), about Jodi's height, and shared her peachy-pink complexion (only with more freckles).  Also, her hair was the same glorious copper-red shade as Jodi's.  Ditto her beautiful green eyes.  She was undeniably a bonda fide ginger-hottie!  (Jodi had never considered herself to be a ginger-hottie.  Jodi was a ginger-mega-cutie, or so she'd been told on numerous occasions.)  Also, Jodi decided the ginger-hottie-newcomer's costume was a maid's uniform... a very stylish maid's uniform.

"Madam is awake," the ginger-who-wasn't-Jodi observed.

Jodi blinked in confirmation.

"My name is Sloane," the ginger hottie announced, "and I'm here to take you to my mistresses."

'Mistresses?' Jodi wondered.  'Sloane' has more than one mistress?  Are they mistress-employers or mistress-mistresses?

Sloane-the-maid/ginger-hottie strolled to Jodi's bed and pulled a pair of compact steel clippers of unusual design from her apron pocket.  They were designed to sever plasti-cuffs without causing harm and she used them to free Jodi's big-toes, ankles, and knees.  This required six snips... then she pocketed the clippers and the former plastic restraints and helped Jodi stand on her bare and no longer plasti-cuff-bound feet.  This was definitely progress, but Jodi's thumbs, wrists, and elbows remained plasti-cuffed behind her back.  Her tape-gag and shock-collar also remained in place.  Jodi was ambulatory but still a naked prisoner.

Sloane led her charge to the sliding door, produced a barrel-key, and used it to turn the lock.  She then slid open the door... revealing a half-bath with the usual commode, washbasin, and shower stall.

And then, just like had happened back at the Blissful Beach Spa on numerous occasions, Jodi was "encouraged" to relieve herself... and she did.  Why not?  An empty bladder is better than a full bladder, even if you are the naked, bound, and gagged captive of a ginger-hottie.  The commode had a bidet function, and it was triggered by Sloane-the-maid to rinse Jodi's nether region.  Eeek!  Then, the smiling maid used a small towel to dry between Jodi's legs.  It was humiliating, and for the first time Jodi's tape-gagged expression changed from surprise and/or trepidation to smoldering anger.  She would have liked to tell Sloane-the-hottie-maid to keep her pretty pink and lightly freckled hands to herself, but... you know... tape-gag... and shock-collar.

By the way, Jodi had gotten a good look at said collar in the mirror above the washbasin.  It was highly polished stainless steel and had to be the most elegant looking shock-collar she'd ever seen, much less worn!  It looked like a high-end slave-collar.  There was even a convenient ring on the front to take a leash or tether her to something.  It was well-rounded, fit like a choker, and was unarguably sophisticated jewelry.  There was nothing clunky about it; however, its shock feature was fully functional.  Much to her chagrin, Jodi had to admit she looked good wearing the thing—in a subservient sort of way—but no fashion statement was worth being rendered involuntarily mute!

And then, Sloane took a generous handhold of Jodi's hair and gripped it tight.

Urk! Jodi thought but didn't audibly complain... although she definitely wanted to.

"You aren't going to give Sloane any trouble, are you?" the evilly grinning wicked-little-witch-of-a-maid inquired.

Jodi continued glowering.  No, I'm not, she silently fumed.  But at my first opportunity you're getting a swift kick between your legs, right in the hoo-haw!

With that, Sloane dragged (okay, led) Jodi from the half-bath and across to the bedroom's other portal.  She turned the knob, opened the door, and dragged (led) Jodi across the threshold into a wide hallway that was quickly revealed to be part of a spacious, impeccably decorated, and luxurious penthouse suite.  The smiling maid's firm but not painful grip on Jodi's ginger hair never faltered.

Those Gibson Girls were relaxing in their home theater, a large room with plush, overstuffed armchairs on either side of a plush, overstuffed couch, all facing a wall-to-wall set of closed drapes.  They were on the couch, dressed in their usual daytime wear of hideously expensive tailored business attire (skirts, blouses, and jackets) and enjoying coffee in eggshell-thin cups of fine porcelain.

"I wonder what's keeping them," Bethany said to her mother.

"Relax, Sweetpea," Peggy chuckled.  "Here they are."

Smiling as usual, Sloane entered the theater.  She had a firm grip on Jodi's glorious ginger locks, so the Gibsons' naked, bound, gagged, and collared "guest" was entering as well.

"Welcome, Ms. McJoy," Peggy beamed as Sloane plunked Jodi down on the couch between her employers with Peggy on Jodi's left and Bethany on her right.  Those Gibson Girls immediately snuggled close in a friendly (and socially inappropriate) manner.  "May I call you Jodi?  I'm Peggy Gibson and this is my daughter Bethany."

Jodi's eyes popped wide.  The Gibson Gazillionaires!  I've been kidnapped by the Gibson Gazillionaires!  Why?  I'm not snooping into their affairs.  Am I?  No, she decided, definitely not!  I'd know if I was.  I'd like to, but I'm not.  Peggy and Bethany Gibson might keep a low profile, but that didn't mean an Intrepid Investigative Reporter like Jodi McJoy didn't know all about them... meaning knew at least something about them... meaning had heard of them but that was about it.

"Welcome," Bethany purred as she draped her left arm over Jodi's shoulders and gently squeezed Jodi's right breast with her right hand!

Jodi shivered and wiggled but, again, managed to remember to keep her petulant complaints and scathing rebukes to herself because of the shock-collar.  The damn thing and its ever present threat of low-level electrocution was putting a serious damper on her style.

Meanwhile, Sloane had knelt at Jodi's feet, pulled a length of white paracord from her apron pocket, and was using it to quickly and efficiently bind Jodi's ankles, feet, and big-toes together.

Again with the toes, Jodi thought, glaring at Sloane as she continued weakly squirming in response to the Gibsons' ongoing tactile "greetings."  The ankles-feet-toes-bind was the same bondage-overkill and hop-discouraging technique she'd endured at Blissful Beach Spa.  Hmm... maybe Sloane was trained there.

Meanwhile, knowing Jodi would now find it difficult if not impossible to escape her employer's "hospitality" by heaving herself off the couch and scampering away, Sloane gracefully stood, straightened her apron, curtsied to Those Gibson Girls (and their glowering guest) and strolled from the theater.

"You're probably wondering why we've invited you here," Peggy said.

Jodi rolled her frowning eyes.  No, ya think? she silently fumed, then turned and glared at Bethany, who took the hint, stopped squeezing her boob, but now rested her hand on Jodi's right knee instead.

"Such pretty marks," Bethany purred, caressing the pink indentations left by the now removed plasti-cuff that had formerly bound Jodi's knees.

"Very pretty," her mother agreed, "and already fading."  She paused to sip her coffee... then lifted her cup and smiled at her daughter.

Bethany carefully peeled the tape from Jodi's lips, mouth, and lower face... then leaned to the coffee service on the end-table to her right, refilled her cup from a carafe... then carefully held it to Jodi's lips.

Jodi took a careful sip of the delicious brew... then nodded to Bethany.  Good coffee was grounds (so to speak) for tolerating trivial things like being kidnapped, groped, and caressed.

"Back to the topic at hand," Peggy continued, "we have an important project we'd very much like you to be a part of."  She picked up what was either an oversized cellphone or a small tablet computer, tapped its touchscreen, then continued tapping, quickly navigating her way through a series of menus.

A quiet motor hummed from somewhere overhead as directly in front of the couch the full-length drapes parted, revealing the largest flat-screen TV Jodi had ever seen!  It filled the entire wall!

Two vertical columns of small icons appeared on either side of the screen.  Of course, on that screen, "small" meant about the size of a postcard.

As her mother continued talking Bethany alternated between providing sips of coffee for Jodi and caressing various parts of the squirming ginger's naked body.  The tactile attention did not help Jodi's concentration.

Then, one-by-one, the icons began migrating to the center where they grew to fill the screen from top to bottom.  There was a pause of several seconds... then the image returned to its original size and location while another took its place.  It was a slide show.

From background research for her book, fleshing out (so to speak) and contextualizing her Blissful Beach Spa experience, Jodi recognized at least some of the images as the covers of various "classic" works by various famous artists (at least in some circles) who specialized in bondage, BDSM, and erotic storytelling—Willie, Stanton, Bishop, Saudelli, even Crepax (although the author of the Valentina graphic novels was probably the most mainstream of the group, at least in Italy).  Anyway, all the images were "Bondage Classics!"

"Are you a fan of Science Fiction?" Peggy inquired.

Jodi blinked in surprise.  Sci-Fi?  What do bondage comics have to do with Sci-Fi?  Nonsequiturs aside, Jodi was a fan of Science Fiction, so she nodded. 

"You could fill the shelves of an entire library with excellent works of Science Fiction written in the last two centuries," Peggy said.  "Some are considered great literature.  Yet, only a tiny fraction of that expansive resource has been tapped to make movies or TV series.  And whether its an original screenplay or a book adaptation, if it's a hit—like Alien for example—it keeps getting remade, over and over and over again in an ever-increasingly number of sequels, prequels, and blatant rip-offs."

"Apparently," Bethany purred, "astronauts can't go anywhere in the void without running into scary alien monsters that either sneak onto their space stations or stow away on their ships for long interstellar voyages."

Jodi nodded again.  It was true, but she was still wondering what any of that had to do with her being kidnapped... or with classic bondage comics.

Peggy gestured at the screen. "The same applies to what we like to call the 'Bondage Genre.'  Granted, the 'Damsel-in-Distress' is everywhere in literature and always has been, but stories directly revolving around ropes and restraint are quite rare."  She shrugged.  "There are exceptions... like Bound or The Disappearance of Alex Creed."

"And that Just Jaeckin movie," Bethany added, "although if Jaeckin based The Perils of Gwendoline in the Land of the Yik Yak on John Willie's comics... Spielberg based Jaws on Moby Dick."

True, Jodi would have agreed (if she wasn't wearing an active shock-collar), but Tawny Kitaen was HOT in that flick!

"Anyway..."  Peggy paused to sip her coffee.  "...we intend to do something about that."

Jodi blinked.  Huh?  What 'that?'  The Perils of Gwendoline movie?

"We're using our contacts and resources to create a family of production companies and film studios dedicated to celebrating the Damsel-in-Distress," Peggy stated.

"And by the excellence of their efforts," Bethany added, "remove the stigma from telling bondage stories."

Peggy smiled at her daughter, then patted Jodi's left knee.  "And we want you to document the entire endeavor!"

"We were very impressed by your Blissful Beach book," Bethany smiled, "and agree that you're perfect for the job."

Jodi noted that the Gibsons knew that Luxury Languishing, the book in question, was about the Blissful Beach Spa (and Sanatorium)!  She supposed that wasn't particularly surprising.  Given current events and their monumental wealth, Peggy and Bethany probably sat on the Blissful Beach board of directors.

Also...  Jodi shook her head.  No!  No way!  I choose my own projects, and I refuse to be kidnapped into journalistic indentured servitude... not even for the entertainment story of the year!

"Another book!" Peggy beamed, "and your salary as our official chronicler will be... substantial."  Reaching across Jodi (who was still shaking her head in a decidedly negative manner) she handed her cup and saucer to her daughter... who refilled it and handed it back.  Peggy took a sip of fresh coffee... then continued.  "There's another aspect of this endeavor you'll find interesting."

"You're familiar with Method Acting?" Bethany inquired.

Jodi turned to Bethany... accepted a sip from her coffee cup... and nodded.  Again with the nonsequiturs.  Jodi knew that in Method Acting (which is based on the "Stanislavsky Method"), an actor aspires to complete emotional identification with his or her part.  In short, it was a series of rehearsal techniques to develop empathy and understanding for their character.  Details varied from teacher to teacher.

"We intend to employ the Method concept in all of our productions," Bethany continued, "not just for the actors, but for the entire creative team, including the screenwriters and directors."

Peggy squeezed Jodi's knee.  "Just as actors cast in an action-adventure movie, regardless of genre, undergo rigorous physical conditioning and demanding fight training," she explained, "our actors will become intimately familiar with the bondage required to play their parts, and our screenwriters and directors will be familiar on a firsthand basis with what they're asking their actors to endure."

"You'll see what we mean, Jodi," Bethany purred, "as you'll also be participating in the Method bondage process."

"You'll need the experience to write your new book," Peggy nodded.

Wait!  What?  NO!  This time Jodi almost forgot about her collar, but managed to limit her response to wide-eyed and enthusiastic head-shaking.  Nuh-huh!  Nope!  NOT gonna happen!

Mother and daughter sipped their coffee with serene smiles.

"Isn't she adorable?" Bethany sighed.

"Absolutely," Peggy agreed.  "I knew this would be a good idea."

Jodi continued trying to communicate her negative opinion and adamant refusal to participate in Those Gibson Girls' "important project" by means of naked, bound, and shock-collared charades.

All the while the slide show of "Classic Bondage Covers" continued on the titanic screen.

And then, Sloane the maid reappeared, smiling and pushing a serving cart.

"Ah, breakfast," Peggy sighed.

Bethany patted Jodi's knee.  "Breakfast for you, that is," she grinned.  "We've already eaten."

Jodi froze in mid-blink.  Breakfast?  Her stomach grumbled.  I could eat.

Molly C. Quinn as... Maggie S. Malloy

Maggie Malloy couldn't be happier.  If half of what Lisa Packshaw had told her was true, this was the opportunity of a lifetime!  If this interview went well and she played her cards right, it could lead to years of work as a screenwriter, actress, and maybe even director and producer!  And she still hadn't come to terms with the fact that she was now an associate of Lisa Packshaw!  Maggie's career was off the ground and starting to climb!  Maybe.  If she was smart!

This interview, during which Maggie would finally meet the backers behind the semi-mysterious "Damsel-in-Distress Development Deal," as Lisa had put it, would be a clandestine affair.  This wasn't all that unusual in the industry.  The entertainment press and rival companies were always poking into other people's business, either to finagle a piece of the action or spoil a rival project.  Lisa had cautioned her to make no mention of today's meeting to her friends and family and certainly not to post about it on social media, not even a hint.  Also, Maggie had to be prepared to travel.  If this meeting went well there would be others, possibly outside the city.

Dressed in her finest street-wear/business-ensemble, her ginger hair tastefully styled (and intentionally casual and slightly-tousled), her makeup understated but professional, and a smile curling her lips and dimpling her cheeks she couldn't have suppressed if she'd wanted to, Maggie arrived at the address Lisa had given her.

It was a large, nondescript office building in what was more-or-less Brooklyn's Nondescript Office Building District.  She made her way to the appropriate floor and office number, opened the door... and entered a simple office lobby.

Behind the expected counter/desk was a blonde about Maggie's age and dressed for business with a friendly smile on her decidedly pretty face.  "Ms. Malloy?" she inquired.

"That's me," Maggie smiled back.

"You're our final arrival."  The blonde stood and gestured towards the door to her right.  "Ms. Packshaw and the others are through here."

Maggie followed the blonde into a large space, empty but for about twenty desks and office chairs.  Like the lobby, there was no signage, nor were there boxes waiting to be unpacked or any other sign of imminent occupancy.  There weren't even phones and computers on the desks.

Maggie was neither surprised nor concerned.  She'd been to casting calls in temporary offices before, and if Lisa's "Development Deal" was just starting out and this office was a part of it, in a few weeks this place would probably be bustling with activity.

The blonde opened a door to a side office and Maggie found Lisa smiling and standing next to a wheeled equipment case, the kind used on location shoots to hold cables, lights, and other movie-making paraphernalia.  As expected, the beautiful, 40-something redhead was dressed in an expensive suit and jacket.

"Maggie!" Lisa gushed, stepped forward, pulled Maggie into a warm hug, and they exchanged the expected and required air-kisses—"Muwah!"  "Muwah!"—and then—"Mrrmpfh!—Maggie was grabbed from behind and a hand clamped tightly over her mouth!  "Mrrrm?!"

Lisa stepped back and continued smiling as a trio of large, husky, and obviously well-trained men in dark clothing and ski-masks carefully and methodically stripped Maggie naked, popped a ball-gag into her mouth—plastered a strip of off-white tape over the ball-gag and most of her lower face, then proceeded to use translucent plasti-cuffs to bind her wrists together behind her back... her elbows together as well... then her knees and ankles!  And then, they bound her thumbs and big toes together using much smaller versions of the same plasti-cuffs!  Next, one of the hulks severed the free ends of all the ties using a small pair of clippers while the other two controlled Maggie's squirming, naked, bound, and gagged body!

"Mrrrrrmpfh!"

Meanwhile—as Lisa continued smiling, watching, and making no effort whatsoever to intervene in Maggie's ongoing abduction—the blonde receptionist revealed herself to be a member of the kidnapping gang by opening the equipment case and smiling while the masked hulks lifted abductee's naked, peachy-pink, bound, gagged, and struggling form—"Mrrrpfh!"—and deposited Maggie inside the case in a fetal tuck!

Finally, her green eyes wide and blinking, Maggie watched as the blonde prepared a syringe, the hulks held her shoulders and head steady, and the blonde injected her in the side of her neck!  "Nrrrrrm!"  The lid of the case closed and was latched... and the deed was done.

"Poor kid," Lisa sighed, then smiled at the blonde.  "Well, if there's nothing else.  I'll be on my way."

The blonde, still smiling (evilly), shook her head.  "I'm afraid not, Ms. Packshaw."

Just then, two additional dark-clad and ski-masked hulks rolled a second identical equipment case into the office.

The kidnappers and the blonde (the other kidnapper) smiled expectantly at Lisa.

Lisa's smile faded and was replaced by a pitiful pout... then she heaved a tragic sigh and removed her jacket... followed by her blouse... followed by her skirt. 

The blonde receptionist/kidnapper continued smiling as she took the clothing items from Lisa's hands, neatly folded them, and set them aside, one-by-one.