Chapter 20: Seeing the Tighter Bind

We wrapped up the photograph selection and declined any compensation, leaving no paper trail except for the images themselves, identified as modeled by Bettie B. This meant Sebastian and Michelle had no additional information about Becca beyond the name she initially provided over the phone, which I suspected they might have thought was a pseudonym.

Sebastian and Michelle then invited us to dinner. They suggested a quiet, open-minded spot within walking distance that they sometimes took clients to. Michelle mentioned that the place was friendly and understanding, particularly of attire—this meant that no one gave Becca a second glance—even though she was just in a suit and heels.

We spent the evening discussing how Sebastian and Michelle got into photography and the story behind their studio. They shared anecdotes about the various models they’d worked with and their experiences in the industry. We also exchanged stories detailing the transport, the events that followed, and what led us to share dinner with them.

They were understanding, and we realized how much we had in common, which made us feel at ease. Throughout the dinner, Michelle consistently validated Becca’s emotions, helping her feel understood. However, it wasn’t until Michelle pulled a pair of hinged handcuffs out of her purse that Becca fully understood and felt entirely at ease with her own feelings. Becca sometimes slipped our hinged handcuffs into her purse when we were out and she couldn’t wear them. But Michelle’s simple gesture made her realize that her experiences were shared and accepted, giving her a sense of validation and comfort she hadn’t fully grasped before.

“I keep these in my purse at all times,” she said. “They give me comfort, especially since I don’t have the keys for them.” She looked at Sebastian. “I know that I could be put in them at any time.”

We continued to talk until the server signaled that they would be closing soon. Sebastian and Michelle asked Becca to consider doing more modeling with them. Sebastian had ideas for a new set reminiscent of WWII pinups. Michelle was still thinking about Becca posing over a desk in a similar-era wiggle dress or suit. Both ideas were inviting to Becca, and she said she would consider.

We stopped by the studio to pick up our carry-on and scheduled a short drive back to the hotel. Becca and I reflected on a beautiful afternoon and evening, grateful for the new friends.

As we arrived in our room, Becca, looking tired, kissed me and went into the bathroom to shower and get ready for bed. She soon emerged in pajamas, and I then disappeared to get cleaned up myself.

When I came out, Becca was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but pantyhose. Next to her was the straitjacket, the leather restraints, and the muzzle.

“I give you consent to put me in these—whether I want it or not,” Becca told me in a low and vulnerable voice. “I know how that sounds, but I trust you completely. I know you would never hurt me.”

I recognized that she was repeating what she had heard today, but it was more than that—she truly meant it and genuinely wanted it. I also knew she could see the hesitation on my face, but I nodded in agreement.

“But tonight, I want to be put in these, and in the frogtie ... and I want you to make me yours.” She said.

I again nodded and gently went through all the motions that Michelle had shown me earlier in the afternoon. The experience was slow and deliberate as I caressed Becca while she was gently but securely placed into the restraints.

I then carefully lowered her onto a pillow. As I turned off the lights, I glanced at Becca lying on the bed, restrained in a butterfly pose. She stayed that way until morning, but I removed the muzzle before we both fell asleep.

As I awoke Saturday morning, Becca was awake, looking at me. “Good morning,” I said.

“Morning,” she replied.

“How did you sleep,” I asked her.

“Great, after you let me,” she said with a smirk.

“I was instructed to make you mine,” I said with an equal return grin. “So?” I then asked.

Becca laughed, “Are you asking if I’m yours?”

I nodded, “Yes,” I said with a very straight face.

“Hmm,” she said, looking thoughtful while wiggling in the restraints, clearly demonstrating her helplessness and my complete control. “Well, I believe so, but maybe you should try again, just to be sure.”

We spent part of the morning “making sure” before I released Becca. As she carefully placed the items into the carry-on luggage, I noticed my phone lighting up. That’s when I realized I had forgotten about Lisa.

When Becca disappeared into the bathroom, I called her.

“Hey—,” I said, but Lisa had already moved into the dialogue.

“You moved your flight and are still in Philadelphia?” she said.

“Um, yeah,” I replied, trying to understand how she knew.

“The FBI told me you had moved your flight to later this morning,” she responded, anticipating my confusion.

“How—?” I stammered.

“I wish you had just gone home. This would have been a lot easier,” she said, sounding concerned and annoyed.

“What are you talking about? What would be easier?” I asked.

After we left the meeting yesterday morning, she reminded me that she had stayed behind to discuss projects with the assistant director, focusing on areas where my company might be of assistance. During this discussion, Agent Myers, who was preparing to leave, suggested a follow-up on the transport procedures.

She was concerned about how prior transports of the same individual could impact future escorts. Specifically, she worried that agents might become desensitized, potentially leading to reduced vigilance. Conversely, the detainee might become more comfortable and exploit this familiarity to their advantage.