The Chef
Copyright© 2025 by R. E. Bounds
Chapter 3: Longing for Imposed Permanence
I glanced over at Becca, who had been eagerly preparing for the evening. She stood by the window, her reflection mirrored against the soft, ambient light filtering through the curtains.
Becca was stunning, dressed as a sultry Santa’s helper. Her red wiggle clung to her curves, the fitted fabric accentuating her every move. The dress was a bold shade of crimson that shimmered slightly under the room’s lights.
It hugged her body down to just above her knees, flaring out slightly to highlight her toned legs. The neckline was daring, plunging just enough to be provocative. A wide black belt cinched at her waist, creating a striking silhouette that emphasized her hourglass figure.
Her nude-seamed stockings complemented the dress perfectly. The lace tops, secured by a garter, were a discreet detail hidden beneath the fabric. Their subtle sheen contrasted beautifully with her skin, adding a refined touch to her ensemble.
On her feet were the “So Kate” Louboutin’s. They gave her comfort, much like the solace she found in the restraints. Despite their well-worn condition, the patent leather had held up remarkably well. The once-vibrant red soles had nearly faded, revealing only faint traces of their original brilliance.
Yet, the heels continued to make a striking statement, elongating her legs, and turning each step into a graceful display of poise. The slender profile of the stilettos accentuated her every movement, adding an extra layer of sophisticated allure to her already captivating presence.
Finally, a Santa hat perched cheerfully atop her head, its white fur trim adding a touch of playfulness to her otherwise sophisticated look. Her makeup was done to perfection—bold red lips, dark, smokey eyes, and a touch of shimmer on her cheeks. The heavy makeup framed her face beautifully, highlighting her striking features and adding to the allure of her holiday ensemble.
As she posed in front of the mirror, she turned to me with a hopeful smile. “So, how do I look?”
I took a moment to fully appreciate her appearance, letting my gaze linger on each detail of her outfit.
“You look like the most enchanting Santa’s helper,” I said, trying to convey the full effect of her transformation. “The outfit is perfect—sexy yet classy, festive, and fun. The whole look just makes you irresistible.”
Becca’s eyes sparkled with delight at my compliment. “You really think so?”
“Absolutely,” I replied. “You’ve captured the spirit of the season with just the right amount of allure.”
She smiled, clearly pleased with my response, but then her expression shifted to one of contemplation.
“Alright,” she said, her tone turning more serious. “We should head out. It’s time to put me in the full set.”
I reached into the bag and pulled out the hinged handcuffs, lockbox, waist and connecting chains, and long-chain leg cuffs, laying them out on the bed, their polished metal glinting under the room’s light.
“I was thinking less is more tonight,” I said, gesturing toward the bed. “It’s a holiday party, after all.”
Becca shook her head, her expression one of determination and heartfelt sincerity.
“I wore them here,” she said, her voice steady yet filled with deep emotion, “and I’ll wear them home, too. You were right—it’s not just about the party. It’s about people getting used to seeing me in these.”
She paused, gesturing toward the restraints on the bed, her eyes reflecting a longing and resolve as she met my gaze.
“I want this to become something people come to expect. If it becomes the norm, then I’ll have no choice but to wear them whenever we go out. It won’t be just about giving you permission to keep me in them; it will be about how I’m accepted and how I need to be.”
I sat on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside me, inviting Becca to join.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked. I understood what Becca was telling me, but I was also concerned.
“I know I had suggested the same thing. But reflecting on it ... It might be manageable now, but what about a year from now? Two years? Remember what Dr. Farmer said—we’d need to adjust over time. That means things could change.”
Becca took my face gently in her hands, her gaze steady and reassuring.
“I remember,” she said softly. “But we both agreed to this. We’ll figure it out as we go.”
She smiled, her eyes shining with resolve.
“But I don’t want the jewelry to ever be something we discuss as an option to stop. I want them to be so seamlessly woven into our lives that the choice to wear them vanishes entirely.”
I nodded in agreement, acknowledging her perspective. “Alright. Let’s get you into these.”
With her restraints in place, I draped her coat over her shoulders. It was a classic, tailored wool coat that added a touch of sophistication to her outfit while also providing a layer of warmth.
“Ready to go?” I asked, giving her a reassuring smile.
Becca nodded, her eyes shining with excitement and anticipation. “Ready.”
We left the room and headed toward the hotel lobby, Becca carefully maneuvering the connecting chain to avoid tangling it with her heels. Unsurprisingly, our presence drew appreciative glances from several guests, and one older woman approached us.
“Excuse me,” she began, her eyes fixed on the restraints. “I’ve heard about someone in town who has been—well, I’m guessing you’re the one they’re talking about?”
Becca glanced at her restraints before responding, her tone calm. “It probably is.”
The woman’s gaze lingered on the heavy chains and cuffs.
“So, the rumor is true,” she said with a smile. “And you’re in those all the time?”
Becca shrugged slightly.
“I’m required to wear them whenever we’re out. It’s related to a situation I’m involved in—something beyond my control right now.” She paused and added, “It’s not up to me.”
The woman’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re not allowed to take them off?”
Becca shook her head softly. “No, once they’re on, they stay on. I can’t remove them myself.”
The woman looked puzzled and leaned in slightly. “Are you saying you can’t take them off at all?”
Becca nodded softly, her voice steady yet resigned. “That’s right. They’re very real. They’re what prisoners are put in when being transported, designed so I can’t remove them on my own.”
She extended her arms slightly, allowing the woman a clear view of the restraints that circled her wrists and waist. With a deliberate motion, Becca tugged at the metal, exaggerating the effort to pull her wrists away.
“See?” she said, her tone measured as she struggled against the restraints. “No matter how hard I try, I can’t slip my hands out or move them away. These restraints are unyielding. I’m completely dependent on others.”
The woman glanced at the restraints with a thoughtful look. “That has to be quite an adjustment. How long do you have to be like this?”
Becca paused thoughtfully before responding.
“I’m not sure,” she said with a hint of introspection. “It’s been a few months already, and we’re taking things as they come.”
She met the woman’s gaze directly, her expression resolute. “But I’m preparing myself for the possibility that this could be long-term.”
The woman’s eyes widened slightly, and her tone carried a hint of concern.
“In a tight-knit community like this, people can become quite fixed in their perceptions,” she said with a knowing smile. “If you keep wearing those, they’ll become part of your identity.”
She paused, allowing her words to resonate before continuing, her voice steady. “Eventually, it won’t be up to you.”
Despite her serene smile and curious gaze, it was clear Becca wanted to hear this. She played along, reiterating her need to wear them before seeking clarification.
“As I mentioned, I’m required to wear them whenever we’re out. I don’t have a choice right now; it’s not up to me. Are you saying that even once I don’t have to wear them, I’ll still need to?”
The woman gave a reassuring nod, her expression resolute. “Your exhibition made a real impact. People are deeply moved to see you in those. It’s garnering a lot of attention and sympathy.”
She continued, her tone direct and unambiguous.
“It’s not going to be a matter of whether you still need to wear them once your situation is resolved. The community has come to see those”—she pointed at the restraints—”as part of who you are. It will become an expectation from which you can’t escape. If you want to remain a part of this community, you’ll have to continue wearing them.”
Becca took a deep breath, absorbing the gravity of the woman’s words. “I see,” she said, at a loss for what else to say.
The woman offered a sympathetic smile.
“I just wanted to ensure you’re fully aware of the potential long-term implications. It’s important to understand that, in a community like this, perceptions can solidify in ways that become impossible to change.”
She added, “Others in this community have learned that the hard way. Many years later, even those who move away and return realize they can’t shake the perceptions people have of them.”
Becca nodded, indicating that she understood.
With mutual goodbyes and a final exchange of pleasantries, we went our separate ways, each heading off to our respective destinations.
As I drove us to the museum, Becca sat comfortably in the passenger seat, a smile playing on her lips. It was clear she was reflecting on the exchange in the lobby, her thoughts apparent in her relaxed demeanor.
“How did you feel about that discussion?” I asked, intentionally breaking the silence.
“She’s the second person to bring this up—Rachel mentioned something similar, though not as directly.”
Becca nodded and shrugged. “It’s what I want,” she said, glancing at me.
“Once everyone’s used to seeing me like this, it won’t be long before I can’t go out without these. It’ll become a social contract—just as that woman said, impossible to undo.”
She then looked at me and said, “I thought you wanted this too? I know you like me this way.”
Feeling uncomfortable, I responded, “I do.”
Searching for the right words to make my point clear, I then said, “But I also want you to be happy. In the end, I want whatever you want.”
Becca smiled. “Then we’re in agreement,” she replied.
I pulled into the museum parking lot and helped Becca out of the car. Ensuring her shoulders were covered with her coat, we made our way to the entrance.
As we approached, a staff member saw us and promptly opened the door.
“You came,” Sophie said with a warm smile. “We were hoping you’d make it.”
“We wouldn’t have missed this,” Becca replied, her eyes lighting up as she took in the scene. “The museum is beautiful at night, especially with all the lights and decorations.”
“Thanks,” Sophie replied as we walked into the same room where Becca’s exhibition’s open night had taken place.
It was charmingly decorated, with tables and chairs arranged elegantly, a buffet set up with a variety of delicious dishes, and a bar area stocked with drinks.
“Everyone should soon be here, so please make yourselves at home,” she added before turning to head back to the entrance to greet the next arrivals.
I placed Becca’s coat and purse on a table, and we began to walk the room. That’s when I noticed the museum’s director approaching us.
Mr. Griffin greeted us warmly, and Becca thanked him for making us feel welcome and like we were a part of the museum.
He was a distinguished man in his mid-fifties, with neatly combed salt-and-pepper hair and a trimmed beard. His voice was steady and reassuring, reflecting his enthusiasm for the exhibition and his genuine appreciation for our presence.
“Of course,” he responded. “Your exhibition that evening—words can’t express how much you’ve helped us. While we’re well-recognized, your vision, along with the support of Veronica, as well as Eleanor’s foundation, has opened new opportunities for us.”
He smiled and paused, choosing his words carefully. “That brings me to a matter I want to discuss with you.”
Becca looked at him tentatively. “Of course,” she said.
“Well, I approached Eleanor with an idea, and she’s open to it,” Mr. Griffin explained, “but only if the foundation’s curatorial director agrees.”
Becca smiled and nodded.
“Okay,” she said, understanding that he was speaking about her.
“I proposed that Eleanor’s foundation use our museum for all future exhibitions before they begin traveling the country,” he continued.
“If you’d agree, the museum and resources would be available to you. It would also mean you’d have a place here to work.”
Smiling at the thought, Becca nodded.
“That sounds lovely,” she said. “I’d need to speak with Eleanor about the specifics, and there would be much more for the three of us to discuss, but I’m definitely open to exploring the idea.”
Nodding with excitement, he said, “That’s fantastic. The staff will be thrilled to have you here every day. We’re looking forward to collaborating and seeing what we can achieve together.”
Becca smiled enthusiastically, but then her expression grew more serious.
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