From the Many Thrilling Adventures of Jodi McJoy!
		by Van ©2024
		Chapter 9

Maggie and Abby were still standing close with their arms around Jodi, but they were no longer conducting a tactile examination of their newly arrived roommate's brown-leather-with-gunmetal-hardware box-tie-harness.  That meant their palms and fingers were no longer sliding against Jodi's bare skin where it bordered the ensemble's tight straps, which she supposed to be a good thing.  Now, her fellow gingers were simply resting their hands on her helpless body in a friendly manner... but they weren't moving them anymore... which was definitely progress.

"Sorry we can't get you out of this thing," Maggie said with a sad, dimpled, and incredibly cute smile.

"Meaning the harness," Abby unnecessarily clarified, "and, uh, gloves or whatever they call them."  She was also smiling... but was more beautiful than cute.  "Everything's locked."

"All the buckles," Maggie sighed.

"Mrrrf!" Jodi complained.

Maggie's green eyes widened.  "Oh!  Your collar isn't turned on?"

"We thought it was turned on," Abby explained (again, unnecessarily).  They were referring to Jodi's shiny steel shock-collar/choker, which was identical to the collars Maggie and Abby were also wearing, and were (obviously) also not turned on.

Jodi rolled her green eyes above her gag and stomped her right foot.  "MRRRF!"  This caused her tousled hair to flutter and her boobs to bounce; however, thanks to the leather hoops/gaskets incorporated in the harness and lightly squeezing said boobs, there wasn't as much bobbling and swaying as probably would have been the case if they'd been unrestrained.

"Hang on a sec!" Abby frowned, then gently turned Jodi's head, parted her ginger locks, and examined the buckle of her panel-gag.  "It's not locked!" she told Maggie.  "No flange-thingie!"

"No flange-thingie?"  Maggie shrugged.  "I guess we should have checked it when we were checking the others."

"I guess," Abby agreed.

"Mrrrf!" Jodi reiterated.

The gingers (the ones who weren't Jodi) focused on the ginger between them (who was Jodi).  "Sorry!" they chorused in unison.  Abby released the buckle... then Maggie eased the gag away from Jodi's mouth and lower face and helped her expel the black silicon-rubber plug solidly mounted to the thinly padded panel's interior.

"This thing is... gross and nasty," Maggie opined, turning the gag in her hands and frowning at the glistening plug.

Abby was also staring, as well as pointing to parts of the plug.  "It looks like that cavity there traps your tongue... and when you bite down on those parts they lock your jaws."

Maggie and Abby focused on Jodi, apparently for confirmation.

Jodi had been busy licking her lips and working the jaws in question.  "Water," she croaked.

"Oh!"  Maggie turned and scampered towards the bathroom.

"It's good to see you again," Abby said quietly as she gave Jodi a brief hug, then started gently combing her fingers through Jodi's hair, tucking errant strands behind her ears and generally rendering it slightly less tousled.

"Uh, thanks," Jodi responded.  She wasn't scowling, but hadn't yet deciding exactly how she should react to being pampered by the gorgeous freckled redhead.

Maggie scampered back with an unbreakable acrylic glass full of clear water... which she held to Jodi's lips.

Still managing not to scowl, Jodi drank the contents... then licked her lips and managed a weak smile.  "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Maggie smiled, gave Jodi a gentle hug of her own... scampered away to take the glass back to the bathroom... then quickly returned.

Jodi glared at the gigantic bed.  (It was good to have something she could legitimately scowl at without feeling guilty.)  "What's with that?  You had two little beds before and now you have one big bed."

Maggie shrugged.  "It just appeared."

Abby frowned.  "Hold on... how do you know what beds we used to have?"

Now it was Jodi's turn to shrug (which the harness allowed her to do).  "They tie me or strap me to a chair in front of a computer and make me watch things... including you two in your bedroom."

Maggie and Abby stared at Jodi.

Jodi stared back, then her green eyes narrowed and she frowned.  "I don't ask them to do it!"

"Oh, right," Maggie responded (with a blush), then frowned.  "Wait," she said to Jodi.  "Did they recently make you watch things that were happening in a... conference room?"

Jodi heaved a sigh.  She was no longer scowling.  "You mean Brie Aspen Grant and Judith Lavigne's Bondage Briefing?"

"Yeah!" Maggie confirmed.

"They made us watch it too," Abby sighed, then pointed at the giant wall-mounted TV (which at the moment was displaying Renoir's Bal du moulin de la Galette), "on that thing."

"Let's compare notes while we wait for dinner," Maggie suggested.

Jodi shrugged again.  "I got nothin' better to do."  She allowed herself to be led to the gigantic bed in question and helped to recline against the pillows piled against the headboard.  Then, her new roommates joined her on the bed and snuggled close, making Jodi the mildly embarrassed filling in a Jodi-on-Maggie-and-Abby sandwich.

"I love your book, by the way," Abby gushed.

"I'll sign it for you," Jodi muttered, weakly squirming in her leather restraints, "if they ever let me out of this thing and we can find a pen."  She might be blushing.  It was difficult to to be sure.

Maggie and Abby exchanged an amused glance, then focused back on Jodi.

"You start," Maggie urged, smiling her trademark mega-cute dimpled smile.

Jodi heaved a sigh.  "Might as well.  I was home in my crappy apartment when an Amazon delivery-girl rang the buzzer and I made the mistake of letting her into the building.  Then..."

In a different tasteful, expensively decorated, and expansive bedroom (also with a single large bed) Brie gazed down at Central Park.  She was several stories up in what she strongly suspected was one of the many late 19th or early 20th century not-quite-skyscraper towering Gothic Revival apartment buildings that were slowly being replaced by ultra-modern, ultra-luxurious condominium towers.  From this altitude the park looked surprisingly natural, more like an incongruous patch of wilderness than a carefully groomed urban oasis.

Brie was nude... completely nude... as nude as she'd been since the moment she was stripped by her kidnappers; however, a set of stainless steel "slave-chains"—manacles, fetters, and collar, all connected by a lattice of lightweight but very strong stainless steel chain with nested links—were locked around her wrists, ankles, and neck.  Normal walking and limited handling of objects were possible, but running and effectively defending herself in any meaningful way were not.

Judith was also present, sitting across the bedroom in an overstuffed easy chair, apparently deep in thought.  She was also nude and locked in a set of slave-chains.

They were waiting to be taken to dine with their "hostess."  And oh-by-the-way, it had been explained that the collars around their necks were obedience collars, the kind used to discourage dogs from barking by means of sound-activated electric shocks!  At the moment the collars weren't energized but were just inescapable parts of their steel ensembles, but they'd been warned that if they started "making a fuss" their speaking privileges would be revoked.

"So..." Judith sighed, "kidnapped."

"Kidnapped," Brie agreed, idly tugging on her wide, smooth, close-fitting manacles and staring down at the park.

"She's crazy," Judith muttered.  "Gibson's bondage movie scheme is crazy."

Brie started to agree, then paused.  "On the other hand...  Bullitt, 1968."

Judith frowned, then decided to play along.  "Steve McQueen.  The car chase scene is iconic."

"Flash forward to the present," Brie continued, "and speeding cars are a movie and television cliché and we have an entire successful film franchise dedicated to nonstop reckless driving."

Judith smiled.  "Fast and Furious," she nodded.  "I've got one.  The elaborate action scenarios in the prologue of every James Bond film.  Flash forward and..."

Brie smiled back.  "The Mission Impossible franchise.  One elaborate and ludicrous stunt after another for two hours."  Her chains clinking and clattering (quietly), she padded to the easy chair next to Judith and sat.

"It's not impossible," Judith sighed, then managed a weak smile.  "No pun intended.  I mean it's not impossible to make the quality, uh, 'damsel in distress' productions the Gibsons are talking about."

Brie nodded.  "With good screenplays."

"And good directors," Judith added.

"And good casts."

Judith shrugged.  "Costume and set designers, the right music, etc., etc."

"And the right promotion," Brie stated, deep in thought.  "Especially the right promotion.  There would be resistance.  A lot of people are quite vocal about the damsel-in-distress trope being a blatantly anti-feminist blight on the industry."

Judith rolled her eyes.  "What's blatantly anti-feminist is grossly underwritten female parts that give the actresses nothing to work with," Judith muttered.

Brie nodded.  "Female characters who are 'arm-candy' with maybe... fifty lines?  ...all focused on the boyfriend or husband or male protagonist and his problems."

"They only exist as attractive props and an opportunity to interject jeopardy into the plot," Judith agreed.

"Patriarchal bullshit," Brie huffed, then smiled.  "Pardon my French."

Judith grinned.  Patriarchal bullshit," she agreed.  "Anyway, that version of the damsel-in-distress meme is the one everybody hates.  This would be... different."

"Different," Brie said, "also difficult to pull off... and sell... but it could be handled."  Her smile broadened.  "I love a good challenge."

Judith smiled back.  "Me too.  So... you're actually in on this?"

Brie pursed her lips in thought.  "You mean do I plan on suing the Gibsons once they let us go?"  Brie sighed. "No... unless things get even more out of hand."

Judith nodded.  "I have a good lawyer on retainer and I'm sure you do too, but I don't plan on working nonstop for the rest of my career to pay legal bills."

"Just imagine the defense team the Gibsons could hire," Brie sighed.

Judith shrugged.  "So... we let them work the pent up enthusiasm out of their systems for a bit?  Then, when we're no longer naked and tied up"—she paused to tug on her manacles—"or in chains, we formally sign on and see if we can make their cockamamie idea actually work?"

"Like I said," Brie smiled, "I love a good challenge.  But there's one thing."

Judith raised a questioning eyebrow.

"From now on, when the Gibsons insist their bondage nonsense requires a practical demonstration... we emphatically agree... but demand that it needs to happen to Lisa Packshaw!"

"An excellent suggestion," Judith grinned.

Brie's smile faded and she idly tugged on her manacles.  "You're not scared any more?" she asked in a quiet voice.

Judith's smile faded as well.  "Of course I'm scared... or maybe... apprehensive."  She stared out the window at the skyline across the park.  "But... I have to admit that I now know exactly what it feels like to be kidnapped.  Their version of 'the method' is... effective."

Brie sighed.  "But if we're going to do this... we should play hard to get."

"We weren't that hard to get," Judith noted with a coy smile.

"I wasn't referring to our kidnappings," Brie drawled.  "I mean we don't want the Gibsons to think we're easy marks."

Judith shifted her focus to Brie and nodded in agreement.  "And we should demand a ton of money.  Make that tons of money, plural."  She smiled at Brie.  "So... we're a team?"

Brie beamed.  "We're a team; however, I have prior commitments requiring my attention, I'm sure you do as well, and I feel zero motivation to make this easy for the Gibsons."

"True that!" Judith chuckled.

Several seconds passed... then Brie sighed and idly tugged on her chains.  "I wonder what's for dinner?"

The first night of what Jodi had already internalized as her Perpetual Involuntary Slumber Party with Maggie and Abby passed in companionable captivity.  Jodi was the only bound captive, of course, but the bedroom door was locked so technically all three of them were captives.

Dinner had been simple, delicious, and Italian: a nice salad, yummy pasta, and a bottle of red.  Maggie and Abby took turns feeding their new roommate (as Jodi was unable to feed herself without making a humiliating mess of her pouting face) while they chatted, got to know each other better, and ate (or were fed), the naked but not bound thespians took the occasion to try and pump the naked and leather-bound Intrepid Investigative Reporter for the inside dope on the "fictional" spa that was the setting of her bestseller... like its exact location and the true identities of the celebrity clients Jodi had encountered—but Jodi held firm to her solemn oath of secrecy.  She refused to divulge any juicy details (so to speak) about Blissful Beach.

Although Maggie and Abby weren't explicit, hints were dropped that raised the specter of gentle persuasion in the form of wiggling fingers!  Yes, that's right, Jodi was subtly threatened with... tickle-torture!

Jodi knew her roomies weren't really serious... much... probably... but would have none of it and immediately played the winning card.

"What goes around... comes around," Jodi portentously intoned.

Maggie and Abby exchanged smiles.

"She means that if the Gibsons threats are true," Maggie said with a smirk, "tomorrow night one or both of us could be the helpless ones."

"Got it," Abby purred, then focused on Jodi, "but if it happens to be me I hope I'm not a party-pooper."

Jodi unleashed a medium intensity glowering glare.  She knew Abby was teasing but did it anyway.  "I'm not pooping on anybody's party," she growled, "just keep your fingers to yourself."  She included Maggie in her righteous ire.  "Your-selves.  Both of you.  No fingers!"

"Okay, no fingers," Maggie promised, "or toes."

"Cross my heart and hope not to get tickled myself," Abby agreed.

"Yeah, no back-tickling," Maggie nodded, "meaning no retaliatory tickling or tickling on the back."

Jodi rolled her eyes in response.

The rest of the night—Jodi, Maggie, and Abby's first night as naked roomies—passed in an amiable and tickle-free fashion and the secrets of Blissful Beach remained sacrosanct.

That said, Jodi's new homies did not keep their fingers to themselves like they'd promised.  There was a modicum of innocent cuddling.  (After all, they were sharing the same bed.)  Jodi didn't mind.  It could have been worse.  She could have been sharing a bed with Sloane and/or Bethany Gibson!  Who knows what might have happened then?

The next morning three maids delivered breakfast trays to Jodi, Maggie, and Abby's Magnificent Bedroom (with its Magnificent Bed), one of whom was The Evil Sloane.  Still half asleep on said bed, the roommates listened as the evil-ginger-mega-hottie explained that they (the three gingers who were not wearing maid uniforms) had exactly one hour to eat, take showers, and get ready for the day.

In addition to dictating the schedule Sloane dragged Jodi to her feet, pulled some sort of compact steel tool/gizmo from her apron pocket, and began sliding it over the flanges securing Jodi's harness buckles, which caused them to snap and pop open!  Then, while Maggie and Abby watched from the bed, Sloane unbuckled and removed the leather harness itself, including Jodi's opera-gloves/mitts. 

Apparently the locking mechanisms were magnetic... either that or magic... possibly alien technology.  The result was a naked, collared, and disgruntled Jodi staring daggers at her rescuer/handler.

While the Liberation of Jodi McJoy was happening the other two maids had smiled, watched the show, and all the while remained between Maggie and Abby and the door.  One was African and the other Latina, and both were athletic and very beautiful (not to anybody's great surprise).

Once Jodi was naked and restraint-free and Sloane had gathered up the now empty gloves/mitts and harness (including the nasty panel-gag), all three maids exited the bedroom.

The roommates visited the bathroom to splash water on their faces and relieve themselves, then returned to the main bedroom, settled into the straight-chairs around the small café table, and ate their breakfasts.  Afterwards, they returned to the Little Damsels' Room, took turns in the shower, brushed their hair, and primped in front of the bathroom mirror.  They had plenty of time as none of them needed to use part of the hour to get dressed.

Finally, time was up (apparently), Sloane and the other two maids reappeared, and Jodi, Maggie, and Abby were further prepared for their day.

A few minutes later Jodi, Maggie, and Abby emerged from the bedroom naked, their wrists crossed and lashed together behind their backs with white paracord, their lips sealed with strips of Elastoplast/Microform tape, and their shiny steel shock-collar/chokers still locked around their necks.  Jodi and Abby's long hair had been quickly and deftly plaited into tight single-braids that trailed down their bare backs with the ends neatly secured with tightly wrapped sleeves of more paracord; however, although Maggie's stylishly tousled mop was too short to braid, it had been pulled back and tightly secured with a few tight turns of more of the paracord.

Jodi had been her usual scowling and resentful prisoner self while Sloane tied her wrists, tape-gagged her mouth, and braided her hair, but Maggie and Abby been more resigned to their fates than angry.

Anyway, Sloane led (dragged) a struggling Jodi through the penthouse by her braid while the African and Latina maids led much more cooperative Maggie and Abby by their arms.

Their destination was a solid wooden door down a back hallway.  Sloane unlocked the door and led Jodi into the large room beyond with her naked, bound, gagged, and collared roomies and their handlers trooping behind.

The floor was carpeted, can-type lighting fixtures were recessed in the ceiling, and all four walls were lined with mirrors!  The only "furnishings" were a tall mirror-clad cabinet door and a vertical row of mirror-clad drawers built into the far wall.  In short, they were in a Hall of Mirrors with a modicum of builtin storage.  The infinitely regressing reflections of the maids and their naked, bound, gagged, and collared charges were mildly disorienting but Jodi adapted quickly.  Maggie and Abby seemed to adapt as well.

"The topic of this morning's demonstration will be the Ebi or shrimp-tie," Sloane lectured as she released Jodi's hair and strolled towards the cabinet door.

Jodi turned to the chamber's entrance door, and was disappointed to find it already closed and being locked by the African maid.  So much for 'escaping,' she silently fumed.

Meanwhile, Sloane had opened the cabinet and revealed (not to Jodi's great surprise) a plethora of neatly hanging coils of white paracord and white nylon rope of various gauges.

Jodi heaved a disgruntled and tape-gagged sigh.  The Gibson penthouse seemed to be teeming with plethoras of rope and cord suitable for tying up kidnapped gingers.

Sloane selected a coil of rope and tossed it to the Latina maid.  "This time let's start with Freckles and let Grumpy and Dimples watch," she suggested.

"Works for me," the Latina chuckled as she caught the coil, released its retaining hitch, and prepared it for use.

Jodi looked at Maggie and Maggie looked back.  Apparently, the maids had given them all nicknames.  Jodi resolved to complain to somebody at her first opportunity.

When the nonexistent dust settled... Abby (and all her reflections) was (were) sitting on the floor with her (their) legs crossed in a semi-lotus, bent forward at the waist, and clearly not going anywhere.

The as yet unnamed Latina had untied Abby's paracord wrist-bonds and replaced them with a stringent box-tie using the rope.  "Freckle's" wrists were now crossed, raised a few degrees above the horizontal, and lashed to her spine with doubled strands of rope that also pinned her arms against her sides, passed above and below her hanging boobs, and yoked her shoulders.

Frog-tie-style ropes lashed Abby's upper and lower legs together, squashing her calves against her thighs.  Her ankles were also bound.

The Latina-maid then looped rope behind Abby's neck and down to her ankle-bonds and repeatedly removed slack until Abby was in a bona fide crunch with her hanging breasts (and nipples) hovering just above her feet.  Next, a symmetrical web of ropes was added that linked the frog-tie, the box-tie, and the behind-the-neck ropes.

Finally, a genuine and unambiguous crotch-rope was added!  A doubled loop encircled Abby's waist, passed between her butt-cheeks from behind, cleaved her labia, passed under the waist-ropes in front, then was tied-off to her ankle bonds.

Poor kid, Jodi thought.  She knew (from experience) that the pussy-rope would slide back and forth whenever she struggled.

"Dimples" was next.  The pose resulting from her version of the shrimp-tie was essentially the same as Abby's, but Maggie's wrists had been released then re-tied with her hands palm-to-palm and her thumbs and hands included.  Also, her elbows were bound together, rolling her shoulders back.  Then, a rope harness was added that pinned her upper-arms to her sides, yoked her shoulders, and framed her pert breasts, much like Abby's.  More rope encircled Maggie's waist and forearms and anchored a crotch-rope that linked to her bound ankles.  Maggie's leg-bonds were more of a ladder-tie than Abby's, but the arrangement was just as effective at compelling Maggie to maintain the half-lotus pose.  There were minor differences in the ancillary matrix of ropes interconnecting Maggie's legs, shoulders, and ankles, but her forward-leaning crunch was just as stringent.

Jodi managed not to fidget, not wishing to telegraph exactly how much she was worried.  "Grumpy" was next and she knew it, and the shrimp-tie was one of her least "favorite" predicaments.  Also, who knew what wickedly bizarre variant of the tie was already fully formed in Sloane's depraved little mind and about to be unleashed on Poor Little Jodi McJoy!

Suddenly, the door of the Dungeon of Mirrors opened and Bethany Gibson strode across the threshold, resplendent in another of her hyper-expensive tailored business outfits.

"Oh, excellent," the Gibson daughter grinned.  "Perfect timing.  I don't have to ask you to un-shrimp-tie Ms. McJoy."  She was broadly smiling at Jodi, of course.

Jodi heaved a very grouchy tape-gagged sigh and glowered at the world in general and Bethany in particular as the Gibson daughter selected a generous coil of what Grumpy was pretty sure was white, 3/8", braided nylon rope (the same kind of rope shrimp-tying Freckles and Dimples), and prepared it for use.  Jodi was not happy, but decided she wasn't in the mood for futile resistance and the punishment that would probably entail, so she more-or-less "cooperated" as Bethany set to work.

The result was a naked, tape-gagged, collared, and box-tied Jodi McJoy—and Bethany had taken her time and really made a first-rate job of it while Sloane and the maids smiled and her shrimp-tied roommates watched from the floor.  (Maggie and Abby's fields of vision were restricted by their rope-enforced poses, but they could follow the action in the mirrored walls.)

Anyway, Jodi's box-tie was the "sadistic," "mean," or "double-hammerlock" variant.  Her wrists were crossed and her her forearms raised well past the horizontal and lashed against her spine (similar to the way the Latina maid had box-tied Abby but more stringent), and Jodi's thumbs and the palms of her hands were included in the bondage.  There was the usual arm-pinning, shoulder-yoking, and boob-framing upper-body harness of doubled rope, but with the added embellishment of rope strands crisscrossing between the aforementioned boobs.  Finally, the harness and arm-bondage were anchored by waist-encircling ropes that blossomed (so to speak) into a semi-elaborate crotch-tie!  Doubled strands passed to either side of Jodi's labia, pressing them together and against the knotted vertical doubled strands cleaving her pussy!  That's right!  Knotted!

Escalating, Jodi thought as she carefully squirmed and executed the required Courtesy Struggle.  The Gibsons are definitely escalating.

Next, Bethany reached into her jacket pocket, produced a narrow leash of brown leather, clipped one end to the ring dangling from the front of Jodi's shock-collar, then slipped the loop at the other end over her right wrist.

"Ms. McJoy is getting a pass on this demonstration," Bethany purred.  Her eyes were on Jodi but she was addressing Sloane.  "Which is probably just as well.  I seriously doubt she would have learned anything new."

"Yes, Madam," Sloane responded, dropping a curtsy.  She was smiling, but Jodi strongly suspected the wicked-ginger-hottie was more than a little disappointed.  She probably had been planning to inflict a particularly cruel and nasty version of the shrimp-tie on her favorite victim.  Bitch! Jodi silently fumed, staring daggers at The Evil Sloane.

Jodi's leash snapped taut and she had no choice but to follow in Bethany's wake as they abandoned Freckles and Dimples to their shrimp-tied fates.  After several barefoot steps Jodi looked back over her right shoulder and watched as all three Gibson minion-maids exited the Dungeon of Mirrors with Sloane locking the door behind them.

Poor Maggie and Abby, Jodi silently sighed as she faced front... and focused on Bethany's firm, expensively-clad butt, strong nylon-clad legs, and hideously expensive and elegant high-heel pumps.

The knotted crotch-ropes sawed through her hoo-haw with every step as she padded along.  It was more humiliating than physically irritating... at least for now... but she hoped their ultimate destination was close... and wasn't the running machine in the gym.

The naked ginger captive heaved another tape-gagged sigh.  Poor Jodi.