The Clerk
Copyright© 2026 by R. E. Bounds
Chapter 1: Curiosity at the Bookstore
“Why are you like that?” he asked.
Bobby was tall—maybe six-two—and good-looking in that clean-cut, all-American way that never really goes out of style. Back in high school, he was one of the popular ones. Confident. Smiled a lot. The kind of guy the girls couldn’t stop staring at.
But to his credit, he was probably the only one from that crowd who ever actually talked to Susan. Not teased. Not pitied. Just talked. So yeah, I knew she had a thing for him, even if she’d never admit it. But it was obvious—at least to me. She’d light up in that quiet, mousy way she did. Like a little flicker behind her eyes she thought no one could see.
Now he was at Blackridge—studying computer science or something, I think. Still handsome. Still smiling.
And now here he was, standing in our store, on the other side of the counter. Looking at her hands cuffed to her waist. He didn’t ask the question meanly. Just looked confused. Like he wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing.
Susan flinched. I saw it in the way her shoulders locked, the small, automatic retreat behind her eyes. Even from the other side of the store, I felt it. She glanced at me—like she was pleading for me to step in—but I didn’t move. I didn’t say a word.
Yes, I was the one keeping her in them. But she’d given up the right to say no. And it’s not like she hadn’t wanted this all along. She did. In fact, she needed it. I’d seen it in her for years—long before that night Becca walked into the bookstore.
So yeah—it was forced. But not unwanted.
And moments like this? They were part of it. Being seen. She had to figure out how to endure it. And that included being questioned. That was part of it too. She had to explain being cuffed. Explain why she was in them. And that meant facing the humiliation and ridicule that came with it. She had to learn how to get past it.
So, I crossed my arms, leaned against one of the bookcases, and watched. I wasn’t going to step in.
“I, um...” she started, then stopped. Her voice was barely there. I saw it on her face—she wanted to disappear. Her eyes dropped to the floor, like they always did when she got like this.
She instinctively tried to move her arms—forgetting, if only for a second, that her wrists were still locked in the cuffs and trapped in that box.
The movement made the chains clink, sharp and loud in the quiet. Which just seemed to make things worse.
“It’s not what it looks like,” she mumbled. “Well—it kind of is. But not ... not in a bad way.”
Bobby just looked at her. No smile. Just that sympathetic, slightly stunned expression. And he waited.
“It’s not like I did anything wrong,” she said, a little too fast. “I’m not being punished, or—well, not like that. I mean ... the sheriff’s office knows I’m like this.”
She paused, realizing how that sounded.
“It’s not, like ... I’m not in trouble or anything. Not legal trouble. I mean, this isn’t—yeah, it’s not that.”
Bobby’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but he still didn’t say a word.
Susan shifted in her heels, her hands tugging pointlessly at her waist. “I guess ... some people would call it a thing. Like ... a personal thing. Something I’ve kind of always ... needed. But I didn’t know I needed it. Or how to ask for it.”
He looked at her, brow furrowed. “You need this?”
The confusion on his face was unmistakable. And then—she just said it.
“I ... I’m into bondage,” she blurted, eyes darting to the floor. “That’s ... that’s what this is. I like—being tied up. Restrained.” Her voice trailed off, barely above a whisper now. “I’m ... into it.”
Silence.
Then, almost immediately, she rushed to soften it. “I mean, not in, like, a creepy way. Not like in movies or whatever. It’s just ... being restrained, it helps. It makes me feel ... better. I know it’s weird, but—”
She sighed, almost like she hated herself for saying it. “Yeah.”
Her face was on fire. She looked like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
Bobby blinked. Just once. Then he said, quietly, “Okay.”
That was it. No judgment, no nervous laugh. Just ... okay. And it wasn’t the kind of okay people say when they’re pretending to be fine with something they don’t understand. It sounded real. Because if it wasn’t, he’d be walking out right now.
Word had been spreading about Susan. Naturally, people started showing up at the bookstore, curious to see if the rumors were true. Which, honestly, wasn’t the worst thing. More foot traffic—more than we’d ever seen, actually. Not a flood, but enough that, for once, we might come out ahead by the end of the month.
But some couldn’t resist offering their opinions—loudly, and unkindly. The sheriff’s department had already been called twice. So no, I wasn’t about to tolerate anyone being cruel to her. Not in my store.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel weird,” he added, his voice low. “I just—wasn’t expecting this. But ... if it helps you, then ... okay.”
Susan didn’t say anything. Just kept staring at the floor, probably waiting for him to walk away.
But he didn’t.
I took a step forward, thinking maybe it was time to end this—the kind of move people make when a conversation’s dragged on too long, offering an easy out so the other person can say, “Hey, it was really nice seeing you,” and make their exit.
But I stopped. And he just kept standing there. Still being nice. The same kind of nice he’d been in high school.
“I mean,” Bobby said, rubbing the back of his neck, “high school was weird for all of us. We’ve all been figuring stuff out since then. Some of us still are.”
Susan glanced up at him—just barely—and I saw it. That flicker behind her eyes again. Still small. Still mousy. But there.
“So ... how long have you been wearing those?” he asked, carefully.
Susan hesitated. “A few weeks,” she said quietly. “Since, um ... since the end of last month ... I think.”
“Oh.” He nodded slowly, like he was doing the math in his head. “So ... not that long.”
She gave a small, uneasy smile and shook her head. “Yeah, it hasn’t been long. I’m ... I’m still figuring it all out.”
Her cuffed hands shifted a little, another absent tug. “Learning how to function in these. You know, use the register and stuff.”
“Um, yeah,” he replied, his voice slow, uncertain. “I guess it would take time to figure all that out.”
His words trailed off as his gaze drifted, drawn not just to her face, but to the stark reality of her hands—locked in the cuffs, encased in the rigid box that was held at her waist.
“So, you’re like this during the day? Like, while you’re working here?”
“Actually ... I’m—I’m like this all the time, now,” Susan said, her voice wavering. The words caught in her throat, like they were too heavy to carry. She paused, then forced them out, barely above a whisper.
Her gaze was downcast, a mix of shame and something else flickering in her eyes. She seemed to regret saying it as soon as the words left her lips.
Bobby’s eyebrows lifted a fraction, not in judgment, but in confusion. “So ... you’re like ... you’re saying you’re in those all the time?”
His voice was gentle, trying to wrap his head around it, but she could hear the edge of uncertainty there, too. It was hard to explain this, even to someone who wanted to understand.
“Uh,” she murmured, the sound trailing off as if it hadn’t quite sunk in herself. She tugged at the cuffs again, futilely, as if she could somehow hide them. “Yeah. Outside of little breaks ... I’m in these.”
That got to him. Not in a bad way, just ... different. I saw the surprise behind his eyes—sure, but also something else. The first time, he looked genuinely taken aback. Like it hit somewhere deeper than he expected.
“So ... does that mean you wear them out, too? Like, in public?”
Susan nodded.
“Yeah,” she said softly.
“I—I have to go out like this.”
She said it like she was ashamed—like just admitting it out loud left a weight in her throat. I could see it in the way her shoulders pulled in, like she still half-wanted to vanish. She knew how it sounded. How strange it must seem to anyone else.
But I also knew better. I knew what it really meant to her. This wasn’t just some phase or passing curiosity. She needed it—the restraint, the structure, the surrender of it all. Even if part of her still hated herself for needing it, even if the words made her flinch ... she was locked in them for a reason.
Bobby didn’t say anything at first. Just nodded again—thoughtful, maybe trying to make sense of it all.
“Have to?” he then asked.
That’s when I walked up. He must’ve caught sight of me from the corner of his eye. The sharp click of my heels shifting from the rugs to the hardwood floor probably helped, too.
“Hey, Anne,” he said, turning toward me.
“Hi, Bobby,” I replied.
He gave a small shake of his head, like he was reminding himself not to be surprised. “Of course you’re here. Duh ... it’s your bookstore.” He smiled, then looked over at Susan. “We were just catching up.”
He gestured vaguely toward the shelves. “The place looks different. From the last time I was here.”
I shrugged. I didn’t really feel like making small talk. I was more interested in finding out what he needed and getting him out the door.
“We did some remodeling. Shifted the shelves, opened up the space a bit. Makes it easier for Susan to move around—given the way she is.”
“Oh, right.” He looked back at her. “Yeah. She was telling me about ... that.”
I nodded, my gaze steady, almost detached. “Susan’s kept in high-security prisoner transport restraints now,” I said plainly, my tone flat—like I was telling him she had diabetes, not gluten intolerance. It was just a fact. Something permanent. Something she chose, and now couldn’t change.
There was no going back. Even if she wanted to, too much had happened. With her. With us. The store. Even the people who’d started showing up over the past month—curious, skeptical, judgmental, or fascinated—it had all reshaped everything. What had been before no longer mattered.
It was just ... it was just how it was now.
“She ... yeah. She mentioned that,” he said, nodding again, clearly still working through how to talk about it without sounding awkward.
That’s when I decided it was time to wrap things up.
“What title are you looking for?” I asked.
“What?”
“Book title,” I repeated, a bit more pointed this time. “You did walk into a bookstore.”
“Oh. Right.” He told us what he was looking for. I keyed it into the system, then led him across the store to the correct shelf.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him watching me as we walked. Not really me—more the outfit. The skirt, the blouse, the pantyhose, the heels. But mostly, it seemed to be the hosiery that held his attention.
Pulling the book down, I handed it to him.
“There you go.”
“Thanks,” he said, giving a polite nod.
I brought him over to the register and rang up the order. “Twenty-one dollars and forty-nine cents.”
I dragged the book to the edge of the counter so Susan could reach it.
She glanced at it briefly, then dropped it into a bag. Since she couldn’t set it back on the counter or slide it across, she stepped out so she could hand it to him.
Bobby had a full view now. The leg cuffs, the connecting chain, the way Susan’s heels clicked against the floor, the sheer pantyhose, the dress that came down snug just above her knees. He saw it all.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the bag from her—but his eyes didn’t leave her ankles.