Stories of Tie Up Games

Hello everyone,

This is a new story featuring a new detective whose mission doesn’t go as planned.

Enjoy




Jenna Lawson, 28, stood before the bathroom mirror, her face calm and focused. Her green eyes pierced the ambient air with a rare, almost magnetic intensity—the same intensity that, during her undercover missions, captivated and disarmed anyone foolish enough to underestimate her. Her long brown hair, meticulously styled, framed a strikingly beautiful face, delicate yet resolute.

Jenna was stunning, with a natural yet sophisticated beauty, but it would be dangerous to think this was her only asset. Her beauty was merely another weapon in her already extensive arsenal.

Since she was 22, she had served as an elite agent within the CIA, her name echoing through the headquarters with a blend of respect and fascination. Jenna was the one sent when subtlety and expertise were required.

A staged meeting with a crime lord in Paris, infiltrating a cult in Central Asia, or the silent neutralization of a terrorist cell in the Caucasus mountains—all were resounding successes, often achieved without firing a single shot, a testament to her exceptional mastery of her craft. It was said that Jenna could read people like an open book and that a single word from her was sometimes enough to change the tide.

But her skills didn’t stop there. Trained in the best martial arts schools, she was a master of Krav Maga, Jiu-Jitsu, and Muay Thai, disciplines she executed with surgical precision. During training, her teammates almost refused to spar with her: beneath her swift and graceful movements lay a calculated brutality capable of immobilizing any opponent in seconds. As for firearms, there wasn’t a pistol or rifle she couldn’t disassemble and reassemble blindfolded, and her sharpshooting skills had made even elite marksmen envious.

That morning, a brisk wind swept through Langley. Jenna adjusted the black leather jacket she wore over a simple yet professional outfit, her confident stride cutting through the gray hallways of CIA headquarters. She had been summoned by Michael Thompson, her direct superior, a man in his sixties, strict and respected, known for his unshakable composure. The summons had been brief and cryptic, but Jenna already sensed this mission would be anything but ordinary.

In the conference room, its walls lined with security screens, she noticed a few other agents selected for this special briefing. All greeted her with respectful gazes, some tinged with admiration. She sat silently, arms crossed, waiting for Michael to enter. When he arrived, a thick folder under his arm, his expression was grave, almost weighty.

“Thank you for coming. What I’m about to say must not leave this room.”

Silence fell instantly.

“We have reason to believe that an orphanage in Pennsylvania is being used as a cover for Russian espionage activities.”

A chill swept through the room. Michael paused for a moment, fixing his gaze on Jenna as if gauging her reaction. She remained still, her expression unreadable, though her mind was already racing. An orphanage?

That was an unusual cover for foreign spies. But why? How? And, most importantly, who was pulling the strings?

“This mission will require discreet infiltration and thorough investigation. Jenna, you’ll lead this operation. You’re the best for this kind of work.”

Michael’s gaze wasn’t a compliment; it was a statement of fact. Jenna nodded, her green eyes alight with cold determination. She already knew this mission would confront her with far more complex challenges than it appeared.

The orphanage awaited her, and with it, a mystery she intended to unravel piece by piece.

The following morning, Jenna left her apartment, her eyes cold and resolute. She had prepared her cover with her usual meticulousness. A social worker—that was a role perfectly suited to her ability to blend in while earning the trust of staff and children alike. Beneath her air of gentleness, Jenna remained constantly on guard.

Her arrival at Oakridge Orphanage, an old building surrounded by towering trees in Pennsylvania, went smoothly. Mrs. Newman, the director—a woman in her fifties with neatly tied gray hair—greeted her warmly. With an almost too-perfect smile, she quickly integrated Jenna into the orphanage’s daily routine. Jenna was struck by the discipline that prevailed there: the children were polite, the staff dedicated, and everything seemed flawless... Too flawless for a place meant to house dozens of orphans.

The first week passed without any tangible clues. Despite her skills and sharp instincts, Jenna had found nothing to support the CIA’s suspicions. She had taken care to blend in gently, observe comings and goings, and note the behavior of both the adults and the children. But everything seemed tightly locked, each element smoothly oiled in an almost surreal machine.

It was then that she met Masha, an 11-year-old girl with blonde hair and curious gray eyes. Masha had the gaze of a child who saw and heard far more than she let on. She had attached herself to Jenna almost instantly, often wandering the hallways where she wasn’t supposed to be, always with a mischievous smile.

"You're different from the others," Masha had said one evening when Jenna was walking her back to her room.

"Why do you say that?" Jenna replied, intrigued.

"You watch everything. But no one watches you."

The remark gave Jenna something to think about. Masha often spoke to her about life at the orphanage—the meals, the games, the lessons. Yet, through the little girl’s words, everything seemed ordinary, almost mundane. Perhaps too mundane.

One morning, determined to dig deeper, Jenna dressed simply: a perfectly fitted white shirt, black leggings, and black sneakers that would allow her to move silently. A combination of comfort and stealth. She let her brown hair fall naturally and quickly adjusted her miniature earpiece, connected to a hidden microphone in her shirt.

As she walked through the hallways, Jenna sensed something was off. Her instincts flared. That morning, the orphanage felt... too quiet. The children’s voices echoed in the classrooms, but the usual natural bustle of a place full of kids was missing. She made her way down to the basement, where she had noticed a door that had always been locked. The director had explained it was an old storage room that had been condemned for years.

Yet something about that place had drawn her in.

She glanced around, making sure no one was watching, and approached the door. The lock was old, but to her surprise, it seemed to have been tampered with recently. As she lightly touched the handle, a faint draft of cool air escaped from the room. Jenna frowned.

"A condemned basement that breathes? Interesting…"

She quickly scanned her surroundings before discreetly pulling out a small pick hidden in the seam of her shirt. Within seconds, the lock clicked softly open. Jenna pushed the door and stepped inside.

Darkness greeted her, but her eyes adjusted quickly. In front of her, a stone staircase led downward, much deeper than the building’s structure should allow. She descended cautiously, each step creaking slightly under her weight.

At the bottom, she froze.

Before her stretched a large room, dimly lit by bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Metal crates were neatly aligned, marked with Cyrillic symbols she instantly recognized as Russian. On a table were maps, documents, and several active radios scattered across the surface.

Jenna’s heart pounded. This was no ordinary orphanage.

"Bingo," she murmured, activating her microphone. "Michael, can you hear me? We’ve got something big here..."

But before she could finish, a faint creak sounded behind her. Jenna slowly turned her head, her muscles taut, her hand ready to grab her weapon.

Someone had just closed the door behind her.

Jenna froze as she saw Masha descending the stairs, followed by about a dozen other children. They all wore the same serious, almost inhuman expression that only rigorous training could instill. Their gazes, so seemingly innocent, were sharp and calculating.

"I knew you weren’t just a social worker," Masha said in a surprisingly calm voice.

"Masha, listen to me. This isn’t what you think…" Jenna began, her voice measured, trying to defuse the situation.

But Masha ignored her, tilting her head slightly like a leader about to command an assault.

"Get her."

In a fraction of a second, the children rushed at her like a silent wave. Jenna instinctively pivoted, throwing herself backward to create space. Her training kicked in: she wasn’t about to let herself be overwhelmed.

The first child came within reach. Jenna swept them aside with a roundhouse kick to the chest, sending them to the floor with an agility that was uncanny for an adult. But two others approached from behind. She turned sharply, striking one with an elbow to the jaw while grabbing the wrist of the other to throw them off balance. The children fell, but they got up almost immediately, without a cry, without a tear, like automatons.

"What the hell is this…" murmured Jenna, her breathing slightly heavier.

They were fast. Too fast. There was nothing natural about their movements: every attack was calculated, synchronized. Jenna then noticed Masha approaching her head-on, her small fists clenched. She tried to dodge, but the girl's attack was startling. With a controlled leap, Masha delivered a side kick that hit Jenna’s left arm, throwing her off balance. A child seized the opportunity to grab her leg while another gripped her wrist.

"Let go of me!" Jenna hissed, forcing herself free.

She fought back violently, kicking and sending another child flying. But there were too many. Two children clung to her shoulders, using their full weight, while three more encircled her legs, pulling her down. Jenna made one last attempt: she pivoted, delivering a knee strike, but her assailants held firm. Masha approached again, her gaze cold and determined.

"You don’t stand a chance, Jenna. Stop struggling."

Jenna grimaced as she felt a rope brush against her ankle. She looked down to see two children tying a sailor’s knot around her right leg. They were methodical, as agile as elite soldiers in training.


"Slip knots…?" she thought, stunned.

She struggled to break free, but the ropes tightened instantly under the strain. Two more children grabbed her other leg and began to immobilize it as well, their movements precise and resolute. There was no doubt: they had been trained to subdue an adult.


"This is impossible…!"

Masha calmly knelt beside Jenna, holding a thick new rope in her hands. Her gaze was both gentle and chilling.


"You should have stayed in your place," she murmured.

As Jenna made one last effort to free her arms, three children yanked her wrists behind her back. The combined strength and precision of their movements left her powerless. She felt her shoulders strain as the ropes were quickly tied, binding her wrists tightly behind her. Each knot was perfectly executed, tight enough to rob her of freedom without causing pain.

The children then tightened the ropes around her ankles, adding another cord to connect her hands and feet, immobilizing her completely in a semi-curled position. Jenna tried to move, but the knots were firm and eerily precise.

"This… is impossible," she breathed, her muscles straining under the effort.

Masha crouched in front of her, her gray eyes locking onto Jenna’s. She reached out and gently pushed a strand of hair away from Jenna's face.

"You're strong, Jenna. But not strong enough."

The other children stood silently, their figures forming a threatening circle around Jenna, while Masha watched her with a faintly satisfied smile.

"Now, let’s see what you really know."

Breathing hard, Jenna felt a cold sweat drip down her neck. She had never underestimated an opponent before, but she had never imagined finding herself in this kind of situation. These children weren’t mere orphans. They were weapons.

Still lying on the floor, Jenna felt the ropes bite into her wrists and ankles as she struggled to stay calm. Her mind worked furiously, analyzing the situation, desperately searching for a flaw in this surreal scenario.

"Masha, listen to me," she began firmly despite her position. "You don’t have to do this. You don’t understand what’s at stake here. This place… what you’re doing… it’s not—"

*"You talk too much, Jenna," Masha cut her off in an icy tone, her gaze as sharp as a blade. She approached slowly, her small steps echoing in the cold room. "I think you’d be more… likable if you were quiet."

Jenna felt her heart race. She instinctively pulled at the ropes, but the bonds held fast. Her breathing quickened as she watched Masha crouch near her feet. Calmly, the girl untied the laces of her black sneakers, then removed them with deliberate slowness, placing them carefully to the side.

"Stop this," Jenna hissed, her tone wavering between firmness and unease. "Masha, listen to me, you don’t understand what—"

The girl ignored her pleas and moved to her black socks. Jenna instinctively pulled her legs, but Masha, deft and composed, held her ankles firmly in place. The socks slid off slowly, revealing her bare feet with nails painted a striking scarlet red, a stark contrast to the somber surroundings.

*"Well, look at that," Masha murmured with a hint of mockery, raising an eyebrow. "It seems you take good care of your feet, Jenna. That’s cute. But a bit inappropriate for a spy, don’t you think?"

"Masha, don’t do this. Listen to me—MPHHHHH!"

Jenna’s muffled groans filled the room as Masha balled up her own socks and pressed them firmly against Jenna’s lips. Jenna shook her head, her green eyes wide with shock, but Masha gently forced the socks into her mouth.

"Come on, open wide," she whispered in an almost sweet tone, a mocking smile playing on her lips. "It’s for your own good."

"MPHHHHHHH!" Jenna groaned, her voice stifled as the socks filled her mouth, preventing her from forming coherent words.

Without wasting time, Masha pulled out a roll of thick, shiny gray duct tape, unrolling it with a precise motion. Jenna tried to shake her head, but the girl held her chin firmly.

"Now, stay still."

Masha pressed a wide strip of tape over Jenna’s lips, smoothing it carefully to ensure it stuck perfectly, sealing the socks inside her mouth. She patted the tape with her fingers, satisfied.

"There. That’s much better, isn’t it?"

"MPHHHH! MPHHHHHHH!" Jenna screamed, her breathing ragged as she tried to dislodge the gag. The sounds she produced were barely audible, muffled by the thickness of the tape and socks.

Masha stood back and surveyed her work with childish pride. Her gaze shifted to Jenna’s bare feet, motionless and vulnerable, and she smiled amusedly.

"You know, Jenna, your feet are really pretty. That red polish—it’s almost too classy for leggings and a white shirt. You look more like you’re heading to yoga than a secret mission."

The other children chuckled softly, their silent figures forming a menacing circle around Jenna. The agent pulled violently at her bonds, her bare feet sliding slightly against the stone floor, but all she managed to do was tighten the ropes around her ankles.

"MPHHHH… MPHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" she continued to groan, her eyes flashing at Masha. But the girl remained unfazed.

Suddenly, the sound of a door opening echoed through the room, drawing everyone’s attention. The children immediately straightened, silent as shadows.

Masha slowly turned her head toward the entrance of the basement, her smile fading. A commanding figure appeared in the doorway. Jenna, still gagged and bound, froze, her heart pounding harder.

Who had entered? And what did it mean for her?

The imposing figure standing in the doorway was none other than Mrs. Newman, the orphanage director. She descended the steps slowly, her cold gaze fixed on Jenna, still immobilized on the floor, her wrists tied behind her back and her bare feet exposed in the uncomfortable hogtie position.


"So, here is our fearless secret agent! We've known who you were from the beginning, you know," Mrs. Newman said in a syrupy, almost mocking tone. She approached unhurriedly as the children remained silent, like statues, around Jenna.

Jenna, still gagged, attempted to grunt a response, but only muffled groans escaped her mouth.
"MPHHHHH…! MMMPHHHHH…!"

Mrs. Newman crouched in front of her, gently cupping Jenna’s face in her hands to get a better look.
"You’re much prettier when you’re quiet, I must say. It’s a shame that such a talented woman ended up in such a humiliating position.

She then reached for the discreet earpiece Jenna still wore, quickly spotting the CIA’s advanced technology. With a satisfied smile, she yanked it off unceremoniously, examining it with curiosity.

"I’ll be borrowing this, if you don’t mind," she added sarcastically, slipping the earpiece into her pocket.

Jenna’s muffled growls intensified as she shook her head, her eyes flashing with anger. She strained against the ropes holding her tightly bound, her bare feet flailing helplessly in the air, her toes desperately seeking purchase.

"Oh, do stop," Mrs. Newman said, amused, as she stood. "You’ll only wear yourself out for nothing. These children have been trained by the best specialists, and their knots are as solid as their discipline."

She circled Jenna like a predator inspecting its prey. The vivid red nail polish on Jenna’s toes seemed almost out of place in the austere surroundings—a detail Mrs. Newman did not fail to notice.

"Lovely pedicure, by the way," she remarked with a hint of mockery. "Did you think a bit of vanity would save you? Even the most beautiful spies eventually fall into our traps. Quite literally, in your case."

The children chuckled softly as Jenna continued to pull at her bonds, her body tense with effort and her bare feet vulnerable.

"MPHHHHHHHHHHHH… MMMPHHHHHHHHHHHHH…!"

Mrs. Newman resumed speaking in a more serious tone, crossing her arms.

"Since you seem to need an explanation, allow me to reveal what’s happening here. This orphanage is nothing but a cover for one of the most ingenious plans ever devised: recruiting double agents from a young age. We train these children to become Russian spies embedded within American society. No one suspects a child, you see? It’s a foolproof plan. One day, they’ll be everywhere: in your schools, your universities, your government offices…"

Jenna stopped struggling for a moment, her green eyes widening in shock at the revelation. She shook her head violently, groaning through the duct tape.

"MPHHHHHHH! MMMMMMMPH!"

Mrs. Newman laughed at her reaction.

"Oh, I know, it’s hard to believe. But soon, you won’t even remember why you were fighting. You see, we have very effective ways of ‘turning’ agents like you. A bit of brainwashing—nothing simpler. You’ll become one of us, Jenna. Just another pawn in our game."

Jenna began thrashing again, pulling at the ropes until her wrists burned. Her bare feet, still exposed, flailed in the air as she struggled vainly against her restraints.

"MPHHH! MPHHHHHH!"

Amused, Mrs. Newman turned to Masha, who stood quietly by her side.

"While I make the necessary preparations, you can take her, Masha. I’m sure you know what to do."

An innocent yet unsettling smile lit up Masha’s face.

"With pleasure, Mrs. Newman. I’ll take care of her."

Jenna groaned even louder at those words, shaking her head, her eyes a mix of anger and disbelief. But Masha calmly stepped forward, joined by the other children, who gathered around to gently lift Jenna, still bound and unable to move.

"Come with us, Jenna," Masha said with a playful smile. "We’re going to have so much fun."

Jenna’s muffled groans echoed in the room as she was carried away, her bare feet sliding slightly against the cold floor, her toes curling under the tension. The experienced agent now found herself in the hands of these highly trained children, with no means of escape... for now.

The children carried Jenna into a small room, austere yet carefully decorated: plush toys neatly arranged on a crib-like bed, a desk covered with children's drawings, and a few books lined up precisely on a shelf. The only light came from a bedside lamp, adding a strange aura to the space.

They gently placed Jenna on the floor, still in her uncomfortable hogtie position, her wrists tied behind her back and her ankles connected to her hands by a rope that kept her in constant tension. The other children left, as silent as shadows, leaving Masha alone with her captive.

"Finally, we’re alone," Masha said, her voice almost cheerful.

Jenna, lying on her stomach, tried once again to pull at her bonds, her bare feet wriggling slightly in the air, but she was still securely tied.

"MPHHHH… MMPHHHH!" she protested, her muffled groans audible behind the duct tape.

Masha crouched near her feet, observing Jenna’s toes painted in bright red polish with an amused smile.

"It looks like you’re quite sensitive here," she murmured, slowly running a finger under the sole of Jenna’s foot. Jenna flinched instantly, her feet twisting to escape the touch.

"MMMPHHH! MPH—MPHHHHHH!" Jenna groaned, trying to shake her legs, but the ropes held her firmly.

Masha began tickling Jenna’s feet relentlessly, drawing slow, methodical circles on her soles and sliding her fingers between her toes. Despite her steely willpower, Jenna couldn’t suppress the uncontrollable jerks and muffled giggles that vibrated in her throat. She squirmed as much as her bonds allowed, but the stifled laughter, despite the gag, was evident.

"MPHHHHH! HMMMPHHH! MPH… PFFFFF… MMMPHHHH!"

The ten minutes felt endless to Jenna, each second of the torment adding to her exhaustion. Finally, Masha stopped, allowing her to catch her breath, her feet still twitching and her legs trembling.

"See? You’re much more cooperative now," Masha declared, patting Jenna’s ankle.

After a moment of thought, she stood and pulled the duct tape from Jenna’s mouth with a sharp rip, eliciting a muffled whimper of pain from her captive.

"MPHHHH… MMMPH—!" Jenna winced as Masha gently removed the saliva-soaked socks from her mouth. The sensation of fresh air elicited a relieved sigh.

"That… was absolutely disgusting," Jenna muttered hoarsely, her voice rough after being gagged for so long. She spat slightly to the side, glaring furiously at the girl. "If humiliation was your goal, congratulations. Those socks deserve to be incinerated."

Masha shrugged, amused by the irony in Jenna’s voice. She adopted a mockingly apologetic tone.

"Oh, I’m sorry, Jenna. You don’t like your socks? Maybe you’d prefer something else to keep you quiet?"

Jenna sensed this was her chance. She needed to convince Masha to release her.

"Masha, listen to me," she began gently. "I know you think what you’re doing is right, but you’re wrong. These people are using you and the other children. You deserve a real life. A life where you’re free to choose, not one that’s forced upon you."

Masha paused for a moment, looking thoughtful, then shook her head.

"You’re trying to manipulate me. I knew it. You’re a liar, Jenna."

She crossed her arms, her expression hardening.

"You deserve another punishment for that."

Before Jenna could respond, Masha stood and walked to the adjacent bathroom. She returned moments later, holding a damp sponge in her hand. Jenna, still lying on the floor, stared at the object with a mix of disbelief and frustration.

"No, no, no, Masha," Jenna groaned, lifting her head slightly. "Let’s stop here, okay? I’d even prefer…"

She hesitated before reluctantly adding,

"…the socks."

Masha smiled, as if she hadn’t heard.

"Oh no, I think the sponge will do nicely."

Jenna frowned and tried to wriggle away, but her movements were still limited by the ropes. She had no time to protest further before Masha pressed the sponge gently against her lips.

"Open wide," Masha whispered.

"Masha, no—MPHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Jenna groaned as the sponge was pushed into her mouth. The unpleasant dampness filled her cheeks instantly. Before she could spit it out, Masha unrolled the gray duct tape again, wrapping several tight strips over Jenna’s lips to gag her once more.*
"MPHHHHHH! MMMMPHHH!"

Jenna’s muffled groans resumed, even quieter than before. She tried shaking her head, but the gag held firmly in place, silencing her completely.

Masha stood, crossing her arms with satisfaction.

"There. You’re perfect like this. I’m done playing with you for now. It’s time for you to rest before your brainwashing session."

Jenna, lying on the floor, desperately pulled at her bonds, her bare feet wriggling in the air, her toes curling in frustration. Her muffled groans filled the room as the door closed behind Masha, leaving the agent alone in the room.

She had no choice: she had to find a way to escape before it was too late.

After nearly two hours of struggling desperately, Jenna felt her muscles burning with exhaustion. Despite all her efforts, the ropes hadn’t budged an inch. Her breathing had quickened from the exertion, and her muffled “MPHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” had echoed in the room for what felt like an eternity. Every movement, every attempt to free herself, had only tightened the knots around her wrists and ankles, and sweat now trickled down her forehead.

She paused for a moment, catching her breath, her shoulders aching and her bare feet still exposed, motionless in the air. The duct tape over her mouth and the sponge inside allowed only faint, stifled murmurs of frustration to escape. Then, the door suddenly swung open.

Mrs Newman entered the room, followed by two imposing security guards. Jenna lifted her head slightly, her green eyes flashing with a mix of rage and panic.

"Oh, Jenna," sighed Madame Newman, shaking her head with a mocking smile. "Look at you. Two hours of struggling like a little mouse… and for what? You haven’t made an inch of progress."

"MPHHHH…! MMPPHHHHH!" protested Jenna, her muffled groans louder than before, yet still stifled by the tape.

Mrs Newman crouched to her level and gently stroked Jenna’s cheek with a mockingly maternal air.

"You’re truly stubborn, but that only makes you more interesting. Unfortunately for you, this resistance will soon be a thing of the past."

She stood and gestured to the two guards.

"Take her."

Without hesitation, the two men stepped forward. Jenna tried to struggle, pulling against her bonds as hard as she could, her bare feet flailing, but the guards grabbed her with disconcerting ease. She was lifted, still gagged and bound, her muffled protests growing louder.

"MPHHHHHH! MPHHHHHHHHHH!"

They carried her into a dark, damp underground chamber, a place that looked straight out of a spy movie. The room was small and poorly lit, with concrete walls that seeped moisture. At the center stood a menacing metal chair surrounded by cables and strange electronic equipment, faintly blinking with lights.

The guards placed Jenna roughly on the chair and began securing her. The hogtie was undone, allowing her a brief moment of relief, but she had no time to breathe. Her arms were pulled behind her back and tied tightly to the chair’s backrest, a rope around her torso pinning her firmly against the seat. Her thighs were strapped to the chair’s structure, preventing any forward movement. Finally, her ankles were brought back into a modified hogtie position, fastened securely, rendering her completely immobile.

Jenna pulled at the ropes, her heart pounding furiously. She felt the cold metal of the chair under her bare feet, now fully exposed and vulnerable.

"MPHHHH… MMPHHH!" she groaned, her panic evident. Her green eyes darted around desperately, searching for an escape, but there was none.

Mrs Newman approached slowly, holding a metallic helmet connected to a series of cables. Her smile was calm and confident, only amplifying Jenna’s fear.

"This, my dear Jenna, is a revolutionary Russian invention. With this technology, we can alter your memories, your thoughts… and turn you into a perfectly obedient tool. No need for physical torture. It won’t even hurt."

Jenna shook her head frantically, her muffled groans escalating.

"MPHHHHHHHH! MMMMMMMPH!"

"Oh, don’t worry," Mrs Newman continued, gently placing the helmet on Jenna’s head. "At first, it might feel strange, but soon, you won’t even remember who you were before. You’ll be… useful."

The equipment’s lights intensified, and an electronic beep echoed through the room. Jenna felt a cold sweat trickle down her skin as the helmet adjusted snugly to her head. The cables vibrated faintly as Madame Newman tapped commands into a control panel.

"Goodnight, Jenna," Madame Newman murmured with satisfaction.

Jenna, bound and helpless, fought desperately against her restraints, her bare feet clenching and her wrists pulling uselessly against the ropes. Her muffled groans filled the room as the machines powered on, ready to begin their sinister work.


"MPHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

She had to find a way to escape… and fast.

Suddenly, a deafening crash echoed through the chamber, followed by several precise gunshots. The door burst open violently, and an elite commando team stormed in, weapons drawn, like a controlled storm. In an instant, the two guards were neutralized with precise shots, collapsing to the floor without a sound. Mrs Newman froze in surprise, raising her hands in surrender, unable to react.

Jenna, still strapped to the chair, her eyes wide behind her gag, felt immense relief as she recognized the faces behind the masks: her team, seasoned CIA agents. A wave of warmth washed over her despite her highly compromising situation.

"Well, look who we found here!" teased Agent Turner, a tall blond man with a sharp sense of humor, lowering his weapon.

"I wasn’t expecting such a dramatic setup, Jenna," added Agent Rodriguez with a mischievous smile. "Were you planning to leave the scene intact for us to enjoy?"

The agents gathered around Jenna, their expressions amused. Still securely tied, her bare feet exposed and the sponge still stuffed in her mouth beneath the tape, Jenna groaned in frustration.

"MPHHHHH! MMMPHHHHHH!" she protested, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Turner pulled out a phone and, ignoring Jenna’s muffled protests, exclaimed with a laugh,

"Wait, we’ve got to capture this moment. After all, we need to preserve the crime scene, right?"

Rodriguez burst into laughter, snapping a few photos that prominently featured her tied feet, furious glare, and the electronic helmet still perched on her head.

"These are going to be classics at the office parties," Turner joked.

Jenna, exhausted and humiliated, squirmed frantically, the ropes tightening further around her.

"MPHHHHHH! MPH-MMMPH!" she screamed through her gag, her eyes flashing with fury.

Just then, Michael, her direct superior, entered the room. His serious expression softened into a mix of relief and amusement at the sight of Jenna’s predicament.

"Jenna…" he said, shaking his head as he approached her. "You really went all out on this mission, didn’t you? We lost your signal when your earpiece stopped transmitting. We came as soon as we could."

Michael stepped behind Jenna and carefully peeled the tape from her mouth. The sound of the adhesive tearing the air was followed by an awkward silence. When Michael finally removed the gag, the wet sponge plopped to the floor unceremoniously.

Michael blinked, surprised.

"A… sponge?" he said, clearly amused and puzzled.

"Don’t ask," Jenna growled, catching her breath with difficulty, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Michael smirked and began methodically untying the ropes holding her to the chair, freeing her wrists, thighs, and finally her ankles. Jenna stretched her legs with visible relief, her bare feet finally resting flat on the cold floor.

*"Don’t worry, Jenna," Michael said, offering her a hand to help her up. "You’ve still got your mind intact, and that’s what matters. The mission was a success: Madame Newman is in custody, and we’ll dismantle this entire double-agent network."

Jenna stood, wobbling slightly, her muscles still sore from hours of restraint. She looked at her colleagues, who, despite their professionalism, couldn’t hide their amused grins.

"Alright, very funny," she grumbled, fixing her disheveled hair. "No one talks about this outside this room. Got it?"

"Of course, of course," Turner replied, barely suppressing his laughter. "We won’t say a word… except maybe in the cafeteria tomorrow."

Jenna rolled her eyes but couldn’t help a small smile. She was embarrassed, yes, but alive. The mission had succeeded, even if it had cost her a bit of dignity. As she walked out of the room, her bare feet on the cold concrete, she silently vowed to regain the upper hand on the next mission.

"One day, I’ll make you pay for this," she muttered with a sly grin.

"We’re looking forward to it, Jenna," Michael replied, patting her shoulder.