Alba Zevon & Fatima – The Mole

Undercover agent Fatima thought she’d bust the forgery ring tomorrow. But when her cover is blown hours before the raid, rival enforcer Alba ensures she never makes that call… Bound. Gagged. Treated to ‘creative persuasion.’ How long can she struggle before the gang vanishes? Fatima sits tied on the chair, legs secured as Alba finishes binding her ankles. Alba tears off the gag tape. “Just one question: Did you warn your team about tomorrow’s bust? “Guess not. Maybe our source knows more than you think.” Alba slaps fresh tape over Fatima’s mouth. Slowly, she yanks Fatima’s top down, exposing her breasts. She wraps rope around them, squeezing and fondling. “Like it?” Fatima’s muffled grunt echoes. Alba makes her to kneel. “Silly me… ran out of rope. Stay put.” Alba returns swiftly, hogtying Fatima tightly and cinching her dusty, wriggling big toes together. “Now for that call…. Phone’s in the car. This’ll hold you.” She leaves Fatima struggling. Fatima breaks free, hopping frantically as Alba reenters with tools. “Feisty thing. Couldn’t reach our source… so let’s play. Maybe you’ll talk.” Spotting the pinwheel, Fatima’s eyes widen. Alba straps her back to the chair, ties her big toes, then threads rope under the seat, yanking her feet backward until toes hover above the floor. She scrapes tools over Fatima’s dirty soles. Fatima shudders as the pinwheel bites. “Feel chatty? No? I’ll try calling again. No news means more… fun.” Alba abandons her, bound and alone. Fatima escapes, lunging for the phone. Alba intercepts at the last second. “You never warned your team. Now you’re out of our way.” She drags Fatima toward the bedroom. Fatima stands bedside, hands and legs bound as Alba lashes her hips. Pushed onto the bed, ankles tied, Fatima spits: “I’ll get you.” “We’re moving everything tonight. You’re staying put.” “Don’t bet on it.” Alba muffles her with tapes her to kneel. She rips Fatima’s top down, re-ropes her breasts. “Prettier for when they find you.” Fatima rolls her eyes. Alba shoves her flat, hogtying her viciously and re-securing her dusty, flexing toes. “Still not enough?” She grabs duct tape, winds it from arms to stomach. Fatima curls her toes. “Oh, we remember those feet.” Alba tapes her soles, exits, then returns with a sock. “Need time… and silence.” Fatima grunts as Alba tears off the gag, rams the sock into her mouth, and re-tapes it brutally. Fatima’s toes splay helplessly. Alba threads string from bound toes to hair, yanking taut. “This’ll hold you ‘til they arrive. Sweet dreams.” She leaves Fatima immobilized… But, what Alba