"Janet's spanking robot."

“Bzzt! I am Janet’s spanking robot! Hurry up, Janet! You will be spanked!”

Janet’s in a straitjacket, her arms bound behind her. Holes have been cut in the jacket to expose her giant boobs, which jiggle as she jogs. There’s a constant jingling sound from the bells that dangle from her nipple clamps.

She’s standing on a treadmill, astride a greased knotted rope. The rope is threaded through some pulleys so it can pass between Janet’s legs at the same speed as the treadmill, giving her an endless rope run. Her pink lacy panties rest around her thighs, below the rope. She squeals into her red ball gag whenever she jogs over a knot.

The robot is mounted behind her. It’s no more than a large tin can wielding a spanking paddle. Whenever Janet slows down, the robot smacks her bottom until she speeds up again.

She’s mounted in the middle of the open-plan office, surrounded by handsome incubi businessmen in suits and elegantly small-bosomed secretaries holding drinks. Some of them are holding water pistols, which they use to squirt her breasts. All of them are laughing. A sign mounted above her head reads JANET’S JIGGLE JOG.

“We had some… minor creative difficulties,” explains Florence, as you look around the office. Here, a nude Japanese girl with unexpected D-cups is struggling to fix the printer in front of all her laughing colleagues. There, a topless brunette is enduring a video conference with post-it notes affixed to her nipples. Elsewhere, a curvaceous black woman is tied naked to her office chair, spinning around while her colleagues squirt her with water guns.

“I just think big-titted women are inherently hard to take seriously,” explains Florence. “Janet disagreed.”

You watch a queue of topless secretaries shuffle forward, presided over by a smirking flat-chested girl. Each one in turn obediently dips her boobs in a large bowl of melted caramel, and returns to her desk. Another flat-chested girl walks around with a pouch full of clothespins, using them to decorate every pair of D-cups she sees. Yet another flat-chested girl follows her around with some kind of nerf gun, trying to shoot the clothespins off. There’s trampolines all over the place.

“Well, I must say, I find myself taking your side on this one, Florence. You’ve done a splendid job here.”

A professional-looking blonde is scolding a lemure workman in overalls. Another lemure creeps up on her from behind, grabs the upper part of her dress, and yanks it down, baring the startled girl’s remarkable breasts to the first lemure, who takes the opportunity to produce two large banana cream pies out of nowhere and splat her with them. The lemure behind her rips the rest of her dress off, leaving her quivering in just stockings and panties, while the third banana cream pie hits her face.

“Thank you, boss. That means a lot.”