by Van ©2017
		Chapter 3

All good things come to an end, and so did Jade's naked, bound, gagged, and uncomfortably cramped rolling journey to her next destination.

The lid of the laundry cart popped open and her muscular, amazonian housekeeper/handlers reached in and lifted her out and plopped her on her stomach on a padded table.  They then buckled a wide, woven nylon belt across her arms and back and a second across her thighs.  She heard a zipping/ripping sound as the belts tightened, and Jade was now in zero danger of rolling off the table, either by accident or design.  She lifted her head and found she was in a large space with tiled walls and floor and the general ambiance of a food preparation or laundry space.  In reality, however, it was quite obviously a processing facility for naked female captives!

Two kinds of women were present:  (1) Naked captives (like Jade, herself); and (2) cat-suited, hooded, and masked handlers.  The two muscular amazons in housekeeping uniforms who had delivered her were leaving the chamber, taking the laundry cart with them.

Jade focused on the remaining handlers.  Like the departing housekeepers, all were muscular and tall.  Their cat-suits were black, skintight spandex, or some similar material, but they evoked some sort of protective garb and uniform, not dancers' leotards.  They wore matching, skintight hoods with oval face-masks of wire mesh, like the protection worn by fencers.  Between the masks, hoods, cat-suits, gloves, and boots, not a single square-inch of skin was exposed to the air and Jade had no clue as to any given individual's hair or skin color.  Jade was a scrapper, but by their heights, well-developed musculature, obvious physical strength, and the graceful way they moved, she knew any one of them could take her in a fight, without question.

As for the captives, all were naked, female, fit, curvaceous, and varied in age from 20-something to... older.  Every race and hair color was represented, all had attractive features, all had their wrists bound behind their backs with rubberized handcuffs, and were either ball-gagged or tape-gagged.

It was something of an industrial operation, designed to see to the captives' hygienic needs and get them bathed, fed, and out the far door as efficiently as possible.  The dozen or so captives stood in an orderly line and patiently waited their turns to be "processed" through each of four stations:

1. Personal hygiene.  A handler led the next captive in line to the next available of five chair-like, stainless steel frameworks mounted to the floor over steel commodes.  She released the captive's wrist-cuffs and clamped her to the frame in the sitting position by her wrists and ankles.  The handler then threw a lever and the "chair" canted forward.  There was a brief pause while she removed the sterile packaging from a blunt plastic probe, snapped it to the end of a narrow hose dangling from an overhead reel, then inserted the probe into the captive's anus.  They get enemas! Jade realized.  A quart-sized, clear glass reservoir up near the ceiling gurgled and emptied... and the handler removed the probe.  The bottle began to refill, the handler once again threw the lever, and the "chair" returned the captive to her original fully upright and seated position.  The captive was left to do her business while the handler detached the used probe and dropped it in a small trash container.  Finally, the handler moved down the line to the captive who had been sitting on her "throne" the longest, released her, and led her to the next station.
   
   
2. Bathing.  The captive was handed off to a second handler who restrained her in a four-point, standing spread-eagle.  The "bath attendant" removed her gag and doused her  from head to toe using a hose dangling from a second ceiling-mounted reel.  After her charge was dripping wet, the handler scrubbed her glistening body with a long-handled brush, repeatedly dipping it in a bucket of soapy water.  After a final, very thorough rinse, the captive was released and hustled off to the next station.
   
   
3. Feeding.  A third handler secured the captive to one of another five stainless-steel frameworks in a kneeling position with her head back and clamped in place by a rubber-padded posture collar.  The handler thrust a spring-loaded clamp into her mouth, propping it wide open, then, what Jade could only characterize as an "automatic feeding machine" was positioned above the captive's involuntarily open mouth.  A switch was thrown, and the machine periodically dropped dollops of... something into her gaping mouth.  Jade best guess was that it was oatmeal, but she had no way to be sure.  Jade was relieved to see that the captive was somehow managing to swallow her "breakfast."  Eventually, the feeding machine beeped, signifying the end of the "meal."  The handler released the captive, then handed her off to a fourth handler.
   
   
4. And out the door.  The fourth handler cuffed the captive's wrists behind her back, once again, and led her towards an open doorway.  Here, a row of steel chains with attached steel collars dangled from a track mounted in the ceiling.  The handler clamped the next collar in line around the captive's neck, pressed a button on the wall, a motor hummed, and the chain began traveling down the track and out the door, taking the collared captive with it, of course.  Where she went from here, Jade had no idea.
   

Bound in Dominique Payne's cruel cord bondage and strapped to her padded table, Jade watched as captive after naked captive was serviced.  It all went smoothly.  The captives were all compliant, allowing themselves to be hustled from station to station and processed like submissive livestock.  Fight, dammit! Jade silently fumed.  At least try.  Granted, the handlers were all giant amazon warriors and the captives were periodically free for only very brief intervals before being once again restrained, but do they have to be so damn... docile?  Jade resolved that if, or more probably when, it was her turn, she would show the cat-suited, She-Hulk handlers that Jade Porter was made of sterner stuff!

Suddenly, there was trouble in paradise.  The next in line to be processed was a late 30- or early 40-something brunette with a tan, voluptuous body, firm, large breasts, narrow waist, broad hips, a very pretty face, and flashing blue eyes.  She was naked and with her wrists cuffed behind her back, like the other waiting captives, and was gagged by a strip of ivory-colored, medical-style tape; however, as soon as the handler peeled the tape from her lips—

"There's been a mistake!" the captive gasped.  "Yesterday was my last day.  Today, I'm supposed to be released."

"Unlikely," the handler said.

"No."  The captive tugged on her wrist-cuffs.  "I'm supposed to be set free.  Check for yourself."

"Very well," the handler chuckled, "but you know the rules.  If you're being difficult—"

"Yes, yes, I know," the captive interrupted.  "Just check, please."

The handler took a firm grip on the captive's left arm and led her to a small screen set in the wall at head height.  "Smile for the camera," she said, "and for the facial recognition program."

The captive attempted a smile, the screen flashed, and a photo appeared.  It was a head and shoulders portrait of the captive, only she was clothed and her smile was decidedly more genuine.  The distance was too great for Jade to read the text displayed underneath, but clearly the captive could, and it wasn't making her happy.

"Plus two?  Who the hell gave me two extra days?"  She tugged on her wrists-cuffs, again, and tossed the brown hair from her face.  "It has to be a mistake."

"Why a mistake?" the handler drawled through her mask, "because you don't like it?  Someone with the required clearance gave you two additional days 'vacation' from your executive duties, and that's all there is to it."

"No!  It's a mistake!"  The captive continued struggling.  Finally, the handler decided she'd had enough, pulled the captive close, and clamped a gloved hand over her mouth.  "Mrrrpfh!"

"Silly creature," the handler purred.  "I was willing to let your petulant display pass, but now it's plus three, and you'll serve the third day in the staff's Shibari practice room."

The captive squirmed and continued struggling.  "Mrrrf!"

"Four days," the handler chuckled.  "Would you care to try for five?"

The captive heaved a sigh, then relaxed in the handler's grip.

"I'll take that as no," the handler purred and released her hand-gag.  "Now," she continued as she removed the captive's rubberized cuffs, "get your ass over to the commode like a good little sex-puppet."

The captive said nothing as she was led to the hygiene station, secured in place, and "processed."  Even from across the room, Jade could see the tears welling in the captive's sad, blue eyes and dripping down her tan cheeks.  It was heartbreaking... not to mention completely bonkers.

One-by-one, over the course of the next hour, the captives were processed, tethered to collars, and padded out the door—until only Jade remained.  Her resolve to fight, once the amazons untied her, was unchanged.  Jade Porter was nobody's "sex-puppet."  However, when the moment of truth arrived, Jade found a total of five giant, muscular, cat-suited handlers surrounding her table and gazing down at her through their anonymous wire masks—five of them.

As the belts pinning her to the table melted away and gloved fingers began untying her silver cord bonds, Jade relaxed and heaved a sigh through the rubber ball filling her mouth and the tape sealing her lips.  Sometimes, discretion is the better part of valor, but Jade hadn't surrendered.  Give me half a chance, she resolved, and somebody's gonna get their butt kicked!

Bonnie continued struggling, kicking, and tugging on her bonds, but her only accomplishment was the loss of her left shoe.  The modestly priced, red, high-heeled pump fell from her squirming foot, onto the table, then clattered to the floor.  She remained spreadeagled on her back on the glass-topped, lighted table, her wrists and ankles bound in padded medical restraints.  Bonnie didn't bother trying to force any comments and/or complaints about her treatment past the strip of tape, adhesive film, or whatever was sealing her lips.  In the first place, there was no one present to hear (and probably ignore) said comments and/or complaints.  And in the second place, Bonnie was too scared and frazzled for snappy banter.

Her surroundings were somewhat ominous... not that Bonnie could see all that much.  Between the blue-white light shining up from the table below and the yellow-white light shining down from the spotlights above, any details about the glass-fronted, stainless steel cabinets lining the walls and their contents were more-or-less lost in the glare.  Given the clinical ambiance, Bonnie imagined all sorts of ominous... medical stuff.

Better not go there, Bonnie decided, and settled in to wait.  All of this—her capture/arrest and current restrained condition—had to be some sort of misunderstanding.  And the naked woman in bondage she'd glimpsed during her "escape?"  That was some sort of fluke, she decided (rationalized), probably something to do with one of the pre-production operations.  Bonnie had no knowledge of (nor had she heard any gossip about) a PAYNECOM movie or TV production with naked, bound, and gagged cast members, but that didn't mean one didn't exist.  Maybe the naked woman was on her way to a costume fitting.

Suddenly, the door whisked open, heels tapped on the linoleum floor, and a diminutive, woman in a white lab coat strolled into the light and smiled down at Bonnie.  She had brown hair, fair skin, attractive but quirky features, and sported a pair of large, dark-rimmed glasses.  Nerd, was Bonnie's instant assessment.  It wasn't a criticism.  Bonnie had nothing against nerds.  In fact, in the opinion of certain "mean girls" from Bonnie's high school days, she was a nerd; but Bonnie thought of herself as "charmingly awkward," a byproduct of her lanky frame and limited repertoire of dance moves, not as a nerd.

"Miss Schnupp," the woman (short nerd) said, "I'm Dr. Folke, Human Resources Research Fellow with the Payne Foundation.  I'll be conducting your interview."

Bonnie blinked in surprise and tugged on her restraints.  "Mrrrfh?"  Interview? she wondered, and we can't do that in your office? ...with you behind your desk and me in a comfortable visitor's chair and sipping a nice cup of coffee?

"Now," Dr.-Folke-the-Short-Nerd continued, "you've been implicated in allegations of certain, shall we say, irregularities, including security violations and the unauthorized accessing of proprietary corporate data, so we'll have to clarify the situation before you can return to your duties."

Bonnie continued blinking and weakly struggling.  That sounds reasonable.  "Mrrrf?"

Dr. Folke smiled.  "All in good time."

Bonnie watched as Folke strolled into the relative shadows and began opening drawers and cabinets and loading objects onto a stainless steel lab cart.  She couldn't see what the objects were, but she did see the occasional glint of polished metal.  Folke turned and wheeled the cart close to the table, Bonnie lifted her head—and her blue eyes popped wide in alarm.  Her worst "medical" fears were confirmed!  An array of scissors, sheers, and clippers, all stainless-steel—some with blunt tips and some wickedly sharp—and ranging in size from delicate to heavy-duty—lay on a jade-green cloth atop the cart!

"Nrrrpfh!"

Still smiling, Folke selected a pair of heavy, ratcheting shears with a blunt tip, ignoring Bonnie's tape-muffled inquiry.  "Like any diligent intern," Folke purred, "I'm sure you're aware of the provision in your contract for replacement of personal property damaged or destroyed in the course of business-related activities.  Endorsement by a senior manager or executive is required, and I'm pleased to reassure you that I have that authority."

"Mrrk?"  Bonnie froze in her bonds.  Folke was using the clippers to slice through the right sleeve of her jacket!  Smiling her slightly quirky and (given the circumstances) disturbing smile, Folke worked her way from the jacket's cuff to the shoulder-seam, then along the shoulder-seam to the collar, and then through the collar.  Bonnie resumed squirming and mewling as Folke walked around the table... then sliced her way down the left sleeve, shoulder-seam, and collar.  Folke released the jacket's front buttons, then sliced her way up the left side of Bonnie's skirt!  "Mrrrmfh!"

Bonnie's business suit was not only ruined, but the remnants were lying open on the glowing table!

Folke returned the clippers to the cart, selected a medium-weight pair of bandage scissors, and began slicing open Bonnie's blouse.

Bonnie continued squirming and tugging on her padded leather bonds, Folke continued ignoring her mewling complaints, and continued destroying one of Bonnie's best and most favorite business ensembles!  Okay, it wasn't all that new and wasn't her actual best jacket-skirt-blouse combo, but she liked it—or rather, she used to like it.  Now, it was so much useless cloth, fit only for recycling.  "Blouse-ectomy" complete, Folke pulled the sliced garments from under Bonnie's struggling form, having reduced her costume to bra, panties, pantyhose, and right shoe.

Folke dropped the ruined clothes in a large, royal-blue recycling bin, then replaced the medium bandage scissors with a lightweight version.

Bonnie shivered in her bonds.  The ruination of her nude-colored, Hanes® Natural Lift Wireless bra required only three strategic snips, then it joined her outerwear in the bin.

Destructively removing Bonnie's "Nude," L'eggs® Sheer Energy Active Support Leg pantyhose was a somewhat more involved process, but Folke was up to the task.  She removed Bonnie's right heel and dropped it in the bin, then stooped and retrieved her left shoe and it joined its red, high-heeled mate.  Bonnie squirmed as the blunt side of the scissors slid down her right leg from hip to ankle... and then her left leg.  Finally, Folke freed her feet and toes from the clinging nylon fabric and tossed the desecrated pantyhose into the bin.

Thanks to to the glare reflecting off her glasses, Bonnie couldn't see the good doctor's eyes, but from her continuing smile, the diminutive doctor seemed to be enjoying her work.  Bonnie's "Toasted Coconut," Vanity Fair® Body Caress Ultimate Bikini Panties required only two snips, and now she was nude, as in naked, as in strapped down in a loose spread-eagle without any clothes!

It was embarrassing, not to mention mortifying, humiliating, frightening... and a little cold... or cool.  Now that her bare skin was getting used to it, the air temperature was actually a little warm.  However... naked!

"Well now," Dr. Folke purred as she gazed down at Bonnie's naked, writhing body, "excellent muscle tone, low body fat index, flat tummy, 'innie' bellybutton, smooth skin, and a solid two on the Fitzpatrick index.  Not especially large breasts, but nicely shaped."  She lifted a pair of latex gloves from the cart and snapped them on with practiced ease.  "Let's begin your physical examination, shall we?"

"Nrrrff!" Bonnie objected, but apparently Folke's question had been rhetorical, she didn't require Bonnie's consent, and considered her opinion irrelevant.

Much to Bonnie's distress, and with firm but gentle pressure, Folke began pressing and probing her abdomen with her latex-clad fingertips.  "Mrrrpfh!"  Apparently (obviously) when Folke said "physical examination," she meant it!  It didn't exactly tickle, but Bonnie couldn't help but squirm.  Folke's gloved hands continued gliding and gently probing along Bonnie's body, including her arms, legs, neck, thighs, and bare feet.

Next, Folke did something truly despicable (in Bonnie's nonobjective opinion): she tickled the sole of Bonnie's left foot with the latex-covered digits of her right hand!

'Eeeeeeeeem!"  Bonnie squealed through her tape-sealed lips, squirmed, shivered, and tugged on her bonds with all her strength, but she couldn't escape from the leather cuffs or Dr. Folke's fluttering fingers.

"Very responsive," Folke chuckled.  "I thought you looked the type."  Next, she stepped to the mid-point of the table, reached down, and cupped Bonnie's crotch.

Bonnie froze in her bonds, her heart hammering and her breasts heaving as she panted through her flaring nostrils.  Still smiling and with her eyes still hidden behind the glare from her glasses, Folke began a slow, gentle caress of Bonnie's labia.  "Mrrrf!"  Bonnie shivered and squirmed, but could do nothing to make her examiner stop massaging and thereby stimulating some of her most sensitive and private nerve endings.  The massage continued... Bonnie continued moaning through her tape-gag and tugging on her restraints... then Folk slid her fingers between Bonnie's labia and into her vagina.  "Nrrrm!"

Folke slid her latex-clad fingers in and out of Bonnie's pussy... slowly... repeatedly.  Then, Folke withdrew her hand and examined the tips of her fingers.  "Hmm... no clear evidence of arousal," she purred.  "I seem to have landed something of a cold fish."  She patted Bonnie's flat stomach (and her "innie" bellybutton).  "Not to worry.  We can help you with that."

'That?' Bonnie silently demanded.  What 'that?'  And what 'help?'

Folke cupped Bonnie's breasts with her gloved hands and gave the modest globes a gentle, simultaneous squeeze.

"Mrrrpfh!"  Bonnie shuddered and squirmed, but Folke continued her examination.

"An adequate handful," Folke purred, "and firm."  She massaged Bonnie's nipples, and they became flushed and erect.  "Normal response," Folke assessed.  "I think we can work with these."

'Work?'  Bonnie was anything but reassured, of course.  She continued squirming, but her struggles were an attempt to release nervous energy.  Bonnie knew she was helpless.

Just then, the door opened and Marina, Folke's statuesque and muscular Latina receptionist entered the room.  "Excuse me, doctor," she said, "but you have a call from the top floor on hold."

Folke sighed, frowned, then removed her gloves and tossed them back on the cart.  "How can I work with these constant interruptions?"  She gazed at Bonnie and indicated her naked, tape-gagged, spreadeagled, and embarrassed form with a flip of her right wrist.  "Moisturize, shave, and get her ready for questioning in..."  She focused on Marina.  "Room nine?"

"I believe room nine is free, doctor," Marina answered, her smiling brown eyes on the blond captive writhing on the glowing table.  "Is that shave her completely, or just her legs and armpits?"

Folke gazed down at Bonnie's obviously, very worried, tape-gagged face.  "Hmm... you know how I hate it when hair gets caught in the machinery.  Give her a close trim."  With that final pronouncement, Folke turned and left the room.  The door whisked closed behind her.

Bonnie continued struggling as she watched Marina wheel the cart back to the cabinets, put away the scissors and shears, and replace them with new items from various cabinets and drawers.  She returned to the table (and Bonnie) with a cart laden with a plastic pump-bottle of Olay® Silky Berry Body Lotion, a can of Pure Silk® Raspberry Mist shave cream, a stainless steel safety razor, a compact electric trimmer, a stack of white cotton towelettes, a two-liter bottle of water, and a stainless steel basin.  She watched as the Latina splashed some water into the basin, then wet a towelette.

Bonnie had questions—so many questions—and foremost among them (at the moment) was exactly what Folke had meant by her assertion that she hated it when hair got caught in the machinery!  What machinery??

Jade decided the worst part of being "processed" was the humiliation—being handled like a squirming toddler—getting her first ever enema—being spreadeagled and bathed—being force-fed what she could now confirm was warm, plain oatmeal.  It was humiliating.  It was all humiliating.

She fought, squirmed, struggled, and, once her gag was removed, swore like the proverbial sailor, but her outraged resistance was pointless.  Jade was convinced even one of the giant, cat-suited, musclebound amazons could have handled her—albeit with some degree of difficulty, unless Jade got in a spectacularly lucky punch.  Two of them could have handled her with trivial ease.  So, why did five of the anonymous She-Hulks feel the need to share the task of processing feisty little Jade?  The only logical explanation was that they got a collective charge out of her futile, pathetic, ineffectual struggles.

It was humiliating.

Finally, squeaky clean (in and out) and her tummy comfortably full of oatmeal, the amazons cuffed her wrists behind her back and her ankles together with a second pair of rubber-clad cuffs, then stuffed a ball-gag in her cursing mouth and buckled it tight at the nape of her neck.  Naked and squirming on the floor, Jade watched as the handlers debated which two of them would complete the task of carrying out the next stage of their instructions (the details of which they didn't feel the need to share with her).  A round of rock-paper-scissors ensued, followed by one of the two victors lifting Jade onto her shoulder in a fireman's carry, and the second leading the way out the door.

Face down, her cuffed, kicking feet to the fore, and her thrashing head behind, Jade watched the tiles give way to carpet as they transported her down the hallway.  There wasn't much to see, other than featureless walls, the receding corridor, and her handler's black leather boots and black spandex-clad legs and back.  They didn't pass any other pedestrians, nor handlers (with or without naked captives over their shoulders), nor business men and/or women in suits, nor naked captives dripping wet from the Aqua Lounge.

Their destination was a large room with a high ceiling, rubber-clad walls, and textured rubber matting on the floor.  The tasteful color scheme was more-or-less the same as the hallway, but clearly the place was designed for ease of cleanup—which Jade found to be somewhat ominous.  The handler eased her off her shoulder.  Then, with the second handler's assistance, she replaced her bonds with wide, well-padded wrist cuffs attached to steel chains that traveled up to motorized winches running in a track set in the ceiling and matching ankle cuffs connected by more chains to rings set in the floor.

Jade was now in a standing spread-eagle, the same position in which she'd received her "bath" back in the tiled chamber.  Her feet were flat on the rubberized floor, but she had very little slack in her chains.  She tugged on her bonds and glared at her handlers' backs as they made their exit.  "Mrrrrf!"  You better run! she fumed.  The door whisked closed, and Jade heaved a gagged sigh.

Minutes passed... and turned into an hour.  Jade stood impassively in her bonds.  She didn't have any other viable options.  She couldn't take a nap, even if she'd been able to calm her mind enough to relax.  Hanging from the wrists-cuffs would be unpleasant, if not painful, and after being bound and gagged and rolling on the floor of her "new office" most of the night, her muscles and joints were already sore.

Finally, the door whisked open, there was a brief, dramatic pause, then Jade's eyes popped wide—"Mrrrf?"—as two women entered the rubber-clad room. 

One was the Evil Queen, herself, Dominique Payne!  As usual, she wore one of her hideously expensive, custom tailored little-black-dresses.  A chilling smile curled the thin, pale lips of the Ruler-of-the-Tower.

The other woman was naked, leather-bound, and hooded by a loose sack of black cloth.  Jade had no idea who she was, other than a fit, curvaceous, White woman with good muscle tone, smooth skin, a tan complexion, firm breasts, and a flat tummy.  The hood's fabric appeared to be light-tight, so as far as Jade could tell, the woman was effectively blindfolded.  Her arms were folded behind her back and encased in a tight, black leather arm-binder from armpit to armpit.  In addition, a black leather body-harness of thin straps yoked her shoulders, pinned her upper-arms to her torso, encircled her waist, anchored the arm-binder against her back, and dove between her legs, cleaving her dark pubic bush and labia.  Her long, tan, toned legs were completely bare.

Dominique smiled at Jade but said nothing.  She led her anonymous prisoner by a leather leash clipped to the center of a light steel chain connecting a pair of spring-loaded clamps squeezing the captive's nipples.

"Down," Dominique ordered, "and cross your legs."  The captive planted her feet, tested her inescapable leather bonds, and shook her hooded head—"Nrrrf!—but a callous jerk on the leash changed her mind.  She settled to the rubber matting and crossed her legs in a semi-lotus.  Dominique stooped, looped the leash around the captive's ankles, then pulled out the slack until the nipple-clamp chain snapped taut and the prisoner was forced to lean forward in a crunch.  Dominique took another turn around the captive's ankles, tied a saddle-hitch, then stood.

Jade could tell the prisoner was in something of a predicament.  The nipple-clamp chain and leash enforced a crouched position that had to be uncomfortable and would no doubt become increasingly so as time passed.

Still smiling at Jade, Dominique clutched the top of the sitting captive's hood and jerked it from her head.

The prisoner shook a curtain of long, brown hair from her face, blinked her eyes, then focused on Dominique and glared in anger.  She then shifted her gaze to Jade, her eyes popped wide, and she screamed through the ball-gag strapped in her mouth.  "MRRRPFH!"

"NRRRM!" Jade screamed back through her ball-gag.

The cross-legged, naked, uncomfortably and involuntarily crouching captive was none other than Audrey Klein, Jade's boss!

Dominique watched the gagged exchange, if you could call it that, between the studio head and her intern with obvious glee.  Both prisoners tugged on their bonds... then both turned to glare at Dominique.

Dominique focused her evil, gloating smile on Audrey.  "Yes, I know all about your little plan," she purred.  "I know about your efforts to force a vote of no confidence in the next PAYNECOM board meeting and have Sorcha replace me as CEO.  There's no use denying it.  Sorcha, herself, as well as several members of the board informed me of your clandestine machinations."

Audrey shifted her now clearly alarmed gaze from Dominique to Jade and back.

"I don't yet know Miss Porter's involvement in your pathetic scheme," Dominique said, "but rest assured, Dr. Folke will ferret out all the details.  At the moment, she's busy interviewing another possible member of your conspiracy, but then she'll turn her full attention to Miss Porter.  In the meantime, I might as well indulge myself."

Audrey and Jade watched as Dominique turned and strolled to the rubber-clad wall, thumbed a button, and the hidden door of a large, built-in cabinet opened.  An interior light winked on, revealing a neat row of whips, crops, floggers, and canes hanging from hooks.

Audrey and Jade reacted simultaneously and with the same theme.  "NRRPFH!"

Dominique selected a flogger with twenty or more long, pliant tails, kicked off her Italian, custom-made, high-heeled pumps, then positioned herself behind Jade's back.  "I find disloyalty to be an especially egregious shortcoming in a business associate," she said as she flexed her arms and twisted at the waist in what was obviously a warm-up exercise.  The tails of the flogger fluttered and came together with a dry rattle as she pumped her arms.  "I have nothing against Miss Porter, and a thorough flogging is a very poor reward for her loyalty, but you know what they say about breaking eggs to make omelets."  She focused her smile on Audrey.  "This is your fault, Ms. Klein," she purred, drew back her right arm... and struck!

"MRRRF!" Jade screamed as her back exploded in pain.  Blow followed blow as Dominique worked over her back, buttocks, and upper thighs.  It was painful, but more on the order of a series of mild bee stings than agony.  It was unpleasant, to be sure, but again, the humiliation was the worst part. Jade couldn't help but flinch each time the leather thongs slapped her skin, but found she could take it.

Audrey, on the other hand, took her intern's undeserved punishment not at all well.  She squirmed and strained against her bonds, which Jade thought probably caused her boss as much pain as Dominique's flogger inflicted on her back.  The clamps pinching Audrey's nipples tightened and tugged as she struggled.  Tears streamed down Audrey's ball-gagged face and Jade found her expression to be quite heartbreaking.

Jade locked eyes with her boss and tried to reassure her that all would be well, but her own eyes welled with tears, making her blink, and the ball-gag seriously compromised her communication skills.  Also, she had no idea what was really happening.  Apparently, she'd stumbled into the realm of executive intrigue at the highest level, and things were playing out with a generous helping of kinky, not to mention felonious, shenanigans.

Dominique continued wielding the flogger, Jade continued flinching and bravely enduring her ordeal, and Audrey continued weeping and watching.