From the Many Thrilling Adventures of Jodi McJoy!
		by Van ©2024
		Chapter 12

The first hour was bad.

The second hour was worse.

Jodi and Dominique sat atop their respective Sybians, staring at each other and doing their best not to squirm and struggle and fight the leather bondage mitts, padded ankle-cuffs, and tight straps binding their forearms, upper-arms, waists, and folded legs and securing them to the steel crosses solidly and immovably attaching them to said Sybians and the Sybians themselves.  Why not struggle?  Mostly because of the very taut, shiny, and exceedingly thin steel chains joining the stirrups of the posts in Dominique's pierced nipples to the tight ring-clamps squeezing Jodi's not pierced nipples!  Their nipples and breasts were stretched... and they'd be stretched even more if the captives even thought about struggling.

The unvarying nipple/breast stretching was bad, albeit hovering just below the threshold of unambiguous pain; however, they quickly learned that motion-related nipple stretching was much worse and did cause actual stinging pain!  Nothing very serious—nothing that couldn't be endured—but it was definitely a strong incentive to not move... which... as time passed... was increasingly difficult.

Also, the nipple-to-nipple connection was only part of the Intrepid Investigative Reporter and her wealthy, talented, and generally supportive boss' mirrored predicament.  The Gibson Gazillionaires assertion that their Sybian mounts were controlled by a sophisticated computer program turned out to be 100% true!  The phallic intruders in Jodi and Dominique's pussies buzzed and throbbed with unpredictable intensity at unpredictable intervals for unpredictable periods and in unpredictable patterns of pulsing stimulation that were varied, complex, and clearly designed to engender orgasms and/or inflict frustration torture on Poor Jodi and The Unfortunate Dominique!

Some of the erotic buzz-sessions were straightforward gallops to orgasmic release.  Modulated and complicated?  Yes, but clearly they were intended to entertain/torment the involuntary participant or participants to climax.  Other sessions were brief and random interruptions to much needed rest intervals.  Worst of all (in Jodi's opinion) were the episodes that started as orgasmic rides, building and building... then abruptly stopped!  Clearly they were designed as nothing more than frustration torture!  It was... not nice!

Sometimes Jodi was forced to watch as Dominique was buzzed and pulsated and diddled.  Sometimes it happened to Jodi and her boss was the spectator.  Sometimes, the sessions overlapped or coincided from start to finish, meaning both intruders started buzzing at the exact same time and continued, following the exact same sub-program!

Whatever the case, Jodi and Dominique had no choice but to remain motionless and...  Not.  Move.  Their nipples were insistent.  No.  Moving.

Also, as their shock-collars were turned on (as were Jodi and Dominique, so to speak) and their mouths plugged by identical, expensive, and stylish brown-leather-with-gunmetal-hardware panel-gags with chin-straps and tongue-trapping and bite-protecting silicon-rubber globs, they couldn't compare notes, plan an escape, or scream and yodel with delight or frustration!

Also... the riders were glowing... meaning sweating... meaning perspiration was beading on Jodi and Dominique's foreheads, chests, and anatomies in general.  The chamber wasn't stifling, but the air was definitely a little toasty, especially if one was repeatedly and involuntarily being brought to orgasm by a buzzing vibrator.  Jodi supposed sweating was better than shivering in the cold.  Instead, she was shivering with involuntary arousal, over-stimulation, frustration, and Righteous Outrage!

There was something else.  The Gibsons had strongly hinted that they (Jodi and Dominique) were in for the night, meaning all of this was going to continue... 'til morning!

Jodi didn't know if she could take this sort of torture that long!  Would she pass out?  Would she go berserk and start thrashing around?  Would Dominique go berserk and start thrashing around?  Would Jodi slip into a post-orgasmic coma and awaken to find Dominique had fired her from the magazine and she'd have to go back to 100% freelance work after she escaped from The Gibsons?

Suddenly the door of the Fun-With-Sybians Torture Chamber opened and Lisa Packshaw and a pair of Gibson maid/minions strolled across the threshold!

Jodi didn't recognize either of the maids, although one or both of them might have served as Maggie and/or Abby's handlers/riggers at some point.  They need to wear name tags, Jodi silently fumed.  Anyway, the maids were wearing their usual Gibson minion uniforms, meaning the black and white stylish and modern domestic servant versions, as opposed to the birthday suits that were their uniforms when working out with Ms. Pendergast in the gym, getting massages, giving hapless kidnap victims showers, or sweating in the steam room.  If there was a third minion uniform, Jodi had yet to see it.

As for Lisa, she was expensively dressed for business in a skirt, jacket, and blouse ensemble in autumnal colors that perfectly complemented the 40-something beauty's ginger hair and fair, peachy-pink, flawless complexion.  She wasn't naked, bound, or gagged.  Go figure.

"Oh, you poor things," the gorgeous entertainment industry insider cooed as she strolled forward on her expensive and exquisite high-heeled pumps.  Clearly she was appalled by Jodi and Dominique's predicaments and conditions, but at the same time was failing miserably to suppress a dimpled smile.  "Let's get you off that horrible thing."

Jodi found the strength to glower.  Lisa Packshaw was already on her list, but she'd just escalated from deserving-of-a-good-tongue-lashing to in-need-of-a-serious-beat-down.

As it turned out, by "let's" Lisa meant the maids, not herself, and by "you" she meant Dominique, and not Jodi.  Dammit!

Jodi watched as the maids carefully removed the chains linking her boss' nipple-stirrups to her own nipple-screw-clamp-rings (which Jodi's nipples very much appreciated), unbuckled the cuffs and straps binding Dominique to her steel cross and Sybian, then helped her dismount her intruder.  Naked, sweaty, collared, gagged, and unsteady on her bare feet, the maids tied Dominique's wrists behind her back with a length of the ubiquitous white paracord.

Unfortunately (and outrageously), they left Jodi's bondage and Sybian-mounted condition completely intact, including the screw-clamp-rings still squeezing her nipples (which they did not appreciate).

"I know you have a flight to London," Lisa said, smiling as she addressed Dominique.  "So, let's get you cleaned up, dressed, and off to JFK."  Dominique had time to stare at her employee and fellow Sybian erotic torture victim for a few seconds... then was helped (dragged) towards the chamber door my the maids.

Lisa briefly remained behind to smile (gloat) at Jodi.

Jodi panted through her gag, sweated, and most emphatically her green eyes did not smile back.

"Wait here, Jodi," Lisa suggested (ordered), still smiling her truly infuriating smile, then followed Dominique and the maids from the chamber, closing the door behind them.

'Wait here,' Jodi silently fumed.  Friggin' hilarious.  Just you wait you—Ah!  The Sybian was buzzing again.  The insidious nipple-linking chains might be gone, but Jodi was still bound to the cross, gagged, astride the intruder, and now it was throbbing again!  The least they could have done was remove these friggin' ring-clamp-thingamabobs!  That said (or thought), the chains were gone and Jodi was now "free" to struggle as much as she wanted.  It was pointless, of course.  All she could do was wait to see if she was in for another orgasm session... or more frustration.

More and more, to Poor Jodi, losing consciousness was starting to look like an excellent idea—Bzzzzz—but the intruder was making that very difficult to accomplish—BzzzZzzzZzzzzz—if not impossible.

Clean and fully dressed in the business ensemble that had been stripped from her body before she was subjected to her insidious Sybian "advanced bonding exercise" with Jodi, Dominique strolled down the corridor of the Gibson's multi-story penthouse beside Lisa Packshaw.  Following behind were the two maids who had freed her from the Sybian, removed her shock-collar, helped her take a shower, and assisted with her makeup and hair.  She assumed they were there to apprehend her if she tried to flee.

Dominique was exhausted... like she'd just run a half-marathon... but she kept herself in very good shape and it was going to take more than a couple of hours of erotic torture to put Dominique DeFossé down for the count.  That said, she fully expected to sleep through the entirety of the impending red-eye flight to Heathrow.  She just hoped she didn't snore and drool and publicly humiliate herself once she was in her first-class seat and airborne over the Atlantic.

They arrived at their destination, the Gibson's spacious and luxurious home theater.

Both of Dominique's "hostesses" were present, expensively dressed for business, sprawled on the central sofa, and watching the titanic screen.

Brie Aspen Grant was in the easy-chair to their left.  She was also expensively dressed for business and not naked, bound, or gagged.  Go figure!

Judith Lavigne was present as well, however, she was not expensively dressed for business.  The ginger beauty was naked, bound, gagged, and on the carpeted floor at Brie's feet.  Also, Judith's fellow thespian was using her fellow ginger and semi-doppelganger as a footrest!  This required little if any cooperation on Judith's part as she was stringently ball-tied in the manner of Sweet Gwendoline in Willie's Race For the Gold Cup comic, balanced on her knees and feet with her boobs squashed against her lower thighs, her ankles against the backs of her upper thighs, her wrists crossed and lashed against her lower spine, and an elaborate matrix/web of thin rope tightly enforcing the resulting fetal pose.  Her gag was of the white cloth cleave and over-the-mouth variety (with stuffing), and the status of her shock-collar was unknown.  She was neither squirming, struggling, nor mewling through her gag.  Judith seemed resigned to her current fate, that of cosplaying a hassock for Brie Aspen Grant (who was supposed to be her fellow kidnap victim).

Brie smiled, glanced at her wristwatch, then focused on Dominique.  "Took you long enough," she purred.

"Very funny," Dominique huffed, then strolled to the empty easy-chair to the Gibson's right and flopped down into its comfy embrace.

Lisa followed Dominique but remained standing beside her chair.

All eyes were on the titanic hi-resolution TV (except for Judith, who, unfortunately, was facing the wrong way and couldn't see much of anything).  On the screen... Jodi McJoy was still in the torture chamber, still astride the Sybian, still strapped, cuffed, and tightly restrained against the steel cross and the Sybian, and with her nipples still squeezed by the shiny steel ring-screw-clamps.

The Evil Sloane had just arrived in the Sybian Torture Chamber, wheeling a small steel cart.  The maid smiled at her fellow ginger (who glowered back) as she snapped on a pair of latex gloves.

"Oh, goodie," Lisa purred, back in the theater, "I was afraid we'd missed the good part."

"Sadistic pervert!" Bethany jokingly accused.  Her gaze remained on the screen.

"Takes one to know one," Lisa chuckled.

Meanwhile, still smiling brightly, Sloane was leaning close and concentrating on Jodi's right nipple-clamp.  She reached out with both latex-clad hands and began slooowly backing off the clamp's screws.

Jodi was blinking and watching Sloane's actions with her full attention, and so was everyone in the theater (except Judith).  A window had opened on the display, providing a closeup of Jodi's right breast, nipple, and its ring-clamp.

It's general knowledge (in certain circles) that nipple clamps hurt worse coming off than they do going on.  In fact, it's a truism.  Jodi McJoy knew what to expect.  She steeled herself, froze in her restraints... then winced when Sloane finally removed the ring-clamp and placed it in a Petri dish on the cart... then began removing her left ring-clamp.

The closeup window remained focused on Jodi's right nipple.  It was flushed an angry (or at least somewhat peeved) pink and was slightly distended, but the skin wasn't broken.

"None the worse for wear," Bethany stated.

"I wouldn't go that far," Peggy said, "but her nips will be okay.  Sloane will take care of her... and them."

On the screen, Sloane was doing just that.

First, she used an alcohol wipe to give Jodi's right nipple and breast a gentle cleansing.  She then leaned close, smiled into Jodi's angry green eyes, pursed her pretty lips, and delicately blew on Jodi's breast to encourage the residual alcohol to evaporate.  The nipple snapped to attention like a brave little wounded soldier.

Next, Sloane loaded a cotton-tipped swab with some sort of glistening goo from a small screw-top jar and delicately applied it to Jodi's right nipple.  She smiled and took her time, of course, making sure Jodi's entire nipple was thoroughly and uniformly coated from the margin of the areola to the tip of the nipple itself.

 Finally, she peeled the backing strips from a large band-aid and applied it to Jodi's right breast, covering the nipple entirely and making sure the adhesive strips were well adhered to the slope of her boob on either side.  And oh-by-the-way, centered on the band-aid was a bright yellow cartoon smiley-face emoji!  ...which Jodi didn't find to be at all humiliating.

And then... Sloane did it all over again to Jodi's left breast!

Jodi glowered at "Nurse Sloane."

Sloane smiled back, tidied up the cart, and pushed it from the chamber, closing the door behind her.

"You're sure she's fully on board with the program?" Brie asked, still staring at the screen... on which Jodi was squirming and tugging on her bonds, taking time out to scowl at her "smiling" nipples.

"Oh, I'm very sure," Peggy responded, "but she might not fully realize it herself... just yet."

"It might be clearer if you'd given me a chance to talk to her," Dominique huffed.

"And what would have been the fun in that?" Bethany chuckled.

"We'll see that you have a chance to discuss the program with Jodi at length when you get back from London," Peggy promised.

"I'm going to lose her talents completely, aren't I?" Dominique sighed, "for at least... two years?  ...more?"

"Oh, I think not," Peggy responded.  "She'll be able to work on articles for your magazine during lulls in the first few projects, and eventually there will be articles about the first movie.  We'll see that Domino Magazine gets exclusives."  She noticed Brie glancing at her watch again.  "Ms. Grant will be accompanying you to JFK," she said to Dominique.

"I have a meeting in Burbank," Brie explained with a warm smile.  "That's why I'm here, and fully clothed," she gestured at her naked, bound, and gagged footstool, "and not there, naked, bound, gagged, and wearing a shock-collar."

"Otherwise," Lisa purred, smiling at Dominique, "I'd be in your chair and Ms. Grant would be my naked, bound, gagged, and shock-collared footstool."

Still smiling, Brie stuck out her tongue at Lisa in response.

Just then a maid (not Sloane) appeared and curtsied to Peggy.  "Mistress, your guests' luggage is loaded in the limousine," she announced, then curtsied again and departed.

"Guess we better get going," Brie said, then climbed to her feet and stepped into her shoes, being careful not to step on any part of her footstool's anatomy.

Dominique stood as well, as did the Gibsons, and a great deal of smiling, air-kissing, and hugging ensued.  (Judith did not participate.)

"Thank you for this wonderful opportunity," Brie gushed.  "We're going to change popular culture!  I just know it!"

"I agree," Peggy purred in response.

"So," Bethany said, smiling sweetly at the famous actress, "you enjoyed being kidnapped?"

Brie favored the Gibson daughter with an anything-but-amused stare, then nodded at the screen.  "As I have no doubt whatsoever Ms. McJoy would say—Bite me!"

Everybody laughed (except Judith), Brie and Dominique left the theater for their shared ride to the airport, Peggy and Bethany resumed their seats on the sofa, and Lisa strolled to the easy-chair vacated by Brie, sat, slipped off her high-heel pumps, and rested her nylon-clad but otherwise bare feet atop poor unfortunate Judith, the involuntary naked, bound, and gagged footstool.  Unfortunately, Judith didn't have any unavoidable commitments for the next few days and thus, unlike Brie, was not on her way to the airport or anyplace else.

Jodi was still onscreen, alone in the Sybian Torture Chamber, riding her Sybian, waiting to see when her ordeal would be over, and wondering what the Gibsons were doing to Dominique elsewhere in the penthouse right now.  Jodi suspected that either she was in an extended rest period or the insidious stimulation/frustration computer program had run its course—Bzzzzz—or not.  Jodi flinched, then shivered and relaxed in her bonds as best she could.  The Sybian had pulsed again.  Jodi heaved a sigh.  At least her breasts and nipples were off the hook (so to speak).

A little after midnight...

---

Limp as the proverbial wet noodle, The Evil Sloane dragged/half-carried Jodi from the Sybian Torture Chamber and back to the Magnificent Bedroom she shared with Maggie and Abby.  How Sloane had managed to get her off the Sybian, on her shaky feet, and out the door Jodi had no idea.  The panel-gag was still plugging her mouth and pressing against her lips, the shock-collar was still around her neck (and active, as far as she knew, not having tested it lately), and her wrists were now crossed and lashed together behind her back with white paracord.  She was sweaty, her hair damp and stringy, and her entire anatomy badly in need of a bath... nearly as badly as she needed to take an extended nap.

Sloane unlocked the bedroom door, opened it, reached inside and flipped on the light switch, then helped/dragged Jodi across the threshold.

Maggie and Abby were in the bed, under the covers, and were in the process of coming awake.

Despite her fatigue Jodi noted that Dimples and Freckles were naked, wearing their shock-collars (of course), but not bound or gagged in any way.  Go figure.

Sloane released Jodi... making sure the glowering Intrepid Reporter could remain on her wobbly feet... then turned to the gingers on the bed.  "Take care of her," she ordered, then stepped back across the threshold.  "And don't mess with the boob-band-aids," she added.  "That's my job."  She then closed and locked the bedroom door.

Grumpy blinked at Dimples and Freckles.

Dimples and Freckles blinked at Grumpy... then erupted from the bed and scampered to their roommate.

Much hugging, cooing, and comforting ensued... then Jodi was helped to the bathroom and was "taken care of."

Maggie started by untying Jodi's bound wrists.

"Should you be doing that?" Abby asked.

"No," Maggie purred, "but I'm doing it anyway."

Abby shrugged, then unbuckled Jodi's gag and helped her ease the black silicon-rubber glob from her mouth.

"Is your collar turned on?" Maggie inquired.

Jodi nodded... then managed a sleepy shrug.  As far as she knew her collar was active but she wasn't in the mood for a test.

"We'll talk later," Abby stated.

Next came a very welcome drink of cool water... followed by the use of the commode... followed by a quick shower.  Abby went under the water with Jodi to help her get clean and make sure she remained on her feet.  Maggie remained close, ready to assist... then helped Jodi and Abby dry off with a pair of fluffy towels.

Then, things adjourned to the bed, where Jodi became the filling in a Dimples-Grumpy-Freckles sandwich.  A modicum of snuggling happened, then everybody went to sleep (or back to sleep in the case of Maggie and Abby).

The next morning (after a careful test), Jodi determined that at some point her shock-collar had been deactivated.  When exactly that had happened she had no idea, but it really didn't matter.  Last night she'd been in no condition to debrief her roommates about her Sybian Adventure and encounter with her boss at Domino Magazine, but now she was, and did.

Eventually, The Evil Sloane and two of her fellow maid/handlers delivered the Amigas' breakfast trays.  Remarkably, no mention was made of the fact that there wasn't a single bound and gagged ginger in the entire bedroom.  Somebody had untied Jodi without permission, but Sloane and the other two maids let it slide, made their exits, and allowed Grumpy, Dimples, and Freckles to enjoy their meal.

During said meal—when not shoveling bacon, eggs, hash-browns, and biscuits with butter and honey into her ravishingly hungry mouth—Jodi continued providing the full details of her encounter with Dominique and how she'd acquired her humiliating smiley-face band-aids.

Maggie and Abby were aghast!

Jodi was enjoying what little was left of her breakfast.  (Last night she'd missed dinner, remember?  Jodi certainly did!)

Then... The Ginger Amigas concocted a plan!

When The Evil Sloane and the other two maids du jour returned to "help" Jodi, Maggie, and Abby start their day—all three Amigas scowled, clinched their hands into tight fists, made it very clear that they were ready to fight, and announced that they'd formed a union, were on strike, demanded a meeting with management (meaning the Gibsons), and reminded the maids that the Labor Relations Board would descend on them like Avenging Angels if they tried any strike-breaking tactics, so there!

Sloane and the maids thought it was very cute—and rather than use the martial arts and damsel-handling skills Ms. Pendergast had taught them to enforce the plan-of-the-day and hustle Jodi, Maggie, and Abby away to bondage-exercise, bondage-lessons, or bondage-whatever activities that were supposed to happen—they tied the roommates' crossed wrists behind their backs, slapped Elastoplast/Microfoam tape-gags on their pouting/indignant mouths, and hustled them through the penthouse to a small conference-room/library.  There, they lashed them into comfy padded chairs on one side of a table using three plethoras (three standard Gibson plethoras) of white nylon rope.

(What the Amigas didn't know was that the conspiracy they'd concocted over breakfast had been overheard by the bedroom's surveillance system and reported to The Gibson Gazillionaires.)

Jodi was in the center chair, Maggie was on her right, and Abby on her left.  On the opposite side of the table were two unoccupied chairs... but not for long.

Peggy, Bethany, and Sloane entered the conference room.  The Gibsons settled into the empty chairs and Sloane stood off to the side with her back to a wall of bookshelves.  (Jodi assumed the villainous ginger-mega-hottie didn't rate a chair.)

Peggy smiled at the naked, bound, tape-gagged, and shock-collared gingers across the table.  "Eeny, meeny, miny... moe," she purred, pointing from Maggie, to Jodi, to Abby... then back to Jodi.  "We'll let Ms. McJoy be the spokeswoman," she decided.

 Sloane strode to Jodi's chair, reached over her rope-yoked shoulders from behind, and gently peeled the tape from Jodi's pouting mouth.

Peggy and Bethany smiled and watched as the off-white strip reluctantly surrendered its adhesive grip... stretching Jodi's skin before it finally left her lips tape-free.  Jodi licked said lips, worked her jaws, pouted, and glowered at the Gibsons.

Nobody said anything (especially Maggie and Abby), but everyone agreed the ungagging of Jodi and her subsequent reaction had been and was very cute.

"Ms. McJoy," Peggy purred, "you have the floor."

With dignity and great presence (which was remarkable given her nude, collared, and bound condition) Jodi proceeded to make The Ginger Amiga's non-negotionable demands.  They included:

(1.)  More time for actual work, meaning sketching storyboards and writing screenplay drafts for Maggie, more screenwriting time for Abby, and more time for organizing and fleshing out (so to speak) her notes for Jodi.  More productivity in general without their efforts being constantly interrupted for exercise, massages, and getting tied up for no good reason.

(2.)  Regular normal exercise was okay, but enough with all the extraneous and unnecessary bondage nonsense.  No more being strapped to the machines or being electronically controlled by means of their shock-collars.

(3.)  Enough with the unceasing bondage in general!  The Method was important.  They got it.  Lesson learned.  But enough already.  And that included the shock-collars!

(4.)  Clothing.  Normal, attractive, and nonrestrictive clothing—and straitjackets didn't count!  In fact, given all they'd been through, Jodi demanded expensive, stylish, custom tailored, and color-coordinated designer ensembles.  The Gibsons could afford it... probably out of the loose change hiding under the seat cushions of the furniture of their many palatial estates.

(5.)  And enough with the bondage already!  Jodi had already made that demand, but she brought it up again for emphasis.

And finally...

(6.)  A mini-fridge in their bedroom stocked with refreshing beverages and a cupboard stocked with abundant yummy snacks (including popcorn), as well as pudding, yogurt, fresh fruit, and a microwave (for the popcorn).

"And one more thing!" Jodi blurted.

(7.)  A remote control for the giant TV in their bedroom that broadcast the nonstop Impressionists' Greatest Hits slideshow 24/7, and premium access to every streaming service known to mankind so they could keep up with all the latest movies and original series.

"Right?" Jodi asked her roommates and Maggie and Abby nodded with tape-gagged enthusiasm.

Bethany had been taking notes on an iPad during Jodi's presentation, and Jodi, Maggie, and Abby watched (anxiously) as the mother and daughter team conferred quietly (too quietly for the naked, bound, and two-thirds tape-gagged roommates to make out more that the occasional word).  Finally, Peggy cleared her throat.

"Ahem.  Additional time for work is a perfectly reasonable request," Peggy conceded; "however, I can't stress enough the importance of 'The Method' to the success of this enterprise.  Your bondage lessons will continue."

The naked, bound, collared, and two-thirds-tape-gagged Ginger Amigas sighed in disappointment.

"And remember," Peggy said, "you haven't yet experienced any of the various forms of suspension and semi-suspension—you've only had cursory exposure to leather bondage—no experience whatsoever with mummification, be it cloth bandages, duct-tape, shrink-wrap, or leather encasement—only cursory experience with medical restraints, canvas or leather—and the same goes for languishing in chains.  A host of bondage experiences await, and we will not neglect your educations."

Jodi heaved another sigh.  As much as she hated to admit it, Peggy had a point... a horrible, horrible point that she didn't like one tiny little bit!

"As for clothing," Peggy continued, "once you start attending meetings with representatives from participating studios and production companies, wardrobes will be provided, as will transportation to and from said meetings."

"We already have your measurements," Bethany explained with a gloating smile.  "They were needed to tailor custom-fitted leather harnesses, canvas straitjackets, etc.  Clothing won't be a problem."

Jodi scowled at Bethany, then shifted her attention back to Peggy.

Peggy smiled.  "As for the rest... who doesn't like popcorn?  Welcome to the program, ladies."

"Uh, thanks," Jodi responded, "but seriously, about all that bondage—Mrrrf!"

Jodi had forgotten that Sloane was still in the room and had been caught unawares when the wicked ginger maid popped a ball-gag into her sputtering mouth!

"Negotiations are closed, Ms. McJoy," Peggy chuckled.  Then (still smiling), mother and daughter rose from her chairs and left the library/conference-room.

The Evil Sloane followed, pausing in the threshold to smile, point what the roommates recognized as a shock-collar remote in their direction, press a button, then follow their employers, closing the door behind them.

Jodi assumed their shock-collars were now active, but it was immaterial.  The three roommates were still naked, elaborately and thoroughly lashed to their chairs (from their shoulders to their big toes), and gagged.  There was no one present to hear any mewled complaints and/or protests, even if their collars were powered-down.  It would seem today's bondage lesson was "how to languish in a comfy chair in a library/conference-room setting."

At least we're getting popcorn and snacks, Jodi mused.  Maybe as soon as tonight!

Only later did Jodi realize that the "labor negotiations" had been the exact moment when she fully accepted the Gibson Gazillionaires' cockamamie scheme and decided she was fully on board.

Jodi McJoy's kidnapping was over.

Jodi McJoy's participation in the making-damsel-in-distress-movies project was a done deal.