Stories of Tie Up Games

This is a story I wrote several years ago, when I had time to write a little more creatively, about a character named Penny Bloom for an old, defunct board on Damsels in Distress in Film, whose name actually escapes me.

If you like it, I have more in my files.

PENNY BLOOM: THE THEATER WALL JOB

Featuring
Penny Bloom was a former records and evidence clerk for the Bayview PD. Her keen eye for spotting the unusual got her a promotion to civilian observer at Bayview PD. She is sharp-eyed and dryly sarcastic under pressure. Her physical trademarks are her neat red ponytail, attractive legs, and, more importantly, a habit of noticing things others miss, which always gets her in trouble.

Sgt. Cutter is a gruff and exasperated detective supervising Penny. He is protective, sharp, and easily irritated by her rule-bending, but trusts her instincts more than he admits.

The Bayview Theater glowed under its bright marquee, but Penny Bloom felt something off the moment she walked up the steps. The staff moved with a practiced cheerfulness that looked more like tension than hospitality.

Sgt. Cutter met her at the entrance, arms crossed, wearing the expression of a man already bracing for disaster.

“Bloom,” he said, “you’re here to watch a show. Not investigate. Not snoop. Do not disappear backstage. Just sit in your seat and observe. We think the whole cast and crew might know something we don't.”

Penny adjusted her black V-neck sweater, smoothed down her black mini skirt, and shifted her weight in her black heels. “Cutter, I’m literally just an audience member tonight.”

“You say that like it’s reassuring. It’s not.” He grimaced. “Every time I send you somewhere to observe, you end up tied to something.”

“Only sometimes.”

“Seven times,” Cutter corrected.

Penny pushed open the theater door. “Well, this won’t be number eight.”

He didn’t look convinced.

Inside, she found Row G, dead center—perfect view of the stage. Actors peeked from behind the curtains, stagehands whispered urgently, and the air buzzed with nervous energy.

Something was wrong here.

The left-wing backstage door shut softly — but the wall beside it hummed. Just a faint vibration. Too faint for anyone else to notice.

Penny leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

New drywall. Fresh paint. Seems too clean.

A false wall.

And behind it — by her mental map — sat the northern service corridor of the Bayview Mall.

A direct connection.

Her pulse tightened.

Act One began. But Penny’s mind was locked on that wall. Once the play was underway, she slipped out of Row G.

Backstage, every crew member stiffened when Penny passed. Too many eyes, too much vigilance. Anyone who asked her what she was doing said she was a friend of a cast member and just leaving throat drops for them.

She approached the false wall and crouched. New screws. Fresh paint. A thin draft escaping from the bottom seam.

She pressed her ear to it.

A faint metallic rattle.

A shopping cart.

Inside a mall.

Penny’s heart jumped. She pulled out her phone.

“Cutter, I think there’s a—”

Something slammed into her back.

Her phone skidded across the floor.

A man grabbed her arm. Another pushed her into a room and shut the door behind them. A third pushed her forward as soon as they entered.

Three — maybe four — gang members. Irritated, sweaty from labor, not theatrical or stylized. Just dangerous.

“You weren’t supposed to come back here,” one snapped.

“I was… looking for the dressing room of a friend,” Penny tried.

“I know her one of the gang said, She’s Sgt. Cutter’s observer with the cute legs,” another muttered. “Tie her.”

Penny lifted her chin. “Before we escalate, let’s remem—”

“Hands behind your back.”

She sighed. “Figures.”

She placed her hands behind her.

Rope cinched around her wrists — fast, clean, tight, expertly knotted. She tested the binding immediately.

No slack.
Another crouched and bound her crossed ankles together over her heels, knotting the rope firmly. A third tied her knees.

She had never been tied this tight so quickly.

“We’re not hurting you,” someone said, breath sharp. “We just can’t have you yelling.”

“I wasn’t going to yell,” Penny replied. “I was going to say that Cutter thinks your plan is—mmph!”

A rolled handkerchief slid between her teeth mid-sentence and was tied firmly behind her head, turning her protest into a muffled glare.

The gang leader pointed to the stage.

“Act Two’s getting ready to start. Put her on.”

Two men lifted her under the arms and carried her toward the wings — safely but decisively.

The curtain rose.

And Penny Bloom was carried straight into the lights.

The audience gasped.

Penny sat center stage on a wooden crate, wrists tied behind her, ankles bound neatly, gag tight between her teeth. Her red ponytail was slightly tousled, her cheeks flushed from the struggle.

But instead of panic, whispers of admiration spread:

“Whoa… I don’t remember this part in the program.”
“Is this a kidnapping scene?”
“She looks genuinely irritated — that’s some acting.”
“Those ropes look real. Props department stepped up.”
From a cluster of men in Row H:
“Dang — look at her legs under those lights. She stands out from here.”
“She’s got long legs for days — no wonder they put her center stage.”
“Stage presence like that pulls your eye instantly.”

The actors moved around her, pretending she was part of the scene since they knew exactly what was going on.

One bent close and whispered, “Stay still. This ends sooner if you behave.”

A man in Row D murmured:
“Her legs make that whole pose look dramatic — she looks like she’s in control even tied up.”

Another actor passed and muttered, “Should’ve stayed in Row G, long-legs.”

Row H responded instantly:
“She really does have long legs — strong stage silhouette.”
“No actress at this theater holds a scene like that.”
“She looks like she could break out of those ropes.”
Penny mmph’d something sarcastic — earning impressed whispers:
“She even sounds gagged. That’s commitment.”
“She steals the whole stage.”

But Penny was scanning the crowd.

Her eyes locked on Cutter entering the lobby.

He saw the empty Row G.

He froze.

Then saw her tied on stage.

Tension went through him like electricity.

He whispered something lethal under his breath.

Row H murmured:
“Whoa, that detective actor is intense.”
“He looks like he means business.”
“Great casting.”

Then Cutter moved.

He pushed through the aisle, climbed the steps, and an actor tried to stop him.

“Sir, please return to your—”

“MOVE.”

The actor moved.
Row H reacted:

“He didn’t break character!”
“This show is wild.”
“She still looks composed — those legs are steady even tied up.”

Cutter reached Penny and knelt beside her.

“Bloom,” he muttered, “I swear to God—”

Someone whispered:

“She even looks annoyed at him. That’s chemistry.”

Penny mmph’d furiously.

Cutter yanked the gag loose, letting it dangle around her neck.

“You were supposed to observe!”

“They built a wall,” she hissed. “Straight into the mall. They’re looting stores.”

Row H whispered:
“She delivers lines like a pro.”
“She looks like she’s really in distress.”

Gang members suddenly surged from backstage.

Cutter spun, gun raised. “Police! DOWN!”
Gasps.
Screams.
Confusion.

One man whispered:
“…Okay, but seriously, she’s got striking legs. Hard not to notice.”

Cutter dragged Penny behind a pillar and attacked her knots.
“You always get tied up,” he growled.
“You always get mad,” Penny shot back.
“You always disobey!”
“And you always rescue me! Now move faster!”

Row H whispered:
“…This is real.”
He freed her wrists.
Her ankles.
Her knees.

Penny stood, shaking pins-and-needles.

A final whisper drifted from the audience:
“She’s definitely not an actress.”
The illusion shattered.

Cutter and Penny stormed backstage just as police backup burst into the building. Gang members bolted for the false wall. Officers intercepted them before they could reach the panel.

Within minutes, the crew was cuffed, the wall exposed, and the mall secured.

Later, Penny sat on the stage steps, adjusting her sweater, brushing dust off her skirt. The gag hung loose around her neck like a scarf.

Cutter paced in front of her.
“You promised,” he said. “You promised you’d behave.”
“I observed,” Penny said. “Just… from multiple angles.”
“You were tied up onstage.”
Penny crossed her long legs gently. “Briefly.”
“Bloom,” Cutter said, voice rising, “you were the featured attraction of Act Two!”
“I didn’t plan it.”
“You never plan it! It just happens to you!”
Penny shrugged. “But I did find the wall.”
Cutter pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes. You did.”
“And the gang.”
“Yes.”
“And the stolen merchandise pipeline.”
“Yes.”
“And you rescued me.”
Cutter sighed with the weight of ten years added to his life. “Bloom… you’re going to be the death of me.”
She stood, smoothing her skirt. “But you’re glad I saw it.”
He paused. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I am.”
They walked toward the exit.
Behind them, officers sealed the false wall and collected evidence.
As they reached the lobby, Cutter added, “And for the record, I heard some of the audience comments.”
Penny froze. “…About?”
“Your legs.”
She went scarlet. “Oh.”
Cutter groaned. “Bloom, why does every man in this city notice your legs before I do anything useful?”
Penny smiled. “Occupational hazard?”
Cutter muttered something furious and affectionate.
Together, they walked into the night — another case closed, another rescue completed, and Penny Bloom already planning to write everything down before bed.

A new Penny Bloom story from my archives.

PENNY BLOOM POLICE OBSERVER - IN HOT WATER


This is another story in my Penny Bloom, Police Observer series, written several years ago when I had the time to flesh out stories a little better, with richer dialogue. I have many of these stories and will post more if I see a fair number of views.

The Characters -

Penny Bloom, was a former records and evidence clerk for the Bayview PD. Her keen eye for spotting things out of the ordinary got her a promotion to civilian observer at Bayview PD. She is sharp-eyed and dryly sarcastic under pressure. Her physical trademarks are her neat red ponytail, attractive legs, and, more importantly, a habit of noticing things others miss, which always gets her in trouble, which means tied and gagged.

Sgt. Cutter is a gruff and exasperated detective supervising Penny. He is protective, sharp, and easily irritated by her rule-bending, but trusts her instincts more than he admits.

PENNY BLOOM, POLICE OBSERVER - IN HOT WATER

Sgt. Cutter pinched the bridge of his nose as Penny Bloom stepped into his office, bright and wide-eyed like she’d walked through a cloud of optimism nobody else could see.

“Bloom,” he said, “before you sit, nod, blink, or breathe—listen.”

Penny sat immediately.

Cutter sighed. “Fine. Sitting works. Bellemy Hotel has a problem. Their indoor luxury pool suite goes into lockdown during weekly cleaning. Every door sealed. Manager can’t get in. Cleaning company claims it’s ‘environmental protocol.’”

Penny frowned. “There’s no environmentally necessary reason to lock an entire pool complex.”

“Exactly.” Cutter opened a file. “I need someone inside. Someone quiet. Someone who blends in. And apparently, you’re the only person we have who technically—technically has a lifeguard certification.”

Penny brightened. “Ah, yes. My proudest academic achievement.”

“You got a D-minus,” Cutter said flatly. “And the instructor wrote, and I quote, ‘Acceptable only in low-traffic indoor settings.’”

Penny waved that off. “Still certified.”

“Barely,” Cutter muttered. “You blow the whistle only when necessary. Only when someone needs saving.”

Penny’s smile froze.
“…define ‘necessary.’”

Cutter stared at her. “Bloom, you whistle when a paperclip falls. Limit it.”

She cleared her throat. “Understood. No whimsical whistling.”

“I’m serious,” Cutter said. “Your job is observation only. Watch who comes and goes—chart times. Don’t wander. Don’t poke locked doors. Don’t climb into ventilation ducts like last time.”

Penny opened her mouth.

“No,” Cutter snapped. “Don’t even think it.”

She stood. “I’ll behave.”

Cutter closed his eyes. “That’s what terrifies me.”

Penny saluted with exaggerated crispness.

“I’ll bring sunscreen.”

“It’s an indoor pool, Bloom.”

“…even better!”

And she was gone.

Part Two

The Bellemy Hotel indoor pool was a palace of glass, humidity, and silence.

Warm air drifted from ceiling vents. Light diffused through the skylight panes overhead. Water shimmered like polished silver. Every sound—the tap of a heel, a dropped towel—echoed into gentle ripples across the room.

Penny adjusted the red lifeguard suit they issued her and padded barefoot along the heated tiles. Her whistle bobbed against her chest like a badge of mischief waiting to happen.

A guest ran near the shallow end.

Penny blew the whistle.

The sound ricocheted around the enclosed pool like a sonic boom.

Patrons screamed.

A spa worker dropped an entire tray of cucumber water.

A yoga instructor sprinted for the exit.

Cutter texted her immediately:

STOP WHISTLING. THIS IS A WARNING FROM GOD.

She used the whistle sparingly afterward.
Meaning: mostly in her head.
And on the subject of whistles - Penny heard her fair share with a couple of teen guests letting their hormones rage at the sight of Bloom's shapely body, attractive legs, and barefoot feet.

Through all the distractions, Penny was still keenly observing.

Cleaning crew arrived at 10:04 AM, with uncanny punctuality
Two men in blue coveralls
Doors sealed automatically—locks clicked with synchronized precision
No fumes ever appeared
Hotel staff were “relocated” every cleaning day
A faint scraping noise echoed behind the pump-room wall
Cleaning concluded at 10:34 AM, always

She made notes.

The indoor pool was busiest just before cleaning, but during the thirty-minute window—

Silence.
Absolute.
Artificial.

It was the only time Penny could sit still and think without guests asking her where the extra towels were.

On day two, she saw something new.

The man in a tailored suit approached the maintenance door. He tapped twice.

From inside, a metal slot snapped open.

A hand passed something out—a thin rectangular object.

Money?
Data?
Keys?

Not cleaning supplies.

Penny’s impulse yelled: Follow him!

Her training (theoretically) whispered: No. Stay put. Behave.

She compromised by observing from two doors away.

The man disappeared into a “Pool Office Closed during Cleaning" sign.

Suspicious.

On day three, the scraping in the pump room grew louder. Penny crouched near a vent grille, pretending to drop her towel.

Voices murmured inside.

“…move the crates…”

“…manager is asking questions…”

“…hand-off at twenty-two after…”

“…if she notices, we’re done—”

One word caught her.

“She.”

A floor tile creaked under Penny’s bare feet.

Silence.

Then—

The pump-room door swung open.

Two men stared at her.

The first one smiled with no warmth.
“Well, look who’s curious.”

Penny forced a friendly wave. “Oh, hi there! Just checking humidity levels—”
They grabbed her arms.

And pulled her inside the pump room.

The door locked behind them.

Part 3

The indoor pump room boomed with industrial noise. Water coursed through thick pipes. Condensation dripped from overhead valves. The air was warm and oppressive, making Penny feel as if she were standing inside a giant humidifier.

The men maneuvered her into a corner of the room.

Penny sighed.

“Cutter is absolutely going to blame me for this.”

“Probably,” one said, pulling rope off a shelf. “Hands behind your pretty back. Break time for you."

They crossed her wrists behind her back and tied them snugly—double-wrapped, cinched, professional knotwork.

The two guys then worked together to tie her upper arms and elbows together.

Due to the room's humidity, Penny began to sweat. She complained to those holding her, which fell on deaf ears.

They finished her torso by tying her around her chest. First, the rope weaved around the lower chest, then her upper chest, making her breasts push out, and with the humidity, her nipples were easily seen through her wet bathing suit.

Next, while standing, they begin to work on her legs. Her ankles were bound tightly together, bare feet flat against warm tile. A loop of rope was then run up her legs and tied off tightly above her knees.

Penny was then placed on the floor, her back against a wall, her legs stretched out in front of her.

A man produced a white cloth, tying a knot in the middle.

Penny protested, “Don’t gag me, I can help—mmph!”

The Handkerchief was placed between the teeth.
Knotted around her neck under her short red ponytail.

“Perfect,” the man said. “No more humidity commentary.”

They turned their backs.

Penny tested the ropes.

Secure. Clean. Zero slack.

She looked at her bound legs, glimmering with sweat.

No escape.

Across the room, the men loaded crates onto a maintenance cart. They covered them with folded pool towels—too carefully for pool maintenance.

Penny studied their movements.

Crate by crate.
Timing perfect.
Doors sealed.
No witnesses.

Laundering.

But of what?

Her eyes caught something: a slim metal object beneath one crate.

A data drive.

Maybe hundreds across all crates.

Corporate theft disguised as cleaning.

One man checked his watch.

“We have five minutes—move it.”

They left, locking the door.

Penny rocked on the floor.

The floor’s humidity made the tile slightly slick—she used it to pivot her body until her ankles touched the metal lip of a rolling chemical bin.

She dragged the ankle rope back and forth.

Fibers scraped.
Moisture softened the rope.

SNAP.

She freed her legs, then maneuvered towards an exposed conduit bolt. She pressed her wrist rope against it.

Scrape.
Scrape.
SNAP.

She stood up—gag dangling around her neck—and stretched her tension-stiffened shoulders.

“Now, Cutter can yell at me with solid evidence.”

Penny pried open a crate.

Inside:

stolen contracts
property blueprints
encrypted storage drives
hotel chain financials


A laundering pipeline.

But footsteps echoed outside.

Multiple pairs.

Penny darted behind a large filtration tank, crouched into the shadows, and waited—breathing slow, bare feet cold on damp tile.

Part 4

Cutter’s voice cut through the pump-room door with exasperated thunder:

“BLOOM! IF YOU’RE IN HERE—IF YOU ARE TIED TO A CHAIR AGAIN—I SWEAR—”

Penny emerged from behind a filtration tank.
“Technically not anymore!”

Cutter froze at the sight:

Penny barefoot
red suit dripping wet
gag dangling like a scarf
ropes discarded on the floor
crates pried open behind her

He shut his eyes.
“Bloom… what did I say?”

“That I should observe,” Penny said. “And I did. I observed myself getting tied on a wet floor.”

The officers behind Cutter tried not to smile.

Cutter walked in, jaw tight.
“Report. Now.”

Penny gestured to the crates.

“Stolen data being funneled through the pool’s cleaning schedule. They lock the doors for thirty minutes to run hand-offs. Paperwork, drives, corporate intel… all disguised as maintenance.”

Cutter blinked. “You figured all this out in what, three days?”

Penny lifted a finger. “Two and a half.”

Cutter groaned.

“Bloom… you blew your whistle without cause, you snooped behind vents, you got yourself tied up—”

“I also solved your case,” she said. “You’re welcome.”

Cutter muttered, “I need a vacation.”

Officers hauled out the crates. The cleaning crew was arrested at the service elevator. Security sealed the pump room.

Penny walked out beside Cutter, bare feet padding softly on warm tile. Condensation dripped gently from the skylight above.

Cutter shook his head.
“I asked for quiet observation. You got kidnapped by janitors.”

“Technically maintenance criminals,” Penny corrected.

“And you escaped.”

“I’m motivated,” she said.

“Bloom…” he said, exasperated, “next time, please—please—stay in your lifeguard chair.”

“I did,” she said. “Until they moved me to another chair.”

Cutter stared at her.

Then, despite himself, he laughed once.

“Bloom… remind me never to send you anywhere quiet again.”

She grinned.

“And miss all this?” Penny gestured around them. “Not a chance.”

Another case closed.
Another tie-up escape.
Another lecture pending.

Just another day in the work life of Penny Bloom, Civilian Police Observer.

Nice stories, both of them!
Would love to read a whole catalog of these

Thanks for reading!

More please!