The Analyst
Copyright© 2025 by R. E. Bounds
Chapter 26: Echoes of the Night
“What are you smiling about? You’re supposed to be packing,” Becca said, her irritation evident.
“I am packing...” I replied, pointing to the boned corset. “I was thinking about the Halloween event.”
Becca’s expression softened into a smile. “Yeah, that was a fun night,” she said, clearly amused. “So, what’s got you grinning?”
“I keep picturing the look on that girl’s face when she handed us your coat. I pulled out the blindfold and placed it over your eyes, tying it in the back. But when I took out the muzzle, pushed the ball into your mouth, behind your teeth, and buckled all the straps tight—her eyes widened like saucers when she saw me padlock it in place.”
Becca’s smile grew playful, her eyes twinkling with amusement and fondness. “Oh, I did miss that, darling,” she purred, her voice soft and teasing as she reminisced about the blindfold. “But I made sure she knew earlier that night—it wasn’t up for negotiation.”
I smiled, enjoying Becca’s playful Bettie voice. Noticing my reaction, she leaned in a little closer and asked, “Did Lisa ever spot us?”
“Uh, sort of,” I replied. “She asked if we’d seen the bound Bettie Page in the lingerie. From what she heard, that was the ‘it-girl’ for the night.”
Becca’s eyebrows arched playfully. “‘It-girl?’” she purred, a teasing lilt in her voice. “And what did you say, darling?”
“I told her we definitely saw her,” I explained, “and then described what you—or what she was wearing.”
Becca’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “And what did she say to that?”
I chuckled. “Let’s just say you were the talk of the night and left an impression that won’t be forgotten anytime soon,” I told Becca. “She then asked about us, but mostly about you. She wanted to know what you were wearing.”
Becca raised an eyebrow. “What did you tell her?”
“Luckily, I didn’t have to tell her anything,” I responded. “Her phone rang, and she had to take the call. That ended the conversation.”
Becca took the corset from my hands, her cuffed wrists moving gracefully as she packed it away with the other items to return to Michelle. She flashed a seductive smile and purred, “You certainly enjoyed the outfit that night. If I recall, you kept me up until four the next morning.”
Becca’s voice took on a playful, teasing tone as she recalled the memory. “And once you realized that chain in the coat pocket could hook to the leg cuffs and loop through the ring on my armbinder ... well, you certainly seemed to enjoy me in that little frogtie, didn’t you?”
“You did tell me to apply the chain to your leg cuffs when we got into the bedroom,” I said. “So, I did what you asked and made you mine. Anyway, you could have told me you were tired.”
“I did,” Becca cooed, her voice dripping with playful amusement. “Oh, many times, actually.” Then, leaning in with a sultry whisper, she added, “Mmph ... Mmph ... And the more I told you, the more you wore me out.”
Shifting the conversation, Becca then asked in her soft, playful tone, “Is Ms. Bomen checking in on Godfried?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “She’ll keep an eye on him while we’re gone.”
Becca nodded and crouched beside the bed, reaching under it with both hands. “Hi, sweetie,” she said with a gentle tone.
I finished loading up the car and got Becca ready for the trip. We were soon on our way. The exhibition’s opening was tonight, and Becca wanted to get there early to ensure everything was ready. We had made the drive every other weekend to prepare, but tonight was the big night—when all her hard work would finally be on display.
Even though it was a Saturday, the museum was closed to the public in preparation for the vernissage. Eleanor had sent out numerous invitations, ensuring the art community was aware of the event. She also recognized it as a prime opportunity to raise funds for the museum and future initiatives.
While the excitement was definite, I knew Becca was anxious—having the who’s who of the art world in attendance was a daunting prospect for her.
I kept Becca in restraints during all our prior visits to the museum, deliberately getting the staff accustomed to seeing her that way. The staff seemed okay with it, but it was more than that—they seemed genuinely comfortable. Today was no different; I decided to keep her hands secured at her waist with the hinged handcuffs, metal lockbox, waist chain, and padlock, at least until the viewing began.
As we arrived, we spotted Veronica walking up the sidewalk. I helped Becca out of the car, pulled her coat over her shoulders, and the two of them walked together into the building. Veronica had been present during all our previous visits over the past weeks, so we eventually entrusted her with a handcuff and padlock key.
I then headed to the hotel to check in and unpack, as it would be our home for the week. My company’s acquisition was now official, and I was fully remote. While Becca would be at the museum every day and some evenings, I planned to stay at the hotel and get my work done there.
The event was scheduled from seven to nine, with Becca needing to arrive an hour beforehand. So, I wasn’t surprised when she and Veronica returned around 4:30 to get ready.
I helped Becca out of her coat and hung it up. Veronica told us she’d meet us in the lobby about an hour after getting ready herself.
Once she left, I turned to Becca and asked, “How did it go?”
“Fine,” she said, tilting her head slightly and closing her eyes, clearly stressed.
I guided her to sit on the bed. “From what I saw, the exhibition is beautiful. You’ve poured your soul into it,” I told her. “It’s the best work you’ve ever done. Do you know why?” I asked gently.
She shook her head, her eyes welling up with tears. “Because you’re emotionally invested,” I said softly, then gently took her hands, still secured against her waist.
I then guided her up gently. “You need to get completely dolled up. I mean everything—your hair up, the whole look,” I told her.
She nodded, smiling. “I can do that.”
“Oh, and your outfit is hanging on the bathroom door,” I informed her.
“Thanks for getting my clothes ready,” she said.
“No, not the clothes you brought,” I explained. “Lisa mentioned there was some budget left over from the FBI project that needed to be spent. She asked if I had any ideas.”
Becca, now more composed and successfully holding back her tears, asked, “What did you tell her?”
“I might have suggested another outfit for you. And I might have suggested shoes,” I replied with a grin. “And I may have been particular about it.”
Becca smiled, walking over to the bathroom door, and spotting an extra-long garment bag clearly designed to hold a dress. She reached up to touch it, but with her hands at her waist, she could only manage to keep them at that level.
“There’s a bra, panties, garter, and silk stockings in the garment bag, too,” I added with a smile.
As she touched the garment bag, clearly wondering about the dress inside, I moved behind her. I gently undid the padlock, turning her around to remove the restraints. I then carefully took the bag off the bathroom door and draped it over a chair in the sitting area near the bathroom. With a soft smile, I stepped back to let her get ready.
When she emerged, she was wearing a strapless bra, panties, a garter, and sheer nude Cuban-seamed stockings. “Help me,” she murmured in a warm, seductive voice, her eyes inviting.
I gently helped her into the dress, carefully sliding the luxurious fabric over her curves. The dress was a stunning black mermaid gown, perfectly tailored to her body, hugging her silhouette with the style of a bodycon. The fabric clung to her form, highlighting every graceful line from her shoulders to her toes, with the mermaid cut subtly flaring out just above her ankles. The spaghetti straps rested delicately on her shoulders, adding a touch of softness to the bold ensemble.
The back of the dress was a showstopper—a deep, plunging V that revealed the smooth expanse of her back, framed by an intricate lace-up design. The lace ribbon threaded through the eyelets, drawing the eye down her spine. In contrast, the black lace itself added a layer of sophistication and allure. The lace-up detail was beautifully decorated, the ribbon tied in a perfect bow at the base, resting just above the small of her back.
The dress dipped low enough to tastefully reveal just a hint of the swell of her breasts, adding to the dress’s seductive charm without being overt. The hem of the gown brushed against her angled, stockinged toes, creating a seamless, elongated line that accentuated her height and the elegance of her posture.
Her hair was styled in an elegant updo, a nod to old Hollywood glamour, with soft waves pinned gracefully atop her head, a few delicate tendrils framing her face. Her makeup was impeccable—bold yet refined. Her eyes were accentuated with a smoky, dramatic effect that made them appear even more captivating. At the same time, her lips were painted in a rich, deep shade that complemented the timeless elegance of her look. The overall effect was a striking combination of vintage allure and modern sophistication, making her the epitome of elegance and poise.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, staring into the wall mirror. Taking a few careful steps, she added with a smile, “It’s also very tight—no chance of walking fast in this.”
I smiled, “I did say I might have been particular,” I replied, placing my hands gently around her waist as we both looked into the mirror.
She nodded, her eyes bright with anticipation. “You mentioned there were shoes?” she asked, eager to see them.
“I led her over to the bed and pulled a box from the dresser. Placing it on the bed, I opened it to reveal a pair of black matte finish leather stilettos featuring a sleek six-inch heel.”
I slipped one of the heels onto Becca’s foot while she held the other. “These feel like the real leather ones of my grandmother,” she remarked a hint of nostalgia in her voice.
“They’re incredibly well made—real leather, reinforced heel, with metal tips,” I explained. “They’re designed to last.”
She looked inside the shoe, searching for a label but finding none. “Who makes these?” she asked, clearly surprised.
They were handmade in England, tailored to your exact foot size by a shop with over a century of craftsmanship,” I said, glancing up at Becca, who seemed genuinely delighted with the heels. “This design is called the Dominatrix,” I added as I carefully slipped the other shoe onto her foot. “I was told they’re exceptionally well-made because they’re worn daily by women who rely on them for their work attire.”
I then helped her stand. She walked gracefully in them, though it was clear she noticed the height. As she moved, I could see that when her foot peeked out from beneath the dress, it wasn’t just vertical—it leaned slightly forward, accentuating the elegance and daring nature of the shoes.
“These fit perfectly,” Becca said, smiling and clearly surprised. “I won’t even have to break these in.”
“Good,” I replied, a hint of relief in my voice. “Because there’s another pair on the dresser in a nude color.”
Becca’s smile widened, her happiness unmistakable. “And what did Lisa say about all of this?”
“After she saw their quality and realized they were half the cost of the ‘So Kate’ heels, she ordered a pair for herself.’” I explained.
Becca laughed softly. “Thanks,” she said, her voice filled with gratitude and a hint of mischief. “Did you say they’re worn by women who need them for their attire?”
“That’s what they said,” I replied.
“So, given their name, they mean dominatrixes?” Becca smiled. “Who else would wear heels this high to work?” She pondered for a moment.
I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I said, changing the subject as I checked the time. “Let’s get you into the jewelry, and then I’ll get ready so we can find Veronica.”