Chapter 11: Navigating New Boundaries

I had awakened before Becca and figured she’d want some breakfast before going to work. She slept soundly while I prepared a light meal. As I set the plates on the counter, I heard the familiar rattling of chains and saw Becca hobble out of our bedroom.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Morning,” she replied.

“How did you sleep?” I asked.

“Like a baby,” she answered with a smile.

I grinned. “Food?”

She sat at the counter and ate while cuffed, pulling up the chain attached to her leg cuffs, which required her to keep her ankles together.

“This is good,” she said.

“Eat up,” I said. “Do you want the jewelry removed?”

“No,” she replied. “I’m fine. I need to learn to eat like this.”

Looking at her with a bit of concern, I said, “Yeah, I guess so.”

We finished breakfast, and Becca reluctantly indicated it was time to be let out to get ready for work. I released her, and she kissed me before disappearing into the bathroom.

Since I was working from home this week to work on the FBI report, my plan was to take Becca to the museum and pick her up later. As I set up my workspace, Becca emerged from the bedroom. She was wearing the suit from the transport, but with her usual shade of sheer nude pantyhose. I then noticed she was in the ‘So Kate’ heels.

I looked surprised. “Really? I thought you said no one wears heels that high to work?”

She nodded, a little teary. “I checked my messages before I got ready ... they want to speak with me about a concerning matter.” Becca then continued, “If I’m going to get fired, I might as well do it in the same outfit that got me into this mess. It seems fitting.”

I smiled. “Your jokes are horrible, but I get it.

She smiled back, her eyes sparkling with defiance and acceptance. “Glad someone does.”

“It’ll be okay,” I said. “We’ll figure it out.”

She nodded and kissed me with her signature red lips. “I was going to take you to work today,” I told her.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” she replied. “Plus, I won’t be able to drive,” she added.

Looking puzzled, I inquired, “Why? Are you okay?”

I had wondered why she had one hand behind her back, but she revealed the hinged handcuffs and the elongated key. I smiled. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I—I need the comfort right now. It’ll help ground me.”

Agreeing, I inquired, “The chain ones might be easier.”

“Hinged behind the back,” she replied with a smile. “Non-negotiable.”

I smiled back. “Okay, Ms. Bounds, please turn around,” I said.

She complied, and I cuffed her hands behind her back, keyholes facing up. I then double-locked them. I slipped the key into my pocket.

Becca playfully struggled, her movements intended to be teasing. As she turned around while continuing to struggle, she said, “These are so restrictive. I can’t use my hands at all. I’m completely helpless—”

Then, breaking character with a grin, she admitted, “The agent was right. They’re very secure.”

We both laughed. “Are you okay with them?” I then asked.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Really snug. Different feeling, but it feels good.”

“At least let me put one of my jackets over your shoulders,” I suggested.

She nodded, and I draped one of my suit jackets over her, which covered her hands.

A neighbor passed us on the way to our car, but she seemed more focused on Becca’s sky-high stilettos than on the fact her hands were behind her back underneath a man’s coat.

I comfortably seated Becca and restrained her further in the seat belt, and we were on our way. It was a short drive to the museum, and I parked in the parking garage rather than the usual street entrance where I typically drop her off.

“I didn’t want to put on a show,” I said.

“Yeah, this is definitely more private,” she replied.

I helped her out of the car.

“Are you still okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “The bracelets dug into my wrists a little, but I’ll have to get used to it.”

“Ready?” I asked.

She nodded reluctantly. Seeing this, I added, “They’ll be with me when I pick you up.”

She replied with a nod, “Okay, then yeah, take them off,” she said.

I took off the handcuffs, and she grabbed her purse. I watched her sway in the five-inch heels and disappear through the back entrance of the museum.

I headed home and spent the morning reflecting on Becca’s transport for the report, carefully deciding what to include and what to leave out. As I worked, I realized the profound impact the experience had on her. She had been broken down and then built back up—an intense emotional and psychological trip.

The first day nearly broke her, exposing her vulnerabilities and creating a deep sense of distress. The sight of her in chains, the tears after seeing Margaret, and the overall emotional strain were like a controlled demolition. But through this challenging phase, she was stripped down, confronting raw feelings and hidden needs.

On the second day, the experience began to build her back up. The introduction of the “jewelry,” the moments of vulnerability mixed with strength, and her determination to face her situation with style and resilience all contributed to a transformation. This process helped amplify and refine her inner strength and resolve.

The experience wasn’t about the physical restraints but about how they became a conduit for her emotional evolution. It was a journey from near destruction to a stronger, more confident self. The heightened sensations and intensified feelings were crucial in this process, marking profound personal growth.

As I worked on the report, I received a text from Becca:

Pick me up, please. Bring morning jewelry.

I had dropped Becca off at 8:50, and it was now 11:30. That was a bad sign. I drove to her work, texted her that I was there, and watched her bob in her stilettos, appearing from the back entrance. I walked up to her and relieved her of the box she was carrying. She was in tears.

I placed the box in the trunk, realizing it contained the few belongings she kept at work. I wiped the tears from her face and told her I loved her. “Let’s go home,” I said.

As she nodded, she saw the hinged handcuffs sitting on the passenger seat, along with the key.

“Put me in those, please. I just want to be in them,” she said tearfully.

I pulled them from the seat. Becca had already turned with her back facing me and her hands behind her back. I gently double-locked the cuffs, and she tugged for a moment. She nodded in approval, and I buckled her in as we began the journey home.

As I drove, her mood seemed to shift from the distress of her earlier day to a more reflective state. We arrived at our building, and I quickly got out of the car to help her. To shield her from prying eyes, I draped the jacket I used earlier this morning over her shoulders. With the box of her work belongings in hand, we strolled toward the building.

In the elevator, Becca stood quietly, her heels clicking softly on the floor. Once we reached our apartment, I placed the box on the entry table and told Becca I was going to remove her cuffs. She hesitated, but I reminded her that the hinged handcuffs were for transport, not for indoors. Hesitantly, she agreed, and I unlocked and removed them, and she stretched her arms with relief.

I watched as Becca slipped into the bedroom to change, and I followed her. I helped her out of her suit, which she hung over the closet door, indicative that it would have to be dry cleaned. Dressed only in her panties, bra, pantyhose, and heels, she let me gently remove her stilettos and hose. After she carefully packed away her hosiery, she slipped into one of my shirts and a pair of socks. She then stepped into the bathroom to remove her makeup.

Once she was dressed more comfortably, I retrieved the leather bag. I placed her in the handcuffs, connecting chain, and leg cuffs, setting them up just as they had been the night before. Becca accepted the process with an acknowledgment of calm.

With everything in place, we settled on the couch together. I asked her, “How bad did it get?”

“It was bad,” she replied.

“What happened?” I asked gently.

Wiping the tears from her eyes using her cuffed hands, Becca began recounting her day. “I wasn’t there long before I was called into the director’s office. I smiled as I walked my way in. He was a bit taken aback by the outfit. While he’s used to seeing me dressed up, today’s clothes stood out.”

“What did you do then?” I asked.

“I sat and listened attentively to what he had to say,” she explained. “Margaret called him from the airport, upset and displeased. She expressed her dissatisfaction quite strongly.”

“Did you try to explain?” I inquired.

“I tried, but he was more focused on Margaret’s concerns than on hearing my side of things,” she said. “I was there to listen, not speak.”

As she rested her head on my shoulder, Becca continued, “Margaret was worried about her reputation and said she’d be willing to keep her donations coming if the museum made some changes.”

“Changes?” I prompted.

“Yeah,” Becca said. “Changes that meant my services were no longer needed. Given my years at the museum, they gave me a six-month severance package with the understanding that I wouldn’t be returning. Ever.”

“What did you say?” I asked.

“I tried to explain what had happened but realized the matter wasn’t negotiable,” she replied. “They were agitated that I didn’t return their calls immediately.”

“Did you tell them you didn’t have your purse?” I asked.

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” she rationalized. “And honestly, even if I had returned their calls, the outcome would have been the same.”

“What did you do then?” I asked.

“I nodded and left his office,” she said. “I went back to mine, packed up what few things I had in that box”—she gestured with her cuffed hands—”and texted you.”

“Did you get to say goodbye to anyone?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “I had to stop by HR on the way out to turn in my badge and sign some paperwork. Anna was there. She complimented me on my ‘So Kate’ heels and wanted to know what they were like.”

I chuckled softly. “Seriously?”

Becca nodded. “Yeah. I’m there, signing paperwork indicating that today’s my last day, and she’s asking me about my shoes.”

“What did you say?” I asked, intrigued.

“I told her they’re pretty but painful if you’re not used to a five-inch heel,” Becca replied. “But once you get accustomed to the height, they’re fine. Then I just left. Didn’t talk to anyone else.”

I wrapped an arm around her and held her close. “I’m sorry it ended like this,” I said softly. “But I’m here for you, no matter what.”

As Becca leaned into me, I could sense her unease mixed with an unexpected sense of comfort. The past few days had clearly left a mark, and her reliance on restraints had grown more profound than either of us had anticipated.

“Did you want anything to eat?” I asked softly. “I can make us something.”