Chapter 7: Cuffed in Conversations

The following day, the sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a warm, gentle glow over the bedroom. I woke up early, unable to shake the lingering thoughts from the previous day. I crept, mindful not to disturb Becca, who was still peacefully asleep.

I looked over at her, her hands cuffed, resting comfortably under the covers. Her restrained position from the night before seemed to have settled into a routine of sorts. However, I knew it was anything but ordinary. Her breathing was steady, and the soft rise and fall of her chest was a reassuring sight.

I was curious about how she would respond upon waking, given the state she had been in all night. Would she be frustrated, relieved, or maybe even amused by the situation she’d found herself in? From what I could see, she appeared at ease.

I made a mental note last night to arrange a proper breakfast for her. It seemed only fair to start the day with some normality, considering the circumstances. A leisurely breakfast in bed might be a nice touch—something to counterbalance the constraints of her cuffs.

As I prepared for the day, I thought through the logistics. We still had to handle the paperwork along with any other issues that might arise. I wanted to ensure that Becca’s needs were met and her comfort was prioritized while we navigated the bureaucratic mess that had led us here.

The thought of Becca’s reaction to the day’s events was constantly on my mind. Her playful comment about her “bracelets” last night suggested that she was both resigned and accepting. I hoped that with a touch of normalcy and care, the day might unfold in a way that eased our situation.

I stepped out of the suite and went to the resort’s restaurant. They had a generous spread—fresh pastries, muffins, fruit, yogurt, coffee. I picked out a variety of items and left a portion for Agent Reinhardt in her suite. I wanted to make sure everyone was taken care of despite the circumstances.

When I returned, Becca was awake but still lounging in bed. She was fiddling with the cuffs and appeared to be handling the situation well.

“Are you okay?” I asked softly as I placed the breakfast on the bedside table.

Becca looked up with a tired but genuine smile. “Yeah,” she replied.

“I got us some breakfast,” I said, trying to bring a bit of normalcy to our morning.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of the food. “Thank you,” she said. “I realized I didn’t eat yesterday.”

I responded, “None of us did. Probably best, eating and drinking might have complicated things with you in all those restraints.”

Becca chuckled softly. “Yeah, I guess so.”

She carefully sat up in bed, maneuvering around the handcuffs. “You know,” she said with a hint of humor, “last night, I resigned myself to waking up in all those restraints.”

“I convinced Agent Reinhardt to stick to just the bracelets,” I explained.

Becca’s smile widened. “Yeah, bracelets.”

“Are you upset about waking up in them?” I asked gently.

“No,” Becca said, shaking her head. “I’m—I’m actually fine,” she added, her voice showing a puzzled surprise.

I handed her a plate loaded with an assortment of food. “They have a lot more, but I wasn’t sure what to bring.”

Becca’s eyes brightened at the sight. “This is great,” she said, her voice warm with appreciation. As we began eating, she glanced up at me. “How bad? I mean, how bad did I get last night? What did I say?”

I looked at her thoughtfully. “You were understandably tired and overwhelmed. You talked about how you felt restrained not just physically but also in terms of the expectations and roles you’ve embraced in your life. You reflected on how your wardrobe and the way you present yourself might be another form of restraint, just like those bracelets.”

Becca nodded slowly, her fingers tracing the edge of her cuffed wrists. “I remember talking about that,” she said. “It’s just—strange, isn’t it? How can something that feels so restrictive also make you think about other aspects of your life?”

I took a deep breath and said, “You seemed to hint at the realization that bondage was part of you. You even mentioned needing a lockable ball gag to keep you quiet and how much I’d love to see you in one. You talked about my liking you in those restraints and then fell asleep making ‘Mmmph’ noises, pretending to be gagged.”

Becca’s eyes widened, and she looked down at her hands, her face flushing with a deep shade of red. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t mean for any of that to come out.”

I nodded gently. “Yeah, the agent heard all of it.”

Becca’s mortification was intense as she looked at me with embarrassment and regret. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“It’s okay,” I reassured her softly. “We all have moments where we’re more vulnerable and say things exposing parts of ourselves that we may not have fully realized existed until that moment.”

Becca took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. I didn’t realize I was being so open about my thoughts.”

“Should we talk about it?” I asked, trying to gauge how she was feeling.

Becca looked at me, then tried to adjust her handcuffs, clearly uncomfortable. “You want to talk about what I said? About how I’m feeling?” she asked, her voice hesitant.

I nodded. “Yeah, if you’re up for it. I’d like to understand what’s going on in your mind.”

Becca took a deep breath, her eyes searching for the right words. “I guess I was trying to process how I felt about the whole situation. When I was in the restraints, I was really uncomfortable. Still, I also couldn’t help but think about how I actually felt kind of—strangely comforted.”

“Comforted?” I echoed, intrigued. “How do you mean?”

“I know,” Becca continued, her voice gaining strength as she talked. “it’s weird, but the more confined I was, the more I started to think about how I actually felt about the clothes I wear. Like, I’ve always been drawn to clothes that are—well, restrictive. The vintage dresses, the high heels. They all fit so tightly. It’s like ... being in them gives me a sense of control but also makes me feel secure. I know it sounds strange.”

“It doesn’t sound strange,” I said softly.

Becca nodded, her eyes focused on her handcuffs as if they were a key to her feelings. “When I’m dressed up, especially in those vintage outfits, it’s like I’m wrapped in a kind of armor. The tighter the fit, the more secure I feel. It’s not just about looking good; it’s about feeling a certain way. When I’m in something snug and restrictive, it’s like I’m embracing a part of myself that craves that structure.”

I asked, “Like the weighted blankets?”

She glanced at me, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah, like that feeling. And now, with these bracelets, they give me the same feeling I get when I wear my grandmother’s clothes. It’s as if the physical restraints are making me realize how much I’ve always been drawn to the feeling of, well, being confined.”

I listened intently, the understanding dawning on me. “So, it’s not just about the physicality of the restraints, but also about how they make you feel emotionally?”

“Yeah,” Becca said, her voice brimming with relief and vulnerability. “All those restraints yesterday made me realize how much I’ve always been drawn to that sense of well-being. It’s like there’s a part of me that’s always wanted this, even if it manifested as clothing and shoes instead of these.” She held up her cuffed hands for emphasis.

She looked at me, her eyes searching for reassurance. “I’m not saying it’s all that I want or need, but—I think there’s something to it. It’s like I’m discovering another layer of myself through this experience.”

I reached out and gently held her hand, trying to offer comfort. “It sounds like you’re making sense of something that’s been part of you for a long time. I’m here for you.”

Becca smiled, her expression softening. “Thanks. It’s nice to have someone to talk to about this.” She then looked at me with intensity and said, “I now have a question for you.”

I looked attentively at her.

“At the park, when you were talking to Lisa,” Becca began, her voice laced with curiosity, “you were staring at me. It was the same way you look at me when we’re intimate. That look—the one that makes me melt.”

I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thinking. “There were so many thoughts racing through my head during that conversation,” I admitted. “I was trying to listen to what Lisa was saying, but honestly, I can barely remember half of it.”

Becca’s eyes widened slightly. “Really? Why is that?”

I looked deeply into her eyes. “It’s because I was completely absorbed in how connected I felt to you. The chains, the way you were—it created this raw sense of vulnerability. Seeing you like that made me realize just how intensely we’re connected. It wasn’t just how you looked, but how they made you more open, more real. And that openness made me feel even closer to you.”

Becca’s gaze searched mine, a mixture of curiosity and something else in her eyes. “So, you like the way I looked in those chains? You like me vulnerable and helpless?”

I nodded slowly, trying to find the right words. “It’s more than liking you that way. It’s about how it deepened our connection. When you’re vulnerable, it’s like the barriers between us dissolve. It makes our bond stronger and more intense. I don’t see it as a matter of power or control; it’s about intimacy and trust.”

Becca looked thoughtful, her fingers fidgeting slightly with the metal. “I guess I never really thought about it that way. It’s like the restraints created a space where we could connect on a deeper level.”

Becca looked at me, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. “So, what happens now?” she asked cautiously. “I just told you I’ve spent my life gravitating toward clothing that binds me because it’s comforting, and these bracelets give me the same feeling. And you tell me when I’m vulnerable, our connection amplifies, and these bracelets make that happen.”

I took a deep breath, feeling a bit of hesitation myself. “I don’t know. But it seems like we’re both reacting to the bracelets and the other restraints in different ways that complement each other and bring us closer together.”

Becca’s expression showed that she was curious but also concerned. “So, you’re saying that me, restrained, helps us understand each other better and brings us closer. But what does that mean for us moving forward? Do we just keep exploring this dynamic?”

I nodded slowly, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t know. That’s a good question.”

Just as I was about to continue, Agent Reinhardt knocked on the door and stepped in. “I’ve been on the phone with the bureau,” she announced. “They’re still fixing things, but they say it’ll be resolved no later than tomorrow morning. That means you can enjoy the resort today. I’m working on arranging a non-commercial flight back to New York first thing tomorrow.”

I looked at Becca, whose face shifted to one of cautious hope. Agent Reinhardt continued, “However, given the situation, I need to put you back into restraints. Can you please get dressed and ready? I’ll meet you in the living area.”

As she spoke, Agent Reinhardt removed Becca’s cuffs with a swift but professional motion. Becca, looking at me with resignation and concern, got up.

I watched her, feeling a pang of regret that our moment of connection had to be interrupted. “We’ll figure it out, Becca,” I said softly, trying to offer some reassurance.

Becca nodded, her gaze lingering on me for a moment before she turned to get ready. “Okay,” she replied quietly. “Did our luggage arrive? Are there other clothes?” she asked.

“I inquired with the resort this morning when I was getting breakfast. They hadn’t arrived yet. They think later this morning,” I said.

Becca nodded and added, “I’ll see you in the living area.”

As I waited with Agent Reinhardt, Becca walked in, her presence commanding immediate attention. She was back in her suit, stockings, and the heels she had worn earlier. Despite the long day, her suit looked as crisp as ever, and her stockings still looked amazing, a testament to the quality of the garments.

I felt terrible for her having to wear that suit and those heels again. Considering the transport and the uncertainty of dragging luggage around, Becca and I had sent a carry-on-sized piece to the resort in advance. It included enough clothes for a day or two.

Despite being back in the tired clothes, Becca walked confidently, the click of her heels echoing softly in the room. She glanced down at her shoes with a slight smile. “They seem better today,” she said lightly. “Guess I’m getting used to these CFMs.”