Chapter 16: Coffee with Handcuffs

Becca’s spirits soared through the weekend and into the new week, her excitement impossible to ignore. The gala had been a whirlwind of energy and glamour, leaving her on an exhilarating high that lingered. As Monday approached, her anticipation about calling Eleanor’s office for a potential opportunity only fueled her enthusiasm.

When I got home that Monday evening, I was greeted by the sight of the living room transformed into Becca’s command center. She had taken over the space entirely, and her focus was fixed on updating her portfolio. Dinner was set out on the table, but her attention was riveted on perfecting her presentation.

“So, how did it go?” I asked, eager to hear all about her day.

Becca’s face brightened as she looked up from her work. “I called Eleanor’s assistant. I introduced myself and explained why I was calling.”

“Did you manage to set up an appointment?” I asked, leaning in to catch every detail.

“Yeah,” she said, her excitement bubbling over. “Eleanor had already spoken with her, so she was expecting my call. She asked me to bring an updated portfolio.”

“When’s your meeting?” I asked.

“Next Tuesday,” she replied, her smile widening. “I can’t wait!”

“Did you find out what the project is about?” I pressed, wanting to know more.

“No,” Becca said, shaking her head slightly. “I tried to get some information indirectly, but the assistant said I’d get all the details at the meeting.”

“I’m really happy for you,” I said, letting my admiration show. Her enthusiasm was so infectious that I couldn’t help but share in her excitement.

Becca’s expression softened. “I called the therapist’s office, too,” she said, the tone in her voice changing.

“I was planning to do that,” I admitted. “I didn’t want to risk dampening your spirits.”

“I know,” she replied. “I didn’t want to make the call either, but we talked about it, and I know it’s important. So, I just went ahead and did it.”

“It’ll be okay,” I said gently. “It’ll be good to talk to someone.”

Becca nodded, her gaze thoughtful. “I only feel safe talking to you.”

I wrapped Becca in a warm hug, feeling her shoulders relax slightly. “When is the appointment?” I asked.

“Not this Friday, but the following one,” she said. “It was the earliest time she had available.”

“Okay,” I replied, noting the appointment. “What time is it?”

“Four,” she said. “Her last session of the day.”

“I’ll take you, okay?” I told her. “Did they tell you anything else?”

“The therapist will meet with me and then with you at the end if she has any questions.”

“Okay,” I said, acknowledging that I heard her. Noticing the concern in Becca’s face, I then asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she uttered, though her voice sounded unsure.

“You’re a terrible liar,” I told her gently.

“I’ll be okay,” she expressed. “My anxiety will be high, though. Do you think it would be okay if I wore one of my wiggle dresses and heels,” she asked.

“That should be just fine,” I reassured her. “It’s professional attire.”

Becca then fell quiet. “Do I mention the jewelry?” Her tone was reserved and uncertain.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe you should focus on how you’ve been feeling—like being overwhelmed and wanting to crawl out of your skin—and let the therapist guide the conversation.”

Becca nodded. “Yeah, I guess that’s best. It is only the first session.”

I concurred. “See where the discussion goes. You can always mention the jewelry if it seems important.”

Looking more relaxed, she said, “Yeah, you’re right.”

I helped Becca with her portfolio, and as we worked together, her expression continued to soften. We soon reached a good stopping point and moved to the dining table, where we continued our conversation.

Dinner was nice. It was reassuring to see Becca genuinely happy. Our conversation flowed effortlessly, and the earlier tension had completely melted away, replaced by a comfortable, easygoing rapport. We enjoyed our meal, savoring Becca’s cooking and each other’s company.

After we cleaned up, I disappeared into the bedroom for a few minutes, returning with the handcuffs, connecting chain, and leg cuffs. Their use had become a familiar part of our routine. My initial hesitation about using them had faded, and the awkwardness of our first discussions about them was gone.

Becca had also grown accustomed to the restraints. When she saw I had them in hand, she calmly extended her wrists and ankles without a word. This became a habit for her. She no longer requested specific restraints but accepted whatever I put her in. At the same time, I had become adept at understanding Becca’s preferences and needs without needing verbal cues. I seemed to instinctively know the right combination of restraints based on the evening’s mood and our ongoing conversation, ensuring that each night was tailored to her comfort and pleasure. Tonight, I knew she’d want the short-chain leg cuffs.

The process of removing her restraints in the morning had also become smooth. Becca no longer resisted; once freed, she would either drift back to sleep or start her day.

They had become such a natural part of our time together that our conversations continued uninterrupted as they were put on and removed, making the process as routine and natural as any other part of our day.

Oddly, the complications arose from both Becca and I forgetting she was even wearing them. Last night, while crawling into bed, I realized I had no memory of having put her in them earlier in the evening. A similar situation happened that afternoon.

With the change in weather, we were wearing heavier, warmer clothing. We learned on Saturday that one of Becca’s coats was exceptionally good at concealing the handcuffs. It had heavy wool cuffs, which effectively hid the restraints beneath its fabric.

When she carried her purse with both hands in front of her, the appearance was entirely natural. To the casual observer, it seemed like she was simply comfortably holding her bag. In reality, she had no choice but to keep her hands and purse that way, but no one could tell.

Yesterday afternoon was a perfect example.

We decided to make the most of the day with a leisurely stroll in the park to enjoy the fall colors. Becca wore the coat and handcuffs. The crisp autumn air was invigorating, and we both relished the change of scenery.

As we walked along the park’s winding paths, Becca pointed out a particularly vibrant cluster of leaves, holding her purse up in front of her with both hands. Her gesture was awkward, and a few passersby couldn’t help but cast curious glances at her unusual posture.

“Look at those colors,” Becca said, her voice light and enthusiastic despite the abnormal angle of her hands and purse.

I nodded, taking in the foliage as well. “They’re beautiful. Fall has a way of painting the world in such vivid hues.”

A couple walking their dog shot Becca a puzzled look as she pointed, whispering to each other before continuing their stroll. It was clear they were intrigued by the unusual sight.

“You can stop me from pointing if you want to,” Becca said matter-of-factly as we continued our walk.

I smiled. “Yeah,” I replied, knowing what she was getting at. “But where’s the fun in that?” I asked, not expecting an answer.

Becca was referring to our realization that she could wear the leather belt under her coat. When the coat was buttoned up, it would conceal the belt, but the D-ring was big enough to poke through. The handcuffs could be looped through the belt to keep her hands secured to her waist, concealing the handcuffs and belt from view.

She was wearing it, but I wasn’t comfortable using it. Not while we were walking around.

It wasn’t until we decided to visit a nearby café that we realized how relaxed we had become with Becca being in restraints. Being escorted through two airports, the courthouse, the resort, and the gala, all put her in a comfortable state where she was fine wearing them out.

We settled on a park bench, and Becca pointed out the nearby café we had seen on past walks, its menu board visible from the path. She lifted her purse with both hands again as she gestured.

“That café has a great selection,” Becca said enthusiastically. “I’ve always wanted to try their coffee.”

Even as she sat, her movement of holding her purse up while pointing made her gestures seem out of place. While the awkwardness of her position was less noticeable from a distance, it still caught the eye of those nearby.

I smiled and nodded, noticing a few curious looks from other park-goers. “It does look inviting. Do you want to grab a coffee before we head back?” I asked. “Would you be okay going inside?”

Becca’s eyes twinkled with anticipation. “Definitely. I’ve heard good things about their pastries, too.”

We headed toward the café, and once inside, Becca took a seat while I went to order. She placed her purse on the table and settled with her hands in her lap.

When I returned with our coffees, Becca gave me a small smile. “Thanks. This is nice.”

I smiled back. “They’ll bring the pastries.” I watched as Becca drank her coffee with both hands, savoring each sip. “This is good,” she said, her eyes closing briefly as she enjoyed the taste.

As she relished the coffee, I grinned at her. “Did you still want the bracelets slipped through the belt loop?”

Becca smiled, her eyes wide but focused. “No. You were right,” she said, nodding but clearly looking unimpressed.

The barista came over and placed our pastries on the table. They were four small but exquisitely tasty treats: a buttery croissant with a delicate, flaky texture; a raspberry tart with a sweet, tangy filling; a decadent chocolate eclair with a glossy glaze; and a cinnamon roll, soft and warm with a hint of spice.

Becca glanced at the box and raised an eyebrow. “A box?”

“I got them to go,” I said with a smirk. “Figured we could walk around some more.”

Becca’s face softened into a smile. “That sounds nice,” she replied.

We both stood up, and I grabbed the box in one hand and my coffee in the other. Becca picked up her purse but then seemed to realize she couldn’t manage her coffee, too. She fumbled a bit, trying to maneuver her hands to reach for the cup. With her wrists restrained, the task was impossible. As she struggled, the barista, who was still nearby, noticed her predicament and approached us with a look of concern.

“Do you need some help?” she asked, her voice gentle as she noticed Becca’s struggle.

Becca glanced up, momentarily forgetting the awkwardness of her situation. “I’m okay, but I can’t quite manage to hold the cup and purse at the same time with these cuffs on. Can we get one of those cup holders?”

As the words left her lips, she realized she just told the barista that she was handcuffed. We exchanged a glance and then turned to the young woman, who looked utterly taken aback.

“You’re in cuffs? You mean—like handcuffs?” she asked, her eyes widening in surprise.

Becca’s face flushed with embarrassment and amusement. “Um—Yeah, like handcuffs.”

“Why are you handcuffed?” she asked.

Seeing Becca’s strain, I turned to the young woman and said, “My girlfriend has an audition next week. She needs to try out in cuffs for the role.”

The barista looked surprised but relaxed as she listened. “I’m an actor too. Well, a struggling one, as you can see,” she said, gesturing to her uniform.

“I know how tough it is to even get an audition,” she continued, “so I totally understand.”

Becca offered a grateful smile. “I thought it would be useful to experience it firsthand and get some practice. I underestimated how challenging even simple tasks could be.”

The woman nodded, her interest stimulated. “Yeah, I get that. Sometimes, we all have to go to great lengths to land a role.”

A mischievous glint appeared in her eye as she chuckled. “I once had to audition for a part where my character was, let’s say ... tied to a bed and gagged. To be as authentic as possible, I ended up wearing a ball gag for the audition.”