Chapter 12: Keys to Understanding

I woke up the following day to find Becca curled up on the couch. Her laptop was perched on the coffee table, which she had pulled closer to the sofa. She was still in handcuffs.

“What are you doing?” I asked softly.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she murmured.

“Are the bracelets bothering you?” I inquired, noticing the slight discomfort in her voice.

“No,” she replied, sounding resigned. “Well, I did realize they dug into my wrists a little last night, but my mind was racing, so I just got up.”

“What’s racing through your head?” I asked, my concern growing.

“Just everything,” she said. “Getting fired. All the stuff we looked at yesterday. Just everything.”

“So, what are you looking at?” I inquired as I walked around to sit beside her.

Becca shifted slightly and angled the laptop screen toward me. On the display were images of beautiful women in various dresses and lingerie, each restrained in different artistic positions. The visuals were striking, almost mesmerizing.

“Looking at that some more?” I asked, glancing at her.

She fidgeted with her cuffs, clearly uneasy.

“I don’t have to go to work just yet. Did you want to talk about it more?” I added.

Becca nodded but remained silent.

“Do you like this?” I asked, trying to understand her fascination.

“There’s something about it that attracts me to it,” she said, her voice showing curiosity and uncertainty.

“What exactly?” I asked gently.

She took a deep breath, contemplating her thoughts. “It’s a combination of things. There’s the art of it—the way it’s presented. The beauty of the women, their poses, the elegance of the restraints. It’s like a form of high art. Then, there’s its taboo nature. It’s something not often discussed openly, and that adds a layer of allure.”

She paused, gazing at the screen as if searching for the right words. “Seeing women in restraints, presented in such a refined and controlled manner ... It’s more than just them being tied up. It’s about how it’s framed, how it’s made to look both beautiful and provocative. It stirs many emotions—curiosity, admiration, and even a hint of excitement.”

Her explanation made sense. The way the restraints were depicted in the images was more than just an aesthetic choice; it was a carefully curated presentation that turned a topic not talked about into something artistic and captivating. Becca’s attraction to it seemed to stem from the complex interplay of beauty, elegance, and the daring edge of the forbidden. I listened as I watched her personal and emotional struggles align with her professional training as a curator.

“I understand,” I said, reaching out to gently touch her arm. “It’s about how the women are represented and portrayed. It goes beyond just the focus on being restrained.”

Becca nodded, a thoughtful look on her face. “Yes, exactly. It’s like seeing something familiar in a completely new light.”

We sat together; the quiet of the early morning enveloped us as we continued to explore Becca’s thoughts and feelings about the images on the screen.

“Would you want to try that? Experience what it’s like?” I asked, breaking the silence.

Becca looked up, surprised by my question. “You mean being bound and photographed?”

“I’m asking if it’s something you’d want to explore,” I clarified.

She pondered it for a moment. “I don’t know. If it’s done like these images—it would have to be tasteful.”

She looked at me, searching for reassurance. “You’d be okay with this if I did it?”

“Yes and no,” I said, trying to articulate my mixed feelings. “Yes, because we talked about figuring this out together. But no, because I want you to be safe and not in a situation that could hurt you. Also, I don’t like the idea of someone else touching you. There’s a difference between me putting you in jewelry and someone else doing it.”

“I don’t even know who I’d go to if I wanted to try this,” she admitted.

I picked up one of the business cards from the table and pointed to it. “Start here, I guess.

She took the card in her cuffed hands and scrutinized it, seeing the same contact information on the website.

“I have to get ready for work. It’s the big report day,” I said, not hiding my lack of enthusiasm. “Are you coming?” I then asked.

“I’d have to get dressed and uncuffed and recuffed, and it sounds exhausting,” she added, clearly not thrilled by the prospect. Becca was being clear that she’d be going in restraints.

I kissed her gently and said, “Enjoy your morning. I should be back by early afternoon.”

I stood up, got ready for work, and as I came back dressed and prepared, I gave her one last chance. “Last call,” I said.

Becca gave a sluggish nod. “Lazy day,” she said. Her eyes followed the handcuff key I was holding.

“Can I just stay this way?” she begged softly.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I said, considering her request. “But I think you can figure out how to take them off if needed. I’ll leave the key on the table here. The other keys and spares are in that little case in the black bag.”

She glanced at the card again, her eyes asking for permission. “You think?” not finishing her thought.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to call and ask questions,” I shrugged. “We can talk about it when I get back?”

She nodded, and I gave her one last kiss before heading out for work.

I barely remembered the drive. I was on autopilot, my mind preoccupied with thoughts of Becca and how our new dynamic was evolving. I parked the car and made my way through security with only half a mind on the routine. As I approached Lisa’s office, her secretary informed me she was in the main conference room.

When I walked in, Lisa was already seated, her usual confident posture in place. A printout of my report was spread out in front of her. She looked up and motioned for me to sit. She was dressed in her standard business attire: a fitted suit with a skirt and bare legs. I’d long noted that she rarely wore stockings or pantyhose, only opting for opaque tights in winter if she wore a dress or skirt. Something I only noticed because Becca, despite her age, wore stockings and pantyhose regularly. Instead of four-inch stilettos, Lisa was wearing a shiny pair of tan-colored ‘So Kate’ heels.

As I took my seat, Lisa smiled and began flipping through the report. “You did a nice job,” she said, clearly pleased.

She noticed me staring at her shoes and sighed. “I might have accidentally ordered an extra pair when I was getting Rebecca’s clothes,” she admitted, a hint of embarrassment in her voice.

“No judgments here,” I replied with a reassuring smile. I then shifted the conversation back to the report.

“You already read it?” I asked, acting surprised.

“Last night,” she replied matter-of-factly.

This wasn’t out of character for Lisa. She was divorced, had no children, and her work was her life. Her life was her work. I responded casually, “Oh really? I didn’t send it until late.”

We chatted briefly about the report, but Lisa’s curiosity soon shifted to a more personal subject. “How is Rebecca?” she asked.

“She’s okay. She’s home processing things,” I said.

“Oh, she’s home? She hasn’t returned to work yet?” She inquired.

Not wanting to delve into too many details, I said, “She’s taking some time off.”

Lisa then probed further, “You know, I was shocked to see Rebecca walk into my office still restrained. I thought she’d be—I thought our meeting was just to get the paperwork finalized so they could release her.”

“The agent was good,” I explained. “She kept Becca in restraints on the trip back. Becca was pretty much that way from that morning in your office.”

Lisa seemed to struggle with her words. “I was even more surprised when I saw you walk out of here with Rebecca still ... And the agent leaving the restraints ... and that bag—”

I jumped in, “Becca had been roughly handled for almost three days. She hobbled through two airports. She then had to sit in a courthouse with other prisoners, restrained the entire time, while Agent Reinhardt was told there was no record of her. That was when I called you.”

“I know she went through a lot,” Lisa said, but her voice carried an undertone of wanting more.

“The agent was sympathetic once she realized we were telling the truth,” I continued. “I think that’s why she left us the keys. She felt it best if I removed the restraints from Becca myself. She was traumatized enough.”

“Right, right. I understand that,” Lisa said, though she still sounded a bit skeptical. “But she left a bag of extra restraints. Do you know what that was about?”

Thinking quickly, “You heard her; those bags disappear. How could she explain that the restraints Becca was wearing disappeared, but the bag they should have been put back into didn’t?”

Lisa nodded slowly, “I guess that makes sense.” I could tell, however, Lisa was suspicious.

“And why didn’t you take her out of them again while here? You took her home that way?” Lisa asked.

“Becca was distressed enough. She just wanted to go home so that I could remove them in the quiet and safety of our apartment,” I explained.

Lisa smiled, “Of course. I knew it was something simple.” Yet I could still sense a hint of doubt in her tone.

“And what did you do with all those restraints?” she asked, her curiosity still stimulated.

“They’re sitting in that bag, in a closet, until we figure out what to do with them,” I replied.

“Not exactly something you donate to charity or leave lying around for guests to stumble across,” I said, trying to wrap up the conversation with a touch of humor.

Lisa nodded, though I could tell she remained skeptical, as if she sensed there was more to the story.

Trying to change the topic, I then asked, “Should I go through the report?”

Lisa waved her hand dismissively, “I already did. It looks great. The FBI will gobble it up. There’s no need to go through it. Anyway, you want to get home to your lovely girlfriend. She’s all knotted up, waiting for you.”

I smiled, “I imagine she is.”

Lisa added, “If she decides she wants to take advantage of therapy and needs more than what the package or the health insurance offers, let me know. I’ll get her whatever she needs.”

“Thanks, Lisa. For everything—the report, the care package of clothes, all of it,” I said, genuinely grateful.

Lisa nodded and replied, “You’re welcome. We’ve known each other a long time...” She placed her hand on mine. “Now get out! Go home. Tell Rebecca I said hello.”

“Oh wait!” she added. “There’s a package in your office.”

I nodded, letting her know I’d check it out and see her Monday. Lisa smiled and stood up, and we both headed for the door.

I noticed she was wobbling a bit—not the controlled teetering you see from women experienced with five-inch stilettos, but more like someone struggling with them. So, I asked, “How are they?”

Lisa grimaced and replied, “Pretty but very painful.”

She then wondered aloud, “How did Becca manage in them? Has she put them back on since—well, you know.”

“Yeah, she wore them yesterday,” I said.

“Let me guess, she can walk fine in them,” Lisa presumed.

“Yep,” I confirmed.

Lisa shook her head with resignation and sarcasm. “Of course, she can.”

On my way out, I stopped by my office and grabbed a shoebox-sized package from my desk. It had been sent to the resort address and then forwarded here. It looked like it had arrived the day we returned. I shook it lightly; it sounded like items sliding around inside. It definitely wasn’t another pair of heels.

I took the package and headed home. The drive was just as uneventful, though I remembered driving it this time. My mind nevertheless remained on Becca.