Chapter 5: Required, No Longer Expected

“I was told to dress this way,” she said. “Business attire—tie, pantyhose, heels. I wasn’t sure what heel height was expected, so I wore the highest I can manage while in leg cuffs. It sounded like you were going for a specific look. And I was told to come here today in these.”

Ms. Caldwell’s eyes narrowed.

Her earlier remark had clearly implied that Becca’s outfit was inappropriate for the meeting—suggesting she had chosen it herself, rather than being specifically instructed to wear it, restraints and all.

But before she could respond, Mr. Thompson, the company president, smoothly stepped in.

“Ms. Bounds, your outfit is lovely. Thank you for accommodating the wardrobe request—we appreciate your presence and help today. While our client has asked that the talent wear high heels, please feel free to choose a lower pair tomorrow, if you prefer. That’s absolutely fine.”

Hearing Mr. Thompson’s genuine thanks, Becca replied, “I’ll wear five-inch Louboutin heels tomorrow. They go well with this outfit and seem to have the same effect.”

She added with a smile, “People often ask about them. They seem to attract attention, but in a good way.”

Mr. Thompson nodded. “Thank you again.”

As Becca leaned back into her seat, he addressed her concern about being restrained during the event. He emphasized that if she felt uncomfortable, she should inform the staff.

“If the situation doesn’t improve, you have every right to withdraw from the event and let me know immediately.”

Then, surprising everyone, he apologized to Becca for making her sit in restraints.

“I’ve read the FBI report, and I’m truly sorry for what you went through. I can’t imagine how difficult it was to put those back on. That’s why I’m so grateful for your help.”

He glanced at Ms. Caldwell. “I didn’t know you were asked to wear those today. That was completely inappropriate and will be addressed.”

Some executives shifted uncomfortably, with Miranda fidgeting the most. Becca thanked Mr. Thompson, and the rest of the meeting focused on her role, which matched what had happened on Sunday.

The following week, I found out that Mr. Thompson had taken serious action against Ms. Caldwell, giving her a formal reprimand and disciplinary measures for her behavior.

Lisa also mentioned that he now had a favorable view of both Becca and me. He seemed increasingly frustrated with the executive team, feeling they were more concerned with their own interests than with the well-being of employees. So, he asked Lisa for advice on how to address these issues and improve things.

Becca laughed softly, her eyes twinkling as she looked at me. “At least he realized it wasn’t just an act. It really was tough moving in those heels with all the jewelry,” she said with a playful smile. “You remember how slow I was at the exhibition. This time, it was even worse. My hands weren’t just at my sides—they were locked in front with a chain, and the thumb cuffs made it a real struggle.”

“Yeah, I saw that,” I said, acknowledging her struggle. “But you didn’t have to wear the thumb cuffs.”

She shrugged. “I wanted to. And Lisa made it sound like they wanted to see me in all of it. Like, see what I actually look like in restraints.”

I nodded. “So ... are the dominatrix stilettos just for the bedroom now? That’s what Dr. Farmer suggested.”

“No,” Becca said with a grin. “I can still wear them out. They’d be fun for dates. I just won’t be able to wear the transport jewelry with them.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ll have—” I paused, watching her for a second as I realized where her thought process was going.

“Remember dinner with Rachel, and that woman—um, Sophie said her name was Mrs. Langley, I think?” I added, trying to jog her memory. “She mentioned it wouldn’t be long before you couldn’t go out without them. Said they’d be ‘impossible to undo.’”

Becca nodded, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “Yeah.”

In a soft voice, I explained, “So that means even on dates, shopping, and all other outings—you’ll be in them. We’d have to drive a few hours away for you not to be.” I looked at Becca, a hint of determination in my eyes. “No one would know. It’s not too late. We could just tell everyone that things have been resolved, and you don’t need to wear them anymore.”

I paused, my voice gentle as I continued, “You could wear them at home and in the car. It could be our thing, just like the straitjacket or the cute puppy—um, pet play items. Something special between us.”

There was a flicker of realization in her face. She admitted she had wanted this—to be forced to wear the restraints—but I could tell it hadn’t fully sunk in yet. She was still thinking, at least when we talked about the six-inch heels, that she’d only wear them when she wanted to, or if she could manage them.

Then her expression softened. I could see she was processing what I’d told her. She reached out and took my hand, squeezing it gently.

“I appreciate that,” she said quietly. “I—I just forgot. That’s all.”

She looked up at me then, her eyes steady. “But this is something I really want. I don’t want to have to hide it—I want to be free to embrace it, even if it means I don’t have a choice.”

I nodded. “Okay,” I told her. “We’ll make it work.”

Becca’s smile was warm and reassuring. “Yeah. We’ll make it work,” she agreed.

Outside of the heat going out again in our apartment, the rest of January was uneventful. Becca and I counted down the days to the closing, and January 22nd, which had been circled on our calendar for weeks, finally arrived.

After a meeting and many signatures later, we stood in front of our new home with keys in hand. Our car was packed with the essential items we could fit, knowing we’d return to the city tomorrow to finish packing the kitchen and bathroom, meet the movers on Friday, and hand over the keys.

Becca was dressed in a dress, hosiery, and four-inch stilettos, with her hands restrained behind her back in the gleaming handcuffs, which were tightened over the cuffs of her coat.

“Ready to step into our home?” I asked, smiling at her.