Chapter 2: An Unwelcomed Reality

It was early morning, and Rebecca emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and impeccably made up. She slipped back into the outfit—the elegant suit and blouse, the bra and panties, the garter, and the stockings—all of it fitting her perfectly. When she stepped into the towering Louboutin stilettos, the reality of their crippling design became more apparent.

As she walked out of the bedroom, her movements were cautious and tentative. The size seven shoes forced her feet into a nearly vertical stance, revealing their demanding nature. She hadn’t walked in them much last night, so their full impact was hitting her now.

Glancing down at the dizzying height of the heels, she shook her head in disbelief. “No one wears heels this high to work,” she said, her voice laced with incredulity. “And certainly not while being escorted ... at least not in handcuffs.”

Her comment was frustrating and amusing, a reminder of the surreal and demanding nature of the role she was about to play. The heels, while stunning, had turned out to be a far more challenging aspect of the outfit than either of us had anticipated.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at her reaction. “Remember, you’re supposed to be a prominent executive who dresses like this,” I said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood.

Rebecca gave me a half-smile, still adjusting to the precariousness of the heels. I glanced at my watch and added, “We should leave soon. We’re supposed to be there at eight.”

The urgency of the moment brought a new focus to her. With a deep breath and a final adjustment, she took another step, managing to find a rhythm in the demanding shoes. We were both ready to face the day ahead, no matter how high the stakes—or the heels—might be.

Rebecca sighed, looking down at the soaring stilettos with a mixture of disappointment and regret. “I just wish I had gotten these sooner,” she said. “I could have practiced in them.”

I gave her a reassuring smile. “Maybe that was on purpose. If you’d seen them earlier, you might have backed out.”

Rebecca raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “You think so? Well, if this is part of the persona, let’s just hope I can pull these off and that they don’t become a stumbling block.”

As she smiled, I teasingly threatened to put her on “joke probation.” She laughed.

I watched as Rebecca took more steps, each one measured and careful. With her fingers laced behind her back, the heels made each movement a tricky coordination effort. She wobbled slightly but managed to maintain her balance.

“Yeah, those are definitely a challenge,” I said, noting the way she was navigating the room with newfound caution. “Hopefully, the cuffs are in front.”

Rebecca shot me a wry smile, her eyes sparkling, but she was determined. “Let’s just hope so.”

Rebecca glanced down at the towering heels with a skeptical expression. Then she looked at me, a hint of suspicion in her voice. “And these heels came from your boss?”

I shrugged, trying to sound casual. “She gave me the garment bag—”

As I hesitated briefly, Rebecca, wobbling in her heels and sporting a playful smirk, interjected, “I thought she was a Prada girl.”

Rebecca handed me her purse, and we headed out the door together. As we walked to the car, she practiced moving with her fingers laced together behind her back, mimicking the restricted movement of being handcuffed.

“You seemed to be doing okay,” I said, overseeing her navigate the heels.

Rebecca gave a thoughtful nod. “Yeah, but there’s a difference knowing I can undo my hands if I feel like I’m going to fall.” She paused for a moment, her expression one of concern. “In a real situation, that option won’t be there.”

I opened Rebecca’s door and then placed her purse in the back seat while she slid into the passenger side, her hands still behind her back. She shifted slightly, adjusting to the restriction as best as she could.

“Really?” I asked, glancing over at her.

Sighing, Rebecca replied, “Better to know how it would be now.” There was a hint of resolve in her voice, but I could see there was also a touch of frustration.

I buckled her in, making sure she was secure before getting in and starting the engine. As we drove to my office, the morning’s anticipation and the unique task ahead filled the car’s quiet space.

Breaking the silence, Rebecca turned to me with a thoughtful expression. “I wish we had thought this through,” she said. “We could have had your company buy some handcuffs for me to wear around the apartment before today. It would have been good practice—and fun for other stuff, too.”

Her comment brought a wry smile to my face. “Yeah?”

Rebecca’s playful tone and the glint in her eyes hinted at the many ways we could have made the situation a bit more enjoyable. I couldn’t help but imagine how we might find a few more opportunities to explore that idea in the future.

But thinking it over, I immediately added, “But they wanted someone with no experience in these matters. That means no practice with cuffs.” I said to lighten the mood.

Rebecca laughed, shaking her head. “Yeah, I guess wearing handcuffs to bed would have ruined giving them a realistic scenario.”

Her laughter filled the car, easing the tension and making the upcoming day feel a bit more manageable. As we continued our way, the shared humor made the situation seem less daunting.

At the company headquarters, Rebecca maintained her trained walk, moving with the careful steps she had been choreographing. Her fingers remained laced behind her back, and her heels clicked rhythmically against the different floor coverings.

We made our way to the security desk, where the officers on duty immediately noticed Rebecca’s distinctive clothing and her deliberate, restrained movement. Their eyebrows raised in curiosity, and one of the officers leaned in, a touch of confusion in his voice.

“Excuse me,” he said, glancing between us, “but is she—cuffed?”

Rebecca turned around, her expression one of amusement but also readiness. “No, just practicing,” she explained with a smile.

The officer looked at her with a raised eyebrow, then glanced at the paperwork on his desk. “Oh, you’re the one scheduled with the FBI today,” he said, his tone shifting to one of recognition. “You’re Ms. Bounds?”

Rebecca nodded, her smile widening. “Yeah, that’s me. Ready to be put in handcuffs.”

Her playful remark broke the ice, and the officer gave a nod. At the same time, the other looked at Rebecca with a curious expression. “Your name is really Bounds?”

Rebecca chuckled, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Yeah, the humor hasn’t been lost on me—”

Before the conversation could continue, the other officer interrupted. “Ms. Jenkins is waiting for both of you. The FBI will be sent there as soon as they arrive.”

He gestured for us to head up to the top floor, steering us to the next step in the process. Rebecca’s lightheartedness remained, but the gravity of the situation was clearly setting in as we moved forward.

We made our way to Lisa’s office, where she had been overseeing the entire process. As we walked in, Lisa’s eyes immediately fell on Rebecca.

“Wow, you look amazing!” Lisa exclaimed, clearly impressed. “I knew that outfit would—”

Her enthusiasm was abruptly cut off as she noticed Rebecca’s hands behind her back. “Wait, you’re cuffed already?” she asked, looking surprised.

Rebecca turned to Lisa; her posture was slightly stiff, but she maintained a playful demeanor. “No, just practicing,” she replied with a grin. “But I’m all set for the role.”

Lisa’s eyes widened with admiration. “Wow, method actor,” she said, clearly impressed. “We definitely got the right person!”

Her gaze then settled on Rebecca’s towering heels. “Sorry about those. According to the FBI profile, you’re supposed to be tall. Given your height, we had to go with the highest heels sold that didn’t make you look like a—well, you know.”

Rebecca laughed softly. Her amusement was evident despite the discomfort. “No worries. I can manage. Just another part of the role, right?”

Lisa nodded, clearly pleased with Rebecca’s attitude. “Exactly. And you’re handling it well.”

Rebecca, catching the implication of Lisa’s words, raised an eyebrow and asked, “Did you say ‘we?’”

As Rebecca sought further clarification from Lisa, I interjected, mentioning that I’d left Rebecca’s purse in the car. Rebecca waved it off, saying, “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” clearly focused on Lisa’s comment.

Just as Rebecca was about to ask again, Lisa’s secretary entered and announced, “A female FBI agent is waiting outside.”

Lisa nodded and gestured toward the door. “Please, show her in.”

The agent stepped into the office. Her demeanor was professional and focused. She carried a small black leather bag that she placed on the table. Opening it revealed an assortment of restraints. Rebecca’s eyes widened as she took in the array.

“I’m Special Agent Reinhardt,” she said, her voice steady and professional. “I’m here to transport you to Pennsylvania to stand trial.”

The agent began pulling the restraints out of the bag and placing them on the table. There were handcuffs, a black box, a padlock, oversized handcuffs, and lengths of chain. Each item emphasized the serious nature of the transport, and Rebecca took a step forward to take a closer look while visibly taken aback by the assortment of metal laid out before her.

Agent Reinhardt looked at Lisa and then back at Rebecca. Lisa, with a focused expression, glanced down, leaving the spotlight on Rebecca.

The agent opened a case file and pulled out a photograph paperclipped to it—clearly of my girlfriend. She looked up, her gaze steady. “I need you to state your full name, please.”

Rebecca took a deep breath and replied, “Becca Bounds—sorry, Rebecca Elise Bounds.” Her voice was calm but carried a hint of apprehension as she addressed the formalities.

Agent Reinhardt, now handling the handcuffs, addressed Becca with a professional tone. “Ms. Bounds, please hold out your hands.”

Before Becca could say anything, the agent swiftly locked the handcuffs around her wrists. They were fitted snugly but comfortably. The agent then double-locked the cuffs to ensure they wouldn’t tighten further.

Next, she placed the black box over the handcuffs and fastened it securely. Becca’s eyes widened as she noticed the additional restraint. “What is this?” she asked, her voice with concern and curiosity.

The agent replied calmly, “It’s a lockbox. It covers the handcuffs and prevents you from accessing the keyholes.”

Agent Reinhardt then took a length of chain and began wrapping it around Becca’s waist. She secured it in place with a flat metal piece that was attached to the end of the chain and which had a slit in it. She did this by pushing the flat piece of metal through one of the chain links.

The agent then picked up another long chain with loops at the ends. She threaded one end of this chain over the flat metal piece, holding the contraption in place with one hand.

At this point, Becca, her wrists secured in the handcuffs with the lockbox in place, had her hands raised. Special Agent Reinhardt used her free hand to guide the lockbox toward the flat metal piece on Becca’s waist.

I noticed a slit in the lockbox, aligning with the metal piece. As the agent maneuvered the lockbox, the flat metal piece connected to the waist chain slid through the slit in the box, protruding out the other side. The agent then pulled the loose end of the waist chain through the slit protruding from the lockbox until it was taut, then snaked it through the back of the box. This movement effectively held the box to the chain, confining Becca’s wrists to her waist.