From the Many Thrilling Adventures of Jodi McJoy!
		by Van ©2024
		Chapter 3

It had been a very eventful day... or was it a day and a half?

Jodi wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed between the package-delivery/home-invasion/kidnapping at her apartment and waking up to find herself in the Gibson Penthouse towering above Central Park.  Anyway, she'd found herself in her fully furnished but generically decorated bedroom/jail-cell... been dragged to her interview with the mother-daughter team of kinky gazillionaires... involuntarily "recruited" to document their Damsels-in-Distress Development Project (which Jodi had decided to dub the "3DP")... then dragged back to her bedroom cell where Sloane removed her thumb, wrist, and elbow plasticuffs, thus reducing her bondage to her stylish shock-collar and nothing else.  Then she left.

Jodi strode to the window—meaning padded to the window because, like the rest of her (except for her shock-collared neck), her feet were totally naked—and stared down at the park.  The view was just as spectacular as she'd expected it to be, but she was busy fretting about being a naked captive expected to participate in the Gibsons' kinky nonsense and couldn't really appreciate it.  She heaved a sigh... then set about examining the rest of her dungeon-in-the-sky in full detail.

Not to Jodi's great surprise, the only thing not locked in the bedroom was the sliding door to the bathroom, which she appreciated.  Whatever might or might not be in all the drawers and behind the cabinet doors of the various pieces of sturdy-but-stylish furnishings were... unavailable... to Jodi, anway as she didn't have a key.  Also, there was no provision for opening the window (which was hardly surprising given the altitude).  Her bedroom wasn't a cell in a super-max prison, but it seemed to be just as secure.

By the way, somebody had sneaked a desktop computer into her motel-room-prison-cell during her "job interview" with the Gibsons.  It was top-of-the-line, a very powerful machine.  The tower rested on the floor beside the desk, as usual with such workstations—a colossal panoramic gaming-style screen was now mounted on the formerly bare wall directly in front of the desk—and there was a wireless ergonomic keyboard resting on the desltop.  The computer booted quickly and Jodi discovered it had all the writing, editing, and collaborating software she would ever need to accomplish the journalistic toil the Gibsons' expected of her.  Email and messaging were available, but it was all part of an intranet with no link to the internet, including Jodi's established email and social media accounts.

Jodi was computer-savvy but not what she would call a hacker, or even a computer-guru, but she knew enough to convince herself that as powerful as the new machine might be, there was no way she'd be able to use it to electronically escape the penthouse and alert her family, friends, and colleagues at Domino Magazine that she'd been kidnapped and somebody should come rescue her (and bring along a set of stylish clothing for her, including underwear).

Hours passed... Jodi took a catnap... confirmed that Central Park was still there... twice...  (it was... both times)... then took another catnap.  There were interruptions, not entirely unwelcome.

Sloane the ginger-hottie-maid and gorgeous little tyrant brought Jodi lunch and dinner trays.  She was generally friendly but didn't engage in small talk (which Jodi couldn't have engaged in anyway unless Sloane turned off the damned shock-collar still around her neck).

Sloane didn't gloat.  Jodi's fellow ginger's cheery and smiling (but somehow dominating) demeanor couldn't really be called gloating; however, Sloane made it very clear that she wouldn't tolerate any form of resistance and/or rebellion on Jodi's part.  She could sulk and pout all she wanted, but, according to the maid, "Ms. McJoy" was now her fellow employee—Hah!—she had her orders—As if I care!—and she would do as she was told.  It was infuriating.

Also, Jodi knew the cameras in the four corners of her bedroom/dungeon were watching and she assumed (without any actual evidence) that there was a squad of highly trained Quick-Reaction-Goons waiting to pounce if she overpowered the maid, streaked through the bedroom door, and made a naked break for the penthouse's front entrance (wherever the hell it was).  Jodi decided it was best to bide her time and wait for an actual viable escape opportunity, after finding something nice to wear, of course—and Jodi mentally kicked herself for not taking those self-defense/martial-arts classes she'd promised herself after returning from the Blissful Beach debacle.  Oh well.  Too late now.

Anyway... the sun set on schedule and Jodi climbed between the covers of the comfy bed and went to sleep... and eventually woke to find a new day dawning over The Big Apple.  She took a shower—just for the hell of it—she didn't really need it—then waited to see what would happen next.

What happened next was breakfast, delivered by Sloane, and it was delicious.  But then, the previous meals had also been delicious and it wasn't exactly a huge surprise that the Gibson Gazillionaires had a talented chef running the kitchen in their penthouse.

Afterwards, Jodi tried her best to convince Sloane to remove or at least turn off the [EXPLETIVE DELETED] shock collar.  Jodi was usually pretty good at charades, but either she wasn't getting through or (more likely) Sloane was willfully ignoring her (while secretly enjoying Jodi's efforts to communicate, of course).  Anyway, instead of acting like a perfectly reasonable ginger-hottie-maid and removing the collar, Sloane smiled, unlocked one of the drawers in the chest of drawers, produced a coil of white paracord, and continued smiling as she prepared it for use!

Jodi scowled and slowly tightened her hands into fists.  Enough was enough!  Maybe there was a cadre of towering goons monitoring the situation and waiting to pounce, but Sloane-the-maid was no bigger than she was, Jodi was a scrapper and always had been, and enough was enough!  Also, the best defense is a good offense! ...even if it's futile and doomed to fail.

Jodi charged—"Oof-Urk!"—and in an instant found herself on her stomach on the carpeted floor with Sloane straddling her back and binding her crossed wrists behind her back!  Adding insult to injury, the take-down had forced the air from Jodi's lungs and the vocal component of her inevitable reaction had triggered a mild tingle across her larynx, confirming that her stylish-but-hated shock-collar was still fully functional.

She knows Jujitsu or Aikido or something, Jodi realized.  She hadn't even started the research phase of booking herself into the aforementioned post-Blissful-Beach martial arts class and didn't really know one discipline from another, but it was now obvious Sloane was some sort of kung-fu expert!

Sloan-the-ninja flipped Jodi onto her back, bound hands, and bare butt, straddled her body once again, and smiled down at her furiously scowling victim.  Then, with her smiling green eyes locked with Jodi's, she reached up into the still open drawer... fumbled around... and pulled out a wide roll of off-white medical tape and a pair of shining steel bandage scissors!  She used the scissors to snip off a six-to-seven-inch strip of tape... then plastered it over Jodi's pouting lips, mouth, and lower face.  She continued smiling into Jodi's furious green eyes as she smoothed the tape with her pale, lightly freckled fingers and hands.

Why? the naked, bound, collared, and now tape-gagged Jodi silently fumed as Sloane returned the roll of tape and scissors to the drawer.  Why tape-gag me?  I'm already wearing the damn collar!  Why tape-gag me as well?  It's more damn bondage overkill... you little dork!

"Madam looks so very pretty with her lips sealed," Sloane purred as she smoothed the tape.  "You have an exquisite gag-look, Ms. McJoy."

Jodi scowled (with her green eyes).  Oh, that's why... but it's still unnecessary bondage overkill, and you're still a little dork!  ...an incredibly beautiful and superbly trained little dork!

And then—naked, her wrists crossed and tied behind her back—still wearing the stylish shock-collar/choker—and now with her mouth taped (and looking "very pretty," according to Sloane)—Jodi was lifted to her bare feet and dragged (led) to the comfy office chair in front of the desk with the shiny new computer workstation, ergonomic keyboard, and panoramic screen.   Sloane plunked her fellow employee's bare butt in the plush padding, took a step back, pointed an imperious finger in Jodi's direction, and ordered her to "Stay!"

Jodi glowered and watched as her ginger-hottie-handler returned to the open drawer, collected several more coils of white paracord, closed and locked the drawer, then returned to Jodi and her chair. 

Jodi had considered erupting from said chair and sprinting for naked, bound, tape-gagged, and shock-collar-silenced freedom... but she knew Sloane could handle her with trivial ease (being the kung-fu-ginger-hottie that she was), plunk her back in the chair, then use all that paracord to do whatever it was she intended to do to her in the first place, which was almost certainly tie her to said chair.  Best to save her energy for all the futile squirming and struggling that would inevitably follow.

When Sloane was finally satisfied with her villainous task... she took a step back, crossed her arms under her breasts, and her incredibly attractive smile broadened.

Jodi was, as she'd expected, tied to the office chair.  Multiple strands of cord bound her arms to her torso and the chair-back (passing above and below her boobs)—passed around her waist and the chair-back—around her legs (above and below her knees and the chair)—and her ankles and the chair's wheeled pedestal base.  And once again, Sloane had included her feet and big-toes in the bondage for no good reason!  Her wrists remained crossed and lashed together behind her back and squashed against the chair's plush padding.  And, of course, all of her paracord bonds were cinched and hitched and no matter how she squirmed and struggled none of the elements shifted around or showed any sign that they might eventually work themselves loose.

Sloane smiled (evilly) and gazed at Jodi and the chair (overtly savoring the way her fellow ginger's breasts wobbled as she rolled her cord-yoked shoulders and twisted her cord-bound waist).  Sloane hadn't even broken a sweat during the binding process.  Ms. Pendergast's star pupil was easily up to the task of handling a struggling damsel like Jodi McJoy, despite her manifest reluctance and vigorous resistance.

Then, the smiling (gloating) maid leaned close, reached behind Jodi's neck and under her tousled and swaying ginger hair, and did something to the shock-collar.  "Click!"  Jodi blinked as Sloane took a step back, taking the stylish choker/collar with her!  Somehow the maid had removed the damn thing, something Jodi had tried to do herself in front of the bathroom mirror and failed miserably.  Jodi hadn't even been able to find a latch, keyhole, or anything more than the hairline seam where the the rounded steel torus joined together in the back.  Maybe the lock's magnetic, she posited.

"I'll take this away for cleaning and recharging," Sloane explained.  Then, still smiling her infuriating, serene, and beautiful smile, the ginger-hottie-maid exited the bedroom.  "The show will begin shortly," she added as she closed the door behind her.

Huh? Jodi wondered.  'Show?'  Anyway... Jodi's collar/choker had finally been removed and she was finally free—"Mrrrm"—to cautiously test her well-rested but unfortunately tape-muffled voice.  Of course, there was nobody present with whom she could lodge her inarticulate complaints and share her general dissatisfaction with the current situation—"MRRRRRM!"—but she did so anyway.

Yeah, you better run! Jodi silently fumed as she glowered at the closed door.  The thought had been addressed to the now absent Sloane, of course.  It didn't make Jodi feel any better, not really, but it was the thing to do.

Jodi turned back to the panoramic screen directly in front of her and waited for the promised "show" to begin.  A couple of minutes passed... Jodi took the occasion to do a little more pointless squirming and futile bondage testing... and finally the computer screen began to glow.

The drug-induced haze faded away... Maggie Malloy opened her green eyes... blinked several times... then immediately started struggling and mewling!  "Mrrrpfh!"  She was naked, tied up with plasti-cuffs (with their normally floppy free ends snipped off), a ball-gag plugged her mouth, and a smooth, taut, wide strip of tape was tightly adhered to her lower face from just under her nose to just above her chin and from ear-to-ear!

All of this was much more a realization and confirmation than a surprise.  Maggie remembered in full detail exactly what had happened to her back at that bare office in Brooklyn where she'd gone to meet Lisa Packshaw—who apparently was a member of the nefarious gang of kidnappers who had abducted her and not the career-boosting friend and mentor Maggie had hoped she would be!  Supposedly, Maggie had been there to be interviewed for a position in a mysterious production deal.  Lisa had hinted that the damsels-in-distress meme would be involved, but there'd been absolutely no mention of Maggie herself becoming a damsel-in-distress!

Anyway, all of that had happened there, in Brooklyn, and now Maggie was here... wherever here was.

Maggie stopped blinking and looked around.  She was lying full length on her side on a plush couch in what she suspected was some sort of... mini-theater?  There were comfortable-looking easy chairs on either side of her couch, and everything was facing a set of closed drapes.  Yes, it was definitely a mini-theater.

Studios had fancy little venues like this for production executives to view and discuss storyboard slide-shows, dailies, monitor the progress of special-effects, etc.  Was that where she was now?  A studio?  Some kind of sinister studio?  The kind of studio that strips its job interviewees naked and ties them up?  Maggie's SAG-AFTRA and Screenwriters Guild memberships were up to date and she resolved to file multiple grievances at her first opportunity!

Maggie wiggled, squirmed, and struggled to a sitting position and inventoried her personal condition in full detail.  Totally naked—Check!  Plasti-cuff-bound at her big-toes, ankles, knees, thumbs, wrists, and elbows (with the last three being behind her bare back, of course)—Check!  Ball-gagged and tape-gagged—Check!  Yes, it was all just like she remembered.

Suddenly, a pair of double doors behind the couch opened and Maggie was no longer alone!  A pair of brunettes entered, one in her fifties and the other in her thirties.  Both were expensively dressed in tailored business attire and were quite beautiful, in a fit and curvaceous sort of way—and with them came Lisa Packshaw.

Maggie's green eyes popped wide.

Lisa was not dressed in expensive business attire.  Lisa was naked (as naked as Maggie herself!) and bound in a single-sleeve armbinder and upper-body-harness of brown leather with gunmetal-steel hardware!  Maggie was not a bondage aficionado.  Her past experiences with ropes and gags (not counting her current captivity) had been playing cops-and-robbers, cowboys-and-Indians, rescuing-Maid-Marion, and Xena-Warrior-Princess with her childhood chums—but she still recognized an armbinder and body-harness when she saw them.

Anyway, Maggie could tell that inside the binder Lisa's hands were pressed together palm-to-palm and her elbows quite obviously touching!  The first two horizontal straps of the harness passed above and below her breasts and the third strap around her waist and the forearm-region of the binder.  The three straps were linked to a vertical column of short straps and gunmetal-steel rings that passed down her front and between her legs with the bottom strap cleaving her lady-bits!

Finally, it became evident the binder and harness were one unit.  There were small retaining sleeves sewn and riveted into the sides of the binder precisely positioned to allow the harness' straps to pass through and tighten against Lisa's body and the arm-sheath.

Oh-by-the-way, Lisa was wearing a choker-style collar of rounded steel with an attached ring and she was ball-gagged and tape-gagged in the same manner as Maggie herself.

The younger of the two brunettes led Lisa-the-naked-ginger to one of the overstuffed easy chairs by means of a brown leather leash clipped to the ring of her collar... encouraged her to sit (meaning dumped her naked ass into the well-padded seat)... then used several thin leather straps to bind Lisa's feet and legs together.  From the ankles up she used single straps to bind Lisa at her mid-lower-legs (shins and calves), just below her knees, just above her knees, and at her mid-thighs.  Then, she used a sort of big-toes-feet-ankles harness-arrangement to complete the leg-binding task.  Maggie noted that whoever was behind all this kidnapping and restraining, they were well-supplied with expensive, well-crafted, and stylish bondage paraphernalia.

Meanwhile, while the younger brunette dealt with Lisa's legs, the older brunette was smiling down at Maggie and quite obviously savoring the younger ginger's naked, bound, and gagged condition.  She watched what was happening to Lisa as well, but Maggie was her principal focus.

Finally, with Lisa now confined to the comfort of the easy chair (unless she wanted to heave herself up and hop around, or more probably fall and roll around on the floor) the brunettes sat on the couch on either side of Maggie!  "Mrrrk?"  The elder brunette was on her left and the younger on her right, and both were snuggling close, smiling and running their hands over Maggie's naked body in a friendly and what the plasti-cuffed, double-gagged, and naked captive considered to be an overtly lascivious manner!  "MRRRF!"

"We're very pleased to meet you, Ms. Malloy," the elder brunette purred, unconcerned with Maggie's wiggling and squirming distress as her helpless body was stroked, caressed, patted, squeezed, and/or hugged.  "I'm Peggy Gibson... and this is my daughter Bethany."

"Mrrrrpf!"

"Very pleased," Bethany stated, also ignoring Maggie's reactions as she gave the squirming ginger's right breast a gentle squeeze.

"We'd like to recruit you for our special project," Peggy continued, then nodded at Lisa, who was following the ongoing spectacle on the couch with her full naked, bound, and gagged attention.  "I believe Ms. Packshaw shared at least a little of our plans."  She turned back to Maggie and gently squeezed the wiggling ginger's left breast, just as her daughter released Maggie's right.  "Now... we intend to tell you more.  Much more."

"And there's a slide show!" Bethany added, then reached to the right side-table and triggered the theater's touch-screen remote.  A motor hummed and the drapes parted, revealing a colossal wall-mounted TV.  "This sort of thing always goes better with a nice slide show."

"Indeed," her mother agreed, still kneading Maggie's left breast... and toying with her left nipple.

Unless the Gibsons stopped messing with her naked and bound body Maggie thought it would be difficult if not impossible to follow any sort of slide show, even a "nice" one.

On the easy-chair, Lisa was relaxed in her bonds and smiling (with her green eyes) as Those Gibson Girls recruited their latest team-member..

Back in Jodi's motel-room-dungeon, the panoramic computer screen displayed the melodrama/job-interview unfolding in the Gibson's fancy mini-theater.  It was a hi-definition monitor, the audio was playing through excellent speakers (with a base unit somewhere on the floor for added fidelity), and the display was split to show the action from three different angles.  Jodi could follow what was happening with trivial ease.

The ridiculously wealthy mother and daughter were there, of course, dressed for business (in this case, monkey business) and with them were two (count 'em, two) naked, bound, and gagged gingers, neither of which was Jodi McJoy!

One of the ginger theatergoers was ten years (or more) older than Jodi and was stringently and thoroughly restrained from her shoulders to her big-toes by an armbinder, upper-body harness, and a series of straps.  Also, she was gagged with both a ball-gag and a strip of Elasmoplast or Microfoam medical tape.  She was quite beautiful, by the way, as well as athletic and curvaceous... despite being naked, bound, and gagged... and Jodi thought she just might recognize her!

Was it at that party?  Yes, Jodi decided, it was definitely at that party!  The leather-bound, ball and tape-gagged, and clothing-challenged ginger in the easy-chair was Lisa Packshaw, the well-known (in certain circles) entertainment industry insider!  They hadn't yet been introduced, but Jodi knew who she was and what she did and had reached the inevitable conclusion that she was involved in the Gibsons' "3-D Project."  (It was a no-brainer as Packshaw was right there.)  Of course, what her actual role in the project might be... Jodi had no idea.

Also, Jodi noted that Lisa was wearing what was most likely a rounded steel collar/choker identical to the shock-collar Jodi had worn until quite recently.  Tape-gag, ball-gag, and shock-collar, Jodi noted.  Also, leather big-toes-feet-and-ankles restraint.  This was more evidence that the Gibsons ran a suspenders-and-belt sort of bondage operation.  Overkill appeared to be one of their things.

As for the other ginger...  She was Jodi's age (maybe a couple of years younger) and bound with plasti-cuffs at her big-toes, ankles, and knees.  Her arms were behind her back and she was the filling in a Gibson Girls sandwich, meaning the gazillionaires were cuddling her close from either side.  That meant Jodi couldn't assess the ginger's arm bondage status, but she considered it a safe bet the youngster's thumbs, wrists, and elbows were also plasti-cuff-bound.  Also, the unknown captive was ball-gagged and tape-gagged, just like Lisa Packshaw; however, she wasn't wearing a shock-collar.

Jodi heaved a tape-gagged sigh.  Overkill.  Too much is never enough for the Gibsons.

Jodi sighed and watched as Peggy and Bethany ran their hands over the youngster's smooth, clear, peachy-pink skin.  Déjà vu all over again, Jodi thought.  She'd endured the same odious (sensual) ordeal yesterday.

Anyway... via the computer eavesdropping setup Jodi soon learned that the ginger youngster was one "Maggie Malloy," actress and aspiring screenwriter.  Obviously, another job-interview/kidnapping was in progress.  The same slideshow of Bondage Comics' Greatest Hits happened, as did a discussion of The Method and the role it would play in the 3-D-P.  (Jodi made a mental note to pitch the 3-D-P moniker to The Gibsons at her first opportunity.  It might trick them into thinking she was fully on board and lower their guard so she could escape.)

Anyway, midway through the slide show and right after Peggy first mentioned their version of The Method (that Jodi had decided to dub "Bondage For Everybody!"), Sloane came into view pushing a serving cart.  Bethany peeled Maggie's tape-gag from her lips, mouth, and lower face... unbuckled the ball-gag... then re-buckled the strap on its first hole, plucked the ball from Maggie's mouth, and let it dangle around her neck, thus converting it to ugly-necklace-mode, another thing Jodi was familiar with from her Blissful Beach experience.

With surprising grace (even nonchalance) the ginger captive who was neither Lisa Packshaw nor Jodi McJoy licked her lips, worked her jaw, and placed her order: "Tea, please, with milk."

The Gibson's stuck with black coffee.  All Lisa got was a gloating smile from Sloane.  Jodi could have used a nice cuppa-joe, but unfortunately wasn't in a position to call room service.

Anyway... Sloane curtsied and made her exit.  Then, with The Gibsons enjoying sips of coffee and Maggie savoring perfectly blended tea delivered to her lips by Bethany, the interview continued.

Jodi was impressed with Maggie Malloy.  She was intelligent, well-spoken, polite (given the trying circumstances), and quick on her feet (in a proverbial sort of way seeing as her big-toes and ankles were plasti-cuffed together), and she was a ginger-mega-cutie.  (Not that Jodi was jealous or anything.  She was also a ginger-mega-cutie.)

Maggie had begun the interview overtly terrified and confused... but by the time she was un-gagged and sipping tea she appeared to be only... trepidatious?  Jodi decided to go with trepidatious.  Granted, Maggie was still nervous and maybe a little scared, but the captive ginger-mega-cutie (who wasn't Jodi) was handling everything that was happening extremely well.

The Gibsons were impressed as well.  In fact, Peggy and Bethany had agreed that Maggie would be a perfect addition to their team and congratulated her—Peggy with a kiss on Maggie's startled lips and Bethany with a kiss and a firm squeeze of her right boob—then Bethany popped the ball-gag back into Maggie's mouth, buckled it tight under her off-the-shoulder tousled ginger mop, then mother and daughter climbed to their feet and made their exit from the theater, chatting about their "next acquisition."  Unfortunately they were quickly beyond the range of the theater's microphone or microphones and Jodi didn't catch any details.  It was irritating.

Anyway... back in the theater... Maggie blinked and stared at Lisa.

Lisa smiled above her double-gag and stared back.

Then, back in the bedroom and without warning or fanfare, Jodi's computer screen went dark.

Jodi heaved a tape-gagged sigh.  As had been the case during Jodi's interview, Maggie had been given no opportunity to refuse her new employment.  Jodi had done her best by shaking her head and trying to communicate her absolute refusal to join the Gibson Team, but Maggie had simply stared at her new employers and blinked her green eyes.

Jodi stared at the blank screen.  Her fellow ginger-mega-cutie was playing it... cagey?   Hmmm... not a bad tactic, she mused.  I can do cagey.  I'll have to think about it.

Suddenly, the bedroom door opened and a very pretty young woman entered.  She was dressed as a maid (in the manner of Sloane), her straight brown hair was cut in a Louise Brooks "Lulu-bob," she had piercing blue eyes, very pretty features, a pale ("Snow White") complexion, and a charming smile (with dimples).  Jodi hated her, whoever she was.  She was wearing the uniform of the enemy!

"Time for your exercise, Ms. McJoy," the unknown maid announced, then strode to the desk, reached into her apron, and pulled out...

"MRRRMPFH!"

It was the hated shock collar! ...or its twin!  Probably its twin, Jodi decided.  They can't have recharged my old collar this fast, she reasoned, but mainly she was putting all of her effort, mental and physical, into bursting her paracord bonds, leaping from the chair, and heading for the proverbial hills.  It didn't happen.  What did happen, however, was the new maid clamping the collar around Jodi's neck under her tousled ginger hair.  Click!  Then, the maid quickly and efficiently untied Jodi from the chair, reducing her bonds to her crossed and cord-bound wrists and Microfoam/Elastoplast tape-gag.

As most of her paracord-bonds were melting away, Jodi decided a cautious collar test was in order.  "Mrr-urk!"  The results were instantaneous.  Yes, it was a shock-collar, yes, it was charged, and yes, it was turned on—Dammit!

Meanwhile, the maid had reached back into her apron pocket, pulled out a long, narrow leash of brown leather, clipped the end to the ring in the fully functional shock-collar, lifted Jodi from the comfy office chair, and took her for walkies.