The Chef
Copyright© 2025 by R. E. Bounds
Chapter 4: One Tie, Sheer Energy
“Why does this happen every year?” Becca’s voice trembled with exasperation and cold.
“It’s an old building,” I said, fully aware she wasn’t looking for an answer.
The apartment was an icebox, the heat having abandoned us on New Year’s Eve, just as it had done three out of the four years we’d been here. It was likely that getting the super to fix it on this of all nights—or even the next day—was a forlorn hope.
Becca shivered visibly, her frustration evident in her body language. When she’s this cold, she instinctively wraps her arms around herself for warmth. I had anticipated this, so I put her in the jacket and secured her with the leather cuffs and straps, forcing her into a hobble.
“We could go to my parents’ place?” I suggested. “They wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, they’d really like for us to celebrate the New Year with them.”
I could already picture the cozy atmosphere, filled with laughter and warmth, making it a perfect way to ring in the year together.
Becca’s eyes, clearly betraying her annoyance, softened as she shook her head. “While spending it with your parents sounds nice, I’d rather ring in the new year wrapped up like this and snuggled close to you.”
She gazed at me with a sultry look, then murmured, “Mmmph ... Mmph...”—a signal she now used when she expected to be muzzled or gagged, telling me how she wanted to start the new year.
Her words, wrapped in genuine warmth, seemed to ease some of the chill in the air. Despite the biting cold, I couldn’t help but smile.
“How about we make the best of it?” I suggested. “We can turn this icebox into our little sanctuary. Let’s gather some blankets, light a few candles, and toast to the new year—just the two of us.”
I grinned and added, “We can even watch all those people who braved the cold all day in Times Square from the comfort of our cozy spot here.”
Becca’s expression brightened as she laughed; her eyes twinkled with a renewed warmth.
“That sounds perfect. Let’s turn this into our own winter wonderland,” she said, then added with a smirk, “while we watch all those idiots on TV freezing in diapers.”
With a determined grin, I set about transforming our freezing apartment into a cozy retreat. Blankets were draped over our immediate area, and candles were lit, casting a gentle glow that danced off the walls. I knew that despite the cold, we’d create a memorable evening.
As we snuggled under the blankets on the couch, the soft glow of the TV flickered in the dim room. My phone buzzed with a new message, and I glanced at the screen.
“Who’s that?” Becca asked casually, though her voice was muffled as she rested her head on my chest and cozied up against me. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, subtly telling me that she wanted to be forced into a frogtie.
“It’s Lisa,” I said, reading the message aloud. “‘Happy New Year! Call me, please.’”
I set my phone back down on the coffee table.
Becca, now comfortably nestled, murmured, “Mmm, sounds good. Just a bit longer.”
She snuggled in closer, clearly content with the warmth of our shared space.
After a sigh, she added, “Just put her on speaker. If you want me to stay quiet, you know what you need to do,” hinting again at her desire to be muzzled for the evening.
To her disappointment, I picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hi, Lisa,” I said.
“Happy New Year!” we all exclaimed to each other.
After a brief exchange, in which Lisa learned that our heat was out and offered us a place to stay, which we appreciated but declined, she moved to the reason she’d called.
“So, since we’re here,” Lisa said, her tone taking on a more serious edge, “I have a question for you, Rebecca. Would you be interested in some modeling work?”
Becca, still lying on me, lifted her head slightly and responded with a trace of resentment, “What kind of modeling?”
After a brief pause, she added, “Does it involve being dressed up like a high-priced escort and paraded around in restraints?”
There was an uncomfortable pause before Lisa continued, “Well, um—” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “Yes and no. Let me explain.”
She took a deep breath and said, “It’s not a transport—no airports or flights involved. Instead, it’s a private event.”
She paused awkwardly before adding, “But yes, you’ll be dolled up ... and in restraints.”
Realizing that Becca wanted more details and wasn’t responding, Lisa continued, “Um—so here’s the situation. We had a model lined up for this event, but she backed out when she found out about the restraints. She hadn’t read the details until earlier today. Now, the event organizer—our new company—is in a real pickle. The event is this Saturday, and they’re unlikely to find a replacement model in time. Given your past experiences, they hoped you might be able to help out.”
“So, what exactly is this event that requires me to be in chains?” Becca asked, looking up at me.
Lisa took another deep breath and explained, “The customer is a private company that specializes in high-security transport and executive protection—think the handling of high-priority individuals who can’t be moved by federal agencies, as well as providing top-tier security for CEOs and valuable assets. The event is for their existing and potential new clients. They want to highlight their transport procedures and security measures, and, well, nothing sells their service quite like a compelling demonstration featuring a pretty girl in restraints.”
Becca, staring at me with a smirk on her face and seeing an opportunity, asked, “And what exactly would I be wearing and doing?”
Lisa took a moment to respond, “You’d be dressed in business attire, participating in various demonstrations throughout the day. You’ll be expected to be involved in each one, showing how their transport procedures and security measures work. As for the restraints, the details are still being finalized. I haven’t seen what they had sent to the original model. They’re in a bit of a panic right now.”
Becca then asked, “And what about compensation?”
Lisa responded, “Well, they’re in a bind. So, you tell me what you want?”
Becca’s eyes sparkled with purpose as she considered the offer. “I need the same compensation package as last time,” she said, her voice firm. “In addition, I’ll require a high-end outfit appropriate for the event—a suit and heels. I’ll have Ben text you the details for the shoes. The bra, panties, garter, and stockings should be the same as before.”
Her gaze hardened slightly as she continued, “It’s crucial that no one but Ben touches me. I mean, absolutely no one. If anyone does, I’ll pull out of the event and still expect to be paid. This condition needs to be communicated clearly to them and put in writing.”
Finally, she added, “I also need a full briefing on the event details. I want to understand exactly what I’m signing up for before agreeing to anything.”
Her words left no room for ambiguity, setting clear terms for her participation and ensuring her boundaries were respected.
Lisa responded without hesitation, “Let me check with them. I’ll get back to you, but it’ll be tomorrow.”
As we ended the call, Becca buried her face back into my chest, and we settled in to enjoy New Year’s Eve together.
It wasn’t much longer before I could sense from Becca’s subtle movements and signals what she wanted.
Gently, I caressed her hair and asked, “Do you want to bring in the New Year under the covers?”
As Becca tried to lift herself but struggled, I helped her up. With her large hazel eyes shimmering, she whispered in a low, seductive murmur, “Yes. But only if you loosen these two straps and pull off my pajamas. And only if you frogtie me so that I can’t move. And only if you muzzle me and make sure it’s on tight.”
Her voice grew even more sultry as she then added, “Only then can you fuck me into next year.”
I smiled. “I think we can do that.”
With that, we retired to the bedroom.
Becca and I were having a late breakfast the following morning. The heat was still out, and we were discussing going somewhere warm, even if only for an hour. I had called the super earlier, but as expected, it would be tomorrow before anyone would be available. As the discussion progressed to last night, Lisa texted.
“Lisa?” Becca asked.
“Yeah,” I said, flipping it over to check. “She says to call her—probably an update from yesterday.”
I paused for a moment. “We can call her in a minute. We should finish our discussion first.”
Becca raised an eyebrow playfully. “I was just going to say that you could keep me gagged today. After last night, it’s still important.”
I smiled, trying to lighten the mood.
“Well, your instructions were very clear,” I said.
Becca grinned, clearly amused but also intent on making her point. “Yes, and you did an excellent job. So good that once again, I thought I was going to pass out.”
She then added, “And you don’t have to take the muzzle off. It’s comfortable. I can sleep in it.”
“I know,” I replied, “But I’m just not comfortable. It doesn’t feel safe.”
Becca nodded in understanding. “There’s nothing in my mouth. It’s not like the muzzle, the ball gag, or that gag from the dog hood—I’m fine staying in it all night.”
She recalled Michelle’s advice, adding, “And remember what Michelle said? That muzzle was designed for extended periods of wear, which is probably why it’s so comfy. Whoever was forced to wear it before me likely wore it to bed, too.”
Becca paused for a second, then said, “What I’m trying to say is, someone was kept in that jacket—plus the cuffs and the muzzle—for a long time. And now that I’ve been in it, I can tell it was either because she wanted to be, or ... more likely, she didn’t have a choice. It’s just made too well. Like, it’s designed so the person wearing it can’t ever get out, but they’d still be totally comfortable. Either way ... she was kept safe.”
She met my gaze steadily. “Struggling in that jacket is pointless. Michelle taught you how to put me in it correctly, so I can’t move, no way for me to resist. I’m really okay in it. I feel really safe with you.”
Becca then flashed a mischievous smile and added, “And I wouldn’t have made all that noise this morning if you’d left me in the muzzle.”
“Okay. Okay,” I said, nodding. “Once it goes on, it stays on from now on.”
Becca’s smile was warm as she gestured towards my phone. I picked it up and called Lisa, who sounded frustrated and resigned.
“They’re not happy with the compensation package,” she told us.
Becca glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. “Did they say why?”
Lisa sighed. “One of the executives said she didn’t understand why you were asking for so much. She mentioned that you were just standing around, looking pretty, and wearing some chains.”
Her annoyance was evident as she continued, “They’re refusing the stock options and only offering what they initially agreed upon with the original agency and model who backed out.”
Becca interjected, “Something tells me that the part about no one touching me is also an issue?” Building on that, Lisa explained that they had people who would be handling her restraints.
I could see Becca’s disappointment, though she wasn’t surprised. “So, no on the package, and others will be in control of my restraints?”
She smiled and rolled her eyes. “And what about the outfit—the clothing and shoes?”
Lisa replied with a heavy sigh, “It’s a no on that as well.”
Upon hearing that, Becca politely declined the offer without hesitation.
Lisa, showing her frustration, said, “I understand. I don’t blame you. I’m bothered, too.”
Her voice then softened. “I’ll let them know, but I suspect they won’t be happy.”
Becca’s eyes twinkled as she asked, “Was that executive a woman—the one who said it’s just about looking pretty and wearing chains?”
Lisa hesitated before answering, “Yes, it was.”
Becca chuckled, a playful glint in her eye. “If she vocalizes her unhappiness about my decision, please let her know I think she should consider taking the job herself.”
Lisa laughed, her mood lightened by Becca’s humor. “I’d probably get fired, but it might be worth it.”
We all chuckled, wished each other a happy New Year, and ended the call. With the discussion behind us, Becca and I decided to enjoy the rest of the day.
We spent the afternoon in our ice-cold apartment, savoring the tranquility—though Becca was briefly locked in a ball gag. It had to be removed eventually due to the cold and her difficulty managing the drool.
Later, we ventured out to a local bakery to pick up some warm, freshly baked bread for dinner. It was the perfect end to the day.
It was Friday when I spoke with Lisa again. Becca was on the phone with Sophie, finalizing plans to use the museum as a pilot for future exhibits with Eleanor and Jack. Eleanor was also enthusiastic about the idea of Becca using the museum as her local office.
I remember how excited Becca was when she explained all this to me, mentioning that Eleanor had immediately brought up the topic of restraints when she learned that Sophie would be assisting Becca. This showed that Eleanor understood the reasons behind Sophie’s assignment, which signified that people were now just expecting Becca to be in them.