Chapter 2: Wanting One Thing

“You seem distant,” I said to Becca as we drove home on Christmas afternoon.

We had spent the night and morning with my parents, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

“Did something happen while we were at my parents’ house?”

“No,” Becca replied, her voice soft. “They were wonderful. I really love them.”

Despite her words, I could tell something was bothering her.

“So, what’s wrong?” I asked.

Becca hesitated before answering.

“I didn’t sleep well last night. It was the first time in a long time that I had to sleep without jewelry—and without you beside me.”

She shifted slightly in her seat, her hands resting behind her.

“I’m not complaining—I genuinely enjoyed being with your parents, and it was a wonderful time. It was just difficult for me. I missed having you close and being wrapped up in the comfort of our usual routine.”

“It’s another reason for us to get married,” I said to Becca, hoping to open up a conversation about our future.

“We’d be a married couple ... and I’d make sure you have your jewelry on when it’s appropriate.”

Becca nodded but seemed hesitant to delve deeper into the topic.

“When you say ‘appropriate,’” she emphasized, “you mean only at night and behind closed doors.”

I shook my head. “My parents are very traditional and conservative,” I reminded her.

“They wouldn’t understand any of this. We’ll have to keep everything private and respectful of their views.”

I could tell she wasn’t thrilled with that answer, so I sighed and added, “We don’t visit them often—maybe four times a year?”

A bit frustrated myself, I continued, “Once we move into our own place, you’ll be free to wear your jewelry without having to hide it. In fact, the real issue might be the times when you can’t or choose not to wear them.”

She rolled her eyes and said, “I gave you consent and took away any say I have. What I want doesn’t matter.”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Like right now—I want to be wearing the full set, but instead, my hands are cuffed behind me.”

Becca paused, her expression turning weary.

“We talked about this. It’s why I’m so eager for the closing. I need to make this all permanent.”

She looked at me, smiling but clearly upset.

“Eventually, your parents will find out,” she said.

“Someone will post a picture of me at the museum, or we’ll be out somewhere, and someone we know personally will see. Or maybe your parents will come over unannounced, and I’ll answer the door in handcuffs—something will happen.”

I nodded in agreement.

“Okay, you’re right,” I said.

We still had about 45 minutes of driving ahead, so I pulled down a side road into what looked like a small park. I stopped the car, helped Becca out, and adjusted her restraints, placing the belt and hinged handcuffs in front of her.

“I didn’t bring the full set,” I explained, trying to sound apologetic. “This is the best I can do right now.”

Once we were back on the road, I tried to reassure her.

“When we get settled in our new home, we’ll invite my parents over and tell them. I just need some time to figure out how to explain everything and what exactly to say.”

Becca could see that I was emotionally committed to her but also clearly struggling with the idea of how to approach my parents. She understood that I was deeply invested in our relationship but felt the weight of the challenge ahead—telling my parents that the woman I love, whom I desperately want to marry, has specific needs that I, too, share.

We talked about several topics during the drive back to the city and arrived in the mid-afternoon. The weather was cold and overcast.

I quickly grabbed our overnight carry-on, and we headed inside. I draped Becca’s coat over her shoulders but didn’t remove her restraints.

We were aware that the other tenants might notice, but we didn’t care—at least, Becca didn’t.

When we arrived at the apartment, we found a large package sitting by our door. I let Becca inside, then dragged in our luggage before stepping back into the hallway to retrieve the large box.

It was addressed to Becca and appeared to have been delivered the previous day—probably after we had left for my parents’ place. I set the package on the coffee table, stowed the luggage in the laundry area, and then sat down on the couch with Becca to open it.

“Do you know what it is?” I asked her.

Becca smiled and shrugged. “Maybe. It might be something I talked about with Michelle last week.”

I carefully opened the box, revealing its contents one by one. Inside were four leather sleeves resembling the armbinder Becca had worn at the photoshoot. The set included two large and two smaller sleeves. Unlike the armbinder, these sleeves ended in round, flat pads that were thickly cushioned rather than pointed. Each sleeve featured lacing and could be secured with four heavy straps and buckles, which could be padlocked in place.

Seeing that there was more in the box, I continued to explore while Becca leaned forward to examine one of the leather tubes. As she inspected it, I pulled out two leather mittens with wrist straps and buckles, which also had accommodations for padlocks. Each mitt was adorned with a red leather paw print stitched onto the surface.

Alongside these were two pairs of thickly padded leather socks, which could be laced up and locked at the ankles with pad-lockable buckles.

Next, I extracted a tall, fully padded leather collar. It also had a strap and buckle that could be padlocked, and the word “Bitch” was embossed in red leather, matching the paws on the mittens.

Finally, I pulled out a leather hood designed to look like a dog. It featured long, floppy ears, openings for the eyes, and could be laced up the back. The hood had a strap and buckle that could be padlocked around the neck if needed.

The snout was made of leather as well, embellished with the same red leather found on the mittens and collar. As I unzipped the snout, I revealed a detachable gag secured with four snaps. Removing it, we saw that it was a solid piece about three inches long, resembling a phallus.